Chapter Thirty-Two
Thirty-two
I’m pretty good at acting as if I’m okay, even when I’m not.
I’ve had a lot of practice. But the face I’m wearing today doesn’t feel like my own, and piece by piece, it feels like my life is falling apart.
There seems to be nothing I can do to keep what remains of it together.
And my agent thinks now is a good time to drop me, which will be career-ending.
Tony’s office is right in the middle of town.
It’s a sunny day, so I walk some of the way, avoiding the tube and the army of people who crowd onto it.
Just because I’ve chosen a life on-screen, it shouldn’t mean that I am no longer entitled to a life of my own, a life that is private.
Despite today’s online attack, I’m not too worried about people recognizing me; people tend to see what they want nowadays rather than what is actually there.
I’ve seen other actresses go out in hats and sunglasses, but that just draws attention.
Leaving my hair curly, not wearing too much makeup, and dressing just like everyone else is a much better disguise.
Sometimes people stare in my direction for a fraction longer than average, you can see it in their eyes, that moment of recognition.
But they can’t place me, can’t remember where they’ve seen my face before.
And I like that.
I’m early, so I wander around Waterstones in Piccadilly.
For the first time in days I lose myself just a little, and it is a nice place to get lost; there are so many books all under one roof.
I come here quite often and love that nobody ever knows who I am.
Sometimes I wish I could hide in here and only come out when everyone else has gone, and the staff have locked up and left for the day.
I’d spend the night reading something old, and at dawn I’d read something new.
You can’t allow the past to steal your present, but if you siphon off just the right amount, it can help fuel your future.
I’ve always felt safe in bookshops. It’s as though the stories inside them can rescue me from myself and the rest of the world.
A literary sanctuary filled with shelves of paper-shaped parachutes, which will save you when you fall.
Some people manage to blow their own childlike bubbles, to hide inside to protect themselves from the truth of the world.
But even if you float through life, safe inside your own bubble, you can still see what’s going on all around you.
You can’t shut the horror out completely, unless you close your eyes.
I buy a book. Surrounded by so many, it would seem rude not to.
It’s a story written in 1958. I’ve read it before, but it brings a curious sense of comfort to slip it inside my bag.
As I leave the shop, and the world of fiction, behind, it feels as if I’m taking a little bit of fantasy with me.
A talisman made of paper and words to help ward off reality.
I stroll out with a little more hope in my heart than when I entered.
I’m starting to think that everything might be okay after all.
Then a woman grabs my arm, pulling me backwards out of the road, just as a double-decker bus hurtles past. A blur of red rushes right in front of my face as the driver’s horn fills my ears.
“Watch where you’re going!” snaps my rescuer, with a shake of her aggressively permed head.
I mumble a thank-you, not quite able to form the words or catch the breath that seems to have been stolen from me. That was close. Too close. Sometimes I just don’t know what is wrong with me; I seem to have spent my whole life looking the wrong way.
I walk the final couple of streets to my agent’s office, then take the lift to the fifth floor.
The lift is empty, so I check my reflection in the mirror and spray myself with Chanel No.
5, not because I want to smell nice, but because this particular perfume has always made me feel calm when I’m most scared, I’m not sure why.
Seeing myself reminds me of the CCTV of the bank Detective Croft showed me earlier.
It wasn’t, but it really did look like me.
I didn’t close our account and then forget about it.
I’m not crazy. I’m more convinced than ever that Ben is working with someone else to try to destroy my career, but I have to lock these thoughts about him and her—whoever she is—away for now. Bury them both.
I stare at the fancy sign behind reception that says TALENT AGENCY and, as usual, wonder what I am doing here.
I’m not talented and I don’t fit. I always thought it was just a mistake when Tony signed me, so I suppose it was only a matter of time until he figured that out too.
I wait, trying not to fidget, while someone goes to tell him that I’m here.
It’s a big place. A tightly packed warren of glass-fronted offices, like a zoo of agents feeding on a healthy mix of talent and ambition.
Dream makers one day, heartbreakers the next.
The woman on the front desk smiles at me when we make eye contact.
She’s been staring at me since I walked through the door.
She’s new. I haven’t seen her before, and I wonder if she knows why I’m here. I wonder if they all know.
Agents dump their clients all the time.
I thought about checking Tony’s client list online on the way here, but I couldn’t make myself, just in case my name and photo had already been removed from the page.
The eye in the needle of my confidence has shrunk so small that I can no longer see a way through it, and even the tiniest threads of hope can’t find their way inside.
Alicia was right: I didn’t fit with his other clients in the first place and I still don’t.
A couple of movie roles was never going to be enough to change that.
My nerves get the better of me and I think I’m going to throw up.
Just as I stand to go to the bathroom, Tony’s latest assistant appears to take me to his office, so I make myself smile and follow her instead.
I’m convinced that everyone is looking at me as we walk down the maze of corridors, every step forwards requiring the most enormous mental, as well as physical, effort.
As though I were fighting gravity itself.
Tony is middle-aged, middle-class, and always in the middle of something.
He wears a permanent tan accompanied by an expensive suit, and his frown is a fixed feature, unless someone is looking his way, then he switches it off and lights his face with a mischievous grin instead.
His hair has turned prematurely white recently, and I’m hoping that representing me didn’t cause it.
He looks busy through the glass wall, hunched over his desk, glaring at his screen.
His assistant asks if I want a drink and I say no, even though I’m thirsty.
I’ve never got used to other people doing things for me, it feels wrong.
Tony sees me and it takes a second longer than it used to for his frown to convert into a smile. I try not to take it personally.
“So, how are you?” he says, closing the door behind me as I take a seat.
I’m fucking fucked and you know it.
“I’m great, how are you?”
I bet he says busy.
“I’m busy, real busy. The film is finished, right? I didn’t want to have this conversation until it was all wrapped up.”
Fuck. I knew it. I’m toast. Bastard, why couldn’t he have just told me by email? I can get another agent, maybe, but it won’t be the same. I’m sure I only got the parts I did because he represents me. I trust Tony, or at least, I did. I don’t trust anyone else. I’m fucking fucked.
“Aimee?” He interrupts my internal monologue. “Are you all right?”
No.
“Yes, sorry, just … tired.”
“I’ll get straight to the point then. Do you know why I asked to see you today?”
Because you are going to dump me and I hate you for it.
I shake my head. My fear dictates what I will say now.
And what I won’t. I find myself staring down at my feet, unable to watch or listen while this person I trusted sharpens the knife.
The nausea rises to grab my attention once more, and I think I might be sick right here in his office.
My knees start to do that thing where they tremble when I’m scared.
It’s such a cliché. I use my hands to try to keep them still, while wondering if there is anything at all I could say that would change Tony’s mind. He speaks before I get the chance.
“Well, it’s two things really…”
I always listen to what he says, but most of my efforts are currently focused on trying not to cry or throw up.
Please don’t do this.
“I received an email from your husband.”
Time stops.
“What?”
“He wanted to let me know that you weren’t coping with the pressure you’ve been under.
I’m aware that you’ve basically made two films this year, which is a lot, even for an experienced actor.
I want you to know that you can tell me if it’s ever all too much.
It is okay to say no to things from time to time.
There are things, and people, I can protect you from. ”
“I don’t know why he got in touch with you, I’m fine. Honestly.”
He stares at me for a long time. “Is everything all right at home?”
“Yes.” I’ve never lied to Tony before, it feels all wrong. “Actually, no, but it will be, soon. I hope.”
He nods, looks down at a script on his desk.
“Good, because the other reason I wanted to see you is that a director has been in touch about another movie. They wanted you to fly out to L.A. for an audition last week, but I said no on your behalf, seeing as I knew your filming schedule wouldn’t allow it.
So, the director and his team are coming to London next week, specifically to meet you.
I think the part is pretty much yours already …
if you want it. The job won’t start for at least a month, so you’ll get a little time off… ”
“Who is the director? Is it someone I’ve heard of?”
“Oh, yes.” He smiles.
“Who?”
“Fincher.”
I wait a moment, wanting to be sure I’ve heard him correctly. I conclude I haven’t.
“Fincher?”
“Yes.”
It must be a mistake or a really mean trick of some kind.
“Are you sure it’s me he wants to meet? Maybe they meant Alicia?”
I stare at him, looking for something in his face that isn’t there. “I don’t represent Alicia White anymore. There’s no mistake. What is it going to take for you to start believing in yourself?”
I travel back through time and space. I’m at school, in my drama teacher’s office, just after he gave me the part of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, even though I was too scared to audition.
My agent reminds me of that teacher a little bit.
I don’t understand why either of these people took a chance on me, but I’m so grateful that they did.
My life might not have turned out exactly how I wanted, but sometimes I feel so lucky I swear it hurts. And this is one of those times.
“Thank you,” I say eventually, finding my way back to the present.
Tony is pulling that face he pulls when he has another meeting fast approaching and needs me to go away, but doesn’t know how to say it. I stand to leave, relieved that he hasn’t read any of the online nonsense written about me today.
“Aimee.” I turn back. I can see from his face that I’ve got that wrong, too, of course he’s read it, he reads bloody everything.
But I’m surprised to see that he’s wearing his kind face, not the disappointed-father one I expected.
“If you only remember one thing that I tell you while I’m your agent, then I hope it’s this.
You should always fight, especially when you think you are going to lose.
That’s when you should fight the hardest.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, and leave before he can see me cry.