Ruby Parker: Hollywood Star. Rowan Coleman

Jim,” Art said.

      “It’s a little long,” the man called Jim said, and I held my breath, certain that Art would lose his temper at such an offensive comment. Art was a perfectionist; he never got anything wrong.

      But all Art did was nod, adding mildly, “I think I can safely trim about ten minutes off and also improve the audience’s understanding of the plot.”

      “And that’s why we pay you what we do, Art. And it seems that the audience will love it,” Jim said, gesturing at the piece of paper in his hand, “if they ever go and see it.”

      “But why wouldn’t they?” I asked, conscious a second or two later that as a thirteen-year-old and the least important person here, I probably shouldn’t be saying anything. The man in the pale blue suit called Jim twisted in his seat to look at me.

      “Miss Parker,” he said, offering me a plump hand. “Pleased to meet you, I don’t think you and I have been formally introduced. I’m Jim Honeycutt, head of Wide Open Universe.”

      “Oh,” I replied, awestruck. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. I shouldn’t have said anything…”

      “On the contrary, Miss Parker,” Mr Honeycutt said. “It’s a question that needs to be addressed even if I think that by now most of us know the answer…”

      “I don’t,” I said before I could stop myself.

      “Quite.” Jim Honeycutt looked very serious. “The critics hate it. Or should I say, they want to hate it. Nobody wanted Art to do anything different. They feel he has betrayed his art-house roots to make money…”

      “That’s not true,” Art said crossly. “All I wanted to do was make a quality entertainment picture, to show all those other bozos out there how to do it…”

      “I know, Art, I know,” Jim soothed him with a wave of his giant hands. “And a lot of people are angry about Harry Mclean. And, most significantly some people, namely one Mr Pat Rivers, is blaming this film for pushing his cash pot of a son into what he alleges is a nervous breakdown and ruining his career.”

      “Well, that’s just rubbish,” I said. “Sean is incredibly happy at the moment, not nervous or broken down at all.”

      “Might have to quote you on that, Ruby,” Lisa said, making a note on her clipboard.

      “But you can’t,” I replied. “I promised Sean I wouldn’t talk about him to anyone. He wants to be out of the spotlight.”

      “Well, we’ll see,” Jim said as if he hadn’t completely understood me. “We might need that young man and he did sign a contract with publicity obligations. And although the nation loves Imogene, she’s been at the top for a long time now. It could be the critics are Just waiting for a chance to knock her down.”

      “But that’s horrid,” I said in a small voice. “And it’s not true; it’s a good film and Imogene is the best thing in it.”

      “That might be so, Miss Parker,” Jim said. “But this business is like a fish pond full of sharks. If you want to survive in it, you’ve got to be a shark too.”

      Lisa Wells stood up and walked to the front of the small theatre. “There’s no need to panic,” she told everyone. “We all know that films can be a huge success without critical or press approval. Just look at last year’s biggest grossing movie, Giant Dinosaurs in Manhattan. No one liked it; everybody went to see it.”

      “And that was a dreadful film,” Art said under his breath.

      “What we need to do,” Michael said, “is get to our audience directly. Everyone needs to do as much TV and radio as possible. Jeremy, it’s late notice but I’ve got you on the Carl Vine show tonight. OK?”

      Jeremy nodded. “OK. And I can take Ruby on with me.”

      I looked from Mike to Jeremy and back again. “Pardon?”

      “It’s a talk show, Ruby,” Imogene explained, seeing my confusion. “It’s taped ‘as live’ and is getting very high ratings at the moment. Carl will interview you, make some Jokes at your expense, perhaps try to embarrass you a little. All you have to do is charm the studio audience and the people at home, and they will want to go and see our film. It’s simple.”