My Own Worst Enemy, page 17
I stop my glass on the way to my lips. ‘Alice, wouldn’t that be a little… unprofessional?’
She frowns. I realise that sounded judgemental.
‘I just mean,’ I try to make it into a joke, ‘surely the reviewing of the show and the reviewing of my performance as a dating partner could get blurred?’
Alice licks her lipstick.
‘Then you’d better give me some good reasons to give you five stars.’
Fizz goes up my nose.
‘Oh, bless you,’ laughs Alice, slapping my hand across the table. ‘You’re so proper, aren’t you? My parents are going to love you.’
Parents?
I force a laugh. Emmy, stop being weird, she’s obviously joking.
‘Don’t you want me to watch you on stage?’ she asks. ‘See you doing your passion?’
‘Of – of course I do.’
‘Well then,’ she says. ‘That’s that.’
She shakes out a napkin and places it on her lap with finality. I should let it go, but… it makes me feel sordid. I want to earn my good reviews, not go on dates for them. Besides, what if Mae found out?
‘I just think it’s… Wouldn’t some people maybe think it was… nepotistic? Someone might find out and wave it around online and tarnish our reputations forever, and then our enemies would—’
‘Pish,’ laughs Alice. ‘Do you have many enemies?’
I hesitate. Alice quirks a pencilled eyebrow at me.
‘Ooh. An ex?’
Her tone is icy. I tell myself that jealousy is natural and shows she cares about me. But goodness me, dating is an obstacle course.
‘No! Not an ex!’ I say. ‘I told you, I don’t have any exes! You have nothing to worry about there! No significant people from my past at all!’
Alice blinks slowly, topping up her champagne. She doesn’t top up mine.
I consider lying. But Alice is my girlfriend. My first girlfriend. I should be honest with her.
‘Well, this is going to sound strange,’ I say. ‘But there’s this other actor I’ve ended up having a bit of a – a rivalry with.’
Alice pauses, her red lip on the rim of the glass.
‘What kind of rivalry?’
‘We’re the same casting type, so we keep competing for parts. And the problem is…’ I shrug grudgingly. ‘She’s really good.’
I find I’m enjoying the excuse to talk about Mae. I don’t want to do it too much in front of R&R because when I do, they insist on winking at each other.
‘She’s the complete opposite to me,’ I continue. ‘I prepare, plan, research, but she’s… she’s a natural. Too natural, if anything. She’s instinctive, reactive, authentic. She’s just herself on stage. But unfortunately, “herself” is really captivating to watch. She’s got that – that stage magnetism.’
Alice is looking at me so strangely, I realise I might have accidentally sounded complimentary about my sworn enemy.
‘But she’s also incredibly unprofessional,’ I say quickly. ‘And she’s a nepotism baby – her mum is literally a celebrity actress! And she doesn’t even do the bare minimum of preparation for a role. She barely learns her lines, and gets away with winging it because she’s good at schmoozing. Other people think she’s charming, but I see straight through it.’
Alice stares at me, then downs her glass.
‘So you’re not… You and this enemy girl. You’re not close? You don’t talk?’
‘No.’
‘Won’t you become friends, now that you’re in the same show?’
‘No,’ I say emphatically. ‘We rub each other completely the wrong way. Being around each other just makes it worse. I know it sounds unprofessional, but—’
‘No!’ she says, banging her fist on the table. ‘It’s very professional of you. She could ruin everything.’ Alice pours the rest of the bottle into her glass. ‘Your career must come first,’ she shouts. ‘You must defeat her. Just because you’ve been cast together does not mean you should fraternise with her. This gives her more opportunity to ruin your career. So you must be on guard. If she tries to become your friend, it’s a tactic. Don’t believe a word she says.’
She bangs the table again. The glasses tremble. Their scared twinkling and my surprised blinking seem to wake Alice from her frenzy. She gathers herself, and glances up at me.
‘That was… not very ladylike of me. But you see, I understand rivalry.’ She glances at me again and takes a sip, gripping the stem hard.
‘A-another theatre critic. I hardly need tell you that it’s not a critic’s job to review other critics, but he decided to do some work outside of his job description. Said nasty things about how I was stealing other people’s ideas, how I wrote my reviews in advance, blah blah. Ironically, it was rather unoriginal of him.’
I wince, thinking how terrible I’d feel if I was accused of copying someone else’s work.
‘That’s awful,’ I say, tentatively taking Alice’s hand over the table. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Alice squeezes back.
‘But you see, that’s where you and I are so alike,’ she says. ‘We’re ambitious. We work hard, we strategise and organise, because we know that’s the only way to get anywhere in this industry. It’s perfectly natural that you’d have competition. In a way, you’re in competition with every other actor, aren’t you? But don’t worry. I’m going to help you. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that you beat…’
She swallows.
‘Her name is Mae Jones,’ I supply.
‘Mae Jones,’ she says in a strangled voice. ‘This rival of yours, this – this bitch will never work another day in her life.’
Alice shakes the champagne bottle, frustrated at finding it empty.
‘Now then,’ she says, tucking hair behind her ear. ‘Are we going home together tonight, or are you going to say you have to work early again tomorrow?’
‘Well, I-I do have to work—’
Alice reaches across the table, grabs at my lapels, and pulls me into a deep kiss. I’m so startled I forget to kiss back.
She strokes my ear and says, ‘When will you not be working early the next day?’
I flinch. She presses her chest more firmly against mine.
‘Er… After the Twelfth Night performances?’
Alice jerks away, pulling a face.
‘But darling, that’s aeons away.’
‘It’s only a few weeks,’ I laugh awkwardly.
‘No,’ she pouts. ‘I need to see you. You can’t be rehearsing all the time. You need breaks.’
She kisses me again. I feel like I always do when Alice and I kiss – aware of our audience.
To my great relief, she pulls away. Her cheeks are flushed very beautifully, and more blonde wisps have come free from her chignon. What’s wrong with me? Any self-respecting lesbian should be agog at a vision like this.
‘And now I suppose you’re going to call me a cab,’ she sighs.
I do so.
I open the taxi door for her, ashamed.
‘Thanks for another lovely evening, Alice. And… And for helping me with the part. I really am grateful. Thank you. And sorry.’
She tilts her head at me, her hazel stare steady.
‘Can I change your mind?’
I try to look regretful as I shake my head.
‘Next time,’ I say.
‘Promise?’ she says.
I swallow, but can’t reply.
‘You’re such a gentleman, aren’t you?’ she sighs, but there’s an edge to it. ‘You’ll text me, then,’ she says, and I nod eagerly. ‘And I will see you soon.’
She closes the door behind her. As the taxi drives away, I breathe a sigh of relief, then feel terrible and guiltily text her a string of kisses.
26
I close the flat door and hear the fumbling of glasses from the living room. Ruth must have won Raphy over on the music – they’re playing some surprisingly sophisticated R&B.
They’re sitting on the sofa with a bottle of red and a chessboard between them.
‘What ceremony is it tonight?’ I ask Raphy, pointing to all the candles he’s lit around the room.
‘Oh… Moon is in Venus?’
‘Cool,’ I shrug. ‘Budge up.’
In my absence, Ruth had slid into the middle spot on the sofa next to Raphy.
‘You’re back early from your date,’ she says.
‘Urgh, I know, I know,’ I say, burying my head in my hands. ‘I fucked up again.’
They put their glasses down and rub my back, cooing. I nestle into them.
‘Alice invited me to hers and I made another excuse. What’s wrong with me?’
‘Oh honey, nothing is wrong with you,’ says Raphy.
‘I have no excuse,’ I say. ‘She’s intelligent, and impressive, and has been so generous to me, and she is forthright with what she wants and that she wants to do it with me and yet… Urgh! I’m meant to want to sleep with my sexy girlfriend!’
‘Well,’ says Raphy, crossing his legs into a lotus, ‘sexuality is fluid and it’s allowed to change and grow with you. Are you experiencing any sexual attraction at the moment?’
Terrifyingly, my mind conjures an image of Mae. I swallow.
‘Sometimes,’ I say.
Ruth raises an eyebrow. ‘Uh huh. Then babe, you’re with the wrong person. When I was with Six-Pack Mike I couldn’t get it up, no matter how hard I thought about his presentation skills.’
Raphy gets up from the sofa and starts fiddling with the candles.
‘And I bet there are people you’ve been with, Raphael,’ says Ruth, ‘where you don’t click in the bedroom the same way you click in, I don’t know, discussions about psychoanalysis?’
Raphy fumbles with a wick and nearly sets the house on fire. He curses, rights the candle, and then tries to cancel out his swear with a blessing.
‘Attraction is interdependent and intersectional,’ he says. ‘As much as we try to rationalise it, sometimes we have to accept that it’s a force beyond our control…’
He takes a gulp of wine, leaving a lipstick-like stain on his lip.
‘But surely just because I don’t want to leap into bed with Alice, doesn’t necessarily mean I’m not meant to be with her!’ I say. ‘Maybe it just means I-I need to be more comfortable with her first? Or something?’
I’m surprised to see Raphy’s blushing a little. Maybe he’s embarrassed on my behalf at my lack of libido compared to his.
‘It’s completely allowed to want to take things slow,’ he says.
‘Yes, slow can be good sometimes,’ says Ruth. I frown at her.
‘Really? You think that? Miss Efficiency is Best Even in the Bedroom?’
She coughs. I notice she’s not wearing her beeping watch tonight. I’m glad she’s relaxing, but isn’t her big presentation coming up soon?
‘Well,’ she says, ‘it’s a big step. Once you’ve crossed that line, you can’t take it back…’
Ruth and Raphy look at each other across me on the sofa, clearly wondering what piece of wisdom to give me next.
‘Perhaps it’s a good idea,’ he says, ‘to keep things as they are.’
‘But guys,’ I wail, and they jump a little, ‘if I’m not sexually intimate with her then she’ll dump me!’
‘Then let her! There are plenty more fish in the sea!’
‘You guys are being incredibly confusing!’ I wail. ‘You said she was perfect for me! And she is! She actually likes me! I might never have a chance like this again! A few weeks ago you were all but forcing me to go on dates and have sex with people!’
They both look at me properly now.
‘Yes, honey, but not with someone you don’t want to,’ says Raphy.
‘And not,’ adds Ruth, ‘not with someone where you really do want to if you think it might ruin other important things in your life! Even if you want to, like – God – so much –’
I stare at Ruth. Is she… Does she somehow know I’ve been thinking about Mae?
‘OK, so you’re saying…?’
‘Just don’t change anything,’ says Ruth.
‘Keep things exactly how they are,’ agrees Raphy. ‘That’s for the best.’
‘OK…’
We all sit on the sofa, watching the candles burning around us.
27
I’m staring up at the old-fashioned cinema-style lights above The Boards Theatre, imagining my name there. No, it won’t be there for my tiny part in Twelfth Night, but at least the name of the show I’m in will be.
There’s a violent shove in my back.
‘Wearing black again, Clooney? How fun.’
Mae’s wearing an oversized checkerboard shirt and yellow trainers.
‘Wearing something stupid again, Jones? How quirky.’
‘Wow, you’re so original, even with your insults.’
I don’t have a comeback, so I resort to mimicking her.
‘You’re so original,’ I parrot.
Mae smirks.
‘Shall we make sure we don’t walk in together?’ she says.
‘Definitely,’ I say, and step forwards.
‘Great,’ she says, and pushes past me to get in first.
We wrestle with the door handle and end up falling into the foyer together.
The five waiting cast members of Twelfth Night turn to look at us.
Mae and I brush ourselves off. She grins and waves.
‘Hi!’ she says, and goes to befriend everyone. I loiter behind, carefully removing different editions of my marked-up Twelfth Night. I want Francis de la Ware to see that at least some of us are professionals.
He’s wearing a green handkerchief around his neck today. He checks his watch and, on the dot of 9 a.m., opens the rehearsal room, pulls up a box, and stands on it.
‘Friends, Romans, queers, lend me your ears.’
We hurriedly huddle. I click my mechanical pencil and hover it over my notebook.
‘Congratulations, special few,’ he says. ‘You have violently beaten hundreds of your fellow gay actors to the ground in order to earn your place on this stage. Now, it’s time to celebrate. Let there be foolery! Revelry! Bacchanalian delights! For you have earnt your place in Twelfth Night, the play of festivity!’
A couple of performers who seem to already be flirting nudge each other happily.
‘But it’s not going to be easy,’ adds Francis.
They stop nudging.
‘We will be rehearsing for the rest of June. Three intense weeks, Monday to Friday, nine to five. Living the Dolly Parton dream. Then we will perform as part of London’s Pride Festivities, June 29th and 30th. Yes, in some ways, marvellous, delicious, huzzah. But, as many of you will have no doubt noticed, we only have two performances and no matinees, because that’s the kind of trust we get for selling queer-focused shows.’
One of the other cast members – a twink wearing pink flannel – boos, and a few others join in. I’m so unused to being in an all-queer space, I’m astonished to hear someone with authority saying things like this aloud.
‘But,’ Francis continues, ‘if we get good reviews, and sell out – that is, sell out in the good way – then the show might possibly be granted a tour.’
We all gasp and look round at each other. Going on tour is like the Holy Grail for a lot of performers. It’s a guarantee of more work, positive additions to the CV, and national contacts, while also getting to travel and have fun on the road. I scribble everything down. My desire to prove myself has never been higher.
‘Now, usually the play is set on the Twelfth Day of Christmas, but we don’t want to be partaking in any of that mainstream Christian tomfoolery. Fortunately, I have a grand vision for our production. Our Twelfth Night shall be set in the world of… pirates.’
We hesitate for a moment, then ‘ooh’ and, aptly, ‘arr’.
‘That’s the spirit! Now, I will give this precious piece of eight’ – he pulls a prop coin from behind his ear – ‘if anyone can tell me why I, God, have decided on this piratical theme?’
I put my hand up.
‘Well, Sir,’ I say excitedly, ‘it’s a truly fascinating choice. The play opens, of course, with a shipwreck, so the nautical element is signposted immediately. Then there’s historical parallels of pirates as satirists and renegades of the state, which is how actors often saw themselves in Shakespeare’s time. And, Twelfth Night is a play about disguises, subverting social status, the impact of alcohol…’
But then Mae raises her hand. I lose my train of thought. Francis gestures at her.
‘And what does our Viola think?’
She shrugs. ‘Because pirates are hot and gay?’
Francis grins and tosses her the coin.
Mae catches it, gives it a spin, winks at me. My jaw hurts.
‘Now we don’t have much time,’ says Francis. ‘I’m going to trust that you’ll all take the opportunity to – ahem – bond offstage rather than in the rehearsal room. But I won’t deny you one ceremonial warm-up game.’
Everyone claps camply. I try not to groan.
I’ve never gone in for group warm-ups. I value the importance of warming up the body and vocal chords, of course – actors are gymnasts – but we should be able to do it alone, without distracting giggling. Sometimes I think people become actors just because they like Zip, Zap, Boing.
Francis brandishes a toy starfish with a smiley face on it. It’s… actually really cute.
‘Use this as an opportunity to learn each other’s names and, more than that, escalate your familiarity with each other. So get those boundaries down. When this little fella is with you, state your name, pronouns, part you’re playing in the show, and something true about yourself. Like a fun fact. Or a tragic fact.’
This is my worst nightmare. I’m so busy worrying about what to say for my fact that the actors’ names barely register.
‘I’m Joe,’ says a towering blonde hunk. ‘He/him, and I’ll be multi-tasking the roles of Duke Orsino and Antonio. My fun fact is that I eat five eggs a day.’ He flexes. ‘One day I’ll be Gaston.’
The starfish is caught by long nails. ‘I’m Keiya, she/her. I’m playing Malvolia, and yes, I firmly believe Shakespeare intended her to be a hot black trans woman.’
