Every Night's a Bullfight

by John Gardner

  ‘Another thing.’ He was already pulling on a fresh shirt as she reached the door.

  ‘Yes?’ She desperately tried to regain some of her lost poise. She was confused, knowing that, in spite of the delicious post-orgasmic throb, she had been humiliated, her role as she had planned it had been reversed. In reality what she had wanted from Joe Thomas had been unctuous and gratifying appreciation: a sexual Te Deum.

  ‘Just, if you happen to pass by again, Janice honey, wear underwear eh?’

  ‘I thought...It’s going out of fashion.’

  ‘Not in my circles, kid. Ladies wear underwear. Maybe it’s because when I was small my ma and pa went without food to see my sisters decently dressed. Anyhow, I like the old-fashioned unwrapping game, so remember.’

  Her hand clutched at the door handle.

  ‘And let’s live in peace and harmony, eh?’ Joe laughed and began to snap his fingers to the beat coming from the tape machine.

  The crowd had not thinned down at all by the time he left the bedroom. If anything there were more people than before.

  Cigarette in one hand and drink in the other, he came out like a boxer spoiling for a fight. The same old greeting and spontaneous murmur of approval gurgled to meet him. Shit, he thought, I might as well have a tape made and play it in here every night. That way I might get rich.

  As he moved slowly among them, grinning and acknowledging, Joe let his eyes scan the crowd. He used a carefully-devised search pattern that he had perfected through the years. He liked to know who was around, invited or uninvited; who were free loading and, not the least important, who was not around.

  Janice and her husband had left. His grin broadened. That was what the Janices of this world needed and deserved. The genuine thing could happen at leisure, later, with one of the four who had offered themselves and had been brought up by Tommy for that purpose.

  Now Tommy was at his elbow.

  ‘I’ve got Douglas Silver over here.’

  Joe nodded and allowed himself to be steered over to the young looking man with long black hair, nervously smoking at the bar.

  ‘Hi there, Douglas baby, nice to see you again.’

  Douglas was nervous. The whole scene jarred with him. The people were not really of his world: half of them the garishly extrovert side of show-biz, the other half hangers-on. An hour had passed since his arrival and conversation was difficult. He wanted to keep his head clear so three Martinis were enough, and he had just witnessed the beginning of an unpleasant public brawl between a young blonde and her slightly drunk, overblown, husband. In some ways Douglas was appalled to see the way in which trouble had been averted by having them hustled out of the suite.

  When Joe came out the atmosphere was equally nasty, a mixture of adoration and blatant sycophancy: the whole unhealthy and based almost completely on the emotions.

  Douglas wondered if he had made a terrible error of judgment. He cooled his thoughts by facing the fact that Joe Thomas was not likely to agree to his proposition anyway.

  Douglas stretched out his hand to greet the tall man.

  ‘Hallo Joe. Great show. Really great.’

  ‘Yea, I’m pretty fabulous.’ Joe grinned, speaking as though he meant it. ‘Well come on man, tell me what you been doing? What’s your scene?’

  Douglas made a quick intro, a précis explanation of the Shireston Festival.

  ‘That sounds healthy.’

  ‘Well it’s not Stratford, but it can be pretty big. I wanted to talk to you about it.’

  ‘To me? Is it money? You want a hand-out? Or for me to do a benefit maybe?’

  ‘No, for Christ’s sake Joe, nothing like that.’

  ‘Well, come on man, give.’

  ‘Can we talk somewhere privately?’

  ‘Ah, shit to that, let’s talk here, there’s fun here.’ He waved away a couple who were bearing down on them. ‘Over here.’ Leading Douglas to a corner far away from the bar. Smiley was close behind them and, as they sat down on a short beige settee, Joe turned to him. ‘See that Mr. Silver and I ain’t disturbed: right?’

  Smiley nodded and took up a post several feet away.

  For a moment, Joe was distracted, looking hard at someone across the room. It gave Douglas a chance to make a quick observation of the man now that he was off-stage with the true personality emerging.

  Outwardly there were the trappings of wealthy success, hell they were all around anyway, but he admired the intelligence with which Thomas presented himself. A simple glance at him and you saw a big slim man dressed in white shirt and pants. Look closer. The shirt was silk and there was probably some hand stitching in there somewhere. The chunky gold cufflinks could have come from any cheap store, but get right down to it and the work could not have been done by anybody but a master craftsman. There were other things, the broad alligator belt, the rings on his fingers and the calf that shod him, or the intricate design on the medallion hanging from a thin gold chain around his neck.

  ‘Sorry baby, I got carried away. You want to look at the piece over there. Tits like riot helmets.’ Joe was back with him. ‘So tell me about this Shireston Festival and the Shakespeare bit. Something I ain’t never done, the Shakespeare bit.’ He giggled, the giggle turning into a low tempo guffaw. ‘Me doing Shakespeare. A gas.’

  ‘Sorry you find it funny, Joe.’

  ‘Hu?’ His face assumed a mask.

  ‘I was going to ask if you would play some Shakespeare for me.’

  It took a couple of seconds for it to sink in. ‘Oh yea. Yea. A great gimmick. Good thinking buddy. Forget it and let’s stay pals. You couldn’t afford me anyhow.’

  ‘I’m sorry Joe. Really sorry, because with your talent I think we could have produced something memorable.’

  ‘Come on. I’m an out of proportion ugly black bastard who sings and dances and does the other schtik really well. What did you have in mind for me? That I should play Hamlet?’

  ‘No. Othello.’

  The pause was terrifying. For a minute, Douglas thought Thomas was going to hit him. Then—.

  ‘You’re on the level aren’t you? You must be nuts, baby. Me? Othello? Now Doug, if I was an actor, just if I was, even then, would I make an Othello? Man, I saw Robeson play it. With his voice and stature he only just made it. I saw Sir Laurence as well, mind you I was the only guy in the whole world who didn’t like that. Othello needs dignity, height, authority. That one was like a Jamaican drummer, man, and I’ve got nothing against Jamaican drummers.’

  Douglas nodded. There was hope. Joe Thomas was no fool.

  ‘Now just think hard,’ Joe continued. ‘Get that picture in your mind of me, the pug ugly spade, walking on and squalking Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors.’ He did it in a Jerry Lewis voice. ‘A laugh a line.’

  ‘I’ve had that picture in my mind for some time and I don’t think it would be a laugh a line. You see, Joe, I believe that yours is one of the unique talents. I could be wrong, but I think that you’re capable of giving the role everything it needs. You’re capable because of your talent, and because of the way you’ve used it so far. All right, so you’re ugly. But who says a guy like you cannot have dignity and authority? You’ve got it already.’ He let it slide home.

  Slowly, Joe nodded.

  ‘Christ, Joe, you give out both of those qualities every time you walk out in front of an audience.’

  ‘Ah.’ He flapped a hand and made a drinking motion towards Smiley who gave the signal to Munro at the bar. ‘Forget it Doug. Like I said, you couldn’t afford me anyhow; and my voice, sure I’ve done a few movies, but that doesn’t equip me for things like this.’

  The drinks arrived, Douglas became conscious that the whole background to their conversation had been filled in by Joe’s voice, swinging and singing in stereo. One of the speakers was embedded in the wall above them.

  ‘You really mean what you said just now?’

  ‘That you could do it?’

  ‘Yea, that I could do
it. Or have you got another angle, Doug pally?’

  Douglas let a smile spread slowly. ‘I’ve got several other angles, Joe. As well as you playing Othello I’m going to do Romeo and Juliet with all Juliet’s folks as uppity black people.’

  He waited for the reaction. It came out with a splutter. ‘Hey, man, that’s great. You got a place for me in there?’

  ‘If we came to some agreement I might ask you to play Juliet’s poppa, old Capulet.’

  ‘I can see it all. Yo come right in heah Juliet gel, ‘way from that white trash or ah’ll tan yo hide.’ He gave a little giggle them leaned forward, serious again, putting a hand en Douglas Silver’s knee. ‘Say it again, you really think I could get away with it, hu?’

  Douglas shook his head. ‘No, not get away with it. You could do it. We don’t know each other very well, Joe, but I should imagine that you’re pretty disciplined when it comes to work. This would mean self-discipline like you’ve never known. It would mean leaning hard on the director. Putting all your trust in me and working twenty hours a day. It would mean being part of a company, not just being Joe Thomas the glitter man, the one on top. It would mean something.’

  Joe laughed. ‘Who’s playing the chick? Desdemona?’

  ‘I hope it’ll be Jennifer Frost.’

  ‘Now. There’s a nice lady. I could...’ Realization crossed his face. ‘Oh sure, you’re married to Jen Frost aren’t you? Well that figures.’ He nodded, seriously. ‘How long does this set of charades go on for?’

  ‘April to September’

  Thomas gave a sour laugh. ‘You mean you’d want me to give up everything else: movies, clubs, everything, for six months?’

  ‘More than six months. Rehearsals for Othello will have to begin in the first week of January. And let’s face it Joe, if you’re going to do the thing at all, you’re going to need some expert coaching before you even step into a rehearsal room with actors who’ve played Shakespeare for most of their working lives. It’s a whole new scene. That’s why I thought you’d be interested. I felt that the challenge...’

  ‘Yea.’ He flapped his hand again. ‘I can feel the damn challenge. Right here I feel it.’ Pumping his stomach with a balled fist. ‘A challenge that’s going to take a year out of my professional life and, maybe, leave me chewed up and spat out in little pieces.’

  ‘Or a bigger, wiser and more accomplished person than you’ve ever been.’

  ‘What you payin’?’ Joe grinned, digging the director hard in the ribs.

  ‘Nothing like what you can get anywhere else.’

  ‘Pity. It’s attractive. I ain’t had a real challenge since I played the Ku-Klux Klan Commem in Memphis. You’re right though, why the hell shouldn’t an ugly swivel hips black man play Othello? Let’s see how it grabs the rest of the folks.’

  Instinctively, Douglas put out a hand to stop him. Too late, Joe was on his feet, strutting out into the centre of the room, his voice raised against the chat and his own singing, recorded, voice.

  ‘Gather round folks, I got news. Cool that lousy off-key beautiful black vocalist. C’mon, c’mon.’ Beckoning with the fingers of both hands, little waving motions.

  The tape went dead and the chatter died. A few couples moved in closer to Joe, others turned to look at him.

  ‘Okay. Now we’ve got a celebrity here tonight. A director. Ah shit, you say, directors are a dime a dozen. Well I’m not talking about your dime a dozen movie directors. I’m talking about a real director. The living Theatre, folks. A guy who directs live actors on the live stage.’

  Douglas felt his stomach churn.

  ‘And this guy,’ continued Joe, ‘is best known for his productions of the Bard. William Q Shakespeare. And if you ain’t heard of William Q Shakespeare you can leave now. There’s the man.’ He whirled, his hand raised, finger pointing at Douglas like an accusation. There were smiles on some faces.

  Joe turned back to his guests. ‘You want to know why he’s here? You want me to tell you why he’s come all the way from England to talk to me? Okay. The man’s name is Douglas Silver, a great director and married to another name you’ll know, Jennifer Frost.’ A little more interest as Jen’s name was mentioned. ‘And he’s come all the way from the green fields of England to ask me...Me...’ He thumped his chest. ‘...To play...Othello.’

  Silence. A slight shuffling. Then a chuckle from the far end of the room. The chuckle spread and grew. It seemed to swamp Joe and bore down on Douglas’s ears like some terrible electronic noise used for torture. Laughter. Rising to a higher note. Joe still stood in the centre of the room with his arms spread wide. He turned, almost a gesture of supplication, towards Douglas, his face a mask of disbelief. But the laughter continued. Even Smiley had a twisted expression, though he was looking down at his shoes.

  ‘Cool it.’ Joe pitched the shout too high and it came out like a shriek. ‘What the hell is there to laugh at? The idea of me playing Othello? We’ll see.’

  Another giggle, this time a nervous reaction from one of the girls.

  To Joe the whole world shrank to that giggle of laughter. It became total. Most personal. The faces he trusted. The faces he did not know. Jungle faces. Piss off black man, get back to Africa. Treating him, Joe Thomas, like an ignorant spook. Shit on you. He turned back to Douglas Silver. He knew now that he could trust the Englishman. He put out a hand and rested it on Douglas’s shoulder.

  ‘Okay.’ He spoke in a whisper. ‘You got yourself a deal. The press needn’t know, but I’ll come for just my expenses.’

  ‘Your expenses?’

  ‘Mine. You don’t think I’d bring along any of this trash. A year away from all this’ll do me fine. It’ll be like nothing else.’ He swivelled to look at the guests. ‘And you can all get the hell outa here. Go. Go back to the sewers. I don’t want to see any of you again.’

  Tommy Carr took a step forward and opened his mouth to speak.

  Even in his fury, Joe was careful. ‘All of you, except those I have to see legally.’ With the motion of a snake’s head he spat towards Carr, then again turned to Douglas. ‘We can see my lawyers in L.A. Tomorrow. They’ll fix the deal.’

  He stopped to watch the people drifting out. At the end of the procession were the four girls that Tommy had brought up.

  ‘Hold it. Who told you to go?’

  The girls clustered together: a redhead, brunette and two blondes. Like sheep. Long young legs, tired faces and eyes which were windows to nothing.

  ‘You.’ Joe pointed at the brunette.

  ‘Me?’ Disbelief and adoration mixed with fear.

  ‘Nobody else, unless Mr. Silver wants one of the rejects.’

  Douglas shook his head. He was worried sick by what he had seen. It was going to be difficult enough controlling Joe without freaking out in a merry foursome with him.

  ‘Up to you baby. Speak now or hold your piece.’

  ‘I’d rather not.’

  ‘Okay. Fly with me in the morning. Tommy’ll give you the details. I have to do a recording session but we’ll fit in the bit with the lawyers. I’ll call them now. Sleep well.’ He turned his full attention on to the brunette. ‘And remember baby, I do the funnies.’

  Wrapping an arm around her, Joe began to pull the girl, unresisting, towards the bedroom.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ronne Gregor was impressed. Every night he had been dashing between London and all points to sit in large and small, comfortable and seedy, aged and modern repertory theatres. To Ronnie it seemed that he had been doing this all his life. In fact it was only a matter of ten days.

  He followed Douglas’s instructions to the letter.

  ‘Don’t be influenced by the standard of the productions,’ Douglas had told him. ‘We’re looking for one thing only: a young, unknown actor whom I can mould into a Romeo. To be honest, Ronnie, I don’t care a damn if he can’t do anything else, or if he never does anything else. I want a great Romeo. So just look at actors. Watch the way they move, the way they s
tand, their command, their voices. Hell I don’t need to tell you what to look for. I’ve got a Juliet. You find me a matching Romeo.’

  One night after Douglas had left the office, a few days before leaving for Las Vegas, Art asked. ‘You ever see this girl, Carol Evans, our Juliet?’

  ‘No.’ Ronnie was too busy to worry about people who were already signed up.

  ‘Then let’s look at the mug shots.’ Art began to leaf through Spotlight: the casting directors’ vade mecum, two massive volumes cataloguing practically every actor and actress in the country.

  It was a good photograph of Carol. A three-quarter profile that showed off the bone structure to beautiful effect.

  ‘Nice from the neck up, but can she act?’

  ‘Three movies last year, it says here. I’ll bet they were walk-ons. That’s the problem with coloured actors in this country, they have a hard time getting experience.’

  Art laughed, a touch of bitterness. ‘Don’t come that, Ronnie. All actors have a hard time getting experience. You concentrate on finding Douglas’s Romeo.’

  Ronnie concentrated. There was one possibility at the Belgrade Theatre, Coventry; another in Nottingham.

  But here he was really impressed.

  A contact in the north had said that he would not be wasting his time if he looked in at the Stanthorpe Repertory Theatre’s production of As You Like It.

  So he took the train one Tuesday afternoon, to Manchester, watching the smooth green of the south transform into the harsher beauty, the granite and the hard realism of industry, the toiling bowels of the land.

  A bus ride to Stanthorpe, and a quick taxi trip to the grimy Victorian façade of the repertory theatre.

  Originally, the building had been a music hall. Gilt and red velvet, the walls saturated with belly laughs, and a stage where the greats of that dead era once walked. Dan Leno, Tom Costello, Vesta Victoria, Marie Lloyd, Ada Reeve. They all passed that way, and, when the Stanthorpe Town Council acquired the old Music Hall, saving it from the Bingo-Hall-Bowling-Alley fate worse than demolition, to become a civic theatre, the first director had enough foresight to unearth a couple of dozen rare old posters from the scenery dock. He then framed and hung them in the shabby foyer, a reminder to all that, above every-thing else, this was a theatre: a place for people to relax and be entertained in the fullest possible sense.