When Love Comes to Town (11 page)

The thought depressed him. The club made him feel so uncomfortable. Watching the confident, stylish dancers on the small dance floor, he wondered how many had AIDS. Strutting time bombs. He was mad coming in here. But what else was there? San Francisco? No way, everyone would guess. And anyway, it’s AIDS city.
Hot Press
maybe? White T-shirt first and then
Hot Press
, he decided. The next suitable ad he saw, he’d give a public pay phone number and tell them to ring at a specified time. The pay phone in Stillorgan, that was far enough away from his house, he thought; he’d cycle down there tomorrow and get the number.

This cheered Neil up and he didn’t object when Jackie and Daphne dragged him out onto the dance floor. Although, for some reason, he kept facing Jackie as they danced, trying to give the impression that she was his girlfriend. Years and years of social conditioning, he presumed.

Daphne emitted a high-pitched screech when the first piano notes of the Sister Sledge dance remix tinkled through the nightclub. There was a skirmish as people rushed to the dance floor. Every dancer held their hands up in the air in preparation, almost in adulation.

We are family

I’ve got all my sisters with me

The rhythmic drums pumped into action, a signal for the wild dancing to begin. Neil was reminded of voodoo dancers. Hypnotic, trancelike gyrations all around him. Faces distorted beneath the flickering lights, images blurred in the mirrors, lost in the music. Jackie’s hair flayed everywhere. Daphne kept bouncing up to him and bumping his chest off Neil’s. Not unlike rugby training, Neil thought in amusement, but he winced as he imagined what the reaction of his rugby teammates would be if they could see him now.

And for the first time in his life, Neil relaxed and joined in the rhythm of the crazy dance. All his normal self-consciousness left him. There was nothing to worry about here. Nobody cared. He felt himself being submerged into the sexual sea of graceful movement. A dizzy tangle of arms, legs, torsos, hips, backsides, and pelvic thrusts, swirling all around him. Happy faces, desolate faces, drunken faces, faces of every age, swept past him in the timeless frenzy.

He was shaken out of his trance by Jackie, who was pointing across the dance floor, her face distorted in hysterical laughter. Daphne and the six-foot-five Gladys were slow dancing. Neil nearly choked. A full foot shorter than his partner, Daphne had his arms wrapped around the giant’s waist and his head buried into his bosom. It looked just like a mother hugging her prodigal son. Sort of sweet, in a funny kind of way.

After the sweaty dance had finished, Neil walked down to the bathrooms at the back of the nightclub. He tried not to look at the couples snogging in the smoky darkness. Then a tall bloke with huge ears, who was leaning against the door of the gents’ rest room, blew him a kiss. The light was off inside the rest room and Neil could see shadows moving around in the murkiness. Ignoring the man’s less-than-subtle advances, Neil ducked into the ladies’ rest room and locked himself in a cubicle. What a squalid dump, he thought, God knows what he was walking on. What would his mum and dad say if they could see him now?

In mid-leak, he nearly died with embarrassment when he heard the announcement coming over the PA system. “Happy birthday to Neiley Nook Byrne, who’s eighteen today,” the dj read out in amusement. The Beatles’ “Birthday” then started to blare around the nightclub. Neil wanted the toilet bowl to open up and swallow him.

When he saw the look on Jackie’s face, he felt like strangling her. She clasped his arm in delight and handed him the free bottle of birthday champagne. Everyone seemed to be watching as he tilted the bottle and drank from the neck. When he stopped for air, a burly bearded bloke of about forty walked up to him and rested his hand on Neil’s shoulder. Neil grinned at him, thinking that he was going to wish him happy birthday.

“I wish that bottle was my dick,” he said with a leer before retreating back to his pals. Neil felt repulsed. Jackie pretended that she hadn’t heard, but Neil knew by the look on her face that she had. He wished he had thought of a clever put-down. But this incident spoiled the remainder of his night. And Neil felt uneasy when he realized that the bearded bloke and his pals were watching him.

When they were leaving the nightclub, a tired-looking Daphne came over to Neil. “I’ll do some research on White T-Shirt,” he whispered confidentially. Neil just smiled, he was too exhausted to say anything. All he could think of was his bed for the night, the dingy sofa in Liam’s flat. The bearded guy made some comment when Neil passed him, and Neil simply ignored him. But he was glad that he was with a group, especially glad that Gladys the Giant was leaving the club with them. One whack of his handbag would put the bearded slimeball into orbit.

Outside on the pavement, the group stood chatting in the gray dawn light, waiting for Daphne, who was resting on the nightclub steps to muster up the energy to walk to a taxi line. Neil kept hopping nervously from one foot to the other, anxiously keeping a lookout for people he knew. Then Gladys spoke to him for the first time. “Happy birthday, sweetie,” he said, stooping down awkwardly to peck Neil on the cheek.

“Thanks.” Neil felt himself blushing. His world was going crazy.

“Tell me, is my makeup a mess?” Gladys asked, stooping down to Neil’s level again. Neil tried to act casually while he examined the giant’s face.

“Nah, it’s not too bad,” he lied. The makeup looked comical, it was smudged so badly. And dawn’s bristle was beginning to spike its way through the mushy brown paste.

“Let’s see.” Jackie arrived at Neil’s side. “Gladys, it’s a mess!” she shrieked after her cursory examination. “You can’t rely on these men,” she added, pushing Neil away.

Gladys opened his large handbag and produced his emergency makeup kit. While Jackie was reapplying his makeup, a police car prowled slowly past. Before Neil had time to hide behind Gladys, he saw Penelope and the police officer driving the car exchange friendly waves.

“They look after us,” Penelope explained. Neil was flabbergasted.

“I love a man in uniform,” Daphne muttered weakly from the steps. Neil glanced around and was surprised at how wretched Daphne looked. His frail body seemed to lie in a crumpled heap like a puppet without its strings. All normal sprightliness had disappeared. Daphne met Neil’s stare and Neil averted his eyes in embarrassment. In that momentary encounter Neil had seen a frightened, almost pleading, look in Daphne’s dark eyes.

Soon after, a taxi swung around the corner, and Redser jumped out onto the road to flag it down.

“We’ll take this poor fellow home with us,” Gladys said, draping his huge arm around Daphne and tenderly lifting him to his feet. To Neil’s surprise the taxi driver didn’t bat an eyelid as the strange cortege of passengers piled into the backseat.

After they had said their good-byes to Dave and Redser, Neil, Jackie, and Liam walked arm-in-arm down Baggot Street, with the two lads swinging Jackie up into the air. Then another thought occurred to him; his dad would be going to work on the very same street in a matter of hours in order to earn the money to keep Jackie and himself in the lifestyle they had become accustomed to.

“C’mon, Gladys, will you hurry up?” Jackie shouted to Neil.

“Be quiet, you, Penelope,” came Neil’s Daphne imitation.

“
We are family, I’ve got all my sisters with me
,” Liam sang, and Neil and Jackie soon joined in. Their impromptu singsong attracted some funny looks from the few passersby. The rising sun was now beginning to crawl slowly up into the sky, coloring the pavements and the buildings with its crimson rays. Milk trucks and bread vans whirred past them. Birds fluttered and squawked overhead. A single magpie alighted on a nearby tree. Probably the only magpie in Dublin that’s up and about, Neil thought, but he was too tired to point it out to the others and maybe share the sorrow. Although he did search in vain for the magpie’s soul mate.

Gary’s mother and another neighbor, Mrs. Burke, were having coffee with his mum when Neil arrived home the following morning. The throbbing nightclub music was still ringing in his ears.

“Here’s the wandering minstrel now,” Mrs. Burke said, and Neil gave the visitors his fake grin.

“How did last night go?” his mum asked.

“Great,” Neil said, wondering how his mum’s friends would react if he told them about the sleazy nightclub. That’d wipe those nosy smiles off their faces. Then, of course, the moment he left the room, the inquisition would begin. “Where was he last night, Catherine? He stayed in Jackie’s friend’s flat. Michelle?” “That’s right.” The two neighborhood gossips would exchange doubtful glances. “He has a new girlfriend, hasn’t he?” Gary’s mum would remark innocently, all the time aware of Becky’s entanglement with a married man. And, of course, his mum would play along, delighted that everyone thought Becky was her little boy’s girlfriend, but of course she knew the truth. She must know, Neil thought for the millionth time that month, she’s my mother and mothers know these things.

“Show us the new watch,” Mrs. Kelly grabbed hold of Neil’s wrist, and she and Mrs. Burke expressed their approval.

“Oh, the real McCoy.”

“Looks very expensive.”

“That man phoned for you again, Neil,” his mum said.

Neil looked puzzled.

“About the summer job.”

“Oh yeah,” Neil poured himself a glass of water, turning his back on the ladies to conceal his unease.

“Has he got a job?” Mrs. Kelly asked, cocking her thumb toward Neil.

“Your Gary fixed it up for him,” his mum told her.

“Gary did?” Mrs. Kelly nearly choked on her cream bun.

Neil closed his eyes in anguish. He could feel Mrs. Kelly’s puzzled eyes burning into his back. Of course she was puzzled. Gary hadn’t got a summer job for himself, so what was he doing fixing his pals up with jobs? He’d have to get hold of Gary and arrange some story, Neil thought, resolving to put an end to his litany of lies.

“When did he ring?” he asked, deliberately steering the conversation away from Gary.

“This morning,” his mum replied.

“He must really want you,” Mrs. Burke added.

You said it, Mrs. B.
, Neil thought.
You said it, babe.

“You better phone him before he gives the job to someone else,” his mum said. “And remember to be polite.”

Neil was going to phone him, all right, but he was going to be anything but polite.

“What type of job is it, Neil?” Mrs. Kelly asked.

“Ah, just an office job,” he muttered, sliding toward the door.

“So you’re alone here for the summer then,” Mrs. Kelly added, stalling his escape.

“Yeah,” Neil said, lingering at the door, presuming that she was referring to Jackie’s departure to Amsterdam.

“Isn’t she one of the McGanns from off Booterstown Avenue?”

Neil hesitated for a moment. His mum was purposely avoiding his searching look.

“Becky?” he said eventually.

Mrs. Kelly nodded, her steely eyes unflinching, her lips set in a doubting sneer. Neil imagined her in a Nazi uniform.
Sieg heil! Salute Frau Goose-Step Kelly. Why do you want to know these things, Frau Goose-Step? Know what you are? You’re a vulture, feeding off the pain of an emotionally crippled boy
.
Is it just because I’m going to get better final grades than your son? Or because I got on the rugby team and he didn’t? Or simply because I’m better looking than he is?

“Well, she lives just off Booterstown Avenue, so I presume that makes her one of the McGanns who live off Booterstown Avenue,” Neil said. His mum and Mrs. Burke laughed, but Frau Goose-Step Kelly was not amused. Neil ducked out of the room before she had time to continue her inquisition.

Upstairs, in the sanctuary of his bedroom, Neil scrutinized the personal ads in
Hot Press
while “Am I Not Your Girl?” blared from his boom box.
Bizarre incorporated
, he thought, reading through the ads. He remembered how he used to laugh at them in school with the others, while privately, of course, they fascinated and excited him. “Older man looking for younger guy.”

“Definitely Uncle Sugar,” he muttered aloud. Then he saw it. “Gay guy, 22, good-looking, own pad, looking to meet similar age or younger. Interests include theater, cinema, music, sports, and long evenings of passion.” He printed his reply and signed it “Ian.” The phone number in Stillorgan was all he needed now.

Downstairs, the front door closed, signaling the end of his mum’s coffee morning. A minute later his bedroom door opened and his mum came in.

“Any dirty clothes? I’m going to start the wash.”

“Yeah, could you put this shirt in?” Neil said, wincing from the whiff of smoke as he pulled his shirt over his head.

“Who’s Ian?” His mum was twisting her head around to read his
Hot Press
reply.

“Mum, that’s private!” Neil snapped, snatching the letter quickly and shoving it into his pocket.

His mum smiled as she checked the pockets of his shirt. Neil sighed with relief. She obviously hadn’t had time to read the contents of his letter.

“Shaft? What’s that?” she asked, reading from a scrap of paper she had found in his shirt pocket. Neil felt his face turning bright crimson.

“Ah, it’s just a place Jackie, Liam, and I went to last night,” he replied, trying his best to sound casual.

“What is it? A film?”

“Nah, a nightclub.”

“I’ve never heard of it.” His mum furrowed her brow. “Is it on Leeson Street?”

“Yeah,” Neil said, bending down to take a white T-shirt from his drawer. He couldn’t let his mum see his face; she’d know immediately that he was lying. “I’m sure they change the names of those nightclubs once a week.”

“And you’re the fellow who wonders why he’s always short of money.”

“It was my birthday, Mum.”

“I’m only kidding you,” she said, leaving the nightclub entrance receipt down on his table. “Well, did you have a good night?”

“Yeah, great.”

“A couple of people phoned for you.”

“Who?”