The Glitter Game

by Judy Nunn

  He called Chris Natteros on the private line.

  ‘Chris. Alain King.’

  ‘Oh. Hello, Alain. How’s things?’ Chris’ voice was blurred with sleep.

  ‘Got a proposition for you. Can you come in to the channel this morning?’

  ‘Christ, Alain, it was opening night last night. Can’t it … ?’

  ‘Sure, sure,’ Alain had read somewhere that Chris was directing a stage show. ‘It can wait till this afternoon. Two o’clock, OK?’

  Alain hung up and Chris drifted back to sleep. The bastard hadn’t even asked how opening night went, he thought. Typical.

  Exactly one hour later, Wendy announced Brian Hopgood with a special delivery from Mr Bryce.

  Brian entered Alain’s office and placed a dozen large bulky envelopes on his desk. ‘Mr Bryce thought you might be able to use these, Alain. They were dumped not far from the channel and the police haven’t been able to come up with who did it.’ Brian’s shrug and smile suggested that it was unnecessary to bandy any story other than that about the station. ‘Your personal property’s here too.’ He patted the smaller padded bag on top.

  ‘Mr Bryce said, welcome back. He told me to tell you he’s delighted you’ve decided to stay on. He goes home tomorrow but he said anything you need, just ask.’

  When Brian had left, Alain took the gun out of its padded bag, put it in his desk drawer and checked the rest of the material.

  It was all there. Files of ‘Glitter Game’ storylines, the family sitcom, discs, videos, marketing plans.

  He took a deep breath. The fight was on.

  ‘Sandy, you’ll be directing with the second unit crew from now on. I’m sacking Mike.’

  Sandy, Evan and Jim were assembled in Alain’s office. They looked from one to the other. What was wrong with Mike? He was inexperienced, sure. Fresh out of the Film and Television School, with only one trade doco and two episodes of a second rate soap to his credit — everyone had been amazed when Alain had insisted on his appointment. But he’d proved his worth since then and was a nice enough bloke.

  ‘Why?’ Jim asked.

  ‘And who’ll be directing the first unit?’ Sandy demanded belligerently.

  ‘I’m bringing Chris back.’

  ‘When?’ Jim looked amazed.

  ‘As soon as possible.’

  ‘But Mike’s contracted till —’

  ‘We’ll pay him out.’ Despite Alain’s confidence, he was praying inside that Chris didn’t have a solid commitment. The play had opened, thank God, but if there was another deal lined up, Chris was the sort of man who would honour it.

  It didn’t occur to Alain for one minute that Chris might turn down his offer. Chris was a family man and in Alain’s experience, family men could also be bought. It would cost, but Chris was worth it.

  Jim was offended that he hadn’t been consulted in an area that was directly his domain and he was insulted that Alain was now announcing his decision in front of Evan and Sandy. ‘Just a minute, Alain. I think we should —’

  ‘Evan, I want you to ditch the boat people storyline.’ Alain didn’t even appear to notice Jim. ‘Are the scripts completed?’

  ‘They’re not even started.’

  There was a silence. Scripting was nearly six months in advance, the boat people storyline should have been about to go into production. Alain now looked to Jim, and his look demanded an explanation.

  ‘They were shelved a month after we held the auditions, Alain.’

  ‘Why wasn’t I told?’

  ‘Well, to be quite honest, you weren’t taking your usual interest in the scripting department and I thought you didn’t give a damn.’

  Alain’s face was thunderous. He didn’t like Jim’s recently acquired backbone.

  ‘Besides,’ Jim said, ‘Robert Bryce told me not to mention it.’

  Another fractional pause. ‘What did Robert Bryce have to do with it?’ Alain asked slowly, although he already knew the answer.

  ‘The boat people storyline was Melanie’s idea. She rang Evan herself. She thought it was a moral issue we should cover.’ Evan was nodding his vigorous agreement. ‘But when Robert quelled it a month later,’ Jim continued, ‘he told me it was one of Melanie’s aberrations and it was an embarrassment and the less said about it the better. I must say I agreed with him and … ’

  ‘I didn’t.’ Evan’s face was flushed with annoyance. ‘It was a damn good storyline and I’d put a lot of work into it and I still think it could work if —’

  ‘Shut up, Evan,’ Alain snapped. Of course it had all been set up to plant Tran but Alain didn’t have time to think about Tran now. He didn’t have time to cringe with embarrassment at Melanie’s involvement in the plot. There was far too much to be done.

  ‘The police found this dumped near the channel.’ He pushed the pile of envelopes over the desk at Evan. ‘It looks as if everything’s there. Take it with you, get on with those storylines and keep them tight.’

  Evan peered into the top envelope then looked at Alain in amazement. ‘It’s the stuff that was stolen.’

  ‘Well, it obviously wasn’t, was it?’ Alain snapped. ‘It was obviously dumped.’

  Evan, Jim and Sandy exchanged incredulous looks.

  ‘But why? Who would have done it?’ Jim asked.

  ‘Oh, Christ, Jim. I don’t know! The police don’t know! A junkie covering his tracks, who cares? We’ve got the stuff back, now let’s get moving!’

  After he’d got rid of Evan, Jim and Sandy, Alain called a meeting with Tim Arnold and his assistants. He announced that ‘The Glitter Game’ publicity budget was to be increased by half again and a massive promotion campaign was to be mounted leading up to the Logie Awards night.

  Alain waited till Lois and Val had left the office and Tim was about to close the door behind him. ‘Oh, and Tim.’ He watched the PR man turn. ‘Didn’t want to mention it in front of the girls, but those pirate deals of yours. Give them a miss.’

  Tim’s face was suddenly ashen. ‘Alain, I don’t know what —’

  ‘I said, give them a miss.’ A thin smile. ‘If you want to stay in this industry, Tim, just remember your place.’ A pause. ‘Which is really nothing in the scheme of things, is it?’ The smile was gone. ‘Now get out.’

  Alain’s meeting with Chris was as successful as he knew it would be. Of course they played games to start with. ‘We were a little premature I feel, Chris.’ Alain’s golden rules when rectifying a mistake were to never apologise and to use the royal ‘we’ whenever possible. ‘We fully appreciate your worth and we’d love to have you back in the family.’ Alain’s smile was warm and generous. ‘Now, what are your commitments and how can we go about this?’

  Chris smiled back. He knew exactly the game Alain was playing and he knew, even before he answered, that he’d allow himself to be bought. But for a good price, he told himself. Helen and the kids deserved it. ‘I don’t have any firm commitments after the play, Alain.’

  ‘Which opened last night?’ Chris nodded. ‘So, you’re in the clear as of now?’

  ‘Except for policing the show. I like to go to every second performance.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Alain nodded, thinking the man was a workaholic. Few other stage directors went to those lengths. ‘But if we made sure you weren’t involved in night shoots you could start back immediately, right?’

  ‘That depends, of course.’

  ‘Double the money?’

  Chris was used to Alain’s games. This was a new approach and he was suddenly taken aback. What had happened to the foxing around and bargaining?

  Alain read his reaction. ‘No point in messing about, Chris. You know me too well. Will you take it?’

  ‘I’ll take it.’

  So far so good, Alain thought, after Chris had gone. Writers, directors, publicity were all tied up. Now for the difficult part. The actors. How was he going to repair the damage there?

  Ironically enough, the major damage in that de
partment hadn’t been caused by him at all. Edwina’s insistence that Jane Richmond be relegated to the background had been the first big mistake and Alain had protested it at the time. Also, he could hardly have prevented Narelle’s pregnancy or Vicky’s choice of lover over stardom. But he knew that if he hadn’t been willing the destruction of the show he would certainly have found a way to keep them. Oh well, it wasn’t too late. He’d talk them around, it wouldn’t be difficult.

  Narelle’s pregnancy could be disguised till the last minute and she could be filmed in tight mid-shots and close-ups when it was really showing. She’d only need a few weeks out. Then the channel would supply a full-time nanny. Not that that idiot dentist husband of hers couldn’t afford his own fleet of nannies but it was good to appear caring.

  Of course! The idiot dentist husband! That was the way to get to Narelle! Alain punched the intercom button. ‘Wendy, send a memo to all cast. Friday week. Dinner. Husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends welcome. It’s to say thanks for a great team effort, ratings are well up, we want to congratulate our Logie nominees and wish them luck, etc. etc.’

  ‘Yes, Mr King.’

  ‘And book somewhere upmarket — Pruniers, Le Trianon or whatever. I want them all there.’ He released the intercom button without waiting for Wendy’s reply, then punched it again as he remembered. ‘And get Vicky Fraser in here as soon as possible.’

  ‘I don’t think she’s in the studio today, shall I —?’

  ‘Tomorrow, then.’

  ‘Mr King!’ Wendy leapt in before he could release the button. ‘Edwina Dawling isn’t due back from overseas until the week after the cast dinner you’re planning. Would you like me to organise it for the following Friday?’

  Alain paused only momentarily. ‘No. Chances are she wouldn’t show anyway.’

  As he leaned back in his chair and drew breath, Alain realised he didn’t want Edwina there. It would be a work night for him, he must be on his mettle and the woman continued to unnerve him. What was it about her that made him feel so self-conscious?

  Alain felt a pang of regret as he remembered his original plan. If everything had gone accordingly, Edwina would be out of the show by now and Jane would be starring.

  Feisty little number that she was, Alain would have had no trouble controlling Jane. He knew her type. All he’d have to do would be to maintain strong storylines for her and keep telling her what a good actress she was and how the show couldn’t survive without the skills of such a fully-trained professional. All that shit and she’d be eating out of his hand. They were a dime a dozen, these ‘committed actors’ — they felt themselves superior to soap and needed that superiority acknowledged. It used to irritate Alain in the old days until he realised just how easily manipulated such purist egos were. If only Edwina were so easily manipulated. If he tried the professional flattery on her, she’d give him that arrogant stare that said ‘So what? I know that,’ and wait for him to go on.

  Alain toyed with the idea of tempting Jane to stay but dismissed it quickly. He’d have to give her good storylines and Edwina wouldn’t take that. Like it or not, it was the Edwina Dawling show now and Alain couldn’t risk losing her. It was a pity, but Jane was out.

  Who next? Paul. Alain would have to get him off the booze before the viewers discovered they were idolising a drunk. That pretty wife of his who’d made an impressive comeback in the fashion world recently — what was her name? Barbie Nelson — she’d be able to do the trick. Again the intercom button.

  ‘Find me any recent stuff on Barbie Nelson.’

  ‘Paul Sorell’s wife? She’s on the cover of Woman’s Day this week.’

  ‘Get it. Oh, and call Mandy Burgess and Sidney Meredith’s agents. I want their contracts signed and back on my desk first thing tomorrow.’

  The rest of the day went smoothly. Alain made an appointment with Barbie, via her agent, for the following afternoon. They were to discuss a possible ongoing fashion segment in Channel 3’s morning programme.

  ‘I was most impressed with the televised “Night of Stars” wool fashion parade she hosted,’ Alain explained to the agent. Woman’s Day had said it was Barbie’s latest showy gig.

  ‘Yes, it was good, wasn’t it?’ the agent agreed enthusiastically. ‘Barbie’s always been the best in the business at —’

  ‘Around two-thirty, three o’clock be all right?’

  ‘Yes, fine, Mr King.’

  ‘Good. Tell Barbie I’m looking forward to meeting her.’

  Alain hadn’t bothered to check with the producer of the morning show to see whether a fashion segment could be incorporated. It was immaterial. These things took months to finalise and by the time Barbie was informed that the deal had fallen through, Paul would hopefully be ensconced once again in the loving bosom of his family and off the bottle.

  The only real irritation of the day came at four forty-five as Alain was preparing to leave the office.

  ‘I’ve just had a call from both Mandy Burgess’ and Sidney Meredith’s agents,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Right. Are they couriering the contracts over?’

  ‘No. They say their clients are no longer happy with the conditions and they’d like either you or Jim Avalon to get back to them.’

  ‘They what!’

  ‘They want more money,’ Wendy said, then ducked out before the explosion.

  It was those fucking stupid T-shirts, Alain thought, and that fucking stupid fan club. Mind you he had to admit it was good for the show.

  He was buggered if he was going to make the contact though, he’d puke if he had to negotiate with those old farts. He grabbed his briefcase and opened the door. ‘Tell Jim to get on to the Burgess, Meredith agents and give them what they want. Burgess Meredith! Oh Jesus,’ he snorted, ‘even their fucking names are a joke.’

  Alain’s interview with Vicky the following afternoon was the first hiccough he’d experienced in his reparation process and he didn’t like it at all.

  ‘Sorry Alain, no way!’

  Alain was taken aback. As soon as Vicky had told him nothing could sway her personal reasons for leaving the show, he’d assumed it was a bargaining ploy. The girl learns fast, he thought with a touch of admiration.

  He recalled her manipulation of events during their original ‘research session’. Yes, he’d recognised her as one of his breed from the very start, he told himself. One of those who, like him, used people and situations — one of those who never allowed others to get too close. So what was this ‘personal reasons’ shit she was giving him?

  ‘All right, Vicky.’ Alain didn’t even bother laying on the charm. ‘Say we double the money. What happens to the “personal reasons” then?’

  And that was when she came out with the reply. There wasn’t even a split second’s consideration. ‘Sorry, Alain, no way!’

  He allowed himself only a momentary surge of anger before he dismissed her. She obviously wasn’t going to budge and he didn’t have time to waste. There were too many other things to be done and the Sorrell wife would be here at any minute.

  ‘That’ll be all, Vicky,’ Alain said. ‘You’re a fool,’ he added as she rose to go.

  ‘Maybe, maybe not.’ The electric blue eyes sparkled and the grin was unimaginably cheeky.

  Alain wanted to hit her. ‘Ungrateful little bitch,’ he whispered through clenched teeth as the door closed behind her.

  Vicky didn’t hear him but she might as well have. She knew exactly what Alain was thinking. When she got out into the corridor, she threw her head back and laughed out loud. She’d never felt so happy. She no longer needed to use and be used. She no longer needed to put up walls and stand guard.

  She was nearly bowled over by Jim as she turned the corner into the front foyer reception.

  ‘What’s the joke?’ he asked, and Vicky realised that she was still grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘Alain’s reaction to the big “no”,’ she answered. ‘Hey, where have you been? You smell like a brewery.’<
br />
  ‘Only a bottle of red and a couple of cognacs. You need at least that much when you’re wining and dining two agents simultaneously.’

  Vicky cocked a knowing eyebrow. There was no way the Jim Avalon of old would have consumed alcohol in the middle of a working day. She approved of the change. ‘Well, don’t drink yourself under the table before tonight. It’s going to be a big one.’

  Greg and Jim were spending the evening watching the Academy Awards telecast with Simon and Vicky. Simon was already at home putting the champagne on ice and preparing endless food treats.

  Along with Vicky, Greg and Jim had helped Simon through his rehabilitation and since then the four had become great friends.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep myself nice,’ Jim promised. ‘You haven’t heard anything, have you?’ They were all praying for Anna Bowrey to pick up the award and Simon had even bought little Australian flags to wave when the Best Actress category came up. But of course the telecast went to air hours after the actual ceremony so it was essential to close ears and eyes to late afternoon radios and newspapers which carried announcements of the winners.

  ‘Not a word. Wendy tried to tell me when I was waiting for Alain but I screamed and covered my ears.’

  ‘Good girl,’ Jim grinned. ‘See you tonight.’

  ‘Six o’clock and don’t be late!’ Vicky yelled, as Jim disappeared down the corridor on his way to Alain’s office.

  ‘Don’t! Don’t!’ Jim turned Wendy’s afternoon paper face down and put his hands over his ears.

  ‘I wasn’t going to,’ Wendy snapped. She’d been very put out by Vicky’s behaviour and certainly didn’t expect a similar exhibition from someone as responsible as Jim Avalon. ‘It’s not in the paper yet anyway, it was on the radio news … ’

  ‘Don’t care, don’t care, don’t want to hear it,’ Jim intoned, his hands still over his ears. Wendy caught a whiff of cognac and thought, ‘So that’s it’. ‘I’ll tell Mr King you’re here,’ she said. ‘He has an appointment in,’ she looked at her watch, ‘five minutes, though.’

  ‘I’ll only be one.’