ASTABGAY BLACKPOOL

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JOHNNY’S JOURNAL

Chapter 11
Coming Out, Two Ways, Three Times!

I had always imagined I was looking after Ted in his final years. Even though my life was with Steven then, I was staying on with him, living there with my new  love to make sure he was okay. But once he had gone the awful truth hit me with all the force of an express train. Really, he had been looking after me all the time. I was only okay, somebody of great importance, so long as he was there. I was not officially employed by any of the businesses, none of them paid me, and yet for years I had enjoyed all the power to kick arse in any one of them. I could just pick up a phone and have anything I asked for done, and money was never a problem. What chance of that now?

Never mind that I often worked hard for the businesses, put in many hours - sometimes burning the midnight oil, and carried out a wide range of tasks over the years, I never received a salary. Everything I ever needed was provided for by Ted, and by all the bank cards I held drawn on his accounts. But like him, they were now dead. The week before I could have called for a hundred cars to be parked out the front, all on hire within minutes, yet right then I couldn't even order a taxi!

Once his failing health became publicly known following that panic on the plane, Ted and I spent a lot of time making sure everybody and everything he wanted to provide for after his death had been thought of, with the money for them moved to special accounts which were thoroughly watertight and untouchable by the already circling vultures. There was no family, his parents were long dead, and not even distant relatives to be considered, as he had no time for them at all. I was never privy as to what he actually had planned for his empire and the bulk of his wealth. Nevertheless it looked like some of those distant relatives he hated may already have started to stake a claim to it by turning up uninvited at the funeral.

The day after I'd left that party in Croydon with Ted all those years ago to become his companion - a polite way of saying: arm-piece, plaything, or even sex toy - we had thrashed out the rules: I could have anything I wanted, within reason, as long as I was with him. In all that time I never abused that arrangement, and for his part he sure did me proud - even after our relationship was on a different footing once I'd found Steven. But on Ted's death any contract between us came to an end.  So it was now time to move on, and for Steven and I to make a life of our own.

The Monday morning following the funeral we packed all our personal things in the car, the caravanette had long been replaced, and after handing over the keys to both houses, the keys to my unused flat, all the bank cards and one or two other things to Ted's solicitor in exchange for a time-dated receipt, we hit the road. Winchester next stop. Hi-yo Silver, away!

Unlike Silver, however, our car didn't run on grass. So our next stop turned out to be not Winchester but the forecourt of a petrol station where, embarrassingly, a lot of our bits and pieces were to the delight of onlookers offloaded and rummaged through in order to find my cheque book. Being an everyday Fairy again was a lot harder than being Ted's fairy. It would take some getting used to.

Trying to sign on as unemployed the next day was a whole bucket load of embarrassments too. My employment status for the past six years, and Steven's for the past four, defied all description. We weren't unemployed because we both did things for Ted. I was rewarded for them and Steven benefited. But for anything like that there were no boxes on the petty forms fitting for the girl to tick. I think in turn the whole damn department were called over to have a look. And if one were to have picked a box, that would only have encouraged another question: name and address of employer? I had a feeling: Ted Shields, Heaven, was not going to take matters very far forward.

In the end they had us both in an office together to make written statements, which only confounded matters more. So when it came to incomes, it turned farcical: he didn't have or need any money because he lived with him and he didn't have or need any money because he lived with him. He had all the money and provided for him but he didn't provide for him though some of what he provided for him provided for him because he provided for him.

It degenerated even further when the young girl looked over her glasses and sweetly asked: "And how much would all that have come to every week?"

I looked over at Steven, saw how hard he was fighting to hold it back - he was biting his lip so as not to laugh, and caught his eye as I told her: "Anything, really. But if you want to try to put it into figures you're going to need a box a darn sight bigger than that piddling one on your form!" 

Steven nearly fell off his chair. We were rolling around, almost wetting ourselves, and the poor girl sat there all serious not knowing what to do - which only made matters worse. In the end we had to give up, it was going nowhere, so we told the girl not to bother and left.

Knowing there was still some money in my bank account I'd save from the projectionist days, I decided to take out twenty pounds and visit my parents, taking Steven with me. I didn't see them often enough, having not visited them for ages. Father had managed to get to the funeral - Ted arranged everything about his funeral and reserved a good seat for him - but there had hardly been time for us to exchange more than a few words. I had noticed, however, by the inquisitive look he gave me he was wondering who Steven was, as we were obviously together.

I was quite happy for my parents to know I was homosexual and living with Ted in a relationship when that was the case, I didn't like living a lie to them, but he convinced me not to reveal anything, and to pretend I was simply employed as a company executive who lived in that flat rented around the corner. I think it wasn't so much to protect me or them as much as himself. Of course the whole world knew about him, but this was an era when homosexuality wasn't spoken about - in society a blind eye was turned to it so long as you did the decent thing and appeared to be straight.

The way in which the teller called me: "Sir," as he handed over two ten pound notes produced my own inquisitive look. I was in jeans and a top - not usually the attire associated with that term being used in a bank. Perhaps he fancied me? I held Steven's hand as we went out through the double doors swinging our arms together whilst looking back over our shoulders grinning. The man looked shocked, maybe I'd got it wrong.

Arriving in Forest Hill about teatime, we parked a few streets away and walked to the shop as parking wasn't allowed outside. Business must have picked up a bit, I thought as we approached it. New windows, signs and a paint job, it looked quite classy for the area. Inside had been refitted too and it was busy. Giving mother a quick peck, I squeezed along the counter behind her pulling Steven after me. Father, with that inquisitive expression again, shook our hands and told us to go on up, they would be closing as soon as the rush was over.

After warning Steven what to expect, I felt rather foolish. Everything had been updated, there was a modern kitchen to die for, and my old room was now a very luxurious bathroom. Had they come up on the football pools? I made us a coffee and we sat and waited.

They soon came up, there were hugs again for me, and then father - nothing would ever stop him - looked across at Steven and said, "And you are . . . ?"

Before he could answer, I blurted out, "Steven. Steven's my other half." And then I waited to see the reaction.

Father looked at me, looked back at him, then to me again, before saying, "I always thought that was Ted!"

So they knew about me all the time!

It seems they had guessed from things I did in my childhood I was different, though the episode with Babs - who they didn't like - had confused them, but when I left her to work for Ted, and I stayed working for him, they knew they were right. They just didn't know it wasn't the real thing, or that it had ended with him four years ago when I'd found the real thing: Steven.

That sorted, we had a brilliant evening with the folks. Both my parents took to Steven in an instant, they loved him, and I was so thankful. We learned something too. Mother let it slip out. It was Ted, in a way, who paid for all the updates there, and they had improved trade no end. The look father gave her suggested it best not to ask why he should do such a thing, so I wondered about that for years, until after his death when mother revealed the type of act he was doing for most of the time I thought he was a stand-up comic.

It appears Ted, who'd never revealed to me the type of act he knew my father for either, had the accident looked into once he'd heard of it, and apparently that had only been quite recently during a nostalgic evening of: whatever happened to . . .  ? He was annoyed nobody told him of the accident, especially as it was responsible for ending a stage career. When he found the club was probably at fault, they hadn't cleaned up the baby oil from the muscleman on earlier, he came up with a ridiculously large sum as compensation. But that was Ted to a T - one of the fairest guys who lived!

We left there later than I intended, and it was nearing eleven o'clock. Steven suggested, as we had nothing to rush back for, we could pay his uncle a visit. He lived in Denbridge, and would still be up for a few hours because he ran a taxi business. They hadn't seen each other for years. Pedal to the metal, we were there within an hour. As we pulled up outside the taxi office on the corner of Dubden Road, Steven gave me a similar warning to that I had given him earlier about what to expect. This time though, it was justified.

An enormous woman sat by a desk with a couple of telephones, a notepad, and sheets of paper untidily strewn all over it. Thoughtfully taking only half of a meat pie in one bite, she looked over the top of it at us, bit and pulled it away so with an open mouth crammed full she could go: "Ur?"

"Is Alf about?" Steven asked.

Swallowing hard, she managed, "Oo wants ter know?"

"Steven, his nephew from Winchester."

"Owt back. Go froo."

We did, as I looked around for the sign saying: 'Please Wipe Your Feet On Leaving'.

Cutting my way into the smoke-filled room, Alf was obviously the big guy at the table making a lot of fuss over Steven, and  I guessed the four sitting on a long bed-settee were drivers waiting for a job to come in. The order went out for more tea, and one of them disappeared further into the building with the tea tray and a load of chipped mugs. Then all Hell broke loose as a buzzer sounded repeatedly, accompanied by a red bulb in time with it, and one by one the other blokes departed to do a fare. That left Alf to produce a tea for us, and by the moaning you would have thought he was moving Everest.

Steven and Alf had a lot to catch up on, and for much of the time I sat there bored, but still taking it all in. When the updating each other got around to Steven mentioning me, and how we met, I felt a little nervous. How much was he going to tell him? This was a rough, tough place, and all we'd seen so far looked rough, tough people.

"You mean you and him are gay?" Alf more stated than asked, as he spluttered and dribbled his tea with the surprise of it, and looked me over again.

It was a word being more and more used, we'd heard it a lot lately, but I was surprised his uncle would know it and wondered what was coming next. Like an engine starting up, he chuckled a bit at first, that progressed to a laugh, and then he simply roared, having to hold on to his stomach to stop the pain, as the tears streamed all down his face. Many minutes passed before he was able to talk again, and then only interspersed with numerous guffaws. It turned out he wasn't laughing at us being gay, he had no problem there at all, it was just the fact that his brother, being such a hard nut, could produce a gay son. That was incredibly funny to him. I started to warm to the guy.

Two-thirty in the morning saw Steven and I lying together in a double bed of a nearby B & B, put up for free because of all the trade Alf sent them, discussing his idea of running a taxi to make some money. We could have had jobs working for him were we to have known the area better, but we didn't so we would have to do it in Winchester, somewhere we both knew, if we were to do it at all. Deciding to make our minds up in the morning after seeing the suitable car Alf could put his hands on for the right price, we desperately wanted to make love, but knew it was out of the question. The bed creaked and groaned at the slightest movement. However the shower everybody had to use on the next floor saw some action next morning as we gave each other double helpings. We had to apologize to the guy who kept knocking on the door, telling him the shower took twice as long because there were two of us. He stood there aghast, just staring after us, as with our towels clutched in front of us we raced bare-arsed down the stairs.

Steven checked the car over, confirmed it was okay, and a bargain at the price. With our car chopped in, the back street dealer wanted a hundred pounds. So we bought it, but doing that is a story in itself, for next time.

Johnny.

Copyright ©Michael Knell 2008.

JOHNNY’S JOURNAL

Chapter 12
Fair Fortunes and Fairy Fares

Although Steven reckoned it was a good deal for the taxi, we didn't buy it straightaway. Instead we told the dealer we would think about it, and be back later to let him know our decision. It wasn't that we hadn't made our minds up by then, we had - but only if we could afford it. There would be little point in buying the car if we didn't have the money for other essentials like the phone, private hire insurance, and business cards - all of them needed before we could do our first job - and I wasn't sure exactly how much was left in the bank account.

We must have looked a right couple of scruffs as I handed over the cheque book and asked the teller if he would find out for me how much was left in the account. With a noticeable 'tut' he went over to a woman behind a desk who made a phone call. The wait was eternal-like, and with our counter out of service for all that time the queue grew. There were probably many tutting that we didn't hear.

Returning with the amount concealed within a piece of folded-over paper, he pushed it under the glass along with the cheque book, and smiling said, "There you go, sir. Thank you very much. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Puzzled by his change of attitude, I looked inside the paper, said, "No, thank you," and then pushed Steven for us to leave.

Outside we both kept looking at the piece of paper, in case the amount on it should change. It didn't change, not even whilst we downed a coffee in a nearby café. There were only two explanations: either Ted had put money into the account unbeknown to me, or the account number was misheard in the phone call. Now remembering the unexplained politeness of the teller the previous day when I withdrew twenty pounds, I was almost convinced by the Ted option, but I needed to be sure. Too embarrassed to go back inside this branch, we drove around until we found another one, where after an unbelievable long wait a bank statement going back many years was produced.

As I was not directly employed by any of Ted's companies he must have billed them individually for the work I did, having the money paid into my account. There were deposits going back for years, and from all his different businesses. But I had been happy to do all that work simply as part of the deal I had with Ted. I was his toy boy, and as such I did anything for him he asked. The lifestyle was more than enough reward. I wasn't expecting payment for it too, so I could hardly believe this - even from beyond the grave it seemed like Ted was still looking after me.

We were rich. Not rich enough to never have to work, we would definitely need to do that, but in expectations of who we were: a couple of back street kids now in our twenties, we were laughing. So we bought the taxi as a means of income, and laughed as we paid for it still keeping our car. The next day we rented a house in Stockbridge Road, one that had plenty of room for the cars, and two weeks later, after the telephone was installed and the number printed on business cards that we put everywhere, we were in business.

I suggested "J&S Private Hire", or "S&J Private Hire", I didn't mind which, but Steven could picture "Fairy Cars" - complete with a picture of a fairy on the door panels! He said it was a name and a logo nobody would forget. Well, it was certainly that, and on the toss of a coin which I threw away afterwards, the fairies won the day. The stick-on fairies flew with us from a week later.

The first month we made a lot of money, but found the work was killing us. Calls arrived at all hours - twenty-four seven. We would just get to bed and the phone would ring. Our sex life began to suffer terribly, and even shopping for food degraded into grabbing something between calls from the nearest store to wherever the car was at the time. It soon became obvious we could not continue like this, so we bought two more cars for self-employed drivers to rent from us, and then a month later another two. With five cars in shifts, it ticked over nicely. Christmas and New Year was very hard work, but extremely rewarding. And then in January it all stopped - stone dead! We were lucky if we received a call at all some days. The few contracts we had, taking staff to and from work at unsociable hours, wouldn't pay the bills - and there were plenty of them.

The self-employed drivers off-hired the cars, going on the dole for a few months as they apparently did every year, and we were left with five cars on our hands, none of them earning their keep. We learned the hard way that the money made in the good times has to cover the bad times too, and a real bad time in the game was after New Year, often lasting right up to Easter. Crunching the numbers suggested we were never going to make a fortune in the taxi business. We could survive, yes - but considering the unsociable hours, the lack of a social life, the abuse sometimes suffered from punters, the jumpers (those that jumped out and ran off without paying), the drunks who would woof-up in the car and not have the penalty money to cover the cost of it being taken out of service and cleaned, and the underhand tricks competitors would sometimes get up to in quiet times, it really wasn't worth all the hassle. So we started looking for something else to do. Something where we could have a bit of a social life too.

We sold the taxis and opened up a couple of "cheap jack" shops, selling a load of tat at bargain prices. One was in Winchester, the other in Eastleigh. The wages of the middle-aged women running them for us to earn a bit of pin money were mostly commission based, so their skiving was never a problem. All we needed to do was keep them stocked up and collect the takings nightly. Easy-peasy. There was little effort required on our part. A year later we opened another one in, of all places, Southampton.

By the time we'd paid the staff, rent and insurances, kept the old van on the road, done all the running around, and suffered the losses on any items returned, we were a long way from making our fortune, but it was a reasonable living and we stuck at it for a few years. However there was still something noticeably missing from our lives. All the people we knew, friends we'd made if you like, were straight. There was nowhere in company where we could relax and be ourselves. The only gay happenings in Winchester would have been, if they were still happening, back at my old school and possibly at the college. No use to us at all. We were looking for like-minded people around our age to throw a dinner party for, or a cheese and wine do, where we could, for want of better words: be amongst our own kind. If there were any around this area they were well hidden in the woodwork.

To amuse ourselves we bought some greyhounds, three of them, and with two of them at any one time in the hands of our trainer, we raced them at Reading.  It was a pastime, and reasonably profitable as the trainer would always "mark our book" so we had better odds of winning than the normal punter who wouldn't know when a dog had been fed to slow it. But it wasn't us, so after a couple of years we sold the dogs on - and that was hard because we were both stupid about animals, but there was just no way we could keep three greyhounds running around as pets.

Over the next few years our lives changed into simply existing, all the fire went out of our relationship even though we still deeply loved each other, and life itself became boring; so routine. It was time for a major upheaval. A whole new life.

We found one. A life with many gay friends, and an emerging gay scene where days of socialising, parties, discos and drugs were only interrupted by lots of fun and sex - and I gave birth to an evil side of me, with dire results!  Starts next time.

Johnny.

Copyright ©Michael Knell 2008.