domingo, 1 de abril de 2012

Me & Miss M by Jemma Forte

Prologue

In life, there are a handful of days when we experience key moments that either determine or fulfil our destiny, depending on what you believe in. I call these days 'destiny days'. These days have two things in common. One is that at the time they seem utterly ordinary and it's only ever with the luxury of hindsight that you realize that you've had one. The other is that you never, ever forget them.

To understand me, in even the smallest way, you need to know about one of my 'destiny days'.

It was the mid eighties, I was nine years old and on the surface it was a completely average Saturday for the Massi household. My brother, Daniel, had left for football practice and Mum and I were looking forward to watching the afternoon movie in peace. Outside, the light from the lamp-posts was bleeding into the grey, November gloom and it had started to drizzle. I thought with some satisfaction of my brother, who'd be shivering as he ran up and down a soggy pitch in the freezing cold. The smell of cooking wafted through from the kitchen.

'Film starts in a minute,' said Mum, as she sat down next to me on the sofa.

'What's it called again?' I asked, taking her elegant hand and placing it in my own.

'It's called It's a Wonderful Life. They usually show it at Christmas time and it's about a man called George Bailey who finds out what life would be like if he'd never been born.'

I digested this information solemnly.

Dad came into the room, sat down in his chair and put the glasses that hung around his next on his nose so that he could do the crossword. At the time, he was still head chef at the local Italian restaurant that nowadays he owns and manages, so having him home at the weekend was a rare treat.

The overture began and the sound of sweeping strings filled the room. I swung my legs up on to the leather pouffe so that I could gaze down lovingly at my white jazz shoes, pinstripe jeans and maroon leg warmers. I sighed contentedly. Then I got my first glimpse of James Stewart as George Bailey, and I didn't think about anything else until the film was finished.

Years before, when I'd first watched Gene Kelly in On The Town managing the incredible sartorial feat of making a sailor suit look cool, my love affair with stars of the silver screen had begun, but until now a love affair was all it had ever been. However, this film affected me so profoundly that my passion turned into more than just a crush and became something far more serious. Ambition.

As it drew to a close, I wept.

George Bailey's redemption was complete and I had never been so moved by antying in my entire life. Tears spilled out of my big brown eyes and down my cheeks.

'That was such a happy film, but it made me feel so sad,' I sniffed.
'I know, sweetheart, I know,' soothed Mum, hugging me tight. 'I'm so glad you liked it.'

And she was. But she was also blissfully unaware of the cogs that were turning in my young brain. I would be an actress, and one day I would move people as much as Jimmy Stewart had just moved me.

Seconds later I declared, 'Mum, I need to go to stage school.'

Mum ignored me and got up to put the kettle on. But the maelstrom of thoughts that were swirling around in my head didn't abate and one hour later over supper I was still stuck on the same subject.

'But why won't you at least consider it? I want to go to stage school – pleeeease?'

Mum rolled her eyes. 'Francesca, we are not sending you somewhere where you will become horribly precocious and then out of work and miserable for the rest of your life. How many times do I have to tell you? Nothing in the world of acting is guaranteed and, for the last time, we can't afford it.'

'But I really want to be an actress,' I whined.

Dad sighed. 'Fran, stop this nonsense, please. You're not going to stage school, so you may as well forget about it.'

'But you're being so unfair,' I wailed. 'I neeeeeed to go to stage school. Everybody said I was brilliant in the school play, didn't they?'

At this point Daniel, who was home from football, felt compelled to speak up.

'Oh, shut up, will you? You were crap. You were completely over the top and Mum and Dad are just too chicken to tell you.'

'Now that's enough, Daniel,' said Mum sternly, putting down her fork.

I glared at my mother meaningfully, waiting for her to deny what Daniel had just said, but seemingly she had nothing to add. I was furious.

'Yeah, shut up, Daniel. Just cos Michelle dumped you,' I lashed out.

I'd hit a nerve and Daniel gave me what could only be described as a death stare, grabbed his plate and headed upstairs as fast as his lanky legs would carry him.

Dad looked like his patience was wearing thin but I decided to chance one last try. 'Dad, you've got to understand…I want to be famous.'

'But why, Francesca?' asked Dad frustratedly, looking totally bewildered.

Why? Why did he think? Because it would be the best thing in the whole wide world. I tried to stay patient with my dense father. There was nothing for it. I'd have to spell it out.

'I want to be famous because it will make me happy.'

Mum shook her head. Her little girl, who wasn't so little these days, had a lot to learn. Sadly, it looked like she'd have to find it all out for herself.

'Fran, how can you possibly know what it is you want to do now?' said Dad wearily. 'I mean, only the other day you were telling me that you wanted to be a writer for Cosmopolitan.'

Disappointment coursed through my young veins. 'Well, I don't anymore. I want to be an actress,' I shouted.

'Now that really is it, young lady,' snapped my mother. 'I will not put up with this foul behaviour or this ludicrous idea that fame makes anybody happy.'

The rest of the evening was spent sulking in my bedroom.

I scrabbled through my collection of cassettes, took one from its box and placed it in my tape recorder. As the machine clunked into action, I reached over to my bedside table for my precious diary and, to the strains of the soundtrack from The Kids from Fame, I scribbled defiantly. Like many nine-year-olds, I was prone to exaggeration.

I hate my parents. Mum and Dad are sooooo mean and they don't know anything. Being a famous actress would be the best thing in the whole wide world. I just know it.

Years later I have come to accept that may parents may have had a point.