Chapter Seven
Following the matinee performance, Alex met with the Arts Review journalist and photographer for an interview. Russell had pretty much taken their conversation this morning as a green light and had been quick to arrange it before Alex could think of some excuse to wriggle out of the meeting.
The photographer was taking shots of the actors on set, while the interviewer, a cheerful Asian woman in her mid-fifties called Mei, sat with him in the front of the auditorium.
She crossed her legs and turned her platform heel towards him. Her phone rested on the arm of her chair, recording their conversation – she may as well have placed a cobra next to her; he would have been less nervous.
Mei wore a smart and fashionable pink trouser suit that reminded him of some of the play’s costumes; bright and stylish, it screamed corporate glamour. ‘Thank you so much for agreeing to speak with me, Alex.’
Russell beamed at them from across the auditorium like a proud stage mom.
Alex suspected he hadn’t run this past Richie, but then again his agent rarely came to the theatre.
In fact, he was a little surprised Richie had come to London at all, considering how little he saw of him normally.
Still, Richie – despite his faults – had shown far more loyalty than the rest of his family, none of whom had taken a day or two out of their busy schedule to come and see his play.
Alex stepped into the charming persona he always wore during interviews.
Friendly, yet professional. ‘Did you enjoy the performance, Mei? By the way, love your suit. You look like you could be part of the show.’ He was careful to give her a compliment early on.
A trick his mother had taught him to help make a connection with journalists, and hopefully keep them on your side.
Mei beamed with enthusiasm. ‘I loved the performance, and thank you. You’ve certainly brought the luxurious glamour of New York to the West End.’
The interview started well, plenty of questions about the actors and his artistic choices, and Alex quickly relaxed.
His first mistake.
‘How did your own experience growing up in a famous Hollywood family inspire your interpretation of Gatsby’s parties?’ Mei blinked wide, innocent eyes at him.
He laughed to hide his building anxiety at the more personal question, and then gave a couple of sweet anecdotes about his mom’s star-studded Halloween costume parties, all while being careful to steer it back to the costume and set designers he’d chosen for the production.
However, the next question tested his acting skills and patience to the max.
Mei tilted her head thoughtfully. ‘Did your recent break-up influence your direction of this production?’
Alex glanced at the recording phone, an unspoken threat.
To buy time and collect his thoughts, he sipped from his water bottle.
If he denied any heartache or refused to comment, it might be viewed as confirmation that he was the callous villain after all, but if he told the truth and explained the situation it would paint his family in a poor light – or, worse, be viewed as defensive lies.
‘Mei…’ He purred her name, in a subtle rebuke, fixing her with a firm look that made her shift in her seat.
He waved his hand dismissively. ‘I don’t really know what you mean.
I’m at an exciting point in my career, and feeling optimistic for the future and that of my family.
Now, Gatsby on the other hand, and in fact all of the characters in this production, are tragically doomed…
’ He went on to explain the themes and how he explored them with his direction, then wrapped up the interview quickly by saying he had to go and congratulate the actors on another brilliant performance.
But he made a point of glaring at Russell as he passed him, and said coldly, ‘No more interviews.’
Before the evening performance, Alex hurried towards the sound booth at the back of the theatre where he usually sat and took notes during the performance.
At some point he would have to let go of this production.
That was what most directors did, watch one or two performances, give some notes, and then move on.
After all, once a production was smoothly up and running there was little else for a director to do.
Unless he became a resident director – but Richie had said Russell wasn’t keen on that idea. He wanted Alex for his big name, and then gone. Why then, was Alex still here, with no plans to leave? Did he want to be sure of the play’s success, or his own?
It was probably both. He had no idea what he was going to do after this. Nobody was approaching him for more projects, which was no surprise considering the amount of heat he was currently under what with Liam and Savannah’s upcoming wedding.
Richie had suggested going back to LA, meeting some producers and seeing what happened.
But he didn’t want to leave London; it would feel like accepting he wasn’t good enough – again.
Theatre directing was meant to be his fresh start, a new career separate from his family’s movie star lives.
The production was going well and had already received critical acclaim.
Not selling as much as he’d hoped, granted, but there was little he could do about that other than hope the positive reviews had worked their magic.
The ushers had opened the auditorium doors and the audience were slowly making their way in, so Alex raised his hood and quickened his pace as he made his way up the stairs two at a time.
A canary-yellow dress and a shapely figure on the opposite staircase happened to catch his eye.
His foot missed a step, and he had to grab the handrail to stop himself falling forward.
Ellie was here! His heart immediately raced wildly at the sight of her. She was as bright as a summer’s day, her dark hair falling in soft waves down her shoulders and over a fluffy white cardigan.
The sundress fitted her like a glove and brought out the olive tone of her skin. Like a 1950s Italian bombshell, she seemed to dominate the space, all dramatic curves and sexy cleavage that flounced enticingly as she moved.
The fluffy cardigan was to soften her look and more importantly, keep her warm in London’s ever-changing spring weather.
Clutching a raincoat and a vintage purse to her stomach, he noticed her squinting at the row’s letters and chair numbers as she tried to find her seat.
She needn’t have worried. It wasn’t a full house and most of the audience had bought tickets near the front or middle to get the best view.
If he’d known she was coming he would have comped her ticket.
Gingerly she began to sidestep down her row, her round hips swaying as she navigated the narrow space and apologised to the couple of people who had to move to let her pass.
She’d not noticed Alex on the stairs opposite her.
He took several deep breaths to slow down the jittery excitement pulsing through his veins, before he practically ran down the aisle to join her.
Thankfully, there was no one else in the row to slow his progress.
Ellie had come to see his play! He felt like he’d won the lottery.
None of his family had come, but Ellie had. A woman he’d only met two nights ago was more of a friend to him than his own flesh and blood.
Am I crazy to feel so happy about it?
‘Ellie,’ he called softly, hoping not to frighten her, but she jumped anyway.
‘Alex! Oh God, you must think I’m a stalker, but I could only really come today, I’m working nights next week,’ she blurted out as her face flushed pink, her eyes darting around the theatre fearfully, as if she expected the cops to drag her away in handcuffs.
‘No, I’m glad you’re here,’ he whispered, taking the empty seat next to her.
The lights lowered to signal the start of the show, and an electric silence descended over the audience, who were tense with anticipation.
He looked around at the many empty seats around them and winced.
Sadly, there’d not been a great immediate uptake in sales despite the glowing reviews they’d received since opening night, but maybe they just needed a little more time to get the word out?
Ellie’s whisper distracted him from that depressing thought. ‘It sounded so good. I had to come and see it.’
‘I’m glad you did.’
She leaned close and licked her lips, sending a shiver of awareness down his spine. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday,’ she said, her eyes pained.
‘Don’t be.’
‘It was Mark.’ She barely drew breath before continuing in a rush, ‘My brother. He told the press. I’m so sorry.
He didn’t realise how bad it would be, and he’s worried about money, and they paid him.
Although that’s no excuse, and I think he realises that now.
He’s promised never to do it again. Not that there will be an again. But you know…’
‘Look, don’t worry, it’s fine.’ He reached for her hand and squeezed her warm fingers, the touch so natural and right that he held them for a little longer than he’d intended. Her eyes dropped to their entwined hands and she released a heavy breath.
‘Thank you. You’re so nice.’
No man liked to hear that. Hadn’t Savannah called him that when they’d broken up – nice?
Nice was boring, lacklustre, nothing special.
He was sick of being nice. As he eased back in his seat, their hands naturally broke apart.
Nothing lasts, he reminded himself, and other than a couple of heated looks there was nothing in Ellie’s behaviour to suggest she wanted anything more from their friendship.
Was he allowing his loneliness to get the better of him?
Expecting too much from Ellie in return?
He could lose her friendship before it even had a chance to begin.
The curtains opened, the actors locked in position for a moment of breathless stillness and then the play began.