In early evening darkness, Danny reached into a wheelie bin, arms and fingers straining for something left behind.
He found nothing.
He shook the tilted bin, hoping a can would rattle in the depths beyond his reach.
Silence.
He sighed, letting the bin pivot upright. He watched twenty-four bins lined up like daleks ready to exterminate his love life. They’d been emptied that morning, retaining not one can of Bonk.
But perhaps it was him Teena wanted, not chemicals.
Yeah.
Right.
He looked to the back doorway – remembering who was inside – and felt like a character in Night of the Demon who’d just found the runes in his pocket, knowing nothing could now stop the demon from squashing him because he was too far down life’s cast list to be more than a plot device included to demonstrate the trampling prowess of a demon’s big rubber feet.
He gazed up at Teena’s unlit window.
What did you do for a woman who could have any man? You’d have to be sensational. Danny Yates didn’t do sensational. Danny Yates did very little. And what he did do, he didn’t do well.
He headed for the door, mounting its low, concrete steps. Maybe Doors could give him tips on how to proceed with her. Doors must know what she liked. Doors knew everything.
‘Psst.’
He stopped.
He leaned out through the door, eyes scanning the gloom.
‘Psst.’
He looked harder, and spotted a familiar figure crouching at the alley’s far end.
Armando ducked behind the neighbours’ bins, asking, ‘What happened? You threw the Bonk away, thinking. It could never happen for me. Not big time loser Danny Yates. I never get what I want?’
From a couple of yards away, Danny scrutinized him, eyes narrowing suspiciously. ‘How do you know my name?’
‘Names shnames. What are they? They buy you a meal when you’re starving, or water when you’re thirsty? They buy you love when you’re lonely? Names are just things to hide behind. Like Shakespeare said, “A rose is a rose is a rose. Big deal. Seen one, seen them all. But a good lay, that’s a thing to boast about in the pub for ever.” Hamlet, Act Three, Scene Two.’
He continued, ignoring the occasional thwacking noise that now emanated from within the house. ‘So Dr Rama, she comes onto you like Lady Macbeth with Falstaff; “Ooh, big boy, give it to me, I’ll die happy, with my legs apart.”’
‘I’d rather you didn’t talk about her like that.’
Thwack.
‘So now you want the Bonk back but the crazy, loco refuse collectors, they taken it to the tip coz those guys they never know what to take and what to leave. They’re crazy, man, crazy.’
Thwack.
Danny frowned. ‘Have you been spying on me?’
‘I don’t need to spy. You know why?’
‘No.’
Thwack. Thwack-thwack.
‘Coz I’ve heard the story a thousand times. These people, they say, “You gotta help me, Armando. She’s coming on so strong I can’t stand it and I threw away all my Bonk.” So I say, “Screw you. You got no faith in the product, why should I help you?” But you, my friend, you’ve learned your lesson. You learned faith.’
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Armando screwed his face up, looking around. ‘What is that noise? It’s driving me loco.’
‘It’s Teena.’
That’s Dr Rama?’
‘She’s in the gym, practising her karate. She kicks lumps out of concrete blocks.’
‘And you wannna poke that?’
‘More than anything.’
‘Jeez.’
‘How much will it cost?’
‘More than you’ve got to give, by the sound of it.’
Thwack!
Then his gaze settled on Danny’s wrist. ‘How ‘bout that watch you’re wearing in such a manly fashion?’
Thwack!
Danny looked at it, failing to understand its appeal. ‘This?’
‘How many watches you got on?’ he asked rhetorically.
‘Someone gave me this.’
‘Is it worth anything?’
‘Not really.’
‘They give you presents not worth shit? What kinda people are they?’
‘My ex-flatmate gave me it for my birthday. She was stoned. I preferred her stoned.’
‘You did?’
‘She was nicer that way.’
The man seemed taken aback. ‘Well, let me tell you, you shouldn’t like her. That woman didn’t care about you then, she don’t care about you now. And don’t let no one say otherwise.’
‘How can you know that?’
‘In affaires d’amour, Armando knows all.’
‘I never said I loved her.’
‘I know what you’re implying.’ The man tapped his nose, conspiratorially.
‘I’m not implying anything.’
‘Sure. Just friends, neh?’
‘No. Really. I’m not implying anything.’
‘It’s the tits, right? Too small.’
‘Look, who are you?’ demanded Danny.
‘The best friend you got. But I didn’t come here for Auld Lang Syne. You know what I’m saying? The watch, I’ll take it.’
‘But …’
‘You want the Bonk? You want the watch? You want Dr Rama? You want the watch? Consider; a war between Earth and Mars, most delightful life form takes all. Who’s the Earth’s champion? Which Planet’s gonna win? No contest. What you want? That body? That smile? That hair? Or you want some lump of tin, tells the time, bleeps in your face? You get the Doctor, hell, she can tell you the time. What is she? Stupid? She don’t know what time it is? And that girl, she don’t bleep. “Dr Rama,” you say, sharing a post-coital spliff. “What time is it?” She takes a puff, exhales, says, “It’s the future, man. Now do things to me no watch could ever do.”’
Thwack!
‘Don’t let me down, Mr Y. You already got further than anyone else came to see me.’
Danny handed the watch over, uncertain but ready to try anything twice.
The man leaned forward and again checked for witnesses. ‘You won’t regret this.’
Danny looked unconvinced.
‘Have faith in me, my friend.’ Grinning, he placed a hand on Danny’s upper arm and gazed up into his eyes. ‘Has Armando DuParma Du Cortez D’Amerigo De Vasquez Garma let you down so far?’
‘How many cans do I get?’
The man inspected the watch, back and front. He sniffed, then said, ‘I’ll tell Pedro to get the small can.’
Danny forced a sigh from the pit of his stomach, a sigh so loud someone was bound to notice. Then he did it again. He was sat before his bedroom mirror, chin on hand, elbow on dressing table. His other hand listlessly rolled the tiny Bonk can back and forth on the table.
He watched his reflection. It just got stupider, copying his every move, and was thus no use for independent advice. So he sighed again; and rolled on, back and forth, back and forth.
‘Is something the matter, Mr Daniel?’ Doors asked from the wall to the left.
Danny stopped the can and mumbled flatly. ‘In two hours’ time, the world’s most beautiful woman will stride through that door, rip my clothes off and roger all sense out of me.’
‘Oh how marvellous, Mr Daniel. Congratulations.’
‘But it’s only because of this.’ Chin still on hand, he waved the can lifelessly for Doors to see, then replaced it on the dressing table.
‘What is it?’
‘An aphrodisiac.’
‘How marvellous,’ enthused Doors.
Danny stared at his reflection, hating every drab molecule of it. ‘It’s not marvellous. It’s terrible. It’s the worst thing ever.’
‘No, Mr Daniel, it’s marvellous.’
‘Why is it?’
‘Miss Rama will be most impressed that you’ve discovered a working aphrodisiac, something that has eluded the finest scientific minds for centuries.’
Danny looked to the wall. The voice was coming from somewhere behind the bed head. ‘Doors, you don’t understand. She’d only be having sex with me because of this spray. I’m using her in a way she’d never use me. And I’m ashamed of myself. But I don’t want to stop, because I want her too much. And I don’t want to go on, because that would be contemptible.’
‘But, Mr Daniel, if she found someone attractive, and he used that spray and she subsequently wanted him, how would she know it was the spray that had done the trick and not her own mischievous hormones? Alternatively, if she found someone repulsive but, after exposure to the spray, couldn’t keep her greedy little fingers to herself …’ Doors saw no need to complete the sentence.
Danny frowned, staring at the wall. ‘That’s weird.’
‘Not at all. Being devoid of the hang-ups most humans possess. Miss Rama regards sexual intercourse as a legitimate analytical tool. Why, right now, she’s probably down in the Records Room, collecting her tape measure, callipers, ruler and notepad.’
‘Her …?’
‘Tape measure, callipers, ruler and notepad.’
‘And why should she need those?’ He feared the answer.
‘For measuring.’
‘Measuring what?’
‘Everything. Miss Rama makes thorough notes about her every experience.’
‘But not sex?’
‘Especially sex. She does so enjoy it; on the bed, on the carpet, on the furniture, swinging upside down from lamp fittings, under the bed, up the flag pole …’
‘The flag pole?’
‘I can’t claim to understand the appeal, merely being a machine. However, she assures me the analysis doesn’t spoil her pleasure.’
‘And what about mine?’
‘Miss Rama is excellent in that department. She has graphs to prove it. She’ll keep you entertained, while making her notes. Then, in two days time, she’ll give you her report on the encounter; your strengths and weaknesses, tips for the future, et cetera. Then you’ll know how much you enjoyed it.’
‘But …’
‘Your little experiment with the spray will dovetail nicely with her tests. Also, you should know that – despite her dainty slenderness – thanks to her nightly gym sessions. Miss Rama’s muscles have the tensile strength of steel. Like the cheeky baboon, she could easily tear a man’s head off. So, even if you are doing something you shouldn’t be, you can always comfort yourself with the knowledge that she’ll be able to exact a full and bloody revenge.’
‘That really doesn’t help. Doors.’
‘Oh piffle. You don’t have to worry about bloody revenges. She’ll love your experiment, provided you tell her about it first. You will be telling her about it first?’
Like the cheeky baboon. Miss Rama could easily tear a man’s head off.
‘Mr Daniel?’
Like the cheeky baboon. Miss Rama could easily tear a man’s head off.
‘Mr Daniel?’
‘I’ve already told her.’
‘When?’
The other day.’
‘And she doesn’t mind?’
‘She doesn’t mind at all.’
‘Then, if I’m allowed to ask, why are you worrying?’
‘Things are going too well.’
‘Mr Daniel, has anyone ever told you that you worry too much?’
Like the cheeky baboon, Miss Rama could easily tear a man’s head off.