Chapter 8

In which Timmy and Sid set out to meet a contact in a Turkish bath and Timmy measures his length with sun-and fun-loving Nadia Durrant in the Solarium. An encounter which has unexpected consequences.

'I had a bloke round the office today,' says Sid, all excited.

'Makes a change from the cleaners,' I say.

'Shut up,' says Sid. 'You know what I mean. A client well, I think he was a client.'

'We could do with some of those,' I say. 'That second leaflet drop in the Co-op didn't pay dividends, did it?'

'It should have done,' says Sid. 'You expect to get a divi at the Co-op, don't you?'

'Very whimsical,' I say. 'Tell me more about this bloke.'

'He was funny,' says Sid. 'Didn't give anything away. He seemed dead relieved when I told him I hadn't been to a public school.'

'Public school?' I say. 'You must have been having a very funny conversation.'

"That's what I said,' says Sid. 'Very strange it was. He wanted to know if we'd ever been to Russia.'

'Blooming nearly,' I say, thinking back to the time when Sid cast me adrift in the Thames and I was picked up by a Russian freighter-see Confessions of a Long-Distance Lorry Driver for thrill-packed details.

'I didn't mention that,' says Sid. 'Some sixth sense-call it intuition if you like-or perhaps my carefully developed powers of deduction-'

'Get on with it,' I say.

'Suggested that he didn't want us to have been to Russia. Anyway, I've got the gen and we've got to go and see his guv'nor.'

'Great,' I say. 'Where does he hang out?'

"That's another funny thing,' says Sid. 'We've got to go to a Turkish bath where we'll be picked up.'

'I bet we will,' I say. 'I've heard all about that. You never want to he down in one of those cubicles, you know.'

'Picked up by a contact who will take us to our man,' says Sid through gritted teeth.

'Not General Arman?' I say. The fat black bloke who wants to marry the Queen. I don't fancy working for him. He's vicious.'

"That's General Arnin, you berk!' says Sid. 'Gordon Bennett! You have absolutely no contraception about what's going on in the world, do you?'

'I'm sorry, Sid,' I say. 'How do we know which is the right bloke?'

'Well, he's Jewish for a start-off,' says Sid. 'I can't remember the name. The geezer wouldn't let me write anything down.'

'Brilliant,' I say. 'So I keep my eyes open for a hampton with a short back and sides. That could be anybody. You don't have to be a four by two to be skinned alive.'

That's not the only thing,' says Sid. 'He'll be wearing a tattoo. A red dragon.'

'Where?Tsay.

'Down at the Turkish baths,' says Sid. 'Don't you ever listen to anything ?'

'I meant where on his body?' I say. 'On his flowers and frolics? His fife and drum? His Marquis of Lome?'

'I don't know,' says Sid. 'It can't be very difficult to spot a red dragon, can it?'

But it is very difficult. Those Turkish baths are dead steamy and the wooden slatted seats don't help. I have just tapped a bloke on the shoulder and pointed to his bum when I see that what I thought was a red dragon, is in fact the mark left by the bench he was sitting on. Talk about embarrassing. As I have already indicated, you can make some very funny friends like that. This bloke is impossible to shake off and I am making a dash for the dry heat room when Sid looms up.

'Excellent,' he says, getting it all wrong as usual. 'You've found our man.'

'Our man?' squeaks my new chum. 'Oooh, lovely!'

'Where do you want us to go?' says Sid.

'Well, I don't mind,' twitters the poufdah. 'Your place, my place, it's all the same to me. A change is as good as a rest isn't it?'

'Is that a password?' says Sid. 'They didn't tell me anything about passwords.'

More like arseword, I think to myself, suppressing a shudder. 'Er-Sid,' I say, trying to make signs to him without Cedric seeing. "This isn't our man.'

'Oh no,' says Sid, looking down. 'his dick's not right, is it?'

'Oh, it's like that, is it?' says the ginger drawing himself up to his full five foot seven and a half inches. 'lloity toity, are we ? Blowing hot and cold-ooh! the very thought of it-just playing with me, were you? Right, we'll see about that! Julian! Tristram!'

'What the-?' Before Sid can sort out his uncertainty a couple of muscular pooves appear wearing earrings and petulant expressions. 'What's up-I hope-Jerry-baby?' says one of them.

'We've got some funny boys here who are looking for a stinging slap on the wrist,' says Jerry-baby. 'They've just trampled all over my susceptibilities.'

'I never touched his sussuss-what'sits!' says Sid. 'You belt up or I'll shove your hampton through your mate's earring!'

It is at this point that what Mum calls 'unpleasantness' begins to break out. Sid can be very punchy when faced with someone half his size and has never been partial to tickles (Tickle your fancy: nancy. Ed.). Strong words are bandied about and I deem it best to step back into the clouds of steam that make the scene of the argument look like a pantomime stage just after the demon king has appeared. Sid is more than capable of looking after himself and I am not prone to aggro-by it, sometimes, but not to it.

The atmosphere is getting on my wick so I wrap my towel round my waist and let myself out into the corridor that leads back to the changing room. I have taken half a dozen paces when I come to a door marked 'Solarium'. I wonder what happens in there? No harm in finding out. I open the door and find myself looking at what appears to be a large X-ray machine. There is a mass of apparatus set in the ceiling and a couch-like structure beneath. Stretched out on the couch is a beautifully tanned bint wearing two pads over her mince pies and pink varnish on her toe nails-nothing else. She does not move her head as I come in but sighs loudly.

'I suppose you want to share,' she says. She starts to move over and I watch the firm honey-coloured flesh ripple. One of her knockers flops from right to left and I bite my Up. 'Come on.' She pats the couch beside her and I am on to it like a cat on to Dad's favourite armchair. I have read about this kind of thing-I mean, artificial sunshine and all that. You have to be careful of your eyes but otherwise it is just like the real thing I wrap my towel into a pad, place it over my minces and settle down beside Miss Delectable. Of course it leaves my dick exposed but it has survived in hotter places. A touch of dark brown magic might lend lustre to my cluster: 'and now, from darkest Clapham, Timothy Lea and his Congo bongo I stretch out my toes and feel the warmth soaking into every pore of my body. This is the life. Much better than having a wrist slapping match with a gang of gingers. You can stuff that for a lark. I allow a sigh of ecstasy to escape from my lips and win an immediate response from my partner.

'Heaven isn't it?' she breathes. 'It reminds me of Rimini.'

'Uhm,' I say. I was thinking of Southend with the tide out, myself. It is amazing how sun worship and all that kick makes people forget their hang-ups. This bird is lying there perfectly relaxed and she doesn't know me from Adam especially in my present condition. If I sat next to her in the bus she would probably change seats. Maybe the world would be a better place if we went around starkers all the time. Nobody would be able to dress flash and make out they were better than anyone else. Still I suppose the blokes with the big dicks would reckon that they were better than the blokes with the little dicks and the blokes with the little dicks would be jealous of the blokes with the big dicks. Whatever happened they would have it in for each other given half a chance.

I am lying there exercising my mind with this kind of stimulating thought when the bird brushes her arm against mine.

'Sorry,' she murmurs. 'Um, you're very muscular, aren't you?'

'I try to keep myself in shape,' I say.

'AARHNT nearly jump out of my foreskin because the bird grabs hold of my dick and levers herself to an upright position.

She chucks my love truncheon aside like it has given her an electric shock and looks down at me, mincepies blazing. 'You've got an infernal cheek!' she accuses. 'It's women only from twelve o'clock. Are you trying to be funny?'

'I may never smile again, lady,' I say gazing down at my crumpled horn and realising how a tube strap must feel. 'I'm sorry but I'm a stranger here. When you told me to hop aboard I thought it must be all right.'

The lady looks slightly chastened and feels for one of her eye pads. The other one has landed just above my Mad Mick so, when she hesitates, I hand it back to her. Litde gestures like that mean a lot to a woman. 'I can see that it wasn't all your fault,' she says. 'I'm sorry I-I-'

"That's all right,' I say. 'No hard feelings.' I don't mean to be funny but we both have a little laugh and I know that the ice has been broken-maybe not just the ice. Only time will tell.

'Nadia Durrant,' she says leaning back beside me and pausing for a moment before replacing her eyepads with a shrug. 'A strange place to bump into someone.'

"Timothy Lea,' I say. 'Yes, still, it's very nice here, isn't it?'

'Lovely,' she says. 'Have you got the time?'

'It must be about one,' I say. 'llang on a minute-I don't mean that literally, of course. I couldn't stand the experience twice in one day.' We have another little laugh at my scintillating sense of humour and I bend over the side of the bed to look at my watch. As I do so, my foot digs into the soft flesh of her calf and I hear her wince. 'I'm sorry,' I say. 'We seem to be handing out a lot of punishment to each other. It's five past one.'

"That means I'm done on this side,' says the bird, starting to turn over.

'Uhm,' I say, checking the first words that spring to my lips. 'How long do you give it?'

Nadia stretches her arms out beside her and turns her head towards me so that it is resting on the pillow. Her eyes flicker lazily. 'It gets a bit longer every time,' she says. 'You build up.'

It may be my imagination but I think that her fingers are brushing against the side of my thigh-I let one of my hands stray towards them and pull the towel back over my eyes.

'How long do you think I ought to give it?' I say.

'It depends on your skin,' says Nadia. 'You're quite dark, aren't you?' It is not my imagination. The bint is definitely touching me up. It is subtle but unmistakable. Percy is beginning to twitch even before her naughty pantly brushes against my knob.

'Quite dark,' I say. 'I don't burn easily.' I begin to dust her back bumpers gentiy with my fingertips and she burrows into the couch and wrinkles her nose. Her own looks and lingers are now checking that fast growing percy is operational. This could be the start of something beautiful. I know I should be thinking about the kangaroo with the dragon tattooed on his how's your father but I can't seem to get motivated somehow-that's a good word, isn't it? The bag of coke down the Labour was always using it. He said I was dead Gert and Daisy (lazy. Ed) and had no motivation.

"This is ridiculous,' says Nadia. For a moment I think she is talking about my hampton and the news does not chuff me overmuch. Then I realise that she is going through the standard female bit of facing up to reality, remembering where we are, not being a stupid fool etc, etc. It is not going to change anything. It is just a manoeuvre that some birds have to go through before they have it off. The same way that a dog turns round a couple of times before it sits down.

'No it isn't,' I say. That may not seem like the greatest reassurance you have ever heard but it will do. Most of the time, birds are not listening to what you say anyway. They just want to hear a voice filling the gaps when they stop rabbiting to draw breath, pictures on the nursery wall, or the old age pension-it depends what age they are. That old Joey (Maxim. Ed.) about actions speaking louder than words was never truer than when applied to mothers of pearl. Chat is very nice if you have got it but 'get 'em orf, gal!' delivered with the right edge to the voice works just as well. I had a mate called Reg Dicker when I was at Ponty (Pontypool: school. Ed.) He was so dumb that he had to ask the bloke next to him what to say when we had roll call. He could get a bird's knicks off just by the way he looked at her. Most of the judies who went out with him did not even bother to wear them. Once he gave them the old Dicker slow burn they began to curl at the edges. I was dead grateful when his family moved down to Dartmoor because they wanted to be near his old man.

Nadia Durrant has temporarily stopped remodeling my hampton while she enjoys her burst of conscience but now she starts again and I sink my digits into the inviting cleft between her back bumpers. She open her legs to make it easier for me and I slide my hand down until it brushes against a few silky lair hairs and makes contact with the lower end of juice junction. The moment I touch her fun box she lets out a long sigh and tightens her grip on my Mad Mick like she is frightened it might make a bolt for it. Percy is now in what you might call an exposed state and it occurs to me that all the ultra violet may have an ultra violent effect on my old friend. Best to tuck him away somewhere nice and dark. Any suggestions? What a good idea! I would never have thought of that in a month of oozedays. Rising swiftly to my knees, I find Nadia flipping over on to her back and clearly eager for action.

'Kiss me there!' she pants, straining her arms down her body. It is clear that the lady is desirous of a grumble mumble and, never one to disappoint, I spread apart her luscious bridges (Bridge of Sighs: thighs. Ed) and prepare to dive. But hist! What have we here? There, clearly tattooed a few inches from her snatch, is a small red dragon! This puts a completely different complexion on it, as the actress said to the Nigerian bishop in a similar position to myself. Professional ethics demand that I immediately find Sid and tell him that I have made cuntact with our contact-I mean, well, you know what I mean.

'Go on!' breathes Nadia. 'Do it to me, please!'

It is difficult, isn't it? What would you do in a situation like that? Yes, me too. Sid can wait ten minutes. Maybe twenty. After all, he is always rabbiting on about the importance of hard work and this is an occasion when I can really get my head down.