The Happy House (1)
There was no getting around it – the Devil in Black was lonely. That was his place in life it seemed, to be the figure of extreme loneliness to remind everyone else that they had it good. By ‘lonely’, it’s not meant that he didn’t have any friends, far from it. He had plenty of friends, or at least people he knew, but they were rather in the sense that they were ‘associates’. In other words, they weren’t really the sort of people that he would open himself up to – there were none of this sort of people. There was no one that he could confide in, no one who could keep him warm and happy in the night – there was no woman in his life and of the strictest sense, there never had been. One of the problems perhaps, was his name and guise. He wasn’t called the Devil in Black for any reason as he was a hard nut to crack. And he wore a lot of black. As he stood in front of the mirror, his sinister eye pinpointed anything that could be possibly wrong with his dress or posture. After all, he always liked to look his best no matter what the occasion. Black leather trench coat; black chino trousers; black boots with spinning spurs; glowing white shirt with a fashionably undone black bow tie loose around the collar; black leather gloves pulled tight around the fingers; black hair greased back into thin, striking lines; a gold watch hanging by a gold chain from his shirt pocket; a patch covering the left eye…black. His left boot made a sway towards the door but he growled at it, his right eye darting downwards, his mouth showing a snarl of teeth before all resumed their prior position. One last look at the reflection always seemed proper. After a moment, his whole body made a move towards the door, opened it, passed through and turned into the marble floored hallway that was lit by several candles on tall poles that flared with a slight breeze, breaking the dark of night that had swept through the Parlour upon the sun’s disappearing trick. The Parlour was a house that had been in his family for generations and would probably be there for generations to come, as best as could be hoped. An aged butler entered the hallway from the front room, his dinner jacket impeccably clean, wearing white gloves much like that of a magician’s. Grey hair tangled its way around the sides and back of his head with baldness streaking over the top like the white of a skunk. “Is there anything I can get you sir?” “Yes, call me a cab, Sammy. I’m going out tonight.” “Certainly sir. May I enquire as to where you are going in case anyone should call?” “Have a wild guess. The Happy House of course – the Ruffled Fox is throwing another bash.” “Another one sir?” “Another one.” “I’ll just fetch you that cab then sir.” “Thank you Sammy.” The butler opened the front door. An explosion of noise crashed into the hallway of talking, walking, rattling, crashing, cracking, whipping, shouting and neighing, suddenly stopping and returning to silence as soon as Sammy shut the door behind him. Black broke the silence with a loud scrape to ignite a long white match, bringing the blaze next to a cigarette that had appeared between his lips. As soon as the end of the white stick of tobacco was alight, he puffed out the match and placed it neatly on the sideboard. Sammy returned to the hallway, the great noise following him. He nodded and walked up the stairway to the first floor to attend to his duties. He was paid well. The Devil in Black exited The Parlour and trotted down the steps to the pathway, then through the gate to the pavement to meet the taxi. “Where’ll it be?” asked the cabby after dealing with a struggling steed, swinging his whole body round and down towards the eye patch. “You know the Happy House?” “Of course I do.” “Then take me there.” Black clambered into the carriage and the cabby whipped the two horses with a loud crack, both protesting with a whimper. They were off, the wooden wheels bumping ferociously upon the cobbles away from The Parlour’s dreary image in the cloudy night. The Devil in Black was placid upon the hard cushions with his one eye held wide open to constantly keep his mind on the rolling scenery. The rest of his face moved very little except with the motion of the wooden box. He kept wondering whether, except for the movement of course, that sitting there was much like being in a coffin. It was as if he was depressed but he wasn’t, he was content. To a point. He just thought about things like that. The same cigarette was still being smoked, billowing clouds of black and grey through the open window and into the cool night air, a fresh taste of the town and countryside filtering between Black’s lips in between tobacco vapours, an unused taste, something pure and innocent that he was violating. It was the world and him as the horses crashed through the road and no one else. Perhaps this was the way he seemed to like it, but truth be told, he’d rather it not. The cobbles changed to a dirt track muddied by recent rain. Houses grew poorer and poorer along the street until the distance between them became hundreds of yards. The countryside swarmed about them quickly with great trees sprouting out of the earth either side of the road as the route shifted up a hill towards a huge mansion in the distance – the Happy House. Lamp and candle light flickered from the downstairs windows: a permanent lighthouse across the town down in the valley. The cabby roared the vehicle into the grounds and stopped the carriage quite violently outside of the main door. The Devil in Black hopped out, his eye rolling over the architecture in the form of pillars and crisp white stone that stood between him and the large wooden door. A coin flicked from his hand into the cabby’s money box and he walked towards the building to push a small button that rang a bell behind the door. Clattering hooves led the carriage away and back to the town as slow, ominous steps marched towards the door. There was complete silence except for the footsteps of hard shoes clapping against the marble floor beyond. The door was pulled open slowly followed by an explosion of noise, revealing an old butler in a dinner jacket with white gloves over his hands, much like Sammy. Old, wispy hair ran around the back and sides of his head leaving the top bald. “Good evening sir, the Ruffled Fox has been expecting you.” “Thank you Jimmy,” said the Devil in Black, accepting the open door by walking through into the hallway. “How’s the wife?” “A bitch, sir. May I take your coat?” “That’s all right, I’ll keep it on.” “The Ruffled Fox is…” “Don’t worry,” he said cutting off the butler, “I know the way.” The Devil in Black smiled and continued down the hallway, his shoes tapping against the marble, the spurs scratching into the floor. He glanced towards the mirror along the left hand wall for one last check of his appearance before going through one of the two doorways. The riot of noise exploded upon the Devil in Black right as the door opened; like a fireball sweeping over him, talking, shouting, laughing, screaming; the Ruffled Fox in the centre of the bedlam dancing to fast paced music belting out of the gramophone in one corner of the room and of the live band in the other, a glass of brandy in one hand with his other rippling over the curvaceous body of a frantic young woman, her long legs slipping between his as she moved, her skirt flowing around them like clouds in the sky. “Ah there you are babe,” roared the Frivolous Fuck with her smoky voice, plucking Black’s cigarette from his lips and putting it between hers. “You’re late as usual and you’ve kept me waiting for a very long time. Thank goodness you’re here; I started thinking that I wasn’t going to have any rumpy tonight. Although of course, if you hadn’t of arrived I would have just had to go and find two men that took my fancy.” She laughed hysterically, her frilly yellow dress bouncing with her chuckles. “A nice-looking pair just left so I was feeling quite down till I saw you. Now, how about you go and get me a drink, dear, and we’ll go upstairs or into the nearest closet?” “I’ll get you a drink if you bloody well shut up for a moment,” replied the Devil in Black, bringing himself close to point a finger straight at her face. “I’ve only just arrived after all.” She prepared to put her mouth around the finger but he moved too quickly, leaving a smile roasting on her face. He backed away, his one eye piercing into those of the Frivolous Fuck, her eyes craving for a grind or two – that’s what parties were all about to her. “Good evening dear boy,” said the Ruffled Fox, dropping the woman he was dancing with to the floor so he could put his arm around the Devil in Black’s shoulder, the other hand still clasping the brandy. He was a lanky figure with a neat, sharp moustache and hair pulled back against his scalp so tight, he looked constantly surprised. “I had a distinct feeling that you weren’t going to accept my invitation for tonight’s little gathering. You are an hour late after all.” Ruffled had led him to one side of the large room, his arm still around his shoulder. “I could sense an evident… emptiness in the air of the room with you not here, Blackie, you are always noticed. Now, how about we get you a drink, hmm? Brandy?” “You know I don’t drink the stuff. Whisky’ll do.” “Whisky?” exclaimed Ruffled with a highly surprised tone. “Then whisky it shall be, my boy.” “Better make it two. Frivolous is feisty.” “Frivolous is always feisty, my dear boy. I’ve never been able to resist her charm though…or those thighs.” His eyes cravingly wandered over to her figure. She still stood at the door, waiting to be led upstairs by a pair of firm hands. “Here you are, my dear boy. I’d better go and make it up to that fine woman I just dropped to the floor. I don’t believe you’ve met? The Purple Poppy?” “Can’t say I have. The name doesn’t seem to ring a bell.” He looked over at the woman being helped to her feet but couldn’t get a glimpse of her face immediately so he gave up. “Talk to you later perhaps.” “Have a fabulous evening, dear boy.” The Devil in Black stood alone next to the drinks cabinet, holding two glasses of whisky in his thin hands, his one eye next to the patch dotting about the frantic colours and limbs to watch the goings-on of the packed room. A couple were dancing on one of the many scattered sofas with their backs turned to Black, while another pair were pulling down each other’s undergarments frantically, their bodies entwined upon a far table as they tried to grope and tear at the same time. “So you arrived then.” Black turned round to see Fest the Pest by his side. It was assumed by all who knew them that they were best friends. For the moment they were. “Yes, I’ve arrived.” “Is that whisky?” Fest pointed absently at the glass and of course it was. “Yes but…” “Oh let’s have that.” Fest grabbed one of them with sharpened talons and gulped down the dribble in an instant, shaking his head afterwards to fight the harsh liquid’s rampaging descent down his gullet. “Cor blimey, nasty.” He pulled a thin silver tube from his sleeve and unscrewed the top. Pushing his head back a little he took a great whiff into his nose and his eyes brightened up with the same glaze of a bewildered soldier, his senses deadened by the horror of war. Blinking, a tear rolled down his face and splashed into the whisky-less glass. “Smeller?” “No thanks.” Black looked down at his cigarette that still burnt avidly between his lips – it had lasted an unusual amount of time. “How’s you?” “Not bad, actually, not bad.” Fest’s haircut sported a large quiff that he’d kept for a few years and that now overshadowed the back of his head. In suit and tie he was relatively smart but his dress sense held very little original character. He looked more like a bystander. “How about you?” “Fine, fine.” The door opened, a bright light suddenly bursting from beyond, crashing into the wincing faces of everyone who dared hold its blaze. The one thing that dared come between Black and Fest was this: the thing they both loved more than any other. From the brightness came the Pathetic Pussycat, her arms waving beside her as she walked, an almost skipping walk that the ground praised. Thin with dark blonde hair reaching her curved shoulders, she wore a bland yet innocent white shirt, not ironed, something that was thrown on in seconds, and trousers that only reached her milky ankles, and below them were brown leather boots that appeared to be the only device to hold such delicate feet. She approached the Devil in Black and Fest the Pest calmly and everyone else returned to whatever they were doing, almost reluctantly but glad not to be blind from the light. “Hello children,” she said in greeting, her bright yet mysterious eyes delving deep into their souls. “Good evening,” replied Black, taking the cigarette from his mouth between two fingers, trying to mirror her sly smile. The cigarette was still burning as it had been half an hour ago. Black was nervous and knew that Fest could do a better job of standing around like the others did, talking about this and that, while the listener bobbed his or her head up and down rhythmically, caring little. “A drag?” “Of course.” Black offered it out to her and she picked it from his fingers like cutting a flower from its stem, put it between her lips and breathed in deeply to almost consume the tobacco. “How are you?” asked Fest, a giant grin plastered to his face, one that annoyingly couldn’t be removed. Black bet a sledgehammer couldn’t muster up to the challenge. Pussycat nodded deeply in reply while taking another puff of the cigarette. Black turned and made three glasses of whisky in silence as if it was the only sort of drink available and handed one to each of them, pushing one aside for the Frivolous Fuck who he presumed still stood by the doorway. “Cheers,” said Black, knocking his glass into each of theirs before putting it to his lips. He coughed afterwards as Fest had done, smiled and picked up the other glass. “Excuse me for a moment won’t you? I shall see you both a bit later.” Black left them alone, cursing himself and walked towards the door to find that Frivolous had disappeared. In his confusion, all he could hear was the Cackling Cad close by laughing like a witch in drag with a few chums in the corner, his eyes often reaching over to the Purple Poppy who had continued dancing with the Ruffled Fox even after her brief fall. Black left the room and closed the door, silence wafting about him once again. He preferred the silence, but it could not save him from the Pathetic Pussycat, deep down, although yet to be realised, he knew that Fest would get her in the end. In a seemingly pointless search for the Frivolous Fuck, he slowly brought himself up the staircase to the first floor, the glass of whisky neatly tucked into his palm. There was a long corridor with identical doors either side that ran out in front of him. He put his ear to each in turn to find a rhythmic squeak of bedsprings behind one. Opening the door cautiously, Black shed light upon two sweaty bodies: the Frivolous Fuck on all fours upon the creaking bed, the Spindly Shat lunging himself into her, his weary old lungs gasping for breath through a mightily thick moustache. “Fuck off Black! You had your fucking chance!” shouted Frivolous in between gasps. “Yeah, fuck off!” followed Shat, his wrinkled prune of a face dribbling with perspiration, full of anger and satisfied lust. His body ceased to give way as he turned his attention away from the doorway. Holding his head down, Black closed the door and left them to it. A couple of months later, or in Ruffled Fox terms, twenty two flings later, another fling was underway. Ruffled had, for the first time, set the fling on his private paddle steamer, ‘The Beacon’, as it roamed up and down the River Credibina that passed within two miles of the town. As per usual, a fast paced beat of jazz and boogie-woogie was stomping an earthquake throughout the entire structure and through the bones of everyone who dared dance. Positioned out on deck, it was a perfect day for it, the sun blazing in the sky to give the idyllic atmosphere for sausages and burgers on Fest’s supposedly ‘infamous’ barbeque. The Devil in Black sat inside at the bar with most of the window shades pulled down. The gloom was carried by a thick cloud of smoke piping from Black’s mouth, a rotting cigarette between his shiny white teeth. With his cigarette still in position, Black finished his glass of whisky and ordered another. His gaze turned from the waiter, through his black shades and down to the back of Frivolous’ head. Drunk and trying to sleep, she had laid herself out on the bar, her arm hugging a half finished bottle of red wine. Relations hadn’t changed much over the few months. An argument over petty points here and there had not shaken the foundations of any of their lives. Still they persisted in their quest for happiness. The Devil in Black’s eyelid dropped for a second before he was confronted with another glass of pain relief. He gripped it firmly with his whole hand as if keeping it safe was his job. “Fuck me,” moaned Frivolous, lifting her head momentarily in a daze. “Fucking hell…c’mon Blackie, fuck me. I’m bored and pissed.” She lifted her short skirt a little but the extra glimpse of flesh was lost and she fell back over the bar giggling. It wasn’t that Black wasn’t interested. Far from it, in fact, he didn’t care how many people she’d had, but there was something in the back of his mind, something as if he was holding out for someone else these days. It was odd but he’d never felt so morally adamant before. He wanted someone special in his life. However, he was a little too drunk to feel like that so he leaned forward and clumsily pulled one strap of her dress over her arm to reveal a breast. Instead of capturing it between cigarette-holding lips, Black fell head first into Frivolous taking them both down to the floor in giggles. The Devil in Black felt that he had to escape. On the other hand, he was mere inches away from the large, naked right breast of the Frivolous Fuck who was subconsciously willing his tooth-cage closer. He opened his mouth happily and then in moments gave up in exhaustion, unable to complete the reach. Instead he headed for the hills – back to the drink. On his knees, Black grabbed the glass of whisky and crawled his way out of the bar and onto the main deck while a pair of young men who’d been sat in the dark corner grappled onto Frivolous’ fallen body to fuck her silly. The bright sun hit Black’s one eye hard, even through the shades, and his body tried its best to mount a deckchair that was close by. Once comfortable he breathed happily, the cigarette having fallen onto the floor some yards back towards the bar. Then her image struck his brain like a bolt of lightning. She was right there in front of him, at least, standing at the bow, her silken curves steaming up next to the trunk like-limbs of a git in glasses. The Purple Poppy, Black recalled, indeed in purple now, a dress that caught her slight buxom well, her sturdy arms around the waist of a man he hadn’t seen before. Her face was not perfect yet it was – how could that be? But then her image was brushed away like golden leaves from an aging tree, and replaced by the innocent white of the Pathetic Pussycat who he caught staring at him. Perhaps it was just the way she was as the Pussycat could seem to stare at everyone in a room without actually doing so, but perhaps she was staring at him. That would be good. No, that would be bloody fantastic. She was perfection though, it seemed. She had the personality of a cunning fox, certainly a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but the moves of a subtle pussycat, named aptly. She walked over to the Devil in Black with those hips that swung like the waves of the sea, a hypnotising great blue that dared to be looked at that would then give a sly smile in return. “The Devil in Black,” she said, licking her lips slightly, “how are you?” Black both loved and hated how she used his full name and enforced each syllable with her politeness. He knew it she was just doing it for a bit of fun and for some reason he loved knowing it. “Fine, fine. Whisky?” “Thank you.” She took the glass in a dainty hand and threw it down her throat with one chuck while keeping her eyes on Black carefully.
Copyright © 2005 Jack M Brown |