Devil in Disguise by Julian Clary

interest. But what were Simon’s plans exactly? He
was undoubtedly clever and perceptive, but how did he intend to apply these
talents? His vision of a marvellous life involved no career or particular
prosperity. If he was to take a piece of paper and write ‘Interests’, alcohol
and anonymous sex with straight men would have been at the top of his list. ‘I
suppose I could become a Welsh politician,’ he joked, ‘or I might be the
reincarnation of Truman Capote,’ he added, a glimmer of seriousness just
detectable in his tone.
    When
Molly was faced with an empty purse she was far more practical and dynamic.
‘Well, I’m getting my glad-rags on tomorrow. I’m taking my sheet music with me
into town and I’m going to march confidently into every bar or restaurant that
has a piano and ask if they want a singer. Or a waitress. Or a barmaid.’
    ‘If
that’s my cue to say I’m coming too, forget it.’
    ‘We
can’t live on fresh air. Or drink it.’
    ‘In
that case I shall make my weary way to the DSS and sign on.’
    Molly
found work almost immediately as a singing waitress at Joe Allen’s in Exeter
Street, a restaurant popular with musical-theatre types. Simon’s dole money was
not enough to keep his bottomless glass full so he reluctantly phoned his
contacts at the Old Vic and got part-time work as a backstage dresser.
    ‘Pulling
down some West End Wendy’s trousers six nights a week is not my idea of a
fulfilling life,’ he announced, after his first night.
    ‘Neither
is dipping my thumb into Christopher Biggins’s gravy, but needs must,’ replied
Molly.
    Most
nights after work, Simon would go drinking. He would have a couple in the pub
next to the stage door, chatting with the wardrobe girls and the front-of-house
staff. Then, after a while, he’d say, ‘Time for me to slip into the night,’
make his way to Soho and spend a few hours touring the gay bars and clubs.
Simon had various ‘drinking buddies’ — friends he only ever saw in these
places, after dark and under the influence. Some evenings Molly would meet up
with him when she finished at Joe Allen’s. Their nights out together could get
quite wild, if the wind was-in the right direction, but he always steered clear
of his drinking pals on those occasions. They were part of a world to which he
couldn’t take Molly, much as he would have liked to.
    Simon
was always Molly’s biggest fan. When she sang for the diners at Joe Allen’s he
would often turn up after his shift at the Old Vic and lean against the bar,
listening intently while keeping a firm eye on the gentlemen’s latrine. He
alone would holler and cheer when she finished a number and, emboldened by
drink, he would often shush a particularly noisy table and tell them to show
some consideration for the poor girl singing her heart out by the piano. Simon
watched Molly’s confidence as a performer grow and soon he suggested she get an
audition song ready.
    ‘Audition
song?’ said Molly, rather taken aback.
    ‘Yes.
It’s time you offered your services to the professional theatre, don’t you
think?’
    So one
night at Joe Allen’s, when someone approached Molly after hearing her act and
asked if she would be interested in auditioning for a musical, she was all
ready. Better than that, she got the job, playing the stripper Tessie Tura the
Texas Twirler in Gypsy, singing ‘You Gotta Get A Gimmick’. It was hardly
the West End — four weeks’ profit share in Milton Keynes. It turned out there
was no profit but lots of sharing. Still, Molly returned with an agent, a list
of auditions to attend and a boyfriend called Paddy, a musician who played sax
in the Gypsy band. Within a few weeks she had a part in the National’s
production of Candide and had given up her room at the squat to move in
with Paddy. Simon was invited over to their love nest in Wimbledon, but it
wasn’t to his liking. He thought Paddy was a crashing bore who smoked too much
dope, but he could see Molly