Tiger Ragtime (15 page)

‘What do you think of her costume?’ Stan questioned evasively. ‘It was my idea to go for white.’

Aled eyed the mid-thigh-length, figure-hugging, beaded leather tunic. ‘It makes her skin glow.’

‘Doesn’t it? She’ll make a terrific Julie La Verne in Show Boat. The part could have been written for her,’ Stan enthused. ‘I’ll have a word with my backers as soon as I return to London.’

‘Miss King won’t be available.’

‘Because she’ll be headlining in your club?’ Stan questioned.

‘Precisely.’

‘Have you asked her?’

‘Not yet.’

‘There isn’t a singer or actress who’ll turn down an opportunity to work for me the West End to stay in the provinces,’ Stan declared authoritatively.

‘You won’t be able to top my offer,’ Aled warned. ‘From the West End she could go anywhere – radio, films, Hollywood even.’

‘And if she doesn’t get an offer after she’s worked in the West End? You’ll put her on tour?’ Aled reminded Stan what he had said about provincial landladies refusing to accommodate coloured artistes.

‘She could stay in London. There are enough theatres outside of the West End to keep her busy and the landladies in the suburbs are nothing if not cosmopolitan.’

‘You mean they only look at the contents of an artiste’s wallet, not their skin colour.’ Aled shook his head. ‘I have two trump cards.’

‘And they are?’

‘Her relatives. It was obvious from the way that her uncles were talking about her when they arrived at the theatre tonight, that Judy King is a member of a closeknit family.’

‘Everyone has to grow up and leave their family,’ Stan dismissed this. ‘What’s the second?’

‘Tiger Bay,’ Aled declared. ‘It’s one of the few areas on this earth where no one gives a damn about nationality, colour, or religion. That was proved in the foyer of this theatre tonight. I’ve travelled around and I’ve never seen so many people of different origin stand shoulder to shoulder as I did here this evening. The Bay coupled with her family will be too much for Judy King to give up, especially if a fixed annual income is thrown in, as opposed to an uncertain weekly wage. Sorry, Stan,’ Aled didn’t look the slightest bit apologetic, ‘Judy King is mine.’

‘Bet you a tenner she isn’t,’ Stan wagered.

‘Make it fifty and you’re on.’

‘I’ll buy you a glass of champagne out of the proceeds as a consolation prize.’

‘That’s one drink I’ll never see.’ Aled looked down at Judy. She’d taken centre stage in preparation to sing her ‘Pagan Love Song’ solo.

‘You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?’

‘I only wager on certainties.’ Aled glanced at the stalls beneath them. Pastor Holsten was sitting between a coloured boy and the girl he’d seen wearing the same outfit as Judy’s at the carnival. When he’d approached her group outside the theatre, she’d stared at him as though she’d seen a ghost, which probably meant she knew Harry Evans. Another couple of hours and he’d find out whether or not his guess was correct – and, if it was, just how friendly she was with his half-brother.

‘Judy King’s number may have finished, but there’s ten minutes to go to the intermission,’ Stan protested when Aled left his seat after Judy had taken her third bow.

Aled opened the door at the back of the box. ‘I need to make arrangements.’

‘What kind of arrangements?’ Stan asked suspiciously.

‘For refreshments to be delivered to Miss King’s party.’ Aled walked down the corridor and stairs to the kiosk on the ground floor. Tea, ice cream, and biscuits for the King adults, sweets, orange juice, and ice cream for the King children, he decided – and he had a telephone call to make. To the Windsor Hotel.

Chapter Eight

‘Five encores and two standing ovations. I’ve never seen anything like it in Wales. The savages have finally learned to appreciate true artistry.’ The actress who was playing Peter Pan pulled off her cap and shook her hair free after the final curtain had fallen.

‘Darling, they were applauding the star, not the child dangling on the wire,’ Jeremy Dupois, who was playing the dual role of Mr Darling and Captain Hook, drawled nonchalantly.

‘And who was that?’ the middle-aged actress who had slapped four coats of greasepaint on to her face so she could play the youthful Wendy demanded.

Jeremy adopted a lecturing tone as if he were the professor and she the idiot child. ‘There’s only ever one star in any production, darling, and it’s never the ageing junior lead on the slide down.’

‘
Peter Pan
is an ensemble effort,’ ‘Wendy’ stressed.

‘The hell it is,’ ‘Peter’ snapped. ‘The play is
Peter
Pan
. And I’m Peter.’

‘I couldn’t agree with you more, darling, there’s no such thing as an ensemble.’ Jeremy smiled sweetly at ‘Peter’. ‘The audience came to see the name above the title on the posters, not the immature nobody pretending to be a puppet on strings. And in case you haven’t looked, there’s only one name above
Peter Pan
on the door, and that’s Jeremy Dupois.’

‘If you’re the star, Jeremy darling, go and twinkle, preferably elsewhere,’ Lennie Lane the roly-poly actor playing Smee bit back smartly.

‘Quick with the repartee, aren’t you, Lennie? It’s a pity you haven’t the talent to back up the stroke of miscasting that landed you a supporting role,’ Jeremy sniped.

‘Make the most of your twinkling, Jeremy, it’s waning like a dying Tinkerbell, only in your case Props won’t be able to switch you back on,’ Lennie retorted.

‘Bitchiness won’t bring your career back, Lennie, not that you ever had much of one outside of your imagination. And if anyone should be looking at Tinkerbell it should be you, because that’s where you’ll be in a year or two: manipulating little bells and balls of lights in Props. That’s if you manage to stay off the pies and beer and can get in the props box. It would be a tight squeeze now.’ Jeremy tossed his head in the air and stalked off as regally as his close fitting Mr Darling costume allowed him to.

‘Better a Props than a washed-up old ham,’ Lennie called after him. He made a few remarkably realistic pig snorts, followed by even more realistic squealing.

Judy watched and listened in amazement. Lennie Lane had been a leading West End romantic lead before his weight had ballooned to Fatty Arbuckle proportions. He’d also been kind to her in rehearsals. As a result, the venom in his voice took her breath away. She’d seen the odd outburst of spitefulness in auditions, and even come across rivalry that had bordered on acrimonious when the Bute Street Blues Band had played the same event as other bands, like the carnival, but she had never witnessed such open and vitriolic hostility between performers before.

‘My pets, my darlings, please.’ Hands fluttering, the director walked out from the wings as the fire curtain came down. ‘No squabbling and no upsetting Jeremy, I won’t allow it. Carry on and I won’t take you out for that celebratory dinner I’ve booked in the Windsor Hotel.’

‘Dinner?’ It was the first Judy had heard of it.

The director turned scarlet. ‘Sorry, pet, principals only. Management can’t run to treating everyone.’

‘The chorus are going.’ Lennie crossed his podgy arms across his chest and eyed the director defiantly.

‘Principal players only,’ the director repeated. ‘Must dash, impresario and backers are waiting to be entertained.’

‘Sorry, Judy. I tried, even if I didn’t get anywhere,’ Lennie apologised.

‘We were all angry when we saw the way your family were treated,’ Mandy, the head chorus girl, commiserated. Too many performers had watched Judy’s relatives being escorted through the backstage corridors to their boxes for management to keep it quiet.

‘You’re the best performer I’ve seen on stage here for a long time, Miss King,’ the orchestra leader complimented her when he joined them from the pit.

‘Thank you,’ Judy said sincerely. ‘I’ve certainly had a night I’ll never forget.’

‘Hurry up, my pets, you have to change quickly, the table’s booked for half past ten, if we’re one minute late they won’t serve us.’ The director returned and drew Judy aside. ‘You do understand why we couldn’t invite you, don’t you, darling?’

Judy noticed that he’d waited until most of her fellow performers had returned to their dressing rooms before waylaying her. Deciding that important as her career was, she couldn’t allow the slight to her family to pass unnoticed, she said, ‘After seeing the way you pulled the curtains halfway around the boxes I reserved for my guests so they couldn’t be seen from most of the auditorium, yes, I understand perfectly well.’

‘Judy, come quickly.’ Mandy beckoned her forward.

‘You’ve never seen anything like our dressing room.’

‘Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss King.’ Glad of an opportunity to escape, the director dashed off.

Judy walked down the corridor to the large dressing room she was sharing with the chorus girls. The door was open, and every flat surface was covered with huge baskets and enormous vases of red and gold roses.

‘Some girls are popular,’ Judy smiled.

‘Some girls, huh,’ one of the older chorus girls sniped. ‘They’re all for you.’

‘They can’t be.’

Stunned, Judy looked from one display to another. She knew her uncles couldn’t possibly have afforded to buy such expensive bouquets and she’d pretended she hadn’t seen the small basket of violets Edyth had hidden in the stockroom of the shop.

‘The florist said they’re all from the same man. He spent an absolute fortune. Here’s the card.’ Mandy handed it to her.

Judy opened the small envelope and read the name at the bottom of the card. ‘There must be a mistake. I don’t know an Aled James.’

‘He obviously knows you.’ Mandy sniffed the nearest rose. ‘Scented too, and they smell heavenly.’

‘Perhaps he’s seen you coming in and out of the theatre and admired you from afar,’ one of the younger girls said, sighing romantically.

Judy read the message.

Congratulations on a magnificent debut performance. I would be delighted if you, your family and friends would be my dinner guests at the Windsor Hotel this evening. I have a professional proposition I wish to put to you and your guardians.

Aled James

Mandy looked over Judy’s shoulder and read the card. “‘A professional proposition.” And he’s invited your uncles, so he can’t be thinking of selling you into slavery. I’m not surprised. After the performance you gave tonight, you deserve to be picked up by a director or producer or at the very least a talent spotter. Ooh!’ she gasped. ‘Perhaps he’s from Binky Beaumont.’

‘Or Mr Charles Cochrane,’ one of the others said excitedly.

‘I bet it’s radio.’ The youngest chorus girl had aspirations to be heard all over the country. ‘Your voice is incredible, the rest of us sound like squawking crows in comparison.’

‘Or Hollywood …’

‘You’ll sail across the Atlantic on the
Queen Mary
and make films with Gary Cooper …’

‘He may buy you out of your contract here …’

‘It’s more likely to be all-singing, all-dancing talkies with Al Jolson than Westerns with Gary Cooper …’

‘If he’s a scout for Binky Beaumont it will be the West End. A musical like
That’s a Good Girl
with Noel Coward …’

‘Or you’ll be a Rockette in New York’s Radio City …’

Judy’s head began to spin as much from the noise the girls were making as the ideas they were floating. She struggled out of her tight white leather Tiger Lily outfit, removed the beaded band from around her forehead and ran her fingers through her hair. As all the chairs were taken, she crouched behind one of the girls, peered into the mirror, opened her pot of cold cream, slapped it on her face and wiped off her stage make-up with a couple of balls of cotton wool.

When she’d finished cleaning her face and hands with the cream, she slipped on the plain black satin evening dress and peep-toe sandals she’d packed for the family party her aunts had organised in her Uncle Jed’s terraced house. A dab of powder to tone down the shine on her nose, a spot of lipstick on her mouth, a quick comb through to smooth her shingled hair back in place and she was ready.

‘You’re very plain for the Windsor,’ Mandy said critically.

‘I’m not sure I’m going. It’s up to Uncle Jed whether we accept the invitation or not,’ Judy replied cautiously.

‘Your dress is fine, but it needs jazzing up. Here.’ Mandy opened Judy’s hand and pressed something into it.

Judy stared down at a pair of sapphire and gold earrings and a sapphire and gold pendant. ‘I can’t possibly wear these.’

‘Yes, you can, give them back to me tomorrow.’ Mandy lowered her voice. ‘First rule I learned backstage is never, never, look poverty-stricken. Present a high-class image and you’ll get whatever you ask for, especially from impresarios – and aristocrats.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘My older sister not only snared but married a real live lord. And not a poverty-stricken one either. He has a castle in Scotland, a flat in London, and a yacht in the South of France.’

‘Honest?’ the chorus girls gasped.

‘Where do you think I got jewels like these? She gave them to me at Christmas. But we have to call her “your ladyship” whenever she deigns to call on us in our terraced back-to-back in Cwmtwrch. Mind you,’ Mandy’s mouth twitched suspiciously, and Judy wasn’t sure whether she was being serious or not, ‘her husband is seventy-two to her twenty-four. Here, let me fasten these for you.’ She slipped the chain around Judy’s neck and hooked the safety catch while Judy pushed the earrings into her ears. ‘You need scent. Try this, it’s called “White Linen.”’ She sprinkled it liberally over Judy’s neck, hair and ears.

‘Why are you being so kind?’ Judy asked.

‘Because your family had a rotten deal from management tonight. And because I was just like you when I was your age. Full of hopes and dreams. I only got this job on sufferance. I know, and management knows, I’m too old for this lark. Next show I’ll be doing, I’ll be backstage looking after the costumes.’

‘You’re a fantastic dancer …’

‘And people’s memories of me will be kinder if I hang up my tap and ballet shoes now.’ Mandy opened the door, pushed Judy out and whispered, ‘Good luck.’

‘Thank you.’ Judy turned and barged into the show’s producer. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Peterson …’

‘Never mind that,’ he winced and rubbed his ankle where Judy had kicked him. ‘I’ve been talking to the director. There’s been a mistake. Of course you’re invited to the cast dinner at the Windsor.’

‘I’m afraid Miss King is otherwise engaged, Stan.’ Aled strode down the corridor, flanked by Aiden and Freddie. ‘Your uncles and friends have accepted my invitation. Regrettably one of your aunts won’t be joining us, because she is taking your cousins home.’

‘Judy, you have to take at least one bunch with you.’ Mandy reappeared with the largest bouquet from the dressing room and handed it to her.

‘I knew the colours would suit you.’ Aled offered Judy his arm. ‘If you’ll allow me to escort you to the stage door, Miss King, you can join your party. I am going on ahead to the Windsor to finalise a few details. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Stan.’

‘You’re welcome to join us as well, Aled,’ Stan offered.

‘I’ve made other arrangements.’ Aled winked at Stan, tipped his hat to the gawping girls and walked Judy down the corridor before she had time to do more than shout a hurried, ‘Goodnight’.

The Windsor Hotel was within half a mile of the house where Judy had been born, but as far as she and her family were concerned it may as well have been on a different continent. It represented another world to the one they inhabited. If work had been plentiful in Tiger Bay, Judy might have aspired to scrub the floors, sweep the stairs, dust the rooms and change the beds within the Windsor’s mock-Georgian façade. But she had never dreamed that she’d ever be invited to dine within its cream and gold dining room.

That she knew what went on inside the Windsor was down to her uncles’ friendship with the waiters and chambermaids who worked there. From their stories, she had pictured the hotel as a haven of gilded opulence where people with more money than she could imagine lived, and lived well, on mythical foods like lobster, prawns, champagne and smoked salmon. Whenever the off-duty staff mentioned the Windsor, or the wealthy, famous, and celebrated clientele they served, it was always in hushed, reverential tones, as if the patrons were as infinitely above and beyond the residents who lived in the backstreets as angels from cockroaches.

Jed helped Judy and the rest of the women from the charabanc but when they approached the entrance, he, Ron, Tony, Judy’s two aunts, and Moody hung back diffidently, unlike Edyth, Helga, and Micah, who forged confidently ahead.

The breath caught in Judy’s throat when she walked through the doors the porters held open for them. She looked around and instantly felt that the hotel had been designed and furnished to make interlopers – she regarded herself as one  ̶ feel inferior.

The carpets were so thick the heels of their shoes sank into them. The attendants who took their coats and spirited them away did so silently, yet managed to convey disapproval at the quality. The walls were clad in marble and studded with mirrors that glittered with the reflected lights of shimmering chandeliers. Amongst so much luxury their images seemed to flit across the glass as fleeting and transient as ghosts.

They were shown into a dining room that on first glance appeared to stretch into infinity. When Judy looked again, she realised that its walls were also mirrored and reflected table upon table set with starched damask linen, gleaming silverware and crystal that sparkled like diamonds. Even the napkins, folded into ‘slippers’, reminded her of the lessons her grandmother had given her on setting a table for the crache. The young Pearl King had acquired the skill half a century before, while working her way up from kitchen to parlour maid in a grand house in Loudoun Square.