Shopaholic Takes Manhattan
Page 90
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“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.
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.
