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“Not upstairs.” Alex peered up at him through her bangs. “The Jerwood Theatre, downstairs.”
Her cheeky grin grew brighter by the second.
“Bloody hell! That’s the main auditorium. Four times the size…” Mark trailed off, speechless.
“I thought it was a joke at first, but they knew the play. They want me to come in next week to discuss possible edits, meet the director. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to let on that I didn’t even submit it—”
“Hang on—so how did they read it?” asked Freddie.
An uncharacteristically shy hand rose from their huddle. “I did it. I sent it in.”
Alex pulled away from Mark’s hug, her jaw slack. “What?!”
“I worried that you’d just show it to Joan and that would be the end of it—but it was so good, Lex—”
Freddie’s eyes bulged. “Lucy, you crafty little minx!”
“Look, I know I should’ve told you,” said Lucy. “But I fell in love with it. Not just the grandmother stuff—all of it: love, regret, second chances, chasing your dream…I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so when you let me hang on to it, I might have made a few copies and mailed them off…”
She laughed, rubbing the ink stains on her left hand. “What can I say? I’m pushy! And besides, you named it Thirteen, for fuck’s sake! I had to get it out of the house, try to override its bad mojo.”
Alex yanked Lucy into a tight hug. “You superstitious freak! I promise I’ll never make fun of your weird phobias ever again. But, I’m shocked they liked it as is. I planned at least two more rounds of edits. I guess we’ll discuss that next week.”
“Remember I told you months ago that your perfectionist tendencies might be holding you back? Yeah…that,” said Lucy. “Not everything has to be 110 percent shiny and polished, you know.”
“I’m starting to realize that…” Alex chuckled, her damp face leaving Lucy’s shoulder. “I’ve spent so much time the last few years trying to be perfect…and independent. And in the end, a rough draft and my friends made the difference.”
She blotted her eyes. “Thank you—for having so much faith in me. I can’t believe you did this, Lucy.”
“I didn’t do anything. It was all you.” Lucy grinned. “It’s your writing they fell in love with. I just gave it a friendly shove out the door.”
Thirty-Nine
Thursday, July 21, 2016—7 p.m. PRESS NIGHT
THIRTEEN
By Alexandra Sinclair
14 July – 3 Sept
Jerwood Theatre Downstairs
Tickets: from twelve pounds
Playwright Alexandra Sinclair makes her London debut in the Royal Court’s Jerwood Theatre Downstairs.
After a week of previews, the buzz surrounding Alex’s play hit a fever pitch just in time for its press night, every leather seat filled by ticket holders, invited guests or theatre critics—all eager to see what the young American playwright had to offer. Alex’s worries proved to be unjustified. Two standing ovations and rumours of a four-out-of-five-star review had the theatre company popping champagne corks and sighing with relief at the after-show bash in the downstairs bar.
“That looks perfect. Smile!”
A photographer was wrapping up a quick photo call with Alex and her cast in front of the red wall overlooking the Royal Court’s main bar. Two acclaimed actresses in their mid-sixties shared the spotlight with a handsome twenty-something actor, a blonde starlet just out of RADA, and Naomi.
“The photos and review will be featured on our What’s on Stage website by morning,” said the affable shutterbug. “Looks like you’ve got plenty of admirers this evening. Enjoy it, love.”
“I’m still trying to catch my breath. Thanks so much.” Alex smiled, running her hand over the cowl neckline of her purple lace pencil dress, anxious to be reunited with her loved ones. This moment had to be shared. Her actors shuffled back down the few stairs to the dimly lit bar, but Naomi stayed by Alex’s side, giving her a peck on the cheek.
“I’m so proud to be in your first play, babe.” Naomi playfully dabbed at the lipstick smudge left behind on Alex’s face. “I never dreamed that we’d work together. Now look at us. Forever connected because of your art.”
