The Church and the Tradesman - 5. The Bodyguard

“Bleeding ell-fire! Where did this lot come from?”

“They have to let us through…tell them to move out of the way, I said.”

“I’m not getting out, you bleeding tell em. You’re the one who’s in a rush.”

“You’re the boss; it’s your responsibility.”

“I’m not the boss.”

“Yes, you are.”

“So, I’m in charge then?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then you to go and talk to them.”

“You’re an arse.”

“You can’t talk to me like that, I’m your boss.”

“When you two are finished arguing I’m still here, you know.”

“Who said that?” asked Bob. He checked to see if the radio was on before tilting his head towards my lap.

“Hello…Andy!”

“It’s your phone, you muppet.”

“Shit…Jazz.” I put the phone to my ear and smiled apologetically to Bob. “I’m sorry, I forgot all about you.”

“Typical,” she said. “What’s going on there?”

“We’ve got a problem Jazz, there are a few photographers blocking the gate, we can’t get the van out and Bob’s too scared to ask them to move.” I could hear him grumbling at my remarks but Jazz wasn’t impressed.

“Then you do it; they want Tyrone, not you pair of dipsticks.”

“I know who they want, but when I said a few, well, it’s probably more like twenty.”

“Thirty,” said Bob. “At least.”

“There are a lot of them and they don’t look very friendly.” I was being kind; they looked menacing at best, and were two or three deep across the gate, effectively sealing off the only entrance to the property. The paparazzi had arrived in force; somebody must have tipped them off.

I nearly jumped through the roof when I heard someone knocking on the passenger window, but it was only the security guard and when I opened it, he stuck his head in.

“You’ll have to reverse back,” he said. “And wait until the police arrive and I can get some more security here.”

“But I need to get home.”

“If we open the gates now, we won't be able to keep them out. It’s not the press that I’m worried about, it’s the fans, they’ll be all over the place. They’re animals, trust me.”

“I can’t stay here all night, I’ve made plans.”

“You and me both,” he said. “I was supposed to finish work an hour ago.”

I told Jazz that I would call her back and then waited until the security guard had gone back to the house before turning to Bob. “You’ll have to stay here with the van, I’ll jump on the tube.”

“How are you getting out?”

“I’m gonna climb over the gate.”

“You must be fucking mad.”

I grabbed my phone and told Bob that I would see him on Monday before getting out and walking over to the entrance, but it wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought. There was an excited cheer from the crowd as I approached and I was bombarded with questions from every direction, accompanied by a volley of flashes which put spots before my eyes. They wanted to know if Tyrone was inside the house and if he would make an appearance for them, but I couldn’t have answered over their collective noise even if I had wanted to. I stopped a few feet short of the gate before turning around and walking back to the van.

‘Bob’s right, I must be fucking mad’.

“Hey, what were you doing?” asked the security guard. He had jogged over to me after seeing me at the gate on the CCTV. “If you go out there they won't leave you alone. They’ll wanna know where he is, what’s he doing. Anything that might give them an advantage over the next bloke. Look at them, they’re trying to climb over the wall.”

Word must have spread quickly because the fans now outnumbered the paparazzi, infiltrating their ranks and tenaciously pushing their way to the front to scream for their hero.

It was scary and even the big security guard seemed nervous as he shouted at a girl who had climbed to the top of the wall.

“They’ll settle down when the police get here,” he said as we watched Bob reverse over the flower bed to a chorus of jeers from the increasingly unruly crowd.

When we returned to the house, Mrs Dewsbury was waiting just inside the door. “There’s some food in the kitchen if you’re hungry boys, help yourself to anything.” She seemed remarkably calm considering the enveloping mayhem outside but pleased to see us return, maybe our presence made her feel more secure.

“Does this kind of thing happen all the time?” I asked.

“Not all the time,” she said, “but it’s been a problem of late. London’s quite bad. All the big cities really. It’s part of the job, I’m afraid.”

“How does he cope with it; I‘d be petrified?”

“Oh, Tyrone manages, he just gets on with things. It’s part of his job. They’re his fans, they love him.”

“Why don't he go out and ask em to move then?” asked Bob.

“Oh God no, they would tear him apart.”

“But they love im?”

“I know; it doesn’t make sense; we live in a crazy world.”

“Tyrone lives in a crazy world,” said Bob. “Me and Andy live in the normal world.”

‘Speak for yourself, Bob’.

As far as I was concerned the normal world would finish at four o’clock the next morning and would be suspended until the following day. The church was definitely not in the normal world that Bob was referring to.

- 7.30 pm -

“You don’t understand Jazz, it’s a mob out there. There’s no way I’m leaving just yet!”

“What are you gonna do then, miss church?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that will never happen.” I was sure that I would make it one way or another, although my usual careful build-up was likely to take a battering.

‘I’ll jump straight in if I have to, but I’m not missing it’.

I hadn’t missed church in almost two years and it was a record of which I was proud. It put me in the bracket of the elite and the regular churchgoers were always rewarded well for their loyalty.

“I suppose we can turn up a little late tonight it don’t matter,” she said. “But only if you get me his autograph.” She had played right into my hands.

“It’s already sorted, you tart. I got you a signed CD.”

“You have? Wow, I underestimated you. Which one?”

“His latest album, Closet Queen!”

“You mean Comet Dream.”

“Whatever.”

‘My version was probably more accurate’.

“I love you, Andy, but can you get him to write, to Jazz, on it, please?”

‘Cheeky cow’.

“Don’t push your luck, girl.”

“And a kiss at the end.”

“Now you’re taking the piss, I’m not asking him for a bloody kiss!”

“Go on please, I’m sure he won't mind, do it for me and…and…I’ll give you a BJ later.”

“YUK, don’t be disgusting, you almost made me sick.” She was laughing at my discomfort, even though I knew that she was only joking. We may have fumbled around with sex for a laugh, but there was no way that I could imagine her putting a penis into her mouth, especially mine.

“Okay, I’ll get Lionel to give you a BJ instead,” she said.

Now that was a different proposition altogether, but even though I would have gladly given my life’s savings for such a pleasure, I knew that Lionel was out of reach to all but the man himself, Russell, the sole proprietor of Trade.

“If you could arrange that my dear, then I’ll bring Tyler too, even if I have to kidnap him.”

“It’s a deal,” she said. “Make sure he’s with you.” Then she hung up, leaving me staring at the handset and wondering what I had just agreed to.

I didn’t have to worry too much; Lionel may be up for the occasional joke on the door but he would never consider jazz’s proposal, no matter how hard she tried. The thought of it though, kept me amused for a while as we waited for the cavalry to set us free from our house arrest.

- 8 pm -

“What’s that noise?” asked Bob, it got the attention of the security guard but I wasn’t impressed with his overused ploy.

“I can’t hear anything,” said the South African.

“Sounds like a kettle,” said Bob, but I was already walking out of the security room where we were sitting, watching the scene at the gate and waiting for the police.

“I shouldn’t have to make you tea Bob, we’ve finished work now.”

“Up yours,” he said. “I’m bleeding booking this as overtime and you’re gonna do the same. It ain’t our fault we can’t go ome, is it?”

“I know but we’re not working either.”

“Yes we are, you’re making the tea,” he said and he chuckled at his little joke.

“What are you doing then?”

“It’s tea break, what do you think I’m bleeding doing?” I liked Bob, but sometimes I hated him too and I couldn’t understand why we had to sit out in a cold bland security office when there was a warm, comfortable, opulent, house that we could use.

‘Mrs Dewsbury told us to make ourselves comfortable, all we have to do is avoid that little brat’.

Only I didn’t seem to be doing too well at that and when I strolled into the kitchen, he was sitting at the table, talking on his phone.

His hair was wet and he had changed clothes. Thanks to our hard work, it looked as if he had finally been able to have his shower, but he showed little appreciation for our efforts. Instead, when he saw me, he turned sideways in his chair to face the other way, making it clear that I wasn’t welcome.

It presented me with a dilemma because I knew that Bob would be even less accommodating if I were to return without his cup of brew, but the kettle was on the counter directly behind where he was sitting and the tea and coffee were in the cupboard above. Mrs Dewsbury had insisted that we help ourselves to food and drink and it was hardly our fault why we were still there, so, determined not to be intimidated by his presence, I strolled casually past him to the counter and set about my task.

He was engrossed in his conversation and laughed loudly into the phone as I filled the kettle.

‘This is what happens when you have money to burn’.

Calling abroad from a mobile would have been costing him a pretty penny, but he didn’t seem too bothered as he started complaining about his delayed flight, the cold weather, and not being allowed out of the house. He was only a few feet away from me and it was impossible not to listen, but as hard as I tried I couldn’t hear the person on the other end.

“I’m going to the Tower of London tomorrow,” he said.

‘Good, I hope they keep you there’.

I got the impression that he was talking to his mother or another family member, as he explained how the record company had arranged for him to visit some of London’s tourist spots.

Then, while I was searching the cupboards for some cups, I noticed him watching me out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned towards him he quickly looked away and behaved as if he didn’t even know that I was there. It was a little odd, but no more than I expected and when I turned around again to make the tea, I could see the reflection of his milky white face in stainless steel backsplash.

‘Why is he watching me’?

It put me on edge but when I spun around, he turned with me and casually continued his conversation.

“When do you start filming,” he asked. “I wanna be there.”

‘Okay, so it’s not his mom, it’s probably an actor friend of his’.

“Do you sing in it?”

‘A singer-actor then’.

“Is that a track from one of your albums?”

‘An established singer-actor’.

“You’re kidding me; I was about five when that song came out.”

‘You’re not much older now’.

I was pretending not to listen, in the same way, that he was pretending not to look at me, but I was certain that we both knew what the other one was up to. It was slightly bizarre, but I knew that Jazz would appreciate it when I told her the story later that night.

He had been nice to us as we were leaving; shaking my hand and apologising for biting me earlier, but I got the impression that he wasn’t overjoyed to see us back in his temporary abode. When I accidentally dropped the teaspoon on the floor, he could no longer pretend that I wasn’t there and he removed the phone from his ear and turned around to confront me.

“Why are you still here?” he said and I panicked, although I’m not sure why. I wasn’t doing anything wrong and he didn’t have to sit in the kitchen, where he knew we were likely to go. We were English workmen, of course, we were going to make tea, and he had plonked himself down right in front of the sacred kettle.

“We can’t get out, the gate’s blocked by the press,” I said.

“What did you just say? I didn’t understand a word of that.”

“I said we can’t get out.”

“Why not?”

“The paparazzi have blocked the gate.”

“SO! They’re not after you, what are you worried about?” I hated Bob for putting me through this agony, almost as much as I hated the little brat sitting in front of me.

“The security doesn’t want us to….” The kid cut me off when he turned his back on me and continued his conversation, making me feel like a right plonker.

“Sorry Whitney,” he said and I dropped the spoon again.

‘It can’t be the same one. There has to be more than one Whitney in America…who acts…sings…and has lots of albums. Oh, my God, I’ve gotta tell Jazz’.

“Just some stupid English plumber or whatever he is,” he said and he looked over at me. “He’s a real JACKASS!”

‘He’s talking about me to Whitney Houston’.

I loved Whitney Houston and had sat through two showings of ‘The Bodyguard’ when it was released. Admittedly, I spent most of the first one in the toilet, helping a friend through a sticky patch. A guy who I had met at the church.

I almost didn’t mind being insulted if he was talking to her, and I had the urge to grab the phone from him and tell her how much I loved her voice, even if her songs were a little soppy for my liking.

I had over-stirred the teas and was clearly loitering in a blatant attempt to listen in on his conversation but it was too obvious and he was forced to hang up on my idol.

“I’ll have to call you back, Whitney,” he said. “When I’m ALONE!”

‘How can he know her and he has her phone number, the little creep’.

It made me hate him even more, but I was embarrassed over my attempted eavesdropping and decided to make myself scarce. I picked up the teas and was about to leave when he stood in front of me to block my path.

‘Oh no, not this again’!

“Why were you trying to listen to my call?”

“What are you talking about, I’m not interested in listening to you?”

“Liar!”

He was right on all counts, but I wasn’t going to admit it. “You could have gone somewhere else to talk; you didn’t have to sit in the bloody kitchen did you.”

He laughed at me and mimicked my accent. “You didn’t have to sit in the bloody kitchen did you.” His English accent was better than mine, which pissed me off even more. “I thought you idiots left ages ago, haven’t you got a house of your own somewhere?”

I glared at him. “I already told you, we can’t leave.”

“Oh yeah, a few photographers.” He shook his head and pulled a face at me which I wanted to aim a punch at but I took a deep breath instead and kept to the script. I don’t know why I felt compelled to explain something, which he probably already knew, but I did anyway.

“They won't open the gates because there are a lot of kids out there who are trying to get in to see you.” Then I shuddered as I realised that I had just given him more ammunition to use against me.

“It’s because they love me,” he said.

“You’re nothing special. You’re not even a good singer.”

“I’m better than you.” If I had forgotten that I was dealing with a kid, then that statement quickly reminded me, and it brought a smile to my face, which must have confused my immature friend.

“Okay, if they love you so much and you want me out of here so badly, I’ll go and open the gate. That way, I can go home and your fans can come in and do whatever it is that they wanna do to you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” said Tyler.

“Watch me!”

I put the cups down on the table and walked around him and out into the corridor. I was on a mission, but I couldn’t back down and neither could he as he kept pace with me a few steps behind.

‘Someone has to teach this brat a lesson’.

I wasn’t normally like that, I rarely allowed myself to be wound up by idiots like him, but there was something about this kid that riled me, even when he wasn’t talking. Just the look of him was enough to unhinge me and drive me up the wall.

I was angry and determined to put him in his place, which was something that nobody else seemed to have the guts to do, but I was also hoping that he would stop me. Only a madman would have opened the gates and I had no intention of following through with my threat. He must have known that too as he watched me walk towards the front door without saying a word. Realising that I had boxed myself into a corner, I slowed down to a crawl hoping that he would catch me up and he did.

“Go on then,” he said smiling at me. “Open the gate if you want.”

‘You little fucker’!

I lost my temper, pushed him aside and opened the door only for him to slam it shut again.

“No don’t,” he said and I froze. “Please don’t.”

His cocky smile had deserted him, replaced by the look of a frightened child. He must have considered me crazy enough to do it, but I was more relieved than angry as I stared into his deep blue eyes until he looked away.

‘They have to be contact lenses, they’re too blue to be real’.

I had definitely won that battle, even if there was no one there to witness it and he seemed happy to see me heading back to the kitchen to collect the teas.

‘This kid is a definite nut job’.

- 8.30 pm -

“It’s cold,” said Bob and I very nearly doused him with it as he handed it back.

“Fine, make your own fucking tea.”

“I dunno what’s gotten into him lately,” I heard him mutter as I stormed out of the dark security room into the brightly lit hallway. Unsure of what to do, I ducked into the living room and sat down in the big armchair in front of the television.

This was not how I was planning on spending my Saturday night, but even I had to admit that it had a certain amount of comic value to it. As frustrating as it was to be stuck inside a house arguing with the world’s biggest brat, while a mob of crazed, pre-pubescent girls threatened to tear down the gates outside, I couldn’t wait to tell Jazz all about my adventures.

‘She’s not gonna believe most of this’.

I smiled to myself and closed my eyes, pleased with my little victory, but it wasn’t over yet.

“You’re in my chair!”

When I opened my eyes he was standing in front of me, legs apart, barefoot and dressed in a Karategi!

“You’re aving a laugh?”