Magic Dress - Charlotte

Magic Dress Charlotte

CHAPTER 1

My name is Charles, and I am a bloody good actor. I am not being vain (no more than is a prerequisite in the profession) but it is true. My Hamlet was said to be the finest seen in twenty years. Sadly, it was not at the Old Vic, but at drama school. However, they predicted a great future.

In a sense it was true, but not as I expected. It was the comedy films which made me and unmade me. I became Charlie (a name I have always hated) and (of course) in the great British phrase "a proper Charlie" (a foolish person, in homage to Chaplin) on the posters. However, it was acting. I have great respect for comedy and its importance in the theatre, from the Ancient Greeks, via Shakespeare and of course Feydeau. There is often so much more to delivering the line in terms of timing, face and body language -- a technical challenge I relish. The downside was the way I would not be considered for a serious role.

So it was galling to be pulled up in this way.

"Sorry, loves," said the director. "It's just not working. Jerry, you look ridiculous!"

Jerry smiled happily.

"But Charlie, dear, you're too convincing! If I was straight, I'd fancy you myself. I think we'll have to go back to Ben."

It was a tired gag about two men dressing up as women, which was done perfectly in "Some Like it Hot" but has been overworked in lesser films, notably those of our studio.

I mean Jerry was bad enough (both in acting and appearance). The guards would not for a second imagine he was a woman, but Ben! I mean, the clothes had been specially made. Finding them in a locker presupposed a pretty big woman. On the other hand, I was wearing a genuine female dress -- a rather nice green one with a knee-length pleated skirt which gave freedom of movement, but would allow stocking tops to be glimpsed by a guard later. Jerry was struggling in a tight miniskirt.

I think there has to be an element of plausibility, even for farce (particularly for good farce). But evidently the producer does not, and our director goes along with it.

I left the set, and joined Judith to go to the canteen. Judith is an actress. (It is fashionable to say actor, but she knows what it means.) She has a woman's body and knows how to use it. I think she is far sexier than our leading lady, who with little effort plays a bimbo, and off screen is a slut.

Judith and I are great pals. We say we love each other, as thespians do, but it is at least a bit true. We've never had sex, but then actual sex has never been anything I had particularly wanted. I can act gay or straight with equanimity. It is acting, without being distracted. I like sex a lot, as motivation in plots, but particularly in the way it has affected language. English literature would not be the same without it. And the innuendo and double entendre are a staple of British comedy. But it is not something in which I participate off set.

The same cannot be said for Judith, who is undoubtedly sexy in every worthwhile way. She is also intelligent and witty and technically superb, which goes unappreciated in the coarse world in which we find ourselves.

I suppose unconsciously I was still in character in my green dress and wig, as we went to the canteen. Character is the difference between pretending and acting. Viewing the world from the viewpoint of the person whose costume you are wearing. This gives the subtleties of timing, gestures, micro-expressions and movement which makes one believable.

"Excuse me, miss!" said one of the security staff. "Could I see your visitor's pass?" He turned to Judith.

"A guest of yours, Judy?"

She hates being called Judy, but smiled as she always does.

"Yes, I'm sorry. We must have left it in my dressing room. This is my cousin Charlotte. Could you be an angel and let us through, Ernie?"

She dipped a little bit forward, and I admired the perfection of her technique as her breasts were subtly offered to him.

He gave a pleased but embarrassed smile.

"Just this once, then."

As he looked me over, I moved a little onto one hip, slightly tilted my head with a medium smile, and blinked a little, then smiled a little more.

"Nice to meet you, Ernie," I said, offering my hand a bit limply.

He took it gratefully, gave a tentative shake and an even more embarrassed grin.

"Likewise, Miss."

As we carried on, I said "You are a wicked, wicked girl, Judith."

"That's why you love me," she said. "And you are rather a nice girl. "I bet you can't stay in character for the rest of the day," she said. "Charlotte."

"Brontë or Rampling?" I asked.

"Brontë," she said.

"Pity," I answered. "Demure then."

"But no nude scenes."

"Good point."

She paid for lunch as I had no money in my cossie, and I gave her an actor's promise to pay her back. We agreed that Ben just could not deliver the lines, which is why I had been brought in. It would be back to the gormless oaf he plays so convincingly.

"Nice upper register voice, Charlotte," she remarked. "Not pushing it like your falsetto."

She then dropped down to a fairly convincing male voice. That was something new. She is great!

I had to go to the loo, and knew Judy was watching to see if I went to the Gents, but I sashayed to the Ladies' room of course.

I wondered: how does a lady do a poo? If a woman saw me, would I be spotted immediately? Not that such a thing would ever happen, but it was automatic with a new role -- thinking about each activity and how would this character do it. I checked the seat, which seemed clean.

As a gentleman, I always tuck my willy down -- particularly necessary when you've been holding onto your bladder for while. A lady would not need to do that, but might she part her lady lips?

She would probably have a handbag. That wouldn't go on the floor, so I crooked my left arm. So, awkwardly and one-handed, I got my (men's) underpants down (but not on the floor) raised my dress at the back, and performed no handed pee and poo. I had heard once they wiped from front to back, which proved awkward. And of course I had to dry my front bit, not shake it.

The whole process took longer than it would normally. (And I was doing it for no reason. Who would be checking?)

When I came out of the stall, Judith was waiting, and observed me washing my hands.

"Very good," she said. "Men are often a bit perfunctory." (I do love that about her -- a decent vocabulary. Jerry and Ben would probably not know what the word means.)

"Now let's deal with your face. I'll tone it down, as you're not going to be on stage."

She reduced the pinkness on my cheeks with powder and wiped the eyeshadow. As she was doing this a woman came in and went to a stall.

"It's OK," said Judith. "It's not unusual for one woman to help another. And by the way, the walk wasn't bad. Not perfect, but pretty good for not practised."

I was pleased. The walk is often a good start to define a character, and I had thought about it.

She handed me a visitor's pass on a lanyard, which she had somehow acquired, and so a little adventure began. (A little bit of theft is not unknown in our profession: snacks, bits of kits, roles.)

I was the country cousin to be suitably impressed by some of the third-rate actors in a second-rate soap being recorded on some other sets. This is England, not big budget Hollywood, and the same sets are re-used for films and TV, purportedly in different cities.

I was pleasantly surprised when Roddy did not recognise me. He was not in our films, but we saw each other around often enough to say hello. He had been in repertory with Judy. I gushed about him taking his shirt off in a previous series, and he smirked, and said it might happen again if I was lucky, but any cousin of Judy's was welcome at any time.

"Self-absorbed prick!" I thought.

At four I went back to wardrobe to hand in my togs, then with Judith to see what was coming up. Because of the switch to Ben, they were changing the shooting order, while the writers made adjustments, and we would not be wanted for a few days. Judith invited me round to her flat next day as we were both at a loose end.

CHAPTER 2

I arrived about ten, looking forward to some catty conversation about our leading lady, Betty Bimbo as we called her in private, and some more cultured discussions than we would get from the others in the cast and crew. I did not expect what happened.

There, hanging up, was the green dress.

"I thought I'd take Charlotte out," she said. "Seeing what a great actor you are." (How could I refuse, with such flattery?)

"How did you manage it?" I asked, impressed with her pilfering. "Sophie will have a fit!" (She is the wardrobe mistress.)

"Ah, but Cyril looks after the inventory. I gave him a handjob for his trouble. If there is a problem, he can deal with his wife."

She had also got the padded bra, but offered me a pair of proper knickers to go with it, instead of my Y-fronts.

"It's a shame not to use this character more," she said. "You did great with improv yesterday. Let's try a bit more, as if you were preparing for the lead in a decent film."

It sounded like fun. Like Judith, in fact.

I am no stranger to putting on makeup, but Judith prepared me this time. She had also got a pair of women's shoes with low heels. I had worn heels before in an 18^th century role. These heels were narrower, but not a problem. We took about an hour as she coached me in walking like a woman, with and without a handbag, and general matters. We also talked about Charlotte, her background and what sort of woman she was. Charlotte Brontë was a bit blatant, so I became Charlotte Bell -- one of her pen names being Currer Bell. Anyone who spotted it would get ten points, we agreed.

I asked about the wig.

"You won't need it," she said, and called a taxi.

I was taken to a hair salon where I was given extensions and a little colouring. The effect was amazing! I did not look like Charlotte Brontë, but more like a modern woman. I had a cup of tea and a biscuit, and used the loo.

Then it was time for a late lunch: actually, an afternoon tea at a moderately posh hotel. We both watched women intensely. I was pleased when Judith was recognised and asked for her autograph. No-one gave me a second glance.

I adjusted my makeup in the swanky loo from the kit I had been given in a handbag, while Judith watched to see I did it right.

Then clothes shopping.

"We don't have to buy anything," she told me. "That's one of the differences between men and women. Men go in with a purpose to do it as quickly as possible. Looking and not buying is very realistic for your character. Remember, you're not a famous film star, just a woman with a limited budget."

We both laughed about the 'famous film star' and how our income fell short of what people imagined, although the two main leads, Betty Bimbo and Sam Snigger (as we called them) did all right.

I reckoned that most people would be looking at Judith with admiration or envy, so would probably not notice mistakes I made, but security staff might be more observant of me in case she was a distraction and I was the thief.

We looked at dresses, and took some to changing rooms. I went out and walked up and down. With Judith's nudging, I was eventually speaking to the staff asking if something suited me. Judith jumped in if they came back with a technical question not in my repertoire. Otherwise I was in part, which was as thrilling as being on stage (which is much better than films).

In a big store we made an imaginary selection of two dresses which fitted and suited me reasonably well, plus a skirt and blouse. Judith also found some lingerie for herself. Just two women having an enjoyable time shopping.

I was surprised when she actually bought the clothes for me as well as her, but said nothing from the warning glance she gave me.

"Why did you do that?" I whispered as we left.

"I'm a wicked woman," she said with a mysterious smile.

Back at her flat, she said "You're still Charlotte, remember. Let's look at our loot."

I tried on my new clothes and paraded around.

"Why did you buy them?" I asked.

"Because you never would and you can't wear the same clothes every day. You haven't got anything on tomorrow, have you?"

That sounded rather good.

"I'll pay you back of course. Shall I come around at ten, then?"

She laughed

"How many times have we heard another actor say 'I'll pay you back'? Why go away? You can stay the night, and I've got a spare toothbrush."

"And a nightdress in your size," she added, getting out the one she had supposedly bought for herself. It was long and white and embroidered.

"Don't tell me that's not demure enough for you! I think Miss Brontë would have liked it, don't you?"

I had to agree. It was very tasteful, yet completely feminine.

We had a simple dinner and a lovely evening together, while she watched with eagle eye for any male pattern behaviour in things like sitting. I was so grateful. It was like being rehearsed for a serious historical part under the eye of an expert. Every little fault had to be noted and corrected -- not an experience I had had for some years. Like being a proper actor again, not a comic turn.

I was well used to taking makeup off, of course, and accepted instruction in moisturizing.

"You don't have much stubble," she remarked, feeling my face, and I told her I only shaved every two or three days when not on set. She said I was lucky not having hairy legs.

She advised me to be modest but not ashamed in the presence of another woman. Remember we both had the same equipment. So it was that we both ignored my willy as I changed.

Judith had just put on a pink baby doll nightie, when I asked where the spare bed was.

"There isn't one," she answered. "Guests either sleep with me or go home. And I don't think either Charles or Charlotte would be any danger to me. Or am I wrong?"

She was right. We had shared a caravan together on location once, with different narrow beds, of course. No-one who knew me would have imagined anything but propriety.

It was the first time I had shared a bed with a woman since I had snuggled with my parents as a child. The fact that I was supposed to be a woman did not reduce my surprise and pleasure.

It was not sexy, as I supposed it would be for many men, just the innocent enjoyment of a human being who was both a fine friend and a fine body. We hugged together, and she did not mind as I felt her shape, so warm and comforting.

In a while, she said "Excuse me," and got out of bed. I thought she was going to the loo, but instead she put on the bedside light and took off her nightdress and panties.

There are some things which are just wonderful, and the first time is something you will always remember. A fine piece of acting, of course, a poem, a piece of music, a painting. This was one of those moments. Yes, she was sexy -- that was a necessary part of it -- but she went far beyond a simple pinup. Looking back, the body language and her facial expression also said so much, but it was not acting. This was a greatest painting or music moment -- do not analyse, just let it happen to you. Admire what is being presented to you without question.

I guess my facial response showed, because of the way she smiled.

She got back into bed and guided my head to her bosom, where I sank happily.

"There, there," she said, and I was as happy as I had ever been in a pure childish way.

After some time, she sat up and told me to take off my nightie, which I did without hesitation.

We hugged and kissed and cuddled together and said "I love you".

Of course, we had kissed and said "I love you" often before, but this is routine in the acting world. It is not for nothing our profession is referred to as 'luvvies'! This was something else: a clear statement of what we felt about each other and how glad we were to be together. Our words and kisses were not just part of the script, but actually honestly felt.

"We should get married," she said, as a simple statement, but one which surprised me.

"But I can't... you know?"

"I know," she answered. "I can always get sex, but there's no-one I'd rather be with than you. We're both not as young as we used to be. We can grow old disgracefully together."

I did not know what to say. It just seemed so wrong that a fine woman like her would not have the fundamental part of the marriage contract, and I just felt so inadequate. I buried my face in her breasts to hide my tears.

She moved my head and her breast to offer her nipple to my mouth, and I sucked on it gently but gratefully.

"There, there," she said. "Mama's here. Everything's all right."

I woke up, feeling a little stiff and cold.

"Come on, Charlotte, put on your nightie, and get back to sleep."

We cuddled a little more, then parted and slept.

Next time I awoke, the toilet was flushing, and I needed to pee. Unfortunately, this meant that Charlotte had to tuck her willy back a bit, as it was pointing forward, so it took a little longer to get into character.

Over breakfast I was really an actor thinking about a part. We talked more about how women behaved, and (very important) the inner feelings which prompted their outer actions. Of course, there is a wide variation, but taking Charlotte as Ms Average today, how would she deal with the world? One answer was that she would be concerned about how she looked, probably as much as a male actor in costume, but routinely. Clothes and makeup were theoretically to attract the male of the species, but women's view was more important and more critical. A man could dress as a woman and fool men, but it was much harder to fool women. However, she reckoned women were more likely to pretend they had not noticed.

Judith produced a useful backup strategy. If in difficulty, I was of course the well-known comedy actor practising for a new film. I could give some of the regular character impressions and lines to prove this. This actually gave me more confidence.

The conversation moved to toilet etiquette: how to interact with other women in the shared space. I shared my query about how a woman in a dress would poo, which naturally produced a laugh.

A bit later she put on a dress and said "I'm going to do a dump. You can watch if you like, but I can't control the smell."

Judith actually did a shit in front of me! I was so touched. But also took note.

"Your turn," she said as she washed her hands.

I sat down carefully.

"Very good," she said. "Carry on. If you're embarrassed that's correct. All the way."

I peed and strained and wiped.

"I think she's got it. By George, she's got it!" she quipped.

I washed my hands and shaved with her pink razor, as she started on her makeup.

I was thinking about what had just happened. It was more intimate than sex: the most private time when people wish to be alone, but she had shared it with me to satisfy my curiosity.

"Judith, will you marry me? You can still have sex with other men, but I would like to be with you."

She looked stunned, then laughed.

"That must be the most romantic proposal ever! In a smelly bathroom after we've watched each other do a dump, and you invite me to have sex with other men! Yes, I'll marry you, you buffoon!"

We kissed and agreed it would be our secret just at the moment,

"It's really all right if you carry on fucking," I told her.

"Now that would be a good film title!" she remarked.

I had one more day as Charlotte before an afternoon session at the hairdressers, where they removed the extensions and tidied me up. It was a good day. I felt a sense of satisfaction in having largely managed a difficult character. A pity there was no film (or better a stage play) in which to use it.

CHAPTER 3