“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.