Bradley Stoke (Part 1 of 3) (c) Oliver Jennings, 2004
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A couple of years ago, I had to spend a few days at Bradley Stoke, just outside Bristol, to attend an IT development conference with a couple of other guys from my company. Someone way up high at head office in London had thought it might be a good idea to have a few people go along to it, just to see if anything significant might be said in any of the talks, and my name - somehow - was chosen to be one of them.
"Chances are, it'll be a waste of time," I remember saying to Michael Adams, one of the other people to have been volunteered as an attendee.
He smiled and shrugged. "Maybe. But it'll be a few days away from the same old same old... that's gotta be good..."
I was going to whinge a little more but reminded myself that Michael was, while in a totally different department to me, quite a few rungs of the ladder my superior. I thought it best, at least for the time being, to be more guarded and so I just smiled back and nodded. Like it was no big deal.
He went on, "I must say I don't much like losing a couple of evenings out of my week, but... you never know... the three of us guys might have a laugh together..."
"Yeah, I was meaning to ask about that - who's the third person?" I hoped it might be someone I knew.
"Wesley Simmons from sales..."
I shook my head. "Don't think I know him..."
Michael nodded. "He's pretty new, actually. Just out of school..."
"How'd he end up having to go out on a residential so soon?" I asked. Normally office juniors, which I assumed he must be since he was so young, wouldn't be expected to attend conferences.
Michael shrugged. "For some reason, he volunteered himself... he's kind of, ah..." He searched for the right word. "Keen..."
"Oh." Already he sounded irritating.
Michael smiled a little, perhaps covertly sharing my aversion to promising young go-getters, and went on, "You've probably seen him around... he's a guy who likes to..." Again he tried to think of a favourable way to put it. "Knock on doors."
I was a little confused. "Knock on doors?"
"Yeah..." Michael's smile was becoming broader. "He's a career guy - on some fast-track programme or something - trying to work his way to the top. So he knocks on doors and introduces himself to people. Tries to get his name remembered."
He didn't just sound irritating. He sounded repellent.
I didn't tell Michael how I felt, although I'm sure my face expressed it for me, because, like I said, the guy was a lot closer to management than I was. He seemed okay but you don't get to be so high up in finance without playing the game a little.
So I thought I ought to play it too.
I said, neutrally, "No... I don't know him..."
Michael grinned mischievously. "You soon will... intimately..."
I guess I must have stared at him, looking puzzled.
He continued, "The three of us are sharing a room..." He saw my expression turn to shock and his turned to surprise. He said, "You knew that, didn't you?"
"No."
"It's some cost-cutting thing. An economy drive. Everyone had a memo about it last year..."
"Last year?"
"Yeah... all same-sex groups on residentials are expected to share rooms. You don't have to, of course, but... well... everyone's doing it, right up to the MD..."
I shrugged. "Yeah... okay... whatever... I just hadn't heard..." I hadn't been reading my memos more like.
Michael smiled and said, "Like I said... it'll be a laugh... I've been on a couple of courses and stuff, sharing rooms with other guys, and it's usually okay..."
I smiled back. "Yeah... I've no problem with it..." And, on the surface of it, I didn't have a problem with it. I'd shared rooms with other guys - many of whom I hadn't known - countless times, in youth hostels up and down the country, for the sake of rugby. Both as a player and a spectator. So sharing a room wasn't an issue.
I was just surprised at the prospect of having to do it in a work-related context. If you get back late and vomit over the floor in a youth hostel with a crowd of other rugby fans, it's kind of okay. Well - actually - it's pretty much expected of you! But anything embarrassing that happened among workmates I hardly knew could have long-term consequences.
I'd just have to be on my best behaviour for a couple of days. I suppose it was the prospect of that which was shocking to me.
Anyway, I didn't see Michael again until he picked me up to give me a lift up to Bristol. Wesley was with him, refusing to budge from the front seat of the car, and I saw, pretty instantly, that the dislike of him - which I'd tried to forget about until I'd had the chance to meet the lad properly - had been well-founded. He was only eighteen or nineteen but gave off this air of self-assuredness that I don't think I'll ever be able to master no matter what age I reach. He fawned over Michael like the guy was some all-seeing all-knowing company guru, but virtually ignored me.
A mere menial like me, some middle-ranking nonentity from HR, couldn't offer him promotion. But Michael could. And that seemed to make Michael a demi-god.
Wesley laughed at just about everything Michael said, regardless of any humour content to it, and went on about how wonderful Michael's suit was, his car was, his liking of Thai food was... you get the picture.
I was sitting in the back thinking how patently transparent Wesley was being - all this hollow praise for a guy he'd hardly met but who could, as it happened, influence his career. Michael, on the other hand, seemed to lap it up. He acted like Wesley was being genuinely complimentary; that any ulterior motives were so cleverly and subtly concealed as to be unnoticeable. I figured he must either be being especially polite or else was so used to this kind of thing from ambitious young office juniors that it just washed over him.
At one point, midway through Wesley being gushingly impressed by descriptions of Michael's Mexican furniture, Wesley's mobile phone rang. He looked at the display and said, "Oh, it can wait. It's Paula..."
Michael asked, "Paula?"
Wesley shrugged. "My girlfriend... she can wait..."
Michael chuckled, "Answer it... go on..."
Wesley switched the phone off. "No. I'll get it later..."
Michael grinned over at him, momentarily taking his eyes from the motorway. "You want a bit more privacy when you chat to Paula, huh?"
Wesley smiled and said, "You've worked me out, Michael. Time and a place and all that..."
I grinned, staring out of the window at the fields and farms we were passing, thinking, "Oh, very convincing, Wesley mate. So, even your girlfriend comes second to your career, does she?"
That evening, after we'd signed in as members of the conference and found our lodgings, we went out for a meal. I considered ducking out and leaving Wesley to have Michael all to himself, but I was hungry and the place we were staying seemed to be in the middle of an industrial park. So I thought I better tag along.
Wesley led the conversation at all times, guiding it this way and that to cover all things relating to Michael, while I just sat there feeling like a lemon. I found myself staring at Wesley and thinking, after most of the fawning things he came out with, "For Christ's sake..." or "You little wanker..." But occasionally he'd come out with something so ridiculously and patently sycophantic that I'd be too stunned to even respond mentally.
One example of this was when Michael asked Wesley about his plans with Paula.
Wesley smiled warmly at the thought of her and for a second looked almost human. But then he came out with, "We're getting a place together. Maybe you and your wife could come over one evening and we'll throw a Thai dinner party... I'm sure Paula would get on really well with your wife..."
I just peered at him, eyes wide like a goldfish.
Michael smiled and, after a few seconds stalling, moved the conversation on.
It was about ten thirty, still in the restaurant and on our fourth bottle of wine, when Michael asked Wesley, "How would you feel about a transfer to London? I heard there's a space coming up in the regional admin section..."
Wesley looked orgasmic for a second before managing to recompose himself.
He gapsed, "What position?"
Michael shrugged. "I dunno exactly... I just know that the guy leaving is a couple of grades above you..."
Wesley looked very pensive for a few moments and then said, with a rather silly sounding giggle, "Sounds interesting..."
Michael said, "Would it be worth me putting your name forward?"
Wesley feigned a look of surprise. "You'd do that?"
Michael nodded. "You seem the right kind of guy for the position. Dynamic... astute... forthright..."
I nearly choked on my wine, assuming that Michael must be winding us both up, but then realised he was being serious. I managed to stifle my outburst to a few quiet coughs, thinking that Wesley must have had a more convincing effect on him than he'd had on me.
Wesley ignored my splutterings and kept peering at Michael. He giggled again, "Wow... thanks..."
Michael went on, a little uncomfortably, "Of course... I could always put in a formal recommendation... that would carry a lot more clout..."
Wesley stared at him, nodding slightly. "Yeah...?"
Michael nodded. "An interview would, in that case, be just a formality. The position would be virtually guaranteed..."
There was silence for a few seconds and then Wesley asked, "And would you do that?"
Michael considered the possibility. He looked like he was deep in thought. It seemed unlikely to me that he would be thinking about whether or not to recommend Wesley for the London job - after all, he'd only known the lad for a few hours. I wondered whether there was more to his ponderings than that.
After a few seconds of reverie, Michael seemed to almost shake himself back to reality and laughed, "Hey, we're boring Ollie... we can talk about this another time... we've plenty of opportunities..."
Wesley threw me a look as if to say, "Why are you still here?" But it was gone almost instantly and he nodded his acceptance brightly, muttering to Michael, "Yeah... whatever... we've loads of time..."
Then Michael said something that struck me - still strikes me - as rather odd. He turned to me and said, "Hey, Ollie... don't look now, he's coming back over to our table... but do you think that waiter - the one with the red bow tie - is coming onto me?"
I turned to glance up at him as he appeared at our side, offering us yet another bottle of wine. I noticed that he seemed slightly friendlier and more chatty towards Michael, but his interest seemed well within the bounds of professional conduct.
When he'd gone, I shook my head. "He might be semi-interested, mate, but he's not exactly throwing himself at you..."
Michael feigned a look of being bitterly disappointed. "Damn! I'm losing my touch! Thought my luck was in, there..."
I laughed, though not quite sure exactly what it was I was laughing at, but Wesley just stared at him, a look of intrigue across his face. He said, "You're not serious..."
Michael shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time I'd picked up a waiter..."
Wesley looked incredulous. "But you're married... you're joking, right?"
Michael shrugged again, laughing slightly like this was the most normal thing in the world and Wesley was being particularly slow on the uptake. "Yeah, I'm married. But I can screw guys too..."
He threw me a look as if to say, "Where did they dig this guy up from?" Then he laughed and, I guess to piss Wesley off more than anything else, I returned the same look and laughed back.
Michael added, "It's not like I'd be cheating on Wendy... it's not like it would mean anything. It'd just be a bit of fun between two guys..."
Wesley looked at me and, while his eyes were averted, I saw Michael stare at him intently, scanning the lad's face as if he was looking for some sign that Wesley might be amenable to this idea. Until that moment I hadn't really understood where Michael was heading. I'd thought that maybe he was playing a joke on Wesley and bringing me in on it, or that he was just trying to shock the guy. But then I realised that Wesley wasn't the only one with ulterior motives; in fact, that Wesley's ulterior motives were still in kindergarten in comparison with Michael's vastly more advanced collection.
Wesley looked back at him and Michael smiled innocently, taking a few swigs from his wine glass. Michael said, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin, "You must have played around with other lads sometimes... you must know that it's just a bit of fun..."
Wesley looked cautiously towards me again, perhaps suspecting a trap; that Michael was, for whatever reason, trying to get him to admitting to playing around with other boys. Or maybe Wesley was unsure of how to respond: maybe he'd never done that kind of thing. He didn't seem like the kind of person who'd venture from the straight and narrow, even in a guilt-ridden five minutes behind the school bike sheds, unless his precious career could benefit from it.
Michael turned to me again, and said, laughing, "You must have done that kind of thing, Ollie... I mean, you can't tell me I'm the only guy who ever joined in with a circle jerk and stuff..."
I shrugged. This wasn't my concern so I could be honest. "Yeah... I've played around sometimes. Girls are my thing, I must say, but I've had some good times with other guys from time to time..."
Michael beamed at me, his eyes warm and intense. I thought maybe I should take the opportunity to suggest myself for promotion at that moment, except that I wasn't particularly looking for one right then.
He said, "And the waiter...? Would you go for him?"
I shook my head, grinning at Michael. "His arse is too flat... a guy's gotta have a fuckable arse..."
Wesley looked shocked at what I'd said and Michael stared at me, wide-eyed and mouth agape. I thought for a second that I'd gone too far.
But then Michael roared with laughter and slapped my shoulder, agreeing heartily with what I'd said. "Yeah.. yeah... that's exactly it... it's gotta be just right...."
He turned to Wesley and explained, "I mean, if it's a woman, there's an emotional dimension to it, so the physical side isn't so important. But if it's a guy, well - like Ollie said - it's a purely sexual thing... the physical side is crucial..."
Michael turned back to me and slapped my shoulder again, nodding and grinning at me. I wasn't sure that I had actually said what he seemed to think I had, but I smiled back and shrugged.
He turned back to Wesley and said, "A guy's gotta look right, Wesley..."
Wesley seemed like he was out of his depth. He clearly wasn't sure if this was joke or if it was serious. I suspect the wider implications hadn't yet dawned on him.
He muttered to Michael, "He has to have a... how did you put it... a fuckable arse?"
Michael grinned broadly and nodded. "Yeah... it's got to be fuckable... eh, Ollie?"
Wesley asked, "And what makes a guy's arse... fuckable?"
Michael stared at him. "You know when you see one, mate... it's round and firm and... well... fuckable... there's no better word..."
Wesley looked around the restaurant, obviously confused by this but trying to act like he was okay with it. He asked, "You mean like that other waiter's arse, the one standing near the kitchen doors...?"
Michael shook his head. "Naah... I wouldn't touch his with a ten foot pole, mate. I mean round and hard and... you know... something a bit more like yours, Wesley..."
Wesley turned back to him and looked even more surprised. "Mine? I've got a fuckable arse?"
Michael nodded and grinned. "Oh yeah. Well fuckable."
Wesley's look of surprise changed into a look of horror. I think at that moment he finally realised what the deal was going to be and that fawning compliments and adulation were not going to be enough.
He nodded slowly and said, almost under his breath, "Okay..."
Then the two of them fell into silence and I thought I ought to break things up, at least for the moment, by suggesting we get the bill.
As he was signing the cheque, Michael muttered distractedly, "Anyway, about that London job... I'll keep you in mind for it Wesley... we'll see how things go over the next couple of days but I reckon a recommendation could easily be yours..."
I looked at Wesley and he looked at me. I smiled pleasantly, like I hadn't a clue about what was going on between the two of them, but he was too wound up in his own thoughts to return it.
Nothing much happened until we got back to our room. Chat in the taxi revolved around the sights and sounds of London with Michael repeatedly hammering home the point that it would be great to live there.
At one point, I asked, with a smile of apparent concern on my face, "What about your girlfriend, Wesley? Would she be okay about moving up to London?"
Michael went quiet at that point; he was interested in hearing the answer to this one.
Wesley shrugged. "It's not that serious. She might want to move up with me, if I got the job, or she might want to do her own thing. It's not a big deal to me..."
I almost asked, again pleasantly and innocently, "Not serious...? But I thought the two of you were planning dinner parties...?" But I thought that would sound too sarcastic and so just nodded and kept quiet after that.
I heard Wesley talking to Michael about the London job in the bathroom while they were brushing their teeth and taking a piss and stuff. I was in bed by then, feeling a little sorry for Wesley - even though I still thought he was an irritating arrogant prick - for the simple fact that something he dearly wanted was almost within his grasp but to reach out would mean taking a step he wasn't comfortable with.
I was thinking, "Stick with Paula, mate... she tried to call you... she was thinking of you... stick with her and bollocks to Michael and bollocks to the London job..."
But Wesley was hooked like a fish on the end of a line.
There was no stopping him.
I heard him saying, "So do you think you might want to recommend me...?"
And Michael saying, between spitting the froth from his toothpaste out into the sink, "I dunno... we'll see how things go... over the next couple of days..."
Then Wesley: "I'm very... ahm... versatile..."
And Michael: "That's good to hear... I just need to see you demonstrate it a little..."
A minute or so of silence, broken only by the sounds of one of them pissing into the toilet bowl.
Wesley: "Thanks for saying I've a nice arse, by the way. No-one ever said that to me before..."
Michael: "Yeah, it's a hot one. Like I said, very fuckable..."
Wesley giggling and then saying: "Maybe we shouldn't talk about it in front of Ollie... he might get freaked out..."
Michael: "Naah... you heard how cool he was about the idea of guys getting together... I think we could go a lot further, if you wanted to, Wesley, and he'd still be okay with it..."
Then silence again.
They came out of the bathroom, still quiet with one another, and I turned over in bed so that I could see what was going on between them. This was getting very interesting...
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In the second part of "Bradley Stoke", Wesley tries to demonstrate just how versatile he really is...
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