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And there it was. The bloody caveat. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but Genevieve was already far too irritated to pay it any attention.
“If what?” she asked, her tone terse. She wouldn’t sell her soul for this. She would find another way.
“They want you to direct the flagship performance. And to earn them enough money that night that they’ll believe this little venture is worth it.”
She groaned again, massaging the bridge of her nose. Genevieve felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. “So basically, the whole bloody thing either lives or dies with me. Everything is going into this last-ditch effort to make RBC ‘cool’again.”
Sammy smiled wickedly. “Don’t you worry, my dear. I’ll be helping you along. After all, I get to decide the lineup. That’s where our dear Alicia Pearson comes in. Tell me; how many of her books have you read?”
Genevieve didn’t dignify that with a response. As if she had time to read for pleasure. She was too busy carrying the whole damn company on her back. Her phone buzzed again, and this time she pulled it out and glared at the screen.
“Bloody hell,” she muttered, scowling at the string of messages from her darling ex-wife, Amy. Why the woman insisted on pestering her after everything genuinely baffled Genevieve.
“Ooh, anything juicy?” Sammy asked, stretching even further across the desk with a glint in his eyes.
She turned to glower at him. “Weren’t you yapping on about Alicia Pearson?”
“Ah, yes, dear Alicia. You see, the thing is, ten years ago she published a book called ‘Beatrice.’ Some proto-feminist nonsense, really, but the concept has potential. It’sMuch Ado About Nothing,except from Beatrice’s point of view. And there’s no swooning over a yummy Benedick in this version. No, it’s more oestrogen-fuelled rage and latent gay awakening.”
Genevieve raised her eyebrows, her attention caught. Sammy saw the shift and a shit-eating smirk spread across his features. She’d be annoyed at his smugness later, but this could potentially—maybe—hold her interest.
Beatrice was both a favourite character of hers, but also one that frustrated her to no end. Shakespeare was no stranger to both feminist and queer-coded characters, empowering them in a way that was rare for the period to which they belonged. But the ending always had to fit the narrative. Genevieve doubted that the old bat, Alicia, would be able to capture the true passion and despair of the character in her silly books. But Genevievecould, she was sure. On the stage.
“I knew that would get your attention,” Sammy squealed, clapping his hands together with glee. “So what do you think?Will you do it? Oh,pleasesay you’ll do it! I’ll give you whatever budget you want!”
“Remind me what’s in it for you?”
He spread his arms out wide, gesturing to the comically empty room. “It’s my legacy,darling! I’ve been trying for years to get something original on the stage, and this is my chance! I will not let RBC whither and die under my watch!”
“Casting?”
“The quotas are still in place, but you get final say.”
“Costumes?”
“I’ll give you Damien.”
“Phoebe Chen is better.”
“Then you shall have Phoebe Chen!”
“Theatre?”
“How about the Whinney Playhouse?”
“I detest the rigging there; it’s so restrictive. I want the Braga.”
“Damn it, I knew you would say that. Fine, I’ll move James to the Whinney, but he won’t be happy. You can have the Braga.”
Genevieve smiled for the first time that day. “Well then, you’ve yourself got a deal.”
RBC’s flamboyant artistic director cried in delight, jumping up from his chair to sweep her up in an entirely unwelcome hug, squeezing her tight. “Oh, Genevieve Howard, you simply are the most amazing creature ever! I’m eternally in your debt. Can I take you for dinner? Oh, you must come to dinner. Thomas and I know this simplyexquisitelittle Italian joint . . .”
He carried on yapping as she extricated herself from his embrace, smoothing down the sharp lines of her suit. She wasn’t listening anyway. Her mind was too busy racing through the task ahead of her. Genevieve would need to see the script, of course. She didn’t trust Alicia to be able to translate Shakespeare’s works with the necessary panache. And Genevieve would need atleast a week of brainstorming in her home office, surrounded by awards and scripts and crumpled posters. Proof of her prowess.
She would need concept art, character explanations, and visual inspiration. There was so much to do, but so little time. It was basically an impossible task. Genevieve felt a small fissure of excitement crackle up her spine. Sheadoredan impossible task.
“Oh, I can already hear that brain of yours whirring away.” Sammy grinned, leaning back against his desk, one leg draping over the other. “I’ll put in a script meeting for this afternoon, so you know what you’re working with. Is a month enough time before auditions open? We’ll need to get the word out if we want to open next summer.”
