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22
Jack
I checked my phone: 10.27. Chad had said to meet him outside the agency at 10.30. If I was even one minute late, I knew he’d use it as an excuse not to stick around and I was not going to let him worm out of this one.
I waited on the pavement outside Star Management, gearing myself up for the conversation I should have had with him months ago. Years, even. There was always lots of activity around the agency. I watched as somebody got out of an Addison Lee car, a cap pulled down over their face, sunglasses on, and I wondered which big name client was going inside. I hadn’t even been granted a proper meeting. Chad had told me he could spare ten minutes while he was walking from the office to a brunch meeting at the Charlotte Street Hotel. Since I really wanted to talk to him, I’d had no choice but to agree.
For the hundredth time, I questioned my decision to sign with a huge agent like him, who had barely any time for clients who weren’t being seen for leading roles, who weren’t quite living up to the promise they’d shown when they’d been top of their year at drama school. But then again, how could I have turned him down? Everyone had wanted Chad to represent them and I’d felt special on the night of my graduation showcase because it had been only me he picked out.
I scrolled through my phone, my head flicking up and down as the door to the agency opened and closed, opened and closed. Delivery guys drove up on their motorbikes, assistants ran out to fetch coffee. A girl I didn’t recognise was buzzed through the door, a Lily James type who was bound to get cast in the next BBC period drama. And finally Chad, looking like he always did, as though it was 1985 and he’d just stepped out of a an aerobics class at Equinox Hollywood: black Lycra cycling shorts, electric blue vest, cap, mirrored sunglasses. Expensive trainers. Sustainable water bottle.
I waved and jogged over to him.
‘Chad!’ I shouted as he strutted off down Broadwick Street, blatantly having forgotten I was meeting him at all.
‘Chad!’ I said, trying again, lengthening my stride.
He looked over his shoulder and showed a flicker of recognition. ‘Oh, hey Jack.’
I fell into step beside him. ‘How’s things?’ I asked, making the obligatory small talk before launching into my well-rehearsed tirade about my future in the acting business.
‘Manic,’ said Chad.
Whilst he ploughed through oncoming pedestrians, letting them part ways for him, I was constantly hopping right and left, twisting my body to avoid slamming into people coming the other way. Chad moved as though he had a right to walk in a straight line and perfect strangers, seemingly understanding that, simply glided out of his way. I wondered whether that kind of attitude was something I could pull off, whether that was what I was doing wrong. After all, if the doubts and insecurities I felt inside were also obvious from the outside, nobody was going to give me a job, were they?
‘So what can I do for you?’ asked Chad. ‘You said you needed to talk.’
I cleared my throat. ‘I’m going to level with you, Chad. I’m struggling here.’
He gave me a sideways look, which felt like a warning: was I going to dare to complain? What could I possibly have to moan about when I was represented by the agent all young actors dreamed of being signed by?
‘How so?’ he said.
I’d noticed, lately, that because he spent so much time on the phone to LA, he’d developed a subtle West Coast twang. And he was always juicing and had recently gone vegan, which I’d only realised when I’d given him a box of Rococo chocolates (which had cost me a fortune, by the way) for Christmas and he’d told me that he didn’t do dairy or any other ingredients from an animal source. Sheepishly, I’d taken the chocolates back and had regifted them to my mum, who had been altogether more pleased with them.
‘I need something stable,’ I began as we walked up the steps on Ramillies Street and onto a heaving Oxford Street. ‘A series regular, I mean. Could you get me in to see the guys at Holby again? I’d even consider a soap.’
Chad chugged on his water as we darted between buses and bikes and crossed the road. ‘You need to build your résumé,’ he said. ‘And we need to get some casting directors in to see you. Remember what I said about doing some fringe? If we can get you something at one of the more prestigious venues – Edinburgh, maybe – you’d be surprised how willing they are to come out and see stuff.’
I nodded enthusiastically. ‘Cool, cool. I do need to make some actual money as well, though,’ I added, hoping he’d understand.
It was just that I’d been out of drama school for nearly a decade now. I’d been acting a long time and I felt as though I deserved to be paid a decent wage for it. I had a sudden pang of longing for how simple life had been when I’d started acting at school. When I’d been at my after-school drama club, I hadn’t been the outsider anymore, the boy who wasn’t particularly academic and who was excellent at sport, but not quite good enough to make up for all the other stuff. I made new friends who liked the same things I did and my life had begun to revolve around rehearsals, where I could be myself and actually feel good about it.
‘So what you’re saying is, you want a series regular role given to you on a plate? That you’re not prepared to put in the hard work?’
He clearly hadn’t understood, then. ‘I do work hard,’ I said, quickly losing my patience. Why did he have to be such a wanker all the time? ‘And I don’t think ten years of walk-on roles and theatre is “expecting it on a plate”. I’m ready to ramp my career up a notch and I think I deserve it and I think I’m good enough.’
Chad looked surprised at my sudden outburst. He was probably expecting the meeker, more submissive version of Jack, but I was done with him. If I wanted to make something of myself, then I was going to have to push hard for it. No one else was going to fight my corner, not even my agent, it seemed.
‘I’ll see what I can do. I’m meeting Jen from Accident & Emergency for dinner tonight, I’ll try to lever you into the conversation,’ he said.
‘That would be great,’ I replied, pleased that he seemed to be taking me seriously for once.
‘But, as a pay-off, I want you to do the fringe. I’ll get my assistant to put some feelers out, see what’s coming up.’
I swerved, narrowly avoiding walking straight into a bin. ‘OK. But it would have to be a short run. I can’t afford to takes weeks off for rehearsals either.’
The candy-striped awnings of the Charlotte Street Hotel popped into view. This, I knew, meant that our ‘meeting’ was coming to an end, but at least I’d put my point across and if Chad did what he said he was going to do, it could lead to something.
‘Thanks for seeing me,’ I said to Chad, slowing my pace. ‘And I really appreciate your help. It’s just, I’m thirty now, you know? You think, don’t you, about the future? About money, all that.’
Chad gave me a look I couldn’t quite read. Disappointment, probably. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said, before swinging onto the terrace of the hotel, waltzing through the entrance as a doorman in a black suit scrabbled to hold the door open for him leaving me outside on the street watching on.
