Ghost of a Dream (18 page)

Happy stood in the middle of the vast, sprawling auditorium and felt very alone and very vulnerable. He didn’t like to work on his own; he preferred being part of
a team, if only because it meant there would always be someone there for him to hide behind. But JC had put him in charge of the actors, and Happy had always had a lot of respect for JC. Though, of course, he had never let JC even suspect that because JC would have taken advantage. So Happy quietly decided that he would do his job and do it well. Because he needed someone to be proud of him since he couldn’t manage it for himself. He sighed deeply, did his best to square his shoulders in a convincing fashion, and followed Benjamin and Elizabeth up the central aisle to the great swing doors at the top.

The actors swept through the swing doors, still talking, without even glancing back to see if Happy was following. He was used to that, too. He sometimes wondered wistfully if people forgot about him when he wasn’t actually making a nuisance of himself. Which might be why he did it so often. He paused again at the swing doors, for one last look out over the auditorium. He didn’t dare open his mind for fear of being swamped and overwhelmed by all the prowling memories and emotions of past audiences, like in the lobby…but he was quite definitely picking up something. A strong feeling of being watched, observed, by unseen and unfriendly eyes. Happy stared back defiantly, and hurried through the swing doors after Benjamin and Elizabeth.

The actors led him down a corridor or two, then took a sharp left turn into actors’ backstage territory. One whole corridor had been given over to a long row of dressing-rooms, stretching away into the brightly lit distance.
Happy gave the fierce fluorescent lighting a long, suspicious look; but since Benjamin and Elizabeth didn’t say anything, he didn’t either. On both sides of the corridor, the doors to all the dressing-rooms stood open, falling back into the rooms, like open invitations to enter. Happy slammed to a halt and looked thoughtfully at the open doors. The two actors realised Happy wasn’t with them, stopped, and looked expectantly back at him as he tried to decide whether the doors’ standing open was a good sign or not. On the whole, he rather thought not because that was what he thought about most things. But after all, why would all the doors be open…

He made Benjamin and Elizabeth stay where they were and stand still, while he slowly and very cautiously peered into the first dressing-room. He eased past the open door without actually touching it (noticing absently that it didn’t have a star on it), and looked around the room—brightly lit by a single hanging light bulb. The door was open, the light was on, but nobody was home…And then Happy almost jumped out of his skin when Benjamin and Elizabeth got impatient and barged into the dressing-room after him.

“I told you to stay put!” said Happy, doing his best to sound angry, as JC would have.

Elizabeth looked down her nose at him. “I have been shouted at and verbally abused by the greatest directors in the industry, darling, and I didn’t take any notice of them, either.”

“It’s true,” Benjamin said solemnly. “She didn’t…”

Happy decided to let that one go. He wasn’t much of a one for taking orders, himself. The three of them stood
together, looking around. Though there wasn’t much to look at, in the dressing-room. A bare table, pushed up against the left-hand wall, with a mirror fixed to the wall above the table. A few chairs and an empty costume rack. No window, no comforts, only faded linoleum on the uneven floor.

“Is this it?” said Happy. “This is all you get, in a dressing-room? Bit basic, isn’t it?”

Benjamin and Elizabeth both smiled the same knowing smile.

“Theatres don’t believe in spoiling their actors. Might give them ideas above their station,” said Benjamin.

“It’s expected that you customise your room, according to your own needs and wishes,” said Elizabeth. “Put up your own photos, messages of support, good reviews. Flowers. Whatever you need to feel good.”

“And anything lucky,” said Benjamin. “Because actors are always great ones for superstitions, on and off stage. Because in this business you need all the good luck you can buy, beg, borrow, and steal.”

“Exactly,” said Elizabeth. “Given all the things that can and will go wrong, often out of sheer cussedness, on any given night, on even the meanest of productions, it is us against the gods, darling, and don’t you ever forget it. In the theatre, lucky charms are ammunition. I’ve known dressing-rooms where you couldn’t move for holy medals, support gonks, and rabbits’ feet.”

“I never did get that one,” said Happy. “What’s lucky about a rabbit’s foot? I mean, it didn’t do the rabbit any good, did it?” He glanced at the door, to make sure it was
still open and his escape route was still clear, before turning back to the actors. “Do all the dressing-rooms look the same?”

“Pretty much,” said Benjamin. “Stars get one to themselves, of course. Supporting roles double up; and everyone else gets crammed into whatever rooms are left. On some of the bigger Shakespearean productions, I’ve seen lesser roles and walk-ons filling up the corridor and hanging off the fire-escape. We actors do like to say
We’re all in it together
, but some of us are always going to be deeper in it than others. If you think the theatre is a democracy, try asking the leading lady if you can use her mirror to do your make-up. Or sit down even for a moment on the leading man’s chair. You’ll hear language that would embarrass a sailor on shore leave trying to get his money back from the tattoo parlour.”

“We guard our privileges jealously,” Elizabeth agreed. “Because we have to work so bloody hard to get them.”

“But we’re all good companions once the play’s under way,” said Benjamin. “Because we’re all equal when we’re standing in the wings, waiting for the curtains to open. When it’s only you and your talent and the lines you’ve beaten into your head versus an audience that will eat you alive if you weaken for one moment. It’s not a cast and an audience then; it’s Christians and Lions. That’s where camaraderie and fellowship come in. Because it’s always going to be us versus them.”

“And afterwards, in the theatre bar or the nearest pub, or right here in the dressing-rooms if we finish late, it’s party time till you drop!” Elizabeth said gleefully. “All
for one and one for all; and do your best to respect everyone else in the morning. If these walls could talk, you’d have to be over eighteen to get in here.”

“Elizabeth!” said Benjamin. “Look!”

Happy’s first thought was to check whether the door was still open and whether anyone was in his way if he decided to leave in a hurry. The door was still open, so he looked back at Benjamin. He was staring at the mirror on the wall and pointing at it with an unsteady hand. Happy and Elizabeth followed his gaze, to a single photo wedged into the left-hand frame of the mirror.

“That photo wasn’t there a moment ago,” Elizabeth said steadily. “Not when we first came in here…”

“Are you sure?” said Happy.

“It’s not something you can be wrong about!” said Benjamin. “You said it yourself: no frills or fancies. If there had been a photo on that mirror, I would have noticed it. No-one is supposed to have been back here in twenty years. The renovators didn’t get this far before they all quit.”

They all stood awkwardly before the mirror, maintaining a respectful distance while still leaning in to get a better look at what was in the photo. Elizabeth finally reached out a hand to touch the photo, but Happy quickly stopped her.

“Best not,” he said. “Might be real, might not; might even be booby-trapped.”

“What?” Benjamin said sharply. “Why would anyone do that?”

“Ghosts like to play tricks on people,” said Happy. “You don’t get to be a restless spirit by being sane and
well-adjusted. Most ghosts run on bad feelings, or an undying need for revenge on a world that’s moved on and left them behind. So, when in doubt, keep your hands to yourself.”

They all studied the photo carefully. A standard eight-by-ten, with slightly faded colours, showing a group of actors filling the photo from side to side and from top to bottom. Three rows of five people, cramming themselves in to get everyone in the shot. Smiling and laughing and full of life. A much younger Benjamin and Elizabeth were right down in the front row, grinning broadly, positively glowing with happiness and good cheer. They looked even younger than twenty years allowed, as though life had not yet got its hooks into them. They looked…brighter, sharper, less weighed down by the world. All of the actors in the photo were wearing old-fashioned clothes, costumes from the 1920s. And a hell of a lot of stage make-up, which hopefully hadn’t looked quite so…dramatic, under stage lighting.

“Costumes and make-up would suggest the photo was taken right after we’d come off stage,” said Benjamin. “If we’d been about to go back on again, we wouldn’t have been so happy and relaxed. No, this looks more like a celebration…”

“So many familiar faces,” said Elizabeth. “And I can’t put a name to half of them…”

“This has got to be from when we first started here,” said Benjamin. “But what play was it…?”

In the photo, the young Benjamin and Elizabeth were sitting on either side of a handsome, striking young man their own age. They both had their arms across his
shoulders. They gave every appearance of being the closest of friends, like they belonged together, and always would.

“Who…is that?” said Happy, pointing without touching.

“That…is Alistair Gravel,” said Elizabeth.

She and Benjamin looked at each other again. There was a lot going on in that look, a connection Happy could see but not understand. He did see a new sadness in their faces, and a heavy tiredness in their bodies. Elizabeth turned away first, to look at the photo again with an entirely fake bright smile.

“I know this photo,” she said. “I’ve seen it before. But what play was it?”

“Got it!” said Benjamin. “That’s from
Dear Brutus
, the J. M. Barrie play. Excellent piece: funny, but very touching, and very thoughtful…”

“I don’t know it,” said Happy.

“You wouldn’t,” said Elizabeth. “People only remember Barrie for
Peter Pan
these days, but he was a popular playwright, back in his day. And
Dear Brutus
was a marvellous piece. All about…whatever decisions you make, the real you will always come out.”

“Yes…” said Benjamin. “I remember.”

Happy looked carefully at the young man sitting between the young Benjamin and the young Elizabeth. He was definitely their age, mid twenties or so; but he was more handsome than Benjamin and more glamorous than Elizabeth; and his natural charisma easily eclipsed theirs, even in an old photo. His grin was wide and charming
and effortless; the kind most actors have to practice in front of a mirror for hours, before they can risk going on a chat show. But you could tell this look hadn’t been practiced; this was the real thing. He looked as though he had the whole world at his feet. Of all the people in that photo, he was the one you’d naturally point to as most likely to succeed.

Not Benjamin or Elizabeth.

“What was his name again?” said Happy.

“Alistair Gravel,” said Elizabeth, and the fondness and sadness in her voice were very clear in the small room. “We did a lot of good work together.”

“He was the best of us,” said Benjamin. “A good friend and a great actor.”

Fondness and sadness and…regret, in his voice, thought Happy.

“He was the original lead in our play,” said Benjamin. “He would have been magnificent…Everyone thought so. And then he died—suddenly.”

“An accident,” said Elizabeth. “A stupid accident. So tragic.”

Her voice trailed away. They all looked at the photo, at the bright young things. Full of talent and promise, not knowing what lay ahead of them. And one by one, Benjamin and Elizabeth called back names to fit the faces, helping each other out when necessary, so no-one would be forgotten and left out. So many of them were dead now: illness, drugs, suicide. Actors tended to dramatic deaths as well as dramatic lives, it seemed. And of those who did survive, only a few had gone on to any kind of success.

The theatre is a harsh mistress who doesn’t care how many hearts she breaks or how much you love her.

Judy gave up acting to be a singer. Phil gave it all up to work in the family business. Andy had one big hit on television, then didn’t work for years because they said he was type-cast. And poor old Rob…he got tired of banging his head against a brick wall, trying to get noticed, for one chance to show everyone how talented he was…and disappeared back into the everyday world.

“We were all going to see our names in lights, in the West End,” said Benjamin. “Not our real names, of course.”

Happy looked at them both. “You mean…you’re not really Benjamin Darke and Elizabeth de Fries?”

“Well, hardly, darling,” said Elizabeth. “I was christened Elizabeth Flook, and he was Bennie Darren. You can’t put names like that up in lights.”

“Though Alistair really was Alistair Gravel,” said Benjamin. “The lucky bastard…”

As Elizabeth looked from face to face in the photo, she looked older than ever. “We were so close, then, all of us, and such good friends. But…you lose touch with people so easily as you move from job to job, and city to city, from theatre to television to film…and back again.”