Kate O’Mara - Good Time Girl

When she was seventeen, her mother took up with someone called Bruce, who was keen for them all to go and live with him in his native Australia. But Patsy was unwilling to sacrifice what she considered to be a promising career, and to her mother’s relief declined to join them. Patsy’s mother was not entirely sure that Bruce’s interest in Patsy’s welfare was purely avuncular. Besides, Patsy was really much too pretty and only served to remind her of her own fading good looks. So Patsy was left to the mercies of Thelma, her mother’s sister-in-law, who felt that her brother had neglected his own child and that she should try to make amends.

Auntie Thelma actively encouraged Patsy in her career and no one was happier than she when Patsy landed the part of Gemma, secretary to Paul McMaster in the most popular series. Admittedly, Patsy had little more to do than appear once or twice an episode with trays of coffee, or to announce the arrival of important clients, but Thelma gloried vicariously in Patsy’s fame. She told her that the producers were bound to build up her part when they saw how popular she was. She was going to be a big star. Already Patsy was recognized wherever she went. She often caused quite a sensation in her local supermarket. She revelled in it. Then there was the attention she got from Geoff, who played Paul, the leading man, the star of the series. She had felt really important. He’d taken her out to dinner on a couple of occasions when they’d been on location. The affair that followed had been intermittent due to the fact that Geoff was married. Patsy didn’t mind. She accepted love how and where she could find it.

She was never short of boyfriends. One of them, Stephen, had been one of the ‘uncles’ that had visited her mother on occasions. Now he visited Patsy and always brought presents: glamorous lingerie, expensive costume jewellery, perfume and on one glorious visit, a fox fur jacket, which she still persisted in wearing, oblivious to the critical looks of other women. His best present ever had been the little white Peugeot he’d given her for her twenty-fifth birthday. She always looked forward to his visits with breathless anticipation. Sadly, since her new-found fame, they’d become less frequent. As he patiently explained to her, if his wife found out, his visitations would have to stop altogether, and then no more treats for his baby.

Patsy resigned herself to Geoff’s attentions, which paled by comparison. Somehow boxes of chocolates and bunches of flowers didn’t compare favourably. Anyway she was nearly always on a diet, and the flowers died so quickly and smelt horrid. Instead, she’d asked him to persuade the scriptwriters to build up her part in the series. If he couldn’t afford expensive gifts this was the least he could do for her. She wanted to be a star, she’d had a taste of fame and liked it. Now she wanted to be accepted as an actress as well, and what better way than to play opposite Geoff, a respected classical actor in his younger days? But Geoff was strangely evasive on the issue and she noticed that his attentions seemed to be less enthusiastic than before. Auntie Thelma said that publicity was the secret. Exposure. She needed to become a household word, to be in demand. Then the producers of the programme would realize what they’d got and would build her up. This was all very well, but how was it to be achieved?

Patsy surveyed herself in the long mirror in her bedroom. She smoothed her hands over her curvaceous frame. She couldn’t fathom it. She’d got everything. Why couldn’t they see it?

She was startled by the sound of the phone ringing. Who could that be? Maybe the studio had changed her call. She felt important as she moved slowly to the white phone by the bed. Let them wait. She picked up the telephone and put on her best telephone voice. ‘Patsy Hall speaking.’

‘Oh, hello, Pat. Snellor here, Tony Snellor. I’m a features writer for the Globe. ’

‘Oh yes.’ Patsy was thrilled.

‘We’d like to do a double-page spread on you, Miss Hall, your career, interests, boyfriend, et cetera, bit about the series – you know the sort of thing.’

‘Oh yes,’ she agreed eagerly, ‘I do.’ Patsy had had bits and pieces in the press before, but never a double-page spread. That’d make the cast sit up and take notice. ‘When did you want to do it?’ she asked, slightly flustered. ‘I’m working all this week.’

‘As soon as possible. We’d like the piece to go in on Saturday.’

‘What, this Saturday?’ she asked breathlessly. Her triumph was to be sooner than she thought. Their faces at the read-through on Saturday morning – thank goodness they rehearsed Saturdays. She couldn’t wait!

‘This could do you a lot of good, Patsy,’ said Snellor, mistaking her silence for hesitation, not realizing that it took a few minutes for Patsy’s brain to engage in gear.

‘Oh yes, it could,’ she agreed readily.

‘Tomorrow looks good for me, how is it for you, Pat?’

‘Patsy,’ she corrected him primly. Tomorrow! Patsy was genuinely appalled. Tomorrow she was in the studio. It was impossible. Oh no, she couldn’t miss this chance. It occurred to her that no one in the cast actually bought the Globe. Well, that didn’t matter, she’d buy a copy and leave it lying around.

‘Oh dear, I’m in the studio!’ she wailed. ‘It’s the first day of Episode Nine!’

Snellor thought quickly. He was on to something here. This was a heaven-sent opportunity. This bimbo was thick as two short planks. She’d spill the beans all right. He only had to promise her blanket coverage, front-page picture, anything. And he could get the lowdown on everything that was going on behind the scenes on The McMasters. They’d finally get the dirt on Geoffrey Armitage. Trevor would be very pleased with him. This was going to sell a lot of papers! He kept his cool.

‘What, all day?’

‘Oh yes, it’s my big episode! I’ve got quite a lot to do. They’re building up my part,’ she said proudly.

‘How about lunch?’

‘Lunch?’

‘Yes, lunch. You break for lunch, don’t you?’ asked Snellor irritably. This girl was going to try his patience, he could tell that.

‘Oh yes, I have a lunch break.’

‘Good. I’ll meet you for lunch in the club. Shall we say one o’clock?’

‘What, tomorrow?’

‘Ye-es,’ said Snellor patiently. ‘Tomorrow, in the club, one o’clock.’

‘That’ll be nice,’ said Patsy, with gratification, thinking of all the envious glances she would attract.

‘Yes,’ agreed Snellor. ‘We can have a nice little chat about things over a drink and a sandwich.’

‘The food’s not very good up there,’ protested Patsy, thinking how much better it would be to have lunch in the canteen where everyone could see them. Most people went to the canteen on studio days. Only hardened drinkers like Bella popped up to the club for a drink at lunchtimes, and even she eschewed the smoky atmosphere on studio days. ‘Couldn’t we go to the canteen?’

‘Can we get a drink there?’ asked Snellor anxiously. He could never face an interview without a drink. Come to that, he couldn’t face anything without a drink. Trevor was always nagging him about it. It was all very well for Trev. He didn’t have to do the dirty work.

‘Oh yes, they do wine by the glass,’ Patsy assured him.

Wine! Snellor shuddered. No, it had to be vodka or this scoop would not have the impact that he knew would make Trevor’s heart sing and bring his own impending promotion a little bit nearer. The truth of the matter was that Snellor was a common or garden hack and his whole ambition in life was to become a features editor. A raise in salary, a guaranteed by-line and a photograph. Respect from the boys in the Wine Press.