The Glitter Game

by Judy Nunn

  After that he gave up trying to improve their sex life. Penny insisted they have separate rooms because of his snoring, although he never knew he snored, and he visited her bedroom barely once a month. Until last year. Since last year he hadn’t visited her bedroom at all. But Ray didn’t want to think about that now.

  Now there was Narelle. Narelle, who had this amazing effect on him …

  Ray caught sight of Yvonne charging towards him leaving spilt drinks, dropped food and trampled feet in her wake. He turned and fled.

  In the corridor he bumped into the second assistant. ‘Tell Narelle I’m waiting for her at the staff entrance,’ Ray instructed. To hell with caution.

  As soon as he’d watched Ray Chaplin present Bryce’s cheque, Alain reached across the bed for the remote control and turned the sound off. He toyed with the idea of switching to another channel but decided against it. He’d better be aware of telethon happenings on Monday. After all, he was supposed to put in an appearance over the weekend to show a little support. He had no intention of doing so, of course, and God only knew why he should. It wasn’t his department and he had no interest whatsoever in it. Contrary to many peoples’ opinions, television charity marathons were not rip-offs by the channels. Well, not profitable ones that is. Of course the channels had to recoup their losses, so not all the monies went to the beneficiaries but in Alain’s opinion telethons were a nonremunerative waste of energy and resources.

  Unfortunately none of the networks dared back out of the telethon race and leave the others to rake in the kudos, goodwill, philanthropic image and all the other non-money-making incidentals that had become such necessities. Bloody waste of time, Alain thought. If he were Bryce, he’d pull Network Three out of the ‘philanthropic image’ bullshit and concentrate on making money, concentrate on giving the viewing public what it wanted. Soap, tons of soap, flashtrash, made-on-the-smell-of-an-oily-rag, good old Aussie soap. And that’s what he’d do with Les Kleinberg at Channel 8. By Christ, they’d rake it in.

  Lunch at Doyle’s had been inspiring. How had he ever allowed himself to be bought by Bryce? He should have taken Les’s offer right from the start. They spoke the same language — low budget television with mass appeal.

  ‘If there’s one person in this country who knows his market, Les, it’s me,’ Alain had boasted as the cheesecake arrived. ‘And once you know your market you just pick the formula that fits it. And you know the formula we should head for? “The Glitter Game” without the glitter. Thank you, that’s fine.’ He shooed the waiter away impatiently. ‘Who the hell needs the Edwina Dawlings and the salaries they command? Who the hell needs wankers like Evan Ryan and Chris Natteros? When you’ve got the right format you can get them all cheap. The actors, the writers, the directors. Cheap as dirt.’

  Alain reached across to the bedside table for the cocktail shaker and poured himself another dry martini. Yes, everything was going beautifully. He and Les had given themselves six months. He’d wanted to leave Channel 3 earlier, of course, but he was contracted until January and there was no way he could find a loophole in the Bryce contract. There was no way anyone could ever find a loophole in a Bryce contract. ‘Not to worry,’ Alain had told Les. It would give him time to come up with two hot new series concepts for when he joined Channel 8. The King intended to put their drama unit straight to work.

  Les Kleinberg was pleased with the plan. The sooner Alain put his Midas touch to work and created a hit series for Channel 8 the better. Les wanted a return on his investment. Little did Les know that Alain was going to use his time left at Channel 3 to get several new concepts out of Evan. Before he left he’d tell Evan they were useless, order him to wipe them from the computer and start again. Easy. Alain didn’t feel the need to admit his creative limitations to Les.

  Evan’s rewrites of ‘The Glitter Game’ storylines sat on the bedside table. Alain had already okayed them, a copy had been sent to Rosa Glassberg for Edwina and the rest of the cast would receive theirs early next week. Evan had done as he’d been told: Jane was background material and Edwina centre stage. But even the knowledge that Edwina would think she’d triumphed couldn’t kill Alain’s elation. Without him at the helm, ‘The Glitter Game’ would eventually fold anyway. Maybe he could indulge in a little sabotage to help it along. He should be able to come up with something — after all, he had a whole six months to think of it.

  The doorbell rang. Alain looked at his watch. Dead on time. ‘Door’s unlocked, come on in,’ he called. He heard the front door open and close. ‘Bedroom through here,’ he called again.

  Alain ran his eyes over her appraisingly as she stood in the bedroom door. She was mini-skirted and wore Dr Martens shoes with saggy socks. Her long hair was streaked and permed. Alain didn’t like the way teenagers wore their hair these days — it looked like straw. But who cared? She was young, that was all that mattered. It was the third time he’d used this particular massage agency and they were proving very reliable.

  ‘Talc or oil?’ the girl asked, dumping her Rip Curl bag on the bed.

  ‘Oil. Did you lock the front door?’ She nodded. ‘Good girl.’

  Ray was overwhelmed. More than overwhelmed, Ray was in a state of shock.

  He’d been overwhelmed when Narelle had said ‘That would be lovely’ to his suggestion that they have their drink in his hotel suite rather than in the crowded VIP lounge.

  He’d been overwhelmed when he’d tentatively kissed her and her lips had opened, warm and moist against his.

  But when he’d broken from the embrace, gone to the bar, mixed the drinks and turned back to discover Narelle naked, he was more than overwhelmed. He was in a state of shock. His mind clicked to a darkened room and a female silhouette. Penny would never undress in the light.

  Narelle smiled. ‘Is that for me? Thank you.’ She leaned forward and took the drink from his frozen hand.

  Ray was galvanised into action. He turned the overhead light off and started undoing his trousers.

  ‘Don’t do that.’

  He stopped. ‘What?’

  ‘The light. I’d like to see you naked.’

  ‘Oh.’ His mind clicked to a time early in his marriage when he’d started undressing prematurely. ‘Not with the lights on, Ray,’ Penny had said.

  He clicked the switch back on and dropped his trousers.

  Narelle smiled. ‘Is that for me? Thank you.’ And she leaned forward again and stroked the rock-hard bulge beneath his underpants.

  ‘Oh God! Oh no! Stop. Don’t.’ It wasn’t going to happen, surely. ‘Oh hell!’ Too late. ‘Aaargh!’ It did. Ray was mortified. ‘I’m sorry, I really am. It’s just that … ’

  ‘That’s all right.’

  ‘… just that, for the past couple of hours I’ve been … ’

  ‘That’s all right. It’ll give us a chance to talk before you do it again.’

  Do it again? Ray had never ejaculated more than once in twenty-four hours in his life, not even in masturbatory childhood. Suddenly he wanted to leave.

  He started to put his trousers on then realised that of course he couldn’t leave — it was his hotel suite. What’s more, he could hardly clothe himself when there was a naked and hopeful woman on the bed. The least he could do was be polite. He dropped the trousers.

  ‘So let’s get comfy and talk, shall we?’ Narelle knelt on the bed and started undoing his shirt.

  ‘Narelle, I’m afraid I won’t be able to … ’

  ‘Are you married, Ray?’ concentrating on the buttons.

  ‘Narelle, I don’t think you … ’

  ‘Do you have children?’ slipping the shirt over his shoulders.

  ‘Narelle, I … ’ Down came the underpants.

  ‘Narelle!’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I can’t!’

  ‘Oh.’ Realisation dawned. ‘Well, of course you can’t, silly. Not straight away. We’re going to talk.’

  And they talked. They lay naked on the bed and they talked, N
arelle absent-mindedly caressing Ray’s body to the point where he found himself absent-mindedly caressing hers back, delighting in the texture and fullness he felt beneath his fingertips.

  Narelle was appalled at the sexlessness of Ray’s marriage, appalled at the fact that only six months ago he’d discovered his wife had had a lover for the past five years.

  ‘Yeah.’ Ray stopped caressing. ‘She can give it to him but she couldn’t give it to me and now she wants a divorce. No way!’

  Narelle also stopped caressing. ‘That’s terrible. All those years.’ Ray nodded in agreement. ‘The poor woman.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘The poor woman! You have to give her a divorce.’

  Ray leaned up on one elbow and looked at Narelle incredulously.

  ‘It’s not her fault you didn’t turn her on.’

  He started to get up from the bed, not daring himself to reply but Narelle put pressure on her thigh, the thigh that was hooked over his.

  ‘And it’s not yours, either, don’t you see?’

  It only took a further five minutes of Narelle’s philosophies and caresses to convince Ray that no one had been at fault in his marriage, that he would give his wife the divorce she wanted and that he had the hardest, the most controllable, most dependable hard on he’d ever had in his life.

  When he entered Narelle, he entered paradise. And as he concentrated on her enjoyment, he realised a power he’d never known before. As Narelle orgasmed repeatedly beneath him, he thought ‘Is this what Penny gets from her lover?’ If so, who could blame her? Along with the power, he felt responsibility, tenderness, and such a wealth of sensations that he was in a state of delighted confusion. And when he came himself it was like nothing he’d ever experienced. Oh God, if he’d only known how to do it when he was humping in the Holden!

  The clock on the dashboard said three twenty-five am as Greg’s car pulled up outside the terrace house in Sutherland Street, Paddington. He leaned on the bell for a full five minutes before Jim opened the door.

  ‘Greg! What the hell do you want? I was asleep.’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Sure.’

  But Greg was already in. He looked about. ‘Upstairs, are they?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The bedrooms.’

  ‘Yes.’ Jim was wide awake now. He followed Greg up the narrow staircase. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘Which one was Sharon’s?’ Greg asked as he reached the top and was confronted with two doors. He pushed the first one open to reveal an unlived-in room. ‘Don’t tell me — this one, right?’ He threw himself down on the bed and looked up at Jim. The gin, the brandies and the fifteen hours on air suddenly hit him and he felt tired, very, very tired. ‘This is where I want to live. What do you say?’

  Jim didn’t know what to say. The audacity of the man! But he loved him. ‘Go to sleep, Greg.’

  ‘Got to be on air at eight o’clock. Can you wake me in three hours?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘The tests came in.’ Greg’s eyes were closing.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I’m in the clear.’ The eyes closed. ‘So far,’ he mumbled.

  Ray and Narelle made love again at five o’clock in the morning and again Ray felt powerful and in command as Narelle climaxed time and time again beneath him. He wasn’t to know that Narelle would have kept herself in check if she’d felt that was what he wanted. She would have taken command herself, straddled him and bucked about like a rodeo-rider if she’d known that would give him pleasure.

  Narelle wasn’t faking her orgasms. Narelle never faked any form of erotic enjoyment. Narelle’s true aphrodisiac was the pleasure she gave to her partner, and the pleasure she knew she was giving Ray was driving her to a frenzy of abandonment.

  As they lay, bathed in sweat and the afterglow, watching the sunrise from his twentieth floor window and sipping orange juice, Ray marvelled at the whole process. He was fully aware of Narelle’s lack of inhibition and knew that her delight was not due to any extraordinary prowess on his part. But surely if he could please her he could please others. He felt overwhelmed again. Overwhelmed with gratitude. ‘Thank you.’ He gently brushed her hair back from her face.

  She snuggled up to him. ‘It was lovely, wasn’t it? Do you think you’re ready … ’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ he laughed. Then he felt worried for her. ‘What are you going to do, Narelle?’

  ‘Well, I have to be back at the telethon in … ’

  ‘No. I mean with your life.’

  ‘Oh.’ Narelle gave a brisk nod. That was easy. ‘I’m going to keep giving my body to people. In bed and on television. I like people liking my body. And then when I’m thirty I’m going to have babies. Four of them. I’m going to settle down with a lovely man and use my body to give him babies.’

  Ray looked closely to see if she was joking but she wasn’t. Life was very simple for Narelle.

  ‘Vietnamese boat people!?’

  ‘Yes,’ Evan nodded enthusiastically. ‘You see, Jim and I thought it’d be a good idea if we started bringing the odd “issue” into “The Glitter Game”. Jim wanted to do something around Asian immigration and I reckoned the boat people would be a moving way to go about it — don’t you think? Good emotional stuff?’

  ‘Sure, sure, great idea,’ Alain agreed. Good God, he wouldn’t need to plan any sabotage action at this rate. The quickest way to kill ‘The Glitter Game’ was to introduce any ‘comment’. ‘The sooner the better, I’d say,’ he added.

  Evan smiled excitedly. ‘Terrific. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it. Jim thought we should look at it through the eyes of a fifteen-year-old Vietnamese girl.’ Evan warmed to his theme. ‘And that’s when I thought of the boat people. We have a montage of flashbacks — she’s five years old, her family are fleeing Vietnam, they’re picked up, she spends years in camps and … ’ Evan broke off with a frown. ‘Of course, she’ll be hell to cast, not only ethnically, but a teenager … ’ Evan shrugged dubiously.

  ‘Then I suggest you get casting on to it straight away.’ Alain rose from the table. ‘I’d like to be there at the casting session — shall we make it Thursday?’

  Evan was out the door before he knew it. Hell, short notice – the casting department wouldn’t like that. But he was pleased. He hadn’t thought for a minute Alain would go for such an adventurous and topical storyline.

  Alain couldn’t believe his luck. Not only were they hellbent on sabotaging their own series, he was to be treated to a casting session of Asian schoolgirls. Today was certainly his day.

  It was a good day for everyone. Rehearsals buzzed with the weekend gossip and everyone was thrilled that the telethon had been such a success. Five and a half million! A full half-million above their goal. Channel 3 was riding high.

  Greg had the afternoon off and spent most of it lugging his gear around to Jim’s. Both of them had monumental hangovers having sat up talking and downing the bottle of sambucca that Greg had brought home with him after the telethon ‘finale’ at midnight. ‘Sambucca seemed pertinent,’ he’d said as they started their discussion on where they went from there.

  By four am they’d decided that they would share Jim’s flat — a strictly platonic arrangement — and see how they got on. Jim needed a flatmate anyway and it was good economics for Greg to lease his flat and share. All in all it was a sound financial move. They were both aware that they were kidding no one.

  In-between stints at the telethon, Ray and Narelle had spent the entire Sunday locked in his suite. Narelle didn’t have to be at rehearsals till ten o’clock on Monday so Ray cancelled his eight am flight and ordered smoked salmon and eggs Benedict for breakfast. They ate it sprawled naked on the executive suite’s king-sized bed — Ray marvelled at the change in him as he dribbled hollandaise sauce on the impeccably laundered sheets and didn’t care.

  Mandy and Sidney dragged their aching joints through Monday’s rehearsals whingeing that
they’d been overworked and it was a damn good thing for the channel that they’d been available. Mandy told Sidney he was a grand old trouper and Sidney congratulated Mandy on her professionalism. They felt closer to each other than they ever had before as they refused to acknowledge, even to themselves, that they’d had the time of their lives.

  Tuesday the pressure was on again. It was a taping day, and a big one for Jane: first scene up, then every scene till lunch break — twelve on the trot and wordy ones at that. She arrived for make-up at 6.30 am and picked up the large manila envelope with ‘Amended Storylines’ and her name on it. What the heck did that mean? She flipped through the twenty-odd pages while Tanya did her hair.

  The sick feeling in the pit of Jane’s stomach grew till she could almost taste the bile. She jumped up and headed for the toilets down the corridor, knocking the hair dryer out of Tanya’s hand.

  Fifteen minutes later she returned to the make-up department, her face ashen.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Tanya asked.

  ‘Fine, just first period day, that’s all.’ Jane sat back in the make-up chair and concentrated on the mirror.

  She knew there was only one person she could talk to and, as soon as she was through make-up and hair, she rang the production department. ‘Is Chris working today?’

  ‘Yes, he’s editing, but he won’t be in for another hour.’

  ‘Would you leave a message for him to ring me in studio as soon as he arrives?’

  Jane took a deep breath and tried to close her mind to everything except the work ahead. The first three scenes were two-handers with Edwina who was waiting for her on set, having come directly from her private dressing room. Edwina never used the channel’s make-up and hair department. She preferred to do her own make-up and of course Davey always tended to her hair. Tanya and company had been deeply offended, and they’d all decided that Edwina was up herself and they didn’t like her — a fact which didn’t bother Edwina remotely.