‘Oh, Lionel I …’
‘No, let me finish. It’s for a major tour ofStepping Out!’
‘Isn’t that about tapdancing?’
‘Yes, but …’
‘But I can’t tap dance.’
‘Doesn’t matter, darling. You’re up for the role of Andy, the tall, drippy one with no co-ordination. You’re perfect.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Can’t seem to find the relevant bit of script, but you’ll be fine. She doesn’t say much.’
Past experience is teaching me not to go wild with excitement at Lionel’s this-could-be-the-one castingcalls. But then Portia’s words ring in my ears. I’ve nothing to lose, besides which, it’s all very well dreaming of producing and performing my own play, but even a one-woman show requires a venue, lighting, sound, publicity, and front of house staff, and my waitress’s wage only just about covers my rent and living expenses, so putting on my cheery, positive voice, I say, ‘Great! Where do I have togo?’
