Invalided from the army and away from the dry heat and horrors of Afghanistan, Dan Mason had looked forward to loving arms and a civilian life with some meaning. The first hope was quickly dashed when he found there were no loving arms to greet him at the army house he would soon have to relinquish. There was only an envelope on the kitchen table, and inside a note in Sandra's spidery handwriting informing him that, "you must agree, our marriage was a mistake." Dan had to admit to himself that his dream of loving arms had been sheer romanticism..
Two years earlier, home on leave, they had met in a local night club, and within two hours they were sucking and screwing each other until dawn. In that brief time Dan had formed the conclusion that Sandra was the most sex crazy woman he had ever met. Her full breasts were so sensitive to his hands and mouth, and her thighs parted so eagerly to accept his fingers, tongue and throbbing erection. It had seemed that she couldn't get enough of that erection. When it wasn't up inside her she was holding it in her hand or in her mouth.
Aged twenty two at the time, it had seemed to Dan that this was something he could not let go. Sandra had appeared to be impressed with his prowess in bed. So, without too much mention of love, respect or any of the other emotions that might come into it they were hurriedly married before his leave was over.
Yes, a massive mistake. After only one year he had been certain that she was supplying her goods elsewhere. For a further two years she would deny his suspicions. So the note was no real surprise, as it went on to tell him that she would be living in Belgium with a man who was "well set-up in more ways than one."
Sandra was gone, yet he felt no strong pangs of regret, except that they should never have married. Her demanding sexuality would never be completely contained, and Dan was sure that Mr Belgium, whoever he was, would soon find that out.
After accepting the loss of a wife, somewhere to live became the next major priority. In the end he took on the offer of a basement flat, two rooms with shower and toilet. Really it was a bit of a dump, but four weeks of scrubbing, painting and a few trips to IKEA had things looking like something he could call home.
It was on the employment front that he had his first stroke of luck. Early hunting had proved unappealing, when a chance encounter in the local pub set him on a course that was to give him work, and, although he couldn't know it then, was set to change his life forever.
One evening he began chatting to a grey haired middle aged man called Joe Marske, who had listened keenly as Dan talked of his Afghanistan experience, and how he'd been invalided out. When Dan had mentioned his employment difficulties, Joe's brow had furrowed as he took a sip of beer.
"Does the wound bother you now?" he asked.
Dan flexed his left shoulder, before saying, "That's the funny thing. The medics said my shoulder would never be right. Well, it happened, just over a year ago, and I'm hardly aware of it now."
Joe sipped at his beer and, Dan thought, looked to be miles away. Thinking that he had bored Joe, Dan asked him what work he did..
"Dan, I've been assistant stage director at the Alhambra for over twenty years."
A faint spark tickled inside Dan's chest, but all he could say was, "That must be interesting work."
"I've always enjoyed it," Joe paused, and took another slow sip at his beer, before asking."How would being a stage hand appeal to you?"
Dan's hands tightened on his glass. This offer seemed too good to be true. Despite his army service, he'd always been interested in the theatre and had actually seen several plays and musicals at the Alhambra. He could still recall the uplifting experience of acting in a school play during his final year in high school.
Joe detected Dan's clearly enthusiastic response, and he held up a hand, " Don't get overexcited. It can be pretty menial work."
"Any more menial than shelf stacking?" Dan asked.
Joe laughed, "I guess not." He went on to warn Dan not to build his hopes up, normally a full scale apprenticeship, with attached schooling, were the order of the day. But apparently, Joe told him, the stage manager, Sam Murphy, had some sympathy for men coming out of the services."
But, after an anxious few days, Dan learned that there were no hitches and within two weeks he was being shown the general needs of scene shifting. Menial? Moving tables and chairs on and off stage was just that, but Dan didn't mind.. From the outset, given that he had often watched as a member of the audience, he found involvement fascinating. To witness, and be part of, the preparations for a performance really caught his imagination.
As the weeks passed he was drilled in the health and safety, watched how his more highly trained colleagues operated various stage machinery. Most of the more experienced men had no hesitation in allowing Dan to go up into the flies, the high platforms from which curtains, and back drops were operated.
The magic of the theatre ate into him. Joe Marske watched his progress closely, once asking if Dan would fancy a full apprenticeship. But although he wasn't prepared to admit it, there was one area which had really captured Dan's imagination.
Night after night, week after week, when he was waiting to carry out his next task he would watch the events on stage, the play or musical performed with such bravura and confidence. The Alhambra would occasionally have a major production which had either opened, or was about to open, in London. Top named stars held him in awe as he admired their apparent ease in delivering complex lines of dialogue. The beauty of the actresses would occasionally lead him into erotic fantasies which would never bear fruit.
Engulfed in, and charmed by it all, Dan found himself regretting that he had not found the will nor the confidence to involve himself in an acting career. Instead he had joined the army and nearly had his arm shot off. Good thinking. Now, having picked up a cheap much pawed over copy of 'The Works of William Shakespeare' at a second hand book store, he also bought some paper backed books containing scripts of well known plays. Arthur Miller, Harold Pinter, and Tennessee Williams were just a few he chose to sit and read aloud in the quiet of his lonely flat, fooling himself that he sounded really good.
Then, on the last night of a company performing Shakespeare's 'Macbeth', he had helped with the loading of trucks and had cleared and swept the stage. Most of his group had left, and he was moving towards the stage door himself. To get there he had to pass one of the curtained stage entrances. Glancing sideways he saw the complete open stage, bare of any equipment.
On impulse he strode through the opening and out onto the stage. His grand entrance, he told himself, as he walked purposefully to the stage centre, close to the footlights. At first he waved his arms about in exaggerated stage gestures, before, almost unconsciously words from his rereading of the part he'd once had in the school play formed sotto voce on his lips.
"And for mine own part my Lord, I could be well contented to be there in respect of the love I bear your house-"
Easy, doing it to row on row of empty seats, but could he really perform if those seats had been filled, in front of a live audience? In spite of those doubts the thrill of doing it remained, and he heard his own voice continue, louder and with applied anger--
"He could be contented; why is he not then? In respect of---" The clapping of a pair of hands behind him had Dan turning, his face flushing when he saw Joe Marske standing there, his head nodding, but an appreciative smile on his face.
"Wow, Hotspur from Henry the Fourth-- and with feeling .You catching the acting bug, Dan?"
