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Bantam • Modern fiction
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Chapter One
The sound of a phone ringing twice woke her, and then there was silence. Deirdre O'Dare squinted at the display on the digital clock beside her bed. It read eight-fifteen. Shit! The alarm wasn't set to go off until a quarter to nine. She rolled on to her other side and curled herself into a foetal position. Perhaps if she pretended she had never woken up she could fool her brain into going back to sleep for another half hour.
'Deirdre? Deirdre, are you there? Can you hear me?'
Deirdre sat bolt upright. There was a voice coming from the entrance hall of her apartment.
'Deirdre, it's Nick McCarthy here. I need to talk to you.'
Nick McCarthy? What was her stage director doing in her flat? Befuddled with sleep and not sure that she wasn't dreaming all this, Deirdre scrambled out of bed and stood there hesitantly for a minute before teetering towards the door and poking her head cautiously round it. There was no one there, which was just as well because she was stark naked.
The green 'in use' light was glowing on the answering machine. Deirdre's early morning brain finally copped on to the fact that Nick's voice had been coming from the speaker of the machine which sat on the floor of the tiny hallway.
'Where are you? We've an emergency scenario here, Deirdre.' Nick's voice was urgent. 'I need to talk to you ASAP. Will you call me on my mobile when you-'
Deirdre grabbed the receiver. 'Nick? Hi - it's me.'
'Deirdre? Well, thanks for finally picking up.'
'Sorry. You took me a bit by surprise, that's all. I didn't expect to hear a disembodied voice calling me to the phone so early in the day.'
'Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep. You were on the skite with the birthday girl last night, weren't you?'
'Yeah. 'Fraid so.'
'Hungover?'
'Mm. A bit.'
'Then you're not going to like me. I'm ringing to ask you to come into rehearsal half an hour earlier this morning.'
'Oh? What's up?'
'David wants a word with you.'
Deirdre was wide awake now. 'David? What on earth for, Nick? Am I in trouble or something?'
'No. He left a message on your answering machine yesterday evening, but obviously you didn't get it.'
'Oh God, Nick. It was late when I got back. I didn't bother to check messages when I got in.' She was starting to feel a bit panicky.
'Don't worry about it, Deirdre - just try and get your ass into the rehearsal room early. He wants to see you before the rest of the cast get in. In private.' Private! Deirdre's heart started to go a bit jumpy. 'Say nine-thirty?'
'Sure.' Deirdre would have complied if he'd asked her to get there in five minutes.
'Good. Nine-fifteen would be even better.'
'OK.' She was suddenly uneasy. 'Nick? Can you fill me in on any of this?'
'Sorry. That's not my brief. I can't pre-empt the main man on this. Just let me reassure you that he's not going to chew you out. Catch you later.'
'OK. And I'm sorry I didn't get the-' she began, and then stopped as the connection was cut.
She put the receiver down and looked at the answering machine which squatted like a small black beast at her feet. The green 'in use' indicator had gone out and had been replaced by a flashing red light. It looked ominous, somehow. She hesitated fractionally before pressing playback. There was the usual sequence of answering machine noises before a dark chocolate voice slid over the speaker. Deirdre dropped to a sitting position on the carpet and leant against the wall, listening with her eyes closed and her lips curved in a smile. How pathetic, she thought. Even the sound of his voice makes me go weak.
'Deirdre. David Lawless here. Please phone me the minute you get this message. I'd be obliged.' He concluded by leaving a telephone number which Deirdre repeated to herself like a mantra so that she wouldn't forget it. Resisting the temptation to replay the message, she turned off the machine before Nick McCarthy's voice could come on again and then scribbled the number down at once on the dog-eared Post-It pad by the phone. She drew a big heart shape around it to distinguish it from all the other hieroglyphics on the page.
As she added an arrow through the heart, a terrible thought struck her. For all she knew, today might be the last time she would ever hear his voice! She'd only have those few words on the answering machine as a kind of memento. Maybe he was going to tell her that he'd made a mistake in casting her - that she couldn't hack it as an actress and that she should think about doing something else. The prospect filled her with cold dread. Maybe she'd have to waitress or chamber-maid again. Those were the only other ways of earning a living that she had any experience of. If she was to be completely honest with herself, she'd have to admit that she didn't even have that much experience of acting. Although she'd spent three years doing a degree in Theatre Studies at Trinity College, this show with Lawless Productions was her very first professional engagement.
She took one last look at his phone number on the pad and hauled herself off the floor. Whatever was going on, she needed to get started. As she flew through her routine in the bathroom she cast her mind back to the first day of rehearsal, remembering David's introductory speech to the company. 'A Midsummer Night's Dream isn't just a play about magic and fairies,' he'd said. 'It's one of Shakespeare's most complex plays and we're going to have to work hard. Fairies have had a bad press. But in this play magic is a primal force and fairies aren't ethereal, other-worldly beings. They're rooted in the earth, they're dangerous, and they're very, very sexy.' Oh God. Maybe that was it. Maybe she just wasn't sexy enough. She decided she'd wear her Wonderbra today. She didn't usually bother with a bra, but it might be advisable to try to look a bit sexier this morning. When she'd finished dressing she studied herself in the mirror. Even thrusting her chest out like a Page Three girl didn't seem to help. She was the only person she knew for whom a Wonderbra did nothing.
In the kitchen she gulped back Gold Blend and went through the contents of her backpack to make sure she had everything she needed. Script, pencil, jazz pumps (she made a face at the dilapidated state of them as she forced them to the bottom of her bag), leggings and T-shirt for the pre-rehearsal warm-up. Bicycle keys. Rescue remedy. She was sorted and ready to go, but the time check on the radio told her she was ahead of herself for once.
She poured herself another mug of coffee and stuck her last Pop Tart in the toaster, making a mental note to buy some more. Her flatmate Sarah, who had been two years above her in college, was the kind of enviably organized person who always kept a shopping list stuck on the fridge door. But Sarah had landed a year's contract with the RSC and had gone off to Stratford a week ago, and Deirdre didn't bother with a shopping list any more. There didn't seem much point when she was living on her own.
When the Pop Tart popped she cut it into bite-size pieces and waited for it to cool. Timesaver Traffic droned on 98FM. She was calmer now, and something told her that the worst-case scenario she'd tortured herself with after she'd put down the phone to her stage director didn't ring true.
Her gut feeling was that she wasn't a bad actress. Her college tutors told her she had talent and had encouraged her every step of the way during the three years she'd spent studying there. Anyway, why would a hot-shit director like David Lawless bother to cast her if she was no good? She had only been in rehearsal for a couple of weeks, and her role as First Fairy in A Midsummer Night's Dream was of the 'don't-blink-or-you'll-miss-me' variety, but she couldn't help feeling she'd made an impression. She was having fun with the little part, and really looked forward to going into work every day. She stuffed the last of the Pop Tart into her mouth and looked at her watch. Time to go.
As she undid the security chain on the front door she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror in the hallway. She wished she'd had time to wash her hair. On an impulse she ran back to the bedroom and sprayed herself with the Diorissimo her mother had given her for Christmas, and which she allowed herself to wear only on special occasions. As far as she was concerned, this was a special occasion. She was on her way to meet the sexiest man in the world.
* * *
She chained her bike to a parking meter around the corner from the dance studio which had been requisitioned as the company's rehearsal space and sprinted through the door, sending a breathless 'Hi!' to the girl at reception before taking the stairs two at a time. Fluffing her hair with nervy fingers, she swung through the rehearsal room door and let it fall shut behind her with a thud. David Lawless was standing talking to Nick McCarthy at the other end of the room. He looked up at the sound of the door closing. 'Deirdre. Hi. Thanks for making the effort to get in here early - I appreciate it. Can you give me a minute? I need to sort something with Nick.'
Deirdre returned his smile rather nervously. 'No problem,' she said. She retrieved her backpack from the chair where she'd left it and got out her script. She needed something to do to cover her awkwardness while David and Nick finished their business.
The margins of the book were covered in doodles and sketches - most of them little thumbnail portraits of members of the company. David Lawless featured prominently, and she had another twinge of anxiety. Maybe that was why he wanted to talk to her! Maybe he was fazed by the way she watched him so intently as he worked. Because she was hungry to learn all she could on her first professional show, she had made a point of studying David and the more experienced actors every time they took to the rehearsal-room floor. She had come into work even when scenes she wasn't involved in were being rehearsed just so that she could observe from the sidelines.
She looked at him covertly now as he stood talking in low tones with Nick McCarthy, and allowed herself the indulgence of admiring him for the first time that day. On a normal day she'd make sure to sneak at least half-a-dozen opportunities to admire him.
He was too old for her, she knew that - probably somewhere in his early forties. He was married, too, to an actress - Ann Fitzroy, who played a Queen Bitch in the soap opera Ardmore Grove. She was rumoured to be a bit of a diva, and it was common knowledge amongst theatre people that the marriage wasn't a happy one. It was certainly obvious to Deirdre. You could see it in his eyes. His eyes sometimes reminded her of a wounded panther she'd seen on David Attenborough. She often wondered why he'd stuck the marriage for so long, especially now that Ireland had finally heaved itself into the twentieth century and divorce was on the statute books at last. If Ann Fitzroy was anything like her screen character, the Lawless's domestic life must be pretty grim.
She had already given up all pretence of studying her script and was studying him openly now. She could see that he was too involved in his discussion with Nick to notice. She was almost tempted to get her pencil out and start sketching him. He wasn't a particularly handsome man, she had to admit, in spite of being tall and dark. There certainly wasn't anything conventionally good-looking about him. He had what she supposed could best be described as a Byronic attraction. That was what was sexy about him! He had the high cheekbones and olive complexion of a Slav, and a lean, athletic body. His black hair was worn shoulder-length. It had been ponytailed the first time she'd met him.
As she watched him now his eyes met hers again without warning, and, as usual, nothing prepared her for the impact. Thrown into confusion by his glance, she sent him an imbecilic grin. He had the good grace to acknowledge it with a vague nod before handing Nick a manila envelope and unclipping a shrilling mobile from his belt. 'Hello?' he said into the phone. He sounded uncharacteristically curt. 'Yeah. That's right. Remind her to change the cast names on the press release, won't you?' Deirdre dug her nails into her palms. Oh God. Her first reaction had been right - he was recasting her. She felt like crying with humiliation. 'Please. Thanks.' He put a hand over the mouthpiece and muttered something urgent to Nick McCarthy before resuming his phone conversation. As Nick walked past her towards the door of the rehearsal room he gave her a smile which could only be described as sympathetic.
She dug her nails in even harder. 'As soon as possible,' David Lawless was saying now. 'Thanks. I appreciate it. Bye.' He clipped the mobile back on his belt and then strolled across the floor in her direction.
'I'm sorry I didn't get back to you last night, David,' she said immediately.
'That's OK. I understand you were out celebrating Jessica's birthday. Good time?'
'Yes, thanks.'
Her heart was ricocheting against her ribcage as he took a chair and set it down opposite her, sitting astride it and letting his arms rest on the back. With a casual hand he pushed back the wing of glossy dark hair which fell over his forehead and smiled at her. The smile softened the intelligent, rather guarded expression of his amber-coloured eyes. 'There's something I want to put to you, Deirdre,' he said in a serious voice. 'And I'm afraid I'm not going to allow you a great deal of time to think it over. Suki Hayes has - chosen to leave the company. I would like you to replace her.'
Deirdre didn't say anything because she couldn't. She sat there frozen in an attitude of disbelief, horror scrawled across her face in block capitals.
'I'm very sorry to spring this on you without warning, but I can't afford to waste any more time now that we're a full two weeks into rehearsal.'
She found her voice. 'You're joking, David.'
'I'm not joking, Deirdre. I've been watching you carefully for the past few days with this proposition in mind, and I'm confident you can bring it off. I know you're inexperienced, but you're a hard worker and a quick study and you have a terrific, vibrant quality. I don't foresee any problems with Equity, and it goes without saying that we'll hike up your salary. Will you do it?'
Of course she would do it. There was no question about it. At this moment she was actually living a scenario most aspiring actresses only experience in their dreams. But this was real life, not make-believe, and she was suddenly scared to death. Her mouth felt as if it was full of cornflour, and she had difficulty in articulating the words when they finally left her mouth. 'Yes. Yes I will,' she managed. 'I'd be honoured, actually.' She meant it.
David Lawless smiled again. 'Hermia's feisty, Deirdre, and I've a suspicion you are too. Of course, I could have recast from outside the company, but that would have meant starting from scratch. I've seen the way you've been observing rehearsals from the sidelines. You'll know the blocking inside-out, and it wouldn't surprise me if you had the dialogue down, too. By casting you I'll be saving myself and the rest of the company time and energy, and that's imperative. It'll be tough, but I know you're able for it.' He laid a reassuring hand on her arm and Deirdre felt her nerve endings flare. Then he swung himself off his chair and looked at his watch. 'We've time to grab a coffee before the rest of the cast arrive. Once everyone's here I'll make a quick announcement and then we can get started.'
Just then his mobile sounded again. 'Excuse me,' he said with a resigned sigh as he reached for it. 'I should have turned this thing off.'
Deirdre veered in the direction of the coffee room, still feeling gobsmacked. She couldn't believe that it had taken a matter of only a few minutes to completely change her life around.
'Deirdre?'
She turned back to him. 'Yes?'
'Thanks.' And he sent her a heart-stopping smile before pressing pick-up.
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© Transworld Publishers |
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More Information
Publication Date: 04/02/1999 • 512 pages • 178 x 106 mm
• ISBN: 0553812459
Territory: UK C/Wealth EUexCAN +ROI |
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