‘It’s probably the fear of making mistakes. Embarrassing yourself, being laughed at.’
‘And where would be the problem with that?’
‘Well, like I said, it would be embarrassing.’ All these questions are starting to get on my nerves, but he seems to be in the mood to keep poking.
‘And,well, like I said, where would be the problem with that?’ he asks.
I sigh with frustration, but don’t speak.
‘Making yourself vulnerable, perhaps,’ he suggests. ‘Showing a side of yourself that you don’t want anyone to see? Especially not a room full of people you know?’
I nod. Mind you, I don’t know whether or not it would be easier if they were all total strangers.
‘Perfectly understandable,’ says Mr Acevedo. ‘According to one study, nine in ten people would rather run into a burning building than make a speech in public. Yet you’re standing here on that stage, and soon you’ll be facing a huge audience who have paid money to watch you. So, what do we do about that?’
‘Put it to the back of your mind,’ Eleanor mumbles.
Mr Acevedo raises his eyebrows. ‘Really, my dear Eleanor. We do not suppress it, weuseit. We let our fear become Romeo’s or Juliet’s fear. Contrary to popular opinion, it is not an actor’s job to inspire emotions in the audience. We have to bring them outwithinourselvesand let the audience share in that. And to do so, we have to show all the aspects of ourselves that we normally keep hidden from others.’ Mr Acevedo looks at Eleanor. ‘That will be easier for you, Eleanor, because you’re a woman. Society hasn’t taught you to be embarrassed to show your emotions and vulnerabilities in the way that it has for men.’ He turns to me. ‘Charlie, I know that some of your schoolmates in the audience will think they’ve got it sussed, that they know what matters in life, but I fear they still have a lot to learn. There are no rules on how to be a man, or what he ought to feel. What I’m asking you to do on this stage might be the total opposite of what counts as cool among your friends. I’d like your acting to be unconditional, and to do that you’ll embarrass yourself, make a fool of yourself, laugh, scream, cry, the whole works. But this is a safe space where there’s no room for judgement. I want you to know that. Especially you, Charlie. Please stop always wanting to be liked and show me who you really are.’
Those might be the truest words anyone’s ever spoken to me. And I might not yet be ready to accept them. I feel the resistance within me to what Mr Acevedo just said, because I feel under attack and don’t want him to be right.
But I force myself to nod. Not to look in Tori’s direction. Why am I even thinking about her at this point? Maybe because she’s the only person who knows me like that. Who’s been with me when I’ve embarrassed myself, made a fool of myself, screamed, cried. And despite that, there are those times when I’m so incredibly shy around her.
‘Good.’ Mr Acevedo claps his hands. ‘Very well, then. Let’s try it once more and see what happens.’
TORI
I don’t know how often I’ve asked myself during this rehearsalwhat I’m even doing here. Earlier, with the whole cast, I could understand it because keeping the group in order seemed an impossible task for one person. But now, when there’s only Eleanor and Sinclair on stage, I wish I could just leave.
Mr Acevedo sees things differently, though. He thought I should stay so that I’d know which scenes they were rehearsing. I spend as long as possible fiddling with my clipboard and reading through the notes I made earlier, but eventually I have to turn my attention back to the two of them.
Eleanor and Sinclair retake their positions once Mr Acevedo’s given them a little lecture. Not that they were bad earlier. There’s chemistry between them unfortunately, I have to give them that, but Sinclair in particular seems kind of restrained. Maybe it’s because I’m here. Or because it’s Eleanor he has to look at in that intense way.
She shuts her eyes and seems to be pulling herself together. Sinclair doesn’t move. Is he looking at me? What’s he doing? He should be looking at his Juliet, not into the audience.
When I frown, he seems to remember that too, and turns away. He shakes his shoulders slightly and takes a deep breath.
The two of them are a good five metres apart. Eleanor opens her eyes, and she’s so beautiful. She’s standing there, erect and proud, she knows how gorgeous she is. Sinclair looks her over slowly and self-confidently. Entirely unrushed, as if he were suddenly no longer himself. He starts at her feet and raises his eyes to her knees.
I get goosebumps because it’s so quiet and I can feel every bloody drop of desire as he studies Eleanor’s mouth. The emotions are tangible when she opens her lips slightly and casts down her eyes. Shit, it’s absolutely magical and I don’t like it. Well, I do like it, of course, because what the two of them are doing just now is art. But I’m afraid Sinclair at least isn’t acting. He’s just allowing himself to show the things he normally hides.All his fucking feelings and fascination for Eleanor.The sun, temptation. . . I could cry.
They move towards each other and to me it feels like a dance in total silence. Sinclair’s steps are soundless, impatient and proud. All at once, he’s Romeo, I can see it clearly. All that cool arrogance and passion. I see that he wants Juliet and makes no secret of it. And it’s attractive. It’s so damn attractive because he seems surprisingly self-assured. I see him through Juliet’s eyes and he’s the handsomest man in Verona. I want him to look at me like that and tell me without words that he wants me. I want it so desperately, so much that it hurts.
When he stops in front of Eleanor, I catch my breath. Eleanor’s upper body is turned away from him slightly because she’s a mysterious woman, playing with Romeo and throwing him these fervent glances over her shoulder. I want to be her. And Romeo wants to have her.
There’s a timeless elegance to Sinclair’s movements. He takes her hand. ‘“I don’t believe we’ve met.”’
Eleanor gives this astonished and flattered laugh – it’s so charming that it’s just not fair. ‘“No, I would have noticed you if we had.”’
‘“May I take that as flirtation?”’ Sinclair asks.
‘“Take it however you like.”’
‘“Good to know. Are you having fun?”’
‘“The party’s kind of lame.”’ She studies him and sips her drink. ‘“I hope you haven’t ditched your friends on my account?”’
‘“Which friends?”’
