‘Sherry Lafonte, choreographer.’
This one was easy. She’d once had a night out with Sherry and Caden in Newcastle that had ended with them belly dancing to “Hips Don’t Lie” in the Bigg Market at 3a.m. A bit of a comedown for a woman who’d once been a principal dancer at the Royal Ballet, but she’d seemed to enjoy herself. Ginny shook her hand, sticking with professionalism. Now wasn’t the time to remind her of her finest Shakira moment.
‘And our producer, Ted Dodds.’
This gentleman was a stranger to Ginny, but it was all she could do not to bow down to him. Ted was the money man, based somewhere in Texas, Ginny was all too familiar with his track record. He’d produced at least ten Broadway smashes and currently had a dozen shows in production on both sides of the Atlantic.
‘So pleased to meet you,’ she said with the kind of sincerity that didn’t require any acting chops.
‘And you.’ His reply was cursory. Mildly disinterested.
There was a slight pause, and Ginny realised that there was a vital person missing for the performance she’d been told to prepare.
‘We’re just, erm, waiting for Caden, and then we’ll get started.’
Caden. Was. Late. For her audition. For the most important moment of her career so far. The first song that she’d rehearsed, ‘He Doesn’t See Me Now’ was an ensemble number with Mary, Judas and Jesus, and the brief had been that they’d be performing together to give the selection team the opportunity to see their chemistry and how they interacted. The lyrics were a lament to Judas, about how Mary felt overlooked by their leader. Right now, Ginny was suddenly feeling over-bloody-looked by Caden, so this was straying into method-acting territory. Where the hell was he?
‘Take a seat for a moment and we’ll cover some of our other discussion points in the meantime,’ Carl directed her, staying true to his role in all this.
Ginny sat on the fold-out chair that had been placed in front of them, between where they sat on the front row and the orchestra pit. When she was a kid, she used to watchMastermindwith her grandad, and that’s exactly what this felt like. All she needed was a spotlight and a thorough grounding of general knowledge.
‘Obviously we’ve reviewed your audition reels, and your previous work and we’ve been super-impressed. Tell me a bit about what you feel you can bring to the role…’
Ginny had been prepared for this. Her agent, Eve, who’d taken over at Calvin Fraser’s agency after he’d retired from the business, had briefed her that they might want to have a discussion, and she’d role-played this with Moira and a fellow seasoned Academy coach, Jacinta, several times this week. Like Moira, Jacinta knew her stuff and had prepped her well. Ginny launched into a prepared-but-heartfelt monologue of her feelings towards the role, the strengths that made her perfect for the part, her motivations, the aspects of Mary’s plight and personality that she resonated with and how she would convey both the grit and the vulnerability of the character.
Carl did most of the talking, while Sherry and Ted remained largely silent – Sherry’s gaze watching her every move and inflection, as she’d expect from a choreographer, and Ted’s attention taken more by the spreadsheet on his lap.
She sent up a silent thanks to Moira and Jacinta, because there was nothing that they asked her that she couldn’t handle. Her replies were delivered with confidence that camouflaged the swarm of butterflies in her stomach, and the volcano of fury that was bubbling in her chest. Caden was late. He had two jobs today. Perform at this audition and then come along to support the Academy at the screening tonight. But the only other thing that should have been on his to-do list for today was to be a supportive bloody boyfriend and make this as seamless as possible for her. There had to be a good excuse. Had to be. He’d never let her down before and there was no way that he’d start today of all days.
She’d just finished that thought and delivered the answer to what seemed to be Carl’s final question, when the doors at the top of the centre aisle swung open and he strode towards them, picking up speed as the incline stretched his steps.
‘Sorry – nightmare to get a taxi.’ Ginny wasn’t sure if that was addressed to her or the panel, but she watched as he gave her a brief, mildly apologetic smile, then shook Carl and Ted’s hands, nodded to Sherry and fist-bumped Jeremy, who was sporting an unmistakable expression of contempt. Ginny caught the glance and realised that their relationship was worse than she thought. There was clearly no love lost between the two men. She felt the volcanic jacuzzi in her chest bubble a little harder. That couldn’t be good for her. Jeremy was the other lead actor in this production and if he had an axe to grind with Caden, he wasn’t going to want his nemesis’ girlfriend to join the cast. Bugger. Was her chance of this over before she’d even sung a note? And could she really sing her heart out in a song that sought Judas’s assurance that all was going to be tickety-boo in life if they just stayed calm, when she currently wanted to give Judas the bollocking of his life and vow that she wasn’t having sex with him for a month?
Urgh, time to compartmentalise again.
Caden caught her eye, shrugged and mouthed, ‘Sorry,’ as Jeremy led the three of them up onto the stage. They took their positions. Jesus was centre stage, looking troubled and pondering his fate. Mary would enter from stage left and sing the first two verses solo, before Judas would enter from stage right and the third verse would be a melodic outpouring of worry and pain fired in his direction before the three of them came together to sing the final chorus. She knew exactly what was expected of her. This show was so similar in tone and style toJesus Christ Superstar, which had been one of her favourite pieces of musical theatre since she was a child and used to listen to Hugo’s vinyl album of the show on his battered old record player.
She took a moment to mentally prepare herself. Forget Caden’s tardiness. Forget her doubts about whether she was up to the role. Forget her anxiety over the screening that was taking place later tonight. All that mattered now was the next five minutes of her life.
This was it. This was her moment. Life or death. Sink or swim. Or whatever cliché they used back in the early days of the New Testament.
From her position, Ginny looked out into the theatre and the panel of three that would decide her fate.
What she wouldn’t give for a friendly, familiar face in the audience. Moira Chiles had already texted her this morning with a ‘Good luck, ma darling – I’ll be rooting for you. Go be bloody brilliant.’
There had been a text message from Ollie too.
You’ve got this, Ginny. Break a leg. PS If that really happens, I’ve got contacts that can get it X-rayed.
He might be a global superstar, but he was up there with her grandad on the bad jokes scale. And of course, there had been Stevie’s good luck text message from earlier too – probably typed between scans in the radiology department at the hospital.
So many people were rooting for her and now she just had to summon their confidence.
Okay, focus. Just imagine that Stevie, Moira and Ollie are in the audience, right next to Grandad and Alyssa.
She didn’t add her mother to the imaginary audience, because if Dorinda were there, she’d be off shagging the producer in the hope that he’d whisk her off to his Monaco crash pad.
Deep breath. In. Out. And then the music started.
