“No, I think you’re a dropout because you’re literally wearing a badge that says DROPOUT,” said Danny. He pointed to a cluster of colorful pin buttons that decorated Tim’s breast pocket.
“Oh. Yeah. I just bought that because it seemed edgier than a badge that said MASTER OF FINANCE on it.”
“So you graduated?”
“Top of my class.”
“Then no offense or anything, but what the hell are you doing here? You could be raking it in, mate, you don’t need to be doing this.”
“Most of us don’t need to be doing this. We do it because we enjoy it. This isn’t the Foreign Legion, you know. People don’t just become street performers because they’re in some kind of trouble. Well, apart from you. No offense or anything.” Tim smiled.
“Touché,” said Danny.
“I tried it for a couple of years. The banking thing. I hated it. The money was good but I was totally miserable, and so was everybody I worked with. Whoever said that money can buy you happiness clearly had no idea what they were on about.”
“Nobody said that,” said Danny.
“What?”
“Nobody ever said money can buy happiness. They said money can’t buy happiness.”
“Really?”
“Pretty sure, yeah.”
“Then my mum’s full of shit,” said Tim.
“Well, money seems to make him happy,” said Danny, nodding at El Magnifico, who was busy counting his bills for the umpteenth time.
“It’s basically the only thing he cares about. Well, that and his gown. He’s very attached to the gown. Some kid accidentally stepped on it once and he threatened to fucking destroy them. Those were his actual words. The mother was quite rightly mortified.”
“It’s not even a gown, it’s a woman’s bathrobe. He stole it from his ex-girlfriend.”
“Are you sure?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“No, I mean are you sure he has an ex-girlfriend? Like, a real one?”
“Oh, she’s real all right,” said Danny. “Real mean. Incredible dancer, though, I’ve never seen anything like it. I asked her to teach me but, well, she called me a twat and gave me the finger. And then robbed me.”
“Maybe she’d be more willing to help if you came bearing gifts.”
“Like what? I can’t even afford the bus ride home.”
“How about a nice silk bathrobe?” said Tim, his eyes fixed on El Magnifico, who had finally stopped counting his money and was now carefully folding up his gown. They both watched him slide the garment into his bag.
“We can’t,” said Danny.
“Why?”
“Because. It’s stealing.”
“You can’t steal something that’s already stolen. It’s like, you know, double jeopardy or whatever. And anyway, think of it as payback for stealing your clothes.”
“We don’t know for a fact that was him.”
“The human statue saw him do it. She told me.”
“And she didn’t try to stop him?”
“She didn’t want to break character.”
“Brilliant,” said Danny. He chewed his lip and stared at El Magnifico. “Okay, how are we going to do this?”
Tim grinned.
“Follow me,” he said.
* * *
El Magnifico was busy emptying his sleeves of flowers, playing cards, and colorful strings of handkerchiefs. He didn’t see Tim approaching.
“Milton’s written a song for you,” said the musician. “Want to hear it?”
El Magnifico ignored him.
“Great,” said Tim, strumming his guitar and twiddling the tuning pegs until he found the sound he wanted. He cleared his throat and began to sing in the style of a medieval ballad.
“There once lived a rubbish wizard, his gaze was icy like a blizzard, his face was ugly, like a lizard, his name was El Magnifico.”
“Go away, hippie,” said El Magnifico without turning around.
“He liked to dress in women’s clothes, he wore a bathrobe to his shows, beneath it he wore pantyhose, and not just at the weekend.”
“I’m warning you,” said El Magnifico, unaware that Danny had crept up behind him as he turned to face Tim. “Leave now, while you’re still not on fire.”
“He thought he could set things alight, with nothing but his mental might, his face would go all red and bright, but nothing ever happened.”
“Right!” said El Magnifico. “You’ve asked for it!” He pointed at Milton. “Say good-bye to your little friend!” He placed his fingers on his temples and grimaced like he’d stubbed his toe. He didn’t see Danny gently tugging the robe from his bag.
“Then one day his head went bang! ‘Thank God for that!’ the people sang, flowers bloomed and church bells rang, and world peace shortly followed.”
El Magnifico started to tremble like the back row of an adult movie theater. Behind him, Danny gave Tim the thumbs-up and tiptoed away with the robe under his arm. Tim nodded and began to walk off in the opposite direction.
“That’s the ending of this tale, now it’s time for us to bail, ’cos H&M are having a sale, and Milton wants a turtleneck sweater.”
The magician gasped, his body slumping as his hands fell by his sides.
“Next time, hippie!” he shouted after Tim. “Next time!”
CHAPTER 15
Litter swirled around Danny’s feet as he walked through a part of town that was always dark, regardless of the weather or time of day. A drunk man staggered into him and blamed him for it as he zigzagged down the middle of the road like a sailor crossing a deck in a storm. Even the pigeons were hostile, standing their ground like feathered thugs and forcing Danny to walk around them.
He stopped outside a pair of black double doors. Above them hung the transparent skeleton of an unlit neon sign that read FANNY’S. Not wanting to be seen entering a strip club at barely ten o’clock in the morning, Danny lingered outside for a moment until the street was clear of people. Then, trying one of the handles and finding the door unlocked, he cautiously entered the club.
He found himself in a long dark corridor that smelled like baby wipes and something else that he couldn’t identify but guessed to be the odor that emanated from broken dreams. Passing an unmanned coat booth and then the bathrooms—the men’s bore a sign reading DICKS on the door while the women’s read LADIES—he entered a large room containing several empty podiums and more mirrors than a Borges anthology. Each of the platforms had a pole in the middle that reached up to the treacle-colored ceiling tiles that seemed to have been installed at least a decade before the smoking ban came into effect.
At the far end of the room was a bar, and at the bar was a woman dressed like a judge from a children’s beauty pageant.
“Hi,” said Danny.
“Fuck off,” said the woman without looking up from her calculator. “We’re closed.”
“I’m looking for Krystal.”
“So is everybody. Come back tonight like everybody else. Until then, fuck off.”
“Look, if I could just see her for a minute, I’ve got something I think she might like.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“Really?” said Danny.
The woman sighed and looked at him then. She was caked in makeup, but no amount of foundation could dilute the lifetime of heartache, disappointment, late-night phone calls, and early morning pick-me-ups that lived in the creases of her face.
“Yes, fuckstick, really, and you know what? Somebody out there in this miserable world of ours probably is interested in what you have to offer. You might have to pay them, or get them really drunk, or dig them up, or order them online, but still, they’re out there, somewhere, waiting for you, so turn around, walk out the door, and go find that special someone, because I guarantee you that Krystal has absolutely no interest whatsoever in seeing your shriveled excuse for a penis. Got that?”
“My shriveled… wait, what?” said Danny. “No, th
at’s not— Let me show you—”
“Vesuvius!” yelled the woman.
Before he could ask what exactly a Vesuvius was, a man burst through a door behind the bar with arms full of muscles and muscles full of tattoos.
“This weirdo was about to get his bits out,” she said.
“I was not about to get my bits out!” said Danny, unable to believe he was having this conversation.
“Do us a favor and show him the door, would you, Suvi?”
“Can I frisk him first?” said Vesuvius. “He looks like he’d enjoy it.”
Danny looked at the man’s knuckles. OPEN was written across his right hand, WIDE across his left. Danny had no idea what it meant, but every explanation he could think of sounded painful.
“It’s okay, Fanny,” said Krystal as she suddenly appeared behind Danny. “He’s harmless. He’s a dickhead, but he’s harmless.”
“That’s right,” said Danny, nodding. “I am. Harmless, I mean.”
“Then I guess it’s your lucky day,” said Fanny. “Come on, Suvi, let’s leave these two lovebirds alone.”
Vesuvius, clearly disappointed with the nonviolent resolution, skulked after Fanny as she disappeared through the door behind the bar.
“Thanks,” said Danny. “I—”
“You got that money you owe me?”
“What? No, I—”
“Then fuck off,” said Krystal as she turned to leave.
“Wait!” said Danny, digging around in the bag he was carrying. “I brought you this.” He pulled out El Magnifico’s robe and held it up.
Krystal stared at the garment. She tried to frown, but her mouth twitched with the urge to smile. “Where’d you get that?” she said.
“Magic.”
Krystal started to laugh. Danny smiled.
“What’s so funny?” he said.
“It’s not mine.”
“What?”
“The robe. It’s not mine. I was just saying that to piss him off,” she said.
Danny shrugged. “Well, I guess this’ll piss him off even more, then.”
She took the robe and turned it over in her hands. “Why’d you do it?”
“Because I’m a good person,” he said. Krystal stared at him. “And because I need your help.”
“I fucking knew it!”
“Just teach me the basics,” said Danny. “Please. Just the basics. That’s all I’m asking.”
“No,” said Krystal.
“Please.”
“No.”
“I’ll give you a hundred pounds,” he said, trying and failing to provoke a smile.
“I’ll give you a hundred pounds to jump in front of a bus.”
Danny thought about this for a moment.
“Does the bus have to be moving?” he said.
“Yes.”
“How fast?”
“Fast enough to kill you,” said Krystal, “but slow enough so you’ll feel it.”
“Right,” said Danny. “That’s not a good deal.”
“Yeah, and neither is me wasting my time teaching you how to dance in exchange for sweet fuck-all.”
“Look, think of it like this. The better I can dance, the more money I can make, and the more money I can make, the more I’ll be taking away from El Magnifico. Don’t think of it like you’re helping me. Think of it like you’re screwing your ex. Figuratively speaking.”
This time Krystal said nothing. She chewed her lip and shook her head as if disagreeing with some invisible counsel.
“Please. Just do this and you’ll never have to see me again.”
“You promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“That makes two of us,” said Krystal. “Come on, then.” She gestured for him to follow her. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Wait, now?” he said, but Krystal had already gone.
Danny followed her through the door behind the bar, down a short corridor, and into a large room with wooden floors and a grubby mirror lining the full length of the back wall. It looked like a ballet studio, albeit one with disco balls and pole-dancing equipment, and it smelled like cigarettes and Red Bull.
“You’ve got two hours,” said Krystal. “If you can’t learn the basics in two hours, then you may as well go back to stacking beans or manning glory holes or whatever it was you were doing before.”
“I was a builder, actually. I lost my job about a month ago.”
“Didn’t ask, don’t care,” she said, crouching in front of a large stereo system in the corner of the room. “Let’s get started, I haven’t got all day.”
The mirror began to vibrate as ABBA’s “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” started pounding from the speakers.
Krystal hung her coat up and stood in the middle of the room. Danny lingered nervously by the door.
“Come on, then, numb nuts,” she shouted, pointing to the spot beside her.
Danny took a deep breath and joined her in front of the mirror.
“Okay,” said Krystal. “Stand like this. Feet apart, head down, wait for the beat to kick in. Three, two, one, nowwwww start with the shoulder. Nice and easy, keep it loose.”
She gently rocked her shoulder as she moved in time to the music. Danny jerked his arm back and forth like a faulty factory robot.
“Now the other shoulder,” she said. “Like this. Left, right, left, right. Just follow the rhythm and go for it.”
Danny followed the rhythm and went for it, but the rhythm saw him coming and ran off before he got there.
“Then slowly bring the hips in, and then the arms, like this. Small movements, nothing fancy. Click your fingers if it helps. Like this. Click. Move. Click. Move.”
He started to snap his fingers, but the gesture only confused him further. He looked like he’d danced into the Twilight Zone and didn’t know how to dance his way out again.
“Now the feet. Blokes never use their feet, they’re too scared to spill their pint, but you can’t dance without your feet. Again, keep it simple, like this. Step one, step two, step one, step two.”
Danny wiped his brow with his forearm. He felt like he’d just started a marathon and only now realized how far away the finish line was.
“Come on,” said Krystal, “keep it up. You’re doing well. Now bring it all together. Head, arms, shoulders, hips, legs. Feel it. Come on. Dance. Dance like you want a man after midnight.”
“Head, shoulders, arms, head, shoulders,” wheezed Danny as he moved the opposite part of his body to every part he muttered aloud. His face glistened like the disco ball above him, whether with sweat or with tears, he wasn’t quite sure.
“Last stretch. Don’t lose it now. Dance. Twenty seconds. Give it all you’ve got. Ten seconds. Come on. Five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One. And. Rest.”
Danny slouched forward, steadying himself with his hands on his knees to keep from keeling over. Sweat dripped from the end of his nose and his breathing was loud and labored. He felt like he was about to throw up, or die, or throw up and then die.
Krystal smiled at him in the same way a murderous spouse smiles at her partner just before skydiving together.
“Ready for round two?” she said.
* * *
Danny was no stranger to suffering. He was, if anything, a very close acquaintance of it. But over the course of the next two hours, all of the problems that had plagued his life up until that moment miraculously disappeared, not because he was lost in the music or the art of the dance but because keeping up with Krystal was so traumatic that all other traumas took a backseat while he focused on simply trying to survive.
It wasn’t easy for him to pinpoint precisely which part of the process he struggled with the most because he struggled with everything equally. Fitness proved to be a major obstacle. Danny had always considered himself to be a fairly healthy guy. He couldn’t run a marathon, or even any kind of extended distance unless being chased by something ravenous, but he could sprint for a bus without riskin
g an aneurysm and he could take the stairs if the elevator was broken without first letting the police know where to find his body. He didn’t eat organic kale with tofu for breakfast every day (nor any day, for that matter), but he didn’t smoke, he rarely drank, and while years in the construction trade had turned many of his workmates into redder, heavier versions of their former selves due to the self-deceptive belief that routinely eating pastries was fine as long as you kept yourself moving, the daily grind of the building site had transformed the scrawny kid that Danny had started out as into the strong, lean man he now was.
But early into the session it became painfully clear that it wasn’t strength he was lacking, nor was it strength that he needed (except for strength of mind, perhaps, his having absconded almost as soon as the session had started); it was stamina. He could barely make it through a single song without pausing in the middle to catch his breath, check his pulse, and google how many beats per minute it took for a human heart to explode, and even without the panda suit he perspired so profusely that at one point Krystal had to call the cleaning lady to squeegee the floor lest it turn into a safety hazard. Equally problematic was Danny’s coordination skills, or lack thereof. He shook when he should have been shimmying, he shimmied when he should have been spinning, he spun when he should have been strutting, and instead of strutting he did something that even Krystal didn’t have a word for. Not that she made it particularly easy for him. Following her lead was like following a fugitive who knew the roads when he didn’t. She gunned the straights, sped into corners, and only slowed down when Danny took a wrong turn or ended up in a ditch. Even when she took her foot off the pedal he struggled to keep up with her, and so it went for two exhausting hours until Krystal finally stopped the music and threw him an unwashed beer towel to wipe his face with, which he did, gladly. She looked impossibly composed, like someone who had just awoken from a long and invigorating sleep, and the only time she broke a sweat was when she had to assist Danny out of the studio and back down the corridor to the bar.
“Two waters, please, Suvi,” said Krystal, “and a kiss of life for this one.” She nodded at Danny, who was trying to hoist himself onto the barstool beside her.
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