Thirty Theo
Thirty
THEO
Big Greg D
Way to go Theo!
The vids online are HOT
Theo Larkin
Cheers Greg.
Happy crowds so we’re happy.
Big Greg D
Happy? Try ORGASMIC.
Keep it up (like they hope you do)
Ugh. Go away, Dabrowski!
Repulsed, I drop my phone into my rucksack, wiping my hands on my jeans as if my soon-to-be director’s text has left something nasty on them. I check to make sure Lucie and Ced aren’t watching, but they’re deep in murmured conversation over by the props trunk. I feel guilty for even reading Greg Dabrowski’s objectionable words, despite none of them being mine. Maybe I’ll just switch my phone off when I’m here. It’ll be safer.
And less traumatic …
I’m hoping it’s just Greg’s initial delight about videos of our performances going viral. Almost a week of shows under our belt already and every day new images and videos appear. Ced, Lucie and I are all a bit shell-shocked that it’s taken off like it has. Thankful, but bewildered. We’re starting to see a difference in audience numbers for our daily performances, too, which is the best news for Ophelia and The Garden Players. That’s what we all care about, to be honest. Everything else is just noise.
Hopefully, once we settle into the summer season, Greg will get bored of bombarding me with lurid texts and leave me alone. I hate how he thinks this is his idea. And how he’s assumed I’ll use Lucie to further my own profile. But when I said this to Barry on the phone last night, he didn’t see it as a problem.
‘Just back up and think about it for a minute: one of the most powerful theatre directors around thinks you listened to him, weeks before you start to work together. How is this a bad thing?’
‘Because it wasn’t his idea?’
‘You’re overthinking things.’
‘And what about Lucie? She isn’t a cheap love interest; she’s an incredible actor.’
‘Lucie’s a professional, Theo. She knows the score. I guarantee this won’t be the first time a director has made dodgy claims about her. It’s just the way the business is.’
‘Well – it shouldn’t be …’
It was a lame comeback. But Barry wouldn’t be moved and I just wanted it noted that I said something. It still kicks, though.
I told Lucie to trust me. What if she thinks I’m acting on Greg’s gross suggestion?
I’m due to meet with Greg and Oily Duncan again next week, so I’ll talk to him about it then.
Possibly. If I can find the nerve …
I hate that my fear of stuffing up things with Greg is stopping me challenging him about his attitude to Lucie. I have to get over myself. Lucie matters more than my next job.
We have our Saturday performances to come but Ophelia decided to bring forward rehearsals for next week’s shows so that we aren’t presenting with only a day’s work on the texts. I’m glad she has: now we’re moving into other Shakespeare couple scenes I’m in unfamiliar territory. Lucie and Ced have the advantage here, their working repertoire of plays far more extensive than mine.
Next week we’ll debut our Beatrice and Benedick from Much Ado About Nothing , alongside Romeo and Juliet as a crowd-pleaser for visitors booking to see our now famous scene. Ced will be giving his King Lear for the first time, together with the Coriolanus speech from this week. It’s more of a gradual change of programme than Ophelia originally planned, but we have to give the audience what they want.
‘I’ve brought in some of my special apricot Danishes,’ Ophelia announces, producing a large Tupperware box with a delighted flourish, ‘to thank you all for coming in early.’
We flock around the box like hungry gannets. I notice Lucie stifle another yawn as we each take a home-baked treat.
‘ Angel ,’ Ced breathes amid a shower of pastry flakes.
Ophelia pinkens, eyes bright. ‘Just a small token. Now, before we commence, Lucie, could I have a moment? I just want to double-check Purdy’s measurements for Beatrice’s new bodice …’
As Lucie stands for Ophelia to measure her, I spot Ced sitting by himself over on the props trunk. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask him – it’s been playing on my mind as we’ve been moving through the week’s rehearsals and performances. Seizing the opportunity, I head over.
‘Mind if I join you?’ I ask.
‘Not in the slightest.’ He beams back, closing his playbook. ‘Us chaps have to stick together, eh? Especially with certain discussions underway.’
He nods over to Lucie and Ophelia, who are now deep in conversation.
I laugh. ‘Now there’s a power couple if ever I saw one.’
‘Be afraid, dear boy. Be very afraid.’
We share identical grins – and instantly I’m hit by a rush of belonging. I’ve spent so long assuming I’m an outsider to The Garden Players that this is the sweetest surprise.
‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘Of course.’
‘How do you keep going? With the acting.’ Out loud it sounds disrespectful, dismissive even. I quickly add, ‘Longevity – how do you achieve that?’
Ced observes me with a mixture of amusement and scrutiny. ‘Being the old, ancient love that I am, you mean? Simple, really. I just sit in my invalid carriage and let them wheel me out on stage ad nauseum …’
‘That’s not what I …’
‘Oh, shush , love, I’m playing with you.’ He smooths the cover of the playbook in his hands. ‘I ask myself that question more regularly than I’d like. Resilience and tenacity are harder to cling on to the more slammed doors you encounter. I have this place, which is my joy, and the one-man shows I’ve been developing of late. And when my agent stumbles across a recollection of me occasionally, I pick up the odd job here and there, too. In the meantime, my decorating, gardening and odd-job skills keep me afloat.’
‘It sounds like a lot,’ I reply, acutely aware once again of how different our experiences of the acting world are.
My gaze inadvertently drifts to Lucie. Ced catches it immediately.
‘You’re scared of becoming like us,’ he states. I can’t tell what his opinion of this is.
‘I just want to keep going,’ I reply, my answer probably the most truthful I’ve been with myself for a long time. ‘If things don’t work out with Hamlet …’
‘Ah, the Fear of the Prince.’ Ced nods sagely, as if this is some ancient theatre phenomenon I’ve only just stumbled across.
I look back at him. ‘The what?’
A slow, sad smile makes its gentle progress across Ced’s lips. ‘I’ve seen it in action too many times. Not for me – as you know I’ve yet to be afforded the pleasure – but for fellow actors over the years. You long to play him. You watch other actors don the crown and beg the universe to let it be yours. Yet, when it arrives, it’s not alone. The Fear comes with it. The sudden realisation of how high you’ve climbed and therefore how far you have to fall.’ He pats my hand. ‘Nine-tenths of the role is overcoming your own terror. Master that and you’ll master him .’
‘How do I do that?’
Ced chuckles. ‘By thinking of the jobs beyond it, dear. That’s all any of us can do. This job, then the next, on and on into oblivion. Whether dragged feet or Heaven-blessed strides, we keep moving forward. That’s the secret.’
‘Such seriousness in this small corner!’ Ophelia announces, the boom of her words causing us both to jump. ‘The time for rehearsal is upon us, darlings. Are we all ready for our bickering lovers?’
‘Knowing these two it shouldn’t be stretch,’ Ced quips, whelping when Lucie’s elbow jabs his ribs.
‘Getting there,’ I say.
I almost gave up last night trying to memorise Benedick’s lines. He has good speeches in the play, but man , he takes his time saying them. I’m not sure how to portray him yet. He isn’t a blatant flirt like Petruchio, or as innocently straight as Ferdinand. He’s no Romeo either, that’s for certain.
‘And Lucie?’
‘Most of it’s in here.’ She taps her head. ‘I had a monster shift at Gonzalo’s last night and I was too tired to look at it when I got home.’
Ophelia nods. ‘Well, keep at it. We need our double-crossed pair fabulously feisty and word-perfect by Monday.’ And with that, she’s off, leaving her actors staring after her.
Lucie shakes her head. ‘She says it like it’s easy.’
‘It is easy, for her.’
Lucie and Ced look at me. ‘How?’
A bubble of mischief breaks within and I can’t resist. ‘Because her lines are,’ I adopt a high, fluttering falsetto, ‘“… And now, most excellent friends, will you please graciously and most effusively welcome to our humble little stage, our very own bickering Benedick and Beatrice …”’
Ced sniggers. Lucie doesn’t.
‘Shh! She’ll hear you!’
‘Quite agree, old chap,’ Ced intones.
I grimace. ‘Sorry.’
‘I should think so too.’ He nods solemnly, but his eyes twinkle. ‘It’s definitely more like, “ Most honoured guests, wonderful, noble fellow lovers of The Bard, indulge our trifling gaieties for a while and welcome …”’
I’m so surprised I snort loudly, joined by a delighted Ced. It’s so good to laugh; not least because this is one joke I’m in on from the start. I can tell my soon-to-be Beatrice doesn’t share this sentiment, though. Fine. Let her stand there, stony-faced, watching us in disgust. If she doesn’t want to shield her obvious nerves behind blokey silliness, let her.
‘ Children ,’ she mutters, unfolding her crossed legs and easing herself off the props trunk.
Grinning like the kids we now officially are, Ced and I follow her to the centre of the room, where we’ll be rehearsing. I pull my already rolled copy of Much Ado from my back pocket – what? It’s how I roll (literally) – and I have to admit that the spectacle of everyone’s horror at the sight of my playbooks is worth twisting the covers for.
We start work, with conspiratorial smirks from Ced and under-breath groans from Lucie, as we mark out the scene.
It’s good to have Ced with us for this scene – he’s speaking all the lines attributed to Benedick and Beatrice’s friends who have conspired to draw out their secret longing for each other. The lines feel stilted to begin with, as if the edits and changes to create Ced’s role are stuck together with hastily bitten sticky tape.
We bump and stumble, our frustration building as we navigate the unfamiliar scene. After the ease we’ve found with our current pieces, this is a shock to the system.
My own struggle to find Benedick isn’t helped by Lucie struggling to play Beatrice. I realise how much I relied on her to form Ferdinand and Romeo, taking my lead from her own growing confidence. It isn’t a fair thing to admit – and, stupidly, I make the mistake of saying this out loud.
‘What?’ she demands, breaking character.
‘It wasn’t a criticism …’ I begin.
‘Wasn’t it? You just said, “ if you knew your character better, I could find mine ” . Since when am I responsible for your performance?’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Then why say it? Last I heard, this was a two-hander, not a pack-horse and a freeloader.’
I stare back. ‘Are you saying I’m not pulling my weight?’
‘Loves, come on …’ Ced’s concern reaches across the space, but neither of us is listening.
‘I’m saying that maybe if you had prepared better I wouldn’t be battling to carry this scene.’
She’s inches away from me, fury radiating from every pore.
‘I prepared as well as you did,’ I retaliate, knowing full well that I’m on dangerous ground. ‘Better, actually.’
‘Oh yeah?’
I shrug, my shoulders tight with irritation. ‘At least I rehearsed my lines last night …’
As soon as I say it, I wish I hadn’t.
Because it’s completely unfair. I had the luxury of a free evening to run my lines, in digs I don’t have to pay for. Lucie didn’t.
The hurt she packs away is impossible to miss.
Ced ushers us back to work, but the lightness we had has gone, replaced by cold, hard resentment, heavy as stone. I thought I’d proved myself with our performances so far. To the company and to Lucie.
More fool me.
‘Maybe she’s tired,’ Lilia suggests that evening, when I relay the events of our not-so-productive rehearsal. ‘Sounds like the poor girl never stops.’
‘Maybe she hates your guts,’ Michael counters, unhelpfully.
‘That was a pretty mean thing to say to her, old chap,’ Cyril agrees, his kind tone offering little comfort.
Dougie chuckles, raising his whisky. ‘Leading lady spats eh? Fiercesome fun!’
‘Not sure we’ve reached the fun stage yet.’
‘Oh, you will, my friend. And my goodness, that’s a tussle worth looking forward to.’ His naughty chuckle earns him a stern rebuke from my landlady.
‘Mind out of the gutter, Douglas! I know you had to annoy your leading ladies into your arms, but some of us don’t count antagonism as an attractive feature.’
‘Don’t recall you complaining,’ he mutters into his glass.
‘Sorry?’
‘Nothing, Lilia dear.’
She ignores him and pats my arm. ‘Give her time, Theo. You know how daunting approaching a new piece is. Not to mention doing it while you’re also doing twelve shows a week and setting the internet ablaze with endless adulation. It’s a lot to take in. Give the girl the weekend to rest and things will be brighter on Monday.’
She’s probably right. If anyone understands rehearsal-room rows, it’s Lilia. I think today’s rehearsal has just shaken me. I thought we were getting somewhere, with the shows such a success and our onstage chemistry off the chart. That magic returned for the performances today, but disappeared the moment we left the garden stage.
One thing today has taught me is that, when it comes to Lucie Hart, I can’t assume anything. She’s a mystery to me. And I’m still an outsider to her.
I don’t know if that will ever change.