by Tara Basi
I help Zero to his feet and together we set off for Pots Chambers. I can only hope that Grunge is there waiting for us and that, on the way, we will not encounter a bat looking for a companion.
Chapter Ten – Tiddly Widdly
We approach the building that the bat man had indicated housed Pots Chambers and begin searching for an ingress. We slide past one blank wall after another. The passages circumnavigating the structure are thin and morbid. A dankness hangs over everything. Zero seems fully recovered from his bat trip. He cannot be downcast for very long.
“What is that pleasant sound you are making, Zero?”
“I’m whistling a merry tune, Ma. I can stop if you like?”
“No, that is quite all right, Zero. Please continue.” Whilst it is most pleasant, I worry it might attract unwanted attention from Mary M or a bat.
I stay as close to the smooth, black sides of the alley as I can, at times kissing the wall with my shoulder. Involuntarily, I flinch at every large shadow cast by a burning torch. I dread a deposit from a bat, especially now that I am conscious of how silently they travel. There is unlikely to be any warning. After passing many sides of the building without any indication of an opening, I begin to wonder if the entrance might be on the roof, as it was at the summit of the tall tower. I shudder. If it is, we will require the services of a bat. On turning the next corner, I count that we have traversed four faces of the edifice. One face remains, and the bat platform and the bat man are visible once more, down another dim alleyway. I lose my strength and lean back against the wall.
“There is no entrance, Zero. This place is mocking us.”
“You have a little rest, Ma. I’ll check this last bit out.”
Zero carries on, and I watch his progress with waning enthusiasm. One minute Zero is clearly visible then he is not. Then he is and he is waving me forward. I am revitalised and set off to join him. Zero has found a narrow doorway. He enters and I follow. Beyond the door, I am pleased to note that Grunge is waiting for us in a small anti-room, minimally furnished with a few stools. The small space is pleasing. It is functional, and I like the stools. They remind me of my workhouse. At that thought, I gulp and sniffle. The snug room ends in double doors.
Grunge gives us a little wave of greeting with his block in hand.
“Your story checks out. I’ve lined up ten of the best barristers in the whole Inns of Court just beyond these doors.”
A little smile teases my lips. “That is good news. Let us get along and select one.”
“Hold your bats. Take this card and pencil.”
I study the card. It is printed with a matrix of ten rows and three columns. The rows are numbered one through ten and the columns are headed Hitch, Ditch and Be My Bitch.
“What is the purpose of this document?”
“You get twenty-one seconds with each barrister.”
“Wow, man! Well done, dude, and everything for, like, putting this together, but wouldn’t we need a bit more time? Sounds really rushed.”
“Listen, it’s normally twelve seconds. I had to … embellish … to get this long with this many.”
“Worry not, Zero. This is pleasing. The process of selection is systematised and reassuringly speedy. Grunge, I can see that there is one row for each of the ten barristers, but what is the meaning of the column headings?”
“Hitch, you’re agreeable to appointing the barrister. Ditch, you’re not. And the last one’s optional.”
“I understand. Very efficient. What would a cross in that last column signify?”
“Regardless of Hitch or Ditch, they’re eminently shagable.”
“Shagable? What is that? Some form of carpet weaving? Never mind. It’s of no interest. I am solely concerned with making a Hitch or Ditch selection. Can we begin immediately?”
“Sure. Remember, as soon as you sit down, the clock will start and a bell will ring after twenty-one seconds. When you hear it, you must move onto the next barrister.”
“Cool! Well done, man. Let’s go, Ma.”
“Hang on, big boy. It won’t help if Seven is accompanied. You can listen at the door.”
“Okay, man, but anything heavy goes down and I’m busting in.”
How gallant of Zero. I move towards the door. I am impatient to begin. The sooner I have my barrister, the sooner I can progress my appeal.
Grunge tugs at my hem. “Wait, there’s one more thing. Read the back of the card and don’t contradict that bio.”
I turn over the card and read aloud what is written there. “My name is Seven and my middle name is Sin. I’m eighteen. I love to party, giggle and keep fit with regular bouts of girly mud wrestling.” I address Grunge, “All of this, even my name, is untrue and makes no sense.”
“Exactly! Good luck!” Grunge pushes me through the door before I can seek clarification.
I find myself in a large space that is surprisingly normal, or at least normal relative to what I have encountered thus far. There are ten circular tables arranged in an arc. Hanging low over each is a single shaded lamp. Shadowy figures in black Encounter gowns are sitting at each of the tables facing an empty stool. The lighting is dim. The illumination barely reaches beyond the edge of the tables. It is only when I approach the first table, and the figure seated there leans into the light, that I see that the pointed part of their Encounter gown hood is decorated with a white wig of short, curly hairs. There is no embroidery. It is reassuring to see the gown is well made and free from patches. On the table, there is a wooden block with the number one painted on it and a small clock. I am surprised to observe that the barrister also has a card. This is a little unsettling. It seems they are also judging my worth as a client. I swallow down a large breath and nervously take my seat at the first table. Immediately, the barrister slaps the top of the clock with his open palm and the seconds begin ticking away.
Conscious of my limited time, I immediately speak. “Good afternoon, my—”
“Thank goodness.” He turns to the other tables and shouts, “Finally! It really is a woman.”
All but one of the barristers cheer.
“Bugger!” is the response from a lone individual who seems displeased by the news.
To maximise the effectiveness of each appointment, I shall ask only concise questions. “Do you have any experience of—”
“Yeah, babe. Loads. Do you believe oral is compulsory on a first date?”
“What?”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
I will attempt to refocus the conversation on matters legal. “Can you help with my appeal?”
“Sure, perhaps a push-up and maybe a latex top?”
Ding!
It seems my time is up. The barrister covers his card with his hand and is making a mark. Number one is an obvious Ditch. I move on and take a seat at the next table.
“Have you managed an appeal before?” I immediately ask, hoping to get further with this barrister.
“Course not. There’s never been one. Are you into bondage?”
I do not wait for the ding. On I go. Again, I endeavour to initiate a sensible exchange. “How long—?”
“Never had any complaints, darling.”
And on I go. “What is your approach to—?”
“Fast and furious; sexy, fast and furious.”
I must keep trying. Not all of the barristers in this room can be so wilfully incompetent. I arrive at the next table a little out of breath after all the sitting and standing. Suspecting my visit will be short, I forgo the opportunity to be seated and, instead, lean on the table with my hands.
“What chance do I have in succeeding in my appeal?”
“An excellent chance, depending on your objective and if you employ the services of an experienced and well-regarded barrister such as myself.”
I am tempted to leave now while the conversation is going so well, though I do have some seconds left. “Objective?”
“I’m assuming you’re appealing for harsher puni
shment? In that case, I am sure we’ll be successful. May I ask you a question?”
Another idiot, though I shall not be rude. “Yes.”
“What’s your favourite species of rodent?”
Another Ditch. I stand up straight and start to leave. My would-be barrister is undeterred.
“I understand. All relationships benefit from an air of mystery. Can I watch your girly mud wrestling some time?”
In a similar nonsensical manner, the interchanges continue, table after table, until I find that there are no more. I look at my card. It is unmarked. None has spoken sensibly. They are all as ineffectual as each other, yet I must have a barrister. With a sigh, I mark a Hitch in every row and prepare to re-join Zero and Grunge. Before I have taken another step towards the door, it flies open and in burst the three black and white Marys, followed by Zero and, finally, Grunge trundling behind. Breathlessly, I move out of their way, fearing that Mary M will pounce at any moment. I am joined by Zero and Grunge.
Zero whispers, “Sorry, Ma, couldn’t stop them.”
The Marys take up a position at the centre of the room and yell.
“We demand the right to elaborate!”
“Confabulate!”
“And tell a story!”
The barristers begin to chant as one: “Story! Story! Story!” They pick up their stools, shuffle around their tables and draw closer to the Marys.
We are ignored. I appeal to Grunge, “Can we not stop this? Does our business not have precedence?”
“Barristers love a good story. Wouldn’t be helpful if we interrupted. Think we’ll just have to wait and see how this plays out.”
Zero smacks his fist into his palm. “Bummer, man. Not cool.”
One of the Marys holds up her hand and the barristers fall silent. “Imagine,” she says.
“Mary J, really?” one of the other Marys says over the top of her. “This is what drove Mary M away. Can’t we just scare the bejesus out of them like we did with them solicitors?”
Mary J spins around to face her sisters and raises her voice. “Mary B, they’re a sophisticated lot, barristers. It’ll be alright. You just be patient. And Mary B, and you Mary C, remember what I told you: you’ll have to play your part in the storytelling. Help me bring it to life.”
Grunge hisses, “Sophisticated barristers, my arse! Without a solicitor, they couldn’t get the lid off a chamber pot.”
“Story! Story!” the barristers yell.
Mary J turns back to the barristers and holds up her hand again. “Sorry about that little interruption, gentleman. Now, where was I? Oh yes. But before I continue, let me introduce the delectable Mary B and the gorgeous Mary C.”
Mary C and Mary B, standing either side of Mary J, curtsy and ripple their arms in an unseemly manner as each is introduced.
The barristers whistle loudly.
“My fellow Marys will be helping me interpret the story through dance and mime.”
More loud whistling and raucous calls from the barristers.
Mary J begins, “Imagine there’s this little pussy called Tiddly Widdly.”
“Is that a euphemism?” one of the barristers asks with a giggle, and all the others join in the tittering.
“No, you filthy pervert, it’s a pussy cat. Now, Tiddly Widdly lives with a lovely family in a lovely house and she’s very happy.”
Mary B makes pawing movements with her hands and then pretends to lick them and rub them over her hood. It is a most disturbing sight.
“But Tiddly Widdly has a secret, a big secret.”
“Oh, how exciting,” says one of the barristers, only to be roundly shushed by his colleagues.
“At night, when the family are all asleep, Tiddly Widdly heads out through the cat flap and into the back garden.”
Mary B gets down on her hands and knees and sashays around then mimes passing through an opening. It is a very bad mime.
“And there, in the back garden, Tiddly Widdly transforms into her alter ego – Kitty Litter Woman: superhero and crime fighter.”
Mary C jumps forward and strikes a ludicrous pose with one arm raised, pointing at the ceiling, and the other held straight down at her side with clenched fist.
I cannot stand idly by. “This is a ridiculous diversion. My case is pressing.”
A barrister stands up and shouts at me, “Don’t push your luck, sexy, or you’ll get no representation here. Story first!”
The other barristers chant their agreement: “Story! Story!”
Grunge whispers, “Told you. We just have to wait.”
I can imagine that Mary J is smiling broadly under her hood. She continues, “At night, Kitty Litter Woman protects the city and keeps it free of riff raff.”
Mary C proceeds to duck, weave and bounce around while throwing rapid punches at the air. Eventually, she comes to a stop and mimes standing on the throat of her defeated foe. Her miming is actually quite acceptable.
“So, it’s a proper woman, not Tiddly Widdly in a cape?” a barrister asks.
“Yes, it is. Can I get on?” Mary J answers rather curtly.
The barristers are not done. They are very interested in Kitty. “She must be fit. Toned and blond. Am I right? And does Kitty Litter have a full bosom?”
“Yes. Anyway …”
I think Mary C is sticking out her chest, though it is hard to tell under the bulk of her Encounter gown.
The barristers start to argue amongst themselves. “Her costume, it’s probably tight leather.”
“Rubber.”
“No, that wouldn’t be practical. Bet it’s latex.”
Mary J yells, “Can I get on with the story?”
The barristers nod sheepishly, except for one who has his hand up.
“What?” Mary J asks with obvious irritation.
“So, is the whole Tiddly-Widdly-Kitty-Litter-Woman thing like the billionaire playboy and his blood-soaked vigilante alter ego?”
A different barrister answers before Mary J can speak. “Course not, you dick! One’s a little kitten and the other’s a full-grown, voluptuous, young woman. It’s more like that puny scientist and the big green monster.”
More barristers join in the pointless debate.
“I never understood that.”
“It’s the gamma rays.”
“No, not that – the trousers. How come they fit the huge green guy?”
“They’re elasticated.”
“That’s a slippery slope.”
“For feck’s sake, I don’t have all fecking day!” Mary J roars, and, for once, I agree with the woman.
The barristers immediately fall silent.
“Right, so, while Kitty Litter Woman is saving the city, Tiddly Widdly is left in a sort of stiff, vacant state at the back door.”
Mary B takes up a very strange pose, which I find difficult to interpret, though I assume it is meant to represent a comatose Tiddly Widdly.
“And when Kitty Litter Woman comes back and repossesses Tiddly Widdly, it has no idea what’s been going on, but it definitely feels the worse for wear when it goes back into the house.”
Mary B staggers around on all fours looking very unsteady.
“Poor Tiddly Widdly,” a barrister exclaims, and I am inclined to agree.
Mary J is not pleased. “We’ll be having none of that. That’s the whole problem right there. Because one night it’s really cold, there’s a howling blizzard, and when Kitty Litter Woman sees Tiddly Widdly standing there all stiff and vacant and being pelted with snow, she thinks, ‘Maybe I’ll stay home tonight, let the city look after itself.’ So, that’s what she does, and Tiddly Widdly goes back inside and has a lovely nap by the fire. Tiddly Widdly is happy and so is Kitty Litter Woman. She’s quite enjoying her night off, thinking about nothing much except mice and milk.”
Mary B and Mary C skip and dance together.
A barrister, who sounds like he might be crying, says, “That’s a lovely, lovely story.”
Mary J is unim
pressed by his interruption. “It’s not finished yet, you idiot.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s not just for one night. Oh no! Kitty Litter Woman is enjoying being Tiddly Widdly so much, she forgets all about crime-fighting, and the city is going to hell in handcart.”
“Why do handcarts get so much bad press?” Grunge whispers.
Mary J raises a hand and pauses. Mary B and Mary C freeze. The barristers stop breathing. Even Grunge and Zero hold their breaths. “And there’s worse.”
“Worse? Oh dear!” a barrister exclaims.
I am at a loss to understand anything of what is being said by anyone. My time is ebbing away. My blood is bubbling in my veins. I step forward, intending to confront Mary J and demand an end to her nonsense. Only the combined efforts of Zero and Grunge hold me back. All I can do is cross my arms very tightly and hope Mary J will soon finish.
“Yes. You see, it’s not the natural order of things for Kitty Litter Woman’s awesome superpowers to be locked up in this way, and it’s having a terrible effect on Tiddly Widdly.”
The barristers yell, “Poor Tiddly Widdly! Poor Kitty Litter Woman!”
Mary B and Mary C resume their dancing, but now they are spinning faster and faster.
“We’ll not be having any more of that ‘poor Tiddly Widdly’. The evil creature has trapped the lovely and wonderful Kitty Litter Woman, and her power is turning Tiddly Widdly into a ferocious mountain lion. And, one night, something horrible happens.”
“Oh no! Oh dear! How terrible?” the barristers call out, and, to my surprise, Grunge and Zero join in.
Mary C is thrown to the ground, and Mary B savagely paws at the air and runs around, frightening a number of the barristers who rear back. Some fall off their seats, sending their stools skittering across the floor. To my surprise, I find that Grunge and Zero have edged closer to the Marys. They seem engrossed in the ridiculous pantomime. With great effort, I keep my jaw clenched and my balled fists at my side.
“The mountain lion Tiddly Widdly mauls, rips, disembowels, decapitates and then … eats the lovely family.”
“No!” everyone screams, including Grunge and Zero.
I pull sharply at Zero’s gown, hoping he will remember our purpose and stop being distracted by the ridiculous tale the Marys are weaving. Zero grunts but does not turn away. It is as if he and Grunge have been hypnotised.
