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‘Not really.' Yep, another of those occasions when I can't say ‘film maker', since it seems more like a dumb dream than a career option. ‘And Frank's surgery plans are pretty recent too, as far as I know. In fact, I didn't even know that he wanted to do surgery.'

‘Well, mainly I wanted Dad off my back,' he says. ‘So I had to get specific. But, yeah, maybe. I think so.'

‘Come on, all of you,' Dorothy calls out. ‘Loads of food over here. Make sure you get plenty of Arthur's lovely potato salad.'

Frank looks at me as though his surgery ambitions are something I'm not supposed to know. ‘Anyway, we'll see about all that, won't we? I've got O'Hare on Tuesday to get past first.'

‘It should be okay. It's only the long case we've got back and, whatever happens, you should hopefully be able to bury last term's result when you're out there working.'

But Frank says nothing more than ‘Hmmm,' and that's not like him.

‘Eat,' I tell him. ‘Get to that barbecue. Eat of the beast.'

 

 

 

6

 

 

 

I
can't
adjust
to the idea that there's a medical career choice starting to become clear in Frank's head, but not in mine.

At World of Chickens the next night, we're at the counter and he's bored, fiddling around with a pencil while we wait for business.

‘Did you know,' he says, having scrawled a few letters on the white laminate, ‘that “happiness” is just an anagram of “penis pash”?'

‘Hate being single, don't you, Frank?'

‘What's not to hate? But I'm using it as a rebuilding phase.'

‘Sure. That maturity thing, you mean? The maturity issue that seems to have emerged about the last one . . . '

‘Yeah, pretty much. So I'm working on a new marketing plan. A few new lines . . . '

‘Which I don't need to know.'

‘As if I'd tell you.'

‘You've always told me before.'

‘Well, part of the new plan is not telling you. Don't wear your lines out on a guy, that's what I'm thinking. And there's a new look—black pants. I've taken blue jeans about as far as I can. Plus, a new fragrance for the vehicle, and a new fuck song.'

‘That'll get them in.'

‘No, you'll like it. “Eye of the Tiger”.'

‘But doesn't it only go for three minutes?'

‘I don't start it till I've got my shoes off.'

‘You
don't
start it, or you
won't
start it? If it's a post-Cyndi development you shouldn't have had the chance to use it yet, should you?'

‘Hey, it's a matter of self-belief. Things mightn't have turned yet but, when they do, I'll be ready. I'll be out there, living life in the present tense. I'm a
now
kind of man.'

‘A now kind of man? Do you know the difference between life and an aftershave ad?'

I have to admit, I've never been completely at ease with Frank's ‘fuck song' concept. Call me a romantic, but it sounds rather calculated. Does he tell them? Does he say to them, ‘I've got this new fuck song, babe, and I picked it with you in mind . . . '? Am I getting this all wrong, or would that fail to make a person feel special? At least it improves the timing. ‘Eye of the Tiger' should buy them an extra two-and-a-half minutes, compared with the unaccompanied version of sex with Frank.

Another couple of customers, and then he decides it's time to resume his biggest-burger-in-one-bite challenge.

‘We'll do it at the changeover,' he says. ‘And tonight it gets serious. I've got this fillet that's a bit on the small side—but it's the real thing, pec major, not pec minor—and I'll go a bit light on the salad maybe, but it'll be an actual adult burger.'

Ron Todd arrives just as Sophie comes in from the traffic lights. He's looking energetic, tossing around a kind of contrived high enthusiasm, probably as something motivational since it wouldn't surprise me if we looked a little flat. I should tell him things are fine here, and he doesn't need to worry. Frank's going a PB with a burger again and he's got a new fuck song, and black pants. The World, clearly, is in capable hands. Plus, there's always that anagram. We're definitely the thinking customer's burger crew.

‘How's the A Team?' Ron says, and rubs his hands together. ‘Keeping you busy, are they?'

‘Just sold a couple,' I tell him. ‘A couple of burgers, large fries, bucket of coleslaw.'

Frank looks at me as though I'm engaged in some sad sucking up, just because I answered the question, but Ron seems pleased by the news that customers have at least been sighted in the recent past.

‘Good lads. Good team. Good work the three of you. But don't let me get in the way of things. Keep at it.'

‘No worries,' Frank says, so that something intrudes upon the potentially awkward silence that comes from three people keeping at nothing. ‘The moment anyone comes in we'll ignore you completely.'

‘Exactly. Focus,' Ron says, interpreting Frank's comment in an unduly positive way. ‘You've got to focus. Give that customer a burger to remember. Good thought, Frank. Hold onto that. I'm just going to take a look at things out the back, make sure we're carrying all the stock we need.' He's about to go through the door when he stops and turns. ‘Go A Team,' he says. And then he's gone.

‘Go A Team,' Frank echoes. ‘Nothing against you guys, but I'd hate to see how the bloody B Team stacks up.' He squirts barbecue sauce onto the chicken fillet and finishes making his burger. He presses down on it to flatten the bread, and tests the feel of it in his hand. ‘Here goes nothing . . . '

Sophie flaps a wing and stops him. ‘Wait a second. I didn't see gherkin, and you said this was serious. It's not serious if there's no gherkin.'

‘A lot of people don't go for the gherkin.'

‘Hey, they might turn it down, but it is standard. If they say nothing, they get three slices. So there should be a penalty. You should have to have extra.' Until now, I hadn't realised how much I'd enjoy watching Frank being berated by a chicken. ‘You should have to have a whole one, six slices or a whole one. Phil?'

‘I think you're right. And I think there's a jar out the back with some whole ones in it. I could go and get one.'

‘Yeah. That's fair isn't it, Frank? I mean, it's not that we don't think you can do it. I think we all just want to see it done properly.'

‘What?' He's annoyed that his PB burger's ready but we've got him on a technicality. ‘It's the full piece of bird. Oh, all right then, bugger you. I'll take the penalty, and I'll still do it.'

When I get out the back, Ron's not only in the same room as the gherkins, he happens to be right next to them, leaning on an empty part of the shelving and flicking through papers. Maybe I'll tell him I've come for a whole one because of a customer's request. Maybe I'll back out quietly and we'll go for six slices.

‘Shit,' he says quietly before he realises I'm there. ‘Shit, shit.' Then he looks up, just as I've decided six slices is the way to go. ‘Oh, sorry, I . . . ' He rolls the papers up in his hands. ‘I was just, um, looking through a few figures. Cash register tallies, and things.'

‘There's not a problem is there?'

‘What? Oh, no, nothing like that. It's just . . . look, I think I can talk to you. Do you mind if I talk to you? Confidentially? I think you've got a good head for retail and you're here more of the time than I am.'

‘Sure.'

‘And you're practically a doctor.'

‘Yeah, but practically a doctor is still not much.'

‘Oh, sure, sure. Now, you kids, you're good kids, right? This is nothing to do with that. And you're working hard, I can see you're working hard.'

‘But we're not selling a lot of chicken?'

‘That's right. And I don't know why. I bought this place as a going concern and, between you and me, we haven't had one break-even week since we opened. I thought it might have been to do with overheads . . . '

‘But it's actually to do with sales, isn't it?'

‘Right again. Cutting the teams from five to three helped, but that's about as lean as we can have it if we want to keep a chicken on the road. Which we do, obviously.' His forehead furrows. ‘But don't worry. It's not drastic, or anything. We'll get there. I think we'll get there, and we won't be cutting staffing any further. We'll get there. And I've got a few dental problems as well, to be honest. Do you do much of that in med?'

‘No, not really.'

‘I've had a partial plate at the front for a while, but now things are starting to go wrong with the other teeth. They reckon the whole lot's under threat.'

‘That doesn't sound good.'

‘No. Caries, they call them. They're like cavities. And I've got root problems, too. I don't know how it's going to go.'

‘Well, if you've got a good dentist . . . are you happy with your dentist? If you've got a good dentist, you'll at least get the best outcome you can, whatever that turns out to be.'

‘Yeah. Yeah, thanks. Just got to take it as it comes, I guess.' He nods, looks around the room as though any shelf in here might have the answers. ‘I paid a packet for goodwill when I bought this place, and where is it?' He shrugs. ‘But you don't need to know all that, do you? Sorry. My problem.'

‘No, it's fine. Let's hope it . . . '

The door to the serving area swings open so hard it slams into the wall and Frank lurches past us, choking to death. I grab him from behind and heave into a Heimlich manoeuvre. An entire slimy burger flops out of his mouth and onto the floor.

‘Good lord, Frank,' Ron says. ‘What are you? A man or a bloody boa constrictor?'

‘It was okay till it touched my uvula.' Frank leans against the wall, his cheeks still red, his short life still, perhaps, flashing before his bulging eyes.

‘By all means, have a burger on your dinner break, but chew it Frank, chew it. God gave you teeth you know. And they're bloody useful.'

Frank nods. We're all now staring at the squished, partly disassembled burger, and I'm amazed that he got even close.

‘And it's three slices of gherkin,' Ron says. ‘Three slices. I can count at least five in that.'

‘Six,' Sophie says quietly next to my shoulder. I turn around and I can see her eyes looking out at me through the beak slot. ‘He just couldn't wait.'

 

*

 

When I finish my next go at chickening, I get into a discussion with Sophie on the back steps. And this time we don't need to hurry and there won't be bad singing.

She's come up with the idea that there should be chicken-free intervals to give us maximum impact when we're out at the road, she's put it to Frank and he didn't complain. He's more passive than usual, and describing the burger incident as ‘heavy at the very least, if not a near-death experience.' The only flicker of the regular Frank that's broken through was his assertion to me that Ron's comment about the boa constrictor confirmed his status as a patronising prick.

‘I'm so sick of being Libra,' I tell Sophie, since that's the way the conversation seems to have turned.

‘There's a lot of good things to Libra. Librans are balanced, nice. Aren't they? Or are they looking for balance? I'm never sure.'

‘I don't know about balance, but I'm sick of being the nice guy of the zodiac. That's exactly my problem. It's the eighties now—nice is baggage. Not that I want to be mean—not at all—but it's a fine distinction. I've got to get edgier. I want to have the potential to break hearts, but to choose not to. I want to be known to hang out with bands, even if I don't. I want to have at least one friend named after a day of the week, preferably Wednesday. I want to be trouble of the “Phil, he's trouble” kind, but I'm beginning to think that trouble isn't in me.'

‘Trouble?' she says. ‘Trouble is trouble. It can look good from a distance, but close up it sucks.'

‘But it looks good from a distance. It's that long-range stuff that gets you the chance. Look at Frank.'

‘Not a Libran.'

‘Definitely not a Libran. Taurus, or some shit like that. Frank's a funny kind of trouble from a long way off, but it gets noticed and he'll be going out with someone in minutes. That's his style. And he'll only do them harm. Can't they see that?'

‘It's not like he hides it.' She shrugs. ‘But anyway, you're with Phoebe. What's the problem?
Nice
must have got you somewhere.'

‘Oh, yeah.' I had completely forgotten the Phoebe lie. I'd forgotten it's Sophie I'm talking to. ‘I was talking theoretically. About Libra. And I do get some pretty long stretches of in-between time, so maybe that's where I think Libra is. I must have got a lucky break with Phoebe. I'm talking generally. Like, supposing Frank and I were both available at the same time, I'd be backing him to change his luck first.'

‘Can't see why.'

‘Plenty of reasons. Confidence, bravado, how it all looks from a distance. You should see him dance. Most of us, we're not good dancers. A lot of guys look bad out there. A lot of guys know they look bad out there and they stiffen up, and things get worse. Not Frank. Frank says he chooses not to carry the white man's burden, which he defines as the burden of trying to dance and trying not to dance at the same time.'

‘Does he think girls find lines like that clever?'

‘I don't know. I don't know if that's part of what he tells them or just part of what he tells me. But, I have to say, I know what he means.'

Suddenly, the lack of time pressure isn't enough reason for me to stay on the steps. I don't want to talk about Frank and me and girls and dancing. Sophie keeps it up a while longer, mainly the Frank part, while I take the costume off and then while she puts it on.