Lucky Break (18 page)

Lyndsey rang early with the first review. ‘ “. . . as truthful and charming a performance as I've seen this year on the London stage”,' she crowed. ‘Hang on, hang on, there's more. “With affecting insouciance, newcomer Nell Gilby . . .” '

Nell didn't ask what insouciance was. Her head thudded too painfully to care. ‘Thank you, so much, for calling,' and she crawled back to bed, making ugly faces at herself in the hall mirror as she remembered her introduction to Amanda Jones of Dove Coutts and how she'd smiled and simpered and lapped up her praise.

 

That Sunday there were more reviews, many of them carrying large photos of Phyllida and Nell, and the words underneath. ‘Mesmerising'. ‘Deeply affecting'. And under one small picture of her, alone, ‘A talent to watch'.

Lyndsey called, although she said that really she shouldn't, not on a Sunday, but she just couldn't resist it. ‘Congratulations! I hope you're thrilled.'

‘Well, yes.' Nell was still in her pyjamas, having walked up to the corner shop with her coat on over the top.

‘I'll be coming to see the show again soon,' Lyndsey promised, ‘and I hope to bring some casting people with me.'

‘That's great,' Nell told her, ‘thanks,' but beside her was her diary, with 11.30 a.m. Wednesday – Amanda, Dove Coutts, written in black ink.

‘What if she finds out?' she turned to Sita, who was preparing for her lunchtime shift at Pizza Express.

‘Don't worry. You don't have to
go
with her. Just see what you think. Anyway, she might not even take you on.' Sita tucked her red T-shirt into her skirt – she hadn't worked as an actress since a TV play she'd done last year in which she'd played a young Pakistani girl caught up in an arranged marriage. Now she couldn't get seen for any part unless it was specified as Asian.

‘Fuck.' Sita was plaiting her long hair. ‘I'm going to be late. The manager will have a fit.'

‘Bye then.' Nell spread the papers out before her. ‘And bring me back some chocolate fudge cake, if you can.'

‘Don't get your hopes up. Last time they fined me for eating a slice. They took the money out of my wages.' Sita slammed out through the front door.

 

Dove Coutts had smart offices on Oxford Street. Nell gave her name to the receptionist and looked round warily as she waited to be seen.

The phone rang constantly, and each time the receptionist answered in the same cool tone. ‘Dove Coutts? Sorry, her line's busy. Can I take a message?'

Eventually Amanda Jones appeared. ‘Hello!' She put out her hand. ‘What amazing reviews you've been getting!' But she said it accusingly as if she was a particularly rivalrous friend.

‘Yes.' Nell was flustered, and then remembering she was here because of Timmy, ‘it's great for Timmy. He's hoping the play might transfer.'

Amanda didn't comment. She turned and led her back down the corridor and into an office with one large desk and a plate-glass window, through which could be seen the sharp lines of other offices and the green sloping tiles of a department store roof. Amanda tucked her swathes of cashmere around her and swung into her seat. She pushed a vase of flowers tied up with ribbon to one side. ‘My boyfriend keeps sending these ridiculous bouquets!' and she smiled sweetly, as if, finally, she was all Nell's.

‘Well,' Nell began, ‘I thought this might be a good opportunity to get a new agent. I mean, I haven't actually been with Ethel Dabbs for long, but they're very small, and well, Timmy seemed to think that you might be interested . . .'

Amanda leant towards her and took a good long look. ‘Yes,' she said, ‘you wouldn't be here if we weren't. The wonderful thing about this agency is, we have so many big stars here, actors and directors, and we have offices in America, obviously, but what it means is . . . when we're negotiating deals we can push our younger, less well-known people forward.'

Nell nodded. She could see how cleverly it could work.

‘Now, I've been thinking . . . there's the new pirate film, casting at the moment, and they're making a film about Shakespeare's wife, they need a girl. We could get you seen for those. What kinds of things do you like? Where do you picture yourself, say, in five years?'

Nell was dazzled. ‘Well . . . I'm not sure. Mostly I've done theatre, which I love, and I'd like to do some TV, but film,' she took a deep breath, ‘I'm really enthusiastic.'

Amanda smiled at her. ‘You could still do theatre. They're looking for someone to take over in the Neil Simon play in the West End.'

‘That would be amazing.'

‘So,' Amanda was leafing through her diary. ‘How long does your run have to go?'

‘At Hampstead? Another three weeks.'

‘Great. We'll get working. Start sending you up for things straight away.'

Nell's breath was shallow. ‘I'll need to tell Ethel, and Lyndsey . . .'

Amanda ignored her. She took down a copy of
Spotlight
, Actresses D to G, and leafed through it till she reached Nell's quarter page. ‘You'll need new photos.'

Nell looked at herself upside-down, her hair pulled back, her eyes shining clear out of a freckled face. She rather liked the photo.

‘We have someone we tend to send our people to.' She handed Nell a card. ‘Nicolo Manzini. He's ever so good.'

‘I'll have to tell Ethel . . .' Nell repeated.

Amanda looked towards the door. ‘Of course. Well, just let me know when you've done that and we'll get going. See what we can do.' She made as if to get up, and Nell imagined all the messages banked up at reception waiting to come pouring through.

‘Bye then, thanks so much.'

‘Bye.' Amanda gave her a twinkly smile. ‘I'll be waiting for your call.'

Nell walked back along the corridor, past the array of posters,
Ben Hur
,
Gone with the Wind
,
King Kong
, all starring, she imagined, exclusively Dove Coutts clients.

 

Nell didn't call Lyndsey that day, she couldn't find the courage, but the next morning, before she'd had a chance, Lyndsey called her. ‘Just thought I'd let you know I'm in tonight and I'm bringing a casting agent from Granada.'

‘OK,' Nell said. She didn't say anything else.

‘Is something wrong?'

‘No,' Nell faltered, and then knowing it could only get worse, she let the words rush out, hopeless, as if it was all beyond her control. ‘Actually, Amanda Jones at Dove Coutts wants to take me on.'

There was a silence.

‘And is that what you want?' Lyndsey's voice was flat and cold.

‘I don't know,' Nell lied. ‘I suppose it seems such an opportunity and they've got so many big names that are already in films, so many contacts.'

‘Well, we have contacts . . .'

There was another silence.

‘Listen,' Lyndsey said. Nell heard her swallow. ‘Think about it. Really think about it and call me later and tell me what you've decided.'

Nell wanted to shout that she'd decided now. She couldn't call her again. She just couldn't. ‘All right,' she said in a small voice and she put down the phone.

 

Nell waited until three o'clock before calling back. ‘I'm so sorry,' she said by way of explanation.

‘Right,' Lyndsey's voice was clipped. ‘So you've decided to leave. One minute. Ethel wants to have a word.'

Nell felt herself go pale.

‘Well,' Ethel spoke sharply. ‘I think you're a very ungrateful girl. We've worked hard for you, young lady. Lyndsey in particular. And now, after all the groundwork we've done, someone else will reap the rewards. I expect you'll go on to do good work. I'm sure you will.' She paused. ‘But I just want to say, I think you are being very disloyal.'

‘Sorry,' Nell said. She made a face across the room. ‘I'm really sorry.'

‘Be that as it may,' Ethel Dabbs answered curtly, and when Nell put down the phone she was cheered by the thought she'd never have to speak to her again.

Immediately she rang Amanda.

‘Hello, Dove Coutts, can I help you?'

‘Yes, it's Nell Gilby, can I speak to Amanda Jones please?'

‘I'm sorry,' the voice said breezily, ‘she's busy, would you like to leave a message?'

‘Oh.' Nell felt deflated. ‘Please tell her that I called. Nell. Gilby.'

Nell waited by the phone but Amanda didn't call and by 5.30 she realised that if she didn't hurry she'd be late for her warm-up at the theatre.

 

Timmy and Phyllida thought it was marvellous. Phyllida, fresh-faced with happiness at the successful run, took her in her arms and danced her round the room. ‘A real, starry agent,' she told her, and Timmy said he hoped she'd remember him in her Oscar acceptance speech.

Then Nell told them about Ethel Dabbs. ‘I think you're a very ungrateful girl!' she mimicked. And they all squealed. She didn't tell them about Lyndsey and the break in her voice when she called back with her decision. She supposed she wouldn't be coming tonight, and neither would the casting director from Granada.

That night the show was flat. ‘The audience is terrible,' Howard muttered, ‘there's a woman in the third row practically asleep.'

‘Brutes,' Phyllida said. ‘There's a man in row F sucking a bloody lolly.'

Timmy came in during the interval. ‘Pace. What have I told you!' And he stomped out to talk to Howard.

 

Nell tried calling Dove Coutts again the next morning, but it wasn't until late afternoon that she got through. ‘Yes?' Amanda said, ‘is the deed done?' and she yelped with such excitement when she told her, that Nell didn't like to mention the fact she'd never returned her call.

‘Now,' Amanda said. ‘We need to get those new photos, and start sending you up for things. I hope you're keeping your days free?'

‘Yes. Of course.'

‘Great. I'll be in touch soon. Bye till then.'

 

The photographer, Nicolo, was based in Fulham. He had cowboy boots and tight white jeans, and a girl to fix Nell's hair and make-up. But first he looked Nell up and down and asked if she'd brought any other clothes. ‘Yes,' Nell clasped her carrier bag, ‘but you don't think this will do?' She was wearing a striped blue-and-white T-shirt cut square across the shoulder and she liked the way it made her look, young and a little theatrical.

‘Show me what else you have.'

Nell pulled out a black cardigan, bobbled from the wash, and a flowered calf-length dress.

The photographer stared at them. ‘Try the cardigan,' he said.

‘Over this T-shirt?'

‘No. On its own.'

Nell felt self-conscious when she re-appeared. The cardigan wasn't a cardigan she usually did up and those buttons that she had managed to fasten strained across her bust. Nicolo put his head on one side. ‘Try undoing one more,' he said unhappily, as if even then, it wouldn't please him, and so Nell let the cardigan bulge open still further, exposing the high curves of her cleavage and the lace trim of her bra.

Nicolo turned to his assistant. ‘Hair down, I think, Gina, over one shoulder, and some nice strong colours on the lips and eyes.'

‘Actually,' Nell sat down, obedient before the vast array of make-up, ‘I prefer a natural look.'

Nicolo ignored her. ‘I'll be right back,' he said, and he sauntered from the room.

Gina hovered over her. She picked out some eyebrow tweezers and after a few seconds' scrutiny nipped in and plucked out a hair. ‘OW!' Nell screamed. She had never encountered anything so painful. ‘What are you doing?'

‘I just thought I'd neaten up your eyebrows.' She stood back and waited, arms crossed, as if to say, fine, it's nothing to me if you want to look like a Yeti. Unnerved, Nell capitulated. ‘OK, then, do it,' and she sat, her body tensed, trying not to scream as the hairs came out with a tiny audible tear.

Afterwards Gina dusted shadow on to her newly tender skin, smoothed colour into her cheeks and painted her mouth with a slick black paintbrush dipped in red. ‘Right,' she said, having fluffed and brushed and blow-dried her hair so that it felt a foot high, and she stood back to admire her.

‘Can I see?' Nell asked, looking round for a mirror, and while Gina dug for one in her bag, she assured her. ‘You look fabulous.'

The mirror was small and Nell had to squint to see more than one feature at a time, but even so she was appalled. She looked like someone in fancy dress, a harlot from a Restoration comedy. ‘It'll look very natural in the photographs,' Gina swore, but Nell began to rub it off. She smeared the lipstick on to the back of her hand and dabbed at her sore eyes, but just then Nicolo came in. ‘Wow. You look fantastic. Let's get going straight away,' and he took her arm and led her over to where a large white sheet was hanging from the ceiling. For two hours she stood against it, twisting and turning, smiling and sombre, sultry and cheeky, a hand in her hair, a finger in her mouth, eyes forward, to the side, modestly down, having given up all power to resist.