The Ivy Lessons (Devoted, Book 1)

by J Lerman

  When we take our seats again, Marc is standing behind the lecturer’s podium.

  ‘Go away and rehearse,’ he says, ‘and I’ll see your performances this afternoon, and tomorrow morning. I’ll put times up on the notice board outside this theatre in one hour.’

  ‘Today and tomorrow?’ Cecile says. ‘How are we going to learn our lines in that time?’

  Marc glares at her. ‘It’s only a few pages. Enough for you to get a feel for the part. I don’t expect you to follow the script exactly. A good actor understands the character, then improvises when necessary.’

  ‘But it’s so soon,’ says Cecile.

  Marc frowns. ‘You’ll find the real world of acting isn’t as precise and organised as you might like it to be. Auditions come out of the blue. Think of this as experiencing a little of what that’s like. You want control? Then become a teacher.’ He checks his watch. ‘I’ll see some of you later on today, in Queen’s theatre.’ With that, he strides out of the room, leaving all the students to chatter nervously.

  We file out of the classroom, and Cecile waits for me by the door. ‘That was a clever little stunt,’ she says. ‘Dropping your books like that.’

  ‘I didn’t do it on purpose,’ I say.

  ‘I’ll bet.’ She walks off.

  Chapter 14

  Tanya appears beside me, smiling. ‘You want to go get a coffee while we wait for the times to go up? Practise our parts?’ She lowers her voice to a whisper. ‘Have I got some news about our new teacher.’ She waves at Tom, who is wheeling himself out of the theatre. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Oh my word, that’s exactly what I need,’ says Tom, putting a hand to his head. ‘This hangover is monumental.’

  ‘News?’ I ask. ‘About Marc?’

  ‘Well. Scandal really. So? Fancy a coffee? Or would you rather go rehearse on your own?’

  ‘Not at all,’ I say. ‘I’d love to have a coffee with you.’

  ‘He’s a bit on the strict side, don’t you think?’ Tanya whispers,’ looking over my shoulder as if Marc might magically appear. ‘I mean, we all knew he was arrogant, but today was like ... whoah! If we step out of line, just a tiny bit, we’re off the course.’

  ‘He scares the life out of me,’ I admit.

  ‘Me too,’ says Tanya. She grins. ‘But maybe in a good way.’

  We head to the college cafeteria, where I see trays of eggs and bacon laid out, left over from this morning’s breakfast.

  ‘I’m starving,’ I tell Tanya, picking up a plate. ‘I was too nervous to eat anything this morning.’

  ‘Me and Tom were too hung over,’ says Tanya.

  ‘Do you guys want any breakfast?’ I ask, picking up a tray.

  ‘Not for me, darling,’ says Tom. ‘Delicate goods today.’

  ‘Just coffee for me,’ says Tanya.

  I pile up the plate with eggs, bacon, tomato, hash brown and toast. We all get coffees and take a table by the window. There’s a fir tree outside with a few magpies hoping between its branches.

  ‘So,’ I say, unable to contain my curiosity any longer. ‘What’s the news?’

  Tom pulls the Daily Mail from his khaki rucksack. ‘Check out page four.’

  I flick pages, and see a headline: Blackwell Spanks Starlet

  The pictures are all grainy and black and white, but I see the outline of two silhouettes and the gleam of bare skin. The female silhouette is bent over a bed, and the male has his hand raised over her.

  ‘Oh my god,’ I say. ‘Is that ... Mr Blackwell?’

  ‘Looks like it, doesn’t it?’ says Tanya. ‘The article says the woman is Pen Harding. You know – the porn actress.’

  ‘What he does in his private life is his own business,’ says Tom. ‘So what if he likes to play it a bit rough? Don’t we all have our sexual preferences?’

  I nod, glued to the image of the tall, broad silhouette with his hand raised.

  Tom picks up the paper. ‘I mean, this article makes out like he’s some sort of pervert or something. It’s not exactly hard core, a little bit of spanking.’ He wiggles his eyebrows. ‘I’m sure you two girls have done much worse.’

  ‘Not me,’ I say. ‘I’m twenty two and haven’t done anything more than a double bed with the lights off.’

  ‘No!’ Tom laughs. ‘A lovely thing like you? It doesn’t seem right. You need to get out more.’

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘But there was so much to do at home. Cleaning, looking after my dad and my little brother. And working. I didn’t have time for anything much.’

  ‘Hopefully you’ll meet some handsome young man here who shows you a great many variations,’ says Tom. ‘And if you can’t find a handsome one, I’m always willing to step in.’

  ‘You are handsome,’ I tell Tom. And I mean it. Okay, he’s a little overweight, but he has lovely green eyes, dark black hair and tanned skin, and his personality is as large as the cafeteria.

  Looking at the newspaper pictures makes me feel strange. ‘It might not be Marc,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe not,’ says Tanya. ‘But newspapers don’t often get it wrong. People sue.’

  It’s not that I have a problem with the picture exactly, it’s just ... I don’t know. It’s way out of my comfort zone. It’s none of my business, anyway. Why do I feel so ... unsettled?

  ‘So is she his girlfriend or something?’ I ask, feeling like a stupid, jealous schoolgirl.

  ‘He doesn’t have girlfriends, does he?’ says Tanya. ‘Isn’t that what Heat magazine and all that always say? Never for more than a few days or weeks. He’s photographed with a different woman every month, practically. All beautiful, sexy Hollywood types. But he never dates anyone for long.’

  ‘He’s only young,’ says Tom. ‘Too young to be a lecturer, really. I didn’t like all that discipline nonsense. I have a hard time following rules.’

  ‘What about you Soph?’ Tanya asks. ‘How did you feel about how strict he was? And having a performance so soon?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I don’t know what to make of any of it.’

  Chapter 15

  When the paper goes up on the notice board, it’s immediately surrounded by jostling students looking to see their names.

  I wait at the back, feeling nervous. Will my performance be today or tomorrow? It almost doesn’t matter. Whether it’s sooner or later, I just don’t know if I can perform this part, especially in such close proximity to such an amazing actor.

  Tom waits with me, but Tanya manages to squeeze through.

  I hear Cecile say, ‘Oh great,’ and push through the crowds in a huff. When she reaches me she hisses, ‘I have my own books to drop, you know. Don’t think you’ve won.’

  ‘I’m not trying to win anything,’ I say. ‘I really did drop my books by accident.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to be spending time alone with Marc in the theatre this afternoon, and I intend to make every second count.’ She storms off.

  I move closer to the board. ‘Oh shit, shit, shit.’ My name is right at the top of the list. I’m first. I’m performing at one o’clock today.

  Tanya appears beside me. ‘I was trying to find you,’ she said. ‘Sorry for the bad news. But at least you get it over with. Me and Tom are today too. Not long after you. What did Cecile just say?’

  ‘Oh, she thinks I dropped my books on purpose this morning. I dropped my books and Marc, I mean, Mr Blackwell picked them up. But it was an accident.’

  ‘She’s an idiot,’ Tanya snorts.

  ‘I’m first,’ I murmur to myself, blinking in disbelief. I look again, just in case I’ve misread it, but there I am. Sophia Rose. Right at the top. I’m seeing Marc in less than two hours. ‘Oh shit. I’d better start practising. See you later.’

  I hurry back to my room, where the roses are perky and beautiful by the window. The card is still propped beside them.

  I look over my copy of Call of the Night, and flick to my scene. We checked over our scenes while we were having coffee, and I was re
lieved to find mine isn’t too bad. It’s the scene where Jennifer talks to her theatre director about giving her the role. Just talking. It didn’t escape my attention that I’ll be talking to Marc, but as Tanya said, it’s still easier than doing a monologue.

  I power up my laptop, and look up a plot precise for Call of the Night online. I’m familiar with the story, but not that familiar. I haven’t looked at this particular play since school.

  I find a website that summarises the play.

  Call of the Night

  Jennifer Jones, a young ballerina, is desperate to succeed at any cost. To win the lead in the Nutcracker, she seduces her elderly theatre director and wins the role. However, the public don’t warm to her, and when she is booed off stage, she commits suicide. The play investigates issues of age gaps in relationships and female empowerment.

  For some reason, the grainy black and white picture of Marc and Pen springs to mind. I can’t help thinking about it. I Google Pen Hardy, and see various images of a tanned, blonde beach babe with huge fake breasts and lips twice the size they should be.

  I look at myself in the mirror. My lips are big – true. And my eyes are okay. A nice brown colour, with really long eyelashes. But I’m nothing like Pen who, for all her enhancements, is clearly a beautiful woman.

  I know I should go back to studying the play, but my fingers stray to the keyboard, and I find myself Googling: Marc Blackwell girlfriend.

  More images come up, all of beautiful women. Some look like Pen – painted and fake, but beautiful none the less. Others just look beautiful. Straight, white teeth, glowing skin, shiny hair and gorgeous clothes.

  I read the articles, and they all talk about Marc being seen ‘partying all night’ with someone, or ‘leaving a hotel’. But none talk about a girlfriend. There’s an article about a woman throwing a drink in his face.

  He doesn’t sound like a nice guy, I think. And yet ... there’s something about him that tells me he’s complicated. There’s more to him than meets the eye.

  I check my watch and realise, with a stomach flip, that it’s nearly time for my audition.

  Chapter 16

  The Queen’s theatre at Ivy College was built in honour of Dame Gabriela Knight. I know this because when I reach the red-brick building, there’s a gold plaque on the door that tells me about the esteemed actress who made the theatre possible.

  It tells me something else too. The theatre was commissioned last year and finished just three months ago. Which means we’ll be the first students to use it. In fact, it’s entirely possible I will be the first student to use it. Which does nothing for my nerves.

  I think about the old man I met on my audition day, and what he said about Marc turning the whole building to glass and concrete. This theatre has been built to look exactly like the other buildings. Which suggests that maybe Marc isn’t out to ruin the look and history of Ivy College after all.

  I push open the double doors, which are arched like everything else around here, and find the theatre in darkness and silence.

  To my left, I find a white panel of light switches and flick them all on.

  Rows of plush, red-velvet seats appear, lined up in front of a curved stage made from highly polished wood. The stage itself is bright now, and seeing it makes my heart leap. I love stages. I love being on stage. I love looking out at the darkened faces of the audience, hearing their reactions to my performance.

  Hanging from the ceiling are dozens of lights that I’m guessing cost thousands each.

  Everything is in place, but there’s no Marc. I suck in my breath and venture further inside.

  As I reach the stage, I hear the door slam and clipped footsteps. I spin around.

  Marc Blackwell walks towards the stage. He sees me, but doesn’t say a word at first. Instead, he walks right to the front row and takes a seat.

  ‘Hel-lo.’ I stammer.

  ‘Are you ready to entertain me this afternoon, Miss Rose?’ His voice is so deep, I feel it all the way to my feet.

  I swallow. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I guess I am.’ I stand awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

  He stares at me intently, a devilish smile pulling at the corners of his lips. ‘Well?’ he says eventually.

  ‘Well what?’ I ask.

  ‘What are you waiting for? Get up on the stage.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Sorry,’ I murmur, finding the three wooden steps up to the stage. I stumble on the first one, and catch myself on smooth wood.

  ‘Nervous?’ Marc gets to his feet.

  ‘Yes,’ I admit.

  ‘Don’t be.’ He takes my arm and steadies me so I can get up. I feel his warmth against my skin and smell his cologne. It’s the same scent I smelt on the card.

  I climb up on stage and Marc steps back.

  ‘Let’s see what you can do,’ he says, pacing back and forth. ‘You are ...’ He opens a laptop case and pulls out a script. ‘Call of the Night. Our femme fatale, Jennifer. Persuading Jonathan to give her the part.’

  I clear my throat and head to the centre of the stage. ‘I don’t think I’ll be very good,’ I say. ‘It’s so different from the parts I usually play.’

  ‘I know,’ says Marc. ‘That’s why I selected it. I looked over your CV, and the notes I made at your audition. Wonderful acting, but nothing too provocative. All very nicey nicey parts, and usually naive young girls. I want to see your sultry side. Jennifer knows what she wants. She uses her body and her brain to succeed. Let’s see what you make of her.’

  ‘Right.’ I take the play from my pocket, but Marc bounds up the stage steps and takes it from my hands.

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘Why do you think I gave you so little time to practise? I’d like to see you feel the part. To use your subconscious and your imagination to become the character.’

  ‘But I really don’t know the character too well.’ I can feel the heat of his body. He’s too close. It’s uncomfortable. I take a step back. ‘Mr Blackwell, I don’t think I can do this.’

  ‘You can.’

  I feel tears coming. ‘Mr Blackwell, I can’t,’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t want to leave the college, but I’m just not good enough.’

  Marc shakes his head. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  I look away, embarrassed by my tears.

  ‘Look at me,’ he whispers.

  I do, and I see his eyes are searching back and forth.

  ‘You can do it,’ says Marc. ‘You are what you believe you are. If you believe you’re not good enough, then you’ll fail. Here, in my college, I make sure everyone believes in themselves. You’re a good actress. I’ve seen you perform. You can do this. I’ll start reading as Jonathan, and you jump in, okay?’

  He steps back, and begins pacing around the stage.

  ‘Okay.’ I clear my throat again, and try to make my body feel more like Jennifer. But I’m so uptight. So rigid. Fear is holding me captive.

  ‘Ready?’ Marc asks.

  I give a little nod, but I’m not ready at all.

  Chapter 17

  ‘Thank you for your time, Jennifer,’ Marc begins, his posture and voice changing to that of an older man. ‘I’ve seen enough for today. I’ll let you know.’

  I swallow, thinking of the script. The words buzz around my mind, tripping over themselves and confusing me. He wants me to adlib, I think. I try to let it all go. Instead of feeling fear, I try to feel what Jennifer must be feeling, as the type of person she is. Anger. Frustration. To have worked so hard for a part, and not be given it.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think you’ve seen enough at all,’ I say, feeling my shoulders pull back, and my hips sway to the left. ‘I really do have so much more to show you.’

  Something flashes in Marc’s eyes. He looks pleased.

  ‘No, we’re finished,’ says Marc. He’s such an amazing actor. I feel like he’s aged ten years right in front of me. His posture, his voice ... amazing. ‘I have many more dancers to see today.’

  ‘Really?’ I raise an eyebrow
and step towards him. ‘Because I think maybe, if you can postpone them, I can win you over.’

  ‘Oh?’ Marc asks.

  I know the words I want to say. The words the character should say. But they stick in my throat.

  ‘Well?’ Marc cocks his head.

  I shake my head. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Blackwell. I can’t ... I just can’t. I know what I want to say, but I can’t say it. This is too much of a challenge for me, right now.’

  ‘Okay.’ He jumps down the theatre steps, and takes a seat. ‘I was pushing you. That was the idea. But this is definitely an area you need to build on. If you can’t play a provocative role, you’ll always be limited in how open you can be with the audience.’

  A provocative role. I feel myself shiver a little at those words. How can he say them so easily, whereas I can’t even pretend to play a femme fatale? I feel pathetic.

  ‘I can’t honestly say you’ve impressed me today,’ says Marc. ‘We’ll see.’ He folds his fingers together. ‘Okay. Performance finished. Let the next one in, would you?’

  I walk down the stage steps, past Marc and along the seating aisle. At the door, I turn back.

  ‘I feel like I let you down,’ I say. ‘I should have been able to play that part better.’

  ‘Yes, you should have,’ Marc says.

  What does that mean? I think. Was my performance good enough to pass or not?

  Outside the theatre, Ryan is waiting.

  ‘Dropped any more books recently?’ he says.

  I ignore him.

  Chapter 18

  In the cafeteria, there are comfy looking red sofas and armchairs away from where food is served, and Tanya is curled up on a chair, studying the Taming of the Shrew. She stares intently at the pages. She’ll probably do a great job of her performance.

  The thought depresses me. Have I failed? What if I’m out? I sink into a comfy chair beside her, thinking I might treat myself to a cheer-up hot chocolate.