Free Acting Up by Melissa Nathan Page B

the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. If eyes are the window of the soul, Harry found Jazz's soul compelling.
    But she was such a bloody challenge. She was so emotionally retentive – what was she scared of ? If only he could tap into her depths, he was sure she could be a fine actress. And he was determined to, both for his reputation, and for his own growing interest in her. She could be a stunning Elizabeth Bennet. Yep, the more he looked at Jasmin Field – and he found himself looking longer and longer – the more he was struck by his uncanny knack for casting. Was there no end to his talents?
    He walked slowly to the other end of the hall.
    'What makes you unhappy?' He was walking round, looking for a likely candidate. 'Sara?'
    Sara's voice was ever so husky at that angle.
    'Poverty. People dying alone unloved. Homeless people make me weep. War. Famine––'
    'Jasmin?'
    Oh, not again. Was this punishment for snorting?
    'Um. Finishing a bar of chocolate.'
    Because her eyes were shut, she couldn't see how a full smile warmed Harry's chiselled features. 'You see, Sara,' he said, 'there's no point in playing this if you're not going to be honest. At least when Jasmin gives up, she does it honestly.'
    Oh good, thought Jazz. I need an enemy.
    The 'game' continued for forty minutes. People were saying staggeringly honest things about themselves, most of which Jazz had no desire to know. The whole thing, she was convinced, was to feed Harry's need to feel in control. Yet couldn't he see that most of the cast were only saying things to impress him? On the other hand though, it had been fascinating to discover that Mo wished she had been able to cry about her mother's death, but was unable to – except in her dreams. Jazz thought she knew everything about Mo.
    She had noticed that Wills got particularly short shrift from Harry. In fact, Harry never asked him one question and Wills didn't seem surprised by it at all. He seemed happy enough to be ignored. But why should Harry ignore him? Jealous probably, she answered herself confidently, vaguely aware that that didn't make much sense.
    * * * * *
    One hour later, Lizzy, Jane, Kitty, Lydia, Mary and Mr and Mrs Bennet were reading through Scene One.
    For the first half an hour, the mood was so buoyant that no joke was too small for a hearty laugh from all. Mrs Bennet in particular was very hyped. She kept telling awful anecdotes that began with, 'That reminds me,' and ended with punchlines so weak that Jazz had to stop herself from saying, 'So what happened next?' and were filled with such total irrelevance to what had preceded their telling that Jazz wondered whether the woman was in fact deaf. It wasn't long before she found it wearing to be with so many over-excited adults in one room.
    'You know, that reminds me,' chuckled Mrs Bennet, apropos of nothing, 'of a very amusing story.' And with that, she interrupted herself by starting to laugh silently and shake her head, as though she didn't trust herself to tell the said tale.
    Harry interrupted. 'Right people, let's try again from "While Mary is adjusting her ideas . . .", shall we?' Mrs Bennet didn't seem to mind at all, chuckling happily to herself and shaking her head as if it was just as well she'd been stopped. It seemed Jazz was the only one who even noticed Harry's rudeness.
    Three hours later they were still doing the opening scene. It was approaching midnight. Jazz was tired, hungry and utterly bored. As she sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by the others, waiting for Harry to stop reading the script and tell the actress playing the part of Kitty what to do next, Jazz's stomach growled so loudly it actually frightened her. There was an embarrassed silence.
    'I am officially starving,' said Jazz solemnly. 'Please call Comic Relief.'
    The others laughed and added meaningful little quips like 'me too'. Harry didn't seem to hear any of this, he was too absorbed by the script.
    'What do you mean by those words,