Free Art Ache by Lucy Arthurs Page A

rock musicals for free. All the money raised was donated to charity. I was thrilled that I was about to be twenty-one and had a speaking role in a major musical, even if it was just a community one. He had the lead role. And he was gorgeous. I knew he was married, but I was mesmerised by him and desperately wanted to invite him to my birthday party. I was more than happy for his wife to come too.
    I plucked up the courage one evening during the warm up, timidly heading over to him with an invitation in my sweaty little palm. I handed it to him and muttered:
    ME
    I’m having a party. You’re invited. So’s your wife.
    Then, to make sure he didn’t think I liked him too much, I added:
    ME
    And everyone else. If you can come, come. If you can’t, don’t.
    He smiled his alluring coconut oil smile and opened the invitation right there and then. Oh my God, he’s in love with me! I thought at the time. Even though he’s married. He’s non-threateningly, platonically in love with me!
    I lived in one of the inner city suburbs and parking was a nightmare so I had added to the invitation “Park on Grove Terrace.”
    MR. GORGEOUS
    So it’s in a park on Grove Terrace? Which one? It doesn’t say.
    ME
    What?
    MR. GORGEOUS
    Which park?
    ME
    Park? What?
    MR. GORGEOUS
    Which park?
    ME
    No park.
    MR. GORGEOUS
    Yeah, the one on Grove Terrace, but which one?
    ME
    No one.
    MR. GORGEOUS
    Look, if I don’t know where the party is, I can’t come, can I?
    ME
    You’re coming?
    MR. GORGEOUS
    If you’d tell me where it is.
    ME
    It’s all on the invitation. See you then.
    I was bright red and dripping with sweat. Oh my God, Mr. Gorgeous was coming to my 21 st ! Then I realised what he was trying to tell me. He didn’t know where it was! Oh my God. I’d walked away by that stage and couldn’t muster the courage to go back to him and clarify. But he turned up anyway. Maybe his wife worked it out for him.
    WOMAN
    Have you got change?
    A big, gruff woman asking me for change for the parking machine throws me out of my reverie.
    ME
    Sorry, no.
    WOMAN
    Well, it’s not accepting notes, so we’re all stuffed.
    Funny how a stranger can articulate the deepest truth of your life. I’m stuffed. I can’t see a way forward. I am not where I thought I’d be. Dumped, alone and fantasising about someone I had a crush on when I was twenty-one.
    The big, gruff woman storms off and there I am, stranded at the airport without change for the parking machine, wondering if Mr. Gorgeous still remembers that I invited him to my 21 st , which wasn’t in a park on Grove Terrace. He probably does remember and thinks I’m a complete idiot. Oh well. And I’m wondering why I’m wondering if he remembers my party. Why is it important right now? Because it would mean there was someone else in the world apart from my family and friends who love me. Or at least like me. Or think I’m special. And it’s important, because Mr. Gorgeous belongs to a moment in the timeline of my life before Boofhead, and before I was a mum. He represents that part of my life when I was young, breezy, carefree and full of promise. Oh, I could use one percent of that energy right now. I am so far removed from who I was when I was twenty-one that I don’t think I even recognise myself sometimes.
    I use my credit card to pay for the parking. Who needs coins or notes when credit will do? So modern. I drive home by myself.
    As I open the front door, I’m bruised by the silence of the house. It feels cold, empty, lifeless. I realise that I’m alone. Strangled tears start coming out of my throat. I’m turning into my mother.

Chapter 8
    One week later. The rehearsal room.
    “He who is incapable of feeling strong passions, of being shaken by anger, of living in every sense of the word, will never be a good actor.” Sarah Bernhardt, actress.
    I’m early. I’m always bloody early. It’s a trait that’s hung over from childhood. And yes, I also lined my pencils up on my school desk,