prosthetics. Masks and noses and cheek pieces and everything. Karen Bauer does severed heads. Some like animal masks. Some people, like me, like doing work for impersonators. But I do a bit of everything.’
He said, ‘You sound as if you like screen work more than painting up Natalie Sheridan.’
I’d had a lot to drink too. I said, ‘I’d like to work for her for a bit. She knows how to dress. You can make a lot of her. And she knows a lot of people. That’s useful, when you’re a freelance. But I do sort of like the creative side. When you’ve got to find your own way through a problem. It’s an awful new industry. There are lots of things you’ve got to think out and invent for yourself. I like that.’
‘I can see that,’ said Johnson. He gazed at a forkful of quiche. ‘Is it such a new business? I thought you had families in the trade already. Like circuses.’
I’d forgotten he was an art college man. I said, ‘That’s true. I expect you know them. The Nyes. The Partleton brothers. Tony Sforzini and his daughter. Mrs Sheridan’s make-up man is one of the American Curtises, and they go back to the old M.G.M. epics. Of course, face paint is as old as Time, but it only really came into its own with the film industry.’
‘That’s the Kim-Jim Curtis you mentioned,’ Johnson said. ‘Does he stay with Mrs Sheridan?’ Invited, I had given myself more of the chloride. ‘What’s known as a houseguest?’
‘She goes in for houseguests,’ I said. ‘But he’s the permanent one. Works like a dog.’
I remembered something. I didn’t want to talk about Kim-Jim anyway. I said, ‘You’ve got a problem with Bessie.’
‘I have?’ he said. He lay down his fork and pushed his plate away. He hadn’t finished all of the quiche.
‘She’s been a great dog, but she’s a ruin,’ I said. ‘It isn’t fair, really. The doctor wants her put down.’
My hair appeared, twice over, straight in his glasses. It was quite a change.
‘Oh?’ he said, in his complete Owner voice. ‘And did he mention which day?’
I said, ‘Her legs are bad, she’s half-blind and she makes messes all over the foyer. You have to say which day. The doctor can’t and the vet’s scared.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Really, it’s just as well you’re going, isn’t it? Who knows whom you’d feel compelled to have put down next?’
I got up and collected his plate. ‘You didn’t enjoy your lunch?’
‘It was charming, thank you,’ he said. ‘Let me know when you leave.’
He had a short bloody fuse. I left him the bottle to get thoroughly sloshed with if he wanted, and let off steam with a good bash at the piano.
I had unwrapped the pot plants in the studio, and rearranged it all like a teashop. There were no grapes or chocolates left.
I fed Bessie, I supposed for the last time, and took her out to the pavement before I washed up. Then I got my shawl and my fishing case and went to say goodbye to Johnson.
Unfortunately, he had finished the bottle and was sprawling asleep on his face again. There was no way of telling if he had been going to give me a cheque.
I rubbed Bessie’s ears, and then shut her in with her master.
I went off to my date with Mrs Sheridan.
She was staying at Claridge’s but the doorkeeper and the desk clerks were well warned beforehand, and they treated me like a guest, even if I found myself in the lift p.d.q.
Natalie had got Ferdy’s photographs and was taken aback, as I knew she would be, to find how well she could look on her left side. She wanted to ask me about it. And she wanted a special make-up for that evening.
As before, she was sharpish but business-like, which suits me all right. The maid Dodo, a dead ringer for Eleanor Roosevelt, stood around glaring at me, but that was all right too.
I didn’t tell Natalie all my tricks, but I told her I could fix both sides again any time she wanted it done. And for that evening, I made her look stylish and different.
She
He said, ‘You sound as if you like screen work more than painting up Natalie Sheridan.’
I’d had a lot to drink too. I said, ‘I’d like to work for her for a bit. She knows how to dress. You can make a lot of her. And she knows a lot of people. That’s useful, when you’re a freelance. But I do sort of like the creative side. When you’ve got to find your own way through a problem. It’s an awful new industry. There are lots of things you’ve got to think out and invent for yourself. I like that.’
‘I can see that,’ said Johnson. He gazed at a forkful of quiche. ‘Is it such a new business? I thought you had families in the trade already. Like circuses.’
I’d forgotten he was an art college man. I said, ‘That’s true. I expect you know them. The Nyes. The Partleton brothers. Tony Sforzini and his daughter. Mrs Sheridan’s make-up man is one of the American Curtises, and they go back to the old M.G.M. epics. Of course, face paint is as old as Time, but it only really came into its own with the film industry.’
‘That’s the Kim-Jim Curtis you mentioned,’ Johnson said. ‘Does he stay with Mrs Sheridan?’ Invited, I had given myself more of the chloride. ‘What’s known as a houseguest?’
‘She goes in for houseguests,’ I said. ‘But he’s the permanent one. Works like a dog.’
I remembered something. I didn’t want to talk about Kim-Jim anyway. I said, ‘You’ve got a problem with Bessie.’
‘I have?’ he said. He lay down his fork and pushed his plate away. He hadn’t finished all of the quiche.
‘She’s been a great dog, but she’s a ruin,’ I said. ‘It isn’t fair, really. The doctor wants her put down.’
My hair appeared, twice over, straight in his glasses. It was quite a change.
‘Oh?’ he said, in his complete Owner voice. ‘And did he mention which day?’
I said, ‘Her legs are bad, she’s half-blind and she makes messes all over the foyer. You have to say which day. The doctor can’t and the vet’s scared.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Really, it’s just as well you’re going, isn’t it? Who knows whom you’d feel compelled to have put down next?’
I got up and collected his plate. ‘You didn’t enjoy your lunch?’
‘It was charming, thank you,’ he said. ‘Let me know when you leave.’
He had a short bloody fuse. I left him the bottle to get thoroughly sloshed with if he wanted, and let off steam with a good bash at the piano.
I had unwrapped the pot plants in the studio, and rearranged it all like a teashop. There were no grapes or chocolates left.
I fed Bessie, I supposed for the last time, and took her out to the pavement before I washed up. Then I got my shawl and my fishing case and went to say goodbye to Johnson.
Unfortunately, he had finished the bottle and was sprawling asleep on his face again. There was no way of telling if he had been going to give me a cheque.
I rubbed Bessie’s ears, and then shut her in with her master.
I went off to my date with Mrs Sheridan.
She was staying at Claridge’s but the doorkeeper and the desk clerks were well warned beforehand, and they treated me like a guest, even if I found myself in the lift p.d.q.
Natalie had got Ferdy’s photographs and was taken aback, as I knew she would be, to find how well she could look on her left side. She wanted to ask me about it. And she wanted a special make-up for that evening.
As before, she was sharpish but business-like, which suits me all right. The maid Dodo, a dead ringer for Eleanor Roosevelt, stood around glaring at me, but that was all right too.
I didn’t tell Natalie all my tricks, but I told her I could fix both sides again any time she wanted it done. And for that evening, I made her look stylish and different.
She
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