Читать книгу Still Got It, Never Lost It!: The Hilarious Autobiography from the Star of TV’s Pineapple Dance Studios and Dancing on Ice - Louie Spence - Страница 7

In spite of Dad having pranced about in my Lycra, all could be forgiven, considering the pains he took to try and get me into the Italia Conti Stage School in London. The daughter of one of Doreen’s friends, who worked as a dinner lady at Italia Conti, was a student there. Because I was advancing quickly through Doreen’s school, her friend offered to try and get me an audition at Italia Conti. Even though it cost an arm and a leg, there were people queuing up to get their children into the school.

I waited for the post every morning after requesting a prospectus from Italia Conti and a week later, bang! There it was, in a big white envelope, with the Italia Conti stamp on it. It felt as if all my birthdays had come at once.

Once my parents opened it and started to read, the look on their faces became very serious. I was very anxious watching them, knowing only they could make my dream come true. I thought it was going to be easy – I would get the prospectus, do the audition and start.

At age 12 I did not think about the financial implications, or the fact that I had three sisters and my parents were each working two jobs. I truly felt my life would be over if I could not get into Italia Conti. I would have done anything for this opportunity and I felt trapped within myself. I knew I had so much more to give, and so much more to explore, but I could not explore it in Braintree. It was now or never, and I knew that if I went to Italia Conti, it would change my life.

My parents explained that it would cost a lot of money that they did not have, that they would have to get money from the bank. I had to be one hundred per cent sure that this was what I wanted to do; I might even have to live away from home. If I lived at home, I would have to get an early train each morning and arrive home late in the evenings. They pointed out that there would no longer be time to play with my friends and that the whole family would have to make sacrifices for this. My sisters might have to miss out on school trips, birthdays and all the things you take for granted as a child.

But as you can imagine, in 1982, at 12 years old, all I could think of was going to this school that I imagined to be like the TV show Fame. I was going to be the next Leroy, apart from the fact that I was 12, white, gay and had a lisp. In my mind I couldn’t see any reason why I couldn’t be black with tight, toned thighs and perfect cane-rows in my hair. That was my inspiration, I had not seen dance like that before in my life. When I watched Leroy (I know it’s not his real name) and the rest of the cast of Fame dancing, I knew that was how I was born to dance: I knew that burning passion inside me had to be released.

I know it may sound selfish, but I did not care whether my sisters went on school trips, or couldn’t get a pair of pipeline jeans. (For those of you who don’t know what pipeline jeans are, they were skin-tight with a slight bit of stretch and piping down the outside of the leg. They were available in many different colours and gave a lovely line, which was great for lengthening the leg. I have always loved a good line and a bit of length.)

This feeling was so strong, I couldn’t let what Mum and Dad were telling me take my dream away. Nothing, and no-one, was going to stand in my way: I knew even then that I had to audition, otherwise I would never have been able to forgive myself or my parents if they stopped me from pursuing my dream. There are certain things in your life that you know are right, a feeling so strong that you don’t have to question it. There are other times where you dither and nothing comes of it. I don’t think I’m special, I think it comes to us all in different forms, for different things.

For the first time that I could remember, my parents treated me as a grown-up when they spoke to me about the process. They knew how important it was to me and wanted me to understand how difficult it was going to be financially if I passed the audition. I think there was a part of them that wanted me to say that I didn’t really want to go, but they could both see that this was not just a fad that I had decided on lightly.

So, regardless of whether Mum and Dad were going to pay, in my head I was already there. I say already there, I would still have to get through the audition process. As I said, everything in dance came easy to me: I didn’t have to think about it but now I was starting to poop my pants a little because not only did I have to dance, but I also had to sing and act.

Now, the acting I didn’t think I’d have a problem with, until I read that it had to be a piece of Shakespeare. Starting off with an ‘S’ was not a good sign and as for singing, I’d never tried it, just ‘Happy Birthday’ at the odd party. So that was my song choice, ‘Happy Birthday’, everyone knows it. It’s good to have something everyone can sing along to. I also didn’t dare to ask my parents for more money for singing lessons.

Nothing is for free in this world, is it? Well, saying that, now I get a lot of things for free: face creams, trainers, track pants. If you’re interested, you can get it all for a good price – my sister set up a shop on eBay.

And as for the acting, I just asked Anne May, the drama teacher at Notley High School. She was a lovely lady. Obviously, being an actor, she had a lot of gay friends and she sniffed me out straightaway. She decided the best part for me to play was Puck. I was like ‘F***’ I can’t even speak modern-day English, let alone get all olde worlde with a bit of Shakespeare. But Puck it was, and Puck I did (I said Puck!).

The king doth keep his revels here tonight,

Take heed the Queen come not within his sight.

For Oberon is passing fell and wroth

Because that she, as her attendant hath

A young boy stolen from an Indian king.

That’s all I can remember and it may not be perfect, but that’s how I did it.

So, I had ‘Happy Birthday’ for my song, Puck (F***) for my acting piece, and now to the bit that I could do. It was Lyrical Jazz, a beautiful dance style that I discovered (but obviously had been discovered long before me). This was a style I felt at one with, it was my trump card, my ace.

It was choreographed by Dadina and Doreen. Dadina gave me the Lyrical Jazz and Doreen inserted the acrobatics. This was my forte, and I had to blow them away if I was to get in. And on the day I almost did: I was so nervous, I couldn’t stop farting. In Lycra, it’s not a good look; it’s that tight, you could see the bubble going down my leg.

I had moved on from the Lycra with the disco tassels. I was much more sophisticated and on trend with what was happening. It was a sleeveless black-vest top style, all-in-one cotton Lycra, three-quarter length, no stirrups. It was very big in the Eighties, cotton Lycra, as I’m sure all you girls (and some of you gays) will remember. I’m sure some of you had the popper stud or velcro leotards, with your leggings and mini to match. This time I did mail order and bypassed the shop in Braintree that only stocked women’s wear. Dadina bought it for me from Freeds in London.

I was also treated to my first pork strap, or jockstrap, whatever you want to call it. It’s quite a strange experience, really, putting it on for the first time. Let me explain it for you: a man’s dance support strap isn’t like a man’s sport support strap. Sports straps have two pieces of elastic on the outside of each butt cheek, which give lift and support both sides.

When you train as a dancer, working your gluteus maximus (that’s your ass, to anyone from Essex), you don’t need the side support. It’s straight up your back crack like a cheese wire. I can’t remember if my balls had dropped or not by age 12, but it looked like I had a vagina. It really did its job, the Cotton Lycra jock strap, and held you in.

So, everything was in place, including my balls. All I had to do was get it right on the day. And that day was getting nearer. I had to wait two months after the letter arrived for my audition and those two months felt like two years. As you know, when you’re that young, time never seems to pass. Unlike now – by the time this book comes out, which should be pretty soon, you might have forgotten about me. No, I don’t think you will have forgotten me. How could you forget me?!

I HAD not slept for most of the night before the audition and it was the first time that had happened. Not even at Christmas had this occurred to me. I know I keep saying I can remember things clearly, but I am very alert: I was fearful, worried, anxious because I knew it was make or break and could really change my life; and I was making, I was not about to be broken.

I met Doreen at 7.30 am at Braintree Station (Dadina could not come because she was doing a professional dance job); we were on the commuter run and I had never seen so many men in suits. It was a bit of a fight for a seat really, but we did manage. I needed the rest; I might have been young, but I hadn’t slept all night. My anxiety started to kick in shortly into the journey and I was beginning to feel nauseous. I think it had something to do with the cigarette smoke in the carriage, but I managed to get through the journey of one hour and 10 minutes, then a tube trip. I felt ill again on the tube, being pushed and squashed between all those grownups. It was not what I needed before facing the biggest day of my life.

We finally reached Clapham North and my nerves almost got the better of me. I had read the name Clapham North on the audition letter so many times: ‘On leaving Clapham North, bear to the right, and there you will see Landor Road’. I can’t remember the number but I can clearly remember the sounds and smells of showbusiness. I could hear a piano being played in one studio, pop music coming from another, while some students sang in the stairwells. It was like the fabric of the building was alive.

It was not a glamorous building by any means; thinking back, it was actually quite run down. But at that time, to me it seemed like the brightest, shiniest, most welcoming door I had ever opened in my life. I had to get through the audition and I had to be accepted into the school – it was where I belonged.

My dreams of being a dancer like those I used to watch on the big variety shows on Saturday nights were closer to becoming reality. I used to sit in front of the TV and think to myself, ‘I want to be one of those boys.’ I was inspired by watching them dance; in Braintree I seemed to be the only boy attending dance classes. There were a couple of male dancers in particular that I used to see on all the variety shows, such as Royal Variety Performance and The Marti Caine Show.

One of them was Eurasian, with long, jet-black hair that swished as he danced. The other was blond, with blue eyes; I say he was blond, but really, he had highlights. If there was a female artist on the show, he seemed to be the one who always danced with or close to them.

Years later, when I was taking classes at Pineapple, a friend introduced me to him. I literally gasped when I met him. His name was Greg and I thought to myself, ‘If he only knew how much I used to fancy him!’

After reporting to reception we were sent to a room with the other auditionees and that was when reality finally kicked in. I was not the only one hoping to get in and places were limited. It was not a comprehensive school and they could only accommodate so many students per year. One advantage in being a boy was that there were never as many of you fighting for a place. On my audition day there was one other boy and out of about 20 kids, I was one of the last to audition.

If it was just about dancing, it would have been easy for me. I could check out the competition auditioning in the studio next to the room we were waiting in and, worse for me, we could hear them singing – and the other boy was not singing ‘Happy Birthday’, nor was he singing out of tune. He was singing like an angel sent from heaven. That’s when I had one of my very first gay moments, calling him a bitch. In my mind, of course, not out loud.

I questioned myself for a moment, wondering why I was calling him a bitch, but it was only a moment. But then I remembered: I was different, or special, as I like to call it in my own mind. Then it was my turn.

‘Louie Spence, please.’

My heart was pumping so fast and I was shaking that much – when I went into the studio the first thing I saw was the panel that was going to judge me. They sat behind a long table and looked very stern. Each one had a notepad and a glass of water in front of them. There were two women and two men.

The first lady looked like a headmistress and was in fact the principal of the school. She seemed to be in her fifties. She was very well-groomed and wore a two-piece tweed suit. It was blue with yellow flecks and the jacket had three big gold buttons. Her hair was in a chignon and she wore oval tortoiseshell glasses.

Next to her was a younger man in his forties, with thick brown, greying hair that had a sharp side parting. His beard was unkempt and he wore a dowdy dark blazer that you would find on most history or geography teachers.

Next was a middle-aged lady with crazy dark-brown hair, with a soft frizzy perm. Throughout the audition she twisted her hair through her fingers, tousling and teasing it. She wore thick mascara, which gave her three large lashes on each eye. Her lipstick was bright red and could have stopped traffic. She wore an off-the-shoulder top, which she shifted off one shoulder to the other throughout the audition and I found this very off-putting.

To her left was the pianist. He wore stone-washed jeans and a leather biker jacket, which I thought was an odd choice. I found out later he did not have a motorbike and looking back, I can see it was a gay fashion and that he was a leather queen.

They asked my name and I had a vibrato in my voice. Unfortunately it did not help my rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’. The panel was very to the point and told me my vocal performance needed a lot of work. In my mind again, I was thinking, ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

Next was the piece from Shakespeare, which received pretty much the same response. At this point I could feel my dream slipping away from me – I knew this was it. I had to make it work. When I knew I had to dance everything became a blur and the panel seemed to speak in slow motion. I lost myself in the dance and when I finished, I could not remember starting, what was in the middle or getting to the end. What I could see was the panel applauding my performance and nodding in a way that reassured me that they understood who I was and what I was about.

I just had to hope that it would be enough because my singing and acting were definitely not up to scratch. I left the audition happy but very apprehensive, knowing that I would have to wait up to six weeks for their decision. I could not think about anything else for those two months and if you don’t know what I mean, think back to your first love: when you couldn’t sleep, you couldn’t think, you couldn’t eat. Dance was my first love and I didn’t want it to end: I was going to be faithful and loving for ever and ever, and it is true. Still to this day, even if I have nothing else in my life, no-one can take my love of dance away from me because it truly is part of who I am.