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Chapter 2

‘You? An Equity member? You’ve never done a day’s acting in your life.’

‘Maybe not, but this is a letter from Equity and it is offering me full membership.’

She looked over her shoulder, with that half-smile, half-frown that only she could pull off, the one that told me when I was being a plonker. She had kept her fair hair long, the way it had gone during her sojourn in Spain. Prim and I don’t go back all that far in terms of years, but in terms of shared experiences there was a bond between us tied in stainless steel wire.

Primavera Phillips is the daughter of two genuine eccentrics, whereas my mother, at least, was a normal, feet on the ground sort of woman, even although my Dad is. . well, he’s my Dad. With that sort of genetic inheritance you might have thought I’d only be half as daft as Prim.

Her special sort of daring daftness must be infectious, though, for ever since I met her my life has been stood on its head, and I’ve found myself in situations that were about as likely. . and as hazardous to the health. . as Jimmy Hill walking into the Horseshoe Bar in his England bow tie and asking for a pint of bitter.

All I ever wanted was a nice quiet life as an ordinary, self-employed Private Enquiry Agent, taking enough depositions for lawyers and insurers to keep myself in the modest style to which I’d become accustomed. . or maybe I should say, in which I’d become complacent.

Not even in my sweatiest nightmare had I ever wanted to become the sort of private detective you read about in mass market novels, or see on telly. Then, one ordinary day, I walked into a flat just off Leith Walk, and came face to face with two bodies. One was dead. The other was very much alive; it was Prim’s.

My life changed beyond redemption in that instant. For a start, thanks to Prim’s even dafter sister Dawn, she and I found ourselves in mortal danger, from which we escaped only by the skin of our teeth. . albeit with a big bag of money.

With our riches, the pair of us buggered off to Spain for a while and became involved in an even crazier adventure which ended in death and in the discovery for both of us that while we were deeply in lust, we were not exactly soulmates. In fact, I realised that mine was back in Scotland.

So Prim and I said our goodbyes, and I went home to marry Jan, thinking — stupid bastard that I was — that I would live ‘happily ever after’. An imprecise phrase, that; bound as it is round the word ‘ever’ which has a different duration for every one of us. . for every two of us.

In our case, Jan’s and mine, it meant a few months; time for us to settle down in an eagle’s nest in the middle of Glasgow, time for us to discover what happiness really is, before. . no, that has to stay in the past. I can’t avoid the flashbacks, but I won’t talk about it again, unless I really have to.

In the wake of that. . thing, Prim came back into my life, like a strong hawser tethering me to the ground, giving me something on which to focus. With nothing better to do, but knowing from experience that we had to do something, we leased a small office in Mitchell Street Lane, re-established our old business, Blackstone and Phillips, Private Enquiry Agents, and watched the client list expand to bursting point.

Primavera rented a flat, a two-bedroom place in the Merchant City, owned by an Aberdeen lawyer whose older kid had just left Glasgow University and whose younger sprog was still at school.

We kept separate social lives for a while; or tried to. But mine consisted mostly of going for a pint with my copper pal Mike Dylan, and Prim’s involved reading a lot and going to the movies on her own. So after a while we started going to the movies together, and sometimes I’d go to Prim’s for supper afterwards, or she’d come to mine. In the beginning, neither of us stayed over. We’d been over that course before; and furthermore having a business relationship to protect, we were careful to keep things on a ‘good pals’ basis.

Then one Friday night towards the end of September, after we had seen Armageddon, polished off a couple of steaks and watched Men in Black on my video, when Prim picked up the phone to call a taxi, I put a finger on the button and cut her off.

It wasn’t the same as before; it couldn’t be. We weren’t as exuberant as we had been at first, — the truth is, that had gone before we split — but there was a new tenderness there, a new maturity in the way we approached each other. We didn’t use any dangerous words, but afterwards, we fell asleep easily enough; at least that hadn’t changed.

She gave me one funny look the next morning, when I came into the kitchen as she was loading her hand-washed underwear and shirt into the tumble-dryer; a slightly apprehensive glance, as if she was searching my face for signs of guilt. I smiled at her, trying to let her know without saying it that she needn’t have bothered, that there was no one, anywhere, who would take the slightest exception to she and I sleeping together.

That night, when I came back from my Saturday job, she had moved her clothes into the wardrobe and drawer space which I had made ready for her. Jan’s space; Jan, who, everything else aside, had liked Prim enormously.

And that very same night, we won the lottery. Not the mega-jackpot, you understand, only three and a quarter million, but a clear blessing nonetheless upon our new beginning.

It made no difference to us. Honest. We had plenty of money to start with, our business was going well, and my Saturday job was bringing me in even more.

My Saturday job? Oh yes.

About eighteen months back, I had been dropped by my lawyer pal Greg McPhillips into an investigation which involved some extremely crazy gentlemen, and a couple of ladies, involved in the sports entertainment business. . in other words, wrestlers.

As a cover I had agreed to become the circus’s master of ceremonies, or ring announcer, calling the bouts on the Global Wrestling Alliance’s television shows. To their surprise, and even more, to mine, a few people thought that I was quite good in the part, and so after the smoke had cleared from the explosive conclusion of the real job which I had been hired to do, Everett Davis, the extremely big boss, had asked me to stay on, and had given me a contract backed up by a few share options in the holding company.

Since then, GWA had gone truly global, and Everett was spending more than half of his time in the States, servicing his recently signed network deal there and completing the take-over of his main rival, Championship Wrestling Incorporated, formerly run by his rogue half-brother. Oh yes, and with the take-over, my share options had gone sort of global also: they were worth around half a million dollars.

Even after all that, I was still taken by surprise when I found out that people other than children and eccentrics watch cable and satellite wrestling programmes. I was in the office one Tuesday morning transcribing an interview with a witness in a constructive dismissal action, when the phone rang. Prim answered, then handed it across.

‘Good morning, Oz,’ said an easy, slightly smarmy voice. I struggled to place it, but it sounded like most tele-salesmen I’d ever heard, professional, entreating, anonymous. ‘I’m Mark Webber, from RHB and F.’

‘I don’t think I need any of those,’ I told the guy.

‘Hah! That’s what our secretaries think too. But seriously. .’ I tried to take him seriously, but failed ‘. . we’re an ad agency, in Covent Garden. We’re casting for a new commercial for a client in the children’s leisure sector.’

Okay, I thought, play along for a bit. ‘Children’s leisure, eh. Which branch would that be? Smarties, chocolate eggs?’

‘Play accessories.’

‘Ah. I see. Would they be toys, then? My nephews have a few of them. I must tell them that they’re accessorised.’

Mark Webber laughed, as if it was expected of him. For a second I felt like a politician addressing a party gathering. ‘I get your drift, Oz; we creatives do tend to fall into line with our clients’ corporate language.’

‘Indeed? What else do you market? Beverage transporters. . cups and saucers, like?’

‘Touche, old lad. I can hear already that you’re just the man for us.’

‘I don’t know about that, Mark. The only leisure accessories I use these days are limb-extending balata propellants. Mind you, I still can’t talk my Dad out of calling them golf clubs.’

The man’s laugh took on a manic tone. ‘God, that’s wonderful. It’s a humbling experience for a guy like me to be exposed to a Northern sensibility. Maybe we should ask you to write the script as well.’

‘As well as what?’

‘As well as doing the voice-over, of course. Listen, this is the story: the client, Roxy Matrix, is launching a new product in October aimed at the Christmas market. It’s a power accessory, personal rather than electronic. .’

‘You mean it’s a toy, rather than a video game?’

‘I suppose so. It allows the child to become actively involved in play and to create fantasies around its persona.’

‘You mean it’s a doll?’

‘Companion, Oz; at Roxy Matrix they call them companions. ’

I managed to turn a chortle into a cough without Mr Webber noticing. ‘This companion? Is it inflatable?’

‘No, no, no. It’s solid, powered, and about twenty per cent of life size.’

‘Does it have muscles, or tits?’

‘Both, in fact; there are two variants. What we’re talking about here is a plug-in rechargeable, robotic partnership simulation, alternative humanoids whom the young people can adopt as leaders and role models.’

‘You mean like parents used to be? Brilliant idea,’ I said in a sudden burst of artificial conviction. ‘Ideal for a high achiever partnership in a double-income situation. Buy a couple of these simulated partners for the kids and the carers can devolve young people management responsibility to them, freeing up more time for income generation.’

There was a silence on the other end of the line. I guessed that Mark had finally figured out that I was ripping the shit out of him. (That’s like taking the piss, only a lot less gentle.) Or maybe it was the other way around, and he guessed that he had been well and truly rumbled. Across the room, Prim and Lulu, our secretary, were staring at me, each of them just a touch glassy-eyed.

‘God!’ His voice was suddenly choked. ‘What a brilliant concept. We’ve written the story-board for the commercial already, but I’m sure we can work that theme in; subliminally, of course. It’s much too sensitive for us just to go balls-out with it.’

I felt my eyes beginning to glaze over too. ‘Mark, can we get this conversation back on track, please?’

‘Yes, Oz, of course. I’m sorry; got a bit carried away there. Truly original creative thinking has that effect on me. Yes: the voice-over. Great news for you. Mr Barowitz, the CEO of Roxy Matrix, asked for you personally. Scots accents are very popular just now, but he didn’t know that. In fact, his wife, Ronnie, is a great fan of your wrestling programme, and she insists that you have exactly the right voice for the new commercial. And Mrs Barowitz has great influence over her husband.’

‘Let me guess, she’s a killer blonde and thirty years younger than him.’

‘Maybe twenty years, but you’ve got the principle right. She’s a power in the business. Mind you we didn’t just roll over and do what we were told. We at RHB and F are true professional advisers. We watched a couple of your shows before we accepted her idea. She’s dead right, you know; your voice and your industry persona are just right for the product. They’re called Rick and Ronnie Power, by the way.’

‘Mr Barowitz’ name wouldn’t be Richard, would it?’

‘How did you guess that?’

‘It just came to me. And how did you come to me? How did you get my number?’ There was an edge to my question, I still wasn’t anything like convinced by Mr Webber. I thought I detected a strong whiff of bullshit coming down the line.

‘I called the GWA. I spoke to Mr Matthews. He’s one of the wrestlers, isn’t he? He gave it to me.’ I made a mental note to have a word with Liam.

‘Look, as you said, let’s cut to the chase here. We’d like you to do the ad. Your part will take a couple of days; we’ll fly you down, and put you up in the Park Lane Hilton. .’

I decided to play it all the way. ‘Not me, Mark, us. My partner comes too.’

‘No problem. Now Oz, you’re not an Equity member, are you. I couldn’t find you on their listing. We have a house rule here that we only use Equity people; one of our directors was a member of the Cabinet and he wants to get back in, and there are still a few dinosaurs in our industry, so we don’t want to compromise him by landing him in the middle of a public union row.’ The words came tumbling out. ‘I can fix that, though. The work you’ve been doing on television qualifies you for membership, and I have a contact in the Equity office. I’ll place you with an agent too; we like to go through them. It’ll take no time at all.’

Mr Webber was beginning to lose his audience; the whiff in my nostrils was getting stronger.

‘As to the fee, I’ve looked at the budget and we can squeeze it up to fifteen.’

‘Fifteen?’ I repeated, a yawn in my voice.

‘Yes, fifteen thousand. Sylvester Burr, your agent, normally takes twenty per cent but, in the circs, I’ll beat him down to ten.’

The phone almost slipped out of my hand. I took a deep breath. ‘I see.’

There was a silence. ‘Okay,’ said Webber, at last. ‘We’ll pay Burr’s commission this time. That’ll leave you with fifteen clear. What d’you say, Oz?’

I did some quick thinking. ‘I’ll tell you what I say. Put it in writing inside forty-eight hours. No faxes; letter-head, signature in blood, all that stuff.’ I gave him the office address.

‘And you’ll do it?’ He sounded genuinely excited.

‘If it checks out.’ I started to hang up then changed my mind. ‘By the way, Mark,’ I added, ‘if Detective Inspector Mike Dylan is behind all this, tell him from me that I’ll have his nuts for desk ornaments. . they’d be too small for paperweights.’

‘Well?’ The question exploded from Prim, as I cradled the phone, and doubled over in pent-up laughter. ‘What the hell was all that about?’

When I could control myself, I told her. ‘You’re right,’ she agreed, at once. ‘It’s got Dylan’s stamp all over it. He probably recruited a young constable with a posh voice and gave him a script.’

‘There’s one way to find out.’ I picked up the phone and called the GWA office, on the west side of the city. It was mid-morning, so I knew that the superstars would be hard at work. The switchboard operator traced Liam Matthews in less than three minutes.

‘Mornin’ Oz, me ould lad,’ he drawled in his accentuated Oirish, slightly out of breath from his training session. ‘What’s up?’

‘Did you take a call a while back from a guy, looking for me, from an advertising agency called RHB and F or some such?’

‘Sure, and I did. Christ was he keen! What was up? Have you got his sister pregnant or something.’

‘Not as far as I know.’ Interesting. If Mark Webber was a Dylan stooge, he’d wouldn’t have needed to call the GWA for my number.

‘He seemed harmless to me, Oz,’ said Liam. ‘I wouldn’t have given him your number otherwise. No problem, is there?’

‘Not if he checks out. In fact, if he does, I’ll buy you a large drink.’

It checked out less than twenty-four hours later, when a special delivery letter arrived at the office, on the RHB and F letter heading, setting out the terms of my proposed engagement and signed not by Webber, but by the former Cabinet Minister himself. At that point, Prim and I began to believe. I replied, accepting of course, by return of post.

The letter from Equity, inviting me to join, didn’t arrive until the next day. ‘You. .’ Prim exclaimed, astonished. I had forgotten to mention that part of my conversation with the ad lad. ‘An Equity member? You’ve never done a day’s acting in your life.’

‘Maybe not, but this is a letter from Equity and it is offering me full membership.’ I scratched my chin. ‘I think it’s a condition of employment, so I’d better sign up.’ And that is how I came to be a member of the same profession as Dawn and her husband, the fourth most famous human on the planet.

We did the shoot two weeks later. I was given a week to learn my lines; which, as I saw at once, had been written in the same style as my standard ring announcements. The main differences were that I was off camera and that the money was fifteen times as good. . not that I had ever complained about the grand per weekend, plus expenses, that Everett paid me.

Mark Webber turned out to be a tall, gangling young man in a suit, a silk kipper tie printed with a piece of impressionist art, rimless spectacles, and a pin through his eyebrow: a designer ad-man if ever there was one. He knew his way around the studio, all the same, and knew how to flatter the director of the epic, Ismael Stormonth, a perfectionist with a strong egomaniac streak. If I was on fifteen grand, I wondered what his take was.

My highly paid gig was similar to my GWA role, in that I spent most of the time hanging around, building myself up for my big moment and watching the professionals, in this case the lighting people and the camera person, do their highly skilled stuff. Even after a year, I still thought of myself as an amateur in the television business.

At the end of the first day, I did a first run through of the script, perfecting my delivery so that it was in synch with the rough-cut of the film footage. The second day was spent in the edit suite doing voice-over after voice-over until at last, not just the prickly Ismael, but Richard and Ronnie Barowitz agreed that we couldn’t get it any better. Mark told me that it was unusual for the client to attend a shoot, but said that the Barowitzes had insisted.

As for Ronnie, she was much as I had expected, thirty-something, blonde, slightly over-stuffed, a former small-time model who probably had the wrong shape at the wrong time. It had been good enough to catch her toy maker, though. Mr Barowitz, king of Roxy Matrix, was a solemn little man who rarely said a word, other than ‘Yes dear.’

‘Oz, that was just wonderful,’ she oozed at me as we prepared to strike camp. ‘I knew I was right in going for you.’

‘I’m glad it worked out, Ronnie,’ I said. ‘I hope the product does as well as you expect.’

‘It will, don’t you worry. Richard is never wrong. Tell me,’ she went on, not giving me a chance to muse on the wee man’s infallibility. ‘Will your wrestling show be on in the south soon?’

‘Yes. We’ve got a pay-per-view event in the London Arena in a couple of months or so. I’ll send you a couple of tickets. Hope you can come; we’ve got an Irish bloke on the team who’d just love to meet you.’

Prim and I enjoyed a nice couple of nights in London, courtesy of RHB and F, and that, I thought, would be it. But I always have been wrong more often than I’ve been right. Less than a week later I was in the office with Lulu, Prim being out on an interview, when the phone rang again.

‘It’s a Mr Burr,’ said the wee one, her hand pressed over the mouthpiece. ‘Sounds English.’

I shrugged and took the call. ‘Oz,’ an exuberant voice exclaimed, ‘this is Sly.’

‘Too bloody right it is,’ I answered, conversationally. ‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Sly. Sylvester Burr, your agent. . remember?’

My eyebrows skidded to a halt halfway up my forehead. ‘Barely,’ I acknowledged, recalling a wee, heavily-bangled man, who had looked in briefly during the second day of the shoot. ‘What can I do for you, Sly? Hasn’t Mark Webber paid your commission?’

‘Course he has, son. It’d be more than his job was worth to hold out on me. No, this has got nothing to do with that young ponce. I’ve landed another job for you; another Soho voice-over, two days, week after next. The client’s Arkaloid Sports, one of the world’s major players in leisure wear. I can’t get you fifteen this time though; ten’s their top whack. That’s two for me, eight for you.’

‘Plus expenses for Prim and me.’

‘I don’t know if they’ll cover your girlfriend.’

‘They’d better not bloody try. No, I just want them to pay for her flight and hotel. That’s the deal. Oh yes, and I can only work Mondays to Thursdays. I’m committed the other three days.’

‘I’ll tell them; they’ll roll over for it. The dates ain’t a problem either.’ He paused. ‘You’re a quick learner, my boy. You’re not Jewish, are you?’

‘No, Sly, religion’s got nothing to do with it. The fact is that Prim and I have this disease; whenever we’re together money just seems to stick to us.’

‘Ah, but that’s the same as being Jewish,’ Burr laughed. ‘Whatever, I’ll be seeing you.’

He wasn’t wrong; even before we recorded the second voice-over, he had come back with a third. In no time at all, I was doing two, sometimes three a month, never for less than five thousand, less commission, plus expenses. Without any conscious effort, I had a third career.