Simon Brett - A Comedian Dies

Lennie Barber emerged from the cupboard that served as dressing room, drink store, laundry room, lavatory and manager’s office. He got a bottle of Scotch and a glass from the bar and joined the wide circle of drinkers. He poured a big tumblerful and downed it.

‘Going all right tonight, Lennie. Before the fight,’ Miffy Turtle observed.

Barber shrugged wryly. ‘Audience was rubbish.’

‘But you was getting them round, Lennie. Act coming together very nicely.’

‘Very nicely,’ Walter echoed, with the indulgence of the big impresario. ‘All very promising. Of course, the IBA wouldn’t wear any of that material on telly, but the life is there and that’s what matters. No, when this telly show gets away, it’s going to be very big, very big indeed.’

‘As the actress said to the bishop.’ Nobody reacted to Steve Clinton’s reflex line.

‘What telly show’s this?’ asked Miffy Turtle, unnaturally quiet.

‘Got a pilot away for Lennie. And Charles here. Following the success on the old Alexander Harvey Show. Very exciting prospect, going to be very big.’

‘How long’ve you known?’

‘Only got the definite go-ahead today. Something. . fell through, so the studio date was suddenly available. I rang Lennie and Charles. Of course, I should have rung you, Miffy, as Lennie’s agent, but — ’

‘Too bloody right you should have rung me. Yes, I’m his agent and don’t you forget it. I’m not going to fart around getting him bookings in smelly little holes like this and then miss out on the big ones.’

‘No one was suggesting that, Miffy. I was going to ring you tomorrow.’

‘Oh yes, it’s always bleeding tomorrow, isn’t it?’

‘Miffy, don’t be bloody daft.’ Lennie Barber spoke with dignity and authority. ‘No one was trying to keep you in the dark about anything.’

‘And no one had better bloody try it. I’m not going to lose all my bloody artists just when they start to take off.’

‘Course you’re not, Miffy. Calm down. All right, it looks like you’ve lost one of your acts tonight, so I can see you’re sore. But Mixed Bathing wouldn’t have stuck together more than a couple of months anyway. You could see the split coming, couldn’t you?’

‘Oh, sure, Lennie, sure.’ Miffy Turtle’s anger had subsided. ‘I was just thinking, you used to be with the big agents when it was all happening for you. If it’s all happening over again, maybe the big boys will start sniffing again.’

‘If they do, I’ll tell them what they can sniff,’ said Lennie Barber coarsely. ‘That load of shits didn’t come near me when I was down on my luck. I don’t give a damn about them. Anyway, Miffy, this is only one television programme, not a big deal. It’s — ’

‘It is a big deal,’ objected Walter, offended.

‘No, it’ll probably come to nothing. Nothing to get excited about. Like they used to say to the would-be comics at auditions: It’s OK, but don’t give up your day-job.’

‘Now don’t play it down, Lennie,’ Walter protested. ‘This show’s going to put you right back on the map.’

‘Yeah, but whereabouts?’

Walter ignored the cynicism and started being a producer. ‘Actually, I wanted to talk about a few details on the show. First thing we’ve got to do is to get a script together. Can’t really talk about that now, but maybe we could fix up a meeting tomorrow — no, that’s Saturday — Monday, to talk about what we’re going to do. OK for you, Lennie? Paul? Steve?’

‘In the words of the abacus, you can count on me.’ Steve Clinton guffawed alone at his wit.

‘But more than that, we’ve got to think positive on this show. Think big. We’ve got to say, this show is going to be the biggest comedy sensation of the year and Lennie Barber is going to be the biggest star.’ Walter Proud was beginning to enjoy the Hollywood backstage movie in which he had cast himself. ‘So what it means is, Lennie, you’ve got to be seen around a bit. Right sort of places. I mean, for instance, next Wednesday there’s this UEF Awards lunch. The television company’s got a table and you’ve got to be seen there, Lennie. With Charles here.’

‘What’s UEF?’ asked Charles.

‘United Entertainments Federation. Big do, being televised. We’ll meet a lot of important people there and get a chance to let them know the show’s happening. Got to think PR, you know.’

Lennie Barber grimaced. ‘Jesus, I can do without all that show-business schmaltz.’

‘That’s not the point. It’s important.’

‘I’ll see you there, Walter,’ said Miffy.

‘Oh, I didn’t know that was your scene. What’ll you be doing there?’

‘Picking up an award?’ asked Steve Clinton. ‘Best Supporting Role — won by Miffy Turtle’s truss.’

‘In fact, I will be there to pick up an award. Most Promising Newcomer.’

‘Most Promising Newcomer’? You?’

‘No. Bill Peaky.’

The mention of the dead comedian’s name caused a long silence, as the collective memory recalled the shock of his death. Charles suddenly realized how many of those present had been in Hunstanton for that terrible matinee. Everyone except the manager of the Leaky Bucket, Steve Clinton and Virginia Moult.

Surprisingly, it was Chox Morton who voiced their common thought. ‘It was horrible, that. Tonight was horrible too, but not like that. I still see it sometimes in my dreams.’ He paused, his thin face trembling. ‘I won’t ever forget what I saw that day.’

Charles looked quickly round to see if any of his potential suspects gave anything away. Predictably (according to his latest theory of the murder) Walter Proud seemed the most flustered. ‘Well, we don’t want to dwell on that, do we? Terrible tragedy, of course, but in this business you’ve got to look to the future. Doesn’t do to get maudlin.’

‘Funny, though,’ Chox Morton’s voice went on. It was distant, musing. ‘Funny that Bill should have been electrocuted after we had been discussing it so recently.’

‘Discussing electrocution so recently?’ asked Charles with what he hoped was the appearance of diffident inquiry.

‘Yes. I forget how we got round to the subject, but one day in Hunstanton, between a matinee and an evening show, somebody asked me about it, how that kind of accident happens. Got me to explain it all. Surely you remember that?’

‘Yes, I remember,’ said Lennie Barber, unconcerned.

‘In the Green Room, wasn’t it?’ After Lennie had admitted remembering the incident, Miffy Turtle grunted agreement. So, surprisingly, did Walter Proud. Catching Charles’ quizzical eye, he said, ‘Yes, I was down that day.’

‘Funny,’ observed Charles, hoping again that he sounded nonchalant. ‘So it was just the four of you talked about it?’

‘No, one of the dancers was there too,’ said Miffy. ‘Kid called Janine.’

Damn. It was getting impossible to eliminate anyone from this inquiry. Except Paul Royce. He hadn’t been there, so he wouldn’t have heard Chox’s advice on how to commit electrocution. Charles longed to ask who had first raised the question, but feared that he couldn’t make that sound like idle interest. Maybe he could get Chox on his own at some point and ask.

The roadie continued speaking in the same abstracted way — ‘We went through it in some detail. How the wires would have to get changed round for it to happen. Didn’t realize at the time, it all seemed quite funny. Not funny in retrospect, though. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what I saw that day. .’

He mesmerized them into silence.

Needless to say, it was Steve Clinton who broke it. ‘I dunno. Sounds like the annual meeting of the Trappists’ Debating Society.’