Kate Fitch took her customary three deep breaths, sucking the air right down to the bottom of her lungs, feeling the satisfying movement of the diaphragm. As she exhaled for the third time she felt George’s hand taking hers and she smiled encouragingly across at him. Or rather, down at him; even in his shoes with lifts, he was a good three inches shorter than her.
Hal Brand, the new young host of the program, had started their intro.
“Well, what can you say about today’s special birthday guest? He is to British television what Thermos is to vacuum flasks: synonymous.
He’s done it all from tea boy via arts programs like “Viewpoint” and political interviews in his series “Fact finder” to arrive at the very pinnacle of the shaky tree: his own live nationwide show is consistently the most-watched program of the week.
He’s the man I want to be when I grow up! And with this megastar of the media his lovely wife, actress, and beauty
… ladies and gentlemen, please give a very special
“Lunchtime Live” welcome to Kate Fitch and George “Mister Television” King!”
Kate licked her lips and gums to make sure her smile didn’t become fixed and, to the sound of ecstatic applause from the studio audience, George led her out through the wooden archway, down the steps, and across the studio floor. They waved and smiled like politicians with small majorities and even after the floor manager had signaled for the noise to die down it continued spontaneously for
almost thirty seconds – an age on live television.
Hal Brand couldn’t get a word in and he could obviously see from the monitor that the director had chosen a giant close-up of his face, waiting, waiting for the applause to die
away. His black skin was already damp with perspiration,
Kate noticed as she turned to him with her ‘Queen Mother’ expression. Poor love, he was a new boy at this game. Having to interview her husband in his first week must be like taking your driving test around Brands Hatch. Still, good old George would make sure it was all right; he was the ultimate old pro. He knew all the tricks. And then some.
“Welcome to the programme,” Hal was saying. “Nice of you both to fit us into your busy schedule. George, it’s an unusual position for you, to be the interviewee for once.
Now, I said you were our birthday guest; it’s fifty not out this week, isn’t it?”
“It is indeed and I feel rather alarmed at the thought, but very privileged too, to be doing a job I enjoy so much.”
“Well, congratulations on the birthday.” More applause, spattered around the studio. Kate joined in, gently patting her fingertips together so as not to give the sound boys any problems, and beamed her admiration at George. He acknowledged this with a modest inclination of the head.
His hair reflected a healthy shine under the strong lights and his complexion was exactly the right tone, darker than pale but not so tanned as to inspire envy in the punters of
Purely.
Kate looked at them now, row upon row of lumpy munch of a certain age who worshiped everything her husband said and did. He could have drowned kittens on his show, they would have understood and defended his right to
do it.
She wondered what they felt about her position. They must hate her, being closer to him than anyone, able to touch and kiss him whenever she wanted, spending endless days and never-to-be-forgotten nights with him in his strong arms, listening to his romantic, silver-tongued flattery that would charm the very stars from the skies.
Was that what they thought?
Well, “George King Now! has been peak viewing ever since it first began over a year ago, hasn’t it? What is it that makes it so special?”
‘Dear, oh dear’, thought Kate, what a cliché. He’s a sweet young man, but his interviewing technique is zero.
” Ah, well, now we do have some excellent guests on the programme and they always give good value for money.”
“Oh come on, what about you, George? People don’t watch for your guests, they watch it for you. Don’t you?”
Hal turned to the audience. Enthusiastically they called ‘yes’ and clapped again. George, in his well-practised style crinkled his eyes and made his eyebrows into a comical expression that said ‘I just can’t help being so cute’ , aware all the time which camera was on him.
“Kate,” Hal said, his own gaze coming up from the notes on the sofa between them. “What’s it like living with this legend? Is he a megastar at home as well?”
“Oh no, Hal. When we’re back at the ranch George is just my old man. Aren’t you, love?” He goofed at the rows of shopping bags beyond the cameras and got his laugh.
“We’re Mr and Mrs K. up the road and we get on with ordinary family life – when we have the time, of course!”
“Yes, there can’t be much free time. What sort of things do you enjoy doing together George?”
“Oh, you know, we go to the supermarket at the weekend, we’re involved in the local community–“
“Hampstead, right?”
“Yes. And we do the odd spot of gardening. Sometimes we even watch the telly together! And does he help you with your lines, Kate, when you’re doing a play?”
“Oh yes, if he’s not too busy with his own projects.”
Hal had discreetly wiped the wetness from his upper lip with a finger. He looked uncomfortable, terrified of the two of them. Perhaps the director had told him something through the earpiece that had upset his plans.
“ Now, fifty is a fine age. You’ve achieved just about everything there is to be achieved in British television.
Where do you go from here?”
“Oh, I don’t plan anything, I never have. I’ve just been lucky and enjoyed what I’ve done. I don’t even map out the interviews, you know. I mean, I give them some thought, of course, but I like to sit down and just have a good old chat with my guests. I think they appreciate that. Even the big ones, Streisand, Newman, Reagan….”
“Yes, you’ve done them all, haven’t you? Tell me, which was the best interview ever of all the hundreds? The most interesting?”
George considered it for a moment, as if he’d never been asked it before. Something:passed over those famous striking features, a change of mood, a shift of emphasis.
“Of all the hundreds, thousands in fact, I think the most.. satisfying to do was with that little eight-year-old girl Sinead who’d lost her sight, her two sisters, her mum and dad in that bomb explosion in Belfast last year. Do you remember that?”
The audience murmured that they did.
“T think the sheer courage and matter-of-factness of her attitude was what almost made me cry. The humanity of that child, the fact that she could forgive the… I’m sorry, the bastards who did this terrible thing and talk optimistically about the future of her country took my breath away. It really puts your own rather shallow life into perspective. It makes you reevaluate things when you come across the display of such magnanimity in a mere child …”
There was a stillness in the warm studio, every eye on George’s pensive expression. Hal let the moment speak for itself, nodding in silent agreement, unsure perhaps how long to let it ride. Finally, when he realized George wasn’t going on, he took up the baton again.
“And in fact you’re putting your weight behind a similar project that you believe in very strongly, aren’t you?”
“That’s right, Hal.” George bent forward and picked up the book from the glass table where Becca, his amazingly efficient PA, had made sure it would be. “It’s about the terrible situation in East Africa. Everyone knows about it but we don’t seem to be doing enough. It’s heartbreaking what those poor people are going through, not only civil war but famine and now flooding too, so that what few crops were growing have now been completely ruined. As I say, things like that really make you feel very humble, don’t they? And make you wonder how you can help.”
“And this book is part of that, is it?”
“Yes. I suppose I’ve been in a privileged position for quite a few years, nattering with some jolly famous people that not everyone gets the chance to meet, and I thought I could jot down some little stories and it might make an interesting collection. And here it is.
I’ve called it From the Horse’s Mouth, because I like to let people tell their own stories.”
He held the glossy hardback up to camera two, careful not to obscure the large photograph of himself or the full title: From the Horse’s Mouth: George King and other Stars.
“All the profits from this book will go to George King’s FEAR. The Fund for East African Relief. So, you get a good read, some lovely pieces of me with the likes of Hoffman
and Connery and Madonna and you do a lot of people a lot of good. So,’ – straight to camera one with his famous twinkle – ‘get out there and buy it, okay? All right, Hal,
enough plugging. Sorry about that.”
The audience laughed. Kate smiled too, dutifully. She, knew what was coming next.
“No, George, that’s fine,” said the young interviewer, still in awe of the Great Man of Television. “For something like that, feel free to plug all you like.”
‘’You think it’s a good idea, do you?” George had his most sincere face on.
“I certainly do. I hope it does very well.”
“You know, the hardback costs less than twenty quid. One penny less, in fact. Got your wallet on you?”
Hal laughed with the audience but there was a frightened look in his eyes. This interview was away from him. “Actually, no…. I, er….”
“Look, I’ll even sign this one for you. George opened the book and flourished his Mont Blanc pen dramatically across the page, his usual scrawl with the little crown over
the ‘K’.”
“There, that’s probably just about doubled its value.
What d’you reckon?”
Poor Hal Brand was out of his depth. He,looked to Kate,for support, but that’s exactly what she was: merely the support act. George was away on his own here, in his
element, manipulating a live television audience with the, renowned King charm and wit.
“What shall we do, auction it?” George called to the rows of eager faces gazing at their heart-throb hero. Someone called out, “I’ll give you thirty quid”, then another, “Forty’
then ‘Fifty’.”
Hal put his finger to his ear to help him catch the instructions from his director. “Well, we will auction the book later on, so don’t you worry.”
“Ah good, and there are plenty of copies for all of you,”
George added conspiratorially and heard a satisfied mutter in reply.
“For now, though, let’s get back to the birthday. How do you celebrate?”
“Oh, nothing special. Perhaps we’ll go out together for a quiet meal somewhere. Nothing flash.”
“Just the two of you?”
“Oh yes, me and the old lady.” He smiled at Kate, took her hand in his and held it on his lap. The biddies sighed with envy.
“And, Kate, just before we finish, what about you? Are you busy these days?”
“Oh yes, very busy. Not only looking after the old man here but considering various scripts at the moment.”
“Anything you can talk about?”
“Well, I’m hoping to be involved in a new series on the other side but nothing’s settled yet.”
“We haven’t seen you on our screens for a while, have we? Are you avoiding telly in favour of the stage?”
“No, not especially. I like to ring the changes. It just depends which way things go at certain times, you know.”
She smiled widely at him; he looked alarmed.
“Of course, all the talk at the moment is about the casting for the London production of the next smash hit musical from Broadway, isn’t it?”
“You mean O Jackie? Yes, it certainly seems to be on everyone’s lips.”
“And the exciting thing is that if British Equity agree to JFK himself being played by an American actor they’re going to insist that Jackie is played by someone British.”
“Or vice versa. An American Jackie and a British Jack. I certainly think that would be the right compromise otherwise we’ll have the Miss Saigon situation again but in reverse, with the producers refusing to bring their show over here. And that would be a huge loss for West End audiences.”
“And who do you think would make a good Jackie?”
“Oh well, there are so many fine actresses of the right age.
Dear Judi would be excellent. Or Maggie. Or even Vanessa.”
“Glenda would be good for box office, wouldn’t she? Especially now that she’s in the Cabinet.”
“Well, I’m not sure about the singing and dancing. And then Jackie was a very…..glamorous lady.”
The audience tittered at her gentle put-down. Hal didn’t seem to understand it. He was probably listening to a countdown in his ear.
“of course, there’s someone else who would be very good for the part,” Kate smiled coyly.
“Who’s that?”
“Well, modesty forbids…”
Hal looked miles away. Was he being very stupid or very cruel? Whichever, it was unforgivable.
“Oh! You? Really? But… well, yes, of course. You’d be excellent. Er, George, tell me, how exactly did you get your big break in television..?”
Kate could feel the blush rise in her elegant cheeks.
She’d been made to look like a total fool, out of her depth in the company of the Dames of British theatre. Why would no one takes her seriously any more? She pointed her listening face at George while he settled into a familiar anecdote on his favourite subject: himself.
