The Happy House (4) “Of course dear boy. By the way…I didn’t mean what I said earlier, whatever it was.” “Nor did I. Have a good night.” From the side of the room, drink in hand, the Chubby Chinwag’s eyes followed Black out of the room to the momentarily combined silhouette of a trench coat and a frilly purple dress. The Tasteful Tern stood behind with his glass of wine brought close to his mouth – what were those two up to? “Jimmy! There you are.” Black approached the butler and shook his hand as a harsh wind crashed through the large driveway. The fountain was lit up and active, shooting bursts of water twenty feet into the air and down again. “Hello sir. Had a good night?” “Of course, of course.” “Your cab, sir.” The cabby had been waiting atop the carriage patiently, gently calming the horses with soothing whispers for a good half hour. The wind had disgruntled them and they were glad that at last, they would soon be off. Jimmy opened the door and Black helped Poppy up the steps and into the cab. “Goodnight Jimmy.” “Goodnight sir.” Black hopped in after Poppy and closed the door before banging on the ceiling to start up the driver. The two horses began their march and quickly turned it into a trot across the driveway and swiftly back onto the main road. The journey was almost silent except for a relatively short report on how the night had been. They sat side by side with their fingers loosely embracing each other’s – perhaps more for safety rather than for love and tenderness. Both knew however, that something was mutual between them, something they did not expect to develop so quickly. It was about fifteen minutes before the carriage stopped outside Poppy’s home and the two reached a time in their lives when they were unsure as of what to do. They knew that they shouldn’t just say goodbye, they should embrace…somehow. They brought their faces together to kiss each other on the cheek but it was Poppy who moved her mouth in the way. Their eyes flared before their lips touched passionately. Foolishly, Black wanted this to continue for longer than it should and Poppy pulled away. “I shouldn’t have done that. We shouldn’t have done that.” It would have been thoughtless for Black to disagree and Poppy quickly escaped: all opportunities had crashed down around him. After almost three weeks of assorted parties, get-togethers, flings and romps, the whole Devil in Black / Purple Poppy joining had progressed no further. Their meetings after that single kiss were fleeting brushes of eyesight and nothing more. Black gave up hope once again and once again he was all alone. Upon getting the invitation to the Podium through the post, Black scanned downwards to where it said ‘suit and tie only’ and lit up his eye at the word. So on Sammy’s advice, who’d quickly forgiven him for the violence weeks earlier, and was all too eager to tell his employer what to do and what to wear, sorted out a tuxedo that best fit, throwing the trenchcoat aside for the night so that it crumpled in on itself upon a chair. The carriage pulled up outside the large alien house. It wasn’t as big as the Happy House but it seemed able from the outside, from Black’s glances of it through the window, that it could fit a good many people. The tuxedo was strange. It was the first time that he could remember not wearing the trenchcoat and although he looked very smart in suit and bow tie, he felt strangely naked to the world, to his friends, to his butler even. But he could not get past it and he wasn’t going to make a huge fuss over what everyone else thought to be such a trivial thing. He wanted to make a fuss of course, but he wasn’t going to. Exiting the carriage, he flicked a coin up at the driver who caught it easily in his right hand before storming off with a crack of the reins. The door was large yet inviting, surrounded by an assortment of formal flowers and green vine. It swung open before he could knock and in the doorway stood the host herself: Plug the Mug, dressed well in a turquoise number that seemed to show off curves a woman shouldn’t generally have. Her face stood astride this ill-made body in an equally ill-made fashion and it tried to smile, but this needed to be accentuated by leaning slightly backwards with her arms thrown out in grand surprise, spilling a sliver of her drink onto the carpet. Of who would ever marry such a strange looking lady was beyond Black. “Black! How are you dear?” “Fine, fine.” Black wondered where the drinks were. “Come in! Come in! Make yourself at home why don’t you? Everybody’s here!” Through the doorway led to a small square hall that led to the kitchen on the left with stairs on the right and the main gathering ahead in a fairly large and impressively decorated room. Plug was someone that no one really knew that well but liked to be a big part of things when she could – such parties as this were infrequent but highly recommended, but this was the first time she’d ever enforced a dress code. Instead of taking the force of the waves head on, Black walked eagerly into the kitchen to find an assortment of different bottled drinks on the sideboard. He quickly located the bottle of whisky and grabbed a glass from a cabinet so that he could start pouring. “I thought I heard you come in.” Black recognised the voice instantly. “The tuxedo suits you, very smart.” Pussycat walked around Black and met him beside the drinks, hoping to have a deep conversation of some sort. “How’s Fest? How are you two getting on?” Black kept his eye on what he was doing rather than dare getting lost in Pussycat’s perfect eyes. Pussycat didn’t want Black to bring Fest up but she supposed after all that it was natural. “He’s good.” Pussycat eyed Black suspiciously for a moment and stood very close, the edges of her mouth curling like a tail into a smile. “Everything’s good.” Black nodded and moved away carrying his drink, heading for the main room. He hadn’t taken one look at Pussycat and she was left confused in the kitchen, her delicate fingers clasping the head of a wine bottle as she watched Black leave. The room sucked Black in as he approached it and soon enough he was saying ‘hello’ to almost everyone in sight: the Hempen Hobble, the Gabbling Gurn, the Frivolous Fuck, the Voluptuous Vixen, the Toccata Talker, the Spindly Shat and even Fest the Pest, the Chubby Chinwag and the Tasteful Tern. There were more, many more, but this was his group, and what a combination of personalities it was. There felt like there was an underlying blanket of frustration and unrequited friendship that was ready to burst at any time. Plug hadn’t been careful with her invitations, but in the company of many others, perhaps there would be no spark lit that night. Within the hour, Black had taken it upon himself to start snooping around upstairs. The storming and enmeshing music from the variety of record players and live band muffled conversation very well and it wasn’t long before dancing ensued as there was nothing better to do. This wasn’t Black’s type of game so he made himself sparse, stepping quietly back into the kitchen to refill his glass with whisky and tiptoe up the stairs. He was quick to find that there was no place in the entire house where he could be alone: where he could cogitate and organise his thoughts into a linear progression of what had to be done. There was nowhere at all. The people upstairs were all slightly younger it seemed, giving Black an air of authority that he had rarely come upon. He knew that the Hempen Hobble, the Toccata Talker and the cunning duo of the Tasteful Tern and the Chubby Chinwag had advanced even further upstairs to play a few rounds of poker. Black didn’t want to join them, he felt more at ease here among these people who knew nothing about him and looked up at him, some fearfully because of his one eye, some respectfully, while some just ignored him. He found an old wicker chair near the top of the stairs and he sat himself in it to drink his drink and take in the aura of happiness and delight that was brewing throughout the house but not in him. “Hey.” Black raised his head and squinted at the young girl who stood before him, towering over his seated position, her hand dangling in a wave momentarily to make herself known. She was of perhaps twenty or twenty one years, but Black was hopeless at telling ages. Her eyes were bright like full-moons, daunting in how they shone out from the rest of the night sky of her face, of high cheek bones and a grand-piano smile that could crush and control hearts at will. Black’s heart, however, was a tough nut to crack. “Hey,” said Black in reply, taking in the girl. “Do I know you?” She bent down onto her knees, pulling her skirt up slightly to position herself. She seemed eager to be able to look straight into Black’s eye, to be at about his level, and he found it almost appealing. But there was something in her eagerness that made him cautious – what had she got planned? “Don’t you remember me? Oh God, I’m the Popular Bistro, you remember?” For a moment the name fit her: friendly and chirpy, enjoyed by all, but ultimately a rather small and shabby restaurant, likened for its character over especially good looks. But then, who was she? Black couldn’t put his finger on it… “Didn’t you date Fest the Pest at one point?” “Yes! You remember, good. I remember you: the Devil in Black. You’re not likely to ever forget a name like that.” “Yeah, I guess…” Black faked a smile for a moment. He wasn’t too sure where this was going. “Well, I’ll talk to you later alright?” Bistro used Black’s knee to get to her feet, smiled and returned to the gathering of her friends down the end of the hall. As if he had only just decided that he liked cards, he suddenly wondered how that game upstairs was getting on. The stairs to the second floor crashed through into the middle of a relatively large room that was held by the triangular roof as its ceiling. Banisters surrounded the stairway to make sure no one took a gambling-with-life leap. Posters of bands and their musicians littered the walls in a hasty and unorganised fashion – they were there to support the music rather than show off an organised collection. Black on tiptoe popped his head to the height of the floor and stared through the wooden banisters. The Hempen Hobble was dealing the respective number of cards to each player while the Toccata Talker sat cross legged, his sleeves pulled back awkwardly to his elbows, waving his hands this way and that to help explain his argument that none of the others was interested in. The Chubby Chinwag laid on the floor side on, his hands clasped together as the sharp point of a cigarette manoeuvred its way about his pig-like mouth. The Tasteful Tern, meanwhile, was flicking through the pages of an old book that he’d found lying about on the floor. He wasn’t an avid book reader but he knew what he liked. “Hel-lo,” said Black after spying on the group for a few moments. “Who’s winning?” “I am of course,” replied Tern, picking up his cards with a sigh and not bothering to glance down at the questioner. “Couldn’t you find a table?” “We’re not that organised Black.” Chinwag held Black’s eye for a few moments. Talker and Hobble had obviously been shut up, not wanting to even try and get on the wrong side of the pair. Unluckily for Black, he already was. “Come and sit down. Come and watch.” “No, that’s alright, I’d best be getting back…” “I said come and sit down you fuck!” Talker and Hobble were taken aback, holding their cards close to their chest as if the king of spades and his buddies would protect them. Black just stared through into the space between the banisters – there was an evil glimpse in Chinwag’s eye that made him look as if he was willing to kick the shit out of someone. “Okay.” Reluctantly, Black did as he was told just through the wickedness in Chinwag’s expression. It was enough to get anybody to move. Tern looked on smiling, watching as the tormented loner sat down near Talker, trying his best to keep away from the fat thing spread out on the floor. Black undid his jacket and sat on the floor uneasily, not used to having to plonk himself on hard surfaces. “So,” started Tern, breaking the silence that had fallen over the group, “how are you getting on with the Purple Poppy these days? Fucked her yet or what?” “I don’t know what you mean.” “We saw you two leave together at the Happy House – same carriage and everything. Seemed like you two were getting very close that evening, saw you both on the stairs.” Talker and Hobble listened eagerly for the rumours but dared not cut in and start asking questions of their own. Those two uttered the ‘f’ word! “Nothing is going on between me and the Purple Poppy. Anyway, she’s going out with the Serious Sausage now isn’t she, so stop bothering me.” “On the night in question however, the Serious Sausage was feeling quite ill.” “How lucky for you,” quipped Chinwag, still with an evil eye. “Right I’m off.” Black stood up defiantly, his fingers being crushed by his determined grip. “I’ve had enough of this.” He made his way round the room and trotted back down the stairs, glad that Chinwag nor Tern said anything before he’d got out of earshot. The Devil in Black stood at the bottom of the stairs with his back to the wall, knocking his head against it furiously, angry with himself for even bothering going up there… furious over sharing that carriage with the Purple Poppy even though she was with someone else… but it seemed the right thing to do at the time. But of course it wasn’t. “Damn it,” mouthed Black and he turned back into the long corridor, half-hoping to catch sight of the Popular Bistro but she was nowhere to be found. His whisky had disappeared. Where it had got to, he couldn’t remember and now there was a thirst in his mouth that needed to be answered – but this would mean going back downstairs and it was an effort that he was reluctant to go along with. He was saved, however, by the appearance of the Frivolous Fuck at the top of the stairs, a bottle of champagne held tightly in one hand and a cigarette in the other. “Black.” She took in the leftovers of her cigarette and stubbed it out on a small table next to the wall. “Give us that.” Black grabbed the bottle and carefully took some down his throat, desperate for a drink, desperate to wash away the conversation upstairs. “Damn it I hate champagne.” It burned his throat upon its descent and Black promised himself never to touch the stuff again. Frivolous pushed herself into Black’s arms and he took her round the waist, bringing her tightly against him. “You look good in the tux.” That was it for social pleasantries. “Fuck me now.” Snuggling her nose into his neck, she was pleading as she entwined her legs with his. “Where can we go?” “Bathroom.” Frivolous escaped Black and opened the first door along the hallway, revealing it as if it were a tomb not opened for thousands of years, shedding light upon forgotten treasures and priceless artefacts. “Come on.” She dragged him inside, locked the door and swigged down a good half of the champagne. It dribbled down over her lips, past her chin, down her beautiful neck and was caught by the low-cut dress. This urgency of sex had once been very common but as soon as Black started looking for a good wholesome relationship, their jumping onto one other dried up. This renewal of their so-called ‘vows’ was proof of Black’s failure. The Pathetic Pussycat had abandoned him. The Purple Poppy was involved with another man. The Popular Bistro seemed a mile away and too odd of a choice for such a quiet trenchoated individual. Black sat on the toilet seat and relaxed against it, hoping that the champagne didn’t bugger up his mind too much because it usually did have that effect. Frivolous was out of her dress in a second, showing to the rest of the brightly lit bathroom her ample figure of large breasts and wide hips. She sat astride Black and lunged into his throat while fumbling with his trousers. It seemed to be over very quickly for Black but Frivolous was exhausted by the end. Black was too drunk and everything was going past in whir of haze. He knew what had happened of course – he watched Frivolous clamber away and give him a peck on the cheek to proclaim her enjoyment. But there was something in the back of his mind – something gnawing at him. He felt unfaithful, yes unfaithful, to Pussycat and Poppy no less. Even to Bistro even though he was unsure as to whether there was anything between them at all. Frivolous unlocked the door after grappling with her clothes and left Black alone. What had gone wrong? As soon as Black got himself downstairs, he fixed a drink and walked outside to smoke a cigar. No one in the whole house had heard what had been going on in the bathroom, none of the panting and sucking and slurping and yelping and gasping and moaning and yearning. None of it. Which was a surprise. But Black was thankful that it hadn’t brought anyone to the door and no one had really noticed the lack of Frivolous or Black in their eyesight or company. They very rarely noticed Black at all. It was wanting to rain outside. Black sat himself on a part of a wall, placed his glass of whisky to one side and drew out a box of matches from his jacket pocket. Although they hadn’t noticed his absence for the last half hour, the Hempen Hobble, the Toccata Talker and the Gabbling Gurn certainly saw him escape through the front door and followed. “Hello there. What are you doing out here then?” asked Hobble, taking a seat next to Black on the wall, bringing his knees up tight. He took a small bundle out of his jacket and began to unravel it. “Just smoking a cigar.” “Could I take a quick…” Black passed it to him reluctantly. “Cheers.” Hobble took it in his fingers, not used to the size and sucked on the end in show of everybody, trying to act to be the posh bastard that he wasn’t. “What you got there?” asked Gurn. He appeared out of place outside, his hands in his pockets, away from the throng, but so did Talker so Black didn’t think much about it. “This?” Hobble was carefully creating – it appeared to be an art form. This was alien to Black who’d never had to roll a cigar and would probably, like most who hadn’t been taught, mess it up and everything would go everywhere – all over the floor and wasted. “This shall be a ‘happy cigarette’. That’s what it shall be.” “So Black…” Talker stood in front of him, his arms half crossed, one arm wanting to wave around as if the tall thin creature wanted to appear to be wider than he actually was. Black could see by the smile on his face and the undivided attention that this was going to be a personal question, and he knew it would be about the Purple Poppy, and he knew that Talker was interested because he’d never had a girlfriend in his life which was, to look at him, quite strange. He wasn’t an ugly bastard or someone dumb or unsocial. He was friendly and everything and never seemed nervous. It was, however, a challenge to have a conversation with him without him turning it into an argument. If ever you wanted to talk to him, one would like there to be a contract saying that you could pull out at any time. “What’s this about the Purple Poppy?” “Yeah Black. Tell all.” Hobble was listening in but focussing all of his efforts upon the roll-up. “What about the Purple Poppy?” asked Gurn, intrigued as always about anyone’s private life.
Copyright © 2005 Jack M Brown |