Beauties and the Beast (21 page)

Chapter Twenty Eight

Thornton watched the two failures make their hurried exits and he turned in triumph to the management team.

Lucy was smiling hugely and the girls were hugging each other in delight.

“Mr Thornton,” he said. “What can I say?”

“Try magnificent, or brilliant,” said Thornton, glowing in confidence. “Superb is also an adjective much used to describe my performance.”

Lucy laughed in delight. “Your wit is as sparkling as your delivery,” he said. “I fear the true Thornton superlative is yet to be created.”

“I take it you want me to star in your play?” said Thornton.

“It was unanimous,” said Lucy. “Mind you,” he turned his attention to the girls, “thanks to some inefficiencies, we have yet to complete casting.”

Thornton swore he saw the girls visibly shrink. “Who on earth thought those two cretins could share a stage with Belvedere Thornton?” he said.

“A now obvious mistake,” said Lucy. “Still, we have you. Mr Thornton, the role might have been written for you.”

Thornton remembered his glimpse of Brunio.

“It might well indeed,” he said, relishing the moment, about to exert his power once again. “But before I commit myself, I need to read the script.”

A frown crossed Lucy's brow, fleetingly. “But you are already committed, Mr Thornton,” he said.

Thornton gave a dramatically and impatient sigh. “Obviously my agent didn't explain things to you properly, but I'll make allowances this time. Just show me the script, explain my role.”

Lucy came closer to Thornton, who had moved closer to the edge of the stage. Angela and Diana followed. Thornton felt something, smelt something, something familiar and distant.

“Your role?” Lucy smiled. Thornton stepped back. The vampire teeth had returned. “Of course,” said the teeth, “
and
the run of play contract.”

Thornton pulled himself together. “I always get a run of play contract, with continuous fee increases and a percentage of the box office.”

Lucy became the New York impresario. He opened his arms wide. “No problem,” he said expansively. Thornton relaxed again.

“Excellent,” he said. “You can discus final terms with my management. Now,” his eyes gleamed, “where is that script?”

Diana moved languorously to the table. Thornton followed her with his eyes. She picked up a foolscap sized, leather covered book. It had been there, all the time. A smile graced his face. They lived in a world of computers and yet the script was leather bound. How quaint. How delightfully old fashioned.

He took the book from Angela and was instantly disappointed. The leather turned out to be cheap imitation, vinyl, in fact. Disdainfully he opened the covers. He glanced at the words, turned pages, and walked up and down the stage, enthralled. He mouthed words, speeches, for more than 20 minutes as his amused auditioners watched on.

Finally the actor took a deep breath and faced and faced them. “It reads like William Shakespeare,” he said. “And yet the words are so unfamiliar. The style is, so modern. The score could be from any modern musical, and yet. It is a Shakespeare play. I feel it.”

“We have any amount of talent on hand,” said Angela.

“Ah,” said Thornton, “So you've added the score to the original work. Good, good, it works, I've seen it done before.” he paused and looked Lucy directly in the eye. Brunio is the lead?”

Lucy sighed. “Indeed,” he said. “An heroic figure in the classic mould, a Michelangelo in armour.”

Thornton closed the book with a snap. “I am impressed,” he said.

Lucy nodded.

“You are right.” Thornton lost his reserve. “It is a marvellous part. When do we start?”

Diana smiled. Mocking, but Thornton did not see. “What about your contract for
Othello
?” she asked.

“As you said,” emitted Thornton, pompously, “contracts can always be negotiated. Such things are for managements and lawyers ...” He stepped close to Lucy. Excitement gleamed in his eyes and his voice dropped to its lowest register. “When do we begin?”

Lucy's eyes turned to slits. “Very soon, Mr Thornton, very soon,” he said softly.

“I shall create an immortal Brunio.”

It was then he realised what that familiar smell was - smoke. The place was on fire.

***

Mickey and Billy paused in front of the door.

“I can smell smoke,” warned Mickey.

Billy sniffed. “And me, let's get out of here.” He pulled at the handle. It was warm. The stuck was stuck. He jerked harder and then harder. Finally it gave. The two men shielded their eyes from the glare and the searing heat sucked the breath from their lungs.

“Holy Jesus,” cried Mickey. “The place is burning down. That must be a fire door. Shut the bloody thing.”

Then they heard the screams.

“There's somebody in there,” shouted Billy.

“Shut the bloody door,” screamed Mickey.

Billy stood immobile, his clothes began to smoke. Mickey made a mighty effort and pushed the singer out of the way before slamming the door shut. Even there, smoke began to seep through the timber.

“Quick,” yelled Mickey, “Back into the green room. The other door - it
must
be a way out.”

With the smoke getting thicker, they stumbled back into the Greenroom and slammed the door behind them.

Then they moved to the wooden door, searching, looking for a way.

Smoke began to billow under the Greenroom door.

“Christ,” yelled Billy. “They're going to burn us alive.”

Mickey looked frantically around him. Then he spotted the bar. “The corridor there,” he said. “That must lead to somewhere.” He raced off as flames began to lick through the Greenroom door and onto the carpet. Billy followed him and they dashed behind the servery.

They almost ran down the little man in white who was hurrying towards them.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” he said. “That is me, indeed it is, always being in the wrong place.”

Billy stared at the encroaching flames, now licking hotly at the walls and crackling with evil.

“Man, get us out of here,” The words were a plea, a prayer.

“That is why I am here,” said the strange little man. He pushed past them and walked towards the wooden door. “Follow me,” he commanded.

Stunned the two men watched as the man in white walked straight towards the flames. They crackling heat hissed and retreated. The man stopped. “Come,” he said. “Be not afraid.”

Reluctantly Mickey and Billy stepped forward in his footsteps; they felt the heat all around them. But miraculously, although the room was now an inferno, with white hot drips of polystyrene falling around them they were unharmed.

Billy saw his Fender, buckling in the heat. He groaned. His life was melting away. Mickey felt the same as he saw his battered old ukulele burst into flames.

“Oh man,” groaned Billy, heartbroken.

Mickey sighed. Life was hitting him hard again. “Se la vie,” he muttered.

The little man pushed at the door and it moved. Inwards! He smiled and walked through, beckoning the men. They followed hastily. The last thing saw before the door closed was a burning rafter crashing to the floor. The last thing they heard was constant screaming and evil laughter. The huge old door closed on the sounds and sights and the two men calmly took in their new surroundings.

They were in a garden. The air was clean, soft, and warm. A sweet smelling breeze drifted through.

Billy turned to look for the door and, as he knew it would be, it was gone.

“Man,” he said softly, “they're doing it again.”

Mickey wasn't so sure. His eyes glanced round the scene. This was no planet from outer space, this was... Elysian Fields. Birds, types he'd known all his life flitted and sang in the trees. A pathway led up a gentle slope to a huge mansion.

“And his mansion has many rooms,” he murmured. The man in white smiled.

Mickey knew then. It took Billy a little longer.

***

Thornton was surprised that no-one else noticed the smoke.

“Excuse me,” he said, as the smoke began to turn into flames at the rear of the stage. “I don't want to appear rude, but this place is on fire.”

Lucy's face broke into a wide grin. He had wolf's teeth but his face twisted and tortuously melded into the shape of a goat. “The fires of Hell,” Mr Thornton,” said Lucy and his voice hissed like bubbling tar.

Thornton stared uneasily. Angela then transformed into a hideous, stinking morass of animal fur and puss. “Come, Mr Thornton,” the mess sighed, “take me.”

Thornton stepped back, revolted, teetering dangerously on the edge of the stage. Diana's flesh suddenly pulsated and erupted into thousands of holes from which little demons; red horned, leapt, and cavorted over the bleeding flesh.

“I'm yours,” she said.

Thornton stepped further back and almost fell from the stage. It took a supreme effort, but he swivelled and regained his balance. He was facing the auditorium. It had become a mass of sulphurous smoke and white hot ash. Demons danced in the flames and tortured human forms screamed in agony. A flame seared up from the pit and hit Thornton full in the face. He screamed at the pain, the like of which he had never felt before. But there was no wound.

He turned to face his tormentors and saw the demon who raped him. This time there was no hearty grinding fear, simply acceptance.

He laughed. It was not hysteria, it was heart-felt. The irony of his situation appealed to his sense of theatre.

“I am dead and am in the depths of Hell,” he said.

Lucy belched flames. “You got it in one.” It was the voice of the New York impresario.

Thornton was up to the challenge.

“And I am here for eternity.”

The trio waited, suppurating, anxious.

“Then I must adapt,” said the actor, still gripping his script.

Thornton could feel the tension suddenly build in the nuclear heat. Thornton was in Hell, but he would still protect his career.

“The play,” he said.

“Yes,” roared Lucy. “The show must go on.”

“There will be an audience?”

“Every night, for every show in every year.”

Thornton glanced at his script and burst into laughter, which was almost as demonic as Lucy's. “I will indeed create an immortal Brunio.”

Lucy, Angela, and Diana screeched with laughter and at the bravado of the man. Thornton preened and felt his body changing.

But Lucy halted his laughter. “Not quite.” grated his voice. “The lead has already been filled. You will be his understudy. The third chorus boy on the left.”

Thornton, new demonic shape emerging, gaped. “My dear man, I'm Belvedere Thornton. Your joke is not appreciated.”

Angela regained her voluptuous beauty. “It is no joke.”

Diana returned to her devastating femininity. “Not at all,” she said.

Lucy was suddenly the suave and sophisticated producer. “Your contract is signed,” he said.

“A chorus boy for the run of the play?”

“For eternity.”

Thornton looked upwards. He saw the roof caving in on his head.

“A chorus boy for eternity, this really is Hell isn't it?”

The last thing he saw was the tableau of Angela, Diana, and Joshua Lucy laughing and chortling like schoolchildren as they stood, beautifully available, but so, so far out of reach.

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