drink. Don’t let him get to you, Maddy. He’s just an asshole.’
Still too stunned to think, let alone speak, Maddy allowed Sandy to lead her downstairs to the bar on the ground floor.
A turnip-headed Midwesterner
. How could she
ever
have thought she could act?
‘Here.’ Ten minutes later, Sandy slapped down two bottles of beer on the table in front of them. ‘Drink up. We’ve only got
an hour before it’s Loughlin’s class. And don’t waste a single moment thinking about Ryan. He’s just pushing you. He wants
you to quit.’
‘How do you know?’ Maddy asked, bewildered.
‘Oh, just trust me. I know his type. Don’t let him get to you. You have to learn to fight back.’
Maddy stared at Sandy enviously. She and Sandy were polar opposites – they couldn’t have been more different. Sandy was wealthy,
worldly, confident – everything Maddy wasn’t. Maddy knew just how wealthy and worldly she was. She’d been toSandy’s home. Twice. An enormous, spacious and supremely elegant apartment overlooking Central Park. Three long-haired dogs
that Maddy mistook for cats, half a dozen servants, summers in Europe and winters in St Bart’s, wherever that was. Sandy’s
mother, a rake-thin dark-haired beauty, was a psychologist; her father a lawyer. In that, too, they couldn’t have been more
different. ‘From
Iowa
?’ Sandy’s mother cried out when Sandy first brought Maddy home. ‘Iowa?’ She made it sound like the moon. Which it might as
well have been for all the relevance Maddy’s own home provided when it came to the Zimmermans. She’d wandered around the apartment-with-no-end
in a daze. There was more artwork in the Zimmermans’ living room than she’d ever seen in one place in her entire life. ‘Are
these
originals
?’ she’d asked in a whisper as Sandy led her through and up a flight of stairs. Maddy had never been in an apartment that
had stairs.
‘Of course,’ Sandy replied, genuinely surprised by the question. Maddy’s mouth remained shut for the rest of the afternoon.
Now she sat opposite her, nursing her bottle of beer, wondering why she’d even bothered to come to New York in the first place
and why, of all the things she could have tried her hand at, she had chosen acting. It was clear she couldn’t act. It was
all Mrs Steenkamp’s fault, she reasoned, taking another swig. She was the one who’d first put the idea into her head. It was
about a month after her father had disappeared. ‘Why don’t you come down and try out for a part?’ she’d asked Maddy, more
out of sympathy than anything else. Maddy had been so sick of people constantly asking her where her father had gone, why
he’d gone, who he’d gone with … Mrs Steenkamp’s invitation to join the after-school drama club had been a welcome escape.
The minute she got up on stage, however, something inside her opened up. She was no longer Maddy Stiller, the only daughter
of a man who’d upped sticks one afternoon and abandoned his wife and child; she was someone else. Another character. Someone
with an entirely different past and history. On stage, at least, she was free. From that moment on, acting was all she could
think about. At Tisch, however, she had suddenly grasped something else. Itwasn’t enough to want to
be
an actor – she had to prove she was good at it too. And that she seemed unable to do. ‘What’s wrong with me?’ she asked Sandy,
more rhetorically than anything else. She knew what was wrong. It wasn’t only Ryan who demanded more of her than she was able
– or even prepared – to give. All her instructors said more or less the same thing. Unless she was able to let herself go
– truly let herself go – she would always remain where she was. A competent performer, nothing more. She worked hard, learned
her lines, rarely, if ever, forgot her words … but she was certainly not someone who would ever set an audience alight. She
lacked what
Still too stunned to think, let alone speak, Maddy allowed Sandy to lead her downstairs to the bar on the ground floor.
A turnip-headed Midwesterner
. How could she
ever
have thought she could act?
‘Here.’ Ten minutes later, Sandy slapped down two bottles of beer on the table in front of them. ‘Drink up. We’ve only got
an hour before it’s Loughlin’s class. And don’t waste a single moment thinking about Ryan. He’s just pushing you. He wants
you to quit.’
‘How do you know?’ Maddy asked, bewildered.
‘Oh, just trust me. I know his type. Don’t let him get to you. You have to learn to fight back.’
Maddy stared at Sandy enviously. She and Sandy were polar opposites – they couldn’t have been more different. Sandy was wealthy,
worldly, confident – everything Maddy wasn’t. Maddy knew just how wealthy and worldly she was. She’d been toSandy’s home. Twice. An enormous, spacious and supremely elegant apartment overlooking Central Park. Three long-haired dogs
that Maddy mistook for cats, half a dozen servants, summers in Europe and winters in St Bart’s, wherever that was. Sandy’s
mother, a rake-thin dark-haired beauty, was a psychologist; her father a lawyer. In that, too, they couldn’t have been more
different. ‘From
Iowa
?’ Sandy’s mother cried out when Sandy first brought Maddy home. ‘Iowa?’ She made it sound like the moon. Which it might as
well have been for all the relevance Maddy’s own home provided when it came to the Zimmermans. She’d wandered around the apartment-with-no-end
in a daze. There was more artwork in the Zimmermans’ living room than she’d ever seen in one place in her entire life. ‘Are
these
originals
?’ she’d asked in a whisper as Sandy led her through and up a flight of stairs. Maddy had never been in an apartment that
had stairs.
‘Of course,’ Sandy replied, genuinely surprised by the question. Maddy’s mouth remained shut for the rest of the afternoon.
Now she sat opposite her, nursing her bottle of beer, wondering why she’d even bothered to come to New York in the first place
and why, of all the things she could have tried her hand at, she had chosen acting. It was clear she couldn’t act. It was
all Mrs Steenkamp’s fault, she reasoned, taking another swig. She was the one who’d first put the idea into her head. It was
about a month after her father had disappeared. ‘Why don’t you come down and try out for a part?’ she’d asked Maddy, more
out of sympathy than anything else. Maddy had been so sick of people constantly asking her where her father had gone, why
he’d gone, who he’d gone with … Mrs Steenkamp’s invitation to join the after-school drama club had been a welcome escape.
The minute she got up on stage, however, something inside her opened up. She was no longer Maddy Stiller, the only daughter
of a man who’d upped sticks one afternoon and abandoned his wife and child; she was someone else. Another character. Someone
with an entirely different past and history. On stage, at least, she was free. From that moment on, acting was all she could
think about. At Tisch, however, she had suddenly grasped something else. Itwasn’t enough to want to
be
an actor – she had to prove she was good at it too. And that she seemed unable to do. ‘What’s wrong with me?’ she asked Sandy,
more rhetorically than anything else. She knew what was wrong. It wasn’t only Ryan who demanded more of her than she was able
– or even prepared – to give. All her instructors said more or less the same thing. Unless she was able to let herself go
– truly let herself go – she would always remain where she was. A competent performer, nothing more. She worked hard, learned
her lines, rarely, if ever, forgot her words … but she was certainly not someone who would ever set an audience alight. She
lacked what
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