Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Our theatre is of course fully booked up at this time of year, which is why you will need to arrive at 2.am, when the place will be empty. Your performance will begin at 2.30.
Considering the ungodly time, you may bring a chaperone – though he or she must stay out of sight.
Please note, I heard on the grapevine that you have a penchant for stinging nettles. That is something I would really like to see. Grant me that and you will receive a generous bonus.
Proposal duration: 50 minutes, plus a 10 minute encore.
Proposal fee: £60,000
Ilegit gasped in shock when the location of this proposal came through. It’s in the bloody West End, at one of the major theatres. I went there once when I was a kid to watch Evita with Mum and Dad. Who’d have ever the fuck thought I’d be up there on that very same stage myself one day. Especially performing for a bloody producer.
Solo.
I’ll be performing solo.
“He knows about the stinging nettles,” I tell Josh. “A generous bonus if I use them. Maybe he’s a founder – or knows a founder.”
“Anyhow,” Josh says, “I’m pretty sure that stinging nettles die off at this time of year, so that’s a no go. Hang on a sec.” He taps away on his phone. “Google says the nettle foraging season ends in October, and that any frost soon kills them off.”
“And we’ve had a fair few frosty mornings of late.”
“Yep.”
“Damn, I don’t know whether to be happy or sad about that.”
“At least I could come with you as your chaperone. How are your acting skills?” my boyfriend asks.
“Umm… I can’t act for shit. But still – a grand a minute and a chance to perform solo at one of the biggest theatres for a top producer…”
“How could you refuse?”
“Yeah, how could I turn down an offer like that? I need to think about this,” I tell Josh. “I don’t know where to start.”
“There is something,” Josh says. “Heath once told me of his early days, on stage. How different stage acting is to TV acting. He said that working for the camera you had to be subtle, both with the makeup and the performance. But on stage everything had to be accentuated. Shout it out loud, exaggerate every action, every cry, every sob, projecting it out to the audience. And the makeup, pile it on, make it stand out for the crowd.”
“Makes sense,” I say, “but I still can’t act for shit.”
Josh tells me that he doesn’t believe that, that I’ve performed plenty for clients, which is true.
“But I don’t know where to start.”
“YouTube,” he says. “Plenty vids on there that will help, I’m sure. Take a look while I get us some lunch.”
While Josh busies himself in the kitchen, I open up my laptop.
I find myself scrolling through London musicals, looking at the names of producers – age 52. It could be one of so many people, but that doesn’t really matter. It’s only the curiosity getting the better of me. All I need to know is that he’s a very powerful one, and he expects his money’s worth. Which is a lot.
Josh was right about YouTube. So many vids advising on exaggerated stage performance and standout makeup tutorials.
I get to my feet after watching a few vids, throw an arm out and shout “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art though, Romeo!” so loud, I feel it coming from my depths.
“I’m here, babe.” Josh arrives with a plate of ham sandwiches and a mug of coffee. “That sounded pretty good.”
“Really?”
“Yep, really. You projected yourself well.”
“You think I can really do this?”
“Course I do.”
“I’d need a script, and…”
“And what?”
“Umm…”
“You could tell your story,” Josh says. “How Ella the store worker rose to the top of the slutty tree.”
“Yeah, I could. That particular script is already written.”
“You just have to plan it out on paper, make it last for sixty minutes. Easy peasy. And I’ll help with the script.”
“Ok, but what about an encore? Shame about those nettles.”
“Click accept,” Josh says, taking a bite of his sandwich.
“I’m not sure,” I tell him.
“I am,” he says. “I have every confidence in you. Tell you what. Click accept, and then get working on your story. While you’re doing that, I’ll go hunt for some nettles. I might just find some with a bit of sting left in them.”
“You’re a bloody star, you know that, right?”
He winks. “I know.”
“Alrighty, then.” I click on accept.
Josh grabs a plastic bag and some gloves and heads off out and I open up a Word doc and start with my script – starting with my shitty work at the store.
I never figured I was much of a creative until the ideas start flowing and the scenes start springing up into my mind. The hours disappear as I type, coming up with page after page of notes and potential plot lines. He wants me to be authentic, so I’m going to be authentic, and it won’t get any more authentic than this.