The Church and the Tradesman - 8. The Pants

It was my first glimpse of how different and easy my life could be with someone like Tyrone on my arm.

I must have been completely mad to even think in such a way. If I had of possessed the slightest morsel of intelligence, then I would have walked out of that house right then and never returned.

I considered doing that the moment I saw my reflection in his full-length mirror. I was horrified; it looked nothing like me. My usual bouncy, light brown mop looked greasy and flat, stuck to my head like dried spaghetti. My skin was pale-grey as if it hadn’t seen daylight in years, and even my sea-green eyes looked dull and lifeless. They were my best features but a long and demanding day had taken its toll. I had seen better-looking corpses!

It was something else that didn’t make sense.

‘Why would he want me’?

Even at my best, I was average but in my current state, it was difficult for me to see what it was that he could possibly find attractive about me. Tyrone looked like one of those guys who could walk through a swamp and still look good, but I needed a lot of work and more than a few brand names to make myself look even half as good as him.

My clothes were doing me absolutely no favours at all. Dark grey cargo trousers; big and baggy with more pockets than a billiard table and a red flannel check shirt. I could have passed for a lumberjack if I wasn’t so skinny.

I decided that I couldn’t let him see me like that, even though he had already seen me like that, and had never seen me anything other than that. I tried splashing cold water on my face and rubbing my cheeks in an effort to put some colour into them, but there was no improvement. If this had been a test of my sanity, then, without doubt, I would have been committed to an asylum for the rest of my days. I had no idea why I felt the sudden compulsion to try to look my best for someone who less than an hour before, I utterly detested.

I considered myself a rational person; better than the idiots who stood in the rain outside the main gates, hoping for a momentary glimpse of someone who they knew nothing about. They could be forgiven, perhaps, for believing the publicity and allowing themselves to be carried away by the euphoria. Even if he ignored them—which he was likely to do—they would go home disappointed and maybe feel foolish in years to come, but not ashamed.

What I was doing was probably a lot worse, but whatever magic this kid was using was potent enough to breach my defences with ease and suppress every rational thought in my head. I knew what he was doing and I knew why he was doing it. I even knew that I would hate myself forever for allowing him to do it, but it didn’t stop me and soon he was knocking at the door.

‘There goes my dignity’.

“What do you want?”

“Are you okay in there?”

“Of course I am; why wouldn’t I be?”

“What are doing?”

I was having a full-blown panic attack, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

His en-suite bathroom was the size of Jazz’s flat, but there was nothing there that I could use to improve my appearance. I needed a shower or hot soak to wash away the dirt and sweat from a long day but I had nothing to change into other than the same old greasy work clothes.

‘If I had known that morning that I would be snogging an international celebrity, I would have brought a change of clothes with me’.

“You’ve been in there for like fifteen minutes; what are you doing.”

When I opened the door he was standing right up against it, inches from my face again. He startled me and I took a step back, conscious now of how I looked and smelled.

“I was just admiring your bathroom.”

‘I’m such a prick’.

He was only momentarily amused by my stupidity before his steely eyes became more serious and his smile disappeared. I took another step back, expecting him to follow but he remained in the doorway.

‘So what now’?

I cleared my throat and gave him a smile; something friendly to let him know that I was okay with continuing what we were doing before Jazz interrupted.

‘Why did she have to do that, I should have just hung up on the stupid cow there and then’?

He had been all over like a bloody rash and there was doubting where it was leading. He had his hand on my dick with only my underwear in the way. His intentions were pretty clear and I had obviously given him the green light, yet now he seemed to be a little hesitant and I wondered why.

I thought maybe I needed to remind him, so I tried to look seductive, biting my bottom lip and looking over my eyes at him. I was never much good at that kind of thing and despite putting everything that I could muster into what I thought was a sassy smile, it may have done more damage than good.

I took a tentative step forward and he took a step back; a complete reversal of what had happened earlier.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just getting a little late, that’s all. I have to go to bed.”

I looked away from him towards the clean tiled floor, waiting for some indication of what I should do. He needed to help me out here, I was faltering, unsure of where this was going.

‘Does he expect me to join him, is that it? Why doesn’t he just say something’?

Tyrone had not hesitated previously to show me exactly what he wanted. He was hardly shy; he had initiated everything so far, it was his call and it must have been obvious to him that I was ready to do whatever he wanted.

In desperation, feeling the mood slipping away, I made a move towards him, placing a hand on his waist and leaning in to hug him. For a second, it seemed as if he was going to carry on where he had left off, but his embrace was more cordial than familiar and he dropped his arms to his side before gently pushing me away.

“I’m sorry man; I’m tired,” he said putting space between us. “You should go; you don’t need to do anything else.”

I stared into his eyes forcing him to look away. Less than twenty minutes before, he was stuck to my face like a leach and I had trouble trying to peel him off me. He was boiling over with excitement but now he was stone cold.

“Is it something that Jazz said?” It made sense; she was the only person that he had talked to since then.

‘What did she say to him’?

“You mean your friend? She gets a little excited doesn’t she?” At least he offered up a smile but no real answer to my question.

“What did she say to you?”

“To tell you the truth, I couldn’t really understand a lot of what she said, she talks very fast.”

“I know that, but I don’t get it, I mean…we were kissing right?”

“Look, I told you, I’m tired. I’m sorry if you read it wrong.”

“Read it wrong?” My dismay had quickly turned to anger, but I had nothing left to say to him. I was disgusted more with own behaviour than his. I had allowed myself to be put in this position, knowing full well what a complete asshole this kid was.

‘What was I thinking? I must have been crazy to think that he was ever going to be interested in someone like me’.

I felt ashamed. I had let myself down and allowed him to manipulate me. He had made feel like a fool. I had even warned myself against it but chose to ignore my own advice. The only saving grace was that he wasn’t laughing at me. That would have been too much for me to take.

“I’m sorry,” he offered and he looked me in the eyes when he said it, but not in the same way that he was a little earlier. The passion wasn’t there anymore, he seemed more sympathetic now as if he had just come to his senses and realised what he was doing. Maybe he had been able to see me a little better in the slighter brighter lighting of the en-suite bathroom.

“It doesn’t matter; I should go. I have to be someplace anyway.”

“You’ll be back on Monday, right, to finish the work here?”

The very last thing that I wanted to do was go back there on Monday or to ever see his face again, even on television, but I knew that I would be back.

“Yeah, they’ll probably send me here on my own,” I said, avoiding his eyes.

“Hey, don’t forget your tools,” he said, but as I walked back to collect them, he had already picked up the bag and was walking to the door with it for me. “It’s okay, I got ‘em.”

This wasn’t what I was expecting from him. I wasn’t sure what was crazier; a pop star kissing me or a pop star carrying my tools for me. They were equally absurd and I was sure that Jazz wouldn’t believe either. I decided not to give her the opportunity. I didn’t particularly wish to discuss this with anybody.

Tyrone courteously left the bag of tools at the top of the stairs and gave me a sheepish grin as he backed away nervously as if he suddenly didn’t trust me not to rape him or something.

“Thanks for your work, um, Andy,” he said. “I’ll make sure you get more money for the extra time and all.”

He was being too nice for it to have been some kind of weird prank. He was almost apologetic.

“Thanks. Err, I’ll see you Monday, I guess?” I hated trying to be cordial to him and it took all of the strength that I had to force a smile, but I was desperate to try to give the impression that it didn’t matter to me, even though it did and he knew that it did.

‘Fuck, what was wrong with me, why didn’t I just tell him to fuck off’?

- 2 am -

I took the tools downstairs expecting to find Bob in the security office, chatting to the guard over a cup of tea, but as I walked through the empty house, I heard a familiar but disturbing sound in the living room and stopped. He was lying across one of the sofas, fast asleep and snoring. He was loud; I was surprised that we hadn’t heard him from upstairs.

“Bob, come on, we have to go, I need to get home. It’s fucking late, what are you doing asleep, I’ve been working?”

He was groggy and looked at his watch as he struggled to his feet.

“You mean it’s taken you nearly an hour to put that fucking valve back on, what have you been doing all this time?”

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you’.

“It doesn’t matter, I need to get home and you’re gonna have to drive me. It’s too late for the tube.”

Bob, I suppose, had every right to be tired and grumpy, we had been at the house for a little over seventeen hours and now had at least an hours’ drive ahead of him.

Once again, our sudden appearance by the van had created a little interest with the small but feisty group of diehard fans and paparazzi at the gate. Maybe they were anticipating some kind of nocturnal appearance from their idol, who I suspected would have been tucked up in bed by now.

‘Would any of them believe me if I told them that I had been snogging their idol, or more accurately, he had been snogging me’?

I wasn’t sure if I really believed it myself.

I threw the tools in the back of the van and waited for Bob to have one last smoke. I had a decision to make, whether to go home to bed or to church, via Jazz’s house. Every muscle in my poor aching body was crying out for the first option. I needed my bed, but I needed the church more and as Bob started the van to a small chorus of cheers from the gate, I reached for my phone to call Jazz.

“Here,” said Bob. “Guess what I’ve got?”

“Bad breath?”

“No, these.”

I was busy searching my pockets for my phone when Bob held up the pair of skimpy red briefs that he had found on Tyrone’s bedroom floor. I did a quick double take.

“You stole his underpants?”

“I’m gonna sell em; what do you think.”

“You're nuts, no one will believe you; maybe you should’ve got him to sign them for you,” I giggled.

“He has,” he said. “Kind of.” I screwed up my face, I didn’t want to ask him how but it wasn’t important anymore.

“He’s got my phone!”

“What?”

“I have to go back,” I said opening the van door. “Quick, I need to use the company mobile a minute.”

“Are you crazy, it’s only a bleeding pair of pants?”

“No it’s my phone, he’s still got my fucking phone. Shit! I don’t believe this. Tyrone’s got my phone.”

I didn’t bother trying to explain to Bob as he switched off the engine and passed me the cumbersome company Motorola. It was looking like an all-nighter for him and he held his head in his hands as I stepped outside to call my own number.

‘Please be awake still…I need my phone’.

It didn’t ring and was diverted straight to my answerphone.

"Fucking hell,” I kicked the side of the van and leaned against it in frustration before running inside to talk to the Polish security guard.

“Sorry,” he said, “but you cannot be allowed upstairs anymore. You’ve finished work now, it’s not possible. You must not bang on his door and wake him.”

“I’m not going to be banging on his door,” I said. “Just a gentle couple of taps.”

‘Then I’ll be banging his head against the wall if he doesn’t give me my phone’.

“Sorry, not possible.”

“Okay, we may not need to wake him. I think that he may have left it in the big bedroom, where I was working. That was where he was when he was talking to Jazz.”

“He was talking to your bird?” said Bob.

“He insisted,” I said. “and she’s not my bird.”

“What is this bird?” The security guard had lost the conversation completely, but still wouldn’t allow me upstairs, even to the other, now empty room. “You come back tomorrow, then I ask the lady to bring it for you here.”

“No, you don’t understand I need it right now.” I could hear Bob behind me yawning. “Tell him, Bob, I need my phone.”

He had nothing helpful to say and the security guard wouldn’t budge, so I pressed redial to try again and paced the office. It rang twice and this time someone answered.

‘Thank fuck’!

“Hello, Tyrone? This is Andy…Andy the plumber.”

“I know who you are, you jerk,” he said and laughed.

“Oh, yeah, well you’ve still got my phone.”

“No kidding, it must be the one that I’m talking to you on right now?” He didn’t sound as if he had just been woken up and I could hear the television going in the background.

‘Sarcastic little shit’!

“Yeah, well I really need it, can I or can you err?”

“You can come up and collect it if you want,” he said and I looked at the uncompromising security guard.

“Err...I don’t think I’m allowed.”

“Tell the security guard, he’s a schmuck,” he said loudly, but thankfully, I didn’t need to, he had overheard the insult and stood aside, much to the amusement of Bob and I.

‘Open fucking sesame’.

“I’ll be straight back, Bob. You can start the van up if you want.”

“I’ll wait here,” he said. “With the schmuck.”

I was sure that it was mostly Bob’s age that prevented him from receiving the occasional bop on the nose, sometimes.

- 2.30 am -

It seemed as if every light in that big old house was left on even during the night, as I ran through the living room, across the elegant hallway and up the big staircase to the first floor. He was in the spare room and the door was open when I reached it out of breath.

The room was a lot smaller than his other one but plenty large enough to be luxurious and accommodate another gigantic television which was on, but he wasn’t watching. Instead he was sitting up on the bed cross-legged, leafing through a magazine, and listening to music through a big, bright red, pair of headphones. The colour matched his socks and I was surprised to see him still wide awake and in yet another, less wintery, set of clothes. When he saw me, he pointed to my phone on his bedside table and removed his headphones.

“Your television over here really sucks.”

“Yeah, well thanks.” I turned to leave but he called me back from the door.

“You should wait here.” I stopped only for as long as it took my brain to process what he had said and to come to the conclusion that he was a total dick, but as left the room he ran after me and grabbed my arm before I reached the stairs.

“What do you want,” I hissed, certain now that this was some ridiculous game.

“Please, come back, I need to talk to you.”

“You need a psychiatrist!”

“I already got one of those.”

“A good one.”

“Whatever, look, please trust me. Your friend Jizz is coming here.” He smirked and covered his mouth. “Sorry, that sounded rude, didn’t it?”

“Jazz is coming here?”

“I know,” he said. “She called me again, just after you left.”

“I don’t understand?”

“Come on, please, trust me.” He grabbed my hand, led me back to his room and shut the door.”

I was ready for a Barney and snatched my hand back.

“What are you playing at?” He cautiously edged away from me but maintained his slight, almost teasing smile. I hated it.

“It’s not a game, I promise.” Then he sat on the bed, his eyes never leaving me. “You look cool when you're angry,” he said. “I prefer you like that.”

I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

“I’m off,” I said and spun around but he jumped up and beat me to the door, standing in front of it, with his arms and legs stretched out like a starfish trying to block my exit.

He looked ridiculous and I laughed at him. “I’m not impressed by you, you know that? I’m not like your dumb fans out there. I don’t think that you're particularly talented, and you can’t sing. The CD that you gave to me was for Jazz, I will never listen to it because I don’t like your songs and…and there’s a lot of other things that I don’t like about you too, I just can’t think of them all at the moment.”

“Is that it?”

“No, you're a tosser! Now get out of my way.”

“No, I can’t. You're gonna have to make me.”

I had a vision of the police taking me away in handcuffs while he walked behind me laughing. I would almost certainly lose my job if I so much as touched this brat, but the temptation to wipe that seductive look off his face was too much to bear.

I reached out and grabbed his arm, expecting him to at least put up some kind of physical challenge. This was, after all, a guy who had previously bitten me, kicked me and threatened me with Karate. Instead, he crumpled to the floor falling to his knees.

“I’ll do whatever you want?” he said, looking up at me with big doleful blue eyes.

Taking a deep breath and looking at the ceiling, I told him to get up and get out of my way, but I somehow knew that I was wasting my time. I took a step back and he followed me on his knees, and then another, and another until I was cornered.

‘Not this again. This is getting ridiculous’.

“Don’t Tyrone, this is fucking stupid.”

I did not look down, not even when I felt his fingers on my zip and my trousers falling around my ankles.

They were followed in rapid succession by my pants and then by my phone.