Brenda Monk Is Funny (4 page)

‘So, old Joanie’s going to be your earthly representative in LA, is she?’ Linus was already rolling another joint.

‘I think so. I mean, she seems the right person for me at the moment.’

Jonathan stretched luxuriously and then settled back into position with his arm around Brenda, his fingers resting very near the top of her cleavage, stroking her skin with micro-movements designed to turn her on. Which it was.

‘What’s your view of her?’

Linus shrugged.

‘She’s connected to the hilt, and if she likes you, she really likes you. If you try to leave though… I mean they don’t call her Hotel California for nothing.’

Jonathan absorbed this information carefully – like a fox, he needed to check his exits before he entered into anything.

‘Thanks for the advice. I appreciate it.’

‘De nada, pal.’

Jonathan turned to Brenda and gave her the full force of his attention. The kissing and fondling hadn’t escaped his notice either.

‘You ready to leave?’

Brenda nodded.

‘OK, good. Linus, Matt, Matt’s new friend, Mike and his good lady wife, we will see you tomorrow no doubt.’

Jonathan stood up, and so did Brenda, a little unsteadily. He took her hand and kissed the back of it.

‘When Lloyd wakes up, please tell him he’s fired.’

He winked to show he was joking. Brenda gave a little wave – she seemed to have lost the ability to speak. This was stronger MDMA than she was used to. Linus waved back.

‘Take care, sweet Brenda.’ Jonathan led her away.

As they passed from the outside roof terrace to the indoor bar area, someone caught Jonathan’s attention and he grimaced. Standing right in their path was an extraordinary looking woman who was talking loudly and making everyone around her laugh in great gales of appreciative noise. Jonathan’s pace slowed imperceptibly to everyone but Brenda, and she too took in the sight of Fenella Lawrence. Tall and lean, she had dark shiny hair cut into a Liza Minelli in
Cabaret
micro-bob, complete with perfectly geometric points that lay in front of both ears and served to outline her cheekbones. She had matt red lips and heavily kohled eyes, and a black, tight fitting polo-neck jumper she wore clung to her impressive and incongruous breasts. A short black leather miniskirt turned into black leggings which turned into a pair of pristine, classic black Doc Marten boots, laced up nicely.

She saw Jonathan.

‘Jonathan Cape. Here he is, the man of the moment. How are you Jonny? Having a good Festival?’

Jonathan dropped Brenda’s hand and adopted the most casual pose he could.

‘Can’t complain? And you? Reviews from God, as usual?’

‘Can’t complain either, Jonny. And this is?’

Fenella stared straight at Brenda.

‘This is my girlfriend.’

‘Oh, hello, Jonathan’s girlfriend. Do you have a name?’

‘Brenda,’ Brenda said.

‘Brenda what?’

‘Brenda Monk.’

‘I like it. A good, strong name. So you’re the one old Jonny-boy here is exploiting for laughs. I did wonder if you were even real, but here you are, clear as day…’

Brenda was startled, but it was blunted by the drugs dancing through her veins. Jonathan still didn’t take her hand.

‘You know Fenella, it must be nice to be you and know everything all the time.’

Fenella looked straight at Jonathan, unblinking, eyes a cold, pale blue.

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Well, see you Fenella. I’ll try and check out your show on my off night. We’re on at the same time, so it’ll be my only chance.’

‘Be glad to have you in, Jonny. And Brenda, just let me know if you’d like to come along. I’ll leave you a ticket at the door. Given that you’ve basically written his sell out show, I’d love a little help with mine.’

Jonathan pulled Brenda away as Fenella turned back to her group to continue their conversation.

Once outside, Jonathan lit up a cigarette.

‘She’s such a cunt.’

Brenda was slow to respond, her mind working to turn over what had just been said inside.

‘She’s just threatened by you,’ she said automatically and Jonathan pulled her to him.

‘You’re amazing, Brenda. You understand everything. Let me take you home and ravish you right now.’

Jonathan hailed a passing taxi and gave his address to the driver. It seemed he did know it after all.

Once back at the high-ceilinged, wood floored flat Lloyd had rented for himself and his about-to-be-huge client, the kissing that had started in the taxi continued with some aggression.

‘Strip,’ said Jonathan as they entered the living room and Brenda did as she was told.

‘That’s good. Now you want an inspection, don’t you? Dirty girl.’

Brenda nodded and her eyes glinted with anticipation. She walked over the wall and turned to face it, an arm’s length away. She placed her hands on the cool, painted surface and spread her feet a hip’s width apart. Jonathan stood behind her and started to move his hands up the front of her belly until they cupped her breasts. Brenda breathed in. The MDMA made every stroke an exquisite explosion.

‘Did you like hearing about what a dirty girl you are tonight? Did you like me telling all those people?’

Jonathan whispered in her ear as one hand moved round her torso and down her back, and the other played with her nipple.

‘Yes,’ Brenda breathed. And then remembered the show.

‘Jonathan…’

‘Yes babe?’

‘Do I really make that noise when I come?’

‘Yes babe. And I fucking love it.’

Jonathan’s hand slid under her buttocks and he slipped two fingers between her legs. She was already wet. Brenda’s hands slid down the wall and she sank into his lap just as he undid his fly. Lying back on the floor, Jonathan guided her on top of him, into her favourite position which, as everyone in Edinburgh now knew, was the reverse cowgirl.

Brenda awoke to the smell of grilling bacon. The midday light melted soft and buttery through the gold curtains and she stretched luxuriously in the large, wood framed bed. The come-down blues vultures were circling, but she knew from experience that a good Bloody Mary and a cooked breakfast would solve that. And if the sun was shining too then the MDMA blues could be effectively banished by the time it got dark. Don’t try to outrun them, she thought, just stay still and they’ll get bored and go and bother someone else. She pulled on Jonathan’s discarded dirty T-shirt and found the knickers she had bought the day before. The cheap but sexy underwear lay undisturbed in its carrier bag, tags still on and Brenda found this pleasing. They didn’t need incentives for sex, they just needed each other. And a wildly successful show, and some Class A drugs.

She wandered into the hall and followed her nose to the kitchen. Jonathan was cooking breakfast, which in itself was pretty amazing. When they spent the night together at home he was rarely up before her.

‘Good morning, my dear, you slept very well.’

‘Yes, did you?’

‘No, I was up most of the night.’

‘Oh, what were you doing?’

‘Just replying to messages, catching up on this and that. Things I’ve ignored while I was working on the show.’

‘Oh. Messages from who?’

Brenda knew this was dangerous territory but she had just woken up and her jealousy crushing equipment was not operating at optimum level.

‘My nosey girl. Just stuff to do with gigs and things. It’s not worth me going into detail about.’ He kissed her on the lips to indicate that the conversation was closed.

‘That bacon smells very, very good.’

‘Yes, it does. I went out and hunted it down for you as soon as the shops opened this morning.’

Jonathan placed it on a plate and added two fried eggs and toast. He set the plate down in front of Brenda, with cutlery, ketchup and a large cup of sweet tea. He then sat opposite her at the table to watch her eat.

‘You’re not having any?’

‘No, I just had a juice. I need to keep on a good regime, need to stay strong.’

Brenda nodded, suppressing the memory of the sheer volume of booze and drugs Jonathan had consumed the night before, and took great mouthfuls, chewing and smiling as the salty grease rolled down her throat.

‘So, Bren, how long were you thinking of staying?’ Jonathan asked lightly, as if he had been rehearsing that question all morning, which of course, he had.

‘Uh, well, I don’t know. It’s Sunday, so maybe ’til Monday…or… or Tuesday?’

Jonathan nodded.

‘Monday’s good.’

Brenda was momentarily winded, but sucked it up. She had arrived unannounced and uninvited after all and she didn’t want to push her luck.

‘OK, tomorrow it is, then’.

‘Great. There’s a fast train around 1.20, I think.’

‘Great.’

Brenda suddenly lost her appetite, but not wanting to hurt Jonathan’s feelings she continued eating. One of the vultures settled in a tree to watch. The comedown blues may not be so easily averted.

‘I need to meet Joan and Lloyd for lunch and then I thought we could spend the afternoon together. I’ll have a nap around five and then we can go down the venue in time for my show.’

Brenda took this in.

‘Actually, I thought I might take Fenella Lawrence up on her offer of seeing her show tonight.’

The room froze over instantly.

‘Sure. No problem.’

Jonathan took her empty plate to the sink and walked out of the kitchen.

Brenda stepped out into the grand, gently sloping Georgian street and turned left towards Princes Street. She walked automatically, feeling a little out of sorts, turning over the previous twenty-four hours in her mind. Was there anything she could have done differently that would have made Jonathan want her to stay until Tuesday? Or even until the end of the week, or month? She couldn’t see where she had gone wrong. He had seemed delighted with her until this morning and then this abrupt indication that she should leave tomorrow. She was already starting to regret the slightly rash decision to announce her intention to see Fenella Lawrence’s show. It had been an attempt to convey her independence. She had thought he would like that, but it had had the opposite effect and he had left for his lunch appointment with barely a word, just a gruff ‘See you later, then’ but with no accompanying specific arrangement.

It was a warm and humid lunchtime, with the ground soaked from earlier rain. A heavy layer of cloud trapped the moisture, and though you could feel the sun’s heat, you could not see the source. Still full of Jonathan’s breakfast and without much of an appetite, Brenda had no specific place to be. She felt spare, dispensable, surplus to requirement. Her significance only existed in Jonathan’s reflected glory. When he was not next to her, she was of no importance. Did this make her feel good or bad? Brenda didn’t know – she oscillated between the two. On the one hand she loved the sense of everything before her, she had yet to break the surface of any sizeable collective consciousness and yet somehow she felt that one day, she would. On the other hand, she had no idea how this would happen and she was acutely aware of all the as yet unknown bodies humming in this city right now, each tightly packed with dreams and ambitions and not sufficient space in the world for all them to come true.

But what were Brenda’s dreams? She didn’t know, she had nothing to aim herself at. So for the time being she piggybacked on Jonathan’s naked ambition and kept faith in the idea that the right thing would reveal itself before too long.

She meandered across North Bridge and turned onto the Royal Mile, but instead of almost immediately turning off it again she continued, away from the castle, past the cashmere shops and old pubs, dodging students with bundles of flyers and crowds gathered around silver painted mime artists and street theatre groups singing medleys from various musicals it was easy and cheap to get the rights for. The Royal Mile was running out, and so she made a sharp right and dipped down to Cowgate, but instead of then turning up to the Pleasance she walked on, under a dripping railway bridge, past a couple of bars that had yet to open and on to the outpost of the Festival square mile. Suddenly the road widened and a big, washed sky appeared. A breeze had picked up and blown some of the clouds away. It was refreshing and Brenda turned her face towards it gratefully. A small supermarket on the left, and a depressing looking council estate to the right, and then a modern development of flats with no soul.

Brenda walked on. By now she had some inkling that she was heading towards Arthur’s Seat. She saw the Scottish Parliament building and knew that a curl round it to the right would lead her to the start of the path and the ascent to the top. She smiled. Why had she brought herself here? Interesting. Was she going to climb it? She still didn’t know, but she had a strong feeling she might. She tried to admire the Assembly Building but her heart wasn’t in it. She could see now that the sky behind Arthur’s Seat was clear and coming her way. By the time she got to the top, the bad weather would be gone and the view spectacular. She breathed in deeply. She saw the start of the path. She knew from the accounts of others that there was an easy climb and a hard climb – you could stop half-way up and still get the view. She thought that if she got to that point and wanted to stop she would allow herself to feel some small sense of achievement before descending. And so, by tiny increments, she began to climb. The path was easy and shallow at first, and was nothing more than a light Sunday afternoon walk. Brenda kept a decent pace and reaching the half-way mark was no hardship. She knew she wasn’t stopping – she barely paused to look. If Brenda was going to climb Arthur’s Seat, she was going to do it properly, otherwise she wouldn’t have started. She may have given herself the illusion of a get out, but the first step up meant that every step would be taken until there was nothing left to do but fly.

After the half-way point, which was heavily populated, the path got steeper and harder and Brenda became more aware of her inadequate footwear. The light breeze from the road was now a stiff wind and she was thirsty with nothing to drink. She had no intention of turning back, though. Up she climbed, up, and when the path became more vertical, Brenda breathed harder and deeper, life filling her lungs and nature healing her mind. She felt the vultures that had been threatening her since she awoke flap their great wings and soar away, in search of another carcass – god knows they wouldn’t go hungry in this city in this month. Brenda paused to catch her breath – the blood was pumping hard now, pink in her cheeks and burning in her chest. She wondered if she wished Jonathan was here, and found that she didn’t. She was sated, and it hadn’t taken much – just one night of premier league shagging and she could feel clearly again. She could see the end now, peaking above her. Another ten minutes and she’d be there, looking out over everything.

Push, push, push and stop. Stop, and stare. Stand, and stare.

The view was better than she had imagined, and the stark and abrupt end to the city that she had observed from the bridge below the day before was now writ large. She turned so that Edinburgh was behind her, and looked across to the Firth of Forth, its huge red iron bridge stretching out, trenchant, commanding, secure. The water was a steely blue with the surrounding countryside scrub green broken with stripes and rounds of rust coloured thorny undergrowth. Some clouds scudded high and made rippling shadows on the ground below. Brenda was exhilarated, cold air caught in her nostrils as she pulled a breath in hard and then pushed it out through her wide open mouth. She felt good. She felt healthy. Yes, healthy, inside and out, as if a great knot had been untwisted and now she could grab the ends and hold onto them, tying herself securely to her own mountain, attached and stable and grounded. She checked her watch. 3.45. Shit.

Brenda took one last look, drinking it in, trying to fill her batteries for later, knowing somehow that this would keep her going and prepare her for something she could not yet articulate. Then she turned and strode back down the mountain. She couldn’t help but smile to herself, even though with every step misgivings about the rest of the day rose in her stomach.

By the time she had reached the base and was making her way back past the Parliament building, past the soulless new flats and the depressing council estate, she was nervous. There was no text or call from Jonathan, but that wasn’t unusual. He may still be at lunch, he may have bumped into someone he was interested in and forgotten their plan to spend the afternoon together, he may be assuming she would turn up whenever she was ready, or he may be punishing her for the Fenella Lawrence gaffe she had made that morning. That was the thing about Jonathan, his change up was so fast and unpredictable it was impossible to adequately foresee what would happen next. Which of course was part of the thrill. Brenda didn’t want to take any chances though. Jonathan was quite capable of abandoning her entirely if he felt so inclined and although she could entertain herself, she felt bleak at the prospect of a whole night in Jonathan’s Kingdom with no Jonathan by her side.

She hailed a passing taxi and arrived back at the flat less than ten minutes later. She rang the buzzer, and the door wordlessly snapped open. Climbing the concrete stairs, she found the flat door ajar and walked through.

Lloyd stuck his head round the kitchen door.

‘Oh, I thought you were Jonathan.’

‘Easy mistake to make. Is he not here?’

‘He was. He said he was just popping out for a minute. I don’t know where he went. If he’s not back in twenty minutes, I’ll have to just see him at the venue. I’ve got a show to see at 5.’

Brenda nodded.

‘Are you coming along tonight?’

Brenda hesitated, but one of those mountain batteries was enough to provide her with enough will to stick to her instincts.

‘Actually, I thought I’d see Fenella Lawrence. We bumped into her last night and she said she’d put my name on the door if I wanted to come.’

Lloyd nodded slowly, scrolling through his phone, processing this information.

‘Do you have a number for her? I don’t know how to let her know I want to come tonight.’

‘Of course. Easily done.’

And to prove his point, Lloyd tapped out a quick text. Brenda put the kettle under the tap, and by the time it had filled, Lloyd’s phone had buzzed its answer.

‘Done,’ said Lloyd, pleased with his influence.

Brenda smiled, and flicked the switch on the kettle.

‘Tea?’

‘Oh, no – I really should go. Tell Jonathan I’ll see him later, if he ever comes back…’

Lloyd busied off in the direction of his bedroom and called ‘Bye’ before pulling the front door shut behind him.

The flat was quiet. The huge sash windows in the kitchen created the kind of natural, light filled space that could gladden the darkest of hearts. Brenda made herself a cup of tea and sat down to think. She noted that she didn’t care as much as she thought she would that Jonathan had mysteriously gone out. Usually this kind of behaviour was the fastest route to nuts for Brenda, and often resulted in an unexpectedly violent row when he returned. But Brenda found she was enjoying this moment to herself. She felt quietly powerful and now that the Fenella Lawrence tickets had been sorted and she had a plan of her own the panic at the prospect of an evening without Jonathan was receding. Maybe it wasn’t quite Jonathan’s Kingdom after all, and she didn’t have to be anyone’s subject.

The door slammed a second time, and Jonathan was before her.

‘What happened to you?’

‘I climbed Arthur’s Seat.’

Jonathan was momentarily surprised.

‘I didn’t think anyone ever actually did that.’

‘Well, they should. The view’s amazing.’

Jonathan nodded.

‘Tea?’

‘Nah, I’m OK thanks. Listen, Bren, I think I’m just going to sleep this afternoon. Are you still going to Fenella’s show?’

Brenda nodded.

‘Lloyd’s arranged me tickets. He said he’d see you at the venue.’ ‘You alright, then?’