The Boy I Love

by Lynda Bellingham

  ‘Well, it was not really a lie. I was out on a job for Wardrobe, trying to get myself a costume for the show. I did ask Janie to tell you. Honestly, Heather, it is a nightmare trying to do all these different jobs at once. I am never going to get my bloody act together for the first night,’ she wailed.

  ‘Don’t fret, hon. You will be fine. I promise you, when that curtain goes up you will be there dazzling the punters. Now get over to the rehearsal room and do your thing. By the way, have you had any lunch? I thought not. Here, take this Kit-Kat to keep you going.’ Heather handed it to her and patted her on the back. ‘Go on, get going.’

  Sally chucked the chocolate gratefully down her throat and sped off to find Giles. The rehearsal room was next door to the theatre and had been a bar once, as part of the original foyer. It had just a few bulbs for lighting and some rickety chairs. The actors were all huddled round a two-bar fire.

  ‘Aah, at last you have deigned to join us, Miss Thomas,’ bellowed Giles.

  ‘I am so sorry, Giles, I had to go and get some boots for Wardrobe. I had no idea we were going to rehearse this afternoon,’ she stammered.

  ‘Fine, leave it for now. Just get your script and we can run through the first chorus scene. It is going to be tight, luvvies, but we will get there. Now from the beginning, please.’

  Sally sat down next to Jeremy, who whispered, ‘Don’t worry, Sal, it will all come right in the end.’ And he squeezed her hand.

  Sally felt like bursting into tears. She had never felt so out of control. She hardly knew what day it was, never mind what her first line in the play might be. Still, if she got those boots she had a pretty good chance of pulling off that number and showing the guys a thing or two!

  Chapter 11

  ‘Oh wow, it is amazing! Gwendoline, you are brilliant.’ Sally stood in front of the cracked old mirror in the wardrobe department, transfixed by her appearance. She was staring at a sparkly, sexy drum majorette, dressed in black fishnets, with patent-leather boots to the knee, short gold hot pants, a sequinned tunic with gold tasselled epaulettes, and all topped off with a peaked helmet with a huge black feather. She turned and gave Gwendoline a hug.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough. This has just made everything possible. I will perform to the costume now, don’t you see? I can’t let you down after all this.’

  Gwendoline was still recovering from the hug but managed a weak smile.

  ‘Well, I am certainly glad to be of assistance, and I must say it does make a change to be appreciated. Now if you’ll excuse me I must get on as I have to sew pom-poms on twelve Pierrot outfits.’

  Sally went in search of Mr Tibbs from Freeman Hardy & Willis who was waiting in the foyer with Tommy the photographer to have his photo taken for posterity.

  ‘Oh I say!’ said the shoe-shop manager, on seeing Sally’s outfit. ‘That is certainly eye-catching, Miss Thomas. You look splendid, and the boots finish it all off a treat.’

  Tommy set up the photo with Sally seated with acres of leg and thigh on display, while Mr Tibbs knelt at her feet adjusting the zipper and smiling at the camera.

  ‘Great shot, great shot. Lift your leg a bit more, Sally.’ This last request was met with a black look from Sally who had had enough of being exploited for one day.

  ‘OK OK, no problem,’ added Tommy quickly, ‘I have got the shot. Thank you very much, Mr Tibbs. This will be in the Chronicle on Wednesday and I will try to get it in the Manchester Evening News as well.’

  ‘Much appreciated, Mr Nuttall. Thank you, Miss Thomas, for all your help, and my wife and I look forward to the opening night. Give us a wave, won’t you?’ He winked and was gone.

  ‘Well, there goes a happy customer,’ said Tommy, packing up his equipment. ‘Well done, girl, that was a result all round. Keep it up, and you and I will make a few bob.’

  Sally laughed. ‘You mean you will. Still, it has been a good result, I must say. The boots really make the outfit. I will certainly keep in touch, Tommy, and thank you. Now I must fly or I will get the sack. See you later.’

  Backstage was becoming a 24-hour hive of activity. It was as if the theatre had been asleep for months and now the light had been switched on and every nook and cranny was lit up. Sally imagined it like a doll’s house. As she pulled open the front she could see every room in the place, and in each room there was a story unfolding, with each of the characters creating their own dramas within their elected spaces. The cast hardly left the theatre for the next week so they all retreated to their dressing rooms. Heather and Sally had spent a morning allocating dressing rooms, and checking lights, plumbing, radiators and electric fans. There was so much rubbish piled behind curtains and cupboards. Dust and grime curled around every knob and knocker.

  ‘I just can’t understand why Giles never spends any money on getting all this sorted,’ sighed Heather, trying in vain to apply a spanner to a radiator tap. ‘It’s classic, isn’t it? They spend thousands doing up the front of house, and gilding the lily, but completely abandon the real heart of the place and the people who work here. I can’t get this bloody thing to turn. Do us a favour, can you? Go and ask Gladys at the stage door if her Ronnie could come in and repair this, and maybe her daughter Cheryl might like to come and clean for a couple of hours with a mate and earn a few bob. I can probably fiddle it from petty cash and then at least there will be some semblance of organized chaos and Peggy and Percy will shut up for five minutes. Have you been in their rooms lately? It is real home from home.’

  Sally went off to find Gladys and then decided to pay Peggy a visit. The door to the dressing room was shut, and as Sally went to knock she noticed the brightly polished brass number 1 nailed in the centre of the door.

  ‘Enter!’ Peggy invited the caller in. ‘Hello, darling! How is it going? Would you like a cuppa and a biscuit? I bet you haven’t had time to spend a penny, never mind drink a cup of tea. That’s showbiz, my dear.’

  While Peggy got out cups and saucers Sally had a chance to take in the room. It was like a grotto in a circus or a carnival. Every inch of space was filled with ‘stuff’, from the beaded trim round the ceiling light to the fairy lights around the mirror lights. Everywhere twinkled. Goodness knows what the electrician would have to say about the safety aspect! In front of the dressing-table lights and mirror was an elaborate hand-embroidered mat covering all the tatty and chipped paintwork of the wooden dressing table. Laid out in neat rows were sticks of make-up, all of them in the original gold and black paper carefully folded down as the greasepaint was used. At drama school the students had been given a couple of lessons in stage make-up and Sally had bought the obligatory sticks of five and nine from Fox’s of Covent Garden, which was the famous make-up supplier to the theatre. Five and nine were sticks of greasepaint which, when applied together, formed a base for the face. It was thick and glutinous and looked terrible close up, but from a distance and under the lights gave the face a reasonable colour and skin quality. There were hundreds of variations of colour, and depending on the kind of parts one got to play, the quantity of sticks required would vary. However, for the juvenile lead there was really just the basic five and nine plus a carmine stick which doubled as lipstick and rouge – and, as Sally discovered from Peggy, provided the dot in the corner of the eye!

  ‘What is that?’ Sally had asked one evening when she was delivering groceries to the dressing room.

  ‘This, dear girl, is called definition. When one is playing to the gods it is vital that they see one’s eyes, and this creates a point of reference.’ Sally watched transfixed as Peggy applied the bright red dot to each eye. This was followed by a thick black line along the eyelid, finishing in a tick at the edge of the eye. Greens and blues had been applied in sweeping strokes to the eyelid, each brush-stroke reaching for the outer corner of the eyebrow with alarming insistence, and joining the thick black eyebrow in its final quest to hit the hairline! Uplift was an understatement, thought Sally. The result was two huge orbs of multicoloured delig
ht. If they didn’t see that in the Upper Circle, they must be blind indeed.

  Over the next few months, Sally came to appreciate that in terms of make-up, Peggy’s routine was unchanging and resulted in all her performances bearing the same basic look – that of an aging Cleopatra. It worked fine for most of the time, but when she came to play Sir Thomas More’s wife in A Man for All Seasons it was down to Percy to quietly take her aside and suggest she wipe it off immediately! To her credit she did as she was told – all but for the red dots. Some things would never change.

  ‘Here’s your tea, love.’ Peggy broke through Sally’s thoughts, and she took the cup.

  ‘Gosh, Peggy, this room is miraculous. You’ve completely transformed it. Do you do this wherever you go?’

  ‘Do what, darling?’ asked Peggy, sitting down in front of her mirrors.

  ‘Well, bring all this stuff with you. I mean, you must have so much to haul around with you all the time.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t travel without my things. This is my life, darling. You will soon come to realize that an actress’s dressing room is her real home. This is my sanctuary. As long as I am surrounded by my bits and pieces, I feel safe. Percy is the same. Have you seen his room?’ Peggy got up and made towards the door which led to the adjacent dressing room. When Sally had first been going round with Heather sorting rooms, she had commented on the fact that these two rooms were connected.

  ‘Surely Pinky and Perky don’t like this arrangement much, do they?’ she had questioned.

  ‘Ah well, hereby hangs a tale,’ replied Heather. ‘These two rooms were originally just Dressing Room number one. In the old days the leading actor was often also the actual manager of the theatre and the company, so he had the big plush room. Apparently there was one season where the two leading actors both thought they were entitled to Dressing Room number one, and it got so heated that a compromise had to be found. So they split this into two and put the actors’ names on the doors rather than numbers. So everyone was happy.’

  Sally watched Peggy now as she moved to open the connecting door. What did Percy make of that? she wondered.

  ‘Actually maybe we had better not intrude into his room while he is not there.’ Peggy stopped suddenly and turned back to Sally. She looked sheepish. ‘I mean, here’s me going on about an actor’s dressing room being his sanctuary, and I am about to invade the privacy of a fellow artiste. No, you will have to wait and ask Percy yourself to show you his bits.’

  Peggy returned and took up her place again in front of the mirror.

  ‘Now where were we? Oh yes, my things. Well, as you can see, I have collected from all over the place. Those little bells hanging over the lampshade came from China, you know. I had a dear friend who sent them to me. All the ornaments have a meaning. Mostly they are First Night presents given to me for luck, so naturally one would never get rid of them. It is a wonderful feeling to come into the theatre of an evening and wipe away the outside world. I am always in at least two hours before a show and will spend my time just pottering, you know? If I have been out during the day, to lunch or the cinema or something, I like to clear my head of all these events and just breathe in the atmosphere in my room – the make-up and the candles and the costumes. It makes me feel secure. Life is so full of insecurities, don’t you think? Things we can’t control, people we don’t understand. Well, here in my world I am secure and safe, and in control.’

  Peggy looked through the mirror at Sally sitting behind her and smiled a little sadly. ‘Don’t mind me, darling, just a silly old actress doing “her thing”.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Sally, who was genuinely moved. ‘I find it all really interesting. I have so much to learn yet. Thanks for the tea, Peggy. I will leave you in peace now and go and find Percy, because Giles wants you both for the last scene. Will you be down in five?’

  ‘Of course, and tell that Sarah to make sure my prop chair is placed stage right. She got it wrong this afternoon and I couldn’t find it. Threw my scene completely, and then she had the nerve to give me a note! Bit above herself, that one, I might say – I’ll have to make sure she knows her place.’

  Sally left before she got embroiled in backstage diplomacy. So far she had managed to keep her nose clean.

  Chapter 12

  The run-up to the first night was like a roller-coaster gathering pace as it reached the top of the incline and hung there for a few seconds before dramatically plunging down again. The cast ate, drank and slept their allotted parts. Giles finally pulled them all together, casting his magic from the front of the Royal Circle, or whispering from the box. He seemed to feed them all energy. Sally could no longer feel her feet as she stomped out the beat with the rest of the cast for the finale. Every bone in her body was crying out for release from the pain of spending eighteen hours on her feet. On the Sunday night, when the technical rehearsal threatened to go on until the early hours, succour came from an unexpected source. About midnight, Mrs Wong from the Chinese takeaway next door appeared at the side of the stage with a huge box of food. Delicious aromas were wafting across the stage and everyone was transfixed by the thought of sweet and sour pork balls.

  ‘Who dares to interrupt my rehearsal?’ bellowed Giles from the auditorium.

  But Mrs Wong was not cowed. ‘Mister Giles, you terrible man make all work too hard! Mrs Wong bring food and all will go better. Come, come, everybody, eat now. Mister Giles, you come too and take a break.’

  The cast let out a spontaneous cheer and fell upon the food, tearing off the foil and stuffing their mouths.

  ‘Oh my God, this is so good!’ mumbled Sally through a spoonful of chicken in black bean sauce. It was the turning point of the night, and Mrs Wong became the heroine of the hour. For the rest of the season the cast would turn to her sweet and sour sauce and chunky chips for inspiration. It became the one constant in their schedule: technical rehearsal and Mrs Wong’s takeaway.

  They finished the run at around three o’clock in the morning. Janie and Pete and Sally staggered up the hill to the house and fell into bed. Next morning came round in a flash and they all appeared in the kitchen, bleary-eyed but ready for the next onslaught. Pete had cooked them a huge ‘full English’, since Janie, efficient as ever, had cannily found the time to stock the fridge for such occasions.

  ‘This will probably be the last thing we eat today,’ she warned them.

  Sally felt guilty that she herself was so behind in organizing things in real life. For the last week all she could think about was the show. How would she ever survive when she moved to her flat? And what on earth would Dora make of it all?

  The three of them gathered everything they needed for the rest of the day and set off for the theatre. The dress rehearsal was scheduled to start at two, but Sally had so much to do before she could even start thinking about her own performance.

  Heather was waiting for her at the stage door.

  ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘Before you get stuck in here, can you whip down to Woolworth’s and buy some balloons and those party-popper things? Bloody Giles has decided he wants the cast to set them all off at the end of the show. Here’s some petty cash – I hope it’s enough.’

  Sally dumped her stuff with Gladys and set off. She practised her numbers as she sped along the road, until she caught the eye of some youths hanging out on the corner of the street, pointing at her, and laughing and hollering along with her. Oh well, so they thought she was potty – who cared!

  When she got back to the theatre there was a traffic jam at the stage door as the band appeared to have arrived. Frank, George, Terry and Gil – double bass, trumpet, piano and drums all on loan from Crewe’s very prestigious brass band.

  ‘Hi, can I help at all?’ she asked.

  ‘Frank Masters, at your service,’ said a tall jolly man with a fine head of hair, extending his hand from behind his double bass.

  ‘Sally Thomas,’ said Sally, taking his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you. Shall I show you to the Ba
nd Room?’

  Frank laughed. ‘Oh, I think we know the way there by now, don’t we, lads? This is our tenth year playing for this lot.’

  ‘Oh sorry, how stupid of me,’ apologized Sally, feeling very foolish. ‘I am the new girl, of course. But let me help you at least, and organize some tea or coffee.’

  ‘Don’t you mither yourself, my girl, we are fine. You get on and we will see you in the pub later.’ Frank managed to make a space for Sally to squeeze past. She went straight to the props corner and presented Heather with her purchases.

  ‘Well done. Now can you make sure that everyone has their opening costumes and that all their props are checked on the prop tables either side, please? I will be calling the half in five minutes, God help us.’

  The half was called twenty-five minutes before curtain up and it was legally binding that every member of the cast be in the theatre when it was called. This allowed stage management to keep tags on anything untoward or any latecomers. The biggest problem would be a no show from an actor, so the understudy would have to be informed and dressed and ready to go. If the actor arrived after the half had been called, he would still not be allowed on; it was down to the understudy.

  Five minutes! Sally rushed to complete her tasks. She was desperate to get to her dressing room and practise a little with her make-up. She took the stairs to the top of the theatre two at a time. That would have to be her warm-up for the show. She was sharing one of the dressing rooms with Sarah; it was usually reserved for the chorus so it was slightly larger, with several dressing tables and a couple of basins in the corner. The boys were next door in an identical room. Needless to say though, theirs was in a hell of a mess. The boys had hung a makeshift clothes-line across the room, from which hung a huge variety of underwear, some cleaner than others. Odd socks and shoes lay where they’d been chucked in the corner. Smelly trainers and the odd football and soggy towels lay in piles, and books and magazines were scattered all over the floor.