Wednesday 28 July 1999
Charlie walked down the street from the bus stop towards the Ypsilante Bar. He checked his watch again - it showed a quarter to seven, so he had plenty of time. He brushed his sweaty palm on his trousers, wishing it weren't quite so humid. He was nervous, of course – he wasn't quite sure what McManus would want of him – but at least he was doing something and not just waiting.
He hadn't been given any instructions on what to wear, but he'd never seen McManus in anything but a suit, so he chose to dress conservatively in a pair of navy-blue slacks and a white button-down shirt. He hoped McManus appreciated the gesture, because he felt as if he were on his way to church rather than a social gathering. A funeral maybe. Or not, if he played his cards right.
In his pocket he had some condoms and lube. He had hesitated before taking them from his bedside table, but he'd told himself that he'd regret it more if he didn't have them, even if he hoped that he didn't need them, at least not tonight. He wasn't stupid enough to believe he'd survive the month without ending up on his back, but the longer it took to get there, the happier he'd be. Even if the Shark was an attractive man - pretty fit, even - he didn't like the fact that he couldn't walk away if he changed his mind.
He shook his head slightly. He still couldn't believe he'd actually said he'd do this. It was unbelievable! Even if he had been pretty worked up at the time, it was by far the most stupid thing he'd done in years - more stupid, even than the time he'd been so desperate to get fucked that he'd gone cottaging after he'd been refused entry to four bars in one night. He'd been lucky, that time - a rather seedy forty-something had obliged, and he'd left the place a scant ten minutes before a plain-clothes copper had rounded up the loiterers. He wondered if his luck would hold for the month.
He reached the Ypsilante Bar at last and walked through the glass doors into the bar itself. It was fairly quiet, which was only to be expected so early on a Wednesday evening, and he soon spotted McManus over at the far end of the bar, a glass of beer in his hand. He looked somewhat out of place in the brash décor - mirror panels, glass shelves, gold and chrome fittings - and not too happy either. Charlie hurried over to him, and, to his surprise, was greeted with a smile.
"On time, that's good, and suitably-dressed, that's even better," said McManus, looking him up and down. Charlie smiled back automatically but quickly reminded himself that this arrangement was business, nothing more, and he would have to keep better control of himself during the weeks ahead. He swung himself up onto the adjacent barstool and looked at the display of available drinks.
"Do you want something to drink?" asked McManus, after draining his glass.
"I'll have a beer, thanks," he answered, hoping that the house beer was drinkable and not some Australian crap.
McManus ordered two beers (Stella, thank God) and then asked him, "Have you been here before?"
Charlie shook his head. "They don't have live music here, and it's a bit… out of my league." He took the glass of lager and drank, savouring the taste. It wasn't every day he got to drink a decent lager, not since he'd lost his job, and he was determined to enjoy it. He licked the foam from his upper lip and saw how McManus twitched in reaction. That was reassuring - he wasn't the only one who felt some attraction. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage. Perhaps he could talk the man into letting him have his guitar back, at least.
"Aye, it would be at that," McManus answered, and Charlie had to think hard to remember what he'd said. "Not many students or starving musicians among this lot. Just a load of fucking yuppies with attitude."
Charlie looked around at the bar's patrons, who were mainly men in business suits, with a few equally-sombre women scattered among them. A handful of giggling girls in a corner supplied a little colour, but otherwise it was depressingly dull. There was no sense of easy camaraderie that he had felt in the student bars he had frequented, or the few pubs that he went to with Liam and the band when they weren't working. Instead there was a hint of desperation, perhaps a fear that life was passing them by at breakneck speed, with no stops for sightseeing.
"Is this your local?" he asked, hoping that it wasn't, hoping that they wouldn't be here for long.
McManus snorted. "Fuck no. Do I look like I belong with this mob? No, I'm meeting someone here - business. It'll only take a couple of minutes, and then I'll be able to get back to our business."
"Oh, right," Charlie answered. He took another swig of beer and licked the foam of his upper lip again, only more slowly and deliberately, watching McManus through his lashes. This time, however, McManus's response was to grab hold of Charlie's shirt and pull him forward, almost knocking him off his barstool.
"Don't you fucking try and tease me, lad, or I'll be taking steps to tame you that you won't like at all. Wipe that smirk off your face and drink your beer like a good boy."
The unexpected bollocking shocked Charlie. He turned red and tried to hide his face, even though McManus had spoken in a low tone that no one else could have heard. He was about to mutter an apology when McManus looked over his shoulder and said, "Stay here, don't move, don't talk to anyone and try not to stare at me when I'm talking to the man."
"OK, boss," he murmured.
McManus hissed in exasperation but said nothing more as he walked away towards a tall, pale man with flaxen hair. They exchanged a cautious greeting and took a few steps over to one of the booths, where they sat down and began to speak in low tones that didn’t carry.
Charlie settled himself more comfortably on the bar stool and tried to amuse himself by examining the array of bottles behind the bar and working out how many he'd sampled: it was a distressingly small fraction. The wall behind the bar was mirrored, and he discovered that if he turned slightly he could see McManus as he listened to something the pale man was saying. It was the first time he'd been in McManus's presence without being under observation himself, and he took the opportunity to take a good look at the man who was going to control his life for the next five weeks.
He was neither tall – around five foot six, Charlie estimated – nor broad-shouldered, but he was well-proportioned. His hair was a fairly non-descript reddish brown, cut very short, which only emphasised that his hairline was starting to recede. It was hard to guess his age - anything between twenty-five and thirty-five - but easy to see the harsh background of the Glasgow tenements underneath his smart clothes and gold necklace. From this angle Charlie could see that McManus's nose was well-shaped with no bumps or curves – a far cry from his own squashed tomato of a nose, he thought. His ears were small and stuck close to his head, and he had no earrings or piercings. His eyes and mouth were partly obscured by the angle, but Charlie knew that he had clear green eyes and a delicate bow of a mouth. His hands – he could see McManus's right hand as it came up to take something from the pale man – his hands were small and beautifully-shaped, with well-kept nails. All in all, Rory McManus was a good-looking man, and the oddest thing about him was that while every feature begged the word "delicate", the overall impression was anything but that. McManus was tough and resilient, and it showed in his stance, in the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his chin.
Charlie looked at him and wondered again how they would have got along if they had met under other circumstances. McManus wasn't the type of man he usually went for – he preferred them taller, with strong shoulders and long legs and leather trousers – but there was something about him that had drawn Charlie in the first time he'd set eyes on him. If they'd met after a gig, if McManus had offered to buy him a beer, if he'd smiled at him and said he'd like Charlie's songs... well, Charlie probably would have smiled back, and chatted with him, and they might have shared a beer or two and flirted a little before saying goodnight. Or Charlie might have gone home with him, and they would have snogged a bit before falling into bed and shagging each other senseless.
Charlie shook his head. None of that was going to happen now, so there wasn't much point in thinking about what might have been.
On the other side of the pub, McManus took the envelope proffered by the pale man and opened it. He riffled through the contents - money, presumably - and nodded. They both stood up; the pale man turned away and left, while McManus put the envelope into his jacket pocket and returned to the bar.
"All done, then?" asked Charlie.
"Aye," McManus grabbed his beer and drained it. He gestured to Charlie's glass. "Drink up, lad, I've got work for you."
Charlie drained his glass and followed McManus, who had headed deeper into the room. When he pushed through the door marked "Toilets" Charlie knew exactly what was coming.
McManus dragged him into the handicapped stall and unbuckled his belt. "On your knees, Charlie, show me what you're worth."
Charlie felt a wave of self-disgust wash over him. Only moments before he'd been imagining how it might have been to meet the man as an equal, and now he was being reminded – deliberately, he was sure – that to McManus he was just a whore, a piece of merchandise.
He dropped to his knees and undid the button and zipper, exactly as he had done before - was it only three weeks ago? - before easing the trousers down. Plain navy-blue silk boxers lay underneath the trousers, and Charlie eased them down, stretching the elastic at the front to prevent it catching. McManus's cock was twitching and lengthening in his hand as he took hold of it, and he noted again the clean, slightly spicy smell of whatever soap he used. At least he could be thankful for that.
He took the head into his mouth, in and out gently, working his way down slowly, almost to the base, trying to gauge from McManus's responses what his preferences were. He didn't seem to mind the occasional scrape of teeth, and he actually wriggled when Charlie pressed his tongue to the sensitive spot beneath the head. With one hand on McManus's hip, and the other steadying his cock, Charlie began a steady, non-nonsense up-and-down that brought McManus to the brink in just a few minutes. His mouth filled with the bittersweet fluid and he swallowed.
McManus seemed to sigh softly as Charlie gently replaced his boxers and zipped up his trousers, but didn't speak until Charlie got up off his knees.
"A bit fast, but then I don't have time to waste this evening." He straightened himself up and gestured to the door. "Let's get out of here. I've a phone for you in the car."
Charlie followed McManus out to the car park, where his car turned out to be a dark blue Toyota Camry. Charlie was a little surprised - he had expected something a bit more flashy. His expression must have given away more than he realised because McManus actually grinned, saying, "Don't judge a book by its cover, lad. It's reliable, it's economical and it’s anonymous. The last thing I need is some fancy car that spends half its time in the shop waiting on parts, and the other half being pulled over by police."
He opened the boot and rummaged around various boxes and bags. "You know the most pathetic thing I ever saw?" he asked, rhetorically, as he searched. "A pale orange Lamborghini going down the M1 at exactly seventy miles an hour." He shook his head, sadly. "Stupid git buys one of the fastest cars in the world and he can't even speed on the motorway because everyone's looking at him, every second of the day. I mean, how many pale orange Lamborghinis are there in the country? Everyone knows who he is. Whereas this," he closed the car boot and gave it a gentle pat, "gets me where I want to be in very good time and no one ever notices."
Charlie nodded, though he didn't agree with McManus's reasoning. Personally, he'd have taken the Lamborghini, whatever its colour.
McManus held up a plastic carrier bag. "In here you will find one phone, with charger. The phone has a pre-paid SIM card - the number's in the bag, along with the instructions. Now, remember, this phone is for me to call you, not for you to be calling all your friends. I expect you to keep it charged and on and with you at all times. If you use it and it runs low, you top it up fast. Do you understand?"
Charlie nodded and took the bag. His fingers touched McManus's for a brief second, and he felt a slight thrill at the contact.
McManus kept hold of the bag - he hadn't finished his instructions. "If I phone you and the phone is switched off, or engaged, or you don't answer, I am going to be very angry. You've seen me angry. You do not want to see me very angry. Do you understand all that?"
"Yes." Charlie nodded again. "On, charged, with me at all times."
"Good." McManus walked around to the driver's door and unlocked it. "I'll call you tomorrow." He got into the car, switched on the ignition, belted up and drove off without giving Charlie so much as another glance.
Charlie was left standing in the car park feeling slightly dazed Oh well, he thought, as he turned around and headed for the bus stop, that's Day One.
Thursday 29 July, 7:21 pm
Charlie would have been cursing, but he needed all his breath for running. He was running because he was late, and even though it wasn't his fault he knew he was going to be in trouble.
His worst fears were realised as he rounded the corner and saw McManus making his exit from the bar and heading towards him.
"You’re late," McManus snapped.
"I know," panted Charlie, "I'm sorry. I ran as fast as I could but I missed the first bus and-"
McManus cut him off. "I've told you before, I'm not interested in excuses, only results. You're twenty minutes late, boy. That's twenty minutes of my time wasted. I don't like wasting my time."
"I'm sorry," Charlie said again. "If you'd given me a little more time to get here-"
"Are you making excuses?"
"No," insisted Charlie, "I'm just telling you that I don't have a car, and if you want me to get from one side of the city to another in rush hour, you have to give me more time."
For a moment Charlie thought the man was going to hit him, but he stood his ground and looked McManus in the eye. He thought he saw a look of admiration in McManus's eyes at his boldness, but he might have been mistaken, as McManus's face closed up and became unreadable once more.
"That sounds perilously close to a demand, Charlie Pace," McManus said in a voice that was so low it was almost a growl. "Do you think you're in a position to make demands of me?"
Charlie swallowed, but said, "I'm not making demands. I'm just saying-"
McManus held a hand up to stop him. Charlie thought McManus was going to tell him off again, but then he realised that McManus's mobile phone was ringing - a plain ringtone, no fancy pop songs or theme tunes. McManus pulled the phone out of his pocket and grimaced as he read the display. "Stay there," he told Charlie, and thumbed the button to answer, turning and taking a few steps away before speaking.
Charlie watched him as he took the call. He couldn't make out the words but McManus was speaking in clipped, angry tones, his accent broadened to an almost impenetrable Glasgow burr. It didn't augur well for whoever was on the other end, thought Charlie. His breathing was returning to normal after the run, finally, and he turned away from McManus to watch the people who were walking past them - ordinary people with ordinary lives - and to wonder what they were doing and where they were going. Most of them were tired, with no interest in their surroundings. Some of them gave him or McManus a slightly curious glance, but that was all. He might as well have been invisible.
After a couple of minutes, McManus ended his call and turned back to face Charlie. His face was bleak as he looked at his watch, and for the first time Charlie detected a little uncertainty in the man's manner. It didn't last long though - he straightened his shoulders and came to a decision.
"I don't have time for this now," he announced. "Go home, and I'll have Chris phone you with instructions tomorrow."
"You don't want...?" Charlie didn't finish the question, and was a little surprised that he'd started it. After all, oughtn't he to be happy that McManus was finished with him so quickly?
"I said I don't have time," repeated McManus, with heavy emphasis. "Don't try and read more into what I say. I'll deal with your lateness tomorrow." With that, he brushed past and headed for his car, leaving Charlie standing in the street feeling somewhat bemused. He hadn't had to do anything, and he was free of McManus for another twenty-four hours, so why did he feel almost disappointed? It wasn't just the waste of a bus fare, was it? He shook his head, as if to rid himself of the thought.
He pulled out some coins from his pocket and briefly debated heading into the bar for a pint, but decided against it - he had a feeling he'd be needing all his spare cash for transport in the coming weeks. Instead, he headed back to the bus stop and the long journey home.