CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Teddy! Teddy!” The call had sounded so often that to Teddy himself his name had undergone that strange transformation where it had become a senseless word, without end or meaning. He was sick of it. If he heard it once more, he told himself, he would smash something—preferably the stage scenery. One prop pulled out and there would be a splendid crash.
But he had no time to waste, pulling props or contemplating ruin. He was hurrying as fast as he could. He stacked a heap of gossamer costume on a rickety chair, started off in answer to a plaintive cry, and then rushed back just in time to keep the costume from tumbling down. “Teddy! Come here a minute.” There was no time to say “please,” no time for anyone to adopt the usual pretence that they were asking him and not ordering. He put the costume down again, more firmly, and tore off in the direction of the ladies’ dressing-room. Mrs. Saville-Sanders wanted to be pinned up.
“Teddy!” That was Bob, at the other end of the stage. “I need some help here.”
“Teddy! What in hell did you do with that foundation cream?”
“Teddy! Come and fix my eyebrows. I look like a ruin. What’s the matter?”
“Teddy Madden, come and tell me where to put this jar. You stand out there and look. Do you think so? No, I’m sure you’re wrong....”
“Ted, Gwen Saville-Sanders wants you to fix the flower that goes in her hair. Hurry up, for God’s sake. She’s on a rampage.”
He dashed into the dressing-room again and Phyllis Parker snatched up a wrapper and screamed. Startled, he paused and glanced at her. Her legs were long and bare beneath the wrapper: she clutched it to her flat bosom like Diana surprised in the bath, and glared at him.
“Oh, don’t be such a damn fool!” he snarled, overwhelmed by the imbecility of it. “D’you think I have time....”
“Teddy! Teddee.. ee.. ee.” A maliciously long-drawn wail that set his teeth on edge. He was dripping with sweat and his face was smeared with dust and plaster. For a quarter of an hour the audience had been clapping spasmodically, now someone had started them off on a slow, ominous, steady applause that beat on his ears terrifyingly. Well, what if they did get tired and go home? Of course they wouldn’t, but what if they did? He would be glad. He wanted more than anything in the world to go into a corner and sleep; if anyone called him he would show his teeth like a rat. One more idiot yelling for him....
The stage director came in and held up his hand, spreading an area of quiet through the crowd until it reached the outer corners.
“Silence! Silence! please. Everyone must be more quiet. I was out in the back, the very back, and I could hear you all the way out there. Please be more careful, even if you are excited. Now then, is everyone ready? Are all the props in place? Madden, have you looked it all over? All right then. I’m going to give the signal.... Curtain!”
In the hush behind the scenes following the creaking of the curtain, Teddy escaped and crept out into the audience through the side door. He wiped his face and tried to relax, refusing to look about him, even at the stage, until he should have regained his temper. The affair was well under way when he allowed himself to look.
Well, it seemed to be going without too much of a hitch. It was impossible to follow it closely after so many rehearsals. Unless someone made a new error, he wouldn’t even notice the customary little slips that they were so used to. He was fogged, worn out. His head drooped to one side and he began to breathe with a dangerous regularity, then caught himself up and straightened his back. The trouble was that he had not had a drink all day. He had promised Mrs. Saville-Sanders to see to it that no one was drunk at the opening of the Vaudeville, and in the face of careful taboo, how could he have managed to take anything for himself? No, it was better this way. But now it was safe: as soon as he had a chance he’d get something. No one would be able to last through the Ball without a little help. His head slumped down again.
Through the uncomfortable doze he heard the long-drawn clapping that meant the end of the first act. He sat up quickly as the lights went on. They’d be needing him. He went back to the stage door, stopping with Billy Trewartha, who was in charge of the curtain.
“Got a drink?” he asked. It was an unnecessary question, since he had stopped Billy twice from taking nips before the show started. Billy harboured no grudge, however. He took a flask out and mounted guard while Teddy did his best to repair his nerves.
The second act was launched and he went back to his old seat. The audience was taking it pretty well. Of course the people in front would like it because it was a family affair, but these chaps didn’t have to applaud unless they meant it. The broad comedy went over much better than the highbrow offerings. Natural enough, he reflected; it was really much better. He craned his neck and took one glimpse of the front rows, then sat back, satisfied with their carefully appreciative expressions.
Next act started off awkwardly, some mix-up with the lights to begin with, and a lot of frantic flashing—yellow and red and blue, each new colour greeted with irreverent applause. The curtain went up before it should have, too. Perhaps Billy had finished the flask too soon. Oh well, it was not too bad. The light was fixed at last as it should be; a single red beam at the corner of the stage. Then Phil Ray stepped into it and walked slowly, or rather danced—for his step was controlled and deliberate—to the centre. His arm was raised, covering his eyes, and he crouched as he walked. In the centre of the stage he stopped, turned slowly in a series of notes from the music, and paused again. The playing was louder, working up to a crescendo. He dropped his arms, stretched them down along his sides, then flung them back and stood with his chest high, his ribs sharply serrated, his neck ridged with shadow as his head fell back. The shaded half of his body looked purple in the red light, shining from an angle. He was naked.
There was a stir, a gathering disturbance in the audience. Suddenly the rustling and whispering concentrated in the centre of the second row. In the darkness Teddy thought he saw a great moving shadow. What could it be? Someone was talking, forgetting to whisper. Someone was arguing. An usher opened the door into the lobby and held it; someone was going out. The electric light streamed in from the back, near Teddy, and illuminated the majestic form of Mrs. Montgomery Pearson, walking out of the door. She walked like a sacred elephant, and her jet necklace swung back and forth across her armoured bosom. She moved slowly, with upheld nose but downcast eyes, into the pure air of the outer night; after her, blinking a little and stooping more than usual beneath the horrid burden of so many astounded stares, Mr. Montgomery Pearson followed with her shawl.
The door swung shut behind them and the house was in darkness again. Only the red light persisted, shining on the imperturbable Phil, who went on dancing. Teddy managed to get backstage just as the act ended.
Back there they were not taking it as humorously as he had expected. Phil came off the stage in a fit of hysteria and everyone was comforting him. The place was in a mess: everyone was indulging in the luxury of indignation, and Teddy leaped into the middle of it until the stage-manager extricated him and sent him forth to calm down the performers. Bob was the most militant: he was all for sending the Pearsons out of town by official order from the Mayor.
“I can see the humour of it as quickly as anyone can, my dear boy,” he explained to Teddy, “but damn it, we must protect the colony. What’s to happen to free speech and all that if we allow the bigots to criticize us?”
“I’ll start circulating a petition tomorrow,” said Gwen. “Teddy, remind me of it in the morning.”
“Teddy,” said the stage-manager, “see if you can’t make the property men get down to work. I promised the undertaker that he can have the chairs back in time for a bridge party tomorrow.”
“That reminds me,” Mrs. Saville-Sanders said, “that I want to talk to you when you have a moment to spare, Teddy.”
Phil plucked at his arm and asked him feebly if it would be wise to bring action for libel. Bob thought that it would, and walked off with him, saying, “I’ll give you the address of my attorney in Albuquerque.”
“Before I forget,” Mrs. Saville-Sanders persisted, “I want to ask you to be sure to come to my bridge on the eleventh, Teddy. Don’t forget, will you? I shall count on you. And I wanted to say that you’ve been a dear boy and a great help tonight. I don’t know what we should have done without you.” She turned to Bob, who had come back. “That’s a nice boy,” she added.
His heart bounded in triumph. The accolade at last!
“Teddy! Come here a minute, will you? Someone has got to help me pack up the costumes.”
He ran gaily to obey the last order of the evening. All was well. His face was as the face of Wellington after Waterloo.