Steampunk Millionaire.
© Dave Gumble, August 2014
Navigating through the heavens in his imperial sail-ship, the dapper captain with dark sideburns and firm jaw set his steely gaze on the horizon. Below the soot-soaked clouds of the industrious cityscape sailed past. He grinned and bared his teeth to the setting sun. The rescue had begun to save the princess from the demon’s clutches. Vengeance would be his at last!
~
Jon drifted back from his reverie. Since the sudden death of his wife and family, and his subsequent windfall on the lottery, he was a man without responsibilities and infinite opportunity. Many millions of pounds had become his overnight after drunkenly buying a single ticket in a fit of whimsy and regret.
Everything had been hard. Now everything was easy. In the past six months, all of his family and friends had worked with his solicitor and had let Jon take over their mortgages and pay them off, one by one. The shackles holding everyone he knew was slipping away. Even his neighbours had joined in, establishing a fund they would continue to contribute a fraction of their previous payments into in return for Jon buying off their mortgages too. This in turn would yield a pot of money which would grow and regularly allow others to be randomly chosen and freed from the slavery of the banks. Socialist to the core, Jon had created a small group that was liberating people from the burgeoning debt one small good deed at a time. He setup a homeless charity fund and bought up and converted disused offices and accommodation to house homeless shelters and rehabilitation rooms. Jon no longer worked but enjoyed using his management skills for something greater for his community.
Jon did not see any sense in enslaving himself to previous addictions of his previous life. He had no desire for television, computer games, fast cars, expensive golf-clubs or villas in hot-countries. He had instead spent the money doing up his modest new house – having legally given his old house away to a homeless family. Jon enjoyed small things like old books and the odd fine whiskey. But inside he wanted to find something else, something new.
His wife and children were dead. Not being one to entertain any supernatural thoughts, Jon realised that they would never see each other again. For years they had struggled and sacrificed so much and it felt like that they had still achieved nothing together. Now Jon had the means to settle all issues for his loved ones weeks after their death. This frustrated him more than anything and knew no amount of money could ever change this. Jon needed to re-think what it meant to be himself.
Back in the beginning of this new and terrible chapter of Jon’s life, both anger and alcoholism threatened to overwhelm him. He recovered from this bout of self-defeating misery to take up boxing to help vent his frustration and aggression. He began to watch his diet too and managed to lose two stones just before that long first awkward Christmas period. Jon felt more in control now he was mindful of the sugar in his system and fat in his food. His binge-drinking gave way to savouring a single whiskey most evenings.
‘What did it all mean?’ he had often reflected. Watching the child victims and evacuees on the news websites, Jon felt comfort in his absolute atheism. Life was random and without reason: you simply had to hang on and do your very best. This apparent crumb of comfort had surprised his more spiritual friends, but they could not deny that Jon had turned away from drinking and his dark suicidal past to a more rational, though sometimes more impassionate, state-of-mind.
His brother was a converted Muslim cleric who had often talked to Jon long into the night on faith. Jon had at first been dismissive but recognised his brother as intelligent and rational too: it felt as if both brothers were approaching the same agreement from different ends. Jon knew that even the most logical man must have a clear mind to deliver on his dreams and goals and be an upstanding citizen, so saw religion as a means of managing the state-of-mind. But he dismissed the mythical parts of faith when measured against cold-hard reason. His brother despaired, citing that they were often discussing the same topic yet not speaking the same language! And yet both brothers recognised the happiness and peaceful states within the other so were both thankful for that. Jon hated militant atheism as much as radical religious fervour so enjoyed this liberal middle-ground.
During the first awkward Christmas period, Jon had stayed with his parents to help stave off the demons in his heart. He spent the time by living vicariously through the lives and families of others. Jon had treated family and friends to holidays, bought them cars and large televisions, game consoles, lots of toys and gadgets for the children. They had taken all of these gifts with stoicism, knowing they could never repay Jon and recognising the negative self-harm this was doing to Jon as well. Jon recognised the elation and pity in their responses and vowed to find himself a new life thereafter.
The Christmas period also saw him without his leg in plaster for the first time in months. He shattered his right knee in an embarrassing fall from his first attempt at a simple pony-trekking day-out he had opted to do on a whim late on in summer. Jon had several leg operations and found himself confined to home. During this time he became addicted once more to the internet, bored with his predicament, looking form new hobbies and quite often drifting into several dodgy crude sites to remind him of women.
So now it was spring and Jon had finally stumbled across the website where some women were wearing corsets and Victorian hats, large bustles and carrying elaborate brass guns. While initially the women satisfied his lustful thoughts, he began to read into what it was they were up to: something called ‘steampunk’ – a re-imagining of the past, all cogs and gears and steam. He could see men in tall hats on fantastic machines and women in corsets fighting demons from beyond. All apparently silly but at the same time attractive to the man who wanted to re-invent himself.
Jon could have easily stumbled across cults where cheeky Japanese schoolgirls would command giant walking robots, or people dressed as furry animals, or stalwart cults of Star Trek, Doctor Who, Star Wars, Harry Potter, The Hunger Games, Twilight, Middle Earth, World War Two, Civil War Re-enactors, Phantom of the Opera wannabes, NCIS fanboys, A-Team aficionados, Dragonball-Z, Transformers, Christmas-Everyday-celebrators, Wiccans, Pagans, Satanists, Christians, librarians, QPR-fans, model-makers, trainspotters, nervous kids with big ideas, cosplay girls with wrong-shaped bodies, outsiders trying to get in and right-wing conservatives trying to get Out.
Google just happened to select his fetish for him, based upon his links to sites of women in tight-underwear and his boyhood interest in steam-trains. Google had been his spiritual guide. Jon realised this deceit long afterwards, but acknowledged his own desires to read significance into this particular Tarot-reading as his own fault: he was a mid-forties man looking for a new life and perhaps one that would get him laid every-so-often.
His parents were a little upset on what Jon did next. Jon held families, teams and groups together. Jon’s previous jobs had been in volunteer work, and managing budgets and teams of people very effectively. Jon believed in family but now felt suffocated by his own. They realised that Jon needed some space, but even so there were limits. Jon had booked a six month visa to visit North America, temporarily emigrating from his native England.
~
Jon did not have a full itinery for his six-month tour of the Americas, but had taken the initial step by booking a luxurious hotel at his first city, San Diego. Here he was to attend a three-day steampunk event. Knowing his lack of credentials, Jon over-compensated by shopping in London for some tailor-made bespoke suits fitting the Victorian era. They worked with him and figured out accessories and the like, down to his underwear. This was no simple dressing-up, but instead they were enabling Jon to fulfil a role. Jon now enjoyed wearing his hat when he was out. He now had a variety of long-coats and jacketed-suits. As for his own style, all attempts at facial hair did not suit him, so instead he had grown his sideburns long. He had also adopted a genuine Victorian cane to replace his walking stick he had carried since his horse-riding accident.
Jon set off on his great adventure. He travelled in-character, fully suited. Jon had also decided to take an expensive liner and travel slowly in first-class rather than a flight to give him some space. Pacing about the liner, his beloved new pocket-watch in hand, clad in Victoriana, he spent the week-long trans-Atlantic cruise working on his accent, aiming for Hugh Grant but settling nearer Clive Owen. Without phones or laptops, he wrote postcards and spent the evenings in bars and watching the horizons and chatting with normal people. Jon proved popular and was renowned for his generosity.
Jon felt himself become a role, one that would be enhanced by his destination. Being English in America would already give him a tremendous head-start as an eccentric Victorian man of wealth. Customs did not give him a second look as he was so stereotypically English. Even the plastic toy steampunk pistol in his luggage went through without incident, Jon’s eccentric charm winning over the staff. Jon felt himself continue to become a full caricature; one that was clipped, courteous and always generous with a tip for those that helped him. Insisting on a first-class connecting cross-country train-ride, Jon travelled deeper into this foreign land, slipping more and more into an alternative past time.
Once at his destination, with some days to spare, Jon embraced the suburban areas of San Diego. As if surrounded by a shield of invincibility, Jon would walk down the long streets when the norm was a long drive or taxi-ride. His long coat protecting him from the fresh spring weather, Jon would pop into humble corner shops and marvel at their alien confectionary and deep accents. He used his hotel phone to organise his day and travel, but once outside carried only his cane, cash and a wide-eyed expression of a gullible tourist.
Two whole days he wandered the city streets before the convention would start. In a secreted purse he had ten-dollar bills which he gave to all homeless people he saw and would insist shop-keepers and waitresses kept their change. He would catch a taxi-cab back to his lavish central hotel of an evening and there he would relax with fine brandy and listen to a wide selection of music: classical opera, bizarre steampunk ballads, DJ sets, several songs from acts which would be appearing at the convention. His right-knee ached from the long walks but his heart was alive once more.
~
The convention began and Jon was one of the first to arrive. The mundane halls and stalls greeted his enthusiastic mind. Jon knew nothing of this world but looked the part. Scouring the stalls he saw people dressed in bizarre outfits, selling accessories, dresses, plastic guns, card-games, music, boardgames, hats, corsets and all sorts of paraphernalia.
Then the fans started to arrive in droves and Jon realised he looked normal, lost even among these weirdoes, nutters, oddballs, freaks – everyone lovely and adorable. Jon realised that they were all utterly insane of course.
The first day, Jon found himself marvelling at odd-clothed and odd-shaped people - mostly young men of course – weaving throughout the event. Beyond the stalls, people were enacting small plays, playing role-playing games, trading cards, giving talks on how to create your own wardrobe – and of course various shiny robot bands to space vagabond singers gave rousing songs to many hysterical fans – mainly women of course. Cheerful mums and young children were found clustered about as well and all the while the event was friendly and full of energy. A fragmentation of groups had collected into these halls, gangs of young and veteran mingled and succumbed to the great nostalgia of an age that never truly existed.
Jon felt the fervour beginning to take hold of him too, especially on seeing some delectable damsels flouncing around in outfits that boggled his brain. Fearing decent into some sort of crude voyeurism, Jon retired to a bar and ordered a stiff drink. He needed to calm down a bit and not get too carried away with this wonderful new world. He found the bar to be a comfortable and familiar environment and stayed close to it for the remainder of the day.
~
As evening fell, Jon found himself relaxed again but alone in the main event bar. He was enjoying watching the painfully young things play around him. Sitting alone at a small table, he sipped his drink and surveyed the groups. He had been to several bands, some loud, some silly and some so outlandish that even the hardcore fans were in very short supply. But still, Jon soaked it in, trying to force himself to fit into this weird new world.
Watching the young about him, he spied a group of five nearby - three girls and two boys - chatting away. He realised that this was two couples and one slightly awkward young girl. She wore the obligatory corset and had a hefty cleavage and backside to match. Her abundant long curly flame red hair and powder-white freckled skin intrigued Jon. The poor thing seemed to have come along with the herd, but the herd seemed to want to split off into two loving-yet-demented couples. Her voice was quiet and while not shy, she certainly looked uncomfortable.
Waving goodbye to her coupled friends she stood alone at the bar. Jon grinned at her situation. She seemed young in attitude, but those lines at the corners of her eyes put her safely above anything possibly immoral and illegal (well, illegal at any rate). Of course a woman alone at a bar would soon draw attention, and sure enough a cocky young thing sidled up and bought her a drink. Jon grinned and remembered his own youth, chancing his arm in bars with cheeky young women. He felt suddenly alone, stupid and sad. Why was he here? Was this a manifestation of some sort of crisis? Had this become a manifestation of his deep lonely despair to be acted out among strangers and fools?
Jon drained his drink and approached the bar for a soft drink. He was standing behind the young man when it all happened.
~
“What’ll it be sir?” asked the bartender. A name tag identified her as Alice, disappointingly dressed in modern smart clothes.
“Please may I have some sparkling water, thanks,” asked Jon.
While Alice grabbed his order, Jon realised that next to him the newly-acquainted steampunker couple were not getting along, if anything the boy seemed antagonistic.
“Come on, do you know who I am? Stick with me and I can get you backstage with the bands!” he claimed, weaving a little. Jon turned and rested his elbow on the bar to watch this disaster up-close and without shame.
“Oh please, just go. I really am not interested, thanks,” she sighed, anger in her eyes, fixed upon this apparent idiot.
The boy spat out something crude that Jon missed, prompting the woman to hurl her remaining drink at the boy. The boy dodged and Jon found himself dripping wet, smelling of rum and coke. A slice of lemon sat cheekily on his lapel. The boy barked a laugh and disappeared. The girl’s face paled in panic.
“Oh! I’m so sorry! Please, oh my!”
Jon grinned as people around gasped. Suddenly the centre of attention he took a handkerchief from his pocket and stated “You appear to have no drink. Care for a refill so you can try to hit your boyfriend again?” he grinned.
“Ha!” she grinned, “Why that’s very generous sir, and please, that was no boyfriend!”
“Well, that’s information worth noting. Excuse me please, another drink for this extraordinary woman as well, thankyou,” he added to a grinning bartender.
Bartender Alice knew the woman’s drink by now. Jon insisted the bartender keep the change from the hundred dollar bill while he removed the slice of lemon from his wet jacket before dabbing his face dry.
“Jon, pleased to meet you. Miss…?”
“Heather. Ha! So lovely to meet you too! Nice accent!” she drawled with a lovely deep rasp that sent shivers up and down Jon’s spine.
“Why thankyou. I’ve been working on it for years. But your voice is divine. You sound like a singer or an actress.” The comment was perhaps over-the-top, but Jon felt happy to be part of a conversation after so long.
“Ha!” snorted Heather again, slightly less divinely. “Oh sir, you are a wag! I haven’t sang, sung, since I was a little girl!”
“Again, thankyou,” he grinned. Jon was enjoying this.
They both gulped at their drink to calm down, to help fight the adrenaline both obviously felt.
Looking at each other flushed with excitement, both realised they had no idea what to do next. Heather looked Jon up and down then seemed to recompose herself, eyes narrowing she said “Been a while for you too huh?”
“Ha!” snorted Jon, “Why yes, something like that. Exactly like that in fact.”
“I know that feeling. This is an odd place and you have to watch out for the perverts and the liars, but this place is great.”
“Well, I am a foreigner here – so perhaps you could offer a stranger like me some pointers of where to go, perhaps?”
“Foreign? As in, ‘the accent is real?’, or, ‘you’ve never done cons before?’”
“Both, I’m afraid,” grinned Jon.
Heather returned the grin. “Aw. My lonely little Brit, lost in a sea of Yanks, eh?”
“And robots and vagabonds too it would seem.” Jon beamed.
Heather drained her drink and eyed Jon. “Well I fancy another. Do you intend to join me or just get me drunk, have your wicked ways and not tell your wife?”
Jon returned Heather’s malicious glare. “Well I tend not to drink too much nowadays, but for you I’ll go one more. Ok - ”
“Two rum and cokes please Alice. And your wedding ring, is that real too?” persisted Heather.
“Ha! Why yes it is. Sentimental of me I guess,” Jon momentarily drifted into thought.
Alice the bartender returned the drinks as Heather and Jon smiled at each other. Jon winced at the choice of his drink, more for the sugary content than the taste, but was a good sport about it. Heather was no shrinking violet. What had made her so aggressive? ‘Surrounded by men in a boy’s world staring at her tits all day rather than listening to her’ would probably be it, thought Jon. And here he was, an apparently married man, hitting on her.
So Jon clashed his glass drink against Heather with a curt “Cheers, my darling dear!”
“Nicely sexist, thanks!” responded Heather as Jon downed his drink, slamming the glass on the bar. Jon fixed Alice with a determined look.
“Two whiskeys please, neat. Thanks Alice. Have one for yourself too,” continued Jon. Without turning to Heather he continued, “Say Alice, my wife and two daughters were killed in a car crash last year. Trapped between a lorry and a shop corner, the lorry caught fire and they died in a very horrific painful way. I don’t drink too much because afterwards I felt terrible about how I’d left things with my wife. We were in a rough spell, but even so it was an awful way to end things. I don’t believe in anything supernatural or whimsical, however out of respect I continue to wear the ring.”
Jon turned to Heather, and Alice returned the drinks and retreated to give them some space “Drink up luv.” Jon grinned again.
Heather drained her drink and slammed the glass on the bar. “My dad died when I was twelve, leaving my mom broke and raising me alone. She resented me so much and we always argued. On top of this, she was recovering from bowel cancer so we really had no money. I was barely able to do anything in school and my grades were falling apart. This caused me to get depressed and get fat eating too much. That led to a vicious cycle of self-loathing and some self-harm. So try harder you whining British bitch,” grinned Heather.
“Fair enough, we’re both veterans with stories,” responded Jon, handing the hovering Alice another hundred dollar bill and raising the shot of whiskey. “Salut!” Heather raised her glass too and drained her shot. Jon sipped his.
Alice stood over her till and grinned privately– her own tragic backstory was in not owning a bigger bar, but one day that would change.
“Why are you here doing this?” asked Jon when Heather slammed her empty glass down.
“Why are you? I mean you obviously have thrown yourself into the role, long coat –“
“- still wet, thanks for asking -”
“- yes, sorry, and the cane and the whole limp thing going on, what are you a Bond villain too?”
Jon smirked at her, much to Heather’s joy. “Ha! No I go this from a horse injury.”
Heather laughed. “You are so English. I mean seriously? Do you own a castle or something?”
Jon grinned. “Ah well, not exactly. Fell of a horse. After, well after losing my wife I wanted to try new things, you know? Well, I thought to join a pony-trek, learn to ride a horse. Fell off within the first hour, shattered my right knee. It was terribly embarrassing - the lesson had children in it too!”
“Ha! Some knight in shining armour you are!”
“I know, but turns out was a life-saver. As they opened up my knee to rebuild it, they found some clot or blockage or something in the thigh. Two more operations later and my leg was sorted. That thing could have killed me one day! So worth it after all - though I doubt I’ll dance much anymore!”
“Wow. That was lucky. Still when I was 14, my periods got real bad I started to faint. On top of everything else this was the last thing we needed. Anyway, due to my mom’s history I got checked out and they found big lumps in my womb – probably the start of ovarian cancer so they ripped all of that out of me. Totally ruined my hormones and I grew even bigger all over – though the boys did like my boobs afterwards. Still, it was damned expensive. So, soon as I could, I had to work. Least you got your surgery for free! Damn your NHS.”
Jon considered Heather. “Well, we’ll have to compare surgery scars sometime.”
Heather wailed in laughter and Jon realised she was getting a bit too drunk. Jon continued, “Ok Miss Heather, please let’s go for a walk, shall we? I still need a guide to this metropolis.” Heather clumsily struck out her elbow and Jon linked up with her and escorted her from the bar, leaving Alice with Jon’s change and a half-drunk shot of whiskey.
Jon and Heather found a small venue where a stage was set and a troupe was earnestly performing an opera with Victorian overtones; rebellion, mannequins, supernatural goings-on and a lot of stuff Jon missed. Heather knew all the words and Jon found himself entranced by the power of the songs. Heather snuggled up to him, almost slumped against him. Jon realised it had been a long day and outside the stars shone on a chilly night.
After the steampunk opera, Jon asked “Are you hungry?”
“Kinda sleepy, really,” yawned Heather. “Look, I promised to meet up with my friends, you know?”
Jon shrugged. Heather owed him nothing, though he longed to spend more time with her. “Hey, no problem,” he lied.
“No, it’s just – aw look Jon I’ve just had a really long day is all.” Heather genuinely looked sad.
“That’s ok. Maybe we could meet up another day?”
“Maybe.”
Jon turned to Heather. “Ok, what’s up Heather?”
“Well, you seem nice, but it’s not like this is going anywhere is it?”
“I see. Look, I’m just here to understand this convention a bit more. Thanks for helping me, and really enjoyed talking with you. I don’t know anyone else to be honest, so sorry if I am a bit too keen to be your friend. Sorry, I don’t want to be some creepy convention guy, I really am just, well a bit lonely I guess.” Jon shrugged. “It’s been a great night, thankyou.”
Heather looked up at Jon. In her eyes calculations were being made and Jon was surprised when Heather kissed him sweetly.
“You are sweet Jon. Maybe I will see you tomorrow.” And with that, Heather got up and fled in panic. Her heart pounding and her mind swimming. She would need to chat to her friends on this one!
Jon watched her go and smiled. Then he found himself a late-night restaurant and ordered himself a large steak and a small stiff drink. He thought of Heather and while he was sad she had gone, he was happy to have just have had a conversation with another person about personal things.
~
It was 2am, and Jon had found himself playing cards with a robot, a space-soldier and a goth with brass-goggles pinning back his long black hair. Alice the bartender had clocked off long ago but had ensured – covertly - that they were well-stocked before leaving. Jon also noted when Alice had left, the boy Jon had seen earlier pestering Heather appeared from the shadows and followed her out of the door. The goth noted Jon’s curiosity and he explained that the boy was called Cal and that he usually chased girls and usually failed. Satisfied, Jon joined the freaks in playing poker, happy to lose his money to these geeks. They reeked of men who enjoyed their hobby and who would run panicked from girls. Jon still reeked of rum and coke and thought of Heather. Afterwards, Jon ordered a taxi and returned to his luxurious hotel, tired and alone but revitalised at the thought that tomorrow he would do something about his fixation on Heather.
~
Day two of the convention and Jon had returned early, washed and changed and revitalised. Songs form the opera still stuck in his head and he had been up at 5am to download it online and put it on a new phone. With epic four-act ballads raging through his discreet but expensive earphones, Jon wandered the halls, revisiting bars and restaurants, catching up with his poker-playing buddies from last night and ambling around with his long-coat and cane. Jon wanted to immerse himself in this world again, even allowing himself to be part of a small improvisational event whereby audience members were invited to a soiree and Jon had to act out the role of a wealthy industrial figure. Being English of course meant he also had to be a villain – and the cane really sold the bit. Jon was a hit, drawing on the spirit of Terry-Thomas for inspiration and being the toast of small nerds, their outfits were impressive and the girls here were equally delicious. But none of their slim figures could fill Heather’s shoes. It was mid-morning already, but despite his subtle enquiries with Alice and the staff, she could not be found.
He was a good 10-20 years older than the majority of his new clan, and yet began to acquire a small following. Buoyed by this, he organised with some of the staff, including Alice, to arrange food and treats for everyone at the event. For a few thousand dollars, he’d managed to hire out an adjacent room for a free attraction. By lunchtime, he had hired a small waiting staff and a security guard. He had free food installed and then had an events team transport in four pop-up boxing rings with punch bags that very afternoon. Jon had even persuaded a couple of veteran local boxing coaches, some fitness trainers and a first-aider to attend. He then outfitted them all in steampunk costumes from one of the trade-stands so that they could get in character. He continued with his phone in-hand and the event organiser at his side to help grab a local lawyer to draft some forms so that people could experience boxing and the organisers would be covered. By early evening, Jon had the bar-staff stock-up flyers he had run off on the reception printer for a free-boxing event - open to all. People turned up to be strapped into a lot of protective clothing, allowed to learn some boxing basics and have a friendly bout against friends - or at least learn some punch-bag basics to help them feel all tough and manly. Alcohol was strictly forbidden in the boxing area for personal safety.
Jon had a banner printed off on a stream of bright yellow paper 14ft long and 2ft high proclaiming that ‘Heather’s Boxing Emporium’ was open to all. People turned up thanks to the event organiser advertising this new development over the convention speakers. Jon helped kick things off with a clumsy bout with one of the trainers. Stripped to his white vest and ridiculously long black shorts, Jon relished the part.
While not muscular, he was well-built and had strong arms. His training had given him a decent figure for this sport, though his trainer humiliated him in front of the crowd. Jon did not care - he was already established as the crooked limping villain anyway so everyone cheered. The boxing managers were impressed and Jon was happy for them to give out lessons to the good sports who had boxed well: as Jon repeatedly announced “One lesson at a legitimate boxing gym for the winner, three lessons for the loser! Roll up! Roll up!”
On the nearby tables, people grouped as spectators to the event. A group of cos-playing girls and chirpy steampunk boys had earlier volunteered to walk around with collection buckets. Everything was provided for free, but donations to cancer charities were encouraged. It became nicely busy. Community volunteers joined in to print-out certificates and give out freebies and the buzz was great. An additional security guard was drafted to look after the charity buckets, all feeding into a small cash-safe. Jon had already put a lot of small-change into this cash-safe to help get things going. Jon realised that this had taken almost all of his second day of convention time to do this, but when compared to his ongoing work at home, preparing homeless shelters and organising charities for disadvantaged, this was a fun and rewarding busman’s holiday.
Realising that Heather had not appeared, Jon also dropped some further bribes with the organisers to reiterate the name of the boxing room, but sadly the day was ending and the bands and comedy shows were taking the public away. So Jon closed up his sideshow and the security guards tallied almost two thousand dollars in donations. Jon thanked and congratulated everyone involved. He then bought all his helpers a huge meal and drinks, making the boxing coaches his guests of honour. As it was getting late, he wondered what to do with the room, but groups of punks were happy to sit at the tables and drink, play cards, role-play scenes or various other eccentric things. So he helped the security guards stow the gear in the store-room at the back and left the gangs who had taken over the hall alone to have fun and relax.
Jon was exhausted but elated. He would be saddened that tomorrow would be the final day. People were dancing next door to bizarre cult indie bands, but tomorrow would be the big ball.
~
So refreshed and revitalised, Jon began the last day of his old life. The boxing event had been a cult success and Jon had enjoyed giving an actual Victorian pastime a new lease of life. But today, he wanted to return to the convention itself and would look to track down the elusive Heather. Alice and the other bar-staff were already aware of who Heather was and between them began scouring the convention. The banner still hung in Heather’s memory in the now-deserted side-hall.
Jon wandered forlorn, eyes on him as he wandered the stalls and side-rooms. As lunchtime approached, Jon was grabbed by a couple. He remembered as being part of the group Heather had been in.
“Jon is it?” asked the slim woman of the couple.
“Er, yes?” responded Jon.
“Are you still looking for Heather?” she grilled.
“Why of course! Do you know where she is?”
The couple exchanged glances. Then the thin girl responded at last “Ok, well Heather has – she was not well yesterday and she left early.”
Jon was upset. “Oh, well I hope Heather is ok and gets well. And I hope I did not offend her.”
“Jon, Heather talked about you for an hour! She was so upset and confused that she felt she had to leave.”
Jon grinned despite the revelation. “So that tough little Heather got scared and left? Ok, thanks for the update.”
He did not believe it for a second but the couple were still impassive. “Ok, is there more?” continued Jon warily.
“Look, Heather has had problems and we really want her to – you know- make friends, get better. Jon you really made her happy, but she’s, well a bit messed up.”
Jon took a deep breath. “Ok, look, let’s start again. Hello, I am Jon.”
“I’m Hilary and this is Dexter. We regularly come here and this year we brought Heather too. She loves the music so much but has had a terrible year, what with her mom passing away. We keep trying to keep her happy but – “
Dexter butted in “Heather’s nuts. She tried to kill herself over Christmas.”
“Dex! Jesus! Look Jon, we popped back that night and saw you two watching the opera – Heather was truly happy.”
Jon blinked as he processed the information. “I see.” He said at last. “Ok, so let’s find her together then shall we?”
“But how? She’s left the convention yesterday! Checked out! And she’s not answering her calls”
“I see. Where did you all live? Is it nearby”
“We all live nearby, about half-an hour away. But we’ve been checking and Heather is not home either.”
“Ok, then are you worried she will harm herself? Should we call in the police?”
“I – I don’t know,” said Hilary and she seemed to crumble.
Jon fixed Dexter with a look. “Dexter, contact the authorities immediately. Explain Heather’s state. Hilary, circulate a recent photo, explain what she is likely to be wearing. The pair of you, give me your numbers now!”
They exchanged numbers. Then he swiftly left them and contacted Alice and the staff to explain what was happening. Alice looked crushed but vowed to help in any way she could and began to pass the word along the bar. Meanwhile, the event organiser helped Jon by contacting other nearby bars, hotels and public places. Jon had his number too.
As Jon strode out into the sunlight with a vague plan to trawl the streets with a rented limo, he saw the dishevelled boy who fought Heather on the first night of the convention. Jon remembered him as being called Cal and he seemed to want to speak with Jon. Apparently, according to Cal, the bar-staff had explained the situation to him and he had come to confess that before Jon had arrived that first night, Heather had confessed that she would have ‘rather been at the Disney cinema-event nearby, if truth be told’. Jon looked hard at him: Cal looked wracked with guilt so Jon was forgiving and thanked him. Jon then called the organiser and Hilary to update them. They regrouped in the convention foyer. Thankfully, the police had yet to be notified, so they postponed alerting them – though the organiser did let Alice know. Jon immediately arranged for a chauffeur-driven limousine to whisk them from the convention to the Disney-event nearby.
Hilary, Dexter and Jon chatted nervously in the back of the spacious ride as they sped through San Diego’s busy streets to the damsel in despair.
~
“Hi,” said Heather when they burst into the cinema where she was watching the end of an old Disney cartoon. She had been crying.
“Thank God!” cried Hilary. “You’re ok!”
“Erm, yes thanks. Oh wow, hi Jon!” sniffed Heather, utterly confused.
“Hi Heather. Your friends have been worried about you. So have I to be honest.”
“Oh really? Look sorry I left. I just felt stupid after that first night is all.”
Jon looked around at the families and fans glaring at them, “Look, let’s finish this conversation outside?”
“Sure.”
So they all filed out and missed the end of the movie, where the little girl wins the heart of the violent alien beast.
~
Heather was in her mid-twenties. Heather now worked in a store selling motorcycles and spares. Heather looked formidable in leathers. Heather wanted to be cuddled and taken care of by a big strong wealthy man. Heather wanted to pick fights with bigger and bigger targets until she found the big one that would take her down. Heather never tried to kill herself over Christmas, despite what her well-meaning friends believed. Heather wanted everyone to fuck-off and help her at the same time.
Heather was stuck.
Hilary and Dexter, Tanesha and Doyle, Heather. That was the circle of friends. The imperfect circle. They wanted Heather to level-up and join their plateau of happiness. Tanesha and Doyle had their own flat. Hilary and Dexter still rented. Heather lodged with a Jewish shop-keeper who was no longer in contact with his own family over some past argument. Heather hated being the victim. She longed to own a motorbike and ride across America, fighting crime, having adventures or something.
Heather had never gone to college or had decent grades. Alone in a world like this, she had limited options and was thankful that – at the very least - her teenage cancer operations, her father’s death, her mother’s scorn, their medical bills and terrible poverty at times had focussed Heather into preparing for work and keeping an eye on her money. She had several failed attempts at romance but most of her men turned out to be boys in the end. They offered her no way out of her situation, and as soon as she realised this is what she was looking for, Heather stopped looking for men and started to look for a way to do this herself.
Heather had secretly loved Disney films, especially the ones with the princesses in. Feisty princesses, warrior princesses, princesses who used their brains and strong females: they were the ones people would have supposed she admired. But for Heather, she preferred the old-fashioned princesses. Those princesses had a prince turn-up and fix everything. These princesses just lay on their backs until they were saved. Princesses who could rest and let the others figure things out. Nobody would ever equate Heather to a dainty princess. Everyone bought her crappy things like meals out, trips to warm places, park-visits, kickboxing lessons, steampunk costumes, brass-knuckles, whips, chains, whipped-cream, leather straps, uncomfortable underwear and so on. Heather just wanted flowers and kisses. Heather had dated some very odd men in her past – or so she thought. Turns out they all seemed to share a similar level of depravity and shallowness.
Heather’s mother had died early last year. The cancer had returned months before and really ended her this time. If Heather and her mom had more money, they perhaps could have tackled the illness and beaten it again. But no: a family history of cancer, of operations, of violent death of her father in a drunken fight over a handful of dollars. Every dark comment, every sneering look, every calorie piled on in self-pitying self-loathing. Self-destruction was on Heather’s trajectory. Racing toward it at accelerated speed, Heather was beginning to enjoy the ride now in lapsed adolescent glee.
Heather was not fat just born two centuries too late to be appreciated for her curves. Still it kept her safe from the weirdoes, most of whom were just content to stare at her tits and leer openly. Just over two years ago, her best friend Mia had just disappeared. Mia had been gorgeously slim, long legs, nice bust, good skin, long dark hair and a filthy mind - men followed her in gangs. One then made Mia disappear, never to be found leaving a police file never to be closed.
Heather had stopped looking for boys this past two years. She had decided to be stronger than that. What had happened this last Christmas had almost landed her in hospital and prison, but Heather argued it was not an act of attempted suicide, but instead an act of self-preservation.
Alone and without family or friends, Heather decided to just spend Christmas at some bar. Heather enjoyed a drink and waiting for men to approach her so she could challenge them if they flirted with her. She felt the rush whenever she challenged people. Challenged authority, challenged online trolls, challenged police-officers, challenged church-elders, challenged good-looking women and bad-mannered men alike. Heather was fearless. Physically, she had become strong by taking up kickboxing. Mentally, she knew she was very vulnerable but could never let others know this. She suspected they knew anyway, but why give them the satisfaction? Life had been hard and her debts seemed insurmountable. Often she wondered what the point was. Heather had a very shaky grasp of faith and belief. Raised as a Christian, Heather did believe God was there but not sure if He had a plan for Her. So Heather pushed and pushed and pushed, trying to get some inkling that there was a purpose.
Heather had been found unconscious, cuts over her forearms and face from glass all around her. She reeked of alcohol and blood was pooled around her prone body. Apparently, according to police reports, she had gone ‘batshit crazy’ as one of the locals had said.
From the reports it appears that Heather had been the focus of a sleazy guy’s affection for the past two hours. The conversation was sleazy as was the guy’s drugged-up girlfriend at the back of the bar: a beautiful cliché for Heather’s attempted swansong. Turns out however, he had been the white-knight after all. He was the one who convinced the guy who put Heather through a glass screen to clear out. And this giant of a guy was Heather’s ‘Big Dog’. She craved the ‘Big Dog’, fixated on such a thing. Heather daydreamed about it. She picked fights and it was so common for the other guy to run and hide. So she aimed for bigger targets, getting herself into small arguments and the occasional slap from upset girlfriends. But this night her ‘Big Dog’ had come, at last. The ‘Big Dog’ was the unwinnable fight - the one you don’t survive. Heather was so convinced that looking back, she was almost upset He had not turned out to be The One.
The guy was all muscle and had a brain. He had tried to peel the sleazy guy off of her when suddenly Heather got the insidious idea into her head that she had to save herself. If this big guy had rescued her then this would be the end of her freedom, surely? Subconsciously Heather thrived on her desperate situation. Without her sad-backstory, who could she possibly be? So as her Prince stormed into save her, Heather downed her drink and turned on him, with full venom. Calling him every name imaginable, she began to punch and kick at him. Turns out her subconscious was a good judge of character as he flipped when she cut his cheek with a cheesy skull-ring on her wedding finger. He screamed at her and roared, picking her up and hurling her through a glass panel. The throw winded her and the glass caused several superficial cuts. It was when he came up and punched her firmly in the face that she passed out. Black-eyed and bandaged on Christmas Day, her friends had insisted on coming around to see her, Christian good-natures brimming with self-congratulating good-cheer.
~
Wounded and alone, Heather had spent New Year’s Eve, counting down the seconds to midnight in a freezing graveyard, sat on a picnic blanket with a bottle of her dad’s favourite whiskey watching other people’s fireworks on the horizon. It was so peaceful. Heather was looking to get drunk and curse the whole damned world. Instead she had found a place of absolute peace. The bottle remained unopened. Her appetite had faded after two terrifying things had happened in that graveyard. The first was her encounter with the faeries. Part of the graveyard was full of tiny plots clustered together. Children’s windmills, toys and trinkets were placed reverentially around them. Illuminating these small graves were solar-powered garden lights, all colours, some fading and changing in the silent darkness. Heather stared at the lights as they blended and changed subtly in the graveyard gloom. Heather thought of giggling faeries dancing in one long eternal childish party. The world of small children, with small lights burning, in a world of endless cold night. Then Heather looked up at the stars. Like that, her own constructions and beliefs in her God had disappeared – just gone.
Heather sat quietly in the darkness, not fighting or cursing or looking for proof of her worth. Heather did not want to be saved. Heather just looked up. The night sky was clear and endless. All sign of humanity was gone - until of course the idiots started letting of fireworks to celebrate another year of whatever it was they thought worthwhile. Heather felt at peace. Not sad, not alone, just content in know that there were faeries and no God to tell them what to do or how to live. So Heather did not get drunk and vowed not to drink again.
When Tanesha announced weeks later that she was pregnant and that she was also planning on marrying Doyle in summer, Heather went home and got drunk and began cursing again.
~
Hilary had been the centre of this group for many years now, founding and co-ordinating them since the time all four girls met and worked together in a bar several summers ago. Mia had been the pretty one, Tanesha the smartass one, Heather the strong one and Hilary considered herself the sensible one. Hilary and Tanesha had nabbed a couple of locals, Dexter and Doyle, and had been happy ever after. Dexter had introduced them all to this weird cult of steampunk, but Hilary quite enjoyed all the dressing-up and sci-fi silliness. Tanesha thought it would be nice to bring Heather in on the act as well as currently Heather seemed upset. By this time, Mia was becoming unreliable - until one day she just disappeared, apparently forever.
Now, with Tanesha being pregnant, Hilary knew this little group was disintegrating fast. Dexter and Doyle were still very close but soon Hilary knew it would be just Hilary and Dexter, maybe seeing Tanesha and Doyle for playdates with their respective children in the not-too-distant future.
Where had her life suddenly gone? Still, at least Hilary had a future and feared Mia was presumed dead and soon perhaps Heather would be too – so Hilary vowed to make sure Heather found her prince and finally live happily ever after! One last hurrah before Hilary finally settled down. Her one last attempt to make everyone happy. Her one last opportunity to prove herself over Tanesha. Hell yes, Hilary was going to do this!
~
“Shall we get back to the convention Heather?” asked Hilary, firmly as soon as they got out of the cinema.
“Sure, let’s get this fat ol’ bird back to the bar!” grinned Heather. Hilary laughed nervously. Dexter and Jon exchanged glances. Jon recognised resignation in Dexter’s eyes – this must happen a lot with Heather.
“Great idea Heather. I could murder a drink too,” said Jon, staring into Heather’s fierce eyes. Heather grinned mischievously.
“You’re buying?”
“Of course my dear,” agreed Jon, as straight-faced as he could manage. Heather thought this situation was very silly as well.
“Then I ‘m all yours, English Jon!” mocked Heather before barking a foul laugh like a real princess would never do.
Hilary led them to the car and in they got. The car would take a full ten minutes to reach the convention again. Ten long minutes that Hilary initially tried to fill with pleasant chatter that Dexter played along with. Jon and Heather listened to the couple chatting away, trying to restore the convention to what it should be: a place where Dexter was the expert in all things steampunk and Hilary was his doting fiancée, making sure everyone was having fun. More importantly making sure no-one was going to fall apart and leave the group, or worse.
Jon and Heather sat opposite in the back of the large expensive limo. Dexter and Hilary sat facing each other next to them. Very cosy and quite civilised. Hilary and Dexter paused and hoped conversation would begin between the designated lovers. Jon felt he and Heather had had enough of this and decided to shake things up a bit.
“Ever wonder why people take it upon themselves to save others?” asked Jon bluntly.
“What are you saying?” asked Heather. Hilary sensed something was awry instantly.
“We all love you Heather, isn’t that right Dexter?” chimed in Hilary, “but you do scare us sometimes! Disappearing like that. You scared me. You scared all of us – especially after Mia disappeared.”
“Mia?” asked Jon. Dexter interrupted, seeing his chance at last.
“Hilary’s friend - she disappeared a while back. No-one, not even the police knew what happened to her. Hils has been sort of protective of the girls since.”
“Wow – really?” Jon was shocked.
“Yeah, well Mia was hot. I think I’m quite safe, thanks,” grumbled Heather, trying to get all eyes back on her sorrows.
“That’s not the point Heather!” Hilary was exhausted. “Look, let’s get back and have one big last night out eh?” Heather fumed and the atmosphere was getting uncomfortable. Jon once more felt the urge to act.
“Look, Hilary and Dexter were right to be concerned, you are not always safe. Things can happen.”
“Aw come on, please – “
“- Ok look, let’s get back. I’m sorry if I did anything before to make you feel uncomfortable.”
Heather grinned at Jon. “You made me cry!” and then she laughed.
Jon smiled “Funny how emotions can grab you sometimes, eh?”
“Very funny. Though I’m not sure if I am safer in here with you or back in the cinema,” and Heather suddenly looked relieved. Hilary grabbed Dexter’s hand and squeezed. Her heart leapt inside for Heather.
“I think you are safe – your friends will always look out for you and come to save you,” Jon continued.
Heather leaned forward and fixed Jon with her gaze. “Tell me Jon, who is going to save you?” she purred.
Jon stared back. He paused to think.
“Do you think I need you to save me?” asked Jon, after his short reflection.
“Jon, we are all here to save you!” smiled Heather. “You’re such a lonely crazy Brit! Coming here, buying your way into our world like you think you can! Man, you have mid-life-crisis writ all over you!”
There was silence and Hilary was now crushing Dexter’s hand. Heather sense she may have gone too far.
“Ah,” said Jon. He leant back again into his seat and looked away from Heather, crestfallen. “You are absolutely right of course. But still, one last night, an old man’s final dance?” his eyes twinkled in hope at Heather. She rolled her eyes but grinned all the same.
“Ok, let’s go to the big dance finale!”
“Great!” screamed Hilary, “this is going to be so great!” And like that, Hilary changed the subject to the bands playing tonight and what everyone should do to prepare.
~
The limo pulled up to the convention and as they were getting out, Heather whispered to Jon, “I’m sorry I was a bit mean in there.”
Jon stopped, allowing Hilary and Dexter to carry on into the convention without them.
“Look, I think you may be right,” confessed Jon. “I may have gotten carried away with this get-up. Thing is, this is meant to be my big first step into a new life. Wish it was going smoother.”
“Don’t worry Jon, something to tell the kids right?” snarled Heather, but this remark made Jon pale and Heather stopped and slapped her hands to her mouth.
“Aw shit – I’m really sorry!”
Jon shook his head and grinned to help regain composure. “Hey. It’s really not a problem - really.” Jon paused and looked at Heather intently. Heather held her breath, then exhaled long to help let the dark words out at last.
“It’s just that I sort of say that a lot. I picked it up as a sort-of catchphrase for when bad-shit happens.”
“Yes, sounds like you have been using it a while.”
“Yes,” Heather calmed down and looked sad. Jon felt an evil grin come over his face.
“Sort of thing an infertile woman says knowing no-one can come back at her. Make them feel a bit bad eh? Remind them how lucky they are right? They can have kids, you can’t. Boo-hoo.”
Heather stuck her tongue out at him. “Guess I shouldn’t try it on a guy whose kids have died, right?”
Jon shrugged. “I guess.”
“Fair enough. I am sorry though.”
“I know.”
“And if you want to talk about it, then we’ll talk, ok?”
Jon considered this. The scarred warrior in front of him was trying to save his life. “I’d be a fool to try and stop you wouldn’t I?
Heather relaxed and approached Jon softly. “Hey Jon, you just talk when you want to. Meantime, I’ll clean up my act a bit, ok?”
“Ok Heather, it’s a deal.”
Heather then threw her arms around Jon and gave him a hug and whispered in his ear, “You’ll be ok Jon. Really.”
Jon wrapped his arms around Heather and crushed her against him. Her perfume and her body ensnaring him completely. Jon suddenly felt tired, old and weak. “Thanks,” he whispered, clinging onto Heather for his very life. They both sighed and relaxed a bit.
Heather stepped back and looked Jon in the eyes. “Come on, let’s get ready for our big dance.”
Meanwhile, on the entrance steps, Hilary punched Dexter in the arm and pointed in excitement at the pair locked in a deep hug. Dexter let himself smile. “Groovy. Let’s get this party started!”
~
It was the last afternoon of the final day. The convention was heaving with happy people. Dressed up as robots, pirates, Victorian engineers, men dressed as women, girls dressed as boys. Young children followed their cuddly mothers, wearing outlandish hats and silver face-paint.
A small tiny world, a tiny precious thing.
Jon steered Heather to the most elaborate and expensive stalls insisting on buying her a gift. Hilary and Dexter had already drifted off to get ready for the evening. Heather suddenly felt claustrophobic and trapped.
“Do you like these things?” asked Jon, suddenly concerned.
“Well, they are kinda cool…” dithered Heather. The stalls knew their audience, and they had outfits for all sizes. Jon cocked his head at Heather.
“This isn’t you is it. You would prefer Disney.”
“Sssh! Be quiet! We’ll get kicked out for saying stuff like that!” panicked Heather. Jon laughed.
“Come along now, Heather! This place is about self-expression right?”
Heather cocked her head suspiciously. Jon continued. “Want to pop out and go shopping?”
Heather grinned. She glared at him and said “Here we go. Ok I get it now. Sure, let’s go get something kinky. I just knew it!”
“Well, not quite,” continued Jon.
~
Jon nipped ahead and grabbed his waiting limo. Heather arrived as Jon was ending a secretive phone call and was giving some quiet directions to the driver.
“Ok Jon, where the hell are we going?” asked Heather as she got into the limo. She eyed the champagne in the ice bucket as a bad omen.
Jon grinned. “Just to a store, buy some nice clothes for the dance, then back again.”
“Meanwhile, you get me drunk and help me out of these clothes right?” she winced. “Ah God, I thought you’d be different!”
“Well, maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Who knows! But fuck it, I just fancied making you happy - fucksake.”
Heather did stop when Jon seemed to lapse out of his prim-character. Jon popped open the drink and filled the glasses carelessly. “Drink – or don’t. Women are better with words. Men better with, blunt actions,” continued Jon, perhaps to himself, “I can’t seem to shut you up with nice words, so blunt actions it is!”
Heather gasped at this crazy man. Was it desperation or romance? It was a free drink after a long day, so Heather took it and chimed her glass against his. “Cheers Jon!”
The chime of the glass seemed to snap Jon out of his sulk and Jon grinned, “Cheers.” They drank and Jon continued, “- and thankyou. You were absolutely right. I do need some help and you have helped me so much. Thanks.”
“I have?”
“What you said earlier. I keep getting moments of incredible self-doubt, you know? This all seems fun, then suddenly I remember all the very bad things – “
“- me too,” whispered Heather.
They sat and drank quietly. Then Heather downed her glass resolutely. “Well misery loves company I guess,” she concluded.
“Then here’s to the finest company an old misery like me could ever have!” cheered Jon, refilling the glasses. The bottle was emptied quickly and Jon and Heather snuggled, giggling and exhausted against each other.
Heather surveyed the spacious limo. “Do we have time for a quick screw Jon?”
Jon shrugged. “Christ knows, probably take me ten minutes to get undressed. Fuck, it’s been a long time.”
“Oh, you old romantic wan-ker you,” grinned Heather in a terribly attempted accent. She lay in his arms, watching the sunny buildings go past. The limo was slowing down giving them only time enough for a long boozy kiss.
The car stopped and Jon sprang out of the limo, staggering only slightly and opening the door for his lady-friend Heather. The chauffer smiled and helped Jon by doing the job properly. Heather began to giggle as she stepped out into the street. Nice area, expensive-looking shops. Not the sex-shop-dungeon-scenario she had first imagined. “Ok, officially I am intrigued, Sir Jon.”
“Good. Shop should be over here somewhere,” Jon was obviously lost. Luckily, his chauffeur came to his aid and soon they were entering a very expensive shop. Assistants arrived and guided Heather to a side-area where magnificent ball-gowns and outfits were gathered.
“Wow,” cooed Heather. Nothing had a price-tag on it.
“Go play, go explore, come back a princess, okay?” beamed Jon.
Heather gave him a big hug, then a long kiss, before turning around to squeal in delight. Heather realised at last that someone was letting her be a girl - and they were paying for it!
~
Jon staggered outside, trying to shake the booze from his head. The chauffeur was waiting nearby. A middle-aged man with a smart suit and jet-black hair, he grinned at Jon.
“Everything alright, sir?” he enquired. Jon smiled and thinking the chauffeur would fit right in at the convention as well.
“Am I – ? “ Jon could not think how to put this delicately. “Am I being a prick?”
“Not really for me to say, sir. Why do you feel such a prick?”
“Look, a year ago I was broke. Now I’ve a heap of cash and I’m using it to by expensive drinks and dresses for women to go dancing.”
The chauffer waited politely to see if there was anything else forthcoming from this epiphany: when it did not he cleared his throat politely.
“So let me get this straight, you’ve come into some money and feel bad about blowing it on stuff you don’t need?”
“Exactly!” yelped Jon, clapping his hands together.
“Ha. Well, if you can afford to spend freely, then do so. Try to live a little before you die - just remember to tip the driver, ok?”
Jon smiled. “Ok sir, I will. Thanks.”
“No problem. I can see someone is really loving this new philosophy too, look.”
The chauffer pointed, Jon turned and there was Heather: in a sky-blue dress with ribbons and bows, some engineering, holding some bits in and allowing others to flow gracefully. She looked terrific. Heather looked like the original rags-to-riches princess with a side-order of snow-queen on top. They had even given her a tiara to go with it.
“I’m a princess! Lookit me! Ah thankyou, Sir Jon!” Heather was genuinely happy.
The chauffer guided the beautiful Heather toward the car and Jon had almost herded her inside when she stopped to see the beauty parlour opposite.
Jon shrugged as he followed her gaze. “Come on then princess - as long as we get there by midnight!”
~
This was the end of the convention. Everyone had seen a lot of acts, danced to some crazy bands, bought some bizarre things and met people they rarely spoke to in-person. Phones were used for posting selfies back to the virtual world and the main hall was teeming with people happy and drunk.
Tanesha was not drunk. Stone-cold sober and 28 weeks pregnant, her outfit was looser this year. Doyle was at the bar with Dexter and Hilary was looking out for Heather. This was all ending for them, she knew. The fun little trips, the secrets, the teenage stuff dragged forward deep into their twenties. Patting her belly Tanesha knew she would be the first to reach the next level, but would also be the first to miss the old one.
Her little friends were slowly catching up with her – even ‘Beefy’ Heather. Tanesha missed Mia at times like this – only Mia and Tanesha seemed to be in on the joke: Mia had gotten to the punchline first.
Running through the crowd, the boy she knew only as Cal collided with her, knocking the last of the lemonade out of her plastic cup. He seemed to be upset and in a hurry to be somewhere. Tanesha watched him go, wiping the drink off of her belly.
~
Alice’s foul mood lifted upon seeing her rich-customer friend Jon and a stunning woman at his side - it was Heather! Jon waved at her proudly as the pair made their way through the clusters of well-dressed steampunkers. Deftly, Jon flicked his credit card through the air like a shuriken to Alice’s instinctive receptive hand. Jon then made a circling motion to everyone around him. Alice acknowledged Jon’s intentions and rallied her staff: tonight would be an epic battle against sobriety!
“Good for you Heather!” she called. Men threw themselves at Alice (and any females) at these events. Great for tips, but ultimately, it was still soul-destroying. Still at least Cal had seemed to take the hint and had stopped hanging around her bar.
~
Hilary and Dexter, Tanesha and Doyle, Heather and Jon. The circle was complete. Heather looked amazing! Her long red hair straightened out and cut beautifully. Her princess dress - simply amazing! Hilary and Tanesha conceded that Heather was by far the most stunning of the old-gang tonight. Jon was a great addition to the gang as well – just in time for their last big dance. Music played and they danced and danced. The bar had apparently become free so people were getting very merry. Occasionally security teams ejected the odd drunken idiot, but otherwise the atmosphere was wonderful, fun and relaxed.
Heather seemed genuinely happy. Finally, she had stepped out of her secret pink Saturday-morning closet and was baring every inch of her true rosy-pink Disney girliness-to the distain of some of the hardcore soot-covered steampunkers. But how could anyone here dare to judge her? All walks were here now. People were expressing themselves, being themselves, opening-up as the show was closing-down. People were kissing and singing and hugging. Their world was ending for another year. Tomorrow would be a dreadful new dawn, but tonight would be everything. Tonight, everyone here was alive, themselves and unshackled.
Heather and Jon span and kissed and danced. Both were crying, elated and free. On stage, the resident steampunk DJ gave a shout-out to Jon and informed him that the surprise event for him was now ready. The couple froze – once more the centre of attention. Jon was confused.
~
Cal had earlier managed to get into the store-cupboard in the hall Jon had hired for the boxing event the previous day. Some of the hired kit had been stowed here for collection after the convention. He and his goth pal managed to rally some ‘engineers’ for a ‘surprise event’, unpacking one of the stored portable boxing rings: a cantilevered package with several straight-forward steps to re-assemble. Within minutes, the team of six had setup the portable ring and ropes. Alice had popped in when one of her spies had seen them slope off earlier and she stormed up to them to confront Cal.
“What the hell is this?” she asked.
“Look Alice, I can’t compete against someone like Jon. He took Heather from me – “
“- I’m pretty sure you sort of pushed her away, what with you being a drunk jerk Cal – “
“- no look, I can beat him! I’ve had a word with the others and we’ll set up a surprise for him. It’ll be neat – “
“- Cal, Seriously? What the hell? Ok, I’m having you all kicked out – “
“Stop!” screamed Cal and everyone froze, “Look, Jon can’t just come into our world and bluff his way. He never made his outfits, doesn’t know any of the bands, or anything! What gives him the right to try and take things over!”
Alice shook her head. “Why do you care?”
Cal stopped, his hand pulling the top rope and letting it spring-back, taut and primed. He turned to face her. “I’ve been coming here since the first event, Alice. I wait every year to come here, Alice. I try to improve my look and become bigger and better, Alice. And why you might ask?”
Alice rolled her eyes, “- Whatever! I’ve got to get back. I hope he smacks you down you little prick!”
Cal watched her go. His big speech ruined, he lamented to himself: “Because of you, Alice. Always, because of you.”
Taking a deep breath to restore composure, he was suddenly full of rage once more. If he could grow a moustache he would have twirled it. Instead he tried to grab the goth’s attention before giving up and telling one of the engineers to inform the DJ that Jon’s big surprise was ready. Cal slipped on the boxing gloves. “And so it ends for you Jon. Tonight it ends! Mwa ha ha!”
~
Jon and Heather were led out of the main hall by a small group of curious steampunkers as the music resumed. Hilary, Dexter, Tanesha and Doyle were nowhere to be seen. Alice had just gotten back to the bar where things were frantic, so she was powerless to warn him. On top of this, security was tied-up ejecting a group of sky-pirates.
Jon and Heather entered the hall and surveyed the lone ring, illuminated under a single spotlight.
“Wow! And to what do I owe this pleasure?” he called. Inside the ring on a wooden stool stood Cal.
“Time for you to go down sir!” called Cal. “Time for you to earn ‘the Title’ or leave!”
“Ok, said Jon,” playing along, he turned to Heather and whispered “What is this?”
“No idea, but if you did knock that prick’s teeth out, I’d be ever so grateful. And be quick about it too! You just wait and see what I got under this new outfit honey!” she cooed in his ear, leaning close to show something white and lacy clung lovingly around her cleavage. That certainly put a leery smile on Jon’s face. The other steampunkers had filed in for the show and they began to cheer at this new entertainment. The familiar goth appeared with a pair of boxing gloves for Jon.
“Wow, ok I see. Challenge accepted, sir!” bellowed Jon as he slipped into character and stripped off down to his vest. The drunken steampunkers cheered. Heather fixed Cal with a deadly stare.
The goth grinned as he helped wrap-up Jon’s wrists and put on his gloves. The goth added, “Seriously dude, thanks. This year has been really fun with you here too. We’ve all liked having you and hope you come back next year.” People in the crowd nearby agreed and some started clapping and whooping for him.
“Thanks,” he said sincerely.
“No problem dude. We are proud that you are one of us now. Just take it easy on Cal – he’s one of us too ok?”
~
And so, Cal and Jon prepared for the deciding bout, much to Heather’s frustrated amusement. The group began to cheer and the audience were chanting for Jon and Cal, booing and clapping at the pantomime.
Jon entered the ring. A beautiful woman then joined the two warriors in the ring, raising her hands for quiet. “In the blue corner, we have Cal the defender. In the red corner, we have Jon the challenger. Let’s fight! C’mon!” The crowd were more than happy with that terrible introduction and they roared their approval as the woman was clumsily helped out of the ring again.
Cal’s stance was just wrong, thought Jon. He was small and skinny. Jon was only an amateur boxer who enjoyed the sport, but even he could see that Cal was no threat to anyone except himself.
“Come along Cal! Put them up! Time to end the show!” Jon goaded. The crowd cheered.
“You’re the one who will lose! Interloper! Think you can just turn up and buy your way into our hearts!” the crowd mumbled – they had enjoyed the free drinks. Jon realised he would had to work harder to be the villain tonight.
“Damn your eyes man! Of course, you are right! You steampunkers are ruddy idiots!” theatrically, everyone booed, led by Heather. “That was my plan all along! I’d get you all drunk and then I’d steal your beautiful women!” The booing intensified, with some laughter. “And I’ll continue to take over your world! I’ll buy this venue out, and – “, Jon paused theatrically as the boos increased, “ – and sell the rights to Disney! Imagine the films we could make!” Catcalls and booing ensued.
“I knew it! You see! Jon’s an idiot! Let’s get him!” screamed Cal, and the audience cheered and laughed.
“Just start already!” screamed Heather, “I wanna go dancing!”
Everyone laughed and from somewhere, of course someone had a brass bell – it rang ‘ding-ding’ and the big fight was on.
Jon had to do everything he could to keep it entertaining. His right knee hurt like hell but Jon managed to dance around Cal, tapping him on the back of the head. Cal just about managed to put his hands up and lashed out at Jon erratically. They were wise enough to wear padded headgear and gum-shields, so Jon slowed down and let Cal begin to work out his aggression on him – taking the punches and exaggerating their impact. He threw a few light punches at Cal but this just seemed to antagonise him further. Then Jon’s knee clicked painfully and he tripped onto the canvas. Cal followed him down with several quick punches to the side. That actually hurt! The crowd cheered and Cal raised his arms in victory!
Jon stood up and grinned. That had been odd, but quite fun – however the cheering had suddenly intensified. Jon turned and his blood ran cold. Heather had taken off her princess dress and the female announcer was helping her put on some boxing gloves. Heather looked magnificent and deadly, wearing amazingly-crafted pearl-white silk underwear, strapped tightly in around her generous frame. She waded into the ring and the crowd bellowed, whistled and cheered.
“Come to mommy!” she called as Cal retreated to the far corner.
“I can’t hit you – you’re a girl!” whined Cal, eyes on Heather’s exposed fleshy parts.
Jon grinned and spat out his gum-shield. “Dammit woman! This is no place of a girl! Get back to the main hall and we’ll dance!”
“Oh we’ll dance all-right” cried Heather and punched Jon squarely in the face. Jon reeled from the strike as the crowd groaned in sympathy. Cal leapt over the ropes and everyone laughed and cheered.
Jon and Heather stared at each other. “So I must defeat you in combat to win your hand, is that it?” he asked her.
“Ha. Sure thing, whatever - ‘knock yourself out’ Jon,” she taunted.
So Jon punched Heather in the face, and she recoiled. The crowd gasped and then cheered. Jon stared at her semi-naked body, mesmerised by the wonderful jiggling parts. Jon didn’t just want her hand, he wanted the whole package!
“Eyes front Jon!” screamed Heather and assailed the distracted Jon with a flurry of powerful strikes. Jon collapsed back against the ropes. Heather closed in and continued to beat him hard. The crowd was going berserk!
Jon and Heather locked eyes and they tuned out the noise of the crowd – hearing only the noise of pounding blood. Heather’s eyes suddenly deadened, and tears began to fall. A snarl gripped her and Jon recognised a familiar inner-demon trying to escape. Heather wanted to face her ‘Big Dog’ right here and now. Jon felt panic spread through him, self-doubt stripping away his façade. But then Jon growled at Heather as she stood before him. Heather was desperately trying to tear-apart his new world by making Jon face up to his real inner-demon: his past, his loved-ones, his unfinished conversations. Jon growled selfishly.
“Fuck you, you infertile bitch,” spat Jon and smashed her in the belly.
“Fuck you, you dead-wife loving cunt,” hissed Heather and smashed him across the grinning cheek.
“Yes, come on! Come on!” yelled Jon. Heather beat him hard in the chest and gut. Jon reeled back against the ropes again. Heather straightened up.
“Come on, fight me Jon! Unleash it! End this tonight!” she goaded him and Jon charged headlong at her - unleashing a powerful double jab to her face, connecting once and forcing her back across the ring.
The crowd were cheering with many different voices now – some sensed things were slipping out of control – the goth was trying to calm things down.
Heather bashed Jon, wailing tears, Jon retaliated, feeling the shocks run thorough him, tasting blood in his mouth. Their battle ended suddenly.
They fell against each other exhausted, drained, bruised, bleeding and glistening with sweat, desire and a nervous sense of hope. They should have kept their gum-shields in, but they still had all their teeth. They wrapped their arms around each other, kissing and groaning. Something had died there that night, replaced with a large new-thing, far scarier, far more all-consuming.
The crowd cheered and jeered! “Ok dudes! Back to the bar!” rallied the goth. “Jon has organised free drinks for everyone!” he yelled. The steampunkers charged out, chanting Heather’s name. No-one saw Cal again.
~
Jon and Heather were a hit – already on the internet. Jon and Heather avoided the help of others, though did retrieve their clothes before escaping into the store-cupboard to fuck each other’s brains out.
Jon stripped, Heather was all-but naked anyway. They reeked and ached. They would normally be unsure and nervous, but after the crying, beating and fighting – Jon and Heather felt empowered, fearless, fresh, vital. They found some mattresses and kissed, embraced and rutted like animals. They both felt some deep, nagging guilt. Heather was not sure if she was being a slut or had been tricked into being raped. Jon felt nothing emotional for Heather in that first intimate moment - just an animal instinct to mate. Both felt used and deceived. Both felt awful for desecrating their pasts, to trample their delicate beloved memories with such base and crude pleasures. And yet, this was not just pleasure, this was an affirmation: this was an ecstatic celebration, a joyful new beginning, a chance to bury the dead and breathe the life of the living. The fucking gave way to kissing and caressing and holding and dreaming.
So they fucked each other’s brains out, with dirty minds yet a clean conscious.
~
Dressed once more, Jon and Heather returned beaten and bedraggled to the main hall. They had no energy to dance but Alice had had the foresight to organise a private table where they could be alone to recover. Hilary rushed over to the pair, wondering what the hell had just happened to cause them to look so rough: ruined makeup, messed-up hair, was Jon’s mouth bleeding? But Heather just turned to look at Hilary, and something inside this fiery woman was finally at peace.
“They just needed to get laid Hils,” whispered Dexter in her ear. “Come on, let’s leave them be.”
~
Smoke billowing blackly from the wounded engines, his imperial sail-ship lurched toward home once more. The bloodied captain with bruised eyes and aching jaw set his loving gaze on his beautiful flame-haired princess. Below the savage jungles of blue monsters shrieked in anger at his audacity for stealing the sacrificial bride of their demon-god. Victory was now his and the princess wrapped her arms tightly around him as they sailed into the glorious sunset.
~
The evening was winding down with the last few songs playing and the steampunkers leaving. Jon and Heather had agreed they would be starting a motorbike tour of America next. Tanesha and Doyle were planning out their busy next year as well. Hilary and Dexter remained strangely quiet and non-committal on the subject, but the others knew that would not last for long.
Heather insisted on her one last dance. She stormed up to the robot band on stage and made a very loud request. Jon watched her go and realised how gorgeous she looked. The band gave in to this intimidating barrage and suddenly played something strange but awfully familiar. The crowd laughed and groaned as one. Heather strode back through the dancing couples across the dance-floor, microphone in hand. Heather belted out her one last defiant song, through the swirling-storm of steampunker couples, dressed as a princess, but in the end it looked like she was the queen.
The circle of friends joined in this last terrible Disney song together. They hugged and said goodbye. They drifted apart.
~
THE END
© Dave Gumble, August 2014
Navigating through the heavens in his imperial sail-ship, the dapper captain with dark sideburns and firm jaw set his steely gaze on the horizon. Below the soot-soaked clouds of the industrious cityscape sailed past. He grinned and bared his teeth to the setting sun. The rescue had begun to save the princess from the demon’s clutches. Vengeance would be his at last!
~
Jon drifted back from his reverie. Since the sudden death of his wife and family, and his subsequent windfall on the lottery, he was a man without responsibilities and infinite opportunity. Many millions of pounds had become his overnight after drunkenly buying a single ticket in a fit of whimsy and regret.
Everything had been hard. Now everything was easy. In the past six months, all of his family and friends had worked with his solicitor and had let Jon take over their mortgages and pay them off, one by one. The shackles holding everyone he knew was slipping away. Even his neighbours had joined in, establishing a fund they would continue to contribute a fraction of their previous payments into in return for Jon buying off their mortgages too. This in turn would yield a pot of money which would grow and regularly allow others to be randomly chosen and freed from the slavery of the banks. Socialist to the core, Jon had created a small group that was liberating people from the burgeoning debt one small good deed at a time. He setup a homeless charity fund and bought up and converted disused offices and accommodation to house homeless shelters and rehabilitation rooms. Jon no longer worked but enjoyed using his management skills for something greater for his community.
Jon did not see any sense in enslaving himself to previous addictions of his previous life. He had no desire for television, computer games, fast cars, expensive golf-clubs or villas in hot-countries. He had instead spent the money doing up his modest new house – having legally given his old house away to a homeless family. Jon enjoyed small things like old books and the odd fine whiskey. But inside he wanted to find something else, something new.
His wife and children were dead. Not being one to entertain any supernatural thoughts, Jon realised that they would never see each other again. For years they had struggled and sacrificed so much and it felt like that they had still achieved nothing together. Now Jon had the means to settle all issues for his loved ones weeks after their death. This frustrated him more than anything and knew no amount of money could ever change this. Jon needed to re-think what it meant to be himself.
Back in the beginning of this new and terrible chapter of Jon’s life, both anger and alcoholism threatened to overwhelm him. He recovered from this bout of self-defeating misery to take up boxing to help vent his frustration and aggression. He began to watch his diet too and managed to lose two stones just before that long first awkward Christmas period. Jon felt more in control now he was mindful of the sugar in his system and fat in his food. His binge-drinking gave way to savouring a single whiskey most evenings.
‘What did it all mean?’ he had often reflected. Watching the child victims and evacuees on the news websites, Jon felt comfort in his absolute atheism. Life was random and without reason: you simply had to hang on and do your very best. This apparent crumb of comfort had surprised his more spiritual friends, but they could not deny that Jon had turned away from drinking and his dark suicidal past to a more rational, though sometimes more impassionate, state-of-mind.
His brother was a converted Muslim cleric who had often talked to Jon long into the night on faith. Jon had at first been dismissive but recognised his brother as intelligent and rational too: it felt as if both brothers were approaching the same agreement from different ends. Jon knew that even the most logical man must have a clear mind to deliver on his dreams and goals and be an upstanding citizen, so saw religion as a means of managing the state-of-mind. But he dismissed the mythical parts of faith when measured against cold-hard reason. His brother despaired, citing that they were often discussing the same topic yet not speaking the same language! And yet both brothers recognised the happiness and peaceful states within the other so were both thankful for that. Jon hated militant atheism as much as radical religious fervour so enjoyed this liberal middle-ground.
During the first awkward Christmas period, Jon had stayed with his parents to help stave off the demons in his heart. He spent the time by living vicariously through the lives and families of others. Jon had treated family and friends to holidays, bought them cars and large televisions, game consoles, lots of toys and gadgets for the children. They had taken all of these gifts with stoicism, knowing they could never repay Jon and recognising the negative self-harm this was doing to Jon as well. Jon recognised the elation and pity in their responses and vowed to find himself a new life thereafter.
The Christmas period also saw him without his leg in plaster for the first time in months. He shattered his right knee in an embarrassing fall from his first attempt at a simple pony-trekking day-out he had opted to do on a whim late on in summer. Jon had several leg operations and found himself confined to home. During this time he became addicted once more to the internet, bored with his predicament, looking form new hobbies and quite often drifting into several dodgy crude sites to remind him of women.
So now it was spring and Jon had finally stumbled across the website where some women were wearing corsets and Victorian hats, large bustles and carrying elaborate brass guns. While initially the women satisfied his lustful thoughts, he began to read into what it was they were up to: something called ‘steampunk’ – a re-imagining of the past, all cogs and gears and steam. He could see men in tall hats on fantastic machines and women in corsets fighting demons from beyond. All apparently silly but at the same time attractive to the man who wanted to re-invent himself.
Jon could have easily stumbled across cults where cheeky Japanese schoolgirls would command giant walking robots, or people dressed as furry animals, or stalwart cults of Star Trek, Doctor Who, Star Wars, Harry Potter, The Hunger Games, Twilight, Middle Earth, World War Two, Civil War Re-enactors, Phantom of the Opera wannabes, NCIS fanboys, A-Team aficionados, Dragonball-Z, Transformers, Christmas-Everyday-celebrators, Wiccans, Pagans, Satanists, Christians, librarians, QPR-fans, model-makers, trainspotters, nervous kids with big ideas, cosplay girls with wrong-shaped bodies, outsiders trying to get in and right-wing conservatives trying to get Out.
Google just happened to select his fetish for him, based upon his links to sites of women in tight-underwear and his boyhood interest in steam-trains. Google had been his spiritual guide. Jon realised this deceit long afterwards, but acknowledged his own desires to read significance into this particular Tarot-reading as his own fault: he was a mid-forties man looking for a new life and perhaps one that would get him laid every-so-often.
His parents were a little upset on what Jon did next. Jon held families, teams and groups together. Jon’s previous jobs had been in volunteer work, and managing budgets and teams of people very effectively. Jon believed in family but now felt suffocated by his own. They realised that Jon needed some space, but even so there were limits. Jon had booked a six month visa to visit North America, temporarily emigrating from his native England.
~
Jon did not have a full itinery for his six-month tour of the Americas, but had taken the initial step by booking a luxurious hotel at his first city, San Diego. Here he was to attend a three-day steampunk event. Knowing his lack of credentials, Jon over-compensated by shopping in London for some tailor-made bespoke suits fitting the Victorian era. They worked with him and figured out accessories and the like, down to his underwear. This was no simple dressing-up, but instead they were enabling Jon to fulfil a role. Jon now enjoyed wearing his hat when he was out. He now had a variety of long-coats and jacketed-suits. As for his own style, all attempts at facial hair did not suit him, so instead he had grown his sideburns long. He had also adopted a genuine Victorian cane to replace his walking stick he had carried since his horse-riding accident.
Jon set off on his great adventure. He travelled in-character, fully suited. Jon had also decided to take an expensive liner and travel slowly in first-class rather than a flight to give him some space. Pacing about the liner, his beloved new pocket-watch in hand, clad in Victoriana, he spent the week-long trans-Atlantic cruise working on his accent, aiming for Hugh Grant but settling nearer Clive Owen. Without phones or laptops, he wrote postcards and spent the evenings in bars and watching the horizons and chatting with normal people. Jon proved popular and was renowned for his generosity.
Jon felt himself become a role, one that would be enhanced by his destination. Being English in America would already give him a tremendous head-start as an eccentric Victorian man of wealth. Customs did not give him a second look as he was so stereotypically English. Even the plastic toy steampunk pistol in his luggage went through without incident, Jon’s eccentric charm winning over the staff. Jon felt himself continue to become a full caricature; one that was clipped, courteous and always generous with a tip for those that helped him. Insisting on a first-class connecting cross-country train-ride, Jon travelled deeper into this foreign land, slipping more and more into an alternative past time.
Once at his destination, with some days to spare, Jon embraced the suburban areas of San Diego. As if surrounded by a shield of invincibility, Jon would walk down the long streets when the norm was a long drive or taxi-ride. His long coat protecting him from the fresh spring weather, Jon would pop into humble corner shops and marvel at their alien confectionary and deep accents. He used his hotel phone to organise his day and travel, but once outside carried only his cane, cash and a wide-eyed expression of a gullible tourist.
Two whole days he wandered the city streets before the convention would start. In a secreted purse he had ten-dollar bills which he gave to all homeless people he saw and would insist shop-keepers and waitresses kept their change. He would catch a taxi-cab back to his lavish central hotel of an evening and there he would relax with fine brandy and listen to a wide selection of music: classical opera, bizarre steampunk ballads, DJ sets, several songs from acts which would be appearing at the convention. His right-knee ached from the long walks but his heart was alive once more.
~
The convention began and Jon was one of the first to arrive. The mundane halls and stalls greeted his enthusiastic mind. Jon knew nothing of this world but looked the part. Scouring the stalls he saw people dressed in bizarre outfits, selling accessories, dresses, plastic guns, card-games, music, boardgames, hats, corsets and all sorts of paraphernalia.
Then the fans started to arrive in droves and Jon realised he looked normal, lost even among these weirdoes, nutters, oddballs, freaks – everyone lovely and adorable. Jon realised that they were all utterly insane of course.
The first day, Jon found himself marvelling at odd-clothed and odd-shaped people - mostly young men of course – weaving throughout the event. Beyond the stalls, people were enacting small plays, playing role-playing games, trading cards, giving talks on how to create your own wardrobe – and of course various shiny robot bands to space vagabond singers gave rousing songs to many hysterical fans – mainly women of course. Cheerful mums and young children were found clustered about as well and all the while the event was friendly and full of energy. A fragmentation of groups had collected into these halls, gangs of young and veteran mingled and succumbed to the great nostalgia of an age that never truly existed.
Jon felt the fervour beginning to take hold of him too, especially on seeing some delectable damsels flouncing around in outfits that boggled his brain. Fearing decent into some sort of crude voyeurism, Jon retired to a bar and ordered a stiff drink. He needed to calm down a bit and not get too carried away with this wonderful new world. He found the bar to be a comfortable and familiar environment and stayed close to it for the remainder of the day.
~
As evening fell, Jon found himself relaxed again but alone in the main event bar. He was enjoying watching the painfully young things play around him. Sitting alone at a small table, he sipped his drink and surveyed the groups. He had been to several bands, some loud, some silly and some so outlandish that even the hardcore fans were in very short supply. But still, Jon soaked it in, trying to force himself to fit into this weird new world.
Watching the young about him, he spied a group of five nearby - three girls and two boys - chatting away. He realised that this was two couples and one slightly awkward young girl. She wore the obligatory corset and had a hefty cleavage and backside to match. Her abundant long curly flame red hair and powder-white freckled skin intrigued Jon. The poor thing seemed to have come along with the herd, but the herd seemed to want to split off into two loving-yet-demented couples. Her voice was quiet and while not shy, she certainly looked uncomfortable.
Waving goodbye to her coupled friends she stood alone at the bar. Jon grinned at her situation. She seemed young in attitude, but those lines at the corners of her eyes put her safely above anything possibly immoral and illegal (well, illegal at any rate). Of course a woman alone at a bar would soon draw attention, and sure enough a cocky young thing sidled up and bought her a drink. Jon grinned and remembered his own youth, chancing his arm in bars with cheeky young women. He felt suddenly alone, stupid and sad. Why was he here? Was this a manifestation of some sort of crisis? Had this become a manifestation of his deep lonely despair to be acted out among strangers and fools?
Jon drained his drink and approached the bar for a soft drink. He was standing behind the young man when it all happened.
~
“What’ll it be sir?” asked the bartender. A name tag identified her as Alice, disappointingly dressed in modern smart clothes.
“Please may I have some sparkling water, thanks,” asked Jon.
While Alice grabbed his order, Jon realised that next to him the newly-acquainted steampunker couple were not getting along, if anything the boy seemed antagonistic.
“Come on, do you know who I am? Stick with me and I can get you backstage with the bands!” he claimed, weaving a little. Jon turned and rested his elbow on the bar to watch this disaster up-close and without shame.
“Oh please, just go. I really am not interested, thanks,” she sighed, anger in her eyes, fixed upon this apparent idiot.
The boy spat out something crude that Jon missed, prompting the woman to hurl her remaining drink at the boy. The boy dodged and Jon found himself dripping wet, smelling of rum and coke. A slice of lemon sat cheekily on his lapel. The boy barked a laugh and disappeared. The girl’s face paled in panic.
“Oh! I’m so sorry! Please, oh my!”
Jon grinned as people around gasped. Suddenly the centre of attention he took a handkerchief from his pocket and stated “You appear to have no drink. Care for a refill so you can try to hit your boyfriend again?” he grinned.
“Ha!” she grinned, “Why that’s very generous sir, and please, that was no boyfriend!”
“Well, that’s information worth noting. Excuse me please, another drink for this extraordinary woman as well, thankyou,” he added to a grinning bartender.
Bartender Alice knew the woman’s drink by now. Jon insisted the bartender keep the change from the hundred dollar bill while he removed the slice of lemon from his wet jacket before dabbing his face dry.
“Jon, pleased to meet you. Miss…?”
“Heather. Ha! So lovely to meet you too! Nice accent!” she drawled with a lovely deep rasp that sent shivers up and down Jon’s spine.
“Why thankyou. I’ve been working on it for years. But your voice is divine. You sound like a singer or an actress.” The comment was perhaps over-the-top, but Jon felt happy to be part of a conversation after so long.
“Ha!” snorted Heather again, slightly less divinely. “Oh sir, you are a wag! I haven’t sang, sung, since I was a little girl!”
“Again, thankyou,” he grinned. Jon was enjoying this.
They both gulped at their drink to calm down, to help fight the adrenaline both obviously felt.
Looking at each other flushed with excitement, both realised they had no idea what to do next. Heather looked Jon up and down then seemed to recompose herself, eyes narrowing she said “Been a while for you too huh?”
“Ha!” snorted Jon, “Why yes, something like that. Exactly like that in fact.”
“I know that feeling. This is an odd place and you have to watch out for the perverts and the liars, but this place is great.”
“Well, I am a foreigner here – so perhaps you could offer a stranger like me some pointers of where to go, perhaps?”
“Foreign? As in, ‘the accent is real?’, or, ‘you’ve never done cons before?’”
“Both, I’m afraid,” grinned Jon.
Heather returned the grin. “Aw. My lonely little Brit, lost in a sea of Yanks, eh?”
“And robots and vagabonds too it would seem.” Jon beamed.
Heather drained her drink and eyed Jon. “Well I fancy another. Do you intend to join me or just get me drunk, have your wicked ways and not tell your wife?”
Jon returned Heather’s malicious glare. “Well I tend not to drink too much nowadays, but for you I’ll go one more. Ok - ”
“Two rum and cokes please Alice. And your wedding ring, is that real too?” persisted Heather.
“Ha! Why yes it is. Sentimental of me I guess,” Jon momentarily drifted into thought.
Alice the bartender returned the drinks as Heather and Jon smiled at each other. Jon winced at the choice of his drink, more for the sugary content than the taste, but was a good sport about it. Heather was no shrinking violet. What had made her so aggressive? ‘Surrounded by men in a boy’s world staring at her tits all day rather than listening to her’ would probably be it, thought Jon. And here he was, an apparently married man, hitting on her.
So Jon clashed his glass drink against Heather with a curt “Cheers, my darling dear!”
“Nicely sexist, thanks!” responded Heather as Jon downed his drink, slamming the glass on the bar. Jon fixed Alice with a determined look.
“Two whiskeys please, neat. Thanks Alice. Have one for yourself too,” continued Jon. Without turning to Heather he continued, “Say Alice, my wife and two daughters were killed in a car crash last year. Trapped between a lorry and a shop corner, the lorry caught fire and they died in a very horrific painful way. I don’t drink too much because afterwards I felt terrible about how I’d left things with my wife. We were in a rough spell, but even so it was an awful way to end things. I don’t believe in anything supernatural or whimsical, however out of respect I continue to wear the ring.”
Jon turned to Heather, and Alice returned the drinks and retreated to give them some space “Drink up luv.” Jon grinned again.
Heather drained her drink and slammed the glass on the bar. “My dad died when I was twelve, leaving my mom broke and raising me alone. She resented me so much and we always argued. On top of this, she was recovering from bowel cancer so we really had no money. I was barely able to do anything in school and my grades were falling apart. This caused me to get depressed and get fat eating too much. That led to a vicious cycle of self-loathing and some self-harm. So try harder you whining British bitch,” grinned Heather.
“Fair enough, we’re both veterans with stories,” responded Jon, handing the hovering Alice another hundred dollar bill and raising the shot of whiskey. “Salut!” Heather raised her glass too and drained her shot. Jon sipped his.
Alice stood over her till and grinned privately– her own tragic backstory was in not owning a bigger bar, but one day that would change.
“Why are you here doing this?” asked Jon when Heather slammed her empty glass down.
“Why are you? I mean you obviously have thrown yourself into the role, long coat –“
“- still wet, thanks for asking -”
“- yes, sorry, and the cane and the whole limp thing going on, what are you a Bond villain too?”
Jon smirked at her, much to Heather’s joy. “Ha! No I go this from a horse injury.”
Heather laughed. “You are so English. I mean seriously? Do you own a castle or something?”
Jon grinned. “Ah well, not exactly. Fell of a horse. After, well after losing my wife I wanted to try new things, you know? Well, I thought to join a pony-trek, learn to ride a horse. Fell off within the first hour, shattered my right knee. It was terribly embarrassing - the lesson had children in it too!”
“Ha! Some knight in shining armour you are!”
“I know, but turns out was a life-saver. As they opened up my knee to rebuild it, they found some clot or blockage or something in the thigh. Two more operations later and my leg was sorted. That thing could have killed me one day! So worth it after all - though I doubt I’ll dance much anymore!”
“Wow. That was lucky. Still when I was 14, my periods got real bad I started to faint. On top of everything else this was the last thing we needed. Anyway, due to my mom’s history I got checked out and they found big lumps in my womb – probably the start of ovarian cancer so they ripped all of that out of me. Totally ruined my hormones and I grew even bigger all over – though the boys did like my boobs afterwards. Still, it was damned expensive. So, soon as I could, I had to work. Least you got your surgery for free! Damn your NHS.”
Jon considered Heather. “Well, we’ll have to compare surgery scars sometime.”
Heather wailed in laughter and Jon realised she was getting a bit too drunk. Jon continued, “Ok Miss Heather, please let’s go for a walk, shall we? I still need a guide to this metropolis.” Heather clumsily struck out her elbow and Jon linked up with her and escorted her from the bar, leaving Alice with Jon’s change and a half-drunk shot of whiskey.
Jon and Heather found a small venue where a stage was set and a troupe was earnestly performing an opera with Victorian overtones; rebellion, mannequins, supernatural goings-on and a lot of stuff Jon missed. Heather knew all the words and Jon found himself entranced by the power of the songs. Heather snuggled up to him, almost slumped against him. Jon realised it had been a long day and outside the stars shone on a chilly night.
After the steampunk opera, Jon asked “Are you hungry?”
“Kinda sleepy, really,” yawned Heather. “Look, I promised to meet up with my friends, you know?”
Jon shrugged. Heather owed him nothing, though he longed to spend more time with her. “Hey, no problem,” he lied.
“No, it’s just – aw look Jon I’ve just had a really long day is all.” Heather genuinely looked sad.
“That’s ok. Maybe we could meet up another day?”
“Maybe.”
Jon turned to Heather. “Ok, what’s up Heather?”
“Well, you seem nice, but it’s not like this is going anywhere is it?”
“I see. Look, I’m just here to understand this convention a bit more. Thanks for helping me, and really enjoyed talking with you. I don’t know anyone else to be honest, so sorry if I am a bit too keen to be your friend. Sorry, I don’t want to be some creepy convention guy, I really am just, well a bit lonely I guess.” Jon shrugged. “It’s been a great night, thankyou.”
Heather looked up at Jon. In her eyes calculations were being made and Jon was surprised when Heather kissed him sweetly.
“You are sweet Jon. Maybe I will see you tomorrow.” And with that, Heather got up and fled in panic. Her heart pounding and her mind swimming. She would need to chat to her friends on this one!
Jon watched her go and smiled. Then he found himself a late-night restaurant and ordered himself a large steak and a small stiff drink. He thought of Heather and while he was sad she had gone, he was happy to have just have had a conversation with another person about personal things.
~
It was 2am, and Jon had found himself playing cards with a robot, a space-soldier and a goth with brass-goggles pinning back his long black hair. Alice the bartender had clocked off long ago but had ensured – covertly - that they were well-stocked before leaving. Jon also noted when Alice had left, the boy Jon had seen earlier pestering Heather appeared from the shadows and followed her out of the door. The goth noted Jon’s curiosity and he explained that the boy was called Cal and that he usually chased girls and usually failed. Satisfied, Jon joined the freaks in playing poker, happy to lose his money to these geeks. They reeked of men who enjoyed their hobby and who would run panicked from girls. Jon still reeked of rum and coke and thought of Heather. Afterwards, Jon ordered a taxi and returned to his luxurious hotel, tired and alone but revitalised at the thought that tomorrow he would do something about his fixation on Heather.
~
Day two of the convention and Jon had returned early, washed and changed and revitalised. Songs form the opera still stuck in his head and he had been up at 5am to download it online and put it on a new phone. With epic four-act ballads raging through his discreet but expensive earphones, Jon wandered the halls, revisiting bars and restaurants, catching up with his poker-playing buddies from last night and ambling around with his long-coat and cane. Jon wanted to immerse himself in this world again, even allowing himself to be part of a small improvisational event whereby audience members were invited to a soiree and Jon had to act out the role of a wealthy industrial figure. Being English of course meant he also had to be a villain – and the cane really sold the bit. Jon was a hit, drawing on the spirit of Terry-Thomas for inspiration and being the toast of small nerds, their outfits were impressive and the girls here were equally delicious. But none of their slim figures could fill Heather’s shoes. It was mid-morning already, but despite his subtle enquiries with Alice and the staff, she could not be found.
He was a good 10-20 years older than the majority of his new clan, and yet began to acquire a small following. Buoyed by this, he organised with some of the staff, including Alice, to arrange food and treats for everyone at the event. For a few thousand dollars, he’d managed to hire out an adjacent room for a free attraction. By lunchtime, he had hired a small waiting staff and a security guard. He had free food installed and then had an events team transport in four pop-up boxing rings with punch bags that very afternoon. Jon had even persuaded a couple of veteran local boxing coaches, some fitness trainers and a first-aider to attend. He then outfitted them all in steampunk costumes from one of the trade-stands so that they could get in character. He continued with his phone in-hand and the event organiser at his side to help grab a local lawyer to draft some forms so that people could experience boxing and the organisers would be covered. By early evening, Jon had the bar-staff stock-up flyers he had run off on the reception printer for a free-boxing event - open to all. People turned up to be strapped into a lot of protective clothing, allowed to learn some boxing basics and have a friendly bout against friends - or at least learn some punch-bag basics to help them feel all tough and manly. Alcohol was strictly forbidden in the boxing area for personal safety.
Jon had a banner printed off on a stream of bright yellow paper 14ft long and 2ft high proclaiming that ‘Heather’s Boxing Emporium’ was open to all. People turned up thanks to the event organiser advertising this new development over the convention speakers. Jon helped kick things off with a clumsy bout with one of the trainers. Stripped to his white vest and ridiculously long black shorts, Jon relished the part.
While not muscular, he was well-built and had strong arms. His training had given him a decent figure for this sport, though his trainer humiliated him in front of the crowd. Jon did not care - he was already established as the crooked limping villain anyway so everyone cheered. The boxing managers were impressed and Jon was happy for them to give out lessons to the good sports who had boxed well: as Jon repeatedly announced “One lesson at a legitimate boxing gym for the winner, three lessons for the loser! Roll up! Roll up!”
On the nearby tables, people grouped as spectators to the event. A group of cos-playing girls and chirpy steampunk boys had earlier volunteered to walk around with collection buckets. Everything was provided for free, but donations to cancer charities were encouraged. It became nicely busy. Community volunteers joined in to print-out certificates and give out freebies and the buzz was great. An additional security guard was drafted to look after the charity buckets, all feeding into a small cash-safe. Jon had already put a lot of small-change into this cash-safe to help get things going. Jon realised that this had taken almost all of his second day of convention time to do this, but when compared to his ongoing work at home, preparing homeless shelters and organising charities for disadvantaged, this was a fun and rewarding busman’s holiday.
Realising that Heather had not appeared, Jon also dropped some further bribes with the organisers to reiterate the name of the boxing room, but sadly the day was ending and the bands and comedy shows were taking the public away. So Jon closed up his sideshow and the security guards tallied almost two thousand dollars in donations. Jon thanked and congratulated everyone involved. He then bought all his helpers a huge meal and drinks, making the boxing coaches his guests of honour. As it was getting late, he wondered what to do with the room, but groups of punks were happy to sit at the tables and drink, play cards, role-play scenes or various other eccentric things. So he helped the security guards stow the gear in the store-room at the back and left the gangs who had taken over the hall alone to have fun and relax.
Jon was exhausted but elated. He would be saddened that tomorrow would be the final day. People were dancing next door to bizarre cult indie bands, but tomorrow would be the big ball.
~
So refreshed and revitalised, Jon began the last day of his old life. The boxing event had been a cult success and Jon had enjoyed giving an actual Victorian pastime a new lease of life. But today, he wanted to return to the convention itself and would look to track down the elusive Heather. Alice and the other bar-staff were already aware of who Heather was and between them began scouring the convention. The banner still hung in Heather’s memory in the now-deserted side-hall.
Jon wandered forlorn, eyes on him as he wandered the stalls and side-rooms. As lunchtime approached, Jon was grabbed by a couple. He remembered as being part of the group Heather had been in.
“Jon is it?” asked the slim woman of the couple.
“Er, yes?” responded Jon.
“Are you still looking for Heather?” she grilled.
“Why of course! Do you know where she is?”
The couple exchanged glances. Then the thin girl responded at last “Ok, well Heather has – she was not well yesterday and she left early.”
Jon was upset. “Oh, well I hope Heather is ok and gets well. And I hope I did not offend her.”
“Jon, Heather talked about you for an hour! She was so upset and confused that she felt she had to leave.”
Jon grinned despite the revelation. “So that tough little Heather got scared and left? Ok, thanks for the update.”
He did not believe it for a second but the couple were still impassive. “Ok, is there more?” continued Jon warily.
“Look, Heather has had problems and we really want her to – you know- make friends, get better. Jon you really made her happy, but she’s, well a bit messed up.”
Jon took a deep breath. “Ok, look, let’s start again. Hello, I am Jon.”
“I’m Hilary and this is Dexter. We regularly come here and this year we brought Heather too. She loves the music so much but has had a terrible year, what with her mom passing away. We keep trying to keep her happy but – “
Dexter butted in “Heather’s nuts. She tried to kill herself over Christmas.”
“Dex! Jesus! Look Jon, we popped back that night and saw you two watching the opera – Heather was truly happy.”
Jon blinked as he processed the information. “I see.” He said at last. “Ok, so let’s find her together then shall we?”
“But how? She’s left the convention yesterday! Checked out! And she’s not answering her calls”
“I see. Where did you all live? Is it nearby”
“We all live nearby, about half-an hour away. But we’ve been checking and Heather is not home either.”
“Ok, then are you worried she will harm herself? Should we call in the police?”
“I – I don’t know,” said Hilary and she seemed to crumble.
Jon fixed Dexter with a look. “Dexter, contact the authorities immediately. Explain Heather’s state. Hilary, circulate a recent photo, explain what she is likely to be wearing. The pair of you, give me your numbers now!”
They exchanged numbers. Then he swiftly left them and contacted Alice and the staff to explain what was happening. Alice looked crushed but vowed to help in any way she could and began to pass the word along the bar. Meanwhile, the event organiser helped Jon by contacting other nearby bars, hotels and public places. Jon had his number too.
As Jon strode out into the sunlight with a vague plan to trawl the streets with a rented limo, he saw the dishevelled boy who fought Heather on the first night of the convention. Jon remembered him as being called Cal and he seemed to want to speak with Jon. Apparently, according to Cal, the bar-staff had explained the situation to him and he had come to confess that before Jon had arrived that first night, Heather had confessed that she would have ‘rather been at the Disney cinema-event nearby, if truth be told’. Jon looked hard at him: Cal looked wracked with guilt so Jon was forgiving and thanked him. Jon then called the organiser and Hilary to update them. They regrouped in the convention foyer. Thankfully, the police had yet to be notified, so they postponed alerting them – though the organiser did let Alice know. Jon immediately arranged for a chauffeur-driven limousine to whisk them from the convention to the Disney-event nearby.
Hilary, Dexter and Jon chatted nervously in the back of the spacious ride as they sped through San Diego’s busy streets to the damsel in despair.
~
“Hi,” said Heather when they burst into the cinema where she was watching the end of an old Disney cartoon. She had been crying.
“Thank God!” cried Hilary. “You’re ok!”
“Erm, yes thanks. Oh wow, hi Jon!” sniffed Heather, utterly confused.
“Hi Heather. Your friends have been worried about you. So have I to be honest.”
“Oh really? Look sorry I left. I just felt stupid after that first night is all.”
Jon looked around at the families and fans glaring at them, “Look, let’s finish this conversation outside?”
“Sure.”
So they all filed out and missed the end of the movie, where the little girl wins the heart of the violent alien beast.
~
Heather was in her mid-twenties. Heather now worked in a store selling motorcycles and spares. Heather looked formidable in leathers. Heather wanted to be cuddled and taken care of by a big strong wealthy man. Heather wanted to pick fights with bigger and bigger targets until she found the big one that would take her down. Heather never tried to kill herself over Christmas, despite what her well-meaning friends believed. Heather wanted everyone to fuck-off and help her at the same time.
Heather was stuck.
Hilary and Dexter, Tanesha and Doyle, Heather. That was the circle of friends. The imperfect circle. They wanted Heather to level-up and join their plateau of happiness. Tanesha and Doyle had their own flat. Hilary and Dexter still rented. Heather lodged with a Jewish shop-keeper who was no longer in contact with his own family over some past argument. Heather hated being the victim. She longed to own a motorbike and ride across America, fighting crime, having adventures or something.
Heather had never gone to college or had decent grades. Alone in a world like this, she had limited options and was thankful that – at the very least - her teenage cancer operations, her father’s death, her mother’s scorn, their medical bills and terrible poverty at times had focussed Heather into preparing for work and keeping an eye on her money. She had several failed attempts at romance but most of her men turned out to be boys in the end. They offered her no way out of her situation, and as soon as she realised this is what she was looking for, Heather stopped looking for men and started to look for a way to do this herself.
Heather had secretly loved Disney films, especially the ones with the princesses in. Feisty princesses, warrior princesses, princesses who used their brains and strong females: they were the ones people would have supposed she admired. But for Heather, she preferred the old-fashioned princesses. Those princesses had a prince turn-up and fix everything. These princesses just lay on their backs until they were saved. Princesses who could rest and let the others figure things out. Nobody would ever equate Heather to a dainty princess. Everyone bought her crappy things like meals out, trips to warm places, park-visits, kickboxing lessons, steampunk costumes, brass-knuckles, whips, chains, whipped-cream, leather straps, uncomfortable underwear and so on. Heather just wanted flowers and kisses. Heather had dated some very odd men in her past – or so she thought. Turns out they all seemed to share a similar level of depravity and shallowness.
Heather’s mother had died early last year. The cancer had returned months before and really ended her this time. If Heather and her mom had more money, they perhaps could have tackled the illness and beaten it again. But no: a family history of cancer, of operations, of violent death of her father in a drunken fight over a handful of dollars. Every dark comment, every sneering look, every calorie piled on in self-pitying self-loathing. Self-destruction was on Heather’s trajectory. Racing toward it at accelerated speed, Heather was beginning to enjoy the ride now in lapsed adolescent glee.
Heather was not fat just born two centuries too late to be appreciated for her curves. Still it kept her safe from the weirdoes, most of whom were just content to stare at her tits and leer openly. Just over two years ago, her best friend Mia had just disappeared. Mia had been gorgeously slim, long legs, nice bust, good skin, long dark hair and a filthy mind - men followed her in gangs. One then made Mia disappear, never to be found leaving a police file never to be closed.
Heather had stopped looking for boys this past two years. She had decided to be stronger than that. What had happened this last Christmas had almost landed her in hospital and prison, but Heather argued it was not an act of attempted suicide, but instead an act of self-preservation.
Alone and without family or friends, Heather decided to just spend Christmas at some bar. Heather enjoyed a drink and waiting for men to approach her so she could challenge them if they flirted with her. She felt the rush whenever she challenged people. Challenged authority, challenged online trolls, challenged police-officers, challenged church-elders, challenged good-looking women and bad-mannered men alike. Heather was fearless. Physically, she had become strong by taking up kickboxing. Mentally, she knew she was very vulnerable but could never let others know this. She suspected they knew anyway, but why give them the satisfaction? Life had been hard and her debts seemed insurmountable. Often she wondered what the point was. Heather had a very shaky grasp of faith and belief. Raised as a Christian, Heather did believe God was there but not sure if He had a plan for Her. So Heather pushed and pushed and pushed, trying to get some inkling that there was a purpose.
Heather had been found unconscious, cuts over her forearms and face from glass all around her. She reeked of alcohol and blood was pooled around her prone body. Apparently, according to police reports, she had gone ‘batshit crazy’ as one of the locals had said.
From the reports it appears that Heather had been the focus of a sleazy guy’s affection for the past two hours. The conversation was sleazy as was the guy’s drugged-up girlfriend at the back of the bar: a beautiful cliché for Heather’s attempted swansong. Turns out however, he had been the white-knight after all. He was the one who convinced the guy who put Heather through a glass screen to clear out. And this giant of a guy was Heather’s ‘Big Dog’. She craved the ‘Big Dog’, fixated on such a thing. Heather daydreamed about it. She picked fights and it was so common for the other guy to run and hide. So she aimed for bigger targets, getting herself into small arguments and the occasional slap from upset girlfriends. But this night her ‘Big Dog’ had come, at last. The ‘Big Dog’ was the unwinnable fight - the one you don’t survive. Heather was so convinced that looking back, she was almost upset He had not turned out to be The One.
The guy was all muscle and had a brain. He had tried to peel the sleazy guy off of her when suddenly Heather got the insidious idea into her head that she had to save herself. If this big guy had rescued her then this would be the end of her freedom, surely? Subconsciously Heather thrived on her desperate situation. Without her sad-backstory, who could she possibly be? So as her Prince stormed into save her, Heather downed her drink and turned on him, with full venom. Calling him every name imaginable, she began to punch and kick at him. Turns out her subconscious was a good judge of character as he flipped when she cut his cheek with a cheesy skull-ring on her wedding finger. He screamed at her and roared, picking her up and hurling her through a glass panel. The throw winded her and the glass caused several superficial cuts. It was when he came up and punched her firmly in the face that she passed out. Black-eyed and bandaged on Christmas Day, her friends had insisted on coming around to see her, Christian good-natures brimming with self-congratulating good-cheer.
~
Wounded and alone, Heather had spent New Year’s Eve, counting down the seconds to midnight in a freezing graveyard, sat on a picnic blanket with a bottle of her dad’s favourite whiskey watching other people’s fireworks on the horizon. It was so peaceful. Heather was looking to get drunk and curse the whole damned world. Instead she had found a place of absolute peace. The bottle remained unopened. Her appetite had faded after two terrifying things had happened in that graveyard. The first was her encounter with the faeries. Part of the graveyard was full of tiny plots clustered together. Children’s windmills, toys and trinkets were placed reverentially around them. Illuminating these small graves were solar-powered garden lights, all colours, some fading and changing in the silent darkness. Heather stared at the lights as they blended and changed subtly in the graveyard gloom. Heather thought of giggling faeries dancing in one long eternal childish party. The world of small children, with small lights burning, in a world of endless cold night. Then Heather looked up at the stars. Like that, her own constructions and beliefs in her God had disappeared – just gone.
Heather sat quietly in the darkness, not fighting or cursing or looking for proof of her worth. Heather did not want to be saved. Heather just looked up. The night sky was clear and endless. All sign of humanity was gone - until of course the idiots started letting of fireworks to celebrate another year of whatever it was they thought worthwhile. Heather felt at peace. Not sad, not alone, just content in know that there were faeries and no God to tell them what to do or how to live. So Heather did not get drunk and vowed not to drink again.
When Tanesha announced weeks later that she was pregnant and that she was also planning on marrying Doyle in summer, Heather went home and got drunk and began cursing again.
~
Hilary had been the centre of this group for many years now, founding and co-ordinating them since the time all four girls met and worked together in a bar several summers ago. Mia had been the pretty one, Tanesha the smartass one, Heather the strong one and Hilary considered herself the sensible one. Hilary and Tanesha had nabbed a couple of locals, Dexter and Doyle, and had been happy ever after. Dexter had introduced them all to this weird cult of steampunk, but Hilary quite enjoyed all the dressing-up and sci-fi silliness. Tanesha thought it would be nice to bring Heather in on the act as well as currently Heather seemed upset. By this time, Mia was becoming unreliable - until one day she just disappeared, apparently forever.
Now, with Tanesha being pregnant, Hilary knew this little group was disintegrating fast. Dexter and Doyle were still very close but soon Hilary knew it would be just Hilary and Dexter, maybe seeing Tanesha and Doyle for playdates with their respective children in the not-too-distant future.
Where had her life suddenly gone? Still, at least Hilary had a future and feared Mia was presumed dead and soon perhaps Heather would be too – so Hilary vowed to make sure Heather found her prince and finally live happily ever after! One last hurrah before Hilary finally settled down. Her one last attempt to make everyone happy. Her one last opportunity to prove herself over Tanesha. Hell yes, Hilary was going to do this!
~
“Shall we get back to the convention Heather?” asked Hilary, firmly as soon as they got out of the cinema.
“Sure, let’s get this fat ol’ bird back to the bar!” grinned Heather. Hilary laughed nervously. Dexter and Jon exchanged glances. Jon recognised resignation in Dexter’s eyes – this must happen a lot with Heather.
“Great idea Heather. I could murder a drink too,” said Jon, staring into Heather’s fierce eyes. Heather grinned mischievously.
“You’re buying?”
“Of course my dear,” agreed Jon, as straight-faced as he could manage. Heather thought this situation was very silly as well.
“Then I ‘m all yours, English Jon!” mocked Heather before barking a foul laugh like a real princess would never do.
Hilary led them to the car and in they got. The car would take a full ten minutes to reach the convention again. Ten long minutes that Hilary initially tried to fill with pleasant chatter that Dexter played along with. Jon and Heather listened to the couple chatting away, trying to restore the convention to what it should be: a place where Dexter was the expert in all things steampunk and Hilary was his doting fiancée, making sure everyone was having fun. More importantly making sure no-one was going to fall apart and leave the group, or worse.
Jon and Heather sat opposite in the back of the large expensive limo. Dexter and Hilary sat facing each other next to them. Very cosy and quite civilised. Hilary and Dexter paused and hoped conversation would begin between the designated lovers. Jon felt he and Heather had had enough of this and decided to shake things up a bit.
“Ever wonder why people take it upon themselves to save others?” asked Jon bluntly.
“What are you saying?” asked Heather. Hilary sensed something was awry instantly.
“We all love you Heather, isn’t that right Dexter?” chimed in Hilary, “but you do scare us sometimes! Disappearing like that. You scared me. You scared all of us – especially after Mia disappeared.”
“Mia?” asked Jon. Dexter interrupted, seeing his chance at last.
“Hilary’s friend - she disappeared a while back. No-one, not even the police knew what happened to her. Hils has been sort of protective of the girls since.”
“Wow – really?” Jon was shocked.
“Yeah, well Mia was hot. I think I’m quite safe, thanks,” grumbled Heather, trying to get all eyes back on her sorrows.
“That’s not the point Heather!” Hilary was exhausted. “Look, let’s get back and have one big last night out eh?” Heather fumed and the atmosphere was getting uncomfortable. Jon once more felt the urge to act.
“Look, Hilary and Dexter were right to be concerned, you are not always safe. Things can happen.”
“Aw come on, please – “
“- Ok look, let’s get back. I’m sorry if I did anything before to make you feel uncomfortable.”
Heather grinned at Jon. “You made me cry!” and then she laughed.
Jon smiled “Funny how emotions can grab you sometimes, eh?”
“Very funny. Though I’m not sure if I am safer in here with you or back in the cinema,” and Heather suddenly looked relieved. Hilary grabbed Dexter’s hand and squeezed. Her heart leapt inside for Heather.
“I think you are safe – your friends will always look out for you and come to save you,” Jon continued.
Heather leaned forward and fixed Jon with her gaze. “Tell me Jon, who is going to save you?” she purred.
Jon stared back. He paused to think.
“Do you think I need you to save me?” asked Jon, after his short reflection.
“Jon, we are all here to save you!” smiled Heather. “You’re such a lonely crazy Brit! Coming here, buying your way into our world like you think you can! Man, you have mid-life-crisis writ all over you!”
There was silence and Hilary was now crushing Dexter’s hand. Heather sense she may have gone too far.
“Ah,” said Jon. He leant back again into his seat and looked away from Heather, crestfallen. “You are absolutely right of course. But still, one last night, an old man’s final dance?” his eyes twinkled in hope at Heather. She rolled her eyes but grinned all the same.
“Ok, let’s go to the big dance finale!”
“Great!” screamed Hilary, “this is going to be so great!” And like that, Hilary changed the subject to the bands playing tonight and what everyone should do to prepare.
~
The limo pulled up to the convention and as they were getting out, Heather whispered to Jon, “I’m sorry I was a bit mean in there.”
Jon stopped, allowing Hilary and Dexter to carry on into the convention without them.
“Look, I think you may be right,” confessed Jon. “I may have gotten carried away with this get-up. Thing is, this is meant to be my big first step into a new life. Wish it was going smoother.”
“Don’t worry Jon, something to tell the kids right?” snarled Heather, but this remark made Jon pale and Heather stopped and slapped her hands to her mouth.
“Aw shit – I’m really sorry!”
Jon shook his head and grinned to help regain composure. “Hey. It’s really not a problem - really.” Jon paused and looked at Heather intently. Heather held her breath, then exhaled long to help let the dark words out at last.
“It’s just that I sort of say that a lot. I picked it up as a sort-of catchphrase for when bad-shit happens.”
“Yes, sounds like you have been using it a while.”
“Yes,” Heather calmed down and looked sad. Jon felt an evil grin come over his face.
“Sort of thing an infertile woman says knowing no-one can come back at her. Make them feel a bit bad eh? Remind them how lucky they are right? They can have kids, you can’t. Boo-hoo.”
Heather stuck her tongue out at him. “Guess I shouldn’t try it on a guy whose kids have died, right?”
Jon shrugged. “I guess.”
“Fair enough. I am sorry though.”
“I know.”
“And if you want to talk about it, then we’ll talk, ok?”
Jon considered this. The scarred warrior in front of him was trying to save his life. “I’d be a fool to try and stop you wouldn’t I?
Heather relaxed and approached Jon softly. “Hey Jon, you just talk when you want to. Meantime, I’ll clean up my act a bit, ok?”
“Ok Heather, it’s a deal.”
Heather then threw her arms around Jon and gave him a hug and whispered in his ear, “You’ll be ok Jon. Really.”
Jon wrapped his arms around Heather and crushed her against him. Her perfume and her body ensnaring him completely. Jon suddenly felt tired, old and weak. “Thanks,” he whispered, clinging onto Heather for his very life. They both sighed and relaxed a bit.
Heather stepped back and looked Jon in the eyes. “Come on, let’s get ready for our big dance.”
Meanwhile, on the entrance steps, Hilary punched Dexter in the arm and pointed in excitement at the pair locked in a deep hug. Dexter let himself smile. “Groovy. Let’s get this party started!”
~
It was the last afternoon of the final day. The convention was heaving with happy people. Dressed up as robots, pirates, Victorian engineers, men dressed as women, girls dressed as boys. Young children followed their cuddly mothers, wearing outlandish hats and silver face-paint.
A small tiny world, a tiny precious thing.
Jon steered Heather to the most elaborate and expensive stalls insisting on buying her a gift. Hilary and Dexter had already drifted off to get ready for the evening. Heather suddenly felt claustrophobic and trapped.
“Do you like these things?” asked Jon, suddenly concerned.
“Well, they are kinda cool…” dithered Heather. The stalls knew their audience, and they had outfits for all sizes. Jon cocked his head at Heather.
“This isn’t you is it. You would prefer Disney.”
“Sssh! Be quiet! We’ll get kicked out for saying stuff like that!” panicked Heather. Jon laughed.
“Come along now, Heather! This place is about self-expression right?”
Heather cocked her head suspiciously. Jon continued. “Want to pop out and go shopping?”
Heather grinned. She glared at him and said “Here we go. Ok I get it now. Sure, let’s go get something kinky. I just knew it!”
“Well, not quite,” continued Jon.
~
Jon nipped ahead and grabbed his waiting limo. Heather arrived as Jon was ending a secretive phone call and was giving some quiet directions to the driver.
“Ok Jon, where the hell are we going?” asked Heather as she got into the limo. She eyed the champagne in the ice bucket as a bad omen.
Jon grinned. “Just to a store, buy some nice clothes for the dance, then back again.”
“Meanwhile, you get me drunk and help me out of these clothes right?” she winced. “Ah God, I thought you’d be different!”
“Well, maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Who knows! But fuck it, I just fancied making you happy - fucksake.”
Heather did stop when Jon seemed to lapse out of his prim-character. Jon popped open the drink and filled the glasses carelessly. “Drink – or don’t. Women are better with words. Men better with, blunt actions,” continued Jon, perhaps to himself, “I can’t seem to shut you up with nice words, so blunt actions it is!”
Heather gasped at this crazy man. Was it desperation or romance? It was a free drink after a long day, so Heather took it and chimed her glass against his. “Cheers Jon!”
The chime of the glass seemed to snap Jon out of his sulk and Jon grinned, “Cheers.” They drank and Jon continued, “- and thankyou. You were absolutely right. I do need some help and you have helped me so much. Thanks.”
“I have?”
“What you said earlier. I keep getting moments of incredible self-doubt, you know? This all seems fun, then suddenly I remember all the very bad things – “
“- me too,” whispered Heather.
They sat and drank quietly. Then Heather downed her glass resolutely. “Well misery loves company I guess,” she concluded.
“Then here’s to the finest company an old misery like me could ever have!” cheered Jon, refilling the glasses. The bottle was emptied quickly and Jon and Heather snuggled, giggling and exhausted against each other.
Heather surveyed the spacious limo. “Do we have time for a quick screw Jon?”
Jon shrugged. “Christ knows, probably take me ten minutes to get undressed. Fuck, it’s been a long time.”
“Oh, you old romantic wan-ker you,” grinned Heather in a terribly attempted accent. She lay in his arms, watching the sunny buildings go past. The limo was slowing down giving them only time enough for a long boozy kiss.
The car stopped and Jon sprang out of the limo, staggering only slightly and opening the door for his lady-friend Heather. The chauffer smiled and helped Jon by doing the job properly. Heather began to giggle as she stepped out into the street. Nice area, expensive-looking shops. Not the sex-shop-dungeon-scenario she had first imagined. “Ok, officially I am intrigued, Sir Jon.”
“Good. Shop should be over here somewhere,” Jon was obviously lost. Luckily, his chauffeur came to his aid and soon they were entering a very expensive shop. Assistants arrived and guided Heather to a side-area where magnificent ball-gowns and outfits were gathered.
“Wow,” cooed Heather. Nothing had a price-tag on it.
“Go play, go explore, come back a princess, okay?” beamed Jon.
Heather gave him a big hug, then a long kiss, before turning around to squeal in delight. Heather realised at last that someone was letting her be a girl - and they were paying for it!
~
Jon staggered outside, trying to shake the booze from his head. The chauffeur was waiting nearby. A middle-aged man with a smart suit and jet-black hair, he grinned at Jon.
“Everything alright, sir?” he enquired. Jon smiled and thinking the chauffeur would fit right in at the convention as well.
“Am I – ? “ Jon could not think how to put this delicately. “Am I being a prick?”
“Not really for me to say, sir. Why do you feel such a prick?”
“Look, a year ago I was broke. Now I’ve a heap of cash and I’m using it to by expensive drinks and dresses for women to go dancing.”
The chauffer waited politely to see if there was anything else forthcoming from this epiphany: when it did not he cleared his throat politely.
“So let me get this straight, you’ve come into some money and feel bad about blowing it on stuff you don’t need?”
“Exactly!” yelped Jon, clapping his hands together.
“Ha. Well, if you can afford to spend freely, then do so. Try to live a little before you die - just remember to tip the driver, ok?”
Jon smiled. “Ok sir, I will. Thanks.”
“No problem. I can see someone is really loving this new philosophy too, look.”
The chauffer pointed, Jon turned and there was Heather: in a sky-blue dress with ribbons and bows, some engineering, holding some bits in and allowing others to flow gracefully. She looked terrific. Heather looked like the original rags-to-riches princess with a side-order of snow-queen on top. They had even given her a tiara to go with it.
“I’m a princess! Lookit me! Ah thankyou, Sir Jon!” Heather was genuinely happy.
The chauffer guided the beautiful Heather toward the car and Jon had almost herded her inside when she stopped to see the beauty parlour opposite.
Jon shrugged as he followed her gaze. “Come on then princess - as long as we get there by midnight!”
~
This was the end of the convention. Everyone had seen a lot of acts, danced to some crazy bands, bought some bizarre things and met people they rarely spoke to in-person. Phones were used for posting selfies back to the virtual world and the main hall was teeming with people happy and drunk.
Tanesha was not drunk. Stone-cold sober and 28 weeks pregnant, her outfit was looser this year. Doyle was at the bar with Dexter and Hilary was looking out for Heather. This was all ending for them, she knew. The fun little trips, the secrets, the teenage stuff dragged forward deep into their twenties. Patting her belly Tanesha knew she would be the first to reach the next level, but would also be the first to miss the old one.
Her little friends were slowly catching up with her – even ‘Beefy’ Heather. Tanesha missed Mia at times like this – only Mia and Tanesha seemed to be in on the joke: Mia had gotten to the punchline first.
Running through the crowd, the boy she knew only as Cal collided with her, knocking the last of the lemonade out of her plastic cup. He seemed to be upset and in a hurry to be somewhere. Tanesha watched him go, wiping the drink off of her belly.
~
Alice’s foul mood lifted upon seeing her rich-customer friend Jon and a stunning woman at his side - it was Heather! Jon waved at her proudly as the pair made their way through the clusters of well-dressed steampunkers. Deftly, Jon flicked his credit card through the air like a shuriken to Alice’s instinctive receptive hand. Jon then made a circling motion to everyone around him. Alice acknowledged Jon’s intentions and rallied her staff: tonight would be an epic battle against sobriety!
“Good for you Heather!” she called. Men threw themselves at Alice (and any females) at these events. Great for tips, but ultimately, it was still soul-destroying. Still at least Cal had seemed to take the hint and had stopped hanging around her bar.
~
Hilary and Dexter, Tanesha and Doyle, Heather and Jon. The circle was complete. Heather looked amazing! Her long red hair straightened out and cut beautifully. Her princess dress - simply amazing! Hilary and Tanesha conceded that Heather was by far the most stunning of the old-gang tonight. Jon was a great addition to the gang as well – just in time for their last big dance. Music played and they danced and danced. The bar had apparently become free so people were getting very merry. Occasionally security teams ejected the odd drunken idiot, but otherwise the atmosphere was wonderful, fun and relaxed.
Heather seemed genuinely happy. Finally, she had stepped out of her secret pink Saturday-morning closet and was baring every inch of her true rosy-pink Disney girliness-to the distain of some of the hardcore soot-covered steampunkers. But how could anyone here dare to judge her? All walks were here now. People were expressing themselves, being themselves, opening-up as the show was closing-down. People were kissing and singing and hugging. Their world was ending for another year. Tomorrow would be a dreadful new dawn, but tonight would be everything. Tonight, everyone here was alive, themselves and unshackled.
Heather and Jon span and kissed and danced. Both were crying, elated and free. On stage, the resident steampunk DJ gave a shout-out to Jon and informed him that the surprise event for him was now ready. The couple froze – once more the centre of attention. Jon was confused.
~
Cal had earlier managed to get into the store-cupboard in the hall Jon had hired for the boxing event the previous day. Some of the hired kit had been stowed here for collection after the convention. He and his goth pal managed to rally some ‘engineers’ for a ‘surprise event’, unpacking one of the stored portable boxing rings: a cantilevered package with several straight-forward steps to re-assemble. Within minutes, the team of six had setup the portable ring and ropes. Alice had popped in when one of her spies had seen them slope off earlier and she stormed up to them to confront Cal.
“What the hell is this?” she asked.
“Look Alice, I can’t compete against someone like Jon. He took Heather from me – “
“- I’m pretty sure you sort of pushed her away, what with you being a drunk jerk Cal – “
“- no look, I can beat him! I’ve had a word with the others and we’ll set up a surprise for him. It’ll be neat – “
“- Cal, Seriously? What the hell? Ok, I’m having you all kicked out – “
“Stop!” screamed Cal and everyone froze, “Look, Jon can’t just come into our world and bluff his way. He never made his outfits, doesn’t know any of the bands, or anything! What gives him the right to try and take things over!”
Alice shook her head. “Why do you care?”
Cal stopped, his hand pulling the top rope and letting it spring-back, taut and primed. He turned to face her. “I’ve been coming here since the first event, Alice. I wait every year to come here, Alice. I try to improve my look and become bigger and better, Alice. And why you might ask?”
Alice rolled her eyes, “- Whatever! I’ve got to get back. I hope he smacks you down you little prick!”
Cal watched her go. His big speech ruined, he lamented to himself: “Because of you, Alice. Always, because of you.”
Taking a deep breath to restore composure, he was suddenly full of rage once more. If he could grow a moustache he would have twirled it. Instead he tried to grab the goth’s attention before giving up and telling one of the engineers to inform the DJ that Jon’s big surprise was ready. Cal slipped on the boxing gloves. “And so it ends for you Jon. Tonight it ends! Mwa ha ha!”
~
Jon and Heather were led out of the main hall by a small group of curious steampunkers as the music resumed. Hilary, Dexter, Tanesha and Doyle were nowhere to be seen. Alice had just gotten back to the bar where things were frantic, so she was powerless to warn him. On top of this, security was tied-up ejecting a group of sky-pirates.
Jon and Heather entered the hall and surveyed the lone ring, illuminated under a single spotlight.
“Wow! And to what do I owe this pleasure?” he called. Inside the ring on a wooden stool stood Cal.
“Time for you to go down sir!” called Cal. “Time for you to earn ‘the Title’ or leave!”
“Ok, said Jon,” playing along, he turned to Heather and whispered “What is this?”
“No idea, but if you did knock that prick’s teeth out, I’d be ever so grateful. And be quick about it too! You just wait and see what I got under this new outfit honey!” she cooed in his ear, leaning close to show something white and lacy clung lovingly around her cleavage. That certainly put a leery smile on Jon’s face. The other steampunkers had filed in for the show and they began to cheer at this new entertainment. The familiar goth appeared with a pair of boxing gloves for Jon.
“Wow, ok I see. Challenge accepted, sir!” bellowed Jon as he slipped into character and stripped off down to his vest. The drunken steampunkers cheered. Heather fixed Cal with a deadly stare.
The goth grinned as he helped wrap-up Jon’s wrists and put on his gloves. The goth added, “Seriously dude, thanks. This year has been really fun with you here too. We’ve all liked having you and hope you come back next year.” People in the crowd nearby agreed and some started clapping and whooping for him.
“Thanks,” he said sincerely.
“No problem dude. We are proud that you are one of us now. Just take it easy on Cal – he’s one of us too ok?”
~
And so, Cal and Jon prepared for the deciding bout, much to Heather’s frustrated amusement. The group began to cheer and the audience were chanting for Jon and Cal, booing and clapping at the pantomime.
Jon entered the ring. A beautiful woman then joined the two warriors in the ring, raising her hands for quiet. “In the blue corner, we have Cal the defender. In the red corner, we have Jon the challenger. Let’s fight! C’mon!” The crowd were more than happy with that terrible introduction and they roared their approval as the woman was clumsily helped out of the ring again.
Cal’s stance was just wrong, thought Jon. He was small and skinny. Jon was only an amateur boxer who enjoyed the sport, but even he could see that Cal was no threat to anyone except himself.
“Come along Cal! Put them up! Time to end the show!” Jon goaded. The crowd cheered.
“You’re the one who will lose! Interloper! Think you can just turn up and buy your way into our hearts!” the crowd mumbled – they had enjoyed the free drinks. Jon realised he would had to work harder to be the villain tonight.
“Damn your eyes man! Of course, you are right! You steampunkers are ruddy idiots!” theatrically, everyone booed, led by Heather. “That was my plan all along! I’d get you all drunk and then I’d steal your beautiful women!” The booing intensified, with some laughter. “And I’ll continue to take over your world! I’ll buy this venue out, and – “, Jon paused theatrically as the boos increased, “ – and sell the rights to Disney! Imagine the films we could make!” Catcalls and booing ensued.
“I knew it! You see! Jon’s an idiot! Let’s get him!” screamed Cal, and the audience cheered and laughed.
“Just start already!” screamed Heather, “I wanna go dancing!”
Everyone laughed and from somewhere, of course someone had a brass bell – it rang ‘ding-ding’ and the big fight was on.
Jon had to do everything he could to keep it entertaining. His right knee hurt like hell but Jon managed to dance around Cal, tapping him on the back of the head. Cal just about managed to put his hands up and lashed out at Jon erratically. They were wise enough to wear padded headgear and gum-shields, so Jon slowed down and let Cal begin to work out his aggression on him – taking the punches and exaggerating their impact. He threw a few light punches at Cal but this just seemed to antagonise him further. Then Jon’s knee clicked painfully and he tripped onto the canvas. Cal followed him down with several quick punches to the side. That actually hurt! The crowd cheered and Cal raised his arms in victory!
Jon stood up and grinned. That had been odd, but quite fun – however the cheering had suddenly intensified. Jon turned and his blood ran cold. Heather had taken off her princess dress and the female announcer was helping her put on some boxing gloves. Heather looked magnificent and deadly, wearing amazingly-crafted pearl-white silk underwear, strapped tightly in around her generous frame. She waded into the ring and the crowd bellowed, whistled and cheered.
“Come to mommy!” she called as Cal retreated to the far corner.
“I can’t hit you – you’re a girl!” whined Cal, eyes on Heather’s exposed fleshy parts.
Jon grinned and spat out his gum-shield. “Dammit woman! This is no place of a girl! Get back to the main hall and we’ll dance!”
“Oh we’ll dance all-right” cried Heather and punched Jon squarely in the face. Jon reeled from the strike as the crowd groaned in sympathy. Cal leapt over the ropes and everyone laughed and cheered.
Jon and Heather stared at each other. “So I must defeat you in combat to win your hand, is that it?” he asked her.
“Ha. Sure thing, whatever - ‘knock yourself out’ Jon,” she taunted.
So Jon punched Heather in the face, and she recoiled. The crowd gasped and then cheered. Jon stared at her semi-naked body, mesmerised by the wonderful jiggling parts. Jon didn’t just want her hand, he wanted the whole package!
“Eyes front Jon!” screamed Heather and assailed the distracted Jon with a flurry of powerful strikes. Jon collapsed back against the ropes. Heather closed in and continued to beat him hard. The crowd was going berserk!
Jon and Heather locked eyes and they tuned out the noise of the crowd – hearing only the noise of pounding blood. Heather’s eyes suddenly deadened, and tears began to fall. A snarl gripped her and Jon recognised a familiar inner-demon trying to escape. Heather wanted to face her ‘Big Dog’ right here and now. Jon felt panic spread through him, self-doubt stripping away his façade. But then Jon growled at Heather as she stood before him. Heather was desperately trying to tear-apart his new world by making Jon face up to his real inner-demon: his past, his loved-ones, his unfinished conversations. Jon growled selfishly.
“Fuck you, you infertile bitch,” spat Jon and smashed her in the belly.
“Fuck you, you dead-wife loving cunt,” hissed Heather and smashed him across the grinning cheek.
“Yes, come on! Come on!” yelled Jon. Heather beat him hard in the chest and gut. Jon reeled back against the ropes again. Heather straightened up.
“Come on, fight me Jon! Unleash it! End this tonight!” she goaded him and Jon charged headlong at her - unleashing a powerful double jab to her face, connecting once and forcing her back across the ring.
The crowd were cheering with many different voices now – some sensed things were slipping out of control – the goth was trying to calm things down.
Heather bashed Jon, wailing tears, Jon retaliated, feeling the shocks run thorough him, tasting blood in his mouth. Their battle ended suddenly.
They fell against each other exhausted, drained, bruised, bleeding and glistening with sweat, desire and a nervous sense of hope. They should have kept their gum-shields in, but they still had all their teeth. They wrapped their arms around each other, kissing and groaning. Something had died there that night, replaced with a large new-thing, far scarier, far more all-consuming.
The crowd cheered and jeered! “Ok dudes! Back to the bar!” rallied the goth. “Jon has organised free drinks for everyone!” he yelled. The steampunkers charged out, chanting Heather’s name. No-one saw Cal again.
~
Jon and Heather were a hit – already on the internet. Jon and Heather avoided the help of others, though did retrieve their clothes before escaping into the store-cupboard to fuck each other’s brains out.
Jon stripped, Heather was all-but naked anyway. They reeked and ached. They would normally be unsure and nervous, but after the crying, beating and fighting – Jon and Heather felt empowered, fearless, fresh, vital. They found some mattresses and kissed, embraced and rutted like animals. They both felt some deep, nagging guilt. Heather was not sure if she was being a slut or had been tricked into being raped. Jon felt nothing emotional for Heather in that first intimate moment - just an animal instinct to mate. Both felt used and deceived. Both felt awful for desecrating their pasts, to trample their delicate beloved memories with such base and crude pleasures. And yet, this was not just pleasure, this was an affirmation: this was an ecstatic celebration, a joyful new beginning, a chance to bury the dead and breathe the life of the living. The fucking gave way to kissing and caressing and holding and dreaming.
So they fucked each other’s brains out, with dirty minds yet a clean conscious.
~
Dressed once more, Jon and Heather returned beaten and bedraggled to the main hall. They had no energy to dance but Alice had had the foresight to organise a private table where they could be alone to recover. Hilary rushed over to the pair, wondering what the hell had just happened to cause them to look so rough: ruined makeup, messed-up hair, was Jon’s mouth bleeding? But Heather just turned to look at Hilary, and something inside this fiery woman was finally at peace.
“They just needed to get laid Hils,” whispered Dexter in her ear. “Come on, let’s leave them be.”
~
Smoke billowing blackly from the wounded engines, his imperial sail-ship lurched toward home once more. The bloodied captain with bruised eyes and aching jaw set his loving gaze on his beautiful flame-haired princess. Below the savage jungles of blue monsters shrieked in anger at his audacity for stealing the sacrificial bride of their demon-god. Victory was now his and the princess wrapped her arms tightly around him as they sailed into the glorious sunset.
~
The evening was winding down with the last few songs playing and the steampunkers leaving. Jon and Heather had agreed they would be starting a motorbike tour of America next. Tanesha and Doyle were planning out their busy next year as well. Hilary and Dexter remained strangely quiet and non-committal on the subject, but the others knew that would not last for long.
Heather insisted on her one last dance. She stormed up to the robot band on stage and made a very loud request. Jon watched her go and realised how gorgeous she looked. The band gave in to this intimidating barrage and suddenly played something strange but awfully familiar. The crowd laughed and groaned as one. Heather strode back through the dancing couples across the dance-floor, microphone in hand. Heather belted out her one last defiant song, through the swirling-storm of steampunker couples, dressed as a princess, but in the end it looked like she was the queen.
The circle of friends joined in this last terrible Disney song together. They hugged and said goodbye. They drifted apart.
~
THE END