The Beat by Simon Payne

of paper before him to give weight to what was to come. Then, coming to the point, he looked across and said, “Gerry, we’ve had a complaint from another member of staff.”
    “Oh?” said Gerry and waited. Wilson seemed slightly unsure how to continue. It wasn’t as he had rehearsed it. He tried again authoritative-ly, “Mrs O’Day says you upset her this morning. She says you called her a Nazi.” He looked at Gerry for a reply.
    “Not exactly,” said Gerry. “I just thought her attitude of shooting homosexuals on sight would find credence in the Third Reich. I told her so.” The older man looked flustered but went on, “Gerry, Mrs O’Day is a middle-aged woman. As such we should try not to upset her. We all know what she can be like, but just because you don’t have the same kind of regard for women it does not give you the right to go upsetting her.”
    “Is that all?” Connie being upset! Rather that than the police knock-ing on his door. It was so amazingly trivial. He had to stop himself laughing. Connie being upset! That was the crime he had to answer for. What about him being upset anyway? What about shooting down homosexuals in the park, Mr Wilson, what about that? Are you for it, against it or fence-sitting?
    “No, that’s not all. Gerry, you seem to have a problem here. The other men, you don’t get on with them. You don’t try to be one of the team. Now it’s for your own good I tell you this. Try adopting a more — a more masculine image.
    “You’re not, well, you’re not what we would have called officer material in the forces. Not aggressive enough. I don’t know what it is exactly, but the other men resent you for it. It will hold you back if you don’t curtail it.” Christ, not aggressive enough now! If only they knew.
    “Is there something wrong with my work?” he asked.
    “Not exactly. It’s attitude Gerry. Attitude and accepta-bility. Think about it. OK? It’s for your own good I tell you.
    “Now you have a think about it. Apologize to Mrs O’Day and we’ll forget all about it. I’ll tear up this complaint and we can call it closed. But Gerry, for your own good, tjy to be one of the boys.” They both sat in silence. The interview was over and he was expected to go back to work. He thanked his boss for the advice and left. Instead of going straight back to work, he stormed into the tea room. He didn’t owe this place anything. It was the first time the straight man’s creed had been put so solidly to him.
    “Straighten up or you’re out,” he thought. He laughed aloud at the hidden pun. Neil was holding forth in the tea room, telling jokes. He had been inspired by the newspaper article to dig out all his old favourite poofter jokes for one more airing. His male audience guffawed in unison at all the old lines they’d heard before. Connie sat in the corner pretending it wasn’t nice for a woman to understand such jokes. As he made his coffee Gerry recited the jokes to himself in time to Neil’s delivery. He knew them so well, in fact he could probably tell them better himself if he wanted to. Neil did a lousy job of aping a fag. When they got to the punchline, Gerry joined in aloud:
    “And all he was left holding was a pair of fucking ears.” The joke fell flat as surprised eyes turned to look at Gerry. He calmly poured the milk into his coffee, replaced it in the refrigerator neatly and sailed out the room saying, “Tell them about the two poofters who went straight- bashing, Neil.” Fuck the male world. Who wanted to be officer material in the forces anyway? If he had done, he would have joined the army. So much for lunch. Sue was back when he got to his desk with his coffee. Steve had agreed to wearing the dinner suit but the next battle was teaching him the bridal waltz. He had confessed that he couldn’t dance, another problem to beset the bride-to-be.
    “And a guy called Robert phoned,” she said, “but he didn’t leave his number.” And that was