An Interview With Russell T. Rousseau (Excerpt)

“Are you getting this Jeremy?”

Jeremy wasn’t listening. His mouth was open, he stood in awe, above him a man trussed up in what seemed to be a sex swing. He dangled awkwardly above a hushed room, he was hurriedly tweeting with one hand and gesturing wildly with the other, all the while dictating his life experiences to a now somewhat horrified journalist below. This man was Russell T. Rousseau, artiste, author, filmmaker, once notorious and now recluse would be genius.

“tweets, well quite frankly it was the worst of……… Jeremy are you getting this“?

“ yes yes, got it” Jeremy replied having missed the sentence completely, this might be Russell’s great unfinished interview if his skills in shorthand did not improve significantly. He peered up at the ceiling waiting for the next line, Russell spun uncontrollably in the harness gaining and losing speed as the leather straps coiled and uncoiled, he was cursing under his breath in French. Jeremy smiled to himself but unwittingly caught an unwanted and unobstructed view of the hanging scrotum, he looked away but the image had burned itself into his memory.

“Christ” Jeremy whispered to himself.

“Jeremy, I say Jeremy, there is a terrific disadvantage in not having the abrasive quality of the press applied to you daily. Even though we never like it, and even though we wish they didn’t write it, and even though we disapprove, there isn’t any doubt that we could not do the job at all in a free society without a very, very active press”

“Sorry Mr Rousseau ?” Jeremy asked.

Jeremy couldn’t concentrate. He desperately feared another trapped ant impression from above, the heaving chest, the hairy white limbs running in mid air trying to escape some sort of invisible amber, but there was only silence. The real and tangible need not to directly or indirectly see his interviewees genitals again ran through him, but he had another worry. His worry was that Russell was up above him and was slowly turning blue after another mishap with rogue arm cord. He raised his head and Russell was hanging perfectly still and looking down at him disapprovingly.

“JFK” Russell said with maximum dramatic effect.

“JFK“? Jeremy replied confused.

“J….F….K dear boy………….the quote” Russell seemed to become exasperated and begun to shift uncomfortably again. Then he cried out in a shrill voice  “Oh this is useless dear boy, useless, Libertee, LIBERTEE, come and release me from this self imposed leather purgatory”

Libertee scuttled in. He was a tall thin young man dressed in what Jeremy suspected was a sarong, he had seen David Beckham in one years ago, he felt pleased with himself that if asked he knew what this garment was called, and he was sure he would be asked.

Libertee unhooked the cable and began to lower Russell to the floor. “Gently Libertee gently, I am NOT a side of beef“. Libertee seemed to take no notice of his employer and the rope gathered pace as it slipped through his hands, he winced as the rope began to burn his fingers and he let go of it completely. There was a loud shriek from above as Russell re-entered the rooms atmosphere and plummeted to the ground, he hit the huge white couch covered in white fur and disappeared from sight over the arm. Jeremy and Libertee ran across the room to the now stricken Russell.

He was lying with one leg over the arm of the chair, and what looked like a serene expression on his face. “Are you okay?” asked Jeremy. There was a pause and then Russell let out another ear piercing scream “Libertee you incompetent queen” Libertee handed Jeremy a white dressing gown and backed away, Jeremy helped Russell up off the polished wooden floor. “Well then it’s settled you must stay for drinks” Russell said to Jeremy as Libertee was shooed away.

“but I was planning…….” Jeremy began his sentence but was cut short by a hand gently laid on his arm.

“I insist” Russell coed as he sashayed out of the room pausing only briefly to glare at Libertee.

Jeremy stood for a moment and peered back at the empty swing. This was either going to be the story of the year or a complete and utter disaster.