Porno

by Unknown

  He looks at me, grins and makes a fist again and I see stars as it crashes into my face.

  25

  The Edinburgh Rooms

  The Edinburgh Rooms at the Central Library, man, they’re like fill ay stuff aboot, well, Edinburgh. Ah mean, that stands tae reason, as it should be, likes. Ah mean, ye widnae expect tae find things aboot the likes ay Hamburg or eh . . . Boston in the Edinburgh Rooms. Thing is but, thir’s stuff aboot Leith here n aw, loads n loads ay stuff, stuff which by rights should be in the Leith Public Library doon in Ferry Road, man. Fair dos, ah mean, Leith is classed as a part ay Edinburgh by the council gadges, if no by a lot ay cats doon in the old Port. But oan the other hand, ah mind ay the time whin thir wis leaflets aboot aw that decentralisation the council’s meant tae believe in. So why the need for a Leith cat like me tae trek aw the wey up tae Edina, jist tae git stuff oan Leith? Why this great long march up tae George IV Bridge instead ay jist a nippy wee hop next door tae Ferry Road, ken?

  Mind you, it’s a nice wee walk in this biscuit-ersed March sun. The high street’s a wee bit nippy but. No been up here since the festival n ah miss aw they cool chicks smilin at ye n giein ye leaflets fir thir shows. It’s pure radge but, they wey they sortay make a statement intae a question. They go: ‘We’ve a show in the festival?’ ‘It’s up the Pleasance?’ ‘The review was brilliant?’ N ye feel like sayin, hud oan a second, cool kitten-cat, cause if ye want tae dae that, n make a statement intae a question, aw ye need tae dae is tae add ‘ken’ oan the end. Ken?

  But of course, ah ey took the leaflets anywey, cause it’s no fir the likes ay me tae say anythin tae posh lassies thit uv been tae college n that, studyin hot thespian action likesay, ken?

  That’s always been ma problem but, man, confidence. The big dilemma has been that drug-free too often equals confidence-free, man. Right now the confidence isnae low, but it’s, what’s the word thit cats yaze? Precarious, man, precarious. N the first thing ah noticed whin ah goat up here wis this pub acroas the road fae the Central Library called Scruffy Murphy’s. One ay they Irish theme pubs that are nowt like what real pubs in Ireland are like, ken. Thir jist for business cats, yuppies and rich students. Lookin at it made ays go aw tense n ashamed inside but. In a just world these cats that run that bar should pay the likes ay me compensation for emotional damage incurred, man. Ah mean, that wis aw ah goat whin ah wis at the school, it wis ‘Scruffy Murphy, Scruffy Murphy’. Jist cause ay the auld Erin name and the poor threads due tae the adverse economic circumstances and the poverty that was endemic in the Murphy households at Tennent Strasser and Prince Regent Strasser. So it’s like the oppo ay good, man, the pure oppo ay good.

  Jist, likesay, seein yon pub sign, it fair put ays at a maximum disadvantage even before the off, ken? So ah’m downcast when ah git intae the library, thinkin tae masel, ‘How kin Scruffbag Murphy here ever write a book?’ and walking intae the place wis jist weird, weird, weird. W-E-I-R-D oan baith sides, man. Aye, ah goes through the big wooden doors n suddenly ma hert wis gaun: bang bang bang. It felt tae ays like ah wis breakin in, man, like some cat hud rammed a load ay amyl nitrate up muh beak. Ah felt aw faint, ken, like ah wis gaunnae pass oot or something, jist crumple tae the deck oan the spot. Thir’s that feelin, like whin yir in a swimmin pool under the water, or up in a plane, aw that sort ay muffled noise in yir ears. So ah wis shaky, man, jist pure shaky. Then when the security cat in the uniform comes ower, ah jist sortay pure panics. Ah’m thinkin thit ah’m gubbed here; aw naw, man, ah’m huckled here awready and ah’ve no even done nowt, wisnae even gaunnae dae nowt, jist look at some books, likesay . . .

  — Can I help you? the boy asks.

  So ah’m thinking: ah’ve done nowt wrong, ah’m jist in the place. Ah’ve no even done nowt, nup, nowt. But ah’m sortay sayin: — Eh . . . eh . . . eh . . . ah jist wondered likes . . . if it wis awright likes, if ah could . . . eh . . . jist have a wee look in the eh, room wi aw the stuff oan Edinburgh . . . tae see the books n that likes.

  N ah could jist sortay tell thit this boy kens what ah am: tea leaf, junky, schemie, ghetto child, third-generation bog-wog, gyppo; ah jist sortay ken, man, cause this boy’s a Jambo Mason, a rotary-club gadge, ah mean ye kin jist tell, the uniform n that . . . the polished buttons, man . . .

  — Downstairs, the boy sais, n eh just like, lets ays go in. Jist like that! The boy lits ays go in! The Edinburgh Rooms. Central Library. George IV Bridge likes!

  Barry!

  So ah goes doon the big marble staircase n there’s the sign, ‘The Edinburgh Rooms’. So now here’s me feelin aw chuffed, man, like a total scholar. But, see whin ah gits in, it’s huge, man, huge, n thir’s a load ay people sitting reading at they wee desks, like thir back in primary school. It’s as quiet as Falkirk n it’s like thir aw looking at me, man. What it is that those cats see? A junky whae’s mibee gaunnae nick some books tae sell tae get gear.

  So ah’m thinkin, naw, naw, naw, man, stey cool. Innocent until proven. Jist dae what Avs at the group says n try n chill oot oan the self-sabotage vibe. Count tae five whin the stress comes oan. One, two, three . . . what’s that big wifie wi the glesses lookin at . . . ? four, five. N it wis better, man, cause they wir pure lookin away eftir that, ken?

  No that there’s much worth nickin in thair. Ah mean, some ay they books might be valuable tae a collector, but it isnae the sort ay goods ye could shift doon the Vine Bar, aw they auld ledgers, is that what they call thum, man, ledgers, n aw that microfilm n that sort ay stuff, ken?

  Anywey, ah’m daein the wee hunt through they books n thir sayin that Leith and Edinburgh merged in 1920, eftir a sort ay referendum. It would be like that ‘Yes for devolution’ vote, for the Parliament n that, when the people spoke and that was that. Ah mind ay seeing the Scotsman and they dudes there were saying ‘naw, man, vote no’, but cats just went ‘sorry, man, we cannae dig what you gadges say in your paper so let’s have a big yes’. Democracy, man, democracy. Ye cannae make a cat go for Felix when there’s Whiskas on offer.

  The thing is that the Leithers rejected the merger by a four-tae-one majority. Four tae one, man, but the gig still took place! Ah sort ay half mind that every old punter used to talk aboot that when we were pram-kickers. Now those auld cats are six foot under, so who’ll let everybody ken what they did against the people, against democracy, way back then, man? Send for the boy Murphy! Aye, aw those felines past in the Stephen King Pet Semetary, sleep at ease, cause here ah come! So that seems like a good place for ays tae start, 1920: the great betrayal, man.

  Aye, it’s aw startin tae come thegither in my heid. The problem is that what ah forgot wis thit tae write a book, ye need things like a pen and paper. So ah nash next door tae Bauermeister’s n chorie a notepad n pen. Ah’m pure buzzin n ah cannae wait tae git back tae that desk ah wis sittin at n git intae some serious note-takin. That’s it, man, a history ay Leith fae the merger tae the present. Start oaf in 1920, n maybe go back a bit, then forward again, like aw they fitba-player biographies.

  Ken?

  Like, Chapter One: ‘I couldnae believe it when I lifted that European Cup intae the sky, man. That Alex Ferguson cat bounced right up and said tae me, “Hi, man, that likesay makes you immortal, ken?” No that I could mind that much aboot the winning goal, or the match, as I’d been in a crack den right through the night until aboot half an hour tae go before the kick-off when I got the taxi tae the groond . . .’ Ye ken how the script goes, man.

  Then the next chapter is: ‘But the story really begins a long way fae the San Siro Stadium in Milan. In fact we have tae go back tae a humble tenement in Rat Street, The Gorbals, Glasgow, where I made my debut as the seventeenth son of Jimmy and Senga McWeedgie. It was a close-knit community and I wanted for nothing . . . blah blah blah . . .’ Ye ken the score.

  So that’s it, start there and work back. Ah’m smokin, gadgie, pure smokin!

  Then ah sees thit thuv goat the papers fae that time, the Scotsman n the Evening News n aw that. Now even though these
were written by aw they rich Tory cats, they might still have a bit in them, likesay local news n that, thit’s useful tae me. Thing is, it’s aw microfilm thir oan, n ah need tae fill in a slip tae git thum. Then yuv goat this big, big machine, like an auld kind ay telly n yuv goat tae sort ay pit thum through it, ken? Well, ah’m no happy aboot aw this, likes. A library, man, it’s pure jist meant tae be aboot books n that, n naebody said nowt tae me aboot machines n that, likes.

  So ah get they microfilm things offay the boy, ah’m aw ready tae go, cat, go, but whin ah see that big telly thing ah’m jist gaun, naw, naw, naw, cause ah’m likesay no that technical n ah’m aw sortay worried that ah’ll brek it. Ah would ask one ay the staff but ah ken thit thi’ll jist think thit ah’m thick n that, ken?

  Naw, ah cannae work that, no way, naw, so ah jist leave the stuff thair oan the desk n ah go oot the door, up the staircase, just so gled tae get oot ay thair wi ma hert gaun thump, thump, thump. But when ah am oot, ah kin hear aw the voices in ma heid; aw laughin, sayin ah’m nothing, nowt, zilch n ah see that Scruffy Murphy’s sign and it hurts, man, it hurts that much that ah pure need tae git rid ay the pain. So ah head doon tae Seeker’s place, where ah ken thit ah’ll git somethin, somethin ah ken willnae make me feel like Scruffy Murphy.

  26

  ‘. . . sex monsters . . .’

  He took me back to his place that night and put me to bed. I woke up, fully clothed, under the duvet cover. A brief paranoid dance started in my head when I thought about the fool I’d made of myself, then the sort of things Terry could have got up to with that video camera. But I just sense and feel that nothing happened, because Gina looked after me. Gina and Simon. When I got up the flat was empty. It was a small tenement dwelling with the lounge dominated by a leather suite and sealed wooden floor with expensive-looking rugs. The wallpaper is a cascade of ghastly orange lilies. Above the fireplace is a print of a nude woman with Freud’s profile superimposed onto it, with the caption, ‘What’s on man’s mind’. I’m surprised by how immaculately tidy the place is.

  I went through to a small, fitted kitchen where I found a note on one of the work surfaces.

  N,

  You came over a bit the worse for wear so Gina and I got you back here. I’m round at hers, then straight to work. Help yourself to tea, coffee, toast, cereal, eggs and the like. Give’s a bell on 07779 441 007 (mobile) and we’ll hook up some time.

  All the best,

  Simon Williamson

  I called him to say thanks, but we didn’t hook up as he was heading to Amsterdam with Rab and Terry. I wanted to get in touch with Gina to thank her but nobody seems to know her number.

  So now I’m missing my new boys: Rab, Terry and, yes, Simon too. Especially Simon. I almost wish I’d gone to Amsterdam with them. I’m still having fun with my girls though, as Lauren’s lightened up in the absence of the corrupting sex monsters from Leith, and Dianne, while pretty busy with her dissertation, is game for a laugh and a drink.

  On the subject of sex monsters: on Tuesday afternoon we met one, a real one. It was a surprisingly mild day and the three of us were sitting outside the Pear Tree, having a lager, when this sleazy creep approached us and sat down at our table. — Good afternoon, girls, he said, sitting his pint on the end of the bench. That’s the problem with the Pear Tree, the beer garden fills up quickly and the benches are long, so you often end up with somebody you don’t want to sit next to. — You don’t mind me sitting here, do you, he asked, harsh and arrogant. He had a hard, ferret-like face, thin, blondy-ginger hair and wore a sleeveless vest top, showing heavily tattooed arms. It wasn’t just that his skin was deathly white in the spell of this mild weather; he had, to my mind, what Rab once referred to, pointing out an acquaintance of his in the bar, as ‘the stink of the jail about him’.

  — It’s a free country, Dianne said lazily, giving him a cursory glance and turning back to me. — I’m up to about eight thousand words now.

  — That’s great, how many is it you need again?

  — Twenty thou. If I get the sections mapped out I’ll be fine. I just don’t want to bang up the words and then find that I have to chop most of them out cause I’ve gone off on a tangent. I need to get the structure right, she explained, raising her glass and taking a gulp.

  We heard a croaky voice next to us. — Youse students then?

  I turned around wearily, being in the closest proximity to the guy. — Yeah, I told him. Lauren, sitting opposite was reddening, her face pinching. Dianne drummed on the table in impatience.

  — What’s it yis are studying well, the guy asked in a rasping tone, his eyes bleary and his face heavy and loose with alcohol.

  — We all do, like, different things? I told him, hoping that this would satisfy him.

  It didn’t, of course. He picked up straight away on my accent. — Whaire dae you come fae then? he asked pointing at me.

  — Reading.

  The guy snorted, then smiled at me and turned to the others. I started to feel really uncomfortable. — What aboot youse two, youse English n aw?

  — Nope, said Dianne. Lauren remained silent.

  — Ah’m Chizzie, by the way, he said, extending his large, sweaty hand.

  I shook it reluctantly, unnerved by the strength of grip, and Lauren did too, but Dianne turned her nose up.

  — Oh, it’s like that, is it? this Chizzie character said. — Never mind, he smiled, two oot ay three isnae bad, eh, girls? Ah’m in luck the day, in the company ay such lovely ladies.

  — You’re no in our company, Dianne told him. — We’re in our company.

  She might as well have said nothing for the way this creep reacted. He was off on his own trip and his mouth twisted lecherously as he looked us over. — Youse aw got boyfriends then? Bet yis huv. Bet youse huv aw goat fellys, eh?

  — I don’t think that’s any of your business, Lauren said, her voice firm but small and high. I looked at this bully and at her, their difference in size, and I started to feel angry.

  — Oh, that means that ye dinnae!

  Dianne turned around and looked him straight in the eye. — Disnae matter whether we do or dinnae. If we’ve got a million cocks dancing on the end of a string, you can rest assured that yours won’t be one of them. And even if there’s a chronic shortage, don’t expect a phone call from us.

  There was a bit of menace flashing in this guy’s eyes. He was a nutter. I thought: Dianne should shut up here. — You could git yirsel intae trouble wi a mooth like that, hen, he said, then added softly, — big trouble.

  — Fuck off, Dianne snapped at him. — Just get the fuck out our faces and sit somewhere else, will ye!

  The guy stared at her, at the side of her pretty, poised face, with his big, leering, stupid, ugly alcoholic head. — A bunch ay fuckin lesbos, he slurred. I would have told him the same as Dianne if it had been somebody like Colin, but this guy looked a dangerous, disturbed headcase. I could tell that Lauren was really frightened of him, and I suppose I was too.

  Dianne wasn’t, because she stood up, and she was right over him. — Right, you, fuck off, now, ah’m tellin ye! Gaun, git!

  He stood up, but she faced him down, her eyes blazing, and for a moment I thought he was going to hit her, but some guys at another table shouted something and a girl from the bar collecting glasses was across and asking what the problem was.

  The guy broke into a cold smile. — Nae problem, he said, picking up his pint, downing it and moving away. — Fuckin dykes! he shouted back at us.

  — Naw, we’re nymphomaniacs, and we’re totally desperate for it, but even we’ve goat fucking standards! Dianne shouted back. — AS LONG AS THERE’S STRAY DUGS IN THE STREETS AND PIGS OAN THE FARMS WE DINNAE NEED YOUR DIRTY SCABBY NONCEY WEE COCK, SON! GIT USED TAE IT!

  The nutter twisted round swiftly and looked absolutely incandescent with rage, then turned and walked away, humiliated by the laughter which rang from the tables around us.

  I sat in awestruck admiration of Dianne’s
performance. Lauren was still trembling, almost in tears. — He was a maniac, he was a rapist, why do they have to be like that, why do men have to be like that?

  — He just needed shagged, the sad bastard, Dianne said, lighting up a cigarette, — but as I said, not this girl. Honestly, some people should have a wank before they venture outdoors, she grinned, hugging Lauren supportively. — Don’t worry about that toss, hen, she said. — I’m going up tae get the drinks in.

  We got pissed, and headed home. I have to admit I was a bit nervous on the journey, just in case we ran into that nutcase again. I think Lauren was as well, but I reckon Dianne would have welcomed it. It was later that night, after Lauren had crashed out, that I let her do the first interview with me, which she tape-recorded. — Aggressive men like the one we met today, she said, — have you encountered many of them? You know, at the sauna?

  — The sauna’s a very safe place to work? I told her. — There’s, like, no nonsense there. I mean, I . . . I shrugged and decided to go for the truth, — . . . I limit myself to handjobs. I’d never work the streets. The clients at the sauna have money. If you don’t want to do what they want, they’ll find somebody else who will. Of course, there’s the odd one who can become obsessed, they want to show their power over you and won’t take no for an answer . . .

  Dianne sucked the tip of her pen, and pulled her small reading glasses down onto her nose. — What do you do then?

  And I told her, the first person I’ve ever told, about what had happened that time last year. It was both disturbing and cathartic to disclose. — One guy waited for me, started following me home. Never did anything, just started following me. When he came back to the sauna, he always asked for me. Said we were meant to be together and all that sort of scary stuff. I told Bobby, who threw him out and banned him. He still kept following me around outside. That’s why I started going out with Colin, I suppose, the deterrence factor, I told her, realising that I’m explaining it to myself for the first time. — Surprisingly, it worked. He saw I had a boyfriend so he left me alone.