‘Fine. No death threats. Just a lot of questions.’
‘Funny how you’re the boy caught in the middle of two women and yet it’s me who gets the backlash. Like I’m some home wrecker.’ Olive tried to laugh but she suddenly realised what she said hadn’t been a joke. That’s exactly what she’d been made to feel like.
‘Zadie and I aren’t even together.’ Oscar moved further into the room but still kept his distance from Olive.
‘I know, but your fans seem pretty loyal to her.’
‘It’s because we were an on-screen couple for years. You must understand why they feel that way?’ Oscar leant against her dressing table, his back towards the mirror.
‘Of course, I get it, but… death threats?’ She shook her head, careful not to shake any tears loose.
‘I know. That’s out of line and I’m sorry. But I can’t control the move of every individual who happens to be a fan of me or the TV show I was in. And at this point if I say anything publicly, I could make it worse. For both of us.’ Oscar wanted to run over to her, scoop her up and he wished he could fix it all with a kiss. That’s what got us into this mess, he thought.
‘I don’t expect you to be sorry. You’ve not done anything wrong,’ Olive said as Oscar lightly scoffed. ‘I just don’t think you realise how hard all of this is for me.’ She took a deep breath, feeling tears threatening to spill over, but kept herself still.
‘This is hard for me too, y’know?’ Oscar sighed.
‘Yes, it must be really tough having two women vying for your attention, some more publicly than others, and a loyal fanbase who care about you deeply.’ Olive would have rolled her eyes if she thought it wouldn’t force out the tears she was fighting hard to keep at bay.
‘Olive, you know it’s not like that. The reality is I’ve got a crazy fame-hungry ex-girlfriend who’s trying to sabotage my new career and she’s found an in with the only glimmer of happiness I’ve found in months.’ He sighed, covering his face with his hands.
Olive finally looked at him through the mirror, but she could barely see him, her eyes were so full. Was it her demons, her own insecurities making her wonder whether she was the only one he treated this way? Or had she picked up on something, and that’s why she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being kept in the dark?
‘Are you saying you don’t want to do this any more?’ Oscar held still, his face unchanging.
‘Aren’t you telling me we can’t do this any more?’ Olive shrugged. Her body felt heavy and her head throbbed and she wondered if she cared enough to live through the stress that Oscar brought with him.
‘No. No, not at all. We just need to be more… careful.’
‘More hiding.’ She closed her eyes.
‘Not hiding. Just… less kissing on trains.’ He slid himself closer towards her.
‘I don’t want to be your sordid secret, Oscar. It’s not even like this is a real relationship. We’re just… playing.’
‘Shouldn’t that mean there’s less pressure? Less expectation?’
‘Maybe.’ She shook her head. ‘But I can’t cope with the constant game of guessing what’s acceptable for two people who aren’t together but are “involved”.’
‘Stop guessing. Just do what feels right.’
Olive turned to him and pulled her knees up to her chest in the armchair. ‘Did it feel right when you left me alone last night? After having a whole conversation to convince me this thing between us wasn’t just about sex, you thought it was okay to have sex with me and then disappear?’ Olive couldn’t keep the tinge of anger out of her voice, but it was only the tip of the iceberg compared to what she felt inside.
‘Olive, I’m so sorry. The whole incident with the picture got me spooked and I didn’t know how to react, but I shouldn’t have left you. I can’t imagine how that must have made you feel.’ Her eyes were so big and Oscar couldn’t bear seeing them filled with tears instead of that playful sparkle. ‘I don’t want this to be over.’
‘No. Me neither.’ Olive wiped away her tears. Despite all her anger, she understood why Oscar had acted the way he had and wondered if she’d have done much better in his situation. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘Of me?’
‘Of this.’ She gestured to her wet cheeks.
‘This can be better.’
‘It’s been what? Less than a month and I’m already in tears.’
‘But it means you care, right? Doesn’t that count for something?’ Oscar slid towards her again.
‘Of course it does.’ There was a brief flicker of a smile on her lips and Oscar jumped at that glimmer of hope. He went to her, took her hands and pulled her into his arms.
‘I’m sorry this has happened.’
‘Me too,’ she said, trying so hard not to give in and sob into his embrace.
‘It’ll all blow over eventually.’ He stroked her hair, but the moment had gone. Olive pulled away from him and without looking at him or his reflection she said, ‘I’m just getting tired of waiting for eventually.’
Lars
She’s not yours.
Eliza
Actually, Lars… I am.
[Eliza holds up her hand and reveals a large, sparkling engagement ring.]
‘Okay, thank you! Olive…’ Michael stood from his seat in the front row and leant over the edge of the orchestra pit. Although When The Curtain Falls was primarily a play, Michael had insisted that a live band played in the interludes between scenes and in the lively bar scenes to add atmosphere. The producers hated the added expense, but Michael was certain the audience would be enraptured. Olive lifted the hem of her dress and teetered over to the edge of the stage in her heels. ‘Yes, Olive – I need you to be a little more emotional here. Tears. I need tears. Can you do that, darling?’
‘Er, yes, of course.’ Olive scratched a determined itch under the lace of her wig.
‘You sound hesitant.’ Michael folded his arms. ‘Speak to me, Olive. Tell me what’s on your mind.’ He sighed.
‘It’s just that… in the script, Eliza seems so strong at this moment. Unfaltering. She’s putting on a brave face for the sake of Lars. I was playing it like… maybe if Lars believes she doesn’t love him he’ll leave and won’t be in danger any longer? Is that wrong?’
‘No, no. There are no wrong choices here,’ he said and smiled as Olive’s brow dripped with sweat. ‘Just better ones. I really would like tears, Olive. Can you do that for me?’
‘Of course!’ She smiled. ‘No worries!’
Michael sat back in his seat. ‘From the top of the scene!’
Olive wobbled back to Oscar, slipping a little on a bump in the stage floor.
‘You all right, there?’ He took her elbow, but she gently shook him off.
‘Yeah,’ she said with her hands on her hips, glancing back at Michael who sat back in his seat, furiously flipping through pages of the script. ‘Actually, no. No, I’m not. He wants me to cry? Is he stupid?’ she hissed quietly, facing upstage.
‘And this is a problem because… you can’t cry on cue?’ Oscar fumbled.
‘I can! At least… I think I can. I’ve never had to before. But that’s not the point! The point is it’s totally out of character for Eliza!’
‘Then don’t do it.’ Oscar caught her elbow again and Olive wobbled over another bump in the floor and this time she leant into his warm hand. He smiled at her, a little too widely, and Olive’s heart plunged downwards because she couldn’t bring herself to smile back.
‘I have to.’ She sighed and looked into Oscar’s calm eyes. ‘He won’t be here for ever,’ she whispered, ‘I’ll do what he wants until he’s gone and then I’ll play Eliza how I want to play her.’
‘You sound like you’ve done that before.’
‘Well, when you think about it, whilst the director is… well… the director, it’s still only an opinion on how the parts should be played. It’s all art and interpretation, right?’
‘Sure. But won’t you get in troubl
e?’ Oscar asked, and talking about other things with him seemed to distract Olive from the ache in her chest and the thudding of her head.
‘When I was in Oliver!, years ago, we had two versions of the show: the director’s version and our own version when we knew he wasn’t watching. I think it’s pretty common practice amongst us thespians.’ Olive placed her index finger under her nose and tilted her head with it to accompany the posh voice she’d adopted.
‘Wow. Well. Noted!’
‘Can we go from “Actually, Lars”, please?’ shouted Michael.
‘He expects me to cry in a matter of what? Three lines?’ Olive whispered to Oscar.
‘That’s mad,’ he replied softly. ‘Can we go back a little further?’ he said at full volume to Michael.
‘We’re really pushed for time here, Oscar,’ said Michael, dismissing him with a shake of the head and a shoo of the hand.
‘I know, I know. I just think it might be easier for us all to get a good run into the most emotional part of the scene.’
Michael looked Oscar up and down and Oscar suddenly wondered what would happen if his attempt at making things up to Olive backfired entirely.
‘For someone who’s spent the majority of their life in television, I wouldn’t have thought you’d need much of a run-up,’ Michael said, slowly folding his arms across his chest.
‘I guess I’m just out of practice!’ Oscar shrugged, and the cast held a collective breath as Michael paused for what felt like an hour.
‘Ok, Mr TV,’ he glanced down at the script in his lap, ‘we’ll go from the top of the scene. And if we have to stay late, we will, and when everyone misses their trains home they can direct their anger at you.’
‘Lovely.’ Oscar nodded, turning his back on the auditorium. Mr TV? he mouthed at Olive and she mouthed Thank you back to him and when he winked at her, her heart lifted a few inches from where it had fallen.
Eliza
You were never supposed to find out this way.
Melvin
You didn’t do well to hide it.
Lars
Leave her be, goddammit!
Eliza
Larson, please. Go back inside. Go home. Anywhere but here.
Melvin
Yes, Larson. Do as she says.
Eliza
Please, Lars. Not here.
Lars
She’s not yours.
Eliza
Actually, Lars… I am.
Oscar watched Olive lift her hand where a large engagement ring glittered in the blue stage lights. His heart squeezed gently in his chest as the briefest of thoughts flickered into his head: What if Olive got engaged to someone who isn’t me? His throat closed around his next line.
Lars
Eliza… no.
[Lars holds up the gun and points it at Melvin]
Eliza
NO!
Olive placed a hand on Oscar’s chest and could feel his pulsing heartbeat beneath his crisp shirt. She hoped he couldn’t feel the warmth radiating off her and hoped the blue lights were drowning out her red cheeks.
Melvin
Oh, Larson. When you will learn? It doesn’t matter how well you scrub up or how many lavish parties you sneak yourself into. It doesn’t matter how many of London’s finest you rub shoulders with or even how many wealthy women’s beds you wheedle your way into. You will never be good enough.
Eliza
Please don’t listen to him, Lars. Just go back inside.
Lars
Do you love him? Do you?
Olive’s breath caught as she looked into Oscar’s eyes. It seemed as though Oscar had disappeared entirely and Lars’ love for Eliza was seeping from his every pore. Olive’s chest tightened at the idea of Oscar ever looking at her, the real her, in that way.
Eliza
I fear you’ll kill him either way.
Lars
Eliza. If you tell me yes, how could you think that I would kill the man you love and put you through that misery? No, Eliza. Should you say yes, I will turn this gun on myself and the bullet will be destined…
Oscar paused.
… for me.
He had selfishly hoped to see a flicker of something in Olive’s face, but when her eyes filled with tears, he couldn’t be sure that it was her crying and not Eliza. She was an extraordinary actress after all. And why would it be real, you idiot? Focus, he thought.
Melvin
Must we have all this drama? It’s terribly dull. We all know you don’t have the gall to shoot a rabbit, let alone a man. Just put the gun down, Larson.
Lars
Do… you… love him?
If I said yes, would he care? Olive wondered. Or would he find another girl in the ensemble to pass the time with? Oh, I’m in way over my head, aren’t I? How have I done this again?
Eliza
I… I… do not.
Olive took her director’s note and tears spilled down her face. Oscar pulled the trigger, the blank bullet flashed and smoked, and the sound of a gunshot rippled through the auditorium and the stage went black. Oscar tried to find Olive’s hand in the blackout but his hand collided with nothing but darkness.
‘Olive?’ he whispered.
‘Okay, thanks very much, everyone! Go get some rest and I’ll see you on opening night!’ Michael called, rubbing his hands together. Some of the cast clapped but most were already half out of their costumes on the way back to their dressing rooms.
‘Olive?’ Oscar called as he walked down the stage right wing. ‘Doug, is Olive down there?’
‘I think she’s gone to her dressing room,’ Doug called back, taking off his flat cap and ruffling his own hair back into its usual disarray. Oscar started unbuttoning his shirt himself and gently pushed aside the curtain in the wing to widen his path so he could scoot past Howard and Jane.
‘Oh – Oscar! Are you coming tonight?’ Tamara ran to him and stroked his bicep, Jane watching close behind. They were both out of costume and in their own dressy clothes already.
‘What’s tonight?’ he asked, holding his shirt closed between his fingers.
‘Just… drinks?’ She shrugged.
‘Again?’
‘Always!’ she laughed.
‘Maybe. No. Probably not.’ Oscar backed away. ‘Sorry.’ Tamara snatched her hands away.
‘Why? You gotta go snog on more Tube lines?’ She tried to smile as she said it, in some attempt to make it sound like she could have been half joking – but her true feelings gave her away in the wobble of her bottom lip as she swivelled on her heels and left.
‘We’ll miss you!’ Jane shouted after him, but Oscar was already through the double doors and heading towards Olive’s dressing room.
OLIVE GREEN was displayed in a cursive font on a laminated card stuck to the door, with the show’s logo in the bottom left hand corner. He knocked twice.
‘Olive? You in there?’ The door opened abruptly and there stood Olive in her own clothes, a make-up wipe in her hand and her lipstick smeared across her chin. She quickly finished cleaning her face before throwing the wipe in the bin.
‘How are you changed already? Did I pass out for half an hour while you all got dressed?’ Olive let go of the door to slip on her boots but when Oscar followed her inside she glanced up at him and he backtracked the few steps he’d taken.
‘It’s called “under dressing”. Depending on the costume you have, you can probably get away with changing into some of your own clothes in the interval and putting your costume back on over the top.’ She sniffed.
‘Olive, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ She wiped her nose on her cardigan sleeve as she pulled her purple rucksack onto her shoulder.
‘Olive…’ Oscar stepped forwards again, but she flicked her dressing room table lights off and took the weight of the door from him.
‘Honestly.’ She gestured out into the hall.
‘Really?’ he asked her as she turned the key she’d left in the loc
k and slipped her index finger into the keyring loop. ‘You’re sticking with “nothing”?’
‘I don’t know what else to say.’ She shrugged.
‘How about the truth? Just talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.’
‘You already know! This!’ She flapped her hands around between them. ‘Me and you. It’s all so complicated and it’s just not… fun, Oscar. I hate feeling like I’m a secret. I hate hiding and I hate feeling the constant threat of your ex-girlfriend and her blindly loyal fans.’
‘I thought we sorted all this out, and we were okay? I thought…’