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“Not really,” Genevieve answered, showing her own sly smile, “but do it anyway.”
Her boss squealed again, “Oh this is so exciting! Far more exciting thanMacbeth,don’t you think? Oh, don’t look at me like that! If this works, I’ll let you do it next year. I’ll even let you use the bloody sand, if you want it!”
Genevieve’s phone buzzed again. Sure enough, there was another message from her ex-wife, Amy. The jolt of annoyance brought the triumphant director’s mood right back down. Sammy peered over, his eyebrows knitting together in concern.
“You know . . . it’s been years. She’s clearly making all this effort to be friends. How long can you really go on hating her?” he asked.
“Sammy, she cheated on me and moved in with her mistress because I apparently work too much and am emotionally unavailable. Of course, I still hate her.”
He considered, “Well, darling, you do work entirely too much. But thank the Lord you do. We wouldn’t be nearly as successful without you. And, well, I’ve met rocks that were more emotionally available than you. But perhaps you should thinkabout moving on. Maybe start dating again. You never know who you’ll meet.”
Genevieve raised a perfectly plucked brow. “And who exactly is going to put up with me?”
2
EDEN
Eden Rowley stared at the miserable piece of pastry in front of her, soggy and slightly burnt at the edges, the custard filling a congealed mess.
Much like her career.
She picked at the tart, shredding it into tiny little pieces, willing it to catch on fire or something. Really, the questionable treat had done nothing to deserve her ire, but it was in the wrong coffee shop on the wrong day. So it had to suffer.
Another rejection. That was, what? The sixth one this month? And she’d worked so hard at it, too. Staying up late every night for a week, taping and taping and taping until she’d had a record of the absolute pinnacle of her ability. An absolute gem to send off to the casting director. Whoever said you should send in the second tape, no matter what, was a complete moron. Eden could always be better.
But it wasn’t good enough. It was never good enough.
Another chunk fell from the wretched tart, which oozed its contents onto the plate, the sticky mess coating her fingers. Absentmindedly, Eden licked them clean, too tired and upset to maintain her stupid diet. What was the point in having themedia’s idea of the perfect body if nobody wanted to put it onstage?
What did “too charming” even mean, anyway? How the hell could she be too charming to play Cinderella? The woman was a literal princess, who charmed small animals and the like to her side.
What they meant, of course, was that they thought she was too much of a bimbo. All the blonde hair and fluttery lashes. Nobody ever gave her the chance to play an actually interesting character. Eden slumped down in her chair, chin hitting the table, fully aware that pitying herself over her classically good looks was incredibly petty. But she couldn’t help it. Type-casting was a bitch.
The director had wanted someone more “real.” He’d wanted to make the point that anybody can find love and magic, and all of that crap. Not just the stereotypical blonde. The few things Eden did get cast in, she was always either the completely boring love interest—or perhaps the other woman. Nobody thought she was good enough for the more complex roles.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Amanda rushed in, wearing one of her usual ensembles, complete with flowing sleeves and vibrant colours. She was wafting incense around the room. Amanda collapsed into the chair facing Eden and smoothed her hair back, fanning herself lightly.
Eden didn’t even look up at her friend, too busy picking at the massacred pastry.
“No luck then?” Amanda waved over a waitress, putting in an order for two red berry teas, “I told you, girl, Cinderella was a stupid move. You’re wasting your time with complete dreck. You should be aiming higher!”
“Why, because a rejection from an actual West End show would feel better than a rejection from a local production?”
Amanda giggled. “Sweetie, it was barely a step above am-dram. I mean what were they gonna pay you, like fifty quid? Come on, you’d make more playing Cinderella for a kid’s birthday party. And what the hell have you done to that custard tart?”
“But it’s not just Cinderella, is it? I haven’t been offered anything for months. At this rate, I won’t have a show to do this winter. I’ll have to wait for the summer season!”
Eden’s eccentric friend hummed. “I mean, it’s nearly December, so you’re definitely too late for the winter season. But you’re not missing out. All I got this year was another fucking pantomime! Oh, what’s that behind you? Wait! It’s the death of my career.”
Eden snickered despite herself, accepting the warm cup of tea from the waitress. It was nice to be the one getting served for once. Eden basically lived at the pub where she worked, with all the extra shifts she’d had to take since the cost of living decided to go through the roof.
Amanda sat back and sighed, “You know, I did a reading for you before I came. I suspected you might need the motivation.”
“You know I don’t believe in all that.” Eden groaned, fighting not to roll her eyes. Amanda meant well.
“Shut up! Yes, you do! Want to hear or not?”
“Let me guess . . . I’ve been directionless but I need to be more ambitious, and then all my dreams will come true?”
