“You can’t be serious,” I say.

   The look on Murray’s face confirms that he most definitely is.

   “You heard what the man said,” says Murray, indicating Vance who has just joined us in the pub with a round of drinks.

    “So what,” I say and sink the rest of my pint followed by the vodka shot.

    Murray grabs Vance’s shoulder, “You’re a hundred per cent sure? It’s definitely being held today?”

    Vance nods, “Right now, in fact. Bootie told me herself last time I spoke to her.”

    Murray visibly flinches at the mention of Bootie Hadley. He’s quite clearly still hung up on her. Shame.

    Murray looks at me, “So what do you think?”

    “About what?”

    “About you and me slinking over to the porn auditions?”

    “What do you mean ‘you and me’? Why do I have to go?”

    Murray frowns, “You don’t want to come and help a friend?”

    “To do what? They cut your scene. Surely that tells you they don’t consider you adult feature material.”

    Murray tries to control his temper, “I don’t want to be in adult movies anymore.”

    I’m confused; “So why do you want to go to the auditions then?”

    Murray sighs impatiently, “I’m going to get my missing scene.”

    I look at him, dumbfounded, “You’re missing scene.”

    “Yes.”

    “Why?”

    “Because it’s mine and I’m in it. If anybody deserves to see it, it’s me.”

    “But there were two girls in it aswell,” I say.

    “I know,” says Murray, “and even though they both did sterling jobs, it’s a stone cold fact that I did all the donkey work.”

    I drink some of the pint that Vance bought, “but why do you think your missing scene would even be there?”

    “The audition is being presided over by none other than Chess Pamplemousse.”

    “So?”

    “The final edit of my film was done at the studio where the audition is taking place. All we have to do is sneak in, grab the master, and have it away on our toes.”

    This is a hare-brained scheme but the more I drink the more I like it.

    “Okay,” I belch, “I’ll tag along.”

    Murray slaps the table and lifts his drink, “Great!”

    We drink in silence. Then I turn to Vance.

    “So how about you?”

    “Well,” says Vance, “I’ve only had this pint so I can drive you over there. I’ve got my wheels outside.”

    “Even better,” says Murray, becoming increasingly more excited by the second. “We have a getaway car in case things go pear-shaped.”

    We finish our drinks and head out to the car park. Murray and I follow Vance over to a cream Sierra in the corner of the yard.

    “You have a Sierra?” I say incredulously.

    Vance glances at me, “Yeh, why?”

    “You weren’t a rep in a previous life were you?”

    “Nope.”

    We all get in; Murray up front and myself in the back behind him. Then I notice something to my right.

    “Jesus!”

    A middle aged shabby man is slumped asleep next to me, his head against the window. His clothes and hair are dark and scruffy. He also looks and smells damp.

    Murray spins round in his seat, “Who the hell is that?”

    Vance looks in the rear view mirror, “Oh, his name’s Rosie. He’s a flower seller. He was trying to sell cheap bouquets on the dual carriageway by Hanger Lane earlier.”

    “So why is sleeping in the back of your car?” I ask. “He smells.”

    Vance turns and looks over his shoulder, “I ran over him. I think he’s dead.”

    “He’s what?!” yells Murray.

    “Well,” shrugs Vance, “he might be.”

    “He certainly smells dead,” I say, winding my window down.

    Murray checks his watch, “Come on, let’s go.”

    Vance chugs the Sierra into existance and we lurch out of the pub car park and on to the main high street. Murray claps his hands together excitedly.

    “This is going to be so much fun.”

    “I need more booze,” I say.

    Vance cranes his head back, “There’s a bottle of brandy under my seat. Present from a client.”

    “What is it you do exactly?” I ask as I reach a hand between Rosie’s feet and pull out a bottle.

    “I have my fingers and toes in many pies, gentlemen,” says Vance.

    I look at the car we are travelling in, “One assumes…”

    I drink from the bottle and then hand it to Murray, who knocks back a big one.

    Thirty minutes later we’re outside a small business complex. Vance switches off the ignition and the Sierra sinks into a coma.

    “This is it,” he says.

    “Right,” says Murray, holding up the bottle, “let’s go.”

    “What about the flower guy?” I ask.

    “Oh, leave him,” says Vance, “he’ll stop anyone stealing the car.”

    We all get out. I drop the brandy bottle into the pocket of my overcoat and we head towards the entrance.

    “I’m feeling a bit pissed,” I mutter to Murray.

    “Me too,” he replies.

    We enter the complex which is milling with adult movie hopefuls waiting to go into the audition room. There is a main reception where newcomers are signing themselves in and receiving an A4 sized sticker with a number on it.

    “Right,” says Murray, “I’m going to hunt for the editing suite.”

    “I’m coming with you,” I say.

    “What for?”

    “I don’t want to be left here on my own.”

    “Why not?”

    “I’m drunk.”

    “So am I.”

    “Even more reason why I should come with you.”

    Murray throws his hands up in despair and walks off. As I follow him I hear Vance call out:

    “I’m going to stick around here and see if I can get any action!”

    Murray and I head up some stairs and onto a quiet corridor lined with doors on the left hand side. We bumble along in silence, stopping at each door so Murray can check. On the fifth door he squeals:

    “This is it!”

    “Hurry up, then,” I say. “I’m going for a wazz.”

    Murray goes into the room and I carry on down the corridor to look for a gents’. As I turn the corner at the end I come across a young bloke practicing thrust movements. He stops when he sees me and adjusts the big white sticker on his chest that reads ‘99′.

    “Hey!” he says shakily.”

    “Hey,” I say, “what are you doing?”

    “Ah,” he says nervily,” just getting in some last minute rehearsals, you know what I mean?”

    “Yes,” I laugh, “tell me about it. I’ve been doing push-ups on my tongue all day.”

    He extends a hand, “Chris Withers. My friends call me Pencil.”

    I shake his hand, “Rick…Cocker.”

    “Good to meet you. You done much work?”

    I take the brandy bottle from my coat and take a few gulps, “Oh, I had the led in Velvet Burger 6. You may have seen it.”

    Pencil looks confused and he reminds me of Plug from The Bash Street KIds. I hand him the bottle and he drinks a huge mouthful, coughing into his hand afterwards.

    “This your first time son?” I ask.

    Pencil hands back the booze, “Yeh…I mean, I’ve had sex hundreds of times; but I’m not sure I’m going to be able to, you know, perform in front of the judges.”

    “I can understand that,” I nod. “There’s a lot of people here today.”

    Pencil scratches his ear, “Say, Rick, can I ask you a question?”

    “Shoot,” I say as I shoot brandy.

    “What was it like, you know, the first time?”

    I exhale slowly and pass the bottle back, “Well, Pencil, it was tough, especially under the studio lights. And we didn’t have fluffers in those days so we had to do our own…fluffing. The girl I was with was a big-titted Russian called Pinky Way.”

    “Really?” says Pencil like an enchanted kid as he knocks a generous gulp of brandy down his throat – mostly on the outside. “She sounds hot!!”

    “Yes,” I say, all misty-eyed. “Died in the lotus position, apparently.”

    Pencil starts to sweat as he gives me the bottle, “I don’t think I can do this.”

    I drink some more, “Of course you can. You’re young, you can do anything.”

    Pencil shakes his head; he seems a little tipsy, “No, I can’t. Beverley was right, I’ll never be anything more than a pool guy.”

    He rips off the ‘99′ sticker and throws it to the floor. Then he grabs my arm as if to say something profound before thinking better of it and disappearing down the corridor. I lean back against the wall for a few minutes. Then I hear someone coming and look to see a woman in pigtails heading in my direction with a clipboard. Between us is the open door to the room where Murray is. I pick up Pencil’s ‘99′ sticker, slap it onto my chest and push the nearly empty bottle into my coat. Then I catch her eye and start walking towards her.

   “You look lost,” she says. Her name badge reads Claudia.

   “I am,” I say as soberly as I can. “I was just having a look for the gents’.”

   “They’re downstairs,” says Claudia, reading my chest and checking her clipboard. “Anyway, come on, they’re waiting for you.”

   I follow her like a little lamb down the corridor and down the stairs. Then we go through the crowd and into another small carpeted corridor. Claudia turns to me.

   “Now, just relax and remember to be as natural as you can.”

   “Natural,” I repeat. “Right.”

   “Experience is not an issue here. You’ll be judged on technical ability…”

   Negligible.

   “…girth…”

   Lamentable.

   “…and overall appearance…”

   Fifty million pieces.

   “…Ready?”

   Ohhh, this is such a bad idea…“Absolutely!”

   Claudia opens the door and I step inside. I’m in a deep room with a wooden floor and big lights on long legs. At the far end is a desk with three people sitting behind it; two guys and a woman in the middle. Scattered around the room are a handful of technical staff. The woman looks at my chest and then at her notes on the desk. I reckon she’s about forty.

   “Number 99…Chris Withers is it?”

   “Yes,” I reply, trying to not look at all pissed. “But my friends call me Pencil.”

   “I’m Helena,” she says in that nice way.

   “Hello, Helena.”

   “First time?”

   “Yes it is.”

   The man to her right, an unfeasibly orange thirtysomething, speaks. “Hi Chris, I’m Runt Smacktackle. How are you feeling?”

   “Terrified,” I reply.

   “Well, don’t worry. This is just the first round audition.”

   “Okay,” I say and smile really craply.

   Then it’s the other guy’s turn to talk. He’s about fifty or sixty with fading reddish hair that’s been permed to buggery and an Etch-A-Sketch face. And nobody should be allowed to cultivate that much chest hair. It looks like he’s got a poodle strapped round his neck.

   “Hi,” he says, “my name’s Chess Pamplemousse.” The words ooze from his mouth like gravy.

   At the mention of his name I do one of those chuckles that are fairly easy to disguise as a throat clearing exercise.

   “Are you alright?” asks Helena.

   “Fine,” I say, waving a hand.

   “I take it you have heard of me?” says Chess.

   “Er…yes, yes I have.”

   “Do you know why they call me Chess?”

   I knew that wasn’t his real name.

   “Er…” I say, “…because you’ve got four bishops?”

   Chess frowns, “No. It’s because I check all your mates!”

   Between me and him, one of us looks impressed. And it isn’t me.

   Chess taps his pen on the desk and runs his fingers through his poodle, “So why are you here?”

   I clear my throat, “I think I’ve got the Triple-X factor.”

   “Really,” says Chess flatly. “Has anyone ever told you this?”

   “Yes.”

   “Who?”

   “All my friends and family…” Uuuurrrrgghh…

   “So this is a big ambition for you.”

   “Yes. It’s all I’ve wanted to do since I was a little kid…” Jeeesus…

   “So what are we thinking?” says Runt Smacktackle to the other two.

   Helena looks me up and down with her head cocked sideways, “I’m thinking…launderette scene.”

   Chess and Runt nod, their mouths the shape of downturned horseshoes.

   “I concur,” says Chess. “Bring out the washing machine.”

   A couple of guys drag out a washing machine and set it up next to me. As they disappear a brunette babe walks on in a red robe and leans against the washer.

   “Okay,” says Helena, “strip please.”

   It’s at this moment that the full horror of the situation hits me. I slowly begin to remove my clothes while everyone else looks on with indifference. And then I’m standing there completely naked apart from my wristwatch.

   “Okay,” says Chess. “When you’re ready, Paula.”

   The model removes her robe to reveal disarmingly big breasts and we both stand there as all ayes are suddenly on me.

   “Do you need any assistance?” asks Helena.

   “Sorry?”

   I glance down and realise what she is referring to.

   “Ummmm…” I start.

   “Give him a hand, Paula,” says Helena tiresomely.

   Paula duly gives me a hand and despite this incredibly uncomfortable situation I somehow manage to make myself look ‘presentable’.

   “Okay,” says Helena. “Sheath him up.”

   Paula reaches into the robe pocket and pulls out a condom which she swiftly applies. Then she hops up onto the washing machine and pulls me between her legs…

   …What should be a very enjoyable experience is in fact a harrowing nightmare. I try and black out the fact that there are a bunch of people watching me, including a dude in a baseball cap who is filming it, and imagine it’s just another saturday night bunk-up. The alcohol freezes and pops in my head and I grab the edge of the Hotpoint for support as I feel my legs starting to buckle. After about ten minutes I decide to fake it and let out a few ‘oohs’ and ‘yehs’ towards the ceiling. Then I stop and let my head hang loosely between my shoulders.

   There is a nauseating silence in the room. Eventually, Helena speaks.

   “Okay. Thank you Paula.”

   Paula moves me to one side and slips off the washing machine. I stand there limply as she puts on her robe and strolls off.

   “What did you think, Runt?” asks Helena.

   Runt Smacktackle, I notice with some dismay, has a clipboard over his mouth and he is bright red and squinting tears of laughter.

   Helena turns to Chess, “Chess?”

   Chess sighs reflectively, “Okay, look. I’m going to be straight with you; it wasn’t the best performance we’ve seen today. It was wooden, unexciting, zero charisma. At times you were completely out of synch with eachother…it had all the eroticism of a Public Safety Film. It was karaoke sex.”

   “But–” I splutter.

   “Runt, yes or no?”

   Runt has regained his composure, “It’s a no from me.”

   “Helena?”

   “No, sweetheart,” she says sympathetically, “but don’t stop practising.”

   “It’s three no’s I’m afraid,” say Chess. “But thanks for coming.”

   I put my clothes back on and leave the audition room with my Alpha Male tail between my legs. As I head out into the holding area I pull the ‘99′ sticker off my pullover and scew it up. Vance trots over to me.

   “Hey, how’s it hanging?” he says.

   “In shame,” I reply miserably.

   “I met a woman,” he says cheerfully. “Her name’s Claudia.”

   “Great,” I say.

   Murray approaches sullenly.

   “Any joy?” I ask.

   “No,” says Murray defeatedly. “All I found was an old assembly edit of True Gritter.”

   “Come on,” I sigh, “let’s get out of here and go back to the pub.”

   We leave the complex that’s given me a complex and head into the car park.

   “Where’s the car?” asks Murray.

   “Oh, shit,” hisses Vance with his hands on his hips. “It’s been stolen.”

   “So much for Rosie,” I say, turning my collar up and reaching for the booze. After I finsh this bottle, I’m never drinking brandy again.