by Judy Nunn
‘Are you going to book the tickets for tomorrow or shall I?’ he asked Chris who was chatting to Jane in the corner.
‘No, I’ll do it. You want to come along, Jane? We’re going to the new Nowra play at The Wharf.’
‘I’m already going,’ Jane smiled. ‘I booked last week.’ The play and the female lead — a young girl fresh out of NIDA — had had rave reviews which had given Jane a twinge of envy, but she couldn’t wait to see it.
‘Mind if I gate-crash?’ Greg directed the question to Jim and there was a touch of a challenge in it.
Jim took up the dare simply because he couldn’t think of another way out. ‘Of course not. The more the merrier.’ He delivered the invitation to the rest of the greenroom in a desperate attempt to escape Greg’s gaze. ‘Anyone else interested in the theatre Saturday?’
They weren’t. Narelle had a date with Mandy to work on their scenes together, Paul had arranged an at-home with Barbie and the kids, Vicky wanted to study her lines and Sidney felt that he couldn’t afford it.
Everyone clinked glasses and drank to Monday.
Narelle was twenty minutes late getting to Mandy’s on Saturday and Mandy had decided to let it annoy her. Who did the girl think she was, anyway? She should have been grateful that an actress of Mandy’s standing was willing to give up her free time to help her, let alone cook a meal for her. Mandy looked at the spinach quiche beside the stove and cursed herself for having been overhospitable to the ungrateful little sod. She opened a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits and was on the fourth one when the front doorbell rang. She stuffed the packet back in the cupboard, checked her mouth in the hall mirror and opened the door to a distraught Narelle.
‘Oh, Mandy, I’m so sorry, really I am,’ Narelle begged, breathless with remorse. ‘You must think I’m terribly rude. I got here early, you see, and I thought that’d be even ruder than being late so I drove around the block and then I had an accident.’
‘Oh, you poor little thing! Are you all right?’ Mandy’s anger had evaporated the instant she saw the girl’s genuine distress.
‘Yes, I just drove into the back of someone but he didn’t seem to mind too much.’ Narelle gestured to her sports car parked at the curb with its headlights smashed.
‘Good heavens! I hope you’re insured?’
‘No, I forgot to pay them this year but the man said his insurance would cover it.’ The man’s name was Burt and she’d also agreed to have lunch with him the next day. Burt thought his no-claim bonus was a small price to pay for Narelle’s company and was counting the hours.
‘Well, you’d better re-park it, dear, you’re illegal there.’
‘No, I’ll leave it. I don’t want to waste any more of your time.’
‘I really think you should … ’
‘Please, Mandy. I’ll pay the fine. It’s the least I can do for keeping you waiting.’
Mandy was now totally disarmed and ushered Narelle in to the lounge room. ‘Honestly, my dear, you hadn’t kept me waiting at all,’ she gushed. ‘As a matter of fact I’d just finished cooking us a nice dinner and I hadn’t even noticed the time.’
‘Oh, what a lovely home!’
That did it. Narelle couldn’t put a foot wrong from that moment on. Mandy gave her the guided tour and then they settled down to work.
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly and, in between bouts of concentrated effort, they giggled and cavorted together like a couple of schoolgirls delighting in each other’s company.
Mandy didn’t quite know how it happened but, during one of the sisterly cuddles she was giving Narelle, she was suddenly aware that her feelings were anything but platonic. Narelle wasn’t quite sure how it happened either but she wasn’t particularly surprised when Mandy started caressing her left breast. She’d become used to having that effect on people. She wasn’t even surprised at how instantly pleasurable it was. After all, a caress was a caress and Narelle always responded in kind.
She undid the buttons of Mandy’s blouse and sank her head between the ample breasts which bulged from the confines of the remedial waist-length corsetbra. Mandy moaned with delight but thought, damn, if she’d only known this was going to happen she wouldn’t have worn the bloody thing. With an agility admirable for one of her bulk and years, she twisted her body sideways on the sofa, careful not to disturb Narelle, pinioned her own arms behind her back and in two deft movements released the hook and unzipped the offending corset. It sprang open alarmingly and caught Narelle on the nose.
Narelle giggled with delight and clasped her mouth around the first generous nipple that presented itself. She’d never been with a woman before and she was overjoyed to discover what a delicious experience it could be. Fancy going to bed with someone who knew your body as well as you did yourself! All the little nooks and crannies that were such fun to explore. Nowhere near as fulfilling or exciting as being with a man, she decided. But such fun! You could just go on and on for ever, like masturbation.
It wasn’t quite the same for Mandy. After the first heavenly half-hour she was ready to call it a day; when the voracious Narelle was still squealing and giggling and sucking and nibbling two hours later, an exhausted Mandy begged the girl to stop. She crawled off the sofa, her back in agony, while Narelle bounced around collecting the clothes she’d flung off in gay abandon.
‘Oh, Mandy, wasn’t that lovely? Can we do it again?’
‘Not for a little while, dear, no.’
‘Soon?’
‘I’ll just put the quiche in the oven.’ Mandy escaped to the kitchen. She was too old for this.
An hour and a half, one quiche and three cups of coffee later, it took a migraine plea from Mandy to get rid of Narelle. Mandy sank into a Badedas bath, creaking wearily. She must never encourage that girl again.
At the theatre, the final curtain came down to tumultuous applause and, when the girl took her bow, it was to a standing ovation.
Jane, Chris, Jim and Greg agreed it had been an exciting night as they walked through the foyer. The three men were elated by the experience — it wasn’t often you had a night like that in the theatre. Only Jane was a little subdued. She had seen Kate Redman and Peter Wainwright during interval.
‘Isn’t she wonderful?’ Kate had said of the girl. What was her name? Anna. ‘We’ve seen the show five times.’ And there was a trace of triumph in Kate’s voice as she told Jane that Anna was the new choice for Peter’s movie. ‘We start production in two months. It’s going to be bigger than Quo Vadis, isn’t it, Peter?’
Peter squirmed uncomfortably. There was no need for Kate to rub Jane’s nose in it. ‘How’s the series going, Jane?’
‘Fine. Great fun. We start taping on Monday.’
Thankfully the bell rang and they returned for the second act.
Jane shook her mood off as they walked into the late-night actors’ hangout in the Cross. Don’t ruin supper for everyone, she told herself angrily. You’re being bloody ungenerous. The girl was terrific, she deserves the role. You made your own bed — now bloody well lie in it.
Half an hour later, the conversation had switched from the play to theatre in general and was at its most stimulating when Kate and Peter walked in. Kate strode straight to their table. ‘Mind if we join you?’ She already had a chair pulled up and Jane made the necessary introductions. Kate then ushered forward the girl who’d been standing quietly behind Peter. ‘And this is Anna, everyone. Anna Bowrey, about to become Australia’s newest and greatest star.’
Jane jumped up and warmly shook the girl’s hand. ‘You were wonderful tonight, Anna — really great performance. We loved it.’
The girl knew the compliment was genuine and smiled gratefully. ‘Thanks.’ A self-deprecating shrug. ‘Gift of a role, of course.’
During supper, Kate didn’t shut up about Peter’s movie. They’d had to fight the investors off, it was a huge budget, the script was the best she’d ever worked on and the leading role was the greatest starring vehicle
any Australian actress had ever been offered. It was all déjà vu to Jane.
‘Well, you’d know of course, wouldn’t you, Jane? You did the stage play for me,’ Kate added, as if she’d suddenly remembered.
‘Brilliantly, too, I might add.’ Peter was wishing Kate would shut up — so was everyone else, as they all agreed that Jane’s performance in the stage production had been wonderful.
‘Of course it was, darling, we all know that. For the movie role though, I think one really does need an actress a little younger. After all, she’s supposed to be nineteen and you can’t lie in close-up.’ Kate smiled and speared a piece of char-grilled octopus. ‘ “All your terrible history screams”, to quote Alexandra Del Lago.’ The octopus disappeared between bright red lips and she laughed delightedly.
What a bitch the woman is, Chris thought as he flashed a look of sympathy in Jane’s direction. Everyone at the table with the exception of Anna and Greg knew that Jane had been offered the movie role — indeed, that Kate had begged her to do it. But of course nobody said anything in deference to Anna and Kate just kept slinging the barbs.
Jane wore it well but as soon as supper was over she made her excuses.
Chris also rose from the table. ‘I’m off too, I’ll never hear the end of it from Helen and the kids if I’m home after one.’
‘Henpecked, are we?’ Kate smiled.
‘Yes, very. I love it. Come on, Jane, I’ll give you a lift.’
Outside Jane started walking towards the cab rank. ‘Thanks, Chris, it’s sweet of you but I’ll get a cab.’
‘Rubbish. You’re in Surry Hills, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, but you’re over the bridge, it’s in the opposite … ’
‘And Surry Hills is only two k’s away, for God’s sake. Come on.’
Jane didn’t say anything during the short drive home. Kate’s salt was still stinging in the wounds. But when they pulled up outside the tiny terrace house she’d recently rented in halfway trendy Surry Hills, she turned to Chris with a grateful smile. ‘Want a coffee?’
Chris checked his watch. ‘Half an hour before curfew. I’d love one, thanks.’
While Jane brewed the coffee, Chris admired the picturesque little house with its rough sandstone walls and open grate fireplaces.
‘Yes, it’s the first house I’ve ever rented,’ Jane told him. ‘It’s always been bedsits and flatlets with share bathrooms for me. I got it during the run of the play. Maybe after a year in “The Glitter Game” I’ll be able to buy it, who knows?’
‘Why did you knock it back, Jane?’
Jane took the coffee through to the open-plan lounge room area. ‘What?’
‘The Wainwright movie. You were totally committed to it that day in Alain’s office when I first met you. What did he say to change your mind?’
Jane tossed up whether or not to tell him, then thought, what the hell — she was so pissed off at the moment she didn’t give a damn, and bugger it if she was being indiscreet. ‘No telling, OK?’
Chris sat back and listened as Jane unfolded Alain’s plans for her own rise to stardom and Edwina’s demise. He was fascinated. ‘It explains why he doesn’t seem to give a damn about Edwina’s nonperformance. But why would he want to risk the show like that? It’s sold on Edwina’s name.’
‘The man’s power-happy. Have you seen how uncomfortable he is with Edwina? He can’t walk over her and he doesn’t like that.’
Chris shook his head incredulously. ‘Jim told me the future storylines on Edwina were getting thin but I didn’t know Alain was going to phase her out altogether.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘I must say, going by rehearsal performance it’s probably not a bad idea.’ A guilty shrug. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t say that to another cast member but … ’
‘I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine,’ Jane smiled.
‘It’s great news for you, though, and you’re terrific in the show, Jane — you know that, don’t you?’
Jane grinned back at him. ‘Got a good director, haven’t I?’
‘Does it make up for losing the movie role?’
Jane looked thoughtfully at her coffee cup. ‘No, I’m afraid it doesn’t.’ She sighed regretfully. ‘That was a gift of a part and I don’t know how I ever let Alain talk me out of it.’
‘That’s why they call him The King.’
‘Anyway, all I can do now is go with his plan. Let him make me a television star, stick with the show till I’m a household name and then go back to the theatre where, according to him, I’ll be able to name my price.’ She looked around fondly at the little house. ‘Hell, what right do I have to complain? I’m earning regular money — I’ve never had it so good.’
But Chris sensed the regret in her voice. He drained his coffee cup and rose from his chair. ‘I think I’ve been in television too long. I haven’t met an actor with your dedication for years. I like working with you, Jane. Very much.’
Jane rose and took his coffee cup, not quite sure what to say. She suddenly felt awkward. ‘Thank you.’
Their faces were close together and a kiss seemed inevitable. Jane waited for it to happen; she found herself willing it to happen. Chris leaned forward and, changing direction at the last moment, planted a tender kiss on her cheek. ‘Goodnight.’
As Chris got into his car, he felt disturbed, guilty. What was the matter with him? He was the most happily married man he knew. No woman affected him emotionally this way. What was it about Jane? There was a great dignity about her strength and her sense of fair play and yet she was so vulnerable underneath.
Scouring the coffee cups with a vengeance. Jane scolded herself. Get your act together, girl. You never let men interfere with your work and certainly not married ones. Stop playing the femme fatale — it’s just director-actor mutual admiration, that’s all it is. But deep down she sensed that it wasn’t.
At the restaurant, Kate, Peter and Anna had departed and Greg had talked Jim into a second coffee and sambucca.
The sambuccas, along with the sizeable quantity of cabernet shiraz that Jim had consumed during supper, had relaxed him and for the first time he didn’t feel on his guard in Greg’s company. It was two o’clock, the restaurant was nearly empty, they had a corner table, and despite Greg’s probing questions about Jim’s closet existence, he was a nice guy, so what the hell? What did Jim have to lose by baring a fraction of his soul?
Greg sensed Jim’s one reservation. ‘You’re quite safe. I only gossip about the bad guys.’
Jim sucked at his lower lip where the flaming sambucca had taken him by surprise. ‘I suppose it started with the family. The straightest parents, the straightest brother, the straightest middle-class upbringing.’ Greg nodded understandingly. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Jim added hastily. ‘They’re great. I adore them and they wouldn’t have disowned me or anything. It’s just … ’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose I didn’t want to be a disappointment to them.’ His look to Greg was apologetic. ‘I still play extra macho when I go home to the family at Christmas.’
Greg laughed. ‘It’s easier if you’re an actor.’ He caught Jim’s look of bewilderment. ‘No need to apologise, for God’s sake. I do it too.’
Jim was genuinely surprised. ‘But you’re always so open about being gay.’
‘Never to the public, old dear.’
‘I know that, but to every … ’
‘And never to the folks. They get the public performance too.’ He shrugged. ‘Same reason as yours — I don’t want to disappoint them. Bloody stupid of course.’ He skolled the last of his sambucca. ‘I know once they got over the shock they’d understand.’ He acknowledged the slight send-up in Jim’s smile. ‘Well, maybe not “understand”, but then what straight ever does? They’d forgive, OK?’
Jim nodded. ‘Let’s have another sambucca,’ he said. He hadn’t felt this good in a long time. He’d worry about the hangover tomorrow. He studied Greg’s classic profile as he signalled the waiter. God, he was gorgeous. It wasn’t just the look
s, it was the style, the humour, the gentleness, the understanding, the … Jim realised suddenly just how drunk he was. What the hell, he thought, give in to it for once. And as Greg turned back, he said, ‘How can you do it, Greg? Aren’t you scared?’
Greg thought of teasing for a second and asking ‘what about?’, but he saw the desperation in Jim’s face. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Then why?’
‘You want a story?’ Jim nodded. ‘Six years ago I had a lover. His name was Rod, he was desperately in love with me and wanted us to settle down together. Of course we’d both been around a lot and he knew what a promiscuous old tart I was but he still wanted to.’
The gay-bar slang jarred with Jim but Greg raised his eyebrows in a ‘that’s the way it was’ gesture and continued. ‘So we lived together for a couple of years. I was never faithful, of course, and it used to drive Rod wild. We had the most awful fights.’ He looked at Jim seriously over the flame of his newly-arrived sambucca. ‘I mean awful. We’d scream, we’d hit each other, the police’d be called in by the neighbours.’ Greg extinguished the flame with the palm of his hand. ‘I’d never known anything like that before. It was possessive, obsessive, destructive, but we did love each other in our own strange way. And I’d never known that before either. I’d never loved anyone before — I’d only had adventures. Anyway,’ he took a mouthful of coffee and followed it with a swig of the scalding liqueur, ‘we’d been together a year when we decided we’d ignored the AIDS scare long enough, so we went and had our tests. Roddie’s was positive.’
He paused. Jim didn’t know what to say.
‘Mine was negative.’
Jim felt even more nonplussed. He hadn’t been about to ask …
But Greg continued undeterred. ‘It took Rod two years to die. The first year wasn’t too bad. He was a stoic little bugger, refused to acknowledge that he was never going to beat it. The next year was a downhill battle, though, and when he was finally hospitalised and it was a matter of weeks, he asked me to call the family in.’ Greg downed his sambucca and held the empty glass up. ‘What do you reckon?’