Sophie eventually arrived at Clarks and work was chaotic. Sophie fought fires throughout the day, negotiating contracts with agents. The price for their chosen actress to perform in the skinny dipping commercial was a particular point that she’d tried to get people to agree on the whole day. To think England was in a recession, yet the actress had the audacity to question the amount of money Sophie offered for the job.
“Take it or leave it,” Sophie trilled down the phone to the agent. “This is a national commercial. She could become a national star.”
There was a pause down the line and Sophie looked at her watch. “Look, if she doesn’t like the pay then I’ll have to find someone else. We’re in a recession and that’s the budget. Take the offer to your client and call me tomorrow with your answer. There is no wriggle room. I repeat, no wriggle room.” Sophie hung up feeling slightly tense about the conversation.
Trying to forget it, Sophie rushed to the office toilet cubicles and changed into the fairy floss dress. She checked her appearance in the mirror. A stranger looked back at her. Her eyes widened as she stared.
She raked a hand through the short blonde bob, fingers stopping at the ends where the length of her long brown hair used to continue. She lowered her lashes, the eyelids painted with pastel pink eye shadow. Her heart fluttered, possibly with nerves; she felt different. A good different.
Finally leaving the office, Sophie bought a bunch of flowers and walked to the theatre, and grabbed a programme. Feeling nervous and excited, she arrived at the stage door, and pounded. She held the flowers on her hip. She’d bought lilies, carnations and roses.
Sophie pounded the stage door again. The rose scent mingled with the garbage she was standing beside. Casting a quick look at the dustbin, Sophie decided that backstage in London’s West End was not as glamorous as she’d imagined. The backstage entrance was away from the bustling crowds, located on a tiny cobbled street in Piccadilly Circus.
“Hello, anyone there?” The door burst open. “Thank you!” Her jaw dropped and she blinked, struggling to blank her expression as she looked at the man standing in front of her. He was pale like an albino giant dressed in black. He loomed in the doorway and his mass of muscles spread across the entry. The figure hugging fairy floss dress, made Sophie feel tiny in comparison.
She purposefully closed her jaw, trying to seem unaffected by his astonishing size. “I’m here to see Carol.”
He folded his arms, muscles bulging in his skin-tight, black t-shirt. “No chance.” This was not the kind of man she would want to meet in a narrow alleyway, which, she realised, she was currently doing.
“But have you asked her?” she said in a strong voice.
The man scratched his bald head and shrugged. “You’re too late, I’m afraid.” He turned, closing the door.
“Wait.” Sophie lodged her foot between the door and the frame. “I won’t stay long.” She manoeuvred her head, looking through the curtains, past the bulk of the security guard. Black sheets hung from the ceiling and dancers ran past.
He looked at his watch. Sophie took advantage of his distraction. She plunged her body forward, through the narrow gap between the door and his brick body. But not only was he big, he was also quick. She hadn’t expected the albino to be quick. She felt her body bounce back from his as he blocked her. She groaned as the wind was taken from her.
The man shook his head. “Carol is the new leading lady and doesn’t need disturbances. Now move along.”
“Let’s try this again.” Sophie rubbed her head, feeling like she was slightly spinning. “Carol’s my flat mate and we hang out a bit. Wouldn’t you want to wish your friend well if they were dancing the lead role? She’s the principal dancer tonight, isn’t she? Could you please just ask her whether she has two minutes to see me?”
He sighed but he finally opened the door. “I’ll take you in. But no upsetting the leading lady, and don’t stay longer than two minutes.”
Sophie nodded, smiling to herself as the security guard escorted her through the backstage corridor. He had let her in! She followed him obediently through a series of doors.
As she paced through the first corridor, she passed a series of clothing racks on wheels, loaded with elaborate flowing dresses for the show. Through a second door were dancers, who appeared like they’d only just finished school, fresh faced and pubescent. They paraded white-corseted leotards, the laces threaded up at the back with long tutu skirts. Their hair was oily and slicked back, showing their unlined faces and the workings of a can of hairspray. Many wore feather ear muffs, pinned on. They were all so youthful. Sophie wondered how long Carol could keep dancing, being the same age as Sophie. Surely, these girls would be scratching to be principal dancers.
Sophie excused herself as she stepped over girls stretching on the floor, legs horizontal. Sophie and her escort weaved through the corridors until the security guard stopped protectively in front of a grey door with a single gold star painted on the front.
He knocked.
“Come in,” Carol called from inside.
“Two minutes only,” the security guard instructed.
Sophie gave him the most winsome smile. “Thank you.” He opened the dressing room door, a floral scent escaping as Sophie entered, the door closing automatically behind her.
The room was so large, Sophie could have cart-wheeled the length. At least ten mirrors bordered with light bulbs extended across the room. Carol sat at the last dressing table, surrounded by large bouquets of flowers and majestic floral arrangements.
Sophie approached Carol. “Hey, I brought these,” she muttered, placing her small flowers next to the others. They seemed to pale in significance.
Carol barely turned her head from the mirror as she held black eyeliner. “Thanks, Soph.” Her lips pursed tight like a string on a guitar.
Sophie picked up one of the cards, scanning the signature, wondering who it was from. “Wow, look at all these. You’re a star now!”
“They’re not for me.” Carol applied more makeup. Her bench was cluttered with boxes of hair pins and canisters of hair spray. “They’re for the sick leading lady. I’m temporarily using her dressing room, so the director knows where to find me, if and when the need arrives.”
“Well, you’ve got this room for tonight, anyway. That’s exciting!”
Carol dropped her eyeliner pencil. “Oh, I’m a mess….” A hand came to her chest. “I can’t believe this is happening. Sophie, what if I can’t do this? All the girls keep whispering that I’m too old. They don’t think I can hear them, but I can, even though the average ballet dancer stays with a dance company until they’re at least thirty-five, maybe even until forty. I’m ten years off that, at least.” She swivelled in her chair, wearing the same silk dressing gown Sophie had seen earlier that day, although it now hung over a white ornate leotard and tutu.
Sophie sat on the stool next to her. “Come on, your director gave you this opportunity for a reason: because you can do it. He wouldn’t have if he didn’t think you could.” Her words were positive and she realised she was sounding like Matthew, at the pool.
“It’s only one night, I suppose. He knows I’ve been dancing forever, I’m quick to learn new steps and it is only one night, so he doesn’t care if I’m old.”
“Why are you thinking about being old now? He picked you, didn’t he? You just said ballet dancers are still part of a dance company up to forty. You’re way off being forty. Focus on why you’re doing this, not your insecurities. This is your dream. You can do this.” Sophie picked up the eyeliner pencil and passed it to Carol.
“I can’t get the eyes right tonight. They’ve got to be perfect.”
“Let me.” Sophie noticed Carol’s hands shaking and she extracted the eyeliner from her fingers. “I won’t stay long, I know you need to prepare.”
“I’ve done one eye already. Oh…I love the new hair. You look hot in that outfit tonight.”
Sophie laughed. “Thanks.” Sophie looked
intently at the made-up eye with dark black coal pencil drawn in thick, dramatic strokes. Sophie copied the expertly applied make-up as Carol sat quietly.
“What if I can’t do it, Soph? What if I run out of stamina? What if I can’t get my breath?”
“What nonsense. You’re the fittest girl I know. You’ll be great! Remember, you’re the best understudy there ever was.”
“Yes, but I’m not the understudy tonight, I’m the principal dancer.”
“You’ve been practicing these steps in the flat on a daily basis. I’ve seen you rehearse so many times that even I know the dance moves. You have boundless energy, like a bouncing kangaroo, you never stop,” Sophie said, her voice encouraging. “You told me that you’ve danced in front of audiences over three hundred times. You’re a natural.”
Carol shrugged. “Yeah, I love the audiences. I do get nervous though.”
“Nerves are healthy. Use them. Remember that you can do this in your sleep. Don’t let any bitchy girls get in your way.”
“Okay, Soph.”
“So remember, this is what you’ve been waiting for.”
“Yes.” Carol’s voice was firmer.
“Now visualise yourself on stage.”
“Come on, Soph, do I have to do this?”
“Visualise it, ’cos whenever I see you dance, you’re so graceful and I wish I could be you. You’re a star.”
“I’m hardly a star,” Carol said, modestly.
“You are in the star dressing room. Darling, you were born to be a star. You love dancing. You love this.”
“I do love performing.”
“Well don’t forget it. That’s why you’re here, to perform.”
“I can do this!”
Sophie finished the eyeliner and inspected her work on Carol’s thin face. “A perfect Swan Queen,” she mused. Sophie couldn’t help feeling proud to see her friend in the lead costume.
Carol’s breathing began to regulate properly. “Sorry for being stupid.”
“Don’t be silly. Now have you warmed up?”
“Pretty much.”
“Well make sure you do it again. Now I want you to start acting like a star.”
Carol frowned, her shoulders shifting back. “Okay.”
“Do me the honour and sign my programme. I want to be able to sell it for a million pounds one day.”
Carol grinned, taking a pen from Sophie’s hand. She signed a large signature on the front of the programme cover.
There was a soft knock on the door. The security guard poked his head into the room. Sophie gave Carol’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’ll be great; see you after the show,” Sophie said.
Carol revealed a cheeky smile. “If I didn’t emphasise the fact before, you are looking hot tonight. Blonde hair, lovely. Gorgeous makeup, and that dress looks amazing. Whoever owns that has impeccable taste. Now go get him. I want to hear some interesting details later on.” Carol winked and Sophie almost cried with happiness hearing her words. Carol was better. She’d be fine.
“I’ll see you after the show. Now... merde!”
Carol laughed, and Sophie found herself laughing, too. “And remember it’s not a date!”
“Isn’t it?” Carol mused, back to her normal self.
Sophie left the dressing room, feeling relieved as the door closed. Date or not, she’d better go and find Matthew.
Chapter 18