Waiting for Callback (8 page)

All the girls were wearing school uniform. One of them was working a real St Trinian’s look; if they were looking for a slutty dead schoolgirl, she would definitely get the part. You could
tell the girls who’d done this before: they’d brought something to read. One particularly cool girl, who was rocking a simple black-and-white uniform as if it were indie Chanel, was
knitting.

My mother started saying hello to everyone, but one of the mothers gestured to a large sign on the wall that said
Perfect Quiet, Please, Taping
in thick red
marker and Mum (who always obeyed signs) lapsed into embarrassed silence.

I was grateful.

The ‘mo’ Mr Pashmina promised stretched into what seemed like hours. Every ten minutes or so, a subdued or excited-looking girl would come in, collect a random parent and depart,
followed five minutes later by Mr Pashmina with his clipboard. He would stage-whisper the next name and a girl would get up and follow him.

I tried to look like I was silently wishing them good luck, but deep down I wasn’t. Who would?

I was the last girl to be called. I had reread a discarded
Evening Standard
three times by then (the top news story,
Psychic sheep predicts election victory
, still made no sense),
my phone battery had died and I was a weird mixture of really nervous and really, really bored. I’d got to the stage of wishing I’d brought my physics homework with me (Ohm’s law
which is less relaxing than it sounds).

I followed Mr Pashmina, ignoring my mother who was pointlessly fumbling in her handbag for the hairbrush. I was shaking a little and I needed to go to the loo, even though I’d already been
for about a hundred nervy micro wees.

The audition room was really small. There were two women sitting behind a desk, one of them watching replays on a camcorder. They looked a bit tired and the room smelled of ham sandwiches.
I’m not sure what I’d expected at an audition, but it wasn’t this.

The older woman smiled warmly at me. ‘Hello, come on in. You’re Elektra James?’

I nodded and she made a tick against my name on a depressingly long list.

‘I’m Lily and this is Anna. Did your agent . . .’ She looked down at her list. ‘Oh, yes, Stella Haden – did Stella have a chance to explain the role to
you?’

‘Sort of; I know it’s a dead schoolgirl. I don’t know what sort of dead. I mean I don’t know how she died.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that at this stage. It’s early days.’ It didn’t seem to occur to Lily that I might worry less if I had some idea what I was meant to be
doing.

‘I haven’t learned any lines or anything.’

‘No, that’s because the role is a non-speaking one.’

Ah. They laughed and I blushed and because they were nice they tried to pretend they’d just been coughing.

‘OK, let’s get your ident done first,’ said Lily. I looked at her blankly.

She handed me a big rectangle of wipe-clean card. It was mostly empty space, but across the bottom was written
Dead Drop
(which I guessed was the name of whatever this was) and Greenlight
(which I’d worked out was the name of the production company) and 3rd December.

‘Here.’ She passed me a black marker pen. ‘Just write your name on the card, hold it up in front of you and we’ll take a photo. Stand over by the white wall.
No
,
don’t hold it in front of your face. The whole point is that we can see who you are. Yes, that’ll do. Now turn to each side . . . Perfect.’

The other woman, Anna, captured me on her camera looking like a criminal.

As soon as she took the picture, I had a nasty feeling that I might have spelled my name wrong. I was feeling a bit brain foggy.

That was pretty much the most active thing I had to do. After that, they just photographed me from every angle and measured my height. Why? I was going to be dead, presumably lying down –
surely I could just curl up a bit into the desired length? Maybe not. What did I know?

Less than five minutes later, I found myself back out in the corridor and went to reclaim my mother.

She started up before we’d left the room, far less the building.

‘How
was
it, darling?’ Cringe.

I made ‘don’t talk now’ faces at her, but she was practised at ignoring those. We passed Mr Pashmina on the way out.

‘Thank you
so
much for seeing Elektra,’ she gushed (loudly). ‘
Such
an exciting experience for her. So, we just wait to hear now, do we?’

Cringe.

Mr Pashmina just looked blank. He’d obviously forgotten who we were. Just as well.

I dragged Mum down the narrow stairs and out into the now dark street. The cold air smelled of coffee and cake from the cafe next door. It was a really good smell, cinnamon and chocolate
and
vanilla in the mix. I was hungry, but I could see a couple of the ‘dead schoolgirls’ and their mothers inside and I didn’t trust Mum to keep her voice down or, even
worse, not to start talking to them, so I steered her back to the car. We had a parking ticket; of course we did.

‘So, tell me what happened in there?’ Mum said, shoving the ticket into her bag. I was impressed that she wasn’t freaking out about the ticket or saying it was my fault (which
it sort of was).

I shrugged. ‘Not much really.’

‘What did they ask you to do?’

‘Really nothing.’ Which was disappointing for both of us.

‘
Something
must have happened. What did they say to you?’ She hates it when I don’t tell her stuff; it’s a problem – she needs to work on her attachment (to
me) issues.

Obviously, the first thing I did when I got in the car was plug my phone into the charger and check my messages.

Just stay calm, smile at them and do what they say.
(Daisy, the pro.)

Just enjoy yourself, it’s all good experience.
(Lens, the teacher.)

You will be FABULEUSE.
(This was followed by a long line of not entirely appropriate emoticons about half of which wouldn’t display on my screen –
Eulalie had a new iPhone and was getting in touch with her inner teenager by downloading multiple weird apps)
How can they not love you? You are YOU.
(getting
pretty French and existential there.)

Don’t panic. There are lots of images of dead girls in school uniform. Even purple school uniform.
Moss would probably have nightmares for years and I
wouldn’t even get the part.

I scrolled down; fifteen texts between them, all pretty much saying the same thing – it would be
great
, I would be
great
(except for a typically random one from my dad that
was just a really poor joke about cows). But I wasn’t feeling great. There’s something depressing about reading advice after you’ve already done something and when you’re
pretty sure you didn’t take any of it.

‘Elektra, would you get off that phone for five minutes and talk to me?’ My mum was still trying to get my attention.

‘I’m not
not
telling you,’ and for once I wasn’t, ‘but honestly nothing much happened. They just sort of looked at me and measured me and took photos.’

‘That was it? Really? They didn’t say what would happen next?’

‘Nope, that was it.’

And neither of us could draw much encouragement from that.

‘So, about that biology test.’

Great. The car ride home was going to be a long one.

From:
Stella at the Haden Agency

Date:
11 December 11:25

To:
Julia James

Cc:
Charlotte at the Haden Agency

Subject:
Straker
(working title) project

Attachments:
Casting brief.doc; character scenes.doc

Dear Julia,

Would Elektra be free for a meeting at 5 p.m. on Wednesday 17 December at the Spotlight Offices, 7 Leicester Place, WC2 with Janey (director, Suited
Casting)?

The meeting is to put some scenes (attached) on tape for a great role in an upcoming feature, working title
STRAKER
. I should warn you that the casting
team are looking at a lot of girls, but whatever happens this is fantastic audition experience for Elektra! I’ve attached the casting brief they sent over as well as the scenes so that you
have as much information as possible – but please can I stress that this project is
Top Secret
. Let me know if Elektra’s available as soon as possible, please. And can I
remind you both that the number-one rule for auditions is to be on time? (Early is even better!)

Kind regards,

Stella

P.S. Well done to Elektra for getting her first audition under her belt for the Greenlight
Dead Drop
project last Wednesday. I’ll let you know if we
hear anything.

Attachment: Casting Brief

STRAKER
(working title) is a fast action drama set in post-apocalyptic Europe. Straker and her family, psychologically damaged by the harrowing events
that have shaken their world, must fight against the Warri tribes who are the only other survivors.

Production Details

Character Breakdown

‘Dad and I are going out,’ said Mum in the sort of voice I’d have used to announce a Nobel Prize win (or getting the jeans I really wanted in the sale).
‘Eulalie is coming over to chill out with you.’

‘Did you just say “chill out”? No, don’t answer that; let’s just move on. I don’t really need a babysitter.’

‘I know, but I thought that you’d have fun.’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t because you were worried that the minute you left me alone a) a burglar would break down the front door and attack me, b) the kitchen would spontaneously
combust and c) I’d invite over a hundred friends and have an impromptu house party during which everything that hadn’t already been burgled or burnt would be trashed?’

‘The first two, yes.’

‘That’s actually quite insulting.’

‘Sorry, darling. Now what should I wear?’

‘Where are you going?’ I asked.

‘Just a restaurant but a nice one.’

‘Your blue dress definitely and wear heels.’

‘I can’t walk in them.’

‘Wear them anyway,’ I said firmly.

Her phone rang. ‘Oh, hello, Stella.’ She listened and I held my breath. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, no.’

‘What
?’ I mouthed at her.

‘She’s right here. I can ask her.’ She turned to me.

‘Stella wants to know if you have any mime skills. You don’t, do you?’

I definitely did not have any mime skills. ‘What are we talking? Basic? Advanced?’