Jemma’s Version
Can you imagine me, married to a guy like that?
I want passion in my life, not planning and convenience. I want the warmth of a hug, the thrill of a kiss!
Ashford is not even close. He’s so stiff in his immaculate shirt and constricting tie as he sits according to good manners. No, thank you.
Besides, I like Latin Americans: dark haired, tanned, with dark eyes, and full of testosterone. I have no use for his brown hair and green eyes.
I don’t understand how Derek can have thought of such a thing.
Then, he’s got such a terrible temper! He treats anyone as if they were his servants. If he’s not arrogant, then I don’t know what arrogance is. He might be a duke, but he can’t treat others as inferiors. I certainly don’t feel inferior.
I’m not sure if I’m more irritated or disheartened. Yesterday, when I read Derek’s text, I seriously thought that he had found a solution to avoid the marriage issue, but last night I had to deal with disappointment instead. Derek has no other solution apart from marrying Ashford, and that means that I will never inherit a single pound.
I’m not a greedy person, I don’t think that money makes people happy and I’ve never really considered the hypothesis of becoming rich, but now I can’t help thinking about it. With my grandmother’s inheritance, I could buy a nice flat in the centre of London and a house in the countryside for my parents, with many animals, and a nice car for myself, maybe a Porsche (who knows if they come in pink). I could buy designer clothes, like those I see in Cosmopolitan, be through with flea markets and second hand shops.
I could go to Arsenal’s away matches every Sunday with all the other fans.
I could go on holiday to the Caribbean! Or, at least, go on holiday.
These are things I’ve always dreamed of doing, and now that they’re so close, having to give up the idea of them is torture.
However, if I accepted Derek’s idea, I’d reduce myself to a pound of meat for sale at the butcher’s.
I want a man who adores me, I want to be the ‘apple of his eye’, not a ‘finger in his eye’. The latter is how Ashford made me feel: useless, unwanted, superfluous and annoying. I dream of a man for whom I’m as vital as the air he breathes.
I want Rhett, who saves Scarlett O’Hara in danger; I want Jack, who drowns for Rose; I want Romeo, who poisons himself for losing Juliet. I want a fairy tale. I’ve always wanted one and I know that if I don’t stop believing, I’ll have it, one day.
My parents defied their families to be together and after thirty years they still love each other like they did when they first met.
Ashford doesn’t need a woman to worship of course, he worships himself already and that’s more than enough for him. What he needs is a beautiful figurine to put on display, a mannequin to show off. Perhaps he is right: I could never be a duchess, I’m too human and I want too many things from life to turn into a porcelain doll.
At breakfast, while eating the buckwheat biscuits my mum made, I think that my parents would have a good laugh if I told them this story.
But it’s already 1:30 p.m., so, a little reluctantly, I take off my pyjamas and get dressed to go to my own theatre of horrors. Today, before the afternoon show, there will be a company meeting.
I hope it’s to inform us that we’ll put on a more cheerful musical next year, meaning new costumes and that I will be allowed to create new, brighter make-up styles. This play, which is about the separation of a family at the time of Spanish flu, is literally killing me, and it’s been running for far too long. I’ve always wondered what drives the audience to come and see it. In all honesty, they don’t exactly queue up at the box office and the reason is not a mystery: a musical play should cheer people up, not depress them.
For once, I’m almost on time – or rather, I’m a little less late than usual, but being late isn’t totally my fault; I do my best, yet there’s always some trouble with the Tube or the buses.
Adriana rolls her eyes when she sees me, so I find a seat and sink into it as quickly as possible in an attempt to hide from her.
As cool as a cucumber, Oliver announces that he’s got a new play in mind: the final hours of Ruth Ellis, the last woman to be given the death penalty in the United Kingdom, back in 1955. The show will focus on the protagonist who will tell the story of her life from her cell. All this, with a bare and minimalist set design. I feel the need to express my point of view: “Ruth Ellis’s life was quite eventful. She was a model, a nightclub dancer, she found herself in a prostitution ring, she had two husbands and many lovers, and she also managed a nightclub herself. In my opinion, a life like hers can be portrayed with a very dynamic and engaging show. Let’s recreate early fifties London, with a fast beat, catchy music that sticks in everyone’s head!” History inspires me a lot, and I’m sure I would be way more motivated in a production like this.
Oliver doesn’t seem to agree. “I want to focus on the inner drama.” With these few words, he shuts me up.
No set design, no fast beat music, nothing at all.
Reason: he feels he urge to pursue something more modern.
Producer: he backed out, so the show will be self-produced by Oliver, in partnership with Adriana.
Theatre: the same, but with a higher rent.
Budget: cut to the bone.
After the meeting, I pluck up the courage to go and ask Adriana some questions, even though she looks at me absently.
“Adriana, as you’re the artistic director, and since we’ll have to start working on the new play, I need some indicators for make-up and stage costumes so that I can prepare a few proposals.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, the stuff I’ll take care of, the actors’ make-up and the costumes.”
“The costumes will be very simple and make-up won’t be required. A face with no make-up expresses the torment of a character much better.”
“No make-up, no costumes… I’m sorry but, what am I gonna do?
Adriana drums her fingers on the doorpost. “I discussed it with Oliver, you’re no longer needed in the company. Consider yourself free.”
“Wait… are you sacking me just like that, out of the blue?”
Adriana’s really got some nerve. “Not at all, ‘out of the blue’ would mean for no reason. I gave you some reasons.” She then disappears into the dressing room, slamming the door in my face.
I can’t believe what I heard, and my brain refuses to make sense of the information I’ve just received, so I immediately look for Oliver and, when I find him, I start nagging him, getting straight to the point. “Adriana sacked me. She said the two of you talked about it and decided you no longer need me.”
Oliver nods, shaking his greasy hair. “Yup. You know, you don’t have to be angry. It’s a matter of budget; we had to cut unnecessary expenses…”
“Unnecessary? Are you saying that I’m unnecessary?”
“Jemma, let’s face it, your role is not essential to the new play.”
I point my finger at him but I fail to find any satisfying insults, so I turn my back and march towards the door, but then I turn round and say: “You know what? The old play sucked, and this will be even worse. A great opportunity down the drain. Someone else will soon have the same idea and they will put it into practice way better that you ever could! You’re just another ‘wish-I-could-but-can’t’ type and I don’t even need to hope you fail, ‘cause I already know you will! When was the last time we had more than fifteen spectators, relatives excluded? Are you sacking me? Good! I’m more than happy to leave this morgue!”
And then I find myself alone on the pavement, under pouring rain. I’m furious. Unemployed. And without an umbrella.