lead role because I sensed a surge of electricity in the hall when I took to the stage, with several of the cast even filming me on their mobiles.
I was word-perfect! I didn’t even stumble over “You know that ain’t no shit we’ll be getting lots of tit” which I always felt embarrassed singing. I couldn’t bring myself to simulate the groping hands like some of the others did but I managed the hip thrusts as best I could with my aching back.
The Summer Nights duet was a little more challenging, however I really thought we’d pulled it off. I went wrong a couple of times but that was only because Myra got too close to me, causing a temporary ringing in my ears, and I lost where we were. I know the massive last note was an absolute triumph because when I finally lowered my arm and looked down, I saw lots of delighted faces.
Myra was easily the best Sandy; she’d even worn her hair in bunches, capturing the fresh innocence of Sandy to perfection. I’m pretty sure no one else heard her exclaim, “You mother-fucking piece of shit!” when she thought the microphone had stopped working during Hopelessly Devoted, or noticed her make that obscene hand gesture behind Frenchy’s back. At the end of the evening, we had all crowded eagerly around Tom the director to see who had been awarded the lead parts. I crossed my fingers and held my breath as Tom cleared his throat and announced:
“Danny Zuko will be played by …” please choose me, please choose me-
“Frankie Trevino!”
I was utterly flabbergasted - Frankie Trevino had only joined the group last month! More devastating news followed when Tom awarded the part of Sandy to Liz Tyler, or Thin Lizzie as she was known. Her voice was nowhere near as strong as Myra’s! What was going on? It was a total travesty. We had no option but to smile bravely and applaud, although I could see Myra’s left eye twitching violently, a sure sign she was upset.
As Tom was wrapping up and preparing to give Thin Lizzie a lift home, he handed out sheets of paper that detailed the other parts. I was to play Doody and Myra had been given the role of Jan. As we couldn’t recall these two characters from the film, Myra Googled them on her iPhone. Doody was described as ‘small and boyish, always idolising the cooler boys’ whilst Jan was a ‘chubby compulsive over-eater, loud, brash and pushy’.
Myra went into meltdown at that point. I managed to get her to Den’s Diner, but not even her favourite twice-fried crispy doughnuts could pacify her. I tried to be positive and said I thought our duet had been great but she yelled, “Great? What was so fucking great about it? You were shuffling round like you’d shit yourself!” I tried to explain that I’d strained my back but she shouted over me, “And why did you sing ‘she swam by me, she’s got the crabs?’ That’s not the bloody line, is it? Sandy’s supposed to be the vestal virgin, not a pox-ridden old slag!”
I knew she was just lashing out because she was so disappointed. I didn’t blame her; she really should have got the part, although I thought her calling Liz “a scrawny titless rash of wind” was a little harsh. Just as she was calming down, I told her I didn’t have sufficient money to get the curry sauce to go on her cheesy chips and she started stabbing things again. This time, it was the squeezy mustard bottle that copped it.
Banking on it
I was dreading having to tell everyone at work I’d been unsuccessful for the role of Danny. They were always so supportive of my singing and I felt as if I’d let them all down. I thought I’d tell Jess first, but as soon as she came in she said, “Tough tits, Foggy, better luck next time.” Facebook - of course! I hadn’t looked at it for almost a whole day. Jess told me that someone had posted my performances on there last night, which was really kind of them. I was desperate to have a look but there were calls queuing and Kate was on the prowl. As I answered a call, I saw her scoop something up from George’s desk and hurl it into the food waste bin. I couldn’t see what it was but it made quite a clunk. Kate was always tidying up the department; she took such pride in it.
My customer wanted a quote for his Datsun so I started to go through all the usual questions with him as I watched George and Lucy come back from their morning meeting. At first I thought she’d been crying again as her eyes were all watery but then I realised she was laughing – it was great to see her looking so happy! George seemed to be doing an impression of a chicken; he was flapping his arms and strutting about, obviously doing his best to cheer Lucy up. I thought I heard him sing, “Tell me more, tell me more!” but it was difficult to hear properly as my customer had raised his voice. “Why do you want to know if I’ve got any speeding convictions? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Well, your premium will be higher if you’ve got points on your driving licence.” I thought everyone knew that.
“My driving licence?” There was a short silence. “I said I wanted a quote for my DASCHUND you cloth-eared moron! What the f-”
I winced as he launched into a volley of obscenities. Honestly, there was no need for that. I looked around at the team and they all seemed to be laughing along with George and Lucy; trust me to miss out on all the fun! George stopped larking about when he reached his desk; his face fell and he suddenly looked very serious. “Where’s my phone?”
It was lunchtime before I managed to log into Facebook. Oh my God! My performance had received one hundred and seventeen likes! That was amazing; thank goodness for friends – I felt enormously cheered after the disappointment of losing out on the Danny Zuko role. I scrolled down the list to see if Lucy had liked it – she had! What a sweet girl. There were forty-three comments too, but I didn’t have time to read them all, as I needed to get to the bank to arrange an overdraft. I’d save the pleasure of reading everyone’s comments until I got home but I had a quick peek at the first one. It was from my mate Barry Lund and he’d written, “I feel like chicken tonight!” That was odd, but then he’d probably been at the white spirit again.
I arrived in the foyer of the bank, which had recently received a makeover. It was all open-plan and seemed rather sparse, with just singular counters dotted around. There wasn’t much in the way of signage so I hovered at one of the pods waiting for a little old lady to finish being served. She was slightly deaf so I couldn’t help but overhear all her balances (she was wearing a tatty old coat and her shoes were worn through but she had over fifty thousand pounds in one account!). She seemed to want to increase her standing order to the Cat Protection League but the young man who was serving her thought she’d be better off taking out some sort of funeral plan. She eventually signed the forms he gave her and left, looking bewildered.
“Yes mate?” I was a bit surprised to be addressed in this way by someone who worked in a bank, but perhaps it was all part of the relaxed image they were trying to create. I told him I needed an overdraft to get me through to payday.
“Well, you’re at the wrong counter my friend, but no probs, it’s cool. I’m Dazza,” he stuck out a sovereign-ringed hand, which I shook, noticing he had a scorpion tattooed on his wrist. “Let’s get you sorted, then.” He led the way to a glass-fronted side room and tapped my account details into a computer.
“I just need to borrow about twenty pounds for a couple of weeks,” I explained. “I had to give my mum extra for a sudden increase in council tax-”
“Yep, yep,” Dazza loosened his purple tie and tapped away intently. “Right. It says you can have an £800 overdraft. I’ll load it on. You got a credit card?”
“Er, no, you see, I’m usually very careful not to spend more than I earn-”
“You gotta ‘av a credit card, mate! What if you book a holiday and the company goes bust? You won’t get any money back if you didn’t book with a credit card.”
I didn’t know that. It was a good point, although I wasn’t planning on taking a holiday anytime soon; Myra and I had gone camping in Somerset last year but after two days spent bailing buckets of rainwater out of the tent, Myra insisted we came home. She hadn’t even slept in the tent – she spent the two nights under the hand-dryer in the Ladies.
r />
Dazza cracked his knuckles. “You got any personal accident insurance?”
“Well, I work in an insurance call centre, Perypils-”
“Cos if you walk out of ‘ere and go straight under a bus, I’d never forgive myself.”
“But, I don’t have any children or anything-”
“Don’t matter mate! What if you lost a limb? An arm, say, in a freak chain saw accident. You wouldn’t be able to work very easily then, would you?”
“But I live at home, with my mum. I don’t have a mortgage-”
“What if you lost your hearing? You couldn’t carry on working in a call centre, could you? You might never work again. You don’t want to live at home with your dear old ma for the rest of your life, do you?”
He was right, of course; I would like my own place some day and when I became a star of the theatre I’d probably have an apartment in the West End, which would cost a small fortune. What a good thing I came into the bank today! I’d been walking around completely unprotected all this time. Dazza was starting to write on some forms and I glanced at my watch. I daren’t be late back, Kate was sure to spot me. Dazza noticed my concern. “Tell you what mate, as you’re in a hurry, just sign here, here, here and here and I can fill in