Beauties and the Beast Read Free Page B

theatre, La Comedie Francais is a theatre, and even the London Palladium is a theatre but this...”
    He cast a look of disgust around him. “Are you seriously trying to tell me I am now standing on the stage of a theatre?”
    There was no answer to his rhetorical question from the dumb-struck duo.
    Thornton timed his pause then continued. “This is not, never has been, and never could be a theatre. It’s a turd palace that’s not fit for even the lowest group of amateurs, let alone me.”
    Mickey’s eyes shone as he acknowledged the performance of a master. He wanted to applaud as Thornton swept magnificently to the rear of the stage.
    Billy however was underwhelmed by the histrionics. “Who the fuck’s he?” he asked in utter bewilderment.
    Mickey closed in conspiratorially. “That, mate,” he said, “is Belvedere Thornton. He is to the live theatre and the wide screen movies what I am to TV and the clubs.”
    Billy was uncomprehending. “He’s what?”
    â€œHe is,” said Mickey, “One of the greatest actors of all time.”
    â€œWhat was his name again?”
    â€œBelvedere Thornton.”
    Billy creased his brow into a frown, a facade of thinking. Then: “Never heard of him.”
    â€œYou don’t know much for a superstar do you,” said Mickey. He turned his back on the singer and stared at Thornton who was facing the ancient Elsinore, head held high, hands clasped royally behind his back. Mickey moved resolutely then towards the great actor.
    Thornton felt the approach, but stood still. Mickey halted behind him.
    â€œG’day Mr Thornton,” he said with a voice close to reverence.
    Thornton turned and looked down at the comic.
    Mickey thrust out his hand. “Mickey Finnegan, the host with the most, the man who put fun into funny.”
    Billy sniggered. “The man who put rot into rotten,” he said.
    â€œJust watch it,” said Mickey. Billy caught a subtle undertone of violence. Mickey stood, hand held rigid. Thornton was motionless until his lips curled in a sneer. “Go away you grubby little man.” Mickey dropped his hand. He felt humiliation but subdued it. He took a mental note. There was one more name on his hit list. He forced a smile and managed to look like an ageing cherub.
    â€œNo need to get temperamental Mr Thornton.” He glanced to Billy for succour and got nothing. Billy was a spectre; a man made of smoke. Mickey smiled the false smile again. “We’ll have to watch him when the show starts.”
    The words animated the hovering mass that was Thornton. He strode forward, his rheumy eyes glittered. “Ah, the show; what immortal words must have been penned for my management to insist that I present myself to the producers.”
    â€œSomething special, I know that,” said Mickey simply.
    â€œBut why here?” The projection was lower, the tones normal, “why this Godforsaken place? It’s a labyrinth of grime and rats. It doesn’t even have a stage door. I doubt it’s a theatre at all.” He paused and closed in on Mickey. “Did you see the front entrance?”
    â€œDidn’t look,” said Mickey.
    â€œI did,” said Thornton. He glanced at his gold Rolex. It was an original, a self winder. No batteries needed. He shook it, peered at it, and then put it to his ear. But there was no heartbeat of ticking. A Rolex does not stop ticking! The thought worried him. “I couldn’t find it. There was nothing. No stage door, no props door; just a seedy little entrance that could only have been meant for chorus boys.” Thornton felt anger rising. Mickey’s placating smile didn’t help.
    â€œThat was the stage door,” said the comic. “It was marked ‘auditions.’”
    Thornton’s voice took on a velvet edge. “I’m Belvedere Thornton,” he crooned. “I don’t do