Miss Wrong and Mr Right (30 page)

Suddenly Tuppence and her hair separated, she fell back clutching at her head which was completely bald, less some strings of wig glue! We all looked in shock between her, and the full head of hair attached to the fascinator I was still holding in my hand.

The camera crew could hardly contain their glee.

‘Oh my God. I’m sorry! Have you got...?’ I said.

‘You bitch! I have alopecia!’ she shrilled. She grabbed her award for Best Hair, swung it round and hit me on the head. Then everything went black.

I woke up in the back of an ambulance parked behind the Albert Hall. A short-haired St John’s Ambulance lady in her sixties was leaning over me with a handsome male paramedic who was shining a light in my eyes. Xander and Nicky were standing behind him. Nicky was holding a brown McDonald’s paper bag.

‘Can you tell me your name please?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Natalie Love,’ I said.
 

‘And your surname?’ he asked.

‘No. Love is my surname.’

‘Oh, I thought you were calling me love,’ he grinned. He had a cute gap in his teeth. I went to sit up but he gently put his hand on my shoulder. Pain shot down the side of my face.

‘Please lie still for now. Miss Love, you hit your head?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘She was attacked by Tuppence Halfpenny, who was brandishing a
Femme Fatale
award!’ said Xander excitedly. ‘It was the award for Best Hair, but it turns out she’s bald!’
 

Under the harsh lights in the ambulance it all sounded ridiculous.

‘You were attacked?’ asked the St John Ambulance lady nervously.
 

‘No… no, it’s fine,’ I said waving it away dismissively.

‘Oh Nat, here,’ said Nicky handing over the brown McDonald’s bag.

‘Nothing to eat until you’ve been to A&E for a scan,’ said the paramedic.

‘No, these are her diamonds,’ explained Nicky.

‘We really scoured the toilet floor, we’re pretty certain that’s all of them,’ said Xander. The paramedic took the bag and looked inside. He looked up in disbelief.

‘Why does she keep diamonds in a McDonald’s bag?’ he asked.

‘That was the only bag we could find, I got it from one of the stewards inside,’ said Xander.

‘My necklace broke… when I hit my head,’ I said.

‘Right…’ said the paramedic. He was now looking at me as if I was a mad binge drinker.
 

‘You missed the best bit!’ cried Xander. ‘Dean Gaffney burst in to the toilets desperate to be featured on
Totally Tuppence: Life of Burlesque Legend
,
but Brendan followed saying he was too Z-list for the show… Then, Dean Gaffney gave Brendan a bog wash!’

We all stared at Xander.

‘You know what a bog wash is? When someone sticks your head down the loo and flushes!’

‘Yes, we know what a bog wash is,’ I said.

‘Well, it was so funny, and Brendan deserved it,’ said Xander.

‘It was pretty spectacular,’ agreed Nicky.

Nicky came with me in the ambulance to the hospital. I was given an X-ray and had to lie still as it whirred and clicked and hummed. I was then wheeled back to a cubicle whilst the doctors pored over the results.

‘I’m really embarrassed, getting into a scrap like that,’ I said finally to Nicky who was sitting patiently in the corner with a magazine.

‘She said some pretty horrible things to deserve it,’ said Nicky.

‘I didn’t know she has to wear a wig… I still feel cruel.’

‘You didn’t know… Jeez the things people hide. It feels a bit like it’s all getting out of control,’ said Nicky.

‘There’s something I have to tell you…’ I said. ‘You know when you asked me if anything was going on with Ryan?’
 

Nicky put down her magazine and stared at me.
 

‘Go on.’

‘Well, I had a stupid one night stand. I slept with Ryan when he came to my sister’s christening… Of course it was a mistake,’ I added.

‘You think?’ said Nicky.

‘Do you know how horrible it is to go to family gatherings single? I didn’t mean for it to happen. We had such a good time, and then he had some of my mother’s trifle, which was packed with sherry.’

‘So you’re the reason he’s drinking?’ said Nicky.

‘The reason he is drinking is because he’s an alcoholic! Which I didn’t know about… Then today, he proposed to me.’

‘Ryan Harrison
proposed
to you?’ said Nicky disbelieving. ‘Well, I suppose he is an alcoholic.’

‘Thanks a lot,’ I said.

‘Why would you lie Nat, and not tell me?’

‘Because, at the time I thought it should just remain private. I don’t know who you sleep with.’

‘Excuse me. I sleep with my husband and no one else,’ said Nicky.

‘What does that mean? I’m sorry if I haven’t got a husband.’

‘You’ve gone down in my estimation Natalie. I’ve given up so much to start this theatre with you. Ryan Harrison was a big deal for us, we’ve worked so hard to get here, and you jeopardise it by jumping into bed with him when you’re feeling blue at a family gathering.’

‘It was my Gran who invited him…’ I shrilled, sounding like a kid.

‘Did she lift him on top of you too?’ said Nicky. She stood, rolled up the magazine and tried to stuff it into her tiny clutch bag.

‘I don’t think it’s going to fit,’ I said quietly. Nicky threw it on the bed.

‘I’m going home to get some sleep. There are plenty of people here who can look after you,’ she snapped.

‘Nicky!’

‘No, Natalie. It feels like you’re losing it lately, all this crazy stuff isn’t your style, and it certainly isn’t mine.’

She slipped through the curtains and was gone.

A moment later a doctor came in with my X-ray. He slipped it into one of those light boxes and pointed out the inner workings of my head.

‘You had a nasty blow, but there is no lasting damage, fracture, or swelling on the brain,’ he said pointing here and there with the end of a biro.
 

‘You seem to know more about what’s going on in my head than I do,’ I said.
 

‘We’d like to keep you in overnight, merely as a precaution,’ said the doctor flicking off the light box and taking the X-ray. When he’d gone I saw that it was almost two in the morning. I lay back but my head was now throbbing. A nurse came in and gave me some painkillers, and luckily I fell asleep.

Boardroom drama

I woke up at seven the next morning when a nurse came through the curtains and gave me more painkillers. My face was in agony as I swallowed them down.

‘Where’s the loo please?’ I asked groggily. She pointed me to a door opposite. I picked up my bags and padded over in my bare feet. I had a shock when I looked in the mirror. One side of my forehead and cheek were puffed up and swollen. What’s worse was that I had a black bruise which clearly read FAT.

‘Oh my god, you are kidding,’ I said gingerly touching the bruise and wincing as pain shot through my face. It wasn’t ironic enough being hit in the face by an award for Best Hair by someone who had no hair, but fate had decided that the only letters of FEMME FATALE which would imprint on my face were FAT.

I came back out of the toilets and, keeping my head down, escaped into my little cubicle. I couldn’t get comfy on the bed in my dress with the fine beads. I saw the nurse going past and asked for a gown. She returned ten minutes later with a neatly folded white hospital gown.

‘You’ve been placed under observation until tonight, then the doctor will see if he wants to discharge you,’ she explained.

‘Tonight? It’s not even nine in the morning. I’ve got work,’ I said.

‘You had a nasty bump, you’re under observation for twenty-four hours,’ she said and left closing the curtains. I was pulling on the hospital gown, and trying to get it to fasten at the back, when my phone rang. It was Xander.

‘Hello Natalie, are you okay?’ he said.

‘Yes, and no,’ I said. ‘I’m still in hospital.’

‘Oh…’ he said. There was a pause. ‘So you don’t think you’ll be in today?’

‘No. What is it Xander?’

‘Natalie, I’m not sure what’s going on, but the board of directors are having a meeting here this morning. I’ve just had to prepare the agenda.’

He paused again.

‘What is it Xander?’ I asked.

‘Okay, well I’ll have to be quick. Ryan was found in the doorway of the theatre this morning.’

‘Dead!?’

‘No! No! Not dead, just drunk and looking a bit like a tramp. He’s back at his hotel now, sleeping it off. Val found him when she came to open up… The Board of Directors are having a meeting to discuss firing him.’

‘They can’t fire him.’ I said. ‘I make that decision.’

‘There’s the other thing… I’m not supposed to tell you this, but they’ve had me put on the agenda that they want to discuss your position as theatre manager and artistic director.’

My blood went cold. ‘Who asked you to do this?’

‘The email I got came from the head of the board, Morag McKye…’

I thought about Nicky’s reaction last night, but I didn’t say anything.

‘Right. So this meeting in my theatre that I’ve not been told about, what time is it?’ I asked.

‘In about forty minutes.’

‘Thank you Xander. Don’t tell them I know.’

I hung up and hurriedly put my dress back on. I passed the nurse as I was coming out of the curtain.

‘Where are you going?’ she said.

‘Sorry, I have to go,’ I said, and hurried past her.
 

I was in UCL Hospital on Warren Street, only a short cab ride into Soho, but the roads were jammed. A huge square of Warren Street had been dug up and traffic was at a standstill. I crossed the road and darted into the tube station. It took ages to get down onto the platform, and then the train seemed to crawl through the three stops to Leicester Square, pausing at each stop for what seemed like ages. By the time I was in the lift at Leicester Square, clanking up to street level, I was feeling terrible and getting looks.

I came out of the station, savouring the cool morning sunshine, and ran for it, across Leicester Square and through to Soho, making it to the theatre with about a minute to spare. I went inside, through the box office and up the stairs, stopping for a moment to look at the picture of me and Kim Cattrall… I gulped and carried on up to the top floor, barging into the conference room.
 

At the long table were sat the full twelve members of the board. The four I was best acquainted with were William, Larry, Craig, and Morag.
 

Morag’s presence worried me the most. She’s a tiny woman with cruel beady eyes. When I first started working in London’s Theatreland, I found a job as assistant to her husband, Leonard McKye, who was a successful theatrical agent. He was a kind, brilliant man, and became a mentor to me, even coming on board as an investor in the Raven Street theatre. When he died suddenly two years ago, Morag had taken his place on our board, and she hated me.
 

They all exchanged surprised glances at me barging in. Right behind followed Nicky, who looked equally surprised.

‘Did you know about this?’ I said.

‘I’ve just arrived and been told about this meeting. Nat? I thought you were in hospital?’ said Nicky.

‘Hospital?’ said William.
 

‘Natalie, it seems, was involved in a wee ruckus last night at the Albert Hall,’ said Morag in her clipped Scottish tones. ’One of several incidents it seems.’

‘So everyone decided to meet behind my back?’ I said.
 

Xander sat in the corner, frantically minuting everything.

‘I called this meeting… and you weren’t invited,’ said Morag.
 

‘I wasn’t invited?’ I said in disbelief. ‘I’ve devoted the past five years to this place. I found it, put forward the proposal to renovate, and I’ve delivered healthy returns on all your investments thus far… So if you want to throw me out, or fire me, then good luck, because no one can run this venue like I can.’

The board stared between me and Morag. She pulled out a pair of dark spectacles from a tartan case, gave them a polish and slipped them on.

‘Natalie, we’re all a wee bit worried you’ve rather
overexposed
the theatre,’ she said peering over her glasses. ‘Hiring this American television personality to perform Shakespeare.’

‘He’s an actor,’ I said.

‘But he’s
American
.
’

‘He’s bankable, Morag,’ said Nicky.

‘I for one can’t
bear
to hear Americans recite Shakespeare,’ said Morag. ‘They tend to chew over the dialogue like a tough piece of brisket.’

‘That’s your main problem? You don’t like to hear Americans recite Shakespeare? Do you know for certain how people used to recite Shakespeare when he was alive, Morag?’ I asked.
 

‘It’s there in the script dearie,’ said Morag looking around at the board with wry amusement. I went on.
 

‘Some people believe Shakespearian plays were spoken in an accent much the same as our American friends’, others think that old English was virtually impenetrable to our ears. Did you see the purist Shakespeare season Mark Rylance did over at the Globe in 2005?’

‘I did,’ said William. Craig nodded. Kyle, who had been silent in his shiny suit, also nodded, and crossed his legs nervously.
 

‘What were you doing Morag?’ I said. ‘No doubt stood at Hadrian’s Wall pelting some English ramblers with clootie dumplings.’

‘How dare you!’ said Morag.

‘No!’ I shouted slamming my hand on the conference table. ‘How dare, YOU. As well as giving this theatre huge press exposure, I’ve got schools coming in to watch this play. Some of the kids will be seeing theatre for the first time. Most will be seeing Shakespeare for the first time.’

‘What are you now Natalie? A UN ambassador?’ said Morag. I suddenly remembered why I did this job, and it filled me with a fire I’d lost over the last couple of weeks.

‘No, I’m someone who gives a shit Morag.
Macbeth
is on the school syllabus. Seeing someone like Ryan Harrison, who they can identify with, might help them understand the play, and pass their exams. I failed my exams and it has haunted me ever since… As we build up this theatre we’re going to have to make tough choices, to cast celebrities or do media stunts. But always, my aim is to stage vibrant groundbreaking theatre, and to bring people in who might not have seen a play before. To make this the best fucking theatre in London!’