Blood at the Premiere: A Day One Undead Adventure

by RR Haywood

  It’s mapped out. From this group she can turn and join the scriptwriters then a step away from the lighting technicians. Rungs on a ladder and she knows she can scale it faster than anyone in the history of career climbing.

  ‘LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,’ a huge voice booms into the foyer, ‘PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY INTO THE AUDITORIUM. THE FILM WILL COMMENCE VERY SHORTLY.’

  Fuck it. Not now, you bloody idiot. Sod off for another half hour.

  Too late. The crowds shift and the groups begin to mingle and merge into one long stream of chatting people moving towards the entrance to the cinema. Shoes scuffing the ground and suddenly she’s surrounded by people she doesn’t know and looking foolish for being alone. The defined groups have gone and without the few faces she knows in each she can’t tell who is who. Bennie at the bar holding mock auditions as he leads them through the chorus of his new single.

  Okay. Don’t panic. An hour and a half at the most then the after-party. Yeah, there’s time to work that ladder. I am Henrietta Swallow. I will not be stopped. I will succeed.

  ‘Did you hear this film is over two hours long?’ a voice mutters in the crowd nearby and her heart sinks again.

  Two fucking hours of trite shit. Two fucking hours of sitting still with my stomach growling.

  It doesn’t matter. I am Henrietta Swallow. I will not be stopped. I will succeed and I will use those two hours to plan my route through the after-party.

  Chapter Three

  So easy

  One hundred and thirty-seven minutes. Twenty minutes of which were static long shots. Fourteen minutes of a man in a café drinking tea staring at the rain-spattered windows. Sixteen minutes of a family sitting round a dining table eating dinner in a silence only broken by the scraping cutlery and the squelching mastication of jaws chomping. It was so bad that Henrietta felt sick coming up her throat and had to look away and quietly hum to blot the sounds out.

  British cinema at its best and there was a standing ovation at the end during which everyone stood but maybe only two or three people actually understood why they were standing at all.

  It was dire. Gloomy. Gritty. Realistic to the point of coma-inducing boredom. In short it was awful but as with all things in life, it had a beginning, a middle and an end and as the credits rolled across the screen to a soundtrack of more dire shit so she finally breathed a sigh of relief and went back over the plan formed.

  She knows she may run out of time but that’s okay. Don’t rush it. The new Paco Maguire film is due for release soon. As long as she can get an invite she can generate more opportunities. That’s what it’s all about. This is the creation of art so she has to create the chances to make the step into serious journalism.

  Work the ladder. Rung by rung. Find out where they socialise and which charities are getting the most exposure at the moment. Tell them you’ll ask Bennie and The Boys to do a gig for free. Use what you have; use what you know. I am Henrietta Swallow. I will succeed.

  Henrietta knows the after-party will be a magnification of the preshowing gathering. Her old set will hog the bar and the rest will separate.

  She walks the shuffle from the auditorium into the foyer making small talk with anyone close to make small talk with.

  ‘Great casting,’ someone says. Henrietta looks up into the face of a middle-aged woman also wearing a silk scarf.

  ‘I thought so,’ Henrietta says thoughtfully. ‘And the direction was incredible.’

  ‘Yes,’ the woman says, showing surprise in her face. ‘Very good direction.’

  Point scored. First rung gained. Fuck yes! A plan formed and a plan to be executed with cold military precision. Into the foyer they traipse and slowly converge back into the predefined groups dictated by trade, social standing and perceived hierarchy. Even within those individual groups there are leaders and followers. Elders that hold sway to be revered and admired. It’s all laid out like golden rungs shining only for her heavily made-up eyes to see.

  First things first and she heads to the bar to join Bennie and The Boys and everyone else gasping for more alcohol before they form an orderly queue for the flat surfaces within the toilets while drawing credit cards and twenty-pound notes in preparation.

  These have to be satiated before she can commence the plan and this time they will not shout her name or cause shame.

  From one to the other she schmoozes and mingles. Jokes shared. Banter exchanged and all the time adapting the approach, the method and delivery as though in warm-up for the main event.

  ‘So?’ A friendly voice in her ear and that hand on her arse again. ‘We going back to yours then after?’

  ‘No, Bennie. Do you ever give up?’

  ‘Er…’ Bennie holds a thoughtful gaze for a long second. ‘Sorry, what was the question?’

  ‘I said…’

  ‘Your boobs look amazing tonight,’ Bennie says, staring down in admiration at the bulging mounds of flesh straining against the dress. ‘I like your dress, Henrietta,’ he says honestly and in one swoop redeems himself.

  ‘Bennie, I need that favour again.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Up here, Bennie. Eyes up here,’ she says, pressing a finger under his chin to lift his head gently until his eyes rest on hers. ‘I need that favour again.’

  ‘What favour?’

  ‘This lot off my back for a bit,’ she says, nodding her head towards the massed crowd at the bar.

  ‘Ah, right,’ Bennie says amiably. ‘Fair dos.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Course,’ he says, letting his eyes drop to her cleavage again before blinking back up at her. ‘Eh? What did you say?’

  ‘They’re just boobs.’

  ‘Nah.’ He grins wide and genuine. ‘They’re Henrietta Swallow boobs. Special,’ he adds with a comical wink. ‘So does being celery stop you doing anything else?’

  ‘Celibate, not celery.’

  ‘Ah, right.’

  ‘Capriana is over there, Bennie. She can’t take her eyes off you. Why don’t you chat to her while keeping everyone distracted?’

  ‘Alright, Henrietta.’

  A puzzled look forms fleeting and swift on her face as Bennie turns once again to do as bid and keep the others occupied while she slips off, going wide and clinging to the edge of the foyer while seeking a natural access point into the groups.

  ‘Henrietta.’

  The voice sends a chill through her gut that tightens instantly, but any expression matching the fear is quickly morphed into a wide, beaming smile as she turns to face the owner of the deep voice.

  ‘What? No kiss for Jack then?’ the man asks, holding his arms out wide in expectation of compliance.

  As docile as Bennie, she complies by leaning in to kiss the smooth cheeks and hides the distaste of the pungent aftershave filling her nose.

  Gripped by huge hands on the tops of her arms she’s pushed away by Jack Adams holding her at arm’s length and taking his time with a visual examination of his captured prey. She feels the power in those hands. He might be pushing late fifties but Jack Adams is still a hard man with thick limbs and a squat head held in place by a bull neck between broad, sweeping shoulders accentuated by the pinstripe black-and-white suit. Gold sovereigns adorn his fingers and the light flashes from the gold teeth when he grins wolfishly.

  ‘You look superb, Henrietta. Totally fackin’ superb. I said to the boys last night I was gonna see Henrietta down ’ere at this event. I said that I did. What’s all this bollocks about yous being celibate like that Marsh girl? Fackin’ Henrietta Swallow not having no more cock? Do me a favour. Where you been hidin’ then, babes? Ain’t seen ya for donkeys, know what I mean? You still bodybuilding are ya? Eh? Eh? Yous be working the doors with me boys soon if yous get any bigger. So what’s happening then? Film any good was it? Missed it myself. They asked me to come, of course, but I had business. Eh? Jack Adams having business? Do me a favour. Course they owe me a few favours, this lot in ’ere. Jack Adams knows ’em all, he does. H
alf of ’em are fackin’ ponces anyway. Yeah they asked me to come down, course they know there’ll be no bovver with Jack Adams down here, don’t they? Eh? I said I’d spread the word so the scum stay away. Course I got a few quid invested so I wants to know the film was at least half good, know what I mean? Eh? Get me return on the box office. I supplied the champers and did ’em a good price on the cars and security. Know what I mean? Car picked you up alright, did it? I had one of the best lads come out to get ya. I said to the boys I won’t be having no fackin’ Mickey Mouse shit for my Henrietta. She gets the big Merc, know what I mean? Eh? But I don’t want no thanks. Nah, Jack Adams don’t need no thanks. You poppin’ round later then? Eh? Good girl. See you at mine for a few drinks when all this lot go down Soho to get the rent boys. I supply them an’ all now! Eh? Do me a favour. Your tits look great in that dress, Henrietta. Can’t wait to have a go on ’em later. Know what I mean? Right, I gotta speak to some ponce about business. See you later.’

  A hand on her arse that grips too hard but it’s a show of power intended for everyone else to see. Jack Adams takes what he wants.

  He strides off cricking his neck and rolling his shoulders as the crowd parts before him, leaving Henrietta still silent and painfully regretting the past.

  Jack Adams was good to know back in the day. He was charming, powerful and very dangerous, but that was the allure. Plus he knew everyone and it was his money driving many projects. Not that people had a choice when Jack told them he wanted to invest.

  She pauses and pretends to check the screen of her phone taken from her discreet black clutch bag while buying time for Jack Adams to get further into the room. The last thing she needs is to accidentally end up in the same group as Jack. Fucking great. Something else to worry about.

  She smiles as though reading a message then switches the screen off, puts the phone away and walks on round the side of the foyer before plunging into the group at the opposite point to where Jack’s head can be seen, gleaming and squat.

  It’s hot. Too hot. The air is close and the faces look ruddy and flushed from the packed-in bodies and the temperature rises caused by the rapid consumption of alcohol. Henrietta adjusts her pace, spotting the make-up artists and waiting to catch the eye of at least one of them in order to have a reason for stopping to chat.

  One turns as she lifts her glass of stolen champagne and clocks eyes on the grinning face of Henrietta Swallow.

  ‘Oh hi!’ The make-up artist forgoes sipping the drink and waves but in full expectation that Henrietta will walk on by.

  ‘How are you?’ Henrietta stops and greets the girl like an old friend, even leaning in for a hug. ‘You look great.’

  The attention, so unexpected, catches the girl off guard. She just stares in surprise at actually being recognised by a famous person outside of the make-up chair. ‘I’m fine,’ she eventually sputters.

  ‘Hello, ladies,’ Henrietta says, looking round at the other women all now staring wide-eyed. ‘You’re all looking very glamorous. Mind if I stand with you for a bit? My arse is getting a bit sore from being groped.’

  The ice is broken. The joke is well received with women smiling knowingly. She might be Henrietta Swallow but they’ve all got arses subjected to habitual groping from men who think they are untouchable.

  ‘I know, right,’ one of the women says, pulling a face. ‘Better than a tit bump, though.’

  ‘Tit bump?’ Henrietta asks, laughing that famous posh giggle and knowing exactly what a tit bump is but pretending not to know in order to open the conversation.

  ‘Yeah, you know,’ the woman says, stepping towards Henrietta and at the last minute brushing closely past so her arm strokes the side of Henrietta’s left breast. ‘Tit bump.’

  ‘Oh I get that all the time,’ Henrietta confesses, looking down at her cleavage. ‘Mind you, they do poke out a bit.’

  ‘Just a bit,’ one of the women says in admiration. ‘They’re so nice, though, like…like totally natural looking. I thought that when I powdered them for that shoot a couple of years ago.’

  ‘I remember that,’ Henrietta exclaims, not remembering the shoot in question or the woman professing to have powdered them. ‘So?’ Henrietta asks, tugging the corners of her mouth down and dropping her voice a notch. ‘What did you think of the movie?’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Brill.’

  ‘Totally, like…totally great.’

  Unconvincing but delivered with sincerity. ‘I thought so, too,’ Henrietta says slowly and looks up and round theatrically. ‘That scene when they were eating dinner? Yeah…I did have to look away…’

  ‘Did you? I totally had my eyes closed.’

  ‘I was humming,’ Henrietta whispers, leaning closer to the woman.

  ‘Oh god it was so gross, all that squelching! It reminded me of the way my grandfather eats.’

  ‘And it went on for ages,’ one of the other women says, stepping closer into the conversation. ‘And that café scene?’

  ‘Oh when he was staring at the window?’ Henrietta asks, rolling her eyes.

  ‘Thought I was going to fall asleep,’ the woman confesses. ‘I was biting my cheek. I think I actually made myself bleed.’

  ‘Jenny kept pinching me when my head dropped,’ another says.

  ‘I bloody did,’ Jenny says, giving a name to the first woman Henrietta spoke to in the group.

  Gossip. Good old-fashioned gossip complete with a few hushed cackles and nervous looks round to make sure they’re unheard. One of the girls joking and fanning her face from the heat building up.

  Fucking beautiful. Well played, Henri. Well played. Now, who is next? She looks round casually and catches the eye of a man in the next group along.

  ‘Hi! How are you?’

  The man blinks and looks round trying to see who Henrietta Swallow is greeting and when no one replies he looks back to see Henrietta Swallow staring at him and laughing.

  ‘I can’t believe you don’t remember me,’ Henrietta says, winging it on the spot. ‘Talk about how to make a lady feel good.’

  ‘Er…’ the man flounders nervously then swallows as Henrietta walks towards him with a warm last word to the make-up girls.

  ‘So, how are you?’ Henrietta says, lifting one eyebrow and having no clue who the man is.

  ‘Fine,’ the man says, trying hard to look up into eyes and not down to anything else. ‘Er…and, er…you okay then?’ he asks too casually.

  ‘I’m okay, thank you. So,’ she says, looking at the small group of men staring as wide-eyed as the make-up girls, ‘are you introducing me?’

  ‘Oh right…yes, of course…er…this is Carl, James, Sven and Lewis. Lads, er, this is, er…well it’s Henrietta Swallow,’ the man says as though not fully believing this is happening.

  Carl. James. Sven and Lewis. Got it. Now just wait. Wait for it.

  ‘Fuck me, John. You never said you knew Henrietta Swallow!’

  Got it. John. Perfect.

  ‘John!’ Henrietta says with mock disappointment. ‘How rude. It is very nice to meet you all,’ she says round to the group of men while John floats an inch off the ground and regrets doing so much coke while thinking he’s sure he would remember Henrietta Swallow. Wouldn’t he?

  ‘Ah, yeah,’ John says wistfully. ‘Didn’t wanna be a name dropper, you know…’

  ‘Aw, you’re so sweet,’ Henrietta says kindly and waits. Henrietta knows men and the urge they have to impress.

  ‘Sven and Lewis did the sound for the film,’ John says, filling the void of silence.

  Sound engineers. Got it. Fuck I am good at this.

  ‘It sounded great,’ Henrietta says demurely but with a glint in her eye. ‘You guys must be strong,’ she adds, letting her gaze run across their shoulders and arms. ‘Lugging all that heavy equipment about every day.’

  ‘Oh tell me about it,’ Lewis says, groaning. ‘Plays havoc with my back it does.’

  ‘Get down the gym then, you lazy shit,�
�� Sven says with a grin. ‘Ask Henri to spot for you.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Henrietta says quickly, earnestly but with a cheeky grin.

  ‘How often do you work out?’ Carl asks.

  ‘Me? Five days a week,’ Henrietta says. ‘What about you?’

  ‘When I can but on set it’s hard especially if we’re on location.’

  This is brilliant. I can hold conversation about weight training with men. I know the terms, the references, the best proteins and isolation exercises. I am fucking awesome!

  A two-hour after-party, so that means she has six twenty-minute segments. Twenty minutes per group, give or take, and she can make decent progress on the new ladder.

  ‘So where do you guys all hang out then?’ Henrietta asks at a natural break in the now relaxed conversation.

  ‘The Pot in Soho? You know it?’ John asks hopefully.

  Never heard of it. ‘Oh I know it,’ Henrietta says. ‘I’ll have to come down for a beer one evening.’ Bet it’s a right sleazy shithole dump.

  ‘Hey we do a quiz on Thursdays,’ Lewis says. ‘You can join our team.’

  ‘Great!’ Henrietta beams at Lewis. A fucking pub quiz? What the fuck?

  ‘It’s where most of us go,’ Sven says knowingly, ‘all the technical lot. You know, try and get away from the egos and relax.’

  ‘Sounds like my kind of place. Far too many egos in this business,’ Henrietta says. Twats.

  ‘All the winnings go to the charity,’ Lewis says, nodding eagerly.

  ‘What was that?’ Henrietta asks.

  ‘The quiz, it all goes to charity.’

  Charity. Switch on, Henrietta.

  ‘Oh wow, that’s so nice,’ Henrietta says, nodding sincerely. ‘Every Thursday did you say?’

  ‘Every Thursday,’ John says, noticing Henrietta’s growing interest.

  ‘What do you win?’ Henrietta asks, looking round at the men.