“Yes,” said Jack, “and very fast indeed.”
“Then hold me up to your ear and let me whisper.”
Jack emerged from the gentlemen’s toilet.
“All right now?” Eddie asked. “I hope you didn’t forget to wash your hands.”
“I have a plan,” said Jack.
“Now, that’s a coincidence,” Eddie said, “for I have a plan as well.”
“Nice,” said Jack. “But my plan is this –”
“You’ll want to hear mine first,” said Eddie.
“No I won’t,” said Jack.
“Oh, I think you will – mine is a real blinder. It’s as brilliant as.”
“Mine is calculated to achieve optimum success,” said Jack.
“Ooh,” went Eddie. “Optimum success.”
“Time,” went Jack, doing wristwatch tappings, “time is surely running out.”
“Then we’ll run backstage and on the way I will explain to you my plan.”
“And if it doesn’t conflict with mine, we’ll put it into operation.”
“Jack, there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“You know there is.”
“Then tell me, please.”
“I won’t.”
And the two took to jogging down the corridor.
It’s really quite easy to move about unseen, as it were, in a big Opera House when a production is underway. After all, the audience are in their seats, the front-of-house staff, who are not required again until the half-time rush for the bar, are outside having a fag and discussing what rubbish they think the production is and how much better they could do it themselves. The technical staff are deeply engaged in their technical stuff, gaffers are gaffing and best boys, who don’t really have a role to play in the running of a successful ballet, and who would be better off getting back to whatever movies they should be being the bestest of boys on, are generally to be found in the stars’ dressing rooms, sniffing the roses and drinking champagne out of glass slippers. But some folk have all the luck and best boys have most of it.
And so it really is quite easy to move about unseen, behind the scenes, as it were, in a big Opera House when a production is under way.
“Up this way,” said Eddie.
“Might I ask why?” Jack asked.
“It’s part of my plan. Any objection?”
“Actually, no,” said Jack. “It’s part of my plan also.”
Jack and Eddie were backstage now, that wonderful place where all the flats are weighted down and there are big ropes everywhere and curiously it smells a bit like a stable.[16] Unlike the front of the stage. Which smells quite unlike a stage.
As a matter of interest for those who have never attended a ballet, or those who have attended a ballet but sat either up in the circle or further back in the stalls, it is to be noted that if you are ever offered front-row stall seats to the ballet, do not accept them. If you do attend the ballet, take a look at the front row of stalls seats. Notice how few folk are sitting there, and how uncomfortable these folk look.
Why? you might well ask. What is all this about? you also might ask. Well, the answer is this: what you can smell when you sit in the front row of the ballet is a certain smell. And it is a smell quite unlike stables. What you can smell when you sit in the front row of the ballet is …
Ballet dancers’ feet.
Why ballet dancers’ feet smell quite so bad is anybody’s guess. Probably because ballet dancers work so hard that they don’t have time to wash their feet as often they should, would be anybody’s reasonable guess.
But there it is.
Never accept front-row seats for the ballet.
Never.
Understood?[17]
“Why does this backstage smell of stables?” Jack asked Eddie.
“Because of the hay bales that are used as ‘running chuffs’.”
“Ah,” said Jack. “But what are –”
“This way,” said Eddie.
“That was the way I was going,” said Jack. “But what are –”
“Let’s hurry,” said Eddie. “I have a very bad feeling coming upon me, and as you know, we bears are noted for our sense of –”
“Let’s just hurry,” said Jack.
And so they hurried and presently they found themselves, and indeed each other, upon a high gantry, which held the above-stage lighting rigs. There were lots of ropes all about and wires and cables, too.
“We’re here,” said Eddie.
“Yes we are,” said Jack. “About this plan of yours.”
“Let me ask you just one thing,” said Eddie. “Does your plan involve a chandelier?”
“Actually, it does,” said Jack.
“Mine, too,” said Eddie.
“Well, what a coincidence that is.”
“Really?” Eddie raised his imaginary eyebrows. “And yet this is an Opera House, and we did meet the Phantom of the Opera. And the one thing everyone remembers about the Phantom of the Opera, and indeed associates with operas, is the big chandelier that hangs above the centre of the stage. Which gets dropped upon someone.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know about that,” said Jack.
“Nor me,” said Eddie. “I just made that bit up to pass some time.”
“Oh,” said Jack. “Why?”
“Because that,” said Eddie, and he pointed with a paw, “is a very big chandelier and I’m not exactly certain how we’ll be able to drop a thing that size on anyone.”
“Aha,” said Jack. “Gotcha.”
“Gotcha?” said Eddie. “What means this odd word?”
“It means that my calculated plan extends a little further than your own. I know exactly how to drop that chandelier upon the evildoers.”
“Assuming of course they stand directly beneath it when we do the dropping,” Eddie said.
“Eddie,” said Jack, “let’s face it: it’s a pretty preposterous idea. But this is a pretty preposterous situation. All of this is utterly ludicrous.”
“When you put it like that, how can we fail?”
“Well said. Now bung your furry ear hole in my direction and let me whisper into it.”
And so Jack whispered. And when his whispering was done, which, it has to be said, was quite loud whispering as it had to make itself heard above the spirited strains of the orchestra beneath, Jack straightened and Eddie looked up at him.
And then Eddie said, “No way.”
“No way?” said Jack.
“Absolutely no way,” said Eddie. “What do you take me for? You’ll get me killed.”
“It will work,” said Jack. “You’ll be fine. It’s a calculated risk.”
“I won’t be fine, I’ll die. You do it.”
“I can’t do it. It has to be you.”
“And what do I do it with?”
“You do it with a spanner. This spanner.”
“And where did you find that?”
“Backstage, next to the ‘thunder sheet’.”
“And what’s a –”
“Don’t start with me. I know you made up ‘running chuffs’.”
“But I’ve only got paws, Jack. No hands with fingers and opposable thumbs.”
“It’ll only take a few turns – you’ll manage.”
“Oh, look,” said Eddie. “The ballet has begun.”
Now ballets and operas have several things in common. Swanky costumes they have in common, and too much stage make-up. And music, of course – they are both traditionally very musical affairs. But the most notable thing that they share is the storyline. The one thing that you can always be assured of if you go to the opera or the ballet is, in the case of the opera, lots of really good loud singing, and in the case of the ballet, lots of really wonderful dancing, and in the case of both, really rubbish storylines.
17
And I’m not joking here. When I worked in a prop house, I regularly received free tickets from one of the staff who was dating a Covent Garden ballet dancer. The tickets were always front-row tickets. I used to breathe through my mouth.