Get Poor Slow Page 15

  The golden curls looked less lofty than usual. Whatever he normally did to them, he had lacked the heart to do it today. They looked defeated: out of luck, out of vim. Also his stubble had stopped looking like stubble. It looked unmeant, as if he’d just been too haunted to shave. The cocky smirk, the vain convex chest: the whole Skeats steez was dead. I’d come here wanting to hit him, but there was nothing left to hit. His perfunctory lower face was one big dent already. He had no chin. The thin bloodless lips curled back in on themselves, as if he had a mouthful of something he’d been waiting a lifetime to spit out – something bitter, like the taste of his own pointlessness. Until today, our whole relationship had consisted of scenes I would never forgive him for. For once things would be the other way round.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked me. ‘Just tell me what you want.’ His phone bleated wretchedly in his coat pocket. He made no move to answer it. It rang until it stopped, like the phone of a dead man. That clinched it. We were in radically new terrain.

  ‘I want you to tell me everything,’ I said.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But there’s not much to tell.’ His fingers tortured a sugar sachet, spraying the table with fine white grains.

  ‘Did you fuck her the night she died?’ I asked him.

  ‘Ray. Be serious. You can’t think I had anything to do with that?’

  ‘Somebody was with her that night. Was it you?’

  ‘No. I swear. We were through by then.’ He said it with unusual force. When a liar gets a chance to tell the truth, he hammers it hard.

  ‘How long did it go on?’ I framed each question carefully, as if dismantling a bomb. I wanted information, but not enough to blast any fresh holes through me.

  ‘About a year, on and off.’

  A year? He said it casually. The words had no weight for him. I envied his airiness, but my contempt for him as a man acquired a new sub-basement floor. If he’d had her for a year and could say it like that, he wasn’t really alive.

  ‘When did it start?’ I asked him. ‘When did it stop? Who ended it, and why? Who started it?’ I was ready to up the tempo now. I wanted to yank out the rotten tooth and get home fast.

  ‘Who started it? At the time, I thought it was me. Looking back, I think it was her.’

  ‘Let me guess how it went. You met her at some literary event. A party. A festival.’

  ‘A book launch.’

  ‘And she made the running, right? She came to you. Probably you couldn’t believe your luck. And you were right not to, because it wasn’t luck. She wanted your clout, not you. She had it all mapped out. She wanted you to keep her books away from the hard cases – from the guys like me. And you did. You slipped them to the pushovers like Lodge, so he could dance the old soft-shoe on them.’

  ‘More often than not, yeah.’

  ‘Jeremy. No. Come on. You were doing so well. Focus. Reread the situation. There’s no wriggle room here. I looked at the archives last night.’

  ‘Sorry, Ray. Yeah, that was it. That was the arrangement.’

  His shoulders drooped like a wrung-out sponge. The trouble with watching him squirm was it made me want to squirm too. Defeated, he was a disgusting spectacle. The man you have on the ropes is never quite the same man who pissed on you when you were down. You have to remind yourself, firmly, of what he’ll do to you if you’re ever enough of a fool to let him back up.

  ‘Can you blame me?’ he abjectly said. He leaned in even closer. His breath was like an exhalation from a crypt. ‘You knew her, mate. She was a little bit hard to turn down, am I right? Plus,’ he said, ‘I’ll be honest with you. I’m not all that fuckin’ sure I did anything wrong. All I really did was, I funnelled the bulk of her books to Barrett. What’s so outrageous about that? The guy is our chief reviewer. Most probably I’d have thrown him most of those books anyway. It’s not like I told him what to write.’

  This was more like it. He felt some slack in the straitjacket. The Houdini of untruth was giving it one last shake, one last reptilian writhe.

  ‘Lodge wasn’t in on it?’

  ‘Not formally. He didn’t need to be.’

  ‘She was spared the horror of fucking him.’

  ‘That would have been superfluous, mate. Accentuating the positive is Barry’s natural style. The old soft-shoe, like you said.’

  ‘The critic as cheerleader.’

  ‘I know. I know. He’s predictable as buggery. Can I tell you something about Barrett?’ He glanced cautiously at his leather bag. ‘Between you and me, he’s not going to be around for much longer. That’s one of the things I want to talk to you about.’

  ‘Let’s stick,’ I said, ‘with what you don’t want to talk about. Let’s keep talking about that. Go back a month. Suddenly things change. She’s flogging the Vagg book. It’s got Lodge written all over it, but for some reason you send it to me. A radical shift of policy, that. I’m guessing it was her idea.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘She explain her thinking?’

  ‘No, but I could have a guess at it.’

  ‘Go on.’

  He exhaled. That pack of sugar in his hand was springing leaks all over the place. ‘Lodge’s praise was getting a bit shopworn, obviously. From her point of view, his use-by date was looming. So was mine, if I’m going to be honest about it. The phone calls, the tête-à-têtes . . . she was starting to phase them out. I think she was moving on to new challenges. Like you. If she could get a good review out of you . . .’ Repulsively he raised his eyebrows. ‘Doesn’t take a genius to work out what she did next, Ray.’

  ‘Clearly not.’

  ‘Well. Whatever she did, it seemed to work.’

  ‘Not for her.’ I gave him time to think that one over. I wanted to see if it would kick his conscience out of its coma. But it would take more than a subtle phrase to do that. It would take more time and patience than I would ever have on my hands again.

  ‘You double-crossed her,’ I clarified. ‘You sent me the book early, before she could get to me. Probably you lied to her about the dates. That’s why you sent it in proof, and by express. I’m starting to remember these details now. I should have seen that something was up. All that strange efficiency, the weird haste to get me into print. By the time she turned up on my doorstep it was too late. I’d sent you the hatchet job already. And for once in your life, a hatchet job was what you wanted to run. Not for the good of literature, but to stick it to her. When I asked you to hold it back, you still could have. You just didn’t want to.’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry about that, Ray.’

  ‘You wanted to rub her face in it. You wanted to show her you were still boss.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘What else could you say?’

  ‘Nothing. You’ve said it already. I could feel her forcing me out of the loop.’

  ‘And you couldn’t have that.’

  ‘Not if I could still help it, no.’

  ‘You couldn’t have her going over your head and fucking your reviewers instead of you.’

  ‘That was part of it. And I don’t know, maybe I thought there was still hope for us. For her and me. Which was a delusion – I can see that now. Getting Vagg’s book to you, I reckon that was the last job she needed me for. Maybe I could see it even then. Maybe I thought: okay, you little bitch. You’re finished with me? Well, here’s something to remember me by.’

  ‘She didn’t get to remember it for long.’

  Behind his face there was a flicker of something that came close, but not all that close, to introspection. I’d got him thinking, at long last. After years of yanking at the slot machine, I’d finally scored this dribble of a payoff. ‘You don’t think . . .’ His sunken chin sagged. ‘Surely you don’t think the review had something to do with . . . with what happened?’

  ‘It must have occurred to you. Jesus Chr
ist. The review came out at midnight. A few hours later someone took a hatchet to her. The timing’s never struck you as strange?’

  ‘What are you saying? You think it was Vagg?’

  ‘I did once. I don’t any more. That doesn’t mean there’s no connection.’ Was that true, or did I just want it to have been Skeats’s fault?

  Skeats said, ‘I’ve been assuming it was the other bloke.’

  I looked at the ravaged sachet in his fingers. A song played on a radio somewhere: a girl singer, singing things I couldn’t hear. More things that were just beyond me, more things I didn’t quite get.

  ‘What other bloke?’ I said.

  ‘She had somebody else. Some young prick.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘She told me.’

  ‘That’s all? Maybe she was lying.’

  ‘Why would she?’

  ‘Because she lied about everything.’

  ‘Only when she had a reason to. She had no reason to lie about that.’

  ‘Maybe she wanted to keep you on your toes.’

  ‘Christ, Ray. I was on my toes already. I was on my toes the whole time.’

  ‘So who was he?’

  ‘I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me his name.’

  ‘Could she have been talking about Vagg?’

  ‘Vagg? No. I’m talking about somebody young. More like her own age, maybe younger. He was long-term. In the picture well before me. I got the impression he was a bit of a moron. I think I saw him once, one night at her place.’

  ‘Keep going.’ I was already thinking about the voice on the phone. Young, possibly. Moronic, certainly.

  ‘Or maybe it wasn’t him,’ Skeats said. ‘I don’t know. I saw somebody.’

  ‘Describe him.’

  ‘I can’t. It was dark. It was the middle of the night. I was walking up her driveway, this other cunt was walking down it. All I saw was a shape.’

  ‘Shortish? Solid?’

  ‘Maybe. Yeah, if I had to say. Why? You think you know him?’

  ‘Possibly. Keep going.’

  ‘That’s all I can tell you. He wasn’t Vagg, I can tell you that much. And he wasn’t you. Beyond that, I’d be scratching. I didn’t see his face.’

  ‘You think he saw yours?’

  ‘I know what you’re saying. I’ve given that some thought, believe me, considering what happened to her. But I don’t think he could have. It was black as – it was as black as night. But I’ll tell you this much. When I got up there, up to the house, you could smell what they’d been up to. This is the guy, Ray. Trust me.’

  ‘You think she was serious about him?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘In love with him?’

  ‘Love?’ Skeats scoffed. ‘Turn it up, Ray. That was hardly her style. Nah, I got the feeling he was like us.’

  ‘Us?’ Was this how far I’d plunged? Was I the equal of Skeats now?

  ‘Another one of her useful idiots,’ he said. He must have caught the look of revulsion on my face, because he quickly added: ‘Don’t blame yourself, Ray.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Good. You shouldn’t. Blame her. I do. The media goes on like she’s some kind of dead saint, but you and I know better.’ He said it in a spirit of solidarity, as if we were brothers in harmless graft and mild sexual humiliation. ‘Whatever game she was playing with this other guy, I reckon it backfired on her. He got sick of it and he did something about it. And it won’t take the cops long to work that out, Ray. This kid, I got the impression there was something wrong with him. He was some kind of fuckup. She told me that much. He won’t stay off their radar for long. All you’ve got to do is be patient, mate. Sit tight. Don’t say anything you don’t have to. You won’t, will you? About me and her? Frankly, there’s nothing to be said. I’ve told you all there is to know. It was a dalliance, that’s all it was. A dalliance, plus the scam with the good reviews. Apart from that there’s nothing to tell. I didn’t kill her. I don’t know who did. I couldn’t tell the cops anything I haven’t just told you. So let’s not go fucking up my whole life for no gain. It’d achieve nothing, except my marriage would be over, and you and me would be out of a job.’

  ‘I thought I was out of a job already.’

  ‘Ah. Let’s talk about that. Can we talk about that, Ray?’ His hand oozed down towards that black bag of his. ‘I want to talk about that, if you do. As long as we’re . . . long as we’re cool on that other subject? Are we, Ray? Are we cool on that?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Maybe this’ll help you.’

  ‘What’s in the bag, Jeremy? Cash?’

  ‘Cash? Ray. Come on. We’re civilised men. We’re literary men.’ He put the satchel on the table. ‘But yeah, in a way. You could think of it as cash, if you wanted to.’ He hadn’t opened the bag yet. He had a preamble to lay out while he had my attention. His breath was starting to stink less, as if he thought he’d weathered the worst. ‘First,’ he said, ‘let’s be honest about something. You and me, we’ve never been that close. Have we? Let’s not bullshit about that. I mean – we’re beyond bullshit now, am I right? What I’m saying is, you don’t let people get close. And who knows – maybe I don’t either. But Ray – it doesn’t have to be like that. Not any more. Not after today. Let’s use this thing, is what I’m saying. Regrettable as it is, let’s build on it. Let’s view it as a chance to do some business.’

  This was grotesque, and I wanted it to end. I said, ‘Enough foreplay. What’s in the bag?’

  He reached inside. He brought out the galleys of a book, bound by a black plastic comb. I had never seen a fatter set of proofs. It must have run to 1200 pages. He dumped it between us. The cover said: The Tainted Land, by Dallas Fingle. Below that was a slab of fine print about permissions and embargoes. The book was under wraps for six more weeks.

  ‘You know about this?’ Skeats said.

  ‘Should I?’

  ‘It’s going to be huge,’ he said. ‘And I want you to review it.’

  ‘You want to un-fire me?’ The transaction had the familiar stench of a Skeats lie.

  ‘You never were fired, and here’s your proof. In six weeks this book is going to explode. It’s going to be massive. I need somebody good on it. I want it to be you.’

  ‘The Tainted Land? It sounds like it’s about two hundred years of white oppression.’

  ‘It is. They reckon it’ll be a shoo-in for the Miles.’

  ‘Sounds like the sort of thing you’d normally give to Lodge.’

  ‘Exactly. And now I’m giving it to you.’

  ‘So it’s my lucky day?’

  ‘This isn’t just about the girl, Ray. It’s partly about her. Why pretend otherwise? But there’s a bigger picture here too. Frankly, Lodge is starting to give me the shits. I’m getting jack of the prick. It isn’t just that his stuff’s getting worse, although it is. He’s starting to blow his deadlines too. He’s a drinker, but unlike yourself he can’t drink and still do the business. Between you and me – strictly between you and me – I’ve decided to put the bloated old deadshit out to pasture, effective pretty bloody soon. Which means there’s a vacancy coming up in the top chair.’

  He seemed to think this was pretty big news. He sat there for a while so I could soak it up. Then he said, ‘Now, I’m not going to sit here and tell you the job’s yours.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Ray. Come on. Like I’ve said, we’re beyond bullshit here. You as chief reviewer? That’d be a hard one for the industry to swallow cold. I get enough pissed-off phone calls about you as it is. If I suddenly gave you the top job, they’d be burning my effigy in the streets. No, we’d need a bit of time for this. We’d need to lube them up for it first. Plus we have to wait till the cops are off your back. Who knows how long that’ll
take?’

  ‘I can think of one way to move it along.’ I wanted to needle him while I still could. Maybe it did me damage, but it did him damage too.

  ‘Touché,’ he said through a lipless grimace. ‘But you can still move it along without mentioning me. Tell them about the short-arse boyfriend, by all means. I’m not averse to that. Tell them what I saw on the driveway. Just tell them you saw it yourself.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t see anything.’

  ‘He was short. He was solid. He was there, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘And what about the rest? You want me to morph into Barrett Lodge?’

  ‘Not fully. But again, let’s not bullshit each other. The chief reviewer’s got to be able to speak for the paper. Not for himself, or not just for himself.’

  ‘Or not even.’

  ‘I’m trying to help you out here, Ray, believe it or not. I’m trying to tell you how to get ahead in the real world – if that interests you. I’m making you an offer that most blokes in your position would consider a pretty generous one. I’m inviting you into the tent, mate. I’m inviting you in from the cold. Consider this book a trial run. Let’s see what you can do with a bit of water-cooler literature.’

  ‘If it’s a piece of shit, I’ll say it’s a piece of shit.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect anything less, Ray. But Jesus. Why do you immediately assume it’s a piece of shit?’

  ‘It looks like a piece of shit,’ I said. ‘It’s got the title of a piece of shit.’

  ‘Well, I don’t get the sense that many people will be saying that in six weeks.’

  I laid a wary digit on the typescript and rotated its bulk towards me. ‘What kind of name is Dallas Fingle?’

  ‘They reckon he’s some kind of boy genius.’

  ‘Who are “they”? I thought we were they, and we haven’t read it yet.’

  ‘Ray, give me a bit of credit. Remember, I’m plugged into the industry in a way that you’re not. I’ve heard what people are saying about this book. They’re saying it’s extraordinary. They don’t say things like that all the time.’

  ‘Yes they do.’