10th June 2021

Just The Little Pinprick...

Sharon down the phone to a curmudgeonly client with that mollifying tone employed for the difficult when what you'd really like to see is them boiling their head in toilet disinfectant: 

'Hermione, you're too bloody old to dance in an NHS advert about vaccines and you're not as well known as Joe Bachelor. Besides they weren't his feet in the ad. You think Bachelor can dance like that? He'd be lucky to put one foot in front of the other in a coordinated effort to catch a bus. There's a reason directors like to film him mostly in mid shot or close up.'

Home from home. Sharon's offices. Here I am again. Another perplexing matter rears its head and I shoot down to SKA as if the agency is pushing out pheromones exclusively for straight, white, seventy year old, chardonnay-guzzling males with undisguised contempt for the 'right on.'  Anyone identifying as non-binary strictly excluded. Outside Pattie's staff Sharon is the closest I have to someone who knew Pattie well. I needed to hear what she thought about Martin wanting access to Kieran's dad.

'Hermione, when the NHS wants to advertise Zimmer frames I'll put you up for it.' Sharon's hand over the mouthpiece as she looks at me despairingly whilst mouthing wordlessly something unrepeatable on a family channel. Pretty sure 'ungrateful Tuesday' was in there somewhere. 'No dear, they will be advertising Zimmer frames. They'll be advertising everything soon in the great health service car boot sale. In the future you won't be able to call for an ambulance for your coronary thrombosis unless your credit card is valid. Bye dear. Bye.'

She hangs up. 'Hermione Heathcliff. God help us!'

'Is she still around?'

'Around? You bet, and as barking as ever. Trouble is she doesn't suffer from insanity, she enjoys every minute of it.'

'She still dining out on her time in Hollywood?'

'Oh sure, where she claimed to have fornicated her way through the Hollywood Matinee idols of the late sixties, to have had wonderful lovers who all cherished her, but in reality was probably the studio bike ridden by one bit player after another once they had fallen out of the bars at closing time. Her daughter never knew who her father was, which had a knock on effect in the kid's marriage to a hapless artist who showed all the potential of being a genius before being massacred by Medusa aka Hermione. Having Hermione as a mother-in-law is more perilous than having a hungry ferret down your trousers.'

'Dunno why you keep her on.'

Sharon looked at me as if I'd grown two horns for my head. 'Because she won't get representation anywhere else at her age. She's nearly eighty. She's crap I know, but it's the only meaning she's got in her life. What happened to the compassionate Anthony Eastwood I once knew?'

'Died of stress.'

'Even so, how dare she be pissed off because of the Bachelor ad!'

'I was pissed off. I wanted to throw up when I saw it.'

'I told him not to do it. Bloody virtue-signalling actors.'

'Did you explain why?'

'I've neither the time nor the drawing book and crayons to explain anything to Jojo. But no-one working on that ad has any idea of the ingredients which - I guarantee - will turn out to be extremely toxic. It's experimental and hasn't passed any safety tests. There's already been reports of deaths. But, no, you can't tell international film actors anything. Matt Hancock's little errand boy hoping for a knighthood - '

'I won't tell him you said that - '

'He seems to forget it's down to me he's got an international film career. Otherwise he'd be earning his immortality on the back of ads peddling dog food. And the problem with immortality is that it tends to go on forever.'

Sharon heaved a huge sigh.  'I envy you Ant sometimes, looking after writers. I've had it up to here with actors recently.''

'What, writers like Martin Spangler?'

'Thought you liked him.'

'I do.'

'Isn't that why you came in today?'

'Thought you'd never ask. Indirectly. We had a mystery. Surrounding Pattie. If you recall.' 

Sharon responded to my gentle sarcasm with her own theatrical flourish. 'Ah yes, of course. Which is why you're wandering around like Hercule Poirot on bad crystal meth - '

'I'm trying to find out the truth Sharon.' I mused on what Hercule Poirot would have been like on bad crystal meth, would 'ze little grey cells' have transmogrified into phantasmagoria of protoplasm as he saved the world from total destruction? 'Poirot on meth, could be something in that.'

'Well, we've had Holmes on opiates.'

'How about Morse on ecstasy?'

'Lord Peter Whimsey on crack cocaine.' Sharon warming to the game.

'Nancy Drew on opium.'

'The Secret Seven on acid. Though they're a bunch of insufferable Tuesdays just as adolescents. Who needs LSD when you have teenage hormones? So come on Anthony, I have an agency to run. Let's get on with it.'

Sharon all over: playful one second, pragmatic the next. Not unlike Pattie. So I was direct: 'What do you think? About Martin wanting to talk to Kieran's father?' 

'You've not been able to speak to Martin?'

I shook my head. 'I can't get hold of him. Maddeningly. '

Sharon poked her head into the outer offices. Tessa was there with Genevieve, Sharon's Thomas Moore when Sharon was intent on playing Henry VIII. 'No more calls and no visitors. Thanks my darlings.' She turned back into the room, closing the door behind her. 

(I'd been wondering what was odd about Sharon's offices. SuddenIy I got it. No-one's wearing masks. That might seem like a digression for a needless detail but think about where we are. Who would have thought in 2021 such an observation would be so pertinent?)

'Could be nothing. Kieran's dad's thing,' Sharon said, flicking her wrist as if dismissing it.

'He was a diplomat though. Would have had a lot of contacts.'

'Fictional detectives aside, why should Martin wanting to see Kieran's dad have anything to do with Pattie's death?'

'Because Pattie asked him to investigate something?'

'You know what conspiracy theorists do: join up dots that have no business being joined.'

'Okay, if it had just been that I had seen her in the offices with Kieran in January or that she was just fired up about something the night before she  died when she was with me I might happily dismiss my suspicions as the meanderings of a long-in -the-tooth literary agent who likes his writers to come up with racy, unputdownable stories to envelop in their humanitarian philosophy. But what if Pattie did ask him to investigate something - ' 

'Exactly, what if. Hearsay …' 

'His ex-girlfriend mentioned Pattie and an "assignment'. And the same girlfriend says Martin's gone all paranoid - '

'Shush!' Pattie had her fingers to her lips. With the thumb of her other hand she gestured towards the outer offices and mouthed the word 'Tessa'. And then very quietly: 'Also hearsay. You don't  know what Martin's ex's agenda is. And anyway, people with minds as brilliant as Martin's often are paranoid. And you've told me about all the conspiracy theories he harbours -'

'Many of which have come true in the last year and a half  - '

'Three conspiracy theorists walk into a bar. Now tell me that's just a coincidence.'

I ignore her facetiousness.  'I'm with Pattie the night before she died. She was so fired up. There was no way she was going to slit her wrists Sharon!'

'Pity she didn't tell you why she was fired up.'

'She said it was better that I didn't know for the time being - '

'Maybe something happened after you left each other.'

'What, between the hours of 11pm and 5am? Have those flying pigs been spotted again?'

'Even so, something could have happened after she left you.' 

'Something did happen! Or do you think turning up dead is inconsequential to the drama? Like getting a parking ticket. 

'I mean something to make her…you know - '

'She was killed Sharon! Why are you so resistant to the concept?'

'Keep your voice down!' Sharon hissed, looking anxiously at her door again. 'To be honest Ant, I'm not sure I want to know. Besides, Martin's a drunk. A lovely one but a drunk all the same. And he's very theatrical.'

'Aren't we all.'

'An ex actor - '

'Me too.'

'Should I rest my case?'

I can see what Sharon is trying to do. If she can invalidate the Martin theories then she's halfway to invalidating my suspicions thereby making me feel better. If that's even what I want. For the past eighteen months I've been amazed at how people have been willing to explain away the absolute tyranny of so many petty and nasty restrictions as incompetence rather than sheer malice or pre-planned evil. Most people, it seems, would rather deceive themselves so they feel better than know the truth. I'm not of that school and I didn't think Sharon was either. 

As if she was reading my mind again: 'To be honest Ant, the worst case scenario is a bit intimidating. I'm not sure I want to know.' 

'Oh,' I dropped my shoulders, deliberately to make the disappointment palpable.

'You're at the end of your life Ant. I have half of mine to go, all things being equal. And I've got kids. And a business.' She looked almost guilty. 

'Aren't you curious as to why Martin wants to speak with Jacques Bunot?'

'Who?'

'Kieran's dad. '

'Again, hearsay. Of course, all this could be resolved in seconds if we could get hold of Martin.'

'Ladies and Gentlemen, Sharon Kozinsky, studying for a Doctorate in stating the bloody obvious!' 

'Well, bloody fine time to be on holiday!' I know Sharon well enough to know that indignant remark was designed to mask her guilt. 

'He's not on holiday Sharon. He's half way up a Welsh mountain with only a couple of sheep to shag and not a pub in sight. It’s his retreat. He goes there to think, to write - ‘

‘And to shag sheep it would seem.’

‘ - and he makes sure he's uncontactable. Not that you can get a mobile signal in that godforsaken place anyway.'

'Hang on, there's a lot of God in Wales.'

'Figure of speech.'

'Well, when's he back?'

'Monday.' 

Sharon threw up her hands as if the whole conversation had been pointless.

'Well it's Thursday for pity's sake, you don't have to hold your breath. What's four days when you consider our bloody government locked down the whole country for months on end, putting millions into solitary confinement. Defined as torture by the UN by the way. Why are you getting your knickers in a twist over four days? '

I wanted to explain to Sharon that I needed to consult with her because there was no-one else I could confide in but there was a knock on her door and Genevieve poked her tousled head through.

'I said no disturbances!' Sharon spat.

'Well actually, you said no visitors Sharon, but never mind.'  Genevieve stood her ground. 'And I've got a ballistic Bachelor on the phone.'

'Just the little pin prick?'

'You said it, not me. He's really upset.' 

'Serves him right, what does he expect me to do? I told him to turn it down.'.

'He wants to speak to mummy. Apparently he's getting all sorts of abuse.'

'The ad hasn't even been released yet.'

'The anti-vax brigade - and I mean nothing by that!' said Genevieve to me hurriedly, presumably because she hadn't a clue where I stood. 'The anti vax brigade have seen previews.'

'Tell him I'll phone him back.' Genevieve nodded, retreating into the outer offices and closing the door behind her.  Sharon let out a Tuesday rather forcefully. 'Prat! The money he got paid for that! You know, I really do believe he'd convinced himself he was doing something altruistic. Actors are such self-deceiving animals.'

'I've heard all sorts of stories of celebs being bribed with stupid money to give this jab good press. You know, just drop it in that interview about your latest film slash hit record slash bestseller. '

'Bachelor was offered obscene money for that ad so I wouldn't be surprised. How many in our business have actually stood up and said hang on a minute? I can name two, maybe three, musicians. No actors. No big names anyway.  That's public money, your taxes, being used to bribe entertainers - people the public trusts - to lie to them. There's no way any of these parasites know whether the jab is safe and effective. I'll bet my house on the fact that it'll turn out to be quite the opposite.' She gazed wistfully out of the window. 'I sometimes wonder why I'm still in this business.'

(Irrelevant fact for the gossips. Sharon has a huge Regency house on the seafront in Brighton and a town flat in Chelsea. Great places to win if she lost a wager. Might go some way to explaining why she's still in this business.) 

'How's Bachelor going to feel if people start dropping dead of this, this…' I didn't know what to call it.

'It's gene therapy. And they already have. Bachelor will go into denial. They all will.'

'What did you say to him?'

'I told him not to do it. I knew what was likely to happen. I knew it would bring trouble.'

'Did you tell him you were anti.'

'Of course not, if my clients knew where I really stood half of them would leave!'

Unlikely, Sharon pulls a lot of weight. And how many in this business have principals? Exempli gratia: Bachelor. And as far as I can tell Sharon's cultural and political perspectives have hardly shifted. It's the arts world which has adopted the woke religion. (I still want to throw up when I use that word. No, the one before religion.) 

'Look Ant, it's not my business to foist my views on others. If people want to have themselves injected with a toxin I have no right to stop them. Equally no-one has the right to force me. But if they'd bother to do their research, rather than do what they're told, they'd know that this thing being advertised is not a vaccine because it doesn't elicit an immune response. A proper vaccine is designed to elicit an immune response. '

'Wow! If I closed my eyes I could be talking to a biochemist.'

'It's not just writers who can research things Ant!' Sharon sounded impatient, even though I was genuinely impressed. 'The mRNA is not a vaccine, it's a synthetic pathogen.  You are getting injected with a chemical substance to induce illness. Not to induce an immune-transmissive response. Nothing in this jab is going to stop you transmitting anything.'

'Blow me Sharon, you're wasted in showbusiness. Do you have a little bit of Louis Pasteur in your genes?'

'Pasteur was allegedly a fraud.'

'Damn, next you're going to tell me the world is flat.'

'Watch this space.' Sharon grinned. I'm pretty sure she's not that big on conspiracy theories. 

'Did you tell any of this to Bachelor before he accepted the job?' 

'You can't tell Bachelor anything these days. He's worked with Spielberg love. Playing an ageing non-binary AI transexual alien thrown in a Nazi prison camp after rescuing a lost religious artefact from the stomach of a man-eating shark. Or something like that anyway.' Sharon sat back in her chair and threw her glasses on the desk. This was a sure sign that she'd had enough. At least for that day. And it was only just after lunch, which doesn't bode well since Sharon is a workaholic.

'Funny isn't it? Jojo Bachelor was a revolutionary in his twenties,  I was proud to get him on my books when he was, what, forty? He'd hardly done a film but was one of our finest stage actors. Now look at him. Matt Hancock's eager little messenger. Hancock! Urgh! You know, I like to think of that name as a derivative of the words hand and cock and then consider what limited activities those two bodily extensions might do together, one for which there is a suitable English pejorative which fittingly describes aforementioned minister of health.'

'Oh Sharon, you say the nicest things.'

'Sadly the real derivative is likely to be much much more prosaic. Still, word has it he's on his way out. He's been banging his assistant.'

'How do you know that?'

Did I need to ask? Sharon just does. She knows things. She makes a point of befriending every showbiz editor in town, who knows somebody who knows somebody blah de blah de blah. One of the many reasons why she's so successful. Thank God a literary agent doesn't have to do that. Not at Pattie's anyway. Low-lifes are not interested in 'art' which is why I didn't have to doggie paddle with them in their excrement. 

'I've heard The Sun has the story. It'll break in about a week. And it'll be a suitable distraction for when people start dying of the pinprick. And next year, I guarantee you, when we have a plethora of unexpected deaths they're going to blame it on climate change.'

'That's a bit of a stretch.'

'You watch this space. Sharon Kozinsky said exactly that on this day 10th June 2021. It's already been planned. It'll be official policy.'

'Oh come on - '

'Don't "oh come on" me! I know of what I speak!' Sharon's shriek would have been heard in St. Martin's Lane, let alone the next office. 'Which is why I would very much prefer that the official explanation of Pattie's death was, in fact, true.' I can't remember the last time Sharon shouted at me. I must have looked suitably chastised because she backtracked very quickly.'Sorry Ant, but sometimes I hear things and I really wish I hadn't. There's already insider talk that these jabs are a global disaster.'

'Things you hear don't all have to be true. People always try to impress.'

'I suppose. Though I've recently spoken to someone on the phone I kind of trust.'

'A source?'

'He is now.' 

'Who?'

'You won't like it.'

'Why not? Someone I've heard of?'

'A bloke in politics with the initials JT.'

'Sounds suspiciously like the current dictator of Canada.'

Sharon shook her head. 'That'd be Justin Castro.'

'Who then?'

'I'll give you a clue. Old friend of yours and mine.' I still looked blank. 'Jericho,' she added. 

'Jericho' was one of those periods in one's life when you wished the earth had swallowed you up and regurgitated you three centuries hence after all the former evidence of your existence was extinguished. A rock opera in the 1970s where, incidentally, I ran into my future wife. Embarrassingly I played the lead. In my Robert Plant-esque sort of way. But I still didn't get why it was a clue. And then this big fat, useless memory came steaming in like a patriot missile aimed at my forehead. 'Oh no! Oh no, oh no, oh no! Jerome Jackson? You're still in touch with Jerome Jackson?'

'Not still in touch dear no. He phoned me this week. After many, many years.'

I'm getting ahead of myself. Why does JT stand for Jerome Jackson you might ask?  Because Jerome Jackson was his stage name. His real name was Jerome Tickler, and the running joke in Jericho (in which Jerome appeared) - particularly amongst the chorus line of slaves, male and female -  was ‘Tickler by name Tickler by nature’. Not inappropriately Jerome played the slavemaster. If there had been a #MeToo movement back then it would have run out of the stage door begging for mercy and conceding defeat. In short Jerome was a duplicitous predatory actor turned duplicitous predatory politician who was testament to the lie that politics was showbusiness for ugly people. Tickler got to tickle because he was pretty. 

I've no idea how long these thoughts took to run through my head as I stood staring open mouthed at Sharon, but there were a couple of scenarios wriggling out the memory sack labelled 'censored'  which I was desperately trying to push back into oblivion before attempting to speak.

'Erm, why's he back in touch?' I asked with the sort of dry mouth it usually takes two bottles of Tequila and a couple of hours kip to acquire. 

'He wants an agent.'

'What for?'

'He wants someone to ghost his memoirs.'

'Are you kidding? You're not going to take him on?'

'No I'm not. You are.'

Beat. (As you see in film scripts far too often.)

'I'd rather give a blow job to a rhinoceros with an STD,' I said finally. Sharon has no idea of my history with Tickler and I'm not about to enlighten her. Much later - when he was in his forties - Sharon represented him but I'd long since given up acting and had been with Pattie for fifteen years or so by then. 'Sharon, I haven't seen him for over forty years - '

'On the news you have.'

'Yes, and I despise what he's done in politics. We hated each other in theatre, we'd hate each other more now.'

'Well currently I don't think much of Jojo Bachelor but I'm still looking after his interests. Even if it turns out that he's an accessory to murder.' Despite her steely eyes, I couldn't tell whether she was being serious or satirical. 

'You know he's older than me? We're not thrusting young actors trying to make it anymore. And he's as fat as a lump of lard.'

'So what?'

'You have to be joking!' I wailed because I couldn't think of a genuine reason not to meet with him. This guy had held offices of State. 

'It's a coup for you. He's going to tell all. It was him who hinted to me two days ago about what the official policy was on climate change and the dodgy vaxxes.'

'Exactly Sharon, he hinted!  He's opposition, out to make trouble for the government. How would he know? He's probably making it up, trying to tickle, excuse the pun, your taste buds. You know what Tickler was like when he was Jackson? Before he was on your books? A bigger liar than Baron Munchausen on steroids. I thought you could see through that sort of bollocks.' 

'He's a source and I have a feeling - going forward - that in the next twelve to twenty four months the world is going to change forever. Despite my fear of being involved in this, despite part of me not wanting to know, if we honestly want the truth we are going to need all the assistance we can get. Besides, I thought you wanted help - from whatever source - to find out what really happened to Pattie. You're not going to get much higher up than Tickler. He'll even eclipse Kieran's dad. What was his name?'

'Jacques Bunot.'  I'd forgotten about him.

'They might even know each other. What do you tell your writers when they're researching? I know, because you got it from Pattie: "Use all the sources you can muster. And only afterwards start the sifting. '' '

Her steely look, which hadn't dissipated one iota, made me think I can't turn this down. Which is a bugger. Because I really did not want Jerome Tickler back in my life.