Merely Players by J. M. Gregson

football ground at Old Trafford. The Theatre of Dreams, the publicity boys had labelled it. Well, Adam Cassidy was here today to further his dreams.
    The man who stood behind his shoulder as he looked out at all this did not hurry him. Accommodation in this spectacular high-rise building had been expensive to acquire and he now paid plenty in council tax for an office suite with this impressive view. So let it do its work and impress his visitor. He hadn’t met Adam Cassidy before; two brief phone conversations had been the extent of their previous communication. The actor was a little older and a little shorter than he had expected, but that was usual when you met men who had acquired a degree of glamour. He waited until Cassidy turned away from the big window, then gestured towards the armchair and took the one opposite it for himself.
    Mark Gilbey wore an expensive lightweight suit and a silk tie. His features were tanned so deeply that he might have been from the Middle East. He had small, neat features, of which the most remarkable were his deep-set, dark-brown eyes, which gave the impression of continually seeing more than the actual scene in front of him. He wore a small gold earring, which was easily removable for those of his clients who preferred a more conservative appearance. His visitor had refused tea but accepted a dry sherry, in which Mark had joined him. He sipped from his glass and waited for his visitor to take the initiative; most show business people liked to feel that they were controlling things. He would keep his eye on Cassidy’s sherry during this exchange, replenishing it if necessary. It was always good to know from the outset if a client was a drinker.
    Adam sat back and appeared at ease. An actor could always simulate relaxation, even if he did not feel it. He said, ‘I must make it clear from the beginning that anything we say to each other this afternoon must be completely confidential.’
    Gilbey offered his most knowing smile, the one that said that already they had an understanding, that they appreciated each other and their respective needs. ‘That goes without saying. It is my normal practice. Anything disclosed to the media will normally be on my client’s initiative, not mine.’
    â€˜You should understand that I am under contract to another agent at the moment.’
    â€˜Most people who come to us currently have other agents. That is because we do not need to take on people who are not already successful.’ An easy, confident smile. Let the prospective customer know that you do not need to grovel for trade. Tell Cassidy that whilst you might welcome his custom, it will not be the end of the world for you if he doesn’t sign up.
    â€˜I would need to be convinced that you can offer me wider prospects, that you can secure the kind of work I envisage for myself in the next few years.’
    â€˜I look forward to convincing you, Mr Cassidy.’
    â€˜I want film work.’
    The usual story. Get yourself a television success and move on to Hollywood and world glory. It was understandable enough, considering the obscene sums still volunteered to stars by film moguls. And this man had possibilities. Others before him had moved on from television leads in adventure hokum to James Bond; if Roger Moore could do it, there was certainly hope for Adam Cassidy. The kind of popular success he was enjoying in television was surprisingly easy to sell to Hollywood, now that such series were sold around the world. Mark Gilbey noted down a few details of Cassidy’s career to date. He already had most of this on the profile his PA had prepared for him, but it was always interesting to hear how actors saw themselves.
    Gilbey pursed his lips, then delivered his prepared speech. ‘You’re seeking to move into a very competitive world, as you no doubt appreciate. But in your case I consider it is a realistic aspiration; you’ve done the spadework with