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Who's Who in London Hooligans - Ian McKellen
ACT 1: '...With gentle work did frame...'
Ian spent his childhood in a small town in the north of England, where most of the population were miners. His parents were not well-liked in the community, mostly because they disagreed with the local church authorities, but they were hard-working and retiring folk, and had enough sense not too be too outspoken to their superiors.
Ian had one sister, whom he adored: a tall girl with slender hands who had a talent for needlework and tatting lace. She was several years his elder, and looked after him as much as he would look after her: she was prone to catching colds, and it seemed she'd suffer fevers with every change of the season. More often than not, Ian would play nursemaid to her as a boy, while his parents worked: his father was a streetsweeper, his mother a seamstress.
His mother's eyesight failed when Ian was hardly old enough to walk, and his sister took up the sewing as well she could, to keep the shop. Ian grew up surrounded by the art of tailoring and took to it at a young age. As the months passed, his mother's health failed, until she was blind and bed-ridden, unable to care for herself, let alone her family. She past away when Ian was six.
Ian's father was heartbroken over the death of his wife, in particular because he felt that it was in payment for his conflict with the church. He took to drinking during the week, and praying for forgiveness on Sunday, often so deep in a drunken stupor and grief as to fall asleep in the church graveyard. One morning he was found there dead, his heart having gave way. Ian was nine.
His sister had the family trait of pride and stubborness, and was determined to look after her brother and herself without charity from the church she felt had destroyed her parents. She worked ever harder in the dress shop, often working late into the night by candlelight. The work was hard, and it took its toll. Ian took on a job as an errand boy for the local greengrocer, a kind old man from 'somewhere else', although whether it was Greece or Italy, Ian was never quite sure. The fellow was fond of wine, and music, especially opera, and encouraged Ian's natural showmanship at any chance. He also taught him to read and do sums, and would tell him the most wonderful stories. Ian adored him, but his affection was not shared by the others in town, who saw the old man as on outsider. Ian learned early on the extent of locals' dislike of all things different.
His sister would make use of Ian's errand running, having him carry parcels of garments to the wealthier houses on the outskirts of the little town. There were many summer houses there, and business was always more plentiful with the arrival of 'money'. The inn at the crossroads was usually busy year-round, a large sprawl of a place, with a well-kept tavern and a seemly unending number of maids. Ian was often sent there bearing clothes for them. They would thank him with little giggles and tease him on how tall and handsome he was becoming, often slipping him apples, sweets and even sips of ale and wine in addition to a few coins 'For your sister's lovely ribbons and lace embellishments', they would say. 'Makes a merrier maid and more for the purse'.
It was not many months before Ian learned of the nature of most of the serving maids there beyond providing food and drink. Even with the occasional offer, however, Ian felt no desire to sample their wares, but found himself, even at the tender age of ten, drawn to one of the dark-haired stable lads of the inn instead, a fact he kept hidden deep in his guilty heart.
ACT 2: '...Play the tyrants...'
It was a cold, wet, miserable autumn the year Ian turned twelve, and the winter's frosts came early. Ian's sister was beset with a fever so severe that she felt like a burning coal. The shop had to be closed for near a forenight, and what little savings they had was soon depleted. The snow began to fall so deep that they could not open the door, and the only consolation Ian felt in it was that there were no customers out to serve. The dark days seemed to go on and on for weeks, until at last it thawed enough for Ian to escape the prison of the dress shop and seek some help. But it was too late for his sister; she did not recover, and she died when the palest shoots of green were visible on the trees. There was not enough left to even provide her with a decent burial. Ian had no relations left to comfort him.
Many had suffered that horrible winter: Ian's kindly employer had passed away, too, and the stableboy Ian had loved from a-far had been found dead near a local farm's haystack, frozen to death from being caught in one of the sudden blizzards that had plagued the area in the months before. Having no savings and no employer, Ian quickly found himself being evicted from the only home he had ever known. The landlord coldly suggested that he see if one of the local farmers were in need of an extra hand, or perhaps he could find a position at a workhouse, to earn his keep. But the shop was to be let, and Ian had to go.
Ian packed the few things he could consider his from the small, empty room at the back of the dress shop: his sister's sewing box, several bits of lace, and a bound book of the works of Shakespeare, given to him by his former employer. Wrapping up the last bits of food and shouldering his pack, Ian left the only home he had ever known, unsure of his destination. In his heart were the first real stirrings of hatred for humanity at large, and a desire to never go without again, but to live by his wits and cunning.
At the outskirts of town, Ian found himself resting by the side courtyard of the inn, wondering where to go. The smell of fresh baked goods came from the inn's kitchen, making Ian wish he had anything he might give in trade to stave off his hunger. The kitchen maid, a plain-faced girl appeared, swinging the water bucket. "Hoy, there!" she called. "What are you doing here, with no deliveries? Waiting for a lady?" She laughed. "Got our eye on one of 'em? It will cost more than your coppers, Ian lad, just for a suck. They don't do for charity."
"I don't want 'em, Alice; there nought in this house as interests me, other than pies and bread and ale, maybe. But I've nothing for trade. They've let the shop, so I've nothing now."
The maid's expression shifted to a sympathic frown. "Poor lad! Where are you off to, then?"
"The wide world, I suppose. Likely to follow the path to London; don't they say that's the place for lads like me?"
"Oh, Ian, the city? It's so long a way, and I've heard horrid things about the young town fellows that go there."
"Where else should I get to, then, Alice? I've no relations; I'm alone in the world."
Alice set down the bucket, and Ian helped her work the pump. She gave him a thoughtful look as he took the heavy bucket up to carry it back to kitchen for her. "You could stay here; we've need of another stableboy--"
"I know," Ian said woodenly, pouring the bucket into the zinc dishtub. He set the pail down with a thud.
Alice's eyes widened.. "Ohhhhh," she murmured quietly. "Like that, was it?"
Ian just nodded, not trusting his voice. The reality of his misery hit him in a sudden wave, that he was truly alone, the feeling mingling with the injustice of it all. "We didn't...I mean, I never told him."
Alice wiped her hands on her apron. "Well, ma'am only has the lasses here, but....Just let me talk to the lady, lad. We'll find you a place." She slipped a couple of rolls into his hand. "Go on, sit and eat. I'll be back soon."
Alice returned with good news: Ian was to be taken on as an employee, working in the stables and the kitchen, and helping with the odd jobs. Nothing else would be asked of him other than discretion. Although he didn't know it, Ian's life had just taken a great turn for the better.
ACT 3: '...And bareness everywhere...'
He was 'money', Ian knew that from the moment the man was ushered into the parlour where Ian had tucked himself into a corner. The girls found it comforting to have Ian there while they entertained their customers with more polite graces before retiring upstairs. Ian would often be found there reading his book of Shakespeare when there was company, acting as unobtrustive chaparone, and sometimes, when business was a bit slack, the girls could convince him to recite sonnets for them, or act out bit of the plays. Without really thinking of it, Ian imitated his former employer, and began to develop a theaterical presence. But his new-found talent was like the family silver, rarely displayed, and when Lord Brian was shown in, Ian was as quiet and out-of-the-way as possible.
He was a stately fellow, Lord Brian was, and although he was no doubt several decades older than Ian, he was handsome. His sharp eyes roamed over the girls with disinterest, not even considering most of them. His gaze fell on Ian, who had gone back to his reading, and he smiled. He drew the madame aside, conversing with her. She threw a startled look in Ian's direction, then smiled her most generous smile, leading the client to a seat by the door, offering to light his cigarette for him.
Smoothing her hands over her bodice, she made her way to Ian. "Listen, lad," she said, "in the two years you've been here you know I've never before asked, but there's a fine gentleman over there as would like a bit of company. It's not the girls he fancies, it's you he's asking after. It's a pretty bit of cash, I promise you—and he's not likely to last long, his kind never do. He'll not hurt you, neither; he's a gentleman and knows my rules. You might even enjoy it. What do you say, eh?"
For a long moment, it seemed that Ian hadn't even heard; he simply continued to stare at the Bard's works on the tome in front of him. Slowly he closed the book. "And what services would he be interested in my providing for him, precisely?" he asked quietly. "I'll admit to you I've not much experience in such ... engagments."
She laughed. "Of course not, Ian; you're as virgin as fresh-fallen snow! This time 'round it will be just a touch and squeeze, or if you're willing, give him a suck, not to worry. In fact, I'll be generous: you can keep all your earnings for it. So you'll do it?"
Ian looked across the room to the well-dressed gentleman who sat turned away from him, the smoke from his cigarette wreathing about his neatly groomed head, one of his legs casually thrown over his knee. Ian felt an odd flutter run through him. "I'll do it," he said.
Ian took him up to one of the rooms at the far end of the hall, having been slipped a key by his mistress. He was feeling a bit unsure as he closed the door and stood in the middle of the room. Lord Brian broke the silence. "What do they call you, boy?" he asked.
"Ian, sir."
"How old are you, Ian?"
"I turned sixteen last May, sir."
"Ah, I see..." Lord Brian sat on the settee, patting the space beside him. "Sit down, Ian."
Ian sat. The close proximity of the man made Ian's head swim, a shiver running over him.
"Are you nervous, Ian? You needn't be." Brian ran a hand over Ian's cheek, tracing his jaw. "Madame told me you're new, and for now you will remain so. You're quite handsome, you know, and I wouldn't want to spoil your loveliness too soon." Brian leaned forward to kiss him softly. Ian gave a small sigh, the sensual touch intense to his inexperienced skin. Brian's kisses grew more insistant, more passionate, and Ian felt a sudden flush of exitement as he sensed the older man's hand trace over his trouser buttons. Kneading the stirring flesh there, Brian whispered, "Take off your clothes, boy; let me see you."
With raw gasps, Ian stripped naked, and when Brian let down his trousers, taking Ian's hand and placing it on his own erection, Ian stroked him eagerly. Brian thrust into his hands, almost silent, kissing Ian deeply. Pressing on Ian's shoulders, he gestured for him to kneel. "Take it in," he said hoarsely, "Finish it."
Brian was soon thrusting against Ian, caressing his head, shaking as he leaned back on the settee. With a loud groan, he burst, and Ian desperately tried not to choke on the sudden flood, his own aching member begging for completion. Brian lay back and watched breathlessly as Ian satisfied his own arousal, the lad bending forward as if in supplication, eyes shut and murmuring quietly until he was finished.
Brian threw him one of the linens with which to clean himself. "What was that you were saying?" he asked. "It sounded like poetry."
Ian glanced at him, his face still flushed. "It was Shakespeare," he said in a low voice. "One of the sonnets."
Brian stared at him for a long moment, then gave a sharp bark of laughter. "A molly rentboy reciting the Bard! Such high style! Are you a thespian then?" He rose, dressing. Reaching into his pocket, he tossed his money to the settee in front of Ian. He stood before the mirror to re-knot his tie. "There's extra for that; I'm always one to patronise the arts. And you did quite well for your premiere performance."
Ian looked at the money dully. Being with another man had felt wonderful, a thrill beyond all he had imagined, and he felt stung by the sudden return to commerce. He gathered the cash up and stood, pulling on his trousers and walking up to Lord Brian. He took the gentleman's hand and pressed the money into his palm. "I am a thespian, yes, despite my surroundings. In that you're correct," he said hotly. "But I'm no rent boy; I went with you willingly, for my own desire. But I'm done with you. You've got what you came for. Take your money and go!"
Lord Brian stared at the lad agape. Ian met his stare with one of his own, his eyes gone a steel-shod blue. "My word, but you're a bold one!" Brian remarked. "You've got pride, I'll say that for you, Ian." He put the money down on the top of the washstand. "How old do you think I am, lad?" he asked.
Ian shrugged.
"Old enough to admire your youthful temper, trust me. I find it quite...attractive. And I find you intriguing, too. I wonder, Master Ian, if you might be persuaded to join me during my stay in the country over this summer. Not for this, no; just for simple innocent companionship. I have few acquaintances here, and I rather think we'll find much to talk about. You see, although I said it in jest, I am fond of the theater, and you seem quite taken on the plays of the Bard."
"I am, indeed, sir."
"Well, then, my dear Ian, forgive my rude comments before. You are an attractive, handsome young man, you know. I did truly enjoy our...athletics...today, but I've found the promise of simple conversation with you just as engaging. I'll send for you."
There was a certain unexpected tenderness in Lord Brian's voice that Ian found quite attractive himself. "I look forward to it, sir," he answered, and he shook his hand warmly when the nobleman took his leave.
ACT 4: '...Substance still lives sweet...'
It was the beginning of a growing respect and admiration between Ian and Lord Brian, one that continued through the summer into early fall, and as the summer house was tidied away for the end of the summer, Ian came to realise that he loved Brian, and that Brian loved him.
As the summer flora withered, their relationship flourished. Lord Brian was alone in the world, much as Ian was, and when the time came, he asked that Ian return to London with him. He offered to see to his every need, including what Ian thought to be the best of gifts: a private tutor, to help transform the streetsweep's son into a well-educated young gentleman. Ian blossomed under Lord Brian's attention, and slowly they developed the other side of their love, to sharing a bed, too. Ian's initation into the acts of such love was just as memorable as his first experience, all the more sweeter by the care and consideration Lord Brian had.
Ian was Lord Brian's faithful companion almost everywhere the man went, acting as his secretary and confidant in the public eye, and Ian found a comfortable happiness in daily existance with the arrangement. Lord Brian went abroad on occasion, to Europe and beyond, and Ian travelled with him, gaining an education of a different sort. They continued to attend theater as much as possible, and Lord Brian's boast of being a supporter of the arts was witnessed many times by Ian, his lover being generous in his donations. So too were Lord Brian's accesses; his fondness for 'male company' and the desires that were unspeakable were also fed well on Lord Brian's purse. Ian's discretion was a given, although the other nobles that shared in Lord Brian's entertainments were often cruel and to Ian's eyes of such loathsome decadence as to sicken him. Lord Brian, however, had come to regard Ian as being on par with his own class: so complete was Ian's transformation that he could pass through society without note.
Lord Brian had not been a young man even when he first encountered Ian, and as the years went by, he grew older and more dependent on the younger man he had taken on. At last he passed away without having married or produced an heir, the lonely house empty of family. Only Ian and the housekeeper, who also served as cook, remained to mourn him.
Ian was rewarded handsomely in Lord Brian's will, as was the housekeeper: in addition to recieving a yearly stipend, they each were given some of his holdings in London. For Ian Lord Brian had set in place an theater endowment: a music hall of Ian's own, to manage as he saw fit. The will specified that Ian was to remain the proprietor of the property, and that he may do as he wished with it. Ian was not at all ashamed to admit that he wept with gratitude at the foresight of his lover, giving him something to comfort him in his loss.
So at the prime of his life, Ian found himself the owner of his own stage and a man of means. No-one looking at him would have guessed that he had his beginnings as a town orphan, or that he had been resident of the town brothel or nobleman's lover. He had perfected his image as a gentleman, and was ready to begin his new career. Or rather careers, for Ian had never forgotten the harsh lessons of his youth, nor did fail to see the potential of his little theater to cater to those of a certain taste. A bizaare mix of legitimate and not so legitimate endeavors were all about to be staged at the Briar Rose Theater. Now it was time for Ian to gather roses for his bouquets, for all the world's a stage, and all are mere players....
