Pizza Face

David Dunleavy was a very handsome man. A looker. He was also a bright, shining star in business - the world of futures metal trading. Some people found him arrogant and self-satisfied. I found him to be just blasé and sometimes just a little careless about the feelings of others. Mine too. He was gloriously outspoken and opinionated. And it worked for him. He got on and he got ahead. Big job, big car, big house, big bank balance and big ego. The trouble is this, though, when you have this kind of attitude you are setting yourself up for a fall. As the extraordinary George Santayana wrote, ‘To knock a thing down, especially if is cocked at an arrogant angle, is a deep delight to the blood’. And so it is. This is the way of the world, after all. Set ‘em up and then have the pleasure of shooting ‘em down. We do it all the time. There’s always a bit of schadenfreude in all of us, though, isn’t there? That is, taking pleasure in the misfortunes of others. Sad, ain’t it? But it’s true. We do get off on the miseries of others. It makes us feel better that someone else is having a harder time than us. Yeh?

I’m not saying that David spent his life gloating at other peoples’ difficulties. No. This was not the biggest flaw in his personality. But what I am saying is that he felt superior, above the rank and file. He did not treat his friends and colleagues with the same degree of respect that he expected them to show him. The sad truth is that he was in fact no less careless with my feelings than he was with others and I considered myself his friend.

I admired him. And, to be honest, I loved him not a little. He was good fun and he was funny too. He had a first class sense of the humour and could dredge out a comic line from almost any situation. He was well-gifted and women were drawn to him like the planets to the Sun. Most of these women though only orbited fixedly around their star, staying at a safe distance to watch, adore and admire. Only a few let go and crashed headlong down onto his surface, to smashed to smithereens on the craggy barbs of David’s ego. This was not bad stuff to him, just more fun. He did not have much comprehension of, or time for, kindness. In fact, sometimes you felt that he had no comprehension of the reality of others. It was as if other people were not solid, had no inner life, had no agenda of their own. He had the awkward and off-kilter impression that he was the centre of the universe and that everything existed - more or less - for him and for him only.

There was one girl he really took to, though. Sophie was his match in looks and more so in achievement. And, sadly for David she was a real hardass too. There was no doubt amongst us, his friends, that they did fall in love and that they did really care for each other in their fashion. And there’s the rub. In their fashion. They were equally self-centred, self-satisfying and self-serving. Some combination, you might say. Well, it was. It was hot. It lasted months and then ran into years and they really did start to get used to one another. To live with and around each other. It was a pretty skilful act. You had to marvel and then you had to wonder - how long? And, what if?

It happened. Sophie met an ageing rock star and her affections turned that way. The day she told David that she was leaving him was the day that David’s life came to an end. That is, the David that we knew. None of us would have expected that Sophie’s rejection could possibly have had such an effect on such a steel-willed man. David lost it. He lost Sophie. He lost his job. He lost his looks. And this is how it happened.

No one heard from David for two days after Sophie’s departure. He called me on the third day. His voice was weak, small and distant. He was transformed. I listened patiently while he told me what had happened. Much of it I already knew from Sophie and her friends. What I did not know was what David showed me when I drove over to his house later that same day. He opened the door by remote and asked me to come on through to his study. When I entered David was turned away from me, sitting in his high-backed leather chair, facing the windows overlooking his beautiful garden. He asked me to sit and announced in an almost tearful voice that he had something that he wanted me to see or more accurately needed me to see. He needed someone to see it and he said he trusted me. I don’t know why. He had never confided in me before. Well, not that I was aware of anyway and not that I’d necessarily know exactly what David considered a confidence in any case. We each have our own levels of truth and our own specific levels of just how much we will tell about ourselves and our true feelings to others. We have to protect the image that we choose to project. We have to keep up appearances and often we do this to our cost. Our health suffers or our falsehoods are exposed and we lose face. It is not good to keep too much hidden. Or, so we are told. I wondered then just what it was that David was hiding.

When he eventually turned towards me I knew. His face was a mass of inflamed tissue and suppurating sores. Bright red flesh splashed through with lurid yellow pus. It looked like hell and it must have felt just as bad - or worse.

‘Look at me.’ He spoke thickly and slowly. ‘Look at what’s happened to me.’

I was speechless.

‘Sophie left me and I got this in her place. I don’t know what to do, where to go.’

‘Have you seen your doctor?’ This was all I could think to ask.

‘Of course I have, Ben. And two specialists. They’re running tests. Right now they don’t know what it is.’ He paused, looking hard at me. ‘Some kind of acne, is all they can say. Some kind of acne! Not much use to me. I just can’t show myself. I daren’t.’

‘Have you told them at work?’

‘Of course not!’ he barked back, banging his fist on his desk.

‘Are you going to?’

‘No.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be there now, David?’

‘Yes.’

He said no more on that and there was an awkward pause. I stared down at my feet, searching for something positive to add. Eventually a question formed in my mind. ‘Shall I call in for you? Say you have ‘flu or somesuch?’

‘You could, I guess.’ All the vigour and enthusiasm had gone from his voice. He reminded me then of a lost child. A poor lost boy, who doesn’t know where to turn or who to turn to.

After I had called David’s office with the story, I left the house, promising to return the following evening. I returned to my farm and threw myself into some very practical problems we were facing with our cash flow. I made several phone calls to our suppliers and to our bankers and finally I called David’s doctor, who was by a happy coincidence also my father’s physician. After the usual pleasantries we got to the point. We were both in agreement that the cause of the effect on David’s face had to be Sophie’s departure. There were no other linking factors that we could think of or were aware of. Arthur then explained how trauma could produce remarkable and rapid physical effects. He reminded me of our mutual friend Christopher, who lost all his hair a matter of days following the horrific murder of his wife and children. His hair had never returned, nor had his equanimity. Christopher never recovered. He just gave up, lapsed into lethargy and died. Well, that I could understand. But David’s dumping by Sophie didn’t quite seem to measure up to that kind of marker. Arthur explained though that it was extremely difficult, if not impossible, to judge the relative effects of trauma between different individuals. There were so many factors at play. Personality was key and timing too, he explained. As usual in medicine, there was no general rule. Bit of this, bit of that, he said. Nature and nurture.

When I returned to David’s house the following night I found it in darkness. Not a light in sight, not a sign of life. I parked up by the front of the mansion, rang the door bell and waited. Eventually the door opened on auto and David’s voice asked me to come on in and up to his bedroom. He told me not to use any lights. There was a torch, he said, on the hall table. I found it and made my way up the first floor. I wasn’t immediately sure which room was David’s and I paused in confusion.

‘In here’, he said. ‘First on the left. Put that torch out when you’ve found the door and leave it outside. OK?’

‘OK’, I replied uneasily as I found the door, switched off the torch and set it down. I let myself into the room. It was pitch black. I couldn’t see a thing. ‘Where are you? I can’t see you David.’

‘Just as fucking well, my friend. I look like shit - literally.’ His voice was peevish and strained and came from the bed, which I was just beginning to see in outline. ‘You wouldn’t want to see me frankly.’

I walked to the foot of the bed as David started to cry. Deep, racking sobs welled out of him, growing to the howl of a tortured animal. Pain and despair transformed into a sound as primeval as rock. The howling continued while I stood gripped in helpless despair. I had no idea what to say, what to do. I felt right out of depth in some place, where I had never been, or could have imagined ever existed. Deep, dark and terrifying. The voice of the unknown.

When the baying finally subsided I walked to the side of the bed.

‘No nearer now. It stinks too.’

I waited for David to say more. I was still tongue-tied.

‘Dr Gray was here an hour ago. There wasn’t much he could tell me, except that the tests had not shown up any obvious bugs. All he could say was that it was some kind of fungal parasite. Fungus. Jesus! He said they’d know more in a couple of days and that he’d be back. Have you seen Sophie?

This abrupt change of tack threw me completely. ’I.......er......no. Not since she.....................’

‘Too bad’, was all of David’s reply.

I felt more awkward than ever. I had not seen Sophie but had spoken to her only that afternoon on the phone. There was nothing she could do for David, or wanted to do. She could not really listen or take in my description of David’s face. I don’t think she took me seriously or else she was suspicious that it was some kind of ploy on my part to bring her back into the frame. She definitely did not want back in. The relationship was over and that was that. I found her remarkably lacking in compassion. Not that I’d ever had her down for the caring type. That was clearly not her bag. But to so completely and utterly turn her back on him was, I told her, a bit hard to take. Sophie had laughed at that. ‘You don’t know the half of it.’ She was bitter.

I waited for her to add more.

‘He’s a vile man, you know.’ Her voice was calmer, softer. ‘He was so bright. Mental torture was his thing. He drove me up the wall. I was no match for his intensity, his need to make his point and his need to be right about everything - absolutely everything. He could argue that black was white and have me give in. He just loved to win. He had to win. He whole life was geared around scoring points, getting one over the competition, which in David’s case was the whole world. Tough competition. It’s no wonder he’s got ill. It serves him right. Seems just pay-back to me. He had it coming.’

There wasn’t much I could say to that. In part I had to agree with her, but I also was mindful of the fact that it generally takes two (or more) to make a relationship fail. I knew David would tell a completely different story. So I didn’t ask. There did not seem much point.

A week later I was again in David’s still-darkened bedroom.

‘I went out two days ago just to see what it was like, what the effect would be on other people...........’ He paused.

‘And?’

‘It wasn’t good. Not at all good. To be honest it was unbearable.’ His voice was full of pain and rage. ‘Women do a double-take and then try to look sympathetic and forgiving. Men just stare right through you, blinking out of focus when they see the mess. Children are the worst when there’s a group of them. All elbows and sniggers and I even heard it: "pizza face". Jesus! Pizza face! That was it for me. I knew then that I’d lost the lot, that I couldn’t play the game anymore. That I would never show my face again. I can’t bear it. I had no idea just how important it was to me - this face I could once show to the world with the absolute confidence that people would like what they see and that it would always help me get my way with women - and with men. I was always a winner and every win only added to my ability to win and to cement me in my belief that I was always right. Well ho ho to that. Thing’s are different now. I am suddenly and completely out of the game.

‘What about the tests? What did they show?

David almost spat out his reply. ‘They show nothing that any expert in the known universe knows anything about. It’s a complete fucking mystery. All they will conjecture is that it is viral and comes from God knows where. Never been encountered before according to all records. Can you believe it, Ben? An apparently new disease and one, it seems, that has been made especially for me! How touching. How fucking diabolical. It’s just that I had everything going for me and now it’s come right down to nothing. It seems to be so..........’ He searched for the word. ‘...............Unfair.’

‘Let me remind you, David, how many times you’ve told me that all’s fair in love and war. So where does the unfairness come in?’

He was crying again. ‘I don’t know................I....... It just seems so from where I am. Pitiless.’

‘There’s nothing I can say about that that’s going to help you.’ I could feel my patience rapidly draining away. I did everything I could to hold myself in and keep a grip on my compassion as my roiling anger attempted to surface. All the old hostilities and jealousies were trying hard to get a look in.

‘OK. OK.’ David made a big effort to pull himself together. ‘I’ve decided on my next move.’

‘And?’ I waited.

‘I’m going.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘I mean I’m going to disappear myself. Leave my job, rent the house and freeze my assets.’

‘Freeze your assets? Why?’

‘I won’t be needing money where I’m going.’

I was shocked and not a little worried. ‘What on earth d’you mean, you won’t need money. Everyone needs money.’

‘Not where I’m going.’

‘What d’you mean, David?’ I thought he meant suicide. He read my mind.

‘Oh no, don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything like that. It’s just that the medical people have told me that, given time, they are confident of finding some treatment. I’m going into hiding until that time comes.’

‘Where?.

‘It wouldn’t be real if I told you. Let’s just say, far, far away. Somewhere I’m not known. Somewhere I can be anonymous.’

‘Who will know where you are?’

‘Only my doctor and he’s sworn to secrecy. So, there it is. End of part one.’

Twenty-five years later we met again. I had received a somewhat cryptic message in the mail, asking me to be at a hotel in Great Yarmouth the following weekend. The letter specified the date and the time to meet. The note was unsigned and, although I did not recognise the handwriting, I knew it had to be David.

I arrived at the Hotel Royal way ahead of time and ordered some lunch in the bar. I had barely started my meal when I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I turned slowly and was greeted by a most surprising sight. A small, thin man in a postman’s uniform I barely recognised. David’s face was clear and healthy, but at the same time it was a very different face to the one I remembered. He also seemed somehow taller and yet smaller. His voice even had a finer timbre to it - gentler, more constrained. My astonishment must have been palpable. David smiled.

Yes, it’s me. David. Don’t you recognise me, Ben?’

‘Well, hardly’, I stammered. You..............you’ve changed, you know......a lot.’

‘I know. But it is me, I can assure you.’

‘And you’re a postman now?’ I couldn’t hide my surprise.

‘Indeed I am. And a part-time school caretaker. I do Punch-and-Judy shows on the prom in the summer too.’

‘Punch-and-Judy! David..........I..............’

‘Yes?’

‘I am just.............surprised.’

‘Nothing at all wrong with that, dear boy. Life is full of surprises. And I’ll tell you something: I really surprised myself. I mean I’m not surprised now. Not anymore. I am content now. I have everything.’

‘Everything?’

‘Yes, everything. I have a job - three jobs. I have friends I like and who like me. I am respected and I’m doing something useful. I contribute. I’m part of things here. I don’t want for anything.’

I was speechless. David watched me calmly, smiling. Eventually I managed to blurt out, ‘But, Great Yarmouth! Please, give me a break.’

David laughed and light danced in his eyes. ‘Like I said, Ben, I do have everything. You know, sun, sea, sky, green grass, people. All the usual things.’ He laughed again, but not at me - at things in general. He waved at a couple as they came into the bar, then turned back to me. ‘And in case you’re wondering, I did rent out my house, and I gave away my cars and my money to the university, which was doing all the research into acne and viral skin infections. The rent on the house still goes to the university. Back then, though, all those medicos couldn’t find a cure for my face so I gave up on them and headed for obscurity. They do have the cure now, by the way. Not that I need it, but my money was well-spent.

‘It must’ve been hard for you.’

‘No, on the contrary, it was easy.’

My confusion must have been obvious. None of this made sense in terms of the David that I knew.

‘It was easy because the day I gave up everything was the day that I started to heal. The very day. It then took just over a year for the disease to disappear completely. It was like a rebirth for me. If not a new life, then at the least a new beginning.’

‘Don’t you miss your old life, your old friends?’

‘No, I don’t. Absolutely not. Except for you. That’s why I wrote to you and asked you to meet me. You’re the only one I miss, the only one I wanted to see. I don’t know if we can be friends anymore or if our lives are just too different now. Maybe we can try. That is one thing I want to do. But there is something else.’ He paused.

‘Yes.’

‘I have heard that Sophie is ill. Did you know she has cancer?’

I replied in the negative. I hadn’t seen Sophie in a quarter of a century. I had heard her spoken of occasionally. But nothing good, I have to say. I knew she had spent all her money drinking and gambling, that she was unhappily married and had lost a child.

‘She’s just come out of gaol’, David added matter-of-factly. ‘She’s got nothing and she needs help.’ David looked away towards the windows and the view of the cold, grey North Sea. I waited. Eventually he swung his gaze back to me.

‘I am going to sell my house and I want you to ensure that the proceeds go to Sophie.’

‘What!’ I rarely cut across him, but this was too much. ‘David that house is worth over two million pounds!’

‘I know. It’s great. It’s more than enough for her needs, but what the hell!’ He laughed.

‘David!’

‘The point is this, Ben: there’s every chance that she will survive, given the right treatment. I want to make sure she gets it.

‘Why?’ I just had to ask. ‘Why give it all to her?’ What can you possibly owe Sophie?’

‘I don’t owe her anything. It’s not a question of owing, Ben. It’s a question of........’

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t need the money. I don’t want the money.’

‘You could......’

‘I could do anything with it, but I’m doing exactly what I told you and that is that. Now, be a good friend and promise you’ll do this for me.’

‘OK. I will, but only if you tell me why you are doing it.’ I could see he was not to be diverted and, anyway, it really was no business of mine. I had no objection in principal to helping him carry out his wish.

‘I am doing this because I love her. I loved her then. But, the thing is , Ben, I never told her so. Now she’ll know. I think she’ll get the message, don’t you?’

I had to agree with him.

Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon was born in Cambridge in 1943. He was educated at St. Faith's, Cambridge and Oundle School. Nigel began writing while still a student and subsequently published poems and short stories in the UK, the USA and in France. He toured the UK performing at poetry and poetry & jazz readings with the New Departures Group. Nigel's interest in film took him to the London School of Film Technique in 1969. From film school he joined the industry as a trainee editor working on TV commercials, then moved to the BBC as an editor, cutting dramas and documentaries. Nigel formed his first production company, Green Back Films in 1976 with the partners of the record sleeve design company, Hipgnosis. They worked on music promotions for Donovan, Pink Floyd, 10cc, Squeeze, Rainbow, Joe Cocker, Big Country, Wings and Paul Young, producing ground-breaking and award-winning commercials and videos He later joined the creative team at the Central Office of Information, writing and directing for the international TV documentary series This Week in Britain and Living Tomorrow. Nigel is recognised for his ability to make difficult and technical subjects accessible through his exciting and thought-provoking films. His most outstanding work includes an acclaimed series of films for the UK's Royal Air Force and Royal Navy, SAVING THE CHILDREN, a television documentary on women who work for children's' charities. He also directed The Bobby Charlton Story, Reflections, Satguru, Rainbow - Live Between The Eyes and the series Whatever You Want for the UK's Channel Four. GORDON FILMS UK was formed in 1995 to produce the award-winning television documentary THE COLOURS OF INFINITY, presented by Sir Arthur C. Clarke with music by David Gilmour on the discovery of the Mandelbrot Set and the development of Fractal Geometry. COLOURS has thus far been broadcast in over twenty territories world-wide, including in the UK - on Channel Four. Following from THE COLOURS OF INFINITY Nigel has produced and directed IS GOD A NUMBER? This television documentary looks at the mystery of consciousness and some remarkable discoveries that have recently been made in mathematics. He has also produced and directed a biographical broadcast documentary on the life of the mathematician, Benoît Mandelbrot. Nigel has just completed directing a feature film, REMEMBER A DAY, for Madcap Productions. Nigel's first book, INTRODUCING FRACTAL GEOMETRY was published by ICON BOOKS in November 2000.

Email: Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon

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