Love, Sweat and Tears

by Zelie Bullen

  His door was ajar and I knocked. ‘Come in!’ he called out.

  I said, ‘No, it’s OK.’ I didn’t feel comfortable going into his bedroom late at night.

  He said, ‘Ohhh, come in!’

  I didn’t know what else to do so I pushed the door open and walked in. I made a point of leaving the door ajar behind me. I walked down the small hallway past the ensuite into the room, then stopped in shock. Mario was sprawled out on the bed like some kind of Cleo centrefold model, in just a pair of jocks.

  I tried to act natural and asked, ‘So, how did the meeting go?’

  ‘Ohhh, come here—come here and sit,’ he replied as he patted the bed.

  ‘No, I’m fine, Mario.’

  ‘Don’t be like that. Come and sit.’ So I sat on the very edge of the bed, as far away from him as possible. Then he leant forward and grabbed me by the arm, smiling as he pulled me up next to him.

  I got up quickly and said, ‘Don’t do that!’

  His mood changed. ‘What is wrong with you? When will you relax?’

  I said, ‘I’m quite relaxed when I’m not with you.’

  ‘Well, relax with me—you being such a stupid bitch.’

  ‘What is wrong with you?’ I yelled.

  ‘You are the most stupid person I have ever met in my life,’ he said furiously. ‘You could have everything you want in life if you could just relax.’

  ‘You have no idea what I want in life,’ I said. I was so irate and upset that I started to cry.

  It was like a switch had gone off inside him. Suddenly he was conciliatory. He said, ‘Calm down, let’s talk.’

  ‘Mario, I am so hurt by you,’ I said. ‘You have been nasty to me the whole time, even though you originally told me I could work with you and not sleep with you. You have tried it on a couple of times and I am not interested. I don’t have to tell you the reason, but, if you must know, it’s because I’m not attracted to you.’ I felt I had to be blunt to get my point across. ‘Where I come from, people don’t sleep with their bosses.’

  He said, ‘OK, I understand that.’ He now seemed sympathetic. The atmosphere changed again and I felt relaxed enough to sit back down on the edge of the bed and try to compose myself while he explained himself to me.

  ‘Of course you don’t have to sleep with me to work with me,’ he said, ‘but my horses are my love and my life. If you want to share my life and my love, then you share my love and my life. You don’t just take what you want—my horses—without giving anything back.’

  I had seen for myself how passionate he was about his horses—he loves them, and they are his world. He sometimes went down to the stable alone late at night and gave them treats over the stable door, kissing them and talking to them quietly. He told me now, ‘You’re sharing this with me, and yet you don’t want to give me any love back—you don’t want to give me any gratitude?’

  I knew what he was saying. He wasn’t saying, ‘Lie down so I can have sex with you,’ he meant that he wanted to make love and share.

  I was still upset when I left him that night. Before I left his room, I asked him what time I was needed in the morning, but he didn’t know. He dismissively told me I would be collected at some stage.

  I woke early, dressed and looked out the window. I was too scared to go outside in case I missed the driver or whoever was going to collect me. I hadn’t eaten breakfast, and I didn’t know what to do. I just sat there on my hotel room floor and ran through my stretching routines over and over until there was a knock at the door. A man spoke in French and beckoned me to come with him. I took all of my belongings, because I didn’t know what was going on or whether I’d be coming back to the hotel or not.

  He took me onto the set. I could see Mario talking with the crew, but he didn’t acknowledge me. A few of the stunt guys from Mario’s were there as grooms, preparing Emilio, but I didn’t know them terribly well.

  I went over and gave Emilio a pat and said hi to the guys. I was whisked off by an assistant director to do hair, make-up and wardrobe, which took a couple of hours. Nobody spoke English and I was still none the wiser about the job.

  When I came out of hair and make-up, Mario said the crew were waiting, so we had to do the stunt straightaway. I got onto Emilio, and Mario gave me my instructions. ‘Okay, you must trot there, canter there and then I will stop Emilio. You must not look like you are stopping him. And then you fall off over the jump.’

  We rehearsed the shot just once. It always gets harder in a situation like that, because the horse knows it’s going to be stopped at a certain point and it tries to stop earlier each time. So with the camera rolling I would have to push Emilio on and then Mario would stop him off-camera, and I’d throw myself over the jump while making it look like an accident.

  Mario didn’t say anything between takes—he gave me no feedback at all—and we just did the same scene over a few times. At the end of it, we did some more shots of me cantering around and jumping another couple of jumps, and then Mario left and I was taken off to get changed.

  I found a seat and again waited for some instruction. I was taken to a tent for lunch, which was a three-course sit-down meal as is normal on a film set in France. I saw Mario in the tent networking, but I didn’t know anyone else, and no one spoke to me. The grooms had already left with Emilio.

  The driver picked me up again and took me to the station. I was thinking, ‘Shit, I hope I don’t have to catch a train by myself. Fortunately, Mario met me at the station and we got on the train together.

  Other than telling me what to do for the stunt, he hadn’t said another word to me that day. He didn’t talk to me again—not during the five hours on the train, nor when we got into his car and drove back to his place. Finally, we got out of the car and each grabbed our own bags. I said goodbye and he didn’t answer. I began walking to my car and he walked towards the stairway to his home above the ménage.

  I stopped, turned and asked, ‘Do I still come back here to work tomorrow?’

  He turned and said, ‘Of course!’ seeming surprised that I had asked.

  It was late at night as I drove back home. I cried all the way, thinking, ‘I’m never going back again.’ I wondered whether my quest for knowledge and experience was worth the emotional torment. I had a very restless night and I woke up late and thought, ‘Shit, I’m late for work’; then, ‘It’s not my work, I’m not going back there.’ At that point every cell in my body cried out, ‘Yes you are!’

  I got up. I cried all the way in but, as soon as I got there, I put on a hard-arse face. I didn’t know what to expect. I still felt uncertain about my future there, despite Mario’s answer the night before. Had I lost my job? Did I even want the bloody job?

  I arrived at work late. There was stuff going on, and so I went and started work.

  CHAPTER 28

  Ridicule and recognition

  Two months passed; Mario gave me a lesson every day, but his manner towards me was rude and dismissive. I kept thinking, ‘I hate you, I hate you—I hate every bit of you.’

  I continued going to jobs during this time, doing some on-camera riding, but I never worked with Mario on set again. I worked with Chino mostly, and that suited me.

  Whenever producers or other important guests came to Mario’s, all the staff would line up to be introduced; Mario would introduce everyone else by name, but he always skipped me. Humiliated, I would look at the floor while he passed me by as though I didn’t exist.

  One day when a producer was visiting I decided I wouldn’t line up. I didn’t want to go through the humiliation again. So I stood behind a horse truck parked in the courtyard. But then Mario saw me standing there and motioned me over, pointing to where he wanted me to stand. I felt as though he was saying, ‘You need to be here, so I can ignore you in front of all these people.’ I felt I had no choice but to join the others. I knew the experiences I was having at Mario’s were invaluable, broadening my knowledge of horses and my riding skills. I had had no p
rior experience with classical dressage and falling stunt horses. I told myself to tough it out.

  One day we were told that five stuntwomen were coming from all around France to try out with Mario for a film that was being shot in a few months. I was quite sore that morning because I’d been shot off a horse for a film a few days before and I was still a bit bruised which can be normal after a stunt. I helped the other grooms to saddle and prepare five of the falling horses.

  Everyone gathered around the outside arena to watch as the stuntwomen warmed up the horses. I could see that two of the girls could ride OK, but the other three weren’t riding very well at all. Then Mario arrived and gave them their instructions. By then I had picked up enough French to understand what he was asking—they had to trot in a figure of eight, then canter one circle and fall the horse at his mark.

  One by one the girls attempted to follow his instructions, but not one of them could put their horse down on the ground. By the time the fifth girl had tried and failed, Mario was swearing; when he got into that mood, everyone went quiet. One girl got off the horse, got into her car and left immediately; three others sat on their horses looking embarrassed. The fifth girl had fallen off her horse in her attempt to make it fall and was getting back on.

  ‘Zelie, get on this horse!’ Mario called out to me. I got onto the riderless horse and he said, ‘Allez!’ meaning Go!

  I did the figure of eight, cantered the circle and fell the horse.

  ‘Get off! Get on that horse,’ he barked, making the other girls get off.

  I did the same routine on every one of the five horses. Some of them I hadn’t ridden before. I believe Mario’s intention was to humiliate the stuntwomen for failing to meet his standards. When I’d finished he told them that was all and dismissed them.

  Chino later told me that I was to do the job. The producers needed a horse and rider to be hit by a train. The stunt would be done in stages and then compiled as a complete take in editing.

  From that day on, Mario began talking to me again. Now I noticed that he treated me like one of the men. With the men, he never made a fuss, just said, ‘Bonjour’ every morning and got on with things. Whenever he had been away on a job, on his return he would invariably kiss everyone in the stables, both girls and guys, as the French do. He began to include me in that little ritual again. He was never especially nice to me, but he treated me like one of his staff again. I liked it, and I was relieved that I could stay on and continue to learn from him.

  While I was waiting for the new film job that Chino had told me about, Freda called me one morning and told me Mum had been diagnosed with breast cancer. I think it was a Sunday, because there weren’t many people around. Still, for privacy I walked around the side of a horse truck, sat down on the ground with my back against the tyre, and began to cry.

  Fred had told me the situation wasn’t critical and I didn’t have to come home. But I knew I wanted to go home. I was thinking, ‘What if Mum dies?’

  Then I heard someone coming. Mario walked briskly past me. He looked at me briefly and kept going, then slowed, turned around and said, ‘Ça va? Are you OK?’

  ‘Oui, ça va,’ I said, but he saw straight through me.

  ‘Noooo.’ And this man, who had treated me so coldly and rudely for so long, came and sat down next to me on the cobblestones. ‘Tell me what’s happened.’

  Reluctantly, I told him about Freda’s phone call.

  ‘Ahh, my darling.’ He held me to his chest and I cried and cried.

  ‘Come! Come, get up!’ he said at last.

  We both stood up and he held my hands. ‘Now, medicine is very good,’ he said, trying to reassure me. ‘Breast cancer is nothing—they chop the boob off, everything fine. I will pay for your flight home.’

  ‘I have a return ticket for my flight home—Mark has already paid for it.’

  ‘Fine, you come to the office now and I will explain to Fadila. She book your flight. You go. When you want—tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, please. But sorry—what about the job with the train?’

  ‘Oooh, leave it—it’s just a movie. It is not important like your mother. I just get one of the men and put boobs on—don’t worry about it.’

  He was so kind; you could not have asked for more. Once Fadila had booked my flight, Mario told me, ‘When your mother is all better, you come back. It is coming into the winter now—it is cold, it snows, there are not many movies coming up. After winter, you come back and finish your apprenticeship. When you want to return, you just call and we pay for you to come back.’

  I felt so much lighter, so relieved—it was as if an angel had just picked me up. I was no longer alone.

  I called in to see Mark Boyden and told him what was happening and he said, ‘Go, just go! We can look after the horses, no problem.’

  The hardest thing for me was leaving my kitten, but Mark assured me he would get one of the grooms to look after him. That night I packed my bags, and the next morning one of the stuntmen, Cedric, drove me to the airport and I was gone. It was as quick as that. As things turned out, I didn’t see Mario again for many years.

  Working with Mario is fantastic for the experience, but you need to have skin like rhino hide! I learnt a lot in the six months I was there—not just from Mario, but from all the very talented people who work with him. It was an amazing experience, one I am very grateful for. I will never forget it.

  CHAPTER 29

  Family

  When I returned to Australia in November 2001, I landed at Sydney airport, where I needed to catch a connecting flight to Brisbane. Getting off the plane, I was excited to be almost home, knowing that I would soon see Mum.

  I made my way through immigration and customs, and came out into arrivals, planning to go straight to the domestic terminal. People were being greeted all around me. Then I saw this cute guy walking towards me. I looked past him and then looked at him again, because he seemed to be walking boldly in my direction. I thought, ‘He’s quite cute,’ and then I realised he was looking straight at me with a cheeky smile.

  I had never before seen Craig showered and clean, or dressed in trendy clothes. Thank goodness my memory clicked just before he said hello.

  Quick as a flash, I said, ‘Craig? What a coincidence—what are you doing here?’ I thought he must be there to meet someone else.

  He said, ‘I heard a little rumour that you were at Sydney airport for three hours between flights.’

  I was astonished. ‘How did you know that?’ He just smiled.

  While I had been in France, Craig had taken to calling me about once a month. Though in Australia I’d been uncomfortable about his interest in me, I always loved hearing from him, and it felt safe talking to him when I was far away in France meeting new people, having new experiences. He was really considerate, and never put any pressure on me. If I was in the middle of something and couldn’t talk, he would understand.

  One of the times Craig called me out of the blue, he had broken down on the side of the Hume Highway at South Gundagai. He had been driving to a friend’s farm near the Victorian border to get a load of hay for the elephants and was now stuck there waiting for a part to arrive for his semi-trailer. When he called me and told me where he was, I said, ‘My sister lives in Gundagai. Why don’t you call her?’

  I wasn’t all that serious, but clearly he was quite bored and he had to wait in his truck until the following day, so he said he might call her. I gave him her number, but I warned him she might be picking up her kids from school. When we said goodbye, I wished him luck with his truck, and that was the last I heard of it.

  He hadn’t mentioned to me that from then on he had continued to call in to visit Fred and Bert whenever he was passing that way to get another load of hay. Freda would sometimes tell him what I’d been up to.

  I remember Fred had called me after she met him and said, ‘He’s great, and he really likes you.’

  I reminded her that one of the reasons I was in France was
to get away from Craig. I didn’t want to feel attracted to him because he was older, and it was complicated.

  Of course, because I was unaware that Craig and Freda were friends, it was only much later that I twigged it must have been she who told him I was coming back to Australia and would be passing through Sydney airport with three hours to spare.

  He took me to a coffee shop in the terminal and I told him about the last six months. In my carry-on luggage, I had all of my precious photos, because I didn’t want to risk them getting lost in transit anywhere, so I showed them to him and shared my adventures.

  When my flight was called, he walked me to my departure gate. Suddenly I didn’t want to leave him—I wanted him to come to Queensland with me. I had no idea what I was going home to. I didn’t want to be saying goodbye; it was bordering on separation anxiety. For the last thirty-eight hours, ever since I’d found out about Mum, I’d been feeling so scared but being around him had made me feel safe and comfortable.

  I just wanted to get off the plane, and go back to him and talk some more. Then I reminded myself how great it was going to be to see Mum and to be with my animals and friends again.

  When I arrived in Brisbane, Lydia, who was now back in Australia, met me at the airport. As we turned to leave the terminal I still felt this urge to get back on a plane and fly back to Craig. My heart had begun to pound whenever I thought of him and I thought, ‘Well, six months in France didn’t really fix that feeling!’

  It was so bad that when I arrived home I made up some stupid reason to call him just so I could hear his voice. We talked for a little while that day, and on the following days he continued to call me, which of course I loved. I couldn’t help it—I just craved any interaction with him.

  Mum had her surgery, but she didn’t really tell us what was going on. She kept saying she didn’t want us to worry. During this time I wanted to be as close to her as possible, both to support her and to comfort me. So that she didn’t feel responsible for my return to Australia, I told her that I had been ready to come home.