Take Two (A psychological thriller)

The Mercedes pulled up in front of the hotel.  The driver got out and hurried around to open the door for Carolyn.  As she got out, two pretty girls in short skirts and impossibly high heels tottered over. They both had tight tops with sashes across their chests with SOAP OPERA DIGEST across them.  One of them presented her with a small bouquet and they escorted her into the hallway. To the left, a large banner had been set up and to the right was a bald photographer in a black suit who winked at her. ‘Miss Castle,’ he said. ‘Big fan.’

Carolyn took off her coat and gave it to one of the girls, then posed for half a dozen photographs, then waved for Harrington to join her. Standing next to the photographer was a young woman with a clipboard. She smiled at Carolyn and nodded at the dress. ‘Stella McCartney,’ said Carolyn, and the woman scribbled on her clipboard. She looked up again and smiled at Harrington. ‘And who are you?’ she asked.

‘Me? Nobody.’

Carolyn slipped her arm through his. ‘Jake Harrington,’ she said. ‘He’s a fabulous director and we all love working with him.’

‘And your new boyfriend?’

Carolyn laughed. ‘My director,’ she said. She smiled as the photographer took a few more pictures, then led Harrington away from the banner towards the main ballroom.

‘I don’t know how you put up with it,’ said Harrington.

‘With what?’

‘Being photographed all the time. I’d hate it.’

‘That’s funny, you being a director and all,’ said Carolyn. ‘That’s your job, taking pictures of people.’

‘My job is to let actors tell a story,’ said Harrington. ‘The paparazzi are more like peeping toms, sticking their noses where they’re not wanted.’

Carolyn gestured at the banner, where another actress was being photographed. ‘That’s not paparazzi,’ she said. ‘That’s part of the game. You come to somewhere like this and you get photographed and the photographs go out to the papers and the magazines. The magazine sells, my profile is raised and Stella McCartney gets free publicity. Everyone wins.’

‘Well, it would do my head in. I prefer the fact the girl back there didn’t know me from Adam.’

They stopped at the entrance to the ballroom. A large seating plan had been set up on an easel and it was flanked by two pretty blondes.  There were twenty-five circular tables each seating sixteen. The tables were identified with the name of the various shows and production companies. The tables closest to the main stage were taken by the BBC, ITV, Channel 4 and Sky.  Behind them were the tables of Coronation Street, EastEnders, Doctors, Holby City and the rest of the popular soaps.  The Rags To Riches table was off to the right, closest to the kitchen.  Carolyn frowned as she studied the seating plan.  Hands seized her by the shoulder. ‘How’s my favourite actress?’ asked Paul Day, looming over her.

‘Wondering why all these reality shows are here,’ she said, pointing at a table marked The Only Way Is Essex and another labeled Made In Chelsea.  ‘Since when are reality shows classed as drama?’

‘They’ve a new category this year,’ said the producer. ‘Reality and Constructed Factual.’

‘What the hell is Reality and Constructed Factual?’ asked Carolyn.

‘The future of entertainment, darling,’ said Day. ‘You take suntanned bimbos in tight dresses and you give them lines to shout and wine to drink. Costs next to nothing to make and the punters love it.’ He released his grip on her shoulders. ‘Come on, let’s grab our seats.’

Day, Carolyn and Harrington walked into the ballroom. There were huge posters on the walls, blown-up photographs of the shows that had been nominated, and at the back of the room a stage with two podiums and, behind them, a large viewing screen.

Carolyn had to walk by the Coronation Street and EastEnders tables and she had to air-kiss at least a dozen people.  She knew most of the actors though there were a few younger cast members she hadn’t met before.  Most knew she was being given a lifetime achievement award and wanted to congratulate her. It was the only award that had been announced in advance.

Seb and Andrea were already at the Rags To Riches table, along with Phillippa Lansdale, the director who was due to take over after Harrington’s episodes had wrapped. Carolyn had worked with Phillippa before and liked the woman. She was in her early thirties, anorexically thin and, like Carolyn, a confirmed smoker. She stood up and hugged Carolyn. ‘So we’re working together week after next,’ she said, brushing her dyed blonde hair over one ear.