Chapter 10: The Lights off Broadway

It was a pleasantly warm September morning in Ringwood, Hampshire. They had set up the stall and Fern and Adam Starkapple were eating breakfast in the Market Café before the market opened.

“What do you make of this?” Fern asked, as she slid a tatty slip of paper across the table.

Adam picked it up, blinked a few times and then rummaged in his satchel for his spectacles. Once he had got it the right way up, held it up to the light and then tried to smooth it out on the plastic tablecloth he said, “Dunno! Where did you get it?”

“It was in the bottom of the most recent manila envelope of money that Arthur Kemp gave us.

“There was obviously a compliment slip in the envelope, this bit of paper was wrapped around it while the ink was still wet.”

Fern fished out a small mirror from her own bag and held it vertically on the paper. “It’s faint, but if you look at the reflection you can just make out some words.”

“Can you? I can see bugger all,” said Adam. How he envied his wife’s eyesight.

“Yes, I think that it says, ‘Broad Oaks Retirement Village, Sturminster Newton, Proprietor A Kemp’.”

“Wow! In the past Arthur has always found us. Now we know where his lair is,” said Adam.

Fern smiled, “When Autumn comes it may be nice to have somewhere cosy to pitch the camper van. If he owns a whole village, he is sure to have a bit of spare space we could use.”

The Algonquin Hotel sent a limousine to collect them from Pier 90 on West 50th Street. On every inch of the journey Beryl and Stan were amazed by the hustle and bustle in the streets. They’d been to London many times but this was so much more intense; they rather liked it.

Inside the hotel peace and tranquility reigned.

When they checked in, the man on the desk had told them that the hotel was named after the Indians who used to live in this area.

“I expect they moved out on account of the traffic,” said Beryl.

The clerk laughed and said, “Right, I get it, I’ve seen your Benny Hill.”

The concierge, a smartly dressed well-spoken young Englishman in a dark blue tailcoat with gold crossed keys on the lapel, assured them that he could get them anything that they wanted, anything at all. They just had to ask.

The next morning, dressed for the warm September day, Stanley in khaki slacks and an open necked white shirt, Beryl wearing a silk blouse, grey pencil skirt and tan stockings, stepped out of the hotel to explore.

As they came through the revolving doors, the doorman asked, “And where are we headed today, folks?”

“I would like to see Times Square, I’ve heard about it, is it far?” said Beryl.

“Ah, the theatre district. It’s a couple of blocks over, I’ll hail you a cab.”

“If it’s not far we’ll walk,” said Stanley Dodds.

“Walk? Right you are. In that case go down West 44th Street, go past 6th Avenue, keep walking until you get to 7th Avenue and then you turn right,” said the doorman, pointing.

Stan thanked him and gave the man a tip, even though he had only been doing his job. He had learned that you had to give everybody here a tip for just doing what they had already been paid to do. Not once in all the years that he had been a plumber had Stan ever been given a tip. He didn’t mind though, both he and Beryl agreed that it felt nice to help working people a little.

The doorman was right, it wasn’t too far. The streets weren’t like London streets, nothing appeared old. Beryl thought that the older buildings could have been lost during the Blitz. There were bright neon lights everywhere even though it was late morning.

They had been told that the people could be quite rude. In reality they just ignored the couple and rushed about doing whatever they were doing. Occasionally, someone would push between them. If they stopped walking they were gently eased out of the way.

Times Square wasn’t really a square at all. They had expected something like Trafalgar Square or Leicester Square in London. A big space.

Instead, it was like two streets had had a bit of an argument and moved further apart. Still they were enchanted by it all. There were theatres, shops, bars and restaurants all trying to stand out by having the brightest lights.

As well as the Broadway Theatres, advertising the latest plays and musicals, dotted about were places advertised as ‘Adult Movie Theatres’. Each claimed to have XXX films showing continuously.

“Well, I never did!” said Beryl. “Right amongst all these regular shows.”

Stan said, “We have Soho, I suppose.”

“Yes, but that’s tucked away in the backstreets out of the way.”

“Do you fancy going in?” asked Stanley, with a cheeky grin.

“I do, but I’m not going to. There are too many people about, they’d see us,” giggled Beryl.

“Suit yourself.”

They walked and they walked further up Broadway, eventually there were fewer large brightly lit theatres and more small ones. Suddenly, Stan took Beryl by the hand and dragged her into an alleyway.

“What on earth are you doing?” she cried, with a giggle.

“Look!”

There was a doorway with a sign above it that read ‘Adult Movies Shown All Day’. It was illuminated by a single clichéd flickering neon light.

Beryl said, “Blimey, it looks a bit seedy!”

“Yes, but no-one’s going to see us going in. And we did say anything goes,” added Stan.

“I suppose so but...”

Stan already had the door open as he pushed her in.

As they became accustomed to the light, they could see a greasy looking man seated behind a window.

Stanley bent down slightly so that he could speak through the slot under the glass. “How much is it to come in?” he asked.

“It’s your lucky day buddy, we don’t charge for couples,” the man answered.

With that there was a click as a door opened in front of them. Stanley took Beryl by the hand as they proceeded forward into the gloom. The strange smell was the first thing that they noticed. It wasn’t a very big room and it was dominated by the large flickering screen on the far wall. At that moment it was filled by a huge penis ramming in and out of an equally large vagina. In the background cheesy music was doing its best to drown out the sound of heavy breathing.

There were only about eight or ten patrons spread around the dozen rows of seats; all male. Stan spotted an unoccupied row and was about to make for it.

“No couples, I thought that there would be more couples as they get in free,” said Beryl.

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed. Do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure...”

As Stanley pulled his wife towards the door, it clicked open. They barged past the doorman as he tried to come in (presumably he wanted to watch the show). Three more steps and they crashed out of the front door into the alley. The couple kept running until they were close to the main thoroughfare.

Beryl put her hands on her knees as she laughed loudly. “Well that was fun!”

“Yes, I know. We said ‘anything goes’ but I’m not sure I wanted it to go that far,” laughed Stan.

“Mind you, just for a while I thought that you were going to have to watch me have sex with all those dirty old men; I nearly creamed my knickers,” said Beryl.

Stanley chuckled, “Since you have been mixing with all those posh ladies, your turns of phrase have become more colourful.”

They crossed the street. Stanley put up his hand for a yellow cab and, rather miraculously, one stopped.

“I completely understand, Sir,” said the concierge, “many of our guests are keen to ensure that their wives get the most from their stay with us.

“By way of contrast, may I suggest one white and one black. We could add something Mexican as well, if Sir would like.”

“That will be excellent,” said Stanley Dodds, he was relieved that the man understood what was required without him having to spell it out.

“I take it that Sir would wish to observe the proceedings, or even take part?”

“I will just watch,” said Stan.

“Very good. Would thirty minutes be soon enough for the lady?”

Stanley smiled. “Yes, I think that I can keep her simmering until then.”

Although the man was only doing his job, Stan had no qualms about tipping him very heavily. You can’t put a price on discretion.

By the time that he got back to their suite, Beryl was stripped down to her underwear. She had been flicking through the multitude of television channels.

“Did you arrange it OK?”

“Sure, about half an hour.”

“Good, don’t tell me the details, it will be a nice surprise.

“Look Stan, they even have Adult Films. They just charge the room for them. This one looks interesting,” gushed Beryl.

Stanley took off his jacket just as a mature couple, on the screen, were shown into a doctor’s office. The rather tenuous scenario was that the wife was concerned because her vagina had become overactive and the husband was having trouble keeping up with it. The woman was asked to strip from the waist downwards and lay upon a couch.

Beryl wondered if her underwear was entirely suitable for a visit to the doctors.

The medical man then placed a screen across the lady’s waist. Her husband sat at the top end holding her hand.