I said, ‘I don’t see how you can pick and choose. Once you’re known for being known, people are bound to start going through your dustbins.’
He said, ‘Well, it’s plain bad manners. If you invited me round for tea, you wouldn’t expect me to start peering under your beds, rooting round in your cupboards. What’s wrong with these jerk-offs? I work hard. I take care of my own. Why won’t they leave me in peace?’
Milo said, ‘Selwyn’s trouble is he’s old-fashioned. He needs to move with the times and quit beggaring himself with lawsuits.’
Milo was right. For one thing, homosexuality had come in. People had gone on marches demanding the right to it. There had even been a march in Cardiff. I remember Penri saying to me, ‘I hope it doesn’t become compulsory!’
I remember saying to Hazel, ‘I didn’t realise there were such things in Wales,’ which got me into trouble with Jennifer.
‘They’re not things, Daddy,’ she said. ‘They’re gays. And you didn’t know about them because they were hiding in the closet. Well, now they’re out and quite right too. It’s healthier.’
I said to Sel, ‘The way you are, you know? It’s not the terrible thing it was. According to Jennifer Jane everybody’s coming out of the closet.’
‘Good,’ he said, ‘all the more room in there for me.’
Milo said, ‘You could be the height of fashion.’
‘No, thank you,’ he said. ‘Retro, that’s me.’
I’d never heard it called that before.
The tide had turned against him, but he seemed to relish the idea of fighting it. ‘I’ve done very well in life ignoring trends,’ he said, ‘so I see no reason to change.’
But then one man started taking a special interest in him and one man can drag you down, if he sets his mind to it. His name was Craig Vertue and I don’t know what he’d done before, but by 1978 he was a full-time professional homosexual. He was everywhere: in the newspapers, on the telly. He was one of Sel’s own kind and yet he turned on him. ‘Men like Sel Starlight’, he said, ‘should be helping gay kids feel good about themselves. He should be saying “it’s OK, love yourself”. Starlight’s fans are the very moms these kids are scared to come out to. He could make a difference. It offends me to see a man who could be a role model hiding behind his mother’s skirts.’
Milo Freeman believed there was a whole new future for Sel, appearing on TV shows talking about how happy he was to be ‘that way’. ‘Gay Pride,’ he said. ‘It’s kinda catchy. You could cash in big time. Look at Vertue. He’s on the box more than you are. Think of all those fags who’ll start buying your records.’
Sel said, ‘You know, Cled, I always thought I was one of Mother Nature’s slip-ups. Like having an extra finger? It’s not the easiest thing in the world but it’s not the worst. I never expected any sympathy. But I never saw it as something to brag about either. As far as I’m concerned it’s just one of those things, but now, to listen to people like Vertue, it’s better than coming up on the Treble Chance. According to him, the old marrieds are the ones to be pitied, sitting there in their fireside chairs, photo of the kiddies on the mantelpiece. A fate worse than death, according Craig Vertue. Well, he loses me there.’
Sel went to see Kaye Conroy. He said, ‘Kaye always had the right instincts. I’d dump Milo tomorrow if she’d take me on.’ He wanted to redesign himself, to get Vertue off his back and still keep his lady fans loyal.
‘Get outta here!’ she said. ‘I don’t want your ten per cent. I’m too old and tired. But I’ll give you my opinion for free. Don’t go baring your soul. Those shows, they’re just a way of making cheap television and once you’ve given away your mystery you can never get it back. Don’t go on marches. Don’t start wearing badges, nor workmen’s jeans. Have you seen the way folk are dressing these days? Have you seen that Barbra Streisand? You don’t need to redesign anything. Stay as sweet as you are. Go back on the road and give them more of the same. Whatever happens, there’ll always be a market for sequins and a nice demeanour.’
And he followed her advice.
Milo said, ‘You can forget Fenway Park. You can forget the Megadome. They want Elton John.’
Sel said, ‘Fair enough. Didn’t you always tell me this is a big country? I’ll go where I’m needed.’
He played towns so small they didn’t even have a set of traffic lights and he blinded them with his costumes. ‘Capes,’ he said. ‘I’m experimenting with capes again. Celeste’s wiring me up with little electric light bulbs, and she’s making some with surprise linings too, so just when they think they’ve seen it all I can swish it open and voila! Rhinestones as far as the eye can see! Some of them are so heavy Blue’s going to have to walk behind me with it draped over a special trolley.’
Milo said, ‘Crazy. He’s spending more to earn less. Ruining himself.’
Sel said, ‘Prairie Home, I opened in a gold Spandex all-in-one and matching boots, gave them “Sweet and Lovely” and “There’ll Be Some Changes”, then I said, “Well, now you’ve seen me in my gardening clothes I’ll go and smarten up a little.” That’s when I hit them with the cape, duck egg velvet lined with premium marabou over matching trousers and a white lace shirt, They went crazy. Somebody shouted, “Are they real feathers?” so I had her brought up on stage to test them for herself. I said, “Don’t be shy. Have a good feel. There’s nothing fake in this show.” They loved it. I’m climbing back, Cled. I’m so out of fashion I’m going to be the next latest thing.’
And in a funny way he was right. The more he stayed out in Nebraska and Iowa, pleasing the ladies, the more bad write-ups he got; and the more bad write-ups he got the more the ladies flocked to his shows.
Craig Vertue wrote, ‘That self-loathing piece of work Mr Starlight is at it again, twinkling his way across redneck territory trimmed up like a Christmas tree. Does he think he passes for Mr Straight? Hello, Selwyn! Don’t you know “straight” is so “yesterday”?’
He got nasty post too. Pearl showed me a parcel that was delivered one morning. You could smell what was in it. She said, ‘He used to get nice things, Mr Cled. Scarves and candy and toys for the dogs, but now you never know what you’ll find. I don’t understand it. That boy never harmed a fly.’
I said, ‘There are certain people who’re annoyed with him. They think he should stand up and be counted, if you get my meaning.’
She said, ‘I’m not paid to get meanings. I’m paid to pick up this house and take care of Mr Sel. Well, one of these days he’ll be getting a bomb, then we’ll all go up in smoke and that’ll be that.’
Mam said, ‘It’s time he got himself a proper bodyguard, with a gun. That Blue does too much smiling and admiring himself in the mirror. He doesn’t even have a proper name.’
I said, ‘You realise what’s behind all this, Mam?’
‘I do,’ she said. ‘It’s sheer envy.’
I said, ‘No. It’s about his private life. Everybody knows what he is, but Sel won’t admit it. And he won’t get any peace till he does. He might just as well go on the Johnny Carson Show now and get it over and done with. Admit that he’s a cream puff.’
She said, ‘He is not! It wasn’t his fault things didn’t work out with that bottle blonde.’
I said, ‘Mam, face facts. He wears Elizabeth Arden on his face.’
‘Of course he does,’ she said. ‘So do I. We have to be photogenic at all times.’
I said, ‘He played dollies’ tea parties till he was nine.’
‘And you wet the bed,’ she said. ‘But we don’t talk about that any more.’
I said, ‘All right. Why has he never married?’
‘Because we’re happy the way we are,’ she said.
There was no talking to her.
I said, ‘There’s no shame in it any more, Mam. Everybody’s equal now.’
‘No they are not,’ she said. ‘Selwyn is one in a million and you’re just making up stories. You’re plain jealous because he’s a star and you
couldn’t even get Pwllheli.’
But I hadn’t wanted Pwllheli. And I’d put all that behind me. I was very happy, running the Old Bull and Bush, playing my cockney singalong medley every night, regaling the punters with my show business reminiscences. Jennifer Jane was talking to me again. I had Pearl to look after the inner man and Lupe taking care of all the other bits.
The only loose end was Hazel and Dilys never let me forget it. She said, ‘She’s not eating. She’s wasting away.’
Of course, Dilys’s idea of wasting away wasn’t everybody’s.
Jennifer said, ‘Mummy’s all right. She’s going to keep fit. She’s started having muesli instead of a fry-up.’
Dilys said, ‘She hardly takes any gentlemen in now. She says she can’t be bothered. It could be she’s going through the You Know What.’
But Hazel had gone through the You Know What when I was still on the scene.
Dilys said, ‘She’s got that little baby on her mind. Wondering where she is in the world, wondering what’s become of her. Sometimes they come looking for their real mam, you know, once they’re grown? I think she’s hoping her own little bab’ll turn up.’
I said to Jennifer, ‘Your Aunty Dilys thinks your mother’s depressed. There’s something you should know about. It happened years ago. Before you came along.’
She said, ‘Not the little mishap? Mummy already told me.’
I said, ‘What do you think?’
‘What is there to think?’ she said. ‘She told me about Stanley as well.’
I said, ‘Who’s Stanley?’
She said, ‘You know! Stanley. The biscuit salesman. I kind of knew. Still, it’s pretty gross to be told.’
I said, ‘What, is he on the scene? Is he living at Hazelwyn?’
‘Not any more,’ she said. ‘You remember him! The one with the slippers.’
I said, ‘So you think she’s all right?’
She said, ‘I’m sure she is, Why? You hoping to come back?’
That was out of the question, of course. I had a business in Vegas that couldn’t be left. Cled Boff was the Old Bull. I said, ‘No. I just wondered. I never wanted her to suffer.’
‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell her you asked.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
Over the years Sel and Milo had fallen out more times than I could count, but when he heard Milo had collapsed, eating a filet mignon at the Merimee restaurant, he rushed to New York to be at his side. ‘Too late, Cled,’ he said when he called. ‘He never regained consciousness. That man was like a father to me.’ Then he realised what he’d said. Sometimes, even when it’s a sad occasion, you can’t help but laugh. But Sel was a sentimental soul. He was very good at funerals. He was asked to be a pall bearer, but with his being six inches taller than the other gents, it would have given the casket an unsightly tilt, so he withdrew. But he did sing ‘Oh My Papa’ by special request of Milo’s daughter. All the years I knew him I hadn’t even realised he had a daughter.
I said, ‘This could affect Sel’s prospects. One thing about Milo, however bad things got he always pulled something out of the bag.’
Mam said, ‘They’ll be falling over themselves to represent him. He’ll be able to pick the crème de la crème.’
Sel usually had a good nose for smelling a rat, especially the type of rat who talks business at another man’s graveside, but it failed him for once. Maybe it was the upset over Milo that left him off his guard. Whatever the reason, by the time he came home from New York he was already under new management. The kind you might live to regret.
Hallerton Liquorish was a youngster, not much more than thirty, and full of big ideas. He represented a rock band called Scum that seemed to be famous mainly for the trail of stains they left wherever they stayed. If you offered me a thousand dollars I couldn’t whistle you one of their tunes. He also had on his books a cabaret comic who was very popular due to the colour of his language and a certain Sheree, whose claim to fame was that he’d started life as a boy called Ed and somewhere along the way he’d got rid of his surname plus one or two other bits and pieces.
I said, ‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? What kind of company are you going to be keeping?’
‘Never mind the company,’ he said. ‘I like this boy’s attitude. He doesn’t start telling you why you can’t do things. Milo could be too cautious. But Hallerton, he’s full of ideas and energy. I love that.’
Sel could have afforded to ease up if he’d wanted. He had all those properties bringing in rent and parcels of land he was sitting on. He owned the Double Down Club in Vegas and the Backdoor Club in San Francisco. He’d done very well out of his investments, made a killing when all the Kaycee companies were bought by Premier, and he’d made another smart move going into fitness and leisure centres with Betsan’s husband, Larry. He could just have played the Show Room when it suited him and spent the rest of his time by the swimming pool, counting his money, but he wouldn’t settle for that. The fact was when Sel wasn’t performing he didn’t really know what to do with himself.
I like a good murder mystery myself but the only books I ever saw Sel open were the ones about Mr Starlight. I’d sometimes play a game of pool with Blue, but Sel never would. He had a full-size table but I don’t think he even knew how to hold a cue. Buying things was his only pastime. And then making more money to buy more things.
He said, ‘Hallerton’s lining up some great TV opportunities.’
The thing was, though, television had changed. Solo spots on family music shows were a thing of the past and Sel was into extra time for being a heart-throb. Those dimples of his looked all right on nicely lit photos, but on the screen he looked quite portly.
‘Game shows,’ he said. ‘Hallerton’s right. I’ve got exactly what it takes. I’m a household name. The ladies love me. And I’m quick with an audience. It’ll be money for old rope.’
I said, ‘Do you need the money?’
‘I can always find a worthy home for it,’ he said.
Silly things, he bought: a silver tea set, supposed to have belonged to some king of Portugal, yet nobody ever had tea at Desert Star; a chandelier he didn’t have a place for; a fancy four-wheel drive for Blue.
Blue wasn’t a boy I ever really took to. He was clean and polite, but there was a crafty side to him. He was paid, he got a beautiful place to live and all kinds of extras, anything he liked the look of Sel bought it for him and he was supposed to be on call to Sel around the clock, but the minute he thought he was off the leash, any time he was sure Sel wouldn’t come looking for him, he’d be off downtown, drinking with boys of his own age. He was only twenty-four. It must have been boring, waiting around to drive the boss home from the Strip. Watching TV with him till he was ready to fall asleep. Once or twice I heard them having words. Blue was in the bungalow next to mine and Sel always came there last thing, not wanting to disturb Mam with the noise of them playing backgammon.
Sel recorded a pilot for a show called Anybody Can Play, which never came to fruition, and then one for VTV, reviving a programme that had been very popular in the Fifties. And that one flew.
‘I got it!’ he said. He was dancing around in his swimming trunks. ‘You’re looking at the new presenter of Queen for a Day!’
Pearl was thrilled. She said, ‘I never missed a show. Artie Deane used to present it and I didn’t care for him, but I still never missed a show. I cried buckets.’
I said, ‘Will you do any singing, Sel?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll be singing Queen for a Day.’
Mam said, ‘Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be lovely.’
Betsan said it sounded like a freak show to her.
Three ladies were brought on, one by one, and Sel had to chat to them, find out the story of their lives and it would always be a hard-luck story. Then the audience had to decide which was the most tragic case, which was the most deserving of winning the prize, and according to how loud they clapped, so it registe
red on a dial and the lady who got the highest score was crowned Queen for a Day. The prize was a washer-dryer, a new frock, a manicure and various other kinds of beautification.
I agreed with Betsan. I said, ‘What kind of person goes on the television to plead poverty? You used to turn the telly on to get taken out of yourself, see people with some talent, not people bragging about their tragedies.’
But Sel didn’t see it that way. He said, ‘These aren’t the kind of ladies to feel sorry for themselves. They’re just telling their story and having a bit of fun. Anybody can hit hard times. And nobody goes home from my show empty-handed. The runners-up get a bouquet and a jar of face cream. And they’re all so sweet, Cled. I’d have three Queens every show if it was up to me.’
Queen for a Day went out twice a week, in the afternoons. While a series was running, Tuesdays and Thursdays from three to half past, you got no sense out of any member of the fairer sex. Pearl and Mam watched it, although on different sets. Thelma cancelled her golf for it. Lupe wouldn’t answer her phone when it was on. Even Betsan tuned in. ‘Just while I’m on the exercise bike,’ she said. ‘It helps pass the time.’
Sel had a big hit on his hands. After the first series Premier reissued his old Simply Starlight album and it went straight into the charts. His face was everywhere again. The Daily News called him ‘Her Majesty, Mr Starlight’. Queen for a Day? they said, or Queen for a thirteen-week series? The New York Times said the show had all the hallmarks of quality broadcasting: laughter, tears, a man in a shiny suit and a clapometer.
But Sel said smart-ass critics didn’t bother him. ‘They’re a smug bunch,’ he said, ‘hanging around waiting to bury another tryer. Well, any damned fool can criticise.’
He was riding high and then he received the cherry to top it all: an invitation to attend a soirée at the White House. This wasn’t a first. He’d sung for Ike and Mamie Eisenhower back in 1956 and that had been a great honour because it was before he’d become an American. But this time it was for President and Mrs Reagan and that meant everything to him. ‘The pinnacle of my achievements,’ he said. He was one of the Reagans’ biggest fans. ‘They believe in God, country and low taxes,’ he said, ‘same as I do. They’re cheerful and friendly, and Nancy’s so beautiful. I may just pick her up and bring her home, keep her on a shelf with my figurines.’
Mr Starlight Page 22
