by BK Duncan
They got off the tram at Oxford Circus. The streets were crowded. It was exhausting being surrounded by so much conspicuous consumption and May was grateful when they reached Liberty’s. The first of the large window displays was magnificent, as were the shoppers emerging from the revolving doors laden with bags and boxes.
‘I wonder what she had to do to get shoes like that.’
Sally laughed. ‘Probably something you wouldn’t approve of by the quality of that fur.’ She hobbled to one side to avoid the woman bumping into her. ‘On the dope, too, I’d say; half my clients can’t walk up and down the workroom in a straight line either. What do you think that would look like in a soft pink?’ She was pointing to a dress in the centre of the display with a dropped waist and handkerchief hem.
May thought it looked shapeless on the boyish mannequin but would probably perk up if draped over a pair of real hips. ‘I don’t know where I’d wear something like that.’
‘No, you wouldn’t, because you never go out except to work or to sit in the dark at the Hippodrome or the pictures.’
‘You forget you’re now talking to a woman who’s been to a nightclub.’
‘That was for work.’
‘But I still had to dress up a bit.’
‘The glamorous you didn’t last long did it? Why are you wearing that awful jacket? And that skirt looks like you should be scrubbing the step.’
‘It was cold and damp first thing this morning.’
‘You’ll never attract anyone if you look like a tat shop.’
May ignored her; she didn’t want to go around that loop again. Sally was tugging at her sleeve.
‘Come on. The landlady of the Vine Tavern gave me a little extra for making that garment she wanted to wear to the Licenced Victuallers’ do. I’ll buy you a scarf.’
‘That’s kind, but really, don’t waste your money.’
‘I want to. Anyway, I happen to think it’s about time you had a lesson in how to receive things gracefully. Men expect that.’
Knowing Sally was formidable when she had a bee in her bonnet May allowed herself to be led into the emporium and up to a glass counter containing trays of folded silk squares. But she drew the line when Sally pointed at one that was so scarlet it almost made her eyes hurt.
‘If you insist on doing this then I’d be happier with maybe a mustard yellow or perhaps that peachy colour.’
‘So the red will make you stand out a little? It’s all very well to see politics and justice in black and white but when it comes to clothes you could do worse than to allow yourself to stray a little from the straight and narrow. Choose to walk a different path from time to time to the one you are used to, May Louise Keaps, before it becomes the only one available.’
May felt as though she was being stripped naked in public. And there was more humiliation to follow as the sales assistant asked if she wanted it wrapped but Sally said May would wear it now. The woman shook it out then rearranged it into a triangle before reaching over the counter and tying it around her neck.
‘Suits you, miss,’ she said as she admired her handiwork. ‘Bright on the outside, bright on the inside, as my old mother always had it.’
May smiled at her. That was a nice thing to say. Even so she wasn’t going to risk accepting the proffered hand mirror to look at her reflection. But the silk did feel much better than the prickly collar of the pea-jacket against her skin. She waited for Sally to pay, thanked her for the gift with a peck on the cheek, and told her she’d wait on one of the chairs at the bottom of the stairs while her friend went up to look at what was on offer in the first floor haberdashery department. There was only so much exposure to garish patterns and colours a girl could take.
***
They arrived at the Palm Court Club at half-past three. A man with an empty crate hanging from his hand was walking up the steps. May waited until he had reached street level then led Sally down, past the cloakrooms, and through the swing door. The room was dimmer that it had been last night; the air heavy with stale perfume, sweat, and a slick of disinfectant swabbed over the floor. The barman was stacking bottles on shelves. A blonde, with her cleavage fighting to stay inside her blouse, was straying through a torch song, sotto voiced, to the accompaniment of a plinky piano. No one seemed to have noticed their entrance.
‘Excuse me.’
The barman kept his back to them. ‘Wait over there. Hope you’ve brought your music. Not that I reckon you could be any worse that her without it.’
‘I’ve not come to sing.’
‘No novelty acts. Told ’em ’til I’m blue in the face that we don’t want no strippers or spoon players.’
Sally sniggered. ‘That’ll be your sadness because I’m famous for doing both at the same time.’
He turned around now. ‘I’m sure you are, darling.’ His gaze raked May up and down. ‘But not dressed like that, eh?’
She was glad of the low lighting as she flushed. ‘Is the owner in?’
‘He never sees no-one working the floor. Try-outs is one of the things he pays me for.’
‘I’m here on official business.’
‘If it’s the tax then he ain’t here now nor never will be.’
Sally stepped out from behind May.
‘Jesus. Didn’t know you lot came mob-handed. What are you, the money collector?’ He flicked his cloth at the stage for the others to acknowledge his wit.
May placed her hand on her friend’s forearm and squeezed.
‘The office is this way, isn’t it? We’ll just take ourselves up.’
She steered Sally towards the spiral staircase.
‘Oy. Hang on a mo. You can’t come waltzing in here without a by your leave and go where you please unannounced.’
‘We’re hardly that, are we? I told you, I’m on official business-’
‘Who’s she then, the Jew cat’s mother?’
Sally began twisting away from her grip. May heard a door on the floor above open. She looked up to see Brilliant Chang leaning on the wrought iron rail.
‘Miss Keaps. How delightful to see you again so soon. Do come up. Jonnie, bring these ladies some tea. Earl Grey.’
He waited at the top of the stairs, then stepped back to usher them into the room. Sally still had enough breath left to gasp. May clutched her shoulder bag to her chest to stop from doing the same. The high ceiling, bright white walls, and floor-length windows swathed in muslin all gave the impression of being in a cloud. There was a desk, three wicker chairs, and a coat stand in the corner - all painted white. Brilliant Chang was the only accent of colour in charcoal grey. May remembered she had that ridiculous red scarf on and wanted to tug at her jacket collar to hide it.
‘Do please sit down.’
‘No thank you, we won’t be staying long.’
‘I will if you don’t mind. My leg’s gone stiff from all those stairs.’ Sally lowered herself with a sigh. ‘I’m Sarah Goldman. Sally to her friends.’
‘Enchanted to meet you, Miss Goldman.’ Brilliant Chang gave her a little bow. ‘And I am Nan Chan. Billy to my friends. Do I take it that you are a fellow Alien here under sufferance until they decide we are undesirable and decide to deport us? There have been far too many incidences of that happening lately for me to sleep easy at night.’
‘Not me. Poplar born and bred. But my grandparents came over from Russia; worked passage on a ship.’
‘Then we have that in common at least. I, too, started my adult life as a sailor.’
May was disconcerted to see Sally smiling at him with obvious admiration. He had an unerring knack of being able to connect with everyone. He was still good-looking and charming - she had to give him that - but watching Sally wilt into a little girl made her appreciate that he was also a smooth operator. They were talking about clothes
now.
‘...with a fine pinstripe in the softest wool you can imagine.’
‘Softer than this?’
He held his arm out and Sally actually stroked it. May grappled with the flap of her shoulder bag. Sally’s enchantment reminded her too much of her own last night.
‘...been a tailor all his life. Was born with a tape measure instead of a cord according to bubba.’
Brilliant Chang laughed. A tinkling sound like the shake of a tambourine. May pulled out the subpoena at last.
‘Miss Goldman and I have to leave now.’ She caught Sally’s glare; she’d be made to pay for that with sulky silence on the journey back. ‘But not before I give you this.’
He took the envelope without a change of expression. ‘Can I enquire what it is?’
‘An instruction for you to attend the inquest on Clarice Gem when it resumes on Tuesday 16th.’
Still his smile didn’t droop. He either had nothing to hide or was an accomplished actor.
‘Ah, yes, I heard about the unfortunate girl’s death.’
‘Then why didn’t you come forward?’
‘I had no way of knowing I would be required. Our paths crossed little.’
May wanted to fling her suspicions at him that it’d been his cocaine that’d killed Clarice to see if he’d flinch but knew she’d have to wait to get her satisfaction. In the same courtroom where he’d get his come-uppance.
‘I am sorry that it is only business that brought you here on this occasion. Perhaps you and Miss Goldman-’
‘Sally.’
‘-Sally will return one night as my honoured guests.’ He placed the subpoena almost reverentially on the gleaming desk. ‘And until that time I shall see you again at the inquest, Miss Keaps. I will be asking my solicitor to accompany me; a man in my position can never be too careful of his reputation.’
Perhaps she had him rattled after all.
Chapter Ten
Vi shifted her buttocks in the tight-fitting auditorium seat. The worn plush was scratching at her thighs through the muslin of her costume. The wardrobe mistress had insisted she wear it to ‘stretch it a little, dearie’ and the humiliation of sitting in full rig-out as a Cockney Flower Girl was just as uncomfortable as having to endure the parade of very bad try-outs going through their paces on stage. So far she hadn’t deemed any worthy of appearing in the first - and she hoped, only - Barley-Freeman Talent Night.
‘Next!’ Her voice failed to convey any enthusiasm. She tried again. ‘Can we have the next act? As quick as you like. Just come on stage, tell me your name, and launch on in.’
She knew the prickly terror of standing on the apron desperate to perform well enough to land a part in a show: no footlights, no magic; nostrils full of the reek of rabbit-skin size and fresh paint; impossible to concentrate when chippies and sparks were banging around at your back and the ASM was tearing someone off a strip in the wings. But theatre life was like that and, if they wanted to be a part of it, they’d have to rise to the occasion. It seemed unlikely - Vi glanced down at her list of would-be performers - Lillie Barton, virtuoso on the penny whistle could make the grade, but you never knew. The rough diamond was what every impresario hoped to unearth and, as his stand-in, it was her task to see beyond the voices warbling with nerves and the poorly-delivered comic routine to find a half dozen.
She allowed young Lillie the dignity of finishing her first verse before calling a halt. The pianist who had been sitting on stage throughout made a show of removing his fingers from his ears as the girl left the stage, and she burst into tears. That had been unkind; every artiste - no matter how amateur or appalling - deserved respect for having a go. The next up was a vent act. There was a chance it might be so cack-handed that it would at least make the audience laugh; if not he was likely to be pelted with some well-aimed rotten tomatoes. The Gaiety regulars were a tough but knowledgeable crowd. Real skill was rewarded with a place in their hearts forever but attempting to insult them with a badly rehearsed turn was tantamount to a declaration of war. And the mob always won. Vi remembered fondly how the great Walter Aubrey had once left the stage after dying a death to announce to the wings: I’m off to pee on my props, and sod the profession. A sentiment she’d echoed many a time.
The ventriloquist wasn’t half bad. Not good, but not too terrible either. The dummy was crudely made but Vi thought the audience would appreciate the homespun touch. True, the man’s lips moved - more often, in fact, than those of the dummy - but his patter was a refreshing take on the old favourite of two tramps sharing a park bench. The snobbery of not wanting to admit falling on hard times was the sort of truth an East End audience appreciated. At last Vi had a name on her list she could tick.
She’d see one more and tell the rest to come back next Saturday or she’d have no energy left to convince the ASM their rehearsals wouldn’t have the stage hands firing off about how they only had the time between shows to prevent everything from falling to pieces and if the whole run was a disaster then on someone else’s head be it... a speech she could recite without a prompt. Plus she had an interview with the manager to secure herself engagements on the current bill; it made no sense to be twiddling her thumbs in a theatre if there was paid work going.
A young woman had appeared on the stage without being called. A good sign of initiative. And, even better, she was handing sheet music to the pianist. She was tall and slim with a mass of dark wavy hair falling around her shoulders - a bonus because the short bob that was all the rage was so limiting and Vi doubted the Gaiety had a stock of wigs that didn’t look like rats had nested in them. The girl had presence, too; a sort of confidence mixed with innocence. As she turned and walked forward, Vi shuffled to attention with surprise: it was the girl she’d met when she’d first arrived.
‘Hello, again. We were never properly introduced, were we; what’s your name, sweetheart?’
‘Alice Maud Keaps.’
‘Well, Alice Maud, whenever you are ready, let’s hear if your singing ability measures up to a fraction of your keenness.’
The girl took a deep breath - good technique, right from the diaphragm - and nodded to her accompanist.
‘You called me Baby Doll a year ago.
You told me I was very nice to know.
I soon learned what love was.
I thought I knew,
But all I’ve learnt has only taught me how to love you.
You made me think you loved me in return,
Don’t tell me you were fooling after all.
For, if you turn away, you’ll be sorry some day;
You left behind a broken doll.’
Her voice and attitude were so sweet Vi found herself actually wiping away a tear. The backstage bedlam had slackened off, too. The girl was a natural. She could be the find that turned this show into a cut above the usual airing of amateur follies. But Vi suspected young Alice Maud might harbour a similar thought herself - and it didn’t do to single out favourites so early in the proceedings - so she simply thanked her, asked her to give her details to the boy in the prompt corner, and announced the auditions over for the day. Now all she had to do was find the wardrobe woman and get out of this ridiculous dress.
***
Free from her constraints, Vi made her way into the foyer. Alice was in the box office counting the tickets for the afternoon show; there was already the beginning of a queue outside the double doors.
‘I assume you’ll be able to make good your promise to get free to attend rehearsals?’
‘Do you mean you’re giving me a slot?’
The girl’s excitement bounced off the walls of her cubicle.
‘I think we’ll bill you as The Gaiety’s Very Own.’
‘Was I all right then?’
‘Very passable. But you’ve a lot of work to do. A performe
r needs to learn to give something of themselves if they’re to command the stage - let alone the audience.’
‘I ain’t afraid of them.’
‘Well, you should be. But if you listen to what you’re told then you’ll be fine.’
‘This is what I’ve wanted to do all my life - not sell tickets but be a proper actress.’
‘You’re singing a number, Alice; there’s a long way to go before you could consider yourself part of the profession.’
‘Oh, I know that. Except you’ve got to start somewhere. My sister’s always on at me to get a job in an office or something - I’d rather die than do that.’
Her mobile face screwed up into a look of disgust. Vi found her charmingly dramatic; not unlike herself at that age. Maybe she did have a future on the boards. The door from the stairs to the gallery swished open. Horatio on his way to collar the theatre manager. So he’d been watching the auditions; Vi hoped he concurred with her choices. He blew her a kiss as he strode across the foyer and entered the auditorium.
‘Who’s that?’
Alice’s voice was husky with admiration. Vi felt a proprietary frisson: Horatio was strikingly handsome, particularly in the black silk-lapelled suit he thought befitted an impresario.
‘He’s the sponsor of the show, or his father is to be precise, but most importantly he’s the producer and director, so you make sure you do everything he says. I’m the one selecting the turns, but he’s the one who can just as easily fire them.’
‘I ain’t never seen someone so... so... like he’s come off a film poster.’
Vi laughed. The girl was so smitten she’d lick the stage clean if he asked; such adoration would make her a breeze to work with.
‘See you later, Alice. Make sure you sell a lot of tickets, won’t you?’
‘I’ll tell them all about the talent show as well.’
‘You do that.’
Vi walked back into the auditorium smiling. It was nice to know that theatre life could still evoke such radiant enthusiasm. She wondered just how long it would be before the shine rubbed off Alice Maud Keaps.
