Film Star (2 page)

“I'm sure it wasn't as bad as you think it was,” my mum said kindly, putting a steaming bowl of risotto in front of me. It was my favourite comfort food. My mum only ever made it for me on special occasions, or when I was feeling really fed up. I stared at it, feeling the heat coming from it brush against my already flaming cheeks.

“The only way it could have been worse,” I told her in a small thin voice, “was if I had actually thrown up
on
Mr Dubrovnik.” I screwed up my eyes and felt every internal part of me curl up and shrivel too. I just couldn't believe what had happened. I couldn't believe I had actually been
literally sick
with nerves.
In public.

“But you read the lines, didn't you?” Mum said, sitting next to me at the kitchen table. “It's not as if you didn't deliver the scene, and I bet you were fabulous.”

“I was terrible,” I groaned, banging my forehead with the heel of my hands. “Like a five-year-old in a nativity play.”

My cat Everest had hauled himself up on to the table top and was eyeing my risotto hopefully. Normally Mum would have shooed him off the table, but he was taking advantage of her concern over me and edged a little bit closer.

“Well, you finished the scene and that's the main thing,” my mum said unconvincingly. “And remember, we said it wasn't the end of the world if you didn't get the part. All we have to do is work out what made you feel so terrible and make sure it doesn't happen again next time.” I closed my eyes and forced myself to replay the scene one more time.

I had walked into the room, which was much bigger than I had expected, with many more people in it. It was a large room with whitewashed brick walls and a dusty wooden floor. Three sides of the room were lined with floor to ceiling mirrors and ballet bars. Maybe that was what made my nerves worse. Maybe because it seemed like there were thirty people there instead of just ten. Maybe because I could see myself from all of my not-so-brilliant angles.

Or it could have been the camera. After all those years on a soap I didn't think the camera would freak me out at all, but I was wrong. It wasn't the same kind of camera I was used to working with on
Kensington
Heights:
big and clunky and friendly. It was just a digital camcorder on a spindly tripod. I knew exactly how I looked and sounded on a digital camcorder from when my dad sent a home videotape into
Before They Were Famous
a couple of years earlier. I was furious because I looked terrible—dumpy and awkward—and my voice sounded all stupid and high and not at all like it sounded in my head.

I had made myself look at Mr Dubrovnik, who was sitting in the middle of a row of four people, a man who was a bit older than my dad but with longish sandy hair and the kind of clothes I would have thought were far too young and trendy for my dad. And he was wearing a baseball cap, indoors, so I couldn't really see his eyes. But his face was pointed in my direction and he seemed to be the only one of them looking actually
at
me. All the others were looking at a monitor that was showing them how I looked on digital camcorder. Which was rubbish.

I stood on my mark and waited for what seemed like ages before I remembered that Lisa had told us just to read without waiting to be cued.

“I don't know who…” I began my first line just as Mr Dubrovnik spoke.

“You may begin,” he said at exactly the same time.

“Er, s…sorry,” I told him, stumbling over my words.
“It's just that she said that I…” I trailed off as I remembered what else Lisa had said about “chit-chat”. I took a deep breath and looked right down the barrel of the camera.

“I don't know who you think you are!” I more or less shouted my first line.

“I'm your sister, Ember. Don't you remember me at all?” Lisa replied, reading from the script completely deadpan without a trace of emotion. I struggled to stay in character, which was hard, as I felt like I was trying to have a heated argument with someone who expressed about as much emotion as a pre-recorded answerphone message.

“You!” I exclaimed haughtily. “You're not my sister! I'm Polly Harris, daughter of Professor Darkly Harris—the chief curator of the British Museum.”

“No. No, you're not,” Lisa continued as if she were reading the back of a packet of cornflakes. “You're my little sister and you were stolen from our parents when you were just a baby. I've been searching for you all these years and now at last I've found you.”

The flatter and more disinterested Lisa's voice seemed, the more over-the-top and loud my acting became. I knew I was bad, but it was like being at the top of a rollercoaster: I couldn't stop myself from plunging further and further down into over-the-top acting.

“You're lying!” I cried out so loudly my voice rang in my ears and echoed off the painted brick walls.

I did get to the end of my scene without forgetting any lines, that was true. I felt my legs shaking and my stomach wobbling and I delivered the last line with everything I had.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” I shrieked so loudly I think the mirrors shook.

The sound of my own voice ringing in my ears gradually died away, and when it was gone there was complete silence.

And that was when I threw up. On my feet. On digital camcorder. In front of Hollywood's hottest and most influential director and his entourage. I was as sick as Everest choking up a mammoth-sized hairball.

I don't even know where it came from; it wasn't as if I'd had anything to eat that morning. But suddenly, without any warning, I was bent over double and my stomach was heaving, and I heard this horrible rasping sound and realised it was coming from me.

I didn't wait for Lisa Wells to show me out. I clamped my hand over my mouth and ran out of there as fast as I could, and when I was finally outside I collapsed against the first bit of wall I could find. I stood there for
a moment, my forehead grazing the brick, and I waited until I could breathe steadily and the pavement stopped shifting beneath my feet.

I would have liked to have stayed there all day but I knew I had to go back to the café where the others were waiting. Laughing probably, and talking excitedly without a care in the world because none of them, I was fairly certain, had finished their audition in the same way I had. With retching.

“How did it go?” Nydia exclaimed when she saw me. The whole table stared at me, and I realised that the stricken look on my face might be giving the overall picture of how it went but had failed to fill in the necessary details.

“Bad,” I managed to say as I scraped back the remaining empty chair they had been saving for me. “Really bad.”

“No, it didn't! I'm sure it didn't,” Miss Greenstreet said kindly, patting the back of my hand. “I'm sure you were wonderful. I'm sure that all of you girls were just wonderful.”

It was then that I burst into tears.

“So remember what we said?” Mum said, picking up my fork, piling it high with risotto and then aiming it at my mouth. She did this, my mum, sometimes: when things were especially difficult, she'd forget the intervening twelve years and ten months since my birth and treat me like a baby again, even down to spoon-feeding me. I looked at the fork and then at her, and she laid it back in the bowl.

“What did we say?” she said gently, refusing to let go of babying me completely.

“That it's not the end of the world,” I recited, seriously unconvinced.

“Because you did your best, didn't you? And that's all you can do, isn't it?” Mum added in the slow, soft voice she used to comfort me with when I grazed my knees.

“I know,” I said darkly.

“And there will be other chances,” Mum said. “Lots of them.”

“Yes,” I said heavily. “There will be other chances.”

“And after all,” Mum seemed determined to wade on through her pep talk despite my total failure to be pepped up by it, “you have to get used to lows as well as highs if you want to be an…”

“An actor!” I snapped. “Yes, I do know, Mum!” I sighed and slumped in my chair, pushing my bowl of
risotto away from me so that it slid to a stop by Everest's neat little paws. He licked his lips.

There was no point in being angry with Mum. She wasn't the one who had messed up the audition so badly that it could well go into the number one slot of the Top Ten All-Time Most Messed-up Auditions Chart.

“I'm sorry, Mum,” I said. “It's just, well, I know all about taking rejection and getting used to it and picking myself up and dusting myself off and getting ready for the next challenge; we have classes on it at school. After all, one of the reasons I left
Kensington Heights
was so that I could experience all of that—stretch myself, find new challenges. But, well…I suppose I didn't expect it to happen to me. Not really.” I chewed at my bottom lip. “Maybe it means that I can't act. Maybe I'm really rubbish, after all. I only ever really played myself in
Kensington Heights.
”

It was true. When I left the show, my character Angel was a quite shy, not very popular and ever-so-slightly-dumpy thirteen-year-old—and so was I. I thought that if I played another character, one like Polly Harris, I might change too. I should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

“Ruby, you are not rubbish,” Mum said, using her old no-nonsense voice again. “You are wonderful! Look, you had one bad audition—it's not…”

“The end of the world,” I finished for her, suddenly wishing more than anything that it was because anything—even an apocalypse—would be preferable to having to go to school in the morning.

“Oh, shut up, Menakshi,” Anne-Marie said as we walked back in from netball practice the next day, dogged by Menakshi Shah and Jade Caruso, who had been compulsively teasing me since news got round about my terrible audition. “What do you know anyway?” Anne-Marie snapped at them. “Neither of you two were even good enough to get into the first audition.”

“Well, we should have been,” Menakshi said sharply. “At least I wouldn't have chucked up everywhere—in front of Art Dubrovnik! Not quite as professional as you think, are you, Ruby? What's it like being one of the crowd again now you've had your fifteen minutes of fame? Ready for a lifetime of lame?” She and Jade cackled like a pair of witches.

“Well, at least her fifteen minutes was in a top-rated soap and not in a nit commercial, Jade,” Nydia said, joining us from the bench where she had been first sub again. “And it was much longer than fifteen minutes that Ruby was famous for.”

Jade laughed. “Peaked too soon, that's your trouble,” she teased me. “For the rest of us things can only get better; for you it's downhill all the way. Career over at thirteen—what a shame.”

“Jade.” Anne-Marie stepped in front of the other girl so that her pretty little nose was about two millimetres from Jade's, and she snarled at her like a tiger. “I told you to shut up, all right?” For a moment Anne-Marie showed all her old qualities that Nydia and I had known and feared last school year, back when she had been our mortal enemy. I never thought we would end up being friends, but it was just before I decided to leave
Kensington Heights,
and I had just found out I had this kiss scene with Justin de Souza, who I used to really, really fancy. I had never kissed anybody before in my life, so I sort of panicked, and Nydia said the only thing to do was to get training from someone who definitely had kissing experience. And the only person we knew who definitely had kissing experience was Anne-Marie. We had to bribe her to help us, and even then it was extremely scary, very emotional and rather dramatic. And somehow at the end of all that the three of us ended up as best friends. Which meant it was easy to forget that Anne-Marie could still be totally ruthless, completely hard and the fastest insult-hurler in the school when she wanted to be. I was relieved that she
was our friend now instead of our mortal enemy. They seemed like much more appealing characteristics to have in a friend, especially when I had Menakshi and Jade crowing in my face.

“One more word and…” Anne-Marie said in a low, soft voice. She didn't have to add anything else to the sentence. Just her tone made Jade and Menakshi fall back into their pack to carry out further bitching at a safe distance, while the three of us stalked across the fields towards the academy.

“Thanks,” I said to Anne-Marie.

“No worries,” Anne-Marie said, all sunshine and smiles again. “Look, everybody will stop talking about it soon, won't they, Nyds?”

“Yes,” Nydia said, dropping her arm round my shoulders and giving me a squeeze. “Soon no one will be interested in you at all. I mean they will,” she added hastily. “But in a good way.” I lifted my chin and made myself smile at my two friends.

“It's OK anyway,” I lied. “I'm fine about it now, really I am. I don't care any more at all. Not a bit. And I'm the one that messed up. There's a really good chance that you two might get called back for a second audition. So I'm rooting for you two now. As long as one of us three gets it then it will be brilliant!”

I didn't feel as upbeat as I sounded but I didn't want to spoil it for Anne-Marie and Nydia, making them walk on egg shells around me, pretending that they didn't mind either way if they got a part in a Hollywood movie.

“Really?” Anne-Marie asked me, jumping on my words. “Oh, good, because I've been
dying
to show you two this.” She dug into the pocket of her gym skirt and brought out a folded-up clipping. “It's from
Hiya! Bye-a!
” she said, referring to her favourite celebrity magazine. “It's about the film, Ruby. I didn't want to make you feel bad by looking at it in front of you and it felt wrong to look at it behind your back, but if you really are OK…You sure you don't mind us looking at it?”

I made myself laugh happily. If only I had been this good at acting during the audition.

“Of course not!” I said cheerily.

She handed me the clipping and I unfolded it. The title read: “Imogene shouts ‘Action!' for her next big role.”

“You read it out,” I said, handing the piece of paper to Nydia. She took it eagerly and scanned the text.

“Casting is almost complete for the new Imogene Grant blockbuster
The Lost Treasure of King Arthur.
” Anne-Marie and Nydia looked at each other with bright
eyes. “Veteran action hero Harry McLean is confirmed as the male lead, and also starring will be…Oh my gosh!” Nydia said, sounding suddenly breathless.

“I know,” Anne-Marie squealed. “Read it out! Read it out!”

I looked from one girl to the other. They both looked like they might explode.

“And also starring will be Hollywood's hottest teen heart-throb
Sean Rivers
!”

“Arrrrrrgh!” the two girls screamed in unison and danced around me in a little circle.

“Sean Rivers, Ruby! Only Sean Rivers!” Nydia exclaimed. “Oh my gosh!”

I smiled at both of them. It was starting to hurt.

“Wow,” I said, the edge in my voice floating over the tops of the heads of my two friends. “Sean Rivers.
The
Sean Rivers. We totally
love
him.”

“Just think…” Anne-Marie said, hooking her arm though mine as we approached the changing rooms. “One of
us
could be working with Sean Rivers, the very same
Sean Rivers
we all went to see in
A Cheerleader's Destiny.
”

“And
Last Summer's Love,
” Nydia added wistfully.

“And
The Underdogs,
” Anne-Marie said. “Oh, he was so lovely in
The Underdogs
—that bit when he thought he
might not be able to play in the final because of his leg and he cried…?”

“Oh my gosh, I love him,” Nydia added sincerely.

“
I
love him,” Anne-Marie said.

“I love him more,” Nydia said with a giggle.

“Who loves who more?” Danny said, jogging up to us in his football kit. He had a big smear of mud across his nose, and I have never been so pleased to see my normal lovely real-life boyfriend before in my life. My smile for him was a real one as he dropped his arm around my shoulders and raised a dark eyebrow at the girls.

“Don't tell me you're going out with Michael Henderson again?” he asked Anne-Marie, who made a sour face at the mention of her ex-boyfriend's name.

“Read this.” Nydia handed Danny the now grubby clipping and he read it quickly.

“And?” he asked, looking mystified.

“Sean Rivers!” Nydia exclaimed. “We all love him.” She gestured at the three of us.

“I don't,” I said, looking at Danny fondly.

“Oh yeah, so why has she got that poster of him over her bed then, hey, Danny?” Anne-Marie said, teasing me gently.

Danny shrugged.

“Has she?” he said. “I hadn't noticed.” He neglected
to mention that in fact he'd never been in my bedroom because my mum wouldn't let him go in there with me unless we were accompanied by at least three adult chaperones.

Still, Danny was determined to be unimpressed by Sean Rivers, and I knew it was partly because he was worrying about how I was feeling after blowing my chances of ever meeting him, let alone working with him. Knowing that made me feel a lot better. Even almost happy.

“These two are going all gooey at the thought of actually
possibly
meeting him,” I said with a laugh, to show him that I didn't mind talking about the film.

“Over Sean Rivers?” Danny mocked them. “He's just a bloke, you know. Like me.”

Nydia and Anne-Marie screeched with overexcited laughter, and Danny's face coloured a little.

“A bloke who's got millions of fans all round the world!” Anne-Marie said.

“Yeah,” Danny said a little defensively. “Like me.”

“Like you!” Anne-Marie hooted, and even I couldn't hide my smile.

“Yeah, like me,” Danny said. “I
am
on Britain's favourite soap, you know. Last month I got as many fan letters as Justin.”

That shut us all up. None of us had known that before.

“You got as many letters as Justin de Souza?” I stared hard at Danny. Yes, he was still the same normal lovely real-life boyfriend I had five minutes ago. But Justin? Everybody knew that Justin got hundreds of fan letters nearly every month.

“Hang on,” I said. “You mean problem letters like I used to get, don't you?”

Danny seemed to consider his answer for a moment, but then he looked at Nydia and Anne-Marie's bright laughing faces and said, with a hint of pride, “No, I mean I get actual ‘I love you, Danny' fan letters. Not that they mean anything at all,” he added quickly.

“Of course,” I said, checking back on my mum's criteria for what constituted the end of the world. If stupendously fluffing the most important audition I would probably ever have didn't count, would finding out that my normal lovely real-life boyfriend was now the object of affection for thousands—maybe millions—of girls, sixty per cent of whom at
least
would be thinner and prettier than me, qualify?

“We'll be late for English,” I said, shrugging Danny's arm off my shoulders and heading for the refuge of the girls' changing room.

I didn't want to react that way. I wanted to laugh it off and say something witty and funny about how of course he had loads of fans, he was my boyfriend, wasn't he? But I couldn't. I suddenly felt cross and jealous all over, and I just wanted to go somewhere Danny wasn't until I could feel normal again.

“Ruby!” Danny called out after me as I marched off.

“Don't worry,” I heard Nydia say as I went through the door. “She's just having a bad day, that's all.”

By the time we had filed into the classroom, I had given myself a good talking to, washed the frown off my face and brushed the irritation out of my hair. It wasn't my friends' fault that they did well at the audition and I didn't. It wasn't Danny's fault that he was really good in
Kensington Heights
and very photogenic, causing swathes of young girls to dream about him. I shouldn't be jealous, I should feel lucky. Lucky I have such talented friends and such a great boyfriend. If a year ago, when I was so unpopular I only had one friend and I was officially the least likely girl in the academy and quite possibly the world to ever have a boyfriend, I could have seen myself now—in with the in-crowd (mostly) and
with Danny on my arm—I would have thought I had reached the pinnacle of happiness. But I knew it wasn't really those three that I was angry with—it was myself; I was furious with myself.

Try as I might I couldn't help going back over and over my twenty minutes in front of Mr Dubrovnik, replaying and replaying them until I finally got it right, until I was brilliant and triumphant and he jumped up from his seat and offered me the part on the spot. And for a few short moments I would feel enormous relief, until I remembered it was only a daydream. A lot of things have happened over the past year, things that I would rather hadn't happened. Mainly Mum and Dad deciding to separate. But even then, even when it came down to my parents splitting up, I sort of knew deep down, through all the anger and the hurt, that it had to happen; that that was the way it had to be. Mum said so often enough since it had happened. I can't say it doesn't hurt at all any more; it does. But I feel like I can live with it.

But what happened at the audition was not scripted. It wasn't supposed to be like that at all, and the only person I could blame for it going wrong was me. And there was nothing I could do to change it.

That moment had been for real and not just a
rehearsal. It was a chance that had gone for ever, and knowing that stung, like a hard cold slap. Mum was right; I hoped there would be other auditions, other chances, but that one would never come round again.

Danny was already sitting at his desk as I walked in. I offered him a small apologetic shrug.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I don't know what came over me.”

“It's all right,” he said, pulling out a chair so I could sit next to him. “You're having a bad day. I know you feel bad about that audition, but you're brilliant, Ruby. If you don't get it, it's because something bigger and better is waiting for you.” I smiled at him as I sat down, and he picked up my hand. “And look, those fan letters are really nothing. Look, here's one I got this morning. I haven't even opened it yet. You open it.” I knew I should have said, “Oh, don't be so silly,” but I nodded and took the letter and opened it. The handwriting was large and round and some of the words weren't exactly spelt right.

Dear Danny from the TV,

I think you are really brilyant and good in kensinton heights. You are my favourite and mummy lets me stay up until nine o clock when its on to see you because you are so good. She
said I could write in and join a fan club if I wanted because you are really good. Please can I have a signed photo. I have a rabbit called Danny too.

Thank you very much

Love from

Kirsty Green aged six and a half and a bit

“Oh bless!” I said, handing the letter to Danny. “That's so cute that little girls like you!”

“Yeah, well,” Danny said, “I told you. I mean not all of them are from six-year-olds, obviously, and even if some of them do go on about fancying me, it doesn't make a difference to us. You do know that, don't you?”