General Fiction posted March 11, 2024 |
2 lady actors growing old, both drinking too much wine.
Thespian Friends
by Wendy Rappeport
Lotte Carmichael wore a faux fur stole and long Bohemian skirt
and bounced into the party, interrupting the small huddles of
conversation like a whirlwind.
‘Hello, my dears,’ she announced and laughed, then gravitated
towards a polite waiter offering an assortment of wines and juices.
She helped herself to a Riesling and swam over to talk to Josephine
and Fred.
Fred waved affectedly. ‘Hello, darling’ He fluttered. Fred broke off
his conversation with Josephine to hug Lotte and kiss her sweetly on
each cheek. Josephine turned aside in a huff until Lotte touched her
lightly on the shoulder.
‘Hi, Josie,’ she said soothingly, ‘any work yet, my love?’
‘No, Lotte, I nearly had the chance to work in a TV commercial,
but Shirley stole it. She had the long hair they wanted and the posh
English accent. They didn’t give me a chance. I could have done it too,
but if only they’d given me the part.’
‘Oh, darling, how awful,’ said Fred. ‘Bob and I tried out for a TV
serial last month, and we both got a job—Two Old Queens and Their
Alsatian. Funny lines but very effective. Doing the lines now. Bob loves
it. So do I. Lot of outdoor scenes in Hyde Park with the dog. Welltrained
he is too, darling.’
Lotte swanned off. Everyone was used to her quirky ways. No one
expected her to act conventionally, so her departure was not regarded
as impolite. She bumped into Jo and Frances and had a few minutes
with them, then off to another little group.
Around her, the waiters carried trays of canapés. Gentle music
played in the background, with the hum and chatter of voices and the
occasional peals of laughter. The mirrored walls gave the impression
of wide open spaces with sparking chandeliers reflected and reflected
ad infinitum. The shade of apricot on the walls further warmed the
interior, whereas outside the winter rain was unfriendly and cold.
Josephine had broken away from Fred, and he had joined Bob and
Charlene nearer the orchestra at the end of the room. It was really a
quartet—two violins, a cello, and a clarinet. Josie edged her way around
the room to search out Lotte.
‘My dear,’ she said, ‘I’m getting quite discouraged by the lack of
work. Oh, look at those roses. The smell is intoxicating. It is pure
bliss, and don’t they look superb with the lilies and gypsophila?
Mauve, orange, pink, and white. An unusual but strikingly effective
combination.
‘Don’t you adore roses, Lotte? Do you remember that big bouquet
we got after we played the ugly sisters in Cinders a few years ago at the
Winslow Street Theatre? I do so miss the stage.’
‘Yes, me too, Josie. I think we’re just too old. The last job I had was
reading A Tale of Two Cities on the ABC. I’ve even applied for voiceovers
for cartoon productions.
‘My options are limited since I had the surgery and chemotherapy
for bowel cancer. The chemo has damaged the nerves to my hands
and feet, and I can’t dance any more. I can barely walk in high heels.
I couldn’t manage on the stage.
‘Josie, you have a most cultured voice. I don’t know why you can’t
get a go at something.’
Two months later, Lotte rang Josie to see how she was.
‘Hello,’ drawled Josie. ‘Who ish there? Who ish it?’
Oh no, thought Lotte, Josie’s been drinking again!
‘Stay there, Josie, I’m on my way.’
Arriving at Josie’s place, Lotte found the front door unlocked. She
let herself in and went straight to the lounge room. She found Josie
asleep in the chair with two empty bottles of sherry next to her. Lotte
tried to wake her friend and half-carried her to the bedroom. Oh, why
did you do it again, Josie? You know it doesn’t help.
Lotte cleared away the evidence and checked the fridge to make
sure there was some food in the house. Then she phoned May, Josie’s
daughter, to tell her the situation. May’s reply was terse and unkind:
‘Well, what do you expect me to do?’
Lotte sat down and wrote a note to her friend: ‘I’ll be around
tomorrow. Please phone me if you need anything. Love, Lotte.’
She didn’t know what else to do. Last year, Josie had hit the bottle
for about three weeks in July. She had been seriously depressed. May
and Margaret had no time for their mother’s plight, and Lotte had
asked the local Older Adult Mental Health team to be involved. Josie
had spent two weeks in the lodge and come out so much improved and
happier than she had been for years. So Lotte decided to phone the
community mental health nurse to see if they could help Josie again.
Intuitively, Lotte knew that Josie would need her when she woke
up, so she was there early next day with tea and toast ready for her old
thespian companion. Lotte wasn’t ashamed to tell Josie how she felt.
Lotte said to Josie, ‘I love you, my dear, and can’t bear to see you so
sad and so intoxicated, you silly dear. I’ve called the nurse, and she’ll
be around about eleven o’clock. Come on and eat some toast. I’ll help
you have a shower before she comes.’
She and Josie had a healthy nurturing relationship that made each
other feel warmly loved. Therefore, after she was showered, dressed,
and sober, Josie was full of apologies.
‘I’m so sorry, Lotte. But there’s no hope for me, my dear. No one
wants me any more.’
The Older Adult Mental Health nurse arrived and offered Josie
the option of hospital admission or attendance as an outpatient or a
psychiatric nurse to visit her regularly. Josie chose the last one, and
Lotte backed her up.
‘I’m staying for a few days. I’ve brought my things.’
She made lunch and dinner and put Josie to bed that night.
The Older Adult Mental Health psychiatrist visited next day and
commenced Josie on some antidepressants, and arrangements were
made for the nurse to call regularly until the depression had lifted.
Josie and Lotte sat watching TV that night.
‘There’s always something to look forward to, Josie,’ Lotte said.
‘Come and stay at my place for a week. I’ve got tickets for The Back
Alley, a new production at the Winslow Street Theatre, with Bob
Langton and Michelle Groves. You’ll love it. We can go backstage
afterwards.
‘Do you know I’ve arranged with Jenny Upton for you to help her
learn her lines for next month’s Chameleon and Co.? It’s such a help
to these young actors, you know, to have someone to listen and offer
encouragement. And it’s so much better when you have experience
yourself.’
Josie and Jenny Upton got on together marvellously. They found
common passions—Shakespeare and gardening.
‘It’s like the daughter I always wanted,’ said Josie.
Lotte smiled. She loved her dear friend, and to see her happiness
was so precious.
True Story Contest contest entry
Lotte Carmichael wore a faux fur stole and long Bohemian skirt
and bounced into the party, interrupting the small huddles of
conversation like a whirlwind.
‘Hello, my dears,’ she announced and laughed, then gravitated
towards a polite waiter offering an assortment of wines and juices.
She helped herself to a Riesling and swam over to talk to Josephine
and Fred.
Fred waved affectedly. ‘Hello, darling’ He fluttered. Fred broke off
his conversation with Josephine to hug Lotte and kiss her sweetly on
each cheek. Josephine turned aside in a huff until Lotte touched her
lightly on the shoulder.
‘Hi, Josie,’ she said soothingly, ‘any work yet, my love?’
‘No, Lotte, I nearly had the chance to work in a TV commercial,
but Shirley stole it. She had the long hair they wanted and the posh
English accent. They didn’t give me a chance. I could have done it too,
but if only they’d given me the part.’
‘Oh, darling, how awful,’ said Fred. ‘Bob and I tried out for a TV
serial last month, and we both got a job—Two Old Queens and Their
Alsatian. Funny lines but very effective. Doing the lines now. Bob loves
it. So do I. Lot of outdoor scenes in Hyde Park with the dog. Welltrained
he is too, darling.’
Lotte swanned off. Everyone was used to her quirky ways. No one
expected her to act conventionally, so her departure was not regarded
as impolite. She bumped into Jo and Frances and had a few minutes
with them, then off to another little group.
Around her, the waiters carried trays of canapés. Gentle music
played in the background, with the hum and chatter of voices and the
occasional peals of laughter. The mirrored walls gave the impression
of wide open spaces with sparking chandeliers reflected and reflected
ad infinitum. The shade of apricot on the walls further warmed the
interior, whereas outside the winter rain was unfriendly and cold.
Josephine had broken away from Fred, and he had joined Bob and
Charlene nearer the orchestra at the end of the room. It was really a
quartet—two violins, a cello, and a clarinet. Josie edged her way around
the room to search out Lotte.
‘My dear,’ she said, ‘I’m getting quite discouraged by the lack of
work. Oh, look at those roses. The smell is intoxicating. It is pure
bliss, and don’t they look superb with the lilies and gypsophila?
Mauve, orange, pink, and white. An unusual but strikingly effective
combination.
‘Don’t you adore roses, Lotte? Do you remember that big bouquet
we got after we played the ugly sisters in Cinders a few years ago at the
Winslow Street Theatre? I do so miss the stage.’
‘Yes, me too, Josie. I think we’re just too old. The last job I had was
reading A Tale of Two Cities on the ABC. I’ve even applied for voiceovers
for cartoon productions.
‘My options are limited since I had the surgery and chemotherapy
for bowel cancer. The chemo has damaged the nerves to my hands
and feet, and I can’t dance any more. I can barely walk in high heels.
I couldn’t manage on the stage.
‘Josie, you have a most cultured voice. I don’t know why you can’t
get a go at something.’
Two months later, Lotte rang Josie to see how she was.
‘Hello,’ drawled Josie. ‘Who ish there? Who ish it?’
Oh no, thought Lotte, Josie’s been drinking again!
‘Stay there, Josie, I’m on my way.’
Arriving at Josie’s place, Lotte found the front door unlocked. She
let herself in and went straight to the lounge room. She found Josie
asleep in the chair with two empty bottles of sherry next to her. Lotte
tried to wake her friend and half-carried her to the bedroom. Oh, why
did you do it again, Josie? You know it doesn’t help.
Lotte cleared away the evidence and checked the fridge to make
sure there was some food in the house. Then she phoned May, Josie’s
daughter, to tell her the situation. May’s reply was terse and unkind:
‘Well, what do you expect me to do?’
Lotte sat down and wrote a note to her friend: ‘I’ll be around
tomorrow. Please phone me if you need anything. Love, Lotte.’
She didn’t know what else to do. Last year, Josie had hit the bottle
for about three weeks in July. She had been seriously depressed. May
and Margaret had no time for their mother’s plight, and Lotte had
asked the local Older Adult Mental Health team to be involved. Josie
had spent two weeks in the lodge and come out so much improved and
happier than she had been for years. So Lotte decided to phone the
community mental health nurse to see if they could help Josie again.
Intuitively, Lotte knew that Josie would need her when she woke
up, so she was there early next day with tea and toast ready for her old
thespian companion. Lotte wasn’t ashamed to tell Josie how she felt.
Lotte said to Josie, ‘I love you, my dear, and can’t bear to see you so
sad and so intoxicated, you silly dear. I’ve called the nurse, and she’ll
be around about eleven o’clock. Come on and eat some toast. I’ll help
you have a shower before she comes.’
She and Josie had a healthy nurturing relationship that made each
other feel warmly loved. Therefore, after she was showered, dressed,
and sober, Josie was full of apologies.
‘I’m so sorry, Lotte. But there’s no hope for me, my dear. No one
wants me any more.’
The Older Adult Mental Health nurse arrived and offered Josie
the option of hospital admission or attendance as an outpatient or a
psychiatric nurse to visit her regularly. Josie chose the last one, and
Lotte backed her up.
‘I’m staying for a few days. I’ve brought my things.’
She made lunch and dinner and put Josie to bed that night.
The Older Adult Mental Health psychiatrist visited next day and
commenced Josie on some antidepressants, and arrangements were
made for the nurse to call regularly until the depression had lifted.
Josie and Lotte sat watching TV that night.
‘There’s always something to look forward to, Josie,’ Lotte said.
‘Come and stay at my place for a week. I’ve got tickets for The Back
Alley, a new production at the Winslow Street Theatre, with Bob
Langton and Michelle Groves. You’ll love it. We can go backstage
afterwards.
‘Do you know I’ve arranged with Jenny Upton for you to help her
learn her lines for next month’s Chameleon and Co.? It’s such a help
to these young actors, you know, to have someone to listen and offer
encouragement. And it’s so much better when you have experience
yourself.’
Josie and Jenny Upton got on together marvellously. They found
common passions—Shakespeare and gardening.
‘It’s like the daughter I always wanted,’ said Josie.
Lotte smiled. She loved her dear friend, and to see her happiness
was so precious.
© Copyright 2024. Wendy Rappeport All rights reserved.
Wendy Rappeport has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.