In Love with a Superstar Ch. 03

The curtain closed for few seconds and opened again, revealing a chorus line in real long dresses and dinner jackets with real top hats and canes. They sang "A nightingale sang in Berkley Square," in direct contrast to the easy going and funny first set. They sang beautifully, and the harmonies were fantastic and Sarah cried for the first time as she applauded them.

They were replaced by the year nine girls who, all dressed in black cabaret costumes based on leotards, pulled chairs and bowler hats across the stage; she nearly died when Anita Murphy, the once tubby and tone deaf chorister stepped forward for a solo,

"I want it all," she spun and posed with the bowler tipped on the front of her head for dramatic emphasis, "I want it all," In Sarah's weeks away the hormone fairy had finally called on Anita and she looked very different, the puppy fat had gone and the make-up made her look years older. "I want it all, and I want it NOW!"

Almost as if she knew, she turned a look all charm on the audience and sang at them in a parody of 'Cabaret',

"We're year nines and we have some traditions,

If you want co-operation, there's conditions,

Don't bother us, we won't

Do 'cannot, can't or don't,

We don't need rules, or guidance, firm and steady,"

She posed with the cane on her shoulder,

"Cos we're TEENAGERS," she growled dropping the cane between her feet as the girls slowly high kicked towards her and brought the number to a climax,

"and we know it all alreeaady!!"

The song went on quickly, with fast chorus explaining why anyone over 20 knew nothing, parents were a pain, siblings not worth the rivalry, and how teachers could learn more if they only listened. The song finished with all of the girls singing the first chorus intro.

Parents were leaping to their feet and clapping before the song had even finished. When it did the roar was deafening, yet the girls stood as they had been taught and snapped to attention and bowed as one. The curtains closed, and reopened with the girls stood in a single chorus line. As they bowed in a ripple Bruce walked onto the edge of the stage clapping the troupe and encouraging the audience to further exertions of praise,

He turned to face the wings and shouted, "One more time!" The musicians struck up from just after Anita's solo and the girls linked arms and high kicked again with almost military precision.

The curtains closed again to the same storm of applause.

"Rap it up..."

Sarah looked on in amazement as, as the screen announced, 'The boys of the 9' took to the stage, dressed in variations of pop culture, hoodies, trackies, green camouflage, and wearing caps and ridiculous looking jewellery strutted, posed and danced across the stage. The backbeat of standard rap tunes punched out across the stage.

"Now we are year nine and we want to say,

that we dig the p'plar culture and we lead the way,

we all know our true homies and the way to each other's housies,"

The boy in front stepped forward and the music stopped, he took off his wrap around sun glasses and looked imploringly at the crowd,

"I hate this bloomin nylon and no belt on me trousis!"

His posse joined in,

"We are St J homeboys, we are dysfunctional dysfunctionals,

we're straight A' students, and polite and kind and punctual,"

By this time each boy was dancing badly, some trying to body pop and only falling over into another. Another boy came forward and removed his glasses to speak to the crowd.

"we try so hard to be cool and street and mean," All of his colleagues came forward and joined in,

"BUT WE KNOW OUR GRANDPARENTS WOULDN'T BE...

THAT KEEN!"

"Chilling is just chilling when the street corner is calling,

but when it's minus three out there we all just CHILL!"

The boys stomped as one and the music stopped for a second, as the boys began to shiver and moan about the cold with a selection of 'cor', 'it's cold!' and similar.

The usually difficult and hormonal year nine boys actually singing and actually dancing! At least she wasn't surprised about one thing - the boys and the girls didn't want to perform together!

"We'd like you folks to think that we're no stranger to the can,"

The shortest and skinniest boy was propelled forward by someone

"but they only time I'm in shops, I getting somethin' for me Nan,"

The rest came back in,

"We are St J homeboys, we are dysfunctional dysfunctionals..."

More of the ridiculous dancing happened while a pair at the back of the stage played with a spray can correcting the spelling on lines of graffiti on the prop wall that was behind them.

"We know all about all the kinds of teenage kicks,

But hanging in rain really don't impress the chicks,

They just complain about their hair and the clothes that they all wear,

WE WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT ASDA THAN ASBO!!

We are St J homeboys, we are dysfunctional dysfunctionals,"

The boys split into two teams and eventually all of the parents had joined in with the chorus until with a flourish and a final shouted "WORD!" they froze, some of them forgetting and looking around in surprise while some fell over.

Sarah had joined the rest of the audience with tears in their eyes for altogether different reasons, standing and stamping, laughing, clapping and cheering for an encore.

The boys turned as one and marched from the stage.

The curtain closed as they did this and voice over spoke,

"Ladies and gentleman, St John's School is proud to present, Shakespeare for beginners, bringing the bard of Avon to the twenty first century."

The curtain opened to some light applause, and there was Jason in a stylised Hamlet costume with a St John's school tie on, complete with a white skull in his hand.

"Oh Jason," said a voice from off stage, Jason turned and walked forward, "Can I borrow a pencil?"

Jason turned raised a hand theatrically and answered,

"2B or not 2B!" he called. There was a unanimous groan from the audience.

"Don't matter," said the voice.

"Well!" roared Jason, holding up a box "assume the port of Mars!" Further groans.

"Jason," said a different voice, female this time, "Mrs Jones says that if anyone taped her favourite detective programme last night they won't have to do the Algebra homework!"

"A Morse, a Morse," he said extending a hand to the heavens, "My Kingdom for a Morse!" This one was greeted with laughter and some light applause.

"Jason," said a voice from the back of the hall, "Can you look out into the audience, I'm scared to walk through them on my own."

He walked centre stage and looked down,

"Be not a'feared," he said shielding his eyes against the lights, "The aisle is full of noises." There was more clapping and groaning laughter, a slight pause this time as the audience stopped to think about it.

From the back of the stage there was the sound of barking,

"Jason, those barking dogs are giving me a migraine."

"Well," he said watching as one of the year nine girls appeared in short shorts and a crop top with a shoulder bag walked on stage stopping just past him. "Just cry headache and set loose the dogs of... phwoar!" he added as she looked him up and down.

He looked at her, "Methinks me am enamoured of..." he paused, "Bloody hell, don't think I'd get away with that one." He turned and shook his head, laughing.

A dozen or so of the more learned in the audience, or at least those who had studied 'A Midsummer-night's dream' at school themselves laughed out loud. There was a five second pause as the joke was explained to more of the audience and the resulting roars of laughter and applause rippled around.

"Come on Jase," purred the girl, "let's go for a swim, you can hold my towel?"

Jason turned to audience and smiled a cheeky smile and held out a hand to them. There was a light chuckle from the crowd, part uncertain as to what he wanted from them. He raised his eyebrows.

"Oh come on," he said, "it was a better link than that!" He turned to the girl and offered his arm, "Once more unto the beach dear friends ONCE MORE!"

The orchestra added a triumphal and extended Ta-dah finishing with 'Brush up your Shakespeare' as the applause rose and the lights dimmed leaving the spotlighted skull left on the table. Jason came back on the stage once the applause had died down and sat at the table removing his wig and putting it on the skull. He looked melancholic, almost sad and the opening bars of "Send in the clowns" fitted the moment perfectly.

Jason sang the song beautifully, tone perfect with intonation that would have made an impresario blush. He had been a fantastic Henry the Fifth and, with Bruce's help, had improved a hundred times.

Sarah leaned forward and watched the formerly troublesome and disruptive teenager who had been threatened with exclusion two or three times in her short time here, got close to his audience. The final bars saw the lights down and the curtain closed to rapturous applause. With tears pouring down her face she stood with the rest of the audience. She had intervened on Jason's behalf on several occasions and had a particular soft spot for the big, quiet, misunderstood boy.

Bruce took to the stage, and asked for the curtains to be opened on the boys, all smiling and laughing and congratulating Jason, caught on stage. The main hall lights came up slightly.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Boys of the Nine!" The applause came back up again, and Bruce hushed them, "please welcome back onto the stage, from Year Nine, MR JASON TAYLOR!" The crowd cheered as Jason stepped from behind his table and walked forward. Bruce put his arm around the boy and shook him slightly.

"Jason!" said Bruce, Shaking the embarrassed boy again, "A fantastic performance Ladies and Gentlemen." Bruce enthusiasm lowered just a little bit, "Now I have been playing a bit of a trick on my mate. He didn't realise but I've been keeping a few notes on Jason here," there was a light chuckle around the hall and a surprised look on Jason's face. "Also, at the back of the hall is an old friend of mine, what do you think Des?"

A man at the back of the hall stood and looked at Bruce and Jason.

"September Bruce, no problem," he shouted, "one of the best audition pieces I've seen in years." The man, Des, sat down again.

"Jason? My friend Des is from the Central School of Dramatic Arts, not forty five minutes from here. As you may know that is a residential school for performance arts that produces some excellent actors." Bruce turned his head and faced Jason, "Wanna go?" Jason's jaw dropped.

"What?" said the boy.

"Wanna go to acting school and learn it all properly and end up earning more money than me?"

"I... I'll have to ask me Mum," he stuttered.

"Des asked her already mate," smiled Bruce.

"Yeah!" growled the boy with a big smile. The audience spontaneously burst into applause and rose to their feet again. Sarah cried tears of joy as the curtains closed on the pair.

There was a short interval of twenty minutes to allow changes of costume and stretching of legs, teas were served in the foyer and mood music played over the public address system to hide the clangs and scrapes coming from behind the curtain.

Her mother although cross at first, was now calm and had given up on why Sarah hadn't waited for them.

"Sarah!"

"Hi Frank," she chirped, as positively as she could.

"What did you think of the first half?"

"Fantastic," she said, "I wish I could get them to do it like that for me."

"Ah, but you have."

"What?"

"Don't you realise?"

"Realise what?"

"It's for you," he said with a smile with just a hint of incredulity, "It's all for you."

"For... me?"

"Yep, all of the hours, and aches, the lost weight and work outs, the late nights and early mornings and missed lunches." He looked at her, "It's all for you." Frank sipped his tea again. "They are all doing this for Miss Wells, look."

He handed her the programme. It wasn't the usual 'photocopied and stapled together by the kids on detention' job it had always been before. It was professional produced with professionally taken photographs of the year groups in uniform, but printed in colour on glossy paper.

Each page showed the year group in a relaxed pose and contained notes of good wishes for her and the main paragraphs hinted at what was to come.

She closed the book and read the front cover,

'A Long Night in or A Midsummer Night's scheme - an evening of original entertainment, the St Johns review for Miss Sarah Wells.'

"It was all for you," said Frank, "the whole thing. If you'd done what you were told and waited for your parents you'd have been presented with flowers, taken to your seat at the front in all of your glory and heard the speech, but err... you messed up all of our best laid plans."

"Oh," She flustered and sipped from her own tea in embarrassment.

"They stood just there, on the Friday Morning you were operated on," he pointed to the stage, "Bruce and Colleen. Said that were on the critical list, he wanted to do something to say thanks to you for saving his daughter's life and almost getting killed into the bargain. He said that after all of the grief he'd caused he wasn't sure that you'd be able to teach again, or want to come back here, he said that the only way was to prove that we all loved you. He asked all of them for help he did, almost begged them, and they all stood up, every single one of them, just for you." His voice broke just the tiniest bit with the emotion and memory, "of course, none of them would admit it, but Colleen and Bruce only had to say it once."

Sarah suppressed some tears fighting to be free, and said the first thing she could think off,

"Ah well at least Bruce will have well and truly cracked all of his community service after this lot."

"Oh that," smiled Frank, "That was sorted ages ago."

"What?"

"He had a long chat with the Detective that was looking after your case, the one he err... knew?"

"Grant?"

"Yes, I think that was him, anyway seems he proved then that it was all a load of rubbish. He went to see the Magistrates with the Police and the Crown Prosecutor, must have been what... six weeks ago now."

"But that was..." Sarah did some swift calculations in her head.

"Yes, week and a bit before you were stabbed. The whole case was thrown out and he was vindicated, although he did pay all the costs! Oh yes," he said slapping his forehead "It was when you were in France for a week."

"That's what he was doing taking time off for those two days."

"Yep,"

"So he really did turn down that job in New York..." she said to herself.

"Yeah, and another one since I understand. Although he is flying out to the States in the next few days apparently." Frank sipped his tea and smiled the smile of a man finally able to reveal a long held secret. "He wasn't here because he had to be Darling, well not because the Court told him to anyway... where he HAD to be is probably down to you to decide."

Sarah downed the hot tea in one, as the lights flashed in the foyer indicating the second half of the show. This time she was shown to her seat in the front.

Just when Sarah thought that there was no way that Bruce could follow the first half, eight gum chewing, year ten girls strutted onto stage in high heels and short pink jackets dripping with attitude, while they were approached from the opposite side by ten boys in leather jackets and jeans.

"We're all scared, were really frightened,

'Cos we're nearly at the eeennnddd

of our schooling and enjoyment,

We need employment!!"

The façade of a large pink car started to come down from the ceiling and once down they all danced around it brilliantly. The bobbing ginger head she could make out just in front of the stage let her know precisely who had choreographed this piece.

"Those su-u-mmer - frii-hhights!" All the "Donny"s and "Sindy"s, as St John's version had it, took there bows.

When the curtains opened again, the stage was laid out as a classroom with around forty desks ranked along it in rows. Bored looking year eleven's sat at the desks, some slouched, some actually resting on the wooden forms.

At the front of the desk a single member of staff, Miss Pymolo the 'French' French teacher, was stood in stylised cap and gown and loudly intoning the glory of the French revolution.

"John!" she screeched in heavily accented English. A young lad at the front centre of the stage sprang up and shook his head, "John, you were asleep!" she shouted and pointed at him.

"I wasn't Miss, honest," he said stifling a yawn.

"Don't argue with me John."

"But..."

"Detention tonight!" she shouted pointing at him. The teacher turned away and continued speaking, her amplified voice talking about the storming of the Bastille. The stage lights faded leaving a single spot on young John's sleepy head resting on his arms in disgust and grumbling about it not being fair.

"Do you believe what she just did, I was innocent of crime,

She locked me in till four because I was looking at the time,"

John raised his head to see another boy his age, in a French peasant's costume softly singing the words at him. As he slowly raised up, the lights went with him and his sleeping classmates were all dressed in period costume similar to the singer.

"Can you hear the teaches cheer,

They just can't believe it's true,

After fii-ive years of hell,

They're getting rid of me and you,"

The music soared with the kind of gusto never seen in any of the schools classrooms before, while the desks were piled into a barricade from where the pupils roared their defiance, waving bayoneted rifles, swords and French flags.

"One day more!

(we don't want to go to work)

(I'd rather stay in school for longer)

One day more!

(we can finish our art projects

and get woodwork truly sorted

and then leave when we are stronger!)

ONE DAY MO-OO-ORE!!"

On the final chord every weapon and every fist was raised and every face set with grim determination to defend this pile of desks to the last, as two maroons exploded behind the redoubt adding smoke to the scene of battle.

There was half a second of stunned silence before the audience were on their feet cheering, yelling, whistling with many actually crying, while the cast of year eleven revolutionaries stayed in position wreathed in smoke, all panting with the exertion and effort.

The curtains swung closed and then back open again to the teenagers standing in a second tableau before the barricades with rifles and flags. The musicians played again and the children sang the last verse and emotionally charged chorus, the flags waving behind them. The adults stayed on their feet clapping all the while.

The curtains closed for the last time and opened once more with every child that had taken part packed onto the stage in rows. To the theme 'there's no business like show business' Bruce's voice came over the PA to announce the first of a stream of grey and black school t-shirts who ran across the front of the stage waving. Stage management, costumes, curtains, everyone, adults included that had pulled off the event that the school and its families would talk about for years to come.

Finally, a small girl from year eight walked to the front of the stage with a large microphone and a small card,

"We would all like to 'fank Mista Young for everyfing that he has done for us an' our show," she stuck out a crane like arm to where Bruce was hiding behind the curtains and he eventually came out, clad in the black T shirt and jeans of the rest of the supporting crew.

The crowd and the stage responded hugely and Bruce stood slightly embarrassed at what was probably the most emotionally charged ovation he had ever received, West End and all.

The crowd stopped clapping and Bruce raised a hand for silence.