Devil in Disguise (22 page)

Boris
was the first person backstage. ‘Brilliant!’ he said. ‘Fucking brilliant!’ He
paced up and down, clearly thinking aloud. ‘Fish. That’s the thing. You must
make the sardines a regular climax to your act. Who knows? Maybe haddock, too.
And a few sprats to throw into the crowd.’

‘You
really think so?’ said Simon, bemused.

‘Trust
me,’ said Boris, eyes glazed, staring into an imaginary future. ‘Now we’ve got
the sardines on board, I don’t see any reason why it shouldn’t be “Jongleurs,
here we come”!’

‘Imagine,’
said Simon, deadpan.

‘I have
faith, my son,’ said Boris, patting his discovery on the shoulder and smiling
confidently. ‘If you listen to me, I’ll make you a household name. I guarantee
that within two years you’ll be selling out the Albert Hall. I’ll take you on a
journey from Camden High Street to the North Pier at Blackpool.’ He paused for
effect.

‘Be
still my beating heart,’ said Simon, starting to remove his makeup.

‘You’re
not listening to me,’ said Boris, uncharacteristically earnest.

Simon
was lost in thought. His mind swirled with adrenalin and post-show euphoria. Sardines.
Who’d have thought they’d be the key to his future?

‘I’ve
got it!’ said Boris. ‘You’re a performance artist! I shall call the Purcell
Rooms first thing in the morning. I expect the
Guardian
will want to do
a spread and
Front Row
will be gagging to get you on.’

‘Okay,
I’ll do it!’ said Simon. ‘Anything to shut you up.’

Meanwhile Simon couldn’t
shake his desire for Daniel, which had grown to possess him like a succubus.
Where only a short time before he’d been scolding himself for even looking at
Molly’s boyfriend, he was now plotting and planning to create opportunities
where he might be with the object of his affections. He’d grown obsessed,
erotically and emotionally. All he could think about was Daniel, and Molly was
fast becoming little more than an irritating obstacle to his passion. He had
taken to turning up at Molly and Daniel’s flat late at night after he’d done a
show, always in high spirits, a little drunk but full of post-show exuberance.
‘But I bring champagne!’ he’d screech down the intercom, if ever Molly said
they were asleep and maybe another night would be better. He just wouldn’t take
no for an answer. A couple of times a week he was sitting on their sofa while
Molly sat opposite him in her towelling dressing-gown, her eyes heavy with
sleep, urging him to speak more quietly in case they woke Daniel — he had to be
up at six.

‘Oh, he
could manage a glass of bubbly!’ said Simon, as if it were equal to a few
pennies for a blind beggar. Eventually, if he made enough noise, Daniel would
appear like a vision, scratching his head, and join in the late-night drinking.

He knew
he shouldn’t … but the lust that possessed him was too strong to fight.

Then,
one night, Molly excused herself at three in the morning and staggered back to
the bedroom while Daniel slumped on the sofa dressed only in a once-white towel
that clung perilously to his toned twenty-eight-inch waist. ‘Don’t be long,
Dan,’ she murmured, as she drifted by on her way to bed.

Simon
saw his chance and pounced.

First
he lowered the lights and turned up the central heating. Then he sat beside his
prey for ten minutes while he nodded off to sleep. Daniel’s head fell backwards
and his arms splayed outwardly on the sofa, either side of his lap. As sleep
took hold his knees relaxed and his thighs spread open invitingly. Simon sat on
the edge of the armchair, poised like a panther about to spring.

When
the moment was right, he lightly ran the back of his fingers over Daniel’s
chest. Simon gasped with delight, as Daniel parted his lips and sighed
contentedly. This only encouraged Simon to stroke his chest a second time.
After that, he allowed his fingers to fall, as if with the pull of gravity,
downwards, to graze the knot in the towel. Daniel growled, so Simon proceeded,
his fingers stepping inch by inch towards his Holy Grail, the one thing for
which he would sacrifice everything: the aroused heterosexual penis.

He
stopped for a moment, got up, darted across the room and listened at the
bedroom door. Assured by the semi-snoring within that the coast was clear, he
returned to the sofa, gently lifted Daniel’s towel and eagerly set to work.

At the
point of orgasm, the mannequin came to life. Daniel reared up, his panting, by
the third expulsion, changing from pleasure to vocal distress. He roughly
removed himself from Simon’s mouth, pulling the towel back over his waist, the
aftershocks of his nocturnal ejaculation causing involuntary moans of
satisfaction. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ he said, fastening the towel, his
expression shocked and angry.

‘Sssh!’
said Simon, holding his finger to his lips.

‘Oh,
Jesus, no, no, no!’ said Daniel, rubbing his eyes, then his hair.

Simon
sat back on his haunches and gave a wicked half-smile. ‘Don’t spoil a beautiful
moment,’ he whispered. ‘I know I’m bad. But so are you.’

‘I was
asleep!’ said Daniel, his voice croaking with emotion, like a schoolboy
protesting his innocence. His fists clenched dangerously.

This
was always a difficult moment, as Simon knew only too well. Things could go
either way. He wasn’t sure if he should expect a smack in the mouth, so he
flinched slightly, still relishing that familiar salty taste. He looked
contritely at the carpet and decided discretion was the best policy. ‘I think
I’d better be going,’ he said. He let himself out of the flat and went on his
way, guilty but rejoicing.

The next difficulty Simon
had to overcome was to make sure that his ‘affair’ with Daniel continued. The
moment his lust had been ignited, the entire energy of Simon’s being had become
focused on achieving his desire. There was no going back. He asked Molly if
Daniel could come and give him an estimate for painting his fiat.

‘Sure,
honey,’ said Molly, blissfully unaware of her best friend’s secret agenda. ‘How
about if he pops in on Thursday around sixish? He’ll be a bit knackered but 1
know he’s looking for some more work.’

‘I’ll
get him a couple of cans of Special Brew, shall I?’ asked Simon.

‘You
know the way to a man’s heart,’ said Molly, oblivious.

Simon drew the curtains in
his flat, even though it was still daylight outside. Daniel seemed on edge when
he arrived, but he did his best to remain professional, looking over the flat
and rubbing his chin, asking if it was to be emulsion or eggshell. ‘Have you
thought about colours?’ he asked.

‘I’ve
thought about little else,’ said Simon, staring at Daniel as he spoke. ‘I’m
into red and brown and sometimes yellow. Bold, I agree, but I know what I like.’

‘Aha,’
said Daniel, unsure of the subtext. ‘Whatever you say.’

‘Ready
for another can?’ asked Simon, brightly.

‘Er,
cheers,’ said Daniel.

Simon
was nervous too, but the extra-strong lager would ease the awkwardness of the
situation, he hoped. He got the drinks from the fridge and passed one to
Daniel, who was perched on the edge of the sofa.

‘So,’
said Simon, in his best Mae West voice, ‘do you think you could fit me in? Can
you sort out my interior?’

Daniel
took a swig of lager and nodded. ‘Okay,’ was all he said.

After
that the pattern was set. Things would nearly always commence with Daniel lying
prone on a bed or settee. Even if he wasn’t asleep he would act as if he was.
It was important for his sexual status, Simon assumed, that what ensued was
initiated by Simon and not by him. Simon would gently caress Daniel’s chest and
thighs, and sensual arousal would slowly envelop his subject. Simon’s tongue
and lips would come into play. Daniel simply responded to the stimulus, a
slave, it seemed, to his body. No intellect, no thinking, just biological
response. That was precisely what floated Simon’s boat, what satisfied his
thirst.

Thankfully,
Daniel was not the sort to attempt any kind of analysis of his behaviour. A
little discomfort, a mild display of post-orgasmic guilt and/or shame was
gratefully received by his seducer; anything more articulate or insightful would
ruin everything.

The
arrangement, or rather the encounters, continued in this tenuous way. Each
sexual opportunity took days of planning on Simon’s part. The anguish of a
‘near miss’ would keep him awake for nights on end, but his suffering seemed to
be in direct proportion to the joy and satisfaction he experienced when he hit
the jackpot.

He was
in bliss and rapture. And as for Molly — well, what she didn’t know wouldn’t
hurt her.

Molly noticed the change
in Simon straight away. Since the day after his gig at the Black Cap, he had
been on the phone to her incessantly: how was she? Did she feel okay? Was
everything all right between her and Daniel?

To
begin with Molly was pleased. She thought Simon was making up for their short
estrangement but also in need of true, trusted friends. The sudden success and
popularity of his
alter ego,
Genita L’Warts, must have been a shock to
his system. She was touched that he included Daniel in all his invitations, but
she’d been surprised when he turned up at the romantic anniversary dinner when
she’d specifically said it was an occasion for just her and Daniel.

Then
he’d started wheeling up to the flat at all hours, armed with drink and begging
them to get up and share it with him.

Whenever
she told Simon that she and Daniel couldn’t meet him because they were doing
something on their own, his tone seemed to turn a little minty. ‘Well, pardon
me for intruding,’ he would snap. ‘Maybe you can fit me in some other night
when you’re not celebrating the romance of the century.’

‘I’m
worried about Simon,’ Molly said to Jane, one afternoon soon after Christmas.
They were taking tea at the Honest Sausage in Regent’s Park after a brisk walk
in the crisp sunshine. ‘He’s been a heavy drinker as long as I’ve known him, but
now it’s in a whole new league. He’s working in pubs and clubs every night,
drinking before he goes on stage, while he’s on stage and even more afterwards.’

Jane
looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps this new identity of his means he’s losing touch
with reality.’

‘Reality
has never really featured in Simon’s life much,’ said Molly. ‘I love him
dearly, of course, but he’s so unpredictable these days.’

‘In
what way?’

Molly
sighed, as if it was all too difficult to put into words. ‘Well, just after we
first saw him as Genita, he started turning up at our flat really late at night
and getting us out of bed.’

‘Looking
for drinking companions?’

‘Yes.
But Daniel has to get up early for work, so it wasn’t exactly convenient.’

‘You
had to nip that in the bud, then.’

‘I tried
to. But Simon wouldn’t take no for an answer, and because I’d been away for so
long and we’d had one of our fallings out, I found it really hard to say no.’
Molly sipped her coffee. ‘He was so wired and excited after performing, I think
he was looking for someone — anyone — to be with. Anyway, all that seems to
have stopped now.’

‘Good.’

‘But
there are other things. He makes appointments with me and doesn’t turn up. Four
times recently I’ve been standing outside a cinema or a tube waiting for him,
and he’s left me dangling. It’s not like him. He’s never acted this way before.’

Molly
sighed. ‘I can sense so many other things that don’t seem quite right. He
doesn’t seem to look me in the eye any more. He hardly ever kisses or hugs me,
and he used to all the time. I’m so worried. He should join AA before it’s too
late.’

‘I’ll
send some psychic healing,’ said Jane, reaching over and touching Molly’s arm
reassuringly.

‘I
think I could do with some myself,’ said Molly, suddenly tearful.

‘I
know. You don’t have to tell me. I send you healing all the time,’ said Jane,
as two big tears rolled down Molly’s cheeks.