Pretty Boy Tigh

by Richard Blandford

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said the stick. ‘You’re all big again.’

  ‘It’s because you know you’ll be doing it with me,’ said the large woman. ‘Bet you like a bigger lady.’

  ‘I like all ladies, but-’

  The stick kissed his penis, ‘for luck!’ and rolled a condom down it. The large woman lowered herself down. Tigh felt little choice but to thrust underneath her.

  The large woman grunted. He stopped thrusting. It didn’t seem to do much, anyway. He wanted the situation to end right then. He felt like running down the hotel corridor, down the stairs and out into the street. That he was naked didn’t matter.

  ‘Look, I’m not really enjoying this, could we stop please?’

  The large woman carried on grunting. The quick climax Tigh hoped for wouldn’t come.

  ‘Come on! Ugh. Don’t go. Ugh. Soft on me, Tigh! Ugh.’

  ‘Can we stop? I want to stop, now...’

  ‘Tigh…’

  He looked up. The stick was filming them on her phone.

  ‘Smile for Mumsnet!’

  ‘No!’ he cried.

  Toby handed Tigh the bourbon bottle.

  ‘You look like you need this,’ he said.

  ‘Toby… it’s all gone wrong. They filmed it. They said they were going to put it online.’

  ‘Don’t worry, they won’t,’ said Toby. ‘They’re married women. If that video went up, everyone would have a look at it. I mean everyone, including their husbands.’

  ‘I guess. But I’m out. I’m not doing this anymore. It’s stopped being fun, anyway.’

  ‘Ah, well. Can’t force you. You had a good run. Probably broke a few records.’

  ‘That’s the thing. It’s like they were forcing me. It felt awful…’

  Tigh began to cry. Toby put his arm around him.

  Tigh walked into the rehearsal room to applause, led by Martin.

  ‘What’s that for?’ he said to the room, the full production team present.

  ‘For the tour!’ said Martin. ‘A brilliant success.’

  Tigh took a seat between Toby and Nats. She was fully awake, tidy and smiling. Bronte bobbed her head forward from the other side of Toby and waved. Craig smiled.

  ‘Don’t let it get to your head,’ said Toby. ‘That was for all of us.’

  Martin laughed.

  ‘Yes, it was,’ he said, ‘but your audience approval ratings were very, very good, Tigh.’

  ‘Not as good as mine,’ said Toby.

  ‘No,’ said Martin. ‘Yours were the best. As always. Anyway, regardless of Toby’s innate superiority, this is a team effort, and with that in mind, there are going to be a few changes made this season. There will be meetings scheduled for all of you affected over the next few days…’

  ‘Feels like we’re waiting to be shot,’ said Bronte. She and Tigh sat outside Angela’s office, a joint meeting for both of them due to start.

  ‘Maybe we are,’ said Tigh.

  ‘Nah, they’re shooting me and giving you the gun to do it. Who’s in there now?’

  ‘Craig. Been in there a while.’

  Tigh got up and paced. Walking down the corridor, he passed Martin’s office, half-noticed that it was open but empty, and walked back again. He sat down.

  Bronte put her hand on his arm.

  ‘Thanks for keeping an eye on Nats, by the way. I really do appreciate it.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Bronte, cocking her ear. ‘Can you hear crying?’

  Tigh shook his head.

  ‘No, listen.’

  Tigh did. There were definite sobs emanating from the office.

  ‘Oh, god,’ said Bronte. ‘What have they told him?’

  ‘Maybe they didn’t like his latest ideas.’

  ‘Yeah. I didn’t think they would go for them. They weren’t that great. Some game show about crossing the road. It would be ok for a week, but he thought he could get twenty-four episodes out of it.’

  The crying ceased.

  The door opened. Craig stepped out, his face puffy and red.

  ‘They’ll see you now,’ he croaked.

  ‘Craig, babes, what’s wrong?’ said Bronte, giving him a hug.

  ‘I’m fired,’ he said. ‘They said the kids don’t like me anymore. I’m gone.’

  ‘Well, Tigh,’ said Angela, ‘I’m very impressed with you. Very impressed. You’ve made a big impression very fast, with the kids.’

  ‘And the parents,’ said Martin, sat next to her.

  ‘Bronte… I think we both know that you’ve had better years.’

  ‘You’re going to fire me, aren’t you?’ said Bronte.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. We just think we need a bit of a revitalisation of “Brand Bronte”. You’re still popular with the kids, but a little spark of connection just isn’t quite there anymore. So we’d like to pair you with Tigh, who is connecting very much right now, and give you a show together.’

  ‘Wow. That’d be… great. Wouldn’t it Tigh?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Thank you. That sounds amazing.’ Tigh nodded and smiled as enthusiastically as he could.

  ‘What’s the theme of the show?’ asked Bronte.

  ‘We haven’t decided yet,’ said Martin. ‘Either something to do with green energy, or crossing the road.’

  ‘You were really trying hard to look pleased, there,’ said Bronte, as they made their way out of reception.

  ‘I am pleased,’ said Tigh.

  ‘Really? Working with me? The person you still seem to have a problem with, a full half-year after we slept together, once?’

  ‘I don’t have a problem with you.’

  ‘Nah. Course you don’t. That’s why you were nodding like your head was on springs and smiling as if your mouth was being spread open with matchsticks.’

  ‘Don’t know what you mean. I really don’t.’

  ‘Whatevs. Anyway, I can’t believe they’re thinking of using Craig’s idea but without him.’

  ‘I guess they’ll pay him for it. That’s something, at least.’

  ‘True.’

  Toby looked up at them from the bottom of the steps. He dropped his cigarette on the ground.

  ‘You still work here, then?’ he said.

  Tigh wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or Bronte.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Still hanging in there. You?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. Of course I’m still working here. I am the fucking channel.’

  ‘Modest as ever, Toby.’

  ‘Just factual, love. You’ll never guess what, though. They’ve only gone and given that zombie girl her own show.’

  ‘Her name’s Nats, Toby,’ said Bronte.

  ‘They’ve given Nats her own show?’ said Tigh, realising he sounded a bit too incredulous.

  ‘I know,’ said Toby. ‘I can’t believe it either. Hope it’s not at bedtime. She’ll be asleep before the kids.’

  Tigh lay in bed, in his room of the parental home he hadn’t got round to moving out of, watching porn on his phone. He wasn’t aroused, and hadn’t been since he’d returned from the tour. It was an experiment, to see if he still could. No size, ethnicity, hair-colour, age or clothing item would do it for him. The images of flesh and holes and spunk made him feel faint. Dots appeared in front of his eyes. He thought he might be having a panic attack. He breathed deeply, and turned it off.

  The dots cleared. He went to get a glass of water.

  As he was pouring, he heard the phone jangle with the sound of wind chimes. New email.

  He returned, picked up the phone and checked his inbox. There were several new ones. Most of them to do with the new series – ‘Get to the Other Side with Tigh and Bronte.’ Something from his mum with cat pictures at the bottom. One from a name he didn’t recognise. The subject - ‘Whoze a Pretty Boy Then???’ An attachment.

  He wasn’t going to open it. It looked like spam, probably with a virus inside. But the
name made him look again. Badly spelt, it was the name of the city. The city where it happened.

  Tigh’s hand shook as he opened the email. He knew what the video would be before it started playing.

  Underneath the embedded video was a short, only barely coherent, message. Blackmail. Give them £100,000, or it goes online.

  He went to his contacts. He paused on Toby’s name. And scrolled up.

  ‘So, let me get this straight. You went round the country, shagging dozens of mums over a three-week period with their kids in the room next door with Toby, and you let yourself be taped doing it and now they’re blackmailing you and you want me to help you sort it out.’

  ‘Well,’ said Tigh, as Bronte handed him a cup of coffee over the table in her flat, ‘Toby usually took the kids to see the costumes and things. He wasn’t in the next room, except that one time. And I didn’t really let myself be filmed. More… I was pinned down and I couldn’t stop them. But, yeah. That’s essentially the problem that I need help with. I’d just go to the police, but when you hear about how they sell stories to the press…’

  ‘You were pinned down?’

  ‘It was a very large lady.’

  ‘I see. Do you have a thing, then, for large ladies?’

  ‘No. Well, kind of. I just like women, really. Always been like that. Even at school, I’d be thinking about girls’ mums as much as them. I don’t know what my type is. And with this thing me and Toby had going, it was just nice not having to make a choice. But that’s not the point.’

  ‘I see. So what is the point, then? That you’re just a total opportunist who will have sex with literally any woman if the opportunity presents itself?’

  ‘That’s kind of the same point.’

  ‘True, true,’ said Bronte, pacing the flat, her hand to her chin. ‘I suppose the question I have to now ask myself is, do I want to help someone who’s got some weird problem with me anyway, now they’ve got themselves in a mess because they couldn’t help being a disgusting exploitative sleaze? Let me think. Oh, the answer is no!’

  ‘I don’t see what was exploitative about it,’ said Tigh. ‘Everyone was a consenting adult. Well, except me, at the end.’

  ‘They wouldn’t have wanted to do it if you hadn’t been beamed into their living rooms eight hours a day. That’s exploitative!’

  ‘Oh, I see. I announce I was pretty much raped and that’s what you take from the situation. No, that’s fine. I’m the sleaze. Of course, you’re so perfect.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know. You and the pretty boys.’

  ‘The pretty… what?’

  ‘That’s what Toby calls them. All the guys who came before me on the channel. Said it was always the same formula – fat clown, that’s him, obviously. Sporty girl, that’s you. Sparkly girl, Nats. Nancy boy, Craig…’

  ‘Classy.’

  ‘And a pretty boy. Me. And all the other pretty boys since you’ve been here, you’ve slept with.’

  ‘Says Toby.’

  ‘Yes. Isn’t it true?’

  ‘It’s none of your fucking business whether it’s true or not!’

  ‘So it is true, then?’

  Bronte picked up a mug from the kitchen work-surface. Tigh thought she might throw it.

  ‘So what if it’s true? I like sex. I like sex with attractive men. And I don’t do relationships, as you’ve probably gathered by now, so yeah, there are going to be a few of them, unless you want me to live like a nun every other year.’

  ‘But every single pretty boy? It’s like you’re collecting them – us, as trophies.’

  ‘What, so I should vary it with men I don’t fancy? I mean, what is this, an “everyone must get prizes” thing? A ride on Bronte for turning-up? And anyway, it doesn’t matter what I did or with who, because crucially, when I did it, there wasn’t an angry clown entertaining kids in the next room!’

  ‘He wasn’t usually in the next room…’

  ‘Yes, you said. So seeing as your attempt to get my help has turned into some weird character assassination that’s obviously been boiling away for months, it’s probably best if you were going now, Tigh.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Go on. Go and run to Toby. See what else he’s got on me. I mean, how long’s he been watching me, anyway? Fucking hell, that’s creepy.’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Tigh, standing up to leave.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I think he might have sent it.’

  Tigh put the phone down on the kitchen work-surface and opened the email.

  ‘It can’t be Toby,’ said Bronte. ‘I mean, as far as I’m concerned he’s a nasty piece of work. Never liked him, and he’s put me down ever since I started working for the channel. But what you see is what you get with him. He’s a wanker, but he lets you know it. And that’s not true of a lot of people there.’

  ‘I know,’ said Tigh. ‘I don’t want to believe it either. He’s been good to me, in his own weird way, from Day One. But there are just a few things here I can’t ignore. That it says ‘Pretty Boy’. Does anybody else call me that? Not to my face, anyway.’

  ‘And not behind your back, either, as far as I know. In fact, everyone is annoyingly charitable about you.’

  ‘Thanks. And it’s sent to my work email. That’s not public knowledge, and the address isn’t so straightforward someone could easily guess.’

  ‘So it has to be someone who works for the channel.’

  ‘Or who could hack into the system. And I’m not being funny, but none of the women in the room looked like they were up to that.’

  ‘Don’t be dim, Tigh. People know this stuff these days. Even women.’

  ‘Ok. So them having my email isn’t that much of a clue. But the amount… £100,000. I don’t have that much money. I only started a few months ago, and it’s not like I’m on Toby’s wages.’

  ‘But Toby is, and Toby knows you’re not, so why would he ask you for it?’

  ‘Unless… he’s not trying to get money. He’s set the amount deliberately too high, so I can’t pay it, which he might think would force me to quit.’

  ‘But why would he do that? He likes you.’

  Tigh shook his head.

  ‘Maybe he doesn’t. He said that he could see I had potential on the first day he saw me. Maybe he sees me as a threat. I mean, all of this was his idea. What if it’s all been a set-up from the beginning?’

  ‘You could be right,’ said Bronte. ‘It does make some sort of sense.’

  ‘But it could be nothing to do with him.’

  ‘We have to talk to him.’

  Bronte touched his arm.

  ‘But listen. I’ll put it to him, ok? He hates me already. If he ends up hating me some more, there’s no harm done.’

  ‘You’re a good friend,’ said Tigh.

  ‘And you’re an idiot.’

  She gave him a squeeze.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I need to use your loo.’

  ‘Thanks for that information.’

  ‘Back in a sec.’

  When Tigh returned, Bronte was resting her elbows on the work-surface, her head in her hands. She was crying.

  ‘Oh my god, Tigh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise…’

  ‘You watched it? Why…’

  ‘When you said you were raped, I thought you were exaggerating to get at me. I didn’t realise. It was horrible. I’m so sorry…’

  Tigh held her as she cried into his shirt.

  Toby eyed the lunch they had bought him at the pub by the station.

  ‘Well, this is a surprise,’ he said. ‘First nice thing anyone’s done for me since I started working for that bloody channel. How much do you want to borrow?’

  ‘We’re not after money, Toby,’ said Tigh, drinking a second pint quickly to give him courage. He wasn’t a great drinker, and was already feeling lightheaded.

  ‘Oh, don’t tell me, you want me to give you away at your wedding.’

  ‘No, Toby.’


  ‘You’re drinking for England, there. Mind you, if you’d seen the rushes for zombie girl’s new show, I wouldn’t blame you. Worst thing the channel’s ever done. She practically has to be revived with electric shocks between sentences. I don’t see how it can ever go out.’

  ‘Her name’s Nats, Toby, and she’s got problems,’ said Bronte. ‘But that’s not to do with why we’re here. We need to clear something up.’

  ‘Don’t have any penicillin on me, love.’

  ‘Very good, Toby. No. We need to ask you something, about-’

  ‘The video,’ said Tigh. ‘It’s turned up. Someone emailed it to me, demanding money.’

  Toby’s fork paused in mid-air, his mouth open.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ he said.

  ‘And we need to know-’

  ‘We need to know if it’s you that sent it,’ said Bronte. ‘There, said it.’

  ‘You think that I sent you the video, and I’m trying to blackmail you?’

  ‘No, we don’t think that,’ said Tigh. ‘We just have to make sure-’

  ‘You do think it. Otherwise we wouldn’t be sitting here, would we?’

  Bronte spread her palms out wide.

  ‘We’re just exploring all options-’

  ‘Well, that’s a fine way to treat a friend, isn’t it? I get you laid more times in a fortnight than most of us manage in a lifetime, and you turn around and accuse me of blackmailing you.’

  Toby pushed the plate away from him.

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t eat this. It tastes of betrayal. I mean, do you think I’d really be so stupid to do something like that? I was in the next room, with a bunch of kids! You know what people will think, a gay man, a load of toddlers in a hotel room…’

  ‘But you’re not gay, Toby,’ said Tigh.

  ‘No, but onscreen I’m camp, and in the mind of Joe Public, that’s the same thing. Doing something like this would be like signing my own death warrant. I risked my entire career for you back there. Of course I didn’t bloody do it.’

  ‘All we’re doing,’ said Bronte, ‘is trying to find out what happened-’

  ‘No, he’s right,’ said Tigh. ‘It was a rotten thing to say. It’s nothing to do with you, Toby. I trust you. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.’