2-86（在线收听）

86.

Back to America. With two good mates. January 2016.

My mate Thomas was dating a woman who lived in Los Angeles, so our first stop was herhouse. She gave a welcome party, invited a small group of friends over. Everyone was on thesame page about alcohol—in other words, committed to consuming large amounts in a short time.

Where we didn’t agree was which type.

The typical Brit, I asked for a gin and tonic.

Hell no, the Americans said, laughing. You’re in the States now, pal, have a real drink. Have atequila.

I was familiar with tequila. But mostly club tequila. Late-night tequila. What I was beingoffered now was proper tequila, fancy schmancy tequila, and I was being schooled in all the manyways of drinking it. Glasses were floating towards me containing tequila in every form. Neat.

Rocks. Margarita. Splash of soda and lime.

I drank it all, every drop, and started feeling very bloody good.

I thought: I like these Americans. I like them a lot.

Strange time to be pro-American. Most of the world wasn’t. Certainly not Britain. Many Britsdespised the American war in Afghanistan, and resented being dragged into it. With some the anti-American sentiment ran very hot. I was reminded of my childhood, when people warned me allthe time about Americans. Too loud, too rich, too happy. Too confident, too direct, too honest.

Nah, I always thought. Yanks didn’t beat about the bush, didn’t fill the air with polite snortsand throat clearings before coming to the point. Whatever was on their mind, they’d spit it out,like a sneeze, and while that could be problematic at times, I usually found it preferable to thealternative:

No one saying what they truly felt.

No one wanting to hear how you felt.

I’d experienced that at twelve years old. I experienced it even more now that I was thirty-one.

I floated through that day on a pink cloud of tequila fumes. No—floated is wrong. I piloted thepink cloud, and after I landed it—textbook landing, by the way—I woke with no hangover.

Miracle.

The next day, or the day after, we moved for some reason. We went from the home ofThomas’s girlfriend to the home of Courteney Cox. She was a friend of Thomas’s girlfriend, andhad more room. Also, she was traveling, on a job, and didn’t mind if we crashed at her place.

No complaints from me. As a Friends fanatic, the idea of crashing at Monica’s was highlyappealing. And amusing. But then… Courteney turned up. I was very confused. Was her jobcanceled? I didn’t think it was my place to ask. More: Does this mean we have to leave?

She smiled. Of course not, Harry. Plenty of room.

Great. But I was still confused because…she was Monica. And I was a Chandler. I wonderedif I’d ever work up the courage to tell her. Was there enough tequila in California to get me thatbrave?

Soon after arriving home, Courteney invited more people over. Another party began. Amongthe newcomers was a bloke who looked familiar.

Actor, my mate said.

Yes, I know he’s an actor. What’s his name?

My mate couldn’t remember.

I went over and talked to the actor. He was a friendly sort, and I liked him straightaway. I stillcouldn’t place his face or call up his name, but his voice was even more vexingly familiar.

I whispered to my mate: Where do I know this guy from?

My mate laughed. Batman.

Sorry?

Batman.

I was into my third or fourth tequila, so I was having trouble understanding and processing thisremarkable bit of new information.

Fuck—yes! Batman LEGO movie. I turned back to the actor and asked: Zit true?

Is…what true?

Are you Him?

Am I—?

Batman.

He smiled. Yes.

What a thing to be able to say!

I begged: Do it.

Do what?

The voice.

He shut his eyes. He wanted to say no, but he didn’t want to be impolite. Or else he recognizedthat I wouldn’t stop. He fixed me with his ice-blue eyes and cleared his throat and in perfectgravelly Batmanese said: Hello, Harry.

Oh, I loved it. Again!

He did it again. I loved it even more.

We shared a big laugh.

Then, maybe to get rid of us, he led my mate and me to the fridge, from which he extracted asoft drink. While the door was open we spotted a huge box of black diamond mushroomchocolates.

Someone behind me said they were for everybody. Help yourself, boys.

My mate and I grabbed several, gobbled them, washed them down with tequila.

We waited for Batman to indulge as well. But he didn’t. Not his thing, or something. Howdyalike that? we said. This bloke’s just sent us by ourselves into the fucking Batcave!

We took ourselves outside, sat down by a firepit, and waited.

I remember after a time standing up and wandering back into the house to use the loo.

It was hard to navigate the house, with its angular modern furniture and clean glass surfaces.

Also, there weren’t many lights on. But in time I managed to find a loo.

Lovely room, I thought, shutting the door.

I looked all around.

Beautiful hand soaps. Clean white towels. Exposed wood beams.

Mood lighting.

Leave it to the Yanks.

Beside the toilet was a round silver bin, the kind with a foot pedal to open the lid. I stared atthe bin. It stared back.

What—staring?

Then it became…a head.

I stepped on the pedal and the head opened its mouth. A huge open grin.

I laughed, turned away, took a piss.

Now the loo became a head too. The bowl was its gaping maw, the hinges of the seat were itspiercing silver eyes.

It said: Aaah.

I finished, flushed, closed its mouth.

I turned back to the silver bin, stepped on the pedal, fed it an empty packet of cigarettes frommy pocket.

Open wide.

Aaah. Thank you, mate.

You’re welcome, mate.

I left the bathroom, giggling, and walked straight into my mate.

What’s so funny?

I told him he needed to walk into that loo right now and have the experience of a lifetime.

What experience?

Can’t describe it. You have to see for yourself. Meeting Batman pales by comparison.

He was wearing a big puffer jacket with a furry collar, exactly like the one I’d worn to theNorth and South Poles. Without taking it off he walked into the loo.

I went to make myself another tequila.

Minutes later my mate appeared at my side. His face was white as a sheet.

What happened?

Don’t want to talk about it.

Tell me.

My puffer jacket…became a dragon.

A dragon? In the loo?

And tried to eat me.

Oh dear.

You sent me into a dragon’s lair.

Shit. Sorry, mate.

My delightful trip had been his hell.

How unfortunate. How interesting.

I led him outside gently, told him it would all be OK.