NATHANIEL IN SHOW BIZ
My brush with teenage girl majorettes led on to another interesting little adventure. I was having a quiet drink in my local – I am not a sociable malefactor, but I do like to keep in touch with local gossip – when a woman approached me. She looked to be touching her early forties, and had a determined air about her. A man standing by the bar was watching her with a proprietary interest, so I could see she had no immediate plans to seduce me, though she was not bad looking for her age. A bit brassy, perhaps, but not bad looking. I composed my expression into one of watchful benevolence.
‘Excuse me. I’ve been told you put the Brook House majorettes on the map.’ The woman spoke in a syrupy voice, but she had a pushy air about her despite her politeness. She also plainly considered herself lamb, though I would have judged her tending rather more towards mutton: her grey silk shirt was a little too tight, though it made a nice match for her eyes, and so were her black leather trousers, whilst her blonde hair had that streaky and slightly dishevelled look about it that plainly signalled an expensive salon, but was still rather dark at the roots. Several gold bracelets clanked on her wrists, and I imagined her driving a BMW convertible, perhaps four to five years old. I nodded.
‘Suzy, our daughter, wants to get into show biz.’ The woman smiled ingratiatingly, and her teeth gleamed. I could see she frequented a good dentist. ‘I heard you introduced Sarah to a top agent.’
I shrugged. I am a malefactor who always moves in the very best circles.
‘She’s had a couple of gigs at teenage parties, and she wowed the Rotarians at the Community Centre. She’s formed her own group, you know.’ The woman swelled with maternal pride, and I waited for her shirt buttons to pop. ‘We think she’s ready to move ahead.’
I smiled neutrally. I am not a showbiz promoter, but I do know that these things take time and a lot of hard work and persistence
‘We’d like you to come and watch her. She’s going to be topping the bill at the Council’s summer festival – Jack pulled some strings.’
The woman beckoned to the man at the bar, and he strode towards me, holding out his hand. I could see that he had good manners, and wondered whether his hand might hold something folding. But it was empty, and a little clammy, though he did buy me a drink.
We chatted for a few moments, about this and that, and swapped phone numbers, and then I made my excuses and left to drive home. Jack seemed pretty insignificant to me, an estate agent, and mad about golf. I am not planning to move home, and I have no interest in sports – well, not outside bedrooms – so we had little in common. However I thought I might spare a moment or two for Davina, his wife.
She certainly seemed very keen, and I suspected her interest might run just a little further than watching her daughter clown around on a stage, for she put up her face to be kissed, in a social, air-kiss sort of way, as we parted. I thought that a little forward, considering we had just met.
She called me the following day. ‘Suzy and her group are rehearsing tomorrow evening in our games room. I wondered if you could possibly spare half an hour, or so.’ Her voice trailed away invitingly.
I murmured my assent. I have a circle of women whom I service, for want of a better word. But they all know that I am a very busy man, and can only call on them when I have time to spare. I try to practise a strict system of rotation.
‘Jack thought you might like a beer and a sandwich.’
I grunted. My tastes run more to champagne and caviar.
‘I told him you’d probably prefer some tasty strips of veal simmered in white wine.’
Blanquettes de veau? I purred like a hopeful Cheshire.
‘Seven for half-past?’
I was already heading for my diary.
Jack, Davina and Suzy Forrester lived in a large house on an estate just north of Burnham. The kind of home popular with estate agents, accountants, solicitors and prosperous shopkeepers. Late model Mercs, BMWs, and big four wheel drives. I was there on the dot, and Davina opened the door. She was wearing a fetching blue and white apron over a practical kind of housedress: I thought she might look nice wearing the apron and nothing else. Maybe she thought so too, because she came in close for another airkiss, but this time we almost connected lips to lips, and I could feel both my ends flicker in a little flurry of excitement.
The house was comfortable in a rather flash sort of way – Harrods rather than Harvey Nicks. I was glad I had dressed in my best blue blazer with brass buttons, a silk poloneck, and pale grey flannels. Jack was still in his estate agency suit. Almost, but not quite, Savile Row. Davina ushered me past a diningroom set out for quite a fancy meal, all best china and glass – though nothing to compete with my Sevres and Polish crystal – past a kitchen emitting some really delicious smells, and along a passage towards the back of the house. I could hear a sound system pounding. Well it sounded like a sound system, but Davina pushed at a door and I realised that this was live entertainment.
The games room at the back of the Forresters’ house had been converted into a nightclub, complete with a huge rotating mirror ball and strobe lights flashing. Three girls were working out a sexy routine, very pulsing and thrusting, and I must say their timing was perfect. Three bodies gyrating and twisting like three reflections of one, with an effect made even stronger because they moved in a triptych of mirrors. A hundred reflections all moving together.
I was impressed. The music stopped, and the girls stood for a moment panting from their exertions. A younger girl, perhaps ten or twelve, ran to them with towels, and they mopped themselves, and it was a moment of pure magic. There is nothing like the instant when a woman collapses in on herself: it is a culmination of passion.
The girl in the centre of the three came forward. She was tall, a good head taller than me, with short dark elfin hair, and she was lithe, with a body like a panther. She looked down at me from the small stage, and smiled, and I knew she was a trophy I must add to my collection.
‘Mum says you can help us.’
I smiled cautiously. It is very easy to give hostages to fortune.
‘She says you know some big names up West.’ The girl came down from the stage and stood close to me. ‘Do you think I’ve got what it takes?’
I could smell the scent of her sweat, and it was all that I could do to prevent myself taking her there and then. But one must respect proprieties. She touched the side of my face, stroking her finger along my cheekbone, and I pulled away sharply. Suzy Forrester was one of those girls who can read men like a book from the moment they leave their cradles, and she was working on me.
Fortunately Davina came to my rescue. ‘We’ll go and have a drink whilst you get cleaned up.’ Her voice had a sharp edge – it was plain she knew how to manage her daughter.
Suzy joined us a few minutes later. She had changed into a sandy-gold summer dress. The two other girls – both her sisters - were also nice looking, but not in the same mould. There were also a couple of young men, musical technicians hoping to hook themselves to stardom. They didn’t count. The veal was very good, and Davina served a nice white to go with it. Jack Forrester beamed from time to time, and the two young men made eyes at Suzy’s sisters, but I knew I ranked as the guest of honour: Davina was on one side of me, and Suzy on the other. Both were playing footsie, and I was tempted to push my chair back a little, and let them play with each other. But it hardly seemed proper. Besides, perhaps they knew.
The evening grew quite boozy, and I think I made some rash promises – something about both finding Suzy a top agent, and a record label, and introducing her to various TV producers. I think I damn near promised her the earth, because Davina had her hand in my lap, and I grow weak at such moments. We also had a nice little fumble when I said my goodbyes – again with Davina, of course. Suzy made it clear that she was offering nothing until I delivered.
Then I went to visit a nice girl living near Maidenhead. Moving on in age, and a bit on the desperate side. I knew she needed a good working over. I knew I was the malefactor to give it to her after what I had been through.
I called my best agent – the one who owed me a couple of good turns - the following morning. He sounded neutral, but he said he would see what he could do. Then I launched into a veritable promotional blitz. I spoke to a couple of contacts at the Beeb, but drew pretty much of a blank. Then I tried charming a woman at Thames TV, but she seemed quite jealous at the thought of me chasing a teenager. Sometimes I find it hard to understand women. Balance sheets count for more than age and vital statistics, particularly as one moves on in life. I rang a man with a small record label. Not my type, he is as queer as they come. But one must plough a furrow whenever one finds a patch of fertile soil – and I knew he was looking for talent.
Roger was mildly interested. ‘I’d prefer a boy, sweetie.’ His voice held a touch of petulance, queers are nothing if not temperamental. ‘We’re packaging a nice little boy band at the moment.’
I wondered momentarily whether shafting might not have come closer, but one must never dissent when glory calls. I set up a meeting, and spent a couple more evenings watching Suzy work out. Davina made eyes a great deal, but Jack was always in the offing. The veal seemed to have run out – we dined on takeaway bits from Marks and Sparks, and drank Spanish plonk. But I took care to sign Suzy up to a contract cutting me in for a slice of any real action.
Roger caught the train down to Slough, and I picked him up at the station. He had a weedy young man called Terry with him: Roger presented him as a teen idol in the making. I could not see it, but then malefactors may be poor judges. I drove out to Burnham, and my two passengers looked bored. Perhaps they thought that civilisation ended at Hammersmith Broadway.
Davina was waiting at the door, and I could swear her leather had grown tighter. This time she airkissed me with very great promise, and both my ends began dancing excitedly inside my chinos. Jack was nowhere to be seen, and Davina murmured something about a big business dinner.
‘The girls are out in the games room.’ She made it sound like a promise. ‘They’ve got a new song.’
Well, the next half hour was an eye-opener. The three girls had polished themselves even brighter, and their new song was a winner. Even I could tell that. Roger was drooling, and Terry could not take his eyes off her. Suzy seemed to fancy him reciprocally, and soon they were pounding out some trash I had heard on my car radio. Roger leaned over.
‘He should make the top next week.’
Suddenly pennies started dropping into place, but I was already sliding. Terry was Roger’s new bright star, and now he had two. The new teen idol sat between Suzy and her mother whilst we were eating, with me out at one end of the table, and I was a malefactor on ice. Perhaps they had planned it that way – it seemed rather too much of a coincidence. Or perhaps I had just slipped up on a streak of bad luck.
I made it out of the Forresters’ house with dignity, but precious little else. Suzy was trying to burrow her way into dear Terry’s breeches, and Roger – for a queer – was putting up a pretty masculine performance with her mother. I looked at the two younger sisters, and both scowled at me. They preferred their technicians. I fled to Maidenhead: I always know where to seek refuge.
The contract proved pretty leaky as well. Some shyster lawyer had double-crossed me by dealing me short in the fine print. Jack Forrester bought me out for a couple, and I had to sit in solitary misery watching Suzy and Terry pounding their way into the millions – I watched them at home on TV, the experience was too humiliating to share.
I don’t think I’ll mess with the pop world again. I can’t handle ambitious women.