Marilyn Todd - Second Act

‘No, no, no,’ Ugly Phil protested. ‘The Virgin has to come on first, so I can walk around the edge of the stage leering at her. It isn’t funny otherwise.’

‘It isn’t funny either way,’ the Virgin protested, amazed that her chaplet was still fast round her bun after the energetic rerun of scenes. ‘Ogling is what perverts do.’

‘Erinna’th right,’ Hermione said. ‘The Thatyr ith thuppothed to be a comic figure.’

‘All right, then. Suppose I creep behind the Virgin on tiptoes?’

‘Creepings is not funny,’ Fenja boomed. ‘Make you look like pervert with bunion.’

Everyone laughed, save Ugly Phil. Hermione tried to force her unruly frizz into the pins. Fenja adjusted Periander’s Cupid wings, which had gone crooked in the melee. The Virgin and the Satyr tried again.

‘Iss worser,’ Fenja said and even Renata, who liked to keep the peace wherever possible, could not disagree.

‘Oi, Skyles,’ Jemima called across. ‘Show Ugly Phil how it’s done, willya?’

But Skyles seemed lost in space, so she tossed her slipper across the atrium to attract his attention. ‘There,’ she crowed triumphantly. ‘ That’s clowning, Master Satyr. Look how he pretended to wince when it hit him, how his breath came out in a hiss, and it’s only an old felt shoe. Soft as lard.’

‘How did you do that?’ Ugly Phil asked Skyles. ‘How d’you make yourself turn pale like that?’

‘Can’t you see he iss hurt, you damn fool?’ Fenja snapped. ‘Skyles, let uss look, huh?’

‘It’s nothing, I’m fine,’ Skyles rasped. ‘Touch of cramp.’ But his colour still hadn’t come back. His face was as white as Renata’s. ‘Look, this is how I’d play the scene,’ he said, and instead of hobbling round the set leering at the Virgin as Ugly Phil had been doing, the Buffoon cracked his knuckles, licked his lips and with a w ink at his audience, set to caressing Erinna’s voluptuous shadow. The more they laughed, the more he put a finger to his lips to silence the chortles, and so the more the audience laughed, and as the Virgin turned, so did Skyles and her shadow, so that the Virgin appeared to be the only person not in on the secret.

‘I still don’t see why I can’t play the Virgin,’ Adah whined. ‘Now Erinna’s got two parts in the play, as the Soldier’s Mistress and the Virgin, and me, I’ve only got a brief walk-on.’

‘Swings and roundabouts, kiddo,’ Doris said, buffing his fine oval nails. ‘I’m sure Caspar will write you a bigger role next time, although-’ He leaned back and peered at her backside. ‘Some might say you’ve a big enough roll already.’

‘Up yours,’ she retorted, but there was no sting in the rebuke.

In fact, Adah was happy with the part she’d been given. It was right at the beginning, when the Miser mistakes the Neighbour’s Wife for his own spouse and rips off her gown, thinking he’s about to make love to his wife. As a result of her full-frontal exposure so early in the proceedings, Adah was assured of the audience’s unwavering interest, and therefore she was guaranteed to be the centre of attention in all subsequent scenes, even though the Neighbour’s Wife merely stood in the background wagging a censorious finger. What more can any actress ask?

‘One more time, then,’ Ugly Phil said. ‘From where I come on, up to the bit where my horns get stuck in the Virgin’s robe and-here! How about her frock comes off when I pull away?’

‘No,’ Adah squealed. It was too early to introduce further nudity, it would take away the effect of her scenes. ‘The point is to make the Satyr look stupid, stupid.’

‘Hey.’ Jemima paused from combing her red hair through her fingers. ‘Suppose, instead of creeping in, the Satyr comes down on Jupiter’s platform as though he’s descending straight from Olympus?’

‘Jem, you’re a star,’ Skyles said, his hand still clamped over his side.

‘I still think we ought to check with Caspar first,’ Adah cut in.

‘But he’s not here,’ Ugly Phil said patiently, ‘so I vote we incorporate it straight into the act.’

‘Where is he?’ Renata asked, rouging her cheeks with wine lees. ‘Not like him to miss a rehearsal, considering we’re opening tomorrow night.’

‘Never mind Caspar,’ Ugly Phil said, eager to keep his comic profile raised. ‘Let’s get cracking.’

Doris indicated the stairs with an eloquent roll of the eyes. ‘In bed, lovey,’ he told Renata. ‘Catching up after a rough night, he said.’

‘Not from me, he bloody didn’t.’ Jemima let out an infectious giggle. ‘Come on, own up, you lot. Which one of you buggers gave him that shiner?’

‘Not guilty,’ Ugly Phil said.

‘I wouldn’t put it past him to hit himself with a broom handle,’ Skyles said, ‘just so the colour of his eye can match his kaftan.’

‘I hope he’th all right,’ Hermione said sombrely. ‘Only when I thaw him earlier, he wath limping quite badly.’

‘So would you, kiddo, if you’d shared a bed with Jemima all night.’

‘Pig.’ Jemima stuck her tongue out at Doris. ‘Anyway, he wasn’t with me all night, was he, Adah?’

Adah shook her head. ‘Randy old sod sloped off in the early hours. Thought we wouldn’t notice.’

‘Yeah, and the next I see of him,’ Jemima said, ‘he’s asking Erinna to sew him a bleedin’ eye patch.’

‘So vere did he get his black eye and a limp?’ Fenja wanted to know.

‘Search me.’ Jemima shrugged.

‘Yes, but can you imagine how he’ll bill the show?’ Erinna stood up and spread her arms in a perfect imitation of the maestro. ‘ Ladies! Gentlemen! All you majestical creatures who have flocked to see our beautifious entertainment!’ She performed the impresario’s deep bow. ‘ Allow me to present Caspar’s-Halcyon-SPECTACULARS.’ She raised a mock eye patch. ‘ The only show in the Empire guaranteed to knock your eyes out!’

Their sides aching and their bruised egos massaged at last, the troupe resumed their positions on stage. It was in everyone’s interests to be scene-perfect for tomorrow’s opening night.

‘From the top, then,’ Skyles said.

Adah said, ‘I really think we ought to insert an extra scene where Jupiter soothes the Neighbour’s Wife-’

She was shouted down by everyone, including Periander. ‘Even if we wanted to,’ Renata pointed out, the voice of reason as usual, ‘we can’t do it without Jupiter, and since no one’s seen hide nor hair of Ion this morning, I suggest we move on. Now, then. Should I be playing the same tune, now the Satyr descends from Olympus?’

‘No!’ The cast was unanimous. The revision called for a boisterous horn, not a creeping-around flute.

‘Here, will someone please give us a hand with this bleedin’ pulley?’ Jemima puffed, trying to haul the Satyr up to Olympus. ‘It’s too heavy for me on me own.’

‘Coming right over,’ Skyles said, making annotations on the script in ink.

‘Like now,’ Jemima wheezed, since no one had moved to help.

‘Sorry.’ Doris shrugged in apology. ‘Can’t help, kiddo. Pulled a muscle in my side, didn’t I, swinging down from the gallery? Daren’t risk making it worse before the performance.’

‘Well, one of you buggers had better hurry,’ she snapped. ‘Me arm’s coming out of its socket!’

‘Ach, giff it here.’

Fenja marched over and, with one Nordic yank, the platform shot upwards, flinging the Satyr on to his backside, his cloven hoofs flailing into the Olympian heights.

‘Put that in the script, too,’ Erinna said.

Sitting in the VIP section of the Circus Maximus, Sextus Valerius Cotta cheered the charioteers as though he hadn’t a care in the world. To a skilled military tactician, it was vital no signs of uneasiness should be transmitted to the troops and if acting was part of a general’s role, then so be it.