The Glitter Game

by Judy Nunn

  ‘Sure.’ Jim downed his too.

  Greg looked fondly at his empty glass. ‘The one thing I always respected about Roddie was that he never had a closet bone in his body. Wore it like a badge. Even with his family.’ He flashed a look at Jim. His voice had an edge of irony. ‘Maybe he should have taken a leaf out of our book there. His family were all bastards. The one time he tried to take me home to meet them they wouldn’t let me in the house. Then when he was dying, they didn’t want to know. Oh, while they could tell themselves and their friends it was cancer that was OK. They sent cards and made phone calls. But when it was the AIDS ward and a month to go, the shit really hit the fan.’

  Greg signalled to the waiter for the next round and continued. ‘Roddie reverted to childhood a lot at the end. He could only remember the early happy times — I believe it’s quite normal. Anyway, he wanted to die at home. His family had a big old country place a couple of hours out of Sydney, they weren’t short on money. And the hospital agreed to transport him there and supply a live-in nurse. It all looked as if it was going to happen. And then the family stepped in.

  ‘They sent the older brother up to town to see Rod. That was the only time any of them came near the ward during the month he was there and Rod was so happy to see him.’

  Greg paused while the waiter delivered the drinks and collected the coffee cups. ‘Then Ian, the brother, gave Roddie the ultimatum. Under no circumstances was he to come home to die. He wasn’t to ring home any more and I wasn’t to make any contact with the family.’

  ‘My God, I don’t believe it.’

  ‘Oh, wait for it, it gets better. Roddie and Ian had an almighty row. I arrived at the end of it to hear Ian screaming stuff like “People in the town are starting to guess you’re dying of AIDS — how do you think that makes the family feel?” I raced into the ward.’ A slow smile spread across Greg’s face. ‘Ian was leaning over the bed, his face about two inches away from Roddie’s, and he yelled, “The strain of it’s killing Mum!” ’ Greg threw back his head and laughed. ‘And bloody Roddie! He screamed back, “What the hell do you think the strain of it’s doing to me!” God, he was a courageous little bastard.’

  Jim waited for him to go on. A sip of the fourth sambucca and his world was starting to swim, but he was fascinated. ‘So what happened?’ he prompted gently.

  ‘Roddie died a week later. The folks at home refused to have him buried in the family plot. I arranged the funeral and of course the family didn’t come, but the day after the service someone from their solicitor’s office came to take an inventory of the furniture in the flat to make sure I didn’t nick off with anything belonging to Roddie.’ Greg skolled the sambucca. ‘Rod and I had bought the flat together but it was in his name. He’d left it to me in the will but when the family contested it … ’ he shrugged. ‘I couldn’t be bothered fighting so I just walked out and left them to it.’

  He leaned back and looked at Jim who, despite his fascination, was trying desperately to focus. ‘You asked if I was scared. Of course I’m scared. I don’t want to go through what Roddie went through. I won’t have another test because I know I couldn’t be as brave as he was. If I found I had it I’d curl up and die. And I only take lovers who are in the same boat. We practise it safe, of course, but we’re all on borrowed time and we all know it.’

  ‘You could always practise celibacy.’ Jim wondered why ‘celibacy’ was such a difficult word to say. ‘Like me,’ he added with a lopsided grin.

  ‘And live in a state of constant sexual frustration? No thanks.’

  ‘You forget what it’s like after a while.’ Jim looked at Greg and felt overwhelmed with love. ‘Then something happens that makes you want to break the drought.’ Surely he didn’t just say ‘dreak the brought’, he thought.

  Greg rose from the table and helped Jim to his feet. ‘Time to go.’

  ‘We could get a bottle of that stuff and go to my place.’

  ‘I don’t think so, sport — big day on Monday. You can sleep it off tomorrow. Come on, I’ll drive you home.’

  ‘Standing by.’ The first assistant’s voice was crisp with authority. A nod from Chris, who was crouched by a television monitor screen; he always directed from the studio floor rather than the control room.

  ‘Action!’ the first barked. It was seven-thirty on Monday morning, and the cameras rolled on the first scene of ‘The Glitter Game’.

  The women in the cast had all been called for make-up at six-fifteen, the men at six forty-five. In previous shows, Mandy had leapt into the make-up chair first, considering it was her prerogative as senior female cast member. This morning however, she’d found herself vying for the same chair as Narelle.

  ‘Mandy! Thank you for a lovely time on Saturday.’ Narelle wriggled and squirmed provocatively. ‘I was wondering if you’d like … ’

  ‘No time for chats now, hurry along through makeup, there’s a good girl. I have to discuss a few things with wardrobe.’ And Mandy bustled off to the costume department, wincing not only at the recollection of Saturday, but at the ache still present in her lower spine.

  ‘Oh. All right.’ Narelle did as she was told and sat down in the make-up chair.

  As Chris watched the monitor, he couldn’t believe the difference in Mandy’s performance. There was a dignity and maturity about her; she was allowing the space in her relationship with Narelle’s character, just as Chris had wanted her to. They must have worked very hard together on Saturday, he thought. Good on them.

  A cheer went up as the first scene of the day, between Mandy, Narelle and Sidney, was completed in one take. It was always a good omen for a new series.

  The second scene for the day was a long and difficult one between Edwina, Paul and Jane. Paul, playing the station programme manager, was confronted with the newly-appointed and heavily feminist Head of Drama — the character played by Edwina. The sexuality inherent in the writing had never been realised in rehearsal — even the entrance of Jane, who reacted beautifully to a tension which wasn’t apparent, had failed to resurrect the scene. It had always been a nightmare for Chris, and now he prayed to the monitor. Give me something, Edwina. Just a little bit, but something!

  Edwina gave him something, all right. Edwina gave everyone something. To the onlooking cast members gathered behind the cameras it didn’t appear to be much — just an extra edge maybe — but to Chris studying the monitor and to Paul acting opposite her, it was dynamite.

  Paul dried five lines into the scene. ‘Sorry.’ He put his hand to his forehead and looked around for the first. ‘Line, please. Sorry, everyone.’ The first gave him his line, they rolled up and took it again from the top of the scene. This time Paul was prepared for the power that emanated from Edwina: the eyes that locked into his, the defiance of his masculinity. And, halfway through the scene, when Edwina’s character was supposed to find herself attracted to him despite herself, Edwina did just that. Paul found himself quivering with desire. It was as if the woman were offering herself to him even as she fought her own beliefs.

  When Jane made her entrance, it was to an atmosphere charged with electricity. My God, what have I walked into? she thought as she faced Edwina for her own head-on challenge. The confrontation between the two women was magnificent: it was the basis for a battle royal between two protagonists with a strength worthy of each other, the stuff of which all good series were made.

  Chris let out a whoop of joy. ‘Cut. Check. Fanbloody-tastic!’

  The day went from strength to strength. Everyone took the lead from Edwina. Even if it was a scene she wasn’t in, the studio seemed to be filled with her energy and there was a standard and intensity that every actor had to achieve or be left by the wayside.

  It didn’t take Chris very long to figure Edwina out. At first he wondered whether or not she’d been ‘cheating’ — deliberately holding back to confuse the other actors. But no, she was taking them up there with her. She was supportive when she needed to be, sexual, vulnerable, aut
horitative. Everything that the scene and the relationship with the other actor required, she gave. Then he realised. Of course. Edwina could only act when the cameras were rolling.

  It was true. She’d been quoted in many articles about her singing career that she could only sing when she was confronted by an audience or a microphone in a recording studio. She never sang for friends or at private functions. Just as Edwina couldn’t relate to people on a one-to-one social basis, she couldn’t relate to them on a one-to-one performing basis either.

  At Chris’s request, Alain and Jim had kept away from the studio. Alain had needed some persuasion, but between them Jim and Chris had convinced him that the actors’ first day nerves didn’t need any extra pressure.

  That evening in the control room, as Chris ran the day’s work for them, he could barely contain his elation. He hadn’t given them an inkling of what to expect. He had just said, ‘Watch this’, given the technician the go-ahead, and sat back to study their reactions.

  Jim’s delight was immediately evident. ‘My God, you got it out of her!’ He grinned at Chris. ‘How did you do it?’

  ‘I didn’t. The cameras did.’ Chris looked at Alain. His reaction was enigmatic.

  ‘Yes, she’s good all right,’ was all he said.

  Chris concluded he was replanning his strategy. Yes, you can’t get rid of her now can you, old boy? In fact, you’d be mad if you didn’t start equal storylining for Jane and Edwina, he thought, and decided then and there that he’d ring Evan himself and suggest exactly that.

  But Alain wasn’t replanning his strategy at all. Well done, Edwina, he was thinking. You’ve sold the show for us and you’ve started us on a high. Alain could recognise that Edwina’s strength had infected everyone. Everyone except Jane, he thought. Jane had her own strength to start with. And Jane’s the one I’ll keep. Magnificent you may be, Edwina, but you’re out. You think you can dictate to me, but you’re only an actor — don’t ever forget that. An idea struck him. What a wonderful possibility. I could even kill you off, Edwina, he thought. When the time’s ripe, I’ll kill you off. Alain smiled. The death of Edwina Dawling! He gloated at the prospect. What a great impact that would make.

  Jim saw Alain’s smile widen and winked at Chris. Yes, it was going to be a happy show, all right.

  It was the end of February. Summer was still at its height, it was the start of the new ratings season and ‘The Glitter Game’ two-hour special was about to go to air. The whole of the nation was fully prepared. Tim Arnold and his assistants had whipped up a frenzy of publicity. Besides heralding the series in every showbiz magazine and TV supplement, there were newspaper features on Jane: Star of Stage makes Television Debut; TV magazine articles on Vicky: Television’s Newest Face; a pin-up poster of Greg: Australia’s Favourite; and spreads on the whole cast in every women’s magazine.

  It was the glossy cover picture of Edwina accompanied by Liza’s in-depth story that really did the trick. It was cleverly written, giving the public exactly what it wanted: a secret insight into Edwina Dawling — The Woman Behind the Mask. In fact Liza had given the public absolutely nothing — just the image that she knew Edwina wanted to present.

  The two women had met for a drink and Edwina congratulated the journalist on the article. Liza started to lay the ground for Plan B. Very gently. ‘Yes, I think it read well. I’m glad you liked it, Edwina.’ She paused thoughtfully, as though the idea were just occurring to her. ‘I’ll keep the mystery tack up for a while, of course, but I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to milk it before they’re going to want a slightly more personal angle.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Edwina promised. ‘When the time comes I’ll give you something else to go on.’

  ‘Good, good.’ Liza smiled gratefully. Yes, everything was going according to plan.

  After the press preview, Liza herself had given the ‘Glitter’ special a rave review. Under a different name, of course. She always wrote her reviews under a different name so that she couldn’t be accused of playing favourites with actors on whom she may recently have written articles. She was always very fair in her reviews too. Difficult as she may have been to please and high as her standards were, her criticism was always constructive. If she hadn’t liked ‘The Glitter Game’ she wouldn’t have reviewed it at all in deference to her contract with Alain, but it was easy to give the show a rave. It was damn good. Her one criticism that perhaps the characters played by Narelle, Sidney and Mandy were a little stereotyped was followed by the observation that this was bound to be exactly what the general viewing public would want. Bugger it if the general viewing public thought she was talking down to them, she thought. She wasn’t lowering her standards for anyone.

  The saturation of the press, the on-air promos, the radio coverage and personal appearances ensured that at eight-thirty pm, as the opening titles rolled on ‘The Glitter Game’, nearly every home which boasted a television set in every Australian town or city had that set switched to Channel 3. And they didn’t turn off. They loved it. The general public loved the soap element, the knockers loved the satire and everyone in the country was already picking their favourite ‘Glitter Game’ characters.

  Three days later the ratings came in and the die was cast. ‘The Glitter Game’ was here to stay.

  Behind the scenes, of course, the hourly, daily, weekly, monthly grind of making television continued. The hours were long, the work was hard — but morale was high, as it always was with a successful show. In addition to the schedules for rehearsals, taping and location shooting, all of which came from the production department on different coloured sheets of paper, there were scheduled promotional appearances, publicity appointments, dinners to fete the major advertisers and network ‘bashes’ where national network heads of departments were invited to impress and be impressed by the stars of the show.

  Edwina was the only cast member who was highly selective in her attendance at such events. She refused all promotional appearances, she refused all publicity appointments except interviews with Liza, she refused all advertisers’ dinners and, after appearing at the first network ‘bash’, refused to attend any others. Alain let her get away with it. All the more grist to his mill, he thought. The network could hardly blame him for getting rid of an actress who was proving to be so uncooperative. He’d already instructed Evan to continue phasing Edwina out of the storylines and it would only be a few more weeks now till she realised what was happening. He couldn’t wait for her to come begging for a reprieve. And the pleasure he anticipated in telling her there was nothing he could do (‘It’s beyond my control, Edwina,’ he could hear himself saying) knew no bounds. Alain was happy. And he would be even happier when he gave Evan his final instruction – ‘Kill her off’.

  The first of the network ‘bashes’, the one Edwina did attend, was held at the end of their second month to air and it was an eye-opener for all but the most seasoned of the actors.

  There must have been a hundred executives there; Network Three had stations in every capital city in Australia and all the executives were in attendance. All wore the badge of their tribe, the executive suit; and all spoke executive language and all observed the executive pecking order.

  Robert Bryce, the owner of Network Three, was never present at the ‘bashes’, preferring to leave his executive director, Ray Chaplin, in charge of the television arm of his empire while he himself concentrated on the many other business interests of Bryce Holdings, particularly his corporate mining concerns in northern Australia.

  It wasn’t that Robert wasn’t interested in television. To the contrary, he and his wife, Melanie, were avid viewers when they had the time. It was why he’d added the network to his empire in the first place. Well, actually it was Mellie who had wanted the network and what Mellie wanted, Mellie got. But Robert was a great believer in delegating. He could spread himself only so thin and he’d seen many a mogul go down the drain trying to run an empire singlehanded. Besides, Ray was a good 2IC. And if Mell
ie wanted to mingle with the stars, Robert thought, why should she have to attend network dinners and put up with the boring little people who ran his business with such bloated senses of self-importance? It was far preferable to fly the stars to the Bryce island mansion and have Mellie entertain them on her home ground and in the manner and style to which she was accustomed.

  In fact Mellie had already professed a desire to do exactly that and the huge glossy, gilt-edged invitations rested on the table beside the place setting of every member of the ‘Glitter’ cast. The place settings of the executives were conspicuously absent of invitations, all except Ray Chaplin of course — he was a world apart from the other executives. Alain had received a personal congratulatory telegram from Bryce after the special had gone to air and was horrified to discover that there was no invitation for him. He took it as a personal insult, but he knew there was very little he could do about it. What he didn’t realise was that Mellie didn’t like him. And she only wanted to meet the stars anyway, particularly Edwina — Mellie had met her once at one of her concerts and admired her enormously.

  The cast had fun mingling together in the restaurant bar before being called to table. It was to be a brief respite, as they were seated separately, one to a table of ten executives all trying to outdo each other.

  ‘Better watch out, you know what a cheap drunk you are,’ Greg whispered as Jim ordered a second whisky from a passing waiter. Jim grinned as Greg sailed on, champagne glasses held high, to Vicky wedged in a corner with Chris and Jane.

  Jim had thought it would be difficult facing Greg the Monday after his drinking bout. The night air had hit him and he couldn’t remember the drive home except for a vague recollection of an embrace at the front door. He could recall every word of Greg’s conversation in the restaurant and was mortified that, after listening to him bare his soul, Greg might think that it had meant nothing to him.