Chapter Eleven
“Genevieve.” Agatha inclined her head as Ginny approached.
“Dame Agatha.”
The woman who had played queens and prime ministers arched a brow. “You don’t have to call me by my honorific, dear. Agatha will do.” She gestured to the empty seat opposite her. “Won't you join me?”
“Thank you,” Ginny murmured, sinking down into the chair.
She should have prepared. She’d spent that last two hours obsessing over Jude when she should have been composing odes of apology to Agatha, finding the exact right words to say. Maybe hiring a script writer to say it right.
But even now all she could think of was Jude.
Dame Agatha was evidently thinking along similar lines. “I understand you met my nephew.”
“How did he convince you to come?” she blurted, then blushed at the outburst. “Jude, I mean.”
“He didn’t have to. I wanted to come. I’ve been wanting to speak with you for some time.”
Ginny cringed. “To tell me what you think of me to my face?”
“To tell you not to take it so hard.”
Ginny blinked, stunned by the calm words. “What?”
Agatha gave her an arch look. “You think I’ve never said something snide about a costar in a fit of temper? You got unlucky because your stylist wasn’t someone you could trust. There’s a lesson in that.”
“Don’t say horrible things if you don’t want them repeated on the internet for the rest of your life?”
Agatha’s lips quirked. “That. And know who to trust.”
Ginny grimaced, studying the tea things on the table. “I was never very good at that.”
And here she was again, some part of her wanting to trust Jude when she knew that was the last thing she should be doing. Was Dame Agatha warning her away from Jude? From her own nephew? Warning Ginny to be careful who she trusted?
“Genevieve…”
“Ginny, please.”
“Ginny. Why do you want to be an actress?”
“What?” she asked—and then realized how uncouth she sounded blurting what at Dame Agatha Kelly.
“This business will eat you alive if you let it. It’s important to know what you want to get out of it and why you want it.”
Ginny felt her face heating. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“Possibly,” Agatha said with an elegant shrug. “My initial reasons for wanting to be an actress were positively idiotic. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t real. My nephew, poor fool, wants to be Shakespeare and Dickens and Oscar Wilde rolled into one. It’s a lot to live up to. Who do you want to be?”
Ginny flushed, and forced herself to admit the truth. “You.”
Agatha’s eyebrows flew up—Ginny had managed to surprise her. “Ah.”
“You always seemed so poised. So in control. Like nothing shook you. I always envied that.”
She’d wanted to be one of the glamorous, polished people who always knew what to say and always had someone handsome and adoring on their arm. She’d wanted to be so famous she never had to feel alone, or like she wasn’t good enough. She’d wanted that aura of calm strength and absolute self-assurance that Dame Agatha had.
“Darling. No one is as perfect as we paint them. Especially our idols.” Agatha reached for her tea, lifting it and taking a sip. “That must have made what I said to you that day even more upsetting. I am sorry about that.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me.” Ginny couldn’t imagine anything more ridiculous than Dame Agatha owing her anything.
“Just because no one recorded me saying it, doesn’t mean it wasn’t just as unkind as what you said. And I said it knowing you were listening.”
Ginny didn’t remember everything Agatha had said—the memory had been blurred by everything else that had happened in the subsequent weeks as the tape came out. She mostly recalled the feeling, and a few choice snippets. Why should you even care about the craft? Your entire generation is all about skipping the work and jumping straight to the glory, a bunch of spoiled children famous for nothing but being pretty and broadcasting their lives. Who cares if you can act if you’re dating the right man, right, dearie?
The dismissive tone had burned, but it was the fear that the words were true that had cut deep. That she really was a talentless hack who would only be successful if she was on Jack Cooper’s arm. That she would never be good enough on her own.
She and Jack had argued only that morning—she’d been frustrated that he was doing a red carpet for another project without her, frustrated that she would miss the chance to advance her career by being seen with him. Agatha’s casually delivered snark had seemed like a laser-focused indictment of the kind of success she was pursuing. Somebody’s girlfriend, who happened to act.
“It was all right,” Ginny murmured.
“No, it wasn’t,” Agatha corrected firmly. “I was angry about something that had nothing to do with you. I can’t even remember what it was now. Some idiotic thing the director had said to me, no doubt. He should never have been given that job, but he had a following and the studio wanted to appeal to millennials so they gave a summer blockbuster to that child.” She sniffed derisively and sipped her tea. “You know the part of your diatribe that bothered me the most? It wasn’t being called a raging bitch—because God knows that’s true enough—it was when you said I was an old bat who was past my sell-by date.”
Ginny cringed. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even aware of half of what I was saying—”
“I know. It didn’t bother me because you said it. It bothered me because I was afraid you were right.” She took another delicate sip of tea, still so poised and in control. “This isn’t an easy business, Genevieve. And it doesn’t get easier the higher up you get, no matter what you tell yourself. When you’ve arrived all of the stresses don’t suddenly go away. The higher you climb, the farther you have to fall—and the more terrifying the idea of falling becomes. Sometimes fear reduces us to our worst selves.”
“I was scared you were right too,” Ginny admitted. “That I would only be famous for dating Jack. I’m so sorry. I’d always admired you and I hate what I said on the tape. I didn’t mean it—”
“You did. In that moment. And I deserved it. I’m sorry I wasn’t worthy of your admiration that day, but I’m not sure I’m sorry you got caught. It was bad luck, but you’re much more interesting now than you were back then. The most interesting people are forged in fire, don't you think? I bet you’re an even better actress now than you were then—and you were already excellent.”
Ginny flushed, the compliment sinking into her like sunlight.
Agatha eyed her over her teacup. “How do you feel about Shakespeare?”
“What?” She must have missed something.
“I’ve decided to direct.” Agatha smiled smugly. “And when you’ve been in this industry as long as I have, people are afraid to say no to you when you want something. I’ve been thinking a great deal lately about Othello. Gossip, rumors, innuendo… I think I’d like to change it up a bit. Perhaps modernize? Add in a tabloid angle, a little social media. How do you feel about Desdemona?”
Ginny’s eyes went wide. “The lead?” She shook her head, feeling like she was being given a gift that was too generous. “You don’t have to—”
“Darling, I never make casting decisions as favors. You’re exquisite. And I have every intention of making you read for it. You will have earned it, if you get it.”
Ginny couldn’t accept fast enough, “I’d love to audition for you.” Ginny couldn't get the words out fast enough.
“Excellent.” Agatha set down her teacup with a satisfied click. “I tried getting in touch with you through your agent months ago, but apparently you’d changed representation. No one seemed to know who your new agent was.”
Ginny blushed. “I don’t have one. The tape...”
“Ah. It’ll pass. Whether you work with me or not, so don’t feel like you need to in order to make a statement. I was speaking with your production manager earlier. Lovely girl.”
“Dani?” Ginny asked, having trouble following Agatha’s conversational leaps.
“The crew here. They love you.”
“I’m sorry?”
Agatha reached for her purse to pay the bill—and Ginny realized she traveled without a massive entourage to take care of her needs for her. The realization was almost as jarring as her next words. “Word gets around in this business—and not all the gossip is in the tabloids. It may take a while for the word to spread since this is an unfortunately small production with a relatively inexperienced crew, but some of them will go on to bigger and better things, networking at festivals and whatnot, and the word will get out that you’re good to work with. Give it a little time and you’ll be just fine. Or you can come do Shakespeare with me.” She adjusted her scarf, gathering her things in a signal that their conversation was coming to a close. “There are good things in your future, Ginny Jones. I’m looking forward to seeing it.”
“Thank you,” Ginny said, the words soft as her throat closed around them.
Agatha smiled, meeting her eyes. “Now. About my nephew…”