Despite this, Magarito seemed very pleased with his progress which was the first thing she had been pleased with all morning. “There, you finally understand,” she said, sweeping closer to him. “That is a balloon worthy of an antelope.”
Without warning, she took off the butterfly brooch from her dress and popped the balloon with its pin. The loud bang made Argo jump out of his skin and he tumbled backwards from the shock, landing in an ignoble heap on the floor. Ed shook his head in pity.
“Why did you do that?” Argo gasped, when he was able to get his breath back.
“Antelope Number Two must not grow too fond of his balloons,” Magarito said sagely. “He must be ever vigilante of the hazards of Mother Nature. Balloons can be given and they can be taken away just as quickly. Gain and loss is at the heart of my play.”
Ed offered to help Argo to his feet, but Argo managed to get up on his own. His chest hurt and he was starting to see spots dancing in front of his eyes. “Erm, what exactly is the play about Miss Pasivah?” he said in a strained voice. “Quilby didn’t say, and I’m not exactly clear myself. Can I see the script?”
“Not yet Argo, the initiate must prove himself worthy to receive divine knowledge,” Magarito replied. “Needless to say, it is the greatest play I have ever written, a jewel of gleaming genius. I was visited by a Nature Deity you know, it was she who gave me the idea.”
Argo grimaced. Magarito was much worse than last time. He scratched at his neck, which had started to turn red thanks to the harsh material of the costume. “A Nature Deity gave you the idea?”
“Yes, I commune with the Earth Spirits all the time, darling!”
“Only after you’ve downed two bottles of gin and smoked some of those funny cigarettes you keep in your purse,” Ed clarified.
“Quiet Ed!” Magarito snapped. “Though I cannot go into too much detail, as a brief overview, I can tell you that the heart of my play tackles the inner fundamental crisis of humanity as it grapples with the paradox of post-colonial determinism in a quantum-fuelled consumer society of toxic masculine gender fluidity, whilst contrasting against a backdrop of quasi-feudalistic repression and neo-fetish metro sexuality in a post ecological construct.”
“Oh,” said Argo. “I see. Erm, where do the antelopes fit in?”
Magarito looked at him like he was completely moronic. “I’d have thought that was obvious,” she said in a scathing tone.
Argo withered under her gaze. “Maybe I’m not really a good fit for the part. Perhaps I should go now and quit wasting everybody’s time?”
“Nonsense,” Magarito said dismissively. She turned around and marched towards the door of the studio, her long silk gown billowing out behind her. “Once we’ve got you on the catapult, it’ll all make perfect sense. Ed, bring the rope!”
* * *
Six hours later, a very sore and bruised Argo was sat on the couch in his apartment, sipping at seaweed latte, feeling utterly miserable. The audition had been a nightmare, especially after the catapult. And when Magarito had tried to staple packets of banana peanuts to his nipples, Argo had called it a day.
He had escaped Magarito’s clutches only half an hour ago, and had gone straight home in despair. He was just finishing the latte when the house phone began to ring. He didn’t have the energy to speak to anyone and let it go to the answer phone. It was Quilby.
“Argo, my boy, Quilby here. Just a quick update on today’s audition. I just got feedback from Magarito. You did very well and she can really see you as Antelope Number Two, but unfortunately she didn’t feel you had the right primal energy for the role, so sorry about that. But not to worry, persistence is a virtue and a good actor is a virtuous actor and a persistent one. Anyway, I’ve got a Fudgey Delight commercial just come in that needs someone to play their Fudgey Dugey Bear. Now that you’ve been an antelope, I thought you’d have just the right experience to play a bear. You might be able to make a nice niche for yourself. A good actor is a niche actor. Anyway, get back to me when you can. Ciao.”
Argo stared miserably at the phone and made no effort to get up and call him back. He’d had enough of dressing up in animal costumes to last a lifetime. A horrifying thought struck him at that moment that maybe this was the only work he was good for, dressing up in silly outfits and acting like a buffoon. That was not why he had gone into acting. He longed to perform in works of raw emotion and depth, not the kind of bizarre nonsense Magarito Pasivah was obsessed with, or the dry, musty plays Mr. Collaban liked to put on, but stories that audiences could instantly identify with. He wanted to play characters that were utterly compelling, and for people to hang on his every word as he performed, and to inspire deep emotions through his art. He wanted to make people laugh and cry and think about his performances for years to come and talk well of them. He wanted other actors to admire and respect him, not despise him like Tomi, or pity him like Aaheli sometimes did, though she never said it out loud, he knew it to be true. Most of all, he didn’t want to be a joke so desperate for work he would end up doing half-baked jobs like Antelope Number Two for the rest of his days.
But what else was there? Today’s audition could have been his big break. It would have certainly meant more money, but as usual he’d botched it. If Aaheli had been here, she would have told him not to wallow on it and focus on the next opportunity, but Aaheli was performing in her own play tonight, a romantic thriller written by Celby Sellem a mutual friend of theirs. He was an up and coming playwright, and Argo wouldn’t mind performing in one of his pieces, but was reluctant to push himself forward. He doubted he would be good enough to get a part in any of Celby’s performances, and what with the disastrous audition today and being overpowered by Duke Red, he’d had enough failure to last him a lifetime.
He would rather stay curled up on the couch in his dressing gown with a bowl of instant noodles for company. He was just about to go into the kitchen to microwave a noodle pack when the doorbell rang.
Argo scowled. He was in no mood for company and it was probably one of Aaheli’s friends from outside of Drake Realm. She knew a lot of people from her work at the restaurant and the acting circuit, and they were always dropping by, much to Argo’s supreme discomfort. He didn’t have much in common with many of them outside of performing and found it difficult to socialize with them. The last thing he wanted now was to have to try and make small talk after the day he’d had. He considered not answering it, but the doorbell buzzed again, sharp and insistent.
A bad feeling washed over him and he got to his feet and headed over to the door. He opened it and his jaw nearly crashed through the floor. “Mom,” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
Cynthia Derren looked him up and down, a slight frown creasing her forehead. She had the same pale completion and wide blue-grey eyes as her son. Her gaze, though, was more piercing than that of her son, and it was brimming with disapproval. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?” she said tersely.
“Oh, erm, yeah,” Argo stammered. He beckoned her inside and closed the door. Painfully aware of how messy the apartment was, he hurried to the center of the room and scooped up the pile of dirty laundry on the couch, stuffing it into the nearby basket. “Take a seat. I didn’t know you were in the city. Why didn’t you tell me? Do you want something to drink?”
The look of disapproval never left Cynthia’s face as she took in the apartment, and her nostrils flared at little—a warning sign Argo knew meant that she was not happy. Refusing the couch, she placed herself down with great delicacy on the edge of a nearby armchair.
“I won’t have anything to drink,” she said. “I am not staying long.”
“Oh okay,” Argo said. He stood awkwardly where he was and looked down at his socked feet. “Are you staying at the townhouse?”
Cynthia nodded. “Just for the night. I’m going back to the estate in the morning.”
Argo felt a sense of relief. It meant he wouldn’t have to spend a significant a
mount of time with her. “I’ll make us some coffee.” He made to escape to the kitchen when she raised a hand and made a sharp gesture for him to sit down.
“I don’t want coffee,” she said. “I need to talk to you.”
That sounded ominous. Argo gave her an anxious look. “What about?”
“Just sit down first, Argo,” Cynthia said irritably. “I can’t talk to you while you’re hovering around in front of me.”
Argo did as he was told and looked glumly down at the floor. This all sounded very ominous. Despite her insistence to talk, Cynthia remained silent for a few moments. She held Argo in her piercing gaze.
“You haven’t asked how papa is, Argo.”
Argo glanced up at her. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. How is papa?”
“Unhappy,” Cynthia said bluntly.
No change there then, Argo thought to himself. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied, acting with all the genteel politeness of a stranger. “What’s the matter?”
His mother gave him a flat look. “What do you think is the matter? You’re the matter, Argo. You know that.”
Argo sagged into his seat. So they were going to have this conversation again. They could have done this on the phone. There was no need for his mother to come all this way to tell him that papa disapproved of his son’s life choices. “I don’t know what to say, mom,” he replied. “I’ve made my decision and he’ll just have to accept that. There’s nothing more to say on the matter.”
Cynthia pursed her thin lips. “There is plenty to say on the matter, Argo, and papa has no intention of accepting how things are any longer, I’m afraid.”
A sharp pain went through Argo’s chest. “No intention of accepting how things are?” he echoed. “What does that mean?”
His mother gave him an enigmatic smile and sat back in her chair. “How’s the acting going?”
Argo was taken off guard by the question. His mother never asked him because neither she nor papa approved. They wanted him back at their estate in the hinterland, learning the ropes of the business. His family ran a huge agricultural company that produced and supplied equipment, grain, and robot laborers and farmers to thousands of farming colonies and underwater food centers across the Diamond Nations and were responsible for meeting the food needs for three quarters of the globe. As a consequence, the Derrens were one of the most influential and wealthiest families in the territory. Not that Argo cared for any of that. He just wanted to perform and be taken seriously as an actor.
“It’s going very well,” he lied. “Mr. Collaban is really pleased with me and the Nightingale Company as a whole. We’ve got another production lined up and I’m going for lots of auditions.”
Cynthia nodded. “Like the one today with Magarito Pasivah? I heard you were being catapulted across a studio and you never got the part in the end.”
Argo looked at her in shock. “How do you know about that?”
“The same way I know that you’re one of the worst performers in the Nightingale Theater and that people only come to your performance to laugh and throw vegetables at you, and that Tomi won’t even speak to you now,” Cynthia replied smoothly. “I know that you haven’t improved one bit.”
Argo cringed at having his shortcomings said out loud. “It takes time. I can only learn my craft through tough experiences.”
“Is that what Quilby tells you, or that girl, Aaheli?” Cynthia said in an unimpressed voice.
“It’s the only way I can get better,” Argo said defensively. “The more roles I try, the more I’ll improve.”
His mother sighed. “But you’re not getting better, Argo. By all accounts you’re getting worse and you are not getting lots of auditions. The one with Magarito was the first you’ve had in weeks.”
“You’ve been talking to Quilby,” Argo said in a hurt voice, upset that his agent had been speaking about him behind his back.
“I don’t need to talk to that washed up has-been to know what’s going on with my own son,” she retorted sharply.
“You have no right to spy on me!” Argo protested. “And Quilby’s not a has-been. He’s been really supportive of me and so has Aaheli.”
“If they were really supportive, they would have told you to give up this silly nonsense long ago,” Cynthia said in an exasperated voice. “That old dinosaur Collaban’s no better, though I suppose he’s more than happy to tell you anything so long as the money keeps coming in to keep that old dive of his going.”
“Don’t say that mom!” Argo snapped. He felt the sharp sting of tears coming to his eyes. “Don’t be so mean about my friends. They want the best for me, unlike you and papa.”
Cynthia bit her lip and then shook her head sadly. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh, Argo, but I cannot abide anyone of our family being made a fool of. I don’t believe they have your best interests at heart.”
“Yes they do,” Argo said stubbornly. He let out a heavy sigh. “Look, I’m not kidding myself. I know I’m not the best actor in the world, and they don’t pretend that I am. Aaheli’s quick to tell me what areas I need to work on, and I know I have a long way to go before I’m in her league, or Tomi’s, but I’m determined to get there. It would have been awesome to get in with a patron through someone like Magarito, but there’ll be other auditions. Aaheli says my time will come and I try to believe her. I just got to keep going as best as I can. You see, I’ll prove to you and papa and the rest of the family that I can make it in this business.”
Cynthia was quiet for a while. She gave her son a searching look with those deep soulful eyes of hers. When she was a young girl, she’d entertained ideas of being a successful actress as well, but they had come to nothing. She’d been a struggling nobody until she’d met Argo’s father. He had offered to marry her and take her away from the near poverty she’d been living in. He did not care for the show business life and did not want her performing in front of strangers as it was beneath her new station in life. At first, she missed the old lifestyle, enjoying the limelight and living in digs with other girls, but she’d come to understand that it was for the greater good. There was no future in the old style entertainments and her son needed to learn that lesson too.
“You don’t need to prove anything to us, Argo,” she said in a softer tone. “But if you really want to make papa and me proud of you, come back to the estate and take up your position in the business. That’s where you belong, not here making a fool of yourself night after night.”
Argo made a face. “I don’t want an office job. You know that work doesn’t suit me.”
Cynthia let out a sharp laugh. “What do you mean it doesn’t suit you? You’re heir to Derren Agricultural. You were born into the business. You don’t have a choice.”
“I’m not the heir, Milo is,” Argo said, an edge of hostility entering his voice when he spoke his older brother’s name out loud. “He’s the big business brain and my beloved sister Constance is right by his side to make sure he can swindle our clients without them even realizing it.”
It was Cynthia’s turn to get defensive. “They have good heads for business. You could learn a lot from them.”
“I learnt plenty from them,” Argo muttered darkly. “But that’s the whole point. They are better off running the business and I’m better off staying in the city to pursue my acting career. Everybody’s happy.”
“Papa’s not happy,” Cynthia said. “He wants you back home and working in the Head Office, learning the ropes of the business.”
“That’s not what he said before. You both said I could go my own way after I—” He paused and looked away from her. “After what happened. Why has everything changed now?”
“We didn’t know what to do for the best, and papa thought after a few months you’d be back home with your tail between your legs. He was hoping you’d learn your lesson and be willing to see sense.”
“Willing to see sense?” Argo wasn’t sure whether papa had a point, but he was
here following his heart’s desire and that was all that mattered. “I want to be an actor, mom. I’m sorry papa doesn’t see things the way I do, but I got to do what’s right for me. Papa has got to just accept that.”
Cynthia gave him a wry smile. “We both know that papa does not accept anything. I’m impressed that you’ve stuck it for this long and I’m surprised at how papa has been so patient, but that patience has run out. He wants you back now. You have to give up your acting and come back home.”
Argo blinked at her. “Give up acting?”
“I don’t mean to be so harsh, but there’s no other choice. Papa is adamant. He wants you to come back and start work at Head Office. There’s a position for you as Constance’s private assistant.”
“Constance’s assistant!” Argo exclaimed, utterly horrified at the prospect. “I can’t do that! She’ll make my life hell!”
“She’ll teach you how to survive in our world. She’ll show you how to toughen yourself up.”
Spy: Reborn Page 8