The Ivy Lessons (Devoted, Book 1)

by J Lerman

  ‘But I want to challenge myself,’ I say. ‘I want to fulfil my potential. That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘Well.’ Marc picks up his laptop case. ‘That’s admirable. But sometimes in life, we have to accept our limitations as well as trying to overcome them. Let’s take a step back. I have something a little easier planned for your next performance.’

  ‘Wait,’ I say. ‘I want to be challenged. I want to try again. I don’t want to be held back. I’m here to try my best.’

  Marc turns to me then, a tiny smile on his lips. ‘Very good, Miss Rose. It’s nice to see a little passion.’ He checks his watch. ‘I’m on campus tonight until seven thirty. Queen’s theatre is free all evening. Meet me at seven, and we’ll see what I can do.’

  He strides out of the room, and I’m left watching him. Seven o’clock tonight. I’m meeting Marc Blackwell at seven o’clock tonight. Oh good god, what have I got myself into?

  Chapter 23

  It’s still light when I arrive at Queen’s theatre that evening. I’m dressed in jeans and a loose cashmere jumper, and even though I can see dusk on the horizon, I’m not cold.

  I see Marc strolling across the grounds towards the theatre, and suddenly I don’t know what to do with my arms. I wrap them around myself, and pretend to be studying the arched doorway intently.

  ‘Miss Rose. Nice and punctual I see. Very good.’

  I manage to give a little nod.

  ‘Well.’ He reaches over my shoulder to push open the theatre doors. ‘Let’s go inside. After you.’

  I wander into the theatre, ever aware of Marc’s sharp footsteps behind me.

  ‘Shall I go straight up on stage?’ I ask, risking turning my head just a fraction. Marc has light-brown stubble on his face that somehow makes his eyes look even bluer. He’s walking with his shoulders pulled back, like he owns the place. Actually, now I think about it, he does own the place.

  ‘Yes, go on up,’ says Marc. ‘Are you ready to try again as Jennifer Jones?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, walking up the theatre steps.

  ‘Good.’

  I clear my throat and head to the centre of the stage. ‘The same scene as before?’

  ‘No,’ says Marc. ‘Your last memory of playing that scene isn’t positive. Let’s try another. I’m guessing you’re reasonably familiar with the play?’

  I nod. ‘I read the whole thing before my performance with you.’

  ‘Okay. So pick a scene.’

  I shrug. ‘I’ll try any you say.’

  ‘You don’t have a preference?’ says Marc, his eyebrow raising. ‘There’s nothing about that play that grabs you?’

  ‘I don’t know. How about the final scene, when she leaves the auditorium and -’

  Marc cuts me off with a shake of his head. ‘Too easy. At least, for you it’s too easy. I’ve seen you do melancholy.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘How about the scene when she seduces the male ballerina in the play.’

  Marc frowns. ‘Maybe too much of a challenge. Antonio is a seductive character in his own right. Jennifer has to hold her own.’

  ‘I’d like to try, I think.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll play Antonio.’

  ‘Do you have a copy of the script with you?’ I ask.

  Marc shakes his head. ‘We’re going to adlib. Like before. You have a feeling for the character. You remember the scene. So go with your instincts. It’s much more believable that way.’

  ‘Is that what you do?’ I ask. ‘When you act in movies?’

  ‘Always,’ says Marc. ‘When I was younger and not so well known, some directors wanted me to follow the script more closely. But usually I’d persuade them to let me do things my way.’

  ‘I really don’t know the scene too well.’

  Marc looks at me, a long, hard look. ‘I’ll be acting with you. Don’t worry. You look far too tense.’ He walks towards me and I feel myself growing even more rigid. He takes my hands, and shakes my arms.

  My upper body relaxes a little, but I’m keenly aware he’s holding my hands. I find myself staring into his eyes.

  He drops my hands and looks away. ‘Better?’

  I nod. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t try to remember the scene,’ says Marc. ‘You don’t need to. I know it very well and I’ll lead. What I want you to do is try to feel what it is to be Jennifer at this moment. She’s just found out her director beau is sleeping with another young ballerina, and that she may lose her part. She’s looking for comfort. And reassurance that her sexuality can still get her what she wants. What would you be feeling if you were her?’

  ‘I’d be angry,’ I say. ‘And scared.’

  ‘Okay. Good. What else?’

  ‘I’d feel powerless. And I’d want to take some power back. Have some power over someone else.’

  ‘Very good. How would you show that in your body?’

  I feel myself standing taller, looking him dead in the eye, a hand falling to my hip. My eyes narrow and my lips part a little.

  ‘Excellent. Let’s start.’

  I nod. ‘You’re an extremely talented dancer, Antonio.’ I stroke my hair and walk towards Marc, my hips swaying. ‘I imagine you’ve known a lot of leading ladies in your time.’

  ‘A few,’ says Marc, with a quirky smile. Once again, I’m amazed by how he manages to transform, just like that. I feel Antonio’s youth and muscular energy.

  ‘Oh?’ I say, with a smile. ‘How well have you known these leading ladies?’

  ‘Some of them very well,’ says Marc.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to get to know me better too,’ I say, coming closer. Our torsos are inches apart, and I can feel the heat from his chest. I have to admit right now that I’m attracted to Marc. It’s undeniable. I feel a pull to him, like a magnet. But that’s not why I’m moving closer. I’m doing this because I’m Jennifer, and this is what she would do with Antonio.

  ‘Perhaps,’ says Marc.

  I walk in a circle around him. Marc – or rather, Antonio – watches me keenly until I come to a stop in front of him.

  ‘Do you like what you see?’

  ‘Very much.’

  I pause. I know what I want to do next. What I feel Jennifer would do, and, from what I remember of the script, is roughly what she does do. But I don’t know if I can do it. I take a deep breath.

  ‘Keep it going,’ Marc whispers. ‘You’re doing well. Don’t let it go.’

  I nod, and make myself tall again.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to see more?’ I turn around, slide my jumper down over a shoulder, and look back at him with a little smile.

  ‘Very nice.’

  I slide the jumper across and over the other shoulder. ‘Could you help me unlace this costume?’

  Marc comes to stand right behind me. He pretends to undo laces from my shoulders to my lower back, and I feel a shiver down my spine. I pretend to climb out of my costume.

  I go to him, and wrap an arm around his neck, looking fiercely into his eyes. I whisper, ‘I’m yours if you want me.’

  Marc returns my gaze with equal ferocity, and puts his arms around me, leaning me backwards. ‘I do.’

  I know what should happen next. The couple freeze on stage, and then break apart for a scene change. The sexual experience between them is left to the imagination of the audience. I remain still, his arm around me, staring into his eyes.

  I’m feeling like Jennifer – seductive, powerful and confident. It’s not in the script, but Marc told me to adlib. So I lean forward and kiss him slowly on the mouth, my body swaying slightly in his arms. A Jennifer kiss, all power and sexual energy.

  I’m about to pull away, when Marc pulls me into his body, and presses his lips against mine. My heart pounds. He puts a hand behind my head, and pulls me tighter against him, using his other hand to crush my body against his chest. Then, he lets me go and we break apart.

  I stare at him, not knowing what to say or think. That kiss felt so real. Not to Jennifer
. To me. To Sophia. I felt he was kissing Sophia.

  I want him to do it again. Over and over again. And more. But he’s walking away, down the theatre steps.

  He turns and holds up his watch. ‘I have somewhere I need to be.’

  ‘Okay,’ I venture.

  ‘It’s ...’ He waves his hands around. ‘I hope this evening was helpful.’ He turns his back.

  ‘Will you help me again?’ I ask, feeling like an idiot. Dazed by his kiss. A silly pupil with a crush on her teacher.

  ‘I don’t think you need any more help,’ he says, walking away, and my stomach begins to churn.

  ‘What?’ I feel sick. ‘What do you mean?’ Is it my acting? Have I let him down? Or can he sense that I have a crush on him?

  He still has his back to me, but he stops walking. He sighs, and I see his muscular shoulders move under his shirt. ‘Perhaps one-on-one tuition like this ... it isn’t a very healthy dynamic.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I say, aware there’s a slight pleading tone to my voice. ‘Have I done something wrong? If I have, I’m sorry. Tell me and I won’t do it again ...’

  He turns around then, and his eyes burn into me. ‘But maybe I will.’ He strides down the aisle, and out of the theatre.

  Chapter 25

  I sit on the stage, dumbfounded. I don’t understand what’s just gone on, but the sick feeling in my stomach makes me think I’ve just done something very stupid.

  He will do what? What does that mean? I know what I’d like to think he’d like to do, but he’s a beautiful, intense, famous Hollywood actor, and I’m a twenty-something unknown from a small village.

  Suddenly, I’m on my feet, running down the aisle and out of the theatre.

  I see Marc walking across a trimmed lawn, the fluttering of cigarette smoke floating from his hand.

  I run up to him.

  When he sees me, a sad look creeps into his eyes.

  ‘I want to talk to you,’ I say. ‘I don’t know what just happened back there. But ... I’m sorry. Tell me what I did.’ I don’t want to cry, but I can feel the tears welling up.

  In a nearby tree, a few birds take flight.

  Marc looks even sadder. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. ‘You didn’t do anything. I just ... I think I’ve taught you enough, now. I’ll see you at your next performance.’

  ‘But I haven’t learned nearly enough,’ I say. ‘Didn’t you see how much I improved, with just half hour of you teaching me? But I’m not there yet. There’s so much inside I want to bring out. I need you to help me -’

  Marc shakes his head. ‘It’s not a good idea.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Don’t you get it Sophia? Don’t you understand? Do I have to spell it out?’

  I nod, confused.

  ‘Back there,’ he says, ‘I might have ... I could have ... I’m usually so in control. But just then ... it isn’t healthy for me to be around you like that. Not one-on-one.’

  I twiddle my hair. ‘What do you mean?’ My stomach is lurching all over the place. ‘I think ... I don’t want to guess at what you’re saying.’

  ‘I’m saying,’ says Marc, his voice practically growling, ‘that if I’m around you like that again, things might happen that cross the student teacher line. Am I making myself clear?’

  The sickly feeling rises to my chest. So that’s it. He knows I have a crush on him, and he thinks I might compromise his status.

  ‘Look,’ I say, ‘I promise I’ll be professional at all times. Yes – I was attracted to you just now. I admit it. Probably half the girls on this course are attracted to you. But I understand what you’re saying. I’ll make sure I draw a firm line when I’m performing with you. Nothing that might compromise anything. Nothing that might put you in a bad light. I’m sorry – I was just feeling the part. I took things too far.’

  ‘Just you saying those words ... God, this is so wrong.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m not used to this,’ says Marc. ‘I’m always in control. One hundred percent. And with you just then ...’ He runs his hand through his hair again, and looks away.

  I swallow hard, and can barely squeeze out the next words. ‘That kiss just then – I was trying to act. Trying to do what you wanted. I wasn’t trying to cross the line. And I won’t. I can keep my feelings for you locked up. No one will ever know. And if it’s true that you ... I don’t know, if there’s something about me that may compromise your position as a lecturer, but you can’t punish me for that. I’ve been selected to be on this course. There are times when I’ll need one-on-one tuition.’

  Marc’s jaw clenches and unclenches. ‘You’re right. Why should you suffer? I’ll get someone else to teach the course. I’ll step aside for this year, and find someone else to teach you.’

  I stare at him. ‘You can’t do that. You’re the reason most of the pupils here are on this course. They auditioned because of you. You’re their hero. Their star. They want you to teach them. No one else.’

  Marc looks at me, and there’s a long pause. ‘This situation ... if I remain a lecturer here this year, it could become unbearable. For both of us.’

  ‘For both of us?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I look at my trainers, and see the wet grass has stamped damp patterns onto the cloth.

  ‘Why?’ I hear myself say.

  Marc moves his face closer to mine, and I see anger in his eyes. ‘Because I can’t have you. And wanting something you can’t have can be a very difficult thing to handle. Especially if you’re used to getting whatever you want and whoever you want.’

  ‘You ... you want to have me?’ I ask, utterly confused now.

  ‘Are you trying to make this more difficult than it already is?’ Marc says. ‘You know full well I can’t have you.’ He takes a deep breath and lets it all out. ‘I’m your teacher. And you’re my pupil.’ I feel like his stare burning holes in me.

  ‘I didn’t know you wanted to have me,’ I stammer, trying to get my head around that sentence. ‘I thought ... it was only me, wanting you.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what you feel for me,’ says Marc, his voice stormy. ‘I’d be taking advantage of my position. You’re younger than me. Vulnerable. And I’m supposedly mature. And if anyone found out, your reputation could be ... compromised. The press would hound you.’

  I stand there, my mouth opening and closing. ‘I ... don’t know what to say.’

  ‘This can’t happen again,’ says Marc. ‘Not with you. You deserve better. God, if you knew what I was in to ... don’t you read the papers? Lectures aside, I’ll keep away from you. And I suggest you keep away from me.’

  He strides away across the grass, and although every bit of me wants to run after him, I know it’s a bad idea. I think about what he meant by ‘what I’m in to.’ Did he mean those pictures I saw in the newspaper? I don’t know how I feel about that at all. Frightened. Excited. And way out of my depth. Not that any of those feelings matter, because Marc has just told me nothing can ever happen between us.

  I turn and walk the other way, towards the accommodation block.

  Chapter 26

  After a restless night, I wake early, shower, and go for a walk around the college grounds. It’s beautiful in the early morning, with the birds chirruping, and squirrels scurrying over the damp grass. I find myself, as I knew I would, heading towards the woodlands and walking between the trees.

  One giant fir tree catches my eye, and I grab a branch and swing myself up into its furry leaves. Then I climb a few branches higher and look around. I can see the red-brick buildings, and enough green and brown leaves to make my heart feel full and happy.

  A few metres away, I see ivy growing over the woodland floor. It snakes around and up a young oak tree, whose leaves are turning too brown and yellow, even for this time of year.

  I jump down and go to the tree, pulling ivy from the trunk so the tree has a fighting chance of survival. I’m careful not to hurt the ivy
too much, and pull it around and along the earthy ground, so it can grow in a healthier, better way that doesn’t hurt the oak.

  ‘Not keen on ivy?’

  I hear a gravelly voice and smell cigarette smoke. My heart begins to pound. I turn and see Marc Blackwell standing behind me.

  ‘I thought you were keeping away from me,’ I say.

  ‘And you from me,’ Marc says.

  ‘I never agreed to that,’ I say, dusting my hands together to brush off loose soil.

  Marc inhales from his cigarette. ‘I take this walk every morning. Except on the first day of term, when I saw one of the pupils in the wood already. And I thought it best to let her have the run of the place on her first day.’

  ‘That was kind of you,’ I say. ‘And I am keen on ivy.’ I stand up. ‘It’s one of my favourite plants. But it was hurting this tree. So I was retraining it. Setting it on the right path.’

  Marc’s eyebrow raises. ‘Setting it on the right path?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘So it doesn’t hurt things.’ Having him so close to me again feels strange right now. It’s like we’re laced together and someone is pulling the strings tight.

  ‘I never knew you were interested in plants.’

  ‘I love them. I kept my Dad’s garden back home. I plan to grow some things on my balcony too. I don’t feel right if I’m not around nature. I love these grounds so much.’

  Marc blows out smoke. ‘I’d best be going.’

  ‘Wait!’ I call after him.

  He stops.

  ‘We have a lecture soon,’ I say. ‘I mean ... are we just going to ignore each other? Is that what you want?’

  ‘That’s what I was planning,’ says Marc. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be hurtful or cruel. I’m dealing with things the best I can. I’ll see you later on.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say, watching him walk away. ‘Later on.’

  Marc’s lecture that morning is about stage presence. How some people are born with it, but also how it can be cultivated. How we can practise to achieve it. It’s interesting, but my hands are too shaky to make notes. I spend the whole class watching Marc, waiting for something, anything, to show that I didn’t just dream what he said yesterday. That there is something about me that interests him, even if nothing can come of it.