Good Time Girl

‘You can?’ said Hugh. They were both looking at her intently.

‘Oh yes, she’s right up my street. Would you like me to read for you?’

‘Oh no, no, good Lord, no, that won’t be necessary, we know of your reputation.’

Do you? thought Claire in amazement. What reputation? She’d hardly done any television. Then she remembered. Of course, Larry Matthews – he’d obviously said nice things about her Lydia Languish. ‘Oh, I’m so glad,’ she laughed. ‘That’s all right then.’

Martin had still not said a word, but was looking at her as though he wanted to drink her in. Claire didn’t quite know what was expected of her. Hugh finally wound up the meeting.

‘Well, thank you, Ms Jenner, for coming in to see us. We’ll be speaking to your agent this afternoon.’ He held out his hand. Martin followed suit. Claire, relieved that it was over, gathered her things together and took Hugh’s outstretched hand.

‘Thank you for seeing me,’ she said charmingly. And then offered her hand to Martin. She had turned to go when the door burst open to reveal a tall blond good-looking man.

‘Claire Jenner!’ he proclaimed dramatically. ‘What a lovely surprise. Are you leaving us?’

Claire crossed to the door, recognizing Larry Matthews at once. ‘How good to see you again,’ she said and meant it. ‘Yes, I’m just off.’

‘Then allow me to escort you to the lift.’ And he took her arm and steered her out of the room and down the corridor.

‘You look stunning,’ he told her. ‘I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.’

‘I do hope so,’ replied Claire fervently.

He propelled her into the lift, waving goodbye as the doors started to close. ‘Have no fear,’ he called out, as they shut and the lift started with a slight jolt to descend.

I think I’ve got it, Claire thought excitedly to herself. I think I’ve got it! She had driven herself to the offices and had been allowed to park briefly at the back of the building. She rescued her car, and smiled and waved cheerily at the man on the gate as she drove off. It took her some time to negotiate the London traffic. It was raining heavily and conditions were bad. She hardly noticed. All the way back, she kept saying to herself, I think I’ve got it, I think I’ve got it, hardly daring to believe it. When she finally got home an hour later, she tore up the front steps, flung herself into her flat and made straight for the telephone.

‘David, David, it’s me. I think I’ve got it!’ she cried excitedly.

‘Yes, they want you,’ replied her agent mildly.

‘How do you know?’ she asked astounded.

‘They rang the moment you left and offered you the part.’

‘Oh God,’ breathed Claire in a sort of ecstasy. ‘It’s a wonderful part, David, it really is.’

‘Good,’ said David briefly, ‘then let’s hope they offer you some wonderful money to go with it, which I very much doubt.’

‘I don’t care what they pay me,’ said Claire recklessly.

‘Well I do, I need the money even if you don’t,’ replied David tartly. Then relenting he said, ‘No, seriously, Claire, I’m very pleased, you deserve it, well done!’

‘Thank you,’ said Claire happily. ‘I won’t let you down.’

‘I know that,’ replied David. ‘You never do.’ It was the nearest to a compliment she’d ever received from David, and she felt a warm glow of contentment.

He then instructed her to get pencil and paper and jot down filming dates. He told her that wardrobe and make-up would be contacting her, and to make herself available to them. And she was to present herself at the studios at the next recording a week from the day, for a make-up test.

She left an excited message on Sally’s answering machine, thanking her profusely for the loan of the suit, which she was convinced got her the part.

She then phoned her mother in Wiltshire. She hadn’t spoken to her in weeks. Claire had deliberately not contacted her during her recent unhappiness, not wanting to burden her and add to her own distress. Beatrice Jenner was over the moon. Inordinately proud of her beautiful daughter, she had known it would only be a matter of time before she got the break she deserved.

‘Roger must be pleased,’ she said happily.

The remark took Claire completely unawares. Finally she said falteringly, ‘Oh, er, Roger and I are not seeing one another any more, Mum.’

‘Oh dear, I am sorry, darling,’ was the sympathetic response. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Oh, months ago. I didn’t bother you with it at the time, because – well – it really wasn’t important enough – we’d been building up to it for ages.’ Claire was awfully afraid that she was going to cry. The sound of her mother’s caring, understanding voice had brought a lump to her throat and she suddenly realized how much she had missed her.

Beatrice had heard a note of distress in her daughter’s quavering voice, but kept her own counsel. She said, ‘Well, darling, it’s marvellous about this part. Your father will be thrilled.’

‘How is he?’ asked Claire, concerned.

‘Not very well, darling, but this news will do him a power of good!’

After Claire had finished speaking to her mother, she felt guilty. She had not asked after her father for ages and her mother had borne the worry all alone.

It also occurred to her that she had not thought about Roger once the whole day.

7 (#ulink_cc532d4d-63ab-5ddd-a82c-8c6af80bb4ea)

Patsy carefully drew a dark red line around her pouting lips, then filled it in with deep pink shiny lipstick. A coat of clear lip gloss was applied and she stood back to survey the result. She was well pleased with what she saw – a startlingly pretty girl with a peaches and cream complexion, large dewy blue eyes and faintly pink blonde hair like candy floss. A voluptuous figure completed the perfection. She was perfection and she knew it. She could tell by the glances of wide-eyed disbelief she drew from males wherever she went. She was ‘The McMasters’ own little bit of Hollywood glitz’. That’s what the Globe had said about her when she had first appeared in the series. She had been thrilled. It’s what she wanted more than anything, to make it to Hollywood; they really appreciated her type of looks out there. So her Auntie Thelma had told her. Unfortunately, the Globe had followed up this eulogy the next week by dubbing her the programme’s token brainless blonde bimbo with the big boobs and tiny talent. Patsy had been mortally wounded. She had a lot to learn when it came to acting, she would be the first to admit it. But then she had had no formal training, what did they expect?

Patsy had been a photographic model for nearly all her life. Her father had deserted her mother when Patsy was only four. She had not seen him since. There had been Christmas and birthday cards to begin with, but they had become sporadic and finally stopped altogether. Patsy hadn’t minded a bit – she could hardly remember her father and there had been plenty of uncles to take his place. They had all spoiled her – she was, after all, such a pretty little girl. Her mother, suddenly realizing just how pretty her little girl was, enrolled her with a modelling agency. Patsy never looked back. She featured in commercials, knitting patterns, magazines and had even had a bit part in a children’s TV series. Both Patsy and her mother had made a comfortable living, but her education had been sorely neglected. Patsy had no recollection of ever having read a book right through in her life.

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.’