All That Glitters (11 page)

‘Makes you think doesn’t it? If I looked like one of them without my clothes on, I might be tempted. Beats the hell out of working here for fifteen and six a week.’

The slip went unnoticed by Ann, but not by Jane. She filed the information away at the back of her mind for future reference.

The manager checked Jane’s takings, counting twice over the number of unsold programmes. The money was spot on. After slipping the coins into a cloth bag which he locked away in his office safe, he decided to return the leather pouch to her and risk sending her out with a tray in the interval. Nine customers out of ten went to the girls in the front, even when the girl at the back had no one queuing in front of her. He decided to put Jane at the back and watch her to see if the programme selling had been a fluke, or if she really was quick on the uptake.

The usherettes went in half-way through the last song before the interval, when the auditorium was still plunged in darkness. Glad that she wasn’t expected to walk the full length of the aisle with the unaccustomed load around her neck, Jane stood at the back and faced the stage. The blue lighting had been exchanged for something remarkably akin to summer sunlight. To her amazement she saw that the trees weren’t blue at all, but dark green, the flowers around their trunks varying shades of pink, blue, yellow and crimson. The imposing redhead who’d flung insults at the queue of would-be usherettes was standing centre stage, dressed in what would have been a stunning, long flowing satin gown if it’d had a bodice sewn in to cover her bare breasts. Haydn was offering her a bunch of rigid artificial white carnations and singing ‘I kiss your hand Madam’. In the background a chorus of girls dressed in top hat, tails and shorts instead of trousers, danced a ballet which made inspired use of the white canes they carried.

The audience’s attention was fixed on the redhead; Jane’s on Haydn. She wondered which of the girls he was in love with, then decided it couldn’t possibly be any of them. Someone who looked as good and honest as him would want a decent girl, not one who displayed herself to any man able to afford an admission ticket.

The music ended, the curtains closed and the lights went up. A patient orderly queue formed in front of her.

‘An ice cream, love, to cool my mate down. He needs it.’

‘My staff are not here to take comments like that.’ Jane looked up: Mr Evans was standing over her.

‘Cornet or wafer?’ she asked abruptly, feeling the need to impress him with the way she coped with awkward customers.

‘Cornet please, Miss,’ came the subdued reply.

Picking up a thick round of ice cream, she tore off the paper strip that encircled it and pushed it into a short, squat cornet. Fortunately, Ann who faced her had been asked for a cornet almost before the curtain had gone down, so she’d had an opportunity to see how they were assembled. She carried on serving, painstakingly, steadily, always polite, if a little slow. The assistant manager noted and approved. Speed was something that came with practice. The queue dwindled, the lights dimmed, the orchestra played. Jane waited until Ann moved alongside her and followed her out through the door.

‘Money in the office first.’ Ann dumped her empty tray on the confectionery stall. ‘We’ll be back to check those in a minute, Lil,’ she said to the woman behind the counter. The woman nodded as she carried on counting out change into a boy’s hand.

‘Any chance of a couple of ice creams, sweetheart?’

Jane froze. Haydn Powell, the blond Adonis from the stage, was peering around the corner that led to the dressing rooms, his face painted garishly like the girls. Blue eyelids, red lips, pale pink and ivory skin, rosy cheeks. The femininity it symbolised strangely disquieting.

‘How many you treating, Haydn?’ Ann asked familiarly.

‘You, if you want one.’

‘Not tonight, thanks.’

‘In that case it will just be the two.’

‘Beside yourself?’

‘Myself included.’

‘If you don’t get them in the next two minutes, Haydn, we’ll be eating the bloody things on stage.’

‘Language,’ Ann reproved primly.

‘Sorry.’ Dressed in a scarlet satin robe, Rusty walked up behind Haydn and rested her arm on his shoulder.

‘Cornets or wafers?’ Ann asked.

‘Cornets, we daren’t risk any dribbles,’ Haydn laughed. ‘Not with the costume Rusty’ll be wearing.’

Ann nodded to Jane, ‘You serve them and I’ll start counting the money.’ She turned the corner that led to the office. Money bag banging against her hip, Jane went to her tray on the counter, lifted out two cornets and rammed two ice-cream slices into them. They were already melting, thick and sticky at the edges.

Hurrying back she held them out.

‘That’ll be fourpence.’

Haydn took them and gave her a sixpence. ‘Rusty, I’ve got your ice cream.’

Jane rummaged in her bag for two pennies. When she looked up to give Haydn his change, her cheeks burnt crimson. Rusty was standing inside Haydn’s dressing room. She’d dropped the robe, and was wearing nothing underneath, nothing at all.

‘Your change,’ Jane snapped as Haydn bit into his ice cream and snaked his free hand around Rusty’s waist.

‘Keep it.’

‘I don’t take charity,’ she countered acidly, turning her back as Rusty burst out laughing.

‘And what have you done to her, dear boy? Whatever it was, it must have been quick, considering we only moved into the theatre this morning.’

The callboy ran down the corridor. ‘Three-minute call for Mr Powell. Three-minute call for Mr Haydn Powell.’

His noise drowned out any reply Haydn might have made. Still seething, as much from her own prudish reaction as from Rusty’s exhibitionism, Jane unfastened the bag from her waist. She went into the office where Ann was piling money on a side table in view of the manager, emptied out her own coins, and proceeded to count, bag and label them.

‘You seem to be coping with the workload, Jane,’ the manager said when she’d finished. ‘But there’s the unsold goods on your tray still to be checked. Afterwards you can help wash the glasses in the bar, and set up everything except the ice creams on your tray ready for the second house interval. When the finale begins, go back into the auditorium to help see this audience out, check for litter and anything left behind, then if there’s any time free before the next show starts, take a break. The girls usually manage a cuppa.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Jane tried to sound enthusiastic. But she stifled a yawn as she pushed the last few coins into her bag and wrote the amount it contained on the label. It seemed a very long time since she’d been in a bed.

‘At last, feet up time.’ Ann sank down on a stool in front of the barman who was polishing glasses. ‘Any chance of an orange juice, Des?’

‘For you darling, anything.’ He adjusted his bow tie and addressed the other usherettes. ‘Orange juice all round?’

‘How much will it be?’ Jane asked.

‘On the house, love,’ Ann answered. ‘We don’t get given much in this job, but the manager recognises that even horses need to be watered between hauls.’

‘Wish he’d realise they need feeding too.’ Avril dragged herself up on the stool next to Ann’s.

‘That’ll be the day.’ Ann took her glass from Des. ‘Ooh, it’s nice and cold.’

‘Kept the water in the ice chest. Nothing too good for my girls.’

Jane sat beside Ann, watching, listening, taking everything in, without contributing to the conversation. Everyone seemed nice and friendly, but she had learned at an early age that appearances could be deceptive.

‘Any chance of a tray of orange juices?’ The blonde who’d descended on the swing peered around the door.

‘How many?’

‘All the girls and two extra,’ we’re treating Haydn and the comic.

‘Lucky fellows. I’ll bring it round for you when I’ve poured them.’

‘Thanks.’ Flashing a toothy, theatrical smile she backed away.

‘I’ll take them if you like,’ Jane offered.

‘Volunteering for anything’s not a good idea in a job like this, not when you’ll be back on your feet in ten minutes.’ Des opened the chest and lifted out a pitcher of iced water.

‘I don’t mind, really.’

‘In that case who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?’

‘Don’t take any lip from those prima donnas,’ Ann warned as Jane lifted the heavy tray from the counter.

The distance between the bar and the dressing rooms seemed to have doubled since Jane had last walked it. Holding the tray out at arm’s length so as not to spill a drop, she finally made it to the dressing-room corridor. Not wanting to witness a repeat of Rusty’s exhibitionism she called out, ‘Drinks.’

‘You darling.’ The girl who had ordered them came out of her dressing room. ‘Come and get it’ she shouted.

‘Get mine for me will you, Mandy, I have to mend the run in this bloody body stocking, and I’m useless at sewing.’

‘I’ll do it for you,’ Jane called out.

‘Did I hear that right? A dark girl ran out of the dressing room wearing a pair of spangled shorts, and sequined stars stuck over her nipples. She was carrying what looked like a giant stocking.

‘I’ll mend it,’ Jane repeated, ‘for a price.’

‘You take in sewing?’ two of the other girls asked in unison.

‘Yes.’

‘You absolute godsend.’ Mandy dumped her empty glass back on the tray. ‘Last tour, the wardrobe mistress did all our mending, personal as well as costume, but Norman said a wardrobe mistress was unnecessary on this tour. Old skinflint.’

‘How much would you charge for this?’ The girl in the spangled shorts waved the stocking in front of Jane.

‘Twopence halfpenny,’ Jane answered, eyeing the run.

‘Done.’ The girl bundled the stocking together.

‘What about straightforward holes in the toes and heel?’ Mandy asked.

‘Penny each.’

‘A torn seam?’

‘Depends on the length, penny if it’s short, twopence if it’s long.’

‘Can you do this by tomorrow?’

The body stocking had a needle stuck in it, and was wrapped around a spool of thread. If she was given those along with the mending, that would take care of all the stockings. Anything else and she’d have to borrow thread from Phyllis, as well as scissors, but it was a way of keeping herself until her wages came in. There was electric light in her room, and she was used to coping with very little sleep. The workhouse ward had always been bedlam with people crying out at all hours.

‘You’ll have it back before first house tomorrow,’ Jane promised.

‘Right, that’s me sold.’ The girl thrust the needle, thread and body stocking at her. ‘Name’s Judy.’

‘Here’s a petticoat.’

‘A bust shaper.’

‘I can’t take them now. Why don’t you pin slips on everything, with your name and what you want doing, and I’ll pick the lot up after the show, then when I’ve finished I’ll write my price on the slip and you’ll know what you owe me.’

‘You won’t forget to pick them up, though, will you?’ Judy pleaded. ‘If I don’t have this body stocking tomorrow, I’ll have to wear a dirty one or give the punters more of an eyeful than the Lord Chamberlain allows.’

‘And I need this blouse,’ Mandy insisted. ‘It’s silk, bought it in the best shop in Lewisham, there’s no point in even looking for something remotely like it in a backwater like this.’

‘I won’t forget,’ Jane promised solemnly. She looked down at the tray. Three glasses of orange juice still stood untouched. Mandy followed her glance.

‘Billy!’ she yelled. ‘We’ve bought you a drink, though why we bother when you can’t get off your behind to fetch it is beyond me.’

‘I’m busy,’ came the muffled reply from behind a closed door.

‘He takes more money off that orchestra every week than they earn,’ Judy said sharply. Opening the door to his dressing room she handed in the orange juice. ‘Won enough to stand me a supper after the show yet, Billy?’

‘And the rest of the girls as well,’ the German orchestra leader answered in his guttural tones.

Jane filed the knowledge away. Apart from the occasional game of Snap and Happy Families in the orphanage she’d never played cards, but if it was a way of making money it might be as well to learn. That’s if she could manage it cheaply.

Judy took the last two glasses and placed them on the floor outside the dressing room Jane already recognised as Haydn’s.

‘They’ll knock them over when they come out,’ Mandy warned.

‘When those two emerge, they’re going to need cooling down,’ Judy retorted flatly.

By the time the space between the last rows of seats had been checked for abandoned gloves, scarfs and handkerchiefs, and the final sweet wrappings and crumbs of cornet had been picked up from the floor, Jane could have lain down in the aisle, and slept. There had been no need for her to negotiate lodgings at seven and six a week. She would have been better off wangling a key to the theatre. Everything she needed was here: toilets in the dressing rooms, a sink and drinking water in the bar, a carpeted floor to lie on …

‘You walking our way Jane?’ Ann untied her apron. Her cap was in her hands, the hairpins that had clipped it in place bunched together at the end of the starched strip of cotton.

‘I live on the Graig.’

‘I live in Hopkinstown, Avril here lives in Mill Street and Myrtle and Myra in Pwllgwaun.’

‘Sheppard Street,’ Myra explained. ‘It’s handy because we can all walk home together, but it’s not your way at all.’

‘Know anyone who lives on the Graig?’ Ann asked Myra.

‘Only our prima don, or should I say Don Juan.’

‘If you’re at all worried about walking home by yourself, I could ask him for you,’ Ann suggested. ‘Underneath all that make-up Haydn’s quite human, or he was when he was a callboy.’

‘Haydn was a callboy here?’

‘Until just before last Christmas. We all thought a lot of him.’

‘But that was last year,’ Avril interrupted. ‘He’s changed. And if you want my opinion I think Jane would be a lot safer walking up the Graig hill without him escorting her.’

‘I’m not worried about walking home by myself,’ Jane lied. Last night had instilled terror enough in her for a lifetime. But perhaps tonight would be different. She wasn’t wearing workhouse clothes, and with lodgings to go to she wouldn’t be walking in dread of hearing a constable’s footsteps at every turn.