Waiting for Callback

by Perdita Cargill

  ‘No.’ Yes. Moss? Mum’s interrogating me about school. Any minute it’s going to get worse and she’ll interrogate me about my life. HELP ME. Five minutes later. Text meeee. No answer.

  ‘Is Jenny still going out with that nice boy?’ asked Mum.

  A deceptively simple question but a) Jenny hadn’t ‘gone out’ with anyone, b) Jenny had got with two boys in the last month and I wouldn’t have described either of them as a ‘nice boy’, c) Mum knew Jenny’s mum so saying anything at all was risky and d) any moment now Mum would ask me why I wasn’t ‘going out’ with anyone.

  ‘Mmmm,’ I said non-committally.

  ‘Any boys on your horizon?’

  I felt a little car sick. ‘No, not a single one.’

  ‘Or girls?’ she said.

  ‘No, no girls either.’

  MOSSS! Save me!

  ‘Can you check if it’s the next junction, Elektra?’ Saved not by Moss but by navigation duties.

  ‘It is,’ I replied. I was almost confident because Mum had asked me to check at every single junction for the last forty minutes. We turned off into a horrible tangle of one-way roads going through a big industrial estate. By now, we were both a bit sweaty as Mum drove up to the gates of what we hoped was the right unit. There was a guard, but he was too busy watching Desperate Housewives to check who we were and he just waved us straight through.

  ‘We could literally be international drug smugglers,’ I said.

  ‘Yes . . . but that’s a really good episode,’ replied Mum.

  ‘Fair. Anyway, I doubt many international drug smugglers visit small industrial complexes in Hertfordshire. And cartels comprising a mother and daughter team from North London are probably a bit niche.’

  ‘That’s what you think. And that’s why it would make the perfect cover. No one would ever suspect us; you’re too disorganized and I seem too uptight to traffic large amounts of hard drugs.’ Seem? ‘We could have family in Columbia that we needed to visit frequently.’

  She had this way too worked out and a double life as a large-scale drug smuggler would explain a lot of her neuroses. We parked up outside what was essentially a metal box with a big monochrome plaque reading next to the door. A depressed-looking teenager in incredibly tight jeans finally opened the door. He didn’t say anything, just started backing towards the office (slowly because of the debilitating tightness of the jeans).

  ‘We’re here for the voice-over,’ I said.

  He looked at us completely blankly. ‘Okaaaay.’

  ‘For the squirrel commercial?’ my mum prompted.

  Now he was blank and judging us. ‘OK.’

  ‘Do you know where we go?’

  ‘I’m work experience,’ he drawled and hobbled back into the office. This clearly wasn’t how he’d imagined the cool ‘media internship’ some relative (I’m guessing) had promised him. He waved us into a room helpfully labelled waiting and disappeared. We sat down on a clear plastic sofa (my dad would have loved it: very Scandi, absolutely colourless and brutally uncomfortable) and hoped for the best.

  My phone barked. It was Archie. Hey, E, what’s up?

  At a voice-over thing

  This was ridiculously exciting because a) Archie had sent me an apparently random text and b) I had something cool to say. What were the odds?

  Sweet. What for?

  Utterly Nutterly Nuts. Presumably, as contrasted to other nuts that were in some way not nutterly. Sub-nutterly? Less cool. I had time to make Mum a cup of tea and to eat two biscuits (the catering fairies had left a tray labelled help yourself) before my phone barked again.

  Decent script?

  Haven’t seen it. But my character is called Squirrelina so I am optimistic.

  Hahaha

  Second most important squirrel in the advert

  I’m impressed

  You should be. This was borderline drama banter.

  A very stressed man with absolutely no hair and a very abundant beard jogged into the waiting room. ‘Elektra?’

  ‘Yes.’ I stuck my hand up. ‘Hi, that’s me’.

  Got to go, I texted quickly.

  ‘Great, I’m Martin, the director.’ He gave me a very assertive handshake. ‘And is this Mummy?’

  Mum looked like she was about to throw up. ‘Yes I am . . . “Mummy”.’

  ‘Great, well, Mummy, if you want to just wait out here, we’ll have Elektra done in no time.’

  He made it sound like I was going to have an HPV jab, not become the voice of the second most important squirrel in the advert.

  I followed the creepy bearded man (as you do) into the recording studio. The ceilings and walls were all covered in light grey padding and there were spaceship style control panels with big computer screens down one wall.

  Two guys in T-shirts with sound guy written on the back (so that cleared that up – I had a feeling if I stood still long enough around here someone would label me too) and baseball caps introduced themselves and I straight away forgot their names.

  ‘And the client is here too,’ said Martin, pointing at a large speakerphone.

  A disembodied voice boomed, ‘Pleased to meet you, Elektra.’

  ‘You too,’ I said, which just sounded weird.

  ‘So, let’s give you five minutes to read the script,’ said Martin, pressing a single page into my hand, but then carrying on talking at me so that I could barely read it. ‘We’re all very excited about this project and I think that we can really make the audience, the potential buyers,’ he looked at the speakerphone, ‘feel a connection with Squirrelina, yes? Great. Well, why don’t we go for a read-through? I’ll be reading the other parts for now.

  Squirrelina, I have a present for you!

  (Martin was getting into character.)

  Oh, Colonel Kernel, do you really? A present? For me? (I tried my best to get in touch with my inner squirrel.)

  Yes, he stole it from those silly humans.

  Naughty Colonel Kernel! (I couldn’t quite believe Squirrelina was actually flirting with a guy called Colonel Kernel. She was a strong, independent woman. She could no doubt provide her own nutty treats. She really needed to raise her standards. My script directed me to make a loud crunching sound followed by a noise of appreciation.) It’s just so utterly nutterly!!

  Well, as we say in the Squirrel Special Services, Nuts Nuts No Ifs No Buts.

  Nuts Nuts No Ifs No Buts! I like it!

  ‘Good job.’ Martin nodded. ‘You just really got her.’

  The sound guys tried not to laugh.

  ‘Can we try it again with her voice a little bit higher and more musical so she sounds a bit sweeter and more girly, yes?’ suggested the client-in-the-phone. ‘Also her “gentle crunching noise” sounded like she was crushing bones so maybe tone it down a tad.’ There was the distinct sound of a loo flushing in the background; I struggled not to snigger.

  ‘Righhht,’ said Martin. ‘And could you give me a bit more variation on the first line because Squirrelina is genuinely surprised by the present? And if you could build up “utterly nutterly”? Make those double exclamation marks really count?’

  ‘So we really feel it’s a moment of taste epiphany, yes?’ contributed client-in-the-phone.

  ‘Er, yes, “taste epiphany”, sure.’

  ‘Amazing,’ said Martin. ‘Also it would be great if we could give “Nuts Nuts No Ifs No Buts” a bit of a wondrous quality; take your time over it like you’ve just discovered this amazing new idea, yes?’

  By the end of the read-through, I was starting to feel a real affinity for Squirrelina. Granted, she wasn’t exactly a feminist icon or a particularly complex character, but she seemed like a genuinely sweet girl/squirrel. And you have to hand it to her: she knew how to wrap Colonel Kernel round her little finger. I didn’t actually know if squirrels had little fingers. I’d google it later.

  ‘Right, let’s get her into the box,’ said the older of the two sound guys (which is not a good sentence to hear when you’re und
er pressure).

  The ‘box’ was just a small soundproofed room to the side of the studio, divided off by a glass wall.

  ‘OK, Elektra, can we have you standing right up close to the microphone?’ The younger sound guy was setting me up. ‘Literally so your face is nearly touching that gauze circle in front of it. No, no, that’s not gonna work – you’re too tall.’ He adjusted the microphone an embarrassing amount. And I’d thought voice work would be the one time my height wasn’t an issue. ‘Headphones comfy?’

  I nodded; he gave a thumbs up to everyone on the other side of the glass and left me on my own. I looked at them through the glass and they looked back at me. Martin gave me a little wave and I waved back. I hoped I was waving not drowning. I’d never think goldfish had it easy again.

  ‘Right, shall we just go for one? I’ll give you the cue,’ said the older-sound-guy through my headphones and he did and off I went.

  ‘OK, Elektra, that’s risking coming in at thirty-three seconds so we’re going to need to lose three somewhere. Could you maybe speed up the “No Ifs No Buts” bit?’

  I must have done it ten times before I was released out of my glass box.

  ‘So, I think we’re all done on this section. What time is Squirrel Three coming in?’ asked younger-sound-guy.

  Martin looked at him reproachfully. ‘Private Pine Nut is due at twelve thirty.’

  ‘Great, so let’s break for lunch now.’

  ‘Yes, thank you so much, Elektra. You’re all done. Great session – you were fabulous,’ said Martin and younger-sound-guy ferried me back to the waiting room.

  ‘How did it go?’ asked my mum (as she now so often did).

  ‘Good but also weird. Like really weird.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I was playing a post-feminist talking squirrel called Squirrelina.’

  ‘Ah, yes, that was a stupid question.’

  ‘Do you know what was even weirder? I forgot to be nervous.’ And I had. Strange.

  ‘Good. Well, thank goodness you’re done. I’ve been so bored. The magazine selection was disappointingly arty and I’ve still got Desperate Housewives envy.’

  ‘Right now I feel a very strong genetic link to you. Netflix marathon when we get home?’

  ‘You’ve got the stamina for a Netflix marathon?’

  ‘I do. I am the Colonel Kernel of Netflix marathons.’

  My mother looked at me like I’d gone slightly mad.

  I didn’t blame her.

  From: Stella at the Haden Agency

  Date: 26 March 15:32

  To: Julia James

  Cc: Charlotte at the Haden Agency

  Subject: Open Outcry and Straker (working title) projects

  Attachments: Agreement.doc; outline.doc; character scenes.doc; map.jpeg

  Dear Julia,

  Further to our telephone conversation today, here are the documents on the Open Outcry project (16 April, location marked on map). Call me if there is anything more you or Elektra need to know. It will certainly be a fun way to round off the Easter hols!

  Nothing concrete to report on Straker I’m afraid. The casting team have confirmed that they did receive the additional scenes we put on tape in the office at the end of March and so all we can do is wait. There’s a lot of waiting in this business. (But great job on OmniNut!)

  Kind regards etc.

  Stella

  P.S. Your planned getaway in Scotland sounds wonderful! I need a technology detox myself!

  ‘I do want to push the boundaries, try stupid trends and all that experimental stuff that teenagers do. But I don’t want to mess up.’

  Chloë Moretz

  I literally had to doorstep Moss to see her. I got it: between her mum trying to get her trained up to perfection and having to be available at every possible free moment in case Torr wanted to meet up, she was really, really busy. But a) I had news for her and b) I’d miss her when I was dragged off to my midge-infested, rain-bogged holiday destination in darkest Scotland.

  ‘Come up!’ she yelled when Haruka (wearing a particularly fine bee costume) let me in so I did, then picked my way through the heaps of discarded clothes on the floor and curled up beside Moss on the island of the bed. It was the only place to sit. Also beds are lovely.

  ‘Help me, Elektra!’

  Moss was better than me at fashion, but she was clearly too stressed to think straight.

  ‘Date with Torr?’ I asked, pointing at a top that would display enough cleavage to be interesting, but not so much that her mum would make her change.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Now? Here?’

  Moss looked pointedly at the row of stuffed animals lined up under the window. ‘No, Elektra, not here.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I don’t actually know yet,’ said Moss, toying with her phone. ‘He hasn’t replied since he suggested it earlier. So I started getting ready straight after school, but then I felt like a freak so I got un-ready again and now I need to start over.’

  She was currently wearing sweat pants with I’m Not Normal written across the bum.

  ‘Mossy? Are you wearing red lipstick?’

  She looked embarrassed. ‘A bit.’

  ‘I thought we’d already established we were never going to be sophisticated enough to wear red lipstick?’

  ‘I’m allowed to make my own call on that.’

  ‘Sure.’ Ouch. ‘It’s been ages,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ she asked, trying to choose between two pairs of identical skinny jeans.

  ‘You and Torr.’ And it really had. Anything over a fortnight was considered practically an engagement at our school. ‘You’re like Flissy and James. That’ll be you on the gymnastics bench at the next social.’ Flissy and James were still together, but there was a possibility that this was because he didn’t know enough words to break up with her.

  Moss laughed (and it wasn’t a sarcastic laugh which was worrying).

  ‘I can’t believe you’re legitimately dating.’

  ‘We’re not. We haven’t had the “exclusive” conversation so I still don’t know what it really is.’

  ‘Torr hasn’t got time to fit in anyone else. You’ve been to see two films with subtitles in the last week. It’s weird.’

  ‘Nothing weird about that,’ she said defensively.

  ‘There is if you’re somebody who hates pretty much all films except Mean Girls and Love Actually.’

  She shrugged. ‘Torr wanted to see them.’

  ‘Torr wanted’ was fast becoming one of her favourite phrases.

  ‘But, I mean, I really liked them as well.’

  ‘Seriously? Even the Swedish one with the “original” sound score and no happy characters?’ I’d read the reviews: they were not good.

  She shrugged again. ‘Obviously not as good as Mean Girls.’

  ‘To be fair, few films are,’ I said.

  ‘Torr didn’t want to go on his own,’ she said.

  That was actually quite cute. ‘Do you want an Utterly Nutterly nut?’ I asked her, changing the subject. They’d sent me a big pack as a thank you.

  She looked doubtful. ‘What are they like?’

  ‘Like normal nuts, but with a delicious caramel coating.’

  ‘Yeah, I can read that on the packet. What are they actually like?’

  ‘I’m not a huge fan.’

  They were really, really disgusting. It’s a good job I hadn’t tasted them before the voice-over session. I’d have had to really engage my acting skills then. Poor Squirrelina.

  Moss kept checking her phone and then putting it down a little further away. She was not chill about the date thing.

  ‘Are you definitely still seeing Torr today?’ I asked after a bit. This was killing me. I was usually up for any amount of relationship analysis, but I was bursting with news and I couldn’t find the right moment with Moss being so distracted.

  ‘He’s just working out what he’s doing.’

  Her
phone buzzed. She grabbed it and read the message. Her shoulders drooped. ‘Oh, right. I think he’s got something on now.’

  ‘Classic guy.’

  ‘He’s not. You don’t know him. And, no offence, but you’re not exactly an expert. He’s just really busy with family stuff.’

  ‘Wow, OK.’ But she looked upset as well as defensive and I didn’t like that. ‘Look, let’s ditch the Nutterlys, crack out the crisps and watch some Gossip Girl. Who needs a real guy when you’ve got Chuck Bass?’ A line of reasoning that had always worked in the past.

  Ten minutes into the episode (and despite excellent distraction efforts from Chuck and Blair) I couldn’t wait any longer. ‘You know that casting where I turned up and nothing happened and I despaired?’

  ‘Which one?’ asked Moss.

  ‘The one I was super happy about because I missed the simultaneous equations test.’

  ‘I thought that was just an excuse because you hadn’t prepped for it.’

  ‘Well, I hadn’t, but no it wasn’t. It was an audition. An audition for a part. A part . . .’ I paused for dramatic effect. ‘A part for which I am apparently perfect. Perfect. How many times can I repeat that without sounding tragic?’

  ‘At least once more,’ said Moss, which was particularly generous under the circumstances.

  ‘Me. Perfect.’ I let out a tiny sigh of satisfaction. ‘OK, it’s a very small part, but it’s in a proper film and I don’t have any words, but . . .’

  ‘But it’s massive,’ she said, which was the right thing to say, and then she let me tell her all about it with repetitions and deviations and lots of stopping to gasp at the sheer amazingness of it all (admittedly, she kept checking her phone, but that was OK).

  The film was called Open Outcry. It was a psychological thriller set in buzzing, rich, immoral, modern-day London – one of the bad financier/ good detective genre. The bad financier, the good detective and his super-hot, much-younger love interest were all being played by really famous actors: Daniel Craig, David Tennant and some new girl actor fresh out of RADA called Lucrezia (OK, she wasn’t famous – yet – but she was cool enough to have Lucrezia as a stage name). Yep, a James Bond, a Doctor Who and a girl with great hair were my co-stars (I said that quite a few times: my co-stars). I was only in one scene as one of a bunch of schoolchildren crossing a street, but I was singled out by tripping in front of a car only to be pulled out of the way by the evil (but disturbingly sexy) financier who’s en route to destroying the world. In just a few moments, I would set him up as a complex character, gain him temporary audience sympathy and generally endow the plot with depth and subtlety – pretty pivotal stuff. No actual lines, but it did call for an expression of deep emotion to be captured in a close-up shot. Actually, forget all of that; what mattered was that I would have a scene with Daniel Craig.