Part 1 – I’ve Been Losing You
The Blood that Moves the Body
It had been a full week since Morten Harket’s unsuccessful job interview at the Acme Bank Company. The words of the bespectacled manager Ron McDonald echoed in his brain: “how can I stop now”…
“Indeed,” he thought to himself, “how can I stop now?”
The rain had been bucketing down all day, his flimsy and inexpensive rainjacket barely protected him from its incessant, almost intrusive actions. He stared at the insurance company shop front across the street, the dreary weather hardly lifting his spirits. “Ok,” he muttered.
A bell tinkeled as he opened the door. There must be a bell deployed just over the door frame, he thought to himself.
“Either that or an amazing coincidence,” piped a voice to his left.
“Excuse me!?” Morten frowned, looking towards the man sitting behind a cheap pine desk in the corner.
“If there is no bell deployed over the door frame then it must be a incidental sound that coincided with you opening the door!” smiled a short, balding man.
“You’re thinking, ‘how did he know I said that to myself?'”
Morten nodded, looking around him wearily.
“Ah, well, I can read minds. I don’t do it for a living – I sell insurance for a living!” he snorted rather unattractively. “Oh, I’m Ralph Cake.” He extended his hand.
“Morten Harket,” replied Morten.
“Yes, I know. You rang about the job as office manager here at the Acme Insurance Company.”
“Well, please sit down. Your CV was extremely impressive…but I have to say…I thought you would be more suited to somewhere like a bank. Say, a bank?”
“Yes,” Morten smiled. “I did go to the bank but…” Morten paused.
“Yes?” Ralph inquired by raising his left eyebrow – using his finger rather than his facial muscles.
“Well, I just didn’t think I’d be a fit there. The manager was, uh, a bit fixated on my name.”
Ralph Cake pursed his lips. “How odd. I mean what’s in your name that intrigued him so much?”
“There is a singer who shares my name. And Mr McDonald seemed to think it would be funny to talk about the singer all the time.”
“YES!” yelled Ralph, banging his fist on the desk. “Morten Harket!”
“You remember the singer?” Morten asked nervously.
“Of course! Yes, I remember him. Oh, he was great. The blood that moves the body now covers the ground do do do dooo dooo”
Morten stared incredulously at Ralph as he proceeded to sing the entire “Blood that Moves the Body” song.
“I loved that one,” he said excitedly. “Oh, it was so moody. For me it was a direct descendant of that James Bond song. I didn’t like that one. Probably because that guy who wrote all the James Bond songs was involved. I mean COME ON!! How many songs did he get to co-write!!? There must have been about 800 Bond movies. Sheesh!”
The room descended in to silence.
“Anyway, the job…” Morten began to ask.
“The song performed poorly in the charts yet it was one of their most mature works. Makes you wonder what goes on in people’s heads sometimes. I know when that song came out I was a big fan of Sabrina. Remember her?? Boys, boys, boys, I’m looking for a good time.”
Morten stared at Ralph. “That’s the song…”
“Yes, the song, not me recounting my youth,” Ralph reaffirmed. “Wasn’t the background vocal great in that ‘Blood that Moves the Body’ song? The way My love and your love were whispered just lent a mysterious air to the whole thing. I thought it was classic. Definitely worth 9/10 of anyone’s money.”
“Are you finished now?” asked Morten as he started to button his coat.
“I’d just add that they really made an arse of it when they brought it back to the live set in the ‘Lifelines’ tour. Much like the trick they pulled with ‘The Swing of Things’, they slowed it right down and took the urgency out of it. I’d have to say 6/10 for that one.”
“I must go,” Morten said politely, turning towards the door. “Thank you for your time.”
He left Ralph Cake humming the refrain in an annoying, out of tune, high-pitched way.
Morten turned the key in his front door and was met by his expectant wife.
“No joy,” he said, staring at the damp patches that were becoming more prevalent in the walls, as well as his pants. Well, it had been raining. “It was the a-ha curse again,” he said as he brushed away a tear masquerading as a rain drop.
“Never mind, darling,” she said, embracing him. “Maybe next week you’ll find that perfect job.”
“The ironic thing was that as the rain fell and the interiors of the office fogged – my pain didn’t fade. It was sharper and more intense.”
“That’s not irony, dear,” she assured him. “That’s life.”
And they went, hand in hand, to the bedroom to have some more adult time together.