I hate attention. I am uncomfortable with people crawling to me, treating me as though I am better than them, running after me like servants. At least, I imagine I would be if it happened. So I am surprised by my disappointment when I am not met by anyone at the sci-fi convention, and am merely left to wonder through Doncaster Leisure Centre in a bewildered and frustrated state.
I spent the morning and afternoon in the hotel pretending I wasn’t fighting the urge to be sick, as though admitting I was hung-over would confirm in Cheryl’s eyes that last night’s drunken behaviour was indeed as pathetic as we both know it was. At one point I even leapt off the bed and did twenty press-ups, even though alcohol-laced blood flooded into my brain and caused my vision to white out and a thin trail of bile to ooze up my throat. When I finished I disguised my desperate clinging to the wall for support with a leg stretch. At lunch I ordered a dry sandwich rather than the grease-mess I would normally gobble down in a pained frenzy, and left some of it even though my belly was still gurgling for nourishment. (Later I shovelled a family-sized packet of Kettle Chips into my mouth in the tiny hotel hot tub, ignoring the awful shouty kids standing on my legs and splashing chlorine onto my crisps. Then, back on the bed with Cheryl watching music videos with the volume almost all the way down, my chest suddenly began burning up but I didn’t lift my shirt to cool it because somehow I knew that the sight of my fat white hairy stomach would depress me and admit too many truths about everything.)
Now we walk through the convention and I squint pathetically at the surrounding throng. It is as though a geek bomb has exploded. These are people who have become so expertly nerdish they have long since abandoned any pretence of being accepted by normal society and have embraced the world of Geekdom so intensely that they openly, even loudly, discuss their lack of lives and are far happier for doing so.
We walk round the stalls where people are pointlessly selling bootleg tapes of films at the same price legal copies can be purchased. Old horror film stars sit at tables desperately attempting to sell their autographs for five, ten, even twenty pounds. A porn star encourages us to flick through her catalogue of (laminated) nude photographs. Someone has a DVD he claims is packed with clips of Robert DeNiro corpsing. I feel faint, then bent down and re-tie my shoe laces.
Finally I find the girl with the clipboard. She doesn’t recognise me from yesterday. When she finds my name on the list she confirms that I will be reading at 9pm. “Right,” I say. “Where’s the green room?”
“The green room?”
“Yes. Or a dressing room, or just somewhere backstage I can relax and prepare.”
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. We don’t have anything like that.”
“What, so I’m just supposed to hang around here until my slot? What does Michael Marshall Smith have to say about that?”
“Well, he does have a little room. But at least two of the other readers today don’t. It’s not a personal thing, Mr. Hardy. We only have limited resources.”
“What about when my name is called? I can’t come from front-of-stage. That would look ridiculous. I have to appear from somewhere different from the punters, otherwise it looks as though I’m on the same level as them. I mean, I don’t have any delusions of grandeur but how can they respect me or take me seriously as an author if I’m just the bloke sitting next to them in the audience who suddenly gets up on stage like some kind of Open Mic night.”
“I think you might be over thinking it a little,” she suggests. “Do you know Mr. Marshall Smith?”
“No.”
“Oh. I was going to suggest that you could ask him if you could hide behind the curtain outside his dressing room. Other than that…”
She trails off. I sigh. “Can I get a cup of tea, at least?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God,” I say with heavy sarcasm.
“The café is down the hall.”
“You won’t get it for me?”
“I’m really busy.”
Is that a public cafe?”
“Yes. That’s all we have.”
“I’m going back to the hotel.”
“Your contract said you would be on the premises from 5pm.”
“But there’s nowhere to go!”
“You could watch the other authors reading.”
I wave her away. Suddenly I realise that Cheryl hasn’t been interjecting. I turn and see her hanging up her mobile. “Well, if you’re sorted,” she says, “I’m going to meet Jason for a drink.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t I come?”
“No. No drinking before public appearances. We all remember the pub quiz you hosted…” I don’t and I put my hands over my ears because I don’t want to know. “You can’t keep running from the consequences of your actions,” Cheryl says.
“I can,” I say, and I run through the crowd of Star Wars and heavy metal t-shirts.
Friday, 30 May 2008
Wednesday, 21 May 2008
Geek Bomb part 1
I arrive with Cheryl at the leisure centre in Doncaster the night before my first convention appearance. As the bored girl with a clipboard searches for my name on her list I try to give her my petrol receipts. “We don’t cover expenses I’m afraid," she says.
I study her. “I get a refund for the hotel room, though, right?” She laughs softly. She thinks I am joking. Cheryl squeezes my arm for support, a gesture I appreciate because I know the money spent has pained her more than I.
She finds my name at least. “Welcome!” she says, smiling suddenly.
“What room am I in?” I ask.
“I’ve no idea. The official hotel is across the motorway there.”
I sigh. “So I have to drive up to the roundabout and cross over?”
“Actually, I don’t think you can get back on the motorway there. You’ll have to go down two junctions. It’ll take about fifteen minutes.”
I nod, impassive. I had not expected these two days to go well.
I check in and cancel the next night’s booking, even though it means I will have to drive back to London at 10pm. We go to the hotel bar to unwind. It is crowded with businessmen and sci-fi geeks. I nod at the fat kids in Star Wars t-shirts. “Look at these cunts,” I say.
“Christopher! These are your fans. Well, future fans. Potential future fans.”
“I’d rather die,” I say.
“Don’t be melodramatic.”
I nod at the businessmen. “Why can’t they be my fans?”
“You hate businessmen too.”
“At least it might mean I was writing something with intelligence.”
“Oh Jesus,” Cheryl says.
“What?”
“I think that’s a guy I knew at university.”
“In Virginia?”
“No. I spent a couple weeks at the UL one semester.” She turns away quickly.
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t want to say hello?”
“Not really.”
“Well he’s coming over.”
“Dammit.”
She stays with her back to him and I watch him stumble over, weaving with drink, holding a brown short. I am instantly jealous.
“Cheryl!” he slurs when he stops behind her.
She turns and feigns surprise. “Hello!” she says and they embrace. “Wow, it’s great to see you.”
He holds her and then looks at me. “Who’s this?”
“This is my husband, Christopher.”
We shake hands. “Your wife sucked me off at uni,” he tells me, beaming. My mouth drops open and I say nothing. It is a comment I don’t quite recover from for the rest of the convention.
I turn to Cheryl and she is smiling, embarrassed, and I know it is true.
“Sorry!” he says. “Had a few drinks. Never know when to keep my mouth shut.”
“Apparently you’re not the only one,” I would say if I wasn’t stunned.
“Drinks?” he offers. “Small white wine?” he asks Cheryl. She nods.
“Scotch. Double. Ice,” I say.
He claps me on the arm and goes to the bar, landing on it heavily.
Cheryl and I stand in silence. “Do you want to go upstairs?” she asks me after awhile.
I look at the man at the bar. “Is there a minibar?”
“No.”
“Then no.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” I wait for a second. “I thought you were only over here at university for a couple of weeks.”
“Yes. Fifteen days.”
“And in that time you got close enough to someone to suck him off?”
“It’s just a blow job. I didn’t fuck him.”
“What kind of skewed logic is that? Blow jobs are worse.”
“How?”
“It just is. I can’t explain. It’s practically abuse.”
“I don’t see it as a big deal. Sex is a big deal.”
“It is a big deal, trust me.”
She shrugs. “Maybe it’s another British/American thing.”
“Then I wish I’d grown up in America. Christ. British girls do not do that first.”
The man returns with the drinks. I finish mine fairly quickly. They talk for awhile. Then I feel upset enough to humiliate them. “Cheryl,” I say. “You haven’t introduced us. What’s this man’s name?”
I smile as though she is stupid but she answers “Jason” immediately and my smile drops and he shakes my hand again.
“I can tell you some stories,” he says.
“No, you’re alright,” I say. “What are you doing here? Travelling salesman? Driving around with a car boot full of timeshare brochures?”
“Nah mate. I’m here for the convention. The sci-fi industry meet.”
I smile genuinely. “Really? You’re actually here for that?” I laugh. “You’re a nerd linger, are you?”
“No, no. I represent some of the actors here. I’m an agent.”
My smile drops. “Oh. Successful, are you?”
He shrugs. “I’m doing okay. Can’t stand sci-fi myself but it’s big business. Film-wise, anyway. Couple of holiday homes, one abroad. Nice little sports car, model girlfriend. Can’t complain!” he nudges me in the ribs. “What about you two? Not on holiday in Doncaster, are you?”
“No,” Cheryl says. “Christopher has a novel coming out in a few months. A sci-fi novel.” Just a hint of malice in her voice. As though we’re standing talking to a woman I licked out ten years ago.
“Oh, that’s…that’s great,” he says. No, that’s…fantastic. You’re into all that are you? Gorks and giants and laser beams?”
“There are laser beams in the book. But no….giants. One of the characters is quite tall…”
I trail off, and trail to the bar, and trail through quite a few drinks until Cheryl has to put me to bed and in the morning I try not to remember all the things I said and shouted.
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I study her. “I get a refund for the hotel room, though, right?” She laughs softly. She thinks I am joking. Cheryl squeezes my arm for support, a gesture I appreciate because I know the money spent has pained her more than I.
She finds my name at least. “Welcome!” she says, smiling suddenly.
“What room am I in?” I ask.
“I’ve no idea. The official hotel is across the motorway there.”
I sigh. “So I have to drive up to the roundabout and cross over?”
“Actually, I don’t think you can get back on the motorway there. You’ll have to go down two junctions. It’ll take about fifteen minutes.”
I nod, impassive. I had not expected these two days to go well.
I check in and cancel the next night’s booking, even though it means I will have to drive back to London at 10pm. We go to the hotel bar to unwind. It is crowded with businessmen and sci-fi geeks. I nod at the fat kids in Star Wars t-shirts. “Look at these cunts,” I say.
“Christopher! These are your fans. Well, future fans. Potential future fans.”
“I’d rather die,” I say.
“Don’t be melodramatic.”
I nod at the businessmen. “Why can’t they be my fans?”
“You hate businessmen too.”
“At least it might mean I was writing something with intelligence.”
“Oh Jesus,” Cheryl says.
“What?”
“I think that’s a guy I knew at university.”
“In Virginia?”
“No. I spent a couple weeks at the UL one semester.” She turns away quickly.
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t want to say hello?”
“Not really.”
“Well he’s coming over.”
“Dammit.”
She stays with her back to him and I watch him stumble over, weaving with drink, holding a brown short. I am instantly jealous.
“Cheryl!” he slurs when he stops behind her.
She turns and feigns surprise. “Hello!” she says and they embrace. “Wow, it’s great to see you.”
He holds her and then looks at me. “Who’s this?”
“This is my husband, Christopher.”
We shake hands. “Your wife sucked me off at uni,” he tells me, beaming. My mouth drops open and I say nothing. It is a comment I don’t quite recover from for the rest of the convention.
I turn to Cheryl and she is smiling, embarrassed, and I know it is true.
“Sorry!” he says. “Had a few drinks. Never know when to keep my mouth shut.”
“Apparently you’re not the only one,” I would say if I wasn’t stunned.
“Drinks?” he offers. “Small white wine?” he asks Cheryl. She nods.
“Scotch. Double. Ice,” I say.
He claps me on the arm and goes to the bar, landing on it heavily.
Cheryl and I stand in silence. “Do you want to go upstairs?” she asks me after awhile.
I look at the man at the bar. “Is there a minibar?”
“No.”
“Then no.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” I wait for a second. “I thought you were only over here at university for a couple of weeks.”
“Yes. Fifteen days.”
“And in that time you got close enough to someone to suck him off?”
“It’s just a blow job. I didn’t fuck him.”
“What kind of skewed logic is that? Blow jobs are worse.”
“How?”
“It just is. I can’t explain. It’s practically abuse.”
“I don’t see it as a big deal. Sex is a big deal.”
“It is a big deal, trust me.”
She shrugs. “Maybe it’s another British/American thing.”
“Then I wish I’d grown up in America. Christ. British girls do not do that first.”
The man returns with the drinks. I finish mine fairly quickly. They talk for awhile. Then I feel upset enough to humiliate them. “Cheryl,” I say. “You haven’t introduced us. What’s this man’s name?”
I smile as though she is stupid but she answers “Jason” immediately and my smile drops and he shakes my hand again.
“I can tell you some stories,” he says.
“No, you’re alright,” I say. “What are you doing here? Travelling salesman? Driving around with a car boot full of timeshare brochures?”
“Nah mate. I’m here for the convention. The sci-fi industry meet.”
I smile genuinely. “Really? You’re actually here for that?” I laugh. “You’re a nerd linger, are you?”
“No, no. I represent some of the actors here. I’m an agent.”
My smile drops. “Oh. Successful, are you?”
He shrugs. “I’m doing okay. Can’t stand sci-fi myself but it’s big business. Film-wise, anyway. Couple of holiday homes, one abroad. Nice little sports car, model girlfriend. Can’t complain!” he nudges me in the ribs. “What about you two? Not on holiday in Doncaster, are you?”
“No,” Cheryl says. “Christopher has a novel coming out in a few months. A sci-fi novel.” Just a hint of malice in her voice. As though we’re standing talking to a woman I licked out ten years ago.
“Oh, that’s…that’s great,” he says. No, that’s…fantastic. You’re into all that are you? Gorks and giants and laser beams?”
“There are laser beams in the book. But no….giants. One of the characters is quite tall…”
I trail off, and trail to the bar, and trail through quite a few drinks until Cheryl has to put me to bed and in the morning I try not to remember all the things I said and shouted.
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Wednesday, 14 May 2008
Sid's New Office
Sid, my agent, is having an office warming party in Dagenham. He has promoted it as a ‘Brave move into new territory’ and I go along with that, unwilling to accept what such a fall from Regent Street really means. When I finally negotiate the dual carriageways and find unit 112c in the industrial estate, I discover that I am the only guest except for an elderly woman who is half-drunk and somber and who turns out to be his mother. For some reason I had assumed she was dead. Like mine.
Sid is absurdly upbeat and I think he has had too much Red Bull. He hugs me then sits on the edge of a tatty leather sofa.
“Am I late?” I ask, looking round the empty office.
“People are drifting in and out,” he claims, chewing a cocktail sausage. “You’re the guest of honour, though.”
“That’s…frightening,” I say. He tells me something about his life and I nod and look round at the tiny room and notice the tediously bland paintings on the wall. Already I want to leave and sit in traffic. “Last night I was in an Aberdeen Steakhouse,” he is saying, “And I choked on a hunk of beef. It’s happened before and after a few seconds it usually slides down my throat and I’m just a bit sore for a day or so. I’m just greedy and lazy and can’t be bothered to chew for very long. But this time I realized straight away that I couldn’t breathe at all.”
“Jesus. Who were you with?”
“Oh, I was just by myself.”
“You went to an Aberdeen Steakhouse by yourself?”
“Yes. Why?”
“No reason. Carry on.”
“Well, the waitress happened to be passing and she looked alarmed and she asked me if I was okay. And even though I was dying I put my thumbs up.”
“Why?”
“Even though I was choking to death I still didn’t want to bother anyone. I didn’t want to cause a fuss. I would rather have died quietly in my booth than have people run around after me. Is that terribly British or is there something really wrong with me?”
”I think there may be other issues at work here. But cats go off and hide when they’re dying because they don’t want anyone to see.”
“Maybe they don’t know anyone can help them,” Sid says.
“Possibly. I’m not sure what we’re talking about anymore.” I spread my arms and smile. “Congratulations!” I manage.
“Thank you,” he says, and he almost looks embarrassed. “I’m really happy here.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I can imagine.”
“Dagenham is becoming a real hotbed of the publishing world.”
This time I don’t respond. I crack open a Stella and take a few deep gulps. Sid stands up and does some shadow boxing and then we drink and smile awkwardly.
“Harper wants me to go to a sci-fi convention next week,” I tell him.
“That’s great!” Sid says. “Where?”
“Doncaster.”
“That’s great,” he says again.
“Well…I’m still in denial a little, I think. I’m not sure whether I’m ready to jump in.”
“What’s the problem?”
“You know, I’m just still a little…They want me to do a reading and I don’t know if I can.”
“Why not?”
He looks genuinely confused. “Just…the fact that I’m not comfortable with the sci-fi tag.”
“Really?”
I look at him for a long time. “Are you being serious?”
“I vaguely remember you being a bit of a pain about it, but still?”
“Sid, I can’t believe that you don’t know this about me. I want to be a proper writer.”
“You are!” he says. “A damn good one. Which reminds me, you never sent me the end of the book.”
“What book?”
“Your book. What’s it called?” He clicks his finger.
“You mean my novel?” He nods. “Clear History?”
“Yeah. It cuts off as those two blokes are flying in that spaceship and I never got the end.”
“Sid, what are you telling me?” He shakes his head, unsure. “I sent it to you a year ago. First of all, that is the ending. Second of all, it’s not a spaceship. Thirdly, you thought all this time that you hadn’t read the end of my book and you only bring it up now?”
“Well, there’re a lot of books on my shelf. And truth be told, I’m not into sci-fi either. Really, though. That’s how it ends?” I nod mournfully. “Huh. It could work.”
His mother calls him over then and I notice that she is senile. I wait for other guests to arrive but they don’t and then a train rushes past close enough to rattle the windows.
Sid is absurdly upbeat and I think he has had too much Red Bull. He hugs me then sits on the edge of a tatty leather sofa.
“Am I late?” I ask, looking round the empty office.
“People are drifting in and out,” he claims, chewing a cocktail sausage. “You’re the guest of honour, though.”
“That’s…frightening,” I say. He tells me something about his life and I nod and look round at the tiny room and notice the tediously bland paintings on the wall. Already I want to leave and sit in traffic. “Last night I was in an Aberdeen Steakhouse,” he is saying, “And I choked on a hunk of beef. It’s happened before and after a few seconds it usually slides down my throat and I’m just a bit sore for a day or so. I’m just greedy and lazy and can’t be bothered to chew for very long. But this time I realized straight away that I couldn’t breathe at all.”
“Jesus. Who were you with?”
“Oh, I was just by myself.”
“You went to an Aberdeen Steakhouse by yourself?”
“Yes. Why?”
“No reason. Carry on.”
“Well, the waitress happened to be passing and she looked alarmed and she asked me if I was okay. And even though I was dying I put my thumbs up.”
“Why?”
“Even though I was choking to death I still didn’t want to bother anyone. I didn’t want to cause a fuss. I would rather have died quietly in my booth than have people run around after me. Is that terribly British or is there something really wrong with me?”
”I think there may be other issues at work here. But cats go off and hide when they’re dying because they don’t want anyone to see.”
“Maybe they don’t know anyone can help them,” Sid says.
“Possibly. I’m not sure what we’re talking about anymore.” I spread my arms and smile. “Congratulations!” I manage.
“Thank you,” he says, and he almost looks embarrassed. “I’m really happy here.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I can imagine.”
“Dagenham is becoming a real hotbed of the publishing world.”
This time I don’t respond. I crack open a Stella and take a few deep gulps. Sid stands up and does some shadow boxing and then we drink and smile awkwardly.
“Harper wants me to go to a sci-fi convention next week,” I tell him.
“That’s great!” Sid says. “Where?”
“Doncaster.”
“That’s great,” he says again.
“Well…I’m still in denial a little, I think. I’m not sure whether I’m ready to jump in.”
“What’s the problem?”
“You know, I’m just still a little…They want me to do a reading and I don’t know if I can.”
“Why not?”
He looks genuinely confused. “Just…the fact that I’m not comfortable with the sci-fi tag.”
“Really?”
I look at him for a long time. “Are you being serious?”
“I vaguely remember you being a bit of a pain about it, but still?”
“Sid, I can’t believe that you don’t know this about me. I want to be a proper writer.”
“You are!” he says. “A damn good one. Which reminds me, you never sent me the end of the book.”
“What book?”
“Your book. What’s it called?” He clicks his finger.
“You mean my novel?” He nods. “Clear History?”
“Yeah. It cuts off as those two blokes are flying in that spaceship and I never got the end.”
“Sid, what are you telling me?” He shakes his head, unsure. “I sent it to you a year ago. First of all, that is the ending. Second of all, it’s not a spaceship. Thirdly, you thought all this time that you hadn’t read the end of my book and you only bring it up now?”
“Well, there’re a lot of books on my shelf. And truth be told, I’m not into sci-fi either. Really, though. That’s how it ends?” I nod mournfully. “Huh. It could work.”
His mother calls him over then and I notice that she is senile. I wait for other guests to arrive but they don’t and then a train rushes past close enough to rattle the windows.
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