by Tor Fleck
‘I remember you,’ Paul said, pointing at pirate-leaning Douglas. ‘You were going out with … er … Carol. Is that right?’
Douglas smiled and nodded. ‘But then Richard was going out with her.’ The smile faded. Before he could elaborate, Richard arrived, out of breath and glancing over his shoulder, as though he’d been running from someone. ‘Sorry I’m late, gents,’ he gasped.
‘So what’s going on?’ asked Paul. ‘What’s the plan this time?’
Richard held up his hand, as he gulped in mouthfuls of air.
‘And why were you running?’ Paul asked.
‘Okay,’ said Richard, ignoring the question. ‘Thank you so much for coming. Paul. This is James.’
‘I know, we’ve already introduced ourselves.’
‘Great, James was in my class at drama school.’
‘Yup, we’ve established that too, though I’m not sure why we’ve never met?’
‘I’m a man of many oceans, Paul,’ said Richard, trying to sound enigmatic, and failing.
Paul sighed. ‘Get on with it.’
‘Okay, so – ’
‘I run my own video company,’ interrupted James. ‘Mostly weddings and small corporate gigs. All very dull, but it pays the mortgage.’
‘Unlike a career in acting,’ Richard butted in. He turned back to Paul. ‘I’ve asked James and Douglas, and – oh, sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.’
‘Stephen,’ replied Guillermo del Toro’s lost twin. ‘I was Anthony to your Cleopatra.’
‘What?’ Paul almost choked on the word.
Richard smiled. ‘Method, darling. You wouldn’t understand.’ He turned to Stephen. ‘God, you’re right. That takes me back. I still have fond memories of our nightly snog.’ Stephen grimaced. ‘Anyway,’ Richard continued, turning back to Paul. ‘My three amigos have agreed to help us shoot a couple of scenes from our screenplay.’
Paul looked at Richard and then at the three amigos. ‘For free?’ he asked, fearful of the answer.
‘Of course,’ replied Richard.
‘Wait,’ Douglas interjected. ‘You didn’t tell us that. You said – ’
‘James owes me a couple of favours, don’t you, James? And now I’m calling them in.’
‘I owe you?’ James replied.
‘You know …’ Richard raised his eyebrows.
‘No,’ said James. ‘I don’t know.’
Richard shrugged. ‘Oh well, stick it on my tab, eh?’
‘Fuck this,’ said James, and picked up an armful of gear.
‘Wait!’ Richard ran over and wrestled the gear away from James. ‘I tell you what,’ he said. ‘When we post the vids online we’ll put up a little ad for your company. And then when Hollywood comes a-knockin’, we’ll recommend you for celeb weddings. How about that?’
‘I’d prefer cash.’
‘Come on,’ pleaded Richard. ‘This is a chance to do something creative and interesting for once. You can spread your directorial wings.’
‘We’d prefer cash as well,’ piped up del Toro and the pirate.
‘Listen,’ said Richard. ‘If you do this for me, I’ll help you out at the next couple of weddings. You know, I could be your road crew.’
It was James’ turn to raise his eyebrows. ‘You?’ he asked. ‘Can you actually lift your own finger?’
‘Please, guys,’ begged Richard. ‘Help me out here. The Class of ’04 forever, yeah?’ Richard raised his fist. Paul could barely look at him. The man was embarrassing himself.
‘Okay,’ said James reluctantly. ‘We’ll give you a couple of hours. But that’s it.’
‘Yes!’ yelled Richard, punching the air. ‘You guys are legends!’
Paul was unimpressed. ‘So, what’s the plan now?’ he asked. ‘We’re filming in here?’
‘Yep,’ said Richard. ‘It’s all arranged. I have a friend on the inside. Sally Meatballs. You remember her?’
‘Who the fuck is Sally Meatballs?’ asked Paul, pulling a face.
‘That’s what we used to call her. C’mon, you must remember her. What was her real name?’
‘Don’t tell me Sally Meatballs isn’t her real name,’ said Paul, sarcastically.
Richard wracked his brain. ‘You remember her, James, don’t you?’
James shrugged. ‘It’s not a name you’d forget, but nope. Anyway, you were too prolific to keep up.’
‘I didn’t go out with her!’ Richard protested, as though offended by the suggestion that he did. ‘I was too scared of her boyfriend. They were like a couple of randy rabbits. The flat was constantly shaking. It was off the Richter scale. And the screams … I thought she must be murdering him. It was unbearable. You know how it is, when you’re between f – ’
‘Enough!’ Paul cut in. ‘So you’ve agreed it with her then?’
Richard avoided Paul’s gaze. ‘Oh yeah …’
‘You haven’t spoken to her, have you?’
‘Yes I have,’ Richard protested. ‘Maybe not this week … but recently.’
‘How recently?’
Richard sighed. ‘To be honest, I haven’t seen her for years, but she‘ll be over the moon to help us. She must be bored shitless with her job, just like James.’
‘Excuse me, who did say yes to this shit?’ Stephen asked, emerging from his near-narcoleptic, Pan’s Labyrinthine state.
‘Richard, in his own head,’ James replied.
‘Tell us, Richard,’ piped up Paul. ‘How the hell are we supposed to get in with all this gear?’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Richard. ‘I have a plan.’
‘That’s what we’re afraid of,’ said James.
Richard headed up the stairs. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let me do all the talking.’ And with that he sailed through the revolving door, leaving the others to lug all the gear up behind him.
By the time the ramshackle film crew had negotiated, and survived, the door’s perilous revolutions, Richard was already at reception, oozing out an oil-spill of charm at the young receptionist opposite. He waved Paul to come forward.
‘Michelle, this is my colleague, Paul. Sorry, I’m being presumptuous. Is it okay to call you Michelle?’ Richard had clocked her name badge as soon as he’d arrived.
Michelle hesitated. ‘Em … ’
Richard ploughed on. ‘Paul, I’ve just been explaining to Ms Lanyard here ...’ He turned back to Michelle. ‘Is that really your name?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Richard nodded. ‘Okay.’ He swivelled round on his heels. ‘Anyway, Paul, I was just saying to the lovely Michelle that we’re here to renew our client’s yacht insurance.’
Fuck it, thought Paul. Let’s just go with it. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘And we’re hoping for a much better deal than we got last year.’
Richard wasn’t expecting that, but he swivelled back confidently on his heels anyway. ‘A much better deal,’ he said to Michelle. ‘On account of our client being …’ He leaned over the desk and whispered. ‘… George Clooney.’
Michelle rubbed her nose. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ The receptionist’s non-reaction caught Richard off-guard.
‘Does he have a yacht here in Glasgow then?’ Michelle asked. Paul wasn’t sure whether that was a genuine question on her part, or whether she was playing Richard for the idiot he was. ‘On the Clyde, I mean?’ she added.
Richard swelled up his chest, a sure sign, in Paul’s experience, that a monumental amount of bullshit was about to be shat out. ‘George Aloysius Clooney has yachts all over the world,’ Richard explained haughtily. ‘But Glasgow is, by far, his favourite city. In fact, that’s the precise reason I’ve brought his film crew along with me today.’ He stabbed a finger over his shoulder at the three amigos, loitering suspiciously by the door.
‘I thought you were here to renew your insurance,’ Michelle said.
‘There are many strings to a bow,’ replied Richard cryptically, ‘And many hands required to pluck those many st
rings.’
Michelle stared back blankly.
‘It just so happens,’ said Richard, ‘that one of those many strings that those many hands are required to pluck involves a movie. A new movie. Shooting in the city today, in fact. And starring – ’
‘Not George Clooney?’ interrupted Michelle. She was interested now, and rubbed her nose more vigorously than before.
Richard threw a quick furtive glance around the foyer, then held a finger to his lips. ‘Shh,’ he said. ‘You didn’t hear it from me. But yes, he’s here. And he’s asked me to shoot a kind of video diary-type thing, so he can take it back to … er … Lake Como. He keeps a video record of all his trips to Glasgow, apparently.’
‘Wow,’ said Michelle. ‘I can’t believe it.’
Paul stood with his hands crossed in his lap. ‘It really is virtually unbelievable,’ he said, nodding solemnly.
‘He prefers Glasgow to Lake Como?’ Michelle asked, squinting up at Richard.
‘Oh, by a long, long mile,’ said Richard, coming dangerously close to over-doing it. ‘He’s always talking about how Glasgow is so real, you know? He loves the grit, and the grime, and our dark sense of humour.’
‘As well as being partial to the odd vat of Buckfast,’ dead-panned Paul.
‘Is Amal here with him?’ asked Michelle.
‘Anal?’
‘Amal,’ Michelle corrected. ‘His wife.’
‘Oh, Amal!’ said Richard, stalling while he tried to work out the best response. ‘Yes, of course. She travels with him to all of his shoots.’
‘Oh my God, really?’ Michelle quivered with genuine excitement. ‘Do you think I might get a chance to meet her?’
‘I can’t see why not,’ said Richard. ‘They’re both very private individuals, but they do prefer the company of ordinary people rather than the usual glitterati. And you know what, Ms Lanyard?’ Chest out, bullshit-o-meter about to explode. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you ended today sharing an intimate espresso with both of them.’
‘I don’t drink coffee.’ Michelle’s entire body went slack.
Richard fought to hide his impatience. He forced out a smile. ‘It doesn’t matter, lovely Michelle. You can quiz her on her latest human rights campaigns.’
‘Wow!’ said Michelle, sitting up and straightening her lanyard. ‘Now that is exciting.’
‘So,’ said Richard, ‘if you’d be so kind as to direct us to Sally Meatballs’ office.’
‘Who?’
‘Sorry, I mean your nautical insurance department.’
‘Ah, you mean Sally Bowles.’
‘Exactly!’ Richard exclaimed. ‘Sally Bowles.’
‘Ms Bowles’ office is on the eighth floor, at the end of the corridor,’ said Michelle. ‘The lift is over there behind the floor plant.’
‘Thank you, Ms Lanyard,’ smarmed Richard. ‘Mrs Clooney will be delighted to meet you, I’m sure.’
Michelle blushed, and Richard gestured to the three amigos to bring the gear over to the lift.
‘That went well,’ quipped Paul, as they waited for the lift to arrive.
‘How was I to know Ms Lanyard would be metrosexual?’ asked Richard.
‘I don’t even know what that means,’ said Paul. ‘You just can’t handle the fact that women don’t conform to the 1950s world that rolls on a loop inside your brain.’
‘Well, I still managed to pull the wool.’
‘I think she was playing you.’
‘Whatever.’
The lift arrived. With the gear squeezed in, there was no room for Paul. He had to take the stairs. When the lift reach the executive offices at the top of the building. Richard surprised everyone by helping to carry the gear along the corridor. Behind them, Paul emerged from the stairwell, sweating and out of breath.
‘Keep up!’ Richard shouted, eliciting a sneer from Paul. Bastard.
Richard stopped just before they reached Sally’s office. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘let’s drop this here. You guys wait and I’ll go prime Sally. I can’t wait to see her face.’ The others hung back while he rapped confidently on Sally’s frosted-pane door and entered. The surprised high-pitched yelps from behind the glass had Paul thinking of Richard’s indiscreet tale from earlier. A few seconds later, Richard’s head appeared, and he motioned for Paul to come in. With a quick, cynical glance at the three amigos, Paul took a deep breath, and stepped inside.
‘Paul, this is my old, dear friend, Sally Meatballs. Sally, meet Paul.’
‘Oh my God, don’t call me that!’ groaned Sally, whose sharp dark suit matched her brutal bob. ’It’s nice to meet you, Paul,’ she said, smiling as she shook his hand. She turned to Richard. ‘I can’t believe this!’ she said. ‘How the hell are you, Richard?’
‘Oh, you know,’ Richard replied. ‘Mischievous as ever. Are you still going out with … what’s his name?’
‘Frank Collinwood? Oh, Jesus Christ, no. That ship sailed many moons ago,’ she laughed.
Richard looked a little sheepish. ‘Sorry about what happened. You know?’
‘What? Oh … you mean …?’ Sally burst into laughter again, and it seemed to fill the room. No difficulty there, thought Paul, mentally approving the office’s minimalist look. Clean and clinical. Just how he liked it. He was particularly impressed by the spectacular views of the Clyde offered by the wide, ceiling-to-floor window.
‘Do you know what Richard did?’ Sally asked, flicking her hair back. Paul shook his head dumbly, trying not to imagine what kind of horror was about to be revealed.
‘I lightly loosened the bolts on Sally’s bed,’ said Richard. ‘And then, in the middle of the night, while the two of them were rockin’ in the free world …’ Richard winked at Paul. Paul winced.
‘Oh my, he was a screamer, wasn’t he?’ laughed Sally.
‘Oh yes! And even more that night!’
‘Anyway, moving on,’ said Sally. ‘Why are you here, Richard? You’re after something. You always were.’
‘Okay,’ said Richard. ‘As I said, this is Paul. Paul is the grandson of Alexander Mackendrick.’
‘What?’ Sally was stunned. ‘You mean the most brilliant writer and director ever to come out of Scotland? That Alexander Mackendrick?’
‘The very one.’
‘Oh bloody hell,’ said Sally. ‘What an honour. Paul, I am a huge, huge, fan of your grandfather’s work. He was a genius.’
‘Wasn’t he just,’ said Paul, not sure whether to play along with yet another of Richard’s lies or do a runner.
‘That’s why we’re here, Sally,’ Richard continued. ’I remembered how much of a fan you were of Paul’s grandfather’s work.’
‘I still am,’ Sally grinned.
‘Paul and I have been working on a screenplay,’ said Richard. ‘I have to tell you, Paul’s an amazing writer. Just amazing.’ He smiled over at his friend. ‘You walk proudly in your grandfather’s shoes, mate.’
‘Thank you,’ said Paul, one eye on the glass door, one on the window. If I jumped, he thought, at what point would I lose consciousness?
‘What’s it about?’ asked Sally. ‘Your screenplay.’
‘Oh, we couldn’t possibly divulge,’ said Richard. ‘WIP and all that. However – ’ Richard paused for dramatic effect. ‘What we’re doing at the moment is shooting a number of key scenes to use as promotional material. You know, to pitch to producers. And that’s where you come in.’
‘Me?’ said Sally, surprised. ‘You don’t want me to act, do you?’
‘You’re a fabulous actor,’ Richard schmoozed. ‘By far the best of ’04.’
Sally blushed. ‘Stop charming me, you devil. I was at best reliable, but still pretty run-of-the-mill. I was never going to actually make it.’
‘Don’t run yourself down,’ said Richard. ‘You had talent. Have talent.’
Sally shook her head. ‘I have what I need. A lovely husband and two adorable kids. And I enjoy what I do. I make an absolute shedload of cash.’
Sally lifted Richard’s hand just as lightly off. ‘No. I don’t. I’ve grown up.’
‘That’s a shame,’ said Richard, undeterred. ‘In that case, do you mind if we use your office as one of our sets?’
‘What?’
‘We need a realistic space to film some office scenes.’
‘But here?’ Sally looked around her immaculately laid out work space with a sudden sense of fierce territoriality.
‘We’d only need a couple of hours.’
‘But I’m working,’ Sally protested. Plus, it’d ruin the feng-shui!
Richard looked conspicuously at his watch. ‘It’s coming up to lunchtime.’
Sally shook her head. ‘It’s out of the question. You shouldn’t really be in here anyway. How did you get past reception?’
Richard fluttered his eyelashes. ‘C’mon, Sally,’ he whispered. ‘For old times’ sake.’
In the expectant silence, Paul had a sudden urge to fart loudly.
Sally nervously checked her watch and looked up at both of them, standing in front of her like obedient children promised an ice cream.
‘If you won’t do it for me,’ urged Richard, ‘do it for the Mackendrick legacy.’
Ahh, thought Paul. Richard’s trump card. You’ve got to hand it to him. He’s bloody good.
‘Oh, go on then,’ agreed Sally, visibly wilting. ‘When you put it like that, how can I refuse?’
‘Thank you, Sally Meatballs!’ said Richard, giving her a hug. Sally pushed him away. ‘But you have to put everything back exactly the way it is now, okay? And if the phone rings, ignore it. And don’t go near any of the files or – ’
Before Sally could finish her sentence, Richard had ushered in the three amigos, laden with camera equipment. ‘Sally, meet our crew,’ he said. The three amigos nodded sheepishly.
