The Boy I Love (36 page)

‘It has just not worked out. I am sorry, Henry, but we will give you your wages and hopefully there will be another opportunity to use you.’ Giles had no alternative but to play the
part himself.

It was also agreed that some of Sally’s dialogue in the Dumb Show would be cut. She was not surprised and set to work chopping and changing the script as subtly as she could. In the midst
of all the activity, Isabelle announced to Giles that she had to go to London for a medical issue and would be away for the night. It would mean she was not available for the second dress
rehearsal.

‘It is fucking unbelievable!’ Giles raged to Edward Graham. The only light in Giles’s life at the moment was his meetings with Teddie. They had arranged to have dinner in the
Queen’s Hotel in Manchester. It was rare for Lord Graham to allow himself to stay in such places, but being midweek it was relatively quiet and George Delaware, the owner, was very discreet
and made sure he chose the staff on duty who would deal with the room service. He just loved the fact that his hotel entertained a Lord and nothing was too much trouble. Discretion was very much
the order of the day with His Lordship, and George had been rather thrown when his son Eddie had tipped up. The first few times George had assumed the boy was with friends of a certain persuasion,
but when he had spent his first long weekend with a rather attractive young actor called Jeremy, George began to think he might have a problem with the father and son.

George had opened his club after his last stint in prison. He was well known to the Manchester police as a villain of long standing, but few people on either side of the fence knew George was
homosexual. Had anyone in the police known this before 1967 they would no doubt have added that felony to the list. Fortunately for George, the Sexual Offences Act was passed in 1967 and it was no
longer illegal to be a homosexual. However, George realized it would be many years before certain sections of society were ready to accept gay men. ‘Gay’ was a word that for many years
had suggested someone with a racy lifestyle. Slowly it became a more pleasant way of describing a man – or woman, for that matter – who was homosexual, which was such a clinical term.
George had spent the last twenty years defending his gay customers and yet at the same time promoting them. His club became a refuge in the late 1960s for men who could not ‘come out’
as it were. It was unbelievable that even now in 1982, men like Lord Graham had to hide their true sexuality. But the Queen’s Hotel had also become a leading light in gay clubs. Men from all
over the world would visit and stay in one of the elaborately decorated rooms. Nowadays the police regularly visited too, either for personal reasons or for information. George had retained his
ability to keep his ear to the ground. What he didn’t know about what went on in his city wasn’t worth knowing.

George’s latest campaign was to bring to the attention of the gay community a very dark and forbidding phenomenon that had first reared its ugly head in America last year. It was an
unknown disease which presented itself in the early stages as flu, but as the months and sometimes years went on, it developed and attacked the immune system, until the patient ultimately died. The
New York Times
had reported in July last year that there appeared to be a new form of illness which presented among gay men. There was a rush of young gay men turning up at hospitals in the
city of New York all with the same symptoms. They dubbed it the ‘gay cancer’.

George knew only too well how ignorance could cause panic, and the public always reacted before knowing the facts. He himself had witnessed an incident recently in a gay club in London where a
young man was eating in the restaurant and another customer called the manager and suggested there was a problem because the young man in question had lesions on his skin and could infect the rest
of the customers. It had been a very unpleasant situation and in the end the young guy was forced to leave. George had followed him out and they had gone for a drink, and the young man told George
his sorry tale. His name was Barry and he was twenty-three. He had been on a holiday in New York four years ago, and as is usual for a young guy, had spent many hours in the clubs. About two months
after he returned to England, he developed flu-like symptoms and went to his doctor, who basically just told him to take aspirin and hot drinks. Then two years later he noticed that his glands were
swollen and he kept getting mouth ulcers and night sweats. He was referred to a hospital and after several blood tests was told he had HIV or AIDS. There was no cure, the doctors informed him, and
they could not estimate how or when death would occur, except that research to date was indicating the disease attacked the immune system so he should be careful not to go anywhere near people with
infections of any sort. The boy was distraught. His family had thrown him out when they discovered he was gay. Other friends said he had brought it on himself for being a ‘poof’ and
would have nothing to do with him in case they caught it. He was in such a state he was talking about suicide.

George took Barry back to Manchester and put him to work in the hotel. He then sat down and found out as much as was possible about the disease so far. He quickly realized it was a deadly foe
and that there was going to be a huge outcry as more and more men and women died. He was appalled that the gay community were attacked for bringing it upon themselves, and it was only after hours
of reading reports and actually speaking to doctors in the USA, that George got the real facts, or as many as were available at the time. AIDS was the general term used to cover the illness, though
it was a much more complicated scenario involving the immune system. The disease was capable of infecting anyone, but because it entered the body through the blood it was passed on through sexual
encounters, or infected needles as used by drug addicts. Obviously those most at risk would appear to be gay men and addicts who used dirty needles.

George was now on a mission to educate the gay community. He started with his own staff and explained all he knew about the disease. He tried to impress on all his friends the need to wear
protection when having sex. This was not just another venereal disease: this was a death sentence. He watched over his customers like a shepherd with his flock. Sadly, and tragically, so many of
the younger guys just did not listen, and brushed off the advice as old men panicking. ‘It won’t happen to me,’ was the inevitable cri de coeur.

One man who was beginning to face up to his fate was Robert Johnson. George had known Robert for several years and they had once been lovers. Robert had contracted HIV three years ago and was
made very aware that his time was limited. He and George had spent many hours talking about his dilemma, and George had watched helplessly as his friend became more and more bitter and
disillusioned with life – or the life he had left.

Last year, Robert went to work at Crewe Theatre and began an affair with the director there called Giles Longfellow. The couple seemed well suited, and when Robert brought Giles to meet George
they had all got along very well. George had begged Robert to tell Giles about his illness but he refused, saying it would only mess things up for him. Robert seemed so much more positive about his
situation and was talking about going to London with Giles and becoming a director. George let his pleasure in seeing Robert feeling better take over his commonsense, which was to advise Robert to
come clean. But suddenly everything changed again. Robert turned up at the Queen’s one night in a terrible state. It was all over with Giles and he was heartbroken. George spent days with
Robert cajoling him into a better frame of mind. Slowly Robert responded, but he was never the same again. He remained withdrawn and watchful. He was cynical and aloof. He liked to stir things up
for people. Why should they be happy when his life was so fucked up, was how he described his motives to George.

Now another problem was looming on the horizon. Robert was back at Crewe, working as assistant director to Giles Longfellow, who was currently having an affair with Lord Graham – whose son
Eddie was also turning up at the Queen’s with a young actor based at Crewe. None of this boded well, and George was on the alert to pick up the pieces . . .

‘Shall we make the first night black tie?’ mused Giles, as he and Robert sat having a sandwich for lunch in his office. ‘It would make it a really special
occasion, the like of which has never been seen before in Crewe.’

‘I think that is pushing your luck, my dear,’ replied Robert. ‘How many men own a dinner-jacket these days? Why not just put “dress glamorous” and they can decide
for themselves? We tell them to come dressed in style for our Victorian music-hall shows, don’t we? The audience always love dressing up for that.’

‘Oh God, we have got that to contend with in two weeks’ time!’ exclaimed Giles. ‘I can’t believe the time goes so quickly.’

‘Except during our production of
Hamlet
,’ commented Robert, bringing Giles back down to earth with a horrible bump.

‘Christ, yes, we must lose another fifteen minutes, Robert. Have you got any suggestions? Actually, I have one: to cut down the sword-fight between Hamlet and Laertes, I do think it goes
on too long for that point in the play. We are nearing the home run and we should be speeding up the pace. I also feel that the boys need to pick up their cues in all those bitty scenes with
Fortinbras and stuff.’

‘Marvellous overview of the great play by our director,’ sneered Robert with a big dollop of sarcasm. ‘“Bitty scenes with Fortinbras and stuff.” What the fuck does
that
mean?’

Giles regarded Robert across the desk and sensed there was more to this outburst than appeared on the surface.

‘Is something wrong, Robert?’ he asked.

‘Where to start?’ the other man returned. ‘The production stinks, Giles, and it is
your
fault because you have taken your eye off the ball and spent too much time
shagging His Lordship.’

Giles finished chewing his sandwich, wiped his mouth on his paper serviette and took a sip of coffee. When he finally spoke, his voice was almost a whisper.

‘How
dare
you talk to me like that. Who the fuck do you think you are? You are only here because I felt sorry for you after everything that happened last year. You have no
qualifications to direct and certainly no right to talk to me as you do. What is your problem, Robert? You ponce around being patronizing to the actors most of the time, you nitpick at every
opportunity, and to be honest, your directorial skills are pretty shabby – and now you have the gall to blame me for mistakes in this production!’

Robert held his ground. ‘Yes, I do blame you, Giles. Who else is there to blame? I have done my bit, whether you like it or not, and as for my personality faults – well, tough, no
one is perfect. But you are the director at the end of the day. You cast the play, you agreed design, and you are the head of this whole caboodle. So yes, the buck rests with
you
.’

Giles absorbed the blows and contemplated his next move. He knew he had failed miserably to pull the production together, and he also knew that his emotional life had once again distracted him
from the job in hand. This was to have been his big chance. How ironic was it that, years ago, Teddie Graham had bailed him out of trouble so he could pursue his career once more, and now it was
Teddie who was the cause of the trouble. Robert knew too much about him for Giles not to acknowledge some of these facts, but it would make him weak, and Robert needed no encouragement to take
advantage of him in the vulnerable position he had put himself. He chose his words carefully.

‘I am truly sorry that you feel this way and maybe I have made mistakes, but now is not the time to upbraid me for them. We have two days to the first night, Robert – can we not work
together to put the show on, and then discuss our differences? I am assuming you will not want to work with me after this and do not see a future for the play in London?’ He looked
questioningly at Robert, who was still standing tense and straight-backed in front of his desk. Robert now relaxed and moved to the big wing-chair in the corner of the room and sat down slowly. He
took out his cigarettes and lit one, inhaling the blue curling smoke and holding it in his lungs for a moment before releasing the smoke in a thin stream through pursed lips.

‘Ah, now we come to the crux of the matter, Giles, my dear. If you are happy to admit mistakes so am I happy to admit lack of experience in the directorial stakes. You and I know I will
not get employed by anyone else after this, so we are stuck with each other. I have every intention of going to the West End with this production, and you and I will do everything in our power to
make that happen, won’t we?’ Robert took another drag of his cigarette and waited for Giles to answer.

‘Robert, is this a game of some sort? What are you trying to say? On the one hand you think I am useless as a director, yet on the other you are suggesting we can pull this off between us
and continue to work together. I really don’t see how that is going to happen. I have to be completely honest and say I am not sure I want to work with you any more after this.’