Sweet Surrender

by Mary Moody

  I was flattered. For an older woman – I was fifty-four when the producer from Nine approached me – there are very few opportunities in the cut-throat world of television. The ABC is an exception to some extent, with women such as Geraldine Doogue and Caroline Jones still gracing the screen, but women over fifty seldom play prominent roles in commercial TV these days – I suppose the stand-out is Kerri-Anne Kennerley, who has been on screen for so long that nobody cares about her age.

  The auditions were gruelling. I’m a journalist, not an actress, and was therefore unaccustomed to a process that can be soul-destroying for those who do not make it from one round to the next. Years before I had done an audition for Gardening Australia. Compared with this meat market, that earlier test was a doddle; a small crew (producer, cameraman and sound recordist) came to our house at Leura, and in ten minutes we shot a relaxed sample of me chatting away about various aspects of my much-loved garden. I got the job!

  The Channel 9 test was different. There would be other women involved and we were to voice our opinions on various topics, from the news of the day to issues affecting young mothers at home. I felt quite comfortable with this. The chance to express my opinions and attitudes about the problems facing modern society was an opportunity I certainly didn’t want to miss.

  I must admit that when I quit Gardening Australia I was relaxed about not being tied to a weekly television commitment, and not the slightest bit fazed by the notion that I would probably never work in television again. In fact I felt relieved to be out of the thick of it. Yet here I was just a few years later, preparing to try out for a show that involved a daily commitment that would mean that I would have to live in Sydney for most of the week – madness! What I hadn’t realised was that dozens of prospects were being tested out for the show on that particular day. When I arrived there were women in small groups chatting and comparing notes: I didn’t know any of them and felt rather out of place and overwhelmed. I was dressed very simply in a linen suit – not power dressing but not casual either – and I had spent quite a bit of time getting my hair and make-up right because I had been told our auditions would be taped so that our performances could be seen by network executives.

  Eventually it was my turn to face the camera alongside three other women to whom I had been introduced only minutes before. I was the oldest, by quite a margin, and everyone – not just me – seemed nervous and unsure of what was expected. We had been given a list of topics to think about – nothing very challenging – and the idea was that we were to bounce them around in a conversational manner, just as women would do when gathered around the watercooler or coffee-maker at the office. To be quite honest, I can’t remember who the other women in that audition were, or what topics we bandied about. I do remember that after a rather shaky start I relaxed and had some fun – I tried to be as natural as possible and even managed to slip in a couple of slightly saucy one-liners. The experience wasn’t as painful as I had feared.

  When I heard nothing back from the network within several weeks, I assumed that I had been eliminated from the search. I had learned that more than sixty women from all around the country had been called in to the first round of auditions and I expected my chances of getting to the next stage of the process were very slim.

  Then, out of the blue, I had a call-back from the producer. Could I come down for another round of screen tests? I was surprised but quite chuffed and wondered who else had been selected and what form the next audition would take. The producer told me the reaction around the network to my first tape was that I was knowledgeable and down to earth, yet wicked – an ingredient they wanted in the production.

  This time a decision had been made to allow a ‘getting to know you’ session before the taping. I was introduced to three prospective co-hosts: the gorgeous ABC and SBS television journalist Indira Naidoo (I was a huge fan); another ABC journalist who I wasn’t so familiar with, Shelley Horton; and tall, willowy, utterly beautiful Cleo Glyde, a former model who had become a magazine style editor. The four of us seemed to gel pretty quickly, chatting excitedly about the possibility of doing the program, and I was surprised to discover they had ‘googled’ me to discover my background. I hadn’t even heard of Google in those days, and felt a bit underprepared; I had been living out of the city for years, and was no longer up on all the latest trends and technology. Cleo also talked about having a ‘spray tan’ so she would look better on camera. I’d never heard of a spray tan, so again I felt slightly naïve and not as savvy as the others.

  It was obvious from the start that we had been cast to cover a range of requirements. Shelley was smart, funny and plump, a single woman in her late thirties without children. Indira was highly educated, intelligent and calm, also in her thirties, married but without children, and representing the ‘ethnic’ audience. Cleo was the glamour queen, clever and quick and doing it tough as a single mother. I was the token older woman, a mother and grandmother able to speak from life experience.

  This time the audition was in a large studio with a mock-up set, and the highly experienced Liz Hayes was our moderator, steering us from one topic to the next. We did the best we could under the circumstances. The idea was to keep the conversation bouncing along quickly; to agree to disagree, and not to talk over the top of each other. It was important that everyone get an opportunity to speak to every topic, but without us creating polite silences while we waited for the next person to take their turn. In other words, the intention was to create a relaxed but vibrant discussion between women that would provide a point of identification for female viewers at home.

  After the taping it was a waiting game. The edited ‘pilot’ program had to do the rounds of the network, being shown to program directors in every state, as well as to the upper echelon at PBL, the magazine arm of company. I was concerned it might fall flat because, from my limited experience in television, it lacked production quality. There had been little pre-production or ‘styling’, and to me it felt raw and a bit rough around the edges.

  Nevertheless, a month later, we got the call that the show was ‘on’ and would start production early the following year, going to air at the beginning of the ratings period. I was astounded, but also excited at the prospect. To celebrate we were to be invited to a boardroom lunch on the third floor of the Nine Network’s main building in Artarmon. That meant we had really made the big time – I chuckled mightily to myself. David and I had met for the first time in this very building, more than thirty years earlier. He was working as the associate producer of a family situation comedy series called The Godfathers and I had joined the publicity department after completing my training at the Weekly. My ultimate ambition was to join the Channel 9 newsroom as a reporter. Three months after I arrived, David asked me out, right there in the studio where we had just taped the talk show pilot. Just thinking of the path our lives had taken in the decades since that moment, it was not lost on me that I had come full circle.

  Next came the contract negotiations. Having worked for the ABC for nine years I had a pretty fair idea of what an average television presenter is paid, but this was different. Our show was to be one hour, live to air, five days a week, and presumably it would not be expensive to produce with its studio set and chat format. I knew that we could not demand a rate of pay like Kerri-Anne Kennerley’s because her show is heavily sponsored and she is the sole host. Nevertheless, I was determined not to undersell myself. I knew that the network would negotiate hard and that they would keep the four of us apart during these negotiations. David came with me to meet Channel 9’s director of daytime television, and we were both surprised at just how little they were prepared to pay. We managed to push the fee up a tad; the network also agreed to pay for my accommodation and weekly airfares from Bathurst, where we have a farm, to Sydney. So we shook hands on the deal. A contract was to be posted out the following week.

  I kept in regular communication with my co-hosts, but we steered clear of discussing the delicate topic of our
individual contracts. I secretly wondered, though, if they were being paid as little as me. I rationalised that if the show took off I could renegotiate a much better deal for the following year.

  The boardroom lunch date was set, and the atmosphere was one of high spirits and excitement. French champagne was opened and we were introduced to half a dozen top-level executives who would be involved on the periphery of the production. I can’t remember the menu, but I do recall that almost all of us – Indira being the definite exception – drank far too much wine, and were very loud and totally over the top. The heady combination of the situation we found ourselves in and our underlying nervous energy put us in a skittish mood. I wondered, with hindsight, if our behaviour at this lunch had any bearing on what ultimately happened. I do recall that when dessert was offered I feigned horror and asked the waiter if there was to be a cheese course. The nerve of me, flaunting my French influences. He scurried back to the kitchen and produced a platter of cheeses for us to share – everyone seemed to think it was hilarious, but of course it was very bad manners. I cringe when I think of it now.

  No contracts arrived. Week after week there were emails of apology and explanation and the starting date for pre-production was moved further back. First to March, then April and then May. It was a nightmare for all of us because our careers and lives were ‘on hold’ during the drawn-out process. Channel 9 had ‘leaked’ a press release giving details about the program and the names of the four panel members; this was picked up at the ABC, and Shelley Horton was given her marching orders. Cleo and Indira had both knocked back other job offers, while I had cancelled various walking tours that I had planned to lead that year. When the network moved the launch date back to May I asked if it would be OK if I went ahead with a trek to Nepal that had been planned for more than a year. Management readily agreed, as long as I was back in Sydney by early May. It meant changing the dates of the tour, and we lost half our starters. I was cranky but resigned to the fact that I had to fit in with Channel 9’s demands if I wanted to retain my position on the show.

  The day before I flew out there was yet another apologetic email with grave assurances that there would be a contract waiting for me to sign when I returned in two weeks. I was confident it would be all right in the end, and pleased to have a distraction in the meantime. I thought the trip would energise me and put me in great mental and physical shape for the daunting task ahead. I dreamed the show would be a runaway success, and fantasised in a bemused way about becoming a daytime TV star. Australia’s answer to Oprah or Barbara Walters. Fame and fortune were just around the corner.

  3

  The treks I lead in the Himalayas are botanical in focus, bringing Australians to regions where the flora is quite extraordinary. These mountains contain the greatest diversity of plants in the world. I have taken groups to lush valleys in northern India and also into Nepal to see wild musk roses, alpine meadows of primula and ranunculus, and forests of rhododendrons laden with great clusters of bloom. We walk through villages as we climb for sometimes seven or eight hours a day, to remote campsites where we enjoy the snow-covered peaks and the rushing rivers which punctuate the landscape. Trekking lifts me out of my comfort zone and challenges me, both mentally and physically. At times the climbing at altitude can be quite tough, and as a group we bond because we support each other in the struggle to reach camp every evening.

  The political situation in Nepal had been very unsettled for several months before we arrived, and Maoist guerrillas were reportedly all through the areas where we would be walking. Even in the capital there was a lot of unrest, with two small bombs going off in the shopping area several hundred metres from our hotel. As a result of the last-minute cancellations, it was a small group of six that headed out from Kathmandu towards the Annapurna mountains. We set off in glorious sunshine, tramping along goat tracks and chattering enthusiastically about the scenery and the people we met along the way.

  One of the aspects I most enjoy about these treks is the total escape from the modern world. While Kathmandu is a very civilised city with modern hotels and all the facilities – international television access, the internet and mobile phones – once you reach a certain altitude, all the conveniences of modern life disappear. It’s bliss. I am accustomed to reading the newspaper every day – and love a chance to read a foreign newspaper like the Himalayan Times and Kantipur National Daily – yet I also relish escaping from the news of the world altogether. It’s liberating not to hear a single radio broadcast or watch the nightly TV news for ten days straight. And being without email and phone access is just as exhilarating. Sometimes, in the back of my mind, I worry that some major world event – a war, an act of terrorism or a natural disaster – may be unfolding while we climb the mountains, totally oblivious. I also have moments when I worry about my family’s inability to contact me should there be a crisis, but again I rationalise this anxiety, knowing that there are enough caring adult family members to support each other should anything go wrong. I have passed the stage of feeling indispensable.

  This trip went off without a hitch, and we arrived back at the hotel in Kathmandu eight days later, high from our adventure. No matter how many times I’ve led such expeditions, I always get a happy rush of endorphins when the walk is over. It’s a combination of exercise, healthy food, fresh air and a huge sense of accomplishment. After celebrating with the rest of the group over a bottle of the local beer, I showered for the first time since we had set out for the mountains, scrubbing my scalp and soaking my aching feet in the tub. Dressed in clean clothes, I sauntered down to the lobby and logged on to the internet at one of the complimentary guest computers.

  There were dozens of emails in my inbox, but the first one I clicked on was from our hard-working Channel 9 producer.

  I spoke to David this morning and he suggested that you might get this email before you arrive home and whilst it would have been better to do this over the phone I wanted to fill you in on what’s happening with the chat show before you read it in a newspaper.

  Unfortunately the show has been put on hold indefinitely so will not be going ahead in May as promised.

  We are all terribly disappointed about it, but of course we also know the nature of this industry. I wanted to express how sorry I am that it has happened after such a long road and also wanted to say a huge thank you for being so patient and understanding. You especially have been very helpful in moving dates for your tours and trips to France and I thank you very much for that.

  I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news whilst you are still overseas but I hope to catch you on the phone if possible to talk further. I would also like to take the girls out to lunch for one last ‘hurrah’ next Tuesday, so if you are in Sydney let me know.

  Although I was upset that I had been kept dangling so long – not to mention the fact that I had reorganised my entire year’s schedule to fit in with Channel 9’s demands – I wasn’t as devastated as I might have been under the circumstances. When I spoke to David, he was anticipating that I would be shattered. I wasn’t. When the producer said it was ‘the nature of the business’ I knew exactly what she meant, and I didn’t take the cancellation personally, as a rejection of me, or as a sense of failure. In fact, I laughed to myself and went to the bar for a beer with my friends.

  When I returned to Australia in early May, I communicated briefly with one of the executives in change of the situation, asking for some form of financial compensation for the inconvenience and lost work opportunities of the past six months. I knew the others were doing the same. He responded by saying that the show hadn’t been axed, that it was ‘on hold’ and that he hoped it would be reactivated later that year. I knew this was a load of nonsense; if a show has been dropped before it even begins then from my perspective it’s dead in the water. So much for my fantasies about being a daytime TV star!

  After the debacle of the cancelled chat show, I put to rest any thoughts of doing more television.

  4
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br />   My forays into the world of TV, documentary-making and radio have always been a sideline to my primary career as a journalist and writer. Although I have relished the opportunity to spread my wings and explore these other possibilities, writing has won out in the end.

  Most of my work has been straightforward journalism, from my days as a young reporter to my twenty-five years as a health and gardening writer. However in the past few years I’ve mainly written stories from my own life. The path of self-revelation is not one I chose deliberately, or with any consideration of its inherent risks. I stumbled onto it naïvely when I first recounted my adventures as a lone woman in France for a travel memoir, Au Revoir. As my story developed and became more complex and difficult, so did the writing of the subsequent books, and the impact on my marriage was profound.

  I am certain there are very few husbands who would tolerate a wife writing honest accounts of her infidelities for anyone to read. Some days when I stop to think about it, I myself can barely believe that’s what I’ve done. I’m not only amazed by my own conduct, I’m amazed that David has weathered the storms of these last few years and that somehow our marriage has survived. It’s difficult enough living through the experience of a huge marital upheaval without having to re-live it in print, then re-live it again through the media.

  The burning question for many readers and interviewers is why. Why expose your dirty linen and share your pain with the rest of the world by documenting it all for publication? Why not, is my usual response. After all, it’s love, life and the whole damn thing. What happened to me and David is just part of the human condition, and many couples have been through similar rough times in their relationships.