An entertaining, fictional look at the rigours faced by the jobbing actress…
“You are in room 302, enjoy your stay!” Belinda Denton hands over the room security card as she secretly checks her reflection in the sliding glass doors opening and closing upon a variety of nationalities fit to rival a UNICEF conference. Like any other well-trained hotel receptionist, the smile does not leave her face until businessman number ten of the morning, marching briskly to the lifts, has disappeared out of view. What he doesn’t know is that perfectly groomed Belinda, with the dapper red suit and matching lipstick snatched from her dresser in haste this morning, was handing out leaflets in Leicester Square dressed up as a chicken last week. The week before that, she was serving cocktails in the ground floor bar of the Longacre Hotel, graciously refusing invitations from oily-gelled, gold-toothed punters” while a few months earlier she was promoting a pouty C-lister’s new perfume in Selfridges, sporting leopard-print tights. Her next job will involve selling tickets at a box office call centre. The clothes vary but the smile always stays the same.
A quick look at the computer clock determines that it’s time for her to leave for the day. “See you at 6 tomorrow morning and good luck!” The other red suits wave briskly at the exit before returning to their phones. Belinda totters to the tube, thanking fate that it’s not rush hour. After a couple of stops she reaches her destination – Soho, the home of many a film and television casting office. The more time passes, the further away she feels from the role of a receptionist and the closer she can identify with her profession of choice: acting.
Shaking her hair out of its tight bun to further suit the casting breakdown (“Italian bombshell, busty, curvaceous, Sophia Loren type”), she unbuttons the red receptionist uniform to reveal a low-cut strapless dress. Silently cursing for forgetting to pack her new push-up bra from La Senza earlier that morning, a builder whistling down from scaffolding covering a tatty Chinese restaurant assures her that she is successfully leaving corporate Belinda behind after all.
Sitting in the waiting area, she glances at the script that has just been handed to her. It’s a run-of the-mill bit part for a television movie, the ‘other woman’ who steals the husband from the decent and faithful wife. “Go back to her then but I bet she doesn’t do it the way I do…” Stage directions ask for the line to be delivered with ‘lusty sarcasm’. Belinda tries to practice silently in her head, images of Sophia Loren and other busty bombshells flashing through from her memory. Who would have thought…at drama school Belinda was given to understand that she would be working as the pretty ingénue for most of her career. The Juliets, the Christines, the Isoldes. Shakespeare’s fair maidens and musical theatre’s pretty girls. To be fair, this was a good ten years ago and whether she wanted to admit it or not, the candles on her cake were multiplying as much as the lines on her forehead. Grudgingly agreeing with her agent, she had just recently changed her body type from “slim” to “curvy” on her CV, resulting her being placed in a whole different casting category.
She glances around the room filled with fold-up chairs… It’s a good thing the assistant is a tiny Asian girl the size of a pin – anyone slightly larger would have serious issues manoeuvring around in this office. Going to auditions was always such an eye-opener. Belinda seemed to be confronted with every other woman in the country of her age and look on the hunt for acting work” a real wake-up call as to just how fierce the competition really is. Lady in faux fur coat opposite even has the same hair style. Belinda takes out a comb and changes hers to a middle parting in an attempt to stop feeling like a bizarre type of clone.
Someone with a massive umbrella suddenly opens the door to the third floor studio and nearly causes the desktop balancing on a coffee table and a few storage boxes to collapse. Asian pin assistant girl catches it deftly with one hand, effortlessly holding the door open with the other. Multi-tasking is clearly part of her daily routine. She grabs a list, gives it a decisive tick and looks straight at Belinda. “Follow me please…”
“So….have you done any television before?” Man with a crusty blue velvet jacket and spectacles that nearly fall out of his breast pocket every time he takes a breath doesn’t look at Belinda as he poses the question.
“No, I have been concentrating mainly on the stage in recent years, mostly musicals.” Belinda smiles. It’s always a good start.
“Hmmm… yes… I can see that. What was your last show?” Man gives woman behind the camera a knowing look as Belinda pictures the word ‘confidence’ in bold letters in her mind.
“Teletubbies the musical. On tour.”
Man raises left eyebrow slightly. “And what part did you play exactly?”
This is not going the way Belinda hoped but she continues anyway, trying to ignore his dubious tone. “I was chorus and understudy.” Man doesn’t know how to respond to this.
“So what do you know about filming?”
Belinda remembers her rehearsed response. “Oh I have taken many courses, I did a commercial for Daz dishwasher tablets once and I won the student film award at drama school. I also have a show reel, would you like to have a copy?” She turns to her bag but the man shakes his head silently. Belinda knows she isn’t what he is looking for.
Nevertheless, he lets her read for the part and do a screen test. Despite this being her first film audition in years she manages to focus and even deliver lines with “lusty sarcasm”. Man has now put on his spectacles and is looking at the replay on the camera. He ponders. “I think we should have you read for another part, can you cold read this for us?”
Woman hands her some new, crisp stapled pages. A cold reading of the true kind… Belinda tenaciously hangs on to the c-word in her mind, racing through the text and frantically making mental notes. Nurse aged 40 (?!), calm, quiet, sweet, finds wife of cheating man collapsed on the street from a mental breakdown, takes her to hospital and becomes her best friend. Simple enough, it seems like quite a large part. But Belinda can’t get over that number – 40. Playing age 30-35 is what she is sold as and now she is reading for a part age… 40?! Ignore it, Ignore it, she tells herself. It’s a part! It’s a job! It’s good money! It’s a credit! What are you doing?! The second reading is over before Belinda has managed to quieten her disturbed inner voices. “Thank you, that will be all for today” The Asian pin leads her to the exit.
Back outside in the hustle and bustle, her mobile rings. “Yes it went fine, I got to read for two parts. I was in there for about ten minutes. By the way, do you think I look 40?” She tries to sound nonchalant about it. “Oh, just one of the parts I was reading for was playing age 40…” Belinda feels better as her agent reassures her that the casting director must have been so convinced by her talent that he asked her to read for an older part despite having a younger playing age.
As Belinda heads away from Soho, the phone rings again. It’s the Sheraton Hotel. “You mean… you don’t need me to come in tomorrow?” She piles onto a bus, clutching a magazine for her son Jason, aged six. “Oh right… well… I am glad she is better now. Would you have any other work for me?” The hotel declines and Belinda turns her phone to silent. It’s been a long day and she doesn’t want to end it thinking about having no income until the call centre job starts next month. Even the confidence exercise is now failing” the c-word has just about vanished from her psyche. Suddenly, her eyes land on a newspaper that has been left behind by another passenger. ‘Girls wanted with excellent telephone manner for erotic phone work. Good hourly rates of pay, work comfortably from home, actors particularly welcome.’
As the bus halts with a jerk Belinda grabs the paper, slips it behind the children’s magazine and heads home.
