by Elton, Ben
‘Uhgh . . . uhm . . . right. Yes,’ he said.
Calvin had Rodney covered from every angle. As the master creator of fictional drama he knew that nothing beat the real thing, and ever since Rodney had dumped Iona the previous year he had been planning this moment and looking forward keenly to exploiting Rodney’s genuine discomfort.
‘Hello, Iona,’ Rodney said eventually, his voice weak.
‘Hello, Rodney,’ Iona replied sweetly but with a tinge of wistful sadness. ‘Haven’t seen you in a while.’
‘That’s right, no. Absolutely. No band with you today then?’
‘No, Rodney,’ Iona replied. ‘We had to call it a day. We never did hit the big time, as you know, and you can’t wait for ever, can you?’
‘No, that’s right,’ said Rodney, swallowing hard. ‘You can’t.’
‘Wait for you, she means!’ Beryl shrieked while Rodney squirmed. ‘We all remember what you said last year, mate! It’s about time one of the acts you promised a career to turned up again and chucked it in your face. You’re always doing it.’
‘Yes, Rodney,’ Calvin added. ‘You mentioned apologies a moment ago. I rather think you owe Iona one. After all, you did promise that Shetland Mist would be stars.’
‘Yes, well, I thought that the band had talent,’ Rodney stammered. ‘I still do, of course.’
‘But not enough for you to get them a deal?’ Beryl pointed out.
Suddenly Rodney saw red and for a brief moment the worm turned.
‘Well, I’d rather see them fail before they got a deal than have the embarrassment of public failure afterwards like your precious daughter Priscilla, Beryl! How is her album doing, by the way?’
For a moment Beryl was stunned, unable to believe that Rodney had dared to diss her family. Her family. That thing to which she was publicly known to be utterly and slavishly devoted. Was he not aware that she was the world’s greatest mum?
‘What the FUCK did you say?’ Beryl shouted.
‘You heard what I said,’ Rodney replied, but he was already losing his nerve.
‘Yes, I did, mate. And I shan’t forget it either.’ Beryl turned to Calvin. ‘You won’t keep it in, will you?’ she enquired. ‘What this cunt just said?’
‘No, of course not,’ Calvin replied. ‘Certainly not. I doubt it. Probably wouldn’t work anyway. We’ll see. I mean I’ll have to look at it, we look at everything, but I doubt we’ll use it. Probably not anyway.’
Calvin glanced at Chelsie, who gave a tiny nod to indicate that the time code had been noted.
‘Well, let me tell you now, Calvin,’ Beryl said, continuing to speak across Rodney as if he was not there. ‘If this little shit ever disses my daughter again, or any member of my family, I walk. Got it? You can do without him but you can’t do without me. So remember that.’
There was another pause while Calvin stared back at Beryl, like her, entirely ignoring Rodney. Calvin smiled but it was a cold smile.
‘You know I’d hate to lose you, darling,’ he said with the tiniest touch of menace. ‘But in the long run these decisions are mine. I have told you, Beryl, I doubt we’ll use it.’
Leaving Beryl to fume impotently, Calvin turned to Rodney, smiling pleasantly.
‘Rodney,’ he said, ‘we can’t leave Iona standing here all day, she’s here for an audition. You’re in the middle, get on with it.’
Ignoring Beryl, who continued to smoulder, Rodney made an effort to pull himself together.
‘Right, Iona. What are you going to sing for us today?’
‘I’d like to sing “You Raise Me Up” by Westlife.’
‘Off you go then, babes.’
Iona sang the song very sweetly, her pretty green eyes even growing wet with tears as she got to the big bit. When it was over Beryl and Calvin applauded with some enthusiasm.
‘Go, girl!’ shouted Beryl. ‘You owned that song!’
‘Yes. Congratulations,’ said Calvin, who seemed to have scarcely been listening, perhaps still preoccupied with the growing tension between his fellow judges and how best to exploit it. ‘You’ve come a long way since last year.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Beryl agreed before giving Iona her vote on the grounds that she had obviously listened carefully to all her comments. ‘I really feel you’ve taken on board everything we said last year. I told you to go away and to learn and grow, and that’s exactly what you’ve done.’
Calvin agreed and put her through also.
‘Rodney?’ he asked.
Rodney knew what was expected of him, he had read the script. His eyes made one last appeal to Calvin but Calvin simply tapped the relevant page with his pencil.
‘No need for my vote,’ Rodney said, with forced jollity. ‘Iona already has your votes, she’s through to the next round anyway.’
Calvin was having none of it.
‘Rodney,’ he said quietly, ‘what’s your vote?’
Rodney had no choice. For all the pretence about independent celebrity judges, he was an employee of CALonic TV, a creature of Calvin’s, every ounce of fame and status that he had he owed to Calvin. He did what he was told.
‘I’m sorry, Iona,’ he stammered. ‘I just don’t think you can cut it without the band. I don’t think you’re good enough. It’s a “no” from me.’
It was a truly terrific moment of television. Even the senior members of the crew who had known what was coming gulped at the cruelty and the audacity of it. As for the runners and the juniors who were not in on the script loop, they simply gasped. It was incredible: Rodney Root, Iona’s great public champion of the previous year, the ex-boyfriend who had promised her the world, was knocking her back in the first round. It was amazing, incredible. Everybody knew that they were present at a watershed moment in popular culture, like the moon landings or Kennedy’s assassination or the first shag on Big Brother.
Understandably the person in the room who was most taken aback was Iona herself. Clearly, whatever she had expected from Rodney, it wasn’t this. The camera, which had crept up to within an inch of her soul, captured the stunned pain of a woman utterly betrayed.
‘Well, Rodney,’ she said icily, ‘funny thing that. I was good enough for you before, wasn’t I? In public and in private.’
Without another word she turned and left the room.
Watch Out, She’s Mad
Calvin announced a five-minute break. It wasn’t that there was time to spare but he just had to ring Emma. Clearing the camera team out of the hospitality room where they had been hoovering up the vol-au-vents, he lit a cigarette and prepared to luxuriate in the music of her voice.
‘You didn’t make him reject her?’ Emma gasped when Calvin had explained the exquisite tension and embarrassment of Iona’s confrontation with Rodney.
‘Of course I did and I’m going to bring her back round after round and make him do it again and it’s going to get better and better.’
‘Fictional drama’s fine but real drama’s TV gold, eh?’ Emma quoted.
‘Of course. Can’t beat the real thing.’
‘He should have stood up to you though, he really should. I mean his ex-girlfriend, that is pathetic.’
‘Third judge syndrome. They are pathetic. It’s their job.’
‘Speaking of drama,’ Emma said, changing the subject, ‘have you seen that girl Shaiana yet?’
‘No. She’s in the batch up next. Why do you ask?’
‘I don’t know. Nothing, I suppose.’
But Calvin was not having that. He knew Emma was a terrific researcher, her instincts had never let her down, and if she chose to enquire about one of the thousands of names that she had processed in the long months of pre-production he wanted to know why.
‘Come on,’ he insisted. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well, it’s just I’ve never forgotten her,’ Emma replied quietly. ‘I say not forgotten, I had forgotten her but she sort of came back to me. I remember her application form, I am me, and the way she wanted it so much.�
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‘They all want it so much.’
‘Of course, I know that, but this girl wrote it twice. On her form. I’ve never seen that before.’
‘Emma, you’ve seen them written in blood. Didn’t you tell me you got one in spunk last year?’
‘I don’t think it actually was spunk. I think it was flour and water glue meant to look like spunk.’
‘Well whatever, it isn’t as if you haven’t seen enough weirdos.’
‘Of course. All the same, I think Shaiana is in a bit of a different class. I remember her selection day in Birmingham. She was so desperate. So intense. Like she really, really had something to prove, to herself’
‘That’s how I like them, Emma. The more they believe, the harder they cling and Clingers are great TV.’
‘All the same, don’t let her near Hair and Costume, they have a lot of scissors. What story did you end up assigning her? You’re not putting her in the final, are you?’
‘No. We’ll drop her after Pop School. Usual thing, taunt her to improve then tell her she hasn’t.’
‘I think you should drop her sooner. I think you should drop her now.’
‘Which is exactly why I’m not going to.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Emma, you were brilliant at your job. If you didn’t have morals and a conscience you could have ended up a junior partner in CALonic . . .’
‘No, thank you.’
‘And if you think some saddo is so on the edge that I should avoid them, then that means we have a classic Clinger on our hands which I have a public duty to milk for all she’s worth.’
‘I’m telling you, Calvin, she’s too intense. There’s too much going on there.’
‘There is never too much going on for me, Emma. I love it, you know that. Don’t worry, these people don’t scare me. Never have. Never will. Look, I’ve got to go. We’re miles behind. Love you, Emma. Love you lots.’
‘Might love you. Bye.’
As Calvin put away his phone he glanced up and realized he was being watched. It was Shaiana. He recognized her immediately. She had wandered up from the holding area. Perhaps to go to the ladies, or perhaps just to stare.
‘Hello there,’ said Calvin, looking her up and down. ‘Be with you in a minute.’
She looked ordinary enough to him. Bit of a Goth. Too much make-up perhaps, and wearing an entirely inappropriate bustier because she had no bust to speak of. Just one more dull nobody to be made briefly interesting in the edit. Calvin could not see what Emma was going on about. Perhaps for once her instincts had failed her?
Just Doing It for the Kids
The Prince entered the audition room, leaving his two detectives hovering in the wings. Calvin had not informed his two colleagues of the Prince of Wales’s decision to try his luck on Chart Throb. As always, he preferred real drama and genuine reactions to those that had to be faked and he was curious to see how Beryl and Rodney would respond.
‘Oh my God!’ Beryl exclaimed. ‘That’s brilliant! You look exactly like him!’
‘Extraordinary,’ Rodney agreed. ‘Can you do the voice?’
The Prince seemed rather taken aback at this and was clearly not sure what they meant. He therefore politely ignored it, as he was so often forced to do when confronted by gawping strangers who babbled nonsense at him.
‘Hello! How are you? Are you well?’ he said.
Beryl and Rodney cheered.
‘That’s fantastic,’ Beryl exclaimed.
‘Amazing. Can you do anybody else?’ Rodney enquired, after which there was a brief and slightly uncomfortable silence, the Prince still having no idea what they were talking about.
‘Are you the judges?’ he said finally, years of experience of making small talk kicking in. ‘Well done. I do think that must be an awfully difficult job. Is it hard? I bet it’s hard. Poor you.’
‘This bloke’s amazing,’ Rodney said, turning to Calvin, who smiled and indicated that he wanted Rodney to lead the interview.
‘So, tell us a bit about yourself,’ Rodney asked the Prince. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m the Prince of Wales, for my sins,’ the Prince replied, at which Beryl shrieked with laughter.
‘Brilliant!’ she said.
‘I see,’ Rodney replied. ‘And how should we refer to you?’
‘Well,’ the Prince replied, ‘Your Royal Highness is customary but really sir will be absolutely fine. No really, I do think too much formality can get in the way sometimes, don’t you?’
‘All right then . . . sir. What brings you here?’
‘Well, do you know, I’ve come here to learn,’ the Prince explained. ‘A great many people seem to see muggins here as a bit of an old fogey. And who knows, perhaps they’re right, perhaps I have lost touch with young people but, unlike some, I refuse to rail against them, condemning their culture as empty and worthless while knowing nothing whatsoever about it. That’s why I’m here to learn. To learn about this vibrant, new, impatient generation, and also about myself. Because if I don’t know myself then how can I expect people to know me and I suppose I’m vain enough to hope that some day they might.’
As the Prince spoke, the cameras focused on the faces of the judges and it was clear that for Beryl and Rodney the shocking reality was beginning to dawn. Calvin, playing his part beautifully, also allowed his jaw to drop open as it became more and more obvious that this was no lookalike.
‘Excuse me?’ Beryl said when the Prince had finished speaking. ‘Are you the Prince of Wales?’
‘Yes. Didn’t I say? Goodness gracious, I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t screwed on!’
‘The actual Prince of Wales?’ Beryl continued.
‘Yes, absolutely, Knight of this, Companion of that. All a lot of nonsense really, although I do think that some tradition is important, don’t you? Otherwise in pursuit of the ephemeral we lose sight of the eternal. We disenfranchise the next generation from their own history. We have no right to do that, surely? We have to pass on the means by which people in future times can understand their own past. History matters. Don’t you agree? Or am I just banging on? I do that, you know.’
When the Prince had finished once more there was a pause. Even Beryl was stunned into silence.
‘Uhm, well, sir,’ Calvin said, ‘what would you like to sing for us?’
‘I should like to sing “Rockin’ All Over The World” by Status Quo,’ the Prince replied.
‘Good choice,’ said Rodney, as if on autopilot. ‘That is a great choice of song.’
‘That’s rockin’, not rocking,’ the Prince added. ‘The “g” is silent. Sacrificed for dramatic effect and in order to make the lyric swing. I do think that’s acceptable, don’t you? Proper English does matter but one must avoid being overly rigid. Do you agree?’
The three judges indicated that they most certainly did agree and the Prince duly performed the old Quo classic. When he had finished, the three judges applauded enthusiastically.
‘Your Royal Highness,’ said Calvin, putting on his serious face.
‘Please, do call me sir,’ the Prince interrupted. ‘Really, honestly, a simple sir is absolutely fine.’
‘Well then, sir,’ Calvin continued, once more assuming his serious voice. ‘I am very pleasantly surprised. When I realized that it really was you wanting to audition for us, quite frankly I was horrified.’
A flicker of confusion passed across the Prince’s face. Clearly Calvin had not made him a party to the fact that he intended to deny any foreknowledge of the royal appearance. Calvin pressed on quickly before the Prince could point out that Calvin had in fact invited him to audition.
‘We are constantly presented with an image of you as an out-of-touch, aloof, effete, snobbish, obsessive, interfering old bore.’
‘I know. I know,’ the Prince lamented. ‘It is dispiriting, isn’t it?’
‘I never believed any of those nasty rumours for a moment, sir,’ Beryl cooed. ‘You’ve done so muc
h for understanding and tolerance. Between races, religions . . . gender preferences. Why, I believe it would now be possible for a transsexual to be made a Dame of the British Empire.’
‘Shut up, Beryl,’ Calvin snapped.
‘I’m just saying!’
‘Well, don’t. Sir,’ Calvin said, once more turning to the Prince. ‘We all know the dreadful things they say about you. But Chart Throb is a level playing field. We don’t respect rank but we don’t condemn it either. Everyone who comes here is judged absolutely on their merit. Anyone can be a star . . .’
‘Well done you,’ the Prince interrupted. ‘I do think that’s commendable. It’s exactly the ethos I try to promote with my Trust. We always say that no matter how desperate or difficult the circumstances into which a young person may have fallen, it is our job to help them rise above all that and unlock the natural potential that is in us all.’
Calvin smiled. ‘And no less so for you, sir. You too have a right to be taken on your merits. I’m going to put you through.’
‘Really? Oh, you are kind.’
‘Me too,’ Beryl said quickly. ‘You owned that song, sir.’
‘Yes,’ hastened Rodney. ‘Covering the Quo is not easy. But you owned it, sir.’
The Prince was then led from the audition room. Outside he found a breathless Keely waiting to ask how His Royal Highness had done.
‘Well, do you know, I rather think they liked it,’ he replied. ‘Heaven knows why. I expect I was awful but I did my best and of course it is an awfully good tune.’
‘So you’re through to Pop School?’ Keely squealed.
‘Well, that’s what they said.’
The Prince did not jump up and down screaming in the time-honoured manner of contestants who were put through to the next round, so Keely jumped up and down for him.
‘Yay!’ she said. ‘That is so fierce! Hot or what! How cool is that?’
After which the Prince and his two detectives hurried back to London to attend a service of remembrance at St Paul’s Cathedral for the victims of the most recent tsunami.