A Different Look

                       A DIFFERENT LOOK

The emergence of Rufus Brennan from the Gents, back into the dining area of a smart eaterie off Piccadilly Circus turned heads and with good reason.

Rufe (to his friends) was a London tour guide. His presence, back in to the main room caused no small amount of comment from the diners nearest to the convenience. 

He’d gone in to the convenience wearing normal casual clothes and carrying a large backpack. 

He came out, dressed in as he called it his “working clobber”   

Heads turned.

“How extraordinary,” said one. 

“Looks like he’s walked out of some kind of medieval cum sci-fi film.” said another.

“Are we in a Harry Potter scene here?” said the Maitre D’ to a waiter.

The attire was indeed from very much a bygone era, if not another world even. Rufus was shortly to be giving one of his tours and this attire was now his trademark outfit. 

That being, a black Steampunk gothic frock coat, with heavily embroidered swirls  in gold and red,  black equestrian jodhpurs and on his feet Clock Skull steampunk boots. Topped off with a steampunk burning-man hat with goggles and gears.

When he returned to his Aunt and Uncle with whom he was enjoying a gratis meal his Uncle remarked: 

‘I take it you’re meeting your next clients outside and not actually inside the Ritz?’ 

‘Not at all, they love me there! Yeah, maybe an overstatement I guess. '

‘What’s this pitch thing you’re doing tonight?’

‘I’ve written a screenplay, I’m a member of a kind of all things film organisation, they have events where studio execs come to hear pitches. You get up to a couple of minutes, but if you're awful, you can get told to stop, a bit like that talent show on TV when some panel member hits the stop button. There’s a mini stage set up, looks a bit film festival style with signage boards, grab the microphone and away you go with your film idea. Last one I went to there was about one hundred and fifty in the audience.’

‘Sounds terrifying.’

‘I’m getting funny looks in here, I should be off anyway. I’ll use the side door, thanks for the meal. I’ll pick up my clothes day after tomorrow. Thanks for looking after them, made life easier.

Did I ever say you’re my favourite Aunt and Uncle?’

‘Hardly a compliment considering the other two.’ Said the Uncle.

‘Now now George.’ His wife reprimanded.

As Rufus rose and turned away, he felt something hit his elbow, it was his Penny Dreadful Gothic Eyeball steampunk  walking stick passed by his Uncle. 'Don't forget the last piece of your ensemble.'

He exited and made his way to the Ritz. He’d intended to pop into London’s premier cigar shop in St James’s street, but was a little short on time. It was late afternoon and heavily overcast making the lights on Piccadilly stand out, Rufus took it as a cue to turn on his lapel Steampunk mechanical fluorescent spider, which inevitably caught passersby attention. 

His arrival in St James's Street noted by two chauffeurs leaning on their respective Bentleys, one turned and nodded in his direction:

’Good gracious look at the state of him!’

 The doorman greeted Rufus: 

‘Sorry sir you can’t come in here dressed like that, no riff raff policy as it were.’ 

‘How on earth did a fine establishment like the Ritz employ someone like you Benny?’

‘Beats me, how’s business Rufe?’

‘Pretty good, the virtual tours are the big thing, the Zoom thing, built quite a following, good money.’

‘Where did you get your outfit?’

‘Chap in Brighton specialises in this kind of attire, worth the expense, gets me noticed.’

‘I don’t doubt it old fruit, got a gig running from here have you?’

At that moment three women all finely dressed approached Rufus.

One of the chauffeurs stubbed out his cigarette.

‘Spiffing.’

‘Eh?’ said the other.

‘My next job, these three told me they wanted dropping in Notting Hill with a tour guide and this muppet looks like he is it. Thankfully they’re making their own way back. What on earth does he think he looks like?’

Rufus’s guided tour around Notting Hill was a regular haunt for him and always included the usual compulsory homage to the blue door made famous by the film of the same name. When in that area he’d pop into a quirky cafe called the Odd Bods.

Rufus remembered seeing the hoarding put up right around the corner premises before it opened for business, the signage read:  

“Opening soon. The Odd Bods Cafe ( May Contain Nuts ;)  

Definitely NOT one of those faceless corporate coffee shops one sees so much these days.” 

The words alone decided him to be a future patron. When guiding some tourists one day he noticed it was open for business and shepherded the group inside. Clearly the owner had a sense of humour as he’d followed up the pre opening message, by putting an “A” board outside with potential customers greeted on the outside with words that read:  

 “Come in and try one of the worst coffees a woman on Trip Advisor had in her life.”

 He was impressed with the inside of the Cafe with an alcove displaying  a life sized picture of an old style telephone box. A pink Chaise Longue placed against another wall with old framed LP covers scattered around. On a shelf, was a functioning twenties candlestick corded telephone with a metal bell. It had  an “of the period” ring. 

An American Rocola jukebox with old Shell petroleum company signs decorated a wall. A Bakelite radio with old radio stations from a bygone era engraved into the dial. Next to which were two Chesterfield armchairs accompanied by a newspaper stand with broadsheets held by long wooden vintage wooden rods. 

An almost floor to ceiling bookshelf that was not, just a clever idea for a door to the toilets.  A somewhat idiosyncratic feature to confuse new customers. A quirky service was a book exchange collection housed in a vintage book case which Cafe patrons could browse what was on literary offer as long as they had a book to leave. 

Some of Rufus’s groups were a little dubious about the outside appearance covered in bright vertical stripes of colour painted onto corrugated iron. It could be argued it looked like an oddball establishment one might find in the Kreuzberg area of Berlin.

His three lady group had finished their refreshments and Rufus bade goodbye to Lev the owner from the door.

‘Your big night tonight I seem to remember Rufus ? asked Lev Lensky.

‘Yes, more likely to win the lottery.’ 

‘Good luck and thanks yet again for bringing in custom.’

The venue for the live Screenplay pitch event was in Bloomsbury and after deciding he couldn’t be bothered to go home, elected to go straight to the venue in his work clothes. He knew some staff at a pub around the corner and would have a couple of beers to loosen up any inhibitions. He’d been to one of these pitch to the film industry events before and noted that several “pitchers” of their films had read it from a sheet paper and received an admonishment from one of the execs on stage:

“if you have to read it then you don’t know your film well enough.” 

Since on that occasion he’d got his typed in his hand, he’d slid it back into his coat pocket and stood himself down from going forward. Another time, he promised himself.

Now regretting his wardrobe choice, he opted for a third beer. But felt worse for it.  

Attendees of the pitch event could not help but notice Rufus in almost full regalia as he entered the room. When his turn came his name was called. 

The MC greeted Rufus to the microphone:

‘That’s one heck of an outfit you got on there fella.’

‘Didn’t have time to change after work.’ Rufus replied.

‘What do you do if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘Tour Guide.’

‘Oh cool, Rufus isn’t it.. The floor, as they say, is yours.’ 

Rufus was happy with his two minute delivery of his screenplay.  He received some positive feedback from the panel of film industry execs (he was just happy he didn’t get cut short on his two minutes).

There was also a good level of applause and he made his way back to his seat. He didn’t win the “pitch of the evening” prize. But overall was happy enough. His next day was also out of the usual for him as he was doing a book signing back at the Odd Bods Cafe, courtesy of Lev the owner.   

The book’s content was a London related potted version of all his tours. As he was setting up his book display in a corner, Lev the owner brought him a coffee.

‘Some interest already, Scottish lady, asked if this was the right place for the book signing. You should get on well, she had let’s say a rather Bohemian taste in clothes, can’t miss her and her coat of many colours.’

Sure enough, shortly after the conversation a lady walked in dressed as Lev had described. 

‘Hi Rufus, I’m Jane. I wanted to thank you.’

‘That’s good to hear, pray fair lady what have I done to earn your thanks?’

‘When we had that awful lockdown business, your Saturday live virtual tours kept me going, I think it did help many others as well judging by the comments in the chat box.’ 

‘I detect a Scottish accent there, and your name is Jane, I’m going to say you’re from Edinburgh? And if so you must have been watching my tours every Saturday for what must be three years, you’re my best customer, how lovely to meet you. I guess you saw my FB page with this book signing ?’

‘I did.’

‘I’ve had a fair few from all over the world contact me and we’ve done an in person tour, that wasn’t a plug for business by the way. Have you eaten?’

‘No.’

‘Well its not like we have to go far, I’ll get a menu.’

‘No, my treat though.’

‘I don’t think so, as a long standing customer of mine, I get to pay. So my treat.’

As the food arrived, Rufus started to stare at a broach like design on the lapel of her jacket, it depicted an artist’s palette.

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘What?’

‘I know you. Your broach, the artist’s palette. You are a street artist, I follow you on Social media, your moniker, don’t tell me. Mcbride?’

‘That’s me, how funny. I follow you obviously. Two followers meet. I almost feel a painting coming on, no, maybe not, maybe a book.’

Lev looked across from behind the counter. Remarking to Swiz his assistant that day: ‘Old Rufus and the Scottish lady seem to have hit it off.’ 

Rufus’s phone pinged a message.

‘Who’s this? Oh its .. excuse me, I need to make a call apparently.’ 

‘Sure go ahead. You look excited.’

Rufus returned five minutes later. He all but crashed into his chair.

‘You ok?’ Jane enquired.

‘You could say that. I’ve attracted the attention of a film production company.’

‘Oh do they want to do a piece on your tours then?’ 

‘No. Last night I pitched a screenplay to some studio execs. They want to talk. Perhaps take an option even apparently. What a great day I’m having.’  

‘How exciting. There is another reason I’m down here.'

‘Oh yes?’

‘I’ve taken a year out and am doing some art stuff at a Uni here, so I’ll be looking to rent somewhere, any local knowledge greatly appreciated and I’d like to get into some social circle, could you help?’

‘I could. Its going to cost you though.’

‘It is?’

‘You got your paints with you in that bag?’

‘Never go anywhere without them.’

‘I’d like a portrait done on the side of a soft drinks can like the one you did on the New York subway, it was a while back.’

‘Deal.’ She replied.

Rufus purchased a can and brought it back to the table as Jane was getting her mini mobile palette out.

Lev saw the start of the portrait sitting session and wandered over asking if Jane minded if he watched. She didn’t. This ongoing scene was noticed by other patrons, some of whom also joined the sitting. Lev took a picture from the doorway of the group, sent it to his printer and pinned it on the Cafe’s community board. 

After the finish of the ”drinks can” artwork and the ensuing praise from those around, it turned into a long afternoon for Jane. Never had she done so many portraits in one sitting, even sending out for more paints. 

After the last portrait was done Rufus standing with Lev commented to Jane:

‘There’s your social circle Jane, just have to find you a roof.’

‘Everyone is so friendly and generous, yes, I must find accommodation near this place.’ 

Lev intervened: You’d said earlier you’re going to be here for a year?’

‘I did.’

‘The lady you painted third, the one with the silver hair, she does accommodation, I’m sure she’d be able to help or would likely know someone who could. She’s here almost every day. I can mention it if you like?’ 

‘Yes please do. I’ll write my phone number down.’

The lady in question, Natasha Fillimore, was a well connected society person was in the next day as usual. Lev mentioned Jane and passed on her phone number.

Rufus went to bed that night a happy man. What a great couple of days, his life had potentially taken a jump forward and he’d been instrumental in helping another on their way.

THE END