Pongo #61
By brighteyes
- 812 reads
Andaw
"I'm not sure how to introduce myself, she says, when we first sit down and I ask her name. "I just found out my name used to be something else, but people mostly call me Miffy, and it's been that way for years, so I guess maybe Miffy is as good as anything.
We stick with that and order matching butter croissants.
What follows is a stilted but warm conversation, a comparing of notes and physical anomalies. Sometimes she laughs at nothing, or maybe at the whole situation. I joke that we should trade off parts of our bodies and make complete normals from the swap. Or maybe just fool around, sporting one gangly limb and one stubby for effect.
She doesn't tell me at first how she came to be affiliated with the company, whether it was voluntary or not. She does tell me her subscription was cancelled because they winched the prices out of her range ("Greedy cunts), hence the patched-together look. Tells me about her films, by way of explaining her initial funding source. Goes through a couple of brief anecdotes. Most richly of all, she fills my ears with intricate descriptions, peppered with profanities, of her body. Just as people in hospices and homes for the aged lace their days with fervent retellings of days gone by, of their first kiss, their childhood birthday parties, some bitch at school.
All these cover versions of the actual past, or as close as you can get to one, and here sits Miffy among it all, snuggling up to every detail, every outgrown Bo Peep flounce and penetration, nuzzling each adjective, rubbing each corporal encounter against herself. As I go boneless in my chair listening to her intriguing everywhere/nowhere voice, she suddenly asks:
"So what exactly happened to you, then? Don't tell me someone got bored or sympathetic and took back all their bodily crud.
I sputter for an answer.
"I mean, you look a bit like you're half-in, half-out like me, but the other way round if you know what I mean. You've only got smidges of greys and stuff, you lucky bugger. Or is it like a recharging thing?
"A recharging thing?
"Like with batteries, you know. Does the company pay for you to purge all your given crap once in a while, so that you can keep working longer?
The idea had never occurred to me. As far as I knew, my employers hired someone until they were full or dead then footed the funeral. Was it even possible?
"No, my ' my client was involved in an accident. I'm afraid this, as uneven as it looks, is only temporary until I take back my normal load. It's complicated. Kind of a leak in the pipework, if you know what I mean.
"You don't want to, though. Her eyes are young and bright, nestling like jewels in her face.
She reads me with a practiced scrutiny. Shivering, I hold myself in check as I ask her what she means.
"It's mile-high-obvious, mate. You're sick of all this. You want out, and now you've had a taste of being back in your own body again, you want to keep it that way. How old are you?
She looks surprised when I tell her.
"See, you could pass for slightly younger. All this, it's like you're some kind of surrogate mother. Most of the time, you're prepared to go through nine months of swollen everything, aching, pissing, throwing up, then give away the actual nice part, the baby, before starting again with another bloke's sperm. Only this one time, it's like the baby's looked at you funny, and all of a sudden, you want to keep it, even though it's not yours anymore.
"It is mine, I say softly, stroking my firm forearm.
"You sign a contract? She curls her lip and looks at me resignedly. I nod.
"Well then.
For a few seconds, we nibble at the croissants, leaves of pastry fluttering from them onto the tablecloth.
"You're right, I say through the crumb layers. "I do want to keep it. I've thought of everything, including dumping it on some tramp for a few bottles, and the only thing stopping me is that I know one day, even if it's years from now at the outer edge of my recollection, I will turn a corner and collide with whatever poor freak I've created.
"Well then, says Miffy again. "You either have to tackle yourself or whoever you're sweeping for. Who is it?
"Maren Gilligan, I look at her, hoping for a flicker of hope.
"Boy oh fucking boy, she shakes her head.
"What?
"Better get going with the hypnosis tapes, mate. I hadn't realised the rumours were true, but since they are, she isn't going to give up that face without a fight.
I bang my head on the table a couple of times and a couple of other diners stare at me. Amazing, that such a little action, performed by a fairly average looking man, still provokes interest in people. Maybe everything outside your own body is interesting when it changes at a natural rate. Since the workings of it within the frame have fascinated a hundred professions invented in its honour, the world outside of the physical self is an uncontrollable beast by comparison. For me, it's all I have, since the inside is controlled by secondary hands.
"I feel like doing that all the time, she says. "Whacking my head against something hard. Just lately, I've really had to fight the urge to headbutt the TV, which is why I left the house today. Just needed to get out. Did you ever want to do that as a kid? Smash the TV or take it apart to find the little people inside?
The idea makes me smile, despite my mood and fast-bruising temple.
"S'a good job they don't give kids screwdrivers much. Anyway, a friend of mine once said that everything begins so big in your memory, because you start so small. You know, they tower above you and you remember their knees or waists or chests, depending. Obviously with me that wouldn't apply anyway. I've got a kind of skewed view on that. But the people inside the TV, they seem to have gotten bigger, if anything. Projected onto bigger screens, bigger hoardings ' they're giants these days, and since we never meet them in person, they just carry on getting bigger. Your patron being a prime example.
It seems true enough.
"I wouldn't be surprised, she leans in, as if sharing a highly dangerous conspiracy code, "if right now, they're planning to rig up a gobo in front of the sun, so that a shadow of Maren Gilligan, or whoever, falls across the earth ' an überadvert.. Imagine that ' her toes in Australasia, her face covering Canada, her snatch smothering Nigeria. Can't you just see it now?
"I can see it clearly, I tell her. "God, that's horrible. What do we get?
"What, Britain? Her tits of course.
Of course. We giggle and fall quiet.
"Who was that girl I saw you with last time? Last time you were in here, I mean? I
was sat across the way.
"I remember. That ' that was Insa. She's a friend.
"Where is she now?
She cuts me. "I don't know. Wish I did.
"Didn't look much like a sweeper, if you were anything to go by last time I saw you.
"No.
"Pretty girl.
"Yes. Yes, she was. She is, I mean.
"So you've not seen her for a while.
"Her sister's ill.
"Ah, OK.
"No, it's not just that. It's ' it's my fault.
"What ' you give her sister some bad stuff?
"No, I don't ' not exactly. I mean, she was ill to start with. Mentally. She's got this thing. For Gilligan.
"That girl on the news.
"What?
"That girl who went missing. The one they think is stalking Maren. Is that her?
"I don't know. It could be. Insa went to look for her. She left me in anger, walked out of this café and I haven't seen her since. I don't know if she's found Cadderine. I don't even know if she's OK.
Miffy studies me, frowning.
"Are you surprised that she's angry? It seems odd. I mean, you didn't do anything to her sister. She was nuts, right?
"I helped make Gilligan what she is ' this frigging idol that drove Cadderine into the state she's in.
"But by the same token, you could have killed Gilligan. This whole stabbing business. Maybe it's come full circle.
"No, I shake my head. "She's fine. The magazines have confirmation from her PR people that she's recovering in hospital, though they have no photos. Three guesses why.
"So she's in there, all, sort of¦Why does she deserve you taking all her crap back now? You must have enough to live on, and you're not telling me it's just fear of a contract that's making you consider it.
So I tell her why about the text message, Insa's face, the cancer. I tell her about my overtime, ending on my current state, and why I have to take back the crap.
"Very noble of you, I'm sure. So this tumour ' she's got it back right now?
"Right, I nod. "It's like some grim Pass The Parcel game. As soon as she realises I'm not playing anymore, she'll send someone round to remind me exactly why she's paying me so much.
Miffy crosses her legs and leans her chin on her fist.
"Two reasons to take it back.
I stare into my coffee, as if the murk will clear to reveal an answer whereby everybody is happy.
"You're a bit of a tit, really. She smiles as she says it. "For telling me all this when you barely know me, and for getting into all this in the first place, though I bet £100,000 a month is hardly to be sniffed at.
"What? £10,000, more like. Still a good amount, though.
"Come off it. That's the whole reason I got skanked out of my subscription. If it'd been £10,000, or even £20,000, I could have just about afforded it.
A pause, then we mutter in unison.
"Those fuckers.
Just then, a tinny version of "Flight of the Bumblebee begins to play. At first I think it is an ice cream van, until I realise where it's coming from. My phone, presumed mute for months, is ringing.
"Hello?
"Andaw, I've found her. I'm in Mayver. She's in the hospital there. Andaw?
"I'm here. Can I come visit you? An element of the request is desperation that she see me before I change back, if I change back.
"No. I'm sorry, but I just need to be with my sister. I wanted to let you know, though."
"Is she accepting treatment?
"Haven't spoken to her yet, and the doctors are still running checks to make sure I'm not another nutter trying to bust her out, but at least she's here and I'm here. I'm scared, Andaw. She might have done something pretty fucking serious, but I just don't know. I hope it's coincidence. Will keep you posted. I'm sorry I can't say any more.
Bipbip.
Miffy raises an eyebrow. "Trezz mysterious.
"What should I do? I ask.
"Honestly? No idea. Most times when people say that, they mean come on over, or I'm feeling crap and I just can't admit it. But this time, I'd honestly leave her be.
My throat contracts. The word 'but' lodges halfway up.
"I know, I know, the little psychic waves my objection away. "You want to show her all this. This magical transformation.
"It's not that - The lie is bulbous.
"Sure it isn't. I'll admit, the change is impressive, but to be quite honest, mate, you signed it away the day you cashed in Gilligan's first cheque. You pretty much put your looks up for adoption. And Insa doesn't need any distractions right now if all that you've told me is right.
"I - I begin, but she has me pinned.
"I should probably go, she says.
"Hey! I find my voice. "How about you? You live off us. Of course we have a rough idea when we begin what's in store for us, but everybody - smokers, student teachers, cadets ' tells themselves it's not so bad ' it can never be as bad as the scare stories. Tell ourselves the photos have been doctored. We all do, and we can't help but convince ourselves when the reward is so great. Then you get locked in and kind of used to the routine, and before you can document a dot, you're already there, you've already turned into the poster child for it. This grim spectre against greed. It's too late for you, sure, but think of the children. It's always the children and their precious innocence. Well they kept you a child for most of your life, and look how innocent you turned out.
"It's true, she says, a little shaken. "Christ, that came out of nowhere.
"Do you even know who they are? Which people have given up their youth to keep you in Lolita frocks? Have you met them?
"Oh don't tell me, it's fucking been you all along.
"No. Sadly, such a neat twist is impossible. I know my clients and for the last god-knows-how-many years, I've been cripplingly monogamous to Maren.
"So that's a No, I prompt.
"Well of course it's a No. Anyway, it wasn't my fault.
"What do you mean?
"All this kiddy stuff ' it was decided for me. I was eight when I was shot up with enough treatment to last me until I stopped being able to learn stuff.
"You ever try to find a way out before then?
"Look, she says. "When you find something you're good at, you stick to it. I was so scared of what would happen if I stopped paying them that I just carried on.
"How about before you began in those films? How did you pay a huge great Marley subscription when you were, say, thirteen?
"I don't know. I have no memory of it. What year did they hit financial straits? Your investigator girlfriend tell you that?
"Well you'd probably have been about that age ' early teens.
"About, roundabout, roughly, sort of. I just can't get any straight answers. I don't have any sort of platform to jump off. None of my findings are concrete and most of the time it's hard to care what really happened, or even what's happening now. I mean, look at me. I have no career left, the one man I think I gave a shit about is dead, I'd rather be known by my porn name than my real one and I can't even tell you my birthday. Want to know why I give my age as 38 every time? Because it's the most random number I could think of. It's not the middle of a significant number, it's not the number of states or counties or varieties of Cooble. It doesn't square root neatly and it doesn't mean fuck all, really, and that's comforting because at least it's honest about that.
She has gone white splashed with red, like Cornish ice-cream mashed into strawberries, the blood in her cheeks congregating in patches.
"I mean, look at us both. Two bald men fighting over a comb. Whatever we say, it's not going to get us back into the prime of frigging life, and we're never, repeat, NEVER, going to look like Maren Gilligan or whoever. Nobody is. They themselves don't look like that. They live behind a screen of other peoples' best parts, stealing their babies ' their bodies aren't so much temples as orphanages. Fucking workhouses ' the skin is their playground. They flay it off people and slap their saggy excuses onto them in place of it. I've known all along that somewhere, someone has been dying because of me and I can't do anything. I smoke to relax, because my whoever it is, they're always there, tugging at my sleeve. It's like being haunted. And the smoking makes it worse, because then you hear coughing at your shoulder, and you know whose fault it is.
She has pulled on her coat.
"And yes, she concludes. "Call me what the fuck you want, but I am not one of them. And I don't want a meet and greet. I don't want to be charitable. I'm not one of them.
Her feet drum a broken beat and the door swings back and forth, not sure where it began.