Chapter 27
Twenty-seven
THE FIRST TERM OF third year was drawing to a close.
As we careened wildly from rehearsal room to rehearsal room, the year shut down around us.
Crunchy brown leaves dashed along pavements outside the school.
Skeletal trees de-robed and, exhausted, surrendered to their final act.
Fading seams of daylight pierced the plate-glass windows.
Small clusters of students gathered on the wide granite steps, bundled up in jackets and scarves, talk of Christmas, home and family on their lips. But things weren’t over for us yet.
‘Quiet, please,’ Frida said, clapping her hands. ‘Leave your coats and bags, and find a space on the floor.’
Malcolm and Frida waited on plastic chairs, notebooks open on their laps while we gathered in front of them.
‘I want to begin by saying well done to everyone on your performances last week. You’ll receive your individual feedback by this Friday.’
Blood Wedding was the first of our final-year public productions. I’d played the Neighbour during the brief five-night run, not a huge part. But as Malcolm liked to parrot: ‘There are no small parts, only small actors.’
Frida continued, ‘If you haven’t done so already, please remember to thank any industry guests who attended. Stefano, I believe you had someone from West Management see the play, didn’t you?’
He nodded. ‘I’ve sent them an email.’
‘Very good,’ Frida replied. ‘Malcolm, have you anything to add about last week’s performance before we begin?’
Malcolm, startled, looked up. ‘Erm, no, no, not really. Erm, it was very good, yes, very good.’
I glanced sideways at Jolly, who rolled his eyes. Waiting for our cues backstage, we’d spied Malcolm happily snoring away in the second row.
‘Brilliant play, yes, Lorca, an excellent piece of work.’ Malcolm began shuffling through his notes. ‘I do feel I should remind you all, though, not to pin your hopes on getting signed merely from the public productions.’
‘Yes, and that’s what we’re here to talk about today: showcase.’
‘Yes,’ Malcolm continued, ‘Showcase is the, err, important one, the big beast, as it were. Of course your public productions matter, but, well, it’s showcase that will have the biggest impact on your careers.
I was catching up with an old friend of mine, Clarence Briggs, err, from Briggs & Taylor Management, old friend, yes, we did rep together in – when was it?
– seventy-eight, I think, wonderful man, quite the wit.
Anyway, we were having a drink last week and he, well, we got to talking about showcase, erm, and he said, he said of the public productions’ – Malcolm chuckled to himself – ‘well, he said he doesn’t really bother with them. ’
We all sat up a little straighter.
‘No, they don’t matter so much to agents now, you see.
They’d much rather attend a showcase than, err, now, how did he put it?
Ah yes, he said, err, he said, “Who wants to sit through a four-hour slog of Richard III just to discover one piddly new grad?” So yes, it is, err, showcase where, as it were, the real work happens,’
Frida took over. ‘Your showcase will take place next term at the Fortune Theatre. You will each have four minutes and twenty-eight seconds of stage time, made up of individual monologues and short scenes.’
Archie raised his hand. ‘Who will be there?’
‘Everyone, hopefully. The school will invite as many casting directors and agents as we can. You will, however, also be expected to email and write to your own industry guests. We find this two-pronged approach encourages more people to come.’ Frida replaced the lid of her pen.
‘Each guest will be given a booklet with your headshots and contact details inside. If someone likes what they see, they can get in touch.’
Jolly raised his hand. ‘And what if they don’t like what they see?’
Frida pursed her lips and glanced sideways at Malcolm, who answered for her. ‘Well, err, then let’s say you might struggle in that first year out.’
I felt the backs of those around me stiffen.
‘I’ve seen, err, seen agents walk into theatre lobbies, flip through a few pages of the showcase booklet and leave.’ Malcolm tittered. ‘It’s a tough business, but if, err, a graduate actor is going to get signed at all, it’s probably going to be at showcase. That’s just the way it is.’
Frida and Malcolm brought the meeting to a close. We had a five-minute break before our next session (dance prep for next term’s production of As You Like It). Usually in our breaks, people were boisterous and giddy, chatting and joking around with one another. Not today, though.
Four minutes and twenty-eight seconds to make it count.
I found a corner, lay down and shut my eyes. I thought about Victoria, on set, hobnobbing with the other actors, making connections. If all this was a race, why did she get to start so close to the finish line? After a minute, I felt someone join me.
‘You know, usually if you lie on the floor you’re meant to be stretching, not sleeping.’ It was Obi.
I kept my eyes shut. ‘Animal studies,’ I said by way of response. ‘I’m being a slug.’
Obi laughed. I felt him inch closer until his arm touched mine.
I felt a shiver go through me at the light pressure of his skin, the thin membrane of contact between us.
But then an image of Victoria flashed behind my eyes – her forehead buried between my legs – and I felt a twinge of guilt laced with longing.
I moved my arm away.
‘Have you thought about what you’ll do for showcase yet?’ Obi murmured.
‘No. I don’t want to think about it.’
‘Yeah. I know what you mean.’ His voice was a comforting well. I could feel it humming through the floorboards, buzzing in my shoulder blades. ‘Frida and Malcolm said we should start, though.’
‘I know.’
‘You scared too?’ he asked.
‘Terrified.’ Behind my lids, the bright lights of the rehearsal room undulated and spread. ‘I don’t want to think about what comes next.’
‘No.’
I’d written to every agent and casting director I could think of, but hadn’t received a single reply.
As each day ticked by, the realities of the industry loomed ever darker.
You’re no diamond. Soon I’d be belched out onto the streets along with a couple of hundred other promising young graduates.
I’d need to find work, to make my degree count for something, to prove all the people who thought me too plain, too forgettable, wrong. Face disappears.
I laughed half-heartedly, a pathetic sound. ‘I don’t know anyone out there. What if no one wants me?’
‘They’ll want you.’
‘But what if they don’t?’
Obi didn’t respond.
I felt tears gather in my eyes. I rolled my head away so he wouldn’t see.
‘I was thinking,’ Obi began, ‘I mean, I don’t know, it’s up to you, but maybe we could do one of our Macbeth scenes?’
‘For showcase?’
‘Yeah. I thought it went pretty well.’ He paused. ‘Your performance, Shan – it was magic.’
Lights gathered in the darkness, black skies rearranged themselves into stars, fireworks. Magic.
‘Maybe.’
‘I mean . . .’ He paused. ‘What’s stopping us?’
I wiped the dampness from my lashes and rolled my head towards him. Obi was staring at me, his grey eyes shining. He reached a hand out and brushed my fingertips. The breath caught in my throat.
What’s stopping us?
Victoria appeared in my mind’s eye again, but this time I pushed her away.