I make deliberate noises under the table, grunting loudly and sighing impatiently. A soft padding sound heads in my direction and its volume increases with close proximity. I lift my head an inch to see two feet in rather worn shoes eyeing me up, peering underneath the table. Unshaven ankles bare themselves from beneath a three-quarter-length A-line skirt and a scattering of varicose veins lie exposed without a care.
“Found it!” I cry in exhilaration.
Backing out from beneath the table, bottom first and most unladylike, my eye squints effectively as I hold down my eyelid dramatically while clambering to my feet. No sign of Kate. Grabbing a tissue, I dab the corner gently and roll my eyes around the back of my head before settling and composing myself. A couple more squints and that should satisfy her. Admin Woman stares at me strangely but still with that kind expression, although she does look a little confused.
“Contact lens,” I tell her. “Little sucker fell out, took me ages to find it.”
I’m desperate to laugh at the ludicrousness of it all. Leaving Brian partially naked with a massive hard-on. Casting for a production I know nothing about. Well overdue a shower in terms of cleanliness, and hiding under a table to avoid conflict with my best friend. And to top it all, my vision is twenty twenty – but she doesn’t need to know that.
“I couldn’t audition without it,” I explain with utmost seriousness. “I wouldn’t be able to read the script.” I laugh a little too hysterically. “How bad would that look?”
“I know how you feel. You should consider getting that laser treatment done,” she tells me excitedly. “My friend said it changed her life!”
“Wow!” I can’t think of anything further to add so I simply gesture to the door. “Shall I go in?”
“Yes, go ahead,” She smiles at me. “And good luck!”
“Thanks.”
“Oh wait!” she calls after me.
I freeze. She knows I’m a phoney and that I’m here under false pretences. And a false pretence it is. Let’s face it, I’m never going to get a part in a high-budget production. If I couldn’t do it then, straight from university when I was young and wrinkle-free, I’m never going to have success now, am I? Besides, even if in a bizarre twist of fate I actually landed a part, I wouldn’t take it anyway. I’ve a business to run.
Why are you here then?
For the same reason that you go shopping. You don’t have to buy anything, you can just browse. That’s why.
Not convinced!
Who cares. It’s a practical experiment. Nothing more.
I turn to see why she called me to a halt with such authority.
“Your form.” She wafts the sheet of paper at me. “The director won’t see you without this.”
The room is bare but for a camera perched on its tripod and a piece of tape stuck to the floor. I walk confidently towards the two guys, extending my hand, dazzling them with my smile. Unbeknown to them a smile of combined salivation, a smile that was just moments ago in the throes of passion.
“Thanks for seeing me.”
I was about to apologise for keeping them but my business skills quickly reacted and thank heavens. Never use negative words. I could easily have put the idea into their head that I’d kept them waiting or that my timekeeping lacks just that: keeping time. Instead, I’ve turned a negative into a positive attempt to display an immaculate set of manners for our first encounter.
“I’m Tina.” Not Christie. She’s history.
“How did your phone call go then?” Brian asks with friendly concern. He’s fully dressed and possibly even showered by the looks of things.
“Really well, thanks, Brian.” I’ve almost convinced myself I’m telling the truth. “Sorry for rushing off like that.” I look up at him with my best Bambi eyes, hoping to win him over. “I clean forgot about the teleconference. I simply couldn’t let him down – he was expecting my call.”
Brian nods with quiet understanding. “Quite,” he says absentmindedly “Quite.” He walks over to the bed, pulling open the top draw of the bedside table. “Your mobile bill must be worse than mine, Miss Harding.”
“It’s astronomical,” I tell him, relieved that he’s coming round and even smiling at me now.
“Do tell me then how on earth you managed to spend over twenty minutes on a phone conference?” He pulls out an object from the drawer, holding it up before thrusting it towards me. “Without a damn phone!”
Oh shit.
“It fell out of your bag when you snatched it so quickly. I shouted after you but you’d gone.” His piercing blue eyes show hurt and anger and once again my careless spontaneity has caused a situation.
I never used to be like this.
“Tell me the truth, Tina, what were you doing?” He sits on the bed. His body language is defensive and his arms are folded tightly across his chest, exaggerating his pumped-up biceps. “What can be so bad that you have to lie to me?”
What do I say? Do I tell the guy who is paying for office number two the truth, and risk the ruin of my reputation? You’re doing a good enough job of that yourself, Tina! Do I tell him I used the payphone? I’ve a great head for figures, his number is in my head actually, Brian. Do I quickly think of another lie? Well, I was trying to find my old school pal, Hazel Topping, to see if she wanted to join us for a ménage a trois! Where is she then? On top of some bloody trifle? Don’t tell the truth. You’ll open a can of worms and you don’t know him well enough yet. I say nothing. I can think of nothing to say. What about ‘I’m on drugs’? Okay, not drugs as such, more medication. I lost my inhaler? I’m insulin dependant? I’ve got women’s problems. Liverpool are playing at home – come on, you Reds, and all that! I’m on Prozac? Now that he would believe.
I join him on the bed, sitting close but giving him a degree of space. Take one. My head hangs low and I snuffle with remorse. My shoulders stoop with embarrassment and my eyes well with artificial tears. To the untrained eye I am disconsolate. Dejection hangs from the tip of my tongue and each time I go to speak, I halt deliberately as though it’s just too difficult.
Pull yourself together, Tina!
It’s not real, you fool!
“I am so sorry, Brian.” I dab the corner of my eye with my sleeve. “I panicked.” I risk a fleeting glance at him. His eyes have softened a little, giving me the confidence to continue. “I’ve ruined it so many times for us. Firstly with the rug, then the hospital trip, then double booking the viewing and giving us unwanted intruders.” I begin to snivel and reach out, touching his hand gently before retreating with shame. “I just panicked under the pressure of getting it right this time . . . so much so it overwhelmed me.”
You’re doing great, Tina.
I do feel like such a wimp that it’s killing me. Any type of admission is not my thing, so, to fabricate this makes me cringe so much I could curl up in a ball and die. But needs must. I have to get out of this unscathed.
“Can you forgive me?” I sniff dramatically, maintaining eye-contact with the floor, waiting for Brian to make the next move. And he does. Bingo!
“You fool!” he laughs. “I have to hand it to you though, Tina. Trouble seems to follow you around, doesn’t it?” That impish grin returns once more and a flicker of wickedness adorns his eyes. “You have to be one of the most fallible people I’ve ever met.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “But for some reason,” he leans forward, planting his soft full lips on mine, “I can’t get enough of you.”
It worked. It worked. Fallible? What? He really is gullible for a business tycoon.
“I was beginning to think you were a bad omen!” he adds.
Okay, that does it. That woman was so right. He is a little divorced from reality but tame him I will!
“Do you believe in soul mates, Brian?” Did I say that out loud? Christ, I did!
“What?” He looks at me quizzically.
“Nothing.” I jump up quickly, ignoring him and silently kicking myself for thinking out loud. Me and my
big gob. “Come on.” I grab his hand, yanking him off the bed. “I need a drink.” He raises his eyebrows.
“I said a drink, Mr Steen!” Tutting with disgust, I take my phone from him, shoving it deep into my Radley bag. “‘A’ means singular! Honestly, Brian, oh ye of little faith!”
I’ll have a magnum of champers with one straw, please. What? It’s still ‘a’ drink . . . just in a big bottle!
As expected, the restaurant is exquisite. It truly underlines the term ‘fine dining’ and belongs in a league of its own. I take a sneaky peek around, spotting a few familiar faces. A bloke from Coronation Street and a group of guys I recognise from a reality TV series. A blonde tanned bimbo type from Footballers’ Wives with an actual footballer, not the acting type. Brian, however, is the main focus of my attention this evening. After what I put him through this afternoon, the least I can do is give him my undivided devotion. I think about our first date, where I drank too much and played around with my food. Tonight feels so far removed from that night but good, bad or indifferent I can’t decide. To Brian, it’s probably been fun and games from the start with my theatrics and unfortunate series of ridiculous events. Perhaps he even thinks me moronic and a bad omen as he clearly said earlier. Or maybe he just likes a challenge and is tired of pretty girls eager to please.
“Are you ready to order, Tina?” he asks, closing his menu. The choice is not extensive but the mouth-watering recipes are causing frequent mind changes. It’s a woman’s prerogative!
“I think so.” I laugh. “Do you think they’ll give me a little bit of everything?”
“If you really want that, I’ll ask for you.”
He’s serious. Really, his face is deadpan.
“You’d do that. For me?” I feign appreciation but for some reason I just want to laugh. “What would Madam care to eat this evening?”
“Oh, just chuck a bit of everything on a plate for us, mate. Ta!”
He sips from the elegant flute, holding the stem to stop the content suffering the warmth of his hand. Champagne should simply be chilled and served in frosted glasses.
“If that’s what you want, then yes.”
I laugh. “Of course not!”
He beckons to the waiter.
The waiter glides to the table like a puck floating on an air-hockey table, lightweight and effortless, although his journey is a little less erratic and he manages to avoid banging into the other tables quite successfully. His black attire has been pressed with immaculate precision and his sleeves and trousers carry symmetrically perfect creases.
“Sir?” He bows slightly, tilting his head with humble subservience. “What can I get for you this evening?”
Brian conveys his order with ease.
Isn’t it ladies first?
Frantically opening the menu, again, I scan the content to remind myself which dishes I chose. Was it the beef or the fish? Oh God, I can’t decide. My eyes run up and down as both men wait patiently for me to choose. It’s so difficult and the pressure of their attention isn’t helping.
Aha! Rummaging in my bag I quickly pull out an aid. A tool for easy decision-making. Holding the string at the top, I swing the brass ring around waiting for it to decide its clockwise or anti-clockwise direction, while muttering under my breath. Clockwise, beef. Anti-clockwise, fish. Looking up, I take in the startled faces of Brian and the waiter.
“Nearly there,” I pacify them, watching the speed of the string slow down to tiny circular motions. It almost hypnotises you.
Brian swiftly glances around our neighbouring tables, the occupants of which appear to be keeping themselves to themselves. It suddenly dawns on me that he looks a little embarrassed. What’s he like!
“Fish,” I conclude. “I’ll have the fish, please.”
There. How easy was that? I put the dowsing pendulum back into my bag. “You should get one of those, Brian,” I advise him. “It really makes decision-making so simple.”
21
Brian picks up his camel-coloured, leather holdall and opens the door. I don’t understand it. Things are going so well yet he’s leaving.
“Please keep the room on, Tina. I’ll send my driver to collect you tomorrow.” He points to the sideboard. “His card is there. Just phone him when you’re ready to check out.”
I can’t believe it. He’s leaving me. Me. Here, alone at a five-star hotel. Why?
“Why?” I ask him with incredulous disbelief. “Why on earth are you leaving? And at this time of night?”
Brian, still hovering by the door, just sighs. He sets down the holdall, using it as a door prop, and steps inside the room.
“I’m confused, Tina. I thought I knew this passionate, ambitious and slightly quirky girl with a fierce reputation for success, but I’m not sure I got you quite right if I’m honest. I’m not sure who you are.”
I want to jump up and down on the bed shouting, “You do, you do, I’m here, the same girl you interviewed not too long ago – remember the chemistry?” but I continue to allow him the courtesy of no interruptions.
“Your disappearance today, that ring thing at dinner, the crystals on the bed, asking me if my parents thought of calling me ‘Richard’ . . . And why on earth you need to know my horoscope is beyond me.” He picks the bag up once more, edging his way out of the door. “Things just don’t seem to add up here. I’m not sure who you are, Tina, but let’s just call it a day.” He pauses. “I’m sorry. This is not what I wanted.”
The door closes silently. No bang, no creak. Pure silence. And the reality kicks in. I’m here in Manchester Alone. No man. No sex. Again. Brian was pretty quiet throughout dinner. I kept asking if he was okay, and he simply nodded each time. His eyes lost their lascivious glint, which in turn made them appear bland and coloured with a very ordinary shade of blue. The flash of his pearly whites lessened and, towards the end of the night, I could clearly see he no longer wanted to be in my company. In fact, I’d go as far as to say he looked like he didn’t want to be in the same room as me.
I still can’t understand it. What’s his problem? So what if I disappeared? I have a perfectly valid excuse. So what if I used the dowsing ring? Millions of people do it, it served its purpose perfectly. So what if I might have mentioned my acting career once or twice? I didn’t know shop talk was the only item on our agenda, Mr Steen!
I make myself a much-needed gin and tonic from the mini-bar, ignoring the price menu. I’m not paying and what else is there for me to do right now? I long to call Kate but I can’t tell her where I am. Although maybe I should – she must be close by if she was here early this evening. But I do nothing. I’m in a state of shock and not sure whether to laugh or cry. But I can’t cry. For some reason my mind is so consumed by the earlier audition, I can feel no emotion other than sheer excitement. More than that, exhilaration, even a touch of euphoria, and the walking out of a rich tycoon isn’t enough to get those tear ducts into flowing motion. I’m on a high, well and truly, and can’t come down. I don’t want to. I reassure myself that Brian will come around. He’s your soul mate, your destiny. Of course he’ll come around. It’s just a temporary setback. Life is full of them and once he’s realised his behaviour is a little irrational, he’ll be on his knees begging for forgiveness. I pick up at the thought of our reunion. The strength of feeling carries me through as I imagine the intertwining of our bodies, the passion of our souls as we rekindle that pent-up sexual energy. But regardless of how we come together again, we simply will. We’re soul mates destined to be together and if we have to suffer a few ups and downs in the meantime then it means our relationship will grow and develop. What’s meant to be is meant to be and no matter how ridiculous his behaviour, fate has thrown us together and it’s far stronger than anything either he or I can do or say to each other. It won’t allow a relationship to be tampered with to the point of closure. In fact, we’re practically invincible.
The blackout curtains do their best to cast an eerie bleakness across the room. My eyes da
rt as I try to make out shadows and varying colours of black, just for something to do. Sleep appears not to be an option tonight. The same could be said for sex. I try to turn but struggle to move under the weight of a million tiny feathers which seem intent on crushing me and punishing me for simply being me. I try to cry, once more reminding myself that I’m lost in this king-size bed, alone.
Flashbacks of days gone by overpower my thoughts and insomnia jeers at me, telling me I deserve a sleepless night, and a strange feeling of nostalgia sweeps over me as I suddenly recall the very day I hung up my acting cloak. A day that still remains crystal clear no matter how hard I try to erase it.
As an aspiring actor I’d spent years struggling to make it, to get somewhere, battling against the crème de la crème who unfortunately included Kate Goodwin, my best friend. Kate and I had been friends since our first day at school and even as children we never wanted to do anything other than an act. Although physically we were chalk and cheese, as opposing personalities went we were perfectly suited. Kate had long flowing blonde hair which hung heavily against her slight frame, in keeping however with her lack of height. “That girl is a ballerina in the making,” my mother used to say. I, on the other hand, was five feet seven by the age of fourteen, carrying a mop of frizzy auburn hair and a face full of freckles, each one carrying years of history. History of taunts from teabag to beans-on-toast-face, from ugly to sun-kissed. None of which I embraced emphatically, although neither did I bother to shed a tear for something I could do absolutely nothing about, apart from avoid scorching hot days and wearing baseball caps and applying the thickest foundation available, removable only with paint-stripper and a trowel! Beauty is pain as they say and believe me, my pain started young.
As talent goes, all probability indicated that mine was natural whereas Kate’s was bought from years at dancing school, private singing tuition and elocution lessons, the latter being necessary living in Liverpool with its strange vernacular, not to mention its bizarre pronunciation that seemingly requires master classes from Spit the Dog. I never understood that about Scousers and still don’t. A sense of humour, wit, humility and generosity typifies the average Liverpudlian, but where on earth the phlegm throat-clearing accent came from I have no idea. Needless to say, neither Kate nor I had this – deliberately and as aspiring actors, our accents were universal.
Crystal Balls Page 24
