Dreams of Sex and Stage Diving

by Martin Millar

  “Soon we’ll have enough money for our holiday,” whispered Cary, and this made the world seem especially fine.

  Unfortunately for Cary she was mistaken in this, being unaware that their savings had dramatically shrunk due to Elfish’s urgent need for a pair of sunglasses.

  Sunglasses were a problem for Elfish. The pain that the sun caused her made it important for her to have some and the upcoming gig made it vital that they looked good. When she walked on stage with Queen Mab she did not intend to be wearing a bad pair of shades. Unfortunately, to her surprise, she had found that good sunglasses were expensive. There were many pairs on sale in Brixton, hanging in racks outside the bargain shops alongside baseball caps and unbranded washing-up liquid, but none of them were at all satisfactory. The only pair good enough were sitting in the window of a chemist and they were outrageously expensive.

  Where could she get some money from immediately? Pacing her room in frustration, a picture suddenly formed in her mind of Cary and Lilac burying something in their garden. It struck her forcefully that it could well be money because any money they had would have to be hidden from Dennis’s overwhelming desire to drink Special Brew all the time.

  It was the work of only a few seconds to climb the garden wall, scrabble around in the dirt and remove the tin, thereby dashing her young neighbours’ hopes of a quiet week away from the city.

  Afterwards, posing with some enthusiasm in front of a shop window, Elfish was pleased. They were excellent sunglasses. And she was satisfied to have robbed Cary and Lilac, who continually tormented her, and had had the effrontery to involve themselves in a painting of Queen Mab.

  fifty-three

  ARAN HAD A strong temptation to program Elfish into his video game but was undecided as to whether she was about to bring off a spectacular triumph or plunge into disaster. He decided against it anyway. Elfish would not be pleased to find her own brother suspecting that she was not going to fulfil her dream. Aran was aware that Elfish, now with no real friends, had come to depend on him for support.

  He stared at his computer terminal. It was becoming a little tedious simply sweeping the raft towards the edge of the world all the time. Aran programed in a new level where it disappeared down the middle of a whirlpool, landing in a gloomy underground world full of trolls and serpents.

  Aran’s game was actually even more tedious than he imagined because he had no real idea of how to make a game work well. Anyone other than himself would have seen it for the ridiculous thing that it was. Still, an author who has abandoned writing as a stupid endeavour has to do something.

  Once underground the adventurers had the opportunity to find their way back to safety by following a silken thread laid out like the one that led Theseus safely from the maze after slaying the Minotaur. Following this, however, led immediately to a place where the path branched off into sixty tunnels, only one of which led to the way out.

  Aran chuckled as his mythical and historical characters failed to find the way out.

  “Looks like it’s back to the ocean for you,” he said, as they were forced by dragons down a deep well which brought them once more on to their raft and right up to the final waterfall of doom.

  He was not entirely happy with this level. What if someone managed to pick the right way out? It was sixty to one but that was not a chance Aran was willing to take. He reworked it a little, placing a vast army of trolls at the end of the one correct tunnel to chase off anyone who made it that far.

  Ben Jonson, Cleopatra, Pericles, Botticelli, Mick Ronson, Bomber Harris and Red Sonja, battered by their underground struggle with the trolls, sat grim-faced as the raft teetered on the brink of the void. Among them was another dark and mysterious figure who seemed to have appeared from nowhere; no one knew who she was and she did not speak.

  fifty-four

  IT WAS TIME for Elfish to rehearse. Aran walked down to the studio with his sister, helping her with her equipment. He noticed that Elfish’s normally dour features were set into something that could almost have been a smile.

  “Things are going well, I take it?”

  “Line twenty-seven. And that’s not all.”

  She pointed to her sunglasses. Aran admired them, telling her she was bound to look cool on stage.

  Elfish had further reason to be satisfied. She informed Aran that in one magnificent stroke she had turned round the situation in her house. Instead of four harridans from hell waiting to pounce on her and toss her out into the street, Elfish now had four enthusiastic helpers willing her on to victory. The house, only yesterday a repository of gloom and despair, was, according to Elfish, now a hive of youthful and positive activity. It had taken her some effort to do this as her natural inclination was to distress her flatmates rather than cheer them up, but Elfish had deemed it necessary for her purposes.

  The tale she told Aran was impressive indeed. It showed again the vast range of Elfish’s imaginative powers in matters pertaining to her own advancement. In answer to Chevon’s enquiry about what opportunity for success presented itself, Elfish had pointed out that even someone as dense and insular as Chevon had no doubt noticed that Elfish was getting her band together again. Were Chevon only to look at the matter properly she would see that this was good news for the magazine because the fund-raising possibilities of Elfish’s band were limitless.

  “If you and your friends were to get behind me in matters of promoting gigs and suchlike we would already have a solid base for making money. Not a great deal round here, I admit, but you probably only need a few hundred pounds to get the magazine off to a good start. We could easily raise that. But that would only be the beginning. Now this next thing is strictly confidential . . .”

  Elfish then related, quite untruthfully but entirely convincingly, that for the past three months she had been secretly sleeping with Adam, Brixton’s only rock star. His band was a phenomenon in that they were based in Brixton and were successful. They were so successful that they toured the world and released records that sold in millions.

  This was true about the band, and Adam’s walls were lined with gold records, but he never socialised in Brixton and neither Elfish nor anyone she knew had ever actually met him.

  “And he has promised me that we can support him in some gigs. As he has a regular girlfriend who would not be particularly pleased to learn that I have been shagging him, I think I can count on his promise. Adam in fact is a very right-on musician. He is not above helping good causes and there is every reason to suppose that were I to ask him at an appropriate moment, for instance when I am giving him a blow-job, if his band would do a benefit for the magazine, he might well agree.”

  “And did this work?” asked Aran.

  “It did indeed. The prospect of money won them over entirely. They are as venal as everybody else. They are now working for me on the definite understanding that prosperous benefit gigs will follow soon. What’s more, Gail is going to borrow a bass guitar and play for me on Saturday so my band is complete. She is a lousy guitarist and will probably be even worse on bass but at least she’ll be there. My guitar will cover up most of what she plays anyway. Also they will bring along their friends to the gig which is good because they have lots of friends and I get a split of the door.

  “I had further arguments in reserve, such as pointing out that as a woman I should be supported in my struggle with Mo, especially as I may end up in a position in which he can demand anything he desires, but by that time I had won my case anyway. All in all a complete triumph, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  Elfish frowned slightly though, at the very thought of losing to Mo.

  Aran carried her guitar into the rehearsal rooms under the arches.

  “You haven’t actually ever met Adam the rock star, have you?”

  Elfish shook her head.

  “If your band got going, would you play benefits for the magazine?”

  “You must be joking,” said Elfish. “Fuck benefits. I wouldn’t sully the name of Q
ueen Mab. This is rock and roll.”

  fifty-five

  AFTER LEAVING ELFISH to her rehearsal Aran was immediately depressed. He ignored the beggar who hung around outside the studio, optimistic after receiving money from May, and wandered off aimlessly.

  He wondered who he could go to and tell about his unhappiness. No one sprang to mind. Each of his few friends was a long way past their tolerance limit as regards Aran’s continual depression.

  His day of discomfort at the heat and aimless unhappiness did contain one small success when he found card number three in his second packet of cigarettes.

  “Right!” said Aran. “Number three. No doubt sent to Brixton due to a packaging error at the factory.”

  Now he had only one card left to collect. The five pounds was almost his.

  After this, however, he had nothing at all to do. Nothing interested him. A cluster of unwanted people who sat regularly on a bench on a wide corner asked him for cigarettes but Aran ignored them. His generosity, what there was of it, had disappeared with his girlfriend.

  When a few hours of aimless wandering had brought him nowhere he found himself back at the rehearsal studio. The band might be taking a break.

  In this he was lucky. As he arrived Elfish was forcing coins into the coffee machine and hitting it to hurry the process along.

  “What are you doing back here?” she asked, and Aran confessed that he had nothing better to do.

  “Then why not go and keep Shonen happy?”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I’ve been worried about her ever since I heard she slept with Mo. Any woman Mo has slept with becomes a prime suspect in my eyes, and needs careful watching.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to be carefully watched?”

  “She will. Shonen loves attention. All neurotics love attention. As long as you are prepared to listen to their problems, they’re happy. Just politely ignore it when she leaves the room to vomit. Stay with her as long as you can, I don’t want Mo getting back to her. I don’t care what she learns after the gig is over but until then she has to stay on my side. So go and keep her happy.” Elfish glanced at Aran’s miserable face. “Well, perhaps that’s asking too much. But keep her occupied. Be sympathetic about her bad childhood. Help her with her sponsorship forms. Talk about Shakespeare. Tell her stories. Fuck her.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not? You’re still fairly attractive and Shonen will probably sleep with anyone who’s prepared to listen to her problems for long enough. I would do it myself because you know I always like to fuck Mo’s lovers to annoy him but I haven’t got time. Also, I must admit I find Shonen fairly disgusting these days. Listening to her neuroses for a few hours would drive me completely mad. But you’ll be good at it. You like talking about personal problems. I’m sure if you can make it through to about four in the morning without falling asleep or displaying too much obvious boredom you’ll probably just end up naturally in bed. Go and see Shonen and make yourself useful. Remember, I still need her because I’m stuck on the speech.”

  Leaving the studio, Aran remembered to his frustration that he had forgotten to tell Elfish about finding card number three. Perhaps he should go back.

  He decided against it. Elfish probably wasn’t as interested in his cards as she pretended to be. It struck him that he should have asked his sister how the rehearsal was going. Aran sighed. He could not do anything right these days. What was it about your girlfriend leaving you that made everything so bad?

  He shook his head, and tried to walk, but each step felt difficult and he wondered if he should just throw himself under a car and get it over with. A truck would be better. He glanced around to see if there was anything suitable coming along the road. Then he realised that he couldn’t throw himself under a truck just now as he was meant to be doing something for Elfish.

  A strange and unrecognisable emotion crept into his soul. This unrecognisable emotion was something like a sense of purpose, although it was so long since Aran had had any sense of purpose he would have been unable even to put a name to it.

  Elfish’s unquenchable drive, which was even now pulling Shonen and the others along in its wake, was also getting to Aran.

  Not looking where he was going, he bumped into Cary and Lilac. He cursed himself for his carelessness. Usually Aran kept a close lookout for the hated couple and would take long diversions to avoid having to deal with their cheerfulness.

  To his amazement they were not cheerful. They were sad-faced and seemed to have been crying. They stood looking very small and hopeless among the busy crowds outside the tube station.

  “Someone stole our money,” they said.

  The loss had been devastating to them. Their dreams of a holiday in the country had crumbled into nothing. Their optimistic spirits were crushed. It seemed too hard to start again. They would not now have a holiday. They assumed that Dennis had stolen their money to buy drink. Aran left them in the street, wandering around in purposeless depression.

  Aran, who had not asked Elfish how she had paid for her expensive sunglasses, but knew her very well, had a better idea of where the money had gone. He marvelled at his sister’s single-mindedness and capacity for direct action. What a woman. In one powerful move she had got herself an excellent item of apparel and delivered a much-needed lesson to Cary and Lilac. It was high time they discovered that life was not all dancing and putting daisies in each other’s hair. He nodded in approval as he made his way down to Shonen’s.

  Back in the studio the rehearsal was going well and everyone’s life felt better as the music rolled out, although Elfish’s filthy appearance and manic behaviour was a little unsettling to the others. Also unsettling was her new habit of quoting Shakespeare at inappropriate moments. She now did this fairly often, apparently without realising what she was doing.

  fifty-six

  ELFISH’S PREDICTION CAME true. After listening to Shonen talk about her bulimia, her various other neuroses and their associated problems for five and a half hours, Aran did end up in bed with her. Unfortunately they had some difficulty in having sex. This was due to problems with condoms; that is, Aran found it difficult to put one on. With his stress, depression, increased drinking and huge cigarette consumption, Aran was no longer the potent young man he once had been, and he had found it increasingly difficult to get strong erections in recent sexual encounters. This made the condom a particular problem because the one thing you must have to use a condom is a firm erection. It was, as Aran found to his cost, no use simply trying to stuff a half-erect penis into one and hoping things would get better.

  It had started off reasonably enough with Shonen, and he certainly found her thin body very attractive. When she gripped his penis it went hard quickly, or fairly quickly, but the instant he stretched over to remove the condom from its packet things went badly wrong. Reaching down eagerly to slide it on he found to his distress that his cock was no longer hard enough. Seeing his erection disappearing he tried to rush things but this only made matters worse.

  “Oh dear,” said Shonen.

  “Yes,” said Aran, and dived quickly to lick Shonen’s vagina, partly to cover his embarrassment and partly to keep her from losing interest. Shonen squirmed on top of him to suck his cock and to Aran’s relief it again went hard.

  Now is the moment, he thought, and tore himself free to have another go with the prophylactic. His fingers fumbled nervously with the packet as he tried to rip it open, feeling instinctively that this was a race against time. The packet split apart but in Aran’s eagerness he pushed his fingernail straight through the rubber.

  “Well, that’s not much fucking good,” he snarled. “I thought these things were all electronically tested.”

  Shonen waited patiently as he reached for his third condom of the night. He opened this one more carefully and tried rolling it on but he was too late. His erection was fading sadly away, and a general numbness told him that it would be some time in returning.
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br />   “Well,” said Shonen. “They are certainly an efficient method of contraception. There seems very little chance of me getting pregnant. What exactly is the problem?”

  “Nothing at all,” replied Aran. “Well, not much. I’m just not very good with condoms. They make my erections disappear.”

  Shonen seemed interested in this.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “I do not need to see a doctor,” replied Aran defensively. “I just have a problem with condoms, that’s all.”

  “Perhaps we should try again,” suggested Shonen, always willing to help a lover in distress. “I’ll grab your cock, make it go hard and then whip on a condom before it knows what’s happening.”

  Aran’s spirits revived. This seemed worth a try at least.

  They got back to lovemaking and Aran tried to put the whole business out of his mind, running his hands over Shonen’s body and kissing her with rather more enthusiasm than he normally managed in bed, trying to make up for his failure. Shonen meanwhile manipulated his penis in a fairly determined manner, having already opened a fourth condom, which now lay in readiness.

  Judging the moment to be right, Shonen made her move, and fairly flew for the contraceptive. In a blur of movement she had it up and over Aran’s penis before he had time to think.

  “Success!” they cried together, and Shonen lay back, dragging Aran on top of her.

  Aran’s anti-condom complex had now become too powerful, however, and in the few seconds it took him to guide his penis between Shonen’s legs it had again rebelled and was sinking back down into oblivion. Inside the condom, this made a distressing sight.