Chapter Six

In the shadows in the wings, there was a small sound among the rustling of the creatures of the dark. It was a barely audible chuckle from the man in those shadows; the man who stood listening, a dark and brooding presence that even the rats avoided. He was a man with the power of life or death over this production; the Angel, the money man, the backer. Mr Joshua Lucy was one of the names he was known by. There were many others. Angela heard the tinkle of approval and preened. It was good to know the boss approved.

***

“The process is quite scientific,” said Diana. “It’s called the psychological insight technique. It’s quite new, but the best drama institutions use it now. Only when your complete inner self is revealed can you release your full power.”

“Well you can stick it,” said Billy. “You’re getting too personal.”

“You mean you have something else to hide?” Angela’s ice-breaking voice was back.

Billy paced to the computer desk table and slammed his fist hard on the smooth grey plastic surface. His eyes opened wide with shock. It was like hitting, marble. Hard, smooth, cold, but it didn’t throw him off his course. “Why are you picking on me all the time? What about him?” His arm shot out arrow straight, index finger quivering and pointing at Mickey. “You let him off the hook pretty quick. What about that act he pinched?”

Mickey lifted his portly self from the chair angrily. “It’s not true,” he protested. He avoided the reproving, all-knowing look from Diana. “I never stole anything. We both came up with the idea at the same time - and you can’t copyright an idea. I got in first. I made it. He didn’t. I topped the rating years after year. What a time I had.”

There was a moment’s silence as Mickey savoured his glorious past. The critical raves after the preview of the pilot show. It had a working title of Friday Night is Fun Night, but Mickey’s agent soon had that changed to The Mickey Finnegan Show. There was none of the old fashioned jokes, sketches, and songs with this. Mickey was up there, playing a role, playing the vaudevillian of past days. Telling those old jokes, but telling them with such style, such panache that even the youngsters laughed at them. He had guests of course and made a public reputation for giving new talent a go.

And there was a cornucopia of ambitious young female singers, actors and comedians to keep Mickey satisfied after each show. He licked his lips at the memories. Oh, those nights in his huge dressing room, big enough to party in, even to show movies: whatever movies he wanted to show.

That was when he developed his taste for blondes. And there were plenty willing to become blondes, just to get onto the show. It became a gimmick, and one that worked for the ratings. They rocketed into the stratosphere. There was no other show could touch him.

His fame reached the point where he couldn’t walk in a street without being mobbed. To those close to him he complained bitterly about his lack of privacy, but inside he revelled at the adoration. He was a star and nothing he had ever experienced compared with that. Even his old man paid attention to him.

But Mickey didn’t let him off easy. His father had a lot to pay for. Mickey rubbed absentmindedly at his back. The scars had long gone, but memory of the pain and humiliation hadn’t.

Angela’s frosty voice cut through his thoughts. He marvelled at her changes of mood. Were they real? Or was she a supreme actor? He felt his pulse quicken. Maybe she’d appear on his...

His shoulders slumped. For one moment he thought... but it was all gone, the show, the adulation, everything... everything. He sat slowly down, his mind drifting a mist.

“Who did you cheat Billy?” said the beautiful blonde.

Billy Winter slid down in his seat, folded his arms stared into the lights. “There you go again, picking on me.” He sat upright suddenly and stared right at her, for the moment unafraid. “I paid my dues sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.” There was an edge to Angela’s voice? But what edge, annoyance? No, it was something else, humour? Billy felt he was being tested. She couldn’t be one of those aggrieved feminists. Not her. He held his stare. “I paid my dues sweetheart. I did the pub gigs, played with rotten bands of no talent musicians. I sweated and I starved. I’ve worked for what I got. I took nothing from nobody.”

Angela held his stare, amusement in her eye. Billy turned away. He’d past his test.

The little exchange of views had passed unnoticed by Diana. Her brow was furrowed, a small sacrilege Mickey thought. She was beautiful enough to sway him from blondes. The furrow melted and she smiled.

“What about you Mr Thornton, any skeletons in your career closet? You did achieve spectacular fame,” she said. Thornton gave a condescending nod of the head. “And was that too achieved by hard work?”

“All great artists dedicate themselves to their work. They must.”

“And that is it?”

“Indeed - that and a certain determination to succeed.”

“Which is a necessary attitude in your business?”

“If you want to survive,” concurred Thornton.

“And you certainly wanted that didn’t you?”

There it was again, the all-knowing undertones. What did she know?

Then the strange conversational tones of Angela took him off guard. How did she do it?

“And was the way strewn with bodies?” Her eyes feigned innocence.

“What on earth does that mean?” Panic had edged into Thornton’s voice.

Billy sensed it, and sensed that the lionesses were ready to pounce. He decided to help them. “She means who did you knock off on the way? Who did you kill?” Mickey joined in Billy’s laughter when he saw the discomfiture of Thornton, whose face began to redden. His anger was mounting. He shot to his feet and strode to the women at the card table. “How can you expect me to work with those creatures?”

“It’s a fine role.” Diana’s reply was flat, a simple statement of fact.

“But of course.” Honey tones from Angela. “You’ve played many fine roles haven’t you?”

Thornton gave a sigh of resignation. “I only play fine roles. I can’t afford not to, not if I am to maintain my box office appeal and my personal popularity.”

“Oh!” There was genuine surprise in Angela’s voice this time. “You are popular?”

Mickey and Billy edged forwards on their seats, fascinated by this exchange of words. They were both happy that the inquisition was aimed at the bellicose and opinionated actor rather than them. But both carried a sinking feeling in the pit of their stomachs. They knew that, inevitably, their turn would come.

Thornton pulled himself to his full, impressive height. “I am Belvedere Thornton. People seek me out.”

Diana frowned again and studied the file. “According to our information you live a friendless existence.”

“I could believe that,” cut in Mickey, grinning.

“Nonsense,” Thornton’s lips tightened into a thin line, “my home is always filled with people. There’s seldom an empty day. People call from all walks of life. I’ve been lionised, patronised, idolised ...”

“Sodomised!” Billy’s cry was a triumphant bray. He burst into laughter. Thornton lifted his head and glared at the rafters. Fluttering, bats? He dragged his mind back. “Of course I have friends.” Then he turned and fixed the baleful glare at Billy. “And you will pay for that remark, sonny.”

Billy laughed. “You don’t scare me you fat old fraud.” The eyeballed each other, neither willing to let go but Angela broke the tension.

“Could a man like you, with so many friends, play an entirely friendless person, Mr Thornton?”

“My dear did you not see my Ebenezer Scrooge?”

“Oh Mr Thornton,” crooned Angela. “He is a loveable man compared with the character we have in mind.”

“I can do anything a script calls for, if I agree to do it,” said Thornton. He turned away to escape the gaze and strode to the back of the stage concentrating with exaggerated body movements on the remnants of the set.

The enjoyment of watching the arrogant actor being put through the pepper grinder was cut short for Mickey when Diana threw him a curved ball. “What about you Mickey?” the question was curt. Sharp. “You lived the high life too didn’t you? Always surrounded by a crowd, always with plenty to spend?”

Mickey bridled. “I did all right, on what was left after paying the alimony.”

“Yeah,” cut in Billy. “Bloody Mr Blue Beard! Five wives!”

“All that alimony... unless they all died. Did they all die Mickey?” said Diana.

“Bloody shut up. No they didn’t. It was show business. It’s hard to make a go of it. Anyway what’s my married life got to do with a show? It’s what I do on stage that counts.”

“Not quite,” said Diana. Her voice was placating, soft. “We need to see the man underneath, every facet of your personality. We need you reveal your soul. The acting power you will need is immense. We must expose your inner self completely.”

“It’s that big eh, that big a part?” Mickey’s eyes wide opened in comprehension. Then the look firmed into decision. “Okay then. Fire away, as the actress said to the bishop.”

“The things some people will do for a part.” Thornton’s remark cut through the atmosphere like an air force jet.

Mickey glared angrily at the big man’s back, but before he could say anything Angela had thrown in another strange question. “Do your children love you?”

“Shit,” sniped Billy. “The old fart’s got kids?”

The kids, where were they? He saw just grey images. Where they him or his kids? It was hard to separate the two. How old? Michael Junior 24, Julia, 22, just the two. When did he last hear from them? Three years, five? Then...his father...