To the Devil - a Diva!

by Paul Magrs

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Look at the fucking thing,’ he gasped. ‘The City Council must have gone mad. Jesus.’

  Vicki stared and did some swearing, too. She always swore more when she was with Raf, though she didn’t like to really.

  There was a vast inflatable balloon woman surmounting the slate tile roof of the town hall. She was clinging to one of the venerable towers and her tree trunk legs were straddling the very apex of the roof. She was the same size, and had the same absurd grandeur of the colossal inflated Santa Claus the council erected on their rooftop every December.

  It was Karla Sorenson and she was thirty feet tall. It was unmistakably her. All the trademark signifiers of vampire ladyhood were on her, at least, as defined by Karla. The shapely fishnetted legs; the black cape that could have covered a tram; the manic lilac eyes and the flashing fangs (poised as if to rip into the clock tower) and her zeppelin-like breasts which bobbed and boggled on the gentle evening breeze, far above the pavements of Central Manchester.

  ‘She’s even more famous than we ever thought,’ Vicki said. ‘We thought she just belonged to us. But even the council has put out a welcome.’

  ‘It’s …’ Raf looked close to tears. ‘It’s magnificent!’

  NINE

  The bar they were perching at was heavy, solid zinc. It had a warm, somewhat dull silver sheen to it, and it felt as if you could scratch into it with a fingernail and leave an impression. It was like resting your elbows on something almost alive.

  Their drinks arrived on little place mats, which the barman slid in front of them as they sat down. He was as quick as anything, flipping the leather menu of cocktails under their noses. He and all the others here behaved as if pleasure was a very serious, weighty business. You had to be ushered in, you had to be seated comfortably, you had to devote all your attention to what you most wanted in all the world. And you had to be attended to.

  Lance, Colin and Sally sat along one stretch of the softly gleaming bar with tall champagne cocktails and they admired everything going on around them.

  There was a great deal of activity. The waiters called to each other in Italian and swerved and swirled about expertly, managing a huge number of diners on the two levels of the restaurant.

  They were having to wait a little while for their table, but were made to feel that the extra time, savouring these aperitifs and watching everyone else, was a natural beginning to their evening. Sally had already said something to the effect that they were living the high life, that she wasn’t used to places like this. She had made Lance laugh, telling him about her last night out, to a sing-song fish and chip supper on the ring road. She hoped her best black dress didn’t smell of chips still.

  Here the music was jazz standards with some kind of dance beat behind them, making everything seem like one endless, ongoing song that throbbed and undulated over the chatter and clashing and the scraping of chairs.

  They had seen the vast and inflated Karla over the town hall on their way past. It had taken their collective breath away and it made them nervous about what reaction Karla might receive upon arrival at the restaurant. It could be a circus.

  Colin was glad his gran was here. He was sitting between her and his new fella and, if he stopped to think about it at all, he was amazed at his good fortune. Everything had moved so fast. Really, as far as he was concerned, in the moment the three of them toasted each other with their peach-pink cocktails, the story could well be over. The credits could run, the title theme could swell and drown out their voices forever and they could live in some hypothetical happy ever after. He would be content.

  But then, of course, the evening continued. Time was running on. They were wondering whether to order another drink. The others were a little late. Lance called out to the barman again.

  ‘I think I’ll try something else this time.’ Sally was flipping the drinks menu. Colin watched her purse her seamed face in concentration. ‘These cost eight pounds each!’ she gasped.

  ‘Never you mind about that,’ Lance said. ‘I’m rich, remember? Nothing is too good for us.’

  At these words a shudder ran through Colin. He didn’t know if it was happiness or foreboding. Something in him became alert then and he started to worry.

  He was trying to put that fretfulness to the back of his mind when Raf and Vicki turned up. They squeezed themselves through the mass of people waiting for tables and Colin couldn’t help thinking they were both dressed bizarrely.

  ‘Have you been in a fight?’ He stared up at Raf’s false bruises and scrapes.

  ‘It’s a LOOK,’ Raf said heavily.

  ‘Oh.’

  They nodded at Lance, and at Colin’s gran and thanked them politely for the invite. There was a stiffness in the air. Raf’s expression was set and serene, his eyes flicking around the surging room. Vicki’s face was squinched up with the effort of trying to seem pleasant, Colin thought. It must take a lot of effort to conceal her usual scowl. It made him sad that Vicki was always so peeved. It seemed like such hard work for her and it only put everyone off.

  ‘You’re the one who chewed my ear off on the phone on Saturday,’ Sally said accusingly. ‘You’re that Rafiq, aren’t you?’ She took hold of her new cocktail, some sort of coconut concoction.

  Raf looked as awkward as Colin had ever seen him. ‘Yes. I’m sorry about that.’

  Sally grunted and sucked at her straw, dismissing him from her mind. Colin wished he had her talents. Somehow he could never emulate his gran. She was never in thrall to people, or sucked in by them, or dangerously over-impressed. She’d never make a fool of herself over anyone and never had. She wouldn’t go running around after them. He loved the way she waved her hand under Raf’s nose and dismissed him from her thoughts, the matter of the phone call closed. If only I could have done that with Raf, Colin thought. I’ve been scared of him. That’s what it is. I’ve been too scared to tell him he’s not much of a friend. I’ve not had the strength of mind to tell him, I don’t want to knock about with you any more, mate. I don’t even enjoy your company.

  Wow. Some clarity there. Where was all this clear-headed thinking coming from? It felt like he was looking at things properly for the first time. He was seeing what made him happy, and what didn’t. Colin caught Lance’s eye as Lance sipped his drink and there was a bright, amused spark there. He just knew Lance was laughing at Colin’s friends. He could almost hear him saying, ‘What’s Raf meant to be wearing?’ And Colin didn’t mind. He didn’t care what Lance said about Raf. In a way he wanted to show Raf up. To knock him off his pedestal.

  The barman was telling them that their table was almost ready.

  ‘We’re still waiting for some people …’

  ‘She’s bound to be ages late,’ Sally said. ‘She exists in her own universe. That’s if she turns up at all.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that,’ Vicki burst out. ‘We have to see her now!’

  Sally gave the girl a curious look. ‘Who are you again?’

  ‘Vicki. I’m a friend of Colin’s, too.’

  ‘He’s never mentioned you, love.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Vicki. ‘I was with him on Friday. When he … met Mr Randall.’

  Vicki wouldn’t even look Lance in the eye. She couldn’t. She felt she’d cry if she did. He was like a burning, blinding presence at the end of the banquette. He made her eyes prickle as if she was sitting too close to the TV screen.

  ‘I have to go to the toilet,’ she announced, not looking at anyone. ‘I’ve got an irritable bowel.’ Then she was up and stumbling through the crowd.

  ‘Is she autistic?’ Sally asked Raf.

  ‘She’s nervous,’ Raf said. ‘She gets like this.’ He put down his drink, finished all in one gulp. ‘I’ll go and check on her. She doesn’t really have irritable bowel, you know. It’s all inside her head.’

  Sally cracked out laughing at this unfortunate remark.

  ‘Colin?’ Raf said severely. ‘Would you mind coming with
me? I want to have a quick word.’

  Colin was surprised. He shrugged and squeezed through as Raf led the way to the basement stairs.

  Lance watched them go through the well-dressed crowd. ‘I don’t trust that boy one bit,’ he told Sally.

  She nodded. ‘I think he’s depressing, don’t you? All that posing, squeezing his cheeks in. And what does he think he’s wearing? I can’t see why Colin pals around with him at all.’

  ‘He won’t need to now,’ Lance smiled. Then he saw that Colin’s gran was frowning at him.

  ‘I do hope, Mr Randall, that you’re not going to smother our Colin, and keep him away from everyone. I can see he means a lot to you. But I think it’s all happened a bit quickly. I’ve never known the like. I’ve watched you all today and I believe you’re sincere …’

  ‘Well, thanks!’ Lance laughed.

  ‘He’s a special boy,’ Sally said. ‘Not just some rich man’s plaything. And he’s all I’ve got.’

  ‘I know.’ Lance swallowed. ‘I’ll look after him.’

  Sally smiled. ‘Because if you upset him, I’ll come round your flat and cut your balls off. You know that, of course.’

  Lance nodded. He thought about Colin, going downstairs after Raf for their little chat. It was funny. Colin running around everywhere, thinking himself in charge of his own life. Sometimes, even, thinking he was so alone and no one was bothered what he got up to – whether he was happy or miserable or in danger or lost. That’s how he assumed the world worked for him. He’d told Lance that. He felt alone, neutralised, under everybody’s radar. But now Lance could see how they all hinged upon Colin. He had all these people looking out for him.

  Then Sally was breaking into his thoughts. She had been open with him, she had warned him, and now they could allow themselves to be thick as thieves. She nudged him bonily in the ribs. Lance suddenly felt approved of, and that they were bonded together against the world.

  ‘Here comes the Queen of Sheba,’ she told him.

  There was a bustle of activity in the glass lobby. Karla Sorenson had arrived with her guests and the whole restaurant was turning to see.

  Downstairs in the dim red light, penned in by green walls and rubber plants, Colin and Raf were standing outside of Vicki’s locked cubicle.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Raf was calling.

  ‘I’m fine …’

  Colin leant back against the blue glass cube of the wash basin. ‘It sounds like she’s giving birth.’

  Raf grinned, then remembered to look stern. ‘She has problems. You should be more sympathetic.’

  Colin sighed and then winced as Vicki made a squeak of discomfort behind the plywood door. ‘She’s just too excited about meeting Karla.’ He coughed. ‘But she’ll miss her altogether if she sits on the bog all night.’

  ‘I won’t be long,’ Vicki whimpered. ‘I do want to see her. I really do. But …’ She wailed mournfully. ‘Oh, I’m spoiling it for you, Raf. You go back upstairs.’

  Raf was staring at Colin. ‘I want a word first.’

  ‘With me? Owww-ww.’

  ‘No. With him.’

  Ah. Colin tried to look pleasant. This was the ‘Listen, lady,’ moment they occasionally had in all the best soap operas. Where you get barrelled into a corner and told some home truths. ‘What about?’

  Someone appeared on the stairs. Raf ushered Colin quickly into another cubicle. They disappeared inside, cramped together and Raf locked the door, barring the way back out. He let Vicki’s noises cover up his whispering. ‘I suppose you’re really pleased with yourself. Nabbing Lance like that.’

  Colin felt his face flush. ‘What’s wrong with you, Raf? I knew you were pissed off. What’s it got to do with you?’

  Raf was looking furious. At first he didn’t say anything.

  ‘Come on, Raf. Tell me. You went so weird on Friday night. What’s wrong with me seeing Lance? I thought you’d be glad. What – should we all not start seeing anyone? Just stay single so we can run around and commiserate with each other all the time?’ This was a bold statement for Colin. When he was out with Raf and Vicki this was exactly how he felt. That they were acting like losers together. They were deliberately acting superior because they stood themselves apart.

  Vicki was wailing more loudly now.

  ‘Talk to me, Raf. You’re resenting me. I don’t think that’s fair.’

  Raf lashed out: ‘I deserve to be happy before you do!’

  Colin laughed. ‘What?’

  ‘Look at you! You’re nowt special!’

  ‘I never said I was!’

  ‘Yes, you do. You think you’re so great now.’

  Colin tried to get past him, to get out. Then Raf was grabbing hold of his arms. ‘What about me?’ He sounded desperate, keeping his voice quiet as he could. Vicki had gone quiet too, and Colin knew she was listening in.

  ‘I can’t make you happy, Raf. I can’t sort your life out. I can hardly manage my own.’

  Raf’s beautiful, angular face looked very strange in the murky light. Bruised and intent. He lunged forward suddenly. ‘You idiot, Colin. You fucking idiot.’

  At first Colin thought he was going to get slapped. He stepped back against the toilet but Raf was pulling at him, trying to get him to hold him. Now he was sobbing and forcing Colin to lift him up.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

  Raf was smothering him, pressing his face into his chest. His voice came out raggedly. ‘I thought it would be us. I thought in the end, we’d …’

  Next door Vicki started making a great deal of unpleasant noise. Colin was shocked.

  ‘I thought we would get together … I really did. And now you’re with him and it’s serious and …’

  He was a dead weight in Colin’s arms. Colin was trying to brace him up. Raf had made himself heavy somehow, and helpless and he was sinking fast.

  ‘Raf, you’ve never said. This is ridiculous. We’ve been through all that. We’re mates. Just mates.’

  ‘Fuck-buddies,’ Raf snarled, twisting hold of Colin’s shirt and his jeans. ‘That’s all. You fucked me a couple of times ages ago. Cause there was no one else around.’

  ‘Raf … I …’

  ‘You never once saw. You never once felt anything …’ Colin was desperate to keep him quiet, to stop him crying and to stop him from dropping onto the tiled floor. His thoughts were all over the place, but first among them was wanting to make Raf feel better. To tell him he was wrong. He had got it all wrong.

  He put one hand on Raf’s head, ruffling his thick black hair gently. He thought: that’s how bad Raf really must be. He hates anyone touching his hair.

  ‘That’s just not true, Raf,’ he hissed. ‘I love you, mate. I always have. I thought you’d just laugh at me. I was too ordinary. I was never good enough for you. You really hated it when we shagged. We weren’t compatible. It was embarrassing to both of us …’

  ‘No,’ Raf moaned. ‘That’s not how it was. You just used me when you wanted to.’ He pressed his face right into Colin’s stomach and the vibration of his voice felt weird. ‘And I wanted you, Colin. Really, properly wanted you.’

  Colin kept quiet at this. The two of them were still for a moment and he could feel genuine shudders going through his friend’s body. There was no more noise from Vicki.

  Colin breathed deeply and wondered how they could back out of this scene. It seemed like they would be trapped here forever. No one would back down. Lance, his gran, everyone upstairs in the gleaming restaurant was forgotten.

  There was a different, tingling vibration then. Colin blinked and realised what it was. One of Raf’s slender hands was at his fly zip and was coaxing it gently down, struggling a little over the tight, belligerent obstacle of Colin’s erection.

  ‘Raf …’ he said softly.

  Raf glanced up briefly and their eyes locked. Colin couldn’t describe what he saw in Raf’s expression. There was supplication there and maybe love. Triumph, too, perhaps, but then Raf looked
down again, at his own careful, cool fingers as they hooked Colin’s cock out into the air. To Colin’s shame it sort of sprang free, the end of it startlingly red. Raf made sure Colin was watching as he darted forward to lick it tenderly. Colin had only a moment to gasp, to think about protesting, before Raf swallowed him up, greedily, ardently, and Colin realised that there was no going back.

  TEN

  ‘What do you suppose they’re all looking at, when they look at me? I’ve thought about this a lot. I’ve had years to mull it over. Decades to ponder this phenomenon. They stare at me when I arrive in places like this. They stand and goggle in the street. It’s not just being famous. That’s a different quality of attention. That’s what I imagine Lance gets. A few autographs, a few snaps with gurning punters. But I get looked at differently. As if I represent something to them. Shall I tell you what that is?’

  Karla was holding forth at the head of their table. They had been given a private alcove, away from the rest of the diners. The table was sparkling and everything was so perfect no one wanted to touch it yet. Only Karla rested both elbows on the snowy cloth as she held court and gazed into each of their faces in turn.

  ‘I think it is evil,’ she said. ‘I think that when they look at me, that’s what they think they are seeing. Essential and glamorous evil, actually in their midst. And naturally they are fascinated by that. Amazed and appalled and they want to draw closer to the unnatural woman. Just to touch that presence. Just once. Just briefly. Then they can return to their normal lives of goodness.’

  A pause then. Sally broke it by picking up her glass and taking a swig. ‘Crap,’ she said. ‘It’s because you’re always showing your knockers off.’

  There was a ripple of laughter round the table, mostly from Lance. Even Karla smiled a little.

  ‘Oh, come on, Sally. You can’t tell me you’ve never thought I was wicked through and through. Isn’t it you that goes round telling everyone I’m possessed by the devil?’