It was horrible to see!
Not my problem, thought Sally as she passed the ever-open door and moved to her own dressing room. There had been no time to personalize it at all, so everything was rather cold and pristine. Sarah had managed to put up a couple of posters her end of the dressing table and laid out her make-up and towel, but poor old Sally’s end was decidedly bare. Oh well, time enough for all that later. She had picked up her opening costume on the way up and hung it carefully on the rail then quickly unpacked her bag of goodies. She sat down in front of the mirror and finally drew breath.
The face that stared back at her through the rather grubby glass was wide-eyed and pale. She had bags under her eyes for the first time in her life, and her hair needed washing. Was this an actress in the making? Too bloody right it was! She had fifteen minutes to get ready. She stuck her head under the tap in the basin and pinched some of Sarah’s shampoo. The water was cold but did the job. She had actually bought herself a little hairdryer so she attacked her wet locks with vigour for five minutes and then stuck it up in a roll ready for her nifty hat! She then whacked on the five and nine and a good dollop of scarlet on the cheeks, but no time for the red dots this show. She gave her lips a good outline though, with the old lipstick and some awful gloss stuff she had seen on offer in Woolies. It tasted disgusting, and when she smiled she had it smeared all over her front teeth. Not a good look.
She started to haul herself into her black fishnets as the Tannoy over the dressing-room door suddenly crackled into life, making her jump.
‘Five minutes to curtain up, ladies and gentlemen. Five minutes, please. Could Miss Thomas come to the prompt corner immediately, please?’
‘Oh shit!’ Sally swore as she got her boot-zip stuck. ‘I am not going to be ready.’ But she managed it. Took a quick look in the mirror and was amazed how a bit of theatrical make-up and sparkle had transformed her from tired ASM to cheeky drum majorette, and sped down the stairs.
She made the prompt corner just as Heather was calling beginners.
‘Well done, girl, you look great. Now just make sure they all line up in the right order and stand by to raise the curtain, please.’
Crewe was still waiting for its automated Tabs (curtains) so they had to be raised by hand on pulleys. Sally assumed the position, and was ready to haul away, much to the delight of the boys who were all lined up behind her ready to go on, and had the perfect view of her fishnets. As she raised her arms to pull the curtain, her rather short tunic was beyond the realms of decency.
‘Oh shut up, you losers!’ she hissed and then got an attack of the giggles.
Suddenly there was only bright lights and the sound of the drums beating out their entrance, and they were off and running. Well, nearly . . .
‘Stop! Stop, hold the tabs! We have a problem with the follow spot!’ Giles was screaming from the centre of the circle. ‘Go back and reset and start again.’
Unfortunately, dress rehearsals are notoriously fraught with danger. The old adage ‘Bad dress rehearsal great show’ is always there to adhere to, cling to – pray to!
They managed to get through the whole show just about intact, but it was now nearly six thirty and the show was to open at seven thirty! The cast were gathered in the stalls for their notes. Some had managed to grab a cup of tea, or an apple, just to keep them going. Giles gave each actor their notes, ticking them off his pad theatrically with a grand gesture of his pen.
‘Well, it is the usual kick bollock and scramble,’ he said, ‘but the basic show is there, and we are going to get out there tonight and sell it one hundred and fifty per cent. We want our audience to come back again and again. So, I know you are tired and hungry, but this is it, guys! This is why we do it and we are going to do it well. Good luck – and see you upstairs in the bar afterwards for a glass of bubbly.’
They all clapped and hugged each other and suddenly disappeared. Sally was just clearing final pieces of paper from the stage and was aware of the silence in the auditorium. It was as though the theatre had taken a deep breath and was waiting. She could almost hear the walls whispering with all those voices from so many shows over so many years. The air was filled with a hidden energy, waiting for the spark to ignite the show; it was a bit like being in a church. She tiptoed off the stage, not wanting to disturb the setting before it was time.
As she made her way upstairs to the dressing room she was reminded of her impression that the theatre was like a doll’s house. If she opened any of the doors now as she passed there would be a slice of life taking place. An action, a word, all in miniature, captured behind these doors. The sounds of laughter, a high note soaring out. Someone gargling, a thumping of feet on the floor followed by a cheer. Every corner of the building was alive and throbbing with anticipation, and then suddenly it was released.
The band played out and Sally felt the thrill of hearing the pure chords of a live trumpet against the beat of a drum. The audience started to clap along with the band. Then as quickly as the crowd was cheering they went quiet, hushed as the lights went down, and the huge embroidered curtain rose above the stage with a swish. Momentary blackness, then white light bursting onto the stage as the cast seemed to spring from the wings in their bright Pierrot costumes, singing, ‘Oh! It’s a lovely war!’
The two hours went past like a shot and suddenly it was over. The cast were all standing in a row in front of the footlights taking their bows to an ecstatic audience who were on their feet, and the balloons were floating above them, and the poppers were popping!
Sally thought she would burst with happiness. Nothing in her drama training had prepared her for this. She waved at Mr and Mrs Tibbs, and hugged Charmaine who was standing next to her.
‘Isn’t this fantastic,’ she shouted above the cheering to a rather bemused Charmaine.
‘Well, it is certainly different from the Royal Shakespeare Company,’ replied the actress.
Once the curtain was down, after several encores, the cast tore back to their rooms and whipped off the make-up and costumes and made their way to the bar. They had been promised champagne, which had been a bit misleading on Giles’s part, but there was free beer and a glass of warm white wine. No one cared: it was alcoholic, and there were even some sausage rolls and crisps. The cast did their bit and chatted to the local dignitaries. Sally got stuck with Mr and Mrs Tibbs for a while but was then moved on to the Mayor, who was very chatty.
‘Wonderful show, Miss Thomas. And your number was a triumph. What a costume, eh?’ He almost did a nod nod, wink wink routine, but a pat on the arm from his wife silenced him.
The cast slowly began to withdraw as was usually the way. The actors needed their space to come down from the high. Word spread round the room that it was all back to Janie and Pete’s for some of Mrs Wong’s chips and sweet and sour sauce, and bring a bottle if you had one. The pub was closing in five minutes so suddenly the theatre bar was empty, save for the few remaining programme-sellers and bar staff. Sally had actually managed to remember to buy a bottle on her way in that day, so she set off home with Simon and Jeremy, who were in charge of the chips.
They sang all the way home and fell into the front room in a pile of hysteria.
The little terraced house shook and shivered for a good two hours until the inhabitants could stay awake no longer. There was not a spare inch on the floor that was not inhabited by a body. Had anyone ventured to open the door they would have been knocked back by the pungent odours of stale beer, sweet and sour sauce and greasepaint. But the floor was covered with smiles!
Chapter 13
Jeremy woke up as an elbow nudged him in the ribs. For a moment he was completely thrown as he slowly sat up and found himself surrounded by bodies. What the hell . . . ? He eased himself out from under a leg or two and made his way gingerly across the room to the kitchen. Slowly the previous evening was coming back to him. He searched the debris scattered across the draining board and decided to risk a half-full pint glass to rinse
under the tap. He ran the cold water and splashed his face, then filled the glass and drank like a man returning from the desert. The beginnings of a headache tapped on his forehead but he refused to acknowledge it. He had work to do. Cursing his stupidity, and regretting the last two shots of vodka he had downed the night before, he wiped his hands on his trousers and beat a retreat from the sleeping house, closing the door quietly on gentle snores.
It was still early and the sunrise was just completing a fiery red blaze across the rooftops. Crewe looked almost beautiful. There had been a frost and Jeremy shivered in his thin jacket. He quickened his pace and practically jogged to the theatre. Not great news for the headache! He arrived at the stage door numb with cold to discover it was locked. Of course it would be. It’s eight thirty in the bloody morning, you pillock! Jeremy admonished himself. Now what? His digs were a bus-ride away, and by the time he had gone home and come back again, the morning would be gone and he had to get this script under his belt. He had arranged to meet Robert at the theatre at eleven to go through his part in A Man for All Seasons. This was to be his first decent role of the season and Jeremy was determined that Giles would see his potential. There was so little time to rehearse that any help he could get was a bonus, and Robert’s offer was a godsend.
Jeremy would just have to wait until nine thirty to get into the building when the cleaners arrived. He had no choice but to hang around outside the theatre. By the time Alice, the cleaner, arrived he was almost frozen on the spot.
‘Oh chuck, you poor thing. Come on, pet, get inside and I’ll make you a cuppa. Bless your heart.’ Alice clucked and fussed as she led Jeremy through the foyer and upstairs to the Green Room where she put the kettle on and produced a bottle of milk from her bag. ‘Let’s get the fire on and you thaw out a bit. You look terrible – are you going down with summat?’ she asked.
‘No, but I do have a bit of a hangover,’ admitted Jeremy. ‘Nothing a paracetamol won’t cure.’
Alice laughed. ‘Nothing changes, does it? You lot will never learn.’ She was busy putting tea bags in mugs. ‘There is some bread here, still edible. Do you want me to make you some toast and Marmite? It’s just the ticket for a hangover.’
Jeremy nodded a yes, and stuck his bum in front of the two-bar electric fire kindly donated by the management to keep the actors alive in the coldest months. Five minutes later he was finally able to feel his hands again, which were now wrapped round a mug of hot sweet tea. The cleaner brought him a plate of Marmite on toast and he almost felt human again.
‘Thanks so much, Alice. I owe you one. Perhaps I can treat you to a Mrs Wong’s Special one night. How does that sound?’
‘Lovely, pet, anytime. Now I must get on. Clear this up a bit in here when you’ve finished, will you? It is not my job to wash up after you mucky lot!’ With that admonishment she was gone.
Jeremy finished his toast and washed up his plate and mug, and the rest of the mugs strewn around the room. He then wiped down the table, emptied the ashtrays and filled the bin with whatever he could pick up. He then made his way to the boys’ dressing room, where his heart sank. From one mess to another! The room was a tip. Costumes from last night were tossed over chairs. Underwear was draped over hooks, and socks scattered like confetti all over the floor.
Christ, what was it with these guys? Why couldn’t they just show a modicum of thought for others? Why was it commonly accepted that blokes had to live like pigs? That somehow it was OK – almost manly, in fact? That real men don’t bother to tidy up? Jeremy pondered these facts as he automatically went into tidy-up mode. He could not live in chaos, and he certainly would not be able to sit here and work surrounded by his fellow actors’ debris. Locating a large black bin bag, he filled it with all the dirty washing, took it down to Wardrobe and filled the two washing machines there. Just great, doing the washing for all those lazy bastards on a Sunday morning! Jeremy then spent an hour cleaning all the dressing tables and the basins, asking himself if this was going to happen every week. Did his attention to cleanliness make him a figure of ridicule? Would he become the resident poof because he was tidy?
All through drama school Jeremy had had to cope with the jibes and innuendos about his sexuality. He took it all on the chin and could even laugh about it sometimes, but deep down it niggled at him. He had never really paid much attention to his sexuality; it was not a priority for him. Only his career as an actor mattered; only his development as a performer. He had never been bothered about ‘pulling birds’ when his schoolmates had discovered the joys of the opposite sex. He would rather go to the theatre and watch one of his heroes such as Peter O’Toole or David Warner. Most weekends he went to Stratford upon Avon, to the home of the Royal Shakespeare Company, where he’d sit in the gods and feed on the glorious words of the Bard. His parents, who were not theatrical in any way, were rather puzzled by their son’s obsession with the theatre. But to give them their due, they supported him every step of the way and when he announced he wanted to go to drama school they did not object.
Jeremy had imagined that when he joined the ranks of the other drama students they would all be of a like mind. He was disappointed. Most of them were like every other student – there for the sex, drugs and alcohol. Acting was a mere sideline to the main event, which was having a good time. Once again he found himself the butt of the jokes and everyone assumed he must be gay, except Sally. It was her interest and dedication that drew them together as friends. Not that either of them was particularly mad on socializing, but they did form a pact and would often rehearse together. Sally possessed a kind of reserve that Jeremy could identify with; they both seemed to share the same sense of reserve about their bodies too, which somehow disappeared when they were acting. They could lose themselves in a character.
When Sally had got her job at the British Drama League she introduced Jeremy to James Langton and he had found a place for Jeremy as well. It was a slightly strained relationship, as Jeremy suspected that James had a soft spot for him, and although he knew James Langton was married, his gut feeling was that he might well have a penchant for young men. This instinct had taken Jeremy by surprise. Why would he think like that? Was he being naïve about his own sexuality? Yet if, and when, he had these thoughts, they did not linger long enough for him to really give them proper consideration. Basically, he was just not interested in anything else except acting. All his physical and emotional energy was geared to honing his skills as a performer. Everything else could take a back seat.
So deep in his own thoughts was Jeremy that he was unaware of Robert standing in the doorway until he heard him comment, ‘Well, well, Cinderella, you poor thing. Left to do all the housework and not a fairy godmother in sight! Allow me to wave my wand and take you away from all this drudgery.’ Robert had a knack of making everything he said sound bored or insulting. He didn’t so much speak as drawl his comments.
‘Oh hi, Robert, thanks so much for arranging to meet me. I am sorry about this but I just can’t work in a mess. Please, have a seat. Can I make you a coffee?’ Jeremy pulled out a chair.
‘Oh, don’t worry on my account. I have actually just had a coffee, so not a problem. Do you want to work here or on the stage?’ Robert asked.
‘Oh – well, I hadn’t really thought about it. It would be great to go onstage eventually maybe, but I think for now it would be good to just read through it here, if that is OK?’ Jeremy suddenly felt nervous under Robert’s scrutiny.
‘Sure. No problem. Let’s get down to business,’ the other man replied, taking off his coat and sitting down.
They spent the next two hours going through all the scenes Jeremy was in as Rich. The character was a very intense young man who was opinionated and a little pompous. Robert talked Jeremy through the obvious pitfalls and pointed out various key moments. Jeremy listened to every word and absorbed all he could, making notes as they went along for future reference.
Finally, Robert sat back and lit a cigarette, saying, ‘Well
, I think we have covered just about everything you need to bring young Rich to life, don’t you?’
‘Yes. Thank you so much, Robert. I really appreciate this. There is so little time, as you know. I feel I can go into rehearsals tomorrow with confidence.’ Jeremy tidied his notes.
‘Don’t hesitate to come and ask me anything else that you might discover. I am going to be around quite a lot as I am assisting Giles on this, and we will be working together on Hamlet, which as you probably know is his pet project. Now, shall we adjourn to the pub and warm our cockles with a pint?’ He rose and started to put on his coat.
‘Oh yes, what a good idea,’ agreed Jeremy. ‘The drinks are on me – it is the least I can do to thank you for this morning. Oh, I just remembered the washing! You go ahead and order while I just pop and empty the machines.’
Robert burst out laughing. ‘Oh, the glamour of it all! Showbiz, eh?’ He swept out and left Jeremy to his chores.
Later in the pub, Robert regaled Jeremy with stories of fellow actors and various productions he had been in over the years.
‘How did you meet Giles?’ asked Jeremy.
‘Oh, we go back a few years,’ replied Robert airily. ‘We were lovers for a time – oops, I mustn’t be wicked, must I?’ He gave Jeremy a wink. ‘Has he tried out his charm on you yet?’
Jeremy suddenly felt uncomfortable. ‘No, why would he?’ he returned.
Robert studied him for several minutes. ‘No particular reason, I suppose,’ he mused. ‘Of course, one should never make assumptions, but I had wondered if you were gay. Is that not the case?’
‘No – not that it is anyone’s business,’ retorted Jeremy. Here we go again, he thought to himself. Why does sex always have to come into everything?
Robert smiled. ‘Now, now, there is no need to take umbrage. There is nothing wrong with being gay, you know. There are a lot of us about – doesn’t make one a bad person.’
The Boy I Love Page 10
