Day 13 - Only Laugh - Chapter 13 (1,301 words)

©Wayne Webb and constantwriting.blogspot.com, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Wayne Webb and constantwriting.blogspot.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

ONLY LAUGH WHEN IT HURTS

By Wayne Webb

CHAPTER 13

The music was loud and aggressive, they could feel it from outside the bar, like a wave of pressured air. The street lights and neon splashes added a surreality to the place that made it look like the set of a film, not a place that existed in our world. It did exist, and here it was welcoming and yet inhospitable at the same time. The right kind of people were welcome but even then they were held at arm's length until they were truly part of the scenery. Even them a hairsbreadth stood between familial bonds and aggressive action.

“This is the place. Are you sure about this?” Tony got out of the car, wondering how long he would last here.

John was quite sure, so sure he was not even going to get out of the car. He nodded furiously and looked at his watch and his phone. “How long before I call the cops?”

“Oh, there's no need for that, I'm sure it'll be fine.” Tony looked about the parking lot, scanning for vehicles out of place. “How many did we get?”

“Two maybe three that sounded definite, a couple more interested but did not officially confirm. Any more than that and the balance of the room will change. And some...” John sighed and looked at Tony when he said this, not the bar, “... will take one look and not go in. If they are even part way sane.”

Tony nodded and grinned back at his assistant, his enabler. “Perfect. Perfect.”

“They've all signed waivers before we gave them the equipment.” But Tony was no longer interested, he was rubbing his hands together and jumping up and down on the spot.

“It's like going on stage. I'm excited. You sure you don't want to come in?”

“After last time? I don't think so, and I don't think...” He didn't finish the sentence, mostly because it would have pointless, but also because he could not argue with fate. He had not believed in fate until now, but this made no other sense at all. If not fate then why?

“Okay. I'm going in then.”

Less than an hour later John's phone rang and got several txt messages all at once. He read a couple and swore to himself before answering the phone call.

He got to the bar and a crowd of people were gathered around Tony, who was bleeding noticeably from the head and his shirt was soaked and cut. There were two men shouting and trying to get past a very large man, who was not having a bar of that. Several others were standing behind him and filming all of it on cell phones or small video cameras. They seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely.

On the face of it it looked like it could be resolved with a cash payment. He hoped he had enough.

“Gentlemen, I am here on behalf of my employer, could I have a quick word please?” He steeled his voice, enough he hoped and tried to hide the shaking sensation in his legs. He had a folder and a bunch of papers, he pulled them out and took two sets of forms out and looked the men up and down. One of them was red-faced and shaking with unchecked violence. John skipped him and went to his buddy who looked more in control and suspicious of the man with paperwork and a very expensive car. “Hi, look this is an opportunity for you to make some money here. This is not what it looks like, it's...” he was interrupted by the man's enraged friend.

“It looks like your employer wants to get his fucking head kicked in!” He barrelled forward and straight onto the outstretched palm of the bouncer. That simple immovable object stopped him short and bled some of the rage out in cool objective appraisal of the man he would have to, and in most estimations be unlikely to, get through to dole out the beating he so wanted to give.

“Well, maybe it is what it looks like then. However you and your rather large friend here can get into an confrontation, or you can get into a contract and make some money.” John patted his breast pocket as if it were made of said money. The man's calmer friend pulled his shoulder back, but there was still some anger as he shrugged the gesture away. More insistent the friend yanked back on him and it threw him back focussing the anger on the new confrontation, but seeing the look in his friends eyes drained more of the rage away.

“What?” He almost sighed it, seeing no outlet for violence being offered, no answer to the call he felt inside.

“Well, let's talk shall we?”

Tony was panting and kneeling down on the ground, spitting a few drops of blood-bubbles from his mouth and looking about the parking lot. One of the people filming had gotten very close and put the camera down to talk to him.

“Hi Tony, I'm a huge fan, this is just fantastic man. I mean really, how do you do it?” The fan was shaking in excitement and gleeful at being part of whatever this was.

“I don't know man, I really don't” He reached out and grasped his hand, shaking it before pulling hard to leverage himself up to his feet, standing unsteady but upright none the less.

“You ok dude?” The Bouncer had a big grin on his face, he had recognised him inside already and figured out when to intervene and when to let it go.

“Thank you yes, and thanks for … well thanks.”

It had been the Bouncer who had called John from Tony's cell phone. He had stepped in when the two guys had tried to pull him out the door and into the parking lot for some personal and private conversation. Not before one of them, the blinder of the two, had smashed a glass into Tony's back, cutting a slash through his shirt and opening the would that reddened Tony's shoulders and jacket.

He had stopped any more happening, but did nothing to break the crowd away. He didn't really know what was going on, but figured it was part of the act. Just the poor saps who had too much testosterone and too little patience for a man poking at them were unaware.

John was clueing them in on who Tony was, and what it meant for them financially if they signed the contracts. Also what it meant if they did not.

Assault charges, a day in court or a couple of thousand dollars apiece. It was an easy question to answer.

John bundled Tony onto the backseat of the car and let him lie face down so there was no pressure on the wound, it had stopped bleeding badly and was quite shallow, but would need a couple of stitches and cleaning to let it heal properly.

“Take me home John.”

“We should probably go to a hospital.”

“No, no need for that. Just stitch me up again. Clean me up. Stitch me up. Set me up again.”

John closed the car door and collected the cameras, media cards or links from the people who had volunteered to be in the room and get the various angles on camera. All in all the night cost a little over five grand to “participants” and a bonus to the bouncer was declined, in exchange for a premium entry to the next gig. “If he lives that long.” The man had joked, and while they both laughed at that only one of them felt it.    

Day 12 - Only Laugh - Chapter 12 (1,616 words)

©Wayne Webb and constantwriting.blogspot.com, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Wayne Webb and constantwriting.blogspot.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

ONLY LAUGH WHEN IT HURTS

By Wayne Webb

CHAPTER 12

Jane unlocked the front door and came in quietly. She had been gone for a few hours, letting Tony sleep. He had looked like he had needed it.

She didn't know what to do any more. They had money, plenty of it and were not wasting the opportunity. They had spent some, but invested most as soon as it arrived. They managed some themselves, some with a money manager and some injected into the business, paying for web masters and PR people to keep the machine running. She was heavily involved in the Tony merchandising machine, milking the profits and guarding his intellectual property. Making sure his cut was always taken.

She had felt guilty, at first but she soon realised that it was not money that drove him to do what he did. She didn't know why he was so intent on being recognisably talented. If that was the motivation. He had claimed that more than once, that he had their attention with the extreme acts of violence on himself, but they stayed for the entertainer who rose and stood after the fall. He was the living and laudable embodiment of the “show must go on”, but even as he said this she felt it false, in her heart.

So she snuck into the house letting him rest. Not wanting to disturb him, afraid of what she might find.

She had to end it before he really hurt himself. She knew it was coming, this escalation only lead to one logical outcome. The ultimate final act before the curtain falls. Maybe she could not stop it, maybe she didn't want to stop it. She definitely did not want to watch it happen though.

When was the right time to leave? Whatever happens next is not her fault, it's because of what might, what WILL, happen next that she needed to leave in the first place.

She could hear Tony's voice in the bed room, along with someone else. Who was that? She came to the door and realised it was John, but she cold not tell what they were talking about in low voices.

Should she knock? She didn't expect to walk in on them doing anything too shocking, she was not looking to catch either one off guard. She wanted to put and end to her fear and misery. She had stayed close to him because it was the right thing to do. Now though she felt like she was truly irrelevant to him. Not that he didn't love her, the opposite if anything, but that he he no longer loved himself, not in a palpable way that meant he'd avoid destructive behaviour.

Jane placed her hand on the door handle and turned it abruptly making the door snap open as she forced a smile and prepared a joke.

“Hope I am not interrupting anything too gay boys... I... what the fuck?”

Just like that her reaction was her new reality. Something she had not expected, could not have predicted and seemed incredible to her.

John looked up at her guiltily, Tony met her gaze defiantly, unashamed and matter of fact.

He was sitting on the bed and his shirt was off, John was sitting behind him and sewing stitches into his back, where a gash of a few centimetres had been cleaned and disinfected. On the bed lay cotton wool and gauze pads for dressing the wounds. There were many. Jane’s hands went to her mouth instinctively and she swore repeatedly through her fingers unable to process what she was seeing.

“Come in and close the door if you want to talk.” Tony nodded at the door but the motion of his head shook his shoulders a little and that jolted the tension on the needle and surgical thread in his assistants hands.

“Tony?” there was a question supposed, and hanging in the gap between them.

“Close the door please, I can feel a draft. I'd rather not catch a cold if you don't mind.”

“A cold? You are sitting there, being hand stitched by your fucking assistants hands! You worry about a cold? What the fuck is going on?” Her mood had escalated to hysterical rapidly. John tied off the stitch he had been tightening and snipped it away. In a few obviously well practised moves he had dressed the wound and taped it over with gauze and cream designed to aid the healing process. Once done he stood up and smoothed his trousers out, looking for dignity in the seconds wasted on preening.

“John? A drink please, Jane?” His look was casual inquiring, and unblinking Jane nodded and looked about the room for the drinks cart. Sure enough there was one. On it was a scalpel and bandages, a sterile tray with buds soaked in blood with what looked like shards of glass sticking out of them. Next to that was a set of glasses, and a bottle of Scotch.

John poured two large neat measures and handed one each to the pair. He looked at the door and nodded at it, saying nothing. Jane stared at him, unmoving until she took the largest swig she could handle of the whisky and then blinked back the choking fire. John looked at Tony, who nodded, and he left in silence.

The door closed and the tension in the room softened a little as she sat on the bed and drained the tumbler of it's contents. Her thoughts of why she had come in were gone.

“Another?” She made for the bottle and pored a bigger measure the second helping. Tony had waggled his glasses to show he was still going on his first, barely touched.

“Are you all right?” Tony asked quietly.

“Am I all right?” She stared at the malted liquid and asked it again of the air. “Am. I. All. Right.?”

“I'm fine, it looks worse than it is.”

“Are you... is this... where is this going to go Tony?”

“Where is what going to go?”

“This self destructive whatever the fuck your life is now. I thought we had gotten past this?”

Tony didn't answer. He had never gotten past anything. He had no idea what anything was or why it was, now he was just trying to understand.

“Are you trying to kill yourself Tony? I don't think I can...” she choked on the rest of the sentence, wondering half way through if perhaps she could have and then at least it would be over.

“Kill myself? No. No I don't think so, I don't think so.” He seemed to seriously consider the answer, in a thoughtful manner that ignored the obvious dark nature of the question.

“You don't think so? Well excuse me if I don't take that as a ringing denial of your suicidal intentions”

“I am not suicidal. I'm … exploring who I am now.” He looked directly at her, trying to communicate something, but even he didn't really know what it was. He wanted to connect with her, wanted someone to care about his journey, someone not paid to care.

“Who are you?”

“Honestly? I don't know, I am trying to find that out. It's not like I am trying to damage myself, more like trying to find out what makes me tick. What makes me, me. What makes me funny.”

“By mutilating yourself?” She was incredulous.

“Oh I didn't do this, this was an … experiment. It just got a little out of hand. That's all this is. Really.” Jane finished her second glass and refilled a third. “Experimenting. Why can't it be drugs, or Jesus it would have been better if you had been fucking John when I walked in, but this?”

“John? He's not my type. Far too butch for me.” He had a grin on his face, and he knew that in this place and time that she would not find it funny, but he did. The worse it could be, the funnier he thought it was. The more people found their limits, the more he added to his own sense of humour.

“You're going to fucking kill yourself, I can't be there, I can't watch that happen, I can't.”

She was openly crying and sobbing at him now and he threw an arm around her and tried to comfort her the only way he could have done.

“I'm not going to kill myself. That's far too obvious.”

Jane laughed despite herself. She gulped down the scotch and tried to stand up, the room spun and she fell backwards on the bed. Tony leaned over her and kissed her while the whole world spun around his head. She raised her hollow feeling arms and put them around his neck, touched the place in his back where the stitches were and pressed gently. Tony groaned and kissed her a little firmer. She dug her fingers in hard and he yelped and opened his mouth. Jane bit his lip hard, and then the world dissolved as she felt her body moving under his, into the shape they made together. The familiar rhythms and patterns engaged and it was beginning.

“Jane? I wasn't expecting this?”

“Shut the fuck up.” She slapped him hard across the face, her hand now smeared in sticky make up that was covering the blackened eyes. She looked at her hand and then into Tony's eyes.

Her hand gripped his hair and threw him sideways. He lay in shock as she sat on him, kissing him more passionately than either one could recall.