Chapter 21
OLLIE
‘Well, it’s official. You’re being called pretty terrible names in Los Angeles right now,’ Calvin announced, as he disconnected a call and shoved his phone back into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
‘I blamed the delay in returning a scan of the signed contract on the power cut. They now think that we live a feral life with no adequate power supply.’
The reality was that Blair had the electricity back on in less than five minutes, and it was still holding out, but Ollie would be lying if he didn’t admit that it was just another worry to add to the big list of potential disasters tonight.
The extra power required for the air conditioning system, on top of the documentary lights, cameras, and utilisation of every room in the building in preparation for the event tonight, was proving just too much for the parts of the electrical system that hadn’t yet been renewed.
Blair was doing a brilliant job, but two hundred people were going to be packed into the theatre in what used to be the main body of the old church.
The last thing they needed was a blackout or, maybe worse, the air conditioning to go on the blink. But that was a problem for later.
Ollie felt his jaw tighten. He hated letting people down, especially when both his management agency and the team at the studio that made The Clansman had been with him for a long time and he had the upmost respect for them, but delaying signing the contract had been the only option.
He’d called Stevie back yet again – still no answer. And Ginny hadn’t returned yet either.
‘Son, I think you just need to give her space,’ his mum had said, right after the blackout, when he’d caved and told her what was going on with Stevie, ‘and if that means waiting to sign, then that’s what you have to do. It’s too important, no matter what you decide.’
She wasn’t wrong. But, man, this had to be the most frustrating day of his life.
Calvin was still delivering his report on the phone call to Ollie’s management.
‘They also made a point of reminding you to keep an eye on security tonight. They’re extremely jumpy because your attendance here today has been so well publicised.
It’s been running on blogs and social media posts all day. ’
Right now, a potentially over-enthusiastic, delusional fan was the least of his worries.
He needed a plan. Now. There was zero chance of him getting out of here in the next couple of hours, because he had commitments to filming that he couldn’t break.
He was expected to walk the red carpet that was set up at the front door, with several camera crews and multiple press photographers, journalists and influencers ready and waiting to get it on the internet and social media.
Also, all the students and their families would be arriving in the next hour or so and he understood his responsibility to them too.
He’d worked with them all on previous visits, put on a couple of fundraising shows that were open to the public, and he’d got to know them all individually.
And, of course, the main focus of the Netflix documentary was the auditioning process for the Academy’s Christmas show, and he’d been on the panel that had selected the young actors who would star in it.
Their audition journeys being captured on series one could potentially change their lives, but it also guaranteed them prime-time exposure if series two went ahead and featured the festive show.
That was life-changing stuff. Just thinking about that gave him goosebumps.
It was the reason that he’d invested in the Academy in the first place – the chance to take young people who were just like the kid he used to be, and give them the opportunity to achieve the success he’d had.
That would make every pound and every second of stress worthwhile.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and Sandy, the cameraman for the Fankled team, popped his head in.
‘Hey. They said I’d find you all in here.
We’re set up outside on the red carpet for the next segment.
Good to go whenever you’re ready. It’s a two-camera piece and we’ve got an hour or so on this one, before we come back inside to shoot the screening. ’
‘No worries, I’ll be out in five, Sandy – and thanks, mate.’
As soon as the cameraman left, Ollie let his head drop back and closed his eyes. This wasn’t the day for this – but his choices in the situation were zero.
He gave himself two seconds to feel crap, then shifted his energy and got up from the sofa, just as his hairdresser, Georgie, came in the door, ready to prep him for the next shot.
‘Right, I’m back. And, Moira, I just want you to know that I’m parking myself in your canteen for the rest of my pregnancy. That lovely woman who works there…’
‘Netta.’
‘Yep, that’s her. My mum’s doing her hair, but before she started, she gave me a cup of soup and then sneaked me some of her home-made empire biscuits. I’ve asked her to marry me. Lachlan won’t mind.’
Despite feeling like the emoji with the exploding head, that made Ollie smile.
Georgie’s skill as a hairdresser was the reason that he’d plucked her from the salon in his mum’s home village of Weirbridge, but her ability to make him laugh was the reason that she’d become one of his closest friends over the last six months on location.
He’d loved every minute of his time with her, and he’d miss their early morning starts and the laughs they’d had every day on set, but he absolutely respected her choice to prioritise her life over her career.
It struck him that Georgie had made exactly the same decision that he was wrestling with.
The only difference was that she didn’t have hundreds of people depending on her.
But could he really live the rest of his life for everyone else?
The irony was that the utter misery that had descended on him for the last couple of hours with the prospect of no longer having Stevie, had unequivocally convinced him what he should do – but all that was for nothing if she didn’t want him.
Fuck. What a shitshow.
But now wasn’t the time to give in to it.
He stood up, stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it on top of his kitbag on the floor.
‘That’s the effect I have on him, Calvin,’ Georgie joked, moving her pregnant self over to behind the office chair that often doubled as a salon seat. ‘First sign of my smiley face and he gets his kit off.’
‘It’s like a superpower,’ Calvin bantered back, as he pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen.
‘No contact from Netflix about season two either. I know they said tomorrow at the earliest, but I put calls in anyway. Bloody hell, our lives are in way too many other people’s hands.
I’ll need to up my Gaviscon if this carries on.
The stress of it is giving me heartburn. ’
Georgie pulled a hairdryer and a few sprays out of her bag of trusty tricks and got to work while Ollie sat shirtless in the chair.
‘I know you hate it,’ she told him, ‘but I’m going to do a bit of translucent powder too because it’s hotter than a blowtorch in a sauna out there today. It’s our one-day Glasgow summer and it’s a belter. I don’t think there’s a man in the city that still has his top on.’
They all knew she was referring to the iconic stereotype of ‘Taps Aff’, which, if it were to be described in a Glaswegian dictionary of slang, would be something like…
‘The phenomenon of toplessness that affects Scottish men at the first sign of sun and compels them to remove their upper-body clothing. Can also be used to describe a warm day, i.e. “bloody hell, it’s taps aff weather oot there today”.
Usually followed by an epidemic of sunburn and a spectacular upturn in sales of aloe vera and other forms of after-sun lotion. ’
She was dabbing his forehead with a big brush, when she paused. ‘Ollie. Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve got a stress line between your eyebrows that wasn’t there yesterday.’
Ollie could feel both his mum and Calvin’s gaze on him, waiting for his answer.
He could tell Georgie. She was one hundred per cent loyal and trustworthy.
But she also adored Stevie and he didn’t want to upset her.
Plus, there wasn’t time with the rest of this evening being planned down to the last minute.
‘I’m fine, don’t worry.’ Acting class 101. He just had to hope he’d pulled it off, but the flinch of scepticism that crossed her face suggested otherwise. However, she didn’t push it, and he was grateful for that.
‘Glad to hear it. Right, there you go – pretty as ever,’ she announced, as she stood back and let him get out of the chair.
He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Thanks, pal.’
‘You’re very welcome. I’m away for another empire biscuit. Do you think Netta will let me move in with her, or will I have to offer her a relocation package to London?’
Her oblivious humour brought his tension levels down a couple of notches, but probably not enough to get rid of the newly arrived stress line.
As Georgie left, he took a white, long-sleeved linen shirt from the hanger on the back of the door and pulled it on, rolling up the sleeves to make it look more casual but still chic. Or, at least, that was what Stevie had told him when she’d suggested wearing it.
Stevie. He needed her to be here. Needed to hear her voice.
‘Come on then, troops,’ his mum said, professional as ever. ‘The public awaits. Calvin, we’ll just pretend they’re here for us too so that our egos don’t shrivel and die.’
‘Best plan I’ve heard all day,’ Calvin agreed, spraying something that smelled incredible into the air in front of him and then walking through it.
‘You good, son?’ his mum checked.