Comedian - Derek Ansell

Comedian by Derek Ansell

Book excerpt

There was really nothing unusual about Jim Wilson’s last night in his hotel following his week-long engagement at the Carswell Bay Hotel, nothing that is, except that he was found dead on his bed the following morning. Everything else about his last night and the gig had gone according to plan as it always had in recent years. He had accepted a week in the small provincial theatre because that kind of engagement was the only kind he had been getting for the past five years. And small gigs with poor payment were, after all, better than no gigs at all.

He had left his Victorian villa on the outskirts of Windsor at eleven in the morning because he was regular in his habits and kept to the same timescales in almost everything he did. The drive down the M4 had been relatively uneventful, sparse traffic through as far as Swindon, a brief flurry of vehicles for about two miles and then quiet again. He went first to his hotel, as he always had on similar engagements in other towns, proceeded straight to the reception desk, announced himself, and requested a brief word with the duty manager.

The man that approached him shortly was a somewhat gangling figure, quite tall and with a somewhat craggy face and sparse, light brown hair. Wilson judged his age to be about forty-six or seven, close to his own.

‘Mr Wilson, welcome to the Carswell Bay hotel,’ he said warmly.

‘Are you the duty manager?’ Wilson asked.

‘Duty manager, restaurant manager, accountant, and general dogsbody.’

‘Well, that should keep you pretty busy,’ Wilson responded, ‘I shall be here for a week, and I have a request.’

‘Whatever I can do,’ Dobbs offered affably.

‘Well, you will know my situation,’ Wilson replied. ‘When I come off stage at night, I like to keep a low profile. Avoid people sidling up to me telling me how much they enjoyed my old television programmes and are there going to be any more.’

Dobbs smirked. ‘Well, you are rather known for them. I myself was about to say how much I enjoyed them.’

‘Fortunately, you didn’t.’

‘No.’

Wilson explained that he was hoping to return each night and not be bothered by anybody, hotel staff and other guests. He would like a quiet corner of the restaurant for meals and would prefer not to be approached by anybody. It was tiresome indeed to be reminded constantly of his former glories especially as he was going to great lengths to expand and make a success of his present engagements. Mr Dobbs’ co-operation in this would be appreciated.

‘Well, I can promise to keep the staff here off your back,’ Dobbs said quietly. ‘As to the guests coming and going, they may be a different kettle of fish.’

‘Do what you can.’

‘Indeed, I will,’ Dobbs offered brightly. ‘I run a tight ship here so you may depend on the co-operation of every member of staff.’

‘Well, that is all I can ask,’ Wilson replied looking doubtful.

Wilson requested a late, light lunch and Dobbs smiled in his offbeat manner and indicated the door to the restaurant. He walked with Wilson over to the door and asked if he ever worked with his old sidekick Len Harris these days. Wilson told him gruffly that he didn’t, they had broken up five years ago and he preferred to work alone. Or with less prominent assistants.

‘But you were very good together. So funny those old sketches.’

‘It’s in the past Mr Dobbs,’ Wilson snapped, raising his voice. ‘And I prefer to leave it there.’

‘Oh, sorry, no offence intended.’

‘You see, this is just the sort of thing I want to avoid during my stay. If you can’t stop yourself blaring out some inane reference to my past, what chance do I have with the rest of the hotel staff.’

Dobbs attempted to placate his guest. He assured him he meant no intrusion into his past and would make absolutely certain that it would not occur again. Mr Wilson could depend on him.

‘I hope I can’ Wilson intoned sourly.

Wilson picked a quick snack from the light bites menu and sat down in the corner alcove Dobbs had offered him. He wanted to get to the theatre in good time and set up his dress rehearsal ready for the first performance the following day: Tuesday. Then he asked for Dobbs again and got directions to the local theatre which was situated on the other side of town. On arrival he parked his Audi, went straight to the stage door, asked the security man to announce him to the Artistic Director and was soon greeted by a young man with blond hair who introduced himself as Freddie Thompson. The man was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt emblazoned with the words ‘Support Live Theatre.’

Wilson introduced himself and the two men shook hands. Everything was ready for him, Thompson assured him, including his dressing room. As they walked in the direction of that room Wilson repeated the request he had made to the hotel manager to keep him private at all times and keep visitors away from him.

‘How about actors and other theatre professionals?’ Thompson asked drily.

‘They would be acceptable, yes.’

‘I thought they might be.’

Wilson glared at him but didn’t speak. When they reached the dressing room, Thompson indicated it with his hand and stood to one side.

‘And I want people kept well away from this dressing room,’ Wilson uttered starkly. ‘Especially people enquiring if I have another television series coming up.’

Thompson smiled briefly, thinking about how unlikely such a series was but he kept quiet. ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ he said and departed.

Wilson went in and saw a young woman in tightly fitting jeans and a fluffy yellow top standing by the make-up mirror. She had light brown hair and vivid green eyes.

‘Holly!’ Wilson exclaimed.

‘Hello, Mr Wilson,’ she replied. ‘I got here early so I thought I’d come and tidy up your dressing room.’

‘Very kind of you, I’m sure,’ Wilson responded, advancing into the room.

‘It’s no problem.’

‘Come and give me a big kiss, Holly,’ Wilson suddenly blurted out, holding his arms wide and advancing towards her.

‘No, keep away,’ Holly replied, moving swiftly to the other side of the room. ‘Behave.’

‘You didn’t say that last week,’ he reminded her.

‘That was different,’ she murmured, frowning. ‘Look, I’m here to work, to learn from you, do whatever you ask of me on stage but that’s all.’

‘You know I can’t resist you,’ Wilson told her, grinning.

‘Think about your wife, Jim,’ she replied harshly.

‘I’m trying hard not to,’ he told her, looking grim.

Holly kept her distance, moving further away every time he appeared to move nearer her. She talked about his new act, how good she thought it was, and how successful it would be. She had worked very hard, learning lines, checking all the bits of business that went on during performance, and she was sure this dress rehearsal was going to go smoothly and without a single hitch.

Wilson wasn’t so sure. He suffered from stage fright and had done ever since he started in show business more than twenty years ago. Even now, although it was just a dress rehearsal, he was feeling sick and nervous. There would be people out front, possibly quite a few of them. He sat down heavily in the only armchair in the room and smiled sadly at Holly.

‘I could do with a cup of tea,’ he murmured softly.

‘I’ll make you one,’ Holly said, ‘And lighten up, you look as if you’d seen a ghost.’

‘I have,’ he agreed. ‘The ghost of my younger, more attractive self.’

But Holly was already moving over to get the kettle and cups. Wilson sank into a reverie, half asleep, half awake, and worrying about going out on stage. It would never get any better, he knew that. Now his depression was compounded though, by rejection from Holly, his new assistant, and a young woman he had great hopes for. When Holly brought the tea, they both sat and drank it, in silence at first. Then Holly perked up and beamed at him.

‘I want you to know, Mr Wilson,’ she began earnestly, ‘that I intend to work myself into the ground, if necessary, to make a success of this act.’

‘That’s nice to know,’ Wilson responded but he didn’t look particularly pleased.

Holly just smiled. A sweet, provocative smile, he thought.

‘You’d best get to your dressing room,’ he told her. ‘It’s getting near time.’

She paused at the door before going out. ‘It will be successful, won’t it? We’ll break a leg, won’t we?’

‘Better than that Holly, we’ll break two, yours and mine.’

He began to get ready for the dress rehearsal. Slowly, he changed into costume and was even slower applying stage make-up. When he finally stood and went down the corridor towards the stage, his head was throbbing and his heart thumping in his chest. It was always the same; he desperately wanted to turn back and return to the dressing room, but he kept moving forward.

‘How do want to play it, Mr Wilson?’ the stage manager asked.

‘Straight in, no fuss no, preliminaries.’

‘Right you are.’

‘Many out front?’

‘A dozen or so, maybe a few more; extra stagehands I haven’t counted.’

He walked out deliberately, thinking, as he always did, it was just like going to the swimming pool. You were nervous and edgy until you dived in, and then all was well. He saw Holly on the other side of the stage smiling, waiting patiently for her cue. He winked at her, but she wouldn’t have seen at that distance. He fixed a grin on his face, bounded out onto the stage, told a short, snappy joke, pulled a face, and heard the reassuring burst of laughter. Suddenly all was well, he felt great and was enjoying himself doing what he did best.