“No. Hacking into his ISP. I doubt Barry has ever been naked. Or on stage.” He shrugged as he held open the door to the tiny tea room and Claire instinctively opened her handbag to retrieve her purse, only to find three packets of white powder. She glanced at Emit.
“I'll get these,” he promised and saw the packet in her hand, being stuffed underneath her purse in the handbag. “I found them, thought you'd want them rather than the bin. Or the cleaner.”
“Cheers,” she quietly whispered and took a seat in the window, her mind spinning with an opportunity to repeat the night before.
Chapter XVIII
Paige
Paige sat in the coffee shop, located in the middle of the shopping centre. A chain of events that had started with a phone call to her activist friend had led to them both sat outside a toy shop in the Surrey market town as they waited for reinforcements.
Leah smiled at her friend; they had first met at the London Naked Cycling Event, and again the following month to save their local hospital. Their politics were similar, and they had bonded. Leah had been awestruck by the size of the musician’s house, and they had spent many evenings with the Croydon branch of The People Power Movement, by the side of Paige's pool, agreeing strategy for their campaigns.
Paige wasn't as active as Leah in their chapter of the grassroots movement; her international schedule limited her involvement, but she attended demonstrations when she could, as well as providing funds and support for their activities.
Leah had a number of red flowers woven into her long dark brown hair; her innocent face belied a ferocious spirit that lay within. Her tight T-Shirt, stretched over her unfettered bosom and dimunitive yellow shorts, had attracted attention as they walked through the town, but the two feminists were confident and unfazed by the wolf-whistles designed to intimidate them.
“Is that coffee?” A voice asked from behind her. She turned to see a dozen activists, a small number holding placards with slogans attacking the Government. It was a characteristic cross-section of their movement: young and idealistic students, scruffy and principled middle-aged citizens and the stubbornly robust pensioners. They had come to wage war against Jack’s party.
“Yep,” Paige replied, smiling. “But don't worry, it's Organic and FairTrade. I asked.”
“Good.”
“Although I do hate FairTrade.” She waited for a moment as the dozen left-wing activists turned their attention onto her. “Well don't you think it's wrong that being environmentally friendly, and paying suppliers a fair wage is seen as a badge of honour? I mean, surely there should be CuntyCapitalist as an alternative that non-FairTrade companies have to display if they don't act in an ethical manner. FairTrade should be the norm.”
“Right on, Paige!” Leah cooed.
Paige put her empty coffee cup with that of her friend on the tray, complete with some empty water bottles and placed the rubbish in the bin. They discussed their plan with the new arrivals. They had come to conduct a coordinated attack. Paige picked up her carrier bag and they ambled out of the shopping centre and onto the bland high street.
Redhill was a concrete aberration; the scar of the landscape dominated by the cinema above a row of battered shops. In front of these, at a crossroads outside a shabby-looking pub was a handful of party activists pushing leaflets into the hands of harassed shoppers and office workers getting their lunches.
“What do we want?” Leah shouted as they moved towards the junction.
“Fair Government,” they called back.
“How do we do that?”
“Sack the bastards!”
They marched towards the political candidate flanked by a small number of his party faithful. Placards held up behind Paige were daubed with anti-Government slogans; a couple were not fit for family viewing.
“Paige,” Jack shouted as he focused on his girlfriend. “Get away from here.”
“Sack the Government,” Paige screamed. Heads turned to face the advancing woman, leading a charge of people towards the Party stand.
“You're drunk,” the candidate dismissed her behaviour. He stood sneering at her; his tie skewed and poorly knotted and with a cheap, ill-fitting suit. The picture of “Damien Winter” on the placards behind the candidate was of an airbrushed, plastic caricature of the jeering man in front of them.
“You're drunk on power,” she shouted back. Paige clapped her hands. “Good people of Redhill,” she called, addressing the masses of people who had stopped to watch. The political leaflets and ramblings that had hitherto escaped with a barely a moment's interest from anyone, had taken an unexpected twist towards the interesting.
“Paige, go home.”
“I see you have a by-election coming up and I'd like to ask you if you think it's a good idea to elect a representative from the party who are in Government right now. Who are destroying your health service. Who are denying refugees a place of safety. Who are cutting the benefits of the poorest in society and forcing their children into poverty. I ask you, should you elect these bastards back into office?”
“Paige!” Jack shouted and went to speak, but Damien, the floppy-haired sports manager, tapped him on the shoulder.
“I'll deal with this.”
“Ummm …” Jack hesitated, looking furiously at his uncontrollable girlfriend.
“Little lady,” he simpered. “This is a good show, but in grown-up politics we don't simply turn up and throw insults at our opponents.”
Paige was unmoved.“Is that so? In grown-up politics we don't demonize immigrants. In grown-up politics, we don't demonize the disabled. In grown-up politics, we don't demonize the working poor, or the refugees and we don't …”
“You are mistaken,” he smarmily told her. “Let me explain it to you.”
“Oh, please do!” Paige joked and folded her arms. A titter emerged from the growing crowd, as she mocked his sincerity.
“We need to balance the books and that means turning the country into a high-wage, low-tax, low-benefit economy. And that will involve difficult decisions but we are committed …”
“ … to fucking over those people that aren't bankers. So tell me,” she asked, gesturing to the people around her. “The good people of Redhill who have seen their hospital services decimated. Their tax credits cut. Their roads not repaired. I mean, the roads didn’t look in great nick as we came down.”
“They're shit!” A voice shouted.
“Indeed. All this is a price to pay so millionaires can get a cut in their tax rate. And you think that stopping the benefits of disabled people so that some commit suicide is a price to pay for rich bankers to be able to buy more Ferraris? Shame on you!”
The activists behind her yelled angrily in support of their friend, aggressively shouting slogans towards the party faithful.
“No. That's not true,” he yelled.
“It is.” Paige countered. “You have blood on your hands. The Nasty evil party has blood on it's hands.” She repeated herself vociferously as the activists moved ever closer. Paige, and her friend pulled large water pistols from their plastic bag, filled with bottled water from the coffee shop and red food colouring from Paige's kitchen. “Blood on your hands,” she yelled as the red water landed over the party stall and dowsed the candidate.
Jack lurched forwards to grab the gun. Paige's aim was clear as she emptied the reservoir on her partner before fleeing into the arms of a policeman, called to the source of the commotion from the end of the High Street.
“I think we need to have a word, missy.”
“Fuck,” she cried as her friends melted away into the Surrey town. “Not again.”
Chapter XIX
Jack & Paige
He surveyed the carnage; their stand had been knocked over in the attack and their leaflets drenched. The local election candidate and himself had been soaked in fake blood. Many in the crowd took sneaky photographs; some had recorded it.
The protesters had melted away into the town, hidden amongst shoppers and offic
e workers, with only Paige and her friend being held by the two policeman intrigued by the shouting coming from the other end of the street.
“What's gone on here?” He gruffly asked, as Paige wriggled free of his grasp. “Don't I know you?”
“She's Paige Simmons. International singer,” Leah shouted. “Leave her alone.”
“Ahh, and this is …” Jack looked up at the officer holding his girlfriend and then back at the diminutive firebrand.
“This is my girlfriend,” Jack needlessly added. “We have political differences.”
“That is, he is turning to the dark side and …”
“Paige shut up and give it a rest,” Jack shouted, interrupting her. He rubbed his eyes and turned away from her. There was a moments silence. He watched one of the activists scoop the damaged leaflets into a nearby bin and he glanced over his shoulder at the two policemen.
“Paige Simmons, I am arresting you for assault, breach of the peace and offences contravening the public order act.”
“I don't want to press charges,” Jack interrupted. “I mean I'd love to, but I'm not going to.”
“Sir …”
“I'm not going to press charges,” he repeated to the officer. His party faithful mumbled behind him, and the policeman released his grip on the young singer. Jack looked away from her as Leah was led away.
Paige saw the sight of her friend in handcuffs. “What’s happening?” She shouted and Jack grabbed the arm of his girlfriend.
“I am pressing charges,” Damien shouted to Paige, squirming in her partner's grip. “She hit me with the butt of her weapon. I wanna see her in prison. These disgusting job-shy layabouts need to go to prison.”
“Damien,” Jack called. “Cool it.” He growled as Jack looked towards Paige. “You too.”
“They've arrested Leah. I wanna …”
“You are not doing anything. I'm taking you home,” he said with a harsh finality undercutting his words.
“I can grab the train and …”
“I'll take you home,” he snarled ungraciously. “Would be really good if you apologised though.”
“What for?” Paige asked indignantly.
“Do you think you've done anything wrong?” He asked as people listened on the continuation of their public row.
“I'm not a two year old.” She pouted.
He snorted. “Try acting it! We’ll continue this in the car.”
“Oh goodie,” Paige mumbled, loud enough so that her partner could hear it.
He said goodbye to his fellow party members and apologised, embarrassed by the activities of his girlfriend. He strode at pace to his parked saloon car a few hundred metres away. Paige followed behind him and sunk in the passenger seat. “At least I didn't do it naked.”
“Paige, this isn't funny,” he yelled. “You've just humiliated me in front of people I need to win over. I need their support. I want to be a councillor. I want to enter politics, maybe I’ll never be an MP but I want to be part of our democratic process. Why are you trying to ruin this for me?”
“I really would like to see my boyfriend. Twenty times in the last month you've been out, rallies, leaflet drops, meetings, schmoozing and to do what? To join a party that we've spent time opposing. That youth club in Southend we bought and gave to the community, remember it?”
“I know,” he snapped.
“You should go there and hear the problems those people have. The poverty that this government has caused. The taking away of all sorts of things that hasn't been replaced that has made life really difficult. Ignore the lies, Jack. This Government has done evil.”
“As did Stalin. And Blair. And Thatcher. And Governments of all colours have done bad things.” Jack gulped. “How about just accepting that this is my choice? You don't get a veto on what I can and can't do. And I know you're a socialist and you're dreaming of a utopian state with your wannabe Trotsky friends, but that's not my politics. I am more centre-ground than that.”
Paige looked out of the window as he started the car and moved onto the main road. They travelled in silence towards their multimillion pound mansion and he parked his saloon at the end of the drive alongside their home. “What happens now?” Paige asked. “We aren't going to be able to agree that what you are doing is OK.”
Jack sighed. “I still love you. Right now, I'm really angry with you and I want some space, but I still love you. But I do need to ask you to allow me to do my own thing.”
Paige bit her lip. “But, what happens when it means we aren't seeing so much of each other? What happens when there is no Paige and Jack time?”
“OK. I'll tone it down a bit. You could have just talked to me.”
“Pah!” Paige squealed. “Would you have listened?”
“Yes!” He cried. “Of course. Look, I have been trying to impress them a bit. And show that I'm an active member. But I won't do quite as much, so long as you promise to stay away from me when I'm with the party.”
“OK. I won't do it again.”
Jack grunted. “I'm going for a shower and a swim.”
Paige leant over the gear stick and kissed him on the lips. “Or you could just have a shower and come to bed,” she giggled. “And I'll show you how sorry I am.”
* * *
Paige travelled to a South London industrial estate listening to the radio. She liked the mid-morning DJ and was glad to be giving Jack some time to contemplate and reflect. Some time apart from him was not an unwise move, especially after the angry e-mail he received from Damien.
Danny beckoned her into the large building, and Paige shook hands with a number of people. They were smart, studious and yet relaxed. She felt self-conscious. She had given the sitcom some thought and although finances hadn't been discussed, she wasn't against the idea of being an actress in their show.
The script was full of stereotypes and lazy generalisations; that was her first request to the director: could she rewrite much of the poorly constructed scene setting?
He winced as she started reeling off the highlighted sections in her notepad. Why did it assume that Violet struggles to get boyfriends because she works naked? Why did it keep calling the resort a colony? Why did it body shame the larger guests? “And for fucks sake, stop calling it 'topless' or 'bottomless'?” She added as she reached the end of the first scene on the first episode.
“What is it?”
“Topfree, bottomfree or clothes-free. Less indicates something is missing.”
“It is,” the director replied.
“No. The clothing is not missing. It's not present.” He screwed up his face and Paige sighed. “Have you been to a naturist camp?” He shook his head, and Paige pulled out her mobile phone. “I am prepared to do this, I think, if this is done properly. Naturism and nudism are rarely portrayed correctly and …”
“This is supposed to be comedy,” the director interrupted. “Listen, love, we're making a comedy here.”
“I know.” She took a deep breath. “Only Fools and Horses was one of our best comedies and that had genuine, authentic South London market speak. And was set in a typical South London tower block. Blackadder, which Jack likes for some reason, was historically accurate. And Porridge and Dad's Army and all the others. There was an element of truth in them.”
“Maybe,” he groaned; he'd heard similar complaints from their 'Nudism Consultant' who had told him to tear up most of the script. “Can we do a screen test?”
“You need to get your arse down to Euronat or something. It'll still be warm down in Bordeaux this time of year. Experience it. And then we'll talk.”
“Can we do a screen test?”
“Oh, and we need to talk about this script loads. There are huge gaps in the logic.”
“Can we do a screen test?”
“And why do you have a pervert in Episode 6. That episode needs to be rewritten completely.”
“Can we do a screen test, please?” His tone was fiercer and Paige contemplated her next actions.
“OK. But I am not doing this show until that script has been edited to be non-judgemental and less fucking nasty.” He sighed as Paige was led into the adjoining room containing a small mock-up of what the fictional club restroom would resemble. A couple of cameramen, holding expensive electronics, waited for Paige to prepare herself and she idly threw her clothes onto the sofa.
No-one said anything as she was given two pages of A4 and she memorised her lines. Danny played the parts of the other characters.
Paige's performance was not polished, nor was it great acting. She walked around the pool table and the chairs without clothes naturally and she delivered her unemotional, but comedic lines, with conviction and plausibility. It was not a bad audition.
Danny led his friend out of the studio after they finished. “We hope to do the pilot at the end of the year, and then if that is green lighted go for the Spring of next year to do the filming.”
“I thought you said it had been given the go?”
“It has. Well we have the go ahead to do the pilot and they've said that unless the pilot is dire, we'll get the full series. I think he likes you.” He nodded his head back towards the open door of the studio.
“I didn't like his script! I've gotta go, my bus leaves in ten minutes.” Danny burst into laughter.
“You've still not passed your test?”
“I've not been trying really. There's only one planet,” she replied with detached steeliness. “Jack drives. He tried to teach me and gave me some lessons but he's given up now. So I take the bus. Or the train.”
“But … I'll catch ya later.” He shouted, waving at his friend as she walked off the industrial estate.
Paige had given the director absolute warning that she expected his show to be changed to meet her naturist ideals. If he couldn’t accept, then his show might lose a capable actress and a star name.
But at least his show might get made.
Chapter XX
Hazel
The young lady took the remaining dozen bottles from the table. “Sorry,” she repeated to the villa's maid. “My husband had a bit of a party here last night.” She winced at the memory of half-a-dozen local men, befriended by her partner, being invited back to their exclusive villa to drink on their private beach and then in the rented property.
Bare Necessities 2 (The Bare Necessities) Page 9