by Natasha West
Real Love
By
Natasha West
Copyright © 2017 by Natasha West
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
One
Daisy Howard crossed the threshold into the wings in what could best be described as a stagger. She felt hollowed out by the performance she’d just given and worse, she had absolutely no idea if it had meant anything at all to the audience. They were people whose opinions apparently mattered and what had they seen? What had they thought? She had no idea.
She was just one drama graduate among several dozen performing tonight. She had followed a guy called Jackson, who’d done his own interpretation of the infamous ‘Coffee’s for Closers’ monologue from Glengarry Glen Ross. He’d been alright if a little overblown, Daisy thought. And then she’d had to go up and do her turn.
She hadn’t performed anything well-known. She’d thought that was the enemy, something with a history of actors already in people’s minds, playing the same role. Instead, she’d picked something from an obscure noir movie from the forties, playing a femme fatale who explains why it’s fine to murder people. She thought it was fun and frightening at the same time. It had pulled at something in her and despite the fact that everyone else had picked a classic monologue, she’d run with her instinct.
But had the audience of industry types liked her choice? They’d clapped, but that was only polite. She felt utterly unable to judge the volume and enthusiasm of it. It was just white noise as she walked away.
And now she’d been replaced by a skinny girl called Jenny, who was having a stab at Hamlet. Daisy hoped she hadn’t looked as frightened as Jenny did. She looked like she might do a wee on the stage.
But Daisy would find out afterwards whether she’d done alright. That’s what last year’s grads had told her, anyway. The meet and greet in half an hour would be all she’d need to know. If people came to talk to her, the agents, casting directors, producers and the like, they would determine who had nailed it and who had missed the mark.
It was the culmination of three years work and if she didn’t get anyone trying to reel her in, it would be detrimental. It wouldn’t be the end of the world; she’d simply have to find other opportunities. But it would be a setback, that was for sure.
So thirty minutes later, she was standing with a glass of free fizz in her hand, trying to look approachable. She wasn’t entirely sure what that should look like, but she was giving it a bash anyway.
‘Bloody hell’ muttered a voice in her ear. ‘Did you see Oliver doing his Chekhov? His Russian accent was all over the place. I think he got as far as Australia with it at one point.’
Daisy tried to quell her laughter as she turned to Abigail Rothley (yes, of those Rothley’s), shaking her head.
‘Don’t! He tried really hard!’ Daisy stage-whispered to her friend.
‘You’re being nice. You’ve really got to get out of that habit. This ain’t Kansas, Dorothy.’
‘So you keep telling me’ Daisy said. ‘But what does it… Hang on, I memorised this especially… What does it profit a man if he… Oh bugger, err… Something about being really successful but forgetting to be yourself?’
Abigail snorted. ‘How is it you can get off-book within five minutes of reading pages but you can’t remember one simple quote? And it’s ‘For what profits a man if he gains the whole world but loses his own soul?’
‘Yeah, that’s the one. That’s my motto, that is.’
‘The phrase you can’t remember?’
‘It’s more about what it means than what it says. And the point is, what’s the point of getting all the crap you want if you forget who you are?’
Abigail smiled at her friend. ‘Much better than the original. I just hope you can remember that when you’re up to your tits in Baftas.’
‘Ha! Yeah, sure.’
Abigail looked around the room, scanning her classmates, all in various states of tonguing backsides and said ‘You’re better than practically everyone in this room, Daisy. And I should know, I’ve grown up with all this. I know the real deal.’
‘That’s very nice, but…’
Abigail put a finger lightly to Daisy’s lips, saying in her cut-glass upper-class voice ‘Don’t be Northern, Darling. Accept the compliment.’
Daisy sighed. ‘Fine, accepted. But even if I’m alright at this, I don’t know how much it matters.’
Abigail raised an eyebrow. ‘If you’re about to tell me that coming from a family of ‘Theatre Legends’ gives me an advantage, you really don’t know how this all works. People can’t wait to see me fall on my arse.’
Daisy smiled. ‘Well, they’ll never get the chance. You’ve got talent, Abigail.’
‘So have you, Daisy. Not to mention the fact that you’re a natural blonde with an arse that won’t quit and dimples I’d kill my mother for.’
Daisy rolled her eyes, making sure her dimples stayed hidden.
‘Laugh if you want’ Abigail continued. ‘Being gorgeous matters. We don’t want it to. It shouldn’t. But it does. Lucky for me, I’ve got this fabulous rack’ she said, glancing down at her generous cleavage. ‘So that should tip the odds in my favour.’
‘They are magnificent’ Daisy agreed. ‘Although I do always feel like you’re going to take my eye out.’
‘You say the sweetest things’ Abigail said. ‘You’re just annoyed that I’ve never let you have a go on them.’
Daisy shrugged. ‘Sorry to break your heart, I’m actually not really a boob girl. More into legs.’
‘Yes, I’ve been meaning to bring that up, actually. Did you text Jen? She seemed quite keen when I showed her your pic.’
Daisy began to look around awkwardly, searching for escape. But she was alone with Abigail. No help was coming.
‘Shall I take your lack of eye contact as a no?’
‘Yes. I mean yes, it’s a no’ Daisy corrected. ‘I’m not looking right now. I don’t have time for all that.’
‘All that being?’
Daisy groaned while she tried to find the right word. ‘Entanglement’ was what she finally settled on.
‘Dear oh dear’ Abigail said with a head shake. ‘Well, if you ever do decide to blow the dust off what’s between your legs, I’ve got a ton of girls I can set you up with.’
‘What, your cast offs? No ta. Anyway, they’re all about twelve.’
‘Early twenties, you rude thing. Like me.’
‘Yep, and I’m looking down the barrel of thirty. I’ve got enough on my plate. I can’t be doing with the drama.’
‘Said the actress.’
‘Said the wannabe actress’ Daisy shot back with a snort of laughter.
‘Said the soon to be star’ Abigail corrected. ‘We’re both going to be stars’ she said and they clinked their glasses with a wry smile at one another. Stardom seemed very distant indeed.
‘Oh, do you see that woman there?’ Abigail said quietly, nodding at a sharply dressed middle-aged lady with shrewd eyes. She was talking to Jackson, he of the shouty monologue. He was giving her everything he had in terms of sexual prowess, trying to get into her good graces by way of her knickers. Daisy found it a little ridiculous. ‘That’s
Helen Bradley’ Abigail continued. ‘She’s a top agent, knows everyone. You should go and talk to her.’
‘What, just like that? Just wander over and say, ‘Hey up’ Daisy said, horrified.
‘Yes, but you may want to take the working-class vibe back a notch. You want to make it? Start there. I’m telling you, she’s serious.’
‘Then why aren’t you chatting her up?’
‘I already did.’
‘Oh!’ Daisy said with amazement. ‘God, how is everyone else so confident?’
‘We’re not confident, we’re just dumb enough to think we’ll make it. Whereas you? You’ve actually got it. Now go and use it or I’ll flick you in the nipple.’
Daisy clapped both hands to her breasts, just in case it wasn’t an idle threat and nibbled her bottom lip. ‘Wait, are you sure…’
The answer to that question came in the form of a shove and Daisy found herself stumbling halfway across the room. And then she was doing it, walking in the direction of Helen Bradley, albeit at a snail’s pace. She dodged around her classmates and teachers, winding her way across the room. As she got close, she heard Helen Bradley say ‘Well, Jackson, it was lovely to meet you. Please do keep in touch.’ It was an obvious kiss off. Daisy was still walking, inching closer to the agent. She watched Jackson turn, red-faced and walk disconsolately toward the bar, no doubt needing a moment (not to mention a beer) to shake off the rejection. Daisy was now inches from Helen and cleared her throat to catch her attention. Helen began to turn and Daisy readied herself to be personable, charming and persuasive. Failing that, she just wanted to be able to say a full sentence without stuttering.
But before she could lock eyes with Helen Bradley, she was suddenly blocked from Daisy’s view by someone else. A hand was out in front of her, waiting to be shaken, and the owner of the hand said, ‘It’s Daisy, isn’t it?’
Daisy looked up to see a woman who looked not much older than herself, in jeans and a jacket, bespectacled and on first assessment, a little crazy looking.
But Daisy’s manners kicked in and she shook the hand of the woman, who introduced herself. ‘I’m Ashley Kane, I’m an agent for Jones and Jones.’
Jones and Jones? Daisy had heard of them. Half the previous year had apparently been signed up by them and they’d done fairly well in getting their faces about.
‘I saw your performance, I liked it. Totally real.’
‘Oh, thank you. I appreciate that.’
‘So, what are your plans now? Where are you headed, career wise?’
That threw Daisy for a loop. It wasn’t that she didn’t know the answer. It was only that she needed a little warm up before she went into it. But the question was being asked, here and now. Go time.
‘I was hoping to go into theatre. I think that’s the place for me if they’ll have me. I’m not really, well, I don’t think I’d like the whole… fame thing. I just want to act. That’s the plan, anyway.’
‘Well, what are you? Twenty-one, two? You might change your mind about all that-’
‘Actually, I’m twenty-nine.’
Ashley’s eyebrows flew skyward. ‘Twenty-nine!? If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up at drama school so late?’
‘I guess I got a bit side-tracked by, like, life’ Daisy said enigmatically. There was a longer explanation but she wasn’t about to spill all that, even if it was the difference between maintaining Ashley’s interest and seeming rude. Some things were private and that was that.
‘I see’ Ashley replied, apparently happy enough with the answer. ‘Well, it hasn’t done you any harm, from what I can see. You still ended up at a top school.’
‘Yeah, I guess so.’
‘So, do you think you might want to come in for a meeting, see if we’re your speed?’
The haste at which this interaction was progressing was making Daisy’s head spin but she tried not to show it. Instead, she simply said ‘Yes, that sounds good.’
Ashley got her phone out and opened a scheduling app, skipping through until she found a slot. Daisy was surprised, she’d expected a card and a ‘Call my assistant to set something up’ type of thing like she’d seen on TV. But Ashley didn’t seem like a slick agent type. Daisy found that equally disconcerting and comforting.
‘Tuesday? At ten?’
‘What, tomorrow? You don’t hang about, do you?’ Daisy blurted and immediately regretted.
But Ashley only laughed. ‘Can’t afford to. You’ll get snapped up by someone else if I don’t. I can’t be the only one who will have noted your talent.’
Daisy knew Ashley was flattering her, but three years of teachers giving her nothing but ‘constructive criticism’ made her somewhat amenable to it.
‘Alright, Tuesday at ten.’
‘Great. I’m on the third floor of Jones and Jones. See you then. Gotta run.’
And she turned, dashing off at a sprint, clearing the room in less than three seconds. Daisy felt like if she’d been wearing a hat, it would have blown off.
‘Who was that?’ Abigail said, sidling up to Daisy and handing her a fresh glass.
‘Ashley Kane. She’s from Jones and Jones.’
‘Don’t think I know her. But Jones and Jones, that’s pretty good.’
‘Mmm, I hope so’ Daisy said and took a sip.
‘But you’ve still got to speak with Helen Bradley, you realise that? Can’t put all your eggs in one agent.’
Daisy sighed. ‘I know, I know.’ She looked around for Helen Bradley. She was nowhere to be seen.
‘Shit! She’s gone.’
Abigail tutted. ‘You better hope this Ashley woman’s legit then.’
Daisy sipped her drink, trying not to let Abigail’s cynicism dent her achievement. An agent wanted to meet her and she’d implied quite heavily that she would likely sign her. Daisy had waited a long time for such a step, longer than her fellow grads. It might not mean much to Abigail Rothley, who probably tripped over ten agents coming out of her front door of a morning, however much she liked to play her connections down. But Daisy didn’t have that. She only had herself.
And now, it was possible that she might have Ashley too. She promised herself that whatever happened tomorrow, she’d do her best to make sure Ashley signed her up. After all, at twenty-nine, Daisy couldn’t waste as much time as her fellow youthful grads. They had energy and enthusiasm to spare. And Daisy was running a tad short on those things.
She only hoped Ashley had what it took to squeeze her into the theatre. Daisy didn’t care how small a part she got, she just wanted to be where the real actors were. The place she’d waited too long to be.
Two
‘Jake! If I find your pants hanging off the bathroom doorknob again, I’m going to shred every pair you own and make you go commando for the foreseeable future.’
Jake came flying out of his room and into the bathroom, mortified. ‘Sorry, Mum!’
Jake snatched the pants from Daisy with the kind of shame only a twelve-year-old can muster for his undergarments and shoved them in the pocket of his school trousers. Daisy noted that the trousers looked a little short in the hem. It was time to take them down again.
‘Just be glad it was me that found them and not your grandma’ Daisy told him and he blushed. Daisy ruffled his hair, letting him off the hook. It was hard to see his face turn that colour and not feel for him. He blushed at everything these days. Daisy tried to remind herself what twelve felt like, but it was a struggle. Although she was twenty-nine, she felt forty most of the time. But that was motherhood. She was just glad it didn’t show on her face. Everyone at film school had thought she was their age. Thank god for good genes.
Daisy’s mum Kathy - passer down of the lucky genes - called upstairs from the kitchen, ‘Toast doesn’t stay warm for long!’
Daisy grabbed Jake by the shoulders and steered him toward the stairs. And then she remembered something. ‘Shit! I forgot to wash your P.E kit’ she cried out and Jake turned around grinning.
<
br /> ‘Swear jar, Mum.’
‘I only have to put money in the swear jar if your gran hears me. And I know you’d never snitch on me, would you?’ she said as they went down the stairs. ‘Not after I brought you into the world and made you into the handsome young man who keeps leaving his pants everywhere?’
‘So what you’re saying is, if I open my mouth about the swearing, you’re telling her about the pants?’ Jake asked.
‘It’s called mutually assured destruction’ Daisy explained as they entered the kitchen where Kathy, matriarch of the Howard clan, was putting boiled eggs into their holders.
‘What’s this about mutually assured destruction?’ the eagled-eared woman asked.
‘Jake’s doing The Cold War in history’ Daisy improvised. Jake’s P.E kit flew back into her mind. ‘Mum, is there any chance-’
‘I’ve done his kit, yes’ Kathy said absent-mindedly, pouring tea.
Daisy sighed in relief. But it wasn’t to last.
‘It’s not that I mind doing Jake’s manky P.E kit…’
Jake looked hurt and said ‘Hey! They’re not that bad!’
‘…But perhaps you could do them next time’ she continued, ignoring Jake’s protest. ‘I’ve got enough on with keeping this house afloat. I can’t do everything while you swan about with your la-di-da actor types.’
Daisy counted to three before she replied. It was a technique developed over the last three years of co-habitation with her mother. She used those seconds to remember that she couldn’t have studied acting if her mother hadn’t sold her house up North and moved in with her to help with Jake and the bills. She also tried to remember that her mum was not the happy-go-luckiest of souls, especially since her husband – Daisy’s Dad - had died seven years ago, and that she shouldn’t take the dig personally. The woman simply couldn’t help herself. After the three seconds were up, Daisy opened her mouth, meaning for something magnanimous to come out of it.
‘Mum, I don’t ‘Swan about’ and I resent the implication that I do. I’m doing my best, I just forgot today was P.E day, that’s all’ was what came out instead. Daisy wondered if she should up the count to five in future.