Chapter 28

After I’d showered and changed, I made a few phone calls. The first was to my Dad.

“Hi son,” he said when he answered, “how come you’re ringing my mobile and not the house phone?”

“I wanted to make sure it was you who answered. I met my roommate last night,” I said.

“I would have expected that,” he said, “what’s he like?”

“Charlie’s all right, quite nice in fact,” I replied, “except that Charlie is short for Charlotte.”

“Ah,” he said, “I can see how you wouldn’t want your mother to be the first to hear that little titbit. Is everything going to be all right?”

“Well there was a bit of trouble with her mother, who seemed to think I’m some sort of serial rapist, but I think we’re over that now,” I told him.

“What sort of trouble?” he asked.

“The ‘I’m not letting my innocent young daughter stay here sharing a room with you,’ sort of trouble,” I replied.

“Ah the old protective mother thing,” he said.

“She was back this morning,” I went on, “although she’d changed her tune from I had to move out to Charlie had to move out.”

“And is Charlie in any danger from you?”

“You know my position on cheating Dad, and I have Kathy at home,” I answered, “besides, how do you know I’m not the one in danger?”

“You boy, she girl,” he replied.

“Me fifteen, she nearly eighteen,” I replied, “although strangely she’s playing my twelve year old sister.”

“Well just be careful, son, that whole area is a minefield these days.”

“I will Dad, but you know me I’ve never been attracted to older women.”

“Do I have to remind you that Cal is older than you?”

“No, Dad, I know that, but by two weeks.”

“All right son, just don’t get into anything you can’t handle, and for goodness sake, if you need help, call.”

“I will Dad, and thanks. I have to go I’ve got more calls to make,” I said, “love to everybody.”

“OK son, bye for now.”

“Bye Dad.”

My next call was to Kathy, who was pleased to hear from me.

“David,” she squawked,” you called me.”

“Yes, I did,” I replied, “how was school today?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Same old, same old. How was work?”

“Fine,” I said, “we had a couple of read-throughs and the director started to put some meat on the bones of the script. I’ve got something to tell you, and I don’t want you to misunderstand.”

“You’re finishing with me?” she asked, nervously.

“No not that. You should know me well enough that I’d never do that on the phone. No. It’s the hotel they’ve put me in. I have a suite, two bedrooms and a sitting room. So I’m sharing.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said, “do you think you’ll get on well with him?”

“Well that’s the thing,” I said, “you see, it’s not a he it’s a she. Charlie Hudson.”

“Charlie Hudson who was in Central High?” she asked, “I used to love that show. Could you get me her autograph?”

Just at that moment, the young lady under discussion popped her head round my door to see if I was ready.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, “I didn’t know you were on the phone.”

“That’s Ok,” I replied, “it’s my girlfriend Kathy, apparently she’s a big fan of yours. Hang on.”

I turned my attention back to Kathy.

“Hang on a sec Kathy,” I said,” I’ve got someone here who I think would like to talk to you,” then I handed the phone to Charlie.

Forty-five minutes later Charlie handed me the phone back and Kathy and I said goodbye so that we could go and get some food.

“Do you want to eat in the restaurant here or find somewhere outside?” she asked.

“I’m easy,” I said, “either will do for me.”

“Yes, that’s what Kathy said,” she informed me with a smile.

“And what else did my girlfriend tell you?” I asked her, “about me I mean.”

“Oh, just that you’re brilliant and witty and handsome and amazing,” she said.

“All absolutely true,” I agreed, “now what did you two really say to each other?”

“You mean you didn’t listen?” she asked.

“No,” I replied, “I don’t listen in to other people’s conversations.”

“Well, she told me you were kind, generous, considerate, and if anything, too concerned with other peoples needs above your own,” she said, “she also told me about Cal.”

That last remark sort of put a damper on my mood.

“Oh,” I said, “What did she tell you?”

“That Cal is the great love of your life, your spiritual twin, your alter ego,” she said, gently, “that she did something awful, something that you have difficulty forgiving her for. She told me that even after that, when Cal’s mother threatened to stop paying for her singing lessons you offered to pay for them yourself.”

“But she didn’t tell you what it was?” I asked.

“No, she didn’t,” she replied, “she cheated, didn’t she?”

I looked at her and nodded slowly.

“That’s why Kathy is so confident in you,” she said, “she’s fairly certain that if I climbed naked into your bed tonight and offered sex, the most I’d get was a cuddle.”

“Well, maybe a kiss as well,” I joked.

“Promise?” she asked, her eyes bright.

“Anytime you like,” I said, being cheeky.

“So,” she said finally, “decision time. Here or out?”

“Your choice,” I said.

“No, yours,” she replied, “come on, make one.”

“I’d really like to try Chinatown,” I said, “I don’t think it’s far from here, we can ask reception.”

“OK then,” she said, “I love Chinese food. I just wish I could get the hang of chopsticks.”

“I’ll teach you,” I said.

And I did. We got directions from reception and ate at Yang Sing, said to be the most famous Chinese restaurant in Europe.

It took less than ten minutes to walk there, past the Central Library, to Princess Street then down until we saw the huge Chinese arch, and quickly found the right place.

After a twenty minute wait, we were shown to our table by a young Chinese man, who obviously took a shine to Charlie, and a carafe of iced water was placed on the table.

We ordered the bespoke four course banquet for two and asked the waiter to surprise us with the dishes. He disappeared and a few minutes later re-appeared with a pot of green tea, and our first course, Dim Sum. There were Spring rolls, Pak Choi dumplings and beef in oyster sauce dumplings, and every mouthful was delicious, full of flavour.

The second course was diced chicken and root vegetables in a lettuce wrap and while we ate we talked, mainly about school. Charlie had been mostly schooled on set from the age of twelve and had formally left at sixteen to pursue an acting career. Which she seemed to be doing pretty well.

“What are you going to do about your mother?” I asked, lowering the mood a little.

“Nothing,” she said, “she’ll calm down in a couple of days, when she realises that I’m the source of the money for her clothes and beauty treatments Then she’ll come back all contrite, saying how sorry she is and please forgive her.”

“And you will?” I asked.

“Realistically I have to,” she said, “As things stand, she is my agent and manager and gets twenty percent of everything I earn. She’s also the sole director of my company. Until I’m eighteen, I can’t do anything professionally without her saying yes to it.”

“So how long will it be until you’re eighteen?”

“Four months,” she replied.

“Then there’s an easy answer. A lot of those four months will be taken up with this project, then there’s Christmas to take out, and it will take time to line up the next one. Just take some time off and relax. Book a holiday.”

Our main course arrived, four dishes and boiled rice and we ate in silence for a while.

“What happens with your company and everything?” I asked, “When you turn eighteen.”

“At the moment she holds all the shares in my company, in trust for when I’m eighteen,” she replied.

“Just like mine, except my Mum and Dad each own five percent, and the other ninety is in trust for me.”

“Like I said, she’s my agent and manager and gets twenty per cent commission on my earnings. And a salary as CEO of the company.”

“My Dad does the same for me, except that he’s not actually my agent, my agent is James Gordon in LA, my Dad acts as his agent in the UK.”

“Do you think your LA agent would take me on as a client?” she asked.

“Well, how about, when we get back to the hotel, we give him a ring and ask?” I suggested.

“We can do that?” she asked.

“We can do that,” I replied, “the good thing about James is that he specialises in younger talent.”

“Do you think he will?” she asked, “Take me on I mean.”

“We can but try,” I said, as the waiter took our plates and replaced them with a selection of fruit, and another pot of the green tea.

After we finished and paid our bill (I paid, over Charlie’s objections, and after she insisted that she pay next time), we walked back to the hotel.

Once we arrived, we took a seat in the foyer and ordered two coffees. While we waited for them to arrive I took out my phone and after checking the time and deducting eight hours for the time difference scrolled through my contacts list until I found James’s, pressed call, and waited for the connection.

“James Gordon agency,” a pleasant female voice said as she answered.

“Mr. Gordon please,” I said, “it’s David Barker calling.”

Ten seconds later, a familiar voice came on.

“David,” he said, “how are you. You’re working right?”

“Yes,” I replied, “a TV drama. Listen, James, are you on the lookout for new clients?”

“Always,” he replied, “why?”

“I have a friend with me, a young girl, who’ll be needing a new agent in four months when she turns eighteen.”

“Her name?” he asked.

“Charlotte, or Charlie, Hudson,” I replied.

“Okay, give me a few minutes to look her up and I’ll call you back. Are you on your UK or US mobile?”

“The UK One,” I said, “thanks James.”

We hung up and I turned back to Charlie, just as the coffees arrived.

A few minutes later my phone rang and the caller ID showed the call was from James.

“Hi James,” I said as I answered.

“Hi David,” he replied, “well she certainly has a first-class resume. The only problem is she’s never done any work in the USA. However, I have a couple of contacts in the UK. Can you give me her number, and I’ll have them contact her?”

“Hang on,” I said, then covered the microphone slot.

I turned to Charlie.

“He wants your number to give to a couple of contacts in the UK who he feels might be able to help,” I said, “here.”

I handed her the phone for her to give James her number.

She spoke to him for a few minutes, gave him her number and then said goodbye and hung up.

“What a nice man,” she said.

“Very,” I agreed, “I lived in the flat above his garage all last summer, while I made a film in Hollywood. The only payment he’d take was me taking him and his family to Disneyland for the day. He has two lovely little girls. Did he say when his colleagues would be likely to ring you?”

“Not before tomorrow evening,” she said.

We finished our coffee and took the lift upstairs to our suite, where she opted to watch TV while I retired to my room to do some schoolwork.

It was a couple of hours later when there was a knock at my bedroom door, and she popped her head inside.

“I’m going to bed now,” she said, “goodnight, and thank you for dinner.”

“Goodnight,” I replied, “and we call it tea where I come from.”

She laughed and left.

I decided to call it a night too.

The next three days were more of the same, a quick run-through an episode in the morning, then a more in-depth read-through in the afternoon, with Anthony giving us some instruction on how he saw lines delivered, scenes played and so forth.

At the end of Saturday, Anthony announced that he’d like to take the entire cast and crew to dinner on Sunday, a sort of get to know you session.

We had a good time at the dinner, our host was a good host, witty, charming and erudite.

He started by introducing four more members of the team. First up was Ian Sawyer, the director of photography, or as he described himself, the guy in charge of trying to make us all look good on screen. Steve Maltby was our sound engineer, an older man, with grey hair, a wicked sense of humour and one of the most respected members of his profession. Or so he told us.