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Her control was masterful. She danced on the edge of hysteria and despair, held together with the ragged threat of pure, unadulterated hatred. Her movements were sparse and carefully considered, while her speech was a maelstrom of fire and teeth. Genevieve felt something stirring inside her. Pity? No. It was more raw than that. More angry. The rousing call of the thick anguish of a person calling out injustice.
“If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example?”
She had slowed, each sentence building from the last, leaving her atop a towering mountain of emotion, a volcano of pure feminine rage. She was closer to the table now, whipping her invisible accuser with every lash of her tongue, her beauty unravelling to near-madness. Genevieve was rapt, following her every word, eyes bright and fists clenched. This girl made her want to fight. To scream. To tear it all down.
“Why, revenge. The villainy you teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.”
Eden finished her speech, clutching her chest, heaving with the power she commanded within herself at her words.
And just like that it was over. Eden blinked a few times and the character melted away, leaving behind the same nervous girl who had first walked in wringing her fingers and biting her lip.
Genevieve was speechless. Truly speechless. She had no words for the euphoric agony she had experienced listening to this girl’s pain, Shylock’s pain. She wanted to revel in it, bathe in it, feel it wash across her skin. Her body sang, heartbroken androused all at once, desperate for more. She would throw herself at the feet of this Valkyrie, this warrior maiden, this Goddess of love and destruction. And she would take her, mould her, and build her into something unrecognisable in its glory and power.
Genevieve would be there. Feeding her and teaching her, providing everything from the clothes on her body to the stage under her feet, upon which the world would see her and delight. This magnificent creature would be her power and her undoing.
Eden shifted on her feet, “Was that . . . okay?”
Genevieve swallowed, her fist tight, the sharpness of her nails against her palm centring her and helping to shake her from her reverie. She needed to hear more.
“Miss Rowley. Can you tell me why you chose that monologue?”
Eden’s eyes flicked to Sammy and then back, her hopeful expression dimmed with nerves. “Well, I read the character information you provided. Your Beatrice, she’s so angry. So full of love. So confused, but so sure at the same time. I thought about the line I loved best fromMuch Ado About Nothingand I felt it was the closest your character gets to Shakespeare’s character. So, I wanted to find a monologue that would suit that.”
Genevieve nodded slowly. She didn’t think it was possible to be any more intrigued. “And what line was that?” she asked, although she was sure she already knew.
Eden’s eyes brightened, her features hardening slightly with determination. “‘I would eat his heart in the marketplace.’ It’s so visceral. So powerful. The mundane made horrendous through the sheer force of her love, the lengths she would go to. It’s not just about saving Hero, it’s her cry that she cannot do it alone. She’s so conflicted. She knows an injustice has been done and she wants to fight, but the world tells her she can’t. Shylock goes through something similar, albeit for religious reasonsas opposed to gender. It’s a human being, screaming at the injustice of the world.”
Genevieve exhaled, a weight seemingly lifting off her chest. Finally. Someone who understood what it was she needed to do, the story she needed to tell, and the well of emotion she needed to tap into. She stared at this girl, this Eden, and she saw her Beatrice. Glorious and beautiful and horrifying and monstrous and human.
“I see. And is there anything you’d like to ask us?” Genevieve continued, knowing how tense and snappy she sounded. But she had to speak that way. She couldn’t just leap over the table and grasp Eden in her arms and pour out all the truths of her art as she wanted to. It would be entirely too unprofessional. And, anyway, she had a reputation as an utter bitch to keep up.
Eden seemed to sink, face crestfallen at Genevieve’s terse response, but Genevieve didn’t care. The girl would learn what exactly she had in store for her soon enough. And it’s not like Eden would turn down Beatrice because it was the role of a lifetime. Eden would be within Genevieve’s grasp in a matter of days.
Eden stuttered, “Um, not really, I guess, um . . . .” She took a deep breath. “You won’t judge me just for how I look, right? I tend to get typecast quite a lot as the dumb blonde, and I just . . . I just want you to know that I want more than that. I canbemore than that.”
Genevieve raised an eyebrow. How delightful this timid creature was, and she didn’t even know it. What foolish, lesser directors had been casting on looks alone? Beauty, when wielded properly, could be ferocious. Classically, a woman’s beauty existed for the benefit of men. What happened when a woman grasped it and used it for herself, and herself alone? Did it stop being beauty, or did it make men tremble? They would find out together.
“Our casting decisions will be made in line with our requirements for the role,” she replied, shuffling the papers in front of her, tapping it against the wooden desk. “That’s all; you may go now.”
Eden nodded shyly and thanked them, her blue eyes swimming, her lips pressed tight. Silly girl. She would learn not to hold anything back when Genevieve took control of her.
“Darling, do you have to be so simply horrible? Sammy scolded her, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his neck. “Is it a kink? Sending pretty young things running from your snapping jaws?”
Genevieve aimed a withering glare at him. “Not everything has to do with sex, you know. This is about the art.”
He rolled his eyes, rocking back on his chair. “And what did you think of your most recent victim? I thought she was rather good.”
Genevieve’s eyes narrowed, her lips spreading into a conspiratorial grin. “She’s perfect.”
The company director nearly fell back in his shock, eyes comically wide, hand flying to his collarbone in mock horror. “Could it be? Somebody you actually approve of? Saints save us; it must be the end of days.”
“Did you not see it?” Genevieve asked incredulously, her voice breathy. “The passion, the emotion, the pure grit. I can take that girl and make her a star. Make hermystar.”
“Should I send the next one in?” the attendant murmured from the doorway, leaning into the room?as if she was too scared to step inside.
“No.” Genevieve’s reply was curt. “I’ve seen everything I need to see, and I know exactly who I’m casting. Send the rest away, please. I have no use for them.”
Sammy pouted. “Now, come on, Genevieve. You may have made your decision already, but it’s not fair on all those poor girls to send them away without letting them at least read.”
