-•✦--✦--✦•-
Sunday, May 2nd, 1999 — Somewhere over the Atlantic
I'd given up completely. It was the end. Worst of all, the signals were all over the place. I'd ignored it all, I was about to reap what I sowed. My eyes couldn't leave the girl dancing in front of me. Her first dance told me enough — she was skilled and had even trained in acrobatics. Which, I'd repeatedly been told, was a more advanced and rare discipline at Gilles' studio. After all, that was one of the reasons that Gilles had pitched the idea to me.
None of us knew about Billy Elliot back then and just how important it would be in my future. Dorothea had pursued excellence on her own and even studied those. When I pulled ahead and scored the match point, I was almost disappointed that she didn't do much more. Now, I was eating my words.
Dorothea's turnout was excellent, she was graceful and had musicality. Things that Gilles constantly complained about me were not present in her. This girl wasn't even old enough to go en pointe, but she was pulling off extremely hard moves without mistakes.
Understanding that an axe was falling over my head, I decided to just dance to the music. Cher's song was Aurelie's genius idea of getting me riled up. That sort of music wasn't my thing, but my ears told me what I needed to do. Tapping had always been my favourite dance. It was drumming made manifest — I had my sticks, which were my tap shoes. My body had to do the right moves, my ears had to keep the rhythm. I still hadn't bought a drum set, so this was as good as a drum set.
I'd listened to Believe, mostly when I didn't want to. You have no idea how popular that song was at this moment. Cher's career had peaked multiple times and she'd fallen down the stardom ladder. Suddenly, her third peak was her highest ever. Believe had broken records and Cher was the biggest-selling female artist in UK history.
Closing my eyes, I imagined my feet as the drum sticks, my cue arrived and I imagined myself beating on the fills. My feet did movements that had become so ingrained in me that I only had to focus on the music. My limbs were instruments and music was the blood in my veins. It twirled, contorted and twisted. Electropop music that I hardly felt somehow connected to me. There was a challenge in adding to the drum, mixing with it.
I loved the sounds.
CLICK
CLACK
SHUFFLE
STOMP
Eyes still shut, it felt like the room darkened around me. Something terrible was coming, my ankles felt weak. It wasn't a problem — tapping didn't need ankles. Knees were next, the same concept applied, I just had to plop those around. You see, that was the key to tapping. It all came from the glutes, knees and ankles had to be free so I could make those brilliant rhythms.
Suddenly I was flopping around like a limp noodle. There were no more clacks, no more clicks. Only the weakness in my limbs, inability to dance.
I tried to breathe in to calm myself, I was running out of oxygen.
I tried to open my eyes, but they were glued shut.
I tried to scream but found that I had no mouth.
There I was on the aeroplane. My ears almost deaf from the pressure of being so high up in the air. Next to me slept my mother. It took moments to adjust back to reality. From my seat by the window, there was only darkness outside, pitch-dark ocean stood below — where the clouds ended or the ocean sat, I couldn't tell. Only the blinking light on the wings filled my vision like a lighthouse in a storm. It was almost hypnotic.
For some reason, getting on this flight gave me dread like nothing else. My head kept buzzing, a revelation trying to jump at me, to warn me of something. Mum had somehow gotten me into the aeroplane and nothing really came off the buzzing.
I hated that persistent buzz. I wanted to sleep again, but it kept me awake.
Trying to think on better things, I turned to yesterday. Though I suppose I was still in the same day. We'd took off after 8 PM, but we were flying backwards in time. If my ticket was right, it would be 11 PM when we landed. I'd have spent thirty-three hours in one day and it certainly felt like it.
Dorothea was a great dancer and an opponent. Testing our steel against each other was as tiring as it was emotional. I'd found my rival at last. A bad feeling in my stomach made me wonder if she was as good as I was at singing too. Then she'd be my better in everything. The thought might have scared me before, but now it made me feel excited instead.
My mettle needed testing as a metal needed a forging.
"Happy thoughts, happy thoughts," I muttered.
Of course, it was the dream that I'd been dreaming. Improving as a dancer with every song that played, it made my stomach lift up again. That weightless feeling, the lightness of the heart.
My master in dance was Gilles Lagarde, a man who was a hard taskmaster at the best of times. He never wanted me to improvise.
"Dancers are made, not born. So you must be made. Give me a clean turn, shoulders square, hands up." Gilles would say.
His teaching was focused on discipline and technique. Requirement was to dance exactly as he told me to. So when I had to dance to music and come up with something new on my own, it was as if a weight had been dropped. I could move with freedom. There was no blame in my heart about Gilles' methods — he had provided me the toolbox with every tool imaginable.
That was when I started to use them.
I couldn't help but liken it to making music — so many notes and so many different instruments. As long as I'd seen the move before, I was good enough to replicate them. The rest was improvisation, playing it by the ear. I'd made music seemingly my whole life and now my body was the voice that sang the song. Melody that I attached to the accompaniment.
Wilfred of yesterday and Wilfred after that dance duel — they were completely different people.
The fact that I'd improved as a dancer made me instantly want to go and do the audition for Billy Elliot. The electricity scene. A highly emotional and pivotal scene in the film.
"What does it feel like when you're dancing?"
"There's fire in my body. Flying like a bird. Like electricity."
I could only relate to that feeling on the grounds of making music, singing. Now, I could relate with Billy in truth. The dancing — it was like a jolt of electricity running through my body. Dancing without strict guideline was having infinite amounts of choices, endless possibilities and absolute freedom.
It was simply invigorating.
Best of all, it was something that I'd earned all by myself. No unexplained power from the outside gave me the knowledge or the skills. I simply had practised, sweated and bled for it.
After failing to fall back to sleep again, I ruffled through my rucksack to find my sides. Untitled by Cameron Crowe spoke about journalism and had nothing about music in it. How secretive was this director if he couldn't even say that he was making a movie about music — I'll soon find out. That was how I spent the flight, unable to sleep, with my heart beating faster, with sweat rolling down my forehead for no apparent reason. Maybe it was the Englishman in me, but clearly I didn't like New York.
—✦—
Monday, May 3rd, 1999 — New York, New York
"I'm warning you, Wilfred Ingrid Price. You get up now!" an angry woman spoke.
The voice was even and flat, but it was so close to my ear that it was like someone shouting at me.
"What?" I said groggily. "Oh my god, Mum!"
"You've been asleep for seven hours, you've slept on the aeroplane too. Are you sick, Wilf?" Mum said in worry.
"No, I'm okay. I didn't really sleep on the plane, you did," I accused.
"Well, we must go already, bach. The director has a flight to catch in a few hours, if you want to be seen we must go at once."
"Right, let me brush my teeth," I replied.
"Are you going to do that always?" Mum said, unimpressed.
"Do what?" I said, tilting my head.
"That accent! I had to explain to the receptionist that I didn't kidnap you. You know how embarrassing that can be, right?" Mum complained.
"Sorry, Mom. But I've got to practice. Got to speak that proper American and all that."
She gave a long look.
"Where'd my sweet boy go?" Mum muttered disappointingly.
New York was so much different from England. We had terraced houses everywhere, even in the centre of town. The Big Apple had tall apartments which made me really understand the saying about a concrete jungle. It seemed that every other building was wrapped in scaffolding and every other person that we walked by was either very nice or very rude. As far as culture shock went, I couldn't even be shocked enough before we'd made it to the casting offices of Gail Levin.
This office was more homely than any I'd been to, there were posters in black and white filling the place. Oddly, not even half of them were movie posters. I couldn't help but notice a poster about Mary Christian Heising, who from what I could gather was a teacher and had nothing to do with the entertainment industry. So odd to be a casting agent but display posters about random people.
It was odd to be back in the audition room with children that looked like me after mostly doing self-tapes for a while. Kids were all under eleven years of age, everyone had brown or dark hair but varied in height and weight. I spotted Michael Angarano, who would go on to play in this film if I failed. He'd go on to play in Sky High and be a popular child actor, but I'd already eclipsed him as an actor at my young age. He would have a good career but he was never skilled enough — if I was to have the career I wished, I'd have to be a hundred times better than him.
He was a year older than me from the placard he was wearing, but I was already taller than the boy. So, don't blame me for looking down on the kid.
"Thanks for coming, everyone," a very plump woman in thick-rimmed glasses said.
"As you can see, there are only five of you. You are our final selection and one of you will be booked in the film today. To the parents, please note that filming will start May 24th and go on until September. Though this role may wrap much earlier than that. Please leave if you and your child will not be available during those dates. We are working on a very short timeline here so the director and the casting director aren't expecting any mess. Please don't waste our time and we won't waste yours."
I eyed the adults and their actor children around me. No one tried to leave but my Mum shot me an accusing look.
"It won't go on until September," I whispered.
Mum still didn't like me having to take on a role despite a longer time requirement than I could commit to. Or it was maybe her disliking my American accent.
Adrian had promised me that it was being shot sequentially though, and from the fact that I wouldn't be in more than ten minutes of the movie, I was expecting to be done long before I had to go to Italy to finish Tea with Mussolini.
"Alright, we'll go by alphabetical order. That's Mr Angarano first. Please follow me," the plump woman said and left with Michael in tow.
Eyeing the name tags, it was apparent that my turn was last.
"Your phone's ringing," Mum said, pulling me out of my practice.
"It's not mine. I haven't even turned roaming on yet," I replied, irritated.
"Adrian told me to deal with it — so I did."
"You talk to Adrian?" I asked, surprised.
"Of course I do. Everything of yours goes through me. That was the agreement. Who do you think signs your contracts and legal paperwork for new projects?" Mum said.
That did make sense. Even though my grandparents had guardianship, they weren't really my parents. I accepted the call.
"Hey there. Is this Wilfred Price?" an unfamiliar voice asked.
"Yes. This is Wilfred."
"That's great, kid. Damn, I was worried that Limey gave me the wrong number. Had no idea you were American. What're you doing out in London of all places?"
The voice was distinctly Brooklyn. I'd heard the accent in enough films.
"I'm just as Limey as Adrian," I said dryly. The man was being casually racist. "Who is this — and why have you got my number?"
"Ah, shit — fuck. Sorry, sorry, shouldn't swear. Name's Johnny Carver. Call me Smalls though. Everyone does."
I couldn't help but snort. Karma, apparently. The man was literally nicknamed after knickers.
"I was hired by Adrian Baldini — that Lime — I mean, the English bloke. Smalls. Agent aficionado. I know people all over Manhattan and Brooklyn, you need something, I've got you covered," Johnny said confidently.
"You're the contact Adrian mentioned," I said plainly.
"That's right, mate," he replied in a terrible Australian accent.
So this was how it was going to be.
"That's not how we talk."
"Is it not? Anyway, you sound like a real American, kid. You move there or something?" Johnny asked.
He spoke quickly and casually, and I was already starting to dislike him.
"No. I'm doing it for a role I'm auditioning for. The one I came to New York for," I said flatly.
"Right, right. I'm heading to the casting office now. We'll sign some paperwork and get your SAG membership process started. I'll point you out to the courts, get your Coogan account processing. There's a lot of moving parts to this one."
It clicked. Adrian had mentioned it before, but only hypothetically. No point counting chickens before they hatch. I was more worried about actually landing the role. You couldn't just join SAG — you needed a featured role in a union project first.
"Adrian mentioned some kind of exception —"
"— Taft-Hartley. Yeah, that's the one. But your agent says you need to join ASAP. Something about being a foreign actor or whatever," Johnny explained.
"I haven't even booked the role yet," I said.
"Adrian says otherwise. Says it's basically locked," Johnny replied.
"You've got the address, right? Hold on — I'll give the phone to my mum. Talk to her," I said, handing it over.
"Who is it?" Mum asked.
"The liaison agent Adrian hired. He's coming by soon. Please talk to him — I need to get ready for my audition."
I tried to get my mindset back into the character of William Miller. The whole flight over to New York tortured me with bad vibes and bad dreams. People talking like I'd already booked the role was really grating on me. There was a worry that it would all fall crumbling down. After all, I'd never even auditioned for the role of William Miller. When I'd sent the tape, there was no such role available, it only asked for a child of a certain age for an unnamed character. A tape with Cher had brought me to Manhattan.
"Wilfred Price," the plump lady called out.
The room was empty. Everyone before me had given it their best. It was my turn.
"Mum, come," I said, dragging her along.
Gail Levin, a dark, shoulder-length haired woman wearing circular frames, sat on the couch with a tiny coffee table. She was the casting agent, who had made quite a name for herself with Jerry Maguire. Another Cameron Crowe project. Of course, the director was sitting behind the big table. He'd made himself the king in someone else's office.
I took notice of the homely room that didn't at all feel like a casting office that I'd become used to in London. Usually it was more dreary and empty rooms. Gail Levin had books, records and musical instruments. Though the wall full of posters was very much like the waiting room outside. But at least here, the posters were all movies.
"Bob Dylan fan, are you?" Cameron asked from behind me.
I'd been caught staring at a poster for a film called Renaldo & Clara.
"Of his music, yes. Not his filmography," I answered.
"You know he's directed more than one film? I already like this kid," Cameron said with a chuckle. "Don't let Gail know that though, she's a proper Yankee, that one."
"Sorry, I'm Wilfred Price. Here's my Mum, Erin Price," I said, greeting the two people.
"Cameron Crowe."
"Gail Levin."
"Your agent told me that you were English. So what gives?" Cameron questioned.
"I'm practising my American accent," I replied.
"Brits always have perfect American accents. Even their child actors can pull it off, how weird is that?" Cameron asked Gail.
Though it seemed he didn't care about the answer because he bulldozed on.
"Right! Shall we get into it? I've got to get going soon," Cameron said, tapping his hands on the desk.
"Yes. Let's get into it. I'll read with you, dear," Gail said.
"Shower scene," Cameron called out.
I searched for an open space, which meant one of the poster-filled walls. The only decoration was a chair and a guitar on a stand.
"You don't mind if we film, do you?" Cameron asked, his hands on a camera set up on a tripod.
"Not at all."
"Right. Whenever you're ready then."
"I'm ready."
I imagined the shower that Michael took in the movie, it was easy to imagine a hot shower after a hard day's work. Closing my eyes, I let the imaginary water run over my face, a foolish smile on my face full of joy.
"Are you really in our grade?" Gail asked.
Rubbing at my eyes, I wiped the imaginary water droplets and looked dumbly at Gail.
"Hey guys! Check it out. William doesn't have any pubes," Gail shouted to no one in particular.
"How old are you, man?" Cameron joined in with the grilling.
"He's not a man. He's a little baby," Gail accused.
"Everyone has armpit hair, what's wrong with you?" Cameron added.
I flinched at each of their accusations, gulping as I tried to put a brave face on. I couldn't let them know that I hadn't hit puberty yet. That just wouldn't do.
"WHERE ARE YOUR PUBES?" Gail demanded loudly.
It was my time to fool these kids. The only way that I could retain some social credit for myself. Scoffing, I put on my best dismissive tone.
"I had them… I shaved 'em off," I said as casually as I could.
"He's a funny guy!" Gail laughed.
My Mum didn't look impressed at all with the content of the scene. Her mouth had already set in a line. I'd not considered that she might be against me acting in such films. I'd have to explain and convince her yet again.
"Okay, that was fine. Now how about you give me something different. I want more embarrassment. You look way too convincing when you say it like that. William is trying to blend in but he's not an actor. His lie should be obvious to the audience. Got it?"
I nodded.
"Go. We'll do a second try."
We attempted it again. It was hard to act badly and my own method didn't seem very conducive to the layered acting that it required. A solution was quick to come when the situation demanded it. I could always fool myself. I just had to imagine William Miller as a bad liar and actor. After all, that was just part of the character.
"That was good," Cameron commented. "Eleven scene next."
I grabbed the chair from corner and sat down as if I was in a car watching the buildings pass by.
"I look so much younger than everyone else." I commented idly.
"Enjoy it while you can." Gail said dismissively.
"Mom, it's time." Cameron said.
"Can this wait till we get home?" Gail tried to distract.
"Mom, pull over. Tell him the truth. Tell him how old he is." Cameron demanded.
"He knows how old he is."
"But other kids make fun of him because of how young he looks. No one even includes him, they call him Narc behind his back." Cameron said, emotion clear in his voice.
I made a surprised expression, imagining the movie itself while my eyes searched out for an answer from Cameron.
"They do?" I asked.
"What's a narc?" Gail asked from Cameron.
"Narcotics officer." Cameron explained.
"What's wrong with that?" Gail asked, another deflection.
All the fighting was grating on me, that was how it was to live with two women by myself. As a man, I had to play the peacemaker.
"Come on, you guys. It's no big deal. I'm twelve." I said, trying to show that I was okay with it all. "I'm 12, she skipped me a grade. Big deal. I'm a year younger, they're thirteen. I'm twelve."
Cameron and Gail looked at each other, like someone had slipped a hand down the cookie jar and no one wanted to claim responsibility.
Raising my eyebrows slightly, I asked the burning question.
"Aren't I?"
"I asked to put you in the first grade when you were five and never told you." Gail was quick to reply.
"So, I'm how old?" I questioned, trying to display as much confusion as possible.
"Don't you know that this will scar him forever?" Cameron accused.
"Honey, don't be absurd. We have to be both his mother and dad." Gail tried.
Absentmindedly, I realised that this was a negotiation element of a dialogue. I'd read a lot of sides and some scripts, being able to identify appeals to emotion or in this case responsibility could inform a lot on how to act a scene out.
"You put a lot of pressure on him —" Cameron started,
"How old —" I tried but Cameron kept going.
"— When he rebels in a weird way, you can't blame me."
"— am I?" I finished.
Confusion and worry painting my face.
"I skipped you an extra grade. You're eleven." Gail finally admitted.
"Eleven?" I said, my voice cracking.
"So, you skipped fifth grade. There's too much padding in grades. Big deal. I've taught elementary school —"
"Eleven?!" I yelled.
Gail and Cameron flinched from my sudden shouting but they continued on.
"You also skipped kindergarten because I taught to you when you were four." Gail ripped the band-aid off.
The words drained my anger. My head hit the wall behind me. Sky couldn't be seen from my place but it helped. I let a few moments pass as the news really sank into William's mind.
"This explains so much." I said in a low tone.
"You've robbed him of a childhood." Cameron accused.
"Childhood is overrated." Gail scoffed.
Cameron's eyes found mine, care and love apparent on his face. Maybe directors could be great actors. They needed to understand every emotion to direct actors after all.
"Honey… I know you were expecting puberty. But you just have to shine it on a bit longer."
Words of encouragement didn't really affect me. I was having a crisis. Of course the two women kept on fighting, accusing each other of other things. But this time William couldn't play the mediator. Peace was the last thing in his mind.
Their chatter ended and I let out a deep sigh.
"Eleven…" I repeated yet again.
Gail and Cameron shared a look. But this time it wasn't them acting or reading the lines with me. The scene had already ended. Apparently, they knew how to communicate with their eyes.
"How about we try it again. I really want you to think that this is the end of the world. Being eleven sucks, right? Go from the top again."
I attempted it again. My voice even cracked as I screamed "eleven" again but Cameron cut me off before the scene had even reached the halfway point.
"I really want you to shout out that one. You're in hell. Everyone's taller and older. They bully you constantly. This is the end of the world! Go again."
Next attempt was even quicker to be stopped.
"I want more expression, you did theatre right? Do it a bit more theatrical. I want more comical version." Cameron instructed.
So, I did. It was bad acting 101 because that was what a good acting required for my character. It may be weird, but that was what I was asked to do. Cameron seemingly liked that version because he moved on.
There weren't many scenes with Young William Miller speaking. And it was clear that Cameron just wanted to see my facial expressions. No lines to read, only Cameron's direction to guide me. Physical acting was a good practise for me. It helped that a director was working with me rather than another actor.
He gave me imaginary situations, sister and mother arguing, people making fun of William, dealing with a crazy demanding mother, a happy-go-around attitude. Each thing I could draw on my personal experiences, make it fit into William's character and regurgitate it out using my method.
If I started a scene with cinematic and withdrawn acting, Cameron would ask to see a more theatrical and expressive version. Conversely, if I did more expressive acting first, he demanded that I act it out with subtlety. He even did some fantastical scenarios like aliens abducting me or William being in jumpscare scene. Cameron was particularly impressed by my ability to go ashen faced with a moment's notice. A feat which I couldn't take credit for — Drop always had my back on that.
Cameron and Gail kept making eyes at each other. Their conversation almost too loud in their silence. Once he'd had enough of me making stupid faces at the camera, he called an end to the audition.
"Right, we need to ask a few things so we can know if you're fit for the role. First, do you have any interest in political journalism?" Cameron asked.
I looked at him with a dumbfounded expression. I must have looked like William in the eleven scene because Cameron backtracked.
"I mean, that's like newspapers talking about the president or prime minister as you have in Britain. The movie is about a journalist. A political journalist, actually." Cameron clarified.
I was even more confused, Almost Famous was about a young rock and roll journalist accompanying a band on tour.
"Well?" Cameron prodded.
Mum tapped my shoulder behind me to rouse me. In my state, I simply answered it truthfully.
"I like journalism, but I don't care for politics. Actually, I don't care much for journalism." I let out before adding a crucial information. "I love music, though."
"That seems apparent. Your tape with Cher, we've had everyone watch it. You've got a real talent in singing." Cameron said, all smiling. "Hope you don't mind us passing around your tape."
"Not at all."
"Right, so you're from…" He read from a paper, presumably my resume. "— Chester? What was it like growing up there?" Cameron asked.
Usually directors didn't ask me these type of questions but I'd not been in enough films really. Trying to divine why he asked the question to make sure I give the correct answers just didn't seem possible. So I simply continued on with the truth.
"Quite normal, it's an old Roman town, I like how calm and beautiful it is. There's lot of nature and woods as well. But I don't really have other comments, it was a good place to grow up."
"How about schooling? What was your experience at school like?"
"Not much to speak about. I haven't gone to school for a year and a half. I'm mostly tutored on sets."
Mum kneed me from behind to get me to zip it.
"Wilf's always been the smart kid at school. He's got medals and certificates from math competitions. Also he did a school play and made a lot of new friends that way." Mum added, presumably I was still bad at social cues.
There was a silence as Cameron let that percolate in his mind, silence I felt I was needed to fill.
"I also liked playing with the chickens." I added, stupidly.
There was not much I missed about Woodfield but I missed the chicken coop that we had at school. There was something so serene about feeding the hungry animals and watching their head remain still while they walked around funnily.
"Oh. They've got chickens at school." Cameron said as if it was the most important thing to Gail. "What interested you in acting?"
"I was cast as the lead in Oliver Twist at school. Before that I'd never done any acting, I liked the music and the challenge of acting and dancing. But I was motivated to pursue acting because I'm chasing a dream." I said, my passion apparent for all to see.
"What is this dream?" Cameron prodded.
"I don't want to say, it's private." I said after a pause.
Saying it would jinx me somehow. Also I didn't want to reveal something so deep and dear to me. People may laugh or believe me but I had my mother's support. That was all I needed.
Cameron simply nodded.
"According to your agent, you've been in a TV show and a musical in West End. How was your experience on set and on stage?"
"My role in the TV show was small and I had only a few lines, I didn't like it a lot because the director was hurrying off on everything and only did one takes even if it was bad. For the musical? I loved it, three thousand people in the audience almost every night. Theatre feels alive in a way that filming doesn't. It's not in my resume yet but I'm currently filming two different films at the moment. And they've been… fun." I let out.
Whole deal with Dorothea had soured my initial impression of Great Expectations but now I was looking forward to compete and improve while on the set for the project.
"Well, you don't have to worry about hurrying off with this one." Gail teased.
"I don't do that many takes." Cameron said defensively.
"I didn't say that you did. But you see how quick he's to deny it?" Gail said with a smirk.
"Anyway… I'm aware of your current films. Franco Zeffirelli, that's quite a big one. Your agent told some interesting things too. Are you aware of the scheduling conflict that can happen here? For example, if we go over the schedule what will you do?" Cameron asked.
Answer was clear. I had to say that I would be happy to go over the schedule and that I would drop the other projects I was working on. Because if I didn't say that, this booking was off the table. It pained me to say it and I really wanted to be in Almost Famous.
But my Nain told me about manners and I already had prior arrangements. There was a contract signed and a big payday waiting. It wasn't even about the money really, it was the responsibility of keeping a promise. Contract was promise made manifest.
Professionalism was everything in this field even for a child actor.
"Before I answer, I want to tell you that I am a good actor… Or at least that's what my directors think in the films I'm doing right now. Just before coming here I shot two scenes that had three days of shooting assigned to. Instead we finished it in a single take for both. What I mean to say is that I'll do my best when I'm on the set. I'll give it my all."
"With that said, I can't bail on my other projects because I already signed contracts and made promises. By the middle of June, I need to be in Italy on the set with Franco Zeffirelli." I explained.
Gail and Cameron exchanged another look. What was going in their mind? Had I blown it?
"Are you aware that we may not be able to cast you since you can't be there when we need reshoots or if we go over the allotted time?" Cameron asked, face devoid of any tells.
"Yes." I said even though it hurt.
"Great." Cameron said as he stood up to leave.
My shoulders drooped. It was stupid of me to say the truth. I should've tried to lie and try to make it work somehow.
Cameron walked towards the door. I stepped back to give him space to pass. But his hands fell on my shoulder. His right hand was extended towards mine. I looked at it dumbfounded.
"Well kid. You might not be free this summer. But you've got the job." Cameron said with a lazy smile.
"I did?" I asked, American accent all but forgotten.
My shocked face and stupid question must've been funny to everyone in the room because they laughed at me. Somehow it hurt more than them mocking me about not having pubes in that scene.
"Yes. Listen, what are you doing now?" Cameron asked.
"We're probably going to see some sights before we take our flight back to England." Mum answered because I was no use to anyone at this moment.
I'd booked the role. Millions upon millions would watch this film and be inspired to chase their dreams. Subject matter of the film was something that I felt a deep bond with and the film gracefully stripped the glamour of fame.
Adrian kept telling me that the role was practically guaranteed. But ever since I got to the airport, I've had a bad feeling in my stomach. Feeling that had never left me. It was still there. I was apparently, allergic to New York.
Fact that I'd gotten the role made me even more worried, something had to give. My instincts kept screaming it at me. Waiting for the other shoe to drop wasn't fun.
"Would you like to come to the costume fitting? I'm going there right now, John Toll and my team will be filming it later tonight. I'd love to see how Wilfred looks in late 60s and early 70s clothing." Cameron suggested.
"Sure but we'll need to fly off by 8 PM." Mum said.
"You don't have to worry about that." Cameron reassured.
"Ahem, aren't you forgetting something?" Gail admonished the director.
"Oh right! Wilfred, you've never been in films in US, have you?"
"No. Never." I confirmed.
"God, I completely forgot about the whole paperwork thing. We'll have to work fast. Gail can you get Sony on the line, what do we need for foreign actors?"
"You can Taft–Hartley him in but without a working visa, it won't matter."
"Right. Right. Let's see." Cameron went still, eyes unfocused, weighing something I couldn't see.
That was it. This was the moment. I felt it in my gut — the slow, sick twist as the shoe hovered above us, ready to drop. The next words out of his mouth would seal it. A polite apology. A regretful smile. Michael Angarano would be on the next plane to California to play young William Miller.
Cameron opened his mouth. Time didn't slow — not really — but it felt as though it might, the bad news rushing toward me all the same.
"How about we take a flight?" Cameron said at last. "I've got a private jet booked through Sony."
These were the last words I expected out of him.
"Why?" Mum asked, voicing the question stuck in my throat. "Where are we going?"
"We're going to the city where dreams are made," Cameron said, infuriatingly calm.
"Honey, we're already in New York," Gail teased.
He shook his head. "No. L.A. is the city of dreams. And today, we're going to make one come true." He turned and started walking, already assuming we'd follow. "Come on."
The restless buzzing that had kept me awake the night before cut out — replaced by a revelation. A line of a song that had not yet been released.
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of.
A song that was accurate to what I'd already experienced. The moment passed. The buzzing came back, louder than before.
New York held up the promise of that song — my dreams had come true...
So why did I still have that sinking feeling?