Coffee Conversations

3- Stained glass heartache

The audition goes well. So well, that I get a call back before the end of the day.

The next audition is considerably harder, up against the best of the best that London has to offer. But still, I think it goes well, and it does. Before I know it there are only three of us, each competing for the prized spot of Marius on the West End.

Our final audition is with a woman called Rosie, who has already been cast as Cosette. As Marius' love interest, it's pretty crucial that chemistry is present between the actors. I'm the last audition of the day and when I walk in, I'm met by a beautiful blonde who looks like a porcelain doll. I couldn't imagine better casting for Cosette.

I beam at her, shaking hands and thanking her for her time. And then we're singing. Our voices meld together in lovely harmonies and and when our hands meet again, it feels right. Her shining eyes and pretty face feel easy to fall for, and it's all too easy to slip into Marius' devotion when I can feel my own lingering just beneath the surface.

And then, just like that, it's over.

I bid everyone goodbye with a smile, a thank you and a fond wave, and I'm left with the understanding that I'll be called within the next 24 hours.

24 hours has never seemed so daunting, and the thought of having to wait that amount of time simultaneously feels too long and far, far too short. But I'm trying not to dwell. I've done my best, I know I have, and I think that it went well.

And until I hear back, I'm quietly excited. And so is Ledger.

It doesn't take much to convince him to celebrate, in fact, he routinely 'celebrates' on Wednesdays, simply because it's halfway through the week. His version of 'celebrating' consists of a lot of booze, a lot of dancing and often, the company of some very willing strangers. Most of the time, I leave him to it, but this time, it's me we're celebrating.

"You're going to get it. I just know it." He says charmingly, cheersing his whiskey tumbler against my gin and tonic glass.

"You don't know that." I argue, but I can't prevent the smile on my lips overtaking my face.

"I do." Ledger argues, leaning forwards precariously on his bar stool and jabbing a finger at me.

"You...are the most talented son of a bitch I know." He says, his voice dead serious as he stares into my eyes.

I glance at his glass, wondering just how many of those he's gotten through. Drunk Ledger is unpredictable, more so than when he's sober, but whiskey-drunk Ledger is perhaps the most wild. And attractive.

I look down at my own drink, feeling slightly wobbly. On second thought, how many of these have I gotten through?

I laugh gently, shaking my head.

"I think that's you." I argue and he scoffs.

"I make art. So what? You, you make...magic. You're a storyteller, you're enchanting. When people come to see you, they go somewhere else. You take them there. And when they return, they're not the same. You make them feel. You make them cry and laugh and fall in love! That...that's..." Ledger's breathless voice trails off, his eyes shining chaotically, having worked himself into an intense, enthusiastic frenzy.

"That's some real cool shit." He decides, hiccuping to himself with a lazy smile.

I laugh, grinning at him. I love it when he speaks like that, like he's a poet and everything that flows from his mouth is laced with beauty and nothing short of a masterpiece. It goes as quickly as it comes though, and 'cool shit' is an excellent example of the absurd juxtaposition his temperaments present.