Waiting for Callback (15 page)

‘The thing is, Elektra . . . I hate it.’

‘Hate what? Auditioning?
Everyone
hates auditioning. There’s
nothing
to like about auditions. We’ll just have to get so famous we don’t have to bother any
more. Give it a few years and we’ll only turn up for “courtesy meetings” and Scorsese will be begging us to appear in his movies.’ I was hoping to make her laugh, but Daisy
was crying for real now in that silent, apologetic, desperate way of someone who doesn’t like to make a fuss.

‘No, you don’t understand, I hate it
all
. I
hate
the auditions and learning the lines and forgetting lines and worrying about being late and everybody being nervous. I
hate
not getting callbacks, but I
hate getting
callbacks too. I
hate
worrying about getting a spot before filming or putting on weight and standing in the wrong place and
saying the wrong thing and . . . oh, I don’t know . . . just being . . . disappointing.’

I didn’t know what to say. Daisy was so
good
at all this; how could she feel so bad.

Also she was very slim and never got spots.

I put my arm round her; she was all sweaty from crying so hard. I had a crumpled tissue in my pocket, hopefully not snotty, so I gave it to her and just sort of hugged her.

Another girl walked past and looked smug to see Daisy upset. She probably thought it was one less girl for her to compete with.

‘But Daisy, you’re really good. You’re the best girl in our ACT class by miles; everyone says so.’

‘I don’t really mind the
acting
,’ she sniffled. ‘It’s the rest of it. I hate it, I really do. It feels like it’s taken over my life and it’s just
not fun any more.’ She started the silent sobbing again.

‘But you’re always getting jobs and casting people love you. You’re like a total professional.’

She looked at me sadly. ‘I do voice-overs for frozen-food adverts and cleaning products, and training videos for companies and way too many videos for parenting channels. I’m always
working, but the jobs I get are pretty rubbish.’

I hadn’t thought about that. All I’d noticed was that she got work. I’d been kind of jealous. I hadn’t stopped to think what the jobs were.

‘Well, you get to miss lots of school,’ I offered.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s true. And that’s why I’m in the bottom sets for maths and science.’

‘Then stop,’ I said simply.

She looked at me as if I were mad.

‘I mean it. Do something else. You could be a dancer or a singer or – I don’t know – even a model.’ Maybe not a model. she was probably way too short, but I found
that telling girls they could be a model usually had a cheering effect.

‘But that’s it, Elektra, I don’t want to do “something else” – “something else” will just be another
thing
with schedules and classes and
having to be better than other people at “something else” or at least look better than them. I just want to hang out and do
ordinary
stuff.’

I was confused.

Part of me thought that she was simply mad. Daisy was getting parts so why did she just want to do the ordinary stuff? How boring would that be?

And how could Daisy bear
not
to do the acting stuff? I was still high from being part of Ed’s student short film and that had been weeks ago. But it was horrible that she was so
sad. (Although I couldn’t help thinking that if the casting director could see Daisy now they’d book her on the spot for the ‘Sophie/Beth’ character because she looked
really pretty when she cried.)

No, not helpful, Elektra. I pulled myself together. ‘Then
stop
,’ I said again.

‘My parents would freak out,’ she shuddered. ‘They’ve spent so much money on this. Headshots that cost a fortune and all the acting classes and singing classes and
dancing classes and even the travel and stuff. I’m only just starting to make money from this by taking those rubbish jobs.’

I felt ashamed then. Because I hadn’t thought about the money at all. For an uncomfortable moment, I wondered how Daisy saw me – me in my big house with my architect dad (even if
he’s mostly just doing kitchens) and my shopping-addicted (even if she denies it), stay-at-home mum and my occasional piece of designer clothing (even if it is bought for me by a mad French
step-grandmother). I’d never
have to
miss school to do a training video or a dog-food commercial to earn some money. Well, probably not ever. I gave Daisy another hug, a bit to cheer
her up and a bit so that if she thought I was spoiled at least she would think I was spoiled
and
nice.

‘You should go,’ said Daisy. ‘Your half-hour’s nearly up.’ Classic Daisy; she’d never be late. Although I felt guilty leaving her in such a state, I was on my
feet and in that building in seconds.

I was red and rushed when I got into the taping room. I didn’t even have the pages of script they’d sent me with my lines (‘sides’ they’re called) with me. I knew
them by heart, but felt a bit naked not having them in my hand like a little comfort blanket. I didn’t know which of the two women in the room was Sally Upton (the casting director) so I just
gave them both my best, ‘hire me, I’m really nice to work with’ smile. I don’t think they even noticed; they were making notes and whispering – obviously, the girl
before me had given them something to talk about. I prayed she’d been up for a different role.

‘OK, shall we just get on with it?’ said the older of the women, finally looking up.

Great, a bad-tempered, bored casting director was all I needed. I wondered how many teenage girls she’d already seen. Plainly too many.

‘Can you make your accent a bit more neutral, please?’ said Mrs Upton when I was halfway through.

What did that
mean
? How could I possibly sound too posh for an upstairs role in an English period drama? What did that leave me? Biopics of eighteenth-century princesses? Bit niche.
‘Would you like me to start over?’

‘No, just pick up from where you were.’

I could feel that I was still all red and my neck was worryingly itchy so, as well as sounding wrong, I suspect I wasn’t looking my best. I tried to remember where I’d broken off,
but I was all over the place. I was pretty sure Daisy never made this sort of mess of an audition and she was the one crying outside. ‘Um . . . sorry, could I just look at the script for a
second?’

The woman handed it over. ‘When you’re ready.’

Clearly, whatever I did, she would just like me to do it quickly so I could leave, she could see the remaining girls and get some coffee or vodka or whatever it was she needed to get her through
the rest of the day.

I began again.

OK, that was what I was meant to say. What I actually said was something more like:

I started over, got that bit right and then,

I started over again and got all the way to the end of that bit. I was pretty sure I had a sweat moustache.

Mrs Upton was reading the mother’s part for me (in a voice so neutral that it was beige).

I bet if I looked hard enough I could probably find the actual page in
Little Women
that they’d ripped that scene off from.

I didn’t think I was doing anything different and I was pretty confident that at least Mary’s irritation was going to come over as genuine, but she didn’t interrupt again. It
was over in a couple of minutes.

‘Thank you,’ said Mrs Upton in the very same colourless voice and went back to her note-taking.

The other woman, who hadn’t said a word, smiled warmly at me as I left. A pity smile.

Daisy had gone and Dad wasn’t in the waiting room.

Where are you?
I texted him.

Across the road in the cafe. Are you done?

Yes
. I waited for him to launch into the whole ‘how did it go’ line of questioning.

Good. About time. I am dying of boredom.

He was a really poor chaperone. Perfect.

From:
Stella at the Haden Agency

Date:
17 March 18:04

To:
Julia James

Cc:
Charlotte at the Haden Agency

Subject:
OmniNut voice-over

Attachments:
Draft agreement between E. J. and OmniNut Ltd. doc; map.jpeg

Dear Julia,

OmniNut Ltd liked the voice clips we sent over and would love to book Elektra for the voice work for their upcoming commercial on Tuesday 24 March. You’ll
see from the attachments that this sort of work is well paid (!) and we’re sure Elektra will enjoy it too. The agreement is in standard terms so if you’re happy just sign it and send it
back. The studio is a little out of the way so we’ve enclosed a map. As this is a school day, we’ll need a permission letter from Elektra’s school.

Kind regards,

Stella

P.S. So pleased you’re over that flu, Julia.

From:
Mrs Haroun, Head Teacher, Berkeley Academy

Date:
18 March 16:13

To:
Julia James

Subject:
Elektra James’s absence from school, Tuesday 24 March

Attachments:
Permission letter.doc

Dear Mrs James,

Further to our conversation, I attach a letter on the school’s headed notepaper in the form we discussed authorizing Elektra’s absence from lessons on
Tuesday 24 March.

Whilst on this occasion I am happy to grant permission, can I please stress that it would be helpful to have more advance notice next time (should there be a next
time). Whilst we are of course happy to support all our girls in their fulfilling out-of-school activities and whilst we value the dramatic arts, we do take our absence policy very
seriously.

Kind regards,

Maryam Haroun

Head Teacher, Berkeley Academy

P.S. Good Luck, Elektra, and let us know how it goes!

Berkeley Academy: Believing and Achieving since 1964

‘Did you ask Moss to take notes for you in lessons today?’ asked Mum.

‘Mmmm,’ I said. No. I’d forgotten and anyway Moss’s notes would be a bit useless (she has a very good memory and writes nothing down). I’d copy off Maia if I had
to.

‘And what about homework?’

‘What about it?’

‘Will Moss let you know what needs to be handed in for tomorrow?’

‘Sure,’ I said. No. One of the best things about having a Tuesday off school to voice a squirrel was that nobody (except for my mum and maybe Madame Verte) would expect me to hand in
homework on Wednesday.

You around, Moss?
I texted. No answer.
I’m on my way to be the new voice of nuts. It’s taking AGES to get there.
No
answer.