Chapter 4
Four
I LOST COUNT OF how many people turned up.
Tiff, Archie and Matt had been invited too, but otherwise I was adrift among a sea of unfamiliar faces.
Although not completely unfamiliar. I did recognize a model who’d been seen on the arm of Prince Harry in the gossip rags, as well as a guy I could’ve sworn was the Young Vic’s most recent Hamlet wiping coke from his nose as he emerged from the bathroom.
There was also a man I recognized from my well-thumbed RLSDA prospectus, a recent graduate of the school who was hotly tipped to play Heathcliff in a new movie adaptation of Wuthering Heights.
Victoria sat on the graduate’s lap, one arm across his shoulder.
Obi and I stood huddled in a small group around them.
We listened to the young man talk about his time at the school, about how much fun he was having out in the industry and all the auditions his agent was getting him.
He talked and he talked, and we listened with razor-sharp focus, as if some of his shine might rub off on us, giving us the edge over the competition when our time eventually came.
‘It’s not difficult. If you’re a good actor, you’ll get work. It’s as simple as that. It’s not about what you look like or who you know. It’s about talent. Those who’ve got it, rise to the top. Those who don’t? Well . . .’ He shrugged and veered off into another story.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. He’d been talking non-stop for the last twenty minutes.
‘Shall we go outside?’ I whispered to Obi, but he waved his hand to shush me.
I stifled a yawn. I was tired of listening to the guy drone on and on, of exclaiming surprise at yet another anecdote that cast him as the hero.
I looked at him, really looked at him. What was it?
Why was he doing well while others got nowhere?
What magical star quality did he possess?
He was handsome, I suppose. Although if you stared at him long enough, his features seemed to rearrange themselves until he took on a snub-nosed, almost puggish quality.
‘I think the key thing is confidence. Every time I turn up for an audition, I walk in already knowing I’ve got the job.’
The more he talked, the more I noticed the self-conscious way he raked his floppy fringe from his eyes, the damp sweat along his hairline, the way he yammered on, name-dropping this actor, that director, the way he fashioned thin rollies beneath his dry fingers, spilling shreds of Amber Leaf onto his jeans, and the way he smoked them, with a Brando-esque squint, as if pained to have such an achingly cool habit.
‘Of course, I’m excited to be getting seen for more TV and film, but really, theatre’s my first love. There’s an honesty to theatre, a grit, a reality that it’s impossible to capture on film.’
I fought the urge to roll my eyes.
‘But yeah, if you ever need any tips on Tabitha or, like, literally any other casting directors, then just let me know,’ he said.
‘Wow, that’s so generous,’ Victoria replied. ‘My agent says she’s going to try and get me seen for Cathy.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, I can’t really discuss specific casting,’ he replied, smirking. ‘NDAs and all that.’
‘So you are playing Heathcliff then?’ she purred.
He laughed. ‘I never said that.’
‘But you’ve signed an NDA?’
‘Yes. But that could just mean I’ve seen the script.’
Victoria pouted. ‘I think you’ve got it in the bag but you just don’t want to tell me.’
‘Leave it, V,’ Obi warned her. ‘If the man can’t say, then the man can’t say.’
‘I didn’t ask you,’ Victoria replied tersely, not looking up.
Obi’s nostrils flared. He took another swig of his drink, but the bottle was empty.
‘Would you like me to be your wild woman?’ Victoria whispered in the graduate’s ear.
‘I might go get another drink,’ Obi said. ‘Anyone want anything?’
The man, not taking his eyes from her, shook his head. Victoria rubbed the back of his neck like she hadn’t heard the question.
Obi lingered a moment, then headed towards the fridge. He slid a beer from the shelf and charged into the garden. I grabbed one too and followed him.
The air was heavy with the smell of jasmine, the sky bleached with streaks of purple.
I found Obi on a bench beneath an oak tree.
He was picking the label, wet, from his beer.
I sat down next to him. Although we were only a few yards away from the house, it suddenly looked quite distant; the people lit within paper figurines, dolls arranged on a stage.
‘You don’t have to sit with me, you know. I’m fine out here on my own,’ Obi said, his voice flat.
‘I know. I want to.’
A blackbird hopped onto the grass nearby and assessed us with its orange eye. A breath of wind rustled the leaves above us. The bird crouched, then flew away.
‘She’s an idiot.’
I didn’t need to ask who he meant.
‘She acts like she doesn’t care, like everything’s just a big laugh. And then she goes and gets herself in trouble. She’s an idiot.’
‘I know. But she’s our friend.’
‘Yeah.’
In the distance I could see Jolly and Terrence embracing on the deck, Archie and Tiff making out in the gazebo, and Stefano standing off to one side with a bottle in his hand, gazing up at the night sky.
‘Sometimes,’ Obi began, ‘I wish – I wish that . . .’ He trailed off.
‘What?’ I asked, inching closer to him, feeling almost lightheaded at our proximity. ‘What is it?’
He put the beer between his feet and placed his head in his hands. He sighed. ‘Never mind.’
‘No, tell me.’
‘She just thinks I’m this good guy, that I’m some fucking saint.’ He leaned back. ‘She thinks she can do or say anything she wants to me and I’ll just take it, that I won’t care.’
‘You’re right. I’ve seen it,’ I said tentatively, daring myself to go further. ‘She uses people.’
Obi glanced at me warily. ‘No, that’s not what I meant. You know what, never mind.’
‘You don’t have to be with her, you know?’ I said, becoming more emboldened by the second.
‘Be with her? Look, let’s just drop it. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ve probably just had too much to drink.’ He sighed. His shoulders sagged. ‘I’m fine. She’s fine. Everything’s just fine.’
Looking back, maybe that’s what made me do it; the hollowness in his voice, the emptiness.
I wanted to comfort him, that’s all, to let him know he wasn’t alone, that I understood him.
But somewhere along the way, the signals in my brain became tangled.
Somewhere along the way I kissed him. Or tried to.
‘Whoa, what are you doing?’ he said, jerking away from me.
‘I’m sorry, I thought—’
‘You thought what?’
‘I thought that I could help you,’ I stammered. ‘That we could, that we could – I don’t know – oh God, I’m sorry, I know you and Victoria are – well – we all know that you’re—’
‘Victoria? What’s this got to do with her?’
‘Well, because you’re together and I shouldn’t have thought you would want to—’
‘Me and Victoria aren’t together, Shannon. We’re nothing.’
‘Oh.’
It wasn’t because of Victoria that he didn’t want me. It was because of me.
He stood up. ‘I’m sorry. I just – this? You, me, this? I can’t do it, OK?’
‘OK,’ I said quietly. ‘That’s OK.’
‘It’s not that I don’t like you, I do, it’s just that—’
‘Please,’ I said, getting up and straightening my skirt. ‘You really don’t have to explain anything.’
‘No, no, I don’t want you to think that, like, I don’t like you – I do, I do like you, but .
. .’ He glanced towards the house, the warm lights and cool people gliding effortlessly across floors more expensive than our combined education.
‘There are other things I have to think about, other things I need to consider.’
‘It’s OK, you don’t need to explain anything to me, honestly. I’m going to go inside now. I’m so sorry.’
As I left, he said something, but I couldn’t make out what. I just kept walking, kept my head down. I needed to get away from him, from my shame, from my own wretched shadow following me across the striped lawn.