I scrape my hand across my jaw as Austin’s lips purse into an unconvinced pout. He knows as well as I do that Buzz’s dialogue edit is as cliché as this day is long.
‘I think we should keep the line as it is,’ Jakob argues, dabbing his perspiring forehead with a tissue.
No one says anything. After an agonised silence, Evie sits forward and begins to speak, her voice coming out soft and uncertain. As soon as she walked in, I could tell—she’s a lot less comfortable in here than she is in her dance studio. ‘What if … what if Jamie asks Constance what it is that she loves about dancing?’ she suggests. ‘Constance could reply with something like: “When I’m lost in the music, it’s the only time I don’t think about my real life.” And that could prompt Jamie to think about his difficult situation with his daughter.’
Evie’s spot-on explanation of why I occasionally dance knocks some of the air from my lungs. Maybe she’s not quite as naïve as I thought. As if she can sense the effect her words have had on me, her gaze skips to mine, and I quickly blink away.
Buzz aims a finger at her. ‘That’s just the sort of line my uncle, Harold Winter, would go for.’
I roll my eyes at his umpteenth name-drop as Austin makes a big show of looking at his watch. ‘We gotta move on,’ he says. ‘I’ll pencil in Evie’s idea, and we can workshop it on the day. It’s no skin off my teeth.’
No skin off mynose, Austin.
He strikes out the original line and scrawls in Evie’s alternative. All the minions in the room follow suit,including the film’s director. Shouldn’t Buzz be the one deciding when it’s time to move on?Jesus, Buzz, grow a pair.If he’s got the balls to wear that leopard-print knit jumper, then surely he can stand up to his leading man and show him who’s in charge in this room.
The read-through continues, and I do my best to follow along while playing with the thin leather strap around my wrist to keep myself mentally alive. The actors aren’t meant to perform at their optimum during a read-through—that can create a false sense of victory and mask genuine problems in the script—but the straightforward delivery of this drivel is making the film seem more and more like a mistake.
When the offer forMovingfirst hit my inbox, the film studio pitched it as ‘The Man from Snowy RivermeetsLa La Land’, which sounded intriguing until I read Jakob’s script. I advised Austin to ask for significant rewrites before accepting the part, but like always, he refused to listen.
It may not have been the worst decision in the world. This was Austin’s first major offer since getting clean, and he was lucky to land it. He had the Aussie film industry at his feet when he became the star of the locally made Tate Hunter movies in his early twenties. But after his life went to shit a couple of years ago (his messy divorce led to a drug battle), I stepped in to become his manager and help him straighten out. I’d already spent years working for a high-profile Sydney PR firm that mostly handled celebrity clients, so the role wasn’t too much of a leap.The first thing I did was to shield Austin’s addiction spiral from both the media and his fans—successfully, I might add—with some creative diversionary tactics. But his breakdown spread like wildfire among industry insiders, so we both felt it was best if he left Aussie shores for a while. I agreed to move to LA with him to help restart his career there, but after two years of doing the Hollywood grind without anything to show for it, he came back home to take the offer forMoving. Even so, he’s already itching to get back to LA, more determined than ever to crack Hollywood.
I refocus on the scene being discussed. In this one, Constance is counselling Jamie over the fact that his young daughter, whose name is Angel, won’t speak to him.
‘I think it’s important that Constance doesn’t come across as implying that it’s Angel’s fault and that she’s just acting out,’ Evie says, blinking nervously as she looks around the room. ‘Her father has never pursued a relationship with her before now. It’s up to him to … to make amends for abandoning her and build back her trust, which, realistically, could take years.’
Another bang-on comment that makes me shift in my seat. Some mistakes can never be forgiven.
‘We don’t have years,’ Jakob says gruffly. ‘We have ninety minutes.’
Buzz chortles. ‘It’ll be a cold day in hell before a picture with my name on it runs for anything less than a hundred and eighty—ask any of my editors.’ He throws his head back with another throaty cackle.
Oh, fantastic, now this shitshow of a film is going to run for three hours.
Austin taps his foot against the chair leg a little madly, darting glances at the exit door, while the other bigwigs around the table have their say. His obvious boredom sends his attention drifting to Evie, who appears to be trying to keep up with the discussion while offering Marcia the occasional supportive smile. I subtly watch Austin watching Evie, his gaze burning a trail over her lemon-yellow puffy-sleeve shirt, up to her loose chestnut hair and across the heavy brows that frame her blue eyes.
Of course he can’t tear his gaze off her. I love my best friend, but he’s utterly predictable.
As soon as the read-through is over, Austin and I escape into the lift leading to the underground carpark.
A woman strapping a toddler into a carseat whips her face around as Austin and I pass by, her attention fixed on my famous friend. She hurriedly rummages through her handbag for what I assume is her phone, and I cross over to Austin’s other side, creating a wall so she can’t take clear pictures of him.
‘So, do you think this film is gonna be the one to bring me back?’ Austin asks me, as if he’s a ghost lost in the afterlife and yearning for resurrection. ‘What do you think of it?’
I raise a brow at him. ‘You really want an answer to that?’
He scratches the blond stubble peppered over his jaw. ‘I know you think the script could use a bit of work.’
The script could use a blowtorch, but he’s committed to this thing now, so I keep that to myself.
‘An actor of your ability can make anything sound good,’ I reply honestly. Austin may have the striking looks of a leading man, but it’s his genuine talent that earned him this second chance.
His expression brightens as if someone has shone a torch over his face, reminding me of the rosy-cheeked twelve-year-old I met when I was nine. Even back then, he’d light up whenever someone gave him a compliment.
‘Should we try out that new vegan tapas place around the corner?’ he suggests as I unlock the Audi Q3 I bought when we moved back to Sydney. ‘Bit of salt and pepper tofu or some creamy cashew dip? Yummo.’
‘Tonight? Uh, I can’t. I’ve, uh … got somewhere to be.’
Austin’s brow crumples as we climb into the soft leather seats. ‘Where? We only just got back into town. Don’t tell me you’ve already got some sexy knockout hidden away somewhere.’
