Main Attraction, The

Nabokov, Kerouac, Ginsberg. Those were my only loves till the summer
of 1961. The summer I met you.

My crazy aunt in lazy Bournemouth gave me a job in her guesthouse.
"There'll be more of your kind down there anyway." My Dad said when he
dropped me off at the train. "I'm not a leper, Dad."

Then it was all that "why can't you get married like your sister"
shit, but by that point I was already on the train. I couldn't wait to
get away.

Door slam. Something vague and in my opinion polite exchange between
Aunt Jackie and me before I stomp upstairs to the attic room she
cleared for me. She yelled after me that it was almost time for high
tea, a good opportunity for me to meet the rest of the arseholes that
stay there every summer. I told her I'd have to miss it. I wanted to
take a shower.

Stepping under the synthetic rain cloud of barely hot water, I felt
sophisticated. We didn't have a shower in Sheffield, I don't think I
even knew anyone who had one. Did you? I always associated them with
America because America was where all the radical thinking came from.
The land of the free. Standing beneath that jet of clear spark inkling
water, hundreds of miles from my father, I felt free.

I went to the fair to get away from my Aunt. When she asked, "Have you
got a fella then, up north?" I knew I had to escape.

Colours. That's what I remember. As soon as I walked through that gate
into the fairground, it hit me like a wave. Like a storm. Everything
vivid, everything fast. And smells of toffee and hotdogs and
candyfloss. Rich heat and pale dusk light. I was really free.

I lit a cigarette and strolled past the Waltzers, the Coconut shy, the
Caterpillar, the Dodgems. I passed them all by. Simply happy to soak it
all in. Back home people used to cross the street to avoid me. Here I
could blend in.

Then I reached the Main Attraction. Somehow I hadn't seen the 15-foot
carousel with its gold and coloured horses whirling gracefully round
and round. Bobbing up and down, chasing each other in a pointless
pursuit. It looked out of place in the modern teenage dreamland of the
fair. It seemed serene and magical to me and I was drawn to it. To
you.

I threw away my cigarette and got on. I never would've in Sheffield,
but this was the new me and the new me was going to ride the carousel
if she cared to. I spent a whole lot of time picking the horse I
wanted, because of course, they all ad names and I was romantic enough
to give a shit. Your carousel was like unlike any I'd ever seen. The
horses on the one in Blackpool all had corny horsy names like Dobbin.
Garbo, Valentino and West were much more to the elegant other - worldly
spirit of the carousel. I picked West in the end. I couldn't see
Dietrich.
I wasn't ladylike about getting up on West's back, I had nothing to be
modest over in my black jeans. I swung my leg over it like a lad would.
It was very satisfying. Nobody batted an eyelid the way the would've in
Sheffield.

We started to turn slowly and I gripped the twisted gold pole that
shot through West's back to steady myself. A beautiful heavy lilt of
1920s piano music, ? la The Silent movie era, started up.

"Sixpence please darlin'." Your voice came from behind me and I heard
you high heels clunking on the metal base of the carousel. I dug into
my pocket for the money,
"And that'll be nine pence laddie, for you." Turning round to see why
you were now asking some unfortunate gentlemen for three pence extra I
realised you were speaking to me.

"Oh, I do beg your pardon miss, I thought you were a lad from be'ind,
what with the 'air and the trousers and that." And I was in love. You
talked like that, and stood chewing gum in your cheap but pretty
drindle skirt and heels but still I fell for you.

"'Ave ya nine pence for me then, please?" You looked impatient and
annoyed. I gave you six pence.
"I said nine. It's extra to sit in the outer circle cos you can see
out for yer mates to take a snap."
"I wanted West, you see."
"Like the stars, do ya? You're like me then. There'll be one a these
named after me, if I have anything or do with it." You stroked West's
stiff painted mane like she were a real horse, then moved on.

"'Allo little sweetie pie, you've a sixpence one there, my
love."

One stupid conversation and I was ensnared. I stayed on the carousel
to ride a second time.

"Couldn't ya get down?" You giggled like a child, with an innocence
and a mischievousness, like Marilyn Monroe.

"I was thinking about what you said, about the stars. Is it just the
oldies you like or..?" I asked as I held out another handful of change
for my ride.
"Ooh no, this's just an old carousel. I love 'em all. Especially
Audrey. Yeah, I'm mad about the movies, I am." You took my money and I
made a point about touching your fingers. Did you feel it? Your skin
was surprisingly rough.
"Me too." It was a lie. I'm glad I told it.
"Seen 'Breakfast at Tiffany's'?"
I shook my head, "Oh, you haven't lived!"

You breezed off to the next customer singing, 'Moon River'.
"It's 6:30 at the Star if you want to go."

"What's that? It's all frothy." You didn't like the look of my
cappuccino.
"Taste?"
You wrinkled your little button nose and shook your head vigorously,
you hair sprayed blond locks stiffly jerking side to side.
We were in a trendy coffee shop after the film.
"Wouldn't you just love that? To go to New York and live free as a
bird." You said excitedly, "Holly Golighyly's a daft name though, ain't
it?"
"Isn't it! What's yours?"
"Pearl"
Pearl. Pearl. Pearl.
"What's yours?"
"Marlene"
Your almond eyes widened, "Really, that's perfect!"
"After Marlene Dietrich, of course. My sister was always jealous cos
she got called boring old Cathy after.."
"Cathy from Wuthering Heights!"
"Yeah, my mum was like you, a real sucker for the movies."

You smiled mournfully. I suppose you guessed my mother "came to a bad
end", as they say in the movies. Perhaps yours did too.

"Shall we put somethin' on the jukebox?"
I gave you a shilling. You skipped over to the corner of the caf?
where there was a small floor space. She put something on.

"Don't ya just love Elvis, Marlene?"
I didn't but nodded, watching you sway to the rock 'n' roll beat. You
were watching me as you danced and I guessed that you wanted some kind
of reaction.
"You like dancing?"
"Don't you?"
"Not much."
"Oh Marlene! You're so square!"
You swung your wide hips - swish, swish, "Come and dance a bit."
I swaggered over to you. I could smell your candyfloss scent.
"Closer."
I was breaking into a thousand pieces, I felt I had evaporated into a
mist of steam.
"Come on, dance with me."
Your tiny pinched waist, shapely stockinged calves, your bare, bare
arms and your eyes.
Your eyes.
I was so close I could hear you breathing.
"You be the man." You said it softly, in a dream, taking my hand in
yours and pulling me closer still. I put my hand to your small
exquisite waist and felt the cool cotton of your yellow summer dress
beneath my hot palm. We danced.
"You're a strange one, y'know Marlene. If it wasn't for the eyeliner,"
You were looking at me as though I were a quirky and puzzling work of
art, something fascinating. " Well, I even mistook you for a
boy!"
"Imagine."
"Yeah." You looked right into me, right into my core and I think you
saw how my heart swelled for you, because the next thing you did was
kiss me.

Right there. In 1961.
Your lips were cool and both rough and smooth at the same time. Like a
string of pearls.
Pearl.
"You're definitely not a lad. You'd have grabbed me arse!"
You laughed. I've heard that laugh in my head for years since.
High-pitched, forced, like the sound was stretched across the air in
front of me, almost to breaking point. You severed all points of
contact, bustling back to where we'd been sitting. Your pearl turned to
stone and you covered your shoulders with your lemon coloured
cardigan.

I didn't sleep, I smoked enough cigarettes in that night alone to send
me to an early grave. I got dressed at five and headed straight for the
fairground. I had to see you. I'd driven myself half mad wondering
everything it's possible to wonder. At one moment self righteous, self
depreating at the next. You turned me inside out. I had to see
you.

I took the tram, which I usually hate and was almost killed at least a
dozen times, running in front of cars and upsetting grocery stalls on
the market. It was like something from one of those movies you love so
much.

By the time I arrived it was six or so, and the fair was just waking
up. I was now running as fast as I could. I'm not even sure now what I
was in such a hurry for, but I remember I had all sorts of crazy
notions that I was I going to ask you to marry me and you'd say it
didn't matter what anyone else said, because it was meant to be.

But you were gone.
You, the carousel; West, Valentino, Garbo. Just vanished. The fair;
the coconut shy, the hotdog stands, the dodgems, all intact. All still
turning, whirling, serving. All except the Main Attraction.