Baron's Court, All Change

by Terry Taylor

  Dusty had his arm behind Ruby, running his hand up and down her back, trying to help the Charge out on the passion stakes, but he seemed clumsy; he was doing it all wrong, somehow, and I bet you anything you like he wasn’t even fazing her. It obviously didn’t wig her but he’d been kind enough to ask her to the party so she had to put up with it.

  It must be a real drag being a woman. All kinds of male specimens making passes at you all the time, and you having to sort them all out like a card index, deciding who to give the red light to, or the amber one, or green. To those selected few who you shine the green light to you automatically have other problems: how far to go — a kiss? An evening in the back row of the pictures? Or to whip it on them. A very complicated business indeed.

  Dusty glanced up at me. He could see that I could see that Ruby could see nothing in what he was doing, so he gave her a look, in full view of me and for my benefit, which put the blame on her somehow. Then he lay across Ruby and Miss Roach to say to me, “See me outside in a couple of minutes.” He straightened up, puffed away on a cigarette for a while, got up and left the room. I followed him out on to the landing, and without saying anything we went down the stairs into the street.

  I needed the change of scene badly. I’d been getting sleepy in that very stoning atmosphere but the fresh air, which had turned very cool because of the rain, I suppose, did the trick. Don’t think it sobered me up or anything horrible like that, but it’s great to make a different scene sometimes because if you’re on the same old one for too long you’re liable to get carried away and get too far out and end up not knowing where you are. There’s no complaints about that when you’re in your own pad, but when this happens in someone else’s and you’ve got to be capable of getting home, it’s different.

  The street was quiet and dark, and an out of tune vamping piano could be heard from a pub down the street; a pub full of people getting stoned on gin and limes and stout and milds, having a perfect evening which comprised of not only their beer but a singsong and a punch-up and then a good fuck at the end of it. The perfect evening.

  “They’re having a ball,” Dusty said, looking towards the pub.

  “Yes, I think they are,” I said.

  “People everywhere trying to forget what and where they are. It’s funny. It’s a racial thing as well, you know — I mean the way they do it. China, it’s opium. The States, the junk. Africa, the weed — yes, they’ve all found out what suits them best.”

  “How about in this country?” I asked.

  Dusty looked disgusted. “We’ve no imagination here. I suppose you’ll have to chalk up mild and bitter for us.”

  “I got carried away in there a bit,” I told him. “I thought of so many things my mind got confused.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “A million different ones. Including the doubt about if we’re doing the right thing or not.”

  “What right thing?”

  “About buying the Charge.”

  Dusty put on his wise voice. “It depends on what’s bothering you about it. If the moral thing comes into it, then you can relax. We’re not doing an ugly thing selling Charge. You should understand that. It’s only the peasants that could think like that. Sure they’d say that we were corrupting the minds and bodies of our customers by starting them off on their journey to eternal doom and torment, that before long they’ll be sampling every drug that man has discovered because the kick in ours had worn out, but we know different to that. We know the majority of junkies fall into the trap because of ignorance. That they don’t realise the danger of it until it’s too late. But the people that smoke Pot first get a knowledge of the dangerous drugs by mixing with smokers. You’ll hardly find a junkie that smokes.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” I said.

  “You bet I am. Think of what we’re doing. We’re letting people forget their troubles in the nicest, cleanest, healthiest, and cheapest way. How many double Scotches would you have to buy before you felt the way you do on one good joint? That’s if you could ever feel the same on Scotch as you do on Charge. I tell you, man, we’re doing a service to the community.”

  A service to the community. The service of getting you high. Roll up! Roll up! We sell the best Indian Hemp in the whole of London! Stay higher, longer, on our great little cigarettes! We’ll send you to places that you never dreamed existed. To shining new worlds of peace and contentment, where the sky’s always blue and everyone’s smiling. Where you can do what you want to do even if it’s just sitting on a chair. But we’ll guarantee that you’ve never enjoyed a sit down like that in your lives before. Roll up! Roll up! Buy our Indian Hemp! We’re doing a service to the community! Then Dusty asked for the money. Fifty pounds. A fortune. Ten fivers that I’d been through hell to save. A pound a week out of that little brown envelope that Mr Cage gave me every Friday with a look on his face that told me he didn’t think I deserved it. The reward from fifty-two weeks of him. Oh Christ! I couldn’t stand another fifty-two! Here, Dusty, take it! Do anything you like with it but save me from another year of misery!

  He folded the notes in two neatly, then put them carefully into his hip pocket. He did this operation in a confident and determined way as if he was used to doing this every day. There was a satisfied look on bis face.

  “This is just the beginning,” he said. “You’ll see. Just the beginning of a brand new, shining, radiant life for the two of us. Remember this night, man, keep it clear in the old thinking box because we’re going to talk about it for a long time to come. It’s like the generals in the last war planning for the second front or something that changed and won us the war. I bet they think back to the night when they were planning it all and just about to put it into operation. I bet they’re at the old regimental club right this minute talking about it. That’s how we’ll be.”

  Plan the operation carefully! Every little detail is all important. Don’t goof with them there plans! Win the war! Down with the law! Ride through the streets of London — victorious! The enemy is defeated! Mr Cage has been blown out of existence forever!

  “This is what we’ll do,” Dusty said, with a ring in his voice that told me he liked giving orders. “When we’re ready to leave, I’ll give Ayo the bread and collect the Charge. I’ll give it to you in a carrier bag. Now don’t try and hide it whatever you do, just think of it as if it’s shopping. (Was he kidding?) Go back to Miss Roach’s pad with her, stay the night if she’ll wear it, and hide it in the cupboard I told you about.”

  “All right,” I said.

  “And by the way — good luck!”

  The party was very much the same when we returned except for the fact that Ayo had done a disappearing act and come back with a newspaper that must have had all of an ounce to it which he soon made into giant spliffs, distributing them about the room to people that were grateful and people that were scared, but all of them high, so they smoked it just the same in case they offended their host who must be the most generous dealer in London if not the whole world.

  I sat next to Miss Roach who hadn’t moved an inch since I left her. Now I don’t mind telling you that I felt a bit disturbed about having to play up to her. I’ll tell you why. She’s very attractive, you can’t deny that, and if it came to a push I wouldn’t kick her under the bed, but she’s not the type of girl that inspires me to try my talents on. I mean she’s great to be with as a friend but going to bed with her promised to spoil something between us. In other words she was a different sexual type to me, if you know what I mean without sounding too much like Dr Kinsey. This wasn’t because I thought I didn’t have much chance and was just making excuses for myself, as she wasn’t backward in coming forward as far as giving me encouragement was concerned, but there was that little something there that stopped me from getting carried away on the boudoir scene with her. But I gave myself a long lecture on getting these ideas out of my head as it would hinder everything if I started getting neurotic about it.

  �
�How are you feeling?” I asked her.

  “Delicious,” came the reply. “There’s a nice warm sponge all around me and I’m surrendering myself to it. I’m floating in it and I feel delicious. This is marvellous shit, man, it really whips it on you. I was just pretending to myself that I could afford an ounce of it. Life would be a lot more bearable then.”

  “If you’re only pretending, why stop at an ounce? What would you say if you had a pound weight?”

  Her grin broke out into a smile again. “I wouldn’t say anything. Words wouldn’t be necessary. I’d just have a ball.”

  “I bet you would.”

  Her eyes looked up towards the top of her head as if she was looking for a thought. “With the aid of a pound weight I’d paint pictures that would even surprise me. I’d have one long smoking and painting session and if I didn’t paint anything worthwhile after that I’d give it up forever and ever amen.”

  “Would you paint better pictures than Viper’s Dream?”

  “I don’t know if they’d be better, but I’m sure they’d be a darn sight happier,” she said, laughing aloud.

  Her head started to nod to the music, she was really concentrating, registering every note that the musician gave out with, and as he came to the climax of his solo she shook her head a little like she was congratulating him on a job well done.

  Dusty was rabbiting away with Ayo, looking important and pleased with himself, then after a few minutes they left the room together to do the final exchange. Bits of paper for something that grows in the ground. For a moment it all seemed unimportant.

  I hadn’t noticed before but Ruby was getting a bit overstoned. Her eyes were practically closed, her head was drooping forward, and although she always wore pale make-up you could see this was the real thing. Not only her cheeks but her arms and hands looked unusually white. Her eyes weren’t though; they were red. She pulled herself to now and again just for a second, but she couldn’t focus the happenings at all so she went back to closing her eyes again. I could see Buttercup and Algernon Fliewright talking about her and obviously enjoying seeing her in the state she was in. Then she managed to get up from her chair, stagger into the middle of the room, and then in a loud voice, that I don’t mind admitting really startled me, she cried, “I’m cracking up!”

  There was a mixed reaction to this. Someone shouted in a mocking sort of voice, “Don’t crack up, Ruby. Hang on. Don’t crack up!” I think it was Buttercup that said, “Where’s Dusty? We’d better get Dusty.”

  Then one of the coloured girls went over to her and tried to lead her back to her seat but she wasn’t having any. Ruby pushed her away, and man, she had a terrible, terrible look on her face, and she screamed at her, “Keep your dirty black hands off me!!!”

  The atmosphere froze so you could practically see the icicles hanging off the ceiling, and everyone felt embarrassed for everyone else, but the Spade chick didn’t do anything but walk calmly back to her seat. You see, no one knew what the best thing was to do really. I know what I felt like doing but then that would have probably landed me behind bars, so I slipped out of the room and found Dusty coming up the stairs with Ayo. I quickly told him what had happened and when hearing it he practically ran into the room and grabbed her coat double quick, went over to her and said, “Come on, Ruby, it’s time we were leaving. Put your coat on.”

  “I don’t want my coat on — I don’t want to leave,” she blurted out.

  “It’s time I took you home,” said Dusty very coolly, knowing this would stand a much better chance of getting results.

  “You take me home? You’ve got as much chance to sleep with me as Julius Caesar has. Leave me alone, leave me alone — d’y hear?”

  Dusty was trying his best not to be shown up in front of everyone, so he tried the tiniest bit of physical persuasion to get her out of the room. He grabbed her by the arm and tried pulling her, very gently, mind you, but it was no use.

  “I told you to let go of me. You’re hurting me!” she cried out as if he was putting a half nelson on her. “If Ronnie could see you now he’d certainly teach you a lesson.” Then she wrenched her arm away from him very quickly, and quite by accident Dusty received a blow to the side of the head.

  I’m sure it surprised him more than it hurt, but that did it. He stepped back and shouted at the top of his voice, “You ginger-muffed whore! Get out of this pad before I knock you out of it!”

  She didn’t need any more persuasion. She was out of the door in a flash, and she must have got the horrors from Dusty because I didn’t see any more of her nor did anyone else.

  We said our goodnights and apologised for bringing such an ignorant cow with us, but everyone understood, and the Spade chick smiled and told us she hoped to see us again soon, and for a moment I wished I’d have kicked Ruby’s teeth in when I had the opportunity.

  When we got outside Dusty handed me the carrier bag, whispering in my ear to take good care of it, then he made some excuse to leave us saying he had to see a man on business.

  Miss Roach suggested we walk home instead of catching a taxi, and as we did so the wind started blowing up and it felt great against our faces as we walked through the near deserted streets hand in hand. We didn’t say a word, it wasn’t necessary, we were both feeling marvellous despite the dragging down episode with that musician’s moll, Ruby.

  The rubbish outside Miss Roach’s front door looked different. It was the man in charge of the lights that did it because now the moon could work out on the scene things began to happen. It was like a photograph by one of those arty photographers who have a ball with nuns and dirty washing and have their snaps covered in grain and not too well in focus. Sort of romantic and dramatic, if you know what I mean. The piece of sculpture looked really great like her soul come out at night. But so disappointed that she wasn’t completed, you could tell by the look on her face, honest you could, man. I started giving myself the horrors about how it would feel to be a half-finished piece of sculpture. The pram became a cave — a real cave — all dark and secretive, welcoming you in if you dare. Complete with sea in front of it as well. A cat amongst the bottles, crouching low, with its heart pounding, praying we wouldn’t see him because he didn’t like the look of us, so I pretended I didn’t because I didn’t want him to run away from us like only cats can.

  We entered the room and Miss Roach took my coat and put it on a hanger in the wardrobe which was an invitation in itself to stay longer than five minutes. She always looked relaxed but in her own pad she was even more so. The way she got about the room, the way she sat in a chair, poured out a drink or lit a cigarette, told you she was in her own little kingdom where everything was under control and she could deal with everything that came her way.

  “I’m going to get something for us to eat,” she said. “I know you must be starving — I am. I’ve only got spaghetti though, but it’s home-made not that terrible canned variety. You can always tell when you’ve smoked really good Charge, because it makes you hungry, thirsty and sexy.” The look she gave me when saying that last naughty word was far from sister-like.

  I saw to the sounds while she heated up the contents of a large saucepan that gave forth a very handsome smell. I was anxious to get the Charge into its new home as soon as possible but I was a bit nervous about rushing it in case she became suspicious. I put on an up tempo disc of the Jazz Messengers with Mr Blakey pushing the others for all he was worth, but she told me to change it because she wasn’t in the mood for races at that time of night and to put on a pile of LPs that were on the table by the box. I noticed that they were all dreamy vocals by Anita and Miss Christie and a few of the others of that clan.

  After we’d eaten Miss Roach went to a cupboard and brought out a bottle of VP which she displayed with pride. “See what I’ve held back just for you? It took all my self-control to save it but I managed it.”

  “It’s very thoughtful of you. Thanks a lot,” I said.

  She raised her glass. “Here’s to y
ou, Harry the Hare and me. The greatest threesome in the Land of Oo-bla-Dee.”

  After drinking a glass or two I decided to get the Charge out to its rightful place, so when she was busy looking for a packet of cigarettes she’d mislaid, I took the opportunity and left the room taking the carrier bag with me. When I got to the carzy I opened the cupboard that Dusty had told me about and there it was, the cleverest little hiding place that you ever did see. Like it was specially made for the job. I took the plastic bag out of the carrier and before putting it away I gave my eyes a feast on the naughty stuff inside it. It was most definitely green. Not as green as the Cyprus kind but more mature like. Not too many seeds and quite leafy and the stalks weren’t over-thick so it would be easy to mince up. Before putting it away behind the hot water tank I stole a big pinch of it and took it back to the room with me. Miss Roach was sprawled out on the sofa looking very contented indeed, so I sat next to her, held her hand and said, “I’ve held something back for you, too. What do you say about this?” I showed her the contents of the envelope.

  “I say you’re an angel,” she said, giving me a child-like kiss which was wet and loud. “Where did you get it from?”

  I decided to tell her everything. I did too. I told her about Dusty and myself going into partnership and taking over Danny’s round, but omitting where the Charge was, of course. I’d taken it for granted that she’d be pleased because I don’t have to tell you how handy it is when a friend of yours is a dealer. I mean you can always get a turn-on on tick or for nothing which is a comforting thought even for a would-be suicide.