THOMPSON
An extract from
Casting director Calypso O’Kelly anticipates an encounter with her new rising star.
For the next few weeks she had difficulty functioning. She couldn’t
concentrate. She was uncharacteristically testy both at home and in the
office. She resisted her husband’s sexual overtures for the first time ever,
pleading tiredness as an excuse. She made frequent calls to Leo’s agent just
so that she could say as a casual afterthought: ‘Any word from Leo?’ The
response was always in the negative.
One morning her phone rang as she came through the lift doors on the fifth
floor of her office building. She glanced at the display before she picked
up, and her heart lurched. An unfamiliar number was registered. Could it be
Leo? ‘Hello?’ Her voice was breathy with anticipation as she moved down the
corridor.
‘Hello. Is that Ms O’Kelly?’
A woman’s voice. Shit. ‘Yes. This is Calypso O’Kelly.’ Juggling her business
case with her satchel, she tucked the phone between her jaw and collarbone
and opened the door to her office. She never got to find out who was on the
other end of the phone, because it fell to the floor as she entered
reception. There, sitting on the reception desk, smiling down at a
pink-cheeked, flustered-looking Iseult, was Leo Devlin.
The pair looked up at the sound of the phone hitting the floor. ‘Hello,
Calypso,’ said Leo. ‘How’s it going?’
She knew she had suddenly gone at least as pink as Iseult.
‘Oh. Hello, Leo,’ she said in a very strange voice. ‘How was Vietnam?’
‘Pretty damn spiffing.’
‘Good.’ She busied herself with ‘arriving into work’-type things, listening
while Leo joshed with Iseult. He was reading horoscopes from heat magazine,
embroidering them with such outlandish predictions that Iseult was in fits
of laughter. Calypso hung up her coat, picked up the desk diary and –
resenting Iseult’s merry chortles – scanned today’s page with unseeing eyes.
She kicked off her left shoe – No! Keep your heels on, you klutz! Keep your
heels on and your head high – and, finally, when she felt a little more in
control, she turned to him and said: ‘When did you get back?’
‘A couple of days ago.’
‘What? Why didn’t you phone?’
‘I had things to do. I was jet-lagged. I forgot. Various reasons.’
Calypso wanted to say: You promised, and then remembered that he hadn’t, so
instead she said: ‘We’re well into pre-production. You could have done me
the courtesy of getting in touch with me ASAP.’
‘I’m terribly sorry, Calypso. I had no idea you wanted me that desperately.’
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then picked up her phone and
switched it off. ‘Well. Would you like to come through to my office?’
‘Sure.’
As she led the way across reception, heart thumping, she heard Iseult say:
‘Can I bring you anything? Coffee? Tea?’
‘Nothing for me, thanks, Iseult. What about you, Leo?’
‘No stimulants necessary, thanks,’ he said. And the smile he sent Iseult as
he slid off the desk made her go pinker still.
Calypso held the door open for him to precede her into her office. ‘You’ll
field calls for me, Iseult, won’t you?’
‘Certainly.’ The secretary returned Leo’s smile, dimpling. ‘But you do
remember you’ve a meeting with Jethro? He wants to bring it forward to
eleven o’clock, if that’s OK?’
Leo glanced at his watch. ‘That’s only half an hour away. I’d better let you
get on with things, Ms O’Kelly.’ He aimed a light kiss at her cheek, then
moved towards the door.
‘Wait! I can let you have twenty minutes, Leo,’ said Calypso, trying to keep
the desperation out of her voice.
He shrugged. ‘Another time. It was nothing important.’
‘Oh. Well. I’ll see you out.’
‘No need. Bye-bye, Calypso. Farewell, fair Iseult. Incidentally – I meant to
say it to you – I love your T-shirt.’
‘Oh! Thank-you!’ Iseult pinkened again as the door shut behind him. Then she
turned to Calypso and sighed. ‘I think I’m in love,’ she said.
© 2005 Kate Thompson
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