Merely Players by J. M. Gregson Page B

succession of supporting roles came his way as a result of the rising star’s recommendations. He was forty-seven now, and he found he was increasingly playing villains and character parts, but that did not matter. Dean had seen too much of the business to worry about the roles which came his way; the important thing was to keep working, which he generally did. A well-known television face could always secure theatre work.
    Now the fourth series of the Alec Dawson adventures was almost complete and the casting was already proceeding for a fifth. There was a plan to give Alec Dawson a regular opponent, who would be repeatedly frustrated by the latest Dawson swash and buckle. A modern version of Moriarty, the Napoleon of crime, who had set his mighty talents and intellectual acumen against the even mightier ones of Sherlock Holmes. Dean Morley saw himself as a natural for this part. He had a wide experience of playing villains by now; he knew how to be smooth and sinister at the same time, which he saw as the vital combination for this super-villain. And he knew how to play off the personality and acting idiosyncrasies of his friend Adam Cassidy, didn’t he? He could make Alec Dawson into an even bigger star by forming an intriguing duo with him.
    Acting is the worst profession of all for fostering illusions.
    Dean Morley had settled down now. After his years of cheerful promiscuity, he had acquired a regular partner and bought a flat. They had even talked of a civil ceremony next year, when he had secured the regular villain’s role in the Call Alec Dawson saga and with it financial security for life. The repeats around the world already brought in a steady income, and he would be able to pick and choose his theatrical roles once he became the regular foil for Alec Dawson. Even Iago might not be out of the question, once the public had him classed as a villain; after all, he was the right age for it now.
    The illusion was getting a firmer hold.
    Three days after Adam Cassidy had visited Mark Gilbey, he was relaxing with a mug of coffee with Dean Morley and other members of the Alec Dawson cast. The short scene they had been shooting had gone well, but they were awaiting the director’s verdict after his viewing of the shoot. Adam liked these interludes, where he could be just one of the cast like the others, yet find his opinions treated with a little more respect than anyone else’s. It was the sort of respect accorded to the head of the gang’s pronouncements in his school days, subtle and unspoken, but quite definite. It was power, of course. The leading actor in a series always acquired power, whether he wanted it or not. Most people did want it, and Mark was no exception to the rule.
    Even though technically it was the casting director who did the hiring and firing, the opinions of the star were always heeded. The bigger the star, the greater the heed. At the back of every decision was the unspoken thought that if the star withdrew his presence, the whole project would collapse; it was very unusual for a leading role in an established series to be recast. The public were comfortable with the lead who had established himself; many of them did not clearly distinguish the actor from his role, so that they did not take kindly to a new face usurping that persona.
    When the latest theatre gossip was exhausted, the bit players went off to check whether their services would be needed again that day, leaving Dean Morley together with his old friend and one-time protégé. Adam watched the blue smoke curling slowly upwards from Dean’s cigarette and said with the righteousness of the ex-smoker, ‘Be the death of you, those tubes, if you keep on using them.’
    Dean nodded, stubbing out a fag which still had a few draws left in it. ‘I’m not sure it’s allowed here any more. No one’s objected, so far.’ Green room practice tended to avoid the rules, in a situation where