Sicken and So Die Read Online Free

in
Coriolanus,
a hippie kaftan as Lancelot Gobbo, and even a tutu in a hopelessly misconceived cross-dressing
All’s Well
. . . (‘
All’s Well That Ends Well,
but here was a production which neither started nor ended well. In fact, so far as this critic’s concerned, it would have ended much better three hours before it actually did’ –
Financial Times
).
    What a relief, after all that, to be playing Shakespeare in appropriate dress. Gavin Scholes’ lack of imagination did have its advantages.
    Also, for once, Charles actually had a new costume. For most period productions of his career he’d been dressed in something hired from a theatrical costumier or tatted together from whatever could be found in Wardrobe. He’d become accustomed to other men’s clothes, to walking around in the aura – or, in certain regrettable instances, the smell – of another actor.
    But Asphodel employed a pukka costume designer for all their shows. This was partly so that the costumes could reflect a production design concept; but there were practical reasons too. A four-month engagement justified the expense of specially made costumes, and the company was also shrewdly building up its own wardrobe stock which was increasingly hired out to other managements. There were astute business brains behind Asphodel Productions.
    Charles Paris liked his Sir Toby Belch costume. The designer’s overall theme was muted greys and silver, which reflected
Twelfth Night
’s underlying melancholy – and also pointed up even more the virulent shock of Malvolio’s yellow cross-gartering.
    And the designer had not succumbed to the common error of making Sir Toby scruffy. The man was a gentleman of the court, after all, so Charles Paris was dressed in charcoal velvet doublet and hose, piped with silver and slashed with oyster-coloured silk. He had a silver-frosted ruff and a small charcoal hat with a fluffy pale-grey feather. As Charles donned the costume in the Chailey Ferrars office, he did feel rather pleased with himself.
    He felt particularly pleased that the costume’s generous cut rendered his own paunch inadequate and forced him actually to pad for the role. This gave Charles a spurious sense of righteousness, as did the fact that he also had to redden his face with make-up. The Bell’s whisky may have taken its toll, but it had not yet sufficiently ravaged his complexion for him to play Sir Toby without cosmetic help. All encouraging stuff.
    As well as a specially made costume, Charles had had a customised beard constructed by Wig Creations, and this too gave him a sense of being pampered. As he peered into the tiny mirror, the familiar alcohol smell of spirit gum in his nostrils, and pressed Sir Toby’s luxuriant moustache on to his upper lip, Charles Paris felt good.
    His self-satisfaction must have expressed itself in his body language, because Tottie Roundwood, reaching round to pull up the zip of her jet-black Maria costume, grinned and said, ‘Yes, very handsome indeed.’
    Charles grinned back. ‘Let me.’ He reached across to help her with the zip.
    Tottie Roundwood was probably around the fifty mark, short, plumpish, dark hair beginning to be streaked with grey. She was one of those actresses capable of enormous fireworks on stage, but quiet and reserved the rest of the time. Charles liked her, though he knew little about her, except that she was interested in some system of alternative medicine. Reflexology? Healing? Homeopathy? One of those, anyway, he couldn’t remember.
    He patted her shoulder to indicate that the dress was secure, and reflected on the total lack of sexual charge the contact gave him. Actors and actresses are so used to sharing dressing rooms that gender becomes irrelevant. Charles couldn’t help noticing out of the corner of his eye that Sally Luther still had a pretty good body, though.
    To his surprise, this little glancing