Malcolm and Juliet

by Bernard Beckett

  It needn’t matter, Kevin decided. Life is a sculpture, chip, chip, chip. In good time, with good patience, even the most formidable rock can be shaped. And Kevin had a plan. Already he was inching forward, tiny step by tiny step.

  Very subtly, over the past six months, Kevin had been working his way into Brian’s life. So subtly that if you asked Brian he would say they went way back, even though half a year before, Kevin had been just another face in the corridor. Stranger to acquaintance, acquaintance to friend, friend to mate, mate to good mate, it was progressing well. Kevin had watched Brian carefully, and learnt his ways. He saw early on that Brian liked to lead, and so Kevin had taken to following, always half a step behind, in his shadow, laughing at his jokes and taking his advice.

  From here, Kevin believed, it was all just a matter of patience. One day Brian would realise Kevin was more than a mate, more than even a best mate, that he had become indispensable. And then? Well it wasn’t unheard of, men coming to understand, late in life. It was hardly as simple as it looked, this sexuality thing, and with Kevin always there, chip, chip, chipping away at Brian’s defences, it had to be possible. Possibility, the only fuel Kevin’s obsession needed. One day Brian would be his. One day, Kevin would cure him.

  ‘Kevin!’ Kevin’s mother’s voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘It’s Brian, on the phone.’

  Kevin’s heart gave the now familiar flutter as he raced to the extension in his room.

  ‘Bri man.’

  ‘Kevy!’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Party tonight. Charlotte’s place.’

  ‘Who’s Charlotte?’

  ‘You can’t have forgotten Charlotte. You know, Chaaaarlotte.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Mate.’

  ‘Mate. Might have a crack there tonight.’

  ‘Might beat you to it.’

  ‘You’re a sly one Kev boy. You’re a sly one.’

  Video

  Malcolm had a plan, a very sly plan. Last year he came second. Second in the National Secondary Schools’ Science Fair, with his photo in the paper and an award ceremony at the Wanganui Town Hall. The year that followed had been a year of pain and frustration because second place doesn’t mean a lot when you know you’re capable of first. Second place isn’t a prize, it’s a torment. It is an award of might-have-been, of should-have-been.

  Malcolm knew where he went wrong, he had the official judges’ report to tell him. Brilliantly researched, they said of his study of genetic mutations in fruit flies, but weak on visual punch and lacking the all-important topicality. The winning entry, from Spotswood College, had both in spades: a continuously flowing, underlit volcanic eruption and lava stream, in the very year that Ruapehu went and blew its top again.

  Well not this year. This year there would be no second places. No bravery in the face of unsolicited condolences, no smiling for the cameras when all he wanted to do was vomit. This year Malcolm had a plan, and the plan was sex.

  Sex was topical. Sex lent itself to visual presentations. Malcolm had borrowed his auntie’s hi-def camera and tripod, and had arranged for the use of the school’s iMacs for the editing. The school was very keen to see him succeed. He hadn’t told them what his topic was of course, that too was part of his plan. Although his research was still in its early stages he had already discovered sex to be an area that aroused strong and often unexpected reactions.

  Malcolm checked his reflection in the mirror. He was wearing his favourite vibrant blue Hawaiian shirt—visual appeal again. The camera and tripod were set up at the end of the bed and after much experimenting he knew exactly where to stand. He liked having the bed in the background; it acted as a visual subtext. Malcolm ran through his opening monologue in his head. There was no real need. He could recite it backwards if he needed to. He faced the camera, eyeballed the lens, breathed in, then hit record on the small remote. No second takes, that was to be his director’s motto.

  ‘A recent survey of American women showed fifty-two percent of them would rather go shopping than have sex. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it, about American men. I’m thinking of emigrating. It might be a good place to begin my sexual career. There has to be less pressure, when all you’re competing with is the queue at Walmart.

  ‘Then again, England might be a better place to start. A survey there revealed that sixty-five percent of women would prefer a nice cup of tea. I don’t quite understand that. Maybe if I was a forty-three-year-old “Coronation Street” fan called Maude, trapped in a small Manchester flat with a seventeen stone football-fanatic-husband who smelt of lost hope and beer, it would make more sense.

  ‘I saw a programme on TV the other day, where they actually filmed the sperm from two different men, fighting it out in the race to reach the egg, pushing and blocking like Year 8 students in a corridor. It must have been a very small camera. I can’t think how they would have done the lighting.

  ‘On another programme I saw that all over the world there has been an inexorable and quite unexplained fall in men’s sperm counts. From Austria to Algiers, Paris to the Philippines, it is as if collectively we are losing the will to carry on. I watch a lot of television. I just hope nobody is using it to tell me lies. In the last year alone I have watched over one thousand five hundred hours of television commercials: light bulbs that last longer, stomachs that look flatter, microwave dinners that almost taste like food, so long as you eat them with the lights off and don’t have to worry about your waistline. It shows how far we’ve come I suppose.

  ‘But lately I’ve been wondering about that. I’ve been wondering whether I might consider swapping it all—the bottled water in the fridge, the junk mail in the letterbox, the television inside my head—for a single primitive night, in front of a simple primitive fire, with a girl who would hold me.’

  ‘Hi ya.’ Camille, Malcolm’s mum, and his second-best friend in the world after Juliet, stood at the doorway. She was dressed for work. The dark blue of her nursing uniform looked almost black against her short platinum hair. ‘I’m off now. There’s some meat thawing in the fridge. That sounded good by the way.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I thought so.’

  ‘You’re hardly impartial.’

  ‘Nothing’s impartial Malcolm. It’s what makes life so much fun.’

  ‘Science is,’ Malcolm replied.

  ‘Science is what witchcraft dresses up as, when out in public,’ Camille told him, and he would have argued but he knew she was only teasing. It was Camille who had bought him his first chemistry set and one summer camped out on the lawn with him for a whole week while they mapped the southern skies.

  Frank, Malcolm’s dad, was much more of a worry. He was a travelling salesperson for a herbal remedies company and a fervent believer in the proposition that rational thought would only divert humankind from its search for truth. Much as Malcolm loved him, he despaired at his lack of faith in the scientific method, and it was probably for the best that Frank was often away on business.

  ‘You might need to record that again by the way, I think I might have been in-shot in the mirror. Sorry. See you later then. You going out?’

  ‘Yeah, there’s a party Juliet told me about. She’s not going but she got me an invite. I might take the camera and do some interviews.’

  ‘Okay. Take a front door key then.’

  Party

  The front door was open and the sounds of shouting mixed with music as it spilled out on to the street. No sooner had Brian entered the hallway than a beer was thrust into his grateful hand.

  ‘Bri mate!’ someone shouted. Even the bass vibrating along the walls seemed to be welcoming him. Brian was good-looking and he was sixteen. Like his father, and his father before him had once done, Brian stood at the brink. Years of good times lay ahead, years free of guilt and empty of responsibility. He was just the man to enjoy them. Not that he was entirely without a sense of social obligation. He was after all quite prepared to take Kevin along for the ride. Kevin, who no
w stood half a step behind him. Poor Kevin, who really had no idea, who would be quite lost without Brian there to lead him.

  ‘There you go Kev boy, have a cool one.’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do. Cheers mate.’

  ‘Yep, aaaah. Feeling better already. Right, follow me lad, look and learn.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Off to find the good hostess. You know, she could have me tonight, if she’s lucky.’

  ‘Yeah,’ and Kevin found it hard not to resent her for that fact.

  ‘There she is Kev. Look at her. Thing of beauty wouldn’t you say?’

  Kevin looked. Charlotte was tall, mainly due to the length of her legs. Her blonde hair was tied back, revealing a small face that caused her normal-length nose to appear slightly long. Her smile was white and symmetrical and her eyes were able to flirt in two different directions simultaneously. Not bad, Kevin had to agree, for a girl. Not a patch on you though Bri, he would have said, if it wasn’t for his patience.

  ‘Not bad.’

  ‘Not bad Kev? She’s more than not bad. Admit it, you’d have her if you could.’

  ‘Yeah, suppose I would.’

  ‘But you can’t, that’s the thing. You know why?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘You don’t have it. You don’t have the X-factor. You see,’ Brian put a hand on Kevin’s shoulder, like a father explaining combustion engines to his son, ‘she’s what you’d call an A, whereas you Kev, let’s be honest, are more of a B. In this world Bs don’t get As. It’s not fair but hey, what is?’

  ‘What about my uncle?’ Kevin asked. ‘He’s an ugly little bastard but the woman he left my auntie for is definitely quite attractive.’

  ‘That’s because it isn’t just about looks is it? It’s like I say, the X-factor. He must have the X-factor. But you, well the closest you’re ever going to get to a girl like Charlotte is hearing a guy like me telling you what it was like. If you’re lucky she might have a friend who isn’t too ugly. Maybe I could set you up.’

  ‘Nah, she’s right.’

  If there was one thing that annoyed Brian it was lack of gratitude.

  ‘Look Kev, I’m just trying to help you aren’t I? Go on then, if you don’t believe me. You try with Charlotte first. Away you go. I’ll stand back, give you all the room you need. But I’m telling you, you won’t get anywhere.’

  ‘Oh, um.’

  ‘No, go on, I want to see you try. It’s the only way you’re going to learn.’

  So Kevin walked reluctantly over to Charlotte and Brian watched him go. Yeah, there was definitely something odd about that boy, something Brian couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  ‘Ah excuse me.’ Brian turned to be confronted by the unblinking eye of a small video camera. The voice came from behind it where a small figure was hunched over the tripod, making adjustments.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Brian isn’t it?’ The camera boy stood up. His face was vaguely familiar.

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘My name is Malcolm. I’m doing a piece of research, for the School Science Fair, and I was—’

  ‘Piss off. It’s the weekend man, get a life.’

  ‘It’s about sex,’ Malcolm continued, seemingly unperturbed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sex. People suggested you might be worth talking to.’

  ‘Did they?’ Brian said, interested now.

  ‘Yes, you seem to have quite a reputation.’

  That made sense to Brian. He definitely had his admirers.

  ‘Right, um, so what was it you wanted to know?’

  ‘Tell me about the first time you had sex. How was it?’

  ‘What, don’t you know?’

  ‘No. I haven’t had sex yet. I’m a virgin.’

  ‘You’re not some sort of pervert are you?’

  ‘Oh no. I’m a Scientist.’

  ‘Right. So first time you say? Hell, it was a while ago now.’

  ‘And how was it?’

  ‘Good. Yeah, quite good.’ There was a pause. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Some detail would be good. What, when, how, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Oh, okay. Well it was at this party, up at Waikanae at a beach house. Me and ah, Shirley, I’ve changed her name, you know, to protect her identity, although she’s probably told everybody by now, I have. Anyway, me and Shirley went down to the beach, just to talk, and do some drinking and that. Then what happened was it got quite late and when we got back everyone else had crashed and the only place left was this big double bed.’

  Brian stopped. He considered he’d explained himself rather well, given it was something he hardly remembered. Only geek boy didn’t quite get it.

  ‘So what happened next?’

  ‘What do you think? I started feeling her up and stuff. I didn’t want her to think I was some sort of poofter did I?’

  ‘No, I suppose not. So was it easy then? I mean, how did you know what to do?’

  ‘Everybody knows.’

  ‘I’m not sure I would,’ Malcolm told him. ‘So, ah, if you don’t mind me asking, how was it? Say on a scale of one to ten, where five’s playing with yourself, you know, on a good day.’

  ‘Oh, ah eight I guess. Eight point five.’ It wasn’t strictly true but Brian was well used to faking.

  ‘And Shirley?’

  ‘Yeah, she was okay. A seven I suppose, although that’s not all that fair, she was pretty drunk.’

  ‘No, I mean do you think she enjoyed it?’

  ‘Of course she did.’ What was he implying, the little prick?

  ‘How do you know? Did she moan and stuff, you know, like in the movies?’

  ‘Well no, but she couldn’t could she?’ Brian tried to explain.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, we didn’t want to wake the others.’

  ‘What others?’

  ‘The other people crashed out on the bed. It was really big though, and they were totally asleep.’

  That hadn’t come out too well and Brian knew it. It was almost as if the little bastard had tricked him. He wondered if he shouldn’t kick out at the camera, or try to explain it. Served him right, for wasting party time talking to a geek when there were perfectly good girls available.

  ‘Anyway, look, I have to go. I can’t answer any more of your stupid questions.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Malcolm smiled. ‘That was all I wanted. It was perfect.’

  Brian stormed off and came across Kevin standing in the backyard, predictably alone, same beer bottle still in his hand (took his time did Kevin) and looking strangely at some statue thing in the middle of a floodlit fountain. Another big plus for Charlotte, her parents were loaded.

  ‘So how did it go then?’ Brian asked, not that he had to.

  ‘Not too well,’ Kevin lied. In fact he and Charlotte had got on very well indeed. It was boys he had trouble impressing.

  ‘Told you boy.’ Brian’s mood brightened again. ‘You’re a B, nothing you can do about it. Did you see where she went?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s through there by the barbecue.’

  ‘You all right out here then man? Got to give this a crack. I will check out whether she’s got a friend for you though, promise.’

  ‘Yeah, no worries.’ Kevin watched the familiar sight of Brian walking away then turned his attention back to the fountain. A little tacky, truth be known, but it would do the job.

  Charlotte was still standing by the barbecue, as if she was waiting for him. Such signals from fate, little winks from the gods of love, never failed to buoy Brian’s confidence.

  ‘Gidday.’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Name’s Brian. Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘No, I prefer not to at my own parties. You’re going to have to try conversation instead I’m afraid.’ She reached for the tongs and began turning kebabs.

  ‘What? Oh, right.’ A feisty one. No worries. Brian preferred them that way. No fun if they didn’t resist
a little. ‘It’s funny, I was talking to my friend before. He was saying how some people just have an X-factor, some special indefinable quality. I told him there was no such thing. But now, seeing you, well I’m thinking he might have been right.’

  ‘Sounds like a line to me,’ Charlotte told him.

  ‘It is. But that’s the thing isn’t it. You’re worth the line. Most people I wouldn’t bother. That’s the X-factor I think.’

  Brian was most pleased with the way he’d handled himself. He was on a roll, he could feel it. The geek boy should have been filming this. Charlotte looked up from the kebabs. Eye to eye Brian could tell she and he were the same height, which had practical advantages. Another sign. Brian turned slightly, so she could see his better side, and gave the enticing smile he had recently perfected in the mirror. He waited for something but apparently he had rendered her speechless. Time for another line.

  ‘So, if you could sleep with anyone in the world, who would it be?’

  ‘I’d fuck Elvis,’ Charlotte replied, ‘if he was still alive.’ And for some reason Brian didn’t quite understand, she found this most amusing. He pressed on.

  ‘Elvis eh? Yeah, my dad’s got one of his films on DVD. I think he’s seriously underrated as an actor. What do you think?’

  Charlotte didn’t answer him, or even return his gaze. She was looking past him, back to the yard, her eyes wide open, her jaw dropping open.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered. ‘He’s actually done it. I never thought he would.’

  Brian turned to see what she was talking about and was confronted with a vision that burned itself forever on to the back of his already scarred mind, exactly the way Kevin had intended it to. For there Kevin was, naked as the day he was born, his slender frame wrapped about the statue in artistic pose, bathed in dappled mood lighting. He didn’t move at all, as if oblivious to the gathering crowd and the roaming video camera edging ever closer as it strove to capture this living work of art from every angle.