timothee chalamet stories

portfolio pt.1

"Timo-tee? Timo-tay? Timothy?" You rehearsed the name in your head and settled on the simple english pronunciation.

You chuckled and shoved the playbill into your purse and checked the time. 

2 PM

6 hours till showtime...

***

A few hours after you had booked your seats, you had begun preparing for the play. You showered, exfoliated your skin, shaved and put on your favourite lotion. You loved getting all dolled up for special occasions, something about sitting at the vanity looking into your eyes and applying your favourite makeup. Something about the transformation just made you happy. Once you had finished your makeup, a simple look bold eyes and brows with a natural lip colour and some gloss, you had turned to your closet to search for an outfit.

What does one wear to a play?

Your roommate's advice fell on deaf ears as your styles were polar opposites. When the time came your roommate stepped out of her closet in a very short white dress with a black leather jacket. You smiled and gave her a thumbs up and turned back to your closet rummaging through the piles of clothes.

You decided on a leather mini skirt with and a black turtle neck. You slipped on a belt to bring your waist in just a cinch and decorated your fingers with some small gold rings that complimented your black painted nails. You topped it off with your signature Chanel boy bag, a gift from your parents for your High School Graduation, and a black beret with a small embroidered cherry on the front.

You looked in the mirror and smiled softly at yourself.  You spun around and looked at the outfit from behind before linking arms with your roommate, slipping on a pair of black vans and beginning your walk to the theatre. It was a warm day, and the excitement buzzed around campus. Seeing as this was the last showing of the play, many people had already seen it, and had come back for a second or third viewing and from what you'd heard this play was amazing.

"Ugh, why did we leave so early? Now we just have to sit around for like a hour!" Your roommate complained with a slight eye roll

You lifted your wrist to check the time as you made your way to the theatre, 7:22 PM. You planned to get to the show about a half hour early to the dismay of your roommate. 

"Early is on time and on time is late," You chided her gently just as your mother did to you as a child.

You arrived at the theatre to see a line already forming, you exchanged a knowing glance to her as to say, 'you see?' but no words were exchanged.

As you lined up you could hear plenty of shuffling and commotion behind the theatre doors, the booming and recognizable voice of the stage director Madame Boivin. A short but robust woman, large bosomed and outspoken. She was a no BS type lady. You'd worked with her yourself on a few plays in first year where you received many scoldings for your shortcomings, and that was only as a photographer! You couldn't imagine being her student. Nevertheless she was passionate about the arts, which was more than you could say for a few of your professors.

You listened closely enough, drowning out the noise of your roommates conversation to hear what what happening behind the doors.

"God, I'm nervous, this is the last show and the only taping we'll have." A familiar male voice said

"Get yourself together! You've produced the biggest turnout in this Universities history kid! You got it!" You hear Madame Boivin's Americanized French accent boom out, her pride evident.

"I know but-"

"But nothing! I've never seen somebody as talented as yourself and I've been teaching for more years than you can count. Merde! Timothée!" She interrupts with a loud clap. "Now run along, we've got a show to put on."