Flick (Felicity) Caterham was standing when I entered her inner sanctum. My agent was, quite frankly, one of the best, and, largely thanks to her, my career had flourished. I was well off, in demand and happy, despite a long yearning to find a lifetime partner. My friend, Marilyn Foster, had told me that lifetime relationships were for the dull or the unimaginative or those who left their libido in a left luggage office. Well, I may have been dull and unimaginative but I hadn't lost my libido.
Flick was, as ever, beautifully dressed. She had a very natural elegance and knew exactly how to dress simply but to maximum effect.
"Where the hell have you been?"
"As my agent, aren't you supposed to know that?"
"Indeed I am, so explain."
"You're new secretary called me and told me I was summonsed to your presence for some glad tidings. She didn't mention an inquisition or a bollocking."
"You were supposed to be here at nine." It was ten.
"Ah, I see. You think I am late."
"When an appointment is booked for nine and you arrive at ten, I'd say that was an unavoidable conclusion."
I went out of her office door and approached the desk of the stunning thirty-something year old secretary. I whispered in her ear. "You did tell me ten, didn't you?"
She smiled. "Actually nine." She got up and walked into the boss's office. "I think I must have got it wrong, Flick, sorry." As I walked past her she gave me an enigmatic smile and her hand brushed, barely perceptibly, across mine. Or did it?
"Don't go getting ideas about Rowan," the secretary's name apparently, "I can read you like a bloody book. God alone knows why but I've been asked if you'll do a 'What's Your View.'" What's Your view was a panel show, with the public asking panellists their views. "It's about show business apparently. Might be good as long as you behave yourself."
Flick often weighed public appearances on the balance of risk and reward. If the subject wasn't too controversial then she encouraged me as a means of profile maintenance.
On the night, aside from me, the panel consisted of Moly Prabin, a female journalist from one of the better papers, Reggie Howard, an actor known for his right wing views, Helen Costain, a film and theatre director with whom I'd worked once and with whom I'd fallen out big time. The host was one of the channel's big names, Derek Castle, known for being very superior and a bit of a bully.
I knew you'd be dying to know. Helen Costain was directing a new play, very artsy and, frankly, utterly impenetrable to a simple mind like mine. At one rehearsal she had shouted at me, in front of the rest of the cast, "What's your problem? Too complicated, is it?"
I'd said, "If complicated means meaningless, then yes. If you know what it means, instead of trying to humiliate me, why don't you do some directing and explain?"
Costain was a big name and, at that time, I was anything but. She'd turned a delightful shade of puce, spluttered a bit, called for a ten minute break and, when she recovered her powers of speech, fired me. Flick had given me the bollocking of a lifetime but, unbeknown to her, I overheard her talking to Costain that afternoon.
"Faye Millerton is far from stupid, Helen. Rather the opposite I'd say. I will not have one of my best talents browbeaten and if you hadn't fired her, I'd have told her to quit. Was it because you fancied her?" A pause. "Well, if it was I rather think you've fucked that, don't you? And if you start doing your malicious, poisonous dyke act behind her back I'll know and there will only be one loser." Phone slams and Flick shouts to her then secretary, Lucinda, "Whisky! And make it a fucking big one." I'd scuttled off feeling more loved than ever before in my life.
Back then it was customary for the panel members to meet in a 'green room' and be plied with drink before the show, introduce everyone, run through a few questions, and generally get calm before the show. Unusually for me, I went easy on the booze.
It was all pretty mundane until a woman in the audience asked about the validity of gender, race and colour blindness in theatre productions. Was it wrong for white actors to play black roles? Probin launched a tirade about cultural appropriation. Reggie Howard talked about how people these days seem to be too readily offended and rambled on about a long list of white actors who had played black parts over the years but that gender was gender and blah blah. You get the picture.
The host turned to me. "Faye, Millerton, you are a strong advocate of women and lesbian rights," the sneer was barely concealed, "what's your take on this?"
I looked directly at the woman who had posed the question. "I'm an actress and I think the clue is in the job title. If a director has a vision, like Helen for example, and thinks a woman playing a man's part makes sense of an aspect of a play or explores something interesting then I act. If a director thinks a particular actor, whether the 'right' colour or not, does something fo a role, that's fine. Politicising theatre is such a mistake. I know of a number of straight actors who have played gay roles and they've been brilliant. It's acting, as simple as that." Nobody was more surprised than I at the audience's applause.
Well, that put the cat among the pigeons. Probin might as well have called me a she-devil. Howard managed to tie himself in knots with a few homophobic remarks thrown in. But it was Costain's intervention that was my next surprise.
"Faye's absolutely right. At the risk of this sounding like a mutual appreciation society, if directors have actors with talent to work with and they direct them sensitively, who gives a fuck about ethnicity or anything else. Let us do our jobs properly then decide if we've succeeded." Who gives a fuck? Did she really say that? She gave me a warm smile as if to say, there, dykes unite.
Back in the green room and Millerton needed a drink. "A fuck-off great gin and tonic please."
Castle was all smiles. He loved a bit of a ruck and Probin and Howard had given it to him. Costain and I had remained out of the war zone and, for once in my life, I almost seemed like the voice of reason. I slotted my first drink and handed the glass to the rather dishy production girl who was only too willing to refill my glass rather than get between Probin and Howard who were still at it.
