N Darts chap 12

"Nice letter," said Captain Vegas, handing the pages back to me.
Then a puzzled look crossed his face. "But what's it all about? WHAT'S
IT ALL ABOUT?"

"Are you OK?" I asked.

In truth, Captain Vegas had been acting weird ever since he came
round. At ten o'clock he had woken me up, pounding on the door. I had
leapt out of bed wondering who it was. Everyone knows I work nights and
no one pounds on my door at ten am. But standing there was Captain
Vegas and, sure enough, with one hand he was pounding on the door.
There was no doubt.

"You can stop pounding now," I said, "the door is open."

"Sorry," said Captain Vegas, his fist coming to a full-stop and then
staying there. "Would you like a drink?" He held out the bottle he was
clutching in the hand that hadn't been pounding. The bottle was
half-empty and it was obvious where the other half was. Captain Vegas
looked half-full.

I took the bottle and drank. It was whiskey.

"Are you OK?" I said again. "You don't look your usual self."

In fact, he didn't. It wasn't just something I had made up to pass the
time of day or merely to be polite. For a start, this morning, Captain
Vegas didn't look anything like Elvis. His quiff was quiffless. His
shiny suit was not in evidence. I knew something was up.

"What's happened?" I asked.

Captain Vegas didn't say anything. He shook his head forlornly and
walked past me into my lounge. That's when I showed him the letter.
That's when he read it and that's when he handed it back to me.

"It is a nice letter, isn't it?" I said.

"Yes," said Captain Vegas taking another swig from his bottle of
whiskey. "If Leia Organa sent me a letter like that then I would be
happy. Even a postcard with a signature would be nice."

"Is that what all this is about?" I asked.
And then it all came out.
It was like when that Dutch boy couldn't be bothered to put his thumb
in the dam. Or when that final straw was added to the camel's back.
Captain Vegas sat down and he told me what was on his mind.

It went like this.

He said it was difficult going out with someone like Leia Organa, very
difficult. He said he didn't know what she saw in a little old Elvis
like him. After all, what did he have to offer except having a passing
resemblance to a dead rock'n'roll star and a small income from his
nights in the chip shop?

I didn't say anything but I took another drink from the bottle of
whiskey.
Captain Vegas put his head in his hands and jiggled his head. Then I
knew things were really bad. I had never seen him jiggle his head
before. I went over and sat next to him and put my arm around his
sloping Elvis shoulders. I told him everything would be alright.

"You don't understand," he said. "There she is saving galaxies and all
I do is fry the occasional potato. It's not an even match."

"Perhaps it is," I said. I had had an idea.

Captain Vegas asked what I meant and so I explained.

Captain Vegas, I said, talking about Captain Vegas in the third person
as if I was an academic and Captain Vegas was a subject on the national
curriculum. Captain Vegas, I said again, repeating the name for
emphasis, was an exceptional person, exceptional because he was unique.
Captain Vegas cut in and said that everyone was unique. I said I knew
that and that was the point. I said imagine two clones going out with
each other. They would have the same looks, the same body, even the
same fingerprints. Imagine when it came to dinner.

"Fish tonight?" says one clone.

"Yes," says the other.

"Fancy watching a movie later?" says one clone.

"Just what I was thinking," says the other.

"Me and Leia never have conversations like that," said Captain
Vegas.

"Exactly," I said and then I explained some more. Happiness comes
through conflict, I said. Nirvana is the attraction of opposites and
the attrition of those opposites over a period of time. You are upset
now but when Leia comes back you will be happy. You will make up and
that will make you happy. You are experiencing deep feelings and deep
feeling is what life is all about.

"Is it?" said Captain Vegas.

"Yes it is," I said.

"More whiskey?" said Captain Vegas.

"Thank you." I took a long drink from the bottle.

"Actually," said Captain Vegas, wiping his lips with the back of a
hand, "I think it's sex."

"Sex?" I said. A light bulb appeared over the top of my head and then
disintegrated into a million pieces.

"Yes," said Captain Vegas. "Sex. You see normally Leia Organa and I
have sex every day."

"Every day?"

"Yes," said Captain Vegas, "and sometimes twice a day. In bed. In the
bathroom. In the kitchen. Sometimes outside."

"I get the picture," I said.

"I think you do," said Captain Vegas. His hips gave an almost
imperceptible wiggle. "You know what would make Leia Organa
happy?"

"No," I said. "What?" I was thinking that somehow I had lost the upper
hand in this conversation. I was thinking that the shoe I had been
wearing just a short while ago was now firmly on Captain Vegas's foot.
It appeared to fit him very well. "What would Leia Organa like?" I
said.

"I think she would like it if she came back and found another story on
my you know what," said Captain Vegas. "She really enjoyed the last
one. It wasn't something she had seen anywhere in the galaxy. For once
I was original."

"Oh," I said. "Are you sure?"

"Sure," said Captain Vegas.

"I'll get the pens," I said.

I stood up and went to the kitchen with a sense of a hand already
dealt, as if this was the way it was always meant to be. Somehow my
discussion of happiness had turned in to something else. Perhaps that
was why Captain Vegas was unique. Perhaps that was why he was my
friend. Perhaps we were the attraction of opposites I had just talked
about. In a metaphorical sense.

When I came back Captain Vegas was ready. He was lying on his back on
the sofa and his pants and his jeans were on the floor next to
him.

"Are you sure you want this?" I asked, kneeling by the sofa.

"Positive," said Captain Vegas and his hips gave an obscenely
pornographic wiggle. Obscene because he was naked. Naked wiggles
usually are. "Go ahead," he said. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

So I started at the base and I wrote a story.
It was the story of two mice who are abducted by aliens. One of the
mice is quite pleased by this because he had been having problems with
a particularly recalcitrant cat but the other one sees it as an
imposition. Being abducted is not what he had planned for his life and
he says so. That is the end of the first chapter.

In the second chapter we see how the pleased mouse cooperates with the
aliens, answers all their questions and doesn't resist their probes.
This mouse quickly gains the confidence of his captors. The other mouse
however whines a lot in an annoying mousy way.

In the third chapter things happen quickly. The pleased mouse stages a
coup. He takes control of the spaceship and returns to Earth. He finds
the recalcitrant cat and blasts it to smithereens with advanced alien
technology. Meanwhile the other mouse becomes bitter and resentful and
spends his days bending the ear of any alien who will listen to his
cynical bile.

Chapter four deals with a subplot concerning two squirrels and an
oliphant.

And in chapter five the pleased mouse retires to an alien outworld and
lives happily ever after. The cynical mouse dies. The end.

"Wow," said Captain Vegas, "that's a better story than the last
one."

"Do you think so?" I said. I was quite pleased with myself. In my
youth I had had a penchant for outlandish sci-fi and I had resolved
that if ever I wrote a book it would veer towards the fantastic. "Do
you really like it?" I asked.

"Yes," said Captain Vegas, "definitely. I feel much better."

"Great," I said. And I stood up and clapped my hands. "Now I have to
go to sleep. I'm exhausted."

"I know what you mean," said Captain Vegas and he wiggled his hips and
yawned. "I'm tired too. Can I join you?"

"No problem," I said.

And so we went upstairs and went to bed. Just friends, the two of us.
Captain Vegas because he was missing Leia Organa and needed the company
and me because I was tired and needed to sleep.

It was only when I woke up a few hours later that I found that Captain
Vegas had written a story on me. It started at my big toe and worked
upwards in a circle around my leg.

"I hope you don't mind," he said sheepishly his body moving beneath
the duvet. "I wasn't tired after all."

"Not at all," I said. "It's rather nice. I'm flattered."

"Great," said Captain Vegas. "Great. One good turn deserves
another."

"You're right," I said. Then I pulled on my clothes and went to work.
I work 9pm to 7am. Sometimes it gets to me. Even during the day.