Other remarkable performances included Julian Lloyd Webber, who made the cello sound grander and more commanding than any piano or pipe organ in his solo. Some of the older actors performed pieces from plays nearly sixty years old — incredible, though it showed just how dated they'd become, and how their influence had trickled down into the shows still running today. Five Guys Named Moe stood out, too, especially when I realised one of the singers, Clarke Peters, would later go on to play Lester Freamon in The Wire. He'd even written the book for the musical; it was strange to equate the lifelong theatre man to the wise detective, but that was acting to you.
Russ Abbot, a fellow Cestrian, sang "Pick a Pocket or Two" far better than Mr. Ross had in the Woodfield production — so much so that if Mr. Ross had been there, he'd have walked out in shame. Nain covered my eyes during the Miss Saigon segment when women danced around in their knickers. Grandad enjoyed the show as Nain could only block one person from watching. Jonathan Pryce came on for another number and proved once again that he was a far better actor than singer.
The first act ended after The Phantom of the Opera segment. It was technically astonishing — the staging, the lighting, the voices — but I still preferred Suddenly, Seymour from Little Shop of Horrors. When the intermission began, I wandered the aisles in a daze, still caught up in the wonder of it all — the songs, the sheer spectacle, and the realisation of how many legends I'd just witnessed on stage. Julie hadn't been exaggerating when she'd said it was the best assembly of talent in the business. Even Jonathan's solid vocals sounded weak beside performers who had defined — even owned — their roles. I was a long way off of these talented people.
"Gladys!" a voice called out as we were leaving the theatre.
It was Emma, Julie's daughter, who was nearing forty. It was so weird that Julie looked so young but had children who were older than my mother.
"Emma! The concert is so amazing," Nain said with warm hug.
"Right? So many maestros! Julie wants Wilfred," Emma spoke rapidly.
"Oh? What for?" Nain asked, worried.
"To meet the Queen, of course!" Emma said, her voice high and exuberant.
"What? Did you say the Queen— The Queen Elizabeth the Second?!" Nain stammered.
"Yes, come on. It'll be all clear when Mum explains it. Gramps there can come too, but stay close to me," Emma said and walked off, sure that we'd follow.
"Gramps, my arse," Grandad muttered, but he came along anyway. I squeezed his hand in support. He was a gramps, but my gramps.
"How do I look?" Nain said, fussing over her hair and makeup turning Grandad over to examine her.
"You look as beautiful as the day I married you," Grandad said with a deep sigh and a warm smile, then broke down laughing. Nain's hands shot out as fast as lightning. That must've stung. "Fine, you look fine. Dear— Cariad. Stop it, hey. Right, Let's see this queen of yours."
Nain mussed my hair and tidied it over and over again, she was proper stressed. I let her do her thing; I respected the Queen, but I didn't feel the need to look all that good for my meeting with her. Nain, felt differently.
"Mum!" Emma shouted to get Julie's attention.
She was in a large circle holding crystal glass of champagne; revelations poured in one by one as I studied the men and women around her. Richard Branson was the only one who didn't trigger my revelation because he had bought the West Coast Train Line that I used to travel to London with. So the owner of Virgin had been all over on TV. But that circle also had lords, knights, billionaires, and businessmen—or some men who held all such statuses at the same time. Julie gave her excuses to the richest and most influential men in all of Britain, walked over, and gave me and my Nain a hug. Grandad received a formal handshake. That little event made me love Julie and ballooned my ego like nothing else.
"Gladys, happy you could make it," Julie said with a smile.
"I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Seeing Her Majesty? Are you joking?" Gladys smiled happily.
Julie nodded. "Well, you'll like this part then. I want to use Wilfred for my devious scheme," she grinned.
Nain gave me a side-eye, and one side of her lips curled evilly. "Oh? Do tell."
—✦—
My grandmother needed no convincing and sold me out to the evil mastermind instantly. Julie's devious plan involved talking to the Queen, which she had done numerous times before. But Julie the Host had another gig—a play so big that it had broken records for the most expensive play in the West End—and she had a plan to use me as a lure to bring a royal into the Apollo.
"Your Majesty," Julie said with a small curtsy.
"Julie! You were brilliant; it's so nice to see you on a stage in London again," Queen Elizabeth said in her posh accent. Her voice was so iconic and familiar to me.
"Thank you, ma'am. It's all Cameron's work; he's an amazing producer," Julie deflected.
"No need to be so humble," the Queen said, and her eyes grew soft. "I was oh so, sorry to hear about your accident. It is a shame."
"Thank you, Ma'am." Julie nodded.
The hurt on her face had disappeared since the first time I had seen her break down crying in our rehearsal. I had heard Polynesia's recorded parts—it's sad, she couldn't sing anymore. Polynesia sounded like Julie putting on a a funny accent, and Phillip had a hard time doing the duet part in Talk to the Animals with a partner who spoke out her lines instead of singing. Yet Julie had moved on from her loss; she had forty years at the top of the entertainment industry. She could move on and do other things, hosting a concert was one such adjacent job which she didn't need to climb another peak for.
"Who are these fine people?" Queen Elizabeth asked Julie, taking notice of me and Nain. I looked back to see my Grandpa standing with a protection officer searching him. Hopefully, he wouldn't kick himself too much over that.
"Ah, this," Julie put her hands on my shoulders, putting me between herself and the queen. "Is my newest co-star. I'm doing a production called Doctor Dolittle. He is one of the main characters." Julie tapped my shoulders.
Queen Elizabeth was just a human, but I froze. Nerves had caught up to me. But when Julie tapped my shoulders, I moved automatically like I had rehearsed for Tommy Stubbins. In my mind, I replayed the quick lesson Julie gave me—no handshake unless she offers, bow from the neck, speak clearly, address correctly.
"Your Majesty, I'm Wilfred Price. How do you do?" I said with a bow, my neck dipped.
Queen Elizabeth smiled at me fondly. "How do you do, Wilfred. Is it amazing to work with someone like Julie in a production?"
"Yes, very much—indeed, Ma'am," I said a bit too woodenly.
"Amazing suit as well, you look properly lordly." She laughed,
"It's a rental, ma'am." I said by habit I developed when I was walking to the theatre.
"It's good, dear."
The Queen nodded at me. I was being dismissed. How crazy was it that there was a whole protocol for talking to the Queen, and I could use it to understand what she wanted of me? The nod actually relaxed me, as I was no longer the only thing she was paying attention to. Julie spoke with the Queen, and I spent the time looking at the Queen's purse. Nain was introduced, and I think she would prefer me not telling the story of how she made a fool of herself. She extended both her hands to grasp the Queen's hand in a handshake, but it seemed that Elizabeth was used to it and took it in a dignified way. Julie didn't seem too happy because her plan was in jeopardy.
"So," Julie cleared her throat, "Prince Harry must be what, thirteen now?"
"Oh, just say it, dear," the Queen cut straight to the chase. "If you dance around the request any longer, I might have to cut you off the New Year's list."
"I'm being honoured? An OBE?" Julie asked, startled.
"Not if you keep tiptoeing," the Queen quipped. "It would be a damehood."
I liked her instantly. She had a sharper sense of humour than I'd ever imagined.
"Damehood—oh wow." Julie reached for her hand, eyes glistening.
"Don't look so surprised. You were bound to get it sooner or later," Elizabeth said, her tone firm but fond. "If not you, then who?"
"Thank you, ma'am. It means the world to me," Julie said, gathering herself. "It's good to know ahead of time—less chance of fainting when it happens." She gave a little laugh. "Actually, I wanted to invite Prince Harry to the press night for Doctor Dolittle."
"Ah," Elizabeth smiled. "See, Wilfred, everyone wants something of me, but Julie asks me for favors that only others can do. That is very smart, that is." She bobbed her head as she spoke to me, and I grinned at her in return.
"This one's devious too," the Queen laughed. "Fine, I'll get Charles to take Harry and William if he agrees. But he's taken Diana's death hard; might just want to stick around Eton with his friends."
I felt the hidden pain in Queen Elizabeth's words then. Sure, she was important, but she had the same worries that a mother would have for her children and a grandmother would have for her grandkids. It seemed to parallel Julie getting over losing her voice. Both women had a year to get over the issue and now only small pain remained.
"Robert!" Elizabeth called out. A man in large square glasses came over. "Take the detail from Julie here; add a calendar item for Charles and Harry."
"Yes, Ma'am," Robert nodded.
"Thank you, Ma'am," Julie smiled brightly.
"That's fine, dear. I hope the second act is as good as that first one." The Queen said with a bit of deviousness in her.
—✦—
Act Two was memorable. Hugh Jackman presented me with a revelation so large that it finally allowed me full access to Les Misérables the movie and so many films he'd been in with box-office success. While there were so many great singers in the second act, I was enraptured by a ballet performance. The soft orchestra was barely loud enough to hear, but the faces of the duo portrayed the tale so clearly that I didn't need to know any backstory. My dancing had improved by leaps and bounds but the two dancers showed me how far I needed to go.
I hated most of Act Two for how much Sondheim was in it; there were so many that I was almost sure I had seen all of his songs. When Dame Judi Dench came on to sing Send in the Clowns, I forgave Sondheim. She was like Jonathan Pryce, her voice wasn't anything to write home about but unlike him, she was able to insert the emotions into the song. You didn't need to be the best singer to deliver the best performance. Overall, Sondheim was suited for a more affluent and learned man of theatre, which I was not. Not yet, anyway.
The Les Misérables section was the highlight. Each song fueled my will to master the many new techniques I was seeing. Hugh Jackman's Oklahoma! was great, but Colm Wilkinson was a world better. The final polyphony in One Day More was the most star-studded song of the night, with Colm Wilkinson, Ruthie Henshall, Philip Quast, and Lea Salonga all singing countermelodies to reach an epic end fit for an epic concert. Three hours had gone by with me hardly noticing the passage of time. The standing ovation lasted minutes until Julie finally walked on stage.
"So now it's time to introduce the man who has been putting it on for thirty years. Hey, Mr. Producer!" Julie introduced and hailed over the man whose hairy thighs I had seen earlier today.
[ROARING APPLAUSE!]
Cameron, in his traditional Scottish get-up, bowed in all directions, including the adult cast members standing behind him and even child actors in front of him. Sixty or seventy of the best West End and Broadway actors were here paying tribute to a producer. How many people's hearts must he have touched?
"Shush!" Cameron tried as he fought against the never-ending applause. The crowd finally calmed.
Cameron smiled good-naturedly. "If I don't get you out of church in time, I'll be in trouble."
[Laughter]
"Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming to this wonderful evening and giving me the excuse to bring together the greatest array of talent we'll ever see on one stage together."
[ROARING APPLAUSE!]
"Talking of talents, those two boys could knock me out of the show!"
Cameron joked, pointing at the children from the Oliver! section who were pouring out of the orchestra pit much like how they had shown up on the stage. It was odd seeing odd heads poking out now and then. I think people in the mezzanine or the balconies enjoyed the joke more than I did because I could hardly see them from my vantage point.
[Laughter]
Cameron turned introspective and more serious. The proscenium closed back in, the reverse motion of how it had expanded when the show first started. The lights dimmed again, and a soft piano played—a piece I had heard right at the start of the show.
"Seeing thirty years of my life flash past in three hours is rather disconcerting. It's wonderful to be part of the musical theatre; it's what I live for and what I must thank Julian Slade for inspiring me with when I was young. I am sometimes asked what I would do if I didn't do musicals. The answer is that I would do nothing. Because as long as I can find new musicals to do, wonderful talent like this, new authors, and you the audience come to see it—that's what I will always want to do." Cameron's smile was genuine and thankful.
"Dorothy Reynolds and Julian Slade put it perfectly in this song."
The proscenium within the proscenium made it appear as if Cameron had been framed in a picture frame. The piano kept playing, and the old piano that the young Cameron had pushed away in the first scene rolled back onto the center stage. Cameron walked to it and held it like a man holding his wife—gentle and caring. He started to sing in a nervous tone; a singer he was not. But the passion still made it so memorable to me.
If I start looking behind me and begin retracing my track,
I'll remind you to remind me, we said we wouldn't look back.
Cameron slapped the piano and disappeared behind the now tiny proscenium frame.
Thunderous applause followed, and the whole stage was lit up like Christmas had come early. I had not known of Cameron Mackintosh until a few days before, but after that three-hour concert, I felt like I understood the man more intimately than my closest friends like Henry Harrison or Darien. When I had finished my career, I wished to have made such an impression that so many talented stars would come to pay tribute and perform without want of fame or pay. He had touched people so deeply that he had no enemies but only friends. There were tortured geniuses and misunderstood artists—what did it matter if you were loved a hundred years from now? Friends that surrounded Cameron seemed a better achievement than his illustrious career.
"YES!" I shouted and cheered until my voice felt hoarse.