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Chapter 36
The next day was freezing with an icy cold north wind and a sky full of clouds that looked as if they were full of lead.
I'd worked out a route to the job partly based on my previous journey with Jennifer and partly on the A - Z of London. It led me through Bloomsbury and then on towards the East End.
The Bentley was easy for me to handle in the heavy traffic - but it took up a lot of space and the Kamikaze London drivers seemed to take the long sleek bonnet as an instant challenge to do battle.
If they felt envious, I didn't feel proud. It was a status symbol that I didn't need or want and I started wondering whether mother would be offended if I asked her to take it back.
After several wrong turns and apparently endless traffic jams, I turned into the road and entered the narrow cul-de-sac with its small terraced houses and profusion of small businesses.
Half way down, there was a reserved sign just as there had been before when I'd waited for Jennifer. The parking space that had been created for me would have been entirely adequate for most cars but for the Bentley, it was a squeeze.
On the wall, the small plaque that had previously been vandalized was still not repaired and the words 'Video Productions' were only just decipherable. The swarthy Eastern European man that answered the doorbell was just as skinny and ancient as before but this time it was I not Jennifer that he ushered inside.
His hooked nose too was just as hooked but his oily guttural voice was new - and definitely worth missing. The trousers and tee shirt he wore were creased and looked disreputable and suddenly the suit I'd worn in deference to defensive professionalism felt overdressed.
"We're in the middle of a shoot." His voice grated like a damaged lawnmower. "Have you something for notes because I'm not going to tell you twice." He seemed unfriendly and overstressed with infinitely more important matters on his mind than me.
He led me through the ground floor showing me the cabling routes as we went. His preoccupation was understandable. The house was full of people. Some were holding cameras, some were holding sound booms and yet others were busy applying make up to the shiny bits of the performers.
We pushed past a young girl who was waiting at the foot of the stairs. She was good looking with a tight red dress and figure that looked too full for her teenage years. Her long fair hair fell about her shoulders and she had a fresh face and a sweet and uncertain 'girl next door' smile.
Further up the stairs pressed against the banisters, was a dark haired, slit eyed Chinese man who was busy pumping his muscles and perspiring heavily into his heavy traditional Chinese gown. An anxious make up assistant in open shirt, jeans and pumps was teetering dangerously on the steps trying unsuccessfully to keep his sweat at bay.
Further up the stairs, there was a small box room that was to be the control center for the Internet equipment. When we got to the top of the stairs, the heat from the lights was even more intense.
Perhaps this was why several of the performers were wearing no clothes - but I doubted it. Whatever was their reason, apparently they had just finished and were putting their robes on again.
"Web cams must be put there, there and there." Hook Noses finger stabbed the air like a sward so I dragged my eyes off the view and quickly scribbled a drawing as an aide memoir.
"The web cams must be fully controllable remotely and independently operated." He focused a keen eye on me. "You are not saying much. Are you sure you know what you are doing?"
I nodded. My personal view was that I couldn't possibly know what I was doing to be here at all. In fact I must have totally lost the plot. But I couldn't admit that to him.
There was a flurry of action over by the simulated kitchen. The director of operations had been replaying footage through one of the cameras and was dissatisfied with the result. He barked out his commands and two performers turned back from the top of the stairs where they were just about to make their exit. He was a short young Negro with cropped hair and she a waiflike girl with a ring through her nose and pink hair that looked like a wig.
She shrugged off her robe and took up a very complicated face down position involving cameras, kitchen working surface and taps while her acting partner made himself ready.
Minutes later he joined her, threading himself first into the space left by the cameras and then into her. As cameras retook the footage and he retook her, there was absolute silence except for their simulated sighs. The lights shone down mercilessly on the flowing lake of her tiny white body and recorded every ripple of her trembling flesh while the sound booms weaved in and out and faithfully recorded every grunt of their exertions.
I tried not to watch but was strangely compelled because in my mind the person under the lights kept changing into Jennifer.
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