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I thought I was getting a new job, but it turned out to be a whole new life

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Chapter 2 An unexpected request.

Half-way through the third and final week of 'Dear Brutus', I couldn't help noticing that Mary didn't look well.

“Are you feeling alright?” I asked her.

“Yes, I'm fine,” she replied,= and then seeing from the look on my face that I didn't believe her, “Well I've got a bit of a pain in the right side of my abdomen. I had a fall at my jazz ballet class last Sunday and I think I might have pulled a muscle.”

“You look like you're running a temperature to me, have you told your parents?”

“No, I'm sure it will go away soon. I'm taking some paracetamol,” she replied.

“Well I think you should tell them if it doesn't clear up soon,” I said. “Supposing it's something else like appendicitis? Have you had your appendix out?”

“No I haven't, but don't worry Harry, I'm sure I'll be alright; there are only a few more performances and then I can have a rest.”

Being a small company we didn't have understudies and Mary obviously felt obliged to keep going, but I was worried about her.

“Mary, please promise me you'll tell your parents tonight. You should at least get a doctor to check you out.”

Mary smiled at me “Alright, I will if it makes you feel better.” She kissed me on the cheek.

“Well it's you I want to feel better,” was my reply.

On the Thursday and Friday performances, Mary seemed a little better, although I thought I saw her wince as she ran onto the stage. She told me she had been to the doctor and had been given some medicine. I suspected that after all, it might be a 'woman's problem' that she didn't feel comfortable telling me about so I said nothing. Other people also noticed she didn't look well but she assured them that she had been to the doctor and was being treated for a muscle strain.

It was Saturday morning about eight-thirty, and Emma, Mum and I were having breakfast together when there was a knock on the front door. I opened it and was surprised to see David standing there. I invited him in, wondering what would bring him to our door at that hour. He seemed very agitated as he came into the kitchen and sat down, declining a cup of coffee. We all looked expectantly at him.

“Last night Mary was taken to hospital with a suspected burst appendix,” he said abruptly. We all stared at him in stunned silence. “Did you know she wasn't well, Harry?”

“Well, she told me she had a pain in her abdomen and I told her to tell her parents. Then she told me she had seen a doctor and he had given her medicine. Other people asked if she was feeling unwell too. She did look a bit better in the last couple of days.”

“I see. Well the fact is she didn't tell her parents, and she has been treating herself with high doses of paracetamol which could have had really bad consequences for her liver. Last night she became so ill she was taken by ambulance to the hospital and operated on in the early hours of this morning.”

“Is she alright?” I asked, astounded at what had happened and thinking I was in serious trouble for not telling David, although I did wonder why he hadn't noticed that something was amiss with Mary. Perhaps he had too much on his mind.

“Her appendix had burst, and it was just as well they got her to the hospital when they did or she could have died. Her parents said the surgeon told them she'll be fine now she's had the surgery and is on intravenous antibiotics, but the hospital will be keeping her there for at least a week, maybe longer.”

“I'm sorry David,” I said. “I should have told you, but she assured me she had been to see a doctor, and asked me not to mention it to anyone.”

He looked seriously at me. “Well, it might have been better if you had told me, but I should have noticed something was wrong too. Anyway that's in the past now and we have a serious problem today. Tonight is our last performance. It's sold out and we have nobody to play Margaret.”

“What are you going to do?” said Mum.

“Well it's impossible to find someone at this short notice.” He hesitated. “Look I know this sounds a bit bizarre, but I am wondering if you could possibly play the part Harry? You know the play by heart, you are the right age and about the same size as Mary so you could even fit into her costume. You have a tenor voice which could easily pass for a girl's voice too.”

There was a moment's silence as we all digested this, and the three of them looked at me. Emma was the first to break the silence.

“I think you could do it Harry. I've seen you in school plays and you always acted well and seemed to be having a good time. Didn't you play the part of a girl once or twice?”

“Yes, but that was at school Emma, and this is a professional play in front of a paying audience,” I protested, although secretly, the thought of performing on stage thrilled me, whilst at the same time scaring me to death. “What do you think Mum?”

My mother looked grave. “You're an adult now Harry, and must make your own decisions, but it does seem a pity if the performance has to be cancelled for want of an actor. I saw you in those school plays too, and you were head and shoulders above the rest of the cast.”

I took a deep breath. “Alright, I'll give it a go David, but if you don't think it's working ....” I left the sentence unfinished.

The relief on his face was obvious. “Thank you, Harry. I'll be straight with you. Just in case you said yes, I've contacted Ross who plays Dearth and he's agreed to turn up for a rehearsal this morning. I'll go and ring him now. We need you too of course Emma. Can you both be at the theatre at about ten o'clock?”

After David left, we three sat and looked at each other.

“Thanks for telling him I played girls' parts, Sis. I could hardly refuse after that.”

“Well, you performed them well, and after all, back in Elizabethan times, boys always played women's roles in the theatre,” she replied. I didn't really have an answer to that at the time, although thinking about it later, I wondered just how convincing those Elizabethan boys were in their roles. Of course, everyone knew they were boys too. I was being asked to pass as a girl as well as act the role.

I arrived at the theatre just before ten o'clock. Emma had forgotten something and was about five minutes behind me, but I was determined not to be late. Word must have got around because Jim the doorman, whom I suspect lives at the theatre, wished me luck. Although I was early, David and Ross were already waiting for me. The stage was set with the magical wood, and David's first task was to take me through the scene indicating my character's movements. I'd watched Mary perform it for two weeks, but there's a world of difference between watching someone from the wings playing a role, and doing it yourself. The stage also seems much bigger when you are actually standing on it. By now Emma had arrived, so once David was satisfied I had grasped my movements, he went down to the stalls and asked Ross and me to begin.

I ran onto the stage from the OP side, closely followed by Ross who took up his position at the easel ready to paint. We were about five minutes into the scene when I knew it wasn't working. I was word-perfect on the lines but I knew that I wasn't convincing anyone – not Ross nor David, and especially not myself. I stopped and walked to the front of the stage, my eyes brimming, and shading my eyes called out to David. He must have already been at the foot of the steps because he was there a few moments later.

“David, I'm so sorry. I know this isn't working. I'm a disaster,” I quavered, nearly bursting into tears.

“It's alright Harry, it's my fault. I realise now I'm asking you to pretend you're a girl and the character Margaret at the same time without any help. Even the most experienced actor would have trouble with that. Look, I have a suggestion to make. How about we make it a full dress rehearsal with you Emma and Ross in costume and try again. How does that sound?”

“Well, if you think it will make a difference?” I said diffidently, far from convinced.

“Yes, I truly think it will,” he replied. “Mrs Arthur the wardrobe mistress is here. She can help you get ready. How about it?”

Of course I agreed, what choice did I have? I was only too well aware the performance was riding on me and time was running out, so when David took me off the stage and down the corridor to the dressing rooms, I was offering up a silent prayer that this would make a difference, although I was none too sure it would.

Mrs Arthur the wardrobe mistress is a cheerful motherly woman in her early fifties. I'd met her briefly in the past, but I'd never been to the dressing rooms before. David explained how he needed me to be in costume as soon as possible, and she didn't seem in the least surprised, taking my hand and leading me to the dressing room where Mary got ready, and telling David we would be about half an hour.

It was a typical dressing room with a broad working surface for make-up etc., in front of the big mirror surrounded by lights.

“Right,” she said. “Now I want you to go behind that folding partition and strip off.”

“Yes, Mrs Arthur, “ I replied and went to do as she said.

“Call me 'Aunty”,” she replied, “Everyone else does.” There was something comforting about that.

I stripped down and called out “Can I leave my underpants on?”

“No you can't,” was the firm reply, “You are playing the part of a young girl, and they don't wear boy's underpants. Here, put these on”

A hand appeared over the top of the partition, holding some flesh-coloured girl's panties. I blushed hotly but took them and stepped into them.

“Alright, you can come out now; I have to fit you with a bra,” she said. I appeared reluctantly, but she smiled and said: “That's much better.”

She was holding a bra that matched the panties I was wearing, and with the benefit of all her years of experience, it was just the right size for me. The only thing that looked odd was the empty cups.

“Chicken fillets!” she said. I wondered if I'd heard her correctly as she turned to a drawer and produced two strange- looking pink objects. Then she slipped one inside each bra cup, and suddenly I had breasts – admittedly small ones, but then I was playing a young teenage girl. She smiled at me. “How's that? Now let's have a look at your legs and armpits.”

She surveyed them critically. “It's a good thing that you have fair hair, but there is a bit of a fuzz on your legs and we don't want the front stalls wondering why you didn't shave them. I'm not worried about your armpits as the dress has long sleeves. What do you think? Shall I shave your legs or will you wear sheer tights to mask the hair?”

“Well, since it's only one performance, maybe tights?” I suggested.

Aunty reached into another drawer and produced a new packet of tights. “Sit down, and I'll show you how to put them on without laddering them.” This she proceeded to do, and I was starting to get the impression that there are a number of tricks to learn in dressing as a girl. Finally, I was handed a pair of short white socks which she trusted me to put on by myself.

I was starting to get the strangest feeling that I was turning into a girl, but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling, it was rather nice – in fact very nice, so when she produced a white full slip with a lace trim at the bust and hem, I didn't protest as she helped me to put it on. Next came a slightly ruched half-petticoat which she told me would make the skirt flare slightly. Finally came the dress which I had seen Mary wear so many times. In fact, Aunty told me there was two of them, so there was always a backup in case of accidents. I carefully stepped into it as Aunty held my hand, then she drew it up over my body, guided my arms into the sleeves and zipped it up. Finally, she produced some 'Mary Jane' shoes with a closed front, a strap over the instep and a low heel, about one inch high.

“How do they feel, comfortable?” she asked.

“They're a little bit tight,” I replied diffidently.

“No problem. Take them off and sit down for a minute,” said Aunty and left the room.

Five minutes later she was back with another pair of shoes. Thank goodness they fitted perfectly. Since then I've come to the conclusion that she has a secret store of almost anything by way of costuming that can be needed for any play.

I previously mentioned that my hair was longer than usual for a boy, and since I left school, I'd let it grow even longer. Now Aunty got me to sit down in front of the mirror and began to brush it out and tied a ribbon in it. Then she got me to face her and put a towel around my neck to protect the dress while she put some makeup on my face, explaining that there would be someone more experienced to do it for the evening performance, but she would do her best for now.

“Rule one of make-up – 'less is more',” she said, advice that I will always remember.

I was glad that unlike some of my schoolmates I had been spared the ravages of acne. Even the hair on my face only needed shaving every few days and as it happened I'd attended to it that morning. Aunty applied a little moisturiser, and a small amount of foundation, saying this was just because it was stage make-up and someone with my skin normally wouldn't need it. This was followed by a little blusher on both cheeks. Finally came some pink lipstick.

“That will do for now, just to help you feel like a girl,” she said. “They'll do a proper stage make-up this evening.”

Obviously she had total confidence that I would be performing, and strangely it seemed to be rubbing off on me too.

When she was finished, she told me to stand up and led me to a full-length mirror to see the transformation. I stood there stunned, gazing at myself. She had transformed me into a teenage girl – dare I say it a pretty teenage girl.

“Well miss,” Aunty said with a smile, no doubt sensing my reaction, “Now you look the part, you can go there and act the part.” With that she took my hand and led me back to the stage. Ross and Emma, now both in costume, and David were standing there talking and they turned as one when we appeared. The look on their faces was something to behold.

David found his voice first. “Thank you, Aunty,” he said “Now we have our Margaret”.

I hardly need tell you that the second run-through was a world away from the first one. Now I was Margaret; Ross was my Daddy and we were in the magical wood. At the end of the scene, David came up onto the stage.

“Well done – both of you, and it will be even better tonight when you have an audience to play to,” he said.

“I'll drink to that.” came a voice behind me, as Emma walked back onto the stage, “You were excellent, both of you.”

I found myself blushing. This was high praise indeed coming from these professionals.

“I'd like you to run through the scene again, just to make sure you are comfortable with it, and then you can relax until this evening,” said David.

After we had completed the scene once more, David said “That was even better. I'll see you this evening.”

He and Ross left the stage and Emma asked if I would like to get a light meal before the evening performance. “I find it helps to boost the energy levels,” she said. “Go and get changed and we'll go to a café down the road.”

I hesitated. “Sis, I hope this doesn't sound weird, but I'd prefer to stay in my costume. I found Margaret when I put it on, and I'm afraid I'll lose her if I change back, and maybe I won't find her again. Do you think David would mind?”

Emma laughed. “Alright, I'll go and ask him. I know there are some actors who prefer to remain in character even when they are not on stage. Maybe you're one of them. I have to change anyway, or they might not let me into the café.” (I should explain that in this part of the play Emma's character was appearing as a homeless woman in dirty clothes.)

She returned ten minutes later, looking much more her normal self. “David says it's alright, so long as you don't get the costume dirty. I've borrowed a coat for you as it's getting chilly outside, and that should keep it clean.”

I hesitated, “Aunty was telling me that my make-up was for the stage, and too much for day wear.”

“Don't worry about it, it's already getting dark outside and no-one will notice. If they do, we'll tell them you're an actress, which is true isn't it?”

I put on the coat and she retrieved hers from the stalls. As we walked past the booth on the way to the stage door, Jim looked up and said “Good evening ladies.”

“Good evening Jim,” we said in unison, and after waiting until we were outside in the street and out of earshot, we fell about laughing.

“I think Jim needs his eyes testing,” I said.

“Well actually no,” said Emma. “You look very convincing as a girl. You've passed your first test.”

Arm in arm we walked down the street, Emma reminding me to take short steps. I could hardly believe the sensual pleasure of being out dressed as a girl; the click of our heels on the pavement, the swish of my skirt and the feel of the slip brushing against my stocking-clad legs, Sensual though it was, I didn't have the physical response that a young male might have had, even though I felt a warm glow throughout my body. I was in total girl mode.

I noticed one or two young men giving us the eye as they walked past. Perhaps that's not so surprising. It seems that most young women nowadays prefer to wear jeans or trousers, so seeing two young women in dresses even if covered by coats, is almost a novelty. I couldn't help thinking to myself how ironic it was that one of those two women wasn't a woman at all!

We reached the café and Emma told me to find a table while she ordered. The only one free was next to the window, but I thought 'What the heck!'. After a few minutes, she returned and said we were having poached eggs on toast and a pot of tea for two.

“It's enough to boost energy levels without making us feel bloated,” she explained.

A few minutes later a young waiter came over with a tray. He was tall and handsome and as he put the plates, cups and teapot on the table I smiled my thanks and he, in turn, smiled back.

Once he left Emma grinned at me “You made your first conquest,” she said.

I blushed and retorted “Don't be silly”, but secretly I was pleased. I couldn't help thinking how different life is for girls.

We enjoyed our meal and I found myself growing in confidence all the time. I was still a bit worried that my voice in ordinary conversation might give me away, but Emma assured me that I was lucky enough to have one of those light tenor voices which would easily be taken as a woman's, dressed as I was.

When we returned to the theatre, Jim was still sitting in his booth and he said to Emma “I'm a bit worried about Harry. Have you seen him?”

“It's alright,” said Emma, “He's already in the theatre.” Strictly speaking, that was true of course. Anyway, it satisfied Jim.

“I've arranged for your clothes to be put in the dressing room I share with Shirley,” said Emma as she led the way. Shirley was already in her costume when we entered the room.

“Shirley, this is Harriet, my sister,” said Emma. I looked at her questioningly.

“Is that alright? It will be easy for you to remember,” she said.

“Hi Harriet,” said Shirley, “It's very nice to meet you.” She obviously knew who I really was, but the whole company was determined that until the end of the evening performance they would refer to me in every way as a girl.

I sat on a chair in the corner as, without a trace of embarrassment, Emma slipped out of her dress and stood there in her underclothes before putting on her costume for Act One. I couldn't imagine for a moment that she would have done that if I had been in Harry mode.

One of the dressers, Georgie, came in and started doing the girls' hair. Since I wasn't required until Act Two, it was logical that they were attended to first. The girls could do their own make-up of course but I would need someone to do it for me.

Once they were finished then it was my turn. Georgie tied my hair up out of the way and wiped away the make-up Aunty had used and started again. She applied moisturiser, followed by a little foundation, saying, like Aunty that someone with my skin wouldn't normally need it while not on stage. She checked my eyebrows and trimmed them slightly, and brushed some mascara onto my eyelashes explaining that would make them look fuller. Next came some eyeliner and some blue eye shadow, then a little blusher and some pink lipstick.

“Stage make-up is a little heavier than a woman or girl would wear normally,” she explained, “since it is seen from a distance and under artificial lighting. It then looks quite normal, whereas everyday make-up would look rather insipid. For everyday wear you'll need to tone it down; 'less is more' you know,” she said.

I nearly opened my mouth to say 'Why did you say that?' but thought better of it. Perhaps she had forgotten for a moment that she wasn't talking to a girl. Instead I thanked her.

“No worries,” she said in a broad Australian accent. “Good luck with the show.”

It's actually bad luck to say that, but perhaps they do things differently 'down under'.

I was already dressed of course, so rather than hang around the dressing room, I walked backstage around to the prompt corner where I found Robin standing. He looked me up and down approvingly and then glanced at his watch.

“Nearly time to start,” he said. “You know we video one performance for reference, well I've arranged with Paul in the sound booth at the back of the stalls to record tonight's performance as well, as a souvenir of your first professional performance.”

“Thank you,” I said, although I couldn't help thinking that I wished he hadn't told me. I was feeling nervous enough already.

Robin said “I have to announce that you are playing Margaret tonight, not Mary as it says in the programme. Have you worked out a name yet?”

“Well Emma has started calling me 'Harriet',” I said.

“Sounds good,” he replied, and picking up the microphone flicked the switch. It sounded strange to hear his voice and then a fraction of a second later, it repeating, booming out in the auditorium.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to the final performance of this season of 'Dear Brutus' by J.M. Barrie. Due to the indisposition of Miss Mary Green, in tonight's performance the part of Margaret will be played by Miss Harriet Stow. May I remind you that photography and recording of the performance is strictly forbidden, and that all mobile telephones must be switched off.”

Robin checked the stage to make sure that everyone was in position and then picked up a telephone handset, pressed a button and said “OK Paul, we're ready here, opening music please.”

As I stood there, I felt my heart starting to pound.

To be continued.

I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Louise Anne in proofreading the text and giving me a great deal of useful advice about modern-day Britain.