“As we read,” Sandra says, “be mindful that this project is about bringing Jane Austen’s masterpiece to life in a way that’s both fresh and faithful to the author’s intent.” The goal is common to all adaptation efforts. No director, ever, wants to render a literary work in a way that was already done or betrays the original. But the devil is in the execution. Few succeed in at least one of their noble endeavors. And, let’s face it, hardly anyone achieves both. But who knows, maybe Sandra is that rare bird…
We begin the read-through.
Liam settles behind a camera with audio to record the table work. It’s a good idea. At the studio, we do that, too. Sandra cautions against using movement, body language, facial expressions, accents—basically no acting—at this time. After that, she instructs Peter who plays my bestie Charles Bingley, to begin.
Duly warned, Peter reads the first line. We go through the script in a neutral, round-robin style with each actor picking up whatever line comes next instead of their character’s lines.
The aim of this exercise is to scour the script for what the profession calls “facts” about the characters’ back stories, occupations, social status and relationships, the historic and political details, settings, and so on. Another aspect we focus on is how the audience will take part in every scene and interact with the cast. Finally, we spend a good deal of time debating what we’ll do if the day’s Elizabeth forgets her lines and fails to follow our cues, jeopardizing the show.
“Can’t we get rid of them altogether?” Melody throws her hands up in frustration. “It’s OK to have amateurs as extras, but it’s much too risky to have them as leads.” She will play Elizabeth Bennet if the amateur actress is a no-show, or if she abandons ship at any point during the performance.
“Remember, £10,000 times seven equals £70,000,” Sandra adds.
We carry on, transitioning from one scene to the next and fine-tuning the script. There are brief interruptions to make a note, clarify a confusing detail or give Sandra feedback on a line that sounds off. Tomorrow morning, we’ll do a technical rehearsal. In the afternoon, we’ll rehearse again. We’ll keep rehearsing, taking dance lessons, and planning for contingencies through the rest of the week.
If we’re lucky, there’ll be no need to activate those plans. Hopefully, our amateur Elizabeths will come as prepared as they should be, and our amateur extras won’t suck too much. And, Sandra’s crazy dream of a show that’s both big on improv and still controlled and faithful to the book might just come true.
Four hours after we began, the read-through is over. We grab sandwiches delivered in the meantime. When the last bite is washed down, I ask if the cast and crew are up for a surprise. They totally are. I shepherd them up the grand staircase to the third floor. When I open the door and usher everyone into the “secret” salon, gasps of delight are my reward.
Years ago, Dad had it converted into a bar, complete with an impressive selection of spirits and nonalcoholic beverages that occupy an entire mirrored wall. The other walls are painted a bold, dark hue of teal. Silver-framed mirrors and artwork, as well as the white plasterwork ceiling, provide contrast to its richness. When the decorator had proposed this style, Dad didn’t like the idea, but Mom green-lighted it regardless.And an excellent decision that was!
The lighting is an expert mix of soft candlelight, warm chandeliers and bright LEDs, casting an inviting glow that shimmers off the polished wood floor—no carpets here—and gleams against the mirrors. Cool music pours out from the best sound system money can buy. A subtle aroma of brandy and rum from the cocktails lingers in the air, adding to the ambiance.
All that makes this room a very pleasant place to be. My parents entertained here more often than in the Sky Hall or the dining room downstairs. I plan to do the same.
Behind the bar, a mixologist in a crisp white shirt and black slacks is shaking cocktails. Celeste recommended him to me. My sister claims that no bartender on either side of the Channel can hold a candle to this guy.We shall see.
My guests walk around the room in awe, examining the details up close.
“The drinks are on the house tonight,” I announce. “But for the remainder of your stay you’ll have to pay for them.”
The bartender flashes them a grin. “Don’t worry, I charge less than a pub.”
“We’ll have no time for pubs, anyway,” Sandra butts in.
“Hurrah for Jonas!” the crowd hollers.
“Thank Jove for this room!” someone adds enthusiastically.
As they order their drinks, I hear them swear this is where they’ll spend every spare minute of every evening over the next two weeks. I believe they will.
Soon the clinking of glasses, tinkle of laughter, and the occasional buzz of a mobile phone combine with the background music to create a unique soundtrack for the soirée. Everybody wants to mingle with me. And mingle with everybody I do. But I also catch myself stealing glances at Margot, who is monopolized by Peter. I note the sound of her voice, the ring of her laughter, the shape of her jawline and neck, the curve of her derrière…
Shit.
It’s a good thing Peter seems to be into her. My best course of action is to keep as far away from them as this room permits. I can’t afford to have Margot trying to seduce me. If she does that, we might end up in my bed. Which could ruin my mission.
She laughs at some skit Peter is performing for her, and my body reacts to her silvery, healthy laugh.
Staying away won’t cut it.
She seems to be a proud, independent woman. Perhaps there’s a way I can make sure she’ll never flirt with me.
CHAPTER4
MARGOT
I sip my tequila sunrise and listen to Peter with half an ear.
