CHAPTER 8
There was paper everywhere. Nobody seemed to be sitting still, and Jackson had already messed his pages out of order. He was terrible with numbers, and I knew I’d have to sort them back into sequence for him.
I had pulled chairs into a circle in the middle of the auditorium, which the troupe were supposed to be sitting on. Father, there for both moral support and in the hope of finding inspiration for his painting, lay in the middle of the floor with his arm over his eyes.
Michael was sitting off to one side, scribbling into his notebook, with that irritatingly placid expression on his face. Annie was biting off her split ends again as she read, but at least she was actually reading. Andrew was too – I could always count on him. Mother refused to read ahead – apparently the first read through set the mark for spontaneous delivery.
‘And a good line reads well the first time it’s read, darling.’
I buried my hand in my hair. I had it down again, which was probably a mistake. It could have been my imagination, but I always felt people treated me with more respect if I wore it up, piled high on my head. One must get ones advantages where one can, when one is surrounded by tall people. Unless one is trying to seduce attractive young journalists.
‘Has anyone seen Parker?’ I asked, twisting my neck to look around the theatre, into the shadowy boxes and the gloom of the unlit stage.
Jackson shrugged and shuffled his papers out of order a little more.
‘Not seen him for ages.’
Helpful, as always. I could feel my irritation begin to rise, but that was no use. Snapping and being annoyed would get me nowhere here. It never had and never would. My actors were like animals. They had to be coerced. Herded. Tricked into thinking they were doing what they wanted to do; that my ideas were really theirs, and that they were terribly clever for thinking of them.
I’m not one to get angry very often. There’s just no point. Not when you live with one of the age’s finest drama queens. But I’ve always hoped that the day I finally do lose my temper and fly into a magnificent rage, not only will I appear as some Amazon-like warrior queen, but that people will actually listen. I’m saving that special rage, and I would squander it if I wasted it on this read through.
I took a deep breath, as Michael – quite sweetly, I thought – raised his hand slightly and interjected-
‘I saw him outside about fifteen minutes ago. He was with a man on a ladder.’
‘Did the man have a magnificent beard?’ I asked.
‘Undoubtedly.’
I sighed.
‘Then we shan’t be seeing Parker today, I fear.’ I leaned back in my chair and stared at my papers with a resigned air. ‘I shall take Sir Plume in his absence.’
Which was a shame, because Parker was going to make a splendid Sir Plume.
‘Annie, can you begin?’
She began reading, her voice honey-sweet and lilting. Perfect for an epic farce. Lulling them in before the satire begins. I started making notes on my master copy – little marks for emphasis.
Mother remained quiet for about a minute and a half.
‘Darling, I’ve had a quick glance through these lines, and I can’t help but notice that Belinda doesn’t have many.’
‘And?’ I asked, infusing my voice with as much of Annie’s honey-sweetness as I could.
‘And I can’t help but notice that Annie – the narrator, rather, has a lot more lines than I do.’
‘Narrators often tend to. This poem is quite heavy on narration.’
‘Yes, I had noticed, darling.’ She leafed through her sheets, shaking her head and getting them out of order. ‘And I must say that this isn’t quite what I had in mind when I accepted the role of Belinda.’
‘I see.’ I would retain my calm. I must retain my calm. It was like this every read through, but usually there wasn’t so much riding on a successful outcome. ‘Although of course, Belinda, particularly during the lengthy descriptions of her beauty, is onstage acting throughout.’
Mother snorted.
‘It isn’t that much of a stretch for me to act as though I’m beautiful, darling.’
I took out my notebook.
‘As always, the read through not only allows us to take a measure of how the lines work spoken, but also acts as an opportunity for me to take feedback on the play as it stands, in order that I may mould it towards a greater team fit.’
‘You mean Belinda will get more lines?’
I rubbed my forehead and tried not to look at Michael. I was sure he would be laughing at me.
‘I mean that I am open to your constructive criticism and, if it appears beneficial and relevant to the play as a whole, I will add in more lines for Belinda.’
‘Wonderful.’
‘If,’ I stressed. ‘If. Annie, if you would?
And Annie continued. The narration was, in many ways, an extended monologue. Mother kept shifting in her seat and fidgeting. In truth, I hadn’t realised quite how long it was. But that wasn’t the point. Mother opened her mouth to speak. I cut her off.
‘You’ll be acting now. You will be onstage this entire time. Acting.’
She sighed, but kept quiet. Then Annie stepped into the role of Umbriel; a brief role which I had though intertwined well with that of narrator.
‘Now, darling, I’ve been thinking.’
We paused and looked towards Mother.
‘Do you have some constructive feedback you would like to share with the group?’ I asked sweetly.
‘Not feedback as such, you know, but more a suggestion. I would suggest that, as the lead of this group – the namesake, if you will – I, indeed, the public and patrons – the ton, even, would be best served were I to have the most lines. Were I to be narrator, and Umbriel, and any other little parts you may have given the narrator.’
‘I see.’ I pinched the bridge of my nose hard. ‘I have misjudged your public, Mother. I thought that when they came to see The Liberty Troupe, they would want to see Liberty in the starring role, on stage for about nine tenths of the performance. That they would want her to play the model of beauty, wit and elegance. I see I was wrong.’
‘Nine tenths, you say?’
‘Unless you feel your presence would be better felt by being offstage for nine tenths of the performance. Our narrator will speak from the edge of the pit.’
‘So onstage still,’ Mother said firmly.
‘Slightly. Wearing all black. Possibly a mask,’ I added perversely. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’
‘I do really think I’m right, darling.’
‘Mother knows best,’ Father said quietly, but wholeheartedly, from the floor.
I glanced at Annie, and she gave me a weak smile.
‘Well, how about this? We finish the read through – with the parts currently assigned. And nobody says anything which isn’t written in front of them. Then, once all lines have been spoken, as written, I will open the floor to suggestions.’
I paused and looked at Mother, addressing her directly.
‘Suggestions which have not already been made. Following that, I will go back to the play and amend as necessary, before re-distributing the lines for a final, and un-amendable read through.’
‘I really think, given my motto for reading lines blind on the first read through-‘
‘If you could, Annie?’
We began again, and Mother remained silent although, damn it, I could practically hear her thinking about how much better she would be as narrator, all the way through it. I would address it in more detail later, of course, and it really wouldn’t make that difference to the end result if Mother narrated. I could probably rely on her not to overact and steal the scene. And Annie was beautiful, and would make a dashing Belinda. But that wasn’t the point, not really. I couldn’t look at Michael. Not directly.
I glanced his way a few times, out of the corner of my eye. He was listening carefully, his eyes half closed and his head tilted slightly to one side. He wasn’t looking at me at all. He wasn’t jotting notes, sarcastic or otherwise. The knowledge dampened my anger, but I still retained my annoyance.
With only three more interruptions, and a few lengthy pauses while Jackson found his lines, the read through came in at approximately an hour. Once we had the timing down, I estimated it would be about forty minutes long. Perfect for a brief vignette in an evening composed of several attractions. For the first time that day I felt pleased with something relating to that damned play.
I cast another surreptitious glance in Michael’s direction to see how he had found it. He smiled as I caught his eye, and made no move to leave. That must be a good sign. Although really all we had done was read a slightly amended version of the original poem, I was so concerned about the whole enterprise that I didn’t think I could bear any criticism from him.
‘So,’ I folded my script back to the beginning with a sense of impending doom. ‘I would like to open the floor to any feedback or suggestions.’
Mother was sitting with her back ramrod straight, pursing her lips and refusing to look at me. Clearly I had offended her. I found that I could live with that. She’d forgive me soon enough when I made her narrator.
‘Anybody?’
Andrew suggested a slight rewording in the third canto, and Jackson intimated that he would prefer his lines to be slightly less flowery in their language.
‘In that case,’ I said quickly, as Mother was rolling her pursed lips together in a way which usually signified an outburst, ‘I will be needing your scripts back. All of your suggestions have been noted, and I will let you know any changes by the end of the day. Annie, Mother, we need to talk about costumes. I’ll come find you both later this afternoon if that’s agreeable?’
Annie nodded enthusiastically, and Mother blinked very deliberately. One meant yes.
‘We’ll meet again at the same time tomorrow for another read through. Thank you for your time.’
And like children from a classroom, I dismissed them. Mother rose, a queen departing her throne, and glided from the auditorium as though on wheels. Michael remained in his chair, looking amused as the others clattered their chairs back into place slowly and noisily, and I carefully gathered my papers together.
Annie wandered over with a faux casual attitude and whispered to me. My reply caused her to punch the air, and she skipped from the room as Michael looked on, bemused. He waited quietly as Father scrambled to his feet – I’d swear he’d fallen asleep – and then we were alone.
‘What did you say to make Annie so happy?’ he asked, patting the seat beside him.
I smiled.
‘She asked to swap parts with Mother. I said yes.’
Michael’s left eyebrow disappeared beneath the sweep of hair over his brow.
‘I didn’t think you’d go for that. You didn’t seem that keen on the idea when Liberty suggested it.’
I shrugged, leaning back so I was a little closer to him.
‘It won’t make that much difference. They can both carry off either role. And Mother’s probably right, it would be better this way.’
‘Why didn’t you just tell her? Why let her stew?’
I chuckled. ‘If I just give this to her now, she’ll keep asking for things – and they will likely not be so sensible as this. If I give her the idea it’s been a battle she’s had to work hard to win, she’ll be so high on that she’ll let me get on with the rest of it.’ I paused and looked at Michael mournfully. ‘Well that’s the idea, anyway.’
‘How manipulative of you.’
‘I do try. So,’ I twisted in my seat to look at him more directly. ‘Tell me. What did you think?’
‘I enjoyed it. I like Pope.’
‘You’re my ideal audience, then.’
Michael nodded.
‘Although that isn’t to say that it wasn’t good in its own right. I mean, I know it was a first read through, and a bit rough around the edges, but I did get a feel for how it would go. I never really go to the theatre, it was a nice change.’
I made as though to stretch slightly, pushing my shoulders back and rolling my head to one side. His eyes lingered on my bosom, and I used the distraction to press my advantage.
‘I did wonder about that. Why were you chosen to write this piece? If you aren’t experienced in the theatre.’
He kept his eyes on my chest, blinked, and smiled. Still without looking me in the eye, he replied.
‘Oh, you know. Like I say, the other fellow was too enraged by Lady Hamlet. I was between assignments, and decided to take it on. Not choice, really. More timing.’
‘Hmm.’ I reached over and put my hand on his knee. ‘And how are you finding your first foray into the arts?’
He transferred his gaze from my bosom to his knee, before looking me straight in the eye.
‘Oh, I’m finding it very enjoyable indeed.’