Chapter 4 Jack #2
Looking around the room, I decide it’s better to acknowledge that I’ve grown up with these people than to pretend otherwise.
“… though most of you already know that,” I add ruefully.
My mouth tugs up as I glance at Hattie. She lifts her hand to her chest, a pantomime performance of a proud parent, and—again—there’s a ripple of laughter.
Apart from Cynthie, I notice, who looks vaguely pissed off.
“I’ll be playing the role of Edward, and I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say that Jasmine’s script is something special.
I’m excited that we have the opportunity to bring her vision to life.
With the incredible team Jasmine and Logan have put together, I’m confident we’ll be able to do justice to her words. ”
“Hear, hear,” Rufus calls, and he gives me a nod of approval.
“Thank you for that, Jack,” Jasmine says, and I swear there’s a touch of warmth in her usually impassive face.
She turns to Marion, who picks up her clipboard.
“So, today is going to be a relaxed read-through of the entire script,” Marion says, running her eyes over her notes.
“Starting Monday we’ll have a full week of rehearsals at Shepperton Studios, which will include time with the movement coach and choreographer, as well as costume fittings.
You’ll each be getting your individual schedules over the next couple of days.
The following week we’ll head to Cornwall to begin the location shoot.
Jack and Cynthie will be the only cast members needed on-site for the entire four weeks. ”
Cynthie slides a look at me here, and I can’t work out if the thought of four weeks stranded in rural Cornwall with her sounds thrilling or disastrous.
“All other cast members will be coming and going based on need and availability,” Marion continues briskly.
“My team and I have worked hard to make sure these changeovers run smoothly, so if there are any problems, you need to come to me as soon as possible. The budget is squeezed and we’re on a tight schedule here, so trust me when I tell you, you’re about to be organized within an inch of your lives.
” There’s a gleam in her eyes that says she’s relishing the idea.
“Perfect.” Logan claps his hands together. “Let’s get started.”
There’s an excited hum of agreement from the rest of us, an instant where we’re poised right on the edge of something—the start of the process, the moment when things finally become real.
We settle into the read-through, with Marion reading out all the stage directions.
The first scene is between me and Simon—the actor playing my brother, John—and it goes smoothly enough.
Occasionally, Logan or Jasmine will cut in with a note.
I can feel myself settling into the work, finding the rhythm of the dialogue.
That all changes when we get to Cynthie’s first scene. To begin with she misses her cue.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says, unable to hide how flustered she is.
“It’s no problem,” Jasmine replies. “Let’s take it from the top.”
Marion reads the direction, and this time Cynthie comes in at the right time. Unfortunately, by her second line she’s tripping over her words.
“No problem,” Logan says lightly. “That’s what today is for. We’ll start again.”
Cynthie’s face is pink, but she nods. She flubs the lines again, but on her third attempt she manages to get through the first page of the scene.
When she jumps in early, speaking over her scene partner—the actress playing her maid—she apologizes once more.
My eyes drift over to meet Logan’s.
Cynthie takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she says almost to herself, and she glances up at Jasmine, offers a small, tremulous smile. “Sorry, I’m a bit more nervous than I thought. I’ll get it.”
“Of course you will,” Hattie leaps in, quick to soothe.
Jasmine nods. “Just take your time.”
“Let’s go from ‘My lady, you know you can’t go out like that,’?” Logan says, and again his eyes flicker to meet mine.
We pick up the scene once more, and Cynthie gets through it without any further incident. Unfortunately, she also gets through it without a single ounce of emotion.
This continues for the rest of the read-through.
Cynthie is no longer tripping on her lines or missing cues, but her delivery is wooden.
If anything, the first scene between the two of us is even worse than what came before.
I’m beginning to miss the tornado who stormed in to audition, because this is painful—like playing against someone with the rich interior life of a boiled potato.
“So let’s pause here and unpack this scene,” Jasmine calls, breaking in. “Emilia and Edward are strangers, but it’s clear there’s an instant click, a spark of attraction between them.”
I glance at Cynthie, who looks more like she’s about to throw up her breakfast than fall in love with me.
“Although the audience knows that Edward is John’s brother, Emilia and Edward have no idea of the circumstances around them, so you need to be careful that you’re playing in that moment, that reality,” Jasmine continues.
“There needs to be more heat,” Logan breaks in impatiently. “A sexual charge.”
Jasmine lets out a hiss of annoyance. “It’s not Girls Gone Wild , Lo. It’s Regency England.”
Logan crosses his arms. “Oh, sorry, I forgot that no one in Regency England had sex.”
“There can be a… sensuality to it,” Jasmine concedes, and I swear Cynthie is turning green around the edges.
“But for now, let’s focus on the immediate emotional connection.
The conversation flows.” She clicks her fingers several times.
“It’s sparkling; they banter and it’s fun.
That’s key here—there needs to be a… quickness. ”
I nod, scribbling notes over the pages in front of me, as if I can fix this. “So it’s the rhythm of it, and there’s a moment of recognition between them.”
“Right, right.” Jasmine nods; she looks expectantly at Cynthie. “Does that feel good to you, Cynthie?”
Cynthie’s eyes dip to her script. She swallows. “I…” She hesitates, looks between me and Jasmine. “Sure.”
It’s hardly an enthusiastic response, but it’s something, and when we continue the scene it is marginally better.
We push forward, but you can feel tension creeping into the room.
It’s not just my scenes between Cynthie that are the problem; it’s as if the hesitance, the self-consciousness has seeped in to affect everyone.
We limp toward the end, and when the whole, painful experience finishes there’s a weak round of applause that manages to sound sarcastic.
Oh, god.
This is so far from how I wanted today to go. I watch Hattie and Rufus exchange a glance, and I can only guess what Mum and Dad are going to hear about this train wreck.
Everyone stands, gathering their things and getting ready to go. There’s a quiet hum of chatter, and I gesture to Logan to meet me in one of the smaller meeting rooms off to the side. He nods.
By the time he reaches me, I’m pacing back and forth. Anxiety is a fist around my heart. I play through every terrible moment of the last couple of hours, wincing over how badly we butchered the material.
“I know, I know,” Logan says, already holding up his hands in surrender.
“That was a disaster,” I say flatly, too riled up to hit a diplomatic note.
Logan winces. “Disaster is a bit strong… We knew there would be teething problems—”
“Teething problems?” I snap, panic rippling through me.
“I can’t believe that anyone thought this was a good idea.
We need a professional in the role. Someone who actually knows what they’re doing.
The schedule is tight as it is; we’ve only got a week before filming starts!
We have to cast somebody who can jump straight in. ”
“I’ll admit it wasn’t great,” Logan concedes, “and you know there was a lot of back and forth on the casting decisions—you’re not the only one with doubts here—but we need to at least give it a chance.”
“Christ.” I rub my forehead. I can practically hear the scathing reviews, the slow, death rattle of my career, over before it really began.
“There’s inexperienced and then there’s this…
I don’t think she’s got so much as an A-level in drama.
What the hell is Cynthie Taylor doing here?
You need to get rid of her as soon as possible. ”
Logan doesn’t reply, and when I look over at him, he’s watching the door with a rictus grin in place.
Even before I turn, I know precisely what I’ll see, but my stomach still rolls over at the sight of Cynthie standing in the doorway, eyes wide and face pale as a ghost as she stares at me.
“Cynthie…” I start, unsure how I’m going to finish the sentence.
I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad one that she doesn’t give me the chance, turning on her heel and tearing out of the room.