Page 11 of The Songbird of Wychwood

GEORGE

Someone was knocking on my room door. My head thudded, joining in with the annoying banging. I was hung-over worse than I could remember. I had no idea what time it was but I weren’t getting out of bed for no one! I groaned and curled in on myself hoping whoever it was would bugger off and let me sleep. The knocking continued and Eloise shouted,

“George, I don’t care if you’re stark-bollock naked, if you don’t open this door right now I’m coming in!” Eloise lived above a bookshop two streets away, and she liked to come in early and use the stage to rehearse new routines. I hitched one eye open and saw the pile of fabric discarded on the floor beside my bed. I’d not treated my dress or Eloise’s bodice with the care they deserved. This fact was reinforced when the door to my room was flung open and in a banshee screech Eloise said,

“Bleedin’ hell George! That’s the last time I lend you anything.” She stormed in and snatched the bodice from the floor. The sound of her yelling was too much for me. I turned over and grabbed a second pillow then sandwiched my head between them, curling my knees to my chest. My head was pounding so hard I wanted to die. I never usually drank so much at Wychwood, but last night wasn’t a usual night at all.

My thoughts drifted to Mr. 36, and how, when he held me close, I’d felt like I was in some kind of fairytale. I knew that, after the dazzling waltz my life would never be the same again. And I was right, cos my hopes had been lifted on the wings of angels and then the angels dropped me from a great height when Mr. Joshua informed that 36 had left, alone, before midnight!

The pillow was unceremoniously torn from my head. Eloise sounded different, cautious, as she said, “Hey, whatever’s wrong Georgie?” I realized then that I was crying. I felt so overwhelmed with…feelings and I couldn’t stop them leaking out. I hadn’t let a fellow get under my skin for ages and in one evening 36 had got further than most. Why did I believe, even for a moment, that a swell like him would want to spend time with me? I knew it was against the house rules for us to dally, and for good reason too. All it takes is one thwarted lover with a grudge to make life very uncomfortable for men like us. The rules were in place to protect the gents who paid for a safe space to love and fuck. But, Gods, I was so lonely. I wanted to be loved and fucked too, and in my heart, I knew I would have risked my job for a tumble with 36, just for one night, so I knew what it felt like to be with a man like him.

Eloise clambered into bed behind me and gathered me back against her. She hugged me and was silent for a few minutes as I let the tears out and got to grips with myself. I’d known a mother’s love, but I wondered sometimes what it would have been like to have a dad. What would he have said when he discovered his boy was an invert? Would I be so comfortable with my preference if I had a father telling me to toughen up, be a man , stop crying , and don’t shame the family name ? I wallowed in self-pity. My head hurt, my throat was burning, and I was such a bloody fool. I knew better than to overindulge as my voice was my instrument and if I damaged it how was I supposed to make a living?

“Did something happen, George? Gods, you didn’t even take your greasepaint off when you got in. Your pillowcases are ruined. Come here, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Eloise backed out of the bed then came around to my side. I groaned in complaint as she pulled back the covers then gripped my hands. With more groans of protest; she pulled me up and out of the bed. I hadn’t put the gas stove on to heat the room when I got home and it was bloomin’ freezing. I was just wearing the pink frilly French knickers. I grabbed my Japanese silk robe, threaded my arms into it, and pulled the belt tight around my waist. Eloise led me to my dressing table and sat me down. The dressing table was littered with all kinds of knick-knacks, costume jewelry, theater make-up, everything I used to create my character looks. I stared at my face in the mirror and yes, I looked like shit warmed over! My skin was patchy where white greasepaint remained, and the carmine red lipstick was smeared as if I’d drunkenly wiped my hand across my mouth, my eyes had dark rings of kohl, and my stubble had grown in overnight. What a mess!

“Drink this,” Eloise ordered.

“What is it?”

“Gin. Hair of the dog!”

I hated Gin, and only kept a small bottle around as it was good for cleaning my mirrors, but I felt so unwell and down in the dumps that I guessed even a nip of Gin might be an improvement. It burned like the devil’s piss going down and I grimaced. My room had a sink with hot and cold running water, and a gas stove where I could make tea or boil an egg for breakfast. Eloise moved to the sink, she ran the water and the pipes clanked and banged. She filled the kettle, lit the gas, and put the kettle on the stove. I stood on shaky legs and walked across the room, all stiff joints, like an automaton in need of a squirt of oil! I joined Eloise by the sink where she’d prepared a bowl of hot water, soap and a wash cloth.

“Scrub that shit off your face or you’ll come out in spots. You know you’re not supposed to leave it on overnight,” she mother-henned. She was right of course. The greasepaint was so oily that it could lead to pimples, and no actor wants a face full of pimples.

“I’ll go and get my big jar of cold cream from the dressing room to get the last of it, back in a tick!” She collected her bodice and left.

It was a rare luxury to have an indoor latrine, and Mr. Grayson had gotten several fitted in the theater, all paid for by a generous patron who ran a plumbing business. I went for a piss, then returned to my room and, using the basin of hot water, the cloth, and soap, scrubbed to remove the makeup.

I then sat at my dressing table and checked my skin again. I looked a little better, but my face was red and sore with all the scrubbing and I thought it best to let my stubble grow out for a day or two. The next time I was on stage was on Wednesday night. I figured I could play Captain Rimmer, as short stubble would look well for my soldier character, and if I added the fake curly moustache and a monocle it would also work for my randy aristocrat character Lord Dickey. But I’d have to talk as little as possible over the next day to protect my voice.

Eloise returned from our dressing room and barged into my room again. Her jar of cold cream was so big she had to use both hands to carry it. I gave her a querulous look.

“What? I buy it in bulk cos it’s cheaper that way,” she said sounding mildly offended as I cleared a space for her huge jar.

“Now, spill! What happened to take away your sparkle my love?” She started to spread the cold cream on my face like she was buttering bread. My shoulders slumped and my vow to not speak to protect my voice went straight out the window.

“Long story short.” My throat still burned and my voice sounded hoarse. I coughed and continued. “I met someone. We got on like we were made for each other, we danced, and then he was gone. Poof!” I mimed sadly.

“And?” Eloise asked eagerly.

“I don’t know his name…he don’t know my name…and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again,” I said with grim poetry.

“That’s a lot of don’t knows there, George.” Eloise’s reflection was smiling affectionately at me in my dressing table mirror. “Sounds like quite a fairytale night, Cinders!” Her eyes were full of mischief. “So, you fell in love at first sight?”

“No! Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t know him, and he don’t know me. We were in the same place for a few hours and I liked the look of him, that’s all. That ain’t love.”

“What does he look like?”

“A fine figure, and he was so handsome in his tail coat,” I replied dreamily. “He’s got curly blond hair and he didn’t use pomade or anything to flatten it, just let his mop remain natural. And his eyes, oh his eyes were green and had flecks like fire, and his mustachioed smile lit up his whole face,” I said in a dramatic rush. “When he first arrived, he was so nervous, and then later on we talked and he was kind and charming. He said he liked my voice, and when I sang, he looked at me like I hung the moon, and he…said he wanted to…take me to bed.”

Eloise gasped, “He didn’t!”

“He did! I told him it wasn’t allowed…I’m not allowed to get off with house clients. I love that job, but if I’m honest…I would have risked it.”

Our eyes met in the mirror and we both erupted in peals of laughter. Eloise hugged me from behind.

“So what happened…I need details?”

“My pianist was playing a set of waltzes. One fellow took me out for a dance, and this gent just stepped in and pulled me from the other fellow’s arms.”

“He didn’t!” Eloise was scandalized.

“It’s true. He was so masterful and romantic and then we waltzed together. It was like I was dancing on the clouds, Lou. I swear, I ain’t never had so much fun in my life.”

“And?”

“And, then, the waltz was over, and he vanished. My boss told me the gentleman left!”

I opened my dressing table drawer and picked out one of the rags I kept especially for removing cold cream. I set to scraping the cream off my face while Eloise brushed my hair. We were silent for a while before Eloise asked, “So, I don’t suppose he gave you any clues to who he is?”

I thought back to the brief time we’d shared, and no, I couldn’t recall anything he’d said that would give me a clue to his identity. He was good at cards, he loved music, and he was a wonderful dancer, but so were lots of men. “Nothing,” I sighed. “But you’ll be pleased to hear that even though I got shitfaced after, I did remember to bring back leftovers from the buffet like I said I would. They’re in the pantry.” Eloise’s reflection was comical, “All’s not lost then!” She tossed the hairbrush to the dressing table and rushed to my pantry where I’d put the cloth napkins filled with leftover pastries and confectionary.

The kettle was whistling on the stove, and so my best friend and I breakfasted like aristocrats, on chocolate truffles, spiced apple pastry, pineapple, and black tea.

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