My Own Worst Enemy, page 4
5
‘She’s going to take everything from me!’ I scream.
Ruth and Raphy stare at me. We’re in my bedroom, which looks like the makeshift office of a renegade detective who is obsessed with tracking down a criminal thespian. My walls are plastered in heavily annotated theatre tickets, playscripts and audition monologues, connected by theme with colour-coded strings. Above my bed are signed show posters of my idols – Olivia Colman, Viola Davis, Cate Blanchett, Annabel Finch.
Ruth and Raphy don’t seem to understand how terrible the situation is. I try to be clear.
‘The only way I can get cast in anything is if I’m the only short-haired lesbian actor on the scene. Don’t you see? Suddenly we’re going to be in all the same audition rooms.’
‘Em,’ tuts Ruth, ‘you got a first-class degree from the best fucking drama school in the country. Give yourself some credit.’
‘Evidently exam results don’t matter! Look at me! Nine months later and my biggest role has been the understudy to Orlando’s understudy! I never even stepped on stage! There aren’t enough parts for two of us.’
Raphy steeples his fingers. ‘What I’m hearing is that scarcity mindset is affecting your sense of security.’
‘Security?’ I blink at him. ‘Oh God, you’re right! If she takes all my parts, I won’t be able to make rent and I’ll have to move out and you’ll stop being my best friends and I’ll have to live with my dad and he’ll take it as proof that acting isn’t a viable career choice, and Thalia will know I’m a failure and I might even have to talk to my mo—’
Ruth plays a loud alarm sound.
I stop.
‘Right.’ She turns it off and smooths her hair. ‘Stop spiralling. You don’t have enough data to know if Mae is even a real competitor. You self-sabotaged your audition. It could be that she’s utterly abysmal. Maybe you would have got the role if you’d auditioned.’
‘I…’
Damn it, she’s right. I was so thrown by Mae that I ruined it myself. I can’t rationally blame her. It definitely still feels like her fault though.
‘So, what am I meant to do now?’
Ruth shrugs her shoulder pads.
‘Maintain business as usual. Audition for good parts, and do a good job. Most likely thing is, meeting Mae Jones today was an anomaly and you’ll never see her again.’
I nod, pacing, pulling at my quiff.
‘I’ll never see her again,’ I mutter. ‘I’ll never see her again.’
That should be reassuring. So why do I also feel so… disappointed?
‘Honey…’ Raphy coughs. ‘Your energy is… a lot right now. How about we do a little meditation?’
‘Raph! I can’t sit still right now!’
‘Exactly,’ he says. ‘Look, even Ruth will join in.’
Ruth rolls her eyes but seems to accept it’s for the greater good. She pulls me onto the living room bean bag.
‘Breathe in… and out… In… and out…’
My fidgeting stills gently. Annoying as it is to admit, Raphy might be right. Breathing makes you feel slightly better than not breathing.
Then Ruth’s watch goes off. I open my eyes, suddenly panicked again. Raphy sighs, but bows graciously and helps me up.
‘Darling,’ he says, moving us through to the kitchen, ‘maybe your acting career wouldn’t seem quite as all-consuming if you had… Other interests?’
I feign offence, but honestly? Being single-minded in my ambition is something I’m proud of.
‘I agree,’ says Ruth. ‘And you know, the best stress release is a good fucking.’
I choke on an olive. Raphy has the audacity to nod.
‘Raphy! You said that after Ferdinand you had taken a vow of celibacy!’
Ruth scoffs loudly. ‘Sure, he’s going to be “celibate” until some sexy yoga pants come along and do downward-fac—’
Raphy snaps back, ‘At least I’m not simulating feelings for my colleague to aid my career.’
‘I’m not screwing him to get promoted! I’d get promoted anyway!’
R&R fold their arms and face away from each other. I look at them and decide it’s now my turn to act for the greater good.
‘OK, what if I was open to dating…?’
R&R’s arms immediately unfold. I try not to let my smile show. This is why three is the perfect number for a friendship group.
‘But how am I meant to find time to go on dates?’ I say to Ruth, then turn to Raphy. ‘And how am I meant to find a real connection with someone?’
They look at each other, then shrug. ‘Date an actor?’
I gag.
‘Of course, you would suggest she dates in the workplace,’ mutters Raphy.
‘I’m suggesting she shares deep conversations about the art of faking an—’
‘Guys. Stop. Actors are the number one veto.’
Ruth shakes her head at me.
‘Em, you’ve got to accept that not all actors are going to be like—’
Raphy hurriedly presses Ruth’s lips together. ‘Her name is not to be said in this house. Bad juju. We’d have to get the sage out again.’
Ruth bites at his fingers.
‘It’s not just her,’ I say. ‘All actors are the competition. Especially lesbian actors. It would be literally sleeping with the enemy.’
My mind has the audacity to think about Mae Jones. I groan.
‘And why would anyone ever want to date me, when there are so many better options out there?’
The constant rejection of dating would be like doing even more auditions.
Raphy puts a hand on his jutted hip.
‘I will not accept negative self-talk in this house. And it simply isn’t true. You’re very attractive.’
‘Raphy, you think literally everyone is hot.’
‘I do believe everyone has been blessed with their own unique magnetism, and that, yes, if the stars aligned in the right way I could form an intimate connection with near any consenting adult but –’ he waves his hand in a characteristically abstract gesture over me, ‘– even lay people fancy you. You have a – je ne sais quoi.’
‘Maybe on stage,’ I say tentatively, fiddling with my quiff. ‘When I rehearse enough.’
‘Only because you have more self-confidence when you’re onstage,’ says Ruth. ‘Other people see it offstage but you just never give people a chance. Remember that woman who kept following you round asking for your autograph?’
I blush. ‘She just wanted to be an actor herself.’
‘Em, she asked you to autograph your number!’
‘To ask me about getting an agent.’
Ruth throws up her hands.
‘Honestly, why did you become an actor if you can’t stand people looking at you?’
‘Because they’re not looking at me, they’re looking at my character.’
‘Very noble.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘But it’ll still be your name up in lights.’
I shrug sheepishly. It would be lying to say I didn’t want the validation of fame. If my name was in lights then my dad would have to accept that acting is a real job. And if the lights were shiny enough, maybe Thalia would message me again.
‘You’re so sure that no one is interested in you that the energy you give off comes across as if you are not interested in them,’ says Raphy. ‘You know, sometimes you assume no one wants to talk to you so you don’t talk to them? It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.’
It’s part of the job to get feedback on the way I present my characters – from my agent, from directors, from reviewers – but I always find it disarming when someone describes the way I come across in ‘real’ life. I don’t want to deny my friends’ impression of me, but I’m sure Raphy’s just trying to spin my failings into a positive light.
‘Yeah,’ says Ruth bluntly. ‘First impressions? Your personal brand of awkwardness comes across as aloof.’
She starts touch-typing on her phone while maintaining the conversation.
‘If you were my client, I’d say you need to be less polished, it’ll seem more human. Work on your public relations. Didn’t you say your drama school friends have a party tonight?’
Ruth has an uncanny memory for schedules, even other people’s. But I know what she’s going to suggest.
‘No?’ I lie.
‘Excellent,’ says Ruth. ‘And she who must not be named won’t be going, will she?’
‘She’s shooting in LA,’ I mumble.
‘Perfect. Then your mission is just to go to this party and flirt with someone.’
Raphy squeals and makes spooky gestures.
‘Destiny calls,’ he says. ‘I foresee it. You will form a powerful connection at this party.’
‘Why is it that my destiny always seems to correspond to what you think I should do?’ I grumble. ‘Why should I bother trying to find a relationship when I already have you two?’
Ruth looks up from Deliveroo.
‘Because we don’t want to have sexual intercourse with you.’
‘OK,’ I say. ‘Please stop there.’
‘Because despite how attractive you are, even offstage,’ continues Ruth, ‘I’m still tragically straight.’
Raphy stands and stretches his leg back in an arch. ‘It’s so sad that Emmy’s sexual identity is, like, the only one that doesn’t overlap with mine.’
‘Guys, please, you don’t have to justify why you don’t fancy me,’ I say, watching him teeter. ‘We’re three friends. Best friends having the best time.’
Raphy wobbles. Ruth instinctively lunges to hold him. Raphy clings to her shoulder and they stare into each other’s eyes to communicate stability via telepathy until they refind his balance. They continue to stare at each other for a moment, until Ruth’s watch beeps and they jump away from each other.
‘You need to stop sitting in lotus with the same left foot crossed over,’ Ruth snaps, tapping at her wrist. ‘It’s messing up your posture.’
‘Well,’ Raphy says, tossing his hair, ‘your watch is messing up your circadian rhythms, so—’
I take up my peacemaker mantle.
‘Fine, fine, I’ll go to the party tonight.’
They immediately cheer.
‘But only if you both help me get ready. And we listen to musicals.’
Ruth rolls her eyes, but I know she secretly loves Hamilton. Raphy claps and goes to get his make-up bag.
6
I realise this is the first party I’ve been to since graduation. That’s sad, isn’t it?
I press the buzzer and Toby answers. ‘Yaaaas, who is it?’
‘Emmy.’
‘Who?’
I turn around to leave.
‘Wait, Emmy Clooney?!’
He seems to have forgotten he’s still on the intercom because he shouts to the room, ‘Clooney is coming!’
The door buzzes. No way out now.
It’s easy to follow the stomps of Chicago’s ‘Cell Block Tango’. Toby opens the door, blinking as if I’m a hallucination. Behind him, half-naked thespians pause mid-straddling chairs, shooting imaginary guns and slut-dropping to stare.
I hand over a bottle of Pete’s’zas House Red.
‘Thank you for having me,’ I say.
‘Oh, I… You’re so welcome!’ blinks Toby. ‘I think the idea of BYOB is to drink it yourself, though?’ He hands the bottle back to me.
Going through, I spot one of the cliques of my Saint Gen’s class – Ben, Aoife, Will, Colin and Enrico.
They all wave and scream extravagantly in the universal language of an actor’s welcome.
‘Emmy!’
I wave the wine bottle to create a force field so they don’t feel they have to hug me.
‘It’s so nice to see you! How are you? Are you still even on the group chat?’
Everyone else shares news of their casting successes and failures on a group chat called BAFTA NOMINEES 2k??. I avidly watch every update, judging my own progress by theirs – but I would never actually participate. It’s the same reason I’m not public on social media. What if I typed something wrong and then my mistake is immortalised forever on the dark web?
‘Is Thalia coming?’
‘Oh.’ I swallow hard and try to look nonchalant. ‘I’m not sure if she can make it.’
‘Well, that’s fair,’ says Ben. ‘If I was as famous as her I’d throw all you suckers under a bus.’
The others slap his arm in camp outrage. I’m not sure if he’s joking.
‘How is she?’ asks Toby. ‘I haven’t heard from her in ages! She’s doing so well, isn’t she?’
‘Mm-hmm!’ I nod.
‘Isn’t she in that new film… Oh, what’s it called?’
Aoife supplies, ‘My Best Friend Wants to Kill Me.’
My eye twitches. ‘Excuse me. Bottle opener.’
I escape the kitchen and pour myself a slow glass, trying to do my breathing exercises. Ruth and Raphy would be disappointed – I can’t even talk to my old classmates, let alone flirt with someone new. Maybe I can will myself into the character of someone else, someone who is the life and soul of the party. Someone confident, gregarious, funny, charming—
My eye is caught by the door opening.
And there she is. Mae Jones.
Her party outfit is a knitted vest decorated with big sheep. Her cargo trousers are weighed down with a heavy ring of keys, and she’s bouncing on the same chunky colourful trainers. Her hair’s a little wet; the messy curls spring like happily watered plants. I swear the entire party turns to gaze at her. She says something with a grin, and everyone laughs. She lifts a bashful hand to ruffle the short hair at the back of her neck, and everyone tries to hand her a drink. She takes a beer and toasts the new friends around her, and, just as she looks up, our eyes meet.
The light changes to a red strobe. The speakers play Wicked’s ‘What is This Feeling? (Loathing)’
Mae misses her mouth, spilling beer all over her vest.
Her (very gorgeous, femme) friend laughingly shepherds her to the kitchen. Mae tries to resist but she’s pushed towards me. I am cursed again, unable to move.
Her friend dabs at her, then looks up at me, then to Mae, then slowly backs away. Mae doesn’t seem to notice. Clearly she’s not a very attentive girlfriend.
‘Well well well,’ she says finally. ‘Are you here for the audition?’
I’m in such a state of anxiety that for a second I don’t realise she’s joking.
Mae tilts her head at me and starts to smile. I look back, willing myself to say something witty. Nothing comes. I try to cover it by taking a gulp of my wine.
‘Sorry,’ she gestures behind her, ‘would you prefer to have the rest of our conversation in the toilet?’
I choke. Still, I don’t have a reply quip. Her eyes are twinkling.
‘I didn’t get the impression you’d be so desperate to see me again that you’d follow me to a party.’
How is it she’s said multiple quirky greetings and I haven’t said a single thing back? It’s like she can’t help rubbing in how much more charming she is than me.
She takes a sip of her beer, looks round at the party, then glances back at me.
Now I’m thinking about what R&R said, about how I come across as aloof. God. Say something. I swallow.
‘Nice vest.’
Mae blinks at me, as if working out if I’m being sarcastic or not. I try to smile. Her face breaks into a wide grin.
‘Isn’t it! Guess what? This is so queer of me,’ she says, touching my arm, ‘but my ex knitted it.’
It has the note of a line that’s been used many times before. I have no right to feel this way, I know, but I resent that she’s saying the same things to me that she says to others. She thinks I can’t see through her script, but I know better than anyone what it sounds like when you’ve practised the same lines too many times.
I pull my arm away. We stand in silence for a bit.
‘Are you here with someone?’ she asks.
I blush. Is she asking if I’m here with a date? R&R should have warned me how weird it is to come to a house party by yourself.
‘I – I know Toby,’ I say. I gesture to the BAFTA clique, who I swear are watching Mae. ‘I went to drama school with that lot.’
‘Oh! The Big Toe! I love him!’
Of course Mae has nicknames for my friends that even I’m not aware of. I top up my wine, which has somehow already disappeared.
‘Where did you go to drama school?’ I ask.
‘Oh, I didn’t,’ she replies.
I blush harder. This is why I should never go to real parties. I must seem like such a snob.
‘So how did you get in?’ I ask. ‘I mean, to this party? Who do you know?’
Mae looks around.
‘Kind of… Everyone?’
Across the room she waves at Louisa, a former performer who has now become my agent’s assistant. She waves joyously back. Several people behind her wave too, then look at each other jealously.
I frown at her.
‘Why haven’t I seen you before?’
‘Oh,’ she laughs, touching the back of her neck, ‘I haven’t been in anything big. I only started acting relatively recently. Accidentally, to be honest. I’ve been a bit of a, you know, a drifter I suppose – pubs, cafés, studios. I only moved to London a few months ago. Hence the stupid accent. No one can ever guess where it’s from.’
Without thinking, I say, ‘New Zealand and Dublin, but recently lived in New York.’
Mae blinks at me, then breaks into a slow smile.
‘I’m impressed.’
I look down.
‘Any actor should be proficient in accents,’ I mumble. ‘And actually, umm, I realised one of my favourite actors has a very similar voice type to you. Maybe you’ve heard of her – Annabel Finch?’
Mae stares at me. Do I have stains on my teeth? I plough on.
‘I saw her live once, with my mum, when I was a teenager, and she was absolutely… She’s got that –’ I click my fingers ‘– that stage magic, you know? She’s magnetic. I aspire to be like that, to be like her.’
Mae’s looking at me so strangely, I realise I must have sounded violently stupid. I forget that stage presence is something I talk about with my mum – used to talk about with my mum. It isn’t something people discuss at parties.
