5. Genevieve

5

GENEVIEVE

G enevieve's heels clicked sharply against the polished floor as she strode into the theatre, her mind already racing as she thought of the day ahead. The first readthrough. A pivotal moment that would set the tone for the entire production. She'd spent weeks meticulously preparing, conjuring every nuance of her version of Beatrice, and now it was time to see if her chosen cast could bring that vision to life.

The theatre’s corridors bustled with activity, but a hush always fell as she passed. Genevieve revelled in the effect her presence had, in the mixture of awe and trepidation that followed in her wake. She spotted the stage manager, a harried-looking woman clutching a clipboard. Genevieve made a beeline for her.

"Is everything set to start on time?" Genevieve demanded, not bothering with pleasantries.

The stage manager nodded quickly. "Yes, Ms. Howard. The cast is assembling in the rehearsal room now."

"And the scripts? Have they all been distributed?"

"Of course. Everyone received their copy last week, as requested."

Genevieve's eyes narrowed. "Then they've had ample time to familiarise themselves with the material. I expect nothing less than professional perfection today."

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and marched toward the rehearsal room. As Genevieve approached, she could hear the low murmur of voices. Whispers of her name mixed in with the mumbled nerves. Good. A touch of fear would keep them on their toes.

She paused at the doorway, taking a moment to observe the scene before her. The cast was scattered around the room in small clusters, some people running lines in hushed tones, while others engaged in animated conversation. Her gaze swept over them, assessing, until she saw Eden Rowley.

The young actress stood slightly apart from the others, script clutched to her chest like a shield. Even from across the room, Genevieve could see the tension in her shoulders and the slight tremor in her hands as she flipped through the pages. For a brief moment, Genevieve felt a flicker of something – concern? But she quashed it immediately. Eden had fought hard for this role. Now it was time to prove she deserved it.

Genevieve stepped into the room and a hush fell over the assembled cast and crew. All eyes turned to her, a sea of expectant faces. She allowed the silence to stretch for a beat, then two, before speaking.

"Good morning," she said, her voice crisp and commanding. "I trust you've all had sufficient time to acquaint yourselves with the script. Today, we begin the process of bringing Beatrice to life. I expect nothing less than your full commitment and best efforts. There will be no easing into it. I want a hundred and ten percent from the start."

Genevieve gestured to the circle of chairs set up in the centre of the room. "Take your seats. We'll begin with a full readthrough, after which I'll provide my initial thoughts and direction."

As the cast scrambled to comply, Genevieve took her place at the head of the circle. She noticed Eden hesitate before choosing a seat directly across from her. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Genevieve thought she saw a hazy mix of determination and apprehension swirling in those striking blue depths.

"Let's get started," Genevieve instructed, once everyone was settled. "Remember, this isn't just about reading the lines. I want to hear your character in your voice. See them in your body language. Show me you understand who these people are."

The readthrough began and, almost immediately, Genevieve felt her frustration mounting. The actors stumbled over their lines, failing to capture the rhythm of the dialogue. Even those with smaller roles seemed to struggle with the basics of their character’s motivations. They flailed, as if the original Shakespearean had been their parachute and now they were plummeting to the ground, with nothing to grasp.

But it was Eden's performance that truly grated on her nerves. Where was the fire, the passion she'd glimpsed in the audition? Eden's Beatrice was timid, her wit dulled, and her anger a mere simmer where it should have been a roiling boil. With each faltering line, each missed opportunity for depth, Genevieve's disappointment grew.

She held her tongue, allowing the readthrough to continue uninterrupted. But her displeasure was evident in the clenching of her jaw, the narrowing of her eyes. By the time they reached the midpoint of the script, the tension in the room was palpable.

Finally, Genevieve could take no more. "Stop," she commanded, her voice cutting through the air like the crack of a whip.

The actor in the middle of speaking trailed off, looking equal parts offended and terrified. Genevieve stood, pacing the circle as she spoke.

"What I've witnessed here today is nothing short of abysmal," she began, her words low and clipped. Genevieve knew that it was way too early in the game to let them see what it looked like when she really lost her shit. "Have any of you actually read this script? Truly read it, I mean, not just skimmed the words on the page?"

She turned to one of the supporting actors, a young man who had been particularly wooden in his delivery. "You. What do you think drives your character to act as he does? Because from what I've heard, I’d say you haven't got the faintest idea."

The actor – whose name she couldn’t remember for the life of her – stammered, trying to formulate a response, but Genevieve had already moved on. Her gaze landed on Eden, who seemed to visibly shrink under her scrutiny.

"And you, Eden?" Genevieve demanded. “You, who showed such promise. Where is the Beatrice I saw in your audition? Because this pale imitation before me now is a far cry from the woman who would ‘eat his heart in the marketplace.’”

Eden's face flushed, evidently embarrassed. But she remained silent, eyes downcast, no bite of the character Genevieve had been waiting to see break free.

The frustrated director addressed the group once more. "I selected each of you because I saw potential. But potential means nothing if you're not willing to put in the work to truly understand and embody these characters." She paused, locking eyes with each of them in turn, letting her words sink in. "This is a waste of time. You can all get out of my sight until you’re ready to show me an ounce of professionalism. Talent even, if that isn’t too much to ask. When we reconvene tomorrow, I expect to see a marked improvement. Prove to me that my faith in you wasn't misplaced."

As the cast filed out, murmuring amongst themselves, Genevieve caught Eden's arm. "Not you," she said firmly. "You stay."

Eden froze in Genevieve's grip. The rest of the cast filed out, casting furtive glances their way. As the door closed behind the last person, a heavy silence engulfed the room.

Genevieve released Eden's arm and stepped back, surveying the young actress. Up close, she could see even more clearly the slight shake in Eden's hands and the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

"Explain yourself," Genevieve commanded. "What happened to the Beatrice I saw in your audition? The one who burned with passion and righteous anger?"

Eden swallowed hard, her gaze darting desperately around the room before finally meeting Genevieve's eyes. "I . . . I'm sorry. I know I didn't deliver what you expected."

"That's putting it mildly," Genevieve scoffed. "I've seen more convincing performances in school drama clubs. Do you even want this role?"

Something flashed in Eden's eyes then – a spark of that fire Genevieve had been looking for. "Of course I do," she said, her voice stronger now. "It's all I've thought about since I got the call. I've been studying the script, researching the character?"

"Then why?" Genevieve interrupted. "Why give me this watered-down, insipid version of Beatrice?"

Eden's shoulders sagged. "I . . . I was nervous," she admitted. "Being here, in front of everyone . . . in front of you. I got into my head and started second-guessing every choice. I know it's not an excuse, but?”

"You're right, it's not," Genevieve cut her off again. She turned away, pacing the length of the room. Part of her wanted to dismiss Eden on the spot, to cut her losses and recast the role. But another part – the part that had seen such promise in that first audition – wasn't ready to give up just yet.

She spun back to face Eden. "Show me now."

Eden blinked, confusion evident on her angelic face. "Show you what?"

"Show me your Beatrice. Not that sad imitation you gave me just now. Show me the woman who would boldly defy what her world expected from her and enjoy it, who would challenge a man to a duel if she could. Show me the Beatrice you want to play."

For a moment, Eden hesitated. Then, something shifted in her demeanour. She straightened her spine, lifted her chin. When she spoke, her voice carried a weight it had lacked all morning.

"I am not made for a corner, nor to go but with a guard. I have a heart as merry as the day is long, and a wit to match any man's. I will not be silenced, nor will I bend to the whims of a world that would see me small and docile."

Genevieve felt a thrill run through her. This. This was what she had been waiting for. "Better," she said, gentler than she had spoken for weeks. "But I need more. Show me Beatrice's anger, her frustration with the constraints placed upon her."

She moved closer to Eden, circling her like a predator stalking its prey. "Imagine it. You've just learned of the plot against Hero. You're furious, but you're expected to stand by and let the men handle it. What do you do? How do you feel?"

Eden's wide eyes blazed as she slipped deeper into the character. "Ay me, you do shame me and the name of man if you would not cut down Claudio where he stands. I would that I were such," she spat, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. "I would sink my very teeth into his heart. He who has slandered my fair Hero. O that for his sake I do not unearth that virile beast within me and ride it hence to Claudio’s door."

Genevieve nodded, encouraging her. "Good. Now show me the vulnerability beneath that anger. The fear that maybe, just maybe, you're not enough to change things."

Eden's expression shifted, the fury giving way to a raw, aching uncertainty. "O that I were not just a woman," she said softly. "For all my wit, for all my strength, they do all fall deaf dare I speak at no man’s behest. Dare I beat my breast, not bring forth a babe to suckle at it."

Genevieve felt her breath catch, her chest tightening at the sheer beauty of Eden’s performance. Of Eden herself, if she were being honest. "Hold onto that feeling," she coached. "That conflict between your inner strength and the world's expectations. That's the core of Beatrice."

She moved closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Now, let's work on your physicality. How does this Beatrice move? How does she carry herself?"

Eden began to pace, her movements honed, more deliberate. Genevieve watched, rapt, noting the tension in her body, the way her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. She found herself wondering if her own prowling had inspired the actress’s decisive steps, as if Eden absorbed the world around her in real time and crept through it like a chameleon. A mark of a truly gifted actor.

"Better," Genevieve murmured. "But remember, Beatrice isn't just anger. She's passion, too. Wit. Show me now how she moves when she's trading barbs with Benedick."

Eden's posture shifted instantly, becoming more fluid, almost playful. A sly smile tugged at her lips as she moved, her steps lighter but no less purposeful while she recited more perfectly memorised lines.

Genevieve felt a surge of satisfaction. This was progress. Real, tangible progress. She stepped closer, adjusting Eden's stance slightly. "Like this," she said, her hands on Eden's shoulders. "Feel the strength in your core. Beatrice knows her worth. She stands tall, unapologetic."

As she guided Eden through the movements, Genevieve became acutely aware of their proximity. The warmth of Eden's skin beneath her hands, the subtle scent of her perfume. She pushed the thoughts aside quickly, focusing on the task at hand.

"Now," Genevieve said, stepping back slightly. "Let's hear the 'kill Claudio' scene again. Remember everything we've just worked on. The anger, the vulnerability, the physicality. Show me a Beatrice who's fighting against her own helplessness."

Eden took a deep breath, centring herself. When she spoke, her voice was rich, almost husky. “Ay me, you do shame me and the name of man if you would not cut down Claudio where he stands. I would that I were such."

Genevieve felt a shiver run down her spine. This was a new woman in front of her. Raw, passionate, complex. She watched as Eden continued, marvelling at the transformation. Gone was the nervous, hesitant actress from the readthrough. In her place stood her Beatrice – proud, fierce, and utterly captivating.

As Eden finished the scene, silence fell over the room again. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with an almost electric intensity.

Finally, Genevieve spoke, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "That," she said, "is Beatrice."

Eden's eyes widened, surprise and delight dancing across her features. "Really?" she breathed, as if she were scared to shatter the illusion.

Genevieve nodded, allowing a small smile to curve her lips. "Yes, really. That's the Beatrice I saw in your audition. The one I knew you could bring to life."

A triumphant grin broke across Eden's face. The joy radiating from her was almost palpable, and Genevieve felt an answering warmth bloom in her chest. A pride she had no right to feel so soon, she’d barely begun moulding the girl. She quickly tamped it down, reminding herself of the work they had ahead of them.

"Don't get too comfortable," she warned, though her tone lacked its usual bite. "This is just the beginning. We have a long way to go before you'll be ready for the stage."

Eden nodded eagerly, her enthusiasm undimmed. "Of course. I'm ready to work, to do whatever it takes to bring your vision to life."

Genevieve felt a traitorous flutter in her stomach at those words. "Good. Let's run through the scene one more time. This time, I want you to focus on those subtleties. Show me the layers beneath Beatrice's anger. You can’t be one-dimensional for even a moment. The whole thing will fall flat if you’re just a woman on a tirade."

As Eden began, Genevieve found herself drawn in once again, fascinated by the young actress's performance. There was a depth to her portrayal now, a nuance that had been missing the entire morning. Beatrice's fury was still there, burning bright, but now Genevieve could see the pain underlying it, and the frustration at a world that constrained her.

"Much better," she said finally. "You're starting to understand her complexity."

Eden beamed at the praise, her cheeks flushed with exertion and pride. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I . . . I couldn't have done it without your guidance."

"Yes, well, that's my job. To bring out the best in my actors." Genevieve knew she couldn’t really take credit for the raw talent Eden seemed to have in buckets, but she’d be damned if she fed the girl’s ego too soon. It was only day one, after all.

Genevieve glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to see how much time had passed. "We should wrap up for now. But I expect to see this level of commitment and understanding during all our future rehearsals. Is that clear?"

Eden nodded vigorously. "Absolutely. I won't let you down again; I promise."

As Eden gathered her things, Genevieve found her gaze lingering on the young actress. The way her hair fell in soft waves around her face, the graceful line of her neck as she bent to pick up her script. She shook her head, trying to clear it of those distracting thoughts.

"That will be all for today, Miss Rowley," she said, her voice perhaps a touch too brusque. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Eden paused at the door, turning back with a smile that made Genevieve's heart skip a beat. "Thank you again, Ms. Howard. For everything."

And then she was gone, leaving Genevieve alone in the suddenly too-quiet room.

The unusually flustered director sank into a nearby chair, her mind whirling. What had just happened? She'd come into this readthrough ready to be disappointed, to crush egos and demand excellence. Instead, she found herself . . . what? Impressed? Intrigued?

She recalled the moment when Eden had truly embodied Beatrice, the fire in her eyes, the passion in her voice. It had been . . . incredible. Genevieve had been unable to look away. And when their eyes had met after that breakthrough moment, she'd felt a jolt of . . . something. Something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

"No," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. "Absolutely not."

She was Genevieve Howard, for God's sake. Renowned director, uncompromising artist. She didn't get silly crushes on pretty, young actresses. It was unprofessional, not to mention completely out of character.

And yet . . .

She couldn't shake the memory of Eden's smile, the way her eyes had lit up when Genevieve praised her performance. The warmth of her skin under Genevieve's hands as she'd adjusted her posture. The subtle scent of her perfume, floral and intoxicating.

Genevieve groaned, burying her face in her hands. This was ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. Eden was her lead actress, nothing more. Genevieve needed to focus on the play, on bringing her masterpiece to life and earning the green light for her student program. Not on impossibly blue eyes and a smile that could outshine the stage lights.

But even as she tried to convince herself, Genevieve knew it was a losing battle. The seed had been planted, taking root in her gut despite her best efforts to smother it. She was attracted to Eden Rowley.

The sound of voices in the hallway jolted Genevieve from her reverie. She stood, smoothing her clothes and schooling her features into their usual stern expression. She had a play to direct, after all. She couldn't afford to be distracted by inappropriate feelings for her lead actress.

It was just a crush, she told herself. It would pass. It had to.