Goodnight, John-boy: Chapter 22
Of course, he realised, if his mother was his inner voice and/or had possessed him, she could change his entire perception of reality.
Welcome to Book Two of my dark comedy thriller series, Read Em And Weep.
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If you’re new to the Read Em And Weep series, start with Book One: Serial Killer.
‘DAVE – ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?’ snapped Joy. In preparation for the publicity stunt for her shop Time Machine, he was now wearing his gorilla suit as King Kong, and she was dressed as Fay Wray, with a blonde wig and a slinky, long white dress her friend Sophie had stolen from Biba before they closed down.
‘Do I have to wear this suit?’ he complained. ‘I’m boiling.’
‘I thought you liked it? And it’s cooler this evening. It’s about 22 degrees.’
‘Yeah, of course,’ he said. ‘What else would it be?’ It was July 22nd tomorrow and, despite his mother’s best efforts, he figured he was going to make it. Just one day to go, he told himself. He could do it.
‘Can you carry Stella Louise and Stella Jeanne down to the car, please?’
‘I could put them both in the Baby Jane wheelchair and save myself a trip?’
‘No, they might get damaged bumping down the steps.’
‘True,’ said Dave. ‘Look what happened to Baby Jane.’
So the gorilla took Stella Louise down the stairs first. She was dressed as Mrs Peel from The Avengers in a tight leather outfit. ‘I thought about a headscarf, but it doesn’t really go with the leather. So I’ve glued her wig on instead,’ fussed Joy.
He carried the mannequin out to Joy’s convertible: a white Lotus Elan +2. The registration number was H227WDD, but so what? He just ignored it. It was the perfect car for Mrs Peel, he reflected, as he put her in the back.
‘I’m worried about bugs hitting them in the face,’ continued Joy, wiping the mannequin’s cheek. ‘Poor Stella Louise. She already has clingfilm over her wrists because her paint is peeling so badly.’
‘So she really is Mrs Peel?’ said Dave.
‘Very good,’ laughed Joy.
Mrs Peel was joined in the back by Stella Jeanne, dressed as Barbarella. Then King Kong and Fay Wray climbed in the front and they left Marble Arch and drove around the West End, handing out leaflets for Time Machine.
‘You know, Dave, I do worry about what would happen to them if I died.’
‘That’s on my mind, too,’ said the gorilla as Joy swerved erratically through the heavy traffic. He took no notice of the Number 22 bus heading for Oxford Circus.
‘I don't know who would be as happy to have them, and keep them together.’
‘You think they’d want to stay together?’
‘Oh, definitely. Although I never think of them as liking each other all that much.’
Mrs Peel and Barbarella stared vacantly ahead, pointedly ignoring each other. Dave looked appreciatively at Joy. He liked her obsession with shop dummies because it made his fur fetish seem normal. It stopped him thinking about the passing minicab, with 22 22 22 written on the side.
‘It’s not like I actually think they have thoughts, they’re just objects of art to me,’ said Joy hastily.
‘Of course,’ said Dave reassuringly.
‘But I was annoyed when Sophie told me she liked Stella Louise, but not Stella Jeanne. It’s like if someone tells you they don’t like your cat: ouch.’
‘Joy, can I turn up the The Avengers theme?’ It made a difference as he passed out Time Machine leaflets to shoppers. Because his mum was, of course, relentlessly playing ‘Bang Bang’, ‘The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance’ and ‘El Paso’ inside his head. And it took his mind off the Evening News billboard: ‘22 die in Tropical Storm’.
It was the advert in Piccadilly Circus that finally freaked him out. Confessions of a Driving Instructor altered before his eyes into Confessions of Dave Maudling.
Then, nearby, he saw a billboard proclaiming: The Message, and beneath it, Romeo and Juliet. This became The Message and Mary Magdalene.
Of course, he realised, if his mother was his inner voice and/or had possessed him, she could change his entire perception of reality. This was confirmed at the Dominion in Tottenham Court Road, which was showing Lee Marvin and Roger Moore’s Shout at the Devil. The title turned into Shoot Fabulous Keen. And as they drove past a poster for the science fiction movie Future World, starring Peter Fonda and Yul Brynner, its slogan was modified to read ‘Where the only way to survive is to kill Keen’.
Outside her shop in Neal Street, Joy’s assistant was on hand to take publicity shots. But, as Dave stepped out of the car, Jean Maudling increased the pressure once again with ‘The Shadows of Paris’. The piercing violin and haunting accordion were played at full volume, filling his skull with deafening sound.
Dave jumped up and down in agony, holding his head. Joy looked on approvingly. ‘Very good. Very King Kong.’ She turned to her assistant. ‘Make sure you get plenty of shots.’
The clincher was the all-black poster for The Omen. It showed Gregory Peck and Lee Remick, and a shadowy child transforming into a wolf. The text read:
‘You have been warned. If something frightening happens to you today, think about it. It may be The Omen.’
‘Okay, okay. I give in. I’ll do it!’ Dave yelled skywards – as it could hardly be heavenwards, given what he was going to do.
Surprisingly, the poster hadn’t been altered to get its message across. But his mother, or whatever was driving him: muse; demons; guilty conscience; fate; or the antichrist, wasn’t going to stop until it got its way. Now Dave knew what crazy people meant when they said ‘The voices made me do it.’ He would have to do it. He roared in agony.
‘All right. That’s enough,’ said Joy reproachfully. ‘Don’t overdo it. Don’t want to frighten the customers.’ Joy turned to her assistant. ‘I think we’ve got enough stills. I’ll see that guy now. What’s his name? Curtis? And, Dave, perhaps you’d like to sit in on the interview? Tell me what you think of him as a possible manager for the shop.’
She looked around for Dave, but the gorilla was running into her shop.
‘Dave?’
‘No time. Something I need.’ The clock was ticking: he only had a few hours left and there was much work to do.
* * *
In a cramped, artificially lit, dim basement room of the Time Machine that acted as her office, the handsome, debonair Curtis was waiting for Joy. Dave had shot in and out of the shop without explaining just what the heck was going on and why he was acting even weirder than usual.
Still bemused by his behaviour, Joy carefully descended the narrow, twisting, ancient staircase, holding tightly to its rope banister. She skirted around the adjoining toilet, with the door half hanging off its hinges, squeezed around boxes of stock, and stepped over the gaps in the cracked paving slabs, before finally reaching the basement and her interviewee.
She could see Curtis was wearing an Antony Price suit. She was an expert when it came to suits. She could identify any suit from just one glance. Curtis reminded her of Bryan Ferry, in particular, his look on the cover of Another Time, Another Place.
This surprised her, because she knew Curtis had previously been the manager of that hippy comic shop The Last Night of the World. This was run on very relaxed lines: money would be thrown into a cardboard box and customers were told to ‘fuck off’ if they looked too straight. So she had expected a scruffy, long-haired, dope-smoker in flared jeans.
Curtis had turned the shop from near bankruptcy into a successful business and, looking down at his CV, she noted he did have an accountancy degree, so perhaps this explained his suited and booted look. Normally, she would be hostile to Suits, but she knew a Suit was exactly what she needed to run her business while she was away learning the ins and outs of publishing at Fleetpit.
‘My mother’s from Scotland,’ said Curtis by way of introduction, speaking in his soft, husky, compelling voice.
‘You’re half human then,’ smiled Joy.
‘She’s from Falkirk.’
‘I take that back.’
‘She told me all about the Battle of Falkirk,’ said Curtis conversationally. ‘William Wallace. I’ve seen the two-handed sword he used for his invasion of England.’
‘Aye. It needs to visit England more often …’ said Joy darkly.
‘It’s a massive weapon,’ Curtis pointed out.
‘That’s Scottish men for you,’ said Joy.
‘I must get up there for Hogmanay. Enjoy a dram or three.’
‘You heard about that, then?’
‘Truthfully,’ said Curtis, casting his eyes slowly over her curves in her clinging Biba dress, ‘My heart’s in Scotland, Joy.’
‘So what the fuck are you doing in London?’
Curtis flicked back a lock of his jet-black hair. ‘I want to change comics, Joy. Lose that blokeyness. Make them appeal more to women. It shouldn’t just be about American superheroes. There’s so much we can learn from the French: Metal Hurlant. Valerian. Moebius. Druillet. Bilal. They’re so suave. Sensual. Dangerous …’
Curtis had done his homework on Joy. He knew she was more into French science fiction bandes dessinées, American underground and Warren comics, like Creepy and Eerie, rather than superhero comics. He was crawling more than Uriah Heep, and she knew it. But few bosses can resist a crawler. Especially when he looked as suave and elegant as her father, Lawrence of Fitzrovia.
However, she was also used to the attention of handsome men, as well as oddities like Dave. ‘I have several other applicants to see. I’ll let you know, Curtis,’ she said primly.
He looked around the poorly ventilated basement, which broke every imaginable fire and safety law. ‘It’s a great office.’
‘You think? No one’s ever said that to me before.’
‘It’s so light and airy. You could probably get another three desks in here. At least.’
‘When could you start?’
Goodnight, John-boy is the second book in the Read Em And Weep series and you can buy it digitally or as a paperback.