Saffron

He was walking towards me, quickly, purposefully with a mean look in his eyes, from one hand hung a belt. His other had clutched into a fist. He advances quickly and caught my neck with his free hand, pushing me against the wall, slamming me backwards, hard. I inhaled sharply and he grasped my neck, throwing me to the floor, I looked up at him, my eyes for begging for mercy and-

“No, no, no Saffy, for God's sake, your supposed to be terrified, and there you are staring up at him bold as brass!”

Argh. I got up and dusted off my knees (which were starting to bruise) Bloody hell, that was the eighth time that we'd try to do that scene and it was really starting to grate on me. How hard can it be? Alex advances, grabs me, throws me to the floor, hit's me with his belt, kicks me then turns away, lights a cigarette and then leaves. But apparently I don't look scared enough.

Well.

That might be because I'm not actually really very scared. In fact I'm not scared at all. Which might be because, well, I'm in love. No, not love, I'm in Lust. And not with Alex- the actor. No, that would be far to simple. It's The Director that I want.
Oh god The Director.

It's pretty difficult to explain really, it's almost impossible to put into words how incredibly sexy The Director is. The thing is, it's not even really his looks (6”2, longish dark hair, green eyes, strong jaw line, totally ripped body) it's the charisma, the attitude. He walks around with this air of total confidence. Some how his talent for directing the stage translates into real life and he manages to direct everything around him. So cool and concise, so elusive, so much more mature than me. Well actually the maturity thing is kind of understandably seeing as I'm just nineteen and he must be in his mid thirties, but still. I'll never forget walking into the audition and seeing him sitting in the audience. Every word of my Lady Macbeth monologue was gone from my head. I stood with my weight on one leg, biting my nails and giggling when he asked me questions. I remember fiddling with the hem of my white broadarie anglies smock dress and looking down at my feet (gold high heels, open toes, pink stripy socks) and thinking, “There is no way that I'm going to get this part.” And yet somehow I did. Apparently he could “see through the nerves” and I “had the right look for the part.” I'm not quite sure what “The right look” is but I guess they were looking for someone of average height,long honey colored hair because thats what they got. I wouldn't have hired me on the basis of a correct look, but I'm bloody glad someone did- waitressing was barely paying my bills and I was living in fear of being evicted from my super cheap flat. So now I was in this play, inspired by “The Crucible” exploring the sexual relationship between John Proctor and Abigale.

Having said that I revel in the bohemian nature of my existence, washing my clothes in my sink, eating at random meal times and sometimes just wandering the streets of London, knowing where I was but not where I was going.
This structure-less existence was so appealing because of what I'd left behind. Rigid structure, cold linoleum and bells that rang at the same, frequent times every day. Rattling window panes, water stained with rust, grey uniforms- in fact the color grey in general. It might sound like I went to a penitentiary academy and there were good times, giggles, endless cups of tea and long lazy afternoons when we escaped to the surrounding country sides but in general school was just not for me- I found no inspiration in jumping through academic hoops to pass exams, living according to rules and structure just made me unhappy and rebellious. The girls didn't excite me, I couldn't be passionate about show-jumping or thoroughbred race horses. I didn't care about who'd slept with who's boyfriend and the bottom line was that I was happier in my own dreamy company. I would think about all the things that I was going to do one day, from traveling the world to running away with the school gardener, but all I really wanted to do was to act. My room at school was filled, practically from wall to ceiling, with plays. From Checkov to Moliere, Sophocles to Kane, it was like suddenly I didn't just have to be Saffron Lark, that weird dappy girl from the upper sixth. I could be Anya or Mariane or Antigone or Phaedra. And acutally, for the record I'm not particularly weird or dappy. I just lost interest in my surrondings.

Anyway, that was how I ended up standing in this london studio, drenched in artificial light in a black box, trying over and over again to look scared as Alex advanced on me holding his belt.

“Can we try it again, just one more time” I pleaded.

“Fine! Just try and look a bit scared this time!”

I looked up at the long suffering, very sweet and very gay Alex. He was holding his belt so that it trailed along the floor. “Can I do something?” I asked. Alex nodded and handed me the belt, I doubled it over and handed it back. “Now you'll have more control over it.” I smiled.

The Director was looking at me quizzically. “Might start asking questions about your sex life Saff! Bit of a dominatrix are we?” I laughed. He couldn't be further from the truth..

Alex approached again, grabbed me and slammed me and this time I yelped like an injured animal. When he threw me to the floor I didn't meet his eyes but kept looking down, bowing my head and breathing heavily. “Please.. Please don't hurt me”

“Cut!” Cried the director, he crossed onto the stage and helped me up. He put his arm around me and squeezed me. “Better, Saff. Not perfect but better. Right. I reckon that's enough today. I'll see you both tomorrow.”

I smiled. Praise from The Director wasn't usually too forthcoming, so “better” was acutally bloody good. I started to gather my stuff, putting my script into my giant hand bag and buttoning up my cardi. I was just looking for my hat when I heard The Director's voice behind me, “Saff?”

I turned around to look at him, tucking my hair behind my ears and chewing on my bottom lip. “Yeah?” Oh bloody hell he's going to fire me because I'm a shit actress and I don't belong here and I'm going to have to go back to my town and get married to a milkman and have children who will eventually hate me.

He looked at my terrified expression, “your not in trouble Saffy, I just wanted to chat. You look like your about to get a telling off!”

I smiled at him, biting my nails now. He pushed my hand away from my mouth. “Don't do that.”

I blushed. “Sorry. Old habit.”

“break it.”

“You can't talk about bad habits! Your a smoker!”

“That's not a habit it's an addiction. Anyway it goes with the territory darling.”

I laughed, looking into his eyes. I like looking into his eyes. It's so teenage and stupid but they really are the kind of eyes that you just love looking into, they're kind of hypnotic. “Come with me” he said. I followed him as he walked off stage left and into one of the back stage areas, a messy storages room full of books and make up and hand props, including all of the hand props for the performance. He sat on a wooden box, took out a ciggerate and lit it.

“You can't do that! The smoking ban!”

He looked at my pityingly. “Equity got a licence for on stage smoking.”

“You're not acting.”

“Well I tell you what, I won't tell the smoking police if you don't.” He offered me the packet, I took one.

“Didn't think you smoked.”

“Goes with the territory. Dahling.” I quip, mocking his theatrical nature.

“Cheeky.”

“Would you like me stop being cheeky?” I retort, sitting down on a desk that orginated from The importance of being Ernest.

“I'd like you to stop quoting “Closer” during conversations.”

“your the only person who's ever picked up on that.” I smile. Ok, I'm pathetic but the easiest way to earn my good opinion is a love for Patrick Marber.

“Thats because you were a tortured artist locked up at that.. school” He spat the word school as if it were some kind of disease. “I think of you like Rapunzel, locked up in that place.

He thinks about me? I smiled broadly, playing with a strand of my long hair.

“Anyway Saff, what are we going to do about that scene?”

The nerves flood back creating a dull ache in the bottom of my stomach. “Oh I know, I'm terrible I just find it so hard to be afraid of Alex, and thats ridiculous because I'm meant to be an actress and maybe I'm just a bit rubbish and I'm really sorry-”

“Saff?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.” He stood up and took my hand. “Look darling, you're a bloody good actress and you do the rest of the play bloody well, you've just got to get your motivation. Think about it.”

“Ok.. Only I'm not sure what my motivation is.”

“Well, let's take the character. Abigail is a pretty young thing, forced into this marriage with Proctor, she only ever really wanted to sleep with him- she's a brat and she's getting her comuppance.”

“Thats so unfair, Abigail wanted to explore her sexual freedom, theres nothing wrong with that. Men did at that time. It's such a double standard.”

“You sound like a feminist.”

“I suppose I am one really.”

“Shame... I almost took a liking to you.” I hit him with my script, he retorted, hitting me back with the script, I hit his shoulder, he hit my arm, I hit his leg and then he slapped my arse with his copy of the script. Harder than before. Electrical signals flew through my body, exiting me, alerting me. He stepped back from me. “Sorry Saffron.”

I giggled. “It's fine. I guess we've got to disagree about Abigale but anyway, I need to learn some fear of Proctor.” I saw Alex's strap lying across a gold-painted throne, next to a fake tree. I picked it up and folded it over like I'd showed Alex earlier.

“How did you know how to do that, to make a proper strap?”

I blushed furiously. “Just.. Just common sense I guess.”

He looked at me quizzically. Then, tentatively he sad, “Would you be amicable to an.. experiment?”

“What kind of experiment?” I ask, intrigued.

“You know how a method actor workes?”

“Obviously”

“And if you were a method actress, you would....”

“Live as my character.”

“Which would involve...?”

“Getting.. beaten. With that belt.”

Silence rang throughout the air. Tension filled the negative space between us. “Not if you didn't want to.” He said, after what felt like an age.

“No. I do want to.”

there was another long pause. “Just for the purpose of the scene, of course.”

“of course.”

“I don't understand how people can get kicks from that kind of thing.”

“Oh god.. No, no me neither.”

Another silence, suffocating this time. There seemed to be something, between us. He couldn't possibly have the same.. desire as me, could he? But no-one had the same desires as me! I was a freak, a strange malfunction.
Only.. What if he did feel the same? But could I risk brining it up? We work together.. I could totally wreck my career. Or I could get to live out my wildest fantasy with the most attractive man that I've ever met.
“Um... Well.. Only, the idea of it... Well, it doens't totally... repulse me.”

He stepped towards me, brushed my hair out of my eyes. “Me neither,” He whispered.

“Only.. I always thought that I was the only one.. that I was weird, not to mention a terrible feminist.”

He pressed a very light kiss on my lips, stroking my hair and running his hand along my cheek bone. “I don't know how I can want to hurt you.”

I wrapped my arms around him and he pulled me close to his chest. I realised that I also almost on the brink of tears, I looked up at him. “So. Do you want to.. try it?”

He smiled down at me and nodded. “I've done it before. But never with someone like you.”

“Do you want to do it.. now?”

He shook his head. “Not now. We're tired and I can't have you sore for rehersals tomorrow. Friday, you'll have all weekend to recover! Drink?”

I smiled and half an hour later we're sitting in a bar near the theater raising a glass.

“To being freaks. Together.”