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The director glanced at the screen, her jaw immediately clenching. For a moment, Eden thought she might ignore it. But then Genevieve snatched up the device, her knuckles white around its edges.
"Take five," she barked at Eden, already striding toward the door. "Get some water, catch your breath. We're not done here."
And then she was gone, leaving Eden alone in the lingering discomfort of her own failings.
She sagged against the wall, closing her eyes and letting out a shaky breath. She could hear the muffled sound of Genevieve's voice in the hallway, sharp and angry even through the closed door.
Embarrassingly quickly, curiosity got the better of her, and Eden found herself inching closer to the door, straining to hear.
"I told you, I'm in the middle of rehearsals," Genevieve's voice came through, clearer now. "No, I can't just - Amy, for God's sake, will you listen to me for once in your life?"
Eden's eyes widened. Amy. Genevieve's ex-wife. She'd heard rumours about their tumultuous relationship, whispers in the dressing rooms about bitter arguments and public scenes. But hearing the raw emotion in Genevieve's voice now made it all suddenly, painfully real.
"It's not my problem if you’re disappointed," Genevieve continued, her voice rising. "It’s not your place to try and drag me to some corporate event because you think I need tosocialisemore."
There was a pause, and Eden could almost picture Genevieve pacing the hallway, one hand tangled in her silvery blonde hair as she listened to whatever tirade was coming through the phone.
"Drop it, Amy," Genevieve finally spat. "You don’t get a say in how I live my life. You forfeited that right the day you fucked someone else while you were mywife."
Eden scrambled back from the door, certain that sounded like an “I’m hanging up now” kind of comment. She didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping. Eden had just managed to compose herself when Genevieve burst back into the room, her face a storm cloud of barely contained fury.
"Is everything all right?" Eden asked hesitantly, immediately regretting the words as Genevieve's sharp gaze snapped to her.
"Everything's fine," Genevieve replied, her tone making it clear that it was anything but. "It's none of your concern. Now, where were we?"
Eden swallowed hard, steeling herself for what was sure to be a gruelling continuation of their rehearsal. But as she looked at Genevieve, she couldn't help but see the wounded woman behind the fearsome director. Someone who was hurting, frustrated, and maybe just as lost as Eden herself felt sometimes.
It was a revelation that both unnerved and thrilled her. And as the women prepared to dive back into the scene, Eden felt a spark of something new igniting within her. A determination not just to please Genevieve, but to truly understand her.
As they resumed their positions, Eden couldn't shake the echoes of Genevieve's angry conversation from her mind. The director's expression was now a mask of forced calm, but Eden could see the stress in the set of her shoulders, the tightness around her eyes.
"From the top," Genevieve commanded, her voice brittle. "And this time, I want to feel Beatrice's anger. Her frustration with a society that doesn't understand her."
Eden nodded, taking a deep breath. As she began to speak, she found herself drawing on the raw emotion she'd heard in Genevieve's voice moments before. She let that frustration,that simmering anger, colour her words. Now Eden delivered the lines with a newfound bite, letting Beatrice's wit become a dagger with which she cut through the world.
For a moment, Genevieve's eyes widened, a flicker of something like approval crossing her face. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by her usual critical stare.
"Better," she said curtly. "But I need more. Beatrice isn't just dismissing Benedick. She's questioning the very foundation of his beliefs. Show me that."
They ran through the scene again and again, Genevieve pushing Eden harder with each repetition. But no matter how much fire Eden poured into her performance, it never seemed to be enough.
"No, no, no!" Genevieve finally exploded, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "You're still holding back. What are you so afraid of?"
Eden flinched at the outburst, her own frustration bubbling to the surface. "I'm not afraid," she shot back. "I'm trying to give you what you want, but you keep moving the goalpost!"
"What I want," Genevieve hissed, stalking toward the seething actress, "is for you to stop trying to please me and start embodying this character. Beatrice isn't polite. She isn't contained. She's a woman on the edge of explosion, constantly fighting against a world that wants to silence her."
They were toe to toe now, Genevieve's eyes blazing darkly as she glared down at Eden. The younger woman could feel the heat radiating off the director, could smell the faint trace of her no-doubt expensive perfume. It was addictive and overwhelming all at once.
"I don't know that I can do any better," Eden finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Genevieve's expression softened the tiniest fraction. "Yes, you can," she said, her tone gentler now. "I've seen it in you. You just need to let go of your fear and trust yourself."
Eden nodded, swallowing hard. She closed her eyes, trying to unlock whatever it was inside herself that Genevieve was so sure she was holding back, to find that spark of Beatrice she needed to unleash.
Suddenly, an idea struck her. She remembered a passage from Pearson's book that had resonated with her during her preparation for the role. Maybe this was the key to unlocking Beatrice's character in a way that would satisfy Genevieve.
"Ms. Howard," Eden said hesitantly, "I have an idea. May I try something different with the monologue?"
