Kicking Up My Heels...in Heels

by Liam Livings

  “And that was it?”

  “That was it. Bit of a disappointment really. I always knew she’d been a bit racy in the sixties and seventies when she was growing up, but nothing like that. She said she’d burnt her bra, and gone on those marches against the bomb, so I knew she was definitely an ex saggy-titted hippy, but lesbianism, no way, she’d been devoted to Dad. Always talking about how she loves the short one in Take That. Never mentioned a woman being pretty. Not once. Not even when Sinead O’Connor did that song with the tear in her eye. And I thought I was going to melt when I saw it on the TV for the first time. From Mum, not a murmur. Not until this, evidently.” She shrugged, stubbed her cigarette out then walked inside the Portakabin. “We starting tonight, or what?”

  And realising I’d never be able to top that, I didn’t try, following suit with the others, finishing our cigarettes and filing into the Portakabin one by one, looking for where the action was. We joined the others in the larger room, where the seats had been packed away, giving us plenty of room to dance.

  Bruce clapped his hands, called for order and silence, introduced me as his newest glamorous assistant, Kev. He told us to sit on the floor in a circle, then take turns introducing ourselves to the group, and telling everyone an unusual fact about ourselves, we were happy to share. This was the usual, left luggage, warm up part of the evening, to encourage people to mix. It passed without note, people sharing their favourite colours, languages they could speak, secret talents they had, until it got to a teenaged boy who had autism who after telling everyone he was called Nick, said, “I’ve been sectioned.”

  This was met with silence, then a few quiet giggles.

  Nick continued talking about his experiences of being sectioned, which although very moving, and interesting, was definitely not the point of this part of the evening.

  Bruce said, “Thanks, Nick, that’s very kind of you for sharing that, it’s now the turn of the next person in the circle, to share their fact.”

  The girl sitting next to Nick introduced herself as Lauren, her fact was she’d never been abroad, the group clapped and just as the boy next to Lauren was about to start talking, the Nick said, “It was the second time I’d been sectioned. The first time, I was only fifteen. I’d been—”

  Bruce, louder, and firmer this time, said, “Thank you. We’ve had you, now it’s someone else’s turn to share.”

  But Nick wanted to continue with his story. He continued, telling us about the first time he was sectioned, which was met with awkward silence.

  I stood from my part of the circle, walked to Nick, taking him by the hand. “Come and tell me all about it. Let’s go into the other room.”

  He stood, holding my hand and walked with me to the other empty room, there he told me about his experience of being sectioned, both times. I listened, trying to make eye contact, but he looked all around the room, sometimes becoming fixated on the ceiling fan, asking if it worked, where it had been made, and could he turn it on.

  After a while, Bruce appeared at the door. “You ready to come back, Kev’s going to talk about the activity he’s doing with everyone?”

  “We’re ready, aren’t we?” I led Nick back to the main room, where he took his place back in the circle, sitting on the floor.

  Bruce mouthed, thanks to me, and put two thumbs up in front of his chest quickly. He shouted for silence, then said, “Kev’s going to take us through some choreography moves, which you’re going to pick and choose, and learn to…oh, what was it, Kev?”

  I started to explain how it was going to work, but the rest of the room had started murmuring and talking louder about what Bruce had said.

  Bruce blew his whistle, something he only reserved for special occasions. “Quiet. Kev’s talking. He’s a professional performer, and dancer, so you can learn a lot from him. Some of you might have seen him performing in pubs and clubs around here. As far-flung as Bristol and Brighton, I’m told. His stage name is?” He looked at me, raising his eyebrows.

  “Kev. I’m still Kev on stage. I do a good Marilyn, and Madonna, and quite a lot of Kylie if I’m honest.”

  A scream came from the group of lads at the back.

  “Thank you for that. Concentrate please; I’m going to explain what we’re doing.” I mixed them up, so it wasn’t all boys with boys and girls with girls. I divided them into groups, allocated them a place to rehearse, then went through a series of dance moves. I showed them, asking them to copy, then explained they could use the moves I’d taught them, invent their own. I explained they had half an hour to come up with a two-minute dance performance they’d perform in their groups to the rest of us later that night.

  A chorus of “I can’t do that” and “not in front of everyone, Sir” met me, which is what Bruce had told me would happen. So I explained they were doing it in groups, no one had to do it on their own, then a couple of shouts about people who only ever did it on their own, were met with laughs. But I ploughed on, ending with “and if anyone’s got any questions, I’ll be circulating around. Half an hour from now.”

  Someone politely held their hand in the air to ask a question.

  I silenced the room with a loud shush.

  “What song are we doing it to?”

  Oh shit, I’d completely forgotten. I knew we had one CD player and an assortment of CDs Bruce brought from his office for the group. “You’ve got five minutes to pick a song from the CDs in the corner.” I pointed. “Then half an hour to rehearse the moves.”

  They rushed to the corner and grabbed CDs, shouting about which song they wanted.

  I walked to the kitchen area between the two rooms and leant on the sink, getting my breath.

  Bruce put his hand on my arm. “All right?”

  “Fucked it right up, didn’t I? Completely forgot about the songs. What an idiot.”

  “Fine. It’s fine. I never noticed, looked like that’s how you planned it.” He blinked, the wrinkles forming around his eyes, near the slightly greying hair around his temples. “Blow a whistle when the five minutes is up for song choosing, then walk around check they’re all right. I’ll be circulating too, but any dance move questions, I’m directing them to you.” And he was gone, into the other room, where one of the groups was practising.

  A FEW HOURS later, Bruce and I waved the last of them off as they walked to their cars, on the way to the Duke for a drink. I finished my cigarette and followed Bruce back inside. As we collected the CD player and other equipment and put the interior back to how it had been when we’d arrived at five o’clock that evening, we talked about the evening.

  “How’d you think you did?” Bruce said as he put the chairs back against the walls in the larger room.

  “You do like your open questions, don’t you?” I collected a few stray mugs and took them to the sink.

  “Best kind. Come on, it’s not like you to be all quiet.”

  “Different, but good. Not the same as when I used to come here before. But I enjoyed it. Once I got used to talking to the new, the younger ones. Except the music bit, that was embarrassing.”

  “No one noticed. I couldn’t believe you got them all to perform their dances, to everyone else. Even the shy ones joined in, cos they were doing the same moves as the rest of their group.”

  “That was the point of doing it in groups.” I checked the smaller room. “Is it all right in here?”

  Bruce followed me, quickly scanned the room, adjusting the pot plants and chairs so they were straight, neat and tidy against the walls. “Yep, that’ll do.” He put his hand round my shoulder. “What you did, taking that lad to the other room when he wouldn’t stop talking about being sectioned, during left luggage. That’s why I offered you the job. I knew you had that, and more in you. Your natural people skills ooze out of every pore.”

  “Whatever.” I made the W with my hands.

  “Why don’t you believe it when someone tells you you’re amazing? You know you can perform, sing, dance, you believe that, why do
n’t you do the same for other stuff?”

  “Dunno. I’m me. That’s it. Nothing to be proud of.” I checked my watch, I was relieved I’d cleared the rest of the night from performances, I was ready for bed now. “Better go, see how Mum’s getting on.”

  “That, right there. That too.”

  I looked at my chest, either side of myself. I furrowed my brow. “What?”

  “Looking after your mum. You don’t see it, do you?” He shrugged.

  “See what?”

  “How amazing you are. And how you are with Tony, and Kieran. You’re great with people. People say they’re a people person all the time, but most of the time they like talking about themselves. But some people, they really are people persons, they listen to others, ask how they are, and really properly listen. And that’s you.”

  “Night.” I walked to my car, then turned. “Is it OK if I go, you don’t need me to take anything back to your office?”

  “Go home. See your mum. Same time next week.” He waved me goodbye.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  JULY 2000

  Bruce had asked me to do a talk on safe sex for the guys at this week’s Out! Girls were welcome to come too, but most of them, knowing that was the activity for that night, had come along for left luggage—this week it was favourite holiday we’d been on, and the milling around chatting and smoking part. However, as soon as I reached for the wicker basket of condoms in their shiny packets, the girls had all disappeared, off to the pub together.

  He’d been very clever, had Bruce, he’d lulled me into a false sense of security for the next three weeks, letting me help him with his planned activities, gradually asking me to do more and more. And at the end of last week’s session, when I’d forgotten I was working, I’d chatted to almost all the young people, asked so many open questions I felt my head was about to explode with the answers. I had even brought Bruce over to help with some of their responses about letter writing, and something about drugs, and answered a question about sex from one lad who had tried to ask me the two previous weeks but hadn’t managed to actually say the words. So, when he finally formed the words to ask me the questions, I was so pleased, he’d got up the courage, rather than asking Bruce to answer, I’d dived in and responded, with what I knew about sex.

  Afterwards, Bruce had asked if I could do a session on safe sex, talking about my experience, and what had happened to Tony, without using his name obviously. So, because I’d been on a high from the young lad who’d finally asked me the question, and how I’d answered it, without referring to Bruce, I’d said yes.

  So that was how, now, tonight, I found myself stood in front of a room of about twenty-five teenaged gay and bisexual lads, with a bit of paper with some points I knew I wanted to cover, about to start a talk on safe sex. I held a condom in the air. “I thought, at first when I came out, why would I need these, no one’s gonna get pregnant when I shag anyone.”

  There was a laugh around the room.

  “And I’m not ashamed to say, I knew nothing about all this. Sixteen and completely clueless. Until I came here and spoke to this man.” I pointed to Bruce.

  He waved my attention away and shook his head.

  I went through the ways you can contract sexually transmitted diseases, describing some of the nastier symptoms, including a dose of crabs I’d picked up a few years ago, shook the basket of condoms and pointed out they were always more where they came from, so no need to be backward at coming forward and helping themselves to them. I explained about my little mistake, and how drink and drugs changes how you think, makes you do things you wouldn’t normally do. “So, always keep one in your wallet, that way, if you do pull when you’re disastrously pissed, or whatever else you may be on at the time. Not that I’m condoning drugs, of course. But if you are, it’s there, in your wallet.” I explained the worry I’d had after that incident, and how it had taken away all the fun from the brief time in the back of the man’s van, even if it had been fun at the time, the worry I’d carried with me hadn’t made it worth it. “And remember, there’s plenty of other fun you can have without needing to use a condom. I know it’s a bit cheesy, and you’ll all probably laugh, but if this stops one of you going through what I did, then I don’t care if it’s cheesy. In fact, I’d have done it to music if I’d had time. So, there’s a little phrase I have: Lots of other fun, but no condom, no to the bum.” I smiled around the room, holding a condom in each hand, their shiny packets twinkled in the lights of the room. “Say after me. If you don’t put your backs into it, I’ll have you learning dance moves. Don’t think I won’t do it. I’ve Bruce’s authority on this. Now, come on, repeat after me…”

  A few giggles and groans and they were soon repeating it, and that was it.

  Bruce asked them to help themselves to supplies from the wicker basket I’d been holding. “Even if you don’t have a boyfriend, or don’t think you’re gonna get any action, take one, put it in your wallet. You never know. Safe sex and posh wanks, that’s what these are good for.” He held a couple of packets above his head, with a smile and a flourish.

  I shouted, suddenly emboldened by getting to the end of my talk, without messing it up, “Sex is fun. These keep it fun and safe, so you don’t have to worry. So, come and get your free posh wank stroke safe sex kits.”

  LATER, BRUCE ASKED if I could do another evening for him, for the group he’d set up for twenty and over gay men.

  “That’s me isn’t it?”

  “It is, and that’s why I’m asking you.”

  “That’s the group I could come to. If I had time.”

  “Yes, but I want you to help me set it up and work that night too.”

  “I can’t. Ian would kill me. He’s already livid I’ve taken out Thursday nights for bookings. If I added another one, god knows what sort of a hissy fit he’d throw. I can’t. And love, you know I said only for one night. That’s what we agreed.”

  “It was, but I thought I’d try.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  AUGUST 2000

  Ian walked into his living room, carrying a wooden tray of tea and biscuits. Daisy had left us to it and retired upstairs to lie on the bed, reading a book. “Don’t work him too hard,” she’d said, looking at me, before walking upstairs, in a cloud of frothy purple dress and large blonde wig.

  “It’s him who’s working me hard,” I replied, but she’d already gone. I turned to Ian and the diary and books I’d been asked to bring. and we started the six-month review he’d suggested when we’d talked the first time. In February, six months had seemed like a lifetime away, and then, I thought it would pass very slowly. Now, sat with Ian in the living room, looking at all my bookings in the diary and the receipts in the accounts I’d tried to keep (a folder for receipts for costs and another folder for the invoices and receipts for money I’d earned from performances was as far into sorting it as I’d managed) it felt like a fortnight ago. That six months had flown by in the blink of an eye.

  Ian looked through the diary, typed something into the shiny silver laptop resting on his lap, rifled through the two folders that were my half-arsed attempt at bookkeeping, and eventually said, “Three a week. That’s what you’ve averaged over six months.” He pointed to a figure on the laptop screen. “That’s how much you’ve earned. Not taking into account expenses.”

  It was way more than I’d have earned in a year at TK Maxx. “Really? That can’t be true, it’s a fortune.”

  “I’ve checked it, this adds it up automatically, I have this spreadsheet that does it all for me, and yes, I did check it manually. That is the figure, love. Trust me.”

  I was knackered. I did feel like I’d not stopped since February, between the actual performances, the rehearsals, the costume making, the travel, and the dreaded paperwork, I rarely got more than half a day at a time off. And even then I was always thinking about improving the act, the next song to learn from the charts, the next costume to make people smile. But none of it felt l
ike work, all of it—except the paperwork—I’d have done it all for nothing, for the love of it anyway, so being that sort of busy was no problem for me. “You said you’d do this for the moment. Are you going to stop now? Is that what this is all about, letting me down gently?”

  He shook his head. “I never told her,” he nodded upstairs “how long I’d do it. I said I was helping you out, and as far as I’m concerned, I’m still helping you out. I mean, let’s not forget eight per cent of that” he pointed to my total figure on the spreadsheet “was mine. And she’s loved it, having some more money coming in. We’ve been out much more than we used to. Eating out sometimes, trips to the cinema, and I mentioned going on a luxury cruise and she lapped it up. I’ve booked it, paid the deposit. Fortnight in the Caribbean.”

  “Very nice.”

  “Exactly. That’s what we thought.” He paused, grabbing my hand in his. “Do you want to branch out, travel farther from home? Maybe see what some of the London suburban pubs this side have to offer?”

  I am Kev, hear me roar. “Yes. I do.”

  “In that case, love, can I suggest you buy a new car. It’s all tax deductible, love. A business expense we can put it down as.”

  I had got my routine down to quite a well-rehearsed pattern by now. If I’d worked the night before, I’d lie in bed, recovering, emerging from my pit at midday, then I’d make any phone calls to confirm the next few bookings, check what sort of music they were after. Grab something to eat, rehearse, sing, dance, sew, before setting off for the evening’s venue at six o’clock or thereabouts. “And you’re sure, her indoors won’t mind about you carrying on working?”

  “If anything, love it’s the opposite. She’s seen what I’ve done for you, and there’s this big green-eyed monster appearing sometimes. She wants to work more. Which isn’t hard, as she hardly works at all now, but she’s mentioned three or four bookings a week, like you. I said to her, she’s not twenty anymore. Well, you can imagine how that went down.” He shuddered, removed the laptop from his lap, placing it carefully on the coffee table in front of him, then removed his reading glasses, they hung on a chain of white pears round his neck. “Anyway, love, that’s my problem, not yours. Don’t you worry about it. You sort yourself out with more reliable transport and leave me to sort her out. Leave it to me, I’ll start making enquiries at the venues inside the M25, this side.” He put his reading glasses back on, peered through them at a bit of paper on his lap. “I knew there was something else. Any other sort of events you’re interested in doing?”