The Birthday Party Read Free Page A

cameras. She
     would have loved to have gone to the catering bus at lunchtime and sat with the others eating free-range chicken and ratatouille,
     but she couldn’t eat, not until the day’s filming was over. Instead she went back to her tiny dressing room and sat in a beanbag
     going over and over her lines for the afternoon, doing her breathing exercises to relax her.
    As a result, the others thought she was snotty. She knew she should try to break the ice, go out with them one night to the
     pizza place they frequented near the studios, have a few drinks and let her hair down, let them see the real her. They saw
     evidence of it often enough in the tabloids and gossip magazines. The problem was she couldn’t wait to leave the studios every
     night. She escaped as soon as the floor manager told herit was a wrap, fled to her car and drove as fast as she could back to her flat, where she could finally face food. And although
     she knew she should stay in and get an early night, she so longed for non-judgemental company that she often ended up taking
     a cab into town, meeting friends in a club or a bar, then dancing till two in the morning. She’d been out last night, to her
     favourite private members’ club in Dean Street, and glugged down one too many lychee martinis. Not enough to give her a hangover,
     but enough to make her feel groggy.
    She found a space in the car park, switched off the engine and slid out of the car. She was wearing a grey tracksuit and an
     outsize satin parka, her honey-blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail, her face make-up free. Despite her late night and
     overindulgence, she still looked a million dollars. Great bone structure, her mother’s flawless skin and her father’s swimming
     pool eyes. God bless good genes.
    Inside, she felt a wreck. She felt light-headed and her stomach was churning, as it always did first thing in the morning.
     Her nerves were shredded. Would she be able to remember her cues? Would her performance be up to scratch? Would there be an
     unexpected cut that she wouldn’t be able to take on board? It always threw her when the director changed things at the last
     minute, which he inevitably did. The script was constantly being altered because of continuity or because it was running too
     long or because the executive producer wanted to change the nuance of a story. So Coco could never be certain that the lines
     she had learned would be the ones she was expected to deliver.
    She clutched today’s scenes to her chest as she made her way down the long passage between the warehouses that held the scenery,
     then in through a non-descript door and along a corridor. Either side of her were doors leading to costume, make-up, the prosthetics
     department: inside she could see people already beavering away industriously. It never ceased to amaze her how many people
     were involved in getting
Critical but Stable
onto the screen. They all put in such long hours, andmost of them weren’t even getting a tenth of what she was getting.
    She turned left down another long corridor that was lined with stills from the series. It unnerved her, seeing her co-stars
     peering out at her. Finally she reached the door to her dressing room. It was dark and poky. The window looked out onto a
     dingy courtyard filled with dumpsters. She’d done her best to make the space her own: a chenille rug to cover the threadbare
     beige carpet, some framed prints, a big silver beanbag, but it was still no better than a prison cell.
    Anyone who thought acting was glamorous was seriously deluded.
    She put the scenes she had to go through down on the dressing table, shrugged off her parka and sat down.
    She stared at her Marc Jacobs tote.
    She could almost sense the tiny little bag inside burning a hole in the soft leather.
    Last night, after three martinis, she’d finally confided in a friend. She’d known Harley for years, so she trusted him enough
     to reveal her insecurities and anxieties.