by Peter Marks
Faint but legible amongst the web of veins and arteries rising from the white skin surface, six engraved numerals pronounced him sane and the world askew. Noticing this and not wanting Stacy to, Wright nonchalantly changed arms and left her decorated with a matching set of stained arms and went inside with two phone numbers for a single woman.
So sped those fateful Fridays: the 21st and the 21st.
And the first double date Wright hadn’t been totally blind to.
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“Maybe I am crazy. Maybe all those years of wanton abuse - of meat pies packed with preservatives, of Whisky binges, of Serepax siestas and blows to the head playing hockey have indeed irreparably damaged my brain…”
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Wright’s diary was full of such wank warped wisdom.
Chapter Twenty-Three
DELIRIUM
KELLY WAS SMART. She had gotten as far away from the pining and petulant Wright as a Jumbo could carry her. She was now in London and so well beyond the cries of the pissed and very pissed off Nathan who was suffering in anything but silence. He was moaning with renewed vigour about the meaning of life and the meanness of love having tried everything aside from wealth or suicide to win her back.
Unfortunately for Nathan, of the two options, Nathan was left with only one which was realistic. Leaving.
Life.
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Not that Nathan knew but not all had gone to plan for Kelly either. She’d sincerely believed trading-in Nathan would solve all her problems. Time soon proved the idiocy of this attitude. After a couple of months with Graham she’d discovered, somewhat dumbfounded, that the this new one also needed to be traded in so she’d also dumped Graham when she’d finally realised that his hot dog was about the only thing they shared (often as it happened). He wasn’t right nor was Wright either. Love sure was complicated.
Graham had turned out to be about as bright as a blown globe and duller than Nathan’s sense of romance. Graham had turned out to be so lacking in humour that Kelly had found herself longing for Nathan’s humour. This was an unexpected response but it was undeniable, Graham was mind bogglingly monotonous. The sex had been great but a decent sausage was no real substitute for a decent brain
Now Kelly was really confused.
At first she’d been ravenous for all those emotions Nathan had proven so inept at. Graham told her he loved constantly, he took her every-where with him, he brought her flowers and gifts, he was straight, conventional. NORMAL.
He’d seemed perfect.
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Graham also seemed her White Knight, telling Kelly that if this Wright character continued to ring, chase and basically bother her that he’d personally find the pricks face with a frenzied fist.
At first Kelly found the fact that she had a man who’d fight for her quite attractive until she realised how ridiculous violence was so she grew rather suspicious of a Graham who apparently didn’t have the intelligence to settle any dispute other than by shattering flesh and bone.
She also recalled a story Martin had once told her.
He’d said that Wright had actually only had to involve his physical self in two actual fight’s in his entire life (Wright’s mouth being the first line of defence and the only violent portion of him. Any time he hadn’t been able to talk his way out of some potentially dangerous situation he’d do the next best thing. He’d run).
Martin had said, having witnessed one of the two main events, that Nathan was quite psychotic once the first punch was directed at his face and fought like a rabid cornered hellcat. That completely berserk, he had somehow, even though smaller and weedier than his adversary, managed to put the other guy in hospital while the only real suffering Nathan underwent was a temporary state of shock at just how murderous his rage could be.
Kelly didn’t doubt this story for one second. Nathan was crazy after-all, the type who probably would explode if sufficiently provoked.
But she’d never once seen any indication of this side of him whereas Graham was macho and forever prattling on about beating people up.
Kelly was beginning to find Graham was as peculiar as Nathan. It was just the peculiarities were different.
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So it all was seeming a bit pointless. On one hand (or in one hand usually) she had Graham who apparently adored her but was about as deep and intellectual as one of his sausages. In the palm of her other hand (emotionally not physically) there was Nathan who was bright, attractive, funny and so many other things. Unfortunately too many of the other things rendered him equally pointless.
Kelly was beginning to doubt men. Maybe it was just Australian men, Nathan had always rattled on about overseas so she decided to try her emotions out on some more exotic species.
Actually there was no more exotic specimad in the known universe than the hybrid Nathan but Kelly wasn’t to know that.
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‘Nicola, Nathan here.’
‘Where.’
‘In your worst nightmares.’
‘Bravo Nathan. Threaten me with something I don’t already suffer tucked between the sheets every dark hour will you?’
‘Okay, I.Q.’
‘What?’
‘I.Q. You don’t suffer from intellect...’
‘Nor do I suffer fools lightly... ‘
‘I’m only as heavy as your make-up so that let’s me off the hook,’ Nathan countered.
‘You’re heavier than a buffalo and there’s more meat so they should shove you on a hook and feed the starving millions with your supermarket sized carcass,’ Nicola suggested. ‘You should last the poor wretches for more than a few months’. She picked up a sandwich and started on lunch. ‘So anyway, what’s up?’
‘Not me, that’s for sure.’ Nathan was saddened by his revelation. Nicola wasn’t. She was more hyena than sympathetic and laughed and giggled until she started to choke on the sandwich she was eating.
‘Okay Nicola, calm down. My sex life is not in the least bit amusing ...or by any stretch of the imagination ...existent.’
‘It can’t be that bad, you’re still talking,’ she deliberated munching, playing with the phone chord, twirling it around red nailed fingers.
‘Only because I can’t be bothered being mute. It’s damn hard work you know! People are hard enough to communicate with already without the added burden of the eyesight impaired. I knew I was doomed when I had to write my messages four or five times. Christ, I had to make the letters larger each time before the morons could read it.’ Wright informed her then putting his hand over the phone, told Marilyn, who was sitting legs apart on the floor on the floor by his side giving a cucumber instructions as to where to go, to shut-up. She was muttering something about the fact that she’d been reincarnated as a virgin and it wasn’t fair. Or any fun.
‘Nathan what are you doing?’ Nicola enquired, the cord a knotted serpent. ‘Not that I’m interested but do get on with it.’
So Nathan got on with it. ‘When it got to the stage I could only fit “Get” on the page, and they wouldn’t hang around long enough for me to animate the “Fucked” on the next page of the pad, I knew it was time to give up. Why do so many people need glasses these days? Do you think it’s the atmosphere or the ozone layer? Or is every-body wanking themselves to blindness.’
‘You wear glasses, so you should know.’
‘Only to see.’
‘You’d need a magnifying glass to see the object of your affections,’ she argued, untangling herself from the (in Nathan’s opinion) bore constricting beast.
‘Okay Nicola, I surrender. Listen. I rang to see if your sister is still dating the old flame ...her wallowing in her memories, and he relaxing amongst her mammaries.’
‘Don’t be so coarse Nathan, God you’re vulgar sometimes. If you mean is Stacy still spreading her legs for Ponce Phillip, she is.’ There was an audible sigh f
rom the end of the phone as Nathan collapsed to floor, preparing for some further self pity.
‘Nathan, it was just bad timing. She really did like you but you can’t compete with rekindled lust.’
‘I obviously can’t and it certainly was. That’s what they’ll carve on my gravestone you know. Here lies Nathan Wright, a victim of bad timing.’ Nicola thought for a moment, trying to imagine the corpse Wright, wondering what really would be carved on the marble marker.
‘There lies Nathan Wright. He lived, he dithered, he died,’ she decided.
‘Here lies Nathan Wright. He never lived, so he can’t have died,’ Nathan countered, decreeing immortality.
‘There lies Nathan Wright, stiff at last!’ She giggled, biting into the sandwich.
‘Here lies Nathan Wright, taunted to dead.’
Nicola reassured the whimpering voice. ‘Don’t be so dramatic. Anyway, I know my sister. If you hang about for another couple of weeks she’ll have exhausted her interest and she’ll be on the loose again.’
Or just be loose again she knew, knowing her sister.
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He never got a chance to date Nicola’s hopefully slack sister because Stacy stopped shopping for she had taken herself off the shelf the exact same evening Wright wanted to wrap her so Nathan was, in consequence, wandering about the dark flat proclaiming things to his dollies like:
‘And the year’s Nobel Prize winner for Stupendous Inadequacy goes to...”
‘Nathan N.A. Wright,’ The smarter dummies decreed.
He was depressed still. Three weeks had passed since Stacy’s old boyfriend had re-entered her life - then her. Since Nathan’s luck had apparently changed but hadn’t. Since his F..Friday and the phone calls of the Saturday after.
But especially since Kelly still hadn’t come back or called. Or returned his books or records. Or heart and sanity.
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SATURDAY’S CALLS:
‘Oh hi Nathan, how do you feel?’
‘Slightly hung over.’
‘I feel slightly hung over myself.’
‘Stacy, did Nicola give you my letter.’
‘No. What letter?’
‘Oh, don’t worry about it. Nicola was supposed to give you a letter. I’ll ring her and see what she’s done with it ....I’ll ring you back.’
‘Well?’
‘No, I’m feeling quite ill actually.’
‘Don’t be clever Nicola, it doesn’t suit you. What happened to the letter?’
‘What happened to my sister?’
‘Nothing happened to your sister. She’s still a virgin if that’s what you want to know.’
‘You’d better tell Stacy then, she wouldn’t know that either.’
‘Nicola, shut it. Now what happened to the letter?’
‘Michael flushed it of course.’
‘What do you mean Michael flushed it?’
‘Unlike you and your unsanitary habits, Michael disposes of his French letters in a hygienic manner. He doesn’t blow them up five months later and use them for Christmas decorations..’
‘So what’s wrong with recycling? Greenpeace recommends it ...anyway Nicola, I certainly have no interest in either hygiene or the watery fate of your obviously blind boyfriend’s submarine prophylactic’s. I’m talking about the letter I had delivered by Taxi to you yesterday afternoon.’
‘Oh that letter.’
‘Yes, THAT letter.’
‘I never saw it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ll clarify it if you wish. I never received any letter yesterday ...not by taxi, not delivered by the beak of a cruising carrier pigeon or the gloved hand of God. Nicks, nothing, zip.’
‘Tell me you’re joking’
‘I’m joking.’
‘Now tell me the truth.’
‘I’m not joking.’
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The pity of the never won but felt like lost Stacy was that for periods during the two evenings he had spent with her, Wright had forgotten about Kelly, a fleeting emotional rescue abruptly cancelled when Stacy rediscovered her lost love, leaving Wright with the cinemascope horrors of his.
Again, Kelly filled his every moment whether he was pissed, sober OR asleep. Things had gotten even worse.
Now, not even sleep shut her out.
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Jenny, the only truly courageous sorta’ friend Wright had (or the most sadistic, Nathan couldn’t quite decide) had made one of her cryptic phone calls to him a few of weeks ago.
‘Afternoon turd, how are you?’
‘Goddamn awful Jen. I trust you’re the same.’
‘Glad to hear you haven’t completely lost you’re sense of ill-humour. Well do you want the good news or the bad news?’
‘Having not confronted the term good news in living memory, give that a go first..’
‘Kelly and Graham are no longer.’ Nathan’s heart leapt to his throat in renewed hope. Then he remembered who he was talking to.
‘No longer what? Graham’s sausage is no longer than an African elephant’s? Kelly’s no longer satisfied sitting atop such a sizeable monument? Okay, so what’s the bad news? Kelly and Graham are no longer a what? ..a pair of arseholes, a set of interlocking egos, a couple of often fucking fuckers...’
‘An item.’
‘An item? What do you mean, they’ve removed the price tags because Kelly and Graham are engaged, married or selling hot dogs in Rio?’
‘You’re getting warmer.’
‘So is Rio at this time of the year, so what?’
‘Glad to hear you’ve completely lost you’re sense of sanity ..if indeed you ever rented one. I mean Kelly is no longer with Graham.’ This time he held his heart stationary. The bad news was yet to be revealed.
‘And the bad news?’
‘She’s gone.’
‘I know that...’
‘No Nathan! I mean she’s really gone. Packed her bags! Left the country, used the passport! ...pissed off.’
‘Where?’
‘London.’
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Reality was growing ever more vicious. Knowing Kelly was well and truly out of reach had made the past several weeks doubly painful, a condition he’d thought an impossibility several weeks previous.
Nathan was also struck by the fact he’d wasted so much time and anger over a Graham who was now as redundant as he was and he hoped to God that the fucker’s heart was now as shattered as Nathan’s had been and that Graham would at last comprehend what it had been like for Nathan.
Graham, being a public servant, purveyor of red sausages and threatener of physical violence did suffer. For a couple of days anyway before he found another girl to play hide the sausage with.
Graham’s concept of love was apparently far more practical than Nathan’s obsessive bondage.
Graham was one smart son of a bitch.
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Sitting on the fourth step of the staircase leading upstairs, his head strategically, almost surgically attached to an almost empty bottle of Johnny Walker, he was trying to think of his next move in the battle for Kelly.
It took five minutes but he did decide. He decided to shift to step seven.
He didn’t know whether to cry or kill. He was too poor to chase her, too distressed to even try so Nathan was stuck between a rock and her hard face. It was good month or so after F..Friday and S ..Stacy and the BBADD NEWZ and he didn’t have a clue what to do.
God(dess), during a rare fit of compassion, at last took pity on this pitiful stooping figure and planted an avaricious seed in the grey barren soiled head.
(It was later discovered by the chief celestial physician that this Wright help was the result one of HER OMNIPOTENTS not infrequent bouts of majestic lunacy, HER heavenly decree meaning that Nathan now ranked with famine, plague, pestilence and the success of Li
berace on the list of THE MOTHER, DAUGHTER & HOLY GHOST’S most tragic blunders born of these bucolic bouts).
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The miraculous, SHE assisted transformation happened like this: One Tuesday, Wright was doing what he usually did. Buggar all. Lying on the couch in the lounge, bottle in hand, he was half watching the TV and chatting to Ghandi about life and women when something happened.
He had a sudden revelation.
He didn’t see God or any sign of her make-up but he did see sense. From out of nowhere (i.e. Wright’s brain or so Wright thought but SHE knew differently) a thought suddenly occurred to him. Instead of viewing Doubleday as an enemy, as he had, he saw potential instead. Realised it could be the most valuable friend he’d ever not wanted.
Suddenly, the seven deadly sins were his for the living, all he needed was the money to support them and with The Serepax Tango the opportunity was there for the taking. While Wright’s brain was making greedy calculations, Ghandi, sitting cross-legged on the cushion by his side, read what was in Wright’s head.
‘Ah, my son, money is truly the root of all evil on this green flowering earth.’
‘Jesus Mahatma, give it a rest ....besides the root of all evil is no root at all. Now shut up, I’m thinking.’ Mahatma, never having witnessed the occurrence before, fell silent. Nathan, showing unusual energy, leapt from the couch and began hunting through every paper and magazine he had in search of ideas.
Bursting with enthusiasm for the first time since this month’s issue of Penthouse had been purchased (Nathan telling the girl behind the counter that it was for a sick friend in hospital) he spent the next four hours noting various ways to aid and abet his conquest, making a list of any profitable possibilities.
This is it:
“WAYS TO NOT EARN A BUCK”
by Nathan N. Wright
Nathan was convinced this document would one day rank in importance with the Magna Carta or The Bill of Rights. (One day it would rank - like a piece of off cheese).
