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“You’re looking at me like you don’t know who I am.”
“I know perfectly well who you are.”
“Not you, Sherlock. Mariana.”
“No. No, I am looking at you like I don’t know why you are doing this. There is a big difference.”
“It’s for panto.”
“Panto.”
“It is a British Christmas-time theatrical performance based on a fairy tale, presented as a broad comedy with songs, slapstick, and audience participation. I believe John has been chosen as the male actor playing the ‘Dame’, a standard feature.”
“I know what panto is. And I know what a Dame is, thank you. But John… you look… terrible.”
“Hey! I’m supposed to look terrible. Well, terrible in the sense of it being a comedic holiday play. It’s supposed to be funny.”
“Annnnnnd not easily passing to the general public as female is funny, is it?”
“…Ok, maybe it’s dated and, well, now that I think about it, stupid.”
“As are so many things in your culture.”
“It’s a longstanding theatre tradition, perhaps evolving from the time when women weren’t allowed on the stage, bolstered by a more modern, but still dated, time when it wouldn’t have been appropriate for a female actor to play a rather undignified role requiring physical comedy. But it’s no different than being a drag queen. And so long as there aren’t transphobic or misogynistic jokes in the production, I don’t see any particular harm. So much of contemporary progressive culture and thought is about exploring the performativity and flexibility of gender. Panto’s subversion of gender is something to be celebrated, not shunned.”
“See? The gay man has my back.”
“And the trans woman thinks you look ridiculous.”
“I believe that looking ridiculous is part of the point—if not all of it.”
“Thanks, mate!”
“Wait. This is a Christmas thing, no? Why are you dressing up in October?”
“Stammo usually does it for the kids at the hospital, but he’s going to be visiting the new in-laws for Christmas, so he asked me if I could take over. I told him I can’t sing and he said ‘I know, and the musical numbers will be even better that way.’ It starts up in late November, and we need to rehearse. I don’t wear the full costume just yet, but I wanted to see how I looked.”
“I’m telling you, between this and your speech to the kids, the secondhand embarrassment might just kill me. Time to add burial insurance to the company plan.”
“Since you have some time before the dress rehearsal, you could always ask Langdale for help?”
“Not a bad idea, Sherls! Do you think they’d mind giving me some pointers?”
“I’ll c
all them.”
***
“Good to see you again. Thank you for coming over on such short notice.”
“Was just wrapping up rehearsal for a new number, no trouble at all. John! The library is closed. Today, we go from busted to dusted!”
“I…don’t know what any of that means, but…have at it!”
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine. Bit behind on the edit for next week’s episode, but I figure if I really focus—”
“No, I mean the Sydney Sweeneys. I brought a few different sizes with me. Without these, the girls will drop to the floor. It makes for a funny bit, but it’s also a tripping hazard.”
“Oh! I just shoved some vests inside another one that doesn’t quite fit me anymore.”
“Those will fall as soon as you get out of that chair. Try these on.
Sherlock? Which?
He was always better than me at sizing…”
“I’d say…46…G.”
“You’ll want to sacrifice a pillow. Anything else would be uncomfortable.”
“I bet Stammo has actual prosthetics. He’s a plastic surgeon. I could ask him for one when we get closer to showtime.”
“This will feel better. We aren’t fishing, but we do want them to stay up.”
“I...don’t know what that means either.”
“I’ll go get my big poofy one that your dog destroyed.”
“Now put this all over your face and wipe it off with these.”
“I can shave this off.”
“Some directors like that look, but most don’t. We’ll wait and see what they think of a moustache. Just, don’t subject the kiddies to the one you had the last time you were in costume.”
“The last time I was in…? Oh. Oh, I had nearly forgotten all about that one. Thanks. Thanks a lot. You saw that, did you?”
“Along with all the residents of London who still watch the news. Fortunately, that isn’t too many people at the moment. Didn’t last long before they turned the cameras off, though.”
“You recognised me?”
“Not really. Hadn’t met you yet. But I did recognise Sherlito Musclini and so I made four. Saw you had crossed over to twunk, Sherls.”
“Thank you.”
“Well earned. Now… Let’s see. You actually do need to match your foundation or it will just look sloppy, not funny. We don’t want a bar queen.”
“John will always be a bar queen to me. Here you go. Pillow fluff. Courtesy of a hyperactive bulldog.”
“Ok. Stuff these in your brassiere while I figure out what shade you need.
Not this. Definitely not this.”
“Ooh, I like this one!”
“That’s a good match for you. Take some. John here is being stubborn.”
“Sorry.”
“Nope.
Nope.
Maybe this will… We have a shade! Now it will be busy backstage, so you need to learn how to do this yourself. Put it on the sponge and dab it to blend it in. If they want you to shave you’ll need an orange color corrector. Opposite blue on the wheel so it knocks out the stubble. Try it just in case. Dab. Blend out. Dabbling, not smearing. That’s it!
Wetting the shadow makes it last longer.
Here. Wiggle the brush and move it up.”
“Oops.”
“The world’s fiercest raccoon! It takes practice. Cream cleanser. Wipe it off. Try again. I’d offer you false ones but they were stolen.”
“Stolen?”
“Stolen. We had someone break into the green room last night and they made away with a few props, some makeup, and a costume that was lying around.”
“What exactly was taken?”
“A tuxedo. Stage makeup—setting powder, some foundation, a bag of the lashes. And props for a dance number some kings were working on.”
“What kind of props?”
“Cane. Top hat. Tuxedo. Boots with spats. Pocketwatch. They just took whatever was lying around backstage. Was all repurchased this morning by our stage manager—the show must go on—but the lashes were still on backorder.”
“Replaced with the same items?”
“Ordered from a local distributor, so they were all the exact same things. Oh, except for the pocketwatch. That one was a bit different, but I only noticed because I was wiping it down to put it away—no prints but mine on that so don’t go arresting me. The new one has black hands and the old one had dark blue ones.”
“And they are golden? The new one and the stolen one?”
“Right.”
“We must head to the dressing rooms! There may still be vital clues! No, John, no time! Chop-chop! The game is afoot!”
