‘Unfortunate? Careless I think.’
I narrowed my eyes at him for a second. ‘Oscar Wilde?’
‘I have been to the theatre occasionally. Despite what you may think, I’m not a complete corporate philistine.’
‘I didn’t say you were.’ Although come to think of it, I might have done. The phrase nagged at me.
‘We’re straying. Whether it was the first time or not, it demonstrated your complete lack of respect or understanding for a computer.’
Maybe now wasn’t the time to volunteer the fact that I often used the CD drawer to put my coffee on when I was working on a complicated hair piece. If I spilt coffee on any of the expensive human hair we used Jeanie would kill me.
Suddenly he stood up and moved from behind the desk. ‘Tell me about your typical day.’ Marcus’s sudden change of tack threw me for a second until I realised he wasn’t asking me about my shower routine in the morning but about my working day.
‘We have shifts. We don’t need to be at the theatre until a few hours before curtain up. But then there are rehearsals, matinees and evening performances, so our times vary. No one’s a clock-watcher.’
We all lived and breathed the job. Most of us probably would have done it for free.
‘Tell me, what did you do yesterday?’
‘I spent the first half hour cleaning hairbrushes, rinsing out sponges and sharpening pencils.’ Nothing that a computer could help with and the look I levelled at him reiterated my thought. A slight smile curved on his lips.
I pulled a face as I remembered that yesterday had been a bit of a fiasco. ‘I had to nip out to grab some light pancake because we’d completely run out. Then—’
‘Does that happen often?’ His face was grave as he asked the question.
I lifted my shoulders. ‘Very, very occasionally,’ I lied. ‘Only because we don’t tend to use that one very often. After that we had a big delivery from the wholesalers, which I had to unpack with Vince.’ Which we’d forgotten was arriving and had chucked a spanner in the works as the boxes took up most of our working space until we’d got everything put away.
‘What sort of delivery?’
‘Hair stuff. You know Kirby grips, hair nets, hairspray, mousse. We get through buckets of the stuff.’
‘And how do you order all that?’
‘The wholesale people are quite good at giving us a call every so often and we just place an order. What?’
He didn’t exactly pull a face but I could see precisely what was going on in his head.
‘You can never have too many hair pins,’ I retorted.
‘It just doesn’t sound very,’ he clicked his pen off and on again, ‘organised.’
If I’d been a cat, my back would have been arched and I’d have hissed at him.
‘Are you trying to say we’re not very professional?’ I could feel my mouth creasing into mulish lines. What was it about this man that made me revert to being so juvenile?
‘No, not at all.’ Exasperation was written across his face. ‘But I can already see ways in which I could help you. The computer is not your enemy but it’s only your friend if it does what you need it to do. Using it could help enormously. Help you create orders of things you need and stop you running out of them. For example, remind you when you’re low on pancake … what is that by the way?’ He gave a self-deprecating smile, which made the green eyes twinkle. ‘I’m assuming you’re not talking the maple syrup variety.’
I bristled for a second and then realised he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. Maybe it was time I cut the guy a little slack.
‘Base. Make-up base. Not pancake anymore but we still call it that. I think some of our prima donnas would get very irate if you tried to smear their faces with anything that went with maple syrup.’
‘I thought as much.’
OK. Brownie points to him. I could see he was trying to help but really, we were fine as we were.
‘We’re actually quite good at that,’ I started, ‘although I guess it could be helpful to keep some sort of list of what we have.’
‘Ever used a spreadsheet?’ he asked with a grin.
‘Now you’re just trying to blind me with science. I hate the damn things.’
I stared at the very posh leather-bound notebook as he quickly wrote something with a silver Cross pen.
It reminded me of my mother. She always used Cross pens and Smythson notebooks. She would approve of Marcus.
‘You’re looking pissed off again,’ he commented.
‘Sorry, I was thinking about my mother, it does that to me.’
He looked startled. ‘Right. OK. I’ve got a few ideas about some software and asset management programmes to help you manage your inventory that would be easy to implement and would, I promise you, be of practical help. Once they’re installed and you know how to use them, you won’t believe how you ever managed without them.’ He gave me a wry grin. ‘We can explore some off-the-peg solutions which will be straightforward to install.’ His face sobered. ‘The hard bit will be down to you and you’re going to need to commit to it. The final success will be totally reliant on you. There’ll be a lot of set up work, inputting data and information. Stock-taking.’
I sat up straighter and shook my head.
‘I haven’t got time. And like I said, we’re very good at managing our supplies.’ And the thought of it all being down to me scared the pants off me. I didn’t want the job. ‘This is a very busy time of year for us. The Nutcracker starts in three weeks, we’re full on. I just won’t have time.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘Are you going to tell Alison Kreufeld that?’
My day didn’t get any better after I’d begrudgingly agreed to another information sharing session the following week with Marcus. When I returned to the make-up department Vince barely spoke to me and when Pietro rocked up for his call, he wasn’t himself at all.
‘Is everything alright?’ I asked. Stupid question because anyone within two feet could feel the waves of anger radiating from him.
He threw himself into the cream leather seat in front of the well-lit mirrors, a scowl creasing deep lines across his forehead. Leonie hurried into make-up after him, still trying to lace up the ornate brocade jacket he wore. She threw me an anxious look as with ill-grace he submitted to her, tying the laces and adjusting the elaborate trimming at his neck and cuffs. She worked with jerky movements, tight-lipped and frozen jawed. Pietro stared stonily at himself in the mirror.
Oh God, I had to get him on stage on time tonight.
I felt slightly sick as I dabbed my sponge in the pan stick. It was like having to go head to head with a dragon who might roar at any moment and singe my eyebrows into oblivion. If that was all he did, I’d count myself lucky. An hour to curtain call and he was still a long way from the zone. No amount of scales in the lifts would help if he didn’t start making that mental shift into character. Actors, singers and dancers all prepare themselves before they go on stage. They use a variety of methods to put themselves in the zone. For some it’s very casual and only a five-minute job. For others, from the minute they enter the theatre, they start