“Damn boy,” muttered Pranay, to himself. “Why doesn’t he perk up? Caroline! CAROLINE!”
“Yes, Mr Malik,” replied Caroline. She was standing right behind him. He jumped in response.
“Have you done the till?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you put the popcorn machines on?”
“Yes, sir.”
Despite her slutty appearance, which made Pranay baulk at hiring her, Caroline was highly efficient. And honest. She wasn’t a racist either, like those bloody journalists. She’d taken the job and always treated him and Bhuv, who she saw on Friday afternoons with respect. Some of the local school leavers took one look at him and walked out. Just before he got Caroline, he had rejected another girl, Jackie Thompson, but by telephone. She wasn’t good-looking enough. He wanted someone attractive. Nor did she present herself well, with her spotted blouse and dirty collar. It was not good business sense to give her a job, he’d decided reluctantly, after agonising for a while. He was desperate.
He told her dishonestly but politely, over the phone, that he had given the job to another applicant but he thanked her for coming in and told her he could keep her number if a position became available. The girl responded by saying, she didn’t want to work for “a bloody Paki like ‘im anyway.” He heard what he presumed was her father in the background shouting.
“Wot? ‘E said, no? It’s our fuckin’ job mate. Ere!”
The voice got louder as the man talked and clearly approached the receiver at the girl’s end of the line to grab it from her.
“Too right Jackie, my love. This is our bloody country. ‘E shouldn’t ‘ave a fuckin’ job ‘ere, let alone be ‘andin’ ‘em out.” He grabbed the phone now and was shouting down the line. “Piss off back to…”
Pranay put the phone down. Closed his eyes. He was tired of it.
Every day. Almost. In some form or another. Certainly, every week, he thought, his mind tightening.
It is hard here, he thought.
He opened his eyes again and crossed the girl’s number off his list. Carried on.
Caroline walked in one day, shortly after the phone call to that Jackie. She was a godsend, despite her habit of smoking in the ladies. He let her do it there. He caught her in the narrow side street before and told her smoking on the job was forbidden. [Not very likely]. But she was clever about when she chose her moments to skive off to the loos and have a cigarette. He couldn’t go in there with customers around. She didn’t let him down when it was busy. Caroline got everything done and when she was needed, she was there. Always. You could have a joke with her sometimes too. On Fridays [Fridays are busy. Pick a better day for Gods sake!]he relaxed with her a little, allowed a more jokey atmosphere when Bhuv, his cousin showed up to help out on the busy [busy exactly] weekends. Caroline was a highly attractive, large-breasted, cheeky girl. That was partly why he’d hired her. For her looks. It could only help. (He suspected the girl knew this.) Her efficiency was a pleasant surprise and a bonus. She was embarrassingly good at the maths. But never showed off about it.
He wondered why she didn’t have a boyfriend.
“I’m in love with you, ‘en I, Pranay?” she replied cheekily but laconically this Friday afternoon just gone, to the question he had finally decided to ask. “Waitin’ for you to leave that wife o’ yours.” The personal question she was answering was his sign to her that he liked her and also that she could let her hair down a bit as it was now the weekend. But she always pushed the boundaries. Bloody girl.
However, he could not conceal his mirth and he knew she saw his shoulders shaking in response to her reply. Bhuv shook his head laughing. Pranay turned, trying not to laugh openly. He tried to look cross, so he could scold her, but instead snorted and snot came out of his nose. He turned away, pretending he had sneezed.
“You are a very…bad girl…” He paused, trying to regain control sufficiently so he could deliver his lecture to her. “…who should not be calling her manager by his first name,” he continued, almost unable to get the sentence out. “Now I know why you have no boyfriend. You have very low morals. I regret employing you. Go home. I will see you on Monday.” He was shaking his head disapprovingly but smiling, nonetheless.
“Not such a bad girl you’re firin’ me then?” she retorted, smiling and going towards the cloakroom. She knew her worth to him. But he respected her for that. And her lack of racism. She was clever too. If she’d been a boy…
“Go home! A girl like you is bad for boys. I bet that’s why you are alone. Because their mothers won’t have you in the house. ”
“You’d be surprised about some of them mothers, Pranay. A few of ‘em have ‘ad me in the house,” she said, rather mysteriously, he thought. She collected her coat.
“See ya Mondi.” And she walked off.
“You have a good weekend, you hear me?” He surprised himself. His affection.
She’d turned round, also surprised, at the unusual superfluity. But she wasn’t offended. She clearly took it the right way.
“In the best sense of that word,” he shouted to her, drawing himself back in. She turned, swaying dirtily as she left – the girl had some hips on her. No words, just the exaggerated display of swaying, were required to explain Caroline’s interpretation of the word good. It was not compatible with Islam, that was for sure. [convert? yes he was a convert. Changed name!]
“Naughty. Naughty girl. Disgraceful,” but he smiled shaking his head at the sweets and chocolate bars. He could not help liking her, admiring her a little. She had guts and she was clever, that one. Not like that lovesick waste of space who came to ogle that slut Jodie Foster.
His boy, Dasya, could do with a girl as clever as that in the home.
She also attracted a lot of looks (and often more, but she knew how to deal with that) at the counter, not just from the journalists. Pran thought, maybe that wasn’t bad for business. But it frustrated him, at least today, that there was nothing to blame her for.
The boy’s meekness was infuriating. It was approaching 11 am, the first showing was 11.20. The TV rep, Rob and one journalist from the Sun, Kevin MacIntyre, were in the foyer loitering just inside the glass doors. They were there to see if the boy was suitable for an “And finally” story for TV and a short, written piece in the build up to the BAFTAS. Jodie Foster was in London this week and was up for two awards. Her being in London would sell newspapers and magazines. She was huge. Pranay had phoned his boss at the London central office who had given the green light to the idea he’d had about the good-looking boy who turned up to watch the movie. Pranay had then phoned the Richmond and Twickenham Times. But it had leaked somehow to the nationals. It must have been someone on the local, who might be paid if it was newsworthy for a bigger paper, Pranay guessed. He imagined that was how it worked.
The Sun had contacted the star’s agent, to make the story more newsworthy, to see if the actress herself would “beef it up a bit” by actually showing up to surprise the lovesick boy, for a bit of fun. The agent called back two days later. The star had agreed apparently. Her agent told the reporter, MacIntyre, that Jodie Foster had said the idea was “too sweet” to ignore. She would come. Now it was big and he, Pranay, had started it all. It had to come off, or he would be in trouble. There was a possible promotion to a central London cinema or to central office at stake. Pranay had ambitions. He didn’t want to run a local cinema for the rest of his life. [He had two children] H’ed tried to extract a promise from Max Lorrimer, of consideration for a promotion, if the whole affair was a success for the Richmond Odeon and the Odeon brand as a whole. Max said that Pranay’s ambition was noted and approved of and he thanked him for his efforts. But Max didn’t offer anything concrete. He just said he would see how it went.
It had become mfor Pranay. It had to come off well now. But there was this problem: the boy.
The editor at the Sun had called and grilled Pranay. Pranay had admitted the boy was a bit shy. The editor had asked Pranay to check he didn’t “wank off in there when he’s on his own.”
“Never mind your poxy Odeon. I’ve got a national newspaper with a reputation to protect. I don’t wan’ ‘er walking in on some kid’s wank session.”
“Is he a nice lookin’ boy? She won’t wanna race relations’ angle mate. ‘Es not one of your people, is he?”
Then they’d asked for a description of him (Pranay knew what that meant) and his assessment of how good-looking he was. Pranay had said even the star herself would agree he was a 10 out of 10, which was an exaggeration, but he wanted to clinch the thing, to impress Max his boss. The editor told him they would send someone to take a look.
Pranay was starting to worry.
Boy looks like he wants to commit suicide when he comes in here, even when I make it easy for him, thought Pranay. Bloody kid. He’s going to mess everything up.
“Oi! Malik! Pakistaaaaan!” shouted the Sun rep, Kevin. Pranay had told him not to use the word Paki in his cinema. This is what he was getting in return. Pranay looked over at him, standing near the farthest of the row of doors separating the Odeon cinema from the street. “izzat ‘im?” The journalist flicked his head towards the outside world.
It was. The importantly white (they had asked), blond, good-looking boy was standing there, self-consciously, pretending to read the movie poster outside, which he had seen a million times already. As if he was, on the spur of the moment, deciding to watch the movie, rather than attending religiously in the manner in which he had done for over a month. Sometimes he plucked up the courage to walk in. Sometimes he didn’t and walked away. [Oops bipolar writing is sloppy] Sometimes, he walked past, clearly not having the confidence to walk inside and then turned around, came back and pretended to notice the poster.
Pran thought him an absurd and disappointing boy, but someone at the locals had called the Sun and ITV had gotten wind of it. His behaviour was confused. Once Caroline had nodded him through.
Pranay heard Kevin talk to the ITV rep: “What’s ‘e readin’ the fuckin’ poster for?”
“No idea. He’s good looking enough though, i’n ‘e?” responded the rep, laconically.
The boy walked in. Kevin struck up a false conversation with Rob. The plan was that the actress walked in and sat beside him, while she was singing…or something.
“So, you support a shit team like Spurs, you deserve what you get, mate: yid army,” said Kevin, turning to look at the boy. He noticed mud on the boy’s shirt. Kevin was observant.
“Piss off, will you, you smug bastard? When ‘ave you ever been to Liverpool? You’re like a fuckin’ kid. Pick the best team that’s all.” Rob replied, smiling. He had also turned his head to look at the boy and most of his reply was spoken whilst looking at the boy.
“Climbin’ trees?” said Kevin to the blond boy jovially.
The boy looked frighted, paused his progress and gazed dumbly back at Kevin.
Pranay watched the situation unfolding, aghast.
The boy stared back at Kevin dumbly. [two dumblys]After a while, he was horrified by the chasm of silence emanating from the boy.
Turning his head back to look at Rob, he covered his mouth and muttered – “He’s an idiot.” He then turned back to the un-newsworthy boy and looked at him with disdain.
“What’s your name?” he asked, less patiently, but still smiling.
The boy stared back at him.
“What’s his name Pakistaaaan?” Kevin called out to Pranay, without breaking his stare at the boy. Pranay had no idea.
The boy just stood there. And looked at Kevin then began to turn away
The boy, absurdly, hesitated at the threshold. Wavering. Pranay realised the boy was getting more and more nervous, the easier they made it for him to come in.
Why, boy? Why? His mind screamed. He watched the ridiculous, disappointing boy stop, just inside the door. He began to turn again to exit.
Two days ago, the boy had wandered in. Pranay and Bhuv had turned and bent down to rummage in the cabinet under the drinks dispenser. Caroline was supposed to do so as well. But the boy had hesitated and gone up to the counter to buy a ticket. It was getting harder and harder to get him to come inside. His nervousness was appalling. She nodded him through. Pranay heard her say,
“Go on. It’s alright.”
He didn’t pay any longer. Did he sense something? The boy turned, changing his mind.
God, thought Pranay. What is wrong with him?
Jodie Foster and the Super 8 