Take Two

CHAPTER 26

Billy pulled up in front of the restaurant and twisted around in his seat. ‘I’m happy to wait for you, Miss Castle,’ he said.

‘No need, Billy,’ said Carolyn. ‘I’m a hop, skip and a jump from my house. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Billy picked up a clipboard with the call sheet. ‘Seven-thirty pick-up,’ he said. He grinned. ‘You get a lie in.’

Carolyn laughed and climbed out of the Mercedes. She waved as Billy drove off. The restaurant was a small Italian place she’d used for more than ten years. Luigi the owner ran the front of house while his wife and son worked in the kitchen. The food was good home cooking, the wine was reasonably priced, and they had a table in a corner that was partly obscured by a supporting wall on which Luigi had hung a large poster of the leaning tower of Pisa. It was the perfect table for when she wanted a quiet meal alone or if she had business to discuss. And most of the diners were regulars which meant she was rarely disturbed by a fan wanting an autograph or a mobile phone photograph.

Luigi spotted her as soon as she opened the door and he hurried over. He was a small man, an inch shorter than Carolyn when she was wearing heels, and he had a large stomach that suggested he was a big fan of his wife’s cooking. He air kissed her and took her coat. ‘Your guest is already here,’ he said, showing her over to the table. Peter Sessions was halfway through a bottle of Chianti and he got to his feet when he saw her.

‘I’m so sorry I’m late, I had some dubbing to do and it just had to be finished tonight,’ she said.

Peter kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Luigi has been taking good care of me,’ he said. ‘As always.’ Peter was her agent and had been since she’d first started working as an actress. During the twenty years they had been together, his hair had thinned and greyed and his crow’s feet had multiplied and deepened but he hadn’t gained a pound and was as stick-thin as the day they had first met.

They sat down and Luigi produced two leather-bound menus. ‘I have some wonderful sea bass, so fresh that it swam here this morning,’ he said. ‘My wife is cooking it with some garlic and tomato and it’s so good I’ll be having it later tonight.’

‘That’ll be fine,’ said Carolyn. She looked over at Peter and he nodded enthusiastically. ‘We’ll both have it,’ she said.

‘And your chicken Caesar salad to start?’

‘Perfect,’ said Carolyn, handing back the unopened menu.

‘Soup of the day for me,’ said Peter, giving back his menu. ‘Ask the chef if he could go easy on the salt. Doctor’s orders.’

Luigi headed to the kitchen. ‘So, congratulations on your award,’ said Peter.

Carolyn laughed. ‘It’s in the guest bathroom, with the rest of them,’ she said.

‘Best place for them,’ said Peter, ‘You can’t take them too seriously. But it was well-deserved, and it was the viewers who voted which makes it a real award.’

The waitress brought their starters over and Carolyn toyed with her salad. ‘Peter, how easy would it be to move to another show?’ she asked.

Peter’s spoon froze halfway to his mouth. ‘Has something happened?’

‘Nothing really, I just feel like a change.’

Peter put down his spoon. ‘Come on, now, you’ve just won an award and now you want to jump ship. Something must have happened.’

Carolyn shrugged and sipped her wine.

‘Problems with one of the directors? I can speak to Paul.’

‘The directors are terrific. The new one, Jake Harrington, is a sweetheart.’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘I’m just not sure how much of a future I have on the show.’

‘Has someone said anything?’

‘There’s a writers’ meeting next week and it’s all hush hush. The network are going to be there and I have a feeling my part is going to be cut back. But it’s just a feeling.’

‘I can put out a few feelers, see which way the wind is blowing.’

Carolyn shook her head. ‘If it happens, it happens,’ she said. ‘And if they are planning to write me out, we’ll be the last to know. At this stage, I just want to know what my options are.’

Peter looked pained. ‘Things aren’t good in TV land these days, you know that,’ he said. ‘The internet, DVDs, cable, they’ve all hit the broadcasters for six. The big money isn’t there any more.’

‘I’m not saying I want a pay rise, Peter. I’ll work for the same money. It’s about the work.’

‘I hear what you’re saying, but the fact is you’re paid far more than most and if you move to Emmerdale, you’d put a lot of noses out of joint. If the producers hire you, they’ll have half a dozen of their stars demanding parity.’

Carolyn sighed and prodded a piece of chicken. She didn’t have much of an appetite. ‘Is Emmerdale a possibility?’ she asked.

‘I really don’t think so,’ he said. ‘They’ve just brought in another family with four new characters.’

‘What about Corrie?’

‘Corrie’s all about the kids these days,’ he said. ‘Buff studs and sunbed tans and cleavages. They’re chasing the younger market.’

‘The younger market isn’t inside watching TV,’ said Carolyn. ‘They’re either on the internet or outside getting drunk. Or high.’ She shook her head. ‘What happened to our industry, Peter? It used to be about the work. And the stories.’

‘Those days are gone,’ said Peter. ‘Now it’s about murder and rape and incest. And they want young, they really do.’

‘I’m forty four, Peter. Since when has that been old? Look at Ian McKellen. He did Corrie and he was what, seventy? Look at Bill Roach, still going strong in his eighties.’

‘You know it’s unfair, I know it’s unfair, but nothing is going to change the way it works. Women get older and men mature.’

‘You’d think with so many women in top jobs at the BBC and ITV that would change.’

‘The women are the worst,’ said Peter. ‘Way bitchier than the men.’

‘I think it’s Sally and Lisa who are trying to stitch me up,’ said Carolyn. ‘They’ve never liked me.’

‘Jealousy,’ said Peter. ‘You’re everything they want to be.’

‘Nice of you to say so, Peter. But that doesn’t help me. Look, if the worst comes to the worst and I have to leave the show, what are my options?’

Peter sipped soup from his spoon, giving himself time to think. ‘You’re still a hot commodity,’ he said eventually. ‘I can get you as many after-dinner speaking gigs as you can handle at between two and five grand a go.’

‘Oh come on, Peter.’

‘Don’t knock it. You could make a hundred grand a year from a few hours a week talking to businessmen and the like. And we turn down most of the personal appearances you’re offered because you’re in the studio all day. I could get you two or three supermarket openings a week, grand or two a go. There’s promotional videos, there’s commercials, you’re one of the best known faces in the country. Then there’s panto.’

‘Panto?’

‘A month’s work once a year and you could be looking at fifty grand. More, if we can get you a London gig.’

‘Playing what, Peter? The Wicked Witch? The Evil Stepmother?’

‘I was thinking more Peter Pan. Principal Boy. Cinderella, maybe. Don’t turn your nose up at panto, some actors live the whole year on what they earn in December.’

‘I want to work in television, Peter. Or film. I want to act.’

‘I could probably get you on Countdown. And Have I Got News For You. Might be able to push you for Loose Women.’

‘That’s not acting, Peter. I’m an actress, not a TV personality.’

‘You can make the transition,’ he said. ‘Look at Ulrika Jonsson on Shooting Stars. That really raised her profile.’

‘A panel game? Be serious, Peter. What about film? Could you put me up for roles?’

‘I could, yes,’ he said. ‘But the age thing is the bugbear.’

Carolyn’s eyes narrowed. ‘The age thing?’

‘You’re at the awkward age. You know you are. You’re too old for the sex kitten roles and you’re not old enough for the character roles. If you were thirty I’d be putting you for every film that’s being greenlit, if you were over sixty you’d be spoilt for choice. But forty-five…’ He shrugged. ‘It’s a tough sell, I won’t lie to you. Look at Sharon Stone. The work just dried up. It always does.’

‘Forty four, Peter. I’m forty four.’ Carolyn took a sip of wine, then gulped down half of her glass. ‘So my options aren’t great, that’s what you’re saying?’

‘I’m saying if you want to work in television, you’ve pretty much got the best job going. My advice to you would be to do whatever is necessary to safeguard what you have.’ He put down his spoon. ‘You’re worried they’re going to write you out? Is that it? Because that won’t happen.’

‘You don’t know that, Peter.’

‘I know we have a contract that has four more months to run. So they’re hardly going to stop using you. That wouldn’t make any financial sense.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘There’s no “suppose” about it. Your contract is rock solid. They have to pay you whether or not they use you so, of course, they’ll use you. And four months is a long time in TV Land. Half the suits on the show will have moved on by then.’

‘They could reduce my role.’

‘Again, why would they? They pay the same whether you’re on screen for twenty minutes or twenty seconds. And, again, four months is a long time. Even if they did, the viewers would howl and they’d go back to the status quo.’ He picked up his spoon again. ‘You’re worrying about nothing,’ he said. He smiled confidently. ‘Trust me.’