anything other than superstars, were increasingly palming off their smaller or older clients on him. Thanks to people like Greg Cucarachi, who was one of the palmers-off in chief, Mitch's list was currently thick with duds, small-timers, oldtimers, and also-rans, and he had heard that some of the other agents sneeringly referred to him as "the graveyard."
The graveyard! Ha! He'd show them. With one of his clients a star in the new Galaxia film!
"Who is it?" Mitch asked, his voice smiling.
"Darcy Prince," replied Arlington Shorthouse.
Mitch's mind instantly dissolved into a fog. He felt he was standing over a bath and watching the pictures that had formed of Belle and himself—on the red-carpeted entrance to the Kodak Theatre, the Oscar-night paparazzi going crazy—disappearing down the plughole.
"Darcy Prince," he repeated, with a calmness he did not feel.
Darcy Prince? Who the hell was that?
Mitch groped about in the mist in his mind, panicking that Arlington had rung the wrong agency, that someone else was going to get this big chance, and wondering about the chances of finding this Darcy Prince and taking him or her on anyway, all in the next few seconds.
Then, with a great rush of relief, he realised that he did, in fact, represent Darcy Prince. He remembered the name vaguely; it had been in the latest sheaf of hopeless cases dumped on him by Greg Cucarachi the other day. Mitch had filed the slim sheet of details away without even reading them, never expecting he would ever have to. Now, with the receiver containing Arlington tucked unsteadily under his flabby, stubbly chin, Mitch shot again in his chair over to his filing cabinet, trying to open it silently and fish out the details with trembling, sweating hands.
"Darcy Prince!" he said in musing tones, whilst frantically shoving his stubby hands into overstuffed folders that cut his fingers. Was it a man or a woman, he wondered.
"Yes. I was just in London, and I caught Darcy in a play there," Arlington remarked. "What was it called?" he mused.
"Er…" gasped Mitch, screwing up his eyes as he tried to remember what was currently going down in the British capital. Mamma Mia was all that came to mind. Was that a play, strictly speaking? And if it was, was Darcy Prince in it? He should know, of course, should have the information at his fingertips, being her agent.
" A Doll's House . That was it," Arlington said, his thin voice faintly warmed with self-congratulation. "She was impressive."
A Doll's House ? Was that some kind of Bratz musical, Mitch wondered. But at least he was now straight on one thing. She! She! Darcy was a woman. He had secured the crucial information on gender.
And now, miraculously, he had also found Darcy's details. He scanned them eagerly.
Name: Darcy Alethea Desdemona Prince
Nationality : English
Address: 43 Montague Mansions, Wilton Street, London SW1
Age: 24
Education: St. Paul's Girls' School, London; Girton College, Cambridge (BA Hons—first class—English); Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (RADA)
Mitch could see why Greg had dumped her on him. There was nothing remotely Hollywood about this woman. She had never even made a film. No doubt, whatever two-bit London agency represented her—it obviously wasn't a big one—had one of those deals with Associated in which they paid the American agency to handle their clients' L.A. interests.
These were known as "drawer deals," because the dark inside of a filing cabinet into which they were immediately shoved, never to be extracted, was usually all these British clients saw of the famous bright lights of Hollywood. And at Associated, most of these unfortunates were shoved in filing cabinets in Mitch's office.
Acting career: Ophelia in Hamlet , Cambridge Shakespeare Company, 2005; Cordelia in King Lear , CSC, 2006; Viola in Twelfth Night , RSC, 2007. Nora in A
The graveyard! Ha! He'd show them. With one of his clients a star in the new Galaxia film!
"Who is it?" Mitch asked, his voice smiling.
"Darcy Prince," replied Arlington Shorthouse.
Mitch's mind instantly dissolved into a fog. He felt he was standing over a bath and watching the pictures that had formed of Belle and himself—on the red-carpeted entrance to the Kodak Theatre, the Oscar-night paparazzi going crazy—disappearing down the plughole.
"Darcy Prince," he repeated, with a calmness he did not feel.
Darcy Prince? Who the hell was that?
Mitch groped about in the mist in his mind, panicking that Arlington had rung the wrong agency, that someone else was going to get this big chance, and wondering about the chances of finding this Darcy Prince and taking him or her on anyway, all in the next few seconds.
Then, with a great rush of relief, he realised that he did, in fact, represent Darcy Prince. He remembered the name vaguely; it had been in the latest sheaf of hopeless cases dumped on him by Greg Cucarachi the other day. Mitch had filed the slim sheet of details away without even reading them, never expecting he would ever have to. Now, with the receiver containing Arlington tucked unsteadily under his flabby, stubbly chin, Mitch shot again in his chair over to his filing cabinet, trying to open it silently and fish out the details with trembling, sweating hands.
"Darcy Prince!" he said in musing tones, whilst frantically shoving his stubby hands into overstuffed folders that cut his fingers. Was it a man or a woman, he wondered.
"Yes. I was just in London, and I caught Darcy in a play there," Arlington remarked. "What was it called?" he mused.
"Er…" gasped Mitch, screwing up his eyes as he tried to remember what was currently going down in the British capital. Mamma Mia was all that came to mind. Was that a play, strictly speaking? And if it was, was Darcy Prince in it? He should know, of course, should have the information at his fingertips, being her agent.
" A Doll's House . That was it," Arlington said, his thin voice faintly warmed with self-congratulation. "She was impressive."
A Doll's House ? Was that some kind of Bratz musical, Mitch wondered. But at least he was now straight on one thing. She! She! Darcy was a woman. He had secured the crucial information on gender.
And now, miraculously, he had also found Darcy's details. He scanned them eagerly.
Name: Darcy Alethea Desdemona Prince
Nationality : English
Address: 43 Montague Mansions, Wilton Street, London SW1
Age: 24
Education: St. Paul's Girls' School, London; Girton College, Cambridge (BA Hons—first class—English); Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (RADA)
Mitch could see why Greg had dumped her on him. There was nothing remotely Hollywood about this woman. She had never even made a film. No doubt, whatever two-bit London agency represented her—it obviously wasn't a big one—had one of those deals with Associated in which they paid the American agency to handle their clients' L.A. interests.
These were known as "drawer deals," because the dark inside of a filing cabinet into which they were immediately shoved, never to be extracted, was usually all these British clients saw of the famous bright lights of Hollywood. And at Associated, most of these unfortunates were shoved in filing cabinets in Mitch's office.
Acting career: Ophelia in Hamlet , Cambridge Shakespeare Company, 2005; Cordelia in King Lear , CSC, 2006; Viola in Twelfth Night , RSC, 2007. Nora in A
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