Chapter Text
Baz
I can’t believe Bunce told my aunt on me. I get that what I did was extremely unhelpful, and really quite rude, but nobody, and I really do mean nobody deserves to be yelled at by Fiona Pitch. Hell, Bunce knows this better than most.
And yet, Fiona’s here, stomping around my living room in her leather jacket and battered old Doc Martens, positively fuming.
“Are you telling, me, Basil, that you decided to ruin your best chance at a leading man just because you can’t deal with your gay panic?” She takes a sip from the beer bottle sticking out of her backpack and glares at me.
I roll my eyes.
“Not at all, dearest aunt. Snow’s audition was simply not up to my standards.”
Fiona’s face twists into a worryingly cheerful smile. Oh, fuck.
“Would you like a drink, Basil?” she asks, with dangerous sweetness.
I know it’s a trap. Fiona never offers anyone anything without an ulterior motive. But I’ve had a really shitty day, and I would actually really like a drink right about now, so I say yes anyway.
Fiona pulls a bottle of expensive whiskey out of her backpack (Jesus fucking Christ, how much alcohol does she have in there?), pours two glasses, and hands me one. I take a sip and sigh happily. Fiona may be evil, but at least she has standards.
I finish my first glass pretty quickly, and motion for Fiona to pour me another one. After a few (okay, it was more than a few) more, I’m a complete mess. Fiona sets down her glass and turns expectantly to face me.
“If you really must know,” I say, slurring my words slightly (but, in my very humble opinion, maintaining a remarkable level of composure), “The real reason I was rude to Snow is that he’s extremely fit, and it made me… a little flustered.”
Fiona beams.
“Ha!” she shouts, pointing at me, “I fucking knew it! You’re a complete and utter disaster. I’m so proud.”
“Oh, fuck off,” I say, but I can’t help but crack a tiny smile.
I get up from the couch and open my laptop. An email from Bunce pops up on my screen, with the subject line ‘Don’t be mad…’. Intriguing. I click the message and start reading.
From: Penny Bunce < [email protected] >
Today 3:45 PM
Hi Baz,
I know we said we’d get together to discuss this all at more length, but we’re on a pretty tight schedule here, and I know we were mostly in agreement already, so I went ahead and sent out all the callback notices. Attached is a list of the actors who’ll be at the callbacks on Monday. If you’d like to add anyone, we can discuss that, but please note I WILL NOT remove anyone from this list. I apologise if this upsets you, but due to the time constraints, I felt it was necessary.
Affectionate regards,
Penny
p.s. Baz, I swear if you make fun of me one more time for how formal my emails are, I will choke you. It’s not ‘stiff’, it’s just polite. And you’re worse anyway, you git.
I smile a little at that postscript. Sometimes I think Bunce knows me a little too well. I try so hard to stay removed, emotionless, and mysterious, but somehow she can see through all of that.
I think Snow could, too, if I let him get close enough. Which is precisely the reason I need him to stay far away from me.
I slam my laptop shut and pour myself another glass of whiskey.
Simon
Ebb frowns at me when my phone goes off. We’re not supposed to have mobile phones on us at work, but she knows how anxious I get about missing messages, so she lets me keep mine in the kitchen.
“Go on, answer it,” she says, picking up the mixing bowl, “I can manage by myself for a few minutes, don’t you worry.”
“Thanks, Ebb,” I say, grabbing my phone from the counter.
On my screen is an email notification from Penny Bunce. I start to hyperventilate, and Ebb immediately rushes to my side.
“Simon? Are you alright?” I nod my head and try to slow my breathing.
“I’m – fine,” I gasp, “Just a little - surprised.”
Ebb nods, and goes back to the scones, giving me a worried look.
I should probably stop freaking out. For all I know, it could be a rejection email.
But what if it’s not?
I take a deep breath and open the message.
From: Penny Bunce < [email protected] >
Today 2:40 PM
Dear Simon Snow,
We are pleased to offer you a callback for our upcoming musical “Isabella”. Should you choose to accept, you will be reading for the role of Heath. Please be familiar with the materials attached. Your callback is scheduled for Monday at 10:30am. The session is expected to run for up to fifteen minutes, however, you may be required to stay for additional chemistry reads. Please reply to this email to indicate your acceptance of the offer within 24 hours, or your place may be offered to another candidate.
Regards,
Penelope Bunce.
Holy shit.
I immediately type out an enthusiastic (and very badly spelled) acceptance, before bounding over to Ebb and showing her the email. She pulls me into a tight hug, and grins at me.
“I’m so proud of you, Simon,” she says, smiling, “But right now, we really need to get these scones in the oven!”
As much as I love baking with Ebb, I’m in too much shock to really concentrate, so I don’t enjoy it all that much.
As soon as I get home from work, I dive straight into the callback materials.
-
The next few days seem like centuries, but finally Monday rolls around.
By some miracle, I arrive at the audition early, and so actually manage to get a seat in the waiting room. I end up sitting next to a very pretty blonde girl. She’s wearing a floaty lavender dress and expensive-looking chorus heels, and I can’t stop staring at the way her pale gold hair falls in soft waves around her face. After a few minutes, she turns and looks at me strangely.
“Are you quite alright?” she asks, in a soft, delicate voice.
I turn bright red.
“Oh, um, yes,” I stammer, “Uh...hi. I’m Simon – Simon Snow.”
“Agatha Wellbelove,” she says, and gives me a tiny smile.
I’m trying to work up the courage to ask her if she wants to grab a drink sometime, when Elly walks through the door.
“Simon!” she yells, and runs at me, almost crushing me as she wraps her arms tightly around me. “I didn’t know you got a callback!”
She loosens her grip and I take a moment to catch my breath.
“I didn’t want to say anything in case you hadn’t got one,” I confess.
Elly nods.
“Me neither,” she says.
I glance back at Agatha to see she’s staring at Elly suspiciously.
“Oh, sorry,” I say quickly, “Agatha – this is my best friend Elly Martin. Elly, this is Agatha Wellbelove.”
Agatha positively beams at her.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Elly,” she says sweetly.
Elly’s face turns the same colour as her hair, and then, for some unexplainable reason, she starts giggling. I don’t think she even realises that she’s doing it, because a few seconds later a mortified expression crosses her face, and she claps her hand over her mouth. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.
Agatha’s just staring at her with unreadable expression on her face, and when Elly stutters through an ‘it’s lovely to meet you too’, her smile is radiant.
Weird.
A few minutes later, Agatha’s name is called, and she waves us both goodbye as she walks into the audition room. Elly gives her a huge thumbs up, and Agatha winks at her. For some reason, Elly’s blushing again.
“She’s seems nice,” she says, dreamily
“Yeah, she really does,” I agree, “Actually, I was thinking about maybe asking her out… do you think I should?”
I’m not sure exactly how I was expecting her to respond, but I certainly wasn’t expecting her to shake her head quite so emphatically.
“Uh…no, Simon,” she says, slowly, “I don’t really think you should.”
Weirder.
I don’t have much time to think about Elly’s odd behaviour, though, because, right then, my name is called.
I make my way to the door, almost forgetting to be nervous.
But then, I see Baz Pitch sitting at the table, and my stomach drops to the floor. And I don’t know why – of course I knew he’d be here. But he’s wearing the same suit, his hair is slicked back the same way, and he’s looking at me with that same cool, removed expression – and all the memories of that dreadful audition come flooding back.
I am so screwed.