Devil in Disguise (21 page)

Daniel.

There
had been only a fleeting second of eye-contact while he was talking to Molly
but Simon had felt a fatal twinge, a stab of excitement just below his navel.
After that, all was lost. As he talked, he had noticed from the corner of his
eye that Daniel’s gaze was still focused on him. He wiped a trace of lipstick
from the corner of his mouth to his chin, glanced across to Daniel’s hands,
which were clasping his pint glass, then up to his heavy-kidded, smiling eyes.
Their gaze had locked for an instant before he’d looked back at Molly.

That
was all it had been, but now Simon relived it and the swell of excitement
returned. He knew this sensation well —the delightful conflagration of lust and
the possibility of passion sparking into flame. He shouldn’t, but he would. A
sudden feral resolve possessed him. He would make it his business to see more
of Molly and Daniel and discover where this new challenge led.

Simon
fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, head thumping, dry throat croaky and
sore, there was a strange brown stain on his pillow that he realised must have
come from his mouth. Well, that sometimes happened after a particularly big
night. He staggered into the kitchen and drank some tap water from a dirty,
tea-stained mug. He returned to his bed and dialled Molly’s number. ‘So Kate
and I are the best of friends,’ he said teasingly.

‘You
sound rough,’ said Molly. ‘Just woken up?’

‘Yes,
but I feel wonderful.’

‘So you
should. Congratulations on last night, Simon. Fantastic.’

‘Thank
you. You and Daniel had a good time, then?’

‘Brilliant,
yes.’

‘Good.
I’m so pleased. I wouldn’t want to speak too soon but I think you may have
finally found a boyfriend I approve of.’

‘Wonders
will never cease. You’ve got a job and my fella gets the thumbs-up.’

‘Listen
— I’ve got a night off. I’d like to take you both out to dinner.’

‘Ah.
That’s really kind of you, but we’re already going out. It’s our anniversary.’

Simon’s
lips tightened but he managed to keep his voice light. ‘How nice! Why don’t I
come along?’

‘Well,’
said Molly, clearly unsure, ‘I think Daniel wants it to be just the two of us,
you see.’

‘Oh,
nonsense! I haven’t seen you for months and I want to celebrate too. How’s
about I pay?’

‘Well, it’s
not really—’

‘I
insist. I can be a surprise for Daniel.’

‘Any
other night we’d love to, honestly. It’s just that we’ve made plans. He’s
taking me to Joe Allen’s.’

Simon’s
mood curdled. ‘Oh, okay. Some other time.’

‘I’m
sorry, Simon.’

‘Never
mind. I have to go. Speak soon,’ he said petulantly, and hung up. He realised
that he was cross with Molly for getting in the way of his seeing Daniel again.
How naughty I am! he thought, amazed at himself. Daniel is Molly’s boyfriend.
She adores him. There’s no point in seeing him again: he belongs to her.

But he
couldn’t deny what he felt. The flutter of excitement in his chest — such a
relief from the constant ache of misery: he was impatient for another viewing
of Daniel. His bad lustful angel sat on his shoulder, telling him that it
wouldn’t matter if he just
looked
at him again — would it?

Daniel
and Molly would be in Joe Allen’s later, toasting their love over a romantic
anniversary dinner. What was to stop Simon turning up and joining them? If he
ordered a bottle of champagne as soon as he arrived, they could hardly be so
rude as to ask him to leave. And what harm could it possibly do? He only wanted
to look, he told himself again. Would Molly begrudge him that? Of course she
wouldn’t!

He
spent the rest of the afternoon lazing about, managing to change his sheets and
the stained pillowcase, thinking over and over again about Daniel’s beautiful
eyes staring into his.

Before
he went out, he had a bath and ate a bowl of Heinz spaghetti — his favourite
since he was a child. He dressed to the nines in a three-piece suit with a
lavender shirt and a white tie, then headed into town. He started his evening
in Soho, arriving at Revenge around seven o’clock. He was on his second pint
when Charles sauntered in.

‘Well,’
Charles said, raising his eyebrows, ‘the prodigal returns.’

‘The
prodigal is just passing through,’ replied Simon. ‘Having a last glance at his
sad, sordid life as it used to be before he swans off to richer, more glamorous
waters.’

‘Get
you,’ said Charles. ‘You’ve won a drag competition, not been voted President of
the fucking United States. Now buy me a drink before you leave us.’

‘They
don’t sell Cristal in this dive, so will a pint of lager do?’ said Simon,
grandly.

‘Very
nicely, thank you.’

They
spent the next couple of hours bitching and drinking, until Simon announced he
must be off.

‘Take
care, dear one,’ said Charles. ‘Love you, wouldn’t wanna be you.’

‘You’ve
been …’ Simon searched for the words. ‘Well, you’ve been. Let’s just leave it
at that.’ He nodded goodbye and headed for the door.

‘See
you on the way down,’ called Charles.

Simon
enjoyed his walk in the fresh autumn air and arrived at the restaurant in
Exeter Street at half past nine. The place was packed, as usual, and there was
a queue of about six people waiting for tables to become available. Simon
brushed past them and came face to face with the maître d’.

‘I am a
surprise guest for the sweet couple over there on the table for two. Do you
think you could bring me a chair?’

The
maitre d’ glanced over to where Molly and Daniel were halfway through their
main course, gazing longingly into each other’s eyes between mouthfuls. As
Simon looked at Daniel, his heart rate soared.

‘I am
sorry,’ began the maitre d’, in a thick French accent, ‘there is no room on
that table for another chair.’

‘I
see,’ said Simon.

‘Maybe
you can wait for them at the bar?’

‘You
don’t understand,’ said Simon. ‘I’m her brother. I’ve just flown in from Los
Angeles as a surprise. Surely …‘ He smiled encouragingly.

The maître
d’ was stony-faced. ‘Unfortunately it is not possible.’

‘And
I’ve got cancer,’ said Simon, raising his voice so those around him could hear.

They
looked at each other for a moment. Then the maitre d’s face softened, and he
said, ‘Just give me a moment. I will get a chair for you.’

‘Thank
you so much!’ Simon beamed. ‘And a bottle of champagne, kind of
maintenant.’

A
moment later he was squeezing on to a chair between Molly and Daniel, who
stared at him, astonished.

‘Hello,
darlings! I just couldn’t keep away!’ he gushed, as the two lovebirds looked
horrified. ‘You don’t mind if I join you, do you?’

‘Simon!’
said Molly, embarrassed. ‘We’re in the middle of dinner!’

‘I know
and I apologise,’ said Simon. ‘But as I was in the area I couldn’t let the
occasion pass without giving you both my blessing.’

Just
then a waiter arrived with the champagne, whispering in Simon’s ear that it was
‘on the house’.

‘Lovely,’
Simon said. ‘Just some fizz to toast you with, you gorgeous things.’

The
waiter began to pour champagne into their glasses.

‘Well,
this is very nice of you,’ said Daniel, handsome in a black linen shirt with
the sleeves rolled up beyond his biceps.

‘You’ve
got a tattoo!’ said Simon, touching the object of his desire with a forefinger.
‘Is it a Celtic symbol?’

‘No,’ said
Daniel. ‘Arsenal coat-of-arms.’

Simon
managed to stop stroking Daniel’s arm and pick up his champagne flute. ‘To the
three of us! Congratulations on your first year together. Here’s to many more.’

Molly
and Daniel dutifully picked up their glasses and the three of them said,
‘Cheers!’

‘Great
to see you, Si,’ said Daniel.

‘Yes,
it is, love,’ said Molly, looking happier now she could see that Daniel didn’t
mind Simon dropping by. ‘Thank you for being such a good friend.’

‘You’re
welcome.’ Simon gulped back his champagne in a couple of mouthfuls. ‘Now, I’d
better be on my way.’ He knew it was important not to outstay his welcome.
Daniel would still be forming an opinion of him so, now that the heart-warming
surprise had been delivered and both Molly and Daniel were beginning to enjoy
his intrusion, it was time for him to leave.

‘No!’ protested
Molly. ‘Stay and finish the champagne with us.’

‘Absolutely
not,’ insisted Simon. ‘I shall leave you two to your evening together and
disturb you no longer.’ Despite their pleadings, Simon blew kisses to them both
and disappeared as quickly as he had come.

I’m so
naughty, he told himself, as he headed for the tube. But what harm can it do?
It’s just a fantasy. It won’t come to anything. Oh. He’s divine … Lucky
Molly.

The popularity of Simon’s
alter
ego,
Genita L’Warts, continued to grow. He started to get enquiries from
small theatres, and an agent from the alternative comedy circuit (a different
world from the drag circuit) called Boris Norris arranged a meeting with him.
Over lunch at the French House in Soho, he proposed a tour of universities and
possibly a three-week run at the Edinburgh Festival. ‘No good fiddling around
with these pub gigs, mate. You need a strategy. Things could take off for you,
big-time, if you want them to.’

Simon
thought that Boris looked a bit like James Dean, and told him as much, adding,
‘Before the car crash, obviously.’

‘Thanks,’
said Boris, flattered. He was tall and a little stout, married with two young
children, and wore Fred Perry shirts and Dr Marten boots. Simon hadn’t a hope
of seducing him, he realised, but then again … away from home, late at night
in a hotel room after too many beers, anything might happen. He filed the
delicious thought away for later consideration. Daniel was his current project.
Boris’s potential would have to wait.

‘So,
are you interested? Do you want to sign with me?’

‘Hell,
why not?’ declared Simon. ‘Where’s the dotted line?’

Boris
grinned. ‘Great. We’re going to be huge, I promise. You, me and Genita.’

Simon had decided to give
in gracefully to the presence of Genita in his life. He wasn’t the fighting
type, after all. Like a triffid, Genita seemed to have a life of her own and a
rapacious appetite for professional success and vodka that Simon could only
wonder at. Besides, Grey Goose wasn’t cheap. He needed all the work he could
get to keep the cuckoo in his nest happy and sated.

And
Genita L’Warts had, almost despite Simon, begun to evolve. She was still as
vile as ever to her audiences and a large proportion of her time on stage was
spent insulting and shouting and carrying on inconsequentially, but luck had
given her new material. One night she found herself in a slanging match with a
lesbian standing at the front. Genita grabbed her bag and began to rifle
through it, looking for something to be withering about. (This was usually a
fruitful exercise. Letters, clothes, diaries — all could be held up and
ridiculed.) For some reason this particular woman had three fresh sardines
zipped up in a supermarket cooler bag, complete with heads and tails.

‘What
the fuck is this, you disgusting dyke?’ asked Genita, picking up a fish between
finger and thumb and waving it accusingly at her. The crowd were in uproar.

‘That’s
my tea!’ replied a gruff Geordie voice.

‘Oh,
it’s your tea, is it? Are you sure it’ll be enough for you? Or will you be
tucking into your girlfriend’s minge for afters?’ Genita plucked another
sardine from the bag and swung them around like a mad cheerleader. She stuck
her fingers through their gills and began to improvise a mad puppet show. The
sardines became a pair of lesbian lovers called Caroline and Caroline, billing
and cooing and passionately expressing their love for each other. Then, just as
a civil ceremony was imminent, the third sardine entered the fray. She was
called Helga, and was determined to seduce Caroline. As the love triangle
erupted in a violent climax, Genita juggled the sardines as best she could,
bashing them together, tossing them in the air and catching them, slapping them
on top of each other in a fishy orgy as she spat out the commentary like a
wild, possessed Natasha Kaplinsky. Eventually it was all too much for Helga,
who split dramatically in two, spilling fishy guts over the stage before she
was hurled headlong into the crowd.

Just
then the DJ, in an inspired moment, played Frankie Howerd’s ‘Three Little
Fishes’. The excited crowd sang along lustily with Genita, who waved the
triumphant, lucky-in-love Carolines above her head in time with the music. As
the track finished she popped them back into the cooler bag and returned them
to their rightful owner before she exited the stage to which she would return
for no less than five encores.