Good Time Girl

‘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.

‘The club is better, not so much noise.’ Snellor decided not to give her the opportunity to argue. ‘See you there then. One o’clock,’ he repeated to make sure she’d got it straight.

But Patsy was not to be put off. ‘I have to have my lunch,’ she said truculently. ‘It’s my big episode.’ Patsy was very fond of her food and the nervous tension of the studio day was the only legitimate excuse she had to indulge. Snellor sighed. He could never understand this preoccupation with food. His idea of lunch was a double vodka washed down with several of the same. One ate at night. Hugely. But lunchtime was drinking time.

‘Look, Pat –’ Snellor began.

‘Patsy,’ she corrected him again.

‘Patsy. I want this piece to do you justice.’ This was absolutely the very last thing that Snellor wanted. ‘It’s not easy to be creative when both of us are stuffing our faces.’ On reflection Snellor wished he’d phrased it more delicately, but he pressed on. ‘It’s going to be an in-depth interview – and we’ve got to set up a photo session this week, too,’ he added to distract her attention.

‘Oh right. Of course. I could manage Thursday. I’ve got a day off. Is that all right?’ asked Patsy anxiously. She couldn’t bear it if anything went wrong now.

‘S’cutting it fine, but if we do them in the morning we’ll probably just manage it.’

‘Oh good,’ Patsy breathed with relief.

‘I’ll get Phil onto it,’ said Snellor, determined now to finish the conversation. ‘Expect his call later on. See you in the club at one.’ And he put down the phone.

Patsy was ecstatic. She went straight to her wardrobe, decided at one glance that she had nothing suitable to wear and spent a blissful afternoon shopping in her local boutique.

At the lunch break the next day, she could hardly contain herself.

‘Aren’t you coming to the canteen, love?’ called out Meg, who played the wife of the McMasters’ picture restorer, George, when she noticed Patsy rushing off in the opposite direction.

‘No, I’m meeting a journalist in the club,’ replied Patsy importantly.

‘Fame at last!’ muttered Simon Lavell, who played Tom McMaster, dryly under his breath as he watched the retreating figure disappear down the corridor.

Tony Snellor was ensconced at a corner table in the club, and on his third double vodka when Patsy arrived. He waved to her in an expansive manner.

‘Could you sign the gentleman in, please, miss?’ said the commissionaire on the door in a sepulchral voice. ‘He said he was with you.’

‘Oh, yes, of course – it’s Mr Snellor, isn’t it?’

‘Don’t ask me, miss, he’s your friend, not mine.’ He sounded relieved.

Patsy carefully wrote in ‘Mr Snellor’, his first name completely eluding her. Then she sashayed over to his table, in a manner calculated to alert the attention of every susceptible male in the room. As indeed it did. Well satisfied with her entrance, Patsy seated herself and crossed her legs provocatively, exhibiting a considerable amount of thigh. Snellor was suitably impressed and mentally congratulated himself on persuading Trevor that Patsy Hall was the business.

‘Did Phil ring you?’ enquired Snellor, after he’d ordered a Martini and lemonade for Patsy at her request. She was so excited, she’d completely forgotten she had a big scene with Bella in the afternoon and alcohol was not conducive to concentration in a stressful situation in the studio. Patsy’s mind was apt to wander at the best of times.

‘Oh yes, thanks,’ she said eagerly. ‘He wants to do pictures of me relaxing at home.’ She had been delighted with Phil’s phone call, which had been fulsome to say the least. Phil had been well primed by Snellor.

‘So how are you enjoying the series, Patsy?’

‘It’s lovely. I get to wear some really great clothes, and I love working with famous people like Bella and Geoff.’ Patsy had wit enough to realize that it would be wise to keep on the right side of Bella, especially in print.

‘Good, good,’ said Snellor. ‘Got any romance going in your life at the moment?’ He tried to twinkle at her, but it manifested itself as a leer.

Patsy giggled coyly and pretended to blush. ‘Ooh no, I’m a career girl, Mr Snellor. I don’t have time for romance.’

‘Tony, please,’ said Tony Snellor, with as much charm as he could muster. ‘I find that difficult to believe, a stunning-looking girl like you – all the other ladies in the cast must have been furious when you joined the series.’

‘Do you think so?’ said Patsy, overcome.

‘Of course. What did Bella have to say?’