Love in a Blue Time (4 page)

‘Ha, ha.’

They had some time at least. While listening for Upton’s car, Roy and Jimmy had a few more drinks. At last Roy called Jimmy over to the window.

‘There.’

‘No!’ Jimmy seized the curtain to give him strength. ‘It’s a wind-up. That isn’t Turner. Maybe it’s Munday.’

‘It is our man, without a doubt.’

‘Doesn’t he feel a little conspicuous – in his profession?’

‘Wouldn’t you think so?’

‘Jesus, Roy, and you’re letting this guy into your new home?’

They watched Turner trying to land the old black Rolls in a space, his pit-bull sitting up front and music booming from the windows. He couldn’t get the car in anywhere, and finally left it double-parked in the road with the traffic backing up around it, and rushed into the house with the noisy dog. Turner was small, balding and middle-aged, in a white shirt and grey suit that clung to his backside and flared at the ankles. He saw Jimmy drinking at the table and came to an abrupt standstill.

‘Roy, son, you’re all fucking pissed. You should have said we’re having a bit of a laugh, I’d have brought the party acid.’

‘This is Jimmy.’

Turner sat down, parting his legs and sweeping back his jacket, exposing his genitals outlined by tight trousers as if he anticipated applause. He reached into his pocket and tossed a plastic bag onto the table containing fifty or sixty small envelopes. Jimmy was rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Turner said, ‘How many of these are you having? Eh?’

‘Not sure yet.’

‘Not sure? What d’you mean?’

‘Just that.’

‘All right,’ Turner conceded. ‘Try it, try it.’

Roy opened one of the envelopes.

‘Never seen so many books an’ videos as you got in these boxes,’ Turner said, pacing about. He halted by a pile and said, ‘Alphabetical. A mind well ordered. As a salesman I evaluate the people from looking at their houses. Read ’em all?’

‘It’s surprising how many people ask that,’ Roy said with relaxed enjoyment. ‘It really is. Turner, d’you want a drink or something else?’

‘You must know a lot then.’ Turner insisted.

‘Not necessarily,’ Jimmy said. ‘It doesn’t follow.’

‘I know what you mean.’ Turner winked at Jimmy and they laughed. ‘But the boy must know something. I’m gonna offer credit where it’s due, I’m generous like that.’ He lit a cigarette in his cupped hand and surveyed the kitchen. ‘Nice place. You an’ the wife getting the builders in?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Course. I bet you have a pretty nice life, all in all. Plays, travel, posh friends. The police aren’t looking for you, are they?’

‘Not like they are for you, Turner.’

‘No. That’s right.’

‘Turner’s looking at fifteen. Isn’t that right, man?’

‘Yeah,’ said Turner. ‘Sometimes twenty. I’m looking at –’ He noticed Jimmy suppressing a giggle and turned to see Roy smirking. He said, ‘I’m looking at a lot of shit. Now, Mister Roy, if you know so fucking much I’ll try and think if there’s something I need to ask you, while I’m here.’

Jimmy said to Roy, ‘Are you ready for Mr Turner’s questions?’

Roy tapped his razor blade on the table and organised the
powder into thick lines. He and Jimmy hunched over to inhale. Turner sat down at last and pointed at the envelopes.

‘How many of them d’you want?’

‘Three.’

‘How many?’

‘Three, I said.’

‘Fuck.’ Turner banged his fist on the table. ‘Slags.’

Roy said, ‘You want a piece of pie?’

‘That I could go for.’

Roy cut a piece of Clara’s cherry pie and gave it to Turner. Turner took two large bites and it was inside him. Roy cut another piece. This time Turner leaned back in his chair, raised his arm and hurled it across the kitchen as if he were trying to smash it through the wall. The dog thrashed after it like a shoal of piranhas. It was an aged creature and its eating was slobbery and breathless. The second it had finished, the dog ran back to Turner’s feet and planted itself there, waiting for more.

Turner said to Roy, ‘Three, did you say?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So I have come some considerable miles at your instant command for fuck-all. You know,’ he said sarcastically, ‘I’m looking at eighteen.’

‘In that case four. All right. Four g’s. Might as well, eh, Jimmy?’

Turner slapped the dog. ‘You’ll get another go in a minute,’ he told it. He looked at Jimmy. ‘What about ten?’

‘Go for it,’ said Jimmy to Roy. ‘We’ll be all right tomorrow. Ten should see us through.’

‘Smart,’ said Turner. ‘Planning ahead.’

‘Ten?’ Roy said. ‘No way. I don’t think you should hustle people.’

Turner’s voice became shrill. ‘You saying I hustle you?’

Roy hesitated. ‘I mean by that … it’s not a good business idea.’

Turner raised his voice. ‘I’m doing this to pay off my
brother’s debts. My brother who was killed by scum. It’s all for him.’

‘Quite right,’ murmured Jimmy.

‘Hey, I’ve got a fucking question for you,’ Turner said. ‘Little Roy.’

‘Yes?’

‘Do you know how to love life?’

Jimmy and Roy looked at one another.

Turner said, ‘That’s stumped you, right? I’m saying here, is it a skill? Or a talent? Who can acquire it?’ He was settling into his rap. ‘I deal to the stars, you know.’

‘Most of them introduced to you by me,’ Roy murmured.

‘And they the unhappiest people I seen.’

‘It’s still a difficult question,’ said Roy.

He looked at Turner, who was so edgy and complicated it was hard to think of him as a child. But you could always see the light of childhood in Jimmy, he was luminous with curiosity.

‘But a good one,’ said Jimmy.

‘You’re pleased with that one,’ Roy said to Turner.

‘Yeah, I am.’ Turner looked at Jimmy. ‘You’re right. It’s a difficult question.’

Roy put his hand in his jeans pocket and dragged out a wad of £20 notes.

‘Hallo,’ Turner said.

‘Jesus,’ said Jimmy.

‘What?’ Roy said.

‘I’ll take a tenner off.’ Turner said. ‘As we’re friends – if you buy six.’

‘I told you, not six,’ said Roy, counting the money. There was plenty of it, but he thumbed through it rapidly.

Turner reached out to take the whole wad and held it in his fist, looking down at the dog as his foot played on its stomach.

‘Hey,’ Roy said and turned to Jimmy who was laughing.

‘What?’ said Turner, crumpling the money in his hand.
Roy pulled the cherry pie towards him and cut a slice. His hand was shaking now. ‘You are in a state,’ Turner said. He took the mobile phone out of his pocket and turned it off.

‘Am I?’ Roy said. ‘What are you going to do with that money?’

Turner got up and took a step towards Roy. ‘Answer the fucking question!’

Roy put up his hands. ‘I can’t.’

Turner pushed three small envelopes towards Jimmy, put all the money in his pocket, yanked away his drug bag, and, pursued by the dog, charged to the door. Roy ran to the window and watched the Rolls take off down the street.

‘You wanker,’ he said to Jimmy. ‘You fucking wanker.’

‘Me?’

‘Christ. We should have done something.’

‘Like what?’

‘Where’s the knife! You should have stuck it in the bastard’s fucking throat! That pig’s run off with my money!’

‘Thing is, you can’t trust them proles, man. Sit down.’

‘I can’t!’

‘Here’s the knife. Go after him then.’

‘Fuck, fuck!’

‘This will calm you down,’ said Jimmy.

They started into the stuff straight away and there was no going back. Roy attempted to put one gram aside for Munday but Jimmy said, why worry, they could get more later. Roy didn’t ask him where from.

Roy was glad to see Upton go. He’d be glad, too, to see the end of the chaos that Jimmy had brought with him.

‘What are your plans?’ he asked. ‘I mean, what are you going to doing in the next few days?’

Jimmy shook his head. He knew what Roy was on about, but ignored him, as Roy sat there thinking that if he was capable of love he had to love all of Jimmy now, at this moment.

It was imperative, though, that he clear his mind for
Munday. The drug got him moving. He fetched a jersey and clean socks for Jimmy, thrust Jimmy’s old clothes into a plastic bag, and, holding them at arm’s length, pushed them deep into the rubbish. He showered, got changed, opened the windows and prepared coffee.

It was only when Munday, who was ten years younger than him and Jimmy and far taller, came through the door, that Roy realised how spaced he and Jimmy were. Fortunately Clara had said she’d be out that evening. Munday, who had just got off the plane, wanted to relax and talk.

Roy forced his concentration as Munday explained his latest good news. His business, for which Roy had made many music videos, was in the process of being sold to a conglomerate. Munday would to able to make more films and with bigger budgets. He would be managing director and rich.

‘Excellent,’ said Roy.

‘In some ways,’ Munday said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Let’s have another drink.’

‘Yes, we must celebrate.’ Roy got up. ‘I won’t be a moment.’

At the door he heard Jimmy say, ‘You might be interested to hear that I myself have attempted a bit of writing in my time …’

It was that ‘I myself’ that got him out.

Roy went to buy champagne. He was hurrying around the block. Powerful forces were keeping him from his house. His body ached and fluttered with anxiety; he had Aids at least, and, without a doubt, cancer. A heart attack was imminent. On the verge of panic, he feared he might run yelling into the road but was, at that moment, unable to take another step. He couldn’t, though, stay where he was, for fear he might lie down and weep. In a pub he ordered a half but took only two sips. He didn’t know how long he’d
been sitting there, but he didn’t want to go home.

Munday and Jimmy were sitting head to head. Jimmy was telling him a ‘scenario’ for a film about a famous ageing film director and a drifting young couple who visit him, to pay homage. After they’ve eaten with him, praised his percipience and vision, admired his awards and heard his Brando stories, they enquire if there is anything they can do for him. The director says he wants to witness the passion of their love-making, hear their conversation, see their bodies, hear their cries and look at them sleeping. The girl and her earnest young man co-operate until … They become his secretaries; they take him prisoner; maybe they murder him. Jimmy couldn’t remember the rest. It was written down somewhere.

‘It’s a decent premise,’ said Munday.

‘Yes,’ agreed Jimmy.

Munday turned to Roy, who had rejoined them. ‘Where’s this guy been hiding?’

He was durable and unsubtle, Munday; and, in spite of his efforts, kindness and concern for others were obvious.

‘In the pub,’ said Roy.

‘Artist on the edge,’ said Jimmy.

‘Right,’ said Munday. ‘Too much comfort takes away the hunger. I’ll do this …’ he said.

He would advance Jimmy the money to prepare a draft.

‘How much?’ asked Jimmy.

‘Sufficient.’

Jimmy raised his glass. ‘Sufficient. Brilliant – don’t you think, Roy?’

Roy said he had to talk to Munday in the kitchen.

‘OK,’ said Munday. Roy closed the door behind them. Munday said, ‘Terrific guy.’

‘He used to be remarkable,’ said Roy in a low voice, realising he’d left the champagne in the pub. ‘Shame he’s so fucked now.’

‘He has some nice ideas.’

‘How can he get them down? He’s been dried out three times but always goes back on.’

‘Anyhow, I’ll see what I can do for him.’

‘Good.’

‘I meet so few interesting people these days. But I’m sorry to hear about your condition.’

‘Pardon?’

‘It happens to so many.’

‘What happens?’

‘I see. You don’t want it to get around. But we’ve worked together for years. You’re safe with me.’

‘Is that right? Please tell me,’ Roy said, ‘what you’re talking about.’

Munday explained that Jimmy had told him of Roy’s addiction to cocaine as well as alcohol.

‘You don’t believe that, do you?’ Roy said.

Munday put his arm around him. ‘Don’t fuck about, pal, you’re one of my best video directors. It’s tough enough as it is out there.’

‘But you don’t, do you?’

‘He predicted you’d be in denial.’

‘I’m not in fucking denial!’

Munday’s eyes widened. ‘Maybe not.’

‘But I’m not – really!’

Nevertheless, Munday wouldn’t stop regarding him as if he were contriving how to fit these startling new pieces into the puzzle that Roy had become.

He said, ‘What’s that white smear under your nose? and the blade on the table? You will always work, but not if you lie to my face. Roy, you’re degrading yourself! I can’t have you falling apart on a shoot. You haven’t been giving one hundred per cent and you look like shit.’

‘Do I?’

‘Sure you feel okay now? Your face seems to be twitching. Better take some of these.’

‘What are they?’

‘Vitamins.’

‘Munday –’

‘Go on, swallow.’

‘Please –’

‘Here’s some water. Get them down, Christ, you’re choking. Lean forward so I can smack you on the back. Jesus, you won’t work for me again until you’ve come out of the clinic. I’ll get the office to make a booking tonight. Just think, you might meet some exciting people there.’

‘Who?’

‘Guitarists. Have you discussed it with Clara?’

‘Not yet.’

‘If you don’t, I will.’

‘Thank you. But I need to know what’s happening with the film.’

‘Listen up then. Just sip the water and concentrate – if you can.’

Later, at the front door Munday shook Jimmy’s hand and said he’d be in touch. He said, ‘You guys. Sitting around here, music, conversation, bit of dope. I’m going back to the airport now. Another plane, another hotel room. I’m not complaining. But you know.’

The moment Munday got in his Jag and started up the street, Roy screamed at Jimmy. Jimmy covered his face and swore, through his sobs, that he couldn’t recall what he’d told Munday. Roy turned away. There was nothing to grasp or punish in Jimmy.