Devil in Disguise (19 page)

‘Are
you earning heaps of money?’

‘Darling,
I am hot, hot, hot. Trouble with these gay bars, of course, is they try and fob
you off with a couple of drink tokens and first dibs at the cold buffet. Makes
me sick.’

‘So no,
then?’

‘Well,
not as yet. Give us a chance. I’m not doing it for the money, am I? I just seem
to have stumbled on something that works. I have every intention of being a
flash in the pan. When you see Genita, you’ll understand. She’s so barking that
it’s not really a commercial proposition. She’s never going to fill the Albert
Hall or be on tea-time telly. It’s a bit like I’m channelling some weird,
dethroned Egyptian empress.’

‘Why do
you say that?’

‘Because
that’s what I feel. She’s regal, bitter and enraged. If I hadn’t been
stone-cold sober when I went on stage I’d swear it was the rantings of a
drunken queen.’

‘Heavens.’

‘I’m
serious, Molly. I really don’t know what’s going on with me. It’s a bit like a
blind person suddenly being given the ability to paint amazing, disturbing
pictures. The most probable outcome is that she’ll disappear as suddenly as she
arrived.’

‘I’d
better come and see you sharpish, then.’

Simon
wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if Molly was slightly more comfortable with the
idea that his success might be short-lived. ‘Consider yourself at the top of my
guest list! I have this feeling that one day I’ll walk on stage and I’ll just
be dreary old me again. It’s a terrifying thought. I’ll retreat to my dressing
room in a hail of beer bottles and the compère will have to make an announcement:
“Miss Genita L’Warts has left the universe.”’

‘I
never, ever imagined you’d be a performer, Simon,’ said Molly, sipping her
champagne. ‘I don’t know why. I’m so excited for you.’

‘You
don’t mind, do you?’ He had to be sure he wasn’t treading on Molly’s toes by
taking to the stage. He couldn’t bear it to come between them.

Molly
put down her glass and looked aghast at her friend. ‘Mind? Darling, I think
it’s fantastic! I always knew you were a star but I thought it would be through
art or writing or politics.’ She picked up the leaflet and held it up to Simon.
‘This is fantastic, chuck. Seriously brilliant.’

‘I
guess I was just a bit worried that I was invading your territory in some way.’

‘Don’t
be daft,’ said Molly, with a laugh. ‘I’m a jobbing actress. I operate as part
of an ensemble. You are a product.’

‘Am I?’
asked Simon. ‘Is that good or bad?’

‘It’s
good. Very good,’ concluded Molly. ‘Now, let’s order —I’m starving.’

‘You are coming to see
Genita, aren’t you?’ demanded Simon, when he called on the Monday. ‘I’m at the
Black Cap on Friday, remember? And I’ve put three tickets on the guest list for
you, so no excuse.’

‘I’m
dying to see you,’ Molly said truthfully. ‘Of course we’ll be there.’

She had
decided to ask her actress friend Jane to come with her and Daniel to watch the
show. Jane had been out of work for so long it was debatable if she was still
an actress at all. As a consequence of this she was inclined to be a little
miserable, but Molly was fond of her. It had been at Jane’s flat that Molly had
found refuge after the Paddy débâcle and Jane, although she wasn’t a girl to go
in for relationships, had been kind and sympathetic. Another contributing
factor to Jane’s low spirits was her looks: she had what one can only call a
characterful face with straw-blonde hair and voluminous cheeks. Her figure was
pear-shaped and she dressed in ill-advised tight clothes that did her no
favours. It all made life as an actress challenging, in a profession full of
good-lookers. Her last job had been five years ago, for a BBC drama in which
she played a psychologically disturbed prisoner, mainly sitting in the
background, swaying.

Poor
Jane, thought Molly, she could do with a night out, especially since she got turned
down for that
Crime Watch
reconstruction job. It would cheer her up to
see Simon in action, and there would be scant opportunity for her to be too
intense or maudlin.

On the
night, Molly was full of anticipation and experiencing the odd sensation of
preparing to see Simon on stage. It was normally Simon who sat in the audience
dutifully watching his best friend in one show or another, and Molly was still
a little stunned to find they had swapped roles. Daniel had to go home after
work to shower and change, so she met Jane in Ruby in the Dust on Camden High
Street for a quick bite to eat before the show. Jane was quite perky. She’d had
a Tarot consultation a month before, she said, and the card reader had
announced that Jane had special healing powers that were being cruelly wasted,
so she was now doing a part-time course to hone and develop them. She had a
vision of her future, she said, where she worked in an alternative-medicine
clinic, curing the sick and giving hope to the terminally ill. (She added that
she had a particular affinity with animals — she had stroked a Staffordshire
bull terrier in Eltham High Street the other day and he had immediately stopped
limping.)

There
was certainly a new spring in Jane’s step, Molly conceded, although the quiver
in her voice remained.

‘What
is important,’ said Jane, seriously, ‘is that I rein myself in. I’m currently
learning to switch my powers off when they aren’t required. A trip on a bus or
the tube can be painful for me. I can very easily be overwhelmed by the
physical and mental malfunctions that surround me, you see. I was in John Lewis
the other day and I was quite sure the man in front of me had a brain tumour. I
wondered if I should I tell him.’

‘And
did you?’ asked Molly.

‘I
walked away and immediately locked eyes with a woman in the early stages of
emphysema. I just had to run out of the store and go home to meditate. I did
some long-distance healing for both of them and I’m pretty sure I cured the
emphysema. Mind you, it took it out of me. I slept for fourteen hours
afterwards.’ Jane looked exhausted just thinking about it.

‘It
sounds very draining. And acting? Any news there?’ asked Molly, hoping to steer
Jane back to common ground.

Jane
shook her head. ‘I can see why I thought I wanted to be an actress in the first
place,’ she said dismissively. ‘I wanted to draw people towards me, to
communicate with them and move them. But I didn’t understand that I was
searching for my place in the world. My acting aspirations were misplaced. Now
I have a proper function. I offer healing, not mere entertainment.’

‘Yes,’
said Molly, after a pause, aware that her own chosen profession was now
considered small fry. ‘I’m glad you’ve discovered your destiny. Shall we order?’

The
dinner that followed was something of a battle of wills. Molly wanted to keep
the conversation light and fun, while Jane’s new-found path in life seemed to
disallow anything frivolous. Molly told a few amusing Kit-Kat Cottage
anecdotes, but Jane only wanted to hear about Lilia’s bad joints so that she
could send forth some kinetic healing rays.

Molly
was mightily relieved when Daniel arrived, his dark curly hair still glistening
from the shower, wearing a dashing grey cashmere crew-neck and black jeans. He
looked particularly handsome by candlelight, she thought happily, watching a
soft vanilla-gold highlight flutter on his cheekbones and his strong, twitching
jaw. Daniel smelt of soap and deodorant and drank beer straight from the
bottle. He was fit and he knew it. He squeezed Molly’s hand under the table as
they listened to Jane’s earnest ramblings, and she could tell he was getting
impatient with her. When she launched on to another speech about human
suffering and physical frailties, he interrupted, ‘Give it a rest, will you,
Mother Teresa? We’re after a good night out. Lighten up!’ His voice was
reasonable but determined. ‘Have a beer, why don’t you?’

‘I’m
sorry if I’m boring you,’ said Jane, then she sniffed the air. ‘Do you have
suppressed anger? That can be very bad for you.’

‘For
you and all,’ muttered Daniel, and Molly decided they should make their way to
the Black Cap. A change of scene was called for. She saw now that it had been a
mistake to bring Jane and Daniel together and expect it to be a tranquil mix.
They were in very different moods and it was impossible to alternate her
responses to each of them successfully. She ended up being serious with Daniel
and playful with Jane, and soon both of them were morphing into one sulky
companion.

The
Black Cap was very busy, an assortment of young and older gay men five deep at
the crowded bar, but quite a few lesbians, too. There was a buzz of excitement
in the air and already people were gathering at the far end round the small
stage, staking out their patch, ready for Genita’s performance, even though
there was a good half-hour to go.

Molly
and Daniel had been there quite a few times before, attracted by the late-night
drinking on their way home from the West End and the vaguely amusing, if
old-fashioned, drag shows. Daniel always attracted admiring glances and even
the occasional drunken approach, but he was good-natured about it. He did his best
to indicate that he wasn’t gay by hanging his arm round Molly’s shoulders and
kissing her affectionately between sips of his drink.

‘More
than just the regulars in here tonight,’ he said, when he eventually returned
to the girls, clutching two bottles of Becks and an orange juice for Jane.

‘Rammed,
isn’t it?’ said Molly. ‘Do you think this is all for Simon?’ She looked at the
crowd, wondering if he really had this much pulling power.

‘Let’s
move down to the front a bit, shall we?’ said Jane. ‘I think there might be an
ingrowing toenail in the vicinity. And I sensed a painful expression of
self-hatred in someone standing very close to us.’

Molly
and Daniel perused their neighbours as if they were trying to spot a sniper.

‘It
might be that geezer over there,’ said Daniel, nodding towards a stooped man in
his fifties with a well-cut suit and tired eyes.

‘Isn’t
that Peter Mandelson?’ asked Jane, squinting.

‘Don’t
be silly,’ said Molly. ‘As if he’d come here on a Friday night.’

They
moved down and found themselves a good spot near the front of the stage.

Between
every song, the resident DJ announced that Miss Genita L’Warts would be
appearing live on stage very soon, and each time the crowd whooped and
hollered.

‘Simon’s
cracked it before he even comes on,’ said Daniel, impressed. ‘Good on him.’

Molly
smiled at him, admiring his generous spirit. Simon hadn’t always been as
pleasant as he might have been towards Daniel on the few occasions when they’d
met previously. She’d explained that Simon was very protective of her and
inclined to be territorial, and Daniel had said he quite understood and had no
problem with him. Nevertheless, it was good of him to come along, show his
support for Simon’s new venture and be so positive.

Jane
wasn’t saying much now, but had assumed a haughty air of melancholy while she
gazed about her at the throng.

‘At
least she’s shut up,’ said Daniel, quietly, into Molly’s ear as he nuzzled up
against her. ‘When’s Simon on?’

Molly
consulted her flyer. ‘It says ten o’clock. But it’s past that now and no sign
of anything happening.’

The
stage was still in darkness. Perhaps to build up the anticipation, the DJ kept
saying Genita would be on after the next track and then the next, until the
crowd were baying for her. When he did this trick for the fifth time some butch
lesbians started to chant, ‘We want Genita! We want Genita!’ The sentiment
spread through the now-packed pub like a Mexican wave until the offending music
could no longer be heard.

At
last, the spotlight wobbled into action on the red velvet-effect curtains and
the DJ finally announced that the moment they had all been waiting for had
arrived.

‘She’s
here, she’s queer, get out of her way!’ he screamed, above the whoops. ‘Are you
ready? Are you sure? Can you handle her? The patron saint of gay, lesbian,
bisexual and transgender folk is among us! Please go wild for the one, the only
MISS GENITA L’WARTS!’