Lots of people commented that I was looking well. The only one who twigged that there might be a new man in my life was my agent, Esther Bloom. At least she was the only one who came out and said anything to my face. Esther has never been one to hold back; it’s what makes her so very good at her job.
We have been friends for more years than either of us care to remember. We met when we were just starting out. Like all young actors just out of drama school, I was doing the rounds and looking for representation. I found Esther, who had recently finished a business and marketing degree. She had a few clients and was looking for more, so we agreed reasonable terms.
Esther is universally known throughout the business as ‘Brutus’. The origins of this nickname are lost in the mists of time. I have heard it said that it is in tribute to one of the large and menacing crocodiles in Peter Pan!
She certainly snaps at the best roles for her clients. Legend has it that people have lost fingers to Brutus. Kinder folk say she eats a couple of raw bollocks for breakfast every morning just to keep in trim; the smaller ones she wears as earrings!
She has been a bloody good friend to me over the years. I have returned the favour as we have both climbed to the top of the tall, greasy pole that is show business.
We have fallen out plenty of times and our spats are legendary. One of us, usually me, will back down and we will make it up. We share a special bond that can never be broken. She knows all my secrets and I know most of hers.
I went to see her at her office, as I had some contracts to sign and we had things to discuss.
“Jimmy, darling,” she said, giving me a long appraising look. She is as bad as me for smoking and we were both sporting an e-cigarette.
“You look amazing! Well it’s either Botox or a new man.” Her dark eyes narrow, “Oh not Botox then, do tell.”
I said, “It’s nothing,” but Brutus is not an easy one to fool.
She gave me another look and she said, “I do hope you haven’t been dipping into the sweetie jar again, Jimmy, remember all the trouble we had with Todd?”
“How could I forget!”
Brutus always called my younger boyfriends ‘The Sweeties’, because according to her they were pretty to look at and lovely to pig out on for a while, but they ended up being expensive and incredibly bad for you in the end. Most of them were not worth the calories, in her assessment.
I knew I was fighting a losing battle, so I gave in and confessed.
“OK, yes there is someone,” I said. I told her, “I think I have found my one, Bru.”
She looked over her Larsen glasses and snorted, “Heard it all before, dear, but I will be there with the hankies when he leaves you for some twink in the chorus.”
“When will you ever learn, Jimmy. Who is it this time? No don’t tell me, thirty-five, drop dead gorgeous, moving in next week because you can’t bear to be without him? That’s the usual recipe for one of your disastrous flings.”
I shook my head. “Not this time,” I told her. “He’s different. He’s older than both of us and he’s not in showbusiness.”
She smiled. Her teeth are small and sharp like a little rodent. She laughed and said, “My God, Jimmy P, how loved up are you? Do I hear wedding bells, dear? A celebrity hitch is always good for business.”
I told her it was far too early to be thinking along those lines and we got down to work on the contracts I had come to sign. I consider myself to have got away lightly and extremely lucky that she hadn’t wormed a name out of me. She was a master at that, the devious cow.
* * *
We were happy, really happy. I lost weight because Pete cooks healthy food. Our first little bump in the road appeared in the shape of my youngest nephew, George.
George managed to get himself suspended from his boarding school. He had a furious bust up with his father, my brother Doug, who is just as stubborn as he is.
He walked out and ended up on my doorstep. Good old Uncle Jimmy took him in. I didn’t want him running off where we couldn’t find him and at least I knew he was safe.
George liked staying with me, so he stayed…and he stayed. The problems with this were many fold. I had to take him with me everywhere I went because I couldn’t leave him home alone. Wendy, bless her, minded him when I was working, but I had to take him to the theatre one night because she was busy. He really enjoyed himself and everyone backstage made a huge fuss of him.
The second problem was even worse. Pete wouldn’t come near the place while George was in residence. You know how it is at the start of a relationship, those first wonderful weeks when you just can’t get enough of each other mentally or physically. That even happened for two mature gentlemen like us. We needed to be with each other, it was a hunger that wasn’t being satisfied and I was as cranky as hell.
Finally, after ten days of babysitting, no Pete, and no sex, I had had quite enough.
I got George a coffee and myself a scotch then I sat him down and laid it on the line.
“Look George,” I said, “I think it’s time you went home.”
He shook his head and said, "No way, you have a very cool life for an old bloke, Uncle Jim.”
I was fifty-eight, but obviously to George I seemed ancient.
Time to bring up the big guns.
“Did it ever occur to you, George, that I might have another life besides being on the telly and being your long-suffering uncle?” I asked.
“Not really,” he said. It was plain that this had never occurred to him.
“Well I do, and frankly, kid, you are seriously cramping my style.”
He gave me a look and said, in all innocence, “I’m not sure what you mean, Uncle Jim.”
George is a smart cookie. He knew exactly what I was talking about and I knew it too.
“Don’t play games, Georgie,” I said, giving him a raised eyebrow and a stern look.
“Dad told Mum you were off men after Todd. Just the odd casual pick-up,” he said.
“Did he?” I said icily, “Well he was wrong. As it happens, I do have a new boyfriend, but he’s a bit shy and he won’t come near this place while you are here.”
George enjoyed every moment of watching me squirm. Finally, he said, “You mean you aren’t getting any!”
I sighed, “Much as I think discussing my love life with a fifteen-year-old is a seriously bad idea, you have hit the nail squarely on the head. Now do your old uncle a favour and bog off home like a good boy.”
George winked and said, “Yeah OK, I get the message. You go to it, Unc, whatever you can manage to get up to, at your age!”
“Thank you,” I said, “I’ll try to survive it somehow.” Cheeky little beggar!
“Is he nice?” George asked. “I don’t want you getting all depressed again like you did with Todd.”
He was eleven when I kicked Todd out and I know it worried him.
“He’s not like Todd,” I said, “He’s a lovely man and he makes me very happy. I hope you can meet him some day, but not just now.”
“Good,” he told me, “Todd was a dick. You deserve better, Jimmy.” I was touched. We are a close family and underneath all the teenage bullshit there is a really nice kid.
“Remember, George,” I said, “Mouth shut, OK? And I will return the favour some time. I don’t want the entire Porter clan asking questions.”
He nodded and went to phone his Mum for a lift.
----------------------------------
P.S. If you fancy a bit more Betty, have a look at A Twist of Starlight.
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