Кен Бруен - The Hackman Blues

‘Yes you do.’

‘He’s so intolerant, he used to love Steve McQueen.’

‘I’m sorry, did I miss something?’

‘You know the rumours about him... with the motorbikes ’n’ all.’

I laughed, said:

‘Jeez, the bikes! Give you away every time.’

She didn’t get it, so went back to the beginning. I wish I could.

She said, ‘I like you.’

And off she went. I watched her down the Brixton Road. The flash of pink as she moved and said, ‘Great walking.’

Bemused, I stepped into the road and WALLOP! a courier cyclist piled into me. It felt like a bad voltage of ECT.

All the crap they mouth about suddenly being struck by love, they might have a point. As I sat upright, the cyclist bent down, all concern.

‘You okay, buddy?’

Saw these light lycra shorts and a scrotum that Nick Nolte would kill for... Met a pair of brown gentle eyes that mule-kicked my heart. He helped me up and I gauged him... about twenty-five... with Hugh Grant hair and the lean, sinewy body of a natural athlete. This guy would exercise cos he liked it. I said:

‘I think I love you.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing... I’m okay... you okay?’

‘Yeah... but the bike...’

We looked at it, the front wheel, buckled.

I said, ‘Fucked is what it is.’

And he laughed. Jeez, what a morning! Apart from Jack, I was Mr Congeniality to the world. That and heavily bruised. My 501s were ripped and I could feel the beginning of a massive pain down my left side. He touched my shoulder and I know that touches can be deceptive. They can mean all or nothing.

He said, ‘Can I do anything for you...?’ The eyes locked on mine.

‘Yeah, give me your telephone number.’

As he wrote it down, I added, ‘Jill Clayburgh said in Silver Streak , I give good phone.’

He handed me the slip of paper, our fingers touched. Sing the body electric... Oh Dios Mio. Beyond chemistry, a red hot blend of splendour. I looked at the name...

Jeff.

Said, ‘Well, Jeff, glad you ran into me.’

He lugged the bike on to his shoulder, said, ‘I hope you’ll be all right.’

‘Jeff, I am fuckin A.’

As I limped off, I sure felt it.

Sometimes the movies seem more real than reality. Would it were so. They definitely have the better lines and can soft focus the best moments. Most things, I relate to them; whatever happens, I can pick a parallel scene to emphasise if not downright embellish the reality.

Could I but write the script and slot in a happy ending.

Yeah, I’d like that.

I watch a huge range, from Sebastien to Devil in a Blue Dress. I draw the line at Peter Greenaway, I’m a buff, not a masochist.

Reed said, ‘Maan, I got de blues.’

Well, I was edging the jackpot, nobody was going to rain on my parade.

I said breezily, ‘What’s going down?’

‘I dun spoke to Leon, he shoutin’ bout dee vengeance of de Lord.’

‘Ah, he’s pissing in the wind. Just remember, it’s got Jimmy’s Autos on the reverse. How much did you ask for?’

‘Fifty large.’

‘Sweet.’

‘How we gonna collect, tell me dat, bro’?’

‘We’ll have him deliver.’

‘I gots me a bad feelin’, bro’.’

‘You leave it to me, it’s going as we planned.’

‘Yeah... din’ tell me bro’, yo’ plan fo’ Dan-yell to be makin’ moon eyes.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah, he be takin’ wit de bitch... he think she be foxy.’

‘I don’t believe this shit, is he riding her?’

‘Other way’s round, bro’.’

‘He’s giving it to her Greek?’

‘Naw, why fo’ yo’ no listen up, she be doin’ him.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yo’ all think they let me watch? I can smell it an’ he looks like de cat got dee cream.’

‘The dumb fuck.’

‘What yo’ gonna do now?’

‘Think, I’m going to think... Okay?’

But I didn’t. Leastways, not about that, not then. I was thinking about the Jeff-ster... about two tickets to Frisco... about... Screw Maupin... who needed him, anyhow?

I called Danny on the mobile.

Yeah, there was a spring in his voice, said, ‘That you, Tone?’

‘Yeah, how’s everything there, any problems?’

‘Naw, sweet as a nut, she’s a good kid, I’m finding I’ve a flair for this.’

‘What... babysittin’?’

‘Good one, Tone.’

This is where I should have given him a bollocking, told him to get his act in gear. Like that.

What I did was:

‘Danny, could I ask you a big favour?’

‘Sure.’

‘Would you do a double shift? Cover for me...? I...’

‘Hey, no need to explain, Tone. Glad to.’

‘I really appreciate it, Danny. I owe you, okay?’

‘My pleasure. You’d think this kid would be toffee-nosed what with Cambridge ’n’ all but she’s down to earth, a real ordinary person.’

I wanted to say ‘Like Crystal’, but I needed the favour more, said, ‘Thanks again, Danny.’

‘What are friends for... eh?’

And he rung off.

Then I called Jeff, arranged to meet him at eight. Jeez, I even loved his voice.

Splendid evening, the Gods smiled huge. Jeff had dressed for the occasion, white button-down shirt, dark chinos, imitation Gucci slip ons. Those I know cos we do a brisk business with Taiwan via Deptford. I didn’t look too bad, either. Farrah slacks (c’mon, I’m over fifty) light polo neck, sports jacket. It was leather patches on the sleeve, to give the studied — if not studious — look. Yeah, I was a comer.

We had a drink at the Cricketers first. Probationary conversation, checking each other out. Couple of drinks and then off to an Italian joint at the Elephant. They do a mozzarella to die for. Ordered some Asti Spimanti and got behind that. I knew what he did for a living, he asked:

‘What do you do? Good Lord, I don’t even know what to call you.’

‘Tony’s good. Not that I am... least not if I can help it.’

The depth of my humour.

I was in the mild horror-zone of wanting to impress. A completely new take for me. My brain was delivering some impressive conversation but bright nuggets of repartee were mutilated into banality. Worse. I knew but couldn’t stop.

‘I’m in the people business.’

‘PR, you mean?’

‘Sort of, I get people what they need. Now can I get you another drink?’ Scintillating.

He asked:

‘Have you always been out.’

‘More or less, it wasn’t so acceptable in my day.’

‘C’mon Tony, you’re not that old.’

Loved him all right.

‘What about you, Jeff?’

‘Oh, I went to a very minor public school, buggery was compulsory.’ I laughed out loud. Too loud. I didn’t even find it funny, said, ‘All that education to become a messenger.’

‘Did you ever hear of Saki?’

‘The Japanese drink?’

He laughed politely. Hell, we were having a high old time.

‘Saki was a short story writer. An early Roald Dahl... he said, If you truly want a boy to become vicious, you have to send him to a good school.’

‘And did you... become vicious?’

‘I became an actor, is that the same?’

‘I think so.’

We had a clever chuckle, just two guys chuckling away. He told me of bit parts in The Bill, Eastenders, and piece de résistance, the lead in a building society ad. He asked if I’d seen it, I gushed, ‘Jeez, is that you? I love that ad.’

‘Well, it got me noticed.’

‘I’d never laid an eye on it but to be fair, it was probably terrific.’

‘So now you are — what’s the term? — resting on a bike... or you were?’