Bare Necessities 2 (The Bare Necessities)

by John David Harding

  “Well that's all I really have. Oh, did you want to do Panto? Reigate are doing Red Riding Hood and they want a scary Big Bad … oh never mind.”

  “I don't want to do panto. I want to do what I used to do.”

  “Forget that. Your squabbling with Paige on prime-time television brought all those memories of Peter Moran being investigated, charged and prosecuted for underage sex. And the sights of that woman on the steps of the court as she came to support the victim.”

  “There was no victim!” Peter shouted. “She just made out like there was. I am the victim, not those bloody women.”

  “And by you doing that show with her brought back all those memories. You should have walked out there and then. Contract or no contract.”

  “I wanted to. I tried to ring you but there was no answer.”

  His agent blushed slightly at the mention of her lack of availability. “Sparring with Paige has set you back in your image rehabilitation.”

  Peter groaned. “Is EuroSong really the only option?”

  “Fraid so!”

  “I'll do it. I wish someone would rid me of this troublesome naturist!”

  “Me too,” added the agent. “Make my job much easier.” She looked at her watch. “And if things don’t improve then we may need to look at our arrangement and see if we can continue to represent you.”

  “But we’ve been together for 25 years!”

  “I know,” the agent replied. “But some things aren’t meant to last forever. Perhaps it’ll be time for you to look towards other ventures away from the limelight. Perhaps your time is over and it’s time to look towards a new challenge.”

  “But …”

  “I’ve got to go. I’ve got another meeting.”

  “But … we’ve only just …”

  The agent looked apologetically at him. “Sorry, I’m backed up all day. Marie will get you a coffee or show you out.”

  Chapter XX VIII

  Claire

  The past twelve hours had been a blur. Claire had received a visit from her new bandmates; they had turned up to complete some rehearsals in her studio and Ethan had got decidedly frustrated with their host when she confessed she had failed to learn any of her guitar solos. “I'll just wing it,” was the unacceptable response. “It'll be fine. I’ve never had a problem.”

  The band had left Claire’s house, upset and angry. The original trio of Nuclear Monkeys had worked hard to get themselves in a position where their music could sustain a several date tour and while they were not playing to the massive venues that sold 50,000 tickets, the success of their live performances was the only thing that kept money coming in and a roof over their heads.

  Becky and Claire squabbled; the fiery lead singer yelled angrily at their guitarist, accusing her of sabotage and laziness. Claire had not mastered a single one of their songs and it was obviously the Nuclear Monkeys longed for their ex-guitarist back.

  Claire fled to her drinks cabinet the moment they left her house. The drugs had long since gone, but Claire had a well-stocked supply of alcohol ready to indulge her longing. Dinner was nothing more than a sandwich, complemented with a couple of glasses of wine. A few more followed, before the beer, spirits and tequila were opened.

  Claire, bored by her own company, staggered into the Essex town she had made her home. The first pub refused to serve the drunken woman, the second was less responsible and Claire bought a dozen rounds of drinks for a stag party as they played lewd drinking games.

  She was admired by the half-naked men, boozing and humiliating themselves as they sank enough alcohol to tranquillise a hippo.

  They allowed Claire to gatecrash. Nobody in the party was sober enough to recognise who she was, but she bought several rounds of alcohol and joined in with their antics.

  The chanting and singing was tolerated, but the stag being stripped in the pub was too much for the permissive staff; the landlord ordered the group to leave his premises when a bespectacled and overweight gentleman ran into the snug without clothes, before vomiting over a table.

  Their behaviour had gone too far. All three barmen, in additional to the surly landlord, were required to expel the drunken louts, and they had to threaten them with the Police.

  The stag party spilled onto the quiet streets; Claire was fondled openly by members of the party but she was barely able to notice. The men happily exposed themselves to other revellers, and they laughed as Claire joined the groom in running naked alongside them.

  The best man held onto her clothes, his manhood flopping through the fly of his jeans as he ran. They looked ridiculous. The cold night air stung her skin, and it would have been worse had she not had her alcoholic overcoat to shield her from feeling the worst of the cold, night-time chill.

  As they rounded a corner into a residential street, she staggered and slipped, falling into a garden after the best man gave her a gentle push. She shrieked and yelled after them, wet grass sticking to her naked legs. They didn’t stop, laughing as the best man gripped her clothes tightly, before dropping her handbag on the pavement containing her bank cards and phone.

  “Come here, you bastards!” She shouted, picking up a piece of rubbish and throwing it towards the escaping stag party.

  It was a glass beer bottle, spinning in the air as it arced across the night-time sky.

  It broke, shattering loudly; the footsteps in the distance never stopped as the crashing sound echoed in the still night.

  Claire's gaze jerked leftwards; it had broke on a police car with a policeman in it. He stopped his vehicle, took one look at the naked woman, startled and shocked, and called after the fleeing naturist.

  She barely went four steps before she was bundled into the grass verge, and the policeman grabbed her hands behind her back, pulling her arms roughly. He handcuffed her.

  Drunk and disorderly, resisting arrest and criminal damage. Arrested, processed and left to spend the night in the cell.

  Her drunken bravado had long since gone, the room spun and shook. She shivered. The Police had provided her with basic, polyester clothes, but they itched and she longed for her own threads again.

  She barely slept until 3am, when she succumbed to the tiredness and slipped away to a sleep. The following morning, an apologetic Claire signed the caution thrust under her nose.

  “If you need some professional help, your doctor should be able to advise.” The gruff sergeant eyed the bedraggled woman; her eyes stung, her skin pale with a birds nest of matted hair thrown onto her head.

  “I don't,” Claire said quickly. “A night of excess. Won't happen again.”

  “Make sure it doesn't! We’re not used to naked women throwing bottles at our police cars!” He chuckled. “Even rock stars.”

  “I won't,” Claire promised; the policeman held her handbag aloft. “Dropped by your friends,” he said passing the bag over the desk to her. “It was brought by the arresting officer. Along with your clothes. They found those on Sunderland Street!” She thanked the duty officer as he passed a supermarket bag of crumpled clothing, and got dressed; they smelt of beer. Claire quietly slipped into the anonymous car park behind the back of the police station, miles from her house.

  Claire dialled an old friend on her phone. “Hey, Emit, fancy coming to mine tonight? We'll get a takeaway in and I'll make sure I have some beers in. I've had a massive fucking nightmare. Just need to forget about it. Just need to get fucked. In every way.”

  Chapter XXIX

  Hazel

  The large, luxury vehicle glided to a stop outside Paige's house causing the gravel to crunch as the tyres came to rest. The red-haired singer opened the car door, causing the chauffeuse to exclaim as Paige clambered into the car. “I'm supposed to do that!”

  “I can open the door y'know,” Paige bristled as she sat in the seat. “Just because I sing doesn't mean I can't do basic things like open car doors!”

  “It's …” The voice of the female chauffeur trailed off as Paige closed the door and sat
opposite her little sister.

  “You causing trouble again?”

  “No!” Paige snapped and raised an eyebrow at her red-haired sister watching a video on her tablet; the luxury car smoothly glided away from Paige's house. “See you've gone up in the world!” Paige teased, gesturing at the inside of the vehicle.

  “Ahh, Ricky says he’s leased it for a few months and it comes with a driver. He said I could borrow it for the day!”

  “No doubt a better driver than you!” Paige teased.

  “When Miss Simmons passes her test,” Hazel started, causing Paige to dismiss her sister with a sneer.

  “What's that?” She said, changing the subject of their conversation to the sound coming from Hazel's portable electronics.

  “I want your opinion on them,” Hazel asked and passed Paige the tablet. A band played music on stage; the video camera work was shaky and the video lacked professionalism.

  “The vids …”

  “Shit. But what about them?” The female lead singer's voice was soft against the harsh drums and imposing guitar. “We're thinking of signing them up.”

  “So why do you need my opinion?” Paige asked. “Surely Andre has already decided.”

  “He has, but I want your thoughts. I always like your opinion. On musical matters especially.” Hazel smiled at her sister; the request for her sibling to review the musical quality of potential clients was not infrequent.

  Paige listened again, squinting her eyes and then passed the tablet back to her sister. “The lead singer has too weak a voice. If she wants to compete with big drums and the like then she needs to sharpen up. Giving her mic a boost will help. The tempo of their music is too slow. It's like a violent dirge and no-one likes that. And they are clothed. They need to be unclothed to reach their potential.”

  “That's just you!” Hazel snarled.

  “Yeah, but if I’m right and it all works out then slimy Andre gets more money. That’s not a great end result for us all.”

  “End result is that I have a job,” Hazel countered. “Me keeping that job is sort of dependent on me being successful! Andre's got a loan to move into the plush offices and the like so if I am not bringing in the money he will sack me. Nothing personal, just capitalism. So helping me is still helping me. And at the moment, he's not touching your account at all. It's just me, so if I go then Andre is your manager again.”

  “He won't sack you. He's too scared of me.”

  Hazel bit her lip. “You know Paige, he’s really upset what’s happened. He’s been a different man in the office for these last three months. I …”

  “My heart bleeds for him,” Paige interrupted, sniping at her sister. “You know there was an ancient English tribe who when the men were unfaithful, they would go into the street, and cut their balls off. I …”

  Hazel giggled. “I’ll tell him that one of his clients would like him to publicly self-castrate himself.”

  “Personally, I’m happy for him to go fuck himself,” Paige retorted angrily. “He betrayed our trust. He betrayed Claire’s trust. There’s no going back from that.”

  “OK. But he is still a nice guy. Just has a weakness.” Paige didn’t respond.

  The chauffeuse drove the two girls into the Surrey countryside in Ricky's expensive car. “Where is your new husband?”

  “Paris, swimwear modelling.”

  Paige snarled. “Swimwear. What a pointless invention.” Hazel giggled; she had heard Paige's monologue before, but her elder sister didn't waste an opportunity to recite it again. “What does it do? It doesn't keep you dry. It doesn't keep you warm. It doesn't stop bacteria from getting to your skin, and in fact it does the opposite. Essential for swimming for so many people and what exactly does a swimming costume do? Nothing. It's not like a hockey stick or football boots. That's sports equipment that actually helps you do the sport. All swimming costumes do is make you slower in the pool and colder out of it. Total waste of time and completely contrary to common sense.”

  “Wow!” Hazel teased. “That's the first time I've heard you say that without swearing!”

  “Fuck off!” They smiled at each other. “I'm right though, aren't I?”

  “Will it make you happy if I say you're right?” Hazel asked and when Paige nodded, Hazel concurred to make their journey continue more peacefully.

  They arrived at a spa on the outskirts of the county, and Paige paid for their booking. The two women chatted over lunch; Hazel opted for just a piece of fruit as Paige grimaced over the spa's refusal to stock anything too unhealthy. She had to settle for a chicken panini.

  “You can eat proper food, you know.”

  “Ricky doesn't … well I mean, I don't …” Paige put her expensive sandwich on her plate and glared at her sister, forcing her to continue. “I don't want to put on weight and I've been naughty recently so this is me being careful.”

  “Careful? For what. I can see your bloody skeleton.”

  “Ummm … not everyone can eat like a horse and still look wonderful, with no effort. I’m not like you Paige. You have a crazy metabolism so you look fine without trying.”

  “Hey. I have to get an all over body wax every month or so. Do you know how much that hurts? The last time was excruciating. I had hair where I didn't think I could possibly have hair. And my waxer is a complete sadist, no doubt trained by the SS. She delighted in my pain. So this is not no effort. And all those people who are hairless and immaculate and get told 'well no-one will see it.' I don't have that luxury. Who will see it? Bloody everyone!”

  “You still eat loads and don't put a pound on.”

  “I have a high-ish metabolism. That's true. But please don't starve yourself because of Ricky. He's only your husband. He's not worth it.”

  “I'm not starving myself.” Paige held the banana skin in front of her eyes and then dropped it back onto her sister's plate.

  “Here, have a crisp. Just one crisp.” She taunted her sister with the fried potato disc, who pushed her hand away.

  “Leave me alone,” she snapped, sipping the spring water and watching as Paige devoured her chocolate cake, and then her sister's fat-free yoghurt.

  The spa complex was quiet; the handful of saunas and spa rooms surrounded a large swimming pool and a plethora of treatment rooms.

  Paige wandered into the changing areas, casually disrobing and throwing her clothes into a locker as her sister changed into a swimming costume. “Aren't you … silly question,” she muttered as she watched her naked sister sling a fluffy white towel over her shoulder and step into the spa.

  It was “clothing optional.”

  But for Paige, clothes were never an option!

  Chapter XXX

  Paige

  She fidgeted in her local hospital's reception area. Paige was early. She had left in good time, taking a taxi to the hospital as soon as Jack had left the house. They were barely speaking to each other and despite Paige's pleas for a truce, he was refusing to forgive his girlfriend for her indiscretions.

  She had other things to worry about. The pregnancy tests had confirmed her worst fears and an appointment with her doctor at the surgery was unable to tell her much more; other than she was, almost certainly, pregnant.

  “We'll do a dating scan, so we know,” was the promise, and then made Paige an appointment at the maternity unit for the following day.

  “Can't you do it now?” The talented singer asked.

  “Has to be at the hospital. They have the ultrasound equipment.” Paige accepted the next available slot 24 hours later.

  Paige had never been to a maternity unit before; the white floors, cold hard plastic chairs and dour ceiling tiles gave it a clinically sterile atmosphere. Colourful posters advising new mothers to breastfeed, abstain from smoking and alcohol and to lead healthy, active lives dominated the wall space.

  Mothers and pregnant women of all ages filled the waiting area; the sound of numerous crying babies, each one competing for attention, were the soundtrack of
the hospital. A young lady, no more than sixteen, looked up from her phone.

  “Hey, you look a bit like Paige Simmons.”

  Paige’s heart fluttered. “A lot of people say that.” Paige tucked her hair behind her ear. “But I don’t get it so much since she moved to California.”

  “Has she?” The pregnant teenager exclaimed. “Yeah, she’s rich I guess. I’d go if I got that rich.”

  “Me too,” Paige said, grateful that the nurse called the teenager in for her appointment as she spoke. She did not want Jack to find out about her pregnancy from the gossip pages of the newspaper, or Twitter.

  Paige had agonised as to whether to tell her partner or not about her pregnancy. In any other normal time she would have told him immediately, but the hostility towards her from her boyfriend was enough to make her reconsider. She didn't want to muddy any waters and her emotional state was taking a battering by his aloof behaviour.

  She admitted she shouldn't have publicly humiliated him or attacked him with water pistols. But it was her acting out of principle and conscience. Every thing she did was because she thought she was doing right and it was her uncompromising feisty nature that had attracted them to each other so much in the first place. She couldn't choose when to display attitude and when to be demure. She came as a package, as one.

  Or now, as two. Only Jack was not aware of this fact. Her feet strummed against the chair legs and her fingers drummed angrily against the celebrity magazine she held. It contained pictures of her sister's wedding, and she idly leafed through the pages to spot her family and of her.

  The first dance, complete with her singing naked, was one of the big spreads and the few lines of write-up that the female “lifestyle journalist” had written was effusive in her praise for the happy couple on their big day. Ricky was “smart” and “witty” which were two words Paige would never have chosen. Hazel was “beautiful” and “angelic” which was half-way there.