Free Dick Longg: Sexual Saviour of the Universe by Mark Leigh Page B

about it and had to agree. Two of his early jobs in the studio publicity department had been persuading people to see the absolute stinkers ‘King Ralph’ and ‘Hudson Hawk’. If he could manage this he was sure he could convince the public that pre-marital sex was evil. One thing Dick wasn’t sure about however, was his new name. He didn’t see himself as a Jeremy. He placed the name in the same category as Tarquin, Gerald or Adolf but Taylor told him it was too late to change it. The falsified records had been completed and fully integrated into all Party databases. The resistance member who arranged Dick’s new identity had engineered not just Dick’s entire back story, but also the job vacancy. It had been arranged that Dick’s resume and experience made him the most suitable candidate by a long way. In theory he was a shoo-in for the job. All he had to do was remember every single thing he’d been taught and not crack under the pressure of the forthcoming job interview. Taylor had told him that this would be far, far more strenuous and severe than any of the mock interviews he’d undergone so far.
                                                   
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    This interview had been arranged for a Friday morning. Dick was taken there by Susan who, so they wouldn’t be observed together, dropped him off six blocks from his final destination. Only then was he permitted to remove his sunglasses and the blindfold they concealed. He breathed in deeply, gulping the clean air in lungfuls. This was the first time he’d been out of the resistance headquarters since his arrival and Dick savoured this refreshing antidote to the L.A. smog he was so familiar with. The streets were filled with hurrying commuters like him, too busy and pre-occupied to notice anything about Dick’s appearance that might make him stand out. Of course, there shouldn’t have been anything that gave this impression as Dick had been groomed and styled in the fashion of the time, which meant a severe suit and even more severe haircut. In fact he cut quite a dash as he followed the crowds to his potential employer.
    Although he’d been given a street map it wasn’t difficult to find the Ministry of Information. Even a few blocks away it towered over the surrounding buildings, seemingly sucking workers towards its entrance like some monstrous vacuum cleaner. Turning the last corner Dick faced this thirty-storey monolith of a building. Craning his head, he surveyed its grey, faceless exterior. There was nothing about it that said this was a vitally important cog in the Party machine. If you didn’t realise its purpose, Dick thought, the innocuous building could have easily been the Ministry of Ball Bearings or The Ministry of Blotting Paper. But then Dick remembered that its stark, anonymous features were indicative of Party policy. The building’s appearance said ‘hard work’, ‘respect for authority’ and ‘mindless dedication and commitment’. It also said, ‘Abandon any hope of slacking, all ye who enter here’. Gulping again, a combination of nervousness and a desire to appreciate the air once more, Dick entered the double-height entrance lobby and crossed the foreboding cold marbled foyer like, he felt, a dead man walking.
    Dick presented himself and explained the purpose of his visit to a very stern and very flat-chested receptionist. After checking and crosschecking a long list of names and appointments then making a verifying phone call to someone deep within the building, she directed him to the security desk. Here Dick held his palm over a scanner that flashed green. One of the security guards gave him the look that all security guards give; the look that says ‘I’m bored with this unbelievably dull job and am only doing it because I’m not clever enough for the police’. After being issued with his visitor’s badge Dick was directed to one of the gated elevators situated beyond reception.