Valentine

by Rebecca Farnworth

  'This is not a good time right now; you can't come in,' Jack said firmly.

  'Why? Have you got someone here?' Outrage in her voice. 'Am I spoiling your lovers' tryst?'

  Valentine sat bolt upright, pulling down her skirt and clutching her shirt to her, which was just as well, as Julia burst into the living room, closely pursued by Jack. She was clearly the worse for wear and had to hold on to a chair to stop herself swaying.

  'Julia, I really would like you to go,' Jack said, angry now.

  'Oh would you?' Julia said sharply, without a trace of her trademark husky tone. 'That's not what you said a few weeks ago, is it? You see, Valentine, Jack might protest now, but back then he was only too happy when I called round. We might have split up but he still wanted me. And I know he still does, don't you?' She managed to go husky again for the last comment.

  Oh God, this was horrible! Valentine sat on the sofa, frozen in embarrassment.

  'Julia, really you need to go,' Jack insisted, his jaw clenched angrily.

  'What? So that you two can screw!' The husk was gone again. 'Just tell me Jack, what's she got that I haven't?' She pointed an accusing finger at Valentine, who was tempted to reply, 'Fifteen fewer years,' but she wasn't that bitchy.

  'I know all about her from Eva – how she tried to wreck her relationship with Finn.'

  'That's enough, Julia,' Jack replied.

  'Who encouraged you to go into acting in the first place? It was me, darling. I've championed you all the way and now you want to throw away everything we had together for a quick fuck with her!' She turned to Jack, her beautiful blue eyes glinting with tears.

  Valentine took the opportunity to get up from the sofa with as much dignity as she could muster, and still clutching her shirt to her, hobbled to the bathroom. There she attempted to calm her wild hair and did up her bra and her shirt. Her face was flushed and her lips were slightly swollen from the kisses. Bugger it, her knickers were on the sofa. Matching her appearance, her mind was all over the place, the doubts were creeping back in. What had she been thinking of ? She didn't need this complication in her life. The play opened in three days; she should be focusing on that. She had to escape the scene of emotional carnage. She grabbed her bag, intending to creep out of the flat without saying goodbye; the knickers would have to be sacrificed.

  But Jack was waiting by the door. 'Don't go. I'll get rid of her, I promise.'

  'I really think I should, don't you? You've obviously got lots to talk about,' Valentine said brusquely, trying to banish the image of him kissing her body. He was a player; he'd slept with Julia when it suited him and he probably had a string of other women. He was probably just like Finn. She was a fool to ever get involved. 'I'll get the bus; thanks for dinner. I'll see you tomorrow.' And without giving Jack a chance to reply she opened the front door and marched down the stairs, ignoring Jack calling out after her and feeling very proud of her composure. It was only when she got to the bus stop that she realised she hadn't pulled her skirt down at the back and had been mooning most of Ferme Park Road, N8.

  There was no denying that she liked Jack a lot. Wanted him, desired him, fancied the absolute arse off him and something else besides. But Julia's untimely arrival last night had unsettled Valentine. She knew she had to put the brakes on, whatever she had going with Jack, for the sake of her work – the show must go on and all that; she could not afford to be in emotional turmoil right now. The very next day, while they both had some time to kill between scenes, she asked him to go for a walk with her. Outside the sky was an oppressive grey and it was raining heavily – a perfect accompaniment to her mood. To cap it all her hair was bound to go crazily curly in the damp. She would no doubt end up looking like she'd had a tight perm, circa 1977. She was willing to bet that Julia Turner never had a bad hair day. As they walked along the road, trying to avoid getting drenched by the cars driving through the puddles, he tried to apologise about Julia again, but Valentine cut across him.

  'Are you still seeing her?'

  Jack sighed. 'I did sleep with her a couple of times after we split up, but we're not together anymore.'

  'She still carries a torch for you though, doesn't she?' Valentine persisted. 'That was obvious.'

  'Yes, but it's completely one-sided.'

  'She's very beautiful,' Valentine said.

  'Very,' Jack agreed. 'And very high-maintenance, neurotic, jealous and possessive, which is why I split up with her.'

  'So why still see her?'

  'I try hard not to, but as you've noticed she's very persistent. I've figured out it's better to see her every now and then, as friends, because I want to keep in touch with her daughter, Ruby. Anyway, please let's stop talking about her; it depresses the hell out of me. I'm not interested in Julia; only in you and me.'

  A pause. 'Jack, I can't see you, at least not until the play's finished; it's too much.'

  'Are you going to shut your eyes when we're on stage together then?' he said, trying to make light of her declaration.

  'You know what I mean,' she replied, looking ahead so she didn't have to see his face.

  'So you'll see me when the play's over?' he asked hopefully. 'I'll hold your knickers captive until you do.'

  'Let's just see how it goes,' she replied, proud of herself for appearing so cool, but inside feeling the loss of his company already. 'You seem to have so much going on in your life.'

  'And what about you?' Jack asked. 'There are plenty of things you haven't told me, aren't there? What about Finn?'

  Valentine ignored him and quickened her pace.

  'Wait.' Jack put his hand on her arm to get her to stop, then reached inside his jacket for his diary. He took out a pen and flipped through the pages, then he circled a date and held it up for her to see. He had marked the nineteenth of April, the day after the last show. 'So we have a date then?' he asked hopefully.

  'OK,' Valentine replied, suddenly wondering how she was going to last five weeks.

  There then followed the final week of rehearsals, where Valentine felt she was going cold turkey. The fact was that she really missed Jack. She restricted herself to only looking at him when she thought he couldn't see, to only talking to him when there were others present. And he kept to his side of the bargain: not seeking her out, no more intimate late-night phone calls. She felt bereft. She hadn't realised how much she loved his company. But she tried not to be distracted – she had the play to focus on and it was really coming together. During rehearsals there was a sense of energy as the drama unfolded and connections were made – except with Xander who had a wonderfully rich voice, but who delivered his lines as if he had no idea what he was actually saying, however many times VPL went through it with him. But Valentine, whom VPL had praised repeatedly for her comic and sensuous performance, felt completely ready for the play to open. That was, until she was presented with her costume.

  'OK, tell me honestly, what do you think?' Valentine was standing in front of Lauren dressed only in the gold briefs (mercifully VPL had agreed that she didn't have to wear the thong) and matching gold nipple tassels that made up her Titania costume. All that was missing was the gold body paint.

  Lauren wolf-whistled. 'Have you ever considered a career in lap dancing?'

  'I meant, do I look fat?' Valentine exclaimed in exasperation. Lauren never got it, because she had never felt or looked fat in her entire life.

  'No, you look curvy and delicious,' Lauren replied.

  'So I do look fat then,' Valentine shot back, unable to take Lauren's words as a compliment. She'd been working so hard to lose weight, running and swimming every day and cutting down on the evil carbs. But evidently it had all been in vain. She was still a porker.

  'You don't look fat at all!' Lauren told her. 'I promise.'

  'I can't believe that I've actually got to wear this outfit!' Valentine groaned, peeling off the cursed nipple tassels and dropping them on to her dressing table with an expression of complete disgust.

  'Tomorro
w's the dress rehearsal and I've got to wear them in front of Jack for the first time. It's going to be mortifying. It will definitely be the end of him fancying me – if he does still fancy me, after I gave him the brush-off.'

  'He fancies you,' Lauren told her. 'He's burning for you, baby.'

  'No, no, he'll see Emily flitting about in her white see-through dress all slender and size zero and realise his mistake. Who wants a golden porker when they can have a beautiful nymph?'

  A massive eye-roll from Lauren. 'I'm here for you, girlfriend, but if you keep going on about how you're fat when you're not, I will start talking about my teeth.'

  'Deal.' Valentine reached for her dressing gown. Lauren could talk about her teeth all night.

  By the time the dress rehearsal arrived she was in a state of near-meltdown over the tassels. Usually she loved getting changed into her costume – it was part of the transformation into the character – but not today. It was an hour and a half before the play started and in the dressing room the Twirlies had already stripped off and were wandering around half-naked, totally un-self-conscious about displaying so much flesh, but Valentine reflected that if she'd had a body like theirs she'd be the same. She sat hunched up in front of the mirror, delaying as long as she could the awful moment when she would have to strip off in the less-than-glamorous dressing room. It smelled of damp, stale perfume and hairspray. The facilities were limited to a sink, a shower (both of dubious cleanliness), a kettle and a rail for their costumes, but at least it was single-sex. Valentine had been dreading that they might have to share one with the boys, as she had on other productions. There was a long horizontal mirror on one wall, against which was a dressing table with space enough for six chairs. Valentine had made sure that she was sitting next to Kitty and Zara and at the opposite end of the table to Emily, who was openly continuing her pursuit of Jack, even though he'd given her no encouragement. Probably someone as ravishing as her wasn't used to rejection.

  Valentine fiddled with her make-up, which she'd carefully arranged. Like a lot of actors she was a bit OCD about dressing-room rituals and she always had to have a purple towel and Chanel foundation and eyeliner.

  'Shouldn't you be getting changed?' Kitty asked, sitting on the chair next to Valentine. She was already in her costume, a pretty lilac chiffon dress with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt. No nipple tassels for her, Valentine thought enviously. She sighed. It was now or never.

  Under the cover of a black towelling robe she reluctantly took off her clothes put on the gold bikini briefs and immediately wrapped herself back in the robe, which had a hood and which she was sure made her look a little like Obi-Wan Kenobi. The four other fairies – Pease- Blossom, Cobweb, Moth and Mustard-Seed had by now put on their briefs and nipple tassels and she tried to tell herself there was safety in numbers, even though they all had bodies to die for.

  But at least she didn't have to wear a thong like Robbie, who was playing Puck. He had arrived at the dress rehearsal in a complete state after opting for a back, sack and crack wax, in order to pull off the skimpy garment. He had tears in his eyes when he came into the girls' dressing room and recounted how excruciatingly painful the procedure had been. But he had come to the wrong place for sympathy. Kitty gave him short shrift. 'Robbie, women have been waxing for centuries, or maybe even millennia, so get over yourself ! Also we have to undergo a little thing called childbirth, remember? And what's that compared to a few ripped-out follicles?' Exit Robbie, much chastened.

  'Oh, don't be so hard on the poor boy,' answered Dixie the make-up artist, who was doing their make-up free for her CV. She was a complete sweetie. She had obviously read the make-up artist bible which stated: Thou shalt only ever be lovely to thy clients and make them feel good about themselves, however bloody annoying and demanding they are. 'Now come on Valentine, I need to do your body paint.'

  Dixie was Welsh, slightly overweight – the fate of many a make-up artist, doomed to spend so much of their time sitting around – but gorgeous, channelling a Marilyn Monroe look with platinum-blonde hair and scarlet lips. She had a lovely temperament: calm, unflappable and tactful; she was bound to go far in her profession. 'You'll need to take off the robe, my love,' Dixie told her gently, and sighing heavily Valentine obeyed. Quickly Dixie got to work, expertly smoothing the paint over Valentine's bare skin, giving her instructions about how to stand and what part of her body to move. 'Just open your legs a little wider could you? I need to get to your inside thighs; that's lovely,' she said, kneeling in front of her.

  'I just hope you've got enough paint to cover the massive surface area,' Valentine said bitterly, as an unpleasant image flashed into her head of a turkey being basted.

  'Valentine, you're going to look absolutely lush when I've finished with you, I promise – like a fairy Bond girl!' Dixie continued.

  'She died you know,' Valentine said gloomily. 'If you mean the one in Goldfinger.'

  'Ooh, I'd forgotten all about that! I wonder what would be the quickest way to go? Poisoned by gold being sprayed over your entire body or drowning in that lift like that poor Eva Green in Casino Royale.'

  'Probably drowning,' Valentine replied, feeling grateful to Dixie for taking her mind off her thighs, even if it was by discussing death.

  'Still, at least she copped off with Daniel Craig first,' Dixie continued. 'That scene when she's in the shower and he sucks her fingers gives me goosebumps, and don't even get me started on the blue trunks! I tell you he can solace my quantum any day of the week!'

  Lovely as the thought of Daniel Craig solacing anything was, Valentine was not to be distracted from her current situation. 'Are you sure you can't do that body-contouring thing that all the stars have done to make me look slimmer?' she whispered.

  'Sorry love, I don't have a spray gun and anyway you don't need it, I promise! There now, all done.'

  Finally Valentine got to see the result in the mirror. To her huge relief it wasn't nearly as bad as she'd feared. She had been dreading looking like a monster from Dr Who circa nineteen seventy-five, but the gold paint had a sheer texture and gave her skin a glittery, luminous glow which was actually quite flattering, though probably not one she was planning to repeat off-stage. Her hair had been curled to make it even wilder than usual, and the tips sprayed with gold – she looked exotic, and actually, sexy. She was about to reach for her Obi-Wan Kenobi robe but Dixie stopped her. 'You can't wear anything I'm afraid; the paint will come off. I'll go and get an electric heater so you can keep warm.'

  Valentine could have done without being practically naked in front of the ravishing Emily, who had absolutely no worries about stripping off. She had been wandering around in a sheer bra and thong for what seemed like ages before finally putting on her costume.

  'I bet she was hoping Jack saw her in her undercrackers, silly cow,' Kitty whispered to Valentine. 'Not because he wants to, but because she wants him to,' she added hastily, seeing the look on Valentine's face.

  'I bet he would like to,' Valentine said gloomily. But Jack didn't come into their dressing room. All the other male members of the cast popped in at various intervals for a chat or to make themselves a coffee, or in Xander's case to have a good gawp at the Twirlies. Rufus came in to give Kitty a good-luck kiss; Toby sweetly gave all the girls a flower each for luck. Valentine steeled herself for cheeky comments about the costumes but none came – in fact no one even commented on the nipple tassels. It was both reassuring and slightly bonkers, as if they were all ignoring the elephant in the room.

  The half was called and the boys left the dressing room. The half was actually thirty-five minutes before the performance started and even though it wasn't the real thing, Valentine got an adrenalin-charged rush as if it was. It became quieter then, with less gossiping and giggling. Every actor was different in how they prepared to go on stage – Kitty went into some yoga stretches, while Valentine just liked to be silent and get into character in her head. From next door they could hear Xander doing some frankly
annoying vocal warm-ups. Then Zara, the lovely Twirly, started whistling 'Always Look on the Bright Side of Life'.

  'What the fuck are you doing?' Emily shrieked at her like a banshee, her pretty face contorted with outrage – not so pretty now, Valentine thought. 'Go outside this minute, turn round three times, knock on the door and then come back in. And no fucking whistling!'

  'Oh take a chill pill!' Kitty replied. 'You're not seriously hung up on that old superstition, are you? I bet you don't even know where it comes from, do you?'

  Emily curled her lip petulantly and gestured to Zara to get out. Zara decided to humour her and elegantly tiptoed out of the room on her demi points like a prima ballerina, closed the door behind her, then knocked on it a few seconds later and arabesqued back in.

  'It doesn't matter that I don't know where it comes from; I just know it's bad luck, as bad as naming the Scottish play!' Emily shot back.

  'Well, I shall tell you,' Kitty replied, clearly delighting in getting one up on Emily. 'In the olden days scenery changes were cued by whistles. So someone whistling for pleasure could be mistaken for a cue, causing the scenery to be dropped on an actor's head by mistake. So it's obviously completely obsolete – oh by the way, that means out of date.'

  'I went to bloody Oxford!' Emily hissed. 'Of course I know what it means!' And turning away from Kitty she picked up a make-up brush and applied more eyeshadow.

  Kitty mouthed 'One nil to me,' to Valentine, who shrugged and closed her eyes and practised her relaxation techniques.

  By the time she was waiting in the wings to go on stage she was in the zone. She was Titania, queen of the fairies, and her anxieties about her costume had melted away. She confidently stepped out on stage, totally in control. The enchanted forest was her kingdom. There was a tiny budget for lighting and scenery, but Vince had worked wonders. A huge screen was the backdrop on to which were projected different abstract images, giving the stage a dreamlike quality. The lighting had been designed to give off the effect of moonlight filtering through leaves, dappling the stage with mysterious shapes and shadows.