Faded Glory (16 page)

Danny obediently sat down. Looking around the impressive reception, he took in a brown leather sofa, three chairs, a coffee table and a rather tasteless water feature gurgling in the corner, with water flowing from a giant frog’s mouth. The receptionist carried on her conversation, oblivious to Danny’s presence.

A feeling of anti-climax swallowed him. This was a life-changing moment, but here he was, alone on a sofa, invisible and watching a frog spout water.

*

He looked at his watch. Five past three. Where were Albert and Patsy? What if they weren’t coming? What was he going to do?

The receptionist hung up the phone and looked at him.

“Can I help you?”

“I’ve a meeting with Mr Costa and Mr Cohen,” replied Danny, relieved to be acknowledged.

“Name?”

“Danny. Danny Watson.”

The receptionist opened a diary. “You’re not down here,” she said. “What time was your appointment?”

To Danny, the word appointment seemed dead on. After all his upbeat anticipation, it now felt like he was waiting for the dentist.

“They said three o’clock, me and two others,” he said.

“So where are the other two?”

Danny adjusted his collar. “On their way,” he said hopefully.

The receptionist looked disbelieving. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I can’t see any meeting listed for three o’clock, and Mr Costa and Mr Cohen are out at lunch.”

Feeling completely crestfallen, Danny was not sure how to respond.

“Shall I wait then?” he said.

She sniffed. “That’s up to you. But I don’t know if they will see you.”

Danny had built this meeting up in his mind. He’d made all those arrangements with Albert and Patsy and been forced by Wendy into dressing up. He was even wearing a tie. And now here he was, all by himself and being given the cold shoulder.

“I’ll wait for a bit,” he said, with as much dignity as he could muster.

He was about to pick up a boxing magazine from the coffee table to disguise his discomfort when the doorbell went. The receptionist sighed and pressed the buzzer by her desk, grudgingly opening the door.

To Danny’s great relief, it was reinforcements.

“Sorry we’re late, son,” said Patsy. “Bloody buses.”

“We’re with him,” Albert told the receptionist. “We can go in now.”

“Like I told the other gentleman,” stated the receptionist, “Mr Cohen and Mr Costa are not back from lunch and I have no record of a three o’clock meeting.”

Albert snorted. “Bollocks to that. Call the bloody restaurant and tell ’em to get their arses in gear.”

The receptionist started spluttering when the door swung open for a second time. In walked Costa and Cohen, followed by a large, Greek-looking minder. The minder gave Danny, Albert and Patsy a suspicious once-over. Danny recognised him from his drunken stag night in Costa’s casino.

“Danny boy,” said Costa. “Sorry we’re late. Our meeting overran.”

“Come through, Danny, you’re looking good,” said Cohen as he shook Danny’s hand.

They both ignored Albert and Patsy. The Greek minder’s eyes stayed hostile.

“No calls, Mavis,” said Cohen. “Offer our guest a drink, will you?”

Mavis smiled thinly. “Tea or coffee, Mr Watson?”

Danny didn’t like the way Albert and Patsy weren’t included in the offer. “No thanks,” he said. “You know Albert and Patsy, don’t you, Mr Costa, Mr Cohen?”

But there was not a flicker of recognition from either man.

*

Albert gritted his teeth, holding back his anger. No point winding these clowns up just yet. It would only reflect badly on Danny.

“Do you still want us to come with you, Danny?” he asked, trying to be polite. He knew he needed to be there, to protect Danny in this shark pool.

“Yeah, of course,” said Danny eagerly. “The meeting is with all of us, ain’t it?”

“Whatever you want,” Costa replied with a false smile, putting an arm round Danny’s shoulder.

Inside Cohen’s palatial office, Albert stood beside Danny with mixed feelings. He could see that the boy was overawed as he looked at the richly furnished room with its comfortable furniture and private pool table. Patsy hadn’t cracked his face yet. Albert just felt utter disdain.

Cohen sat behind an enormous leather-topped desk. “Take a seat,” he advised. “We have a lot to get through.”

Albert and Patsy chose the sofa. Danny picked a chair closer to the desk. Costa stood with his arms folded.

There was some initial small talk about the wedding, the honeymoon and Wendy’s health, all of which irritated Albert. Listening to Costa and Cohen assuming the stance of concerned family members didn’t ring true. Albert could see through them both like they were two dirty panes of glass.

“Danny,” Costa said at last. “Jack and I believe in you. We think you could have a successful and lucrative boxing career.”

Cohen took hold of the reins. “Like Tommy says, you could do well as a boxing professional. Forget these piddling amateur fights, where you’re lucky if you get expenses. How long have you been on the amateur circuit?”

“Nearly seven years,” answered Danny.

Costa nodded. “Time to move up,” he said.

“Danny,” said Cohen. “With the right team behind you, you could not only make a name for yourself, but secure your whole family’s financial future.”

Albert watched Danny listening to Cohen’s persuasive banter. His heart felt heavy.

Costa took over. “As you most probably know, Danny, we promote and manage some top fights and fighters.”

“And that’s what you need, son,” said Cohen. “We think that we’re the team to make you a big fighter, to make it happen.”

“A winning team,” Costa confirmed.

Albert sat quietly and said nothing. Like a poker player with a good hand, he was letting nothing show.

Patsy joined the discussion. “You know,” he said, “I’m not too sure that the boy is quite ready to turn professional yet. But he’s a good fighter, yes.”

Danny’s eyes darkened. Albert wanted to warn Patsy not to pour cold water on Danny’s dreams and push him closer to the Costa/Cohen camp. But the damage was done.

“How little faith, Patsy,” said Cohen. “That kind of thinking is not what you need, is it Danny?”

“I don’t want the boy to get hurt,” said Patsy. “That’s all.”

“Oh, I think he can take care of himself,” said Costa.

“That sounds good to me,” Danny chipped in. “I want to do well, I want to earn decent money.”

“Of course you do,” said Cohen in a sympathetic way. “You sign with us and we make it happen.”

There was a moment or two of silence. Cohen lit a large Cuban cigar and leant back in his chair.

Albert had seen and heard enough.

“So what’s in the contract?” he said bluntly. “Why don’t you take Danny through it?”

“Of course Albert old chap,” Cohen replied. “Tommy? Do the honours.”

Costa handed Danny a copy of their standard management contract and proceeded to go over the terms.

“One, you sign with us for ten years, during which we have the right to terminate the agreement at any time. Two, we arrange and promote all your future fights. Three, you agree to be fit and ready for the scheduled fights. Four, we have the right to appoint trainers and training camps and regimes either here, or abroad. Five, you will make yourself available for all press and promotion for upcoming fights. Six, our commission will be fifty per cent of your purse and one hundred per cent of the night’s takings – after expenses of course.”

“Of course,” mimicked Albert.

“Simple, straightforward and honest,” said Cohen, ignoring Albert.

*

The money didn’t worry Danny too much. As Costa had said, fifty per cent of something was better than the hundred per cent of nothing he had been fighting for so far.

He reflected on clause four: Costa and Cohen’s right to appoint trainers and training camps. This was the crunch. The mountain he hoped he would not need to climb. He had made loyalty the top of his list as he looked through his father’s box of memories yesterday, but faced with the reality of jeopardising the chance of a better future, this was going to be a tough decision.

He wondered why Albert and Patsy had kept quiet as Costa had read out the clauses. Was it because they didn’t want to influence his decision, or were they just not that concerned?

Danny looked at Albert, then Patsy. With his mind made up, he turned back to Cohen and said, “I can’t sign this.”

Cohen’s eyes widened. “Sorry?”

“I can’t sign this,” Danny repeated.

Cohen silently exhaled a cloud of blue cigar smoke.

“Why, Danny?” asked Costa. “What’s the problem?”

“Clause four,” Danny said. “I want Patsy and Albert to be my trainers.”

There was a huge intake of breath as Costa and Cohen looked at each other. Albert’s eyes almost filled with tears.

“That’s right,” Patsy said defiantly.

“Gentlemen,” Cohen said as he looked at Costa. “Can you give us five minutes?”

Albert, Patsy and Danny left Cohen’s office. Danny wordlessly shook their hands in a gesture of loyalty and brotherhood before they sat together on the brown leather sofa in the reception area.

Minutes passed, with just the tick-tock of an overdecorated clock filling the room, the gurgle of the frog fountain and the sound of an ambulance bell hurrying through the streets.

The office door opened and Costa beckoned them back inside.

“Danny,” Costa said. “Because we believe in you, I’ve managed to convince Jack to let things stay as they are with Albert and Patsy. You have our word on that.”

“But no other changes,” said Cohen. “All right?”

Danny felt a rush of relief. He grinned at Albert and Patsy. Patsy grinned back.

“So are we ready to sign?” Costa said in a showbiz voice. “We’ve got the local press outside wanting to get a picture.”

“Yeah,” said Danny happily. “I’ll sign.”

A photographer was brought in, and hands were shaken. Danny signed the contract, awash with optimism and relief. He’d got what he wanted, and Albert and Patsy were going to be part of it.

“That’s my boy,” said Patsy as Danny walked beside his friends down the Whitechapel Road with a spring in his step. “You come through, Danny. It may be a bit early, but we’ll take it slow. You’re turning professional, son, and I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Thanks Patsy,” said Danny.

Albert just grunted.

“You boys join me in a celebration drink in the Blind Beggar?” Patsy asked, rubbing his hands.

Danny had never been in the Blind Beggar, but he knew its reputation for shady underworld activity.

“Probably bump into Costa and Cohen there,” said Albert sarcastically. “It’s just the kind of place where they hang out, I reckon.”

The Blind Beggar had just opened for the evening. As they entered the pub, a few heads turned.

“Albert! Over here!”

In the corner, a stocky, well-dressed man with a face that looked as if he had had a two-week fight with Rocky Marciano got to his feet. “Albert Kemp my old son!” he said. “Slumming?”

Albert’s face broke into a smile. “Harry Baldock,” he said. “As I live and breathe! Still standing, then?”

Harry Baldock grinned. “Standing with the best of them, old son,” he said. “Who are your friends?”

Albert made the introductions.

“Harry was a boxer in his day,” he told Patsy and Danny. “One of the best fighters I ever went up against. Harry, young Danny here is a true contender who’s about to embark on a professional career. You should keep an eye out for him.”

“I’ll do that, Albert old son, I’ll do that. Who’s for a drink?”

They had a couple of pints at Harry’s table. Although Danny was enjoying the company and the stories of the good old days, after a couple of hours of Albert and Harry’s reminiscences, he wanted to get back to Wendy. So, with fond farewells, he left them to it.

I’m on my way
, he thought from the top deck of the trolley bus, looking down at the twists and turns of the streets he knew so well.
It’s finally happening.

Towards the end of the journey, the conductor came by and punched his ticket.

“Don’t I know you?” he asked, looking at Danny’s face.

“I doubt it,” Danny answered cheerfully as he readied himself to jump off the bus. “But you will.”

The Bristows were in the living room watching television. Danny tumbled out his news.

“Wonderful!” said Mr Bristow approvingly. He flicked the tie round Danny’s neck. “That tie always worked for me.”

“Do you want a cup of tea, Danny?” asked Mrs Bristow.

“No thanks. Where’s Wendy?”

“She’s in bed, she felt tired. Probably still awake though.”

Danny took the stairs two at a time.

“It all worked out, Wend,” he said, bounding into their room. “I signed the contract, like I told you I would. Everything’s gonna be all right.”

“That’s great,” Wendy mumbled, half asleep.

Danny kissed her forehead and gently put his hand on the ever-growing bump. “We’re on our way,” he said. “You, me and the baby.”

Wendy smiled and closed her eyes.

Creeping round the darkened room, Danny was relieved to get his dog’s-dinner outfit off. Sliding quietly into bed with one more kiss on Wendy’s cheek, he fell into a contented sleep.

*

The next morning, amidst the usual semi-chaos of most working families – the hurried breakfasts, getting ready, fights for the bathroom – Danny thought happily about what lay ahead. No more hod carrying. He had left the building sites now, and hoped they would soon be a distant memory. He had been given this opportunity, and he had to grab it with both hands, focus and train even harder than before.

He decided not to take his usual running route to the park, but go straight to the Live and Let Live gym. When he got there, only Daisy the cleaner was in, polishing the brass and making the place presentable for the lunch-time opening. Daisy had a curious habit of whistling like an insanely happy milkman whilst she cleaned, which suited Danny’s mood this morning.

He persuaded her to unlock the door to the upstairs gym. There was almost a church-like feeling about the darkened theatre of dreams at this time of the morning, and as Danny turned on the lights, he saw the familiar surroundings as if for the first time, the faded posters of past fighters gazing down on him as if to inspire and guide. He looked at the poster of Albert, proud and in his pomp, and almost bowed his head the way a churchgoer bows to the altar.