‘Pamela . . .!’ he boomed slowly into the microphone. ‘You’ve sailed the seven seas. You’ve raised five children. You’ve reached the top of your career in three different fields. But you’re LOSING . . . to a COOKIE!’ It was so shocking, it actually worked. For a while . . .
I sought some proper psychotherapy, but found I couldn’t talk with my therapist about the Congo. I still can’t. The things I saw there, the stories I heard – I feel I can’t burden anyone else with them. The abuse and cruelty – especially the particular style of it – is so extreme that it seems abusive just to discuss it. And then there’s the sickening feeling that no one really cares. The Western world worries about Greece and saving tigers, while in that vast, war-ravaged, land-locked country in Africa the unspeakable is occurring and no one seems to give a toss. As a matter of fact, many people have much to gain by keeping things the way they are in the Congo – so it can be exploited for its precious metals and mineral wealth.
In the midst of all this, I got an email from the Strictly people. Would I take part in the show in the coming autumn season? My first thought was, ‘I’m not a celebrity – why on Earth are they asking me?’ But they seemed serious, and I began reasoning with myself that, even though it was entirely contrary to who I was now and could be very risky professionally, what I truly needed at that moment was some lightness in my life, some frivolity. So I continued to talk with the production team, discussing dates and parameters.
It was spring, 2010, Daisy was graduating from college and Billy and I were enormously proud of her. At her graduation ceremony she gave a fantastic, articulate speech, and it was a truly wonderful afternoon. Afterwards, I walked out into the car park, and had my scheduled phone meeting with Moira Ross, the Strictly producer. I decided during that conversation that I had nothing to lose but my sadness. ‘I love dancing,’ I said. ‘I’m in.’
‘You what!’ thundered Billy. ‘Pamela, beware. What are you thinking?’
‘Well, what’s the worst that could happen?’ I replied. ‘I’ll be kicked out after the first week, but it would still be fun for a bit.’
‘You’ll make a total arse of yourself,’ hinted Billy. ‘You can’t trust those reality show pricks.’
I ignored him and the other people around me who very understandably tried to persuade me that making such a move would be foolish, even dangerous, for my professional reputation. Perhaps I was listening to a deep intuitive sense that it would be OK. ‘To be honest,’ I confided in Sharon, ‘I feel as if I’ve got very little to lose. I just . . . need something that’s all-consuming, amusing, and physically challenging.’
‘Of course, darling,’ she nodded. ‘Go have yourself some fun!’
‘Have you had a do-it-yourself lobotomy?’ inquired my pal Kathy Lette.
Chapter Fourteen
STRICTLY LOBOTOMIZED
I was still a big fat lump. Not a good way to approach the land of short, spangly mini dresses, cut-out midriffs, and sequined unitards. But I was continuing my gym workouts with Chad, my unrelentingly and savage trainer, so at least I was getting a bit fitter. And there was an Indian dance class taught in my local gym that I’d started to enjoy – Sarina Jain’s Masala Bhangra – a combination of traditional, high-energy, north Indian folk dancing with Bollywood-style dance. Frankly, you wouldn’t have wanted to witness me attempting those difficult, alien moves, but it was fun and kept my body in motion.
Anyway, just the thought of having to appear on TV in Strictly Come Dancing was enough to keep me off the pain au chocolat. I began to lose weight. It was actually nice to focus on my body in a positive way again, after so long. I had forgotten how good it makes me feel to bend and sway to music, to be lost in the rhythm. That had been sorely missing from my life, and when it came back I greeted it warmly, enthusiastically – like a precious old friend.
But my first day on Strictly was a disaster. It was the day when the entire cast of pro dancers met the celebrities for the first time. First of all, it was very uncomfortable being described as a ‘celebrity’. I no longer thought of myself as one, and hadn’t done so for many years. We all gathered with the production team in a large room and I absolutely froze. Since I lived in New York, I had no idea who anyone was, well, except for Patsy Kensit, Felicity Kendal and Paul Daniels, each of whom I’d met briefly before. I could only tell the pros from the celebrities by their muscle tone! But everyone else seemed to know each other – or at least they were doing that irksome thing of pretending they did. ‘Showbiz personalities’, as Billy calls them, create their own fake cocoon of camaraderie, in which it’s all very jolly banter and first-name basis, even if you’ve never met. I simply couldn’t – wouldn’t – do that any more. I sat in a corner and watched with horror as people executed painfully obvious attempts to command the room’s attention. ‘Oh my Lord,’ I said to myself. ‘What have I let myself in for?’
But worse was to come. We began to rehearse for the launch show and, in the middle of the group number, I severely strained my back. I was in agony but, terrified I’d have to leave the show after only one day, I didn’t tell anyone. ‘Well, that’s it!’ I chided myself. ‘You’re going to have to stop already. What an embarrassment! You should have listened to Billy.’ At lunchtime, the only way I could relieve that intense back pain was to sit very still in an upright chair. I secretly stuck some ice in the baggie I’d put my liquids in for my flight from New York, and wedged it against my back. I tried to camouflage my slow walk. At the end of the day I went to my hotel, iced the pain again, and tried to stretch out the muscles. I was a mess.
Heaven knows how I managed to continue. It was very stressful and I was tormented by how fit and accomplished – not to mention young – most of the other contestants were. Felicity was roughly my age, but she was fantastically thin, with gorgeous legs. And Kara Tointon was beautiful, thin, young AND a good dancer. Hmmph. As for the pro dancers – I had never seen so many beautiful, taut young bodies together in one room. Karen Bruce choreographed the group number with a lively sense of humour. Since ‘the celebs’ as – most embarrassingly – we were collectively known, did not know the names of any dance steps yet, she invented hilarious descriptions. ‘Noo-noo wipe!’ She’d yell when it was time to climb astride one of the boys’ knees and do a sweeping back bend while he tried to stop you falling on your arse. ‘Well, Pamela,’ I chided myself. ‘You wanted frivolity – and here it is, in its full, head-spinning glory!’
But there was way more to the show than dancing. I cringed when I was asked to do the promotional videotape segments and panicked about the press interviews. Oh, oh – I hadn’t really thought that part of it through. In America I had been cushioned against the vicissitudes of press attention – and no one cared about me anyway – so it was a shock to be catapulted suddenly into the limelight again. Being on Strictly was going to mean I’d have to be witty and charming to people I didn’t know or trust. Perhaps I should have just started social dancing – did I really have to be going the whole hog?
But, the wardrobe fittings were worth it all! Genius designer Su Judd took one look at me and, ever so kindly, dreamed up some forgiving ensembles. I had the feeling that most cast and crew saw me as someone whose time on Strictly would be extremely short-lived but, encouragingly, Su threw together some costume ideas for several weeks ahead, including an outfit for Halloween, which was a ball gown in the shape of a pumpkin. Neither of us could possibly have predicted that, by the end of October, I’d be jiving in a short, sequined mini with flames all around it!
Once again, you were an outsider, experiencing a completely new culture . . .
No kidding. I mean, how often in life generally are you expected to wear a microphone battery pack in your bra! The only way to even yourself up was to pad the other cup and pray you didn’t look like Dolly Parton gone wrong. Those costumes looked fabulous but they were always so complicated to get in and out of. Damn! I always seemed to need to pee just before I went on and had to struggle
out of the whole thing then back in again before I missed my entrance. And then there was the ubiquitous spray tan; since I’m from a sunny land down under – far, far away from Essex – I’d barely heard of such madness. And spray tans could be hazardous; fellow contestant Scott Maslen failed to contain both of his balls inside the protective paper g-string they give you and ended up with a two-tone sack!
Until the live launch show, none of us knew who our partners were going to be, although there was a lot of speculation, largely based on height. I hoped I’d get Robin Windsor – known as ‘Bobby’ to his friends. I was partnered with him a bit in the first group number and loved dancing with him. He was kind and accommodating, exactly what I needed. I also thought Anton du Beke would be a hoot, and Vincent Simone was very funny in his cod-seductive, ‘Italian stallion’ way. Brendon Cole was a New Zealander and very down to earth. I imagined we’d get on. Frankly, they were all adorable. As for James Jordan, I thought he was a serious hunk, with that edge of darkness that always gets me – and everyone said he was a fantastic teacher. But he stayed well away from me in those first days. In any case, I thought he’d be paired with Patsy Kensit. Jammy cow.
When Sir Bruce Forsyth – live on air in our launch show – announced that James was to be my partner, I could do no less than leap into his arms. Literally. My legs wrapped around his waist. Seriously, Pamela? A proper psychologist, a professor? Sexogenarian and mother of five? Was that really a good idea? Not to mention the potential back injury for my partner-to-be. What is WRONG with me?
And that wasn’t the worst thing I did to him. When James turned up in New York to train me for two weeks prior to the start of the show, I met him at the airport on crutches. ‘I broke my foot,’ I lied. James was unimpressed by my practical joke. ‘Then why the “f” did I get on the plane?’ ‘Oh, oh,’ I thought. ‘So that’s how it’s going to be.’ Our first dance was to be the slow ballroom waltz. We started to train in a Manhattan studio with a large pillar in exactly the right place to seriously obstruct our routine. There is a charming training video of me cracking my head on it and James laughing. He turned out to be a very hard task master, but good fun as well. The two of us began to bond and I could tell he was relieved that I actually knew my left foot from my right. We met up with Billy at lunchtimes. James was a fan of Billy, but my husband had a stern word of warning about my new paramour: ‘Pamela, never trust a man who wears such tight pants . . .’
When our first waltz routine was nearly ready, Billy came to watch. He settled in on a wooden bench and James started the music – the romantically lyrical ‘If I Ain’t Got You’ by Alicia Keys. Within thirty seconds my husband started smirking. Next, he was shaking. He tried to cover his mouth with his hands, but pretty soon he was laughing openly and uncontrollably. I think it was the opening that got him, which was rather dramatic – overly so, Billy thought, with hands touching sensuously and soulful looks between us. But when James and I finally performed that waltz in the Strictly studio for a live audience – not to mention the fifteen million viewers at home – it went down a treat and earned high praise from the judges. ‘You can’t win Strictly Come Dancing week one,’ said Len, ‘what you can do is make a fantastic impression on everyone and that’s what you’ve just done.’ I was thrilled – actually really moved, almost to tears. No one had ever said such nice things about the way my body moved. In my lovely jade dress, gorgeous hair by Neil and Bryony’s best make-up efforts – I felt beautiful for the first time in years. And something personally important happened to me during that waltz. I had been terrified before going out there but when we started, I felt utterly elated. Being in James’s arms, whirling around to such romantic music performed by the brilliant David Arch band, transported me so that I forgot about the audience and became lost in the dance. It was utterly magical, ethereal. I couldn’t wait for next week and the passion of the salsa – if I made it through to next week, that was.
As you talk about the Strictly experience, Pamela, you sound alive, optimistic, passionate . . . Dancing connected you with a part of you that you’d lost for years . . .
Yes. It was enlightening in many ways. But there was also the fact that being in the public eye again was a necessary part of the process – well, if I wanted to keep dancing with James and learning new dances I had to somehow manage to stay in the show – but at this point in my life that was very difficult. I was well aware that I had far fewer fans than any of the other contestants. Well, my career in popular TV had been so many years ago – would anyone even remember? But gradually, people who watched the show at home began to notice and support me. I’m not sure exactly why. Perhaps it was my age, the fact that this wasn’t a career move for me – and, of course, James taught me very well so I was able to prove myself as a real contender. It was such a nice feeling to be appreciated. We relied on votes to get us through to the next rounds and I was terribly grateful that they were forthcoming. It was weird – I had an unusual sense that people liked me and wanted me to do well. That was different. And incredibly . . . healing.
One thing that particularly comes to mind about that experience is that it was most fortunate no one had expectations that you would do well – that must have been powerfully helpful . . .
Yes, absolutely. Well, at least that was true at first. But now I realize why it all became so much harder as I went on – suddenly people started expecting me to be good and get high scores every week, which meant it was very painful when I didn’t.
How were you managing your anxiety at this point?
Well, it was strange . . . Other contestants were terrified to go out and dance live in front of all those people, and I’m not saying I wasn’t just as scared – when that music started at the beginning I’d always feel like throwing up. But, after all the dangers I’d faced in my life thus far – including my most recent experience in the Congo – I was equipped to put it into perspective. ‘Pamela,’ I would say to myself, ‘what’s the worst that could happen out there? No one’s going to point an AK-47 at you!’
And your partnership was essentially a positive one?
It definitely was in the ways that counted. I suppose I was a little in love with James. At least in lust. Well, he was the catalyst for amazing growth in me – not just into something of a dancer, but from a sad woman into an excited, vital one. I certainly fantasized about him – well, do you blame me? Every devotee of Strictly is a little in love with him. But that wasn’t easy. Professional dancers are used to physical closeness. They are comfortable with shaking hands with a person one minute, then locking loins the next. But that is extremely challenging for the rest of us, and all Strictly ‘celebs’ struggle with it.
Unearned access to intimate knowledge of another person’s body is a discombobulating thing . . .
Yes!
And the process of Strictly – facing extreme challenges under terrifying conditions together – creates a special type of bond that resembles the ‘falling in love’ process . . .
Absolutely! People get very confused about that. No wonder there have been . . . ‘incidents’.
Unfortunately, my passion for James was unconsummated. Oh, don’t shake your head like that – I’m just telling you like it was. Billy knows I ‘liked’ him. Just because a person is happily married doesn’t mean they don’t notice – and occasionally have feelings about – other people. You’d have to be sexually dead otherwise. I know, James has a gorgeous, adored wife to whom I believe he is faithful. But it was hard to deal with the constant physical proximity to such a perfect – not to mention flirtatious – specimen, and it lasted for around six months. For the first time ever, I regretted my high sex drive. ‘A shag would be nice,’ I complained one lunchtime. The crew gasped, and then guffawed. ‘I’ll buy you a vibrator,’ he grinned. ‘What, to add to my collection?’ I sniffed. It was good to be able to exchange banter with someone on my own, edgy level.
As a dance partnership, we were good together. James was tough with me –
sometimes too much so, I felt at the time, especially when I was exhausted – but I tolerated it and truly appreciated how much I learned from him – and how fast. In turn, he let me know he appreciated my efforts. ‘You always give me one hundred per cent,’ he would say. That was important to me, that he noticed. And I understood the way he operated. There was so little time to learn each different dance and create a new routine, so treating me with kid gloves would have been an unaffordable luxury. Oh yes, we did well. I’m particularly proud of our coolly passionate rumba, our savage paso doble, our cheeky salsa, our brazenly ‘showbiz’ quickstep and our highly athletic Charleston (my girls Scarlett and Cara turned up in the audience for that, and wondered if they’d have to dash out and administer CPR!). Then there was our Blackpool triumph with our American Smooth – heaven knows how we managed to pull off those lifts. I mean, James was strong but, even after all that dance training, I was definitely no feather!
But people noticed how much weight I was losing. At first I needed major undergarment support, and careful draping of my most unsightly parts – bingo wings, bulging tummy and saggy knees, for example. But gradually I began to notice lovely surprises, like suddenly I was comfortable in a pair of shorts – that hadn’t happened for thirty years! I loved my new form. ‘Body by James!’ I crowed, and adored him all the more for helping me to feel so good about myself. After my salsa (yes, the one where I had a serious teeter after failing to recover properly from a floor spin), the clip appeared on YouTube, with all kinds of comments by men half my age: ‘I’m only twenty-six,’ said one, ‘but I’d shag her!’ Oh, yeah! That’s what I’m talking about. Silly me for not understanding how the world works before – you throw on a low-cut red dress, twirl and show your legs, and overnight you’re a MILF.
The Varnished Untruth Page 28