Spank: The Improbable Adventures of George Aloysius Brown (8 page)

"
Your story, George, could have been pulled from the files, under W for whistle-blowers.
"
For emphasis, she adopts the mellifluous tones of a narrator for a TV documentary: 'The shocking story of a how a cover-up of regulatory infractions led to the extinction of the spotted two-toed frog.' May I remind you this is a creative writing class, George? Isn't that why you're here? You write well, but you need to give flight to your imagination.
"
Here the lovely Wanda sweeps her arms in the air like a condor about to take flight and takes a bound across the classroom.
"
You need to step outside your comfort zone, George. Try your hand at writing something completely different, something outlandish. I'm thinking
Lady
Chatterley's
Lover, I
'
m thinking,
Portnoy's
Complaint
,
Story
of
O
. I don't know, write some… pornography.
"

The class howls with laughter.

George Aloysius Brown, the Pimlico Pornographer, they love it. His classmates couldn't imagine a more unlikely scenario. But George's dander was up, not to mention the little fella, which in George's fevered imagination had been rudely interrupted from impending coitus and was now straining at its moorings in a most disconcerting way.

"
I shall take your recommendation under advisement, Miss Gravely,
"
he says, pausing momentarily for dramatic effect. He would have risen from his desk and stretched to his full height, but under the circumstances thought it prudent to remain seated.
"
Ms. Gravely, in the interests of etymological derivation and its devolvement into modern-day usage, would you say it as one word or two?
"

"
What? Pornography?
"

"
No, blow job.
"

The class howls with laughter.

"
I wouldn't say it at all, George.
"
This gets a few chuckles. Wanda pauses.
"
I was taught never to speak with my mouth full.
"

They are still laughing as they collect their evaluations and file from the room. An

attractive 20-something redhead, he knows only as Catherine, taps him on the shoulder.
"
Nice one, George,
"
she says. She smiles.
"
You might want to take a look at this. I'm going for it.
"

And she was gone.

George fumbles for his reading glasses and perches them on his nose.

"
A prize of
£2
0,000 from an anonymous benefactor will be awarded to the first graduate of the City of
Westminster Trade
, Technical and
Performing
Arts
College
creative writing class 101 to have novel commercially published. For more details and an application form, go to
our website at…
"

George stuffed it in his pocket. Right now, he's ready for a beer. Thursday night is pub night for a group of his mates at the Marquis of Westminster, a short walk from the college. He orders a pint of bitter at the bar, takes a long sip, and wanders over to join them, a raucous gathering already in progress. There is a chorus of
"
Here he is. George, good to see you, mate.
"
And they are pleased to see him. The banter always ramps up a notch when George is in the house.

"
How was school? Did teacher keep you after class?
"
George the would-be writer is someone they can have a bit of fun with.

"
As a matter of fact Miss Gravely was fulsome in her praise of my literary talents although not overly enamored of the content. She suggested I write pornography.
"
Predictably this is greeted with hoots of derision. George expects no less. The little fella will be in for a merciless wigging.

"
Porn? You, George? You must be joking. Hope you've got a long memory. You'll need all your fevered imagination.
"

Ha ha ha.

"
I can see it now, adapted from a short story by George Aloysius Brown, Strep Throat, staring Woosie Galore.
"

Ha ha ha. The boys are in full cry.

George sips his pint and greets these jibes with sanguine amusement. He loves to make them laugh. Ironically what he doesn't like is pornography. He hates the violence, the lack of subtlety, the aggression, the total disrespect to men and women, the sordidness of it, soiled sheets under sticky studio lighting, the appalling acting, the clumsy copulation, you couldn't call it love making, more like cage fighting than making love. He can never find what personally excites him – love spanking, spanking as foreplay, as role playing, builder of exquisite sexual tension, facilitator of lust. The sites he has been to on the internet were clumsy and bruising, literally – more about brutality and inflicting pain than tactile stimulation that always led to passionate love making. He felt cheapened and diminished by watching. He would do better, he would put the joy back into it. The thing was, where to begin his research? Just then he spotted the redhead from his class sitting alone in a corner booth. Excusing himself from his group, he strolled over and raised his glass.

"
Thanks for the heads up on the competition. Winning
2
0k would keep me in beer for a year or two.
"

"
Me too,
"
she says.
"
Are you going for it?
"

"
I don't know, maybe. You say you are.
"

"
Absolutely. I could hear all the laughter from your table. I suppose everybody was ribbing you about writing porn. I actually think it's not a bad idea.
"

"
Really?
"

"
Yes, erotica doesn't have to be disgusting, does it? One person's pornography i
s another person's literature.
Lady
Chatterley's
Lover
, for example, was considered pornographic and its publisher was famously charged with obscenity until vindicated in a famous trial in 1961. Writing erotica will position you in a niche market, which probably increases your chances of being published.
"

"
That's a thought. What about you, what genre, if that's the word, will you chose?
"

"
Romance. I'm an incurable romantic
. '
With
a
single
bound
he
was
by
her
side'
– you know, that sort of thing. Did you know Pandora Books employs scores of writers? Do you know how many titles they publish a year? Dozens. They are constantly searching for new material. Writing a Pandora is a science. The formula is available on their website. By the way, I
'
m Catherine, Catherine Mallory Jones. I
'
m pleased to meet you.
"

"
George Brown. Likewise. Can I buy you a drink?
"

"
Sure, vodka tonic, no ice.
"

When George got back from the bar he squeezed in beside her. His mates regarded him enviously. How does a pudgy little retired civil servant have such success with gorgeous women, they are thinking. George knew what they were thinking and gave them a dismissive little wave.

"
Wanda
'
s great isn
'
t she?
"
he said as he settled in and took a sip of his beer.
"
Have you read much of her stuff?
"

"
I
'
ve read it all, actually. She
'
s awesome. I read poetry and I write poetry, although I suppose I read more than I write. Right now I
'
m writing my final exams at
Cambridge
.
"

"
And then?
"

"
I
'
ve got a job in advertising here in
London
. My friends think I
'
ve sold my soul.
"

George smiled. His mates had all said the same thing when he told them he was going to be a civil servant.

"
Nothing wrong with advertising,
"
he assured her.
"
A clever ad is a thing of beauty, information in its purest form, the best words in the best order, isn
'
t that what they say about poetry?
"

"
Yes, they do. Actually, advertising can be very creative. But probably the civil service is too. I
'
ve seen some of your employment ads. What on earth is a
'
special events coordinating facilities adjuster?
'
That
'
s one I saw this morning. Whatever it is, it pays fifty grand. Who makes this stuff up?
"

George laughed.

"
Where I worked we had a whole department inventing obscure job positions that nobody ever fills. We need them to boost our projected payroll to justify a municipal tax increase.
"

She smiled.

"
What happens if people actually apply?
"

"
Well, if they phone, we put
'
em through a sequence of punching 27 numbers,
'
for service in Hindi, press 4,
'
etc.
This takes about 15 minutes. Eventually, they get through to a recording entirely in Urdu. Otherwise, we send them a form letter: We
'
re sorry, the position has already been adjustified.
"

"
And if the job is
'
interim assistant rodent eradicator?
'
"

"
We tell
'
em the position has already been eradicated.
"

Catherine laughed. She didn
'
t believe a word he was saying.

It was her round and she went to the bar.

When she got back, George was ready with a proposition.

"
Tell you what,
"
he said.
"
Suppose we work as a team, help each other, critiquing each other
'
s work. If one of us gets published we share the prize 50-50. It
'
s still a lot of money.
"

"
That
'
s actually not a bad idea,
"
she said.
"
Between the two of us we have the niche markets pretty well sewn up. Two tickets for the lottery are better than one.
"

"
Have you ever written a novel before?
"

"
No. You?
"

"
A few short stories, but nothing I
'
ve submitted for publication. You say you write poetry, any luck there?
"

"
I
'
ve been published in the university mag, but nothing more exciting than that.
Writing a novel would be a first for me. It can
'
t be that difficult. I imagine it
'
s like pottery and I
'
ve done a ton of that.
You have a thing in mind that want to create. You form it and shape it.
Then you keep throwing clay at it and spinning the wheel.
"

George laughed.
He liked the analogy.

"
How are you with deadlines?
"
he asked her.

"
I
'
m okay with them. I do my best work under pressure.
"

"
Okay, so let
'
s say we stay in touch. We each work on a detailed outline, write a couple of sample chapters and six months from now if we both still agree we have a realistic shot, we take it from there, finish the job. If not, we go our separate ways. Deal?
"

"
Deal.
"