Frank 'n' Stan's bucket list - #2: TT Races - Poignant, uplifting and sublimely funny - one to put a huge smile on your face!

by J C Williams

  Frank squinted through the sleep in his eyes. “Dave. You seem too chirpy. Why are you chirpy,” he said, not having the energy to raise the last word into a question.

  “I feel fine. And, besides, any hangover I might have had would’ve been effectively obliterated when I walked into the room across the hall.”

  “That’s Stella’s room,” Stan replied gravely.

  “I know that now,” said Dave. “And I saw more of Stella than I needed to at this time of the morning – or any time, for that matter. Never am I entering a room again without knocking first.”

  “Only you just did,” Frank replied.

  Stan put his hand up, like a child asking a question at school. “Hello? I’ve got an image of Lee and Stella climbing onto a rodeo bull. Did I dream that?”

  “Nope, it happened,” replied Dave.

  “Dancing with a policeman at the beer tent?”

  “Happened,” replied Dave. “And don’t forget about the dodgems.”

  “Aww, fucking hell,” continued Stan, hand remaining aloft. “Was I topless?”

  “Yup! Swinging your shirt like a lasso!”

  Stan buried his head in his hands. “Dave, you were the sensible one. You were supposed to be making sure I behaved.”

  “That’s the first time anyone has ever said those words to me,” Dave answered. “But, thanks. I’m not exactly a bastion of sensibility. And I’ve gotten a tattoo… I think?”

  “You think?” asked Frank, now more interested in the conversation.

  Dave pulled up his sleeve, revealing a white bandage with the words, In case you forget, leave me alone for 24 hours written in thick black marker pen on it. “I’ve also got a text telling me exactly the same message. I must have told the shop to text me, just in case I forgot?”

  “What sort of tattoo?” asked Frank.

  “No idea. My mate did it. I gave him my phone and he swiped through. He finds a picture he likes, and he does the rest. I didn’t ask questions. He’s only done the outline, apparently, as he didn’t have too much time, so I need to go back to get it finished up.”

  Frank joined Stan sat up in bed looking perturbed. “Hang on, Dave. If you’ve just had a tattoo will that not hamper your arm movement, especially if you’re wearing leathers?”

  “Nah, she’ll be fine,” replied Dave, with a thumbs-up. “Not a problem.”

  “But how can you be sure until you get out on the track?” pressed Frank.

  “It’s fine, Frank. I did the same thing last year,” Dave explained, revealing his other arm.

  Frank clambered for his reading glasses to confirm he had indeed seen what he thought he’d just seen. “Bloody hell!” he laughed, moving in for an even closer look. “And you say your mate did this?”

  “It’s a belter, isn’t it!” Dave replied, with an admiring glance at his arm. “I’d been mucking around with photoshop and this picture was the one that caught his eye. It’s quite the conversation piece!”

  “I’ll say!” said Frank. “Never did I think I’d see a tattoo of a voluptuous mermaid in a bikini top, scales and all, with the head of one Shaun Montgomery. I’m not sure if I’m horrified, or–”

  “Aroused?” said Dave, cutting across.

  Frank’s voice went up a pitch. “Aroused? That’s not the word I was looking for. At all. You’re not right in the head, mate. You really need to have that looked at… your head, I mean… by a licensed therapist…”

  “Oh,” said Dave, voice tinged with disappointment. “Most people say aroused.”

  “Anyway,” continued Dave. “Stan, you need to lay low around the paddock. If they watch the CCTV, you’ll be in a spot of bother.”

  “A spot of bother?” enquired Stan.

  “In deep shit,” Dave clarified. “Anyway, I need to get going, chaps.”

  “Wait, what?” said Stan, pulling his trousers on. “What do you mean about the CCTV?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me?” said Dave.

  “No, what?” pleaded Stan, reaching for Dave’s forearm.

  “Oi! Mind the tattoo,” said Dave, taking a step back. “Now, you’re saying you don’t remember the huge penis from last night, then?”

  Stan blinked.

  “The enormous cock?” said Dave.

  Stan looked over to Frank for help.

  “What are you looking at me for?” said Frank. “I’m not the one that’s done it!”

  Stan turned his attention back to Dave. “What about the CCTV??”

  “You,” said Dave, with a prodded finger. “Drew a penis – the size of a grown man, no less – on the side of a race truck.”

  “No. I didn’t… did I?” Stan asked, looking back towards a shoulder-shrugging Frank. “Why the hell would I do that?”

  “Well. Because I dared you,” Dave explained. “But you weren’t interested. It was only when Monty got involved and double-dared you that the spray paint came out.”

  “Where did I–?” began Stan.

  “It’s the stuff they use to mark out camping pitches on the grass,” Dave told him. “How you got hold of a tin of it, I’ve no idea, but I’ve got to tell you, Stan, you’re quite the talented artist.”

  “Whose truck was it?” asked a panicked Stan.

  “Not entirely sure. Possibly the McMullans’? Can’t say for certain.”

  Stan’s face was ashen. “I’m never going out with you lot again. I’ll bloody kill Monty when I catch up with him!”

  “Ehm, Monty didn’t exactly come out of this whole thing unscathed himself,” offered Dave.

  “My ears are burning,” said Monty, peering around the door. “Dave, by the way, don’t go in that room across the hall,” he added, thumb pointing. “I’ve just seen things no man should see. That way lies madness.”

  “If only you’d told me that ten minutes ago,” replied Dave.

  Frank was now on his feet. “Monty, what the hell? Where’s your hair?”

  Stan nodded, shaking his hand in a moment of recollection. “Ah. Monty. I shaved your hair… I think?”

  Monty ran his hand along his shaven bonce. “And a cracking job you’ve done, as well.”

  “Remember the giant cock from last night?” asked Dave to Monty, to which Monty cast a glance in Frank’s direction.

  “Will people stop bloody looking over at me about this?” Frank protested.

  Monty chuckled. “Oh, yes. Yes, now I remember. Napier and Thomas are going to be mad as a bag of ferrets.”

  “Was it not the McMullans’ truck?” asked Dave.

  Monty shrugged. “Maybe. Now you mention it, you could be right?”

  “Oh, dear god,” said Stan. “This is a nightmare. I’m a team principal. I’m supposed to be responsible, not running around at stupid-o’clock-in-the-morning defacing our competitor’s truck.”

  “They’re not really our competition, though?” offered Monty. “I mean not really.”

  “Yes, but you take my point, Monty. It’s not exactly role-model behaviour. The TT hasn’t even started for us and I’m in danger of getting us kicked out!”

  “Nothing to do with us,” said Dave, holding his hands out. “If you go down, you’re going alone!”

  “Great team spirit, guys, thanks!” Stan moaned.

  “Don’t stress it,” said Monty. “I’m pretty sure there’s no CCTV there. Trust me, if there was, we’d have been in serious trouble over the years. Who do you think they’re going to blame, anyway? Whichever truck you vandalised, they’ll just assume it was the other team. Don’t worry about it. Anyway. Doughnut?” asked Monty, holding out a box.

  Stan sat on the edge of the bed, nursing his throbbing head. “That’s it, I’m never going out again, and I bloody mean it!”

  “I’ll take one of those doughnuts,” remarked Frank.

  Chapter Seventeen

  June 1979

  F rank was known for many things, but being an early riser was not one of them. He was slightly embarrassed to realise he didn’t know wh
ere the light switch was to the reception area of his own office – which he consequently fumbled through, tripping over several chairs in the process. Sleep had eluded him the previous evening; every eventuality ran through his mind, and with Stan away on business he hoped that his imagination was running away with him, but there was one nagging thought he just couldn’t shake.

  “Bloody hell, Frank, what are you doing up so early? Did you wet the bed or something?” asked Stan, en route to his office.

  “Good trip?” asked Frank.

  “It was good. Brilliant, in fact. Let me get rid of my bag and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Keep calm, Frank, keep calm, he said to himself, but the reddening of his cheeks suggested he wasn’t adhering to his own instruction.

  Stan fell into the seat on the other side of his desk, running his hands through his hair. “You should come up to Manchester next time, Frank. There’s a lot we can do up there, a lot of switched-on people.”

  Frank didn’t respond, instead, taking several deep breaths.

  Stan waited for a response that didn’t arrive.

  “Everything okay, Frank?”

  Frank reached into his drawer, pulled out the file Sally had prepared, and slammed it down on Stan’s desktop.

  “Where’s the money, Stan?”

  Stan was caught unawares. His grin turned to laughter. He was unsure what he was laughing about, but he assumed it was a joke he didn’t quite at the moment get.

  Frank’s solemn demeanour was unwavering.

  “You’re being serious?” asked Stan.

  “Very,” said Frank, opening the folder. “Who are they?” he asked, prodding the highlighted spreadsheet. Stan didn’t seem overly concerned, which only served to increase Frank’s frustration.

  “Who are ABC Talent Management, Stan?” he continued. “Stan, are you ripping me off?”

  Stan raised his hands in a don’t-shoot-me pose. “Wait a minute, Frank. You’re actually being serious here? Bloody hell, Frank, I can’t believe you think I could possibly be ripping you off.”

  Stan stood, closing the door. It was still early, but he didn’t want any of the staff to overhear. Stan placed his forearms flat on the surface of the desk, leaning closer, but not in a threatening manner.

  “Frank,” he said, shaking his head. “Look at me. I swear I’ve not ripped you off. I never would. Ever. Ever.”

  “Who are ABC?” Frank reiterated.

  “It’s Tommy Banks’ company. I told you about this, Frank. I’ve not kept you up-to-date with every transaction because you kept telling me you weren’t interested in the money side.”

  “Stan, that’s when I thought we had money,” replied Frank, dropping a bank statement in front of him. “Stan, we’re nearly broke!”

  “It’s not that bad,” said Stan, although he recoiled somewhat when presented with the balance on the bank statement. “It’s all about cash flow, Frank. We have to spend money to make money, don’t forget. Frank, everything we do is cash up-front. These music halls we hire cost money.”

  “But they sell out!”

  “Frank, I know. But we have to pay most of these places in advance. Sure, we’ll get the money back. But we have to speculate to accumulate. Everyone we deal with has got their hand out for their slice of the action, and that includes the bloody tax man who wasn’t shy about asking for his bit, either. Frank, this is an expensive business. Perhaps I should have been a bit more upfront with you, but I genuinely thought you just wanted to concentrate on finding the talent.”

  Stan reached over and placed his hands over Frank’s.

  “Frank, I’d never rip you off. I promise you.”

  Frank’s demeanour softened. “Okay. I believe you, Stan. But why are we paying Tommy Banks all of this cash, still?”

  Stan put one hand to his forehead. “Frank, in this business there’s a lot of competition, as you know. We were small fish, two nothings in an established town. The music venues didn’t want to know us and most of the decent acts had a countless number of agents just rolling the red carpet out for them. We were the bottom of the pile. Tommy Banks sold himself as a consultant that could smooth our progression into the business – grease a few cogs, as it were.”

  “Are we being shaken down?” asked Frank.

  “Is that even a thing?” scoffed Stan, but Frank was deadly serious.

  “Stan, I’m not brilliant with money, but I’m not bloody stupid either. I don’t care what you call it, but is this money a retainer for Tommy Banks? Are we being shaken down? In other words, Stan, if we were to stop paying Tommy Banks, would his heavies be kicking our door down and rearranging your perfect white teeth?”

  “Yes,” said Stan.

  “Fuck! How much do we owe him?”

  Stan’s façade of confidence was replaced with that of vulnerability. “I’m not sure,” he confided. “It’s not that simple.”

  “If we owe him money, how much for him to piss off?”

  Stan thought for a moment.

  “Frank, he helped to secure music halls when we started out. He helped us to be at the top of the queue when acts were looking for representation. He got involved when every wise guy wanted to take what was ours. It wasn’t one amount – he sees this more as an ongoing investment.”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this, Stan. How much is his ongoing investment costing us?”

  “Five hundred a month.”

  “Five hundred a month! That’s a bloody fortune! For how long do we have to pay this?”

  Stan’s head fell. “Ongoing,” he replied.

  “Frank,” Stan continued. “I’m not throwing any of this at your door, but we were both more than happy to spend the cash on flash cars and champagne. Look, it’s fine, we just need to get through this slump and we’ll be fine. It will all be okay.”

  “Stan, listen to yourself. We’re not okay, we have no money. The bank has been bouncing our cheques and they’ve called in our overdraft. You said the tax man has been paid, but he hasn’t. Sally’s sat on a final demand which she says you’ve known about for weeks. I can’t believe I’ve been thinking about this, let alone saying it out loud, but, Stan, I think we need to wind the business down. We need to call it a day.”

  Stan shook his head furiously. “Frank, we can’t! We’ve still got all the acts. We’ll get through this.”

  “Stan, you’re kidding yourself. We’ve got nothing. Anything we have is as a result of Tommy Banks, not our hard work. We just need to settle what we can and bugger off.”

  “There was a loan, also,” Stan admitted after a pause. “Tommy lent the business ten thousand pounds to take it to the next level.”

  Frank laughed. But it wasn’t the happy sort of laugh.

  “This gets better by the minute, doesn’t it? Stan, you can tell Tommy to stick his money where the sun doesn’t shine. Here!” he said, throwing his keys over. “Tell Tommy it’s his. Everything. But everything is not as substantial as I once thought it was, is it?”

  “Frank, I know what you’re saying, but we can’t… I just can’t. It’s not that simple. Frank, I need to come clean with you. What I just said, I’ve lied to you. Well, not lied, exactly. But, not told you the complete truth.”

  “You have been stealing?”

  “No! I wasn’t lying about that, Frank. Frank, look, Tommy Banks did loan us money and open a few doors, but… but he’s also blackmailing me.”

  “What? What do you mean he’s blackmailing you? Fucksake, Stan!”

  Frank took to his feet and slapped the office wall, causing a gold disc to wobble precariously. “Does that explain this, then?” said Frank, sliding a white envelope towards him.

  Stan pulled out the photograph and collapsed back. “I’m not going to ask how you found this,” he said.

  “Stan, I had to do something. I had to know what was going on. Do you know who he is?” asked Frank. “What are you doing with him? He’s a bloody politician. He’s a politician with a family, and a
n outspoken critic on homosexuality on top of it. I say again, what are you doing with him?”

  “I love him,” said Stan, voice breaking. “And he loves me.”

  “I can see that from the photo. There’s a lot of love going on there! If the papers got hold of that they’d have a bloody field day, which is why I’m guessing you’re paying the money to Banks?”

  “I don’t know what to do Frank, please help me,” said Stan, unable to keep back the emotion. “This picture will finish him off.”

  “How?” asked Frank. “How did this happen?”

  “They knew he was leading another life and followed him for long enough until they had the pictures they wanted. Tommy Banks didn’t know I was involved with him, for him it was a happy coincidence for him to have a hold on me. Frank, you need to understand one thing. Any money I gave to Banks came out of my share of the business. Anything I gave to him meant I took out less money from the business so you were not out of pocket. The business is still in good shape, we just need to get through the next few months!”

  “Stan, you want my help? We need to pack up and disappear. This Tommy Banks thing? It’ll never end. He’ll never go away, he’ll bleed you dry until you have nothing left, even if it takes a lifetime. You need to break it off with this fella of yours and we’ll go back to Liverpool.”

  Stan’s tears flowed uncontrollably. “Frank, I love him. I really love him.”

  “Stan, you need to get out of my office. I need you to not be around me at the moment. So, please. Just go.”

  Stan didn’t move, until Frank gripped the arm of his shirt. “Stan, get out. I don’t want to be near you just now,” Frank said again, ushering him out the door.

  After Stan was gone, Frank snatched up the closest gold disc and threw it across the room. “Shit!” he screamed, before lowering his voice to a whisper. “Shit.”

  “Good shot,” commented Sally, taking a position resting against the door frame. “This is why you shouldn’t come into the office early.”

  “I’m sorry about the noise,” Frank told her.