Spank: The Improbable Adventures of George Aloysius Brown Page 12

  "I do indeed," said George.

  "I'm glad we're all on the same page then," says Gimble. "Georgy boy, we're gonna make you a star."

  Just then the door opened and an elderly lady made a slow and stately entrance.

  "'Ello Nan. 'Ow are you, darlin?' Well, what did you think of the footage? Fantastic stuff, wouldn't you say?"

  "That gal," said Nan, icily, "do you know who she is?" Her tone of voice could suck the juice out a lemon.

  "'Ow would I know," said Gimble defensively. 'What's it matter? Could be anybody. We're interested in 'er ass, not 'er face."

  "Well it does matter, Gimble. I know who she is. That little tattoo at the base of her spine, I bought that for her for her 21st birthday. I'd recognize it anywhere."

  By now Gimble has his head in his hands. This is not looking good. Very likely it's going to cost him serious money.

  "Go on, Nan," he says despondently. "'Oo is it?"

  "My granddaughter."

  "My God," exclaimed Lady Warmington. "Now I remember her telling me. Catherine Mallory Jones."

  "Good heavens," thought George. "It's the girl from class, the redhead, my literary partner." He's wondering if they will let him see the footage.

  "Bloody 'ell," said Gimble, gloomily. "I suppose this changes everything. Just what are you proposin' Nan?"

  Nan smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her blouse. Her face wore an expression of defiance.

  "I won't know until I have spoken to my client, I mean my granddaughter," she said firmly.

  "Your client?" said Gimble, incredulously. "Don't tell me you were a lawyer, I thought you were a dancer." Gimble has visions of injunctions dancing in his head.

  "I got a law degree after I retired from the stage," she said. "Spent thirty years as a partner with Stoppit, Fetchit, Burton and Nochance."

  Gimble's brow was now beaded with sweat and the red spotted handkerchief got another outing.

  George and Geraldine exchanged a sideways glance. 'Forget about filming,' it said. 'This could get interesting.'

  When Nan phoned me to say she had personally witnessed my bottom being spanked on the banks of the River Cam, my initial reaction was to go along with the joke.

  "Sure you did, Nan?" I responded. "And how's your love life"

  "Active," she said. "Just don't tell your father."

  We had a good laugh over that.

  But when she told me about EVP Inc. and her volunteer role in consumer test marketing and Lady Geraldine Warmington with her video camera, it all came flooding back. What was it that ridiculous woman had said to me and Ryan when she apologized for intruding on our picnic. Something about "spankus interruptus" – that should have told us she saw more than that just the blue winged marbled flycatcher.

  I took a deep breath.

  "How did you know it was me, Nan?" She couldn't possibly have seen my face, not in the position I was in.

  "The tattoo, darling. Those little swans I bought you were bouncing up and down."

  "And she filmed the whole thing?"

  "She did."

  I was mortified. The thought of my bottom being spanked on general release, or worse, being posted on YouTube, was not something I cared to think about.

  Nan seemed to find the whole thing amusing.

  "You think your ass is on the line," she chuckled. "Don't worry, we'll sue their ass."

  "Oh great, then it'll be all over the Sunday papers."

  "Hold on, darling, don't get ahead of yourself. Let's look at this situation rationally. First of all did you enjoy it?"

  "Enjoy what?"

  "The spanking, darling."

  "Nan! I don't think that's exactly relevant."

  "You'd be surprised what's relevant if this ends up in court. We may have to prove damages. Who was the lucky young man?"

  "Ryan Donovan, he's in my poetry group. We split up two weeks ago."

  "Well, we'll have to tell him what's happening. He will be co-plaintiff if we apply for an injunction to stop distribution."

  Distribution? God, I don't even want to think about distribution. "Nan, you've seen it, the film, I mean. Is the footage really that exceptional?"

  "Actually, I thought it was sweet. I'm watching it and I'm thinking, 'Good for you, Catherine. You go, girl.' I remember years ago when you were still at school you telling me…"

  "Nan! I know what I told you."

  "Anyway, Gimble says it's the best amateur footage he's ever seen and he's in the business so he should know. An idylic setting, a beautiful bottom being lustily spanked, shouts of unbridled enthusiasm…"

  "Nan, don't go on about it!"

  "Even a little impromptu poetry to add literary cachet. Ryan's poem to you was cute and I loved your response, remember? 'Good sir, I bow with due submission, bottoms up…..'"

  "Yes, thank you, Nan, I know what I said."

  "What I'm saying, darling, is that EVP Inc. has in its possession a valuable piece of video and Gimble Hemmings knows it. He also knows that I know that their business makes a shed-full of money. They don't want this thing to go to court any more than we do. I think they might be persuaded to share the wealth."

  "You mean pay us a royalty for our permission?"

  "Exactly."

  "Without having to go public?"

  "Exactly."

  "How much?"

  "Depends on negotiations, but I think we can start at forty thousand. It would help pay your university debt."

  "Yes, but I still don't need the exposure."

  "I thought of that. Suppose as part of the negotiations we get them to digitally remove the tattoo. Then even your dear mother wouldn't recognize you."

  Mother. Ohmygod, I hadn't even thought about Mother.

  So the upshot was that I phoned Ryan. Nan phoned Gimble. Gimble phoned Geraldine and we all agreed to meet. What I found out later is that Gimble phoned George. Told him he would be delighted to assist with his research. After all, Gimble reasoned, if this thing ended up in litigation, a prominent former civil servant would be a good man to have in his corner.

  It took the best part of a week to get everyone together.

  Telling Ryan had been the tricky part. But when I told him we were going to push for a generous financial settlement he was happy. I also think he saw it as an opportunity for us to get back together. He phoned me nearly every day, the last time when I was getting ready to go to the meeting.

  "I knew that woman had been watching us, remember that Latin phrase she threw at us. Who knew the Latin for spanking is spankus."

  "It isn't, but never mind. You're right, we should have guessed what she'd been up to. What else do you remember?"

  "I remember we were having a great time until that old… "

  "Ryan, can you get your mind off what we were doing and concentrate on what we are going to do now?"

  "Okay, okay. Have you seen the footage?"

  "I don't need to."

  "We could watch it together." I could see him grinning wickedly over the telephone.

  "Ryan, you're not helping. See you at 3 p.m. I gotta go."

  Two hours later and a taxi ride across town, Nan and I walked into the office of Gimble J. Hemmings. The big man climbed laboriously to his feet, extended an oversized paw and looked me up and down like a Sotheby's auctioneer appraising a particularly fine piece of Royal Dalton china.

  "Pleased to meet you," he said, although I don't think he really was. "Don't think me rude, ladies, but can't we discuss this matter without our lawyers present."

  "Precisely why we're here," said Nan. "I'm her grandmother, not her lawyer, although I'm looking after her interests in this matter. I believe that with the help of an arbitrator we can settle this between ourselves. What do you say, Gimble? Shall we give it a try?"

  He paused to bring to his thought processes the full extent of his considerable duplicity. After all, George Aloysius Brown owed him a favor. Now that couldn't hurt his cause could it?

  "No 'arm tryin', Nan,"
he responded at length. "Anything to get this sorted and get filmin' back on schedule. And as far as an arbitrator is concerned I know just the man for the job. Ex-civil servant, used to work in dispute resolution, sensible bloke, straight as an arrow." Gimble opened the door to an adjoining office. "George, you busy? Can you join us for a minute? You too, Geraldine. Bring some chairs."

  For a moment, I was gobsmacked. George Aloysius Brown, my literary partner, trapped like a fly in a pornographic spider web, although I could only imagine he was here for research purposes. In any event I thought it prudent to act as if I didn't know him and he had reached the same conclusion. We nodded politely to one other and shook hands like strangers.

  As for Geraldine, her ladyship, the J.Arthur Rank of the bird watching set, what she did was unforgiveable and I was about to give her both barrels, when I felt Nan's elbow nudge my ribs.

  "A simple hello will suffice, dear."

  "Hello, Geraldine," I said.

  "Nice to meet you, Lady Warmington," said Nan. "It's a small world, isn't it? I went to school with your mother."

  After pointing out that the disputing parties would have to sign off on any agreement and absolve him of future liability, George agreed to undertake the role of arbitrator.

  "I'm also resigning from any role I might play in the movie to eliminate possible conflict of interest." He'd been looking for an out. Catherine kept her head down, wondering if she also was a conflict of interest.

  "Wotever," said Gimble. "Can we just get on with it?"

  And so they did and the following is a partial transcript of proceedings subsequently made available to all parties.

  Arbitrator: I will briefly outline the situation as I understand it. Last June 14 on the banks of the River Cam in the county of Cambridgeshire, Ryan Donovan and Catherine Mallory Jones, students of Cambridge University, were engaged in a certain activity….

  Gimble: Objection.

  Arbitrator: Go ahead.

  Gimble: What activity? For the record, it needs to be stated what they were doing.

  Arbitrator: Very well, Ryan was spanking Catherine.

  Gimble: Thank you.

  Ryan: No, thank me. Thank both of us really…

  Catherine: Shut up, Ryan.

  Arbitrator: While the couple were involved in said activity they were filmed, allegedly without their knowledge or permission, by Lady Geraldine Warmington, of Warmington Manor in the county of Sussex, who apparently was bird watching in the area.

  Geraldine: Objection.

  Arbitrator: What is it?

  Geraldine: I wasn't 'apparently' doing anything. I was bird watching, specifically I was looking for the blue winged marbled fly catcher. This young couple, without my permission, intruded into my viewfinder.

  Catherine: Excuse me. Am I missing something here? Don't birds live in trees?

  Geraldine: Usually, yes.

  Catherine: Well, what were you filming? Worms? My bottom was six inches off the ground.

  Ryan: Objection: I would say it was more like 12-inches. I had you nicely elevated….

  Catherine: Shut up, Ryan.

  Arbitrator: Order please. What is not in dispute is that approximately 15-minutes of video footage was taken of Catherine and Ryan and that video is now in the hands of Eldercare Video Productions Inc., represented by Mr. Hemmings here, which intends to incorporate it into a commercial production.

  Nan Burton: Over my dead body. Without our permission, they can't do it. Last time I looked the rights of citizens were protected by privacy laws.

  Gimble: Not if they can't be identified. Young Ryan's got his back to the camera and Catherine 'ere is face down. 'Oos to say it's them. It could be anybody?

  Nan Burton: You forget, I've seen the video. My granddaughter can be clearly identified by the tattoo above her bottom.

  Gimble: Oh right. And 'ow many other people 'ave seen it? Shall we make a list?

  Catherine: Objection!

  Arbitrator: Sustained.

  Nan Burton: Well, I bought it for her. I've seen it. And under the law that's sufficient.

  Ryan: If you show us the video, I could identify it too.

  Catherine: Objection.

  Ryan: Yeah, like you didn't object at the time, did you? You were so hot for it…

  Arbitrator: Order, please. Ryan, that's irrelevant. Ms. Burton, I believe you have a compromise suggestion.

  Nan Burton: Gimble, this video is worth a fortune, wouldn't you say? The best amateur spanking ever filmed. Those were your words, were they not?

  Gimble: It's good stuff, I admit that.

  Ryan: I also have a suggestion We could do a studio re-enactment, Catherine over my knee, hide the tattoo, of course. It wouldn't have quite the same spontaneity, but you could shoot some artsy slow motion footage, that sort of thing.

  Catherine: Ryan?

  Ryan: What?

  Catherine: We could also get a slow-mo of me kicking you in the nuts.

  Arbitrator: Can we stay on the topic, please?

  Nan Burton: Fact is, this video is worth its weight in gold, isn't it Gimble?

  Gimble: 'Ow much, Nan?

  Nan Burton: Forty thousand pounds.

  Gimble: Thirty – and we digitally remove the tattoo.

  Nan Burton: Thirty five and we forget about suing.

  Gimble: Christ, George, you're the arbitrator, what do you say? These people are bleedin' me dry.

  Arbitrator: It's not in my mandate to offer an opinion. This is about money. Both sides agree compensation will have to be paid. The question is how much are you prepared to offer and how much are they willing to accept?

  Nan: You've heard our bottom line.

  Ryan: Can I say something?

  Everybody: No!

  Gimble was doing some mental calculations: a bestseller would be 50,000 copies at $24.99 each. Apparently, my bottom being spanked would send sales into orbit. I could see him breathe a sigh of resignation.

  "Okay, it's a deal."

  Chapter Nine

  To the general disapproval of family and friends, I accepted a job as a copy writer for the international advertising agency, Maddox Matrix Addison Camberwell in their head office on the Cromwell Road and I'm sitting at my cubicle on a Monday morning when the boss, Julian Maddox, drops a brochure on my desk. "Have a look at this," he says. "Not our usual type of client, I admit, but a six figure enterprise looking to rebrand for the U.S. market and apparently willing to pay for it."

  For a minute I imagine he is having me on. The brochure, crudely produced on a home computer, is headed: 'Canes for Punishment'.

  What is this, some sort of joke?

  I flush, suddenly angry, memories of R.C. Montgomery in a monk's robe in his study at the Chiltern Hills Academy and me with the headmaster's cane in my hands. I jump to my feet. "Look, Julian, if you're having some sort of a joke at my expense I don't think it's…." He interrupts me. "It's not a joke, Catherine. This is business, but if you don't feel comfortable taking it on, I quite understand. This one's going to need sensitivity and creativity, which is why I think you're right for the job. At the moment, the principal is a one woman business, but she's taking on a franchise partner in California and is aiming to sell into the Los Angeles area. Got to be a market there I should think. Anyway, be a pet. Go see her. Get a feel – sorry get a sense – of what she's selling and come up with something that will appeal to the Hollywood set. This is for her website." He smiles mischievously. "On my desk by Friday. Or is that over my desk on Friday? Sorry." He ducks around the corner to avoid the Thesaurus I am about to launch at his head, and leaves me alone with my thoughts.

  Canes for Punishment. To be truthful I feel a tremor of excitement as I reach for the phone to make an appointment to see her. I have a vision of a middle-aged professional woman, probably just finished her grocery shopping. The address is a brownstone apartment building off Sloane Square and like the window cleaner, or the plumber, just another service provider, I climb three steps from stre
et level and ring the doorbell. After what seems like an age, the door opens a crack and I see a face peering up at me, fortyish, twinkling eyes, button nose, her hair a crop of curls the color of pewter. If she is a dominatrix she must be the world's tiniest. The face looking quizzically at me is not much higher than the door knob. "Ms. Dolor, Ms. Scarlett Dolor?" I hear myself say. "I'm from the ad agency, I have an appointment."

  "That would be with me, darling, come in." The door swings open, a woman in a wheelchair spins around and I follow her down the hallway. At flat 2 she fumbles for her key, opens the door and scoots in. Only now does she stop and turn to face her visitor, extending an elegant hand. "You must be Catherine, she says. Welcome to my little emporium. If what I do offends you, please say so, and we can end this here and now."

  I say I am not in the least offended and she comes right to the point. This is not a lady who likes to waste time.

  "What do you know about the symbiosis between pleasure and pain?"

  "Not much. I know some people crave physical punishment."

  "More than you might think. There is a fine balance between pain and pleasure, the endorphins travel down the same neurological pathways and to some people the sensations are indistinguishable. The people who buy my services and products crave pain as much as others seek more conventional pleasure. The use of the cane between consenting adults is more widespread than you might imagine transcending age, gender, race and sexual orientation. Erotic discipline was old when Pythagoras was a boy. Have you ever been caned, my sweet?"

  I take a deep breath. Matter-of-factly, with as much dignity as I can muster, I inform her that I have given but not received. Scarlett raises a steely eyebrow.

  "Have you now?" she says, gravely. "And how was it may I ask?"

  "I was 18, more scared than anything, scared I wouldn't do it right. I'm guessing the cane was about the same length as the Junior Office model in your brochure – and if you ask me it was a bit on the dry side. Canes need moisture don't they? They're like house plants. This one was whippy, but easy to control. And the target, I have to admit, was the most beautiful male butt I have seen, muscular, perfectly sculptured. And I'm thinking, eat your heart out, Adonis. You don't see a body like that outside of the Acropolis. Imagine – a sixth form girl caning her headmaster in his study to the accompaniment, would you believe, of Gregorian chants. I'm not proud of it, but it happened. To cut a long story short, I gave him twelve strokes as requested and as I got into the rhythm of it I confess it excited me. But don't ask me to receive. I'm not ready for that."