9
Letters and Keys
Walter’s job at the theatre was straightforward enough. As the stage door manager’s assistant, he arrived at nine in the morning, after the cleaners had started at eight but well before Lenny had even stumbled out of bed. As merely an errand boy for Lenny,his main duties were signing for any parcels and storing them accordingly before they were collected, taking note of anything broken or faulty and making sure everyone signed in and signed out. Lenny was very precious about keys and wouldn’t let Walter touch the wooden box on the wall where they all hung in neat rows on their hooks. The amount of packages and post that arrived at the theatrekept Walter the busiest and although it was a menial task, the feeling of purpose kept Walter happy. By the time Walter had sorted through everything the postman had brought with him, Lenny would have stumbled in at around half nine, still bleary-eyed and stinking of last night’s ale.
‘This one’s for Hamish,’ Walter said, brandishing the biggest of the last three or four letters. It feltthick and heavier than the other letters as if it contained more than just one sheet of good quality paper. The writing on the envelope was almost illegible, but Walter could tell from the big swirling ‘H’ who it was meant for.
‘Put it in his pigeonhole then.’ Lenny sat in his little cubby with his feet up on the desk, the ash from the end of his cigar peppered across every surface andtrodden into the carpet. The smell made Walter want to vomit. Walter turned his back on Lenny to face the pigeonholes above the little table, and pushed Hamish’s letter into the correct slot.
‘Who are the others for?’ Lenny asked, as Walter shuffled through the other letters and saw that the last one was for Fawn.
‘Erm…’ Walter said, turning Fawn’s letter over in his hands. ‘Just…ensemble.’ Walter quickly put her letter in his inside pocket and put the remaining two in their corresponding holes.
‘Justensemble? Don’t let anyone catch you saying that. They’ll have your guts for garters, boy.’
‘What?’ Walter said, the letter burning a hole through his pocket and into his chest.
‘The ensemble carries a show! Those dance numbers would look pretty emptywith only a few principals scattered about. Those choral numbers would sound pretty naff with only two or three voices, wouldn’t they?’ Lenny tapped his cigar, more ash joining the carpet.
‘Of course,’ said Walter.
‘Then show a little respect inside these walls, all right? It’s the people in the background that matter the most.’
‘And who told you that?’ The double doors swungopen with gusto and Hamish burst through, his long tan coat swinging about so violently the letters bustled about in their pigeonholes.
‘That’s just theatre.’ Lenny shrugged, removing his feet from the hatch. He cautiously rolled his eyes so that only Walter could see.
‘A show wouldn’t be a show without its stars.’
‘It wouldn’t be a show without the people in the background,neither,’ Lenny said, sucking hard on his cigar.
‘If it makes you feel better. As long as you rememberyourplace.’
‘And what exactly ismyplace?’ Lenny stayed seated, but Walter could see his short nails digging into the wood of his desk, the end of his cigar burning bright.
‘Perhaps young Wally here can tell you.’ Hamish tapped the end of Walter’s boot with his black silverhandled cane.
‘Walter,’ Walter said but his voice came out as a crackly whisper.
‘What?’ Hamish snapped, and Walter cleared his throat.
‘My name is Walter.’
‘You’re talking back now too, are you?’ Hamish raised his cane and held the end of it against Walter’s chest.
‘No! No, not at all!’ Walter stepped back but Hamish stepped forward.
‘Then tell him. Yourplace is…?’
‘… Stage door?’ Walter fumbled.
‘Exactly, and your job is…?’
Walter and Lenny exchanged a vacant look. Hamish pushed his cane harder into Walter’s chest.
‘Ahhh… letters?’ Walter offered with a half shrug. ‘And keys?’
‘And who do you hand those letters and those keys to, exactly?’
