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excerpt

All rights reserved Titus Forbes Adam 2007
Draft 19
June 07
Millennium Hamlet
or
I AM THAT I AM, I AM WHO?
It is the tragedy of a man who could not make up his mind
Lawrence Oliver introducing his film of Hamlet
Titus Adam
98 Glenarm Rd,
London E5 0na
07733003524
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
1
First Day
March 15th 2002
Where are you?
O gawd.
Toe beee…
To be…
That voice
Where are you?
Again.
Feel like shit.
Who are you?
Don’t listen.
Write.
To be?
Or not.
Read
Turn over the page.
2
I AM THAT I AM…at the beginning
Am I ?
And the End..
And I took my stand on the seashore
Then I saw a beast emerge from the sea: it had seven
heads and ten horns, with a coronet on each of its ten
horns, and its heads were marked with blasphemous
titles….
Is it?
Oh Gawd more bollocks, the man sighed. More copying. The
window rattled again; a harsh wind outside buffeted the
little house on the cliff. Trying to work it out…
Toby? To be? Toe Bee? Where are you? Was it from outside
or inside his head? Toby had got used to hearing these
voices in and around him, the choir to his Condition he
called it, a product of the pressure on his brain; that brain,
3
did it hold the core, the essence, or was it in his heart and
what was that exactly? You can think with your heart, same
cells Tina’s Professor had said, but did that make any
difference? And which one was the truth?
..There is a deep hole in your being like an abyss. You will
never succeed in filling that hole, because your needs are
inexhaustible. You have to work around it so that gradually
the abyss closes…
Another book, another gay priest, another gap longing to be
filled. Did his brain, or heart, hold anything original? The
Gap, he knew all about that now but it had taken him a
lifetime to find out?
To be or not to be he mouthed, that is the question, to be
or not to be and he listened for an answer. More wind,
waves and the low murmuring of a song, muffled, as if
coming through a wall beyond his own... I love you I love
you with all my heart I love you... No, he didn’t, but why
couldn’t he? …The minds battle to deceive itself with all its
insidious tricks and strategies can be fully appreciated only
by… More self help, Addiction and Grace spread on top of
his own script Millennium Hamlet draft42, … those who play
out, on an extreme scale, a drama that all human beings
4
experience more subtly and more covertly...scraps of
quotes beneath 'For there is nothing either good or bad, but
thinking makes it so'… O Gawd, did he have to, more self
searching, couldn’t he just live?
Toe beeeee toobee toby where are you another voice
buffeting around the cove hitting the cliff then coming back
again towards her Whark Whark Whark.. the gulls urgent
calling mixed with a womans cracked voice, Toe beeeee
toobee black scarf flaying around her head, a silhouetted
noose tightening her screams out to sea… toe bee…toe
beee. Then she stopped, suddenly, turned back to the
caves and started to call again tooe bee too into their
gaping echoing mouths Where are you Toby? I am here
Where are you?
that is the…..? He was sick of the question, sick of the
copying, his head a tinnitus vice continually squeezing and
it felt like nothing was going to shift, it’s whine and he’d
have to endure it forever? …tis nobler in the mind to suffer
the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune the quote didn’t
help or take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing
end them. To die...To die. What did it mean, to die,
5
exactly?...to sleep, and by a sleep to say we end the
heartache… The heart, but what about the head? His
fucking aching head.
Whark Whark, Whark Whark… On the sheds corrugated roof
gulls stood at the edge, a pair almost touching he wrote, it
must be love he thought, his head cradled in his hand as he
continued to scrawl Impossibility of Love. Living lie. Truth.
No history. Leave or not to? End of? He crossed that out
and then pushing so hard on the pen it broke the foolscap.
It is as it is. Is not it. I am who is. I am that. I am who
am, Who am I?... ‘Oh God’, and he screwed it up and threw
it away onto the rest discarded.
Beyond the shed was the cliff and then the drop, foam and
waves rushing back and forth over the rocks. A drop into
the darkness, into the Abyss they might have called it when
the house was built. God that was a shit movie; Dark Abyss
2 the last part he’d auditioned for before it had all gone tits
up, couldn’t even get the cameo of the Evil Pissed Brit...
‘the Guys a loser’ ‘emotional problems you know’, ‘Forget it
Maggie he’s a lush..’ The memory blew a vacuum into his
lower bowel and he felt them loosen. No, not now, hold On.
6
No, don’t. Not now, let it go, the memory, the past. No,
hold on. Oh Shit. God.
A red streak high up on the horizon and a bundle on the
walkers back, a baby perhaps. Where was his and he stared
out across the cove. A flock of black birds was flying from
promontory to promontory around the bay, jackdaws
wheeling between caves like homeless bats trying to get a
bearing. The rockface was laced with the white dots of birds
nesting or beginning to, others gliding in helixes and one
breaking away flapping frantically as if coming to land,
losing all elegance in not quite making it, then swooping
down again toward the charging changing sea? Why did the
gulls sitting on the cliff make an almost perfect circle? He
felt he was watching some secret mystery unfold ancient
rituals ending Winter, a riddle the answer to which was
almost within his grasp, the birds forming patterns
predetermined by arrangements to each other and to the
land and elements they were within, precise and exact,
somehow vital in allowing the beginning of Spring.
Yes, no, he’d get this role right for sure though, end of. It
would be perfect and he saw the body splayed there,
7
another made-for-TV movie quick and easily done. No, it
wasn’t enough, he wanted no remnant of himself left,
nothing, Empty Trash, then DELETE, all gone. It was
impossible he knew now. ‘You can’t’, some IT geek had told
him inside of Infinity, before the redundancy and collapse,
‘The hard disk retains the imprint of all information it has
ever had’, he’d said, ‘always, forever, unless you had the
right tool and special knowledge’ the Nerd had grinned,
‘that’s how we catch the peados and the cheats and believe
me that’s how they’ll nail you at the finale’.
He didn’t want to think about it, the past, he had bigger
things to think out. To be? to live at all, in fact that was the
question, his life one big question mark now. One loss after
another, a waste, the suicide would simply be a
confirmation of that, the fact that his life had been already
lost, Keep it simple they said. Surrender, that’s what they’d
told him in the Crypt at the start of his so called Recovery,
but he’d never known what they’d meant. Hand it over. Let
go, Let God. But when he did want to, finally, he didn’t
know how to, his mind just couldn’t, had to cling onto,
instinctual. Thy will be done not mind, but all he’ d ended
up with was no will at all, deep down inside him, to live.
8
Grace, they said, would come, like that time and his little
bit of Peace, but he couldn’t keep hold of it and he couldn’t
see how he could in this World. The World the Flesh and the
Devil they said and he thought he knew what the Devil was
at least the voice on his shoulder that whine telling him that
he didn’t deserve to, go on you piece of shit go on and he
just couldn’t hear the other one he knew was there, Go
well, the Advocate that was supposedly telling him that
everything was going to be alright and in fact, he was
totally loved. No, fuck it he was damned, it was too late and
anyway this would be a real surrender anyway, the ultimate
one, wouldn’t it?
..for who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the
oppressors wrong, the pangs of deprized love...Exactly and
in fact, it was funny in the end, the Samaritans was what
had done him in, the rejection of those wide-eyed people
making him completely inarticulate, making him feel
doomed to be bad. ‘Sorry we don’t feel it’s for you. Perhaps
fundraising, use your celebrity past’. Bitch. ‘Tell me your
worst emotional pain’ the smokers rasp of the little woman
had insisted and he’d felt cheated that, after he had told
her about Tina and all his dead babies, she was telling him
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they didn’t want his help, he wasn’t even good enough to
listen to the fuck ups of other people. ‘OK Nevermind’ he
had grunted, ‘C’est la Vie’ he’d said leaving the ash tray
room walls laden with self help. ‘Good Luck’ the smoking
midget had chirruped, patting him hard on the back. Cunt.
..to sweat and grunt under a weary life but that the dread
of something after death... Yeah, good luck, he thought,
staring down at the waves flinging themselves against the
breakwater. One step at a time they said, and it was, one
step just stepping over with nothing to step onto, then
down, down, a brief moment of flight almost into, and
then..What?…the undiscovered country from whose bourn
no traveler returns... Perhaps he’d see his life go before
him first, perhaps that was what he was frightened of,
those dreams, when we have shuffled off this mortal
coil…there’s the rub, the full horror of it his life unlived, the
calamity replayed, of waste imploding and then just before
the final darkness…what then? Would he see the light
behind the grey as her mother had hoped for before she’d
gone? Doubt it.… and makes us rather bears those ills we
know than fly to others we know not of… No, and Yes, No.
But how had it happened? He couldn’t make up his mind,
10
he needed to walk, to work it out, to ask, to pray? That’s
what they’d’ said you should do, pray but how do you? The
life, his life, all that promise was so heavy now, a weight
that at last was going to pull him over, finally, to be or not…
Who gives a fuck?
All gone.
Trash.
Delete.
The rest is silence.
So there.
11
PART ONE
The Virtual Nightclub
1994-1998
But to worship our false selves is to worship nothing.
And the worship of nothing is hell.
Thomas Merton
12
1.
15/3/94
Celebrity is a mask that eats the face..
John Updike
TICKLE AND TANIA, THE NEW RICH AND LIZ?
Compellingly real as Young Hitler in Shame
EXCITEMENT OVER NEW BRIT TALENT
The Man in the shiny Mac was remembering his old credits
as he moved through the shadows avoiding the crowd
looking at his reflection in the plate glass window of the art
house cinema just off Leicester Square. It was getting dark
and Soho was filling up with night people, draining itself of
the visitors from the day. Pavements and stairwells were
busy with characters trading roles and the air was full of
purpose, relief and doubt.
THE NEW BURTON
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Toby Tickle, Evening Standard Newcomer of the Year1984
for his electrifying portrayal of Hamlet, the most thrilling
debut since Richard Burtons…
To be or not to be...whether to be an actor twat or a
salesman prat selling the suckers shite? ‘Excuse me’. Toby,
lost in his muttering, had bumped into someone coming up
the stairs. A full head of hair, fair and bright blues eyes
smiling fresh out of LAMDA, the younger man asked politely
‘Sorry is this the way to the casting’? ‘Next floor mate’
snarled Toby. ‘Thanks a lot’ and the would-be star bounded
upstairs. ‘Fucking actor’ snapped the balding has-been in
his variegated Mac, ‘little lamb brought to the slaughter’ he
added fumbling for his fags. He felt sick again.
SHAME..Tickle makes Young Adolf horribly attractive
The Indie Brit Flick a hit and then Hollywood, then the coke
and the drinking, acting the headlines rather than the
script, being the new Richard and Liz and he just couldn’t
keep, or get it, up anymore and Tania had gone crazy,
pregnant and mad
TnT- ANOTHER EXPLOSION
ABORTION RUMOURS
And it had got really scary…
14
PRO LIFE CHRISTIANS PICKETT PREMIERE
Ill, fucked, unable relegated to the Enquirer...
ANOTHER BABY ANOTHER TANTRUM
HAS TOBY LOST IT COMPLETELY?
Tickle who? Oh yeah, that guy. Gotta pass, he’s blown it, a
goddam loser, gethiminrehabfast and the great new star,
Toby Tickle, burnt out before shining. Seven years ago,
since the last part. Six months and you’re forgotten, even
the booze ads had dried up, as he had, or tried to, thrice.
Toby couldn’t avoid catching a glimmer of his pallid face in
one of the photographs going up to Spotlight, the Casting
place, Alec Guinness, the young Alec Guinness so confident,
self assured in his talent, Tobys face flabby against the
great actors sharp black and white features. O Gawd he
needed to get back to it, that sense of wholeness he once
had, of being OK just there, alive, energy open ended: IAM
Nothing, Your Are everything I am you, so I am
everything.. It was so clear back then, Rajnessh India and
the 70s nothing foreign and the sadhus showing him how to
clean himself , three dips in Benares and he didn’t even get
15
ill it was OK then, no fear. Yeah I need, I must, I should.
I’ve got to get it, it again.
Fuck Hamlet, fuck acting, he needed a proper job now, a
real job, ‘Actor me? No longer, I’m saved’ he’d been saying
since the last visit to the Crypt, but secretly he knew he
didn’t have a choice. Like Adam, once the apple is bitten,
once the applause leaves you wanting more, once an actor
always an actor for there is no original self left to go back
to, the innocence is shot and everything’s an act and that’s
how it is, was, and forever shall be. O Gawd but what was
he going to pretend to do next? He had Millennium Hamlet
his biop, do a book if not the film, but did the World really
need another rush rehab rehash and probably need a ghost
to do it, maybe he should ask Dad. Oh Gawd, that fucker
Frederick, why did he cheat him and Mum too, the loan for
the Costa development, the affair, the crashing of post
India ideal, no wonder the Old man drank himself to death
and the son had tried to too..
‘Fuck that, writings a mugs game.Need something with
some spondoolies attached something to get you ahead of
the game, Tina kidz and all that shit’ grinned the bloke with
16
the goatee and shiny hair five minutes later in the office
above Spotlights rehearsal suite. ‘You’re made for this
Mate, what with your top notch Bullshit talent, acting and
that, selling and Ent' mixed, perfect’ Mr. Recruiter
continued, ‘Virtual Reality, its the latest hippest cutting
edge piece of arty motherfucker shit you’ve ever seen, it’ll
blow your mind away – I’m telling you this fucker is the
killer app’ and he ran out of breath, grinning and leant back
into his chair to let the significant pause rest.
‘Any money yet?’ Toby had to ask, even though it made
him look a bit desperate, ‘ I’ve got a number of investments
still on the west coast’ he’d explained earlier although the
only investment he actually had now was in Tina and she
was beginning to get panicky Tickle having worked through
to the limit of her American Express ‘Yeah heaps, loads of...
This is the big Millennium play innit it, the earlier you get in
the bigger the pot at the end. Right? Simple really. All
you’ve got to do is allow yourself to dream and believe it,
Faith mate that’s what’s is about, end of the rainbow and all
that crap’ said Saul, slowing down and then adding, his
voice an octave lower, ‘It’s a massive opportunity and I’m
offering it to you, exclusively now.’ Another pause. ‘If you
17
got the cohonies of course.’ the bossman concluded, ‘The
bollocks?’, putting his hands behind his head, newly dyed
incisors shining brightly. ‘Look, if you cant make up your
mind mate come in for a trial, two or three weeks and here
mate, in the meantime take her some of this,’ Saul said,
pressing something into Toby’s grip ‘Should make things
cushty between you and the bird for now right anyhow, I
know Tinas partial to a bit of spliff’ and Toby saw he was
holding a little chunk of black hash. I shouldn’t he thought,
it’d be a relapse technically, not very on the programme,
and besides it’ll make me obliged to this dodgy flash git.
He’d told Gwen, his 12 step counselor at the rehab, that
he’d keep away from temptation after the Crypt; clean
house, clean environment, clean mind, but fuck it, it was
for Tina anyhow. Either way Toby felt uneasy, don’t pick up
the first fix and this guy was really pushy and Toby
wondered what time the NA meeting at the Notre Dame
next door was at?
‘For fucks sake’, a skinny skinhead poked round the door
snarling, do you want to look at this thing or what?’ ‘Yeah
sure Jase. Look, here’s the great Tickle you know, Toby.
What was it called? Spit, no Shame that was it wasn’t it?
18
Old Adolf, I mean when he was young, just a little shaven
headed git with a chip on his shoulder if I recall it, not that
I’m making any comparison that is Jase’. The man at the
door looked more like a concentration victim rather than
dictator, accept for the unblinking self belief in his glaring
eyes. ‘Either come and see it now or not’ Jason snapped,
making it clear that everyone else was wasting his time, he
being the only one who actually knew how any of this shit
worked.
‘The idea’, said Jason a few minutes later, sat in the dark
his head a huge silhouette on top of his tiny body in front of
the PC Screen, ‘the idea is to create a space where you can
interact. Look’ he commanded his spiky hands clicking on
the mouse. It was an abstract of brightly coloured Dogs set
in a 3d gallery. ‘Look now’ and the cursor clicked again and
it changed into a little white hand as it went over one of the
dogs, click, which then turned into a rabbit. Jasons snarl
melded into a maniac smile as he dragged the rabbit onto
one of the other dogs and then click, ‘Look now, quick’, the
animal had started copulating like a see saw up and down
and then there were twenty little dogs cum rabbits,
mutants squirming, yapping and copulating simultaneously,
19
at it all of the all time, ‘fuckyfuckyfuckfuckfuck’ sniggered
Jason almost frothing, ‘The end game is to fill up all the
blank space. Who fills up the blank spaces fastest with the
fucking wins but the Rule is that Dogs can only fuck one
Rabbit at a time fuckyfuckyfuck heh’ said the little man
eyes brights with excitement ‘Who let the dogs out heh?’
folding up into a spitting sniggering again.
‘Why?’ asked Toby. ‘It’s a game innit’ said Jason suddenly
loosing patience, like the Nazi with the retarded child in
Shame, ‘because its fucking FUN isn’t it’. ‘Oh. Is that it
then? Interacting?’ ‘What?’ ‘The fucking, or the dragging, or
both?’ tried Tickle. ‘Look, you cunt, it’s a game, that’s the
point’ snapped Jason, ‘What about people?’ asked Tickle
‘What do you mean, People? snarled Jason as if insulted.
‘Oh you mean users?’ ‘Eer yeah Users’. User; the word was
a bit brutal, Toby’d never heard it used like that before.
Thatcher had turned everyone into clients or customers or
consumers but here with Jason the word Users somehow
seemed to fit. ‘Well we’ll put them in later of course’ sighed
Jason, as if resigned to the irritating need for the replication
of humans, which the technology hadn’t quite cracked, yet.
‘So Tickle,’ Jason went into interrogation mode, fed up with
20
having to talk to this guy who didn’t even know anything
about video games, ‘Why are you here? What’s your role,
what do you actually do?’ Jason insisted, wondering if the
shister Saul was trying to shaft him somehow, ‘What is the
added value you are bringing to the project?’ ‘Errr... this
and that’ replied Toby ‘Err... I’d better go and catch Saul
before he goes, err... Thanks, see you later’. Toby didn’t
like talking about his career, or lack of it, particularly with
the likes of Jason, obviously one of the Driven, on his
Highway to Stardom career clear, while Toby was down
some slip road vaguely lost.
‘Oh Gawd… What the fuck did he do?’ he thought stuck
there in the corridor ‘Failed actor. It was the worst label,
the one he was desperately avoiding being stuck to, like
being a nothing of a nothing in a nothing, nought, nil. Oh
Gawd, he really needed to be something, someone definite
now, a proper person as Tina called it, something real not
fantasy. ‘Eat Tickle for fucks sake, eat, get grounded’ Tina’d
said when they’d first met, him pissed having not eaten for
a year. ‘We gotta eat’ she’d said a year later, ‘go 9 to 5, get
into business’ she had said, ‘not dodgy, straight, real, a
jobjob PAYE a foundation so we can sort out where to go to
21
next’. Yes, the comeback plan, Millennium Hamlet the
screenplay in development, a story about a celebritys
triumph over addiction depression and disgrace, Toby
Tickle, writer, director, star and.. ‘Yeah right Toby but we
gotta eat, a place for the Baby’ ‘OK’, he’d promised
‘Something real, solid, believe me I will’ and looking down
he saw his shoes were fucked again, the sole breaking
away beneath, leaving two of his toes almost exposed.
Through the window 8000 feet up, 8000 miles Westward, a
Hawk was moving in a slow circle high in the blue lightening
as the sun began to break the horizons dark. A jet stream
sliced open the sky, its vapour trail becoming a high cloud
smudging pink behind it. A rattlesnake stirred in the
undergrowth of the mountain scrub barely visible against
the stone. A Colorado Shrew scurried about between holes
moving as fast as a blur. High up the eagle saw it, a flick of
red in the green, but before it could dive the little rodent
had disappeared, swallowed by the snake in a single strike
of its neck. No scuffle, no cry came from behind the dark
tinted window, the only sound being the faint whirr of the
Intel hard drive and a click of a Mouse nosing through the
22
list of close-of-play Nikkei trading lines.
‘Twenty five years from now, when you look out of the
window, what you see may be 5000 miles and six timezones away’ It was April 1st 1994 and two weeks later Toby
was reading a draft of some US professors take on Being
Digital. Research he called it, although it felt like being in
limbo, at least it got Tina off his back and he had a nice big
offices with the London skyline spread before him which
made him feel he’d arrived in the real world, new executive
developing
Virtual Reality at the cutting edge at the
forefront, the Millennium blah blah or whatever Saul his
sort of boss kept saying...
‘Hello there, Saul said to give you this’, a chirrupy voice
said. It was a short big bosomed women all neat smiling
with a brunette bob coming up really close to him so he
couldn’t help looking into the darkening of crevice in her
chest. ‘I’m Janice, by the way Saul’s PA and general
dogsbody you know. Just let me know if you need anything
eh. Bye for now’ and Toby nodded not wanting to feel as
shy as he did, as it didn’t fit the part of the super confident
23
multimedia
exec.
It
felt
good
really,
the
suite,
the
secretary, the research, but he wasn’t sure whether to take
the job or not as it meant putting Millennium Hamlet on
hold, his comeback but at least Tina would be happy which
meant she’d keep him sweet, you know fuckyfuck, the final
fix he knew he had to keep. He must decide very soon, a
week before end of trial period, and no money. To be a
businessman or not to be a.. ? He resumed what he
thought was a senior media guru like pose and made the
important decision to have another cigarette, or maybe
even a spliff. No, just …
‘You were in Scratch weren’t you, I mean Shame,’ Janice
blushing head was inside the door again, ‘it was you wasn’t
it? My friend Denise loved that. Really fancied you she did.
Don’t know if she’s got a thing about Nazis but she’s sure
living with one now. I liked it too, bit scary though’ and
then she added coyly ‘Sorry to hear about the problems.
Read it in The Screws but we all know most of its all made
up.’ she said consoling, and then, after a breath she asked
directly ‘ So why did you stop then, acting I mean?’ O Gawd
Toby felt angry, too resentful that his cover had been blown
here to answer and Janice, seeing his discomfort, quickly
24
backed off. ‘Don’t worry; it will sort itself out’ she said with
a real chirpy smile which despite himself, cheered Toby up
a little bit. ‘Doesn’t matter in the end does it? Cheery
byeee...ooh I almost forget’ said Janice laughing ‘Saul told
me to give you this Tar Tar’
MORTON THOMAS VENTURE DEVELOPMENT –
Interactive Media Next Generation Entertainment
Medium.
The dossier had the title stamped on each page with a
HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL below in a box, in faint red caps. It
made Toby feel quite important strangely, a real live bank
document the secret plan from another, more real world
and Toby stroked its mock velvet cover. Wall St, leaning
casually against one of the Corinthian columns for
CNNWORLD BIZ TV ‘Yah I’ve moved into production, very
avant-garde, no more film,, create entire immersive
realities -now instead’ Ahh, America, Money, Empire;
maybe with the big banks behind it like MT, this Virtual
Nightclub thing wasn’t dodgy at all despite Saul and these
crisp white papers still hot from the photocopier were going
to be his green card to solvency back to the high table of
AA credit rating, redeemed at last, back from the abyss of
debt and being poor? Ha-ha, that’s right Debbie VR is the
25
coming thing, set to replace 2D completely in film, in
everything …
He looked down at the bank document as if
it was a new screenplay…
One business cycle is defined as a period of economic decline or a contraction followed by a
longer expansionary period.
These cycles occur at regular intervals in a market economy as the rate of real economic growth
exceeds the growth in the potential of the economy to produce goods and services.
Recessions may also occur or be prolonged as consumers and producers become more
pessimistic about future economic events. This pessimism may lead to a decline in both
consumption and investment spending resulting in an increase in inventory levels.
Some economists believe that business cycles are combinations of 50 year "long waves" of
economic activity and 7 year short waves occurring from short-term over expansion as defined
above. These long waves or Kondratieff waves occur due to the presence and eventual
saturation of broad investment opportunities.
The fifty to fifty-four year cycle of catastrophe and renewal had been known and observed by the
Mayans of Central America and independently by the ancient Israelites. Kondratieff's
observations represent the modern expression of this cycle, which postulates that capitalist
countries tend to follow the long rhythmic pattern of approximately half a century.
26
And it made him feel good, yes he was coming out of his
trough expanding moving again towards a peak... Ha-ha,
that’s right Debbie, we are definitely in the Kondratieff
expansionary stage...
TICKLE THE COMEBACK KING
PIONEERING ENTREPRENEUR INVENTOR OF NEW REALITY
TOBY REDEEMED AGAIN
Toby turned away from his imaginary interview and looked
out the window at the London Skyline. The Post Office, no it
was the BT Tower now and lots of big cranes to the right,
the City expanding over in the East. The Big Bang had
happened and now it was the time for the Millennium Play.
The Americans had come and more were on their way, no
more jolly good chap but fast-mouthed dealers from New
Jersey aped by the Essex Gang and here he was in his own
huge office watching over them, getting ready to play the
Big Boys game. It felt good, like the beginning of getting a
new part in the old days. ‘…we expect that the uptake of
the new digital platform to be explosive, growing
exponentially…’ Tickle mouthed the words from the Morton
Thomas report his new script, patrician, confident, assured.
27
IT, information technology, (Toby had always wondered
what it meant) has an installed base of PCs beyond 50%
per capita in developed economies and now the mission,
the bank told him, is to make the key application to
stimulate uptake of the new multimedia interactive
entertainment platform on a mass scale, as the talkies did
for movies and movies did for TV, the catalyst for mass
market penetration, the so called Killer Application, the
Killer App…‘the fucker was what Saul called it and like Users
it didn’t sound very nice, what it was going to do to the
Users, the people and Toby suddenly became aware of a jet
roaring above him closer it seemed than it should be and he
felt all cold, shivering and oddly alone.
Fly Higher with BarAir… the smoke melded with the apricot
grey of the Soho sunset as a few minutes later Toby looked
out from the office balcony at the huge airship floating
above the City. Shit he shouldn’t have, but it was only a
little spliff. The red balloon was Barry Reddots, the
superhero businessman, Bartones CEO the great salesman
of the cheesy grin. Selling, even the idea of it made Tickle
feel queasy. Was this it then? the real world, the real deal,
the real Real, the place of jobjobs and PAYE. It felt weird.
28
Odd, but it must be real he told himself, because Money
said so and for the first time for long time he sensed he
was becoming part of something much larger than himself,
the Money was deadly serious and this Virtual Reality must
be real because the Money said so and it felt that the
Money beginning to talk directly to him.
Honesty is Key to recovery Gwen always said so, and selling
was not too good for that, but fuck, he needed the money
quick in order to nail Tina down with a Baby and a house
and then with enough in the bank he could get back on with
Millennium Hamlet and his great Comeback Plan. Yeah,
maybe the Killer App would do it for him. ‘… the interactive
media market is projected to be worth 3 trillion dollars by
the year 2000’. Kondriefff said it was all Up and Down, like
his whole life really, a roller coaster and he needed
something to get him back on top, he needed to follow the
Money then get out ahead, he needed to buy some time to
get better again and Toby took another a big drag of his
Spliff and stared down into Lisle Street as the sky turned
red as if the Bartone Balloon had smudged onto the
gathering grey. Above the restaurants right along the street
29
on the top floors he could see Mahjong games going on,
like silent movies, men making violent gestures but none of
their screeches could be heard and Tickle almost smelt the
sweat and old frying fat as they played all intent focused on
the gambling blocks before them. Just get a proper job a
job, job, 9 to 5 that’s what’s a family needs, Tinas nagging
voice was ricocheting above the traffic prodding him to say
No to Saul, or was it Yes? He needed to decide but he
couldn’t, he didn’t trust himself one way or the other.
A belly floating in a hot sea, a white dot in the deep purple
a gentle sloshing of waters amid suspicions of a shark... Did
he fall? Was he pushed? Or did he just launch himself into
waters, free at last? ‘Remember my lads, you only loose
your confidence once’, Tickle couldn’t get it out of his head
Maxwells edict heard 30 years ago on that Seventies School
Speech day. Everyone had been kept waiting in the blustery
wind particularly chill for May and then the helicopter
arriving, thick pin stripes bluff and beery, ‘Remember my
lads; you only loose your confidence once’. Was it true?
Toby was terrified it was. He hadn’t got his back despite the
Rehab, No, he hadn’t really ‘recovered’ he just felt
ashamed; the spiritual shit of the Programme Be true to
30
thine self just made him feel frightened, let go and let god,
that’s all very well but you try it when you’ve got fuck all to
fall back on. No, he needed some fucking Money first, get
his defenses in place before exposing himself, he needed to
get on back into the Game, the hustle and the bustle of
doing something more defined, a target to aim at, a goal to
get to and suddenly certain, or forcing himself to be so,
Gwens honesty suspended Toby took another big lungful of
Hash. Fuck Recovery, fuck God and fuck it, Ill sign up to
this shit, he whispered to himself, get into this Virtual
Reality, be a pioneer, believe the dream, have the bollocks
and make a new life. Yeah, it was time for a real change, a
really new act, the Big Bang Big Man businessman,
anything was possible he told himself, it was the beginning
of a new era a new film a new life and trying to look cool a
al Michael Douglas he flicked back his hair he didn’t have
and flicked away the butt end of the spliff spiraling down
like a sycamore seed, narrowly missing a Chinese schoolgirl
hurrying home before it hit the ground. Yeah that’s it- here
we go, this is it, it in IT,
TOBY TICKLE – BACK FROM THE DEAD
The Virtual Reality King
31
2.
I hold this to the highest task of a bond between two
people: that each should stand guard over the solitude of
the other
Rilke
‘Come little Jacko, where are you’ the rabbit had got out
and Tina was looking under the sofa a piece of lettuce in
her hand. ‘Come on Jacko’, she was worried the cat would
have a go at him. ‘The poor thing was frightened, that’s
why it bit you,’ she’d told Toby that morning, ‘it’s scared,
it’s in an alien place, it just needs you to be gentle’, but
Tickle was always horrible to it, ‘I want to strangle the little
fucker,’ and Tina wondered if it was because he didn’t want
anything around that deflected attention away from himself.
Tossing actors, so self centred obsessed with themselves,
no room for any other unless on a high from loosing
themselves in somebody else; it had taken her an age to
suss that, but where did that leave her choice to have a
baby with him, the Prat.
32
It filled her will fear, the Baby because already in her mind
it was loss. The abortion, then the miscarriage with Lee her
first one had left her stranded for years, so circumspect
about even going near it again. She hadn’t wanted to get
one of the first one, but he’d insisted, we haven’t got the
dash, and he’d sad the same the second but she’d said fuck
him and then what. O gawd it still made her feel sick, the
loss the nothingness even though it was only after a month,
the expectation and the hope... And now Toby, she’d almost
interviewed him about it, for the job yeah yeah sure he’d
said, but can we go to bed and practice all charm and
bravado, but did he really, and since sober he wondered if
the guy had a screw loose anyway saying he wanted a baby
just not to loose her and face up to himself alone. He was a
big baby himself, couldn’t face up to his feeling s and the
inadequacies his addictions had left him with that he spent
most of his time getting away from it in his own head.
Projection, just after Perversion, her new book, A-Z to
Counseling had told her that’s what it was - ‘a psychological
defense mechanism whereby one "projects" one's own
undesirable thoughts, motivations, desires, feelings—onto
someone else’. He said he wanted one, a baby, but perhaps
33
it was the idea of it rather than the actual thing, he couldn’t
even take responsibility for himself, spoilt brat. Wanker,
thats what he was, always creating his own drama even if it
strangled himself, like that silly MP had done yesterday on
the News. A sexual partner may or may not be involved in
the act, however, if one is excluded the practice can be
referred to as autoerotic asphyxiation or scarfing the book
had said. For Toby it seemed work, mortgage, bills
everything was an inconvenience for him, rather than the
point of living-it was life for fucks sake, as she kept on
telling him until her voice was sore.
Tina felt herself stiffen. She could do it, Life, by herself,
both the career and the Baby and she didn’t need a fucking
bloke. Thatcher had taught her that and Mum doing it all
single-handed thirty years previously after Dad had fucked
off, in the end self reliance was the only way, without
sloppy Dads about. But no, Tina was damned if she was
going to put her child through that, all that she had lacked.
No, she was going to have a proper Sunday Supplement
nuclear family whatever happens, Day in the Life of,
Breakfast lunch and tea she was going to make sure it was
a loving environment for the Baby to grow up in, even if it
killed her and Tickle too. ‘Jacko Come Darling’ the rabbits
34
wide eye darted between the bush and the pen; if only she
could get around behind him, she could then get a hand
underneath and slide it under the net. But it was
exhausting her, all this pushing and the pulling the
ambivalence inside her no answer to it the big question, to
have one or not to have one, with Toby or not with Tickle,
and Tina sighed. Most of her just wanted to let go, become
a placid cow, get pregnant, have Baby; but the other, the
single woman who’d spent ten years battling up the TV
world, jaw taut with the smiling being nice to needy men,
always having to overachieve to be taken seriously, made it
difficult for her to let go, to relax. It was too scary,
particularly with a nutter like Toby as the person you had to
trust in order to do so. O Gawd.
Why did she go for him in the first place? Because he was
like Dad? Mad. Or was it because she could control him, he
was so messed up when they’d met pissed, just out of
Rehab? Or was she, as Depression for Beginners told her,
striving to reproduce the atmosphere of her childhood
anxiety, the atmosphere of anger and mistrust: Dad late
with the rent again, Mum doing overtime at the hospital,
Dad missing another visit. Women who love too much,
35
Louise Hay, A Road Less Traveled, all those tossing therapy
words were doing her head in, it was far easier with
TheThe, a cuppa tea and a spliff. Shit, she just wanted a
fag now, fuck this fucking getting pregnant lark and she
found herself wishing you could go and buy one at a shop,
Tescos Premium, paying extra to have it drained of any
fuckedup Daddy genes.
Where the fuck was he anyway Toby? Git, the food was
getting dry. And where was Jacko? Sweet little thing, it
hadn’t done any harm to anyone and it was so scared
because it couldn’t find anywhere to hide. ‘Jacko, come on,
Jacko come on darling come to Mu…’ … but she stopped
herself saying the M word, it might be bad luck to try/
Where the fuck is the … she said instead.
Toby was wedged on the No 38 bus heaving itself around
Old Street roundabout reading his new script. IT revenues
will rise exponentially year on year at a 34.3% rate within
which the Multimedia sector will represents the fastest
growing sector from 13-24% over the 5 year projectile….;
the MT Bank Document made Toby feel better, richer even
though he hadn’t even agreed with Saul how much he was
36
going to get. Orange in the mouth MP latest. Suicide ruled
out his neighbours Evening Standard headline hid his
worried face from himself in the bus window; he was late
and Tina would be angry, again, inadequate she just made
him feel bad. Two huge metal structures, a pair of giant
white horns, were being hauled into place either side of a
giant Poster Screen suspended in the middle, some new
sort of advertising thing. Toby turned back to the report the
Multimedia sector represents the fastest growing IT sector
exponentially expanding 13-24% over the 5 year projectile
.. It sounded like being violently sick but Toby knew it
meant Big Money and he found himself repeating the
phrases to himself as if to make them happen.
Irritatingly large laughter was coming from the front of the
bus, two blokes joshing with each other, one a big blond, a
broken nose and square set jaw, slapping down into the
palm of his big hand one point after another, his shoulders
jiggling as if limbering up for a fight; the other, smaller and
darker, listening intently as his big friend went jabbering
on. ‘Music for grannies that’s what Si said and sure fire no
image damage Ray, that’s what Simon says’ ‘Oh wow yeah
fer granniz leek ficking greet if Simon sees’ the other
37
furiously nodding his head. ‘Fucking actors’ snarled Toby as
they jumped off by Centrepoint, like addicts he could
always tell them, actors, apart in a crowd; perhaps it was
the uncertain look in their unblinking eyes but these two
made Tickle sick, they were so fucking sure of themselves,
full of it, Confidence, the Maxwell Ring of ... ding…It made
him feel weak, longing for a fag and he tightened his grip
on the bank document, as if it was some sort of weapon
from the secret police.
‘So how was that?’ she said, looking at him half an hour
later with a slight tightness around the mouth, not wanting
to tick him off for being late. ‘Oh OK’ said Toby,
immediately stiffening, feeling anyway he was under attack.
‘Sorry the rain made the bus late’, ‘So how was it?’ she
repeated, ‘No cash for 3 months remember’ said Tina flatly.
‘Looks a good opportunity, Virtual Reality’ Toby said putting
on a businessman voice, ‘It’s the future isn’t it?’ trying to
imitate the boys ding ring of, confidently smiling. ‘What
about the fucking money?’ Tina now demanded ‘It’s not
going to be another bullshit thing is it, like the Di's
Magazine bollocks is it?’ she pointedly asked.
38
Fuck her, Toby thought, she always trying to undercut me,
why couldn’t she just trust me a little more, then he’d be
more confident. And why did she have to bring up the Di
crap again? After the second Rehab, Sammy Solace, who’d
been in for an eating disorder, had persuaded him to sell
ads in her upmarket Mag Di’s Finest. She was an Exigenesis
clone, very 80s with confidence of steel and had got him
into ad sales for Dianas Finest: for those who deserve the
best and one of Her Royal Highness’s people recommended
we get in touch with you… It was just lying though,
grabbing quids, conning gullible marketing people that Di
had actually endorsed it with the 10,000 copies supposedly
going to the smartest people being actually 100 going to
Samanthas smarmy PR friends. Toby had got soon
addicted to the selling and the lying, at it around the clock
around the globe spouting the same sales script. ‘You have
been specially selected, Her Royal High.. .’ Went tits up in
the ‘91 recession and he’d ended up back on the C and H
unable even to pick up a phone. No more selling he’d told
himself, he was sold out he told himself and here he was
fours years later about to do the same thing again. Yeah,
Fuck her Toby thought, she always tried to undercut him,
why couldn’t she just trust him a little more, then he’d be
more confident and again the blame began to flare up
39
inside his throat and gut… If it wasn’t for her and her
fucking biology he’d have time to finish the script
Millennium Hamlet, make a real fresh start of it, get a new
agent and …Oh Gawd, he didn’t want another fight, it might
kick off another one of his alcoholic fits… Oh Gawd, Toby
could sense his blood was beginning to heat up, a brewing
he called it, an oncoming rage, uncertain if it was a ritual
catharsis for the ex actor, as the sun went down, or the old
habits of the roaring drunk screaming in blackout, emotions
totally out of control.
Shit, he shouldn’t let her see him at the dope again, but
she could smoke of course, even if she did Bitch still, it was
OK for her and being stuck in between made him feel like a
trapped Ape. Bitch, it was Tina who was the one who got
him in the end, videoing him in one of his fits frothing at
the mouth screaming at her in blackout like some sort of
trapped psycho, even he had to admit that he’d lost himself
to the drink then and so had gone back inside the Crypt.
Did he hate her so much now sometimes because she was
the one who’d finally made him stop, the one who’d taken
away his denial and the last chance for oblivion? Bitch, or
just because she was always on his case? ‘Get real Toby
40
you’re not in a film now baby’. ‘I’d better go outside and
check if old Jacko alright’ Toby now said, already fingering
the end of his half smoked spliff.
Easy does it. One step at a time. Feel the breath cold in the
nostrils coming in and warming then going out…Toby tried
to breathe deeply and sat down on the back doorstep
looking out to the scrubby bit of lawn. The rabbit, the
fucking baby replacement, was sat there nibbling. Shit, he’d
lifted the netting this morning so the thing might piss off.
The rabbit really was a nasty little fucker; looked all nice
and fluffly on the outside, an Australian Dwarf so sweet in
the shop, but all sinew and bone when you touched it and it
bit. He felt all tense and wanted a drink, but he knew he
couldn’t and took a huge lungful of spliff, knowing that to
avoid the anger he’d better try and get some sex tonight, to
take away the edge. Yeah fuck it, he had better do this
interactive thing, the Virtual Nightclub, just to get her off
his back and without joy he looked up into the dusty dark of
the London sky, tinged with the orange of electricity and
sighed, Oh Gawd. Why?
41
Mountain peaks rolled across the horizon, all the mist had
lifted from the valleys bottoms and the sun was rising high
towards. He owned all this, and the valley beyond but it
was the peaks, the mountains themselves, that he yearned
for and Molane felt his lower stomach twitch. That
acquisition was beyond even him they said, ‘It’s the Rockies
for Christ sake John’, but that’s what the other people
always said; they had said it about G T &T, the WorldTel
deal and US TV, all of his big acquisitions for Freedom
Corporation Inc. Oh they of little faith. What you believe
happens. It has been so decreed. It’s all in the Plan, his
Plan and his 3.5 billion dollar net worth Forbes estimate
confirmed it worked. OK only 4th in the league but hey he
knew he was more liquid than both Queen Liz and Bill
combined, which was the Gods honest proof that what he
said was the truth.
Yes for sure, she was, the bird was smiling back at his
reflection from the other side of the carriage? Yes, she was,
a blond with glasses and a pencil skirt and it was a right
come on. Nice. Money, he must be beginning to smell of it
again, he knew that was what it was about. Saul was
smiling at his oily reflection in the carriage window of the
42
7.56 to Blackheath asking himself if the scraggly mop of
black hair was a bit too shiny wondering if it was from the
rain, grease, or simply a trick of the light. Should he get it
cut shorter? He was wanting to combine the business look,
the neat organized facial hair, with the De la Soul
happening hip. Shakara just didn’t get it, his sort of exwife, the look, and had scarpered soon after the profile in
the Sunday Times Magazine, Life in the Day of the New
Blacks Special Issue, him and her standing before the bay
window overlooking the Heath. For some reason which was
beyond him for Shak it had been the final straw ‘I’m not
your property arsehole’ and she’d left. Sauls stomach
tightened. She’d left with the kid and the family was
broken; it was the one thing he didn’t want, to end up
being like his Dad, alone and guilty, the ex and the kid in
the council flat and him with three empty bedrooms making
love to himself in front of his new MUD satellite TV box. But
yeah , the blond was definitely on the pull and Saul couldn’t
believe his luck. It was coming together, his Plan, the
Package was almost all in place, now it was about getting
the Brands behind the Nightclub and the rest would follow.
That was the Way, you’ve just to push on continually
aspiring to the Vision that’s what Garthside had said at the
Seminar, be ready for the opportunities, Awaken the Giant
43
Within and yes she definitely was giving him the eye, the
come on, wasn’t she? I’ll show her my giant without and
Saul got up and followed the pinstripe blonde through the
automatic sliding door into the corridor and the empty
toilet.
The mountains were National Park registered fixed in the
Federal law but so, these things are there to be changed,
America was still being invented and America was inventing
the world according to its own Plan too and he had people
in Washington beginning to work on Project Elysium
Business Plan 324b. Molane breathed deeply taking in the
purity of the Colorado Mountain air, additionally filtered
through the Freedom carbonated aircon system, Purer than
the Pure he liked to say, although very rarely was there
anybody to say it to, here his eerie, even the PAs weren’t
allowed inside. Here he sat and saw the seasons change,
the days turn from pink to blue to red, and here he knew
that he had dominion over all he surveyed, almost. DC
would be his first call of the Day he decided and John
turned back to one of the helpful testimonies to his
prophecy that he’d had one of his banks, Morton Thomas
44
Int, chronicle and so explain to everybody else what was
the Real to be.
--------
45
3.
Technology is best defined as the production of the
superfluous
Ortega y Gasset
‘...music, mags, TV, slam dunk, DJs, art and culture,
scenes, retro futuristic, events, happenings Soho Virtual....
Club space, each room a different music a different time,
Headspace, interacting with a million new ideas and
Freespace showcase for new talent open 24/7 365 you can
get it anywhere anytime, like Martini and interacting
between each other the users becoming creators creating
their own content subverting the socio industrial constructs
the media conglomerates that control our world our minds
Freespace breaking down boundaries and limitations it’s
truly democratic, its the medium for a new millennium a
new age, Man, Aquarius isn’t it? ’ Computers are stupid.
They have only answers that’s what Picasso said wasn’t it,
April Fools Day again, a year later in 1995 and Tickle was
wondering if anything had happened at all just dreaming,
remember soixante huit, the French clown teacher ten
years previous mon dieu wake up shaking him by the
shoulders and now stoned again lying on the carpet
46
listening to one of his new mates blather on. Exema, button
nose and bulging black eyes made Guy look like a baboon
foraging for all that was out there in the new boundless
growth of yoof culture. ‘Terence McKenna doing readings
Laps of the Gods at Zen, that mushrooms stuff, we could
put that in maybe sample it with the Doors, Dr Suckowski’s
really good at that, does it every Thursday at the Rat
Pack... I'll call him...’ ‘Who’s he, Suck er..?’ ‘Well, Dr
Jonathan Smith actually but Dr S that’s his DJ handle, he’s
a friend’ Tickle took another drag on the spliff and lay back
again trying to get his brain to rest. Easy listening, Pop art,
sixties relics, 70s electronica, Guys hide above the meat
packers in Berwick market was stuffed with culture,
recorded, printed, stamped, videoed sampled or neatly
arranged as typed spines prominently displayed on the
shelved walls. It was the last 30 years worth they were
trying to transmute it all into the digital future of the Virtual
Nightclub and it made Toby feel sick, most of his life being
squeezed into the ones and zeros of binary code making it
all really, digitally, just the same. Remember soixante huit
what did the frog clown mean?
47
‘Yeah we can get Timothy Leary, says he was going to die
live on the Internet, he says Interactive is the new LSD’
enthused Guy ‘What’s the Internet’ asked Tickle sort of
rhetorically thinking he should have known where it was at.
‘It’s the path to Freedom Man’ Guy said suddenly serious,
‘It’s the means Man, it’s the means by which to unite to
subvert the monoliths of power, create and communicate
together uninterrupted…’ ‘Err yeah but’ backtracked Toby,
‘I mean how’s it fit with the Club? The Money?’,
‘Democracy and Creativity mixed, that’s the point of
Freespace, and Headspace really, ’ said Guys eyes
widening, ‘you see all the Heads are talking to each other,
interacting on line generating even more ideas, ideas and
dreams’ ‘Like the phone and TV together?’ said Toby timidly
and the whites of Guy eyes became even redder ‘No, yes,
it’s the whole mind man, the whole mind of Man, in the
machine, the mirror being technology, face to face man,
Mano a mano, eh? Yeah?’ the baboon said trailing off
unexplaining.
‘Anyone want some tea?’ it was Me, Guys girlfriend. She
smiled sweetly, curving her body against the doorframe
slightly fluttering with her eyes. ‘Yeah thanks’ said Toby,
48
who always got grumpy when sexy girls came too close. It
had been going on all day. Guy didn’t seem to mind. Her
sharp features, close cropped hair and the way she used
her sex spelt Ambition and Toby could see she was under
the delusion that he, ex–celeb and the Executive Content
and Drama Producer VNC, (Toby had recently promoted
himself with a new title though they was no salary to talk
about), could somehow help her get to where she was
trying to get to a little bit faster. Out of the corner of his
eye now he saw Guy and Me, Thatchers babies whispering
like hyenas and Tickle decided he’d had enough and needed
to go before the dope and its paranoia really kicked in
deep. He broke out of the darkness into Berwick Street
Market, lawless airs billowing about in the breeze. It was
March, wasn’t it? No. April? Time had started to disappear;
he was spending so much of his in front of shining screens
he was beginning to lose touch with the seasons. A Spring
day anyway wasn’t it and he stuck his head down into his
shoulders pivotal, ready for the crowd.
Virtual Reality, the Internet, Interactivity, it was just
another space to be in wasn’t it, to try to be what you
wanted to be and he rushed past D-construction, the hip
49
80’s fashion shop where downstairs Lee, Tina’s old
boyfriend, had had his salon before going off to Spain. It
always gave him the heeby jeebies, reminding him of the
failure of his being hip, the beginning of the drink and
sloppy shame his life became swallowed up in. It was ten
years ago, a decade Lee and Tina Prince and Princess of
80’s Soho; the Blitz, Punk, New Romantics while Toby was
some Shakespeare ponce then in LA getting wasted. Lee
was an old friend of Sauls, another Sarf London boy, that
was the connection; maybe it was a set up Toby suddenly
thought, the whole job thing, taken for a ride first by Tina
as cover for the continued affair with Lee, who’d got him
acting the knobby estate agent when he’d sold his salon to
Toni and Guy, that evening of the poll tax riot, fires in
Golden Square and Sam, Lees mate from Happy Tuesdays,
throwing a dustbin into the shop window with a fuck the
capitalist pigs scream, then Lee doing a runner to Barca,
with posh girlfriend and a suitcase of cash, nice, result, and
forgot to the Ponce the commission and now Toby had been
passed onto Saul, the godfather of the Soho’s pisstake, ‘lets
take the sucker for another ride’, I need a posh talker to
front the VR scam. Yeah, Tobys fear now working itself into
a frenzy, he was just a clone, for Tina, a second best after
Lee, being used to get her own back and have a baby like
50
Lee had just had? Were they still one or did she have her
true loves sperm stored? Tooe bee toe bee toby where are
you? Shit, Toby told himself, paranoia he’d be getting panic
attack if he didn’t watch out. Hey ho, joys of recovery - he
really shouldn’t have smoked that second spliff.
‘Come on, little bit of fucky fucky eh ducky, come on inside
for a little lovin’ darling’ grimaced a peroxide blonde, dark
rings around her eyes stuffed tight into a pink plastic mini,
wrapped around her hips and Toby veered over to the other
side everything fizzing. ‘Yo Tickle. Toe bee Tickle Toby’ Oh
God, not the voices again. No, t was Sheffield, Tinas sisters
Clyts boyfriend. ‘You alright?’ he grinned leaning against
the doorway of his shop. There was a big A with a circle
around it sprayed into the window, ‘Cool init like’. Tickle
was always disorientated by Sheffields voice, cockney
stirred in with broad Yorkshire, stretched by West End
patter over thick Moroccan throat. ‘Here look’ Sheffield
brought out the shoe, a sort of cross between a trainer and
a baseball boot the little A stamped onto the toes.
‘Anesthetic, its going to be bigger than Zeus, I tell you’ he
said half joking ‘We’re going to get it pushed into the Face
and they want to do a spread in Identity. I’m going to see
51
the buyer for Boy later on’ he said, sucking deeply on the
fizzing Marlboro Red. ‘But I tell you Nathan, my fuckin
partner, he’s getting on my tits. It was my idea this whole
brand A thing and he’s going off spouting that the whole
idea was his and all he’s done is put some money in,
Fuckin’ Cunt’ . Toby nodded and although he hadn’t really
got a clue about fashion, he sensed street cred and asked
Sheffield if he wanted to put the shop into the Virtual
Nightclub. That was Tobys job; getting in trendy ‘yoof’
things, street culture and advertising on top of it, big
brands trading off the hip happeningness of the little ones,
Coke on Snapple, Zeus on Anesthetic, the drama bit of his
title would have to come later, the Money was Key before
all else ‘get the spondoolies in or we’re fucked’ had said
Saul, ‘We haven’t had any for 2 years, how are we going to
eat?’. ‘Yeah sure’ for Sheffield it seemed the promise of
publicity was like another adrenalin drug. ‘Come round later
and see Clyt, we’ll do some stuff, we know you like a bit of
how’s yer father’ and Sheffield winked ‘We haven’t forgot
the Bun, 20 lines and 5 prozzies Another Night Naughty for
Tickle, Clyts got it blown up on the wall’, but Toby was
already retreating laughing ‘Maybe, but that was 10 years
ago now’ he waved back, rolling down the alley towards the
52
open street frightened he’d get sucked in deeper and end
up fucked.
Toby gulped for air as he rushed into Old Compton overly
stoned. It was early evening and the place was a jittery mix
of worn-out workers making for home, first night meets,
the bouncers, croupiers and pimps commuting to their
posts. Everything was in slow motion, out of joint, nothing
quite jelling, like the jerky video he’d seen in the Virtual
Nightclub the next game after the fucking rabbits and dogs.
Toby felt like he was the POV star in his own Cyberspace
road movie, Tron in Soho, Necroponce, Hash Crash.. Was
this going to be the extent of the Toby Tickle’s comeback
gig? What had happened to Millennium Hamlet? He hadn’t
touched it for months, a year? Where had his time gone?
…No, oh no not me. For what is a man, what has he got?...
Musak filled the Mondo 2000 café, one of the new West
Coast Lounges all sofas and armchairs. If not himself, then
he has naught… It was Frank Sinatra, crooning..
…To say the things he truly feels…
There were a few couples slouched about and a boy in the
corner tapping into a PC.
53
…And not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows I took the blows
And did it my way!...
Hi, my names Longleat, how are you?’. Longleat looked
like a black panda, wrapped in a white sheepskin coat, a bit
Hey big spender Shirley Bassey style. ‘Yeah Strike said you
were doing the Virtual Nightclub, helping with the
advertising.’ Tickle felt his throat tightening, ‘Content and
Drama Consultant I mean Executive Producer actually’.
.. Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew. When I bit
off more than I could chew..
Toby’s mouth was bitter thick coated now and he was
desperate for something to wash away the old smoke. ‘Two
cappuccinos please, and Ill have a carrot cake as well’
‘AHHRM, could I have a chocolate gateaux, Should I? I’m
not sure if I should, AHHRM OK’. Longleat was a bit chubby
but very attractive, his voice almost a soprano going up and
down, asexual but loving at the same time. ‘So are you
getting involved in the Club?’ Tickle asked wanting to get
whatever the bloke had off him quick and then leave. ‘Look,
Tickle, the thing is,’ Longleat said huffily irritated the man
before him wasn’t more awed, ‘something you should know
54
straightaway is that this club thing for me is just a
sideshow, I’m going to be the worlds first truly digital Artist,
clubs labels, films, fashion I can create all this on my own,
I’m going to be the 21st century Warhol but for the
betterment of the world as a whole and I need someone to
help and…’ He paused as if he was going to say something
very important. ‘I’m looking for a producer to look after my
business affairs, you know like Warhols bloke, my very own
Frederick K Hughes’.
…But through it all, when there was doubt I ate it up
and spat it out I faced it all and I stood tall And did it
my way…
Tickle nodded. Oh gawd he thought, another fucking
genius, they were coming through his door all day long,
wannabees and wantoos, pitching to get into Freespace. ‘I
want someone commercial but glamourous, someone who
can market my work to the World’ and Longleat went on
‘Lots of people are asking me to do stuff right now and I’m
looking to do things on a bigger scale now, laying the
foundation to be the next Disney but seeking to revitalize
the World in the new spirit'...Tobys mind clouded, another
Warhol, another Disney another fucking spliff. He’d had
enough, he wanted to go. ‘Yeah. Lets meet up soon’ he said
55
not too convincingly ‘Thanks’ said Longleat suddenly all
meek ‘Remember we are building the future, you’ve got to
believe that’ he said as he left.
And now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing.
To think I did all that; And may I say - not in a shy
way,
No, oh no not me, I did it my way.
Toby was more interested in surviving the present; it had
been almost a year now at Predator with Saul and still no
money and Electrobux, the media conglomerate who was
going to be the backer, still hadn’t come through with the
Money despite what Saul said every week and had said
every week for a year,’ Its alright mate, todays the day,
believe me the dosh is on its way’. In fact he needed to get
back and talk to Saul seriously about money again. Tina
was going to go apeshit and that meant he, despite the
regular supply of spliff, he was getting seriously worried
about not getting enough of the Other from Tina either,
which made him more susceptible to getting fucked, back
into relapse and all that...O Gawd
Toby took a sharp left into the Soho Brasserie; he needed a
cold drink and somewhere to hide. He ordered a lemon
56
presse, a bit of a pick me up, non alcoholic. There were
mirrors all around the bar 80’s staring blaring back
memories from before: Maggie, Money, Madness,
Agamemnon, coke in the back room, Jake legless,
champagne cocktails, another TinTin song blaring out. I just
want to go home. Ooh yeh with you tonight... Another
London binge gone wrong, another detox drying out,
relapsing again being hauled off the Limelight floor where
he’d passed out, Jake and Agamemnon like Paramedics, the
horrible picture appearing in the Bun, the Sun the next day
then the fully expose in the News of the World two days
later, tongue out, bile and drool..
TICKTOCK - IS TOBYS TIME UP?
Seven years ago and now Tickle was staring into the yellow
milk with ice noticing his knuckles were totally white. Was
he just a dry drunk? He asked his reflection through gritted
teeth... ‘Hi my names Tickle and I’m a…’ Fucking AA,
fucking meetings not letting you forget and life in your new
persona and Eastenders seemed always came on once he’d
decided to go to a meeting wanting Tina to come on to him
and sooth his fear and now Gwen says he was becoming a
sex addict and co-dependent, whatever that is, the woman
now the drink and Tina his higher power, the Baby to be his
57
own DIY resurrection, the ‘Normal’ family picture postcard
to serve the purpose as proof of his ‘Recovery’ without AA
or the sodding Crypt, but the secret reason for everything
he did instead of the drink was sex now wasn’t it now?...
Fuck shit bollocks..Oh Gawd
‘Toe beee too bee too bye’. Stop it, it’s a fucking nightmare,
‘Toe beee too bee tow bye’, there were voices shouting
across the street, another panic attack, anxious urgent calls
amid the loudness and the laughing, ‘Toby Toby here this
way Toby’, a film premiere or paparazzi on a beach, but no,
no-one wanted him now, it was just self consciousness, the
self centeredness Tina was always on about, Narcissism,
but now it had become a disease. He needed to hide and
crossing Shaftsbury Avenue on the run Toby rushed back
towards the office hoping to get his head together, to focus
on something else. His Brain hurt. Throbbing. Another spliff
that’s what he needed, said that little old voice at the back
of his head.
Click Beep click, the new digital Pentax snapped the hasbeen actor and almost star was framed. The man smiled
and moved out of the doorway. A shiny mac, a hat but just
58
about recognizable, a flabby Toby Tickle, another star
fucked. The paparazzi sniggered, Twat. Roger over in
Canary would probably pay a few quid for it though, for
some reason the Editor really had it in for Rehab victims
even though he drank like a fish. C'est la Vie, who was he
to complain, the Pap chuckled, they were the fish to his
rod, err net…so to speak…and maybe with a bit more
trawling he could double his money if he got a perve angle
going on Tickle the Twat. It was the new way to make a few
quid as it got everyone all riled up apparently although it
seems only natural really, but where there shit there’s
brass as his mum always said.
‘Shizer fuck goddam’, the picture was taking an age to
download and the T1 line was still flacky. The idiots, why
wasn’t broadband installed, it was hindering the collection
of material that he had been directed to acquire mail
AScpQ. Strike breathed deeply, decompressing himself back
into his own totally controllable world deep inside Predator,
an alien within the Beast, windows covered, four Screens,
multiple hard drive and a new data connection to the
National Spine. Strike used to be called Sven but changed
his name when he was in the Valley, Silicon that is, in order
59
to fit in, all part of the front he had constructed to get into
the Industry. Strike was loosing the specs and had let his
hair get all messy; that’s what he had been told to do, ‘get
more US, look like Chandler in Friends’, and he didn’t need
to question why, Fit in and wait for the call, that’s what
he’d been told. He was totally programmable because he
knew the Source was Right or believed it to be so.
Yah, it iz ze vay of ze future, we will all be programmed at
some stage and singularity was the Key, when the Power of
Computer matches the Power of the Human Brain, then we
would, as the Greek guy said Come to Know Ourselves
fully, we will be all fully realized like Buddha, Jesus and the
rest. It would happen, no doubt, thought Strike, Mr Moore
says so, it was the New Law, Computer Power doubles
every year and halfs in price, so not long now before the
code of the Mind is cracked. Duplication of the Genome, the
digitization of the brain memory copied and stored, and
then we could program new bodies with our old brains,
resynthesized DNA, the guarantee of immortality and the
Destruction of Time as Dr Karl pronounced and yes, he was
going to make sure he was there when it did, right in the
centre, it was just about being there where it, the Power,
60
is. Shizer, now he had to show some guy his 3D world, Saul
the fool had told him to, and although he found it wearing
talking to these little people who knew nothing of IT, he
had to in order to get more resources for the New World
Order he was helping to construct, he needed more
resources, more RAM more memory and a place to wait
from which to be activated via the Web.
‘So my friend’ the super brainy 3D programmer for the
Virtual Nightclub said to Toby a few minutes later, ‘I am
going to show you zee real club’ his clipped weighted
English filed down with American which reminded Tickle of
Margot, his Eva Braun in Shame. She was Austrian rather
than German Arab American but they shared the systematic
precision in both their tongue and fingers. ‘That’s a big
one’ said Tickle, impressed by the size of Strikes computer
box under the desk. ‘Yeah, SGI Indigo R4, is that more
than the PowerMac Jason’s got?’. Strike sniggered ‘Yeah,
his is a little popgun compared to…Look here, now’ he
ordered, sitting like a concert pianist behind a very big
monitor, the Screen lights glinting off his glasses, his
straight back and heavy set brow all at concrete angles set
and the New World emerged from the screen, a landscape
61
of wide curves and rich colours, over a vast desert, a light
shining in the distance on the horizon. ‘It iz a salt lake’. The
desert was a void, ambient music playing, a Villam Cosmos
track the place eerily empty except for the golden dunes
and lakes of shining metal and Tickle felt himself being
drawn into the vast virtual emptiness as the sun rose over
a brow a City on a hill, a temple rising into a building of
huge domes and cantilever structures- Metropolis, Bauhaus
and getting darker almost Gotham like the dark thumping
Techno accompanying a sirens whine. Toby found himself
immersed and it was a shock when the scene suddenly
evaporated around him back to a rectangle and a single
blue pyramid in slow motion being bounced around the
computer Screen walls, the Screensaver for SGI.
‘What about the people?’ enquired Toby ‘People? Ze Users
or ze Avatars’ asked the Scientist direct, ‘I will show you ze
tests’. As a maestro moving into another piece, he entered
a new code and another square opened up. There was a
long alley way, crisscrossed with walkways a beam of light
shooting through it alternating and speeding along, you
opened a door and it was the Club, a dance floor, multiple
lights, stroking through a gold and purple interior and there
62
a figure emerging from the shadows, scratchy edges, a
beautiful blond woman, hair done up high, a Primavera in a
transparent dress no underwear, wide hips holding out a
golden apple as if inviting the watching boys to play. ‘It is
still a bit clunky’ said Strike his glasses glinting from the
goddess golden glow, ‘needs more processing, more
rendering’ and he breathed deeply stretching out his arms
‘and for that I am needing more power’ the function of the
alien beside him becoming clear again, ‘and for that, dear
friend, I need Money, Fundink, yah’ grinning tightly. ‘Yeah
no prob but …’ Toby agreed excited. He was seeing a
possibility here, Millennium Hamlet, his comeback, in 3D
the Fathers ghost the dreaded sight extravagant spirit done
as animation, like Lawrence Olivier in Time, all virtual no
need for real actors in the film. Didn’t Kenneth Tynan say it
would happen, a new form of drama for the 21st century,
everyone animated, no more dealing with the
unpredictability of fucking acting types. ‘Could you program
the people, I mean the avatars to communicate with
people’ Toby asked the Programmer ‘the users, you know,
drama, maybe projected live’ and he could see it now…
THE COMEBACK OF TOBY TICKLE
THE BEST HAMLET SINCE BURTON
63
CREATOR OF THE NEW DRAMATIC FORM
but the door was already closed, his audience with Strike
was over and he knew he’d have to come back with
something more real than an arty idea. Fundick, Adverting,
shit, o gawd.
‘Watcha Cock, got any money yet?’, Sauls silhouette like a
James Bond cardboard cut out at the end of the dim
corridor broad smiling. ‘No, well we’d better do the
document? then’ ‘OK’ said Tickle, ‘but its getting a bit late,
isn’t it’ he ventured, Tina had expected him back an hour
ago. ‘Late, mate, what have we got to go home for if we’re
sitting around worrying about the Money’, it seemed totally
logical to Saul. ‘Come on, let’s unwind and finish this off.
We’ve got the big boys, Electrobux, tomorrow. Remember,
we’ve got to get out weapons primed.’ He said tapping his
head, ‘Here have some of this’ passing Tickle another spliff.
‘But didn’t you see Electrolux last week, they’d agreed
that’s what you said, you said the money was coming
through....’... ‘err yeah sure ….but that was a concall,
States, we’ve got to get ratification from the bod in blighty’
he moved in close to Tickle. ‘Look mate, if we do a good job
64
tomorrow, we’re on the road, OK we’ll be sorted ‘ and he
very near to his face ‘Tina'll be happy, wont she, if she’s got
money, you’ll get a bit of the other right, mate? Here mate,
take her some of this, should make things cushty’ and Saul
pressed another little chunk of hash into Tobys white
knuckled fist. ‘OK, let start’ agreed Toby tired. ‘How much
are we after’ ‘300K’ said Saul flatly, licking his finger to
apply spit along the joint edge, ‘that should get us started,
with a target in excess of one mill production 5% royalties’
Tickle suddenly sounded more awake ‘and my cut?’ ‘10%
didn’t we say’ said Saul ‘You said 15?’, ‘But did we agree
net?’ the Bossman added quickly. Toby didn’t know what he
was on about but he was seeing the Money already, 10% of
3000 was 30000 quid and he felt it now like a warm blanket
enveloping him and shit he needed it, he had been waiting
for so long and this was it so near, he wanted to believe it,
it was just about to come, the carrot, the escape, the light
shining in the distance, redemption, free again, he could
see it almost within reach the carrot there, dangling.
‘Alright let’s get going. Document, proposal, our own little
bit of software hey mate? Powerpoint to the Point eh? Fuck
the nerds down the corridor, the artistes’, Saul said,
65
scratching his show dog Rasta head ‘dosh before wank I
always say’. ‘And in the beginning’ said Toby, a burst of
energy buoying him up booting up Word, a blank template.
‘Right’ said Saul, let’s keep it clean. I’ll port it into
Powerpoint later. Summary. The Virtual Nightclub is the
cutting edge..’ ‘What about bleeding edge?’ asked Tickle
‘State of the Art?’ ‘21st century?’ ‘Too early, the
Millennium’s too far off for fucks sake we want money now’
grinned Saul ‘Leading edge?’ ‘Ok let’s go with that’
‘Application?’ ‘Is it an Application or Software?’ ‘ Program?
Entertainment? Entertainment Program?’ ‘Killer app? fucking killer app, the fucker’ enthused Saul getting excited,
slapping Tickle on the back of the neck.
It took 20 minutes to get the first line down “The Virtual
Nightclub is the cutting edge interactive media
entertainment program presenting the latest contemporary
music, fashion, art in London today, the killer app of the
first interactive generation…” ‘It’s a bit long-winded’ said
Tickle ‘Um Yeah: let’s have a spliff so we can brainstorm
some more’ said Saul, going back into his pouch of Shag,
being creative with a capital C. ‘Yeah that’s right, everyone
wants to be an fucking artist ‘he said Freespace offers an
66
opportunity to unpublished artists to showcase their work
‘Yeah, then we can publish them and screw the fuckers
later on’ said Saul giggling, hot with business and desire,
‘We can take on the big boys and fuck them up the arse.
Revenge’ and he grinned at the prospect and Toby could
see having one over on the Mega execs for all that
arselicking for the last 20 years, candidates and clients, was
a major motivation for Saul. ‘Hey up here’s one of the real
artistes’ said Saul nudging Tickle. ‘Hello gentlemen’ the
white face of Jason emerged in the doorway. The nightshift;
a night owl thought Tickle, but too reptilian for a bird.
‘How’s its going, Producers,’ little Jason snarled ‘got any
money yet?’ ‘Yeah its coming on alright thanks Mr Creative’
Saul said, changing posture, tightening up. ‘So anyway
where is the fucking money Mr Bossman?’ little Jason said
now sternly staring at Saul, ‘Alright Jason, hold your horses
we’re doing the best we can’ said Saul trying to be light,
smiling obviously defensive ‘ Well its not very good is it’
said Jason, ‘ Well, mate, you’re not doing too badly are you
with free offices’ said Saul. ‘Anyway when the fuck is the
prototype going to be finished?’ ‘Tonight’, said Jason, a
poker face not rising to it at all, a flicker of a smirk, seeing
Saul getting all hot and red again. ‘Great, at least you’re
starting work early eh, it’s 8 fucking 30 you lazy sod’.
67
Jason, with a flex of snail back said nothing. The little office
was silent for a moment, just the hum and secret clicking of
the computer hard drives both egos in stasis, on Stand By,
as neither was going to Shut Down.
‘Hyiya solly, come so early, need keys now.’ It was a
highpitched voice coming from behind Jason. Butterfly clips
in her hair a Japanese schoolgirl, doll like, a mini skirt,
white socks and a big smile but looking like she didn’t sleep
very much, ‘ Oh sully’ she said covering her mouth, ‘I not
see you here’, her spiky head with a splash of blue nodding.
‘No worries, Kari San’ said Jason, talking the same way as
Toby would to their Pet Rabbit on a good day ‘Here are the
keys, see yooz later’ and it looked like the little woman
might jump up and take them in her mouth, but she quickly
grabbed them and scurried off.
‘At toe Kurry may sonny
sum yah’ said Jason and she laughed out loud. Saul looked
at Tickle, both suspecting the laugh was on them. ‘Alright
you two, here’s something to sell.’ Jason commanded
seemingly satisfied he’d won the ego battle with Saul as he
was the one with the sexy chick on hand. ‘Look at this’ he
said opening one of Apples new laptops, Powerbooks they
were called and the little magician clicked on a little icon of
68
an oriental schoolgirl set in the deep blue Screen and a box
opened inside another box inside another box and there
were a whole load of Japanese schoolgirls tied up, massive
tentacles, vicious dicks, sucking then sodomising them, two
three four together mass servicing by the gangsters
slavering at the mouth like dogs. Jason flicked quickly on
the keyboard with long white fingers, no nails. ‘Porno,
that’s where the Money is’ Toby didn’t like himself the way
the violent scenes were tickling his midriff; they were
children after all the schoolgirls really. ‘Yeah’ said Saul, ‘So
what it’s a fucking peep show; but don’t exhaust yourself
with research mate if you know what I mean’ ‘Urg’
shrugged Jason and clicked the corner of the box and it
closed in on itself. He had expended enough time on these
ignorant would be Users and needed to get back to his big
Screen, tablet pen and fiddly Macromedia Director code.
‘Little wanker’ whispered Saul when Jason was gone. ‘A few
t shirts Big in Japan, OK in the 80’s, before his company
went belly up’, explained Saul ‘He reckons this is the ticket
back there, dirty little sod’ he said grinning. ‘OK come on,
let’s finish this off’. ‘Do auto format’ Saul urged but then it
went all wrong with new headings and fonts coming in, then
69
arrows appearing from nowhere, Toby having to bodge it by
typing in a word, then erasing it so things would line up
properly. ‘Do Spellcheck’: flavor for flavour, color for colour,
show-case for showcase, it made Toby feel he was even
more redundant than usual, his mind superceded by the
computers imperialistic US brain. But it was the fight over
ideas that really fucked him off; Saul seemed to be claiming
them as his own, when Toby had come up with them first
what the fuck had he been doing here for the last 18
months. He felt all tense and humiliated, he just wanted to
go home and get some sense of self back by having a shag
with T. ‘Good typing Toby, you articulated my ideas and my
vision quite well’ said Saul standing up and slapping Tickle
on his wincing shoulders, which felt sore perhaps he
thought, because of the wires coming out of each blade,
feeling them trailing behind him as he made his way to the
No 38 bus.
-----------------
70
4.
At the heart of information one finds history haunted by its
own disappearance
Pataphysics of the Year 2000 Jean Baudrillard
Late again. Git. Why couldn’t he just get a job, a proper
job, PAYE and not some new fangled possibility of a
massive jackpot, just over the horizon, just out of grasp, in
something no one understood. Twat, just because it
sounded good at trendy parties. Just like Dad. Why
couldn’t he….? But she stopped herself and took another
drag on the spliff, just one a day, (she’d found a fertility
book said that was better than stress) and another slurp of
wine, (medically proven to be good for the heart). Anything
but the Conflict she told herself, Tina couldn’t stand another
row; like a volcano on the ocean floor her anger bubbled as
she stared at the black and white tiles around the fireplace,
old memories burbled up inside of her, the horrors in the
linoed kitchen on those cold nights of 1963, bitter sex and
fucked up relations she was still trying to shrug off.
71
Another drag, holding it in, as she flicked the roach into the
fire and watched it disappear, the dope spreading out inside
her, smothering the fears and letting her hopes rise again;
Peace, Love, Baby, Family, Togetherness…. There was so
much Tina wanted to say, but even with a spliff she just
couldn’t quite articulate it, all the words, the lines had
become tangled up during the day, sitting and trying not to
smoke and not to be carried away in her fears. The
anxieties loitered in her belly like waves lapping against a
submarines door. She’d always had them, the tears held in;
another Sunday afternoon becoming dark behind the
windowpane and Dad hadn’t come again, as he said he
would, sounding so loving on the telephone, another
woman somewhere, her father living in another life apart
from her. Where was her life now? Another man, Toby, was
holding it and the uncertainty swirling around in and around
him just wouldn’t let her rest.
Tina was sat there with the cat before the fire, wearing her
torn silk dressing down, very still. She heard him come
through the door. Don’t move she told herself, but she
smiled broadly making a space for him by the fire. The
dope was working, he thought, the stuff Saul had given in
72
lieu of dough,’ just wait another week, there’s a concall
tonight’ and it looked like things might turn out OK. He
came and sat down beside her, arm around her shoulders.’
You OK?’ Be gentle he told himself, just watch the end of
the program with her, be still. It was another soppy drama
she enjoyed so much crappy lives making ones own seem
less so. An over concerned Dad, the good guy who was Dr
Who now a teacher in a run down comprehensive school
struggling to keep his principles intact,’ I’m too poor to
have morals ,’ the man said to his wife after he told her if
he didn’t lie about the results he’d loose his job and yes he
too was too poor to worry about being right, thought Tickle,
if this bullshit media was the right thing to do, all he knew
was he was doing shit work and to keep himself from
disappearing into his own self hate he needed a shag soon.
He needed a Restart, a reboot really and as he moved
through to the sitting room he was opening up a new
Software Application, his Killer App geared to getting his
End away.
Toby pushing in a red-hot coal with the bamboo stick that
served as their poker trying to get it lit. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Yes, fine’. They both stared at the fire for it seemed a long
73
moment. ‘Do you fancy a bit of loving? ’ he said quietly,
knowing it would be better not to mention it beforehand ‘Oh
Tickle, yes maybe, but you know I’d like to talk first. Give
me a hug and then we’ll see.’ Toby hugged Tina taking her
round body up against his, her head resting on his chest.
His groin hardened and he was pleased his blood at least
was moving again, heated by her warm musk. He shifted
his leg away from hers, trying to hide his hardness and
then, as if someone else had plugged in a floppy disc, a
flood of images began to cascade behind his eyes,
schoolgirls tied to an iron bed wide mouths screaming a
giant penis pushed against teeth, a pert bottom spread
cheeks, a slit eyed babe bent forward claws grasping the
next monster giant tongue dripping white. ‘Stop it’, he told
himself, this is here, this is now, she is beautiful and I need
her and he sought out her eyes, large, brown and giving
‘You alright my beauty’ he said trying to make himself feel
gentle ‘Not really’ she said her eyes flickering ‘ A bit lonely’
‘I’m sorry’ ‘ Feeling useless, nothing happening down there
yet,. Maybe I can’t have babies and then what?’ ‘Don’t
worry it will’ he said trying to cover up the relief’ ‘Maybe its
time for IVF’ she said, ‘ Expensive’ he said, ‘ I know sorry, it
will be OK’ she said. ‘I’m just worried- remembering the
first time with Lee. Maybe I’m not right, it will happen
74
again- loose it and... ’ but Toby felt himself setting like
concrete ‘Better get something to eat and moved away a
wave of nausea grabbing his gut ‘it’s been a busy day’ he
said. ‘Oh dear, what have you been doing? Any closer to
the Electrobux deal?’ she asked not wanting to sound too
demanding which sometimes set him off ‘Lets talk about it
later; I just want to relax for a while’ he winced, playing up
his fatigue to maximum value. He couldn’t face listening to
her honest fears again, then he’d have to open up to those
inside him, the fears about no money, the shit work and the
lack of a room for the Baby. It wasn’t so much her knowing,
it was him having to look at himself, as if she still had her
video camera trained on him, waiting for him, constantly on
Stand By. Here at home he was meant to be King, at least
be able to kid himself he was; at work he knew he was a
small prick amongst many. He had been programmed to be
strong or at least to appear so, a mans gotta do whatta a
man goota do a mans …John Wayne and True Grit and that
meant not thinking about it too much so stop the fear.
Strength was all and weakness was best kept a secret and
the software program or perhaps even operating system to
to enable him do so was called Denial.
75
So the 30 something couple sat in front of the fire, a break
in their silent negotiations, watching TV having another
joint, their fears flickering between them silently, like
sparks accompanying the flames, as out there the World
continued to collapse around them, orchestrated by Jeremy
on Newsnight, no one else seeming to care.
…thousands died, many more suffered fatal injuries and
disablement caused since the explosion at the chemical
factory 10 years ago at Bhopal in India, and after years of
fighting in the International Courts still the American
Corporation who owns the complex is denying all liability
preventing any sort of compen...
Slumped stoned in front of the Screen, the pictures were
going too fast for Toby to register anything other than label
them by name: a crying peasant women wailing; the
bloodshot eyes of dazed men; a twisted malformed child
looking out knarled stunted limbs, no ears, looking out, a
still stare at the lens and Toby began remembering the
trudging through the moonlit plains of Bihar 20 years
earlier, a woman with a sack of corn, babies on both back
and hip shouting at him the stupid fat western youth, to get
out of her way. It was there then, sitting in shit, after
months of staring out of windows, increasingly unhappy and
76
lonely, thin and depleted moving through the self hating
introspection of his young small life, back through those
baby failures and little recriminations that he’d finally felt
an emptiness from them an emptiness of being, alone in his
aloneness, travelling into a place beyond the pain of being
lonely, and, on the third night of no sleep, something had
happened …. And it felt like peace, it felt he was part of,
complete.You are nothing so you are everything the man
had said at the Ashram and it was it, IT, the answer, it felt
so at the time and now it felt it had been the last time he
had some sort of certainty, somewhere something had told
him that perhaps he was OK, he didn’t need anything else
but IT.
‘Fucking Yanks’ he was really angry surprising himself as he
prided himself in not getting involved, ‘they should clear up
the mess they have left. Bastards’. “With interests rates
dropping the housing market is emerging from its recent
prolonged slump’’. ‘ About fucking time’ said Toby. Their
one bed Hackney flat flat had been bought at the height of
the boom and it had now turned into a black lump of debt
called Negative Equity, growing like a cyst in Tobys head. O
shit, he’d made himself forget it but the boil was being
77
continually prodded by letters from American Express,
urgently pressing to be paid; I am writing on behalf of my
clients the American Express Financial Corporation
incorporated in Delaware ...Fuck, he hadn’t told Tina about
the second demand that had arrived on Tuesday, Denial
wouldn’t allow and it might make her too afraid for the
Baby, and even more frightening, take away any chance for
palliative sex.
Why did he let it go? he asked the Screenshots of disaster
after disaster now, that was the News. It, the big it, the
sense of being vital, being part of something bigger and
important was he was doing had kept him going for a few
years, Glorious Hamlet, Young Adolf, Brit at Cannes but in
a twinkling in an eye it seemed to all fall apart from him as
his own internal drama became everything, watching
himself becoming trapped inside his own clownish
Hollywood white suit, smeared with spilt drink and Toby
Tickle saw himself now performing those bad tricks of his
alcoholic nightmare trying to grab hold onto something,
someone anything before going down the hole, his
aloneness, the drugs and Tania, the guilt’s and the fears,
pushing him apart from himself, flooding his world with
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doom weighted down by anger too ashamed to come up for
air or the light.
UK STAR SON OF SATAN
the National Enquirer going mad,
BRIT TICK IS A LOUSE
Tania’s abortion making the fundamentalists crazy picketing
Abyss, boycotting the video of Shame
‘Pro- Life against Anti Life Star’
and the studio had had to back down, Texas oil money, his
Comeback picture T’Smithereens binned, that great
redemptive role playing a guy coming out of rehab ending
up with some psycho going crazy on a road trip with a band
of female wrestlers that was end of Hollywood for him, the
end of being able to, the termination of his career. End of.
Rock Bottom they called it in the Crypt too, the death
throws of his Denial, well at least around the drink. Tania
had gone then, fucked off, it was too much for her whose
role model was Zelda, there are no second acts in American
lifes, gone thrown herself off a bridge in San Fran and he’d
checked into the Crypt a second time just to get away from
the Press who were feasting on his Demise.
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‘Fuckers’ Tickle shouted now at Jeremy ‘Politicians know
jack shit’ ‘Well’ said the Newscaster with one of his smug
smiles, ‘it looks like the Tories are finally imploding upon
themselves. After the Matrix Churchill and Arms to Iraq
scandal, combined with the series of the sexual mishaps of
their senior politicians, it may be time , at last, for Labour
or shall I say New Labour to come through... ‘THINGS CAN
ONLY GET BETTER as their recently announced motto
declares, and it looks like their promise of honesty and
transparency in all things governmental, as their newly
elected leader Tony Blair recently declared, might pull the
voters towards them..‘Wankers’ Toby said, all politicians
were liars, there was no point to vote, ‘being Economical
with the truth’ bollocks, it’s called Lying and it seemed to be
the New Way, with Saul and Business, the Press, the Cats
were out of their bags and the Dogs were running wild.
Bastards. Everything was run by Money now anyhow.
‘Cunts’ ...the package killed Gilbert B. Murray, of California
Forestry Association the timber lobbying group's president.
Another story; grainy shots. This is the Unabomber second
killing as many months, and the authorities are still trying
to discover who the terrorist organization FC are and what
they want…Finally, Jocelyn Wicks, looks at the emergence
of a new phenomenon of the brave new world of IT,
80
Information Technology, and the phenomenon known as
the Internet’. ‘Isn’t that something you’re doing’ said Tina,
‘Its Shite’, the last thing Tickle wanted was more of the
computer stuff; with her he could at least sustain a bit of
his old identity, she was the only other person who knew he
was writing Millennium Hamlet part of the comeback into
his truer finer self.. ‘Come on let’s go to bed’, he said, ‘we
need to.. you know..?’ Toby trailed off. He didn’t want to
push it too hard, it would spoil his chances for getting it,
the it that he needed so badly now. 'Come on, lets go, I’ve
got to get up early’ Toby said, now desperate for some
relief from all the crap going on in his head
‘OK. You go I’ll have one last fag’ said Tina hoping Toby’d
go and fall asleep. For Tina it was a thing totally internal;
she knew when it was right or not, her body told her and
she knew when it wasn’t now. Of course she sometimes
relented when she didn’t feel like it, just in order to contain
him and the anger she knew was lurking underneath. Lately
though, it was more functional, it was something that
needed to be done, to engender reproduction and bonding
between mates, but still she wondered if really for Tickle it
was just a replacement for the act, the performance, a
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ritual catharsis of emotion unsorted, in and out, a raid on
the Real focusing on his own perfection, all about getting it
right. Music, lights, camera, action...
We must talk more, we must communicate, she was
thinking ten minutes later, the plea almost rhythmically
coordinated to the pushing and the pulling of Tickle on top
of her. Let myself go, let yourself go, let myself go, put
mind and self aside, let it happen, the Miracle, now. The
How to Avoid IVF book had told Tina to tell herself this,
positive affirmations were key. Perhaps it was true, the
moment of conception was the first bit of personhood and it
was important to be as full of love, of hope, as possible.
Come on try she told herself, at the same time trying not to
listen to the other voice telling her the truth. Pushing and
pulling, pushing and pulling it was her whole life now and
she couldn’t stop thinking about the Stuffed Hare she’d
seen the Two Fat Ladies cook an hour previous on TV, the
really fat one pulling the animal guts out on the bright
white sideboard, ‘Lovelly Jubbelly, guts for garters as they
said at my old school’.
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Come on concentrate but although her body was there
almost fully responding, it was a thing becoming separate,
her body was now given over to waiting to be taken over
completely by another and her life to totally change. She’d
thought so much about it, over the years, since the fuck up
with Lee, that second painful crevice in her life and then a
28-year-old chronically brooding she’d met Toby; Saturn
Returning” Ellen called it and now seven years later it was
here at last again, she hoped, almost. Come on... Let
myself go, let yourself go, let myself go, put mind and self
aside, let it happen the miracle, be intimate, in love, for the
childs sake. But she couldn’t deny it; within the pushing
and pulling she was inside another body sitting there still
and all tensed up, afraid and surrounded by fears. She
needed to share them but Toby couldn’t wouldn’t listen and
that was where her real intimacy dwelt, the intimacy her
body was now acting out with him, virtually, split in doubt.
Pushing and pulling, pushing and pulling pushing and...
Toby Tickle ex celeb comeback king stretched his arms up
and letting his breath expand fully. Fuckyfuckyfuckfuckfuc…
He caught himself in the mirror and, marveling at the shape
of leg against thigh, he saw the bodies metamorphosing
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into one redness, a raw blur in the glass feeling the
strength of his gut and burgeoning power in his loin. Here
he was at last, body in full, being total mind at one with the
physical, together creating. He was on the stage again and
the silent applause was washing away. Sauls put down,
Jasons snarl and Strikes smirk, they seemed far away
reduced, absurd, immaterial as he girded himself for the
final push deep down inside her, feeling the power rushing
throughout him into her eyes closed lashes flickering, his
chest hot necks high, her hands grasping his sides. Go, go
on, go on hurry up let it be so I can let go go, go, please,
yes now, there, come now go come in now go in now, at
last yes... and Tinas body suddenly subsiding, then his.
He fell onto his back and he breathed deeply, replete at
last. A wave of warmness brushed over him as she hooked
her leg over his, that odd smell of honey and shit mixed her
arm draped over his shoulder. Just a hug, she wanted, he
knew and wanted to please her but he was unable, never
that intimate afterwards, wanting to collect his breath and
fix his contours and shed the part just played. It was a
constant battle with boundaries, unable to stop himself
giving all and with this the act it felt sometimes he’d be lost
in her forever, he had to get back inside himself quick. It
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had been so much easier when he was playing a part, the
role somehow giving him a template, a definition to mirror,
defining him which he couldn’t do in real life.
Go on, risk it and yes she really was a radiant angel, a
marvel the way she could remove his pain and he locked
his arms around her. He thought of the shoal of semen
swimming in the hot lagoon, the coral blooming inside her,
little fishes equipped with little else but desire. Would one
hit tonight, inseminate, impregnating in an explosion of
fireworks, the atoms splitting? and Tina saw the sun rising
from a distant documentary, narrated by David
Attenborough’s God-like tones, orange over black burning
to white, the new life awakening once more as Toby was
sliding into warm water, dreaming fitfully, his head bobbing
up to the top of his neck then dropping down to the
garbage in slow motion rolling across the sea bed; there
Tina darting between caves above bottom feeders and
diving shoals of quick spark fish, out of the darkness a
squid eye suspicious, applause breaking with the waves, a
shark, teeth claws foreboding, up near to him, his genitalia
exposed, there waiting the gaping jaw, the bite….
85
Tickles eyes opened. 4.14. Mouth drying, stickly bits in his
nose. Her; all over him. She was revolting really and she
was taking over his life. Bitch. He couldn’t move. No sleep.
Two hours later, Tickle wasn’t sure if he had woken or not
entirely
-----------------
86
5.
Technology is the name we have for stuff that doesn’t work
yet...
Daniel Hollis
‘Fuck Shit Cunt’. Jason bit his lip trying to push away the
irritation that the Others were causing in his head.
‘Arseholes’ - was fucking difficult making sculptures out of
gas. Fuck ‘em, he had the power and in the end they knew
it. Jason was outlining the tentacles, the triffids to then
insert into the girls, in Freehand so he could then capture
them for the Stage in Director, before he wrote the Script
to animate the Object. It was fiddly and he had 200 to do.
The Sequence might take him all night, then he had to lay
down the Cosmos music track. He’d got this stuff from
Manga and he’d got the dogs from the US on Prodigy, but
what about the girl; Sumi perhaps, she certainly was up for
a bit of submission, that’s what he liked about the Japanese
chicks. He’d go into Porn full on but it wasn’t so good for
the street cred down at the Tube. Tongue + 32b xq equals
– bot32£…Jason typed rapidly with his long thin fingers, not
realising his two front teeth stuck out like Bugs Bunny
87
when he was concentrating. It was the fourth night he’d
been programming and the front of his head hurt, his eyes
becoming detached from his skull. He knew that the ions in
the air generated by the bank of hard drives made him a
Radiation Hotspot, but the fact was he felt closer to the
machines than to Users, other people who didn’t know how
it worked and, Jason suddenly thought, really he preferred
jacking off to the porno and Sumis voice down the phone
rather than her real, flesh and blood. Fuck, Shit, Cunt he’d
hit Enter before he’d meant to, which had fucked up the
Sequence on the Stage and so he’d have to realign the
whole thing and start again. Fuck. The cursor had frozen,
have to reboot again, it always happened when he lost his
temper. Shit, he needed more meg more power in his
machine, he wished the Apple would just respond to what
he thought instead of having to use his fingers, he needed
some little intelligent microchip to insert behind the ear and
his skin crawled now as if there were hundreds already
there. The Screen went black and for a moment Jasons
brain stalled.
Cunt. A snarl came first, then the thought that Saul was
trying to shaft him; they were going to put Strike in charge,
88
he could sense it for sure. Strike knew jackshit; Harvard,
crap, hadn’t even sniffed glue with the Sousie and the
Banshees no street, no nouce. Fuck ‘em, he was going to
show them who was the key man they’d see. He didn’t
need the money, not now he had this manga porn sideline
in dev. He was meeting Simon Smith, the Electrobux suit
next week, Len his mate the real techie had set it up. The
next move was Zeak, the film guy with the script for
Tremor the interactive movie Virus 2 in development. No,
fuck ‘em all, he was the one using Saul and Strike even
though they thought it the other way round. Big guys,
emotional, old hat. 5 ft, 7 stone speaking Japanese, he was
the 21st century one, the Millennium Man for sure. Fuck
Shit Cunt where did he put those chinky school girl legs
he’d cut out; it was going to be a tricky move to wrap them
around the triffid monsters multiple heads and he had 200
to do before dawn.
Four hours later and Jason no longer felt his body. The
tasks had become automatic, only the Screen, reflecting
bright blue in each eye burning in the darkened office,
seemed alive, non robotic. The Cosmos ambient came to
the end almost exactly the same time as he pressed Enter
89
and there was birdsong, starlings mimicking blackbirds
above Leicester Square just after dawn. It had been a good
day really, last night. No fucker had disturbed him in the
end. He’d finished the Manga Gangsta toy, scripted the
Virus Death trap and sketched out another Nightclub game.
Calls to LA, San Fran and Tokyo OK, emails and concalls,
the Macromedia newsgroup on Prodigy, kept the paranoia
at bay for another global day and, at 4.14, a bit of Telesex
with Sumi. Go fetch goo gir, everything according to the
Plan, his Excel spreadsheet keeping to the Milestones of the
Jason Software Development Path.
And almost exultant the Programmer ran down the stairs
and as if an alien making a break across No Nerds land but
he bumped into the Saul, coming in early to work. ‘Hiya
Slave, another night at the face’ he said ‘I’m catching Tokyo
before it closes up...surely you can relate mate, if you know
what I mean’ he laughed at the little bloke with no hair.
‘This is the Day Matey. Todays the day, the day Electrobux
bites and Boat with the big Bucks arrives’, then his smile
flattened and the Bossman asked. ‘Finished Version 3.1
eh??’ ‘No, yes, enough look’ said Jason feeling everything
was unraveling in the light of the too bright day. ‘Look why
90
don’t you fuck off and do your job and Ill do mine. Where’s
the fucking money heh? How many fucking Electrobux
meets do you need?’- the snarling nerd yapped into Saul
broad faced grin. ‘No my little friend Today is indeed the
day and the deal I will make’, Saul said the same mantra
he been saying monthly for over a year, it was all part of
his NLP Buddhist shit, you make the day don’t you. Yeah it
felt right thought Saul and if today is today then we’ll see
who’ll be telling who to fuck off mate.
Yeah, fuck 'em all Saul thought, four hours later Armani on,
ego primed, beard trimmed, a mop of hair wet with
something and ‘I’ll show the fuckers I will, I’ll show the
fuckers I will, Ill show the fuckers I will I will I will’ he said
in rhythm to the trains wheels. ‘I’ve been working on these
guys for three years so don’t fuck it up will you’ he said
suddenly to Tickle sitting opposite spaced out as usual,
staring at the rain shower over Fleet. Flaky fucker, actor
type, thought Saul, as soon as this dosh in Ill get in a real
sales pro. Yeah it was Dog eat Dog mate and the recession
was biting into Saul at every heel, mortgage, alimony,
office overhead, the fast money of the 80s had now
disappeared and everything was getting seriously squeezed
91
but it was a matter of waiting, that’s what Garth said, wait
for the Need to become corporately big enough for the
Greed to kick in again and the Millennium Game to
commence and the beautiful bunce to begin again. Yeah
what goes round comes around, he had seen it all before, in
the 70s at Portland, before the Big Bang had banged. Ten
fucking years flogging shit to suckers at Bezzlebinds
company, now Sir Reg the Tory Minister for Defence, but
then him, the Shatssis and their gang had all come up
Roses, once Maggies reign had began. A millionaire with his
own business in his twenties, Sauls Life in a Day of in the
Sunday Times Magazine had confirmed he was one of them
in his thirties and he was damned if at 40 is was all going to
go tits up, him back flogging hairbrushes door to door in
Beckenham and the proto Ruler of the Universe set his jaw
determined to nail the Fat Fuckers down at Electrobux
today for some dosh.
Simon Smith Head of European Consumer Media Product
Marketing, Electrobux Media NV Toby was impressed by the
title on the card but when the taxi deposited them half an
hour later at the industrial estate in Farnborough it was a
bit of a letdown. Red brick new blocks, mean windows and
92
not a soul moving, it could have been a prison only the
Corsas and Mondeos being all new and a fat Mercedes S
series burning in the corner, giving away the fact that
someone from the Money was in residence today.
Smith, the big cheese executive was, in the flesh, a squat
little man with a moustache, sort of Village People
compressed and he didn’t look well, his skin all red and
blotchy. Alison, his manager cum PA, Saul’s contact, had a
fixed half smile, holding too many papers but still looking
prim, tight assed Saul had called her Toby remembered as
she led them into the meeting room. Tickle now wished that
he’d sewed up the ripped pocket on his suit jacket as his
turn to do the demo came round. ‘So here is the Gallery,
and here are the copulating dogs which turn into rabbits in
order to encourage interaction and gameplay’, and the two
gnomic figures that were the Money sat inert staring wide
eyed into the light of the projector. Getting concerned by
their zombie like state Tickle accelerated through the club,
‘…and this is a bleeding application on the killer edge’ and
his finger nervously uncertain, (he needed the fucking
money soon) slipped on the mouse as if he was back
tripping up in the Limelight with Agamemnon, utterly lost,
93
‘Only thing missing is beer and sawdust’ chirruped the fat
little man Smith trying to join in. ‘So with the inherent
dynamic publishing abilities of the multimedia CD format,
new editions and future development of the information
superhighway will facilitate multinational editions of the
Club incorporating FREESPACE, a conduit for new talent and
self expression reflecting the true interactivity the medium
can create…’ ‘Sorry gents we had better wind it up there.
Simon has a few things to do before the next meeting’ the
secretary commanded. Tickle sagged, his performance cut
off, feeling castrated coming to climax of his chant “killer
app killer app killer app’ now beating at the back of his
head feeling himself draining away as no applause came.
Saul had to spin a story back at the office. ‘That slob Smith
wasn’t the decision maker; I got the name of the main guy,
which was a result and I’m going to shoot off States next
week. I’m telling you all, believe me I’m sure The day is
almost here’. ‘Yeah yeah’ spat out little Jason, ‘Almost a
result?’ he said ‘Fuck all- we’re not going to wait much
longer’ the grin turning into his snarl and Toby was left to
have another cigarette in his now tiny office, demoted by
what Saul called downsizing , ‘necessary economies mate’
94
but Toby felt as humiliation and felt like dying as he stared
at the pigeon desperately clawing to get a foothold on the
drainpipe becoming blurred in the rain against the brick
grey view.
It was 9.35pm and Tickle sat now fuming, too afraid to go
home wondering how he was going to get some cash,
anything smoking one fag after another fag defiantly at his
desk putting off having another spliff. Believe me it will
happen soon it’ll be OK for you to get pregnant had became
an empty vow to Tina, but he knew he had to have a back
up plan. All his great entrepreneurial vision could come up
with was buying a ticket for the Lottery bollocks just
launched It could be you, It could be you Toby couldn’t get
the jingle for the Lottery out of his head, it was
everywhere, radio, junk, milktop bottles, the billboards and
that giant golden hand pointing at you on TV. It could be
you, It could be you, Itcouldbeyou Itcouldbeyou
Itcouldbeyou too. Yeah it should be me it should be me
Toby felt a anger against his own desperate situation rise
up in him, cunt, fucking cunts, they were all his ideas
anywhere why was he always waiting for Bosses to make
something of them, why was his stuck here like a lemon
95
shouldn’t he be a man, I gotta to do what a mans gotta do,
fuck loyalty and all that shit, the you in the could be is all
alone and its dog eat dog or rabbit isn’t it now. Yeah ,
FREESPACE Millennium Hamlet the first show, Toby as
Hamlet Virtual Larry as the Ghost, World Tour,
accompanying exhibition with all the new virtual reality
stuff, a World Centre for VR Drama production superceding
Film, opened by Dame Joan, Sir Larrys widow, and rolling
out a Global Franchise of interconnected Freespace clubs he
could steal the Nightclub demo and use it to market his
Plan as something separate, his own direct route to the
Money, in case Sauls plan didn’t come through, or maybe
he could do it anyway, yeah Dog eat Dog as Saul did
always said. Fuck him Fuck them all Toby muttered opening
up Word, I am going to do it my way, the refrain
whispering the edict in his tense head. It could be you it
could be you it could be you Freespace perfect thing for the
Millennium Dome, hi tech, community, interactive,
visionary, cross cultural high sponsorship potential- all the
buzzwords were there. He could have a gyroscope like the
Lawnmower Man as the symbol, the icon, Thomasch his
Mutoid mate had a real one, he’d seen last week when he’d
gone to get some dope, used it with Ketamine at Clubs. It
all fitted. Yeah, it was all coming together, it was all there,
96
he felt it was meant. But he needed to get it all down on
paper, make a Plan, he’d be really late tonight Tina would
be fucked off but he had to keep the thing together in his
own head the Plan It could be you it…and he fired up his
Word on his PC to port later into Powerpoint.
At 2.02 am Strike stuck his head around the door and Toby
clicked on the corner of his Freespace Future
Entertainment, FFE mark 1.2 Proposal for Arts Panel
Funding Document hiding his secret plan, although Strike
was already written into it as ‘Key Programmer’. The
ArabCrout looked wired, as if electrified by his continual
rendering of his 3D worlds. ‘I am telling you Jason iz Judaz,
he iz looking to the Electrobux for another project, Tremor,
Interactive movie and Virush shoot ‘em up, it vill jeopardize
the Nightclub production. I’m giving you the info o for you
to highlight to Saul’ 'Little shit’ ‘Yes exactly, I do not wanna
to jeopardize the production’ ‘Right, yes I understand ‘ said
Toby seeing himself looking frightened in Shrikes tinted
specs. ‘And are you involved?’ ‘Yes, of course I am needed
for the SGi and C++. I am essential’, said Strike affronted,
as if Tickles had wondered if the day could happen without
the Sun. 'Yes of course’ said Tickle quickly, ‘You have been
97
warned ‘ said Strike sternly and left. Toby couldn’t even do
Freespace if the Nightclub caved in. He needed to phone
Saul now before the rendering for his current fantasy caved
in on itself.
‘Its really neat mate’ the top Exec pronounced on the 25th
floor up the mirrored edifice of ElectrobuxTower on 5th
Avenue NYC, sharing sushi with the UK Club Guy opposite,
the beacon lights of the Twin Towers blinking above them
like Watchman guarding their consummation of the VNC
Deal. ‘It fits, your Plan into to ours, sweet’ and all was good
and they both beamed, choirboys exultant. ‘We’ve already
spent $1 billion on R&D on the MCD platform’ the
Electrobux guy declared smiling, ‘a little more might be
found for the VNC I’m sure’ and they both beamed more.
Beep Beep The phone rang. ‘Yours mate’ ‘Ah One of Mar
people back in Londrez', said Saul to the shining Exec in
blackboss suit across the icy gloss of the desk. ‘What would
these guys do without the guidance of management eh?’
and the Jesus looking guy in the black Versace beamed.
Back.
98
‘Saul Saul bad news that fucking cunt…..’ a whine came
out of the receiver but Saul seemed unruffled by the news
from Toby, full of the weighty assurance provided by the
Conglomerates HQ. ‘But when’s the sodding Money going to
actually come’ Toby pleaded to Saul, ‘It’ll be with us soon
enough, don’t worry mate everything’s cool’ the smooth
dude said smiling, ‘It’s sorted we’re signing later today’.
Saul was playing with the little prick back home, infact he
was going to enjoy playing with all of them, one by one and
in particular with that shit Jason. ‘Well mate, perhaps you’ll
be allowed to stay on in a minor capacity but don’t worry its
under control, we’ll sort them out, “the Artistes”, they’ll
come running soon enough but your role matey, is to go
out and sell this shit to the suckers at the brands and if you
want to keep the Mrs. Happy, do it and do it quick, go and
sell it now’. ‘Right Yes sure’.
As Tickle put the phone down he felt a rupture inside him, a
split. Was he really going to try and shaft Saul or be loyal,
trust him and just do what he was told. What was Tina
going to say, she never lied and he was going to cheat her
old friend but she needed the Money and it was dog eat dog
wasn’t it? O Gawd. Toby looked into the Night seeing the
99
ghost of himself inside the window as rain slides down in
diagonals across the pane.
‘Oh my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch a
long lonely time, Time goes by so slowly and time can do so
much.
Are you still mine?
The TV was still on when he got back to the flat after a
nightmare on the night bus. 4.23am. Push some cheese
into his mouth cutting the cheddar slab with a carving knife.
Have a spliff, then? Sex? And this would be a good time to
murder the rabbit. He’d left the net up again that morning
but this way would be definite wouldn’t it .
Time goes by so slowly and time can do so much. Are you
still mine.
He pressed mute. Shit sugar of a song, Jackson and Ray, it
was the two actors guys on top of the No 38 with an
overdose of ding and now there they were, Number One,
cunts, clean-cut boys for the grannies, enough to make you
sick. Simon says so doesn’t he? Was that the guy, Simon,
there now with his mute arms around the two supposedly
nice boys, J&R picking up some sort of award all sparkling
100
stars, spots and silvery purple gloss. Toby moved to turn it
up a little but he didn’t want to wake up Tina, he really
couldn’t be bothered to be nice. Nice looking belly dancers
at the back
‘Oh’. She came in her dressing down; looking furtive.
‘Where have you been?’ she said trying not to sound
accusatory. ‘Trying to get some money’ Toby smiled
sheepishly ‘See look’ and he pointed to the ad on the Telly:
It could be you; it could be you, a huge sparkly gold hand
hovering above London and he suddenly he felt horny,
seeing her all vulnerable there, catching his fear about the
Money before it got in the way. ‘Aren’t you going to give me
a hug’ he said. Was she going to ask again where the
fucking money was? ‘Lost the rabbit, just disappeared’ she
said flatly, ‘Never mind’ he said, relieved the little fucker
had gone. ‘ How are you feeling’ ‘A bit weird’ she said, the
room flickering slightly as the Brit award fireworks exploded
on the Telly ‘ I’m pregnant’ she said.
And suddenly the front door slammed closed which Tickle
had forgotten to shut. ‘That’s it then’ a voice said to Tickle,
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that’s the final get out clause gone as he enclosed Tina in
his arms. ‘That’s great, it really is.’
Moving over Fuji, racing against the racing sun inside his
second Gulfstream, Molane finished is 20 minute nap and
with a swig of his Colorado purified as he swallowed
another three whites melatonin pills in order to the defeat
his body internal submission to the changes between dark
and light. Business never rests. He needed to make the call
to Wayne at Mudrock ASAP . He already had Gary and his
Home Inc on board but he needed both their assurances of
no entry into fibre optic; it would queer his pitch to City
Global and screw up the securitization of the future through
the low fixed high yield bonds. It was in his Plan, they had
to understand, The Digital Superhighway; his strategist had
come up with the brand, which sounded cool, even though
Clinton and Bore had got ahold of it for the Presidential
election campaign. 40 bill it was going to cost them to hitch
on his ride and what did they know anyhow, just politicians
PR guys for Big Biz, it was Molane who was actually building
it, and he was going to get Mudrock to do content and Gary
Miller the check-out till and the English guy, Frank Power,
he’d be good for the PR Global. No, all was good and all
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would come to pass, it was just a question of letting it be
so, and President John lifted his slightly shaded spectacles
to wipe the tension from his Tokyo eyes and wondered, for
a moment, what his mountains would look like without the
forest, just had it as continual snow. The Special Purchase
Bill hadn’t got through yet, that upstart Jefferson 111 was
blocking it on the hill, but his lobbyists assured Molane that
all was not lost yet even after a year and a half, six months
behind the prescribed time. He might have been a bit
irritated, if he ever allowed himself to entertain a single
note of negativity in his mind.
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6.
Great liars are also great magicians"
-Adolf Hitler
Three months later Toby and Tina slept in an awkward
geometrical shape a change now occurring in its outline
around the womans pregnant belly. From high above the
dot among a million of other dots slumbering, clusters of
red around green, they slept at the edge of the city while in
it’s centre in a another time zone separate but together two
men were chatting on a concall transcontinental, Orange
Street to Orange Country, West End to West Coast, working
out there strategy together, enjoying their secret idea of
being puppetmasters to those who did not get up so early
as them.
‘Great potential for seed capital, have you looked at the
projection for growth, the Burnt and Young analysis
forecasts tremendous upcurve?’ ‘Yes of course, lot of
interest particularly after the Yahoo float, 800 mill plus
‘Queuing up over here’ Garthside said talking very fast and
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posh like an Oxbridge bookie but he was interrupted by a
much slower and more buttery voice as if it was pampering
his nerdy friend. ‘Yes indeed old boy, I’ve a row of clients
looking for an in, ISP particularly, whatever that is. In my
day Initials used to be used for people not tech stuff, in fact
business used to be only about people, who you knew,
connecting was the key. Always connect, Forster and all
that ’. The line went blank. At 5.53. Greenwich Meantime, it
was way too early for KOKs literary illusions. ‘Users,
Subscribers, Numbers they are still the point, 2K a pop on
the points, we need to focus on the investment strategy’
Garthside continued machine like, he knew KOK had
allotted another 2 mins for the call. ‘Bloody VCs ad serving,
co branding, Ecommerce, Search, Personalization bloody
buzzwords, if only I knew what they all meant I might know
what I’m fucking investing in’ and the other man laughed
tightly at more senior executives joke. ‘Yes, if only’
Garthside agreed although he did know, it was his business,
IT, his company Pilgrimage Tech was one of the leading
investment boutique in which KOK had a considerable slice
even though he himself was now worth in six figures and he
had to stop himself resenting the relaxation in KOKs voice,
thinking again about KOK pretending it wasn’t about race,
the seniority too, the white boy prerogative, Guards,
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Unilever, Power Ads, path smoothly assured, slightly
different from the mindset if you’re from Peckham with an
unknown Dad.
‘Before we finish I’ve a couple of interesting other
opportunities KOK as we’ve got Virtual Nightclub project on
the road now, with approaches to Bartone and the like. Lost
leader but intro for the Players, it is only door opening
stage after all. Online is where we are going, no doubt
about that. Molane, Mudrock and Miller they’ve already set
it up, now I'm trying to get Sony and Electrobux on board.
I’ve got Saul in the States talking to a couple of VCs now
about it’ ‘ Funny you should say that’ said KOK responding
to the names being dropped ‘ I had Frank Power on the
phone from LA last week ranting on as he does, about
Interactive this and Interactive that. He’d just had a drink
with Gary Miller going big time into shopping on the
Internet and Frank wants me to set up a few plays going
over here fast. I’ve got that funny chap Tickle going into
Power today’ ‘Great’ and Garthside was fingering his other
phone now knowing a call was about to come ‘So this is the
new rock and roll is it. Will it make me feel young again
Garth?’ ‘Well it might stop you going on about the Bloody
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70’s Ring of and your other claims to fame. May we speak
at close’ ‘OK Oh yes I forgot to mention I met this Money
market chappy, Santa Moore, Gods knows where he’s from,
Barrow boy type, at the Angels do, kept going on about
‘gobbling up users’ but he seems to have the Kahonees to
see it through, might be someone we could use’ ‘Yup those
City boys love it, a pure numbers game, spread bets and
Bartone is very keen too’ ‘What our Barry, the wild man of
metal?’ ‘Well he’s more interested in Motors and Football
now. Did you see he bought United again? He wants
something for his son to do apparently and I suggested the
Web and of course the City wants him to get involved in the
digital and I know he’s got Elizabeth on the case, he’d
always happy to see his pension fund grow…..’
‘Its unstoppable now, its all going to change, everything as
Kevin Kelly says, You’ve seen the new mag Wired I hope,
‘netification, computerization and digitalization all increases
choices...That’s about all technology gives but that is a very
large thing’ as the guru says and yeah this is the next big
thing and the Virtual Nightclub is the channel by which
through which with which you can engage in this epoch
shifting event’ Toby lines were getting more bloated but
Saul told him that it was about repeating the buzz words
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over and over again underlining the fear, dangling the
carrot and ‘TV was dead’, ‘Couch potatoes were heading for
extinction’ ‘then drop the big names, that always gets them
going particularly the boss men’, ‘Molane, Mudrock, and
the even Gary Miller says so’, and three times Toby showed
them the video of ME TV, Garys vision of 2000, where
everyone had a widescreen Plasma PC/TV Screen, and on it
a Personal Digital Assistant, a sort of sexy Virtual Reality
secretary, Miss Wildchild coming out on the super size 3D
TV, ‘ You got email, sir, here you’re your appointments
today sir’ and ‘ perhaps you would care to do some
shopping Sir’ then a roll out of interactive ads presented by
the Super Good Looking Bitch called Heidi, ‘for a personal
fashion consultation based from a pre-selected range
based on your previous online buying preferences,’ and the
Media guy at Power Media almost wet himself, ‘Excellent for
CRM. Intimate knowledge..Potential impact. Great’ jumping
up and down on his seat.
Toby was up on the 26th floor of Canary Wharf running a
demo of the Virtual Nightclub at the POWER Interactive
Advertising Conference at Power World Media, PWM. ‘You’ll
meet some key brands’ was all KOK had said to him at their
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lunch. ‘ Rep, your reputation that’s all you have got in the
end is your rep, that and the Rolodex of course. Thou shalt
not Blaspheme thy own name let alone anyone elses’. Tickle
had hid a burp and said ‘whatever you say Kieran’ and for
the last few weeks, with a huge PC in a laundry basket over
his back like some sort of Hunchback of Leicester Square,
he had been following the smooth operator through the
smart offices of ad land.
He felt a total twat but the onset
of Tinas pregnancy had broken him, any thought about his
own image, his values, be needed the Money and he
needed it , it has bought him, at last to submission or was
it the surrender they had gone on about in the Crypt. Just
do whatever the Money demanded, he told himself
sweating up another set of glossy adland stairs, there is no
choice, I’m too poor to have any morals as some teacher
had said on Telly and Tickle almost willed his humiliation in
front of the Suits to be as horrible as possible, dogsbody
failure to the Exec equating getting Money with pain, like
Love and shut up the continual gripe that he should be
getting on with Millennium Hamlet his comeback, his Life
‘Ah all hail the mighty KOK, he the inventor of the greatest
ad of all time... Ding Ring of... Ah..Welcome Sir’ and the
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smoothies had got a slap on the back wherever he went his
Rep very strong among the Partners, leaving Tickle to demo
to Bus Dev sharp-suits and down-dressed YOOF brand
snotty nosed just out of their teens Creatives, the VNC only
exciting the Media people, the analysts all about numbers,
demographics, reach and impacts and now Toby was in
front of a half empty roomful of them after a whole day
spouting the script KOK had written him called The Way of
the Future: Interactivity for Brands. The sun was low, the
mirrored Tower of No 1 Cabot Square now a burning flame
and the room was sleepy and hot. ‘Molane, Mudrock, and
the even Gary Miller says so….What the fuck was that’- a
loud thud on from the window behind him, triple glazed
against another IRA bomb. ‘Oh birds Sir’, said the baggy
eyed security guard at the back of the room ‘it’s a bit like
moths to light you know like'. He was walking up to the
front where Tickle stood infront of his Powerpoint graphs.
‘Flocks fly into the side of the building, it’s a mirror isn’t it,
reflects the other Towers so the birds get lost in the glass
sky. Here look’ and it became his Presentation now as he
pulled out a big red hanky with white spots. ‘May I’ he
asked making space on the table and spread it out all the
time licking his too dry lips the Librium recently imbibed,
taken continually to keep his head straight. Inside there
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was a row of sparrows and two purple starlings, all laid out
as if asleep. ‘Look nice don’t they? Peaceful. Pity that
they’re all fuckin dead. Like nails’. ‘Christ’, there was a little
shriek at the back, a slam of a door as the others strained
forward, a silence almost an awe with someone murmuring,
‘Corr, real Wild Life’ others with revolted URRGHHHs and
then the Security Guard said to them, whispering
conspiratorial, ‘ Bosses tells us to keep it shuffti' tapping
the edge of his very red nose and Toby suddenly felt quite
woozy. What the fuck was going on? Was he going mad?
And He felt he was going to cry?
Whark Whark Whark, the muffled calls of gulls came from
behind the glass bought Tickle suddenly back to his senses.
‘Come on Money’ he said to himself, ‘Just focus on the
dosh’. ‘So anyway’ he shouted out to the audience trying to
get them back on his case, ‘The Virtual Nightclub and
interactive advertising is the way of the future and we need
your brand to put in 10K to reserve the premium spaces by
the Nightclub door' hoping that the odd bit of intimacy
around the birds, ‘real nature’, might now yield up some
support for his cause. But most of the ad people had
already drifted away and he sagged again turning off the
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computer and started to roll a cigarette. He felt sick: the
encroaching Baby was too real and the dynamo of Denial
was running out of juice. The JobJob was a joke, a virtual
livelihood because despite all the work there was no lively
or hood in it at all. Nobody wanted to utilize ‘the CRM
capabilities of the interactive media’: Power, Barzal Bow &
Bigarty, Shatsies, Pintas and Shelaley, all had said nice
things but despite how many times Toby threw the
buzzwords at them and exaggerated his lies they all said
NO, ‘thanks but we’ll pass this time’ and all Tickle was left
with was a whole load of bullshit he’d just said, the
exaggeration of half truths which not one wanted to
believe. Yeah, his lying was getting exhausted and perhaps
these guys sensed it, that’s why they didn’t buy. They
sensed his lies weren’t going to hold up in the end, he’d
crack, an amateur and he’d be the weakest link in the great
chain of lying that they were all the key holders to. Saul
had lied to him, who’d lied to himself, who’d lied to Kieran
who’d lied to the Agencies, who’d lied to the Brand, who
would lie to the Masses, each lie being a little steroid to
keep the great cash machine pumping up going round,
constantly creating the need to fill the emptiness where the
real truth had been. He was the worst though, the core of
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the lie wasn’t he, by not being who he was, a charade a lie
himself telling a lie about a lie for others to lie Oh Gawd
Lighting up a fag, Toby told himself that he just needed to
get out before this massive multi-layered lie swallowed him
completely. He inhaled deeply all tense and uncomfortable,
his mind seizing up under the screw of the Con Trick his life
had become. But where the fuck was he going to get some
dosh for Tina and the Baby …I am powerless over of people,
places and things they told him and he knew he had to
give in, submit or was it surrender, this selling, this lying
obsession or he’d be back on the piss, drinking, wanting
only oblivion again. Yeah, he needed to resign, first things
first, he needed to get back on the Program, go to a
meeting, as Gwen said, get back in Recovery and back into
his Story, his Life. He needed to do it now, ring Saul and
then Tina and trust that it would be OK, he needed to…
‘Yah daz it gut, my friend Ian said I should go interactif’, it
was Klaus, a bearded giant of a Man standing in the
doorway, a grinning slim white shirt by his elbow, Ian the
little Power Agency Man. Klaus was Von Braun and Von
Braun was the godhead, the Global Marketing Director of
Zeus Inc with a $500m annual spend and Toby Tickle, five
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minutes later found himself saying as if on automatic ‘Yes
sure we’ll put in a virtual football pitch, (a LIE) after all it’s
a Nightclub inside a town, like Sim City (a LIE). Your stars
can drink at the bar even’ (a LIE) ‘we can get a satellite
link up to do commentary (a LIE) after the match
interactively’ (a LIE) and he kept at it, lying, ‘paraphrasing’
the patients needs as Tina did with her counseling clients,
Toby repeating back to the Great Klaus whatever he
wanted the Virtual Nightclub to do, each ‘Yah’ of the giant
making Toby want to lie more, to get whatever was there,
go in for more more greedy frightened that this first time
might be the last time that the Money, there in the huge
glass Tower the birds blood stain still hot on the pane other
Towers lighting up around them square by square as the
sky deepened into a red orange and the great swirls of
black starling’s started to scream circling the million
multiplying lights, that the Money finally letting him, Tickle,
inside itself, and Toby had, at last, struck his first big deal.
‘Gooooooooaaaaal Da da da daa dada dadadada Goal Goal
Goal A fucking result’ said Saul ‘Gooooooooaaaaal Da da da
daa dada dadadada Goal Goal Goal It could be you, it could
be you too Gooooooooaaaaal..Toby you’ve made it, you’ve
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scored’ and Tickle couldn’t quite believe it, back at the
Office, finally the world’s defense had given way and finally
he was inside the Money again, ‘A fucking result Well done
Mate’ laughed Saul loudly doing his jig around the corridors.
‘Yeah, at last’ said Toby feeling exhausted like a second
time with Tina but inside he felt uneasy, deep down he
knew that once he took it, the Money, it meant all of the
lying would become real and so he too officially would a
fraud, he would have really sold out completely, a full
blown capitalist whore. ‘Oh bollocks, we’re all tarts mate,
don’t be silly, you gotta eat son’ guffawed Saul, ‘Come on,
enjoy, you’re a winner now, have a toke on this’ offered the
Boss in reply to Tobys self-incriminating muttering, on the
balcony having a celebratory spliff. ‘You got to cut corners,
it’s the way of the world mate, in Business its how Money
works’ and Toby said Fuck it and inhaled a huge drag and
looked up and saw, high up its tassle jiggling like a tail, a
red balloon, not Bartones airship but a childrens party one,
heading West and Tickle couldn’t stop himself giggling. Red
balloons over London, it hadn’t been since before Maggie
with Ken and his GLC free parties, that summer before the
alcoholic nightmare had begun, the time when he still had a
life and a belief that he too could become what he had
wanted to be that Indian inkling he had and still held onto.
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The little boy and the red balloon; wasn’t that a film he’d
seen once or had he just imagined it? but yes, it was
another sign. It wasnt wrong the lying, it was the way of
the world innocence was still available and after all the
bullshitting was with the best intentions, looking after the
Baby, Tina, getting back to his truth, it was just a slight
deviation in order to get there a little bit quicker that was.
Things can only get better, a song sang in his head from
somewhere, Things can only get better and yes, everything
was going to be alright. All wells and all will be well as Saul
NLP chanting said and yes he would get well again, recover
the confidence, his own Ding… Ring of…
And the Fat Man watched the last one disappear over the
leafless poplars heading south towards the City, like a
procession of cardinals tassels dangling in the breeze, the
red balloons flew out over the Essex flatlands across the
M25 along the Thames Valley west towards town. Santa
Moore couldn't resist opening one more sackful even if the
party wasn’t until tomorrow. Should be a good trick, the
kids will love it, and so will his Boys. ‘Sorry sir, did you
mean to say ten?’, ‘Yup’. ‘You do know how much ten will
cost sir?’ ‘Yup’ and the white bearded Buyer had laughed to
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himself. Ten of everything they used to call him in HK, in
the Sushi restaurant he always used to order ten of
everything for his darling Lads, the Traders, made it easier
didn’t it, kept it simple and it made them all laugh. Never
got to grips with the Nip language but the Chinks made
sure they knew numbers everyfuckingwhichway for sure.
Santa sighed. He missed that, the straight forwardness of
the life there out East. Work, money, eat, that was the
way; more meant more of, everything. ‘Yeah, that’s it
mate, Ten Van loads of balloons’, a bit much, but well, at
least they’d know he was back. ‘Haven’t you heard of the
law of abundance, mate’ ‘Err No Sir’ said the spotty sales
guy and the fat man had laughed. Why bother telling them,
the Others, the Spectators, more for the Players to take in
the end. He had the Bouncy Castle, Hot tubs, Champers
and the rest, fake snow, hot fans and fireworks and he was
going as Father Christmas. Ok, it was a hot September but
fuck it, it was his name after all and he was back and he
wanted the Boys to know he was back and the same and
that he had something Big in his swag bag. He had a New
Game for them to play with, the Internet and this one was
going to be the Big One, make the Big Bang look like Childs
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play, this was the Millennium game, countdown to
Doomsday and everyone was going to be part of it and for
him and his Boyz it was going to be crème de la cream all
round. Kev, Mike, John, Ian, all the lads who’d been with
him in the 80s, good times in Aldgate, Tokyo and Hong
Kong, he’d tell them what the deal was, the ins and the
outs, the vision and he knew that most, if not all, would
come along with him. Some had wives still and others had
succumbed to the coke and heartburn but they’d all move
with him he knew, they were his Boyz, part of his gang.
Then he’d go and chat up, after they’d had a few, the Pepsi
guy and the Barclays VP who lived down the road, (his
street in Rollswood was like a fucking top Brand yellow
pages), and they’d see his success and all knew what
Success breeds, more of and they’d come along too. He
was, in Business the Business, full of Desire for More of and
both Brands and Banks need in Business the Business to
make the Money go round, yeah, where he went he knew
they would follow too. And Santa looked up at the sheen
blanket of sky. No, it was going to be easy, just get on the
Merry Go Round, the Big Dipper and see. ‘Did I get the
Stars Wars in’ he asked himself, he wanted the whole lot
set up for the kids and for him of course, later, when
everyone had fucked off home. Couldn’t get enough of
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them, could he; The Force be with you- and Santa chuckled
because Obi Kenobi was the nickname that his other bird,
HKfuckufucky, always used.
‘Prick. Where’s the fuckin' money Saul? Where that’s hey?
So fuck you, if I said we’re doing Tremor Virus first, that’s
it, we’re doing it first and Electrobux wants us to too, we
want to and anyway Gameplay that’s where it’s at now, not
3D music mags VR immersive worlds and all that shit so
fuck you’. Two months later Jasons teeth were bared and
the animals without feed were turning on each other now.
‘You fucking cheat, cunt, after all I’ve done for you’ Saul
whimpered ‘Forget it Saul my old mate, you’re going to
have to wait your turn; its my team not yours, we’re the
ones who actually make the stuff, serve you right for calling
me a fucking nerd’ Jason snarled at his so called Bossman
who, goggle eyed couldn’t believe that he’d been shafted by
his Boys, his recruits revolting and royally screwed by
Electrobux, shafted him up the arse again. ‘Strike, what
about you?’ Saul pleaded. ‘Ah gee. I’m sorry Saul,’ said
Strike looking all sheepish like Chandler in Friends, ‘I’m
only a hired hand, I am not the producer’ Strike said matter
of factly, ‘You’re going to have to put the club on hold’.
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‘Hold?’ Toby was shaking ‘I’ve got a Baby coming’ ‘Shh’ said
Saul’ that’s not the point’ Toby couldn’t handle it, ‘What is
the point? Why are we here, to make nothing out of nothing
you fucking upstart wannabe would be producer Saul you
cunt’ Toby wanted to say but he didn’t, hurrying out instead
going for another spliff. It really was a fucking disaster,
what would Tina say? What the fuck was he going to do?
‘Believe me, its par for the course old boy, just relax it will
come back round’ said KOK on the phone, ‘But but but...’
Toby was totally out of his depth, his acting the
businessman was breaking down, the role was falling apart
now. Never get emotional with the Money he’d heard,
family and friends it always ends in tears. But what about
the Baby, what about Tina, what were they going to do
about the house now for Christ sake? Believe me, Be
Positive, Just Trust me, It’ll be alright you’ll see, he’d been
telling her for years and now her worry about things would
only make matters worse. Oh No and No sex for Gods sake,
how now could he relieve his stress, what was he going to
use to fend off this ball-breaking fear? Tickle looked across
into Lisle St and took a big lug of smoke hoping it would
make what had just happened disappear. The Mahjong
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players weren’t playing their game and the floors below
were now ablaze with feverish feeding. What was he going
to do? Dog eat dog but he didn’t really believe it then but,
with Jason the terrier biting into Sauls hell, he did now.
Above, a small plane was blinking red and it looked as if it
was heading towards the top of the BT Tower? It seemed to
be heading straight for it? Toby held his breath. The plane
went into the disk at the top of the building, then came out
the side and Tickle breathed out. The Tower stood out
above the skyline, like a pin holding the rest of the horizon
up and Toby saw that without the Tower as the lynchpin the
whole façade would fall, the whole City coming tumbling
down around him like a set curtain or a broken stack of
cards.
To be or not to be; some actor guy in Rehab had said it
was Hamlets relapse speech, to jack up or not to jack up,
perhaps even to OD. The up and down of it all, the deal
fucked and now left no where with the Virtual Nightclub
collapsed, it was all doing his head in, nothing ever stable
the future always unclear. .and by a sleep to say we end
the heartache tis a consummation devoutly to be wished…
and he really needed oblivion now Toby told himself, he
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needed to become nothing to find himself again. Fuck
Recovery, fuck the programme, fuck God, Fuck it all, at
least when you are out of it you knew where you stood. He
had tried To live life on life terms as that wet Gwen always
told him, be a good boy and do a normal job, not drink, be
Honest blah blah blah de blah. He had tried the best he
could, but it didn’t work, it hadn’t delivered, the World
wasn’t like that, dogs eating dogs in a jungle of lies that
was how it was. Fuck it, he needed to go somewhere else
entirely, get out of it, the IT being somewhere which,
although it had almost killed him before, seemed for Toby
Tickle still, compared to all the uncertainty around him,
even now, somewhere entirely safe in which to hide.
Whose getting Europe?’ demanded Wayne Mudrock, high up
above the centre London in his executive Jet. ‘Bert’,
‘Whose the Fucks he?’, ‘Mallach. He’s got Electrobux now’,
‘What’s it worth’, ‘5.4’ ‘And the telecom guy?’, ‘Bernies
riding for a fall, he’s even invited frigging Liz One over his
ranch and I know his numbers don’t add up beyond Q 2
next year’ ‘I’m in for VMK once they’ve taken over Bernies
Worldtel’, ‘Nice’, ‘OK the board’s on board OK ’,’ Where the
signing’ ‘Hong Kong Wednesday’ ‘Where you flying into?’,
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‘Sing sing, gotta sign on the Metro deal’, ‘ ‘How you finding
it the new Gulfstream?’ ‘Expensive, shit on gas, does 22
Gallons to the mile’, ‘Yeah but the Emir cuts me a deal,
Jack set it up’, ‘Warry says he’d got a new company leasing
jets on the Net’, ‘ Neat. Smart Guy Warry Top Dog. So see
you at the Summit as well?’, ‘Don’t forget to pack your skis
the snows nice and hard”, ‘Its not the snow I’m worried
about getting hard, not at my age anyway mate’, and then
the two men others might call old, happy to get to the meat
of the matter, for the remaining three minutes their PAs
had allowed for the Concall, discussed their various
enquiries into Potency and Rejuvenation, Immortality and
the cheating of time. ‘Its the manipulation of the pineal
gland, governor of light and dark that the key stuff’ said
Molane, not giving away his secret investment in the Stem
Cell research at KurtWeil Labs with Dr K, while Mudrock
‘Nice, but have you looked a Libido transplant’ not
disclosing what Can Hail Fok had promised the older man
on that front, a sweetener for the acquisition of Comet TV.
Fuckers, said Wayne, as he put the phone down London
below, for a moment his blood pressure rising, slightly
woozy suddenly feeling lost, was it day or night, winter,
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summer, north or south of the Equator, Asia or the States?
recovering his customary balance only by focusing on when
would be the optimum time to strike and muscle out Molane
with the bid for Freedom and at the very same time on the
ground. At the same time Molane was allowing himself a
smirk, having got Mudrock to agree on Mallach coming on
board, his old ally and knowing that with Miller onside too,
if he’d get Connie R in Washington to OK it, his Plan would
inevitably come to pass as his Plans usually did and MUD
International would be out and it’d be my Information not
their running on my Superhighway, ‘so fuck you Outback
Asshole’ he said out loud again.
‘Fuckers.’ said Agman ‘Waste ‘em; around here it’ll only
cost a few hundred quid’, it was a couple of hours later and
Agamemnon was driving Toby fast into East London to
score some high. Agamemnon’s battered jacket and oily
fingers made him look like a crim mechanic, though really
he was just another would be actor, a Cypriots shipbuilders
son who’d gone off the rails failing off the Stage and into
being another drug dealer instead. Already Tickle felt better
though; he was in a supersoft ride going sliding through the
darkness, the loud music, worn leather and thick-aired
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warmth soothed him as he sucked on the Valium his feet up
on pressing against the window, heading East into more of
the same. ‘Fuck it I need to get wasted…Fuck normal life
it’s a sodding con…’ Tickle was ranting at Agman as they
skidded around the Old Street roundabout, a GAP poster of
Jennifer from Friends, Rachel stuck between on the two
giant white horns, still wearing cotton dresses even though
it was Autumn, but somehow incongruously apt.
Toby and Agman were going to Smithys in Shoreditch, who
was an old mate of Tommy the dealer who they’d all hung
around with in the 80s doing coke. But along with the
laughter of their twenties Tommy had faded too, dying of
bowel cancer only a few months back, ‘Fucking IBS’ he’d
called it, the pain, for years and at the end once he’d
known it was something else, Agamemnon and Jake had
taken him around Europe, one last trip, back home to
Cyprus, Tommy spending his last weeks furiously painting
pictures in oil. He’d originally set out to be a painter, going
to St Martins in the glorious sixties, but becoming
sidetracked, briefly, forever, another one wasted
somewhere along the way to somewhere good. He’d
painted twenty canvases really fast at the end, as if to
125
make up the lost time and all had a white hare type figure
in them. Toby remembered each being in a vain pose in
front of a dirty dark backgrounds and he wondered if that’s
how Tommy saw himself; the dodgy geezer always late or
the rabbit in the headlights frozen with fear, the coward
who’d run out of time?
‘Shakespeare Circle. Hah...Smithy buried 3 kilos of cocaine
in that one’ said Agman, pointing to the park in the
labyrinth of red brick council housing. ‘Couldn’t find the
fucker, diff brain’d lost it, the Adams would have gone
apeshit, you don’t want to get on the wrong side of that
Family, shitting our bricks we were, spent hours trying to
find it, ended up digging up the whole place’ he said getting
lost in maniac laughter. It was easy to get disorientated in
the concentric curves of the same looking blocks; Keats
House, Wordsworths, Blakes, and Smithys flat was on
Coleridges curve two storeys up.
‘Hi. You alright?’ a fresh faced man, no lines but with a
hangdog expression and a Beatle mop peered around the
door, a chain cutting across his face like a moustache...
‘Hiya’ said Smithys girlfriend, very thin, with a batch of
126
curly fair hair ‘Hiya Darlink. This is Teri, Tickle, Teri’ said
Agman ‘Like a cup of tea or some ink?’ she asked sweetly,
‘Yeah fine. No sugar.’ In the sitting room was a black guy
with dreads and a denim shirt. Kevin. ‘Alright’. He had a
guitar. Strumming and humming. It sounded shit.
‘Alright’, ‘Alright’, ‘Yeah Alright’. Everyone was alright and
waiting for something to happen, the Crack, to begin. An
obese spliff was being passed round. When was the stuff
going to arrive everyone was thinking, when?
‘What do you do?’ snarled Kevin. Agman pushed Toby; he
was an unknown entity and needed to sooth the gathering
paranoia in the room. So Toby started his shpeel on the
Virtual Nightclub again; ‘Couch potatoes were heading for
extinction blah blah’, he’d said it so many times blabbling
onto Brand execs it was almost automatic. ‘That sounds
cool.. We could do a feature on this’ said Teri. It turned out
she was an assistant editor at the Sunday Times Mag. ‘Do
you think they could get me in the club ‘said Kevin ‘I’m
mixing some tracks. Here listen’? and Kevin put on the
tape. Toby, gaining bravado reassuming his producer pose
said ‘Sure, give us a copy, Ill see what I can do’, ‘Right
127
have you got a number’ Kevin asked’ ‘Hey here’s the stuff.
Jolly good’ said Agman grabbing Tickle by the arm, ‘Lets get
on with it’.
And soon they were passing around the pipe, the users
were using, something else to get them out of their trees,
the little rock of plastic coke bubbling sickly in the center.
The inky smoke sped through Tickles brain as if he’d been
waiting for it for ages, for the hot air to blow into his
marrow bone and evaporate the pain in his head.
Throughout the room the tension eased, soft smiles of
contentment emerging. ‘I’m doing this photographic course
next week’ suddenly said Smithy ‘get back in game, this
time make it work’ ‘That’s right I’m going to be his agent’
said Teri tightly holding her dealer blokes arm. ‘Ill get you
in the Sunday Times Magazine too if you want’ ‘For sure’
said Tickle, ‘And I’m driving the getaway car’ Agman said,
oddly, to one side. They were all jabbering at the same
time, wires drawing back the corners of all their mouths,
teeth bared.
Then it was quiet, except for the twang of Kevins guitar and
slightly moany voice on the tape. The pipe was finished and
128
everyone sat upright, tapping knees, but without a thought
in any of their brains, except how to get more.
‘Better go’ ‘Yeah we’d better split, ‘Yeah sick of the music,
its shite’, said Toby surprised at his tone. Luckily Kevin
hadn’t heard and Agman bundled him down the stairs
manic feet echoing down the stairwell. ‘You fuckin’ cunt’ he
said to Toby revving up the car but laughing, ‘that Kevin
he’s a seriously heavy geezer, he’s just got out of
Belmarsh, Manslaughter, and there’s you slagging off his
shit guitar- you could have come to serious grief there
mate’, he said giggling, gunning the Citroen out of the Poet
Circles as they headed south of the river, the artificial
highness making the damp night come alive again, lights
bright burning in the dead City glare.
----------
BLACKOUT
129
------------
130
7.
One's real life is often the life that one does not lead
Oscar Wilde
Oh, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch a
long lonely time. Time, goes by so slowly…
He didn’t know where he was. For a moment he saw
himself, a shrunken wax figure lying prone all naked and
white, slightly luminous at the bottom of a dark hole.
Staring up at the flat mirror disc of the overhanging light. It
was day outside although the room was dark, low cloud rain
almost. What had happened? Where had he been? His mind
struggled to get back somewhere. Oh shit..Did he have a
drink?
Don’t pick up the first drink. First things first. Think Think
Think, he reached out for the mantras that had kept him
going away from the drink, out of that old pit for so long
131
but now he was blind, deaf and dum, groping for a ladder
out of the darkness. It will pass, he tried to tell himself
again.
No, come on, move. He tried to get up, but his body was a
dead weight, the pressure of organs aching, in suspension,
defying movement.
BLACKOUT
Still again. Where had he been? How long had he been
asleep?
Today the Government outlined to EU leaders its longawaited anti-BSE plan. It has already slaughtered 124,000
older dairy cattle and 150,000 more are destined for the
country's overwhelmed incinerators. A deal in Brussels is
far from sure, since the Continent remains deeply
suspicious of British sincerity…
‘Going to do a fucking wedding. Someone has to get some
money.. See you later Twat’.
Silence.
‘Tina?’
132
Door slamming.
She’d left on the radio.
News.
What day?
….today he testifies before a jury in the civil case for the
first time. He denies killing Goldman or his former wife, but
cannot explain the physical evidence against him. Six
months ago OJ was acquitted in the most controversial
celebrity trial for many years, acquitted of a murder many
believed impossible to refute…
Our. Hour. Hours..
The window.
A rectangle of golden light fading to grey then black.
A Cows eye rearing out of darkness, wet snouts pressed
against the glass, cow eating the brain of cow, black and
white hide steaming, blood drenched, staggering about,
hooves slipping, and then falling, as if drunk, dead
Two feet on a windscreen, ‘ You fucking twat You’ve made a
fucking crack in the Screen’ Agman seething about the cars
window then another two Valium, empty streets, the river
133
and the rain, Stockwell. A squat house, MLF music blaring,
walls knocked through, massive sound, blacked out
windows, white faces, jam packed rooms, FOR LOVE NOT
MONEY scrawled on the wall in neon lights, Kenny Tugsten
burning fistfuls of 50 pounds notes on a big video Screen,
the Wicker man, a fire in a croft tons of money, burning,
fluttering notes edges alight floating into the night and
here’s Kennys’ wife pregnant, studs and mini skirt pink
shiny and was that Alisha, Tinas friend, in between the
pillars there kissing Kenny and there was another bloke
Tina knew, Tim, always there hanging around the media
edge, had he fucked her too? Was she here? Another one to
join the IvefuckedTina queue and that fat bald bloke from
Eastenders, crap actor but with an I’ve made it so fuck you
glare.
Heavy beat music shaking the doorframes, Agman pulling
him down to the basement, silver foil, paper planes, ‘Bring
us down mate’ burnt hair and tin tongues, ‘this is the
business’, a brown pool of heroin dark desire running along
the beaten metal gutter, a puff and hot wind blowing
through the heart, happy for a moment, the tear drops
burning out to a dirty dry stain, almost black. What then?
134
Nothing.
BLACKOUT
Again.
..clock news from the BBC .. the trial into the real estate
scandal known as the Whitewater case ended badly for
President Clinton… As D Day Commemorations commence
in France, Dutch peacekeepers are under attack for the
desertion of Potcari cited in the UN report on the massacre
of over 5000 Muslims at Srebrenica. .. our special
correspondent Ora Giron reports….
Green Eyes.
Hurt.
‘Tickle you’re a liar a hopeless lying fool, a fraud and a
cheat’ Tinas finger wagging.
What’s that? A Baby crying too?
135
Production suspended.
Obsession crippled.
Utterly, incomplete.
What could he do now?
Instinct damaged beyond repair.
Inaction.
Despair.
‘Death is Lifes Greatest event’ Mr Leary declared before the
Internet broadcast of his passing away last week in
California. ‘Time to enter the third eye’. One of the leading
advocates of the use of Hallucgenic drugs critics point to his
revealing of the names of the Weatherman as proof of his
essential reactionary leaning. ‘I believe telling the truth is
the best way to get out of jail’ he said in his defence…
What had happened?
The Virtual Nightclub, the Money. Nothing.
Nothing had happened.
But it was meant to be something real, something tangible,
the concrete of technology, the jobjob the VNC, the boring
bits of the paper, 9-5, 10-12 1zero1zero111zero zero11
136
and, puff. Now it was gone, the fantasy about the fantasy
about the fantasy and he was wandering around no mans
land shouting in the desert, the evangelist for a phantom
ranting denial, mouthing about something that no longer
existed or perhaps never really did so...
.…‘Lock him so far down that when he does die, he'll be
closer to hell. That is where the devil belongs." Susan
Mosser wife of Thomas, PR man for Exxon Corp, killed in
1994 by the Unabomber said today after the verdict was
delivered in court…
‘Shit. Still there arsehole...two days you know ... when
you are going to get out of bed..’ ‘Tina no, Water please’.
‘Are you ill? Sod you, you can listen to this shit till you get
up. Rise and shine Baby it time to start living again…Here
listen to this shit again.’
‘It’s hurting. I’m going to check it out.. Coming? Fuck you’
Door, slamming, again.
I need your love,
I need your love,
God speed your love to me!
137
Ring, the telephone ringing. Fuck it. Ringing, telephone
again. Fuck it. Ringing again, ringing ringing...a distant
door closing shut, the call, ‘Come quick’, a trail of corridors,
the disinfectant working into the nostril lining, stretched
queues of people, posters and white coats scurrying along
the lino and where was she? There she was so pale and
despondent propped up on pillows there, the hemorrhaging
had gone on for hours they said but they couldn’t get
through to him in time and the Baby was now dead and she
had almost died too.
‘I’m sorry I’m sorry’ I’m sorry I’m..’ was the first thing she
said, ‘I didn’t mean to’, ‘I know’, ‘Sorry’ ‘Never mind, we
can try again’, his mind switching to the mechanical the
body not wanting MOT failing and he hugged her but felt his
sinews go tight needing to escape, angry his flesh
screaming; the reason, why?
He just wanted to go, he just couldn’t stand the waste. He
just couldn’t accept it, the thing sliding off the wall like that,
the Baby gone. ‘It couldn’t hold on to the womb lining. It
was a boy you know’ and his stomach turned over inside
out again and he left.
138
Gone, it was happening somewhere else, another life, not
his, the child, his child, it had gone, sluiced out a dot down
some plughole, washed out of her and with it all the
possibilities, the great mound of life washed away and he
had looked into her large broken eyes and wanted to cry
but couldn’t, anger blocking up all the way. Anger at her for
inflicting this on him, anger mutating into a blank ga-ga
trying to be positive but unable; anger at the Baby wailing
at them through the ward coming from somewhere else and
anger at himself, the him and the you, the person who
couldn’t get it together, somehow to blame, his lack, the
lying, his shame, all part of it, the sliding away the waste,
his life sliding to somewhere away from what he saw his life
was meant to be, should be, gone.
And he broke out across the car park in front of the
hospital, a frantic drumming on old Corsas and Mondeos,
hot rain falling from a thick sky screaming out loud up
towards it now…
‘You fucking cunt…Fuck You...Why did you let him die?’….
139
8.
The production of too many useful things results in too
many useless people.”
Karl Marx
The eye shot out from under an almost white lid and if it
wasn't for the little flecks of blood, the curled albino eyelash
could have been called sweet. Then the huge sow turned
back to the guts of the runt that had been gored by one of
the barrow boars and Barry Reddot was sure he saw a hint
of regret in the prize Gloucestershire Old Spots expression,
as it nuzzled back into the red wet straw.
Your World’s Just Got Smaller , the new BarAir motto on his
red balloon and yeah small and hard, sad but true, all is in
the food chain and you end up where you are and again
Barry admired the curve of the sows midriff, the sheen of
the pink and black flesh, the healthy sparkle in its fevered
eye. Beatrice was another prizewinner for sure and it made
140
him almost glad. He loved his pigs, always had since his
boyhood on the farm near Mold; the smell, the intelligent
activity of the herd, the urgent hankering for sex and food,
the rutting and the fucking, sweety piglets and the rest.
The PR people back at Bartone Plc didn’t like it though, the
piggery; the footie and airlines were OK, formula 1 and
ballooning were good for the Brand image, Bartone had
even bought a basketball team last season, some deal to do
with Zeus, but really, although Barry did all the glad
handing and said the right words to the press, his real
passion was now for pigs.
After all the years of business build and consolidation, 20
hours days, London, New York, Sydney, HK, buy sell, buy
sell, buy, now he just wanted the solid and the tangible, the
smell of something real. Shit; it stank rank but it was good
and Barry breathed deeply. He looked out through the soft
rain, over the long sweep of grass hillside across to the far
valley, then another, then another, then over into the far
off mist and intimations of sea. Madonna and Guy owned
the next estate, then there was an industrialist and one
banker either side, but it didn’t matter, each had their own
kingdom and there were no gaps in between, they all
141
understood each other and this was it then, at last,
complete privacy, ownership and control. He looked out and
saw the oaks turning orange, the bright celebration of
another year passing soon, all bountiful resplendent and he
felt…. absolutely nothing. Shit.
Burying his habitual disappointment at the narrowness of
his emotional range Barry turned back to Beatrice. Yes,
shit, that was where it was at, at least it was real and Barry
breathed in deeply again. Shit helped him remember who
he was and what he had become, keeping a lid on that odd
feeling that he was having, increasingly often, that he,
purely by chance, had arrived on a totally alien Planet Zog.
A twitch at the back of his head meant he had to do
something. Zog. Planet. Planet Hollywood, that was it. Was
that 3.5 down the drain or what? Bob and Arn had twisted
his arm, good for profile the PR had said, build the Bartone
brand blah blah blah and he had a mad urge to grunt like
Beatrice, but didn’t, then he remembered Dirk, son no 2 of
No 1, who urgently needed sorting out and soon. Ziggy,
No1 was long gone, a Sadhu somewhere in Rajasthan. And
it was Debbies anniversary soon. Two years dead. OD’d.
Dead. Poor girl. Oh Gawd but odd; he didn’t feel anything
142
about that much either. One left and the runt, Dirk, now
needed a position, he couldn’t shovel shit here forever, he
needed something in the Company, safely out of trouble
but safely under control. That was the only way to protect
him and perhaps ensure a living, if not actual inheritance,
in these anti nepotistic times and, wanting to shift the
irritation in his crotch another problem had brought, Barry
threw Beatrice a cabbage as if her eating of it would relive
his pain.
‘Multimedia has legs’, Garthside at Pilgrimage had told, KOK
numbers guy and Barry had always trusted KOK. It was the
Way of the Future he’d said and it sounded good too; there
was another rush on the way, boom time and the Going
Mad Greedy, everyone wanting more of, fuck the
consequences so there. Once a decade it happened, it
seemed, the cycle, perhaps after the memory of the
previous recession had faded enough to allow the risk and
greed to come back again. Boom and Bust, the Cycle goes
on as sure as Beatrice becoming Ham. Shit happened Barry
sighed, it was all too human I’m afraid. Anyroad, he had to
get into it, a thing called Virtual Nightclub was up for grabs
that’s what KOK had said, would fit well with a thing called
143
Cabby, Yellow pages for Internet whatever that meant and
he could buy it cheap apparently via a proxy so no risk to
Rep, KOK had said. Cabby takes you where you want to
go, was its motto, quite neat really.
Keith, his old mate, had said he was going to buy into it too
with that music guy who did those talent shows, some idiot
on Live TV Simon says, the sort of geezer Barry’d given an
armful of singles to in the old days to hand out at the clubs,
real piss shit dens then when he’d started out, selling
bucket loads of metal out of the Transit down from Wales.
Good on you Keith, Barry muttered, sold up and you too
had the dosh now. What was his thing called? Needles and?
Hadn’t the partner died suddenly? Pity and Barry signed
again. Keith was sound though and Barry made a little note
in his head to make the affirmative call the following day.
Zog, Dirk and Keith, that was enough for his own head to
cope with, Patricia managed the rest of his toodoo and
increasingly he just followed her instructions. Hey Ho, now
it was about just letting it happen, glad handing and
smelling out the ones trying to rip you off and fuck
everything up. It was all about sorting good shit from bad.
He felt like a fucking moronic Icon sometimes, there to be
144
venerated as long as he didn’t move, actually do anything
sudden. And he saw it again, that eye, shooting out from
behind the shades, when Tony’d left him when Bartone had
first gone public and Barry had sort of shafted him cutting
him out the bigger deal. But, See you later alligator was all
Tony had said, waving in his happy carefree way, as if he
knew something Barry didnt. Good luck mate, he’d said
despite Barry being a shit, as though Tony knew he wasn’t
going to be so rich but at least he’d be free to stay fully
alive, free to live all those dreams they’d had in the first
place when, as two fresh faced hippies, they’d started out
belting down the M6 just built giggling gobbling mushroom
swigging cider free love laughing and lugging spliff.
Irritated again Barry grunted, the pain of the loss made
worst by him knowing that on this vast estate with all the
Worlds power at his disposal he should still feel so uneasy,
unwell and he worried again where his fucking son Dirk
was. It was time for feeding, one of Dirks chores and Barry
wanted to tell his Plan for him, although he knew that it
probably wouldn’t work, but he had to do something for his
Reps sake if nothing else. Oh Gawd. And as the sun set
over the far horizon a pink sludge beyond the mist began to
145
fill up valley bottoms and no soul was there to hear the
series of bellowing grunts, then a long low howl, half pig
half stag excruciatingly mixed with a high pitched squeal.
I need your love I need your love. God speed your love, to
me.
It was on again but Tina didn’t hear it anymore. She was
having yet another fag worrying about Toby, trying to bury
the emptiness growing inside her. She was trying to believe
that Virtual Reality was Real, the Virtual Nightclub was
going to happen and it wasn’t a fabrication of Tickles
insanely erratic mind. He was driving her mad. At first she
had gone with her instinct, letting herself fall for him her
Prince Charming, even if she knew he was a pest, but it
was a feeling she only had had once before, mad love as
that fucker Freud called it and that was with Lee. ‘You’re
lucky to feel it once let alone twice’ she’s always said and
she didn’t want to go through another breakup, the
wrenching pain of that split with Lee still sent shots through
her midriff, made her feel sick the same as the fucking
146
Pregnancy but in another more frightening way. It felt like
oblivion, lost in herself, a negative rather than a plus, a
back hole, an abyss as Toby always went on about. No, she
wanted Toby to stay, she wanted this one to be Real. She
needed a Baby, something to make her whole and part of,
for her Life to move on. But why couldn’t Toby just get
sorted, cut out the doubt, get a job, a jobjob, be Normal, so
she didn’t have to worry all the time if they could afford to
get anything to eat.
DO AND CHARLES TO SEPARATE
Evening Standard Special Edition
QUEEN TO GIVE HER ASSENT
Another headline, another divorce, it always made her
queasy, since being a child, the other kids thinking she
must be weird without a Dad. Is that why she always hung
on to the end, the bitterest? Last Sunday, down to their
last fiver, her and Toby had done a car boot sale down at
the Angel. It was freezing, a harsh wind blowing and only a
few ugly stalls but Tina had taken all her glam 80s gear,
the Jean Paul Gaultier, Comme des Garcons, and Boy stuff
from the time when that Brand, she and Lee were the latest
happening things.
147
INQUIRY LATEST
QUEEN DEEPLY DISTRESSED
MYSTERY WHITE CAR SEEN
Thousands mourning, the funeral only a month before, all
the flowers in London had gone and with them the tears of
millions shed for a far more innocent time. ‘Come on quick.
I’m starving’. Toby only had a few books to put on their
stall and some guy had then come, a slimy dealer from
Notting Hill, ‘Vintage’ he’d said which was a bit sad in itself.
Was she so old now, was she destined to be always barren,
alone? ‘Nice gear’ he’d said sneering, seeing she was
desperate offering only a hundred quid for the whole lot
when she knew it was worth much more and it felt as if he
was taking the last bit of her, or at least her last bit of
aspiration, even Hope. And although her and Toby did laugh
a little afterwards, the first time since the shit-thing, the
Loss had happened, like kids giggling at themselves for
being so happy they could afford to have a big breakfast,
underneath it felt as if another bit of her had left, as if she
been even more abandoned, not by Dad, Lee or Toby, but
by herself, with the Baby, another one, another part of her
leaving, irredeemably gone.
148
…..the chromosome content is incompatible with life and
the pregnancy miscarries. It is important to stress that
these errors occur randomly and are rarely a cause of
recurrent miscarriage….in a small percentage of couples,
between 3 and 5%, one partner possesses abnormal
chromosomes which they repeatedly pass on to the fetus.
The most common condition is when the chromosomes,
although being of the correct number, are arranged
differently. This is called a balanced or reciprocal
translocation and is a recognised cause of recurrent
miscarriages…
The Clinic booklet didn’t reassure her. OK, it was only her
second, they don’t even offer consultation till the third, but
she sensed it was somehow terminal, deep down she felt
that there was incompatibility between her and Toby and
although she hated to admit it, she knew that he didn’t
really think straight, ‘got a bit of a screw lose’ as her mum
had always said. She’d thought the alcoholic would go once
he’d stopped drinking, she didn’t know it was anything else,
she didn’t want to know it was a mental illness, as Dr Karl
the fancy lecturer at Uni had said, because that meant
accepting that ‘being normal’ was just not available to
them, which meant that she would now never find it for
herself, the Normal that the other kids had.. Oh Gawd.
149
Should she leave him, stay or try again? And she again
thought about Tickle, his uselessness, what a twat he
sometimes was. At least her slagging of him kept her mind
off it, the emptiness, and Tina sighed. She had one friend
at least, one sure companion through the grief and strife, it
had saved her Life. Thank God for Silk Cut.
‘Louder Higher More, ‘Mufferfucker’, Say it again, just
mouth it’. It was Zeak fiddling with his stupid goatee beard,
like some left bank student telling the failed actor what to
do. ‘Try and exaggerate your movement,’ he said. Tickle
had shades on and was holding a ruler like a gun, ‘That’s it,
jump in and say Fuck you you motherfucker and fire’ Tickle
felt a prat, a clown in a kids party, hovering between trying
to and going through the motions. This was what he was
reduced to, the greatest Hamlet since Burton now a fucking
stand-in for a fucking cartoon.
Zeak didn’t know anything about acting or about drama and
didn’t really care, but ‘real people’ gave Virus that filmic
edge and Zeak, another one of the Driven, saw Virus only
as a stepping stone to a Feature and soon they were going
to be all the same thing, Digital and Interactive and fucking
150
actors would be programmable like everything else. The
Virtual Nightclub was since autumn parked in Lot 23x/35rdvr2001 stored in the warehouse of good ideas that couldn’t
get made and Virus Mind was now IT, it, rather than eye t,
or maybe both, the real thing, the real killer app to be and
Tickle didn’t have a part in it. ‘We need someone thinner’
Zeak said, not even looking at Tickle in the eye, as the
would be auteur moved to tick off the next thing on his
Apple Newton toodoo list Screen.
Another rejection. Oh Gawd Toby needed money soon.
After the betrayal, relapse and hospital shock the only
people who wanted him were those seeking repayment of
debt. Messrs Green and Green and Brown, South Mouton
Street, Strictly confidential. This morning Tickle had
screwed up another one of the letters all saying the same
thing: I am writing on behalf of my clients the American
Express Financial Corporation incorporated in Delaware. He
had been hiding from them in the basement, surrounded by
screwed up tissues and papers ‘vital research’, trying to
stop his ego collapsing. ‘Wanking around in your bunker’
Tina shouted down at him and the fact was he was indeed
fucked, emotionally, spiritually, financially, about to be
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branded with the IVA now Individual Voluntary
Arrangement to cope with the AMEX debt, the bankruptcy
without the public shame, which had cost him his last 2K.
Last week he’d gone to a jaded little office in Pimlico to
meet a man with a shiny suit and red tie dripping from his
neck. Mr Valcon was going to talk to the Corporation and
the rest of the debtors to persuade them to each take only
a little piece of their debt, ‘20p in the pound we’re hoping
for’ and the idea was then to lie and pump up the size of
the debts of those who didn’t need paying back,’ feel free to
be economical with the truth’ the man had said, so Tickle
had included Jake, Agman, Tina, no she was too honest,
anyone he could think of, ‘as long as they’ll stand up and
back you up in court’. The terrifying process had turned out
quite painless, apart from the humiliation, and now it
seemed to Toby that rather than getting itself back the
main thing Money wanted was control, because all company
debt chasers he’d been fending off for the last eighteen
months were now being really nice to him. ‘So sorry Mr.
Tickle sir, but I’m afraid a letter may have crossed over
since the agreement was ratified.’’ But then again, given
that he’d be tied into the agreement for the next 3 years,
he was well and truly crucified, fucked, no credit, no
cheques, everything over a certain amount paid to them,
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unless the carrot came up, the boat came in, his number,
Itcould be you.
Toby left Zeak and Predator and walked into Soho, feeling
an alien in the busy City. Having turned his Life over to
Money it had been turned into a set of figures and the IVA
confirmed his Life was a big minus now. He really did feel
like topping himself. He couldn’t take drugs anymore, no
more oblivion, the last nightmare show with Agman had
told him that and the miscarriage felt like some sort of
retribution and really he just wanted to disappear, do a
runner like Agman who’d gone back to Cyprus to see a
bloke called Razil…‘gotta really good scam in going on a
thing called web someink...’. But for Tickle, Tina still at
home imprisoned by her post non natal depression, the IVA
and the VNC aborted, there seemed there was no escape.
Was this the real Rock Bottom, the emotional rock bottom
the Crypt had always gone on about? Would he surrender
now? He felt little fight, little life in him left.
To be to be Toe bee Toby Toby the voices called out again
across Greek Street; Too bee or not Toby. Oh shit he didn’t
know or care really now, Millennium Hamlet was dead and
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it was in a dream of uselessness that Tickle was now
walking around Soho pretending to Tina that all was going
well, ‘Electrobux money is about to come through and
Believe me, we’re just about to hit the jackpot, and then we
can get sorted and try again for Baby, get the house with a
garden and everything.’ The lying made him feel he was
entirely separate from himself, being followed by another
him, the honest one upset that it was being slowly killed.
Toby needed to get out of it to feel in one piece, return to
oblivion in the hope that he might come back rebuilt,
whole. Sheffield might have something cooking too, he
thought, he was working with Si Curry and Si was
connected, son of the punk king and queen and Sheff said
he was setting up a new fashion label, knickers to settees.
FC was the logo made up of fishnet legs and stilettos,
‘Stands fer Fucking Cunts but don’t tell’ Sheffield had joked
earlier sounding slightly insane on the phone.
The door to Sheffs and Clyts flat was open, 20 lines and 5
prozzies A Night Naughty Tickles the Suns bloody 80’s
headline on the walls, an ambient track stuck, a beat, going
round and round and round and around and round and
round. Sheffield was lying in the window seat asleep mouth
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open, drooling. Toby moved through to the bedroom hoping
there might be something else. A Mattress on the floor in
her bedroom, Clyt not there but three little brown bottles
by the pillows, Methadone phials lined up by the alarm
clock trying to say Hello come on Toby come and play.
Should he or shouldn’t he? Bit heavy, he was hoping for
some spliff. At least he’d be doing something? Anything to
stop him sliding forever into the nothingness again. Just
one, she wouldn’t know. ‘Hey what the fuck’ Sheffield at the
door. Tickle apologizes and asks ‘What’s going on your
end?’ ‘Sleeping, just fucking sleeping all’t time. Man, have
been fer last six weeks, I’m fucking fucked right now’. Sheff
had been asleep for six weeks. ‘… fucking crack, did my
fucking head in. Crack is a cunt. and…Nathan, he shafted
me, signed me out of the deal with Zeus, got fucking
peanuts anyway and Clyt spunked it all on H. Bout to be
chucked out of this gaff any time too’ he squinted one eye
open. ‘Got a spliff mate, fag, owt?’. ‘Sorry’ said Toby and
left quickly, scurrying away from the virtual Sid and Nancy
show. Sheffield couldn’t keep his eyelids open passing out
again; he was too much a mirror for how Toby felt and he
scurried out..
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Shaftsbury Avenue grinded forwards the traffic pushing
towards Piccadilly like sludge. Toby turned looking East
knowing he should go back to Tina really but unable to face
the sadness that filled up their little home. Mooning out of
unwashed windows wondering what could have been, Tina
sat all day now empty and alone but for her pack of Silk
Cut, never getting out of her dressing down, filling up her
longing with worries about his fucking finances and their
diminishing Life. He had to go to a Meeting; a thought came
strongly into his head, he had to admit he just didn’t know
what to do now, but he did know that he hadn’t anywhere
else to go.
‘But for the Grace of God’ said the woman down a side
street off Bank, chubby and pink white hair streaked with
rust. Toby had finally had got to the meet. ‘It’s not so bad
now, I see my grandchildren, wee Alec and Jenny, and
that’s a bonus, a God given boon, and I talk to ex now,
amends have been made, even though he ran off with his
secretary, he paid the price, but yes I’m not angry no more
but grateful and most of all I thank me higher power that
I’m able to be here today, sober’. A few heads nodded
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appreciatively, some sat with theirs bowed down, a carrot
top was lying back in his chair twiddling his thumbs
covering a yawn and at the back a bundle, all grease and
anorak was swaying long hair brushing his knees a fist held
out in front of him, expanding and contracting, ‘Fuck, shit,
git, cunt’ exclamations gurgling from his throat.
‘Its been 12 years 10 months and 13 days since I put down
the last drink, since, as the Big Book says, I surrendered
and tried to be rigourously honest in all my affairs and it is
true as they tell you for me at least the truth does indeed
set you free. And as I said every day has been a bonus, a
gift and yes I wish I was a bit thinner but you know, that
will come,’ she said smiling, ‘but by the grace of god, each
day at a time, it will come’. A few more smiles. ‘Thank you
for listening’ and the old woman cleared something in her
throat, ‘I couldn’t have done it without you ‘ and with water
in her eyes she looked up directly at Toby who flinched,
forcing a smile, who me? feeling an upstart intruder, but
sensing that Yes she did mean him and she saw he needed
help. ‘Thank you everybody’ she ended with a soft smile.
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People shuffled about, a couple of coughs and a ‘fuck
shitting bastard’ from the bundle at the back. A very clean
man, sitting at the table facing them next to the woman,
close cropped hair in an ironed pink shirt, waited a moment
and then said ‘We’d like to thank Doreen for that very good
chair and now, seeing time is short, Id like to open up the
meeting and hope all of you will, if you need to, be able to
share. Remember, listen to the similarities not the
difficulties, you are in the right place’
‘My names Jimmy and I’m an alcoholic’ a craggy faced Scot
with really thick glasses said near the front, ‘and Id like to
thank Doreen for her honest chair, and Id like to say that
I’m having a difficult time, a low period as she described’,
the mans voice faltered, ‘its been about four years or so
since I gave up drinking, although I’ve not been going to
meetings’ Tobys stomach began to empty, the man was
saying what Tickle was thinking ‘and it doesn’t get any
easier…um.. Doubts all the time, perpetual tension, nice
phrase eh?’ I don’t know, in a prison, of me own making
and not able to do one thing because of thinking of the
opposite and vice versa, so I end up doing nothing,
everything turns to shite. O Gawd. Its like double talk in the
head and me moods changing all the time, unstable that’s
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what they call it in the Psychiatric, its driving me fucking
mad’. It didn’t make any sense but it did for Toby, it was as
though the guy was reading Tickle’s mind ‘I try I try. I do,
try.’ The man was addressing everyone now, like a jury, ‘I
do fucking try’ but it was as if he was telling Tickles story
for him making him want to hide. ‘I say the serenity prayer
all the fucking time I try to be calm, but the anger, I cant
control it...um I try not to shout but it just happens I can’t
stop it. Fits. It’s like I’m drunk’ and his voice began to fail
‘I try so hard, so frightened but...it’s like the disease is
inside me trying to bring me down like…’
…You fucking Bitch didn’t you? it was him wasn’t it? (Puce
face) Lee, around you like a fly. I know, do you think I’m
stupid? always at it I know you always having a go at me,
(frothing on the lips). how the fuck am meant to get a job
if I cant get any fucking time to think and you are always
fucking putting me down and yeah I’m the fucking one who
has to do the do the do…fucking everything (a fist dissolved
in his gut) when you ponce about doing fucking counseling
cant even fucking understand your fucking self can’t even
give upfucking smoking cant even have a fucking kid….
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Tickle winced. The fits. Screaming at Tina. The same when
he was blacked out and she took the video that got him in
her eon the first place. He had them once a month now,
always stuff brewing up, no money, the debt, perpetual
tension like the man said, the blood getting hot needing a
release, Tina tensing up there like a tortoise enduring the
rage. It was all her fucking fault, if it wasn’t for her he
could of…he could have been ... if only.., her lack of
response heating up his blood further, sweating, wanting to
kill her but wanting to love her too, wanting her to stop
him, wanting to fuck her, the little neck crying out to be
snapped.
‘You fucking cunt, all bastards, kill, no sense shit’ - it was
the dosser drunk staggering out of the room, pushing over
a vacant chair stumbling towards the door, a shaft of light,
a shout of cold air, traffic groaning breaking into the
intimacy of the Vestry then the door slammed shut, the AA
sign left swaying its corner scraping against the brass
handle like a scratching on the dry skin. He needed to do
something. Tickle knew he needed help, he needed to tell
them, he needed to share: ‘My name is…Toe..’ No he
couldn’t. ‘be…’ ‘I am having difficulty …my work.. very
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confused, Virtual Reality’ he thought he heard a snigger,
they were meant to be listening, fucking cunts ‘.. without
work I get all agitated, unstable and alcoholic behaviour
starts agai..’ More sniggering, but he had try harder, push
on, through the self-consciousness, share, spread the pain
that’s what they said. ‘I feel the waste... I I... I’ve just lost
a child, I feel doomed a, everything in my life turns to
shit…. Er…my script, a sort of a Hamlet for today, I cant
finish it…seems impossible… I finished one before but..
really drunk er…in Mexico waiting for a train, fell asleep and
err…all my stuff nicked ..my writing gone… found it in a
siding, the bag, some clothes torn up and…’ and Tickle
breathed deeply ready to convey the enormous importance
this event had in the despair of his lifes and, ‘the writing,
bits of it covered in shit, all scrunched up and brown used
as toilet paper…’
The youth burst out laughing and the Scots guy coughed in
his nose, even the Secretary, the clean man with the crew
cut turned away and Doreen too had turned pink, the
beautific smile very strained... ‘it was all my life, just shit,
blowing away down the railway lines…’ the rest of his self
piteous drawl became lost in the laughter of the others
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seeing it was all the same, a metaphor for the loss they’d
all felt. Fuck 'em, he felt like he was going to disappear
down the black hole. ‘Sorry… I can’t…bastards’
Toby rushed out of the room, away from the sniggering and
the honesty that made him sound like a total prat. He
needed to get out of it again, or back into it, the old place,
the prison, at least he knew it was safe not feeling anything
except shite… But why couldn’t he ask for help?
The full force of the outside, the sharp yellow light, polluted
gusts and gritted wind knocked him down the pavement.
He could only do it his way, by himself, as always, that was
just the way it was, he was different, he had to follow his
own path,. Across the street, a man in a shiny Macintosh,
suit and black mirror shoes held his Trilby hat down against
the almost winter gusts.
…. the record shows I took the blows and did it my way…
The dirty wind blew awkwardly between the old buildings
and the new buffeted tight together down the street to the
Bank.
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… But through it all, when there was doubt… No, he had
to deal with the gap himself, the hole my boys you only
loose your confidence once…
Maxwell’d said and maybe it was the same for that, it, the
big IT too, the higher power and all that. Loose it once then
that’s it, dead, gone. Oh Gawd…
‘Hey Youse, hold up there’. It was the Scots guy, Jimmy.
‘Don’t leave before the miracle. Give it another go son.
Don’t worry about not being able to speak, give time time,
it’s a killer illness you know. But, remember we all gotta
laugh at ooselves in the drink, laugh and cry, laugh and cry,
its life eh?’ And he laughed slapping Toby on the back ‘Keep
coming back eh. Here take me number,’ the man said
chuckling handing Toby a scrap, ‘Good Luck there son,
mind how you go’ and he rushed back towards the blue sign
swinging on the door handle. Toby was grateful, felt his
warmth and the kindness but he still knew he’d blown it
and the time for AA was past. He’d have to do it his way
alone, again
.I faced it all and I stood tall; And did it my way.
Tickle stumbled, hurrying on towards nowhere. City suits
marched purposely past him, armed with briefcases and
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paper bundles, brows focused, shoes clean and Tickle
weaved between them towards the underground keeping
vaguely incognito in his variegated mac. He saw a crisp
packet tumble over itself along the pavement edge and
followed it to avoid looking at the marchers and then, as it
lifted up in another gust, he saw by the brass statue of the
General on a Horse in front of the Mansion House, he saw
Father Christmas standing there looking at him square on.
It was a short fat man in pinstripes, his face pink and
unlined under a shock of white hair pointy beard carrying a
Santa hat in his hand. He didn’t look much older than Tickle
but seemed totally serene, a picture of contentment. As
square as he was tall, the banker stood and looked upward
at a low flying plane, cutting a line of white in the blue, as if
the sky was bleeding cloud and then downwards and
straight into Tickles face. He smiled and for a moment Toby
felt good, somehow the smile filling the Gap his weakness
giving him some hope like Doreen had too, but much more
powerfully so. A herd of traders came towards him and he
couldn’t see the Fat man anymore, lost in the crowd.
Deflated, after that little ray of light, Toby suddenly felt
very poor again, a failure and following his feet went down
into the Underground. It wasn’t a relief to be heading back
164
to Hackney though; after yesterdays row she might not be
there and if she was she’d still be hurt; it seemed as if
their thing was always about to end and he really didn’t
want to go to the her friends Party tonight, what with all
those successful media types, but he had to escape the City
now, , it was another tribes place and the spectre of the
IVA, his debt, seemed to throb on his chest stuck on him
like the yellow star of a Jew.
Santa Moore watched the plane disappear behind the Nat
West Tower, only reopened last month after the Mick bomb,
and then followed its course over Mary le Bow toward St
Pauls. Ah London, his town, where he’d made his first Mint.
He stared up the mirrored ladder of the Tower; both
monumental but secret, reflecting back any inquiry, a giant
mirror to the sky. FLAP needs your support... He’d got the
brochure this morning, the nighttime skyscraper on its
front, something about companies putting up bunting
around their buildings in order to stop birds flying into the
glass; another scam no doubt and anyway what do they
expect? It’s a jungle here, not a place for wildlife, Dog eat
Dog and anything else.
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A brown plaque on the corner said the Tower was the site
of the original Money Exchange where modern Money was
invented; Certificate of Deposits, Commercial Paper,
Medium and Floating Rate Notes, Santa’d done them all,
he’d played the markets and he’d won. $13 to $40 Oil when
the first bomb landed on Baghdad in ‘91, what a beaut,
there’s always opportunity in devastation Baby, as one of
the smartass Yanks had said then. New York, London,
Sydney, Tokyo, HK Santa Moore was global and in his
minds eye saw his new company Infinity International
Development Ltd spinning out across the world, all those
users on his Golden ISP, millions being tied into the whole
and in the center, like a big honeybee, sat himself smiling,
the Buddha Santa dispensing largesse, ten of everything
please.
He’d just been to the next stage presentation at Pilgrimage
IT, Garth whateverhisname, little techie Paki was outlining
opportunities to the Angels, blokes like him with a bit of
dosh. Weird stuff most of it, the Virtual Nightclub,
Redemption, Encounta, CRM, Adserving, Rich Media Engines
and Simon says someone off the telly, a bright spark
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seeking dosh who’d got a belly dancer into the
presentation just for a laugh, get everyone attention for
something called Cabby. UURRR.. Santa had stepped on
something soft like shit, instinctively squirming into himself,
interrupting his gliding gait. It was a small bird dead on the
pavement, crushed, a glob of feather and blood he wasn’t
the first the stand on it either, a total bloody mess and
Santa hurriedly bent down to wipe away the minor blemish
on his barely scuffed Lobb City sole.
Oh Gawd. Coming back up his back tweaked a shot of pain
above his right buttock, an unusual unease coming into his
mind. Yes only once had he been shafted, royally by
Warlock, twice, the Wife, number 2. Warlock was a pillock,
jacked in the Money Markets and had wanted to become a
media bunny, after a Knighthood no doubt, the twat. ‘I
don’t want to be a barrow boy for ever’ but it was just plain
stingy not letting Santa buy the Trading Operation side out.
And Sheila, the Sheila, the wife, the bitch had got the
house, the car, the kids the lot. Fuck ‘em, fuck her he’d got
another one now, a new model, classier, knew when to
keep her mouth shut, and open, which was nice. HK
Chinese, she knew the score and had done it before and
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thinking of her now and the thing she did with her feet
Santa beamed again. Fuck it, he was alright, coming up
roses again as they’d said at his first ever interview, for
flogging commodities quick, Look mate, if you perform as
we want you too you’ll soon change from a low-income car,
to a high-income motor, and then from a low-income bird
to a high class bit. Right? Right. Too true. Yup, the new
millennium, it was his time now, the Visionary redeemed,
the Internet was all twenty first century and he was in at
the beginning, he’d be the main Dealer to set the game up,
shorten the odds and, at the end, triumphant he would
smite the scumbags, reward the good and shaft that pillock
Warlock royally up his media bunny…
‘1.2 1.3 1.4… What are we fucking waiting for? Sorry what
did you say Keefy?’ Simon was on the phone ‘Just counting
me spondoolies as they procreate so to speak, fucky fucky :
Royalties, Voting Revenues, Merchandise, all the ancillaries
breeding like rabbits they are me old matey, all from this
shit old song’
I need your love I need your love. God speed your love, to
me.
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‘For fucks sake turn the music down can you Simon can’t
hear myself think’
long lonely time. Time, goes by so slowly…And next time
I’m going to get a decent percentage, own it all from
broadcaster too merchandise… I’m going to…’
‘Yes yes right Simon; please it’s a business matter’
‘OOoo business, don’t be so serious. You weren’t that
serious with Jeanine last night? I heard it got quite steamy
in the Tropicana, more than sweating in the Sauna I heard
and it wasn’t that sweet’
‘Right, yup thanks for that Simon’.
‘And the little geisha girl, Sumi? No Keith sari no kan do
Keithy’ ‘Simon listen, this is business’
‘I love your authorative tone Kari San More Kari San’
‘For fucks sake... Look I've just talked to Barry over at
Bartone’
‘Oh right, the great Barry, right. OK... shoot’
‘He’s up for it, Cabby and particularly the Nightclub if we
can hold of it. That shyster Saul is ready to roll and it fits in
well the Bartone multimedia strategy apparently, blah blah.
The down side is we might have to accommodate his son
Dirk. A head case apparently but he’s harmless enough so
Brutus says. You know Brute, Kelvins son, Business School
169
and all that. Clever Boy. Have you got the Cabby prototype
you talked about and Biz Plan? We need to get it over to
Bartone fast’
‘Yeah of course, you think I’m a Wally or something?’
shouted Simon a bit more loudly
‘Look we need to hurry you know how it is, we should strike
when the irons hot’ aid Keith, wanting to keep a lid on it
‘He’s got a couple of others on board, Fastdrug lot and of
course we’ve got Santa onside’
‘Oh great, him ten of everything and with the girls, Nordic
through to Chink...Great. So it’s the mill we talked about?’
‘The mill we talked about, plus the rest’
‘Jolly Good Hunky Dory, Fantablioshous my son’
‘Right’
‘Right…Still a bit sore are we Keithy Baby?’
‘Simon…please’
’Ok. See you when the sun goes down darling. Cho’ and
Simon put the phone down and rolled over the black satin
sheet to his mobile in order to give his kid brother Chris a
call. The little git needed to get on and make the prototype
and write the business plan pronto. Nice, should keep him
up for a few nights, little spotty shit and Simon felt chuffed
170
that to all the various commodities he had already dealt in,
hype, birds and sort of talent now he could add Reality
albeit Virtual to the a la carte list.
--------
9.
Compassion, forgiveness, these are the real, ultimate
sources of power for peace and success in life.”
Tenzin Gyatso, The 14th Dalai Lamas
I just wanta to go home… Ooh yeh I wanna go home with
you tonight Tin Tins Goodbye Hello Party was in the
popstars compound, a converted lunatic asylum in
Camberwell, high fences and a watchman at the door,
keeping the flies off the Stars. Alisha and Len had been big
in the eighties, old New romantics ballads for the nice
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people, three world tours and still huge in Norway and
Japan. Tickle had come here soon after he and Tina had
met and he’d got totally fucked, coked and drunk almost
throwing up in hostesses bed lunging out at Tinas legs
across the dance floor, knocking people over as he crawled
towards her and she grinning, pissed too invited him on.
Now, seven years later he was cold dry sober surrounded
by successful people telling each other how busy they all
were and he felt small, empty and very nervous. It was if
he had become all Gap and now feeling useless inside it he
was unable to stop himself thinking how only three hours
before he had been on top of the No 38 bus coming back
from an AA meeting scanning Just the Job, wondering if he
could blag a job as an Assistant Sous Chef.
The party had huge arched windows, Victoriana supreme,
but done up all minimalist, high wires highlighting the
architectural frame. Big music was echoing around and the
place was packed. A few old faces half-remembered
emerged from the mêlée. ‘Hi Tina.. OH this is Toby... Tickle
isn’t it. Heard about you..Look different from Shock, I
mean.. Was it Shame? Ten years back… And what are you
doing now?’ and he attempted his spheel halfhearted
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knowing it was crap and sensed they were all more than a
bit disappointed in him. ‘Hiya darlings’ and out of the forest
of fashionable backs Alisha jumped peroxide hair piled high
with extensions and thigh length biker stacks. ‘Hiya
Darlings how you doin’’. Toby pulled Tina close to him like a
shield but then a huge black man in dreads waded through
the crowd grabbing Tina and lifting her up in the air. ‘Tina
Baby, my big hearted darl’ making Toby violently contract.
Robby had been the drummer and Tina had ended up in his
bed with him on the last TinTin tour. Apart from the obvious
white man phobia, particularly on a bad night like tonight,
the thing that had worried Toby most was the fact that
she’d kept it a secret from Alisha and everyone else for 15
years. If she could do that with them what about him?
Yeah, maybe it was a lie that she couldn’t lie and yes it was
true that she was cheating on him, with Lee or even now
with the big black guy. What as it she was whispering in
Robbys ear? and no doubt everyone else at the party was in
on the joke. Yeah he was just the Fall Guy to supply the
semen for Tinas plan, or was that yogurt at the back of the
fridge in fact Lees and Toby was just being used as a front
and to pay for the house. No wonder he felt so pathetic as
she treated him like a sort of fool and he had to end up
actually being one and it was then that he resolved he had
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to get away from her in order not to turn into a fool. Yeah
he had to leave, without the oblivion he was just too weak,
he just couldn’t handle being with someone else and his
brain was now reduced to the size of a pea. He had to get
away from her, soon, he couldn’t let her make him doubt
himself so much any longer. Doubt was killing him. Yeah,
he could tell her in the Cab back, when she was pissed, or
just leave, tomorrow, like Lee had with his posh bird, ‘See
you later alligator’, walk out of the party and her life
mysteriously, finally winning back some sort of control. The
thought of it and his 4th pint of Perrier made him
desperately want to piss.
The bog was hidden behind a blind door and he almost wet
himself trying to find the way in and get his shriveled dick
out in time. He couldn’t find the light either but once inside
the darkness and the mutedness of the thudding music, the
space finally gave Toby a chance to breath. He noticed that
it had been reduced almost entirely to foreskin and in
negotiating the wrinkled skin the piss went all over the
place even when it was pointed towards the right place. The
spliff was making him hear everything very acutely I just
wanta to go home tonight …and he did, oh yeah with you
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tonight and he looked at his worried face in the mirror: at
least it wasn’t totally fucked yet, he thought. ‘Remember
we all gotta laugh at ooselves in the drink, laugh and cry,
laugh and cry, its life eh?’ and oddly he felt better that he
knew Jimmy was somewhere in the city, another nutter like
him, yeah even this was better than being pissed on the
floor again all fucked up. Surrender... rigorously honest
….acceptance, the meeting catchphrases now echoed
around his head. He should, would, go back, but he
couldn’t, not yet, he had to get some money in the bank
otherwise he couldn’t relax, surrender, he knew once in
there was no turning back. If he went in he’d have to leave
Tina, he told himself, he had to get some money in the
bank first otherwise he’d become homeless and end up on
the streets like how a proper alcy lived.
‘What?’
‘Say it louder?’
‘The Bacon Baby. Our boats come in. Bartone are in, want a
slice of Cabby, Keith got the call just before’.
It was Simon up against one of the windows talking to a
fatter and more conventionally dressed version of himself,
175
Chris, another Froth, his brother. Keith had his back to
Simon talking to Saul who was looking nervously pleased
with himself, in a Hawaiian shirt puffing a supersize spliff.
Simon knew the TinTin PR guy and he knew the invite
would impress Saul and soften him up in the deal. Simon
was proud that after a lifetime of blagging, ligging and lying
he could get in wherever he liked and he used it to the full.
‘Golly. Just like that?’ said Chris
‘Yup, Bartone said they’d put in 50 %, one point two, you
know Liz the fat City chick and Keiths says Saul’s happy
with cash on the side plus a cut, at 3% for a year or two.
Its amazing what Big Bro the magician can do heh; it’s all
about having the front as Becky always said, UDARE
KANDOO eh?
‘The Froth mantra’ said the fatter version of Froth
scratching another spot on the back of his bulbous neck.
‘Yeah that’s right bro, but we need a plan, Bizplan you
know a Plan Plan and a bit of design work to make the
Virtual Nightclub look like ours. You know Cabby Mark 2, a
sort of the new version, more advertising and we can cut all
the culture shite out, Freespace my arse, more room for
more brands and …
176
‘But we need at least a month’
‘You got a week Mate ’
‘We can’t do it I..’
‘FOR FUCKS SAKE YOU CUNT DO AS I FUCKIN SAY MY
NECKS ON THE FUCKIN LINE YOU KNOW AFTER ALL IVE
DONE FOR YOU YOU KA..’
Simon was bright red in the face his drink sloshing on the
ground and behind him Keith shuffled along the wall
pushing Saul away, who, seeing the fuss became a bit
worried that this Money was so temperamental and he
decided get it sharpish and fuck off quick.
Saul reassured himself that he had the Heads in his back
pocket and it was a fucking result for sure Yeah All wells
and all.. It had happened and everything was coming up…
Yeah, the 80’s again cheap money on its way, out of the
Bust into the Boom on the up and he knew now having just
survived the recession of 92 that the game was all about
getting hold of as much money as possible in boom and
holding on for dear life in the bust. Yeah he’d done it and
maybe he should change his new company name to
Phoenix, you know from the ashes, smart. Yeah, maybe he
would put back some into Infinity Golden shares as
177
Garthside had suggested with a wink and a nudge. Yeah he
really was a Player now as he had always wanted to be, the
salesman from Beckenham could now buy whatever he
wanted. Through the Money he was with the Money and
now in the Money the replacement for Shak, Leslie, was
already there, a classier higher income type of bird and all
would be back how it was meant to be, Sunday Times
Magazine Day in the Life of... So wrapped up was he in his
autobiography Saul hadn’t noticed that the crowd had
rippled away from the wall where he and the bickering
Froths were stood, as if they had a bad smell but he did
hear the commotion behind him now.
‘You cunt you cunt you fuckin cunt
afterallIvedoneforyoucunt..’. Chris knew when to back off
from psycho bro and now moved to placate his older
brother before Simon puce red invective developed in the
more serious thing. ‘Sure. ..You’re great Simon, Best dealer
I know, Whatever you say Si, no prob...Please yes Sorry’ he
almost pleaded ‘You are truly brilliant Sim… Mum will be
really pleased.’
178
And not knowing the next Chapter of his Life was being
prepared by the distasteful group by the wall Toby, having
taken a deep breath first, broke out of the toilet and
bumped into Alisha, the very white face looking a bit irate,
blue eyes wide open. ‘Alright Darlink?’ ‘Yeah’ ‘Come on,
what’s the matter Toby? Lets party.. I’m leaving the fucking
country tomorrow, this is the hottest date in town’ looking
genuinely offended that Toby wasn’t playing his role in this
the glorious film of the end of Act 2, or was it 3? of her life
too. ‘I just need a fucking drink, something’ he said and
suddenly the Woman became serious, ‘Look Darlink, don’t
be silly, be good, you’re not the only one here. Every other
person here is on a 12 step for Christ’s sake. NAs the best
networking joint in town. Be positive for fucks sake. Don’t
be an idjut, you make the world you’re in, don’t you right?
she said, holding him by the shoulders. ‘And see how fuckin
good it is, because this is it Darlink, there ain't no other Life
so you better believe it and..’ with a little threat in her voice
she tightened her grip making him look directly at her. ‘And
for Gods sake don’t blame Tina, she is a god given gift so
fucking look after her alright. Remember she’s the one who
saved your ass, she loves you and right now she’s the best
thing in your life’. Then she let him go and stroked his
chest, smiling gently saying, ‘She’s a top mate OK, she’s
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precious to me so look after her when I’m gone, alright?’,
‘Yeah sure, of course’ said Toby suddenly felt all sheepish,
adding ‘Thanks’ because he knew she was right. ‘That’s OK.
We’re all in it together right?’ she added doing a twirl
obviously wanting to get back to the throng the Party
celebrating her life. ‘Our Electrobux deal is done and so off
we go to make our dream home in Ozzyland eh, see a bit of
my other family at last’ and suddenly Alisha became more
normal, less of a star, threatening and distant and more
just another person, another exile wanting to get home,
having proved herself now just wanting to be happy,
wanting to find something real, the right thing for her, to
feel part of and like him and perhaps everyone else, not
really knowing exactly what that was.
Toby relaxed. The big wall of Eighties music he’d always felt
bad about had faded and the threatening crowd had
become just a load of people like him and Alisha muddling
through, trying to be whatever they could be, not sure if it
was quite right. Tina appeared at his side with that dreamy
smiling face, wine and spliff having taken hold and she
suddenly held him making him feel suddenly OK with
himself as black clad PR types milled around them like
180
tadpoles, one bleached haired prat standing out, naying
loudly ‘Simon says this, Simon says that and Simon says
the fucking Internet is where its at. I tell you matees it’s
the new rock and roll...’ ‘Twat’ Toby and Tina said almost
simultaneously and for the first time in a long time they
burst out laughing together loud. 'Let’s go’ Tina said
squeezing him on the thigh. Toby was surprised; it was
usually him wanting to go first not her. ‘Lets go and snuggle
up eh’ and his legs melted beneath him. He couldn’t stop
himself and he knew then he wasn’t going to leave her now
or possibly ever. Was that Love or something else? And he
felt something, in the heart not the groin, beyond the job,
the debt and his unfinished script, something filling up the
gap? It was a new thing…Was it hope?
He felt strangely happy, odd even, but driving back in the
cab he became increasingly uneasy, an hour ago he was
going to dump her, leave the woman snuggled up beside
him and now he felt more in love with her than ever had
before, he couldn’t make sense of it in his head.
Was it Love or something else?
181
…and it was announced last night by the US department of
the Interior that the Colorado range of mountains from
Glacier Point to Summerland Park is to be renamed, after
the benefactor of the recently delimitated National Reserve
of High Special Interest, as the Molane Freedom Range. The
Reserve will be one of a handful in the US to be granted
this special status which precludes all form of commercial
activity on the area, including hiking, fishing and all other
non residential activities...…
----
182
10.
Because the regime is captive to its own lies, it must falsify
everything. It falsifies the past. It falsifies the present, and
it falsifies the future…
Vaclav Havel Power of the Powerless
The postcard oblong shone through the carriage window,
the train traveling West to East, from Linz to Wein, Hitlers
Birthplace to the End to Empire and Toby was reading an
East European diatribe about Power written before the Wall
came down. .. the regime falsifies statistics. It pretends not
to possess an omnipotent and unprincipled police
apparatus. It pretends to respect human rights. It pretends
to prosecute no one.. He saw the mountains, snowcapped
still the denudation from green to brown, those wretched
patches of sick grey trees, acid rain they had called it in the
80’s, the Natures Revenge Alisha had gone on about
blemishing the pure Alpine scene… It pretends to fear
nothing. It pretends to pretend nothing…West to East, the
pivotal trains in his life; West to East in 1984 from Paris to
West Berlin before the Wall descended, there researching
for Young Hitler, Wolf, a friends parent looking like Father
183
Time as they stood looking at an empty No Mans land, a
surreal sight like a mad gash running through the city
centre bleeding menace, with the Old Man saying ‘Vich ist
de verst, das ist zee question yah Toby, Capitalism or
Communism, both a lie in vich we are trapped in’. West to
East and five years later seeing the fear in Wolfs ex wifes
face,1989, the Year the Wall broke, remembering the
Russians marching women rushing en mass to the Wansee
Lake choosing to drown rather than wait to be raped. Had
it all changed then, the Wall collapsing, the Velvet
Revolution socialism dissolving accepting that we couldn’t
be equal dog eat dog was part of the picture, had the world
then irredeemably changed? It had for Toby, his Isolation
over, Tina saying yes to his madcap proposal and traveling
back, West to East, Finisterre to Barcelona staring out of
another oblong window into the beauty of another summers
evening, as now, mountains in the distance beyond the
blurred trees refracting light and…what then? Blackout.
‘yeah lets go to the restaurant car’ and waking 12 hours
later, a knife at her throat drunk in Barca Central wanting
someone to kill him, to arrest the madness going on in his
head.
184
‘Get a job, get a fucking Job a job job Get a fucking Job a
job job Just get a fucking Job’ the flashing trees and low
sunlight coming through the window now as the train
wound its way through the mountain passes, melded into
the memory of Tinas big eyes, hard edges and her lips thin
urgently asking before he’d left London for his Freespace
exhibition trip ‘…but where’s the fucking money, why are
you going, its not a job’. It was a constant struggle now to
contain her anxiety and anger. ‘It’s 10K for fucks sake and
I’m getting half, and the Freespace thing could really take
off if they like it’ ‘Yeah yeah, Is this just another fantasy or
what? Are you just a fucking liar Toby ?’ ‘It’s only for a few
days, and I promise I’ll look for a proper job as soon as I
get back’...
West to East he was traveling now, back from the Festival
of Virtual Reality, Ars Electronica to the Airport and home
again, in between things a time suspended, a virtual reality
limbo between Millennium Hamlet and a scared wife. He
had decided to go for a walk, die Weg, for a day and a half,
to climb a mountain and try to reconnect again with
himself, his body, his sight, back to being with Nature and
himself combined, the IT of India of being him, not acting
playing a part, an idiot technological he hoped.
185
Margot had got him at it, when he’d seen her, forced him to
remember the time before, that time fresh and openendedness, the high alpine walking, sex in the snow, Zehr
Lustig singing hot breath and ice, the heart opening up the
last time to the full Joi of life. Youth. O Gawd. Yah. Das ist
Rictig…Yesterday in Wien and she hadn’t changed much,
the same as in Shame, just a little more guarded. She was
still statuesque, Eva Braun without the durnel, those large
legs tapering up to an elvin face. The broad smile was there
but the face was more stretched, not so full of blood those
rosy cheeks he so well remembered on top of white sheets
before she came.
‘The frulingkeit is almost here’ she had said in Vienna
Statzpark, pointing to the Linden trees coming into bud ‘Joy
is here again yah’ she said almost insisting. Joi, she’d
pronounced it as if it was an edict but Toby knew that
underneath and perhaps now nearer to the surface, there
was a deadly seriousness, so unEnglish the bit almost
willing to be in touch with death, den Tot and with it the
longing, versucht. It was good of her to have met him
really; after all, the last time he’d been really drunk trying
186
to do the Young Hitler thing again 5 years after the film
bullshitting his way into her bed.
‘You and computers, I don’t believe it’ she had said in the
Park, ‘It is evil, only through people can the Spirit become’
‘Yeah but it helps communication..’ ‘ Ar Gott but what of the
Naturlich, Tickle?’ she’d almost pleaded and Toby had
retracted ‘Oh come on, lets face it darling, theatre’s hardly
something for the masses, and there’s no money in it
anyhow’ he’s said, surprising himself how much now he
sounded like Saul. ‘Yes but computers are not Human,
where is the breathe, where is the Soul?’; Margots mittel
European inflection allowing her to say Soul without
sounding new age-ish, ‘Its twenty-first century drama innit,
broadcasting ME.TV globally 24/7’ Toby had insisted
knowing he didn’t quite believe it but not wanting to admit
to Margot his doubt beneath, his shame at having left his
first true love, for Hollywood and the Coke of Tania,
celebrity melting any notion of the good. ‘Ah shiszer, TV is
full of bad people, shlimy immoralisch.. Where is de Joi, the
love for the good life?’ ‘In a remake of fucking Heidi
darling’, Saul might have said and then, there, as the last
light lifted from the trees, the dark deepening, Tickle
suddenly realized he no longer knew what joy was. It was
187
just a word now. Dog eat Dog. Life was a bitch and then
you…wasn’t that right’, a dull chase for status, security,
sex, palliatives for the anxiety and the pain. Leben was
what it fucking was darling, work, and he realized that
really he no longer believed in the alternative, something
else, somewhere free.
Oh Gawd but then, there, the Gap had reared up inside
him again, a gaping hole, the bad breath of his cynicism
making him feel sick. He looked at her wide eyed across the
clean white cloth and realized he needed to fuck her, really
badly, he wanted a taste of it again, her joi, her caring, her
being part of, he wanted to go back to the time when he
was part of too when belief was not outside him, a formula,
a course a possession, but inside him, the body total, the
sight, the Zehr Lustig being fully alive, he wanted himself
back, whole complete again.
‘Get a job, get a fucking Job a job job, PAYE in eye T, Get a
job, get a fucking Job the train wheels joining in as the
mountain horizon of the Austrian Alps becoming black
against the paling light. Another promise made and more
time bought and in his remembering Toby looked down at
188
her, her dark hair coming over her forehead covering her
face, as if the miscarriage, his unemployment, the pre
millennial fear was smothering her life. Still so sad. It
wasn’t even a Baby for fucks sake, just an image of one,
the swirling grays of the scan, a Virtual Womb, the thing
there just discernable in a cloud. The Baby was more an
idea than a real thing. Fuck her, he said then to himself.
‘Come on, for old times sake, please, I need…I need…I
need…’ he had pleaded to Margot the night before last, but
she didn’t even come inside for a coffee, leaving him at the
apartment door. ‘Remember technology is Man trying to
play Gott’ she’d said again, walking away from him into the
chilly night and Toby wanted to call out ‘I know I know but I
have no choice, its ..’, but he didn’t and she was gone, her
heels on cobbles fading in the descending darkness, leaving
Tickle trapped in the doorway and the perpetual tension of
playing the Third Man, in-between things, lukewarm not
one thing or another. A bit depressed Toby had tried to gee
himself up by poking around the apartment. It was
Hienrichs, Margots brother, a failed Priest who was in the
Sanitarium again for Schizophrenia or something else. ‘He
189
has the Todeswunsch, the Death wish, he has turned his
face from Gott’ his sister had said insisting that he wasn’t
mad.
Toby had a shower, trying to wash away the feeling shit,
the rejection and the bad taste from the past. Looking in
the round mirror at his tired face he’d decided to borrow
Heinrichs Bic razor, even though he knew he shouldn’t
really, Aids and all that and as he was carefully shaving
away the soap, he saw his sad drunk face from a Christmas
past getting cut to shreds dotted with Kleenex a decade
earlier, another one of his binges with Margot, Schnapps,
smashing up a posh dinner with some of Margots Graf
friends, another horrific episode unprocessed, forcing its
way back ‘Shit, Fuck…’ Distracted Toby knicked his neck
with the Bic, a little gash just below the ear and it had
taken a long time to stop bleeding. It still felt sore now as
the train west trundled out of another tunnel.
You are a Useless Wanker a Useless Wanker Useless
Wanker Useless Wanker Useless Wanker Useless Wanker …
190
the breaking wheels ground into him, as the train slowed
coming into the next station the track enclosed by high
sides and trees overhanging. He wanted to move back into
clear space, he wanted to get away from his own head,
besieged by all the pieces of paper, the IVA, rejection
letters, Freespace proposal, Arts Panel advance, AMEX bill
and the rest, surrounding him like inverted jokes telling him
he was indeed a failure and a mess. But he had to go on,
get away from this, walk it off, walk through it, try and
come out the other side away from the chimp on his
shoulder constantly slagging him off away from all the
mirrors and the PC Screens, constantly trying to drag him
back into himself.
Wintergarten. He’d arrived. Come on, let go, it was indeed
Spring. A meadow by the station, a path winding through to
birch trees at the bottom of the mountain looming up into
the blueness the right side of the mountain shining in the
late afternoon sun. Walking straight out from the station
soon Toby was in the foothills of the mountains, all slime
and uneven footing, the spring melt trickling down
everywhere. De Weg, almost paths, big boards showing the
pathways, numbered conveniently in English Italian and
Deutch. Zehr Systematisch.. So German, Alpine Verein was
191
the name of the club he’d joined for a year in Linz. 40
marks, a little piece of paper, a new cotton sheet sewed up
like a sleeping bag and he could stay in all the mountain
huts for free.
In out in out in out. Look with your head up, think with your
head down Toby had learnt to walk in India when he was
19, walking mountains was part of a quest for IT, always
had been since that feeling first felt on a Scottish hillside at
15. Oceanic someone had called it, when everything
seemed to fit in its place and he seemed part of everything
but free at the same time. The drink had done that
sometimes, a sort of lucid oblivion but before, in his youth,
he didn’t need that, it was from inside not the outside, the
freedom happy in body and quiet in his mind, all opposites
reconciled connected to the outside, Peace in fact. In a way
that was what he had yearned for since then, another apple
bitten and once tasted however briefly, it had to be sought
as it made everything else seem a little less than real, fake,
to the point of its absence creating a sort of despair.
A harsh squawk came from inside the ranks of pine as Toby
followed the still metalled road hugged by foresters. A
Capercaille wasn’t it, that big bad bird, black and vicious his
192
Scotch uncle had scared him about them eating babies
when he was a child and here the same fear was felt deep
in the forest. There were a lot in Osterreich he remembered
hanging out with Margot before. Come on stop being wet,
fear made the mind fuzzy, come on in and out, think, keep
at it and Toby stuck his head down and continued trying to
think it, his life through to some resolution about what do,
what to be next.
O gawd it had been another humiliation, a charade of
himself trying to cheat the Money into giving him some
more for Freespace, a ‘Work in Progress’ at Ars Electronica
the next big thing what’s happening in the UK. was
sponsored, by Electrobux, acting the role of the Visionary
with his own killer app, even convincing himself that this
was indeed the Toby Tickle comeback, redeemed again. But
the whole show was just to get hold of some more Arts
Panel grant, 80% of which had already gone in his back
pocket, and in the end it hadn’t worked anyway, his big
Freespace, using Shrike Virtual Nightclub fly through, the
PC had broke and he had been left to bullshit and soon
most of the techies and EU crats had drifted away only the
German Deputy Minister of Culture left in the front row
193
asleep. Fuck it, was all bollocks anyway Tickle tried to
console himself.
The city of Linz wasn’t very pretty, it felt heavy and dull.
The black mountains were there as the backdrop, the
Danube cutting through in a slow broad curve and in the
exhibition hall there wasn’t much to see, just more
possibility, the next great thing, Interactivity blah blah ..
ITMC, the International Transmedia Media Convention, a
Japanese man with a broken arm and a crap computer, a
giant Screen with Virtual Berlin, a landscape of avenues and
buildings but, as usual, no people so nothing was
happening. The Telematics room a dark space with
silhouettes projected from two angles making you meet
yourself in the middle. Toby took video clips of all of the
exhibits, playing a documentary maker, a producer
‘gathering assets to put into Freespace, but in both parts he
had felt a fraud. ‘Yeah that’s right guys, as I said in my
VRV, available world wide via Harpers by the way, we are in
the process of being wired into a global electronic media
space, as Mcluhan prophesized’, loud Americana coming
from the corner where a big man in a droopy moustache
and Hawaiian shirt was droning on like only Californians can
about all things IT. It was Ryan Heingold, the one
194
prophesying about the Way of the Future on ME.TV, set up
as the great seer and author of VRV. Virtual Reality Visions
was the main book, so his was the main man, now spotlit
by the Japanese news crew filming him, and with the
advent of these mass media reality networks in cyberspace,
we are going to have a lot of serious fun eh?’ The Japanese
nodding furiously ‘The Fun is going to be serious when you
consider that the two largest blocks of users in this
marketplace are going to be global finance and the
entertainment industries. The experience VR presents
potentially will not only affect the way we are, the way we
interact with each other, but also the way we think… Gettit
OK Guys? How about a shot of the book and I trust you
have the fee? Cash…Yes?’ All bollocks, crappy and Tickle
had just grown more agitated looking at the bright sunshine
outside.
‘Bollocks’ muttered into his boots as he made his way
through the birch walking up the mountain, the road had
finished and he was already sweating heavily, making his
way through the mud and stone. The back of his boot was
rubbing the ankle bone and he knew he’d get a blister but
he welcomed the pain in a way. He knew he had become
more disconnected than ever, after the acting, the celebrity
195
flashing of lights, the drinks drugs and the brain wash in
rehab, the relapse and then the years of grasping for Tinas
approval, layer after layer after layer of dishonesty had
become glued into a big screen of illusion, he was living in a
false history and now, as if in an inevitable conclusion, here
he was stuck in a Virtual Virtual Reality, but like the drink
had, it didn’t work anymore. Oh come on, shut up, find a
way. The day before Toby had ended up spending the
afternoon outside in the Spring sunshine; it had seemed
silly all those Screens of false light on a lovely day. The
river was canalized in Linz outside the Exhibition hall
although it was still impressively wide. On the other side
was a meadow, poplars flickering in the sun. A swan, high
necked, arched brilliantly white leading a train of cygnets,
ugly ducklings, was swimming against the current up past
the Complex. Toby realized, although he felt stupid
admitting it, that for him the natural scene had far more
meaning, was far more exciting than all the artificial stuff
inside on the screens. It was meant to be the future inside
there, Interactive, Virtual the rest, but it was just Telly
really, TV in a whole load of different guises and sitting
there on the bank he had suddenly felt disembodied, not
quite there in the scene, looking in on it, at it, the soft
valley wind brushing anothers skin, not his, his eyes
196
imprinted with the images but foreign, nothing to tell his
insides, his… soul, whatever that was, now seemed to have
effectively gone?
Beyond the park a black train had hurtled over the bridge
heading eastwards and Toby, for a moment, had seen
steam rising through the iron girders. It was an optical trick
played by the factory chimney behind but he’d seen then,
for a moment black and white cattle trucks heading from
West to East winding between the dark valley sides full of
the yellow stars heading to their death, zum Tot. Toby
shook away the old Holocaust newsreels he’d watched for
Young Hitlers research, and then resolved to go walking,
SOS, just for a day he’d said without meaning to, in the
Alps, before home.
In the concert hall that evening before he headed for the
Mountain here, even Virtual Realitys inventor, fat Ray
Seerson, had seemed bored by the VR stuff, messing
around with that 3D white glove projection that he must
have shown a thousand times before, but now wanted to
use the show to play weird Tibetan instruments instead
‘…and now for something a little more real’ the chubby
197
Californian had said before blowing a huge Buddhist horn
for half an hour confusing all the Austrian Doktors staring
up at him in hope of some sort of futuristic enlightenment.
The giant screen of an interactive Ping Pong game in the
town square had been the only interesting thing at the
Festival, where the whole crowd played with computer
wands they had to hold above their heads, making the
white balls move across a massive Screen and then, after
the big cheers when the Red Wands had won an old
fashioned Son and Lumiere show had begun, the Beethoven
finale bellowing out into the starry sky red and green lights
on all the shop fronts as the big rumble of bass drums
reverberated through the crowd, a little old woman
grabbing Tobys elbow to say, ‘Ist ze time of the
Wehermacht again, tanks ver everywhere. Yah das ist rictig’
and Toby had shivered in the chill night breeze. Was this
festival in some way recreating it, the technological
advance gathering people together towards a new world?
Was the technology being used to erase the memory of the
past? ‘Nature is Truth; Technology is just man playing
Gott’; Margots phrase kept ringing around Toby’s head.
Redemption. Cleaning. Purification, to see things clearly
198
through the lens of the Other Reality, is that what Hitler
was on about with his Neur Reich?
‘Fuck it’, Toby didn’t want to sink back into the Adolf part.
It wasn’t good when he’d got into parts too much, he got
quite difficult to live with and Margot hadn’t appreciated the
weird things he’d tried out in bed. He, Hitler, hadn’t liked
the light on apparently and the things he had like made
Margot think the Method could go too far even if her Eva
part demanded that she swallow the things that Toby, Hitler
did.
No fuck it, all parts gone now, no acting only the pursuit of
the real he told himself walking up the mountain trying to
find the first hut before night fell, no more De Nero, Brando
or Pacino he just wanted to be himself, connect with the
Earth, the Original him and the undeniable Real of Nature,
the dirt, the Shit he told himself as he climbed up through
the fir. The path, unused all winter was now covered in fern
and in order to maintain the course, Toby had to climb over
the massive boulders by die Weg. A high pitched whistle
came from a hawk above gliding, its breast bright gold in
the late afternoon sun. Toby enjoyed the fact that he could
199
find the way following his nose, without detailed maps. The
only thing he was worried about was the night, pitch black,
getting too cold and disappearing down some deep hole. He
pictured himself by a stream looking up at the stars waiting
for dawn, but then thought of bears, and other things
among the ferns and he didn’t fancy it. That was him right
through, he suddenly thought, never going the whole hog,
always wanting the backstop, the insurance, the
compromise, the safety net. No wonder he couldn’t be
himself, the half hearted man and Toby noted it. He should
think more on that tomorrow. That’s what he liked about
walks, it made things simple, bought the body and mind
together, revealed the thoughts that were there, then gave
a chance to order them, get things moving again in the
natural rhythm, the walk. He must walk more often he told
himself. He breathed deeply. Must breathe deeply more
often he told himself. The body thinks, someone said, the
body doesn’t lie. The front of the brain is used too much
with computers someone else said, it distorts its so only
half of you ends up being used. Must listen to my body,
Toby told himself, it made sense. Resolution after
Resolution he was making, and no more dope in front of the
PC, the mind getting all mixed up with circuits. To be clear
now. Clarity that’s what he wanted. Not tense. Don’t try too
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hard. Do nothing, keep alert someone else had said..
At last, his knees hurting, Toby came to the first hut, the
first stars appearing high up in the darkening blue. He
stood for a moment taking in the huge dome of sky. The
comet was there somewhere, Hale Bopp the star with a
smudged side, like a plane a luminous jet and he wondered
if it meant anything, if it would make the entire World go
slightly off beam. The Apocalyptic Millennium, he Druids
were saying the Dawn of a New Age, part of the becoming
we are all so frightened of Toby thought. Maybe we will all
try to escape on the spaceship hiding behind the Comet
ready to transport, like the Heavens Gates lot last year, the
bunch of Californian nerds who’d topped themselves in San
Diego all wearing You KANDOO it shoes. Was that
broadcast on the Internet as well as Leary? They had all
worked in IT, the John Doe the cult didn’t they? Wasn’t
their Higher Power called Ti, as in Tickle? Was it somehow
related? Oh Gawd…
There was no one else there at the hut, only the elf like
Gebirgshüttemanager. All beard and blue eyes and with
hardly any words the exhausted Toby felt closer to him
than he had to anybody for years. They looked at each
other, nodded, as they were, then, and Thomas gave Toby
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some soup, a bunk bed and blanket and it seemed the first
time for a long time, the body aching from the scramble up
the wet path and the lungs cleared of smoke and computer
fuzz, that everything was in fact alright that Toby slept
deeply and undisturbed.
Zinging the next morning, Toby set off for the summit
before dawn, upwards. By climbing the mountain at least
he would have done something tangible at last he thought,
the Reicshler, 3500 meters and then back to Wintergarten
by teatime and the train to Wein but trudging up in the hot
morning it was scree most of the way, and it seemed to go
on forever. The sun rose and it became very hot and Tickle
had to take off his shirt. The wound on his Neck from
Heinrichs razor began to throb. Someone had mentioned
the Ozone Hole and as he climbed he remembered the Acid
Rain again, sick rust lines etching the mountainside. Now it
all lay below him, mountain tops still white and the clearest
blue above, occasional valleys opening below him revealing
the toy towns beneath.
In and out, in and out, in and out he walked and breathed
and thought what the fuck was he going to do? Feeling a
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fraud, knowing he should face the shame and get back to
what he was meant to be doing, redeeming his downfall,
get back to Millennium Hamlet and the great comeback
reprieve. To be or not to be? Whether it would be better to
continue with this story, the Virtual Reality thing, knowing it
was wrong for him, or to listen to the voice telling him it
was bad and, like a fishing line tangle would only get worse.
In and out, breath but he knew it was trying to heal the
inside from the outside, making it look good when inside
was a mess. It was the inside first wasn’t it, inside to
outside, but how do you do that? Should he give up,
Surrender, as Gwen called it, or blunder on fighting
regardless, get the Money, the status and sex, so as not to
admit he didn’t know why he was doing it no longer?
Change or die they’d said at the Crypt; should he follow
that deep down yearning, the searching for the Freedom
and the Peace? Seek the truth whatever it was rather than
cover up his not knowing with more denial disguised as
another fucking Plan. O Gawd what was he going to do? To
be or not to be Wouldn’t it mean leaving Tina? But if she
didn’t come then it was meant as she didn’t want to come
his real self. Yes, but he’d have to cope by himself and…To
be or not to be? Hot headed, sweating at the voice
screaming in his skull, he longed for the mountain to give
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him an answer and now he shouted out to the emptiness
and… toebeee toe bee toe bee toe toe toe toe be be be be
be, the echo receding into the haze, until the question had
emptied itself and nothing came back.
The trouble was he’d spent so long hiding in the office and
his windowless basement that the alpine scene around him
seemed just another Screen, a mirage, as if he’d stumbled
into another one of Shrikes Silicon Graphic creations. As he
made the last few steps to the summit of the mountain he
willed himself to become part of it, to get IT, that oceanic
feeling back again.
But all he got, as he stood at the top, at noon by a cross, a
kitsch Christ bright white wax, red bloodied wearing
delicate metal thorns on his head, all he heard was You
wanker, wanker wanker you. and he turned disgusted, the
sky falling in on him like a collapsing tent and ran back
down in the chattering of scree the voice chasing after him,
you wanker, you wanker narcissist wanker, wanker,
wanker, get a fucking job wanker ajob job you PAYE wanker
fool suddenly slipping onto his back hitting his coccyx on a
rock Fuck Shit Cunt, then sliding down on his backpack as
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the scree gave way to mud and back in the trees again.
Shit. O gawd.
And an hour later as he was walking back bruised and sad
through the ranks of shadows of the fir forest and he
suddenly felt terribly afraid, exposed, thinking he was
hearing animals again in the bushes. A panic, empty and he
feel down again. It may be the freedom but it would
destroy all he had, he thought, Tina, the Baby the carrot,
his entire world, only the unknown left and the prospect
suddenly filled him with dread, getting up again and
running out to find the sky beyond the trees.
He broke out of the forest and the sun had thickened, a
shining gold reflected off the little lake in the valley where
the next hut stood. Sounds of children came up from
beneath him; laughter, a scream, shouting, a game being
played, dancing Heidi’s and durndals again. And, with a
cloud abruptly passing away from the sun, he did, all of a
sudden, feel lighter and he felt a laugh bubbling up into his
throat, his chest tightening and for a moment standing
there looking, he became part of the picture, the life before
him no longer just a postcard scene, a Screen of one and
naughts.
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It was…
Real.
At last.
And Toby smiled as his ears finally popped like a window
opening up on his life. Yes, this is the point, letting go of
the complications, the need to make all answered for and
finite, allowing himself to say I don’t know, allowing for the
asking and for the search.
And the Sun went in behind a huge black cloud.
But..No, he couldn’t risk it. It would be too frightening for
Tina just to uproot and go. First he had to get himself out
of the debt, get the Baby and the house.
A ripple of thunder came from behind the mountain.
No, he’d have keep it a secret, the fact that all the
technology, money and status meant absolutely nothing to
him but he had to get the money to make everything safe,
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then he’d come back here. He’d go back home, train
himself to fit in and take on the world, construct his escape
vehicle, his own Millennium Spaceship made out of Money,
rock solid dosh, rid himself finally of the failure and the
sense of shame, make Tina, the Baby himself secure and
then allow himself the space and time to come back and
search for it again. And happy, sort of, in the comfort of
his compromise, thinking he’d made a resolution, Toby got
back on the bus and went back to Wein and the plane to
London.
Over the channel, white clouds above white horse Toby
came to the end of the book by the Czech dissident he had
been reading on the train happy that he’d finished it and
somehow appropriated the title Living in the Truth, which
the trip had convinced him was his long term aim although
in fact he was going back to exactly the same place he’d
come from only three days before, everything despite his
interior journey was exactly the same.
…there are times when we must sink to the bottom of our
misery to understand truth, just as we must descend to the
bottom of a well to see the stars in broad daylight...the
book finished with.
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PART TWO
Cabby –
takes you where you want to go
1998-2000
The reason for this is that I am born in selfishness and
therefore my natural efforts to make myself more real and
more myself, make me less real and less myself, because
they revolve around a lie
Thomas Merton
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11.
History repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce.
Karl Marx
Faaaaaarrrrckkkkk….He slipped. Again, Tickle lost his
balance. After running up the steps outside the grand
townhouse, then rushing through the lobby hall and across
the black and white marble squares, the leather shoes he
was unused to wearing had seemed to get a life of their
own, carrying on without him then seeing himself skidding
again as if down the scree you wankeryouwankeryou.. but
trying to be all smiles I’m Mr. nice guy, beaming at the
receptionist MTV playing behind her head as she watched
him slightly bored, falling backwards his legs akimbo and it
was with a sharp round pain that his coccyx hit the marble
floor hard and, rubbing his still sore tail, he scrambled up
trying hard to keep that Ding Ring of Confidence grin, as
proof of the strength of this personality and at least he’d
got her giggling with his silly Oh Dear me face, getting her
to put her glossy book Ambition down and to actually
recognize he was there in front of her needing help.
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‘Are you alright?’ she said, the Afro Anorexic; she could
have been sixteen or sixty but either way the faux bikini
she was wearing was small enough to make Toby blush.
‘Sorry, I’ve got an interview, Tick...Arrm Mr Tickle T Tickle
Toby, with….um’, he said fumbling with his notes, ‘Keith
Dimmit and one of the Froth twins, Simon is it?’ ‘Sure,’ and
the Receptionist, looking a bit more interested, eying him
up from toe to head said ‘Scuse but have you been on
Telly?’ ,‘No I mean Yes, No err.. yes but not for a very long
time I’m afraid’ replied Toby ‘You see…’ and he was going
to explain but she’d already returned to autonoman doll
mode, having found out his celebrity wasn’t actually live. ‘
‘Please go through Mr Tickle, Keefs waiting for you’ she
smiled robotically, showing a bit of chewed toffee between
her two front teeth, going back to her glossy read on the
cover of which was a model with champagne bottle being
pushed between two high-heeled spread legs.
‘Hi, Tickle is it?’ a head or rather a wig came out from the
doorway, wiregrey sharp clipped in a gnomish suit with
bright red tie. ‘Hi, Toby it is, isn’t it? Come through to the
terrace, sorry to leave you stranded’ the suit said shaking
his head, ‘At the mo a bit short crewed’. So this it, Toby
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told himself, girding himself for the interview, the Big One,
the Final Countdown to save himself, the Baby, his
marriage. It’s the Final Countdown, dada God Tina’d been
so excited that it was PAYE, he just had to get through this
first. ‘Nice bit of weather were having though’ said Mr
Dimmit all charming, ‘Call me Keith and, please, take a
seat.’ Toby, surprised by the courtesy after the snarls of
Predator, relaxed into the white chair under the brisk blue
sky. Breathe deeply…May the Ist, MayDay. Spring was in
the air and, despite himself, he couldn’t help himself being
filled with a sense of expectation and what might have
possibly even been called hope.
Breathe deeply. Relaxed physicality equates with confidence
in ones professional ability the Mind Changes manual said.
Keith sifted Tickles papers on his lap ‘Errr...Got experience
of the Virtual Nightclub of course, or the Cabbie Version 2
prototype as we all call it now eh? We concluded the sale
last night, pretty late but the lawyers always like it that way
don’t they heh?’ he said with almost a wink. ‘So you know
the Product, ours, yours Cabbie, takes you where you want
to go eh? Is the byline. Gettit? We’ve been promised a
second round of funding from Bartone. Barry is an old
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friend of mine and we’ve additional backing from other top
media investors and we’ve just made a link with Golden
Infinity too. Did you see the article in the FT with Santa
Moore? A strategic partnership will be good for us once it
floats on the Market some time soon.’ Toby nodded, trying
to look like he knew what the little man was going on
about. Shit, he should have bought the Pink Paper today,
for the Interview. It would have looked good, sort of Suit
plus. Toby had been reading trade mags, cramming in the
Mind Changes Interview Manual and practicing a range of
faces in front of the mirror for a week, rehearsing his new
Executive Role. ‘I’m the lead investor here, the Angel they
call me’ and he smiled,’ I’ve got another couple of Internet
companies upstairs too, you see. Sport and well, you know,
Adult....’ but Kieth stopped himself as though he wanted a
friend but he was saying too much. ‘Better see where
Simon’s got to’ and the little big man waddled off, to find
the supposed boss.
Whark Whark Whark, two seagulls were wheeling around
high up, scavengers eyeing the City dross below them.
Toby wanted a fag, but they might not like it so he didn’t
and he needed to give up anyway. That’s what they said at
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Mind Changes, Makes you more negative, Think Life not
Death. Think positive they said and Tickle whispered to
himself I will get a job, I will get a house, I will get a Baby,
must get a job, get a job, and get a job…his self resolutions
mixing with the memory of Tinas nagging, Whark Whark
Whark get a job get a fucking proper job… Whark Whark
Whark, the seagulls were bickering above his head but Toby
told himself again to breathe deeply, be calm. Desire, Ask,
Believe, Receive, that’s what Glen had instructed, the
Consultant who’d run the Mind Changes Course. Twat.
Tina’d got him to go. ‘Go on ,you might as well. Go on after
the Ars Trip when you come back go on this...Nothing to
lose, it’s only a month Please… for me you know.’ And
rather blow off at the obvious total lack of faith she had in
his plan he had agreed to and it felt like an almost fatal
blow his is former self image, ‘It for fucking wankers isn’t
it’, he moaned but when he pushed for some palliative sex
he knew there wouldn’t be any if he didn’t go. Was he being
manipulated? What other drug did he have? Who cares?
Fuck. OK. I will. Become an entrepreneur and make your
own future the brochure had promised and given the IVA
and the second letter threatening repossession on the flat,
Toby had finally agreed. The two weeks sitting with the
smug suits had made him nauseous, as if he’d gone into a
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new prison after the brief Parole on the Trip where was
force-fed a false religion, in Business and he was getting all
too aware that his redemption and Millennium Hamlet were
now definitely on hold and his brain had shrunk to fit the
flimsy Job Contract he was clutching in his hand. Get the
Money first, you cunt.
Tickle examined the back of the building; white stucco,
black wrought iron work, another institution; perhaps it had
been a school before or a home for dispossessed ladies. It
was Victorian, high columns, formal, Upstairs Downstairs
definitely, each floor for a different class, servants in the
basement and attic. Toby looked into the darkness of the
downstairs windows and suddenly saw faces there, pale
shapes beyond the reflection on the glass and behind the
black plastic blinds in-between the bar- like slats, was a girl
on the verge of tears looking straight at him. A chill breeze
swept around the exercise yard and it suddenly felt cold.
Was this going to be a mistake? He looked at the contract
again, the ‘Heads’ as Keith had called it his employment;
overall responsibility for Operations and IT it said on the
front. 25 days holiday a year; shit that’s only 5 weeks, out
of 52 weeks in the year, that leaves only 10% of his life for
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himself and what’s this shit about bringing the company
into disrepute? Who decided that? It seemed he had to give
his whole life away to the Company just to be able to
survive. His whole body tensed. He couldn’t bring himself
quite to sign it, the whole thing felt a bit dodgy and where
was the main guy anyway? Simon Froth – the Simon says
guy- right name for a twit. Don’t forget your Bogroll,
Opportunity Knocks for Kiddies, CrapTV on 5 Live the man
had no taste but he had made a lotta Money and that was
all that mattered now and Toby better get close. ‘No stop
it…’ a childs voice coming from the back of the house, a tiny
hand grabbing hold of the edge of the small frosted window
by the door the childs voice whining: ‘No stop it, no, not so
hard,’ What the fuck was that? Then Keith’s voice, a
rapping on a door, ‘Simon hurry up. He’s waiting, we can’t
afford to….’ Tickle felt cold again. Yeah, definitely dodgy but
he needed a job and Mind Changes had told him to make it
happen Think IT, Be IT, Live POSITIVE- live as if it already
had.
Whark Whark Whark Ahhhhaaaarr…a scream darted out
into the yard, mixing with the bickering gulls and Toby sat
up instinctively flicking away his fag he hadn’t quite lit.
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Keith was coming back in a pick-up-a-penguin strut,
clipboard in hand. ‘Froth’ll be down shortly’ he said sharply,
‘things are very tight at the moment you see. Time,
resources I mean,’ he added sharply, ‘no worries with the
Money of course what with Bartone and the rest, so let’s
carry on regardless heh and make a start’. Keith began
rolling through the candidates CV; name, age, what he’d be
doing. Toby hoped he wouldn’t ask in detail about all the
technical stuff, C++ and that Strike shit, or dig too deeply
into a couple of vague jobs he’d added covering up his time
in Rehab, LA and NYC. He noticed Kieths hands were
shaking slightly, and wondered if he had a problem too but
Keith’s face gave nothing away. ‘And you’re happy with the
contract then, you read it yes?’, ‘Fine ...err’ Tickle said,
then ventured ‘What about share options?’ thinking it would
be good to show he believed in the Killer App IT dream
even after the Virtual Nightclub, he wanted still to. ‘But its
Fantasy Think’ it should be avoided at all costs, ‘the real
aim of sobriety is to meet Life on Lifes Terms’, Gwen had
said on the phone last week from Santa Fe. But surely
everyone needs the idea of a pot at the end of the rainbow
don’t’ they? and the recent blaze of IPO’s, Yahoo, Netscape,
AOL and Amazon.com, its boss Bezor the geek now worth a
cool 180mill, confirmed that these particular dotcom pots
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weren’t just a dreams in a dream. ‘I know I know I know
but really Gwen it could happen, you see’ feeling her
disapproval down the line, ‘ it’s all about getting on the
right train’. ‘It could be you, It could be you, It could be
you’, said Keith now pointing a finger at Toby, ‘Hit the
Jackpot eh’, joking and then went flat faced again, ‘To go
for it or not to go for it, that is the question eh? What do
you think?’ Toby sat up trying to match the senior
executives’ serious intent and decided to play his card, the
one KOK had said he needed to play in order to play and
get in with the share. ‘In the end my boy you’ve got to
stake your claim, get them to believe you’ve got some
added value and they’ll soon let you in the game to play’
and Tickle then outlined to Keith, acting the ultra-focused
exec totally positive, about Freespace, his future high
intensity self generated content channel, fed by ads, and
how would develop that alongside the directory for when
broadband would come on line but he needed a slice of the
parent company, pre IPO , trying to play the big man but
really he was just desperate for some crumbs for him off
this little rich mans plate.
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‘Ah Simon, you’re here, at last’ said Keith whispering
quickly into Tickles ear ‘Just stick to your story, don’t
mention Freespace yet and you’re on board.’ Suddenly he
was looking like a man who needed all the support he could
get. ‘Hi, Welcome, so good to meet you at last’ Simon Froth
looked so young, thought Toby, in fact a bit of a flid.
Sweating, goofy teeth, curly hair, a spot hovering over his
weak chin, the Boss sat and wiped his nose on the sleeve of
his pink Jackson and Ray T-shirt. ‘Sorry to keep you
waiting, mate, much too busy making money you know,’ he
shouted slapping Toby across his neck. Toby stiffened; he
didn’t like over familiarity, he just wanted the job. Right.
Git.
‘So Toby Tickle is it?, A star to be reborn, again eh? the
comeback kid. Snot wasn’t it, Oh yeah Spit, I knew one of
the guys who put up the dosh...Did quite well didn’t it if I
remember, shame it was so long ago eh..So it’s back to
reality is it eh Mr. Ex actor. Failed Actor, I know not a nice
handle’ And Simon looked at Tickle making him feel like an
old piece of meat. ‘Don’t worry we’ll fix you up with a new
life, a new part. So, this tickles your fancy does it?’ and he
gave off a high pitched squeal of a laugh, ‘Hey, Keith,
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gettit? Tickles your fancy does he eh?’ Keith smiled but
wanted Simon to focus on getting this mid management
geek signed up. They needed a Fall Guy in place ASAP, to
blame in front of the Board if it goes tits up, and to do all
the work Simon wasn’t doing and what Simon didn’t know
about, for the mid-term plan that Keith had shaken on only
last week at Big Bazs Bash, to get Cabby away from the
Froths by the end of the year and buy out the rest of the
suckers out on the Cabby Board cheap.
‘Look Tickle, if you want to join us you’ve got to believe,
right’ but Simon had got onto a roll,’ Look believe me,
Cabby is going to be the new AOL, a billion dollar company
by fall, Believe me, Belief is all, anything is possible now
Believe me everything is possible. OK?’ and Simon stared
intently at Tickle who was trying not to squirm. ‘Come on
where your conviction. Didn’t you do the chanting the 80s
thing? Bicky, Janet and Jeff did and look where they are
now? Top of the Pile right? Buddhism isn’t it, the world is
what you believe it is, right, OK?’ he insisted and Toby
nodded a lot, terrified the job was slipping away because he
wasn’t being enthusiastic. ‘Look Believe me Cabby is going
to have a million users by year end and be worth a billion
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dollars by two. You’ve got to believe we can take the world
on and succeed or there’s no point in you getting on board.
Cabby takes you where you want to go, right and you’ve
got to believe that’s going to be a whole new world’. ‘Yes,
yes, of course, Great Vision’ nodded Tickle vigourously up
and down ‘Wow wow wow a police car passed, oh, wow
wow wow oh oh oh oh…Simon was sounding like Tony
fucking Blair last summer with Things can only get better,
at dawn over the Thames on Election night Things can only
get better, Wow wow wow oh, wow wow wow oh oh oh
oh…and Toby wondered if the goofy teeth bloke opposite
had helped Mandy with New Labours PR …‘like the rising of
a new age, he hopes’ had said Jeremy on Newsnight with
his trademark skepticism leaking from his grin. ‘You do
believe, don’t you Tickle? You do have the faith, are you
ready together for such an adventure, are you ready to
conquer the world?’ Simon asked boggle eyed. ‘Yeah sure’
said Toby to the hyped up entrepreneurs face, ‘of course.
Why else would I be here? And Ive bought with me my
Freespace Proejct Ive got the Plan in place, and the
auxilliary team, Shrike knows and Longleat, is in the wings
and it will double the Cabby value pre IPO I assure… .’
applying his own earnest look, killer determination brow
combined with blue-eyed idealist stare, it was one of his
220
classic looks back in the Young Hitler heydays. ‘Yeah sure
Simon, I believe, I believe we can conquer the world. In
fact I know it will be so’ and Simon opened his arms and
hugged him. Oh Gawd, Toby felt stupid and small thinking
about the twats wet armpits and spluttering mouth, it was
all so false this Bicky Tanks PR prodigy full of shite, a bad
actor acting in his own shit film. ‘Tickle.. Sign here’, Keith
suddenly said, pushing in his clipboard in front of Tobys
face. ‘Sign for Gods sake sign’ shouted Simon at him like a
preacher, ‘Go on Go on you kandoo it as Zeus says, sign
and we’ll get Freespace in front of the board tomorrow’ and
Toby, wanting to believe and wanting stop the hot smell of
Simon coming even closer to him, suddenly signed on the
dotted line. Fuck it what did he have to lose? And Simon
hugged him again. ‘Welcome aboard’ then walked away,
smirking at Keith who shook Tickles hand. ‘Tomorrow start
OK and get the stuff ready for the Board? It’s the big one
tomorrow so we need to be on top form. Here Ill show you
to the door. Go tell the good news to the wife heh’ as if he
knew the harsh reality of Toby’s almost celibate life and he
led Tickle out into the high hall with the black and white
marble floor. ‘I’m glad you’re joining us, we need a safe
pair of hands here. I’ll see you tomorrow OK. Take care’,
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waving with the cheeky chappy smile all present and
correct and then he was gone inside.
Stunned. Tickle felt like a toy solder, on parade in the
backyard by himself. He had a job, a job job and Toby
couldn’t believe it quite. A job. Thank god they hadn’t asked
him anything technical as he didn’t have a clue on the IT
side of things, but it seemed neither did they and they
didn’t seem to care and suddenly now he had one, a job, a
job job, PAYE and he wasn’t sure if he was meant to laugh
or cry.Why didn’t he believe that Freespace wasnt going to
happen and they werent taking him seriously. He should
call Tina anyhow and let her know the supposed good news,
well at least from the outside. ‘Yeah, PAYE, and Health.. .’
all the fear and nervousness were over and they could relax
at last. Normal, the life was there now they had sort of
agreed they both wanted, the outside all looking good,
normal as it was meant to be, a Baby a house car and
everything would get better now… But why did he feel so
sad? Inside out?
Carefully walking back across the black and white marble
tiles, Toby became aware of a whimpering coming from
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above. It was the girl whose face Toby had seen in the
window now sat alone crumpled on the stairs, a bag and
coat at her feet as if she was going somewhere. She looked
up conscious that Toby was staring at her, blond hair,
round face and a dark line of mascara running down each
cheek. She looked sweet but very sad, a victim of the
street, another Bosnian teenager put into the slave trade all
her innocence dead. Should he console her? He asked
himself but Tickle instead turned sharply away and headed
for the exit. He didn’t want to think about that, the
possibility of tear, he was in it now, war and the Money
and there was no turning back now and as he stretched out
for the door he noticed his shoulder had a damp patch, and
on the other one; Simon’s armpits must have left a sweat
stain on each.
An hour later Tinas eyes widened and her warmth went
through him top to toe. ‘Oh Tickle I’m so glad’ and it really
did make her happy. He could feel her body slacken, that
black load of the debt she’d been bearing on her shoulders
finally dissipating, the IVA hounds of AMEX recalled, the
waste and potential finality of the miscarriage lifting and
yes they could now move on, make the life that they
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thought they both wanted, it just meant that he would have
to join in, be like all the others, Rightsizing as the people at
the Crypt rehab had called it. Oh God did he have to,
thought Toby, wouldn’t it mean that the Real Toby or at
least the one that could be, the comeback, Millennium
Hamlet and all that would die. Shut up, Things can only get
better, he told himself, he it could be you, Things can only
get better, Tonys refrains kept going on and on in his head,
as though he was making himself believe it too And once
Toby had a job she’d try for a Baby again, it was her own
private deal. Job, Love, Baby and with her Fortieth looming
over her she couldn’t wait any longer, Tobys employment
melted her chastity belt and she pushed down the
remaining little niggles of doubt as Tina said suddenly to
Toby, standing there all sheepish in the doorway, ‘Come on
now, come on lets go to bed’.
Pushing and pulling Pushing and pulling, Pushing and
pulling, five minutes later and Tobys stomach opened up as
he pushed down into her again trying to get away from the
growing unease that this job was a sell out, another nail in
coffin of his real self, pulled by the tide of the woman’s
wanting Pushing and pulling as if it was the sort of oblivion
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that he still longed for, the sea of her warmth his life
pushed back again, it would have to be lived later on once
others goals had been achieved. Pushing and pulling but he
just couldn’t resist it, he knew it, the impregnation of her
was his crampon into the rock of life, the real Real and it
seemed to be stuck in his mind now that it was the one
thing that would give him some purchase on this Earth.
Baby, Her and the relief Pushing and pulling ,Work and
House, Money and Pushing and pulling, great liars are great
magicians he remembered Young Hitler had said and even
knowing that it would ultimately harm him, the sea he
longed to engulf him, Toby said fuck it, smelling the honey
and the shit now he dived down inside her again.
And that night he dreamt, of swimming with fishes, again.
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12.
Those who want to live, let them fight, and those who do
not want to fight in this world of eternal struggle do not
deserve to live."
Adolf Hitler
‘You know its good you’re here as well ?’ it was the same
Janice as the one at Predator welcoming Toby to the office
the next day, which made him feel weird even if she was
smiling all willing as usual, ‘Last of the survivors heh?’
She’d changed a bit, to fit the new role, now a peroxide
blond and dressed smarter in an olive green trouser suit. It
looked like she was determined to make a go of this
Company, after the debacle of Predator and the VNC. It
turned out Keith was her old boss, her first boss at Needles
and Vane where she’d gone after Grange Hill Comp. He had
got her into Electrobux when he’d sold out, which she’d
only left to go to because of the mess up with Craig. So
when Keith had rung about Cabby it had been a bloody
relief; like the first lover her first boss’s voice was all
reassuring reminding of a more innocent time. OK, he was
bit of a tight bastard but all bosses were and at least with
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Keith you knew where you stood, at least with Keith there
would be real money rather than ‘Just wait another month
or so’ from Saul, ‘Oh. Did I say that last month?’ Keith was
kosher and it gave Janice faith that Cabby would take her
where she needed to go and that was somewhere safe.
‘You’ll be alright here Toby’ she assured him. ‘Said hello to
Strike yet? ‘ she asked ‘His royal genius is downstairs
converting the Nightclub into a fucking Car’ she chortled ‘So
we three are the package as Simon calls us. You gotta
laugh haven’t you..’
‘Tickle is it? I’ve never met someone called Tickle. I’m
Derek, I’m the new marketing director, the boys next door
just signed me up too’, the boisterous baldie who’d
blustered into the office had interrupted Janice as if she
wasn’t even there. He looked like everything that Toby was
frightened of becoming: same build but with the beer pot,
black suit and overloud shirt all cheery. Toby shriveled.
‘Dot-commery, don’t know what’s it about, Simon says
you’re the one whose meant to fill me in on all that jargon
like,’ he said in a sort of Midland accent. ‘I’ve been dealing
with peanuts and beer for the last 5 years. Hear there’s
some spondoolies in this though’ he chuckled and slapped
227
Tickles back. ‘We’re in for a right adventure aren’t we, and
I’m glad to have you to help me along’. Were the boys
being clear? grumbled Toby to himself, he was meant to be
Number 2 to the Boys at the firm and now here’s this guy
who says he was his boss, or was it some sort of executive
joke him being set up as a middle management jerk?
‘Janice can you get the employment contracts pronto’ it was
Simon calling from inside the senior executive suite, ‘and be
a little dear and go get me dry cleaning, that half-caste
totty at reception’s got the ticket if she got enough brain to
remember where she put it’ his booming voice echoing
through the building. ‘Alright. Alright’ Janice called back ‘
Straightaway- I don’t know if I’m coming and going’ she
laughed to Toby, rushing off. ‘Only joking baldies,’ the voice
came back, ‘I’m no bigot, didn’t mean half caste totty - half
caste titty, was what I meant’, the voice guffawed
encouraging the others inside to laugh. ‘Come in me
slapheads. Don’t worry we’ve got no interns here and cigars
are definitely banned’ Simon squealed into giggles at the
wittiness of his allusions to Presidents Clintons recent gaff.
228
When the five big men had all got round the table and shut
the door, Simon now serious announced grandly, ‘We’ve
decided that we need to do some restructuring’ he said,
‘The overhead has become too much of a burden and the
online advertising has not matured as quickly as it had
been previously forecast’, it sounded like Simon was
already practicing lines for an Excuse in preparation for the
Board Meet the next day. ‘So the names? Let get at it’, it
was a hunched up fat boyman in golfing gear, chewing his
finger tips like a sow eating greens grunted in a snarl, I’ve
got the list for the chop’ hitching his Dockers up over is
flabby midriff. ‘This my Fat Bro Chris’ laughed Simon, ‘Head
of Product supposedly’. Was this the dress down
dotcommery everyone was on about wondered Tickle, but
with someone so white and flabby the polo shirt just didn’t
suit? Chris looked at Simon with mean little eyes ‘I want
you to do these,’ he continued, his crocked lips curling into
half a smile as he took one of the marker pens and started
to go through the names that were written on the board.
‘Elise, snotty bitch’ and crossed her out, ‘Trevor?’, ‘I never
liked his attitude’ piped up Simon joining in, enjoying it.
‘Sonia. Had her. Not much cop’, Chris went red and started
to giggle, a sort of rasping whine, his lop sided shoulders
going up and down robotically. Derek sought out Tickles
229
eyes opening his own in a slightly worried way. ‘Cross them
off, all the advertising lot, they haven’t delivered, fuck ‘em’,
demanded Keith, beaming, as if saying that’s my boys, now
we’re going to be proper execs doing the Business, the true
Blue Business way. ‘OK, who’s going to do it? The actual
act?’ said Simon rhetorically, as if in a pre rehearsed
routine. All heads turned first to Tickle, and then slowly to
Derek, fixing on him.
The door opened. It was Janice slightly sweaty under a
heap of Simons dry cleaning, ‘We’re just going through
dismissal procedures Janice my darl’ said Simon, ‘We need
your assistance as sweet as it is’ Janice’s face changed
colour rapidly red to yellow to white; she knew immediately
what it was. ‘Yeah, yeah yeah of course, let me just sort
this lot out’ she said flustered, blurting out ‘They said they
couldn’t get the stains out of the trousers’ and in the
awkward beat that followed her out and Tickle said ‘Do you
mind if I nip to the loo’ moving to catch up Janice away
from the fetid exec conference crew.
A big cloud had come over out back, a shower brewing and
the gulls had gone, moving inland. ‘They just can’t do this
230
to people, it’s not fair, they don’t know how to treat people’
the Silk Cut was shaking in Janices fingers. ‘I’ve already got
the court case from Mary, the one Chris run over, its so
much bloody paper work. Look, sorry, thanks, better get
on’ and she stubbed out the half smoked fag and hurried
down into the basement. ‘Oh yeah, and Strike says he
needs to talk to you urgently’ she shouted out disappearing
into the darkness ‘trouble downstairs he says’ and Toby
realized he hadn’t gone into the basement yet, the boiler
room as Keith had called it, where the actual work was
done, although he’d be here almost two days, he’d been too
busy upstairs watching his back. Although as Director of IT
and Ops his place was downstairs, with the production
team, but he sensed he needed to stay upstairs now to
watch his back, there with so much sacking about, he might
get caught up in the flak. It felt like this JobJob came with
the Redundancy attached, its underbelly, and there inbetween, for the employee, fear became a way of life.
It began at 2pm, the queue, Derek sitting there flushed
going through the procedure his knew really going under
the table, the staff members as Chris kept calling them in
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the same sort of way Jason had talked of Users at the VNC,
with the same stupid grin-sneer and they came in first with
a forced enthusiasm as if wanting to discuss progress, sales
in the pipeline, but then, crumpling when they saw the
envelopes neatly arranged on the table hangdog they
listened to Dereks spheel, ‘Having looked at the figures,
following a business review, and consultation with the
Board, it is with great regret that we are going to have to
let you go’. It was another script, they must have concocted
the lines together over sarnees and beer. Keith was happy,
it made the nebulous nature of this software lark more real.
A sacking, a purge, a restructure to keep the Money sweet,
it was par for the course, the form. Get in a New Manager,
his ignorance of the situation reducing the pain for him and
everyone else, designed to contain the emotion before it
could be felt. Yeah keep it real, reasonable though Keith,
we don’t want any feelings to upset the applecart, and
again a twinge in his chest came as he thought of his old
mate.
Derek definitely wasn’t used to the role, Toby saw that. His
general act was all cheery bonhomie, alright matey, and
now here he was playing the SBA, Senior Business Analyst,
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all serious, delivering the outcome of the consultation
period which seemed to have lasted less than a day. But in
the end only one of them, the staff members, put up a
fight. He was the main guy, Ringo, dressed like a Beatle in
flower power days, the manager selling ads on Cabbys front
end. ‘Look I’ve done my job, I’ve sold to all the key brands,
but without reach what can we do, you didn’t market the
product properly, we’re only getting 300 click thrus a week.’
He let a pause pass, cool man cool, but it was obvious he
was very nervous open necked surrounded by suits. ‘ And
you know that means there can’t be many more than 20
people actually using Cabby at the moment… and that’s not
much use is it’ Ringo took a deep breath, and gulped; Ringo
was bringing everything he had to bear to battle with the
Management, ‘And its not what you said to the Board, I
know, or the Press.’
The room went very quiet for a moment; Derek froze, then
looked at Tickle. ‘Users we’ve got 100,000 of the fuckers
already’, Simon had boasted to Tickle and Derek before
lunch and Toby had heard him that morning shouting down
the phone to potential investors ‘ No mate, a million fucking
eyeballs by Christmas, and in last months Times New Media
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Special Chris had been quoted that over 50,000 people
checked the News on Cabby every morning; this and the
power of interaction made the impact for brand advertising
much stronger … ‘That’s not true’, Simon blurted out at
everyone, ‘It depends what metric you’re using’ beginning
to go red. ‘I’ve got the print outs’ Ringo said quietly,
‘undeniable’, then looked at Keith who sat reptile still, ‘I
have the documentation to prove it’.
The lizard man
blinked. ‘I hate to think they might fall into the wrong
hands’. Then Keith got up slowly and walked over to the
window to make a phone call, but Simon, bright red,
couldn’t stop himself exploding, jumping up pointing at the
guy trying to keep his cool... ‘You’re a fucking cunt, you
haven’t delivered’, pointing his finger at Ringo, who sat
there rigid ‘so you blame us but it’s you, its you, you you
fucking cunt…’ he said but Chris pulled Simon aside purple
and spitting, away to the corner where he got something
out of the desk and gave it to his brother with a glass of
coke.
Tickle and Derek were completely static and Janice had let
her hair drop over her face. Keith then stepped back in, a
thin-lipped smile coming out from underneath the iron grey
234
quiff, ‘I’ve had a word with Daniel upstairs at Footie.com
and it looks like there may be an opening for you. You
better get up there sharpish though. Janice papers please’
he snapped, ‘And Ringo, don’t forget the confidentiality
agreement is still in place’ he said. ‘Err yeah, right Mr
Dimmitt, Sir, thanks’, taking the envelope in shaking hands
and with the hint of a bow he quickly went.
The room hummed with the hint of violence left by the
almost confrontation and all the blokes sighed when the
next staff member, a petite woman/girl with a bob cut
came in. ‘Hi, Sonia, you know what’s happening’ said Simon
and, with hands glasped in front of her she sat down and
almost immediately began to blub, rocking back and forth
on her chair. The rank of men sat there and just looked.
Chris started to giggle and Janice pulled out a Kleenex box;
she’d thought of everything giving her one and put an arm
around Sonias shoulders. Keith suddenly looked really
angry and marched out of the room and Simon was going
red again, but not sure the response. It was Chris,
smirking, who came over to the crying woman, his hunched
up back almost creating a limp and stroked her hair, ‘Its
alright there, Sonny, lets go outside, talk it through, I’m
sure we can work something out,’ and almost lifting her out
235
of her seat he led her out of the room, turning to Simon as
he left with his lips curled in that cross between a smirk and
a snarl. ‘Concludes the business, gents I suppose’ he said
and left.
‘I don’t know about you but I could do with a fucking pint’
said Derek and Simon slapped him on the back, ‘Well done
chum’, it was though Derek had passed some test. ‘Yeah
let’s have a drink before the bonding session tonight. Tickle
you too’ Toby didn’t want to go, he really didn’t want to be
management now, to qualify it seemed you needed to
become a cunt. ‘Shut up and get near the Money’ he told
himself again, ‘be a boss not sodding staff and be stuffed.
‘OK’ he smiled thinly ‘Ill be along in a minute’.
The room was then empty and Toby breathed in the quiet.
It had been mad busy since getting here, no time to think.
He looked out of the window into the high blueness and saw
a jet, a silver streak trailing behind it and the yearning
seeped into him again, versucht, a longing for a life without
all these No–Win choices, choices he didn’t want to have to
make. He had no desire to be a businessman, a player but
he had to get near the Money and for that he had to learn
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how to play Top Dog. He let out a long sigh, feeling
exhausted in this having to pretend to be someone else
again he didn’t want to be only in order to become
someone else and he stood there, still for a moment,
watching the planes vapour fade into the dying light of the
day. Was he going to hell?
Just white, white under white cloud, a desert of ice and it
sent a chill under his spine. The Snow cap, North Pole, and
it made the Californian nervous thinking of how cold it was
beneath him and he pushed up his wraparound shades.
What if they crashed? What was that movie, where they
ended up eating each other, it’d made him want to give up
Steak. Shit, he wasn’t really into business trips and he was
glad that he would be away for long, before he’d be back in
Blessed and not far from the surf. They’d been up for 4
hours another 4 to go and he’d better go floss soon. The
heavily tanned man in Business with a black suit and polar
neck was checking his teeth in the BarAir shiny tray. Did
they have floss available in Europe, the Colonies as he’d
joked with Si a few hours before and he could help feeling
like Harrison after the treasure, even if the guy was a little
course. The original was a cross between Frank Sinatra,
237
Jack and Sean Connelly in 007 days so Sky had always
considered himself a third Brit. Ahh, he’d be there soon,
Ingerlandt and the pot of gold, one end at list according to
the Book of Judy my first Sweet.
Operation Billion Dollar Company, second shrike, get the
Brit Board to shift over to the Valley and kick in with the
fundraising round he’d already lined up for Cabby Mark 2
which, although nobody knew it he was already CEO and
Chairman designate confirmed IPO in Q3 1999 lined up and
he had the PowerPoint and Business card printed to show it
was true. Sky took another swig of his Diet coke to settle
the little turbulence in his midriff. Ok, technically it was a
felony but only for a week or even a day, if he could get the
Board to OK the Heads, he just needed that mail to come
through from High, showing the Big One was Stateside and
everything else would fall into place. You just gotta believe
man, Standing on the Shoulders of Giant, he had his pitch
lined up, and that was the key, BELIEVE IT REAL the way
he’d became Regional Sales Champ1998 and the way he
was to become a dotcom Billionaire before 2K.
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Yeah relax he told himself and began to flick through TIME
again as his teeth glinting in the darkened cabin as he did
so. Wayne Mudrock at the Reception for Free Speech at the
US Embassy Beijing, John Malones campaign dinner for
Senator Klingon of Colarado courtesy Freedom Inc, Gary
Millers fourth wife, Izuzu, at home at their Kauai Retreat,
and he could see his own cover now.. The phenomenal rise
of Sky Reckitt, Ecommerce guru Entrepreneur
Extraordinary, from Xerox champion to Online King, yeah it
flowed, he was going to show those motherfuckers down
San Jose, push their snide asides when he’d outlined his
dream in the canteen back down their throats. Sky in Maui.
Sky and Bill, Sky and Larry, Sky and Mudrock at the World
Summit, Bush junior for Prez 2000 beaming. Sky with Imi
his Japanese wife-cum-slave… Silver frames arranged on
the Liberace Grand before the Ocean View and slipping his
Tods off, he lowered the seat down into he sleep position
folding his feet over like it did in the ad, hands behind the
head, Relaxation equals Confidence, the Leadership
Seminar had underlined and Sky almost laughed out loud
as he saw his white cottoned toes wiggle thinking of Bugs
Bunny in his Roadrunner days.
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‘Ahh Dopey and Grumpy our two baldies welcome. Come on
down’, two hours later arms outstretched Simon greeted
Derek and Tickle into the Imperial Dreams, the sweat pools
evident under each. The management bonding session was
about to begin and you could smell the dread. Derek and
Tickle sat at one side of the table with Keith and Simon on
the other. Chris hadn’t arrived yet and Keith was agitated;
he’d instigated the TBS, the team bonding session as the
Mind Changes publication had put it and he needed to keep
control, after all it was his Rep. ‘Let’s order anyway,’ he
said ‘Chris’s is ringing the States’ said Simon ‘Sky wanted
to go over the financials’ ‘Who’s Sky’ asked Derek suddenly
weary; since the sackings he’d become sullen always
looking slightly uptight. Keith looked at Simon, in a ‘need to
know’ spot check sort of way. Simon obviously didn’t know
who needed to know and taking a big slug of beer answered
‘Oh Sky, he’d a marketing guru we met on a fact finding
tour in the States, he’d coming over for an consultation
you’ll meet him soon’. Tickle felt Derek tense up beside
him, nobody had told him either, ‘I… you … where... I
presume this Sky is going to report to me yes’ Derek
coughed out a prawn cracker ‘We need to go over things
clearly’ he said gasping for air, Toby banging him on the
back. ‘Yeah of course mate. We’ve got the meeting
240
tomorrow’ assured Simon in a rather too obviously
condescending way, ‘Hey there’s Chris’ said Keith.
Outside a little red sports car had pulled up with a shudder
and a screech on the kerb. A young woman pushed herself
out and she was furious, slamming the door then shouting
back inside at the driver and then.... Was that a slap? It
was Sonia, the tear merchant of the afternoon, clambering
out coat flapping in the wind obviously not knowing where
she was for a moment, then looking directly into the
restaurant. ‘Don’t worry she can’t see in’ whispered Keith
‘its mirrored’, but she stuck up one finger anyway mouthing
Fuck You and rushed off North towards the tube. The Boys
laughed as Chris came in, grinning, rubbing his chin in
mock agony. ‘Sorry I’m late chaps. Little domestic difficulty,
she didn’t like the redundancy terms it seems’. Keith
grinned, Simon was salivating and Chris’s blummery body
was shaking up and down. ‘Anyway that concludes the
sucking, sorry I mean sacking, hey boys?’ and the execs
burst out laughing as if Chris had won the prize for being
the best bastard of them all and then, all-powerful, he
looked flat faced at Derek and Tickle, as if they were kids
who had been allowed to sit with the grown up this evening
241
as a treat. ‘Shall we eat?’ he said, adding ‘I’m fucking
starving’ with a leer.
After ordering Keith, as if following instructions from some
how to bonding manual said ‘So let’s do a round robin. Let’s
get to know each other. OK, err.. tell us about yourself
Tickle’ said Keith. ‘Toby, you go first’ ‘Oh..err..Hi my names
Toby and I’m an alcoholic….’ and after a quizzical look they
all laughed Toby pretending his unintentional honesty was a
joke. This wasn’t the place to display any vulnerability, so
he continued his heavily edited story, the emphasis on
dropping names and the early successes, the Evening
Standard Award, Hamlet, Shame and being Young Hitler
and then the Hollywood episode sort of inferring that the
fuck up and the Crypt, was because of some sort of a
deeply personal tragedy, ‘You know Family’ and the Boys
buried their heads into their laps, the possibility of emotions
imminent, like mustard gas coming over the wire. So it was
his choice, not failure, Toby explained, that he’d left acting
and moved into production as he put it, self justifying
furiously rather than admit that in fact he had just run out
of himself, his confidence shot to pieces as even his best
ideas hadn’t worked.
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‘So Chris, you were about to say?’ said Keith keen to get
away form the smell of fear Toby was giving off and trying
to stick to his Plan as per the Mind Change recipe. ‘Speak
Up Bro’ nudged Simon. ‘Err.. After Art College I went to
Warners as a media executive, looking after video releases
nationwide, then…’ ‘Fucking Rep’ whispered Derek slightly
too loudly, eyes bloodshot on his third beer and again
Simons cold eye caught the sneer ‘and er I have been
developing a number of media projects..’ Chris added little
else as there wasn’t much else to add, yet. ‘Now Keith, me
old mucker, your turn’ demanded Si and Keith grinned his
Daffy Duck smile. ‘Right’ he said ‘ Lets see- set up Needles,
printing, music industry, covers and that, 25 years, sold out
last year, did alright, invested in Cabby, and other ventures
although I don’t know exactly what they do’ he smiled in a
benevolent way. ‘They call me an Angel I believe’ he
concluded bashful, ‘Innocent but all knowing, isn’t that the
definition’ said Chris ‘Oh Yes, You’ve always been an Angel
for me Keithy darling’ said Simon hugging him and Keith
grinned more. Perhaps it was a gay thing thought Toby, it
definitely looked like Simon tickled some fancy the way he
made Keith blush, couldn’t the man see that he’s a total
prat.
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‘Right Derek, we know all about you don’t we, Marines, and
selling boys, toys and peanuts, and getting beered up,
professionally that is’ added Derek, making fun of Simons
snide remark, ‘What about you Simon?, Simon says was a
real hit wasn’t it even if only 5 people actually watched it on
Live TV’ he smirked and Simon smiled tightly. ‘Well, it was
a pilot wasn’t it, something to liven up Kelvin’s blind darts
and bunnies.’ Simon took a deep breath as if rewinding a
tape. ‘You all probably have read my story but Ill tell you
anyway. Life in the Day of, didn’t you see it in the Sunday
Times Mag a month back, a bit of Cabby puff, I know a
fashion editor there’ with that it’s who you know smirk. ‘So,
after Uni went into Bicky Tanks PR, one of the key
executives you know, managing a number of key accounts,
Clairol, Sega, then decided to go it alone, setting up a
management company for bands and…’ ‘Bros was it?’
laughed Derek, finishing his fourth Izazi. ‘No Eyore...the
Skids’ Simon said bluntly one eye closing; he didn’t like that
and somewhere another little mark was knotched. ‘And
looking for a new business opportunity’ Simon went on ‘I
saw the Internet as a huge potential for mass
entertainment, and that’s when I came up the idea for Cab
1 and from there…’ Keith took a big intake of breath, teeth
244
gritted with a silent O shit. ‘Who came up with the idea? I
fucking came up with the idea’ blurted out Chris ‘the
original concept’ he added. ‘Bollocks, it was my vision, it
was all my…’ ‘ I came up with the first fucking idea, you
wanted to do that virtual singer shit’ shouted back Chris but
Simon wouldn’t back down‘ Shut the fuck up’ he shouted, ‘
No you’ve got to admit it, it was agreed Id get the same
credit, I’m the creative here the fucking artist here’ said
Chris, ‘I’m the one did the foundation at Tring,’ almost
pleading, ‘ I wont fucking agree’ Simon slamming down the
bottle on the table, spittle spotting the corners of his
mouth, ‘You do what I say, and I can say what I fucking
want’ and the beer bottle then shattered as he slammed it
down again, the foreign business types and Chinese
families turning to see a flock of black and white waitresses
swooping down to clear up the fractured mess. ‘Just going
for a piss’ said Toby making his escape.
Glad to be away from the testerone storm, Toby leaned
against the basin edge, calm inside the large and empty
toilet with mirrored walls. He looked down and saw his
manhood shriveled all foreskin like a fish; he must be a
twat to be in this whole stupid mess. ‘Liar wanker little Liar
245
wanker twat’ whispering amid the urinal jets spurts and in
the row of his faces the multiple mirrors created he
suddenly saw the all the half lies his life had become …the
odd thing is that the silicon that makes the chip that is the
core point to the computer is made out of the same stuff as
the mirror that distorts the face and indeed counts the time
that the computer seems also to manipulate – sand that is,
and... Shut up, stop talking shit Toby told himself, get back
to what Glen at Mind Changes had said, ‘Stick to your goals
on the Personal Development Plan. Think Positive.’. The
bank manager was happy to forward the loan on for the
yacht refurbishment based on the existing collateral.. ‘Say
it to yourself,’ the Time Management Consultant had urged
‘Say what you want to achieve, over and over again as if
you’ve already achieved it. Positive Thinking, do it looking
at your face in the mirror in the morning and in the end it
will become true I assure you’, and muttering to himself
Toby left the fairground toilet, his internal voice still
ricocheting around the mirrored walls.
Things had settled down at the table the Black and White
waiters standing around them like a guard but there were
no more smiles and Chris had sunk into his seat further, his
246
bosoms underneath his too tight golf shirt sitting on his
belly, pig eyes caught in the frozen hate of his older
brother, hating himself for still being a position to have to.
‘To Cab 1’ suddenly said Derek on his sixth Izazi obviously
well far gone ‘May it take us to where we want to go’ he
said raising his bottle ‘and I fooking hope so’ he said
slipping into a broad Broomie type accent with Simon,
miffed that he didn’t initiate the toast himself, slightly
reluctantly joining in, ‘And all who sail in her. Go on Tickle
have a sip,’ Toby flushed ‘ Ill stick to my water thanks’ He
wanted to get out of here before it got really pissy and
Strike would be waiting for his ‘urgent’ call Janice had said
and, he Toby desperately wanted to know what the urgency
was all about, so he made his apologies and left. ‘A toast.
One up for Tickle’ and almost tripping again, Toby heard
them laughing behind him and quickened his pace
wondering if the joke had been on him. Liar wanker little
liar wanker twat…
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13.
It contains a misleading impression, not a lie. It was being
economical with the truth.
Baron Armstrong of Ilminster GCB, CVO, Secretary of the
UK Cabinet under Margaret Thatcher.
“I never told anybody to lie, not a single time; never. These
allegations are false. And I need to go back to work for the
American people. Now, I have to go back to work on my
State of the Union speech. And I worked on it until pretty
late last night. But I want to say one thing to the American
people. I want you to listen to me. I'm going to say this
again. I did not have sexual relations with that woman,
Miss Lewinsky.’’
‘Ahh deed nawt have sexooel reelashons weeth that
woman, Mizz Looweensky.’ Strike was practicing his
American as he’d been told to, mimicking the President on
the Telly in the corner of the Dazed and Confused Bar, ‘This
has gone on too long, cost too much and hurt too many
innocent people. Now, this matter is between me, the two
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people I love most -- my wife and our daughter -- and our
God...’ Liar, thought Strike, Morally Bankrupt as is his
fucked up country and the whole fucking civilization he
heads. Capitalism without reference to the Other, Instinct
without Limit, a return to the primitive and the hell it
entails. And anyway why did the Dumkoph go for zeez
crummy birds? ‘
Beep Beep… Strikes mobile went. It was the fall guy Tickle,
loser, by now he should have been here. It was time to
frighten the little man, panic the guy in order to get the
additional resources that the Plan needed. ‘Hi Toby
howyadooin..What's up Doc’ ‘ Err, Hi, Janice said you
wanted to talk to me urgently ’ shouted Toby feeling slightly
sick on the top of the juddering No 38 bus wanting Strike to
tell him there was nothing so urgent as to make him feel as
sick as he was. ‘Yeah there are some issues... .’ and
without pause Strike began to list the problems at Cabby,
the hardware, the software, the design, and most
importantly the staff.. ‘They are all ready to walk. The
company is fucked. The Froths are Monsters, capitalist
mutants run riot they are monsters, they will gobble you
and everybody else up’ Strike sounded exasperated, more
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than even he wanted to admit to, but even a mathematics
man, pure and the treatment of the code offended the very
order of his Existence. ‘And now, they sack everybody,
change strategy, Gott. Strategy my arse they haven’t got a
strategy except the end of their Peenisses. I am ready to
resign and the others will come with me. They are all ready
to walk. Tomorrow if nothing is done. Kaput. Another one
please Yah’ and Toby heard him slam down his glass. ‘Tell
me what you need. Ill get it,’ Toby almost pleaded feeling
his Baby, House and guaranteed palliative sex beginning to
receed. ‘OK, I need’ started Shrike
‘1. proper network – servers, connection the lot
2. programming assistant x 3
3. structured methodology
4…..’
Toby listened intently making notes underlining the words
he’d have to look up later. He needed to pick up this vocab
quick, if he was to bullshit his way through the role, even if
he didn’t know how they all fitted together and probably
never would. And again he lied, assuring Strike that if he
gave him a month, ok a week he’d get what he wanted,
guaranteed... ‘Good luck’ Strike said suddenly sounding
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bored and then he was gone, the line dead and Toby
swallowed a little bit of Dim Sum that had wriggled back up
into his mouth.
‘Bite harder, yeah there, yes more Beth more’ He was
almost there, the allusive point of non thought, the ecstasy
that he knew really was the entire point of it all, everything,
existence itself. Simon was on his third ejaculation over in
the penthouse at the Gate and was already planning the
next one even though he was beginning to get sore. But
Beths neck was aching and she noticed that Simons belly,
which was very white, had developed odd pink spots around
the belly button making her even more nauseous worrying
that they might be infectious to her scalp. O gawd, why did
she agree to move in? The Clinic had been adamant that it
should be two years before she entered into a relationship
but when Simon had picked her up from Crypt UK, there at
the bottom of the leafy avenue in Surrey beaming from his
open top XJS, ‘Ill help you back on your little feetykins’,
despite the Programs mantras ringing in her head Be weary
of dependence, Look only to the Higher Power she just
couldn’t really be bothered to say no. ‘Bite harder, Teeth’
and looking up over the white expanse of his belly to the Mr
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Tomato head Beth noticed a little ringlet of blood coming
from Simons nostril, hovering on the horizontal above his
lip. Oddly it turned her on somehow, the blood, made her
finally excited and she made herself focus on finishing the
job off.
Afterwards, they both stared at themselves in the ceiling
mirroring smoking trying to look cool. Holding himself as if
stroking a cat, Simon took another deep lug. ‘We are going
to get it up, before Christmas, believe me Beth, up onto
Nasdaq soon after that I can see it, sense it, a billion dollars
I feel it now’. Simon took another deep drag. I bet he’s
going to go on about giving up thought Beth, ‘Fifth today, I
know I can crack it.’ Beth sighed, Simon going on and on
again. ‘Just one more push one more blag. Hey Beth we got
the Board tomorrow, and it almost certain, a move to the
States and $2.5 mill’ and suddenly Beths was all ears, ‘the
States move is on and then we’ll be flying, a billion dollar
before the Millennium so saith our American Friend Sky’.
‘2.5 mil, nice,’ Beth repeated and she ran her bony little
finger over his tummy suddenly feeling sexy again.’ My
hero’ she said wondering if that gay thing, heart attack mid
flow after taking the coke and Viagra cocktail, might
happen to Mr little cock here.
‘Shall we do one more line
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darl?' Si said propping himself up ‘You know I should set up
site for these pills, the mix, yourpower.com, get up the
nose of Frank gettit eh….Yeah KOK said Garthside had said
the market valuation could be over 1.5 come IPO’ he said,
rock solid for 3 hours and it was bigger than it usually was
and it wasn’t the coke. Was he with tiny Beth just to make
himself look big? ‘PDO’ Strike had whispered the other day
and only now had he got it, at the time thinking it was a
new Gaming platform. Fucking nerd, he’d get that fucker
later, replace him as soon as they’d got the product out,
then he’d settle his scores. ‘Its just like the Money, the
bigger you blow the more you get, a billion dollars a billion
dollars a billion dollars and who gives a shit about what’s
actually being made, it’s all PR, darling, that’s what that
fucking bitch Bicky always used to say, mouth and bollocks,
that’s all you need make them believe it, its only real in
your head. The mouth is the product in the end, how else
could Jackson and Ray go gold and Simon exhaled, feeling
the thing that had taken over his midriff push out the limits
of his skin, but at the same time oddly nothing really to do
with him and pressing the CD control becoming a Penile
Cyborg Simon as he pulled Beths head down towards him
again.
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‘She so sweet I got to have her,’ the 80s tune trotted
across the front of his head ‘she so sweet the satchel and
the cream’ ah the Skids, he’d put up the gold disc in the
office for all to see, it was a pity it was only one record,
Cuckoo was good shag though and, thinking of the half
caste 14 year old, Simon looked down at Beths blond mop
going up and down. What the fuck were those spots on her
head hope it isn’t anything odd; maybe it was time for a
change of bird now, a new model, CEO level bimbo was
needed, a billion dollar type of girl, he thought to himself
again
As you know, in a deposition in January, I was asked
questions about my relationship with Monica Lewinsky.
While my answers were legally accurate, I did not volunteer
information. Indeed, I did have a relationship with Miss
Lewinsky that was not appropriate. In fact, it was wrong…
It was past midnight when Toby got home. The TV was still
on and he collapsed in front seeking Standby mode i.e. Slob
Out. It didn’t work though, his brain a fizzing entity full of
too much information busily processing itself without
enough time to think things through and it just wouldn’t
calm down whatever he had to do. He tried to picture it
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now in his mind, with the calm center reflecting on the days
happening. A frog at the centre of the pond the process was
called and he tried going through the prioritized lists Glen
had tried to show him at Mind Changes. ‘It’s all about
taking control of time,’ Glen had said in the telecom followup but it was all such a jumble in Tobys head. He rewound
the days events then fast forwarded, one day, the first day,
it felt like a week, the fucked office, Janices nice smile, the
toilet fucking or was that yesterday? It must have been.
The crying girls, the heaps of dry-cleaning, titty and totty,
high planes making him feel suicidal, distorted mirrors, the
terrible twins, pigeonholing and programming, Shrikes logic
bomb everything exploding and feeling sick he decided he
had to get up really early tomorrow so he could somehow
get ahead of what was going on. "I know that my public
comments and my silence about this matter gave a false
impression….. I misled people, including even my wife. I
deeply regret that..."…. Suddenly a pain bolted through his
gut and he had to run to the bog. Shit. Weird, he never
shat at night and now, despite the wanting to, desperately
pushing, nothing came except more shots of grief.
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He recovered lying in front of the TV, hungry but gut
wrenched, tired but unable to rest. The Clinton stuff was
going on in a loop, While my answers were legally
accurate, I did not volunteer information but a new floozy
from Arkansas was pictured, ugly despite the TV makeover.
Why did he, the most powerful man in the world, go for
such crummy birds? ‘and there were rumours circulating in
the White House, of which it’s too early to speculate’ The
pictures, motels, and window lit office blocks made Toby
depressed. Eyes closed now, he could smell the tacky odour
of the States, drifting back to his time in Texas, air
conditioning, gasoline, processed food and tense sweat, the
smell of dollars grasped by fear-filled palms… $30,000,
cash, used notes, Ralph’d said to him, hit her tomorrow
I’ve got the weapon, it’s clean, you’ll be in New York by
sundown he said turning over the sizzling steak surrounded
by the barbed wire hedge of the Evergreen Secure
Community 10 miles north of Houston Tequila was racing
around Tobys bloodstream as he replied ‘Oh yeah’ to the
weird looking guy who’d he’d hitched a ride with the pick up
playing country and western Jesus hymn at full tilt. ‘Ralph,
Ill have it rare’ he said in the appropriate low hard voice of
the drifter in the made for TV movie going to the gunshop
then the lawyer Toby in the middle of the third divorce of
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somebody else ‘No one knows you exist partner and 30 k
for a hit aint bad for noons work’. Cowboys, Pool Table,
Jodie Foster Gang bang drunk, and pink nylon sheets pissed
the next morning, running away from the psycho oilguy
wanting to kill his wife running blind down the freeway into
the early morning sun, running blind being sick and seeing
the sign through the wet tears on the back of the truck
heading East on route 68 Country blaring
GODS OWN PEOPLE
TEXAS USA
The END IS NYE
WE ARE THE CHOSEN
RAPTURE 2000AD
And writing on the back window:
And the Lord says the Kingdom of Heaven is nigh for his
chosen people….
BE SAVED BEFORE THE MILLENIUM END
The wife screaming four horseman riding out behind her
white stallion splattered by the sick woman’s blood Terror,
Bewilderment, Frustration, Despair white chargers running
from the horizons conflagration around him racing away,
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the sound of siren above him the whoosh of the missile
flying low over Bagdad above the wail of thousands of
people about to die...
And the TV shook as the missile flew by the hotel window
cutting to Ora Giron reporting from a War at night. Toby
bolted upwards soaked in sweat now sure the deal was real,
the hit a decade ago in that road trip from hell running
away from Mexico and Tanias botched abortion the end of
their apocalyptic affair. He was sick. O gawd, please no
more drinking dreams. Was he really offered Money to kill
that oilman’s wife or was it two bit film part he’d played
while drunk, now forgotten in that three year Stateside
Blackout. Like Reagan, movie and life collide. America. Shit.
America, everyone on the Money, everything by the dollar
and they were coming over here now Tickle knew and it
was as if they were after him again to make him Fall.
Yahoo, Amazon, Pets.com Real, the Americans and some
guy called Sky the so called management consultant was
about to land. Were the Americans were going to take
over? This was it, IT, the real thing and they had invented
the game Computers out of Desert Garages and the name
dot-com and they were coming over now to show the hicks
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in Europe how it was done. O gawd and Toby fell back
again in the ruined leather of the flat sofa clutching
abdomen the other on his head hoping both would rest
.. and there is the visionary, the seer, black and divine no
one knows where he came from everyone is screaming at
him the new media machine his eyes are lenses, his
stomach a CPU and suddenly everyone wants to be inside
him his fame spreading like a wildfire of Freedom Cable
and soon 28 million people log on to him going to Sudan
and seeing Osama Bin Laden …
And Tina looked at her so called partner lying their drooling
onto his shirt, looking like an epileptic after a fit and
suddenly felt the urge to shout at him, Wake Up, get to bed
for fuck sake stay fit for purpose I need you now you fool.
But she couldn’t and instead she wanted to cry. She
couldn’t help herself feel a pull towards him, the father of
her dead child, his presence somehow pulling her back
towards that loss again, the failure that had made life
somehow suspended since.
It was as though she couldn’t, wouldn’t ever get away from
it, the loss, being constantly reminded, a crack into which a
life would always be scarred, the emptiness first
259
experienced looking out the window waiting for Dad again.
She wrapped her arms around herself now, as she felt it fill
up her skin again the feeling, the wanting but not wanting
at the same time, as if being horribly sacrificed to her need,
the failure of it being met and the resulting shame. And
here she was again, a man keeping her one step away from
herself that feeling that made her smoke. She lit another
Silk Cut, relief feeling her like gas. Gas and Air, she’d
promised herself she wouldn’t at the birth, but she hadn’t
had a chance to show how strong she’d be. She should stop
now, but fuck, she had to keep loving and the smoking
smothered the anger and the pain, she had to or else. Fuck
it she threw the fag away in the fire and extricating a
packet from inside he dressing down she went outside to
look at the moon and have a spliff. Past fullness, she
thought without thinking, and a little voice reminded that it
was her time of the month and she had missed again.
… and soon alls around the world join the Great Leader and
the Cyborg totally connected with everyone declare a Great
Peace but Dark Suits plot against him and his Word
instructing the Hackers to corrupt his inside and their Great
Lie is broadcast around the globe child porn found on the
Cyborgs hard disk downloaded from every home and black
and divine man is infected, bombed and stoned his dying
260
broadcast live on TV and broadband PC the biggest deal
since the World Cup and Live Aid and as the last beat the
last amp lights the last beat of his digital clock he activates
his coded DNA automatically transfusing his lifes media
archive into a million clones worldwide arising around him
to go proclaiming the One Way and even they the Dark
Suits cannot stop the Truth being told in these the Last
Days, Rapture, the End of Time and the Burning of the
Earth…
‘and the male of the family there, the great silverback,
looks, see there, he senses we are here, but, if we remain
calm, attack is highly unlikely David Attenborough crouched
among the thick grass, is nervously checking behind his
back. as the Gorilla is the gentlest animal of all it is Man the
most aggressive who projects himself onto him and has
almost hunted him to extinction …’ The great gorilla, dumb
eyes munching, goes over to crouch behind a female who
suckles a newborn babe and puts his arm around both.
‘Orr’, Janice couldn’t help herself cooing hugging Big Ted.
She felt all soppy, nice but strangely empty inside.
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The Freedom Cable keyboard sat on her lap demanding to
be fiddled with at 2 o’clock in the morning. It had arrived
today and Janice couldn’t help but get excited with it, the
600 channels held all sorts of exotic locations, possibilities
and opened up new vistas inside her otherwise predictable
life. Was that why she was so restless? She couldn’t stop
herself thinking knackered but unable to sleep. Was it
because it, her life was becoming all too predictable,
despite the Cabby madness sacking and funny computer
stuff? Work, house, shopping, going out Saturday, shopping
Sunday, then work, house… She’d been doing it for 20
years now. 36. Oh Gawd. It was 2.16am and Janice could
not sleep above the anxiety which would not go away and
continued to grow. Where had it all gone? Her Life? The
family, the kids, those pictures she’d been fed down the
Tube, had expected to happen and now, with the same
happy family scenario available on another 200 different
channels, it felt like the rest of the world had it except her.
She now banged on the keyboard to stop herself going into
the gut wrench of disappointments and Wildebeest,
thousands of them, drumming hooves, red dust rising,
dumb faces full of intent racing across the plain, classical
violins building up to a crescendo as the camera cut to a
gulley, a precipice the mad herd were heading suicidally
262
towards… Thousands will die, nobody knows why, the
secret remains hidden in the strong heart of these brave
African animals... but the soothing voice of Saint David
sounded sad... ‘Orrr’ it was all too much and Janice made
herself press the red button on the TV thingy, the Wand, as
the instructions called it and the Screen went suddenly
blank.
It was horribly quiet. Was it the new double-glazing or her
road in Chigwell or just this, Life, without the Telly on?
Janice sensed her presence in the window, leading into the
patio; £532.50 that glazing cost her, even at a discount
from Trev, who was alright, if a bit too flirtly somehow. So
what? a bit of flirting always helped she told herself,
specially when it was about Money, 30% off, the haggling
like, but the fact was she didn’t enjoy it as much now, it
wasn’t as much fun, the froth and frolick had too much of
an undertow of the past, disappointing affairs and the fear
of a future, being alone. She shuddered a little as she
poured the boiling water into the Spice Girl cup, (a Texaco
promotion, FREE), and yes the mortgage was a bit steep
(£736.74 a month Capped at 3.99% with a 2 year
redemption penalty) which was a bit of a freak out really
263
and she shuddered again when she thought of the sackings
earlier at Cabby the Bosses doing their usual thing. The
Black Widow, Strike had called her just before she’d left, at
9 this time the Bosses off getting pissed sorting the
paperwork out, redundancy letters and P45s and the name,
which despite the laugh, had underneath made her
frightened, opened up that big hollow inside her, the one
she kept feeling that even TV, biccies and more fags
wouldn’t fill. Widow, Spinster more like and such a nasty
word. She was alone, the widow who’d never married and
there wasn’t anyone to help her and the idea of being
stranded jobless was too much to think about now. Why did
she leave Electrobux, the certainty of the Corporation had
been a comfort, the weight of the huge organization behind
her there like Dad, ‘his little Janny’ being hugged, before
he’d gone away for the second time never to return.
Janice cuddled up in her pink flower duvet, (IKEA promotion
£9.99 complete set), and sucked in her last Silky Ultra Low,
(Duty Free from one of Uncle Johns trips), staring at the
blank portable (Half Price with the Kitchen MFI), at the end
of the bed and for a moment she saw Craig sitting beside
her, his big body headless in the grey mirror of the TV with
264
Big Ted morphing into a baby on her lap. She wanted to
cry. O Gawd. Why had Craig hit her? A13 back from
Southend clubbing, too much Coke too much hate, him just
sacked from Eastenders and she couldn’t even remember
what they were arguing about, her going on about Shel her
sister in law having yet another baby, him shouting SHUT
UP and she hadn’t even mentioned her having one but then
I DON’T WANT A FUCKING BABY and WALLOP, she was
bruised for a week.
‘Time heals’ Auntie Flo said as always ‘And nevermind,
we’re going to Lakeside Saturday. Remember pet, its
SuperSaturday FEED THE ADDICTION and all that’ A line of
white goods all along the side of the bus like Come on
Down, FEED THE ADDICTION the new poster ad for the Mall
but Flo was mad for it anyhow, she didn’t need no
persuading, it was an addiction and she reveled in it every
week, bargains and discounts fiddling her cards, a few
things tucked away ‘borrowed’ as she called it, even though
Uncle John was loaded it still gave Flo the buzz she needed.
Things can only get better, that’s what Flo liked to say even
before this new lot had started at it and now Janice couldn’t
get that bloody tune out of her head. Wow wow wow oh,
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wow wow wow oh oh oh oh things can only get better…She
hoped so anyway and although she didn’t know what it was
but she knew she had to make it work. Cabby takes you
where you want to go, Keith say with a wink; it had better
anyway as she sensed her life sort of depended on it now,
otherwise it was back with Itcouldbeyou only a billion to
one chance of happiness like everyone else she knew and
she turned into the White Line ( House of Fraser New Year
Sale) and tried to turn off her head… wet snouts snorting,
Simon and Chris shouting, a hundred hands coming out
grabbing her in a grappling net drawing her into the
darkness, the blood, clots, pains, a thousand discounts
raining on her head,hurry hurry half price, free credit, 2 for
I 3 for 4, bargains galore, treat yourself FEED THE
ADDICTION, , cots and nappies, a double buggy £299.999
reduced to £199.99 Sale at Mothercare, MID SUMMER
MADNESS Special…FEED THE ADDICTION...Last Days of
Super Sale...Hurry Hurry… a baby crying panicking, she’d
been left behind CCTV a speck abandoned alone in the
crowd, baby crying home alone away, panicking under
heaps of suits with stains that even the dry cleaning
couldn’t shift…..Janice bolted up hot and sweaty, a cat
cawling outside. ‘Fucking mogs’ she said, forgetting what
she’d just dreamt, checking the clock, 3.15am ( Bluewater
266
£1.99), a vague pink glow outside, a pain in her gut. Bloody
period, her time of the month again and they were getting
worse she thought and she’d have to get the train soon.
Shit.
3.27am. Thursday. BOARD today. Yank. Her list… shut up.
End of the Month. Ooh Pay Day today, then TGIFF (thank
god it’s fucking Friday) and Janice felt suddenly better,
thinking of the relief it would give her depositing the
money, safe and falling back she tried to snatch some rest
before another office day broke.
------
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14.
Greed is poignant because it is always haunted and emptied
by future possibility; it can never engage in the present"
Anam Cara, John O’Donohue
Toby woke up sweating again. 3.32 am. The dry cough of a
fox. He hadn’t slept, just turned off for a while, StandyBy
and obviously the worries had been still running on
underneath; something was going to be lost, even if
something else was to be gained. It was his big play today,
Freespace in front of the Board, he was ready for his
performance, hi tech entrepreneur making a bid for ‘points
on the action’, as KOK called it, ‘go on my boy, risk is what
your rep is built on and Toby was glad KOK his
businessman daddy would be there today. Jeremy had said
the day was going to be the hottest of the year on
Newsnight, as hot as it’s ever been in May and Toby was
presenting his Plan to the Board, FS version 3.2, he called it
and he heard the chant begin like tinnitus at the back of his
head..itcouldbeyouitcou… but it also meant sticking his neck
268
out, in this case for half a mill and he knew the Americans
were coming, fearing he was going to get sacked before the
big Money arrived, so then there would be no house and
Tina would be too frightened to have the Baby and wasn’t
the Baby the reason for doing all this shit, confirming that
he himself had a life in the first place.
She lay there now beside him, a black lump in the
darkness, something primitive almost frightening, cooking,
broiling, brewing, ripening, reproducing and Toby scanned
the ticker tape of adverbs running across his frontal lobes,
trying to describe and somehow contain the implications of
the pregnant woman lying beside him. Baby was on his
production line, another item in his Prioritizor as Glen had
described his toodoo list typed into his weekly Mind
Changes time management sheet, just to the right of the
Software section below House, but he wasn’t sure what title
to give Tina. Cohabiter, sounded stupid; Partner, in
business wouldn’t stick, but “wife”, wasn’t quite right
either- she’d said Yes first, then No, then Maybe. If. It had
made him even more confused, the existence of any No
draining the existence of whatever Yes, leaving him
269
doubting whether this sort of marriage was the right thing
to do.
Doubt.
One Flesh, wasn’t it meant to be wasn’t it? and the frantic
grappling, the pushing and pulling in and out did seem to
lessen the doubt he felt but only for a brief moment. Doubt.
Wouldn’t the Baby meant to kill that, forever? And it had
happened sure enough though, first time impregnation,
result, after’d he got the job, bing bang bong even though
in a panic he’d tried to whip it out, as she called it before
when the condom broke. It had happened first shot though,
so it felt as if, he tried to persuade himself, it must be
meant. O gawd.
She was getting heavier for sure, the king size bed now felt
like a boat, lopsided, him about to be flung overboard, her
full belly, she and the Baby, her life, outweighing his
increasingly hi wire thin existence. He had hardly even seen
her lately, getting back at 8 then 9 becoming 10, 11 o’clock
and 12 since his evening had turned into a West Coast
270
morning to accommodate the calls form the States and now
all his life was now running across the front of his head;
plans, lists, virtual paper, 0101010
1010010100101010110010100101001010010100
00100100100101000101010011 010000110011100100101
010101010101010… a huge software jelly just about to fall
over, whatever that entailed. The list, too-doo tomorrow;
like a mantra it had now developed a life of its own in his
head:
Ring Lawyer/
Check server- Aziz
Get cheque - £2K for
Longleat- text in morning mustn’t be late
KOK advice JV
Estate Agents follow up
Make offer asap
Contract to Ingrid Coding
Insurance. Get More. Check.
271
Feeling frightened by the fragility the bits of his existence
the list now evoked, he wondered if he could get anymore
of her now but rolled over to snuggle up against the hot
weight of Tina instead like a Silicon Alien grappling to get
some sort of purchase on his own private globe. Oh god he
sensed he had to get moving, get in to the office before
anyone else, the American was arriving today, the
mysterious Sky and he feared he’d arrive at work and
everything would have changed, doors locked, lock down,
hot zone contained.
3.50 am.
5 o’clock starts were executive norm, that’s what Glenn
said look at Russ Thorax the founder, president and CEO of
International Business Systems Inc a role model for you
and well known for scheduling his Time to the minute,
structured but adaptable on a rolling KANDOO basis. Oh
shit, more pain in his midriff, was it the big C the letter
haunting him as he made ER contortions; shit, he needed a
crap.
Cold Seat.
Pain in the midriff. Had he eaten today? Felt overhot.
Pushing. Was this like giving birth? Shitting Watermelons
someone had said. God it hurts. Want to but can’t. Push.
272
Was it IBS, Irritable bowel? He’d read about it in last weeks
Sunday Times Mag, Life in the Day of, Razil Panir the
Eighties tycoon who’d been done for 500mil a few years
back then run off to Cypress. Lots of fruit was the solution
he’d said, stress wasn’t it, IBS. In the Head or the Ass it
came out in his Therapist in Santa Monica had said. Did
they all have it the dark suits, the transatlantic execs and
politicians, always in a hurry rushing around the world
supporting the latest PR puff. Push come on push. Arrrrghh
No… No nothing. Toby gave up and went back to bed. The
sky was beginning to fade up to red. He heard birds
beginning to sing. 4.13. Fuck it he had to get up in two
hours and he knew his head, or his arse, wouldn’t let him
sleep before then.
Back to front, front to back, was it dawn or dusk in this
alien landscape, no downtown Towers but trees and a too
narrow freeway that weirdly wasn’t straight. High up in the
Hilton Hyde Park spread out in a pink glow far beneath and
Sky, still on the West Coast time, with 12 hours having
been added to his life, 4.30 back to front was now
optimizing the use of that now by making a concall back to
base. ‘These guys they already love it, I don’t see a
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problem Clint’ he said in his Southern Californian fast-track
drawl. ‘That’s great Sky, great you’re on top of your game
man’ ‘The goal is clear, Mission Home come will be
accomplished, operation relocate to the US, close down UK,
then leverage the position on stock’. Sky for a moment,
although the hotels smell of burnt plastic was familiar felt
like Captain Kirk on USS Entrepreneurprize, hovering over
an alien planet, Ingerlandt UK, they say there’s Users here
ripe for exploitation Captain…
‘The deal is as we discussed at the last telecon Yes?’ a
higher more anxious voice piped up in the blankness ‘Don,
my man relax. Failure is not an option here buddy’. The
telecom cavern, notionally located somewhere over the
Atlantic, echoed then went silent a faint hiss, waves shifting
across unseen ocean below. Sky could allow the silence
space as the WorldTel package was almost free but he
couldn’t sustain it for more than a couple of beats.
‘Standing on the shoulder of Giants. Optimum initial take
up. Reduce churn’ he flicked through his Xerox branded
notebook reading the headlines in CAPS, ‘that’s the beauty
of it, Donnie, this business model really does make sense’
‘Sky, I would not want to issue a negative statement on
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this auspicious day, but armmm…’, ‘Come on Don’ (the guy
was so frickin pedantic), ‘Well, are the current UK investors
fully aware of the strategic direction we’re embarking on?
The sublimation Stateside? Are they fully supportative in
the Plan?’ Oh shit, Don was getting all fundamentalist on
him now wanting to play clean, Gods honest truth and all
that and Sky hadn’t revealed anything to the Board of
course but Jesus man if you’re a leader you gotta to
imagine the possibility which other haven’t got the vision to
comprehend, being a leader you gotta lead people into that
higher realm come what may. ‘Jesus Don, believe me I’m
telling you the Brits are completely committed to go into
the US market, they are smart guys they understand the
fluidity of capital flow, my Man at Bartone launched Heavy
metal into the States for Christs Sake’. Sky hadn’t yet met
Barry but he felt like a buddy already, sort of equals, he too
must have had the dream once … ‘Sky, please do not take
the Lords name in vain’ ‘Sorry Don, I offer my apologies
most sincerely’. Jesus H Christ what a fuck up, Sky ticked
himself off severely. Don was Born Again, a fully paid up
follower of Rapture 2000 .. the Kingdom of Heaven is nigh
for his chosen people waiting for his Call upstairs and it was
the cardinal rule never to contradict the CBS, Customer
Belief System, basic Corporation Sales Law, CSL key tenet
275
text. But, as Sky was the San Jose regions top photocopier
salesman 1995 to 8, almost instinctually he immediately
worked the mistake to his own advantage, using the
diversion to augment the BSC (bond strength component)
with Don and being a Master, bring in the close ….‘And
TAKE HEED to yourselves, lest at any time your hearts be
overcharged with surfeiting, and drunkenness, …’ his voice
rising slightly like a preacher.. and PRAY ALWAYS, that ye
may be ACCOUNTED WORTHY to ESCAPE ALL THESE
THINGS that SHALL COME to pass, and to stand before the
Son of Man…. Rapture is soon apon us and this great time
of wealth creation coming is part of getting ready to go,
isn’t that right Donnie? The Millennium Boom, dotcom is for
the chosen, right? And as we said before on 7/11 in LA,
HarpozoMall Inc. is committed to be an ethical Christian
based organization right Don? And this mission statement
right up front on the home page before the entrance to the
online shops’ ‘Sure Sky, accepted. I forgive..’ Oh gee
thanks you asshole Bush lovin’ fundamentalist jerk Sky
thought but said ‘Don, you ready to sign the contract?’
‘Sure thing Sky’ ‘Great guys, lets go, lets go ride that wave
eh, the surfs rising lets come in with the billion dollar tide’.
It was always good to end on an upbeat note, maintain the
momentum, the play, exploit the day, let the vision have its
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say. The mantra wasn’t very good but Sky wrote it down
anyway, as soon as he put down the phone.
He suddenly felt empty. The constant sell suddenly without
a source. A flicker terror trickled down his throat and he
realized he had nothing to think about, staring at the
shining mist outside the window; he might as well have
been in BarAir Business class again. Come on jerk, us guys
don’t fade and he popped another melatonin. Come on guy
we’re supranational our time is our own, and we define the
boundaries through which Capital can flow, that was our
purpose really, to allow the energy, the Money, to extend
itself ever further in its open-ended growth, it was almost
spiritual really, ‘and its in this world sucker ’ Sky whispered
to Donny without realising it. ‘Come in, Business’ and he
went back to his screen to check where he was in his World
now.
A syringe of Outlook Express filled with the contact that Sky
needed and he felt him expand with desire and expectation.
Receiving 2-4-6 of 62 messages, and Sky felt his blood
quicken. Broadcast.com. $33.45, he’d bought at 16, oh
baby what a sweetie and the heat spread across his loins
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feeling himself harden and without thinking he kissed the
Screen. It was better than catching a 10K at Waikiki,
better than Cherise riding him high doing the thing with the
ass he liked, and things were only going to getting better,
he could feel it in his teeth. He backed off and licked the
machismo sauce off the top of the cappuccino cream and
there it was alleluia, a message from Highland Ross.
Eureka! This was it the one he’d be waiting for. He clicked
quickly HYPERLINK "mailto:high@starlinkcorp.com" Sorry
not to get back to you sooner, it’s as busy as hell. Happy to
proceed with meet. Thanks for Investment inf, Harpozo
interest tho will pass this round. Copiers do well. All best
High. Thank the Lord, he’d got it at last, this was the one.
The Big One, Starlink, the 3rd largest ISP in the US, was in
the bag, almost anyway, enough to elaborate on and this
mail would prove it, it’ll be his killer carrot for the Cabby
Board today, to OK the move to the States and Sky deleted
meet then Thanks for, info , sounds interesting though will
pass and finally Your copiers doing well and went to print
his Killer Document, from the Screen still hot with his hard
on at the prospect of the sell to come in 5 hours time.
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Yeah, Sky told himself, staring at the little pile of copied
email stacked on the smoked glass table, this demanded a
celebration, of him and his success. What about a little
pussy boy? Ross Thorax had whispered to him at the IBS
awards ceremony where Sky had got his top supplier award
and, courtesy of Ross and International Business Systems
he’d also got a threesome as well as a bonus Airpass and
Buick. Thorax was a Great Guy, sighed Sky pity he’d got
caught with the secretary and had to give half to his wife;
then gee whizz he still had 1.3bil left. Whizz that’ll make a
cool brand, whizz.com the fastest way to buy online and
Sky felt even more pleased with himself and got the card
out Si had given him earlier, ‘a little treat from me and the
lads’ scribbled on the back. Anything Goes - Yvonne, the
Streatham Domintrix it said. I wonder what Streatham issounds kinda whippy, thought Sky trying to translate the
Ingerleesh. It was 4.53 am but as Thorax had told him,
‘hey there’s nothing like a bit of ass before breakfast, my
buddy Jack Kennedy always used to say’.
KANDOO TOODOO KANDOO TOODOO KANDOO TOODOO
MY NAME IS TICKLE ANF I AM A BIG MAN
I AM POWERFUL I AM RICH
BIG BALLS
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ALL POWERFUL
Two hours later in the basement, Toby was whispering his
Mind Changes mantras while trying to get straight in his
head the PowerPoint presentation for Freespace, his big
play for redemption and a whole new life… C21st world
created by C21st people to answer C21st needs- the
initiative would combine the artificial intelligent techniques
with rich media to produce deep profiling of individual
members who they are within there virtual characters
within the virtual reality which would not only facilitate
global communication of like minded people but also
subvert existing media structures by enabling the users to
create there own content with built in 365 24/7 distribution
thus to enable a new vision for the world to engage the
millennium….He’d already sent the application for COMDEX,
the Games and Electronics Festival in Vegas and he needed
to get an OK soon for the Board if he didn’t want his lie to
be found out there, and to maintain his believe in the
possibility of change.
Janice came in at 8.15, all spick and span, new business
suit, carrying the post. Her perfume hit Tobys nostrils, the
quickstep clippetty clop of her heels on the marble lifting
280
the tempo of the whole place. ‘Board meeting today Ticks.
Simon said you and Derek are going in on it after Sky the
Yank’s finished his whateveritis’ then she whispered. ‘I hope
it doesn’t mean we’re getting the sack, I don’t fancy being
a black widow again just yet. Better have a chat with the
staff; they’re all shitting their bricks about redundancy’.
‘I’m pitching ferr Money today matey’ Derek then blew in all
excited. ‘How much?’ ‘420 thou’, ‘Great’ said Tickle
wondering what it was for since they hadn’t even got a
fucking product to market yet. Fucker, Toby thought. This
cunt might get the money for Freespace, the twat? Toby
was meant to be number two, wasn’t he then this shithead
barges in front of him in the queue. And where the fuck was
Longleat, the poncy git? He needed to get the guy primed
so he doesn’t blow the whole deal. Shit he needed a fag
too.
The staff was all there again down in the Well, a shaft in
the exercise yard presumably to give the kitchen staff in
the old days some where to breath even it also served as
the main drain. Tickle always knew if his staff was working
because he could see smoke rising form the hole when they
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weren’t. ‘Alright?’ Toby asked them, the four blokes lining
the wall, all matey ‘What’s happening?’ Strike demanded to
know closing off Tickles exit at the doorway, ‘this Board
meeting?’ ‘Going through the budget’ ‘More cuts?’ asked
Janice who’d come in behind him. ‘No, No’ urged Toby. ‘It’s
about new Strategic direction doing something really good,
Freespace, ‘Oh Christ. Not another fucking direction, Tickle
they wont do that the VNC thing, its way over their heads,
where the money now’ said Strike. ‘What’s this American?’
asked Toby to Janice trying to change the subject, then
regretted it because he wasn’t in the exec exec loop ‘Simon
and Chris went the earlier in the year, an exploratory trip
they called it... you should have seen the expenses, only 5
star for them there’ said Janice. ‘Could have paid for
another two programmers for a year? said Strike ‘ But
who’s Sky’ asked Toby again trying to shift away the
subject from the twins, ‘Some so called guru they said, top
Net exec’, sniffed Strike, ‘From Blessed Vale, it’s a horrible
place, but not far from San Cupertino, home of Netscape eh
and Amazon’ ‘Oooh’ said Janice, voicing the awe the names
bought to them all ‘All yanks are full of shit’ Toby said and
they all laughed, but he wasn’t sure if they laughed as if
agreeing or only because he was supposed to be their boss?
A noise came from above and they all looked up at the
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oblong of blue sky from the dank pit. Toby gestured
frantically for them all to go back inside, just in time as
Simons head came over the balustrade. ‘Alright there
Bosun?’ ‘Fine’ Tickle replied ‘Everything’s hunky dory’ but
his neck hurt looking upwards, his shirt collar rubbing the
sore Heinrich razor had made in Vienna, but he said all
smiley, ‘Id better get to work sharp’.
At his desk Toby went through Strikes report which he’d
agreed to reads to the board in return for Shrike supporting
the Freespace plan,’ You cant build it in sand’ was all his
key programmer had said about that. : Documentation,
Stabilize the product, Testing Product Release Cycle, the
errors in the software were going to get worse, implode the
report said said, if it wasn’t sorted first. ‘It’s like building a
house, not making soup’ , you cant keep adding bits of
code to make the thing work, patches the geek language
called them, dotted like war zones across a map, trying to
keep the software jelly upright, the original Plan intact. And
it was no good throwing more resources at it the report
said, if you read the Mythical Man Month once the Plan goes
wrong it just goes wrong more, even more the more people
you deploy, like fishing line tangled, better to cut it, give up
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and start again. O Gawd, Tobys forehead tightened with the
metaphors- the fact was he didn’t know what the fuck
software was except something to do with 01 the secret
code that ran everything.01, 11,01, what happened to the
third.. the father, the son, and the holy ghost, it’s missing
the 3rd thing, the Other that what Shrike had told him
when they had talked about AI, ‘you’ll never have a human
computer because they can’t think outside the box’.
‘All is one and one is me. Lovely day and I am lovely. The
world is one I am one with the world’ Longleat was making
his way down Malthorpe Street towards Cabbie Inc. He had
his white suit on and catching a glimpse of himself in the
health food shop window he thought there was a revelatory
quality there, Little Richard in preacher mode, he only
wished he could be a bit more lithe. ‘No, I am lovely it’s a
lovely day’ he insisted ‘Let it pass, make a friend of the
anger then say goodbye’, as Quok Shin Kak had said
‘become an empty vessel in balance with the world –
mindfulness is not a notion but a path’. But fuck, Longleat
squirmed, I wish the world would wake up to who I am
soon, he was getting tired of waiting for the larger
revelation to occur. It was difficult to be so isolated in ones
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own brilliance, struggling with that higher vision seeing the
future so clearly, lonely in having an understanding no one
else grasped. Cabbie: takes you way you want to go, what
a crap name, and even Freespace was a bit old hat, the
visionary sighed. No, it was his magnanimity, sharing his
vision with those of lesser understanding and in doing so he
trusted he would get something back. It was his mission on
earth, after all, he told himself. Now, beyond Disney,
Longleat was moving toward a new idea of himself. The
time spent alone with his computer, struggling to keep up
the multiple balls of his creative life, the music, the
performance, art pieces and videogames, without any
structure to work within, had resulted in Longleat turning
away from his previous calling to create a multinational
media conglomerate and towards the idea of being a
Cyborg, a one man media machine broadcasting 24/7 365,
so his thoughts, talks, visions, his very mind was going to
be spread across the world a new gospel of one unified
religion the technology enabling him to do, to be so, in
essence, entirely digital and this beyond death, for Flesh to
be superceded by Spirit, then conveyed electronically for
now and everywhere for all time, is and will be world
without end. Longleat, was he knew know the first in the
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next generation of humanity, at this time the one and only
New Being.
Suddenly exhausted by the weight of his own destiny,
Longleat decided to sit outside a café and leafed through
the script for todays meeting with the Money people at
Cabby inc. Freespace powered by Longleat TV: a new
Entertainment Channel for the Digital Age, an orgasmic
plethora of internet based individuals utilizing interactive
technology to create a user based spiritualized world
determined by a direct relation to the mental, emotional
and spiritual states reincarnated in code, a vast web of
psychic energy linking Amazonian Indians through to Monks
on Mount Athos and all disciples in-between meeting in the
one and only nexus the Cy…. He noticed how delicate his
fingers were on the paper, the way they tapered rather
than being blunt like most males and wondered if this was a
sign of his manifold sexuality or a physical manifestation of
being the first in the line of this higher human strain. He
looked up into this world again his vision being drawn
across the road down one of the slightly run down streets,
odd shops beneath once posh homes and Longleat saw a
fat man rush out from a doorway and stand briefly, rotund
with a pointy beard black against the burning smog. The
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silhouette looked almost Elf like, Father Christmas with a
quaff; then, tucking in his shirt in, the gnomic apparition
stepped into a limo sliding up to the kerb. That’s my car
thought Longleat and again felt awkwardly aggrieved.
Inside the stretched Bentley, Santas hand thrust down
inside the front of pinstripe trousers to tuck in the tails of
his new Pink Egyptian cotton shirt. In his hurried dressing
he had got all twisted up in braces and boxers shorts, a bit
of a wedgie in fact and ‘Fuck’, he’d forgotten to get the
receipt off the Anneshka bird. He’d have his secretary get
it later. ESM: Executive stress management he’d call it,
that’s how it would be accounted for in Expenses, he
chortled to himself. Santa Moores big red face beamed as
he looked through the tinted glass at the alcoholic wrapped
in a sleeping bag, head bowed in a doorway and he knew
his spirits at least would be on high today as he purred
eastwards to the City and another triumph. ‘Tough shit
matey’, he whispered as the casualty outside. Yep, another
day, another deal. It was a big day, the end of the
beginning with the listing of Golden Infinity on the Stock
Exchange well, APEX the smaller market, but it was a start,
then the celebratory doo with Morton Thomas tonight ,a
287
chance to have a chit chat with Bartone about buying
Cabby later and to work on the Barry bloke about carrying
it over into a stake in Infinity for the big NASDAQ LSE play,
and yes, the road in front was shining ever brighter laid out
for Santas ascendance, barrow boy to big swinging Dick.
What was it called, not Wall st, greed and all that, the one
with Tom Hanks, but Santa had been in the movie before it
was made he thought grinning to himself as he pushed his
hand down again inside his trousers this time to check the
slightly sore point just beneath his swollen tum tum belly.
-----
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15.
…. Here, to repeat, the basic fact of the twenty first
century- a corporate system based on unrestrained self
interest.
John Kenneth Galbraith The Economics of Innocent Fraud
‘A billion dollar company and no less…and hey you guys if
you look at Broadcast.com, and the 250% gain achieved on
their first day trading that too was linked to an ISP deal,
Starlink also and this paper I hold now and….’ it was Sky in
full preacher mode black polo-neck and slacks with a shiny
alligator belt, holding up the print-out of the doctored email
from Highland in front of the Cabby Board, 7 men, 1
woman and Kieran O Keirtly sending his apologies for his
absence again traveling abroad. ‘…and this shows, subject
to contract and appropriate due diligence, that given your
approval of the Plan lying down before you today, that we
too can indeed Stand On The Shoulders Of Giants and
launch ourselves on this great wave of Millennium
opportunity, ride out t’ward a billion dollar IPO and yes it
could be you too making a many manifold return on your
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original investment in Cabby Incorporated or should I say
not too soon I hope, HarpozoMall Inc.’ he smiled and the
hot days sunlight broke through the bars of the blinds and
hit Skys bleached teeth with a twinkle, Ding, Ring of…And
Tickle was by the doorway outside straining to hear what
was going on inside the boardroom, in the ensuing silence
the dark suits waiting for what the Preacher was going to
say next, having been barely able to make out the words
in that high-pitched southern Californian whine . ‘Yup it’s
going be a billion dollar company before next fall’ Sky
pronounced, as if it was already ordained to the array of
open faces below him open mouthed all wanting it so badly
to be true. Behind him on the whiteboard were lines of red
green and blue, the red one dotted, starting below the
others then shooting upwards, exponential growth scribbled
alongside the ascendant curve, tipped off with a big fat
head in red. ‘I say again, with the current market flow
trajectory and projection correct, a go to market could be, I
mean will be, within the six quarters and through into the
Millennium with conditions enhanced’, and here he drew
two Towers much higher than the other blocks on the bar
chart, ‘in 2000 and 2001 the result will be at least a 500%
uplift in stock price post 21st century and ten billion by 2007
290
is not an unreasonable guestimate…’
Sky then let silence fall. A jet passed over, another coming
soon behind, the dual engine thrusts breaking into the low
rumble then a whine urgently straining, echoed and
magnified as if it was about to crash. ‘Gentlemen, and
Lady’ he said with a flash of plated incisors at Lizzie, the big
Bartone chick, throwing in a wink at Brutus her skinny
sidekick ‘it’s your stock we’re talking about and this is the
Day you can make it happen... Carpe Diem gentlemen,
Seize the Day today and approve the move to the States,
approve the additional investment as outlined in the Plan,
and my friends I strongly urge us to ride the surge and go
with the Wave in a new universally munificent way’ And
then he sat down, as if to savour the lingering heaviness of
anonymous chemicals, sweet spreading in the hot and
clammy air. Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep…A
phone went off loudly, shattering the expectancy of the
silence, Brutus quickly peeling off into the corner of the
room to talk. Sky’s eyes followed him; that guy was going
to be difficult, No 2 to Eliza at Bartone Corp Dev he’d
obviously got his own agenda, other Internet investments
and Sky better put him on amber alert watch. ‘It’s Chuck’
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Brutus said to Eliza only ‘Hey, whenaa you guys coming
over to do due diligence?’ the Seattle drawl came through
on the phone as if it was next door. ‘Soon’ whispered
Brutus, ‘Soon, soon, look I’m in a meeting, can I call you
back in 5’. ‘If you’re in a meeting turn the fucking thing off’
muttered Simon, sitting puce red with excitement, annoyed
at being disturbed in his wallowing inside Beth with a new
head and the picture Sky had painted, him pushing her
hard against the jet stream of the Bel Air pools filter, her
screams lost in the waters frothing, dollars floating
everywhere in the air… ‘It’s going to be great- the Stateside
move is essential’, Simon suddenly shouted out, urging the
older faces around the table to focus on concluding the deal
with Sky. ‘Great for the shareholders, great for the stock,
we’ve got to approve it and we have got to approve it now’
he tried to look serious as his hand instinctively moved to
hold his still sore cock.
‘Yeah , take the guy out, bury the fucker alive, and don’t
forget to pull out his teeth out first’ Chris was playing a
ranting Joe Pesci Goodfella reeling around in his head acting
out what he’d like to do to that toffy nosed git Brutus but
only snarling, slumped in the chair biting the ends of his
292
blunted fingertips. Motherfuckers, it was obvious America
was the great hope, it was where it was at, the real Money,
the Power and Chris had a heap of meets lined up in the
States, piled up from sleepless weeks of emailing through
the night and it was the beginning of a billion dollar
company with Chris Froth twenty first century global CEO at
it head. Yeas, that was the real picture, then he’d tell that
little fucker Brutus where he could shove his frikking phone.
‘Please Darling be gentle with me Please darling, they would
love it they really would, the kids haven’t seen you for
three weeks now’. Chris blushed as he remembered the
pleading endearment he’d last night from Sandra, the
Bitch- Wife. Why did he put up with it? It was an
arrangement about to end although the saggy titted Mum
didn’t know it yet. Carlita his Brazilian bimbo was happy
and if she wasn’t there was the Iti gagging for it in Tooting.
Marriage was too constraining for someone as fertile and
creative as himself. OK he’d got kids for added gravitas to
his CV but now it was time to move on. Force is the first
Management law. EXECUTION IS TOTAL and smiling now at
Skys PowerPoint he saw his Personal Development time
sheet stuck up there on the wall in his Letchworth den. This
little deal was just step 3 then there will be Omnifroth Inc
founded under the red vertical, EXIT, Cabby sold on the
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graph was a little green star for DIVORCE when he had the
caboodle to make it painless economically speaking of
course. Goodbye Letchworth, parochial backwater, hello
World going global; LA, San Fran, Frankfurt, New York, for
the International Killer Exec, the universe was his home.
Come on. Come on, hurry you twats and with only a couple
of hours sleep what with all his west coast calls Chris
closed his eyes and couldn’t help himself sink back into his
FAVORITES as the Board waited for Brutus to finish his call.
Virgin, Ebony Magic, Hardcore, Amateur, Big Dicks Chris
clicked, another window in his mind downloading, first the
hair, then eyes all expectant, then the Mouth, the Tongue
out and then Cock, big and black a 12in glory and Chris felt
himself harden, projecting himself into the magnificent
manhood and before him Patsy, his rod right up into her
ass. Oh Yes he was there Beauty and the Beast
remembering how he ha began to give himself relief as all
top Execs needed to do, him Chris Froth President and CEO,
Homes in Boca Raton, Kensington and Telluride, Hobbies,
gold, cinema, master, Chris Froth, New Media Leader the
key visionary, the great seer, Chris Froth, Alexander of the
Net unstoppable, all powerful all conquering becoming
bigger and bigger, expanding, a star, a comet across the
brilliant capitalist sky, Chris Froth, pushing himself deeper
294
into the big hole of space, Master of cyber land, the new
frontier, he could yes he could do it, could do kandoo
America here we come, he kandoo it he could, you kandoo
it, yes I can do it, I can yes I can yes now. He felt his
stretched foreskin twitch again the cotton twill and opening
one pig eye Chris VP of Product development noticed a little
stain begin to expand below his zip
‘I can yes I can yes now… Sure, Seattle in two weeks, We’ll
get the legals together, Yeah yup Cho’ Brutus snapped the
Motorola shut and came back to the table. He gave
Elizabeth a meaningful look, ‘All fine. Sorry chaps , more
Bartone interests to take care off ‘ his Etonian supplanting
the mockney ‘ Barry wants this wrapped up soon’ thus
indicating to all at the meeting that it needed to remember
that Cabby was just a marginal investment in the larger
portfolio of Bartones wealth so they’d all better treat him
and Eliza with the respect due. Yeah fuck You . Men carry
on. He said and wanting to frighten them all with one of his
ArrrrUrrrr Ooohh AARRR the red Indian pastiche they used
at the Men Warrior Group last week end Him walking naked
by the camp fire as the other naked around him made
themselves go Corr. It was a bit like going back to Public
295
School. Wild Tiger with big balls was his New Warrior title
and My mission is to be rich and powerful, at the forefront
of the digital media revolution reflecting my glory…er..
giving back value to the world’. He had tacked the last bit
on at the Initiation Ceremony to keep in with the right on
group of New Age men The New Warrior Training Adventure
is a process of initiation and self-examination that is crucial
to the development of a healthy and mature male self. It is
the "hero's journey…In fact he’d got a bit of attitude off the
Organic types for even mentioning money but the ex
Marine American oil trader taking the workshop knew where
he was at. OOArr yes he was bigger since he’d went he
thought stroked the vein at the back of his dick.
Oh no, all of a sudden, seeing the vicious eyes of the Froths
staring at him now, Brutus felt himself shrivel. It was true
at least they had their own company, were at the edge
being entrepreneurial at the front. Oh Gawd.. Had he sold
out? A little apprentice to the big boss, lapdog for the
Duchess and at 30 he hadn’t even got ownership of
anything, only a still to graduate Exec MBA, when he should
have sold his first if not second business by now..
‘Numbers my boy, don’t forget the numbers’, that’s what
Grandpa Louis, always said. Louis Linkowski,
296
multimillionaire, refugee from Poland, East End tailor,
Shopowner, founder of the first discount store empire, how
could Brutus prove himself to him. ‘How is your business
going my boy? Numbers my boy, don’t forget the numbers’
‘Yes Grampy, my business is going great guns’ and Brutus
had lied the last time they saw each other, just before the
accident, the old man falling off the bed trying to copulate
with the Australian nurse. 105 and still at it, wasn’t bad but
then he went and left her the house and the pictures to the
bitch, dirty old man, selfish git. Well, the lawyers will sort
that out, Money always wins in the end at least Brutus
knew that.
No he had his Plan, for Grampy, the Warrior with the Tiger
Balls was going to get Bartone to dump the Woman, Eliza,
so he could build his business, on the shoulder of giants
Fanatics.com, do a massive IPO then reverse take over of
whole Bartone company so there. Feeling better Brutus
finally from his speculation here relaxed back into the chair
re-arranging his boxers to allow some air preparing to
enjoy himself in watching Eliza put these non- Men in their
place First he picked up his Palm Pilot to insert some notes
on is list. 1. Instigate Fan PR strat 2. Big Barry meet lunch
re Lizzie. 3. Boys destroy ref Liz 4. Inseminate S Buy zinc.
His groin, as if responding to the heavy metal weight in his
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hand thickened… Oooh Arrr… yes Sophie was going to get a
good seeing to tonight, he was damned if he was going to
pay for more IVF.
‘Lovely Sky, absolutely terrific,’ said Elizabeth suddenly as if
to jolt the boys out of their fantastical reverie. ‘It looks
wonderful on paper, but perhaps we could, for a moment,
address the operational side of things,’ she purred, ‘the now
rather than the future’. She knew her voice was slightly
flatter than normal, but she had to reinforce the fact that as
the senior financier she was always looking at the bottom
line, the worst case scenario, and, fucking hell she was
getting really bored, sitting here on yet another Board of
silly men getting so excited over Money, bored listening to
pitches from sooped up second rate salesmen like Sky and
bored of the glazed looks of these minor players thinking
about the dosh, as if it was a mystery the answers to which
would only be conjured up if they stared long enough at the
pretty Powerpoint charts on the wall. Didn’t they, these
little men, realise that all this had been sorted out some
years before, up in the mirrored Towers and Gulfstreams;
didn’t they realize that the City had already decided what
was going to happen because the Street had already
decided and really it was just a case of going through the
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motions now, just keeping the eye on the timing, the
Accounts and Legals and the Press. Silly men and their balls
to play with, and she had to look after six kids and a banker
bloke.
Elizabeth winced; the Baby was doing something under her
pashmina. She hadn’t told anyone, not even Barry her boss
and certainly not this lot; they’d freeze up, the zigzagging
of their frontal lobes unable to compute Nature happening
here amongst them, live, this bunch of bemused monkeys
in their M&S undies carrying mobile and Palms simply
wouldn’t be able to cope. Cabby, takes you where you want
to go, Surfing the wave, Simon says; I mean really,
complete tosh.
‘Its all set up Lizzie’, smiled Sky, (God she hated been
called Lizzie), ‘We’ve got the team in place, Clint and Don
are arriving later today to do due diligence, to take over
even, if you so wish’ Sky lowered his voice ‘Obviously the
Starlink contract is contingent on HQ being in the US of A...
and I need to get back to High before close of play. We got
office accommodation ready to go in Blessedvale, Clint’s
gotta a top Valley technical team in place and Donnies all
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set in LA to handle the affiliate marketing with the agency
guys. Hey everyone, if we go with the flow it’s going to be a
Win Win Win situation for everyone, eh so lets Lock and
Load and get ready to Rock and Roll?’ said Sky ‘ Lets surf
that wave guys’ flashing his sunshine smile, Simon and
Chris panting by his side. ‘Blessedvale you say’ Oh no, it
was Garthside, the techie VC, KOKs hatchet man and
everyone sighed. ‘We have another company there, they do
semi conductor system diagnostics,’ he whined nasal and
analytical. All heads dropped; he was going to talk about
software, the stuff they were actually meant to be making
but none of them knew what it was. ‘Their architecture has
exceptional code density through a proprietary technique
they’ve got for speeding up the Java language execution’
Garthside spluttered on and Simon let his tongue loll out of
his mouth eyes rolling, a little joke to his mate Keith who,
as usual lizard like, hadn’t said a word throughout the
meet. Keith noticed that Simons tongue was very white but
smiled his chirpy smirk anyway, focusing on keeping
everything sweet. ‘You see, the ultra lean core allows
25,000 gates to be used,’ Garthside continued ‘a tiny
memory comparatively, which, if we employed it with the
Cabby code could position it as a multi user device…’. The
room had almost emptied of its previous excitement as the
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moneyed egos retracted into their ignorance, fighting to
appear engaged; after all they were meant to be experts in
the hi-tech category, but they couldn’t help fidgeting, like
dirty boys completely deaf to algebra in the doldrums of
pre-lunch maths.
‘That’s great Garthside, your understanding of the
underlying technical issues and potential roadmap ahead is
invaluable,’ Sky stepped in before the place went flat and
the deal was closed ‘Indeed’ said Garthside, ‘ the wireless
factor should..’ but Sky cut him off sharp ‘Believe me, the
guys I’ve got lined up, flying in as we speak, are going to
accelerate the product development exponentially, and..’
looking up, seeing the relief spread around the table the
boys gratefully rescued from Garthsides techno-babbling,
Sky spotted the opportunity to move in for the kill. ‘Which
kinda neatly brings us to the next item, the key item on
the agenda- Reallocation of Resources’, and the dark suits
all sat up, reanimated, pens coming out poised as knives
above their spreadsheet. ‘We gotta downsize the UK to
facilitate the growth in the US’. This was something they
could all understand and, secretly, always enjoyed.
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Restructuring, sacking that is; it made them feel powerful,
it made them feel they were doing something useful again.
‘So what is left in the UK?’ asked Garthside, half and hour
later the Board having sacked three quarters of the staff
(half having gone in the purge 3 months before), ‘Couple of
content guys, bookeeper and marketing coordinator, low
overhead high coverage’ said Sky, exhausted now but
beaming feeling the sun drying salt on his ginger-haired
chest, the deal looked as if it was done, ‘The same with all
our global properties outside the States’ ‘Get rid of Derek
for starters’ blurted Simon with a venom that made the
other surgeons turn their heads ‘He’s exceeded budget’
intoned Chris and everyone turned back to their pads,
putting a tick or a cross by the name. ‘Tickle should join
him’ said Chris, ‘Doubling up’ chipped in Sky, ‘Clint can
handle operations in the States’ ‘But there should be a
decent handover period to avoid prod dev interruption’ said
Garthside. ‘Don’t want any hiccups in the software’
‘Certainly’, the others agreed and Sky didn’t want to stop
the flow ‘No worries, - lets bed it and then when surplus to
requirement and European localization in place, we’ll let
that guy go too’. ‘Strikes the key’ Sky insisted, ‘we need
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him in California, from the word go’ Simon was obviously
enjoying this, a sort of Simon says Extreme too vicious for
broadcast or maybe not: he should talk to Jules at Terminal
TV once he’d got fucking Cabby off his back. Hey ho soon it
will be the US of A, IPO, Exit and away from all this shit.
‘What about Janice?’ Chris said fancying something younger
and female to abuse, ‘No we can’t have that; Janice stays
put’, it was Keith clicking into action, surprisingly firm. He
needed to keep tabs on the Money, and although he’d
never tell them, he knew it was always the woman in the
back office who actually ran the show even if she didn’t
know it herself. ‘Fine that can wait’, Sky needed Keith
onside, ‘and the others?’ ‘Who’s that then?’ said Keith,
‘Didn’t realise we had any others’, and they all laughed.
‘Sack ‘em all’ Brutus chipped as if to get going a Warrior
type chant, ‘Sack ‘em all Sack ‘em all’ they said a couple of
times then all laughed, partly at the ridiculousness of
dismissing people so easily, their power at being able to so
easily utterly change others lives and partly at the hidden
relief that they were all feeling at being on the right side of
the tracks. ‘ Sack ‘em all Sack ‘em al..l’
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‘Yes yes jolly good but... .’ it Elizabeth piping up above the
rabble of the boys again trying to get them to settle down
again ‘What about valuation, we need to know about
numbers, users and we need to know the product schedulehow soon can we get the thing out in the States? ’ Simon
was in quick, ‘the system reads that we are up to 121000
registered users, which with reach is half a million’. Keith
couldn’t stop himself gulping but Elizabeth’s piggy eyes
didn’t blink, ‘In regard to product release?’ and Chris put on
his deepest voice (the one he’d been practicing in front of
the mirror in the car) ‘As you know Tickle is responsible for
the production now but we’re looking at a September ‘98
release in order to catch the Christmas season for the
online shopping take off, with launch date in the US no later
than 5th Oct’. He plucked the dates out of the air and only
a polygraph could monitor the slight hiccup in his voice.
Elizabeth soft features remained blank; she’d had been lied
to by much bigger and better Liars than these two little
shits. ‘Then get me this Tickle, the Production Man’ she
suddenly said and Brutus sniggered, she’ll put the little
fuckers in their place now and he gave Keith a sharp prod
in his ribs. Keith went out to get Toby, slightly annoyed that
they’d have to depend on somebody else which meant
another person to be paid off later on. Toby hearing this
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quickly nipped into the bog, half expecting to find Beth
waiting there.
Outside Keith saw the cloud of smoke coming up from the
Well, like cartoon Indian signals and rather than having the
additional stress of being forced to tick them off, he went
downstairs and called for Tickle from the doorway by the
broken toilet. A surprised black face suddenly loomed
around the frame of the Wells doorway smiling. Keith was
taken aback, stunned. For a moment he couldn’t compute.
It was a Lionel Ritchie look-alike, smiling and confident
somehow threatening as he came waltzing over towards
Keith in a white suit. ‘Hi I’m Longleat, I believe Ill be
presenting my report to the Board soon but the swine, so to
speak, better be quick in order to catch my pearls because
I’m off to conduct a meditation retreat before lunch’. The
guy was smiling all friendly, talking like a fucking nob, all
posh and Keith was confused, feeling that tension in his
chest again. Oh Gawd, where was Helen when he needed
her. Your world is what you make it she’d have said and
Keith decided to just blank it , this ghoul but he couldn’t
stop the tension in his voice as he shouted out ‘Tickle quick,
you’re wanted now’.
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Toby’s white face emerged behind Keith shoulder, looking
very worried. Was it time for his sacking, more of the
restructuring that he hadn’t quite heard redundancy even
before he’d had a chance to play his Freespace card? Serve
the fucker right thought Keith seeing Tickles weak face.
Who the fuck does he think he is commissioning supposed
reports from Soul singer lookalikes? and Toby chased after
the little man waddling into the boardroom, leaving
Longleat abandoned in the doorway, his suit cut in half by
the Wells shaft of light.
As Keith and Tickle walked into the Boardroom Simon made
for the door, ‘Need a Slash’ but as he was going out he
whispered quickly into Tobys ear ‘500K users OK- that’s
what’s we’ve got right- say it or we’re all fucked, including
you, right’. Toby went all wobbly standing there taking in
the scene very quickly; the graph, Sky worryingly
omnipotent at the head of the table, shit no KOK his
supporter only Elizabeth giving him a welcoming smile
above the flat faces of the Suits. Why did he feel like a little
boy, worried that he wasn’t wearing a tie? Why did he have
butterflies in his stomach? Oh no, because he was, he was
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doing someone else’s talking, it was time to lie. It was the
same old choice he’d had from the start, to lie or not to lie,
to tell the truth, to say what he thought, or to fudge,
deviate, escape, procrastinate, accept the shit part that he
hated…To be or not to be that is the question, whether tis
nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
and to take arms against a sea of trouble and by opposing
end them...Shit…His integrity, the Freespace Plan,
redemption; the Truth he couldn’t afford not to now and
anyway he had forgotten what being honest was.
‘Ah Tickle’ said Elizabeth, they’d never been introduced ‘I
enjoyed Scratch, no I mean Shame, that was it. Das ist
richtig yah Zehr Goomurklick. A friend of mine had a
percentage I believe he did rather well out of it’ she smiled
‘Yeah better than you did it appears’ sneered Brutus at
Toby. ‘Shhhh Bruty’ Eliza ticking her boy off ‘Right. Toby
isn’t it? A couple of questions for you regarding usage’...
‘How many users do we currently have, for a start’
Elizabeth asked.
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There was a silence, another plane going over, this time
very close the window frames rattling; Chris, Simon and
Keith were staring at him intently.
Go on, Lie, go on lie and lie well.
Toby knew about he had to and he knew it was serious; the
Money was listening and the Money would make him
accountable, strike back if hurt.
He had to or there would be no Freespace, no house, no
Baby, no wife, no life.
‘Errm, given churn and including reach, 487438, I believe
is the latest stats, err..we are approaching the half million
mark for sure’, he blurted out and he knew then that they
all knew that he was lying and he knew they wouldn’t forget
that he was.
A big sigh went around the room and they all seemed to
relax, smiling. The story was corroborated and someone
else had told the lie and Tickle was the one who was going
to be accountable for it. He’d kept the story afloat and all
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was well they were still in the game in these last days
before the millennium in the game all the fantasy had
become believable, the lies in fact had become the truth.
‘And the release date?’ said Brutus, now the only one
around the table looking cross, ‘September, Christmas?’
‘Just in time for the shopping season hey Tickle’ prompted
Sky. Cunt, thought Toby he’s persuaded them to do the
shopping thing. Shit. There goes Freespace and any idea of
being anything vaguely interesting, entertaining, of value
anything but an IT MONEY thing and him becoming an
online shopping geek without a slice of the cake. ‘Yeah,
we’ll be ready, at the till’ he said trying to crack a joke and
sound enthusiastic. ‘OK’ said Chris, ‘that’ll be all, thank you’
the young Mel Gibson said dismissing the has-been
sergeant. And Tickle made for the exit, back to his platoon,
feeling a lot smaller and balder then when he had gone in
five minutes ago.
Outside Toby thought he was going to faint; he took a deep
breath. Whatever the software for the reconstruction of ego
was, it was processing overtime now. He’d lied, set himself
up as the fall guy, and lost put in his plan to get a bit of the
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action. Shit, he had sold out, and for nought. He leant onto
the wall and noticed he had sweat running down his spine,
then the door opened from inside. It was Keith. ‘Well done
mate’ he said winking, ‘You’re alright. We are back on track’
he said slapping Tickle on his wet back. ‘Look, can you just
sign this it’s just a minute sheet of the meeting, what’s
been said, a record like’ said Keith urgently ‘Quick, please,
I’ve got to go up to Totteridge, bit of a golf do, potential
investors there, so be a good chap and sign it here now.
Verifying user numbers, stats, forecast etc, technical stuff
we’ll need it for due diligence later on ’. Tickle signed and
he knew. ‘Great well done’ said Keith almost paternal.
‘Don’t worry mate, its business, its all about being
economical with the truth, innit,’ he said laughing, ‘it’s how
the Business works. And look we’ll get Freespace on the
Agenda’ he said enthusiastically although Toby knew he
was lying. ‘itcouldbeyou itcouldbeyou eh and Tickle,’ Keith’s
hand squeezing his nape, ‘be a good chappy and loose the
coon will you’ ‘Err…Sure’ said Toby suppressing the impulse
to object and went to tell Longleat he’d better fuck off now
or he wouldn’t get any of the report money at all and as he
walked towards the stairs he heard a burst of laughter
coming from behind him in the boardroom and again
thought he heard his name being called. O gawd
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16.
How fortunate for leaders that men do not think.
- Adolf Hitler
Oh my God Oh My God O my God have mercy on me have
mercy on me have mercy on me’ the woman was rocking
back and forward all twisted up crying into the ends of her
scarf. Despite the hot thundery day inside the office it was
cold; in the basement it never seemed to warm up and
although it was crossing over the Client Counsellor
boundaries prescribed, Tina couldn’t resist the urge to go
over and give the poor woman a hug. ‘It’s alright. It’s
alright It’s...Everything will be O.K Anneshka believe me.’
What else could she say? … What could she say? The
womans Husband, Mother, Father, Aunt Uncle, Cousin
Cousin, Child all wiped up, just like that, yesterday, at a
marriage, a celebration, now gone. They who had just been
living, shopping, gardening, talking over the wall to a
nieghbour, now gone, just like that, a wrong bomb from an
F14 its video game brain being maladjusted and here was
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Anieshka sitting in front of her 1000 miles away from her
Lifes carnage, rocking back and forward unable to cope.
‘Oh my God Oh My God O my God have mercy on me have
mercy on me have mercy on me’’ the Serbian women had
been here for a year, with a PHD in Psychology from
Belgrade University but ending up massaging City blokes,
and who could blame her having only got 4.50, a pittance
for cleaning toilets and it was all for her family back home
and now she was sitting here trying to get some help from
The North London Off Shoot Centre for Refugees.
Underfunded the Centre was an offshoot of another
organization; Fresh Start for Single Mums which in turn was
an off shoot of ADURA, Assured Delivery Urban
Regeneration Agency, set up for EU designated deprived
inner city areas. Tina was working there one day a week for
a counseling course placement, just listening to them, the
trail of the underneath people who had no where else to go
to. There was little she could do except listen; give them
leaflets, point them in the right direction, but really it was
just there, to just listen. Did anybody else? They were quite
difficult to understand and there were some who could only
express themselves in their own language and Tina just sat
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there listening, smiling, being warm and they did seem to
be a little happier when they left.
But despite herself Anieshka had turned into a sort a friend
and now with the death, even in an alien war, it made Tina
frightened. She could feel herself shrivel up inside herself,
wanting to protect the Baby there, away from the horrible
aggressive, nasty world outside. It wasn’t fair. Why should
it be like this? Tina asked, she always had, from the start,
since she was a child, hating it, the fighting, the guns. Ban
the fucking things. Fucking men. Why did they have to; it
was either yes or no, don’t they see War doesn’t fucking
work? 'Oh dear come on lets have a cup of tea’ said Tina
and the woman’s white face, eyes red rimmed and wet with
the endless crying made her feel drained. It was difficult
enough keeping positive at home, there with Tobys mood
changes, overworked, tired and angry, as if on jet lag all
the time coming down severely at the end of the week, all
those repressed feelings coming out, projection and
transference as the book said, taking it out on her the fact
that they kept mucking him around at the Office, treating
him like a prat, leaving him constantly on edge not knowing
if he was going to be sacked or not.
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The grind of Camden high street was carrying on outside
and Tina went over to close the window. The sky had
become heavy dark with the threat of thunder and she
couldn’t resist the urge to smoke. She shouldn’t but the
sadness she felt, the heart ache, the growing fear about the
Baby made her want to melt. She lit up trying not to inhale.
Just a puff. Why couldn’t she share her worries with Toby?
He didn’t seem to hear her, anything anymore, just head
down with the job. Was it really worth it? The Money. Did it
have to be so extreme? Chasing the Windfall, going crazy
running after the pot. It made her more afraid the more he
became lost in it, which he seemed to be the more she
retreated into herself. But there was no answer, no way out
now with the Baby, or so it felt. The smoke of her Silk Cut,
(she only had one in an emergency like now and she didn’t
inhale), mingled with the fumes and the humid hot smog
and a seagull cried out somewhere above her as if it too
was seeking help.
Did it have to be like this?
Real
Was this it?
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The truth
Life?
‘Tickle, Toby, Tickle here is right behind the move and hey
you guys, have you seen the extra extra ordinary values of
the stock of Amazon, the Street, Broadcast.com the
markets doubled in less than a week and’, back at the office
two hours later Sky was preaching again a suitable thunder
clap bursting out overhead, trying to enthuse the Cabby
staff now gathered around him sullenly, only really wanting
to find out of they’d been sacked. His proven sermon on
wave surfing and the riches to come didn’t seem to be
working ‘…and the States can witness to the explosive
growth, as in the value of eBay, 241% climb on less than a
week since IPO and you guys too can be part of that dream,
you too can be part of this Millennium gold rush, if we work
as one big team we can make Cabbie 3 the leader, the new
AOL, at the forefront of the ecommerce revolution in the US
and in the UK and the whole globe known to civilized man’
and he looked around the room expecting a chorus of
sunshine smiles, cheers, even a whoop and whistle high
five style, but this Brit mob just looked grave, there was no
315
budging them they just wanted to know if they were going
to keep their jobs.
‘Hey you guys, Golden Infinity,’ Sky tried again, the co
branding deal Si struck last week, their stock just has
launched gone IPO and its expanded 5 fold today’ ‘Yeah,
you lot the big wave has just started here’ chirped in Toby,
feeling like Judas but trying to look similarly excited as Sky
but the staff remained non-plussed, flat faced, only a few
smirks and the odd snarl. OK, Tickle decided he had to lie
to them again just to get rid of the gnawing feeling in his
gut. ‘Look this office is going to be worldwide HQ for all
territorities outside the States, all your jobs are safe,
believe me you’ll be the last to go mates’ and a few faces
became more open, chins lifted, Toby was OK wasn’t he,
he smoked with us at least some thought.‘‘Believe me guys,
the code has to be on the West coast,’ Sky came in ‘the
investors expect it, but we’ll keep the production here.
Believe me you guys are secure, we need you and believe
me when this thing kicks off we’re soon going to have to
quadruple the staff numbers’ he proclaimed gaining
confidence in his shpeel again ‘Yeah we’re going to see the
great Barry of Bartone tonight, to it get all Oked.
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Loadsofmoney right?’ Toby feeling like a warm up guy on
some shit shows of Simon then reverting to the sure fire hit
‘but first lets be British and fuck the high fives and go to
the pub eh, and all get pissed- the drinks are on me I mean
the company’ and finally the mood lifted, the duped staff
happy to deny their growing panic with the prospect of a
free drink.
“Believe me,” thought Toby as he watched the staff hustle
out the Boardroom door glad for the extra hour off paid.
‘“Believe Me”, I’m probably fucked’. “Believe Me”, it could
be the could-be-you millennial catchphrase. “Believe Me”,
and I am one of them, he thought walking over to the
window, one of the Management bastards but not really and
Toby felt totally isolated unable to tell the staff it was all
bollocks and most of them were in effect redundant now, O
Gawd. He had crossed the invisible line, become a pro, a
paid liar, a whore for the dosh, his act as the capitalist pig
now had become really real confirmed by the fact that he’d
cheated on others and on himself. Be true to thine self,
Gwen always said, the Truth will set you free the old bird
with the tobacco hair had said but Fuck it, I’m too poor to
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have morals, as that guy on telly had said and Toby Tickle
was doing for Tina and the Baby after all, surely that
justifies it, the whitish lies, doesn’t it? O Gawd
‘Believe me, the opportunity is almost limitless, Sir’ Sky
was next door in the Executive Management Room now
shouting at the phone in the middle of the board table
Elizabeth and Brutus, Simon and Chris, Derek and Keith all
looking at it as if there life depended on it. ‘We have a
possibility here to convert your $ 3.25 million dollar
investment into a billion dollar actuality, and that before Q3
next year’. And almost absurdly, Sky let that great if
dubious fact rest on the gathered company hovering over
the phone like some sort of angel, nothing coming back
except if you listened very carefully a heavy steady breath
rest. Then off he shot again in his cyber company rant, the
stock, IPO, the user figures, actual and projected, values,
ecommerce, etail, e this e that, just e, e,
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…... ‘There’s a lot of es in there mate’ a
gravelly voice suddenly said, a genie coming from the big
black phone; it was Barry making a joke and everyone,
after quickly checking with each other, the boys looking at
Keith who grinned and they all dutifully laughed. Sky didn’t
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get the Brit joke, so just grinned his Beach boy smile. ‘It all
sounds marvelous’ said Barry gently so the others had to
strain to hear, ‘the only thing I would say is…’ and the voice
was very quiet now ‘Is this. I’ve listened to many
Americans over the years and I’ve always been impressed
by how they could make up, tell, and sell a good story,
even make them believe it themselves like the Wizard of Oz
but I am not always so impressed by their delivery I have
to say, they tend to rush in with a good idea masquerading
as a plan, but with no follow through, then get bored if the
return’s not good enough piss off and leave behind them a
God awful mess. So yes eeerrr… Sky isn’t it? Not too cloudy
I hope up there in Silicon doodah land? Yes anyway, it
looks like Cabbie 3, 4 ,5 whatever number it is now, is
going to drive out along Route 66, but, remember in the
end delivery is all, beyond the gab there has to be
something that people actually enjoy to use ’ and just
before the American sales guy could get in with his
Climaxtatic affirmation as if sensed the dog straining on the
leash Barry cut him off adding, ‘Don’t forget we can always
reverse this motor, very easily just like that’ and there was
a nervous laugh but the voices tone had flattened out
further, ‘We can always pull the plug if things don’t go well’
and there was a click of his tongue, the phone focusing
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itself it seemed for a long moment on Sky, then the Froths,
as if grinning with its black plastic glare.
‘Good luck, anyway, we’ll run with it for now, lob another
mill in if required and you never know, as I said good luck
we are right behind you’ the voice warmed and the
assembled court subsiding into relief as the line dead after
a simple ‘Ta Ta’. Barry leant back into his Motor and
chuckled; he wasn’t even knew what he was backing. But
he knew it was a deal and he knew he was paying and he
knew it was always handy to issue a big threat wrapped in
a little treat first. Barry had been burnt in the US before,
Bartone having to sell the music business to a US
conglomerate, gobbled up, so you had to be careful when
playing over there. But that was a long time ago and he
was still here, so fuck ‘em, he’d kept the publishing and
really this was peanuts anyway, Cabby just a punt on IT,
part of the game the other Boys were playing so he, the
Chief, had to have a finger in, for his Rep, as KOK said even
though he preferred the Footie and crap TV and secretly the
pigs of course, but he had his entrepreneurial reputation to
preserve, ‘All you’ve got is your rep in the end’, his old
mate KOK, always used to say, who the real reason he was
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taking the risk and investing and Keith of course. Bartone
flies better, KOK’d done that for him; nice and simple,
that’s how he liked it too like the old charmers Ding... Ring
of…
Barry leaned back in the new Continental, riding into the
gathering pink, beaming after another deal and a good
lunch with KOK too good a lunch to then go glad-handing
with the Cabby boyz that night, and, frankly he couldn’t be
fucked But he always liked a good deal, new ventures kept
it up the tempo upbeat too, fresh and antidotal against the
tedium of the endless talking with the Lawyers and the
Bankers, the ongoing court cases about alimony and the
worry about where his sick children were Dirk and the other
one. Think positive Focus on the future, he told himself
now and thought of Bicky again and they had chanted that
Buddhist thing together back then, followed by a bit of the
other it was fee then and gawd how good was she at that
Tantric lark or what . Ahh the 70s, lunches all round, how
him and KOK had laughed and as he turned into his long
drive he persuaded himself that he really did good, that his
blood was hot with the warmth of genuine bonhomie, no
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bullshit, and what a gorgeous full moon tonight, a good
time to see the Pigs.
Keith was still on the Motorway going north when Barry got
home, there was flash flooding on the A1 outside
Stevenage the tail gates bright in the darkness of another
thundercloud overhead and the tailback stretched out
before him, like a neon snake on a chopping board. Keith
caught himself in the mirror, the lines were now fixed,
grooves on the forehead, his eyes besieged by the
crisscross of worry. Be Happy, Relax. Smile, and Keith
inserted his grin, Smiling makes you look younger, Helen
the therapist had said. Six grand it cost him, all that
malarkey, the pampering as she called it. Go on treat
yourself, you deserve it she’d say, Love yourself; if you do
then others will too and he felt again her hot breath on his
neck now: Sweetness and light, breath in, sweetness and
light, breath out shIT… The car suddenly stopped in the
crawl in front of him and he slammed on the brakes.
‘Fucking cunt’, and two more lines, vertical fissures slashed
down to the bridge of his nose. Tension Canyon my dear
she’d called it pushing upward with her cool thumb. Come
on Again. Breath in sweetness and light, breathe out
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sweetness and light. Keith suddenly felt silly, there just
past Hitchen, stuck in his new pink Isuzu Tripper, doing
Yoga in his rear view mirror: What a dick. Sod that, the
smile would do.
It was difficult this new life, putting all the bits together
again, it was simpler when it was just head down, Work
and House, no time no choice, working his bollocks off
trying to make a buck. Work and House, that’s what it had
been about, Needles and Vane and going up the property
ladder, house after house, him and Doreen the Mrs, ten
moves in as many years, just the Work and House, Geoff
the partner and him driving each other on, goading each
other in a sort of competition but close, real close. It was
25 years after all, almost like a marriage and more fucking
productive than with the two bimbos he’d ended up with,
Doreen too drunk and then that Woman, the Young one,
Bitch. Oh Gawd, Geoff why did you have to go?
It had happened just like that, bing bang bong, ‘Keith’, he’d
said, dropping his drink, palm flat against his chest ‘Help
Keith’, he’d said, dropping to his knees, ‘Not now’, his face
white and wide open, eyes bulging ‘ Keith?’ falling flat
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down. The police had said he’d broken his nose, so he
must have been still alive when he’d hit the ground, he
must have died lying there, as the bar cleared shrieks and
strobe mixing into a muffled slow motion and Keith had just
froze, staring as if he’d was died too. Oh Geoff, why did you
go like that, leaving me holding the can, afraid, alone?
‘Come on. Think business. Don’t get caught up in all that
shit again’ he told himself in the mirror now. Think
business: the board meeting, Sky, Simon’s wobbly, him the
Angel the original investor, Bartone coming in, the others
following, inevitable. It was all as it should be and already
he’d turned his 50K into 500 in the last valuation and he
hadn’t really tried. Keith sagged. But what did it matter? He
had more than enough of the Money, it would look after
itself now, but he hadn’t laughed since Geoff had gone, not
properly and he saw that ridiculous grin Helen had told him
to have, a happy heart is a healthy heart she kept on
saying at him, over and over again.
‘Jesus fucking CHRIST’ Keith slammed on the breaks again.
It was his fault this time, just going off like that, it was his
mind churning things over, the past over past over the
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past, as if he didn’t have a present, stuck here in another
brand new car, which made him feel better, for a short
time, then not. Breath deeply Helen says, Think to the
future, be positive, she had said as she lit another candle in
the consulting room. California, America, and all that
possibility, perhaps a whole new life could be had, leaving
all the bad feeling and bullshit behind. Start afresh, leave
Geoff in his grave, Doreen the ex, Dad, the Bitch, in fact
leave himself, his personal history as Helen called it, the
printer from Dagenham made good and become again what
he could have been if he hadn’t played safe. 70’s hipster,
an explorer, an entrepreneur, Studio 54, entertainment
tycoon, the little Big Man everyone looked up to. The
Yanks were straightforward, like him, they didn’t go in for
the why and the what ifs, they just got on with the deal.
Forget history, that’s what they did, that’s what he’d do
too, go to America and start a whole new life too.
The traffic started to move and Keith breathed deeply, Yes
Cabby takes you where you want to go, pushing down the
peddle. America land of the free. Good torte this Isuzu he
thought and he put on Titlesses Top Tips on the CD. ‘Just
concentrate on the swing, focus on the ball, keep it simple.’
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the low American voice intoned, ‘that’s right, don’t
complicate things....’ that’s right, don’t think, get on with
the business at hand Keith told himself, gripping the wheel
harder. Breath deeply. Helen Oh Helen and he saw her clear
rosy face thick lipped among the curls saying she offered
home phone support also and Keith smiled. I will ring her
and ask. It suddenly became clear to him, after all
California was the center of alternative therapy as well as
the Silicon Valley VCs. Her and him. She obviously liked
him and... Keith smiled at last, an authentic grin. You
know, it might be alright this after all, being Mr DotCom.
The Happening hi-tech Millionaire, in the Land of the Free
and open ended possibility.
Back in town black suit brigade were drunk outside the
Hope and Anchor, silhouetted in the last of the low sun,
bright orange the road shiny in the wetness and clear air
left by the recent storm. The Cabby staff members were
still hiding inside the pub, the one free drink finished,
wondering how long they had to stay here to show requisite
‘team spirit’. The hot street had the sick sweet smell of a
City summer evening, the sun itself now hidden behind the
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building mass.
‘It’s a real pleasure for you to be in my team Tycul (as in
“Cycle”)’ Sky said ‘I’m really looking forward to working
with you on this great project of ours.’ Tickle didn’t like the
way the man put one hand on top of the other when he
shook his, text book power manouevres- Mind Changes had
gone through the whole gamut on the course. And one of
his eyes was a different colour from the other, left brown
right green, the lid on the green slightly drooped, so Toby
wasn’t sure which one to look into. ‘Sky’s a surfer’ blurted
out Simon all excited, the drink having removed any sign of
age from his face. ‘Sky says we've all got to surf the Wave’
he said, trying to impersonate the crouched stance of the
surfer, arms outstretched above his pot belly and black
sweat pits. ‘Watch it Mate’ Simons drink had splashed on
Derek’s bald head, who jumping up switched into his
Marine stance ready for action, threatening to throw his
pint back at Simon. But everyone laughed as if Derek was
Piggy in the playground, the top notch marketing guy
before Sky turned up, was now the Fatboy in the
Playground and sitting back down again, he looked scared
and very alone.
Toby saw that his right hand was shaking hard and Derek
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eyes had gone bright red.
‘Hey you guys, you see what’s happened to Amazon stock?’
said Sky coming off his Cell, ‘up 15 points yesterday, we
got Gofetch.com IPO coming up and that should push the
whole sector sky high’ ‘Hey lads, Skyhigh? Gettit? You
know Sky and High’ laughed Simon ‘ Hey Sky baby Lets do
that Hi 5 thing again’, and the two patently unathletic
people went through their basketball routine, jumping up
with a ‘UDARE KANDOO’ chant, surprising Toby that they
managed to connect at all.
‘You better watch it mate,’ hissed Derek through gritted
teeth into Tobys ear, ‘the fuckface yank is angling to take
over the whole company, believe me obvious innit, fucking
carpetbagger thinks he knows about marketing, couldn’t
market his arse as far as I can see’ he said glaring at Sky
as if he was about to kill him, ‘Do you think so, take-over?’
said Toby, suddenly worried again that despite his kow
towing his job was about to disappear again. ‘Yeah it’s the
whole lot over to America, You’ll see and it all end in grief.’
Muttered Derek, I’ve seen it in the Gulf before. Yanks have
good bullshit, big Plans, but fuck it all up in the end, when
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they have to deal with what’s real on’t ground’.
‘You alright you two, comparing hair loss treatments Are
you? Grecian 2000 meant to be good’. It was Simon behind
them, suspicious of the mid management whispering
grinning like a fool. Let it wash over, Toby told himself,
keep your head down and wait for the Money to come, and
he moved away from drunk Derek to reduce Simon’s
paranoia and get closer to the cash.
‘Hey you Guys’, it was Sky again with a look of an explorer
noting the ways of the natives. ‘What about a toast? It’s
what you do here right, me luds and ladees, Gentlemen
right?’ Sky must have been watching Upstairs Downstairs
on PBS in preparation for his trip out to the Colonies in the
East. ‘ Yeah that’s right Sky,’ ‘ Well, Guys I’ve just heard
that Music Boulevard stock gone through 200 points, that a
389 % rise since IPO, strong validation of our new strategy,
Standing on the Shoulder of Giants- its time to shop shop
shop online right guys?’ and they all raised their glasses.
‘Yeah here’s to the stock’, ‘Yeah here’s to the stock’ Tickle
wanting to crawl under the table, ‘IPO 2000’ growled Derek,
‘Millennium float’ piped up Simon and they all raised their
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glasses again, ‘‘Millennium float’, ‘Here’s to a billion dollar
company’ pronounced Sky and after a brief pause through
which an ambulance siren raced down Baker Street, they
then all raised their glasses solemnly against the molten
blaze of the sunset, the group of black suits like a wake
attending a birth, ‘A billion dollar company A billion dollar
company A billion dollar company’.
Deeply embarrassed Tickle furtively raised his glass of fizzy
water too, again wanting to go to the loo and, seeing the
bubble turning bloody under the red sky suddenly felt a
tickle at the base of his stomach running into his groin. Yes,
he did too, he couldn’t help himself, he was excited,
desperately so in fact, he wanted it really badly, yes he did,
he really wanted it to become a billion dollar company and,
feeling sick he realized then that he too, deep down, was
willing to do anything in order to get it. Ok, Freespace had
failed, his bid for a bigger slice of cake, the being creative
and being seen to do something approximating art, but was
that the point. It was the Money that was the point and if
the Money didn’t rate that so be it, if the Money demanded
that the figures be fudged well he had to play by the
Moneys rules, he had to hang in there and hold his
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integrity, whatever that was, his truth maybe, for a later
date. You’ve got to survive first and as the man said only
after Money comes Morals. The trouble was Toby sensed
he’d lied to the point that he didn’t know where his Truth
was and in order to become real again he had to become
fully the lie, to realise the object of his obsession, the Great
Carrot, it had to be had now, in order to prove he was in
fact still alive.
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17.
At the heart of information one finds history haunted by its
own disappearance
‘Is it moving or not?’ ‘With my third I definitely felt less
kicking’ ‘Fuck I could murder a cigarette’, moaned Tina,
stopping her friend in mid flow, it was her first for fucks
sake. ‘Like Toby and poor little Jacko, that damned rabbit?
I’m glad I didn’t let Toby baby sit my Jonnny’ sniggered
Ellen, tactfully hiding the tobacco under the pile of For Sale
details of other hutches around Hackney. ‘Yeah. We’ll never
know will we?’ Tina smiled affectionately. Only since this
pregnancy had begun she realized she had accepted that
Toby wasn’t bad but it was his unpredictability that made
her nervous about him being a Dad. The fact was she just
didn’t get him really and now, at last she’d abandoned even
trying to guess. ‘We’re on different planets’ she said
serious again, ‘Yeah I know’ said Ellen. ‘It’s men isn’t it? ’
said Tina ‘Bloody, motherfucking dam men’ Ellen added,
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still fuming about the court case with Jonnys father, and
another ruined date, ‘Bloody, motherfucking dam men’ and
they both started laughing, at each other, recognizing that
they were both now old enough to know it.
Tina had been doing a practice therapy session, a cup of
tea and a chat with Ellen who, having thrown out her
husband a year back, was in a bit of a painful limbo
menwise, her dating partly kyboshed by her young son and
she had become prone to depression, not getting enough as
she’d self diagnosed it, well not getting fucking none at all
actually. Instead she’d fallen in love with a Popstar she’d
never actually met, although her friend Felicity knew him
and Ellen was now totally convinced that, ‘Its my sixth
sense isn’t it’, the Popstar was head of heels in love with
her too. Felicity was also the mother of Ellens exs love
child so, given the confusion, perhaps it was no wonder she
felt she was going slightly mad, positive that when the
Popstar was singing ‘its only people like you so la-di-da
wanting to know what its like to be shite if you know I know
who you are la di da..’ he was in fact singing about her,
wanting her, calling her to come to his side.
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Tourettes, Munchhausen was it? Tina couldn’t remember
the name for it and made a note to look it up, Eros and all
that. She felt sad for Ellen; she must be very lonely and an
emptiness opened up inside Tina too just above where her
baby was supposed to be, feeling again the same old
longing for the Dad and the hurt of Lee, then the Baby last
year, a bottomless a pain there, still. Now pregnant again,
for some reason she couldn’t stop herself thinking that Toby
was leaving now, as if all the longing, the fear and the loss
she’d had previously had was all mixed up in him now and
so he was certain to disappear too. It was life. It was just
how it was, and is. Real. More and more it felt as if he had
already left; always working, always angry, tense, stressed
with lists and bad stomach IBS her called it, stress and it
felt he was changing into someone else now, never talking,
never listening and the emptiness bloomed again inside her
and she couldn’t stop herself admitting that in fact she
never felt close to him at all anymore.
Shit she really needed a fag. ‘Don’t worry darling, it will
sought itself out’ she said now to Ellen, touching the others
spreading palms burying her own pain and doubt in her
friends. Tina concentrated on the person in front of her,
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imagining her as a client, trying to communicate with the
real self of the person opposite, the inner child, that truth
inside under the laughter and the silly madness of her
unrequited Popstar love. ‘It will be alright you’ll see, you’ll
find someone else soon don’t worry’. It was her Counsellor
role she was trying to acquire, to be the affirming mirror
and Tina had seen the battered black and white photo in
the corner of her friends lounge; Ellens Dad too had gone
AWOL, although later than Tinas, he’d gone off and died
forever and it felt now they were both sitting in the same
place. In absentia, Ellen called it, she worked part time in
Court; was that it, that windy place, the gap that the
fathers had left and both were engaged in the same difficult
task of trying to fill it up, the vacuum, with someone else. O
Gawd she thought, it was a constant struggle trying to fill
the empty mould of the man that should have been there,
but had left.
‘Being ill’ refers to the withdrawn disassociated state,
which in other circumstances would be classed as a
disturbance of the personality, but in the case of a mother
is an indication of her complete attention to her foetus and
her baby….’ Ellen read out loud from Tina counseling course
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set text laughing, ‘What the fuck does that mean?’ ‘ Winnifuckin-cott’ Tinas head tightened, worrying again if she
was going to be a ‘good enough mother’, not doing a ‘flight
into sanity’ but ignoring the child and…. What the fucks
this? Repressed penis envy leaves but little room for
primary maternal preoccupation’ ‘Why’s he put in that but
there? Winnicott Wanker’, Tina muttered hating the clever
mans fancy way of writing and anyway the last thing she
wanted to think about was dicks, though no doubt Toby
would try it on later, as he always did. ‘Relieves the stress
doesn’t it’, he’d say trying to make her feel guilty and,
really, she didn’t want to, hardly ever now, what with the
wobbly feeling inside her and the doubt around Toby, but
she probably would just to shut him up, stop him getting
too uptight with the job, or worse, get angry and flipping
his lid like before. She needed to keep him in Cabby
though, in work order for her to feel safe, to take her where
she wanted to go, whatever that stupid motto was. Calm,
that was what was needed now. It’s the mother who affords
the infant the opportunity for the illusion that her breast is
part of the infant, by her extremely delicate adaption to the
emotional needs of the infant in order to allow the baby this
illusion…Oh Winnicott; Playing and Reality, it’s about doing
336
things not theory and what does he know anyway; he had
never experienced sore tits.
Push push push, everything spread, all muscles contracting,
mental attention focused on the exegesis from the end. But
it just wouldn’t come, some awful joke being played out on
him, the witches cackling in the background getting their
own back for the childbirth pain, the turnip in the arse as
Ellen called it, virtual veg in the case of Tobys own
constipated IBS hell. Toby was still stuck on the bog
pushing himself to evacuate with the urge so strong him to
do so. Razil Panir Razil Panir, Razil Panir, nothing coming,
nothing coming, nothing coming, the name seemed to keep
time with the pushing and the pulling of the pain his gut not
quite doing it when it felt like his colon wanted to escape. It
just wouldn’t come, the fucking phantom turd but it made
him feel like shit anyway. An irritating bowel, IBS, the
syndrome, his life, Razil Panirs punishment for multimillions
disappearing from Doly Dock and now Tickle couldn’t help
but feel an affinity, another capitalist pig suffering from
stress, which even with all their billions Smith Kline,
Welcome and Pfizer couldn’t assist.
337
‘its only people like you so la-di-da wanting to know what
its like to be shite if you know you know I know who you
are la di da…’
‘Fucking fantasist’ Toby grumbled on the bog, Mushs single
being played back again and again to requite Ellens
nuttiness. He could hear her going on now to Tinaabout the
Popstar, while he was sitting here failing to yield, reading
the new mortgage offer from Ryan Poison the Financial
Advisor, trying to keep his mind off his sphincters hell.
4.75% Capped, Floating or should he go for Fixed?...Oh
Gawd.
‘its only people like you so la-di-da wanting to know what
its like to be shite if you know you know I know who you
are la di da…’
‘Dad… blah Toby blah Dad’, Tina going on about him again.
Was she trying to mould him into her Father, Toby
becoming the dad she had wanted hers to be, normal,
straight, 9-5, a marionette in her dream? Something broke
off and hit the water. It wasn’t a reassuring plop, more an
irritating dribble. OK, go before the need to come back,
unrequited again and Tickle suddenly regretted having ever
got hooked up with Tina in the first place. Did he really love
her anyway? Didn’t he just transfer his addiction from drink
338
to her? More of more of, yes, again, please. He pushed
down the thought with another emptying of cistern.
Lust or Love? Did he want the last but could only do the
first? Or did he disguise the first as the last in order to
pursue it with all his life? Had he lost himself in this virtual
reality just to get his end away the only verification he had
of being alive, the only hit left? Was the fantasy he had
about sex really to support the fantasy of his life where,
deprived of his own love, he couldn’t love himself or anyone
else including his wife? O gawd. What had happened to his
life, Millenium Hamlet and the rest.
…proclaim no shame...when the compulsive ardour gives
the charge, Since frost itself as actively doth burn And
reason panders will…
But he was full of it, Shame, it as a mistake too far to
admit, messing up the sacred bit, Love, the very core, the
centre, it was the point of it all wasn’t it? The ultimate
truth, FAITH, HOPE, LOVE AND THE GREATEST OF THESE
IS…that’s what he had been told from year dot, and if that
was fucked up what was the meaning of anything he did.
He was lost, doomed, wasn’t he? O gawd.
339
Shame forever or, perhaps did that make Shame the
biggest addiction he had, having it before he even knew
what it was? O gawd, and turning instinctively to look at the
flushs result, Toby saw a strand of blood like a worm
floating in the bowl, a couple of little streaks bobbling
around and when he realized what it was, he gagged. O
gawd.
‘Hiya Tick, all done?’ said Ellen with a smirk. Toby smiled,
fibrillating his flat hand. ‘Alright? Um. Sorry, I’ve got to
catch the Newsnight’. He really didn’t want to get into the
female chit chat now, he didn’t want to have to push down
three in a bed fantasy, the triple decker Simon has been
crowing about today, Beth and Janice for a laugh, and he
didn’t want to think of going with Ellen and having a totally
different life. In fact, he wanted them both to go, it was all
too mushy, the women blathering on. He had to keep his
head straight, keep focused on the Plan and the News
always gave him a sense of being still on it, the Business in
hand.
340
He had to be up very early in the morning to resume the
software battle before the Americans rang to have another
offensive action, as Derek called it, attacking him for
product download of Cabby 3.4 not being quick enough
again. ‘Its still 3 meg we gotta to reduce it further,
essential to get the download time down to 3 min optimum
over a 28.8 modem…Recent research done by AOL shows
67.8 %,’ Blah blah fucking blah.. ‘Yeah that’s right Clint ..’
‘Sure Sky’ ‘You hear that Tickle? It’s absolutely essential in
order to disseminate the product online at the speed
required by the investors’ ‘Yah yeah fucking yeah, its 6
months of my life building it and you now want me to
change the thing completely in order to squeeze it down the
fucking world wide web which it wasn’t designed to do.. Be
real for fucks sake… ’ but he didn’t say that, he knew where
the power lay…‘Go boy we are all rooting for you, we know
you can deliver’ they said him thinking Yakketty Yankety
Yack. Yank. TWAT.
‘the UN security council plans an emergency meeting on
Thursday to review two reported massacres of Ethnic
Albanians in Kosova, allegedly carried out by Serbian
security forces, Robin Cook the Foreign Minister, reacted
341
early today” Jeremy looked particularly peeved tonight ‘ I
am appalled by these reports indicating women and
children at Gornje Obringe were slaughtered’ Toby saw the
picture of dusty valleys and poor villages, bodies lying
everywhere, hoping Tina wouldn’t come into see it as she’d
probably start crying again about Anita or whatever that
woman at the Centre was called. He turned the TV down;
he needed to keep Tina in a good mood, he realized he
really needed relief tonight. One more time, even though he
knew it wasn’t right. He felt he’d be swallowed up in his
own self hate if he didn’t at least get a false loving from her
telling him he was in fact alright, redeemable still.
‘Eyewitnesses said the bodies, including small children were
cut in the throat or were shot through the head at close
range. Some of the bodies had been mutilated’ and Jeremy
sighed, as did Tickle. ‘Over in America President Clinton
woes continued, Kenneth Sun continues his investigation
into the Whitewash affair...’
‘Hey up Clinty been up to his old tricks again’, Ellen and
Tina had come through and now Tina put her arms around
Tobys stiff neck’ ‘Following the decision to release the
Videotape of Mr. Clintons grand jury testimony in the
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Monica Lewinsky affair’ ‘Yep he’s been dogging about again’
said Ellen, arranging herself on the floor elegantly and
imagined herself doing something in the White House
fiddling with the controls; ‘there’s always something
satisfying in reducing the Ruler of the Universe to a mute’.
The bland over-red face of the most powerful man in the
world was now there, looking very lonely, testifying into
camera about the stain on that dress. He looked almost
drowsy and it didn’t flicker, the face, didn’t give any sign
that he was lying, just flat, bland, opaque, an out of shape
James Bond preparing for torture..‘I don’t know about the
most powerful but he must be the best liar in the world’
said Ellen, dreamy and instinctive, she had her own affairs
to worry about, forget this sodding TV world.
‘Shit what’s that?’ she suddenly exclaimed going towards
the Screen, an explosion in the night, a cruise missile
climbing twisting up into a black sky. ‘Some say it is a ploy
to distract the media away from his trouble at home, but
the fact is the continual threat of terrorism and tension in
the Gulf and particularly Iraq remain constant and these
measures…’ Jeremy urged them to listen but Ellen said
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‘Fuck that, I’ve got to go’ and as Tina went to say goodbye
to her friend at the door, Tickle couldn’t help but feel happy
he had a clear shot at her now.
‘Yeah we should go to bed too’ he said when she came
back, her immediately knowing by his tone what bed
meant. The horrible collection of events on TV had made
him even more tense and Toby really needed some relief
from all the friction that had built up between the
conflicting threesomes in his head: Mr Clinton, that dress
and the Cruise; the Yanks, Cabby and the Carrot; Work,
House and Millennium Hamlet; the Lie, the Lie and the Lie;
and here, with his sort of wife, the other woman and the
child to be, he really needed Tina to give him her own
brand of urgent therapy, now, despite the fact that the next
World War was breaking out on the Screen.
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18.
‘ ..we could suppose that the acceleration of technology,
events, and media –driven modernity, as well as the speed
of other economic , political and sexual exchanges have set
loose a tempo of liberation whereby we have become
removed from the sphere of reference to the real, to
history…
‘Come on come on come on faster baby faster that’s it
that’s it nice, nice more more more faster faster, smoothly
that’s it, come on quicker quicker quicker 15seconds, 30
seconds, a minute, oh shit faster come onnnnnooooooon,
Shit. No…Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck its fucking broken again. Ahh
Shit’ two months later and the download for the new
version of Cabby 3.2 had crashed, again, the Screen frozen,
the hourglass cursor there upturned standing time still.
Dead; the software development milestone 4.32 was
missed, and with clawed hands Toby was pulling his dry
skin down around his mouth. He felt dead also, without rest
for too long, nine weeks after the American occupation had
345
begun still feeling the vacuous gibber in his stomach,
rattling around after another fraught and frightening
transatlantic grilling from the Whizz-team as they now
liked to be called.
‘Hey Buddy, you gotta understand the investors will only
commit as soon as we can get it below the 2min theshold’
Sky had been going on about the market demands, again
‘But it’s a totally different product for fucks say Sky’ ‘Its
what the Market wants, there’s no choice’, ‘Yeah, we need
to instigate an RAD system, introducing a NPP and
correlate’ the Flintstone tones of Clint ‘Yeah right sure
mate’ said Tickle. ‘Look Pale Rider on roller-skates you’re
reading out of the fucking manual, you haven’t got a clue
what’s going on you fuckingkaarrr…’, but Tickle didn’t say
that to Skys techhead and Strike didn’t say anything at all,
but was somewhere there in background and it was Ingrid
the Kiwi programmer who told the boys how it was. ‘Guys,
its not the right approach is it,’ she said ‘cack-handed we’d
call it back home, but if that’s what you want, well...gee
you’re paying and I'm taking 100 dollars an hour.’ And she
shrugged somewhere in the ether, which made the men
suspend for a moment their little battle over the Azores …
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Click click click …Clinton is requested to provide samples for
DNA testing in the Monica Lewinsky case… Tickle was
maneuvering his mouse through Cabbies 3D Newsroom into
the MusicParlour and clicking on one of the neon lit shop
fronts. Click… it opened up into an endless rack of CDs, and
then he came out again so the shop door closed, then went
straight back in again…Click…opening it back out, then in
again Click open again, Click and again. Chris had told him
to keep doing it, ‘Just fucking do it’ for hours, ‘get the
numbers up, the click-thrus by Users’ so Chris could then
persuade the so called Partners, the Giants whose
Shoulders Sky was determined to stand on, to have a link
back to Cabby and therefore convince the Investors that
Cabby was indeed really hot, a highly popular Web
destination, even if it was obvious, if anyone had taken the
time to check, that all those clicks had come from the same
machine which happened to be in the damp basement of
the almost empty office of the Companys European and
Rest of the World HQ in London. It was fraud; if you
wanting to be simple.
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Click …But they didn’t check, the Investors, or the Partners,
the Money didn’t want to know, there was no time now,
everyone was all too busy building up their own story, with
their own bits of fabrication, everyone sensing that the
strength of their story depended on the others stories
holding up too. As long as the story held together, nobody
cared, and, for the Investors at least, it wasn’t real anyway
it was the future that they were buying and the sooner it
came the better. Click click …Each story each little lie was
designed to cheat time a little, move it bit nearer quicker so
more money would be made and that would in turn make
more money, each a bet on the future before the last had
become present. It was Time on steroids, each lie an
injection to compact it, invert it, compress it into a little bit
of instant history, pushing the future into the present, to
make something worth something now when it didn’t really
yet exist. It was a bit like borrowing on hope without having
to go through the bad bits to get there thought Toby,
skipping the business of life to get to Nirvana straightaway.
Click click click …Last weeks terrorist bombs in Kenya and
Tanzania point directly back to bin Laden and the world
wide conspiracy… the Ticker tape of lopped news game
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through on the website and Tickle found his eyes closing.
The office felt horribly empty now, without Strike the maker
of the code and Aziz his assistant, the heart of the
operation had been removed. Everyone had gone, only
Bez, the content guy, ‘retained for UK localization’, Ingrid,
Janice, Derek and Toby were left. Seven years Internet
time equals one year Real time as Simon kept spurting off,
no doubt borrowed wisdom from the latest West Coast guru
he was mimicking and Toby had only been in the job for a
four months but it felt like, well at least two years, which is
a long time when you haven’t slept.
Click click click….the U.S. policy of seeking a peaceful
transition to democracy in Cuba is unaffected by an August
25 indictment of seven Cuban-Americans on charges of
conspiracy to murder Cuban President Fidel Castro… The
place was beginning to feel second rate, doing the dogs
body work for the US Corporation, shit pay in shit
conditions. Chris was with Sky over in the Valley pitching
to VCs, for the second time round and still with no money
promised no doubt his lies were getting even bigger, along
with their expense receipts. Janice was full of it, the piles of
tabs, hotel checks, mobile bills, not sure whether to laugh
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or cry; ‘spending it like water they are, them Americans are
just taking the piss’ she’d say standing above the Wells
drain smoking in the drizzle. ‘Well I don’t like it, none of it,
it doesn’t add up’ she said simply.
Click click click …Stung by criticism in some press accounts
that U.S. marines callously prevented "good Samaritan"
volunteers from aiding Kenyan wounded and dying victims
of the U.S. Embassy bombing here, an Embassy spokesman
said such judgments were unfortunate….Click click click …In
the UK, London town, it was raining, the soft continuum of
late summer drizzle subduing the split company and Toby
should have but didn’t want to go home to pregnant Tina.
His mind faded from the clicking, thinking briefly of her and
her work and her sad colleague, the Serbian Refugee,
Annesh… Click click click….. something or other….American
mistake tractor for tank… bus blown up…. F16s cited but
not confirmed by the US military. Collateral Damage is to
be expected the Prime Minister says and ……. it was if most
of his work now was not so much about getting the product
to function but about putting together the defense case
before the inevitable fraud charges were bought, making
sure that if potential investors checked you’d have enough
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stuff to validate your claims, like proving the case for a War
before the first civilian had been blown up. Click click click
…the woman in tears all day and Tina had come home and
cried too; it made all this seem so silly…Click click click
…Reports are coming in of possible attacks on prime
western capitals by Islamic Jihad groups and possible gas
attacks are also imminent. Since the Sarin attack on the
Tokyo metro system in 1995 experts have been predicting
nerve gas as a potential…
A chorus of questions, four or five phones simultaneously
erupted across the room of empty desks sounding like an
alarm. ‘Hi there, it’s a fabulous morning here in LA thank
the Lord and it’s a good day for making a heap load of
dollars too’. It was that fucking Donnie again, oblivious to
the fact it was a a shit evening in London and pissing with
rain ‘ We need to load up AutomagicExpress.com Ill send
over the links and client assets,’ Donnie sounded all Sunkist
cheery ‘and Great News, they’re looking towards a branded
Cabby too. Isn’t that just sooper as you Brits say?’ ‘Cunt’
‘Sorry, Tycul, did you say can’t.’ ‘No mate I just coughed’
‘Oh good, I’m still not too good with the accent over there,
and any way Tyky my friend, Can’t isn’t a word we
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understand over here. You’re in a Kandoo culture now.
Failure is not an option here.’ ‘Sure Don’ ‘We need it for
tomorrow, I trust that can be incorporated into your time
stroke people skeduel’. ‘Sure Don’. Twat.
Upstairs Keith was at that moment vigourously shaking the
New Managers hand, with a mixture of excitement and
relief. He was a real one, at last, a proper Bricks and Mortar
Manager who knew Business and was indeed the Business,
top exec from a NASDAQ 500 firm. ‘Thank you, very good,
that’ll do nicely. Welcome aboard. As I said, it could be
quite a ride’. Keith had the 50K cheque in his hand, it was a
result and he had on one of his twinkly very white teeth
smiles almost genuine, Helen having recommended the
bleach dip, though he wondered if it made them look like
Dads falsies. His smile was one of relief, at last he had
some real professional help to get Cabby into Barrys broad
embrace safely and he grinned wider, gripping the New
Managers hand.
Clive Griffin, the New Manager noticed his hand was
actually still shaking after it handed over the Coutts
cheque. That was it then. A new bank, the one he’d thought
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only toffs could go into, a new title, Deputy Chairman,
Cabby Inc. CEO Global Designate, although he didn’t quite
know what this Cabby thing did, dot-com and all that. All he
did know that it was different, after doing twenty years of
pretty much the same thing, flogging computer chips to
corporates and yes it felt good, didn’t it? It was exciting,
wasn’t it? Yes, he thought, but really he wasn’t sure what
he thought or felt anymore.
That’s why he was here, wasn’t it? Ed, his Personal
Development Coach had suggested it; ‘Get some passion
back in your life, buddy, you gotta have your own story to
tell’. It was true, it had just happened, back in ’78, wanted
to be an actor Dustin Hoffman type but once he started
selling he couldn’t stop and now twenty years later he
realised his whole adult life he had been selling someone
else’s story, forced always to be upbeat, selling, always
with a smile.
‘Could sell rice to the chinks’ they said about him at XZ, but
he knew, despite his energetic shpeel that the stories were
actually really boring, The Graduate had become The Grind,
the thrilling tale of a band of PCs and their peripheries
journey into Corporates and SMEs across the land for
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optimum efficiency and ROI... To date his biggest claim to
fame was the front page of the Enterprise Hardware
Monthly; ‘FASTDRUG REVAMPS ENTERPRISE VIA CLIVE
TOBBINS XZ-tec UK’. Cabby would at least give him a
Millennium tale for the Kids, California and the Holy Grail of
IT, the killer app, Cabby, it takes you where you want to
go, that was catchy, wasn’t it? Anything was better than
the epitaph he’d been waking up to for the last few months
since leaving the Corporation - Worked like shit, got rich,
played golf and died. There must be something more than
that.
It had happened fortuitously; ‘Serendipity’ Ed had called it.
Clive’s met Brutus at Cheryl’s and Daniels 20th anniversary,
(not bad given the succession of flings Danny boy had had).
‘Fancy being a hero Clive?’ had said Brutus, sidling up
beside him ‘We’ve got a little dot com thing you might be
interested in, keep you busy now you’ve retired so to
speak’. Clive had just cashed in his options at XZ-Tec for
2.5mill ‘Its only 50K to play’ Brutus had winked and then,
it seemed in a trice ‘ Internet time seven times faster’
Simon’d told him and he’d met Keith, Elizabeth and then
the great Barry of Bartone plc. ‘Welcome aboard’ the big
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Man had said. He knew Bartone because it produced Blokes
and Trucks, which Clive really liked and then there was the
possibility of America and the Valley sparkling before him,
the cradle of all things IT, the Hi Tech womb of VC and this
was the chance to prove himself again as the cutting edge
entrepreneur he once was when he selling Sinclairs to City
boys back in God knows when. Yes by golly he’d go for it,
Cabby takes you where you want to go and he might even
turn into something interesting, in the News, even Telly and
someone might even write a book about it, who knows.
‘We’ve got to get rid of him today,’ Keith said suddenly flat
and serious after the second zip of Chandon, ‘clear out the
last of the dross and the rest of the production crew.’ Clive
knew immediately what Keith meant. A sacking, a purge; it
was almost a prerequisite, Clive knew the form; a New
Manager in, his ignorance of the situation reducing the pain
for him and everyone else concerned as he conducted the
ritual restructure, designed to contain the emotion before it
could be felt. ‘Derek Smalls? Ok. Might as well do it now
eh?’ said Clive clicking into automan exec. ‘What’s his
extension?’ he demanded, determined to demonstrate why
he was worth 550K a year basic at XZ-tec Inc. he dialed
down to the basement but other middle manager who he
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couldn’t quite remember the name of, picked up.
'Hi is
that, errr… Tockle?’ said Clive, adding an item on his
Kandoo List, to check with Keith whether the bald bloke
was to be a caretaker or a fall guy once the Bartone Plan
had fallen into place. Apparently he was a bit of a weirdo,
had been an actor once and Clive scribbled a note, kid
gloves. ‘Not here’ Tickle answered ‘with Janice I think’
trying to be helpful. Clive was the new boss after all and he
might stop the mid Atlantic confusion that was driving Toby
insane. ‘Not to worry, we’ll find him ourselves’ interjected
Keith into the speaker phone, ‘Ill give Janice a call, she’ll
sort it out’
‘So we were on leave in Kuwait City, Night leave they call it,
back before Dawn and there were all these Yanks, Kids you
know, from Ohio, Detroit and shitholes like that. You know
Mid West moronic like’. Derek was onto his fourth pint, not
bad for a late lunch, but he’d need a shot or two to get him
through the rest of the day and he was telling another Gulf
story to Janice who he had almost begged to have drink
with him as nobody else would. ‘Cor blimey’ said Janice,
again, trying to be interested with another not quite boss
356
bloke, and then her phone rang… Beep Beep… ‘Alright? Is
Derek there?’ said Keith ‘Well get the prat back here
sharpish will you. We’re doing the deed today; you know
what I mean, so we need you to do the paperwork quick
and... .’
‘Where was I?’ said Derek flustered trying to put down his
paranoid thoughts, ‘going over the top oh yeah’ , the
flashbacks were more often, he sensed something was up,
but he didn’t want to feel afraid. The tremors were terrible,
drink was the only thing to hold ‘em down. No bollocks,
NCO Smalls said to himself, Gulf War Syndrome, fer pansies
you know. Come on you kaaaarrrrk. He who dares Wins
‘Yeah same again mate. Did I tell you about the time with
Mars. Here, mate, make that a double, when we did that
promotion for Alton Towers and the kid got mowed down by
the truck we were using’ ‘No’ said Janice closing the phone
and grinning tightly feeling herself coming on all black
widowish and sick. ‘That was Keith, a bit of a celebration
back at the office, you’re invited, Clives first day. Come on,
might cheer you up’ she added feeling wretched, thinking
of the upset another sacking would cause the remaining
staff. Who was next after Derek? Bez, Tickle, her?
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AAAOOOH… a twinge shot up the left hand side of her back,
bringing in a tinge of nausea. OH Gawd hold on, just hold
on. Believe me, it will be alright trust me, Toby always said
when she asked if there was a mortgage offer on the table
yet, ‘Believe me it’s on its way’, or whether Cabby was
working, ‘Believe me, everythings hunky dory’. But she had
really wanted to get into the new house before the Baby
was born, two bedrooms at least and it didn’t look like it
was going to happen in time, less than 6 months away now.
AAAOOOH …there, another wave of sickness, this time right
up to the top of her throat. Something was rumbling and
she felt unsure. Giddy, unwell. The swelling in Tinas
stomach felt strangely detached and looking up at the
mirror shade coming down from the centre of the ceiling,
she felt encased in a condition slightly separate from
herself. It was as if she was sliding towards a hole that had
no ending and as she went further the more she lost
control.
Where the fuck was Tickle? he said he’d be back by eight?
They’d agreed that this time they would try and be settled,
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normal, take things really easy rather than the turmoil of
the Virtual Nightclub. Cabby was meant to be a job job, it
was PAYE, a normal job normal people had and although
her life had been anything but normal Tina hung on to the
notion that it existed, normal, and therefore calm, for her
dear life. Now she wanted, she needed, to be certain about
what was happening, pregnant enough at least to let go of
the control, the self sufficiency her own career life
demanded, and she needed to let go of the growing belief
that hitching up with Toby had left her sort of stranded half
way in between being with someone and alone.
AAAOOOH…shit. It was cock eyed, cack handed, back to
front, their life, normal people get things in place first,
before having a Baby not having the stress whiles its
happening but now there just didn’t seem to be time…..the
most common cause for a single miscarriage is a
chromosomal abnormality … Errors in the transmission and
the….the chromosome content is incompatible with life and
the pregnancy miscarries…..stress that these errors occur
randomly and are rarely a cause of recurrent mis….. Tina
rolled over on her side. Why was she reading this stuff
again? It was as if she already knew there would be
problems? She put the paper aside, trying to stop herself
thinking of a cigarette and lay back on the bed.
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There she saw herself now, curled up, a little fetus in the
circle of the mirror lampshade above her and she pulled the
duvet cover right up to her chin. The world was so
frightening. You had to rely on something, didn’t you, but
all you could rely on, in the end was yourself, that’s what
Mum always said. Higher Power and all that bollocks Toby
used go on about when he’d first got out of the Crypt, God,
Religion, that was all self hypnosis clap trap, that’s what
her Mum said and she ought to know, being a war child and
having been through so much herself. Opium for the
masses said Lee, Dog eat Dog more like Saul had said and
Tina knew she had had to do everything in her power to
stop it taking you over, the fear, once you saw that there
was nobody, nothing else to help. Control, being on top of
things that was the key, Life is a Battle and any relief can
only come from those times where there is enough time
have a bit of spliff, a drink and a laugh. Without these she
sometimes let herself think, she was left anxious and that
then made her more pissed off and angry with herself
making her just want a toke.
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Fucking Tickle, he couldn’t even look after a rabbit for fucks
sake, selfish sod. Why? Fucking men, fucking..?. Why, why
do women have to be put in this position, vulnerable, at the
most important time of their life? Giving birth and having to
rely on the most unreliable thing- men. O gawd. Ah well, at
least there was always Mum.
Shit, she was going to go apeshit thought Tickle in his
bunker at Work, he’d promised he’d always be back by 7
but you can’t be so certain when anytime you might loose
your job. He sat there as if besieged by the dripping pipes
outside just waiting to be sacked; had the ‘restructuring’
started already upstairs, was he going to be called in after
Derek? Was this it then, New Manager he knew meant a
new set up, like with Derek only 4 months before but that
was two years in Internet time. Shit. Had his number now
been called? Toby was unsettled by the phone call from the
new guy Clive and he sat sort of waiting, head in hands for
something to happen, no longer welcome in Well with the
rest smoking he felt very alone again. Was it all going to
come to nought, the house, the Baby, Tina, himself?
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‘Hey Toby’ whistled Bez, the cherry web guy who just
smoked spliff all day and let the rest run over him, ‘Here
mate, at last, a bit of content that might even be called
funny on the fucking world wide web’ OK he needed
something to cheer himself up and went down the corridor
where the remaining staff were gathered around a screen,
as if it was a way out of this the last stand before the force
redundancy overpowered them again; a bit like Abyss 2.
‘Look, see there she is, going into the room’ panted Ingrid.
‘Where’s he gone?’ chuckled Bez, ‘He’s not going to do it, is
he?’ Ingrid squealed mouth open wide, ‘Jesus H Christ’,
‘Go on girl, give him one’ encouraged Bez as a naked figure
went up into what looked like an attic room, the split
Screen of four black and white pictures, fuzzy like fog,
people moving like ghosts in cells but blurred in the clunky
Internet video feed. ‘It’s brutal, the Users vote out the ones
they don’t like. It fucking 1984 innit’ said Bez and Toby
thought of the audition for the film he’d had with John Hurt
and Burton over a decade ago, both pissed out of their
heads and it would have been an interesting anecdote to
tell everybody except he couldn’t remember what happened
362
next; as soon as he’d taken the morning vodka they’d
proffered it was Black Out. Woke up in Penge.
‘Yeah Grosse Bruder they call it, Dutch innit,’ sniggered Bez
‘all in an Amsterdam squat, fucking millions logged on,
peeping toms just waiting there for the first shag’. ‘Is this
what your Freespace is going to look like’? ribbed Ingrid to
Tickle about his would be grand project now abandoned,
another miscarriage, lost too, ‘Very post modern ironic
don’t you think mate’. A cough came from the doorway,
‘Tickle a moment please’. It was Keith, looking serious. Oh
shit. Tobys stomach emptied. Oh shit, it was his turn.
Redundancy, it sounded like a disease, he’d been thinking it
everyday for a month and in a way he’d be relieved now it
had finally come.
Keith waited, let some time pass, enjoying the picture of
the ponce shitting his bricks and he let another few
moments go, enough time for the heavy dripping of the
pipes to be joined by distant thunder claps outside. Then he
told him. ‘You want the bad news or the … Fuck it..We’re
letting Derek go today, so we need you to be on hand, for
securitys sake, make sure he doesn’t nick anything
363
sensitive or stir up the troops here downstairs. We’ll call
you when we need you alright?' ‘Oh yeah, of course’ said
Tickle sagging with relief. ‘Oh yeah’ Keith turned in the
doorway. ‘Tic.. I mean Toby mate, get your bags packed, if
all goes smoothly tonight and we, or rather you manage to
keep things on track, the Board wants you out in California
to check on the Yanks the week after next... Bit of sunshine
heh? By your colours it looks like it won’t do you any harm
to go...’ said Keith grinning.
So was that the reward thought Toby, for another line
crossed, this time cheating on the guy who was on the
same level, dog eat dog, management on management,
and he felt a bit like a hungry dog licking the little big mans
bowl but oddly, because it did not fit the image of himself,
he couldn’t stop himself feeling well pleased. It was the
same thing, was he changing like Jekyll and Hyde the fact
was he’d won, beat the Broomie pisshead in the battle of
Number 2’s which meant he was one step nearer the Money
and out of this crap for good. Fuck you Derek, He who
dares wins, so there.
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‘Fucking Hell did you hear it, a terrorist attack all hells
going to break loose, where the fuck Janice’ it was Simon
bursting down the stairs and tumbling downstairs. No one
had seen him for a week. ‘…its high alert, fuckin Muslims
we’re next I know, the gas, the underground, Sarin for
sure, it could be happening now, it’s the third world war
out there every man for himself’. Simon was drooling, all
red and wide eyed with Beth white-faced and reticent by his
side. ‘I’m not fucking joking, Janice where’s fucking Janice,
she’s got to get it now’. Janice came emerged soaking wet
behind them ‘Oh Janice where the fuck have you been? I
want you to go get two masks now, from that place, the
Spy shop on Portland, get it on expenses, two, quick, now,
go, it’s a matter of life and death’. ‘But I’ve got some stuff
to do for Keith , you know Derek..’ but Simons face turned
from red to really red almost purple ‘I am still fucking MD
CEO of this fucking company so fucking do what I fucking
well say you ka..’ ‘Alright alright I’m off’ said Janice quickly
heading back up into the downpour outside.
Toby retreated back into his bunker, praying that the
Investors wouldn’t find out about Simon going mad before
the second round was through. He closed the door hard
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behind him trying to stop himself seeing how ridiculous it all
was becoming, this mad show, including himself starting to
sound like the arsehole Froths. Was he getting lost in this
jobjob which was supposed to be real but was just a
charade for a lie? He had to keep at it though, the act, keep
pretending or he’d end up becoming the twat in the game
rather than performing it, he had to hold something back.
He needed to know it, but deny it at the same time, it was
a difficult balancing act. Knowing and denying, how weird,
how mad, how bad this virtual reality show had become, lie
on lie, a con with a con, in a con, through a con, making his
part an act in an act, with an act through an act. O Gawd. .
A phone rang. He couldn’t face it. The Yanks again. But he
would stay late again to answer the inevitable call, he had
to keep at it, head down and wait for the Money to come. It
wasn’t a question of being creative, being special it was
about doing what the Money said and not step out of line,
and that meant putting the Money first at the time.
‘18.25 Greenwich MeanTime’, Chris loved saying that
‘Where the fuck were the slackers. Too late to call HQ’ and
it was probably pissing with rain. It was 10.25 Pacific Time
where he was, the same day a clear Pacific blue sky and
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Chris Froth, Global CEO to be, was getting ready for
Venture Capitalist brunch presentations down Silicon Valley.
‘Ben, have you finished the numbers? We got an hour and
then the VCs in Cupertino. We need to conclude the
proposition and the Powerpoint now’. Chris was, with
chubby fingers, trying to select the colour for the new New
Cabbys version 5s front end. It looked superb, even if he
said so himself. It was the online version for the new
company, Omnifroth Inc as a working title, of which he was
sole shareholder and founder, the undisputed king,
emerging now to take him further on his journey. Maybe
Phoenix would have been better name he thought, ‘rising
from the ashes’. No, it was too cultured, not everyone was
as bright as him.
But Ben was a godsend, the techie who Chris had secretly
fallen in love with, he could do anything technical and so
compliant, even believed him when he suggested the 50/50
split, and he had even been to CERN where Tim BernersLee, the supposed inventor of the World Wide Web had
worked so in fact Ben had sat on the right hand of God.
Chris loved it; even the mention of the name CERN was
enough to make the VCs almost wet themselves with
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anticipatory glee. Yes, this was the Big One, Cabby had
been just the rehearsal and they were meeting Jemison,
Campbell & Goldstein up the Valley at 6.30, to secure the
$1.3m seed funding then OmniFroth would be on its way.
Stuff Simon, fucking pay back for all those times being hit
on the head over and over again with the pillow from the
top bunk, Mummy ignoring his cries downstairs getting
pissed with ‘Uncle’ Jerry. No now we’d show you mum who
is the real No 1, 25mill they were going for, second round,
IPO before 2K. And if they scored he promised himself he'd
get on that Rhonda bitch, the jeep lease girl and go for a
ride; he loved the Yankish big hair, boobs and ass and he’d
already tipped the wink to Mandy at Business 2.0 to get the
profile section ready for himself, Chris Froth the first,
Founder and CEO, Hands on Visionary, Grand Navigator of
the New Web.
‘Give me the fucking money. Just give me the fucking
money. Cash, Now.’ Back in the UK, wet cold and now
almost dark, Derek was crouched one foot forward arms out
either side, bent double, desperately clinging onto his own
self belief. ‘I’m not shifting until I’ve got the shittin’ cash in
my hand’ he snarled at Clive standing there in front of him
368
holding out the P45, ‘You hear me?’ Derek added a bit of
spittle on his lower lip. Was this the face of the Tommy in
the sand, waiting for the Iraqis to come out of the desert
night? thought Toby watching the confrontation from
behind the reception desk, the TV blaring out MTV behind
his head…oh, this is torture, this is pain, it feels like I'm
gonna go insane, I hope you're coming back real soon,
'cause i don't know what to do…Or was he just terrified of
going back to Hemel Hempstead to the wife and kid, pissed
again, but this time empty handed, made redundant, out of
it letting everyone down again…and the days go on and on
and the nights just seem so long, Even food don't taste that
good, drink ain't doing what it should things just feel so
wrong, baby when you're gone…
‘I don’t know. Be reasonable, we haven’t exactly got 10,000
pounds sitting around in petty cash’ said Clive trying to
retain his executive management cool, standing there one
hand in his pocket but his face beginning to redden, hot
with the emotion bubbling before him. ‘I’m not fucking
shifting until I’ve got shittin’ cash... You work out the
logistics for yourself’. It was an ego thing. Derek was
protecting his one now for all he was worth, because he
369
knew, or sensed, that it was in fact all he was worth, it was
the basis for all he did, selling, his core, the very engine of
his life and they were trying to destroy it now. ‘Come on
you Iraqis cunts, come on camel fuckers, let’s see what
you’re made of, come on, give us what you’ve got.’
‘Go on Keith, go on my son, make her do it, make her bend
over, ooh lovely what a lovely bum’ Next door to the stand
off in the hallway Keith was grinning, frantically clicking the
mouse on the hourglass figure of the buxom girl in shorts,
standing there on the precipice of the gorge, crocodiles
snapping in the water far below her. ‘Oh shit’ Keith said as
she fell spiraling towards the water. ‘Same old thing eh?
Never been that lucky with the ladies have we Keithly’ said
Simon patting him on his grey quiff, ‘Ooh Kari San, me no
find …’ ‘Its fucking brilliant isn’t it, best selling Videogame in
the western hemisphere’ enthused Brutus, ‘movie deal on
the table Charles said’, who’d popped in with some
champagne to celebrate Clives first day and one step
nearer to shafting the froth boys and getting Cabby in
house, ‘and I’ve just bought the Company which created
the interface, the designers are ready to go if you want
them for Cabby’ he added, head swiveling round until it
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landed on Clive, who was just coming through the door.
‘Sorry to disturb you chaps’ said Clive, smiling. Ok, act
nonchalant he told himself, irritated by the sweaty film
forming above his lips, ‘We’ve got a bit of a problem with
Derek’. A meeting was quickly called and the executive
management ascertained, after analysis and consultation,
that there was a problem and it was then decided that the
best solution, at this juncture, was to call Janice and ask
her what was to be done.
‘…the silverback hierarchy is strict, and undue attention
paid to the female brood can result in complete exclusion,
the lesser males cajoled into being part of the defensive
gang’ Sir David again, flicked his loose hair back above his
nose smiling broadly into the camera. Tickle had switched
the reception telly from MTV over to Planet Earth thinking it
might keep the atmosphere a bit more calm. Derek was still
smoldering sat vaguely psychotic, underneath the
incongruous Screen, his Amber Alert now down to Brown,
trying hard to persuade himself that everyone was running
round him in a frenzy and without him the company was
grinding to an inevitable halt. ..
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and recent research by Dr David Cameron, a senior
scientist at the Minnesota National Primate Research Center
shows that female capuchins avoided eye contact with a
strange monkey while also making friendly overtures. But in
front of a mirror their behavior is different, as you can see
they look often at their image, almost as if trying to flirt
with it..’ ‘So what’s different eh? joked Tickle to Derek,
trying to lighten the mood. The male capuchins, in contrast,
were seriously bothered by their image Dr Cameron
explained ‘Unlike Narcissus, they appeared confused and
distraught by their reflections often trying to escape from
the testing room.. Sir David frowned and then with a smile
said directly into Camera. So what is going on in the
monkeys' minds?
‘Fucking Result though eh?, if I get the cash eh?’ Derek said
breaking the awkward silence in which he was feeling
himself shrink ‘Probably bring the fucking company down’
he added grinning at Tickle ‘Yeh, perhaps’ said Toby,
although he knew Derek was trying to get him to take his
side.’ How’s the family going to feel?’ Tickle sneaked in,
then regretting it. That was a cuntish like to day like Chris,
the poor guy had a child, a new house on a high mortgage
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in a garden suburb, almost perfect, but Toby knew things
already stretched to breaking point. Wife would probably
leave him, too angry to allow access to the child, and... No
bollocks, fuck him, a tired voice reasserted itself inside
Tobys head, it was dog eat dog and he wasn’t getting 10K
to fuck off, he had to sit around and do more of this shit
before he could get out ahead, so fuck Derek and his
crappy charade of a Life.
The front door opened, letting in the sound of the
whooshing of buses and rain. It was Janice in a soaking
black mac shaking herself and the brolly out like a wet Lab.
Her face was bright red already, so when she handed Derek
the package, a brick of notes in a brown envelope, Toby
could see all the emotion start to collect in the
awkwardness of her mouth and the frog in her throat.
‘Here. Clive told me to give this to you and I've got the rest
of your papers here’ she said handing over more envelopes.
Derek, buoyed up by Janice’s obvious upset, gave her a
kiss. Janice tensed up but letting him anyway, the nun with
the leper outside the quarantine zone and she scurried off
inside, her eyes looking to the ceiling as Derek stood there
rifling through the pink cash muttering to himself. ‘Don’t
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trust the fookin cunts’.‘Come on Derek, hurry up’ said Tickle
a bit brusque, feeling like an Officer dealing with a awkward
Squaddie, just wanting to get this over and done with, ‘
Fuck it I want to go home’. ‘Alright mate, hold your horses’.
Derek was going to go with some dignity, he was
determined to, but Tickle, having lost his, found himself
now not really giving a toss. ‘Come on matey. We’ll see you
later yeah, Good luck’ ‘Yep,’ said Derek trying to straighten
himself out ‘Look Tickle it was great to work with you and
all that. Ill look out for a role for you in my new company,
something with a bit more security and a bit more dosh eh’
‘Yeah yeah Right sure Derek See you later’ ‘OK bye then’
‘Yeah ta ta’ and Tickle slammed the door shut. Twat.
Thank Gawd. The hall suddenly felt very empty the threat
of violence removed and Toby felt distinctly odd, staring at
the telly. If in doubt, the TV… ‘and the lone male without
mate having been seen off is removed from the pack,
recent research showing that the cells themselves may be
programmed to self destruct if their value to the social unit
is lost and indeed many such unfortunates, the weaker
animals, are soon picked off by other predators or by
disease, spending their remaining days moping around at
the side of things looking on…’ It was as if he was detached
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too, at a distance from himself, thought Toby watching
himself perform a part, his real self having ceased to have a
body. The Realness of it, this, the work, the thing, the
time, was over now, he was just a clown in somebody else’s
game, doing what ever the bosses said. House, Baby, Tina.
Well what did it matter, it was the dream wasn’t it?
Integrity, what’s that? Morals? He couldn’t afford them yet.
And what about Millennium Hamlet, redemption, being
himself again or what he thought he once was, the
comeback, what about that? It was as if there were two
distinct lives one going off much faster than the other, the
imagined and the actual and Toby had a foot in each doing
the splits. Ouch...To be or not to be? Neutered and inbetween he was now just an extra in somebody else’s play,
waiting for the Money to arrive.
‘AAAOOOOORRRR WWWHHHYY IKKOOOOLL’ someone
slapped him on his back. It was a gas mask, a fresh black
rubber smell, and a dwarf version by its side, Simon and
Beth, two cyborg piglets heading out into the rain, ‘EYE
IKKOOOOLL SEEE OOO EEEN HEELWA’ and they
disappeared into the dangerous night. Yeah, Tickle
suddenly saw it clearly; in a new cold light. It was all mad,
completely Potzo, but, seeing it clearly now he could, if he
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wanted, succeed in it, the World. It was simple, basic,
Business and he knew then he could become a boss too and
it was a bit of a shock, really, hearing himself say that,
even to himself. Yes this was the time to do it, grab what
was there, all he had to do was play the part, say the lines
loudly and clearly and don’t knock over the furniture, stick
to the role and a new voice told him now, that perhaps,
given the company would be a bit shaky and needed to
keep up the front, this was probably the optimum time to
ask for a rise.
-------------
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19.
No feature of the modern economy is more remarkable
than the volume of corporate and personal revenue that
comes from the marketing of the unknown… what is
predicted is what others wish to hear… what they wish to
profit or have some return from… hope or need covers
reality...thus the financial markets celebrate, even welcome
essential error.
John Kenneth Galbraith. The Economics of Innocent Fraud
It had been just a tingling and a shift in gear, as it almost…
and then, not. And then, not being sure if you had, almost,
or not. The ceiling lamp of four bare bulbs in a circle didn’t
tinkle but was remembered as a chandelier later and it felt
like a sliding offwards the Titanic deep down again, heard,
then perhaps not, only the memory of, a deep groaning…
It was dark and it was only a moment, 4.13am, just past
noon UK time 11th Sept 1998 and that’s what he thought of,
the time the date, a moment after the moment when he felt
himself sliding off backwards thinking he’d been in a dream,
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falling backwards into it his home again, although knowing
it not to be so at the same time. It was if he was caught
between the two moments, two lives, two continents, in
two minds no balance caught on a big wave and then, there
lying on Mrs. Robertson’s Guest House bed in Cod Pea Drive
San Francisco, soon to disappear he wandered down
through the mangrove glades into the tectonic crack
opening up below him, the unseen forces all around finally
deeming that he too should be swallowed up forever in the
infinite bottomlessness beneath.
EARTHQUAKE IN MARIN COUNTY Magnitude 4.3. Minimal
Damage but disruption expected, potentially a second
quake on the way… Toby flicked through all the channels on
Freedom Cable, each with its own plastic presenter basically
the same; white gleam teeth jabbering on about the
incident at San Anselmo, the map and red circles
emanating from the epicenter being revered as a matter of
life and death. ‘It looks like the damage recorded to date is
a smashed window at a restaurant in Millennium Mall…
Brent Cowton is at the location reporting’, torches flaring up
the night, at another anonymous retail complex. Chows
Diner cordoned off with ticker tape, police officers like
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extras in some made-for-TV movie, preening themselves in
the background, then back to the studio to the experts one
after the other talking about the possibility of the Big One,
a pre-prepared sequence running behind their excitement
and fear.
When will it be? The Big One? Toby wondered. More shots
of the LA quake in ‘89, the Freeway twisted pasta legs
gone, one lane crumpled on top of another. When will it be?
Little cars squashed like lentils between the grey lasagna
slabs. When will it be The Big One? It was coming and
everyone knew it, the fault would crack as the Earth
shrugged its shoulders and all the busyness, the frantic
pushing to become someone, somebody else, everyone
pulling in dollars to stay afloat and get there, to the Future,
the picture, the Vision of the great, desperate, American
Dream. When will it be, the Big One? The US of A finally
wiped away, the prairies back to the shrub and crickets
click click click clicking out Time in the white dust, mesquite
statues and the rusting pedello creaking in the scene from
which, through thousands of black and white movies not
much more than a century ago, it had come.
379
And the forecasters continued, frantically charting past
Quakes, more maps, the big fat line of the San Andreas but
none of them admitting, I don’t know, too busy qualifying
their expensive forecasts and then the madness on
MUDNews 1. Hi the Big Story this morning... more loops
and back to Brent outside in the drizzle in Marin County
and the information cycle starting again without anything
new, each time squeezing out a little more meaning from
the 5 second event, the meaning of which the main
ingredient, was well, fear. Oh Gawd. Tickle didn’t know
whether to laugh or cry, all the fuss over a cracked window
of mirrored glass at Chows Diner, the newscasts as tacky as
their spoofs on Saturday Night Live, only the hysteria of the
reportage making you frightened, rather than the facts of
what actually happened there.
But at least it was, at last, for Toby something tangible, on
this pretty pointless trip to California, the supposed reward
for being the loyal servant to the Execs. VP of Global
Operations and Product Marketing and Development, was
his new title and he couldn’t quite believe the 100K plus
options Keith said he’d get once the funding round was in
place would come but he was going to make damned sure
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that he was going to cover up as many of the gaps in his
new part that he could. It was the first time he’d been in a
real earthquake and he felt happy that something actually
real had happened, indisputable, in his Life although, now,
with each new loop on the crap news channel it somehow
was becoming less so. He wished it, the Quake, had been
larger in a way, a proper disaster movie blowing the whole
lot up, all the instability and indecision he had, the gap, his
split mind, giving him a chance to start afresh, again.
He went onto the balcony to smoke a fag. A stream of
headlights was being pulled across the vague presence of
the Golden Gate, an anonymous mountain behind and then
the Ocean, boundlessly out there. The Bridge was the top
suicide spot in the world apparently; the US of A number
one yet again. He remembered the lone dawn walk over a
decade before, Tania having just gone and done it, the
National Enquirer at his door, wondering whether he could
or should jump too but knowing really it was just another
move imagined rather than filmed.
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A chill in the air made him shiver now and he thought of
Tina and their future the new life about to arrive. She didn’t
want him to come here, what with the Baby almost there,
wanting him back home getting things prepared. It was
almost biological, the family and all of a sudden he laughed,
because, for the first time ever, it seemed his world had a
centre, somewhere to go back to, somewhere where he,
irrefutably, belonged. Without thinking he knew he wanted
to be back there now and standing staring at the Bridge it
was as if he was now shouting silently to them his sort of
wife and baby to be from afar, willing the echo forward,
onward and upward, willing the Happy Family picture
postcard to become finally real.
Inhaling deeply the Lucky Strike and the damp air, he
rewound his memory through the lost years of the Virtual
Nightclub, the Nothing happening in the Nothing, the rehab
in the Crypt, the crazed travel show with Tania, Mexico,
Belize, Guatemala City, Honduras hell, the celluloid melting
before the overheated bulb of his alky nightmare and
earlier, in the supposed good years, the success, Hamlet
Evening Standard almost Hollywood, Brit Indie Best Foreign
at the Golden Globe and that short, very short time when it
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felt like he was doing what he was meant to, the critical
voice briefly silent, when he seemed to be just enjoying
being alive. Him. Life. Clear. And it suddenly occurred to
Tickle that the only other time he had any real sense of
being in the right place at the right time, was when he had
been pretending to be someone else on stage, the Actor,
when he was inside it, the role, the person that didn’t really
exist. That and total oblivion I suppose…
Whark Whoooeeeee whark whoooooeeeee whark
whooooeeee, the gulls on Mrs. Robertson’s roof were
competing with a cop car interweaving among the low
houses near the sea front. Fuck it, America does your head
in thought Tickle, so many crap movies, the thin grip on the
giant land and the frantic need for more dollars made
reality a question, a demand here. There was a fence
around everything, even around the desert, the mesquite
and pedallo in the wilderness, the crowd kidding itself it was
fully in control and Tania out with another bloke for money
East Village Manhattan him coming off a heroin binge no
keys, getting locked out again the emergency locksmith like
Brazils De Nero as if abseiling in, an ex marine on special
ops, skeleton keys then knocking out the lock with a chisel
383
and a sledgehammer smashing then the door down fast, a
massive explosion ...a building collapsing, the man had said
Shit happens Heh? and then, paid, he was gone…Did he go
out the window then? It had only occurred to Toby now
waking from his flashback, that none of the other
tenement dwellers, as the sledgehammer was bashing
down the door, had bothered even to come out and check
what was going on. In America everyone was so afraid, so
worried about their own security that it made it unsafe for
all, everyone too afraid now to help each other out.
5.30. Another shiver. A crack of light breaking open the
horizon. He had a breakfast meeting with Sky at Eight down
in Blessed ‘in the Valley’; even the locals said the Valley self
consciously, like the Alien which he was. He’d shower and
walk a bit and try and get grounded, clear his head. Still
too early and he quickly flicked through all the other
channels on Freedom: Discovery, World, PBS, NBC, CNN,
Wolf, MUD 1, and with all the world to play with there was
still nothing on. Buy Now on Home Choice, Buy one and
get one free A pair of Gold Earrings for $22 only Buy Now
on Buynow.com, the great Gary Millers shopping channel.
Some old bird selling Thai jewelry, the prices running below
her like ticker tape. Buy Now Now Buy Now Shit for Suckers
384
Buy it Now. The ancient doll, moved gingerly in case her
whole face unraveled, only kept together by paint and pins,
smiling broadly with the enamel grin twinkling with steel.
Tickle told himself he should watch it, for research; ‘what
happens in the States always happens to the UK next’ they
always said.
In the mirror washing, Toby noticed the rash on his neck
was getting red again, Hienrichs gash, it really was
becoming horrible. 6 months old, that three and a half
Internet years, a long time to be a festering sore. Toby
sighed checking it closer as he shaved; red purply bits
beneath his ears on the neck. It was something happening,
inside him, an alien sensation under the skin, the itch had
become a bump, a spot and now a sore. Shit, he shouldn’t
have used anothers razor, or was it from something else? It
seemed to flare up when he was tired and stressed; like the
IBS, it seemed to be a barometer to his internal pain. Oh
Gawd, breakfast in BlessedVale with Sky and his team,
another day of bollocks coming up. Cabby 5 had turned
yellow now, he thought, wiping away the last soap.
385
‘Higher, Go on Higher.. That’s it my little sweety, push it
through, think Janis, think Shirley, think Kate Bush, think of
when the Big Man is inside you’ ‘ Stop it Simon, I’m trying
really hard’ ‘ Sorry, go on. Again. You’re doing really well
my baby’. Simon was in front of the mirror behind Beth in
the massive marble bathroom of the Fairmont Hotel suite.
His eyes shone bright red against the harsh white enamel
as he held the skinny girl by her shoulders listening to his
own groin grow as she tried again to hit the highest notes.
‘Remember what Guiseppe said, the ladders in the throat,
the bagpippo in the belly Si Senora? I know you can do it
my little darl, I’m sure it will work’.
The singing lessons had been going on for weeks now but
he had persuaded himself that with a little bit more work,
he could make her a star. It’s amazing what you can do in
the remix, the makeover girls his old mate Lee coming over
to do something with Beths coke thinned hair and he
wished she’d do the boob job, listen to him, its good PR
darling’ the bigger they are. He just needed his little waifing
to allow him carte blanche to transform her, the technology
was available on all fronts, he wished she’d let him go the
whole hog.
386
Virtual Sheilas, Cloning Celebs, Cyborg Stars, the projects
in development Simon was pushing Stateside had a number
of working titles and Beth was going to be his guinea pig in
the first. How do guinea pigs mate anyhow? Fuck the acts,
public loves novelty don’t they Bicky Tanks’d always said,
dragging off another would-be star to bed. The point now
was the Interactivity on TV, getting the public to vote, to
gamble- it could be you, it could be her, it could be you, it
could be him. It was a numbers game really, a racket like
everything else. It was addictive and addiction was always,
had always been good for the Money. Always guaranteed
to get 2% of any audience to do whatever you want and
even with 2% of say 5 mill x 50 cents 10 times a show, its
…urr... a lot. He just needed to persuade the shoe leather
tans over at Wolf Studios that this was the Way of the
Future, before sealing it with a Way to go Dude as everyone
was saying now, getting those High Fives going in honour of
the Dotcom Millennium bonanza just about to come . And
looking now at his next project in development he couldn’t
stop himself speculating if Paulo his plastic surgeon could
do anything about the skinniness of Beths tight but bony
arse.
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Excite, Engage, Epiphany, Tobys taxi on route 128 trundled
past the posters for the giant babies of the dot com boom,
mutant corporations that had ballooned so quickly into
multi billion entities based only on speculation and a smart
idea and, if Cabby was anything to go by, despite the nice
branding and the offices around the globe, they were
probably all also in fact a total mess, tentacles of the new
economy spreading strife and stress like a virus throughout
the world.
A light aircraft, a Cessna, was flying erratically in the
morning haze, between hillocks to the side of the San
Fernando Freeway. It then turned towards Toby, did
another bobble, swerved right and seemed to be heading
directly for a hillside disappearing behind it out of view. The
almost crash was an optical illusion really and through the
tinted glass it was like Tobys own private TV show. In and
out seen then unseen but knowing it was still there
somewhere in the haze.
In fact, Strike, two hills away was tracking Azizs progress
with a pair of binocs; he should be finished soon he thought
388
and they’ll be ready to go to the next stage as long as the
Pushtun could be contained, his excitement about his future
glory didn’t make him crash, blinded by the vision of
bathing in the hot blood of virgins somewhere nice. They
just had to keep the cover a little longer, the Cabby front,
and everything else was on track. Shrike’d been at DEFRA
consulting for the last month, more systems for the
Operation EAGLE DIVE scenario, eavesdropping gear and Dr
Karl had him on RAD program at the KarlWeil Labs, IB
project, Immortality for the Billionaires, which boded well
but last night he had had to go out with that Bald exec
Tickle, to keep things sweet. It was a pain in the ass as it
had interrupted finishing off the last bit of coding for the
Plan, but the Cabby façade had to be maintained even after
the main event was done.
'Doomed mate. The whole thing, the system doesn’t work
and will fall over, Cabbys fucked by the US. I’m telling you
we’re all doomed my son’ he’d enjoyed telling Tickle
practicing his new Scottish accent, practicing in front of
Dads Army on PBS and he was well pleased when Toby said
he looked like Ewan Macgregor with his shaven head.
‘Sky’s just going to nick the company, isn’t he, take the
389
deal with Starlink and the brands and build HarpozoMall Inc
up for himself, he’s even got a new name for the Shop,
Wizmall. I mean Whatta Twat.’ Strike enjoyed seeing the
little man across the table quake ‘Does he know what it
means in the UK?’ had asked Tickle ‘Sky knows jack except
how to surf and to sell, so he's well suited to this dot com
shite; doesn’t even need drugs, he gets high just on the
lying mate’. ‘Is it going to collapse before I can cash out?’
asked Tickle feeling sick and Strike couldn’t stop himself
sighing at this little suckers small and selfish head, can’t he
see that we were all pawns in someone elses game and
come to think of it his head was the right shape for the
subject they needed in the Stem Cell stuff; he should ring
Karl about a possible subject for P458x.
Tobys taxi was now passing Oracle, at San José then it was
Apple at Cupertino and the Intel at Summertown, the great
global names that ran the show that ran everything else
housed in more non-descript offices, industrial parklands
with cost conscious low buildings, mirrored windows,
stealing the bright blue from the desert sun. Blessedvale
was a particularly grotty part of the Strip, or rather Valley.
It could have been anywhere on that Latitude: dry heat, the
390
smell of petrol and detritus, fast food joints past their sell
by date and here a low slung bunker of a building that went
on for two blocks. Global Division Inc, it said, so
anonymous it looked it didn’t have a door; perhaps it was a
sculpture just there to show who was the biggest boy in
town. Glob Div.
The taxi wheeled into Tuxcedodema Apartments block,
which looked half built; Short leases available. Handy if you
want to make a quick exit thought Toby. Two Arabs in short
sleeves and Rolexs strolled by holding hands, one laughed
pointing upwards to the sky criss-crossed with jet streams
from LA PAX and then suddenly spat just in front of Tickles
foot and before Toby could respond, there was screaming,
behind him a women in a pencil tight skirt, stilettos and
shades with an enormous Dolly Parton pile of hair yelling at
a window in the block. ‘Ill screw you with the lease
Muther….’ She then stuck out a single finger, jumped into
the jeep and squealed off. She looked over dressed for the
cloudless day and Tickle half expected someone to shout
out ‘Cut’.
391
Everything was so impermanent here, Toby thought,
instant, even places to live looked like motels. Everyone
was passing through, prospectors on a gravy train trying to
make a fast buck and anyway at any time it could all
disappear down the Fault, the Gap, when the Big One
finally came along. Oh Gawd and Toby suddenly felt a jolt
of fear; they could pull the plug here on him anytime left
defunct. Perhaps that’s why they got him to come here,
Keith and Brutus and Clive, so they could ‘restructure’ back
home and he’d be the next mid-management death,
redundancy and everything, himself, the House, the Baby,
Tina, all would disintegrate into nothing, sharp shards from
a hot bulb blown.
Focus focus focus- the Object, the Vision, the Future Toby
told himself; he was playing Little Boss from the UK and he
had to get into role. This morning Sky was going to run
through everything for Tickle, show him the US operations
and outline the roll-out justifying himself and the US side in
the Global Plan. But Toby felt exhausted already, jaded and
sick from the jet lag, and it occurred to him that the world
was in fact run by people feeling the same way, the middle
aged men in dark suits always in a rush, hurry hurry hurry
392
heavy with jet lag, so no wonder the world was in such a
mess.
----
393
20.
The Internet fills in all the silences of the World
Dijits
‘Hi’, ‘Hi’, ‘Hi’ ‘Hiya’, ‘Welcome Sir,’ ‘Hey Big Fella’, ‘Hail the
chief’, ‘Cheers’. It was like being greeted by a bevy of
paparazzi emerging from a tunnel of tinted glass, the bright
smiles and steroid glares of positivity pushing the phlegm
back into the bald UK exec, leaving no chance for his
customary winge, a moan or acerbic remark before the
business commenced; here, Toby was realizing, business
was life.
‘OK my man, we’ve got it all lined up for you Tycul’, and
Sky did that irritating thing that Tickle knew he’d must have
picked up from some management course (at Mind Changes
they called it NVC, non verbal communication, Toby had
done Executive Level 1 Advanced), coming up behind him,
right up close so you couldn’t see his face but everyone else
could, and then putting his hands on Tickles shoulders
394
pushing him down as if to stop him getting away. ‘So
Sharon Honey, can you outline the CSP of the QT in A E
partnership campaign, Clients, Hits and Collateral Benefits
accrued’. A Chinese American doll, two metre smile in a
neat black suit, sort of Kandoo Plus, began to run through
the presentation on the Powerpoint Screen, displaying click
the shops, click the hotels, click the chains that had signed
up to Cabby 5.2: click Pennys, Norstrom, Continental, Ziff,
doing an odd thing of rubbing her purple tipped forefinger
up and down with the thumb of her other hand. Soon,
Tickle, fading into an intercontinental blur, was transfixed
and found himself counting the number of teeth she had
above her so pink lower lip and the times she licked them
with her tongue.
‘Thanks Sharon. Now Heidi’. It resembled a fashion show,
Gary Millers Me.TV morning parade back in 1994, You Got
Mail Sir, but this one was a bit bigger, a real flesh
Caucasian, short hair and bright blue eyes, the Nordic type
and Tickle began to suspect that this was some sort of set
up, each girl bit part actress possibly porno, having been
rehearsed by Sky going through lines he’d supplied.
‘Thanks very much ladies, please be available later if Tycal
395
needs you for a one on one’ and he winked at Toby with his
lazy eye the one that was sewage green.
‘Now Clint, Prod Dev Review.’ A Fred Flintstone chin moved
silhouetted in front of the shining terylene of the net curtain
and a voice started speaking, slow and monotonously as if
it was overcooked by too much sun ‘…and we are at
Milestone 8.3 … the PowerPoint chart here indicating a RAD
schedule achieving 89% target alignment, which, according
to the Palee Tunas model, is optimizing a return on
investment of …’ the black head in front of the white sea
roaring outside the darkness of the rum-hut the fisherman
smiling Guatemaleese one good tooth going up and down
in an unintelligible rant the surf turning to static and the
curtain coming down as another blackout started, bright
light then the next morning Tania, dragging him along a
line of still wet blood signifying the journey of his broken
head now being used as a superhighway by an army of
little black ants, or maybe it was the other way round …..
‘..and SQL 7.2 has been considered as an alternative
database option,’ How long had Clint been droning on for
Toby coming to didn’t know. ‘I’ve got a guy checking it out
396
in San Jose, so Tycul, Sir, Tycul,you there still eerr...
Tycul,?’ Toby suddenly jolted up back from the Creole Sea.
‘Sure. Right of course sure carry on, Shoot yeah’ ‘Yes sir, as
I was saying we are currently running some models on the
impact of option 2-7a on the RDP ...’, ‘What does that
mean?’ Toby blurted out not understanding a word the
boring fucker was saying but knowing it was his role to
assert some sort of control ‘ RAD means Rapid
Development Program sir ’ ‘No Err Yeah of course I know
that but.’ Toby sounding irritated covered himself quickly ‘I
was talking in terms of the cost,’ putting on the deep slow
voice again like Chris ‘ the researchers in the Valley, the
engineer guy in San Jose, at what cost is this? You seem to
be forgetting someone has to pay for all this you know?’
Pressure. Keep putting on the pressure. If in doubt put
pressure on the others below… Management Mantra 2,
exert pressure on the next level down, welcome the
pressure from above, absorb it and so make yourself useful
to your bosses, lightening their loads. ‘Guys, the UK hasn’t
got an endless supply of Money, you know we don’t want
waste and perhaps it might be construed by the Board back
home that the money here is not being used for due
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purpose…’ Sky jumped in with what sounded like a preprepared speech. ‘I assure you the economic activity and
organization of Harpozo is conducted with utmost
proprietary and is totally devoid of questionable activities.
Here in the US everything is transparent and democratic,
we are the greatest democracy on earth enabling the
capitalism system to worked at its most optimum state and
this is supported by our belief in hardwork, honest dealing
and decency, this current boom is proof that it works- it’s
the American way I herewith verify’.. ‘But what about
Bhopal, Srebrenica, the carnage of the Baghdad highway
from Kuwait eh? What was so fucking decent about that
you dumbfuck surfing idiot?’ but Toby in fact didn’t say
that, he didn’t even reply to Skys imperialistic tripe. Instead
Sky it was decided to have a break; Sky didn’t like things
going ragged, the surf all syrupy stiff. ‘Where can I have a
fag- I mean a cigarette?’ Toby asked generally. No one
spoke. They just looked at him deeply concerned, as if he
was sick, or an alien who hadn’t been properly debriefed
and checked.
Toby went into the car park looking out for Strike; he was
meant to be here and Toby could do with a bit of Brit
398
cynicism to counterbalance the rest inside. Was that him
standing there, with the Arabs seen earlier, group of
shimmering figures vague in the heat?
The haze made the scene feel unreal like a dream. Oh
Gawd Toby couldn’t wait for this to end so he could go
home and get some sleep. To die, to Sleep, to Sleep
perchance to dream, Ay there's the rub.. Millennium
Hamlet, where are you now? It was as if his old world, the
person he thought he was hiding behind this act of being a
dotcom guru, wasn’t there anymore, had fallen away
leaving this , the shell and he remembered again, in the
middle of the night the rumbles ,the earth slipping away
beneath him. It was last night, wasn’t it? Right? He had to
ask himself The Quake? Was it this morning or was the
night before last? Shit he should have taken that
Melatonine Chris said would cheat Time and turn the night
his body knew should there into the day and Toby suddenly
felt woozy and had to lean back against the wall.
Toe bee, toe bee, toe bee Tycul Where are you Toe Bee?
Oh no those voices again, calling, echoing around the
burning mirrors of the cars and again, for a moment among
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the richochette of voices, Tickle thought he was going to
faint. Toe bee toe bee Tycul toe bee No, not this again, he
thought, he hadn’t had a panic attack for almost 3 years,
there hadn’t been time. But it was Sharon, the first blond
running over to him breathlessly ‘Mr Tycul, Toe bee, Sir,
the UK's on the phone Come quickly’, and Toby sensed
then, that with even her smile having gone, there was in
fact something genuinely wrong...
-------------
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21.
..There is one thing worse than unrequited love and that’s
no love at all...
Stendhal on Love
OOOOO RRRRR… The spiders were climbing up the wall,
pulling themselves up by ropes and feet that seemed to
have magic traction, though one, a girl, her pony tail a wild
bit jiggling off the skin tight lycra, suddenly seemed to
loose her footing and slip down…Oh No…OOOOO RRRRR…
but she regained her balance quickly, making it look like it
was part of the act.
OOOOO RRRRR… the heads craned upwards, bobbling
multicultural faces all looking at the blank wall on which the
acrobats were doing their stuff, shouting into one another’s
ears trying to be heard above the earsplitting MLF techno
thrust. Only a few of the crowd, although they were almost
all 20 somethings, were really going for it a couple of
receptionists even attempting to dance, but most were
401
looking on one foot back, detached, spectators to
spectators, as if they were only there to be accounted for
by Mrs Wilcox from Human Resources, Extras in the story
about a story they were starring in, Barrys Millennium
Christmas Party, another one of the Companys Reality TV
shows in development; The Boss and the Girl form room 21
and in this one it was mandatory to have a good time, or
else be voted out.
OOOOO RRRRR…the acrobat slipped again doing a
backward somersault righting herself onto the white Screen
as if it was a joke and again Tickles gut lurched. He wasn’t
there at all but his neck hurt from the craning, his collar
catching the little shingle sores. It too had slipped, he was
thinking, slipped from the womb wall and with outstretched
yearning unable to keep a hold, it had rolled, almost
imperceptibly into itself and then down to the bottom of the
Well to die.
It was over a year now, the miscarriage in Blessedvale and
it could have been a day or another thousand years more.
The Future had imploded, its picture melting as the horizon
402
had crumpled in on itself. A jumbo jet orange burning in
the evening sun dragged a cold shadow over Toby as he lay
curled up in Lot 21, Section C, Car Park Purple South side
San Fran Terminal B, crying as if it was his life that had
rolled away, the point of it, real real eye T, the reason why
he was there at all in the very first place. He saw it was
wrong, all that promise loaded onto the Baby, the Child
becoming the meaning of his Life and now in the hole
remaining had flooded in the Fear. Fear for the emptiness
of his own existence; Fear of the fraud to which he was now
an accomplice, the false numbers and the self serving
machinations with other peoples money; Fear that this
Tower of Illusions, his own and the worlds, would inevitably
fall down in tears, leaving him nothing but this well of fear
about his life with Tina, if it could go on now, without the
Future they had both imagined, the old picture postcard
they had agreed they’d both wanted now shredded, leaving
her in bits and him as just a shadow of what he thought
himself could be. O Gawd. What would happen without the
third one, the Other, the Baby, the Love they could share
outside themselves? Could they now be together just him
and her alone with nothing to cement them? It was now
just them, Face to Face, no could be, will be, should be,
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just the what is in-between now. Was there any hope left?
Toby’s throat was constricted and aching, shouting out in
the chorus of approval, whistles, heckles and yahoos that
the young hip media crowd judged to be the smart thing to
do, but only one, Debbie from Book Finance heard it, the
howl of anguish somewhere in the voices there, that man
alone, ‘isn’t it the weirdo from IT guy?’, OOO RRRR
YYYYYYY…..his scream disguised as a cheer?
The spider performance was over and the hall was turning
into a disco. Groups gathered around tables, others hugged
in around the bars, the ultraviolet light making them look
ghostly with teeth slashed bright. He should be excited too
Toby told himself; the Millennium around the corner, Cabby
6.3 finally coming out, having been sort of parked at
Bartone for almost a year broiling in the pre Millennium
hype and he might, (although he was finding it increasingly
hard to convince himself), happen, he’d get the carrot he’d
dreamed of for the last 10 years. And what then? Was it
worth it? He wasn’t sure what he’d find when all the
404
busyness stopped, the work holism had subsided, what he’d
become. Had he turned into some sociopathic IT geek?
‘Neurotics build castles in the air and Psychopaths live in
them’ Jonathan Miller had said on the radio last week.
Yeah, but what if what if he didn’t get it either, the money
or the Baby what then? Left with nothing, flat. Would he
become just another oddbod casualty of the dot com boom?
It had been in the News last week another tragi-comedy,
journos jealous of the IT geeks quick riches, so liked and
Toby had imagined himself playing the part of the Day
Trader in the made-for-TV movie no doubt in development
already, sitting there in his LA bunker basement, (or den as
they called it over there, gambling his shares 24/7 365 ),
then one day going too far, wipe out and blinking as he
walked into the sunlight, in his Bermudas and Hawaiian
shirt, feeling only hate as he pushed open the door of
Momentum Investments Inc, pulling out his 45 magnum
and, without a thought, all dried up killing one by one, the
whole office, then sticking the barrel in his Mouth. IT,
Dotcom, what fun.
405
Feeling queasy Toby found himself looking for her again,
wondering where Tara was. He had sort of expected to
bump into her, as if it was meant to be, that almost would
be what if in his belly, that sensation he called the magic of
lurve that been growing since his first moon at the New
Year drink after work. She worked in Bartones A&R and had
a little dog. She wore funny hats and always looking like
she’d just got out of bed. They’d meet in the lift and she’d
always smiled at him. Toby had been fantasizing about her
for almost a year, his unrequited love he called it and he
knew it was dangerous; but fuck it, it was better than no
love at all as someone famous had said. Nada at home.
Since the miscarriage a gulf that had opened up between
him and Tina, and it was as if it left enough space for him
to escape into, to dream in and it was as if his vagrant love
was trying to find a home but, essentially virtual, it was
fixed on an object slightly out of reach.
‘Two bottles of Mineral please. Please quick’ Tickle needed a
piss; the trouble about teetotalling is endlessly wanting to
piss. ‘Hiya, alright Tickle, Havin' a good time?’ Was it her?
No, only Janice. She was covered in glitter with a sparkly
hair-band, furry bobbly things either side, the ultraviolet
406
lighting her up like a sugarplum fairy, all nice and bright.
‘Two Barcadi Breezers please and have one yourself darling’
she shouted at the Aussie Barman ‘Here Ticks, have you
seen me piccies,’ all pissed and familiar ‘of the holiday like?
I got ‘em back this morn’ she said pushing up close to
Toby, squeezed in by the rush for drinks between songs.
Janice had just got back from Mexico, ‘ only 333.99
lastminute.com 20% off … Look that’s the bloke I pulled,
Dorton, like Donny, from Salt Lake City- very clean living if
you know what I mean. Look there she is, Denise the old
slapper, we were doing tequila slammers all night, got
completely arse-holed I can tell you, though what happened
next I can’t,’ she howled, 'cept Denise broke her ankle and
we had to fly home two days early what a shit. Look there,
that’s Dorton. He was alright,’, she said quieter, suddenly
wistful, ‘we had a good time that night too, a right laugh,
but then he disappeared the next day’ and she looked away
turning her head up towards the darkness of the rafters
above, the sparkling lights catching the fluid at the bottom
of her eye. ‘It was great though. We got rat arsed for the
best part of a week’ she turned back to Toby again smiling,
‘you gotta laugh haven’t you’.
‘I’m not sure, Elizabeth, he does seem to be rather over
407
familiar with the staff... .’ ‘I know Bruty my dear but really
he only needs to say his lines, keep up the story and
everything will be fine. He was an actor once for Gods sake’
she asserted. ‘Anyway, I’ve got Edgar at Workfinkel and
Wressel coming over tomorrow to go through the Numbers
again. OOOOORRRR… Henry bloody hell…’ the baby was
clawing at her teat with a claw like hand ‘Remember, Bruty,
we pull off the Infinity deal and Eddy is sure the 25 mill
won’t be a prob, for Fanatics and everything else. Gawd,
the bloody baby needs another feed. Blast.’
Brutus couldn’t help himself but look longingly at the
massive bosom as it came out to feed Henry, the big boy
baby grumpily giving Mummys friend an ugly glare with one
eye sidewards. Brutus was jealous; Eliza had three others
and seemed to have the Board in her pocket and the City in
her sway, he couldn’t even impregnate Sophie, (they had
had to resort to IVF, she was in Barcelona now, fresher
eggs apparently, another fucking 8K), and he felt even
more just Elizas little lackey, her go-for-it boy, Gramps
would have been bewildered how one of his.. blah Yiddish
blah. Brutus had his Plan though and recently he had begun
drip feeding doubts through to Barry and the other big
boys, about it not being quite right having a woman,
408
especially with a new born and all those hormones flying
about, at the top of a Footsie 150 company. After all she
hadn’t even informed the board until well after 26 weeks,
and it had been scientifically proven, the Molane Business
School in Denver having just published a closed circulation
report about rational judgment being impaired by specific
neurological movement in the female brain... After Eliza had
secured the loan from the City for marketing Fanatics.com,
equisemen.net, the horse breeding site and the rest, he’d
move in hard for the kill, prick the balloon so to speak, the
bitch who’d for the last 18 months had been treating him
like a geek yeah he’d murder the sow and with
OOOOORRRR… to the baby Brutus, his thumb and
forefinger like a beak, then winkled Henrys little pug nose
stuck onto his snarling face.
The Executive Management Millennium Nativity scene was
being played out in the corner of the huge round building,
the candlelight showing Brutus’s intense expression in
stasis as Elizabeth sat Empress-like wrapped up in a silk
and cashmere pashmina, twinkling with diamonds in ears
and banded across the top of her head. ‘Yes, a tiara my
dear, nothing like a bit of bling as my friend Saul at
409
r&b.com says’ and she laughed out loud, making Henry
splutter all over her massive breast. ‘ Do you think the
buggers going to bite’ asked Brutus, ‘ Oh yes certainly,
Golden I mean Infinity, are determined to by Christmas Eve
– Santas been gagging to get in with Barry, our olde media
company will make his new economy thingy look good,
particular a Footsie 150 with a bit of a pedigree. Let’s face
it, Moore needs all the cred he can get to keep his balloon
blowing up’ and she leaned over in a whisper, as if she
didn’t want the baby to hear. ‘Really, Bruttie my dear, the
whole thing is one big global con don’t you know, my dear
we just have to make sure we’re not rumbled before we get
out ahead of the game; that’s why we are call the smart
money for gawds sake, that is what the Game is really all
about’. Brutus wilted before the grand city ladies superior
knowledge and suddenly felt frightened if his plan was
going to work with the Big Balls of the Great Tiger feeling
as if the were suddenly over-exposed.
There was then a commotion at the door. Big Baz had
arrived with a bevy of PAs and the top one, the Executive
Assistant, Patricia head to toe in leather and fur, then Des
the FD who’d been with Barry since the start and couple of
410
board directors, KOK smiling smoothly buttoning up his
double breasted in preparation for the event, Garthside sort
of bent behind him and Sir Something Somebody, a lawyer
who had access to No10, still supposedly Making Things
Better Wow o wow and there is Jeremy Glow, News
Presenter and media god with a face of polished leather and
a china plate grin screwed in tight. A couple of flash bulbs
exploded and then the entourage swept through, Barry
glad-handing everyone who had the nerve to say Hello.
‘I’d better go and pay homage’ said Eliza, ‘Come on Bruty,
remember what I said, Management Mantra No 3, always
get in there and show your face’ and she chivvied her now
rather chubby executive terrier along to canoodle the Boss.
The hot air was resounding with an excited wanting coming
from the voices and the pumping fun of Gary Glitters
inevitable Christmas anthem,
Come On Come On
come on in join the fun
it's Christmas time for everyone
No doubt the DJ leaving Slade and they only know its
Christmas till the very end.
411
Poor Gary, thought Barry, another old mucker hitting the
dust, or shit more like. Last week Gary had been banged up
inside for a month after pleading guilty to possessing
Internet porn on his PC. F**king Peado, String him Up was
the tabloids line and people wanted to ban the song, but
Barry had said Fuck off, it had earnt Bartone millions. It
was a pity Paul was drunk when he signed the original deal,
for him at any rate and Barry had had to refuse the recent
begging letter from his lawyers, Business is Business sorry
mate, he’d even scribbled a personal note, but he was
damned he was going to get prudish and ban the Anthem,
after all Paul wasn’t the first rock star who’d gone off the
rails, the Internet, little girls, booze drugs, all addictions for
artists, same as the rest.
Tickle stood leaning against the corner of the bar sipping
his 5th water watching the Great Man Barry, staring at his
Tribe inside the dome and wondered what was he thinking,
whether they were same as us, the Bosses? Or were the
Money people actually different, biologically more
developed, more equipped for the Jungle of a different
genetic strain? Tickle had been into the Presidential Office
412
once, last week with Elizabeth, an eerie at the top of the
Bartone building. It was more like a museum really, or
perhaps an altar, to Barrys life. All his toys were there
including a full blown Harley, long black buckskin sofas,
signed pictures of Barry with footballers, Muhammad Ali
and also the Queen when he got his CBE and a Scaletrix
racing track going around the edge of the suite. Above
hovered a helicopter that apparently, at the beginning,
Barry had taken onto the roof and spent hours playing with
it, after lunch everyday, for months and occupying one
whole brick wall was a stuffed Condor its wings
outstretched. Cabby was just another toy really, thought
Tickle, this thing that is actually killing me 18 hours day,
apon which I am dependent for my House, Baby and Wife,
my life in fact but is just there for a bit Rep massage and to
help Barry keep an eye on son, Dirk, who again had gone
AWOL, last month, the third time in the last four months.
Someone had mentioned Marrakech. Death is the shadow
of life, Dirk had whispered creepily to Tickle before he
disappeared. Death is the shadow of life, coming up behind
you and into his sore ear Death is the shadow of life was all
he said, like a mantra, stoned as usual, wandering around
the Bartone building all day, as if putting people off who
413
still thought they might do their career a favour by chatting
up the Boss’s son.
Toby’s head was now throbbing with the Bass Beat and he
suddenly felt very alone and looked for Janice but she had
gone off chasing Michael from Accounts and hadn’t come
back. She’d already decided it was not going to happen with
this one either but it was all good for a laugh in the dark.
‘And anyway he’d promised to introduce me to Hunglikea..’
she’d said excitedly before being sucked back into the
drunken crowd which was now being drawn towards
another flashbulb mob at the entrance as another sort of
star arrived. Roddy was Bartones in-house TV celebrity
although he was B list really, if not C in the larger world. At
Bartone he sometimes spilled into the Canteen looking
exhausted hung over and hangdog, fagging on Red Top
Extra Strength, a gaggle of girls around him with clipboards
and big felt pens.
Fucked aristo, a painter and decorator sort of, rumours of
Di, rehab and the Crypt, doing up big houses in Notting Hill
for his smart media friends. Trinny, partner of Guy, an old
friend from school, was a producer at Bartone TV and it
414
turned out she needed someone, quickly, as the budget
was only approved last minute, to be ‘the resident pro’ in
What not to do- DIY Hell because Tommy Rayn the oddjob
cockney who did it usually, had just had a nervous
breakdown over leaving his wife for his PA. As it turned out
Roddy had done brilliantly, still buzzing on the previous
nights red wine and speedball being a right laugh a TV
natural, they said, particularly in the wallpaper sequence
joking with the giggling guest housewife about being hung
like a horse. It was all over the tabloids the next day,
getting everyone saying it, the workplace mantra for a
week, hey mate check the horse, from brickies to
barristers, the Mirror even setting up a hotline ‘What size is
Roddy? 50p a call although no one ever actually found out.
Soon Bartone was inundated with requests for more Roddy,
brands like Whoppa Burgers and Magnum demanding more
of him to put between their adverts and then there was the
guest appearances, the Superstore car park openings and
all of a sudden Roddy was driving to Hendon in a new V8
estate, gratis from Audi, two WAP mobiles beeping with
more offers, a fresh Celeb being like Elixer, everyone
wanting a bit of it before it went off. Suck it quick, get in
while its clean and cheap, tie-in on tie-in, Bartone Books,
Video, Radio, TV and Brutus had even got him selling
415
sextips via www.hunglikeahorse.com
Flashbulbs now lit up giant gesticulating shadows on the
brick wall as the celebrity throng came around the edge of
the huge round shed. The Honourable Rod with his possy of
admin girls and awkward Dads trying to get in there to
receive his autograph for the kids and the wife, wink wink.
Roddy stood, a head above most of them, smiling bigmouthed dispensing goodwill and success, a beacon
amongst the ordinary people. He looked almost doll like,
the trademark fuzzy blond hair so well-delineated, a TV
caricature of himself but ‘Excellent for shifting product’ as
Brutus put it, instantly recognizable silhouette imprinted on
the TV brain everyone thinking they knew him intimately,
the Big Brand sneaking inn on the back of that friendship so
they could get right up inside you close.
I know you’ve deceived me, now here’s a surprise
I know that you have cause there’s magic in my eyes
I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles
oh yeah
416
Who? Was that ye olde ancient, the Who? the track was
blaring out memories of his happy teenage years but
Roddy, under the TV gloss was feeling very very tired,
knackered in fact. His natural joie de vivre, having been
replaced by his old mate Charlie was exhausted and he felt
permanently as if he was on Autodrive. His witty and weird
one-liners now had to be scripted, felt awkward and forced
and Roddy being dyslexic, wasn’t that good at reading lines
so the chat show, Horsetalk produced by Bartone for Live 5
was torture and everyone except the bosses knew it was
going to be a total flop. Roddy the Red Nosed Reindeer was
now his secret handle and the show was simply beyond
him, it wasn’t as easy as it seemed on the Box.
The thing was, thought Brutus looking from the Boards
table on the balcony down his own long nose at the throng,
the thing was to get as much out of them, these minor
Celebs as soon as you can, before the inevitable decline
when you bung ‘em on Freedom TV Channel 101, leaving
space for even fresher Celebs to be forced on. It wouldn’t
be long before they had tradeshow and markets for Celebs
both Ready to go, Vintage or Used and what with Sheila,
the Virtual Reality Pop up Girl Simon Fuckface was
417
supposedly making, you’d soon be able to order a Celeb
bespoke online. Brutus sighed. Yeah it wasn’t a problem
the talent, didn’t really need people anymore, the ‘art’ was
easy, all programmable, it was the Users and getting them
interacting that was the only art left. Numbers Numbers
Numbers Numbers that’s all that matter, as Gramps always
said, pile 'em high and sell 'em cheap, make the fuckers
reduce their World to the one on Screen then make 'em
feel they'll loose it if they don’t use, interact, make ‘em
they’ll be left with nothing if be they don’t pay up. Yeah,
users, clients, consumers, befuddled by choice, hyped up
by ads and jacked up with all too available credit as his
Exec MBA dissertation so succinctly said, the final piece of
the jigsaw to make 21st century capitalism omnipotent is
ecommerce informed by intimate knowledge of the user
through ubiquitous access to the World Wide Web. Brutus
smiled at last, feeling glad he’d abandoned that sculpture
course and taken the other course, even though that was
when the trouble had started with Sophie, but eh, grinning
tightly at Elizabeth squeezed in too tightly beside him so he
was almost pushed off the seat, the party is not over until
the fat lady sings…
418
I know you’ve deceived me, now here’s a surprise
I know that you have cause there’s magic in my eyes
I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles
oh yeah
The sounds of more rock royalty, another old mate Pete,
made Barry smile, as he heard the Money going clink clink
clink into the bank. More royalties each time it was played;
royalty on royalty, so to speak, point on point as the
smartass say. Fuck you Electrobux he still had the
publishing, so there and if you had the artist it didn’t matter
how it got out to the folk, even through this net stuff he
didn’t really get.
‘The Internet will be replaced by Religion,
Man’ old Pete was quoted in the Pink One last week; just
because he was 60 and still with us Pete was now seen as
some sort of guru rather than the fucked up narcissist he
and all the other artistes was. ‘The Internet will be replaced
by Religion’- what the fuck did that mean anyway?
There was a general move to the dance floor happening and
Barry knew that he was now obliged to go on it and flap
around. That was the point of the Christmas party really, a
few hours with the shutters down, sort of, the ordinary
419
people let out of their compartments for a moment to be
who they were the hierarchies discarded till dawn, and
then, come morning, regrets and alka zelter putting the lid
back on, screwed tight with targets and accounts for
another 12 months. ‘Come on, Baz’s on the floor’ Tickle
heard one of the Receptionists say ‘Be a laugh seeing the
Fat Cunt dance’.
Oh my lovely darling
I’ve hungered for your touch a long
Lonely time. Time goes by so slowly..
A whooping came up from the crowd at the start of the
instant vampire classic, marketed as a piece of nostalgia
already after only a year, Jackson & Ray, courtesy of Simon
says when he was A&R at Bartone began billowing out
between the drapes. It was the snog song, where
traditionally there was going to be interdepartmental throng
of happenings and mishaps, as the stars whirled around
above the darkened dance floor, where not so long ago
there were human spiders climbing up the wall.
Was Simon here? worried Tickle, Janice said he had been
seen lurching around Bartone TV trying to sell Virtual Pop
Stars Live to the Bartone execs. ‘It’s the Way of the future,
420
the way of the future, the way of the…’ he kept on saying to
them, over and over again, going on and on and on until
they’d finally said Yes to the Pilot, just to get him to fuck
off out of their face. Toby needed another piss, after ten
Bartone Minerals he was bursting. ‘Are you alright mate?’
said the Aussie barman as Tickle stood stock rigid and
uptight. And again suddenly, as if in another time zone, he
felt very alone, cold stone sober as the party moved to its
drunken climax and the pre requisite disarray. Where is
she? Tara? He needed to latch on to, even the fantasy.
Perhaps tonight was the night? On the dance floor, in the
drapes, corners and against the back wall, the frenchies
were in full flow, couples rolling around the curtains out of
the dance floor than back in again, groping each other in
uncomfortable postures, always one with an eye open over
the shoulder, scanning the observers who were going to
spread the story the next day, feeding the office gossip for
another year minus a day. Shit, he thought, as if being
affected by the sexual gases issuing from the desirous
mass, he could really do with a fuck.
Toby and Tina were not really at it much now, the shame
and pain around the Miscarriage making it, the act, carry
421
too much weight; it was if the body had become the scene
of the crime which made them both guilty. O gawd, would
they ever have another try? Or another baby? For them
they had become inextricably mixed. They’d lie there, at
discordant angles either side of the big bed, each at their
own edge looking outward at their own particularly sea,
groping for some hope, some new horizon, an unseen
future somehow made discernable in the darkness there.
Ashamed as he was he’d begun, secretly, to wait till Tina
was asleep and then get into his own adventure with Tina,
his erection like a toy soldier let out on parade, exercising
in those old times of passionate lovings the pushing and the
pulling swimming with the fishes and then increasingly Tara
had been replacing the fact of his sort of wife, there as just
the Other, open, forgiving, all giving without the history and
recriminating whispers disturbing the fantasy perfect
pictures beautiful, fulsome and all involving the loving like
a dance in a trance finally becoming One.
It was a relief, but it was a swindle really; relieving the
pain, getting the pleasure but without the Other, others, it
was the baseline addiction, a sick self love. Little wanker
the voice said again, Shedding the seed gives the power
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away the Hindus had said and they didn’t even screw but,
for Toby, it felt more a defeat that all that energy wasn’t
being used to build the real thing, a love, a baby, a life.
Bollocks, it wasn’t meant to be like this, why was it Love, so
difficult and why wouldn’t they stop the fucking doubts, in
him and her, the doubts about the house, the job job and
at base about them, about this act of just being normal,
ignoring the real inside, the suspicion that somehow even if
he did get the money it wouldn’t work out. He kept pushing
them down, as she did, the doubts that he was living the
entirely wrong life, she was living with the wrong man but
the effort was getting harder like keeping a lid on an
Earthquake and he was becoming increasingly convinced
that something would get him, the heart, the stroke, the
cancer that would hit him if he didn’t work it, the doubt, out
soon enough.
O gawd, a Catch22 wasn’t it? Tobys gut tightened. And it
must be frightening for Tina to be with someone who was
so unsure of themselves, when there wasn’t much trust in
her in the first place. And staring out at the sea of heads
bobbling under the multicolored lights Toby sighed into him
self.
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But feeling awkward Toby tried to defend him by deciding
Tinas lack of trust was in fact the real reason for his doubt
her doubt the real reason for his. All those years waiting
behind the net curtain for Dad not to turn up again and not,
the Man, all men, becoming in her Life her Psyche always
unreliable, unsafe, bad. Fuck it, he then decided, trying to
off load his shame, in fact whatever he did, wouldn’t make
her and anything else change.
--------
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22.
I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I
would thou wert cold or hot.
So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor
hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth.
Revelation 3: 15-16
Twang the elastic snapped as Buzz Lightening shot off the
side table and flew up over the sofa shouting Infinity and
beyond and then round past the fire and down Dugga
Dugga Dugga Dugga, spittle flying out of the little boys face
going red intently focused on the coming combat as the
Bombardier Superman circled up high again around the
pirate ship and, as if to get a better view hovering for a
moment, a flicker of the Devil in little Johnny’s eye taking a
big gulp of air and then down down down again Dugga
Dugga Dugga Dugga his high voice getting louder and
louder as the plane did a Kamikaze smash right into the
side of the plastic pirate ship t’smithereens, t’smithereens,’
Johnny shouting and the little boy with the wide face and
curly hair looking like Jamie Oliver going amok, kicking
apart stamping the plastic ship bits flying everywhere
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stomping on Captain Hook and his crew Johnny getting
redder and redder, Dugga Dugga Dugga Dugga, t
smithereens screaming high-pitched beginning to
hyperventilate raging at his imaginary pain being multiplied
by News 24 on the TV behind him the Toy Story video
having ended and again in a white desert the women and
children crying out, scarved faces imploring with open
hands, the camera lingering on the smoldering ruins of their
bombed out houses behind, ‘allied commanders apologized
today for the collateral damage of the Spring bombing
campaign as hundreds of Kosovans have to deal not only
with injury and low supplies but some of the worst snows in
living memory’’…
‘Oh Johnny Johnny how could you? What’s going on? Come
on Johnny what did I say about other peoples houses. OH
GAWD have you been drinking that Bartone Mineral shit?
Johnny What’s going on?…’ Ellen huffing and puffing busied
herself getting all the debris together again, another
skirmish in the constant battle to contain the unruly boy.
‘Bloody boy Come on Johnny, quieten down and come next
door, come and sit with me, Tina and Alisha ’; ‘No I don’t
want to’ ‘ No, yes, no come on we need to clean up, now
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you really have get a grip with this aggression haven’t you
Johnny all this shouting, just like bloody dad. A bull in a
china shop Come on Darling’ ‘NO I don’t want to” ‘Come on,
calm down...Stop acting out’. It wasn’t clear if she was
talking to herself or her five year old boy. Ellen was frazzled
and more than a little confused having been next door
smoking spliff and drinking wine with Tina in a sort of pre
Christmas party, Alisha back from Australia and it was a bit
of a Hen doo really, all in their way putting the world to
rights. ‘Oh come on Johnny don’t be a spoilt sport’ ‘No I
want to stay here, I’m not coming’ ‘Oh yes you are” ‘Oh no
I’m not...’ ‘Oh yes you are…’
The pair of old rock chicks in the kitchen next door couldn’t
hear the homegrown panto, as Tina and Alisha were busy
talking about themselves in a forest fire of cheap Hackney
skunk. Alisha was in full spout, loud and Aussie direct ‘and
there was this fucking farmer in Canada, Saska
Shash..Sasasha’, her tongue getting caught up in the S’ss
‘Fuck it, Canada, and fuckin Monsanto in the next farm
patented this apple it took over his field and then they said
they owned the fuckin crop and there was nothing he could
do about it, poor sod, farming there for 30 fuckin years his
lovely apples gone, the shits there was nothing he could do’
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and Alisha was really angry about it but, then, she suddenly
stopped and said, quietly matter of fact, ‘Nature will fuck us
all up though in the end, you’ll see. We’ll mutate, all die
and Nature will take over again and regenerate’ and sighing
she added ‘It’s Natures Revenge you know, the Ozone hole
over NZ..’. ‘Yeah, Gawd’ said Tina realising something
serious had been said ‘The fuckers’ Alisha screamed again,
‘they’re even trying to get hold of the core DNA for wheat…
Soon the Conglomerates will own all the Worlds fucking
bread’.
‘That’s shit. Bastards’ agreed Tina, although she couldn’t
quite get her head round Alisha’s new anti GM thing.
Narcissism and Intimacy her head was full of, her latest
counseling course set text. Isolation and Alienation that was
what it was all about really, those caused people to be shits
and Tina assured herself that her own mission was to sort
out the world but one to one not many, she’d leave the
political campaigning to Alisha. Change happens in the little
things not the large her Mum always said.
428
Last night Tina’d been doing the Samaritans, Midnight to
four, the shift she really liked, when the real fuck ups came
out of the woodwork and it made her feel good, the
happiest since the miscarriage, being part of the great
unhappiness out there far bigger than her and by helping, it
made her feel she belonged, fully alive in the Big Hell.
Paul had rung again; Peado Paul the women had joked in
their tea break. It was almost every night now and she and
him has got to first names terms although you weren’t
really meant to. ‘You know what I’d like to do Tina, don’t
you, swivel 'em so small and cuddly, around on me twizzle
stick like, how about you? Would you like a go hey Tina?
How tall are you anyway, would you like to dress up in little
girls clothes would you, eh darling?’ Another one of the sad
– they all had gone wrong, perverted before they knew it,
early childhood or even before Tina was now sure of that.
Poor things she now thought of her would be babies, and
the fraught nature with Toby hearing herself wonder if they
weren’t even meant to have been born. ‘Yes Paul we’ve
been here before haven’t we?” she said trying to keep a
calm moderated tone; the aim was not be threatening, get
them to come out of themselves. ‘Now Paul, why are you
calling, How are you feeling?’ Unconditional listening, get
them to own their feeling that was the point, not to judge-
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we are all looking for love after all. The lust for children is
the crying out for the dead child inside, the despair acting
out…the book said and then, suddenly, Tina felt like crying
again, herself, about hers, and she did suddenly collapsing
into herself.
‘Oh Tina Darling don’t worry” said Alisha, wrapping her arm
around her sobbing friend. It always happened
unexpectedly, just feeling empty, inside, awfully sad. ‘It’s
alright. Come on, come here’. Tina just wanted to be held
by anyone really, but most of all by Toby the other half of
the loss. But he didn’t, he couldn’t, he never hugged her
anymore, not once since it had happened. It seemed he
was still so angry; about it, the death, not her she knew
that, almost, and she knew he was working very hard
trying to make it right again, get the money for her to feel
safe again, secure enough to try again for another baby.
But she couldn’t kid herself- she no longer felt safe with
him, of that she was now sure and he was never here
anyway, just working, always, around the clock working,
coming home tired and stressed and although he said the
carrot was for her she sensed he was drifting away into a
different world all together which the carrot would just
430
confirm. No, she sobbed, they hadn’t grieved together at
all, it seemed they were in it separately, the loss and their
individual griefs taking them each in a different direction,
each to a totally different place. O gawd.
'Mummy, Mummy why is Tina crying Mummy?’ Johnny was
very concerned and went to hold onto Ellens leg, his Mum
standing there looking at the two women holding each
other up. Order order in the quiet a distant Radio could be
heard. Yesterday in Parliament…..Cunts Alisha mouthed but
there was no laughing. It was 11.30. Ellen needed to get
back and Tina broke from Alisha and turned round again to
hold her arms out to Johnny, hands open, only worried that
he was worried. ‘Goodbye darling dear’ she said hugging
him, tears now streaming down both of them, face to face.
‘Fucking cunt’ he said to himself, he felt like shit, so
uncomfortable in himself he wanted to scream; he just had
to get out, change his life. Toby was moving slowly through
the drunken throng thinking of Tina but trying to find Tara
again. She looked a bit like Tina but smaller, lighter and
she had, being single, a happy go lucky sort of air so
attractive as an anecdote to Tinas heavy despair. In fact
431
Tara was a composite of all the opposites to all Tinas faults;
a holiday from his life and every time he saw her, across
the canteen, coming out of a lift, his heart jumped and then
she’d smile he felt like he’d been blessed. Yes, there was
another life out there away from the torture of his shame,
the guilt over the damaged mate, the gap left by the
missing child and it seemed to be the natural remedy to the
relationship with Tina now corrupted by all that garbage the
Anger and Sadness still unsaid and unshared. Lots of
people did it, wasn’t it par for the course, move on from the
grief and start again? It kept you going as well, Tara
something to focus on another life, another future, a place
apart where increasingly Tickle imagined he wanted to and
in fact was meant to be living in.
Wish you were Here, he’d already constructed it, the life, it
took him about a day from that moment when his stomach
had leapt, the colour of the sheets, the two girls, the house
in the country, a little pad in town, laughter and intimacy
both not drinking, both loving the countryside, both trusting
the other, basically everything obverse to Tina and the Life
he already had. It was beautiful, the fantasy film was
almost complete and there was a bit of him that began to
432
dread actually meeting Tara at all, afraid to disturb the
picture postcard he had already painted, to find out it
wasn’t really real and it would never ever happen, ad to
have to wait and see what actually did. Toby wondered then
if he actually preferred living with the sweet and sour
feeling in his gut, the pangs of deprized love, an unrequited
longing, the almost becoming but not quite, the virtual
reality of an imagined life, not living it just hoping to have
it, the life, later on. To be or not to be…Is that what his
gravestone epitaph would be?..It’s just a rehearsal isn’t it? .
Shit he had to get out, home, anyway but here.
Twenty first century here we come
Good Luck for the Next Millennium
from Barry and all the board at Bartone plc
The large banner was hanging from the rafters, across the
entrance or exit, depended which way you were going. The
Millennium three weeks away and enforced expectation
filled the air, people thinking they should be excited but not
really sure why really snarled Tickle to himself, except there
would be a New Year party a bit bigger than there was last
year? We’re gonna really push the boat out this time the
wankers would say, and of course all were expected to be
433
good to their neighbour for at least another day. But
underneath he knew, under the party urge all pissed
lingered an insipid fear of the Year 2000, the Millennium
Bug, the nightmare of everything stopping and planes
dropping out of the sky. Total System Breakdown, the
experts had christened it in the States. Strike had told him
it was in fact just another corporate con, hidden inside the
bigger one, to get people to buy more IT gear, and couldn’t
stop himself thinking if in fact his life was about to
breakdown not the PC, perhaps the fear was in fact more
personal, individual but multiplied into a mass market
wave, each person having to face up to Time, their own, of
what hadn’t been, what will, and what in the end Time
meant. End of. Death. It was the same as at every New
Year, perhaps that’s why everyone got so drunk; but this
year it was the Millennium, the Big One, the date so nailed
into everyone head that it filled each with a panic, that New
Year feeling increased two thousand fold to the point that
now it couldn’t be suppressed, oblivion was beyond us all
now it seemed. This time Time cried out for Change, too
loud to be ignored. Death is a shadow Dirk had said, over
and over again and Toby now began to think he knew what
he meant.
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Barff, Barff, Barff; someone was throwing up in the corner
of the bog, the acrid tinge making Tobys nostrils tickle and
twinge. The floor was awash with sodden fags, wet toilet
paper crushed beer cans and Toby breathed out long and
slowly as he let go of the bladder again. It wasn’t so bad,
he could hold out at the party for a little longer, he didn’t
want to be seen to skulk away. He just had to hold on a
little bit longer. Janice had said there were rumours that
the Cabby was getting sold to Santa Moores Golden and
then they’d all get some bunce, enough to get out of this
shit, he just had to hold on a little longer, make everything
tidy, cover up the cracks so they could flog it before the all
the code collapsed.
Toby looked at his reflection in the mirror. His face was
very pale in under the harsh light of the toilet, camouflaged
almost not there against the white tiles behind. Bleached
skin unholidayed for fours years now, 28 Internet time,
black purple bags around his eyes and all those hours on
the Screen exacerbated no doubt by the IBS. The eyes
were washed out, the look he hated in others, sort of
anonymous, bloated too. Heinrichs sore had crept above his
hairline on his neck, red and scabby, which even the polar
neck wouldn’t cover; maybe it was the cost of being
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executive management, thinking back to Simon Jones
pockmarked skin. Tickle was Managing Director Designate
now though the salary was still a promise and he felt half
triumphant and half exposed as everyone else had left, all
paid off now to keep their mouths shut and be an ally
rather than a foe.
Had Cabby taken them all to where they wanted to go?
Keith and Helen or so Janice had said, were setting up a
beauty clinic in Palm Springs, home of ole’ blue eyes and
lots of other almost dead people playing golf. Harpozo Inc
had been sold to Sky for a quid but was in stasis, not doing
anything except being constantly puffed up by Sky, still
walking around Silicon with his Starlink ‘contract’, hoping to
hitch a ride on the shoulder of a giants IPO. Strike, or so
Janice said, had even sold off the old computer equipment
and gone off with Aziz to Saudi on holiday. ‘You know,
check out Armageddon before it blows’ he’d said
mysteriously in an email to Bez. ‘Security not ecomm
matey, that the next big thing for you for sure. I’m into
stem cells, memory and immortality’s my gig now, so see
you in Hell’.
The Froths, Pinky and Perky has Janice called
them, had been officially resigned ‘to pursue other
436
interests’, sacked really but still with shares paid to keep
out of the way, although Chris too had been seen lurking
around the edges of Bartone and was into Mobile
apparently. ‘It’s the Way of the future, Download music on
phones’ and Janice’d said that Garthside had told her that
Mobile Users were being valued at 8K a head, Net ones at
only 4K. It was how all companies were being valued now,
no one seemed to know why, but it made Strike invention
of Cloned Users for Cabby 6.9 very useful indeed. It was in
everyone’s interest to inflate their numbers, it was what
was required and everyone was doing it right up and down
the Money Chain, everyone was now implicated in the not
quite innocent worldwide web of dot con fraud. The game,
it seemed, was to now get what you could get away with
before the big balloon burst. Everyone knew it had become
insane but no one wanted to say so, no one wanting to be a
party pooper so it had to wait until after the big 2K. The
Millennium. What did it really matter anyway? Its only
Money. 800million fucking quid the Dome had lost, 800
million quid the Queens bank had burnt and that was just
one little bloke in Sing sing, and 800million quid half was
what Yahoo had raised in a day. Fucking hell….what’s a few
million here and there eh? And all Toby had wanted was a
few crumbs off the Rich Mans table so he could have time
437
to try and get his life back again, to get back to his true
self, make it work with Tina, the Baby and the House and
now although he didn’t want to admit it he was too
ashamed to go back there, feeling he’d sold out, and only
through getting what he’d sold out to could he be
redeemed.
Yes he was lost to it now, he might as well just admit it,
just be Toby Tickle MD Global fuck it and IT, the comeback,
salvation, he was now one of them and Millennium Hamlet
was buried forever in some deep down drawer. He was now
the Executive Management, another little Big Man. Forget
conscience, the worry about the lies and being found out,
accept the dog eat dog the fraud, in Business that’s how it
was, just accept Life is like that, a bitch and then you die
and fuck it you might as well enjoy it while you can, albeit
at the bottom of the rung. ‘You’ve made it my son, MD Foot
150 subsidiary, it was all going to be alright’ had said Keith
before he’d left, with one of his cheeky chappy bleached
smiles.
And now at the Bartone Millennium Christmas Party, as the
Countdown began everyone faking it as there was almost a
438
month to go, Tickle followed the media crowd to see the
fireworks coming off the roof. 10,9,8, 7…. midnight they all
chanted and the Tribe of Barry were all whooping and
wailing and Toby was staring up at the sky and, despite his
recent resolution to be part of the crowd, his self suspended
in an acceptance of his fate, suddenly felt he had to cry.
The exploding stars were so full of themselves then so
quickly gone, leaving only the wanting of more and
exhausted it felt like the beginning as well as the end and
full of loss for the child he hadn’t had again and the one
dying inside him Toby turned his face up to the heavens
and screamed again, O gawd, you fucking cunt…
-----------
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PART THREE
Infinity and beyond
2000-2002
A tormenting thought: as of a certain point, history was no
longer real. Without noticing it, all mankind suddenly left
reality; everything happening since then was supposedly
not true; but we supposedly didn’t notice. Our task would
now be to find that point, and as long as we didn’t have it,
we would be forced to abide in our present destruction.
Elias Canneti (1978: 69)
440
23.
Those who want to live, let them fight, and those who do
not want to fight in this world of eternal struggle do not
deserve to live."
Adolf Hitler
Infinity and Beyond…Whoopee, whistle whistle wallop
wallop way hay Hurray, the cheers went round the openplan office, a Mexican wave of white shirts and ties going
up and down along the ranks of cubicles and PCs, some
clapping others just beaming, bodies over brimming with
excitement, all the energy being funneled into each
executives index finger caressing the touchpad of their IBS
500 to check again with a little tap, the live feed of the
price of the Infinity stock; 62 pounds 52 someone
hollered…Whoopee Whistle Wallop Hurray, the shouts
zigzagged across the room, the mist of testosterone and
exhilaration thickening the air as the collective wealth of
the two score and ten predominantly middle aged white
men on April Fools Day 2000 AD almost miraculously,
reproduced and multiplied again threefold.
441
The Big One, it had come at last the one that the men had
all been waiting for holding on tight, the Promise of the
Riches was now being harvested as it had already had been
in the US of A, the Dotcom Tsunami having rolled over here
at last and there in the corner, the beaming red face of
Father Christmas again out of season this time in Spring,
Santa Moore the Happy Reaper, holding a bottle of
champagne which he ceremoniously opened with a Pop, the
cork ricocheting off the high beams into the large propeller
blades of the hanging fan shredding it into little pieces now
floating down into the oblivious throng, with only a few
noticing the dirty cork in the spent froth of their Cava,
bobbling around in their cheap polystyrene cups.
‘Speech Speech’ someone shouted, ‘Speech Speech’ others
went on ‘Alright maties, what do you think I’m standing
here for’ Santa grunting amiably, ‘Wallies’ he said clearing
his throat. ‘Well,’ he pronounced ‘My fellow believers’ now
in an altogether different voice, deeper more sonorous
almost public school, only a hint of the alien twang lurking;
it was Maxwell reincarnated as a super sized super
confident Elf. Ding...Ring of…
442
‘So it looks like we’ve done it, doesn’t it maties, the Vishcon
deal has certainly excited the market and it looks like we’ve
caught the market wave at just the right time in it’s
increasingly upward curve riding the crest so to speak…’.
‘Whoa there Silver’ a voice came from the back and a few
people laughed; ‘Way to go Dude’. It was that fucker
Benny, his supposed partner and Chairman, ‘How the fuck
was he going to get him out of the picture’ Santa couldn’t
help thinking but made himself smile benignly instead.
‘Thanks Your Lorship. Who’d have thought heh Benny when
you and I first set out into the Internet business five years
ago with the acquisition of WebTel Ltd, working out of that
shoebox on Fenchurch, who’d have thought that our little
bulb so to speak would propagate so quickly now yielding
so great a harvest now. What a truly wonderful world we do
indeed live in’ he beamed, feeling goodness spreading all
around inside him and out ‘ From WebTel to Golden ISP the
market had served us, the acquisition of Mobme, Cabby and
now Infinity Global IT Investments plc flowering before our
eyes in its glorious multiplicity… ’. Pop, another champagne
bottle went off and Janice, blushing in the middle of a bevy
of squealing women, admin and PAs behind Santa, giggling
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to do that’ and Santa couldn’t resist
443
seizing the moment and giving her a big one right smack on
the kisser, getting everyone cheering him on. After all what
the point of this malarkey, he grinned wiping his goatee, if
it isn’t being able to get it on and if you’re lucky, up.
‘Cunts, what’s the point of this shit, the point is to get the
Money and fuck off’ muttered Tickle calculating the size of
his options, hidden in his cubicle at the opposite end of the
Office, away from the party using a pile of loose change to
figure it out. Standing on the Shoulder of Giants; it was
written around the edge of the £2 coin he noticed now for
the first time, it seemed even real money was implicated in
the game. Money Rules OK so fuck you but that’s what he
did understand, the prime management rule and that’s
what he now accepted. He did the options sums again:
6000 shares in Infinity granted at a nominal pound sell at
60 equals Three hundred and sixty thousand fucking quid
Toby told himself again, what a fucking result he said
again, he shouldn’t sell them all though and again he
whispered ‘What a result mate, trying to persuade himself it
was a real. The carrot had been got at last. Now was it the
Time, Carpe Deum Seize the Day, as Sky said, now he
could become the Man he said he ought to be; the house in
444
the country as well as town, and the one abroad maybe.
Millennium Hamlet, fuck it he could pay for the movie pilot
himself now and, if Tina couldn’t deliver, he could always
buy the fucking kids online –in Russia they said they were
cheap. His dream, his Vision it was all available to him now
and he could make the picture postcard come to life at last.
He just had to go and sell the share after this stupid party
and then he’d be rich, and free, (well after his 2 year
contract lock in had expired) finally. But why did he feel so
empty inside?
Infinity and Beyond…Whoopee, whistle whistle wallop
wallop way hay Hurray, more cheers, more champagne,
someone was playing Football anthems on their PC and a
new Mexican wave was starting to roll around the open plan
office again two blocks away from the Old Street
roundabout and the divine Jennifer Aniston, Rachel from
Friends was advertising GAP SPRING on the giant Screen
locked in between the two huge white horns. So looked so
happy- she was getting married to Brad Pitt in July the
headline in Tina’s Heat had pronounced. NO GODS NO
MASTERS and FREEDOM is A the graffiti said on the odd
metal sculpture in the patch of park outside the office, but
445
inside the GOD was MONEY and FREEDOM came with a high
price attached. 289 billion dollars, the Deal of the
Millennium VISHON AND D-Tel Christmas Eve 1999 was
when it had happened, the whole madness kicking off and
everyone had suddenly wanted in on the Game, a head of
head honchos charging: Santa, Elizabeth, Brutus and even
Barry had suddenly wanted to be part of the party, urgent
to get it sorted by Christmas, PCs rather than Pigs, Bartone
selling Cabby to Infinity then taking a slice and stuck in the
lawyers office there amid handshakes and champagne Toby
was almost sick looking out of the 31st floor window of the
Nat West Tower, all mirrors and the lights of the City going
into a blur, shimmering like sparkles in the madness and
Toby had sensed another seismic shift somewhere beneath
him, everything in his World becoming wobbly again.
Cabby 7 sold for 50mill, New Media Age 3rd page, ‘Peanuts
eh’ had said Chris Froth, who’d crept into the lawyers like a
lizard dressed in black, ‘Amazon’s just been valued at
37billion’ he’d sneered before sliding away smiling having
signed away his shares, rich and fat receding back into the
City Lagoon night. And walking away from the Tower
towards the Millennium through the frenzied last minute
446
Christmas shopping crowds, Toby had wanted to shout out,
it worked Ma I’m on top of the world MA, 50mill, at last he
had 300K, my carrot, I’m a winner now, but he didn’t. He
told himself he was a winner he was, insisting, feeling
robotic in the new black suit and tie Eliza had insisted he’d
buy for the signing but he felt ugly and awkward all too
aware that he too had just been sold too, part of the
package defined and small compared the Money in the bank
Towers along Broadgate. Rich? He had no time, no
freedom, just part of the prezzie tied up nicely for another
Rich Man to play with. O gawd.
Everything you need for Life’ the big red balloon said, Toby
read looking out of the window as Santas party reached its
crescendo behind him, Whoopee Way Hay Wallop…The
Bartone Airship, this time promoting Bartone Online, looked
vaguely lost floating over East London and seemed
dangerously close to the Canary Wharf winking in the
distance, the Towers apex light flashing in the low damp
cloud. He wondered whether it would hit the top of Number
One Canada Square, like another those poor disorientated
birds, the sparrows at the VNC demo at Power over a
447
decade of Internet time before, but would it go Pop instead
of Splat?
The champagne was over and the white shirts were getting
ready to depart. Toby had never been in a place like
Infinity where everyone, from the Cleaner through to Big
Cheeses, talked so much about Money: how the share
price was doing, how others stock was doing, when to cash
out or buy in, reallocation of assets, pensions, buy to let,
gold, silver, endowments, annuities, offshore onshore,
premium bonds, sales and insider info, even the Lottery
was the main topic of conversation outside of the Business,
like leisure ItcouldbeyouItcouldbeyouItcouldbeyoutoo
Nobody seemed to bother where the Money came from,
whether anything was being made and all Toby could think
of was the fact that his Money he knew was based on a lie,
a con trick he was part of, users inventing for an invention
that didn’t work. It was fraud. Cabby was broken and there
were no Users and it had been bought for 50 mill on the
basis that it was the next AOL and there were 1.2 million
users already and now, the Money dome he was the only
one left at the scene of the lie. He couldn’t sleep at night
anymore, now next door from Tina unable to rest after
448
three years solid stress, twenty one in Internet time, body
mind or soul. Odd really, he suddenly realized, the
situation, because sleeping with Tina was one of the main
reasons he’d done this shit, and lied, in the first place. And
he couldn’t even get pissed.
The night before Toby had gone upstairs by himself while
Tina communed stoned with Jeremy on Newsnight; she did
every night now since the last miscarriage, and without
planning to he had put on her knickers and some stockings
and hooked her stilettos over his toes; it felt odd but it
made him oddly happy and he wasn’t sure why. He’d been
looking at a porn site in the basement, his new addiction,
trying to drum up some interest in himself for trying it later
on with her or by himself. It was worrying him that he was
finding it harder and harder to get a hard on, despite
concocting particularly complicated films in his head. Self
abuse, the Oxford Dictionary defined Masturbation, which
seemed old fashioned though he did always feel a bit soiled,
less than afterwards. Of course, it was always better acting
out the preconceived pictures with someone else live. ‘What
do you think I am, some cardboard cut out on which to
project your fucked up fantasies’ had scolded Tina last time
449
she’d said, No. ‘Piss Off, go and buy a blow up doll’, she’d
snarled when he’d last asked, going back to her half empty
bed to carry on reading fucking Trauma and Recovery, or
Narcissism and Intimacy when she was really annoyed. Oh
Gawd. OK he had the Money but where was his fucking Life.
Santa and Benny now were coming through the crowd of
white shirts on their way home. It was 17.30 and Santa
didn’t change his routine for anyone; it was the 17.54 back
to Chelmsford everyday as it had been for the last 20 years
and Benny, well, he wasn’t in the office much anyway. ‘At
the races with investors watching the geegees’ his PA Tracy
had say, ‘Off with the girls going fuckyfuck more like’,
Bradley her big fat son had whispered, followed by a wink
and a Monty Python nudge. But now the CEO and Chairman
were shaking everyone’s hands, people coming up almost
fawning with gratitude. It was getting quite emotional as
the two Dot com pioneers who, having saved most of the
white shirts from terminal redundancy and then lead them
into the unknown of Dotcom had actually delivered to them
to the promised land of share options, salaried
employment and there was a sense that they had all been
being redeemed. Both Santa and Benny had red faces and
450
white beards oozing goodwill and largesse, eyes twinkling
and it was Bradley again who whispered loudly what
everyone else was perhaps thinking, certainly Tickle, ‘ Well
you know I think I’d be really fucking nice if I had 500 mill’.
‘Unfit to stand trial’ or that’s what the Morton Thomas’s
executive had pleaded at his fraud trial where he’d turned
up dressed as a woman in court. The Judge couldn’t handle
it and let the guy/woman off the half a billion that’d
disappeared, rather than have that awful thing back in his
court, a turncoat capitalist who’d then exposed the sick
fantasy beneath. But Toby Tickle, the best Hamlet since
Burton, would have had to push his talent to get away that
and the other anti fraud trick already played, Alzheimer’s
and not remembering anything, the other stock in trade for
caught con men in the City, seemingly guaranteeing
another mis-trial. Fraud, Toby tried to reassure himself,
was too slippery for the Law, was always allowed to wriggle
away. The Money could buy itself enough Time to delay, in
order for the righteous outrage to fade, so Tickle decided
now that he needed to sell his shares fast before the Game
was up, he needed to make sure he had the carrot banked
before they lifted up the page to see what was underneath
his words and he’d have to hire lawyers too. And as if to
451
boost his confidence before taking the giant step towards
the Big Sell he checked his Inbox one more time, seeking
that feeling of being connected to a power far greater to
himself, the World Wide Web and his ego being soothed
specifically by the injection of Getting 1 of 143 messages
now… downloading into him as the bar of Outlook filled, like
a syringe drawing blood before the hit.
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452
-------------------
How did they know? How did they know his frailties, hang
up and needs? Where the computers checking his pail, his
porno surfing at home, was the Serious Fraud office already
onto him now, the Lie. He had to cash in and get out now.
17.34. 20 minutes before the Morton trading desk closed.
He’d better hurry in order to sell and he half hoped that
Time would prevent him doing so, because he knew also,
although he didn’t want to admit it, that it would mean
monetizing his Time spent to date and tell him exactly what
his life was worth and he knew, once the heartache and
hours was added up it wasn’t going to be very much. He
wanted to avoid the impending sense of loss. To sell or not
to sell? Reality now or further speculation? Split, wobbly
and sick, although he didn’t know it, the Truth was what
Toby really was allergic to.
Tickle followed the other white shirts into the centre of the
City, most going to Liverpool Street to be distributed into
the East. He stopped in Broadgate Circus, walls of high
453
windows crisscrossed with girders around the ice rink
surrounded by neat little coffee kiosks. BUSH 2000; a flag
fluttered out of 10 floor window. In each corner a mirror
Tower of an American Bank above the Ice rink that was
now thawed he felt cozy inside the Citadel, finally accepted
into the Moneys heart. Toby stood behind a massive marble
pillar to make the call to the broker, acting nonchalant as if
he did it everyday, like a cut price Gordon Gecko, dialing
his Guy at Morton Thomas whose direct number the MT
Gold Card Santa had given him had on it like a credit card.
‘Hello MT Gold Trading Desk’, ‘Sell entire holding at 70 or
over’ ‘What’s that 6000?’ ‘Yep ASAP. Err no, 4000’ ‘Oh OK
... Difficult letting go heh…’ ‘What?’ ‘Sorry...Right Ho, see
what I can do- Ill call you back shortly’. Err, is that it?
Toby stood back under the huge golden letters of the
Morton Thomas Logo, pretending he’d just flown in from
NYC and smoked another fag. Should be a Havana rather
than a roll-up of Old Holborn, but he breathed it as deep as
he could. He wanted to blow up like Santa, to make his
chest swell wanting so much to feel part of it, the Money,
finally connected to that he had most fear of, Money,
known before only as debt sickening for years behind the
454
Yellow Star of the IVA and now it was opening a door to let
him inside itself, to the place where itself was made.
Beep beep, mobile ringing. ‘Good News. Two trades. 2-5 at
70 and 1-5 at 72.60 Congratulations’ the Dealer announced
sounding a bit too casual…Didn’t the fucker realize out
much this money had cost him? Could the guy tell Tickle
was an amateur let in for the Millennium play? Toby tried
to sound unfazed, ‘OK fine.’ ‘Are the Funds to be allocated
to Infinitys off-shore account Infinity has registered with
you?’ ‘Err..’ Toby didn’t know he had one ‘Err... OK er..
half…’ ‘Anything else?’ and Toby wanted to go through a
raft of other shares, sales and buys, but that was it, it was
the only stock he had and he’d sold it so that was it. He
said ‘No’.
It was over then, gone and Toby felt really let down. He
needed to get another shot of this somehow; the thrill was
so brief then lost just leaving him agitated and empty, like
smoking crack with Agman at the last fuck up he had had
back in the 20th century playing an almost totally different
role.
455
He looked up into the Ice Rink amphitheatre that seemed
suddenly empty and cold. A sad looking immigrant was
pushing a big brush around the Circus perimeter. He was
moving very slowly, as if in a totally different world from
the purposeful dark suits striding back the other way to the
Exec homes and there, among the cans, cups, fag ends and
pieces of pink newspaper Toby noticed that there were four
more small birds, sparrows, large grey eyelids tightly closed
as if trying to sleep, so stiff and ragged they were almost
indistinguishable from the rest of the trash and dust.
----
456
24.
Full Fist Grip , Thumb-Forefinger , The Mushroom ,
Campfire Method , Headless Jerking , Poking out of the
Pulpit , , Interlocking Grip , Upward Squeeze , Downward
Squeeze, Too Full Hand's Full , , Palm, Belly, and Penis
Sandwich, What? Packing Tape! , Table Hump, Butt Resting
on Heels , Pole Straddle (tight rope) , Pelvis Momentum
Explosion , One Topped One Bottomed , Oral Lip Imitation
Method , Pelvic Thruster Tease , Thumb Concentration on
Glans , Backhand Circular , Intercourse Style with Couch ,
Deep Scrotum & Testicle Massage , Maximum Head
Stimulation , Tease the Tip , Pillow Humping Hands-Free ,
Backhand Pelvic Thrust
35 Sexual Intercourse Imitation..
‘Oh for Gawds sake…what a twat.’ Tina got sick of it and
banged the mouse down. www Advancedmastrubation.com,
how pathetic, what was happening to him, the Fool. Prat.
She stomped back upstairs from the Basement, the bunker
the twat called it, ‘Research my arse’, and angrily resumed
457
her position by the fire reading the Therapy Today
magazine which had prompted her to go and check on Toby
laptop in the first place.
She had suspected as much for awhile and her snoop
around his Desktop confirmed it, the Flake was now
addicted to Internet Porn. …Sexual Grounding Therapy
offers a reframing of sexual impulses through a 5 fold
evolutionary cycle of sexuality.….Innocence, Curiosity,
Excitement, which involves Regulation, and is grounded in
Relationship. Relationship, Tickle hasn’t a clue and how the
fuck is a PC going to help she fumed. The internets
obsession with pornography can be understood as the wide
scale unmet natural genital curiosity, but fuelled by years of
taboo, spoiled innocence and shame. The resulting over
excitement masquerading as freedom and is out of control…
Yeah, a fucking teenager; Jesus, were there any grown up
men left? Such a sexuality has no basis in relationship and
is dangerous for it excites the most difficult aspects of the
immature male imagination- the tendency to relate people
as objects and serves only to continue the exploitation of
women’s bodies… Why does he think she says no, his beady
eyes revolt her, looking at her like a freak. Fuck it, another
458
little boy wanking away, it was a real turn off. She felt a bit
nauseous. It had been 18 months since the last miscarriage
although it felt like a decade but approaching the big 40 she
had almost run out of time. Should she try again? …. 3
strikes and you’re out…that’s what the Americans said when
they put another Black reject in jail. And Toby? OK there
was love there somewhere she knew but what about trust?
Can you trust a teenager still trying to work out how to
make love? Can you be a good mum when you are married
to a child? Oh Gawd…
Tina rolled over and lit up another fag hoping the reading of
the trade mag and professionalism it made her feel would
calm her down further... Sexual Grounding Therapy, which
began in the Netherlands, revisits Freuds idea of sexuality
as a life force (libido) charting its developmental story
throughout a persons life, and , following Wilhelm Reich’s,
investigates its potential for stuckness.. Why is always old
men writing, do they know the best? Oh God but yes
stuckness, yes, no, yes she was stuck now. Should she try
or not? She inhaled deeply and knew she didn’t know.
…and it is no surprise that Internet Pornography is
unregulated..the article concluded. Men, it was about
459
forgiving them, in the end, wasn’t it, otherwise how has any
ever reproduced in the first place. They had to be allowed
to fight their wars in order to discover who they were and it
was no good telling them not to, Tina reminded herself,
they’d run away becoming frightened you’d turn into their
Mother and swallow them up for good.
It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t e fucking nough. Volvo Estate
diesel V70 34K, the Saville Row pin-stripe two grand, the
terrace of Georgian houses down Queenstown road at least
250,000 each and he could buy all of them on a buy to let
basis. Out of the Black Cab home Toby saw nothing except
multiples and divisions of the value he now was defined by
his Big Sell in Broadgate, the carrot that had just been
grated, the End of the Game. Gooooooooaaaaal Da da da
daa dada dadadada, a fucking result as Saul would have
said but he couldn’t stop himself feeling bitter knowing it
should be somehow much more than it was. He didn’t want
to go back home, really, even with this sort of good news to
tell. This was meant to be the end of the beginning, the
beginning of a new life with Tina free of stress, where they
460
could relax and be themselves, the new Baby and new
house.
But nothing would have changed, he told himself, it would
be the same old life, the same old feelings, loss and
indecision, to go or not to go, to be or…whether to stay or
not. OK, Tina now had some sort of security at last, she
should be happier perhaps, more sex even, they really
should celebrate together but he knew she didn’t really care
about money at heart. ‘People are what matters’ she always
said, and he surprised himself again by actually thinking
now, resentfully, about her new ability to take off at least
half of it from him in a Divorce. Ted Turner was up for
losing 40 mill to Jane Fonda, including a ranch Heat said
and maybe Toby and Tina should get a pre nuptial, even if
she didn’t want to get married, ‘What’s the point, its only to
get divorced’. Maybe he should go and see Tara instead,
like Sir James Whatshisface, start acquiring mistresses
buying them each a huge house each fluttering his flag
dotted around the globe to keep his jet lag at bay, between
continents, the deals and the Gulfstream flights.
461
The prick wouldn’t move despite all the fantasy he was
prodding it with. Toby felt himself retreat into the corner of
the taxi, huddled up feeling cold and overcome with Dread.
He was nothing now, the carrot had gone as he’d already
got it and without the chasing he had no excuse but to be
who he really was, to be or not, and the trouble was he
didn’t like who he was. He now had a free choice to be
happy and it felt like a threat. Toby had been separated
from himself so long now he didn’t want to go back home
because he sensed he had no choice now but to push on.
You only lose your confidence once Fat Max had said and
Toby was terrified that this was his last chance he’d have to
recover his before the abyss opened up. Get another carrot,
more options, more deals; without capital purpose he didn’t
know who he was anymore and having sold all his own
Stock, he was devoid of what Tina called Self Worth, not
the Money, he was too afraid of finding out what the other
stuff was.
‘Balls Pond Road and fast’ Toby barked at the Cabby, who
whispered up front ‘Cunt’. Tara lived over the African Video
Store, the sound of noisy musical and violent porn coming
through into her flat. He’d dropped her off once just before
462
the move to Infinity and there’d been a sort of fizz in the
air, briefly, as he drank some tea and they’d talked about
the Bartone party, but he’d soon retreated and left. He
knew he couldn’t afford to get involved then, work was too
full on and anyway he was a nothing man, a would-be with
an unhappy wife and a too large credit card debt. Now he
could ring her though, tell her about his fortune, Bingo, I
can do anything Fancy a…? It would be a bit of drama at
least and he had to get out himself somehow; coke, heroin,
champagne the mad multiple mix, none of it was available
to him now and it was for oblivion he was craving, a sense
of living life to the full, almost to death because this life,
now just didn’t seem enough, he wanted more.
---------
463
25.
“Philosophy is to the real world as masturbation is to sex”
Karl Marx
Where am I?
5.30 am; a chill, dry, pubic hair at the back of the throat.
Where is she? Dick hard against a leg. 12inches, at least,
make her cry heh something rotten - www.bigmen.net and
speculative juices seeping into the gut. Come on come on
come on move you git. Imagine- 12 by 12, giving her one
getting the whole head into it.
Who?
Crying?
Alive then.
See the picture and make it happen.
Run the movie and make it real.
464
Make reality and the Vision One.
The One.
Hard on.
That is the one thing to hold onto, the Big One, the next Big
One, the really big on the sell out to Vishcon, his stake
$24.5 mill at current market value, the next tranche of
Infinity Options still waiting to be cashed in, 18 months
since he’d done the last lot and even though the stock was
going down, now only 1.3billion going down since the
Millennium heights too quickly but it will go up again, wont
it, everything does, doesn’t it? But down down each day
down it was going only 40 pounds a share having been 80
four months back but still, 25 mill was still the fuck off
money for his options, only six months to go to the end of
the contract lock in, then buy that private island top level
security for the two baby boys, heirs apparent, another
high income bird full on, at it all the time and not having to
do this a shit jobjob PAY fucking E ever again.
The bed was clammy with the nights wrestling as Toby
emerged out of an only just remembered dream….a black
hole again, a loving woman again: Tina? Tara?
Mother?...disappearing over the crest of a hill and me stuck
465
on the slope sinking waist deep into the concrete wet now
setting rapidly from the bag of dry cement broken over his
shoulders as she is disappearing over the hill again leaving
me all alone...Toby felt sore Get up you cunt ..and not only
the dick. The licking of the blue tablets from
www.yourpower.com had to end, the three times without
stopping never ever fully relieving, only leaving straps of
aching across the back, a searing pain into the gut, wrists
and neck wrenched, muscularly distractions to the heeby
jeebies of fear lurking there inside him threatening to erupt.
Fuck it, the ex marine leading the last MindChanges- New
Warrior Joint Workshop had said, the body is a god given
tool for the fulfillment of commands issued from the head…
So ten, Fucking Move, you Dick. For some reason Toby
thought of Nasty Nick, he couldn’t get him out of his head,
evicted from last years Big Brother house, the rerun on
recently, for pretending his wife had died in a crash. He
had a column in the Sun now. He was a very good liar
though, made you proud to be British it did, so he’d made a
bit of dosh since then, another minor celeb. This year it was
Dean who was playing the cunt and Tickle looked at the
swell in the bed ingrained into the darkness. Tara? It was
466
Tina, wasn’t it? His brain kept doing it, mixing up people
places things; was it Heinrichs sore thing, now on the back
of his head, Herpes or whatever it was, or maybe he did
have Alzheimer’s after all, psychosomatically preparing for
the trial to come.
And he wanted to have her again, Tara I mean Tina,
whoever, there, inert, a plaything for his urgent
imagination, the battlefield for his angst, busy persuading
that it would ease the fear circling around his Bodys edge.
She, Tina had, it seemed, decided to spend close down for
the summer and spend it in the Big Brother house, stoned,
glued most of the time to the TV and, after the coke and
brandy he’d plied her with to get what he wanted she
wouldn’t be getting up for awhile, like them. ‘Come on. you
only live once he’d said while he was doing it for the third
time last night; she’d been so passive he’d had to work
through all the female housemates instead, Helen, Narinda
and Amma, to keep him going to the end, a triple decker
just like on www.cappuccino.com, At least it, the fucking,
took away the tension and the sense that everything, his
life, was just about to go snap. It could happen, he sensed
in that gap, there in between every moment, with a
467
twinkling of an eye, the whole caboodle gone… Shut up you
shit. Make a list you fucker Get on.
Lists, he didn’t write them anymore, to be done no need,
his head had turned into a white board full of Too Doos.
Eighteen months at Infinity, now almost September, it’d
gone in a flash he’d been at it full on, first as no2 then 3 or
then 4 as the other new execs came in one`after the other
as Infinity had expanded; Den, Gordon, Ernie; was he
being edged out or what? Had they found out he wasn’t
really up to the job? Was he the one designated to take the
shit for the companys sales, or lack of? Fall Guy. Twat. Did
they see him as the weakest link? Had they noticed the
spread of the cold sore up onto his head and the increasing
darkening around his stressed out IBS eyes? Every morning
now Tickle wondered if was going to be the last day,
everything was traveling so fast around him, now just
reacting rather than having any control; the whole dotcom
thing had begun to feel so silly, spinning off axis, a law
unto itself everything permissible as long as the story stood
the test of PR. It wouldn’t have surprised him if he had
already been sacked but, everyone caught up in the
wheeling and dealing, lying and shpealing, he and nobody
468
else had realised it yet; maybe they all had Alzheimer’s,
one of the corporate side effects of fraud.
The heap in the bed now started snoring dopily from the
back of the throat and Tickle felt angry again. Tina, it was
all her fault anyway, she wasn’t an executive wife. Behind
every great man is…, she wasn’t pushing him onto greater
heights as she should be, sorting out the accounts, she was
just complaining he wasn’t here enough, always stressed
and that he wasn’t nice but the fact was he wouldn’t even
be doing this shit if it wasn’t for her her demands for a
house and her longing for a security that didn’t really exist.
Yeah, that woman was a real selfish Ka... And she was still
drunk and smoked when he couldn’t- no wonder he was so
uptight.
Tickle turned up Today louder on the radio so he didn’t have
to listen to himself; ‘the National Commission on Federal
Election Reform led by Jimmy Carter has brought up
questions regarding the American democratic system itself
following the closest presidential race for many elections…
his second quadruple expresso to go with his third fag. 6.12:
he’d committed to being at the office by 6.30 goaded on by
469
Den, Santas mate, the new exec chief and he wanted to get
in before that cunt Gordon to show he was made of a higher
caliber of executive stuff. Dennis always got in by 5.30,
habitual after 30 years on the Money Market, where he was
Santas boss at MMI, working for Warlock in the 80’s. MMI
had just lost 1.2 million in the compensation case, for forcing
a Jewish broker to dress up as Hitler, because he hadn’t hit
his targets. Kurt Fankle, MMIs CEO and an old mate of
Santas, hadn’t shown any remorse at the tribunal though,
‘it’s a barrack room atmosphere sir, dog eat dog, its big
business we’re in, we’re talking high risk and our executives
need relief’.…
….and if that wasn’t enough the latest scandal is George W
Bushs past relationship with alcohol..John the presenter
was sounding weary…..it’s all part of the free for all known
as the world greatest Democracy, the United States. Let’s
talk to our correspondent in Washington, Nat Wry and find
out the impact the latest allegations are likely to have...’
Fucking shit he needed another shot of expresso and
another trip to the bog; fucking IBS, it was better not to eat
at all, or just oranges like Razi….. it was Laura who finally
forced him to stop, ‘it’s me or the Jim Beam’ she is meant
470
to have said and Billy Graham did the rest, with
God’…always the same, thought Tickle, the implication that
it was weakness not being able to handle the drink. It’s a
disease, they said in the Crypt. Oh shit, the pain shot up
again into his midriff- stress. Really he should go to AA
again, at least take his mind off the business, stop him
feeling so…No, he wasn’t strong enough yet, needed more
money in the bank before going back to all that selfanalytical wank. Recovery, fuck that, George and him can
do it their own way - Dry Drunks Rules OK. ‘aaaand
hundreds of residents took to the streets of an estate in
Portsmouth last night to protest against a suspected
paedophile living in the area, former singer.... in the News
of World naming and shaming of paedophiles campaign...
todays tribunal Father Vincent Connery, called for
forgiveness. "This idea of excluding people, it's almost like
treating them like lepers," he said. "I know what
forgiveness demands of people… But Toby wasn’t listening,
trying to take his mind off the far more important ongoing
conflict in his gut by focusing on what he had toodoo on his
list in his head…
6.30 – 6.45 Den, (Buddy chat, tell him worried about salesBLAME GORDON)
471
6.45– 7.30 – check emails (will it hit 300 this today?) finish
the monthly sales report (oh shit another month with
nothing to show for it) start the presentation for the
conference (fuck another PowerPoint)
7.30 – 8.30- meeting with Den, Gordon, and Ernie FD,
Budget and the sackings. (BLAME GORDON).
8.30 – 9.00. Drive to Vishcon- ring Karl about the IPR
issue. Ring RITZU about the dodgy feeds (don’t sound
ignorant)
9.00-10.30 VishconMeet- (BLAME RITZU- GORDON FALL
GUY).
1130. Board meet with Multimall in SW1. (MONEY TODAY)
12.30 -Lunch with Karl Sort rights.
2.00-400 – Glob Airlines in about travel portal. (Keep
mouth shut - smart guys)
4.15 – Hoover guy. Barclays guy, (shit double booked).
6.00 – Company meet in Bar. (Look good, Cover arse- fuck
off asap)..
730- Agamemnon (NO DOPE 2K MAX)
9.30. Home- Fuck Tina x 2/3 arse
472
Toby was exhausted just running through the list. The
Heinrich sore on the back of the head was throbbing and he
had a vague feeling that he had written, and even done
almost all the items on the list before. Even, yesterday for
some. Shit, Groundhog Day; more like Groundhog Year,
2000 2001 doing the same things but a bit faster, same
News different names, same play different caricatures,
everyone an object going round and round he felt like he
was hanging onto his Life, the Time and he was about to
spin off its wheel.
It’s Six o’clock on Wednesday 29th August 2001... This is
Today Good Morning this John…… the News today on the
Radio, went relentlessly on making the Day a nervous place
to be in, even before it had begun… and in the Hague today
Lieutenant Colonel Dragon Jokis pleaded not guilty to
charges relating to the Srebrenica massacre at the War
Crimes trial in the Hague…’ but only about 7% was
registered as real in Tickles head.
Tina lay smoking another Silk Cut as if celebrating the door
slam below her. He’d gone, thank gawd. Lovely Silky now,
at least they didn’t let her down. She should stop really, but
fuck it it didn’t matter anymore. She was done, the body no
473
longer sacrosanct, it had been rejected and she felt
ashamed, redundant and totally empty again. Another
Day, another drag, breathing it deep down, and another
little burial of the anger and the fear and the shame. What
was there to do, what purpose? The reason for the future
had been stolen from her again. She should really finish
Trauma and Recovery and the notes on Narcissism and
Intimacy too, her dissertation was overdue, but fuck it she
felt too tired and again as on auto she drifted into the Telly
room to see what the Big Brother Housemates were up to,
now that prat Stuart had gone booted out the night before.
It had been a whole year since Nasty Nick had been thrown
out, it seemed like yesterday and here she was again, the
same place, the same anger stuck in her stuckness as the
book said. She couldn’t help herself thinking that Nick
reminded her of Toby, a pompous executive git shouting,
lying, just doing everything he wanted then wanting more
sex. Brian was cute though, bet he was going to win this
year; Gay of course, he was more of the type of bloke she
wanted to hang out with now, gentle, caring, a laugh. Soon
the young people were drifting into the kitchen one by one
but she didn’t fancy waiting, maybe she should make a
474
change and watch a rerun of ER? The new Freedom Cable
allowed her to watch stuff out of synch, sort of pre recorded
and although she preferred the old terrestrial channels
dictating how she spent her time, hospital dramas always
made her pain seem less, watching the broken flesh and
screams.. Oh George if only… and she wrapped the
Dressing gown tighter around her as if Clooney was the silk,
all warm and reassuring holding her now lessening her
internal pain.
But no, she was stuck with Tickle and she shivered thinking
of his smell. As usual he’d just stormed out this morning,
not a word, just angry, as usual slamming the door. Git,
didn’t think what she was going through; it was as if he was
the one who had had to endure the pain. But she knew
now, the books told her what she’d always suspected: he
was just projecting his own self hate onto her. And she
knew what the book didn’t tell her, that now she wouldn’t
be able to forgive him anymore, not completely he’d gone
too far this time, the coming into the hospital then just
swearing and storming out, not even a hug. But should she
leave him? She wasn’t sure. Abulia was what the book
called it, indecision caused by depression, post traumatic, in
475
bereavement, loss, and miscarriages too. Procrastination is
what Mum called it, make any decision, it’s better than
none, that’s what making you depressed she said. Oh
Gawd, for fucks sake. Keep buggering on.
She’d always told herself that she wouldn’t be abandoned
like Mum and whatever, she’d stick it out for the long run.
Twenty years pah, its nothing, far too early my dear to
know what love is, that’s what Geeta her Hindu neighbour
had said laughing. KBO, keep buggering on, was Mums
other adage, Churchills mantra, a War Child after all. But
fuck it, she was 80, I didn’t have to be a victim thought
Tina, a woman who loves too much. No, she’d learnt her
lesson then, no, she’d endure but not suffer, hang on in
there have the family she’d decided on but not take any
crap and, not wanting to think about any other alternative
and the possibility of change, she turned back into the TV
making herself imagine holding George wrist steady again,
him smiling at her at the same time looking both strong
and caring, as he went into the little childs abdomen with
the knife.
----476
26.
There's nothing more subservient than an arrogant man
when his arrogance has once been broken in some particular
instance.
Chance by Conrad, Joseph
6. Talk to accountant about tax avoidance
7. Check Tony lawyer re hiding assets, divorce
8. Get Janice to bump out sales/accounts for board meeting
Tickle ran through the TooDoo list in his head again,
chewing another paracetamol driving the car too fast
towards Infinity, Today still ranting on in the background.
All News is good News, or is it bad, the other way round?
Tickle head was thick and confused. He didn’t really have
any time to listen to it now anyhow, what was going on,
even in the car he was usually on the phone.
…Vojislav Kostunica is determined to set up a truth
commission in Serbia, examining the responsibilities for the
crimes committed in the conflicts in former Yugoslavia….
477
Shit, a bolt of lightning, fuck, the speed camera flashed him
again on Shoreditch, another 60 quid. Sod it; he was on
two grand a week so who fucking cares. Come on you cunt
get out of the way. Oh no, he’d be on time if it wasn’t for
the fucking R-TIC on Commercial Road, was the twat lost or
what? It was only a few more minutes until he was meant
to be there but Minutes are Money or so Den sometimes
screamed. ‘Size matters heh you cunt?’ Toby sneered at the
lorry. ‘Lets see?’ and he swerved out to take it over a lorry
coming the other way down Great Eastern, a huge front end
of another R-Tic rearing up before him claxon blaring,
brakes, shit the car twisting on itself burning rubber almost
stopping a taxi now blaring a horn right up behind him.
‘You fackin twat’, a pug-nose against the windscreen and
juddering into a wrong gear, Toby got to the side of the
road and the whole thing stalled.
…a reward offer of up to $5 million for bin Laden the
terrorist leader….
Fucking traffic, fucking lorry, why do I have to go so fast?
…. their hunt has been expanded…If I hadn’t had that spliff
and double viagra last night, fucking Tina, its not fair me
having to do everything …the reports revelation that
Clintons attack on Sudan targets in 1999 were misdirected
478
has created a chorus of denouncement in the Arab and
Islamic worlds… Tobys hands were shaking white and flimsy
in front of the black leather wheel of his new 3.5 litre
Cosmos estate and for a moment the pain came back into
him, all his getting on and getting it together now
unraveling, Hienrichs neck now head the IBS gut, all
imploding, expanding at the same time. Oh no not here,
shit. Not here, Shit. Toby suddenly felt incontinent. Keep it
in control man for Gawds sake…
..... and Mr bin Laden has renewed his threat to wage a
holy war against the US .And before we go to the markets
to see what’s happening in the Dot com Gold rush, we are
following up on the story of the Canary Island volcano
which apparently is going to make a Tsunami that will
devastate the whole of the Eastern Seaboard of the United
States, Oh dear’ said John with his lets be humourous at
the end of the bulletin voice… as if the new President,
George W hasn’t enough on his plate..
‘Watcha Cock’ Dennis jumped up from behind a pot plant
five minutes later and held Tickle across the back of his
shoulders steering him into the desk next to his. ‘Hope
we’ve got some juicy sales to report Tickers. Santas getting
479
edgy with the investors on his back- the stock‘s down
another 4 points and we need goods news to turn it round,
remember Operation Countdown is in play now’ and with
that the white shirt and tie went into a weird dervish like
spin, ‘It’s the final countdown, oh yeah it’s the final
countdown’ turning up the real track on his CD ‘OK don’t
here’s lots in the pipeline ’ Toby tried to assure him and get
him to slow down and turn the volume down.‘ But You said
that last month’ ‘But I put a whole load of potentials on
Gordons desk’ Deflect, deflect, deflect, Tickles management
mantra no 4, Always blame someone else. ‘To tell you the
truth Den, I’m a little concerned about Gordon, the
conversion rate, I can’t take the blame for that’. ‘ It’s the
final countdown’ Dennis looked at him out of the corner of
his face wry smiling as he turned the volume down, ‘Sure
Tickle but we’re all in the same boat, sink or swim, swim or
sink together, remember that mate. The bosses don’t give a
toss where the Money comes from, the only concern is
fulfillment of the Plan, the Numbers, the numbers my boy,
the numbers that’s all that counts... It’s the Infinity Plan, if
we don’t do ‘em we’re all goners. Fucked.’
480
The Infinity Plan was the supposed Truth in which everyone
was now implicated. It had been invented almost a year
ago a Millennium story no less; each exec had been asked
to put down a figure a target, their number to achieve, for
which they were accountable and now it was the Infinity
Future, numbered, delineated, milestoned and accountable,
a reality as it should be into which the Money had bought,
on which it had bet, the Infinity Prospectus for IPO last
Christmas, having been touted around the Big Boy Banks
before in the Benny and Santa Investment show. ‘We’re
looking at the value going up to 2 if not 3 billion by second
quarter ‘05’ they’d both told MT, ‘Conservative mate’,
they’d said to Tickle when he’d given them his forecast ‘
Treble it’ ‘ Make that ten times eh Santa’. ‘Makes your
options look rosy heh’ they encouraged, ‘ and you never
know by the end of the year we could get sold out’, they’d
both said to Tickle geeing him on; ‘Remember you’re part
of a Billion dollar company now’, but since then, after the
50million raised at the IPO, the first year Infinity’s results
had been way off mark the target not hit even nearly and
Money was grumbling; the Plan was loosing its power to
convince, as it was still dependent enough on the real truth
to sustain the belief in itself.
481
‘Failure is not an option’ aping the Apollo 13 Controller’
Dennis pronounced to the empty office in general and Toby
in particular ‘ its Operation Countdown Mark2, signed off by
Santa and the Board, you have to hit the numbers, the Plan
is there and it will be fulfilled come what may. It’s the Big
day today; Vishcon, Shopkwik and Globair, so don’t fuck it
up. Carry on Sergeant; Ill see you for the culling when
Gordon gets in eh.’.
Toby felt drained already; he needed to plug in, receive the
power of the system, renew his desire again. Receiving 36
of 262 messages… the bars syringe filling up the depleted
sense of Tobys self worth.
From Denis McMahon Sent Tues 11/09/01 0520 am
Here we go gents Agenda for Management meet attached
(Get knives ready)
Den
There was a mail from Janice who had been working from
home last night,
‘ Hiya Toby here the spreadsheet with revenue projected for
the coming month Janice xxxx
PS did what you wanted looks good.’
482
Then a clutch of mails from American sales agents blitzing
UK firms while they slept, no doubt their worms, the new
bit of codes which went into company databases to hoover
up names and addresses in order to spam to, worming into
the profiles of Infinity’s identities too.
‘Its shit, get your p45 and get out of there quick’
Oh God Mad Dr Karl from ME2U2 Development Ltd, the
Cabby software company who Tickle’d asked to check out
the new Infinity Portal Santa was getting built by Titan they
were flogging to Glob, Multimall and Vish. It made Tickle
feel sick. State of the Art, 21st century, Next generation,
MOP (Mobile Omni platform Personalization), and the
trouble was the thing didn’t fucking work, even after six
million quid. ‘Empathy, Epiphany, Engage, Salvation and
Exclaim…putting different bits of software together is like
trying to make people the same, they’re built on different
fundamentals, it’ll never work..’ and Dr Karl’s sounded
really offended, it went against the logos schematicus, the
rational order of things to which his atheistic mind
subscribed.
Oh Gawd…it made him feel so nervous and Tickle now
needed relief quickly from the unease flowing through his
483
veins and clicked into his Favorites; the Research, then
Ruskibabes.ru; even the name reactivated his dick quickly
which, although sore sent a spark across the gut dulling the
fear in his head, chemical trickling down and the images
magically connected by the secret current zipping between
the two and he felt himself begin to swell, verifying that he
was indeed still alive and he clicked again on a thumbnail of
Russian Circus Mistress and Black Bear …
‘Morning’. It was Gordon striding in at 7.15, exactly, looking
cross. ‘Dickhead’ muttered Tickle and with a click click and
hey presto, he was back in the room staring at his Hi Tech
portfolio of stock. He hated having to share his office with
this nerd Gordon, half his space gone. Synergy and cooperation Den’d called it, sitting next door going through
the FT with a big felt pen. Competition and Desparation
more like, each execs presence only reminding the other
that one of them was going to get the sack. Gordon was
fresh in from RITZU, the giant system integrator who
worked with Footsie 500 corporations and an investor in
Infinity and Gordon had been there, at IT, since he was 16.
Persistent and insidious with a facility for sales, he looked
like he hadn’t been outside much since then, with his wire
484
spectacles, white blond hair and teeth that slightly stuck
out. Drafted in by Santa for Operation Countdown Mark 1 to
help the share price up at Infinity, he’d been going on
about ‘Big Ticket sales’ and ‘5 mills minimum’ but he hadn’t
done one fucking deal yet. ‘Too many media bunnies’
Gordon had started blaming other, snarling to Den ‘the
overheads for Cabby are too high, the ROI’s shit , Janice
had heard him say the day before, trying to blame Tickle
for the trouble. Media people versus the Techies, Normal
versus the Unclean the stage had been set and Toby sensed
he might be cast as Russell Crowe which was alright apart
form the end. ‘Cunt. Two can play at that game’, he had
muttered determined to pile the shit on the nerd, knowing
also one of them was probably going to also get the blame
for the big Fraud beneath and then crucified on the road to
Rome.
‘See the News’ it was Ernie, the chief Bookkeeper, fat and
wheezing at the door who’d seen this and everything else
before. ‘The Game’s up. NASDAQ has tumbled and I reckon
we’re going to take a 20% hit today’ he said all calm
smiling, except for his fingers fiddling with an unlit fag.
‘Market Correction’ smiled Den, ‘The biggest dog still wins.
485
We’d better shift into gear and get some PR out by close of
play. They can’t ignore a tripartitie deal, Vish, Glob and MM
the hype plus should keep the Price up’ ‘What like Viagra’
chortled Ernie going into a cough. ‘Hey mate we don’t all
need that’ snapped back Den ‘Ready for the culling eh Ern?’
‘As I said before and Ill say again’ Ernie chortled, ‘I’m not
worried, at the end of the day’ the Receivers always need
someone to turn off the lights’, then going into one of his
awful spleen ripping coughs that he did when he was trying
to laugh.
‘She’s the one with the big tits, lets keep her’ said Den
goading everyone to laugh a few minutes later in the
boardroom. ‘The support team is fairly overloaded’ said
Ernie. ‘Yeah but you need something to ogle at just to keep
you sane’ came in Gordon his nerdy leer looking more
suited to doing nasty things with skin and teeth. ‘And what
about the coons downstairs’ he continued, beginning to
giggle his teeth sticking out more ‘we’re haven’t got the
luxury anymore for community work have we?’ ‘Excuse me’
said Tickle, trying not to sound upset. ‘Jacob and
Evangeline work on the Cabby database, and are very
good, even though they’re on the Jobstart thing’ pleaded
486
Tickle feeling his power draining away. ‘They are absolutely
essential for maintaining the strength of Infinitys
ecommerce offering’, he asserted. ‘But are they bringing in
any fucking Money?’ snapped Gordon, ‘It’s not their fucking
job, that’s yours isn’t it twat’ Tickle snapped back and then
he knew he’d gone too far.
Den and Ernie both looked at him flat-faced, Gordon
grinning pleased he had got a rise out of the supposed cool
media guy. Executives stick together, that was
Management Mantra No 1 plus, the maintenance of a
common front was all, they can stab each other in the back
later but it was imperative to keep a semblance of peace,
even though the game was to keep the general tempo at a
near panic pace. The Executives held the Money for the
Money and any obvious unrest could quickly lead to Money
losing Trust. ‘Right Gents, lets keep a grip’ said Den, not
smiling but making a note in his head against Tickle name
marked, watch out. ‘Be serious; we need to reduce the
overhead by 30%. First round the workers on the floor, we
all know the form, after that we’ll begin to look upstairs’ he
said looking hard at Toby with a thin smirk.
487
And for a moment the talking stopped, quiet and in the
distant rumble of a plane coming in behind the cloud they
all recognized that the dotcom bubble had been blown to its
fullest and the air had just started to escape. It, the whole
Infinity thing wasn’t working and secretly around the table
everyone knew it was now too late, it was all about
managing the decline now without loosing too much face.
‘OK lets to it. Operation Countdown Mark 2, Downsizing
Troops’ said Den who seemed to get strength from any
Military allusions which seemed to imply some sort of
structure even logic to this otherwise messy affair.
‘Smith K’
‘Gone’ (said Tickle)
‘Summers A – is that little Alice?’ said Den
‘Yep, gone afraid so’ said Tickle, having to make a few more
concessions than intended.
‘Knew sommut was up, at least most of us are safe,’ said
Janice half an later, sucking a fag outside with Tickle after
the Cull. ‘Makes me sick thinking about it, back to them
Black Widow days with Pinky and Perky eh?’ she laughed
looking worried. ‘I’m telling you Tickle watch your back,
don’t like the look of that Gordon, he wants to stuff you
right up the arse’ ‘Hope not’ said Tickle, ‘not my type’ but
488
his gut was emptying all the time. He knew Janice was
usually right, and he knew his 18 month empire and six
figure salary was now threatened. But more worrying still,
he knew someone was going to get the blame; it had to be
him didn’t it, the Fall Guy, because he was the one out of
place, the rest had all been with a Corporation, he’d just
been let in for this Mad Game. O gawd.
8.14 Shit had to go. ‘Got to run. Got Vish, then the
Shopkwick shit then fucking Glob’ said Toby flicking away
his cigarette spitting out the brands. He needed to stop
thinking, get in the car, head west and get on into the rest
of his toodoo list. Don’t think, KBO, as his Dad had always
said. Come on you cunt lets go.
…it was the Italian place, running through corridors,
laughter somewhere else, was it the Shining , no axe at
least but the big Jack smile that Toby used to have
twinkling eyes and yes come on come on come on some
open window the sea breeze coming in, Italy, Viva La, yes
open arms and the soft fresh linen, that hotel American
Express wont mind he’d said and even the marble was
smooth on the back then a sickness sliding around the
489
room, Titanic but no Leonardo, falling small on the bath
tiles Stop it Toby laughing not there then around and
around and around through the window the river slow and
brown the Thames going around around around stop stop
the new Millennium Wheel faster faster screaming stop stop
and Tickle laughing somewhere there running away leaving
her stranded up in the air the wheel falling setting Tsunami
across the City and.. Dad Dad …Where are you? Mum?
Where ?
Tina awoke on the Sofa, sweating, some housemates now
bleary eyed sipping tea knowing she was going to be sick
again. The Doctor had said it was psychosomatic;
miscarriage shouldn’t affect the digestive tract particularly
after all this time. Shit, Toby’s madness even got her in the
sleep. Not there. Never there. Always on the run. She
didn’t want the money she just wanted to hold him while
she cried but...‘Leave the fucker’ Alicia had said, Ellen too,
‘he doesn’t care about anybody but himself, he’d sold out.
Its all about the Money not you’. But Tina wasn’t sure what
was real again and she really didn’t want to go back to that
loneliness. Oh Gawd...
490
Perhaps they should try Relate. No, stop it, she’d go back to
sleep now, better than dope; wait till there was something
she felt worth getting up for. She had to make a decision
soon, to try again or to leave him, that was it, a decision,
but the prospect of making it just made her more sick.
Love, object, covering the gap, its all mourning, Trauma
and Recovery said, turning the feeling into some sort of
game, but she saw it now, the hole and Toby there, the boy
sulking under the street lamp in the rain, the wounded child
within there wanting, waiting for her to come back and her
suddenly so urgent not to add to his hurt, his abandonment
in case it bought her back. His hurt or hers. Joined at the
Wound, Dr Karl the Lecturer had sneered and she knew
now it was her choice to love him, not some magical thing.
Toby or not Toby, in the end her choice, whether to let him
back inside or not. The trouble was she didn’t want to get
lost in it again, his madness the longing and the mush of
projection and pain again, perhaps that’s why she was so
attracted to Dr Karls clinical almost harsh approach, at least
it was cut and dry. Clear. O Gawd. Perhaps the answer will
come in the sleep, the one place she knew what she was
doing and felt entirely safe.
491
27.
"Fear is not in the habit of speaking truth; when perfect
sincerity is expected, perfect freedom must be allowed; nor
has anyone who is apt to be angry when he hears the truth
any cause to wonder that he does not hear it."
Tacitus
‘You facking cunt’ Tickle slammed the brakes feeling his
throat contracting a sharp pain in his temple. The Man in
the Audi snarled back, sticking one finger up mouthing
behind the tinted glass ‘VARRR KKKKK OOOO ARRRR”
…Toby knew what he was saying bared teeth snarling back,
pushing into the M4 a toothpaste of congestion squirting
out of the City from Hammersmith Broadway; it was 8.38
and he only had 40 minutes to get to Brackberry and the
meeting with RITZU and Vishcon O shit… Beep Beep Beep
Beep. CU hq 9.20, for qk debrief rfta vish b4 glob.. Fucking
Gordon’s text squealing out from inside the WAP mobiles
heavy metal case; same as usual, busting a gut and
someone always wants more, a little bit more of you… Cunt.
492
‘Arse hole’… 8.54 on the M4. a BMW black tank with
mirrored glass moved sharply into the outside lane in front
of Tickle and he had to brake fast- Toby had been deleting
Gordons text when it happened and for some reason he’d
looked up just in time and he was back in it, the Anger
screaming ‘Kill the Twat’ eyes popping the knife again
plunging into the BMW accountant’s neck, Raymond Lye
M25 style, again and again.. Bastard take that, do you
know who I am…Lye had just been knicked in Cyprus, a
Millennium result for the coppers; maybe that was the Ray
Agman had been going on about. But why did he do it? Do
him, the little mechanic, stabbing just for carving him up at
the Bluewater junction, ‘Ill show you what carving is you
cunt’… Why did he do it? A millionaire businessman,
freemason, sorted both sides of the law? Just lost his rag
did he, said Fuck it and plunged the knife into the little
electrician head and again and in again and in again
again…Take that you cunt and that and that... Was it
Scarface on coke? Had he seen it or just that he’d snapped
unable to take it anymore the double dealing, like Michael
Douglas in Falling Down, the lying and deceit, always
running, the fraud and the keeping of the deadpan face yet
again as they hauled him into the Yard for more chit chat
493
about the bullion haul, although everyone knew it was him
in the first place. ‘Got a lot of bottle’ they’d always said
about him, in admiration, even the Rozzers, but maybe,
the M25 pushing him over the edge, he had finally snapped
needing to break that bottle and push it into someone else’s
head.
Beep Beep… Agamemnon, o shit. U r cumin 2 nite mergcy
Agar yr old mate. Again; the nutter’d been trying to get
through for a week Beep Beep in dip shit, need 2 cu, m8t,
Ags, bit o biz l PS IM str8t’ Toby had been avoiding him,
fearing his old and new worlds colliding and ending up in
the middle a mess out of control; he had to keep focused
on saving his own arse. But he’d have to respond
eventually, otherwise Agman would just crash into his life;
addicts just don’t, can’t leave it, move on, give up Tickle
knew. What’s the difference between a Rottwieler and an
addict? The rottweiler knows when to let go. Besides, his
old mate was getting heavier, a bit too heavy, the bigger
his habit grew.
The motorway had straightened out and cutting through the
Berkshire Hills, Tickle was in the countryside now and he
494
hadn’t even noticed. Trees, fields, it seemed an age since
he’d been out of town and he’d forgotten this oldy worldy
still existed. Sun shining white through the mist there
above the cut corn, white above white and everything
seemed very dry baked. The hottest summer ever recorded
they said, the global warming Alishas was now going on
about, natures revenge she’d called it ‘the fuckers have
really done this time they have’…But it was all virtual to
Tickle, moving from one Screen to the next, PC to
windscreen this picture of stubble fields, a yellow desert
and up above a latticework of airplanes smudged and in the
high blue. What had happened to it, he suddenly thought,
a balloon of sad fear inside him, the whole picture, the
being part of, India, the searching for it, the real it? O
gawd. Summer was coming to an end and he hadn’t even
seen Spring, only glimpsed briefly out of windows, like a
spy. No holiday just one dirty weekend at a flash hotel 3K
all in, spent answering emails and pushing Tina about for
not letting him get at her after breakfast, and dinner and
tea. ‘I just want a decent talk’ she’d said but both ending
up being sick on Sunday overdoing the oysters, knowing
that the sex wasn’t working anymore and something had to
give. Fuck her, Tickle muttered, she just weakened him in
the battle he had to fight now, the Final Countdown to get
495
the Money so he could be rich and free. Shit, he should
trade her in as soon as possible for a more suitable model,
a high income type, who wanted him to succeed. ‘You’re so
strong Toby- Do it again Toby Oh Toby I love… Whatever he
now needed all the support he could get.
Beep Beep.. Gordon. Twat. ‘Hello there Tickle’ ‘Yup Fine, in
car, shoot’ He was going 105 miles an hour on the mobile
and smoking a fag at the same time, he didn’t want to be
late and rock the boat in anyway as he sensed that the
whole Infinity fraud could unravel at any time and he had to
cash in his options again and get out before it collapse,
which might be today. But he’d been thinking the same way
for almost a year, each day and his brain was locked into it,
it was weird.
‘The ShopKwik meet today, we need the
demo urgent, close the deal to’. Oh shit, Tickle had forgot.
‘Yeah Santa's adamant. ShopKwik at lunch then GlobAir this
aft, those deals done announced today will stop the Stock
sliding below £30 or we’ll loose the billion dollar tag. Den
says its Save the Company time.’ Gordon sniggered ‘He’s
totally lost it, he has He’d been playing the Final Countdown
since all over the office since you left. Here listen..’
496
… It's the final countdown
The final countdown’
.no one to blame
We're leaving the ground
Will things ever be the same again
It's the final countdown
The final countdown’
‘OK Gordon , Right sure, I Geddit it. No Prob Ill have for
you by One’ said Tickle firmly and ended the call. But the
demo didn’t exist. ‘The Personal Shopper, that’s the killer
app’ Toby’d had told Gordon showing off in front of Den
only two days before. ‘Can come in 32 different looks, from
Caucasian through to Chino, choose the eyes, legs, hair the
whole caboodle and of course multilingual,’ he said and
putting an elbow into the older man ribs adding ‘Although
not publicized we could always develop a soft porn plug-in
for the luxury version’. Yes, it was fantastic, but Toby was
making it up as he was going along, embellishing even Gary
Millers ME.TV dream, after all it was all bollocks anyway
wasn’t it? Most of the stuff out there didn’t actually exist
yet but it didn’t seem to matter; look at the billions Vishcon
and the rest had just spent on 3G. Vision had replaced Fact
497
and at last, Toby thought, his talent for fantasy could come
fully into play. But this time he’d over stepped the mark
and he was about to get trapped in his lie. He only had two
hours and a half to redeem the shit he was in.
Blah blah blahblah light years to go and things to be found
Blah blah blah we'll all miss her so
It's the final countdown
The final countdown
The trouble was Time always catches up with you, the
future reversing into Now and Toby had to find an antidote
for his fib. ‘‘Hi Bez Yeah OK, We’ve got a bit of a problem’
and Tickle, speaking very quickly to his Tech head,
explained the urgent requirement with little leaps in
between falsehoods, so it wasn’t clear to Bez how the
situation had come about. Make sure you are the only one
who knows the whole picture Management Mantra No5. and
Tickles only solution to his deceit was to lie again, and to
Steal.
‘So Bez Get Martini Yeah MRT.com ‘anywhere anytime’ out
of Cupertino. Tell them I am going to buy their software,
yeah 5 mill but only if they send their demo now, I mean
now pronto. Then Rebrand it Shopkwick Mall Assist, no
498
better be Shopkwick Cabby powered by Infinity’. Toby
didn’t want the fuckers trying to dupe him and take the
kudos for the flash new product even if it wasn’t real.
Presume everyone is as dishonest as yourself Management
Mantra No 6. ‘and Bez if you get this done by 12 you’ll be in
for the rise on the next review. OK?’ and Tickle lied again...
‘Nice one boss’, although it decided this morning to slash
the wages and offer Bez unpaid redundancy. A bit slimy
Toby knew but it was business, it was how Business
worked. ‘In business it will be OK’ Den always said about
the little economies with the truth the execs had to employ
from time to time. ‘In Business the truth is suspended, and
the skill is judging the degree of the lie, not to give away
too much’. ‘In Business’ it was OK to play with people lives
under cover of blatant lies, in Business it was OK to spend
other peoples money in an unaccountable way, in Business
everyone in it knew that’s what was happening and on
balance more Money was made for the Big Boys because ‘in
Business’ the main thing was to keep Money moving,
because those who had it, the Banks and the VCs, and
those who moved it , lawyers and accountants, all got more
the more it moved about, in Business, Busyness was the
primary aim.
499
Shit. Slow down. Hold tight, fuck, the car was skidding, a
sign, a hedge, brake for fucks sake and the 3.5 turbo then
stalled, stuttering to standstill, by the edge of the asphalt
front wheels over a dyke. ‘Oh shit’, Twice today; three
strikes and you’re out, isn’t that what they say in the
States, before they throw the keys away. A sweat bead was
making its way down Tobys right temple going cold by the
time it hit his cheek, the back of his neck was tingly sore
the redness now right up to the ridge at the back of his
head and the scabs were throbbing, his insides shaking and
he thought he was going to be sick. 8.57. Three minutes he
gave himself and lay back on the leather seat.
Breathe deeply. Think of the Sea. Think of the Waves. He
needed a pee. He opened his eyes and in front of him was
white corn, grass, sedge and, almost invisible in the mist of
a hollow before a horizon of oaks, was a horse, white in the
whiteness, a vague presence, head down grazing then
lifting it and looking straight at him, toe bee toe bee too be,
straight on, asking slowly chewing and then, turning, it
faded away into the whiteness again. Behind the darkening
tint of the car windscreen, the scene was framed by an
overriding arch where the clean glass, recently wiped, met
500
the dirt. No one had told him it was going to be misty and
thinking of it now, Tickle knew that the inside and the
outside world were becoming increasingly disengaged. He
was moving away from it to somewhere opposite in front.
He decided to turn on Today again, the News, in an effort to
establish some sort of a link back between them again.
…its my Job to create the Truth” Meddlesome said in
describing his role as Head of Communication strategy to
the Prime Minister, but I know John, the Prime Minister has
let it be known through close associates that he considers
the financial affairs between Meddlestone and the Secretary
of State for Industry shows an extraordinary lack of
judgment...
New cars fled past him, Corsas, Mondeos, a lot of Mercs;
this was bunce country, cars tied to the bonus and the job
and Toby let go of the hand brake of his and rolled down
towards the motorway, once again to join their fray.
Whark Whark whark... the sound of seagulls mixing in with
the violins high strings filtered through the smoky
interior…and now Desert Island Discs with Sue Lawley, with
her guest this week ……… Today had moved into yesterday
and Toby without knowing was glad of the change… Hello,
501
today we have one of the 20th century’s most distinguished
civil servants Sir Rick… The new Industrial estates of
Brackberry, the giant logos of PROPHET, ENTEL and YDN
came out of the mist like dinosaurs above in the Hinterland
bog. RITZU was a big cement box, a hard drive without a
Screen. Toby decided to sit in the car park for another
moments rest. Mournful music seeped out of the radio,
mixing in with the thick smoke of Tickles final fag.
…Beautiful don’t you think? I play it for my first wife Sonia,
who died of Cancer when young’ said Sir Richard,
‘Chaconne it’s called, and within it there is a second piece
where Bach buried a requiem to his dead wife. You have to
listen carefully but it is the real piece going on, if you listen,
in the gap- it makes me always feel very sad but also full of
hope…’ ‘Yes Yes Sir Richard how moving but said Sue,
there must have been some sunshine in your two
marriages… she went on grumbling around for tidbits.
Tickle switched it off. Gossip, that’s all she wants. ‘Come on
you twat’ he ordered his dead body and the Senior Vice
President Etailing, Content, Information Services UK and
Europe, headed into the glass skyscraper to present Cabby
to another Brand with Money held by the Suits.
502
PRESENTATION INTRO>
INFINITY PORTAL SYSTEM>
VISHCON CABBY>
PERSONAL SHOPPER FOR LIFE>
PERSONALISATION>
DEEP PROFILE = HIGHLY TARGETING SELLING=MULTIPRODUCT
ENTIRE LIFE LIFESTYLE COMPANION>
MULTI PLATFORM>
ANYTIME ANY PLACE>
WIN WIN WIN SOLUTION>
FUTURE DEVELOPMENT>
SCHEDULE>
COST>>
503
Blah blah de blah and more PowerPoint shite.‘Why the fuck
did they go on so long?’ Tickle came out of the glassbox
cursing. Fucking Vishcon techies asking that crap, and
Gordon bullshitting on the concall telling them they knew
less than him. Tickle had made his excuses, making himself
out to be more important than the rest as he had to get
back and he was relieved that the demo hadn’t been done
infront of the marketing guy as it might have affected the
possible sale; then again the Vishcon suits were too busy
stabbing each other in the back to notice much.
It was 10.33 and he’d told Den that he’d probably be back
11.30. Only 55 minutes to get back to Central London, Oh
shit. Why can’t things just run according to his Plan? He
should have been stronger with RITZU in the meeting, he
could have said ‘Delivery mates, that is the name of the
game; but he didn’t Claim leadership and they will follow he
told himself, Management Mantra 7. Shit Fuck Shit Fuck,
10.37, Tickle shouted kicking his tyre, angry against himself
for being so frantic when he knew really there wasn’t any
point. As Ernie had said this morning, the Game was up, it
was just waiting for the end and inside the Hysterical
504
Executive was a sad Boy who knew the Truth but didn’t
want to tell.
Toby looked up and saw a dove rise high upwards then,
clapping its wings behind its back, suddenly change
direction, a full 45 degrees. Odd. Beep Beep... Tina Tina
Tina Tina Tina.. like a heartbeat the name flashing up
repeatedly on the Screen of the mobile calling him…Silent.
She was wanting to talk. Fuck her, he didn’t have any time
and in the end it was all her fault, this and his fried brain.
He felt like he was on the very edge of existence today and
he had to concentrate just to survive. Focus. Don’t dissipate
the energy Don’t take on board someone else’s pain, and
Tickle watched Tina Tina Tina turn into Diverted call
Diverted call Diverted call and then, after a beat into a 121
121 121 like a pleading…
Who let the dogs out (woof, woof, woof, woof?)
…the summer hit on full blast, fuck it he had to go on and
screeching in reversal out of the car park
Who let the dogs out (woof, woof, woof, woof?)
Say, a doggy is nuttin' if he don't have a bone
505
10.43 and Tickle was stuck in hot traffic under the M25
interchange as if floating his insides felt like the interior of a
drain, his head bobbling in the cistern, Heathrow planes
coming into land but only the sound of the music and eyes
closing a low rumbling beneath inside the cars hot leather
and tobacco smelling like a dozy summer afternoon
pub...Heineken refreshes parts others cannot reach...
adverts for beer, Freedom cable in the Helsinki Hilton,
Tickle was sinking again, back into his business trip to
Finland the month before..Euro sport Blokes with Tractors,
CNN Business, Pay per View, thinking of girls, oblivion and
bars, the endless loop of MudNews and a soap opera of
global proportions, Death and Money, Entertainment for
America…Tossing and Turning or trying not too. Don’t be a
wanker you. No sleep, reading Magz, Newsweek, Time,
Sights of Suomi, no go and it was then 3.12 fighting to
avoid the TVs porn, laughter in the half light the all night
half day of the Nordic Summer exhausted, grabbing the
Gideon the only thing left to read, ghoulishly lurking in the
bedside drawer…
… ‘water reflects the face back to face,
so one human heart reflects another’..
506
Oh Gawd..
…’like a wave, double minded and unstable…
he without God will have nothing’
… it was true, he had known then, the voice calling him
amid the echoing choir of drunken youth outside in the
perpetual light endlessly dawning... Why? So lonely. Oh
God Why? and not wanting to hear retreating to the shame
and sub standard dirt on Channel 38, Randy riding
Cherise... Oh God.. don’t let me stay awake long enough to
know who I AM… ’
‘OOOOO KARRRRRRTTTT’ Beeping the road was cleared
ahead. SHIT’. Flashing Lights zooming towards him into...
‘FOR FUCKS SAKE’ and Tickle slamming down his feet, fuck,
just stopping before the other cars bumper in front that had
suddenly braked. He slapped himself hard on each cheek;
the native hue of resolution sickled o’er with the pale cast
of thought’ Shakesshit suddenly coming into his head. Shut
the fuck up. Hamlets the name of a cigar isn’t it? Think and
look straight. Come on fuckface, do you want to live or
what? To wear a tie or not to wear a tie? Now that is the
real question.
507
It was very square at Multi Mall International plc, property,
concrete, shoppers, real things rather than the vague
bollocks of cyberspace. But why was he so nervous? Pre
stage the great actor, 15 years ago 5000 people would
have been a piece of piss and now more than two was
becoming a trial. Back then he could loose himself in the
part, inviting the audience to share in that suspension of
belief, confident that fantasy was King… Ring a ding… but
here, it was making the lie real what he was pretending to
be, living a lie, not make-belief but making reality wrong,
the audience the witness ratifying the falsehood, so in
effect, rather than giving birth creating another persona,
the acting, by lying, was in fact killing himself. O Gawd.
Calling T…Calling …Calling T… Note: active incoming calls
divert. Your call is being forwarded…. … She turned off the
phone, pressing the red button hard to restore her sense of
control. Goodbye and the Viscon logo of a purple snake
swallowing its tail fading to blank. ‘Wanker’ Tina whispered;
Toby was chasing his own tail even if he was getting lots of
dough.
508
She felt very sad. He never took her calls anymore and
never answered the mobile. Sorry he’s in a meeting. Bloody
secretary. Sorry he can’t be disturbed. Sorry… Poor little
wifey they’d be saying, the Office People in their fucking
condescending tones, walls between her and Toby, the
deadness of business. God how she hated being Her
indoors, all that shit. Oh Hiya, you alright? Yeah, he’s
working hard, run ragged he is. Janice would say I hope
you’re feeling alright? Janice was OK, ‘Look, Ill bully him
into calling you..’ Janice was the only who could get
anything done there, but even when Tina did get through to
Toby he was always in a hurry, dry and cold in his tone and
all she wanted was someone to talk to, close, someone she
knew to be there for her, to listen without anything else
involved.
Tina coughed and reached for another cigarette infront of
the Telly. Reruns. It was disappointing, this BigBrother2,
Paul and Brian were being stupid and the girls were getting
on her tits, all these boob jobs, it looked like they didn’t
even need them, the young bodies arranged around the
garden like spent statues, collapsed onto themselves in the
hot rooms of the Big Brother house, made Tina feel even
509
more lethargic, but the little feuds and romancings of the
young house mates soothed her a bit with a sense of the
carefree, transporting her back to being a schoolgirl herself,
red balloons and jelly, Dad calling her name. Simple really.
It was all she wanted now really; chit chat and tea and fags
and the occasional spliff. No conflict, that’s the basic reason
for life, isn’t it? Human company, to love and be loved
back, that’s why we’re here isn’t it? Other people, being
with and helping each other, get through this sodding life.
But she was alone now. Toby never here, her feeling too
useless to call anyone else, again alone. I hate him, the
thought suddenly came into Tinas head. There is no love.
Another thought unintended and she felt giddy, shocked as
if something dangerous had got inside her when she let
down her guard and she quickly lit up a cigarette, even
though she already had another one on the go.
---
510
28.
Definition of Belief: a vague idea in which some confidence is placed
wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn
‘It’s the devils work’ the little bald man in the black three
piece said. ‘That’s a bit strong JC’ replied Gerry ‘But there’s
no human contact. What’s the point? ‘Click on the icon’,
what do you mean by that exactly? Sounds vaguely Russian
to me', the bald man continued but before Tickle could
answer the younger man Gerrard Rush-Colman, new CEO of
Multimall plc turned to the older man, JC who was his No 2.
‘Look the Internet is a must, it’s the Way of the Future and
we’re only making the investment of 2.5 mill which is 0.2 of
out of this years Marketing budget. We see it as a test,
don’t we, we agreed Jon didn’t we?’ drawled Gerry, ‘We
don’t want Euroland or any other of the property bods to
take the lead now do we gents? You know what young
Simon’s at Tallergands like’ and Jonny and the rest of the
Multi Mall board reluctantly concurred. There were five of
them, all in dark suits, sat around the long shiny table and
again they all leaned forward to try and understand what
this IT chappy called Toby Tickle was going on about.
511
PRESENTATION INTRO>
INFINITY PORTAL SYSTEM>
SHOPKWICK CABBY>
PERSONAL SHOPPER FOR LIFE>
PERSONALISATION>
DEEP PROFILE = HIGHLY TARGETING SELLING=MULTIPRODUCT
ENTIRE LIFE LIFESTYLE COMPANION>
MULTI PLATFORM>
ANYTIME ANY PLACE>
WIN WIN WIN SOLUTION>
FUTURE DEVELOPMENT>
SCHEDULE>
COST>
Blah blah de blah and more PowerPoint shite and Tickle,
like a preacher of a new gospel spent the next hour trying
to convert the old brethren to online shopping as a New
Way of Life that he didn’t quite believe in himself.
512
No Connection. Network Bus…that wasn’t right, thought
Tina, looking at her phone. When would the network be so
busy that you couldn’t get through? The Millennium, the big
Party, Midnight 2000 was the only time before, everyone
wanting to find their loved ones, everyone wanting to talk
to each other, to connect at the same time or did it happen
at Dis death too, everyone moping into the phone together
competing with each other who had the most tears, crying
as much for themselves as her. No Connection...Network
Busy… fuck. Maybe there had been some Disaster she
hadn’t yet heard about. What would it have been like in a
big war, mobiles beeping all the time during the night on
the Western Front? But there hadn’t been one big enough
since the mobile were invented, except in the War with
Toby; perhaps simply it was their bad vibe that had made
the technology go all wrong. She knew now, she had had to
admit to herself at last, that there was no connection with
Toby anymore, no good one at least, their love had been
run ragged by the disappointment each had had to endure,
the babies, the work, the losses they shared but separately
on the other side of and it was as if the other was there
only to double the opposites pain. Shit why couldn’t they
talk? It was good to talk, wasn’t it? They were always
being told that by the British Telecom ads. Oh Gawd and
513
she thought of Toby, saw him there his back turned, felt
the wordless longing and again Tina began to cry.
‘It’s not fucking sustainable; the whole concepts flawed’.
12.43 and Dr Karl Smythe was shouting at Tickle, a piece of
pink prawn caught between his teeth, again deeply insulted
by the Infinity Portal and his current rant just made Tickle
sick. ‘The whole thing’s going to fall over, the Software’s
riddled with bugs and the Integration of incompatible
components is bound to fail, it always does …None of the
Directors or Investors know the difference between Cabby,
Fanatics, Empathy, Epiphany, Engage, or Rush, it’s all
technie gobbledygook to them, just numbers on a
spreadsheet, actual things, working entitities, are sort of an
irritant, spoiling the elegance of their financial models,
business plans and stupidly fantastic projections,
I tell you
it’s bloody maddening, it makes me want to get out of this
silly dot com game and go back to the Maudsley full time,
Neuroscience and the simplicity of stem cells research with
Weil. At least there the rational is honoured, the Truth is
seen, the insanity of the consequences official. Here..
pah..idoicy totale’ and he took another mouth of the prawn
514
and avocado, the fertile sludge oozing from the corners of
his mouth.
‘Don’t you see Tickle?’ he went on, ‘ It’s not the point
anymore, things. The world of Money carrys on without
them. Things. Money makes the world go round and
things, it exists in a different dimension, separate from all
that and us. Money now can replicate itself, makes more
out of itself, than through thing, through double bluff, lying,
manipulation and well, pure magic really. If you control the
Universe you can do that and America does. Money begets
Money and that is the Truth the Bible never told’. Dr Karls
taut brow and sleepless eyes were questioning Tickle
sharply, but it was all beyond Toby, he didn’t understand,
he’d never got inside Money, got an understanding to how
it worked, he just needed to get as much money as possible
to survive now, before the whole thing went weird. ‘The
stupid are certain, the intelligent full of doubts - that’s what
our friend Alfred said’ Karl continued now spouting,
‘Einstein that is, the fucking fundamentalists are taking
over the world trying to control the outcome, make all
certain enough to die... Look at Bush…Boyhood cruelty to
animals, obsessive behavior, easy to offend, holding
515
grievances, I tell you he’s a paranoid megalomaniac and
the world is going to go caput, his disease is it, this Dot
com madness shows the markets are already infected,
addictions are rife wherever you care to look.. Talking of
which how’s yours?’ Dr Karl sneered; this subject really was
apt for research defects so evident and his mate’s is
malleable too. Tina, his little student was his for the taking
if he wanted to, sitting there mooning at him in the front
row, loving him for his minds clarity and Get to know the
weakness of the ally because they may become an
adversary soon, Management Mantra No 8. ‘Yeah I heard it
on the Radio; the President blowing up chickens as a child
and ..,’ said Tobys strained fingers tearing apart his cheese
and pickle bap without eating it ignoring Karls aside. ‘It
annoys me’ went on Karl ‘the ignorant man who sees Born
Again Christianity as some form of intellectual life. Fuck it,
the world is now run by a gimp’.
Beep Beep – Tobys. ‘Hi Janice, Alright? Yeah. Quick What?
Fuck. Yeah. Shit- What? Shit.’ Tickles face crumpled up into
itself ‘Cabby had crashed, one server down, frigging RITZU’
swore Toby, thinking maybe its Strike with his threatened
virus attack, the Logic Bomb he’d joked of planting finally
516
going off. Oh Shit. Tickle needed Cabby for the Demo this
afternoon with GlobAir, the Big One, it had to work, Santa
would be there, Mission Impossible, Save the Company all
Dens shit…, It's the final countdown The final countdown
and Tickle needed to get back and cover his tracks fast.
‘Gotta go Doctor, trouble at the ranch’ ‘OK’ shouted Karl
after him, prawn flesh still flailing about in between his
razor teeth. ‘Don’t forget what I said: if they don’t address
the structural weakness inherent in the integration the
whole fucking Infinity thing is going to come tumbling down
to the ground kersplatt’.
1.11. Tickle felt like he was actually hobbling behind his
own tortuous frame, separate but chasing it, as it rushed
across the road to get the car and get back to the office.
Glob was at 2.15. Beep Beep… ‘Yeah Tickle here’ No one.
Beep Beep… A Suzuki heading straight for him. ‘Get out the
way you cunt’ and the police bike almost hit him. Where the
fuck did he put his car? Shit. Beep Beep… ‘Hello, Hello,
Toby are you there Tickle are you?’, Oh God he was going
mad again, voices in the crowd. It was his mobile, the call
was open, it was Tina. Oh God. What the fuck did she
want? ‘Yeah… Quick, Anything urgent?’ ‘ No I was just
ringing for a chat really, hardly seen you, at all really,
517
lately, you got back so late gone before I woke up, I
thought you might, you know, want to talk, lunch break you
know’…..Tickle suddenly felt very angry, his grip tightening
around the throbbing phone. ‘Lunchbreak? Im not sitting
around with cups of tea and chit chats like you you know’.
Tickle pictured her with a Silk Cut in her fingers, sniggering
with Ellen or some little student counsellor laughing at the
silly businessman stressing himself out. It was all her fault
this, wasn’t it, his predicament, he wouldn’t have even
been doing this fackin job if it wasn’t for her. ‘I haven’t got
time now Tina,’ he shouted over the traffic ‘Go and play
with the cat while I earn the money, for you and the house,
and for that bloody Baby that doesn’t seem able to be
born….’ He’d gone too far. ‘Oh Shit , Sorry I didn’t…’ he
didn’t mean to say that and for a moment he felt the hurt
streaming back down the phone, through the air now
suddenly desperate to make a connection with her, the
little bit of him for too long he had not allowed himself to
hear at all. ‘Look I'm sorry Tina I didn’t mean to, it would
be good to talk, I feel terrible I feel..’ but and feeling
awkwardly open the profit and loss machine mode came
clicking back in Tickle telling himself, Be nice… need sex.
‘Got to go now, Sorry, I’d like to talk but.. Let’s go out
tonight, a nice meal, talk yeah’, he knew he was getting
518
close to his own boiling point so it would be worth it, the
dosh and the hassle, for the sex that was the only solution
he knew to trying to make the peace. ‘Its good to talk but
it’s better to fuck eh’ maybe BT should have pointed out.
He made another note on his Current List. Ring Janice and
get her to buy scent or some shit for Tina. ‘OK Tina
darling?’ but the line had gone dead. Click.
Odd. That click. Was someone listening? thought Tickle.
He’d read about KORALE Incorporated, the Corporate
Intelligence guys and Den had had the office debugged by
them a few weeks back but were they onto him now,
whoever they were, had they somehow accessed his head,
the hard drive of self serving machinations and card stack
of lies. Den, or a competitor, Glob Div, or the Fraud squad,
whoever the cunts were they were out to get me he was
sure it was all going wrong, he sensed it was all about to
topple over with Tina just being a witness perhaps better
out the way. Server down, bugs everywhere, riddled, RITZU
shirty, Cabby fucked, the whole system was cracking up
and the Infinity shares were sliding down. It’s her fault,
Tina is dragging me under Toby told himself and my fucking
herpes on the back of my head is beginning to
519
explode…‘Mummy, Mummy where are you?’ Toby heard
that little bit of him again, crying out inside, ‘We all have a
fear of being dropped don’t we?’ she’d said not long before
she’d died too long ago, ‘I mean, the way we treat our
babies. Not like the Indian ladies, all safe and sound with
their swaddling cloths’ and now she was going too, Mums
replacement, the one who had held him, had always been
there, the only one he had ever trusted, dropped now to
Gawd knows where? …that undiscovered country from
whose bourne no traveler returns…
Dead.
Oh God
And what about him?
Tobys skins began to tingle from the nape to the scalp the
fags-and-coffee gut wrenching and chest sore. His mouth
was very dry. Water, he needed water but he was standing
in the middle of the hot road now blinking in the thick
fumes and there wasn’t a break in the traffic at all. In front
of him a black-glassed building squat and ugly, turning left
were the Yard, the glass towers of police HQ, and turning
520
right a glimpse of a path towards the spires of the Abbey
shimmering in the heat. Oh shit he was stuck, waiting for
the dip in the traffic so he could get across the road. Keep it
up Keep it up Come on you prick. He stepped forward, a
black cab there coming right at him screeching to a halt a
faceless shape gesticulating behind the glass. ‘You Kar…’
Oh Shit, Where did he put the car? There. Oh No. Yellow
metal. Fuck, he’d been clamped, Oh Gawd and Fear sloshed
in his midriff melting. He was fucked, three counts and you
are ..atishyou atishyou all fall down. There was a leaflet
stuffed in the Screen. Exec rescue Ultra Rapid Declamping
service £500... 30 mins max… Ring Now. He did. Fuck it,
the Money was only a couple of hours work, but it was odd
how it got taken off you so fast as quickly as it came, the
quick money and he really needed Sex tonight definitely
now or he felt he was going to disappear, everything
drained away from him now.
Beep Beep ‘We got cut off..It wasn’t you was it’ It was Tina
‘Just listen to me, just talk’ that plea in the open endedness
of her voice, the asking to be held made him all of a sudden
screw up, horrid inside, hating himself the bit she was
trying to reach terrified it would vanish and he just started
521
at her again, shouting, instinctively stamping on that love
offered down the line, ‘Just fuck off Ive got a crisis here I..’
The line went dead again. He didn’t mean to, just did.
Too afraid to admit the need for love and too afraid to
receive it when offered... Who said that? Gwen? That little
bit of him again. Why was he always pushing her away?
‘STOP VIOLENCE AGAINST WOMEN’, the leaflet had come
through the door yesterday and he’d taken it as a message
or a threat, although it was just a subscription to Amnesty.
But he knew he couldn’t go on like this, they couldn’t and
they had now become you instead.
1.20 Shit, he was going to be late for Glob waiting for the
declamper. Time to kill; time for a walk. Keep it going, head
to the grindstone and Tickle set off down the canyon of
other glass Towers, the Ministry buildings for the
Environment, Work and Trade, head down among the
squares of paving, Come on you cunt, head down, Keep it
going, head to the grindstone feet following the vertical
lines between the paving slabs and all of a sudden
something soft underfoot, it was another dead bird, another
sparrow, its wings outspread as if crucified in the gaps
522
between the stone squares and somebodys foot then
pushed it into the gutter and down into the drain.
Tickle felt something, inside. Was it sorrow?
Fuck it. Keep your head down, to the grindstone and in his
head Tickle was frenetically shuffling the deck of Picture
Postcards to keep him going, the farm, Tara and the
hideaway ranch in Tivuli, www.myperfectlife.tv, the happy
woman, dogs, ducks and a gaggle of kids, the Picture
Postcard of how it should be Wishyouwerehere…and to
finish John has some interesting News from down under..
Toby Tickle the finest Hamlet since Burton has been
rediscovered after 10 years as a Virtual Recluse, living on
his own island bought from a fortune made in the dotcom
boom, he has just finished a gripping new movie Millennium
Hamlet hailed as the Citizen Kane for our times, written
produced directed by Tickle who i being called the New
Howard Hughes…But it would have to be 21st Century
Hamlet now and Toby knew it was already out of date, a
fraud, a lie, a joke, it was just part of giant con trick to try
and believe there was something other than this, the awful
reality he was now part of which was, ultimately his. He
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needed another story to star in, something other than
himself and it seemed everyone around him did also, all
being in the con trick that now no one knew how to halt.
Keep it going, head to the grindstone. He’d been walking,
he realized, not knowing where he was going, trying to look
purposeful, automaton, running away from the split cement
bag emptying out over his back. There was gap in the wall,
back from the glass battlements of Victoria Street, oddly,
an almost Italian Piazza, a red brick edifice rising up inlaid
with colored stone into the Campanali; the word came from
somewhere to describe the Tower or was it a mosque? A
Cathedral. He’d never known it was there. Without thinking
he took a deep breath and went inside.
Quiet. Almost Empty. The interior opened up like the sea;
so much bigger than the outside it seemed, the Nave
receding into a darkness at the end. A giant Christ dangled
from the ceiling: body, legs, nails, head disproportionately
large, all adding up to something monumental but sad.
Toby sat and felt his sores bite into the back of his collar as
he looked up, but he felt strangely reassured by the pain;
at least it verified he was still alive.
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Almost silence.
He heard his own breath, it seemed for the first time for a
long time, in the huge quiet just the shuffling of feet, old
women praying and strange looking men dotted about the
chairs. A choir was practicing somewhere hidden, a gaggle
of children walking down a separate nave. He didn’t think,
he sat listening, looking blankly up at the altar in front of
the darkness and all he saw was his own emptiness and the
exhausted longing that lay behind. He was just another
head now, among the ranks of wooden chairs in the vast
hall as people came back went one by one around him;
each seemed intent on something, being something, as if
waiting there, listening but in a way knowing it would not
come.
Toby sat with his panic, quiet, his emptiness big but
subsiding in his gut, and he sat and sort of prayed, talking
not quite to himself hoping the pain would go away. And
very slowly he began to cry. He cried for Tina, he cried for
the dead babies and the life he hadn’t had. He cried for the
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person he was before he’d lost it, them, her and it, he cried
for his life the hope abandoned and he cried for the loss of
that faith he’d once had, in love, in art and in the
indisputable Other, whatever IT was, the thing that made
him feel everything would be alright, in the end.
…like a wave, double minded and unstable… without God
you will have nothing… voices washed in from the Helsinki
darkness, the words echoing around the perpetual half-light
inside his heart. It was him and he was all washed up on
the beach. Ride the wave Man the sewage green eye still
saying like a snake. The great surf was an illusion, it was
over now leaving him without a life, the life that had
breathed briefly then ceased clinging to the wombwell,
then, ceasing to be, loosing grip and falling away to
nothingness…the undiscovered country…the lines he’d
learnt by heart but only now coming to know their meaning.
Tickle closed his eyes and a sort of gentleness was holding
him, a cool hand and he saw the lights, shapes of light and
dark inside his lids changing circles, clouds and in the
middle as a centre a bright blot of light.
526
And opening his eyes he was in a new place. He felt more
rested than he had for a long time.
Something had happened.
The choir had stopped. A stream of people was making
their way down the length of the Nave, passing tables of
candles placed along the corridor of chapels to the side.
Light a candle for…? The dead babies? Toby realized he
hadn’t grieved for the babies, his miscarriages, for his life,
ever really. Anger was all he had felt and Lust as the
palliative to the lack it left, living mostly in the just about
bearable soup in between. What would be there without
them?
Just him. Now, here in the huge quiet, he just felt sad and
it was surprising to him, that it didn’t after all feel that bad.
10p for candles. Just night lights. There was a small display
of pictures around one chapel, Remember 1984; the
original Big Brother and it was the year he’d started
drinking, the tabloid humiliation, the disappearance, the
527
year he’d lost his way. Remember BHOPAL Was it an
anagram? On Dec 3rd shortly after midnight, poison gas
leaked from a factory in Bhopal killing… and there were
pictures of women, dirty scarves draped over screaming
heads open hands stretched out pleading. 16 years without
retribution the International Campaign for Justice in Bhopal
needs your help. Crying women, bloodshot eyes of dazed
men and a twisted child looking out knarled stunted limbs
no ears looking out, a still stare at the lens. In this huge
howl of pain Tobys knew his own grief was just a sigh, a
whisper inside this the giant ‘Why?’ that he now knew
somehow that he was part of. And the knowledge seemed
to make the pain OK.
A door closed somewhere and a gust of cool wind moved
between the pillars almost blowing out the candles, their
flames being pulled after it then coming back to
themselves, struggling back to centre. Toby wondered if he
should pray. What for? And it came again, from deeper
down this time as if the panic like a cloud, had crumpled in
on itself and it had begun to rain. Tears splattered onto the
marble and his whole body shook from a space in his back a
little bit before he didn’t know was there. Stop it for fucks
528
sake stop it, bury it, smother it you’re not a child anymore.
Tickle tightened his grip and gritted his teeth trying not to
grab hold of the breath. It felt his neck was trying to burst
open at last, the sore trying to rid itself of whatever was
inside burning like a brand and then a cool hand was
resting on his shoulders, a peace unseen and Toby came
back into himself and turning a person was there, a bald
man, clear face with still eyes, a small smile.
‘Don’t Worry. Be still. It is as it is. All will be well. Think to
whom this is happening. It’s not all of you. Remember it’s
not all of you. Don’t worry my son. It is as it is.’ The Man
said, ‘Go well’.
The stillness in the monks eyes caught something and Toby
turned away a speechlessness taking hold of him. Which
Me? I AM you mean, AM I? and turning back to ask, the
monk had already gone.
29.
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"It is always more difficult to fight against faith than against
knowledge."
Adolf Hitler
The day had brightened coming out of the church, or
perhaps it was in contrast to the dark insides. Stepping
away from the strange catechism interior and the visitation
from the monk- Was he a monk, or was he imagining it?
What was that? Toby felt like it was something like a gift
but thinner than air.
Back into the piazza, something had dropped away also and
Tickle had lost, it seemed for the first time in an eternity,
the compulsion to rush. A woman was standing staring at a
collection of pigeons eagerly eating breadcrumbs, leftovers
from her sandwiches, each constantly fluttering in fear that
they’d miss out on the food, all in the bustle maneuvering
to get something. The women looked up seeing Tickle
standing and smiled. They had been in the same place for a
moment and to Tickle it was as if a bucket of water had
been thrown on him. It seemed a long time since he had
seen anyone properly; always in opposition, on edge, in
530
conflict.
A blur streamed along the post lunch pavement, the Palm
Pilot diaries being fulfilled as the ranks of office workers
made their way back to their cubicles. Tickle moved into
them and let himself be carried along towards Parliament
Square. The car will have been sorted out and he’d be back
in time, or, if he wasn’t, well, he finally admitted, there was
nothing he could do about it and it didn’t really matter
anyway. Did he really care? Anyway even he couldn’t
control the traffic.
OSAMA THE TARGET – US CONSIDERS ASSAULT More
headlines shouted out revenge, PEADO HUNG BY CRAZED
MOB, WAR CRIMES LATEST, CLINTON CIGAR GIRL ON
TOUR, BECK POSH BABY… and images streamed into
Tickles head, a strobe of shit: Havanas and Cruise Missiles,
Black on White and a Newsnight cocktail, a virtual reality
game being played out, the global drama a soap opera on
MONDO TV and then the mutant child from Bhopal
reappeared, as if pushing through a shouting crowd and
held Tickle there for a moment again in its defiant gaze; a
531
mother holding in her tears and inside Toby felt a link
between his own loss and their pain multiplied a million
times, the dead sailor floating in a foreign sea, his
girlfriends crying the women in the ruins, the farmer in the
stolen corn, the endless horizons weeping, the World filling
up with fear and somehow his pain struggling to connect
together with theirs the Others through the bludgeoned
senses saturated with the massed ranks of Images shouting
out the Worlds Denial.
‘The Markets will sustain us, it the fittest will survive and
we believe at Infinity that our Portal solution is State of the
Art and with partners as yourself we can ride through the
shakeout intact..’ It was 14.36 and the meeting had already
started; Den introducing the Show. It was his Final
Countdown and this, the meet with Glob, was the Big One,
the key to the company turnaround, a deal bolstering the
share price then sell up and get out clean. The exec
management had been preparing for it for weeks, ‘Come on
Lads we’re going over the top here’ Den had been chanting,
‘so gird your loin and remember England expects or I
fucking do at least’. Santa had been back for a week and
even Benny had left the gee-gees and the other rides alone
532
for a while. Global Airways was the Big Boy on the block,
the favourite of Thatcher, a model of ruthless efficiency,
market capitalization of 32 bill, Footsie 10 and Infinity was
trying to get a purchase into its hide desperately seeking
blood.
GlobAir its turn had finally decided it was going Online and
being Glob it was going to be the best. Money was no
object, Infinity was a trendy little dot-com but its worth had
hit a billion, that magic number so it was OK to play with
and this was the Mega Corporations little amble on the wild
side. Hey let's go crazy guys and loosen our ties and in an
open neck double cuff shirt blazing the Company blue
Shane Dogitz was sat there, neat little beard, fiddling with
one of those brand new flip-top Erikssons, 8in of shiny
black, very good for the new WAP. MD Commercial at only
32, 400k, car, pension, health, mortgage allowance and, of
course, an unlimited number of Air Miles he obviously was
adept at reading the signs and he saw now as the Other
lesser executive entered late that, Tickle Fall Guy
designate, was toast.
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‘Sorry, Traffic’ said Toby and he felt the cascade of
demoting glares putting him in his place; Gordon’s snarl,
Dens plastic smile and Santa didn’t even look up from his
papers. ‘Nice of you to join us, fighting fires at the front line
I suspect.’ Den struggled not to sound too pissed off.
‘Tickle, this is Shane’. The man didn’t get up... ‘and this is
Tariq, Globs IT guy and our lovely lady friend is called
Pauline. PR’, another clipped goatee and a tiny mouthed
women in a black Armani looking very stern, her little eyes
staring straight through Tickle, intent on the real power
behind. ‘Long lunch hey? Not back to our old tricks are we
Ticks?’ said Gordon ‘Anybody here remember Shame, our
little Hitler here, No? Right, neither do I to be frank, went
straight to video didn’t it’? he added sniggling. ‘Yes, very
good, but we need to proceed’ Shane said in deep Scottish
tones, ‘I have to leave in 43 minutes latest so we’d better
get on’, he spoke very slowly indeed, like Sean Connery,
making a very clear statement, that he, who had the most
money and the least Time available, was the most
important person here, so everyone else better hurry up.
‘So taking Glob airmiles credit card scheme allocating flight
points for redemption, and correlating them to the credit
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and purchasing history of individuals, this data combined
with the click thru journey via the Infinity Portals rich
inventory of choices-, advertising, content or e-commerce
will give a very clear idea who the users, your potential
clients, are… ten minutes later Tickle was half way into his
set speech sensing, and unable to help it, the belief in his
executive character draining rapidly away….the Infinity
Portal will provide the most advanced personalization
engine available, across all medium, Web, Mobile and TV,
he droned on sounding like a robot and later at
participating supermarkets and high street stores recording
all individualized activity, be that click thru or browsing or
online purchasing of the user, so an extremely
comprehensive profile of the User will be accrued in the
Glob customer database, powered by the Infinity portal its
engine in turn powered by Cabby Version 5 which is almost
complete… This role had gone on too long, the play felt like
a rerun in an endless loop, and in the future other
database, car, health, insurance with be included providing
the richest profile ever developed….and he knew that he
could not do this anymore...to enable brands to service
your Users to the optimum level and for your customer , a
means by which a rich range of highly defined choices will
be offered, catalogued according to a weighted taxonomy
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utilizing both heuristic programming techniques and
additional personalization techniques which classify on the
fly via an unique algorithm….’
Tickle suddenly interrupted his schpeel, the urgency of the
sales patter evaporating from his face. ‘Of course we don’t
want the great Glob being accused of predatory behaviour,
being exposed as the highly efficient and essentially
heartless organism which it is, whose very life force is
shaped entirely to the purpose of exploiting their customers
for every fucking penny they’ve got, do we now? We don’t
want that, do we lads?’ and there was a classroom of
disturbed boys fiddling with their mobiles and Pauline
shifting uncomfortably in her too tight skirt with Gordon
suppressing a nervous giggle. ‘I’m not sure if this is going
against the Maggie creed or not, but it’s not very nice is it,
trying to control the consumer in such a way, is it? Really
peeping into their lives without permission, tracking what
they are doing by camera or buying card in order to get as
much the Money off them as you can, it isn’t very good is
it? Then badgering them to borrow more, so they can buy
more, in a perpetual merry-go-round, going around faster
and faster buying and borrowing buying and borrowing
until twisted up in debt and overwork, driving too fast then
536
doing them by the speed camera so more money and more
worry increase until totally stressed out, they all spins off
their own top and crash. Its not very good is it, eh fucking
everyone up just for more dosh?’
Toby took a deep breathe, surprising himself how happy he
felt; it was as if he was about to float away, the audience
there hovering in a suspension of disbelief, but Toby knew
it would turn to anger if he couldn’t stop himself going on,
‘There’s enough pressures on them, on us, without this,
aren’t there? We need as much time as we can get, a place
to be ourselves, to find out who were are, to just be, and
with other people, fully, not not to be but to be, fully, with
the others and that’s more important isn’t it than anything
else, isn’t it? Integrity, Friendship, Love? Isnt it? Far more
important than money isn’t it? More than fucking shopping
anyway. To be ourselves, helping each other to be who
they are, that’s the point isn’t it? To be human, not reduced
to being just a User, a shopping basket that’s there just to
be continually filled?’
Silence.
537
This guy had obviously gone mad. And he had even taken
Her name in vain and the room became ice cold. Santa was
noiselessly blowing up, his face now puce red smudging his
beards edge pink. ‘What had happened to Tickle?’ he asked
himself ‘And to think of the benefits I’ve given him coming
in here a spineless celeb, the little cunt’. Den was already
assessing the security implication for getting the twat out of
the door without a fuss, Was he armed, another Dotcom
psycho like the Momentum Guy? and Gordon was trying to
stop himself peeing himself he was so excited about the
prospect Tickles removal would create for himself. And Toby
just continued looking at them, sitting there fingering their
mobiles little anxious pricks and he felt at last as though he
was back in himself, shed of some mouldy old coat he
didn’t know he had been wearing and now at last he could
again stand up straight.
And he laughed out loud, he couldn’t help himself, as he
saw that this, his whole Infinity story he’d been clinging
onto, was now rapidly fading away and he was finding
himself being able to breathe fully again. The business, this
538
busyness, to keep the Money moving, suddenly seemed all
so unimportant and he knew then he didn’t give a toss.
‘Sorry times up, you’ve got the general idea anyway,’ he
announced to the stunned office, ‘Good luck but I’m off to
try and make up with my wife..’
And she rolled over again and saw there was nothing but a
shadow of himself he had dressed her in.
Three hours later Santa was sat fiddling with his fat Cross
pen slumped on the Executive Suite Toilet, his lineless face
hung there motionless, a seagull hovering against the wind
behind him through the triple glazed window. The CEO Dot
com pioneer, entrepreneur extremis and net guru without a
technical clue was listening to Den outside the cloakroom
door, recounting another Sunningdale golf chat. ‘…I was
talking to Gerrers at the 13th about the TexElec takeover,
you know a bit of a nudge and a wink and he says the US
Energy guy would be interested in some sort of share swap.
Look at Enron Santa, its going sky high’ and the
consummate deal maker began to register the existence of
539
another potential play, numbers automatically beginning to
flicker behind his eyelids, currents zipping between the plus
and minus of generative possibility- that company to that
company, 1+1 = 2 + 1. You had to have an affinity for it in
the end, not just learnt, a feel for it and he’d been living
deals since he was 10. O Gawd, come on, push and puce
red he suddenly realized that nothing really, since then, had
gone seriously wrong; everything had progressed, smoothly
in the ever burgeoning confidence of his positive self
regard. Until now that is, Glob gone, the share price
beginning to plummet and the Billion Dollar tag
disappearing fast. O gawd, I B fucking S. A war was
beginning to develop in his midriff, a violent ruction
happening just above his gut, a seismic groan asking for
something in a language he couldn’t quite grasp. Was it the
insanity of that twat Tickle marching out of the Glob meet
with his ‘ sorry I’ve got to go and be nice to my wife shit’ ?
O gawd …Whatever this was it was an alien sensation
happening inside Santa and, although he didn’t know it, it
was part of an amalgam of feeling called Unease. ‘OK Den,
send through the Heads. Now Piss Off. I’ve got to try and
have this crap’.
540
Who let the dogs out (woof, woof, woof, woof)
Who let the dogs out (woof, woof, woof, woof)
OOOOAAARRR a coon car passed outside blaring. Fuck it, it
was almost over and he made himself calm down. This
discomfort could develop into the potentially fatal condition
of Doubt sensed Santa, and he knew Indifference was the
source of the Power, not to be ruffled by anything, to be
cold, rational, that’s how Money liked it in their Execs to
whom they gave it, the Money to play with.
He’d been in the dotcom from the beginning, seen the
game develop but even he, Child of the Big Bang, was
surprised by how big it had got the bubble, including the
half a billion dollars he was now worth. He couldn’t cash in
any for 2 years; in the Directors agreements to make the
Company sound more solidly long term for the less gambly
investors, the old biddies and gamblers in the sticks, but
the Money obviously knew he’d stashed away few mill in
Jersey on trust which, thanks to Raz, had reincarnated itself
magically in Nicosia, impregnable the ultimate get out
541
clause. No, they weren’t going to get it off him this time
and he’d finally, feeling his bowels loosen at last, after
twenty years hard graft, managed to get ahead of the
game.
OOAARR. Santa pushed again but nothing came out. Fuck,
pain wasn’t on the agenda. Ignore it and it will go away.
No, it wasn’t the money really, it was the fact he’d proved
his point to Warlock and all the other fuckers who had tried
to trip him up in the story of his ascent. The point was he’d
got through the rite of passage now, from Minion to Boss,
from the Fucked to the Fucker, it was done. OOAARR the
question now was how he was going to get out without too
much mess. Saving Face the Japs called it. He still saw it,
the Vision of Infinity of course and he still believed because
you had to in order to sell growing exponentially
encrustating in blue chip. Yeah it could have been Ten of
everything all over again, but in his gut Santa knew it
wasn’t going to go on much longer, the balloon had a hole
in it and he couldn’t help think that twat Tickle had ended
up being the Pin. Cunt. OOAARR No, the whole thing, he
knew really, had grown too fast, the Land Grab, the Big
Boys in the City as always pushing for more, the Millennium
542
so threatening that there wasn’t enough time left to make
Money needed. But now the party was definitely over, the
madness had subsided the Smart Boys had fucked off and
banked their dosh and now the Money was looking at actual
revenue rather than the virtual future of the could be and
well, it was finding there wasn’t actually any there.
Fucking Users, the suckers that they were selling this shit
to, hadn’t caught up with what they were supposed to do
according to the PLAN, the time had been scheduled and if
they didn’t play ball soon the shit was really going to hit the
fan and then everyone had better duck down fast. Shit he
had to get out soon. OOAARR Santa puffed out, his white
shirt becoming dark in patches, like the Polar expanse
beginning to melt under the Ozone hole. The whole system
was now on steroids and stretched so tight by the Boys
trying to hit their fantastic targets always set just beyond
the achievable, that the growth demanded was too much
for the system to sustain and in the end the vital organs
would inevitably fail. OOAARR And another jolt happened
above the deep plate of the pelvis on his left hand side, a
ripple of mysterious fluid spreading through the vessels
worryingly making its way right up to the heart, its
543
gravitational force opening up a hole beneath it, a sensation
developing that was almost frightening, like an open ended
questioning – Was it to be him, the Fall Guy? the City Boys
would choose soon. OOAARR, Fear, that had come along as
well as Doubt.
Fuck this – he had to do something, fast. Action, anything
was better than inaction, to stop Dealing was Death. End
of. Santa rubbed his chest again. His heart, the tissue
wrapped as a fist, had always been driven on by the what
might be, the Carrot and in stopping now and looking at
what is, it could be highly dangerous. Fuck this, he needed
to set up a Fall Guy fast. Gordon was too young, Ernie too
old, Den too sharp, Bennie too close and of course, it was
that fucking Tickle, obviously he wasn’t one of us and the
Fucker had obviously gone doolally anyhow. OOAARR Fuck
him, a little bit of paperwork, a PC hack here and theremaybe he’d give that Nerd, what was his name, Strike, a
call. Yeah, a bit of Identity tinkering was all that was
needed to turn that Cunt, the spent Celeb, into a Twat.
OOAARR and there, PLOP, something landed in the water
beneath him and Santa felt a slight release, the great CEO
544
feeling restored. Ah yes, a sacking that was what was
needed, restructuring usually did the trick. Yeah, a clear out
now we’re talking, but let’s not sack the Twat just yet. No,
let’s wait awhile, make it hurt and get the optimum blame
value out of him first. Always Optimize your Assets. First
off, let’s get the little fucker to sack some of his staff, make
him squirm. PLOP. Yeah, there’s nothing like a sacking,
purges the system and makes you feel better, particularly
witnessing the discomfort in the would-be bosses, and for
the rest it makes them more controllable, more afraid.
Refreshed, calm, expunged now and Santa decided on pink,
ripping off the cellophane from the new Lingwort shirt. More
Virgin investors were coming in this aft and he just had to
keep the Money moving that was the key, then the
company slap up tonight Champers and a bit of tucker and
then a bit of… yeah Tickles PA what was she called, yeah
that Janice is nice. Perhaps he’d offer her the job of being
his Executive PA instead, part of the ritual humiliation
without telling him straight and yeah that bitch, simple but
loyal, nice, big knockers fat arse, something to get yours
hands on, yeah nice, then Thank God it Fucking Friday and
off on Raz’s Gulfstream Jet for a bit of a laugh with Ray and
545
the Boyz. Poor Ray, got himself fucked, couldn’t help
himself going to knock off that bird in Spain. Errr, well not
now, but nevermind Tel and the rest would be there. Wasn’t
it Linseed and Kiwi that Raz had recommended for the
dodgy arse, yeah and Goats Yogurt that always did the trick
for him?
This is BT 1571 There is no one available to take your call
please leave a message…she wasn’t in. Toby was hiding
behind the odd metal sculpture outside the Infinity Office,
No Gods No Masters, trying to get through to his sort of
almost no more wife. Tina, his darling Tina, its all over he
wanted to tell her, he couldn’t take it anymore, the strain
of playing the exec, always being away from her, apart
from himself, and he was so sorry for being such a shit
head, treating her like an object, only for sex, and he could
change, he would change, he wanted to be with her and he
knew how now he had to be with her, with everyone,
someone who looked at people as people, rather than
making everyone cartoon cutouts, caricatures in a crap
play; Saul the plastic gangster, Simon the cartoon shyster,
Benny the Perv, and Strike the James Bond Nerd, Toby
realized he saw them all as objects rather than real people,
546
as he had viewed himself, dying inside the living suit,
seeing everyone as a threat or as of use for him to make as
much money as he could.
Calling T…Calling …Calling T… Note: active incoming calls
divert. Your call is being forwarded This is the Vishcon
messaging service for 07773004523 Please leave a
message after the tone… Oh Tina where the fuck was she?
She didn’t say where she was going? Was she having an
affair? He thought of Tara. Had she already packed up and
left for home? O gawd why had he used her as his escape,
and his shame, and anyway what did he really feel? And
Tickle suddenly realized that he hadn’t talked to his wife
properly, face to face, for over a year, two since the loss of
the second baby in fact and … All he’d done since then was
sulk and shout, secretly blaming her for the end of the
possibility for their postcard Life… Oh God, where was she
now? Oh God he wanted to tell her about the Bhopal Child
or at least the effect, the knowledge that he now needed to
stop running stop grabbing, to listen, be still, receive and,
somehow, to give. It is what it is. And he wanted to tell her
that he just wanted to hold her, not fuck her, just be with
her, go back to zero rather than argue, get away from the
547
judgement and condemnation, the argument over who had
made the largest sacrifice and who was to blame for each of
their disappointments, we just wanted to...
Calling T…Calling …Calling T Note: active incoming calls
divert. Your call is being forwarded... Fuck she didn’t pick
up, the rejection beginning to open a pit in his gut…Oh shit
it made him sick this, it made feel him so weak, exposed
and it felt like he could only hold the window open for a
short time, this asking for help, the waiting for her, the
vulnerability and the willingness to be other than he had
been, keep open the gap in himself through which he was
reaching out to the something unknown a question but to
keep open to keep saying Yes. If he didn’t get a hold of her
now, tell her how he so feared sinking back into himself
demoted and debased, an in-between thing, lukewarm
neither hot or cold, stuck in his aloneness, forever with
nowhere else to go. To be or not to be? Neither. Effectively
Dead.
……’like a wave, double minded and unstable…
he without God will have nothing’…
548
T calling T calling T calling…and Tina pressed REJECT a third
time. She was at the miscarriage clinic in Paddington lying
like a slab of meat on the cold leather of the consulting
room feeling uptight. She’d been loath to go but Toby had
been going on about it for a year and she couldn’t deal with
sitting on her fear around it again. She had to show willing;
she didn’t want others to say she hadn’t tried. But why
should she do what he said? Who’s fucking body was it
anyway? It was her pregnancy and she knew it was all
about how you felt, inside. The rest, a mystery, wasn’t it?
‘Well we’ve had back a number of the tests and as we said
it all seems as it should be: Cervix OK, Ovarian function,
sufficient number of good quality oocytges, no sign of
chromosomal anomaly, or embryo abnormalym,’ the male
voice made her sound like a car, ‘and the primary
Antiphospholipid Syndrome tests were negative no lupus
anticoagulant- and Mrs, er Ms, er Miss.. We did use the
dilute Russels viper venom time which is very sensitive...
So, perhaps it’s the antibodies.’ The Consultant took off his
glasses and stared morosely at the papers before him.
‘Anti bodies..there is new research up in Leeds.. Hopkinton,
549
clever man.. Some success… It’s been proven that in some
rare cases, the antibodies of the man and the woman are
actually incompatible, each rejects the other, the foetus
had been too weak, effectively each half destroys the
other...so Hopkinson, the Leeds treatment attacks that
problem, altering the structure of the particular antibody, or
something like that…’ The seemingly exhausted man tailed
off not really wanting to show his ignorance further. ‘The
treatment is quite arduous, I understand, and expensive
and at this early stage far from guaranteed to work’; and
he looked up as if for the first time registering that there
was another human being in the room. ‘And er, Mrs,
Ms..I’m not sure how much you actually want to go on…?’
‘I’m not sure how much you want to go on…?’ the question
echoed outside at the bus stop in Praed Street; Tina felt
flummoxed. Toby and Tina, Him and her, her and him,
pushing and pulling, pulling and pushing but they were not
together, really, Toby was hardly ever there now, she could
never get through to him and his world seemed to be about
everything and nothing and certainly not about her. She’d
been prodded and pricked and her mind just didn’t feel
strong enough to cope with counseling anymore; the course
550
was still on the introduction level and getting paid seemed
an age away. She felt like some sort of white good, a
fridge, microwave, an oven gone defective, a domestic
hiccup that couldn’t burp and it was all wrong. Why the fuck
should she feel so bad about herself?
Fuck it, fuck him, she was tired of her life being dictated by
the Baby, the Body and Him her other half, or so they’d
always said. One flesh. Bollocks Fuck that, it was old hat
now in the 21st century, who could you trust it was too
frightening you had to look after yourself. She was her own
person, more than just a reproductive ball and, to prove it,
she turned on her half heel and walked into Paddington
Station behind her and got onto the Seven o’clock to
Penzance.
551
30.
Thoughtcrime does not entail death: thoughtcrime is
death."
- George Orwell, 1984,
18.52. Tickle felt sick. It had been a long day. A living hell
all afternoon. The sacking of Bez, Jacob and Evangeline was
not nice and Janice had almost gone too but for Santa then
not signing it off. Tobys brave confidence in the Boardroom
with Globair, was now weakened by the disappearance of
Tina was feeling a fraud stuck in an old life, sensing he was
about to be crucified, sat in the Company slap up,
Quarterly Review and Bonding Session no one talking to
him. Even Janice wasn’t speaking to him anymore, giving
him the pig eye too. He was the one who had fucked it, had
put the first crack in the glass the illusion that was Infinity,
throwing the stone at the windscreen that was now driving
too fast towards an unknown ending and he was the one
that had been chosen to blame for the inevitable crash.
GlobAir was stuffed and Operation Final Countdown was
fucked and they had to find someone else now to bail them
out and fast.
552
Sacking..sacking?..Who? Where? What? Whisperings
around the large bar in the Shoreditch Warehouse,
‘Sacking, did you hear? Who. Redundancy? Your turn next’
‘No’ ‘yes’ ‘No’ A dark murmurings from the 250 employees
clustered in groups around them in the corners and the
Board standing in the spotlight, like marionettes silhouetted
in front of the projector blank whiteness on the Wall. In the
fragile organism made up of weak product and insecure
people that was Infinity, the dotcom baby that had grown
too quickly for the central organs to sustain, the anxiety
had increased to unbearable levels. ‘Everything Right on
track’ the palliative, another Powerpoint, the New Infinity
Plan, was now being projected up on the Screen. Nice
looking charts, bar graphs like City Skyline, obviously going
up and up, a couple at the end the same height, two
Towers the ones Sky had been going on about three years
before, and the New Manager called Ralph, the
Troubleshooter, a Northern Manufacturing type who’d been
jetted in as Benny and Santa had jetted out, to the
Bahamas to meet more Investors they said and Ralph was
going on mechanically with a pot belly in a Brass Tacks
accent, ‘that is our aim, its what the City and our investors
want, steady growth stabilizing after our tremendous
spree..’ But, beyond the numbers, the truth was the staff
553
no longer had the energy left to believe in it; waiting for the
Future had just gone on for too long. Faith in Infinity had
retreated inside itself and as soon as the Money found out
that would be it. End of.
‘…as you can see by this here the year on year growth is
evident.’ ‘Yeah and growth in your fucking salaries more
like’ grumbled Bradley to his mates not far from Tickle.
‘Don’t know their arses from their elbows.’ No, Toby had to
go before they started on the Prizes, Employee of the
Month and all that motivational shit, bought in by the New
Manager fresh from BG Garr, the Hangover Drink makers,
in order to get things straight, or at least to look like they
were. ‘Cunt’ someone whispered as Tickle maneuvered to
the exit through the mob, a gritted smile stuck on his
sallow face. He felt condemned. He knew it was over. He
felt it in his gut, a string had broken, SNAP.
SNAP… T404 XDU>
another photo, the spider searching the database retrieved
the file behind the fourth firewall of Hector Inc. the HMG
supplier of the 2.3 million CCTV cameras in the capital,
554
according to Strikes coded instruction and then allocated it
to the string being developed along ID TT007 as he’d called
it, Tickle, as he sat in the Azores now attending to
something much more important in his own private but
global joke using a new radio frequency…3…4…5..2..9.. and
numbers as that was the only means of communication now
left that was vaguely secure. Got him, nice..
‘The whole thing is just nonsense on stilts’ said Mrs.
Rambledon after she and her husband, the former
Conservative MP Andrew Rambeldon, were released
'pending further investigations' following five hours of
questioning at Barking police station…Toby screeched off
from outside the warehouse bar into the Tonight Program
on Radio 4 heading West fast as if he was in a get-away
scene. He’d said he see Agamemnon one last time just to
stop him hounding him and ringing him up all the time,
worried he’d interfere in the reconciliation with Tina to
which Tobys hope was hanging onto as much as Agman the
other addict was clinging onto the idea that Tickle owed him
his life…The Rambledons' solicitor, Ned Roston, said they
had been questioned over accusations regarding indecent
acts on a woman including rape in Plaistow in June. The
555
case continues… In our next item the technology sector
comes under the spotlight. Roy Sponge is at the CIS
electronic Show in LA, Hi Ray, and despite the spectacular
share price falls in the States I understand there’s still
plenty of excitement being generated by new ideas… Yes?
Crap. It was everywhere, this crap, News, Business, the
World, always the next big thing. Did he have to go back
there, to Infinity, couldn’t he just continue driving away
from all of it, the corruption, lies and the greed. But what
about Tina? For so many years acting his part not wanting
to rock the boat, the job or pretend one avoiding
unemployment and the breaking of the illusion of security
that would make her too frightened to have a Baby and
endanger their Picture Postcard fiction not becoming life.
Fuck the postcard, he’d have to trust it will be OK whatever
happened and Tina would have to trust it and him too. It
was the only way, either both their bids for self sufficiency
would then to them being apart, or they had to share their
fear, by their love to live despite it. It was new for both of
them and with trust then perhaps, in theory, it will turn out
at least as it is meant to be. Truth. Not it, is. It is as it is.
He knew that now.
556
...the Co-creator of Shelia Delight, Simon Froth, the
entertainment impresario said the concept had been based
on the success of his character Suckme Yamohoto,
prototyped in Tokyo in the Fall, "Our ultimate objective here
is to let the markets know that our stable of virtual
Celebrities are available for work like any other individual in
the world of entertainment," Two of the firm’s other
creations, Beth Butt and Me Mouth, have already appeared
in a campaign for Big Mac and Roddy Mckewan has just
been signed up to HORSEPLAY erotica series, his online
avatar called DIY Stallion coming out on Playstation and the
broadband convergent Net. ‘The future is here again’
declared Simon, ‘it’s the ultimate talent management tool
and makes the flesh and blood celebrities of today to a
large extent redundant. The company is hoping...Simon
says Blah Blah Fackin Blah…Tickle made himself change the
channel. What a twat.
Who let the dogs out
(woof, woof, woof, woof)
I'm figurin' that's why they call me faithful
'Cause I'm the man of the land
When they see me they doah-ooooo (howl)
557
Who let the dogs out
(woof, woof, woof, woof)
The sixties villa in the Cul de Sac behind Bayswater didn’t
answer. No light came from any of the windows and
relieved, Toby began to reverse back out of the street. ‘You
Cunt’. It was the snarling face of Agman suddenly at the
side of the car. He only had a pair of Boxers on, a piece of
green snot coming down from one nostril, as if from a
leakage caused by all the screaming he’d done down the
phone. ‘Me old mucker’ Agman declared, sloppy nasal
voice, kissing Toby on both cheeks, ‘Me old mate,’ as if
reading out of a phrasebook for Friendship ‘come inside for
a coffee’ but then came the pig eye aside ‘We’ll discuss the
deal later, Alright’ What deal? No, Not that. Just say No,
Toby told himself again no dope.
The place was a wreck, as if there had been a burglary a
moment before. ‘How’s the habit’, asked Toby in a
businessman sort of way to assert he didn’t have one now.
‘Yeah, I’ve conquered the fucker, haven’t jacked scag for
558
four months now. Here, want a draw on this?’ offering
Tickle a spliff ‘No thanks. Don’t mix with computers’. ‘Doing
me own treatment with me old matey Dr Kindness, Harley
St Specialismo,’ Agaman droned on trying to sound
convincing ‘giving me the script and this fucker here too’.
Agamemnon wretched open his shirt and nipped the skin on
his fatless stomach, the outline of a little tube protruding.
‘That’s my babe the inbox feeding me internally 24/7’ he
said, ‘Once a month go a bit crazy when you do your own
detox’ and Toby saw Agman there in the darkness, a mad
dervish spinning, screaming, throwing everything about
searching for something not there any longer, smashing
pictures, another spoilt boy raging against the world not
getting what I want I want I want ….Mummy Mummy
Where are you?
‘Where’s the Folks?’ asked Tickle trying to avoid having to
say no to Agmans scam. ‘Fucked off. Gone to live with big
Sis in the States, the great DotCon Attorney from on high in
San Jose, California, Jemison and fucking Yidshit’ growled
Agman with a snarl ‘ Left really early one morning, keys
and two grand in cash’ said Agman suddenly was looking
like a sad boy ‘We feel its best that we don’t talk for a
559
while. Your mother is not well. Blah de Blah de fucking Blah’
suddenly laughing Agamemnon put on his shades and got
out his palm pilot. ‘PortAll.com Geddit, Portal Port All.
‘Yeah that’s it. Yachts online. Know these guys in Cypress,
shifting boats around the Med, the scam is for moving
about last thing, late booking and you know, Eggprezz
Kargo, as my esteemed colleague out there Razil likes to
call it ’ Agamemnon winked, ‘and I said to him, look mate,
one of my associates in Londinium happens to have
invented the fucking World Wide Web, anyway that’s what I
told him. So here we are then. Here you go me old mucker’
and he slammed down a little cup of Espresso on the table
in front of Tickle, coffee splattering on a Red Letter On Her
Majesty’s Service warning Unpaid Tax.
‘Smithy, you know, him and Teri the Sunday Times mag
girl, do photographic and Stelios a Greek guy I went to
school with, said he’d put the yacht guys, the rich fuckers,
our way, except I cant get hold of him for the last couple of
months, Jet set heh? Cant you just see it, Nicosia, Istanbul,
New York London, the IPO Billions and Heh I read the pink
paper too you know,’ he said going even more nasal, ‘I
know my stuff and I’m on the straight and narrow again
560
me old mucker It could be you it could be me, eh?
Everything coming up roses that’ll show me fucking Mum
and Dad…..’
Toby managed to get away two hours later only 3K down,
payment for a supposed debt from a cracked windscreen
apparently damaged by Tickles feet almost 10 years ago,
on the way back from MLFs party it was and 3K seemed a
lot more than it would be worth. But Toby needed to see
Tina now, free of the last toodoo on his list except her. ‘At
least I’m free of the addiction’, thought Toby desperate to
have sex with his mate, gunning the motor down Oxford
Street past No Entry signs ‘By the Grace God ... , that’s
what the women in the meeting said, ‘Grace. What does it
mean? It is as…’
A bolt of lightning. Again. Speed Cam. Fuck, the cameras.
Nevermind it had been a long long day. The Nightmare,
Tina or Tara, The Motorway, the Accident, The Fuckup, Karl,
Clamping, The Church, the Child, the Monk, and what was
that about? A dream? No, it’s not true he knew now. Yes, it
was true, yes, to be, not not to be. Hope? Life was a gift
and Toby laughed as another bolt of lightning went off
561
behind him, a picture postcard for somebody else in a suit.
SNAP
T404 XDU>
SNAP>
Vehicle Registration Centre>
Passport Office>
Criminal Records>
NHS records>
Council Tax>
Credit Rating>
Credit Card>
Loyalty Card>
Buying Preferences>
Browsing Preferences>
PC>
Hard disk>
Memory>
562
‘Lovelly Jumbly’ said Gordon in Stevenage to the shaven
headed Programmer 3000 miles away on a mid Atlantic
Island, who was rapidly tapping the keyboard in front of the
Screen of multiple files ‘Now we’ll find out what aftershave
he wears and how long it is before he dies’ he sniggered.
‘Go on, don’t be churlish go on, access his fucking hard
drive and put all those nice little cutie pies in there quick’
Calling T…Calling T …Calling T… Note: active incoming calls
divert. Your call is being forwarded …Please hold…We are
transferring you… hunched up in the basement back at
home Tickle felt as if his insides were being drawn out by
the wait. It was almost 3. He’d tried everybody. It was
embarrassing. I’ve lost my er… my..err.. wife.. He had
spent all the previous evening ringing around trying to find
her, ‘Sorry I know its late’. Finally he tracked her down to
Ellens new place in Cornwall. ‘She’s gone to bed..’ ‘Are you
sure?’ ‘Look, leave it to the morning, she’d very tired, very
sad. Just leave it’ Ellen had said. ‘OK’
But he couldn’t leave it. He couldn’t be stuck in no mans
land. For Love or Money, but to be stuck in the middle with
neither. Who was she with? Jealousy spread. Ellen had
563
followed a session player down there, who’d played once for
her true love Popstar and she was totally infatuated again,
to the point of even letting little Johnny stay most of the
time with his dad and Toby sat on the bed rocking back and
forth imagining Tina doing the same thing in the cottage on
the Moor near Falmouth, feeling a cross between
Millennium Hamlet, Macbeth and a Pimp. He couldn’t stop
himself and rung again. No reply. He left another message.
His tenth. ‘Look I’m really sorry. I’ve jacked the job in. It’s
all going to be alright Believe me, for real this time. I’m
really sorry..We need to talk I am…’ Beep Beep Beep.. The
awnser machine had run out. Or was Tinas finger on the
button, were they, Ellen and all her Rockabillies all there
sniggering behind the phone a load of pissed musos
laughing at the uptight geek back in town. White mist
began to fill up the morning outside his Hackney window…
and by a sleep to say to end the thousand shock that flesh
is heir to…A roar began; undulating reverberations coming
closer but never quite arriving.. is a consummation devoutly
to be wished… a wave unfinishing just fading away then a
little before it did there, another roaring above tailgate
winking as it passed into a smudged presence behind the
cloud.
564
You, you, you there, yeah you…the muted woman was
mouthing gesticulations in the corner of the Laptop Screen
on his bedroom desk, plastic features and a permanent
smile; Sheila the C21st slave babe was totally irremovable,
he’d tried everything. ‘Fucking Simon’. Delete, Remove
program, Anti virus, Norton, Scandisk…but nothing would
shift it. Shit, permanently stuck he’d have to totally
reformat the machine, start again, which would mean
loosing all his so called work backed up. Files of Infinity,
Projects in Progress, Contacts, Cabby stuff Versions 1-5,
plans for 6 and the archives, the Virtual Nightclub,
Freespace 1,2,3 and even the third draft of Millennium
Hamlet would go, deleted, the whole lot; he must make a
copy of it all, his hard disk otherwise he was vunerable to
losing all his info and what then.…but the dread of
something after death, the undiscovered country from
where no traveler returned, makes us rather bear those ills
we have than fly to those we know not of..
So what? And anyway Millennium Hamlet needed to be
updated, it was past its sell by date by at least a year; 21st
century Fraud more like now. Toby had been in the bunker
basement all night writing furiously, about yesterday, the
565
Monk and the Change, as if to nail it down, the whatever it
was, the glimmer of something that might have been Hope?
He wanted the new life he now sensed happening not to be
a dream, so if he wrote it down hoping it wouldn’t
evaporate or turn out to be just another role in another film
and he wanted to be firm and steady in this, the New State
when Tina returned, that is if she ever did? Oh God would
she? Don’t Worry. All will be well the monk had said Don’t
Worry. All will be well he heard the new found honest voice,
listening to it desperately.
But he was so very tired. And the pain in his head began to
badly throb. There weren’t any scabs left, the Heinrich
sores had dived under his skin, become internal, a constant
dull ache sometimes acute at the top of his head and
further downwards too towards that point at the top of the
spine where, with too much sitting infront of the PC Screen
the tension always collected, the vulnerable place between
the two lines of neck tendon, stiff.
‘Hiya you’ve got mail sir’, the insincere haveaniceday smile.
Fucking Sheila, the laptop dancer, waking him after another
shit bit of sleep. The Me.tv digital PA ten years later had
566
become an actuality Infinity had put on all their machines,
Santa and Barry having invested in Simons next shit hit.
The avatars real role he knew was collecting information
about him, ‘the User’, that’s why she, it was designed to be
irremovable. Inside the Machine, that’s where they wanted
him, everyone, to be controlled, identified, delineated,
categorized, collated into the ones and zeroes of the
mysterious Binary code and being known, then told what to
buy and through that wanting, what to do. Was it better
than the bottle? he wondered and the solution for the
addiction being the same?
Receiving 21 of 38 messages practically all spam. He used
to get 300 mails a day but now he had diminished
according to the currency of that World. Did they know it
out there? had Sheila told them about his searching for
jobs, the rehabilitation courses, the alternative lifestyle?
Was he now designated a loser on a worldwide scale?
Start to gain confidence. 7 days to change
A new way of life
A new road to success….
Dear Mr Tickle I am writing to you regarding an urgent
matter. I have recently deposited 3.2 million dollars in a
567
Swiss bank account and I am seeking assistance in
recovery for highly generosities in return….
WORRIED ABOUT HAIRLOSS….
WONDER PENIS ENLARGEMENT TREATMENT.
Tickle pulled his foreskin. It wasn’t that relevant anymore.
Now he was just another digit 007 in the millions spamming
from some server in Latvia, working on the old proven
formula that there will always be at least 2% uptake of
anything from the mass of Losers out there, buying it,
whatever, just happy for their existence to be registered at
all.
Somebody loves you…
the message header revealed itself and at this Toby
grabbed:
An Invitation…… friend has invited you to join
The Creative Lovers network….come and find your
Valentine… It’s Free… Creativeloving.com
‘To the World you might be one person but to one person
568
you might be the World’
Who could it be?
Tara sending him a coded message, replying to all those
he’d imagined but had not sent her before. No, don’t be
silly it was spam and as far as she was concerned he was a
spent ham no longer worth it and Toby suddenly felt very
alone again…
Oh God…What’s worse than unrequited love? No love at all.
Where is she?
Tara?
Would he ever have any intimacy with Tina again?
To Old Buddy from Foursome H. Anticlimax
Glad to meet you old buddy
Madeeline was coooking whhen a dooor belll rang. Shhe
deecideed thatheer boy-friennd came and oppened thhe
dooor withhout asking who wasthere. Terhe men in masks
wree trehe. They captured girl. They took the Madeline and
brutally unrdeessd her. Thhen thhey put heer on bed and
f#cked her forcefu1ly. She had enough helos for all of
569
tehm. No onne could hear heer screams cause a big ccock
was in heer mouth.
A tug on the foreskin, a nibble on the line, telling him it was
the quickest way to get rid of this pain of feeling alone. No
stick with it. It’s you, it is.
No, wanker, stop it and the thought suddenly occurred to
Toby that there were no friends in his Inbox. Just spam, no
people he knew just Work and House, the Workhouse
that’s where he’d been for the last seven years, it wasn’t
surprising his social life was nil. Should he order a Penis
Enlargement Kit? just to get something through the post
establishing some sort of connection, verify he was still
alive. Shit, don’t be a wanker. Maybe that was the basis for
ME.TV and Gary Millers 21st century life in the dream of
home shopping online. Just lonely people sending
themselves presents all the time. Interest free Credit
Anytime. It would probably mean he’d now be on some
Universal Data Profile list in the category marked UK DICK.
Another mail from TheStreet.com making him queasy with
Fear.
CITY HEADLINES
570
Enron panic selling continues. Suspicion of hedging against
own stock
Infinity shares hits 7 down 12%. Dot com Baby heading
towards rock bottom..
Mudrock instigates poison pill defence against Freedom Inc.
and Molane rebutting with denial… MORE…….and there are
rumours at the moment that the Department of Trade and
Industry is looking at a number of high flyers in the hi tech
arena allegations of sdhare manipulation and false
accounting including Poo, Rebound.com and Infinity Int.
More news in the Bulletin …
Old Allies at War
….. The Mudrock poison pill defense gives…
The dotcom market was now collapsing the ballon well and
truly burst and he hoped he wouldn’t get caught up in
Infinitys death throws now being charted on
www.yourfuckedcompany.com, along with Webvan, Petz,
Shopesafe and Poo, each queuing up to join the 534
companies busted in the last 6 months.
Was his downfall part of a larger fate? What had happened
to all the Money? What’s this about Enron and WorldTel,
571
weren’t they meant to be too big to go down the tube?
Was everything going, fragile tents loosing hold in the chilly
new 21st century wind?
…existing shareholders the right to double their holdings at
half the current share price if anyone takes control of 15%
of the company's shares, thus massively diluting Freedoms
holding. Mudrock is too wily a fox to be caught out by what
he considers a highly disloyal move by Molane. There is talk
of Gary Millers Shop Online Corporation is joining forces
with MUD to prevent Freedom takeover…
More mist. More fog. Staring out of the bedroom window,
pictures separate from the Screen. In a crack high up in the
Sky, the lightest blue beyond the furthest cloud where the
new sun was brightest, a vapour trail was becoming a dark
pink.
Dawn.
A seagull, black winged, chasing a crow. Why? Something
to do with summers end?
Dying, he felt like. He’d had no sleep. Again. In the bunker
Toby had been moving around his imaginary world, on
572
defunct maps plotting his salvation but knowing his
downfall was coming towards him fast. The Young Hitler
had finally become old.
He knew he had to leave his old world to follow that he’d
felt in the gust of wind through the opening door. But what
about her? Where was she? You You you, yeah you there..
Oh Fuck off Sheila and her big boob smile. Oh God, I said
fuck off and Toby slammed the laptop shut, thinking he saw
the avatar looking slightly peeved as he picked the box up
and threw it out of the window and, a second later, heard a
smash then a silence followed by a dung tick dung tock,
almost a bell, knelling the PCs knoll, the death throes of the
hard drive ruined below. Oh Shit he’d gone and done it
now…dung tick dung tock dung tick dung tock… no going
back. Now what? Without a PC or the Data what the fuck
was he going to do? The Internet fills in all the silences
someone had said and the idea of being without it filled him
with dread.
Without thinking he got onto his knees shut his eyes,
clasping hands together. Oh God. Why have you
forsaken…? Another Mel Gibson film he hadn’t been in.
573
What next? Christ even His Name taken over by the
Politicans and the Living Dead in Rapture, willing to be
taken away at the End, willing for IT to come sooner even if
it meant forcing the Apocalypse, the Millennium Bug which
was meant to have happened over a year ago.. Oh
God………’like a wave, double minded and unstable… he
without God will have nothing’…but as he prayed Toby felt
the prison around him, trapped inside his box, the world
reduced to a tiny cube of mirrors repeatedly playing fear
and confusion, back and forth back and forth and over
again, and back again in a loop the palliatives, the fame,
drink, drugs, sex, work, anger, blame, and his knees
increasingly hurting he felt it all draining away leaving him
only low and dry a man now suspended, blocked in his own
ending.
Was this the end of his own private reality TV?
Oh God Why?
Quick.
Be still, silent.
And his pleading melded with the roar behind the clouds,
the sea beyond the reef and he was still there when it faded
574
and it felt like peace, at last, just listening…it is as it is…he
heard the voice say again.
‘Lovely Jubbly, that should do for Santa. But earlier you
said it’d gone dead, his PC. ’ ‘Yup, but it’s all backed up
here; if you loose the CD, and the hard disk stays intact.
Check his trash’ hissed Strike in the Concall, now
somewhere in the Gulf. ‘You got my account number- the
no 4 Zurich’ ‘Sure, thanks Mate’ said Gordon, feeling all
powerful with the Top Geek on his side. ‘I’m not your mate,
mate, and its business, that’s how it is, even if it’s not very
nice’ Shrike hissed back. Tickle was alright, just totally out
of his depth of course, poor sod’. Gordon sighed and rubbed
his already red eyes, reptilian his skin now the same colour
as the mist outside. ‘Sorry Strike Thanks. Job Done. I can
tell them Tickles now in the Wonderland with the rest of the
fucking Peados, Gary and the rest, and you got the Laos
contact sheet onto his hard disk?’ ‘Yup, piece of piss’
Gordon giggled ‘You’ve filled his home PC up with underage tit heh?’ ‘Gordon, you cunt, you don’t need to sound so
chirpy about it’ and Gordon heard Shrike take a menacing
big lug on his cigarette. ‘And I can always put your real
name back in if you want? Gordon you should know by now
575
aliases don’t work. The identities are always held in the
machine, the hits in between also, everything traceable now
you know. Everything can be remembered now, we are all
in it together now, one body, transparent, so you’d better
behave. Remember, the hard disk retains the imprint of all
information it has ever had, always, forever and ever will
be…’ and Gordon felt suddenly very sick, the brief time he
thought himself a ruler of the Universe shrinking to another
little worry spot on his chin. ‘Ok Strike...how much Money
do you want to eradicate it all, me naughty, from the
memory, mine, theirs and yours?’
576
31.
we don't change our course
we will end where we are heading.
-
Chinese saying www.quotedb.comv
Beep Beep.
…Dear Toby, I am on my way back with Ellen. Hope to have
another go. Glad job gone. Going? Love you. Tina…
Beep Beep the text had woken Toby up like a fist followed
by a kiss and then a great wave of something more akin to
relief, a new sensation, anew life, it must be Hope? He
hoped, and he was almost sure now. It felt odd still though.
Three weeks she’d been away and he couldn’t remember
what had happened. His sick leave, as Den had called it,
was over today and he had to go into the Office even
though he knew it was over, there was another story
happening, another life was about to begin, and, annoyingly
577
he couldn’t help but feel afraid. The window was now
surprisingly bright, a clearing after the fog, the high sky
criss crossed by a lattice of cloud lines, plane-made , the
older ones fading flattening, the fresh ones gleaming like
white rope, invisible sails ready to fly. A good day to get
sacked, Toby told himself seeing a jet very high up like a
comet burning in the sunlight, suddenly lighting up , a frail
plume of white gold 300 people being hurled hopefully to
some other part of the globe, a shining light in the distance,
then suddenly gone. It must be a sign and Toby smiled, a
new smile, very wide as if for the first time, in a long time.
Yeah it was good day to get sacked, he thought as he sat at
lunchtime among the workers six hours later, picnicking
under the sol y sombre sky in the middle of the City, in the
graveyard by the Quakers Meeting House. He lay on a tomb
smoking another cigarette and noticed for the first time
that the big leaves of the Plane trees above the graves
were already turning red. Rich and dark, like blood. How
many Autumns had he missed?
He closed his eyes. Peace. Please, let the Fear fade he
asked the light creating circles behind his lids. Then a dog
578
bark, a harsh black suddenly washing back to engulf him
again, frightened his eyes opening to see a roar of a jet
before him, low, slow and looking too big above the roofs to
stay airborne and he had to have another cigarette. Where
was he to go? Why didn’t he and Tina just go off and get on
with the important stuff. Loving. Living. What was he
waiting for, staying here in the Big Smoke?
Beep Beep a message from Janice. ‘Chimp wants you back
in office pronto Not looking good’.
It felt clear now; for Tina walking by the sea about to leave
and head back to the City and her Life. It was as if their
stories were coming together again, as if she knew inside
her the change of Toby by his call, a new gentleness felt
and now coming over her as she walked by the waves, a
healing watching their crests fold over in different places,
as they joined, turning into a roll pushing themselves in
sacrifice up onto the beach. Each wave another stoke of
grief subsiding inside her as it slid back leaving the space
for anothers coming and the sadness seemed to allow
access to her larger, deeper love again. They’d been
through so much and now she found herself laughing into
579
the froth being blown off the reach by the fresh gusts of the
oncoming tide, resolving to go back again to the irresolution
of their marriage but wide smiling, somehow confident,
facing into the broad arc of Falmouth Bay.
DON’T TELL ME WHAT I DON’T WANT TO KNOW, the
mantra hanging from the wooden ape shouted, as it sat
hands to its ears, squat on the New Manager desk and
emerging from behind the pink paper its alter ego, Mr.
Troubleshooter said ‘Yes, I like a bit of humour in the
Office, it lightens the mood don’t you think’ then grinning
dead eyed, trying to seem cheerful. ‘We mustn’t take all
this too seriously’ he added, carefully folding the paper and
then sighed. ‘You probably know what I’m going to say.
It’s been on’t cards for sometime now’ he pronounced
matter of factly and Tickle sagged knowing he had to sit
through the ritual to get somesort of pay off at the end, but
really wanting to ignore the fat man and talk to the ape.
‘Oh no not you too’ said Janice outside ten minutes later,
the last of his Cabby crew smoking under the now cloudy
sky threatening rain. ‘You’d better go and get your Black
Widow garb on’ he half joked but she soon hurried off home
580
holding in her tears ‘ Me Mums had another turn I better
scarper before it turns into an attack. But..’ she said
quietly, dewy eyed, ‘ Look, please come round later, have
a cuppa tea and biccies and we can have a chat’. And Toby
felt for her, now again having to find a new Boss again in
order to feel secure. ‘C'est la Vie, Mate Join the Club' said
Bez, ‘Let me out of here, I’m a non- entity’ he laughed,
‘Speaking personally I just want to go back to Harpenden
and breed Coi’. The Office door then suddenly slammed, as
if the hot moist air of the Money inside was already
defending itself against the gathering chill of the thunder
prone day outside
And then something happened.
Beep Beep. A text on Tobys. Tina? No. Message from
Vishcon Alive. New Alert Click Here to Connect. There was
the little globe going round and round on the WAP mobile
Screen and round and round again as he tried to log on,
then, trawling upwards thumb on the wheel- button of the
Nokia all of a sudden the text: Plane Hit World Trade
Centre. Blimey, did you hear that? And as if on automatic
navigation, all the Office workers went back into the office
581
under the darkening thunderclouds, to make more sales
calls in Operation SOS as the Troubleshooter had dubbed it,
and Toby too in order to pack away his desk, went in trying
not to take on what the word redundancy meant.
Beep Beep.. Another text, 15 and half minutes later.. 2nd
Plane into 2nd Tower, Terrorism suspected, and from
behind the glass wall of his corner office Toby saw the sales
floor almost immediately jack up a gear increasing in its
feverish, as if the final bit of Money had to be got in before
the dotcom story reached its climax, and the World reached
its End.
‘This is Johnny from Infinity’
‘Do you remember?
‘Do you know when he’d be back?’
‘Hi this is Nadir from Infinity’,
‘Yeah Regarding the contract, when’s he going to be back?’
‘Remember me, we talked in the summer?’
All the sales staff were really at it, pulses speeding people
simultaneously checking their little video windows in the
corner of the Screens becoming increasingly worried about
582
their lives but even so compulsively trying to get the sales
confirmation fax before the close of play.
‘Surely you remember’
‘Yeah that’s right at Hall Place’
‘Yeah believe me there isn’t a better deal available’
‘Ok for you we’ll do it a 60% ..’
‘Lovely but we need the fax back by 5’
‘Blimey’
‘Fuckaduck’
‘Shit’.
Broadband pictures courtesy of MUD online, the building
falling, people running in the sky, reality TV aping cartoons,
but the staff not stopping selling ridiculously busy,
Operation Save Our Souls everyone busily denying the fact
of the collapsing around them and before them there on the
Screen but chattering getting louder and louder people
moving about in circles their little windows playing
demolition derby next to their secret online video game.
The 2nd Tower Crash. 1, 2, and again 1,2. ‘It’s the end of
the world’ Fat Bradley bellowed out laughing, ‘Anyone for a
drink, before Hell arrives?’. It was half past five, clocking
583
off-time and outside it began to piss down with rain.
Everyone walking quickly past the sculpture now washed
clean of graffiti ,NO GODS NO MASTERS and FREEDOM is A
faint below the blue and a lightening flash lit up the black
sky and Jennifers smile flashed bright now in GAP WINTER
pinned between the two white horns and everyone started
running fast including Toby who, turning to look back at
Infinity for the last time, thought he saw the face of the
New Manager gorilla-like perched on the ledge, the
Troubleshooter glum but grinning from behind the tinted
glass as if just about to jump.
‘It was like Princess Di again’. Ellen and Tina watching the
Tower just crumpled in on itself, millions of mirrors, as if it
had given up wanting to get the inevitable over with as
soon as ASAP and down it went again and they showed it
again, and again, the little blue fly making a beeline like a
robot bird into the Tower, silver shining in the blueness
then Blam suddenly the 3D model of the Towers reduced,
again, then again, down, and again the air thick with
smoke, the events played and replayed, somehow hoping
that the reality behind them would fade, as the masses
584
waited before the Box for the instruction guide to tell them
how they were meant to feel; HORROR, PAIN, SYMPATHY,
ANGER, HATE, the plated enamel NEWS smiles busily trying
to find the right angle.
‘Poor people’ said Tina, ‘Arabs Cunts’ said Ellen stiffly, as
Tina began to sob again. I’d better be off, leave you two to
make peace eh.. I mean… ’ said Ellen, then, bending closer
she whispered into Tobys ear, ‘Welcome back to the real
world again’. And at last he held her tightly, ‘Don’t worry
Redundancy not the end of the world’ she said, giving Toby
a deep warm hug, her face shining pregnant with the
second bottle of red. ‘Its good news isn’t it. At least you’re
alive eh’ she added, ‘better than them poor sods’. And
almost immediately as soon as she had gone Tina and Toby
made love, without speaking, there on the kitchen floor,
then in bed, and afterwards, at last, they held each other
tightly, without anything between them happy now to be
alive and safe, as the old world collapsed around them,
together for the first time since the last time they done it
since their last little death.
585
‘They say we might be next’ three hours later Tina suddenly
bolting up in the middle of the night ‘We’re still on high
alert’ and Toby kissed her on his head. ‘Don’t worry’ he said
holding her to his chest until she went back to sleep.
Unable to himself, an hour later he went and sat smoking
for a while in the garden of the wobbly house, naked under
a big old coat. ‘You could now get your finger into the crack
at the front’ Ellen had pointed out, the subsidence had
been confirmed last week and he wondered what was going
to happen to it and him and her, to them, was it collapsing
too now with no work and everything about to change,
everything under threat. And he smiled; they were alive
and that was a gift in itself and he knew there was another
place now, out there, calling him to come, ‘Go Well’, a voice
telling him everything was going to be alright. ‘It is as it is’.
‘Welcome back to the real world’ had said Ellen before
leaving, and Toby didn’t know that a few weeks later he
would be standing on the cliff top lost to what she had
meant.
---
586
32.
"Until you do what you believe in,
how do you know whether you believe in it or not?"
LeoTolstoy
Another roar undulating, reverberations coming closer but
never quite arriving, a wave unfinishing just fading away
then a little before it had completed, another, suddenly
roaring above, then, like a memory or a dream almost
grasped, the winking tailgate passes into a smudged
presence behind the cloud. All the planes had been diverted
from the centre of town since it had happened, a month
ago, going on a long circle over the poorer boroughs away
from Canary Wharf, the City and the Money.
In order to become myself I must cease to be what I
always thought I wanted to be, and in order to find myself I
must go out of myself, and in order to live I have to die,
more Monk talk, trying to hold on to that moment with his
and Toby rolled over hoping just to die for a hour, to
sleep…aye their the rub, what dreams may come when we
have shuffled off our mortal coil must give us pause…
587
A black bird whistling in the darkness. Another night
without sleep. He still hadn’t ‘landed’, as Tina put it, since
the redundancy, and he wondered if he ever would. For so
long now he had been spinning in his own Virtual Reality
and when it had happened, 9/11 and his old world
disintegrating as if those Towers had been the lynch pins to
the whole show and removed now, the horizon too
collapsing and it felt he and everyone else were going to be
flung out into God knows where, with even the Virtual
Reality becoming Virtual, Nothing was becoming Nothing.
Was that the equation now: Virtual plus Virtual equals =
???
God knows what…
Another roar, another plane, another oil fire burning a
thousand litres a second, now fading over the river, until it
could be heard as if from another place, the breaking waves
of an ocean beyond the reef. Fear of flying was now total:
the trust was dented, perhaps forever gone.
588
Toby saw a heron coming in from the Marshes being
hounded by two crows. Why was that? He spent most of his
time down on the Marshes now, reading trying to fathom in
the quiet what it was he was, what could he hope for, what
could he be. He seemed happy just to hear and see
everything clearly at last, to follow the flight of birds, laugh
at the flash of the kingfishers wing, find solace in the sound
of a pigeon swoop, and listening to the sad seas in the
autumn leaves, he felt as if he was back where he had
wanted to be for so long, since before the first darkness
had begun a child again. But he felt odd too, sensing at the
same time it was all so fragile it could disappear in a
twinkling of a eye, and then what?. …but the dread of
something after death, the undiscovered country from
where no traveler returned, makes us rather bear those ills
we have than fly to those we know not of..
And no wonder Tina was so scared, he didn’t know what to
do. He did feel lost, redundant away from the busyness and
at times he felt almost abandoned. But he knew he had
himself back, that Identity, Integrity, Soul, were there
available to him now, there was some clarity, but he didn’t
know what to do with them, and then couldn’t stop himself
589
feeling a cheat even thinking the words. O God, how could
he change? And why did he feel so afraid ….thus conscience
makes cowards of us all.
He’d gone back to the church again. Sat in the same place,
over and over again, tried to find the Monk and tried again
and again to find that... Whatever it was and an answer
what to do next, but it just wouldn’t come. Deep down
there was an urging to go away to leave this life, to leave
Tina and to find out whatever it was somewhere else. The
Wilderness? Where the fuck was that? There wasn’t any
left now, it had all been done now on Planet Earth. He had
to go he knew, but the thought of going when Tina so
wanted him to stay, was still so hurt and afraid; 'do
consultancy, send your CV, be a bus driver whatever, just
bring something in so we know what we are going to be
able to eat' she had pleaded, despite the pay off fearing the
return to the Angel on cold November selling the old clothes
she no longer had and Dad not coming on Sunday again.
He couldn’t leave could he, he loved her, and if he followed
the voice without any sense of where he was going when he
came back maybe she’d be gone. What then? No centre.
Nothing. No Life. O God.
590
It was damp the dawning, the side of the extension
drenched in the red creeper curling into itself, the bindweed
leaf had turned yellow and the evergreen Eucalyptus, tree
arms outstretched upward, had outbreaks of orange amber
leaves now, like tears, fibrillating in the chill wind. For Toby,
it seemed as if he was looking out of his back window for
the first time. The bones of the trees were now being
revealed, the lost flesh exposed in the hidden recesses
within the bushes. A V-line of cormorants flying low over
the gables, up from the River, a pair of seagulls drifting in
from the storms, their delicate wings dissolving in and out
of the white grey cloud behind them, all watched by a lone
crow perched on the gable, beadily eying the decaying
scene below.
And Toby felt afraid again, afraid of his own calling, fearful
of that new voice, the journey it was demanding, bringing
fear for his love of Tina, being responsible for leading her to
the unknown, unsafe, and, in the end fear of the sense of
being loved, fear of where that confidence came from and
its demand for change in him, and, in the end, fearing the
591
Other which was, ultimately. the Fear of Himself. I AM
THAT I AM the man said.
Ahh Way HAY ON U no a Fa in Ca NNN… the alcoholic in the
opposite garden was, despite the autumnal cold, staggering
about without a shirt on, still drinking with his invisible
mates through a third night and morning, no doubt voices
inside him shouting at each other, starting a fight with
himself banging wood on the corrugated iron shed. Ahh
Way HAY ON U no a Fa in Ca NNN… Toby winced; it made
his brain hurt, the tinnitus throb in his head. Hienrichs sore
had got worse since he’d found his new peace. It was red,
and the felt it had borrowed now under his skull. Ahh Way
HAY…’Please shut up’ Toby shouted despairing. How far had
he actually traveled? From the Crypt in Orange County to a
wet garden in Hackney, from drink to a drunk Millennium
Hamlet eh? …to be or not to be? Did he have a choice but
to be always with his addictive self? Doomed. Doubt.
Change? He had to.
…the Belief must be honest, even if mistaken but not
necessarily reasonable, it’s the ancient justification for the
use of force in self defence in Common Law… Today was
592
still on the Radio coming up from the Kitchen going on
about Human Rights, War coming soon after on the
agenda…‘Carpet bombing of Taliban position commenced
two days ago, a million tons of TNT in 48 hours.’ And Toby
thought of The Shepard standing there with his dumb son,
looking up at the B52 a mile up, leaving a pink plume
behind it at dawn. What did he think it was? ‘We’re going to
hunt him down and smoke him out’ said the President of
the United States in a speech to the Senate yesterday.
‘We’ll be discussing this morning if the medieval regimes in
other countries in the region are in fact the Administrations
real target…’
Revenge: America showing the world who’s Boss. It stank,
and left a bitter taste in his mouth. A shiver of fear went up
Tobys spine. Revenge: picking on the weakest to make you
feel strong. Was he next? The Fall Guy Infinity spinning off
its top, shares sliding, the market collapse since he’d left,
the stock going down and down and then down again, £7,
£5.8 £3, £1.50 75p a share, trading suspended. And was he
going to be the one to blame?
593
The Fall Guy. It was not so much about losing the billions of
quid invested, or the billions of quid promised to others,
that was the fear of the execs and bankers, lawyers and the
rest of the players who’d set up the dotcom game; it was
about looking stupid and loosing face. ‘You have only your
rep my boy’, KOK had always said. Now they’d be looking
for someone to pin the whole fraud onto, someone to
blame? The Fall Guy. Tickle secretly hoped Strike had
planted that Logic bomb Virus in the Infinity server to
destroy all the records, the evidence of what had occurred
in the fraud. Please instigate Armageddon Option he’d
joked in his last message. Oh Shit, he shouldn’t send mails
like that anymore; the CIO and the spooks at Cheltenham
will be probably be scanning mails for any terrorist vocab
and he’d be on the suspect list automatically if he went on
using words like that.
DON’T TELL ME WHAT I DON’T WANT TO KNOW the
Wooden Ape had said and Toby had to admit it, he was
stuck like the monkey in his stuckness and didn’t want to
hear what he had to do either. It was just the Tinnitus in
his head the throbbing turning into a pounding and the
increasing conviction that his squelched up eyes had been
blown from too much Viagra and emails from the last 20
594
years Internet time, but he didn’t have enough hands like
the monkey to cover up both his eyes and ears. Even the
Fantasy, his tent of Screens had melted and he knew
wherever, whatever, he’d still be left with the I, Me, Toby
Tickle and me and me and me me me me meme me me
meme me me and pounding becoming pneumatic as the
picture became all blurred the lamp on the ceiling revolving
around and around swooping down in a sliding offwards
deep down and again hearing but perhaps not, just a
memory of, that deep groaning, and his feet came up and
he was on the rough matt floor, sisal brown and hairy, the
scrub desert, mesquite statues and a hammer on a pedalo
banging into his tinnitus ridden head and he was on his
knees holding his skull, blood in his palms asking him What
for?..Again... God why have you forsaken me?
He was bleeding. Stigmatic? Was it something more serious
than he thought? The sores, the scabs blooming again on
his neck, the unresolved tension continually stopping him
becoming who he is.
Blackout.
595
Toe bee… too beee….toby…toby…Tobys eyes opened; he
was stretched out on the floor all aching. Telly. The TV was
playing by his head. To be or not to be…If in doubt the TV.
‘Talk to the camera, that’s it. So what’s it like being an
addict sniffing glue all day, don’t you want to give up?’ ’ It
was Longleats DVD. He’d dropped around yesterday, 'I
hope twill help Tickle get back to himself, restore his
dignity, show him the need to love others'
he’d told
Tina......from the seer of a new age comes a virtual
memorial sculpture, a pilgrimage through the Spirit of Our
Times the Age of Memory Erased, Time transmuted via the
worlds first digital being, Longleat an avatar of an avatar of
an…
‘Dunno, its what I do’ the white spotty face of the Scottish
gluehead said from under her hood, crooked eyes bloodshot
separate from a shallow grin and he, no it was a she, held
up a collection of red plastic bags, blown up like balloons,
full of adhesive gas strapped around her wrists. ‘Hey mate,
gotta fag?’ she whined at the camera ‘Yeah sure’ and a soft
black hand came from behind the TV Screen.
596
It was Longleat, Disney once then Warhol now the NDB,
New Digital Being, the man with a camera on his head,
computer strapped to his heart, monitors registering its
beat and his brainwaves. Longlife TV to be transcoded
through especially scripted software to convert to music
combined with eye captured images and streamed onto the
World wide web Broadcast Live worldwide, a virtual
memory to be cloned to the NDB disciples via encrypted
DNA using new Stem cell research findings courtesy Dr
Karl Smythe of KurtWeil Labs… Was it all connected, the
Longlife system, did it all work yet? Were the pictures live
or pre-recorded? Was it reality or an act? Or was the whole
thing an illusion, a charade, a one man reality TV show
broadcasting only in Longleats mind and in those who
wanted to believe it. Did it matter? Wasn’t that enough?
The Belief is enough is’nt it. Faith. And Toby saw now,
that’s what Longleat gave them, the lost, he gave them
Faith in him, the Future and then faith in themselves.
Believers are happy. Longleat had given them a sense of a
new Way, restored a hope that they too could be part of
instead of apart from, perpetually rejected they were now
all part of Longlife TV, the channel through which the whole
world can be seen, Longleat making those on the very
margins of the Real feel alive again.
597
‘Here dear, have some food, Longleat encouraged the glue
addict, on the DVD, ‘You know you’re beautiful’ and she
smiled into the camera, suddenly a 9 year old again, a
child. There were now hundreds, thousands Longleat was
helping on the streets, portraits on the DVD flashing infront
of Tobys eyes like a strobe, crack heads, addicts whores,
down and outs, he was helping them all become themselves
again, the desire to be, they all wanted to be part of his
Life, the Screen life that was now Life itself, the Life they
were all sharing, some already had their own channel on
Longlife TV and soon, he prophesized, all would.
Tickle rolled over and turned off the PC; it went on for
hours. MUD TV flicked back onto the Screen, and there, as
it always was, the NEWS, all the time 365/24/7… Daisy
Cutters target Osama in Tora Bora, the most powerful non
nuclear weapon in the US arsenal is to be used by the
military to bust open the terrorists cave... Observers say
Iraq is now in the sightline of the administration in the allies
War against Terror….
598
It seemed along time ago now, pre War, pre Millennium,
20th century, 1998, almost 25 years Internet time, when on
that sunny June day, Toby, Longleat and the crew had
stood smoking in the Well, almost innocent, the seagulls
whark whark wharking above them in the oblong of blue,
waiting to present their grand Plan for Freespace to the
Board. It was still here, the Plan, Freespace, everyone
becoming a TV and talking to each other, everyone a star in
the new Life they shared, it was in Tobys drawer but
stillborn, another miscarriage another life, not lived but
imagined. All those Plans, Visions, Ideas of the Future, his
one among many, making the World fit to the Dream, surf
boards for sharks to ride on, now deep down back in the
waters again.
‘The down market is always a time of great opportunity for
us’ Molane CEO and President of Freedom Inc had recently
announced in a Pink Paper ‘Yeah, we’ve just purchased
another three interactive companies complementary and
going cheap’, Miller had proclaimed, ‘not sure how they
complement each other but I got a gut feeling they will’ he
said laughing on CNN Bizline 2, and Mudrock had won the
bidding for China Digital Network Mark 2. Here Santa was
599
already onto his next story, ‘ by mutual consent the
Founder and CEO is moving onto new projects, we wish
to..’, another game, ‘bricks and mortar this one mate’,
another gamble, rumored to be something to do with
Genetic Profiling in the US. Bartone plc was busily getting
out of all things dotcom before the News sought out the
Fools in the collapse, his PR machine was trumpeting his
sons Dirk running Barspace Ltd, preselling trips to the Moon
on BartoneAir, while the Big Man was frazzled preparing for
the West Wilts country fair having to get a counselor in to
help with unexplained weight loss of Elizabeth 1. Brutus had
gone to the States inevitably, ‘where they know how to do
business properly’, his Fanatics thing turning into a Sport
Bar chain, via MBO buyback and Eliza, of course, was
conveniently tucked away from the gathering storm of
Dotcom recrimination, giving birth to triplets, ‘Lets see
who’s the real Superwoman now heh?’. Helen and Keith
apparently had set up another Santa Fe health Spa and
Keith had one day found himself smiling without having to
try, while Simon was in New York trying to push an OJ
Simpson multiplatform Special on the Art of the Lie, fat bro
Chris had sneaked back to Disney, President of the East of
England Division and down in Blackheath Sauls new wife,
Jeanine from his Primary school days, had persuaded him
600
to get out of Lapdancing and into helping get ex Yardies
reemployed in Peckham and, without a trace, Strike had
totally disappeared someone said near Amman.
Toby lying on his sisal carpet head throbbing, watching a
bluebottle buzz maddening around the ceiling light,
suddenly realized that almost everyone Infinity and Cabby
had now bailed out of the Dotcom Wave except Longleat,
who was actually continuing to live the digital dream, he
was the only one who had told the Truth, done what he said
he would, had maintained the Vision, his belief the Freedom
of the New Faith, the Electronic Prophet sitting there late
into every night editing the almost continual reel of his
digitized life, his Second Life. In fact Longleat was the Real
hero of this Virtual story, perhaps because having sacrificed
himself entirely to his Vision, the New Medium he had
chosen to be in, he had chosen to be, entirely, true to
himself, his Virtual Reality so pure that he was in fact the
Truth, there was no gap in his belief.
‘the thing is Dave, that’s not the way the world really works
anymore,’ The President was on the TV News explaining
patiently to one of the ordinary People, ‘Believe me, we’re
601
an empire now, and when we act, we create our own
reality. And while you’re studying that reality- judiciously as
you will- we’ll act again, creating other new realities, which
you can study too, and that’s how things will sort out. The
thing is Dave, we’re historys actors.. and you, all of you will
be left to just study what we do..’
Toby switched off the Gimp who was supposedly running
the world and rolled over. He was very tired again. He
needed something to hang onto, a raft in an unknown sea,
now without work, carrot or even a picture postcard..
Millennium Hamlet perhaps. Rewrite it from scratch? A
clean sheet. Whatever he needed to break out, become
something new. Maybe he should confess all, write about it
then become the lead character in the made for TV Drama,
C21st Long Firm Fraud.
He sensed he had and everything else had changed, but his
life was still the same. It was as if he was rattling around
an old stage set when the play had finished. Shall he go
back 20 years, start again, abandon himself entirely to the
new voice and see where it led. But what about Tina,
should he leave her the last lynch pin holding up the old
602
picture of his Life? To leave or not to leave? To be or not to
be? Oh God. He needed to go away somewhere first, to
think, to the sea, make up his mind, edit the script or try a
completely new draft, do something dramatic, go
somewhere wild, a place to find another Reality, the
Reality, and live in it, the is not the it, no longer in a
rehearsal, the Virtual, a perpetual performance of Hamlet
going around and around again, he had to find what was his
Life.
Life. What had happened to it? Toby asked again. Seven
years of busyness, nearly five decades of World Wide Web
time. Where had his life gone to in-between? Up in lies.
Mostly fraud. A Marionette in anothers game. Not quite
living. Life Lite. No truth no feeling, only Lust and Anger,
palliatives to prevent the pain, the double sided self
centeredness squeezing the real in between. Where had his
life gone to?
He didn’t know anymore, all his answers had run out.
Seven years trying his damnest, searching for his
redemption; drink, drugs, women, work, baby, money, it
seemed to him that he had in fact run out of himself. He
603
didn’t know what he needed…but kept on seeing the mutant
child, the mother crying, feeling the cold air down his back,
always the eyes asking.
What?
What was the child asking of him?
To be or not to be?
Yes or No?
But he didn’t know how to answer and he knew he had to
now. He had to either answer or ask for help or..
He had to change or die.
The rest is silence.
Toby? To be? Toe Bee?
Where are you now?
604
WESTERN MAIL FEB 3rd 2002
Does this man sound familiar?
By David Sheepsted
The identity of a man found wandering on a beach who will not talk
but expertly recites Shakespeare for hours in several different
languages is still baffling police. The six-foot tall man, very thin with a
long beard is believed to be in his 30s or 40s, has been dubbed the
'Hamlet Man' since being found on a beach near Port Issac, North
Cornwall, five weeks ago.
Suffering from hypothermia and a severely burnt face making him
almost unrecognisable the man is now in a psychiatric unit at Truro
Hospital. He will not enter into conversation but, when left a pen and
paper, he drew a Danish flag and the word Bodkin scrawled beneath.
Detectives are focusing on the Bodmin Moor region for clues and
consulting with Danish counterparts.
When staff took him to hospital chapel, he went to the pulpit and
expertly recited soliloquies from Shakespeare for two hours, however,
despite his picture being posted on the website of the National Missing
Persons Helpline, nobody has identified him yet, though people have
come forward to say that they believe they have seen him on TV and
some claiming anonymously to have seen him in porn films.
"We have had a lot of calls from members of the public telling us they
have seen him performing in various parts of Europe," said Vish
Renkiah, manager of the psychiatric unit. "When he performs, all his
anxiety disappears. Away from the stage, he starts to breathe very
quickly and nervously shies away from people."
The plight of the man has echoes in the story of David Helfgott, the
Australian pianist, who overcame a nervous breakdown to return to
performing. His experience formed the basis of the 1996 film Shine
starring Geoffrey Rush.
Anyone who recognizes the "Hamlet" is asked to contact the National
Missing Persons Helpline on 01287 692 450
605
End Piece
The funny thing about insane people is that it is a kind of
the opposite of being a celebrity. Nobody envies you…’
Robert Pirsig… Author, Zen and the Art of Motorcycling
FIVE YEARS LATER
Spring 2007
606
The Sunday Times
A Life in the Day of.. 15th March
2007
This week: Tina Well
Counsellor and Founder of AWOL, the charity for those
suffering for amnesia related brain disorders. Tina, 39,
lives with her partner Toby Tickle and their eighteen month
daughter Roshun in Stoke Newington, London. Tickle, the
former actor and dot com pioneer, suffers from a rare
disease, ASP, a combination of amnesia, schizophrenia and
psychosis. Their life together was the subject of Living in No
Mans Land, a reality TV series recently broadcast on MUD 1.
My day starts when the others day start, either Roshun or
Tickle, calling me around six. I treat them as a pair really,
and when Tickles medication is being effective, the system
works fine. Roshun is breast-fed and I take her up into
Tickles garret for tea. It’s a totally glass room because his
condition demands constant light. Tickle makes bunting out
of balloons and milk bottle tops to stop the birds flying into
the mirrored glass; he is an honorary vice president of FLAP
but he doesn’t know that. Roshun and him feed the birds
and play about with bricks on the floor while I tidy up a bit.
607
We all have oats and fruit for breakfast and I give Tickle his
first lot of medication.
Generally he is very happy nowadays. The total lack of
memory can be frustrating, but he remembers me and he
remembers that we are married. He can only live moment
to moment because his hippocampus, the area of the brain
where time lays down memory, has been completely
destroyed. It’s the reason I think, that he is always
genuinely pleased and surprised to see me, and generally
glad to be alive, at all, all the time.
My book is based on the diary he kept when he was trying
to recover his mental functions after his fall. A typical entry
reads: 4.23. Awake. Fully alive, now. 5.34. Eyes flicker
open. No more Death, alive. NOW. 6.43 Fully fully wake.
All senses working. 7.18 Eye Open. All open. NOW, Here.
Life. Lovely. Brilliant. It is infectious the excitement he has
and Roshun loves being with him; at the moment they are
counting all the new buds on the plane trees outside,
making a dot on the wall for each one seen, 360 degrees.
But he tires her sometimes out he’s so excited and me too.
Generally though we get along fine and as a family the
608
morning is our happiest time.
At 9am one of the nurses from the Unit comes in to look
after Tickle. He always greets her as if she is the first
person he’s ever seen and always assumes that she must
be very important, the Queen, the Prime Minister or Pope.
The nurses make sure his medication is OK. He has 22
different tablets throughout the day in order to keep him
stable, and they conduct an ongoing series of neuron
psychological tests set by Tickles consultant, Professor Karl
Smythe. He’s very supportive and now a good friend,
having been there since the beginning and sometimes he
stays over to observe. At 10 our child minder comes in,
Elena, a lovely Polish woman who lives next door and has
known us for a long time. I go then into the cupboard of an
office by the kitchen to make calls and deal with
correspondence for AWOL.
I have no staff, except family of ASP sufferers who help on
campaigns, so my work covers alot of areas. Membership of
AWOL is growing exponentially, as our Bookeeper Ernie
calls it, and more and more people are coming forward with
a whole range unexplained mental and emotional disorders
609
beyond ASP, where memory loss and other symptoms
create indecision and a childlike dependence which prevent
sufferers leading normal lives. I spend a lot of time arguing
with medical professionals who see ASP as just another
form of yuppie flu for skivers. But they also took a long
time recognize ME, and others compare the condition to the
Gulf War syndrome, with the trauma being normal 21st
century life.
Professor Karl is working on developing an alternative to
the hippocampus, using Stem Cells and complicated
software with his company KurtWeil Labs based in Silicon
Valley and also here at the UCL. The work is focused on
Tobys pineal gland, where melatonin’s made and apparently
they have developed a new algorithm, simulated the
hormonal process, which is all a bit beyond me but I know
its bought in a lot of new investment from the States.
I go into town two or three times a week for lunch and PR
events. I don’t like being away from Tickle and Roshun too
long. AWOL has had a lot of support from Media
organizations, as many in them are affected. Lord Bartone
is our President and Simon Froth is the leading light in the
610
fundraising. Together they produced the Living in No Mans
Land, which has helped raise the profile of the disease to
international level and the spin off quiz series he has
devised, Memory Lane for MUD worldwide, will benefit
AWOL enormously as it’s interactive with potential for a lot
of voting revenue Simon says. Ironically, part of the
condition of ASP sufferers is that they are allergic to any
form of tele visual input, no screens PC or TV, so Tickle has
no idea that he is a star in the US where the show has a
cult following on the Freedom Cable Network, FNC.
In fact, since the illness Toby performs all the time,
bursting into spontaneous monologues and routines. He will
suddenly recite old parts, Hamlets his fav, ‘to be or not to
be, or he does acts that he’s devised like Double minded
and Unstable, a really funny story about a clown who goes
mad not being able to decide what to do. Confabulation is
the neurological term for it but my Mum, though she’s not
religious, calls it speaking in tongues. Tickle is wonderfully
entertaining but unfortunately can never remember what
he’s said or perform to order, so we can’t make any money
out of it. Waiting for the Wave he calls it, the feeling before
the words come. It’s made No Mans Land a hit though.
611
Things were pretty tough for us at the beginning, Tobys
illness, then the Infinity Fraud trial which seemed to go on
for an age, the loss of the house and everything after.
Being blamed for the collapse of Infinity was totally unfair,
they’d kept his name on the old documents and it turned
out they’d falsified his ID for a whole load more, hacking
into his hard disk to put incriminating evidence there. When
it hit the headlines he was in Cornwall finishing his old
screenplay Twenty First Century Fraud and it was such a
shock, the porn claim especially, silly and proven to be so
but I think that’s what pushed him over the edge and the
Fall. Stress, it’s a killer, although no one, even now, doesn’t
really know what it is and the effects it has on the whole
person. It was lucky he was still alive when they found him
lying on the beach, he may have forgotten to get up before
the tide came in.
Tickles disease had been in him for years Karl says, the
herpes simplex 1 virus instead of becoming a cold sore
attacking his brain through the spinal column causing
encephalitis or inflammation of the brain. After the Fall he
was given 20% chance of survival, slept for three months
612
and was in hospital for the next three years. I am fairly
blunt with people who say the disease is one big act.
In the afternoon from 3-5 I do my regular counseling
clients, in a room off Old Compton Street. There are now
hundreds of enquiries from people who think they have
ASP, many work in advertising but they are usually just
suffering from neurotic rather than neurological problems. I
get much more out of working with my Refugee clients,
who having suffered genuine trauma, although Offshoot is a
bit chaotic and needs a lot more support.
But it’s hard work at AWOL especially by oneself. Toby
fought so hard to recover, to find his memory again but the
day came when I found him sobbing totally distraught and
all he could say was Forgive me. The memory of his
courage and the hope of him getting better keeps me
going. He seems to accept it now, Just for the Day he
always says.
After his moods were stabilised and Id been through a bit of
a wobble when I went out with someone else, moving to
613
California and tried to build a separate life, I realized that I
couldn’t leave Tickle. We married and then had Roshun,
which was abit of a miracle after trying so hard for year
almost having given up on having one but everything now
feels it’s worked out OK.
I try and get back by seven, let Silkie the cat out and read
a good night story to Roshun. I prepare a light supper, soup
and homemade bread and a special diet brown rice and
Omega 3 Flax oil for Tickle because of his condition. Then I
go to the Tower as we call it, it’s good for looking at stars.
He is always so pleased to see me. I love you I love, I love
you with all my heart he says as though he hasn’t seen me
for a lifetime, which in a way he hasn’t. For me it’s been a
process of accepting who he is now, his limitations and
accepting that this is what our life is, and will be, forever.
I had always wanted just a regular life really, normal, but it
may be odd but I realize now that there is something
precious in the way Toby sees me, new all the time, some
wives would die for that. Although people say he is not
Toby anymore, his identity has gone, he’s been de-souled
they say, it feels like he is more of who he is at essence,
614
the essential Tickle, the one I fell in love with before life got
in the way.
In the evening we sit in his room and hold hands look at
the stars and watch old films again, the same ones over
and over again, odd foreign films like Stalker and more
recently Downfall, he really likes that for some reason,
although I usually doze off well before the end.
We go to bed about 10. We don’t sleep in the same room
because he is always up and down through the night. I
sometimes work on my book about about our life together
and how it’s changed; Memory and Oblivion, was the
working title of my book, Mnemosyne and Lethe Professor
Karl calls it, but now its called I AM THAT I AM, I AM WHO?
and it’s coming out next week. Its what Toby always says, I
am that I am staring out of the window, I’m not sure who
to. Its from the Bible, Moses asking God what his Name
was, Karl says and the correct translation he says is I WILL
BE WHO I WILL BE from the Hebrew Ehyeh asher ehyeh
not the Greek, but its all Double Dutch to me. The book is
for a general audience, people who’ve experienced Loss and
615
Change, as well as the therapeutic community. Sometimes
I read before sleeping, usually half a page of Trauma and
Recovery, my favourite before drifting off and its then I
often hear Tickle singing in his Frank Sinatra sort of way, I
love you I love you I love you with all my heart softly,
through the wall, almost like a dream.
-------------
Tina Walls book I AM WHO AM I AM WHO? is published by
MUD PRESS next week.
www.AWOL.org.uk give advice to other ASP sufferers and
families and there is a FREEPHONE Number 0870454587.
Tina will be online at ww.sundaytimes.com/health/forum
between 4-6pm today.
----
616
Your pain is the concrete way in which you participate in
the pain of humanity…Paradoxically, therefore, healing
means moving from your pain to the pain
The Inner Voice of Love. Henri. N. J. Nouwen
617

excerpt

Transcription

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