Page 10 of Crying in the Rain

Ade took the opportunity to listen back through his headphones, really pleased with what they’d got so far. He exported a thirty-second clip and sent it to Sally O’Connor, not realising he still had company until he heard Kris clear his throat. Smiling, Ade removed the headphones and swivelled around to face him.

“Hey.”

Kris smiled back. “Hey, I just wanted to compliment you on your acting. You’re amazing.”

“Thank you,” Ade accepted bashfully, his cheeks warming. “So are you. I love what you and Ella did with the scars scene.”

“Really?”

“Really. I just sent the writer a raw clip, it’s so good.” That and he hoped it would put her off turning up at the studio. “TV would be lucky to have you.”

Kris bowed his head. “You’re too kind. I wouldn’t even know where to begin with your job, whereas you can do mine without breaking a sweat. Have you ever considered an acting career?”

“Ha. Yes. As a matter of fact, I used to do a lot of stage stuff, but the speech thing got in the way. Writers get very precious when a jumped-up thespian asks them to amend their well-considered words.”

“I hope that wasn’t a jibe at me,” a husky female voice said from behind Kris. Ade’s heart sank. So much for pre-empting her visit.

Ever the eye-catcher, even now in her early sixties, Sally wore a vibrant tie-dyed kaftan over deep-purple crushed-velvet culottes. She drifted past Kris, her gaze fixed on Ade, her cheery smile holding for now, as she wasn’t yet close enough to see any fine detail. Ade tried his best not to shrink into his seat. He loved Sally to pieces, but he really didn’t want to face her today.

Kris must have picked up that they knew each other, as he started to back out of the room, making his excuses, but Ade needed him to stay and so quickly introduced them.

“Kris, this is Sally O’Connor, Sal, this is Kris Johansson. He’s playing Tommy.”

“Riiiight,” Sal said, eyeing Kris up and down as if his physical appearance offered a valid indication of his ability to take on the role. She took a lunge-step towards him, and her hand shot out from within the folds of fabric. Kris recovered quickly from his astonishment and accepted her greeting.

“Good to meet you, Miss O’Connor. I love your work.”

“Riiiight,” she said again. “OK. Good.”

Ade would’ve intervened, but his nose was itching from the pungent, perfumy cloud that always accompanied the playwright and would no doubt linger for the rest of the afternoon. He couldn’t risk a sneeze, but the way Sally was drawing out every syllable, it was clear she thought Kris was sucking up and was preparing to test him.

“Which work exactly? JustOn Sunday, or…?”

“Well, it’s a beautiful reworking, and I love the modern voice you’ve given Rose, although I hope you won’t be offended if I tell you I prefer…” Kris’s eyes widened in panic, and he looked to Ade. He’d forgotten it again. Ade mouthed the words at him.

“Air Born,” Kris repeated aloud, with a subtle grateful smile to his co-conspirator. Ade gave him a wink to sayyou’re welcome.

“Oh, do you?” Sal gushed airily, suddenly convivial. “It’s my all-time favourite, though I dare say it’s not the done thing for one to adore one’s own work. And may I ask which part you played?”

As Sal commenced interrogating Kris, Ade used his eyes only to try and signal to Kris not to leave him on his own with her. Luckily, Kris was good at reading facial expressions. That or it was the connection between them that had been growing stronger all day. Either way, it meant Sal didn’t get the chance to lecture Ade, despite making it obvious she’d noticed the bruises. He was only delaying the inevitable, but today he wasn’t up tobeing told he was a fool. He knew he was a fool, and it changed nothing.

Sal stayed just long enough for the rest of the actors and crew to return from their break, share a few pleasantries and listen to the next scene before bidding farewell and floating away, leaving a flowery wake strong enough Ade wouldn’t have been surprised to discover rose petals littering the corridor all the way to the lift.

“OK,” he said, once she was gone. “Final scene.” With a sigh of relief that at least one trial was over, he put on the red light and hit record.

*

“We’re going for a drink. Would you like to come?”

Again, Kris had hung back; the rest of the cast were already on their way to the lift, and Ade was alone at the control desk. The question paralysed him, took the power of words from him, because he so desperately wanted to go for a drink, be normal, socialise with his colleagues, but was it worth the risk?

“I don’t think we’ll be staying out late,” Kris added. “And I’d love to hear more about your acting experiences. There’s such depth to your characterisation. Want to give me some tips?”

Ade smiled at the compliment. It warmed him right through—not that he didn’t get complimented. He was good at his job—efficient, well-organised, and he made sure his cast and crew knew how much he appreciated their efforts. They, in turn, were grateful and very kind. Kinder than he deserved, he suspected, because he was just doing what he was paid to do. But for all of that, Kris’s words had struck a long-silent chord in his soul.

“And I’d really like some interesting company.” Kris smiled hopefully.

A battle raged in Ade’s head, the answer hanging in the limbo of his existence—yes…no…yes…no…yes…

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