Chart Throb (41 page)

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Authors: Ben Elton

BOOK: Chart Throb
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‘We are constantly presented with an image of you as an out-of-touch, aloof, effete, snobbish, obsessive, interfering old bore.’
‘I know. I
know
,’ the Prince lamented. ‘It
is
dispiriting, isn’t it?’
‘I never believed any of those nasty rumours for a
moment
, sir,’ Beryl cooed. ‘You’ve done
so much
for understanding and tolerance. Between races, religions . . . gender preferences. Why, I believe it would now be possible for a transsexual to be made a Dame of the British Empire.’
‘Shut up, Beryl,’ Calvin snapped.
‘I’m just saying!’
‘Well, don’t. Sir,’ Calvin said, once more turning to the Prince. ‘We all know the dreadful things they say about you. But
Chart Throb
is a level playing field. We don’t respect rank but we don’t condemn it either. Everyone who comes here is judged absolutely on their merit. Anyone can be a star . . .’
‘
Well done you
,’ the Prince interrupted. ‘I
do
think that’s commendable. It’s exactly the
ethos
I try to promote with my Trust. We always say that no matter how desperate or difficult the circumstances into which a young person may have fallen, it is our job to help them
rise above all that
and unlock the natural potential that is in us all.’
Calvin smiled. ‘And no less so for you, sir. You too have a right to be taken on your merits. I’m going to put you through.’
‘
Really?
Oh, you
are
kind.’
‘Me too,’ Beryl said quickly. ‘You
owned
that song, sir.’
‘Yes,’ hastened Rodney. ‘Covering the Quo is not easy. But you owned it, sir.’
The Prince was then led from the audition room. Outside he found a breathless Keely waiting to ask how His Royal Highness had done.
‘Well, do you know, I rather think they
liked it
,’ he replied. ‘Heaven knows why. I expect I was
awful
but I did my best and of course it is an awfully good tune.’
‘So you’re through to Pop School?’ Keely squealed.
‘Well, that’s what they
said
.’
The Prince did not jump up and down screaming in the time-honoured manner of contestants who were put through to the next round, so Keely jumped up and down for him.
‘Yay!’ she said. ‘That is
so
fierce! Hot or what! How cool is that?’
After which the Prince and his two detectives hurried back to London to attend a service of remembrance at St Paul’s Cathedral for the victims of the most recent tsunami.
Congratulations, You’re Through: Latiffa and Suki
After His Royal Highness came Latiffa, the preassigned BAT or Black girl with ATtitude. Calvin always liked to include one of these in his shows, and sometimes also a WOMBAT, or White girl Obviously Masquerading as a Black girl with ATtitude – which was even funnier, there being nothing more amusing than pale girls from Essex strutting about, clicking their fingers, calling themselves hos and generally giving the impression that they were brought up with Eminem on Eight Mile.
Latiffa strutted into the room as if she was auditioning to join a Destiny’s Child tribute band. She was an uber-girlfriend with the kind of aggressive self-confidence that the Wehrmacht must have had on the morning they invaded Russia, and of course the same potential for disaster. American in all but nationality, Latiffa was not inclined to conceal her light under a bushel.
‘I’m da best!’ she proclaimed loudly. ‘So forget da rest. I is sexy and I is a strong woman and I got claws so you better watch out. Nobody wants this like I want it so everybody had better get outa my way because Latiffa’s comin’ through!’
Time was short so it had been decided to rush her audition. She was given just enough time to be wholly irritating, which was her assigned role in the chemistry of the final group that Calvin was assembling. She sang ‘Nasty Boys’ by Janet Jackson and Calvin let her do three lines before informing her that she was through to the next round. He did not even bother to consult his fellow judges. He was not intending to feature Latiffa much until the later stages of the competition, lest the grating quality of her all-consuming self-confidence peak too soon. A flash or two was all that would appear in the first two or three shows.
After Latiffa came Suki, the surgically inflated stripper-turned-prostitute whom Trent had tried to dismiss straight out of the envelope and whom Emma had only included in the Bling pile on a sympathetic whim. But the same thing that had caught Emma’s eye had later caught Calvin’s. Trent had offered her up in pre-selection as an In and Out, good for a quick shot and a giggle: ‘Imagine this sucked-out, dried-up old whore thinking she could ever be a pop star’ was the idea. But when he stared at her video there had been something so all-encompassing about Suki’s neediness that Calvin found it almost attractive. She was so fascinatingly vulnerable. The classic bird on a wire. Still attractive (just) but literally with only months, maybe even weeks left before she turned irreversibly into a horrifying cartoon of a Disgusting Old Slapper or DOSser. Something in Calvin’s instincts had alerted him to the possibility that Suki would be good telly. Many men would lust after her because her vulnerability made her seem attainable and many women would sympathize with her as someone who stood on the edge of an abyss. She could even sing a bit, which was always preferable in a prospective finalist.
A couple of years earlier, when
Chart Throb
had first been screened, a figure like Suki with her ridiculous breasts and hungry eyes would only ever have been considered as a peripheral quickie. But expectations had changed. Women like Suki were becoming the norm. The alpha versions of the type stood on every catwalk, and
OK!
and
Hello!
regularly featured cartoon women cradling new babies that were smaller than their grossly inflated breasts.
‘What are you going to sing for us, Suki?’ Calvin enquired.
‘Well, Calvin,’ Suki replied, ‘I think you’re the sexiest man on TV so I’d like to sing “Hopelessly Devoted To You” from
Grease
.’
Calvin gave his little boy grin.
Beryl said, ‘Oh
please
!’
Rodney said, ‘Good song, that is a good choice of song. But tough.’
‘Before I start,’ said Suki, ‘I just want you to know that I really, really want this, I mean really. I want it so much. It’s my dream.’
Peroxide Meet Their Nemesis
While Suki lived out her dream in front of Calvin, Beryl and Rodney, Chelsie had returned to the holding area to spend a last few moments with Peroxide.
Georgie and ‘Chelle were sitting where they had been sitting for most of the day. On the floor, backs to the wall, cramped close together, surrounded by styrofoam cups, holding each other very tight. They held each other partly because they were cold – almost immediately on arrival they had changed into their costumes, which were little more than knickers and bras – but also they clung to each other because they were so excited. Holding on to each other was pretty much the only way that they could actually keep still. Seldom had two teenage girls been at such a pitch of excitement. They were almost too excited to breathe.
They felt different to the other fifty or so remaining contestants scattered about the room; at least they thought they did because they really thought they had a chance.
Chelsie thought so too.
‘Come on, girls,’ she cooed. ‘Calvin’s
got
to put you through. I mean why else would they ask you back like this? They know you’re good. They know they made a mistake last year. You remember the protests in the press and all that? I honestly think that Calvin was embarrassed by how much people
loved
you guys.’
Georgie and ‘Chelle needed little encouragement to believe that this was indeed to be their year. Analysing it endlessly in the preceding weeks, they had concluded that barring some unforeseen disaster like an attack of tonsillitis they
had
to be good for at least a few rounds. Although trying hard to avoid overconfidence, they could not help feeling that they would not be at risk until the Pop School stage at least. After all, their early rejection the previous year
had
been a major
Chart Throb
scandal, the papers
had
all howled in dismay. Calvin
had
specifically asked them back to try again this year (not that they were allowed to divulge this fact).
One thing was certain, the judges were not going to repeat what had happened last time.
Chelsie crouched down in front of the girls and held out her arms for a final hug. Three-way hugs are never easy, particularly when the instigator is hovering above the two other participants who are sitting on the floor, but Chelsie was an accomplished air-kisser and she managed to gather the two young women in for a brief bonding moment. As Georgie leaned towards her, Chelsie was conscious of two things: an overwhelming smell of toothpaste and mouthwash and also how much more skinny she had become even since the selection day in Birmingham. The bra Georgie was wearing was tiny and yet not tiny enough for Georgie to fill it. As Georgie leaned in and the cups fell forward they revealed entirely the shocking state of the girl’s breasts. They were really nothing more than big hard cold nipples, pathetically oversized for the little flaps of skin (like small balloons prior to inflation) to which they were attached. She looked starved.
‘Come on, girls,’ said Chelsie, ‘let’s go and rock their asses!’
The three of them joined Keely outside the audition area. Keely was utterly thrilled to see them.
‘GIRLS!’ she screamed. ‘BABES! You look
fantastic
!’ Keely then turned to address the camera that was hovering just behind her. ‘Look who’s here! It’s last year’s megababes, Peroxide! We
love
these girls.
SO
brave to give it another bash. Yay!’
There followed the usual conversation regarding the dream and how entirely and absolutely the girls wanted it, and then Georgie and ‘Chelle entered the arena.
All three judges convincingly feigned surprise and delight to see Peroxide.
‘How are you
doing
, girls?’ beamed Beryl. ‘You look
great
!’
Beryl even got up and went round her desk to give each girl a hug. Once the reunion celebration was over, Calvin put on his serious face and called the meeting to order.
‘So, girls,’ he asked, ‘why did you come back?’
‘Well, Calvin,’ ‘Chelle replied, ‘we were really gutted to lose out last time and we really, really believe in ourselves and think that we deserve another chance.’
Calvin nodded wisely. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that shows considerable character, Michelle. I like that. I am always looking to see character in the people who come to see us because ours is a tough business and to cut it live you need character.’
‘Georgie,’ said Rodney, ‘we liked you last year, you know that, you sailed through the first round and made a big impact. Then you lost it in the second round. What do you think you can do differently this year?’
‘We’ve worked so hard,’ said Georgie, her voice a little huskier than it had been because of the stomach acids with which her throat was regularly drenched.
‘We’ve grown,’ ‘Chelle added. ‘We’ve worked so hard and we’ve learned and we’ve grown. We’ve taken on board all the things you said to us last year and we’ve really, really thought about them and worked hard and tried to grow.’
Beryl stared at the two girls through moist eyes, as if it were her own daughters who were showing such grit and such character.
‘In that case, babes,’ Beryl said, her croaky little girl voice dripping with love, ‘you deserve a second chance. If you’ve listened and you’ve worked hard and you’ve grown, then you deserve this. This is your moment. You own it, girls. Just you own it.’
‘Thank you, Beryl,’ ‘Chelle replied humbly. ‘We will.’
‘We all want this for you, girls,’ Rodney added, he too working his eyes into a convincingly dewy mistiness. ‘You took some hard knocks last year and coming back here now shows real guts. It’s up to you now, girls, the dream is back and all you have to do is grab it and own it. Own the dream.’
‘OK,’ said Calvin, once more doing his businesslike bit, as if to remind the world that they were hardbitten pop professionals who would not let sentiment cloud their judgement. ‘What are you going to sing for us?’
‘We’re going to sing “Dancing Queen” by Abba, Calvin.’
‘Good choice,’ said Rodney, nodding wisely.
‘Off you go, girls,’ said Calvin.
They sang it quite well, in tune and with the simple harmony intact. They executed the little seventies-style dance moves that they had worked out with some aplomb and the flourish at the end had genuine charm. On balance, being a year older they were slightly better than they had been the year before, and considerably better than at least three of the acts who had made it to the previous year’s finals.
And so they stood, flushed and breathing hard. Two dreamers in their underwear. Virgins waiting to be sacrificed.

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