Chapter 10 #2
Things have been better between Sinclair and me since I apologized to him on his birthday.
You’d never believe it, but apparently just talking to one another really does solve problems. Even so, there’s still a bit of tension when I turn up to the joint drama and scriptwriting club meeting on Friday evening.
Florence sent me the script as it stands at the moment, and I was up until the wee hours reading it.
And now I understand why the others are unhappy.
The language is old-fashioned and the dialogue feels unnatural.
Perhaps it really isn’t a bad idea of Mr Acevedo’s to get the cast and the writers working on the text together.
Florence, Amara, Ho-wing and Quentin don’t look exactly thrilled when he tells them about it, but they don’t dare complain because Mr Acevedo’s arguments make sense and time’s running out.
He introduces me to everyone as this year’s assistant director and then lets us get on with reading through the current script.
Sinclair, Eleanor and the other actors have it up on their iPads.
Sinclair’s settled down cross-legged on the stage and it seems to me that he looks in my direction fairly often.
Since his birthday, I somehow haven’t been able to think straight.
There was something between us, even if I don’t know how to describe it. But there’s no way I’m imagining it.
I scroll forward a page as Florence jumps to the next section, and force myself to turn my concentration back to the text.
Romeo: She’s unlike anybody else I ever met. I never saw true beauty till this night.
Val’s voice in my head and that uneasy feeling in my stomach. It’s not a compliment if they’re putting other people down in the same breath. Is that really so hard to understand? And why is being different even so desirable?
‘All agreed?’ Florence asks, as she moves on. The others nod, heads down. They only look up when I start to speak.
‘Don’t you guys think that’s kind of a stupid way of putting it?’
Florence stops. ‘What do you mean, Tori?’
‘Well, this bit here from Romeo. “She’s unlike anybody else.”’
‘What about it?’ Quentin asks.
‘It’s complicated. Why can’t Romeo compliment her without disrespecting other women? Quite apart from the fact that he has to comment on her appearance . . .’
Quentin looks at me. ‘It’s Shakespeare. What did you expect?’
‘For us to write a modern version,’ I say curtly. I don’t care that he and the others are irritated. I’m more than ready to debate this point. Especially when it would be so easy to change.
‘What do you think?’ Florence looks around.
Amara, Sinclair, Eleanor and a few others nod, but Quentin and Terry just shrug their shoulders.
Florence turns to Mr Acevedo. ‘What do you think, sir?’
He raises his hands deprecatingly. ‘It’s your play.’ But the look he gives me later makes it clear that he shares my opinion.
‘I’d like to change it.’ Suddenly everyone’s looking at Sinclair. ‘It’s my line and I wouldn’t feel happy saying a thing like that. And you’re right, Quen, they were different times back then. But we should have the ambition to write a feminist play.’
‘It’s Romeo and Juliet,’ says Ho-wing. ‘There’s nothing feminist about it.’
‘So that’s why we’re sitting here making sure that changes.’ Eleanor straightens up a touch. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘Exactly,’ Florence agrees. ‘So make a suggestion.’ She pulls over her laptop and raises her eyebrows expectantly when nobody speaks.
‘“She is the sun, temptation,”’ says Sinclair. He blushes to his ears as everyone looks at him again. He clears his throat. ‘Or something like that . . . Then the compliment wouldn’t be about her appearance but her aura, you know.’
Florence nods enthusiastically and makes a note. I can’t move because Sinclair’s looking at me still.
‘Everyone happy?’
Florence’s voice makes me jump, and I nod hurriedly. ‘Yes, much better. Thank you.’
‘So, can we continue? Or is there anything else?’
I throw caution to the wind. ‘To be honest, yes. While we’re on the subject . . . On the next page, Juliet’s talking to herself about why Romeo has picked her over everyone else. “He could have anyone he liked. If he were just to snap his fingers, every virgin in Verona would stand in line . . .”’
‘What about it?’
‘Seriously, Quentin? He just has to snap his fingers?’
‘That’s how Romeo is. It’s what makes him attractive. He’s a player, and Juliet is drawn to him even though she’s uncertain and inexperienced.’
‘So do we want to tell the audience that a woman needs a man’s approval before she can become aware of her own beauty?’
‘It’s a current trope,’ says Florence.
‘Yeah, and it’s bullshit,’ puts in Eleanor. ‘Tori’s right. There’ll be so many young girls watching us, and we should give them a different message. I wouldn’t be very happy if that stays in.’
‘I’m in favour of cutting it too.’ Florence turns back to her laptop and Quentin sighs in annoyance.
Eleanor glances at me. She smiles and it feels like a small victory that unites us for a while.
But something else in her eyes scares me.
A quiet warning, as if she knew who I was thinking about earlier.
She’s Val’s ex: she must know what he’s like.
And now he’s badmouthing her, which is one of the biggest red flags, if all the mental-health accounts I follow on Insta are to be believed.
But nobody tells you how much harder it is to spot things in real life that sound so obvious in theory.
And then to pluck up the courage to do something about it.
Yes, Val says problematic things, and his behaviour is dire. But he has his own demons to fight. And I’m looking for excuses for his behaviour. Another of those dangerous things.
‘OK, shall we go on?’ Florence asks.
I raise my head. I look into Sinclair’s face and my thoughts stop whirling.
I nod slowly.