That moment had been for real and not just a rehearsal. It was a chance that had gone for ever, and knowing that stung, like a hard cold slap. Mum was right; I hoped there would be other auditions, other chances, but that one would never come round again.
Danny was already sitting at his desk as I walked in. I offered him a small apologetic shrug.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s all right,” he said, pulling out a chair so I could sit next to him. “You’re having a bad day. I know you feel bad about that audition, but you’re brilliant, Ruby. If you don’t get it, it’s because something bigger and better is waiting for you.” I smiled at him as I sat down, and he picked up my hand. “And look, those fan letters are really nothing. Look, here’s one I got this morning. I haven’t even opened it yet. You open it.” I knew I should have said, “Oh, don’t be so silly,” but I nodded and took the letter and opened it. The handwriting was large and round and some of the words weren’t exactly spelt right.
Dear Danny from the TV,
I think you are really brilyant and good in kensinton heights. You are my favourite and mummy lets me stay up until nine o clock when its on to see you because you are so good. She said I could write in and join a fan club if I wanted because you are really good. Please can I have a signed photo. I have a rabbit called Danny too.
Thank you very much
Love from
Kirsty Green aged six and a half and a bit
“Oh bless!” I said, handing the letter to Danny. “That’s so cute that little girls like you!”
“Yeah, well,” Danny said, “I told you. I mean not all of them are from six-year-olds, obviously, and even if some of them do go on about fancying me, it doesn’t make a difference to us. You do know that, don’t you?”
I nodded. “Of course I do,” I said.
“Because it would be stupid to get jealous over a load of letters,” Danny said.
“I know,” I said. “And I’m not jealous any more.”
“Before we begin…” Miss Greenstreet stood at the front of the class in her long gypsy skirt, bouncing on the balls of her feet. That meant only one thing—Shakespeare. She only ever bounced when we read Shakespeare. She said once that she loved teaching English at the academy because at least when students read aloud in class they sounded like they meant it. Once Menakshi and Michael read the death scene in Romeo and Juliet and Miss Greenstreet actually cried. I don’t know why—it wasn’t that good.
“Class!” Miss Greenstreet raised her voice a little, and the chattering settled and quietened. “Two of you will be excused from class today because Ms Lighthouse wants to see you in her office immediately.”
“It wasn’t me!” Michael Henderson shouted from the back of the class. A few of the boys sniggered and laughed.
“Actually, Michael, it’s not because of something someone’s done wrong. It’s because of something two other people have done right.” Miss Greenstreet lowered her voice a little and smiled. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but I think it’s about the auditions for Mr Dubrovnik.” Anne-Marie and Nydia looked at each other and gripped hands tightly. “So,” Miss Greenstreet said, smiling broadly, “can Anne-Marie and Ruby go to Ms Lighthouse’s office right away, please?”
Anne-Marie, who had jumped up at the sound of her name, sat down heavily again.
“It’s the brush-off,” Menakshi called from behind me. “She’s telling the losers first that they haven’t got through. Hey, Nydia, you might be getting a call back!”
Nydia said nothing, but looked from me to Anne-Marie. Anne-Marie stood up again, the sparkle and smile gone from her face. She knew that to be called with me meant rejection.
“Come on,” she said. “We might as well go and get it over with.”
Miss Greenstreet smiled at us as we headed for the door.
“You never know, girls, it might be good news,” she said. But neither one of us replied.
“I really thought I was good,” Anne-Marie said as we trudged towards Ms Lighthouse’s office.
“You were good,” I said. “I was the terrible one.”
“Exactly,” Anne-Marie said.
Ms Lighthouse’s office door was open and her assistant Mrs Moore nodded for us to go in. It was hard to tell what kind of news we were going to get from Mrs Moore’s expression, as never once had anyone ever seen her smile, frown or have any kind of expression at all. She was permanently in neutral, with a face like a mask that might hide thousands of raging thoughts and emotions.
“Sit,” Sylvia Lighthouse commanded us as we walked into her office, and we obeyed promptly. She leaned forward across her desk on her elbows and examined each one of us carefully before sitting back in her chair.
“Well, well,” she said, more to herself than to us. “Cometh the hour, cometh the girls.”
“Huh?” Anne-Marie and I said together.
Chapter four
“But—are you sure?” I said, quite unable to believe what Sylvia Lighthouse had just told Anne-Marie and me. “Because I was really terrible.”
“I wasn’t,” Anne-Marie said. “I was great.”
Sylvia read aloud again the fax she had in her hand.
“‘Dear Ms Lighthouse,’” she read, affecting a gruff New York accent. “‘Thank you for sending your young ladies to audition for the part of Polly Harris in The Lost Treasure of King Arthur. There are two that interested me and whom I’d like to see again this Friday: Ruby Parker and Anne-Marie Chance. Details to follow.’” Sylvia Lighthouse put the fax down on the table and looked at us.
“He wants to see you two again,” she said. “This time it will be a longer audition. You’ll read through a scene chosen by Mr Dubrovnik that you won’t get to rehearse before you arrive, and I know he sometimes likes to get actors doing improvisation work, to see who has the right ‘chemistry’. You might have to do some of that.”
Anne-Marie and I looked at each other.
“Um…” I said, not quite able to believe what I was about to say, “Ms Lighthouse, I think he’s got me mixed up with someone else—Nydia maybe? Because I…threw up in my audition. In front of him.” Ms Lighthouse raised her eyebrows and wrinkled her long nose.
“Well, Ruby, he doesn’t say he thought you were good. He says he thought you were interesting. He has not made a mistake. Mr Dubrovnik is not the sort of man to make mistakes.” She tapped her nails on the desk and looked at us. “Now, as I understand, there are three other girls from other ‘sources’ also going to this second call-back, so the chances of you progressing further are slim. Nevertheless, shooting is due to begin within the month, so we need to assume the impossible and talk practicalities with your parents.”
“Mine are in South Africa,” Anne-Marie said, and then, after a moment, “and Canada. Dad’s in Canada.”
I glanced at Anne-Marie. Usually the fact that her movie-producer dad and fashionista mum were more often abroad on business than at home didn’t seem to bother her too much. But sometimes, like just at that moment, you could see her bravado drop a little, and you got a tiny glimpse of sadness. Most of the school thought she had the best time ever, living in her big posh house with only her older brother and their housekeeper Pilar to look after her. But I knew that sometimes, just sometimes, Anne-Marie would like nothing more than to be grounded by one or preferably both of her parents, just as long as they were at home.
“Very well. I’ll need contact numbers then—and, Ruby, I’ll phone your mother and father separately. They will both need to consent.”
“OK,” I said. It still felt strange that they had separate home phone numbers.
“For whoever gets the part of Polly Harris it will be an intensive six-week shoot. Child working laws still apply, of course, so it does mean that if either of you two get the part, you would be taken out of school for the remainder of this term and taught on set by a specially provided tutor, who will know your curriculum and will make su
re you do not fall behind with your school work.” Ms Lighthouse gave us one of her brief twitches of a smile. “You will also need an adult guardian with you at all times.”
“I don’t think either of my parents will be able to do that,” Anne-Marie said, looking a little downcast. “I don’t think we’ve spent six weeks in one place together ever in my life.”
“Well,” Ms Lighthouse said. “If needs be, Anne-Marie, I’ll chaperone you myself. I won’t have you missing out on a chance like this. So don’t you worry about that.” She gave Anne-Marie one of her brief, rare, full-length smiles.
“Now, you two must focus on Friday. Ruby, you suffered terribly from nerves the last time. I want you to harness those nerves; make them work for you. Don’t let anything knock you off course again. Mr Dubrovnik must have seen something in you to make him want to see you again. Try and think what that might have been and give it a chance to really shine. Anne-Marie, you are a lovely-looking girl, but don’t rely on good looks to get you through this. Mr Dubrovnik may be shooting an action film, but he wants actors in it, not mannequins. He hasn’t won two Oscars just for casting pretty faces. You have talent, make sure you use it.” Anne-Marie and I nodded, and then I thought of Nydia sitting in English class still thinking that she might have got called back.
“Excuse me, Ms Lighthouse,” I asked her. “Does that mean no one else from the academy is going back?”
“I’m afraid so,” she said, looking at her watch. “I want you to go to the library for the remainder of your lesson until lunch break. I’ll be seeing those other girls now.” She studied mine and Anne-Marie’s faces for a moment and I could guess what she saw there. I hardly knew myself how I felt.
“Don’t feel bad about it, girls,” she said, her voice unexpectedly softened. “This is what acting is about. Sometimes seeing your friends fail means that you have succeeded.”
Mrs Moore watched us as we filed out of Sylvia Lighthouse’s office and turned right towards the library. Then she left her desk and began walking steadily to fetch the other girls who hadn’t made it through. The other girls including Nydia.
“Poor Nydia,” I whispered to Anne-Marie as we sat over open books that we had plucked from the shelves without even reading the title. I wanted to run about and scream and laugh, but given that we had been sent to the library all of those things were impossible. So instead we had to sit and wait until we could tell everyone else—tell Nydia.
“I know,” Anne-Marie said. “But you heard what she said, she said don’t feel bad because—”
“I know,” I said. “But I don’t want it to be like that, do you? I don’t want to be that competitive. And friends you count on, friends like Nydia and you, are really important. I don’t ever want to see a friend fail so that I can succeed.”
“But did you honestly feel like that this morning before you knew you had been called back?” Anne-Marie asked me. I shrugged, but said nothing. She was right, though. If I was really, really honest, this morning a part of me had hoped that none of us would get the part so we could all go back to being normal again. It was only now that I knew I was getting called back that I truly wished Nydia was coming too.
“Look, Ruby,” Anne-Marie whispered, “acting is one big competition. And somehow, by some amazing miracle, you—Ruby Parker—are one of the winners at the moment. And that’s all you’ve got to think about right now. I know that’s all I’m thinking about. And Nydia will be happy for us; like you said, she is a good friend.”
I stared blankly at the pages of words in front of me without reading them.
Somehow the impossible had happened. Somehow I had done something right, something that meant I was going to get another chance to impress Mr Dubrovnik, to get the part of Polly Harris. I didn’t know what I had done or how I had done it, but I did know one thing: I was going to give the best performance of my life.
This time, I was going to be brilliant.
Chapter five
The Waldorf Hotel in London was the poshest place I had ever been to in my life. OK, I haven’t been to that many posh places unless you count award ceremonies, and they are usually held in a theatre or TV studio, which aren’t nearly as posh as they look on TV.
“This is the life, hey, Ruby?” Dad said, winking as we waited in the foyer for Mr Dubrovnik to call us up, with my mum, Anne-Marie and Sylvia Lighthouse herself, who had decided to replace Miss Greenstreet on this occasion as it was “a matter of academy honour”.
“Totally,” I said, looking around me at the gold and the mirrors and the soft chair and posh orange ladies with big hair and big sunglasses and heavy-looking jewellery.
“Frank!” My mum looked as nervous as I felt. “Try not to look like a tourist.”
“It’s a hotel,” Dad said, shrugging and grinning at me. “It’s built for tourists, hey, Rube?” I laughed because I knew he was trying to make me laugh, thinking it would take my mind off my nerves. And in a way it did, because the two of them being here together reassured me and made me feel safe again in a way that just one of them, try as they might, could not.
It was great that Mum and Dad had decided that both of them were coming with me to this important audition. And I was glad that they’d had a long phone conversation about it, a conversation during which no one had raised their voice or slammed down the receiver (or in our case pressed the “End Call” button really firmly). And I was really glad when Mum had come into the living room where I had been earwigging and said, “I suppose you heard, Dad’s coming too on Friday. So that’ll be nice, won’t it?”
That seemed to be like a big step to me, part of the general air of friendship that had gradually begun to build between them since that horrible night when Dad left us and it had seemed as if nothing would be right in our family again. OK, they were living apart and Dad had his so-called “girlfriend”. And yes, Mum had cut her hair and started wearing make-up to go to the supermarket. Not to mention arranging sleepovers for me so she could go to salsa classes with her friends, who as it turned out she had a lot more of than I realised. But, I decided, as strange and as uncomfortable as some of that made me feel, it didn’t matter as long as they were talking to each other and not hating each other, and sometimes when it was really important I could have both of them together again looking after me. I couldn’t have them back together again but I knew this was the next best thing.
Anne-Marie crossed the polished marble floor to my side and grinned at me.
“Well,” she said, “how are you feeling?” I paused to listen for any early-warning gurgle from my tummy.
“Strangely OK,” I said, sounding slightly surprised. “You?”
“I’m OK,” she said, biting her glossy lip. “It was sweet of Nydia to call us this morning and wish us good luck, wasn’t it?” she said. “Good old Nydia, she’s been really great about this, hasn’t she?”
“Yes,” I said, although I hadn’t spoken to Nydia that morning or the night before. Perhaps she had called home just after I’d left. Or maybe she’d been trying my mobile, which Sylvia had made us turn off before we came into the hotel.
“You can come up now.” Lisa Wells appeared as if from nowhere and spoke so loudly that the posh orange people stopped to look at her from over the tops of their morning papers. At the sound of her voice I felt my stomach tighten and gurgle.
“You can do this, love,” Dad said. “You’re the best, remember that!” I nodded as our little group headed for the lift.
“We have two suites reserved—one for waiting in, the other for a brief rehearsal with a member of the cast and then the screen test. Ruby, you’re going in first, so less chance for you to inflate the hotel’s extra cleaning charges, and Anne-Marie, you’ll be waiting in the second suite. There will be refreshments while you wait. It won’t take long—a little over half an hour, I think. Then you’ll go in, Anne-Marie, and Ruby can wait. Is that OK, girls?”
“That will be perfectly fine,” Ms Lighthouse said before either of us
could open our mouths.
At first I sort of wished I had been in a suite at the Waldorf Hotel for some reason other than auditioning for a part in the new film of world-famous movie director Art Dubrovnik. Then I could have enjoyed it even more.
The waiting suite was amazing: the biggest bedroom I have ever seen in my life. In fact, you couldn’t really call it a bedroom, it was more like an apartment, with a huge living room, bathroom and even an upstairs. Of course, Anne-Marie swanked around like she spent her whole life in hotel rooms like this one, and given that her mum and dad were in the top fifty richest people in the country, she probably had. I on the other hand was awestruck and so were my parents, although my mum didn’t look around the room open-mouthed with awe like my dad did, she sat still on the edge of the blue silk sofa and looked afraid to touch anything.
“I’ll be right back,” Lisa said, her eye raking over Anne-Marie and me again. “There’s tea and fresh coffee over there, or take what you like from the minibar as long as it’s legal.” As Sylvia Lighthouse busied herself pouring coffee and tea for my parents, Anne-Marie crossed straight to a part of the wall that I had thought was just white-painted wooden panelling and opened it to reveal a tiny but well-stocked fridge.
She handed me a Coke and took one for herself.
“How did you know that was there?” I asked her, impressed.
“It was obvious,” she said. “Minibars are always in the same place, aren’t they?” I said nothing and went and sat next to my mum and sipped my drink. Sylvia Lighthouse was talking but I wasn’t listening. All I could think about was that it was me who would be going to audition first. I knew that it was going to happen, but I couldn’t quite believe it. Somehow it didn’t seem real. It felt like I was already playing a part in a film.
“OK.” Lisa Wells opened the door. “Ruby, come this way, please.”
Film Star Page 3