Waiting for Callback (4 page)

‘Well . . . Elektra has just always loved the opportunity to explore being other characters . . .’

At that precise moment, I did want to explore being another character – like someone else’s daughter.

I quickly cut over Mum and started waffling on about my classes at ACT. I was selective. For example, I didn’t tell Stella that it had been kind of grim at first because most of the other
kids thought I was weird and posh. I didn’t tell her that I wasn’t that keen on warming up to retro Britney Spears compilation tapes or that I struggled with some drama
‘games’ (usually the ones that involve pretending to be any non-human form). I was pretty sure Stella didn’t need to know any of that, so I just told her that I liked making words
come alive and I especially liked it when they were so real that I was suddenly someone or something completely different. And that was true.

‘And what made you choose the monologue I heard last week?’ Stella asked.

‘Um . . . well . . . my teacher, Lens, chose it.’ Which I know wasn’t the ‘right’ answer. I should have said something about being touched by the raw energy of the
spider/carrot’s spiritual journey. Because I was ninety-nine per cent sure the monologue was an extremely meaningful metaphor. I just wasn’t sure what it was a metaphor for.

‘Well, it was very good.’ Stella must have seen the look on my face because she added, ‘But obviously we try to find our clients non-vegetable parts too.’

‘Thank you.’ I probably blushed; I blush easily. I definitely blushed when my phone started barking.

‘Sorry, sorry, sorry.’ I began a frantic search in my messy bag.

‘It’s
fine
,’ said Stella, raising her voice over the woofs.

Mum’s glare would have melted girders. She fished out my phone in seconds and switched it to silent. It felt like every perfect child on The Wall was looking at me. This was all making me
a bit sweaty.

‘But you had fun doing it?’ Charlie put me out of my misery. She pulled her chair over and came to join us.

‘Doing what?’ It’s possible I was not at my most impressive. Also I found Charlie quite distracting. She was working a sort of gothy headteacher look: jet-black hair; very
tight black skirt; unchipped black nail polish; three tiny crosses in her right ear and a skull tattoo that stretched all over the back of one hand.

‘Performing? Being onstage?’

I tried to explain what it had felt like which was so much more than ‘fun’, and Stella and Charlie were both smiling and nodding and I relaxed a little. I think I’d finally
said something they wanted to hear.

‘So, Elektra, do you really think you want to be an actor?’ asked Stella.

It was a simple enough question and I knew or thought I knew what the right answer was. Of course I wanted to be an actor – but now she was actually asking the question I hesitated . .
.

I knew that I wanted someone to ask me to act in their television drama or their film right now. I knew that I wanted to be onstage in front of an audience (or even without an audience). I knew
I wanted my photo on The Wall. I knew I wanted an agent. I knew I wanted to be Juliet to both Douglas Booth’s and Gregory Peck’s Romeo. I knew lots of things in my head and in my
imagination. But Stella was asking: ‘Do you want to do this
for real
,’ and that was a massively big question.

Stella, my mother and Charlie were all leaning forward in their chairs, waiting for my answer. God, the pressure. ‘I just . . . I know I want to do it
now
, but I think it’s
maybe a better job when you’re fifteen than when you’re thirty.’

Stella stared at me. My mum fidgeted. Even Charlie looked embarrassed. The perfect children on The Wall judged me. I blushed (again).

There was silence for a long moment and then Stella smiled and said, ‘Quite right, Elektra; I think you’ll handle this just fine.’ She paused and exchanged a look with Charlie.
‘Look, I know you’ll need to go away and think about this . . .’ I wouldn’t. ‘But from our side I might as well just say straight away that we’d love to
represent you.’

I’d passed a test. I was
stupefied
.

Stella started talking to my mum all about how contracts and fees worked and when I’d recovered a bit I snuck a look at my phone under the desk. There was a whole scroll of text messages
from Moss.

Good luck

GOOD LUCK

GOOOODDDDD LUCKKKKKKK

I just called you

But you didn’t pick up

Which is annoying

Because I wanted to be nice

And wish you LUCCCCKKKKK.

It was typical of Moss both that she’d remembered to phone me to wish me luck and that she’d been about an hour too late. She was pretty much always an hour late
for everything. In fairness, it was typical of me that I’d forgotten to switch off my phone. I pretty much always forgot stuff.

‘We need to get your Spotlight form filled in.’ Stella pulled me back into the conversation. ‘It’s a sort of CV.’

Personal details were easy: height, eye colour (brown – which sounds better than ‘muddy’ which is what they actually are), hair (brown – more mediocrity right there),
etc. My ‘native’ accent is, apparently, Received Pronunciation (aka RP – just a tiny bit on the posh side of normal). Then things started to go downhill.

‘Do you have any other accents?’

I looked at Stella questioningly.

‘You know, can you do an American accent or an Irish accent or a Scottish accent?’

I shook my head.

‘You must watch American TV shows?
Friends
?’

I shook my head (I mean, I’d seen it, but I wasn’t an expert).

‘
Pretty Little Liars
?’

I nodded. I may have watched several hundred episodes.

‘Great. Then you probably can do an American standard accent. That’s always the most useful one. Have a go.’

I had one of these blank moments when I couldn’t think of anything to say. There was a yellow Post-it stuck on Stella’s desk: ‘Remember call Jamie’s mum
after
5 p.m. re
Potato Boy
CBBC casting.’ I tried not to get distracted by imagining what sort of show CBBC were planning that could possibly be titled
Potato Boy
and read it out in what I hoped was the right sort of American accent.

Apparently, it wasn’t
any
sort of American accent – I watched as Stella wrote NONE.

‘Do you speak any other languages?’

‘A little bit of French,’ put in my mother from the sidelines. I could tell she was still nervous by the way she was holding her handbag on her knee like a large and expensive body
shield.

‘Could you cope with a script in French?’ asked Stella.

My mother and I looked at each other and shook our heads. Stella wrote NONE in the ‘Other Languages’ category.

‘Never mind,’ she said kindly. ‘OK, let’s move on to skills.’

Now we were talking. This was where my optimistic if scattered attendance at after-school activities was going to pay off.

‘Instruments?’ Stella asked, pen poised.

‘Piano and er . . . violin,’ I offered.

‘Both at grade five or above?’

‘Er . . . no.’

‘Neither?’

‘No.’

‘Singing?’

‘I sing.’ Everybody sang, right?

‘Trained? Musical theatre? Classical? School choirs?’

‘No.’ Maybe not.

‘Dance? Jazz? Tap? Ballet? Circus skills?’

I shook my head. Mum had slumped into a mortified heap beside me. All those hours of ferrying me to after-school clubs and I was a total failure.

‘Not to worry,’ Stella said briskly. ‘I’m sure there’s something we can put down. How about swimming, skating, fencing, horse riding . . . ?’

I sensed my mother twitch into excited life, but I put out a hand to restrain her.

‘Would I have to be good enough to do them on-screen?’ I asked.

‘Or onstage, yes.’

‘Well . . . better just leave that blank too,’ I suggested, keen to have this over. I’d never realized actors were so talented. I’d just thought they were good at
pretending and either hot enough to look good on a red carpet and/or twenty feet tall in high definition (surely achievement enough right there) or weird enough to play ‘character’
parts without too much time in hair and make-up. But no; they can all speak in tongues and walk a tightrope while singing a show tune.

Stella didn’t seem that bothered by my hopelessness. She shoved my mostly blank Spotlight form into the out tray on her desk and gave my mother (who must have been wishing she had lots of
other better-skilled children) a list of photographers who could take my headshots.

‘Turn up in a black or white top with a simple neckline; that photographs best,’ Stella advised. ‘Choose a photo that looks like you, no make-up and no touching up; it never
does to disappoint them when you walk through the door.’

Which I was pretty sure wasin general.

Stella’s Words of Wisdom

1.

There are far more parts for boys than girls and far more girls than boys looking for parts. My gender would certainly be a disadvantage.

2.

Most parts for child actors are playing younger versions of adult actors. The adult actors are cast first. Most actresses are skinny, blonde and beautiful. In other words, my hair
‘etc.’ was a disadvantage.

3.

Unlike Real Life, most roles require an accent that’s either cut-glass Queen’s English or Cockney – my accent being somewhere in the middle was a disadvantage.

4.

My teeth had better stay perfectly straight. Braces or, worse, wonky teeth would certainly prove to be a disadvantage.

5.

There are more parts for teeny little cute girls than for girls at an ‘awkward’ age. My age would be a disadvantage (although if I hung in there till sixteen there were
‘coming-of-age’ roles – bring it on).

6.

Puberty generally was a disadvantage (they had no idea). If I got fatter or spottier or too much taller or too busty (I wished), I’d be dropped like a Christmas jumper in January.

7.

If I got lucky and was picked for a great role, I’d probably be typecast and never work again, i.e. any early success would be a disadvantage.

8.

Obviously, failure at any stage would also be a disadvantage.

9.

All child actors would probably soon be replaced by CGI which would be creepy and a disadvantage.

From:
Stella at the Haden Agency

Date:
14 November 16:51

To:
Julia James

Cc:
Charlotte at the Haden Agency

Subject:
RE: Elektra James – contract

Dear Julia,

Thank you for sending over the signed contract today. Charlie and I are both so pleased that Elektra wants to join our stable of talent!

We think we’ve become pretty good at telling which children will enjoy this mad(!) world, but we are very conscious that the reality of what can be quite a
tough business is sometimes a shock. If Elektra is unhappy or struggling or even if you feel that she is just losing her wonderful enthusiasm for acting, we really would urge you to let us know
straight away. We’re here to help support her.

We look forward to hearing from you.

Kind regards,

Stella

P.S. Do tell Elektra that Charlie was so impressed by her ringtone that she too has downloaded her very own animal alert (a cow)! I confess to mixed feelings
about this!

‘It’s official. Mum sent back the
signed
contract today. I’m in business. I am “Under New Management”.’ Which I know made me sound a
bit like a restaurant, but I just liked the idea of being under any kind of (non-parental) ‘management’.