Part 12 (2/2)
f.u.c.k.
/watch?v=UOGBTFFxOpY Imagine being locked in a cage and not only having to watch Billy Elliot, but being ordered to replicate some sort of dance routine-I mean, honestly ...
”h.e.l.lo, Raymond.”
I turned around and saw Peggy on the other side of the bars. She looked softer and had makeup on, as well as civilian clothing-one of those muscle dresses favoured by Mrs. Obama.
”I see you got my note,” she said.
”What the f.u.c.k is going on here?”
”Raymond, Raymond, Raymond. You don't honestly think Homeland Security would swap a possible threat to national security like yourself for a pair of theatre tickets?” Peggy's crisp, unironic tone reminded me of being on hold with United Airlines. She began twirling her hair. I didn't like where this seemed to be going.
”But I must say, your ex-wife is a terrific bargainer. I wanted tickets for the evening performance, but she drew the line at a matinee.”
”Did she?”
”Fortunately, back in the cell at LAX, you confided to me where you were going. The moment I heard that, I knew you were mine. There was no way I was going to let your plane pa.s.s by my island empire here.”
”You grounded our flight just for me?”
”Is that so wrong?” She licked an index finger and then trailed it down her cleavage, and I felt as if someone were walking over my grave. ”Don't be coy, Raymond. You know there's something between us.”
Here's the thing: Peggy Nielson-or rather, Jennifer Healey-is the first nubile woman I've encountered since p.u.b.erty whom I haven't repeatedly mind-boffed, or even considered mind-boffing. I fought for time and said, ”Tell me more.”
She looked both ways and then came closer to the bars. ”In all my undercover years, n.o.body has ever seen through my Peggy Nielson persona, not one person. Only you.”
”You can't be serious.”
”But I am. You get me like n.o.body else ever has.”
My brain went into Jason Bourne car-chase mode: Reverse the BMW into the taxi queue? Plough forward at triple speed? Haul a.r.s.e the wrong way on a busy Moscow thoroughfare? Am I willing to mow down a few pedestrians?
Peggy-no, Jennifer-reached for my shoulder through the bars and caressed it. ”I thought we might watch Billy Elliot ... together.”
Christ, this woman really had a ma.s.sive pulsating lady-b.o.n.e.r for me. I needed to start thinking of her as f.u.c.kable or I was never going to get out of here. But she had as much s.e.xual allure for me as Mr. Bean. Why, oh why, did she leave me cold when, to be honest, I've even mind-s.h.a.gged Margaret Thatcher-well, come on, let's be totally honest here, who hasn't? All you need is the right lighting, a nice bottle of Italian red, shovel-loads of ketamine and maybe one of those autoerotic asphyxiation getups Fiona's clients are always dying in. I mean, I've mind-s.h.a.gged female restroom logos all around the planet. I've mind-s.h.a.gged the boot at the southern tip of Italy on Google Maps. So to not be able to contemplate getting it up for Peggy/Jennifer was cruelty beyond measure, especially as I was technically now her love slave-and who out there hasn't wanted to be a love slave at some point or other? But failure to perform carried potentially life-threatening consequences.
”Have you ever seen Billy Elliot, Ray?” Her fingers, still inserted through the bars, were now rubbing my neck.
”Um, yes, I watched it-or part of it-on a Singapore Airlines flight back in '04.”
”Singapore?”
”They were revising their chewing gum laws, and the BBC wanted arrest footage.”
”You're a fascinating man, Raymond Gunt.” Her hand slid down towards my gentleman's region. ”My, my ... you're so tense.”
”It's been a week of airports and hospital beds.”
”Go on. Tell me what you thought of Billy Elliot, then.” I could smell her breath: Listerine.
”Well, to me it all boils down to whether Billy is a poofter or not. I mean, if he were a flat-out flamer, there'd have been no movie. He simply would have looked at his small town, said, 'Right then,' moved to London, entered the s.e.x trade and gone to dancing cla.s.s at night, but where's the uplifting story in that? I think viewers are really thinking, What if Billy's a poofter, even though he says he isn't? But because he's underage, you're not allowed to mention s.e.x, so instead you have to say how heartwarming it all is and be inspired. And the thing is, in real life, a small-town Billy Elliot would most likely lure you out into the bramble hedge for a good tussle, save some DNA from the crime scene, and then blackmail the bejeezus out of you to pay for his dancing lessons, until you justifiably went out and slit his throat.”
Jennifer looked at me with eyes that beamed with admiration. ”Raymond, you have such imagination.” She pulled me closer by the belt and started to fondle my gentleman's bits, which were about as aroused as a small bag of sun-dried apricots.
She said, ”Raymond?”
Gulp. ”Yes?” I shut my eyes.
She let me go, but then I heard her key inside the cell's lock. I swallowed, hard.
Suddenly a harsh alarm began to clang. Jennifer screamed, ”s.h.i.+t! Why do the engineers need me now, of all times?”
Blowing a kiss and mouthing, ”Later,” she left me.
In grat.i.tude to the G.o.ds, I hit PLAY on the DVD and began to practise my brains out.
The chewing gum ban in Singapore was enacted in 1992 and really does ban the import and sale of chewing gum. The offense is punishable by caning.
When first introduced, the ban caused open defiance, but offenders were publicly ”named and shamed” by the government to deter other would-be smugglers.
Origins: In his memoirs, former Singaporean prime minister Lee Kuan Yew recounted that as early as 1983, chewing gum was causing serious maintenance problems in high-rise public housing. Vandals had been disposing of spent gum in mailboxes, inside keyholes and on elevator b.u.t.tons. Chewing gum left on floors, stairways, buses and pavements in public areas increased the cost of cleaning and damaged cleaning equipment. However, Lee thought that a ban would be too drastic and did not take action.
In 1987, vandals stuck chewing gum on the door sensors in a new $5 billion metro system. The doors malfunctioned, causing disruption of train services.
In January 1992, Prime Minister Goh Chok Tong decided on a flat-out ban. The import of chewing gum was immediately halted, but a reasonable transition period was given to allow shops to clear their existing stocks.
Yes, this really happened.
21.
Morning came. f.u.c.king h.e.l.l. My feet were cheese-gratered and b.l.o.o.d.y from a night spent rehearsing the appalling routine in which little Billy lugs his twinkle-toes up and down the bricks of some failure-filled housing estate, which is, in the film, conveniently devoid of crack ampoules, used condoms and surgically licked-clean crisp packets.
I involuntarily dozed off at 11:30 a.m., only to be woken at noon by a gorilla of an MP. ”Got orders to take you over to the canteen for your matinee performance.” The word ”matinee” filled me with foreboding. Was this all somehow being engineered by Fiona?
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