Fanny was happy to pass on a professional tip, partly because she still hoped that Peter might find her attractive. She was an actress, but had been disabled by a childhood illness, and only took roles that allowed her to appear in her wheelchair. The rest of the time she worked at the gym, running the bar, strengthening the upper half of her body with weights and waiting for a man like Peter to ask her out. She had once thought that working here would make her more independent, but the male patrons arrived with inflated egos that pushed her own flimsy sense of courage back into her wheelchair.

Peter tried not to look too excited about the tip. The gym was full of actors who might overhear and get there first. ‘You mean it’s being shot in English?’ he asked, lowering his voice.

‘I suppose so. A lot of these people dub or subtitle according to the territory, don’t they?’

‘Was this guy up for one of the parts? Did he have a script?’

‘God, Peter, I don’t know. I’ve only ever seen him a couple of times before. I imagine they’ll give the script out to anyone who auditions.’ Fanny reached her hand along the counter, hoping he would absently take it. No such luck. She could tell he was already planning his audition piece. She wrote down the name of the production company for him, and Peter headed for the phone booth. At least the kiss of thanks he blew her seemed genuine enough.

Directory enquiries failed to find the name listed, and suggested that he wasn’t looking for a company but a specific building. Had he tried the Yellow Pages? He was surprised to find the address registered to a fruit and vegetable market. The woman who answered the number explained that they were indeed auditioning in rooms above the stores. She had an unplaceable European accent, admitted that the film was soon to start production, and agreed to check out his Spotlight photograph. If she was interested, she would bypass his agent and call him at home to discuss his c.v. before making an appointment.