Fool's Gold

I was very excited as I walked up Leith Walk. That night I would be
going to a Halloween procession, organised by the Pictish Fire Nation,
a creative bunch who'd got together to celebrate the old Pagan
festivals. I was heading home with a Boot's carrier bag filled with
bargain bin make-up. Green eye shadow, lots of it, in tubes and
compact, to give my skin that decaying glow. Black kohl to bring
attention to my warts. A crone costume hung on a hook in my room, ready
to take my good looks many moons into the future.

But as I walked past the Playhouse, my attention was hijacked by a
blast from the past. And my eyes met the teal blue ones of a familiar
face, from the posters that graced the facade of the theatre. He was
grinning with a boyish charm that he still thought he possessed. I
groaned as I read the words:

LEO HASTINGS in JACK AND THE BEANSTALK!
DECEMBER 15TH 2001 - JANUARY 20TH 2002.
BOOK NOW OR MISS THIS POT OF GOLD!

I could still remember the last time he'd been in town. By 1988, Leo
Hastings was as naff as a Barry Manilow picture disc. He could still
fill the Usher Hall, although he was ten years past his sell-by date.
Over the years, his gypsy-like good looks had earned him a fan club,
whose members ranged from the age of eight to eighty. By now he'd made
in-roads into movies, and had a lame sitcom under his belt, where he'd
played a handsome, carefree gypsy with a twinkle in his eye and a
keep-her-guessing storyline.

I'd had a poster of him on my wall. When I was ten.

One day Madeleine's mum Julia called to say that she was treating us
both to a Leo Hastings gig. Madeleine and I had just left Lanark to
start life at Edinburgh School of Art. We'd found ourselves a dark and
dingy room, a mere pitstop en route to our dream flat with its plastic,
beaded curtains and green afghan hound rugs. We had jobs at the North
British Hotel on Princes Street, setting out the breakfast tables each
morning . It was a cheerless job, and we weren't looking forward to the
onset of the Scottish winter.

On the way to the show, Julia and her friend Isabelle were so excited,
you'd think we were seeing the Beatles at Shea Stadium. I soon realised
that the evening was more for them than us. All evening we trailed
behind the two late-thirty-somethings, visions in black satin, jeans
and cowboy boots. Glasses of orange juice were slapped into our hands
without so much as a "what are you having, girls?" Meanwhile Leo
Hastings, resplendent in a white trouser suit, belted out his classics
to a hungry female audience. When the curtain fell, Julia and Isabelle
grabbed our arms, declaring that we were all going up the front. We
could have a hunt for any dropped, fifty pence pieces for the
electricity metre, I told Madeleine. We were among the last people
left, when a hefty man appeared from backstage. He came straight up to
our group and said "Hey, do you two girls wanna meet Mr.
Hastings?"

I turned to look at Julia and Isabelle, who would surely be doing
cartwheels. But their blushing bride-like expressions quickly turned to
stone, for the hefty man hadn't meant them. He'd been speaking to us.
Never in my life had I visualised a time when the green-eyed monster
would flare in the eyes of my best friend's mother, because of
something I'd done!

But what had I done?

The hefty man introduced himself as Baz Murphy, and he told us to
follow him backstage. We were followed by a group of roughneck girls,
who also wanted to meet the star of the show. Leo Hastings was sitting
in a cramped little room. Visibly relaxed, he had freshened up and was
wearing faded jeans and a white shirt, the top buttons undone to reveal
a manly rug. When we spotted this, our nervous, girlie laughter peeled
round the dusty back room that served as a fan reception zone.

"'Ello gels!" he greeted us in his London diction. The toughs gushed,
preening like ballerinas. He ignored them as he continued to break the
ice with us. "So where are you two pretty gels from?"

"Motherwell" chirped Madeleine, barely able to stifle a giggle.

"Is she?" asked Leo, before busting into erumpent laughter, which all
his staff joined in with. Impressed with his own witticism, Leo asked
where her mother was tonight.

"Oh, she's waiting for us outside, with her friend."

"I've gotta go and do some local radio interview and take some phone
calls from the fans" Leo explained, "but you could meet me at my 'otel
bar and we'll 'ave a drink and a chat."

Och, how kind Leo Hastings was! It had become a Jim'll Fix It moment,
when fans got an insight into how the stars led their lives. Or so we
thought.

"Listen, why don't I send my friend Baz out to talk to your mother?"
suggested Leo. "I'm sure she wouldn't begrudge you enjoying
yourselves."

Out front, Baz Murphy reassured Julia. "And I can give you my word, Mr.
Hastings will see that your daughter and her friend receive only the
best treatment."

"And how will they be getting home?" Julia demanded, still sore that
the Leo Hastings road crew hadn't singled them out.

"We'll make sure that they're dropped at the door" Baz winked.
Backstage, he and his boss had a quick t?te-?-t?te, in which they
agreed that we would all leave the venue separately so as to not
aggravate the female minions who were waiting for a glimpse of Leo.
They would go straight to the radio station, do the interview and then
meet us in the hotel bar. We were ushered into an awaiting jeep, and
the roughbirds pushed their way in too. As the jeep sped past the Usher
Hall en route to the hotel, we spotted a very worried-looking Julia.
She shaped her hand into a telephone when she saw her daughter, and
Madeleine lip read the words "ring me tomorrow."

***

When Leo Hastings and the brawny Baz made their entrance an hour later,
every woman in the hotel bar eyeballed them. Without a word, they all
scuttled out of the bar room. We didn't pay much attention to the
exodus, but we certainly noticed their return some twenty minutes
later! The ponk was as pungent as a Chanel laboratory. Every single one
of these middle-aged women had come back dressed up to the nines.
Eyebrows were arched and plucked, lips were bowed and sheer dresses
were clinging.

"Christ, the older you get, the older they get!" remarked Leo, as a
sunbed-bronzed forty-something toyed with her cocktail stick, gawking
at him with 'I'm-in-Room-26' eyes.

"What d'you mean?" I piped. At a nearby table a bottle blonde with skin
like medieval parchment sat staring at Leo, lining him up in her
viewfinder. She was dressed a little more casually than the other
ladies, in faded blue jeans, a crisp white shirt and a snowy white bra.
We knew about this last item of clothing, because as she sat staring
exclusively at Leo, she slowly unbuttoned her shirt to the waist.

A well-spoken woman in an ivy green cocktail dress, with a d?colletage
that had turned her chest into a round, red bum, sidled over. She
turned the full flashlight of her most mature elegance onto Leo. "Hello
Mr. Hastings, I wonder if you'd mind signing my autograph book. I'm a
great fan of your work."

"Excuse me madam, I hope you don't think we're being rude" Baz cut in,
"but Mr. Hastings has had a hard day and we're in the middle of a very
tiring tour. With respect, if he gives you his autograph, he has to
give everyone else who asks for his autograph too. "

"Mr. Hastings!" the bum-chested woman ignored Baz completely. "I don't
think that you understand. Let me put this another way. My husband is a
senior officer in the Lothian and Borders police department. Now do I
get that autograph or not?"

He looked at Baz anxiously, who mouthed back "Just do it!"

The woman produced a leather-bound notebook. She looked from Madeleine
and me to them, and back to us again, raising her eyebrows. Just as Baz
had predicted, all the other wifies honed in. Autograph books were
produced as Leo was asked to write personal messages to folk he'd never
meet. Through clenched teeth, he asked Baz if he'd "'idden it."

"Want me to check it out, mate?" Baz replied.

"Just get rid of it, it's not worth the 'assle" instructed Leo,
vexed.

When Baz returned, Leo was signing an autograph for the last mammoth in
muumuu, as we continued to enjoy our under-age champagne. Baz put
something in Leo's hand. "There you go mate, I managed to save us
some."

"Nice one man, meet you in bathroom, yeah?" said Leo. "And Baz, try and
lose the scrubbers." The roughbirds were still on our case, and they
were waiting for scraps from the table. A few minutes later, we met Leo
and Baz outside, by the Water of Leith, roughbirds in tow. Baz had
ordered more champagne, which our cozy little foursome sipped as we
strolled. The air was nippy, and I rubbed my arms through a thin denim
jacket. Likewise Madeleine was chilly, but our companions showed no
signs of reacting to the crisp Scottish autumn. Since coming out of the
gents, they'd both really perked up and were chattering nine to the
dozen, as the blood raced to their extremities.

Leo continued to ignore the hangers-on. As I became more relaxed, I
asked him lots of questions. What was it like being in his business?
Did he always spend time with his fans like this? Did it get lonely on
the road?

"Yeah Fidra, it does get lonely" he answered. "That's why we like to
spend time with the fans. Like I said on the radio before we came 'ere,
I'd be nothing without them." Leo smiled and brushed a hairy hand
through my blonde bob. And the next thing I knew his arms were around
my waist, his lips were brushing mine? and I was responding! His tongue
wiggled its way between my lips and mine wiggled its way back. I closed
my eyes, but not before I'd snuck a peek at his teal blue eyes, fringed
with black lashes, which stared into my youthful pea greens. I felt his
heart thud heavily in its virile frame, and knew that mine must be
doing the same.

Leo Hastings was the first man to take an interest in me, and what a
man he was! He was rock and he was stage and screen. He was in my
Jackie comic and he was on the telly. And how do you follow that up? In
a world where the support act always opens up for the main attraction,
how would Mr. Nice Guy ever get a look-in?

When Leo wheeked me up in his arms, both of us were laughing. And I
spotted something that I'd forgotten all about. Madeleine. Clearly she
wasn't having half as good a time as I was. "Are you okay, Mads?" I
asked.

"Fine!" she retorted, in a tone that said that she was anything
but.

"Another drink, gels?" Leo offered. We nodded and trooped back into the
bar. Leo continued to play with my hair and we snogged some more.
Meanwhile, Baz looked ever hopeful and nudged poor Madeleine, as if to
say we could be doing that too, doll. Luckily, she'd fallen asleep. But
when the champagne bubbles in my head died a death, I knew that however
much of a good time that I was having, I had a duty to save my friend.
And so I attempted to reintroduce the art of great conversation.

"Oh look, the Princess Diana room" I commented on a sign that pointed
to an unseen, upper room. "I wonder what that's like."

"Well you'll find out, wont you?" Leo swaggered. Would I? "You'll find
out, on your way to bed."

My jaw dropped south.

"Oh, so it's your first time?" Leo smiled languidly, seeing by my
reaction that I was untouched by the hand of man. "Well don't worry
gel, I'll be gentle. I wont 'urt you."

I wont hurt you?

The words brought me back to Earth with a huge pull of gravity. "I wont
'urt you." Why oh why had he said that he wouldn't hurt me? The mere
thought of Leo Hastings hurting me had never entered my mind. What
could he be talking about that meant he had to clarify that he wouldn't
be hurting me?

And then the penny dropped.

"Oh Leo, I think you've got the wrong idea."

"Come on, let's talk about this upstairs. It's a nice room, you'll
like it" he topped up my glass. I looked anxiously at Madeleine.

"Don't worry about your friend gel, she's in very capable 'ands. Just
as well she's 'aving a nap now, 'cause she's gonna need it
later."

"No, no!" I chirped, springing back in my seat. "I can't - I mean we
can't! We've got to go home."

"Why?" asked Leo, folding his arms.

"Because - because we've got to work in the morning" I
remembered.

"Take the day off" suggested Leo, undeterred.

"Oh no, no, we can't do that" I rattled. "We've only just started
there. And we don't want to get the sack."

Leo laughed. "No problem. What time d'you 'ave to clock on?"

"Quarter to six" I squeaked.

"'Ow about if I ring your boss in the morning?" Leo smiled. "I'll
explain that you came to the concert last night and that you're with
me. 'E'll be fine once I tell 'im who I am. Or better still, I could
come into work with you, when we get up. 'E'll understand. Wanna
'nother drink before we 'ead up the wooden 'ill?"

"Madeleine Doyle, will you WAKE UP!" Sobriety poured into my every
cell. "Come on, we're leaving! I think we've been very na?ve."

Suddenly the evening wasn't so magical after all. Leo's sunny charm had
been replaced with the charm of an eight-year old who's been banned
from playing with his train set. I came back to earth with a great
bump, inwardly berating myself for believing that Leo Hastings had
really liked me. "All right then, let's get you 'ome" he said coolly.
We expected to be put in a cab at the very least, true to the assurance
that Julia had been given by Baz earlier. But we were only seen to the
hotel foyer.

"Thanks for a lovely evening, Mr Hastings" I said to the downcast pop
star. He grunted something in reply as he headed up the stairs, through
the Princess Diana Room.

It must be very lonely for them on the road, we said to each other
later. Hadn't they both looked sad when we said we were leaving? We
could get the train to Newcastle the next evening, to apologise to them
before the next show. We hadn't delivered. And wasn't that worse?