Twopence Coloured (32 page)

J
ACKIE kept her promise to herself when she got back to West Kensington, and in a week’s time she had her card in the “Telegraph” and over a dozen letters written to managers and producers of her acquaintance. Some of these received no reply whatever, others procured examples of the if-anything-comes-along-will-remember school of replies, and others obtained interviews for her.

These interviews were generally fixed for eleven o’clock in the front of a theatre, and they either took place at one o’clock or not at all. There was generally another young woman, rather like yourself, hanging about at these
interviews
— or else an Apollo-like young man (with a Plum) who at last got very testy and said Well,
he
had been told he could see Mr. So-and-so at eleven
thirty
, and strode away with a very slim waist but manifestations of spleen.

If, however, you succeeded in obtaining precedence over these lounging rivals, you at last found yourself in a small room, where your producer (or whatever he was) would by slow degrees familiarize himself with your hand, look into your eyes, and murmur, “
You
don’t want a job. What do
you
want a job for?” Your producer did not say this because he really thought you
didn
’
t
want a job (he knew you would give your soul for one) — but because he was not, at the moment, concentrating upon his profession, but dallying with matters nearer his heart.

Indeed, if he was greatly afflicted in this direction, he would forget himself so far as definitely to kiss you (in a prolonged manner), or, in very severe cases, to express his good-will by a curious tendency to Produce you on the spot — or at least artistically to mould, and make appreciative
manual experiments upon, your figure — as though the first steps in production were purely personal, and he really had to see where he was….

It was all in the business, and if you were an actress of normal spirit, when you came out from such interviews you rushed pantingly to your nearest friend and exclaimed, “Oh, my dear, the Embraces!” But if you were a Jackie of life you took a dreary train back home to lunch with a jaundiced outlook on life.

*

Not that all Jackie’s experiences with producers were of this nature. There was also that type of producer which believed that the Theatrical Profession Happened to be a Business. And this type of producer didn’t have Whole Mornings to Waste. And it Knew Actors and Actresses In and Out. And they Knew it Knew Actors and Actresses In and Out, and that was where the trouble lay (for the actors and actresses).

And this type of producer possessed a very telling nose, and much urbanity, but it did not leave off writing when you came into the room. On the contrary it said “Do take a seat, please,” in a suave voice, as though it was keeping its temper very well this morning, and would continue to do so provided
you
didn’t start any calumny. And it went on writing for about fifty seconds…. Then it clipped two bits of paper together…. Which was accompanied by a soft humming noise. Also by “You‘re Miss Mortimer, aren’t you”— as much as to say “That’s a pretty bad state to have got into — to be Miss
Mortimer.
” You admitted, not without a decent awareness of guilt, that you were. But it didn’t follow up your affirmative, because it wasn’t quite satisfied about those two bits of paper, which were by now in the little basket on the desk…. Either it thought that they weren’t clipped together properly, or else that they weren’t quite the right bits of paper to put in that basket — at any rate, it was sure something was wrong, and it picked them up and glanced over them suspendedly — lifting up the top bit, running its eyes down the bottom bit, and
fid
dling
about until it was satisfied, when it tossed them back again. All this was keeping you waiting, of course; but
being
, by now, a confessed criminal, you obviously did not
deserve
much consideration. At last, however, in the same suave voice, and sharpening its pencil, “Is there anything I can do for
you?
” it asked.

You only wanted to know, really, if it Had anything for you.

It rested its elbows on its chair, and joined its middle fingers. There was a silence.

It wanted to be let see — what had you been doing lately?

You stated your latter engagements.

Oh, you weren’t HAZEL Mortimer, were you?

No. You didn’t know anything about Hazel
Mortimer
….

Oh. It thought perhaps you were Hazel Mortimer. It had been getting confused. Of course
she
was pure Legitimate, wasn’t she?

So were you.

Oh, you WERE?

Yes. You were.

But by now it was getting rather dissatisfied about other bits of paper on its desk, and was picking them up and putting them down right and left, as though it had lost its
paper-knife
. It continued to talk, vaguely, while it did this, and then, suddenly alighting upon the most important piece of paper in the world, commenced to Stamp. This was done with a little rubber handle, which produced a very
half-hearted
mauve lettering, but which demonstrated, beyond the last growlings of Doubt, that the Theatrical Profession Happened to be a Business. There it was Happening to be it. It was a positive Post Office of a profession.

Well (stamp), it said, there certainly wasn’t anything going around just now. It wanted to be let see — “The
Knocking
at the Gate” you had said? (Stamp.)

You had.

Had you got (stamp) any programmes of that?

Felon that you were, you at last showed a little stiffness at this. No, you didn’t think you had.

Your stiffness was not unobserved. (
This
was a curious bit of paper to find on one’s desk! Stamp-stamp!)

Such a thing would be useful, it said.

You hadn’t thought that such a thing would be necessary.

And some cuttings, too, would be useful, really….

You rose. Well, then, there wasn’t anything doing just at present?

It had the grace to rise as well, and take your hand. No — but it would remember you if anything came along. Would you give your address in to the girl downstairs? You knew her room, didn’t you? Good morning.

It was back at its desk before you had shut the door.

The whole result being that, by the time you had given in your address to the girl, who was prejudiced against taking down such a loathsome address from the beginning, but could not help herself — and by the time you were out in the street, you were alluding vulgarly to this type of producer’s shows as Dirty shows, and asseverating (in the same low form of speech) that you would not enter them if you were given Two Hundred Pounds. But you knew, unhappily, that they were actually very desirable shows, and that even if so many as £195 were subtracted from your idiomatic amount, and you were given the chance, you would be in them like a shot.

After various experiences of this nature, and various other experiences wherein she found herself in stage-door passages with five or six young women of the same age and
appearance
, and the same manner of looking at their wrist-watches with serious doubt as to whether they could go on waiting about for the same interview for the same part as Jackie
herself
was seeking — and after various other experiences still, when, on being so lucky as to obtain intercourse with one of the dozen or so actor-managers of established repute in London, she was treated with the utmost deference,
sweet
ness
, and consideration, but a lack of optimism — Jackie found herself losing heart in her letter-writing, and made a concentrated attack upon the agents.

She did not, however, do any better with the agents than she had done with the producers. She tried them all. From the lowest kind of agent, at whose offices she would be kept waiting in a sparsely furnished outer room with a mumbling crowd of defeated professionals who said that it really wasn’t worth their while, and of course they wouldn’t dream of doing it under Fifteen, and it Knocked them Flat (old boy) and poor old Johnnie was trying to Touch them for five bob again (just as though they were defeated professionals in rather bad fiction) — up to the highest and newest kind of agent, who made appointments with you, but could afford not to keep them. Also she visited various female and peculiar agents, who dwelt in Gloucester Road, or thereabouts, and asked you if you had Done Anything of This Sort Before.

She kept her patience very well. Only once, in an
interview
with the Mulligan agency, did she nearly give way. She was seen, not by Mr. Mulligan himself, but by an
extremely
pretty young chit of about seventeen years of age who dwelt in a middle room. This young chit was at the top of her profession, Mr. Mulligan being the best-known (
theatrically
) and most influential of agents at this time, and it being the business of this young chit to keep people at a
distance
from Mr. Mulligan.

She was discovered, by Jackie, seated at a desk, at the far end of the room. She did not get up when Jackie entered, but wheeled round, smiling majestically but forgivingly, and indicating a chair.

“And what can I do for you?” she asked, joining her middle fingers (like the rest of them), and looking with
courteous
interest at her visitor.

“Well, I’m just looking for work, really,” said Jackie.

“Oh, yes. Now, let me see. I’m sure I know your work….” She screwed up her eyes and looked at the ceiling. “What
were
you in last?”

“I’ve been with Robert Granger lately.”

“Oh, yes. But there was something before that…. Weren’t you in one of your husband’s plays?”

“I was in ‘The Knocking at the Gate’— yes.”

“Oh, yes.” She glanced at Jackie, held the arms of her chair, and gazed at her desk. “I thought so…. Well…. I don’t know at all….”

There was a long silence as the child gazed at her desk, not knowing at all….

“Been up to the Greshams,” she suggested at last.

“No. I was told they were full up.”

“Yes — but you never know what they may be doing…. Let me see, now…. I — don’t know…. You might try Strickland, of course, mightn’t you? Have you tried him?”

“No. I haven’t.”

“He might be worth trying.” She looked up, and her smile again forgave Jackie.

“I’ll go up there, then,” said Jackie.

“Yes. You might do worse than that…. Yes…. Well…. Well, that’s all I can really think of for the moment. Of course, we’ll put you down, and let you know if anything comes in.”

She switched a brief, more than usually tolerant, and utterly dismissing smile upon Jackie, and without another word, took up her pen, referred to a paper, and commenced to write. “Thank you,” she murmured….

The interview was closed.

An incredulous Jackie was therefore left to get up by
herself
and walk to the door.

“Good morning,” said Jackie, at the door.

But the interview being already closed, this was rather pointless, and the rejoinder came tartly.

“Good morning,” she said, and naturally did not turn round, or leave off writing.

It was shortly after this episode, and in the twelfth month of her new attack upon London, and in the small hours of
the morning (a very cold and dark one) — that Jackie decided to plunge her little legacy from Lady Perrin, which she had kept intact all these years, into theatrical speculation.

This she did partially because she thrilled (in those small hours) to the gamble of it, partially because she had become twenty-eight one day, partially because her spirit could not sustain unemployment and rebuff any longer, but mostly because she would be able, with money behind her, to walk straight through, at a given time, into Mr. Mulligan’s office, give a light nod to the chit on the way in, and another light nod on the way out, having spent the meanwhile discussing high finance behind a closed door.

A closed door and portentous financial mumblings for the chit, and just a light nod….

I
T was at this period that she had a rather strained little passage with Charles. It took place at lunch. He very often came up from Southshore and took her out to lunch nowadays, and they were very friendly indeed with each other.

This particular lunch, however, was the last one she was to have with him before he went to Australia. He was going there to play cricket for his country. It was a very great delight to be seen in public with the brown marvel. She was conscious of participating in history.

“Are they engaged, then?” said Jackie, speaking of a couple they knew.

“Yes. Rather,” said Charles, and after a silence, he added:

“And are
you
ever thinking of being engaged, Jackie?”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, no,” said Jackie….

“I don’t think so,” added Jackie, and looked at the tablecloth, as he looked at her — mentally worked out the entire faint pattern of the table-cloth, as he looked at her….

“And when are
you
going to be engaged, Charles?”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I’ll never be engaged.”

“Why not?”

He lit a cigarette. “Well, to tell you the truth, Jackie, I’m coming to the conclusion that nobody loves me.” He smiled. Jackie smiled too, and looked a fool.

“Don’t be a fool,” said Jackie….

Mr. Marsden, also, was still taking Jackie out to lunch. But they were not so affable with each other as they used to be.

It had been Mr. Marsden’s habit, since the disaster of Richard’s death, and when speaking on the subject to his friends, to state that he was Not the Sort of Person who Said he had Always Told you so. Which enabled Mr.
Marsden
, in a very clever manner, to say, without shame or stint, that he had always told you so. He had not always told you that Richard was going to die, of course, but he had always told you that nothing but catastrophe could result from an alliance with Richard.

Jackie was not unaware of Mr. Marsden’s back-biting, and perhaps she showed her awareness in her slightly cooler behaviour to him. At any rate, she sensed a difference in their relationship, which she was unable to describe otherwise than as….

This curious symbol had been brought into being by Mr. Marsden himself, who, taking advantage of an always
extremely
illegible handwriting, now concluded his letters to her no longer with

Yours ever

but with

Yours

which evasion, though it left Jackie in the dark as to the precise state of his emotions, she found quite extraordinarily expressive.

It was the most subtle thing. They looked at each other, during pauses, over the lunch-table, and perceived it. He was neither amicable nor hostile to her. Merely Their relationship was…. And would remain so.