And he knew fully what was at stake too. He was aware of his responsibilities as a star. One of the reasons why people in his position were paid so much money was because their presence could often ensure the survival of a production and keep the rest of the company in employment. They were responsible for the complete show, which was why stories of stars giving notes to other actors or ordering changes in sets and costumes were not just examples of megalomania, but the desire to maintain the overall standard of whatever production they put their names to.
Michael Banks knew that The Hooded Owl was not up to the required standard. It was due to open in less than a week. It was due to be shown to the paying public in a preview on the Monday evening. More important than either of these, it was due to be run again on the Saturday afternoon in front of Bobby Anscombe. And if it didn’t live up to the investor’s rigorous standards, no one had any doubt that he would make good his threat of withdrawing his backing.
Consciousness of all these pressures did not improve Michael Banks’s concentration and, together with fatigue, ensured that the lines were worse than ever on the Friday afternoon run.
The rehearsal ended in apathetic silence. The actors drifted uselessly to their belongings.
‘Micky, could we have a quick word?’ asked Paul Lexington, and the star, with the dignity of a man mounting the scaffold, went across to join the producer, director and Company Manager.
Conscious of the straining ears of the rest of the company, Paul Lexington led the little group out into the corridor. They were out for two or three minutes, during which no one in the hall spoke.
Michael Banks led them back in, saying, ‘No, I’m sorry, Paul. I couldn’t think of it. I have a reputation to maintain.’
‘Do you have any alternative to suggest?’ asked the Producer, careless now of listening ears.
The star spread his hands in a gesture of frustration. ‘Only that somehow I’ll get the lines. Somehow.’
‘Micky, you’ve said that for a fortnight, and there’s no sign of it happening. We’ve got to do something.’
‘But not what you suggest. There must be some other way.’ And, to put an end to the conversation, he walked firmly off to pour himself a cup of coffee.
After a muttered colloquy with Peter Hickton and Wallas Ward, Paul Lexington announced, ‘O.K., everyone. We’ll break there. Ten o’clock call in the morning. There’s still a lot of work to do.’
‘You can say that again,’ murmured Alex Household, who was standing beside Charles, ‘but I fear it will all be in vain.’
‘Alex,’ said the producer, ‘could you just stay for a quick word?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’m going round the pub,’ said Charles. ‘See you there maybe.’
‘Perhaps,’ Alex replied abstractedly. And looking at the glow of restrained excitement in the other actor’s face, Charles knew that Alex Household thought he was about to get his part back.
It was nearly an hour before Alex appeared in the pub, and one look at his face told that his expectation had not been realised.
He no longer even mentioned his ‘no stimulants’ regime as he took the large Bell’s from Charles.
‘The nerve! The bloody nerve! I cannot believe it!’
Charles didn’t bother to prompt. He knew it was all about to come out.
‘Do you know what they have asked me to do? Cool as you like, Paul bloody Lexington has asked me to sit in the wings for the entire run of this play and feed Micky Banks his lines!’
‘What, you mean to be a kind of private prompter, whispering at him right through the play?’
‘No, it’s a bit more sophisticated than that. This is a deaf-aid job.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand.’
‘Oh, haven’t you heard of these things? It has been done before in similar circumstances. It’s a new device, whereby, thanks to the wonders of electronics, a star can still give a performance without bothering to learn the lines.’
‘Explain.’
‘Very simple, really. It’s a short-wave radio transmitter. Some lemon — me, if Paul Lexington has his way — sits in the wings feeding the part line by line into the transmitter. The character on stage, for reasons which may possibly be explained by the insertion of a line or two into the script, wears a deaf-aid. .’
‘Which acts as a receiver?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But does it work?’
‘It has worked in some very eminent cases. Has to be modern dress obviously, and ideally an elderly character. You can’t have Romeo swarming up the balcony in doublet, hose and hearing aid. But the part Micky’s playing. . why not?’
‘I’m amazed. I never heard of that being done.’
‘Well, now you know. And if ever you see an actor on stage with a deaf-aid that is not integral to the plot — be suspicious.’
‘Has Micky agreed to use it?’
‘He’s still blustering and saying he never will and he once learnt lago in three days, but he’ll have to come round. There’s no alternative. Except for the obvious one.’
‘Which is?’
‘Reverting to the original casting.’ Alex Household let out the words in a hiss of frustration.
‘Which they won’t now they’ve got Micky’s name all over the posters.’
‘No, of course they won’t.’
‘I agree, it’s a bit of a cheek, asking you to do it.’
‘Oh, you should have heard the way it was put. Paul Lexington at his greasiest. Of course, Alex old man, it could be done by an A.S.M., but you do know the part so well, you could time it properly. And of course we would raise your money for doing it.’
‘By how much?’ No actor could have resisted asking the question.
‘Fifty quid a week.’
‘That’s pretty good.’
‘Oh yes, Paul Lexington pays you well for totally humiliating yourself.’
‘So you told him to get stuffed, did you?’
‘No, I haven’t yet.’ A cold smile came to Alex Household’s lips. ‘And do you know, I’m not sure that I will.’
‘You mean you’ll accept it?’
‘I just might.’
‘Good idea,’ said Charles soothingly. ‘Take the money and don’t think about it. That’s always been my philosophy.’
‘Yes.’ Alex’s mind was elsewhere. ‘Because now I come to think about it, it could be a good job.’
‘Sure, sure.’
‘A position of power.’
‘Power?’
‘Yes. How does one gain revenge for humiliation’?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ Charles didn’t like the way the conversation was going. The old light of paranoia gleamed in Alex’s eye.
‘Why, you humiliate someone else.’
‘Maybe, but — ’
‘And if you’re stuck in the wings feeding lines to some senile old fool who can’t remember them. .’ he laughed harshly, ‘. . then it’s really up to you what lines you feed.’
By the Saturday morning Michael Banks had accepted the inevitable. He sat in shamefaced silence while Paul Lexington explained to the company what was going to be done and was still silent, but attentive, while Wallas Ward, who had encountered the deaf-aid on a previous production, demonstrated the apparatus.
They started rehearsing with it straight away. Alex Household sat in a chair by the wall, smugly reading the lines into a small transmitter with an aerial, while Michael Banks moved about the stage area with the deaf-aid in his ear.