When the Curtain Falls

  ‘I’m sure she did.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Oscar said, a little stung.

  ‘Why me?’ she blurted out and then wanted to kick herself for sounding so needy. ‘I mean… I know that sounds like I’m fishing. I’m not fishing, I swear, I just… you’re Oscar Bright.’ Olive splayed her fingers to the sides of her face and wiggled them like jazz hands. ‘And you’re sat here with… Olive Green.’ She stuck out her tongue like she’d tasted something foul.

  ‘No. I’m Oscar Bright.’ He gestured to himself in his scruffy tracksuit which he’d already managed to spill baked beans down. ‘And I’m sat here with Olive Green.’ He smiled at her and reached across the table for her hand. It was the most affection he’d ever shown her in public and whether he’d forgotten himself or whether he was deliberately making it known to those in the vicinity that they may be more than just friends, Olive didn’t care and then she instantly gave herself a stern talking to. Stop feeling grateful that he’s showing you the affection you already deserve, she thought. He’s got you wrapped around his little finger and you’re thanking him for letting you be there? She wriggled her hand out of his grasp and put it back in her lap, giving him an apologetic smile so not to appear too cold.

  ‘I’m here with you, because I enjoy you,’ Oscar clarified. ‘Because I love your company and there’s no one else at this present time that I would rather be here with.’

  At this present time.

  ‘Okay.’ She nodded.

  ‘I don’t know what more I can say to convince you.’ Oscar sighed, sticking his fork into a sausage. ‘Besides, there might be someone you’ve got your eye on. How am I to know? And that would be fine, by the way.’

  ‘It would be fine?’ Olive’s heart sank further.

  ‘Yeah… I mean… if you decided you’d prefer to… spend your time with someone else. That would be fine.’ He cut the sausage with a little more intensity than he expected, and the knife squeaked against the plate.

  ‘Well, there isn’t. Anyone else, I mean.’

  ‘No?’ he said, not looking up from the now-massacred sausage.

  ‘No, of course not. Is there someone else you’d rather spend your time with?’

  ‘I’ve already told you there isn’t. That’s where this all started.’ He stuck a large chunk of meat into his mouth with such vigour that he almost choked on it.

  ‘I know. I’ve just… I don’t know. We’ve all got demons, I guess.’ She picked up her knife and fork again. ‘Sorry,’ she said it so quickly it was almost as if she hadn’t said it at all. She gathered food onto her fork but noticed a lack of movement from the other side of the table. She glanced up. Oscar was holding his knife and fork aloft, on either side of his head like horns. When he saw her looking, he furrowed his brow, crossed his eyes and stuck out his bottom teeth. Despite herself, Olive laughed.

  ‘Is that supposed to be one of my demons?’

  ‘One of them? How many you got in there?’ He stretched out his arm and tapped the side of her head.

  ‘Too many,’ she said with a small smile.

  ‘We all do,’ he muttered.

  ‘Huh? What was that?’

  ‘Good food?’ he asked.

  ‘Really good.’ She was pretty sure he’d said something else, but she’d let it go. For now. She wiped away a bit of yolk that had dribbled over her bottom lip. ‘We should come here more often.’

  ‘As often as you like.’ He smiled, stroking her leg again.

  If only Olive knew just how Oscar felt. It was rare these days that anyone wanted to know who Oscar really was. Everyone thought they already knew him once they’d read the magazines and watched his countless interviews and what they saw, they loved. Being papped at glamorous parties, premieres and press nights drew a certain type of woman his way. So when they discovered he only attended those parties for twenty minutes before going home to his little one-bedroom flat in Bow, and he only attended the premieres of the things he really wanted to see rather than going to everything for the exposure, the word ‘disappointed’ didn’t cut it for the high maintenance girls he had a habit of attracting. Oscar thought it was fine to wear designer gear, to eat out in central London every night and to want to be in every magazine Tesco had to offer but often when the girls he dated found out that wasn’t who Oscar really was, they’d only stay with him for their image, making him feel miserable until he eventually ended things… and then they’d sell their exclusive story about how he’d broken their hearts. Oscar was beginning to wonder if every relationship would be the same.

  Then he met Olive. Olive who cared about what he thought and made him feel like a person rather than a prop in a TV show. He could talk about how he actually felt, not how he was supposed to feel. He could say what he actually thought instead of having to carefully craft answers, and instead of striking poses for cameras and donning his designer clothes, Olive happily accepted him with his uncombed hair, his creased tracksuit bottoms and his T-shirt that was full of holes. He could be silly, and she didn’t bat an eyelid. In fact, it made her laugh which made him want to behave that way even more, just so he could see her smile again. They’d go out after rehearsals and it would be Olive who suggested going somewhere quiet because she knew he hated feeling like he was being watched. He’d known her for just over a month and he felt more at home in her company than most of the people he’d surrounded himself with for years. However, as Oscar’s TV star had risen he’d been trained to only ever give away a little of himself. As soon as you part with too much of yourself, you lose ownership of your own privacy and he was fighting against giving himself entirely to Olive. Nagging voices in his head told him not to trust her too much and they spoke of all the things that could go wrong if he did. Oscar Bright, star of stage and screen, was too good to be true – but Oscar Bright who lived in Bow and went to bed each night desperately alone didn’t feel like he could ever live up to who the magazines said he was.

  A wave of Olive’s hair fell over her face and the end caught in her egg yolk. Oscar’s heart swelled at the sight and Olive glanced up, obviously hoping his eyes were elsewhere. He coughed and averted his gaze just in time, but his heart remained happy. The waitress had reappeared, for no rhyme or reason, and asked, ‘Enjoying?’ To which Oscar looked at Olive and said, ‘Yes. Very much so.’

  2

  Unlocking The Gate

  Oscar was one of those rare individuals who had found celebrity at a young age. Or rather, celebrity had found him. His career began as a child actor in a soap opera but as he’d grown, so had his part. And whilst he’d enjoyed his time on the set of Love Lane, he had spent ten years in the show, and now felt it was time to move on to new, more exciting projects. Work had poured in. Personal appearances, commercials, paid endorsements and even turning on the Regent Street Christmas lights, but nothing that flared his passion for acting. Every new offer seemed trivial and meaningless. Nothing he could really sink his teeth into as an actor.

  ‘Panto?… Really?’ Oscar sighed down the phone.

  ‘Rickmansworth would love to have you!’ Cassandra, his overenthusiastic agent, shouted excitedly. ‘They’re doing Cinderella this Christmas!’

  ‘I really don’t want to be Prince Charming,’ he groaned.

  ‘Well, that’s good! That’s good!’ He could practically hear her nodding down the phone.

  ‘What? Why?’ he asked.

  ‘They’re offering you Buttons!’

  BEEEEEP. Oscar had terminated their phone call and, later that week, their contract over a very expensive lunch. It didn’t take him long to find new representation and his new agent seemed far more tuned in on Oscar’s potential as an actor, as opposed to the cash he could make them solely through personal appearances. So when an audition for the role of Larson Hardy in When The Curtain Falls had arisen, Oscar was the first name to be put forward. An actor of his celebrity being attached to such an obscure show could only be good for business, but what was even better
was that he’d nailed his audition. Oscar was perfect for the role.

  What he hadn’t counted on was meeting Olive.

  ‘This is Olive Green. Your co-star. She’ll be playing Eliza Small opposite you,’ Michael Hughes, their director, had said on the first day of rehearsals. The room was noisy and packed, bustling with the cast and other creative types. Awkward hellos between actors who didn’t know each other at all or only half knew each other through friends or worse, knew of each other via other actors they’d slept with.

  ‘Hi,’ Olive beamed, taking the hand Oscar was holding out for her to shake, stepping forward to kiss his cheek and accidentally treading on his toe. ‘Oh God! So sorry! Big feet.’

  ‘It’s fine! It’s fine!’ Oscar laughed. ‘Careful though! I reckon those boots could take someone down.’

  ‘Well, they have done before. What’s to stop me again?’ She pulled her blonde hair back behind her ear and Oscar smiled without really knowing why. What she’d said hadn’t even been all that funny, but it was as though someone had pulled a cord inside of him causing his heart to light up like a bulb, the fluorescent beams with nowhere else to go, shining out of his face.

  It was then he realised that no one had said anything for several seconds.

  ‘Yes, well… I hope you two enjoy working together,’ Michael said, ending the moment between them and turning to address some other members of the cast.

  Oscar turned quickly on the heels of his brown shoes, taking a seat on one of the chairs placed at the front of the room, which suddenly felt a few degrees warmer than it had before. As the rehearsal progressed, he found that he was unable to stop looking at his co-star during their read through, even during the scenes neither of them were in when he had no excuse to be looking her way. He even missed a cue for one of his lines, his script left forgotten in his lap, the page unturned. Occasionally, she’d catch him staring at her, and she seemed to find it hard to pull her own eyes away.

  The world of theatre had acted like a flame to the flash paper that was their friendship. After mere weeks of rehearsals, Olive and Oscar were growing increasingly fond of each other and certain people around them had started to notice.

  ‘Okay, okay, if you had to sleep with someone in the cast, who would it be?’ asked Tamara Drake, a spindly creature whose smiles were saved only for those with the potential to further her career.

  ‘Must we always play these games?’ Oscar sighed.

  Jane, a smaller, slender girl whose name was as plain as her face, giggled.

  ‘If you had to,’ Tamara pressed, and flashed her teeth at Oscar. He brushed back his floppy fringe with one swift movement, his bicep tensing. Jane almost choked on her bottled water.

  ‘What, I’m being held at gunpoint?’ Oscar asked.

  ‘Who would hold you at gunpoint and demand that you had sex with someone?’ said Howard, a broad man who squeezed his way into the circle and awkwardly crossed his muscular legs, knocking over someone’s can of Pepsi in the process.

  ‘For someone who’s playing a cunning villain, you’re sooo clumsy, Howard,’ Jane sighed, sliding someone else’s bag out of the way of the approaching pool of Pepsi.

  ‘I’m not clumsy,’ Howard answered, mopping up the puddle with the towel he’d brought to the incredibly hot rehearsal room for when things got a bit sweaty.

  ‘Well, you’re large then,’ Jane continued, clearly enjoying teasing her fellow cast mate.

  ‘You’re not large, everyone else is simply too small,’ Olive said, smiling at Howard whilst sliding herself away from the spillage.

  ‘Anyway…’ Tamara said, repositioning herself. ‘A man is holding you at gunpoint and demanding you sleep with someone.’

  ‘Slightly odd demand for a criminal to make, isn’t it?’ said Doug, split-leaping across the room into the centre of the assembled group, his thin blond hair bouncing about his face.

  ‘Sit down, Doug, you’re making me dizzy!’ laughed Olive, reaching for his hand. Doug took it, but instead of sitting down next to Olive, he pulled her to her feet, held her close to him and started to waltz.

  The pair turned together in the centre of the circle the cast had created, before Doug spun Olive past Oscar and out into the empty room behind the group. His white tank top showed off his strong, muscular arms and had Olive not had eyes for Oscar, being literally swept off her feet like this might have otherwise made her swoon. However, having been friends with him since drama school, Olive considered Doug to be the brother she’d never had.

  ‘I can see you looking at him,’ Doug whispered in her ear as he held her close and rocked her back and forth as they slowly turned in a tight circle.

  ‘Who?’ Olive whispered back, feebly, and she felt Doug sigh against her. ‘Everyone looks at Oscar,’ she continued, thankful that her head was resting against his shoulder and he couldn’t see her blushing face. She glanced towards the group, but Oscar wasn’t looking their way.

  ‘Not the way you do,’ Doug said. ‘You look at him as though you don’t expect or want anything from him.’

  ‘That’s because I don’t.’

  ‘Exactly. Do you realise how rare that must be for him?’

  ‘I guess…’

  ‘You also don’t look at him like you want to eat him alive.’ He pulled back, so he could gesture behind him. Olive waited until they’d turned so that she was facing the group and saw that Tamara was baring her teeth again with a little more tenacity.

  ‘You’ve got a chance, y’know,’ Doug said, resting his head against her hair.

  ‘I’m not sure I want it. It feels a bit… cliché.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Doug tried to pull away to see her face, but she held him tightly in place.

  ‘He’s the man everyone falls for. I mean… has anyone actually ever told him “no”?’

  Doug laughed. ‘Probably not. I know it’s infuriating but the thing is… he seems like a good guy. I think he’s oblivious to his own… overall attractiveness. Which annoyingly makes him more attractive.’ Olive felt Doug shake his head.

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Do I think he’s attractive? Honey, I’m straight and even I want a slice of that pie.’

  Olive tutted in Doug’s ear. ‘I mean do you think he’s oblivious to just how good-looking he is?’ She glanced over at the group again. Tamara had now taken Olive’s empty spot on the floor next to Oscar and was laughing too hard at something he said. She used this as an excuse to touch his bicep, leaving her hand there and rubbing her thumb in circles across his skin. Olive, suddenly wishing she hadn’t vacated her seat to dance with Doug, also realised she’d been staring for too long, which was only confirmed by Tamara whipping her head around and making direct eye contact with her. Olive shut her eyes and buried her head back in the curve of Doug’s neck.

  ‘You know he’s noticed you too?’ Doug whispered.

  ‘I should hope so! I play his lover,’ she laughed.

  ‘You know what I mean. He looks at you the same way.’

  ‘I know, I know. I just feel a bit silly, like we’re back in school. And I don’t want to be lumped in with the hordes of other girls that throw themselves at him daily.’

  ‘You mean like Jane and Tamara?’ Doug whispered, cupping his hand against her ear. Olive gasped dramatically and batted him back with her palm, still slowly turning about the room.

  ‘Well… you said it. Not me!’ She felt a little weight lift from her soul knowing that it wasn’t just her who thought the other women’s behaviour a little forthright. Whilst she felt childish, Jane and Tamara had made themselves look it and she vowed never to stoop as low to fight for Oscar’s affections. ‘I think I’d rather sit this one out,’ she sighed.

  ‘Well, that’s your call but just so you know, he doesn’t look at them like he looks at you.’ Doug kissed her cheek with a smack. ‘And every time I’ve turned you away from the group, he’s glanced over here to check we’re not snogging. So, that’s something, eh?’ Agai
n, she batted him away playfully, feeling her cheeks flush once more but a sense of triumph fill her heart.

  ‘Okay, gang! Back in!’ called Michael, with his mouth still full of sandwich. With only a hint of reluctance, the cast got to their feet. All except Tamara.

  ‘Oscar!’ she called from the floor, holding out her arms and wiggling her long, delicate fingers. Oscar took them and gently pulled her up. ‘You’re coming for a drink tonight, aren’t you?’ she said, placing her hands on his chest.

  ‘I think so,’ he answered, stepping backwards and almost bumping into Olive who had wandered over to get her script even though she already knew all her lines off by heart. ‘Depends if this one is.’ He draped his arm around Olive’s shoulders.

  ‘Me?’ Olive smiled.