Then suddenly it’s over: my one and only chance to make an impression. I wonder if they’ll let me do it again …
‘Okay. Finally, what do you feel youcan bring to the role of Olga?’
‘Hmm. Well, like Olga, I used to be dissatisfied with my job, felt I’d missed out on marriage, felt old before my time, longed to be somewhere else. The difference is I did something about it. But I can still remember how that feels, and I could draw on those emotions.’
‘Interesting,’ says Hugh, rubbing his chin. ‘Thank you for coming. We’ll let you knowon Monday.’
Monday? That’s a whole three days. But hang on! What am I fretting about? I can’t afford to take the job even if they do offer it to me. So it’s for the best if I don’t get it. Just put it down to experience.
* * *
Monday p.m.
Humph! So I’m not good enough for their play, eh? Their loss. Not for them, athank-you-for-my-first-breakmention when I collect my BAFTA, sobollocks to them.
Half an hour later, theSex and The Citytheme tune comes drifting across the landing into the bathroom. Jeans at half-mast, I stagger and stumble to the bedroom, and swipe my mobile from the dressing table.
‘Emily, it’s Hugh.’
I hold my breath for a moment.
‘Oh, of course, the audition. Hi,’ I say in my best I’m-a-very-busy-person voice, heart leaping into mythroat.
‘Good news … we’d like you to play Olga for us. What do you say?’
My tummy does a double somersault. I open my mouth to speak, but catch myself in time. I want to grovel with gratitude and swing from the chandelier (or in this case, the wire-framed fabric light fitting with rayon fringe), but I mustn’t appear too desperately keen. I count to three, then say coolly, ‘I’d love to– thank you – I’d love to.’
‘Great. Rehearsals start Monday. Rocket, our deputy stage manager, will e-mail you all the details. Good to have you on board.’
‘Thank you,’ I say again, trying to maintain my composure until he rings off.
‘YESSS!’ I whoop, punching the air and landing with a thud.
‘Emily, is that you?’ calls Beryl from downstairs.
Hastily zipping up my jeans, Iscreech over the banister, ‘Beryl, I got the job!’
‘Fan-bloody-tastic, darlin’! Let me just turnCountdownoff an’ I’ll crack open that bottle of Asti Spumante in the sideboard. I’ve been waiting since Christmas for an excuse to drink it.’
Three glasses of lukewarm Asti Spumante later, and my euphoria has turned into sickly panic. With daytime rehearsals for three weeks, how am I goingto earn any money? Why didn’t I think this through more carefully?Look before you leap. Will I never learn? My self-esteem may well have had a bit of a boost, but the same can definitely not be said for my bank balance. There has got to be a way …
* * *
‘“Masha will come to Moscow for the summer …aargh!… for theWHOLEsummer … Masha will come to Moscow for the whole summer …”’ I repeat,as I wind my way in between the desks, flicking my duster with one hand, balancing my script with the other.
‘Hello again!’
I spin around, tripping over computer cables and a waste paper basket.
‘Sorry, I’ve gotta stop freaking you out,’ says Dean, grabbing my elbow, his piercing gaze meeting mine. My heart gives a little flutter.
‘Glad to see you looking cheerier than last timewe met.’
‘Yes, sorry about that,’ I reply, glancing at him sideways.
‘Guy trouble?’
‘That, and one of those where-the-hell-is-my-life-going moments.’
