 |
The Prostitute, the X-rays and the Catherine Wheel
I was sitting in a moving London taxi. I suddenly noticed a newspaper placard saying "Reggie Kray - Cancer Scare".
I asked the driver to stop. I had known Reggie Kray and liked him very much. I was amused by his reaction to my book Robert Maxwell as I Knew Him. "With respect, and I repeat with very great respect as I know you are a lady, all you ever do is just go on and on and on and on about this bleeding bloke!"
I fell over and sprained my ankle in my haste to buy an Evening Standard. After I'd been to hospital to have my foot bandaged and X-rayed, I went to Shaftesbury Avenue to see a film, to take my mind off the physical and mental pain.
The film was no good. It was raining and I couldn't get a taxi. I went into a side street, where I saw a sign in neon yellow lights, saying "Minicabs".
I went into the building and up a staircase. The first door I came to was on the third floor. I assumed that it led to an office from which minicabs could be called. I heard movements on the other side of the door, which was not answered when I knocked several times.
My foot was hurting a lot by this time and my patience had run out. I took a few steps backwards, ran towards the door and threw my weight against it.
It gave way. Its hinges were ripped off. It was an unexpectedly thin door, like a sheet of cardboard. It smashed to the floor of the room, causing a cloud of dust to rise into the air, floating like snowflakes.
I over-balanced and tumbled into the room, scattering the X-rays over the floor.
A scarlet-coloured screen was facing me. From behind it, rushed an astounded prostitute in the livery of her trade. My foot was hurting so much that I lost my temper.
"If this is a disorderly house, why the hell isn't there a sign outside, saying it's a bloody disorderly house?"
"You can sodding well f*** off!" said the prostitute.
"Have you any idea how much pain I'm in? Do you realize my right foot is done up in bandages?"
"It's not my frigging business," said the prostitute. "You don't believe me, do you? Why don't you take a look at these X-rays?" I said, nonsensically.
An unhealthy-looking, grey-skinned punter, wearing only a shirt, ambled from behind the screen and stared furiously at the prostitute.
"What's up, woman? I've just paid you thirty bloody quid. I'm not nearly ready to come yet. I want the thirty quid back."
The prostitute screwed the banknotes into a ball and threw them into the punter's face."Here's what you can do with your f***ing money!" she bellowed.
I left the building as quickly as I could. I was ashamed of having broken the door, jeopardising the prostitute's safety and depriving her of thirty pounds.
I went into a bar, ordered some whisky and nuts and thought about a way to repay the prostitute for the damage.
In an hour's time, I dragged myself upstairs to her room a second time. The broken-down door was leaning against the inside wall. I heard movements and sounds suggestive of sexual activity.
"Er, hullo, there!" I ventured.
The prostitute stormed up to me in a violent rage, too furious to be able to speak. I said, "First, let me say how dreadfully sorry I am to have interrupted you a second time, while you were in the course of your private, and shall I say, courageous and hazardous business. I want to talk to you about your door."
"If you don't f*** off, I'll jab you with a used heroin needle!"
"Oh, no, no, don't do that! I've just come to tell you that I know a man who can put some new hinges on your door. When would be a convenient time for him to do this? Perhaps you could get your diary and arrange a date."
The pattern of events was the same. Another livid punter, this time a muscular black man, came out from behind the screen, naked.
"Hey, back off, m'aam, will ya!" I ignored the second punter and handed the prostitute thirty pounds while the punter stared at me, like an owl waiting to be fed.
"I'm giving you this because, as I understand it, I inadvertently interrupted the first gentleman I saw, before he was able to reach orgasm. By the way, isn't it just dreadful about poor Reggie Kray? I do hope they'll be able to save his life," I added as an afterthought.
The prostitute advanced towards me, brandishing a syringe, empty, apart from a residue of blood. I threw the X-rays at her in terror and rushed out into the corridor. I curled myself into a ball (God knows how) and rolled down the stairs, into the street like a Catherine wheel.
"This doesn't seem to be my lucky day," I muttered to myself, out loud.
|
