And night. And us, sleeping nose to nose warm. Waking each other up for more. Until we’re alone in the world. Half four. Naked in the kitchen, drinking glasses of water, looking down on the High road below. I’m knackered now. And me, I say. Him tipping drips on my elbow. Me kneeing his knee. Black cab go. To the drips on my breast. Night bus. Touching the drips on his chest. Two cars. Three. Kissing my neck. Come on, and I lead him back to my bed. For what is the night for? Lovers, that’s what and how I will think of him now.
*
Jam. Yeah? I think. Raspberry or strawberry? Check the fridge, second shelf is mine. Missus’s head round my door Who is the man? HIM. Oh, I see, I’ll go talk. Then hear her in the kitchen finding him a knife. Don’t forget tea, I shout as excuse to come down. She pointing and mouthing Very handsome, while he pretends not to see. Only stopping his spreading to kiss my cheek. Telling her about Prague and asking things. Her boyfriend stumbling out to demand Czech-sounding Coffee and be, friendly enough, introduced. Translations too then. Turn the radio on. Fuck off Take That. Flatmate roaring KEEP IT DOWN, some of us have an all-day tech. Him laughing through his cigarette Better let Vindice get his beauty sleep. Jammy thumb lick turned to jammy quick kiss until chat, slice, pour gets the better of quiet and rowdier feels just fine. We in my kitchen. Eat toast in my kitchen, for anyone to see.
And hard to kiss goodbye at the corner of Prince of Wales Road with the flatmate’s Come the fuck on, we’re already late for the call! Him calling after Have a good run! And See you Saturday night!
Mad so, the plummet and hell breaks loose. Opening Night. Tech unfinished. Lighting board crashed. Director panicked. Designer in a huff. Wardrobe Mistress’s weary It’s always like this, and abdicating pell for its mell. In the dressing room Flatmate drops a card in my lap From the pigeon hole. Rip it open — though scarce half made-up. Postcard of the sea and on its back Hope it all goes well tonight, break a leg!
Starched and parched I jit in the wings. Flatmate, most dashing, has remembered his lines and all those hours spent chanting seem to have paid off. Don’t drop the tray. Mouth my own and Please God don’t let me drop the tray. Cue. DSM Go. Go into the light. Yes sir and no sirs present and correct. Recalling raw-boned, recreating the life of the country girl who’s fled. Here in the city with the Dukes and Dames. I am impressed and think of what I will say in the letter I’ll write by candlelight tonight while the bootblack stomps the corridor beneath. Three sisters at home I will tell about silk. The fine perfumes of the fine and handsome gents. How there’s one has stole my heart but I’ll not give him more, yet. Yes, there he is across the room, deep in conversation but as I pour tea imagine he might look at me so tuck a stray lock back in my cap. I’m not a vain maid and raw-boned means a little obvious too perhaps. True-hearted though. So hide my hands behind my back because they’re probably red from skivvying because the skivvy’s off and I’m last in so it’s my job but I wouldn’t want him to see. Too soon though and long before getting his gaze I’m signalled out. Yes madam bob my knees. One last bit of longing as I exit stage left but, poor maid, her heart stays broke. Over the cables and out behind flats. Three sets of pressed bosoms pushing past How’s the house? Good I think, more than three quarters full. Great!
And for all my five lines, goes a good run for me. A little stare at the brink of how life might be. Loneliness loves camaraderie, the fun, fuss, even the fright. Then our relief-giddy traipse out to bow and get clap-salved end of every night. Learn the ritual of cards — mine tight wedged in the mirror by the flatmate’s greasepainted Break a leg Slutty Maid! X. Flowers for some or My Mum’s in tonight, let’s make it a good one! Or the fortunates — quiet — whispering how they’ve had a call from some agent but keeping it low so the miscast won’t feel bad. Under house lights after, notes on the stage from the Director, Voice teacher, Movement analyst. And in the day, the Principal letting it be known who’ll pay for bad work with bad casting next term.
In my free second half I’m usually up smoking in Wardrobe with its Mistress’s cough and great gossip from her stack of life in the theatre, this way or that. Tales of the school from when it first begun and all the young Turks out for revolution. Dreadful tales of famous who she knew back when that I love to hear and again. When I tell her about him, she knows who he is. Fantastic Oswald in Ghosts must be ten years ago now and that ’Tis Pity, my God he was good. So how old must he be? And how old are you? Tut tut, though I can’t say blame you and that voice of his ffffff like a cave.
Terrible nerves but, Saturday night, knowing he’ll be in. If he thinks I’m useless. You’ve got five lines, besides — her strapping me down — Your cups over-runneth so I doubt he’ll see much beyond! Oh no, don’t say that! Why? she laughs Or have men suddenly stopped being men?
Crane in the wings but can’t see a thing. Even sneak looks at the audience during. Only at the end though, spot him there at the back, giving us all the good clap so I drop my best bow his way.
Third Years hug in the dressing room, whooping relief and cracking open champagne some rich one’s aunt sent. Unloosing me from my dress, the Wardrobe Mistress says I was in the foyer before when your man walked past. How’d you like the maid? I said. He said Why do you ask? I said She was nervous. Ah, she was great, he laughed Lovely presence, don’t you think? She has, I said, giving him a wink. You didn’t? Oh God, but I’m shame-delight red. Well done all, yells the Director across the mayhem Now let’s go get very drunk.
Unringing ringlets, I weave the canteen. Not in the foyer. Sideways out through the throng and there he is, by the fence beyond, smoking a cigarette. Hey curly! But in my hop down get a fly in the eye Ow! Rub it to watering. Let me see it, he licking a finger, preparing to poke. Careful careful. Look right up there I’ve got it now try not to rub there — tiny dead midge that he flicks. You were great by the way, but Hello stranger, and he. Straightens abruptly. Turns around. Standing behind, a woman in white. Older, beautiful, elegant and Oh God, I tongue-tie at her fame. Hello, he says offering a hand but she rolls her eyes so he must kiss her instead. I haven’t seen you since the funeral, she says Let me look at you. And she looks at him like she’s looking, then touches his face. You look tired. I’m fine, he says Been away on location, you know how it gets so what are you doing here? Oh they want me on the Board you know, ever since it’s like I’m made of gold and everybody wants a piece. You’ll manage all the adulation, he says. Yes, I expect I will. Both go Anyway, then laugh and she But what brings you up to these wilds? When steps he to show me No! she says No! It’s not! No! My God! I can’t believe it! and I am caught in her arms. No wait! he cuts sharp across but I’m rich perfume up close now, delicate crow’s feet and kissed, thrill-bewildered. Oh my darling, she’s saying You’re all grown up, your father must be so Don’t, he says Stop, this isn’t her. Oh? she says, setting me down I’m sorry, my mistake, and there I was about to launch down memory lane about you bringing her to the dressing room but of course that was only well how many years since that Seagull now? Fifteen, he says. Fifteen. And his quiet face. As many as that? Yes I suppose you’re right — and releases me completely — But you were in the play, that’s why you seem familiar, what a charming performance you gave, how do you know each other? I look over to but he’s looking away. W we’re friends, I say. Yes I’m sure you are well I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one night. Lovely to meet you — like kiss of the signet — and you my love should get some rest and, as usual, take better care of yourself, speaking of which — manicure drumming his chest — how’s all of that? Fine, thanks. Truly? Yes. I know you hate a fuss so I won’t press but really, my darling, I have to tell you, this protracted bachelorhood is making you odd. Yes, he says That’s something you’ve mentioned before. I mean, how old is this jacket? she mock-exasperates his cuffs Time for another trip to Harvey Nick’s, no now don’t pull that face, was that or was that not a beautiful suit? Beautiful, he mollifies but fond sounding too of whatever this memory is. Well then give me another kiss and let’s not keep leaving it to chance to meet. So he kisses her again Give everyone my best. I’ll be sure to and, I mean it, take care of yourself — turns she then, then turns again — And little girl? Good luck!