Pumpkin Pie (9 page)

“I met her,” I said, “didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” said Mum. “You were sitting on my desk, playing with the paper clips… very unprofessional! Miss Dobson said what lovely blue eyes you had.”

“Did
she?” I squirmed with a sort of pleasurable embarrassment. “Was she nice?”

“She was all right,” said Mum. “I always find actors a bit gushy.”

But she had said how lovely my eyes were! I wondered if she would remember, and whether I would be brave enough to remind her. I don’t mean about my eyes, but about my sitting on Mum’s desk playing with the paper clips, and Mum selling her a house. Saturday morning I rang Saffy to ask her advice.

“Do you think I ought to remind her, or would that be too pushy?”

Saffy screamed, “Jenn
ee
! It isn’t possible to be too pushy… not if you want to get somewhere. How many times do I have to tell you?”

She said that if I didn’t go and introduce myself to Miss Dobson she would disown me.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll do it!”

“You’d better,” said Saffy. “‘Cos I will disown you… I mean it!”

Miss Dobson was there, talking to Mrs Ambrose, when we arrived for class. I very shyly smiled at her as I came in, but she gave no sign of recognising me. But then of course she must have met thousands of people since seeing me on Mum’s desk, and probably some of them would have had blue eyes like mine. And in any case I had done quite a lot of growing up since then.

Miss Dobson had done some growing up, too. She wasn’t anywhere near as slender as I remembered, but her hair was still jet black, in fact it was even blacker than ever, and she still wore her lovely silver rings on every finger and was still quite glamorous. I was so glad she wasn’t an old bag! If she had been, Zoë would have crowed like crazy.

Mrs Ambrose told us how Miss Dobson had been one of her very first pupils, way back when.

“Many years ago, when I was young. Because even I was young once,” said Mrs Ambrose. We all laughed, politely, but Miss Dobson just gave this rather small tight smile. I thought perhaps she wasn’t too happy at Mrs Ambrose saying how she had been a pupil “many years ago”. Probably she would rather we thought it was just a short while back.

“Now, what I propose,” said Mrs Ambrose, “I propose we show Miss Dobson how we do our warm-up exercises, and after that she’s very kindly agreed to give us a talk, all about her experiences as an actor. So!” She clapped her hands. “Shall we get started?”

We headed off across the studio. I deliberately moved at a tortoise-like pace, thinking to myself that if I got there
last,
I would in fact be at the front. Only it didn’t work out that way. The minute I stopped, Zoë and Twinkle,
in unison,
rudely elbowed their way past me and took up their usual prominent positions where they could be sure of being seen. Everyone else then shuffled forward to join them, with the result that I ended up-also as usual – at the back. Saffy poked me in the ribs and hissed,
“Push!”
But I couldn’t. It was too late, it would have looked too obvious. I didn’t want to be obvious.

It was probably just as well since I was so shaky with nerves I would most likely have done something stupid like turning the wrong way and bumping into Zoë all over again. At least at the back if I turned the wrong way it wouldn’t be so noticeable. Actually, I didn’t, but the point is I
could
have done. Being me. I thought that when it came to voice exercises I would be all right. Then I would be noticed, even at the back! But we didn’t ever get to voice exercises because Mrs Ambrose said that now Miss Dobson was going to talk to us, and we all had to sit on the floor and listen.

I was disappointed at not being able to show how well I could do
hoo hoh haw
and
sproo spray spree,
but I did find the talk interesting. She told us all about being a pupil with Mrs Ambrose and how she had gone on to a full-time drama school when she was seventeen. She told us about “early struggles” and “bad times” when she had had to do all kinds of different jobs, such as for example being a waitress and scrubbing floors, to earn a living. She told us how her big break had come when she was chosen to play a part in
Screamers.
She had been in it for ten years.
Ten years! A
sort of gasp went up. Ten years was almost as long as some of us had lived!

Finally, she told us that the acting profession was the finest profession in the world, but that you had to be tough if you wanted to survive. Mrs Ambrose said, “Hear, hear! I second that,” and Saffy poked me in the ribs,
again,
and hissed, “See?”

To end up we had a question and answer session when lots of people wanted to know how to get into drama school full time and which drama school to try for, and Zoë told everybody how she’d already been in two commercials and a television show, and Saffy kept poking and poking until I thought I would scream. I hissed,
“Stop it!”
and she hissed,
“Say something!”
and I hissed,
“Not yet!”
I didn’t want to do it in front of everyone. After all, it was personal.

I waited till the session had finished and Mark had said thank you on behalf of all of us and Miss Dobson was putting her coat on. Then I scuttled across the room – propelled by a particularly vicious jab from Saffy-and breathlessly, before I could get cold feet, gabbled, “Miss Dobson, my name’s Jenny Penny and my mum helped you buy your house in Clonmore Gardens!”

There was a pause, then she looked at me, sort of… not in the least bit interested, and said, “Really? That must have been a while ago.”

“I was six,” I said. “I was sitting on my mum’s desk and you said hallo to me.”

“I’m afraid I have no memory of it,” said Miss Dobson. “I’ve lived in so many different places since then.”

“Oh. Mum wanted to know if you were still there,” I said.

“No,” said Miss Dobson. “I’m not!”

I could see that she wanted to leave, but now that I’d started I just didn’t seem able to stop.

“I really enjoyed your talk,” I said.

“Good,” said Miss Dobson. “That’s good.”

“You told us so many interesting things!”

“Well, you know… one doesn’t like to be boring.”

“Oh, you weren’t
boring,”
I assured her. “It was just, like, incredibly fascinating! To hear all about when you were young, and – and being out of work and everything.”

Miss Dobson gave another of her tight little smiles.

“Honestly,” I said, “I found it truly inspiring!”

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Miss Dobson. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

She opened the door, and I raced round in front of her.

“I know it was a very long time ago and things have changed, like you said how you got a grant to go to drama school and these days you probably couldn’t, but—” I beamed up at her. “It’s what I want to do! More than anything… I want to be an actress!”

“You do?” said Miss Dobson.

I nodded rapturously. I had done it! I had talked to her! Saffy would be so pleased with me.

“You want to be an actress?” Miss Dobson was eyeing me up and down, as if weighing my chances. “Well, my dear, the best advice I can give you,” she said, “is to shed some of that excess baggage you’re carrying.”

A terrible hush fell over the room. Everyone just, like, froze. Including me. Normally if I am embarrassed I will go all hot and red, but this time I did the exact opposite. I went very cold and could feel my cheeks turn white and fungussy. At the same time I broke out into a sweat. It was like someone had just punched me in the stomach. I couldn’t believe that Miss Dobson would say such a thing!

Mrs Ambrose was the only person who hadn’t heard. She’d gone into the small room next to the studio and now came beaming back, all unaware, carrying this huge bouquet of flowers.

“Jenny!” she said. “Give these to Miss Dobson with one of your very best curtseys!”

If I could have guessed, just ten minutes earlier, that I would be the one chosen out of all the class to present Miss Dobson with her bouquet, I would have been so excited. I would have been so proud!
Me,
of all people! But I knew that Mrs Ambrose had only picked me because I happened to be standing there, not because I was special. I wobbled down into a curtsey, on legs that had gone all weak and bendy, and thrust the bouquet upwards while keeping my eyes glued to the floor. I then overbalanced and sat down, with a thump, on my bottom.

Nobody laughed. Mrs Ambrose said, “Well! That wasn’t the most gracious of presentations, but never mind. These things happen.”

She then said that she was going to escort Miss Dobson to her car.

“When I get back we’ll just run the first few scenes of
Sob Story.”

The minute the door closed, everyone came flocking round me. It was terrible. They were all so nice!

“She didn’t have to say that,” said Mark. “That was a rotten thing to say.”

“It was really mean!” said Connie.

“Even if it’s true,” agreed Twinkle. “She still shouldn’t have said it.”

“What d’you mean?” Saffy rounded on her.
“Even if it’s true?’

“Well—” Twinkle fluffed and huffed and looked a bit embarrassed.

“Jenny isn’t
fat
,” said Saffy.

“No, she’s not,” said Portia. Portia is thin as a piece of string. I’m sure she did think I was fat, really; she was just trying to make me feel better.

Gareth said that the whole conversation was becoming fattist. He said there were loads of fat actresses.

“And
actors,” said Ben.

“Yes, but it’s worse for women,” said Twinkle.

Saffy said, “Why?”

“It just is.”

“It is!” Zoë did a little skinny twirl. “It’s far worse. It’s so unfair!”

“You could always do voice-overs,” said Robert.

“Or radio,” said Twinkle. “It wouldn’t matter what you looked like on radio.”

“Of course, you know why she said it?” said Zoë.

I said, “W-why?” Thinking that Zoë, in her mean way, would say something horrid such as, “Because it’s the truth, Elephant!” But she didn’t. She said, “‘Cos she was feeling ratty!” Zoë twirled, triumphantly. “‘Cos she used to be somebody and now she isn’t and nobody’s heard of her!”

Everyone nodded and went “Yeah! Right!” They were all on my side, even the Terrible Two, and I suppose that did help a little bit, but it couldn’t stop me feeling utterly downcast and dejected. I thought, this is what happens when I try to have confidence. I wished so much that I had never spoken to Miss Dobson!

I went back afterwards for tea with Saffy. I told her that I wished I’d never gone and introduced myself.

“You mustn’t let it get to you,” urged Saffy.

“But she said I was fat!”

“She didn’t, actually,” said Saffy.

“She said excess baggage! It means the same thing. It means I’m
fat.”

“Jen, you’re not!” said Saffy.

“I’m not thin,” I said.

“So what?” said Saffy. “Who says you have to be thin to be an actress?”

I challenged her. I said, “Tell me one that isn’t! A
young
one.”

She couldn’t, of course. Because I just bet there aren’t any! I defy anyone to make a Top Ten of Fat Actresses Under the Age of Thirty.

“Well, anyway,” said Saffy, “she had some nerve! She’s not exactly a skeleton.”

“She’s not under thirty,” I said.

“No, more like fifty,” said Saffy.

She was still thinner than I was.

Mum called round at seven o’clock to fetch me. She said, “We’re all going up the road to have a pizza. How was Miss Dobson? Did you talk to her?”

I said, “Mm,” hoping Mum wouldn’t want to pursue the subject. But naturally she did.

“Is she still living in Clonmore Gardens? Did she remember meeting you? What was she like? What did you talk about?”

I heaved a sigh. I said, “She doesn’t live there any more and she didn’t really remember but we didn’t have time to talk very much, and I’m not sure that I feel like a pizza.”

“Oh? That’s unlike you,” said Mum. “Well, you don’t have to have a pizza! You can have whatever you want. You can have pasta, you can—”

“Not sure I feel like anything,” I said.