Light My Fire

It was the morning after. Or, to be more precise, it was the afternoon after the morning after. It was already past noon by the time they woke up.

'I think we witnessed the end of an era,' Conrad told the girl who lay beside him. 'I think last night may have been just that: the last night.' The girl -- Annie? Was that her name? -- smiled and reached for Conrad's limp cock.

'The funny thing is... I had a feeling,' Conrad said. 'I had a feeling that it was all about to come to an end. Nothing lasts for ever, does it? I should have known. I should have trusted my gut. Made some posters. Sold some tickets. In time, they might have become collectors' items. What began in San Fran ended in Chaos.' (Chaos was the name of the establishment where things had got a bit out of hand. The establishment where peace and love had turned into an almighty punch up.)

'Who would have guessed, eh? And now the piece that was peace is already but a distant memory. On Monday, we'll have to polish our shoes and go and get jobs working for the man.' And then Conrad laughed. 'But, fuck me, wasn't it fun while it lasted?'

While the girl ministered to his hardening cock, Conrad gazed at the ceiling and wondered what he was going to do next. Conrad wasn't averse to the idea of a proper job. In fact, he almost liked the idea of a proper job. Apart from anything else, it would be nice to have a regular paycheque. The band was beginning to make a few bob, but it was hardly a reliable income.

Conrad didn't want a boring job. His uncle had said that he could put in a word at the abattoir. 'Get paid while you learn a trade. Butchery. A pretty useful trade, butchery. People always have to eat,' Conrad's uncle had told him. But the abattoir was just another factory. A factory for manufacturing steaks and chops and Sunday roasts. Conrad didn't fancy the idea of working in a factory. Conrad didn't see himself toiling away in one of William Blake's dark satanic mills. Surely, there had to be something better than that.

'We'll have a shower and then we'll go over to The Eagle,' Conrad told the girl after she had brought him to a perfunctory orgasm.

(It turned out that the girl's name was Annie. 'Well... Annika,' she said. 'But everyone calls me Annie.') 'The Eagle? What is The Eagle?'

'It's a pub. The Spread Eagle.' Conrad spread his arms like a bird's wings, frowned, and peered down his nose. 'The Sunday pub. Marylebone Lane. We can have a pint and read the papers.'

It was while they were at the pub -- supping ale, reading the Sunday papers -- that Conrad saw the advertisement. Graphic Designer/Illustrator wanted for apparel company. Apply in writing enclosing samples of recent work. Presumably there would be a factory involved somewhere. But it wouldn't be like a meat factory. Or a munitions factory. It was hardly likely to be a dark satanic mill. And Conrad could draw. He could design. He could make illustrations. He had dropped out of art school. But he could still draw.

Conrad took out his red Swiss Army knife and sliced out the advertisement. 'I think I'll go and work for a clothing company,' he told Annie.

Annie frowned. 'A clothing company? You mean a dress shop?'

'No. A manufacturer. Although I won't be doing any of the manufacturing.'

Annie nodded. 'What will you be doing?'

'I'm not sure. Drawing things. I think. We'll have to see.'

'Does this mean that you not going to be in the band?'

Conrad shook his head. 'I don't think so. I don't think there will be a band anymore. I think last night was... well... the last night. The last waltz.'

'What about the others?'

'I don't know,' Conrad told her. 'You'll have to ask them.'

In the pile of Sunday papers there was a discarded fashion supplement. How to look your best this autumn. Mini dresses and trouser suits mainly. (It was 1967. Mini dresses and trouser suits were very 'in' in 1967.) 'Mind if I nick this?' Conrad asked the barman who was tidying up.

'What happened to your eye?' the barman asked. 'Looks nasty.'

'A bunch of blokes didn't like the music we were playing,' Conrad told him.

'What were you playing?'

'Psychedelic rock. The Doors. Jefferson Airplane. The Moodys. Stuff like that.'

The barman nodded.

'I think the blokes had come expecting some old fashioned rock 'n' roll. Tommy Steele. Little Richard. You know,' Conrad said. 'Or skiffle, I suppose. Lonnie Donegan, perhaps.'

The barman nodded again.

'Anyway... OK if I nick the advertising supplement?'

'That's girls' stuff,' the barman said. 'I didn't have you down for a Nancy.'

'Not for me, eejit,' Conrad said. (Conrad had no idea why he had suddenly gone all Irish.) 'For my sister.'

'Your sister? Oh. Yeah. That's fine. Don't think anyone else is going to want it. It's just more rubbish to be thrown out.'

'Cheers, mate.' Conrad folded the supplement and slipped it inside his jacket.

'Your sister?' Annie said.

Conrad grinned. 'I don't actually have a sister. But I need to do some drawing, don't I?'

'Do you?' Annie asked.

That night, Conrad sat up until two-thirty, making drawings of some of the women in the advertising supplement. The next morning, he wrote a letter and sent the letter and the drawings off to the address in White City. Shortly before five o'clock, he got a phone call from a chap who said his name was Jerome Lyttleton.

'We are in receipt of your application,' Jerome Lyttleton said. 'Very interesting. Yes. Very interesting. We should talk. You and I. How are you placed? Perhaps tomorrow? We would like to move quickly.'

'Tomorrow? Umm... yeah. I could do tomorrow. Just name a time and place,' Conrad said.

Jerome said that he had to attend a meeting at Selfridge's at two o'clock. 'Perhaps we could meet for a cup of coffee after that. Selfridge's is not far from you, is it?'

'Just around the corner,' Conrad said. 'Well... sort of.'

They agreed to meet in the coffee shop at Selfridge's at three-thirty.

Conrad wore his dark glasses. Hopefully, Jerome wouldn't notice his black eye.

Jerome Lyttleton was a small man. Neat. Very neat. And he had a nervous smile. More of a twitch than a smile. 'I like your work. I like it a lot,' he said. 'We need someone who can do a bit of everything. A bit of design. A bit of illustration. As a brand, we need to be seen as fashionable. Although not too fashionable. We're department store rather than Carnaby Street. Did you work for Millie Markham?' he asked.

'Millie Markham?'

'Yes. I thought a couple of your illustrations....'

'Oh. Yes. Just, umm, you know... sort of freelance,' Conrad told him. 'Arm's length.'

Jerome Lyttleton nodded. 'Yes,' he said. 'Yes. Well... I suppose you'll want to know about the pay and conditions.' The package that Jerome Lyttleton proposed was more than acceptable. More than acceptable. A hell of a lot better than the band. Even on a good week.

'I'm going to be an illustrator,' Conrad told Annie when he got back to the flat. 'And a designer. I might even get to write some advertising copy. I shall probably have to practice that part. I've never actually written advertising copy before. But it can't be that hard. Promise writ large. Isn't that what Sam Johnson said?'

'Does that mean you're not going to be in the band anymore?' Annie said.

'No. The band was fun while it lasted, but... no.'

'I should probably go home,' Annie said. 'I haven't been home since Friday.'

'We could go and get a Chinese first,' Conrad said. 'A bit of a celebration. Do you like Chinese?'

'I'm not sure,' Annie said. 'We don't have a lot of Chinese food in Norway.'

'Norway? Is that where you're from?' Conrad asked. 'I thought that you were from Finland.'

On Thursday morning (Conrad wasn't sure why they had agreed that he would start on Thursday) Conrad took the Central Line from Marble Arch out to White City. The clothing company had its offices out near Queens Park Rangers' home ground. Loftus Road.

The Marketing & Promotions Department was in the front part of a small building to one side of the main building. (The rear of the building housed four machinists who made up the sample garments.)

'We'll have a coffee, and then I'll take you next door and introduce you to a few of the people,' Jerome said. 'I'm not sure who'll be there. The brothers, probably. Some of the others. We'll give them half an hour, and then we'll go see who's there.'

'The brothers' were Roy MacGregor, Mac Fashions' general manager, and Malcolm MacGregor, the chief designer. Jerome also introduced Conrad to Colin Farley, the national sales manager. Colin Farley was a man with the features of a rat from a child's picture book. 'We need to be seen as fashionable. But not too fashionable,' Colin Farley told Conrad, looking him up and down. 'We're not Carnaby Street. Also, our most important customers are not, as you might wrongly assume, the women who eventually wear the garments. Our most important customers are the department store buyers. They decide what gets bought. And once the merchandise is in store, the responsibility to move it on is theirs.' And he smiled a little rat-like smile.

On their way back to the Marketing & Promotions Department, Jerome introduced Conrad to a woman who appeared to be still wearing her bathrobe. 'Conrad, meet Sonja. Sonja will be your model. When you need one. But you'll have to share her with the design department.'

'Oh. Are you our new artist?' Sonja said. 'Exciting.' Conrad wasn't sure why it was exciting. But Sonja seemed pleasant enough. And having a live model would be interesting. Since leaving art school, whenever Conrad had needed references for figure drawings, he had mainly used photographs from newspapers or magazines.

'So, what do you need me to do?' Conrad asked.

Jerome frowned. But then smiled -- as if he had just remembered something. 'One of the younger sales reps thinks that we should have a brand for the boutiques,' he said. 'Something for the younger women. Something a bit more, well, trendy.'

'Trendy?'

'Yes. But not too trendy. Carnaby Street without being Carnaby Street. King's Road without being King's Road. We need to develop a concept. A name. A label. A look. Perhaps something a bit psychedelic. But not too psychedelic. I don't know. But I'm thinking that perhaps you.... You know... perhaps with your background? Perhaps you could....'

When Conrad got back to the flat that night, he got a phone call from Micky, the band's sort-of manager. 'Where have you been? I've been trying to get you all day,' Micky said. 'I've got you a gig. Three nights. In Manchester.'

'I'm not doing it anymore,' Conrad said. 'I told Rudi. I've a got a job.'

'Oh. Are you playing with someone else?'

'No. I'm working. I've got a proper job. With a clothing company.'

'Doing what?'

'This and that. Drawing, mainly.'

'Drawing?'

'Yeah. Illustrations. That sort of thing.'

'I thought that you just went to art school for the parties. And the girls.'

'Yeah. So did I. Turns out I was quite good at the art part too.'

'So, who's going to play bass?' Micky asked.

'Don't know. Talk to Jacko. I think he knows someone.'

'But you were good,' Micky said.

'I think the peace and love thing is over,' Conrad said. 'Maybe I'll learn to play jazz. I quite like what Eberhard Weber is doing. And Charlie Mingus. I think you might like Charlie Mingus. Try 'Better Get It In Your Soul'. But, in the meantime, I'm making drawings.'

When Conrad arrived at Mac Fashions the following morning, Sonja was already there, waiting for him. She was once again dressed in her towelling bathrobe. 'Do you need me today?' she asked.

'Umm... not sure. Not quite sure where I'm up to,' Conrad told her. 'I'm still trying to work things out.'

'The design guys have all gone off to some fabric fair over at Earl's Court,' Sonja said. 'If you want to draw me, now would be a good opportunity.'

Conrad just nodded.

'Why don't I make us some coffee while you have a think about it,' Sonja said. 'No pressure.' And she laughed.

Sonja was slightly older than Conrad. Thirty perhaps? It was hard to say. She was tall and slim, but not skinny. And even dressed in her bathrobe, she walked as if she was leaning back slightly.

'Tell me about the design guys,' Conrad said, when Sonja returned with the coffee.

'What do you want to know?'

'How does it work?'

'Well, I suppose you could say that Mr Malcolm is the technical guy. He used to be a tailor. He's the one who makes sure that things fall and fit the way they are supposed to. But most of the ideas come from Larry and Dinah. Larry is the Mary Quant of the team. Except he's a bloke of course. Some of his ideas are a bit way out for Mac Fashions' retailers but, lately, there has been talk of having a second brand. For the boutiques. Something a bit trendy.'

Conrad nodded. 'Yeah. That's what Jerome wants me to work on. It sounds as if I need to talk to Larry.'

'Dinah said that you were in a band,' Sonja said.

'Yeah. I was.'

'That must have been pretty cool,' Sonja said.

'For a while,' Conrad told her. 'But you need to have a lot of luck.'

'Did your band have luck?'

'Some. But not enough. Not really.'

After they had finished their coffee, Sonja asked Conrad if he had made up his mind.

'Made up my mind?'

'Yeah. Are you going to draw me?'

'I suppose I could,' Conrad said. 'I haven't tried drawing from a live model since I left art school.'

'I'm live,' Sonja said. And she laughed.

'Where shall we do it?' Conrad asked.

'The studio,' Sonja said.

'The studio?'

'Out the back. Next to the sample room. There are lights and everything.'

'OK.' Conrad looked at his watch. 'Jerome is not due in for another hour.' And then he picked up a layout pad, a couple of pencils, and a handful of felt-tipped markers, and followed Sonja out the back. The room was small, but it was all set up with lights and a heater and a few props. There was also a rack of clothes. 'What are you going to wear?' Conrad asked.

'Don't really need to wear anything, do I?' Sonja said. And she laughed as she untied her bathrobe and took it off, and then she unfastened her bra.

'Ha! Life drawing,' Conrad said. 'OK. Why not?' Conrad looked around the room. He needed a prop of some sort. There was a bentwood chair. Conrad positioned it in front of the cyclorama. Then he moved a couple of the tall lamps. 'Maybe if you just stand beside the chair,' he said. 'On the angle. And place your hand on the top of the back of the chair.'

Sonja pushed her knickers down to her knees, and then let them fall to the ground.

Conrad smiled. 'You could have left those on,' he said.

'You may as well have the full effect,' Sonja told him. And she deftly kicked her fallen knickers to one side, where she had placed her other garments.

'Maybe just turn your head a little,' Conrad said. 'So that you're looking towards the door.'

'Like this?'

'Yeah.' And Conrad started drawing.

'Were you the singer in the band?' Sonja asked.

'No. I played bass. Electric bass.'

'Is that difficult?'

'Difficult? Hmm... it's probably difficult if you don't know what you're doing,' Conrad said.

'Why would anyone play the bass if they didn't know what they were doing?' Sonja asked.

'I don't know. But lots of people seem to. Lots of supposed bass players just play the chords without really hearing the bass line. Without really adding anything.'

'And if you don't hear it you can't play it?'

'Something like that,' Conrad said.

For the next twenty minutes or so, Conrad and Sonja chatted back and forth and Conrad made marks on the pad of drawing paper, first with a pencil and then with a chisel-edged felt tip marker. And then he stopped, carefully tore the page from the pad and handed it to naked Sonja.

'Gosh. You're really good,' she said.

Conrad smiled. 'But now I should do some proper work. And you should put some clothes on. I think Jerome might be a bit nervous if he comes back and sees you like that.'

'You're really good,' Sonja said for the second time. 'Why don't you just do stuff like this.'

'I need to make a living,' Conrad said. 'As simple as that.'

'People would pay for a drawing like this.'

'Five bob,' Conrad said. 'How far is that going to go?'

Sonja took another look at the drawing, and then went to hand it back to Conrad.

'No. That's yours,' Conrad said.

'Are you sure?'

'Just get some clothes on before Jerome comes back. I'd prefer not get fired before I get my first paycheque.'

When Conrad got back to his flat that night, Jacko was waiting for him. 'Micky says you are working for a dress shop,' Jacko said with a frown.

'Not really,' Conrad said. 'A clothing company. Doing illustration and stuff like that.'

'Micky has got us a gig in Manchester.'

'Yeah. He said.'

'Proper money,' Jacko said.

Conrad nodded. 'But only for three nights.'

'It's a start,' Jacko said.

'I'm fed up with being poor,' Conrad told him. 'It's OK for a while. But not for months at a time. Also, I think I'm more interested in jazz.'

'Acker Bilk?'

Conrad shook his head. 'Charlie Mingus. Ron Carter.'

'Could you just come and do a couple of sets at The Plainsman tomorrow night?' Jacko said. 'Your share will be four quid. And the band's not the same without you.'

'The Plainsman?'

'Nine 'til ten, and then eleven 'til midnight.'

'OK,' Conrad said. 'But that's it.'

'Not Manchester?'

'Not Manchester.'

When Conrad arrived at the office the following Monday, Sonja told him that she had showed his drawing of her to her husband. (Conrad didn't even realise that Sonja had a husband.)

'He reckons you're very talented,' she said.

'Is he a reliable arbiter of these thing?'

'He's an architect. He appreciates a good drawing. In fact, he asked if you are available for freelance projects.'

'I think I need to get my head around this place first,' Conrad said. 'But who knows?'

Sonja smiled and nodded.

Not long after Conrad arrived home on Wednesday night, Micky phoned again. 'I thought I'd give you one more chance,' he said.

'One more chance for what?'

'To decide about leaving the band.'

'I've already left,' Conrad told him.

'I know. But I thought that you might have changed your mind. I think I might have a booking for a music festival. Down in Somerset. Just waiting to hear back.'

Conrad smiled. 'Vince Marley has the makings of a decent bass player,' he told Micky. 'But you might need to get him a new amp. That one he has is a bit tinny.'

On Friday morning, Larry, 'Mac Fashions' answer to Mary Quant', arrived over at the Marketing and Promotions Department with an armful of clothes. 'This is where we've got to,' he told Conrad. 'For the new range. The new sub-brand. Or whatever you chaps call these things. I thought, if you had a moment, we could get Sonja over and I'll talk you through our thinking.'

'Yeah. Let's do it,' Conrad said.

'Now?'

'Yeah. Why not? Now is good.'

Larry phoned back to the Design Department to tell Sonja that Conrad was ready when she was. And then Conrad led Larry back to the studio. 'A bit different,' Conrad said, as Larry added the armful of clothes to the rack in the studio. 'I do like the colours.'

Larry smiled. 'So do I. Although I'm not sure how Colin is going to be when he sees them. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.'

Sonja duly arrived and modelled each of the garments: standing, turning, walking, and then turning again. And all the while (Conrad noticed) leaning back slightly, all the while seeming to lead with her hips.

'What do you think?' Larry asked.

'Well, I'm no expert on women's clothing,' Conrad said. 'But I can imagine them being a great hit with fashion-conscious younger women.'

Larry nodded and smiled. Then he nodded again. 'Now we just need to convince Colin.'