Waiting for Callback (29 page)

Heavy. Made heavier by the slight accent. Russian? Hungarian? Meerkat? I needed to google Havelski some more.

He went on. ‘The actors that play Jan and Straker need to make the audience believe that they have fallen in love, otherwise this narrative doesn’t go anywhere. Don’t you think
we were all watching for chemistry when you were reading the fight scene? Don’t you think that people who are in love fight with each other differently, talk to each other differently, look
at each other differently? It’s not about body parts.’

Nobody was looking at anybody else. We all talked about body parts endlessly, but when sixty-year-old men started talking about them it was undeniably awkward.

‘Well, it’s not
just
about body parts. It is about an emotional connection, an intellectual connection, a shared sense of humour; it is not just about a physical connection.
Each of you is a strong actor. I don’t doubt that and you mustn’t doubt it, whatever happens or doesn’t happen next. If you weren’t strong actors, if you hadn’t
already impressed, you wouldn’t be in this room right now. I certainly wouldn’t have flown five and a half thousand miles to meet with you.
But
any guy can grab a girl and stick
his tongue down her throat. And by the way, Damian, it is poor etiquette for an actor to use tongues, at least without permission—’

‘I didn’t know that.’

Havelski gave him a ‘don’t interrupt me’ look and went on. ‘OK, let’s do this scene once more and this time I want you all to think about chemistry; I want you to
think about it from the beginning of the scene until the end and if anyone locks lips I will personally come and separate them and it won’t be pretty.’

We didn’t doubt that.

‘Elektra, take a break. Lana, come back out here and read with Damian.’

OK, so the bad news was total humiliation (again), the good news was that I was technically no longer a snogging virgin. That was possibly the least romantic first kiss in history. It might also
have been the most public. Not totally sure about that because even I had seen some pretty public making out (not very many guys under eighteen who have the slightest chance to get with a girl will
hold off until they’re someplace private – and now I come to think of it most of the girls I know aren’t that bothered either). But not very many people have their first kiss in
front of a Hollywood director and his entourage – most people are spared that.

My break was all of ten minutes and I was up again, this time to read the scene with Carlo. Carlo obviously thought that because it was a love scene it was important that we read it practically
standing on each other’s toes we were so close. That was fine by me and to be fair that
was
in the script. Damian had tasted of cheese Quavers; Carlo’s breath smelled of mint and
aniseed. By the ‘I promise you, Straker, I
will
keep you safe’ line, we were maintaining serious eye contact and when he put up his hand to brush away my tears (yep, I can cry to
order, real tears and everything; it’s my drama USP) I was totally into it. I think it went quite well because the room was very quiet when we finished. It took a couple of minutes before I
realized that I was still holding Carlo’s hand. Embarrassing. This was a guy whose ego was big enough already.

Watching the others play out the scene made me feel insecure again. They were all really good. I was an amateur.

I was sad when we got to the end of the session: it felt like the end of something. Well, it probably was; it probably was the end of the
Straker
project for me. We all
hugged. Even though we were in competition, we’d been in it together. Don’t want to sound trite here, but we’d
bonded
. I was just going over to my mum’s car when
someone called out my name. It was Carlo. He motioned me over and of course I went (like Digby to a treat). He leaned in close to me. ‘You know that scene?’

I nodded.

‘Unfinished business. See you at rehearsals, E,’ and, without waiting for an answer, he turned away and walked off. So he obviously didn’t feel that it was the end of the
road.

Carlo was arrogant, no question, but he was hot with it.

I quite liked him.

I was still laughing when I got into the car.

‘How did it go?’ asked my mum (inevitably). ‘You look happy.’

I’d survived and I was quite proud of that. And it had been fun – well, it had been fun in parts.

‘It was . . . interesting,’ I said, which was the truth.

The Damian lunge had been pretty disgusting, but if I added in the whole Carlo flirtation thing it hadn’t been a bad day. The great gods of drama (Dionysus and Bacchus, the bad boys of
booze and drama, and Saint Genesius who converted to Christianity in the middle of a performance which must have been a moment) had handed me a script with some sort of a ‘love’ scene
and I’d got it over and done with.

Better late than never.

Sure, it hadn’t been with Archie, but then I hadn’t wanted my first kiss to be with him. I
really
liked Archie.

There was way too much at stake to have risked a first kiss with Archie.

‘I just don’t know, Elektra; they’re asking if you would be free for
two whole months
. Two whole months and you’ve got GCSEs round the
corner.’

‘
Hypothetically
. They’re asking hypothetically, Mum. It doesn’t matter; it’s not worth getting all het up about. It’s not going to happen.’

‘They might be asking hypothetically, but I’m expected to give them a real answer. Two whole months,’ she wailed.

‘Two whole months
in the summer holidays
. Two whole months that aren’t going to happen.’

‘But
exams
. The work you do over the next few years is going to determine your future,’ she said (as she so often did).

‘Oh, come on, Mum, do you seriously think I’m going to be revising for my exams this summer? Do you know what people do in the summer holidays at my age? They drink beer in parks or,
if they can afford it, they go to Reading or Bestival. Or if they’re loaded maybe they go and drink beer somewhere foreign and sunny . . .’

She shuddered ostentatiously. ‘You’re fifteen, Elektra. I don’t believe that fifteen-year-olds do that sort of thing. What makes you think we’d let you go to any
festivals? I’ve heard the stories. Do you know how many drugs there are at events like that?’

Well, yes, I had a vague idea, I’d listened to the stories of the girls in sixth form, but now wasn’t the time for that. ‘I’m not saying I would go to festivals.’
And I wasn’t, not yet; I’d fight that battle after GCSEs like everyone else (or maybe I’d find something better to do than spend three nights in a tent in the rain in a field with
scary loos).

I was just winding her up. It was
so easy
.

‘Don’t worry, Mum, I’m just saying that it’s not like I’d be starting on my exam reading list. Actually, now I come to think of it, I’d probably get more time
to do reading on set than I would anywhere else over a summer. And if you’re worried about teenage summer behaviour then surely I’d be safer on some set with a chaperone or with
you.’

She sighed dramatically. ‘I don’t know. I just think the whole thing could derail you.’

That’s the problem with parents: they not only think that they have you on rails, they think that’s a good thing.

‘I’m not even going to get the offer. They’ll cast Amy; they’re bound to.’ I liked Lana (a lot) more and I thought she’d read the fight scene the best of
everyone, but my opinion didn’t matter and Amy was way the most experienced of the three of us (and the prettiest). ‘Stella said they were only checking everyone’s availability
upfront in case there were any problems. And she’s not just managing our expectations.’

‘I know, I know, but what if they don’t? What if they ask you, Elektra? What then?’

What then? I hadn’t really got that far . . . ‘Dad’s OK with it,’ I said.

‘Dad’s not OK with it. Dad just hasn’t had time to think about it and anyway he’d agree to anything right now.’

That was true. Dad was happy (even though the client wanted to incorporate a curved wall – experimental since the Stone Age), he was busy and he was completely distracted. Which was quite
frankly probably the best mixture in a parent.

‘Eulalie thinks I should definitely do it if I get the chance.’

‘Eulalie would think you should strip naked and swing from the chandelier if you got the chance.’

I was having difficulty visualizing that, but Mum was probably right. I should probably just drop the Eulalie line of persuasion.

‘Molly said that when Miranda let her son take a part in some film he went
completely
off the rails and ended up in rehab.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Mum, Miranda’s son was
destined
for rehab: it’s their family tradition. Why do you care so much what your friends think?’

‘And you don’t care what your friends think?’

That was a low blow. She knew that I hadn’t spoken to Moss about the
Straker
callback because I still wasn’t speaking to Moss about anything. Mum knew that I really, really
cared what Moss would think. I thought I knew what she would say, but maybe not; maybe I’d got that wrong too. Mum was pacing round the kitchen now, completely confusing poor Digby, who kept
trying to get out of the way and ending up under her feet.

‘You’re making Digby dizzy – you’re making
me
dizzy – please sit down.’

She ignored me. Even more worryingly, she ignored Digby. She never ignored Digby.

‘Mum, please, look at me!’ I grabbed her hand as she went past.

‘I spend hours looking at you.’

‘Sort of, like you notice every time I have shadows under my eyes or my forehead is threatening to break out or I’m not wearing the right sort of sports kit, but you don’t seem
to have noticed much else. And I don’t just mean I’ve, like, got taller.’

‘Don’t say “like”,’ she said (as she so often did). I ignored her (as I so often did) and she went on. ‘Of course I notice that you’re growing
up.’ She said ‘growing up’ in that heavy way that made me squirm and looked a bit upset like I was suggesting that she was doing something wrong. I wasn’t. It wasn’t
her fault that she wanted me to stay her little girl.

And it wasn’t my fault that I didn’t.

‘Really? Do you
really
notice? Or does it take you about a year to catch up all the time? I think it does because you treat me exactly the same as the day Stella signed me
up.’

She sat down next to me then and waited.

I went on. ‘We’ve had this exact same conversation a hundred times and that’s not fair. You shouldn’t keep saying the same things to me all the time because I’m not
the same.’ I thought I was making a pretty obvious point (actually, I
was
making an obvious point), but Mum just looked baffled. ‘I don’t do all the same things.’

‘What things? You mean boyfriends and stuff?’

‘No, I’m not talking about that.’ God, this was hard work. ‘I’m talking about learning lines and getting to auditions on time and not minding about them not wanting
me and still doing my homework.’ Mostly. ‘Just, like, dealing with all that.’

‘I know and I’m proud of you. But it hasn’t even been a year.’

‘It’s been a long time. You’ve got to start to trust me.’

‘We do trust you.’

‘Not really. You sort of trust me not to get drunk or smoke or get pregnant, but you don’t trust me to know my mind about my future.’

‘I just don’t know.’

‘I think
I
will know,’ I said.

She looked at me. ‘
Will
know?’

I nodded.

‘So you don’t know? You don’t know for sure?’

Months and months of
stuff
scrolled through my mind: waiting rooms packed with the competition, church halls, the other Elektra smiling up at Daniel Craig, crying on Archie, Daisy crying
on me, lovely Ed directing me, mucking about at ACT,
being
Squirrelina, the phone not ringing, the phone ringing.