Blood at the Premiere: A Day One Undead Adventure (3 page)

‘I’m sorry, what?’ Dolan asks as those first so important tendrils snap cleanly through.

‘Bennie, I’ll come over in a minute,’ Henrietta says, smiling nicely but showing hard eyes.

‘THAT BLOKE FROM
EMMERDALE
IS HERE,’ Bennie shouts to the bar with an unsteady sway.

‘Young man, you have white powder on your nose,’ the rancid old haggard whore points out with a delightedly haughty tone of voice.

Lurching round, Bennie wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and nose before fixing a toothy grin on the old woman. ‘Yeah, it’s coke innit. You want some? Ha! It’s good stuff. Here, Henri. You comin’ then or what? I bet that bloke over there I could feel your tits without getting slapped…’

‘We’ll talk another day, Henrietta,’ Dolan says, quickly seizing the opportunity to extract himself from the increasingly embarrassing scene unfolding as Bennie tries to sell cocaine to the rancid old haggard whore.

Gone so fast she cannot get a word out that might prevent his egress but left instead to watch the drugged young man. Degrees of separation and if only Bennie had stayed the few metres away on the side of the room dominated by the young, foolish and beautiful instead of venturing drunk into the serious side to ruin the dreams of a woman now seeing a future of tits and smiles.

Henrietta Swallow does not give in. Every minute into the event is a calculation of movement and forward planning, and with the exit of Dolan so she gains a greater world view and another internal chastisement.

The editors. The scriptwriters. The lighting technicians. The make-up artists. The producers, directors, unit managers, sound engineers. Groups within groups but as she watches them from the relative comfort of the reality television personalities she becomes aware of something she has known for a long time. They all know one another. They all talk to one another. Lighting guys drink with the sound engineers. Sound engineers know editors who trade jokes with writers who talk to producers about the FA Cup. How could she be so blind to think she could simply step from the top of one ladder to the next? It doesn’t work like that. You go down the first ladder, step across and climb up the next.

This is her ladder. The drunk and drugged hogging the bar. The rejects from singing contests and talent shows. The nearly wons who the public reacted to and who were picked up like bait to lure the money from the masses. Doing the rounds of panel shows, chat shows, reality programmes and already peaking at the height of their fame before they slide to obscurity and watch the likes on their Facebook pages dwindle by the thousands. This is her ladder and like the queen at the top she holds court over them all.

Plied with drinks. Flirted with. Chatted to. Some are respectful and polite. Others step over that line with hands on the small of her back which drop down to rest on her arse in a clumsy show of desire. To them she is a veteran and a survivor.

Bennie and The Boys. The runner-ups in the last season of
X Factor
but now more famous than the woman who won. From pubs to clubs to venues and their fame grows as fast as their cheeky grins. Candice who won
Big Brother
and slept with the two footballers at the same time then sold the story to the press and watched innocently as their marriages fell apart. She was a victim, exploited. She never planned it at all.

Minor pop stars. Wannabe rock stars. Stars in the making trying to launch careers where they spend lives at bars and clubs and bask in the glow of one another while the mortals outside cling to the barriers.

The conversation on this ladder consists of sex, style, being seen, sex, drugs, sex, money, sex, desperation and sex.

Over there, though. In the other half of the room the conversations are about subject and substance. They talk about world issues and how best to reflect them. Art and the creation of magic to bring entertainment and awareness to the mortals that cling to the barrier. That ladder is made of normal folk who have shunned the coverage to be able to drive home unknown and unseen but satisfied of what they have achieved.

Henrietta looks round with that trademark grin spreading wide and the posh laugh sounding out at the punchline of a joke she didn’t hear. Someone presses a drink in her hand while a palm rests on her arse. She steps forward and away as though to listen to someone talk but the palm on her arse follows so she turns ready for a cutting remark to be delivered but stops and rolls her eyes.

‘Bennie,’ she groans. ‘Get your hand off my arse.’

‘What?’ Bennie says innocently. ‘Weren’t me,’ he adds, shaking his head. ‘It was, er…that bloke over there…’

‘I’m sixteen years older than you, Bennie. I could be your mother.’

‘Yeah.’ Bennie grins happily as she groans again. ‘Milf.’

‘No,’ Henrietta says but can’t help the smile showing.

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘What, like no now or no never?’

‘No never.’

‘What, like no never ever or no never not now never?’

‘Never. Just never.’

‘Ah, but…’

‘Celibate, Bennie. That means I do not have sex.’

‘But…sex is like exercise and you like exercise. Anyway, that Jodie is married now so she’s getting loads of sex so like, you can have sex now and I’ll just lie there and let you do the work, yeah?’ he asks with that look of almost innocent hope in his eyes that won the hearts of millions.

An idea presents. Bennie is flavour of the month right now and rapidly climbing that ladder of mirrors. ‘Bennie, can you do me a favour?’

‘Yeah sure, Henrietta,’ he says honestly with such an endearing nod it softens her heart for a split second.

‘I need to go over there and talk to some people but I don’t want this lot shouting my name. Can you keep them occupied for me?’

‘Okay.’ He nods eagerly. ‘Will you let me have sex with you then?’

‘No, Bennie.’

‘Oh.’ He deflates for a second before springing back with the eternal hope of the young. ‘Okay.’

‘Keep them busy for me. Don’t let them shout my name or let any of them come after me.’

‘Okay, Henrietta. I got your back.’

‘Thanks, Bennie.’

‘Then can I go on your back?’

‘No, Bennie,’ she says, snorting a laugh.

‘Okay. Will you go on your back?’

‘No, Bennie.’

‘Will there be any backs involved?’

‘No.’

‘Okay, Henrietta,’ Bennie says and turns to face his minions. ‘Who wants to be in our next music video?’

That does it. A reaction of palpable excitement as a rush starts towards him while The Boys all shrug at one another happy to go with the flow.

She slips away, easing from the crowd that compress around Bennie who turns to offer a quick wink at Henrietta retreating back into the serious side of the room.

Down the ladder she goes. Rung after rung. Step after step. From the top to the bottom and she crosses the gap to the first rung and the nearest group of perfectly presented make-up artists. She actually recognises all of them from hours spent in chairs staring at mirrors while they chat amiably.

Come on, Henrietta. Be engaging and listen. Get your name known in these circles so they say what a nice lady Henrietta Swallow is.
Dolan is right there, only metres away. Let him see you working the serious side of the room. Let him see the serious Henrietta Swallow.

It’s mapped out. From this group she can turn and join the scriptwriters then a step away from the lighting technicians. Rungs on a ladder and she knows she can scale it faster than anyone in the history of career climbing.

‘LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,’ a huge voice booms into the foyer, ‘PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY INTO THE AUDITORIUM. THE FILM WILL COMMENCE VERY SHORTLY.’

Fuck it. Not now, you bloody idiot. Sod off for another half hour.

Too late. The crowds shift and the groups begin to mingle and merge into one long stream of chatting people moving towards the entrance to the cinema. Shoes scuffing the ground and suddenly she’s surrounded by people she doesn’t know and looking foolish for being alone. The defined groups have gone and without the few faces she knows in each she can’t tell who is who. Bennie at the bar holding mock auditions as he leads them through the chorus of his new single.

Okay. Don’t panic. An hour and a half at the most then the after-party. Yeah, there’s time to work that ladder. I am Henrietta Swallow. I will not be stopped. I will succeed.

‘Did you hear this film is over two hours long?’ a voice mutters in the crowd nearby and her heart sinks again.

Two fucking hours of trite shit. Two fucking hours of sitting still with my stomach growling.

It doesn’t matter. I am Henrietta Swallow. I will not be stopped. I will succeed and I will use those two hours to plan my route through the after-party.

One hundred and thirty-seven minutes. Twenty minutes of which were static long shots. Fourteen minutes of a man in a café drinking tea staring at the rain-spattered windows. Sixteen minutes of a family sitting round a dining table eating dinner in a silence only broken by the scraping cutlery and the squelching mastication of jaws chomping. It was so bad that Henrietta felt sick coming up her throat and had to look away and quietly hum to blot the sounds out.

British cinema at its best and there was a standing ovation at the end during which everyone stood but maybe only two or three people actually understood why they were standing at all.

It was dire. Gloomy. Gritty. Realistic to the point of coma-inducing boredom. In short it was awful but as with all things in life, it had a beginning, a middle and an end and as the credits rolled across the screen to a soundtrack of more dire shit so she finally breathed a sigh of relief and went back over the plan formed.

She knows she may run out of time but that’s okay. Don’t rush it. The new Paco Maguire film is due for release soon. As long as she can get an invite she can generate more opportunities. That’s what it’s all about. This is the creation of art so she has to create the chances to make the step into serious journalism.

Work the ladder. Rung by rung. Find out where they socialise and which charities are getting the most exposure at the moment. Tell them you’ll ask Bennie and The Boys to do a gig for free. Use what you have; use what you know. I am Henrietta Swallow. I will succeed.

Henrietta knows the after-party will be a magnification of the preshowing gathering. Her old set will hog the bar and the rest will separate.

She walks the shuffle from the auditorium into the foyer making small talk with anyone close to make small talk with.

‘Great casting,’ someone says. Henrietta looks up into the face of a middle-aged woman also wearing a silk scarf.

‘I thought so,’ Henrietta says thoughtfully. ‘And the direction was incredible.’

‘Yes,’ the woman says, showing surprise in her face. ‘Very good direction.’

Point scored. First rung gained.
Fuck yes!
A plan formed and a plan to be executed with cold military precision. Into the foyer they traipse and slowly converge back into the predefined groups dictated by trade, social standing and perceived hierarchy. Even within those individual groups there are leaders and followers. Elders that hold sway to be revered and admired. It’s all laid out like golden rungs shining only for her heavily made-up eyes to see.

First things first and she heads to the bar to join Bennie and The Boys and everyone else gasping for more alcohol before they form an orderly queue for the flat surfaces within the toilets while drawing credit cards and twenty-pound notes in preparation.

These have to be satiated before she can commence the plan and this time they will not shout her name or cause shame.

From one to the other she schmoozes and mingles. Jokes shared. Banter exchanged and all the time adapting the approach, the method and delivery as though in warm-up for the main event.

‘So?’ A friendly voice in her ear and that hand on her arse again. ‘We going back to yours then after?’

‘No, Bennie. Do you ever give up?’

‘Er…’ Bennie holds a thoughtful gaze for a long second. ‘Sorry, what was the question?’

‘I said…’

‘Your boobs look amazing tonight,’ Bennie says, staring down in admiration at the bulging mounds of flesh straining against the dress. ‘I like your dress, Henrietta,’ he says honestly and in one swoop redeems himself.

‘Bennie, I need that favour again.’

‘Huh?’

‘Up here, Bennie. Eyes up here,’ she says, pressing a finger under his chin to lift his head gently until his eyes rest on hers. ‘I need that favour again.’

‘What favour?’

‘This lot off my back for a bit,’ she says, nodding her head towards the massed crowd at the bar.

‘Ah, right,’ Bennie says amiably. ‘Fair dos.’

‘You sure?’

‘Course,’ he says, letting his eyes drop to her cleavage again before blinking back up at her. ‘Eh? What did you say?’

‘They’re just boobs.’

‘Nah.’ He grins wide and genuine. ‘They’re Henrietta Swallow boobs. Special,’ he adds with a comical wink. ‘So does being celery stop you doing anything else?’

‘Celibate, not celery.’

‘Ah, right.’

‘Capriana is over there, Bennie. She can’t take her eyes off you. Why don’t you chat to her while keeping everyone distracted?’

‘Alright, Henrietta.’

A puzzled look forms fleeting and swift on her face as Bennie turns once again to do as bid and keep the others occupied while she slips off, going wide and clinging to the edge of the foyer while seeking a natural access point into the groups.

‘Henrietta.’

The voice sends a chill through her gut that tightens instantly, but any expression matching the fear is quickly morphed into a wide, beaming smile as she turns to face the owner of the deep voice.

‘What? No kiss for Jack then?’ the man asks, holding his arms out wide in expectation of compliance.

As docile as Bennie, she complies by leaning in to kiss the smooth cheeks and hides the distaste of the pungent aftershave filling her nose.

Gripped by huge hands on the tops of her arms she’s pushed away by Jack Adams holding her at arm’s length and taking his time with a visual examination of his captured prey. She feels the power in those hands. He might be pushing late fifties but Jack Adams is still a hard man with thick limbs and a squat head held in place by a bull neck between broad, sweeping shoulders accentuated by the pinstripe black-and-white suit. Gold sovereigns adorn his fingers and the light flashes from the gold teeth when he grins wolfishly.

‘You look superb, Henrietta. Totally fackin’ superb. I said to the boys last night I was gonna see Henrietta down ’ere at this event. I said that I did. What’s all this bollocks about yous being celibate like that Marsh girl? Fackin’ Henrietta Swallow not having no more cock? Do me a favour. Where you been hidin’ then, babes? Ain’t seen ya for donkeys, know what I mean? You still bodybuilding are ya? Eh? Eh? Yous be working the doors with me boys soon if yous get any bigger. So what’s happening then? Film any good was it? Missed it myself. They asked me to come, of course, but I had business. Eh? Jack Adams having business? Do me a favour. Course they owe me a few favours, this lot in ’ere. Jack Adams knows ’em all, he does. Half of ’em are fackin’ ponces anyway. Yeah they asked me to come down, course they know there’ll be no bovver with Jack Adams down here, don’t they? Eh? I said I’d spread the word so the scum stay away. Course I got a few quid invested so I wants to know the film was at least half good, know what I mean? Eh? Get me return on the box office. I supplied the champers and did ’em a good price on the cars and security. Know what I mean? Car picked you up alright, did it? I had one of the best lads come out to get ya. I said to the boys I won’t be having no fackin’ Mickey Mouse shit for my Henrietta. She gets the big Merc, know what I mean? Eh? But I don’t want no thanks. Nah, Jack Adams don’t need no thanks. You poppin’ round later then? Eh? Good girl. See you at mine for a few drinks when all this lot go down Soho to get the rent boys. I supply them an’ all now! Eh? Do me a favour. Your tits look great in that dress, Henrietta. Can’t wait to have a go on ’em later. Know what I mean? Right, I gotta speak to some ponce about business. See you later.’

A hand on her arse that grips too hard but it’s a show of power intended for everyone else to see. Jack Adams takes what he wants.

He strides off cricking his neck and rolling his shoulders as the crowd parts before him, leaving Henrietta still silent and painfully regretting the past.

Jack Adams was good to know back in the day. He was charming, powerful and very dangerous, but that was the allure. Plus he knew everyone and it was his money driving many projects. Not that people had a choice when Jack told them he wanted to invest.

She pauses and pretends to check the screen of her phone taken from her discreet black clutch bag while buying time for Jack Adams to get further into the room. The last thing she needs is to accidentally end up in the same group as Jack.
Fucking great. Something else to worry about.

She smiles as though reading a message then switches the screen off, puts the phone away and walks on round the side of the foyer before plunging into the group at the opposite point to where Jack’s head can be seen, gleaming and squat.

It’s hot. Too hot. The air is close and the faces look ruddy and flushed from the packed-in bodies and the temperature rises caused by the rapid consumption of alcohol. Henrietta adjusts her pace, spotting the make-up artists and waiting to catch the eye of at least one of them in order to have a reason for stopping to chat.

One turns as she lifts her glass of stolen champagne and clocks eyes on the grinning face of Henrietta Swallow.

‘Oh hi!’ The make-up artist forgoes sipping the drink and waves but in full expectation that Henrietta will walk on by.

‘How are you?’ Henrietta stops and greets the girl like an old friend, even leaning in for a hug. ‘You look great.’

The attention, so unexpected, catches the girl off guard. She just stares in surprise at actually being recognised by a famous person outside of the make-up chair. ‘I’m fine,’ she eventually sputters.

‘Hello, ladies,’ Henrietta says, looking round at the other women all now staring wide-eyed. ‘You’re all looking very glamorous. Mind if I stand with you for a bit? My arse is getting a bit sore from being groped.’

The ice is broken. The joke is well received with women smiling knowingly. She might be Henrietta Swallow but they’ve all got arses subjected to habitual groping from men who think they are untouchable.

‘I know, right,’ one of the women says, pulling a face. ‘Better than a tit bump, though.’

‘Tit bump?’ Henrietta asks, laughing that famous posh giggle and knowing exactly what a tit bump is but pretending not to know in order to open the conversation.

‘Yeah, you know,’ the woman says, stepping towards Henrietta and at the last minute brushing closely past so her arm strokes the side of Henrietta’s left breast. ‘Tit bump.’

‘Oh I get that all the time,’ Henrietta confesses, looking down at her cleavage. ‘Mind you, they do poke out a bit.’

‘Just a bit,’ one of the women says in admiration. ‘They’re so nice, though, like…like totally natural looking. I thought that when I powdered them for that shoot a couple of years ago.’

‘I remember that,’ Henrietta exclaims, not remembering the shoot in question or the woman professing to have powdered them. ‘So?’ Henrietta asks, tugging the corners of her mouth down and dropping her voice a notch. ‘What did you think of the movie?’

‘Great.’

‘Brill.’

‘Totally, like…totally great.’

Unconvincing but delivered with sincerity. ‘I thought so, too,’ Henrietta says slowly and looks up and round theatrically. ‘That scene when they were eating dinner? Yeah…I did have to look away…’

‘Did you? I totally had my eyes closed.’

‘I was humming,’ Henrietta whispers, leaning closer to the woman.

‘Oh god it was so gross, all that squelching! It reminded me of the way my grandfather eats.’

‘And it went on for ages,’ one of the other women says, stepping closer into the conversation. ‘And that café scene?’

‘Oh when he was staring at the window?’ Henrietta asks, rolling her eyes.

‘Thought I was going to fall asleep,’ the woman confesses. ‘I was biting my cheek. I think I actually made myself bleed.’

‘Jenny kept pinching me when my head dropped,’ another says.

‘I bloody did,’ Jenny says, giving a name to the first woman Henrietta spoke to in the group.

Gossip. Good old-fashioned gossip complete with a few hushed cackles and nervous looks round to make sure they’re unheard. One of the girls joking and fanning her face from the heat building up.

Fucking beautiful. Well played, Henri. Well played. Now, who is next?
She looks round casually and catches the eye of a man in the next group along.

‘Hi! How are you?’

The man blinks and looks round trying to see who Henrietta Swallow is greeting and when no one replies he looks back to see Henrietta Swallow staring at him and laughing.

‘I can’t believe you don’t remember me,’ Henrietta says, winging it on the spot. ‘Talk about how to make a lady feel good.’

‘Er…’ the man flounders nervously then swallows as Henrietta walks towards him with a warm last word to the make-up girls.

‘So, how are you?’ Henrietta says, lifting one eyebrow and having no clue who the man is.

‘Fine,’ the man says, trying hard to look up into eyes and not down to anything else. ‘Er…and, er…you okay then?’ he asks too casually.

‘I’m okay, thank you. So,’ she says, looking at the small group of men staring as wide-eyed as the make-up girls, ‘are you introducing me?’

‘Oh right…yes, of course…er…this is Carl, James, Sven and Lewis. Lads, er, this is, er…well it’s Henrietta Swallow,’ the man says as though not fully believing this is happening.

Carl. James. Sven and Lewis. Got it. Now just wait. Wait for it.

‘Fuck me, John. You never said you knew Henrietta Swallow!’

Got it. John. Perfect.

‘John!’ Henrietta says with mock disappointment. ‘How rude. It is very nice to meet you all,’ she says round to the group of men while John floats an inch off the ground and regrets doing so much coke while thinking he’s sure he would remember Henrietta Swallow. Wouldn’t he?

‘Ah, yeah,’ John says wistfully. ‘Didn’t wanna be a name dropper, you know…’

‘Aw, you’re so sweet,’ Henrietta says kindly and waits. Henrietta knows men and the urge they have to impress.

‘Sven and Lewis did the sound for the film,’ John says, filling the void of silence.

Sound engineers. Got it. Fuck I am good at this.

‘It sounded great,’ Henrietta says demurely but with a glint in her eye. ‘You guys must be strong,’ she adds, letting her gaze run across their shoulders and arms. ‘Lugging all that heavy equipment about every day.’