“Hello!” says a bright voice. “Kent Garland’s office, this is her assistant, Megan. How can I help you?”
“Hello!” I say. “It’s Rebecca Bloomwood here. Could I speak to Kent, please?”
“Kent’s in a meeting right now,” says Megan pleasantly. “Could I take a message?”
“Well, I’m just phoning to see what time my screen test is today,” I say. And just saying it gives me a surge of confidence. Who cares about the crappy Daily World, anyway? I’m going to be on American television. I’m going to be a huge celebrity.
“I see,” says Megan. “Rebecca, if you could just hold on a moment…”
She puts me on hold, and I find myself listening to a tinny version of “Heard It through the Grapevine.” It comes to an end, and a voice tells me how important my call is to the HLBC Corporation… and then it starts again… when suddenly Megan is back.
“Hi, Rebecca? I’m afraid Kent’s going to have to postpone the screen test. She’ll give you a call if she wants to rearrange.”
“What?” I say, staring blankly at my made-up face in the mirror. “Postpone? But… why? Do you know when it’ll be rescheduled?”
“I’m not sure,” says Megan pleasantly. “Kent’s very busy right now with the new series of Consumer Today.”
“But… but that’s what the screen test is for! The new series of Consumer Today!” I take a deep breath, trying not to sound too anxious. “Do you know when she’ll rearrange it for?”
“I really couldn’t say. Her diary’s very full at the moment… and then she has a two-week vacation…”
“Listen,” I say, trying to stay calm. “I’d really like to talk to Kent, please. It’s quite important. Couldn’t you get her for me? Just for a second.”
There’s a pause — then Megan sighs.
“I’ll see if I can fetch her.”
The tinny song begins again — then suddenly Kent is on the line.
“Hi, Becky. How are you?”
“Hi!” I say, trying to sound relaxed. “I’m fine. I just thought I’d see what was happening today. About the screen test?”
“Right,” says Kent thoughtfully. “Tell the truth, Becky, a couple of issues have come up, which we need to think about. OK? So we’ll be passing on the screen test until we’re a little more decided about things.”
Suddenly I feel paralyzed by fear. Oh, please, no.
She’s seen The Daily World, hasn’t she? That’s what she’s talking about. I clutch the receiver tightly, my heart thudding, desperately wanting to explain it all; wanting to tell her that it all sounds far worse than it really is. That half of it isn’t even true; that it doesn’t mean I’m not good at what I do…
But I just can’t bring myself to. I can’t bring myself even to mention it.
“So we’ll be in touch,” Kent says. “Apologies for putting you out today — I was going to have Megan call you later…”
“That’s all right!” I say, trying to sound bright and easy. “So… when do you think we might reschedule?”
“I’m really not sure… Sorry, Becky. I’m going to have to run. There’s a problem on the set. But thanks for calling. And enjoy the rest of your trip!”
The phone goes silent and I slowly put it down.
I’m not having my screen test. They don’t want me, after all.
And I bought a new outfit and everything.
I can feel my breath coming quicker and quicker — and for an awful moment I think I might cry.
But then I think of Mum — and force myself to lift my chin. I’m not going to let myself collapse. I’m going to be strong and positive. HLBC aren’t the only fish in the sea. There are plenty of other people who want to snap me up. Plenty! I mean, look at… look at Greg Walters. He said he wanted me to meet his head of development, didn’t he? Well, maybe we can fix something up for today. Yes! Perhaps by the end of today, I’ll have my own show!
Quickly I find the number and dial it with trembling hands — and to my joy, I get straight through. This is more like it. Straight to the top.
“Hi, Greg? It’s Becky Bloomwood here.”
“Becky! Great to hear from you!” says Greg, sounding a little distracted. “How’re you doing?”
“Erm… fine! It was really nice to meet you yesterday,” I say, aware that my voice is shrill with nerves. “And I was very interested in all your ideas.”
“Well, that’s great! So — are you enjoying your trip?”
“Yes! Yes, I am.” I take a deep breath. “Greg, you were saying yesterday that I should meet up with your head of development—”
“Absolutely!” says Greg. “I know Dave would adore to meet you. We both think you have huge potential. Huge.”
Relief floods over me. Thank God. Thank—
“So next time you’re in town,” Greg is saying, “you give me a call, and we’ll set something up.”
I stare at the phone, prickly with shock. Next time I’m in town? But that could be months. It could be never. Doesn’t he want to—
“Promise you’ll do that?”
“Erm… OK,” I say, trying to keep the thickening dismay out of my voice. “That would be great!”
“And maybe we’ll meet up when I next come over to London.”
“OK!” I say brightly. “I hope so. Well… see you soon. And good to meet you!”
“Great to meet you too, Becky!”
I’m still smiling my bright fake smile as the phone goes dead. And this time I just can’t stop the tears from gathering in my eyes and dripping slowly down my face, taking my makeup with them.
I sit alone in the hotel room for hours. Lunchtime comes and goes, but I can’t face any food. The only positive thing I do is listen to the messages on the phone and delete them all except one from Mum, which I listen to over and over again. It’s the one she must have left as soon as she got The Daily World.
“Now,” she’s saying. “There’s a bit of fuss here over a silly article in the paper. Don’t take any notice of it, Becky. Just remember, that picture will be going in a million dog baskets tomorrow.”
For some reason that makes me laugh each time I hear it. So I sit there, half-crying, half-laughing, letting a pool of wet tears gather on my skirt and not even bothering to wipe it away.
I want to go home. For what seems like an eternity I sit on the floor, rocking backward and forward, letting my thoughts circle round and round. Going over the same ground over and over again. How could I have been so stupid? What am I going to do now? How can I face anyone, ever again?
I feel as though I’ve been on a crazy roller coaster ever since I got to New York. Like some sort of magical Disney ride — except instead of whizzing through space, I’ve been whizzing through shops and hotels and interviews and lunches, surrounded by light and glitter and voices telling me I’m the next big thing.
And I believed every moment of it. I had no idea it wasn’t real.
When, at long last, I hear the door opening, I feel almost sick with relief. I have a desperate urge to go and throw myself into Luke’s arms, burst into tears, and listen to him tell me it’s all right. But as he comes in, I feel my whole body contract in fear. His expression is taut and set; he looks as though his face is carved out of stone.
“Hi,” I say at last. “I… I wondered where you were.”
“I had lunch with Michael,” says Luke shortly. “After the meeting.” He takes off his coat and puts it carefully onto a hanger while I watch fearfully.
“So…” I hardly dare ask the question. “Did it go well?”
“Not particularly well, no.”
My stomach gives a nervous flip. What does that mean? Surely… surely it can’t be…
“Is it… off?” I manage at last.
“Good question,” says Luke. “The people from JD Slade say they need more time.”
“Why do they need time?” I say, licking my dry lips.
“They have a few reservations,” says Luke evenly. “They didn’t specify exactly what those reservations were.”
