Crying Wolf with Chris Marlton

Decibels 4-6: Bogota to Moscow

No one is more representative of the people than the world’s most favourite actor, Decibel Beaumont. In Part Two of this extensive (and, frankly, excessive) interview, Chris Marlton asks the questions you’ve all been dying to know about the loudest and proudest ballerina turned model turned singer turned actor of the last century. Buckle up!

Afternoon in El Dorado: Empanadas & Tamales

Three hours into our twelve-hour flight from Switzerland to Colombia, I was taken aback to have the flight attendant inform me that Ms Beaumont had requested that I come and sit next to her in the spare seat she always reserves so she could have a peaceful flight with no one bothering her. So, I walk up the aisle to sit next to her.

“Do you play?” she asks.

“Play?” 

“Chess,” she gestures down at the magnetised board before her. I shake my head and say,

“Only a little when I was a kid, I’m not any good.”

“Perfect,” she grins, “I’m no good either.”

We play 17 games of chess over the next eight hours before the chess board light comes on, and I have to return to my seat for landing.

We spoke at length about a great many things during that flight, but it’s all off the record. What happens in the air stays in the air.

The next day, we meet in the lobby of the Grand Hyatt and make our way back to the El Dorado International Airport for afternoon tea. When we arrive, instead of heading for the premium lounge, Decibel says:

“Follow me.” So I do.

And we walk through the main thoroughfares of the airport. She has sizeable sunglasses and a scarf on, concealing her well-known appearance. We stroll up to a regular food court, where she orders for both of us.

Moments later, we sit at a typical, slightly sticky food court table bolted to the brown and cream-tiled ground. The twisty seats are also affixed to the ground, though I can not imagine anyone possibly trying to steal them.

“Eating at places like this reminds me of when I was young,” she says, with a giant shared tray of empanadas sitting between us. She takes one and dips it in sauce before taking a sloppy bite. I join her in celebrating this everyday food.

“How young are we talking? Was your life ever normal?” I ask, as I bite an empanada.

“I danced from when I was 12, at an international standard, so no, never normal,” she takes a final bite and then a giant slug of Mountain Dew Energised (the version with caffeine) from a large plastic tumbler.

“You know some countries don’t serve caffeinated Mountain Dew? It’s crazy.”

“I didn’t realise you drank that kind of stuff,” I accuse.

She blinks twice. “There’s a lot about me you don’t realise.”

“Like what?” I delve, cracking my knuckles and leaning forward to hear her soft reply in the loud food court.

“Like the fact that I divorced Gordian five days before this interview,” she says with a deadpan expression.

“Oh,” I say dumbly, unsure how to respond to the revelation I’ve just heard. This is the breaking piece of news that will make the article I’m writing about Decibel into must-read journalism. However, something has changed between us. The same thing making her confide this information has made me uneasy about including it in the report.

“Are you testing me,” I ask carefully.

“What would the test be?” she asks.

“Whether or not we’re friends,” I answer.

“We’re not friends,” she says. “I don’t have friends anymore, not at my age.” She sipped more Mountain Dew, and a slurp punctuated her refreshment. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to be my friend anyway.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Why not – why aren’t we friends, or why not – why wouldn’t you want to be my friend?” she enquires.

“Why wouldn’t I want to be your friend?” I repeat to her.

“Because all my friends are dead of old age or long dead from drugs,” she says, eyes wetting again. Touched, I reply,

“Yes, but…”

“Shhh,” she stops me. “It doesn’t matter; I just like you too much for you to die any time soon.”

IF YOU ARE FLYING WITH AVIANCA AIRLINES FLIGHT AV305 TO OSAKA, JAPAN, BOARDING FOR PRIORITY GUESTS HAS NOW STARTED AT GATE C94

Dinner in Kansai: Himeji Oden & Ikanago no Kugini

Located on an artificial island in Osaka Bay, Kansai International Airport is the most expensive piece of engineering in human history. Our travel time from Bogotá was essentially an entire day. We both slept extensively on the flight, so it was almost time for dinner by the time we got to the ANA premium lounge.

“Have you ever thought you’d just stop getting married one of these days?” I venture, emboldened by the five days we’ve been travelling, eating and talking together.

“Haven’t you ever thought of not telling stories?” she retorts.

“I don’t understand,” I reply.

“Look, it’s in my blood. Acting, feeling, expressing. For me to stop falling utterly and completely in love with someone would be akin to an astronaut refusing to travel into space or a goat trying to give up eating grass. I feel deeply, and I act accordingly. It’s not something I’m ever going to stop doing.”

“Don’t you worry that these men are taking you for a ride and hoping to get some of your fortune?” I argue as the waiter brings us a serving of Himeji oden and ikanago no Kuni, which looks as tasty as anything I’ve eaten this trip. She starts to pick at her food,

“Do you worry that your partners are doing that to you?”

“Well, no,” I begin.

“Then neither do I!” she says aggressively. “Now eat your food; we’re boarding in fifteen minutes. And she was right. As we finish eating, the announcement is made to board the ANA Boeing 767-300 for Moscow.

Supper with Pushkin: Shchi, Borscht & Stroganoff

We are in Russia ten hours later at the Sheremetyevo Alexander S. Pushkin International Airport.

We say our temporary goodbyes as we head for our final hotel rooms of the trip, and I realise now how much I will miss talking to Decibel Beaumont when this is over.

The next day was long, and I had not heard from Decibel. We had agreed to meet at the Aeroflot members’ lounge for a late supper, where she had called ahead from Japan more than 24 hours earlier to order our meals. This was strange, but many things this woman had done were strange, and I dared not question her.

When I arrived, I was greeted and taken to a particular table in a luxury suite inside the member’s lounge. I was told that Ms Beaumont would join me later but that I should eat when the food arrived.

A cabbage soup and a beetroot soup were the opening courses, both tasting better than I thought possible.

After my interview subject was still not present, I was served a large plate of Beef Stroganoff. I slowly ate my way through the delicious meal, but it was like sawdust in my mouth without Decibel sitting with me.

I sit for another half-hour, then begin to worry. I had been messaging her with no response. Eventually, I asked an attendant to check for messages from her; there was nothing. I got up and made my way into the main lounge area.

On the television on the wall, there was a shocking image… Decibel Beaumont’s face is plastered across the screen. I run across to the service desk.

“What is that news program saying?” I ask, unable to understand a word of Russian. It was then that I realised that the whole terminal was beginning to turn chaotic around me.

“It’s breaking news…” the attendant says in broken English, eyes half on the screen, half on me. Her face turns white.

Chris Marlton is a comedian, writer, and painter. His new comedy special Museli Ballroom is on YouTube. Upcoming shows are available at linktree.com/chrismarlton. Follow @chris.marlton and @laserfirecomedy on Instagram and @ChrisMarltonComedy on Facebook.