“See you tomorrow, dear. It’s been lovely to meet you.”
Miller watched the car drive away. Well, well, well: Bunny Slippers! My new riend!
She went to find Stevens and Pattimore to impress them with news of her celebrity chum.
“Hello, Dick and Dickhead,” she said, when she found them in wardrobe. “Guess who I’ve spent the past few hours with.”
“Fuck that noise,” said Stevens. “Wheeler’s been on the phone. There’s been a development.”
“To Serious we go,” said Pattimore.
“Oh, great,” said Miller. “Anyway, as I was saying to -”
But her colleagues were already heading to the car park.
***
Dan watched the filming of the scene between Oscar Buzz and Delia Cartwright in the bedpan room. A man with a steam machine was crouching out of shot, giving intermittent bursts to add to the atmosphere.
“Matron mustn’t catch us,” Delia breathed. “I suspect she suspects.”
“I suspect your suspicions may be correct,” said Oscar.
“CUT!” yelled Dabney Dorridge. “Oscar! Darling! What the hell was that reading?”
“Uh... I was going for Southern British.”
“Well, don’t; you sounded like a Bangladeshi in a blender. You’re a highly respected doctor from California - if that makes it any clearer.”
“Then what am I doing at Dedley General?”
“Conducting research. Jesus wept.”
“So I can just use my normal voice?”
“Yes. Please. Just use your normal voice. It’s what the paying public expect.”
“I was thinking of adding in some apples and pears... ”
“Please don’t. Just say what’s written. We’ll go again.”
“Places, please,” an assistant held a clapperboard in front of the camera.
Oscar and Dan shared a glance. Oscar smiled and gave a little wave.
“And ACTION!”
Instantly, Oscar Buzz was back in character. They got through the take without any further hitches. While the crew set-up for another angle, Oscar bounded off to speak to Dan.
“How was I?”
“You were good.”
“I was thinking of you while I was kissing old whatserface. I want you to know that.”
“Really?” Dan blushed.
“Of course, babe.” Oscar stroked the stand-in’s cheek. “Now, be a darling and go and stand on my mark while they rig the lighting. I have to pee. Dinner tonight, yeah?”
“Yes,” said Dan. His dreamy expression made it seem he was saying yes to anything and everything.
***
During the set-up, Dabney Dorridge was called to one side by two men in pinstriped suits. They were representatives of the producers and they said there were already concerns about running late and it was only the second day of shooting. Dorridge assured them he would catch up and ‘bring this baby in’ on time and within budget.
“There’s something else,” one of the men rubbed his jaw. “I don’t know how you’re going to take this.”
“Oscar... ” Dorridge was one step ahead.
“It’s a stretch for him, this kind of picture,” said the second man.
“It’s a stretch for him putting his shoes on the right feet,” said Dorridge.
“Don’t get us wrong,” said the first man. “We love Oscar. Can’t get enough of him. That’s why there’s going to be some changes. Here.”
He opened a briefcase. The other man took out a folder and handed it to the director. Dabney Dorridge thumbed through it.
“What’s this bollocks? Terrorists? Hostages?”
“Slight change of plan,” said one of the men, patting Dorridge’s arm. “We’re going action slash thriller on this one.”
“But Hospital Corners isn’t an action slash thriller. It’s a romantic drama, dealing with life and death.”
The men’s mouths parted in what might have been smiles. “And what’s more life and death than terrorism?” said one.
“Exactly,” said the other.
“This is bonkers. Hospital Corners is a fondly remembered television series. In this country, it’s part of the heritage.”
“Heritage shmeritage,” said one man.
“The American market - hell, the rest of the world - doesn’t want to see a bunch of old biddies shuffling around a shithole, applying Band-Aids and kissing in cupboards. They want action! Explosions! Car chases!”
“Car chases?” Dorridge’s eyebrows almost flew off his head.
“Ambulances at least. Look, read the new screenplay. You’ll love it. We’re sure of it.”
They turned on their Italian heels and left the set. Dabney Dorridge flopped into his chair.
“Trouble, Dabney?” Jessica was at his elbow, ready with his tablets.
“Take five, everybody!” Dorridge announced. “In fact, take the afternoon.” He handed the rewritten screenplay to his assistant. “Get copies of this. Enough for everyone. There’s going to be a few changes.”
***
While the photocopier did its job, Jessica made a call to her brother.
“Rob, there’s a problem... No, listen to me. It’s bad enough they got that American tosser in as the doctor, but now they want terrorists in it and explosions and what-have-you... I know. Look, you must get word out on all the forums. At the moment, we haven’t shot any of the new stuff yet - have barely begun anyway. Get on the Twitter. Get on the Facebook. Get on bloody MySpace if you have to. Get the word out - petitions and so on. Pressure on the production company. Let them know they make Hospital Corners our way or not at all.”
She disconnected and chewed her lip.
The fans were going to have to up their game or the film they’d fought for, the long-awaited rebirth of their favourite show, was going to go tits-up.
***
Across town at Serious, Wheeler clicked through images of a certain Hollywood actor. Most of the shots were stills from his films, interspersed with more candid photographs: Oscar Buzz spotted coming out of a branch of Queequeg’s with one of their trademarked overpriced coffees. Oscar Buzz strolling on the beach with an ‘unnamed beauty’. Oscar Buzz just before his fist slammed into the camera lens...
“Bit of a reputation as an action hero,” Wheeler sneered. “Not just a pretty face. Also a short fuse and a violent temper.”
“Fair’s fair, Chief,” Pattimore raised his hand. “Anybody’d get a bit riled with photographers forever sticking their noses in your business.”
“He fancies him,” Stevens said, as if that explained everything.
Miller turned to Harry Henry. “Are you sure it was him on the CCTV?”
Harry pulled a face. “Sure as I can be.”
Wheeler pulled up the images in question. The team leaned forwards to peer at the screen.
“It’s him all right,” said Stevens.
“I don’t think so,” said Pattimore. “And besides, going into someone’s room and coming out again doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t mean murder.”
“Good point,” said Wheeler. “Bring him in. Question him. Er - Stevens, why are you trying to slip Pattimore a tenner?”
“He was right,” said Stevens. “Turns out Oscar Buzz is a ring pirate after all.”
Pattimore snatched the banknote but took no pleasure in his victory.
***
Delia Cartwright knocked on Oscar Buzz’s trailer door for the second time that day. The actor was in the shower and didn’t hear her at first. At last, he answered, a towel hitched around his slender waist. Delia’s eyes widened as she took in the full delicious sight of him, looking him up and down several times before settling on the tantalising trail of hair l
eading from his navel down to the towel...
“So... ” she said, a little thrown off kilter. “An unexpected afternoon off. Why don’t we go out? Have a look at this little town? I hear there’s a zoo.”
“My whole life’s a zoo,” said Oscar Buzz but he stood aside to let her come in.
He opened a wardrobe door and took out some clothes. The door worked as a partial screen while he dried and dressed. Delia Cartwright couldn’t help peeking. If she played her cards right (never mind dealt them) that heavenly body could be on top of her before midnight.
She caught her breath, picturing the scene.
Oh, yes! A liaison with the world’s most handsome actor would be good for her profile, let alone her self-esteem.
“And perhaps we could have dinner later?”
“Can’t,” Oscar returned, rubbing his damp hair with the towel. “Got a lot of work to do. New screenplay, remember?”
“I thought we could read through it together.”
“Sorry, babe; part of my technique. I do all my prep alone.”
Delia nodded slowly. She had to respect an actor who was true to his craft.
“Have you seen?” she sat down uninvited. “They’ve got me firing a rocket launcher n page thirty one.”
“You’ll be great,” said Oscar, moving towards the door in the hope she would take the hint.
“It’s all new to me. I know you’ve done this kind of thing before. What was it, Stormy Soldiers?”
“Warriors of Thunder,” he corrected her automatically. “You saw that?”
“Um, no.” She held up a hand. “I have to confess: I googled you. I did see the one about the pretzels though. It was... good. Some interesting choices.”
“Listen, Delia, I’ve got to get on with getting on. You know... ”
“But we’ll have a drink some time?”
“Count on it.”
She paused on the doorstep. “There’s a thing coming up. Fashion show, drinks reception kind of thing. Would you - I was wondering - would you be my plus one?”
“Sure, sure!” He bundled her out and closed the door before she could say anything else.
It always happened. The leading lady always fell for him. Some had even left their husbands. Talk about jumping the gun! It was one of the pitfalls of being a closeted actor. That and the ever-present gnawing in his guts. I’m never off the clock, he groaned. Even when the cameras stop rolling, I’m still pretending to be someone I’m not.
He summoned a car to take him to his hotel. A private dinner with that lovely Dan guy would help him unwind. That lovely Dan - he seemed just that: lovely, in a stilted British kind of way.
He caught sight of his own famous eyes in the rear-view mirror and he wondered if he only liked Dan so much because he looked so much like himself.
***
Dan was early. He sat in the hotel bar nursing a slim-line tonic water. After a while, he asked the barman to put a shot of gin in it to steady his nerves. No, make it a double.
“Anybody ever told you, mate?” the barman handed over his change, “you look like Oscar Buzz?”
“I get that a lot,” Dan admitted, “Especially lately.”
“He’s staying here, you know,” the barman winked. “I’m not supposed to tell you that.”
“It’s all right, I know,” Dan winked back. “I’m meeting him for dinner.”
“Oh? Going to paint the town red, are you? Bring back a couple of bitches and fuck them sore?”
“Er... ” Dan felt himself going red.
“Save some for the rest of us, won’t you?” the barman cackled. Dan picked up his drink and moved away.
Tonight’s the night, he had decided. He would tell Oscar the truth and then - what? - they could take things from there. Although the nature of those things was undecided as yet... Dare I hope? He gulped the gin. Dare I hope I’m going to have a relationship with this dazzling man? Could it possibly happen?
Or will he chuck me out? Will he have me sacked from the film? Will I ever see him again?
Working himself into a state of agitation, Dan went back to the bar for a second drink.
He didn’t meet the barman’s eye. Neither did he leave a tip.
“There he is!” Oscar Buzz called from the doorway. Heads turned and eyes and mouths rounded as the other patrons recognised the newly arrived loudmouth. Enjoying the adulation, Oscar strolled to the bar and patted Dan on the back.
“Drink?” Dan offered, pulling out his wallet.
“On my tab,” Oscar winked. “Champagne. Charge it to my room. Bring it up in ten minutes.”
He strolled from the bar, casually dashing off a couple of autographs on napkins and beer mats as he went. Dan downed his drink and followed.
In the lift, he gazed at the actor’s profile as Oscar Buzz watched the numbers light up above the door.
“That was how you should have done it,” he said.
“Done what?”
“The way you walked into the bar just then. That was how the doctor should have walked across the ward.”
Oscar’s eyebrows went up. “You think?”
“Just a thought.” Dan was uncomfortable.
“Listen, sweet cheeks,” Oscar squeezed Dan’s buttocks, “leave the acting to me and you stick to being wonderful, okay?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Dan had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and it was not just from the lift arriving at Oscar’s floor.
He followed the movie star along the corridor towards the penthouse suite - which didn’t surprise him. Of course, Oscar Buzz would want the best available - but does that include me?
As soon as the door was closed and they were in private, Oscar pushed Dan against the wall and began to devour his face with hungry kisses and undoing his trousers.
“Wait!” Despite himself, Dan caught Oscar’s hands to stop him. “The champagne, remember?”
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door and a voice said, “Room service.”
Oscar grinned. He gave the porter the full wattage of that grin along with a generous tip.
“Fifty quid?” Dan gasped.
“Is that too much?” Oscar shrugged. “Oh well, that’ll do me more good than a full-page ad in the New York Times. Pop the cork - the bottle first, and then it’s our turn.”
Dan twisted the bottle until it released the cork with a pop but no spillage. Oscar was impressed. Dan filled two glasses and they clinked them together.
“To Hospital Corners!” he said.
“To us!” Oscar amended the toast. They downed the drinks and Dan poured seconds.
“Oscar, come and sit down for a minute, please?” Dan moved to a plush white sofa. “There’s something I want to tell you.”
Oscar pouted like a spoiled child. “Oh, can’t you save the talking for the bedroom? Save it for afterwards? I won’t fall asleep, I cross my heart.”
“I’m sorry, no,” Dan was genuinely sad, “there’s something I have to tell you first.”
“Sounds serious,” said Oscar, but he sat down, rather demurely, next to Dan.
There was a loud knocking on the door.
“That’s probably the rest of the staff come for their share of your generosity,” said Dan.
The knocking came again.
“It’s Serious!” said Detective Inspector Stevens in the corridor. “Open the door!”
“Fuck off,” Oscar muttered, sliding a hand up Dan’s thigh.
“I think you’d better get that,” Dan froze as the knocking continued.
“Oscar Buzz!” said Stevens. “We know you’re in there.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Oscar. He yanked the door open. “What the fuck is this?”
“Hello,” gr
inned Detective Sergeant Miller, drinking in the sight of the Hollywood star.
“We’d like you to come and answer some questions,” said Stevens. “In fact, we insist.”
Oscar looked over his shoulder. Dan was expressionless.
“Sorry, buddy,” Oscar pouted. “I’ll make this up to you soon as I clear this up.”
He stepped out into the corridor. Miller closed the door, mouthing ‘Sorry’ to the man on the sofa.
A second later, Dan was alone. He sat back, his emotions churning like clothes in a washing machine. He took a swig of champagne. It tasted bitter and flat.
Now what?
***
Dabney Dorridge was still on location. The old hospital looked like a gothic mansion by night. The Victorians certainly had funny ideas about dealing with their mentally ill. Shutting them in a big scary building like this being the least concerning of them. Perhaps there was a movie in that... Perhaps Dorridge’s next project could be something along those lines... Not a horror, no; perhaps a heart-rending drama, riddled with social commentary... Perhaps there’s this man and he’s convinced his wife she’s around the twist so he can get his hands on her inheritance... Perhaps Delia Cartwright could be the wife... and him with the floppy hair could be the unscrupulous husband...
A noise startled him.
“Hello? Someone there?”
Nothing. Dorridge shook his head, amused with himself. He blamed Bunny Slippers. She’d told everyone she’d met on this shoot that the building was haunted. The restless spirits of those who had been cruelly treated roamed these corridors - according to Bunny, at any rate.
Dorridge made a note to ask her about the place’s history in more detail. Perhaps Bunny could be a consultant on the next picture.
A different noise: louder. Closer.
Dorridge pushed his chair from the desk and got to his feet.
“Hello?” he repeated. “Who’s there? Jessica?”
He peered out into the large room which had been dressed to look like the familiar ward from the television show. It was in shadow now. Huge banks of lights loomed like sentinels watching over the empty beds.
“Hello?”
In the corner of his eye, something moved. Something moving close to the floor. Dabney Dorridge held his breath, willing his eyes to see better in the dark.
Hospital Corners Page 4