By the time he leaned over her and pressed his lips on to hers, she had known what was going to happen next and had already considered her options. There were only two – to allow matters to progress as he clearly intended them to, or to object and leave. And then she thought about her dreams, and the part that was so tantalisingly close, and her unpaid rent and the horrifying idea of having to go back to Joan with her tail between her legs, and she realised there really was only the one option after all.

And so she had closed her eyes and let him kiss her. She had felt his large hands paw at her neck and her breasts, the buttons on her blouse giving way under the pressure of his fingers, and she had gulped down her fear. It was just sex. She had had sex before. She knew what to do. And she was prepared to go through with it if that was what it was going to take for him to give her the part. It wasn’t such a big sacrifice, she thought, as he rucked her skirt up around her waist and pulled at her tights so that they bunched first at her knees and then around her ankles.

She tried to appear to enjoy it – she was an actress, after all. She could not bring herself to speak, but she made noises that suggested desire, hoping that they might encourage him to a faster outcome. The little intake of breath that she uttered when he entered her was genuine enough, although not a sign of rapture as he appeared to assume. She tried to relax; she had read somewhere that it hurt less if you were relaxed, and she moved her hands up and down his back in a parody of pleasure. It was very wide, she noticed, and covered with wiry dark hair. She was curious about the hair. It was almost like a pelt. She had never seen anything quite like it before, she thought, as he thrust into her. If she thought about the hairs it was easier not to think about what was happening. As he pushed himself into her, she ran her fingers across them, noticing how they were thickest down his spine, petering out a little where his ribs curved round.

And then it was over.

He groaned and slid off her.

‘Thanks, darling,’ he’d said, as if she had been doing him a favour. She had almost said, ‘You’re welcome,’ as an automatic response.

She sat up, businesslike, pulled her tights from round her ankles and righted her skirt. The buttons on her blouse were trickier as her hands were shaking so violently, but somehow she managed. He stayed where he was, sprawled in a post-orgasmic state of bliss she imagined, although she didn’t look at him too carefully. She just wanted to leave, to get away.

But first, she had to make sure. ‘So, you’ll tell Mike that you want me for the part?’ she asked, making her voice as steady as she could. She was going to be bold. She owed that to herself, at least, but she hardly dared listen for the answer.