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01 Temmuz 2022, 20:51
The scene, as so often before, is my agent?s office. Flick (Felicity) Caterham has summoned me to an audience. I know, I know; I am*the client, she the paid agent but with Flick those lines are not blurred, they are totally removed.It?s 11 am. I enter the office and face Flick?s new assistant, Portia. Portia is typical of Flick?s employees; female, gorgeous, intelligent and right out of the top drawer.?You must be Miss Millerton???I must.?She smiled. ?Felicity is expecting you, would you go through???What?s your name???Oh, I?m sorry, I?m Portia.??Nice to meet you. If you open that cupboard behind you, you will find a chilled bottle of fizz and a couple of glasses. Would you do the honours???It?s 11 o?clock!??It is and it will wind Flick up so, please.? I gave her my famous winning smile.A voice, pure crystal, from the inner office. ?Do as she says, P, she cant function without alcohol and I need her at her best.? So, that didn?t work.I made my way into her office and she pointed at the chair. ?No kiss, this time???I,? she said imperiously, ?have, as always, been working tirelessly on your behalf. I have two things to discuss.??I?m fine, thanks. I hope you are too.??Good. Now, the first thing is that Alan Dormer is doing what is described as a ?period romp.?? She said the words as if they were dirty toilet paper. ?Which, being interpreted, means a ?Carry On? style movie in drag. It pays well and you get to be a highwayman.??Woman, surely, last time I checked???It?s a remake of the ?Wicked Lady.??No.??It pays well.??No. You know about me and horses. I don?t have to ride a half ton of highly powerful, incredibly stupid meat to earn money.??Then we turn to the second option.? She raised her voice. ?Portia, where?s that fucking Champagne?? She lowered it again. ?The second option may be seen as a tad beneath an actress of your standing.??Don?t take the piss.?She carried on as if I had said nothing, ?But, for reasons I will explain, I think it would be good.? The Champagne arrived, ready poured and we did the cheers bit then she continued as, distractingly, Portia took a seat and revealed far too much heavenly thigh for it to be good for me. ?Do you remember Millicent Graham?? I nodded. How could I not. One of the most aggressive dykes I ever met. Not for her the ?no fucking the hired help? thing. ?Well, she?s been fired from the Digby Theatre and has set up on her own. It?s called the Flotsam Theatre in Dorset.? She raised a hand to stifle my protest. ?I know you are West End but provincial theatre is definitely on the up and if almanbahis (https://almanbahis.info/) you invest a bit of effort now you could do yourself no harm at all.?I have never been part of the Metropolitan elite. I am a country girl and love England?s rolling terrain, but theatre in the styx? I remembered touring with ?Dole Queue? all those years ago and performing in scout huts and village halls and shitty pubs. The audiences were usually made up of elderly matrons and sometimes we could barely be heard over the coughing, snoring and the clicking of knitting needles.?What does she want???A ?star turn? to be female lead in two plays she has penned herself.?She tossed a well-thumbed script across to me. The title page said, ?Being Apart.? Beneath that was typed ?Being gay in 1940.? ?Oh, Flick. No, no, surely not. For one I don?t want to be cast as gay and for two she?ll probably spend most of the time with her hand up my skirt.??Then wear trousers. It?s good. It?s actually very, very good. Isn?t it Portia??Portia?s voice was cut from the same lead crystal as Flick?s. ?Fucking brilliant, I?d say.??And Portia has a double first in English. From Oxford.??Isn?t Cambridge better???I got my MA there.? That told me. Why oh why do I always seem to lose the verbal joust? ?The other play is still being written but is, apparently, a modern take on Faust.??Cheery soul, isn?t she???Two plays, each running for a month with a gap of a month between them. You get to stay in the country, see Lilly,? her sister and my absolute best friend, ?and get some great headlines. I?ve asked Laura Whitfield to do a piece about it and you.? Whitfield was a noted critic and columnist and highly regarded.?Money???Probably.?The theatre wasn?t that far from my country home. I?d bought it when a film I had made earned me a fortune and my accountant advised me to spend some. The house was deep in the Somerset country, surrounded by about one hundred acres most of which was rented out to local farmers. I?d kept enough land to remain remote. That was looked after by Hamish McAlister, a former Royal Marine who, when I was in situ doubled as my driver and minder. His wife, Heather, was my housekeeper and cook. She also managed the gardens with help, if need be, from local gardeners. The proximity of the theatre to my home and the chance to do something different seduced me and I agreed.Hamish collected me from the station. He?d have driven to London to collect me but sometimes I loved the train; especially dining in the excellent Great Western Railway restaurant en-route. A simple luxury. almanbahis yeni giriş (https://almanbahis.info/) We drove the few miles in the Merc and Hamish brought me up to date with matters estate. It was eleven in the evening when I finally got indoors and Heather was there to greet me and fuss over my bags.?It?s lovely you?ll be with us for a while, Miss.??It is for me too, Heather but, if you call me Miss one more time, I will fire you and hire someone who is prepared to call me Faye. Now, please, both of you have a glass of whisky with me and tell me more.?We sat convivially in the drawing room, glasses of a fine malt beside us and chatted about the estate, the farmers, the gardens, Lilly and local goings on. Goings on were not much but included a fete, a garden party and a delicious scandal involving the postmaster and the local Guide leader who had been caught in flagrante in the village hall by the vicar. He was incensed but not, apparently, by the fact that the Guide was blowing the postie but by the fact she?d been blowing him only a few hours before. Disgrace all round: sort of Jane Austen with sex. If only Jane Austen had written at least some sex but, well, there you go.The following morning, I woke up to hear unknown voices in my garden. I looked out of my window and saw two women in dungarees and wellingtons being industrious. The was a van with ?Back to the Fuchsia? inscribed on its side. I pulled on a dressing gown and made my way downstairs.?Good morning, Miss, er, Faye. Will you take tea or coffee???Tea please, Heather. Who are the women???Oh, they?re doing some of the heavy work in the garden. They?re really good and work hard. Nadine, she?s the tall one, and Shirley.? She almost whispered, ?They?re an item, if you get my meaning.? That, I have to admit, was a bit of a pity because the taller of the two was right up my street but, hell, that would have played like a porn film.I spent a happy hour walking through the quieter lanes that criss-crossed my*?estate? (how pretentious is that?), then called Lilly. No point talking to her before 11.?Faye, darling, how wonderful. Right, now I know you?re definitely here, we will have a party.??My turn, surely.??Not at all. I want to show you off, people seem to think you?ve forgotten me.? As if. ?I?ve got plans for one anyway. I?ll hire a fuck-off great marquee and we?ll have a ball, literally. Have you heard about the vicar?? She didn?t wait to find out if I had. ?God, how I love a scandal and that sanctimonious bastard deserved all he got; except the blow job of course. Great to almanbahis giriş (https://almanbahis.info/) see a church organ in action though, I?d imagine. Anyway, come over.?A few days later, Hamish drove me to the theatre where I met Millie Graham. Predictably, the first thing she did was kiss me full on the lips and put her hand on the arse of seldom-worn jeans. I?d discovered in the past, the best way to get her to stop trying to have her evil way was to engage in deep and meaningful conversation about the work she?d written or was directing or, as in this case, both.Portia had been right, the script was brilliant and deft, and it highlighted, subtly, the travails of a lesbian in the early years of the war. Did, she had wondered,*the absence of so many men mean that women turned to each other for solace and sexual satisfaction; how might one woman broach that with another? I played a natural lesbian rather than what Millie called the ?war-time volunteers,? and her research had revealed to her that most of those ?volunteers? did not want to engage with the natural variety of dyke because they feared being drawn into what they perceived as the perverse underworld of lesbianism. There wasn?t much actual sex, rather it was a clever, wordy piece with undertones and the odd kiss here and there. There were also a couple of scenes of injured men-folk returning from the war, incapable of sex and the boiling resentment that did so much harm to families and marriages. It was absolutely beautifully done and I was delighted to be doing it.We were going to rehearse for a week or so before the grand opening of her theatre and I was able to commute. I also had a week or two before the rehearsals started so the cast could learn the lines. My eidetic memory meant that, for me, that two weeks was very much a holiday. I walked every day, mostly in my own grounds. It was Friday, the afternoon of Lilly?s ball when I arrived at the small barn where the gardeners kept their van and tools, to find Nadine, the taller party, sitting on a canvas chair, the bib of her dungarees unclipped and lowered, revealing large, unfettered breasts under a dowdy, sweat-stained t shirt with proud nipples pointing pretty much at me. Her hair was covered in a tightly wound silk scarf. She was drinking from an enamel mug, a vacuum flask at her feet.?I?m Faye.? She stood, politely. ?No need for that,? I smiled. ?Enjoy your well-deserved rest.??Would you like a cup? It?s black no sugar I?m afraid.??I?d love one, thank you.? She found another chair from the depths of the barn and we sat in the shade and chatted. She was well-spoken and, I discovered, the product of a school rather like mine. She?d been in the City, a high-flyer, made a fortune and decided, aged 35, to chuck it in and do something she loved, to wit, gardening.