LITMIR.BIZ

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you reckon your frying pan needs an oil change?’ says Sid.

      ‘Eat them up, dear,’ says Mum good-humouredly. ‘They’re very good for you. It says “a dish fit for a king” on the packet.’

      ‘More like “a dish fit for aching,” ’ mutters Sidney. He should worry. I am so much in favour, now that I am a film actor, that Mum gives me the extra portion.

      No more is said about Sid collecting the insurance money from the burnt-out warehouse but I recall the subject when I am on the set of Up the Ladder, Jack the following day. Justin has called me in because he thinks that I may be needed for a few interior shots and I hear him talking to Mac about the finance for their next epic.

      ‘You don’t know anybody with a few thou to invest in the movie business, do you?’ he says to me jokingly. ‘Most of my cash is tied up in production work at the moment and I need some liquid funds. The front office pay-out can be very slow sometimes.’

      ‘Very, very slow,’ says Mac. Justin glares at him.

      I am about to say no, when it suddenly occurs to me that Sidney is in the ackers again. What better way of cementing myself to Justin’s bosom than by introducing him to Sid? At the very least the gesture should be appreciated, and if by any chance Sid does lash out some mazuma, Trion Productions can hardly fail but to reward me with a leading role. Also, such an arrangement has the advantage of preventing my natural talents being shackled to Sid. In the past I have been too much under his thumb in our working arrangements.

      ‘Funny you should say that, Mr Tymely,’ I observe. ‘My brother-in-law, Sidney Noggett, is in the hotel business and he has a bit of money to invest at the moment. He struck lucky recently.’

      While I enjoy my little joke Justin strokes his silk scarf and raises an eyebrow in a gesture which I think is intended to suggest casual interest.

      ‘Really? I’d like to meet your brother-in-law some time. Is he in town?’

      ‘He is at the moment. Usually he’s down at Hoverton where the hotel is.’

      ‘Interesting. Perhaps we can arrange lunch sometime.’ He turns his attention back to the actors. ‘OK, Crispin, let’s do it again. Remember “Oh my God, it’s my husband!” – off the bed and into the wardrobe. And do be careful how you close the door this time. We used the last of the sticking plaster on your toupee, remember?’

      Justin says no more about Sidney but later on in the afternoon the girl who was being groped when I first arrived at the studio, and is apparently Justin’s personal assistant, checks out Sidney’s address with me. She is a nice looking bird, that one, always covered in confusion and love bites. I think she must have a very hectic social life.

      ‘Hello, we’ve never really met,’ she gasps, sweeping hair out of her eye. ‘Samantha Toots. Call me Sam, everybody does. Justin wanted to know where I could get hold of your brother-in-law.’

      I discount some of the more obvious answers to that one and give her the tellyphone number of the Lea residence in Scraggs Lane. Yes, with little Jason on the verge of becoming an international star, Mum and Rosie forced Dad into lashing out on what he regards as a vast waste of money. He is double choked when he finds that he gets a set of tellyphone books free because he has been lovingly cherishing a set of old ones in the hallstand along with his porn collection. These phone books are so ancient the numbers are in roman numerals.

      When I get home, Sidney is looking well chuffed with himself and in such a situation is seldom slow to impart the reason for his good humour.

      ‘Who’s this bird Samantha, then?’ he says. ‘She sounds a bit of all right.’

      ‘Oh, you mean Sam,’ I say. ‘We all call her Sam. Yes, she is pretty attractive. Never wears a bra. Looks like she’s got a couple of pom-pom hats down the front of her sweater. Why do you ask?’

      ‘She rang me up. Says her boss wants to have lunch with me. You told him about me, did you?’

      ‘Some of the things about you, Sidney. I didn’t want to frighten him off.’

      ‘Looking for fresh talent, is he?’

      Typical of Sidney to imagine that he is about to be discovered. The poor old sod would be pushed to get a walk-on part in Creatures the World Forgot.

      ‘He’s looking for finance, Sid. I mentioned that you might be interested in getting into the film business. You said you’d go, of course?’

      ‘Oh yeah. Nothing to lose, have I?’

      Experience has taught me to pretend that I do not hear questions like that and I leave Sidney thinking a Wills Whiff into a Havana cigar.

      Rather late in the day I find that Justin has also invited me to lunch. Sidney has not been swift to inform me of this fact and I think that he has been hoping that I would fix up a day trip to Southend, or some other convenient alternative to cramping his style.

      The restaurant selected for our meeting is in Soho and called something like the Trattoria Grotti. I am not very keen on Greek food myself, never having had any, but I can see that Sidney is bubbling with excitement – probably only at the thought of getting some buckshee nosh.

      ‘Looks a nice place, doesn’t it?’ he says, rubbing his hands together. ‘I reckon I’m going to enjoy this.’

      ‘Probably got the cook we had at the Isla de Amori. Do you remember? The only English words he knew were “stomach pump”.’

      Sidney ignores this and we advance towards the door which is whipped open as if the waiter is trying to snatch it off its hinges.

      ‘Bon Journo Signori!’ he trills. ‘What service can I perform for you?’

      Justin and Mac are sitting in a corner but they are not alone. Sam is with them, looking very dithery and desirable, and there is a pneumatic blonde bird with about half a ton of mascara plastered round her peepers. She looks like something out of Antony and Cleopatra meet Tooting Common on Ice.

      ‘Splendid to meet you, Mr Noggett,’ beams Justin, extending a hand as I stutter an introduction. ‘This is my cameraman, Donald McDonald and this is my personal assistant, Samantha Toots and one of the artists we have under contract, Miss Sadie Masoch. You may remember her in our historical romance, Fanny Mountain? Sadie! What’s the matter?’

      The blonde bint has her hand to her mouth and is gawping at Sidney like he has just dropped from the ceiling and landed on eight legs.

      ‘I’m terribly sorry!’ she shrieks in a high-pitched theatrical squeal, ‘but just for a moment I thought – well. I suppose you must get terribly bored with people saying this, but it really is remarkable.’

      ‘What is?’ Sidney is feeling behind his ears for drifts of shaving soap.

      ‘The resemblance!’ Sadie looks at Sam who nods vigorously and tries to make a hole in her Ribena at the same time. Justin pats her on the back. ‘Paul Newman!’

      With those words my heart sinks. There was once a stupid scrubber who told Sid he looked like Paul Newman and the poor twirp went around chewing matchsticks for three months afterwards.

      ‘Oh, that,’ Sidney delivers one of his throw-away smiles which he should have thrown away years ago. ‘Yes, it can get a little embarrassing sometimes but you learn to live with it. I’m a bit taller than he is.’

      ‘Really? How interesting,’ shrills Sadie. ‘Well, darlink, you must come and sit next to me and tell me all about it.’

      ‘It’s a shame really,’ purrs Justin. ‘If you didn’t have this incredible resemblance to Paul Newman I’d feel like offering you a role as actor rather than financier. Your kind of –’ he waves a hand in the air as if hoping to draw down inspiration.

      ‘Caramba?’ says Sidney hopefully.

      ‘Charisma, that’s

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