The housemates prepared for a night out. Howard
was attired for the occasion in the new black
jeans and equally trendy blue denim shirt. He
felt good until...
'Are you going out like
that Howie?'
queried Gallie.
'Um, yes.'
'Well, don't you think your shirt needs ironing?'
The thought of ironing had occurred to Howie,
but his habitual idleness had kicked in and
he had rationalised to himself that the creases
that rent his shirt wouldn't would mysteriously
smooth themselves out or otherwise go unnoticed.
Now he realised that perhaps the investment
of time and effort into the ironing of his shirt
might actually outweigh the hazard of appearing
scruffy in the eyes of females. The investment
of time and effort into ironing would seem particularly
apt if the investment was invested by another.
'Will
you iron it for me, Gallie? I'm
preposterously crap at ironing.'
Gallie pursed her lips and affected a sceptical
and uncooperative air.
'Hmmmm.
How much would you like your
shirt ironing?' she asked in the dubious tones
of a haggler seeking grovels.
'Enough to get rid of the creases!'
Looking stunned, Gallie ironed Howard's shirt
without further ado.
A rather curt knock sounded at the front door
and Karen raced to it.
'Hi Stevie pops!' she gleamed.
'What? Hey Baby, what's the deal man? Don't
I get no kiss?'
'No darling, actually, you'll ruin my makeup.'
'
Sodom and Gomorrah! We're wasting valuable
drinking time,' boomed Greg as he polished off
another tin of Tenets Super. 'Kaz, that idiot
boyfriend of yours is later than Captain Oats,
let us go forth to the Delhi Belly. We may be
some bleeding time!'
As planned Howard, Greg, Gallie, Karen and Steve
caught a bus into town for a curry at the
Delhi
Delights restaurant. Sited on a shabby side
road just off the main Chillington road, the
Delhi Delights was a favourite with students,
being conveniently situated between the University
campus and the beer houses and nightclubs of
Redater city center. All the buildings surrounding
the restaurant had been pulled down: to the
left, to the right and opposite was dusty dereliction,
making the eatery reminiscent of an oasis. Red
light flushing from the window promised cheap
student grub and watered down lager amidst a
dry and famished desert.
The aforementioned students took a long table,
lifted menus to their faces and deliberated.
Brave discussions of heat and poppadoms ensued.
The waiter raised an eyebrow towards Greg.
'Bring me a staff curry.'
'What's that man?' said Steve.
'It's the real stuff, not the crap on the menu,
no offence waiter.'
'Make that
two staff curries,' said Howard
confidently.
'It is very hot,' cautioned the waiter in hushed
tones.
Intolerant of hot food, Howard had neglected
to consider this important point. He was in
an awkward position. He could change his mind,
thus admitting his ignorance and, worse, cowardliness.
Or, like a man, he could stand firm by his decision
and, for the gain of instant kudos, suffer silently
later. All faces were angled in his direction.
He noted with particular keenness that Gallie
was waiting attentively on his reply.
'Of
course it is hot!' he declared histrionically,
'I positively
thrive on heat. Give me
heat, waiter, for hell is my home and fire is
my ice!'
Gallie looked impressed and Howard basked in
the rays of her admiring expression.
'Oh Howie, you're so
brave,' she said
with exaggerated and mischievous reverence.
Melting in the beam of her impressed eyes he
smiled a debonair smile. He would show her!
What was the endurance of a little burning on
the tongue when Gallie's admiration was the
prize? He congratulated himself.
'It takes more than spices to strike fear into
a mighty warrior!'
'We'll frigging see about that! The warrior
is made in the battle!' cried Greg in a disconcertingly
knowing tone.
The main courses duly arrived. Greg tucked into
his Staff curry with the aplomb of a firewalker
wearing asbestos socks. Howard, by comparison,
was akin to a bare footed firewalker of neither
schooling nor experience of the art. His companions
watched attentively as he surveyed the strange,
watery stew laid before him. Rising to the occasion
he affected a blasé air and went for it, shovelling
a generous spoon of staff curry into his maw.
He felt relief, the stew was hot but not
that
hot. He smiled heroically at his companions
and eagerly took a second mouthful.
The serenity vanished from his face.
Now he sensed the heat, a sensation he
imagined was not dissimilar to masticating shards
of broken glass. His eyes widened as they watered.
The pain worsened by the second. There was no
escape from the acid burns. Try as he might
to use rice as a soothing balm it did not absorb
the pain. Nor was sanctuary to be discovered
in the meat itself, which scolded as mercilessly
as the sauce. He nibbled the rice at the periphery
of the dish and gulped cooling lager, which
quenched only ephemerally his blistering palate,
then paradoxically made the agony worse.
Greg smiled at Howard's discomfiture. So did
Karen. Then he noticed with severe vexation
that Steve was revelling in his humiliating
torture. Steve smirked and gurned and incompetently
stifled grins. His expression was the epitome
of supercilious mocking. This was unbearable.
Howard hastily took a defiant mouthful of staff
curry and instantly regretted it. The lacerating
substance excoriated his raw and wounded flesh.
His nose ran, his eyes wilted, his face reddened
and his will power collapsed. The staff curry
had caused an imbroglio beyond his jurisdiction.
The dish had defeated him with ruthless warfare.
All hope of salvaging a grain of dignity, let
alone of winning, deserted him and he dashed
to the toilets.
And nothing was taming the searing pain. He
sat down at the table again. Nobody said a word
but stifled giggles indicated that there had
been merry mirth at his humbling tribulation.
He finally dared a sheepish look towards Gallie.
Her evaporated admiration of his bold escapade
had hardly been substituted by sympathy for
a martyr. But neither was her expression one
of scorn or condemnation. She simply looked
amused but in a kindly way that made him feel
pathetic when he was supposed to be seductive.
Greg, obviously enjoying himself at Howard's
expense, devoured with impunity the very same
staff curry that had been Howard's ruin. He
felt further belittled. Karen's amusement was
yet more lacking in the magnanimity stakes:
she seemed to have a manner about her that reflected
the dread sentiment
I knew that would happen.
But worst of all, in an altogether different
league of
rubbing it in, was Steve. Steve's
gloating at Howard's fall from esteem grew unashamedly
blatant. He began to giggle and scoff in what
soon became an awkward comportment for everyone,
not just for Howard, who by this time was flexing
his fingers with wrath.
Gallie, her signature tact finally re-emerging
from its momentary hibernation, began talking
about a pop video that had appeared on
The
Chart Show, alluding to both the facial
attractiveness and "
trouser bulge"
of some pop star.
'Me, I ain't told you I'm in with Bono?' said
Steve. 'Yeah man, check it out! Bono calls
me and stuff and, man, I said to him, I said
he should like never join no other band. He's
cool. We're both brilliant at fucking chicks,
know what I mean? Sorted!'
Steve looked around the table with the countenance
of one who was self-satisfied.
Greg didn't seem impressed.
'Well, mate, that's not what Kaz told me. She
reckons you lose your muck faster than Jimmy
Whites cuing action!'
Karen was almost as appalled as Steve.
'I did not say that! I really didn't! Just ignore
Greg, he's just showing off actually, the big
oaf.'
'Well, man, at least I pot the pink, right?'
said Steve. 'Me, I've potted more pinks than
you had hot dinners, right! I'm cool, man,
know what I mean! Who says I ain't is outta
order!'
As Steve was talking two girls walked into the
restaurant. Howard was stirred by the sight
of one of them in particular, a tall woman with
black hair, generous chest and ill-fitting glasses.
His mind hastily sifted through its memory banks
and turned up trumps. This was the woman he
had seen snogging Steve at Donovan Hall. Before
long the woman saw Steve.
'Hey, man, me, I ain't got no eyes for no babe
but Karen,' continued Steve. 'She's the only
babe for me, right, and I don't check out no
chick, not if it ain't Karen.'
The tall black haired woman put her hands on
her hips.
'Steve! Who's
Karen?'
Steve swivelled round in his chair.
'Oh fucking man!'
'Who's
that bitch?' shouted Karen.
'
Bitch?
How dare you call
me
a bitch!' cried the tall woman.
'Me, I ain't never saw that bitch in my life,
man!' The worry distilled in Steve's face contradicted
his confident statement.
'You fucking
liar!' screamed Karen.
By this time the quarrelling trio had the gawping
attention of the entire restaurant.
'Who are
you?' demanded the tall woman
of Karen.
'Only his fucking
girlfriend!'
'What? You bastard!' The tall woman slapped
Steve full-bloodedly.
The restaurant's population gasped a collective
murmur at the satisfyingly resonant sound of
palm against cheek. The tall woman grabbed
her astounded and horrified companion by the
wrist and led her briskly into the night. The
door slammed fiercely behind them.
The dramatic exit was counterpointed by a subsequent,
prolonged silence, excepting the pervasive background
twanging of Indian music that didn't quite make
melodic sense to the western ear. Karen seemed
struck dumb. Gradually the other patrons of
the restaurant broke the silence by mumbling
discreetly amongst themselves.
'Um, Steve,' said Greg, barely able to conceal
his glee, 'it's bleeding obvious that Kaz is
thinking you've worn out your welcome mate!'
Howard's mind was distracted from the throbbing
in his mouth. He did not pass this unexpected
opportunity to avenge.
'Not that you ever
were welcome, you
two-faced imbecile, we never cared much for
you anyway.'
'Yeah, begone, you fucking male
bastard!'
bellowed Karen. She exhaled powerfully when
pronouncing the first syllable of the word
bastard.
The second syllable came out as a hissed whisper
drenched with malice. The murmurings amongst
the other diners stopped at this latest disruption.
The waiters looked at Karen with meek countenances
of unobtrusive concern.
'Me, I ain't digging no shit on my case,' said
Steve. 'Me, I'm
gonna get me out of here,
man!'
He rose to his feet and stomped from the table.
'Yeah, fuck off with your little
fancy woman
you total fucking
bastard,' Karen screamed
after him. '
Wanker!' she added, almost
as an afterthought.
Now standing in the doorway Steve turned glared
at everyone at Howard's table in turn. He stared
with enmity at the housemates in turn, looking
each in their eyes. He saved his last gaze
for Karen. By this time the silence was feeding
into the thickening tension in the air.
'Bull-fucking-shit! Fuck you all, man! Outta
order! You ain't nothing but jerks!'
The door thudded behind him. Again the windows
seemed imperilled by the vigorous exit of the
antagonist.
Greg angrily launched to his feet, dislodging
the table as he did so and dashed after Steve.
'Ohhhh, Greg!' pleaded Gallie after him, 'let
it be!'
'Gosh, I do hope Greg doesn't do anything really
stupid,' whispered Gallie.
'I doubt he will do anything stupid,' said Howard.
'He might violently murder Steve, but he won't
do anything stupid.'
A couple of minutes later Greg returned wheezing
and scowling. His complexion was painted pale
by rage.
'He was lucky this time, but when I've finished
with that slimy maggot, rest assured, he'll
never, ever have baby maggots!'
'He's a complete
son of a bitch!' seethed
Karen. 'Like, when I said all men were bastards
except for Steve, actually I meant
all
men are
bastards and Steve is the biggest
bastard of the horrid bunch.
And
he's a
wanker.'
Many of those gathered at the other tables began
to openly tut-tut at the embarrassingly audible
conversation.
'Now come on Karen,' said Greg, 'you're not
thinking straight, what with all the treachery
and what have you.
I'm the
biggest
bastard of the lot. Lets put things into
perspective. Steve is the biggest
maggot
of the lot.'
Karen stared up at Greg's face. She burst into
tears. Gallie hurried round the table to her
and gently placed an arm around her. Karen
buried her head into Gallie's chest, making
Howard envious, and shook with lamentation.
Her sobs waxed louder as her weeping grew less
self-conscious and soon her whole body throbbed
and tears flowed unimpeded. Gallie tried to
comfort her with caresses and softly spoken,
soothing words.
Howard felt uneasy. He always liked to think
he would be good at helping other people in
a crisis, but, when it came down to it, he became
inert and hoped the situation would blow over.
'More poppadoms anyone?'
 | | | | |
| From: |
Knoeier | Subject: | 2001-12-28 07:31:25 |
| | | | |
| From: |
isolani | Subject: | 2002-01-09 05:03:51 |
| | | | |
| From: |
MadPole | Subject: | 2002-01-15 06:31:59 |
| | | | |
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