Buying Llamas Off the Internet

by Ian Edwards

  ‘It hurts,’ he groaned, and pulled the duvet over his head.

  ‘You’re not getting any sympathy from me. It’s all self–inflicted.’

  James pulled a little of the duvet down and opened one eye. Peering out from a small crack between duvet and bed he could see a figure standing beside the bed. More specifically he could see two legs and assumed that they were joined to the body that was currently talking to him.

  A mug was put on the bed side table next to his head and the smell of coffee lured him out from behind the duvet and forced the other eye open.

  Amy stood next to bed looking at him with distain. ‘Good night last was it?’ she asked.

  James pulled himself up and gently rested his head on the headboard. ‘I can’t really remember,’ he admitted.

  ‘The others were in no better state. Jayne dragged you up the path and got you in. She was talking complete rubbish. She asked me if I enjoyed the course. What does that mean? I told her that I don’t like golf and she just looked at me like I was the one who was pissed.’

  James smiled weakly at his wife, hoping that she wasn’t expecting an intelligent response. He closed his eyes and hoped that death would come quickly.

  He heard a cracking sound and Amy cry out.

  ‘Ouch!’

  He opened his eyes. Amy was standing at the foot of the bed.

  ‘You’ve got bits of poppadom in your pockets. What were you doing last night?’

  ‘I told you, I haven’t a clue. It’s all a bit blurry.’

  Amy sat on the edge of the bed and brushed shards of poppadom off of her foot.

  James took a mouthful of coffee. ‘Actually there is one thing I can remember,’ he said. ‘You remember that developer guy, the one who wanted to knock down the theatre. The one you really hated?’

  Sitting on the end of the bed with her back to James, Amy felt herself redden.

  ‘The one who jumped off the roof after his plans failed?’ She said it like a question rather than a statement.

  ‘That’s the bloke. Well here’s the thing,’ James said, oblivious to Amy’s discomfort. ‘Jayne said that the coroner has ordered an inquiry as there are apparently inconsistencies, and Jayne has been drafted in to work on the investigation.’

  Amy swallowed. ‘Did she say anything else?’

  ‘If she did I can’t remember it.’ James answered honestly.

  Amy gripped the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling very weak. ‘I need the bathroom’ she mumbled, and slowly left the room, now unaware of the pieces of poppadom breaking under feet.

  Chapter 10.

  ‘He’s going OK, isn’t he?’ Sarah asked Alan as they stood in the wings of the Richmond Galleria. On stage, Harry Hodges was doing his level best to appear incompetent, something Alan was convinced didn’t require much effort.

  ‘I liked his joke about putting on a big false moustache so no one could see his lips move. Did you give him that one?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Yeah. I thought it was the perfect follow on from asking for the lights to be dimmed. He’s doing OK. It’s good you got him this gig. I thought Ned was due to open?’ Ned Kendall had a novelty act which comprised of juggling hedge trimmers whilst making terrible puns. Alan didn’t think he was very good at either. ‘So, is Ned ill?’

  ‘Yes. He’s been in hospital all week.’

  ‘Did he drop a hedge trimmer on his foot again?’

  ‘No. Gall stones. They’re quite painful, I gather.’

  A smattering of laughter from the crowd interrupted Alan’s thoughts. Harry, or rather his dummy, Old Man Ernie, suggest they sing a song. ‘OK. As long as it’s not ‘Bibbidy Bobbidy Boo we’ll be fine,’ Harry replied.

  Alan jumped at the loud guffaw from his right hand shoulder. ‘I see he’s used one of my jokes,’ Frankie said. ‘We might make some money out of this,’ he added. ‘I’ve worked up a couple of corkers he can use for his magic act.’

  Alan turned to reply, but remembered that Sarah was standing to his left.

  ‘Sorry, Alan, I’ve got to go,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m meeting Giles for a quick drink before he goes on stage. Have you met him? I think you’d really like him. He’s lovely and so talented,’ Sarah gushed, not letting Alan respond. ‘Anyway, best be off. See you a bit later?’ she made the sentence sound like a question.

  ‘Yep, see you later,’ Alan replied as Sarah rushed off back stage.

  ‘I think you’re in the clear, son,’ Frankie said. ‘I think she’s got a new crush. Who is this Giles bloke? Is he a comedian too?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Alan replied. ‘Giles Monroe. He’s top of the Bill. Sarah reckons he’s going to get a shot at a panel show soon.’

  ‘You don’t sound happy about it. What’s wrong? Are you jealous?’

  ‘No, well, yes I am jealous. But it’s not that, it’s just that I don’t like him.’

  ‘That sounds like jealousy to me, son. Sarah seems to like him, though,’ Frankie grinned mischievously.

  ‘It’s not that. He’s just a bit, well, it’s difficult to explain…’

  ‘Is it because he’s better than you?’ Frankie laughed.

  ‘Will you shut up? It’s got nothing to do with Sarah, and it’s got nothing to do with his act. Or what he calls an act…’

  ‘Now, now…’ Frankie interrupted.

  ‘It’s just that, well. He’s just a dick.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s not that bad, son.’

  ‘Trust me, he really is.’

  The friends turned their attention back to the stage where Harry Hodges was asking the audience to shout out the names of songs to sing. The result was a raucous jumble of noise that threatened to get out of hand. Harry, deciding he had had enough of the racket, stood up, appealing for calm. The noise turned to laughter as Harry’s right hand emerged from the neck of Old Man Ernie, holding a stick with the dummy’s head attached to it. Harry stopped for a moment, pretending he had no idea what was happening before turning to look at his outstretched hand ‘Oh come on’ he said ‘you all know how it works anyway…’

  In the wings, Frankie snorted and turned to Alan. ‘Trust me, son, this bloke is going to make us rich!’

  ‘I hope you’re right, Frankie, I really do,’ Alan replied as he watched Harry Hodges milk the applause.

  *

  Rosie and James stood at the Richmond Galleria bar. The place was empty save for a few punters ordering drinks for friends inside.

  ‘I’ve always thought it weird to pay for a night out and spend most of it queuing for drinks,’ Rosie said, taking a sip of her own Rum and Coke. ‘I mean,’ she continued, ‘they’ve paid to see comedians, and yet they’re not watching them. I don’t understand it at all.’

  ‘To be fair, some of the comedians are rubbish. Especially those on first. Take this bloke,’ James said, motioning to the closed double doors that fed into the auditorium. ‘His entire repertoire is him being a rubbish ventriloquist. And Alan wrote the best lines for him. I’m surprised there aren’t more people in here getting drunk.’

  ‘Alan told me this Harry chap is one of that Sarah’s new clients. She must be scraping the bottom of the barrel if he is the best she can get.’

  ‘You don’t like her much, do you?’ James asked.

  ‘Not really, no,’ Rosie admitted. ‘It’s just this comedy business is taking up so much of our time. I mean, I barely get to see Alan these days. He’s always out with her.’

  ‘Come on Rosie, you know Alan wants to make this a full time career. And in any case, he wouldn’t get up to anything.’

  ‘It’s not Alan I’m worried about, it’s her. She’s always there, laughing at his jokes, touching his arm, staring at him when she thinks I’m not looking. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think you have anything to worry about,’ James said, nodding to his left as Sarah came through the doors followed by a clean cut man in a sharp black suit. The couple made their way to the bar. James held a hand aloft in g
reeting, which caught Sarah’s attention and she wandered over, followed by the suit.

  ‘James, Rosie, Hi, how are you? Thanks for coming. Waiting for Alan’s set are you? Sorry, this is Giles…Giles, this is James and Rosie. James is Alan’s friend and Rosie is his girlfriend. Giles is headlining tonight, isn’t that exciting?’

  James held his hand out for Giles to shake. ‘Nice to meet you. I think Alan has mentioned you to me before. He says you’re very funny.’ This was a lie. Alan had indeed mentioned Giles Monroe to James, but at no time had he ever described Giles as funny. “An odious streak of shite in an ill-fitting suit” were the exact words Alan had used.

  ‘The pleasure is all mine,’ Giles replied, though he was looking at Rosie when he said it. Rosie blushed slightly.

  ‘Pleased to meet you too,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, well, Giles and I have things to talk about,’ Sarah said, ushering Giles away from her friends, adding, ‘I’ll leave you guys to it.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to getting to know you a lot better,’ Giles said to Rosie, who blushed again.

  ‘What an arsehole,’ James said when they were out of earshot. ‘Alan can’t stand the bloke. Says he’s constantly hitting on women.’

  ‘Well I like him. I’m not sure what he sees in her, though.’

  ‘You’re not jealous are you?’ James grinned.

  ‘What? Of course not. It’s just he seems very nice, and she’s…well, she’s not.’

  ‘But you hardly know the woman…’

  ‘…I know the type…’

  ‘Sorry, Rosie, but you don’t know Sarah at all. She really is a sweet woman. OK, she talks too fast and is excited by everything. But her heart’s in the right place.’

  ‘Well, at least her heart’s not at Alan’s place anymore,’ Rosie said, taking a sip of her drink.

  The noise in the auditorium increased, attracting James’ interest. He told Rosie he was going to take a quick peak through the doors to see what was going on. As he did so he saw Harry Hodges, his right arm aloft, holding his dummy’s head on a stick.

  ‘Now that’s funny,’ he said to himself.

  *

  Alan sat in the Green Room talking to Harry. ‘Well done mate. That was quality. You really had them tonight.’

  ‘Thanks Alan. I couldn’t have done it without you, though. I don’t know how you come up with these jokes so quickly,’ Harry replied, taking a sip from his pint.

  ‘He doesn’t. I do!’ Frankie replied, much to Alan’s annoyance.

  ‘To be honest, Harry, I have nicked most of the stuff from old clips I’ve seen on the internet,’ Alan admitted.

  ‘Christ sake, son, don’t tell him that, he won’t pay us anymore!’ Frankie cried.

  ‘Well,’ Harry said, ‘I don’t care where it’s coming from, I’m just grateful for your help.’

  ‘No problem. Listen, I have had a couple of ideas about your magic act…’

  Alan was interrupted by Sarah walking in to the room. ‘Harry, that was brilliant,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think that was brilliant, Giles..?’

  Alan had not seen Giles Monroe following behind Sarah. ‘Yeah, it was brilliant, well done mate,’ he said.

  ‘Listen, I’ve got a couple of things I need to sort out,’ Sarah said, I’ll leave you guys to chat amongst yourselves,’ she added as she turned and left the room.

  ‘Thanks for the kind words, Giles,’ Harry said. ‘It means a lot.’

  ‘Yeah, well, they were more for her benefit than yours. You shouldn’t be wasting your time, and more importantly, anyone else’s with your inane derivative bullshit. Now leave me in peace, I have to prepare for my audience.’

  ‘Oi, there’s no need for that attitude,’ Alan said, jumping to Harry’s defence. ‘We’re all here for the same reason.’

  ‘You may be here for these plebs, but this is just a stepping stone. I am on an upward trajectory that includes TV, stadiums and Hollywood.’

  ‘Fucking hell, that’s some tour. Is it a Thompson holiday, or did you arrange it all by yourself?’ Alan quipped.

  ‘I really don’t understand what Sarah sees in you people,’ Giles added, ignoring Alan’s insult. ‘She can do so much better than two bit music hall acts and part time wannabees.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Alan replied. ‘You really are a dick.’

  ‘Sarah doesn’t think so,’ Giles grinned. ‘In fact, I think I might allow her to take me home this evening. Let her see what a real comedian looks like.’

  ‘What, are you going to watch Comedy Central?’ Alan said.

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to be on stage in a minute?’ Giles replied. ‘I think you should get yourself ready. The audience won’t fall asleep by themselves you know.’

  Alan laughed. ‘That might be the funniest thing you’ve ever said. You should put it in your routine. Oh, hang on, don’t you have script writers for that? Come on, Harry, let’s go to the bar. I’ll introduce you to Rosie.’

  ‘Oh yes, the lovely Rosie. I met her earlier. Now there’s a beautiful woman…’

  ‘What? What did you just say?’

  ‘Come on, Alan. This guy is an idiot. Leave him alone. He can stare into the mirror. It’s all the company he needs,’ Harry said, ushering Alan from the room. ‘He’s really not worth it. Now, show me to the lovely Rosie. You say she’s a radiographer. Does that mean she takes pictures of people’s bottoms?’

  *

  Alan stood at the back of the stage, waiting to be announced. He was still angry at Giles’ comments, but he had to focus on his routine. It was entirely new stuff, so he had to be ready and alert. He would worry about Giles later. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the compere.

  ‘Now, ladies and gentlefolk. We have a real treat for you. He’s very funny man. I’m sure you’ll give a big Richmond Galleria welcome to…Alan Rose…’

  Alan took a deep breath and walked up the narrow stairs and on to the stage, shaking hands with the compere, as they passed. He walked slowly up to the mic stand and inhaled.

  ‘Thanks guys. You’re really kind,’ Alan waited for the applause to settle down before picking on the row of three guys he had spotted earlier. ‘I see the hipsters are in,’ he said, directing the audience’s attention to three men with beards sitting in a row. They each had short sleeved checked shirts and were sipping from identical bottles of trendy craft beer.

  Alright fellas?’ Alan continued. ‘How are you doing? Bit of a mix up with the dress code I see. At least women have the decency to check they won’t be wearing the same outfit before they go out. I guess the ridiculous beards are there to cover your embarrassment at such a wardrobe malfunction. It’s got to be the only reason to have those beards, surely? I mean, since when did it become trendy to look like a terrorist or Amish? Perhaps you’re both. Though I’m not sure how an Amish terrorist could make a bomb. I’m not sure riding your horses into buildings has the same effect.’

  Buoyed by the laughter, Alan continued. ‘Seriously guys, I’m only mucking about. I wouldn’t want you to take offence. Is it true you don’t believe in flushing toilets? That must make it really difficult to take the piss.’ This was greeted by several groans in the audience.

  ‘Oh, come on, people, we’re only mucking about. But seriously guys. A genuine question. How do you eat candy floss..?’

  Alan let out a small chuckle, as though he had only just thought of this himself. He carried on; ‘Don’t tell me, there’s probably some weird device you can get off the internet that helps you pick your dinner out of your beard? I mean, I am guessing your girlfriends don’t groom you like a chimpanzee after dinner? Perhaps they do. Perhaps you don’t even have girlfriends?’

  Alan paused again whilst the three bearded hipsters nodded that they did indeed have girlfriends. ‘OK, you all have girlfriends. That’s nice. Tell me, do you ever think you are being slightly hypocritical by asking your girlfriends to be “beach ready” when you have more facial hair than a 1970’s Swedish porn s
tar..?’

  Alan smiled at the laughter. ‘Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, rubbish you can buy off the internet. There you go,’ he grinned, ‘absolutely seamless..! I don’t just make this up, you know. Well, I do. Obviously, but you know what I mean.’ Alan smiled again, all thoughts of Giles now banished to the back of his mind.

  ‘So, a while ago I was messing about on the internet, as you do, looking for something to buy my girlfriend. Yes ladies, I know it sounds implausible, but I do in fact have a girlfriend. I haven’t made her up at all. And no, she’s not inflatable…hang on,’ Alan wandered back over to the three hipsters. ‘Are the Amish allowed blow up dolls..? There’s nothing mechanical in them, is there? They’re incredibly pliant, don’t answer back and they have that constantly surprised look on their faces like they’ve just seen one of those Godless horseless carriages. Should be right up your unpaved street. Sorry, just thought I’d ask…’

  ‘Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. The internet. So I’m looking for a gift. Something that says “I love you.” Or at least “I love you, but I want someone else to think of an imaginative way of expressing it.” Turns out there are all manner of things you can buy over the internet. In no particular order, Unicorn meat. I’m bloody serious. Unicorn meat, I don’t even know where to begin with that one. Silicone swimming fingers. Yep. You too can swim like a Silurian with your very own silicone swimming fingers. Llamas. You can buy llamas as pets. I bet the fucking litter tray takes some cleaning out. But here’s my favourite. You can buy a zombie survival kit. You know, just in case the inevitable happens. Now, I don’t know about you, but when the zombie apocalypse happens, and it will, I will be straight down the supermarket to rob the place of all its Marmite. Because, ladies and gentlemen, if you cover yourself in Marmite, you’re giving yourself a fifty fifty chance of not being eaten…’

  *

  Alan sat alone in the Green Room, lost in thought. He was pleased with the reaction to his new routine. He recognised there was still room for improvement, but overall he was happy with his night’s work. Rosie and James were due to meet him soon and he really fancied a beer.