'As we open, the camera will pan around the room, starting with Mr Bellows, with Jesse and Minnie in the centre, taking everyone in, so the audience can get the picture of what they're dealing with here. And Patsy, we're looking for a quick flash of the boobs right from the off, just to get 'em hooked. You cool?'
'Totally,' she gushed.
'Sovereign,' said Velure. 'Don't linger on it, you know.' He snapped his fingers. 'That fast. It's almost as if the audience should've felt the presence of your breasts, rather than having actually seen them.'
An 'oh for God's sake' escaped the mouth of Winona Wanderlip. Patsy Morningirl quickly sprang her blouse and closed it over again. All in a finger snap.
'Like that?' she spurted.
'Extreme!' exclaimed Velure. 'Nailed it! Right, then we're going to come back to Mr Bellows, who you're all going to meet in a minute. He'll do a bit of an intro, then he'll hang it round to Jesse, and we're off. Thereafter, he'll talk to both Jesse and Minnie, like they're a couple or something, then we'll bring in some of the others, as either they or Mr Bellows see fit. Obviously, Patsy, we won't be bringing you in too early, because we don't want to smoke all our joints in the first five minutes. What we need is drama here, people. Drama. You know what I'm saying?'
He looked around the blank faces. I'm not getting my kit off, thought the other women. I wonder if some of the other women are going to get their kit off, thought the men.
'D-R-A-M-A drama,' said Velure, 'is the name of the game. We all need it, it's up to you lot to supply. Anyone have anything to say, ping it in there. We cool?'
A few nods.
'Doesn't matter what you want to get out there,' he continued, 'as long as it's not dull. Any of you comedians got any stuff about the welfare state or the Health Service or taxes, anything like that, we'll cut you off as soon as you open your mouth. Keep 'em coming, and keep 'em short. You'll know if we want you to keep talking, 'cause Mr Bellows will take you up on it.'
'We're on in one,' said Mandy, Velure's assistant, and Bing Velure pointed his forefingers at the crowd.
'This is it, people, let's think on our feet and do everything to bring in the punters. Every second needs to be B-I-G big, so that we catch the channel surfers.'
'Ah!' said JLM suddenly, drawing a sharp look from Velure. 'Rebecca, wonderful of you to come. I knew you'd have a change of heart.'
Velure turned round; a few in the room looked askance. Dr Rebecca Blackadder had arrived, looking pretty hot, because she always did, but frankly her hair hadn't been done that day. And she was expecting to do live television!
'Who are you?' barked Velure, casting a professional eye over her body.
'She's part of my team,' said JLM standing up. 'Come in, Rebecca, come in.'
'Thirty!' chirped Mandy.
'You going to get your clothes off?' cracked Velure.
'No!' Blackadder snapped back at him.
'Whatever,' he said, 'you're decent enough window dressing. Someone get her a seat.'
A seat was found, JLM sat back down still smiling and saying 'champion' to himself, a few others muttered, and Rebecca Blackadder joined the throng, looking daggers all the time at Bing Velure, and already questioning her decision to change her mind at the last minute.
The door burst open again and Barney Thomson entered the fray. This time, most of the room had a look of approval, as they were all still basking in the feel-good glow of great hair.
'Barn!' several of them cried, as if he were a long lost friend.
He stopped, regarded them with suspicion, then looked at Velure.
'Am I too late?'
'Fifteen!' cried Mandy.
'You're the hair guy,' said Velure as a statement of fact. 'Get him a seat,' he yelled, without enthusiasm.
Barney walked in, eyes on Blackadder, wondering why she was there. Cast a quick glance at one or two of the others, did not return the smiles.
'Ten!' chirped Mandy.
'Right!' bawled Velure, with unnecessary majesty, 'the lions have entered the Coliseum! Everybody grab hold of their bowels!'
'Five...'
Barney sat down next to Rebecca Blackadder, raising an eyebrow in question.
'Four...'
'Couldn't keep yourself away?' he said.
'Three...'
'I'm not bloody letting him away with it,' she said, her voice low.
'Two...'
And with a swish of magisterial authority, crisply shaven, smelling of unbelievably expensive aftershave and with his intestines recently having benefited from a $61 colon hydrotherapy treatment, Larry Bellows swanked into the room, not a second too soon.
'One ...'
Bellows embraced his company with the aura of his magnanimity, silently greeted them with open arms, then he sat down and fixed the great and humble smile to his face, as Mandy chopped her hand to indicate they were on air.
Soap Opera 1
The cameras had trawled round the room, past the nervous, the excited, the resigned, the angry, and Patsy with her amazing flashing chest, finally settling on the legend that was Larry Bellows. He was a big man, with a large round head, a broad chest, and a stout belly, from the very depths of which was emitted the most bombastic of New England laughs. But he could also do quiet and sincere and sensitive as required, with the full range of emotions and sympathies in-between.
He was, in fact, the talk-show equivalent of Jesse Longfellow-Moses, in that he was really rather small-time back home, compared to Letterman and Leno and the rest. But just because he was a waiter at Big Al's One Cheese Pizzeria, did not mean that he couldn't act like he owned Pizza Hut. Especially when he was becoming a thing in the UK, and was being paid a decent wedge of the licence payers' money from the BBC.
'Hey, everyone!' he said, in his usual salutation. 'Welcome to Larry Bellows Tonight! Really, really fantastic display there from the little lady! And we'll be seeing more of that kind of thing later!'
And he smiled disarmingly, then switched on his serious face.
'Jeez, we have such a great show for you tonight. I am so excited personally, because this fella that I'm going to introduce you to has been such a hero of mine since I arrived in your country. It's been my pleasure, Hell, I've been honoured to be able to spend the day with him today, getting to know him and his lovely wife.'
(Translation: he'd never heard of JLM before that morning, then he'd spent ten minutes with him and Minnie, before spending the day allowing the BBC to honour that part of his contract which stated they'd supply him with women, alcohol and hard drugs in the run-up to each show.)
'So, ladies and gentlemen, I want to introduce you to the First Minister of Scotland, England, Jesse Longfellow-Jesus. Jesse, it's such a pleasure having you on the show.'
JLM smiled in a cheesy American way, which he thought might be appropriate.
'Hell, thanks Larry, it sure is great to be here,' he said. 'Champion.'
'It's Longfellow-Moses,' said Minnie, quietly, the words passing straight over Bellows' head.
'And your lovely wife, Minnie,' said Bellows, and he gave her a smile that suggested he seriously wanted into her underwear. Minnie smiled, but the smile was one of restraint, Bellows' look inducing in her a brutal desire to bury a hatchet in his head.
'It's really great to have a First Lady named after a mouse, ain't it?' he said, patting her on the knee.
Minnie simmered while playing along, thinking that it was, for the time, politically expedient.
'For just over five years now,' said Bellows, looking seriously at the camera, doing his earnest anchorman routine, 'the people here in Scotland have had what they call devolved government. Hell, now I'm an American, I don't even know what that means. Tonight we're gonna learn a little more about it, and about some of the ... personalities ... who ...'
He became a bit distracted as the camera, which had been honing in on him, began to twitch, as if being attracted to something else. Bellows turned and looked behind, allowing the camera to f
ollow his look.
Patsy, bless her, was already at it. Like a kid with a big bowl of ice cream placed in front of her and told to wait, she just couldn't contain her excitement. She was standing behind Bellows, very casual, leaning on the mantleshelf, blouse open, right breast obvious to the audience.
Bellows ejaculated his enormous laugh. A few of the others shook their heads; a couple were already contemplating abandoning ship. JLM smiled.
'Hey!' bellowed Bellows, the loudness of his tone demanding that the camera be switched back to him, as it duly was. 'Isn't that great! Who is that little filly anyway?'
'She's the Deputy First Minister,' said JLM, smiling, and you know, even he felt a bit of a squirm as he said it.
'Fan-tastic!' said Bellows. 'Let's talk about your government's attitude towards sex!'
JLM smiled. Not quite off to the start he was expecting. Bellows was bigger and louder and filled the room with far too much of his own presence. And with so many enormous egos present, there was bound to be trouble. Add that to the fact that the Kabinet Killer was also in the room and was, by design, a little unstable; that The Undertaker was nearby, and had his own issues to resolve; that there were at least four people present who intended publicly humiliating Jesse Longfellow-Moses (even more than he was going to be publicly humiliated by the whole thing as a matter of course); and that there were six other internecine affairs to be revealed, and, well Bing Velure needn't have worried.
They were in, as Larry Bellows himself might've said, for one Hell of a show...
Soap Opera 2
Fifteen minutes in and everything was running smoothly, even if it was a little on the dull side. Everyone had calmed down from the drug and testosterone fuelled overdrive of the first couple of minutes, Larry had been fed a couple of pointers so that he actually knew what he was talking about, and normal service had been resumed.
Of course, most people who had started watching had already changed channel, and Velure was getting edgy. They needed something to happen, and Patsy had already blown the sex card.
To the dismay of several of those present, Darius Grey, the new Minister for Health, had stolen the early part of the show, and had gone off on a passionate discourse on the future of health care in Scotland. It was politics at its most raw and socially responsible. Only Winona Wanderlip was impressed, but with every second that Grey spoke, she'd begun to realise that here was a genuine political challenger in their midst. The lad was only twenty-five, but it didn't mean that the press wouldn't grab him by the nostril hair, and start turning him into a thing.
As Bellows nodded sagely to another one of Grey's points, Mandy passed him a note.
Larry. Time to ask Longfellow-Moses about Hookergate!
Bellows glanced at the note and looked up at Grey. The young lad was slightly thrown by the note thing – lack of experience, you see – which was enough to allow Bellows to break into his flow on radicalising health care for the elderly.
'Well, I think we all agree with your thoughts on that. One for the future, eh, Jesse?' he said, turning back to JLM.
'Absolutely, champion,' said JLM. 'My first priority in government has always been to promote the ideas of the young. You see, it's my...'
'Yeah, great,' said Bellows. 'Now, one of the things that a lot of people have been talking about is the little matter of Hookergate.'
The smile froze on JLM's face, but he did his best to keep his shoulders straight, and his mouth turned up at the corners.
'Hell, it sounds like something Bill Clinton would've got involved in, but it happened right here in little old Scotland. Tell us all about it, Jesse.'
JLM looked down at the carpet, nodding, sorting out his persona, so that when he looked up he would be in character. He'd had a meeting earlier with Velure, and they'd agreed on a variety of subjects that would not be touched upon. Hookergate had been one of them. If Bellows was going to pull that one out the bag, nothing would be inviolable. JLM cast Velure a quick and vicious glance, which television picked up in all its beautiful scorn, then smiled at Bellows.
'You know as well as I, Larry,' he said, 'what the media are like, especially in this country. While we strive to bring serious issues to the breakfast tables of the people of Scotland, the press are more interested in pointless tittle-tattle, in helping to create political legends such as myself, only so they can knock them down again. The first battle of any government is with the media. That is why it is the first instrument to be taken under state control in dictatorships. But in democracies such as ours, it is time that the media realised their responsibilities, it is time that they matured into the freedoms which have been granted to them.'
'A lovely polemic, Jesse,' said Bellows, 'but to get back to the question in hand. Is it true you porked your secretary, then had her stiffed when she threatened to talk?'
JLM laughed. Minnie pulled herself away from him a little, lovely body language, and waited to hear the bluster with which he would answer.
'Preposterous!' barked JLM.
'So, why is it you've been unable to recruit a new secretary since Mrs Walters was killed in a mysterious automobile accident? Some say it's because no one will touch the position for fear of the same thing happening to them. You're the First Minister for Chrissake, surely you can get someone to work for you?'
JLM hesitated. This was going way further than even the press had gone. They hadn't been aware that he was without a secretary. Someone from the inner circle must have talked. And if they'd talked about that...
'Look,' said JLM, and Minnie was now a couple of feet away from him, staring intently, 'Veronica was a very dear and lovely woman. Very sweet, very, very dear.'
'You mean, she charged a lot for sex?' said Bellows. 'Am I picking you up right?'
Minnie sniggered.
'She was lovely,' said JLM, with especial emphasis, 'a very lovely, lovely person. I never, never, never had relations with her. Ever.'
'Sexual relations?' said Bellows.
'I never had relations,' said JLM. 'And I can assure you that I was absolutely devastated when I learned that she had died so tragically. Devastated.'
Bellows did his sage nod, wished he was having this discussion with a politician who mattered, if there's such a thing, then gave Minnie a look of immense sympathy, as though she had cancer or something.
'Minnie,' he said, 'you've stood by Jesse through these difficult times. Was there ever a moment when you thought, I've had enough? I'm just gonna blow this guy off?'
The camera closed in on Minnie. Here we go, thought most of the people in the room, and almost everybody still watching on television. The usual stand-by-your-man crap.
'Hell yes!' said Minnie. 'And don't look at me as though I had cancer, Bud! I know I should stand by my husband, and the last thing I would want is for anyone to think me disloyal. But when you've caught your husband with his face buried deep between another woman's thighs, well you find that loyalty stretched.'
'That wasn't Veronica!' sputtered JLM, which probably wasn't the best rejoinder.
'Hey, Cowboy!' said Bellows.
'Who was it then?' said Minnie, looking outraged, but actually delighted that JLM had been so stupid as to be sucked in.
'Maybe it was this trollop!' said James Eaglehawk who had, up until now, been unable to get a word in, was feeling a bit left out and was desperate for an opportunity. And as he said the words, he stepped forward, thrusting several full colour photographs of JLM and an unknown woman into the hands of the other combatants and in front of the camera.
'Wow!' said Bellows, very impressed. 'Getta loada these!'
'Who's this?' said Minnie, indignantly, but not actually in the least bit bothered.
'Well, clearly that isn't me in the photographs,' said JLM with a politician's ease for the lie, even though it blatantly was him in the photographs. 'I've never seen this woman before in my life.' Not in a couple of months at any rate.
'Hell!' said Bellows, 'you shouldn't be embarrass
ed, Jesse. You take a great photo!'
'Oh,' said JLM, not sure what to do now. Never one to look a compliment in the mouth.
'Well,' said Bellows, 'Minnie, let's take a moment here. Remember we're on live television.'
Bellows reached out and took hold of Minnie's hand. He knew how to work the scene. A brief moment of hyperactivity, then slow things down; let everyone relax a little, then crank it way back up again. A rollercoaster. Suddenly he wasn't doing political insight, he was Geraldo or Jerry Springer. This would play great back home, if they ever got to see it.
'You've just been shown photographs of your husband having unbelievable sex with another woman. Millions of people have just watched as you were publicly humiliated. This man you call your husband has just degraded you in front of the entire world. You have been humbled, stripped of your dignity, your reputation lies like canine poop in the dirt. He has demeaned and cheapened you, to the point where there's not a single viewer out there who will consider you any better than some slimy, pustulant bug, ready to be squished on the windshield of history. How does it feel?'
JLM wanted to interject but somehow the moment wasn't right, even for him. Minnie stared at the floor, head racing. She hadn't intended that it should all fall out quite like this. She wasn't thinking about her humiliation, of course. Couldn't give a damn about that. She was, like all the best political animals, trying to decide what was going to play best with the voting public. What was going to get her the most sympathy? Anger, forgiveness, tears, outright venom? Difficult to make a decision without a team of highly paid advisors giving her feedback.
'You tell him to stick it up his ass, darling!' said a voice from the back.
They turned. Veron Veron had risen to his feet. It talks!
'Veron!' said JLM.
The Barbershop Seven: A Barney Thomson omnibus Page 108
