That Summer

The bulk of this story is set back in the late seventies when we were all a lot younger and far more innocent. If you find some of the words and attitudes a bit old fashioned, well that was then and this is now. Moreover, in those pre-AIDs days, we didn't see the need for that much sexual hygiene. Why wear a condom? After all, no one was going to get pregnant.

Nowadays we know how tragically wrong we were. Play safe!

*****

As wakes go I'd been to a lot worse. At least it kept me busy and stopped me slouching around the house like some sort of lost puppy. I grabbed another tray of vol-au-vents from the kitchen and took them through to the lounge, bracing myself for the next round of platitudes.

"Johnnie, darling! Such a loss, such a loss!" Oh, god, it was Duncan, queening it up as ever. "I was just admiring your photos. Is this one Cannes?"

"Yes, we were over there for the film festival. Eighty six, if I remember correctly."

"Ah, yes, the year Roly won the Palme d'Or. Were you two...?"

"Peripherally. Not much happened back then without Sandy being involved somewhere along the line."

"Indeed so. We'll miss him. We'll all miss him but no one more than you. I'm so sorry, Johnnie, you must be devastated."

And I'd been doing so well, I'd been so strong.

"That's OK, Johnnie, have a good cry." He pulled me into a hug and, for the life of me, I couldn't help but collapse against him.

And that sort of set the tone for the rest of the afternoon. Between fetching trays of vol-au-vents I was hugged and comforted by one and all. I was their pet project for the day. There wasn't one, not one, who didn't at some point come up and put their arms around me while deeply sympathising and offering 'if there's anything I can do, anything at all...' Some of them even meant it.

As such it was the thick end of midnight before I managed to get rid of the last few stragglers, those that had stayed for one more drink, stayed to talk about old times, stayed to comfort the lonely widower or just stayed because they didn't know when to go.

At last I collapsed on the sofa and, atypically, decided the mess could wait until morning. Good night, my love, my one true love, wherever you are. Raise a glass with me. God knows it cannot harm you now.

Do you remember the day we met? I was so young, so green, so star struck. Working in the local café to pay the rent, studying 'media' at the local polytechnic and dreaming of breaking into show business. I'd been camping on the doorstep of as many of the extras agencies as I could find, knocking on their door time after time, but come up against the old Equity card problem. You can't work in film without an Equity card and you can't get an Equity card unless you're working in film.

And then, with a few judicious half-truths, I'd managed to blag myself a gig working on some sword and sorcery bollocks. What was it now, Slaves of the Lamp or some such. If you can find a copy you can actually see me on screen. The scene where the sultry Cleopatra look-a-like first meets the dashing hero. I'm the third slave from the left, the gangly looking one, not quite the muscle bound hulk the producer was after but, on that budget, you get what you get. Let's see, I was eighteen at the time which makes it the summer of '79. We were all so much younger then...

Cue soft focus, mood music, swirly visuals and then cut to late seventies low budget sword and sorcery film set. In the foreground are people dashing meaningfully back and forth with clipboards and, to the rear, are various extras hanging about, enjoying a quick ciggie, resting between takes. One of them is a gangly young man stood wearing slave garb and propping himself up with a long handled fan. Hold that shot, zoom in and action!

"Hey, you, you over there!"

"Me, sir?"

"Yes, you. Director's office now."

I hurried off to obey. If you're the youngest, newest extra then you jump when they tell you to jump or you're out on your ear. I got to the Director's office and found him waiting there with stern looking man who was studying a list of names on a clipboard.

"What's your name, sonny?"

"John, John Watkins."

"You're not on my list," he scanned his clipboard once more as if to confirm this. "We're checking Equity cards. Do you have yours with you?"

"Equity card? No, err, sorry... I... err... I left it at home."

"Left it at home, eh? Perhaps you could tell me your membership number?"

"It's four seven five..."

"Is it bollocks! Please don't insult my intelligence by pretending any further.I know you don't have an Equity card and you know you don't have an Equity card. Am I right or am I right?"

"Yes, you're right," I sighed knowing I wasn't going to be able to blag this one any more.

"Sorry, Jim, you know the rules. I'm going to have to pull this one off your set," the man said to the director.

"Oh, shit! Pain in the arse kids! What about the stuff I've already shot?"

"You'll have to... Oh, fuck it. It's just one small scene and I know how tight your budget is. I'll let you off this time. Just as long as this one's involvement stops here."

"Thanks, Harry, you're a brick. And you," Jim turned his attention to me, "fuck off out of my set before Harry closes me down. And don't think for one moment you're going to get paid for this morning. You nearly caused me to lose several hour's filming. Now fuck off."

With my tail between my legs I slunk off to the lockers to get changed out of my costume. I was still locating my stuff when this guy followed me in and stood leaning against the door jamb.

"Are you the kid who just got kicked off the set for not having an Equity card?"

"'Fraid so. I've tried applying for one but..."

"But you need someone to put you on an Equity contract. Yeah, same old same old. Look, my name is Andy Ferguson and the thing is, I might just be able to help you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, no promises or anything but I run an agency and you could be just what I'm looking for." He paused, looking at me thoughtfully. "Tell me, have you got a girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend? Sorry, I don't understand..."

"What's to understand? I'm just asking whether you have a girlfriend. Do you want me to help you or what?"

"I don't have a girlfriend although I can't see what difference it makes."

"Not now or not ever?"

"Not ever. Look, I've just been busy with my studies, OK?"

"Keep your hair on. I'm just asking. You're no use to me if you won't answer a few simple questions. You're not going to be some sort of trouble maker, are you?"

"No, no, of course not."

"OK then but before I go any further I need to see what I'm getting for my money. Strip off that tunic and let's have a look at you."

"What!"

"I need to see the goods, sunshine and you're no use to me if you're shy. Come along."

I took off the tunic and stood there dressed only in my briefs and the sandals that came with the costume. Mr Ferguson had me turn around while he inspected me from all angles.

"All fit and healthy? No nasty diseases?"

"No, of course not."

"In which case I think I can use you. I've got one or two bits and pieces coming up and you might be just the lad I need. It won't be speaking roles at first but we all have to start somewhere, and, if you do what you're told, you'll end up with an Equity card. Now, what do you say?"

"Wow! Thanks Mr Ferguson! That's great!"

"Never mind that Mr Ferguson stuff, if you're going to work for me you just call me Andy. Now, when can you start?"

"I can be available any time Mr Fer... Andy."

"Excellent. OK, give me your phone number and I'll be in touch."

"I haven't exactly got a phone but if you call this number," I found a pen and a scrap of paper and scribbled the number down, "you get the payphone down the hall. You may need to let it ring for a while. I hope this doesn't matter."

"Payphone down the hall? Are you in student digs or something?"

"A bit like that."

"Hey, I was young once, believe it or not. OK, we'll give it a try but don't you fuck up on me, understood?"

"Of course not, Andy."

"Well you'd better get changed and bugger off. You're not exactly flavour of the month around here. Give me a couple of days to find some work for you and I'll give you a call."

And, with that, he was off. I got changed, handed back my slave costume and took the train back to town. What a day. Thrown off the set one moment, offered a job the next.

For the next few days I was on absolute tenterhooks. I hardly stirred from my room so as not to miss that vital call, the one which would launch me into the big time. In my mind I was choosing my screen name, composing Oscar acceptance speeches, dreaming of Leicester Square premieres, dreaming of Hollywood!

When the call finally came it was not what I expected.

"John? John Watkins? It's Andy Ferguson."

"Andy! Great! Have you got any work for me?"

"Well, I have and I haven't. It's not exactly an acting gig but it's work and, if you help me out on this one, I can absolutely guarantee the next one will get you your Equity card."

"What's involved?"

"They're giving a wrap party for C_____ now that the shooting of 'Bride' is finished and, as it's set in ancient Athens, we thought it would be nice if it were a Greek banquet sort of thing. Thing is we need lots of serving staff who are prepared to dress up as slaves."

"So not that different from what I was doing on Slaves of the Lamp except instead of holding a fan I'll be passing round the dishes?"

"Yeah, that sort of thing. Do this one for me and I'll make sure the next is a doozy. What's more there's a pony in it for you. Twenty five quid for a night's work; can't turn that down, can you?"

"I certainly can't. When is this?"

"Saturday night. That's not a problem, is it?"

"No, of course not."

"Good lad. Now, can you get yourself to North Acton tube station for six o'clock on Saturday evening? Look for a Bluebird coach."

"North Acton Station, six o'clock, Bluebird coach. Yeah, got it."

"Oh, and you won't be wearing much more than a simple slave tunic so there will be quite a lot of flesh on show. Make sure you have a good hot bath before you leave. You've got to be squeaky clean, nose to tail, got me?"

"Of course, Andy. I won't let you down."

Naturally I was at Acton North tube station for a little after five o'clock. That left me pacing back and forth for some time before I noticed a couple of other guys of around my age who were also obviously waiting.

"Hi there. Are you waiting for Andy Ferguson?"

"And what's it to do with you if we are?"

"Because I am as well. Do you mind if I join you?"

"Why should we mind?"

"Andy... Andy Ferguson says he can get me an Equity card. Is that why you're here as well?"

"Nah, you don't need an Equity card in my line of work."

"Why? What do you do?"

They just stared at me.

"You do know what sort of gig this is, don't you?"

"We're to be waiters at some sort of banquet. Andy said it had a Greek theme so we're to be dressed up as Greek slaves."

"Undressed as Greek slaves more like it."

"What do you mean?"

"You really haven't got a clue, have you? Look, my name's Sam and this is Archie and...," he went around the group introducing us. "We're... we're part of the entertainment. Here, you've heard about that Playboy Club down the West End?"

"Yeah, of course?"

"You know how they have Playboy bunnies? Well, that's us."

"But how can we be bunnies? We're not girls?"

"Well, speak for yourself, sweetie!"

"Never mind Archie. We're not bunny girls exactly, we just do the same sort of thing. We hang around, look pretty and, when the time comes, make sure the punter has a good time."

And that's when the penny started to drop.

"If we're bunny boys and not bunny girls does that mean that the party is full of queers?"

"Now he's getting it."

"But I was told it's a party for C_____. He's not queer. I saw a picture of him in the Evening Standard and he was out on the town with D_____."

"Well, if he's not a queer then you won't have anything to worry about, will you. Come along, here's the bus."

And there, indeed, was the Bluebird coach pulling up.

As the bus made its way along the West Way I had plenty of time to think about what I seemed to be getting into. First of all the others on the coach seemed a bit rough. I know that sounds snobbish, I guess that, to an extent, it is snobbish, but they weren't at all like the group of extras I'd been working with on Slaves of the Lamp. The other thing worrying me was the way that Sam had described the gig as acting as some sort of bunny girl for a bunch of queers.

I wasn't at all sure how I felt about that. I liked to think of myself as a child of the seventies, that I was open and accepting to all sorts, but queers... Being called queer, or a poof, or a pansy was one of the worst insults back when I had been in school and, even now, the only images I had were limp wristed poofs like Mr Humphries from Are You Being Served or child molesting monsters from the tabloid press.

On the other hand there was the promise of the Equity card, my passport to fame and riches. And, even without that, the twenty five quid was more than I earned in a week doing my vac job. Equity card and wages: if all I had to do was serve food to a bunch of poofs then I could put aside my fears for one evening.

We made good time once we got out of town and, in due course the coach pulled into a fancy estate somewhere out near Beaconsfield. We were driven around to the back and then, after disembarking, shepherded through to the garden where an enormous marquee had been erected. Evidently this was where the party was to be held.

Everywhere I looked there were people milling around finishing off the final touches and I have to say that they had got the inside of the marquee looking superb. The Greek theme ran throughout, up to and including fake pillars to make it look like some sort of temple. The diners were going to recline rather than sit on the plush benches covered with cushions and the tables were equally low to match. It certainly looked lavish and opulent. At one end there was a raised platform maybe a foot or so higher than the rest and, along this, was what was evidently the top table. In the corner next to this was a small stage complete with a microphone and, in front of that, a dance floor.

We were led through to a cordoned off serving area where, already, a battalion of chefs were hard at work. Waiting for us there was Andy Ferguson.

"Right lads, let's be having you. You know the drill by now. Strip off over there, put your kit in the plastic bags provided, mark them clearly with your name and take them to Carrie who will provide you with your costume. Any questions? No? Well, get on with it."

As the others started to undress I thought it best to take my concerns to Andy.

"Please, Andy..."

"What's up? Oh, hello, it's Johnny boy. Managed to meet the coach OK?"

"Yes, sure, it's about what we're going to be doing?"

"What about it?"

"Well, I'm not sure..." And I wasn't sure how to express my doubts. I didn't want to come straight out with it and say I didn't want to be some sort of bunny boy for queers but that was what was worrying me.

"First night nerves, eh?" He put his arm around my shoulder. "Just think of it as an acting gig. OK, so you'll have to wiggle your bum a bit and put up with a certain amount of groping but that's all there is to it. Nothing to be worried about, nothing at all. Anyway, there's got to be a bit of give and take in this game and, if you'll do this one for me, then I'll look after you. Can't say fairer than that, can I?"

"Well, OK, but you will get me my Equity card, won't you?"

"Trust me, it's all but sorted. Now hurry up or you'll keep people waiting."

Thinking that this might make rather a good story for when I wrote my autobiography I put my doubts to one side and, keeping the Equity card firmly in mind, started to undress with the others.

Standing in line, waiting on Carrie to hand out the costumes, was reminiscent of school gym changing rooms. Somehow there's no embarrassment in nudity if there are lots of you doing it. That didn't stop me unobtrusively checking out the others. I hadn't been in this sort of situation since I had left school and I wouldn't be human if I didn't have a look and see how I measured up against the opposition. One of the guys caught me checking him out and, instead of being cross or embarrassed, he reached down, grabbed his prick and waved it at me while all the time giving me a big smile. I smiled back so as not to appear churlish.

The costume, when I got there, was about as basic as they come. It was nothing more than two rectangles of white cotton around fifteen inches wide by thirty inches long. These were accompanied by a long strip of inch wide cotton and a broach that looked golden but, on inspection, turned out to be cheap tin. I hadn't got a clue what to do with any of this so I looked around to see how the others were wearing theirs.

It turned out to pretty simple. The broach was used to fasten the two rectangles together at one corner and then that corner was arranged over the left shoulder. At this point the whole shebang just hung straight down so we had to hold it in place by grabbing the other corner and holding it to our right shoulder. Then one of the others, usually Carrie, took the long strip of cotton and used it as a belt, holding the rectangles across the hips, front and back. It took a certain amount of fussing about before she was happy that it all hung straight and square as it should do. We were then told to let go of the unattached corners which Carrie arranged to drape artistically across the chest and back leaving most of the torso exposed.

And, talking of exposed, two flimsy pieces of cotton do not a garment make. Although, strictly speaking, we were 'decent' the open sides of the costume only acted to accentuate the fact that we were completely naked underneath. What is more the hem was as short as a miniskirt on a sixties dolly bird and any injudicious movement such as bending over, or even sitting, would reveal anything. This was a costume to emphasise, not conceal, our sexual availability.

Once Carrie was satisfied that we were all suitable dressed we were then taken through to the main dining area where Andy, now dressed in a sort of Greek toga, lined us up and told us what was what. He reiterated how we were supposed to be slaves, how we were expected to be completely subservient to the guests and how important it was to maintain the pretence that this was an ancient Greek banquet. We were each given Greek slave names, mine was Pamphilos, and we were to greet the guests with 'good evening, noble gentlemen, I am your slave for the night. How can I serve you?'

Meanwhile he, and a couple of others, would be acting in a Maitre d' role making sure everything ran as it should.

And then there was a bit of a wait. We wandered around getting in people's way until we were shooed off into the garden. It was a fine summer evening but even so it was quite cool wearing so little. I found Sam who had been so friendly back in North Acton and, together, we chatted over whether Chelsea were ever going to make it back into the first division.

Finally the guests were due to arrive and, so as to be on place for our main cue, we were called back to the marquee where we took our places along the walls. As each group arrived they would be greeted by Andy who would call over a slave to escort them to their table and get them settled in.

It was clear that the guests had all taken the Greek theme very much to heart and, although I'm no expert, the general theme of draped cloth looked pretty authentic. They were also, without exception, all men. I watched as the first few parties arrived and then it was my turn. Andy motioned me over to the reception desk where three guests were waiting.