by Unknown
‘I think you’re way off,’ Larry said flatly. ‘But so what if she is a fan? She’s obviously not a nutter, ’cos I’m still alive, aren’t I?’
‘Sure she didn’t make prints of your keys in the soap, or anything?’
‘You’re just being stupid now.’
‘So long as you don’t follow suit,’ Georgie said quietly. ‘Fans who pretend not to be should not be encouraged.’
Sighing heavily, Larry told her to shut up now because she was boring him. She was obviously convinced that she had seen Stephanie before, so she was only looking out for him. But even if she was right, he didn’t care. It wasn’t like he was planning on marrying the girl, or anything. She was already spoken for, for one thing. But he wouldn’t bother telling Georgie that, because she’d only tell him off for encouraging her to be unfaithful – like that mattered in this day and age.
Driving on in silence, Georgie made a mental note to keep an eye on the situation. Larry obviously wasn’t concerned, but she’d seen Play Misty For Me enough times to know how dangerous obsessive fans could be when they saw their man talking to another woman. And a man like Larry, who flirted relentlessly and bedded indiscriminately, would bring out the hidden lunatic in this one in no time.
Craig Woodburn was on the phone when Larry and Georgie were shown into his office. Waving for them to wait, he said, ‘Okay, Tezza, I’ll think about it. But I’m not making any promises, so don’t go quoting me on that.’ Rolling his eyes now as his caller carried on talking, he said, ‘Yeah, yeah, I’ve said I’ll think about it. Gotta go now. Bye-ee.’
Hanging up, he exhaled loudly and stood up. ‘Sorry about that. Wogan’s pressing for a meet, but I’m trying to avoid it because . . .’ Pausing, he flapped his hand dismissively, saying, ‘Not your concern, so I won’t bore you with the details.’ Extending his hand now, he said, ‘Good to meet you, Larry.’
‘You, too,’ Larry said, shaking it.
‘And you must be Georgie of the lovely voice?’ Craig said, turning to her and kissing her hand. ‘She’s a keeper, this one, Larry. Balls of steel, voice of velvet.’
‘Right,’ Larry murmured, raising an eyebrow at Georgie who looked like she was on the verge of blushing.
Jerking his head now, Craig said, ‘Come and meet the team, and let us run you through the set designs. I think you’re gonna like it.’
‘You’ve already started designing?’ Larry asked, amused by his presumptuousness. ‘That sure I’m going to sign, are you?’
‘Positive,’ Craig replied confidently, putting a hand on his shoulder and walking him to the door. ‘You’d have to be stupid to turn me down when I’ve got the biggest budget in the industry.’ Shrugging now, he added, ‘But if you prove me wrong, I’m sure Wogan would jump at the chance, so I’m not really concerned.’
‘Nice to know you think so much of me,’ Larry snorted, thinking that the man had a lot to learn about the subtle art of persuasion.
‘Hey, I’m all for you,’ Craig told him, showing him down the corridor. ‘But I’m not kissing rump for anyone, my friend. You want it, you got it. You don’t, I move on. Simple.’
‘Fair enough,’ Larry said, respecting him for his honesty.
Winking at Georgie who was walking a couple of steps behind, Craig said, ‘Your lovely agent here seemed happy enough about it when I approached her a couple of weeks back.’
‘A couple of weeks back?’ Larry repeated confusedly, having heard nothing about this until an hour ago.
‘Yeah, I had to make sure you hadn’t already committed to something else before I started putting my plans into action. And I wanted to see you in action on Raine Parker’s show before I made a definite decision. But you were great, so here we are.’
Turning, Larry gave Georgie a dark look, unimpressed that she’d been discussing him behind his back, and keeping it from him in order to give Craig time to screen-test him. That was an outright insult, and she of all people should know that he’d be offended.
Reaching the boardroom, Craig pushed the door open and waved Larry and Georgie in ahead of him.
Grinning when he saw Larry, Gordon Jones stood up and came around the table to greet him. ‘Hello, stranger. Bet you never thought you’d see me again?’
Peering at him, it took Larry a couple of seconds to recognise him. Then, smiling widely, he reached for his hand, saying, ‘Gordon! Christ, how are you?’
‘Great,’ Gordon said, glad that Larry seemed pleased to see him, because he hadn’t been sure that he would be after the telethon. In fact, he had wondered if Larry might be blaming him for Frank Woods finding out about the drinking that night. But Larry didn’t seem to be holding any grudges, which was as good a start as Gordon could have hoped for.
‘So, you’re on the crew, are you?’ Larry asked him now.
Nodding, Gordon waved him to take a seat. ‘I’m the director.’
Raising an eyebrow, Larry smirked. ‘Proper this time, or still assistant?’
‘Proper,’ Gordon assured him. ‘Took a while, but I got there in the end. And Jez was a big help, believe it or not. I think he felt a bit guilty about sacking me that night, so he put a good word in for me with Craig. And the rest, as they say, is history.’
Nodding, not really sure what he was talking about – because he’d been so wrapped up in his own misfortune at that time and hadn’t thought to wonder if anyone else had been affected – Larry sat down and crossed his legs.
Pulling a chair out for Georgie, Craig gestured towards the other man who was sitting across the table from Larry, saying, ‘This is the producer, Tom Reed.’
Leaning forward, Larry shook the other man’s hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Tom.’
‘Who’s for a drink?’ Craig asked now, going over to an ornate lacquered Chinese cabinet and opening the door to reveal bottles of every kind of alcohol. ‘Larry?’
‘Scotch,’ Larry said, giving Georgie a defiant look when she frowned at him. Serve her right if he got pissed out of his head – make her think twice about going behind his back again.
Pouring everybody a drink, and ordering a coffee for Georgie, Craig joined them at the table and reached for a large portfolio which was sitting between them. Flipping it open, he turned it so that Larry could see the sketches inside.
‘They’re only prelims,’ he explained. ‘But we’re pretty much going to go with them. Now, as you’ll see, we’re planning on separating the stage area into two sections: one for the chat element, the other for live performances from musical guests.’
‘Why so many chairs?’ Larry asked, peering at the pictures. ‘I got the impression it was going to be one-on-one?’
‘No, we’re thinking more along the lines of Jerry Springer meets Oprah.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ Larry frowned. ‘That sounds like Jeremy Kyle.’
‘Hey, you can’t knock Kyle,’ Craig countered, unconcerned by Larry’s sudden dip in enthusiasm. ‘He’s the most successful of his kind over here. But he’s sticking it to his guests in words they understand, whereas you’ll be charm personified. The Afghan hound to his bulldog – so to speak.’
‘Like Trisha, then?’ Larry said sarcastically.
‘Not at all.’ Craig shook his head. ‘Look, you’re the star, and this is all about you. The viewers loved you before, and they’re already falling in love with you all over again. But we all know you need a vehicle to rocket you right to the top and keep you there – and this is it, my friend. Last time, you were dealing directly with the public, so the viewers felt close to you, but this time you’ll be interviewing the stars. And because you’re on their level, the viewers will feel like they’re mixing with them, too. Does that make any sense?’
‘I think what he’s trying to say,’ Gordon chipped in, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table, ‘is that it won’t matter who your guests are, because the public will feel such an affinity with you that they’ll tune in, whoever you’ve got on.’
‘Paul O’
Grady,’ Larry muttered, folding his arms now.
‘In a way,’ Gordon conceded. ‘But straight, so the women will still feel they’ve got a chance with you.’
‘And it’s well known that viewers always check who’s appearing before they decide which show to watch when they’ve got a choice,’ Tom interjected. He’d stayed quiet for the first few minutes in order to get the feel of Larry, and had decided that he’d do. ‘With our budget, we can afford the best of the best, so there’ll be no contest. Unmissable guests and you. Match made in heaven.’
Chewing this over for a minute, a little mollified by the thought of having star guests rather than scummy Joe Public, Larry said, ‘Can you guarantee it’ll be different enough to attract attention? Because it’s still sounding like a bit of a bastardisation of everyone else’s shows to me.’
‘They’re all a bastardisation,’ Craig pointed out. ‘That’s why there’s so many of them, because the public love this shit. Our special ingredient is you,’ he went on, his gaze burning with conviction. ‘And that’s the one thing that none of the other channels can give to the women who make up the mass majority of the viewers for this kind of thing.’
‘You’re the bad boy they all want to tame,’ Gordon chipped in. ‘The dangerous, drop-dead handsome guy with a past, who they think they stand a chance with in the future. The man who’s going to make every woman in the country cream her knickers at teatime, and make every young girl dream about growing up and marrying him. The man – full stop!’
Flattered that they all seemed to have such faith in his powers of remote seduction, Larry smiled wryly, and said, ‘So, more like David Beckham, then?’
‘And he gets it!’ Craig declared, exhaling exaggeratedly.
‘So, do I get my own lovely little Vicky to dress me?’ Larry teased.
‘Do you bloody hell as like,’ Craig exclaimed with mock horror. ‘You’ll be out there by yourself. No Angelinas, Victorias, or Jennifers squeezing the juice out of your bollocks. Just pure, accessible, love-god you.’
Larry glanced at the beaming Georgie, who was nodding her head at the other end of the table. He was still pissed off with her for keeping secrets, but her instincts were second to none, and if she thought this was a good bet it was bound to work.
‘Okay,’ he said, looking back to Craig. ‘Let’s do it.’
‘Good boy,’ Craig said, standing up to shake his hand. ‘Glad to have you on board.’
‘Glad to be on board.’ Larry grinned. And he meant it – because now that he’d agreed to do it, he would make sure that The Larry Logan Show wiped all the other chat shows off the map.
13
Lying on his bunk with his prison-gym-thickened arms behind his head, Dex sneered as he watched the screws tear his cell apart. He knew exactly what they were looking for, but they were stupid if they thought he would keep it in here. It was laughable, really. They went to such pains to launch these surprise raids, but his tame screw guaranteed that Dex – and anyone else who had the fifty quid a week to keep him on side – knew exactly when to stash his gear in someone else’s cell. Well worth the expense, in Dex’s opinion, if it saved him the hassle of constantly having to replace the goods they’d have otherwise confiscated – the mobile phone, for example.
It had cost him three hundred to have the phone and charger smuggled in, and there was no way he wanted to lose them, because that was his only contact with the outside world while he was between visits. It was bad enough being stuck in this shit-hole, knowing that life was still going on as normal for every other cunt out there, but it would kill him if he couldn’t hear his mother’s voice. He needed to hear how Molly was getting on, and be kept up to date about their Patrick. And it was his only way of keeping tabs on Gaynor, too.
She was really pissing him off at the moment, because she was getting a bit lax with her phone calls, and there was no excuse for that – not when she knew how hard it was for him stuck in here. Dex knew she was doing her best to hold everything together for him, and it wasn’t easy for her having to lie to his family so that she could deal with his business without their interference. But they weren’t smart enough to be trusted with it, so he didn’t want them knowing anything. Gaynor hated it, but she was struggling on for his sake, and he had to thank her for that – and when he got out, he would make sure he thanked her properly. But, in the meantime, the least she could do was keep in regular touch, because there was too much time to let your imagination run away with you in here, and he’d already spent too many sleepless nights with his guts churning, wondering exactly what she was doing.
Dex knew that Gaynor loved him with all her heart and would never fall for anyone else. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if she could maintain that same degree of devotion and loyalty for fifteen years. And it didn’t help that his mam never stopped going on about her, either; always complaining that she was acting like a free woman now that he was off the scene, coming and going as she pleased, and tarting herself up like she was looking for a replacement in his bed – just like Jane had done the last time he’d been banged up. And every time she said it, it made being locked up feel a million times worse, so that the frustration that was relentlessly gnawing at his brain turned to white-hot rage.
But he just had to keep reminding himself that Gaynor wasn’t like Jane, and trust that she was working as hard as she said she was to ensure that they had a fantastic future when he finally got out of here.
His cell search was almost done now. Still sneering when one of the screws jerked his thumb and told him to get off the bunk, Dex stretched languidly before sitting up. Then, taking his own sweet time, he swung his legs around and dropped down to the floor so that he was standing nose to nose with the screw.
‘Looking for anything in particular, Mr Jenkins?’
‘You really think you’re funny, don’t you?’ Officer Jenkins said quietly, his gaze unwavering.
‘I think I can smell a pussy, that’s what I think,’ Dex replied, sniffing softly. ‘Give the missus a tonguing before you came to work, did you?’
‘If I was you,’ Jenkins warned, ‘I’d keep my mouth shut before someone shuts it for you.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Dex grinned, challenging him to go for it, knowing that Jenkins would wait until there were more than the three screws he had with him now to back him up.
‘You’ll keep,’ Jenkins hissed.
‘Can’t wait,’ Dex hissed back, his grin pure evil now.
Shoving him out of the way, Jenkins yanked Dex’s mattress off the bunk. Waving one of his fellow officers over to help him, he slipped a pair of latex gloves on and felt his way over every inch of it, scrutinising the seams for slits or holes through which contraband could be shoved into the padding. Dumping it on the floor when he’d finished, he trampled over it and headed for the door, pushing the other officers out ahead of him.
‘You forgot to sniff me sheet for spunk,’ Dex called after him. ‘Give you summat to fantasise about when you’re slipping the missus one tonight.’
Turning back with a smirk on his face, Jenkins unzipped his fly and aimed his dick at the mattress. Pissing on it, making sure he got a good spread, he zipped himself up again, and said, ‘Sleep well, dickhead.’
‘Oh, I will,’ Dex replied quietly, making sure that the other screws couldn’t hear him. ‘Hope you can, though, when you go home and find your missus bleeding from the arse.’ Pausing to let that sink in, he whispered, ‘I know where you live.’
Flinging the door wide now, to make sure he had witnesses if anything happened, Jenkins said, ‘You threatening me, Lewis?’
‘Don’t know what you mean, Boss,’ Dex replied calmly, looking as innocent as it was possible for a villain to look.
Narrowing his eyes, Jenkins said, ‘I’ll be seeing you later.’
Winking at him, Dex held his gaze until he turned and walked away. Then he wandered out onto the landing and rested his elbows on the railing, watching until the screws had gone all the
way down the stairs. Strolling into the neighbouring cell, he jerked his chin at Tommy West who was lying on the bottom bunk, and said,‘Shift. I’m having your mattress.’
‘Aw, come on, lad,’ Tommy groaned, his tired old eyes pale and watery as he looked up at Dex. ‘I heard what just happened in your gaff, and I ain’t sleeping on his piss. I’ve got me joints to think about.’
‘Rather sleep in your own blood, would you?’ Dex said coldly.
Feeling no guilt when the sixty-three-year-old man dragged himself wearily off the bunk and flapped his hand for him to take what he wanted, Dex raised his eyebrows.
‘I know you ain’t expecting me to carry it, you lazy auld shite. I think you’re mistaking me for one of your fucking care workers, or summat.’ Shaking his head now, he walked back out.
Sighing, Tommy leaned down and grasped the edge of the mattress. He was in no fit state to be moving furniture, but he’d be in no fit state to do anything if he didn’t – Dex would make sure of that. Lewis had only been transferred here a month ago, but he’d already sprayed his scent all over the landing, and nobody dared refuse when he asked for a ‘favour’.
Standing in the doorway of his cell until his neighbour had swapped the mattresses and put his new one up on his bunk for him, Dex told him to clear off. Then he went to the next-but-one cell to retrieve his phone. Kicking the lad who’d been looking after it out onto the landing to keep watch, he closed the door and sat down on the bunk, helping himself to some tobacco from the lad’s pouch while he waited for his mother to answer his call.
‘About bloody time,’ Nora grumbled when she heard his voice. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to call for ages. How come you took so long?’
‘Screws keep doing spot raids, trying to catch me out,’ Dex told her, lighting his roll-up.
‘They don’t know about your phone, do they?’
‘Course they do. But they won’t catch me with it, so I don’t give a toss.’
‘Yeah, well, just make sure you don’t go and lose your rag,’ Nora warned him. ‘You don’t want to end up in solitary again.’
