The Doris Day Vintage Film Club: A hilarious, feel-good romantic comedy. Fiona Harper
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Talk it is,’ Claire said, smiling as she slid it from its sleeve. ‘Great choice, Peggy. Jean Louis created the whole wardrobe for that film. It shows Doris in some of the most spectacular creations of her career – smart, simple, elegant. In other words, perfect.’
She dimmed the lights and a reverent hush fell over the room.
The opening credits rolled and a sense of both peace and nostalgia swept over Claire as the jaunty little title song played and an anonymous pyjama-clad couple threw pillows back and forth at each other from their respective beds. She let out a long breath.
It had been a long day, and she hadn’t realised she’d need this moment to switch off and unwind until it had come upon her. Now, for a glorious ninety minutes, she could sit back, relax, and lose herself in a world where wrongs were always righted, love always triumphed and even the most scheming scoundrel could be redeemed.
When the film finished, Claire turned the lights back on and the members of the Doris Day Film Club started to gather their belongings together. Claire noticed Kitty and Grace turn to Abby, expectant looks on their faces.
‘Did you like the film?’ Grace asked. Of the two, she was definitely less talkative, preferring to emulate some of the screen goddesses of old and maintain an air of mystery. She was tall, with a long neck, aristocratic features and vibrant red hair. Her eyes were always slightly hooded, and Claire was never quite sure whether it was in an effort to look sexy or because she thought feigning boredom was cool. She and the shoot first, think later Kitty were certainly an interesting pair.
Abby looked from one to the other, as if she was surprised girls like that would start up a conversation with her, and then a slow, shy smile spread across her lips. She nodded. Kitty and Grace gave each other a knowing look.
‘What did you like best about it?’ Kitty asked, grabbing Abby’s arm.
Abby’s eyes widened, then she thought for a moment. ‘I liked her … Jan. I mean, Doris. She seemed nice.’
‘That’s why we love Doris too,’ Kitty said, while Grace just flicked her hair back over her shoulder. ‘There’s something so warm and approachable about her, even while she’s looking glamorous in all those epic clothes and—’
‘She’s sexy too,’ Grace added in her husky voice.
‘Yes,’ Kitty said, ‘but she’s sexy without being in-your-face about it.’ She shot a look at Grace as she said that. ‘And then there’s the whole “perpetual virgin” thing … I think it’s kind of romantic … I think I’d like to be thought of that way – sexy but unobtainable.’
‘I don’t think anyone’s going to mistake you for a perpetual virgin!’
Kitty pinned her with a fierce look. ‘Well, that’s better than being like you! If a man ever does get into those knickers of yours, he’s going to find they’ve frozen solid!’
Grace just flicked her hair again and turned away.
Kitty leaned in closer to Abby and took on a confidential tone. ‘Okay, I had some insecurity issues a while ago, and maybe I tried to solve them by seeking male attention—’ she glanced towards the blank screen of the television ‘—but watching these films has made me think that maybe I’d like a bit of old-fashioned respect.’
Abby nodded, looking uncomfortable at Kitty’s massive overshare.
Grace’s perfect mask of calm showed signs of cracking. ‘Sorry,’ she said to Kitty, while keeping her eyes fixed on the garish wallpaper. ‘I’ve been trying to develop some of that Bacall-like rapier wit and sometimes it runs away with me.’
Kitty rolled her eyes but her expression softened. ‘Forgiven. Anyway, we’re drifting from the point … What we’re trying to do is tell Abby that Doris is all about the fun and the romance—’
‘And the fashion,’ Grace added seriously.
Claire was sliding the DVD of Pillow Talk back into her storage case. She’d been listening to the conversation. ‘Actually, Doris ended up hating the image people, and the media, had of her. Her real life wasn’t like that at all,’ she said.
Kitty and Grace looked at her, their expressions slightly blank. Abby looked at the floor.
‘We all love her because she’s bright and perky and happy on screen, you’re right,’ Claire continued, ‘but she had a lot of tragedy in her life. The real Doris Day is a lot more complex than people think.’
‘Oh, I know,’ Kitty said, nodding absent-mindedly, and then she grinned, ‘but the clothes! Did you see the clothes, Abby? Which ones were your favourites?’
And with that, Kitty inked arms with Abby and steered her towards the door. Grace wafted along behind them. Poor Abby looked stuck halfway between awe and terror. Who knew if she was going to come again next meeting – which would be next week, rather than next month, as the membership had unanimously embraced the idea of a Doris Day film festival. Claire supposed it depended on how desperate she was for those Arsenal tickets.
She looked up at Maggs, who was hovering near the committee table, and gave a heavy sigh. ‘They don’t get it, do they? Those girls? They don’t know the truth about Doris. All they can see is the pastel colours, the dazzling smile, the voice of an angel …’
They didn’t know what Claire knew – the one reason she’d really started to love Doris Day in her own right, not because her grandmother had – that Doris was tough. She was a survivor. Claire wanted to be just like her.
‘It’ll come,’ Maggs said, strangely reasonably for her. ‘After all, you didn’t get it at first.’
Claire nodded. She hoped Maggs was right. It was one of the reasons she’d wanted to keep the club running after Gran’s death. Gran had known the truth too, drawn strength from it. Her life hadn’t been easy either.
There wasn’t much clearing up to be done after club meetings. Usually, there’d be a bit of chit-chat after the film, then people would drift off one by one until it was just her, left to give the place a quick once-over before she turned out the light and shut the door, but tonight Maggs was hovering.
Claire straightened the lampshade that Abby had bumped into. Maggs didn’t seem to be making any moves to leave, so Claire glanced over her shoulder at her, just in time to see Maggs finish taking a quick nip from her hip flask and hide it back in her handbag.
Claire frowned, but didn’t say anything about it. Instead, she asked, ‘George not giving you a lift this evening?’
Maggs shook her head. ‘I told him to go on without me.’
Claire stopped fussing with the shade, which would just not consent to stay horizontal. ‘Oh? Are things okay between you two?’
Maggs shrugged.
Claire turned to look at her. She’d thought Maggs and George might have been developing a little ‘thing’. Maybe she’d been wrong, but she hadn’t failed to notice the way that at some club meetings, as the film rolled, George wouldn’t be watching Doris on the fifty-two inch screen all the time. Sometimes he’d be watching Maggs.
It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, even though Maggs had scoffed at the suggestion. Claire knew how lonely she’d been after Sid had died. They’d been married for thirty-eight years, after all. It had to leave a horrible hole.
She put a hand on Maggs’s bony shoulder. Maggs, her full height at five feet and one inch, looked up at Claire, her expression guarded, eyes searching. ‘I just don’t know,’ she said quietly, revealing more than she ever had on the