Spank: The Improbable Adventures of George Aloysius Brown

by Daniels, Alan

  George loved the simplicity and beauty of words and quickly established a reputation for the clarity of his reports. But at first his superiors were not happy and he was summoned to the office of municipal manager Harold Cowperthwaite. 'The Chairman' as he was widely referred to – although never to his face – had been a civil servant for forty years and had written innumerable reports. He wore a dark suit and a white shirt with a high winged collar and steel-rimmed glasses through which he was studying, without discernible enthusiasm, George's report to council on the fiscal feasibility of a new recycling facility.

  "Mr. Brown," he began. "The documentation here seems to be thorough, but you haven't quite captured the tone required of reports generally submitted to council from this office. For example, in your conclusion to the executive summary you have written: 'There would be a considerable cost saving to taxpayers if the project were to be fully funded now.'" Mr. Cowperthwaite looked at George sadly. "Oh dear, dear, dear," he said. "This is not quite the language to which council is accustomed and I have taken the liberty of re-writing it, so." He handed George the amended document as if it were the Holy Grail.

  This is what George read: "A greenfields facility such as is being posited might be unable to converge in the growth equilibrium if the initial endowment with resources and capital is too low."

  "Do you see the difference, Mr. Brown?" George did see the difference, but thought it best not to say so.

  "And here's another example." There seemed to be so many. Mr. Cowperthwaite was on a roll. He continued: "In reference to council's position on the environment, Mr. Brown, you have written: 'Construction of what will likely become an internationally acclaimed facility will enhance Putney's environmental reputation.' Welcome words, indeed, Mr. Brown. Our councillors like to be thought of as global innovators, but for report purposes, it is perhaps better expressed thusly:"

  George groaned inwardly when he read: 'With its blue sky thinking and can-do culture, council will be able to value-add towards a single point of contact that should define the coterminosity parameters for the predictors of beaconicity.'

  "Now, that, Mr. Brown, is the sort of language that is required." Mr. Cowperthwaite sat back in his chair and clasped his hands together over his fob watch.

  But George persisted. And as he rose through the town hall ranks, he was gradually able to change things. Words like double devolution, holistic governance, inspectorates, place shaping, blue sky vision, and provider vehicles were discouraged, as were step changes, public domains, stakeholder engagements, performance underpinnings and a host of others. By the time he was appointed to the municipal manager's office, most other local governments had followed Putney's lead and Britain's Local Government Association had banned such incomprehensible jargon. George Aloysius Brown, who had started the linguistic revolution, was invited to be a keynote speaker at the 23rd annual convention of the International Association of Municipal Government Authorities, in Kuala Lumpur. And so it was a happy and buoyant George three months later, a first class boarding card firmly in his grasp, who stepped aboard Indonesian Airlines Flight 863 at Heathrow International. Indeed, he had reflected with a degree of satisfaction during the long walk to the gate, the only 'blue sky vision' in his immediate future, would be the blue skies over Malaysia.

  "Welcome aboard, Mr. Brown," said the flight attendant. "This way, please. May I offer you a glass of champagne before takeoff? If you require anything else at all, please let me know."

  What a lovely smile, George thought.

  "Thank you," he said. "And you are? "George knew that getting people's names right is respectful and he couldn't quite read her name tag without his glasses.

  "My name is Pem Surjani."

  Chapter Eight

  The area around St Saviour's Dock, once known as Jacob's Island in the London borough of Southwark, was, in Charles Dickens day, a stinking riverside slum. Dickens described "wooden chambers thrusting themselves out above the mud and threatening to fall into it - as some have done; dirt-besmeared walls and decaying foundations, every repulsive lineament of poverty, every loathsome indication of filth, rot, and garbage…" In other words, George thinks, the perfect environment for a maker of pornographic movies.

  Two hundred years later, despite a 20th century industrial makeover, it still looks like a district where you might wipe your shoes before leaving, but George Aloysius Brown, aspiring novelist, is poised to embark on cinemagraphic research. He double-checks the address he has written in his notebook. This looks about right, he says to himself, more Scrub Lane than Hollywood, a shabby former warehouse on the Jamaica Road housing the international headquarters of Eldercare Video Productions Inc., "Maker of Movies for Discerning Adults."

  Entering through a high wooden door, he finds himself in a dimly-lit corridor leading to offices rented by various enterprises among which a simple brass plate announces the headquarters of EVP Inc. and entreaties visitors to come right in. George knocks and enters, finding himself in a smallish room of exposed red brick decorated with black and white posters of movie stars from the silent era. In the center of the room behind a large wooden desk sits the considerable personage – or so it says on the nameplate – of one Gimble J.Hemmings, vice-president casting and new product development.

  George seems to be expected.

  "Come on in, mate. You 'ere for the audition? 'Ave a seat. Let's 'ave a look at yer." Gimble points with a pudgy finger to a dirt-streaked white plastic chair on the customer's side of the desk.

  "Actually, er, Gimble, I'm here for research purposes," George ventured. "I'm writing …"

  "Research is it?" Gimble held up an oversized hand that could stop traffic on the M25. "That's a good one, research is," he chuckles.

  The very thought of academic scrutiny into the activities under his domain induced in Gimble Hemmings a chuckle that became a laugh, then a cough and then both eruptions simultaneously, a spontaneous cacophony involving his several chins emanating exponentially from a voluminous belly that heaved up and down like a seismic fault. Finally he stopped shaking, producing from the folds of his trousers a red spotted handkerchief with which he dabbed at his florid temple, studying the sweat mark like a cut man at a prize fight.

  "Is that what you call it? Research? Heh heh heh. You old geezers crack me up."

  George, who usually delights in making people laugh, emitted a little sigh of irritation and made as if to get to his feet. Gimble flapped a great paw at him and he sank back into his chair.

  "No offence, mate, I must say you look perfect for the part, short and on the pudgy side – no offence, 'oo am I to talk – but that's exactly what I'm looking for. You wouldn't believe the number of old geezers come through this door, more muscles than Tarzan. Not what I'm looking for. Now you, mate, are perfect. What are you five-foot-six? Bit overweight, yeah? Bald on top – important for those over'eads. Gotta look old, but eager. Eager, mate. that's the ticket."

  "I'm sorry, I don't quite understand."

  "Bloody, hell, mate. Yer can't be in the movies if yer not clear on the concept. I'm talking actin' 'ere mate. We need old actors for our movies, men and women. Oldies, wrinklies, past their sell-by date, if you get my drift. No experience necessary, although I'm assuming you know how to put it abaht."

  "You're offering me a part in a porno movie?"

  "Georgie boy, please, please, watch wot yer saying. We don't call it porn. It's an entirely new genre, mate. We call it gerentological positive reinforcement or GPR, that way we qualify for government grants that bring in a ton of money. And society gets a lot of 'appy old campers."

  "Old people buy porn, sorry GPR?"

  Gimble pauses. Weighs his options. It occurs to him he should throw him out on his ear. But he needs to cast for this afternoon's shoot.

  "You ain't from Infernal Revenue, is yer? Heh heh heh. I'll tell you, George, old people are the market, although most of the industry 'ain't twigged onto it yet. We made flicks last year out of this studio t
hat grossed $4.3 million. It ain't 'ollywood, but it's solid. The thing is George, it's all about demographics, innit? 'Arf the bloody western world is your age or soon will be. I'm talking our customer base 'ere. Young studs ain't in'erested in what we do. Too tired for sex and too busy tweetin' or twitterin' or wotever they call it and dickin' abaht on Facebook. No mate, we make artistic movies for seniors, people your age only older, still gettin' it on, or tryin' to, Baby Boomers, the Viagra generation, only most of em 'ave been off the set for a while if you get my drift. Thing is, they don't wanna see young bodies wot they can't relate to. They wanna see wrinkles, bit of cellulite, grey hairs 'round the owsyerfather, not summink that come outta Playboy. That's not what your generation wants, Hugh bloody 'Efner exceptin' I suppose, but then 'ow many like 'im are there? No mate, today's consumers of GPR want dimpled thighs, stretch marks, that sort of thing, not silicone tits. And they want intelligent scripts, subtlety, romance, a flash of ankle, a come 'ither glance over tinklin' teacups. As long as it all leads to sex in the end."

  "And you film seniors having sex?."

  "Don't be daft. Course not. Most of 'em can't get it up, can they, pills or no pills, at least not so you can keep to some sort of reliable filmin' schedule.. Some of 'em are so arfritic they'd take 'arf an hour to get their kit off. No mate, for your actual close up down and dirty sex, 'ardcore stuff, we use standins, young people, up and cumin' actors and actresses, if you'll pardon the pun. On the production side, we cut and splice, digitally enhance, or should I say, disenhance the naughty bits and Bob's yer uncle. Another day, another title – and let me tell you, my boy, the market's 'uge."

  Gimble by now was in full flight and George felt sufficiently emboldened to ask about marketing.

  "For starters, we bypass the middle man, the distributor, and go straight to the consumer. We obtained a mailing list from the Gerentological Society of Great Britain and scored the e-mail addresses for every old people's 'ome in the land. Every bloody one. They number in the tens of thousands. After that, it's easy. In nine times outa ten, choosin' and buyin' movies for the in-house video library at the Fairhaven Home for the Nearly Dead is done by a committee of inmates. It's summink the oldies do for themselves. In the brochures it's described as 'empowerment.'"

  Gimble somehow fitted one of his great mitts in a desk draw and rummaged around for a brochure.

  "Get this, George, 'At Fair'aven, you make choices, we respect them.' Says it all, don't it? Matron, or 'ooever is in charge, don't even supervise the selection. And even if she does we dance around that. Take our most popular title, Grandma Does Dallas, a cult classic. Matron reads the label and assumes it's a travelogue, especially as we say right there on the label that's it's by the same people as made March of the Penguins. So the oldies buy our movies online, build up a library and pass 'em around for viewin' in the privacy of their own units. And guess what, 'arf the time they forget what they own. We get repeat orders. There's an 'ome in Grimsby's got three copies of Penetrating Asia, our second most popular title, described on the cover as an 'istorical docu-drama about the fall of Saigon. Then there's our newest release, Granddad with the Golden Rod, subtitled 'Installin' a bathtub grab bar.' Another GPR classic."

  George looked around him. This wasn't exactly a highrent district. "I imagine your overhead is quite low."

  "Some of our people are volunteers, that 'elps. For example, consumer testing, ensuring that our movies are what the market wants, is in the capable 'ands of a senior citizen. Name of Nan Burton, ex -music hall star, now resides in the Elderbury Home at Shoreham-on-Sea. Game old bird that one. Part of the deal is we bring 'er 'ere in a limo and buy 'er lunch. Would you believe she's 87?"

  George wasn't sure what to believe.

  "Matter of fact, she's 'ere now, viewin' footage for our latest release. Yes, low over'ead? You got that right, mate. A big budget production for us for a 30-minute movie is $30,000. And that's mostly for actin' and scriptin'. Take sound, for example, I'm proud to tell youse we pay next to nuffin' for authentic 'eavy breathing and cries of unbridled ecstasy. One visit to the respiratory ward of a major metropolitan 'ospital – on the pretext of visitin' a loved one – and we' ve got hours of ' eavy breathing. And as for shouts of excitement building to a noisy climax – 'Ohmygodohmygod' – you ever been to Bingo?"

  George confessed he had not, although he had once manned the tombola at a constituency fund raiser for the Pimlico Labour Party.

  "Bingo is a goldmine," said Gimble. "All we do is turn on the sound recorder, sit near a noisy old biddy who's really, really into it and 'ope we get lucky, or rather she does. Excited shouts of 'Give it to me, do it to me, baby, one more, one more. Almost. Yessss!' And we're good to go. Anuver good source of simulated orgasm is women's professional tennis. Ever 'ear that Russian bird Marina Pusherova, or whatever 'er name is. Blimey, talk about yer screamin'. We tape it off the telly during Wimbledon fortnight. Three sets of 'er in full cry and we got enough ecstasy to film a Roman orgy. For yer spankin' action we dub in women's curling. Ever 'ear those girls, George, when they're shoutin' instructions to their sweepers. 'Hard! Hard! Really Hard!'"

  George made a mental note never to watch curling.

  "Anyway, George, 'nuff about us. What about you, mate. I think you might be perfect for our newest production, The Bird and the Bush, subtitled Great Tits of Southern England. Whaddya yer reckon? You up for it? We pay five 'undred quid a day, cash."

  "That's good moolah," said George, proud of his ready use of the vernacular.

  Deep in the recesses of his corduroy trousers, the little fella stirred in anticipation of at least a cameo performance. No standins need apply, he thinks. This is the George Aloysius Brown of Pimlico, you're talking to. Erections a specialty.

  "I dunno, I mean, I just might be. Who else is in it? I suppose there's a leading lady."

  "Not just any leading, my boy, the leading lady, the 'Ellen Mirren of our genre, none over than the lovely, the talented, the irrepressible Alicia Olivia Leighton, or at least that's 'er stage name. Descended from minor royalty, so they say. She wrote the script and did some of the filmin' for Bird and the Bush. Just being in the right place in the right time, she got the best amateur spankin' footage I've ever seen. Apparently, she was bird watchin' in deepest darkest Cambridgeshire, 'idden behind a mulberry bush, eyes peeled, watchin' for the blue footed booby or wotever, when a young couple 'eave to in a punt and began enjoying some al fresco 'anky spanky, inadvertently intrudin' into 'er ladyship's viewfinder. It don't take 'em long to get at it, neither. From 'er vantage point 'er ladyship is lookin' right up the junction, if you get my drift, and with 12-zoom optical lens the close-ups are fantastic of a world class ass bein' spanked with youthful enthusiasm. She might 'ave got a lot more footage too, but as luck would 'ave it, the bloody booby flew into view. Forgot 'er artistic cinemagraphic responsibilities, didn't she? Never mind the priceless scene unfolding before 'er eyes, 'Er ladyship sets off in 'ot pursuit of tweety pie and just abaht trips over the lovebirds, sending 'em divin' for cover under a blanket. That was it. End of story.

  "Still, wot she did get is dynamite. It don't show any faces, just a beautiful young ass being spanked silly by a young Adonis – lucky bastard – and she's lovin' it, wavin' it and wrigglin' it around I tell you, George, when this footage goes public, it will be a blockbuster. 'Ere's a copy of the script. Eyes right, George, 'ere. comes 'er ladyship now."

  George stood to greet a handsome woman in her mid-50s, taller than he, fashionably dressed in a purple blouse open to show a hint of cleavage and a black trouser-suit that showed off long legs and a pert bottom that would have flattered a woman twenty years younger.

  "Geraldine Warmington," she said. "Pleased to meet you. And you are?"

  "George Aloysius Brown"

  "You look familiar, George, I never forget a face. Have we met before? You haven't been in trouble with the law, have you?"

  "Good lord, no," George began, and then suddenly he remembered. Shore
ham magistrates court. Dieter's trial. Lady Geraldine Warmington J.P., presiding.

  "However, last time I saw your ladyship, it was in court. Remember the case of Dieter Schitler? My wife and I were in the public gallery."

  Her ladyship laughed uproariously. It was clear she did remember.

  "God, yes. German chappie. Indecent exposure. Huge erection. Had a bit of fun with that one. I was laughing so hard I should have thrown myself out of court. Ha ha. As it was I threw the case out of court. Where is he now? He's not here is he? We could use a chap with his credentials."

  George let that one go, hoping she wouldn't be disappointed with the little fella.

  He changed the subject.

  "How did you get from Justice of the Peace to GPR?" he asked She laughed.

  "It is a bit of a transition, isn't in? Truth is I was bored. Needed a bit of excitement. I had to resign from the bench, of course. Wouldn't do for a magistrate to be in this line of work. It might raise a few eyebrows in chambers. How about you, George? What's your story?"

  George quickly wondered how much he should tell her. Not much, he decided.

  "Bit like you, really. Got fed up with retirement. Always wanted to be in the movies. Thought at least I'd least show up for an audition."

  "Well George…." She came straight to the point. "I presume you can act or you wouldn't be here. The question is: Do you think you can give me a good spanking? Because that's what this film is all about?"

  "No problem there," he replied, glad to be in familiar territory. "I think your ladyship will be pleasantly surprised. Do you mind running the story-line by me?"

  "Absolutely, it's typical GPR, boy meets girl, very romantic. We meet on a bird watching outing, strike up a friendship, share our knowledge, that sort of thing. There's lots of footage of me bent over my tripod. I'm focused on the birds, but your attention is apparently focused elsewhere. Later, I invite you to my place to review and edit my photos. Accidentally, in the middle of the show, appears the footage of the young couple I filmed earlier – I believe Gimble told you about them – and this gets us both excited. Well one thing leads to another and next thing I'm over your knee. And… well I believe you get the picture."