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 castwere 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 dressingroom 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 shelooked, 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 aroundat 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 mighthave 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 endlessand 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 ofthe 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 histeeth 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 wordsSETBUILTBYTHETEAMATLIGHTFOOTLTD. He assumed all the squiggles around it weresignatures 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 spaceseemed 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 inthe 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 Dougand 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.’
