Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
EMMA
A lex Kingston wasn’t like any man I’d ever met before. I soon realised that as I watched him with his friends, laughing and joking. He had a wickedly sarcastic edge to him, which his friends tried to match. But he also had a way of turning that sarcasm on its head whenever he addressed Lloyd, subtly berating him without Lloyd knowing he was doing it. But every time he looked at or spoke to me, he was completely different. As if he was unlocking a hidden part of himself just for me.
Tobey had remarked that Alex was different tonight, and Alex had replied, saying Tobey was just jealous because he didn’t have his full attention.
And he didn’t.
Because Alex was giving that to me.
He asked me about my opinion on the other artwork around us, about my career, my hopes and dreams, and he listened. Really listened. He was genuinely interested in what I had to say. He wasn’t just being polite.
“Would you like to write for one of the nationals?” he asked, when I told him how eager I was to further my career.
“I don’t think that’ll happen,” I replied, sipping the last of my champagne.
He took the empty glass from my hand, brushing his fingers against mine, and I wondered if it was because he wanted another excuse to touch me.
I don’t know.
Maybe I was going a bit crazy from drinking champagne on an empty stomach, and getting lost in his mesmerising gaze.
But when he tilted his head and frowned, saying, “Why wouldn’t it happen? I hope you’re not putting yourself down, Emma. You’re just as good as anyone else out there doing that job.” I melted. I was truly convinced that he believed in me. “I’d hire you,” he added with a smile.
“Maybe one day,” I mused, twirling the peony between my fingers, lost in daydreams of a new life with happiness and success, and a man who looked at me like I was the first woman he’d ever met. The only woman he’d ever want to meet.
I heard Lloyd sigh and glance at his watch as he announced, “We need to make our way to the courtyard, the performance will start soon,” before adding. “Come on, Emma. I’ll show you to the Press area.”
I wasn’t that keen on Lloyd at first, but now, I hated him for ripping me out of my dream and back to reality.
“She doesn’t need to go to the Press area,” Alex stated. “She can watch from our table.”
“But we don’t have enough chairs set up,” Lloyd fussed.
“Then I’ll fucking stand,” Alex snapped. “It’s not a big deal.”
Lloyd clearly wasn’t happy as Tobey and Ethan said they weren’t bothered about their chairs either, and that I was welcome to join them.
“She’s Press,” Lloyd clipped. “There are other patrons here who might not want a reporter to be in the main area when the performance is on. You know how these things can get out of hand. They wouldn’t want to be quoted saying or doing anything that could damage their reputation.”
“She’s a fucking person first, not just Press,” Alex hissed. “And if someone says or does something they should be ashamed of then more fool them if they get found out.”
Things were started to get heated, and as much as I would’ve liked to sit with Alex and the others, I didn’t want to cause a scene.
“It might be better if I stay in the Press area,” I said, cutting through the tension. “I need to concentrate, make notes, and take photos. I can do that better if I’m with the other reporters.”
Alex flexed his jaw and gritted his teeth. He didn’t like that answer, but Lloyd grinned back at me and said, “That’s settled then. Come on, Emma. I’ll show you where to go.”
I said my goodbyes to Tobey and Ethan, then I turned to Alex, who looked tense like he didn’t want me to leave but didn’t know what else to say.
“It was so lovely to meet you. Thank you for the peony.”
I turned to walk away, and he blurted out, “If you change your mind, you can join us.”
I peered over my shoulder and smiled. “Thank you.”
But as I walked away, the flutters in my belly turned to nerves and I didn’t know why. Maybe it was just the nerves from earlier resurfacing now that I was alone with Lloyd again. Or maybe my female instincts were trying to warn me about something.
“I hope you’re prepared for anything to happen during this performance,” Lloyd announced as he led me through the art gallery. “S.K.A.M. tends to be no-holds-barred when he performs. It can get... dark.”
Or maybe I felt nervous because I had no idea what the rest of this night would bring. Mr Gold had said I’d see things that’d make my hair curl. Now Lloyd was warning me things could get dark. Surely it wouldn’t be that shocking. This didn’t look like the kind of audience to pay money to see something nefarious.
“I can’t wait. I’m sure I’ll love it,” I replied, as we headed through the glass doors at the rear of the gallery and out into a pretty courtyard. “I’ve never seen an art performance before.”
“I don’t know what he’s got planned,” Lloyd turned to face me as he continued walking ahead, “But his art is a little leftfield. It won’t be like anything you’ve seen before.”
I hadn’t seen anything before. I’d already told him that, but I just nodded and smiled politely.
I glanced around the courtyard as Lloyd headed to the far corner where an area had been cordoned off from the rest of the guests. It was so pretty out here. All the trees had been decorated with fairy lights, and there were small wrought iron tables and chairs dotted around, giving it an outdoor Parisien café vibe, for the paying guests, anyway. The press area was more of a pen. No chairs or tables, just a few men and women with cameras and dictaphones standing around, ready to work. All I had was my phone. I’d look like such an amateur.
Lloyd held the rope of the cordon open for me, so I could enter the Press area, and then he hooked it back onto the brass pole once I was inside.
“Would you mind if I left you for a moment?” he suddenly announced. “Only I have to sort a few things out backstage. Will you be okay?”
To be honest, I was relieved that he needed to leave. I’d rather stand on my own.
“As long as I can catch you later for a quick interview,” I replied, trying to be polite.
“Of course.” Lloyd smiled, and then, after excusing himself, he disappeared back into the art gallery and out of sight.
I took a deep breath, feeling more relaxed now that I was safely ensconced in the corner, amongst the other reporters.
The guests were starting to filter into the courtyard, and suddenly, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as someone approached me from the side.
I turned, and there stood Alex Kingston.
“Emma, you can’t stand here on your own and watch this. It doesn’t feel right. I don’t like it.” He looked genuinely concerned.
“I’ll be fine. Honestly. I have a good view, and I can get some amazing photos for my article.”
He didn’t respond right away, just paused and regarded me curiously, before saying, “I’m not going to change your mind, am I?”
I shook my head, and he sighed.
“Well, if I can’t tempt you away from your corner, I’ll wish you a goodnight, Emma . It was a pleasure to meet you. Really, it was.”
He walked away and a little voice inside my head screamed, ‘What the hell are you doing, Emma? Call him back. Go and sit with him’, but I didn’t.
Instead, I stood there with my jumbled thoughts, wondering what the fuck had just happened. And why a man like him had taken the time to get to know me tonight, handed me a flower, and fucked with my head.
I slid the peony inside my handbag and put my bag on the floor. Then I glanced around, discreetly trying to find Alex in the crowd, but I couldn’t see him.
Would I ever see him again?
The lights began to dim, then everything went dark as the crowd hummed with excitement. There was a blue velvet curtain hanging about ten metres high, covering one corner of the courtyard, and a spotlight fell on that curtain, catching all our attention.
Staccato piano notes began to play. The abrupt, sharp sound coming from the speakers set up around the courtyard grabbed all our attention. All chatter subsided, and everyone turned to face the velvet curtain, bristling with anticipation.
Each beat of the piano chord seemed to vibrate right through me, waking my soul as I stared intently at that spotlight. And then, it stopped, and a gentle rhythm from a guitar began to play as the curtain slowly opened to reveal a tall, brick wall. Our focus wasn’t on that dark wall, though; it was on the man who stood on it, wearing a blue boiler suit, with a cloth sack over his head to hide his identity, secured in place with a thick rope around his neck. He looked like a character from a horror movie. His arms hung limply at his sides, and he wore black leather gloves to cover his hands. But he stood still, waiting as we watched with bated breath.
And then, his voice reverberated around the courtyard. An electronic voice.
He was using a voice changer.
“Pride,” he stated loudly. “What does it mean?”
Then he stood like a conductor with his arms outstretched in front of his captive audience, that acted as his orchestra, with their rapt stares and gasps of awe as he began to perform his art.
“What does it mean?
In this sacred world that’s always chasing the green.
What is it that makes us proud, I ask.
Is it the things, the thoughts, the words, the tasks?
Is it the mansion you bought with your hard-earned cash?
The way you thrived through that stock market crash?
Or the car you drive?
The holiday you took?
Sitting in first-class reading your pretentious book.
Watching the workers slaving away.
Making sure that yours is the better day.
Better than theirs because you have more.
Take pride in your place, son.
You know the score.
More.
More.
More.
More.
Is there pride in flying high?”
He tilted his head up, then looked down to the ground.
“Or living hand to mouth on the cold hard floor?
What makes your life superior?
What advantage do you have?
Apart from the bank balance from your overly generous dad.
The designer clothes.
The bags.
The money.
The greed.
Greed upon greed upon greed,
Until,
Greed multiplied by greed detaches you from what’s real.”
He paused, and you could hear a pin drop in the courtyard. Then seconds later, he went on.
“So, I’ll ask you again.
What is this thing, pride?
Strip back the layers.
Go on.
Find out what lies behind,
the things that you own to bolster your life.
Things to make you feel worthy.
Things to make you feel seen.
Things to keep you living in the state of a dream.
Things that make you important.
In your own mind.
You want us to see you...
And we do... (He shook his head)
But we won’t be kind.
Because we see you in a way you’d never believe you’d be seen.
Empty.
Hollow.
A money machine.”
Two machines set up at the side of the wall began to blow out fake money into the crowd. Some people laughed. Some made a grab for it, maybe to keep as a memento of the night. But I got the irony. I wasn’t about to chase the notes he was showering into the crowd.
As the machines slowed and then stopped, the noise died down, and he spoke again.
“While I have your attention.
As I stand here today.
I’ll tell you what I think.
I’ll have my say.”
The spotlight turned red, and I hadn’t noticed before, but there were two buckets either side of him on the wall. He picked up the one to his left and began to pour it down the wall. The red paint looked like blood gushing down the bricks. In fact, it seemed thinner than paint. I had no idea what it was, but as it spread down the wall, words began to appear. Words that looked like they’d been spray-painted onto the brickwork. Like a magic trick, the words; pride, honour, respect, humble, and self-worth appeared.
Once he’d drained the first bucket, he picked up the second and repeated his actions, exposing the words; dignity, morals, humility, selfless. And when he’d finished, he stood tall, red trickling down the wall of words as he continued.
“To me,
Pride means spilling your blood, sweat and tears.
Working to provide for your family for years and years.
So Molly doesn’t have to rely on free school meals.
And little Tommy gets a role model that shows him what it means,
to work for a living.
To take pride in your strife.
To build something for others that you didn’t have in your life.
A legacy not founded on privilege or greed.
But one built on honour and sacrifice and need.
When she stayed with the children,
Even after he left.
And she works three jobs,
though she feels bereft.
And her eldest excels at all he does.
And she sits in the school hall listening to the applause.
Prickles on her skin and shivers down her spine.
As they read all the accolades he’s achieved.
And she says to herself,
that
boy
is
mine.”
He paused. We all paused. His words cut so deep.
“Single mothers.
Single fathers.
Families on the bread line.
But they make it matter.
They make it count.
They won’t ever define,
themselves by money or what they own.
Pride lives in their heart.
A jewel that’s home grown.
You see, pride doesn’t mean the same for all.
Pride doesn’t always come after a fall.
You can find it in the little things.
It’s there every day.
In a smile, a thank you, a tear you wipe away.
When the gift you bestow on others
is a word of kindness or encouragement.
That means the fucking world when all their life they’ve lived with discouragement.
The smallest gesture that tells someone they fucking matter.
Pride is not the things you have, it’s the latter.
The family you cherish,
the things we create.
The art.
The music.
The food we ate.
The words we write.
The stories we tell.
The fights we fight.
The ways we excel.
The sculptures.
The poems.
The novels.
The flowers.
The trees.
The birds.
The bees.
It’s even carried on the fucking breeze,
that graces your face,
and makes you feel alive.
It isn’t in the houses, money, or the car you drive.
If you think it is...
Then you’ve led a very sad life.”
The red spotlight turned gold, and he started to pull on the rope around his neck, taking a moment before he spoke again.
“Do you want to live in a web of lies?
Or are you ready to face the truth,
as it stands in front of you in a blue boiler suit?
My name is S.K.A.M.
But I’m no scam artist.
I’m a peddler of points of view.
A dealer for the demoralised.
A magician, where magic wears thin,
for those who play the game with no prize to win.
But pride?
That’s the prize that keeps on giving.
A currency that never ends.
A reason to keep living.”
We all gasped as sparks of fire appeared above him, lighting up the courtyard like the fourth of July. He held his arms up again as he proclaimed.
“So when the sky rains fire
on your funeral pyre.
Remember, it’s all just a money game.
We come into this world,
and we all leave it the same.”
I couldn’t hold in my scream as he jumped off the wall. His body slamming into the brickwork, making it look like he’d just hung himself in front of this crowd.
At least, I hope it was fake.
It was fake, right?