Quintin Jardine: Screen Savers

As for Ronnie, she was much as I had expected, thirty-something, blonde, slightly over-stuffed, a former small-time model who probably had the wrong shape at the wrong time. It had been good enough to catch her toy maker, though. Mr Barowitz, king of Roxy Matrix, was a solemn little man who rarely said a word, other than ‘Yes dear.’

‘Oz, that was just wonderful,’ she oozed at me as we prepared to strike camp. ‘I knew I was right in going for you.’

‘I’m glad it worked out, Ronnie,’ I said. ‘I hope the product does as well as you expect.’

‘It will, don’t you worry. Richard is never wrong. Tell me,’ she went on, not giving me a chance to muse on the wee man’s infallibility. ‘Will your wrestling show be on in the south soon?’

‘Yes. We’ve got a pay-per-view event in the London Arena in a couple of months or so. I’ll send you a couple of tickets. Hope you can come; we’ve got an Irish bloke on the team who’d just love to meet you.’

Prim and I enjoyed a nice couple of nights in London, courtesy of RHB and F, and that, I thought, would be it. But I always have been wrong more often than I’ve been right. Less than a week later I was in the office with Lulu, Prim being out on an interview, when the phone rang again.

‘It’s a Mr Burr,’ said the wee one, her hand pressed over the mouthpiece. ‘Sounds English.’

I shrugged and took the call. ‘Oz,’ an exuberant voice exclaimed, ‘this is Sly.’

‘Too bloody right it is,’ I answered, conversationally. ‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Sly. Sylvester Burr, your agent. . remember?’

My eyebrows skidded to a halt halfway up my forehead. ‘Barely,’ I acknowledged, recalling a wee, heavily-bangled man, who had looked in briefly during the second day of the shoot. ‘What can I do for you, Sly? Hasn’t Mark Webber paid your commission?’

‘Course he has, son. It’d be more than his job was worth to hold out on me. No, this has got nothing to do with that young ponce. I’ve landed another job for you; another Soho voice-over, two days, week after next. The client’s Arkaloid Sports, one of the world’s major players in leisure wear. I can’t get you fifteen this time though; ten’s their top whack. That’s two for me, eight for you.’

‘Plus expenses for Prim and me.’

‘I don’t know if they’ll cover your girlfriend.’

‘They’d better not bloody try. No, I just want them to pay for her flight and hotel. That’s the deal. Oh yes, and I can only work Mondays to Thursdays. I’m committed the other three days.’

‘I’ll tell them; they’ll roll over for it. The dates ain’t a problem either.’ He paused. ‘You’re a quick learner, my boy. You’re not Jewish, are you?’

‘No, Sly, religion’s got nothing to do with it. The fact is that Prim and I have this disease; whenever we’re together money just seems to stick to us.’

‘Ah, but that’s the same as being Jewish,’ Burr laughed. ‘Whatever, I’ll be seeing you.’

He wasn’t wrong; even before we recorded the second voice-over, he had come back with a third. In no time at all, I was doing two, sometimes three a month, never for less than five thousand, less commission, plus expenses. Without any conscious effort, I had a third career.

‘They pay you to do that, mate?’

There was an odd look in Miles’ eye as he gazed across at me. On the television screen the last image of my latest commercial was locked in freeze frame. I nodded. ‘I’m afraid they do. Not the sort of bucks that you and Dawn are into, but decent enough for humble people like Prim and me.’

A sudden spluttering exploded on my right; the sound of a man choking on a mouthful of lager. Detective Inspector Mike Dylan and his girlfriend, Susie Gantry, had joined us for a drink before dinner at Rogano. ‘Humble!’ he squawked, when he could. ‘You two? Brigands, the pair of you, lunatics and now, bloody millionaires, God help me.’

I smiled at him, as he wiped a trickle of beer from his chin. ‘Have you ever thought that God might be helping all of the rest of us here, Michael, but that he might have a different agenda for you? Let’s face it, you’re the only person in this room who isn’t nouveau fucking riche.’

I stopped sparing Mike’s feelings on the very day I met him. It was true, though, Susie had surprised the world by steering her late father’s property and construction group though a major crisis, and securing in the process her own very healthy financial position. (Actually Susie’s Dad, the legendary Jack Gantry, Lord Provost of Glasgow, wasn’t late, not in the deceased sense of the word. It was just that he hadn’t shown up anywhere for a while.) However it was true also that Dylan would have walked out on her before he would have lived off her. He was fiercely independent and insisted on paying her rent, and on chipping in his half of their holiday bookings.

He and I had survived a couple of adventures, as colleagues and as adversaries; in spite of it all, he had become, after Prim, my best friend. He grinned at me, over the top of his Carlsberg can, and began to sing, very badly, ‘He was poor but he was honest. .’

‘And your Master of Ceremonies gig?’ Dawn asked me, chuckling at the same time at the man who had wanted, once upon a time, to lock her up for murder. ‘That’s an earner too?’

‘Oh yes, my dear; and the seed from which all the other earners have grown. I’ve had offers there too. A big boxing promoter asked me a few months back if I would announce his shows. I turned him down, though. It just didn’t sound right.’

‘Why not?’

‘I didn’t like the feel of things. I had nothing against the man himself, but some of the people around him made my flesh creep. Anyway, I decided that my first loyalty as a sports announcer will always lie with Everett Davis and the GWA.’

‘Do you think we could find a part for Everett in a movie, Miles?’ Dawn suggested. ‘He sounds larger than life.’

I had to laugh at that. ‘He is larger than life. . life as we know it, Captain, that is. You write a part for a seven foot, two inch black man, and he’ll be right for it. . but no one would ever believe it.’

Miles surprised me by nodding, vehemently. ‘Oz is right. There are a few cast-iron truths in our business, and one is that wrestlers, as actors, invariably suck.’ He paused, then looked at me, unsmiling. ‘On the other hand, it would be pretty easy to write a part for a six foot, thirtyish Scotsman. Dawn and I are pretty well down the road in planning a project; it’s going to be set in Scotland. In fact, we’ve started shooting some of the preliminary scenes already.

‘I’m directing and leading as usual, and Dawn’s co-starring; we’re pretty well all cast, but there’s one part that’s been giving us trouble; you fit the profile pretty well. Since you are Equity-entitled, would you like to read for it?’

I’m pretty good at sussing out when my chain’s being pulled. I grinned back at him. ‘No way am I wrapping myself in scabby tartan and painting my arse blue. . not for you, not for no one.’

Miles shook his head; he still didn’t smile. ‘Don’t worry, it isn’t costume, it’s a contemporary thriller. The part we’re trying to fill doesn’t have much on-camera dialogue, but the story’s told in flashback, and he’s the narrator. I like your voice, Oz. It’s distinctively Scottish, but it’s very clear; American audiences will understand what you’re saying.

‘I’m serious, mate.’

I looked at Prim; a wide, incredulous grin was fixed on her face.

‘Tell you what, Miles,’ I said, deadpan.

‘What?’

‘Speak to my agent.’