Inappropriate
Three Short Stories
Charles Jay Harwood
First Published in 2014 by Charles Jay Harwood
Available in audiobook
All rights reserved ISBN: 9781310257889
This edition 24 May 2017. All rights reserved. The Right of Charles Jay Harwood to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988 Section 77 and 78.
Author’s Thrillers
To my parents
Contents
Deadline
Outside
Nice
Author’s thrillers
Deadline
I BUNGEE JUMP the Forth Bridge every time his eyes latch onto mine. I feel seasick when he walks into the room. I want to run a mile but my legs turn to stone. My tongue gets twisted and I feel an idiot.
I couldn’t believe my luck when Kieran Moseley took an interest in me a few months ago. All my friends fell spellbound to his cerulean eyes and stupidly, I suffered a crush on him at school. Luck shone on Kieran; a mop of raven hair, a dimpled chin and a smile as generous as the bonnet of his restored Cadillac. Yes he rebuilds classic cars, his lap-time at Brunhills Loop remains unbeaten and his guitar-riffs for his band Headliner leaves the ears a-spin. Some say he single-handedly improved Colby’s economy. His perk? To watch any film for free at the local Pegasus Cinema. But there are only so many hours in the day for one with precocious talent, popularity and striking good looks.
Me, I guess I became the envied interest of Kieran, a twenty-something mature student of theatre studies, I would seem to complement this great pragmatist. In fact, I’m not that imaginative. What use is a diploma in such a creative pursuit to an industrial hub like Colby? I had a placement at Elmtree Theatre – admin, and suspected my certificate would remain unfulfilled. I guess I was just living the dream. My curvy proportions and reputation for being a laugh might have more to do with Kieran’s attraction to me. He calls me vivacious, in truth I can be quite a bitch.
‘Andrea,’ my flatmate Lily chortled, ‘what’s that on your neck?’
I giggled through a feeling that I should rather than wanting to. ‘Nothing,’ I replied.
‘Don’t play coy with me, Andie, I know only one person who does little hickies like that.’ And she tugged the neckline of my T-shirt to take a closer look. ‘Thought so,’ she chuffed. ‘He gave me one last year.’
‘Get off,’ I laughed but didn’t retreat.
At that time, Kieran and I weren’t a couple as such. He just liked to administer love hickies to girls he thought fun. A week later, Kieran took me to the Pegasus to see Hut of Love, a comic romp like American Pie. At that time, I wished I hadn’t embarked my course in Theatre Studies, not because it had little use in Colby, but because of what awaited me if I was late for Film Education. Since hanging around with Kieran, my assignment had floundered.
Mr. Linton’s voice caressed me from behind after class. ‘Which character have you chosen to evaluate for narcissism in film?’ he asked.
He knew I hadn’t even begun but I took a punt at blagging. ‘Er, the baddie in Devil’s Advocate,’ I replied. The baddie? I shut my eyes in a cringe before facing him. Sean Linton was this year’s writer-in-residence at Wolverton College. He’d taken a year out of his job as director at Oakham to share his experience. He gave me that quizzical leer that seemed to say what is she on about? And I’d feel two inches tall. Mr. Linton was in his early thirties, with shoulder-length rustic hair. He walked with a willowy grace. From behind, he looked like a key member to a prog-rock band. His man-bag and flowy shirts didn’t help.
‘Hmm.’ He puckered his lip. ‘Have you thought this through, Andrea? Three other of my students have picked the same…baddie. How about some of the older classics, like Hud or King of Comedy?’
Why did he care that I’d picked the same character as Violet or Damon? They’d submitted their assignments a day after I had. Speaking of which, Violet had paused behind him and was making a face. I shrugged, avoiding her eyes. ‘Okay, Mr. Linton, I’ll give it another thought.’
‘Good.’ And his leer ironed out. ‘Give me a shout and I’ll see if I have a screenplay for you to peruse over.’
In the wake of his silk shirt, Violet was staring boss-eyed and thick-tongued.
‘How’s it going, Vi?’ I uttered, ‘just found your pencil?’
‘Has the man-bag been hassling you again?’
‘No more than you.’
‘Oh, I think not,’ she piped with raised eyebrow. Vi with her pink bangs and thick eyeliner was given to quips. Still I didn’t want anyone spotting Mr. Linton’s screenplay sticking out of my bag. I considered Mr. Linton’s attentions a symptom of bemusement. I am the oldest student in my year, I receive support in literacy and I cry at inapt moments in films; Titanic? Love Actually? Bridget Jones? Not a tear. But the mutant Kuato in Total Recall? Murphy in Robocop? A flood. What terribly tragic existences they had. I read films wrong. I always find myself emotionally isolated within the audience. This cannot bode well for my assignment. Yes, only twenty percent of the overall marking is dependent upon it, but could still lead to a fail unless each criteria is met – as Mr. Linton keeps reminding us. And with that, my choice of Cocktail found its screenplay version in my bag.
‘Hmm, why Cocktail?’ Mr. Linton asked with one of his stomach-wrenching leers.
‘The Tom Cruise character.’
More quizzical now.
‘The bartender.’
‘You think the main character of Cocktail is narcissistic?’
‘I think the main character of most Hollywood blockbusters is narcissistic.’
His eyelids lowered almost to a glower. ‘I look forward to reading your assignment, Ms. Tallis.’
Soon after he left, I shuddered.
Kieran made me laugh that night. He made me laugh until tears streamed down my cheeks. And with that, I sold out. I didn’t read the screenplay. I transposed the same points I would have made for the Devil’s Advocate and stuck them into Cocktail. The criteria had been met: in two-thousand words or more, describe the film, the character, the plot. Give evidence of narcissism and an evaluation.
Mr. Linton called me back.
I would have got a pass mark anyway but could have done better. Quizzical condescension, shakes of the head and more of those horrible leers. I teased Kieran into giving me a hickie and then paraded it above a halter neck all week. I wasn’t trying to remind my class that I have a boyfriend (although this wasn’t strictly true yet) I just wanted the man-bag to lay off. I’m nothing special. I’m just a C-student with a love-bite on her neck hoping to pass her diploma before getting a dead-end job in Colby.
Kieran took me to the Pegasus to see the G-String Goes Forth. We laughed when Kitty’s boyfriend used Kitty’s bra as a catapult. On leaving the cinema, I stopped Kieran in his tracks and pecked him on the lips. I desperately wanted to be his girlfriend. He pecked me in return and walked me to his Cadillac.
‘Linton’s available,’ Vi announced the next day during lunch break.
Here we go. I plucked a chip.
‘His girlfriend’s got a big job at a bank a few months back and they couldn’t do the long distance relationship.’
I plucked another chip.
‘He’s stopping on campus during the week but he has a nice little cottage in Bladeby where he returns to on weekends. And guess what?’
I rolled my eyes.
‘He’s got a spare man-bag and it has your name on it.’
Damon and his mate overheard and fell about laughing.
Yes, I could take the gibes. It came with the territory. I still had my hic
kie. They had nothing.
‘So I hear you cried at Robocop?’ a quite tone oozed from behind me in Waterstones. I glanced round to meet Mr. Linton’s bemused look. The colour of his eyes weren’t interesting, a sort of stewed tea. It was what he did with them that made me squirm inside. Vi and her big sodding mouth.
Crinkles developed beneath Mr. Linton’s eyes. ‘Have you ever seen the film, Heathers? A classic eighties exploration of peer pressure from contemporaries and society.’
Why was he telling me about a film about peer pressure?
But his eyes remained unrepentant. ‘That mark on your neck brought the film to mind. The statement doesn’t become you, Andrea. It looks…territorial and I don’t think you are the sort of person to belong to anybody.’
My cheeks flushed. ‘I hardly think it is your business to comment on my personal life, Mr. Linton.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘I take your point, but my term here is almost over.’ He left the statement hanging.
My eyes narrowed. ‘So…’
‘Soon I will return to my job at Oakham, which means,’ he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. ‘I’m sorry; I’m not very good at this. I…I find you interesting. Once you complete your course here, I would like to keep in touch. Perhaps meet up to exchange candid views on film that this prospectus does not allow. I feel you would provide a lively debate, which is in short supply here.’
To his right, Damon was nosing through the history section. A shutter came down inside of me and with it all coherence. ‘I…er…it’s not…I mean…’
Damon glanced up and spotted us. Mr.