‘I doubt anyone here has any reason to shoot anyone else,’ Oscar scoffed.
‘I bet that’s what they all thought back then, too and yet, here lies Fawn Burrows, may she rest in peace.’ Toby started to climb down the ladder but caught Oscar taking one last look at the gun before he followed. ‘Guns always look so harmless when they’re not in the hands of fools, don’t they?’
5
One Week To Go
Rehearsals seemed to be over before anyone was a hundred per cent sure of what they were doing, but the theatre was ready for them to move into in their final week of preparations. Opening night was only six working days away and tensions amongst the cast were starting to rise.
‘I have never felt so fucking ridiculous in all my life,’ said Sammy, waddling out of her dressing room in a tight – but not ill-fitting – gold-sequined dress that stopped just above her knees. ‘If I’d been told I’d have to wear a dress like this for the next year of my life, I never would have walked into that audition.’
‘If I’d known I’d have to share a dressing room with Tilikum I never would have auditioned either,’ whispered Tamara, and Jane giggled so hard the beads on the hem of her dress rattled.
Samantha was tall and beautifully built with thick thighs and strong arms and the way she moved was second to none, which explained why Michael had cast her as one of the ‘dancing girls’ in a heartbeat. However, as proud as she was of the way she looked, in the superficial world of entertainment, hearing her fellow cast members compare her appearance to a famous whale could make a girl doubt herself.
‘What was that, Tam?’ asked Sam, having heard full well.
‘The dress looks great, Sammy! Nothing to worry about. Just ask to stand nearer the back if you’re feeling self-conscious.’
‘D’ya know what, Tam…’ Sam glanced around at the faces of her peers, all of whom gave her encouragement in their individual ways, ‘Tilikum got more fame by passing away than you’ll ever get whilst you’re alive. So, I think I’ll be all right.’ Jane gasped and clutched Tamara’s arm. ‘Also, Tilikum was held captive. You can do us all a favour and quit any time you like.’
A deep shade of red filled Tamara’s face and Samantha might have regretted saying anything at all had it not felt so good.
‘You little b —’
‘Everyone to the stage please. That’s everyone to the stage please, thank you!’ crackled the deputy stage manager’s voice over the tannoy. Sam pulled on the hem of her dress and with more grace than she gave herself credit for, sauntered past her cast mates through the double doors towards the stage. Doug clapped.
‘Beautiful show, Tam. Really, well done. Now if you could just turn off the outbursts of outward hostility and turn on the constant inward seething animosity that we all know and love, that’d be great.’
Tamara huffed and rolled her eyes as she strutted past in her heels.
‘Shut up, Doug!’ Jane said as she click-clacked after Tamara.
‘What have I done?!’ Doug whined, reaching into his dressing room and picking up his bowler hat.
‘Give it a rest now, Doug,’ Oscar said, walking up behind him and taking him by the shoulders. ‘We don’t want anyone pulling out of this show a week before we open.’
‘It’s good to ruffle a few feathers every now and again!’ Doug laughed, and Olive sighed pointedly as she swept past them in her burgundy dress.
‘Hmm. Let’s not be causing bad feeling where there wasn’t bad feeling before,’ Oscar said, watching the train of Olive’s dress disappear as she followed the others.
‘Oh it was just a bit of fun, Oscar!’
‘For you, maybe!’ Oscar laughed. ‘Just leave the girls to it. If they want to fight, let them fight without any encouragement from us.’
Doug held up his hands. ‘Okay, mate! But, remember, those girls are going to have each other by their throats before this week is out, whether I say anything or not.’
Oscar sighed and followed the rest of the cast through the doors towards the stage. Although he’d been given a tour around the theatre, he knew it would take him at least a couple of months to get his bearings. The multitudes of corridors seemed endless and had twists and turns that just led to more nooks and crannies. Even when he was certain he was going the right way, he was almost always wrong, so he’d taken to letting people go first and then following them, as he did now through both sets of double doors and into the upstage, stage left wing. It was inconceivably dark and he could only just make out the outlines of the others at the back of the set. A light popped on and the shape of a quick-change table appeared. On it were a stack of baby wipes, an industrial size pump bottle of anti-bacterial hand sanitiser and sandwich bags filled with make-up with the ensemble girls’ names written on them in Sharpie. There was a mirror leaning against the wall that Oscar could just about see his silhouette in, and he leant in close to check his teeth for the remnants of the croissant he’d scoffed down earlier. He looked up at the towering wooden walls, the backs of which were clean and well sanded, but a smudge of black caught his eye. He went onto tiptoe and squinted and strained his eyes in the darkness as hard as he could, just making out the words SET BUILT BY THE TEAM AT LIGHTFOOT LTD. He assumed all the squiggles around it were signatures and Oscar wondered how many more signatures would be up there when the set was finally deconstructed.
The TV set Oscar was so accustomed to was always small and snug, the room often full of people, all jostling to view the monitor or pass each other polystyrene cups of lukewarm coffee. Despite the Southern Cross Theatre being one of the smallest venues in the West End, its space seemed so vast that Oscar couldn’t imagine it ever feeling full. He suddenly felt a chill run through him and he stepped into the lights of the stage, hoping they’d warm his bones.
The rest of the cast had gathered on the black-painted textured floor in a vague semi-circle facing their director, Michael, who stood centre stage, his feet shuffling back and forth.
‘Hello, everyone. Lovely to have you all here. How are you all feeling? Good? Good?’ he nattered. There was a mumble of general approval from the cast.
‘Good! That’s good. Well, then. Let’s begin with the more technical parts of the show, and then once they’re out the way we’ll do a full run-through of the show after lunch.’ Michael shuffled off stage, cracking his knuckles repeatedly, and reappeared in the auditorium where a little desk had been settled over the tops of three rows of chairs and a lamp was lighting his reams of notes.
Crew members carried tables and chairs onto stage, putting them on the little pieces of tape stuck to the stage that marked their place. The ensemble girls took their positions in the upstage centre, ready to act as the entertainment in a 1940s bar, and Doug and Howard took their places behind the bars either side of the stage where they pretended to clean glasses, pour drinks and ogle the girls in their short, rattly dresses.
‘Is this a terrible show?’ Oscar whispered to Olive as he took his starting position on a chair opposite her at the furthest table stage left.
‘No. It only seems like that now because we’re having a terrible time.’
‘I’m not having a terrible time.’ Oscar smiled and brushed her leg under the table. ‘Are you having a terrible time?’
‘Not outside of work I’m not. But this cast and this production are having a terrible time because we’re just not ready to open in a week. A week! Once we’ve done a full run and the show can actually take a bit of shape things will start looking up.’
‘Is this normal?’ Oscar asked, swirling his glass like it was full of sloshing whiskey.
‘Oh, Oscar, this isn’t even bad.’
‘Really?’ He stopped his glass mid-swirl.
‘Put it this way,’ Olive put her elbows on the table and leant across to him, ‘I was once in a show when on opening night, we had to announce to the audience that the male lead, who, may I add, was a big star that shall remain nameless, was “indisposed”,’ she air quoted, �
��and would not be performing.’
‘Why was he “indisposed”?’, he air quoted back.
‘Drink, drugs, more drink. Who knows! But he definitely couldn’t perform. His understudy had to step in and take his place but because his understudy hadn’t rehearsed and his costume wasn’t ready, he’d had to perform with his script in his hand and in his ensemble costume…’
‘And who did he play in the ensemble?’ Oscar covered his face with his hand and peeked through his fingers.
‘The court jester, Oscar. He played the dashing leading man… dressed as a court jester.’
‘Wow.’
‘Oh, it doesn’t end there. One of ensemble girls broke her ankle mid-show during the first week causing not only the show to stop, but the performance being cancelled! Then two weeks later, the backers pulled their funding after reading the terrible reviews.’
‘Okay. This show is a breeze,’ he sighed.
‘Yeah, we’re fine,’ she laughed.
‘We’ve still got a long way to go, though.’
‘Miles. But I reckon we’ll just about get there before opening night. I just need to learn to walk in these heels!’
‘Can we keep the noise down on stage please! Thank you!’ called Michael from the auditorium, his hair sticking up at all angles.
‘I need to knuckle down and make sure I know all these lines!’ Oscar continued to whisper.
‘You need less distractions,’ Olive sighed, sitting back in her chair.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ll leave you alone for a while,’ she said, looking over at Doug who was twirling his dishcloth so that the end of it whipped about in a circle.
‘What? No! Why?’
‘It’s probably best I don’t distract you from what really matters…’ She glanced at Oscar, whose eyes were wide and glistening.
‘If that’s what you want,’ he said, swirling his glass again.
‘It’d be that easy to get rid of me, would it?’ Olive stopped his glass with her fingers.
‘What? No! Of course not! Ugh, you’re such a tease, Miss Green!’
‘Just keeping you on your toes!’ She laughed and nudged his leg with her foot under the table.
‘Okay, people! Let’s pick it up from Eliza’s line, “You’re always lurking in the shadows. Come and dance,”’ said Michael, reaching over and dimming the lamp on his table a touch. The girls disappeared behind the little red curtain that fronted their mini stage on the real stage. Olive rose from her seat and dusted little specks of chipped black paint off her lap. She hadn’t realised she’d been picking it off from the underside of the table.
Eliza
You’re always lurking in the shadows. Come and dance with me, Lars.
[Eliza holds out her hand.]
Lars
I think it’s best for both of us if I stay in the shadows.
[Lars takes a large swig of his whiskey.]
Eliza
No one will find us here, darling. I’ve got people watching at every entrance. Any sign of Melvin we’ll be gone before he’s even in the door.
[Eliza offers Lars her hand again, but he waves it away, downs his glass and gestures to the bartender for another.]
Lars
No, it’s not that.
Eliza
Then what, Lars? Why can’t you dance with me?
[Eliza holds out her hand one last time.]
Lars
I can’t dance.
[The music crescendos. Dancing girls erupt onto stage with a high-pitched squeal and the bartender comes out from behind the bar, slides a fresh glass of whiskey over to Lars and takes Eliza’s hand himself.
The four dancers wave their arms, kick their heels and their dresses rattle and sparkle in the lights. Other customers take to the floor but none of them dance as expertly as Eliza and the bartender. Centre stage, he twirls her effortlessly, her burgundy dress rippling across the floor, missing people’s feet by a hair’s breadth. Eliza’s smile sparkles as brightly as the sequins and beads on the dancers’ dresses but with her eyes closed, her fingers wrapped tightly around the bartender’s hands and the trumpets blaring, she can’t see Lars’ pained expression or the sound of his cry as a strong pair of hands reaches out from the shadows and bundles him into the wings.
A scream pierces through the music. Eliza’s head snaps up to see a burly man standing tall, clutching a handgun in his thick fingers. The dancers scatter and duck behind the bar. The bartender kisses Eliza on the cheek before darting behind the bar himself and shielding two of the girls from any potential harm. People race past Eliza, pushing her this way and that, stopping her from reaching the table where she had left Lars, but she can already see he is missing.]
Eliza
Lars! LARS!
[The lights black out and the stage is plunged into darkness.]
‘Okay! Thanks everyone!’ Michael shouted, interrupting the action on stage. ‘Um… okay… um… Let’s do that again but this time let’s try… actually I’m coming up there. Gimme two seconds.’
Olive pushed a loose pin in her wig back into the hair until she could feel it poke her head. Doug jumped up and slid himself onto the bar, waving at Olive and giving her a thumbs-up.
You too! she mouthed, but her eyes danced into the wings. She looked around. Everyone seemed busy fiddling with their dresses or their shoes or surreptitiously flicking through script pages to brush up on lines before they got to the scenes they were unsure on. Olive took her chance to dart into the wings.
‘Oscar?’ she whispered but there was no reply. The wings were dark when the lights on stage were low and her eyes hadn’t yet adjusted. She felt her way along the wall up to the upstage entrance, and although no one seemed to be around she was sure she sensed another presence amongst the props and rails of costumes. She paused and then realised it was more than just a feeling. She could actually hear someone breathing.
‘Doug? Is that you?’ She could imagine Doug’s little smirk as he waited with bated breath to pounce and make her jump so hard her wig fell off. ‘I’ll hate you for ever if you do this!’
Then someone moved out of the shadows, and Olive’s heart knocked against her ribs so hard she thought it would burst clean through.
‘Sorry,’ said a voice she didn’t recognise. It sounded dry and unused but warm nevertheless. ‘Didn’t mean to startle you there.’
‘No worries! We’ve not properly been introduced; I’m Olive. Playing Eliza. In the show.’ She gestured to her costume but she wasn’t sure he could see in the dim light.
‘Yes. I know. You’re very good,’ the man said, straightening his cap.
‘Oh, thank you. Do you know this show at all?’ Olive could hear Michael’s voice on stage and looked back into the wing. Suddenly, with a great click, they were swathed in a clinical white light.
Olive could now see that she was speaking to an elderly gentleman in a flat cap who she vaguely recognised.
‘I know the show well.’ He nodded. ‘But I don’t want to keep you.’
‘No, I’d best get back. You work on stage door though, don’t you?’ she asked. ‘I feel like I’ve not really been introduced to anyone behind the scenes. I’m doing my best to learn all the crew’s names, though!’
‘Yes, I work at stage door. Have done for many years. Walter,’ he said, but didn’t make a move to shake her hand as she would have expected.
‘Lovely to meet you, Walter. I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot of you.’ Olive gave him a small smile and hot-footed it down the wing just as she heard Michael call her name.
Walter retreated through the double doors, trying to ignore the dull yet persistent ache in his chest. He leant against the wall in the corridor before slowly making his way up the stairs. As he did so he glanced upwards and shook his head. ‘Why did they have to cast someone who looks so much like you?’ he sighed.
‘Olive?’ Oscar gently tapped on her half open dressing room door.
‘Hello
, you.’ Olive was sitting in a green armchair wiping dark lipstick from her mouth. ‘I’m sure this stuff is staining my face.’ She scrubbed a little harder, desperate to be rid of it in case Oscar wanted to kiss her. He walked behind the chair and leant his arms and his head along the top of it, speaking to her via their reflections in the mirror and for a brief flicker of a moment, everything around them seemed to pause. As their eyes met through the glass, the noise of London outside the window became muted, and even the tiny specks of dust seemed to swim through the air a little slower. Then in an instant, the moment was gone.
‘What are you doing tonight?’ he asked softly.
‘Going home?’ she said, her eyes flicking up to his face in the reflection.
‘Is that a question?’ He smiled, a wave of warmth making his back sweat under the weight of his black rucksack.
When the Curtain Falls Page 7
