Close Up and Personal (28 page)

The difficult Mr Berkeley strikes again
, I think.

I let my eyes rest on the rulebook for a moment, and then I pick up the one with the studio title
instead, and flip through it.

The first page includes a pull out map, which I open with interest.
The image shows the entire complex of Berkeley’s studio. It’s more like a small town, I think, trying to take it all in.

The map shows a dizzying number of stages, mixed in with costume and prop workshops, technical stores and post-production suites. There’s a mammoth-looking
tank to film water scenes, a petrol station and even stables for coach and horses. I imagine that must be for use in historical films.

My eyes pan down to what I presume is the accommodation part of the studios. I don’t see any trailers marked, but there’s a
fitness room and health farm listed, alongside a huge canteen and restaurant-bar, and even a nursery.

I let out a low whistle. I only took one module on set management at drama school. But it’s enough to know this studio is serious luxury.

James Berkeley certainly doesn’t do things by half.

I feel a surge of excitement, thinking what a fun place it will be to work. Though I have no idea how I’ll avoid getting lost amongst all the studios and stages.

I flip to the next page, and the location is listed, with various instructions on how to get helicopters, coaches and limousines to access the studio park.

The whole complex is located in the English countryside, forty miles or so
north-east of London.

Since I don’t have a car
, I am wondering whether it’s even possible to access on foot when I see some text lower down.

“Private cars will be provided unless actors specifically request their own transport deliver them.”

Well, that’s one problem dealt with then.

The next document I pick up is the casting pages. I’m wondering who’ll be acting alongside me. Berkeley’s film
s sometimes use big names, but others have been shot entirely with unknowns. In fact, he’s famous for making debut appearances into Oscar-winning performances.

I flick into the pages and let my eyes scan down.

The first name listed is mine. I feel a thrill of excitement seeing Isabella Green in black and white, by the leading role.

I never wanted to be a famous actress, but I
can’t deny it’s a heady feeling, being almost famous.

I look down the list. The leading man’s role is still blank, with
to be cast
, inked in, instead of a name.

I frown about this, and read on.

Most of the names are unfamiliar, but I see at least three that make me catch my breath.

Callum Reed. He’s an incredible actor, known as much for his diversity in roles as his colourful
personal life. His last film was a comedy, but before that he’s won accolades for serious leads and supporting roles.

No doubt Callum feels it’s time he won
an Oscar, so it’s a no-brainer that he’s working with James.

I glance at his role. He’s not a lead. But from what I’ve read of the script, his supporting role has plenty of depth. It’s a great opportunity to show of
f his acting talent.

I think back to what I know of Callum. He’s in his
mid-forties now, but in his youth he was well-known for having problems with drugs. I feel my fingers tense around papers. James must know this. How is he comfortable casting Callum, given his own chequered past?

The next name
I recognise comes with a little fission of shock. Natalie Ennis. I stare at it for a moment. Natalie is not so much famous as infamous. She’s known for diva tantrums and unreasonable demands. Though some feel she has sensational acting potential.

Natalie
is slated to play the prostitute I initially thought James had cast me for.

I pause for a moment,
remembering something, my eyes searching the coffee table.

Lying on the
far end is a copy of Lorna’s
Heat Magazine
, detailing all the latest celebrity scandals.

I snatch it up.

There on the front page is Natalie. She’s stumbling out of a limo looking worse for wear, and the image is spliced with another of her, shouting at her boyfriend, and flipping him the bird.

Her long dark hair is falling over her face, and her tiny child-like body is barely concealed by a mini-skirt and bra-top.

I flick to the corresponding story inside the magazine.

“Natalie Reaches Melt-Down!” screams the headline. And then, in smaller letters: “Former child-star can’t cope with adult life.”

I let my eyes rove over the text, reading about how Natalie has a problem with drink, unsuitable men, and, occasionally, unsuitable women.

Natalie
shot to fame as a young girl, and everyone thought she’d go on to be one of the greats. But she became more famous for movie-death as she grappled with personal problems.

So this is who I’ll be working with
, I think, deciding to reserve judgement. English newspapers and magazines are notorious for making up scandals. Perhaps Natalie has just fallen prey to the worse side of the press. And Callum’s drug past was a long time ago. He’s cleaned up his act since then.

I wonder how it works on-set -
whether I will be spending any time with these famous people. Or if they will simply disappear to their own luxurious quarters the minute the director shouts ‘cut!’

Certainly I’d be interested to meet them.

My eyes fall on the rulebook again, and I pick it up with a sigh, realising I can’t put it off any longer.

I open it
and begin to scan through the terms.

Some of it I recognise as standard from drama school – theatre and movie contracts were part of the curriculum. But halfway down there is a large clause concerning drug use.

Berkeley Studios operates a zero toleran
ce to the use of illegal drugs.

Actors who feel they need support in this matter may contact the studios before filming. We operate extensive and highly effective rehabilitation services for those willing to accept. However, once filming has begun, any actor in breach of these conditions will have their cont
ract instantly terminated.

I read through the rest of the contract but can’t find anything particularly untoward. If anything, it’s more lenient than normal studio arrangements.

Under the ‘overtime’ category, for example,
Berkeley’s studio pledges to pay extra for every twenty minutes over the standard eight-hour day. In the movie world, where actor’s huge pay makes directors drive them to work around-the-clock, this is unheard of.

There is a harsh-sounding clause on punctuality, however, which gives the studio the right to make pay deductions should an actor perpetually show up late.

This seems sensible, since many big names are notorious for being late to set. Legend had it that Marilyn Monroe drove directors made with her lateness.

I think of my
own problem with punctuality and decide it’s not bad enough to contravene the contract.

Then I remember Berkeley promising to spank me the next time I show up late and I feel my cheeks flush.

I put down the rulebook, resolving to read it more thoroughly later, and begin to sift through the rest of the documents.

There is a menu
showing daily meals, which sound absolutely incredible. The menu also details other food arrangements laid on. There’s an extra crew of trained chefs to provide for vegans and other special diets. Generally, actors in Berkeley’s studio can more or less have anything they’d like made fresh to order.

Then there are details on the accommodation. It looks as though we won’t be in trailers after all. The extra
buildings which I’d mistaken for studios are, in fact, little stand-alone lodges. One for each actor.

There’s a picture of the interior, and
inside the lodges are hotel-style suites, complete with their own kitchen and lounge areas.

On the list of amenities are luxuries I’d never even heard of, including ‘make-up fridge’ and
‘automatic water-filter faucets’.

Maybe this is what it takes to keep modern movie divas happy. But something tells me this is just Berkeley’s way of doing everything perfectly.

My phone rings, and I snatch it up, smiling to see James’s name on the display.

“Are you angry with me?” he says, his deep voice echoing richly down the line.

“No. Yes…” I stutter over the words, realising I’m no longer angry. And he doesn’t sound the least bit sorry anyway.

“Well
, what is it? Yes or no?” Now he sounds amused.

“Yes,” I decide, electing to be annoyed on principle, even though I’m not really feeling it anymore. “You shouldn’t have interfered in my personal financial affairs without asking me.”

“I plan to interfere with a great deal more than your personal finances.”

The way he says the words makes me melt, and I inwardly curse him for having this effect on me.

“It was impolite,” I insist, trying to collect myself.

“Well now,” he says, “t
he last thing I would ever want is to be discourteous. Especially to you. Did you get the movie documents?”

“Yes. Don’t change the subject.”

“I have some unfortunate news, Isabella.” His voice sounds stern, and I feel my stomach turn to ice. My first thought is I’m no longer in the movie.

“I’ve got to go away for a week,” he says, and I feel my breathing steady.

“Oh,” I say with relief. And then the reality hits me. A week without James Berkeley. That seems like forever.

“An urgent matter has come up,” he adds, “we’ll talk about it on my return. I’m not sure how good the phone reception is where I’ll be.”

Oh.
A little part of my heart whimpers.
Where could he be going with no reception?

All kinds of paranoid thoughts flood my brain. When a man tells you he’s headed somewhere and he can’t talk on the phone, it can’t be good.

Is he breaking up with me?

“Can
’t we talk about it now?” I ask in a small voice.

“No
, Issy.” He sounds angry. Then his voice softens. “This is nothing to do with how I feel about you. That hasn’t changed. It’s just something unexpected that has come up. I won’t know what it means for the movie until I get back.”

Oh.
So something to do with the movie. Selfishly, I hear myself worrying that the picture will be canned.

Listen to you
,
I scold myself.
A week ago, you never even wanted to be in a movie.

“Are you OK?” I say, worrying now that he might be in some personal trouble.

“I am absolutely fine,” he says. “You never need to worry about me. But the state you got me worked up unto earlier today….” I hear the promise in his voice. “Perhaps you need to worry about what I might do to you when I get back.”

I feel myself smiling, but I’m still not reassured. “When do you leave?” I ask.

“Right now. I’m at the airport. I had to bribe security to let me out to call you,” he adds.

Is he telling the truth?

“Listen, Issy I have to go,” says James. “I… I’ll talk to you when I get back.”

And then he’s gone
.

I stand for a long moment with the phone in my hand. All the events of the past few days rush through my mind in a blur.

The tango, the hotel, his meeting my family. And now this phone-call. I feel a slow sense of foreboding sweep through me.

After all this, was that phone-call a way of letting me down gently?

I shake away the thought as ridiculous. But other, logical facts begin assailing my mind.

You’ve known him less than a week. You didn’t exactly play hard to get. He said himself he’s troubled and difficult.

James said on the phone that his feelings hadn’t changed. But he also said he’s going somewhere with no mobile reception for a week. And he’s given me no reason for why that could be.

A deep painful fe
eling seeps into me. I have a very long week ahead.

Somehow I must get through the next se
ven days without James Berkeley.

Seven days, without knowing why he’s gone.

It feels like forever.

And there is nothing I can do but wait
.

I hate that they left me hanging!

Don’t worry! If you enjoyed Close-Up and Personal, the next book in the series,
The Berkeley Method
is out now, and available to buy on Amazon for $2.99.

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