Chapter 5
Hunter
My prayers have been answered. Maybe. Potentially. I’ve been handed another lifeline.
Doily was unable to give me many details as she was too busy attempting to stop her client from suing Helena Bonham Carter, but I’m used to that by now with her.
She couldn’t even confirm if this job is for a company who will be able to sponsor me for a visa, but there’s one thing giving me hope: Doily mentioned that there was a possibility of foreign travel.
That makes me think that whoever this company is might be capable of providing the requisite documentation for me to stay in the country.
All is not lost. Not yet, at least.
I’m aware that I’m clinging to hope, but I have nothing to lose by taking the meeting.
They’ve asked to meet me at a pub a stone’s throw from Bloomsbury Square, ivy spilling down its red brick exterior, its Victorian sign immaculately restored.
It’s a warm spring evening, but I manage to grab a table outside the pub.
It’s a great spot for people watching. There’s a well-dressed couple having an argument about the contents of a John Lewis bag.
There are two women who look like sisters, with travel suitcases and a bucket of champagne.
There’s a man who could be here on a date.
He couldn’t appear more English if he tried – a scrub of reddish-brown hair and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks.
He’s cute in a butter-wouldn’t-melt way that makes me think he’s never seen the inside of a dark room at a gay club.
I pity whichever poor soul he’s here to meet.
At least I do until he looks up and catches me staring at him.
‘Hello,’ he says. ‘Are you Hunter?’
Hold on – this is the guy I’m meeting? He doesn’t have a producer vibe.
‘That’s me,’ I say.
He seems surprised.
‘What?’ I ask, a bit defensively.
‘Nothing. I just . . . thought you’d be British.’
My heart sinks. Please don’t tell me they want to cast authentically.
‘Try not to sound so disappointed,’ I say, attempting to make light of it.
‘Oh, no, I’m not,’ he says, blushing. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Max.’
Where does Doily find these people? He’s acting like this is the first time he’s ever met with an actor. Maybe he’s the producer’s assistant.
I glance around. ‘Is it just you?’
He frowns. ‘Why, were you expecting more?’
‘To be honest,’ I say, ‘I didn’t know what to expect.’
I’m regretting not insisting that Doily give me more details. Some of these production companies barely deserve the title. Now that I think about it, asking to meet at a pub isn’t a great sign.
‘How much did Doily tell you?’ he asks anxiously.
‘Immersive theater. Could mean anything.’
‘Is that all she said?’
‘She said you wanted someone who was familiar with Grease.’
‘Yes. Are you?’
‘I was in it.’
‘Nice. For how long?’
‘Six months.’
‘Wow. What part?’
‘Rizzo.’
He frowns. ‘Is that near Athens?’
‘What?’
‘I’ve never heard of Rizzo.’
‘It’s usually a woman.’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘What do you mean, what?’
‘How can a town in Greece usually be a woman?’
Suddenly I realise the source of the confusion. I let out a bitter laugh.
Max’s cheeks heat up.
‘What’s so funny?’ he asks hotly.
I scowl. ‘Goddamn it, Doily.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Don’t you get it? You’re talking about Greece, the country. I’m talking about Grease, the musical.’
Max stares, his mouth hanging open. ‘You were in Grease the musical?’
‘Why would I be in Greece, the country? I’m an actor.’ I tilt my head at him. ‘Now, would you mind telling me what the job is?’
That came out wrong. This really is not going well. For a minute, I think he’s about to get up and storm off. But instead, panic flashes behind his eyes.
‘Of course I wouldn’t mind,’ he says. ‘But first, let me buy you a drink.’
He heads inside to get our drinks and I have a moment to catch my breath.
I need to start behaving. No, this guy doesn’t seem to have a clue about anything, but he wouldn’t be the first producer I’ve met like that.
Plus, let’s be honest – this is mostly Doily’s fault.
I love her, but she’s not the best at providing the necessary information.
She once got her wires crossed and had me emotionally preparing to shoot a commercial for a bereavement charity which turned out to be for cat food.
I still nailed it, which means I can pull off whatever this guy needs from me. Immersive theater with some knowledge of Greece? Maybe it’s that Mamma Mia dining experience. Not exactly my kind of musical, but at this point, I’ll take anything.
A few minutes later, we each have a gin and tonic in hand but Max still hasn’t explained what the job involves. Instead, he’s rambling on about his own job, which it turns out is working for the civil service.
‘Wait, you work for the government?’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘I mean, I’m not the biggest fan of the British government right now, but no. I just . . . thought you were a producer.’
Max starts to sweat. He explains that he’s applying for a job in Athens where having a partner would be an advantage. It all sounds very conservative, but I’m still not understanding where immersive theater fits into all this, so I ask.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have said theater,’ says Max. ‘It’s more just . . . acting.’
‘As what?’
‘My boyfriend.’
I almost choke on my drink. ‘You want me to play your boyfriend?’
He blushes. ‘Yeah.’
I put down my glass a little too abruptly. ‘In what setting?’
‘Um . . . real life, I guess.’
I cannot process what I’m hearing. ‘There’s no company involved?’
‘Well, no.’ Max looks sheepish. ‘I mean, apart from where I work. There’s an event I’m meant to be attending in about an hour.’
My stomach sinks in disbelief. The seriousness of the meeting, the hope it represented, evaporates in a puff.
‘Goddamnit, Doily.’
I get up from the table, my chair scraping against the floor.
‘Where are you going?’ Max cries with a note of panic.
‘I’m an actor,’ I say, my voice tightening. ‘Sounds like what you need is an escort.’
How does this keep happening? I thought I couldn’t sink any lower than being rejected for playing the back end of a cow, but the acting profession keeps finding new ways to humiliate me.
All I can do now is make a dignified exit, but I’m kind of trapped behind this table.
As I try to squeeze out, Max looks frantic.
‘Please. I’m desperate. I’ll do anything.’
Right at that moment, one of the champagne sisters leaps up and squeals in excitement. The other sister is holding her hand out, showing off an engagement ring.
I look back at Max, and it hits me. Would he agree to it?
Is he really that desperate? Would he marry me so I can stay in the country, and he can have a fake boyfriend to improve his odds of getting a job?
When you put it like that, no one in their right mind would agree to it, but this isn’t a man in his right mind, clearly.
Besides, what is marriage? It’s a contract that unfairly grants certain privileges to some people above others.
This would be a strict business arrangement.
If it works out, he’ll get this job in Athens and I’ll get to stay in London and pursue my acting career.
We’ll literally be in different countries.
I’m about to propose this to him when I see him checking the time and I realise now is not the moment to have this discussion.
I need to make myself indispensable and then tell him what my conditions are.
If I go to this event and meet all his colleagues, he’ll be stuck with me.
Not that I would want to coerce him. But he came into this with a very clear plan.
Now I’m coming into it with one of my own.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘I’m in.’
‘Amazing,’ Max says with relief, before having a blip of worry.
‘I mean when I said I’d do anything, I obviously didn’t mean—’
‘Oh no, of course not,’ I say with a smile. ‘I’m not going to ask for anything unreasonable.’