FREE CHOICE    (Part 1 of 2)

by Richard Banks

“To choose is to be free,” says Theo. After three Seattle Shakers, he is becoming philosophical, after four he will have great thoughts and after six there will be no remembering them. His headache the next day will be a reminder that no choice is free of unchosen consequences. But for now, everything is good, the drinks are free, his round yet to come, and he senses that his witty, insightful conversation is attracting the attention of Ella. She is, without doubt, the most attractive of the three girls in their group.

         No one, he thinks, has been gifted more free choice than her. Free in that she has never been known to buy a drink either for herself or anyone else but still the choice of every man seeking the enchantment of female company; that Theo is such a man is a secret he is trying to keep to himself. It is an impossible dream. She has an army of devoted followers from which to choose and when she does it is invariably a six foot plus Adonis, the star player or captain of one of the college teams. Clearly, Theo’s membership of the debating team is not enough, especially as they have lost their last three contests. At five foot six, he is scarcely taller than the lectern.

         Luke and Harry also suffer from the disadvantage of being ordinary, although somewhat taller. Accepting his fate Luke has taken up with Cynthia who he rates a six but with her make-up on will sometimes pass as a seven. They sit together, gradually merging into each other as one drink follows another. After four they are sometimes known to kiss.

         The sixth and final person at table 32 in the Stardust Club is Lorna, a friend of Cynthia who has been brought along in the hope that she might prove to be a suitable companion for Theo and distract him from drooling over Ella. So far they have spoken only once to exchange names, their mutual indifference only less obvious than Lorna’s scarcely concealed interest in Cynthia.

         “That’s crap,” says Harry. Harry is not a member of the debating team and tends to express himself in the on-field vernacular of the Sunday league football team for which he plays stopper, centre half. No fancy dan passing out of defence for him, he is old school and when he isn’t booting the ball fifty yards down the pitch he is usually questioning the parentage of the opposing team’s centre forward. For him, words are a blunt instrument, a cudgel not a rapier, and their purpose is to end debate not prolong it. The world is how it is, how he knows it to be, not how Theo thinks it should be.

         His membership of their Group is an alcohol shrouded mystery that no one remembers in quite the same way. Table 32 used to be his table, that’s where he sat, keeping it to himself and repelling all unwanted borders until this really fit bird asked him if anyone was sitting there. “No, be my guest,” he said. Then it turned out she had four friends who plonked themselves down before he could tell them to bugger off. Nevertheless, the fit bird sat next to him rather closer, he thought, than she needed. If she was pleased to meet him she was even more pleased when he brought her the most expensive cocktail on offer. He had read about girls like her, posh birds slumming it in bog-standard clubs, desperate for a bit of rough like him.

         On learning that her name was Ella and that she was a first-year student at the Uni, he had volunteered the information that he was a professional footballer with United. This never failed to impress the girls and was a fiction he was usually able to sustain until the following morning. In case this was not enough he raised the stakes by announcing he was also in England’s Under 23s. This she did not appear to understand but, having supplied the necessary clarification, he was able to achieve first base by placing his hand on her surprisingly cool knee. By the time his imagination had conjured up David Beckham and Victoria he was up to second base and contemplating his next move when she took hold of his little finger and hauled it and the rest of his hand onto the tabletop. In case he had not got the message she smoothed down the mini she was wearing so that it now covered most of second base. Other girls would have made a fuss, slapped his face, but she said nothing, her switched-on smile undisturbed, only a flinty look in her eyes signalling that what he wanted was not going to happen.

         To be repulsed with such style and subtlety seemed almost a distinction, and although he later felt anger it was never at her. Next day he took it out on the other team’s centre forward. Having rendered him unconscious with a head butt and threatened the referee he was sent off the pitch and fined £50 by the Association. To this dent in his wallet, he added the cost of the overpriced drink he had brought her, reflecting that some choices were anything but free, even for those that didn’t get past second base.

         A month later these are memories he has largely succeeded in pushing to the back of his mind. With Ella, it is as if nothing ever happened. There is no awkwardness between them. They have established a boundary and that is that nothing is said, nothing is needed to be said. It would be fine, water under the bridge if only Theo would stop going on about choice making people free. OK, it’s different to his own thoughts, he gets that, but nonetheless, it’s stirring up stuff he would rather forget. It’s crap, total crap, and he has stunned Theo into silence by telling him so, but not for long. Any moment now he will be drawn into a debate in which he will be expected to articulate a point of view that he can’t define beyond knowing that he is right and Theo a pretentious twat for thinking different. This is an argument that must be ended before it begins.

         “It’s crap man, it stands to reason and if you can’t see that I’m not going to waste my time putting you right. Now, it’s your round you tight bastard, so choose yourself a drink, and while you’re about it get me a pint.”

         There is an edge to his voice not usually present in his rough banter and Theo isn’t slow to pick up on it. “What is everyone having?” he asks, and on being told, makes his way to the bar with Luke. By the time they are back the conversation has moved on to Game of Thrones and Harry is back to being their streetwise older brother who is a good laugh and keeps them out of trouble.

         On a Saturday night, there will be at least one minor skirmish at Stardust and if the bouncers are quick in ejecting those responsible that might be the end of it. For now, they have only to man the doors while Steve, their boss, monitors the many screens in the control room. Presently the focus of his attention is table 32. No threat there, just a group of students who have formed an unlikely alliance with Harry Deeks. Harry is a good lad, knows the score, settles his disagreements in the alley outback. No harm in that unless you’re on the receiving end of Harry’s fists. Tonight there is a new face at their table, a girl he hasn’t seen before or has he? It’s her first time in Stardust, of that he is sure, but the frown that surfaces briefly on her unremarkable face seems familiar.  Just the frown, nothing more, but where. A flashing light over monitor eight diverts his attention to the Zodiac Bar where an argument is threatening to get out of hand. He dispatches two of his team to sort it out and watches them escort the culprit off the premises. The girl he does not remember until it is too late.

[To be continued.]

        

Copyright Richard Banks