While I Was Shopping: Part 5

The ceiling stared down at Michael as he looked up at it, lost in his own thoughts of holidays, his sister, the new girl starting that day at rehearsals and the beautiful woman he’d kissed last night as they’d shopped together. He smiled at the last thought, relishing memories of her body next to his, her lips gently touching his own, his hand brushing through her hair and the note he’d left on her kitchen surface as he’d left.

It was mad. Not only had he met the woman twice, he had admitted he loved her. Was he mad? Probably. Did he care? Not a jot.

The lads had all congregated in the writing room, laughing and joking and reading out sketches to each other to hoots and roars of laughter and random suggestions that flew out from left field. Michael, who had snuck to the soft chair at the back of the room out of the way, looked over at his friends happily. His friends. People he’d spent a lot of the last five or six years of his life with. Terry Jones, a wonderfully abstract yet frighteningly passionate man who Michael felt instant connection with, John Cleese, a huge man with such exciting and hilarious ideas, Graham Chapman, a gentleman in every sense of the word with a face that betrayed nothing and a mind that worked miracles on dying sketches, Terry Gilliam, an American lunatic that worked like a man possessed and finally Eric Idle, a man of glamour who was friends with everyone and a could produce one-liners at the drop of a hat.

His friends. Michael smiled as the group erupted into more laughter and looked at each other in comfortable hilarity.

Eric glanced at his watch then and frowned gently. “I think she’s late.” He said and the group turned their own attentions to clocks and watches.

John sighed. “I knew it was too good to last.”

“Aw don’t write her off already. She may be late but she might not have let us down on purpose.” Said Terry, who’d taken an instant shine to her.

Eric nodded. “I agree with Terry. She really isn’t the kind of person who’d leave us in the lurch, you saw her the other night.”

Gilliam coughed. “John’s just a miserable cynic that’s all.”

Michael laughed as John’s face betrayed his silent anger at this constant tease. Everyone called John the misery, the cynic or the boring fart. Really he was none of these, but the group continued the tease just because it wound him up so much to here them say it.

“I think I’ll call her, just to make sure.” Eric said and crept off to the telephone.

Michael chuckled. “I think she’s sick of you lot already. Perhaps she’s realised what a bunch of reprobates she’s working with and has run off to join the Finance Department of ITV instead.”

John scowled. “Would be a bloody shame if she did, she was a fabulous actor and very funny.”

Terry agreed. “Well if ITV has dragged her off to their towers I suggest we charge our horses and go after her!”

Michael laughed. “You guys really like her don’t you?”

John smirked. “Eric fancies her.”

“He does eh?” Michael cocked an eyebrow.

Gilliam smiled. “He won’t admit it though. He’s been keen ever since she gave us that grant.”

Michael nodded. “And what happened to the rule of no one getting involved with the models/actresses we have on the show?”

John shrugged. “I know if some beautiful woman thrust herself on me I wouldn’t say no.”

Terry scoffed. “She wouldn’t even have to be beautiful in your case.”

John scowled again.

“Anyway,” Terry continued, “it wouldn’t be very professional would it? You know what happened last time Gilliam got involved with that model from the catalogue that came to do that sketch.”

Gilliam nodded. He remembered all too well what had happened. After weeks of her coming onto him he’d given in and then told her he didn’t want to see her again. The next show they’d performed live had been blighted with bad timing, scowling, refusal to say lines and a general failure of lighting, camera equipment and wardrobe massacres.

The model left promptly after that, leaving a trail of extinguisher foam and wrecked props behind her.

“We should make a pact then,” said Michael, “to not get involved with the new girl.”

John sighed. “I suppose.”

Terry crossed his arms. “Look at it this way,” he said, “if you think she’s as fabulous as I do then you won’t risk her buggering off by sleeping with her will you?”

John thought about this and then nodded. “I’d rather have her to drool over than not have her at all.” He said cheekily.

“Precisely. So when Eric gets back we’ll put it to him. Everyone must agree. No fondling the new girl.” Terry said.

The group agreed and looked up as Eric returned.

“Well?” asked John as Eric’s frowning face looked at the expectant men before him.

“It seems that she’s lost her voice.” Said Eric and the group gasped.

Suddenly Terry was flicking through pages of that weeks script and glancing through other sheets he had lying around.

“Everyone, look for either other sketches where she doesn’t have to say anything or find me sketches where she isn’t involved at all.”

The group began a mad scramble but within twenty minutes they had a pile of sketches that had her as a non-speaking part or involved in other things than speaking.

Terry quickly rearranged the order of the show and put in other things instead. Then, grabbing the phone, he called up the wardrobe ladies, the prompters and the other stagehands and gave them the new layout, hoping that none of them would complain or produce another problem.

He handed the phone to Eric who then directed Chelsea as to the new plan. He explained that they needed her for some scenes and that she wouldn’t need to speak. Her whispery voice returned to him down the phone and agreed that she’d be there in about half an hour, and Eric returned with the good news.

“Excellent. Right guys, down to business. We’ve had to rearrange sketches so some of us have different parts. We’ve only got until tomorrow to learn them so it’s going to be a long slog today.”

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The phone rang and they ignored it. It rang again and still they ignored it and carried on. The sketch was flowing brilliantly, and at the moment Gilliam was standing in for the new girl. He smiled as Eric began touching his face and then picked up his leg. “Ooh Eric I never knew you cared.”

Terry looked at him irritably. “It’s a non-speaking part Gilliam. I know that might be an effort for you considering your huge American mouth, but please. We have to get this done today.”

The phone trilled again and Terry turned to it angrily. “Someone answer the bloody phone.”

John stood and headed towards it, picking it up as Eric, Gilliam and Michael began practising the scene again.

They were getting into full swing when John shouted over the top, “Mike it’s for you.”

Terry scowled at his friend as Michael snuck off apologetically and Graham took his place.

The sketch continued and finally Terry announced its end. Michael returned from the phone white and absentminded, and declared he had to leave.

The group watched open mouthed as Terry protested to be told that it was no use and he would see him the following day for filming.

As Michael left one door the new girl stepped in the other and looked around at the gawping faces. She looked apologetically at them as she approached but realised she wasn’t the focus of the shock.

“Well I never.” Said Terry as he motioned for her to take a new script. “Hi Chelsea. Welcome to Deserters Anonymous.”

She looked slightly shocked and he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, I’m not talking about you. Our sixth member has done another bunk and buggered off so you’ll have to make do with a stand in until tomorrow.”

Chelsea nodded and Eric smiled at her, winking as she took off her coat and headed towards the little set all laid out in the spotlight.

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Michael sat down heavily on the doorstep and grimaced. He hadn’t known where else to go to to talk about the whole event. Turning up at his sisters house to find out she’d run off, leaving both her child and her husband behind had shocked him, and he’d never thought it possible that she would do such a thing. No note, no phone calls, no nothing, and all of her belongings had been left behind. Michael felt a sickness over come him as he waited and his heart ached for his sister. Somehow he feared she wouldn’t come back, and he hated the feeling. He wanted her to come back. He couldn’t imagine life without her. He wanted her to be at his wedding, to be an Aunt to his children, to be his best friend forever and to never feel bad again. It was not knowing where she’d gone that was driving him mad, he so desperately wanted to find her and bring her back.

He rested his head in his hands and waited. He wasn’t moving until he saw Chelsea, knowing that somehow she’d soothe his soul, make him feel better and would even offer some sort of advice about what had happened.

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Chelsea approached her flat, her throat killing her and her back aching from the bending over she’d done as Eric had wooed her in the Marriage Guidance Counsellor sketch. It had been funny at the time, but as Terry had made them practise and practise, the others offering suggestions, putting in their opinions and adding little extra lines her back had been contorted over and over again.

All she wanted now was to sit down with some tea and biscuits, to chill and close her eyes and rest up for the next days shoot, her first TV appearance and recording.

As she drew near she saw a vehicle parked outside and recognised it instantly. She turned through the gate and saw him leaning against her front door with his head in his hands. She shut the gate quietly and walked up the path, setting herself on her haunches in front of him and touching his knees with her hands.

He looked up from his hands and saw her worried face.

She watched him raise his head and saw fear in his eyes, and touched arm with her hand.

“Sorry.” He said and burst instantly into tears.

She wrapped her arms around him and held him close to her as he cried.

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Michael placed a cup of tea in front of her and she smiled up at him. After a brief interlude where he’d realised she couldn’t talk very well he’d insisted on making her something to soothe her throat.

Chelsea smiled at him as he sat beside her on the sofa and she took a sip of the tea, relishing the warm softness of it caressing her scratchy, raw throat.

His crying had stopped and even the red blotches that had covered his face had calmed and his natural pink colour was returning. After profuse apologising they’d made their way to her flat and now sat comfortably in her lounge she motioned for him to tell her what was wrong.

He told her everything, managing to control his emotions as she listened. When he’d finished she put her arms around him again and kissed his forehead gently as he rested against her.

He put his arms around her and held her close, feeling safe and secure with her. Eventually they sat up again and finished their tea.

Glancing at his watch Michael frowned. “I really ought to let you get some rest, especially with your throat.”

Chelsea shrugged. She really didn’t mind him being there. In fact she rather delighted in his presence.

He smiled down at her before planting a kiss on her lips. She felt the same electricity break through her as she kissed him back and he sat back down on the sofa, taking her up in his arms as he did.

After several moments he broke away and smiled at her, blushing slightly. “Did you like my note?” he said.

Chelsea nodded and smiled, trying to convey desperately how she felt.

He grinned. “I thought perhaps you might’ve been a bit alarmed. After all we don’t even know each other.”

Chelsea shrugged and smiled. She felt so stupid for not being able to say anything.

“I’m glad you’re not too offended,” he said. “I didn’t know how you’d react.”

She was glad he’d said what she was thinking, knowing that as long as they thought the same way there would be no danger of either of them jumping the gun.

“It felt right to say it.” He said and kissed her cheek as he stood up.

She held his hand and brought it to her lips, kissing it gently as he grinned at her.

“It’s funny you know,” he said as he picked up his car keys from her coffee table, “there’s a girl supposed to start at my work and she’s got a sore throat too. Seems to be doing the rounds.”

Chelsea nodded. She was sure she’d caught it off a bag lady on the tube home the other evening.

Michael chuckled gently. “Lets hope I don’t get it. The lads wouldn’t be too happy with that, especially after all the time I’ve had off lately.”

Chelsea nodded again. Something was nagging her. Something she couldn’t put her finger on.

“Anyway,” he said, “I’ve got scripts to catch up on. I’ve got your number, I’ll call you.”

A bell went off in Chelsea’s head. Scripts? ‘The Lads?’ ‘New girl with a sore throat.’ Something very strange was happening here and she couldn’t quite place it all. It seemed Michael was living a life parallel to hers yet she couldn’t figure it out. She knew very little about his job or his friends, and he didn’t know much about her life. They were just two random people who met whilst they were shopping.

He kissed her cheek and motioned for her to stay seated as he left, shutting the door behind him.

Chelsea scrambled around her living room floor, hunting for the TV times that she’d bought just the other day. There had been a feature on Monty Python after the first show a couple of weeks previous to that, and she’d wanted to find out more about it if she was going to be a part of it.

Opening the magazine at the page indicated she flicked through the article and scanned for pictures. There was a cartoon foot that she recognised from the programme itself and she flicked over the page.

Staring up at her was a picture of John, Eric, Terry, Gilliam and Graham. In front of Graham and next to John was a familiar face. He smiled up at her with the cheeky grin she’d recognise anywhere.

Michael stared up at her with twinkling eyes and dimples, and Chelsea felt her insides lurch. She was working with the man she loved and they hadn’t even realised it yet.