Free Bugsy Malone by Alan Parker

attempt to look displeased at her entrance. A morning going through what he’d been through made it easier to welcome Lena back with open arms – and Oscar’s arms were held very, very wide.
    â€œLena, honey, you came back to me.”
    Lena screwed up her horrid little precocious face. The freckles on her nose disappeared into the wrinkles that were formed. “I’ll give you one more chance, you hear me, Oscar, otherwise I’m out for good. Out, out, out!”
    Her entourage, who had followed her in, fussed round her as she poked her bony little finger at Oscar. His assistant poked out her tongue behind her clipboard by way of defiance. Oscar repeated himself.
    â€œLena, honey, you came back to me.”
    The audition queue looked on in silence, including Blousey, who was still waiting centre stage to begin her song. Oscar broke away from his returned star long enough to send everybody home. The charade was over.
    â€œOK, everyone, the audition’s finished.”
    The hopefuls, the would-bes and the might-have-made-its walked off like dejected mongrels, their tails between their legs. The harp player dragged away her enormous harp, risking serious injury as she yanked it across the stage. Blousey was very dejected and Bugsy put his arm around her to console her.
    â€œCheer up. There’s a million other jobs.”
    â€œSure, on the sidewalk with a hat to catch the dimes in.”
    Bugsy pushed open the double doors that led off the wings and into a narrow brick corridor at the rear of the theatre. “It’s only a matter of time,” he said rather lamely.
    Blousey pulled away from him and kicked at a pile of scenery that toppled over on to the floor with a loud crash.
    â€œCool off, will you,” Bugsy shouted at her.
    Blousey was getting very tearful and shouted back, “Look. I’ve been walking the streets of New York for six months now, and the only fancy steps I’ve done so far are avoiding the man who collects the rent.”
    â€œSo it takes time to be a movie star. We could come back tomorrow.”
    â€œCome back tomorrow? Come back tomorrow! Come back! That’s all I ever hear. My whole life I’ve been coming back tomorrow.”
    Blousey was getting very distraught, and with this last outburst she let fly with another kick that toppled another pile of scenery to the ground. Bugsy was beginning to get angry.
    â€œKnock it off, will you, Blousey? Cool down.”
    â€œI will not cool down. I will not! I will not!”
    By now Bugsy had had enough, and unhooked the fire bucket from the wall. He wasn’t quite sure of the contents as he threw it. It could have been sand, but it turned out to be water and it drenched Blousey from head to toe. Blousey screamed with rage. She was wet through – and suddenly her anger subsided and she began to sob instead.
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    Bugsy put his arm around her once more. “Don’t worry. There’s always Fat Sam’s place.”
    â€œHe won’t see me,” she sniffed.
    â€œI’ll talk to him?”
    â€œYou know him?”
    â€œKnow him? We’re like that.” Bugsy crossed his fingers to show how close a buddy of Fat Sam’s he was.
    â€œYou’re real good friends?”
    â€œNo. It’s just that when I talk to him, I cross my fingers that he won’t hit me.”
    Blousey laughed for the first time and Bugsy took off his coat and put it over her shoulders. They walked down the corridor laughing as Blousey’s feet squelched loudly in her soggy wet shoes.

T HE SLEEK BLACK sedan squeaked around the corner. Its occupants made it bulge at the seams, and, really, to call it sleek is to flatter it. Fat Sam’s gang fell out rather awkwardly.
    They were a ragged bunch of individuals who vaguely answered to the term ‘hoodlums’, but they frightened themselves a lot more than they frightened anyone else. They sauntered