The boy is short. The boy is cute. He is cheeky. He is tired, and sucks his thumb. He keeps looking. I took a photo of him on my phone. I look up and I realise that he’s taking a photo of me too. I smile at my phone and pretend I’m on Snapchat. He does the same.
Thomas gave me a present. It was a disposable vape with ten thousand puffs and tasted of pineapple lemon. I must get out of the mindset that this small gift means something. After all, we’ve hated each other for fifteen years, and one kind gesture means nothing, but it was nice.
Today, I visited a new Scandinavian Cafe a few streets away and thought that this would be a good place to write the book that I will call ‘Loving Thomas’. I also thought it a good place to invite him one afternoon.
We’ve realised that we work well together and are an impressive team, but I’m reminded of a Lonnie Gordon song from 1990 that was called ‘Happening All Over Again’.
To those who came before,
Memory did not age us.
You did not grow old.
I remember you as you were.
The years dimmed the soul,
And the intoxicated dreams.
To those with dark hair,
And blonde hair,
And somewhere in between.
To those who came and went,
That looked like angels.
Fresh and slender,
With charms and flaws.
I remember you as you were.
Time is not kind,
It stole the looks,
It disguised the figure,
It aged the soul.
The handsome heroes departed.
Sweet youth blown away.
I might recognise you now,
But I choose not to.
Because I remember you as you were.
His head was shrouded in cigarette smoke, and when it cleared, it was a frightened face that peered from the hoodie. His eyes were sore from crying and my heart went out to him.
I’d heard stories about people like this, and the extreme measures they might go to. I tried to put him out of my mind and walked past, but the voice of a concerned mother called out for her little boy. I went back and asked him if he was okay.
There was pleading in those troubled eyes, and I realised that little boys grow up to have problems too. He told me that he was fine, and I asked if there was anything I could do to help. He shook his head and stared at the puddle where he’d tossed his fag end.
I wanted to stay longer and help, but I didn’t. These were conflicting emotions, guilt, curiosity, embarrassment. I wanted to put my arm around him and tell him that everything would be fine, but I walked away.
A trembling voice shouted thank you, and I prayed that he would soon find the happiness that had abandoned him.
Charlie has been nice to Levi, and he offered to take him out for the day in his Austin A35. Reverse psychology. If he’s nice to Levi, then Levi won’t tease him about having a crush on him. Levi has also been pleasant, and the other day he stood over Charlie and told him that he liked his paintings.
They are both playing mind games, and I am blissfully aware that they are using me to do it.
Whilst eating breakfast yesterday, Levi appeared in his underwear. He put his arms around me and whispered something in Polish into my ear. It sounded romantic but I don’t understand the language, and neither does Charlie, and Levi might have said anything. Charlie gave him a dirty look, and politely said, “Good morning. I hope that you slept well.”
Last night, we all stayed in and watched a movie. It was a low budget slasher film in which a teacher with a class full of unruly sixteen-year-olds finally snaps. One night, as two boys are walking home, he strikes, and drags them to a lock-up and cable-ties them to a desk. Thereafter, he gives the lesson of a lifetime, and if they get a question wrong, he drives a nail through the palms of their hands.
I shared the sofa with Charlie because Levi had occupied the chair where he would normally sit. Halfway through, Charlie stretched his legs and placed his bare feet on my lap. “Would you massage my feet please?” I was taken aback because this was out of character for him, but I obligingly rubbed and kneaded while he oohed and aahed. He’s got nice feet and moisturises them with something called Udderly Smooth that I presume is made from cows.
At that moment, the teacher used a nail gun to drive a six inch nail through one of the boy’s necks, causing lots of blood and gore to spew from his mouth.
“I find this kind of thing quite homoerotic,” Levi said.
“He is only massaging my feet,” gloated Charlie, “so there is no need to be jealous.”
“I wasn’t talking about you. I’m referring to boys covered in blood and driving nails into them.”
I went to bed and was listening to Troye Sivan on my headphones when Charlie appeared with a copy of The Hidden Michelangelo under his arm. “I’ve come to say goodnight,” he said, “and then I am going to read in my bedroom.”
I thought it was rather sweet because he’d never done this before.
Almost immediately, Levi brushed past him, and gave me a peck on the cheek.
He winked at me and squeezed Charlie’s backside as he left the room.
Charlie looked bewildered, while Troye Sivan sang, “he’s got the personality, not even gravity could ever hold him down.”
I’ve decided that I’m attracted to anyone who is called Jamie, and I realise that every time I meet a Jamie, he’s always a bad one. There are too many Bad Boy Jamies, and I kind of like that.
The story so far. Harry Oldham is an author who has been encouraged to return to Sheffield and write about his past. A chance meeting with a stranger called Tom brings back memories of Paolo, ‘one of the most beautiful boys I’ve ever known.’ The other Geisha Boys, Andy and Jack, take a backseat as Harry recalls the first time he met him.
(Parts 1-7 are available to read in the menu)
Part 8
It was the night we became Geisha Boys. The night we ran through the streets of Sheffield, laughing, covered in someone else’s blood.
We ran towards our block and didn’t see the two guys getting out of the car. Andy and Jack ran ahead, while I was spitting blood, and out of breath.
I was grabbed from behind. I shouted to the lads, and they stopped dead in their tracks. They were my brothers, and they would help me. Except that they couldn’t. One of the guys waved a stick at them, a thick one, and warned them off.
“Keep on running you little turds. Because if you don’t, I’ll break your fucking heads.”
The boys hesitated but were powerless to help. They edged away, watching me, and disappeared up the stairs.
“Fuck! Don’t fucking leave me!”
The other guy held me tight. There was the faint aroma of Brut and petunia on him. The man with the cosh waited until Andy and Jack had disappeared and turned to me.
“Let’s get in the car.”
I was bundled into the back of a dark Vauxhall Chevette where there was somebody else. I tried the door handle to escape but it was locked and so thumped the back of the driver’s seat in frustration.
The two guys got in front. The guy with the cosh was driving. The other one, who smelt of Brut and petunia, wore a flat cap and donkey jacket and looked straight ahead.
“Good evening, Harry,” he said. “The luck we’re having tonight. Who’d have thought it? A brawl in a bar. The aggressors running towards Park Hill. We thought, it couldn’t be?”
The car moved off and the guy beside me was quiet. I caught glimpses of his black curly hair as we passed under streetlights, the orange aura highlighting his dark features.
“Harry, meet Paolo. He’s a fucking eyetie.”
We drove a short distance and pulled up on a road that looked over the city centre.
Frank Smith got out and opened the rear passenger door. “Out you get.” The lad called Paolo slid out and stretched. “You too Harry.”
He led us through a gap in a stone wall and sat us on a bench while he remained standing and looking like a council workman. The other one leant on the wall and lit a cigarette.
“Look at that view,” said Frank. “A big city with lots of people. Good ones and bad ones. We’re the good guys, but there are more bad guys than we’d like. Which side are you two on?”
Neither of us answered.
“A long time ago this city was run by bad guys. Did you know they called it Little Chicago? It was full of gangsters who thought nothing about kicking the shit out of each other. Then there were the knives and the guns. These were gang wars, the Mooneys and the Garvins, and the police couldn’t control them.
“But somebody sorted it out. Percy Sillitoe was his name. If he’d failed, then life for every respectable citizen would have been hell, but he succeeded and ended up running MI5. Clever bloke. Did you know that I read history boys?”
It was a school lesson forced upon us. We looked at each other in bewilderment and didn’t know what to say.
“Oh yes, I like history. Did you know that it gets twisted? Sanitised. Let’s look at Percy Sillitoe. Hard, focused and determined. That’s what we read today, but he was a scheming bastard, who fought fire with fire.
“I like to think I’m a bit like him. If you did everything by the book, then we’d get nowhere. In years to come, everything will be touchy feely, and I hope I’m not around because justice will side with the villains. Fucking chaos.
“Some people think I’m a bent copper. That hurts. All I want to do is suss out the shit, and the only way is to play dirty. I always get what I want.”
Frank turned to us.
“It’s a bit like the gang wars. The only way to deal with today’s bad guys is to eliminate them. One by one. Are you with me?”
“What are you on about?” Paolo had spoken for the first time. His English was excellent but there was an unmistakable accent.
“I need your help. Both of you. Paolo, fucking eyetie, with your boyish looks. Harry, the bad boy with a big flaw running right through him. Do you know what that flaw is, Harry?”
“No,” I replied.
“It’s going to slap you in the face soon.”
Paolo looked at me, a fellow victim in this charade and his eyes showed fear. I didn’t know what to do. If he had looked closely, he would have seen that I was more terrified than he was.
“Kiss each other.”
What the fuck did Frank just say?
”Fucking kiss each other!” He stormed over and grabbed the backs of our heads. He forced them together until our noses almost touched, but we resisted, and Frank used his strength. Our faces brushed one another. Paolo’s skin was smooth with no sign of facial hair.
“Kiss goddammit!” Frank shouted. “Paolo, bender! You’ll enjoy it. Kiss the scabby shit.”
And Paolo did. A quick peck on the lips before forcing his tongue into my mouth. I couldn’t back away. He wrapped his tongue around mine and I had no choice but to do the same.
There was a flash of bright light, and I realised that the other copper had taken a photograph.
Frank released his grip. “That’s enough,” he laughed. “I knew you’d both enjoy it. Didn’t I say so Brian? He looked over to his colleague who acted as if nothing had happened . “You see Harry, your eyetie friend likes snogging lads, and I dare say that he finds you attractive. Isn’t that right Paolo?”
The Italian boy was mortified.
“A match made in heaven. Now that you’re better acquainted, I’m sure you’ll both help me.”
“I don’t understand,” said Paolo.
“Percy Sillitoe succeeded because he played both gangs against one another. A word in one ear, a word in the other. He didn’t do a thing. It was a set up. And when one gang thought they’d won. he went after them next and destroyed them too.
“These are the eighties, and there are perverts in this city, but as always, there is more than one player. Player One is getting pissed off with Player Two, and so Player One says to me, ‘get rid of these bastards!’ I say that it will cost them, but we work together, and Player Two disappears. Then I come down heavy on Player One, and he disappears too. Get it?”
I was angry. “What the fuck has it got to do with us? We aren’t doing anything for you?”
Frank stared me out.
“I think you’ll both help me.”
“Get fucked!”
“Do you really want your parents to see a photo that shows you going at it with another guy? Better still, what happens if it gets into the hands of your low-life friends? You won’t be able to show your face on Park Hill again.”
The guy called Brian laughed.
“And what will your eyetie parents think when they see that their beloved Catholic boy is really a depraved bender?”
I exchanged nervous glances with Paolo.
“I won’t offer you a lift home because you’ve both got a lot to talk about. Somebody will be in touch.”
The two coppers walked back to the car, but Frank shouted something before driving off. It sounded like, “If they’d have let me, I’d have caught the Yorkshire Ripper years ago.”
Perfectly Hard and Glamorous 