by Judy Nunn
‘Fine by me, Mrs Ross.’
The following week, they left for ‘the shack’ at Hardy’s Bay.
It wasn’t a shack at all, but a comfortable three-bedroom weatherboard house right on the water with a huge open verandah and views across the sleepy little inlet. But by Penelope’s standards it was a shack. God forbid that people should presume this was their ‘holiday home’ – their holidays were spent in their London townhouse or their seaside flat at Menton on the French Riviera.
Franklin had bought the shack the year before to assuage his guilt at the fact that he didn’t spend more time with his grandson.
‘Take him fishing, Dan,’ he’d said. ‘I’ve got a boat there, penned at the local marina. And teach him to shoot and defend himself too. He’s got a lot of growing up to do.’
Hardy’s Bay was only a couple of hours from the city but it was a world apart, a sleepy little post-war holiday town lost in the forties and fifties. Materials for the early cottages had been ferried across the massive waterways by barge until The Rip Bridge was built in the seventies. As a result, Hardy’s Bay had escaped the hideous building boom of the sixties, investors choosing towns more accessible by road in which to construct their ugly, square red-brick monsters.
Now the few modern buildings erected in Hardy’s Bay were of pleasing design, private owners choosing to maintain the aspect of the place. The shack itself was a renovated two-bedroom weatherboard built in 1948. A third bedroom, huge living area and verandah had been added in the style of the original.
Michael loved Hardy’s Bay. He loved its ‘lost in time’ aura. The perfect place for a movie location, he thought, and straight away he could see the whole movie in his mind.
Sydney, 1945. VE Day. People crowded around their wirelesses listening to Menzies’ announcement – victory in Europe. Celebrations in the streets, the whole of Sydney alive with joy. The return of the soldiers.
That was where Hardy’s Bay came in. Couples fleeing to the little holiday towns up the Central Coast. In wooden shacks by sleepy inlets making love desperately, frantically. Forget the war, it couldn’t touch them here. Then the recognition that it wasn’t over yet. There was still the Pacific. Finally, the Japanese surrender, total victory. Once more, couples fleeing to the coastal havens to lose themselves in each other’s bodies, grateful to be alive. (There was a lot of lovemaking in Michael’s fantasies lately.)
‘Why don’t you invite Natalie to Hardy’s Bay?’ Dan asked casually. They were driving home from the studio Christmas party the night after they’d decided to go up the coast. It was early December, the start of the non-ratings period, and studio production went into recess while networks aired movies and re-runs of old shows. Ross Productions always held their Christmas party on the last taping day of the year.
‘Natalie?’ Michael gave a guilty start. ‘Natalie Sinclair?’
‘Sure.’ Dan concentrated on the street ahead. ‘She’s on holiday as of tonight. Her show doesn’t go back into production until the middle of January.’
Michael’s pulse raced at the mere thought of Natalie Sinclair at the shack and the balmy summer nights overlooking Hardy’s Bay. It was everything his fantasy movie was, and more. But his mind was in a state of shock. Had Dan seen him kiss Natalie in the studio car park tonight? He’d put his hand on her breast too. It was the first time he’d done either. Natalie had been a bit drunk and she’d used that as an excuse, but then he’d been a bit drunk himself and that had given him the courage.
She’d laughed when they stopped to draw breath. ‘Talk about a cradle-snatcher,’ she’d said breathlessly. ‘Thanks for walking me to my car, Michael.’ And she climbed in the car and drove off. Had Dan been watching?
Dan hadn’t been watching as such. He’d certainly observed them leave via the staff entrance and he’d observed them walking through the car park. That was his job. But, when they came to a halt at her car, he’d observed the surrounding area instead while he waited for Michael to return to the party.
‘Hell, Dan, Natalie Sinclair’s famous. She’s a national television identity. Why would she want to come up the coast with us?’ Michael was serious. To score a kiss in the car park from Natalie Sinclair was quite a major achievement -to contemplate a weekend away with the woman was sheer fantasy. And fantasy of such magnitude that not even he could envisage it as reality.
Dan pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned off the engine. Now for the moment of truth. ‘She fancies you, Michael. Just as much as you fancy her. She’ll come along if you ask her.’ He allowed a couple of seconds for it to sink in. ‘And I think it’s time you found out what it’s all about, don’t you?’
Michael nodded, hardly daring to speak. When he did open his mouth to say something, Dan stopped him.
‘It’s all right. Penelope doesn’t need to know.’ Again Michael tried to say something and again Dan interrupted. ‘Do it, Michael. Just do it.’
‘I don’t have her phone number,’ Michael finally managed to blurt out.
‘I do.’ Dan handed him a slip of paper. ‘It was in the studio files.’
Natalie lived only twenty minutes’ drive from The Colony House. Michael opened the front car door for her so that she could sit next to Dan. Then he piled into the back.
‘I’ve been looking forward to this, Dan. I hear the fishing’s great and I believe you’re quite an expert.’
Natalie was beautiful, charming, animated and normally self-assured. If she chattered a little more than was necessary during the two-hour drive it was because, for once, she was feeling rather self-conscious. What on earth had made her accept the offer from young Michael Ross? ‘Dan’ll take us out in the boat,’ he’d promised over the phone. ‘He’s an expert fisherman and there are mudcrabs in the bay … ’ Before she could answer, he’d continued ‘ … and blue swimmer crabs too, and prawns and oysters and … ’
‘Yes, all right, Michael,’ she’d found herself saying. ‘It sounds like fun. I adore fishing.’
But they both knew what was really being said. And now Natalie was wondering why she’d agreed. If anyone at the studio was to find out she’d been to bed with a sixteen-year-old she’d be a laughing stock. More importantly, though, the sixteen-year-old was none other than Michael Ross. If the Ice Queen were to find out that Natalie Sinclair, anchorwoman of the highly rating ‘Weekend World Roundup’, had screwed her precious grandson then Natalie would most certainly be out of a job and possibly out of the industry. Penelope’s power was such that, if she chose, she could easily have Natalie blacklisted.
What the hell am I doing here? Natalie asked herself again and decided that she’d invent an urgent forgotten appointment and return by train the following day.
But it didn’t work out that way.
Natalie adored Hardy’s Bay. She’d never been there before and it was every bit as picturesque as Michael had described it.
That afternoon Dan took them out in the boat for a sightseeing tour. ‘We’ll leave the fishing for tomorrow. Then we’ll go out at dawn and fish on the flood tide.’
So they spent a pleasant several hours motoring across the bay to Ettalong, Umina and Pearl Beach, where they dropped anchor and dived overboard for a swim.
Natalie was aware that both Michael and Dan were trying as tactfully as they could to ignore her body in its lime-green one-piece. They weren’t altogether successful, and she was thankful that she’d packed her tasteful bathing costume rather than her skimpy pink bikini. She, in turn, was a little ashamed of herself for her lecherous feelings towards Michael. In his bathing costume he looked like the gawky schoolboy he was. How could you? she scolded herself: he’s a baby. If she wanted a torrid affair, she thought, she should be checking out the minder.
Dan’s body was indeed impressive. If anything, he was a little shorter than Michael, who stood just under six feet, but his well-muscled body was that of an athlete, finely honed and conditioned. Next to it, Michael’s bony form, yet to fill out, wit
h too-long arms and too-big feet, looked a touch ludicrous.
Then Michael, who was sunbaking up the bow of the boat, suddenly turned to her and smiled that captivating smile. ‘Hey, Natalie,’ he called, ‘some pretty high profile TV personalities have bought up here recently - you want to swim ashore and say hello?’ The eyes twinkled mischievously.
‘No thank you, Michael,’ she called back. ‘We work for different outfits.’ He’s irresistible, she thought, utterly irresistible.
The evening was also pleasant and Natalie started wondering whether she may have been overreacting. They had a good meal, played cards, listened to music and finally Dan announced it was bedtime.
‘Early night,’ he said. ‘The alarm’s set for five.’ And Natalie retired to her comfortable bedroom with its view of the bay and slept like a log.
At dawn, when Dan woke her, all her plans for an urgent return to Sydney had vanished. A few innocent days’ fishing, pleasant company, no strings attached – it was exactly the break she needed. And she packed the Esky with their picnic lunch, excited and feeling like a twelve-year-old.
It was a successful day. They fished off the reefs outside Point Barrenjoey and caught a number of decent-sized snapper, then put trawling lines out from the stern of the boat and chased the flocks of birds which signalled a feeding frenzy.
‘It’s probably tuna,’ Dan explained. ‘The birds are after the small school fish the tuna are chasing.’ He was right, and they hauled in a half dozen albacore which had been feeding on a shoal of tiny squid.
They dropped anchor at pretty little Lobster Bay and picnicked on chicken and champagne and Natalie loved every minute of it.
It was mid-afternoon when they returned to Hardy’s Bay and the marina. Dan suggested they go on ahead of him while he cleaned the fish.
‘Saves the mess at home if I do it aboard,’ he said. ‘Besides, Michael’s lousy at cleaning fish. You take the gear and I’ll walk back.’
When they arrived at the shack, they were still chattering about which had been the most exciting catch.
‘Bags first shower,’ she said as they walked in the back door. ‘I stink of fish.’
‘Sure. Want a cold beer when you’re finished?’
‘I’d die for one,’ she laughed.
She sat on the verandah in a sarong and sipped her beer while Michael had his shower. And then he joined her and they sat together watching the boats as they returned from the day’s fishing.
Although it was late in the afternoon, there was no cooling breeze. The air was still and the sun was fierce.
‘That was one of the loveliest days of my life, Michael,’ she said and meant it.
‘Yes,’ he nodded. Although he’d had a cold shower, the beads of sweat were starting to form on Michael’s chest and forehead. ‘I think we’re in for a heatwave.’
Neither of them knew who initiated it, but at that moment it seemed the most natural thing to kiss. Gently at first. Then the kiss became deeper, their mouths opening hungrily, their bodies responding urgently to each other.
Michael struggled with the knot of her sarong. Natalie’s reservations disappeared completely. There was no point in fighting it, no point at all. She wanted the boy as much as he wanted her.
‘Let’s go inside,’ she whispered.
They didn’t make it to the bedroom. They undressed each other feverishly and made love on the hearth rug in the lounge room. She tried to slow him down in the initial stages, sensing this was probably his first time, feeling that, as the older woman, she should be teaching him the pleasures of foreplay. But within seconds she’d surrendered to her own excitement and, as she felt the vigour of his thrusts, she could do little but respond in kind.
Michael was aware of nothing but the feel of her surrounding him, the clashing of their loins and the knowledge that his months of fantasies were being realised and that any minute he was about to explode. And then he did, and it was over and he was lying on top of her gasping for breath.
‘Hey,’ Natalie said after a few moments, ‘give us a bit of air down here.’
‘Oh.’ He came to his senses and rolled off her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I’m sorry.’ He propped himself on one elbow and looked at her. For the first time he became aware that he’d left her far behind. ‘I really am sorry, I got carried away and I … I know I should have … ’
‘Ssshh,’ she said and she stroked the unruly lock of hair from his brow. ‘You were fine.’ Oh, shit, Natalie, she told herself, you can’t fall in love with a sixteen-year-old, for God’s sake. But he looked so earnest, so naive, and she couldn’t resist a surge of tenderness. ‘Your first time, right?’ He nodded. ‘Believe me, you were fine.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
Michael felt suddenly and gloriously happy. He grinned at her. ‘Wow,’ he said.
And the grin was Natalie’s undoing. What the hell, she thought, she was going to have an affair with a schoolboy. She couldn’t resist him.
‘You could do with a little tuition,’ she smiled.
Michael was a quick learner. They made love twice that night and again in the morning and each time he found it easier to maintain his control. As a result, his own pleasure was not only prolonged, it was intensified by Natalie’s. When her sensual moans became demanding grunts and the languid writhing of her hips became urgent pelvic thrusts, he didn’t allow himself to surrender. He waited until her back was arched and her hands were clawing his buttocks trying to pull him deeper and deeper inside her. Then, his own passion at screaming pitch, he thrust back at her with equal fervour and they fed each other’s passion until, together, they lost themselves.
‘Hell, no more lessons,’ Natalie panted finally as he once again took her breast in his mouth and she once again felt him harden. She pushed him away. ‘Give a girl a break,’ she said.
Their affair continued for a full two years. Secretly. They would meet at Natalie’s flat several nights a week. Sometimes they would spend the whole weekend locked up there together.
It was Natalie who introduced Michael to drugs. Innocently. ‘Just for an added sexual buzz,’ she said. It started with amyl nitrate. ‘Gives a whole new meaning to oral sex,’ she promised.
And she was right. Then they graduated to cocaine. ‘You can go all night,’ she promised. And again she was right.
But it was more than the added sustaining power which excited Michael. By now he was so practised at restraining himself he could go half the night anyway. It was the trip itself which excited him.
As he surrendered his body to carnal pleasure, Michael’s mind journeyed into areas he’d never known existed. But then, he wondered vaguely, perhaps he had. As a child he’d dreamed of power. The power to create a fantasy land. A magic place where the time and the people were of his own invention. And now, as his body writhed with Natalie’s, he created that place, that time, those people.
The place was soaring somewhere in the sky. The time was any time. All time. Time was suddenly insignificant. And the people were controlled by him. All of them. Fond as he was of her, Natalie had ceased to be Natalie. She embodied all people and Michael was the controlling power. He was omnipotent.
Natalie persuaded him that there was no harm in what they were doing. After all, they only used the drugs as a sexual stimulant. Michael agreed, but to him the sating of desire was the least important aspect of their coupling. After each time, he couldn’t wait for the next journey into his magic kingdom.
The only person who knew of their affair was Dan, and he began to wonder what he’d started. ‘Don’t you think you should be going out with girls your own age,’ he suggested tentatively, but Michael just grinned and shook his head and there was nothing Dan could do.
After excellent passes in his final examinations, Michael dropped the bombshell on Franklin.
‘I don’t want to work in administration, Grandpa,’ he said when Franklin started making plans for his training as a corporat
e director. ‘I want to create.’
‘Create what?’ To Franklin nothing could be more creative than opening new markets, embarking on new fields of endeavour, or conquering new opponents.
‘Movies’, Michael answered. ‘Movies with a difference. I have this idea, Grandpa. I want to make movies based around an actuality. They become real, you see? Not an actual happening from the past, but from the moment and from the future … ‘He was warming to his theme. Michael had told no one of his idea yet.
But Franklin interrupted. He’d heard many a director and producer expound their latest theme and he wasn’t interested. It was enough that the lad wanted to make films, he wouldn’t stand in his way. Besides, it could be good training for him. In ten years’ time Michael would no doubt be sick of the superficiality of the entertainment industry and would be interested in a position of greater power. Franklin recognised ambition when he saw it.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But you’ll start from the bottom and learn your trade. You can’t come to New York with me until you’re ready. I’m sure Penelope could find you a position here at the studios.’
‘Yes, she’s already said she will. In the story-lining department, working on the new series. She promised me ages ago.’
‘Oh, she did, did she?’ Franklin felt mildy irritated. So they’d been discussing the lad’s future without consulting him. But he decided not to confront Penelope. She had too much ammunition to fire back at him – he’d been in New York for a full six months of the year, after all.
In January 1984, when the studios went back into production, a seventeen-year-old trainee storyliner joined the ranks of the ‘Destiny’ writing department.
‘Destiny’ was the new, highly successful big-budget series which had recently taken the country by storm: ‘a powerful saga of money, power and corruption’ was how the publicity department was pitching it. The series had been presold to Network 5 and was designed and programmed as direct competition against the glossy American series the other networks had imported.