Fallout (33 page)

Luke pushed back his chair and it caught on the carpet, unevenly – he almost stood. Didn’t.

‘That’s nice,’ he said at last. ‘I didn’t mean to waste your time.
Diversion
is opening at the Depot in June. I should have said.’

‘OH!’ Lou gave a shout, throwing both hands in the air, so that every man in the room turned to him.

Tony remained watching Luke with rapt attention.

‘When did this happen?’ said Lou, his eyeballs bulging, his upper lip achieving a layer of sweat. ‘Luke . . .’

‘Just recently,’ said Luke.

‘Big mistake. Big mistake. That
divorcee
?’

‘Maggie O’Hanlan,’ said Luke steadily, knowing that Lou knew her name perfectly well and was trying to unsettle him.

‘She’s a loose cannon, the lady producer. A hysteric. Her husband was the brains of the operation. That woman – the stories I heard in New York.’

‘I like her,’ said Luke. ‘She’s bright. She knows what she’s doing. And Paul Driscoll is an old friend.’

Still Tony didn’t speak.

‘That old warehouse, way over there?’ gestured Lou. ‘The cement won’t be dry in time.’

‘There’s no rush,’ said Luke. ‘I don’t mind.’

Then, finally, Tony said lightly, ‘Is there
anything
we can say to change your mind?’

Luke looked him in his pale, cool eyes and tried to force the thought of Nina from his mind but she wouldn’t go. He felt her with him; his companion, his girl.

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘It’s done.’

He left the Garrick and walked. Down to the Strand and along the Mall to St James’s Park.

The daytime was always an unusual delight to him, living so much in darkness – theatres, pubs, rehearsal rooms – he took the night for granted. This day was golden; crocuses and cut grass and people who knew nothing of theatre, who had other lives, were walking. Teenagers lay on the grass around a radio on the ground beneath a tree; flared jeans and kissing. It was as though he were being given this sunlit day specially and he felt grateful for its prettiness. He had the breath of life with Nina and he had his work. If he kept to truthfulness, and courage, he would not lose them.

He opened the door to his flat and as he was putting down his keys saw Nina naked in his bed. Her head was resting on her hand as she waited for him, smiling. Her long hair lay upon his pillow. The afternoon light from the window made lovely patterns in the creases on the sheet draped over her.

She had surprised him like this before. He had given her a key hoping that she would. Sometimes it was in the middle of the night; sometimes she woke him with her visits, slipping into bed, entering his dreaming senses before he knew the gratitude of her reality.

‘Hello,’ he said.

‘Tony’s out at some lunch or other,’ she said.

Luke went and sat on the edge of the bed and kissed her as she sat up to meet him.

‘You don’t mind?’ she asked, naked through the sheet, and him in his clothes.

‘I’d rather you were properly dressed and made an appointment,’ he said.

Then he saw that she had something – half hidden under the sheet.

‘I read your play,’ she said shyly. ‘Twice.’

She pulled the manuscript out to show him. Her eyes were shining as she waited for his response.

Luke sat back.

‘I’ve just come from the Garrick with – Tony – and Lou Farthing,’ he said. ‘Some lunch or other was with me.’

‘With you?’ she said, her innocent eyes widening. He nodded.

She pulled her knees to her chest, the sheet across her breasts.

‘Oh,’ she said, the happiness draining from her as the weight of her other life returned.

‘You didn’t know?’

‘I should have done,’ she said tiredly. ‘What’s going to happen?’

‘With him? Nothing. I’ve given it to Paul – him and Maggie. For the Depot.’

‘Oh,’ she said again, looking down.

She picked up the play and looked at it, holding it like a living thing.

‘Luke,’ she said, ‘whatever happens, I love it.’

‘You love it?’

‘I love it, and I love you,’ she said.

She put her arms around him, kissing him. She did not let go of the play. He could feel it resting on him as she held him.

‘You’re so clever,’ she said, with her cheek to his. ‘I didn’t know you were so sad.’

‘I’m not,’ he answered. ‘It’s a play.’

‘A genius’s play.’

‘Yeah, I’m a genius,’ said Luke, his hand on her bare back.

‘Don’t give it to him,’ said Nina.

‘Who?’

‘To Tony. Don’t.’

‘I told you, I haven’t.’

Pulling the sheet with her she moved onto his lap; arms around his neck, kissing him, and filling him with light-hearted joy. She dropped the heavy stapled pages on the bed.

And then the fun. From the first list of ten there were three directors they were seriously interested in. Howard Emerson and Jeffrey Knight were busy, but James Bridge was available. Then Emerson’s project fell through and Bridge was attached to the new Osborne. Then the Osborne was delayed by artistic differences and Bridge came back in. The artistic differences had been that Osborne was a wanker, he told them, and they started to talk about actors. Eight roles to cast, and of those, six significant ones.

There were actors Bridge had worked with and others that Maggie or Paul or Luke suggested. Lists were made over coffee downstairs or, more usually, at Maggie’s house in Ladbroke Gardens while her eight-year-old daughter, boyish-haired and barefooted, wandered in and out. Maggie sometimes left meetings to feed her or argue with her ex-husband or her lawyer on the telephone.

They were in the basement kitchen. They had eaten chicken casserole, Maggie handing out drumsticks to the child and flesh to the dog –
the child can have the bones, the dog will choke
– and were now drinking red wine and going through
Spotlight
for actresses as if they were shopping from the Littlewoods catalogue.

‘Nina Jacobs,’ said Luke when Paul was out of the room, because the night before Nina had lain in his arms and whispered, ‘I want to play that part.’ Just that. No preamble, no persuasion.

Luke never considered casting when he made characters, but even looking at Mary from this distance he did not see the spirit of Nina in her. It surprised him because Nina had been so much in his heart while he was writing it.

When she went home to her husband, in the cold aftermath that followed sex when she was gone from him, he thought about it, and that he believed if she wanted, she could play anything. If she wanted it he would mention her name. It couldn’t hurt the play, he thought, just to ask.

‘Maggie?’ he said again. ‘Nina Jacobs?’

Maggie looked up at him over her reading glasses, pencil poised, eyes narrowed.

‘She’s a name, but I don’t think she’s right for Mary,’ she said.

‘Why not?’

‘I just feel it. Bridge? Nina Jacobs?’

James Bridge was what Maggie called a safe pair of hands for
Diversion
; a skinny, fair-haired man, he had the prestige of having directed a season at the RSC, and also the confidence to have left there to work with Peter Oliver and ‘the queers and blacks’ at the experimental Oval House. He had vision, knew everyone, and didn’t have an axe to grind with writers, Maggie said. Her word was good enough for Luke.

‘Sweetie? Nina Jacobs?’ prompted Maggie when Bridge did not answer.

‘. . . Mary is very womanly,’ he said at last.

As Luke thought about this remark, and what Bridge – who had lived with his boyfriend Steven for ten years – might or might not think was womanly, or what Nina was or wasn’t, Paul came back into the room doing up his flies.

‘What did I miss?’

‘Nina Jacobs,’ said Bridge, pouring himself a whisky.

‘Really?’ said Paul, looking round as if Nina were hiding somewhere. ‘For Mary?’

‘I don’t think so, love,’ said Maggie. ‘I know Oddball has a soft spot.’

‘Why not?’ said Luke.

Bridge shrugged. ‘We can put her on the list. You’re right, she’s a name and she could play it.’

‘We’ll read her,’ said Maggie. ‘No harm in it.’

‘All right,’ said Luke and they moved on.

‘Nanette Calgary?’

‘No.’

‘Chrissie Southey?’

‘No. And pregnant.’

‘Hannah Gold?’

‘She might be perfect, but she’s working in telly.’

‘Mandy Turnbull?’

‘Put her down.’

And on. From their long-list of ten for each of the roles they made short-lists of six, and Maggie and Paul called agents from the office the next morning.

Nina took
Diversion
about her house with her. She marked up the pages with notes and the lines played in her head as if Luke were speaking to her. Mary, the son’s love.

Tony had nothing to do with it now but since it was he who had given it to her he couldn’t possibly object. And yet he did. They were in the kitchen when the telephone rang.

‘Your agent,’ he said, holding out the receiver, straight-armed.

It was almost six o’clock.
Diversion
was on the kitchen table and Nina was getting a bottle of champagne from the fridge. She took the phone from Tony, who began, idly, to flick through the pages of the play as she talked.

‘Jo.’ She gestured for Tony to open the bottle but he ignored her.

Jo was calling about the audition to give her the address. Nina knew everything already, from Luke, but went through the motions because she wanted it to be fair. Clean.

‘Twenty-two Maiden Lane,’ she said. ‘Got it. Thanks, darling, I’ll let you know.’

She put down the phone. Tony was standing across the table from her as angry as she’d ever seen him.

‘You’re really doing this?’ he said.

‘What do you mean? It’s an audition. They want to read me.’

‘I
gave
you this play.
This play
. For me, and the Trafalgar.’

He was pale, his whole face working for control. The words
hissy fit
came into her mind. She knew he wouldn’t hit her. They weren’t in bed, after all. Anger rose up, steady as a flame, but cooler.

‘And?’ said Nina.

‘Can you not see your error?’

‘My error?’ she said slowly. ‘Darling, you can’t have
all
the plays.’

‘I’m going to ask you this,’ he said, ‘and I won’t ask it again—’

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ she broke in. ‘You saw the part was for me when you gave it to me and yet now – you think you can stop me. I’m twenty-four years old. Tony, darling, you’re being a bit silly.’

His voice rose to a reedy shout. ‘I will not tolerate this! I will not have you humiliate me!
This was mine and you took it
.’

Nina raised her eyebrows as he went on. She took in the sight of him; thin lips straining, long fringe slipping forward. The stairs going up behind him, the posters on the wall, the door of the loo to his left – where she had taken refuge in her own house, vomited and wept at the sight of his cock being sucked by a waiter.

When he had stopped shouting she picked up Luke’s play.

‘You’re being a baby,’ she said, holding it to her chest. ‘
Nobody
will
know
about anything. If they offer it to me I’m going to take it. I would appreciate your—’

But she couldn’t think what she would appreciate; she was so proud of herself she forgot words. She just laughed, rather stagily.

‘Just forget it,’ she said and left him there.

The temporary rehearsal room on Maiden Lane was on the top floor. Unaccustomed views of London’s sooty heart were spread beneath a pale blue sky. Luke was there for all the Mary readings because he didn’t want to be too obvious about Nina when she came. James Bridge didn’t appreciate his presence much so he sat far back from the others, with a paperback in the corner, sometimes reading, sometimes watching, trying not to interfere. They saw three girls before Nina. Two were competent, one was more interesting.

Nina knocked, and put her head around the door. The floorboards were bare. Sun streamed in making broad crisscrossed rectangles on the floor and glaring off the varnished pine table behind which sat Paul, Maggie and Bridge, and the new stage manager, Win.

‘Hello,’ said Maggie. ‘Nina.’

Paul and she kissed. Then she kissed Maggie who said, ‘We’ve met before.’

‘Yes, how are you?’ said Nina. ‘Oh my God, Jimmy Bridge!’

She and Bridge hugged.

‘I think it’s been three years,’ she said.

‘Many moons,’ said Bridge.

She glanced at Luke in the corner, and then back to him.

‘How’s Steven?’ she asked.

‘Injured again, rather fat with no class to go to.’

‘Give him my love.’

‘I will. Tony?’

‘Fine.’

She turned to Luke. He stood up and came over. They met, awkwardly, and he kissed her cheek. She was unmade-up, in jeans and a thin white sweater, hair off her face in a slide.

She shrugged. ‘Here we are!’ she said.

They all said
yes
and there was laughter, a few more remarks.

Luke went back to his corner. She looked young, he thought. Small. He felt very nervous.

Nina knelt and rummaged in her bag. She held up the script.

‘Got it!’ she said.

‘We’ve been working from the scene with Tom from the first act,’ said Maggie. ‘Where he brings her home after the concert. It’s a good way into it.’

‘Great. Where d’you want me?’ said Nina, shrugging her shoulders to relax and looking around. The sun was shining into her face.

‘Wherever you like. Paul’s going to read in.’

Nina nodded, licking her lips and turning away, working her face to lose the tension.

‘Good,’ said Maggie, for them to begin.

Luke, twisted in his chair, kept his eyes on his book as she began.

She wasn’t Mary. He knew it before she even opened her mouth. He kept telling himself not to think about it, and that of course anyone would seem wrong to him, even her – especially her. With all his nerves for her and his wanting it so badly, still he felt it; she just couldn’t be the woman he had written.