Beauties and the Beast (15 page)

“Okay,” insisted Mickey. “We don't know who they are, so what have they done? What have they produced?”

Thornton straightened up. “For once you do have a point. What
have
they done? Nothing I've ever heard of, although I have some vague recollections of that Caduti woman.”

Recollections? They were illusions, out of reach, on-edge-of-memory illusions. His face clouded and Mickey saw.

“So, you agree, there is something very wrong here.”

Thornton wavered, and then his face set again. Nothing was going to stand in the way of him and Brunio. “No, you're being melodramatic. No doubt these little mysteries will be cleared up when we see the miracle script. You'd need to be careful if you'd unearthed an unknown Shakespeare play.”

“Unknown Shakespeare,” scoffed Billy. “It's a musical, you can bet on that.” He heard the band and the riff in his head. “Or why would they want me?”

“They obviously know nothing about music if that's why they've called you,” pouted Thornton.

Billy waved a dismissive hand. “Forget it, you wouldn't recognise good music if it hit you in the face.”

Thornton looked in disgust at the singer. “Good music doesn't hit you anywhere, it flows gently over the sense, and it caresses the soul.”

“Yeah?” countered Billy. “I know all about that. I was into soul music at one time.”

Thornton's face contorted as he tried to control his rage. “You, you,” he spluttered. He fought for words, then: “Oh... bah!”

Billy laughed loudly. “Bloody old ram now are you?”

Mickey was exasperated. “Give it a rest you two, you're like a couple of kids. I'm being serious.”

Billy turned gleefully round. “You're better at that than telling jokes,” he said.

Thornton's face broke into a grin. “Now that was funny,” he said.

“Okay, okay,” shouted Mickey. “So you're so smart. You tell me what's going on. Why are we auditioning if we don't do auditions?”

The other two were silenced for several seconds. Then Thornton spoke.

“It must be the challenge,” he said, shrugging his broad shoulders.

“Challenge, what challenge. You haven't seen the script yet,” said Mickey. “You're a dramatic actor, what would you do in a comedy?”

“Comedy?” Thornton was on the alert. “Have you seen the script?”

“No,” said Mickey, “but I ...” visions of the comedy routine crossed his mind, the words still out of reach. “... never mind. It has to be a comedy.”

“It's a musical,” said Billy, flatly.

“And I tell you, I have it good authority that it is a Shakespearean costume drama - and at that I am expert. New Shakespeare will be a challenge, and,” he paused for dramatic effect. “I only accept work with a challenge attached.”

Mickey stared at him. “Come off it you old fraud, you'd take any work that was offered to you.”

“I would not!” Thornton was emphatic. “I am a star.”

Mickey laughed. “I know all about you and Hollywood. I read the trade papers you know. I know you won an Oscar and you made some good pictures. But you made some rubbish as well, and what about all those TV roles? You can't say TV movies are a challenge - and you never got a series did you?”

“A series, what would I want with a series? They are for mundane, no-spark actors. I did star roles, and nothing less. My name always came before the title.”

“Did you audition for those parts?” asked Mickey. He strolled over to the computer console and stared at one of the monitors.

Thornton stood, affronted. “Of course not,” he said. “I was always asked, begged more often than not. My name always added lustre to a production.”

“I wonder if you'd have got the parts if you did have to audition” said Mickey. He moved the mouse and the screen-saver pattern disappeared.

“Of course I would,” said Thornton.

Chapter Nineteen

Lucy had slid into the form of a middle-aged businessman and he sat urbanely watching the actions of his stars to be on screen in front of him. Angela and Diana viewed with interest.

“They're fascinating under stress aren't they?” he murmured. The women concurred without words.

“An amazing species, the show business genus, they always provide a fascinating insight to humanity.”

“Almost as good as the clerics,” quipped Diana.

Lucy laughed. “Almost,” he said. “But not quite. Clerics and their self-righteous hangers-on are something really special.”

“They can be fun,” said Angela. Her face took on a demonic aspect as her memory banks sorted through her file of conquests - and the possibilities of the future.

Lucy looked reproachfully at her. “Unsatisfied?” he asked in mock sadness.

Angela groaned and rubbed gently between her thighs. “Never: Mr Winter will have to wait awhile.”

Lucy laughed out loud, appeased. He turned his attention to the screen again. “They are like little children aren't they?”

“Suffer the little children,” muttered Diana, hungrily.

Lucy laughed again. “They will, won't they?”

He clicked his mouse and a CD slid into position. “Let them play a little computer game or two,” he said.

Mickey stared at the screen, puzzled. Then he laughed. “Hey, Billy come and look at this.”

Wondering, the singer edged across the stage. He glanced at the computer terminal, the n his eyes widened. He threw and amused glance at Thornton. “Begged you did they?”

“What?” said Thornton. Fear gripped him as he hurried to join them at the console. His fear was justified, for the monitor was displaying him, younger, fitter and in brilliant Technicolor. But the fine edge of youth had passed

“Belvedere baby,” the man behind the desk was saying. “The word's out. You're over the top. Romantic leads are over. Finito. There's a new crop. Character roles I can get you”

The Technicolor Thornton leaned over the desk and thumped it. “I've helped make your fortune,” he thundered. “Do as I say.”

The man behind the desk, small, plump, and pink-faced, had small eyes, blue and topped by curly blonde lashes. He looked innocent and harmless, but he was Daly Thomas, Thornton's manager. No man looked after Belvedere Thornton for 15 years and remained innocent or harmless.

Daly leaned back, away from the physical threat and smiled. He touched his fingertips lightly.

“Baby,” he said. “I don't like threats.”

“I'm not threatening,” growled Thornton. “I'm warning. If I don't get the part, you're out.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Thomas waved a dismissive arm. “I'll never work in this town again.”

“Don't think I can't make that happen,” said Thornton.

Thomas leaned forward and rested his elbows on the antique mahogany and leather desk. “Baby,” he said, more severely. “I'll get you any work that's going. At the moment you're box office poison. Three flops in a row. Nobody wants to see Belvedere Thornton any more. There's a new generation out there.”

“That's what they said to Sinatra,” growled Thornton. “Then they gave him
From Here to Eternity
.”

“Well you ain't Sinatra,” said Thomas.

Thornton stood back. “Then get me some television damn it. I need to work. I owe.” His voice was lowered almost to a whisper.

Thomas sat up again, a smile broadening his pink face. “Now you're talking. TV I can get for you. Money's not the same, but, hell neither is the strain. There's a guest spot I can get you next week.”

“Guest spot!” Thornton exploded, “I need a lead.”

Thomas put up his hands, placating. “Guest spots I can get you. Leads ...you gotta audition.”

Thornton spluttered. “I'm Belvedere Thornton,” he burst out. “I don't do auditions.”

On the stage of the theatre, Billy and Mickey burst out laughing.

“Now where have I heard that before,” said Mickey.

“I wonder,” said Billy, with a piercing look at Thornton.

The actor snorted and leaned over the console, searching for an off switch. There was none.

The images continued. It was a scene change - in time only - the characters were the same. But Thornton was unshaven while Thomas was urbane as ever.

Thornton was slumped in a chair. “For God's sake get me some work,” he said. “I haven't seen a script in six months.”

“Scripts haven't come in,” said Thomas.

Thornton had a flash of anger. “You're my bloody agent. Get scripts. Don't just sit there and wait for someone to come in. For crying out loud, what sort of agent are you?”

“I'm the best,” snapped Thomas. “You know your trouble? You're all washed up. You hurt a lot of people, and the word is out. The hyenas are baying and licking their lips. They can smell you dying. You can't even stay sober on set. “

“That's a lie and you know it.
Once
I got stoned. What did you expect, guesting in a TV sitcom for Christ's sake, like some resurrected corpse. Okay, so I have a few enemies, but I have friends too don't I?”

Thomas stood, shaking his head. “It seems you don't. Times are tough for nice old stagers, so how can I get you a job when your enemies are queuing for a piece of you? Revenge takers are in. Hey,” his face smiled, even if his eyes weren't. “Why don't you go back to stage work?”

“Because it doesn't pay enough,” said Thornton grimly

“Better than no pay at all.”

Thornton bit his lip. “Okay. Get me a job. There must be something opening on Broadway.”

Thomas laughed. “Its musicals this season and you don't sing.”

“Neither did Rex Harrison,” complained Thornton, “but it didn't stop him.”

“You ain't Rex Harrison,” said Thomas. “I can get you in a summer stock tour of
Julius Caesar
.”

Thornton lifted his head. “Mark Anthony,” he said. “I haven't played him in years.”

“And you won't be playing him in this show either,” said Thomas. “You'll get the title role. You're too old for Mark Anthony.”

“Great. I die half way through.”

“But it's a classic death,” said Thomas. “Look at it this way. It will get you back on stage, Make good publicity. ‘Superstar turns back on Hollywood for his first love - the classical stage'. It will give you a face saving out and maybe bring in a few more jobs. It doesn't matter how old you are on the stage. Man, you may be a pain in the ass on a set, but you can still learn lines, I'll say that for you.”

In front of the console, Mickey burst out laughing. “Bloody great,” he said. “I remember the story, and we all believed it. Giving up the money for art.” He turned to Billy. “Mind you, he must have had some money tucked away. He didn't go back home broke.”

“Turn that damn thing off,” shouted Thornton. “It's a fabrication. None of it is true. I never begged for a job in my life.”

Billy grinned. “If it came to a choice between believing you and believing the truth machine here, I'd take the machine.”

Back on the screen Thornton was talking again. “Look Daly baby,” he said, an ingratiating smile flitting across his face. “For you I'll break my own rule. Find me a series pilot and I'll audition.”

Thornton's face grew red with embarrassment both on and off the screen as Daly Thomas closed in on the actor. He had a look of almost commiseration on his face.

“I can't do that,” he said. “If I send you for audition you won't get the part, the movies and TV are dead for you unless you want to go to Canada or South Africa or somewhere.”

“Send me; I'll make them see me.” There was desperation etched into Thornton's face and voice.

“Forget it,” snapped Thomas. The phone rang. He picked it up. “Harry Baby.” The smile returned to his face. He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “You mind?” he said. “I gotta take a call.” He inclined his head in the direction of the door.

Thornton accepted his dismissal and walked slowly to the exit.

The scene faded. Mickey expertly produced an insincerely compassionate face.

“Be a bit of a blow if you don't get this part eh?” he said.

Thornton faced him, murder in his heart, fear in his eyes. “I should have won the roles,” he said. “I was too good an actor not to. It was a conspiracy.”

“Yeah,” I know the feelin',” said Billy. “The whole world was against you.”

“In my case it was true,” muttered Thornton. “My enemies won control of Hollywood and they were determined to see my fame diminished.” Then his eyes gleamed. “But I showed them all. My comeback to the stage was spectacular. You see, the Hollywood influence never reached New York or London.”

“Then how come you ended up in Sydney?” asked Mickey.

“Money, dear boy, money.”

“If you think I'll buy that, you must think I'm a real mug.”

Chapter Twenty

In Lucy's den, Angela's face split into a grin. Porcelain teeth flashed in light reflected from the monitor.

“They are fun,” Lucy gloated, salivating glowing ash.

The trio chuckled as they watched the image of the three men on the screen. The eyes filled with fear, the vocal bravado coming from parched mouths.

“They're ripening nicely,” said Lucy, hissing and dissolving into liquidity, oil-black, oil slick, plasticine thick, formless, unformed, forming; the first amoeba, ready to split, primeval space dust.

Diana and Angela watched warily. With Lucy it was safer to be wary. A collective memory forged in service remembered the pain; pain without pleasure. It was really bad pain; the worst kind of pain. If they had been any other beings they would have held compassion for the three men on the stage and the pain that would come to them. But for Diana and Angela, survival at any price came first. Ministering angels they were not.

The women moved apart to opposite sides of the room as the mass oozed slowly towards them. Was it hot? They wondered. Or filled with tiny scraps of broken glass? Or needles tipped with acid?

The mass rose into the air, moved towards them, hovered over them. They held their breath. It was a game they played from time to time. This time the dice rolled their way. The mass erupted into yellow smoke and recreated Lucy the businessman.

Angela let loose a silent sigh. Sometimes he could be over-theatrical. “Shall we go back to them?” she asked coolly.

Lucy shook his head. Blood flew from the head, splattering the women's faces, clothes. They were unmoved and the blood stains turned to steam and evaporated.

“Not yet,” said Lucy. “Give them longer to roast. I'm curious. Maybe they will work out the conundrum.”

“No,” said Diana emphatically. “They are too involved with their own fantasies to accept reality.”

“Nevertheless ...” Lucy focused on the monitor and the women watched with him.

Thornton watched the screen, now unremarkable with a saver of Stonehenge. But his nerves were still taut enough for him to flinch when the screen suddenly went blank.

“You are bloody nervous ,” said Billy.

“People like you make me nervous.” Thornton was recovering his bombast.

Billy returned to the front of the stage. He shielded his eyes against the light, but saw nothing. He gave a deep sigh. His need for Genghis was greater than ever. Genghis always knew what was what. Even on a whirlwind world tour he knew where they were, what town it was, which hotel they were booked into. Billy never had to worry about such things.

He remembered the days before Genghis, when he woke up and didn't know where he was. The panic and the fear; the blanks that followed the blackouts, Genghis had soothed all those fears. He was always on hand to answer the questions. He had questions now, but no-one could answer them, and he had no Genghis to turn to. His tightening stomach told him of stress, of times long ago. It became too much for him. He clenched his fists and leaned his head back, eyes closed in anguish.

In his head his voice screamed. “Genghis! Where the fuck are we?” In reality his cry was muted. Lost in a wilderness, echoing gently only to Thornton and Mickey.

“We're here,” said Mickey, “waiting for an audition.”

“But where is here?” Billy turned, silhouetted against the lights. “How did we get here?”

“By taxi I presume,” said Thornton.

“I don't use taxis,” said Billy. “I only ride in limos.”

“Then by limousine.” Thornton said, exasperated again by Billy's limp-minded attempts at logic.

“Maybe I did, but I can't remember,” said the singer. Thoughts buzzed round in his head and popped out in no sequential order; a random access memory. “And where's Genghis? He never lets me do business without him.”

“Well maybe he thinks you're a big boy now,” sneered Thornton.

“Never.” The insult went over Billy's head. “He's like my shadow.” He shook his head slowly, trying to remember, trying to crash through the vibrant colours of the experience of the last few hours. It was like the band. He couldn't find what he was looking for. “All I remember is being at a party and having fix and then the phone rang.

“I was Genghis I'm sure. It must have been. He said to get here. He'd send a limo. The next thing ...” He shuddered, “that bloody stage door and the tunnel; nothing else; just a big blank.”

“I'm not surprised,” said Mickey. “An armful of dope and you don't know anything.”

“All right smartarse,” snapped Billy. “What about you?”

“Easy,” said Mickey. “I was having a couple of beers with a friend.” The blonde! He remembered the blonde and his heart hammered. Did he take her to his penthouse suite? He hoped to God he did. It took a supreme effort, but he moved on in memory and got back on track. “Then the pub phone rang - funny that, my agent usually rings on my mobile.”

“
You
were pissed out of your mind and you start picking on
me
!” Billy spoke in disgust.

“I wasn't,” insisted Mickey. “I was in the pub - and I'd had a few, yes, but I wasn't drunk. There was this blonde - anyway the barman gave me the phone and it was my agent.” He paused, struggling for focus. “I'm sure it was. He was very excited, said something about a blockbuster show. He said he'd send a taxi as a wake-up call.” He paused again, frowning. “I must have started celebrating then,” he continued. “Because when I surfaced I was standing outside the stage door. Here.”

“Great,” said Billy. “So where is here?”

“Wouldn't have a clue exactly,” said Mickey. “The cab driver must have known the way. I didn't have an address.”

“Me neither,” said Billy. “Genghis must have just told the limo driver.” He turned to Thornton. “What about you?”

“I was in my dressing room after the show. I received a call from my management. I was too tired to take much notice. The cab deposited me on the street. All I know is that the area is almost derelict and seems to run in concentric circles.”

“So none of us knows where we are,” said Billy. “Then I hope to God somebody else does, or we could be in the deepest shit that ever happened.”

“Somebody must know,” said Mickey, “It seems we were all in some sort of state when we got the call, but we're not going to turn up in some strange place without somebody knowing what's going on. I mean, that's crazy.”

“That's exactly what I've been trying to say,” said Thornton. “We are all here for a purpose; our managements must know our whereabouts.”

“Yeah,” Billy brightened. “Genghis wouldn't move without knowing where I was. Soon as those two get back I'll ring him. They must have a phone somewhere. He'll know what's what.”

“We can ring on my mobile!” Mickey almost beamed, as he pulled the compact telephone from his pocket. “I forgot all about it.” He handed it to Billy who took it eagerly. The singer turned the “on” switch. The light blinked into life and he dialled. The musical tones echoed and then stopped. He listened then dialled again. Then he glared at Mickey. “It's not working,” he said.

“Well it was okay last night,” he said. “The battery was fully charged. Give it here.” Mickey took the telephone and studied it. Then he dialled. Nothing. “This is crazy,” he said. “There's plenty of juice. It just won't ring out. It must be this place. Maybe there's too much metal hanging about. I don't know.” He pocketed the phone in disgust.

“They
must
have a phone,” said Billy.

“Must,” agreed Mickey. “Somewhere that we can't get to, I'll bet. They don't want us to know anything.” He stared into the darkness of the wings. “It's probably in that room where the smell comes from.” He marched towards the wings as he snapped: “I'm getting sick of this.” He took a deep breath; listening and then he yelled with full voice of frustration, “come out wherever you are. Tell us what the hell's going on.”

Thornton sighed. “My God you are impatient. It's obvious you've never been in the movies. The art of waiting around, they call it.”

Mickey ignored the actor and stared moodily into the darkness. Billy snapped. Nerves ragged. He slammed his fist into the proscenium wall. “Nobody keeps Billy Winter waiting,” he screamed. It sounded like a voice from a gravel pit.

Thornton eased his way over to the singer. “Patience boy,” he said his voice soft as summer winds. “We were each obviously under some sort of strain last night. We were brought here by ordinary means, taxi, and limousine. We are artistic people. We have imagination, flair, and a natural bent towards paranoia. We look for the unusual, the extraordinary. But sometimes we should cut away the frills of the mind and see exactly what is there. And what we have is a production company auditioning a play in a theatre which is under reconstruction.”

He took Billy's arm, gently and pointed to the auditorium with the other. “You have the chance of working with Belvedere Thornton in the first new Shakespearean play in 400 years. That is reality.”

Billy tried to move away, but Thornton gripped his shoulder, holding the singer in a grip of steel. Billy stopped moving and relaxed his tense body. “Let go you old queen.” It was not a request.

Thornton relaxed his grip and took a step backwards, a smile on his face that, in the half light, took away the years. “What's the matter boy? Not worried about your masculinity are you?”

Billy turned to face the actor and burst out laughing. “I'm not worried about nothing,” he said. “I just don't like being felt up by gays, that's all.”

“Afraid?” There was challenge in the voice.

Billy held his smile. “You are jokin' aren't you?”

Thornton's eyes bore into Billy's. “Why should I be joking?” he murmured. “I think you're afraid because you are insecure.”

Mickey watched the scene in fascination. It was the rabbit and the snake again. Or was it the mongoose and the snake?

Billy laughed aloud. “You silly old bugger,” Billy spluttered. “How many times do you think I've heard that one? A million times at least. Now what comes next? Ah yes I'm a closet queen myself. Come off it.” There was derision in his voice.

Thornton cut his act immediately and flounced away, casual, uncaring.

“You'd be surprised how often it does work,” he said.

Mickey shook his head in wonderment. You might not like the bloke, but you had to grant him his talent. What a performance.

Billy erased the smile from his face. “Well it won't ever work on me, sport. You can do what you like with whoever you like, just so long as you leave me out of it.”

“That's very liberal of you,” Thornton spat the words out.

“Don't get upset,” said Billy. “It's okay for some; I just don't reckon its natural, that's all.

Thornton let a malicious grin spread over his own face. “It's more natural that spreading narcotics through your system with a hypodermic syringe.” He paused. “I've known people change their mind in the goodness of time.”

“Well not this boy,” said Billy. “You'll be roasting in Hell before you see me go bent.”

“You'll probably by there waiting for me,” snapped Thornton.

“Leave it,” said Billy. It was a warning.

“Yeah, leave the bloke alone,” said Mickey.

Thornton whirled on the comic, with a look of utter contempt on his face. “Why?” he asked evenly. “Do you want him?”

Mickey felt his face colour. “Don't talk bloody wet,” he said.

Billy sniggered and Thornton looked triumphant. Mickey was uncomfortably embarrassed. He skulked off to the wings and stared into the gloom, pondering on the silence behind the sliver of ghostly light that crept under the door of the forbidden room. The odour was there, but different. Bad, still, but the smell of burning and sex had been added to the mix.

He turned away, stomach churning. Was it with excitement or fear? He walked round the stage, staring up into the rafters.

“What are looking for now,” sneered Thornton, “Bats?”

“No.” said Mickey. “I'm looking for the camera. They're in that room, spying on us.” He thought he heard the tinkle of laughter, but no-one else reacted, so he said nothing.

“Paranoia creeping up again?” said Thornton.

“They spied on us in that other room” said Mickey, “why not now? They wanted to know plenty when they talked to us.”

“They knew plenty as well,” said Billy. “Things nobody knew but me - and Genghis. Where did they find it all? And why bother any way? They're putting on a show and there are only two things that count. Will we draw an audience and can we do what they want? All the rest is just crap.”

“I agree,” said Mickey. “What's my relationship with my wife got to do with acting?”

“Everything from her point of view,” said Thornton. “She couldn't have found you attractive, now could she?”

“No need for that,” said Mickey. “I know what I look like.”

Billy rubbed his chin. “I wish I did,” he said. “My face feels stubbly. I need a shave.” He paused. “Hey, I've just thought of something else. I haven't seen a mirror anywhere, not in the Green Room, or in the other room. No mirrors in a theatre? That is peculiar isn't it?” he paused and listened to the silence. “It's not natural.”

Mickey stared into the rafters. “Bats,” he said. “Maybe those women are vampires and they're going to turn us into the living dead. The blonde's got long teeth, did you notice?”

“There's no such thing as vampires,” said Billy, not quite certain.

“I don't know,” said Thornton, closing in on the singer. “There's usually some truth behind the myths. They created zombies in Haiti, I know, I saw them.”