by Kal Smagh
"Buckingham Palace. Wow! That must be an exciting job."
My mother would be so impressed. It struck me that he must get people coming out of the woodwork as well. Now, ironically, I was the woodworm.
"It is kitchen work. But you do get to see a lot of very famous politicians, and royalty."
"Been there long?"
His face fell a bit, as if contemplating telling me more than he wanted to share, "Two years. It’s been a learning process. You?" He leaned toward me.
I knew exactly how he felt, "One year."
"You know, this may seem forward. Would you like to have something to eat with me? A late lunch?"
The butterflies took flight from where they’d rested, "Yes, I could stand a bite to eat."
Inside my stomach was filled by the bouncing about of tens of winged creatures. I had to be careful because his smile was like a flame and I was like a moth drawn to it.
I’m not very good at flying insect metaphors.
Chapter 8: Is Everyone Bossy Here?
In a Chinese restaurant, the Golden Dragon, Archie ordered cashew chicken, white rice, egg drop soup, beef and broccoli, and a beer.
I smelled warm spring rolls, trying not to let my mouth water and spill out like a drooling weirdo. Was all of that for him alone? How much did a man eat in one sitting, anyway?
He saw the look on my face, reading my thoughts, "It's to share. Is there anything that you would like to add?"
The last time I had been in a Chinese restaurant in Liverpool I’d been at the mercy of the server lady. I pointed at the menu, "Spring rolls, please."
"Good addition. I like spring rolls."
After ordering and having his beer delivered and a glass of water for me, I mentioned the pair who were so rude, the representatives of Marlene Dietrich.
He lifted his chin, "That’s unfortunate. She is well loved, but who knows her among our generation? I’ll tell you somebody who is equally as rude if you promise not to say you heard it from me."
He looked like he enjoyed sharing scuttlebutt; my kind of guy.
I didn’t tell him that I was average at keeping secrets, largely untested, and that I had been described as a very poor liar, according to Brian Epstein himself. Nonchalantly, I offered like a champ, "Sure."
He took a long look around the restaurant then leaned in close to me, his voice just above a whisper, "In Buckingham Palace the person who runs everything is a man named Michael Adeane. He is assisted by a Home Office chief of security named Randall Foley." He paused, looking around the room again, "Mr. Foley can be a real ass. And his assistant is a bloody creep."
"How so?"
"His whole staff is overly officious. They are constantly making rules, whether you work in the kitchen, or any part of the country I understand."
"What kind of rules?" It seemed like everybody had rules that they wanted you to abide by.
He said, "I saw when you were checking in today, to get your credentials. The man who was behind you was Mr. Jenkins."
I recalled the coffee breath, and aftershave, from Liverpool. Definitely creepy.
He continued, "Mr. Jenkins works for Mr. Foley. He’s very bossy."
"He visited us up in Liverpool a few weeks ago."
Suddenly I realized I wasn't being as careful as Archie. I got it out of order, damn it!
I made an exaggerated show of turning to look around the restaurant to see who may be listening in, feeling entirely stupid.
To my relief no one else seemed to be paying any attention, besides who could possibly know me here?
I continued, "He started asking questions about the Beatles and their time in Hamburg, Germany. I heard there was some talk about them being undesirable."
A smile grew across his freckled face, "That’s what I find so likable about them. They don’t care what anybody thinks. They’re liable to say anything. That’s what makes them so fun."
"It has us on edge," I shrugged my shoulders, "but I guess it’s worked out. Because they’re getting set to play."
Archie sipped his beer, "Will you be setting up their equipment?"
I shook my head, "Oh gosh, no way. I don’t know anything about their electronics. It would be a disaster if I was asked to set up a drum set."
"Who does that for them?"
"They have two friends who take care of that."
"The reason I ask is because the producer for the show is Bradley Andrews, and he’s the one who sets all of the order and makes all of the final decisions for the show. He’s one very tough man I understand, but I don’t know him personally. He did have some choice words to share with my boss."
"What did he say?"
"Things like where we could and couldn’t set up. And it’s unusual to have somebody be so directive towards staffers from Buckingham Palace. But he seems to feel that he is the king of the Theatre."
Was everyone bossy in London? "I expect he has a lot of pressure because the Royals will be here." I leaned in, pressing for any update, “Do you think the Queen will be able to make it after all? Has she changed her mind?”
"Actually, the Queen will not be there. Not a chance. She’s reduced her schedule a bit,” he nodded, “you know, because she’s pregnant. It will be the Queen Mother and Princess Margaret."
I sighed at this news, asking, "What about these television cameras?"
"The royal family is seeking to have a continued good relationship with our citizens. Sharing the variety show on television is part of their outreach to humanize themselves."
"Are they not human?"
He stretched his arms overhead, "Some are more human than others." He looked as tired as I felt yesterday.
Our food was served and we continued chatting about his work and my work and London. I told him about my walk around Trafalgar Square.
I swallowed a bite of spring roll, "So many pigeons."
"Everywhere! They need to do something. You can tell where people are walking."
"How?"
"Because they take flight," he took a sip of beer, raising a hand high, "bursting up like the fountains."
We both laughed and I noticed the food tasted better, the restaurant smelled spicier, the whole of London seemed warmer.
He said, "I don’t know anyone who speaks as fast as you do."
Indeed, my speaking had grown faster in the fun of sharing stories. More so, I felt I’d learned valuable bits of news: steer clear of Mr. Jenkins, and be afraid of Mr. Foley, should I ever see him. Lastly, avoid the wrath of Mr. Andrews, for he was the final decision maker in the Theatre.
Got it.
But what was the hurry to go anywhere right now? I had a new friend in the big city and it had all been so effortless. I’d done this all alone. I shook my head, just a small bit, telling myself to snap out of it, whatever "it" was.
My father would say I was ‘driving ahead of my headlights’, going too fast. What did he know anyway? He was always rolled up on his news stories about politics and his work. I didn’t even know what he did for a living, actually.
And my mother would leap all over the lunch I was having, asking a million questions at breakneck pace. Now that was a woman who spoke fast.
"Hey! You look lost in thought."
I snapped out of my daydream and came back to reality, and Archie’s smiling face. My face flushed warm on my cheeks.
He said, "Unfortunately, I’ve got to go. Something about the Queen and the Beatles and that sort of stuff." He smiled, and I felt a pang of happy nervousness in my stomach, "Hope to see you again."
"I hope so, too."
I didn’t know how bad it was going to get. And that it would be my fault the Beatles would be taken off of the playbill.
Chapter 9: Theatre After Dark
After saying good evening to Archie, who had to get up early to begin breakfast preparation, I went back to the Prince of Wales Theatre. Darkness was growing outside and at the venue there were a few performers up on the stage going through their
routines.
I saw The Billy Petch Dancers going through their steps, practicing and talking back-and-forth about the dimensions of the stage. I took a seat in the darkened audience area and then watched another act prepare and take the stage. One man named Charlie kept calling to a woman named Tessa and it was some shouting back-and-forth across the vast platform.
I walked to another part of the venue trying to think of where Brian would want to ask me questions. Since he was so gung-ho about getting as much notoriety as possible for the boys, I expected that it would be good if I walked to the different camera placement stations to see what it would look like on television.
There were cameras in the main Theatre area and also up on the second level. While walking to each one of the stations I saw the bearded show producer still in his white buttoned-down shirt and Mr. Jenkins.
They were in an argument and it had grown heated. Both men were trying to keep their voices down even though their hands were pointing very aggressively at one another. At one point I saw Mr. Jenkins shove hands against the producer and finally, after a minute of tenseness, the producer put his hands up as if surrendering.
It was awkward to see such an exchange among grown men. I was learning that just because someone was an adult did not mean that they behaved maturely.
I guess I looked a little too long, letting my gaze linger, because Mr. Jenkins turned and caught me looking at them. I immediately went to leave the area, uneasy.
I descended the steps going back out toward the lobby and Mr. Jenkins came out of another portal and approached me. My heart was pounding because I knew he was an aggressive man. He had already spoken to me earlier in the day and now wanted to approach me again.
He hissed, "Hey girl. You, Miss." He was pointing at me
I pretended to be surprised, even looking behind me to see if he was pointing at somebody else. He wasn’t buying it.
"You’re the girl who is here with the Beatles, that’s right." He answered his own question. He pointed at me again, "Look here now. I won’t have you wandering around. Staff people’s job is to stay down near the performance venue. You should not be up on this level, and certainly not getting involved in matters that are not your own."
"I was looking at the television set up…"
"--Oh, now you’re with the television? Is that what it is? I believe the Beatles are a band of young people who don’t pay attention to tradition. That’s what I see. And now you’re roaming around, snooping. You have no business snooping, young lady."
I wrung my hands, "I was just looking over the venue – –"
"--Already said that. And you’re also not with the royal family, so who do you think you are talking back?"
I felt a cold sweat emerge on the back of my neck. He was scaring me, my mouth suddenly dry, and I didn’t know what to say.
Speaking would just get me into more trouble. Instead, I stood silently and took his abuse.
"Now get off this floor. And since your act is not here, you have no business being in the Theatre. Go back to the hotel and stay there," he pointed toward the distance with a firm hand.
With that I turned on my heel and walked away quickly. I was both frightened and angry, and in shock at being dressed down like a child. I feared that if I turned around he would be one step behind me, his hot coffee breath on the back of my neck, spewing angry words. I dared not let that happen and make another mistake.
Slinking out of the theatre's side entrance the walkway cover had been constructed and it obscured the view from the road all along the path between the Prince of Wales Theatre and the Mapleton.
Right before I went out the door there was a large sign board on an easel listing all of the acts for Monday night.
THE BILLY PETCH DANCERS
THE CLARK BROTHERS
MAX BYGRAVES
LUIS ALBERTO DEL PARANA AND LOS PARAGUAYOS
CHARLIE DRAKE WITH TESSA DAVEES AND THE EIGHT CHARLIES
SUSAN MAUGHAN
THE BEATLES
DICKIE HENDERSON
FRANCIS BRUNN
BUDDY GRECO
NADIA NERINA WITH THE CAST OF SLEEPING BEAUTY
JOE LOSS AND HIS ORCHESTRA WITH ROSE BRENNAN, ROSS MCMANUS, LARRY GRETTON, THE BILLY PETCH DANCERS.
"STEPTOE & SON"
WITH WILFRED BRAMBELL, HARRY H.CORBETT
"PINKY & PERKY & COMPANY"
JAN AND VLASTA DALIBOR
ERIC SYKES AND HATTIE JACQUES
MICHAEL FLANDERS AND DONALD SWANN
MARLENE DIETRICH WITH BURT BACHARACH
TOMMY STEELE (WITH THE HALF A SIXPENCE COMPANY)
HARRY SECOMBE (WITH THE PICKWICK COMPANY)
So, the Beatles would play seventh. That meant that setting up and tearing down between acts would need to be quick. I decided that it would be good to give a call to Brian to make him aware of what I was learning.
#
Charging the long-distance call to him I pressed the receiver to my ear. Having no telephone in my room I was in the lobby of the Mapleton in a bank of phones. Raised voices and laughter surrounded me in the passageway as Saturday night revelers were enjoying themselves in the bar. I held my mouth pressed close to the speaker, cupping my hand over the top to shield away some of the noise.
"Hello, Helen, is that you?" Brian was on a similar bank of phones in the lobby of a hotel in Sheffield. A few hours north of London, it sounded that an even louder party was going on behind him. We were both semi-shouting into the phone to overcome the din of equally boisterous parties going on across England’s cities on a Saturday night.
"Yes."
His voice raised, "How is it going in London? How does the venue look?"
"The venue looks nice. It’s a big stage. There are so many acts that are lined up to go, I wanted to give you awareness that the Beatles will be seventh in the playing order which is still in the first half of the show. I sat in on a rehearsal and saw the playbill."
"What’s it looking like there?"
"They’ve built a scaffolding over the walkway between the Mapleton and the Theatre."
"Why did they do that?"
"I heard from some other staffers this morning that it was because they were expecting so many fans to be here. And it was actually to make it so that crowd control would be easier."
While I spoke, my eyes drifted to where I saw an older man dressed in a suit jacket, who looked very dignified. Alongside him was a woman who looked as if she could be an actress. At least an aging actress. Her hair was blonde and her makeup was perfect. He had close cropped gray hair and had the air of a distinguished gentleman.
Brian trumpeted, "That makes sense. Things have gotten completely out of control. At Sheffield the lines have been all the way around the block and there were more people milling around in the streets that were not able to get into the venue with tickets. I wish there was a way to charge people to stand around in the streets who are waiting to get a glimpse of the boys." He paused, then added, "I guess that will help sell the records."
"I noticed that they were also setting up some police barricades around the area here. And credentials are necessary to be able to move around."
"You mean between the hotel and the Theatre?"
"Yes." I paused before sharing further. Then I decided I may as well spill it because otherwise he would be caught off guard, saying "I had a small altercation in the Theatre this evening. I was checking out the different angles that the television cameras would have."
"What kind of altercation? With whom?"
"With a security person. Mr. Jenkins who visited you in Liverpool."
In my lobby, observing again the distinguished man and his wife, they appeared to be in an argument. Rather they were on the other side of having already chosen not to speak to one another. He would say something leaning towards her and she would turn her face away and then turn back to him and say something equally short, equally curt. They both wore shiny wedding rings. What was with people in Lond
on being so aggressive? There was so much to learn in a big city.
"What did he have to say?"
"He didn’t like that I was up on the second tier. He was having an argument with another gentleman; I believe the show's producer. I tried to explain to him that I was looking at camera angles. But he didn’t want to hear any of it."
"So, then what happened?"
"He sent me away to come back to the hotel."
Brian drew a breath, "That doesn’t sound so bad." Behind him I heard a shout, Brian saying, "Oh geez. Take that off your head, George."
What was on his head there? Brian didn’t say.
I said, "I guess not. I just thought you should know. Not everyone is so nice down here." I could’ve been speaking about the distinguished gentleman and what appeared to be his wife. The gentleman left the building and she stood finishing her drink. She looked out the front of the building where he had exited, and then turned to go up the stairs.
"It is a big city. Those things happen." He changed subjects, "Have you seen any of the other acts or performers?"
"Only the two different dance troops practicing on the stage. And I met the representatives for Marlene Dietrich." I left out the part about how rude they’d been.
Brian sighed loudly, "Marlene Dietrich. Ringo is going to go crazy."
"Crazy? Why?"
"He has a thing for her. I don’t know what it is but every once in a while, he talks about her and how beautiful she is."
"You’re kidding."
"True story. I think he’s attracted to her legs."
"You know her staff members also mentioned her having beautiful legs today. I will have to pay attention." I didn’t know if I could pick her out of a group.
"I don’t think you’ll have to pay attention. Ringo will pay enough attention for everybody."
I asked, changing subjects again, "When do you think the Beatles will arrive here?"
"Tomorrow after we play in Leeds. It’s an afternoon show so we should be there in the evening." Behind Brian I heard a shout, "Marlene Dietrich is beautiful. Tell her I love her." Then I heard Brian say, "Go sit down." And then he added, "Ringo’s had a little bit too much fun tonight."
