by Anita Notaro
She had decided to cook, then chickened out and begged one of the chefs in work to provide her with something simple, that she could pass off as her own. He laughed at her. ‘Christ, girl, you really have it bad,’ he teased in his singsong Cork accent and Annie punched him and looked sheepish. But it had worked and she now had a fragrant Thai green chicken curry that only needed to be reheated and she’d bought two sachets of boil-in-the-bag rice to be cooked in a stock of cinnamon, lemongrass and cardamom pods provided by her workmate. She’d no idea what they were but the chef had assured her they’d add flavour to the rice although she rightly guessed he hadn’t been thinking about rice wearing a plastic mac. She’d bought some good naan bread in Marks & Sparks and splashed out on a bottle of horrendously expensive dessert wine.
A fire crackled merrily and candles and flowers once again added to the illusion of comfort.
Marc arrived with a bottle of Australian sparkling wine, which he assured her was as nice as French champagne. She didn’t like to tell him she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference anyway, but consoled herself that he seemed to like her simple, uncluttered lifestyle.
They drank a toast and Annie watched in mortification as the episode unfolded, seeing a character who was over-confident and tarty and a bit brazen, and a million miles away from the insecure girl who sat on a bockety sofa and pretended to take it all in her stride.
Marc was full of praise. ‘That was cool, really convincing,’ he said more than once and Annie basked in the warmth of his admiration. When it was over the phone kept ringing – her father first, saying how proud he was of her. Then a couple of neighbours who were absolutely starstruck, and lots of her new colleagues who had taken the trouble to get hold of her number to offer congratulations, including Stephen Wilson and Mike Nichols, and her friend Orla. Annie was delighted and when Marc finally reached over and took the phone off the hook she was surprised to find herself feeling a bit disappointed.
‘I want you all to myself.’ He kissed her, slipping his hand under her blouse.
‘After dinner, you animal.’ Annie was happy again. She jumped up and pretended to slap him as if he were a bold puppy. ‘Down, boy.’
‘I’m hungry, but not for food.’ He grabbed her and as usual he won. They made love in front of the fire and she had heat marks like waffles all down one side of her body and didn’t care. Afterwards as they chatted easily she thought what a perfect evening it had been so far.
Then Marc stood up and yawned and it all changed.
‘Gotta go, babe, I’m wrecked.’
‘But it’s barely nine o’clock.’ Annie thought she was hearing things. ‘Besides, we haven’t eaten yet.’
‘I’ve got a really early start in the morning and you’ve worn me out, not to mention ruined my appetite.’ He grinned, then leaned over and kissed her nose. ‘I’ll give you a call, OK?’
‘Sure. But won’t you at least stay and try some food?’ Annie heard herself sounding pathetic.
‘Would you mind if I passed? All that wine’s gone to my head.’
‘Well eat something then, it’ll help sober—’
‘Stop playing Mummy,’ he teased but Annie didn’t like the tone. Two minutes later he was gone. Even with two glasses of wine on board she knew something was wrong and all at once her whole night went pear-shaped. The phone rang. She almost didn’t answer it but now she needed the praise and attention.
She nearly passed out when she heard who it was and within fifteen minutes she was on her way to have a drink with Libby Marlowe, her torment forgotten in a new flurry of anxiety.
* * *
Libby entered the social club with all the enthusiasm of a Crufts champion poodle being taken to a local dog pound. It was not the sort of place she usually frequented but Annie had suggested it and she was heading back to her office anyway, to dump the files that she hoped not to see for a very long time. Annie spotted her immediately, as did everyone else.
It was hard not to, really. She wore soft black suede over-the-knee boots and a short tweed skirt. An oversized jumper and funky tights made the skirt look even shorter and her legs look like polished liquorice. It wasn’t her normal attire, it was an outfit that was left over from filming, and she’d changed into it just to annoy someone, another petty attempt to get back at them all for putting her through the most horrendous few days. Her blond hair was loose and tossed and her make-up flawless though heavy; as she got closer Annie noticed that her face was tired and a bit bloated and her eyes were dull. Still, Annie felt like her frumpy, much older sister.
Although journalists and roadies mixed with actors and presenters most evenings here, Libby was not a regular and many were curious enough about this particular star to cast covert glances in her direction. Annie stood up nervously and waved, in case Libby didn’t remember what she looked like.
‘Hi.’
‘Hello.’ Libby held out her hand. It seemed rather formal to Annie, who immediately became more nervous. At least the two glasses of wine helped.
‘Evening, Miss Marlowe.’ The barman was over in an instant, wiping imaginary dust from the table. He ignored Annie. ‘What can I get you to drink?’
‘Do you have a dry white wine?’
‘We certainly do. Chardonnay OK?’
‘Actually, perhaps I’ll have a G&T.’
‘Glass of red wine for me,’ Annie threw in quickly, in case he walked off. ‘I’ve already had two,’ she apologized, fearing she might stink of alcohol. ‘It was my first appearance on TV tonight,’ she explained quickly.
‘Oh yes, you’re in – what’s it called?’
‘Southside.’
‘That’s it. So you’ve just started, then?’
‘Yes, I’ve done four episodes and now I’m waiting to hear if they’ll want me back.’ She looked excited and worried at the same time. Libby remembered her own early career and knew exactly how she felt.
‘That must be very tough?’
‘It is.’ Annie could cope with anything but kindness after the disaster with Marc. The barman appeared with their drinks and she rushed to pay for them but Libby insisted and when she settled down again she noticed that Annie was on the verge of tears. It was exactly the way she’d felt herself all day. In spite of her natural reserve and sense of superiority she was drawn towards the younger woman and besides, she felt guilty that she was using her in an effort to avoid going home without having a good bitch about the series with someone. In an instant they were off, both needing to offload a huge amount at exactly the same time in their vastly different lives. The result was that they bonded in a way that left Annie elated and Libby startled.
Chapter Thirty
NEXT MORNING ANNIE was still on a high. She couldn’t believe how well she’d got on with someone she’d admired for so long. It was fate, Annie decided, because initially she’d sensed a reluctance on Libby’s part, an animosity almost. It had been a slow burn. Then suddenly they were laughing and telling each other the most intimate things. Maybe it was because of her husband, Annie thought now. Libby had wanted to know every detail of that last evening and Annie wished she had more to tell. She could still see the exquisite, porcelain, childlike face lapping up every morsel of information and in return Libby had told Annie how awful it had been, as if sensing that she would understand. And she did, and in the talking and telling of secrets all of Annie’s fears about Marc had melted away.
Contentedly she strolled down to the shops as soon as she was washed and dressed and was amazed and delighted to find she had become a local celebrity overnight. Even the usually cool teenage boys shouted some filthy, if encouraging, remarks about her performance. And the local shopkeeper, who had never delivered a free smile with the morning paper in her life, beamed as she handed Annie her change. ‘I suppose we’ll be reading about you in there next.’
‘You never know.’
‘Well, don’t forget us when you’re famous.’
‘I don’t think I’ll be worrying about that for a wh
ile yet, Mrs O’Brien.’ Annie had always thought the woman was deaf and dumb.
When she got back there were two messages, the first from her brother Greg, saying how much he’d enjoyed seeing her on the show. Annie was amazed, he was so flaky she couldn’t imagine him even remembering her number. The second was from Max Donaldson, asking her to call him at the office. She knew it was probably just a call to say well done, but she was still nervous.
‘Annie, how are you? Thanks for getting back to me.’
‘I’m fine, Max.’ She was curt in an effort not to prolong the agony.
‘Listen, first of all, well done on last night’s performance. How did you feel seeing it on transmission?’
‘Nervous, excited, scared. It was a very odd feeling looking at it from a distance. I suppose I felt I could do much better, but overall, given that it was my first time, I was pleased enough.’
‘Well, we’ve had a terrific reaction already and we did show it to a few people last week. The feedback has been very positive. So don’t be too hard on yourself.’
‘Thanks, Max, that’s good to hear.’
‘So, would you like to come back to us?’
Annie heard it but wasn’t quite sure. Her heart had heard it too, apparently, and was getting quite excited, thumping with the strength of an overdue baby.
‘You know I would.’
‘Well then, we need to sit down and talk. Could you pop in at some stage? I’d like to fill you in a bit about where we see the character going. Dave Gordon should probably sit in on part of it, as well,’ he said, half to himself, referring to the script editor. Anne could hear him scribbling.
‘Sure, I’m free all day today.’
‘Great. Say three o’clock then. Just hang on. I see Dave in the outside office. Let me just make sure he’s free too.’
Seconds later it was arranged and Annie couldn’t believe her luck as she put down the phone. Her instinct was to ring Marc, but she knew he was in studio most of the day, so she’d just have to wait till tonight.
It took her hours to get ready yet when she emerged it seemed as if she hadn’t made any particular effort. She looked just like any other student really, if a bit older – hair in two little plaits, make-up so light it was almost non-existent and the ubiquitous jeans, T-shirt and Michelin man jacket. She felt better than any of them though, as she strolled along, bag swinging, hair bobbing, mouth in a permanent grin.
Everyone greeted her warmly in the busy hubbub that was Southside and Max and Dave took her to the conference room. Annie felt nervous, afraid it mightn’t turn out as well as she’d been dreaming about on the bus.
‘Annie, I suppose the first thing we should discuss is where the character is going, which is why I wanted Dave to sit in on this part of the meeting. We’ve more or less decided that we want her to have a major storyline, which hasn’t been completely cast in stone, because we want your input.’
They talked at length and Annie was in her element. Bobby was about to become embroiled in a very seedy world indeed. It would all go horribly wrong of course, as it always does in soaps, and the outcome was to be a pregnancy and a heartbreaking decision.
‘We’re toying with an abortion and an attempted suicide, or an adoption forced on her by the man involved, or a handicapped baby which she then abandons. We haven’t got much further and everyone has different ideas, which is why we wanted your input.’ It was every budding actress’s dream scenario.
Annie didn’t know where to start and rightly took notes, said very little and asked for a couple of days. Her initial instinct was that Bobby would never abandon a baby, but she wondered aloud if that were true. Dave Gordon was insistent that it was a possibility.
‘Make no mistake about it, Annie, she’s a tough cookie. This business will mean money, opportunities and a chance she’s never had. Also the relationship with the businessman will probably give her ideas above her station. A baby definitely won’t feature in her plans.’
Annie listened carefully and wanted to think about it all. Both men agreed and suggested a meeting later in the week with the scriptwriters and storyline editors.
‘So, now that you know a bit more, how do you feel?’
‘I’m thrilled. It’s a fantastic role to get my teeth into. I just hope I can do it justice.’
‘It’ll be a tough one to play, physically very demanding and at times draining. It’s going to take a lot out of you.’
‘I’m ready for it, I’ve been waiting for this for years.’
‘You need to go and see the research team. Paula Hannigan has been doing some work on the story and can arrange for you to talk to some women’s groups etc.’
‘Great. I can’t wait to get stuck in.’
They chatted some more, then Dave Gordon left and Max got down to the contract.
‘What we’re offering is a twelve-month contract with a guarantee of thirty episodes, minimum. Maybe more. It will commit you to us almost exclusively, although we would try to facilitate other work if you really wanted to do, say, theatre or something. Now, I know you do some other work in the evenings and that might be difficult for us to accommodate on a long-term basis. Is it important to you?’
‘No, although I’d have to give them plenty of time to replace me. They’ve been very good to me and I don’t like letting them down.’
‘That’s no problem. It will be weeks before this story takes off and even then we can cope for a while. It’s just going to be hard when we get into the nitty-gritty of the story.’
‘Yes, I understand. I’ll talk to them tomorrow evening.’
‘And what about an agent, or do you want to handle the negotiations yourself?’
Annie realized later she must have looked terrified because Max looked rueful and put down his pen.
‘Annie, I shouldn’t really be saying this, but I think it might be time to get someone to look after your affairs. There are going to be lots of offers coming your way if this takes off and even now, you need someone to represent your interests when talking to me. I’m not sure you’ll be tough enough and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t say it.’
‘Thanks, I really appreciate it. Can I think about that as well for a day or so?’
‘Sure. Look, here’s the business card of an agent we deal with regularly. She might be too busy to take you on, but she’s good, one of the best in the business. Tough. Hard as nails but gets the results for her clients. I’ll probably rue the day I ever introduced you.’ He smiled and Annie laughed. ‘You should probably shop around anyway. It’s an important relationship. Most of the actors can give you some more contacts. It’s a personal choice and one you have to be happy with.’
It was almost five by the time they said goodbye, Annie armed with masses of paperwork: schedules, scripts and a million notes. She felt a bit self-conscious as she slipped into the studio to see who was there, secretly hoping to bump into Marc and tell him her news. It was humungous, better than her wildest dreams and she wanted to share it with her boyfriend. She would have to ring Libby later too, she thought happily, hugging the thought of her new friend to her like a hot water bottle in a freezing winter bed. They’d exchanged numbers when they left the social club, hours later than either of them had planned.
As it happened, there were only two actors involved in the remaining scenes of the day in studio, and Annie didn’t know either of them very well. They were older and a bit reserved, although they greeted her warmly and asked if she was coming back. The stagehands were delighted to see her and started slagging her at once. Annie felt as if she’d come home.
She left at around six and was making her way out of the building when Orla came tumbling down the corridor, waving.
‘Annie, I heard you were in. Fancy a pint in the club?’
Annie could have hugged her, it was exactly what she needed.
‘There’s a gang there I think. It’s Tessa’s birthday so she’s lording it over us, as if she needed an excuse.’ The
y laughed and walked out together after Orla had collected her things. Annie told her about the meeting with Max.
‘Oh my God, that is absolutely brilliant! I’m so pleased for you.’
Annie was thrilled, because they hadn’t been that close but Orla seemed genuinely happy. Since last night she was measuring all closeness on the Marlowe-Richter scale.
‘You have to get an agent.’
‘That’s more or less what Max said. He gave me the name of someone called Susi Carolan. Do you know her?’
‘Everyone knows her. I’ve never really liked her, to be honest. But it’s up to you. I’ll give you the name of mine as well.’
They joined a group of other actors. Annie felt relaxed and happy, if a bit disappointed that Marc wasn’t among them.
Stephen Wilson insisted on buying Annie the first drink, saying how pleased he was that she was back ‘in the family’.
An hour later, buoyed with a new sense of confidence, she was considering phoning Marc from the payphone outside the door. She decided to go to the bar and order a round, then slip out unnoticed. Maybe he’d join them later and even if he couldn’t she badly wanted to talk to him.
As she pushed open the swing doors she literally walked straight into him.
‘Hi.’ She couldn’t believe her luck – this day would take some beating.
‘Annie, hi there.’ He looked very surprised.
‘I was just on my way—’
‘Annie, this is Linda. Linda, Annie Weller, who plays Bobby.’
She looked from one to the other, sure she was missing something here.
‘Hi, Annie, nice to meet you.’ Linda had the faintest Australian accent but it was well hidden under an upper-class British one.
‘Hi. You too.’ She waited for Marc to explain.
‘Well, don’t let us keep you. See you back inside. OK?’
In an instant they’d gone and Annie walked in a daze to the phone, before realizing that she had no need for it now. She stood looking at it, not sure what to do, heart thumping, head not thinking clearly.
Eventually, she made for the ladies, locked herself in a cubicle and sat on the seat. She had a bad feeling about this one.
