“Heaven help us all,” said Oscar, “when women learn how to concentrate on one thing at a time.” He was of course winding up Charley, who sat with he and Cara at the galley-table. We were waiting for Skap to arrive for an emergency production progress meeting, so it was the morning coffee break and Sam had gone down to the Riverside Theatre, his new home, to supervise the renovations which are now coming along nicely; he’s hoping to move in in a week or so, now that the bachelor flat is nearly complete. The theatre itself will take longer, but Penny and I flit down there from time to time, there to visit with Larry and Viv, the newly resident Theatre Owls.
“Women have always been able to multi-task,” said Cara, in corrective tone. “We’ve had to, because of the stresses placed on us in our traditional role. Now we’re breaking free from all those old shackles and...”
“But what we were talking about,,,” began Oscar.
“At least most other women have broken free,” frosted Cara.
“...was the fact that Charley is up against it with finishing this script in time.”
“No, it’s not exactly that, Oscar,” said Charlotte. “You see, it rather depends on what you mean by ‘finished’.” I must say I had become rather fond of this woman, and she of me. Everybody calls her Charley because her husband always did, but secretly she prefers to be called by her feminine name, which suites her far better than the masculine version. Naturally, she can’t yet hear my thoughts, but we understand each other. I watched her working out how to express her next rather complicated thought, while Cara and Oscar stared at the table-top to cover a hint of embarrassment; Oscar had touched a raw nerve by hinting at the agonies we had gone through since Charley arrived. Formalising the improvised play had not been easy.
Oscar was aware of how far advanced was the Orton one-actor under Sinead’s feather-light directorial touch. Even though it was common knowledge that Sam and she were on intimate terms, she still commanded everyone’s respect and affection. Even Gwyneth held her in high theatrical regard... mind you, as a woman and as a rival for Sam’s affection, she could sometimes be caught regarding the gorgeous young Irishwoman with a steely glare that betrayed a desire to tear out all those flowing waves of glossy black hair by the roots... (and assorted other excesses of female barbarism).
“I am aware,” said Charley, breaking in on my train of thought, “of how much effort everybody made – immediately after my arrival – to transfer the best of all those improvisational ideas to performance formats. We were spoiled for choice. But now I have a pile of audio cassettes and compact diskettes loaded with loosely-organised material and we are three weeks away from our premiere, but still a long way from deciding on exactly what the second half of our performance will contain...”
“Look, Charley.” interrupted Oscar. “Let’s wait until Skap arrives...”
And precisely on cue, the boat rocked in the water as someone clambered onto its stern end. Sure enough, it was Skap, another one of my very favourite quackers, a tall sinewy young man with those short dreadlocks that are so fashionable these days and a skin colour that is equally trendy being the result of a brief liaison between a long—gone Jamaican hod-carrier and Skap’s sweet mum of local extraction. He lurched into the galley area, grinning back at the three icey stares that greeted him. “Sorry I’m late, folks,” he cooed. “We had a little trouble with the council dog warden.”
“Help yourself to coffee, Skap,” said Cara as she arose from the table. “I’m just off over to open the box-office. We’ve already talked about set-construction and the wardrobe. Everything’s under control. See you later, everybody!” and she left.
“Your set-builders are so reliable,” remarked Charley as Skap poured coffee.
“They’re a godsend,” affirmed Oscar. “If there’s a job I hate, it’s set-building, but those three chaps revel in it. Give them a sketch of what you want and it’s up in no time, beautifully built and rock steady. Make them a model of your set and they’re in ecstasy. The more difficult your requirements, the more they relish the challenge. I suppose you know that they’ve got their own hairdressing business in Market Square?”
“I’ve been a customer,” Charley chuckled.
“Yes, I noticed they’d taken to you.”
Skap flopped down beside her and slurped his coffee. Oscar moved his papers slightly to the left, then leaned forward on his elbows to fix Skap with a belligerent stare before grinding out the words, “So, Skap, what’s the hold-up on the script?”
“Hold-up,” he echoed. “What hold-up?” He had inherited his mother’s blue eyes and knew how to flutter his lustrous long lashes over them disarmingly, charmingly to melt the fiercest opposition. It worked on men almost as well as on women.
Oscar proved less than susceptible to the young man’s charms, having learned his Stage Management skills from a professional martinet and perfectionist a couple decades before Skap was born. “Improvisation was scheduled to stop... how many weeks ago?”
“In my view improvisation should never stop,” said Skap, living dangerously.
“In this case,” Oscar gritted, “improvisation should never have STARTED! We made a MISTAKE – SEVERAL MISTAKES! We are now three weeks away from performance and Charlotte reports that you have avoided making decisions on which material to use. Those decisions should have been made, ready for her to start work when she arrived, now... Skap... kindly give us some clear guidance!”
“I never wanted a scriptwriter,” said Skap. “It was your idea to bring Charley in and you did it without reference to me.”
Impasse.
I thought Oscar was about to explode, but Skap had spoken the truth and Oscar knew it, He had been so delighted to find his old scriptwriting pal from the Army days that he had just gone ahead and invited her over to Malcaster. She lodged in the hotel.
Skap broke the silence by saying, “I think the second half should stay improvised. We don’t need a script. Never did.”
“You mean...?” Oscar’s expression was reminiscent of a beached whale.
“Never did,” repeated Skap with a grin,
“What about effects? What about cuing?” protested Oscar.
“Improvised – just like ALL the performers. We know what we want, you provide it – all effects – so you rehearse along with us for this last three weeks, so that between us – the whole team – we can decide on all the cues you need, O.K?”
A beatific grin slowly suffused old Oscar’s troubled visage. “By your pupils you’ll be taught,” he whispered, imagining it to be a Shakespearean quote and forgetting, in his confusion, that it was from ‘The King and I’ and not ‘King Lear’.
The two men beamed an understanding at each other as the fresh concept settled comfortably into Oscar’s consciousness. It was Charley who disturbed them. She asked Skap to move aside so that she could ease herself out from behind the galley table. She said, “I can see you boys have lots to talk about, so I’ll pop over to the theatre and bid farewell to Cara. It’s been a lovely experience, Oscar, seeing you two again, but I really must get back to Leamington – lots of work to do.”
“You can’t leave us, Charley, “ spluttered Oscar. “We still need a script.”
“Cardboard box, my old friend. Top bunk starboard side in the forward cabin, where I put it before you started your meeting this morning. All the diskettes are in there and twenty copies of a new one-act play by me. You see, I rather saw this situation developing when I arrived here, so I simply got on with my job of writing a play. I’m not saying it’s perfect, but it’s a fair first draft. Let me know if you decide to use it and my agent will work out something that won’t break your bank.”
She gazed affectionately down at Oscar and said “Farewell, my dear friend, please promise me that you’ll never become old and dignified.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, then reached up and ruffled my neck feathers, “Goodbye, Jonah, keep a close eye on him. And, Skap, I’ll just say au revoir to you because I have a feeling the world of Theatre will see a lot more of your talents.”
As she climbed off the boat, Skap darted through to the forward cabin where – sure enough – a cardboard box lay atop the starboard bunk. The contents kept Oscar and Skap busy for an hour or so after Charley left.
It was early afternoon when Cara returned to the boat from her box-office duties and she was pretty mad that lunch was not ready for her. She forgave the men, however, when she saw and heard how well the morning’s business had gone. They now had options of performing Charley’s play or improvising in certain sections. And there were whoops of delight when they discovered that Charley had written lyrics for several songs...
...a dank miasmic pall descended to quench their jollity in funereal depression when Sam and Sinead arrived at the boat, back from the Riverside Theatre and from visiting Sir Jeremy Akehurst in The Laurels, a rest home for elderly gentlefolk. It seems that, when the staff took the elderly theatreman his early morning cuppa, they discovered that he had passed away quietly and peacefully in his sleep.
It was Jeremy who had played ‘Petrucgio’ to Oscar’s ‘Kate’ and Sam’s ‘Bianca’ so many years before. He had given them their strong grounding in the actor’s craft and had guided their careers ever since, a towering presence in all Theatre, but particularly in Malcaster, where he was Patron of the Granary Theatre. Now he was no more.
Plans had to be made to mourn his passing.
Jonah was a very experience director, teacher and writer who sadly passed away in February 2006. He was also the author of the highly successful "Playmaker - The Craft of Directing Plays (The Way I Seen It)".