By lucky chance, the first person she ran into when she got home was Bob.
‘Look at this,’ she said, displaying the dress. ‘I’m wearing it to the Odeon this evening.’
‘The Odeon? Isn’t it the Carnival Queen thing there tonight? I thought all the tickers sold out ages ago.’
Wendy patted her hair. ‘They were, but I’m not going to watch it—I’m in it.’
‘In it? Are you saying that you might be the Carnival Queen? Gran might have something to say about that.’
At that moment, Lillian came bouncing down the stairs and stayed to admire the gorgeous gown. It tripped a half forgotten memory in Wendy’s brain.
‘I thought you said your precious Mr Caraway approved of the Carnival.’
‘Well…yes…he does,’ Bob admitted.
‘So he would be very impressed by your sister being Carnival Queen and doing all that stuff for charity?’
Wendy was very impressed with herself. She couldn’t have hit on a better argument.
‘He would, yes. You’re right.’
Lillian wanted to know all about it then, and pledged her support. Wendy wasn’t interested in that. Nobody listened to Lillian. But, with Bob behind her, she was on her way.
She was right. Bob stressed what an honour it would be to have a member of the Parker family as Carnival Queen, and Gran actually agreed.
Wendy decided not to ruin it by actually showing her the gown. It was sensational, a strapless number encased in gold sequins that hugged her body from bust to knee, then flared out in a swishy skirt. For added glamour, she wore elbow-length white gloves. She looked a million dollars.
When Peter came to pick her up, he was practically speechless. ‘Wow—!’ he gasped, his mouth hanging open. ‘M-Marilyn Monroe!’
It was just the effect she was aiming at.
The crowning of the Carnival Queen was one of the biggest events in town. Three thousand people were at the Odeon to see it. The foyer was decked with flowers and lights, the Mayor and Mayoress were there and there was a guard of honour formed by the Sea Cadets. Wendy felt like the film star she dreamed of being. This was what fame was like, and she loved it.
The five contestants were escorted to the dressing rooms at the back of the building. The other girls were surprisingly friendly.
‘Isn’t this fun?’ one of them said. ‘Whatever happens, we’re all in the court. We’re going to have such a good time.’
But Wendy didn’t want to just be in the court. She wanted to be Queen. She eyed the other girls’ dresses. They were pretty, but they didn’t ooze glamour like hers did. She studied her face in the mirror, renewing her already perfect lipstick. Yes, she looked the goods. She couldn’t fail.
Standing on the stage of the Odeon was different again from parading in a ballroom. The noise of three thousand people clapping was amazing. Wendy drank it in. Out there beyond the footlights, they were all looking at her. The thrill of it went right through her. She pouted and blew kisses.
So busy was she drinking in the attention, that she hardly listened to the first two girls as they were interviewed. When it got to the one before her, she started to pay more attention. David Kossoff and Julia Arnall were excellent at their task. They put her at her ease and got her talking naturally. Wendy felt a slight dip of confidence. This girl was good. You could see it. She spoke in a nice middle-class voice and she had plenty to say about her hobbies of amateur dramatics and netball and the Red Cross. She came back to her place in the line glowing.
‘Don’t be nervous—it’s fine, they’re lovely,’ she whispered to Wendy.
‘And next we have Miss Wendy Parker—’
The applause was just for her. Wendy moved forward. The gown was so tight round her upper legs that it forced a wiggle into her walk. She stopped between the two film stars and posed for the audience.
‘Wendy, that’s a lovely gown you’re wearing for us tonight,’ Julia said.
Wendy glowed.
‘Well, thank you, Miss Arnall. I bought it specially. But yours is very beautiful too.’
They asked her about her work, and what she did out of work.
‘I like going dancing down the Kursaal,’ she said.
‘And what’s your favourite dance?’
‘The tango. Only there’s not many men can do it really proper.’
‘And when you’re not dancing, what do you like to do?’
‘Well—er—’ For a moment she was flummoxed. ‘I like going round the shops, only that’s difficult ’cos I work in one and I only get my lunch hour to look at the others. And I like reading—’
‘Reading? What was the last book you read?’
‘Picturegoer. I love looking at what the stars are doing.’
David Kossoff asked what her ambitions were.
‘Oh, I want to be a film star, just like you and Miss Arnall.’
Right at this moment, she felt anything was possible.
‘I want a great big car and a house with a swimming pool and lots of jewels and furs,’ she elaborated.
‘And are you looking for Mr Right to share all this with you?’ Julia wondered.
‘Of course, but he’s got to be handsome and very rich.’
This brought laughter from the audience.
Wendy went back to her place in the line feeling she had done all right. The other girls smiled and nodded at her as she joined them. The last one went for her interview.
The MC came back on stage to remind the audience that they had one vote each, and that they were to bear in mind that the Carnival Queen not only had to look lovely, but be able to meet with all sorts of people in the course of her duties and speak in public. There was a murmur in the audience that grew to a buzz as everyone discussed their choice with the people next to them. Then the stars and the contestants left the stage to more applause, and the audience settled down to watch Jack Hawkins in The Long Arm.
‘Can’t we watch the film?’ Wendy asked.
‘I’m sorry,’ one of the organisers told her, ‘but once the votes are counted, the new Queen has to rehearse her speech.’
It was the longest wait Wendy had ever endured. The organisers tried to keep them all amused, but all Wendy wanted was to know the result. Over an hour went by.
‘They’re having a recount of the first two,’ somebody said.
Wendy nearly screamed with frustration. Another thirty minutes passed. The chairman of the Carnival committee came in with a piece of paper in his hand.
‘It was very close,’ he said. ‘Only ten votes in it between first and second place but we now have a result—’ He went over to the girl who had talked about being in the Red Cross. ‘Congratulations, my dear. You are our new Carnival Queen.’
‘No—’ Wendy whispered.
Surely not. This couldn’t be happening. They couldn’t choose somebody else.
But they had. She was neither Queen nor deputy. She was merely a lady-in-waiting. And, what was more, she had to stand there with a false smile pasted on her face, being nice to the others when all the time her dreams lay around her in tiny pieces.
Chapter Ten
LILLIAN stepped out of the shelter of the pier head station and into driving rain and wind. Carnival week was proving a disaster, weather-wise. The main procession had taken place in pouring rain. Wendy, sitting on a float only partly covered by a roof, had had to shelter under a large white umbrella as she waved to the crowds.
But it was not the rain that was bothering Lillian at the moment. She was shivering not from cold, but from nerves. Out of the blue, her big break had presented itself. She was going to an audition. Mamie Hill had heard from the producer’s mouth that two girls had walked out of the end of the pier show. The producer needed replacements straight away. Several of the Mamie Hill girls had said they would like to try but, when it came down to it, only Lillian and one other had turned up.
‘They’ve chickened out,’ her friend said. ‘They said if they did get it, it woul
d only be for a month at most, just till the end of the season, and then what? It’s always more difficult to get work in the winter when all the Golden Mile stuff closes.’
Lillian knew this was true in her heart of hearts, but she wasn’t going to let it stop her.
‘I don’t care. If I get this, then I’ll try to get another dance job after. I won’t want my old job back,’ she said.
Four dancers from London had also arrived, sent by their agents to audition. On the tram up the pier they discussed theatres and managements in a way that made Lillian feel very ignorant and sapped her confidence. These were real pros. They knew what they were at. What did she think she was doing, setting herself up against them? But then she remembered what James had said only a week or so ago when Frank had mocked his motor repair business.
‘You should be out having a good time, mate,’ Frank had said. ‘There you are, every evening after work, every weekend, mending cars. And for what? I dunno why you do it.’
‘Because I don’t want to work for someone else all my life,’ James had replied.
‘Yeah, but it ain’t exactly a Rolls-Royce dealership, is it?’
‘Not yet. Everyone’s got to start somewhere,’ James told him.
Everyone’s got to start somewhere—this was where she was starting.
A whole group of them had been on the same tram. As well as the dancers coming for the audition, there was a girl who was in the show already, an accompanist and, of course, the producer, Artie Craig. They all hurried up the steps to the top deck, waited while the producer unlocked the doors to the theatre and stumbled in, eager to get out of the rain. Lillian breathed in the smell of salt and damp carpet and cigarette ash. A theatre. She was in a real theatre. The producer switched the lights on, and with each click some more of the building was revealed. Lillian gazed round at green and white paintwork, green and brown tip-up seats and a plain proscenium arch with the safety curtain lowered, showing a picture of the pier as seen from the air.
Artie Craig lit a cigarette and took their names. ‘You two Mamie Hill’s girls?’ he asked Lillian and her friend.
They both nodded. Lillian was mortified at how easily he had identified them. Was it so obvious that they were amateurs?
‘You take the others to the changing rooms, Jenny,’ he said to the chorus dancer. ‘You girls give your music to Reg before you go. I want you all ready in ten minutes.’
Lillian didn’t know whether she was more thrilled or terrified. It was so exciting to be putting on her dancing shoes in a real changing room, but so much was riding on this that she felt quite ill. She had had to pretend to be sick to get off work, and now it seemed as if her lies were coming back to haunt her.
‘How did he know we were Miss Hill’s?’ her friend whispered.
‘We must look as green as grass,’ Lillian said.
‘I suppose so. I’m ever so nervous.’
‘Me too,’ Lillian said.
It was an understatement. She was hot and clammy, her throat was dry, her legs seemed to have lost all their strength and she wanted to throw up. How could she possibly dance her best feeling like this? She changed into the shorts and blouse that Miss Hill had recommended, applied her greasepaint and brushed her hair. Around her, the London girls were talking to Jenny, the company dancer.
‘What’s he like to work for?’
‘Who, Artie? OK. Thinks he’s Busby Berkeley.’
‘Don’t they all? Does he keep his hands to himself?’
‘Give me a break! He’s bent as a hairpin. Can’t you tell?’
‘Well, now you mention it, I s’pose so. What’s the rest of the company like?’
‘All right. Us girls work well together. The comic’s a pain in the backside.’
‘I hate comics. They’re such miserable bastards.’
Lillian felt completely out of her depth, but listened eagerly. This was a world she longed to belong to, and a language she wanted to understand. The girls all seemed strong and bright and confident, and she wanted to be like them.
‘Have you been dancing long?’ she asked Jenny.
‘Since I was twelve, darling. Got my first job in panto as an elf. This your first audition?’
Lillian nodded.
‘Well, give it your best. Artie’s desperate to fill the gaps, and there aren’t that many decent dancers available at this stage of the season. It’s not as if we’re a big line-up anyway. Losing two out of six is a disaster. And, what with all this foul weather, we’ve been doing great business, so we’ve got to have a full company.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Lillian said, trying to sound as if she knew what she was talking about.
‘Come on, let’s get on with it or Artie’ll start getting his knickers in a twist,’ Jenny called above the chatter.
The girls gathered in the wings, and one by one they were called on to the stage. It wasn’t like watching the Mamie Hill Dancers. All of them knew exactly what they were doing and gave a competent professional performance. They could all sing, dance and do both at the same time.
‘They’re ever so good, aren’t they?’ Lillian’s friend whispered.
‘Mmm,’ Lillian agreed, not taking her eyes off the girl who was performing at that moment. Another of James’s sayings floated into her brain.
‘If you want to compete, you’ve got to offer something extra.’
What did she have to offer? At first she couldn’t think of anything, but then, as she watched the dancers, she began to realise that they were all rather mechanical. They could do the steps and sing the notes, but something was missing. They’d done it all before. They wanted the job all right, but not as passionately as she wanted it. What she had to offer was that she was fresh and keen. Whether that was enough, whether it was even a good thing, remained to be seen.
The other Mamie Hill girl was called on. Lillian could see that she was not in the same league as the London dancers. Artie Craig thanked her and told her she needn’t stay. The girl burst into tears and rushed off the stage. Lillian had no time to comfort her because her name was being called.
‘Lindy-Lou Parker.’
She skipped onto the stage and flashed her most brilliant smile in the direction of the producer.
‘Good morning, Mr Craig!’
A weary voice came from the stalls. ‘Just get on with it, sweetie. What are you singing?’
‘Ready, Willing and Able.’
‘I hope you are, sweetie, I hope you are. OK, Reg.’
The accompanist struck up the opening bars and Lillian launched into the jaunty Doris Day number. She sang it through, projecting every ounce of bounce and sparkle she could muster. Then she sang it again while dancing, ending with a flick-flack and the splits, which had never been in the original Mamie Hill version. She was greeted with silence. Disconcerted, she stood up and shaded her eyes against the footlights.
‘Is that enough?’ she asked.
‘Quite enough, sweetie.’
Artie Craig’s tone of voice had not altered in the least. Lillian felt utterly squashed. He hadn’t liked it. He thought she was a silly little amateur. Shoulders slumped, she turned to walk off the stage.
‘How old are you, sweetie?’
Lillian spun back to face the auditorium again, hope surging in her heart.
‘Seventeen,’ she lied.
‘Right, well—stay there,’ Artie told her. ‘You other girls, let’s have you back on stage. Jenny, stage front, and we’ll run through the opening number. Music, Reg.’
Lillian hardly had time to take in what was happening as the dancers ran to form a line each side of her, Jenny stood in front of them and the accompanist struck up some opening bars. And then they were all singing and dancing to I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside. Luckily, she knew most of the words and didn’t have to think about them, as she concentrated fiercely on following the dance steps. ‘Smile, girls, smile!’ she heard Mamie Hill say at the back of her head. Smiling was not easy when you were trying
to pick up a routine, but she stuck one onto her face and carried on. The number ended in a group pose. Lillian found herself pushed out of the way by one of the London girls with arms stretched, leg forward and chest out. She leaned sideways precariously to make sure she was seen, her limbs trembling with the effort.
‘Right, off you go, Jenny,’ the producer called. ‘From the top, Reg.’
‘Bloody hell,’ muttered one of the London girls.
Lillian swallowed. They were being asked to do the dance by themselves after just one run-through! At Mamie Hill’s, they went through each section several times before putting the whole thing together, and even then they weren’t expected to get it right. There wasn’t time to panic. Already Reg was playing the opening bars again. Her body seemed to take over, taking its cues directly from the music. Twice she went wrong but managed to get back into it. She kept on singing and she kept that smile going. Never had a dance seemed so long.
This time she was ready for the ending. Dead on the beat, she dropped on one knee in the middle of the group, her arms out to each side. The others were forced to group round her. Her smile was bright with triumph. She had got through it!
Again there was that unsettling silence. The dancers stood up and waited for the verdict.
Artie Craig’s flat voice floated out from the stalls. ‘OK, you in the blue blouse—what’s your name?’
‘May.’
It was the one who had pushed in front of Lillian.
‘May. Right, you’re in. And you, Lulu or whatever you’re called. Call me mad if you like, but I’ll take a chance on you. Have you got an Equity card?’
Lillian shook her head. Membership of the actor’s trade union was strictly for professionals only.
‘Get signed up straight away or I’ll have them on my back like a ton of bricks.’
Lillian tried to say, Yes, Mr Craig, but nothing came out. She had the job. She really had the job. She could hardly believe it. She was a real dancer in a real show.
There was no time to revel in her huge good fortune. Artie wanted the new girls in the line-up as soon as possible so, while the disgruntled failures went to get changed and go, it was down to work straight away for the newcomers. Jenny led them through the steps of the opening and closing numbers, while Artie came in with the finishing touches. The lethargic man slumped in the stalls seat was transformed into a slavedriver.
Follow Your Dream Page 11
