Film Star

by Rowan Coleman

  Suddenly the door opened and Mr Dubrovnik, Lisa Wells and Jeremy Fort followed a beaming and rosy-cheeked Anne-Marie into the room. With her skin glowing and her eyes sparkling, Anne-Marie looked really lovely, and I thought that that was it; they’d given her the part just because she was so beautiful.

  “Ooooh!” A little stifled scream came from over my left shoulder, and I realised it was because Mum had spotted Jeremy Fort, who she fancied in an embarrassingly immature way.

  “Mum!” I growled at her through my teeth.

  “Janice!” Dad growled too, simultaneously, and both Mum and I looked sharply at him.

  “Sorry. Force of habit,” he muttered, and Mum rolled her eyes.

  “Well, Sylvia,” Art Dubrovnik said, “you certainly have brought me two very fine students today. You can be proud of them—and your academy.”

  “Of course,” Sylvia Lighthouse said, as if she had expected the world’s leading film director to compliment her exactly as he had.

  “I have two other girls to see after lunch,” Mr Dubrovnik told all of us, “and then I’ll call Ms Lighthouse at the academy to let you know either way. But I want you to know that you were both great, really great. If you don’t get this part it’s not because you’re not brilliant young actresses.”

  Anne-Marie and I smiled, and she reached out her fingers and caught my hand and squeezed it.

  “Good luck,” Mr Dubrovnik said.

  And that was it.

  It was over.

  Chapter Seven

  The afternoon felt sort of like walking through clear jelly: I could see everything and hear everything that was going on around me, but I felt separated from the real world as if I were floating alongside it rather than being part of it.

  We discussed it at length over lunch, all of us—Anne-Marie, Danny, Nydia and I, and even Menakshi, Jade and Michael Henderson, about how we might find out the news.

  “If it’s bad news,” Anne-Marie said, “she’ll call us into her office. She’ll give us a speech on taking rejection on the chin and keeping our chins up. A lot of her speeches are about chins—have you noticed?”

  “But if it’s good,” Menakshi said, “she might make an announcement to the whole school in a special assembly, like when Wade Jackson two years above us got that record contract.” Menakshi looked thoughtful. “Whatever happened to Wade Jackson?”

  “The fickle finger of fame moved on,” Danny said, doing a passable impersonation of Sylvia Lighthouse delivering the catchphrase that seemed to be closest to her heart.

  Anne-Marie and I looked at each other.

  “But if it’s bad news for both of us, it will definitely be in her office,” I said.

  “What if it’s only good news for one of you?” Nydia, who had been quiet until that moment, asked me. “What then?”

  “She’ll call us into her office and tell us together,” Anne-Marie said before I could answer. “And there won’t be any hard feelings, will there, Ruby? I’ll be as happy if Ruby gets the part as if I do.”

  There were a few muttered “Yeah, rights”, groans and giggles at that.

  “I will!” Anne-Marie protested.

  “Well it might be neither of us,” I said simply. “Those other girls they saw this afternoon might be exactly what they were looking for.”

  I thought about what it would mean to get the part of Polly Harris in The Lost Treasure of King Arthur and my insides did a series of complicated Olympic-gold-medal-winning gymnastics. I took a breath and steadied my voice.

  “And anyway, if one of us does get it, it means really big changes. Going away from school and home for ages. Getting an on-set tutor! It will all be really different. Maybe it would be better not to get it,” I said, feeling suddenly anxious.

  Nydia looked at me sharply.

  “You don’t mean that,” she said darkly. I half-smiled.

  “I don’t suppose I do,” I said, “but it is a scary thought!” Normally Nydia would have caught my half-smile and stretched it into a full-sized one as she returned it to me. But this time she didn’t smile back at me.

  As everyone else filed back to class, I had fallen into step with Nydia, letting Anne-Marie and the others walk ahead.

  “Nydia,” I said. “You’re cross with me.”

  “I’m not.” Nydia was terrible at lying.

  “You so are,” I said reproachfully. “You didn’t call me to wish me good luck like you did Anne-Marie.”

  Nydia rolled her eyes.

  “Because I know that you don’t need any luck,” she said sharply.

  I stopped walking.

  “What do you mean I don’t need any luck?” I asked her. Nydia stopped too and turned round to look at me.

  “Well,” she said, “you got called back. You got called back when you did the worst audition in the history of the world! Why? Because you are Ruby Parker. I don’t think you even had to audition really; I think they would have given you the part whatever. This whole thing was probably just one big publicity stunt for the film.”

  I stared at her and thought about what Art Dubrovnik had said to me that morning, and my heart sank. You’ve got history, Ruby, you’ve worked in TV. But then I remembered what else he had said.

  “I got called back because Imogene Grant liked my audition,” I said. “She said I had something about me that might be right for the part. That’s why I got called back. Because what the star says goes.” Nydia raised an eyebrow.

  “So not because you were any good then?” she asked me, turning on her heel and walking off down the corridor.

  “Nydia!” I called after her. “I can’t believe you are being like this!”

  “I was better than you,” she said as I caught up with her. “I was better than you, but I didn’t get called back because I’m big and ugly and nobody in the world would believe that a big fat girl was Imogene Grant’s sister!”

  “Nydia, I…” I didn’t know what to say. I remembered how I felt when I looked at Anne-Marie, so tall and pretty and blonde, sparkling like a diamond when she came out of the audition. I felt like the ugly duckling then, and I suppose Nydia must have felt the same since the moment she didn’t get called back.

  “Nydia,” I said, “maybe you’re right. Maybe it isn’t fair. You probably were better than me. And it probably does have something to do with Kensington Heights. But—what could I have done about that? Not gone to the audition? Said, ‘No thanks very much, I’ll pass’?”

  Nydia shook her head and looked at her feet, sighing heavily.

  “I’ve got an audition,” she said in a quiet voice. “Ms Lighthouse put me forward for it. It’s for three episodes of Holby City. It’s a proper part, with lines and everything. A lot of lines actually.”

  “Nydia! Your first ever speaking part. I bet you’re excited!” I hugged her impulsively, but she didn’t hug me back. “That’s wonderful,” I said, a little less enthusiastically.

  “It’s for a morbidly obese teenager with early onset diabetes,” Nydia said miserably. “That’s all I ever get—fat roles, funny roles, idiot roles. I’ll never be like you or Anne-Marie.”

  “Nobody will ever be like Anne-Marie!” I said, trying to make a joke and failing.

  As Nydia looked up at me her eyes were shining with tears. “Nothing ever happens to me, Ruby,” she said. “Things always happen to you. I just wish, I just wish that sometimes things would happen to me.” I picked up her hands.

  “I bet you get this part in Holby City,” I said.

  “Maybe,” she said. “But I don’t want that part! I want to be an action hero, a romantic lead. But no, I’m stuck inside this stupid fat ugly body and I can’t get out! And I’m jealous of you. I’m jealous and angry that no matter how good I am, even when I’m better than you I’ll never beat you. I’ll never get a part we both go for. Unless it’s the part of a fat ugly person.”

  We stood, both of us, in the empty corridor, the bell calling us to class ringing in our ears.

&nb
sp; “I don’t know what to say,” I said at last as the chimes died away and we were both officially late. “I didn’t know how unhappy you were. I thought you were happy with how you looked. Always joking about it.”

  “Before anybody else does,” Nydia said.

  “Well, Nydia, if you are unhappy then things don’t have to stay the same, they can change—you can change. And I’ll help you.”

  “How will you help me?” Nydia asked me.

  “Well, you could talk to the school nurse for starters. Ask her about a healthy-eating plan. And maybe she could talk to your mum for you.”

  “Mum will kill me if she thinks I’ve been talking about her cooking to anyone,” Nydia said.

  “But does your mum know how unhappy you are?” I asked. She shook her head. “I think your mum would kill you if she knew that you had been hiding it from her.”

  “You must think I’m a greedy fat pig,” Nydia said quietly.

  “Nydia!” I said. “Of course I don’t. I think that you and me eat almost the same thing every day, and I’m not a stick insect. And actually, I think you are beautiful just as you are. But if you’re this unhappy, it’s worth finding out about, right? I’ll come with you, if you like, to see the nurse.” Finally, Nydia gave me a half-smile.

  “Really?” she said.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “What—even if you’re off shooting your first movie?”

  “Even if,” I said, and then I laughed. “Not that I’m going to get that part in a million years. Anne-Marie is miles prettier than me.”

  “I’m sorry I got jealous,” Nydia said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I got so caught up in all of this I wasn’t a very good friend. Anne-Marie says friendship comes second when you’re an actor, but I don’t think so. I think that no matter what happens, friendship should always come first.”

  When we got to class it didn’t matter that we were late. The entire class was out of their desks and gathered around two large windows, including Mr Barlow the maths teacher.

  “Sorry we’re—What’s going on?” Nydia asked, and Mr Barlow turned round.

  “There you are, Ruby!” he exclaimed. “Come and see! I think that the field has just narrowed rather considerably. I don’t suppose they came out here to issue rejections.”

  I rushed to the window and elbowed my way past Menakshi to Anne-Marie’s side. Just pulling up to the main entrance of the school was a red convertible Rolls Royce carrying two passengers—Art Dubrovnik and Lisa Wells.

  “It’s one of us,” Anne-Marie said, her voice as high and as taught as a tightrope. Her hand darted out and gripped my wrist hard.

  “Ouch,” I said.

  “Sorry,” Anne-Marie said, but she didn’t let go.

  “It might not be one of us,” I started cautiously. “Maybe they were just in the area and—”

  “Oh, shut up, idiot,” Anne-Marie said. So I did.

  We watched as the pair walked up the steps to the entrance, greeted halfway by Ms Lighthouse. They spoke for a few moments and then Ms Lighthouse nodded emphatically and led them inside.

  It seemed like years before we heard Mrs Moore’s footsteps in the corridor. She knocked on the open door and waited for Mr Barlow to invite her in before she entered.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Mr Barlow,” Mrs Moore said. Mrs Moore was always terribly polite, which was usually quite funny, but right at that moment seemed like a dreadful waste of time.

  “Nothing much to interrupt here at the moment, Mrs Moore,” Mr Barlow said cheerfully. He nodded at Anne-Marie and me. “I think we’ll have to put these two out of their misery before I get this lot back to equations. I take it you want to take Ruby and Anne-Marie out of class?”

  Mrs Moore nodded. “Yes, please, Mr Barlow. Thank you very much.” She glanced at the two of us impassively. “Come along, girls,” she said. And clutching each other’s hands, Anne-Marie and I followed her.

  “Hey, girls,” Nydia called out. I turned and looked at her. “Break a leg,” she said with a smile. But I was almost certain it was an actor’s smile—a fake one.

  Mr Dubrovnik and Lisa Wells were sitting opposite Ms Lighthouse’s desk when we came in, drinking tea out of Ms Lighthouse’s flowery china cups. Art Dubrovnik smiled at us, and Lisa Wells looked us up and down with an air of decided disappointment.

  “Take a seat, girls,” Ms Lighthouse said. We saw that two classroom chairs had been brought in for us to sit on, so we sat down. Every second ticked by as if an hour had been inserted in between.

  “Well,” Sylvia Lighthouse said, leaning forward on her desk and pressing her fingers together. “I am delighted that Mr Dubrovnik and…his associate have come out to see us today. Delighted because as I am sure you have worked out by now it means that one of you two girls has got the part of Polly Harris. And I am proud but not surprised to hear that both of you were excellent, beating all the other candidates hands down. We thought it would be a good idea for Mr Dubrovnik and Ms Wells to talk to you together so that you can both hear from the horse’s mouth, as it were, exactly how proud you can be of what you have achieved.” Sylvia gestured to Art Dubrovnik that she was handing the conversation over to him. I glanced at Anne-Marie and wondered if she was thinking the same thing that I was which was mainly: JUST TELL US NOW!

  “Ruby, Anne-Marie,” Art said. “I’ve got to tell you that you were both wonderful today. You both brought different qualities to the reading, you each played the role differently but brilliantly, and in the end we weren’t deciding on who was the better actor but on whose interpretation of Polly Harris most fitted the film.” Art Dubrovnik paused—one of the long excruciating pauses that are scripted on TV talent shows to keep viewers hooked and contestants guessing, but which in real life, my life especially, are just plain cruel.

  “In the end,” Mr Dubrovnik pulled down the corners of his mouth in a kind of upside-down smile, “I didn’t make the final decision. I let my leading lady make the final choice because I knew it was vital that she picked the girl she would most get on with and who fitted her vision of Flame and Ember’s relationship.

  “Imogene Grant?” Anne-Marie said, quickly looking out of the window to where the Rolls Royce was still parked, empty except for the chauffeur. “But how did she choose? On the Internet or a webcam or something?”

  I stared at Anne-Marie. I didn’t care if Imogene Grant saw us through a trans-global crystal ball, I just wanted to know WHO HAD THE PART. But nobody else seemed to notice that.

  “No,” Art Dubrovnik said, smiling. “Actually, she saw your audition in the flesh. Both times.” Mr Dubrovnik looked at Lisa Wells.

  “Imogene—do you want to tell them yourself?” Lisa Wells nodded and Anne-Marie and I looked at each other, confused.

  Lisa Wells took off her thick black glasses and set them on Ms Lighthouse’s desk. And then slowly and incredibly she peeled off her long sharp pointy nose to reveal a much prettier and very familiar one underneath. She followed that by removing with some difficulty the thick orange eyebrows one by one, wincing as if she were removing a very sticky plaster. Then, cupping her hand under each eye, she pinched out the fishy blue contact lenses, and when she’d blinked a few times you could see they were now a soft amber-brown colour.

  Anne-Marie and I watched all of this open-mouthed until finally the wiry orange wig was removed and the woman underneath it shook out her long soft honey-brown curls and smiled at us. She smiled the million-dollar smile. She smiled Imogene Grant’s smile. And finally I realised that, with all the tension, I hadn’t started seeing things; finally I realised that Lisa Wells was Imogene Grant. She had been all along.

  “Wow!” Anne-Marie spoke first. “That is amazing, you are such an amazing actress. I had no idea…Wow!”

  “You saw me throw up!” I said before my brain could stop my tongue from moving.

  Imogene Grant laughed and lit up the room. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Even more lovely
in real life than when she was airbrushed to perfection on a magazine cover or lit in soft focus for a film. She was even more beautiful because she was real: really, really real.

  “But, I mean,” Anne-Marie said, “I’ve seen all your films and I read every article about you I can find, and there you were all along and I didn’t notice you. You completely transformed yourself!”

  I noticed that Anne-Marie was managing all the compliments while all I had done was remind her about the whole vomiting thing. I tried to make up for it.

  “Really great false nose,” I said. Imogene laughed again—at least she thought I was funny.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I borrowed it from Nicole. But look, the real reason you didn’t spot it was me wasn’t because of the disguise; it was because when I had this wig on I became Lisa Wells—or at least my version of her. I was her, so there was no Imogene Grant for you to notice.”

  “You are an amazing actress,” Anne-Marie said.

  “You really are,” I said, determined not to be left out when it came to showering compliments. Imogene beamed at us.

  “I’m sorry to shock you, girls. I wanted to be in the auditions but I was afraid of throwing the candidates off. I have to dress up in disguises a lot just to get around town, you know, on the bus or whatever, without people mobbing me.”

  Anne-Marie and I looked amazed at each other. Imogene Grant on the bus?

  “I think you put me off more as Lisa Wells than you would have as Imogene Grant,” I said. Imogene nodded.

  “Well that was a little test Art and I came up with between ourselves. We needed the person who plays Polly Harris’s character to have guts and determination, to carry on no matter what happens. And you both did!” She smiled at us again. “So I hope that you both forgive me. I hope I wasn’t too scary.”

  “You were wonderful,” Anne-Marie said sincerely. “An amazing performance.”

  I looked at Ms Lighthouse to see if she was as shocked as we were and saw that she was perfectly serene. She had known all along. I started to feel annoyed. I mean I was thrilled and excited that I had just met Imogene Grant, and proud and happy that I had auditioned for Art Dubrovnik and acted with Jeremy Fort. I was practically delirious! But at that point there was really only one thing that I wanted to know.