Ch-33

"Aunt Tiffany!" "Midget!" We hugged like long-lost lovers.

It might seem a little out of character for me, but I cherished the idea of having a relative like an aunt or a cousin because I didn't have any biological relatives beyond my mother. Tiffany was very cool with everything, at least the two times we met. I had only met her boyfriend, Beaumont, once, and that too was a brief encounter that didn't go beyond exchanging pleasantries.

"Are you trying to steal my woman?" Beau asked in a gruff voice, but his smirk was unmistakable. He was a giant of a man, standing tall at 6'4", with a shock of red hair. Given how both he and Tiffany had red hair, I used to call them Weasleys in my head.

"Not my fault your woman is so easy to steal," I quipped back while still clinging to her.

"I'm telling you, Kathy," Tiffany said to my mother, who was standing behind me, "when this one grows up, you'll have to chase off a horde of girls with a bat."

"Don't I know that?" Mum replied before addressing me. "Didn't you have something to ask Beau, Troy?"

"Yes, I do." I separated myself from Tiffany, opened the bag I was carrying, and took out the script of the movie titled Dancer.

"I need you to go through all the dialogues with me in a true Northern accent. Like people in Durham speak, y'know? I'll copy you as much as I can. Correct me if I'm wrong anywhere," I instructed.

Mum, being the intelligent one among us, cut in, "We thank you a lot for your help. If you think it's too much work, we can always do just a few scenes, right, Troy?"

"Yes, yes. I'm very grateful for your help," I added guiltily, realizing my blunder.

Beau laughed out loud. "It's okay, kiddo. I didn't have any plans for today, so don't worry, we have the whole day. Let's go through each line of the script."

(Break)

Catching up with the Durham accent was easier than the American one for sure. I had to just drop a few T's while saying words. Water became wa'er, fit became fi', right became righ', and you get the point. There was also a special way to pronounce some words, but mostly it was doable. If not immediately, then I could probably master it in a few weeks with dedicated practice.

Many people seem to think it sounds a bit like a Geordie accent, which is considered one of the toughest British accents to understand. Though I understood Beau perfectly, so there goes that theory.

Anyway, any decent production would hire a dialect coach if I actually got the job to fill the gaps in my accent.

And finally, here I was for the first audition for the role of [Billy Elliot] at the home of Stephen Daldry in London.

"Hello, Troy Armitage," Stephen Daldry, a man in his late thirties, shook my hand enthusiastically. "I must say, I loved your performance in [Sex Education]."

"Thank you, Mr. Daldry." I accepted his words graciously. It was a rather unusual type of audition with no casting director, no crowd of other people auditioning, or anyone else for that matter. It was just me and Mum, who was quietly sitting in a corner.

"So, how are you doing, Troy? And please, just call me Stephen," he said casually.

"I am very good, Stephen. I just finished my second movie in February. It's in post-production right now with an estimated summer release. I'll be going back to the States in August for promotion."

"Hmm," Stephen hummed audibly. "So we'll have to finish principal photography before then. If we select you, that is. It's certainly doable. You can train in ballet for two months, and we can shoot during June and July…" Stephen trailed off in his thoughts.

I found it a little odd that he was making plans about me in the movie and the shooting schedule before I had even auditioned properly. It seemed very strange indeed.

"If you don't mind me asking, Stephen," I interrupted his ramblings, "it's a bit unusual to see the director himself come out for an audition in the first round."

"Well, we aren't accepting people not from Northern England, and your accent is, quite frankly, a very posh London accent," he admitted. "Any casting director would've rejected you in the first round itself. But I trust Peter. We've known each other for more than a decade, so when he says you can learn the accent, I believe that you can."

"Well," I began in my slightly learned Durham accent, "I believe I have tried to learn a li'l bi' of the accen'. I know I'm no' the bes', bu' I can learn it if you gimme a chance."

Stephen cracked a smile at that. "How many days did it take you to get that?"

"One day with a na'ive speaker and the res' I practiced on my own for two days," I answered honestly.

Stephen looked at me with wide eyes. "I can see what Peter saw in you."

I just smiled back at him.

"Alright," Stephen continued, "for the first part, you'll have to read some lines for me. Carry on with your accent, but remember to keep your emotions in check as well."

I could understand his concern. While shooting [The Sixth Sense], it happened a few times when I'd revert back to my London accent if I got too lost in the emotions. It was a bit of a hassle at first, but since it was a big-budget production, they had hired dialect coaches who would point out whenever I needed to correct myself, and I managed it perfectly after a few retakes.

Keeping that in mind, I set my emotional state for the scene. It was the moment where Billy, i.e., yours truly, is upset because of his family's financial problems. The dance teacher, Ms. Wilkinson, is making him practice repeatedly, and he lashes out at the only person present there: his teacher.

"Miss, I can't do it," I said in a helpless tone, trying to maintain my accent as best I could.

"That's because you're not concentrating," Stephen read Ms. Wilkinson's line.

"I am concentrating," I responded, baffled and incredulous.

"You're not even trying!"

"I am, Miss!" I asserted, my frustration beginning to bubble.

"Do it again."

"Can't."

"You do it again!"

"NO!" I shouted, the word echoing with raw emotion.

We paused for a few moments, the silence hanging heavy between us, before continuing from the next part.

"I'm sorry," Stephen said, his voice softening.

"It's all right for you. It's not you who has to do it!" I snarled, righteous anger burning through my veins. "You don't know anything! What do you know in your posh house, with your husband that pisses himself? You're the same as everybody else. All you want is to tell me what to do. Look, I don't wanna do your stupid fucking audition! You only want me to do it for your own benefit! Because you're a failure! You don't even have a proper dancing school! You're stuck in some crummy boxing hall. Don't pick on me 'cause you fucked up your own life!"

I panted heavily, having released all of my character's pent-up frustrations on Stephen in one go. There were some minor lines for Ms. Wilkinson there, but I hijacked it all and delivered a big monologue instead. Stephen needed to see my acting talent, which I hoped I had shown him.

"Bravo!" Stephen started clapping from where he sat, then stood up and walked towards me. "That was awesome, Troy. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've got some issues with your temper, young man! Didn't even let me read my part of the dialogues, eh?" he joked.

I laughed out loud. "It would certainly seem so, Stephen."

"Well," Stephen continued after sharing a laugh with me, "as far as acting goes, I think I've seen what I had to see. Next would be your dancing capabilities. Have you prepared anything?"

"Indeed I have," I answered smugly as I stood up and moved to the center of the room, taking my basic ballet pose on my toes.

I began dancing freely, performing multiple pirouettes, high jumps, a little tap dancing mixed in here and there with high kicks, twirls, cartwheels, and everything in between that would showcase my versatility to a viewer, especially an experienced stage director like Stephen Daldry.

After some three to four minutes, I ended my performance on a high note, in my own humble opinion.

"Good," Stephen commented without much fanfare. "You're at the perfectly optimum skill level."

Then he looked down at a sheet in his hand that I hadn't noticed until now. "It says here that you can play the piano?"

Oh, it must be my resume.

"Yes, I can also play the guitar as well," I answered.

"We don't need the guitar, just some piano tunes to be played in a few scenes. Nothing too complicated," he said absentmindedly as he continued reading.

"You won't mind taking off your shirt or trousers for a scene, right?" Stephen asked after a few moments.

"As long as I'm covered in the important areas," I joked.

"Of course, of course. Just a formality to ask, you see." Stephen laughed awkwardly. "You won't have a problem moving to Durham for two months, right?"

"Yup, no problem, but my Mum would probably come along as well." I shrugged and pointed towards her. She nodded vehemently at that point.

"Obviously," Stephen nodded. "Alright, that's all on my end. We'll let you know the results in a few days. Unless you have a question, you can go."

I hesitated for a moment before asking what I found to be very strange indeed. "Can you please tell me why I feel like I'm getting special treatment? Not that I'm complaining or anything, but from what Peter told me, you lot were interviewing thousands of people. I don't think you'd have time to interview me alone. And that too for such a long time."

Stephen didn't say anything for a few moments but then smiled widely. "Peter said you were a smart one. Well, Troy, your father's making the [Harry Potter] movie, right? Now, he purchased book rights to one of the most popular books in recent history and has still not cast the male lead. There are not even audition calls for the role of Harry Potter. Am I correct in assuming that's you?"

I was stunned for a moment. This man is smart. I looked towards Mum, who had a sly smile on her face as if she had already anticipated that answer.

"You don't have to answer that, your silence is enough for me. Let me tell you, I'm not the only one to deduce that. Warner Bros is hyping the news about the lead's casting by keeping it under wraps. What do you think will happen when the media gets the news confirmation? They'll find out everything about you. Including your other roles." Stephen finished.

I connected the remaining dots immediately. "You won't have to spend as much on marketing then. A film made on a small budget with such large indirect publicity would obviously gather a lot of eyeballs, enough to at least recover the amount invested."

"Exactly," Stephen said with a smile. "The explanation may sound wrong to you, but let me make this clear: if your skills were not up to par for the role, I would've straight-out rejected you. If you do get this role, it would be on your own merit, so don't get disheartened."

I nodded slowly. I wouldn't have gotten disheartened even if I hadn't gotten the role on my own merit. In this industry, connections matter. Only well-connected people get good roles easily. Everyone else has to struggle for them. This amazing movie fell right into my arms because of my suspected role in [Harry Potter] and, of course, my dance instructor, Peter.

It would be foolish of me to get upset over something so trivial.

"I think," Mum said for the first time since we got here, "we should go now. Surely, the director must be busy with preparations for the movie?"

We didn't wait there much longer.

"Does everyone know about [Harry Potter], Mum?" I asked hesitantly on the way to our car.

She laughed out loud. "Of course, everyone knows, dear. As the director pointed out, anyone with a brain can deduce that. The studio is just trying to cast someone else to give lesser leverage to your Dad in the production for future films."

"I don't understand," I said honestly.

Mum sighed. "It will be a long project spanning over years to come. With your Dad as the producer and writer and you as the male lead, it may become difficult for the studio if they have any conflict with either of you. Together, you may hold much more bargaining power over them than they hold over you."

That did make a surprising amount of sense.

"Wait," I said, "is that why you aren't a producer of the movie as well? To reduce our family's influence on it?"

Mum smiled as we reached our car. "You catch on quick."

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