The Cinderella Killer Read Online Free PDF Page A

that papier mâché skin quality which marks out a heavy smoker. (Charles was constantly amazed by how much dancers smoked. For them fitness was clearly a relative term.)
    Because of Bix Rogers’ background, the chorus line for
Cinderella
was bigger than it would be for most pantomimes, where savage cost-cutting and cast reduction were primary concerns. (Charles remembered being told by a fellow actor of one particular cheapskate production of
Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves
which contained the line: ‘You come with me. You thirty-nine wait out there.’)
    And Bix Rogers’ chorus line, following the
de rigueur
trend of all West End musicals, had a multi-ethnic composition. Although, except for Jasmine del Rio’s mid-Atlantic twang, most of the accents derived from Essex or Liverpool, many of the dancers’ forbears had African or Asian origins. There was one particularly gorgeous Chinese – or perhaps half-Chinese – girl called Kitty Woo who Charles had difficulty in tearing his eyes away from during rehearsal. Supple of body and golden of skin, her image of oriental exotica was only let down by the cockney rasp which emerged every time she opened her mouth.
    Kitty seemed to be a particular friend of Jasmine del Rio. The two of them bustled off together out of the St Asaph’s Church Halls whenever there was a break, instantly picking up an uninterrupted flow of gossip and fags.
    A recurrent factor in rehearsals for all the pantomimes Charles Paris had been involved in was that there simply weren’t enough of them. The Eastbourne
Cinderella
was not unusual in having less than two weeks to get the show together. The result of this would be that the first week’s performances (two a day, afternoon and evening) would really be a work in progress, a continuation of rehearsal witnessed by paying audiences. By the second week of the run the cast would have settled into their proper routine, though the amount of ad-libbing the comics indulged in meant that no two performances were ever the same.
    Kenny Polizzi seemed to have attached himself to Charles Paris, a situation to which Charles had no objection at all. At the end of his first day’s rehearsal, Kenny said, ‘Time for a quick one?’, and they ended up in the Sea Dog, where they had first met. It was the nearest pub to the St Asaph’s Church Halls and aspired to Victorian cosiness. There was a lot of coloured glass in the decor, stuffed birds in glass cases and monochrome photos of old Eastbourne on the walls. In the hearth a log fire blazed, and you had to look at it for a long time till you realized that the logs weren’t being consumed by the hissing gas.
    When it came to liquor, Charles was amazed at Kenny’s restraint. In the unlikely event of Charles himself ever giving up the booze, the last place he’d want to socialize in would be a pub. Too much temptation all around. The very smell of the place would be a challenge to his resolve.
    But Kenny Polizzi liked the atmosphere of what he called ‘a genuine English pub’. Meekly ordering mineral water, he showed no signs of discomfort in the environment. Maybe he regarded these visits as some kind of challenge, proving to himself how complete was his victory over the demon drink.
    They were in the pub after Wednesday’s rehearsal, Charles restoring the tissues with a large Bell’s, Kenny with his eternal mineral water, when they were joined by someone Charles hadn’t met.
    The newcomer was a rubber ball of a man who moved across the bar with great urgency. It soon became apparent that he did everything with great urgency. He wore a grey suit, tight and crumpled as though he had slept in it. His bald dome was inadequately covered by an untidy comb-over which he kept unconsciously trying to flatten with his right hand.
    â€˜Lefty!’ cried Kenny Polizzi, rising to envelop him in a man-hug. ‘Lefty, I’d like you to meet