Pretty Boy Tigh

by Richard Blandford

  Tigh stood up. ‘Listen, I’m just going to check on how Nats is doing. I said I’d look out for her.’

  Toby nodded.

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ he said, raising the bourbon bottle. ‘I’ve got everything I need here. If she’s sat there with her eyes all blank, she’s probably dead. Or doing a piece to camera.’

  Tigh stepped over him and crossed the aisle over to Nats’ seat. She was asleep, as was the stage manager beside her. Her handbag lay open beside her. Tigh could see a white packet within it. He looked about to check that he wasn’t observed, and slid it out.

  He read the label: PANAZEPAM.

  He put it back, and returned to his seat, squeezing past a snoring Toby, and picking up the empty bottle rolling in the foot-space as he went.

  Tigh sat on a hotel bed wearing a dressing gown, his phone to his ear.

  ‘Um…hello,’ said a croaky voice.

  ‘Bronte, it’s Tigh.’

  ‘Tigh, it’s half-past five in the morning.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, sorry. We only got in an hour ago, and I couldn’t sleep. Listen, the reason I’m ringing is - I know what Nats is taking. It’s a subscription medicine from America called Panezepam. They use it for treating epilepsy, seizures, that sort of thing.’

  ‘So… she’s epileptic.’

  ‘I don’t think so. It’s also a legal high. You break it into a powder and snort it. They call it Pink, because it’s… pink.’

  ‘Far out. What does it do, then?’

  ‘Depends how much you take. A little makes you happy. A lot basically takes you into fucking Narnia.’

  ‘That explains a lot.’

  ‘Yeah. So, sorry for waking you. I just thought you’d want to know.’

  ‘No. Yeah. It’s fine. It’s good. Thanks, Tigh. I appreciate it.’

  ‘I’ll let you get back to sleep now.’

  ‘Yeah. Take care, yeah? And good luck.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Bronte ended the call. Tigh lay on the bed and undid his dressing gown. He searched for porn on his phone. Overwhelmed by choice, it took him ten minutes to find something he wanted to masturbate to.

  ‘I have never been so scared in my life,’ said Tigh, collapsing into a chair in the dressing room he shared with Toby. The sound of the channel ident music booming from the theatre PA was muffled by the closed door. ‘I’m drenched in sweat. I’ve literally never been covered in as much sweat as I am now.’

  Toby dabbed himself with a towel. He was completely naked. Tigh tried not to look but glimpsed a full growth of pubic hair under the balloon of his stomach, a little penis snug inside.

  ‘You get used to it,’ he said. ‘The fear, I mean. After a while your contempt for your audience reaches a point that it’s impossible to be scared of them. Tell you what, though, I bet that Bronte got you pretty sweaty, eh?’

  ‘What? I’m not talking about that now!’

  ‘Fair enough. But, you know, I was thinking with all those star jumps and everything…’

  ‘She didn’t make me do star jumps.’

  ‘Forward rolls then.’

  ‘Toby, I’m not talking to you about it.’

  ‘But I bet it was quite athletic, though. She does it all, you know. Gymnastics, dancercise, horse riding, billiards-’

  ‘All right, yes it was! Subject’s closed.’

  Tigh peeled off his costume and got in the shower.

  ‘I can see why she’d go for you,’ he could hear Toby shout over the sound of the water. ‘You obviously live in the gym, like her!’

  ‘I really don’t,’ said Tigh.

  ‘More than me, though. Well, any time is more than me, I guess. Maybe I should start moving a bit, lose a bit of weight. But then the kids wouldn’t find me funny, so fuck it.’

  There was a knock on the dressing room door.

  ‘I’ll get that,’ said Toby, wrapping himself up in a bathrobe.

  ‘I’m in the shower!’ cried Tigh.

  He hurriedly turned the water off and reached for his own robe. While Toby’s covered his squat frame well, his seemed hideously small, like a toga.

  Toby opened the door. Outside were three women, five kids. The children said his name and squealed.

  ‘Why, hello!’ said Toby, slipping effortlessly into character. ‘Come in, come in, my Funny Heights Fellows. Did you like the show?’

  He bent down and shook their little hands as they danced with delight at seeing him.

  ‘Look, everybody, it’s Tigh!’ said one of the mums. Some of the kids looked at him and smiled, until Toby handed round sweets and stickers. They didn’t look his way again. Despite the rejection, Tigh was almost glad. The robe wouldn’t do up tight enough, and he feared moving in case he slipped out somehow. And was he imagining that the mums kept on looking over at him, in between directing their children in Toby’s direction? One would flick her hair, another would smile. No, he was overheated and probably delirious. They were just trying to make him feel included, most likely.

  After a while, the mums decided their children had bothered Toby long enough. The group retreated into the corridor, waving goodbye.

  Toby shut the door.

  ‘Wow,’ said Tigh. ‘Guess Angela was wrong. The kids don’t like me at all.’

  ‘Oh, they do,’ said Toby. ‘It’s just my star shines so brightly it dims all around it. You do know you could have had any one of them, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t follow,’ said Tigh.

  ‘The mums,’ said Toby. ‘You could have had each and every one of them. Carnally. With your cock, like.’

  Tigh shook his head. ‘They were just being friendly,’ he said.

  ‘Now, now,’ said Toby. ‘Don’t play the innocent. You must have seen the way they were looking at you. They wanted you. Given half a chance, they’d have tied you up and ridden you rancid. Believe me, as an unattractive man, I know a sexually interested woman when I see one. I see them all the time, looking at men who aren’t me.’

  Tigh started to get dressed.

  ‘I expect they were just being a bit cheeky,’ he said. ‘You know, as a laugh. Anyway, I thought you said no one thought you had a dick when you were a kids’ TV presenter.’

  Toby buried his head in his hands.

  ‘You don’t get it do you? You’re the exception that proves the rule. You’re the pretty boy. You’re beefcake. The principle reason for hiring you is to give the mums something nice to look at when they’re trapped in their council flats all day with a bunch of fatherless kids and an annoying TV channel for company. You’re there to stop the mums from turning us off because they just can’t take any fucking more of the rest of us!’

  ‘Oh,’ said Tigh. ‘Hang on, when I first started you gave me some advice. You said my boss was a three-year old kid. I’m guessing you meant that.’

  Toby looked away.

  ‘Yeah, well. Pretty boys don’t stay pretty boys for very long. Maybe I was just giving you the secret of extending your shelf-life a bit, because… you’re good. Rough around the edges, and you can’t fucking sing. Quite frankly, I wish you’d stop. But I could see, even on the first day, when you were doing everything wrong, you could make a decent fist at this. And you seemed all right, not a knob, like. So I told you what you needed to know to make yourself un-fireable, like me. You don’t deserve the scrapheap. Not like those other fuckers.’

  Tigh found his arm was round Toby’s shoulder.

  ‘Wow. Thanks Toby. I’m actually touched.’

  Toby batted his hand away.

  ‘Get off me. I’m not the nancy boy, and neither are you.’

  ‘It’s the twenty-first century, Toby. Men are allowed to show each other affection.’

  ‘Yeah, well. I miss the old days.’

  Tigh sat on the bed of another hotel, phone in hand. After several minutes of staring at the contact list, he let the phone dial. Bronte picked up half a minute later.

  ‘Oh, hi, Tigh. How’d it go?’

  ‘W
hat? Oh, the show. Yeah, good. Um. That’s not why I’m calling. I’m calling because… I’ve read up a bit more about that drug Nats is taking, Panaz-, you know, Pink. About the side-effects, I mean. They’re not good. Basically, she’s going to bore holes in her brain so it’ll end up like Swiss cheese-’

  ‘Oi! I’m on the phone! Sorry, carry on.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not interrupting anything, am I? I’ll call back later.’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine. I want to hear what you have to say. Go on.’

  ‘Oh, well, anyway. It says here she’ll end up with long-term memory loss, possible paralysis, blindne-’

  ‘Cut it out! I mean it.’

  A man’s voice. ‘But it’s awake again, look. Ow! That hurt.’

  ‘Look, I’ll put it in a text, ok?’ said Tigh, feeling sick.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, sure,’ said Bronte. ‘Sorry. Excuse me. Look, mate, I don’t like being touched when I’m on the phone so-’

  Tigh hung up.

  ‘Why the long face?’ said Toby. ‘That was a good show. Even Nats was nearly awake.’

  The PA cut out and the dressing room dropped into sobering silence.

  Tigh held his head up with his hands.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said.

  ‘No, come on,’ said Toby, awkwardly patting him on the back. ‘You can tell me. What is it?’

  Tigh shook his head.

  ‘It’s really nothing. Just… I phoned Bronte last night and she clearly had a bloke with her, that’s all.’

  ‘And you think they were up to something. And it wasn’t just her brother or her gay friend. Not that I think any of them are really properly gay. They just say they are so they can go clothes-shopping with them and get to watch in the changing rooms.’

  ‘No, I’m pretty sure they were in bed together.’

  ‘Well, mate,’ said Toby, gingerly putting his arm further round before withdrawing it completely, ‘we know what type of girl she is. Best forget about her completely. You’ll only get hurt more otherwise.’

  Tigh nodded.

  ‘Yeah, you’re right.’

  ‘Only thing you can do, mate, is move on. Go out, pick up a bird in a club somewhere. Do the horizontal tango in the alley. That’ll wash her out of your system pretty quick. I mean, you may as well. You’re on tour! Rock ‘n’ roll, and all that. Not that I like it, or any music, really.’

  There was a knock on the door. Toby winked as he went to open it.

  ‘Why, hello down there! Did you like the show, my Funny Heights Fellows?’

  Tigh didn’t look up. The sound of Toby’s voice, children’s squeals and mother’s interjections seemed very distant. Somewhere in it all, he could hear his name being said. He waved.

  ‘Tell you what, FHFs, I can show you the stage if you like. And where they keep all the costumes. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  There was the sound of small feet shuffling, and a door closing. Tigh looked up. There were four of them. Each a different size, a different shape. Some were older than him, some younger. A racial mix. He liked that. They smiled.

  Tigh smiled back. And loosened his robe.

  Toby closed the door behind him, the mothers reunited with their children and on their way.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  Tigh leant back in his chair and laughed. Toby laughed too. Tigh found that once again, he didn’t know why he was laughing, and that he couldn’t stop.

  Tigh sat on the bed of that night’s hotel. He reached for his phone. He got halfway through unlocking it before putting it to one side.

  ‘So how many does that make it?’ said Toby, closing the dressing room door after the latest batch. ‘Tell you what, getting that dad to go and look at the costumes was fucking hard work.’

  ‘Why are you doing this for me?’ said Tigh.

  ‘Because I like you, I suppose,’ said Toby. ‘Not in that way, we’ve established that. I dunno, I just don’t like seeing a good opportunity go to waste. I mean, I can’t have them, but someone should, know what I mean? And they really like you. I mean really. In terms of audience satisfaction, you’re the most successful pretty boy we’ve ever had.’

  ‘Do you think it’s right, though, what we’re doing? We’re not, you know, exploiting them?’

  ‘Course you’re not. You’re like the Rolling Stones. They want it, you’re giving it to them. Rock ‘n’ roll. Supply and demand. All consenting adults here.’

  Tigh shrugged.

  ‘I guess you’re right.’

  Toby grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘Hey, you’re not going soft on me, are you? We’ve got to show them what’s what. They can’t just go throwing us away like a spunky tissue and not expect the same treatment back.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow…’

  ‘Look, they’re all the same. Not all women, I’m not saying that, but those types. They think they hold all the cards, see. Think they’ve got us all dangling on strings. But you’re showing them it’s the other way round. Once you’ve got rid of one lot, there’s another bunch.’

  ‘Toby, did someone once hurt you really badly? You seem to have issues.’

  Toby turned his back.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ he said.

  ‘You can if you like,’ said Tigh.

  ‘I said I don’t, all right?’

  ‘Ok, ok, just offering.’

  Toby looked in the mirror.

  ‘Fucking hell, you could have told me I still had lipstick on. No wonder that dad didn’t want to go. Probably thought I was going to bum him.’

  There was a knock on the dressing room door.

  ‘Ah!’ said Toby. ‘Right on cue.’

  Tigh shook his head.

  ‘I don’t know if I’m in the mood. Can we just get rid of them quickly?’

  ‘Not in the mood? You have a golden opportunity to fuck more gorgeous women than anyone since the fall of the Roman Empire, and you’re not in the mood?’

  ‘Some of them haven’t been that gorgeous,’ said Tigh. ‘And I’m worried about how there’s always a group of them in every town. How do they know?’

  ‘Oh, I guess they’re telling each other about it on that Mumsface or whatever it’s called.’

  ‘Shit! This can’t be on the internet, Toby. It just can’t.’

  ‘Relax, I did a search for “Tigh dressing room fuck” and nothing came up. Nothing relevant, anyway.’

  ‘Must be PM-ing.’

  ‘Sounds messy. Look, am I letting them in, or what?’

  ‘No. Just get rid of them, please…’

  Tigh lay on his hotel bed, glumly masturbating to a video on his phone. The physical urge to ejaculate was strong, despite his mental desire to do anything but.

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ he called.

  ‘It’s me, Toby.’

  Tigh groaned and slid off the bed. He put on a dressing gown, strapping his erection to his body, and opened the door.

  ‘Surprise!’

  Toby stood there with three women and their kids.

  ‘What’s… um, hello.’

  ‘We came to your dressing room earlier,’ said one of the women. ‘But Toby said you were busy answering your fan mail.’ She was very thin, her limbs seeming brittle. Tigh found it hard to believe a child could ever have been contained in bodies like that when he saw them. But as had been confirmed thoroughly over the past fortnight, mums came in many forms. The woman’s face was harsh. He didn’t want to be bothered with it.

  ‘But I said they – the kids, I mean - could come and see you here!’ said Toby.

  ‘Hello!’ said Tigh, putting on a smile and waving downwards.

  One of the kids smiled, and waved back. The others carried on staring at Toby.

  The sticklike-mum shook her child’s shoulder.

  ‘Oi! Say hello. It’s Tigh, off the telly.’

  ‘It’s ok,’ said Tigh. ‘I’m used to it. All the kids love Toby.’

  ‘Well, tell yo
u what,’ said Toby. ‘Why don’t I take the kids to my room and give them a show. Mums can come too, of course.’

  ‘Nah, it’s all right,’ said a second mum, oriental, small, sweet, mumsy. Pleasant. Tigh would have enjoyed the prospect of seeing her naked, on another day.

  ‘Yeah, we’ll just wait here. Chat to Tigh. So he don’t feel left out.’ Third mum. Large. Larger than Tigh had gone before. Not today, he thought. Not today.

  ‘Right you are,’ said Toby. ‘I’ll let them out in, say, three-quarters of an hour.’

  ‘That’ll be fine,’ said the stick.

  ‘Are you sure you’re ok with that?’ said Tigh.

  ‘Yeah, course,’ said the stick. ‘He’s Toby Pegg, innee?.’

  ‘See?’ said Toby. ‘Nothing down there.’

  The kids disappeared, following Toby.

  Tigh did not want to let them in. He wanted to send them away and for it all to stop. But he could feel his erection, still strapped to him, still there. If anything, it had grown, and was pushing against its restraint.

  ‘Looks like you’ve got yourself ready,’ said the small one, laughing, reaching for the knot.

  He did not want to let them in. He let them in.

  The stick held his flaccid penis in her hand, trying too soon to make it rise again after it had shot over the small woman’s back.

  ‘I think about it, you know. When I’m sat there at home all day, with you on the telly.’

  ‘Think about what?’

  ‘Your cock.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I frig myself off sometimes thinking about it. Well, the little one’s not going to mind, is she? She’s only two.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘I think about you when I’m having sex with the hubby,’ said the small one, stepping out of the shower. ‘Makes it bearable, like.’

  ‘Well, glad I can be of some help, I guess.’

  ‘Oh, aye, looks like we’ve got some more lead in the tank,’ said the stick.

  The large woman rolled her naked body across the bed.

  ‘My turn!’ she said.

  ‘I dunno,’ said Tigh. ‘I’m pretty spent.’