Mr Blackwell: Teacher Student Romance (2 page)

The bar crowd leave their drinks and head towards a wooden door at the back of the pub.

Two confused-looking tourists watch the stampede.

Baz and I join the throng of muscular, shaven-headed men in paint-covered overalls and workman jackets.

There are a few boys my own age, pushing and jostling through the door. They look tough. Mean. Well used to scrapping.

My black jeans and polo shirt couldn’t be more out of place. Nor could my clipped, brown hair.

Behind the door is a large, dark room with a rubber floor.

There’s a boxing ring in the centre edged with gnarled rope.

‘Boxing?’ I mutter, raising an eyebrow. ‘You know I’ve never boxed before don’t you?’

‘Don’t say I never give you nothing.’ Baz grins at me.

By the ring stands a girl in a bikini. She’s in her twenties, with bleached blonde hair and a hardened face. A stack of signs lean against her splotchy, tanned leg.

The barman puts his meaty arm around the girl’s shoulder and pulls her close.

‘Ready for some action darlin’?’ says the barman.

She pulls away from him. ‘Stop it Tony.’

Tony slaps her backside, and she yelps again, ‘Stop it!’

Before I can rush forwards, Baz’s fingers tighten on my arm. ‘Leave it son. That girl can handle herself. Take it out in the ring.’

5

Manly roars fill the room.

Tony the barman slaps his hands together and bellows, ‘Who’s up first?’

Baz grabs my fist and pulls it into the air. ‘Marc Blackwell.’

I feel adrenalin surge through my muscles. ‘Baz, these guys will tear me apart.’

‘They will if you let them.’

The eyes of the crowd are on me. There are jeers as they take in my clean-cut appearance. The barman is shaking his head, a sneer on his scarred lip.

‘What are you gonna to do?’ Baz asks. ‘Fight or not?’

‘I’ll fight.’

‘Good on you kid! I knew you had it in you.’

A beefy, red-headed teenager shouts, ‘I’ll take him!’ and a cheer goes up.

The redhead swaggers towards me. His hair is clipped short and he has a deep scar on his lip. He’s taken his shirt off and his pale body is covered in snake tattoos. I’m guessing he must be eighteen – maybe a few years older.

He eyes me up. ‘I’m Jaden. And I will be beating the shit out of you today.’ His accent is British – Manchester to be precise.

The men around us roar with laughter.

‘Marc might surprise you,’ Baz mutters.

‘Tony says he’s an actor,’ says Jaden. ‘What does he know about fighting?’

Baz gives me a shove. ‘In you go son. Show him what you’re made of.’

I climb into the ring, take off my shirt and hand it to Baz.

‘Listen,’ Baz hisses. ‘Three rounds okay? Best of three. Anything goes, and I mean anything.’

Jaden glances at my torso. ‘You’re fit at least. Hope you’ve got plenty of makeup back on set to cover the bruises.’

More laughter.

I wait for a bell, but there isn’t one. Instead, Jaden smacks me so hard in the jaw that I stagger back and nearly fall over.

While I’m still reeling, Jaden delivers punch after punch to my jaw and torso.

I’m knocked down, and Jaden kicks me hard in the ribs over and over until the world spins.

I hear someone shout, ‘Give it to him!’

Dimly, I see the bikini girl hold a sign that says ‘Knock Out’.

But I’m not knocked out.

I stagger to my feet.

Baz shouts, ‘That’s it! Get up! Get the fuck up Marc Blackwell and start fighting back.’

Just as I get my footing, I walk straight into another punch.

There are a few laughs and jeers as I fall backwards again.

‘Jaden started before the fucking sign went down!’ Baz yells.

‘Do that again and you’re out,’ the bikini girl tells Jaden.

I rub my jaw and find my feet.

Jaden barks, ‘Put the sign down bitch and let me finish him off.’

Bitch
. I can’t stand men talking to women like that. My fury is intense. I can barely see.

I land a punch so hard and fast that even I’m surprised by it. But not as surprised as Jaden, who staggers back and falls to the ground.

Knock out.

One punch. That’s all it took.

I look at my fist in disbelief.

When Jaden hits the floor, there’s an eerie silence.

After a few minutes, it’s clear Jaden isn’t going to get up.

‘He’s fucking out cold,’ Tony shouts.

Baz grabs the Knock Out sign from the bikini girl, holds it up and pulls my fist into the air. ‘Winner!’ he yells.

But there are no cheers. I think the crowd are still in shock.

Someone yells, ‘He got lucky!’

‘Time to go kid,’ says Baz, as Jaden is dragged from the ring by red-haired men who I take to be his brothers.

‘No,’ I say, pulling back. ‘I want one more fight.’

‘What? You want to fight again? You don’t need to kid. You’ve seen what I wanted you to see. You’re a damn good fighter.’

‘Him.’ I point to Tony the barman. ‘I want him.’

Tony lets out a deep laugh. ‘Careful little boy. I’m a full-grown man and I’ll rip your fucking head off.’

‘Then get in the ring and prove it.’

Tony throws his shirt at the bikini girl, and I see his muscles ripple. He’s my height, but twice the width. Stocky and muscular. ‘Ready to see the little boy actor get fucked up?’ he asks the crowd.

A roar goes up.

Tony climbs into the ring. ‘Fuck the rounds. This is just me and you boy.’

He pushes the bikini girl to one side, and my world goes red again.

My fist connects with his jaw – three hard punches, bam, bam, bam.

He falls to the floor.

Another knock out. It was that easy.

Baz is right. I’m good at this.

The crowd don’t know how to react at first. And then they slowly start to clap and cheer. The roars grow louder, and I feel men slap me on the back.

‘Well done kid.’ Baz throws an arm around my shoulder. ‘Well done. So how are you feeling?’

‘Good,’ I admit, as Baz pulls me through the crowd.

‘What about Ria – you worked out what to do about her?’

‘No.’

‘She’ll be at the wrap party tonight. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Then I won’t go.’

‘Hang on a fucking minute. You promised you’d be my wingman. Remember? I get twice the pussy when you’re around. You’re a fucking girl magnet.’

‘Fine.’ I don’t break promises. ‘I’ll go to the wrap party. And stay out of Ria’s way.’

6

Christ, I hate these cookie-cutter LA nightclubs – every one the same.

This place is just like all the rest: champagne on ice, glass-cube walls and beautiful girls posing under white strobes.

I recognise some people from the movie set. Others from soap operas, TV shows and movies. Mercifully, Ria isn’t here yet.

I pull a box of Marlboro from my suit pocket and flip a cigarette into my lips.

‘You can’t smoke in here,’ says Baz, holding out a Union Jack Zippo.

‘Let’s get a drink,’ I say, inhaling deeply.

Women are watching me, and I frown.

One woman in particular – a tall girl with bright red lips and long, jet-black hair – fixes her green eyes right on mine.

In the real world, she’d be pretty. You might even call her stunning, given the bold colours in her outfit. But in this crowd, she’s one of many stunning women, all dressed to kill.

‘The girls love you don’t they?’ says Baz, as we walk towards the bar. ‘Mr cheekbone handsome.’

I feel the eyes of the black-haired girl on my back.

‘They don’t know me. If they got to know me they wouldn’t like me at all.’

‘Oh, you’re not that bad,’ says Baz. ‘An old head on young shoulders, that’s all.’

‘The attention is unwelcome,’ I say. ‘I have nothing to offer these girls.’

‘Oh no?’ Baz nudges me with his elbow. ‘That’s not what Ria’s been saying.’

My jaw hardens and I lean onto the bar and wave the barman over. ‘Two Jack Daniels.’

‘How did you do that?’ Baz asks.

‘Do what?’

‘The barman had the whole length of the bar to serve. We only just got here. How did you get him to serve you?’

‘All I did was ask.’

I see a flash of black by Baz’s shoulder – the dark-haired girl. She’s leaning right onto the bar now, her eyes fixed on the barman. He puts drinks in front of us, and then serves the girl next.

‘She’s obviously got a bit of your magic,’ says Baz, throwing a thumb at the girl. ‘Except she’s cheating. Wearing a dress like that.’ He turns to her. ‘All right darlin’. What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’

The girl turns to Baz, her green eyes fixing on him. ‘That all depends.’

‘Oh yeah? On what?’

‘On your friend.’ She smiles at me, showing straight, white teeth.

Baz grins. ‘Oh right then. Well let me just step aside and let you too introduce each other.’

‘Hi,’ says the girl. ‘I’m Cassandra.’

She has a slight New York accent – but upper class New York. I notice that under her green-leather dress, she wears black boots with sharp high heels.

‘Cassandra.’ Baz lets out a whistle. ‘That’s a mouthful. So what should we call you? Cassie?’

‘No.’

She’s still looking at me, but she’s not smiling now. ‘Aren’t you a little young to be drinking?’

‘He’s twenty-one,’ says Baz, lying with an actor’s ease.

‘He could pass for it, but he isn’t,’ says Cassandra.

Baz frowns. ‘What are you trying to do? Get him thrown out? He’ll behave himself all right? He could drink most men under the table. He even gives me a run for my money.’

‘I don’t want him thrown out,’ says Cassandra. ‘But I might want him to leave with me.’

Baz laughs. ‘Well don’t let me stop you. There’s a girl over there I think could be my future wife. So. I’ll leave you to it.’

Baz heads into the crowd towards a pin-up, curvy blonde girl dressed like a stripper – just his type.

I frown at my Jack Daniels. After the mess with Ria, the last thing I need is more female trouble.

‘Not one for talking?’ Cassandra asks, taking a vodka shot from the barman.

‘You could say that.’

‘Me either. How about meeting new people?’

‘Right now, I’m not too keen on that either.’

‘Shame. Because you look like you could use my help.’

‘Could I indeed?’

‘Yes.’ She downs her vodka shot. ‘I’m just heading off home. But I don’t have anyone to walk me back. Will you come?’

I take a sharp sip of whisky. ‘There are hundreds of men here who’d happily take you home.’

‘And I don’t feel safe with any of them.’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘You feel safe with me? You’ve only just met me. You don’t even know my name.’

‘I do. It’s Marc Blackwell.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I asked around.’

I laugh. ‘Well. Cassandra. If feeling safe is what you want, I’m not your man. In fact, I think I’m the last person you could be safe with.’ I take a long sip of whisky and slam the empty glass on the bar. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me—’

‘You’re wrong.’ Her green eyes fix on mine. ‘Very wrong. You and I
–
we’re alike. We’re the same.’

‘The same?’ I let out a cynical laugh. ‘I don’t think I’m the
same
as anyone Cassandra.’ I turn to go.

‘You want a woman. But you hate losing control.’

I hesitate, one hand still touching the bar.

‘I can see it in you,’ she continues. ‘In anybody, actually. You will too. In time.’

‘Look, it’s been nice talking to you, but I really don’t know what—’

‘I can explain it better at my apartment.’

‘Explain what?’

‘Control.’

In spite of myself, I’m intrigued. 

I turn my drink on the bar, making a damp circle on the wood. ‘You need to be in control too?’

‘No.’ Cassandra smiles. ‘I need someone else to be in control.’

My hand drops from my glass, finding the stillness of the wooden bar.

‘I really should go now.’ I head across the club.

Christ!

I have to get out of here. I have to think.

I need someone else to be in control ….

I feel a tug at my wrist.

‘Wait.’ It’s Cassandra. She’s almost my height in her high leather boots. ‘I still need someone to take me home.’

‘You want a boy my age to help you get home? There’s a whole club full of men here. Take your pick.’

‘And I already told you. I don’t feel safe with them. They’ll want to sleep with me.’

‘And you think I won’t?’

‘You won’t try and get me into bed. You’re too controlled.’

I close my eyes, and when I open them again Cassandra is watching me expectantly.

I sigh. ‘Come on. I’ll help you find a cab.’

‘We don’t need a cab. My apartment is right down the street.’ She flutters her heavy, black eyelashes. ‘Pretty please? It’s not safe to walk alone.’

‘Fine.’

I never can say no to a damsel in distress.