Here’s Looking At You
Joe’s performance was bound to tug at her heartstrings…
Bogart’s Bar, says the rusty sign ahead. Evelyn’s nerves kick in, her heart begins to pound and her mouth feels dry. No such pub here in Drayton twenty years ago – not when she lived here. She, of all people, would remember that.
Though she was a very different Evelyn in those days – slim, red-headed, prone to staggering along the High Street in stilettos and outrageous outfits. Hazy, raw-edged fun days…
Now, with dark hair dyed to cover the grey, low heels and sensible black trousers – size sixteen, alas – Evelyn weaves in and out of the Saturday afternoon shoppers towards the pub.
She knows she is slightly mad, doing this – coming a hundred miles by train after spotting a name on some obscure online site.
More than slightly mad, her partner, Neil, would say if he knew. He doesn’t, of course. She has to do this alone.
A picture of Humphrey Bogart with Lauren Bacall is attached to the pub’s grimy door. Evelyn feels ancient and out of place as she pushes through a group of students smoking outside, but gets bolder as she descends the rickety steps to The Cellar. She might look her years, but her ex-actress status has to be a valid passport. The walls are plastered with adverts. A rehearsed reading of The Odd Sibling, a comedy, with Joseph Vincent… in The Cellar. We need your feedback!
A doddle, the feedback, compared with seeing Joe again. The shock of spotting his name online has left her with a mix of excitement, curiosity and – yes – fear. Time does not always heal.
The Cellar – dim and stuffy, yet smelling overpoweringly dank – is packed, mostly with students. Evelyn spots a few older people, possibly the director or the writers, propping up the bar. Taking a seat towards the back, she watches them, recognising their earnestness, the false confidence. Thank God she is out of all that!
Yet she feels tense, far too tense. She attempts to calm herself with a silly thought. Vincent being such a common name, this may not even be her Joe.
Still, how many amateur actors called Joseph Vincent can there be in this town?
Sweat breaks out on her forehead as she studies the pictures on the walls around the stage – anything to take her mind off Joe. Tatty photos of the old stars: John Wayne, Marilyn Monroe, Ingrid Bergman, plus more of Bogey.
A decent little stage, not a bad venue for a try-out… Panic suddenly grips her and she wants out, now! But the seats each side of her are occupied and, on stage, a girl is fiddling with the ropey-looking props. You’re trapped, Evelyn. The reading is about to begin.
At first, when he comes on, she doesn’t recognise him – her Joe, her beloved stepson. And why would she? Thirteen when she last saw him, standing at the door with Don, his angry father, as she – in pieces and out of her mind – stumbled out of their lives. A bewildered, silent Joe, that day.
Now she stares at this stranger in front of her. Alone on stage, script in hand, and so tall – six foot? The mop of blond hair now that much darker, his body so much thinner.
Yet it’s her Joe, all right. The familiar voice, the turn of his head, his throaty laugh… While everyone around her is smiling, Evelyn sits choking back tears.
Joe is reading the part of a downand-out, and – all credit to the author – the play is quite funny. A girl joins him, playing his sister, and they try not to laugh as they read. “Corpsing, actors call it, laughing when they shouldn’t,” Evelyn remembers telling Joe. He’d
IN PIECES and out of her MIND, she had STUMBLED out of their lives
giggled for the rest of the day.
Five, he was – this handsome actor – when she fell in love with his father, a widower. Though she had known nothing about children, the bond between the three of them was amazing from the start.
Joe had loved to show off, even at a young age. She grins as she watches him shuffle across the stage, recalling his take-off of Chaplin.
“It’s all in the walk,” she drummed into him. “Get that right and you’ve captured the character.”
Well, he obviously listened! Maybe she can claim some credit for this excellent reading. The actress on stage turns. “A bit of a break now, OK?” she announces informally.
Evelyn goes to queue at the bar and then, needing to think, she goes back to her seat. How is this grown-up Joe now? Is he happy? Please, let him be happy. She glances at the empty stage. Not particularly successful, her showbiz episode all those years ago, but she loved it. Then she looks down into her glass. Orange juice, of course – always boring orange juice. She sighs.
People thought her excessive drinking back then was down to her giving up her career to look after Joe. Not so; it was all about the marriage sliding downhill after Don’s numerous affairs.
She sips her juice. Had she thought she was some kind of martyr, letting Joe believe her drinking was entirely to blame for the break-up? An Oscarwinning performance she’d given, covering up as best she could about Don’s women, in order to protect the lad. And Don had played along. Stay away! We don’t want you here. Joe’s starkly worded letter, banning her from Don’s funeral two years later, hurt like hell. Still hurt. She had really loved Don once.
Ironic that she had given up the drink by then. Maybe she should have turned up, regardless. Tried to talk to Joe…
The second act begins. It is even funnier than the first, with Joe really acting the part as he reads.
Evelyn concentrates, wanting to comment constructively at the end. Joe will never recognise her, not now. Does she want him to? Maybe, maybe not.
The play-reading finishes to enthusiastic applause and the director and writer join the readers on stage. The lighting goes up, albeit very slightly, but Evelyn automatically sinks in her seat.
“Thank you all for coming,” says Jack, the director. “Now, can we have some feedback, please? Anything, good or bad. Feel free.”
Some old dear at the front gushes on about the “brilliant writing” and praises Joe as though he is the next Laurence Olivier. Evelyn squirms and Joe smiles politely. A young lad pipes up.
“I wondered if it could have been cut in places?”
Ah, constructive comment. Evelyn leans forward, her words ready…
“Excellent reading, but the scene with the computer was overwritten. Had it been underplayed, it would have been more comic.” Then, “Your walk was spot-on.”
But not a sound comes out. She sits back, aghast. Tongue-tied – after all those years on stage!
Maybe it’s for the best. Had Joe recognised her, there might have been feedback of a very different kind.
Someone makes an inane comment about the props and Evelyn feels claustrophobic, needing to get out into the air, suddenly wanting to be safely at home with her lovely Neil. People begin to call out randomly and, amid the general buzz, the door at the back opens.
A young woman and a little girl come in and Joe raises his hand, smiling warmly at them. Evelyn frowns, curious. The director is thanking the audience, inviting them to the next play and people get up to leave.
Relieved, Evelyn makes her way to the door, where the latecomers are standing. She manages to find her voice. “A wonderful reader, Joe Vincent.” The woman smiles. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it. I missed this one – I had to take my daughter to a party.” Evelyn swallows nervously. “You know Joe?” “I’m Sarah, his wife.” Evelyn catches her breath. Joe has a family now!
“I loved his walk,” she says. “Get that right and you’ve captured the character.” Sarah laughs. “Funny, he’s always saying that –” “Daddy!” The little girl suddenly lets go of Sarah’s hand and runs towards Joe. Her mother calls after her. “Evelyn!” Stunned, Evelyn stares after the child. “Oh!” she stutters. “That’s my name!” Then, before Sarah can turn to answer, she is through the door, up the steps and out into the welcoming fresh air. It’s all too much. She can’t face Joe, not today.
Still, she’ll be back because she has seen a glimmer of hope.
Evelyn’s steps are light as she walks away. Glancing at the picture of Bogey, she smiles and winks.
Here’s looking at you, kid…
An OSCAR-WINNING performance. Had she thought herself a MARTYR?