Chapter Text
The lights pour onto the floor, dousing any and every dancer in fluorescence. The beat booms through the speakers, taking over the brain of the listener. A group of lads lay low. They’d usually be performing, all dolled up, dressed up in drag but today they need to be as normal as possible if they’re going to find their Robbie.
Robbie, their dearest friend and stupidest idiot is the baby of the group, the wandering toddler you have to keep an eye on or he’ll snatch some sweets or chat up some mob boss who could end him and the club at any minute.
It’s like he doesn’t sense danger. Doesn’t feel the toxicity radiating off these men, the slime in the form of sweat dripping off their hands, the lust swimming in their eyes. Well, the last part is a lie. Robbie definitely feels the lust but he loves it! It makes him feel like an actual queen, the ultimate object of desire. Mark says it’s all a part of growing up, Gary thinks he’s just a slag, typical, Howard believes that he just doesn't understand but Jason reckons that it’s something deeper. Robbie never felt wanted before; bullied at school, neglected at home. So when someone gives him attention it’s like heroin and he’s hooked.
If they say they have a drink, he’ll drink it, if they say they have a pill, he’ll take it and if they say they have a party back at their place, he’ll attend it—or at least try. Usually one of the lads notices him getting too friendly and drags him away. More often than not, it’s Gaz, or Ivy Keys as he’s known in the nights, who scolds him for being such a slag.
“He shouldn’t even be here,” mutters Jason. It’s true. Robbie shouldn’t be here. He’s barely 18. He still collects toys from the cereal box. He knows nothing about the world and Jason just knows these letches will take advantage of that.
Shame that’s all part of the job.
Seems today they don’t have to look far though as Robbie is right in the corner, surrounded by two blokes that could’ve been casted by John Major and his stunt double in a biopic. At least three times his age, near to retirement, seedy, sleazy and smiling down at him like he’s theirs.
Robbie smiles too, that cheeky chappie smile that does nothing besides show his age. His painfully young age.
“Oh hiya, lads,” he greets them. “Met these two last night. Cyril and Jim. They've been coming here since Marko’s sisters worked here apparently. Anyway, we were just about to leave for a couple of drinks back at his. You're welcome to come!”
“I don’t think so.” Howard’s voice is stern. Stern as steel. Stern as to tell these men in a silent matter to get the fuck away from his friend before he batters them. And Howard would. He genuinely would. He’s come so, so close before, like when Robbie went back to that prick after Glastonbury.
He continues to glare as he folds his arms, narrowing in on the one named Jim who’s hand is inches away from Robbie’s bum. He hates to wonder what would happen if he and the lads weren’t here to keep this sort away.
Luckily, it doesn’t get to that point as the men get the message and leave without a single word. As always.
Jason grabs Robbie’s arm with so much firmness you’d think he was trying to tame a tiger. He’s been here before, they’ve both been here before, they’ve all been here before telling him how dangerous this is, to leave with a total stranger without anyone else knowing. How many ways can they say it? How many more times must they repeat it?
Robbie’s zoned out. He knows he’s messed up but Jason’s started one of his famous ‘What the hell were you thinking? Do you wanna get killed!’ lectures and he can’t bring himself to be present. He hates being like this. He hates that he can never say no. He hates that anyone can make him feel special with just a few words and even less actions.
And he hates that they all know it. He hates that he’s weak and he hates that Gary just rolled his eyes for the second time in a row. Who does he think he is?
But before Robbie can open his mouth, or Jason can even finish his sentence, Gary gets up.
“Well, I’m off.”
“What?” Mark asks, gobsmacked by the abruptness.
“No whats, Markie,” he grins at him. “Ivy Keys has got places to be!”
“But we’re gonna have lunch at that kebab place like we always do.” Jason introduced them to it since he loves Indian food and they’ve been going ever since. Has he forgotten the sacred tradition?
“Lunch? It’s already past 1 and Nigel’s booked us this nice Scottish restaurant with a golf course and I have to be there by half past. I don’t want them to cancel our table.”
Robbie can’t resist making a remark. “You’re still seeing that hog? Surprised he still hasn’t left you in the lurch.”
“He won’t leave me in the lurch, he’ll put me in the biz but I doubt you know what that even means.” And Gary has to get his own back. “Too complex for you to understand, hey? Maybe you should stick to pining over punks.”
Robbie looks at him with daggers for eyes. “Put a ring on it yet?”
“We’ll see,” Gary quips with his hand in the air, imagining a ring on his finger. He quite likes silver, though Nigel’s is gold, and he has fondness for sapphire but you never see them on rings.
It’s only for a few seconds, just to piss off Robbie and make his status clear to the others before he leaves, letting the door slam behind him.
ᯓ★
Emerald green grass, white collared shirts and the first skims of Spring sun. This is the life, Gary thinks to himself as he watches his man get a hole in one. His man, Nigel. They’ve been going steady for a while now, almost two years but to Gary feels like forever and a day.
After watching Gary’s performance of his own song, Nigel found himself stunned by the talent and seduced by the drag persona that he just had to get to know him over a roast dinner the next day. Since then there’s been days like this and nights of passion. Gary’s basically taken the place of his wife who’s getting less action than a book upon an old shelf! Not that it bothers Gary at all. He isn’t fond of her. From what he’s heard she’s a boring broad, oblivious to her dear husband pulling the wool over her eyes whilst pushing his cock into someone else…
“How are you, my love?”
“I’m well,” Gary smiles as Nigel takes his hands. “It feels like it could be summer already.”
“Well I do suppose we’ve gotten lucky today though I do wish it was actually summer. I’d love to see you in tennis shorts!”
They both laugh and nuzzle their noses under rays of sun. Their smiles from ear to ear.
How ever did he get so lucky?
His main goal when he arrived in Manchester was to dedicate himself to music and when he ended up performing Like A Virgin in red lipstick and a blonde wig by the end of the first night, he figured that he was still doing that – just by different means. If he wanted to live the vanilla life he would’ve stayed in Cheshire and followed the path his parents pushed him towards: married with a stable career as a bank teller with a child on the way.
Well, none of those things will ever happen, not any time soon anyway but Gary can see him and Nigel settling down in the countryside somewhere once he files for divorce.
ᯓ★
Dance is a form of expression, a way to speak without words, to paint without brushes, to sing without vocals. Howard loves it, loves to interpret the music through choreography, loves to feel the music through movements but it isn’t his first love. No, his first love was cross dressing. Dressing up in his mother’s clothes and makeup when she was at work. Her lavender dress was his favourite, reminding him of the spring he was born in, and he added the pearl necklace his dad had got her for Christmas with the high heels she always wore to events. He even put on her perfume, Chanel No. 5, and her red lipstick. He looked beautiful, he felt beautiful but to his brother who watched him from the door, he was sinful. If not sinful then downright disgusting and needed to be dealt with.
His elder brother beat Howard that day so badly you’d think he had stolen from his mother’s purse, not just been seen in her dress.
And that’s why Howard turned to dance. It allows him to be himself, it allows him to be free and it allows him to push Jason down without fear of repercussion!
Their backs are against the wall and they’re panting like dogs from the dancing and the laughing. They were meant to be choreographing to that song that Gary wrote but Howard reckons that the last half hour has just been them messing around to music. Still, not the worst way to spend time. They deserve a break after today’s close call.
“Surprised you ain’t pulled a muscle when you tugged Robbie this morning,” Howard remarks.
“Nah, I’ve tugged much more than that,” he smiles as he flexes his muscles. “The old boy’s used to it.”
They both giggle like the immature teenagers they ought to be.
“What are we going to do about that boy?”
It’s a question, there’s no doubt about it, but one with no clear answer. It’s like asking which religion is correct or how long until Stephen divorces Elaine, it just doesn’t have an answer. And Jason loves answers, it’s why he’s so curious about the world around him, so excited by different cultures and languages and so frustrated by Robbie’s incessant recklessness.
Sometimes he wishes he could reach into his head and just…
“What can we do?” He’s right. What exactly can they do? “He’s 18 now, when’s he gonna wise up? We can’t keep running after him. We’re his colleagues, you know, this is not a crèche! And even if it were, we’d be calling home, bringing in parents,” he’s looking at Howard now. “And I know for sure, firsthand, leaving your family is a decision no one willingly makes.”
And Jason knows. Jason knows far too well as he left home young too. Not as young as Robbie did, he can thank God for that, but he left the age Robbie is now and it was tough.
Jason had a fling. No big deal, many teens have flings but in his case, it was with the priest’s son who, under pressure from his father, outed him at confession. Jason forgives him now but back then no such thing could cross his mind, not when rocks were being thrown at his windows and turds were being pushed through the letterbox.
That was only the start of what would become an unbearable hell. He became an easy target for violent attacks and after a particularly bad beating, someone came to his aid. Damon was his name, a London bloke, who smiled as he said “Glad to see there’s another one of me” and asked him on a date the day after.
However, Jason’s mother picked up on everything, as mothers do, and whilst she had no proof of the relationship (they were very discreet), she still wished for her son to stop “acting like that” and start being “normal” which triggered the final argument between them.
“I won’t have a queer eating off my plate” were her final words and they could’ve brought Jason to his final days but he left before dinner. All the savings Damon had told him to keep in case came in handy when he reached the city and the phone calls from his twin brother Justin kept his spirits up but if he hadn't found the club, it would’ve never ended well.
“But for the love of God, why can’t he behave and stop taking everything for a fucking joke!”
ᯓ★
“It’s not that we don’t love ya, Rob, we do,” Mark clarifies as he stirs the pasta-tuna mix. He’s getting an early start on dinner since today’s lunch ended before it began courtesy of Ivy Keys and Mad Robonna. He has to blame both. It’s only fair to blame both. The latter more than the former to tell the truth. “We’re just worried about ya. I mean, you drive us wild. You don’t ever stop. Like today, you had no idea what those blokes could’ve done to you! It’s dangerous out there. This job’s a guessing game and you can’t ever lose. You know what happens when you lose. You lost before. When you went off with that Liam guy to Glasto...”
“That was one time!” Robbie yells out, feeling the need to emphasise that that episode was a one-off. A pilot for a series that never took off. A flopping debut single from a brand new band. A fluke. A three-night-stand. He doesn’t remember his name, Robbie doesn't remember a single thing about those days, just the cloud above his head waiting to burst.
And the pretty little white lines on the table, and Liam’s tough accent egging him on, and his knees getting redder and redder from kneeling…
“But it wasn’t just once, was it?” Mark stops stirring to look him dead in the eye. “You went back to him loads of other times.”
It’s true. Not a lie told. He’s gone back plenty of times after Glastonbury. More times than he’d ever admit. He’s actually lost count. Too many times he’s been led astray, out of the club and into his bed. Praying that the door didn’t creak too loud in the night or that his eyes didn’t look too dark in the morning.
“They know it, we all know it, I know it, I just don’t say anything because it’s your life but I can’t say I’m not disappointed because I am! It’s like you don’t even think when you do these things and if you do, it’s all a laugh to ya but it ain’t! Because I’m telling you, Rob, we can’t keep running after ya, you know, we’ve got our own lives. Sooner or later you’re gonna end up on your own if you continue like the way you are now. How do you seriously expect to keep on?”
Mark digs the spoon into the bottom of the pot out of pure frustration. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been more fed up in his life. When is enough enough? When will Robbie learn that this job’s no joke! This is real life; the life they lead and it could very well lead to his end if he isn’t careful!
Mark sighs in a futile attempt to calm himself down. “You can take ya share, I’m goin’ to go shower.”
As he watches Mark stomp on, something changes in Robbie. Twinges, twists and turns in him.
They don’t want him here. They never have. Or at least not now. Not anymore. That’s why Gaz left early, that’s why Howard only said a few words, that’s why Jason dragged him so hard (harder than Gaz has ever), that’s why Mark snapped at him just now. That’s why. It’s all been a message. A message that he isn’t too thick to get. He can get the message, he gets the message. He’s simply not wanted. Around here, anyway.
He’s overstayed his welcome. He’s done it before at school when he tried to hang out with the good kids to avoid being bullied. It was better to be bullied for being part of a group rather than for being himself. By the end of the second week, though, they had ditched him. They said they had nothing in common with him. He couldn’t add numbers right or read well.
It was the same at home, no, worse. Because unlike school there was nowhere to hide, except for Nan’s room, but she held his head under the bathwater when the teacher called to say that they believed that he wouldn’t pass his exams.
They were right. All right. All right from the very start. And now they’re right now. Right right now.
And he’s going right now, yeah, he’ll leave. He won’t wait for the other shoe to drop. No way! If they want him gone, he’s out of here. Quicker than a john when the boys in blue show up!
He doesn’t need a single person. He needs nothing at all. He needs no one but himself. Not a single thing but his coat. And maybe his walkman. He could use some Madonna, even though his mood is crying out for The Smiths.
And so, Robbie goes through the door. And though he doubts Mark’ll be able to hear him through his butchered rendition of Better The Devil You Know, he still lets the door slam as he disappears into the late winter.