Polly

 

Jack finally approached the girl with the green and pink spiked hair who was seated at the edge of the dance floor. She’d flashed a couple smiles in his direction as he’d danced to local punk band ‘Code Red’, (the members of whom were his mates, Pete, Kris, Benny and Taffy who were to precede the more established ‘Voice of Sedition’ who themselves consisted of other friends- Dazza, Mickey, Brewer, Michelle and Sue), for the last half hour and, his ego suitably boosted, he wasn’t letting this one get away. If she weren’t up for dancing then he’d have no choice, but to abandon the dance floor himself, leave it to its few other inhabitants, and try his luck with her- she was the best looking thing he’d seen for a long while- he was positively drooling at the sight of her.

Topless and sweating heavily he held out a hand in an invitation to join him on the dance floor. Raising an eyebrow, she took his hand, but pulled at him, to join her in the seat next to her- causing an apparent ‘love rival’ to shift uncomfortably in the seat on the opposite side of her who give Jack a hostile glance through circular glasses and masses of greasy brown hair crowned with a cowboy style hat on top. Jack was amused by this resentment, (and the hat), and felt not the slightest bit intimidated within this somewhat primitive ritual of male dominance, but he supposed it was his instinct to react to it anyway,

‘That your boyfriend?’ Jack asked as he smiled to and laughed at the back of the cowboy hat in disbelief. The girl followed his gaze, looking beside herself to her unwanted chaperone then back at Jack with a look of askance while making a deliberately immodest sweeping gesture the entire length of her body,

‘What do you think?’ she said and then louder so that the hat could hear, ‘Do I look desperate?’

Jack scanned her up and down, a wry smile upon his face, as he took in the sight of her dressed in a revealing black PVC vest top that laced up the front, a leopard print mini-skirt held together by a zip halfway open to one side. With her shapely yet lithe figure and her seductively pretty features she was a voyeurs delight with Jack blatantly delighting in this voyeurism briefly before answering,

‘I guess not!’ he laughed, then, ‘I’m Jack, by the way- nice to meet you’.

He raised his arm the short distance to her, but she ignored his gesture,

‘I know who you are Jack- I was two years below you in school. I didn’t ‘get it’ then though- I was ‘prom queen’ status. My names Polly- Polly Anderson- sound familiar?’ she asked more out of hope than expectation. Jack pretended to think about this for maybe 10 seconds,

‘Sorry’, he conceded, ‘ Maybe if you’d dressed the same then I would, but…’ Polly interrupted him at this point,

‘Ahem! So I’m only good enough if I’m dressed ‘alternative’?’ she accused him, ‘That’s prejudice that is!’

‘Well, I’m sure I’d have remembered you if you’d been interesting at all’ he goaded in reply. Polly giggled now,

‘I suppose I deserved that’, she admitted, ‘Would you like a drink for ‘old times sake’? Even if you don’t remember me.’

Jack accepted her offer with a smile- asking for a lager as he put his t-shirt back on then walking to the stage to retrieve his jacket while Polly went to the bar- watching as Taffy launched himself around the stage as Code Red played their theme song, ‘F**k the System’- a dig at the piss head contingent who thought ‘f*****g the system’ meant sitting around drinking all day while claiming state benefits,

Taffy screamed the fast paced lyrics toward the small crowd as Jack retrieved the joint from his coat and looked up to his mates’ glazed over eyes thinking- ‘He’s done too much whiz again! Stage fright!’

 

‘I’m going out tonight for some ANARCHY!’

‘I’m gonna get pissed to smash the MONARCHY!’

‘Gonna cause a riot! CAUSE A STIR!’

‘Shout my favourite slogan in a drunken slur!’

 

(During the chorus Kris kicked in with backing vocals- her piercingly shrill voice in stark contrast to Taffy’s deep, gruff ‘terrace chants’.)

 

‘F**k the shystem!’ ‘(Getting’ really pissed!)’

F**k de shyshtem!’ ‘(You’re not an anarchist!)’

Flucks da shyshtan!’ ‘(A joke to the scene)!’

Flush the cistern!’’(A never has been!)’

 

‘Running ‘round the streets- smashing up the town’

‘Scarin’ old grannies with my nihilist frown!’

‘Pissing in the street with school kids walking by’

‘Asked a copper for directions- anarchy is I’

 

‘F**k the shystem!’ ’(Breakin’ all the rules!)’

‘F**k de shyshtem!’ ‘(Like a 5 year old at school)’

 ‘Flucksh da Shyshtan’ ‘(Always on the scrounge!)’

‘Flush the cistern!’ ‘(Nothing but a clown!)’

 

‘I operate alone at night- pissed up in the dark’

‘I kick the heads off daffodils and mess up all the park’

‘But now the heat is rising- I’m going for the kill!’

‘Bare arsed on c.c.t.v- F**K THE OLD BILL!’

 

‘F**k the shystem! (Propped against the wall!)’

‘F**k de shyshtem! (You’re heading for a fall!)

‘Flucks da shyshtan! (Why should we pick you up?)’

‘Flush the cistern!’ (Scabby piss-head c**t!)

 

Jack applauded Taffy and co as they played their ‘outro’, (essentially the repeated chorus with lots of swearing and banter between the band members), the crowd reacting with division to the subject matter. Most people were indifferent, a few ‘straight edge’ kids, (a section of punks dedicated to the pursuit of abstinence from intoxicating substances), cheered and the three piss-head punks in the corner of the room were kicking off with each other as they ‘stopped’ each other approaching the band in violent confrontation. Jack smiled over to them as he walked back to Polly knowing that the band wouldn’t even take this ‘threat’ seriously let alone be worried or feel intimidated.

(Their ludicrous drunken histrionics were, in fact, vindicating what the band were saying and a large proportion of the punters responded by hurling verbal abuse at them- telling the three usual suspects to shut up or leave. They sat down in a petulant silence, seeming to reflect on peoples’ opinions of them like scolded children might, but then decided, once more, that they didn’t give a f**k what people thought of them anyway and continued on their binge.)

Jack lit the joint, took two quick draws to get it burning properly, inhaled deeply, then passed it to Polly,

‘Fair exchange’, she proffered taking the spliff with one hand and passing a bottle of pilsner to Jack with the other. Jack had sussed she was a ‘pot- head’ when he’d first clapped eyes on her. That distant look that they all carried, (like the kid who daydreams all day in school), was all the more familiar to Jack because he’d endured the demoralising raptures of despondency, apathy and depression. ‘Small doses’- ‘moderation’- ‘control the substance, don’t let the substance control you’ was Jacks’ philosophy on all drugs since his experiences as a teenage ‘stoner’- (when he’d become inactive and apathetic)- and a few ‘close calls’ with ‘Class A’s’- especially the legal ones that were generally worse for you, as they were intended for intervention not escapism and recreation.

 Jack saw that Polly’s ‘friend’ was beginning to become more agitated the longer he talked to her and decided it was time to put an end to the situation before it became embarrassing. He leaned around Polly and shouted to the ‘hat’,

‘Oi, mate!’ the hat turned to Jack its shadow masking, in part, the timid expression and nervous disposition of its owner. Jack held out his hand,

‘Nice to meet you man. I’m Jack- what’s your name?’ he asked as the cowboy dude nervously clasped his hand,

‘M..M..Mark’, he stuttered, his dream-world of revenge and conquest shattered, then more assertively, ‘I’m with Polly’, looking content that the ambiguity of his statement would be hard to challenge.

‘We share a flat and sometimes go out together- as friends’, Polly interjected to inform Jack and remind Mark, together with a harsh glare, in reprisal for his unwarranted possessiveness.

‘Oh’, said Jack grinning widely as he ‘saw the picture’, ‘Do you smoke weed Mark?’ he asked casually; noticing the opportunist glare in Marks’ eyes as he realised he may actually get some of the joint he’d been sniffing out for the last 5 minutes- despite acting like an arse.

‘Um… er… Yeah I do actually.’ He decided once his adrenalin had settled down again, ‘Why like?’

Jack was loving this; he slapped his hand onto Marks’ shoulder and said in loud reassurance,

‘Cos there’s a joint on the go mate!’ (As if you didn’t know), he held his hands out in a gesture of innocence, ‘Don’t worry, I got kicked outta the drug squad years ago- for lack of evidence!’

He laughed self-effacingly at this bad joke then left Mark to his fantasies of romance and perfection or whatever it was that kept him happy away from the real world. Mark accepted the smoke from Polly and seemed to shrink into his seat as he greedily inhaled the fumes of his panacea- the answer to all his problems. Jack shook his head, with a genuine look of worry for Mark on his face, (how do people get so insecure that they’ll happily become lap dogs for the first person they put on a pedestal? He wondered) Polly regarded Jack thoughtfully,

‘You’re a bit of a c**t you aren’t ya?’

 Jack took a swig of his beer while he considered his words and actions,

‘Just checking out the competition’, he remarked with a casual sniff, ‘Alpha male stuff y’know- boys will be boys and all that bollocks!’

Polly scrunched her face up in a look of disbelief,

‘That’s not competition- that’s a pain in the arse!’

Jack realised something now and sought out Polly’s gaze and said meaningfully,

‘It’s awful when you can’t shake off those drunken mistakes- I know- we’ve all been there’ he teased in the contrived style of a daytime TV presenter/counsellor person.

Polly looked shocked at this astuteness,

‘Ok’, she conceded- slightly embarrassed, ‘I shagged him once when I was drunk and desperate’,

Jack nodded; his hands clasped, legs crossed and pretending to adjust spectacles on his nose as he pondered Polly’s problem,

‘Yes, I see. The product of urbanisation and the subsequent physical and financial practicalities of communal living often leaves one awakening with an ugly, fat and/or ineffectual co-inhabitant after a night of questionable, regrettable and forgettable lust’, he leaned forward to ‘offer support’,

 ‘But don’t worry, we all get the ’16 pint beautiful’ syndrome from time to time’.

Polly looked at Jack earnestly and decided to change the subject to her advantage,

‘So! Will I regret you in the morning?’

Jack needed no further prompting-‘ I doubt it’, he said and he pressed his lips to hers tasting nicotine, alcohol and cannabis as she matched his urgency.

 Suddenly Mark jumped up in front of them both, furious and offended, (at their indiscretion and inconsideration for his feelings), knocking his chair over onto its back in the process,

‘I’m going home!’ he shouted at Polly tears in his eyes, ‘I’ll see you when you decide to come back!’

He tried to pick up the chair, which was now laid on top of his long, black leather coat but fell onto it in a straddled position, his hat falling from his head to reveal the pink ‘egg’ in the middle of his nest of hair.

 Jack had to put his hand over his mouth to hide his laughter- though many other punters were not as merciful. Mark struggled to his feet- slowly shuffling backwards into an upright position- using the chair as leverage and bringing the hat and coat with him. After a minute of this struggle his dramatic exit was devastated and, as he put on his coat he turned to walk out over the dance-floor toward the exit, it was to get a whole lot worse. Mark tried to reiterate his intention to go home to the object of his affection- who had not reacted in the slightest to this attention seeking strategy,

‘I’ll see you later!’ he said to Polly his lip quivering and turned, suddenly, straight into Taffy who lost his first pint, (since he’d finished the set 5 minutes before anyway), in the process. Sullen, embarrassed and covered in lager Mark said to Taffy dismissively,

‘You should watch where you’re going then!’ and attempted to walk away. Taffy reached out and held him still- by the throat,

‘What did you just say to me- you f****n’ degenerate?’

Mark couldn’t breath to reply, but Taffy wasn’t listening anyway,

‘Listen you mug! I’ve been on that stage for a f****n’ hour playing a gig for a miserable looking c**t like you and then you spill my pint and take the piss?’

Mark began to struggle as Taffy’s grip tightened,

‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t f*****g kill you?’ he demanded and pushed him to the floor leaving him to scramble on all fours to the exit- his humiliation complete.

Polly and Jack applauded Taffy as he mouthed to them,

‘Who the f**k is that?’ They mouthed back

‘You don’t wanna know’ and

‘Tosser’, respectively then turned their attention back to each other.

Jack realised something then and turned to Polly in bemused amazement at the sheer audacity of it all,

‘That hippy c**t fucked off with the joint! What a cheeky f****r!’