‘I’m glad. But you’re avoiding my question.’
Ellie tossed her head to one side thoughtfully. It was reassuring to be with someone so inherently open. He’d lived his life beside excellent, award-winning actors, and it was hard to know what was real emotion and what was acting bullshit. He’d found it almost impossible to know when people were genuinely sorry, angry or, even, in love, but Ellie in contrast was passionately open about her emotions. ‘Look,’ she said firmly, ‘it’s brilliant, fantastic even. I totally understand why your reviews are so good, you show the disillusion of the American dream beautifully. But…’
He nudged her elbow. ‘Come on, what didn’t you like about that scene?’
She threw up her hands in defeat. ‘Myrtle’s not the villain!’
He’d not expected that. ‘I know. She’s more of a tragic character. A prisoner of circumstance, like you said the other night. All the characters have their own tragedy.’
‘But she’s like a caricature of a trashy woman, with her knock-off designer gear and bad make-up. She’s lewd and tacky. It’s clear you think she’s as fake as the bags she swings around, and that somehow a woman’s adultery is worsethan a man’s. I dunno, maybe it’d be interesting to see her vulnerability occasionally, especially when she’s abused by both her husband and her lover… But, what would I know?’ Obviously uncomfortable, she looked away as she spoke. Was it because he’d been cheated on, or because she didn’t want to tell him how to do his job, or both? ‘But she isn’t worse than them. She’s in an abusive relationship, living in a poor neighbourhood – something the other characters could never understand. It just seems sexist and unfair to judge her harshly.’
‘But that’s how she’s written in the book.’
‘And Gatsby is described as blond and blue-eyed. But you chose to update the play and cast a Black man to play his part. Isaac’s excellent, by the way.’
‘He is.’
‘This is a modernisation, isn’t it? Modernise the women too. Maybe Myrtle’s not the trashy party girl we think she is. I imagine she sees Tom as her only chance of living the American dream. She doesn’t love her husband or her lover, and I think Daisy is exactly the same. They can’t love anyone, not really.’
Alex pondered her words, which smacked of a truth he’d been too blinded by pain to see clearly – until now. Was this what the interviewer had been trying to get at? Granted, in a far less caring way then Ellie. ‘What makes you so sure?’
Sadness clouded her face and she looked towards the curtains as if she could see the characters beyond. ‘Because they don’t love themselves, and they can’t escape.’
His chest tightened involuntarily, and it took him a second to catch his breath. Ellie had driven a truck straight through his heart. Was this how she felt? And, then the truck reversed and ran over his heart for a second time. Was this howhefelt?
‘You say that like you’ve experienced it…’ He kept his voice soft, coaxing and gentle.
She took a deep breath and swivelled towards him, her brown eyes clear and strong. ‘I’ve worked really hard to put aside those sorts of feelings. Hannah helped, especially when I faced some tough times… But my mum, she still struggles with them, and sometimes the feelings she has about herself ricochet onto me. She doesn’t mean them to, and I’ve learned to arm myself against them. But, yeah, it’s a hard thing to overcome.’
He’d need time to process, but she was definitely right. ‘You know, I’ve always felt like there was something missing from the play. And I think you’ve hit the nail on the head.’ He found himself telling her what he never would have admitted to anyone else. Maybe because she’d revealed something so personal to him, he felt compelled to repay her honesty in kind. He went on, ‘When I was directing… maybe I did tweak my script too much. It was during my break-up. I guess I didn’t have a very high opinion of adulterers.’
‘Or women?’
He sank into his seat. ‘Possibly.’ His stomach twisted with disgust. Whether it was at himself or at his brother and Savannah, he couldn’t say. ‘I don’t feel like that any more. I know all women are not the same.’ But saying it out loud he realised that the experience had made him prejudiced. If he was ever going to find happiness again, he needed to move past Savannah and Liam’s betrayal, but he wasn’t sure how.
She reached over and patted his thigh. A shiver of electricity ran through the muscle, causing it to flex. ‘Hey, stop looking as if you kicked a puppy. Don’t feel bad, the play is fantastic!’
‘Thank you.’ Another thought occurred to him. ‘I guess you’re finding it tough being back home with your family?’
She nodded, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out with a wry chuckle. No emotion hidden in her lovely and expressive face. ‘It’s going to take some getting used to. But I think that’s the disappointment over the flat more than anything else.’ Shewaved her hand dismissively, obviously not wanting to discuss it further. ‘Look, I’m going to nip to the loo. I’ll be back in a minute – well, hopefully the queue won’t be a mile long. Oh, unless you need to leave?’
‘I’ll be here.’ He grinned.
‘Great.’
She granted him another glorious, heart-melting smile before leaving.
The second half was much darker in mood than the first. The car crash was offstage, but the production team had created outstanding special effects with light and sound to horrify the audience. It caused the beautiful woman next to him to shiver. If they’d been dating, he would have put his arm around Ellie.
But they weren’t dating, and a seed of unease had been planted in his mind.
He couldn’t date. He wasn’t over Savannah. Starting a relationship now would be dooming it to failure. It would be a rebound, nothing more, and someone like Ellie deserved better. Hadn’t she said she’d been hurt in the past? Rejected because she dared to want a serious partner. He refused to hurt her like that.
Better to be friends… heneededa friend.
The play drew to a close, honouring the haunting and emotional ending of the book. When Ellie wiped away a tear at the final tableau of Nick Carraway looking out at the green light of Daisy’s home from Gatsby’s terrace, Alex was triumphant, as if he’d won a thirteen-round fight.
Most of the audience rose to give a standing ovation, but with only half the theatre filled it didn’t last long. Ellie clapped the longest.
