Devil in Disguise (23 page)

‘I’m
sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just that Simon means so much to me. I hate to feel
like I’m losing him.’

‘Sssh!’
Jane comforted her friend, giving her a big, love-filled hug. ‘You’ll never
lose Simon. I can’t imagine you two apart. Besides, you’ve always been there
for him. Remember that time he got gay-bashed when he came on to some straight
bloke under Charing Cross bridge? It was you who sorted him out and got him to
casualty. He won’t forget things like that.’

Molly
started to sob. ‘I’m just so fed up, Jane. I’m out of work and Dan’s working all
the time. Now that Simon’s got a bit of money, he’s decided to get his flat
decorated. I can’t deny that it needed it — it was a complete tip. So, of
course, he asked Daniel to do it, and for the last few weeks he’s been
decorating Simon’s flat in the evenings. I never see him. He comes back late,
drunk and in a bad mood. I’m sick of it. We’re usually so happy but he’s been
distant with me lately.’

‘Why
don’t you go round there and spend some time with the two men you love most in
the world? You could keep an eye on Simon’s drinking.’

‘I
can’t. Dan likes to be alone when he’s working and Simon’s out most evenings
apparently. Besides, paint fumes are the worst thing for a singer. I sit at
home, eating chocolate and feeling sorry for myself. I’m getting fatter by the
week! I’ll never get another job at this rate.’

‘Come
on, Molly, you’re not fat. You’ll get work soon. You’re just in a negative
state of mind.’

Molly
sniffed. ‘My agent says it’s very quiet. There’s nothing. Not even an audition.
Not that I get to speak to him ever. According to his assistant, he’s been in a
meeting for the last three weeks.’

‘It
always seems like that between jobs,’ reasoned Jane. ‘Here, have a tissue and
wipe your eyes.’

Molly
did as she was told.

‘Let’s
look on the bright side, shall we?’ Jane continued. ‘You’re a beautiful young
woman with a gorgeous voice. You have a dashing boyfriend and friends who love
you. Isn’t that more like the truth?’

‘If you
say so. Sometimes I think I’m a fat, ugly, penniless, unemployed wannabe whose
boyfriend is never at home and whose best friend is becoming a star. I’m trying
not to be jealous of Simon but it’s hard. I’ve been striving for years to get
somewhere and he’s just stumbled into the limelight without even wanting it.
It’s not fair, Jane. When do I get my break, eh?’

‘Hush
now,’ said Jane. ‘Time to put a stop to all this. Jealousy is a very low emotion.
Don’t give it house room.’

As the weeks went by,
Molly became accustomed to Simon’s increasingly bizarre behaviour. But when he
asked her to call him. ‘Genita’ from now on, she was horrified. ‘No!’ she
protested. ‘It was Simon I met at college and it’s Simon I care about. I’m not
calling you Genita. For goodness’ sake, get a grip!’

‘That
cabaret act is fucking with his mind,’ she told Daniel, over macaroni cheese
and rocket salad one evening. ‘He needs to watch himself.’

Daniel
only grunted.

‘I
mean, good luck to him and all that, but all this success is making him crazier
than ever. Don’t you think?’

‘Dunno,’
mumbled Daniel. ‘He seems the same to me.’

‘You
don’t know him like I do,’ declared Molly.

Daniel
frowned at his macaroni cheese.

‘He’s
changed. I miss him! I don’t want him to become some fame-crazed drag queen.
And as for his delusions of grandeur —well, he could become the Archbishop of
Canterbury but it doesn’t mean his shit don’t stink.’

‘Please,’
said Daniel, ‘I’m having my tea. Can we change the subject?’

Simon
will come back to me, Molly thought. He always has. One day, all this will be
over and forgotten, and it’ll be the same as it used to be again. I just hope
it happens before he goes completely off his rocker.

‘Fancy
some ice cream?’ she asked Daniel, who looked as if he needed cheering up.

Simon was now totally
infatuated with Daniel and their sexual encounters were regular events. There
was a kind of sweetness to the planning involved in each one. He had learnt
that a number of crucial factors needed to be in place if he was to have his
way with Daniel. Obviously the first, and in some senses the most difficult,
was that they had to be alone. The greatest obstacle to this was Molly. Having
his flat decorated was a particularly good wheeze: not only was Daniel’s time
accounted for but Molly had to stay well away from the perilous paint fumes.
But once this job was done, Simon’s imagination had to be artfully employed. A
couple of times he had arranged to meet Molly for a trip to the cinema. Knowing
she was standing patiently outside the Odeon in Leicester Square, he had dashed
over to her place in the hope that Daniel would be home alone. But this plan
was seriously flawed: Daniel might not be in, and if he was, time would be somewhat
limited. When Molly realised Simon wasn’t going to turn up she might jump on
the tube and be home in half an hour. Hardly long enough for Simon to achieve
his goal and get himself away from the scene of the crime.

And
even if Daniel was at home the second factor might not be in place: alcohol.
Experience had taught him the painful truth that straight men rarely gave in to
his advances when they were sober. The golden rules for the homosexual
seduction of the utterly unattainable straight man were as follows:

1. He
must be alone, with no risk of interruption or discovery.

2. Moderate
amounts of drink should be consumed. (Too much and you risk impotence — an
insult to your efforts.)

3. Cover
of darkness can do half the work for you.

4. The
more spontaneous and inconsequential you can make it seem, the greater the
chance of a repeat performance.

5. Do
things to him that his girlfriend wouldn’t or couldn’t.

What
Daniel’s thoughts were on the whole sordid business Simon could only guess. In
the early days he had seemed uncomfortable and guilty, but as time went on he
seemed to bow to the inevitable. Then, after several weeks, there came a moment
when Simon knew he could, with just a moderate amount of connivance, have his
way with Daniel. The object of his desire began to play along with the
arrangements and, worst of all, to skip the pretence at semi-conscious
seduction.

Once,
they had been left alone for the afternoon in Molly’s flat while she went to an
audition. Daniel had smiled at Simon and unzipped his fly, pushing him down to
his knees with a killer smile and a ‘Go on, you know you want it.’ Worse still,
Daniel was stone-cold sober. Of course Simon obliged — it would have been rude
not to — but his heart wasn’t in it. This spelt the end. How could Simon
believe that Daniel was straight if he was sober and awake, aroused and
demanding? Reticence and a hint of disgust were vital components of the erotic
cocktail and they were sadly missing. This was not how it worked. It was with a
heavy heart that Simon wiped his lips after the deed was done. The deep, wide
and everlasting well of desire began to dry up. The twenty—four— hour obsession
with Daniel was reduced to an eighteen—, then twelve—, then six—, ever
diminishing.

New
conquests caught Simon’s eye — the Turkish youth serving at the corner shop,
who was always reading
Nuts
magazine, for example. Simon found himself
in there several times a day, buying yoghurt and courgettes with as much
significance as he could muster. Then there was the young husband who had
scowled at his wife in the supermarket, given Simon a look that could only be
described as ‘significant’ and disappeared in the direction of the gentlemen’s
latrine.

The joy
of specialising in liaisons with straight men, Simon knew, meant there were
never any painful, tearful, breaking-up scenes — on the part of the straight
men, anyway. He never had to endure those ‘difficult’ conversations. He simply
moved on. They would never admit to any emotional involvement or hurt, and if
they did, the game would be up anyway. Perfect. No mess.

As
Simon’s focus drifted away from Daniel, so the reality of his behaviour towards
Molly dawned on him. It was like waking up from a dream. How could he? What had
he been thinking of? Molly was the most significant person in his world to him
— like a sister. How could he have allowed such weakness to outweigh the value
of their friendship? She understood him like nobody else did. Imagine how she
would feel if she ever knew the truth! It made him cold with horror to think of
it. What stupid risks he’d been taking, and all for fleeting sexual pleasure!
Thank goodness the business with Daniel had run its course and they had not
been discovered
in flagrante.

What a
filthy, dirty business gay desires are, he thought sorrowfully. He had very
nearly sacrificed his best friend on the Altar of Cock. Simon felt ashamed.

Never
again, he swore. I’ll never risk our precious friendship like that, ever.

Meanwhile Genita L’Warts,
a client of Boris Norris, had been promised a fast track to supersonic stardom
by the never less than overexcited agent.

‘Whatever,’
said Simon. He was determinedly offhand about his so-called career, world-weary
enough to believe things only when he saw them.

‘There’s
a thirty-year career waiting for you, if you want it,’ Boris said sincerely.
‘Think about it. If you want to go to the ball I’ll be your coachman.’

‘I’m
not Cinderella, you know,’ said Simon tartly. ‘And you’re a piece of shit. You
think you can make money out of me. Well, go on. Try! We’ll scratch each
other’s backs.’

‘I just
happen to think you are the epitome of post-modern culture,’ said Boris,
clearly quite hurt by Simon’s words. ‘And you’re right. My main interest in you
is as a commodity. There’s no sin in that. But I foresee a big future for you.
There are things that could get in the way of my plan for you. Homophobia and
your drinking. I’m not sure we can do anything about either, but why not give
me a chance?’

Boris’s
plan was to transfer Genita L’Warts to a more middle-class, more educated
audience. They would love this exotic creature, this vulgar horror, who made
you splutter and gasp with shock but laugh so hard you felt slightly guilty
about it afterwards.

‘Here’s
your choice. Stay on the gay circuit and ride the crest of a wave for a couple
of months, or break out, evolve onto the arts-theatre circuit. We’ll conquer
London first, maybe skip the provinces and go to New York in a couple of
months.’

‘Have
an egg roll, Mr Goldstone,’ said Simon.

Boris immediately put his
plan into action. When one of his other acts was struck down with shingles, the
opportunity arose to launch Genita onto the mainstream with a three-week late-night
show at the King’s Head in Islington. He visited Simon with the exciting news.
‘I’ve got you the interview with the
Evening Standard.
You can promote
the show.’

‘My cup
runneth over,’ said Simon.

‘You’re
cynical before your time,’ said Boris.

‘And
you’re rubbing your hands together rather tellingly,’ said Simon.

As it
turned out, no press was necessary: the run sold out within days. Simon didn’t
seem in the least perturbed by the prospect of a straighter audience. ‘Look on
the bright side. I’m less likely to get crabs. And if they don’t like me? Fuck
‘em if they can’t take a joke!’

His
confident attitude paid off. Confronted with a silent, seated audience of the
mint-sucking middle classes,’ Genita excelled herself. She found new targets to
lampoon. Her particular brand of anarchy seemed all the more shocking to the
well-heeled and well-fed.

‘Fancy
people like you shelling out to see me!’ she’d mock them, gently to begin with.
‘Aren’t you all saving hard for a holiday time-share in Tuscany? You’re just
the same as a gay audience but with worse haircuts.’

On her
opening night she slipped a bit of raw liver into her mouth while doing a
frenzied impersonation of Princess Michael of Kent. She then pretended to bite
off her own tongue and spat it at the front row. Genita liked it best when she
heard women weeping as they stumbled towards the exits. The reviews were ecstatic.