by Bunkie King
‘I got my truck licence,’ he shouts to me proudly, as I come out onto the first-floor balcony.
Some time later, while still in his truck driver’s uniform, Jack visits the local cop shop and reclaims the hatbox — but no hash oil, sadly.
***
When we first discussed the possibility of making a three-way relationship work, Jack stressed the need for openness, goodwill and truthful communication. But Le and I learned very early in the relationship that if Jack was late home, or not where he was supposed to be, we weren’t to telephone around to try and find him. Jack tells us that it is extremely embarrassing to have us chasing him up. He is often late and we never ask for — nor are given — a reason. This confuses me because I am caught between concern for his welfare and anger when he hasn’t returned by the time he is supposed to. It also presents me with feelings of guilt as I think I am being too possessive and paranoid.
Doubt lingers about Jack’s commitment to the relationship and I think, If he has two women and is playing around as well, then why can’t I play around too? After all, this is the ’70s and ‘free love’ is being discussed constantly in the media. But whenever a guy shows interest in me, Jack hits back with something negative.
‘Well you know, guys who are interested in you are trying to get at me.’
I believe he is right, that men are only interested in sleeping with me because they are competing with the big, sexy TV star. On an episode of Spyforce there was an old wooden sailing boat, the Clara Borg, crewed by some Swedish sailors. One of them asked me if I wanted to sail around the world with them.
‘Well, they’re sailors, Bunkie, let’s get real here,’ said Jack, when I told him. I took that to mean they had a girl in every port so I was not actually that special.
In 1972 I become pregnant for the first time. I am so fertile that whenever I slip up taking the pill I get pregnant immediately.
I am conflicted. If I was to have the baby, how would that impact on Le? Without even discussing it with her, I take responsibility for making the decision that I think I should make, for the sake of harmony within the threesome. I can’t just have a life, like couples in a normal monogamous relationship; there are all these complications about managing the feelings of this other person. My sister.
It is only a year since abortion law was liberalised in New South Wales, but it has become fairly acceptable among women of my generation. I’m not emotionally disturbed by this choice nor do I experience any moral dilemma regarding the destiny of the developing embryo. I believe that it is not the right time for me to have a baby. It’s the first of three terminations I have over 15 years.
I don’t discuss the termination with Le. I keep wondering why it is that we never discuss anything meaningful. I believe it comes down to the fact that she has never really been interested in me as a person and she doesn’t actually want me around. Plus, given the rocky start to our threesome and my inferior position as the younger sister, I feel guilty about being there. I don’t want to bother Le with my insignificant existence.
Desperate to be a part of some sort of family unit, I accept the status quo, even if that means living on the fringes and feeling constantly insecure. As a child I learnt to make myself invisible, to not impose on others for attention, so it is natural for me to continue doing this as a young woman. As a result, I rarely question or confront her about anything.
In late 1972, Jack is away filming an episode of the TV series Boney. James Laurenson plays the title character, a half-Aboriginal detective; Kate Fitzpatrick is his policewoman offsider. Le suggests that we pay Jack a surprise visit on location in Orange, a few hours west of Sydney. As neither of us has a licence, Le convinces a friend to drive us there in his Kombi. The following night, at about 1 a.m., we leave Sydney arriving in Orange just on sunrise. There is nobody on the hotel desk at that early hour so we check the registration book on the counter, go upstairs and knock on Jack’s door. No answer.
We return to sit in the foyer and wait. When James Laurenson appears we tell him that Jack isn’t in his room and, because we assume that James knows where Jack is, ask him to let him know we are here. When he eventually comes downstairs we have a very tense breakfast and then head out to the location. As the day wears on the heat becomes oppressive, as does the atmosphere. It’s very awkward; the crew are aware of the situation and I think Jack is angry at the embarrassment we have caused him. Between scenes the three of us convene on the side of a dirt road surrounded by empty paddocks and engage in a very emotional, turbulent ‘discussion’. We are all crying; recriminations are flying.
Jack excuses his behaviour by telling us that he doesn’t feel secure and loved within our relationship.
‘There’s not enough commitment in the relationship,’ he tells us.
‘I’ve shown nothing but commitment,’ Le replies. ‘It must be Bunkie.’
I say nothing. Unable to defend myself verbally or untangle this web of allegation, their two-against-one strategy works to make me feel that I am the one hurting Jack. I am the one not fully behind the relationship. I am the one looking elsewhere. This rings a note of truth, as deep inside I am unhappy and looking for more. Dissatisfied with being treated as inferior to Le, I want so badly to be loved wholeheartedly. But I am unable to express my disappointment and unhappiness, or the anger I feel. I am too afraid to say what I really think: that Jack has betrayed our contract.
Our three-way relationship is supposed to be all about love. Jack said our love was honourable and it would be a one-on-one situation — except there are two of us. I understand that he loves us but why is he being intimate with other people outside our relationship? I still equate sex with love. If you love someone then you share your body with them, but if he is sharing his body with other women, what do his declarations of love for us mean?
It’s difficult for me to express what I’m feeling or what I really want. In emotionally volatile situations I can’t find the words to express the thoughts and feelings swirling inside of me. In our family, we never heard our parents argue. There was a frosty chill whenever they had issues. Upper-middle-class English people rarely argued, especially in front of the children. I never learned that it was acceptable to disagree or have a different view — let alone express my real feelings — especially when it comes to interpersonal conflict. I have no idea that I have the right to have my needs respected.
I am too afraid to say what I am thinking in case it leaves me out in the cold, alone and rejected. I don’t feel entitled to say, This really sucks. Instead, I sacrifice part of myself to become the scapegoat for the relationship not working. I say nothing as I look down at the dry, cracked ground beneath my feet.
That night after filming, during dinner at an old country pub, Jack orders a bottle of champagne. I’m not quite sure what it is we’re supposed to be celebrating. It is my first taste of alcohol and after a couple of glasses I’m in the bathroom vomiting. Le and I have to be back at work on the Monday so we only stay one night. I don’t recall much about the rest of that night, I am so ill. Some celebration.
***
When Jack is offered a part in an episode of Elephant Boy, a British television series being shot in Sri Lanka, Le and I decide to accompany him. I take on a second job to save money for my airfare. During the day I work as a receptionist in a solicitor’s office. I operate an ancient Sylvester switchboard, much like the one at which Lily Tomlin sits in the show Laugh-In, with cords going in all directions. I love the old thing. After finishing work at 5 p.m. in the city, I take the ferry to Rose Bay to wait tables at Grandfather's Moustache restaurant in Rose Bay. There I meet a sweet young man named Elton. He’s 21, three years older than me. He occasionally gives me a lift home after work on his motorbike. We make out in his parents’ Monaro a couple of times; no mean feat, really, given how cramped the front seat is. I have realised that I am never going to have a one-on-one relationship with Jack, and that my true love fantasy will never eventuate. I want t
o love and feel loved without pain.
In January–February 1973, an American friend of ours is hanging out with the Rolling Stones, who are touring Australia. He invites Le and me to meet up with the band at their hotel in Sydney, travel on their bus to the show and then travel back to the hotel with them, presumably to party. Jack is away filming the Linehaul pilot so Le goes but I choose not to. I am sick of being an appendage and don’t want to be a groupie, even to the Rolling Stones. I am too disheartened to embrace the opportunity.
After Jack returns, he learns about my relationship with Elton, whom I continue seeing, and confronts me. He convinces me that the open and honest thing to do would be for the three of us to meet and discuss the situation. Then we can ascertain if it is serious and how to handle it, or whether it’s just a passing fancy. I foolishly agree to his suggestion and invite Elton up to my room.
Elton and I are sitting on the bed when Jack enters. He confronts Elton, putting him in the position of having to defend his feelings, our ‘relationship’. Again, I feel unable to say anything or express my feelings. Afterwards, I walk Elton to the door. I feel sad, sorry, confused and guilty about behaving in an underhanded way and try to apologise.
‘You won’t leave Jack,’ he tells me.
‘Why?’ I ask him, genuinely interested in his answer.
Elton says that I had the look of love, albeit with pain, on my face during the meeting. That was the end of that affaire.
At a later point I confront Jack about his reaction to Elton.
‘If it’s all right for you to sleep with other women, then it should be all right for me to sleep with other men!’
Jack rationalises his philandering by saying, ‘A bull needs many cows whereas the cow only needs one bull.’
I am insulted that he’s likening me to a cow, but accept this sexual stereotyping, reasoning that he is older, wiser and knows more about how the world works. When I do know for sure about his affairs and confront him, he says, ‘They don’t mean anything.’
Jack tells Le and me that we’re his real loves and that he will always come home to us.
‘Regardless,’ he says, ‘I love you two and you will always be number one in my life.’
I think, Then why can’t we do the same and you still be number one in our lives? Not that this would work for me, but I can’t help but examine this reasoning. It’s a logical progression.
I don’t have a sufficiently strong sense of myself as a separate person in my own right to ever consider challenging Jack over the fact that his views appear to be quite one-sided. What I need most is to be wanted. I crave a partnership where I am appreciated and, above all, understood. I don’t feel that I’m on an equal footing or treated with the respect due to an adult life partner. Jack makes the decisions for all of us. I’m not consulted about issues that affect my life and future and I doubt Le is either.
I am dissatisfied with our superficial intimacy and confused about my status in the relationship. I feel simultaneously wanted and unwanted. Jack wants me but he also wants to be with Le. By now I think he probably just wants sex and not love. Jack says he loves me but I never experience the reassurance and comfort of a hug when I’m feeling sad and lonely or hear him say, ‘Hey, you look beautiful today. I love you.’ Forget about sex — the emotional connection is what I need and never get.
***
In travelling to Sri Lanka for the filming of Elephant Boy, Le and I depart Australia for the first time. Before we leave for the airport I consume a slice of bread covered in hash oil and topped with a slice of cheese. By ingesting the drug rather than smoking it, the pleasant intoxicated and sedated feeling comes on slower. It also lasts longer. It isn’t that I need something to help me tolerate the long plane trip, though, because being stoned is just a normal, integral part of my life.
Our sister Maria comes to the airport to see us off. As we are about to depart she looks Jack squarely in the eye.
‘You look after my sisters,’ she tells him, ‘and bring them back safely. Or you will answer to me.’
In the early days of our threesome when I was still living with Mother, Maria stayed with us for a couple of weeks. She had a dream that Jack was chasing her with an enormous syringe in his hand and grinning maniacally. She woke up in a sweat thinking, I don’t trust you. I don’t trust this man. Yet Maria didn’t say anything about it at the time.
‘There was nothing I could do to stop the inevitable happening,’ she later told me. ‘When you’re in love with someone, you’re not going to listen to anybody.’
This dream-message confirmed for her the emotionally hazardous situation her two younger sisters were in — a three-way liaison, both of us in love with the same man. Maria is the only one in the family who is in a position to see the reality of what is happening, the only one who tries to protect us. When Mother decided to return to England, Maria begged her not to desert her youngest child. After Mother left, Maria tried to keep an eye on us and felt secure when we were nearby. Fear overwhelms her when she learns that we are to leave Australia, but she cannot divert us from the precarious path we are headed down.
Chapter 9
‘How could you be so callous?’
We travel to Colombo via Singapore, where Jack takes us to visit the night market on Orchard Road. The exotic atmosphere of Asia, with its melting pot of races and the piquant aromas of coconut oil, garlic, herbs and spices, holds me more spellbound than any drug. Among the surging, good-humoured crowd I look on in wonder at the various hawkers’ stalls with food from all across Asia — woks sizzling and satays barbecuing, all for an unbelievably cheap price. I join the others with my plate of satay sticks at a rickety wooden table and savour my first experience of real Asian cooking. The place is called the Car Park, and there’s a good reason for that: the food vendors actually set up and sell their wares after business hours in a car park. It’s amazing, a real treat.
Jack, Le and I are stunned to see Levi Bloomberg, who introduced us to the magic mushrooms of Coffs Harbour, coming towards us, weaving between tables. It proves to me something someone once told me, that there are really only 500 people in the world, and they’re all bound to cross your path eventually. Or twice, in Levi’s case. He explains that he is working for an oil company in Singapore and has a penthouse apartment in the suburbs. We take his contact details, as we plan to come back through Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia on our return.
In Sri Lanka, our taxi pulls up outside Colombo’s grand British colonial-era hotel on the beachfront. By the time we check in and unpack, the setting sun has turned the calm waters red. We walk along the shoreline embraced by the warm tropical air and watch the breathtaking beauty of the vivid colours and their reflection on the water. It’s incredibly tranquil. Truly beautiful.
The next day we are driven to Kandy in the mountains where the film crew is stationed. We mention to one of the crew how beautiful it was walking on the beach the previous evening and are shocked to learn that a couple of days before there had been a massacre on that very beach. Many insurgents had been slaughtered; their bodies had been buried under the sand by the hotel staff so as not to upset the guests. There were quite a few bodies found under bridges, washed up on riverbanks or on the side of the roads. They were rarely claimed — relatives were too scared to claim them for fear of being incriminated by association and arrested (or worse). Occasionally the remains disappeared at night. We are warned never to leave the safety of our hotel after dark. Insurgents had abducted tourists from taxis and while walking along the street. This is my first introduction to the world outside the safety of Australia.
Still bruised from the fiasco with Elton, and Jack’s fling in Orange, I am not sleeping with him. I feel more alone than ever. When one of the film directors on the series shows a strong interest in me, I respond. Why not?
Chris, an Australian, is about the same age as Jack, late 20s to early 30s. He is tall and well built, with brown curly hair, almond shaped eyes and t
ight jeans. I am easily persuaded when he invites me to his hotel to show me the maps of a journey he is planning overland from India to England once shooting has completed. I am excited for him. It sounds like a fantastic adventure and I’m taken aback when he invites me to go with him. When he asks me what I’d like to do and see along the way I become genuinely excited. His invitation is too good to refuse. Fuelled with passion, hope and possibility, my spirit begins to feel free as we make love together. Chris is a wonderful, considerate lover. It’s more like what I imagine love making to be. For the first time in my life I feel satisfied. Contentedly, we snuggle together and fall asleep.
In the early hours of the morning I awake to see Jack sitting beside me.
‘How did you get in here?’ I demand, shocked.
‘I climbed up the drainpipes and onto the balcony,’ he casually replies.
We’re three floors up! Un-frickin-believable!
Chris yells, ‘Get out!’ and points to the door.
I’m mortified. The next day, when Chris goes to work, I return to the hotel and meet up with Jack and Le. I make no comment about what transpired; being non-confrontational, I dare not enter such dangerous territory. Le doesn’t give any indication that she knows anything about it. During dinner, I tell them I’m considering taking up Chris’s offer of travelling with him overland to England. Jack immediately stands and leaves the dining room. When I go upstairs to get my things to take them back to Chris’s hotel, I find that Jack has locked himself in our top-floor suite and refuses to allow Le or me in. This circus goes on for a good hour or more. I am acutely aware that the entire hotel can hear our hysterical drama.
Eventually, Jack unlocks the door. I cower with guilt at how much grief I have caused him.
Jack confronts me about my plan to leave with Chris.
‘What happens if you’re in the middle of some foreign country like Afghanistan and it all falls apart? What are you going to do then? You’re going to be stuck in the middle of nowhere!’