Thirty-Three Lucie
Thirty-Three
LUCIE
T he man is an utter git.
I arrived for my shift at Gonzalo’s so full of positivity this evening, leaving my bike at home for a change and enjoying the walk through my beloved home town. I was buoyed by that amazing article and the honest conversation I’d had with Theo. What he’d said to me in the crew room really meant something, giving me the smallest glimpse beyond the fa?ade of Theo Larkin.
I didn’t know he would be here, dining with Greg Dabrowski and bloody Duncan Harrow. Or that I would be prime target for his repulsive director’s abuse.
Dabrowski’s been vile since I started serving him, picking fault, rudely objecting to everything, sending back food … I’ve had customers like him before, of course. But this doesn’t feel like the usual power trip gits like him are on when they turn abusive. This feels personal.
And Duncan, sitting there with a horrible smirk on his face, loving every minute of it.
Has Duncan told Theo about us? Is Theo laughing at me, too?
It’s getting late now and I’ve returned to the table to ask if they require more wine. Greg scared our young apprentice sommelier Ned so much that I said I’d deal with him for the rest of the night. Ned fled to the kitchen with Ben, our chef, and I don’t think he’ll dare return until the director has gone.
‘Get commission on wine sales, do you?’ Greg slurs, a badly aimed finger swinging at me. ‘Hope you do, because acting like yours is never going to pay your bills …’
‘I think you have plenty of wine,’ I reply, ignoring my ex’s delight to glance at Theo, who is avoiding my eye. ‘Would you like the bill?’
‘Trying to throw me out, are you? Truth hurts, Lucinda Hart.’
Everyone is watching now. My smile is fixed despite everything within me screaming against this creepy excuse for a man.
‘I can fetch the manager if you’d like, sir.’
‘Oh really? You can do that? Good to see you have the ability to do something ,’ Greg Dabrowski scoffs.
Theo is just sitting there, staring at the wine-stained tablecloth. Doing nothing. Not even looking at me.
So much for I believe in you, I’ve got your back . Not when it counts, apparently. Not when his future director is throwing disgusting abuse at me.
I thought I knew Theo Larkin. I thought he wanted to be my friend. Clearly, I was wrong.
So I wait, my smile an impenetrable shield. Greg Dabrowski hasn’t answered my question and I won’t move until he does.
‘Some actress you are. Got your big break snogging my lead? Stealing his thunder, according to the Daily Call .’ He looks to Theo for support.
Say something , I will Theo, even though I don’t want to care.
Theo’s mouth drops open.
Say something …
‘Would you like to speak to my manager, sir?’ I repeat, determined not to lose ground.
‘No, I don’t want to speak to your manager. I’m talking to you, dumbass …’
That’s it. Complain all you like about the food and the service, but resort to personal insults and the deal’s off. I’m not paid enough to take those. If Theo won’t step in to save me, I’ll bloody well save myself.
‘I’m fetching my manager now.’
‘You’re leaving? When we’re having so much fun?’
I widen my smile, then turn my back on him as I begin to walk away.
‘Wait!’
Now Theo speaks?
‘Stay where you are, Lucie. You deserve an apology.’
The whole restaurant falls silent.
My need to get out of here is at breaking point, the tension constricting my lungs. But I turn back – because I need to see this. I want to look Theo Larkin in the eye when he finally finds his voice.
‘Something on your mind, Theo?’ Greg slurs, an edge of threat to his question.
‘You owe Lucie an apology.’
Greg gives a snort of laughter. ‘Really? You’re doing this now?’
Theo squares his shoulders, his eyes trained on me. ‘Lucie has given you nothing but kind, courteous service. You have no right to—’
‘ She serves me . I have every right to speak to her however I see fit.’
‘With respect, Greg, you’re drunk and you’re becoming abusive. Neither of which is anything to do with her.’
‘Careful, Theo,’ Duncan hisses beside Greg, like the slimy toerag he is.
‘Shut up, Duncan,’ Theo bites back. ‘This doesn’t concern you.’
‘She’s a shit actress,’ Greg snarls. ‘Hanging onto your coattails to cash in on your performance. Only acting job she can get is in a garden doing shit Shakespeare recitals for tourists …’
‘I’ve heard enough,’ I say, walking away from the table. I resent every lie he just spouted and I’m wounded by his words, but I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing it.
Usually I can handle anything customers throw at me. But this is too much, too personal. I need backup, when I’ve never needed it before – but Hal isn’t in this evening and Tilly, our deputy house manager, is cowering behind the house manager’s desk. She’s as out of her depth as I’d feared she’d be and there’s no way she’s going to tackle Greg.
I’m going to have to get Chef Ben out to do it or this could turn nasty for everyone in Gonzalo’s. I head straight for the kitchen, as slow and dignified as I can manage. And I’m almost at the door when a voice from the restaurant stops me in my tracks.
‘Lucie Hart is incredible!’
What?
‘She’s the best actress I’ve ever worked with. What everyone has seen on the videos of The Garden Players is down to her. Why she isn’t on the main stage with the RSC is only down to idiots in charge who don’t recognise talent when they see it.’
‘Be very careful what you say, Larkin …’ Greg hisses.
‘Greg – Mr Dabrowski – with respect, you’ve had too much to drink. You need to go home and tomorrow you need to apologise. There’s a room full of witnesses here who will make sure you do.’
Mobile phones are being trained on their table now, the atmosphere in the restaurant instantly one of solidarity.
If his furious soon-to-be director intimidates Theo, he doesn’t show it. He lifts his chin a little, his stance strong. ‘Lucinda Hart is a star, no matter where she performs. I’m in complete awe of her.’
The phones swivel towards me – a starring moment I haven’t asked for.
It’s too much.
I power through the kitchen doors, pulling my apron from my waist. Ben looks up from the service counter.
‘Trouble?’
‘Customer at table fourteen being abusive. Tilly’s not intervening …’ Tears are already breaking free as I grab my bag. ‘And I’m going home.’
‘Do it,’ Ben snarls, marching towards the door. ‘I’ll call you later, yeah?’
I nod – because my tears are flooding my face now, emotion stealing my voice. I slam my hand against the fire door and emerge into the darkened courtyard beyond.
It’s raining hard and I have no coat or umbrella. No bike either, thanks to my ill-judged decision to walk here this evening. Annoyed with myself, I hurry out into the storm, my uniform soaking within seconds. Nothing else matters – I have to get away from this place.
What the hell was Theo doing? Saying nothing and then giving a speech to the entire room? Whatever else happens he needs his job in the autumn. Humiliating his hugely influential director in public was the worst career move, even if he was doing it for me.
I’m furious with myself too, for not responding. For just standing there. The moment Greg made it personal I should have put him firmly in his place. But was he right? Is the only reason people are noticing me now because I’m kissing Theo Larkin in public six days a week? Is that what people watching us in the garden and on the viral videos think, too?
And has Theo just been playing along to look good for his career?
The rain is torrential now, shimmering in the streetlight glow as it pummels my body and the glassy streets I run down. Too late, I realise I’ve taken a wrong turn and am now in a deserted Rother Market Square on Rother Street. The roads are empty, the traffic lights changing for ghost vehicles alone.
Cold rainwater is running down my spine, stinging my skin. My mind is so full of pain and hurt that I can’t think straight. Reaching the Shakespeare Memorial Fountain with its gothic towers and four clocks, I stop, flopping down on its stone steps and covering my face with my hands.
I don’t want anything Greg Dabrowski said to be right. I hate that Duncan was there, too, throwing in his snide comments about still waiting tables .
But I can’t outrun the truth: despite every effort and sacrifice I’ve made, nothing has changed.
I’m still working crap jobs for hardly any money, just to be able to perform in a garden for whoever shows up. I have no career: just one acting job I’m clinging on to. No future prospects except more of the same. And I’m tired. Tired of fighting the inevitable defeat, of holding it back in vain hope of something changing.
The article about me gave me hope today, but how can it stand in the face of everything else in my life? There are no lucky breaks. My agent has more or less dropped me. Nobody will remember Lucie Hart when this summer season ends. Theo will move on; the gossips will find fresh meat to toss between them and I’ll be left exactly where I began.
Alone.
Some unknown actress who snogged Theo Larkin .
I want to burn Greg Dabrowski’s words from my brain. But in the midst of the storm they seem to stick to my skin. I’m still unknown. That’s never going to change. Why would anyone think me memorable?
Soaked and starting to shiver, I let out the repressed fear and frustration I’ve contained within myself for so many years. I sob, each one stinging my lungs as it wrenches its way from my body. It should feel like a powerful release but all I feel is pain.
I remember Cass telling me the moment she knew her acting dream was dead in the water was when she went to an audition and they said ‘no’ as soon as she entered the room. They didn’t even let her read. It was rude and completely unprofessional, but for Cass it was a sign. The dream dies here . One ‘no’ too many, one more personal affront dressed as professional opinion the final blow that kills it all.
I have fought the inevitable for too long, promised myself I’d keep going, pushing away the question of how long for with all my might.
Lost in the rain, cold and alone, my heart breaking as a chill seeps deep into my bones, my reckoning arrives. The death of my dream. The sickening kick of realisation: the inevitable defeat.
I’m done.
I’m done with scraping for pennies and telling myself the struggle is worth it. I’m done with chasing a dream that constantly eludes me. And I am done with fighting to be seen.
I’ll see out the last week of the summer season. And then I’ll find new work – a career, maybe. I’m still young: there’s time to retrain. I could return to teaching – the career I left to pursue acting – even though the thought of teaching the plays I love instead of performing them is worse than anything.
It’s time I valued myself and took better care of me. Cass had the right idea: at some point you have to be your own first priority. I’ve been playing second fiddle to my unattainable dream for too long. I just haven’t dared to admit it before tonight.
Another wave of sadness crashes over me and I hug my sodden knees to my body, resting my head on my arms. Above, the rainclouds continue to throw down their fury, the rain hitting my head like slaps to finally wake me.
‘Lucie! What the hell … ?’
I screw my eyes shut. Great, now I’m hallucinating voices. Tonight is proving to be a real joy …
A sudden touch of warmth on my arm jolts my head upright.
Theo is crouching beside me, wrestling his jacket from his shoulders. Before I protest, he’s wrapped it around me and is coaxing me up to my feet.
‘You’re soaking! What are you doing out here?’
‘Walking home,’ I reply, which is the most ridiculous answer considering I’m in completely the wrong direction to claim that.
‘We need to get you out of this rain.’ His hair is dripping, the unruly peaks it usually sticks up in now plastered to his forehead. In the dim streetlight glow his eyes appear like endless dark pools. I can’t look away from them.
‘But Greg …’ I begin, my body suddenly shaken by a shiver.
‘Your chef put him in a taxi. He said it was either that or he was calling the police.’ He brushes my hair gently from my face as he speaks. His skin is so warm against mine. ‘I didn’t hang around to see what happened next. I had to find you.’
And there’s something so intense, so earnest in the way he says it, that makes my heart contract. I lean my cheek a little against the soothing heat of his hand, my eyes searching his for reassurance. ‘Why?’
‘Because Greg had no right to say that stuff to you. Because you’re incredible. And everybody should know it. ‘
‘Greg was right. I have no career apart from you. I have nothing without you …’
‘You’re wrong. I’m nothing without you.’ His hand is stroking my cheek now, the edge of his thumb brushing my lips. ‘I have fought with you, been outfaced by you, resented you at first, but I need you, Lu. I need this . Not just what we can do together on a stage. Us.’
My heart is slamming hard in my chest, the delicious touch of his fingers impossible to pull away from. But he’s wrong about needing me. ‘In a few weeks you’ll be gone and this will be over …’
‘No.’
‘You’ll be in a new company and where will I be?’
‘I’ll be here. For three months at least. I’m not going anywhere. I can’t go anywhere without you …’ Rainwater is flooding down his face, dripping from his brows into his eyes. He blinks it away, staring at me. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you.’
We’re closer now: I don’t remember moving and yet here we are. The warmth of his breath dances against my skin, the soft caress of his fingers insistent where they frame my face.
Do I trust this?
Is Theo telling me the truth?
My gaze dips from his dark eyes to his lips. They’ve parted a little, like I’ve seen them do every time in our performances, but this is a world away from the Birthplace’s garden stage. We have no audience in this rain-soaked square, its deserted pavements made glass in the torrential downpour, its shadow-windowed buildings drenched in otherworldly orange light.
And suddenly, my decision is made.
I can’t deny my heart any longer.
I’m kissing Theo before I take another breath and suddenly all we have is this moment. I wrap my arms around his neck as our kiss grows and deepens.
We are not Kate and Petruchio, or Beatrice and Benedick.
Not Miranda and Ferdinand.
Not Juliet and Romeo.
We’re Lucie and Theo, united after so long avoiding the truth. His kiss is every answer to every question, our passion equal, our fate sealed.
Then suddenly my feet leave the flooded pavement as Theo scoops me up into his arms. I’m aware of us moving as our kiss continues, of air passing by while the heat between us burns.
And all that matters is this …