Behind the Scenes

by Anita Notaro

This however, was different. It happened one fairly ordinary day, as she sat on the side of the set, watching and picking up tips and waiting for her own recording, which was not scheduled for another two hours. As usual she was dressed and made up way too early. The girls in wardrobe and make-up were used to her by now and teased her about being too eager, but in reality they were impressed with her dedication. Few realized how important this was to her. Being part of a successful show, even for a while, made all her struggles worthwhile.

  She sat quietly in a corner as the floor manager yelled the names of four actors needed into a portable handset, staging rushed around getting ready for a new scene and lighting and sound argued over positions. Her heart quickened even before she saw him, as if it knew he might be something special. Marc strolled in ahead of the others, chatting to Rhonda, a dark, attractive production assistant. Everyone greeted him warmly, as if pleased to see him and Annie noticed one of the camerawomen fixing her hair as soon as she saw him.

  There was more than the usual banter as people took their places and waited for final checks. Annie simply couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was divine – she had to stop herself staring and try to pretend nonchalance.

  He grinned a lot and flirted outrageously, but in such a way that he got away with it. It was a lethal combination for the would-be star hovering in the wings.

  Marc’s scene was over in about twenty minutes and she saw him looking in her direction as he said goodbye to the floor manager. She became conscious of her tight black skirt and plunging, stretchy, see-through top. She busied herself with her script, but when she heard the Australian accent she knew it was directed at her.

  ‘Hi, are you Bobby?’

  She looked up at a pair of the bluest eyes, then plunged straight in and drowned. That was it. Everything started working faster: her blood was pumping at twice its normal speed and her heart was in danger of exploding.

  ‘Yes, hi.’ She stood up quickly, in case he moved away, and tried to think of anything at all to say. It didn’t work. She sat down again, afraid she might swoon. God, if they were recording this it would make great TV, she thought, licking her dry lips.

  He grinned and Annie turned purple. ‘I wondered what you’d be like when I read the part. I’m Marc Robinson and as you probably saw I play Alan.’

  ‘Yes, I was watching.’ It came out like Donald Duck. He laughed and she cleared her throat. ‘I’m eh, Annie, Annie Weller.’

  It sounded nearly normal.

  ‘Are you on next?’

  ‘Eh, no, not for another couple of hours.’

  ‘God but you’re keen.’ He grinned and she blushed again.

  ‘Just trying to take it all in,’ she stammered. ‘I’ve never done television before.’

  ‘Hey, only kidding. Fancy a coffee?’ In his glorious Australian drawl it sounded more like ‘fancy a ride?’ and she wanted anything he was offering.

  ‘I was just thinking of getting one,’ she lied, jumping up again a touch too quickly.

  ‘Great, let’s go and you can tell me all about Annie Weller.’ He flashed her a dazzling smile and she felt sick.

  They had coffee in the canteen and it might as well have been the Ritz. She was so engrossed that the stage manager had to come looking for her for a final make-up check and she was mortified.

  She learned that Marc was from Sydney, thirty-two years of age, single, had an apartment in Rathgar, an exclusive suburb of south Dublin. He had three sisters – one in London, one in New York and one, the baby, still at home.

  He asked her about herself and she found little to tell; but she told him how her mother had died and was happy to talk about the men in her life. She didn’t mention her health. Men were funny about breast cancer, she’d discovered from an actor years ago. She could still remember every word.

  ‘I’m cured, and . . . still have my breasts. And . . . it’s not as if I’ve got huge scars or anything.’ She still got embarrassed just thinking about that encounter. He’d looked horrified for an instant and then almost immediately his look changed to pity and he made an excuse to leave shortly afterwards. She never heard from him again and was convinced he’d told the others in their circle. She imagined whispers and pitying looks. She’d made sure it never happened to her again.

  Almost an hour later Annie and Marc said goodbye and he offered to buy her a pint some night, but didn’t ask for her number.

  ‘Sure, that’d be great.’ She didn’t want to sound too keen and anyway Mags, the stage manager, was loitering, having lost actresses to Marc Robinson many times in the past.

  ‘Cute guy,’ she said casually to Annie as they strolled down the corridor.

  ‘He seems nice.’ What an understatement.

  ‘He’s very nice but he seems to have a lot of girlfriends. Be careful. I think he has a—’ Her pager went off and she was all business again within seconds. One of the actors had gone walkabout in the middle of a take. Mags left Annie to make her own way over and hurried off, ready to bawl someone out. Annie was surprised to find herself gutted by the casual statement. She didn’t want Marc to have any women friends.

  Don’t be stupid, you’ve only just met him. He’s a good-looking guy, of course he has girlfriends. Annie continued this train of thought right up until she stepped onto the studio floor, then forced all images of him from her mind, knowing that otherwise she’d never be able to concentrate.

  She half hoped he might have stuck around for her scene, but he was nowhere in sight as she left the building, having casually checked out the green-room and the canteen just in case. Next day she found herself glancing at the recording schedule and was disappointed to see that he wasn’t in any other scenes that week. She moped.

  The following Saturday he was in rehearsal. They had lunch together and she smiled a lot and was happy.

  On Tuesday, after they’d both finished a big scene in the pub, where he had a lot to do and she virtually nothing, he suggested a pint in the local. Annie said a fervent prayer of thanks that she didn’t have to work that night and was delighted she’d worn her new jacket. Her heart tumbled again when he mentioned a drink casually to some of the others and she struggled not to burst into tears when one or two of them decided to join them. Then it soared again an hour or two later when he offered her a lift home.

  It was only nine-thirty and she sat chatting to him in the car for ages, afraid to ask him in for coffee in case he thought she was too keen. Five minutes later she couldn’t resist it, despite worrying about her well-worn, tiny house and comparing it in her head to his luxury south Dublin pad. She was gutted when he declined, citing an early start as the reason.

  ‘No problem, I’d better go in and get rid of all this make-up.’ She did her best to sound breezy.

  ‘I’ll see you on Friday, I see we’re in around the same time.’ So he’d checked the schedule too.

  ‘Friday is my last day.’ Annie couldn’t believe she might not see him again. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  ‘Well, let’s hope it’s not the last time I see you.’ He leaned over and kissed her briefly and gently on the lips. She had to restrain herself from going straight in, tongues blazing.

  ‘You’re nice.’

  ‘So are you.’

  He winked at her. ‘See you Friday.’

  She had no option but to get out of the car and she couldn’t think of a single witty goodnight.

  Chapter Twenty

  THE NEXT FEW days were a soufflé of joy and despair. Annie couldn’t believe the best job she’d ever had was coming to an end. She agonized about whether or not her contract would be renewed and went from being cheerful and optimistic one minute to feeling flat and depressed the next. Added to this complicated emotional mixture were feelings of elation when she thought of Marc’s kiss, immediately followed by a sense of impending doom when she realized she might not see him again after this week. Being in love was the pits.

  She’d had to do some tough negotiation with Owen Ke
rrigan to get Friday night off, but she simply couldn’t bear to run out of the studio on her last day and go straight back to her old, monotonous routine. This part had opened up a new world and in the space of a few short weeks she realized how hungry she was for a proper life.

  She thought about it as she made her way to the restaurant on Thursday evening, having spent the afternoon looking for something to wear for the following day.

  Over the past few years, she’d been so grateful to be alive that she hadn’t really questioned what sort of life she’d managed to carve out for herself. Thinking back on it, it was pretty grim, really. Eking out an existence, getting by from week to week, with a couple of tiny parts that didn’t pay very well her only bright spot, it could hardly be called living. Only her fierce determination made it bearable at all. This chance had made her see things clearly and it wasn’t a pretty picture. Working five nights a week and every weekend meant she had no social life, and lack of funds meant she had little control over other aspects of her life. It was depressing.

  Now, however, it seemed to have shifted from dreary black and white to glorious Technicolor and Annie desperately didn’t want to go back to grey and nondescript. As she changed into her work suit and tied her hair back in the ladies’ loo she wondered how much it all had to do with Marc Robinson.

  Friday came at last, another chance to shine. Annie chatted happily to Orla, one of the other young actresses with whom she shared a dressing room. She played the part of Beth, who worked on a till in the local supermarket. She was sassy and cute and seemed much younger than Annie, even though there was less than a year between them. In many ways Orla reminded Annie of the life she’d left behind, before the big C. It made her faintly nostalgic for her old innocence and that sense of being unstoppable.

  ‘Are you on for a pint later? It’s my last day.’ She was a little nervous in case everyone would be rushing off for the weekend, although she knew most would be back at work the following morning for another round of rehearsals. It was just like a factory production line really, except that instead of packets of biscuits or jars of jam they churned out neatly packaged forty-minute television programmes to tempt the taste buds of the mind. And no matter what, it just kept on rolling.

  Orla was making faces at herself in the mirror. She hated the overall and hairnet that made up her working clothes on the programme and they all teased her about it.

  ‘Sure, I’m looking forward to it. I should be finished by lunchtime, but I’ll meet you in the pub around six-thirty. I presume it’s the local and not the social club here, which I cannot stand?’ She added a bit more colour to her already scarlet lips.

  ‘I’d say so. I’m not even sure that anyone else will be free.’

  ‘Don’t worry, there’s always someone gasping for a pint on a Friday and anyway people will make the effort ’cause it’s your last day.’ She glanced up from pulling on her boots. ‘Speaking of which, any news yet on whether you’re coming back?’

  Annie shook her head.

  ‘Why don’t you ask Max?’

  ‘I haven’t got the courage, to be honest.’ Annie knew it sounded weak but she hated pushing herself forward where money and contracts were concerned. Her determination was channelled towards getting the parts, it was all that had ever driven her on. ‘I think I’ll just hold off for a while and see what happens.’

  ‘You need an agent.’ Orla was streetwise and not afraid to be upfront about it.

  ‘I can’t afford one.’

  ‘You can’t afford not to have one. This is a tough business.’

  As they talked, Annie felt a bit flat again. She tried to pull herself together as she hung up the new slip dress she’d bought for tonight. It was longish and flimsy with a bra-type top with skinny little straps and a skirt that was sort of floaty. The tones were soft and spring-like and matched her colouring. Teamed with her only pair of flat boots, the dress looked casual and funky, if a little summery for the time of year. She’d need to wear her denim jacket with it. It had cost 70 euro in Oasis, a fortune as far as she was concerned. She’d bought it for Marc, really, but she wasn’t admitting this to herself. It made her feel girly, something she definitely wasn’t used to. But when he’d kissed her in the car that was exactly how she felt and she liked it.

  The day flew and Annie’s last scene was called and she was nervous because it would really stretch her ability and test her as an actor. It was the one where Ted Doran explains that he wants Bobby to work privately for him and Annie had given a lot of thought to how she should play it.

  After two rehearsals they went for a take. Annie was nervous and felt she blew it. The director played it back for them and she felt even worse.

  ‘How does Tim feel about it?’ she asked the floor manager, hoping the director would ask for a second take.

  ‘He’s happy, if you are,’ came back to Annie and her heart sank. She knew she could do better but time was always against them, especially at the end of the week. Her face must have given away her feelings because the young floor manager came over and spoke quietly to her. ‘Tim wants to know if you’d like another go.’

  ‘Oh, yes, please, if there’s time. I felt I made an awful mess of that one.’ Annie was hugely relieved.

  ‘OK, folks, take two please.’ He moved off to tell props to reset. Annie took a moment to think over the scene again.

  This time her performance was completely different. She played it a bit more vulnerable to start, touching her low-cut blouse and fidgeting with the buttons as if to protect herself when Ted Doran made his offer, then reverting to the normal, harder Bobby, afraid he’d notice how unsure she really was. It was an important scene and she gave it everything. When it was over the floor manager moved off to a corner and spoke quietly into his headset, obviously talking to the director.

  ‘Tim’s coming on to the floor for a moment,’ he announced to no-one in particular and Annie’s heart sank. That meant a problem, usually, and Annie immediately assumed it was her. Tim Furlong was a small man who’d been directing drama for years, both in the UK and Ireland. He was very dramatic himself, a bit of a queen really, and he name-dropped all the time about the ‘prima donnas’ he’d had to put up with. Everyone liked him though, he was funny and sharp and sarcastic, and now he headed for Annie.

  ‘Darling that was great but you’re going to kill me because we had a problem with vision and I need another take. I’m really sorry about this.’ He glanced at Stephen to include him. ‘I’ve bawled out the relevant people and they’ve assured me this one will be fine. Could you bear to do it one more time?’

  Annie didn’t care how many times she had to do it as long as it wasn’t her fault, and thankfully Stephen Wilson was fine about it as well.

  Take three went OK, although Annie wasn’t sure she’d captured the moment as successfully as she had in the previous take but when she saw it back she was pleased.

  For a change this time everyone was happy and they all seemed genuinely sorry when she announced forlornly, ‘That’s my final scene.’

  ‘Well, if they’ve any sense upstairs they’ll bring you back quickly.’ Ben, a shy, smiling cameraman, took off his headset and came over to shake her hand. ‘It’s been a pleasure working with you.’

  Annie felt her face turn beetroot with pride. ‘Hear hear!’ one of the older stagehands shouted from the corner. Annie ran over and hugged the man, who’d been especially kind to her.

  ‘Is this a private snogging session or can anyone join in?’ a voice asked from the other side of the studio and Annie felt the familiar feeling in her tummy.

  ‘Come on, gorgeous, I’ll buy you a beer.’ Marc Robinson was smiling at her warmly and she grinned back, delighted.

  ‘Great, I need one after that.’

  He put his arm around her casually as they strolled out towards the dressing rooms and Annie wanted to stay there, feeling safe and protected, for ever.

  ‘I’ll be five minutes,’ she warned him as she ru
shed to change into her new clothes.

  ‘Sure you don’t want company?’ He grinned and she laughed and ran away.

  The pub was Friday evening rush hour busy but luckily a couple of other actors had snatched a big corner and Annie and Marc joined them.

  ‘Hello, you two look very cosy.’ Tessa Rowan who played Carla was smiling, but not with her eyes. Annie knew she was one of the prima donnas on the series. Nothing ever seemed to be right for her and she constantly criticized people but always behind their back. Annie was a bit afraid of her.

  ‘Hey Tessa, you’re just jealous,’ Marc joked. Annie suspected there was more than a grain of truth in his words.

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ the older woman said, still smiling. ‘I only date men.’

  ‘Ouch. Vicious.’ Stephen Wilson had joined them. ‘I think we should stay out of this one, Annie. Come on, I’ll buy you a drink. Marc, pint of Guinness?’

  ‘Cheers, mate.’ He sat down beside the actress who’d been only half teasing and pinched her leg. ‘I’m more of a man than you’ll ever need.’ It was all jokey banter but Annie sensed an undercurrent. She didn’t like the crazy feelings it aroused either and the notion of scratching the older woman’s eyes out was not one she’d experienced before. Tessa Rowan was in her early forties, and very glamorous, although she looked as if she tried a bit too hard. Annie knew she was jealous and didn’t like the alien emotion one bit. Reluctantly she joined Stephen at the bar.

  ‘Listen, I’ve really enjoyed working with you. I hope we get to do it again soon,’ he said.

  Annie nearly cried. ‘So do I. You’ve no idea how much, and thanks for saying that, it means a lot.’

  ‘You should ask Max what his plans for the character are. You deserve to know, before you take on other work.’ Annie didn’t want to tell him there was no other project on the horizon, so she just smiled weakly and shrugged.

  ‘There he is now. Why don’t you?’ Annie froze when she saw the producer come in. ‘I couldn’t, honestly. I’m just not the type. Complete and utter coward where pushing myself forward is concerned, I’m afraid. I nearly told him I’d take the part for no pay, that’s how bad I am,’ she apologized.