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The Might-Have-Been Girl A novel by Bronwen Welsh Copyright 2015

Chapter 17   The dresser's story

I was up early on the first day of rehearsals. Fortunately, Anthony had already finished in the bathroom as it is true that girls take longer there. I was down for breakfast by eight o'clock and Louise invited me to help myself from the assorted cereals on the kitchen bench, while she finished cooking me bacon and eggs. Quite frankly, toast and jam would have suited me better as I was feeling a little nervous at the thought of meeting all the new people in the production, but since she had taken the trouble to cook it, I had no option but to eat it.

Louise left soon after with Anthony whom she dropped off at school most days, and after I finished eating, I stacked the dishwasher, wiped around the benches and then went up to my room for my coat and handbag. I wasn't going to 'dress up' for the first rehearsal so just wore trousers, a woollen top, a coat and boots.

The walk to the station took about ten minutes, the train trip about another ten more and so did the walk to the theatre, which I reached in plenty of time.

A couple of minutes before ten o'clock, Mark, the Director appeared from the wings, and we formed a sort of semi-circle around him.

“Good morning everyone, are we all here?”

“Jim Rogers is missing,” said someone. Just at that moment he appeared at the stalls' door, breathing hard.

“Sorry everyone, I missed the bus,” he explained.

“O.k., Jim. Well now we're all here, I know a few of you know each other, but it might be best if we all introduce ourselves and give two minutes worth of background, and say which part you are playing. I'll start off. I'm Mark Stevens. I trained at RADA (there was a murmur among the surrounding actors at this) and completed my B.A., majoring in Direction a year ago, and this is my first appointment as director for a professional production, although I had plenty of experience at the Academy of course.”

One by one the cast introduced themselves. Jim was playing the part of Dearth, my father, and it seemed from his potted C.V., that he had plenty of experience, so I was glad of that. Elspeth told us that she was a graduate of the London School of Dramatic Art and had performed in a number of their productions, and she was to be my understudy in this production. I noticed that she skated over her lack of theatrical roles to date. I suppose getting that first role is the hardest – a sort of 'Catch 22'. If you are a success, then you have something to put on your C.V., and that can lead to other roles, but getting the first one can be the hard part.

I noticed that all the younger actors had been to drama schools, either in London or the provinces, and most of the older ones had come up through the repertory theatre system. As more and more of these companies have closed down, there is less and less chance for budding actors to get their initial chances this way, and often their first roles are with the better amateur companies.

When it came to my turn I said that I had commenced with the Apollo Players repertory company in Bridchester (I suspect some of them had never heard of it) and how they had performed 'Brutus' for a six week run in this theatre. I had subsequently been invited to audition for the role of Margaret again and was fortunate enough to reprise the role. I confess I too did some 'skipping' – not mentioning that this was my first acting role. I hoped that when they saw my performance they would think I was competent enough to warrant my place in the company.

When we had all introduced ourselves, Mark said that we would do a run through the play, blocking out the moves, first with the main cast, and later, if there was time, with the understudies.

“I hope you've all been learning your lines,” he said. “I'd like to see you all 'off-book' by the end of the week.”

A few of the cast pulled faces at this, but having the script with you can be something of a crutch and it's too easy to rely on it. I suppose I should be sympathetic, as not everyone has a memory like mine, and I can't claim a medal for that - I'm just lucky that way.

As we walked off the stage so that the cast of Act One could make a start, Mark took me aside and said “Harriet, as you're not needed until Act Two, I'd like you to go and see Ma, our Wardrobe Mistress about your costume.”

Ma's real name was Maureen Atwood, so her nickname was derived from her initials. I walked down to her workroom and she beckoned me in. She was a rather plump woman in her forties, and from what I'd already heard, excellent at her job. I looked around her room. It was full of costumes on hangers, bolts of cloth, two industrial-looking sewing machines, workbenches covered in half-finished items, and shelves full of containers overflowing with cotton, buttons, braids, laces and things I couldn't even name. How she could find something she needed I had no idea, but presumably she had her own way of managing.

“Hello, I'm Harriet Stow and I'm playing Margaret,” I said.

“How are you, my dear? I'm Maureen but everyone calls me 'Ma' here,” she replied. “Well now, the first thing I need to do is get your measurements. Could you strip down to your bra and pants, please? I'll close the door and we won't be disturbed.”

I was a little surprised at her request, but supposed it gave her more accurate measurements than using her tape measure over clothes, so I did as she asked.

“Right now, let's see. You're about as slim as I was at your age,” she said as she took up her tape measure and took readings of my bust, waist, hips, legs and arms, noting everything down in a little notebook. Then she looked at it, frowned and took another reading of my hips. She looked slightly puzzled.

“Is anything wrong?” I said.

“No,” she replied in that tone of voice which really means 'yes'.

“I'd rather you discussed it with me than someone else,” I said, suspecting what she was thinking.

“Well dear, when I was starting out in the eighties, I worked as a dresser in one of those theatre restaurants that had a drag show. Some of those boys were so pretty when dressed, the only time you could tell that they weren't what they seemed was when they were in their undies in the dressing room or getting measured for new costumes, and what costumes they were, all feathers and spangles!”

“I see,” I said. “What is it, my hips?”

“Your hips and your tits, dear,” she replied. “Don't worry, they look fine, it's just they don't feel quite natural. I noticed that when I was measuring your bust.”

I blushed. “Maybe I should have come out and told you straight away, but I'm getting a bit paranoid at the number of people who already know what's supposed to be a secret.”

As I got dressed, I gave Ma a potted history of my life so far, and especially those last few months, and she nodded as I explained about the revelation dressing as a girl had been for me.

“Actually there is a difference between me and those boys in the drag show,” I said. “They were boys pretending to be girls, but until a few months ago, I was a girl pretending to be a boy, and not very successfully.”

“Well that's the case most of the time, but not always. I'll tell you a story if you've got time.”

I glanced at my watch. “Yes, they won't need me for another fifteen minutes at least.”

Well, the theatre where I worked was called the 'Galaxy' in Soho, and as you may know that's an area well known for what is called 'adult entertainment'. The drag show was called “Les Jolie Filles” and some of those boys really did make incredibly pretty girls. Some of them lived as girls full-time and even had boyfriends who certainly looked straight. The show had been running for a couple of years before I got there, and was still running when I left after a couple of years as I got a better paid job in a regular theatre.

Anyway, back to the present; about six months ago I was in the womenswear department at Selfridges when I noticed a very elegant woman, beautifully dressed, looking at me. There was something vaguely familiar about her.

She moved closer and said “Ma? Is that you?”

“That's what they call me in the theatre, love,” I replied.

“It's me, Jasmine from the Galaxy, well Shirley really,” she replied. “It must be twenty years since I last saw you.”

“Goodness me, it's all of that,” I replied. “How have you been?”

“Wonderful,” she replied. “Except I shouldn't have worn these heels to go shopping, they're killing me. Have you got time to have a cup of tea and I'll tell you about it.”

“So we went to one of the cafes, and she sat at a table and slipped her feet out of her shoes while I bought two cups of tea and two cakes, which I ended up eating because she said she had to watch her figure. I remembered Jasmine now, she had been one of the prettiest in the show, and even then she was worried about putting on weight. Now she was a beautiful middle-aged woman.

“When I sat down, she went on with her story. I suppose I was one of the very few people she could tell it to, and it went like this --

“I stayed with the 'Jolie Filles' until the show folded a couple of years after you left,” said Shirley. “I don't know if you remember but I was one of the girls living full-time. I'd already decided that this was how I wanted to live my life, and I'd been to see a G.P. who referred me to a specialist and I was taking hormones. I knew I wanted to be as good a woman as I could be and I was saving every penny I could to have 'the operation'.

“When the show ended I looked for another one because it was all I knew, and found one in Manchester, so I moved up there. You'll probably remember we had a lot of young men coming on stag nights and works parties, and they could be pretty noisy. We were encouraged to mingle with them after the show, still in drag but street clothes, encouraging them to buy us over-priced drinks. Sometimes we provided extra services. I'm not proud of the things I did, but it was all about getting more money.

“One night there was a particularly rowdy crowd from a factory celebrating a stag night, and that's when I first spotted Ken. He was with them but not with them if you know what I mean. For a start he was the only one wearing a suit and tie. The other thing I noticed was he couldn't keep his eyes off me.

“When we were changing after the show, about ten of us in one dressing room you'll remember, I said to the others “Hands off the guy with the suit and tie, he's mine.” That got a laugh I can tell you because it was the first time I'd ever expressed a preference for one of the guys. So I slipped into a tight little black dress, stockings and six-inch heels, fixed up my hair and make-up and joined the others going out to the tables. I made my way over to where he was sitting and slid into the now vacant seat next to him.

“Hi there, would you like to buy a girl a drink?” I said and I can still remember he blushed scarlet. However he did buy me the drink even though the price was ridiculous. I had trouble getting him to talk but he finally told me his name was Ken and that he was the office manager at the factory where they all worked. It seemed he had only come to the show because Dave who was getting married had twisted his arm until he said 'yes'. I also established that he was single, by a subtle query on whether he'd had to get permission to come to the show.

“Have you, err, been working here long?” he finally said.

“Only six months here, but I did work in a similar show in London for four years,” I replied. “Have you been at the factory long?” Yes, I know it's riveting stuff, but he was so shy that just getting him to talk was like pulling teeth.

The band had started up again and some of the guys were dancing with the girls, so I asked if he'd like to dance too?

“I'm not very good at it,” he replied, but I said “Nonsense, you only have to shuffle around to the music,” and taking his hand I led him onto the tiny dance floor. He held me at arms' length at first, but gradually he started to relax as I moved in closer to him and he started to enjoy it.

“There, that wasn't so bad was it?” I said as we sat down after the dance.

“Err no, it was very nice,” he replied.

Things went on like this for another hour or so, and then I saw some of the guys were making moves to leave, It was plain that Ken was never going to make the first move to ask me out, so I slipped a card with my number on it into his hand and said.

“Why don't you give me a call Ken? Maybe we can meet up for a drink somewhere.”

Soon after, they all left. Three days passed and I decided I wasn't going to hear from him. Oh well, these things happen. I was sharing with two other girls from the show and on the fourth day, after I came back from doing some grocery shopping, Gloria said to me. “You missed a call, a guy called Ken.”

“Damn,” I replied. “Did he leave a number?”

“Yes. He said he'd be there for another hour. You might just catch him.”

I rang the number straight away. I don't know why it seemed so important to me to talk to Ken, but it did. Thank goodness, he picked up.

“Hi Ken, this is Shirley, well you know me as Jasmine. I was out shopping before.”

“Oh hi err Shirley,” he sounded nervous. “We met the other night. I was wondering if you had some free time. Maybe we could meet up for a drink, that's if you're not too busy?”

“I only get Sundays off Ken, would that suit you?”

“Sure, where would you like to meet?” It was obvious I had to take the initiative here.

“There's a pub called 'The Goat and Hat' in Market Street in town, how about seven o'clock this Sunday?”

“Oh yes, sure, I'll look forward to it,” he sounded a lot brighter.

I could hardly wait for Sunday to come around and spent a large part of the day getting ready to go out. The other girls laughed at me of course, but I didn't care. I chose to wear a gorgeous deep blue satin 'tea length' dress with the hem coming to mid-calf. It's a slightly retro look but I love it as I think it looks very glamorous, and I wanted to make an impression without going over the top. Maybe I failed in that regard, but what the heck? I wore stockings of course and five-inch heels with a matching colour to the dress. It was a pity it was rather cool so I had to wear my woollen coat.

I was right on time arriving at the pub, I think keeping someone waiting is bad manners. The look on Ken's face when he saw me made my hours of preparation worthwhile. He was sitting at a table with a barely touched glass of beer in front of him and I suspected he had been there for some time. He rose to his feet when he saw me.

“Hello Shirley, you look nice,” he said. I smiled and said, “Thank you”.

“I'm so glad you came,” he said.

“Of course I came, I said I would,” I replied, a little annoyed that he doubted me.

“Well, some girls say that and they don't come,” he replied. Poor guy, fancy getting stood up. I would hate that.

I reached over and patted his hand. “Well, I'm here now.”

He asked if he could get me a drink and I opted for a champagne cocktail. I watched him as he crossed the room to the bar. He was tall, slim and not at all bad-looking. Such a pity he had a bad case of lacking self-confidence. Well, I thought, maybe I could do something about that.

He returned to the table with the drink and I lifted it and said “Cheers”. Again it took him a while to relax but bit by bit his conversation improved, and when we finished our drinks, he seemed to take a deep breath and said “Shirley, are you doing anything this evening? I mean I was wondering if you'd eaten? Maybe we could go somewhere for dinner?”

No prizes for guessing that I said 'yes', and we went to a very nice restaurant close by. At one stage after a couple of drinks had helped him relax, Ken said “You know, I never imagined I'd be having dinner in a restaurant with a girl like you.”

I completely misunderstood his meaning and said: “Well all the girls in the show are like me.”

He actually laughed and said, “I didn't mean it like that, I meant that you are so beautiful, in fact the most beautiful girl I've ever been out with.”

Well, I blushed at that, something I hadn't done for a long time.

“So you don't mind who or what I am?”

He looked at me seriously. “All I see and hear is a gorgeous woman. I'm proud to be here with you, having the best time I've had in years.”

Suddenly I was overcome and a tear ran down my cheek. “That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a very long time,” I said.”

“I'm sorry,” said Shirley, “I'm taking forever and it's as if I'm reliving the whole thing. Anyway, that was the first of many dates with Ken. He actually wanted to take me to the wedding of the guy whose stag night it had been when we first met, but I persuaded him that it wasn't a good idea. I wasn't bothered for myself, but if anyone recognised me from the theatre it could have been very embarrassing for Ken and might have led to some unsavoury remarks, since I knew what the other guys thought of the girls in the show. I'd heard their snide comments. I was very touched that he was prepared to take that risk.

“I was totally open with him about my plans for the future, to become the best woman I could be and he totally supported me in that, even helping me financially when I finally made the trip to Thailand for my surgery and coming with me to support me. By then I was deeply in love with him and he with me.

“For Ken's sake I didn't want to stay in Manchester, and fortunately he found a much better position as office manager for a big company down here, so you can see he has much more self-confidence now, and if I've played a small part in him achieving that, then I'm a happy woman. We're married, live in a nice house and have an adopted daughter, so life couldn't be better.”

I had sat entranced as Ma told me this story. I couldn't help thinking how much it resembled the first part of my relationship with Reggie, and I wondered if we had a similar future together. My thoughts, however, were interrupted by someone knocking on the door, saying that Mark wanted to start rehearsing Act Two and where was I?

Just before I left Ma she said: “Do many people down here know about you?”

“Besides Sir Edgar, there's Louise his secretary, whose house I'm staying at for the run, but her family doesn't know and neither do the cast. I have a boyfriend too, called Reggie, and he's really sweet. He accepts me for what I am. I don't know if Mark's been told. He hasn't mentioned it, but maybe that's why he sent me on my own to get measured.”

“Well your secret is safe with me,” said Ma, as I left the room to hurry up to the stage.

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 to incorporate in the story.