Entertaining at Large

Susan first appeared in

Entertaining at Home.

Other characters mentioned joined the story in subsequent episodes of

Entertaining at Large

. It has been a while since I've last been able to post so there are brief mentions of most of the characters I've created. I've missed them. If you like the look of them, you can find more in the earlier chapters. Comments, suggestions and support welcomed as always and thanks to those of you who already have.

*****

'If grabbing the goalie's tits isn't a yellow card offence, ref, then what the bloody hell is? Come on man, get a grip.'

My life, I decided, as I rolled the ball out from our goal area to Steve with a view to him starting a fresh attack, was now in complete chaos. As opposed to

almost

complete chaos which it had become up to now. Issues at work were going to come to a head very soon. What laughably passed for my private life - a little harmless exhibitionism, and the odd gig as an escort or nude model - was about to become public, very public, in ways I could not control. Football had been my last island of respectable fun. Then Bert decided to become our manager.

'I've agreed to become your head coach.'

He announced a week earlier as we sat around in the Crown commiserating with each other after our latest defeat. Piotr had to translate what he had said to a bemused Wot and I had to explain to Steve and Luke who this stranger was.

'I spoke to George about it.'

We all groaned. The obese landlord's grasp of the game didn't stretch beyond reading about the latest kiss-and-tell stories in the tabloids. As one, we turned to glare at him. He lifted his pint with a grin and gave us the thumbs up.

'Poor old sod's at a loose end now that he's retiring. I thought it'd give him something to do.'

George explained with a hurt expression when Steve and I had gone to confront him about the decision later in the evening.

'Besides, it's not as if you're exactly Real Sociopath. Thought you could use some professional help.'

'Don't you mean...'

I shut Steve up with a frown and then followed it up with a friendly wink. George's newly-found football ignorance was a source of entertainment to lots in the pub and we didn't want it to end too soon. Steve changed tack.

'Why? We've won a game and drawn a couple as well.'

Steve was taking the decision as a personal slight. Since breaking up with Chloe he had been doing that a lot.

'Honour of the boozer, mate, you're wearing our name on your chests now. 'Scuse me, and tits, I'd forgotten ladies were present.'

That made me laugh. Only George would apologise for not mentioning a woman's breasts in her presence. I tried to defuse the situation.

'I'm not sure we'll ever be good enough to need a coach, George.'

'Exactly. the bloke from the

Clarion

told me that they do reports of matches in the next division up. Be good publicity. You lot need to start taking this seriously.'

That was enough for Steve; he went off on one. Big time. It was as if he was getting out all the hurt and frustration he had been building up since giving his girlfriend the elbow. He was almost shouting as he told George exactly what he thought of his football knowledge - zero; his lack of appreciation of anyone who didn't have a pussy - good point, well made; and his general sleaziness - bit like shooting a fish in a barrel if you ask me. George just looked back at him askance.

'If you won't do it for me, then think about poor Bert. His wife's already got them signed up for coach trips to Eastbourne. Next thing you know she'll be coming in here with him.'

He shuddered at the thought. Probably worrying he'd have to break the habit of a lifetime of soliciting every female that entered the place to become a stripper.

Bert took his new role very seriously. He made us all turn up an hour before kick off and run in zig-zags between cones he had obviously nicked from a nearby roadworks. We were due to play a team made up of his work colleagues from the engineering factory. He sat us down to give us the inside line on our opponents.

'Bunch of tossers. Absolute shite. Spend every night in the boozer.'

'Bit like us then?'

Luke got a frown for his attempted joke.

'Just keep the ball moving and they'll soon be knackered. You should beat them easy.'

He clapped us on to the pitch after patting the other four on the back. I got a slap on the bum. His in-match support was hilarious. From the moment the ref whistled for kick off, Bert kept up a non-stop tirade of abuse against him, the other team - individually and collectively - the state of the pitch, the lights and at one point a bloke who had stopped to watch whilst walking his dog. For us he reserved groans, stifled oaths and frantic pointing and whistling, though at what was never completely clear, to me at least. When we scored he was ecstatic. When they equalised he demanded the ref rule it out for an unnoticed foul, being offside (not exactly relevant in five-a-side) and for the shot missing the goal - though as the ball was nestling in the back of our net that was a long-shot.

We got a total bollocking at half time. He started with Wot.

'What part of "run into space" don't you understand, son?'

Piotr translated and they both then shrugged and smiled. The answer was obvious. I got off quite lightly. He praised my "distribution from the back" and blamed the others for not making better use of it. He scolded them for not crippling the opposing striker who had scored, as well.

'She's only a sodding girl. Can't expect her to beat them all on her own. Get your fingers out and give them some stick.'

As you can imagine, I was only slightly more popular with my team mates than he was. Miraculously though, we managed to win thanks to Luke going on a solo run and slotting the ball past their keeper after deceiving him into diving the wrong way. For the rest of the time we were a shambles. Steve was sulking. Wot and Piotr were trying hard but stopped every time Bert shouted out something like "pass and move, pass and move" so that Piotr could translate. Luke was getting increasingly frustrated with everyone else and was lucky not to get sent off when he booted the opposing captain. As this was the same man who had offered to throw the game if I sucked him off in the changing rooms afterwards, I was happy to join the general melee. I got a few smart licks in on the striker who had been grabbing my boobs at every opportunity and felt a lot better for it.

We were a miserable bunch when we dragged ourselves into the pub afterwards. The bright track suits we were wearing singled us out as a team. Nothing else did.

'Lost again then?'

Was George's cheery greeting as he lined up a pint for me and lagers for the lads. I decided to nip things in the bud. Normally I'd have left it to Steve who was the nearest thing to a captain we had, or Luke, who also thought he should be in charge. Neither of them were in any mood for diplomacy, I reasoned.

'A private word George.'

'Aye, aye.'

He leered at me, then at the boys and, getting no reaction from any of us, finally at the

Clarion

hack at the end of the bar who raised his glass in acknowledgement. He had become something of a fixture in The Crown ever since George had come up with the idea of a re-launch. The paper's main interest was in George paying for a pull-out advertising supplement, but the added attraction of features on strippers and perhaps beer wouldn't do their circulation any harm either. I motioned with my head for him to follow me into the Snug.

'You've either got to get Bert off our backs, or get him to tone it down to next-to-nothing. Otherwise there isn't going to be a team anymore.'

'What's the problem?'

He looked genuinely bemused. I described what had just gone on. I wracked my brain for the name of a premiership manager who had been caught screwing hookers recently to draw a comparison with Bert's image of himself. Citing any of the nationally-famous masters of the touch line would do no good with the fat one. He'd never have heard of them. In the end, I told him that if the team broke up it was doubtful I'd be coming down any more and might have to take up stripping in another pub. George spoke with all the solemnity of a judge passing a death sentence.

'I'll have words.'

He smiled at me and I thanked him.

'Talking of which, that young chap from the

Clarion

is interested in interviewing you.'

I groaned. This was my nightmare of public exposure coming one step closer. Up to now, in my own mind at least, my job and my after hours activities were in completely separate boxes. That wasn't going to last much longer. There was the re-launch which was already guaranteed to become a local sensation. Scarlett had put herself in charge and was organising, among other things, a pensioners' afternoon - pies, peas and strippers; a ladies' night - if she could recruit sufficiently endowed male performers; an amateur talent contest - 'show us what you've got' was the putative strap line for that one; and a finale which was going to be themed on a romp through the lewd history of the pub complete with costumes, performances, props for goodness sake and there was even some talk of VIP guests.

In fact, the only part of it which didn't involve me and a few others parading around in the nip, was a kids' day/charity football tournament in aid of the Women's Refuge. She'd got the local football committee to OK the event and even bend their rules so that every team had to have at least one woman player - I think she'd agreed to perform a strip at their annual general meeting as part of their bid to boost attendance. It was another thing which piqued the local rag's interest. And of course, as the longest-standing - and only - woman in a male team I was duty-bound to support it and spearhead the publicity drive. The Tory government's cutting all financial aid to refuges made it even more important. I remembered how crucial their help had been when Scarlett herself needed support.

'Put him off will you George? I'm going to have to 'fess up to my boss at work before I do anything public about this place.'

'There's a problem?'

'Too right there is. I'm almost certain to be the first woman to be offered an executive position in the firm's century-long history. Even you must be able to imagine what the dead wood on the board would make of the fact they were being asked to promote a stripper.'

I watched him processing what I had said. It took quite a time and I spent it admiring the Snug's transformation. The dowdy almost-stock room had been transformed to a brightly lit, mostly chrome and glass decorated, lounge for women. I was looking forward to using it.

George had reached a conclusion. He went slightly red as he softened his gaze and put a large hand on my knee in a comforting way. It was the first time he'd touched me when I hadn't needed to clench my fists or made ready to knee him in the balls.

'I'll put him off. But Susan love, whatever happens I'll always have a job here for you if you need one.'

I was touched. The problem had been gnawing at me for weeks. It was no help, of course, I gave George a ball park figure for the salary I could expect if promoted. He took his hand away as if he'd been burned.

'Fuck me., You're screwed. I'll have to give this more thought. A lot more.'

He was nodding to himself and I could almost see the cogs whirring as he stood up and made for the door. He didn't say anything as we went down the corridor, but as soon as we reentered the bar mein host was back.

'Bert. Get your lazy arse over here and talk to this nice man from the paper. You must be our oldest customer, frankly I'm surprised you're not dead. You can tell him all about the goings-on at the Crown.'

He pulled another pint for Bert who looked relieved to be getting away from the team, and a large gin and tonic for the hack who continued to stare at me with the sort of look drunks have when miscalculating their chances of getting into my knickers if they play their cards right. Mandy had appeared out of nowhere, as usual, and the hug she gave me almost made me cry. Coming on top of George's concern, it was much too much sympathy and warmth for a Wednesday night down the Crown.

'Don't worry Susan. George'll come up with something, he always does. I'd start worrying about

what

if I were you.'

She pulled me a fresh pint and fizzed lagers into glasses for the others. I was sent over with strict instructions to 'cheer those miserable buggers up'.

'Free drinks lads.'

Was the best I could come up with as I sat down at our usual table well away from the other customers. It helped a little, but I still had to give a full report on my conversation with George and listen to them bitching about Bert for half-an-hour. I paid for another round and things began to settle down a bit. Wot's broken-English description of Luke's wonder goal finally cracked the ice, and once he got tipsy even Steve was making jokes about playing in a pink strip.

When Luke sidled off for a toilet break, I followed and caught up with him in the corridor.

'You've got to get Steve out with the lads and get him laid ASAP.'

'Me? I'd have thought that was more your territory. You know he's always had a thing for you.'

I elbowed him in the ribs.

'You know I'm a strictly non-playing teammate, if you get my drift. Of course he's good looking and I'd be lying if I didn't admit to certain lustful thoughts about him as I lay in my empty bed at night. But come on, we're a team. If I give him one, next it'd be Wot and Pete - again, not totally undoable, I'll give you that - but then there'd be you at the back of the queue. Ugh.'

I mock-shivered.

'Charity's got its limits. And there are some things no one should ask a girl to subject herself to.'

'I take your point.'

I was glad to hear him say it with a laugh. Just after Xmas we'd all been having similar conversations about Luke himself. A regular dose of Tracey's snatch had shaken him out of his slough of self-pity. He spoke again.

'Trouble is, since Steve was promoted he's seen by gold-diggers like Chloe as prime marriage material. I'm sure I could get him laid, but I can't guarantee there wouldn't be unexpected consequences.'

'Tracey?'

Always a sure-fire bet for a no-questions-asked fuck. Most nights she seemed to spend more time in the toilets than out in the bar. Luke went red.

'I'd rather not ask her if you don't mind.'

I raised a quizzical eyebrow.

'It's just that I quite like her. I know she'd do it in an instant, but I'm not quite sure how I'd feel. I think it'd be pretty confusing for Steve too. Him being a mate and all.'

'Bros before hos? That what you mean?'

'Yeah. In a way.'

I could see from the look on his face that he was as confused about that nature of his relationship with Tracey as the rest of us. I had never met anyone more comfortable with her sexuality than Tracey. Her simple philosophy of screw anyone, anywhere, anytime obviously made her popular, vey popular, with men. Us girls liked her too, though. Her complete lack of any kind of shame was admirable. Her fierce protectiveness of her partner, Jason, and her obvious love for the little terror who was her son would make anyone smile. She was the proverbial enigma wrapped in a mystery.

'Luke.'

'Yeah.'

'We're in the Ladies.'

'Oh yeah. And?'

I had walked in on autopilot, I didn't know what he thought he was doing.

'So what are you doing in here?'

He laughed self-consciously.

'You come across a better class of person in here.'

'Ha very ha.'

We could both hear the unmistakable sound of a couple enjoying each other's company in the last booth against the wall; Tracey's favourite hangout.

'Form an orderly queue then. I think I might have a solution to Steve's problem.'

By the time I'd had a pee behind a well-locked door, the man from the

Clarion

was standing straightening his hair in the mirror. Tracey was wrapped around Luke. It looked as if she was trying to perform an emergency tonsillectomy with her tongue. I coughed politely. Mr Clarion went bright red and scurried out. I must say I was a bit surprised that he had been the punter enjoying Tracey's favours. He carried an air of scruffy sleaze you'd associate with the fourth estate without the redeeming feature of a large expense account.

'What ho, Tracey. Busy night?'

She detached herself from our star forward with a pneumatic sucking noise and threw her arms around my neck.

'Susan. Long time, no see. George told me you might be having a few problems. You OK? We'll all do what we can to help, you know that.'

Her blouse was unbuttoned and her large breasts strained against a size-too-small brassiere. The look in her eyes was one off genuine concern. I could feel myself tearing up suddenly. It was pretty clear what she saw as her main role in the rescue party. Nonetheless, I was touched and I told her so. It was probably the first time I'd ever seen her blush.

'Go on with you. If you can't put out to help an old friend, when can you? That's what I always say. We'll talk later.'

With that she grabbed Luke by the crotch, reattached herself to his mouth and backed him steadily into the end cubicle. I waved a farewell at the empty room and went to get my phone.

There was a strange atmosphere in the bar when I walked back in. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on. It was quiet, certainly. It always is on a Wednesday. I looked around. Mandy was behind the bar wiping glasses and chatting amiably with a couple of blokes I hadn't seen before. Bert was further down the bar boring the pants off a couple of his mates judging by their expressions. I guessed they were talking football tactics from the way he moved glasses and beer mats around in front of him. There was a noisy darts match going on in the far corner and a group of young lads playing pool; nothing unusual there. A few of the tables were occupied, mostly older men out with their friends. One or two of them nodded to me when they saw me looking; everyone remembers a stripper. I smiled at Matt, the accountant, who was in the far corner sipping on a half. I hadn't seen him for ages. Not since Scarlett and I had fucked him and all his mates at a stag do weeks ago. Happy days. Then it struck me - the reason for my disorientation, that is.

George was occupying one of the larger tables in the centre of the bar huddled with Mr J, James and Scarlett. I watched them for a minute or two realising I had never seen him sitting with customers in the body of the pub before. They were deep in conversation. One of them would occasionally point at something on James's lap top and a flurry of comments would ensue. I was intrigued.

I stood by the table and was able to watch them for a bit before they became aware I was there. They were flicking through their collection of old/new porn portraits, discussing the models.

'Now she has a lovely pair of legs. I remember thinking so when I was taking her pictures.'

'Nah. Tits aren't big enough. Tits and fanny, that's what the punters are after.'

'She is very pretty.'

'Granted. But you don't stare at the mantlepiece when you're stoking the fire now do you? What about this lass with the massive melons?'

'Oh hello, Susan love. I didn't see you standing there.'

Mr J was the first to see me. He stood up and gave me a soft hug. James also got up but then looked guiltily back at Scarlett as he wondered whether to follow suit. I placed my arms on his shoulders and gave him a gently kiss on the cheek, resolving the non-dilemma for him. Scarlett waggled her eyebrows at me grinning behind her boyfriend's back.

'What ho. I realised it was the first time I'd ever seen George sitting down at a table. I wondered what was going on.'