Pride and Princesses Scandal chapter 7

Chapter 7

Scandal

    Mouche had us sorted. She’d read the entire contents of Dating Yourself into Oblivion and used her instincts to ‘encourage’ Jet to consider coming to the Fall Fling.

    As social monitors of the year, we were totally prepared to attend, cameras in tow, by ourselves: but arm candy always made the other girls jealous. And who could resist that? Mouche left an old-fashioned note in Jet’s locker, waiting for Jet to take the bait. When she pulled into my driveway that morning looking very excited, I thought he’d maybe replied.

    ‘Not so much, turns out I might have been a bit previous with the note, I’ve been up half the night doing extra research. I think I should’ve made the pursuit more of a challenge for him...meanwhile...’ Mouche thrust a handful of highlighted pages in my face.

     ‘Guess what I’ve come up with...’

     It turned out Mouche had refined and highlighted the next entry of the Boy-Rating Diary with a specific list:

   

THE BOYS OF SUNRISE HIGH 

Mark Knightly

Transfer student from Loratio and England, seriously hot, very dark and broody

Jet Campbell

Also a transfer student, just as hot; recently obtained his pilot’s licence. There really doesn’t seem to be a downside to this man...

Joel Goodman

Dangerous, brutish, charming

Jack Adams

Film school tragic; owns and runs the film club every Friday lunch time

Tom Allen

Wants to be a stockbroker, possibly more interested in money than dating

Josh Klein

Art major, sci-fi fan 

Peter Williamson

Musical theatre star (a real challenge for a date), honors student 

Adam Feldman

Academic genius, slightly stooped from being bent over his microscope, doubt he has ever spoken to a female, interested in insects.

Alex Miller

Dubious moral values, rumored to run a school gambling racket

Ethan Mandel

Future concert pianist, always dragged into composing the school musical

Tobias Olson

Xbox fan, martial arts expert, quite the rebel, caught in freshman year smoking who knew what and suspended from school for a week.

Scott Riley

Boy next door (literally lives across the road)

 

     While Mouche was parking, I executed a few ballet twirls and a high kick up the steps before I leapt and landed on my feet near the fence. This isn’t so unusual in our school, and besides, no one was looking. Oh, except Mark. My face went red as I hastily looked away.

    ‘How deeply embarrassing,’ Mouche said.

    ‘Why? I’ve gotta warm up for class,’ I covered, as if I wasn’t the least embarrassed. 

    ‘Wow. You’re becoming more like Buffy every day,’ Mouche said.

    ‘What a shame that series was cancelled. I’d have auditioned for a role and we wouldn’t have had to go to school at all. You could’ve been my assistant.’

    ‘Thanks, I’m sure that would be a rewarding job, Phoebe. Face it, we should’ve fleeced our father’s bank accounts and emigrated to New York years ago. We could’ve attended the Professional Children’s School thus avoiding HSYL altogether.’

     ‘Those days are over, Mouche.’

     ‘Thanks for the memories.’

     Our time at HSYL had been very harsh, if you haven’t gathered that already. Mrs Mouche had dated the school guidance counsellor and a scandal had erupted when their relationship resulted in the birth of a child – Mouche’s half-sister, Wednesday. As it turned out, Wednesday’s Dad was actually Mr Married Guidance Counsellor from nine streets away. Mouche was understandably keen to vacate this town, maybe even this state, permanently. (Of course, Mr Married Guidance Counsellor had never told Mrs Mouche that he was attached and since we’d never needed his guidance, we didn’t know, but it was all a mini social nightmare in our street and everyone was treating Mrs Mouche like the town bike).

   Mouche and I had felt more like lepers in the Gothic halls of HSYL that month after the scandal broke. Between trawling through academic work and being taunted by the Princesses chanting, ‘sluttie mommies, sluttie mommies, you both have sluttie mommies...’ You can imagine the rest. It was all caused by Mrs Mouche’s scandal and the fact that my mother totally stood by her (that’s what friends are for). And of course, I stood by Mouche, just as she had always stood by me. People saw us as the offspring of our morally dubious, adulterous mommies. Although, as Mrs Mouche said, ‘I wasn’t knowingly committing adultery since he lied to me – he was the jerk!’

     

      I’m sure that’s why, after playing the good girl cards, we decided to go for it and turn the Boy-Rating Diary into a real challenge. We’d learned a lot about being social pariahs at HSYL and placed our competitive natures aside to learn what it took and how important it was to have a loyal friend. 

    ‘You only need one,’ my mother once said, ‘as long as it’s a good one.’

     Or was that husbands?          

 

   ‘I totally love my mom but I just can’t believe she did it with him,’ Mouche admitted,

    ‘You’d think she could’ve used contraception... but then we wouldn’t have Wednesday, who is seriously cute.’

   ‘It says here, ‘the ‘accidental’ conception is rare past thirty...men are terrified of needy, baby-hungry, gold diggers desperate to secure them for their net value and sperm...’

   ‘Ew...once again...disgusting. Besides, ‘men need to re-learn to be grateful...they require direction in the art of seduction...like in the old days...make them thankful that women even want to sleep with them...’

   ‘Gold diggers? Nothing in return? Who’s the gold digger? Who asks for nothing in return?’ Teegan’s ears pricked up when we walked by her. She gave us a piercing stare. Teegan was a virtual conduit for any form of relationship gossip. Of course, this particular gem came from Miss Suzy’s Bunny Girl Secrets but I wasn’t ready to share them with my nemesis just yet.

        

      Singing had been re-scheduled and replaced with English class because our teacher was in the auditorium with Mr Sparks, preparing the audition roster for Rocco and Julie. Before class started, the rain was tapping on my window. It never rained in Sunrise and Mark was late. I was pending his arrival like an ingenue awaiting her first Oscar but he didn’t appear and I was more disappointed than I’d let show. Finally, ten minutes after the lesson started,  he showed up, late, which raised eyebrows but since he was the only person in the class (apart from me) who’d read the prescribed text (Wuthering Heights), the teacher was willing to forgive him once she’d read his notes. She seemed exceedingly pleased to have been graced by his mere presence. We were working on a modern re-write of the dialogue from the famous scene when Cathy tells Nelly it would degrade her to marry Heathcliffe as Mark walked down the aisle towards the vacant seat next to me.

     Teegan immediately staked her claim. She planted her dainty, black tap shoe firmly at his feet to prevent him going any further.

     ‘Oh, hi Mark,’ she said, ‘I just love your jacket. Did you get it at French Connection UK? My cousin used to work at the store on Kings Road...’

     He gave me an apologetic smile, then sat where he was bade.

     I was a little annoyed that my Franco hadn’t fought for me, but since we hadn’t properly conversed there was little I could do, except wait longingly and plan.

     At lunch I was tapping my toe under the table, humming the last bars of a piece I was learning on keyboard for music class when someone touched me on the shoulder and all I could see was a mouth move. Then I took out my ear plugs, turned off my play list and heard a voice. It was quite deep and mature and male. The voice unmistakeably belonged to Mark Knightly.   

    ‘You’re on the swim team, aren’t you? I saw you race yesterday. You won. You were good.’

     ‘Oh, thanks...’ I said, kind of lost for the right reply.

     Mark had already won points for making the first move, which is very important.

    Now, one of the first steps in my reference guide (which Mouche decided was mostly outdated, but nevertheless quaint) detailed how to appear nice, yet unobtainable.

    I didn’t think this would really work but when Mark said hello after English class earlier that morning, I tried it. I didn’t actually speak, I just smiled back shyly but when he kept walking, I thought I’d really blown it.

     But here he was trying to get my attention again in the last minutes of the lunch hour.

    ‘Well, um...I guess I’ll see you at the auditions...’

    ‘Yeah, the play is compulsory,’ I said dumbly. Mouche cringed.

    ‘But aren’t you and...your friend PA students?

    ‘Yeah...’

    ‘Cos I saw you both...dancing around this morning. So you must like...artistic stuff, right?’

     I nodded and smiled like a total dork.

     Silence sat uncomfortably between us.

     ‘...see ya, Phoebe,’ he said and walked off.

     I looked at Mouche and flushed, ‘Did you hear that?’

     ‘What?’

     ‘He said my name!’

     ‘Oh, please, c’mon, we gotta go...’

     

     We ran down the corridor to the school auditorium.

     All the serious PA students were warming up at the bar and a few people were hanging out backstage, going over scenes for Rocco and Julie.

     When try outs were about to start and we were waiting in our seats, Teegan said to me, ‘so, did you manage to get your hooks into Mark?’

    ‘Not exactly,’ I replied.

    ‘Why not? I saw him talk to you at lunch. He’s definitely open to it. I’m sure he’d date you, even just for one night.’

     I ignored her insinuation that I wouldn’t be worth dating more than once.

    ‘That’s not true,’ Freya said with the phony compassion she was renowned for. ‘He’s definitely into me,’ she smiled patronizingly. ‘But you never know, if you wait your turn once I’ve discarded him...’

     I walked over to Mouche.

     ‘Never mind,’ Mouche said. ‘It’s payback time.’

     Mouche and I huddled together in our tights and oversized sweaters and ballet shoes. I have had loads of pairs of those pink shoes over the years and so has Mouche. But Mouche is not sentimental. I am. I have all my shoes displayed along the walls of my bedroom, along with the programs of every play I ever attended, when my mother and I went to New York. We saw every show on Broadway, using Daddy’s credit card before he had it blocked off.   

    ‘Here. So, you get to write up today’s entry, should be interesting.’ Mouche whispered, placing the pink diary in my tote.

    ‘I’ve decided we take it turnabout; you get this week – then, in the end, we combine the knowledge of everything we have learned from the first ten dates.’

   ‘You’re hopeful. I kind of messed up at lunch. So I think we can safely say we will be attending Fall Fling alone.’

   ‘Give it a few days.  Teegan is a piece of work.  If Mark has any brains he’ll work that out; meanwhile we need to re-focus. I think these old guides are really good. If nothing else, they might show us what not to do. Are you ready?’

    ‘Yep,’ I say, ‘I’m a bit nervous.’

    ‘Don’t be, you’re fab. I’m so excited. I love auditions when I’m not doing them. You’re going to be amazing.’

    Mouche could be humble like that. She really is an excellent performer when she deigns to grace the stage. I guess she just finds more joy in being behind the scenes these days, and for this production, she will get full credit for design and choreography as well.

    The strobe lighting was being tested as together we sat in the auditorium in the semi-dark, our new bags on the empty chairs beside us, a picture of a fake universe on the roof making the theatre appear like a wondrous planetarium. Our favourite teachers, Mr Frames and Miss Love were busy organizing the order of auditionees.

      Mr Frames said, ‘oops, wrong show’ into the microphone when he mixed up Mr Sparks’ directions and generally acted uncoordinated in front of Miss Love. Then he finally projected the right slides for the background: modern day images, Los Angeles streets, a mock version of Marina Del Rey, The Grove, Santa Monica Pier.

     ‘How does it look people?’ Mr Sparks asked via microphone.

     ‘Awesome,’ some wish-to-be called out sarcastically. 

     As we turned our heads, we overheard Freya discussing possible junior prom themes with Jet Campbell.

    ‘I changed the theme because we need a couple of boys on the dance committee.  We’re not sure whether to do an inspired Bond theme or ...’ Tory, meanwhile, looked intently at Jet but he seemed to be bored with her attention and lit up when he saw Mouche.

   ‘Mmm,’ Jet said, looking in the direction of Mouche and me. He even took a step back when Teegan tried to paw his arm. Perhaps he had better taste than I imagined.

    The soccer team, led by Alex and Tom, arrived and sat behind us. They began talking very loudly about how they were only here because Mr Sparks (they said his name in mocking high tones) had promised them extra credit and time off to do what really matters – play soccer.

  

    We felt slightly outnumbered but refused to be intimidated. Watching straight men audition is not pretty. The director, Mr Sparks, was preparing his opening speech (always a classic) and testing the microphone with a little tap of his fingers.

    Ethan Mandel was rather begrudgingly warming up his fingers on the piano (I have to admit I love to hear him play). He was practising his ‘incidental theme’ composition and Mouche and I were whispering about the content of today’s notes.

   ‘Mmm... this really is a nice shot,’ Mouche whispered, pasting the first photograph of Mark Knightly, taken on her cell phone, into the initial pages of the Diary, along with the one of Mark and Jet arriving at LAX  and a combined photograph of the Sunrise Soccer Team . Teegan looked over as if she sensed something was up and not just a change of hairstyle.

    ‘I hope this isn’t stalking. This could be misconstrued as evidence at some kind of teenage stalker of the year convention. You don’t think it could fall into the wrong hands and make us seem more viperous than the Princesses, do you?

    ‘No, it’s not for public consumption, yet. Anyway, leave it to Teegan, her nasty side is going to be revealed without too much help from us...’

    By late afternoon, Mr Sparks was getting more and more frustrated. Most of the boys refused to take ‘the process’ seriously. Only one of them could really sing, dance and act; Peter Williamson, no surprise there.

    ‘I wish we were doing a musical,’ Peter said, rolling his eyes as he sat down next to Mouche, his scene study partner.

    ‘Me too,’ Mouche agreed tolerantly.

    By now Ethan Mandel, was secretly swigging some suspicious liquid out of a flask he brought from home which he referred to as ‘cough syrup.’ In any case, his playing just got better and better, to the point where he didn’t want to stop even when everyone was talking. Rumor abounded by 6pm that the silver ‘flask’ contained absinthe (wildly popular in Paris at the turn of last century for containing hallucinogenic properties).

     By 6pm the preliminary list of names was read aloud: the last two boys and the last two girls standing; ‘okay, now can we have Phoebe, Freya, Peter and ...Tobias...’

     Miss Tartt spoke the words with a flick of her dancer’s skirt, ‘the parts would be finalized and placed on the bulletin board next week.’

    ‘I have an announcement to make,’ Mr Sparks said, ‘...this will be my last play here. As some of you know, I recently completed my PHD in Elizabethan studies...yes, you may applaud.’

     A few of the drama geeks clapped tepidly.

    ‘Thank you...really that’s not necessary. Anyway, I’ve accepted a post at the Royal Academy next year, so let’s make this production the best ever.’

     Everyone groaned. The jocks because they knew they had an easy option and the drama students because we were used to Mr Spark’s bizarre theatrical ways and would really miss his enthusiasm.

    Mouche rolled her eyes next to me and whispered, ‘go get ‘em!’

    It was my turn for a recall even though I wasn’t certain which part I was up for.

    ‘I don’t want you to impose character just yet,’ Mr Sparks spoke loudly to justify the fact that he was still in the process of stealing our teen dramas in order to complete his ‘original masterpiece...a comic and heartbreaking journey through teen world titled: Rocco and Julie – a tragedy in three acts!’

     When the boys came back to the raked seats and Jet and his group sat behind me, Alex pulled my ponytail like a twelve year old.

    ‘I’m surprised you didn’t try to snap her bra-strap as well, you moron,’ Teegan, sitting beside me, said loudly. It was suddenly an unlikely alliance, almost sisterly. Teegan seemed to be coming over to our side.  I gave her a hesitant smile and she gave me a truce smile in return. I’m kind of glad Mouche didn’t see me do that, though. I caught Teegan peering over my shoulder to see what I was writing and I snapped the pages shut.

    Alex had wrecked my concentration, I began reading over the part of Julie in my seat, waiting for Mr Sparks to say, ‘thank you, Freya. Phoebe, you may begin...’ and noticing Jet notice Mouche as she discussed dance moves with the teacher-choreographer for the first scene.

    When Mouche sat down in the stands, as I was heading onstage for my audition, she suddenly whooped and hollered like a one woman fan club, breaking the dating rules and not caring what anyone else thought.  By then, Mark was sitting quietly in the corner. He looked unimpressed about the possibility of being roped into the roles of stage manager and understudy.

   As I glanced at my script, I have to tell you, although it was based on the original, it was quite different; from scene one, it wasn’t quite what everyone expected. Mr Spark’s version of Romeo and Juliet starts at a dance, in a school gym, with starlight for a rooftop...

 

from Act I: ROCCO AND JULIE

    Music plays.  ROCCO holds out his hand to Julie at the party where they first meet. Julie is dressed in high fashion, Rocco wears street.

 NARRATOR

    Our tale of two star crossed lovers begins with two families...both from opposite ends of Los Angeles. Rocco lives in a trailer park and Julie resides in Bel Air. Rocco and Julie see each other across the dance floor, Rocco’s best friend Tyrone is with him.

TYRONE

    I’m out of here

ROCCO

    I’m staying to meet the girl of my dreams.

    Julie is serving herself some fruit punch.

JULIE (overhears)

    Really, you shouldn’t reveal so much before we’ve even met.

ROCCO

    I’m Rocco

JULIE

    I’m Julie

    Rocco takes Julie by the hand.

ROCCO

    Palm to palm and lips to lips...

JULIE

    Not so fast...Rocco. We’ve totally just met.

ROCCO

    Then take my hand.

    Julie takes his hand

    And feel my heart

    Julie feels his heart

    And hear it beat for you

    They kiss.

 

    Okay, so we stopped the audition before the kiss.    

    Afterwards, when I was hanging around backstage, pulling on my jeans over my dancer’s tights, Mouche hastily scribbled on page three of her entry in the dating diary:

 

  Auditions today!

 

Something weird is happening. Phoebe is a star and boys are noticing us. It must be the ‘Guide for Young Ladies’ advice in chapter 2 – ‘feign disinterest’- that’s working, because Phoebe and I have been ‘feigning disinterest’ all week...and MARK KNIGHTLY and JET CAMPBELL have already spoken to us. 

 

PS. Jet Campbell just handed me a note. It said: Wanna go to Fall Fling together? Jet He left his number. Does that mean I’m supposed to text him? Does that even count as a love letter? Mouche       

Pride and Princesses Teenage Aliens chapter 8

Chapter 8

Teenage Aliens

    ‘Definitely, definitely do not text him first. He has to make the effort and text you. It says so here, in...I believe this one’s called, The Rules of Young Adult Romance,’ I advised.

    We were sitting on banana lounges in the water, swerving Wednesday around in her tyre, trying to explain to her the things about dating no one ever taught us.

   ‘Of course you have to actually get a date,’ Mouche added helpfully, straightening Wednesday’s sunglasses.

    That’s when I got a text that changed my day and interrupted the boy-rating diaries and our potential date-planning for at least a few hours.

    ‘Gotta move it Mouche – get off the couch potato zone and bring it...forget about school plays, I’m going professional.’

     It was Thom, my theatrical agent. He used to run an agency called Thom’s Kidz but now it’s just called Thomz Starz since all his ‘kids’ are mostly teenagers (except Wednesday).

    ‘You mean?

    ‘You betcha...’

    And in the space of an hour I’m preparing to ace my third professional audition. This time it’s a recall (which means instead of a thousand other teenage girls it’s between me and twenty others) for a part in the low-budget film, Teen Alien. 

    So I’m pulling on my best skinny jeans and painting on tooth whitener for the recall for a teen horror flick. Mouche is helping me find a suitable outfit.

    I am pretty excited. I’ve forgotten all about Mark and the Princesses and school play auditions. Instead, I’m all fired up about driving into LA with Mouche. This will be the first time we drive to an audition without a chaperone. And I’m not excited just because I think I might get the part, or because going to Century City will be an excuse to gaze longingly at the surrounding movie studios, or even because I get to play someone else outside my comfort zone. No, I’m excited because I’m definitely on course for implementing the first of our dating strategies – meeting up with an older man (an eighteen-year-old called Matt). We used to take drama class together on Saturdays. I heard he is interning as assistant to the director on this film. He was a PA student at Sunrise High a few years ago. Now he goes to UCLA.

    Mouche offered to drive me to the Alien movie recall and do some window shopping before meeting me for lunch at Century City. ‘What are best friends for?’ she’d asked. ‘Besides, it all goes in the diary...’

    Wednesday and Mrs Mouche were sleeping in. Wednesday was curled up at the foot of Mrs Mouche’s bed as her older daughter tiptoed out of the house that morning. They made a pretty picture. 

    I had stayed over but we hadn’t had much sleep because we were both extremely excited. Thom had tried to get Mouche to audition as well, but as she explained to him, ‘I’m sorry, no can do. I have decided to concentrate on school. Acting is not my forte anymore, Thom. I want to get my scholarship to NYU. Besides, I think I prefer real life.’

    Perhaps Mouche had a point and it certainly helps to have a supportive friend, not just a competitive one. I’m not sure if the desire for the good fortune of a friend can outweigh envy, but I’m working on it. I’d almost forgotten about Mark Knightly and his hotness when Jet texted just before we left for Century City:  Mark is coming 2. Text address pick u both up @ 8pm next Saturday night. Jet. PS. Are you going to be in Santa Monica this afternoon? Wanna hook up with us?

     ‘How exciting,’ I said.

     ‘Mmm...it says in Mrs Jones’ Guide that, ‘a boy should always make specific plans not vague notions about what he wants to do with you, and where he wants to take you...’ Mouche replied. 

     ‘Even so, I can hardly breathe. Do you think this means they like us?’

     ‘Of course. But I think they could have been more specific...’

     ‘Well maybe they need direction...’

     ‘Never make it easy for them...Mrs Jones @ p.29’

     ‘Can you quit it with the Mrs Jones stuff for now? You should text them back and make plans for us. I can hardly think straight.’

     ‘That...is not cool. They can text us when they’ve thought of something. I don’t want to just hang out and let them think we are available anytime they suggest. Now, focus on your audition and let me do the planning...’ Mouche said. ‘Pretend I’m your stage mom,’ she added.

     ‘Okay. Besides, it’s not as if it’s really my date, since Jet only officially asked you. I’m there as a social photographer and Mark, well, who knows why he’s coming since he’s scarcely bothered to speak to anyone at school all week. But I’m sure we could make time to see them this afternoon...’

    ‘Okay, I will encourage them to suggest a proper date. Swimming might be good.’

    ‘That’d be...fun.’

    ‘You know, Mark did at least speak to both of us at school this week but who knows, maybe he’s gay for Jet?’

    Mouche started laughing. My friend has a very unique view of traditional relationships these days.

    ‘I’m just kidding. He’s so obviously straight. He could barely read the lines for Rocco when Mr Sparks made him stand in for Peter. He’s so clearly not artistic.’ 

    We had arrived early for the movie recall and driven to Venice Beach to watch the waves lap onto the sand. Our families had visited this beachside suburb often when we were little and we had fond memories of it.

   ‘Just to change the subject, I totally want to buy a house here, overlooking the ocean, when I’m famous,’ I mused.

    ‘Definitely. We can live next door to each other. I’ll be your manager and do all your legals, and when you’re past it we can represent Wednesday and live off the proceeds.’

   ‘I’m thinking we should get started on that one. She’s very precocious already...’

Mouche laughed and said, ‘I’m just kidding...’

    ‘Well, if I don’t get this recall, I’m going to concentrate on school and our treasure hunt and saving for New York, so maybe we could be Wednesday’s stage mothers...after all, our own mothers are not exactly interested in show business.’

   ‘And maybe that’s a good thing,’ Mouche added. ‘I mean, at least we can never accuse them of trying to exploit us.’

    The ocean looked really beautiful early in the morning. Venice was not quite as seedy as the boulevard made it look at sunset when all the stalls and skate boarders and card sharks and markets had packed up for the day. When we came here with Trish and Mrs Mouche last year, a little girl came up and asked me if I was on some television show. I was so flattered I even signed an autograph, although Mouche disapproved. I didn’t want to disappoint my adoring public by telling the truth.

    ‘You’re seriously delusional Pheebs,’ Mouche said.

    ‘No I’m not. I just have a good imagination.’

   ‘I think that’s why we’re friends,’ Mouche said. ‘I’m definitely the more pragmatic one.’

    ‘It’s nearly 10am,’ I announced, glancing at my sides.

    ‘Think of me doing research as I go shopping.’

    ‘Okay.’

    ‘The play is the thing, Phoebe.’

    ‘Absolutely.’

    ‘Shakespeare wrote it, I’m saying it. Now break it and I’ll meet you at the sushi bar before lunch with news...then we can talk.’ 

    ‘Text them back...’

     ‘I’m texting them now..’

      ‘Okay. Gotta motor...’ We parted with an air kiss on both cheeks which is very theatrical and exactly what women in France and England do all the time.

     I took the elevator to the casting office, not far from the Century City shops. When I arrived I was surprised to see Teegan’s older sister, Missy, seated at the reception desk.   

    ‘Phoebe...er...Harris?’

    ‘Here,’ I said as Missy huffed with a superior tone and told me to take a seat in the waiting room. I said, ‘merci,’ in keeping with my French theme for the day and started to fill out my form.  My wrist foils were scratching my skin as I wrote. Then I anxiously chewed my bottom lip and realized my plumping gloss needed replenishing.

     I applied some extra shine. Then I took some deep breaths, very slowly. I didn’t really have my mind on the job. I was daydreaming about Mark and holidays and thinking about Mouche’s plan and the play, even though I said I wouldn’t. 

     ‘Phoebe Harris?’ Missy enquired, pretending she’d never met me, bringing me back to earth.

     ‘Yes,’ I said pleasantly.

     ‘You may go in now, we’re ready for you.’ 

     I was slightly disconcerted that Missy would be sitting in on my audition. With all of these thoughts going through my mind, added to the fact that I was wearing extra high platform ‘alien’ boots, it is not surprising I tripped and fell onto the carpet upon entering the room.

    And who should be there to help me up? None other than potential date number one: Matt. Things were looking up. Matt smiled sweetly. His hair was way longer than the fashion of this season might dictate but he wore casual board shorts which I found endearing. Already I had visions of making him my little surfer dude.

     An audition is perhaps not the best place to meet a potential date but I didn’t want to limit my options to the juniors of Sunrise just yet.  I mean, Mark hardly seemed like a sure thing. I know I’m too young for Matt but he is seriously yummy and thinks I’m eighteen and has great hair and nice eyes. Plus, Mouche encouraged me and Thom knows him from some classes they did together at UCLA.

    ‘Hot car,’ Mouche had noted.

     Not that cars and stuff matter but they might count if they become treasures to hunt and gather.   

     Teegan’s older sister gives me a deceptively sweet smile. She gestures to the director and the camera operator all sitting in the room. In front of me, beyond the audition panel, lies a one eighty degree window overlooking the sprawling maze of highways, concrete and far away movie star houses that make up Los Angeles.

   ‘Phoebe...Star?’

   ‘Yes, that’s me.’

    The casting agent looks at me in disbelief as I give her a smile and whisper, ‘stage name.’

    ‘So, it’s really Phoebe...Harris?’

   Great, my imagination is working overtime today. I’m staring out the window thinking of Europe and France and England and exotic castles and Mark Knightly...when I should be thinking of Matt and outer space teenage aliens and a third dimension. Silver, think silver foil Mouche warned me when I ran my lines last night in the kitchen.

    ‘Hey, haven’t we met before?’ Matt asks with a very cute smile plastered on his face. He has brown hair and brown eyes and adorable man-sneakers on.

    ‘I think so,’ I say.

     He smiles again in return. He’s very responsive. It’s like a smiling competition. He’s a serious honey but let’s face it, an older man is quite a challenge. He’s passably cute and I am so pretending to be eighteen, and I think this list of requirements for New York has some merit, particularly when I see he’s even flashing a silver pen. I feel a little guilty for sounding materialistic and more interested in our dating game than my career but that pen is suddenly reflecting light into my eyes.

    ‘Okay, are you ready...Phoebe?’ the director asks. ‘Okay...action.’

     I say my lines to Matt who is off camera and pretending to be the other teenage alien. Something beeps. The camera stops. Someone has forgotten to turn off their cell...it’s Teegan’s sister, Missy, creating the interruption, another big surprise. I feel like going all Christian Bale on her but I don’t think I’d win any brownie points for doing that. 

    ‘So, can we try it again,’ the director, who is wearing older man sandals (let’s just call them mandals) and a shaggy haircut, says.

    ‘Um...Phoebe, did you hear the director? Would you mind trying that scene again?’ Teegan’s older sister spoke loudly, as if I couldn’t hear her.

    ‘Oh, of course.’

    ‘And can you remember...she’s a teenager, and...I need you to look a little...more alien...remember, she’s just been defending herself against another species...’ the director added.       

    ‘Sure... right.’ I run my hands over my Princess Leia hair and stretch my fingers.

    The director is a little uptight, that’s for sure. Mouche would know how to handle a professional film audition better than me, but I’m doing my best.

     Me? I’m more of a belter than a contemplator of dialogue.

    ‘And this time,’ the director says as I find my mark, ‘try to be a little less sophisticated, remember to play her as a young teenager.’

    Upping the creep factor again.

    ‘Sure.’

    ‘Cos you’re, like, what? Sixteen?’

    ‘Eighteen?’ I hesitated, wondering if I should pretend to be more mature. .

     Before I get the chance to answer, someone whispers, ‘I thought she was younger.’

    Then Matt hushes everyone and I notice him wink at the casting guy.

     He’s totally gay. Of course, I should have remembered, he was a dance major. I realize I have no chance and the camera begins to record my jaw dropping.

     This image is forever captured in still format.

     I begin to say my lines.

    ‘Stop, stop,’ the director says.

    I look up, a little shell shocked, wondering if I could ever stand all the lame interruptions of film acting, when the director adds, ‘and remember...’

    ‘What?’ I whisper back, mirroring his manner.

     ‘She’s an alien. So, play her like an alien...we need to see that.’

     ‘Okay,’ I say, very confidently, smoothing my Princess Leia whirls and honing my spaced-out gaze, and putting my forefingers above my ears to give me antennae, making sure not to smile as Teegan’s spiteful older sister laughs out loud.

 

     ‘That was great,’ the casting agent says as if it wasn’t.

     ‘Oh, wait,’ the director says, ‘we want a picture of you before you leave. Oh and sweetie, can you wipe off all the make-up...’

     I’ve done enough of these to know they’re supposed to take the photograph at the beginning. Can you believe how tacky this industry is? I spent ages getting the right 10x8s for my agent Thom, then these peeps take the entire image away in a minute with the most ‘natural’, digital picture they can muster. That’s showbiz.

     ‘Sure,’ I smile my all-American girl smile. Really, Mouche should be doing this, not me. I’m much more of a stage actress than a film actress. With the camera in my face I feel like an imposter. 

     ‘You blew it,’ Mouche would say when I told her what I did next. 

     ‘They took the picture of me on the way out and I turned to the director with my cell and said, ‘you know what, I think I’ll just take one...snap...of you too.’ Thanks for the memories... Everyone looked seriously surprised.’

      ‘I’m going to write this up in the guide and even if I don’t get the part, we did get a prize.’ I said, waving the cell image to a waiting Mouche. ‘See, I’m already becoming a lot more pro-active with the dating game...’

       I remembered the casting form I hadn’t finished filling out and ran back to the office. Then I thought of the first item on our list.    

     ‘Do you think I could borrow your pen?’ I asked Matt, who was ‘working’ on the computer at the front desk.

     ‘You know what?’ Matt said, ‘why don’t you just keep it? I got it for free anyway.’

      Item number one: the pen.

      Did that count as a date?

Pride and Princesses The Missing Page chapter 9

 

  Chapter 9

The Missing Page

 

    ‘Of course not, you can’t count an audition as a proper date...well maybe just this once,’ Mouche said.

    ‘Great,’ I said. ‘Then it’s your turn next.’

    ‘Of course, I’ve already put myself out on a limb through a series of texts that have resulted in the Fall Fling that can totally count as date three...’

     ‘Ahhh! That’s so exciting. When’s date two?’

     ‘Ah... Jet and Mark want to meet us this afternoon near Santa Monica Pier to go swimming before we drive home...’

    ‘Are you serious? What should we wear?’

    ‘We should go shopping for swimsuits after lunch. I still have my emergency fund from working during the holidays.’

     ‘...mmm...I have exactly ten dollars...but, I have my dance leotard in the car...’

     ‘Okay, perfect. We’re meeting them at 1pm.’

     So, I’m standing at the foot of the escalator, adjusting my boot zipper, checking to see if I’ve developed blisters and thinking it will be a warm day in the South Pole before I get a movie part, since it’s pretty obvious I didn’t get this one. Moving right along though, I’m all excited about the impending date when I see Teegan’s face (upside down) as she brushes by me near the cinema complex.

     Then, when I stand up I bump into Matt and his boyfriend. I say, ‘sorry’ and they say ‘hi’ and Mouche giggles.

    ‘You know, Phoebe, men rarely humble themselves. It says here in How to Date the Undateable @ p8; ‘Men rarely apologize...apologies display weakness.’ So remember that.’

     Mouche and I decide to go to a healthy looking cafe for lunch before checking out Victoria’s secret and Macy’s.

     We add extra detailed notes, in the cafe, on all the boys in our diary.

     ‘I can call this The Seduction Cafe in my notes next week...’ Mouche says. I flicked through the previous entries. At that stage we were reading more guides to dating than actually dating but all of that was about to change.

      ‘Always be pleasant and eager – how else do you get what you want?’ I can hear Mouche’s voice reading from The Good Girlfriend (page 19) in my mind as we both collapsed in peals of laughter under the pile of titles such as, ’A Woman’s Guide to Blissful (and Married) Love’ (our mother’s mothers gave them that when they were teenagers). That particular title fell out of Mouche’s tote when the waiter brought us our chicken burgers and fries.

   ‘I thought we were supposed to be eating healthily...’

   ‘This is not so bad, as long as we add ketchup. Ketchup has lots of lycopene which is good for you,’ Mouche said.

    While we were munching away, Freya and Teegan entered the cafe - just to put us off our food. Mouche hurriedly scrunched her notes and stuffed them into her bag.

    ‘Hi Girlfriends,’ Teegan said. ‘I think I nailed it.’

    ‘Two auditions in one week,’ Tory added.

    ‘Mmm...’

    ‘Busy pretending to be friends again?’ I asked.

    ‘Well of course you nailed it, Teegan,’ Mouche added. ‘Isn’t your cousin the casting assistant?’

     Teegan looked quite put out. ‘Older sister,’ Freya added with a slight giggle and Teegan looked at her and rolled her eyes.

    ‘Well, we gotta go. Meter’s running...’ This was something Mrs Mouche always said when she was trying to get away from bad boyfriends. Mouche thought it might work just as well with frenemies.

    ‘Hey, we thought we could all have lunch together. We noticed that you were...really popular last week with the boys...I mean they were talking to you and we noticed you are both wearing really hot clothes and someone told us you are going to Fall Fling with Jet and Mark...’

    ‘We’ve gotta go,’ Mouche said. ‘C’mon Phoebe.’

     I got up to leave.

     We weren’t ready for a truce just yet. Not when we had planned the year to our social advantage already.

    We grabbed our stuff and left, hastily putting our burgers in their napkins.

   

    As we were driving into Santa Monica, I realized we had lost something.

   ‘Oh, no!’ I said as Mouche rounded the corner towards the pier.

   ‘What?’

    ‘A page of our notes – they’re missing...the page with the plan about how we should turn the teenage boys from undateable to dated...’

    ‘But you still have the rules, right?’

    ‘Yeah, they don’t know the rules.’

     Mouche just looked at me in horror. She knew the page had been left in the cafe with Teegan and Freya. It was as if we had armed the enemy with the perfect ammunition: a page of our thoughts about dating the guys at Sunrise High and the back story to each of those guys -  the prequel to the list of rules detailing just enough of our thoughts to lead them to the plan.

    ‘We have to focus,’ Mouche said

    ‘Yes, focus,’ I replied.

    ‘There’s nothing we can do right now,’ Mouche assured me. 

 

     Jet was waiting at the pier with two snow cones when we arrived in Santa Monica. Mark was nowhere to be seen.

    ‘Hey Mouche, hi Phoebe,’ Jet smiled in the most affable manner and I could tell Mouche smiled extra wide when she noticed the t-shirt he wore advertised a band that she liked. 

    ‘Mark had to go...park the car but he said he’d meet us here in ten minutes.’

    ‘Great,’ Mouche said. ‘Hey, I love your t-shirt. That’s my favourite band,’ she added, sounding just a little over eager if you ask me.

     We walked down to a sandy area reserved for ‘safe swimming’ where Jet had arranged to meet Mark. The weather had turned a little and it seemed our beach party idea might have to prematurely end before it started as the sky went from bright to cloudy all in the space of a few minutes.

    Mouche and Jet seemed to be having a great time though, splashing each other in the shallow water, as I read over my script sitting on a blanket. Mouche wore an eye-popping pink, polka dot bikini. I’d managed to find my regular navy blue leotard, which could double as a swimsuit. I’d left it in a school bag in the glove compartment of Mouche’s car. It was a pity not to wear it. Besides, as the afternoon wore on, it seemed the other half of the date wasn’t going to happen.

    I looked up from my script when some little kids on the beach kicked sand in my face. I considered the benefits of changing into my regular clothes and waiting in the car instead of being the third wheel. As Mrs Jones said, ‘being the third wheel on a date is a form of torture. I’d advise any girl being forced to witness the budding romance of her friend up close and personal...to go shopping.’

     Jet and Mouche were laughing in the shallows and although it was good to see them having so much fun, I was becoming a little exasperated. Feeling thirsty, I stood up, pulled on jeans and a t-shirt and yelled out, ‘I’ll be back in ten minutes!’ to Mouche.

      ‘What?’ Jet replied, until both he and Mouche seemed to understand. 

      Go shopping. It was the one piece of Mrs Jones’ advice I maybe shouldn’t have taken. I was suddenly extra thirsty and wandered up to the boardwalk to buy a drink. As I was turning to pay, I felt a tug on my purse strings. Not just a tug, a pull and in the time it takes to scream, a small boy ran off with my bag.

      He was as fast as lightning but I was also pretty quick and followed him for what seemed like minutes, through a tiny maze of backstreets until I was thoroughly confused and the boy seemed to have disappeared. I was desperate for a phone to call my mother but I didn’t want to worry her. Besides, what could she do all the way out in Sunrise? It was darker, later, and I’d been away from the beach for at least half an hour. Mouche would be starting to get worried.

     I dusted my jeans off then sat in the curb for a few minutes. Searching for a friendly face to ask for help was probably not the best idea. There was only one business open in this particular side street, and no people. The store looked dark and cramped, but beggars can’t be choosers or so the saying goes. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hasty.

 

     Meanwhile, Mark had arrived in Santa Monica. He was late after attending the last of his ‘counselling’ sessions. Mark was required to visit a psychologist after crashing his car into a shop window two years ago and driving without a licence. No one had been hurt, but still, it was a requirement for him to be able to drive without restrictions or Mark never would have attended the ‘sessions’, he later told me. He didn’t generally discuss his problems with strangers.

    The psychologist’s office was not far from Santa Monica but he’d been stuck in traffic.  Thoughts of the planned afternoon in Santa Monica were making him impatient. He really did want to get to know Phoebe and Mouche better. He wanted to introduce them to Petra as well. His sister had hardly left her room, except for school, since they’d arrived.

    When he’d asked Petra about her first day, she just burst into tears and ran up the stairs.

    ‘That bad?’ said Jet, ‘I told you those HSYL girls are nasty...’

    ‘If my aunt and uncle weren’t such snobs she could’ve just come to Sunrise with us.’        Mark was thinking about all of this when he noticed a girl who looked a lot like me, running up from Santa Monica beach after ‘a little street urchin.’ This alarmed him because he knew the area was not safe if you were by yourself. He knew it was later than expected, but he followed his instinct that all was not okay and tailed me into the laneway.  

    Meanwhile, Mouche was worried and on the verge of panicking.

    Her senses were in overdrive. Although she’d never admit it to Jet, she had been having very intense dreams lately and had woken up that morning with the idea that something might go wrong during the day if she and I were separated.

    ‘I just can’t imagine where she might have gone. We should go look for her. Phoebe would never go off alone and stay away without saying goodbye,’ Mouche said, as she and Jet dried off and hastily pulled their clothes on over their damp swimsuits. Then she had a vision of a CD outlet and said, ‘hurry, we should go up to the business centre beyond Santa Monica Boulevard...’

    ‘How do you know?’

     ‘I just...remembered, Phoebe said something about...buying some CDs...’

     So, I guess you could say, by the time I entered the small music store I had three people already searching for me, which could only have been a good thing.

    There was a grungy looking man sitting behind the counter, at least ten years older than me, wearing a t-shirt advertising dog fights. He was sort of creepy so I hovered near the entrance, wondering why this store had to be the only one open for business on a Saturday.

    ‘Hi,’ he said, and looked up. Music blared out.

    ‘Hi,’ I said hesitantly. I hope he couldn’t tell just how freaked out I was about losing my purse, or rather, having it stolen from me. ‘I’m just wondering which direction the pier is? Someone...a little kid, stole my purse.’

     He looked concerned.

    ‘Hey, do you wanna use the phone or something?

    ‘Uh, okay,’ I said hesitantly. I was glad I had committed Mouche’s cell number to memory. As I took steps forward, he moved off his chair and opened the latch that led to the area behind the counter.

    ‘It’s back here.’

    Suddenly, I was wary.

    ‘Can I use your cell? I’ll pay you.’

    ‘No problem, except I don’t have one.’

    Who doesn’t have a cell? I was backing out the way I came in when I heard a child screech. I looked above me to the open loft in the upstairs section of the store. A child looked down at me, I saw his reflection on the television screen. He was playing a computer game. It was the kid that stole my purse.

    ‘That’s him! That’s the kid who has my stuff.’

     It may have been unseemly but I actually pointed towards him.

    ‘Really?’ the man said innocently, ‘He’s my nephew, I don’t think...’

     Suddenly, I had this odd feeling Mr Music Store owner was running some kind of pickpocket racket when suddenly I took a step back into another person and turned around to see the face of Mark Knightly.

    ‘Hey, what’s going on?’ he said in his rich, low voice.

    ‘That child stole my purse.’

     Quick as lightening, Mark said, ‘wait outside,’ and pushed past me to race up the stairs.

    I heard a child throwing a tantrum and about ten seconds later Mark emerged with my tote bag in his hands.

    ‘Is this what you were looking for?’

     He didn’t say anything for at least three minutes as we walked back through the alley way, me trailing along behind his manly strides.

     ‘You shouldn’t be hanging out in this area,’ he felt the need to chide me. He seemed angry.

     ‘Excuse me. It’s a free country last time I looked.’

      I would’ve said ‘thank you’ more profusely by now but he barely seemed to notice me. He was distracted by a text from Jet.

      ‘Everything’s okay, we have to get back to Sunrise. I’ll drop you home. Your friend is going ballistic, seems she thought you’d been kidnapped. You shouldn’t have just wandered off like that alone.’

      I was stunned by his near total lack of empathy.

      ‘Well...if you’d been where you said you were going to be, I might have gone swimming and never had my purse stolen in the first place!’

     Mark looked annoyed.

     ‘Do you want to report this? I mean, to the Police.’

     ‘What’s the point, they’ll just deny it.’

      ‘I’ll get my aunt to make an anonymous complaint to child protection. It’s probably better that way,’ Mark said.

      ‘Why do you say that?’

      ‘Well...um, I’m sort of on probation and that guy had a gun under the counter...’ 

   We arrived back at Mouche’s house late-afternoon. Mark hardly said a word to me except, ‘put your seat belt on,’ on the way back. He was treating me like a child and I really wasn’t impressed. It was a thrill to be in his sleek car but I wasn’t sure just how much more of his conceited personality I could tolerate.

    I was relieved when we pulled up at my house. Mark deposited me in the driveway before I could say ‘thank you’. Mouche arrived about ten seconds later. Jet followed behind in his car. Mouche waved to him as we opened the gate and the boys drove off without even bothering to come inside.