she was visiting today to take measurements from all the lead actors.
I glanced down at her. When you were my height, you were forever glancing downward. “Sorry.”
“Just.” She pursed her lips and reached up, grabbing my shoulders and straightening them out. “Stand like this. That way, we’ll be done quicker. You clearly hate this.”
I did. I hated people touching me, especially strangers. Briefly, I remembered Rose taking my hand and squeezing it the other day. I hadn’t hated that, not at all. Not knowing what else to say, I simply repeated myself. “Sorry.”
Farrah snickered. “A man of few words, I see.”
I shrugged because again she was right. I was far more eloquent and articulate inside my own head than I ever was when I spoke. Being quiet was my nature, even when I was a young lad. Perhaps that was why acting suited me; the words came pre-prepared.
My childhood tutor, Mr Gilroy, had held a devout passion for extending the vocabulary. This passion worked on me to a certain extent. I could write endlessly wordy and expressive essays and short stories, but when it came to speaking out loud, the words fled. There was this strange block that prevented them from travelling from my mind to my mouth. There still was, probably always would be.
I returned my attention to Rose as Farrah stretched a measuring tape down my right arm. Her friend, Julian, had said she’d been burned by some actor, and she’d told me herself she’d sworn off them, so it was a waste of time being so curious about her. Unfortunately, I found myself noticing everything.
Her dark brown hair was never out of its chaotic, messy knot, and she always wore leggings and tops that were too big for her. They had a habit of falling off one shoulder, or dipping down at the front as she demonstrated a dance move. She had no idea how sexy she was, completely unaware of my perverted ogling or the dirty thoughts I found myself succumbing to. But perhaps that was part of the allure, her complete and utter lack of self-awareness.
There was this freckle on the underside of her jaw that I found myself studying like I was going to be tested on the bloody thing.
“Damon, I need you over here,” Jacob called, and Farrah let out a sigh.
“Go on. I’ve just finished anyway.”
She hurried off. Alicia, the lead actress, walked into the studio alongside Eddie, who was playing Harold Zidler, and Bob, who was playing the Duke. We had a read-through of the entire script on Tuesday, but I still wasn’t sure what to make of my costars. It’d been a long time since I’d experienced showbiz types. These days I was used to ordinary, down-to-earth people.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Bob asked as he stumbled up to Jacob, a little unsteady on his feet. The bloke was addled.
Jacob’s lips firmed as he took him in, clearly coming to the same conclusion.
“First,” said Jacob, “the bathroom is down the hall and to the left. Second, I don’t tolerate the consumption of alcohol in my productions, so get sober and keep your drinking for your day off. Now please, go use the facilities so that we can begin rehearsing this sequence.”
Bob scrunched up his brow and Jacob sighed, motioning for his assistant to show Bob to the bathroom. I stood holding my pages, running the song lyrics through my head. I didn’t have the entire show off by heart yet, but I’d get there.
“I don’t know what I was thinking casting him. The man’s got an alcohol problem,” said Jacob flippantly as he approached me. He moved his shoulders as though shaking off the unpleasantness. “Anyway, how are you today, Damon?” He reached up and ran his fingers through my hair. I shifted backward, finding him way too overfamiliar. “Have you given any more consideration to having these locks chopped? Lovely though they are, they don’t exactly match your character.”
“I’ll do it this weekend,” I told him, and he seemed pleased by this. As far as I was concerned, hair was just hair. I didn’t have any kind of emotional attachment to it, but for some reason, Jacob had interpreted my social awkwardness for aggression, surmising I was pissed at the idea of changing my appearance.
“Marvellous! In that case, I’ll look forward to your transformation.”
Iggy, the choreographer, entered the room just then, and I saw him wave Rose over. He was a strange-looking man, with long, fine brown hair and sinewy muscles.