The One That I Want

by Lynne Shelby

  At that moment, furious that Nadia had cast doubts on my ability to do my job, there was a part of me that wanted to tell her to go screw herself. There was another part of me that knew it was raining hard outside, and that of the three girls who lived in Cassie’s house, I was the one who did not have a boyfriend picking her up that evening in an enviably luxurious motor. On balance, I think it was probably a wise decision to grit my teeth and have Leo drive me to the station, even though it meant that I had to listen to his pontificating on the state of the economy the whole way. It was, I reflected, the longest time I’d spent in his company, and it wasn’t an experience I was eager to repeat.

  ‘Enjoy the play,’ Nadia said to me as I made my escape from the car. ‘Remember me to Owen. I do hope you’re not disappointed by his performance.’

  A delay on the underground meant that I arrived at the Wardour Street Theatre later than I’d intended. Like a lot of small studio theatres, the seats weren’t numbered, and most of the audience had already taken their places in the auditorium. I thought I’d have to squeeze in at the back, but when I presented my comp ticket to the guy working front of house, he asked me if I was Owen Somer’s agent, and then showed me to a reserved seat in the front row.

  I thought, I have a theatre seat specially reserved for me by one of my clients. Check me out.

  Almost as soon as I sat down, the house lights went out, the stage lights came on, and the play, a serious drama about brothers and sisters fighting over an inheritance, began. Owen, playing the youngest brother, had only a small part, but from his first appearance I knew that I’d been right about his talent. He was extremely good, more than holding his own with the other actors, who were all experienced performers. In the interval, I didn’t go to the bar but stayed in my seat and read my programme. It had photos of the entire cast, with a list of their credits and the names of the people they wanted to thank for supporting them in their acting career. Owen’s photo was much better than the one he’d sent into the agency. I’d have to tell him to get some new headshots, I thought. I read his credits, which listed the parts he’d played at drama school and mentioned that his role in Siblings was his professional debut. I was flattered, if somewhat surprised, when I saw the only person he’d thanked for supporting him was ‘Lucy Ashford.’

  By the final scene of the play, none of the characters in Siblings were on speaking terms, one sister had tried to shoot the other, and the youngest brother was setting fire to the ancestral home. As flames engulfed the scenery, the audience, who had watched the previous scenes in shocked silence, let out a collective gasp of breath. When the actors filed on stage to take their bow, they were greeted with respectful, if not rapturous, applause. The clapping that greeted Owen, I noticed, was louder than the rest – which must have been annoying for the actor who was playing the lead role of the eldest son, but was very gratifying for me.

  Meeting a client after a show to congratulate them on a good performance was another part of my job that I loved. As soon as the actors had vanished off the stage into the wings, I grabbed my coat and dashed out of the theatre ahead of the crowd. Thankfully, it had stopped raining. I made my way down the alley at the side of the building that led to the stage door and waited for Owen to appear. After a few minutes I was joined by three middle-aged women clutching autograph books, and an elderly couple, who from their conversation, were the grandparents of one of the cast.

  The first actor to come out the stage door was the leading man. He quickly signed his autograph for the middle-aged women. They were eager to talk to him about the play, but he muttered something about having a train to catch and headed down the alley towards the street. The actress who’d played the gun-toting daughter came out next. The middle-aged women eagerly held out their autograph books, but the actress ignored them and took off at a run. The middle-aged women looked most put out.

  Then Owen came out the stage door. Before I could say anything to him, the autograph-hunters had pounced on him, thrusting their books into his hands, telling him he was the best actor in the play. He signed his name, chatted amiably, and even posed for a photograph with each of the women in turn. Then, extricating himself with a charming smile, he walked over to me.

  ‘Lucy!’ He was smiling broadly now. ‘Thank you so much for coming to see me. Did you enjoy the play?’

  ‘I don’t know if enjoy is exactly the right word for a play that dark,’ I said. ‘But it’s certainly a powerful piece of drama. And you gave a riveting performance. Congratulations, Owen. You were terrific.’

  ‘That’s so good to hear.’

  ‘How do you like appearing on stage six nights a week?’

  ‘Lucy, it’s incredible. I can’t begin to tell you…’ Owen hesitated, and then he said, ‘It’s freezing out here and there’s a wine-bar just round the corner. Shall we go and get a drink?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘But I’m buying. I can claim it back as entertaining a client on my expenses.’

  ‘No, I’m buying,’ Owen insisted. ‘Money spent entertaining my agent is tax deductible.’

  The wine-bar was packed, but I spotted a couple of girls leaving and bagged their table while Owen fought his way through the crowd to fetch us drinks. He was obviously a man who was good at getting a bartender’s attention, because he returned in minutes with a bottle of white wine and two glasses. He set the wine down on the table and took the chair across from mine. One of the barmaids put a candle on the table and lit it. It occurred to me that she thought Owen and I were a couple.

  ‘This is nice wine,’ I said, sipping my drink. ‘I so much prefer white to red.’

  Owen picked up the bottle and studied the label. ‘It was a good year.’

  ‘Do you know about wine?’

  ‘A little,’ Owen said. ‘I used to work for a wine merchant. One of the many jobs I did to fund my drama school training.’

  ‘You paid your own way through drama school?’

  Owen nodded. ‘I was eighteen. I was determined to go to drama school and become an actor, but my parents were totally against it. I couldn’t ask them for money. So I stacked supermarket shelves, drove a fork-lift truck, cleaned offices, dug the roads… Anything to earn enough to pay my fees.’

  ‘That must have been hard,’ I said.

  ‘I didn’t know what hard work meant until I’d been a road digger. In the rain.’

  ‘But now you’re an actor.’

  ‘Yes, I am. Thanks to you, Lucy.’

  ‘Thank you, for thanking me in the programme.’

  ‘You took me on at Reardon Haye. You sent me to the audition that’s got me my first professional role. You believe in me. Unlike my parents, to whom I’m a continual disappointment. Sorry, I won’t bore you by going on about my dysfunctional family – you’ve already seen quite enough of that sort of thing tonight on stage.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ I said. ‘I’m your agent. You can tell me anything.’ I drained my wine. ‘Have your parents seen you in the play?’

  ‘They’re not interested in coming to see me.’

  My face must have registered my shock. ‘But why not?’

  Owen re-filled my glass. ‘They still don’t approve of my choice of career. My father is a very successful businessman who expected me to follow him into the family firm. When I told him I’d enrolled at drama school, he went ballistic. After a lot of shouting about the thousands of pounds he’d wasted on my education, he threw me out of the house and didn’t speak to me for months. My mother, whose main purpose in life is to spend my father’s money, took his side. Even now, three years later, on the rare occasions I visit my parents, the atmosphere isn’t great.’

  ‘That has to hurt.’ I thought back to the previous summer. However exasperated my mother had been by my inability to find myself a job, she would never ever, under any circumstances, have turned me out of her house. It would have been inconceivable to either of us.

  Owen shrugged. ‘My parents and I have never been close. I ge
t on well with my sister though. She’s coming to see the play next week.’

  ‘The play ends its run the week after that, I think?’

  ‘Yep. And I’ll be a resting actor again.’

  ‘Not for long, I’m sure. There’s not much work around in December – except for pantomimes and they’re already cast – but I’ve got you a couple of auditions for shows that open in the New Year.’

  ‘I seem to have found myself a really good theatrical agent.’

  ‘And I’ve discovered a really talented actor,’ I said.

  Owen’s mouth lifted in a lazy smile. He poured out the last of the wine and raised his glass.

  ‘To a long and successful partnership,’ he said.

  We clinked glasses, and his fingers brushed lightly against mine. It seemed to me that they lingered a little too long for the touch to have been entirely accidental.

  ‘I know how important it is for an actor to work closely with their agent,’ he said. I’m looking forward to working with mine.’

  I thought, is he flirting with me? And how do I feel about that? To cover my confusion, I drank some more wine. I looked across the table at Owen. His startlingly blue eyes gazed steadily back. My heart began to beat just a little bit faster.

  A female voice called out, ‘Owen!’

  Owen glanced round and waved to a dark-haired girl who was making her way towards us through the crowded bar. When she reached our table he stood up and kissed the side of her face, and she hugged him. I saw that she was very beautiful. Stunning, in fact.

  ‘Hey, Julie,’ Owen said.

  ‘I was hoping I’d find you in here after the show,’ the girl said. ‘I wanted to tell you that I’ve got a day’s holiday on Monday, so I can come and watch you in Siblings.’

  ‘That’s fantastic,’ Owen said. ‘I’ll get you a comp.’ He added, ‘Lucy, this is Julie Diaz. We often meet up here after we’ve finished work. Julie, this is my agent, Lucy Ashford’.

  ‘Your agent?’ Julie said. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise –’ To me, she said, ‘You must think me so rude, barging in on you like this.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ I said.

  ‘I’m just so pleased that I’m going to be able to see Owen in his first professional role. I didn’t think I’d be able to get the time off.’ Julie smiled up at Owen and he smiled back at her with obvious affection. I decided that another part of my job as an agent was to know when a client had things on his mind other than his acting career. I made a show of checking the time on my watch.

  ‘It’s later than I thought,’ I said, pushing back my chair and standing up. ‘I need to get going.’

  Owen looked concerned. ‘Are you OK to get home? Would you like to share a cab?’

  ‘Oh, no, you stay here. I’ll be fine on the tube and it’s only a short walk the other end.’

  I said my goodbyes, promised to call Owen first thing on Monday with the details of the auditions I’d arranged for him, and made my way out of the still crowded bar. When I was outside, I looked back in through the window and saw that he and Julie were now sitting next to each other, their heads very close together. As I watched, she put her hand on his arm. Feeling rather foolish, because there had been a moment when I really had thought he’d been about to come on to me, I turned away and started walking to the station.

  CHAPTER 7

  ‘What do you think?’ I stood in the centre of the living room, and twirled around so that Cassie could admire my latest purchase: an oyster-coloured silk dress with cut-away lace panels and a very short skirt.

  ‘You look stunning,’ Cassie said.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I was planning to wear that sequinned dress I wore to BarRacuda, but then I thought most girls treat themselves to a new outfit for their work’s Christmas party.’

  ‘And this isn’t just any office party –’ Cassie said. ‘It’s the Reardon Haye Christmas party. Oh, there’s the doorbell.’

  I heard footsteps in the hall, the front door opening, and Nadia’s voice. A moment later, she put her head round the living room door.

  ‘Your car’s here,’ she said. ‘I’ve told the driver you’ll be a few minutes.’

  ‘Thanks, Nadia.’ Cassie got to her feet and picked up her coat. ‘Where’s my bag?’

  I gathered up my own coat and bag and followed her out into the hall.

  ‘I can’t see it,’ Cassie said. ‘I must have left it in my bedroom.’ She ran off up the stairs. Instead of going back to whatever it was she’d been doing before she’d answered the door, Nadia remained standing with me in the hall.

  ‘Another new dress, Lucy?’ she said. ‘Anyone would think it was you who was the celebrity rather than Cassie.’ She laughed uproariously, and I made myself laugh too, although I didn’t find her remark particularly amusing. Having got her hilarity under control, she continued, ‘I suppose there’ll be casting directors from all the major film and TV companies at this ‘do’ you’re going to tonight?’

  ‘I expect so,’ I said.

  ‘So the party isn’t just for the actors on Reardon Haye’s books?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’ The conversation lapsed into silence, but Nadia remained hovering at the foot of the stairs. I thought, is she angling for a last minute invitation? Not that I had any say in who was invited to the agency’s Christmas party, but standing there with Nadia, I felt very uncomfortable. I was very glad when Cassie re-appeared, brandishing her bag, and we were able to go out to the car.

  The stark meeting room on the ground floor of the Reardon Haye building had been transformed into a winter wonderland of holly, ivy and fake snow. A white tree, untraditional but very striking, decorated with white lights, took up one corner of the room. In another corner, three girls in white satin dresses trimmed with white fur belted out Christmas number ones, accompanied by piano and guitar.

  Cassie and I were amongst the first to arrive at the party, (as a Reardon Haye employee, I’d been obliged to arrive unfashionably early), but soon the event was in full swing. With the notable exception of Daniel Miller, who was still filming in Ireland, almost all of the agency’s clients put in an appearance, including those who arrived late after appearing in pantomime, and those who had to leave early because they had to be in make-up at five o’clock the next day. I chatted to the stars of sit coms, West End shows, and feature films, a young actress who had just landed a part in a soap and was very excited about it, and a world-weary older actor who was totally blasé about his forthcoming role in a National Theatre production of King Lear. Half-way through the evening Owen Somers arrived. Cassie, who’d been impressed by my description of his performance in Siblings, was eager to meet him, so I introduced them, and left them talking animatedly about the differences between acting on stage and on screen.

  The level of conversation in the room grew ever louder. The singer finished her set and was replaced by show tunes played over the meeting room’s state-of-the art sound system. Cassie came and found me to let me know that she was leaving to go and meet up with Ryan. She told me that she thought Owen was a lovely guy. When I thought about how easy it was to work with him, how pleased he always sounded when I rang to tell him I’d found him an audition, even if it was only for a walk-on part, I had to agree with her.

  Towards midnight, hoarse from talking to so many people, my feet beginning to protest at the height of my heels (oyster coloured stilettos that perfectly matched my dress), I found myself standing next to Adrian.

  Leaning close so that I could hear him above the noise of the music, the chatter and the clink of glasses, he said, ‘All these actors knocking back the mulled wine, and only one sent home in a taxi because they’re tired and emotional. I think we can say that it’s all going very well.’

  ‘Eleanor will be pleased,’ I said.

  ‘She’ll be relieved,’ Adrian said. ‘At last year’s Christmas party, two soap stars came to blows over a mince pie, and a Bafta-winning actress had to be prevented from doing an
impromptu striptease.’

  ‘You’re making that up,’ I laughed.

  ‘Would I lie to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Adrian grinned. ‘So what are your plans for Christmas, Lucy? Who are you going to be kissing under the mistletoe?’

  ‘As I’m spending Christmas with my family,’ I said, ‘I don’t think kissing under the mistletoe is going to be a huge part of my Yuletide celebrations.’

  ‘The goalkeeper still hasn’t called you then?’

  ‘No, he hasn’t, strangely enough.’

  ‘I’d try to forget him, if I were you,’ Adrian said. ‘You don’t need him. Not now that other guy is after you.’

  ‘And what guy would that be?’ I asked.

  ‘Your favourite client,’ Adrian said. ‘Owen Somers.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘You must have noticed how often he’s been coming into the agency to see you.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘He came into the agency twice last week. To collect a script. And to go over a contract.’

  ‘He’s hardly taken his eyes off you all evening,’ Adrian said.

  I glanced around the room and spotted Owen amongst a group of younger actors. He saw me at the same time as I saw him, and his face broke into a smile.

  ‘He wants you, Lucy,’ Adrian said.

  ‘No he doesn’t,’ I said. ‘He has a girlfriend.’

  ‘And your point is?’

  ‘Owen’s not like that,’ I said. ‘He’s nice.’

  ‘You think he’s nice? That poor guy.’

  ‘You’re very lucky that it’s the season of good will to all men, Adrian, or I’d be really annoyed at you right now.’

  Across the room, Owen left the group he was with and started to wend his way through the mildly inebriated crowd towards me and Adrian.

  ‘Five pounds says he asks you out before the New Year,’ Adrian said.

  ‘Not listening, Adrian.’ Helping myself to two glasses of wine from the tray of a passing waitress, I left Adrian alone with his over-active imagination, and went and joined Owen.