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Finally, Genevieve could take no more. "Stop," she commanded, her voice cutting through the air like the crack of a whip.
The actor in the middle of speaking trailed off, looking equal parts offended and terrified. Genevieve stood, pacing the circle as she spoke.
"What I've witnessed here today is nothing short of abysmal," she began, her words low and clipped. Genevieve knew that it was way too early in the game to let them see what it looked like when she really lost her shit. "Have any of you actually read this script? Truly read it, I mean, not just skimmed the words on the page?"
She turned to one of the supporting actors, a young man who had been particularly wooden in his delivery. "You. What do you think drives your character to act as he does? Because from what I've heard, I’d say you haven't got the faintest idea."
The actor – whose name she couldn’t remember for the life of her – stammered, trying to formulate a response, but Genevieve had already moved on. Her gaze landed on Eden, who seemed to visibly shrink under her scrutiny.
"And you, Eden?" Genevieve demanded. “You, who showed such promise. Where is the Beatrice I saw in your audition? Because this pale imitation before me now is a far cry from the woman who would ‘eat his heart in the marketplace.’”
Eden's face flushed, evidently embarrassed. But she remained silent, eyes downcast, no bite of the character Genevieve had been waiting to see break free.
The frustrated director addressed the group once more. "I selected each of you because I saw potential. But potential means nothing if you're not willing to put in the work to truly understand and embody these characters." She paused, locking eyes with each of them in turn, letting her words sink in. "This is a waste of time. You can all get out of my sight until you’re ready to show me an ounce of professionalism. Talent even, if that isn’t too much to ask. When we reconvene tomorrow, I expect to seea marked improvement. Prove to me that my faith in you wasn't misplaced."
As the cast filed out, murmuring amongst themselves, Genevieve caught Eden's arm. "Not you," she said firmly. "You stay."
Eden froze in Genevieve's grip. The rest of the cast filed out, casting furtive glances their way. As the door closed behind the last person, a heavy silence engulfed the room.
Genevieve released Eden's arm and stepped back, surveying the young actress. Up close, she could see even more clearly the slight shake in Eden's hands and the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
"Explain yourself," Genevieve commanded. "What happened to the Beatrice I saw in your audition? The one who burned with passion and righteous anger?"
Eden swallowed hard, her gaze darting desperately around the room before finally meeting Genevieve's eyes. "I . . . I'm sorry. I know I didn't deliver what you expected."
"That's putting it mildly," Genevieve scoffed. "I've seen more convincing performances in school drama clubs. Do you even want this role?"
Something flashed in Eden's eyes then – a spark of that fire Genevieve had been looking for. "Of course I do," she said, her voice stronger now. "It's all I've thought about since I got the call. I've been studying the script, researching the character?"
"Then why?" Genevieve interrupted. "Why give me this watered-down, insipid version of Beatrice?"
Eden's shoulders sagged. "I . . . I was nervous," she admitted. "Being here, in front of everyone . . . in front of you. I got into my head and started second-guessing every choice. I know it's not an excuse, but?”
"You're right, it's not," Genevieve cut her off again. She turned away, pacing the length of the room. Part of her wantedto dismiss Eden on the spot, to cut her losses and recast the role. But another part – the part that had seen such promise in that first audition – wasn't ready to give up just yet.
She spun back to face Eden. "Show me now."
Eden blinked, confusion evident on her angelic face. "Show you what?"
"Show me your Beatrice. Not that sad imitation you gave me just now. Show me the woman who would boldly defy what her world expected from her and enjoy it, who would challenge a man to a duel if she could. Show me the Beatrice you want to play."
For a moment, Eden hesitated. Then, something shifted in her demeanour. She straightened her spine, lifted her chin. When she spoke, her voice carried a weight it had lacked all morning.
"I am not made for a corner, nor to go but with a guard. I have a heart as merry as the day is long, and a wit to match any man's. I will not be silenced, nor will I bend to the whims of a world that would see me small and docile."
Genevieve felt a thrill run through her. This. This was what she had been waiting for. "Better," she said, gentler than she had spoken for weeks. "But I need more. Show me Beatrice's anger, her frustration with the constraints placed upon her."
She moved closer to Eden, circling her like a predator stalking its prey. "Imagine it. You've just learned of the plot against Hero. You're furious, but you're expected to stand by and let the men handle it. What do you do? How do you feel?"
Eden's wide eyes blazed as she slipped deeper into the character. "Ay me, you do shame meandthe name of man if you would not cut down Claudio where he stands. I would that I were such," she spat, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. "I would sink my very teeth into his heart. He who has slanderedmy fair Hero. O that for his sake I do not unearth that virile beast within me and ride it hence to Claudio’s door."
Genevieve nodded, encouraging her. "Good. Now show me the vulnerability beneath that anger. The fear that maybe, just maybe, you're not enough to change things."
Eden's expression shifted, the fury giving way to a raw, aching uncertainty. "O that I were not just a woman," she said softly. "For all my wit, for all my strength, they do all fall deaf dare I speak at no man’s behest. Dare I beat my breast, not bring forth a babe to suckle at it."
Genevieve felt her breath catch, her chest tightening at the sheer beauty of Eden’s performance. Of Eden herself, if she were being honest. "Hold onto that feeling," she coached. "That conflict between your inner strength and the world's expectations. That's the core of Beatrice."
She moved closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Now, let's work on your physicality. How does this Beatrice move? How does she carry herself?"
