Stardust

by Ray Connolly

  The attention of the table gradually turned towards Jim as Hoffman finished his analysis.

  ‘You’re just gonna have to work a bit faster,’ Lucille said in sprightly fashion, encouraged by her earlier attempts at conversation.

  ‘That’s it … time to speed up the old assembly line,’ agreed Spencer-Tennant bombastically. Jim stared at him sourly.

  ‘It’s slightly more difficult in our case since Jim writes all his own songs.’ Porter Lee felt it time he began to take some heat out of the situation. Jim was behaving with more aggression than he normally displayed.

  ‘There’s no way …’ Jim was now being deliberately awkward, and ruining everyone’s dinner.

  ‘Oh come on, Jim. Of course it can be done. You have seven songs already. That means four to go … maybe even three, with a couple of long solo breaks. You’re doing nothing this week. You’ve nothing else to think about.’

  ‘I’m on holiday … The first time in God knows how long.’ Jim was now shouting at him.

  ‘Well you can knock off a couple more … one could even be an instrumental.’

  Suddenly Jim was on his feet: ‘What do you mean “knock off”? I’m an artist not a bloody juke-box.’ And pushing back his chair so that it toppled over in protest, he raced out of the room.

  Danielle jumped up to follow him but instantly Mike was at her side restraining her: ‘He’s over-tired,’ he said apologetically. ‘If you’ll excuse me …’ And with a gracious smile he followed Jim out of the dining-room, leaving the dinner party in an embarrassed morass of social disarray.

  Mike caught up with Jim on the beach. It was now quite dark and he was sitting pensively on a sand dune, watching the Atlantic move towards him. He didn’t bother to look up as Mike approached - like a gaoler catching up with an escaped convict, was the way Jim was later to remember the event.

  Mike sat down nonchalantly next to his friend: ‘Shouldn’t you run in the sea now … you know, cut your ear off, or do something like that?’ He noticed a smile creep across Jim’s face. ‘I mean, shouldn’t you give reign to your artistic temperament … vent your spleen?’

  Amused by the ludicrousness of his dinner outburst, Jim began to laugh. Mike watched the waves. He knew how to joke Jim out of any of his moods. Danielle would never know the bastard as well as he did: ‘D’you remember that bit in From Here To Eternity where Burt Lancaster was giving one to Deborah Kerr in the sea?’ he asked. And without waiting for an answer: ‘Ever had it in the sea?’

  ‘No. Never the sea.’ Jim was falling in with his tactics perfectly. ‘I tried it in the bath once … that time we were playing Glasgow. Remember the stripper with the tartan pants … ?’

  ‘You were like a rat up a drainpipe in those days.’

  ‘Not really. You ever tried muff-diving in the bath at a British Railways hotel?’

  ‘Snorkel or bagpipes?’ asked Mike, to more laughter. It was now time for him to use his persuasive technique with his errant star. ‘You know, you don’t want to get too uptight with Porter Lee. Not when everything’s going so well. He’s right in his way.’

  Jim picked up a pebble and, hurling it into the sea, watched it go ducks and drakes across the waves: ‘I know, but he’s like a one-arm bandit. All apples and oranges.’

  ‘Just play them along. They’ll wait for the songs.’ Mike knew he’d won the battle. Jim nodded.

  ‘Okay. I’m sorry.’

  Mike stood up: ‘Come on, or they’ll begin to wonder about us,’ he said, and set off back down the beach towards the house leaving Jim to follow at his own pace.

  ‘I’m sorry, everyone. I’m really sorry about all that.’ Jim repeated his apologies to the guests as he took his seat again next to Danielle at dinner.

  ‘It never happened, Jim. It never happened.’ Porter Lee was beaming again.

  Mike sat down next to Lucille, deliberately catching Danielle’s eye, and smiling superciliously. For that long moment Danielle felt ashamed of herself and ashamed of Jim. He was such a weak character. And despite herself she couldn’t help despising him.

  ‘Isn’t it time we were going, dear?’ said Helen Spencer-Tennant to her husband. She wouldn’t be repeating her social mistakes in a hurry. These pop people behaved like hooligans.

  Danielle had expected it sooner in their relationship: the inevitable questions that men ask their lovers about how they lost their virginity. But when it came, towards the end of their holiday in Bermuda, she wasn’t altogether prepared for it. After the first few days the holiday had been a happy one, as they’d kept out of sight of Porter Lee and Mike as much as possible, and Mrs Lee Austin hadn’t had the bright idea of inviting any more token aristocrats for dinner. Porter Lee, for his part, had never mentioned the question of work again, presumably having arranged some deal with the record company which would give Jim more time to prepare his album. And so the days went by and Jim and Danielle had a nice quiet holiday, driving off in their hired car for picnics and privacy in the day and retiring early to bed at night. Then one bright and sunny morning when they were resting, exhausted from their love-making, Jim suddenly wanted to know about the other men in her life. After so long it seemed a wrong question to ask.

  ‘The first time? Why d’you want to know?’

  Tell me,’ insisted Jim.

  ‘I must think. I was seventeen, I think, and I was in Paris … well, maybe I was sixteen, and I was at ballet school. My brother had gone to work in New York at the United Nations and I found myself alone … I mean without a friend. And then there was a boy. He was a very nice boy. He didn’t want to … I think it was the first time for him, too … but I insisted.’

  Danielle stopped and considered the memory.

  ‘Go on, insist,’ ordered Jim.

  ‘One afternoon when my parents were out I took him to my home … to my bedroom. He was a nice boy … he turned away while I undressed. And afterwards he brought me coffee … I was still lying there but I said that he must go and leave me to think. And then when he had gone I went out and I sat in the Metro and watched all the trains and the people. And then I went home. And when my parents came back we had a party because it was my father’s birthday.’ She stopped remembering and turned to him. ‘And you?’

  ‘Me?’ Jim pretended mock amazement that she should have asked him such a question. ‘You. You were the first girl for me. The one and only.’

  They lay still and silent for some time and stared at the ceiling. Outside by the pool they could hear the two Lee Austin boys playing.

  ‘The first time I saw you … it was on television in Paris. And I was at my father’s house. And I thought there is a man who is not like the others … not a puppet …’ Danielle ran out of words.

  ‘Old buttermilk thighs, I’m getting my highs on you,’ sang Jim to the tune of Hoagy Carmichael’s Old Buttermilk Sky. He didn’t want Danielle to get too heavy today. He couldn’t take anything like that. Their relationship had always been unspoken to a certain extent, and he wanted to keep it that way.

  ‘When we go back … you mustn’t let them push you too hard,’ Danielle was returning to a persistent theme of late. ‘You must be very careful.’

  She still doesn’t understand, thought Jim. After all this time. ‘I can’t stop them,’ he said. ‘There’s no way. I’m like the wind that’s turning the windmill … do you understand me … there’s no getting off. You, me, Mike … all of us … we’re just like butterflies pinned to the sails … there’s no way out for me any more.’

  ‘But there is … there must be.’

  ‘You don’t understand. I’ve told you there’s no way.’ He felt aggravated by her refusal to see what appeared so self-evident to him.

  ‘To me you’re too precious for … for …’

  Danielle wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but she didn’t have time to finish. Because becoming playful again, Jim climbed out of bed and pulling on a bathrobe, said: ‘Me? Precious? Maybe precious to the balance of payments. Methink
s I’ll swing for England yet.’ And with a giggle he disappeared inside the bathroom door, leaving Danielle to try to understand his English wit.

  She didn’t have long to consider because suddenly the door from the corridor flew open and Mike rushed in: ‘Jim,’ he yelled.

  ‘Don’t you ever knock before you enter a lady’s bedroom?’ Danielle felt herself going red with anger as she pulled the sheets around her.

  ‘I usually do it after I’m in,’ leered Mike, and then turning to face Jim who had appeared at the bathroom door to see what was going on, he straightened his face: ‘Jim. Your mother’s dead,’ he said.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jim hardly spoke on the flight back to England. At first he had insisted that Danielle stay in Bermuda while he went back alone for his mother’s funeral, but when she made it clear that she wasn’t going to leave him by himself at this particular moment he gave in and allowed her to accompany him. Mike also went with him. Since that moment in the van years earlier when Jim had spoken about buying his mother a bungalow when he got rich, Mrs Maclaine had never been mentioned. During the first flush of success to hit the Stray Cats Jim had spent much time closeted with solicitors, and Mike assumed that in one of those private meetings he had made provision for his mother, since unlike some pop stars’ parents she had never turned up with her hands open once he had become rich. But then he knew that she didn’t approve of people who worked on fairs or became musicians so he wasn’t altogether surprised. It had been the lawyer in London who had contacted Mike about the death in a simple telegram which gave the news and the date of the funeral. Then it had been Jim who, possibly feeling guilty for neglecting his mother during her lifetime, had made the decision to go to the funeral.

  As ordered, Jim’s white Rolls was waiting for the threesome when they arrived at Manchester Airport, and it quickly drove them the fifty miles to Doncaster for the funeral. Mike had been surprised to learn that Mrs Maclaine had spent the last few years of her life in the North since he knew Jim was a West Country boy, but Jim’s strange silence told him that it was better not to ask any questions.

  Always mindful of appearing correct, Danielle had dressed herself carefully in a dark grey Saint Laurent suit for the solemn occasion but with matching lack of thought it occurred to neither Jim nor Mike to wear anything dark, let alone ties of any description, in the dash to get back to England in time.

  The church was small, modern and suburban and they had some trouble in locating it since none of them had ever been in Yorkshire before. So it was with some surprise that they found a crowd of fans standing round the entrance to the churchyard. Mike hadn’t expected any to be there and from his expression, he gathered that Jim hadn’t either.

  The requiem mass had already begun when they made their way into the church, with the priest splashing holy water on the coffin and the congregation standing in prayerful respect for the recently departed. They had been trying to make an unnoticed entry but the sudden sounds of the excited fans from outside the church as the doors opened caused a flurry of curiosity and several heads turned to discover the nature of the disturbance.

  Jim led Danielle and Mike towards a middle pew. To Danielle, Jim’s attitude was bewildering. He didn’t seem to be so much mourning his mother’s death as taking part in a sacrificial rite, which had dragged him back four thousand miles to be stared at by relatives and parental friends in whom he had long since ceased to have any interest. And as she sat, knelt and stood there as the mass continued she realized that there were whole acres to his personality about which she knew nothing. He had never talked about his parents, other than to tell her that he had been an only child brought up by his mother after his father had walked out on the family home in 1946, and she wondered whether that truant father had turned up for the funeral. Looking around the small light little church it seemed inconceivable that the world-celebrated Jim Maclaine should be in such a modest, incongruous place, but though she tried to catch Jim’s eye to gather some indication of his own personal feelings she was unable to make any contact. His face was glazed and expressionless and it wasn’t until the Sanctus part of the mass that he abruptly appeared to come to life. He had been listening to the choirboys singing when he leant across to Mike and asked him for a pencil, which he then used to jot down some notes on one of his mother’s mass cards found lying on the pew in front of him. That done, he put the card in his pocket and now appearing more as a spectator than a mourner, watched while the service drew to its close.

  There was some sobbing of women and blowing of noses as the priest made his final blessing and the undertakers hoisted the coffin to their shoulders, but still Jim showed no emotion.

  Purposely Danielle averted her eyes from the funeral procession as it passed her on its way down the aisle. Though she was correctly dressed, she felt conspicuous by her sun-tan and chicness, and a sudden chilling feeling overcame her as she realized that all these middle-aged women must hate her for what they thought she stood for. As the procession began to tail away Jim stood up and moving out into the aisle followed, moving slowly and calmly, although a few fans had by now entered the church and were standing at the back tittering in excitement at seeing him. Throughout her whole being Danielle felt a growing tension and fear.

  Then suddenly they were outside and the avalanche broke. As the coffin was being slid into the hearse and mourners stood waiting, a wave of fans suddenly darted over the wall and began to rush towards Jim and Danielle standing on the steps. The group of mourners in front of Jim parted as the fans darted forward but not quickly enough for a mother and a little boy to be caught brutally in the excited charge. Danielle had noticed the woman before, youngish and blonde, because she had been crying quite a lot in church, and because the child, not more than five, had clearly been bored by the service and done his utmost to inquire how long it might be before they could go home.

  Too late the mother saw the danger of the rushing fans, and in an instant she was separated from her child who was tumbled over in the stampede. ‘Jimmy!’ she screamed, as his little figure was lost beneath the excited fans. And then Jim was pushing roughly down through the fans and picking up the child in his arms and hugging him, while the grinning, insane faces milled around. Danielle pushed forward too, as the mother tore at the fans to get to her son. But then the strangest thing happened. A couple of photographers heaved their way through the mêlée and began taking pictures, not only of Jim but also of her and the child’s mother. Danielle was bewildered. What was Jim doing hugging that strange child?

  ‘A quick one of you with the young lady and your little boy?’ asked a photographer trying to push Danielle and Jim closer together.

  Jim looked hard at the camera for a moment, and then spotting his Rolls he carried the child quickly through the crowd, followed closely by Danielle, the mother, Mike and another youngish man in a navy blue suit, who had been assisting with the undertakers.

  Quickly they all tumbled into the Rolls, Mike and the man in blue in the front with the driver, while Jim, still holding the child, Danielle and the young woman got into the back.

  As the doors slammed and the driver made a cautious way through the mobbing, smiling, desecrating faces, Jim turned slowly to Danielle: ‘Danielle,’ he said, ‘this is my wife Jeanette … and this is my little boy, Jimmy.’

  Whatever Mike had been expecting to hear that had not been included in the agenda. Quickly he turned. Jim was sitting in the middle of the back seat with the child on his knee. Danielle, pale with shock, sat on one side of him. Jeanette, sobbing more now, was on the other. The little boy started to cry and quickly Jeanette took him from his father.

  ‘Nice cars these, aren’t they?’ The man in navy blue at Mike’s side was talking to him. Mike nodded a mute agreement. ‘Always sad occasions,’ said the man, seemingly oblivious to the clashing emotions of the moment.

  ‘This is Brian,’ said Jeanette pointedly to Jim. ‘We live together.’

  Again there wa
s a silence. The car was now following the slow procession of vehicles towards the funeral. Idly Mike wondered on how absurd it must all look. A white Rolls, following a line of black funeral cars, with a hoard of young girls running after it. He looked out of the tinted windows, thanking God none of the Press and their prying cameras could see inside.

  ‘That isn’t a very good example, is it?’ he heard Jim say.

  Jeanette virtually choked as her sobbing became uncontrollable: ‘You can talk about example … you - after what you’ve done? God knows why you turned up today. Why couldn’t you stay in America? Why couldn’t you leave us alone?’

  ‘She was my mum, you know. I wanted …’

  ‘You wanted what? I don’t care what you wanted. We tried to get away from you, from everything to do with you. That was why we moved here. I changed my name to keep Jimmy and me out of all of this. Now look what you’ve done. Are you satisfied now? You broke your mother’s heart when she was alive, and now you turn up to make a mockery of her funeral. Oh God!’ She was silent for a moment and then a new thought struck her: ‘You aren’t going to come to the cemetery, are you?’

  ‘Well, yes …’ began Jim, but he was cut short by Jeanette grabbing hold of his arm.

  ‘You can’t… not now …’ She turned to Danielle. ‘Please don’t let him come.’

  Danielle, her face now composed after the shock, looked at her hard for a long moment and then murmured an agreement. ‘You mustn’t go, Jim,’ she said.

  Jim looked uncomfortable. The two women in his life arranging what he did at his own mother’s funeral. But he acquiesed: ‘All right. Look, I’ll arrange to pay for everything … all the … you know, everything. Just send the bills to my lawyer … he’ll …’