The Church and the Tradesman - 10. The Hostage

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

‘Mrs Dewsbury’!!!!!

I would be the first to admit that it looked bad. When the door flew open, I was naked and kneeling beside him on the bed. I had him pinned down with one hand holding his wrist and the other covering his mouth.

There wasn’t a jury in the world that wouldn’t have convicted me.

As I let him go and turned towards her to plead my innocence something hit me hard on the back of the head.

I fell forward in a shower of ceramic as whatever it was exploded into a million pieces.

“ARGH, FUCK!”

I felt the back of my head and then checked my hand for blood. When I looked at Tyrone, he was holding the jagged remains of what looked to be a porcelain vase. He tossed it to one side as Mrs Dewsbury—who had launched into a full-scale panic attack—scurried around the room in a valiant attempt to protect the psychotic pop star. She took his hand, dragged him out of bed and pushed him into the bathroom.

“Put some clothes on,” she said as she grabbed a pillow from the bed and held it in front of her menacingly.

She was wearing a knee-length, silver, silk kimono and a black hairnet stretched across her head. I thought she looked a bit like a giant microphone and at any other time I would have laughed but at that moment, whatever she was wearing, she definitely had an advantage over a dizzy, naked guy.

“What did you do that for?” I shook my head, trying to understand what had happened and make sense of such a ridiculous situation. The bed was covered with sharp pieces of broken china and there was a big chunk of it resting on my shoulder, which I carefully picked up and threw to one side. Then I clawed at the bedsheet and dragged it across my waist to cover myself but as I lifted my head, I was hit again

This time it was Mrs Dewsbury, with the pillow. She swung it two-handed with all the strength she could muster, swiping me across the side of the head and knocking me back down.

“KEEP AWAY FROM US, PERVERT!”

My head was throbbing and now I had bells ringing in my ears.

“WHAT THE FUCK! YOU STUPID COW. WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM?”

“Don’t move,” she said. “Or you’ll get another one. You stay where you are until the security people get here.”

“YOU'RE FUCKING CRAZY! I can explain; this is not how it looks!”

She scoffed. “Ha, of course, it isn’t. Save it for the cops, RAPIST!”

“WHAT? I wasn’t trying to rape him. Tell her Tyrone. Explain what happened.”

He was in the bathroom but the door was open and I knew that he could hear me. I was obviously asking too much of him to be honest and maybe for the first time in his pampered life, the boy with an answer for everything remained tight-lipped.

I had given up trying to second guess Tyrone. It was impossible to predict what he would do next. Just when I had him worked out; he would go and surprise me by doing the one thing that I didn’t expect him to do. There seemed to be no pattern or method to his madness either. No plan or goal; nothing made sense. Everything was done on the spur of the moment to satisfy his latest whim.

It was my fault. I should have gone home when I had the chance. I could have been at the Church by now. A glance at the display on the nightstand confirmed what my body clock had been telling me. It was four o’clock and not that far across town at a small, nondescript brick building called Turnmills the doors would already be opened. I should have been there, standing patiently in line with 1500 or so other, mostly young men from all walks of life, in all kinds of dress, and from every corner of the globe, waiting to be allowed in, to participate in the greatest show on earth.

“You don’t have to say anything, Tyrone,” said Mrs Dewsbury. “I saw what this monster was trying to do to you. Did he hurt you?” He was standing in the doorway still in his underwear with a pained expression.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I didn’t touch him, you old bag, he hit me.” She screwed up her face and scowled at me waving the pillow threateningly in front of my face.

“I’d be quiet if I were you. Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?”

“It’s all his fault,” I said pointing my finger accusingly at the boy behind her. Finally, he spoke.

“I think I’ve hurt my hand,” he mumbled holding his wrist. He looked vulnerable and exposed standing nervously in just a pair of red boxer briefs but it was all part of his act and his eyes were on me the whole time as he spoke, gauging my reaction.

There was nothing wrong with his hand but I expected her to be fooled by him and as she turned her head to look at his fake injury, I grabbed the pillow and tugged it from her clutches. Then holding it in front of my crotch to cover my dignity, I jumped off the bed and ran to the door to push it closed. After turning the lock, I rested with my back against the door and stared hard at my tormentors across the room.

I rarely, if ever lost my temper but Tyrone could have turned Gandhi into a homicidal maniac and I was seething as I caught my breath.

“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU.” I winced as I felt a pronounced and very painful bump on my head. “YOU'RE GONNA BE FUCKING SORRY FOR THIS, YOU LITTLE SHIT!”

“Run Tyrone,” said Mrs Dewsbury. “Save yourself.” She pushed him aside and narrowed her eyes at me but Tyrone shrugged her off.

“Stop pushing me; I’m not scared of him.”

“Tyrone, please don’t antagonise him. We don’t know what he’ll do.”

‘Jazz is never going to believe any of this. No one will’.

Not even I believed it, yet the bump on my head was real enough and it hurt as I touched it again. I wasn’t going to let him get away with this. I was breathing fire as I balled up my fists and began picking my way through the shards of broken china around the bed to confront him.

“Why don’t you tell her the real reason why I was here?”

“Don’t let him intimidate you, Tyrone.”

“Me intimidate him? Are you crazy? He attacked me, then he hit me on the head with a vase. He needs to be locked up. HE’S A TOTAL FUCKING PSYCHO. YOU TOO, LADY. YOU'RE A BLOODY NUTTER!”

I was light-years out of my comfort zone and had no idea what I was going to do but as I walked up to him, I was relieved to see him back away and take his place next to the mad woman. They had their backs to the wall, intimidated by a naked man with a pillow in front of his crotch.

“I saw what you were trying to do when I walked in. You disgusting man.”

“Tell her the truth, Tyrone. OR I WILL!”

“He was trying to molest me,” he said warily and Mrs Dewsbury pursed her lips and nodded in agreement.

“He’s lying! It was him who was molesting me. He hid me in the bathroom and asked me to stay the night. Then decided to attack me. He has some serious issues.”

“How ridiculous.” She brushed off my statement with a wave of her hand before pulling her gown tight around her waist, like I was trying to see her rancid flesh. “You were here to fix the heating; you should have left here hours ago.”

“I would have; if it wasn’t for his games!”

“Ignore him, Tyrone. The police will be here soon.”

“Good! Let them come, I’ve done nothing wrong.”

As I finished speaking there was a loud knock on the door.

“Hello Mr Tyrone, is everything okay?”

“At last,” said Mrs Dewsbury. “What took you so long?”

“Mrs Dewsbury?”

“Yes!”

“Are you okay in there?”

“No, you idiot. We’re being held hostage by a sex fiend who you allowed into the house!”

It was easy to see why the gutter press loved Tyrone and why the gossip columns were constantly filled with rumours about his love life and his sexuality. He was a publicist’s dream; guaranteed to make the headlines with his outlandish and often very crude behaviour. There had been a lot written about him recently, most of it speculation and I could see why. I wondered what the press would make of this little saga once it inevitably leaked out. The problem seemed to be that no one really knew what was true and what wasn’t and he really didn’t care less.

I remembered what the South African guy had said about him. This was his entertainment; playing with people, using them for his own amusement. It’s just a big game to him, a source of fun in a crazy world that has no limits.

‘Maybe I can teach him something from the real world’?

I must have looked worried but Tyrone thought it was funny and laughed at me but it was that horrible, smarmy, rub-your-nose-in-it, type laugh that finally made me see red. Everyone has their limits and mine had just been exceeded.

I suddenly snapped, dropping the pillow and lunging at him to punch him square on the nose. It was instinctive, I didn’t even think about what I was doing and it caught him completely by surprise, knocking him onto his backside.

Mrs Dewsbury launched into a siren-like scream that sixty years earlier would have had people running for the shelters.

“WHAT’S GOING ON IN THERE? OPEN THE DOOR?” The security guard’s voice had increased in volume and was a lot more panicked but was no match for the hysterical Mrs Dewsbury. I watched the door handle move frantically up and down as he tried to force the lock. Then there was a loud thud, the sound of a shoulder hitting the panel. I didn’t think it would take that long for someone to force it open.

Tyrone was clearly shocked by my sudden attack and change of tactics. He glared at me before pushing away his worried-looking assistant. Then he picked himself up while carefully feeling his bloodied nose. He looked a little wobbly as he turned on Mrs Dewsbury.

“Will you shut up for a minute?”

The hysterical woman obeyed him without question and was suddenly calm as she turned her attention towards his assailant.

“Look what you’ve done!” She pointed to his face, there was a tiny trickle of blood running from one nostril to the top of his lip. I did worse every time I shaved.

“You are starting to piss me off, lady.” Encouraged by my success against the brat I waved my fist at her with menace and took a step closer, feigning an attack. It was an animalistic action right out of the BBC’s wildlife programme and it worked.

She jumped back. “What are you going to do?”

“He’s probably going to rape you,” said Tyrone frowning as he walked past me into the bathroom holding his nose. I’m not sure who was more disturbed by his ridiculous statement, her or me but she was as safe as a ham sandwich at a Bar Mitzvah and Tyrone knew it.

“STAND CLEAR, I’M GOING TO BREAK DOWN THE DOOR!”

I think we had all forgotten the security guard was still out there. “Well, hurry up then,” said Mrs Dewsbury. “What’s taking you so long.”

I had to think fast. I glanced towards the bathroom where my clothes were. If I was going to be arrested, then I wanted to at least look respectable.

There was a loud thump which shook the walls and I watched the door bulge inwards as the wood in the centre of the panel cracked and split. It was a big enough hole to see a flash of bright light from the hallway and an arm reaching in to turn the lock.

I dropped the pillow and made a dash for the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and turning the lock. It wouldn’t hold them for long but I could at least put some clothes on. Tyrone was standing by the sink studying his nose in the mirror and acting as if I wasn’t there.

“Where are my clothes?” I had left them on the floor but now there was no sign of them. “WHERE ARE MY FUCKING CLOTHES?”

He turned and offered me a bath towel which I took from him and wrapped around my waist.

“I threw them out,” he said.

“You did what?”

“Threw them out.” He pointed to the window over the bath and I laughed nervously.

“Don’t take the piss or I’ll give you another one.” I clenched my fist and waved it in front of his face but he was adamant.

“I’m sorry, I was angry.”

I could hear people behind me on the other side of the door, they were fresh voices accompanied by a lot of activity.

“This is the police; open the door please!”

Tyrone looked at me. “Do as they say; they’ll probably shoot you anyway.”

“Don’t be stupid, this isn’t America.”

“We’re unarmed,” said the officer. “We won’t shoot you.”

“See,” I sneered at Tyrone. It was the smallest of victories but it felt good if only for a couple of seconds before the enormity of my failure hit me and my world came crashing down.

There was a gentle tap on the door followed by my resigned tone.

“Okay, I’m coming out.”

‘In more ways than one I suppose’.

I turned to Tyrone and acknowledged my defeat.

‘Did I really expect to get the better of him’?

“Thank you. I suppose you're happy now you’ve had a laugh. A bit of fun at someone’s expense. Something to do wasn’t it? It helped pass a few hours. I’m glad you enjoyed it. You can be proud of this one. YOU’VE WRECKED MY FUCKING LIFE! Now I’m gonna be arrested and photographed. My name will be in every paper. I’m gonna lose my job, my friends, my family and be humiliated. I’m not even out to anyone in real life, not even my mum. Now she’s gonna think I’m some kinda monster. Everyone’s gonna think that I tried to molest you or something and you’ll just be laughing at it from your mansion in Beverley fucking Hills or wherever it is you live. Maybe you can use this story in your acceptance speech at the Brit Awards? You can make yourself look like a hero and make them all laugh. Humiliate me even more, it might even help you sell a few more of those shitty songs you call music!”

There was more I wanted to say but I couldn’t stop crying. When I glanced towards him he was standing motionless watching me. At least he wasn’t laughing or smiling. In fact, he looked suitably ashamed hanging his head despondently as the police knocked once more.

“Can we come in?”

“No,” he said. “Can you give us a minute please, officer?”

“Are you okay though. Do you need medical attention?”

“No, I’m fine and my friend is too.”

I shuddered and turned away as he spoke.

“I’m not your friend Tyrone. I don’t know you. I don’t live in your world and I wouldn’t want to. You can’t stop playing these stupid games, can you? Not even for a minute. You are totally out of touch with reality. You haven’t got a fucking clue how everyone else lives and you don’t even want to find out. YOU DON’T CARE! I hate you, you know that? I fucking hate, HATE, HATE, YOU! I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anything that I’ve hated ever before in my life.”

He tilted his head at that statement but kept quiet.

“I know that doesn’t make much sense,” I said. “But nothing you do makes any sense at all and you get away with it because you have a pretty face and can sing. CORRECTION, you have a pretty face and you think you can sing. And now you have a broken nose, so it’s not so fucking pretty all of a sudden. You know what, SUE ME?”

I sat on the edge of the bath and giggled, rocking my head back and forth like a child but it wasn’t funny and he didn’t laugh.

“You're bleeding,” said Tyrone pointing at my foot. He was right, I was cut. I must have trodden on a piece of broken vase and I hadn’t even noticed. Now that I knew, it started to hurt and I wished he hadn’t told me.

‘Maybe I’ll bleed to death and then I won't have to face any of this. I won't know about anything’.

The thought was perversely appealing almost comforting and it shocked me. I had never even considered killing myself before. That was the purely for loonies and nutjobs, cowards and losers but it now seemed like a viable option. A solution to everything.

About a minute had passed without a word spoken but inside my head there was constant banter and a raging argument which I could not escape from. I had a headache and a gut-wrenching pain that I had never experienced before. It was so bad that I had to check to make sure I hadn’t hurt myself but there was no sign of injury on my stomach.

Worst of all. I had missed church and now it was too late to get in. It would be filled to capacity. Not that I was going to be allowed to go anywhere anyway. I would be lucky to make it home by the end of the day. Locked in some smelly police cell with a load of drunks.

I decided that I wouldn’t be going home. I couldn’t face my mum, the humiliation and shame. Having to explain everything and come out to my family after all the years of lies, stories, and cover-ups. They would hate me forever and I would be ridiculed by my friends.

‘What will Bob say’?

I stood up but I was no longer in a sound mind.

“Wait,” said Tyrone. “I’ll go out first, okay? I need to explain.” As he walked towards the door I climbed onto the bath and opened the window at the same time as he opened the door. “I’m gonna tell them the truth.”

They were the last words that I heard before a cold rush of air hit me sending shivers through my pained body. I carried on, digging my nails into the slimy moss covered brick as I stepped precariously onto the sharp and slippery ledge outside the window.

I was gripped by fear but the need to finish it quickly drove me on and I eased myself away from the opening and into the darkness where my puny frame was at the mercy of the elements. The freezing wind and light rain stung my pampered skin as I inched further along the wet and slippery concrete ledge with my back against the cold wall. I was already cut in a number of places from the sharp brick which scratched my back and legs and I bit down my lip to fight the pain. It didn’t matter; I could no longer be saved.

I was shaking uncontrollably from the near freezing temperature and probably also from fear as the ledge beneath me began to crumble. There was nothing under my left foot anymore and when I looked down I became dizzy and disorientated. I slipped and my heart jumped, then the world began to spiral as I fell forward, my body somersaulting as I plummeted to the ground.