‘Whoa!’ There was a glimpse of the man he had been on stage. ‘That’ll do the trick.’ Johnny grinned and then sneezed. ‘Fuck.’ He sniffed and shook his head. ‘I think I lost it.’
Johnny’s pisshole-in-the-snow pupils had all but disappeared and Magnus thought the coke had met its mark despite the sneeze, but the comedian fished the note from his pocket again and snorted another three lines.
‘Sorry about that, lads.’ He grinned at the Dongolites. ‘Reduced rations. Share nicely now.’
Johnny’s acolytes took their turn and then there were two lonely lines, thin and shuffled-looking, waiting for Magnus. There was plenty of the white stuff left in Kim’s Ziploc and Magnus wondered if Johnny had orchestrated a shortage for his own amusement, but Dongo looked washed out despite his double dose of marching powder. The thought flitted across Magnus’s mind that he should pass up his share in case Kruze’s fears came true and he had to stand in for Johnny (let’s do the show right here!) but the rum had tipped him beyond such precautions. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a fiver. The blue note looked out of place in the upscale hotel room, but Magnus rolled it tight and snorted the good stuff up into his sinuses, tasting the chemical cut of it in the back of his throat. His nerves zingalinged in anticipation of the hit and, for the first time that evening, he smiled.
Time died in the hotel room and everything shrank and expanded into the moment that was now. Kim put on some music and got each of them up to dance, one at a time; all except for Johnny. The girl was broad-beamed and heavy on her feet, but she had a sense of rhythm and moved her hips in time to the music. Magnus wondered again if she was the comedian’s beard and if Johnny would mind if he borrowed her for a while, just long enough for him to lie her down on the bed in the next room and fuck the sound of train wheels from his head. He took Kim by the arm and drew her close, as if they were in some old movie and he was Frank Sinatra. Kim leaned in to him and put an arm around his back. She was shorter than Magnus and he found himself staring at her beehive. It looked hard and brittle and he felt a sudden urge to snap it from her head.
‘I like your hair,’ he said and ran an experimental hand across her rear.
Kim’s face was shiny beneath its coating of make-up. She let Magnus’s hand rove the globe of her bottom and then shoved him in the chest, dealing a blow that sent him reeling against the bathroom door.
‘Rude boy,’ she whispered, in a voice that might have been a come-on.
‘Help yourself,’ Johnny said. He was sitting between the Dongolites now, on the couch Magnus had vacated, all three of them laughing at something on Johnny’s phone. Magnus saw that they were leaning against the stage suit he had carefully zipped inside its garment bag and hung on the back of the couch. ‘That’s sick,’ said one of the Dongolites, pointing at the phone. Magnus still did not know their names.
Johnny had dispensed with his handkerchief. He spat on the floor. ‘She’s a bit of an armful, but islanders like their women big, don’t they? It comes from being such little men. Go on, fill your boots.’
It was an odd image and Magnus laughed. He wanted to tell Johnny that his father, grandfather and no doubt his great-grandfather had indeed been short men, but they could hunt and fish and farm while he, the tallest known McFall in history at five foot nine (taller than Johnny, he seemed to remember) could only jaw for a living. Then he saw Johnny’s face and remembered a Lon Chaney line: Nobody laughs at a clown at midnight.
‘No offence, John.’ Magnus gave Kim a glance he hoped conveyed the right balance of respect, apology and sexual attraction. ‘But I don’t think it’s in your gift.’
‘I’m Santa-fucking-Claws, Mags. Believe me.’ Johnny held his arms wide, and the Dongolites shrank into the couch. ‘It’s all in my gift. What do you think you’re doing here? I gifted you this gig. Three nights in the biggest stadium in the country, that was my present to you.’
‘And it’s much appreciated, Johnny.’
Magnus had flung his jacket on a chair by the door when they had first entered the room (how many hours ago?). He picked it up and shoved his arms into its sleeves.
Johnny Dongo said, ‘It doesn’t fucking look like it. First you feel up my fiancée and then you refuse to fuck her. What’s that all about?’
‘You’re a wanker, Johnny.’ Kim went into the adjoining bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
‘See what you’ve done,’ Johnny said. ‘You’ve upset her now.’
The curtains had been closed when they came into the room, but a thin sliver of grey dawn had reached through a chink in the heavy fabric and was stretching across the floor. Magnus took his phone from his pocket. The battery was dead.
‘What time is it, John?’
Johnny leaned back into the couch, draping an arm around each of the Dongolites.
‘Time you fucked off.’
The rumours were true then, Johnny Dongo liked boys.
‘Don’t worry, I’m gone.’ Magnus held up a hand in goodbye and opened the hotel-room door, but instead of walking into the corridor he was confronted by the ensuite.
‘I’m not jesting,’ Johnny said, as the door swung shut.
Magnus emptied his bladder, zipped up and then splashed some water on his face, grimacing at his reflection in the mirror. He had what his mother called a ‘baby face’. Some girls found the combination of shaggy black hair, wide eyes and gap teeth cute, but Magnus guessed they were not features that would age well. He drew his hands down his face, watching his eyes droop, feeling the scrub of bristle on his chin.
‘You look like a discount rent boy,’ he muttered.
The bathroom had a glass ceiling. He sat on the edge of the whirlpool bath and looked up at the view of lightening sky occasionally interrupted by a flash of high-flying gulls. Why did the birds gravitate to cities when there were wide-open seas out there? It was a question he might as well ask himself. Magnus wondered if the trains were running yet. Fuck only knew how much a cab home would cost. The thought of trains made the rum and beer in his belly threaten to slosh to the surface and he realised he would pay anything not to enter the station again.
The sound of banging startled him and he fell backward into the bath, knocking his cheek against the oversized tap jutting out from the wall. The porcelain was cold and hard, but the tub had been designed for couples to bathe comfortably together, toe to toe, or chest to spine if they were especially good friends, and it was wide enough for Magnus to bend his knees and roll on to his side. He closed his eyes. The sound of banging grew louder and he opened them again. Getting out of the bath was not easy and Magnus fell twice, but eventually he managed it and unlocked the bathroom door. Johnny Dongo was on the other side, his face beaded with sweat, his shirt unfastened to reveal a view of bony, white sternum.
A wave of fellow feeling washed through Magnus. They were all human and alive in the dawn of a fresh day. Who cared what Johnny got up to with his Dongolites, as long as everyone loved each other?
‘You’re a good man, John.’ He clasped Johnny’s elbow. ‘A good man. You want a bit of advice?’
‘No, I want you to piss off,’ Johnny said, pulling his arm free.
But Magnus had seen death that day and needed to share how important it was to live, while you still could.
‘No one gives a fuck that you’re a poof, especially not me.’ He put a hand on Johnny’s elbow and squeezed. ‘You go for it, man, fuck all the boys you want while you’re still young enough to get a lumber.’
Johnny Dongo pulled Magnus close. Magnus opened his arms, ready to receive Johnny’s embrace. He had liberated him. Sex was sex and nothing more, whoever you had it with.