The Understudy: A Novel (17 page)

“Oh, right. Well, I suppose I’ll just have to exercise some self-control.” He slipped into his best version of meek contrition, sighed deeply, ruffled his hair with the fingertips of both hands. “To be honest, I’ve been trying to call it a day, anyway. That’s why, in a weird kind of way, I’m actually
glad
you found out.” And here he leaned right in, so that his face was almost touching Stephen’s. “Stephen, I’m not here to pressurize you to keep quiet. You and Nora, you’re sort of mates now, and if you really feel you have to tell her, then so be it. I’ll face the music, and I won’t blame you.” He licked his lips, lowered his voice. “But what you have to know is that I really, really do love her. She’s my best friend, my soulmate, she keeps my feet on the ground. I wouldn’t be able to get up in the mornings without her, just wouldn’t be able to function. And that’s why, if you
do
decide to keep this to yourself, well”—he put his hand on Stephen’s forearm—“I’ll be very, very,
very
grateful.” Then he looked into Stephen’s eye, an earnest, pleading, moist-eyed look, and squeezed his arm so hard that Stephen had to fight not to wince. “And you have no idea how grateful I can be…”

At this exact moment a middle-aged woman appeared over his shoulder, giggling, a little blowsy and clearly more than a little drunk, and placed her hand on his back. “Excuse me, Josh, I just wanted to say I’m a massive fan of—”

“For fuck’s sake, what is
wrong
with you?” hissed Josh, with sudden, startling scorn, his teeth bared. “We’re trying to have a private conversation here! Just piss off out of it, will you?”

The woman staggered backward, as if pushed in the face, stumbling against a chair, her mouth open, her eyes suddenly wet with shock, and Stephen watched, mortified, as she sloped back across the club, shoulders hunched over, and sat back down at her table, humiliated.

“Sorry about that,” said Josh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he turned back to Stephen, grinning but with the edge of disdain still in his voice. “I just get so…mad sometimes. I wouldn’t mind on the street, but you’d think in a place like this, people would perhaps be just a little bit less fucking
dumb
, wouldn’t you?”

Stephen looked past Josh at the woman, back at her table now, in a huddle with her friends, one of whom was simultaneously rubbing her shoulder and scowling across at Josh.

“They giving me grief?” asked Josh, his back to them.

“Uh-huh.”

“You think I was a bit harsh?”

“A little, maybe.”

“Well—tough shit.”

But the moment hung in the air. Josh stared at the floor mournfully, pouting and peeling the label from his bottle, but clearly they were no longer on friendly ground, and he suddenly downed the beer, and stood up.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Heads down, they were making their way to the exit, when Stephen felt Josh tug his elbow. “Wait here a sec, Steve. I’ve just got to do something.”

Stephen stood and watched as Josh walked back across the club to the woman, approaching behind her, then crouching at her elbow, touching her gently on the arm. She turned and initially her look was one of hostility, fear even, but Josh just whispered intently in her ear for a minute or so, like a stage hypnotist, his head humbly bowed, and before long she was nodding, then smiling, and then, remarkably, laughing. Josh stood now, bent humbly at the waist, said something to the whole table, hands out, palms up in self-reproach, and they all laughed heartily too, and a couple of people raised their glasses to him as he said good-bye. He kissed the woman quickly on the cheek, and she blushed, put one hand to the blessed cheek, the other hand to her chest, breathlessly, and, watching from a distance, Stephen was unsure whether he should feel impressed or horrified.

“No damage done,” said Josh, at Stephen’s side. “Better be getting back to the little lady!”

An Offer You Can’t Refuse

O
f course Stephen knew he would never tell Nora. Still, he couldn’t deny that there was something appealing, flattering, even, in having Josh dance attendance on him in this way. After the humiliation of the party, it felt like getting even, both for Nora and for himself, and he resolved to leave Josh dangling for a while, to keep him on his toes. At least he could feel confident that he hadn’t been taken in. He hadn’t been conned by Josh Harper.

On the street it had started to rain, and they stood huddled together in the doorway, keeping an eye out for black cabs. “Oh, and by the way,” said Josh, casually, “I’ve been meaning to ask you—you do know my lines, don’t you?”

“That’s my job, Josh.”

“And the moves? I mean, you’d be confident, being me, if you had to?”

“Absolutely. Why?”

“Nothing, I’m just saying there’s a very good chance that you might have to cover for me for a couple of shows at some point, that’s all.”

Stephen laughed. “Rubbish, you’re never ill.”

“No, but what I mean is, I
might
be coming down with something. In the near future.”

“Well, I’ve got some echinacea in my bag.”

Josh looked somber. “Not a cold, Steve—
seriously
ill.”

“Seriously? What is it? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking…”

Josh looked at the floor, a choke in his voice. “The doctor says it’s…it’s…skive-alitis.”

“What?”

“Skive-alitis. You know—the Lurgy? Bunk-off’s disease? PlayStation Syndrome? Not now, but maybe on, say, a Wednesday and Thursday? In about a month’s time, December the eighteenth or thereabouts. My Christmas present to you. Would that suit you, d’you think?”

Stephen was silent for a moment. Eventually—“Are you…are you suggesting…?”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” said Josh, with a stage wink.

“…because if they found out…”

“How would they find out? If I’m ill, I’m ill.”

“But the management, they’ll
know
.”

“How will they know? It’s not like I’m going to pretend I’ve lost a leg or something. It’s just flu, or glandular fever or food poisoning, an iffy oyster or something. If I can cough myself to death onstage every night in front of eight hundred people, then I can convince Donna that I’ve got the squits. I’m an actor, remember? Lying is what I
do
.”

“Well, thanks for the offer, Josh, but I’ve got to say no.”

“Hang on a sec—you’re telling me you don’t want to play the lead role in a hit West End play?”

“No, I’d love to play it—”

“So what’s the problem?”

“So, it’s just that, knowing what I know, I just don’t feel…comfortable accepting, that’s all. I mean—I don’t want to feel as if the two things are in some way connected, as if I’ve made some sort of…deal.”

“
Deal?
”

“Yeah—deal.”

Josh put one hand to his chest and took a few steps back in surprise, a response so stock and hackneyed that only an accomplished actor could get away with it. “Hang on a sec, mate—you think it’s a
bribe
? Is that what you’re getting at?”

“Not exactly.”

“You think I’m doing it just to hush you up? Keep shtum with Nora and I’ll make you a star? Christ, Steve, what do you take me for? I know you think I’m a bit of a tosser, but I didn’t realize you thought I’d sink as low as that.”

“I don’t think that, it’s just—”

“If you must know, I’ve been meaning to give you a break for ages, it’s just I haven’t had a chance to do it. But if it really offends your
principles
so much, if you really think that’s why I’m doing it—to have some kind of
hold
over you—”

“It’s not that, it’s just—if I’m going to get somewhere, I’d like to do it on my own merits, that’s all.”

Josh laughed loud. “
Merits?
Steve, mate, you haven’t
got
any merits, not as far as the public’s concerned. You could be Larry bloody Olivier, and it wouldn’t make any difference, not if no one gets to see you. But, look, if you’re really happy as the invisible man, sitting up there in that crappy dressing room, drinking tea and picking your feet, instead of showing people what you’re capable of, then sure, fine, by all means, let’s just forget the whole thing. But you know what the meek inherit? Fuck all, mate. Fuck. All.” Josh stepped out into the rain, and started walking north toward Oxford Street. “Just don’t expect the opportunity to come up again, that’s all. Like you said, I’m never ill.”

Stephen waited a moment in the doorway, playing the old familiar scene again, on the screen in his head.

…the roar of the audience in his ears as they rise as one. Great waves of love and respect and validation wash over him and, shielding his eyes against the spotlight, he squints out into the auditorium, and spots the faces of Alison, his wife; of Sophie, his daughter—grinning and laughing, screaming and shouting, eyes wide with pride and delight…

“
Josh—hold on a moment, will you?” he called, turned up the collar of his coat, and ran up Berwick Street. “I don’t want to appear ungrateful, Josh. I mean, I appreciate the offer—”

“Look, Stephen, cut to the chase. Your career—with the best will in the world, you’re not exactly setting the showbiz world alight, are you?”

“Well, no, but—”

“And you should be, shouldn’t you? I mean, you
want
it, you
deserve
it. You’re better than half those talentless clowns out there. All you need is a lucky break, am I right?”

“Well, I suppose…”

“And it would help for you to do a show or two? Lead role in a West End play. Invite some people along, influential people, show them what you’re capable of. I could have a word with my agent, get him along, and you can invite your family. I couldn’t see it, of course, but Nora could come along.”

“But surely people are only coming to see
you
?”

“No, they’re coming to see the play. Like The Dane says—the play’s the thing. And you’re as good as me, aren’t you? You must think you are, or you wouldn’t do it.”

“Well…”—Stephen glanced sideways at Josh, who was grinning back at him—“I’m not bad.”

“Well, fuck ’em, then. It’s not like we’re selling them shoddy goods. You’re the one and only Stephen C. McQueen! With a
P-H
! You’ll blow their fuckin’ socks off.”

He stepped suddenly out into the street to hail a passing cab, and Stephen saw the cabbie’s smile of recognition. “Primrose Hill, please, mate,” said Josh in full-on barrow boy, and opened the cab door.

He’s serious,
thought Stephen.
This is it, at last, the Big Break. This is how you make your own luck. You say yes.

Say yes.

“Josh?”

Josh closed the cab door, and crossed back to Stephen. “Well?”

“You’ll end this thing with Maxine, yeah?” said Stephen.

“Of course.”

“And you’ll make things all right with Nora?”

“Absolutely.”

The cabbie beeped his horn.

“All right, then,” said Stephen. “Let’s do it.”

Josh put one hand on his shoulder, squeezed it hard. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Two days, December the eighteenth and nineteenth? That’s two evening shows and a matinee. Just in time for Christmas. That’s another part of the deal by the way—you have got to be fucking sensational.”

“I will be.”

“Okay. It’s a deal.”

Josh winked, and turned to get in the cab, then stopped, turned back and said, just a little too casually, “Oh, and just for my peace of mind, and completely unconnected, we’re cool about you not saying anything about you-know-what to you-know-who?”

Stephen thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Lips are sealed.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Then just as suddenly Josh was in the cab, and driving off into the rain.

Stephen stood watching as Josh grinned at him through the back window, mimed an imaginary gun, fired it, then drove off back to Nora. Somewhere behind all his hope and elation, Stephen had the definite sensation that he had made some kind of terrible mistake.

Then he turned and walked south toward Trafalgar Square, and the night bus home.