Geek Tragedy by Nev Fountain Read Free Book Online Page B

screamed as he pulled on white cotton gloves. ‘Don’t touch the deceased ones! A lot of these artistes have been unavailable for decades! They are priceless!’ Simon’s face folded into an unpleasant scowl, which suited him. It was as if, with no others around, he no longer had to waste energy on his artificial bonhomie.
    Obligingly, Mervyn picked up an autograph slip which had become separated from the photo, but Simon snatched it off him. ‘I told you…’
    ‘I know this actor! This is Samuel Johns. He’s not dead!’ Mervyn protested.
    Simon glared at him, smoothing it. ‘He happens to be very, very ill,’ he snarled. ‘Who knows, when you snuff it, your signature might be worth something…’ He huffed off, holding his piles of photos like a newborn baby. ‘But I doubt it, Mervyn. I doubt it,’ he called back.
    Mervyn resumed his trot along the corridor, but with little enthusiasm. She was long gone. Oh well , he thought. Might as well head back to my room.
    He pressed the button to open the lift, only to find her waiting inside for him. One hand on the ‘hold’ button, the other placed provocatively on her hip.
    ‘Are you stalking me?’ she asked.
    ‘Ah…well. No…’
    She smiled wickedly. ‘Would you like to?’
    *
    Mervyn’s hands were trembling so much he could barely insert his key-card into the door slot. Fortunately, that passed. He had no more problems with slots after that.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    The steward scooped up her ferocious bosom in a sturdy bra and shrugged on her sweatshirt.
    ‘You off?’ said Mervyn, watching her from his bed. He was self-consciously hiding the more wobbly and careworn bits of his body under the duvet. So basically, it was tucked tight up under his chin.
    He’d been much less self-conscious half an hour earlier. He’d been hopping round the hotel room, doing the dance known as the ‘Man Desperate for a Shag Shuffle’. This involved trying to take shoes and socks off with jeans puddled around the ankles while hurling a shirt above the head, trying to shake it free from the wrists.
    ‘Got to go. Soz. Got to get ready for your panel. The whole convention will turn out for it. If I’m not there with the other stewards to sort the queues out, Simon’s gonna get killed in the stampede.’
    ‘Now that’s something I’d pay forty quid to see.’
    She bounded off the bed. Her arms were surprisingly large, threaded with muscles. Her shoulders were bigger than Mervyn’s. Mervyn was under no illusion that she led a very active lifestyle; the sides of his stomach ached from the workout.
    She bent over the hotel mirror brushing her hair, her buttocks raised and pointed in his direction. ‘You’d have to buy a ticket and wait in line.’
    ‘Oh yes?’ Mervyn tried to spin the conversation out. Anything to keep that impressive bottom hovering in his vicinity. It was like two pink helium balloons bobbing across his eyeline, so smooth and shiny he swore he could see the hotel windows reflected in them.
    ‘Is he not popular then… Minnie?’ He used the name tentatively. In the excitement of the last half-hour, he’d forgotten to check her tag properly.
    But he’d obviously read it right, because she turned and grinned at him. ‘Yeah, you might say that. All us stewards, we all muck in for a laugh, really. Have a boogie at the disco, meet the stars. He takes it far too seriously, like a business. He’s always oiling after the big names, but he treats them like kids, really.’ She paused, thinking. ‘No. Not like kids. More like things. He talks about you lot like he does all those ray guns and robots and props he owns. “Get Jamieson out of the bar and put him where he’s supposed to be!” he says, and “I want my prize collection on stage in five minutes,” when he’s talking about the Vixen actresses , would you believe.’ Her face darkened. ‘And then there’s what else he’s done. He’s not done a nice… Well, let’s just say he’s not popular.