Pop Tarts: Omnibus Edition (7 page)

Cherry cringed
a little, but had a secret sniff herself when Holly wasn’t
looking.

The police had
determined that the fire had been caused by faulty wiring in the
old record player. It had been fitted with the wrong amp fuse,
which is probably what set the catastrophe off, they surmised.

The apartment
was burned to the ground and presumably Felix along with it, though
no body was found.

Holly took a
sedative - given to her by a doctor Cherry had called in concern -
and retired to the bedroom.

Cherry agreed
to her staying over. She didn’t want her newfound BFF to be left
alone.

She then rang
Rhino to tell him the bad news.

Rhino pretended
he was devastated, though he was of course delighted. Well fake
Rhino was anyway.

The single that
was headed for no.1, stalled.

And the tabloid
newspapers delighted in spelling the end of Felix – and the band –
themselves, no black magic necessary.

Tequila Sun
were over.

And Just Felix
was dead.

Or was he?

At that very
moment he woke up naked in the middle of the woods.

It was late
spring and the birds were singing as sunshine nestled in through
the haze of the trees.

He felt like he
had a hangover but couldn’t remember drinking.

And he had no
idea why he was naked, though that wouldn’t be the first time.

“Must have been
a good night,” he thought.

He found a bit
of torn rag and wrapped it around his nether regions.

“Very 80s Pop
Star,” he thought.

And his butt
looked great in it. Something to wear on Top of the Pops, perhaps?
Or maybe even Razzamatazz?

He wandered
into town and was more than a little perplexed.

All of the
traffic looked old.

“Must be a
vintage car fair going on,” he chuckled to himself as his torn rag
dropped a little, exposing a full moonshine to two wolf whistling
old ladies.

He went to what
he thought was his apartment.

It looked like
his apartment. Except the paint looked fresher and the door handle
was shinier.

Then he went to
get the key out of his pocket and realised he didn’t have any. Or
the key.

He tried the
door handle anyway, but it was locked.

As he was about
to leave, it suddenly swung open.

There, standing
right in front of him was himself, 27 years ago!

“Dad?” young
Felix asked, confused.

Felix nearly
had a heart attack, but was assuredly quick on the ball.

“Yes son,” he
lied.

“What are you
doing here? And where are your clothes?”

“It’s a long
story son,” Felix replied. “Can I come in?”

He entered the
apartment, dropping the torn rag in the hallway as he did.

Young Felix
followed, still puzzled.

Naked Felix
headed straight to the coffee table, which was adorned with a copy
of today’s newspaper, knowingly folded over to expose the infamous
breasts of page 3. This was how Felix always left it.

He picked it up
and read the date at the top of the page:

Wednesday 15
May, 1987.

That same date
in present time and preparations were well underway for Felix’s
funeral.

Holly Wood was
still a complete mess. Fifi had returned from Switzerland to attend
but wasn’t happy that she’d been denied the chance to get to know
her long lost father.

Holly’s
newfound best friend Cherry had managed to alleviate matters
somewhat, by pointing out Holly’s own personal devastation.

They were going
to be burying an empty coffin of course, because no trace of
Felix’s body was indeed found.

But then Cherry
had the ingenious idea to bury his old waxwork dummy instead.

Master
Tussaud’s located it wasting away in the showroom basement and were
happy to donate it, especially with the increase in profits since
Felix unintentionally promoted their business with his drunken
antics.

Holly thought
this was a splendid idea and insisted on an open casket, to ensure
she had a chance of some closure and to say a proper goodbye,
though Fifi thought it was a little creepy.

As a fitting
tribute Holly and Cherry were joined by Rhino to perform together
for one final time, right there in the church grounds, as the
coffin was lowered into the burial plot.

They sang what
was to be their final single ‘Hard Luck Kind of a Guy’ as the
lyrics were deemed more than appropriate, but adjusted them
slightly.

Holly took on
lead vocal for the first time as her own personal tribute. She was
a little pitchy, but her saving grace: a Calrec Soundfield
microphone, courtesy of Stock Aitken and Waterman:

“He found a
four-leaf clover one day, but before it could bring any luck his
way…

He broke a
mirror in seven places, and blew all his money on the races…

He was just a
hard luck kind of a guy, nothing ever went his way, I’ll tell you
no lie…

He’s just a
hard luck kind of a guy, somebody tell me why…”

She broke down
during the last line and had to be comforted by her also blubbing
band mates.

Rhino was
surprised that his tears appeared to be real and he really didn’t
understand why. He was feeling super emotional. Was he actually
starting to like these two brazen trollops?

They formed a
group hug as Fifi looked on slightly embarrassed and Felix’s
mannequin stuffed coffin was soon six feet under.

A mysterious
woman, blonde and sultry, with dark sunglasses and a black veil,
watched from afar and summoned Rhino over.

They then went
and whispered behind a tree.

It was that old
scrubber Jade Astley, back from the dead!

“Why are your
eyes puffy?” she sneered.

“All part of
the act,” Rhino replied.

But he was
lying. And he wasn’t quite sure why.

“I was hoping
you’d trip one of those dumb arse bitches up, make them fall in the
grave,” Jade added.

This woman was
pure evil, personified!

Rhino was
scared of her.

Was he under
her control?

Was she the
real mastermind behind his duplicitous actions?

Fake Rhino was
of course obsessed Pink Champagne fan Hawky Andrews, and he’d spent
nearly three decades thinking the sun shone out of their sagging
backsides.

But now he was
starting to realise something.

Maybe Tequila
Sun were the good guys after all?

He’d had so
much fun sabotaging their comeback. Or was it that he’d just had so
much fun being a part of the band?

He liked
Cherry. He liked Holly. But this Jade Astley creature was something
else.

He didn’t like
the way she spoke about people and he didn’t like the way she spoke
to him.

He regretted
rescuing her from the fiery lava under the bridge of
doooooooom.

But there
wasn’t a thing he could do about it now.

Or was
there?

At that very
moment, as Fifi comforted a still tearful Holly, Cherry noticed
Rhino was missing and went looking for him.

She stopped
when she saw him behind the tree with the mystery blonde scrubber
and became instantaneously suspicious.

Nothing’s Gonna
Stop Us Now by Starship was spending its 2
^nd
week at
number 1, Margaret Thatcher had just been elected as Prime Minister
for the 3
^rd
time and the world’s population had just
reached 5 billion.

“So 5 billion
and 1 then,” Felix cursed as he threw the newspaper down, still in
complete and utter disbelief.

He was back in
1987. He didn’t know how he got there. And scariest of all his own
actual 1987 self believed he was his father!

“Just as well
‘real Daddy’ had been off irking his responsibilities for a few
years and wouldn’t be back till the early 90s,” Felix thought.

But he wasn’t
ready to be his own ‘Daddy’. This was way too much responsibility
for someone 49 going on 15.

What the hell
was he going to do?

He turned on
the small Mr Sheen polished wooden boxed TV set - only to find
Pebble Mill at One - so he decided to go out for some old fashioned
retail therapy instead.

He marvelled at
the cars again and then the fashions on the high street. On the
shop mannequins and on the people themselves.

There were
girls in oversized shoulder padded blouses, wearing pedal pushers
or ra ra skirts, with fingerless gloves, luminous jelly shoes and
matching psychedelic leg warmers.

He’d dressed
the part himself, borrowing some of younger Felix’s wardrobe: skin
tight stonewashed denim jeans that looked like they were painted on
and pulled right up and over his belly button. And a jumper he was
sure his mother had actually knitted in 1985. Not to mention the
teal tassel loafers!

Those were the
days!

“And now they
actually are again,” he chuckled to himself, as he went into
Woolworths to check out the 7” vinyl chart displayed on the wall
behind the counter.

La Isla Bonita
by Madonna, Shattered Dreams by Johnny Hates Jazz, and Wishing I
Was Lucky by Wet Wet Wet were all riding high in the pop
charts.

He marvelled at
the toys section: the big yellow teapot, the Mr Microphone, the Mr
Frosty he had always wanted for Christmas but never got.

Then he bought
a Marathon and some Opal Fruits and continued en route.

He kind of
liked being back in 1987.

Lethal Weapon
and Dirty Dancing were showing at the mere 2 screen cinema.

He wandered
some more and stopped outside Rumbelows electrical store and gasped
in amazement at the technology or as he knew it now, somewhat lack
of.

Tube TV’s with
tiny rounded screens playing the monochrome changing freeze frame
at the end of an episode of Sons & Daughters in unison, and Hi
Fi stereo record players with oversized speakers that would take up
half the size of your living room.

Felix was in
awe, or had he died and gone to heaven? He couldn’t quite
decide.

When he got
home, he heard bouncing bed springs, pig-like grunts and squeals
coming from the bedroom.

He peered
through the crack in the door (which had been left ajar) and saw
his younger self’s peachier bottom thrusting around on top of who
he assumed was a brazen floozy - as Mrs Mangel would say - even
though it was a year or so before she even existed.

It was a
feeling so surreal he couldn’t quite put his finger on it and
wasn’t sure he wanted to. It was like reliving his youth, but in an
out of the body experience.

Ejaculations
were simultaneously reached or so he gathered when the grunts and
squeals withered into exhausted gasps and sighs.

Felix Senior,
as we’ll call him, had since retired to the polished wooden casing
TV set and was flicking through teletext reading the latest
news.

With no Wi-Fi
or internet how else was he to know that they had just begun work
on building the Channel Tunnel linking England to France; or what
President Ronald Reagan was up to?

Suddenly Holly
Wood walked into the room half naked and squealed again, quickly
making a rapid exit.

Felix Sr. heard
Felix Jr. apologising for not telling her his ‘Dad’ was
visiting.

But Felix Sr.
was having a sudden realisation of his own. It wasn’t a brazen
floozy, it was Holly! Well…

He had
forgotten1987 was at the height of their romance. Not long before
he blew it by copping off with Cherry.

And he had the
chance to change all of that with his ‘fatherly’ advice.

Could he?
Should he?

“Holly did have
great tits,” Felix smiled.

He definitely
thought he rather liked being back in 1987, after all.

Back in present
day Holly and Cherry were cementing their blossoming sisterhood by
having a spa day over at Holly’s house.

They were doing
all the things girls love to do together: sipping cocktails in
glasses the size of goldfish bowls, painting each other’s toenails
in a rainbow of colours and having creamy facials; though not the
kind they were usually accustomed to.

Suddenly Holly
had a brainwave. This did happen occasionally, much like an
eclipse.

“Why don’t we
bleach our anuses?” she proposed.

Cherry went
into Holly’s bedroom to get the special anal whitening lotion and
was distracted by quite the masterpiece on her mantelpiece. A 9
inch dildo!

Bringing it out
back into the lounger with her, she gasped in amazement: “Oh my
God! What’s this?”

The bubbles in
the cocktail were going to her head and Holly burst out
laughing.

Cherry almost
we t herself, particularly when Holly admitted she’d had a plaster
cast made of Felix’s cock and his ashes concealed in the ‘ornament’
as she described it, so she could feel close to him.

Cherry didn’t
know whether to laugh or cry! So she did both!

“There’s
something I should probably tell you,” Cherry said.

“You’re really
a man?” Holly asked, her left eyebrow dancing the snake.

Cherry slapped
her.

“I’m being
serious, you evil cow.”

Holly tried to
wipe the wicked grin off her face and got a handful of cracking
perfumed mud.

It was hard to
be serious with matching mud masks on, but she gave it her best
shot.

“I followed
Rhino the other day, after the funeral,” Cherry revealed.

“He met that
cheap harlot from that crap band.”

Holly looked on
inquisitively.

Cherry could
have basically been describing just about any pop star from the
80s!

“Jade Astley,”
she pronounced.