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Going Solo By David Gardiner
This story may be reproduced in whole or in part for any non-commercial purpose provided that authorship is acknowledged and credited. The copyright remains the property of the author Rufus stuck his hand beneath Lord Fauntleroy's coat and found his control levers with the ease of long acquaintance. The doll at once lifted its head to reveal a cruel caricature of a decadent nobleman's time-and-drink ravaged face, and opened its eyes menacingly. It studied Rufus with disgust.
"Good heavens, old chap! You're looking a bit rough tonight. Been on the binge again?"
"Do you mind, your Lordship? There's people watching us out there."
Lord Fauntleroy slowly rotated his head to scan the audience, nose held contemptuously high, eyes blinking slowly to underline his bored superiority. "Surprised to see so many. Must have come for one of the other acts. Or have they lowered the ticket prices tonight?" A titter went around the audience. Rufus could really only see the front two or three rows against the glare of the spotlight but the place seemed to be reasonably full. "I hope they're not watching too closely," the doll added, turning to his ageing straight man, "I could see your mouth moving at fifty yards tonight."
"I'm doing my best, your Lordship."
"I don't know why I go on working with you, Rufus. You haven't got it any more you know. I've been carrying this act for years. Do you think you'd get any bookings without me?" The audience tittered once again. "Not bloody likely, I should say."
"Could we keep our personal business out of this, Sir, if you don't mind? Time and a place, you know?"
"Time and a place my ass, Rufus. We aren't in the same class any more, you and me. I've already been in touch with my agent. Just a matter of time now. People want quality nowadays. Sophistication. Something you can't even spell. Satire. Wit. The world has left you far behind, chum. But you're not taking me down with you. Face it Rufus, I've always been the brains of this partnership." The audience liked this line and there was slightly more animated laughter. "What can you do, eh? Stick your hand up somebody's backside and tell the same jokes your grandfather taught you, that he heard at Wiltons in about 1860."
"There's no need to be offensive, your Lordship. I renew my material on a regular basis, you know that."
"Regular basis! Holy horse-droppings! Listen to this one, folks. Tell me what you think. Two young studs, Sam and Tony, always trying to out-boast one another. One day they're sitting on the railing half way across the Clifton Suspension Bridge. Sam says: 'I've got to have a pee, Tony.' Tony looks the other way while Sam relieves himself and puts his equipment back in storage. 'Cold water, isn't it, Tony?' he says." The audience did not respond. "Got no imaginations out there? Anyway, then Sam turns around to let Tony have a pee in private. 'Yeah,' says Tony. 'deep, too!'" This time a few individuals in the audience responded, but the laughter was not general.
"Begging your pardon, your Lordship," said Rufus triumphantly, "I think you'll find the Clifton Suspension Bridge was only opened in 1864." Amused titter.
"Are you trying to be clever, Rufus? Because it's not something you're very good at, you know."
The patter continued, back and forth, back and forth, Lord Fauntleroy manipulating every joke to emphasise his contempt for Rufus, and to enlist the support of the audience in his plan to better his career elsewhere. The audience went along with what was happening, accepting the surreal domination of the ageing showman by his sneering puppet, but their applause was puzzled rather than wholehearted. Finally, to Rufus' obvious relief, his twenty minute set came to an end and he bundled Lord Fauntleroy back into his carrying-case, bowed low and left the stage.
In the wings he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Bastard" he hissed quietly through clenched teeth.
"What was that. Rufus?" It was Colin Kaufman's hoarse voice. Rufus' eyes hadn't yet recovered from the spotlight beam so he hadn't seen his young employer waiting for him.
"Sorry, wasn't talking to you, Mr. Kaufman. Didn't see you standing there."
"That's okay. Do you want to take another bow?"
Rufus glanced nervously back towards the stage and shook his head.
"Step into the office when you have a moment, would you?"
Rufus watched gravely as Kaufman headed for the back stairs. Better to get it over with right away, he decided. He followed at a slower pace and reached the office a few seconds after Kaufman.
"Oh, you're here now? Okay. Sit down." Rufus sat. Kaufman remained standing. He paced nervously back and forth for a moment before he spoke. "Look, I don't know why I'm having to tell you this all over again, Rufus, I mean you've been in show business a lot longer than I have, and I shouldn't really have to say it to you at all. But, anyway... the thing is, your material isn't right for this audience. I can see what you're doing, pushing the envelope a bit, bending the old rules and conventions, trying to give the punters something a bit more... edgy. Up to date. Avant garde. But it's the wrong audience, Rufus. This isn't the West End, or the Edinburgh Fringe. These are just regular families on holiday with their children. They work in places like Woolworths and MacDonalds and drive cabs and sell double glazing. They don't want sophistication, or challenge. They want jokes, Rufus. Silly, slightly risqué seaside jokes like you were doing ten years ago, and ten years before that, I shouldn't wonder, but not crude. Oh no, definitely not crude. It's a fine line, but that stuff about... bodily parts... all wrong..." Kaufman was squirming slightly, he came from a conservative Jewish family and such things were never talked about, "Not right for this audience, Rufus. Definitely not right. They want the old stuff, the straightforward stuff. Don't you see that?"
Rufus looked cornered. His eyes darted from side to side.
"I mean, we've had these talks before. It's all been said. If you don't agree with me then say so, but please don't say yes and then go and do exactly the same kind of stuff again. What's wrong, Rufus? What is it you're trying to prove? I don't get it."
Rufus held Lord Fauntleroy's case close to his chest. "I know, Mr. Kaufman," he spoke very quietly, "it is strange. I find it strange too. But it's just... the way the conversation seems to go, somehow."
"The way the conversation seems to go? I'm afraid you've lost me there." He aimed a cold anaemic smile at Rufus and sat down before he continued. "I'm levelling with you. You know the way it is in this business. I like you, but I can't carry you. Not don't want to, can't. Now will you stop giving me a hard time? Go back to what you do well. Stop letting your own baggage into the act. It's not funny... It's... "
"Pathetic?" Rufus suggested.
"Self-indulgent. That's what it is. Self-indulgent. No more of it. Okay?"
"Okay. No more. I promise." They smiled weakly at one another and Rufus quickly rose and left. As he got outside the office door he wiped another bead of sweat from his forehead. "Load of old bollocks if you ask me," he heard from inside the case.
oo O oo
Ashen faced and serious, Rufus put down Lord Fauntleroy's case, knocked timidly at the outer door of the tall crumbling bay-windowed boarding house and waited. Before long it was opened by a plump and cheerful woman of indeterminate age bulging out of the square plunge neckline of an unflattering blue floral dress.
"Rufus! Good to see you! Come in, come in." He followed her to the front sitting room, case held stiffly by his right side. "I thought you were back in town. Saw a couple of posters for the season at the Pavilion. Need somewhere to stay?"
He took a seat and glanced furtively at the case before he answered. "No, Kaufman sorted that out for me before I came. What I need," he lowered his voice, "is a bit of advice."
Her broad face lit up at the prospect. Pausing only to unlock the drinks cabinet and collect a bottle and two glasses she took her place opposite Rufus across the polished sitting room table and started to pour the sherry. "Come along then," she entreated, "tell Millie all about it."
"I think I've been on my own a bit too much the last couple of years," he began uncomfortably, "your mind can play tricks on you when you're alone too much."
"You look a bit peaky, I'll give you that. But your mind? What do you mean, playing tricks?"
Before he replied he opened Lord Fauntleroy's case and lifted him out on to the table. Millie looked on, puzzled.
"Just a wooden doll, isn't it Millie? An ugly little painted face, a few control wires and levers and a tatty old three-piece made by a tailor in Aldgate about thirty-five years ago. Not alive, not real. Just wood and metal and paint and cloth. Agreed?"
"Agreed Rufus. An ugly little bastard like you said, but certainly not alive. No doubt about that."
"Then... how is it, I'm not the one in control any more?"
Millie looked him straight in the eye, uncomprehending.
"I plan out the act carefully each time. I make a note of which gags I'm going to do, in what order, how I'm going to end... and then none of it happens. None of it. The conversation just takes off on its own. And it's nasty, Millie. The things he says to me are ugly. Not funny any more. Mean. Hateful. Shocking. I have no idea what to expect. I'm not ready for it when it comes. It's like... living with somebody after the relationship has gone sour. You don't want to be together but you're stuck with one another, and all you can do is wound. That's what we're like, Millie. An old bitter married couple where the love has turned to hate and..... am I making any sense, Millie?"
"Not a lot, Rufus." She gulped down her glass and filled it up again. "Can you do it for me? Can you let me see?"
He shrugged and placed the dummy on his knee, found the familiar controls. The piercing bloodshot eyes snapped open and seemed to take in the details of the room. Then, almost at once Lord Fauntleroy's solid wood features seemed to sag and relax and the fierceness somehow drained from his face.
"Hello Mrs. Stevens," he greeted her cheerfully, "I haven't seen you for a while. Do you know, I do believe you've got even lovelier. Haven't got yourself another man, I hope? I've been saving myself for you, Mrs. Stevens. I like the larger woman, I do."
"Well, thank you very much your Lordship. You don't look a day older yourself."
"Healthy lifestyle, good diet, that's what does it. Nothing like a drop of furniture polish to perk a person up. Oh, I see you've already discovered that," he added, looking down at her sherry bottle. She laughed heartily and turned the label away from Fauntleroy.
Rufus removed his hand from the dummy's back and let it slump lifelessly on the chair beside him. "Funny," he said thoughtfully, "it didn't happen that time."
"Why are you on your own, Rufus? She asked gently.
"Now that's what I call a really silly question," he smiled for the first time since he had arrived, "who in their right mind would want a half dead old has-been like me?"
She strolled over to where Rufus was sitting and with her hand on his chin, turned his head so that he was staring straight into her ample bosom. "There's nothing wrong with you, Rufus. Nothing wrong with me either. People don't stay teenagers forever. But that doesn't mean they have to give up living. It's not good for any of us to be alone too much. Would you like me to tell you what I really think you need?"
oo O oo
".... that you've all been waiting for, the inimitable, the one and only, loved by everyone, the acceptable face of feudalism: Lord Fauntleroy and Rufus!" As the introduction came to an end the applause rose encouragingly. Rufus hurried on to stage carrying Lord Fauntleroy's case, waving cheerfully with his free arm as he went. He took his seat behind the little table where a glass of water and a couple of modest props had been laid out and set the case down on the floor. The opening banter, with Lord Fauntleroy apparently shouting to be released while Rufus explained about his noble lineage, went very well. At the correct moment he produced the puppet, and in one smooth movement found its controls and set it on his knee. The gleaming white and red eyes flashed into life and shot a look of pure venom towards their operator.
"About bloody time," the dummy rasped angrily, "I nearly suffocated in that stinking suitcase."
"My apologies, your Lordship. I was merely telling the guests a little bit about your family..."
"A bit about my family? You aren't fit to mention my family. Let me tell them a bit about yours instead."
Rufus' face went rigid. "Not the best time, your Lordship."
The puppet ignored him. "Arrived over with a shipment of refugees from some godforsaken central European cess-pit at the end of the war. God alone knows who his father or his mother was. Mother probably didn't know who his father was either. Lived in a Roman Catholic orphanage 'til he was seventeen. Nearly got adopted when he was thirteen but they sent you back, didn't they?"
Rufus's eyes opened wide in panic. "I don't think they want to hear about that, your Lordship. Tell them about your army chums from the Regiment... You know, when your friend the Honourable Adrian tried to open the chicken farm in Alaska..."
"Would you mind not interrupting, old sausage? If I want a conversation with a vegetable I'll go to Kew Gardens. Where was I? Oh yes. The unsuccessful adoption. Caught you doing something you shouldn't have with their own daughter, didn't they? How old was she, Rufus? Ten? Eleven? Always had a taste for the little ones, haven't you? Got a fifteen-year-old up the pole when he was eighteen, you know. Only screwed her once. Had to get her sozzled first, of course. Cost him almost half his first wage packet."
The audience was stunned to total silence.
"Please, your Lordship. You have to stop this. This isn't about me."
"Isn't it? Really? You told them my family history, I'm just returning the favour. Did I tell you about Rufus' marriage? No, I don't think I did. It was in his mid twenties. Only lasted a few months. Had a bit of trouble keeping his hands off her younger sister. Managed to keep it out of the courts though"
"The army," Rufus hissed, his whole body rigid, his vacant gaze straight ahead into the spellbound audience, "the chicken farm in Alaska..."
"Never had sex that he didn't pay for from that day to this very morning. Did a bit of groping of course. Befriended a few little girls who'd seen his act. Mine isn't the only backside he's had his fingers up, you know. Then there was this morning. Oh yes, our friend Rufus had a very busy morning, didn't you, old bean? All over that fat revolting Mrs. Stevens on the carpet in her front room. Wouldn't have thought she was your type, Rufus. Way over fifteen. Thought I couldn't see because he put me face down on the sofa, but I saw alright. And I heard. Said she wanted to marry him. Poor, poor Mrs. Stevens. Made my stomach turn, a man of his age!"
Rufus tried to get his hand out of Lord Fauntleroy's controls but it seemed to be caught up, somehow. It wouldn't move from its position, wouldn't come free.
"Thought you could humiliate me, did you? Tell her how nasty I am. Get inside her pants on the sympathy vote. Well, I don't give a flying fuck what you get up to in your own time, but you might have had the decency to..."
Rufus lifted the dummy off his knee and dangled it upside down beneath the table. The tirade continued, mercilessly, the language growing filthier and filthier. He stood up and shook his arm, but it seemed to be clamped there, irremovable, as though his hand had grown into its levers and controls and the rickety old mechanism had become part of his own body. He slammed the dummy's head onto the table with a deafening crash of wood on wood, but still the venom and foul language flowed.
His face a contorted mask of pure panic Rufus grabbed the glass of water and started to gulp it down in huge mouthfuls, spluttering, choking, coughing: but still the poisonous words flowed unabated. He knew that it couldn't be happening, Fauntleroy didn't have a voice of his own. But the words were still there, louder and nastier than ever, ripping away the last vestiges of his privacy, holding his soul up to the world like a severed head on the end of a pike.
Finally the poisonous tirade came to an end. The dummy fell in a crumpled heap from his dangling right arm. In total awed silence the audience saw Rufus walk slowly from the stage, leaving Fauntleroy where he had fallen.
He continued past the dumbstruck figure of Colin Kaufman in the wings, down the back stairs and out the stage door into the alleyway. As he walked up the service alley to the road and the theatre entrance Millie Stevens rushed out to confront him. "You bastard!" she screamed at the top of her voice, attracting the attention of every passer-by on the seafront, "Don't you ever talk to me again! Don't you ever come near me again! If you ever try to come back to this town again I'll..." It went on in this vein for some time, but compared to what he had just endured from Fauntleroy it was pretty mild.
"A chicken farm," Rufus was mumbling to himself as he passed her by, "in Alaska. Far, far away in Alaska."
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