Chapter 8 #2
But no matter how many notes Alessandro gives me, I can’t seem to get it right.
First it’s my posture, then it’s the tone of my voice.
Then it’s – everything, apparently. And the more I try to implement the notes, the more wooden I become.
With every failed take, I want the ground to swallow me up even more.
My frustration – with myself, with Alessandro, with Avi, with this whole situation – is rising, making it more and more difficult to get out of my body and into the scene.
And I see Alessandro trying to rein himself in, the delivery of his feedback increasingly sharp.
Like he might be about to blow. The knot of nerves twists tighter each time.
I can feel the seconds ticking away, each one worth more than I’ve ever earned in my life. Budget is everything – and if we go into overtime, the production team are going to be out of pocket and probably furious. And still, I can’t seem to get it together.
‘Lara,’ Avi says in a low voice to me after a particularly awful attempt where I almost tripped over a table.
I see Alessandro discussing something with the first AD, a look of despair crossing his features.
I feel horribly out of control, like I’m about to lose this role.
‘Remember the play we did, a few years ago?’
‘What are you talking about?’ I ask, unsure why he’s bringing this up now.
‘Beatrice and Benedick,’ he says. ‘Much Ado About Nothing.’
And my heart clenches – because that’s the last play we did together before he left.
‘I do,’ I say, letting out a breath.
‘Well,’ he says. ‘Let’s pretend we’re doing that. Remember that rehearsal where we couldn’t make it work?’
The memory surfaces in my mind. We were struggling with an overzealous director. No matter how many notes they gave us, they weren’t happy. And I was about to give up, honestly. But Avi taught me a breathing exercise – convinced me to try it. For one more take.
I don’t want to go there, though. Because about halfway through that rehearsal was when I realised for the first time that I liked him as more than a friend.
But now I look up at him and his expression is pleading. And I glance towards Alessandro, looking like he might be on the verge of an aneurysm.
‘Okay,’ I say, returning to my mark. ‘Let’s try it.’
He takes my hands, gently, while Alessandro gets the next take set up.
I look at Avi and follow his breath. In, out.
His hands, his presence, grounding me for a second.
Alessandro finishes his conversation and Avi lets go.
And for a second I feel the absence of his touch.
But then Alessandro is counting down and I’m stepping into the scene. All my anxious thoughts suddenly gone.
I’m back on that stage, twenty-four again. My life stretching out ahead of me like a great long carpet. Avi across from me, the electricity pulsing between us. His eyes locking on mine.
‘Action!’ Alessandro says for about the fifth time.
And, miraculously, this time, something flows.
It’s fun. And I don’t have time to worry about the fact that I’m enjoying it, because I’m so in the moment nothing else seeps in.
The feeling from the audition is back – of ease.
A naturalness to what we’re doing that erases the rest of the room until it’s just us.
Amelia and Jackson, finding a way to work together after all their history.
And when Alessandro calls ‘Cut!’ at the end of the scene, I hold my breath.
But then his hand is on my arm, and Avi’s, his expression lit up like the sun.
‘My children,’ he says. ‘We have got it.’
And my eyes lock with Avi’s, a soaring sensation cutting through everything else.
We did it.
Once we’re wrapped for the day – after filming a few more great takes, to the point where I might actually be starting to feel competent on-set for the first time since I arrived – I grab some food from craft services and start making my way to Avi’s trailer to rehearse.
I’m walking through set, flanked by a few runners, when Roman jumps out at me from nowhere.
‘What the fuck?’ I say impulsively. I place my hand to my chest, my heart hammering against it.
‘No sidekick today, Amelia?’ he asks. Amelia, again? This man is insane.
‘My name is Lara,’ I say. ‘And if you’re talking about Avi…’ His face darkens at the mention of his name.
‘I have to say,’ he says. ‘I was a little… offended that you didn’t seem to like my gift. I was under the impression that ladies tended to appreciate such gestures.’ He places his hands behind his back.
‘I’m not sure how ladies generally feel about it, but I’d wager they’re not usually grateful when people put dead animals in their trailers, no,’ I reply.
‘I’m terribly sorry to hear that,’ he says. ‘I thought perhaps we would have an understanding. That perhaps there was a darkness in you that matched mine. But I see abundantly now that I was mistaken.’
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Does he really get off on this method-acting bullshit or is he just trying to freak me out for fun?
‘I have to go,’ I say. ‘I’ve got to rehearse with—’
‘Jackson?’ he says, his face brightening. ‘I have to say, you two seemed to be familiar with one another. Almost as if… this wasn’t the first time you’d become acquainted. Have you met before, perhaps?’
‘No,’ I say quickly. I don’t know if he’s still play-acting or what, but in any case I don’t need Roman knowing anything about our history together. Clearly, he’s dangerous.
‘Interesting,’ he says, almost to himself, looking at me carefully. ‘A nervous liar.’ Then he steps to one side, bowing deeply. ‘Well, don’t let me get in your way.’
‘I…’ I’m ready to defend myself. To say something, anything, to make him stop looking at me with such an infuriatingly knowing expression. But nothing comes up. Instead, I watch him straighten up, so I move to walk past him. But before I can go, he calls me back.
‘Amelia, wait,’ he says. And despite my better instincts, I turn. He produces a flower from his pocket and hands it to me with a flourish.
‘A flower for a lady,’ he says. I get the sense that he’s not going to leave me alone unless I take it, so I snatch it from his hand and walk away.
What, I think to myself, the fuck was that?
I arrive at Avi’s trailer and knock on the door, hearing two voices. His, and the musical lilt I now recognise as Sienna’s.
She’s laughing at something he said. And out of nowhere, a memory surges up. Me, doubled over behind the bar, snorting lemonade out of my nose. Avi, doing an impression of Tom the bar manager that was so accurate I couldn’t breathe from laughter.
‘Hi,’ he says, pulling open the door. ‘What’s with the flower?’
‘Roman,’ I say and immediately regret it. His face darkens.
‘Was he messing with you again?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘He’s a perfectly normal, very balanced man. I think we’re going to be great friends.’
‘Hi, Lara,’ Sienna calls out from the other side of the room.
My stomach drops slightly. Extra practice time with Avi was making me nervous enough.
But revealing just how vulnerable I am in the role of Amelia to the woman who’s competing with me for it?
That’s definitely more than I thought I was signing up for.
‘Hi,’ I say brightly. Because she does seem nice and I don’t want to be rude. I sit down across from her.
‘Would you like some herbal tea?’ she asks, dropping the ‘h’, such that it takes me a second to understand what she’s saying.
‘I found this stuff in Dubai and it’s honestly magical.
So many healing properties. Great for your digestion, your cholesterol.
A shaman I work with told me it has spiritual benefits too – connects you to the divine. ’
‘Oh,’ I say, a little lost for words. ‘Uh, no, thank you.’
‘Diet Coke?’ Avi says instead and I nod. He used to tease me about my caffeine consumption; I’d drink at least three a day, most days, including at the pub. I wonder if he remembers. He pulls one from his fridge and tosses it to me.
‘Lara’s always been a caffeine addict,’ he says casually to Sienna as he sits down. I frown a little, remembering what she said when I met her. I’ve heard so much about you. I wonder what he’s told her.
‘Well,’ she says. ‘I’d better get going. But have a great time, you guys!’
She leans over and kisses Avi on the cheek.
‘See you later,’ he says and watches her leave, a curious expression on his face.
There’s something about this exchange that has me almost uncomfortable to witness it.
Not, though, because I feel like a third wheel.
Because – though I can’t quite put my finger on exactly what it is – there’s a strange vibe between them.
Stilted, almost performative. But maybe they’re just a more private couple.
‘So,’ he says. ‘Shall we get started?’
★ ★ ★
About an hour later, we’ve tried a few different approaches to the scene we’re rehearsing: an argument between Jackson and Amelia.
She’s persuaded him to join the case, but when she tells him her theory – that there’s a secret cult running from one of the gentlemen’s clubs in Pall Mall that is behind the series of ritual murders of London socialites and courtesans – Jackson is a little more than sceptical.
Avi gives me a few notes on my delivery, suggesting different tones of voice, different gestures.
They’re very good notes and while my fragile actor ego wants me not to need his help, I know it’s for the best that I take them.
And he takes some notes from me too. That was our superpower when we performed together before – we were always in tune with one another.
Always able to see what the other needed, to push them that one step further.
But I brush that thought aside – much like the postcards, it belongs in another time.
When we’re done rehearsing, he gets me another Diet Coke from the fridge and we sit down to discuss some character notes. Making sure we’re on the same page regarding their motivations.
‘I see Jackson as basically an idiot,’ Avi says, which makes me laugh unexpectedly. I take a sip of my drink to cover it. ‘At first, at least. You know, he has this determination to do the right thing, but he’s also blind to the stuff Amelia sees. Too comfortable in his own world.’
‘That’s how I see him too,’ I say, excited by the insight. ‘He’s like – well-intentioned, but a bit thick-headed. He lets his rationality cloud his judgement sometimes.’
‘Agreed,’ he says. ‘Though he’s a good foil to Amelia – she’s impulsive sometimes. Needs someone to hold her back from making decisions too quickly.’
‘And obviously, he’s obsessed with her,’ I say.
‘Why wouldn’t he be?’ He smiles. ‘She’s great. So fearless and sharp. Unafraid to be herself. To say what she thinks. I love Amelia.’
My heart thuds a little. Because those are all the reasons I love her too.
‘So do I,’ I say quietly.
‘What is it about her?’ he asks, leaning in. ‘I know you love the books.’ Of course you do – you tried to buy me a first edition of the first book for my birthday. But we don’t need to talk about that right now. ‘But I’d love to hear more about why you like her so much, as a character.’
‘I…’ I think of my teenage self, hiding my book under the desk at school.
Reading, to escape, to become someone else.
And I almost say it, almost start telling him.
But we never talked about it before. Because that version of me is vulnerable – too vulnerable to tell him about, even when we were close.
We always stayed in the present – it was what I loved about our relationship.
And so we never really touched on my past, not even when he told me he’d lost the eBay auction for that book – the most thoughtful almost-gift I’ve ever received, just because he saw me reading the books during my lunch breaks.
Because we didn’t need to. He saw things and remembered them.
Seemed to get me – my drive, my ambition – in a way I’d never really felt understood before.
So much so that the past didn’t seem to matter when I was with him.
It was like I could be someone entirely new.
And with that thought, suddenly it’s like the air clears and I wake up to where I am.
Sitting in his trailer. A million miles away from that feeling.
I smile, putting my drink down. ‘I should probably go.’ Because this conversation is getting dangerously close to intimate. And while I want to do whatever it takes with Avi to make this film a success, I don’t want to blur any lines.
‘Lara, wait…’ he says, before I reach the door. ‘Did I say something wrong?’
I care about you, Lara.
My chest pinches and I shake my head.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I say, opening the door and closing it behind me.