by Tom Lennon
The swagger in the faded jeans, the checked shirt with the white T-shirt underneath, the cute little nose that he’d never noticed before. Then the old, faithful image entered his thoughts—the time he had glimpsed Ian standing in a dressing room after rugby training, naked except for a pair of white cotton briefs. A momentary vision of heaven. The fleeting image evaporated, and a new one took its place. They were marooned on a desert island together. Their world was a haze of languid sunshine and open love. Now naked, moving those pale, bloodless lips closer, he glides his hand down along that hairless chest, across that dreamy stomach; panting, he caresses the firm, milky-white bottom, and …
Oh fuck, not now, Neil, he told himself, whipping his hand abruptly from his trousers and standing up. For God’s sake, not in the middle of your fucking exams. You’ll fall asleep during the afternoon paper, or worse still you’ll keel over with a collapsed lung. And the family doctor would give his hushed diagnosis: too much sex. Family life would never be the same again.
Downstairs, the kitchen door slammed. Footsteps stomped up the stairs. Neil sighed with relief. He recognized Jackie’s distinctive step. Her face was ablaze when he slid his bedroom door open. He saw that she wanted to fill him in on her litany of woes, but she bit her tongue. It was his day.
“How’d it go?” she asked, forcing a smile onto her face.
“Cinch,” he grinned.
“And you didn’t feel tired?”
Neil shook his head.
“See, told you.”
Neil was pointing downstairs. “And you told me that you were going to Amsterdam with Michelle,” he said, imitating his mum.
“Jesus, that woman!” Jackie sighed, “I’m definitely moving into a flat with Liam next year, and then she’ll just have to face up to the fact that we’re bonking the brains out of each other.”
Jackie opened her eyes wide and gritted her teeth, pretending she was crazy. Neil laughed, more in embarrassment than anything else. Then a concerned look furrowed his sister’s face. “Oh, I meant to tell you,” she said in an urgent tone, jingling her bangles as she held her hands to her face. “Did you hear about Becky McGann?”
Neil raised his eyebrows quizzically.
“She’s having an affair with a married man,” Jackie whispered.
“What?” Neil blustered.
“He’s in his forties, so I heard anyway.”
“Who told you?” Neil was angry at his sister’s casual attitude to the gossip she was spreading.
“Yvonne Lawlor told Mary.” Jackie was slightly taken aback by Neil’s abruptness. She began to assure Neil that she didn’t see anything wrong with Becky having an affair, that it was the man’s fault. But her voice sounded faint and faraway. Neil felt dizzy. He knew it was all his fault. Yvonne Lawlor was using Becky to get her revenge on him. It was a major mistake spending the night with Yvonne last March. But he was drunk, she had a free house, and it just happened. Took a little while to get started, but then they did it six times in the one night. Crazy passion. Bonking the brains out of each other, as Jackie would say. And he had enjoyed it. But it was the weeks following that were the problem. Doing the rat on her, as Donno used to say at school. He was woken from his trance by the sound of jangling bangles. Jackie was waving her hands in front of his face to attract his attention.
“You better go down and get your lunch, Neil. Her Highness has it prepared for hours,” she said before going into her bedroom.
Neil felt strange as he went downstairs. He didn’t know how he was going to break this news to Becky. She’d definitely think it was he who’d leaked the news. That night on the phone to Becky, Neil’s conversation was full of awkward pauses.
Chapter Four
Move your body
Move your body to the rhythm of love
The smooth, rhythmic, tinny piano beat of K-Klass pounded from the speakers, and the colorful, hi-tech lights flickered and swirled in synchronicity, sending the gyrating mass of dancers into overdrive. The exams were finished and every graduating student south of the Liffey, except Becky, seemed to be packed onto the dance floor of Hollywood Nights.
It was crazy. “A heaving mass of drunken sex maniacs,” Neil muttered to himself, taking a long gulp of beer as he watched from the bar. He felt good now—a bit drunk,
but good. The exams had gone well.
“Would you look at your one?” Mal slurred beside him.
“Not bad-looking, is she?” Neil said, following Mal’s pointing finger.
“She’s a fuckin’ dog!” Tony shouted from the other side of Neil.
“Woof, woof!” Mal barked.
“Jesus, Byrner, your taste is up your hole!”
As usual, the three desperadoes were eyeing up the talent from a safe distance. All the typical horseshit chatter went on around them. Whose daddy was rich. Whose daddy drove the most expensive car. Whose daddy owned the biggest house. Whose daddy knew the most important people. Who was going where for the summer. Who was bonking whom.
Then Neil’s heart sank. Yvonne Lawlor and her friend Carmel were making their way toward him. It was too late to run to the sanctuary of the gents’ toilets; they knew he had spotted them. As they drew closer, he noticed that their heavily caked-on makeup was glistening under the dance lights.
“How’s it going?” Neil moved away from Mal and Tony and draped his arms around both girls’ shoulders, hoping that by being extra-friendly he would disarm their bitchy intentions. They were both in Becky’s class at school, and Becky had warned him that Yvonne was out for blood. But when the girls flinched and slipped out of his grip, he knew he was in for trouble.
“How’s Becky?” Carmel asked pointedly, bringing a smile to Yvonne’s face. Mal and Tony strained their necks to hear.
Neil feigned puzzlement. “Becky who?”
Yvonne and Carmel exchanged glances, then both of them clasped their hands to their mouths and laughed falsely. Neil felt uncomfortable as he watched them closely for clues. Without warning, Carmel grabbed hold of his left hand and held it out for close examination.
“Ah, it can’t be him,” she announced loudly, causing Yvonne to double over in hysterics. Neil smiled grimly, trying to figure out where their well-rehearsed charade was leading.
“D’you have any children?” Carmel asked drunkenly, again bringing the predictable burst of laughter from her pal.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Neil replied coldly, realizing now what they were playing at.
“Ah, we’re only messing.” Yvonne guided her pal away. “See you later.”
Like fuck you will.
“Bye, Neil,” Carmel smiled falsely, holding her hand up and wriggling her fingers at him.
Neil didn’t reply; instead he gave a nonchalant nod, but he was very tempted to comment on their enormous, waddling backsides. You left all your problems behind you, girls, or was that your jeans I heard screaming with pain? Something like that would wipe those supercilious smirks off their faces.
“You’re playing the game there, Byrner.” Mal pushed Neil’s shoulder drunkenly.
“Has she got the hots for you or what!” Tony sighed before taking another long gulp from his bottle of Corona.
“Been there, done that,” Neil muttered, faking a grin as Mal slapped him on the back.
“Does she bark in bed?” Tony asked, bringing the usual guffaw of laughter from Mal. Outwardly Neil was smiling, but inside he was disgusted with himself. What was he doing here? Hoping to see Ian walk in that door? Yeah, that was it.
“Jesus, would you look at Gary and Trish!” Mal sneered as he pointed at the couple kissing in the middle of the dance floor with a large clapping group gathered in a circle around them.
“Fuckin’ exhibitionists! ”Tony muttered.
“I’d say he’s porkin’ her,” Mal said.
“That’s if he knows what to fucking do with it.” Tony laughed, steadying himself as he swayed drunkenly.
“She’s a dog, is
n’t she?” Mal said.
“Great Dane,” Tony added.
“Woof, woof,” Mal barked.
It was pathetic, Neil thought. Here he was, hanging around with two guys that no one else would be seen dead with. None of his real friends could understand why he did it. Trish and Andrea refused to even speak to Mal and Tony. But they didn’t realize that the two cynics had their uses, serving as a buffer against female company.
But try as he might, Neil couldn’t ignore Yvonne and Carmel. They were watching him from their high stools at the bar to the back of the dance hall. Every time he as much as glanced in their direction, they had their wriggling fingers up in the air, waving at him. And on one occasion, he was certain that he saw Yvonne direct a limp-wristed gesture toward him.
At nine o’clock, Neil left Hollywood Nights, unable to take any more of Mal and Tony. Near the exit he bumped into Tom and Andrea and told them he was just leaving his denim jacket in the cloakroom. Ducking his head, he rushed past the long line outside, praying no one would spot him. He jumped into the back of a taxi, and kept his head down while it did a U-turn on the main road. Hoards of revelers were messing around on the grassy embankment in the middle of the road. He recognized a few of the faces. It looked like better fun than inside the dance hall, but Neil knew he had to escape. The more he had to drink, the more adrift he felt from the crowd.
“Where in town, boss?” the taxi driver asked, turning his head to look at Neil.
“Dame Street,” Neil answered in a deliberately gruff tone designed to discourage any further conversation. Normally, he would have discussed anything from the weather to Ireland’s World Cup prospects with any friendly stranger, but tonight he had other things to think about.
The car sped along the six-laned motorway, beneath the Belfield overpass, past the television station, through Donnybrook, past all the places Neil was so familiar with, but which now looked so different. He felt like a stranger passing through his own city. When they got to Stephen’s Green, he almost told the driver to stop and let him out. His stomach was in a knot, his palms were sweaty, and his head was in a tizzy.
Oh Jesus, what am I doing? he asked himself over and over again. A million images flashed through his head. His mum and dad sitting at home watching the television, Kate and Dan’s wedding, the madness in the airport last Christmas Eve when he went with his dad to collect his two older brothers, the party in school the night they won the Senior Cup, sitting between Jackie and Liam at the cinema, and, of course, Ian in his faded blue jeans…
“That’s six-fifty, boss,” the taxi driver said, fixing his mirror to get a look at Neil.
He’s afraid I’ll do a runner, Neil thought, digging his last tenner from his pocket and realizing that he didn’t want to leave the taxi at all. Maybe he could sit there for the rest of the night. Tell the taxi driver that he’d keep him company. Go all around the city with him, meet all the late-night weirdos. Why was he so different?
He stood on the pavement, watching the taillights of the taxi cruise up toward the lofty spire of Christ Church. Overhead, the darkening twilight sky was streaked with spectacular glows of pink and orange. Colors caused by the city smog, his dad once told him. Beep, beep, beep, beep, the little green man was telling him it was safe to cross. Hesitant, he watched the carefree, smiling swarms of passersby. Couples, mainly, walking hand in hand.
They’ll think you’re going to the Olympia, he reassured himself. Yeah, just keep walking.
Up ahead, he spotted a lumberjack shirt approaching. Skipping out to the edge of the pavement, he stared at the bald head and the mustache. Hah, say no more, is the pope a catholic? Their eyes met as they passed. Hey, you’re going in the wrong direction, the voice in Neil’s head felt like saying.
Skip down the cobblestone road as planned, Neil thought, eyes peeled for gangs. Oh shit, you’re going to bump into someone you know. Hey Neil, how’s the form? What’re you doing around here? Same as you, Sunshine. That’s your answer.
Around the corner and there it is. Faster, faster. Oh fuck, it looks like a kip. Thump-thump, thump-thump. Shut up, heart. People are staring. Too late to turn back now. Full moon over-head. Wish it was winter. Dark and wet. Put on your baseball cap. Tip the visor down over your face. No traffic. Run across. Quick now, head down and in the door.
Conversation stops as every head turns to look. Cropped heads, gray heads, bald heads, all ancient, sitting on stools at the bar, staring at the fresh new face as he strolls casually through the old timers’ bar.
Oh God, what the fuck did I come here for? Just stare at the floor and keep walking. Through that door and up those stairs there. Quick, for God’s sake. Probably an orgy going on up here. Can’t be worse than downstairs. Legs feel wobbly. Should’ve gotten Becky to come with me. Should’ve gone out with Becky to meet her married man. Oh Jesus, help me. Open the door. Dim lights, loud music, younger crowd, girls as well, looks just like an ordinary pub, except for the blackened windows. People aren’t staring; well, not obviously anyway, but they all seem to know one another. The barman’s giving you a friendly smile. Relax and order a drink.
“Pint of Budweiser, please.”
There’s a bloke drinking Guinness. Tell him Gary’s joke, about the doctor telling the queer to drink fifteen pints of Guinness and to eat five loaves of brown bread, and then the punchline that you laughed at. That’ll show you what your arse is for. Ha, ha, ha, that’d go down well here. In the corner a video jukebox. Sip your pint and watch the video. Pretend you’re a regular. Jesus, that guy just pinched the other guy’s bum. For God’s sake, don’t stare. Those three blokes over there, dancing to the video, they can’t be more than sixteen. Too camp looking though. Keep your eyes peeled for Ian. Can you just imagine? Heaven has sent me an angel. Dream on, I doubt that anyone else from Blackrock has ever set foot inside this joint. Except for Becky’s older brother, of course. Down the back, look, two girls kissing. Well, who did you expect to see snogging? The rhyming couplets on tour? Move over toward that door, the bloke with the tartan stripes on his jeans, laced up red Docs, spiky hair, and earrings. What a getup. Nice face though, and he’s around your age, and it looks like he’s on his own.
“How’s it going?”
“Hi.”
God, what a fairy voice. Go on, say something else, you started the conversation.
“Good crowd here, isn’t there?”
“Wait’ll you see it at ten o’clock.”
“Get packed, does it?”
“Yeah.”
Smile and walk on. He’s not interested in you. Anyway, imagine walking down the street with him. Spare me. Where to now? Around the corner. Stop smiling, you don’t want to attract undue attention. There’s a ledge. Put the pint down and light up. Dying for a smoke. What now? Oh fuck, why didn’t you just stay in Hollies? This is awful. Can’t even smoke, hands shaking so much. Armpits are a mess as well. River of sweat. Oh no, need to take a leak. No way, not here. Oh Jesus, make a deal. Promise you’ll start going to Mass again if you can just disappear. You’ll even help with the collections.
“Haven’t seen you here before.”
Fuck, he’s talking to you.
“Jack’s the name.”
Just smile and shake his hand.
“So, don’t you have a name?”
“What? Oh yeah, I do, it’s…eh, Gary.”
Nice one, Neil, nice one.
“It’s all right, Gary, relax. I’m not going to bite your head off.”
Return his friendly smile. This is a laugh, he’s the same age as the old fellow and he’s chatting you up. Now you know how Jackie felt that night in Leeson Street.
“First night here, is it?”
“Yeah.”
Shit, what d’you admit that for? Dickhead.
“I could tell…Suppose you have to start sometime.”
“Suppose.”
“You can blame it on the full moon.”
Just smile at him. Always humor a weirdo, that�
�s what they told you at school.
“What’s that?”
What the fuck’s he pointing at?
“Your drink?”
“Oh, eh, a Budweiser.”
“Smithwicks and a Bud when you’re ready there, Gary.”
Hope he doesn’t expect one in return. What’s he doing now, tapping my shoulder?
“Forgot to ask you, will you have a pint?”
Just grin and let him think he’s hilarious.
“So what part of Dublin d’you come from?”
“Eh…out toward Bray.”
“Thought so, you can tell by your accent.”
Oh, can you now, Mister Accent Expert? Suppose you’re waiting for me to ask you where you come from? Well, you can wait, pal.
“I’m from Clontarf myself.”
Oh, are you now? How interesting. Jesus, what am I doing here? Mum, I want you now. I want to be ten years old again, sitting at home watching television with you and Dad.
“Relax, Gary, it’s not as bad as it seems.”
Easy for you to say, you probably live in the fucking place. Oh Jesus, I’ve never felt so weird. Let me die now, it’ll be better for all concerned. Think of the coroner’s report. He died in a gay bar. Can you just imagine them all whispering at your funeral. Gary’s mum, Mrs. Meehan, Mrs. Burke, every tongue in the neighborhood, waiting outside the church. “Did you hear where it happened?” “Oooh, I did, isn’t it awful.” “Desperate.” Heads wagging in feigned concern. “His poor mother, she’ll never recover.” “He was always a bit strange though. Hmm, there was something peculiar about him, you know, you could tell…” Another flurry of concerned nods. “I always had my doubts…And he was with an older man, I believe. Old as his poor father, I heard. Terrible, isn’t it? Desperate. What’s the world coming to!” Sighs all around. “Ssssh, here’s the family. Adjust the faces. Forlorn looks now. Sorry for your trouble, Catherine. He was a lovely fellow, your Neil, one of the best. An absolute credit to you. It’s God’s way, Catherine.”
