She gave another dismissive wave of her hand. “Students come, students go. He’d realize that soon enough. He needs a new direction in his life and I need your help convincing him, Ella. You’re his only relative. Of course I realize this impacts you to some degree. Perhaps you were expecting to inherit the house, though whether you’d want a millstone like that around your neck is another question. That’s immaterial now, anyway. The point is, I want you to help me convince him to sell up and retire. I’ve already made enquiries. It’s an excellent time to buy in France. If we moved quickly, he and I could be living there by the summer.”
“But what about your husband?”
“I’ve decided the time has come to choose between them. I’ve chosen Lucas.”
I was having difficulty taking this in. “But why does that mean Lucas has to sell his house? When you and your husband get divorced, won’t you come to some financial agreement?”
She called the waiter over again and ordered a port. She stayed silent until it was in front of her, took a sip and then fixed me with what might have been an unsettling look if she had been sober.
“It’s a complicated situation, Ella. Let me explain. My husband is not just wealthy. He’s extremely wealthy. And when we got married, his parents deemed it necessary to protect that wealth. So I found myself signing what is now called a prenuptial agreement. I must confess I’d forgotten all about it. Until my husband announced less than a week ago that he wanted to end our marriage—”
“He announced? I thought you said you’d made the decision to leave him.”
She waved her hand again. “It was just a matter of timing. It transpires he’s been busy extracurricularly himself. What it boils down to, if you’ll pardon the colloquialism, is that my marriage is over and I can now live openly with Lucas. But I refuse to do it in that house. So, as I have explained, the most obvious solution is for him to sell it and we start fresh somewhere else. France, preferably, but elsewhere if need be. But I know Lucas won’t think about selling while you’re there. So that’s my next question. How long do you plan to stay?”
“Pardon?”
“You weren’t planning on living with Lucas forever, were you? Playing housekeeper for squatting students for the rest of your life?”
“I don’t know, Henrietta. I’ve only just arrived.”
“No need to be upset. I’m sure this has come as a shock. But I hope you will put his happiness ahead of yours and see that selling is the best possible option in these new circumstances.”
Henrietta’s phone rang before I could answer. She glanced down. “It’s my husband. Excuse me.”
She moved to a corner of the restaurant to take the call. I now knew why she’d accepted Lucas’s suggestion to have this dinner. It wasn’t to get to know me better. It was to give me notice to vacate.
When she returned, I pleaded a sudden headache. If she guessed I was pretending, she let me get away with it. We briefly brushed cheeks as we said good-bye. “We’ll talk further, Ella,” she said as she hailed a taxi. I walked home. I needed all the thinking time I could get.
The house was lit up when I arrived. A student in every room. Before I lost my nerve, I knocked at Lucas’s door and went in. As usual, he was by the fire, papers and books strewn around him. He looked up and smiled, so familiar, so welcoming. My spirits fell even further when I realized it wasn’t lecture notes or research papers he was looking at. It was architectural drawings. His renovation plans for the house.
“Ella! How was dinner?”
On the walk home, I’d decided to tell him everything. Now, in front of him, I lost my nerve. I needed to wait until I’d quelled my own feelings about Henrietta. I needed to remind myself that she was Lucas’s great love. I also needed to quieten another voice in my head. The one that had started whispering to me, like a child,
What about me? If Lucas sells, where will I go
?
I told him it had been very nice. I told him about the restaurant, the food, the other diners. He nodded and looked so pleased.
“She’s wonderful company, isn’t she?” he said.
She is, I agreed. I felt like Judas. After ten minutes, I repeated my headache charade and said I was going to bed. He was disappointed, I could tell. He was obviously in the mood to talk. Perhaps he could show me some of the renovation plans in the morning, he suggested. We could even go out for coffee together. That would be great, I said.
At three a.m., I was still lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling. For the first time in twenty months, it wasn’t thoughts of Felix and Aidan that were keeping me awake.
From: Charlie Baum
To: undisclosed recipients
Subject: It’s Been a Noisy Week in Boston
The latest report from the Baum trenches is as follows:
Sophie (11): Reported current state of play with her group of friends at school. “Kayleigh isn’t talking to Rumer, because Rumer sat next to Lindsay at lunch and told her that Kayleigh was in love with Oscar, but Collette and Katie said that it’s Billie’s fault, not Rumer’s, that she even knew about Oscar.”
“And what about you, Sophie?” I asked, after the dizziness passed.
She lowered her voice and said, “I keep my lips sealed.”
Ed (8): Came across a mention of the
Titanic
in a book and asked me about it. I explained in detail: a big ship from long ago, supposed to be special because it was unsinkable but on its very first trip, it hit an iceberg and nearly everyone drowned etc., etc. His only comment? “They should have gone in summer.”
Reilly (6): International food week at school. Told me that for lunch today “we had special rice called puss-puss.”
Tim (4): “Dad, can we play a game?”
“Sure,” I say, thinking of Fish, Guess Who?, Snap. . . .
“Okay, here’s how it goes. You speak animal language and I come to your ship.”
WT?
Lucy (36): Still bathed in her top-of-the-class glow. Just as well. We had a power outage this week. Only lasted a few hours, fortunately. We ate dinner in her reflected brilliance.
Charlie (36): Diet backward is Teid. Sounds like tired. I am tired of diets. Isn’t that a coincidence?
Snip the cat (kitten age): Worryingly cute all week. Purred. Chased own tail. Fell asleep in odd but funny places, e.g., towel cupboard, small cardboard box. Has she been taking “How to Make Your Human Family Love You” classes??
Until next time, everyone please stay sane.
Charlie xx
From: Charlie Baum
To: Lucy Baum
Subject: You. Again
.
You are still amazing. Just saying.
To: Jessica Baum
From: Charlie Baum
Subject: you
You’ve organized auditions already?? Congratulations! I can’t walk after a long flight let alone dance or sing. Are you warm enough? Speaking of which, don’t drink the beer. Break a leg at the auditions. Not literally. I’m being artistic. Love C xx
D
ear Diary,
Hi, it’s Jess!
This has been the worst week of my life. SERIOUSLY. That’s why I haven’t been able to write until now. It started badly enough, but because I am optimistic by nature, I decided to take it in my stride and used all my affirmations: “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” “The darkest moment is before the dawn,” etc., but they didn’t do any good. It just got worse and worse as the week went on and now I don’t know what to do. My counselor used to tell me to try to isolate my feelings, to give the emotions words and try to take charge of them that way, so here is how I am feeling right at this minute. ANGRY SCARED FURIOUS DISAPPOINTED.
I will start at the beginning. My first audition. HIDEOUS. There is no other word for it. If I hadn’t come top of my classes in Melbourne year after year and had fantastic acclaim and feedback all my life from my dance and voice coaches, I would seriously be having some self-doubt about my abilities as a performer right about now. The people at the audition could not have been more horrible if they tried. They were the witches and warlocks of the theater world and if I ever get famous—WHEN I get famous—they are SO going to regret being that mean because I am going to remember their names and I will refuse ever to perform in a show that they have anything to do with. Even if they beg and offer me a million pounds.
What happened was, I had been on all the Web sites and got the trade papers and made a note of all the open casting calls. I hadn’t heard back from any of the agencies I e-mailed, so I decided to keep myself busy in the meantime and also I figured that it would probably be easier to get an agent if I had already been offered a role, as that would show not just my talent but also my get-up-and-go. There were three auditions taking place on the same day but I decided that if I got to the first one early, maybe I would be seen quickly and then I could make it to the other two as well.
I asked my new friend Ben for some advice. He’s a porter at the hotel. (He’s delivered my room-service meals each day and we’ve had such a great chat each time—I’ve given him big tips too!!) He’s an aspiring actor. Most of the staff are, as far as I can tell. I suppose it makes sense because it is such an artistic hotel and that way the staff can tell almost without thinking what the needs of the stars and other people like me (future stars!!) might be. Anyway, I went downstairs and showed Ben the ads for the auditions and he said he had never done musical theater, he’s more into serious acting (!!!!), but he would ring a friend of his.
My ears pricked up at that. Perhaps the friend could help me, but it turns out the friend is a lighting technician, not a performer, so no use to me really, but he told me which of the three shows was getting the most industry buzz and that made it easier to decide which audition I would go to first. I suppose I should have gone back to my room and done a bit of research on the three shows, but Ben was finishing his shift and he said he and a couple of his friends were going out for a few drinks, did I want to come?
The truth was I was a bit lonely in my room on my own, so I said yes. I don’t like drinking that much, but I felt a bit nervous with three basically strange men, so I had two vodka and tonics pretty quickly, actually. I practically drank them both in one swallow, which was my first mistake. Or mistakes. The guys were drinking fast too and they were getting a bit stupid, to be honest—juvenile really, teasing me about being Australian—and I said, “I don’t sound Australian when I sing; nor does Kylie, and anyway, what about Cate Blanchett? No one ever tells her off for being too Australian, do they?” And one of them, his name is Zach, he’s an old school friend of Ben’s, said no, but Cate Blanchett doesn’t sound like a dingo pup like you do. And I DON’T sound like a dingo pup, but even so it made me feel a bit stupid, so I went quiet and they didn’t seem to care and so just to give me something to do I drank another two vodkas and I started to feel a bit sick and dizzy then, but luckily Ben helped get me home to the hotel and I was in bed (ON MY OWN) before midnight and I woke up in time for the first audition and I felt fine.
But now I wish I hadn’t woken up and that I had slept through the whole audition; it was so horrible. Back in Melbourne, I know all the other dancers and singers, and people know me, especially now because of the TV show. Sometimes the people casting the shows call me by name before I even get a chance to introduce myself. Not here. They didn’t even give me a MINUTE to prove myself. I was given about EIGHT seconds to introduce myself and tell them what experience I’d had and one of them said “Are you Australian?” as if she was asking “Are you a terrorist?” I started to sing my audition song, “Memories,” which is my trademark song, really (the review in the college magazine said it was “thrilling in its emotional dexterity”), but they stopped me after ten seconds, saying I wasn’t right for the part, but thank you anyway. And I said, “But what about my dancing?” And they said, “That’s fine, thank you. You’re not what we’re looking for.”
I made it to the door before I started crying and I know it’s only jet lag and of course they’ll regret it and it will take a little while before I get used to a new way of auditioning, but they could have been nicer. The worst thing was that I had no one to ring. Usually Mum or Dad come along to the auditions with me, as much as there are any in Melbourne—it’s not exactly a hotbed of musical theater—but the time difference meant I couldn’t ring and I didn’t even have Ben’s number and he was the only person I knew in London, really. Apart from Ella, but of course I couldn’t ring her.
Anyway, things got worse. I should have said in that bit above that I didn’t make it to the other two auditions that afternoon. I was on my way to the second audition when I realized I’d left my phone back at the first one and of course it’s my lifeline and also it’s one of the latest ones, so I couldn’t leave it there for long, someone would definitely nick it, so I had to go BACK to the audition studio, and they were still seeing people and all these girls were coming out smiling and ringing their friends and families and I had to wait until the room was empty and go in, and thank God my phone was there. “You’re a lucky girl,” one of the assistants said. Oh, yes, the luckiest girl in the world, I thought, but I didn’t say that, of course. I just put on a bright smile and said “Hope to see you again” to the casting directors, who were still there behind the table, and I turned back at the door and they weren’t even LOOKING at me. I had made no impression on them whatsoever.
I was too late for the second audition by then and I realized I’d lost the address for the third one. I’d written it down but left it in my hotel room. I remembered what Tube stop it was (Goodge Street), so I went there, but all the streets and the buildings looked the same and I couldn’t see any signs for dance studios anywhere. I asked three people and no one knew what I was talking about. Two of them were tourists lost like me. It all felt so hopeless and I was suddenly really starving too. All I wanted to do was go and eat a big piece of cake but I thought, sure, that’ll really help matters. I apparently already sound like a dingo pup. The last thing I want to look like is a fat dingo pup.
So instead I ate two bananas and decided not to take the Tube back. I’d walk to the hotel instead and of course I got lost again and all of London looked the same, just more of those crowded streets and so much traffic and it started to rain, so long story short, I caught a black cab (I still really like them—I feel like I’m in a film every time I get into one), but I KNOW the driver ripped me off. I had only been two Tube stops from the hotel, hadn’t I? How could it possibly take him half an hour and twenty pounds to get me back there, regardless of one-way systems or whatever his excuse was? I couldn’t really understand him. He had the thickest Cockney accent. Thankfully Dad had given me petty cash for emergencies like this. So I got back and had a long bath and then did some stretching exercises and a bit of singing practice, which went well until the porter (not Ben) knocked at the door and asked if I could please keep my voice down, as my neighbor was an actor filming night scenes and he needed some peace and quiet. The porter wouldn’t tell me who it was but I’m going to sit in the foyer with my laptop tonight and pretend to be working until the actor comes down.
Ben started work at six p.m. and I went down to say hello to him and he asked, “Are you okay?” in a strange kind of way and I said, “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” And he said, “You seemed a bit drunk last night. I practically had to carry you back here,” and I said of course I wasn’t drunk, it was jet lag, and so he said, “Well, we’re all going out again tonight if you’d like to come,” but I decided an early night would be better. Now, of course, I wish I had gone out because if I had, then I wouldn’t have just got the e-mail from my friend Jill in the
MerryMakers
production office, which is what has made me SO upset now.
She’d written to me a few days ago to say she was sorry she wouldn’t get to work with me on my new show, and I didn’t know what she meant, so I e-mailed her back and hadn’t heard anything because it turned out she had a few days off, but then she wrote back tonight (tomorrow her time) but I just don’t understand it. She said—and I quote—“I hope I’m not interfering or getting anyone into trouble, and maybe I have it wrong, but I was in a couple of meetings and the producers here said that they were hoping to give you your own show, that they had the format and the title all finalized, they’d done market research and audience-testing and all this other stuff, and apparently you [as in me, Jess] really appeal to prepubescent young boys AND their dads.”
Me again now. Anyway, apparently that is a really good thing and also VERY lucrative from an advertising point of view, so according to Jill what they were hoping to do was to give me my OWN show, working title
Mess with Jess
, which would be me cooking and basically flirting with a male guest every week (the stars from the TV soaps, mostly, as well as a couple of the hot footballers) AND singing a song AND dancing, basically using ALL my talents. But then Jill said that it was about to get the green light and they’d even talked about it with Mum and Dad when next everyone heard I was going to live in London. Jill finished her e-mail by saying, “I’m really sorry it didn’t work out. It would have been great fun!”
She’s right. It would have been REALLY great fun. But the thing is, Diary, I knew NOTHING about it. Not a single word. Of course if I had been offered my own show, I wouldn’t have upped and gone to London. I know I’d been begging to go for years, even though Mum and Dad kept saying I was too young. But that’s not the point now. The point is, why wasn’t I told about MY OWN SHOW???
I’ve just e-mailed Mum and Dad and asked them about it outright. I’ve also told them I’m really upset and also feeling betrayed. Mum usually checks her e-mail first thing in the morning, even before she’s out of bed, so she should be ringing me back soon.
Hang on, my phone is ringing, back in a sec.
I CANNOT believe it. I’ve just hung up from talking to Mum. Actually, I hung up on her. Then Dad rang back and I hung up on him too.
Mum and Dad knew all about the show and THEY CHOSE NOT TO TELL ME.
“You weren’t ready for it,” Dad said. “It didn’t feel right,” Mum said. They have got NO idea what I am ready for, or any idea what is right for me. It is MY career and this was MY opportunity and now they have blown it.
I’m going to e-mail my friend Jill and ask her if she thinks it’s too late about the new show. I don’t know what I’ll do if she says it’s NOT too late. Can I go back to Australia after only a week here?? But I have to know one way or another. I just cannot believe Mum and Dad. My phone’s ringing again now. Dad again. I’m not going to answer it. I am VERY VERY upset.
It’s four hours later. I’ve just been out with Ben and his friends again and everything makes more sense now after talking to them about it, except now I’m even more unhappy and also a bit dizzy. I don’t think vodka agrees with me. I told them about what had happened. They were so nice and they got me to show them the kind of things I would have done on the show, just a quick song and a bit of a dance—we were in a pub after all and I didn’t want to draw too much attention to myself—but they liked it so much I took out my phone and showed them a few videos from my show reel, including me doing that Rihanna song about umbrellas. “Wow, sexy, Jess,” one of them said. “I’d like to mess with Jess myself!” And they all laughed a bit too loudly. I just tried to ignore that. I know they were being supportive but I didn’t like the way one kept trying to look down my top. Not Ben. He’s nice. He’s also gay, he told me. I’d kind of guessed.
Anyway, we got another round of drinks (well, I did—I seem to be the only one who has any money, and I felt a bit guilty about that but then I realized I was still mad with Dad and it was
his
money I was spending, so it was kind of karma in a way) and when I came back from the bar, they’d changed seats and I had to sit next to Zach, who I don’t really like much. There’s something kind of arrogant about him, even if he is the best-looking of them all (kind of like Robert Pattinson but not as good). The others were all talking about football or something and Zach leaned in to me and said, “You do realize your mum is jealous of you?” He’s not only arrogant, by the way; he’s got a really upper-class kind of voice, as if he is Prince William or someone. Mind you, Ben told me Zach had had elocution lessons to sound like that. He also told me Zach had been trying to get a good theater role for years but kept getting passed over and that he was getting a bit bitter.
I said that of course my mum wasn’t jealous of me. She was my
mother
. And Zach shook his head and gave me a really pitying look and said, “Jess, I’m sorry, but it’s obvious. The TV people recognized that you were the one with the sex appeal, so they were going to ditch your mother and sign you up. Your mother gets wind of it and what does she do? Ships you off to London.”
She wouldn’t do that, I said to him.