The Barbershop Seven (140 page)

'How d'you mean that?' he said.

'Do the media give people all the junk because that's what they want, or do the people want all the junk because that's what the media give them?' she said, then continued talking like a true politician, without giving him the chance to answer. 'You can't blame the media, when all they're doing is meeting demand. If you want to change it, what you have to do is change the mindset of the people. And that's where a good politician comes in.'

Barney nodded. It seemed nicer to do just that rather than say the more honest, 'you've got to be fucking kidding me?' Even JLM had already come to the conclusion that he was in no position to do anything about society, and he was the leading politician in the country.

'And are you backing your husband to do all this?' asked Barney, 'or do you have ambitions of your own.'

Minnie Longfellow-Moses smiled again. Wasn't looking him in the eye. When she did finally make her royal proclamation of political intent, it was going to be to a much grander audience than Barney Thomson.

He watched her for a second, then started back on her 40's Ladies Auxiliary cut, with a touch of Sisters of Sappho for authenticity. Could tell what she was thinking. Another one carried away with the power of it all; and she didn't even have any power. Bloody idiot. That, and she was named after a mouse.

'Well,' she said, 'I'll say this, Barney. I suspect it might just be worth your time turning up at this show tonight. It might not be as dull as you think it's going to be. If you know what I'm saying.'

Barney paused, caught her eye again, recognised the mad glint of the megalomaniac, then powered up the Black & Decker three-in-one, and got on with the haircut in hand.

A woman with her own agenda, he thought. How scary is that? Still, if there was the chance that JLM was going to get his comeuppance, and to be served bloody right for having the nerve to participate in this show in the first place, perhaps it might be worth a visit after all. Didn't mean he couldn't get on the train the next day and head for the hills.

Maybe he would go, maybe he wouldn't. In the end, what would it matter?

––––––––

T
he show was due to start in five. The guests had gathered, nervous and ambitious, in the sitting room of the First Minister's official residence. JLM, MLM, Dr Farrow, Veron Veron, The Amazing Mr X, Parker Weirdlove, the Reverend Blake, Winona Wanderlip, Patsy Morningirl, James Eaglehawk, Darius Grey, and finally the two cabinet makeweights of Hamish Robertson and Alisdair MacPherson, men who were genuine politicians, and therefore of interest to neither the public nor television.

All-American talk show host, Larry Bellows, was still in his dressing room; show producer, Bing Velure, was about to give the participants a final run-through. It'd all been a bit hurried, but he thought he just about had enough to keep the audience interested. There would be Patsy's boobs, and then, well, he'd have to fill up the rest with people talking, but they'd wing it. There was also the thing that Eaglehawk had mentioned, although he wasn't sure that the total political and public humiliation of a politician that no one had heard of was going to make such great TV. Certainly wouldn't be a match for a fine pair of breasts. (And he had already taken the opportunity to verify their quality.)

He looked over the sorry bunch, because that was inevitably how he perceived anyone involved in politics. He was supposed to make forty-five minutes of interesting television out of this lot.

'Right, everyone,' snapped Velure, thinking already that this might be the nadir of his career to date – even worse than the documentary on the proliferation of cheap blue plastic bags in West Africa, narrated by Mel B, in which he'd allowed himself to get involved – 'we've only got a few minutes, so can I have your undivided.'

The gentle babble of conversation died away, to be replaced by the low murmur of nervous rectums.

'I'm looking at a quick run-through of events, so everyone please listen,' he began, and he looked sharply around his audience to make sure they were all paying attention. And they all were, except JLM, who was looking rather smugly out the window, thinking himself too important and too aware of everything that was going to happen, to have to listen to someone as lowly as a TV producer.

'As we open, the camera will pan around the room, starting with Mr Bellows, with Jesse and Minnie in the centre, taking everyone in, so the audience can get the picture of what they're dealing with here. And Patsy, we're looking for a quick flash of the boobs right from the off, just to get 'em hooked. You cool?'

'Totally,' she gushed.

'Sovereign,' said Velure. 'Don't linger on it, you know.' He snapped his fingers. 'That fast. It's almost as if the audience should've felt the presence of your breasts, rather than having actually seen them.'

An
'oh for God's sake'
escaped the mouth of Winona Wanderlip. Patsy Morningirl quickly sprang her blouse and closed it over again. All in a finger snap.

'Like that?' she spurted.

'Extreme!' exclaimed Velure. 'Nailed it! Right, then we're going to come back to Mr Bellows, who you're all going to meet in a minute. He'll do a bit of an intro, then he'll hang it round to Jesse, and we're off. Thereafter, he'll talk to both Jesse and Minnie, like they're a couple or something, then we'll bring in some of the others, as either they or Mr Bellows see fit. Obviously, Patsy, we won't be bringing you in too early, because we don't want to smoke all our joints in the first five minutes. What we need is drama here, people. Drama. You know what I'm saying?'

He looked around the blank faces.
I'm not getting my kit off
, thought the other women.
I wonder if some of the other women are going to get their kit off
, thought the men.

'D-R-A-M-A drama,' said Velure, 'is the name of the game. We all need it, it's up to you lot to supply. Anyone have anything to say, ping it in there. We cool?'

A few nods.

'Doesn't matter what you want to get out there,' he continued, 'as long as it's not dull. Any of you comedians got any stuff about the welfare state or the Health Service or taxes, anything like that, we'll cut you off as soon as you open your mouth. Keep 'em coming, and keep 'em short. You'll know if we want you to keep talking, 'cause Mr Bellows will take you up on it.'

'We're on in one,' said Mandy, Velure's assistant, and Bing Velure pointed his forefingers at the crowd.

'This is it, people, let's think on our feet and do everything to bring in the punters. Every second needs to be B-I-G big, so that we catch the channel surfers.'

'Ah!' said JLM suddenly, drawing a sharp look from Velure. 'Rebecca, wonderful of you to come. I knew you'd have a change of heart.'

Velure turned round; a few in the room looked askance. Dr Rebecca Blackadder had arrived, looking pretty hot, because she always did, but frankly her hair hadn't been done that day. And she was expecting to do live television!

'Who are
you
?' barked Velure, casting a professional eye over her body.

'She's part of my team,' said JLM standing up. 'Come in, Rebecca, come in.'

'Thirty!' chirped Mandy.

'You going to get your clothes off?' cracked Velure.

'No!' Blackadder snapped back at him.

'Whatever,' he said, 'you're decent enough window dressing. Someone get her a seat.'

A seat was found, JLM sat back down still smiling and saying 'champion' to himself, a few others muttered, and Rebecca Blackadder joined the throng, looking daggers all the time at Bing Velure, and already questioning her decision to change her mind at the last minute.

The door burst open again and Barney Thomson entered the fray. This time, most of the room had a look of approval, as they were all still basking in the feel-good glow of great hair.

'Barn!' several of them cried, as if he were a long lost friend.

He stopped, regarded them with suspicion, then looked at Velure.

'Am I too late?'

'Fifteen!' cried Mandy.

'You're the hair guy,' said Velure as a statement of fact. 'Get him a seat,' he yelled, without enthusiasm.

Barney walked in, eyes on Blackadder, wondering why she was there. Cast a quick glance at one or two of the others, did not return the smiles.

'Ten!' chirped Mandy.

'Right!' bawled Velure, with unnecessary majesty, 'the lions have entered the Coliseum! Everybody grab hold of their bowels!'

'Five...'

Barney sat down next to Rebecca Blackadder, raising an eyebrow in question.

'Four...'

'Couldn't keep yourself away?' he said.

'Three...'

'I'm not bloody letting him away with it,' she said, her voice low.

'Two...'

And with a swish of magisterial authority, crisply shaven, smelling of unbelievably expensive aftershave and with his intestines recently having benefited from a $61 colon hydrotherapy treatment, Larry Bellows swanked into the room, not a second too soon.

'One ...'

Bellows embraced his company with the aura of his magnanimity, silently greeted them with open arms, then he sat down and fixed the great and humble smile to his face, as Mandy chopped her hand to indicate they were on air.

––––––––

T
he cameras had trawled round the room, past the nervous, the excited, the resigned, the angry, and Patsy with her amazing flashing chest, finally settling on the legend that was Larry Bellows. He was a big man, with a large round head, a broad chest, and a stout belly, from the very depths of which was emitted the most bombastic of New England laughs. But he could also do quiet and sincere and sensitive as required, with the full range of emotions and sympathies in-between.

He was, in fact, the talk-show equivalent of Jesse Longfellow-Moses, in that he was really rather small-time back home, compared to Letterman and Leno and the rest. But just because he was a waiter at Big Al's One Cheese Pizzeria, did not mean that he couldn't act like he owned Pizza Hut. Especially when he was becoming a thing in the UK, and was being paid a decent wedge of the licence payers' money from the BBC.

'Hey, everyone!' he said, in his usual salutation. 'Welcome to Larry Bellows Tonight! Really, really fantastic display there from the little lady! And we'll be seeing more of that kind of thing later!'

And he smiled disarmingly, then switched on his serious face.

'Jeez, we have such a great show for you tonight. I am so excited personally, because this fella that I'm going to introduce you to has been such a hero of mine since I arrived in your country. It's been my pleasure, Hell, I've been honoured to be able to spend the day with him today, getting to know him and his lovely wife.'

(Translation: he'd never heard of JLM before that morning, then he'd spent ten minutes with him and Minnie, before spending the day allowing the BBC to honour that part of his contract which stated they'd supply him with women, alcohol and hard drugs in the run-up to each show.)

'So, ladies and gentlemen, I want to introduce you to the First Minister of Scotland, England, Jesse Longfellow-Jesus. Jesse, it's such a pleasure having you on the show.'

JLM smiled in a cheesy American way, which he thought might be appropriate.

'Hell, thanks Larry, it sure is great to be here,' he said. 'Champion.'

'It's Longfellow-Moses,' said Minnie, quietly, the words passing straight over Bellows' head.

'And your lovely wife, Minnie,' said Bellows, and he gave her a smile that suggested he seriously wanted into her underwear. Minnie smiled, but the smile was one of restraint, Bellows' look inducing in her a brutal desire to bury a hatchet in his head.

'It's really great to have a First Lady named after a mouse, ain't it?' he said, patting her on the knee.

Minnie simmered while playing along, thinking that it was, for the time, politically expedient.

'For just over five years now,' said Bellows, looking seriously at the camera, doing his earnest anchorman routine, 'the people here in Scotland have had what they call devolved government. Hell, now I'm an American, I don't even know what that means. Tonight we're gonna learn a little more about it, and about some of the ... personalities ... who ...'

He became a bit distracted as the camera, which had been honing in on him, began to twitch, as if being attracted to something else. Bellows turned and looked behind, allowing the camera to follow his look.

Patsy, bless her, was already at it. Like a kid with a big bowl of ice cream placed in front of her and told to wait, she just couldn't contain her excitement. She was standing behind Bellows, very casual, leaning on the mantleshelf, blouse open, right breast obvious to the audience.

Bellows ejaculated his enormous laugh. A few of the others shook their heads; a couple were already contemplating abandoning ship. JLM smiled.

'Hey!' bellowed Bellows, the loudness of his tone demanding that the camera be switched back to him, as it duly was. 'Isn't that great! Who is that little filly anyway?'

'She's the Deputy First Minister,' said JLM, smiling, and you know, even he felt a bit of a squirm as he said it.

'Fan-tastic!' said Bellows. 'Let's talk about your government's attitude towards sex!'

JLM smiled. Not quite off to the start he was expecting. Bellows was bigger and louder and filled the room with far too much of his own presence. And with so many enormous egos present, there was bound to be trouble. Add that to the fact that the Kabinet Killer was also in the room and was, by design, a little unstable; that The Undertaker was nearby, and had his own issues to resolve; that there were at least four people present who intended publicly humiliating Jesse Longfellow-Moses (even more than he was going to be publicly humiliated by the whole thing as a matter of course); and that there were six other internecine affairs to be revealed, and, well Bing Velure needn't have worried.

They were in, as Larry Bellows himself might've said, for one Hell of a show...

––––––––

F
ifteen minutes in and everything was running smoothly, even if it was a little on the dull side. Everyone had calmed down from the drug and testosterone fuelled overdrive of the first couple of minutes, Larry had been fed a couple of pointers so that he actually knew what he was talking about, and normal service had been resumed.