The Glitter Game

by Judy Nunn

  Edwina’s limousine pulled up and the fans went wild. It was obvious whose night it was going to be.

  There were other triumphs, of course. Mandy’s was of global proportions as she collected her Best Supporting Actress award and she glowed, even as Sidney spat his congratulations at her from between his Terry-Thomas teeth. Poor old sod, she thought, and sincerely hoped that next year would see an award for him. Well, she corrected herself, for both of them; it was only fair.

  When Vicky took out the Best Newcomer award, the auditorium went wild. Everyone approved. Everyone, that is, except the precocious ten-year-old nominee from Channel 8. And when Chris Natteros was voted Best Director for the pilot of ‘The Glitter Game’, the Channel 3 tables gave their favourite director a standing ovation.

  Alain accepted the Best Television Series award for ‘The Glitter Game’ with his customary humility and many grateful acknowledgements to production team, cast and crew. He’d made acceptance speeches into quite an art form. Not too short, not too long, he mentioned all the necessary people, made two good gags and got off the stage while they were smiling. He left the podium to a healthy round of applause, caught Edwina’s polite smile and genteel handclap and thought, ‘You cunt, Edwina’. He’d corner the bitch alone and give it one more go.

  Edwina knew what Alain was thinking and it didn’t bother her. Neither did Jane’s malevolence. She had felt Jane’s eyes burning into her when the Best Newcomer nominees were announced. Tough, she thought. It’s the same old name of the same old game.

  She’d felt a twinge of something, maybe a slight regret, when Paul failed to carry off the Best Actor award. He looked so broken. But then she’d caught his eye and seen the flash of unconcealed hatred. Well, too bad, she thought, and dismissed him as well.

  Edwina decided to ignore them all. It was her night and she was going to savour her victory to the fullest. Then two things happened to mar her enjoyment.

  Liza Farrelly was the first. Liza hadn’t come near Edwina for months. In fact, not since Edwina had ruined her career. Strange. Liza was a formidable adversary and Edwina had been prepared for some form of battle, or at least a protest. But there had been nothing. Why? Then suddenly the confrontation that night, right after Edwina’s first acceptance speech. Cornering her like that on her way back from the stage. And again as Edwina was accepting the Gold, again there was Liza, gloating. Yes, that was the worry. The woman seemed triumphant in her hatred. What was she planning? Why did Edwina feel a flash of fear?

  And then there was Davey. Halfway through the evening he’d suddenly looked so ill. But the more Edwina asked, the more he insisted he was fine, that it was just the smoke. But he asked whether they could leave early nevertheless. Eventually Edwina found herself feeling irritated. How dare he get ill on her big night? As the MC was announcing the final dance spectacular, over which the credits would roll, she finally snapped. ‘For the last time, no! We cannot go home. Now will you shut up about it?’

  Edwina never said ‘shut up’. She considered it extremely rude and tantamount to heavy swearing. As Davey looked away, tired and defeated, she felt guilty. ‘I’m sorry, Davey.’ She squeezed his hand under the table. ‘I have to go up on stage for the press photos after the show, and then we’ll leave. I promise.’

  Davey nodded and smiled back. His hands were sweaty. He really is sick, Edwina thought.

  Davey felt more than sick. His stomach was knotted, his head was pounding and waves of dizziness were threatening to engulf him.

  He could barely remember a thing after his meeting with Liza in the foyer. The remainder of the evening drifted by in a kind of haze and he was only vaguely aware of Edwina accepting the Best Actress award and then the Gold Logie.

  The dancers wound up their athletic finale amidst smoke machines, laser lights and revolving sets, signalling the end of that year’s Logies award presentations.

  The following onstage press barrage was completely chaotic and Edwina, being the centre of attention, copped the brunt of it, with British and Australian photographers and journalists all vying for prime shots and comments.

  She eventually signalled Davey to rescue her and they weaved their way through to the hotel foyer.

  ‘I’ll go to the Ladies while you organise the car,’ she whispered.

  It wasn’t that easy. During the press session, most of the Logies guests had left the auditorium and were milling about the Gothic foyer area where they could be seen through the huge plate glass windows by their fans who were being held back by a cordon of police.

  Robert and Melanie Bryce were the first ones to corner Edwina.

  ‘Congratulations, Edwina, what a victory.’ Melanie shook her hand first, then Robert took over.

  ‘Yes, it’s been a big night for you, hasn’t it?’ But his voice was steel. ‘Just a quick word, if I may?’

  There was no way out. In a united move which was quite graceful, Melanie turned on her heel to block Davey while Robert wheeled Edwina into a corner beside a huge display of flowers.

  ‘What a night of triumph,’ Melanie was smiling at Davey. ‘We’re so proud of her.’

  ‘I’d like you to reconsider leaving the show.’ Robert was grim-faced. ‘In fact, I’d take it as a personal favour if you decided to stay.’

  Edwina felt a little unnerved but she met his eyes and answered strongly. ‘Not a favour I can oblige you with, I’m afraid, Robert. I’ve signed the deal with CBS.’

  ‘Oh, you can leave us to find a way around the legal aspect. I’d give it serious consideration if I were you, Edwina.’ Davey was now once more at Edwina’s side. ‘You might regret a hasty decision,’ Robert added. He smiled coldly, nodded, and rejoined Melanie.

  Once again Edwina felt a chill down her spine. Two people had frightened her tonight. Robert Bryce and … As she turned to Davey she caught Liza’s eye across the foyer. The woman made a move as if to join them.

  ‘Organise the car, Davey.’ Edwina backed off to the corridor leading to the women’s toilets.

  Davey followed her far enough to see her enter the door marked ‘Ladies’, and watched long enough to see Jane follow, but when Liza crossed the foyer and also made a beeline for the toilets, he cornered her. ‘There’s no need to bother her any further, Liza. I gave her your message.’

  ‘I’d like to check her reaction out for myself, if you don’t mind.’

  Inside the women’s washroom, Edwina had applied fresh lipstick and was opening her powder compact, all the time aware that Jane was standing beside her. Jane was looking in the mirror and combing her hair. But she wasn’t looking at herself, she was looking at Edwina.

  Finally Jane couldn’t bear it any longer. ‘How do you live with yourself, Edwina?’ she demanded. ‘How the hell do you live with yourself?’

  Edwina had had enough. What with veiled threats from Robert Bryce, the menace of Liza Farrelly, not to mention Alain King and Paul Sorell both breathing down her neck, the last thing she needed was a jealous actress out to twist the knife. She didn’t even glance at Jane but threw her make-up in her bag and stormed to the door. It was her night, for God’s sake — why couldn’t they all leave her alone!

  She threw the door open only to collide with Liza.

  ‘Davey said he gave you my —’ Liza started to say but Davey was there immediately.

  ‘I’ve signalled ‘a doorman,’ he said, hurrying Edwina to one side as Jane appeared beside Liza. ‘I’ll tell him to bring the car down to the car park so that you don’t have to go through the crowds.’

  Edwina kept walking. ‘I’ll meet you down there. I’ve got to get out.’

  ‘But it’ll only take a minute. Why don’t —’

  ‘I’m not waiting a second, Davey. I’ll see you in the car park.’ Davey watched as Edwina crossed the foyer and disappeared around the corner to the lift which serviced the underground car park.

  ‘Have you seen Paul?’ A voice startled him. It was Barbie. She was in jeans and a sweatshirt and looked ver
y out of place among the formal evening wear. But Davey didn’t notice. His head was beginning to ache again.

  ‘No.’ He started to move off, then noticed how odd Barbie looked and wondered vaguely if there was anything wrong. Barbie was a nice woman and he regretted being brusque. ‘Sorry, I haven’t seen him for ages.’

  They both looked around the crowded foyer but Paul was nowhere in sight.

  The party in the foyer dispersed to various executive suites and private rooms in the hotel. Political power games and general brown-nosing went on in the executive suites booked by the channels and fornicating went on in most of the private rooms booked for the stars. Everyone was having a great time until the body was found.

  No one knew how it had happened or who had done it. In fact it was only when the police arrived and started their endless rounds of questions that it became known who had made the actual discovery.

  It had been a Japanese couple, tourists not even connected with the Logies, who’d found Edwina’s twisted body lying on the concrete floor of the car park. She’d been shot with her own gun, a .25 calibre Colt automatic pistol she always carried with her.

  The next day the banner headlines made lurid reading: GOLD LOGIE WINNER FOUND DEAD IN HOTEL CAR PARK … A BLOODY END FOR AUSTRALIA’S DARLING.

  Billboards all over the city were plastered with huge blowups of a triumphant Edwina, holding her Gold Logie aloft, as if to say, ‘Today Australia, tomorrow the world!’ Suicide? On her night of victory? Surely it had to be murder. The nation was in a state of shock and conjecture was endless.

  The police interrogations after the Logies had been ruthless. Guests had been rounded up like cattle and forbidden to leave the hotel until they’d given a full report of their actions during the evening. To many the questions were an embarrassment and a number of people lied, which didn’t make things any easier for the police.

  Melanie and Robert Bryce were interviewed first thing the following morning. They hadn’t been available at the hotel as they’d evidently left the Regent shortly after the presentations to supper quietly alone.

  Paul Sorell had also left the presentations early. The police had ascertained that he had spent the night at his estranged wife’s home and was still there. As the homicide detectives left Melanie and Robert to interview Paul, Davey handed a twenty dollar note to a cab driver in Glebe. He waved away the change, got out of the car, and started walking.

  Davey couldn’t recall much of the previous night. He vaguely remembered searching the Channel 3 executive suites asking everyone whether they had seen Edwina: ‘I was supposed to meet her in the car park but she’s not there.’

  Then her body was discovered. When the police arrived and the guests were detained for questioning all Davey could say was, ‘I was supposed to meet her in the car park. I was supposed to meet her in the car park.’

  He’d refused to stay the night with Vicky and Simon but accepted a lift home from them. The police doctor had given him a sedative and he sat numbly in the back of the car, staring out of the window. He hadn’t let them come inside and he couldn’t remember how he’d spent the night. Sitting in a chair, he knew that much, but whether or not he’d slept, he really didn’t know.

  The same bewildered look was in his eyes as he wandered the streets of Glebe — his face was expressionless but his eyes screamed, ‘why?’ His wandering wasn’t aimless. He knew where he was going. He had somehow wanted to feel his body moving so he’d got out of the cab several blocks before his destination, but he knew where he was going, all right.

  Arthur Burton had been a pathologist with the Police Department for twenty years but he didn’t behave like one. He never cracked black jokes about ‘stiffs’ or played macabre pranks on his workmates. Despite this, and despite the fact that he liked reading poetry and cried at sad movies, he was a true professional. To him, a body was the same piece of meat it was to the next pathologist or the next seasoned cop. However, even Dr Burton had been deeply disturbed by the body of Edwina Dawling.

  The case being a possible murder, he’d been called in to the City Morgue immediately upon delivery of the body and so hadn’t been at home to see his wife’s reaction when she opened the early morning paper which was delivered daily. She and both the kids had been such avid fans of Edwina. And he had to admit, he’d always fancied her himself.

  And here she was, lying on the slab in front of him, with a bullet through her temple. He pulled the sheet back over Edwina’s face and heaved a sigh. Time to get on with the paperwork. It was definitely no suicide, of course. He’d already phoned his findings in to Homicide, but now there was the lengthy report to get on with. He always hated that part of the job. Maybe he’d make himself a cup of tea first. But he stopped. Someone was standing in the doorway.

  ‘How did you get in? What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come to say goodbye to Edwina,’ Davey answered, his eyes fixed on the slab in the centre of the room.

  The man was drained, defeated, numb with grief. Arthur studied the face, and he suddenly knew. ‘You did it.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

  Davey was startled. ‘What?’ He shook his head as if to clear his brain and there was a spark of recognition in his eyes.

  ‘You did it. You killed her.’

  A shocking flash of revelation rushed through Davey’s mind. Yes, of course. He nodded. ‘Can I say goodbye?’

  It was a pathetic question and Arthur was moved. He knew that the man posed no threat. He closed the door behind Davey and crossed to the wall phone. ‘I’ll tell them you’re here,’ he said and he started to dial. Then he turned away as, very, very slowly, Davey walked towards the slab.

  Pictures flashed through Davey’s brain. Fire escape steps. Running down the fire escape steps to the underground car park. Throwing the door open.

  ‘Oh! Davey.’ Edwina’s startled gasp. ‘You frightened me.’

  Taking her evening bag from her. ‘I can’t find my car keys.’ Feeling the weight of the pistol through the fine fabric. Then kissing her gently. ‘I was very proud of you tonight. I love you.’ Kissing her again.

  Then his mind went blank. He stood staring down at the sheet. As he reached out to pull it back, there was another flash.

  Taking the service elevator to the top floor of the hotel. The smell of food. The view of Sydney Harbour. The sense of surprise that he didn’t want to jump, that he didn’t want to end his own life. Not that he cared what happened to him — he didn’t care if they found him. He’d simply done what had to be done. What was the name of that film? Susannah York’s face had danced through his mind. Yes, that’s right, They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? that’s what he’d done. But how? How had he … ? Again his mind went a blank.

  Slowly, Davey eased the sheet back. Apart from the neat hole in Edwina’s temple, she looked as beautiful as ever. As beautiful as she’d looked when he’d kissed her for the last time and held the gun to her head.

  Davey eased the sheet back unthinkingly as the final moment came to him. The feel of her soft white neck as he’d drawn her face to his for that last kiss. ‘I love you,’ he’d said.

  The sheet was now drawn down to Edwina’s waist and the small firm breasts were exposed. Arthur Burton hung up the phone and turned to Davey — then turned away again, embarrassed. He didn’t want to see any more. He didn’t want to see again that, despite the obvious years of hormone treatment, Edwina Dawling was still a man.

  But the sheet remained at Edwina’s waist as Davey once more caressed the white neck. There were no regrets — he’d had to do it. Liza Farrelly’s voice rang in his ears and he could see her black eyes, burning with triumph and hatred. ‘I know, Davey,’ she’d said. ‘I know. And so will the whole country tomorrow. Tell Edwina the story’s already in print, thousands of copies are just waiting to be distributed. The billboards are going to read “Edwina Dawling is a man!” Tell her that. I’d like to think of her sweating out the night. Tell her, Davey! Tell her!’
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  As he bent once more to kiss her, Davey knew that, even without Liza’s discovery, Edwina had been destined for destruction. They’d both been living on borrowed time ever since that day in Rosa’s office.

  Poor, foolish Rosa. Davey hadn’t believed for one minute that Rosa would carry out her threat to tell the world if Edwina left the agency. He’d been wrong. Very wrong. She had already told the world. She’d told Liza Farrelly that very afternoon. But Edwina wasn’t to know that as she leapt at Rosa, her anger bordering on insanity.

  Ten years ago Davey himself had been the recipient of one of Edwina’s insane rages and she’d nearly killed him. She was strong, very strong, and Rosa didn’t stand a chance.

  When Rosa was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, her neck broken, Edwina had become hysterical and it was left to Davey to clear up the mess, to make the plans, to drive Rosa and her car to the Blue Mountains. It was all Edwina could do to follow in their car.

  Ever since then their days had been numbered, and Davey had known it. Now, with the awful realisation that it was all over, he felt a sense of relief.

  His kiss was as gentle as it had been the night before when he’d pressed the muzzle of the gun to her temple. ‘I was very proud of you tonight,’ he’d said. ‘I love you.’ Then he’d kissed her again. ‘I’ll always love you, Edward.’ Then he’d pulled the trigger.

  The news of Edwina’s murder, rapidly followed by the disclosure of her true identity, made journalistic history. Edwina died as she’d lived: centre stage.

  But the television industry ground along remorselessly. Careers soared or crashed or plodded on regardless of lurid headlines.

  Jane went back to the theatre — a fringe production with an experimental group working out of a converted warehouse. She’d been offered the lead in a British farce opposite a big TV star from the UK, her ‘Glitter Game’ profile guaranteeing bums on seats for the management, but she’d knocked it back in favour of fringe. And she didn’t regret it. She felt as though she’d come home. Bugger the big time, she’d decided. They could keep the fame and the money — she’d go for the challenge instead.