Sofia liked the red hair so much, she kept it. The colour became her calling card, a tidal wave of rich ruby velvet which crowned her head, like no other.
Then one day, at age thirty-four, Sofia caught her reflection in a mirror in daylight. A crow’s-foot stared back at her. Minuscule and imperceptible to anyone but her, a trench ran from the corner of her left eye and dragged gently down her cheekbone. Sofia knew she was still a fine-looking woman, by world standards. But she did not live in the world. She lived in magazines and on billboards, where pores were magnified and wrinkles were to scale. She’d gasped at the small crack in her face and pleaded with herself to remain calm. But by the end of that year, a second crow’s-foot had joined the first. Her skin grew coarser and sagged in places. But under certain lights and with makeup, she still looked damn good, she told herself.
A few months later, a director did not return her call, something that had never happened before. She thought she would be good for a part in his next movie, the love interest of a naval officer trying to find himself. The part went to someone ten years her junior and she felt incredibly foolish. The next month, a fashion brand quietly severed its contract. She reassured herself that things would be okay. She had traded in only one currency for over a decade; now its value had dropped. But surely people didn’t love her just for her looks. That power she’d first wielded at fourteen was gone, but she had other things of value to offer, no?
Sofia stood in the makeup room, on the wrong side of thirty-five, and tried to convince herself she was right.
‘You know why Courtney’s doing this, right?’ Derek said. ‘The green dress, the no-makeup? She’s trying to make you quit.’
‘What?’ Sofia replied, tearing herself away from her reflection and turning to him. ‘I would never quit,’ she said in a stern voice. But then she considered it. If she quit, she would never have to appear in that horrid dress again. She would never have to make a fool of herself on camera, alienating her fans and destroying her career. Quitting seemed quite the attractive option in certain respects. But then, what about Jack? What would happen between them if she quit? She would likely never see him again. It was not an option. No quitting.
She turned to Derek. ‘I’m not quitting, mister,’ she told him.
Derek nodded. ‘Good for you, Ms Wentworth.’
Then she caught her reflection again and laughed ruefully, regretting the statement as quickly as she’d said it. ‘But what should I do? I don’t even want to step onto this set again. Acting beside her is horrible. It’s one embarrassment after the other. She hates me. I feel like I’m at school, being bullied by the ugly, smelly girl. Only she’s not ugly and smelly, she’s beautiful, younger, and smells rather good.’
Derek grabbed her shoulders. ‘You want to take down a bully?’
Sofia felt startled by his enthusiasm. ‘I suppose,’ she answered carefully.
‘Speaking as a person who encountered some bullies in their time,’ he said, ‘bullies only understand one thing – weakness. They go after the weakling. Are you a weakling?’
‘I don’t believe so.’
‘No, you are not,’ he said forcefully.
‘So what do I do, then?’
‘Stand up for yourself,’ Derek replied.
‘How? I can’t compete with her,’ she said wearily.
‘Yes, you can.’
‘But, how—’
He interrupted her. ‘You’re a smart woman. You already know what to do.’
She glanced at herself in the mirror once more, thinking. She turned to him and nodded and tried to form a plan.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Jack requested a lens flare on all Courtney’s shots, so while a polite gaffer from Shropshire ran around looking for a teeny tiny mirror, Sofia stood to the side of the sound stage watching Courtney rehearse on her own. ‘Could you move, Sofia? You’re in my eye line,’ Courtney called out. Everyone turned to look at Sofia.
Sofia realised she was staring into space. ‘Goodness, sorry. Of course.’ She stepped aside, embarrassed.
Courtney finished her rehearsal and walked over. ‘Sorry for shouting just now,’ Courtney said, smiling with bright, insincere eyes. ‘My eye line is important to me.’
‘It’s all right. I know,’ Sofia said apologetically. ‘I was daydreaming, I made an error.’
‘It’s understandable,’ Courtney said. ‘It makes sense – you’re from a theatre background. Eye lines don’t matter to you.’
Sofia stiffened. ‘I understand the importance of maintaining an eye line.’
‘But you do come from the theatre originally?’
‘Well, yes.’
Courtney tossed her hair. ‘All I was trying to say. Makes sense now. Why you lost Batgirl.’
Sofia turned to her and glared. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Courtney laughed. ‘I just mean, you come from the theatre – you didn’t train in film, so your acting is theatrical, old-fashioned. Maybe you do better in theatre.’
Sofia burst out with laughter. ‘You think I lost Batgirl because I’m a theatre-trained actress?’ She searched the girl’s face. What was she playing at?
Courtney smiled back at her. ‘Of course,’ she replied in a deliberate tone. ‘Why else?’
‘It will be another five on that mirror, ladies,’ a camera assistant said to them, scratching his head. ‘Take a seat.’
A runner brought over some chairs and they sat down. ‘Where did you go to school, then?’ Sofia said to her.
‘Beverly Hills High,’ Courtney replied with a yawn.
‘Sorry. I meant where did you train? USC? The Actors Studio?’
‘I didn’t go to drama school.’
‘Oh.’ Sofia raised her eyebrows.
‘It’s never been a problem.’
‘You never studied acting?’ Sofia said it with genuine interest and surprise, but it seemed to touch a nerve.
‘I’m proud I didn’t go to drama school,’ Courtney said. ‘This stuff can’t be taught. It’s all about instinct.’
‘You don’t think there are benefits to studying acting, learning dramatic process?’ Sofia said.
‘Nope,’ said Courtney with a grin. ‘You either have it or you don’t.’
‘I studied for five years,’ Sofia said.
‘You can tell,’ said Courtney pointedly. ‘Yours is better for specific roles, mine is better for others.’
Sofia smiled. ‘Yours is better for, say, Batgirl?’
‘Obviously.’ A small crowd of camera assistants began to lean towards them, craning their ears as they fixed a teeny tiny mirror to the camera.
‘I was super-concerned coming into this,’ Courtney said. ‘I can reveal that now. I mentioned to a few people that our acting styles don’t match.’
‘In what way?’ Sofia asked through gritted teeth.
‘Mine is natural. Yours is theatrical. You were so lucky to get Batman again the last time.’
Sofia scoffed. ‘And what do you consider “natural” acting, dear?’
‘Natural acting is feeling it,’ Courtney said. ‘You know, getting into character. I don’t know!’ She threw up her arms, like she was making an offering.
‘And you believe you are the better actor?’ Sofia asked.
Courtney shook her head violently. ‘Of course not!’ Then she shrugged. ‘Well, if we look at what part I’m playing, and look at what part you’re playing . . .’ She shrugged again, then sighed. ‘All I’m saying is, acting is easy. You take it so seriously, whereas I am so much more relaxed. I just let things flow. And it shows in my work.’ Courtney began talking faster, growing more out of breath. ‘It’s not the end of the world, we can’t all be the best.’ More crew people, lighting and grips, moved towards the camera to check if they needed help affixing the mirror. They moved their ears towards the conversation as they helped.
Sofia inhaled. ‘Care to have a little wager?’ she asked. ‘Why don’t we both act out the same scene and decide
who is the better actor?’
Courtney spluttered with laughter. ‘What? No way.’
‘You don’t think you will win?’ Sofia said.
Courtney looked around. An entire crew of people were watching. ‘Of course I will,’ she spluttered. ‘Fine. You’re on,’ she said.
‘Splendid,’ Sofia replied.
The crew now abandoned their mirror-affixing pretence and turned to watch, clearing a space on the rehearsal set without comment. Courtney saw the gathered crowd and exhaled with a bored look. ‘Fine. What’s the scene? Something from Batman, I bet,’ she said. The crowd chuckled.
‘The scene is “Fill me a bucket with water”,’ Sofia replied.
‘That’s it?’ Courtney laughed to some of the crowd. The crowd sniggered back. Sofia could not tell how many of the crew were on her side, and how many would be for Courtney. She had heard that Courtney had been rude with many of them, issuing demands for coconut water and imported gummy bears like a sugar-addicted tinpot dictator, but perhaps they still loved her out of fear, or because she was the young, pretty one.
Sofia swallowed and hoped she was doing the right thing. She didn’t know if she had the requisite nerve left to pull this off. ‘There is a tap over there,’ Sofia said. She pointed to the opposite side of the sound stage.
‘I don’t see it,’ said Courtney. She squinted. The crowd all looked over as well. ‘There’s no tap there,’ she said.
‘It’s called acting,’ Sofia said.
‘Oh, ha. I get it. The tap is imaginary. I’ll bet the bucket is too, right?’ said Courtney.
‘You are a smart one,’ Sofia said. ‘Here is your challenge. Walk to the tap, fill your bucket with water, then carry the bucket back here and place it at my feet.’
‘That’s it? No dialogue?’
‘No dialogue. Just fill and carry a bucket.’
Courtney rolled her eyes. ‘Fine with me.’ She shook her arms and lunged, then stretched her neck, touching her head to each shoulder. ‘Just warming up,’ she said, to giggles from the crew. She exhaled a long, exaggerated breath, then she skipped over to the ‘tap’ and turned it on, waited for her ‘bucket’ to fill, then skipped back to Sofia with it. She swung the imaginary bucket back and forth and whistled the theme tune to Batman as she went. She swished her shoulders and sashayed across the floor. She popped her hips and winked to a camera assistant, who blushed and fondled a light meter. The performance oozed with cuteness; the crew chuckled and wolf-whistled. Finally, she flung the imaginary bucket at Sofia’s feet and saluted like a gymnast who had finished a difficult routine. The crew laughed and applauded. ‘Your turn,’ said Courtney. ‘I bet you can’t do it whistling.’
‘You have me there,’ Sofia said. ‘I don’t know how to whistle. One of the great tragedies of my life. Nevertheless, I shall endeavour to match the rest. First, may I inquire about your bucket?’
‘My bucket?’ Courtney repeated.
‘Yes. The bucket you carried the water in, just now. What kind was it?’
Courtney scoffed. ‘It was just a bucket, I don’t know.’
‘Was it a plastic bucket? Or steel?’
Courtney shrugged, looking bored. ‘What the hell. Plastic.’
‘Wonderful. How much water does it hold?’
‘How should I know? It’s a make-believe bucket! Who cares?’
‘Make-believe is your livelihood, dear. I care.’ The crowd shifted and went quiet.
Courtney glared at her. ‘I don’t know, six gallons,’ she said.
‘Six gallons. My goodness! I’m afraid I cannot confess as much expertise with imperial measurements as you. Another paradox of British units of measure, you see – while we’re all inches and feet for distance, we’re mils and litres for volume. No matter. I guess six gallons is about twenty litres.’
‘Twenty-two,’ Derek called from the crowd, smart phone in hand.
Sofia beamed. ‘Twenty-two! Thank you, Derek. Now, here’s one equation I do know: that wonderful metric system which says one litre of water equals one kilogram of weight. Love the neatness, don’t you?’ Courtney nodded and made no remark. ‘How rude of me. I know what a kilogram is, but you don’t, of course. Let’s see if I can find an equivalent for you. Derek, you have a nephew, do you not? The lovely young man who visited set yesterday.’
‘I do,’ said Derek, with a delighted look on his face. ‘John.’
‘How much does John weigh?’
‘Three and a half stone, I’d guess. About twenty kilograms.’
‘And how old is your nephew?’
‘Ten.’
A gasp rippled through the crowd. Courtney turned to the sound and swallowed. She turned back to Sofia, a worried look now gracing her face. ‘Ten years old,’ Sofia repeated. ‘I’m thinking the bucket you carried to hold that much water, Courtney, big enough to fit a ten-year-old inside, might be one of those white buckets with the thin steel handle, the ones fishermen put the fish guts in?’
Courtney blinked. ‘Fine.’
‘Good, then.’ Sofia stood. ‘May I borrow your bucket?’ She pointed to the ground by Courtney’s feet where there was nothing but air.
The younger actress rolled her eyes. ‘Be my guest.’
Sofia picked up the imaginary bucket and walked over to the imaginary tap. She turned the tap to the left. ‘Righty tighty, lefty loosey,’ she sang. Courtney, who had turned her hand to the right, swallowed. Sofia waited at the tap for a full minute while the imaginary bucket filled. Courtney sneered and tapped her foot. ‘Right to the top, you filled it?’ she checked with Courtney. The girl glared.
Sofia turned off the imaginary tap and bent her knees with great ceremony. She picked up the imaginary bucket with two hands, wincing at the imaginary weight. She passed the bucket over to her right hand then waddled to the other side of the room, dipping her hips with each step to catch the bounce of the imaginary bucket onto her thigh. She reached halfway across the room and swapped to her left hand, stretching out her right hand in relief. She dropped the imaginary bucket at Courtney’s feet with a thud and wiped her brow.
Mutters and chortles rose from the assembled crowd. ‘Clever,’ said Courtney. ‘Too theatrical for most people’s taste, though.’
‘I see I have not won you over yet,’ Sofia said with a nod. ‘I wonder. I think I saw one of those white buckets by catering. You, sir, could you investigate?’ she pointed to the runner, who scurried off. Courtney sneered at Sofia, but Sofia just smiled back. The runner returned. ‘Splendid!’ She patted him on the back and turned to Courtney. ‘You as the star of this film, please do us the honour. Show us how it’s done.’ She offered Courtney the bucket.
‘No, thanks,’ Courtney said. She tried to walk away but the gathered crew had crowded over the exit, smiling and waiting, and she could not easily pass through. She turned back.
‘Come now, we are but students of your easy acting style,’ Sofia said. ‘There’s a tap over there. Unless you don’t want to? Unless you’re worried?’
Courtney took the bucket and walked over to a real tap by the back wall of the sound stage. She turned it to the left and water poured into the real-life white bucket. Courtney had filled her imaginary bucket for all of two seconds. It took exactly a minute for the real bucket to fill.
‘Takes forever, doesn’t it?’ Sofia said.
Courtney grabbed the handle and lifted. Her arm wrenched, and the bucket stayed on the floor. She winced. She bent her knees and tried to lift it again, this time with both hands. She grimaced, and the bucket came off the ground. She waddled across the room with gritted teeth. The bucket bounced on her thigh and she almost tripped over. She reached the halfway point and it seemed she could stand the bucket no longer in her right hand, weighed down with the weight of a ten-year-old-child inside, and switched it to her left. Despite every impulse to resist, she stretched her right hand out, red and aching from the task. She could not have managed a closer match of Sofia’s own bucket-carrying if she did so
on purpose.
She dumped the bucket at Sofia’s feet and stormed off. The crowd stomped and whistled and cheered Sofia’s name. Sofia stifled a grin and nodded, keen not to appear a sore winner.
Derek held up his hand for a high five and Sofia slapped it with her own.
‘Wow, Ms Wentworth,’ he said.
‘Okay, moving on, everyone,’ the assistant director called out to the gathered crowd. ‘We’ve got the mirror sorted. We’re back in five.’ The crew dispersed, revealing Jack standing over by the camera. He looked over at Sofia, a hint of amusement on his face. Her heart leapt.
‘I’ve never seen that before. You showed her,’ Derek said.
Sofia nodded and kept her eyes on Jack across the way, enjoying his smile. Then she squinted. ‘What did I show her, exactly?’ she asked Derek.
He shrugged. ‘Youth is more important than talent.’
Sofia smiled but said no more. Jack walked back to his trailer and Sofia watched him go.
‘Ms Wentworth. I want to tell you something, and I mean this in the nicest possible way,’ Derek said.
Sofia turned to him. ‘What is it, Derek?’
‘Ms Wentworth. You can act.’
‘Thanks, Derek,’ Sofia said with a laugh.
She knew this somewhere deep down, but the words had a greater effect on her than he likely intended.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
‘You like good stories, then?’ Fred asked Jane that morning. ‘Are you a movie buff, too?’
‘Mov-ie? I don’t know what that is.’ They were in the sitting room; Jane was reading her sermons again.
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