Art Ache by Lucy Arthurs

obvious that he thinks you’re a cretin if there’s no possibility that you could ever employ him, or conceal the fact that he thinks you’re a cretin if you’re in any position of power, perceived or otherwise. Unfortunately, I fit into the former category.
    BOOFHEAD
    This is a new work from a new playwright—a virgin playwright, if you will.
    Spare me the oblique, sexual references. But the cast seems to like it. Polite chuckling at their self-proclaimed, genius director while low self-esteem and self-loathing leaches out my every pore.
    BOOFHEAD
    So we need to make sure we’re always one step ahead of the play.
    Prong number two.
    BOOFHEAD
    We have to be running in front of the play, turning around and blowing raspberries back at it. So to speak. We need to lead the way. We can’t rely on the work to carry us. Or the writer.
    Thanks for the vote of confidence.
    BOOFHEAD
    No offence, but that’s how it is with emerging playwrights.
    ME
    None taken.
    Keep it fresh and friendly.
    BOOFHEAD
    The design presentation.
    He has completely dismissed me. Then Jackson appears. A painfully thin, boyish man also wearing Stovepipe jeans, a “cool” cowboy shirt, Dunlop volleys, and Coke bottle glasses.
    JACKSON
    Shaazam! Yeah. Um . . . whoa . . .
    Apparently, it’s cool to lose command of the English language.
    JACKSON
    Here it is!
    And he unveils the model box of the design. A miniature version of what the set will look like in the theatre, complete with little figurines of the actors and tiny, little props. It is gorgeous. This guy designs children’s toys or fabric or something in his spare time and his attention to detail is a sight to behold. He has come up with a fully modular design that captures the essence of the play and the characters beautifully. Maybe a decommissioning of the English language is forgivable for some people.
    ME
    Jackson, that’s beautiful.
    JACKSON
    I’ve really worked the aesthetic.
    ME
    Absolutely.
    BOOFHEAD
    It’s cool, yeah. Totally informs the work. Okay, the piece.
    Now that the formalities are out of the way, we’re onto our first read-through of the play. For the first time, I am experiencing first hand that this can indeed be a truly harrowing experience for a first-time playwright.
    BOOFHEAD
    Okay, people. Let’s give the work its space and listen to what it has to say to us.
    You’re a wanker! That’s what it’s saying to you, but I don’t think you’ll ever hear it. I want to scream at him. I have that urge a lot lately. I want to scream in his face. I know who you really are. You abandoned me! Love don’t live here anymore. Why is a Rose Royce, later covered by Kate Ceberano, song floating through my head? Concentrate. Concentrate.
    MR. GORGEOUS
    Persephone?
    That’s my name. Someone’s saying it. Turn down Rose Royce and engage.
    MR. GORGEOUS
    I wonder if I could ask a question of the playwright before we start the reading.
    It’s Mr. Gorgeous! He’s speaking. To me. Don’t blush, Persephone. Don’t blush. Just let him ask his question and maintain a professional façade, no matter how handsome he looks.
    BOOFHEAD
    Sure.
    MR. GORGEOUS
    What was your main motivation for writing this play?
    BOOFHEAD
    I think it’s a good question to consider before we embark on the first read. Persephone?
    Yes, it is my name and they’re looking at me. They want me to answer his question, but I’m distracted by just how gorgeous Mr. Gorgeous is. I take a juvenile delight in realising that he is way more attractive than Boofhead.
    BOOFHEAD
    Persephone? What was your motivation for writing this piece?
    Why is he asking me this question when he already knows the answer? Why isn’t he giving it the brush off like so many other questions he brushes off? Namely mine.
    ME
    Sorry?
    BOOFHEAD
    Your reason? For writing the play?
    ME
    Oh, of course. Yes, um . . . I wrote this play because . . .
    Get your thoughts together, girl. Get that Ceberano song out of your head.
    Ohh, why you look so