The Happy House (2) “Waiter!” called Black, snapping his fingers. A youthful, clean shaven man appeared and brought out a pad of notes so as to take the order. “Get us four more whiskies and a pint of vodka.” “A pint, sir?” “You still do pints don’t you, Pussycat?” She purred in reply, nodding as the whisky kicked in. “Hey you two,” butted in Fest the Pest with a large poker in one hand. “Hey, you’ve gotta try these burgers, they’re fan-fucking-tastic!” The swearing was obviously to impress Pussycat, and Black hoped she noticed Fest’s pitiful attempt. The drinks arrived, however, before any more could be said. Pussycat took her pint and Black walked away with difficulty, carrying his four glasses of scotch round the port-side walkway. Pussycat’s eyes followed him carefully, longing, before they turned away to Fest’s bright stupid face. The Devil in Black was half playing hard to get he felt, feeling Pussycat’s sharp eyes digging into the back of his head as he staggered away with an excuse to leave. Of course, this wasn’t the best thing to do as he was appearing to be not interested in her or Fest or anyone. In his drunken state he felt like exploring the vessel and chatting to a few people, even though his lack of a gift to gab didn’t change even when masses of alcohol were pumping through his veins. Black downed another glass of whisky and balanced the remaining three at an odd angle as his hand found the rail and steps to the next deck. His feet found the steps a hard task to master but he reached the top in under a minute with another minute of standing still to let the booze settle down in his stomach and in his brain. “Ahoy there matey!” wailed the Ruffled Fox, one arm flailing upwards in gesture while the other hand clasped the far cheek of a full bodied young lady who stood next to him. Her face wasn’t pretty and her body was big boned and chubby which was an unusual choice for Ruffled who usually picked the slimmer selection to match his own gangly physique. “How are you my dear boy?” “Getting over the stairs,” replied Black, still holding onto the rail while his other hand held the drinks steady. “Don’t mind if I do, thank you Blackie.” Ruffled took one of the glasses of whisky and passed it to the lady he had his hands on and grabbed a glass for himself. “May I introduce to you the Voluptuous Vixen. I thought the Vixen and the Fox should stick together, you see.” He raised his eyebrows as if to imply something or other but Black didn’t pick it up. “How do you do?” asked Black, his head swimming. He fell to one knee and carefully placed the last glass on the floor so he didn’t spill the precious drink. “Are you feeling alright?” giggled Vixen, her cheeks fat and raised high, putting her hand to her mouth in a sort of mocked fear. “Best lay off the booze a bit, dear boy, we don’t want you getting ill now do we?” “Not until you tell me one thing.” “Anything, dear boy.” There was a moment of silence as Black traipsed his mind back a bit to when he saw the purple lovely at the bow. “Who is that guy in the glasses? The one with the Purple Poppy.” “Ah, that would be the Serious Sausage. A mean fellow if I do say so myself, but you know I like people to bring along their friends if they wish. He’s also a deputy to the Spindly Shat, wouldn’t you know? I have to keep the Army of Bastards entertained; he funds a lot of the booze…Blackie?” The Devil in Black had fallen to one side after drinking the last glass of whisky, his body demanding sleep. Black couldn’t remember a thing. His eye opened very slowly, wondering where he was before his brain kicked into gear. The ceiling didn’t seem far away and by the constant ups and downs and rocking of side to side he deduced that he was still on the sea, in a cabin no less. He tried to lift himself up a little and found that he was on a bed and that his head hurt like hell. He wiped his eyes with his fingers and sat up. His trousers had disappeared and so had his underwear, his member revealed to the sleeping mass of the Voluptuous Vixen who was at the end of the bed, snoring wildly. Whatever she had done without his permission, Black was furious and quickly got dressed, finding his clothes strewn across the floor. He left the room with the Vixen’s naked hulk still on the bed, slamming the door shut behind him. The thin corridor ran down what seemed an entire length of the ship. At the far end, the Ruffled Fox was walked in his direction, smiling with a bright gaze as he spotted him, a glass of brandy in his hand. “Did you have fun?” he asked when he was close. “Did you put her up to it?!” roared Black, jumping Ruffled as he approached and grabbing his throat. “Now, now, dear boy. Now, now, not so rough. Didn’t you enjoy it or something?” “I was fucking unconscious!” “Okay, okay, calm down dear boy. I won’t speak a word to anyone, alright? It’ll be our little secret. Now, if you don’t mind,” he pulled Black’s hand away from his throat and made good of his collar, “I think it’s my turn, so show me the respect I showed you, hmm?” He handed Black the glass of brandy which he took grudgingly and Ruffled walked past him into the cabin. Before the door swung shut, Black glimpsed Ruffled grab Vixen’s hips, waking her, and positioned them before him. Dropping his trousers with one hand he proceeded, kicking the door closed in the process. The Devil in Black couldn’t believe what was happening so he tried to escape and journeyed down the corridor in the search for more whisky. It was needed desperately. Passing a half open door, Black couldn’t help but peak inside. Once again he found the Spindly Shat and the Frivolous Fuck naked in the same room. Spindly positioned his arms carefully like the dainty legs of a spider and proceeded to lunge into Frivolous with ferocious lengths while the rest of his body ached and trembled with wearisome age. Black winced, sickened and turned back to the mission at hand. It took a short while but the Devil in Black soon found his way back to the main deck to find that darkness had set in and most of the people had gone to sleep in the cabins or had retired to the bar. Fest the Pest and the Pathetic Pussycat were sat next to each other in one corner so Black joined them, ordering a whisky when a waiter passed him and holding his head carefully as he did so. The only way to escape a hangover was to return to drunkenness as he saw it. Black pulled up a chair and faced inwards, letting out a gust of breath as he sat down, exhausted and not feeling his best. Especially after such an invasion of privacy. “Good evening Devil in Black,” purred the Pathetic Pussycat in a drawn out speech. She set her eyes on him, those piercing eyes that delved deep into his soul. Beautiful blue eyes. Another pint of vodka sat in front of her, half downed, her dainty fingers slipping through the perspiration made by the cold. “Black,” nodded Fest. “Where have you been?” “Downstairs it seems.” “Yes, we saw you being carried away by the Ruffled Fox but we didn’t know what he could have been up to. Did you collapse or something?” “Yes, well, I’d rather not talk about it.” Pussycat laughed with her whole body. Fest smiled when he looked at her laughing and then looked back at Black as if he needed permission to giggle. Black wasn’t amused at all and flicked a cigarette into his fingers that instantly set alight. He took a long drag and held the smoke inside him before gushing it back out straight into Fest’s sniggering face. He coughed and spluttered, not being a smoker. He didn’t enjoy that invasion of privacy. “Guys,” coughed the Hempen Hobble, stumbling over to the table with a large joint between his lips with the Toccata Talker following closely behind him. Hobble found a seat and pulled up next to Pussycat and Black while Toccata took the other side, his tall thin body easily slipping in to one of the luxurious seats. “So where have you lot been?” said Toccata with style. If you weren’t careful he could turn his speech very quickly into a gabbling buzz, churning ideas and thoughts out to you very quickly to create an argument wherever and whenever possible. “We’ve been on deck, you?” “Well I’ve just come from downstairs. Cad wanted me to roll him one and then I found Toccata sleeping in a cabin.” “Bloody knackered, I’m so not in tune with this party. Ruffled’s all over the place, saw him shagging a fat bird a minute a go.” “Would you like drinks, sirs?” “Ah, Jimmy,” said the Devil in Black, “didn’t know Ruffled would bring you along as well. Are you guys wanting anything?” “No, I’m alright.” “Yeah, I’m fine, cheers.” “I did ask someone a minute ago Jimmy, but he obviously forgot. Glass of whisky.” “Ice, sir?” “No, neat.” “Very good sir.” The years had chugged by steadily: each birthday had been a vision of an approaching gravestone which haunted the back of his mind. Nevertheless, the Devil in Black always threw a small gathering to celebrate the occasion, any excuse for a party and all that. The invitations were always highly scrutinised and heavily thought out, however – it wasn’t just any old bash that was thrown together at the last minute. Every instance and possibility passed through a checkout system in the back of Black’s mind, always considering who would make the most out of the occasion; hence then the right people would be picked. The Hempen Hobble was an obvious choice. Their friendship was quite solid and they understood each other well even though they had not known each other for a very long time. Both kept their distance from each other’s private lives so there was neither worry nor a need for thinking ‘how to act’ around each other. He was easy going and Hobble was certainly someone you would want around any party, even at formal occasions since he could look smart if he tried. The usual poncho and large joint was his trendy side that everyone accepted also, except for perhaps Ruffled that always preferred someone in a suit and tie or something close to it. The Toccata Talker was always a good person to have around and became Black’s second choice. Always able to fill the gaps in conversation with more wisecracks or jokes so the company would never be bored. Black hadn’t known him for too long either and had met him about the same time as the Hempen Hobble. Dressing in tight, clean suits, however, Ruffled acknowledged him as well dressed and always a welcome addition to the Happy House. Fest the Pest was sadly an obvious choice. They were the good friends that everyone recognized them to be, or so everyone believed. The first problem was that Black saw him for what he actually was – quite a bastard. It wasn’t nice to say, he knew, but he had to say it. The second problem was a little more personal, a hatred that was now growing inside of him. Black knew that Fest loved Pussycat, and he also knew in his heart that he also did. There was no shaking it and socialising had turned into a contest to who could win. But of course, being the fool that he was, Fest knew nothing of Black’s feelings for Pussycat. Black had tried his best on the cruise and hoped that would be enough. Unfortunately, Fest supposedly lived closer and at least knew where she resided. But because Black loved Pussycat, he had an urge to invite her. He knew it was dangerous and he certainly didn’t want rumours passing around about possible feelings he had for her – that would be bad. But Black couldn’t help it; it was a gut feeling, something he just had to try. She had never seen his house before and probably never imagined that she would ever be invited to such a personal gathering. Pussycat had to be invited. “Sammy?” The Devil in Black’s butler opened the door to the study slowly and stood in the doorway in near darkness, the only light coming from a dim lamp on the desk. “Yes sir?” “I’d like you to post these invitations for me.” “For your birthday?” “Yes. It’s a dinner, with games and boozing afterwards. I’d like you to hire a professional cook for the night.” “My cooking isn’t good enough?” “You know what I mean, so post them please.” Even though the most careful and precise planning went into every specific detail concerning the birthday gathering, all of those who sat at the table felt a little awkward one way or another. After all, it wasn’t a natural group, but with the help of the Toccata Talker and the occasion for the Devil in Black (being the main reason for them being there), it more or less went relatively smoothly. “Sammy,” said the Devil in Black, moving back in his seat slightly to talk to his butler as the Toccata Talker rambled on about something or other. “Bring out the bottle of whisky, I’ll be needing it.” Everything was going according to plan: the five sat round a circular table where, from the Devil in Black’s right, sat the Pathetic Pussycat, Fest the Pest, the Toccata Talker and the Hempen Hobble. They’d just finished the meal and now the booze was being brought to the table in a great assortment. The Parlour was a good house for a gathering: not too big a place yet not too small, but the Devil in Black was reluctant and didn’t often allow others into his abode – that was reserved for the more important occasions like this day. He revelled in going to other people’s houses but the organisation for his own would often create a love-hate relationship with his mind. It was just be too stressful to do it regularly. As the Toccata Talker, the Hempen Hobble and Fest the Pest lumbered on with a continuing argument about a show they’d seen at the theatre recently, the Pathetic Pussycat turned to the Devil in Black who seemed to not want to get involved in the discussion. He didn’t. He puffed on a cigarette silently and stared elsewhere, sometimes dragging his eyes to the closeness of the Pathetic Pussycat who sat so close, his body was willing him even closer. It was terrible. “So how does it feel to be one year older Devil in Black?” she asked with that sly smile that curled at the edges. Black wondered if she knew what affect that smile had on him. “No different to last year really.” The whisky arrived and Sammy poured some into a glass and left the bottle on the table. “Thanks Sammy.” Pussycat’s eyebrows were raised high in surprise as if the butler hadn’t made an interruption. “No different to last year? If you said that every year, being a young child would feel exactly the same as being an old man.” Black blew out a cloud of smoke, considering. “Maybe there is no difference.” Pussycat continued her smile, accepted the response and plucked the cigarette away from Black’s mouth so as to take a drag of it herself. Soon enough she was taken into the argument over the theatre production alongside the point of view of Fest, and Black sat in silence, watching, wondering. How could he tell her? What could he say? He finished off the glass of whisky and poured himself another. He didn’t know what else could be done. Time went passed and nothing much out of the ordinary happened up at the Happy House or anywhere else. Gradually, however, the Devil in Black was suffering. He was growing more and more despondent and distant from his friends. Ultimately he was lonely and the promises that he had once made for himself over the love of the Pathetic Pussycat were crumbling since they rarely talked and he didn’t know where she lived… He tried looking elsewhere for the attention he so richly desired and thought he deserved but he could find it no where. Once or twice a month, Black would get together with what he could term as his best friend, Fest the Pest, and walk the streets of the town together, to chat about this and that while window shopping. It allowed him to stop pitying himself for an hour or two and just have a good conversation now and again. “I’ve got something good to tell you,” started Fest as he avidly watched Black’s sallow eyes as the man in the trench coat fired up a cigarette and sucked in a cloud of tobacco. They walked along the main high street, cobbled and busy with carriages and stalls for odds and ends, fruit and vegetables and other weird and wonderful items. “Yeah?” Black wasn’t in the best of moods that he could possibly have been in. Another outing at the Happy House the night before was crumbling his brain this morning. There was a weakness to his stomach as if he should have thrown up sometime but that it must have been forgotten. “What is it?” Fest stopped walking and Black turned to face him. He fumbled with his hands nervously, sickeningly grinning like he usually did. “Well, it’s me and the Pathetic Pussycat… we’re going out!” The cigarette that sat in Black’s mouth drooped and he continued staring into his best friend’s eyes. “How did…?” “I don’t know but isn’t it great? C’mon, let’s get a drink to celebrate.”
Copyright © 2005 Jack M Brown |