by Danni Fall
"Gentlemen," Will says, tone brittle. "Please wrap it up. I'll give you two minutes."
"Sorry Will," Chris says before returning Simon's daring look. "It feels like you're uncomfortable performing your own song."
"I'm not. I'm uncomfortable cause you suggested I dress up like some big joke."
Mark looks thoughtful. "You're dressing up to perform a song you said wasn't about anything. What's insulting about dressing up as yourself if the song's just hypothetical and about nowt in particular?"
Simon toys with his suit jacket as he thinks of an answer. "It's just a faff. It's a good song. I don't need to do all this to make it entertaining. It can stand on its own."
"It's only a suggestion," Chris says. "Mike said you wanted them."
"Mike says loads of stuff. Loads of shit, mostly."
"Thanks, Simon, very sweet of you."
Simon feels Will's mounting irritation like a physical pressure. "I reckon I'm fine as I am. I'll wear the stupid outfits like you suggested, but I don't need advice about how to perform. I know how to perform. That's why I'm frontman and Mike got demoted to guitarist." He gives Chris an empty smile. "Thanks for the input, though."
"You're welcome," Chris says with an equally warped smile.
Simon's heart pounds as he breaks their stare and strides in front of the camera.
"Ready?" the cameraman asks wearily.
"I was born ready," Simon says and Will starts the track.
***
Mark
Mark takes the opportunity to wander to Brewer Street. He hears Chris's footsteps at his back but keeps walking, rolling his shoulders and circling his neck as he goes. When he's made it to Wardour Street and Chris shows no sign of stopping, he turns.
"You trying to round me up? I'm not in the video, it don't matter if I go for a stroll."
"Wanted to come with you."
"You've succeeded in your mission, then."
"I'm here because you asked me to be," Chris says.
Mark lights a cigarette and takes a drag. "I know. Simon's getting on my nerves."
"You should have won your song writing competition."
"Good advice, that."
Chris helps himself to a cigarette and lets Mark light it. "Simon's not open to my ideas."
"He's going along with them, even if he's mardying about it. He fancies himself too much not to like dressing up as five different Simons."
"Why won't he admit he likes it?"
"Because it wasn't his idea."
"He's like you in that way," Chris says. Mark makes sure to look offended. "He doesn't like to back down."
"I agree Simon's a stubborn bastard. I, on the other hand, am very easy to work with."
"You should have won your song writing competition then."
"So you said. I'll do better next time."
He tries to ignore how Chris studies him while they smoke.
"His song's better, but I prefer your lyrics," Chris says.
"Yeah, the man as a boarded up house shtick is a bit on the nose, isn't it?"
"It isn't some man, it's you. Lights are on and there's someone home, but they never leave, so we'll never know."
"Don't know what you mean, I'm always out and about. I'm practically nomadic."
"It's not intended literally, it's metaphorical."
"I'm aware. Give me credit for having some functioning brain cells."
"Simon won't admit it's about you," Chris says. "He's very defensive about it. You're very defensive about it, too."
Mark glances down the empty street. "My old guitarist is the barman at The Sun. The guitarist for my old band."
"Right."
"Well? That not interesting to you?"
"What's that got to do with Simon's song?"
"Nothing. I just thought, since you're so interested in Laddo's lyrics when there's nowt to them, maybe you'd like to hear an actual story about me."
"I would like that."
"Right," Mark says, mouth suddenly dry. "Well, there you are, then."
Chris's expression softens. "That's the whole story, is it?"
"Yeah." Mark meets Chris's eye and winces. "No."
"What is the story?"
"Me and him did stuff."
"Played music together?"
Mark scowls. "You know what I mean."
"Maybe I don't. Go on."
"We-" Chris takes pity on him and breaks eye contact. "We fucked. Or, he fucked me. Well, I blew him, and jerked him off, and-"
Chris laughs. "I get the idea."
"Do I get a medal for saying that?"
"Don't have one on me."
"Very unprepared," Mark says.
"Do you feel lighter for saying it?"
Mark keeps smoking to mask the acidic taste in his mouth. "Yeah."
"Good," Chris smiles. "It's exhausting, keeping up pretences. I never managed it. Hard when you're growing up that close to Canal Street."
"Should I know what that is?"
"The gay village in Manchester."
"Right." Mark has the urge to walk but can't decide where. He settles for fiddling with his lighter.
"I knew about the guitarist," Chris says. "Simon told me."
"Pop back to The Sun later and you can see him for yourself."
"Is he attractive?"
"Depends what you're after. If you've got a thing for six foot something, furious ginger blokes with forked beards, then you'll be hard before you know it."
Chris clearly imagines him. "Sounds interesting."
"Metal band, remember?"
"How do I compare?"
He returns Chris's smile uneasily. "Looks wise? Or fucks wise?"
"All of it."
"Maybe I should keep you guessing, keep you on your toes."
"If I'm worse you should give me feedback so I can improve."
Mark stubs his cigarette on the wall of a shop and avoids Chris's eye. "You've got the edge over Alex."
"On all scores?"
Mark tenses in anticipation when Chris walks up behind him.
"On all the scores that matter," he says. "I'd wager he plays a better finger tapped speed metal solo than you."
"I can live with that."
Chris turns him around and kisses him. Mark feels his expression pinch as he returns it.
"Will will literally rip my bollocks off and kick them down the road if I don't go back soon," Mark says. "He's not forgiven me for being late back to the recording studio t'other day."
"Why had you left the studio?"
"The Oes were recording their parts so I went for a drive."
"In Simon's new car?"
"Yeah."
"Simon lent you his car?" Chris asks dubiously.
"No, we both went for a drive since neither of us were needed. We lost track of the time and now we're on Will's shit list, so I better go back to diligently standing around."
Chris leads the way to Green's Court. "How about I reward you for doing as you're told?"
"Reward me how?"
"That's a surprise."
"What kind of surprise?" Mark asks.
"It's not a surprise if I tell you what I've got in mind."
"Is it a shag?"
"No."
"Is it food?"
"I'm not telling you," Chris insists.
Mark is racking his brain as they walk back down the alleyway. Simon, dressed in his old P&Ts uniform, eyes the pair briefly before focusing on the camera. Ignoring the Oes' looks, Mark stays by Chris's side, muttering occasional guesses in his ear, only for Chris to shake his head. The band's applause and Simon's accompanying bows bring Mark to his senses.
"Are we clapping every time Wotsit finishes a take?" he asks. "We'll wind up with sore hands."
Will looks unimpressed. "We're applauding because that's a wrap, we're finished."
"I'm going to invest in some baby reins to stop you wandering off all the time," Zoe says.
"First you want me in handcuffs, now you want me in reins,"
Mark tuts. "Getting kinkier by the day, Welly. Lucky we're in Soho, eh?"
Mark waits until Simon has changed into his polo shirt before sidling over to him.
Simon gives him a suspicious look. "What d'you want?"
"Nothing. Good job."
"Thanks. What were you and Chris talking about just now?"
"Nothing."
"Then why d'you look so distracted?" Simon asks.
"Who said anything's distracting me?"
"Your face says so. You look away with the fairies."
Mark returns Simon's cruel smile. "You know what they say, lights are on but there's no-one home."
"You're not thinking about nicking stuff, then?"
"If you must know, I've been guessing where Chris is gonna take me now we're finished filming. He said he'd surprise me, as a little treat for getting it done."
Simon's expression hardens. "I'm the one who performed, you just stood there."
"D'you fancy coming along as well then?" Mark asks.
Simon glowers at him as he zips his sports bag shut.
"Well?" Mark presses. "You seemed like you were angling for an invite. Want me to put in a good word with Chris, see if he's on board?"
Chris walks over. "I heard my name."
"No, you didn't," Simon insists.
"Sounded like it."
"You did, Simon's being daft," Mark says. "I was saying how you're surprising me, now that we're finished here."
"That's right. Do you need to do anything else or can we get going?"
"Lady, gents," Mark addresses the others. "Am I free to leave? Or would you like me to stay to get measured for my reins, Welly?"
"Go before I do something I'll regret," Zoe says.
"Final call, Simon," Mark smiles cruelly. "You coming with?"
"I'll see you later," Simon says, eyes averted. "Don't have too much fun."
Chapter 13
Mark
"You enjoying spending time with Deff?" Mark asks as they walk through Soho. "Careful what you wish for, eh?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd given Simon a slap back there, ungrateful sod."
"I've dealt with worse at Comptons."
"Yeah, but he's just so-"
"Could we not talk about Simon for a while?" Chris asks.
"Course. Gladly."
Chris silently leads the way to a nondescript door on the corner of an unfamiliar street. Inside they're faced with a small, dark walled room that's empty except for a man behind a register.
"Two, please," Chris says.
"Karaoke?" Mark guesses. "You're gonna regret that when you hear me wailing. There's a reason I'm no longer singer."
Chris hands over cash and the man passes them numbered keys and towels. Mark takes his with a frown and follows Chris up a gloomy flight of stairs.
"Is it a swimming pool?" Mark asks. "Or a gym? You think I'm dying to lift some weights?"
"You really don't know where we are?"
They head into a long room with a bench down the middle and lockers lining the walls. Two other men are undressing at the far end. Mark ignores the looks they flick him as he focuses on finding his locker.
"Where are we?" Mark asks quietly.
"It's a sauna."
It isn't the answer he's expecting. He slots his key into his locker and stares blankly at the door.
Chris pauses undressing. "You okay?"
"Not sure what it is about me that sez I'm posh enough to like a spa. I've never been to a spa."
"It's a sauna, not a spa," Chris says but Mark doesn't get the distinction. "It's not posh."
"Right." Mark ignores his growing, gurgling panic. "And you go here, do you?"
"Now and then. Less so nowadays."
"Right."
"You're sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, fine."
Mark strips to his pants and shoves his clothes and shoes in his locker. While he's still hidden behind the door, he checks his jean pockets for speed and rubs some on his gums before emerging to give Chris an obnoxious smile.
"Better than fine," he insists. "Where's this sauna then?"
"Did you really just take something?"
"Helps me unwind."
Mark watches as Chris places his clothes, pants included, in his locker and reluctantly follows suit. He trails Chris into a shower room where a handful of fit looking men are washing. Movement by one man's crotch catches Mark's eye. When he registers that the man is masturbating, he turns to face the wall and jabs the button to start the shower. He stands still and lets the water soak his hair and face.
"Weird seeing you this quiet," Chris says by his ear.
Mark tries to think of innocuous questions, like asking where the women's showers are, but knows how stupid they would sound. He resists spitting into the drain by his feet and steps out from under the spray to wrap himself in his towel.
Once he can trust his legs not to shake, he pads with Chris along the wet tiled floor to the next room. A small swimming pool filled with frothing bubbles takes up most of the space. A few young men sit close together as they talk.
"Shall we go in here or do you want to go in the sauna?" Chris asks.
"Don't know. Don't mind."
"Okay, let me get the keys."
Baffled, Mark watches as Chris walks around the pool to a bar hatch in one corner. Chris talks to the barman, returns with more keys and nods Mark over to another black, windowless door. Another dark corridor stretches out beyond it with a steamed up glass door. Past the sauna, he sees a line of doors with observation hatches, like the doors to prison cells.
Chris heads for the sauna. Mark walks inside quickly to stop the heat escaping. He tries to understand the room's layout through the dense steam and makes out the shape of wooden, tiered benches along three sides of the room and the handful of bodies sat on them. He heads for the end of one bench, furthest from anyone else and closest to the door. Damp heat soaks through his towel to his arse and thighs, hot air stinging his nostrils and the corners of his eyes. When he's adjusted to the soft hiss of the steam, he makes out the sound of flesh on flesh and grips his towel tighter.
Chris sits down beside him, solid and familiar. They sit in silence for a time before Chris reaches out to touch his towel. Mark watches as he carefully folds back the fabric and places his warm, wet hand on his leg. Open mouthed, Mark watches as it sits there, fingers spread to span his sweaty thigh. The other men turn fractionally to face them.
The hand inches upward. The men move closer. The room shrinks. When Chris makes to cup him, Mark jumps to his feet. Gripping his soggy towel, he lunges for the door and darts outside. The change in temperature is like a slap across the face. He makes for the door to the pool, heart hammering at the prospect of what's happening in the room beyond, when Chris touches his arm.
"You okay?" Chris asks.
Mark's panic rises as he shakes his head.
"We can go back to the pool to cool down." Mark keeps shaking his head. "Mike?"
"My name is Mark!" he hisses, gripping at his soaked hair to keep from unravelling.
Chris seems unsurprised at his exclamation and nods at one of the other doors. "Let's sit down."
"What's in there?"
Chris lets them into a small, empty room with a wooden bench against the back wall.
"Nothing. Sit down."
Mark forces himself inside. He feels both relieved and panicked when Chris closes the observation hatch and locks the door.
"You know my name," Mark says, leaning against one wall as he tucks his towel tighter.
"Yeah. Do you want me to use it or Mike?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"No, I don't know, alright?" Mark reels off. "Right now, I don't know."
"Okay," Chris says calmly. "I'm sorry."
Mark paces as he tries and fails to get his breathing under control.
"How much did you take?" Chris asks.
>
"None of your business."
"Seems like it's hit you hard. I can get water from the bar."
"I don't need water, I'm fine," Mark insists.
"I thought you knew about the saunas, how they work."
"So puffs just fuck in here?"
"People like us come here, to be around people like us, yes," Chris says.
"How often do you come here? How many men do you-"
"Are you asking if I'm cheating or if I'm infected?"
Mark goes back to tugging his hair.
"You're going to hurt yourself," Chris warns. "Sit down with me."
"Sit down or wank?"
"Sit. Don't you trust me? Do you really think I'd try it on when you're like this?"
Mark looks at the door and starts plotting a route back to the locker room.
"We can leave," Chris says. "I just thought you'd like it here."
The words bring Mark to his senses. "This was your idea of a reward for a job well done?"
"I get that you're upset but you're being rude."
"I'm being rude?" Mark asks deliriously. "I'm in a fucking band."
Chris looks at him blankly. "And?"
"And you've heard our next single. It's going to do well, top five, easy."
"I'm going to get you some water."
Mark grabs Chris's arm to keep him from unlocking the door. "I don't want any bloody water. I'm fine."
"Then what are you talking about? What does being in a band have to do with any of this?"
"We're going to chart and here I am, sat in a gay fucking sauna with blokes all watching me. On what planet is that a good idea?"
"There's ten people in here at most, including us. No-one has recognised you."
"You don't know that."
"I'm 99.9% confident no-one has recognised you," Chris says. "You remember that Deff played at Comptons, right?"
"There's a difference between getting paid to play one gig at a gay bar and paying to go and shag in a room full of gay men."
"Ten gay men."
"Oh, well that's much better, then."
"We weren't shagging. We were sat in a sauna." Mark makes to interject but Chris ignores him. "I think you're in the wrong line of work."
"What's with you and giving my band careers advice?"
"You're in a band that might make the top five."
"Will make the top five," Mark corrects. "I know, I literally just said that."
"How do you think being in a famous band works?" Chris asks. "People will recognise you. They'll take an interest in you."