Jack looked towards Dorothy. “Is it just me,” he asked, “or is something not altogether right with these two hostages?”
“Oh, come off it, luvvie,” said Mr Tinto. “Just because you’re all Stanislavski method acting to disguise the fact that you can’t remember your lines –”
“What?” went Jack.
“It’s true,” said Amelie. “You were far too rough with Sydney.”
“Thank you, Marilyn.”
“Sydney?” went Jack. “Marilyn?”
“Oh please, sir,” said Sydney. “As if you didn’t recognise us.”
The lift went clunk and stopped. They had reached their destination.
“Now just stop!” shouted Jack. “What is all this about? What are you saying? What is all this Marilyn and Sydney business?”
“You have to be jesting and your jest is in very poor taste,” said Sydney. “Well, we’re here now. Back in character everyone. And cue. Press the open-door button, please.”
Jack shook his head and pressed the “open” button.
And the lift doors opened.
And Jack beheld.
And Dorothy also beheld. And so did Sydney and so did Marilyn.
And Sydney said, “Typical, that.”
“Typical?” said Jack, and he stared. There was nothing. Nothing at all. The lift was at the top of its shaft, but there was no floor for them to step out onto. Just a big empty nothing. Four interior walls of the building. And these, it appeared, constructed from canvas and timber. Far, far below them there was to be seen the above parts of a ceiling below – the ceiling of the lecture room they had so recently left. And the above parts of another ceiling that followed the corridor that they had followed to enter the lift they now stood in. And stood in somewhat fearfully. Clinging onto one another now, for fear of falling the considerable distance to their doom below.
“Utterly typical,” said Sydney, pressing himself back from the open lift doors and flattening himself against the opposite wall.
Jack did more slack-jawed starings. Then he turned, shook Marilyn away from his arm and squared up large before Sydney. “Speak to me,” Jack demanded. “Explain what is going on here.”
“The set’s not finished,” said Sydney. “Utterly typical. Labour disputes with the union, I expect. I was on Casablanca, back in forty-two with Bogart, half the sets weren’t finished. We had to double up the Blue Parrot Café with the airport lounge, although I don’t think anyone noticed. They were too entranced by my acting.”
And Jack hit Sydney. Right in the face.
And Sydney broke down in tears.
“You beast,” howled Marilyn. “How unprofessional. How dare you hit a Hollywood legend like that. He came out of retirement to play this part – you have no right to treat him in such a way.”
Jack turned upon her. “You speak to me,” he said, “or I’ll throw you out of the lift and you can make your own way downstairs.”
“No, stop, please.”
“Then speak.”
And Marilyn spoke. “We are actors,” she said. “Surely you recognise us. This is Mister Sydney Greenstreet and I am Marilyn Monroe.”
“Marilyn Monroe?” asked Jack. “But you can’t be her. I saw her effigy at the wax museum, although –”
“It is her,” said Dorothy. “But I didn’t recognise you – how come?”
“Because when I play a role, I am that person.”
Jack looked most unconvinced.[30]
“It is her,” said Dorothy. “It really is. Could I have your autograph, Miss Monroe? I’m your greatest fan.”
“Now stop all this,” said Jack. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Of course it makes sense, man,” said Sydney. “What is the matter with you? This isn’t a real building. It’s a set. It’s part of a movie. But why am I telling you this? You’re an actor. Although not a very good one, I might add. What have you been in before? Have I seen any of your work?”
“Actors?” went Jack. “Set?” went Jack. “What does this mean?” went Jack.
“It could mean,” said Dorothy, “that we have fallen into a very large and elaborate trap.”
“No,” said Jack. And Jack shook his head. “That’s absurd. No one would go to all this trouble, set all this up, this building, the big foyer downstairs, all of this, simply to trap us.”
“Giving yourself airs and graces,” said Sydney, flinching as he said it. “Who would want to trap you?”
Jack shook his head. “But why?” he asked. “Why all this? What is it for?”
“You know what it’s for,” said Sydney. “You read your contract, or your agent did. You signed the confidentiality clause.”
Jack was about to say “What?” once more, but Dorothy, however, stopped him. “Jack’s from Arkansas,” she said. “I’m sure you recognised his hokey accent.”
Jack said, “What?” to this.
“Recognised it at once,” said Sydney. “I can do almost any accent. But then I was classically trained. But then I’m from England, of course.”
“Well,” said Dorothy, “Jack really is a method actor, trained at the New School’s Dramatic Workshop with Brando, where he studied with Stella Adler and learned the revolutionary techniques of the Stanislavski System.”
“Overrated,” said Sydney. “That Brando will never amount to anything.”
“What is this toot?” Jack asked. “Where is this leading?”
“Just leave this to me,” said Dorothy to Jack. And to Mr Greenstreet she said, “You see, Jack can’t read or write. I’m his agent.”
Jack shook his head. He had given up on the “What?s”.
“A sort of actor-manager,” said Sydney. “Like Henry Irving.”
“Henry Irving managed a theatre,” said Marilyn, knowledgeably. “He wasn’t an agent.”
“I do it all,” said Dorothy. “And all my own stunts.”
“Might we close the lift doors?” asked Sydney. “I have vertigo. Did a rooftop scene in the nineteen forty-nine remake of Death is a Dame in a Doggy Bag. A Lazlo Woodbine thriller. Brian Donlevy played Laz in that one and the final rooftop confrontation scene was shot on a real rooftop. Cinema-verite black and white. I nearly fell to my –”
Jack raised his hand.
Sydney said no more.
Dorothy said, “I signed the confidentiality clause on behalf of Jack, but I didn’t tell him about it. Sydney, please put Jack in the picture. We wouldn’t want him blurting anything out – it would not help to advance any of our careers.”
“Oh, it’s quite simple,” said Sydney, sighing as he said it. “Your agent, Dorothy here, signed the confidentiality clause for you, which states that we actors, employed by Golden Chicken Productions, must not discuss the script or contents of the movie prior to its release. There’s millions of dollars riding on this, what with the merchandising already being in place and everything. It’s a revolutionary concept, the toys being given away free and no one knowing that the movie, with big Hollywood stars playing the parts of the toys, is already in production.”
“I’m very confused,” said Jack.
“No you’re not,” said Dorothy. “Think about it.”
Jack thought and thought hard. “I’m still confused,” he said. “If this is a movie, Tinto is a barman, not a –”
“Motivational speaker,” said Sydney. “I know, I went up for the part of Tinto but I didn’t get it. I’m only calling myself Mr Tinto because the ‘Motivational Speaker’ doesn’t even have a name. Do you know who got the Tinto part in the end?”
Jack shook his head. Strangely he had no idea at all.
“Gene Kelly,” said Sydney. “Tinto the dancing barman, I ask you.”
“So let me just get this straight,” said Dorothy, “for Jack’s benefit, because he is from Arkansas. You two were hired for a single day’s work on this movie, which is a Golden Chicken Production, a live-action movie based upon the toys that are presently being given away free in the Golden Chicken Diners.”