Siobhan's Sporking: Billy and Me, Chapter 10 (part 1)

Hey, hope you enjoyed Carter, Becki and Lambrini's contributions to going in depth into Billy and Me. I'm in a fairly okay mood today (despite finishing work at 2.30 am, my brother waking me up to The Sounds Of World Of WarCraft on PS3 at 9am, and him just locking the back door when I'm in the garden without thinking 'hey, I didn't open that, Siobhan isn't in the house, maybe she's outside?) - the sun is shining and I was pumped yesterday because we rocked a fairly fucked up shift (when the ice cream toppings run out/melt together/the ice cream runs out anyway and it's 30 C in England) and I've decided rather than basically recapping, I'm going to spork chapter 10 properly, line by line.

You've been warned.

Over the next week, I barely see Billy as the previews of his show start.

What tense is this? The next week that hasn't happened yet (future tense)? In which case, it should be 'over the next week I will barely see Billy, as the previews of his shows are about to start.'

Is it happening now? In which case, it should be 'I haven't seen Billy for the last few days, and I won't for a few more because the previews for his show are well under way.'

Has it just happened and you're recapping? Then it should be 'I haven't seen Billy for the past week, as he has been working hard at the previews for his show.'

So, what the fuck did you do there, Giovanna? And the first line too. You're just lucky I know there's more bullshit than this to come.

Previews are when members of the public can buy discounted tickets to an unfinished show, while the actors try out new ideas and discover what works and, more importantly, what doesn't work within the piece.

You know an awful lot about professional acting for a barista o_O

Billy talks about himself a lot, doesn't he Sophie?

Each day the actors go in and are given notes from the director about the previous show and rehearse new changes before the next preview that evening.

I was rewatching a film about actors putting on a show recently.

 

*sighes* God, isn't Zac Efron just the balm to everything? I would lick him like an ice cream if I met him ...

Anyway, I don't remember Orson Welles being all 'worry about the previews!' he was like 'Dammit, I'm Brutus and he's the heart of Caesar! Act how I tell you to act ... we're all dressing as Nazi's for extra impact.'

I read Caesar for high school. Everyone else in the year had to read Romeo and Juliet but one class always got Caesar instead. Hi. Saw a brilliant performance in the Globe too, don't think Marc Anthony expected a class from an all girls school to be in line with his bare ass for an entire scene ... he was very red. I digress, Orson got it wrong but it didn't matter because he was Orson Fucking Welles. Brutus couldn't find anyone to give him an honourable death like Cassius could, because there was purpose to Cassius plotting against Caesar and Brutus was a pawn and a lot of people developed contempt for his assholery. That doesn't matter in the film, because Orson Welles.

Why is Billy not being like Orson Welles? Pussy. Orson knew people would attend just to see greatness in action. Billy's a Pussy.

It's tough work and keeps Billy away from home all day and most of the night.

So he asked you to come live with him so he didn't have to see you? I ... where's the logic? And how does she know how tough it is? If she never sees him, how does she get a blow-by-blow? Does he text in between scenes? We won't find out by the way. I can't believe we're almost through a page already and all she's done is an exposition dump about how hard Billy works at failing to act.

I clearly hadn't thought my working hours at Coffee Matters through properly as we see hardly anything of each other.

I thought she took the first job to offer her a role because becoming an independent trader didn't filter onto her radar? Bitch please, work in McDonald's for a week. I was talking to a crew member yesterday about how a customer called her a retard because she had a mcjob when the customer has no idea of how we work. And also, just for funsies, for around a thousand applications my store gets? Three of those people move forward to interview. Not to get the job, but to be considered further. Never talk down to a McWorker, the field is a lot harder to get into than it was previously, and these people move faster, think faster and react faster than you could ever imagine. The crew member used to work in an argos warehouse, moving bed frames and sofas ... and says McDonald's is harder. We're also 24 hours a day, 364 days a year ... you need never have a chance to angst over Billy again.

There's more angsting to come, unfortunately, because her London-based coffee store apparently only does 9-5 *confused* Most trades in London are open until at least 7pm, so why would the coffee joints leave before the clothing stores?

However, I always wait up for him to come home in the evenings so that we can spend a bit of quality time together - even if it is just half an hour.

*Seethes* be a full-time working, full-time single parent. Rely on your parents to help with your son when your work demands you flex at any time. Go for three days only seeing your son when you sneak in his room and kiss him goodnight and he's already asleep. FUCK YOU. Half an hour a day? You are so incredibly lucky. And you barely even know this guy *grinds teeth*

God, guys ... that was only the first paragraph, and she's killed my mood.

The four or five hours spent in my own company at the flat drift by in a slow and painful manner as I try to find little tasks to do to keep my brain occupied.

I hate you so much Sophie. Four or five hours? Contact your mum, and Molly, watch a little TV, do some reading, do some baking, look in the local paper for some groups to join, go online, learn to actually fucking write ... I wish I had four or five hours to myself EVERY DAY. I don't need some man to fill my time ...

 

Wait ...

Reading and baking have continued to be the two things that successfully make the time go quicker, aside from speaking on the phone to Mum or Molly.

Mixing the ingredients by hand on a basic sponge takes 30 minutes. I have a recipe I did once where it took me six hours to make these mint chocolate cupcakes (I was told they were good, I never tried one). If she got creative, she could spend hours making decorations for cakes ... then sell them. GODDAMN IT SOPHIE MAY WHY IS THIS SO GLARINGLY OBVIOUS TO ME AND SO HARD FOR YOU TO GET THERE?

And she's a big reader apparently. Bollocks. Even with Twilight, I read in one nine-hour sitting. I just about remembered to go to the toilet, and I did so holding the book in front of me and getting my jeans and pants off in one hand. I read the Hobbit in two days, I devoured 1984 ... bollocks you're a reader, because this whole bit should be 'I have four or five hours to myself every night ... but I usually spend them journeying to Mordor.'

FUCK YOU.

I need more man candy.

 

Better. Isn't he a vast improvement on a Magnum ice cream?

Each night I whisk together a little treat for us to nibble on when Billy walks through the door.

Well aren't you just a regular Susie Fucking Homemaker.

Sometimes it's a cheesecake, other times it's a batch of cupcakes ... anything that tickles my fancy.

I can't believe you narrate in this tone. Ten chapters on and I'm still pretty much

 

Who talks like that? Who thinks like that? Tickles my fancy ... I mean, I know the phrasing, because my nan says shit like that. But my nan has a kindle and rates Enchanted out of the Disney movies and is braver than me because she was awake when they operated on her knee recently, which kicks my awake-when-they-put-a-tube-in-my-neck experience. I'm pretty fucking sure her knee didn't take 10 minutes (but also, she didn't have my mum going 'you're doing great, doing great ... they're putting the scalpel in now!' because without the running commentary, I wouldn't have known a blade was penetrating the skin on my throat ...) she's allowed to say shit like that.

I love it.

Then why have you spent an entire page bitching about it?

The time spent mixing, concocting and whipping make me realize how much I miss this part of my old job.

I'm getting sick of repeating myself. Both on the Americanisation of her spellings and how it's glaringly obvious that she should be investing in her own baking company. She clearly has all the supplies she could possibly need in Billy's kitchen.

Every time it looks like I might repeat myself? I'm just going to do this

 

Because objectifying famous men calms me down.

And the smell ... wow!

If I do say so myself ...

I love filling the flat with that homeliness that comes from home baking.

Hold up, didn't Billy have a house? Why, three chapters later, is it now demoted to a flat (or apartment, my American friends)? Also, home baking doesn't necessarily bring about homeliness. Homeliness is often used in describing

 

Wow, that search actually brought up a LOT of people in sari's. But Maggie Gyllenhaal could turn me, so Maggie Gyllenhaal it is.

Homeliness describes a type of girl, not skinny, not a fashionista ... kinda like earthy. So her home baking is filling Billy's house/flat with chubby girls dressed in plaid shirts, jeans and converse. She's filling her house with chubby Bella Swans, out for vampire cheesecake.

I wish I could get a picture of THAT. How about this:

 

Twilight with cheeseburgers is amazing.

Oh, so hey, guess what? We're almost two pages through this thing, only two paragraphs, and you've seen it ... we've only heard about how tough Billy's work is and she likes baking.

Tonight I have baked us a mini Victoria sponge, his favourite, which is sitting, perfectly dusted with icing sugar, on a cake stand in the middle of the kitchen table, ready for when he comes through the door.

She spent an hour on that cake. Just FYI. It's not in the book, it's just shit I know.

"Hello, baby! That smells delicious!" he chimes from the hallway as he closes the front door behind him and walks into the kitchen, taking me into his arms.

He spoke in exclamation marks, it should be 'He chimes' since the closed sentence implies new subject.

Also, don't call her baby.

 

Just putting that on the table ...

I hate this book.

"Why thank you, mister! Want a tea?" I offer as I pull away and make for the kettle.

Well, geez and golly gosh, random stranger man, I shall refuse your advances and act British. Tea?

Seriously, WHO TALKS LIKE THAT? They're meant to be in love and she calls him MISTER? What the actual fuck? And note, she pulls away and heads for the tea, she is so fucking repressed all of a sudden. Didn't mind so much in the woods, did ya?

"Actually, I'm going to have a brandy," he says as he releases me and reaches for the drinks cabinet. "It's been all I could think about on the walk home! Something to help me unwind."

-Have you noticed the exclamation marks so far? That's why I used to do that count.
-He's having a brandy? Is he fifty? Is he a raging alcoholic? Have a carling, or some whisky, or something someone your age would have. And if it is something like whisky? Dump it in coke or red bull. Act your fucking age.
-He releases her? She pulled away! So she's walking slowly to the kettle with him clinging on until he's spoken about Brandy? It's not just me, is it?
-He's so uber famous he's been papped twice in four chapters. He can walk home in London. I'm not saying actors can't do this, but I am saying

 

 

 

 

they can't fucking hide.

"OK," I say, cutting two healthy slices of cake for us and putting them on plates.

How are the slices healthy? Or does she mean large slices?

 

healthy slice of cake did not google me an image like that, for sure.

"Are you going to have one with me?"

Is Billy implying both slices of cake are for him?

"No. Not when I've got to be up so early," I say, taking the plates and snuggling into him on the sofa once he's poured his drink. "So, how was tonight?"

So she doesn't want cake?

Also, I am so bored with their dynamic, what little there is. And something about the sentence with her describing their actions is off to me. Not the lack of emotion, or the clinginess she's displaying so well, I mean on a pure grammatical level. My finger kept straying to the comma button when typing.

"Bit of a quiet audience," he says, screwing up his nose. "It freaked me out because it's not what we've been used to, but they went berserk at the curtain call, so they must've loved it."

I ... I can't ... I mean ...

 

Thanks Ryan. And that dog is adorable.

"Well, that sounds good."

Know what this sounds like to me? That neither of you know each other and the next topic of conversation is going to be the weather.

Also, forgive me, isn't he typically a film actor? Isn't there the phrase 'quiet on set' because superfluous noise means studio time to dub? Fuck you it was quiet, Billy Buskin.

"Yeah, just different," he says, stuffing a piece of cake into his mouth. "Probably best actually, Press Night audiences are notoriously bizarre with critics sitting in silence and friends and family getting into it, so it's good to have something like that before tomorrow."

I don't know the relevance of this info dump. You sound like strangers. You sound like a textbook on acting, not a real person talking. Why is it always he says, but no dialogue tag on Sophie?

Also:

 

 

(hells yeah, reasoning with vampires!)

and:

 

Stop the info dump, just recommend this book!

No, wait, more info dump. Because you have to handhold, Stephenie Meyer taught us that. Your readers are too fucking thick to figure things out:

From what Billy's told me, Press Night is the most important night in a play's run. It's the night when critics, journalists and important people from the industry go to watch, and then tell the world what they think. It's seen as the play's official opening and so carries a huge amount of importance and pressure.

That would be Opening Night then, yes? I think Billy's trying to make himself sound more important and interesting, personally.

And this could have been included in that first line, as a few words. I did not need those two paragraphs. Seriously 'Billy has been out all week, rehearsing hard for his play. He said the week just gone is the Preview week, when the actors often rearrange the play based on the director's feedback from audience members. They naturally pay a lower fee for an unfinished play. All this preparatory work culminates in Opening Night, which is often referred to as Press Night, as this is the night all the critics come and write their reviews. As the week has gone on, Billy has gotten increasingly nervous, and taken to drinking Brandy in the evenings. I try to bake him something nice to come home to, hoping to relieve the stress he seems to be under.'

I just summed up over three pages into a paragraph. Tell me what actual, relevant information I have stripped out. I've removed the awkward dialogue, and you get the sense that she cares about him and although he does care about her he's just trying to get through the nerves and stress.

Fuck you, Giovanna.

Oh God, this book is never going to end:

"How are you feeling about it?"

Oh, like you care.

"I'm excited to have you there," he says with a smile as he grabs one of my hands, giving it a squeeze.

Bollocks you are. I am not feeling like they're in the first throes of new love. I don't feel like in two months they know each other. These are just words, down on a piece of paper/my kindle screen, that sound a bit like a bad job interview.

"I'm looking forward to it!"

Yeah, woo, free ticket to a play!

 "Paul's going to be looking out for you when you get there," he informs me.

And still, only Billy has dialogue tags. I have no idea of the tone of Sophie's words. I don't know if she's projecting her emotions or trying to keep them from affecting Billy's nerves or if she's impassioned ... it's blah.

 

I like his unusual looks, okay? And those eyes *wibbles*

Oh, hey, did those four lines of dialogue leave you missing info dumps? Fear not, this whole chapter is an info dump interspersed with poor dialogue!

Paul is Billy's manager, who I haven't met yet, but have heard a fair bit about. The two times Billy and I have been splashed across the tabloids Paul has been straight on the phone to Billy for more details of what's going on and to keep the journalists at bay. From what I can make out, Billy owes a lot of his success to Paul's tough negotiations and pool of wealthy contacts. Knowing he is such an important figure in Billy's life has left me nervous about meeting him.

My turn?

"Paul's going to be looking out for you when you get there. You remember me mentioning Paul, right?" He sounds nervous, and I squeezed his hand back in reassurance, still feeling shy around him. "Paul's tall, and dark haired, and he'll know what you look like from those pictures in the paper. He knows you're a little shy, so don't worry, he'll come and find you. It's going to be fine Soph, you're going to start watching the play and forget about everything, I promise."

I remember him mentioning Paul, his manager. He's tough, but fair and he knows the business inside out. Billy's lucky to have someone like him in his life, but this does intimidate me further.

 

 

Again, fuck you Giovanna. How can I write your book better than you can?

"He's looking forward to spending a bit of time with you, I think ... see what the fuss is about," he adds, smiling. "You're sat together, which is good. At least you won't be on your own."

Billy, Billy, Billy, I want to stress at you so much, but I will make one comment, and then perve on actual actors again.

Just because you know Paul since you've worked together so long, and you know Sophie, your new beau, doesn't mean they know each other, correct? This is their first time meeting, and you're not even there to do the introductions, so guess what? She's still on her own.

 

Oh, Drake, why's it so hard to find fit pictures of you these days? Kudos on this one.

"Great. It'll be good to meet him at last."

 

 

And that's all I'm going to say about that. We have a section break! God, this takes forever, this way. This is the only chapter I'm doing this for. I want to go back to skimming because I'm losing brain cells and didn't my TTP take enough of them?

The next night I turn up at the theatre wearing the most glamorous dress in my wardrobe - a little black number with gorgeous red flowers printed all over it which hangs a couple of inches above my knee, opaque black tights and patent black stiletto heels - not killer heels, min, just something to give me a bit of height and grace on Billy's important night.

 

Long sentence, huh? Okay, a few pointers:

A glamorous dress to me?

 

Stunning. The dress being described here?

 

Someone doesn't know what glamour is!

Also, stiletto heels?

 

by definition, at least three inches long.

 

What are those? mid heels.

And I asked my friend Lydia, who's store manager for a couple of shoe stores in the area and she says: "A stiletto is generally very tall and very skinny... It sounds like they're talking about a mid-heel x kittens are very tiny and there's not really much point x so yeah, stiletto is probably the wrong way to describe the shoes they're wearing x"

So. Oh god, she's still trying to talk about the height of her shoes when she's called them stilettos and they're mids. And yes, Lydia sent me lots of kisses, because we're awesome ;)

Just FYI as well, I live in greasy work shoes, converse and wedges. And I know this shit.

I did think about wearing something higher, especially as I know Billy's usual girlfriends wear tower-like heels, but I'm a nervous wreck as it is in this completely alien environment.

Nothing says comfortable in a new relationship like comparing yourself to the ex.

God knows how I'd cope if I had to concentrate on not tripping over my own feet all night as well.

She's Bella Swan, she's got the LolClumsy.

So I've played it safe, choosing comfort and control over a broken ankle.

Except, you're in stilettos, so fail.

I walk down the tiny strip of red carpet that has been placed outside the theatre, and straight past the cameramen who are waiting for newsworthy people to arrive.

I tried to google and youtube this, but my search only came up with this

 

Oh Zac, I love that you play it safe ;)

Without Billy, people have no idea who I am and my picture is worthless, clearly, and rightly so as I am in fact a 'nobody'. A notion I've always been happy with.

If you're so Goddamn happy with it, then why are you bitching it out now?

 

I ... might have a type.

Anxiety and fear of the unknown make my insides bubble in apprehension.

I have no real comments to this.

I wipe the palms of my hands casually down my dress, trying to rid them of the sweat that has formulated, but they stay clammy, refusing to dry out.

It's the material of your dress. And that is so classy, you better hope while you're rubbing yourself down, that the paps don't realise who you are. Do me a favour and go to the girl's room, wash your hands, dry with tissue paper, and maybe run the cold tap onto your wrists. The skin is thinner there, the cool will work on your core temperature to bring it down, you'll stop sweating and I won't be so grossed out.

*sighes* we still have pages to get through. That was an entire page, the dress and clammy hands and red carpet fail.

With only twenty minutes to go until the show starts I stand in the foyer waiting for Paul to arrive.

How long was she posing on the red carpet and rubbing herself? Also, maybe Paul's there and he's getting sick of looking for this daft bitch that Billy's suddenly obsessed with. Why am I the only brains here?

My eyes scan the room, taking in the glamorous people arriving, wondering who's who.

And everyone's wondering who that bird was posing and rubbing herself outside. But at least they're not wondering why you're on your own.

A lot of them seem to know each other as flamboyant greetings are exchanged and air kisses are being given everywhere I look.

My best friends live, at best 50 miles away from me, at worst maybe 150? We do scenes like that, because we miss each other. The best moment I can remember was when Charli was sat waiting by the London eye for us, and Jodie and Cat had already bumped into each other and were coming from one direction, and I saw them as I was coming from the other, and then we pounced on Charli who didn't see any of us and screamed bloody murder all over Waterloo.

Suck it Sophie, some of us have long periods between seeing our loved ones and want to express our feelings on seeing each other again. We can't all move in with celebrities within weeks of meeting. I wouldn't say it was flamboyancy, or as fake as air kisses ... I think Sophie's left out because Billy hasn't even suggested Molly come or anything. That's really fucking rude. Fuck you Billy, you made me feel sorry for Sophie for the first time this book.

I start to feel paranoid when a few girls walking by stare at me a bit longer than I find comfortable before turning to each other and whispering.

"Who's that?" "I don't know. Is she on her own?" "Yeah, what a loser."

They're younger than the majority of the gathered crowd and not your typical-looking theatregoers, so I assume they're fans of Billy.

Hell, no. It's your first theatre trip! The fuck you know about typical theatre goers? Cat and I went to the ballet last year, Swan Lake ('twas truly amazing!), we thought we looked daggy because we had nice tops on, but jeans and converse too. Then a guy sits in front of cat in a New York Yankees hat with piercings all over his face ... and cried at the performance and was really sweet when Cat said the hat was in her way. So a typical theatre goer?

Also

 

And you don't need the help. I don't want the association. Kthnx.

Feeling flustered, I bury my head in my programme in an attempt to hide myself.

She should probably read that thing. I know what's going to happen when the curtains open.

Out of nowhere the horrible comments on the website spring to mind - I wonder if any of them were behind the cruel remarks?

Oh, get OVER yourself already.

As the thought occurs to me the girls continue to walk past.

Were they circling like the vultures you're insinuating them to be?

Pictured: Billy's fans.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

Oh ... is sighing a type of breathing now? Any other cliches in this chapter?

"Sophie?" asks a man's voice a few minutes later.

There's something off about this dialogue tag. Maybe it's that the man's voice asking, rather than the man himself.

Standing before me is a man wearing a grey suit, white shirt and salmon tie, his blond hair gelled to the side in a sleek and tidy fashion, his green eyes piercing.

She fancies Paul. She hasn't described anyone in this way since Billy. And I can call this, because Milou worked this out about one of my characters, she only paid attention when her vagina did. You're welcome for that mental. Also, I'm like a guy, I struggle to name 16 colours (seriously, sixteen?) so a salmon tie to me is actually:

 

A salmon is grey with pink flesh, yes? So would a salmon tie be shiny grey?

He is groomed to perfection and looking at me with a tight and unconvincing smile.

I like Paul, instantly.

"Paul?" I question.

Hey a dialogue tag for Sophie! Too bad it's negated by THE QUESTION MARK IN THE DIALOGUE.

I haven't caps-ed so much in ages.

He sticks out a hand for me to shake, which feels like a terribly formal greeting after spotting the air kisses that have been flying around the room since I arrived.

Stop judging yourself against other people! And God, you've just met this guy, he's here for work, you're associated now with his work and a handshake is entirely acceptable. Those kisses are amongst friends. Are you and Paul BFF's? No? Then fuck right off.

"Great to meet you at last after hearing so much about you from Billy," he says.

I think that's a perfectly reasonable way to approach someone you've been told about. Sophie's going to get arsy though.

"Likewise, it's good to-"

"Shall we go in?" he asks, interrupting me as he hands me a ticket and starts to wander off into the auditorium.

Good call Paul, Billy's probably already told you about her sparkling conversation. Unfortunately, this is the start of Paul's downward slope in Sophie's eyes.

"It's about to start, after all," he adds, slightly turning back in my direction with another forced smile.

As I'm reading this, I'm starting to think Paul isn't good in social situations with strangers either, and he's talked business until he's had to go up to Sophie. That remark as he walked in was his attempt to tell her why he was so abrupt, and the forced smile is his attempt at being ingratiating when he struggles. Just my two cents. But Sophie?

Shocked at being cut off so abruptly I follow in silence.

She's shocked! She's a Mary Sue, dammit, where's the ticker tape parade?

Perhaps he didn't mean it - the show is about to start, after all. I'm sure the pleasantries will come later.

This is the second time in this section it seems like she's fishing for compliments for being Billy's girlfriend. No aspirations, this girl.

Paul leads us to our seats, squeezing past all those who have already made themselves comfortable in theirs, although they don't seem to mind as many of them appear to know Paul and stop him for a double air kiss, a quick hello, or to tell him how excited they are to see Billy up on stage at last.

Those people sitting down? They don't have a choice. Stalls are notoriously cramped as they're in old theatres, and the age of the theatres is often the entire reason why they're still going. And suck it, Paul's with you at Billy's request, he clearly has less uncomfortable options. Show some gratitude to this man, please.

Paul doesn't introduce me, and so I just linger behind him uncomfortably, trying not to squash the person who either has my bum in their face, my boobs by their head or whose bags I'm straddling uncomfortably.

Is she uncomfortable and everyone else comfortable? I think I got that jist.

By the time we get into our seats there's no time for us to talk further, the house lights dim slowly as the show begins.

Well played, Paul.

My hand flies up to my mouth to cover the gasp that escapes it at the sight of seeing Billy onstage with his bum fully exposed, supposedly receiving oral sex from the naked girl on her knees in front of him (who swishes her long blonde hair all over the place with enthusiasm).

I blanked out for a moment there, some of that read like 50 Shades of Grey. I need to make myself feel better.

 

Why couldn't Draco look like that all the time, huh?

Luckily, the rest of the theatre erupts in giggles at seeing Billy's bum, so my gasp is hidden, although I know Paul's heard me when he leans into me and quietly says into my ear, "I hope he warned you about that. What an unnecessary shock that would be if he hadn't."

If they're laughing? That's not a good sign. And a Hollywood actor trying to prove himself with nudity on stage? Who does that sound like ...

 

Ah. Yes. Giovanna's reaction to Paul's comment?

Quite.

Oh, and how so, old chum! Rather coincidental of you to mention that at this exact moment when my embarrassment is so evident. Pip pip!

Dork.

Why didn't Billy think it would be a good idea to warn me beforehand?

Because his junk is in someone elses face? Because that's an awkward conversation after two months of dating?

Was he scared I'd overreact?

Are you going to overreact?

Or didn't he see how it might make me feel to see that on stage while surrounded by a room full of strangers.

Most girls I know would be like 'I see that ass all the time!' but even so ... if he's any kind of actor, when she brings this up, I hope he tells her it's for art and she clearly has no artistic vision if she couldn't see how opening the play with a blow job captured the essence of the piece.

There's another section break, because that's the only thing Giovanna wants to focus on in a three hour play (with intervals) and we skip the entire thing. Thanks.

I somehow manage to put Paul's comment (and the vision of the play's opening tableau) out of my mind for the rest of the show, which is not an easy feat, but I get sucked into what's happening on stage and the intricate telling of the story.

In other words, she wasn't paying any attention. She's putting too much stock in a fairly innocuous comment. and she's not done with it either.

It's gripping, shocking, and intensely heartfelt.

Here are some words. I won't tell you what the play's about, but if you saw it, you too would feel these things. Trust me.

Billy is every inch the wonderful actor I thought he would be - I'm amazed at his believable transformation into this moody and stern character.

He's playing Edward in Twilight: the Porno.

Honestly, I'm not just saying this because I'm his girlfriend, but I completely forget that it's him up there.

If a character tells me honestly, and then expounds a belief? I think they're lying. And one of my main characters is a bit of a liar, so I know from the 'Honestly' intro. Dumb bitch.

As the cast come out to take their bow, I, as well as the rest of the audience, leap to my feet with cheers of praise and applause.

I would love to hear cheers of disgust, or cheers of nausea.

I can't help beaming with pride in Billy's direction.

Look at her little boy Billy! He's all grown up!

He is magnificent - I'm surprised anyone has ever doubted that fact.

I'm ignoring the hilarity of 'he is magnificent' it reminds me of the 1980's version of The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe the BBC did. You ever see it, the last few scenes, when Tumnus calls Peter the magnificent? That is how that word is said in my head. Every time.

I'm more focused on the 'how could anyone ever doubt Billy was talented?' bit because ... I'm still reading the same book, right? About how that nonentity Billy Buskin couldn't do justice to Darcy because he's no Jude Law ... that was in the first two chapters, correct? I fucking love a hypocrite.

Also, I need this now:

 

Oh, I never said I wouldn't. Mrrrowwwwww!

As soon as the curtain falls for the final time (the cast had to come out for three lots of bows, thanks to the relentless applause), Paul leads us to the stage door so that we can go up to see Billy.

Well, if you'd just stopped clapping ... I hate clapping for more than a few seconds. It hurts my hands. Unlike my dad, who seems to smack them together until he's the loudest, longest clapper in the room.

I focus way too much on the little things.

On our way up the stairs Paul stops and turns to me with another one of his forced smiles.

 

Why do you hate on commas so badly? 'On our way upstairs, Paul stops, and turns to me. He's wearing another forced smile.'

Geez.

"I wouldn't be too sensitive about certain elements of the play if I were you," he warns as he purses his lips. "It's his big night. Let's not ruin it," he adds before turning and continuing up the stairs.

ZOMG, he can read her mind. Also, what the hell else happened in the play? And like fuck Sophie's going to listen to your actually really helpful advice. I like Paul more and more. He's a good manager, thinking of Billy's wellbeing and putting the work before some girl's hoity-toity opinion of the guy she's been seeing for a few weeks.

His unhelpful words manage to unleash my briefly forgotten feelings from the start of the show, and they start to niggle at me once more, causing me to feel dishevelled as we arrive at Billy's dressing-room door.

Believe it or not Sophie, you're not giving Paul twenty-thirty percent of your earnings, so your opinion is bunkum to him. And you didn't forget, because that's the only part of the play we know about, he got a simulated blowy! And why is she feeling dishevelled? What the hell was she doing in her seat to become DISHEVELLED?

What do you say dishevelled means, dictionary.com?

di·shev·el Spelled [dih-shev-uhl]

verb (used with object), di·shev·eled, di·shev·el·ing or ( especially British ) di·shev·elled, di·shev·el·ling.

1.

to let down, as hair, or wear or let hang in loose disorder, as clothing.

2.

to cause untidiness and disarray in: The wind disheveled the papers on the desk.

---

Origin:
1590–1600;  back formation from disheveled

Related forms

di·shev·el·ment, noun

Does she have OCD like my Lambrini does? Because I have a scene where Lambrini's hair gets compared to something in nature and she worries constantly that it's untidy. She's likened her head to a haystack because of someone's misguided attempts to call her pretty. But dishevelled doesn't work here. Apprehensive might.

As soon as it's opened Billy excitedly jumps towards me.

Oh, hey Giovanna, here's a comma: ,

You forgot a few in that sentence alone. Don't be afraid of it, a comma won't hurt. A comma can help!

"So, what did you think?" he asks.

That you should put your arse away, Billy. That's what she thinks.

The smile on his face says it all, he isn't aware of how that particular scene could have affected me, which is odd because that omission goes completely against the sensitive and caring character I know him to be.

*screams* IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU! TONIGHT IS ABOUT HIM! STOP TRYING TO MAKE IT ABOUT YOU!

 

Thanks, rare piece of man candy from Twilight. I'm saving Kellan.

However, now would be the wrong time to broach the subject.

Because Paul told you that! It shouldn't be broached, it's just his bare ass on stage! It's not his bare ass in that actresses bed every night. He's a famous actor, this should be something you're aware of!

 

"You were brilliant," I admit, because, bottom and oral sex aside, he really was.

Because of the piss poor phrasing, I am now wondering how I missed the anal scenes, and why blow jobs are shocking, absolutely shocking! But anal's fine.

"Better than Jude?" he asks with a cheeky grin. Will he ever let me live that down?

If your partner makes you uncomfortable with their jokes? Probably not a great relationship. And better than Jude, really?

 

Jude and I are not impressed.

"Much better. Honestly, you were superb!"

Uh-oh, there's that word again! Also, superb reminds me of something ...

 

Right.

"Thanks baby!" he says, leaning forward and kissing me.

Please Billy, learn her name.

A small cough from Paul reminds us both of his presence and we break away from each other.

Was the kiss that inappropriate? She's never seen his ass before.

"Paul!" welcomes Billy, giving him a hug. "I hope you've been looking after my lovely lady."

This is why all the dialogue makes me want to die inside. Mind you, the narration isn't great, but there is some flow to it, unlike this stilted dialogue.

"I certainly have," he says, putting a hand on my shoulder and acting friendlier with me than he has done all night. "I've got to say, great feedback out there, mate. Everyone has stopped me to tell me they thought you were terrific. Fingers crossed for those reviews, hey?"

... Did I miss something? Seriously, who said that? Did Sophie ignore all of Paul's interactions in favour of stressing over that ass shot? (oh, boom!) I love it when people accidentally make their narrators unreliable. Read the Sense of an Ending and then look at your work, Giovanna, because you are writing a Tony right now.

"God, don't remind me. Actually the other guys here were saying that they prefer not to see them, you know, so that it doesn't ruin your performance, or affect it in any way with their comments. They've known people to completely change their characters following them, throwing everyone else off. They don't even want the reviews to enter the building," he says.

I think Billy's being hazed, because this sounds like bullshit. Guess who agrees with Billy, and who agrees with me?

"That sounds like a good idea," I say, glad that he had decided to take this approach after seeing him so nervous about tonight and what people might think.

Who needs faith in the director of the play, huh?

This definitely seems a more refreshing attitude to take towards something which is, arguably, just one person's opinion.

I ... I can't ... YOU BELIEVE GOSSIP COMMENTS ON WEBSITES! And are you like Seth Meyer, screening Stephenie's mail for negatives so she only has accolades? Use the poor reviews, if there are any, to build on your talents, and be grateful for any good comments you do get. For fucks sake.

She's wrapping him in bubble wrap, which pisses me off because I love mcfly's song Bubblewrap.

"But it's all about the reviews for you, Bill. That's why you're here, remember, to prove your worth as an actor!" Paul says with gusto.

You've known Paul an hour, and you're setting lines of contention to build to an ultimatum for Billy, aren't you?

"Yes, but if-" I start.

Pssst, pssst, Sophie! Come here a sec ... this subject? This subject doesn't concern cakes, or coffee, or therefore ... you. Shaddup. The actor and the talent agent/manager are discussing a process in their work. Shhhh! You don't know what you're chatting about. Remember your reaction to being called fat? You were seconds away from cuticle-scissoring your wrists.

"Is that the time?" interrupts Paul, looking at his watch.

Oh, smooth. Paul, why you gotta ruin your awesome too?

"We'd better get cracking and get you to the after party, there's a lot of people there who are eager to talk to you, Bill!"

He's attending an after party ... on the first night of a run ... wow. I've done a little stage work ... and the after party? It's after the run. Last night, or a week later, everyone catches up and lets off steam knowing they won't do those roles again for a while. This is not an after party.

I look in Billy's direction to see him giving me an excited wink, clearly oblivious to Paul's rude behaviour towards me.

Sorry, is Billy giving a percentage of his wages to this guy to be polite to you? And just because you're too indignant to see it, doesn't mean Paul's not acting in both of your best interests. All I'm thinking now is that you have absolutely no place in this world.

I'm leaving this here for now, there's a lot more of the chapter than I realised. Stay tuned for meeting swishy blonde hair ... it's going to be fun.

Yeah, right.