Katie Ginger - Summer Season on the Seafront
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- Название:Summer Season on the Seafront
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- Год:неизвестен
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- Рейтинг книги:4 / 5. Голосов: 1
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‘Come on, Nate,’ Hannah began again. ‘You’re an actor, you must have something to say. You’re not exactly shy and you certainly weren’t that night at my flat.’ She was standing up, seven rows back. Even the ushers approaching her looked scared, her normally pouty face held in an angry grimace. She’d clearly planned for this moment. An expensive dress poured over her curvy figure, her make-up impeccable despite the heat, and long black hair hung down in curls that, he knew from Emma’s pre-awards-show routines, took an expert hand. Why was Hannah doing this?
Muttering crept forwards through the audience like a ripple on water, landing at his feet. Nate knew he should say something, but he had no idea what. His mind was gripped with panic at the consequences of his stupid actions, brought on by too much drink and far too much heartache. He’d loved Emma and admitting their marriage wasn’t working anymore had broken his heart. It had been exhausting putting on a brave face for the paparazzi. And then, one night, when he’d finally managed to get away from them, a chance meeting after one too many flaming sambucas had brought Hannah into his life. There she was, this gorgeous model telling him she’d just broken up with her boyfriend. Nate, fuelled by beer and shots, had let the pain and loneliness he’d worked constantly to keep at bay wash over him. The hurt of Emma’s rejection had finally become too much and he’d stupidly been swept away by Hannah’s flattery, by the little-girl-lost persona, and one thing had led to another.
The guy playing Lennie stepped forwards. ‘Excuse me, madam, I think you should leave. You’re ruining the performance for everyone else.’ Nate stared at him, knowing it should be him saying something. Every moment he kept his mouth closed he looked even more of an idiot. The audience – his audience – were agog.
Hannah folded her arms over her chest in a defiant stance, making sure her enormous boobs rested on top. ‘Do you know what this scumbag did?’ she asked, gazing around, playing to the crowd. Some people turned away, embarrassed, while others began filming on their phones. God, this would be all over the internet within ten minutes. His career was over. That was it. It was all going to fall into the toilet. The media wouldn’t be kind. It would be a highly publicised betrayal of his childhood sweetheart for a fame-grabbing model. They’d never know or understand the reality. He wasn’t an arsehole. Just an idiot. Robin would probably drop him. He wasn’t big enough news to weather a storm like this. And Emma would hate him even more. Hannah gleefully continued. ‘He told me he loved me. He told me he was going to leave his wife and—’
What? No! Jesus Christ on a bike. Had he been so drunk he’d said that? He had no recollection of it, and it didn’t sound like him, but the night had passed in a blur. Nate couldn’t even remember if the sex had been any good he’d been that drunk. Shit. This was all going wrong. So, so wrong. Why was she here now?
‘—and now …’ Hannah turned towards him and smiled. ‘Now, he’s trying to pay me off to save his reputation. Well, his agent is. Nathaniel hasn’t come near me since the night we spent together having sex! Lots and lots of sex. Which was crap by the way! But he’s too much of a coward to even face me himself, aren’t you, Nathaniel Hardy? Have you told your wife about us yet?’ Her head stopped wiggling and she glared triumphantly.
No, no, no, no, no , thought Nate. This wasn’t right. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, still being technically married, and he’d regretted it straight away, but did he really deserve all this? He couldn’t – wouldn’t – have said he loved her. Nate had only ever said that to Emma. And he was sure he wouldn’t have promised more than a single night of no-strings sex. She wasn’t his type. He’d never before been the sort to just jump into bed with someone. It was always the emotional connection he wanted. The curtain began to close, protecting him from the audience and Hannah.
‘Nate,’ whispered Lennie now they were shielded. ‘What the fuckery is going on? That silly tart’s ruining the bloody show.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, his brain slow and sluggish. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she was here. I thought it was all dealt with. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry …’ Nate’s legs wobbled beneath him and he collapsed onto one of the hay bales used to set the stage. In the play he was on a farm in California. He’d been there recently. LA, to be exact. For a small film role. He wished he was there now, or anywhere else for that matter. The erratic breathing returned, not helping his light-headedness at all. The lights seemed to be moving and Nate held his head in his hands trying to stop the flashes drifting across his eyes.
One of the female cast members tutted and turned her back on him. She thought he was a cheating bastard. And he was. Technically. But he couldn’t break his agreement with Emma and tell the truth of her numerous affairs now.
‘Nate,’ the theatre manager said calmly, as if this happened every night of the week, ‘after we remove her from the audience, are you okay to carry on?’
Was he? He had no idea right now. His world was tumbling down around him. Could he perform after this? He thought of his training, and something inside him clicked. He nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’
Hannah’s voice could still be heard in the background as what sounded like three or four different ushers tried to remove her from the stalls. ‘Get off me, you fucking idiots. Do you have any idea who I am? Don’t push me. You can’t do this. Oi!’ Her screeching faded and the theatre manager spoke once again to Nate.
‘Are you sure?’
Nate looked around at his fellow actors. He couldn’t let them down, or the audience who had paid good money to come and see them. The play had been ruined enough for them already because of him, he wouldn’t cheat them out of the last twenty minutes. That was his only good bit of luck. They’d been so near the end when she’d started shouting, he didn’t have long to get through. The sneaky minx had obviously been waiting for the pivotal moment of the play. Pulling his shoulders back, he said, ‘Yes. I’m sure. Just give me a few minutes to get myself together.’
‘Okay.’ The theatre manager deftly moved the curtain aside and stepped onto the stage. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m terribly sorry for the disruption to tonight’s performance. We’re going to have a fifteen-minute interval and then the play will continue. Thank you all for your patience and your support.’
The quiet mumbles erupted into a loud chatter that filled the room. Nate couldn’t help but wonder what they were saying about him. Nothing good, he was sure. Lennie turned to him. ‘Are you okay, mate?’
‘Not really,’ Nate replied, studying his visibly shaking hands. ‘Just give me five minutes.’
Nate rushed from the set, through a door at the back and down the steps to the dressing rooms. Using his hand to steady himself, he sped along the corridor and burst through the door. Collapsing into his chair he let his head drop into his hands. It was stifling in the small, messy dressing room. The London air was dense with heat and there was no breeze to cool him, only the whirring of a small desk fan that did nothing but blow droplets of cold sweat across his forehead. Nate’s face was ashen as he stared at his reflection in a mirror brightly lit by the bare bulbs encasing it. He wasn’t really seeing himself, just a pale version of the man he’d been when everything was going well. It was like he was looking at someone else now. Nate swigged from the bottle of water beside the abandoned make-up brushes, tossed aside as the thrill of the five-minute call and the eager anticipation of performing filled him. A buzzing from his jacket, hung on the back of the door, told him he had a phone call. Grabbing it, he saw it was Robin. Word was out already.
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