Chapter 22
22
MINNIE
Now
‘Minette Byrne to see Viola Rubin and Wim Fischer,’ she said as she reached the reception desk of Le Lapin Bleu. A small man with a bald head smiled daintily.
‘May I see your press pass, mademoiselle ?’
‘Oh I’m not press, I’m an actor. I’m here to meet the casting director, for an audition.’
‘Sorry no casting today, just press, for Swindlers .’
‘Oh. My agent in London, Devon Smith… he’s arranged a meeting, for midday, I’m a little early but?—’
This wasn’t helping Minnie’s already frazzled nerves.
‘Take a seat, s’il vous plait .’ The man nodded to an area of sofas where people were sitting recording voice notes and filing copy on their laptops. A woman with a mic and boom across her lap chatted to her cameraman. Everyone around her seemed to be press, dressed in crisp shirts and jeans, not actors, who always looked a little rougher around the edges. Minnie wondered if the whole thing had been a terrible mistake. She’d felt foolish when the taxi dropped her at the hotel two hours early, so she went for a walk, looking around the shops in the Marais, killing time. She should have gone into the hotel there and then and realised there might be a mix-up and no audition. She could have been spending the day with Jesse.
But she was here now. This was her shot. And hopefully Viola Rubin and Wim Fischer would realise and she would be seen any minute now.
Two hours later, Minnie’s phone battery was almost wiped. She’d messaged Rosie, Lillia and Anthony for solidarity. Her dad Jeremy had messaged to ask:
How did it go Plummers?
Minnie never knew why her dad called her Plummers . She replied to say she was still waiting to go in. Her mum Geraldine, who must have not been with Jeremy this morning, messaged soon after:
Did you meet him? Intrigued x
Minnie was feeling agitated and trapped. If she left the hotel, she might miss her chance. If she stayed there never to be called, she might waste this one glorious chance of a day. She turned to an American journalist sitting next to her. A woman with deep-set brown eyes and glossy hair. She’d been on the phone talking to a boss or editor about her interview for the past twenty minutes, but everything sounded cryptic, as if she were talking in code. Minnie tried to listen, for a distraction and to pass the time. For a journalist, the woman didn’t impart much.
When she finished another, shorter, phone call Minnie jumped in.
‘You met Wim Fischer then?’
‘Yah. Wim Fischer this morning, Brad Pitt this afternoon.’
Minnie gasped. ‘Oh, wow.’
‘Yeah. A day of two halves!’ she joked. ‘I’m just waiting for my car.’
Minnie looked at the journalist zipping up her laptop and Dictaphone. She yearned to be interviewed by a woman like her one day.
‘Is it all press up there? Do you know if there are any actors around?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, I was just moved along a production line. I was only here to interview Mr Fischer. It’s a circus up there. I don’t even have my own camera team today, I had to use theirs – although I noticed some people did…’ The journalist sounded wronged, and Minnie realised that whatever your discipline, things didn’t always go your way.
‘Oh, right.’ She smiled, glad for the conversation more than anything. A reminder that she wasn’t invisible. She was there. The wait had been long. She wished she’d brought a book or at least a magazine. She’d picked up Le Monde and lamented it; she ignored the Wall Street Journal . She was relieved when a man dropped Paris Match on the table and she could look at the gossipy photos.
‘Oh, that’s my car,’ the woman said gratefully, as she looked at her phone screen. Minnie would be grateful to be meeting Brad Pitt this afternoon. Her dad had had a small part playing his brother in a film twenty years ago, and said he had been lovely, when all the school mums stopped to ask. The journalist stood up and smoothed out her cream trouser suit, dropping her press pass on the floor. Minnie picked it up and handed it to her. Zahara Zaman, New York Times . ‘Thanks,’ she said, taking it.
‘What’s he like? Wim Fischer?’ Minnie asked, as Zahara Zaman was about to walk away. She stopped and looked at Minnie cautiously.
‘He’s an asshole.’