by Bunkie King
As Jack is about to leave on the third day to begin another round of engagements I explode in frustration.
‘This is ridiculous! We’re bored out of our brains here. This is a ten-year-old child! It’s not fair, we’ve got to get outside.’
He relents and allows us to go to the public section of the beach, well away from the Carlton Hotel. I attempt to keep Patrick entertained but I’m not really in the mood to build sandcastles for hours. I ponder the reasons for Jack’s new form of banishment. I conclude that he is anxious about me meeting up with anyone we know in case I reveal the news that we have split up. Or does he just need to keep controlling me?
Patrick and I do, however, accompany Jack to the premiere screening of The Journalist at one of the main movie theatres. I wear an ethnic Afghani wedding dress and Patrick wears a suit. We’re both quite tense as we follow Jack up the staircase in the grand foyer toward the milling photographers. For a photo shoot, Patrick stands straight and tall in front of me, with my hand holding on to his arm. In one photograph he and I look drained and strained; Jack, meanwhile, is bursting with confidence and vitality.
Watching the film is excruciating. I’m embarrassed by it. Billed as ‘a saucy, sexy, funny look at a man who couldn’t say NO!’ the film exploits Jack’s bachelor image within the so-called glamorous world of international travel. At the end of the film Jack happily allows himself to be seduced by another of his female colleagues while his girlfriend-now-wife is left rocking the cradle of their newborn baby.
I wonder if this is Jack playing out his life as it really is? After the premiere he goes off to party while I take Patrick back to the hotel. I go straight to bed and fall asleep. Some time later I sense someone’s physical presence and wake up to the smell of alcohol-soaked breath in my face. I open my eyes.
Jack.
I know how much he can be prone to high drama. And the expression on his face is alarming, it reminds me of the scene in Petersen where he takes retribution after being hurt by his lover’s rejection.
I freeze. It’s all beyond my ability to comprehend.
Years have passed, full of drama, heartache, compromise and pain. I thought I had broken free of all that — moved on and begun to live my own life. But lying on that bed with Jack now snoring beside me, I feel as insignificant and discouraged as I did during our first night together on Scotland Island. I realise nothing has changed. Not me. Not him. Not our situation. If anything I feel more insecure and lonely.
Same as it ever was.
Chapter 16
‘I want you back any which way’
The next morning I get up early and go outside for a cigarette, a habit I have picked up in England. I dread returning to the room but need to pack and get to the airport. Jack is making a cup of coffee when I walk in and hardly looks at me. He sits silently at the table, possibly hungover. He thwarts my possible recriminations by adopting the kind of body language that says, You have no right to complain about my behaviour. It’s your fault.
Patrick is tired and irritable, just like his father. He too is not talking. Jack seems oblivious to both our feelings. I don’t say anything to him as Patrick is in the room but while I pack my things questions flood my mind: How could this have happened? How could I have let this happen?
When I’d agreed to the trip I’d considered the potential of being drawn into something like this. These mind games were part of the reason I wanted to get away from Jack in the first place. But I thought that as we had separated, he wouldn’t need to keep engulfing me. After surviving on my own in England for six months, I am beginning to see through other people’s dubious motivations, I just can’t see through his, not consistently anyway.
My relationship with Edward, however, falls apart on my return to London. I am upset but not heartbroken over the break-up. I know he doesn’t love me and, ultimately, I’m not madly in love with him. But I remain angry with Jack.
I go into freefall. I hit rock bottom emotionally, convinced that establishing a meaningful connection with anyone is just a fantasy. I end up renting a room in a share house and begin a liaison with a man named Rick, a cheeky, loveable type with a certain rakish charm. His accent and manner is very English public school. He’s tall and thin with alabaster pale skin and light brown hair that hangs in curls like a cherub. Rick is an enigma. He doesn’t work but always has money, not lots, but enough. He has access to a house out in the country where we visit occasionally at weekends. He dabbles in heroin, so I’m dubious about the possibility of a genuine relationship with him. Rick and I live, share and play together as equals. I come and go as I please and so does he.
But I’m not comfortable in England; I’m just passing my time and feel deeply lonely. Mother’s been living with a man for many years but that situation has become unstable and I can’t relax in their company. I’ve tried to live alone and discover who I am without Jack’s influence. When I submitted to his demand that I leave Australia I was stubborn enough to think, Well, fuck you. I can honour my word and still get myself back on top. But I have slim chances in a foreign country. I am earning only £50 a week and £35 goes on basic living expenses. There is nowhere for me to go in life, no foundation on which to build.
***
Mid-1979, Jack arrives in London and asks me to come to his hotel to talk. To fortify myself for what I fear will be an emotionally intense session, I smoke some heroin, just a tiny amount. As soon as I walk into his hotel room he looks at my eyes and exclaims, ‘They’re pinned!’
He checks my arms for puncture marks. I’m no junkie; I’ve never injected anything in my life and only smoked heroin two or three times with Rick. Jack condemns this and presses hard for me to return to Australia.
‘I need time to think it through,’ I tell him.
Over the next few weeks I review my options but surrender to the inevitability of my situation. I’m dispossessed and broke, lost and adrift. I write and tell him that I am homesick, that there is no future for me in England. Of course I should never have been put in this position in the first place but I don’t see it that way. I judge that I have failed. I know it isn’t ideal to return to Jack but believe I have enough awareness to avoid his games. When he rings and declares his love for me I tell him, ‘But I don’t know if we can be lovers again.’
‘That’s fine,’ he responds. ‘I want you back any which way, however you want it to be.’
Subconsciously, I sense that he doesn’t really want me back because he loves me; he just wants to keep up the charade of the happy threesome. He tells me what I need to hear. ‘Come back and work as my personal assistant. I’ve organised an office and you can work from there.’
‘But my boss has enrolled me in a course here to learn shorthand.’
‘You can do that in Sydney,’ he enthuses. ‘If you come back you’ll have an income, your independence and a proper role as my secretary.’
It sounds too good to be true — which turns out to be the case, I’m never paid — but I desperately want to go home. When I tell Rick I’m returning to Australia he surprises me with a marriage proposal. I don’t take him seriously. I’m not deeply in love with him and know it won’t be the happily-ever-after kind of marriage I desire. He says he wants to keep in touch. I give him Jack’s agent’s address.
Jack flies to London to meet up with me and together we fly to Los Angeles. He takes me to the Chateau Marmont, the so-called Hotel California, where celebrities like to hide away. This classic-styled hotel is very upmarket and steeped in Hollywood history, often quite colourful — and sometimes pretty sordid, like the overdose death of Blues Brother John Belushi. We stay a couple of days at Jack’s expense. He can splurge when he wants to. He seems to be asking, How can you not want this? He invites some of his Hollywood buddies around — Dennis Hopper comes for lunch, Philippe Mora and his partner Maureen for afternoon tea. Before they arrive, Jack instructs me to hide under the bed-covers and surprise them when they walk in. Weird!
W
hile taking a shower on the day we depart LA, I turn to pick up the shampoo and see, through the steam-covered glass, that Jack has entered the bathroom. He is standing there naked as he watches me wash. When I turn off the shower taps I see that he is gone.
Slowly drying myself, I am apprehensive of what to expect. I gradually get dressed and walk back into the bedroom. Jack is fully clothed and acting as though nothing unusual just happened. Unsure how to deal with this, I don’t let on that I saw him and he doesn’t say anything either. When faced with intimidating situations I tend to go into denial and suppress my reactions.
Arriving back in Sydney we drive straight up to the farm and arrive the day before his birthday at the end of August 1979. I can feel my tension and unease dissipating as we drive through the rainforest that surrounds the farm. The old familiar smell of wet clay and leaf mulch mixed with eucalyptus seeps into my weary spirit. I am coming home at last. As we drive up to the farmhouse there is no sign of Le. I enter the kitchen and see her at the bench. She looks up as I walk in and gives a perfunctory nod of the head. No words are exchanged.
After ten months away there is no hug, no How are you? It’s wonderful to see you! Nothing. No conversation as to the new state of play, with me working for Jack. I presume Jack has told her about this new arrangement but he probably hasn’t and she actually has no idea what’s going on. He has the advantage of knowing that Le and I rarely communicate openly with each other.
Why have I returned? I have lost faith in myself, in my ability to turn my life around. I believe I am weak because I didn’t succeed as I’d hoped to in England. I don’t recognise that being told to leave my home and start again, alone, in a new country with little support and no financial resources is a harrowing experience for anyone. Not to mention the fact that I was so homesick. Australia is part of my being. Jack is my first and only true love and maybe we can build on this and form a solid emotional bond. Deep down I hope that we can develop a stronger relationship built on equality and respect. I hope that the contribution and substance that all three of us have in the relationship will be acknowledged and appreciated.
And it is great to be back home at the farm, the place I’m happiest in the world. I am elated to see Bobo, my horse, standing by the fence; I want to believe that she has come over to welcome me, that we are spiritually connected and she is actually pleased to see me. I want to believe that she senses and appreciates my love. I am delighted to be back in my own country where I experience such a strong spiritual connection. In England I went into the countryside a few times but felt no real affinity with the landscape. But here I love having my toes in the dirt and the sun on my back, riding horses and smelling the fresh air and damp leaf mulch of the lush tropical bush. It is wonderful to bathe in the creek again and feel the warm spring sunshine cleansing the cold vapour of England from my mind and body. I will always be at peace on the farm.
Friends who later come to visit the farm share a bizarre story Le had told them. She and Jack were visiting Majorca when they met an American man who lived there. When he discovered they were Australian he told them he had just been holidaying in London where he met an Australian woman. He said her name was Bunkie and then related what transpired between us the night I answered his call and ended up in his bed (though nothing happened). These friends tell me how appalled Le was by my promiscuity. There really are only 500 people in the world!
Friends also reveal that Jack says he’s brought me back to ‘save’ me from entering a life of heroin addiction. Yet, when we return to Sydney, he arranges for us to stay in a Balmain share house with friends who shoot up on a regular basis. Matt, a fashion photographer, had been a protégé of Peter Carrette; his girlfriend is a model. Their ‘works’ — burnt spoon, syringe, rubber tourniquet and candle, lie around quite openly in their bedroom. Matt eventually ODs on heroin in Amsterdam.
Although I never receive any letters from Rick, I assume he has written because one day Jack confronts me about my knowledge of cooking heroin. ‘What’s all that about?’ he demands.
Completely confused, I ask, ‘What the hell are you talking about? I don’t know how to cook heroin!’
‘Rick says you are right about the best way to cook the beans.’
I remember having had a conversation with Rick about how heating baked beans in their tin, open of course, in a saucepan of boiling water retains their sweetness. I can only suppose that Jack has read a letter from Rick and assumes this is some kind of euphemism for cooking smack. I’m on the defensive, and don’t ask how he knows that Rick and I had this conversation. I rarely challenge Jack about anything. I can’t take the confrontation.
I start thinking: if Jack did receive a letter from Rick and kept it from me, then he could have done the same with Chris’s letters, when we returned from Asia in 1973.
Chapter 17
An unusual arrangement
On my return, I am elevated to Number One in Jack’s affections — I get to ride in the front seat while all other passengers, including Le, are relegated to the back. Finally I feel recognised as someone special in his eyes, although the dynamics of the relationship still aren’t right. I don’t want to be Number One wife; what I really want is equality for all three of us. However, when we are travelling, I enjoy being able to negotiate with Le about who gets to have the master suite rather than it automatically being hers.
The upside of my sojourn in England is that I now know that men find me attractive. I’m more self-assured, not as uncomfortable or withdrawn. I’m 25, in the prime of my life. This energy must be attractive to Jack, as he turns on his full charm offensive. Ultimately, it’s impossible to resist.
One of the conditions I insisted on before returning is that we have a working relationship, not a sexual one. But I’m vulnerable to his seduction because I still love and care for him. I just don’t want to have to play those emotionally fraught games any more. I delude myself into believing that because I am stronger and more self-assured, everything will be different.
In October, I spend a couple of weeks in the New South Wales countryside. Jack has a supporting role in The Earthling, an American film starring William Holden and Ricky Schroder. William is an old-school gentleman, well mannered, polite and caring. And Ricky Schroder is a nice kid. I spend most of the time in Jack’s trailer developing a script for a children’s movie, which never really comes to anything.
Le isn’t with us; she’s doing a fashion design course at East Sydney Tech and spends a lot of time on her own. The wonderful artwork she does for her creations and the screen print designs for her fabrics reveal her fabulous talent that has lain dormant since leaving school.
In our threesome, Jack still does whatever he wants but there is a change in how he treats us. He seems to show more respect. Generally he informs us in advance of his plans. I am finally feeling as if I have some control over my life and am at least equal with my sister. However, what escapes me at this stage is that even together, Le and I come nowhere near matching Jack’s influence. I have not succeeded in establishing an identity beyond my relationship with Jack.
Le and I, being two, are at a disadvantage when it comes to determining the direction of our lives. Because we’re not unified, we never insist Jack discuss his actions or intentions. We just accept that our place is to support him in his life-choices. When it comes to significant decisions, Jack makes them all. On the surface we are living a very liberated, unconventional lifestyle, but in fact it is an undeniably traditional relationship.
***
In March 1980, the three of us travel to Melbourne for the filming of The Club. Directed by Bruce Beresford with a script by David Williamson, it has a great cast that includes Graham Kennedy. I continue writing the children’s story and occasionally go on set with Jack while Le hones her culinary skills. She and I enjoy shopping for vegies, cheeses and other produce at the Victoria Market in the city. She creates some great meals.
The previous year, while I was away, Jac
k worked with Bruce Beresford on Breaker Morant, playing the role of Major Thomas. In Melbourne, he gets the big news that Breaker has been accepted into the official competition at the upcoming Cannes Film Festival — and his performance has been nominated for Best Supporting Actor in a feature film.
He’s understandably excited by this and tries to persuade me to go with him and Le to Cannes, but even the offer of my own suite at the Carlton Hotel doesn’t tempt me. I’ve only been home seven months and the events of the previous year still haunt me. And I really have no desire to be caught up in the glitzy madhouse of Cannes. Any glamour or enjoyment associated with the festival was destroyed last year. Although Jack insinuated himself into my bed soon after I got back, I now control whether he sleeps there or not. At this point we aren’t sleeping together.
In Cannes, Jack wins the award for Best Supporting Actor. He’s ecstatic when he phones to share the news with me. The international spotlight is on him as Rex Reed, the influential American film critic, declares a new star has launched. Jack attracts immediate attention from Hollywood and is offered the lead role in John Carpenter’s The Thing. After Cannes, Jack and Le travel to LA, possibly to discuss the offer — I’m not entirely sure. For some reason he declines, even though it is more money than he could ever imagine. He later tells me that he’s uncomfortable acting in front of a special effects green screen, rather than with real actors. Fair enough.
Jack’s sudden international fame inspires constant media intrusion into our private lives — journalists clamour for ‘sexy Jack Thompson stories’ about the women in his life. Now that I’m back he is determined to stop the rumours in media circles that we have broken up. While I was away, Jack had continued referring to me as though I was still part of the threesome but the press had started sniffing around the door as they sensed something was up.
He arranges for both of us to be interviewed and photographed for a feature by Nene King that will run in New Idea magazine on 10 May 1980.