Free Secret Story by Ramsey Campbell

harmless. Any chance of another drink without me having to screw anyone?”
    As Walt signalled at the empty glass she was brandishing, Vincent ventured to deal with the silence. “I wouldn’t mind him not managing to catch someone. We could see it from his point of view.”
    “He’s nothing like that, none of it,” Dudley said and scraped his chair backwards.
    “Looks like it went home if you’re off home,” Shell remarked.
    “I’m going to the toilet.”
    Patricia thought it might be time to suggest that Shell finish harassing him, but the buxom Beatle was wheeling dinner to their table. As Dudley emerged from the door marked Roadies next to Groupies, Shell called “What have you been doing to yourself in there? I hope you’re just trying to walk like John Wayne.”
    “I’ve no choice at the moment,” Dudley said through a fixed grin as he sank with some caution onto his chair.
    “Everyone’s got them. I expect you’d say your character’s got none and it’s all our fault, the rest of us.”
    “He’s got plenty and he makes them. He loves what he does.”
    Shell dismissed his vehemence with more laughter than humour. “You haven’t told us why you’ve got no choice.”
    “I was attacked at work.”
    “Why, for having a big head?”
    “A girl wanted me to find her a sex job.”
    “Don’t tell us you got close enough to catch something.”
    “I said I was attacked,” Dudley protested, wriggling gingerly on the chair. “Just because we aren’t allowed to offer table dancing and the rest of it.”
    Shell chewed a forkful of enchilada while she built up a smirk. “What’d she do, twist your equipment to make you deliver?”
    Dudley poked at his ratatouille with his knife, apparently in search of any element that might appeal to him. “She told her mother and she came in as well.”
    “You never got yourself attacked by two women at once. How much would you pay for that if you had to?” Shell’s mouth turned wryer as she enquired “What did you say to make them bend your banana?”
    “They kept saying I made out she was a prostitute.”
    “And you weren’t thinking anything like that.”
    “I may have thought it, but—”
    “What gives you the right to think about women that way? No wonder you tell nasty little stories. Women ought to cover themselves up or they’re whores and they deserve whatever men dream up to get their own back ’cos they feel threatened, is that what it’s about? And women that can see through men as well. Good on the girl and her mother. I hope they made you realise we aren’t things you can fantasise about however you like.”
    “They didn’t touch me. They wouldn’t have dared,” Dudley said, waving his knife. “They had to send her brother. He attacked me in the middle of a crowd of people. I called for help and nobody did anything.”
    “Pity it wasn’t the women instead of just another man putting on his hormones in the street. Funny all the same,” Shell spluttered and lifted a song-sheet napkin to wipe her mouth.
    Tom contented himself with a grunt that could have expressed amusement. Once the unresponsiveness of the rest of the party had made itself felt, Walt said “I hope you’re not in too much pain, Dudley, and I guess I’m speaking for just about everyone. Did you want to bounce off what Shell said before?”
    “I’ve said all I’ve got to say for now.”
    “Don’t say you’re sulking because I told you all about your character,” Shell cried. “That’s too sad.”
    “Give the guy a break,” Patricia thought Walt could have said rather earlier. “We aren’t here to stop him working.”
    Shell shovelled a large forkful of enchilada into her mouth and helped it down with the last of her second jigger. “Thanks for the nosh, Walt. If I’m not allowed to talk, no point me being here.”
    “Now who’s sulking?” Dudley said.
    Shell marched halfway to the door and swung around. “If anyone wants to hear what I’ve got to