Scott is sitting on his beautiful Japanese futon in Milner Square. Earlier this evening, when starting his rounds to pick up the crew on the outskirts of Theydon Bois, he was entranced by the pink-tongued sky. It seemed, in the most beautiful way, to speak of death. Discovered this morning that young Caroline had died overnight in hospital in Ealing. She was only twenty-one. Only the good die young is a catchphrase often trotted out at such times. Griff was only twenty-three, the same age as Scott. Though he is still passing himself off as twenty-four, thinking it gives him added gravitas. Advanced Art moves on quickly with a fresh intake of young sales hopefuls, all answering the siren call of ‘Bread for Heads’. Nicky and Scott produce a lively presentation and sales show, moving swiftly on from the shock of death and start to exit Buddy Holly and Eddie Cochran country …
There is a new squatter in Milner Square, who arrived over the weekend. Apparently an American army deserter named Al. He suddenly appeared on Saturday evening, a few days ago now, and has the room and kitchen on the dilapidated landing below Scott. Age can be hard to spot sometimes, but he appears to be twenty-eight-ish. He sports a black moustache. Is seen wearing a white tee-shirt, blue jeans and brown desert boots. His attitude is cool behind steely blue eyes. His American speech clipped and his manner likewise … Patricia is already utterly in thrall to him. She views him as her special American lodger. We are not squatters to her way of thinking. We are all her lodgers, her boys, and she is Queen of the castle. Chatelaine of the manor. The lady with all the keys …
American Al is not that friendly towards Scott. But heh, he seems okay. They share a spliff, he calls it a doobie, and he tells Scott he’s from Oregon. Would you Adam and Eve it. Salem no less! Scott starts to talk about witch hunts and mentions the playwright Arthur Miller. American Al quickly puts him straight. Passes him the newly acquired doobie and explains that to his knowledge when he last checked, there were at least eight cities and towns in America named Salem. And anyway, Scott’s confusing Salem, Oregon with Salem, Massachusetts. Al’s right of course, but it’s been a disorienting few days for Scott. When he got up this morning, he knocked his bowl of muesli flying and swore. This evening, in Theydon Bois, he blanked. A very unusual occurrence for him. Though Tom saved the day and suddenly Carole Bishop really joined in and sold two large paintings … Scott lights a spliff of his own and calls it a doobie in honour of American Al and as they share the second smoke, Al tells him what army regiment and division he was in. But Scott’s already forgotten. Thinking about young Caroline. He can only remember speaking to her directly one time. She seemed to watch and listen to him keenly at the sales demonstrations. A low brown fringe of hair that seemed to be forever getting in her eyes, and she would brush it away, flick it with her hand in a reflex action. It was her mannerism. Mustn’t linger on it. Concentrate on American Al. Listen to his story. It’s been hard work getting him to open up. He’s cautious in approach. Don’t let it slip now. American Al was wounded in the left leg in Vietnam. Rolls up his left jean leg and shows Scott the scars. Have you noticed how people just love to show you their scars? As if the continual exposing and retelling confirms the healing process. A badge of courage. We are all such children underneath the surface, desperate for love … Scott pays respect. Inspects the scars in the glare of the naked lightbulb. Comments on them for American Al’s benefit … He explains to Scott how the American army flew him from a makeshift hospital in Saigon to an American army hospital in Thailand. Right in the heart of Bangkok. American Al keeps referring to it as Krung Thep, the Thai name, as taught to him by his half-Thai, half-American nurse … He’s away now. Back in the time.
‘When you’re laid up like that for a couple of months you can't help but get to thinking about everything. A bad injury sort of wakes you up to yourself, Scott ...’
American Al abruptly pauses, hands Scott the doobie, a mark of concentration has appeared on his forehead in the bright light.
‘The sheer insanity and madness of it all. You find yourself deep in the country outside Saigon confiscating rice from villages. Searching for hostiles among local farmers, women and children. Whatever you say is rejected. Those are the orders. You soon realize that what you are actually accomplishing for Uncle Sam, is to turn these once friendly farm villagers into hostiles. Sure, there may be some young Ho Chi Minh sympathisers hiding out. And the villagers may occasionally feed some enemy troops in secret. But hustling them, threatening them, stealing their food and burning it in front of their hungry eyes only provokes anger and intense resentment …’ He pauses again as if considering his thoughts. Accepts the doobie back. Takes a long, slow draw, blows a series of perfectly-formed smoke rings and continues …
‘We all hated doing it. Even the officers. It didn't seem right. All those thousands of miles away in a strange, alien land, nothing really to do with us and harassing women and children. Picking on farmers and destroying their harvests. No wonder they all came to hate us so much. Wouldn’t you?’ Scott nods slowly. Yes, he would, if a foreign, Asian invader, stole the very hard-earned food from out of his mouth and family.
‘Well, laid there in that army hospital bed in Krung Thep, I decided I’d had enough. Taken just about all I could and for what! This wasn’t my war. My homeland wasn’t being threatened! My family back in Salem, Oregon, wasn’t being attacked. Blasted with napalm. I didn’t volunteer to fight in Vietnam, like three quarters of the American army I was drafted. Laying there in that hospital bed with that young, attractive nurse, fluffing up my pillows for me with a knowing smile. Well, I tell you, it struck me. War may be the ultimate purpose of a highly technological society. It’s the armaments industry that wants the war in Vietnam to continue. They are making a fortune out of government contracts to supply the armed forces. Complete with crap slogans like 'weapons to keep our boys safe.' ...
“The modern means of warfare to limit damage … We can win this war with the right technology” ... Of course No one, not least Scott, dared to suggest we drop the atomic bomb on North Vietnam. Maybe some headcases like Governor George Wallace, but not many. Though all the generals, those sabre-rattling hawks, must have spoken about it in private.’
American Al is sient for a moment. Looks into the far distance in this room of nothingness … Now back in the present …
‘Once I'd gradually got better I could move around. Go and sit in these peaceful hospital gardens with some other wounded men. We got to talking. Many felt the way that I did …’ American Al breaks off again to light up a cigarette. Offers one to Scott. A Winston in a red packet. Scott declines, shakes his head. He doesn’t really like smoking cigarettes.
‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘Sure’... puff … ‘Fire away.’
‘When you were out on patrol in these south Vietnamese villages. Burning the food stores and the crops. Weren’t there American film crews around?’
‘Do you remember My Lai?’
‘Kind of. Remind me.’
‘My Lai was a village in south Vietnam where, in 1968, American troops massacred well over four hundred civilians. They didn’t realize they were being filmed. Probably didn’t think that any major American broadcaster would dare use the footage. It was shown in all its gory detail on American television. The reaction was one of shock, condemnation, horror, anger. That was the moment when the anti-Vietnam war protests went to a whole other level.’ American Al pauses, draws hard on the remains of his Winston cigarette, as if considering carefully what he is about to say next …
‘Whenever we went out on patrol, any requests by film crews to accompany us were blocked after that. We even had a spotter looking out for a film crew, who might be trailing us in a Chinook or Apache helicopter. By then we were burning the villages as well. Important there were no film crews in sight taking secret footage to expose even more shocking coverage of American troops in action. If a film crew was assigned to a patrol, then perfectly correct procedures were observed. No burning of food stores, crops, villages. No beatings, rape or massacre because you found the South Vietnamese hiding a Ho Chi Minh sympathizer in their village. Well… Does that answer your question, Scott?’
‘Brilliantly.’ Scott has rolled another doobie as he is going to call them from now on in American Al’s company.
‘Sat in those gardens in the hospital grounds in Krung Thep, us few soldiers, recuperating from war wounds, discussed what the hell we were doing in Vietnam. Putting our lives on the line every day. With the help of a couple of like-minded GIs, we soon discovered a secret underground organization specializing, for a price, in transporting deserting American soldiers into Europe. My back pay had been mounting up. I could just afford it. The options were Sweden, Holland or England. Sweden was where all my soon to be fellow deserters opted for. Sweden was welcoming American deserters with open arms …’ Scott hands American Al a fresh doobie …
‘Why did you choose England then over Sweden?’
‘Well, I guess I thought that if I’m going to desert and spend my time on the run hiding out, I’d rather do it in a country where I spoke the lingo. Simple as that. There is an American culture here you don’t find in Europe.’
‘Are you saying that England is becoming the fifty-first state of America then?’
‘Something like that, yeah, I guess it is.’
‘Was it easy?’
‘I managed to slip out of Thailand undetected and, by a circuitous route, made it to Europe.’ American Al carries on, but Scott is starting to fade, it’s been a long day. The memory of dead Caroline has re-emerged with this last doobie. American Al is telling how he'd heard that the other soldiers who deserted with him were well received in Sweden. One was black and felt more welcome there than back in his homeland … Scott having to fight to focus. American Al explaining how he somehow managed to obtain a false visa document for the United Kingdom in Paris. Used up most of his money. The exact details elude Scott. Seemed slightly confusing. As has been said, it’s been a long day. This dope is very strong. Seems like a hell of a journey for American Al. Some American freak girl he met at the Roundhouse in Chalk Farm mentioned the squat at Elgin Avenue to him. He spent a couple of nights there and got to hear about this squat in Milner Square from Martha at the Soul Kitchen … Scott and American Al both agree they will do their level best to try and keep it quiet. Remember not to mention it to anyone else … Patricia was in seventh heaven at the sight of American Al. Three squatted floors below her occupied. Each with a man in them. American, French-Vietnamese and English. What more could she possibly desire …
In the next few days, Scott discovered that American Al has a hell of a temper and values his privacy very highly … Scott went to go in his room one night a couple of days after their late-night session together, and before he’d got halfway through the door, American Al shouted in extremely menacing tones,
‘Whoever that is, fucking stay out! This is private! Go away, you fucking hear?!’ Scott thinks better of it and beats a hasty retreat. War veterans need their space I suppose … Another night he knocked and was met with
‘Don’t you dare come in!’ So you don’t. He might just harm you. Forget himself. He has that armed forces sensibility about him. It pays to be wary … Patricia was becoming very persistent. Coming on very strong to Scott. Pestering. Freebasing coke changed that. She really gets off on it now. You can always tell when they are really getting into it. They want to run their own line. Then they want to lay it out. Next, making their own silver foil tubes. Becoming fussy about which type of silver foil they buy. Before long, Patricia starts asking where she can purchase test tubes from. Can she watch Scott cook up and prepare some base? Why not? If it keeps her off his back. Though it’s her own back that she wants desperately to be laid on. At least the good thing is she is now coming around for Charley with sex a second option. No longer bursting through Scott’s door naked and breathing heavily at one o’ clock in the morning. After all, she has big, blonde Sheila to play with her, comfort her and take care of her immediate needs … Oh glory be, with the arrival of American Al all of this changes. The energy in the squat significantly shifts.
You can’t relax when you're squatting. It’s not like you're living somewhere. Working hard all day and you return home for the evening, have a meal. Put your feet up. Listen to music. Play with the cat. When you are squatting your eyes and ears have to be attuned. You need to watch. It pays to make friends with everyone regardless of personality clashes. If necessary, gossip. You must always remember where you are. You could well be subject to a dawn raid by the police on any given morning. Sleep is not sacred to them. To the ‘filth’s’ way of thinking, all squatters are layabouts. Outcasts. Socially excluded …
So, you see, you must notice the sudden change in energy instantly. The shifts in power and purpose. With the arrival of American Al, landlady Patricia isn’t wobbling provocatively through Scott’s chipped doorway anymore at one in the morning. Heaving with lust. Craving Charley. Pissed and on the loose. Searching for whatever she can get. American Al must be taking real good care of her needs. Making sure he gets in super tight with her. You have to pay special attention to strangers when you can never go home again. At least not in the foreseeable future. I guess the American government might declare an amnesty for American veterans who deserted, say in twenty years’ time. But meanwhile, American Al can never see his family and friends in Salem, Oregon again … Patricia hinting on the rickety stairs a day or so later that American Al is now taking good care of her cocaine need. Giving her plenty of Charley. She also mentioned lines of sulphate as well, and then sped off down those unsafe stairs. If she’s not real careful she’ll slip and break her neck late one night. The coke and sulphate at American Al’s aren’t coming Scott’s way and he doesn’t mind. Try and control the daily intake. Yoga and meditation every morning. Stay on top of the action …
Car accidents and deaths keep happening at Advanced Art. Apparently, a young couple, both nineteen, Billy and Louie-Anne, wandered down into the basement office at Hollywood Road one day. They weren’t replying to a ‘Bread for Heads’ advertisement; they had simply noticed, over a couple of days and one lunchtime coffee in Keaton’s restaurant, all the Advanced Art activity. The comings and goings. Became intrigued, particularly when they saw the likes of Nicky, Scott and James carrying those red and black-edged art folders with them. What was all this about? They loved the look of all the people. Like a group of musicians, artists, students, travellers and poets all thrown together. They were looking to be included. After a short conversation with Dom Patel, they agreed to go out with him that very day. The sales talk was already well over and all the crews, except Larry’s, had gone their separate ways. Larry was full up. Though he was very tempted to squeeze Louie-Anne into his crew and travel six up. But after the accident outside of Ealing last week, if anything untoward should happen, Christophe could well skin Larry alive. The reason he thought of taking Louie-Anne was, as her name suggests, because she’s American. All the way from Bloomington, Illinois. Attractive, young and fresh. Over here waiting to be accepted and study art at the Slade Art College. What a natural that. But she won’t be parted from her Billy. They only met a few weeks ago at a Pink Floyd concert and immediately fell in love. Young love burns brightly. They can’t bear to be apart right now, not even for one second …
There's also a long-haired freak by the name of Gary hanging around. Dom was going to turn him away, tell him to come back another day. All the crews full up. But now, with these two young lovers Billy and Louie-Anne, he has no choice but to take out a crew … He took them out to Canvey Island, his favourite haunt. That prop must be smashed to smithereens by now. But they get sales out of it. Louie-Anne on her very first night out on the doorstep, got in a house and sold Shredded Time and The Peasant Girl as a pair. She got fifteen pounds for them. Dom sold a large one as well, just to keep his hand in … They were coming back down the Commercial Road, a silver car came straight at them from out of a side street in Stepney and crashed into them sideways on. Sent them careering across the Commercial Road at speed. Spinning round and smashing into a lamppost. Dom’s cut and bruised, and his right arm is in a sling. He’s telling Scott the car was a Zodiac. Just an empty gesture at communication. Both young Billy and Louie-Anne were killed. The impact. Dom reckons the silver Ford Zodiac must have been doing at least sixty miles an hour when it hit them. He suspects that it was a getaway car in a robbery. All of this needs to be confirmed. Right now, on a greyish May morning, Christophe has had to drive over to Stepney Police Station. Ali has yet again had to go cap in hand to Kennings Car Hire. The weekly car rental bill could rocket up after this. Dom Patel is a hard man to be thinking of money at a time like this. Four deaths in the space of a week …
There is no paperwork at Advanced Art. When young hopefuls arrive, they don’t fill in forms with names, addresses, contact numbers, next of kin. Gary, who emerged virtually unscathed from the backseat behind Dom, seemed to remember Louie-Anne mentioning that she rented a room in a house in Redcliffe Square. Bernard has drawn the short straw and is currently knocking on all the houses in the Square to find out where she lived. We don’t even know their surnames. Information changes by the second. Scott has just been informed by a laidback Larry that Louie-Anne had a blood donor card found on her dead person. The police can presumably contact her bloodbank and get her details. Billy’s whereabouts still remain a mystery. Parents to be contacted … Nicky and Scott half-heartedly attempt a sales talk, but it peters out.
Some new young arrivals from the advert drift off when they are told of the crews’ death toll over the last week. Certain people are always only too happy to pass on bad news. Makes them feel excited. Important. Part of the action … The best answer to Scott’s way of thinking is to get his crew out of the office and back on the road. No good sitting around feeling miserable. Listening to Jim Morrison singing ... strange days have found us, strange days have tracked us down ..., ringing around the office walls. Isn’t helping one bit, though a great song … Angry, bereaved parents targeting the Hollywood Road office over the coming week. Christophe and Ali managing to persuade them to travel over to Hasker Street for further discussions. Fortunately, the police haven’t pursued the matter zealously. The Silver Zodiac car was being driven away from the robbery of a jeweller’s in Stepney. One of the robbers, the driver, died in the accident also. The rest have all been arrested and taken into custody with cuts, bruises, broken limbs and the stolen jewels, rings and watches … Kennings Car Hire have unsurprisingly put-up Advanced Art’s weekly car rental charges. A frustrated and mean-looking Christophe has demanded that Dom take a crew out every night from now on. Injured arm or no injured arm. Having to produce more money, sell extra velvet paintings to cover the increased car rental costs. Even Scott is having to pay an extra ten pounds a week to Kennings for his special Paris Green Cortina. Still all of this is as nothing, just thinking of how young and beautiful Louie-Anne was. She seemed so bright and intelligent. Full of fun and excited to be in England. Scott only saw her briefly that one lunchtime as he left with his crew. Less than five minutes really …
Advanced Art these days seems to be tumbling in the tide of death. It’s enough to stop you selling and send you straight out to a picture house to see the film Soldier Blue ... Dom is definitely in the doghouse for now. Nicky is still the golden boy. Moods can change quickly. Scott is now perceived as lucky. Fortunate in sales. Very good at moulding a crew together. Very lucky with car accidents and a good driver. Hardworking, successful, conscientious. His crew stick with him and others badly want to join. Larry struggles to maintain a full crew all the time, and James never seems to have more than four up including himself … Besides Christophe demanding that Dom takes a crew out every day, he’s also insisted on doubling the adverts. Even asks for and takes Scott’s advice on where else to place another ad, and that’s saying something. Also, forcing Dom to pay for the extra adverts out of his own pocket. Dom Patel shrugs, grimaces with the pain of his right arm. Eventually he has no choice but to smile … Be sharp. Stay positive. Once you go negative, the game is lost …
Patricia came wobbling in at one o’clock this morning. Didn’t bother to knock. She was almost naked. Sat on Scott’s futon. A scary experience. Started talking non-stop about American Al. How he’s still traumatized from his time in Vietnam. Would Scott like a smoke of heroin? It’s her latest craze. American Al has turned her on to it.
‘It’s the best hit, lover ...’ she passionately declares and leans over Scott’s way. Sure, the new futon creaked. Best to feign tiredness, exhaustion. Couldn’t do it, babe, even if I wanted to answer. Fighting off a cold. Staving off images of Caroline, Griff, Louie-Anne and young Billy. Why, the four of them didn’t total a hundred years between them. Patricia half consoles Scott. Does herself a little white line of smack. American Al says that young American soldiers are dying by the hour in Vietnam. 'American Al says ...', seems to start all of Patricia’s sentences of late … She is now smoking another thin, white-bubbling-brown line of heroin … The pair of them get to wondering how American Al makes his money. What exactly is it that he does? Patricia wants to know why Francois doesn’t seem to like him … Eventually, she leaves, this time without the usual brazen hassle. The heroin seems to reduce her normal lustfulness …
After she’s gone, Scott can’t help thinking that American Al is leading Patricia into wayward habits. He’s a bad influence on her …