The Berkeley Method

by JS Taylor

  “Nice,” says James thoughtfully. “Nice.” He’s looking at me as though he’s remembering something.

  “Issy, you had another reading, which might be good to share.”

  I did? Everyone is looking at me expectantly. I feel myself beginning to blush.

  “The fairy tale aspect,” James prompts, encouraging me.

  “Oh. Um. Yeah right,” I say, spilling over my words.

  How is it that I find acting so easy, but it’s so hard to speak in front of people?

  “It’s like… Like Beauty and the Beast,” I say. “Beauty goes into the castle to protect her father. Just like Grace goes into the newsroom to stop her father being exposed in the press.”

  Unwelcome memories of drama school are flooding back. I always hated the part where we had to present to the group.

  I take another breath, rushing through the last part of the explanation.

  “Beauty meets the Beast,” I say. “The editor in this case. And she redeems him. Because she is pure enough to see he has a good heart. Despite outward appearances.”

  I give a final, embarrassed smile.

  Natalie rolls her eyes, but Camilla and Callum are smiling. I risk a peek at James. There is something compelling in his eyes. I look away quickly.

  “Did anyone have any more questions,” asks James, “before we begin?”

  “Yeah,” says Natalie, suddenly more animated. “Who’s the male lead? Who is going to be playing the editor?”

  James gives a half smile.

  “You don’t need to know that yet,” he says. “None of the scenes we’re rehearsing call for the editor.”

  “But we should still know who he is,” protests Natalie, “so we can get an idea of who we’re working with.”

  “That’s exactly why I don’t want you to know,” says James.

  Natalie scowls.

  Maybe he’s casting a complete unknown, I think, and he thinks Natalie will make a fuss.

  “At the moment,” says James, “we don’t even know if the movie will go ahead. If it does, you’ll find out the lead in under a week. In the meantime, let’s get on with the first rehearsal.”

  Natalie rolls her eyes at me but doesn’t reply to James.

  “Alright then,” says James. “Let’s do a quick run though. Places everyone. Take your places. Scene 4, Grace arrives in the newsroom.”

  We move to our positions on set. Natalie and Callum are newsroom staff. She is a call girl, who writes about her exploits under a secret identity. Callum is a kindly hack.

  Camilla is a tea-girl, and she arms herself with a book to act as a tea-tray.

  I play Grace, the lead, and this is my arrival on the newsroom floor.

  “And… Action!” says James, clapping his hands. With no film set-up yet, there’s no need for a count down.

  We all move into life, running through the short scene.

  I arrive, make friends with Natalie, earn Callum’s sympathies, and make a few comedy mistakes.

  As much as I dislike Natalie, she’s great fun to act with. Despite her claim to a perfect memory, she hasn’t learned her lines perfectly. But, she ad-libs through the gaffs, and they’re not noticeable.

  Callum exudes a charisma which reaches about ten feet from his body. He’s warm, likable, and hilarious. We bounce off each other, racking up the comedy.

  Camilla has only two lines, which she delivers perfectly.

  “Cut!” James sounds pleased.

  I turn to see that everyone on set is staring at me. Camilla has a wide-eyed expression, like awe. Callum is giving me a giant grin.

  Natalie’s hard green eyes are whipping back and forth over my face, as if they’re assessing something. She looks furious.

  Callum is the first to speak.

  “Why, Isabella,” he says with mock gravity. “You really are an amazing actress.”

  I blush deep red. “I’m working with the best,” I mumble, uncertain of how to take the praise.

  I turn to James; he gives me an admiring smile.

  “Let’s go again,” he says.

  The rest of the day passes in a whirl. And I’m loving every minute. We race through several scenes, and with James’s direction, each of us learns something new.

  It’s easy to see why James is such an incredible director. He has a knack for knowing exactly when to push, and when to let actors run with their own ideas. He leaves enough slack for ad-lib, but keeps things tight enough to retain a good pace.

  I can see that Natalie, in particular, is thriving.

  We break for the end of the day, and James vanishes suddenly, taking a call on his mobile.

  “That was AMAZING!” announces Callum as we drift away from the set. “Mr. James Berkeley. What a talent. What an honour!” He whistles admiringly.

  I grin at him, feeling proud of James.

  “Let’s just hope we catch that stalker,” says Natalie, studying her bright fingernails as we exit the studio. “Else we won’t have the honour for much longer.”

  Trust Natalie to spoil the mood.

  Will takes up his position next to me, and I can’t help myself from asking him where James has got to.

  “Did James go to the restaurant?” I ask, trying to keep my tone innocent.

  “Mr. Berkeley?” says Will. “Oh, he had some newspaper coverage to attend to.”

  Newspaper coverage? I have a sudden uncertain feeling.

  Is James arranging things with Madison without telling me?

  “Isn’t it a little early to get press for the movie?” I manage.

  “I guess,” says Will. “But it wasn’t about that. He said it was good news. Something to do with you.”

  Something to do with me?

  “Where is he?” I ask, not trusting my voice.

  I need to speak to James. Now.

  “Probably in the director’s office. You can’t go in there though…”

  But Will hasn’t finished speaking, when I hear James’s voice.

  It’s coming from one of the little studio buildings.

  I stride away from Will, and towards the studio.

  “Wait!” I hear Will shout behind me, as I march towards where the sound is coming from.

  James’s voice is louder now. I yank open the small door to the studio.

  “Don’t go in there!” yells Will.

  I hear Callum and Camilla, close behind Will, doubtless wondering what’s going on. But, as I open the door, all sounds are suddenly blurred, faint in the distance. Because my entire attention is on the contents of the little studio.

  And I’m not at all ready for what I see.

  Behind me, I hear Camilla and Callum gasp. Will makes a stifled sound.

  The studio is tiny, with no equipment inside.

  And covering every wall, every inch, are pictures of me.

  Chapter 25

  What in the hell?

  I stand, staring, trying to take it all in.

  In front of the pictures stands James, holding a mobile phone. He makes a slow-motion expression of horror when he sees me.

  I take a soft, dazed step into the room.

  Inside it’s like a shrine. To me. The room is covered in images of Isabella Green.

  I blink up at the pictures, realising I recognise where a lot of them are from.

  The night James and I got papped tango dancing.

  There are pictures here which never made it into the papers.

  James has been hacked carelessly out of the shots. All that remains is me, in all kinds of bending and twirling poses, my eyes half-closed, seductively.

  The rest are snatched shots. Close-ups of my face.

  There’s a moth-eaten mattress on the floor, as though someone has been sleeping rough here.

  I take another step forward, and stumble.

  James catches me in his arms.

  “Don’t touch anything,” he says urgently. “Stay out,” he adds, directing the instructions to Camilla and Callum. Will needs no such wa
rning.

  Caught in James’s arms, I have time to consider the rest of the pictures. One is a longer body shot. I can just make out my chalet behind it. That one was taken in this studio then.

  Why are the pictures so blurry? Suddenly I realise.

  The camera angle. They’re security shots. Someone has been taking my pictures off the security circuit. And collecting them. Here.

  There’s a sour smell in the room, like someone has stayed here without washing for a long time.

  I feel suddenly very sick.

  James straightens me up, looking into my face.

  “Is it him?” I murmur. “The stalker?”

  James nods.

  “I think I’m going to throw up,” I manage.

  Will steps neatly in and pulls me back out of the room.

  “Can’t have you hurling on the evidence,” he says. “Sit down. Put your head between your legs.”

  I take two steps back out of the studio and sit on the concrete floor. I catch a final glance of Camilla and Callum’s shocked faces. Then, I put my head between my knees and breathe.

  The sick feeling lessens. A little.

  “This is the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen,” says Camilla. She sounds like she’s going to cry.

  “Is this where he was staying?” I hear Callum whisper. The horror in his voice makes me feel nauseous all over again.

  “Yes,” says James. “He was hiding out here. Will and the rest of security have been working round the clock to find this out.”

  I hear footsteps, and then James’s head is level with mine.

  “Issy,” he whispers, “I know it looks bad. I never wanted you to see this. But it’s good news. Really.”

  I tilt my head up to look into his green eyes. He is so gorgeous. For a happy second, I forget myself, staring into his handsome face.

  “This brings us much closer to catching him,” says James. “We can get fingerprints, DNA, everything. The stalker never wanted us to find his hide-out.”

  I’m still fighting nausea as James speaks urgently.

  “We’ve had the information sent to the best security labs in the country,” he explains. “Within twenty-four hours, we’ll have a full break down. We’ll get his identity, images of him, everything.”

  “You can do that?” I ask dully.

  “It comes at a cost,” says James, “but it can be done.”

  “Rapid DNA matching is something the police use in high profile cases,” Will fills in. “In this case, we’ve paid to get access to it.”

  Of course. Nothing is too expensive for Mr. Berkeley.

  “The stalker got into the security cam?” I mumble.

  “Yes,” says James. “But he hasn’t for days. This is old footage. We knew there’d been tampering. It was locked down before we even knew the Lipstick Stalker was at large.”

  “He’s been looking at pictures of me from around the studio,” I say in a flat, dull voice. I feel a sudden understanding for cultures who feel a picture is a piece of their soul.

  This stalker’s had my picture. He’s collected pieces of me. I hate the idea.

  “It’s almost over,” soothes James. “But we’re so close now, Issy.”

  “Less than a day,” confirms Will. “I’ve worked on projects like this before. Once we’ve got the DNA information, it’s a done deal. Almost a done deal,” he corrects himself.

  “What do you mean?” I snap to attention suddenly.

  “We’ve talked about this already,” says James. He’s directing his words at Will, and I hear ice behind them.

  “Issy wouldn’t be in any danger,” says Will. “It would guarantee we could secure him.”

  “I said no!” James’s tone is so stark, all of us start. “I won’t use her as bait.”

  My eyes are travelling between Will and James, trying to work out what’s happening.

  This is obviously an on-going argument between them.

  “I won’t use you as bait,” repeats James, looking at me. He keeps his voice level, but I can see the agony in his eyes. “Will wants you unprotected for a few minutes. To draw the stalker out. I won’t do it.”

  Slowly, I stagger to my feet. James stands too.

  I’m so confused, and frightened. But the prospect of catching the stalker has given me new hope.

  “If using me is the best chance of catching the stalker,” I say slowly, “then you should use me.”

  “Save your breath,” says Will. “He won’t go for it any way.”

  I can tell from the tone of his voice that it’s something they’ve hotly debated.

  “But even without me as bait,” I manage tentatively, “you really think you’ll catch the stalker soon?”

  “Hopefully this time tomorrow,” says Will. “With this new evidence, and the security budget James has thrown on this, it could be sooner.”

  I breathe out, slowly. Will’s voice is lacking a little conviction, I notice.

  “Ok then,” I manage. “Well. I guess that’s good?”

  I’m looking at Camilla and Callum. They both look relieved.

  Then I realise something.

  The pictures of James and me dancing the tango.

  It must be plainly obvious to everyone here that James and I are romantically involved.

  “Where’s Natalie?” I ask, suddenly paranoid that she might be close by.

  Callum understands immediately.

  “Don’t worry, Issy. She’s off ordering her entourage around. And she’s too self-obsessed to guess about you and James, in any case. Not like the rest of us,” he adds.

  My eyes widen.

  “You knew?” I turn to take in Camilla and Will. “You all knew?”

  “Gorgeous girl,” says Callum, “of course we knew. It was as plain as the nose on your face.”

  I realise my mouth is hanging open.

  “It was kinda obvious,” admits Camilla, with a grin. “You can’t stop staring at one another.”

  “With those lovey dovey eyes,” adds Will, widening his own for comic effect. “You’d have to be living under a rock not to realise you two are more than just friends.”

  I feel a slow blush creep up my neck. James steps to stand by my side and takes my hand.

  “Can you all keep it a secret?” he says, after a moment.

  Callum nods empathically.

  “Of course,” says Camilla.

  “Yes sir,” grins Will, mock saluting and winking at me.

  “Good,” breathes James. “It’s only for a few more days. After this stalker is locked away, we’re making things public. And the last thing we want is for Natalie to find out.”

  James turns to me for confirmation.

  I hesitate, just a fraction, before giving him a nod.

  He beams at me.

  “That’s settled then,” he says with a sigh. “Now, all we have to do is put this stalker in prison.”

  Chapter 26

  Camilla’s ride arrives later that afternoon. I feel real sadness as I hug her goodbye. I’ll miss having another girl to talk to. I don’t count Natalie.

  “Be very careful,” says Camilla, looking at me with her big blue eyes. “Stay close to Will and James.”

  “I will,” I promise. And then I remember. I’ve someone else to take care of. Lorna.

  “Listen, Camilla,” I say, “tell me if it’s none of my business. But I want to ask you about something I saw written on your notepad.”

  “You want to know the deal with me and Ben Gracey?” Camilla finishes for me.

  “Um. Well. Yeah.” I smile apologetically.

  “I’d forgotten I’d written it,” she says with a little sigh. “That all happened a few years ago.”

  A few years ago? She could hardly have been sixteen. Ben is at least five years older.

  “It was kind of a crush,” she says, “and a romance gone wrong.”

  She looks down, ashamed. “James had to come rescue me. I was too stupid to realise what Ben was like. I thou
ght we were in love.”

  Camilla looks so desperately sad, I haven’t the heart to question her any further.

  But it only builds on my picture of Ben. That he’s no good. No good at all. What happened between them?

  I store the questions away for later. I need to talk to James about this. And Lorna. Should Lorna know? With so much else going on, my mind is too confused to come up with a clear answer.

  “Hey,” I say, giving Camilla a hug, “we all have romances gone wrong when we’re young. Someone perfect will come along for you. You’ll see.”

  I pull back to look into her face, and she beams at me.

  “Thanks, Issy,” she says. “I never had a big sister. I feel like you look out for me.”

  “Of course I do,” I say sincerely. And in that moment, I’ve never felt more big sisterly towards anyone. Not even Lorna.

  “I hope they catch the stalker soon,” says Camilla.

  “They will,” I say with certainty. “You’ll be back on set in a week.”

  Camilla picks up a backpack – her sole piece of luggage – and then she’s in the car and driving away.

  I set my jaw determinedly. We’re going to catch this stalker. There’s no way Camilla is missing out on her big break.

  Will has been waiting a tactful distance away. He steps forward as Camilla’s car pulls away.

  “Time to visit with Mr. Berkeley, Issy.”

  I nod and head towards James’s apartment, with Will following after.

  Will delivers me safely through the door, and I’m greeted by a warm hug from James, and delicious cooking smells.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, drawing back and sniffing the air. “It smells amazing in here.”

  “I thought it was time I cooked you dinner,” says James.

  “You cook?” I am completely amazed. “I didn’t think that English aristocrats did any domestic tasks.”

  James kisses my nose and returns to the open-plan kitchen area.

  “Technically, cooking is an art, rather than a domestic duty. And I can only cook one meal.”

  “Oh.” I follow him through to the kitchen, smiling.

  “Of course, that one meal, I cook superbly,” he adds. His voice is only half joking.