by Elton, Ben
Congratulations, You’re Through: Latiffa and Suki
After His Royal Highness came Latiffa, the preassigned BAT or Black girl with ATtitude. Calvin always liked to include one of these in his shows, and sometimes also a WOMBAT, or White girl Obviously Masquerading as a Black girl with ATtitude – which was even funnier, there being nothing more amusing than pale girls from Essex strutting about, clicking their fingers, calling themselves hos and generally giving the impression that they were brought up with Eminem on Eight Mile.
Latiffa strutted into the room as if she was auditioning to join a Destiny’s Child tribute band. She was an uber-girlfriend with the kind of aggressive self-confidence that the Wehrmacht must have had on the morning they invaded Russia, and of course the same potential for disaster. American in all but nationality, Latiffa was not inclined to conceal her light under a bushel.
‘I’m da best!’ she proclaimed loudly. ‘So forget da rest. I is sexy and I is a strong woman and I got claws so you better watch out. Nobody wants this like I want it so everybody had better get outa my way because Latiffa’s comin’ through!’
Time was short so it had been decided to rush her audition. She was given just enough time to be wholly irritating, which was her assigned role in the chemistry of the final group that Calvin was assembling. She sang ‘Nasty Boys’ by Janet Jackson and Calvin let her do three lines before informing her that she was through to the next round. He did not even bother to consult his fellow judges. He was not intending to feature Latiffa much until the later stages of the competition, lest the grating quality of her all-consuming self-confidence peak too soon. A flash or two was all that would appear in the first two or three shows.
After Latiffa came Suki, the surgically inflated stripper-turned-prostitute whom Trent had tried to dismiss straight out of the envelope and whom Emma had only included in the Bling pile on a sympathetic whim. But the same thing that had caught Emma’s eye had later caught Calvin’s. Trent had offered her up in pre-selection as an In and Out, good for a quick shot and a giggle: ‘Imagine this sucked-out, dried-up old whore thinking she could ever be a pop star’ was the idea. But when he stared at her video there had been something so all-encompassing about Suki’s neediness that Calvin found it almost attractive. She was so fascinatingly vulnerable. The classic bird on a wire. Still attractive (just) but literally with only months, maybe even weeks left before she turned irreversibly into a horrifying cartoon of a Disgusting Old Slapper or DOSser. Something in Calvin’s instincts had alerted him to the possibility that Suki would be good telly. Many men would lust after her because her vulnerability made her seem attainable and many women would sympathize with her as someone who stood on the edge of an abyss. She could even sing a bit, which was always preferable in a prospective finalist.
A couple of years earlier, when Chart Throb had first been screened, a figure like Suki with her ridiculous breasts and hungry eyes would only ever have been considered as a peripheral quickie. But expectations had changed. Women like Suki were becoming the norm. The alpha versions of the type stood on every catwalk, and OK! and Hello! regularly featured cartoon women cradling new babies that were smaller than their grossly inflated breasts.
‘What are you going to sing for us, Suki?’ Calvin enquired.
‘Well, Calvin,’ Suki replied, ‘I think you’re the sexiest man on TV so I’d like to sing “Hopelessly Devoted To You” from Grease.’
Calvin gave his little boy grin.
Beryl said, ‘Oh please!’
Rodney said, ‘Good song, that is a good choice of song. But tough.’
‘Before I start,’ said Suki, ‘I just want you to know that I really, really want this, I mean really. I want it so much. It’s my dream.’
Peroxide Meet Their Nemesis
While Suki lived out her dream in front of Calvin, Beryl and Rodney, Chelsie had returned to the holding area to spend a last few moments with Peroxide.
Georgie and ‘Chelle were sitting where they had been sitting for most of the day. On the floor, backs to the wall, cramped close together, surrounded by styrofoam cups, holding each other very tight. They held each other partly because they were cold – almost immediately on arrival they had changed into their costumes, which were little more than knickers and bras – but also they clung to each other because they were so excited. Holding on to each other was pretty much the only way that they could actually keep still. Seldom had two teenage girls been at such a pitch of excitement. They were almost too excited to breathe.
They felt different to the other fifty or so remaining contestants scattered about the room; at least they thought they did because they really thought they had a chance.
Chelsie thought so too.
‘Come on, girls,’ she cooed. ‘Calvin’s got to put you through. I mean why else would they ask you back like this? They know you’re good. They know they made a mistake last year. You remember the protests in the press and all that? I honestly think that Calvin was embarrassed by how much people loved you guys.’
Georgie and ‘Chelle needed little encouragement to believe that this was indeed to be their year. Analysing it endlessly in the preceding weeks, they had concluded that barring some unforeseen disaster like an attack of tonsillitis they had to be good for at least a few rounds. Although trying hard to avoid overconfidence, they could not help feeling that they would not be at risk until the Pop School stage at least. After all, their early rejection the previous year had been a major Chart Throb scandal, the papers had all howled in dismay. Calvin had specifically asked them back to try again this year (not that they were allowed to divulge this fact).
One thing was certain, the judges were not going to repeat what had happened last time.
Chelsie crouched down in front of the girls and held out her arms for a final hug. Three-way hugs are never easy, particularly when the instigator is hovering above the two other participants who are sitting on the floor, but Chelsie was an accomplished air-kisser and she managed to gather the two young women in for a brief bonding moment. As Georgie leaned towards her, Chelsie was conscious of two things: an overwhelming smell of toothpaste and mouthwash and also how much more skinny she had become even since the selection day in Birmingham. The bra Georgie was wearing was tiny and yet not tiny enough for Georgie to fill it. As Georgie leaned in and the cups fell forward they revealed entirely the shocking state of the girl’s breasts. They were really nothing more than big hard cold nipples, pathetically oversized for the little flaps of skin (like small balloons prior to inflation) to which they were attached. She looked starved.
‘Come on, girls,’ said Chelsie, ‘let’s go and rock their asses!’
The three of them joined Keely outside the audition area. Keely was utterly thrilled to see them.
‘GIRLS!’ she screamed. ‘BABES! You look fantastic!’ Keely then turned to address the camera that was hovering just behind her. ‘Look who’s here! It’s last year’s megababes, Peroxide! We love these girls. SO brave to give it another bash. Yay!’
There followed the usual conversation regarding the dream and how entirely and absolutely the girls wanted it, and then Georgie and ‘Chelle entered the arena.
All three judges convincingly feigned surprise and delight to see Peroxide.
‘How are you doing, girls?’ beamed Beryl. ‘You look great!’
Beryl even got up and went round her desk to give each girl a hug. Once the reunion celebration was over, Calvin put on his serious face and called the meeting to order.
‘So, girls,’ he asked, ‘why did you come back?’
‘Well, Calvin,’ ‘Chelle replied, ‘we were really gutted to lose out last time and we really, really believe in ourselves and think that we deserve another chance.’
Calvin nodded wisely. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that shows considerable character, Michelle. I like that. I am always looking to see character in the people who come to see us because ours is a tough business and to cut it live you need character.’
‘Georgie,’ said Rodney, ‘we liked you last year, you know that, you sailed through the first round and made a big impact. Then you lost it in the second round. What do you think you can do differently this year?’
‘We’ve worked so hard,’ said Georgie, her voice a little huskier than it had been because of the stomach acids with which her throat was regularly drenched.
‘We’ve grown,’ ‘Chelle added. ‘We’ve worked so hard and we’ve learned and we’ve grown. We’ve taken on board all the things you said to us last year and we’ve really, really thought about them and worked hard and tried to grow.’
Beryl stared at the two girls through moist eyes, as if it were her own daughters who were showing such grit and such character.
‘In that case, babes,’ Beryl said, her croaky little girl voice dripping with love, ‘you deserve a second chance. If you’ve listened and you’ve worked hard and you’ve grown, then you deserve this. This is your moment. You own it, girls. Just you own it.’
‘Thank you, Beryl,’ ‘Chelle replied humbly. ‘We will.’
‘We all want this for you, girls,’ Rodney added, he too working his eyes into a convincingly dewy mistiness. ‘You took some hard knocks last year and coming back here now shows real guts. It’s up to you now, girls, the dream is back and all you have to do is grab it and own it. Own the dream.’
‘OK,’ said Calvin, once more doing his businesslike bit, as if to remind the world that they were hardbitten pop professionals who would not let sentiment cloud their judgement. ‘What are you going to sing for us?’
‘We’re going to sing “Dancing Queen” by Abba, Calvin.’
‘Good choice,’ said Rodney, nodding wisely.
‘Off you go, girls,’ said Calvin.
They sang it quite well, in tune and with the simple harmony intact. They executed the little seventies-style dance moves that they had worked out with some aplomb and the flourish at the end had genuine charm. On balance, being a year older they were slightly better than they had been the year before, and considerably better than at least three of the acts who had made it to the previous year’s finals.
And so they stood, flushed and breathing hard. Two dreamers in their underwear. Virgins waiting to be sacrificed.
Calvin let the silence sit a while. He looked down, he looked up, sucked his pencil, he threw his body backwards against the chair and stared at the ceiling.
‘Girls,’ he said, ‘I am so, so disappointed.’
Another pause. ‘Chelle tried hard to nod wisely as if she was still prepared to learn and to grow. Georgie began to shake.
‘You know what?’ Calvin continued. ‘I really, really wanted you to be good. You showed talent last year and I was absolutely ready to give you the benefit of the doubt. But you know what? You’ve lost your innocence. You’re trying to look like pop stars instead of being pop stars. I’m sorry, girls. It was terrible, like two drunk bridesmaids at a wedding.’
‘No!’ Beryl protested. ‘Calvin, behave!’
‘Really, Calvin,’ Rodney chimed in, ‘I didn’t think the girls were that bad. Yes, it was a massive disappointment but the costumes were great and—’
‘OK, Rodney, bottom line. Sentiment aside. Ours is a tough game. What’s your vote?’
Now it was Rodney’s turn for a dramatic pause. He stared at the two near-naked teenagers as if he would have traded his life to put them through.
‘Please . . .’ ‘Chelle quivered. ‘We’ve worked so hard . . .’
‘This industry’s tough,’ Rodney replied, feeling Michelle’s pain. ‘I just don’t think you’re tough enough to cut it.’
‘We are, we are! We’re strong! We’re strong women. We’ve grown. Please . . . Please.’
‘Girls, I’m sorry,’ Rodney said, staring at them manfully. ‘Last year you showed promise but we didn’t think you could cut it, this year you’ve proved that we were right. In a way you should see that as a positive thing. You have closure.’
‘Yes or no, Rodney?’ Calvin snapped.
And despite the fact that it was already abundantly clear that it was a no from Rodney, he went for yet another pause, a pause so long that even though he had just told them they had failed entirely it was almost possible for the girls to believe Rodney might be contemplating a yes.
‘It’s a no from me,’ he finally concluded.
‘Beryl?’ Calvin asked.
Beryl could not speak. Her lip was quivering (within the icy constraints of the Botox that filled it) and her eyes were brimming with tears. All she could do, for that moment at least, was stare.
It was in fact ‘Chelle who found words first.
‘Please, Beryl,’ she said. ‘This means everything to us. Please.’
‘Don’t,’ Beryl stammered. ‘Don’t say that. Don’t do this to me.’
‘It’s our dream, Beryl. Please.’
‘Calvin!’ Beryl snapped. ‘Why have you put me in this position? Why are you doing this to me?’
‘Because you have to make a choice, Beryl. That’s your job,’ Calvin replied calmly.
‘Well, I don’t want this job! I don’t want to destroy people’s dreams. This shouldn’t be what it’s about.’
‘I need your vote.’
‘Please, Beryl!’ begged Michelle.
Once more a pause. Once more the two near-naked girls were forced to stand, shaking, pleading, crying, as time crawled towards the foregone conclusion.
‘Oh God,’ Beryl wailed. ‘I wanted it to be good. I so wanted it to be good. I love you girls, you’re strong women, you’ve grown but . . . I’m sorry, girls.’ Her voice was that of a six-year-old who smoked forty fags a day. ‘I think you’re going to have to find yourselves another dream.’
Yet again, despite the fact that Beryl had clearly pronounced her judgement, Calvin managed to string matters out one more time.
‘I need an answer, Beryl,’ he said. ‘Is it a yes or a no?’
Once more the pause. One final plea from Michelle.
‘Please, Beryl. We’ll do anything.’
One final plea from Beryl.
‘Don’t do this to me, Calvin.’
One final opportunity for Calvin to pretend to be the clear-headed professional unaffected by the maelstrom of emotion around him.
‘I need an answer, Beryl.’
‘I’m so sorry, girls,’ Beryl said. ‘It’s a no from me.’
‘And it’s a no from me too,’ said Calvin bluntly. ‘Thanks for coming to see us, girls.’
They couldn’t move. They simply could not move. Every fibre of the two young women’s beings was struggling to comprehend the shocking, stunning reality that it was over already. That they had failed to progress through a single round of the judging. That they had done even worse than last time. This was the genius of Calvin Simms. Anybody could have seen the drama in having the girls back, bigging them up through the early stages and then dropping them. But to drop them instantly, to claim that their performances the previous year had actually represented their peak, that was truly electric drama.
Georgie cracked first, the tears exploding suddenly and with force. ‘Chelle only began to weep after Beryl had rushed round the table to hug them.
‘Come here!’ Beryl shouted. ‘Come here, girls. You know what? You don’t need this, you’re better than this. Let me give you a hug.’
As Beryl began to usher the girls from the room, Costume and Make-up hovered close, Wet Wipes poised, ready to clean the girls’ snot from Beryl’s shoulder pads.
When the devastated girls had gone and Beryl had returned to her seat, the judges made ready to shoot their impromptu ‘discussion’. This supposed eavesdropping on the judges’ private thoughts followed each of the staged auditions and was supposed to lend an air of care and consideration to the proceedings.
‘Everybody happy?’ called Trent. ‘Ready with what you’re going to say?’
The three judges indicated that they were.
‘Can you
huddle a bit closer together?’ Trent asked. ‘It looks so much more honest and intimate.’
The judges reluctantly shuffled their seats a little closer. Calvin even laid a hand on Rodney’s shoulder.
‘Action!’ cried Trent.
‘What a disappointment,’ Calvin said. ‘I had real hopes for them.’
‘Pretty girls and very nice,’ Beryl added, ‘but they just can’t cut it.’
‘Look,’ said Rodney, ‘they had a whole year to get better and they didn’t. Ours is a tough game.’
‘I admire them for coming back and having another shot though,’ said Calvin, his serious face firmly fixed. ‘That took a lot of guts and at least now they know.’
‘It’s better in the end this way,’ said Beryl croakily. ‘They’ll learn, they’ll heal, they’ll grow.’
‘Or shrink in the case of the little one. Fuck me, she’s got thin,’ said Calvin, indicating to Trent that he felt they had had enough eavesdropping chat.
‘Great,’ Trent called out. ‘Rodney, we were a tiny bit unclear with you. Can we take your line again.’
Rodney collected himself, thrilled to get a single shot.
‘Look,’ Rodney repeated, ‘they had a whole year to get better and they didn’t. Ours is a tough game.’
Trent was happy with the second take.
‘Calvin,’ he called out, ‘since we’re set up can we knock off some funny drop-ins?’
‘Got to do them some time,’ Calvin replied wearily.
‘Right,’ said Trent. ‘We’ll start with Beryl.’
The principal camera closed in on her.
‘Good, so blank stare to start with . . . bit of open-mouthed amazement . . . comical horror, you’ve just seen a real Minger . . . Could you shake your head in disbelief?’
Beryl went through her gamut of amusingly stunned faces.
‘Thanks, Beryl, that’s you done,’ said Trent. ‘Right, Rodney, could you give us your bent-mouthed bemusement? People love that one . . . As if Calvin’s asked you to pass judgement on a total Minger and you are just lost for words . . . Lovely. That is so funny.’