J - Going Solo

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 risqu? 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."