‘Why should I mind?’ Marc reads Harry’s line with smarmy confidence, transforming into the married stockbroker whom Georgia has an affair with. It’s amazing. His face changes. His posture changes. He’s become a different person.
‘We’re all naked under our clothes at the end of the day,’ I say.
‘That we are,’ says Marc.
I check the script, and nearly falter. ‘Would you help me with this?’ The stage direction says
:
Georgia holds the bra strap behind her back. Harry undoes it for her. She turns around, removing her bra entirely and showing her naked breasts to Harry.
I feel Marc behind me, unhooking my bra. But he doesn’t do it in a Marc-like way. His movements are quicker and slightly fumbled. I feel like I’m in the presence of someone who doesn’t have my best intentions at heart, and it’s a little unnerving.
I wonder how I’d ever be able to do a scene like this with someone I didn’t know very well. It’s hard enough with Marc. I take a deep breath, grasping hold of the bra. Then I slip it down and turn around.
Chapter
67
‘I expect your wife’s breasts used to look like these,’ I say, trying to bring into myself the confidence and swagger of a femme fatale
. ‘They’re pretty, aren’t they?
’
‘Very pretty,’ says Marc, coming forward and taking me in his arms. Again, it’s not Marc who’s here with me, but Harry. He carries me to the sofa and throws me onto it, and the face I look up at is greedy and grasping.
I check the script. It says:
Harry picks up Georgia and puts her on the bed. They have sex, moving in time to the music. The curtain closes.
Marc moves between my legs, and moves back and forth in a gentle rhythm. I move with him, but I can tell he’s working hard not to become aroused. He’s acting, and he’s professional as ever.
‘Very good,’ Marc whispers.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
‘You’d better get dressed,’ he says. ‘Because you’re playing that part f
or real this evening, in the
theatre
on the main island
. So you’ll need to start learning your lines.’
‘You’re kidding me.’
‘No, I’m not kidding you.
I happen to be guest-starring as Harry in this play tonight, and I’d like you to be my Georgia.
She’s only a small part.
I told you I’d stretch your boundaries. Challenge you. Break you out of your comfort
zone and make you a better actress
. Well. That’s exactly what I’m doing.’
‘But I can’t play that part.
’ I’m on the verge of tears. ‘Not in public. I could barely play it here with you. Topless on stage. In front of a live audience -’
‘Some parts call for
nudity,’ says Marc. ‘When I played King Lear, I was fully nude. And a theatre is nothing to a movie, where a film camera closes in on your naked body, then projects it on a giant screen for millions of people to see.’
‘
Maybe public nudity is
a barrier I just can’t break down.’
‘You don’t understand,’ says Marc, shaking his head. ‘It’s not about the nudity. It’s about the openness. Exposing yourself totally. Your soul. For everyone to see. Nudity is
just one tenant of that
openness.
I
f you
’re not open to playing a part
properly
,
everything closes
down. Your body is the vehicle for your
expression. If you’re too self-
conscious to show your body, then you can’t express yourself to your fullest.’
‘I can’t do it, Marc.’
He tips my chin up with his fingers. ‘You can do it. Now get dressed and learn your lines.
A
t five
, a boat will ta
ke you to the main island, then
a car will
drive
you to the theatre. I’ll meet you backstage.’
Chapter
68
In the car on the way to the theatre, I’m a bundle of nerves. I want to run, I want to hide, I want to scream at Marc that he’s making me do something way beyond my capabilities. But deep down, I know he’s ri
ght. I do need to practis
e doing these sorts of roles. Even if I never perform nude ever again, it will stretch me and help me grow as an actress.
The car pulls behind a modern theatre which is a square, grey block of concrete. I think how lucky we are in London to have such elegant, beautiful historic bui
ldings.
I’m led to a dressing area, where a tiny, blonde actress helps me into Georgia’s lingerie,
red dress, wig and make-up.
Then I’m led to the side of the stage, where I see the play
h
as already begun. I flick hurriedly through my script, trying to find out how far into the play we’ve got. Page 49. I swallow three times to stop myself being sick, and watch Marc strolling back and forth on the stage, wearing a pin-striped suit.
He really is an amazing actor. I don’t see Marc at all, but Harry.
The lines race along, and I put my sc
ript down by the curtains
and see a stage hand running up to me.
‘I thought you were still in
the dressing room,’ he whispers
. ‘
F
inal call. You’re on in less than a minute.’
‘Right.’ I wait for my entry line:
I’ll see if I can find her.
Sweat is prickling on my forehead, and my palms feel slipp
er
y.
‘I’ll see if I can find her,’ says Marc.
And boom. I walk on stage, seeing hundreds of shadowy people in the audience, their faces watching me expectantly.
I’m wearing nothing but underwear, and soon I’ll be wearing even less.
God I’m nervous. But I’ve done this. Lots of times.
Fully clothed, granted, but Marc’s right – it shouldn’t matter.
Just become the part,
I think.
As long as you’re playing the part, you’re safe.
I clear my throat, but the script
goes right out of my head. I look at Marc, and start to panic. I’d be so humiliated if someone had to shout out my line.
Marc waits for me, calmly and with a look in his eyes that tells me he knows I can do it.
I decide to adlib
.
‘What’s a nice man like you doing in a place like this?’ I say, my lips extendin
g into a pout,
hands falling onto my hips.
‘Looking for a not very nice girl,’ says Marc.
I laugh, throwing my head back. ‘I think you’ve found her. Darling, I’m just getting dressed. You don’t mind do you?’
The script starts coming back to me.
‘Why should I mind?’
‘We’re all naked under our clothes at the end of the day.’ My hands begin to tremble at the thought of what’s coming next.
‘That we are,’ says Marc.
‘Would you help me with this
?’ I say, turning around
and holding the back of my bra strap. The words sound confident, which surprises me. The way I’m feeling inside, I expected them to come out all of a wobble.
Marc comes and unhooks my bra, and the audience fall completely silent. They know what’s coming. Anyone who reads the newspaper knows what happens in this scene. I take a deep breath, and turn around, removing my bra and throwing it to the floor.
Hundreds of faces stare at me. I can’t see their expressions. I look
over their heads
.
‘I expect your wife’s breasts used to look like these,’ I say
. ‘They’re pretty, aren’t they?
’
‘Very pretty,’ says Marc, lifting me into his arms. He places me on a prop bed, with a thin mattress that would leave me black and blue if I ever slept on it.
I throw my arms behind my head, and Marc moves between my legs.
Music starts, and I feel Marc begin to move. Unlike the last time we performed the scene, I feel him growing hard between my leg
s. A
s soon as the curtain falls
,
he stands back from me and pulls in deep breaths.
‘O
kay?’ I ask.
‘
You were excellent
,’ he says, pacing back and forth. ‘
But
.
This was a bad idea.
I
wanted to test myself. To prove I could
control myself around you. I thought I could.’ He marches off the stage.
I walk after him, following him down to the star dressing room, whi
ch is all thick red carpet, silver
paint and white roses.
‘Wait,’ I say, and Marc turns at the dressing room door. ‘Is it such a bad thing?’
‘We shouldn’t talk out her
e.’ He
grabs my arm. ‘In here.’ He pulls me into the dressing room.
‘I said, is it such a bad thing?’ I repeat. ‘I mean, we all lose control sometimes.’
‘Not me,’ says Marc. ‘No
t on stage. Not in real life
.
Not ever. Not any more.
’ He looks at me, and there’s a lost expression in his eyes. ‘I don’t know what’s happen
ing. How can I look after you if I’m not in control?
’
‘You can,’ I say, sitting on his lap. His arms come around me. ‘Because you’re even closer to me that way.’
Marc stares
at himse
lf in the mirror. ‘The car is waiting for you outside. I’ll see you back at the house.’
Back at the glass house
, Marc is different. Younger, somehow,
and hi
s eyes look softer. He brings
Thai food from
the big island
, and we eat on the glass balco
ny, over
looking the sea. Marc holds my hand under the table, and talks and talks.
He tells me about his sister, and how he supports her and her
fiancé
. She had
problems having children and he paid for her
medical support. He tells me he doesn’t like his sister’s fiancé, but until his sister works out for herself what’s right for her, there’s nothing he can do.
He tells me abou
t his mother, what he remembers
of her. In his h
ead, she was a beautiful, brown-haired
angel who sang to him and pretended to put magic dust on his cuts and bruises. She’d been an amateur actress herself, and got him a junior role in one of her plays. It
had led to a part in a chocolate bar
advert, and from there his father took over, honing him for fame and fortune.
I tell him about my baby brother and my stepmother – how I feel they can’t su
rvive without me. How Genoveva
can’t really cope, and how my father is muddling through. H
e listens intently, his knuckles bent
under his chin.
When I tell him about my mother – how much I love her and still mi
ss her – he squeezes my hand
tight
ly
.
‘It’s Saturday, tomorrow. You’ll want to see your family.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I should.’
‘Then we’ll fly back.’
When the sun goes down, we go down to the dark beach and watch the silver ocean lap back and forth.
Marc tells me about the first time he saw the ocean. It was in California, and the sand was so hot it hurt
his bare feet
. He discovered that no matter how long he stayed in the sun, he neither tanned nor burned.
Apparently, whenever he needs to be tanned in films, it’s all done by a makeup artist.
We talk about tomorrow, and the fact we’ll be heading back to London. Neither of us have any answers. All we know is we don’t have much time left.
We sit on the sand, right by the warm ocean, letting the waves lap at our feet. The moon is round and silver above us.
I turn to Marc, and
see his eyes are glistening. H
is expression is pained.
‘What?
’ I ask. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘I love you,’ says Marc simply, staring at the ocean.
‘But this isn’t a movie. I don’t know
how this will end
.’
When we get back to the house, Marc sleeps beside me in the round bed.
Chapter
69
In the morning, the sun is brighter than I’ve ever seen it. I see Marc asleep next to me, and watch his beautiful, peaceful face. His eyelids aren’t flickering. Everything about him is still, except for his gentle breathing.
I strok
e his face, and his eyes open
immediately.
When he sees it’s me, his face relaxes. ‘Sophia,’ he whispers.
‘We have to go back today.’ I look at him. ‘
But
I want to be with you,’ I say. ‘Properly. A proper couple. I don’t care who knows. I don’t care about my reputation.’