126

I have come to the conclusion that I am not a songwriter. It is bloody difficult, getting the hook. My problem is that I can't simplify the notes. I just jazz them up all the time. If you break down all the hits at the moment to their chords, they are basic progressions. Not something I have done since 3^rd grade in music school. At my side is Mo, a distraction to my thinking process. She is dressed in dancers tights and leggins, soft ballet shoes on her feet. If that is not bad enough she warms up by placing her right leg on the lid of the baby grand I am sitting at, and stretching her muscles. Her crotch is in my line of site. She admonishes me in her soft brogue for not coming up with the goods. Song wise that is.

I play a simple melody in time to her movements, she is quietly humming the tune to herself, and adds some words.

If I were as glamourous as Harlow,

and had mystery like Garbo

If my hair was like Hayworth,

and I had eyes that made your heart ache

Would you have made the same mistake

'Fucking hell, that's it the first number.' She continues.

I’m not the prettiest of girls

No pearly teeth or tight curls

but when it comes to amour

Je t’adore

'Keep going', I say

If my legs were like Grable, and I my hair was like Sable

If I could dance like Fontanne and was exotic like Anna May Wong,

You would not do me wrong wrong

And if I pouted like Veronica Lake

You would give and not take

I’m not the prettiest of girls

No pearly teeth or tight curls

but when it comes to amour

Je t’adore

I get up from the stool, spin her around to face me, she gives me a look that says hands off bud.

'Write it down, that is it the opening number.'

I sit back down at the piano and play the melody again. She grins.

'You mean you like it.'

'Like it, I fucking love it, and so will all the Angels. Write it down before we forget it.'

Mo takes a pair tap shoes from the chair and puts them on, then picks up the rhythm with her feet singing along to it.

'Don't need to write it down, so,' she says as she hoofs her way across the floor, 'I've a good memory for a tune, so I have.'

The rest of the day is not as productive, still a tune a day is not that bad. I have an idea for the theme of the musical. It will be about immigrants passing through Ellis Island and what becomes of a few of them. A Jew from Lithuania becomes a rag trade millionaire, an Colleen from the bogs becomes a high class call girl, her brother a priest. A Glaswegian builds a railroad, etc. all with a theme song and a story. Good 'eh? It knocks the bollox out of 'Top Hat,' even though 5 numbers from that show, feature in the top 15 song sheets bought. Mick joins us and appologises for his absence due to the attentions of Madame Victoria.

'Jazus, burst in and gave me a hand, job, so she did. Me having a little soak to relax.'

I am overjoyed by this news as it might mean she has swopped her affections to another, I do hope so.

***************

Mo doesn't need any persuading to get into bed.

'Sure I haven't had a good shag since I left Ireland,' she says as I finish. 'It was like being beaten with a Knobkierie'

'What the fucks a Knobkierie.'

'Have you heard of a Shillelagh, now?'

'You mean a cops nightstick?'

'The same, and used with about as much finesse.'

I don't know wether to take it as a compliment or not.

'It's the first time my cock has been described as a blunt instrument.' I say

'And not the last, I hope,' Say's Mo.

*****************

You know how it is, no sooner have you got your feet under the table of life, feeling content with your lot, than something comes along to spoil it. I have been called back to Mars. When I say called, I don't mean, 'High we need you please come back!' but a summons from the IGBI, to get back here pronto or else, type of call, and when you're wearing a wrist band that can be controlled by whoever has the key, it's one second Manhattan, the next Mars City.

I have been swept inside and out for 20^th century bugs that might devastate the planet, and declared clean. You would think with all the progress man has made, that a machine could be invented that sweeps your body for bugs that doesn't entail a probe being shoved up anus. Or maybe there is one but they do it just for kicks. Anyway as I say, I am declared clean. I step into the teletrans, in the lobby and dial my home. Either I miss dialed or some one has stuck his pinkie in the works. I am greeted by an armed clone who beckons me to follow him. The corridor is grey, grey walls, grey ceiling, grey floor, and disappears into an infinite grey dot. There is no sound as we walk. I bang the wall with my hand and stamp along behind the clone. Nothing. I cough into my hand. Nothing again. This very disconcerting as my tinnitus has disappeared also. The clone stops and turns to face the wall. He presses his hand flat against it and a door swings open. He pushes me through it. I am sucked upwards, or it could be downwards, it is hard to tell, and am deposited into a room containing a desk, a chair, and Doil. I know it's Doil by the size of him, but he is standing gazing out at the stars, with his back to me.

'Recognise all this,' Says Doil, turning and sweeping his arms wide.

'No.'

'You should it's one of yours.'

'One of my what?'

'One of your fleet of Star ships that you have leased to the IGBI.'

This is Brian's doing I think. Not content with scrapping Star ships, he's gone into leasing them out.

'Is this why you have brought me back from my very comfortable life on Earth.' I look back with regret at not saying goodbye to Mo.

Doil waves me to the chair.

'Sit, sit.' I do as I'm told.

'Like it?

'Very comfortable.'

'This is your new office, you are suspended from field ops for now, until we can get the Finks to give us a plan.'

'Are you serious?'

'Of course I'm not fucking serious, now get out of my chair.' I stand, he sits. 'Do you know that you have made that sweet Irish girl pregnant.'

'But I only did it once.'

'If she has a child by you the whole of future mankind will be altered, but we don't know how. A person from the future fathering a child in the past. Disaster.'

'Maybe that is the solution to the end of the Universe.'

'Don't talk bollox. But it would probably mean, you and I don't exist. Nor anyone else on the fucking planet. But it cannot alter the events that lead to the end of the Universe, cause they are not human related events, but existential phenomena. What we at the IGBI want you do is go back and make sure she loses the baby before it is born.'

'How, she's Irish, she won't agree to an abortion.'

'So shoot her.'

**************

I have popped home to see how things are at Coolz Mansions. Brian recieves me with the usual enthusiasm.

'Oh hello it's you!'

I ignore his indifference and ask where Zeno is.

'Zeno is at college, Sir, attending an Einstein lecture. She has a disertation to write on the development of space travel.'

'Don't tell me she has gone all “Miss Smith”, on me.'

'I doubt that, Sir, judging by the amount of Star Ship Mechanics she entertains.'

'Okay, plan B. I'll go back to Earth.'

'So long,' says Brian.