Make you a Star

To celebrate my 1 year blog anniversary this is the first story I ever got published. 

This is a slightly edited version of Make you a Star which first appeared in The New Writer Magazine sometime in 2004. 

The quality of this recording is not great, but there's a nice Welsh accent.

‘Our next ‘star’ comes all the way from South Wales, Ladies and Gentlemen, meet Gerwyn Morgan.’

There was a large roar from the audience, a deep Welsh baritone yelled ‘Go on Gair’ as the lights dimmed and the big screen flicked to life.

Gerwyn’s big jolly face filled the foreground while the Port Talbot Steelworks occupied the background. Tom Jones provided the music; the Green Green Grass of Home.

‘Hello I’m Gerwyn Morgan’ Gerwyn’s amplified Welsh accent boomed out. 'I lives here in Port Talbot, my house is over by there. I lives with me mam and me sister.’ The camera panned round to a row of nondescript terraced houses, and then dreamily up the mountain that towered above them as if realising that the houses offer nothing of interest to the viewer. Gerwyn’s simple voice continued.

‘I loves music I does. Is great. I’m singing all the time likes. I does Karaoke every Friday down in Swansea. All the girls loves me they do, but I only got eyes for the one, there she is look.’ The camera came down from the mountain and settled on a embarrassed face, pretty in a harsh way, her blonde hair pulled back tightly from her face, revealing her black roots. She wore a ribbed cotton, pencil skirt, the make up did a bad job of hiding the love bite on her neck.

 ‘Thas Natalie. She’s lovely. It was her idea like, to come on the show, wan it Nat?’

Natalie nodded silently.

‘So, before me dad left, he was always singing along to these old songs on the record players. I didn’t know who was singing like but I learns all the words. Then down in the Roxy I hears someone else doing these songs on Karaoke and I thinks, I can do that. So I finds out who they are and gets up and does ‘em. And the people goes mad like and there are all saying I should go on ‘Make You a Star’, I didn wanoo but Nat sens off an application form for the show and the res is history like.’

The screen died, the lights went up and the audience applauded; a little shocked by the simpleton they’d just watched. But there was still whistles and whoops from the Welsh contingent. And another cry of ‘Go on Gair’.

Leslie Green, the housewives favourite and real star of ‘Make You a Star’, reappeared on stage, he looked mildly embarrassed.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome… Gerwyn Morgan.’

The big, lumbering image of a Welsh No 8 came through the curtains and onto the stage. His child-like grin lit up the set brighter than the studio lights that threatened to blind Gerwyn and caused him to sweat profusely. He looked a little lost as he approached Leslie, blinking in the bright lights.

‘So your dad used to sing these songs to you when you were little then?’

‘Yeah’ Gerwyn had suddenly become star struck. He grinned and nodded the answer.

‘And your girlfriend Nat nominated you for the show.’

‘Yeah’ each yeah was accompanied by a nervous giggle. 

‘And you sing karaoke every week.’

‘Yeah’

The interview was going nowhere. Leslie was trying to give hints as to who Gerwyn was going to be, but Gerwyn was not responding as he should. It was time to get this idiot off the stage and into costume.

‘So who is it you are going to be?’

‘Tonight Leslie I am going to be…Frank Sinatra.’

When the make-up artists had first heard this they nearly fainted. How on earth were they gonna make this kid into ol’ blues eyes?

The Queen looked more like Madonna than Gerwyn did Frank Sinatra. 

Gerwyn sat in the make up chair reflecting on the day so far. It had been a long one. The train journey had been hell. His mum and sister were not on good terms with Nat. Nat was too bossy for their liking. They didn’t like the way she bullied Gerwyn into doing these things. They knew that he hadn’t wanted to do this show but Nat had insisted. They knew he wasn’t keen on getting engaged but still she wore the fake diamond ring proudly on her finger.

Gerwyn had sat on the train listening to the three of them bickering about him. It was too early for all this. He wished for his dad to be with them, a little bit of masculinity to offset the matriarchal influence, to add a little bit of common sense to the proceedings. Gerwyn couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he didn’t feel comfortable.

At Paddington they were met by a bloke from the studios called Craig. He was tallish, had gelled hair and wore a weird silver shinny suit. Everything about this fella was wrong. His voice was high but soft, his handshake limp, his eyes glazed slightly. His enthusiasm seemed too much. He buzzed around Gerwyn, but never addressed him directly. Instead he seemed to be working the (imaginary) audience. Saying things about Gerwyn that Gerwyn had never heard men saying about him before. Touching him in a way that didn’t make him feel at all comfortable. Nat was all smiles, but then suddenly she was all over Gerwyn, as if sensing that there was a threat to her ownership.

At the studio Craig rescinded into the background to be replaced by an older gentleman called Andrew. Andrew was the first person to put Gerwyn at ease. His smile seemed genuine and his handshake firm. He took Gerwyn aside and told him how things were going to work. This was the first time Gerwyn was spoken to directly all day. Nat, his Mum and sister had just talked about him, Craig had talked about the contestant but seemed to be addressing the womenfolk. Andrew showed him some respect.

Andrew explained how the day would work.

Gerwyn nodded.

 ‘I got one question.’ Andrew looked at him encouragingly. Gerwyn continued, heartened. ‘How does they do the make up so quick? I mean there’s only about a minute between the contestants leaving the stage and then coming back on looking like Marti Pellow or whatever.’

Andrew smiled. He had heard that question before and dumb as it was it didn’t faze him. He carefully explained the procedure again and patted Gerwyn on the arm.

Rehearsal was slow work. Gerwyn had expected it to be like doing a spot down the Roxy. Just get out there, bang a song out and then reap the applause. But it was all stopping and starting. They told him where to stand where to look, how to hold his head, his hands. He couldn’t believe they were making something as simple as singing a poxy song so complicated. Again the conversation was going on around him not with him.

Then he had to wait another forty minutes before he got into the costume department. Surely putting him in an old suit would be easy. But no, Beryl the costume lady was nothing if not meticulous. He got into four seemingly identical suits in twenty minutes and she still wasn’t happy. He tried on three hats, four shirts, two ties. It was getting ridiculous. 

Before the first appearance he was allowed to spend some time with the family. It was obvious, even to Gerwyn, that there was now open warfare between his sister and Nat. He had known Nat long enough to recognise the crossed arms and the puffed cheeks and to know that meant she was in a sulk. His sister was red faced, angry. The very time where he needed desperately to relax, get a kiss, or some kind words, all he got was silence. His mum tried to fill the void but her fussing made him even more uncomfortable.

As Craig shepherded him back stage Gerwyn wanted to escape. He wanted to run away. He wasn’t nervous about appearing on TV, he just thought about how ridiculous it all was. Dressing up as some old man and singing a song. God he’d be a laughing stock in front of his mates, in front of the whole town. Everyone was treating him like a bloody child. Nat and his sister fighting over him. That poof Craig, touching him like that. Andrew and the others laughing at him during rehearsal. Now he sat in the chair watching the  make up artists making him look more like his dad than Frank Sinatra. Gerwyn had thought it was all gonna be such a laugh and it was turning into a nightmare.

‘Fuck it!’ he said.

The make-up artist looked at him shocked.

‘Aw sorry.’ Gerwyn didn’t realise he had said it aloud.

Fuck it, this time he said it to himself. Fuck it. I came here to have a good time. I came here to sing a song cos I am good at singing. I didn’t come here to be treated like a sheep. I’ll fucking show the lot of them not to laugh at Gerwyn Morgan. I came here to sing and that’s all I am going to do.

From back stage Gerwyn heard Leslie’s voice again, he heard his name and he knew it was now or never. He entered the stage the dry-ice clouding his vision. He heard the music start and the crowd clapping and cheering like mad; the now familiar ‘go on Gair’ from one of his friends.

Leslie retreated into the wings. He was joined by the producer Andrew. They looked at each other grimly. This was going to be embarrassing.

At last, Gerwyn felt at ease. He had done this so many times before. ‘Start spreading the news’ he bellowed. His voice, despite his feelings, sounded cool, deep, smooth, better than ol’ blues eyes himself. ‘I’m leaving today.’ He tried to remember the way the director wanted him to stand, to act to move. Bollocks I’m gonna do it my way, he thought to himself.

‘in old New York’

Leslie and Andrew now wore facial expressions of a mixture of shock and approval.

‘I’ll make it anywhere, it’s...’

He didn’t look like Frank or act like him but his voice…

‘Neeeew Yooork.’

The music came to an end. For what seemed like an hour to Gerwyn there was calm, silence. Then suddenly, as one, the audience rose to its feet, the applause was deafening, whistles, screams, whoops. A tear came to Gerwyn’s eye, he’d done it. He’d performed. He turned and left the stage. His head held high. His pride restored.

At the back of the auditorium, a man nodded, smiled to himself, stood up and slipped away, unnoticed.