4. Eden

4

EDEN

N othing.

Eden reloaded her email inbox, giving in to the urge to chew on her thumbnail. The wheel of doom spun for a second. And then . . . still nothing.

She growled in frustration, throwing her phone across her bed and screwing her eyes shut. It had been two weeks. Two excruciating weeks of no news. This was always the worst part, the waiting. The hoping. The telling yourself not to get your hopes up, then getting them up anyway, then having them dashed after yet another rejection.

Everything she told herself to try and make herself feel better?that no news was good news, that they were a large company and things probably moved slowly, that perhaps she had given them the wrong email address?Eden knew it was all rubbish. They would tell her when they told her, and not a moment sooner. And she absolutely hated that.

Eden had been working extra shifts at the pub to try and distract herself. To burn off all her anxious energy. But the job, while physically tiring, left her brain free to pick apart every single second of the audition. Over and over again.

Her frantic reminiscing had managed to twist the true events into some kind of nightmarish horror story, where she blubbered and cried her whole way through the monologue, while Genevieve Howard’s eyes glowed red with heated disdain. The director had probably never seen an audition so bad. Eden had likely managed to set the record for worst monologue in the history of the company. The history of Shakespeare.

She groaned and smashed a pillow over her head, trying to shove the intrusive thoughts away, but it didn’t work. Eden had the entire day ahead of her to just sit inside and wait, because the pub was shut on Mondays. Every thirty seconds she checked her email, praying that the confirmation would come through. Now that another weekend had passed. But still . . . radio silence.

Rationally, she knew that this was completely normal. Directors took their time choosing their casts for a performance as big as this. International interest could be forcing the audition dates to last for weeks rather than for mere days, delaying the whole process. Even in small-scale shows, actors always had to face the nail-biting wait before hearing back.

Eden peeked out from under the pillow, snatching her phone up and reloading the emails anyway.

Still nothing.

Unbidden tears welled. This excruciating limbo had somehow managed to take over her entire life. Even though she had completely blown the audition, Eden guessed, ruining any chance she had with RBC in the future, she had accidentally fallen in love with the character of Beatrice.

Eden had known that choosing the Shylock monologue had been risky. But sometimes it paid off to take chances and do the unexpected. After plenty of research, including reading the book and watching several of Genevieve’s productions via shitty illegal recordings, she had concluded that Beatrice was not a simple character. She was not confined to her role as a “Shakespearean female.”

So, Eden had chosen Shylock. A notoriously complicated character and one of the more ambiguous antagonists, if you could even call him that. Certainly, modern audiences found the blatant anti-Semitism in poor taste.

But the emotion was transcendent. The sheer rage at the injustice of it all. That was the point, wasn’t it? The words were brutal, designed to challenge preconceptions. And Genevieve Howard seemed like the type of woman to rage against whatever box the world tried to put her in.

Eden tried not to think about the fact Genevieve was also a lesbian. Somehow that seemed too close, too humanizing. The image Eden had in her mind of Genevieve was like some bronze statue of an ancient king. Powerful and timeless, and beyond mortal trappings, such as sexual identity.

But that somehow made Genevieve all the more alluring. She was intoxicating, really. Even as Genevieve had been sitting there with pure disdain on her face, Eden had felt drawn to her. Excited to prove herself and to show what she could do. The thought that Eden had failed in front of such a woman was almost too much to bear.

Eden’s phone buzzed the familiar jingle of her ringtone filling the air. She squealed and half-fell off her creaky bed as she lunged for it, hands trembling. She swiped to answer without even bothering to look at the caller ID. It was probably Amanda. Or her boss. Or her mum. It wouldn’t be, couldn’t be . . .

“Y-yes? Hello?”

“Hello, am I speaking to Miss Eden Rowley?” A chipper female voice answered, crisp and posh sounding.

Eden’s heart was pounding like a jackhammer. “Yes, um, that’s me, I mean um . . . this is she.”

Kill me now .

“Miss Rowley, wonderful to hear your voice. My name is Kelly. I’m calling on behalf of The Royal Bard Company regarding a recent audition you attended.”

She was going to pass out. She was actually going to faint and hit her head and die. Or maybe just shrivel up and die right where she was. She couldn’t handle this?the apprehension, the adrenaline. Eden felt like she was going to throw up her meager breakfast.

“Oh, yes, that, of course! That’s wonderful . . . um, what’s the verdict?”

Would the ground just open up and swallow her whole already? She had been doing this for over a decade. You’d think she could manage a simple phone call by now. Apparently not.

“Miss Rowley. Regarding your recent audition for the role of Beatrice in the upcoming RBC Summer production of Beatrice , I have some news for you!”

This was getting real old, real fast. It was like Kelly was getting some sick pleasure out of letting her squirm. But Eden remained quiet, not wanting to jeopardize the news.

“It’s my true delight to let you know that the director loved your audition, and would like to offer you the role of Beatrice.”

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Holy actual fucking motherfucking shit.

“Oh my God,” Eden managed to stutter out, her head suddenly empty of thought. “Oh my God! No way, like actually? Are you actually being serious with me right now?”

The prim Kelly laughed, high and musical on the other end of the line, “Ms. Howard mentioned that you might be excited! I’m glad to be the one to deliver such good news.”

“Good news? No, it’s . . . it’s so much more than that.” Tears were falling freely down Eden’s face now, cheeks aching from the smile she couldn’t reign in. “This is amazing. Life-changing. Thank you so much. So, so much. You have no idea.”

“You’re more than welcome,” Kelly responded cheerfully, though in truth she had nothing to do with this outcome. “Please do keep an eye on your inbox. If you’d like to accept the role, we will be sending you all the necessary information and employment contracts through there, so that rehearsals can start in a timely manner.”

“I accept,” Eden blurted, cringing at her own volume before clearing her throat. “Erm, sorry, I’m just so excited. Of course I accept. Please do send me anything you need to. I can’t wait to get started. This is so so amazing!”

“Wonderful. I’ll pop everything over to you now. Have a great day, Miss Rowley!”

“You too!” Eden hung up the phone and sat in stunned silence for a minute.

Then another.

Slowly. So slowly, the realisation of what just happened fully dawned on her.

“Oh, my FUCKING GOOOOOOOOD!” Eden screamed, leaping up and dancing in a circle around her room, arms raised high to the sky in sheer, childish delight.

She hadn't felt this elated since . . . well, she couldn't even remember when. The dingy walls and cluttered surfaces of her rented room faded away as Eden danced, her mind filled with visions of bright lights and thunderous applause.

Her fingers shook as she fumbled for her phone, nearly dropping it in her haste. She had to tell someone, had to share this moment before it burst out of her chest. Amanda's number was at the top of her recent calls, of course, and Eden jabbed at it impatiently.

The phone rang once, twice, three times. Eden bounced on her toes, mentally willing her friend to pick up.

"’Sup?" Amanda's voice finally crackled through the speaker.

"Mands!" Eden practically shouted. "Oh my god, you'll never believe what just happened!"

"What? What is it?" Amanda's tone shifted from sleepy to alert in an instant.

Eden took a deep breath, savouring the moment. "I got it. I got the part. I'm going to be Beatrice!"

There was a brief pause, then an ear-splitting squeal that made Eden wince and hold the phone away from her ear. "Eden! What the fuck? That's amazing! I told you you could do it!"

Eden laughed, her brash friend's enthusiasm infectious. "I can hardly believe it myself. I mean, it's Genevieve Howard. It's RBC. It's . . . everything."

"We have to celebrate," Amanda declared, leaving no room for protests. "Drinks tonight. No excuses. This is huge!"

"For sure!” Eden agreed, the ache in her cheeks becoming almost unbearable. "I'll text you later."

After hanging up, Eden's gaze fell on her desk, where a thick folder sat amid a sea of papers and post-it notes. Her audition prep. She tiptoed toward it, almost reverently, as if it were a shrine to her newly manifested life.

Never let Amanda hear you say that shit out loud, Eden.

Page after page of meticulous notes greeted her. Character analyses, historical context, interpretations from various critics and directors. She'd pored over these for weeks, absorbing every detail she could about Beatrice. Now, with the role actually hers, the words seemed to leap off the page with new meaning.

She flipped through, pausing at a sheet that stood out from the rest. Genevieve's character outline. Eden had practically memorised it before the audition, but now she studied it with fresh eyes. The legendary director's vision was clear in every carefully chosen word, painting a picture of a Beatrice who was ferocious, conflicted, deeply human.

Eden's fingers traced over a particular line: "Beatrice's anger is not a flaw to be overcome, but a strength to be harnessed." She felt a shiver run down her spine. This was the core of the character, the beating heart that she would need to bring to life.

As she read more, new ideas began to form. Connections she hadn't seen before, nuances she'd overlooked while battling her pre-audition nerves. This Beatrice was more than just a witty foil for Benedick. She was a woman raging against the constraints of her world, loving fiercely and fighting even harder for what she believed in.

Eden set the folder aside and stood, moving to the full-length mirror propped against her wardrobe. She straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and squared her shoulders. In her mind, she wasn't Eden Rowley, struggling actress. She was Beatrice.

"I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me," she recited, infusing the words with the perfect mix of humour and bitterness. She watched her reflection, noting how her eyes flashed. How her lips curled into a sardonic smile.

Eden tried another line, this time from a later scene of the original script. "O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the marketplace." Her voice trembled with rage, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

Then, unable to maintain the intensity, Eden burst into giggles. She felt slightly foolish, play-acting in front of her mirror like she had as a young, na?ve drama student. But beneath the embarrassment was a thrill of excitement. This was her job for the foreseeable future. She would get to dive deep into this character, to live in Beatrice's skin for months.

Still grinning, Eden moved to her bookshelf and pulled out a well-worn paperback. Alicia Pearson's "Beatrice." She'd devoured it in record time when preparing for the audition, but now leafed through the pages with slower consideration.

The book fell open to a dog-eared page, a passage Eden had read and re-read countless times: "Beatrice stood at the edge of the orchard, the sun setting behind her. In that moment, she felt the weight of every expectation, every restriction placed upon her by virtue of her sex. And she made a choice. She would not bend. She would not break. She would forge her own path, even if it meant walking alone."

Eden felt a lump form in her throat. This was the Beatrice she wanted to portray. Strong, defiant, but also vulnerable. A woman grappling with her place in a world that didn't know what to do with her.

She wondered how Genevieve would interpret these scenes. Would she emphasize Beatrice's isolation? Her anger? Her love? The possibilities seemed endless, and Eden found herself eager to delve into rehearsals, to see the notorious director's vision come to life.

Setting the book aside, Eden settled at her desk and opened her laptop. She hesitated for a moment, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, decisively, she typed: "Genevieve Howard early career."

The search results populated her screen, a mix of old theatre reviews, interviews, and articles. Eden clicked on one from a small theatre magazine, dated nearly two decades ago.

"Rising Star Genevieve Howard Shakes Up London Fringe Scene," the headline proclaimed. Eden leaned in, eager to learn more about the woman who would be shaping her performance for the next few months.

As she read, a picture began to form of a young Genevieve Howard, fresh out of drama school and already making waves. The article described her first independent production, an immersive rendition of Waiting for Gadot that had critics divided and audiences enthralled.

Eden found herself captivated by the description of Genevieve's bold choices and unapologetic vision. Even then, it seemed, she had been unafraid to challenge conventions and push boundaries.

Eden clicked on another article, this one detailing Genevieve's clash with a prominent theatre critic who had dismissed her work as "attention-seeking gimmickry." Genevieve's response, quoted in the piece, made Eden grin: "If seeking attention means demanding that voices long-dimmed be heard, then yes, I am seeking attention. And I will continue to do so, loudly and unashamedly, until the theatre world wakes up and realizes that the status quo is not good enough."

Eden felt a spark of admiration ignite in her chest. This was a woman who fought for her art, who refused to be cowed by tradition or expectation. To be chosen by her, to be entrusted with bringing her vision to life, was an honour Eden was only beginning to fully comprehend.

As she continued to read, Eden found herself drawn deeper into the story of Genevieve Howard's rise to prominence. Each article, each interview, painted a picture of a director who was as brilliant as she was uncompromising. And with every new piece of information, Eden felt her excitement – and her nerves – grow.

She clicked on another review from a small avant-garde theatre festival, her eyes widening as she read about Genevieve's reimagining of Othello. The production had apparently featured a stark, minimalist set and had required the actors to perform in complete darkness for several key scenes.

"Howard's bold choices force the audience members to confront their own prejudices and expectations," the reviewer wrote. "By stripping away the visual spectacle, Howard lays bare the raw emotions at the heart of Shakespeare’s well-known text."

As Eden delved deeper into Genevieve's early career, she began to notice a pattern. Time and again, the young director had faced criticism and scepticism, only to prove her detractors wrong with the sheer force of her talent and vision. It was clear that Genevieve had fought hard for every opportunity, for every accolade.

Eden's admiration grew with each new discovery. She found herself imagining what it must have been like for Genevieve, navigating the male-dominated theatre world in her twenties. Standing firm in her convictions even as others tried to dismiss or belittle her work.

Eden’s search led her to an interview with an actor who had worked with Genevieve on one of her early productions. The man spoke glowingly of her unique directing style: "Genevieve has this incredible ability to see right to the heart of a character. She pushes you to dig deeper, to find layers you never knew existed. It's exhausting, and sometimes frustrating, but always rewarding. I've never given a performance I've been more proud of, than the one I gave under her direction."

Eden felt a mix of delight and trepidation as she read these words. She wanted that experience, wanted to be pushed to her limits and beyond. But a small voice in the back of her mind whispered doubts. What if I’m not good enough? What if I can’t live up to Genevieve's exacting standards?

Eden shook her head, trying to dispel the negative thoughts, and clicked on another video interview. This one showed a slightly older Genevieve, probably in her early thirties, her hair a shade darker than it was now, but her eyes just as intense.

The interviewer asked about her unconventional approach to classic plays and Genevieve leaned forward when she answered, her hands moving animatedly. "Theatre should provoke. It should challenge. If we're not making the audience think – if we're not making them feel – then what's the point?"

Eden found herself leaning closer to the screen, captivated by the passion in Genevieve's voice and the fire in her eyes. There was something magnetic about her presence, despite the grainy footage of the old interview.

She watched as Genevieve continued, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I'm not interested in putting on pretty productions that people can watch and then immediately forget. I want to create experiences that linger, that haunt the audience long after people have left the venue."

Eden felt something coil in her stomach, a warmth spreading up and into her chest. She told herself it was just excitement about the project, about working with such a visionary director. But a small part of her knew there was more to it than that.

She clicked on another video, and another, watching the progression of Genevieve's career through these snippets of interviews and behind-the-scenes footage. With each one, Eden found herself more drawn to the director's intensity, her prowess.

It was only when she glanced at the clock that Eden realized how much time had passed. She'd been so engrossed in her research that she'd lost track of the time. With a start, she remembered her plans to meet Amanda.

Closing her laptop, Eden stood and stretched, her mind still buzzing with everything she'd learned. The fluttering disbelief that had invaded her body since getting off the phone to the cheery Kelly was still there, as well as something else she wasn't quite ready to name.

Eden moved to her wardrobe, rifling through her clothes. This was a celebration, after all. She wanted to look nice. After some deliberation, she settled on a blue dress that brought out her eyes, pairing it with a simple silver necklace.

As she applied a light touch of makeup, Eden found her thoughts drifting back to Genevieve Howard. She wondered what it would be like to see her every day, to be under the scrutiny of those piercing eyes that were so dark they sometimes seemed black. Would Genevieve continue to see potential in her? Would she be able to draw out a performance that Eden didn't know she was capable of? Or would Eden ultimately end up disappointed in the fumbling actress she’d mistakenly entrusted with her vision?

Eden shook her head, trying to focus on the present moment. This was supposed to be a night of celebration, not anxiety. She'd earned this role. Genevieve had chosen her. That had to mean something.

With one last glance in the mirror, Eden grabbed her bag and headed for the door. As she passed her desk, her eyes fell on Alicia Pearson's book. On impulse, she picked it up and slipped it into her bag. Maybe she'd have time for a quick reread on the subway.

As she locked her door and headed down the stairs of her building, Eden felt a surge of determination. Yes, working with Genevieve Howard would be challenging. Yes, it might push her to her limits. But wasn't that what she'd always wanted? A chance to prove herself? To show what she was truly capable of?

With a spring in her step, Eden stepped out into the evening air. Whatever challenges lay ahead, tonight was for being proud of herself. She'd worry about impressing Genevieve Howard tomorrow. For now, she had a drink with her best friend to look forward to, and maybe even a future brighter than any she'd dared to imagine.

Amanda’s “manifesting” mumbo-jumbo aside . . . Eden could feel it. This was just the beginning.