Read Online Bugsy Malone by Alan Parker - Free Book Online Page B

not two rabbits, but three rabbits.” As he spoke, he indicated on his fingers the rabbits he hoped to pluck out of the hat. This proud boast met with an expansive yawn from the producer and a bored stare from his assistant. Oscar De Velt shouted, “Next! Next! Next!” to each of the conjurer’s three rabbits and the conjurer disappeared from the stage as quickly as only an illusionist could.
    Blousey waited nervously in the long audition queue with Bugsy. She handed him her mirror, which he held up for her whilst she fixed her make-up.
    â€œI wish they’d hurry up. I get so nervous waiting.”
    â€œQuit worrying, will you,” Bugsy said. He was beginning to feel nervous himself.
    â€œI didn’t figure on this many people.” Blousey bit on her bottom lip as she craned her neck in search of the end of the queue, which seemed to go on forever.
    â€œOh, they’re all jugglers and magicians by the look of it. Don’t worry. You’ve got no competition. You’ll walk it, believe me.”
    Blousey was in no mood to be calmed down. The make-believe butterflies in her tummy fluttered about trying to get out. She pressed her lips together to spread the lipstick evenly, and tucked a loose hair into her feathered skull cap.
    â€œHow do I look?”
    Bugsy gave the same answer as he had given a dozen times. “Fine.”
    â€œI look a wreck.” She was getting more nervous.
    â€œYou look swell.”
    â€œHonest?”
    Bugsy nodded, at last he seemed to be getting somewhere. “Honest.”
    â€œCross your heart?”
    â€œCross my heart. You look beautiful.”
    He kissed his finger and touched her on the nose. She forgot her butterflies and smiled for the first time. Auditioning was never easy in such surroundings, and the constant toing and froing of the men who were moving the props didn’t help either. A four girl dancing group with rather too-plump thighs did a high kicking number that finished with them ploughing through the scenery. Oscar De Velt put his head in his hands and a muffled “Next” seemed to come out.
    A ventriloquist came forward and the wooden dummy she was holding seemed to realise they were on to a loser before his operator did.
    â€œI guppose goo are gendering gwy I’m here tonight?”
    The lady ventriloquist exposed her dentures. True, her lips didn’t move but, there again, the words didn’t come out all that clearly either. She replied to the dummy, whose wooden head swivelled on its stick and whose bottom jaw flapped up and down, squeaking as it did so.
    â€œGaren’t goo going to gask me gow I gam?”
    â€œWell, how are you, Clarence?”
    â€œGon’t gask. I feel gerrible.”
    â€œGnext!” The producer brought the proceedings to a halt. She wasn’t a bad ventriloquist. With a little better material she could make a living on the radio. Sound radio ventriloquists were all the rage and the audiences sitting at home never could see if their lips moved.
    Blousey edged closer, nudging the girl in front who was having trouble moving a giant harp. Bugsy helped her on to the middle of the stage with the monumental, gilt-laden instrument. It wasn’t really worth it because the very sight of the instrument was enough to put Oscar off.
    With the sudden exit of the harp player, Blousey was next, and she tripped rather clumsily on to the stage. Bugsy shouted “Good luck!” from the wings. Blousey politely announced herself as she handed the pianist her music.
    â€œEr... Blousey Brown... er, singer.”
    She nodded to the pianist to begin the introduction. Blousey opened her mouth to sing – but there was no time for her even to get her first word out, because the inevitable happened. Lena Marrelli returned. You couldn’t mistake her or her mink coat and red ringlets, which bounced up and down as she stormed down the centre aisle. Oscar De Velt made no