Acting Up (12 page)

Jazz had only changed her outfit four times, which was not bad going, considering. Would the
Evening Herald
like her Smart and Understated, Humble and Alluring or Intimidatingly Sophisticated? She had briefly considered Intimidatingly Humble before wearing her favourite chic, smart suit. She walked into the hotel foyer and stopped still. Now what?

'Ay saiy, hailo,' called a voice from her side. She turned to face an amazing body. Long muscular legs, a bust that strained at the tight halter-neck over it and strong round shoulders. It was the body of a strong, glossy colt. Unfortunately, on top of it was the face of one. Jazz took one quick up-and-down glance and knew instantly that she'd seen the type before. High heels, high cheekbones, high bustline, low morals. They always went far. 'Candida Butterworth,
Evening Herald
, we spoke on the phone.'

Candida stretched out a long arm and they shook hands.

Impossibly, Jazz felt she was shrinking.

'Hello,' she said quietly.

They perched on a sofa, ordered coffees and Candida got out her dictaphone. 'Can't do shorthand, takes longer than my bloody longhand,' she said and laughed like a braying donkey. Her teeth were enormous. How did they all fit in her mouth? Didn't she have problems getting food in? Maybe that was why she was so skinny.

And how did she breathe? Was that why her nostrils had to be so flared?

Jazz had been worried enough about what to say before meeting Candida. Now that she had met her in the flesh she was terrified. There was no way Jazz could take her seriously. The
Evening Herald
had a massive circulation and she knew that this interview could make or break her. Her career was in Candida's hands. And Candida's hands were now in Candida's Wonderbra, hoisting herself up to newer, even better, heights.

Jazz stayed calm. She was not going to be duped into thinking Candida was dumb just because she looked like a horse. She was as determined not to babble and make a fool of herself as she had been before she met her. She would make sure she understood any complex questions before answering them. She was not going to be frightened of pauses. She was not going to be fooled. This was going to be fine.

'Now,' said Candida, getting out sheets of questions, which were written in large round letters. 'Where were you born?'

Oh shit.

Two hours later, Jazz had a headache from talking so much. She hadn't let Candida ask any more questions after her astounding, 'Do you think lady journalists are as good as real journalists?' So she'd talked nonstop, without a pause, about herself. That was always dangerous, because usually when that happened Jazz's brain couldn't keep up with her tongue. This was no exception. Candida sat and nodded silently for two hours. Jazz hoped to God her dictaphone was bust and she'd have to re-interview.

It wasn't.

* * * * *

George and Jazz were nattering during a particularly boring part of the rehearsal. This part was meant to be the complicated dance scene between Darcy and Lizzy where he actually asks her to dance and she forces him to talk about his relationship with Wickham. As usual, Brian needed some extra attention and everything else was being put on hold while Harry fought to control his temper. The choreographer was eating a Mars Bar while reading the gloriously tacky women's magazine
Would You Believe It!
After an hour, Brian was finally mastering his imperious frown, but so fiercely that his face reminded Jazz of a bad Picasso painting.

'Jack wants to be a great actor more than anything,' whispered George to Jazz, as Brian knocked a chair over and Harry started making strange, choking noises.

'Well,' she smiled, 'apart from settling down and having a family.'

Jazz grinned at her affectionately. God, she hoped George was right. She didn't know anyone who deserved to be happier.

'I hope Mum and Dad like him,' said George wistfully.

Jazz was brought out of her thoughts. 'My God, George,' she said. 'This sounds serious.'

George looked at her. 'I know, Jazz.' She half-smiled. 'This is IT.'

Matt Jenkins was making his way over to them both and they stopped happily to talk to their producer. By now, Matt was everybody's friend, from the junior props assistant to the great Harry Noble. When he wasn't on stage, twitching with terror, Matt was a supremely organised, efficient man, who had a wonderfully calming, balming effect on the entire proceedings.

As Matt asked the sisters how they were, Harry started bellowing insults at poor Brian so loudly they could no longer hear themselves talk.

Jazz turned to Matt, who, like most people in the room, was now watching Harry and Brian.

'Is there no end to Mr Noble's professionalism?' she asked loudly, as for the first time, Brian was actually bellowing back.

Matt tried to smile and give Jazz his full attention. 'He's under a hell of a lot of pressure,' he replied equally loudly. 'He's all right when you get to know him.'

Jazz smiled ruefully. 'And why would anyone want to do that then?' she asked.

She assumed Matt didn't hear her over the furious row now going on between Brian and Harry.

George was trying to avert her eyes from the embarrassing fight. 'You've worked with him before, haven't you?' she asked, as Brian stumbled off the stage and Harry stood silently, in a world of his own.

Matt nodded briefly, his eyes back on Brian. 'Years ago now. It was just a small production. We were both a lot younger. Harry doesn't let a lot of people get close to him.'

Tragic loss for mankind, thought Jazz as Matt quickly gave them both some rehearsal dates.

Just then a flushed Harry came over and loitered uncertainly near them, giving Matt a short, defensive glance.

Jazz looked up at Harry. 'Nice to see you have the full vocal range,' she said, referring to the row. 'You never know when that might come in handy.'

Harry almost grimaced and ruffled his hair distractedly.

Jazz decided to make the most of his unusual reticence.

'Are you sure you're allowed to come over and talk to the plebeians, Hazza?' she asked in a tone that was so rarely used on him that even Matt seemed a bit surprised.

'Meaning?' Harry answered shortly.

'Well,' said Jazz, 'I'm so honoured that you've actually graced our humble company, instead of merely beckoning us to come to you, that I think I may have to lie down with the shock of it.'

Matt gave a warning smile. 'I think you've met your match, Harry,' he said, before realising to his horror that Brian was slowly packing up his belongings.

Jazz turned to Matt with a big smile. 'Do you know that Harry never so much as deigns to talk to us during any breaks? He only ever shouts at us and orders us about? It's fearsome.'

Harry was so determined to defend himself that he was distracted from what was happening behind him.

'It's the only way to get anything done around here,' he snapped. 'And when we're not rehearsing, I don't mingle well. I leave that to other people who seem to have a knack for it.' The words 'mingle' and 'knack' were said like they were well beneath him.

Jazz looked him steadily in the eye. He held her intense gaze with a look of defiance that concealed how much he was enjoying the experience.

'I don't find it as easy as some to act, Mr Noble, but I'm trying my hardest.' With a wide smile, she finished, 'I see it as
my
limitation, not other people's.'

Harry simply nodded his head. 'Well, perhaps you'd like to do some of that now,' he said. 'We have work to do.'

Jazz turned to Matt. 'Wish me luck,' and he smiled at her.

'I don't think you need any,' he said. Unlike himself, he thought sadly, as he wondered how on earth he was going to placate Brian.

Jazz got up slowly, just as the costume girl approached George with a nervous smile and a large sketch pad. The truth was, Jazz was bored by this. Brian was hopeless on stage. She was no actress, but even she could tell. But when she took her place for her scene with him she realised Brian was putting on his coat and picking up his bag. Was he going out for chocolate supplies?

'Where's Darcy going? Was it something I said?' she asked Harry.

Brian started to walk majestically to the door.

'We've – um, we've . . . come to an agreement,' said Harry, taking off his jumper and revealing for a moment a smooth, broad chest before his thin white cotton shirt fell back down again.

'What agreement?' asked Jazz, her attention caught for a split second by the sight of Harry's chest, so that she was completely unaware of Matt flat-footing it after Brian.

'He's leaving.' Harry was now rolling his arms around from the shoulders in odd circular movements while walking towards Jazz.

Jazz couldn't take it in. 'He's not playing Darcy any more?'

'Well done, Ms Field, your mental agility is most encouraging,' he said.

'So who's playing Darcy now?' said Jazz stupidly.

Harry coughed. 'I will be playing the part of Darcy from now on,' he announced loudly, so that the entire cast could hear. 'Brian has other commitments.'

At this, Matt stopped doing his rather feeble impression of someone running and turned round to Harry with a big, satisfied grin on his face. The door slammed and Brian was gone.

'Right,' said Harry decisively. 'Where were we?'

As he walked towards a shocked Jazz, he glanced over to the side of the hall and did a sudden double-take. Jack was standing very close to George and, what was more, George was letting him. Worse than that, Jack's mouth was inches away from hers and her eyes were half-closed. Jazz watched Harry stare at them, frowning. Eventually he turned away from them and apologised to her. He seemed very preoccupied.

He came and stood by her side, facing the front of the stage. Then he stretched his arm out towards her, palmup, as in a dance. The choreographer came over with her copy of the script and Harry, never taking his eyes off Jazz, said: 'The dance has to be constrained, correct and elegant, yet at the same time full of chemistry. Darcy and Elizabeth have never touched before and he's already in too deep. She, of course, still thinks he's an arrogant prig.'

Jazz stared at him in astonishment. Was he really asking her to act with him? He eyed her and started flicking his hand up and down impatiently, as if to make her take it.

'You could just
tell
me what you want me to do, you know,' said Jazz, recovering. 'Instead of performing your own rather poor version of the
Birdie Song
.'

Harry sighed. 'We really don't have time for this, Ms Field,' he said.

They locked eyes. She wouldn't touch him until he asked.

Harry sighed again. 'Take my hand, please,' he said impatiently.

Reluctantly, Jazz did so.

* * * * *

Acting with Harry was an amazing experience. Jazz entirely forgot herself. Because he was so utterly convincing as Darcy, her reactions, which had been so tame with Brian, were now highly charged. The rest of the cast stopped talking and started silently watching what was going on. Whenever Harry gave Jazz an idea or suggested trying her delivery a different way, she knew instinctively what he was getting at and what he was trying to get out of her. And they were always both delighted with the result. She was buzzing with excitement. This was thrilling! Jazz loved the way Harry was making Lizzy stronger by the minute. And after a while, he even started accepting her ideas. She managed to convince him to make his Darcy more pained.

'The man's in love, for goodness' sake,' she said at one point.

'Why should that pain him?' asked Harry. 'He still thinks he's superior to her. And is still arrogant enough to assume she would accept his hand.'

Jazz answered as if he was an idiot. 'Because he still thinks he can't marry her – it would go against every one of his principles. And his principles are his whole identity. He's going through constant inner turmoil every time he sees her. He's fighting himself whenever she's there. This is the only woman he has ever felt so powerfully attracted to. Physically as well as emotionally. He's never even
fancied
a woman before. Darcy has never been out of control before – it's terrifying, confusing and amazing all at the same time. Lizzy makes all the other women he can get – and let's face it, he can get all of them – pale into insignificance. She's the only woman who has ever answered him back, who has ever made him think twice about what he says, who has ever made him reconsider his lifelong principles. And yet she's from repulsive lowerclass stock. It's like a terrible awakening for him. And every time he sees her he is more aware of the increasingly agonising dilemma he is in. He's getting more hopelessly devoted and yet more aware of the impossibility of marriage to her at the same time. It's – it's living hell.

'And,' Jazz got more and more excited, unaware that Harry was watching her with a new look in his eyes, 'at this point, he realises the worst thing yet – that his biggest enemy in the whole wide world has made an impression on her. Maybe already has planned to elope with her – he knows the depths of Wickham's character enough to fear the worst. Yes,' she finished triumphantly, 'he's a man in great pain. You're doing him too one-dimensional.'

Harry thought about this and nodded slowly.

From that moment on, Jazz was moved by the intensity of his performance. When he looked at her now, there was so much repressed emotion in his dark eyes that she felt slightly embarrassed.

At the end of the rehearsal, everyone else had gone and it was just her and Harry. She was knackered but looking forward to a walk home to blow out the cobwebs in her head. She wanted to put off going home as long as possible. It would either be empty or full of Gilbert. Just thinking about it spiralled her down into a deep depression.

'Want a lift?' asked Harry.

'No,' said Jazz miserably.

'Are you all right?'

She shrugged her shoulders.

'Want to talk about it?'

'Nope.'

'Coming to the party on Friday?'

Jazz thought of Wills. 'Yes,' she said, and put her Walkman on.

* * * * *