Fallen Skies. Philippa Gregory
the noise of the engine he could hear Lily singing: ‘… a boy for you, a girl for me …’
She looked up and smiled at him with her whole heart in her eyes. Charlie, despite himself, winked at her and smiled back.
The theatre in Sidmouth was the smallest they had played on the tour. The bar at the back of the theatre was open to the auditorium. If they were rowdy in the bar then the audience would turn around in their seats and yell at them. Sometimes fights broke out. Lily was in a state of utter terror at going before them to sing a sacred song but Charlie had been right when he had judged the deep sentimental streak in the most unruly English crowd. And Lily did not realize how captivating she was as a choir boy.
They listened to Lily with attention and they clapped warmly and long at the end of her song. Sylvia de Charmante, on the other hand, received whistles and catcalls and loud indecent suggestions. She rode the wave of noise like an old trooper. Nothing upset her. Lily, waiting in the wings, found that she had her hands up over her mouth in horror at the lewdness of the shouts from the bar at the back but Sylvia swayed in time to the music and sang a little louder to drown out the heckling.
‘She doesn’t answer them,’ Charlie pointed out to Lily. They were between shows, sitting at the bar at the back of the theatre drinking lemonade. ‘Sometimes you can go downstage and give as good as you get. I’ve seen people do that with a really sticky house. But generally you do better just to sing over the top of the noise and leave it to the audience whether they listen to you or not.’
‘I should never have the nerve.’
‘You’d better learn to have the nerve. You’ve got to be able to sing for the drunks at the bar as well as the ladies in the dress circle, Lil. If you’re a performer you have to grab them whoever they are.’
Lily nodded. ‘I’ll learn.’
‘Let’s try out that new act for you,’ Charlie said. He led the way through the darkened auditorium. A cleaning woman was sweeping under the seats, grunting with the effort. She straightened up to let them pass, watching them without interest. Charlie opened the little door to the orchestra pit and waved Lily up to the stage.
‘D’you know “Burlington Bertie”, Lil?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I want you to do it. We’ll dress you in a gent’s morning suit, flower in your pocket, umbrella, all the props. Just sing it through for now. See how it sounds.’
Charlie shuffled through some music in his case. ‘Here’s the words,’ he said, handing up a sheet. Off you go. Just sing it. No actions.’
Lily stood still as he instructed and sang the little song, ‘I’m Burlington Bertie, I rise at ten thirty …’, concentrating only on the tune and the light syncopation of the rhythm.
‘Ever see Vesta Tilley do it?’ Charlie demanded when they reached the end of the song.
Lily shook her head.
‘She did it like a man. She walked like a man, she moved her hands like a man. She had this big bust on her, and her waistcoat stretched over it and then she went on stage and sang and moved exactly like a man. People loved it. It was really …’ Charlie flapped his hand, seeking the right word. ‘Contradictory. Entertaining.’
‘I don’t know I can do that.’
Charlie shook his head. ‘No! No! It’s been done! You never do what’s been done already. You don’t want to be the second Vesta Tilley, you want to be a wholly original Lily Valance. You do the song differently. How would you do it?’
Lily thought. ‘It’d have to be in boy’s clothes. It’s a song about being a man. I’d have to do it in man’s clothes.’
Charlie nodded, waited for more.
‘It’s almost a sad song,’ Lily suddenly said. ‘I don’t know how to do it but in a way it’s a song about someone pretending to be something he isn’t. Someone with nothing to do. It comes over funny, but if you actually think about his life – it’s lonely.’
Charlie snapped the fingers on both hands. ‘Jackpot! You try it!’
He played the introductory notes, Lily took a fold of her blouse in each hand, as a man holds the lapels of his coat, and strolled across the stage. She sang with a sort of lingering wistfulness, her clear voice very sweet on the simple tune.
‘Magic,’ Charlie said softly to himself over the keyboard. ‘Burlington Bertie as one of the lost generation. No real friends, no-one who knows what it was like. One of the ones who came back, who’s learning to envy those who won’t ever come back. A young man who has buried young men. Magic.’
Lily stood downstage, looking down at Charlie in the pit. ‘It felt really sad,’ she said. ‘But I don’t know how to do it.’
‘That’ll do nicely for a try-out.’ Charlie hid his delight. ‘That’s all I wanted for today. Just to hear it through.’
Madge stepped out on to the stage. ‘Would you hear something through of mine?’
‘All requests graciously received,’ Charlie said with patience. ‘What did you want to do, Madge?’
‘It’s a ragtime song. I want to have it as an audition piece. It’s called “Red Hot Baby”.’
‘“Red Hot Baby”,’ Charlie repeated. ‘Can you count, Madge? Can you count beats to a bar?’
‘Not really,’ Madge said cheerfully. ‘But if you play it over to me and sing it to me then I can remember it.’
Charlie took the music and set it in the stand. He counted Madge in. She missed the introduction. He played it through again and nodded her when to start. This time she hit the beat and stayed with it, more or less, till the end of the song. She had a thin little voice but she could keep a tune, and she danced with a lot of energy, swinging her hips and winking at the empty auditorium. The cleaning woman wasted one glance on all of them and carried on with her work. Charlie clattered into the finale and did a mock drum-roll with the bass notes.
‘Not bad!’ he said. ‘Have you ever heard coon-shouting, Madge?’
Madge shook her head.
‘You don’t worry about the tune at all, you just shout as though you are hoarse over the top of the music and dance like you do – only more so.’
Lily widened her eyes. ‘She’ll get arrested.’
Madge gurgled. ‘Divine!’
‘Once more?’ Charlie offered. ‘Try it without singing the tune, Madge, try just talking it. Leave the tune to me, but make sure you hit the rhythm of it. You’ve got to get the beat of it – the rest can look after itself.’
Madge took a couple of steps upstage and cakewalked her way to the front. Her speaking voice was lower than her singing, huskier. At once the song became compelling, sexual. Madge winked at Charlie and went into a few dance steps, wiggling her bottom with a swing of her hip on each beat. At the end of the song she stretched out her arms and frankly jiggled her breasts and then finished with her arms upflung and her head thrown back.
Lily applauded with her mouth open. Charlie roared with laughter.
‘A star is born, Madge! That’s the way to do it! You want an exotic kind of set, like a speakeasy or a club, and some kind of tight dress with a big slit up the front. You’ll be a huge hit!’
‘Will you suggest it to Mr Brett?’ Madge asked breathlessly. ‘He listens to you. He let you put Lily in even though he didn’t think it would work.’
‘If someone drops out and makes a space, I’ll mention it to him. And it’d be a good audition piece for you, Madge. It’s a real knock ’em dead number.’
Madge beamed. ‘Will you rehearse me again sometime? Like you do with Lily?’
Charlie