The Ivy Lessons (6 page)

As he passes me I smell a light cologne and remember the card. I find myself inhaling deeply.

He stops and turns to look at me, and I quickly breath
e
out. I try to keep myself steady, but I can feel my books slipping slightly in my arms.

He puts a finger to his chin.

‘How did you enjoy your walk
this morning?’

I swallow. ‘Erm. My walk?’

‘I thought I saw you in the grounds today.’ He raises an eyebrow and smiles just a little.

My throat has gone all tight, and the redness in my cheeks is spreading down to my neck. I feel my books slip out of my hands and hear them bump to the floor.

You idiot.

I crouch down, and Marc crouches down with me. ‘First day nerves?’

His face is inches from mine. The lines of his nose and chin are so perfect, and the hollows of his cheeks so dark. He picks up the books and passes them back. His fingers touch mine, but his manner is brusque and indifferent, as if he were putting the books on a shelf. Then he turns and strides into the classroom.

Everyone follows him into the lecture theatre, but I’m too dazed to move. I st
and like a rabbit in headlights as
the other pupils flood past. By the time I’ve got myself together enough to go into the theatre, the only seats left are in the front row.

Oh holy Jesus.

I can feel t
he other students
watching me, but all I can focus on is Marc. He’s striding back and forth, waiting for everyone to take their seats. To put it more accurately, he’s waiting for
me
to take my seat – the last student who’s come into the room.

I slide into a seat at the front of the class, noticing Cecile is also in the front row, a few seats away. She’s smooth
ing
down her blonde hair, and has already written ‘First Marc Blackwell lecture’ on her notepad, and underlined it.

Marc
closes the lecture-
theatre door. Then he goes
to a projection screen with
the words ‘Ivy College’ bouncing around on it.

He is only a few feet away from me, and I feel ... I don’t know, exposed. I wish I had a mirror so I could see what my hair was doing, and check there’s nothing on my face. He could notice all my imperfections if he wanted to – my small breasts, the slight kink in my nose, the spot growing on my chin.

‘Well class,’ says Marc, slotting his thumbs into the pockets of his trousers. ‘I guess you’ve heard all about me, right? You think you know me. Let me put you straight. You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me, despite what you read in the newspapers
. But what you should know is
I’m a tough teacher.’

The lecture theatre door creaks open, and Tom wheels himself inside, followed by Tanya. They look suitably sheepish, and Tanya squeezes into the only free seat
, which happens to be
beside me.

Tom wheels himself to the side of the row, and takes his rucksack off the back of his wheelchair. In the silence of the lecture theatre, the sound of him unzipping his bag is lou
d enough to wake the dead
.

‘You two.’ Marc taps his Rolex. ‘I don’t tolerate lateness. Ever. Late again and you’re off the course.’

Tanya’s eyes grow wide. ‘But we had to wash Tom’s wheelchair,’ she says. ‘The grounds were muddy, and it got all over his wheels.’

‘I don’t tolerate excuses, either,’ Marc snaps. ‘You.’ He turns to Tom. ‘
I presume operating a wheelchair isn’t a
new thing for you.’

‘I’ve been in a wheelchair my whole life,’ says Tom, with pride in his voice.
‘And it’s never stopped me doing what other people do.’
I notice his black hat has a peacock feather in it today.

‘Then you should know to leave yourself more time to get places.’

Tom’s mouth snaps closed, and Tanya whispers to me: ‘
Talk about strict.’

‘Let me tell you what else I won’t tolerate,’ Marc says. ‘Insubordination. You do as you’re told in my class, or when I’m directing you on stage. If I ask you to do something, it’s in your best interests. I know what’s good for you. If you can’t take instructions from me, then you’re off the course.’

Tanya puts her hand up.

‘Put your hand down,’ Marc barks at her.

She slides her hand back down.

‘Now,’ Marc continues. ‘I know a lot of lecturers use their first names with students, but my name is
Mr
Blackwell. Not Marc. Just because you’ve seen me in the movies, doesn’t mean we’re friends. You’ll call me Mr Blackwell. Any questions?’

A few seats along from me, Cecile raises her hand. She looks flushed, and her eyes are shining.

Another silly student with a crush.

‘Yes, Miss ...?’

‘Jefferson. Cecile Jefferson.’ She smiles at Marc, but he only frowns back.

‘You have a question?’ Marc asks.

‘I heard our first-term mark won’t count. All we have to do is pass this term, and then our marks in the second and third terms will be
the ones that count towards our
final grade. Is that true?’

Marc’s lips pull tight, and the hollows in his cheeks ripple
. ‘Not at
my
college. My students are marked at all times. Every essay and performance will count, and those not getting the grades won’t stay here for long.’

‘So, you’ll be marking our performances from the very first term?’ Cecile asks.

‘Oh yes.’ A smile plays on Marc’s lips. ‘Don’t think you’ll escape being graded,
just because you’re all new
. I expect the very best from all of you at all times.’

‘You’ll get it, Mr Blackwell,’ says Cecile.

Marc
turns to the projection screen
. ‘Let me tell you about classes this year. You’ll be doing three performances, all of which be marked. I will be in charge of choosing which parts you perform. I will do this based on what I think
you need the most to grow as
actor
s
.

‘I made notes at your auditions, and I already have parts lined up for your first performances – which will be this week. If, at the end of that performance, I don’t think you have what it tak
es ...’ He runs a hand across the screen
. ‘You don’t go through to the second
term.
This is not a nur
sery or a school,’ Marc continues.
‘
My college is like the real world. If you don’t perform well at all times, pack your bags.’

‘Which is why getting a certificate from this college opens so many doors,’ Cecile pipes up. ‘That’s why I’m here Mr Blackwell, to get the best drama qualification in the country.’

‘I don’t believe I asked for your comment, Miss Jefferson,’ says Marc. ‘And unless I ask for it, I don’t want to hear it. If you have a question, raise your hand and I’ll decide if it’s worth answering or not.’

Cecile looks furious at being told off, but she’s clever enough not to complain.

‘So.’ Marc picks up a pointer and smacks it on the projection screen. ‘
Your
performances
will
prove to me you have what it takes to stay on this
course. You will be performing
in front of me, one-on-one
. We start this week
.’

Chapter 13

Marc picks up a remote control from the lecturer podium and clicks away the Ivy College screen. In its place are lists of names and plays. I watch his strong fingers grip the pointer, and he smacks it on the screen again.

‘I’ve assigned each of you a part and pages for your first performance.’

I stare at the lists of names and realise they’re
our
names, followed by the name of a character, play and page numbers for the script. I scan the list for my name. Beside me, Tanya takes heavy-rimmed black glasses from her bag and slides them on.

‘Make a note of which part you’re playing, and start practising,’ says Marc. ‘I have a library of scripts in the stationary cupboard.’ He waves the white pointer at a door beside the projection screen. You can go get the script you need at the end of the class.’

I squint at the screen, and finally see my name, right at the bottom. The play next to
my name is:
Call of the Night
, and my character is the lead, Jennifer Jones. I blink and stare. Oh my God. Jennifer Jones is a ballet dancer who seduces her theatre director. The part has been taken on by some amazing actresses in the past. Nicole Kidman. Meryl Streep. There’s no nudity, but the role is very femme fatale.

Beside me, Tanya groans.

‘Who did you get?’ I ask.

‘Bianca, from Taming of the Shrew,’ she says. ‘About as different from the parts I usually play as you could possibly get.’

‘Quiet now,’ says Marc, silencing the grumblings in the room. ‘The point of these parts is to stretch you as actors. To take you into territories you haven’t been before. I want you to go away and practise those parts. Then, each of you will come and see me in the theatre room and perform. If you pass the performance, you get to stay on the course and try out for the next one. It’s that simple. Got it?’

I see nervous nods around me, and feel myself nodding too.

‘Those of you who are performing scenes with two people, I’ll be performing the other part. Some of you just have monologues. So.’ Marc strides along the front row, and I hold my breath. ‘Any complaints about my teaching methods?’

There is silence.

Marc stops right in front of me. ‘Good. Because have no doubt. If you don’t like the way I do things, you’ve got one choice. Leave.’

I grab my pen and start twiddling it. I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I can play the part of Jennifer Jones in front of anyone, let alone Marc Blackwell.
It’s too ... I don’t know. Jennifer Jones is supposed to be really attractive and sexy, and I don’t see myself that way.

Marc smiles that quirky, spiky smile that makes him so good at playing bad guys in action movies. He opens the cupboard beside the projection screen, and waves his hand to welcome us into it. ‘The scripts are all in here. Help yourselves. And remember. The mark of a good actor is their ability to take on any role and make it their own. I hope you’re ready to impress me.’

We get up from our seats, and crowd towards the stationary cupboard. I hold back, waiting for everyone to get their scripts first. When the scrum is over, I go into the cupboard, and find
Call of the Night
beside a pile of Oscar Wilde plays.

When we take our seats again, Marc is standing behind the lecturer
’s
podium.

‘Go away and rehearse,’ he says, ‘and I’ll see your performances this afternoon, and tomorrow morning. I’ll put times up on the notice board outside this theatre in one hour.’

‘
Today and tomorrow?
’ Cecile says. ‘How are we going to learn our lines in that time?’

Marc glares at her. ‘It’s only a few pages. Enough for you to get a feel for the part. I don’t expect you to follow the script exactly. A good actor understands the character, then improvises when necessary.’

‘But it’s so soon,’ says Cecile.

Marc frowns. ‘You’ll find the real world of acting isn’t as precise and organised as you might like it to be. Auditions come out of the blue. Think of this as experiencing a little of what that’s like. You want control? Then become a teacher.’ He checks his watch. ‘I’ll see some of you later on today, in Queen’s theatre.’ With that, he strides out of the room, leaving all the students to chatter nervously.

We file out of the classroom, and Cecile waits for me by the door. ‘That was a clever little stunt,’ she says. ‘Dropping your books like that.’

‘I didn’t do it on purpose,’ I say.

‘I’ll bet.’ She walks off.

Chapter 14

Tanya appears beside me, smiling. ‘You want to go get a coffee while we wait for the times to go up? Practise our parts?’ She lowers her voice to a whisper. ‘Have I got some news about our new teacher.’ She waves at Tom, who is wheeling himself out of the theatre. ‘Coffee?’

‘Oh my word, that’s exactly what I need,’ says Tom, putting a hand to his head. ‘This hangover is monumental.’

‘News?’ I ask. ‘About Marc?’

‘Well. Scandal really. So? Fancy a coffee? Or would you rather go rehearse on your own?’

‘Not at all,’ I say. ‘I’d love to have a coffee with you.’

‘He’s a bit on the strict side, don’t you think?’ Tanya whispers,’ looking over my shoulder as if Marc might magically appear. ‘I mean, we all knew he was
arrogant
, but today was like ... whoah! If we step out of line, just a tiny bit, we’re off the course.’

‘He scares the life out of me,’ I admit.

‘Me too,’ says Tanya. She grins. ‘But maybe in a good way.’