by Bev Robitai
Tamara, playing Nadine, offered to take Ginevra upstairs. ‘I’ll come up with you if you like.’
Jessica saw that Tamara’s eyes weren’t on Ginevra, but were looking offstage instead. She’d bet good money that Nick was standing in the wings making googly eyes right back at Tamara, enjoying the suggestion of going upstairs to bed. Behind the hotel’s front desk, Stewart went through the motions of lighting a cigarette for a guest.
A movement in the auditorium caught Jessica’s attention. A tall thin woman who she didn’t recognise was seated on the cross-aisle. She couldn’t see the woman’s face, but she seemed to be following Tamara’s movements with close attention. Jessica debated going down to see who she was, but decided that if Adam hadn’t objected to her presence then she wouldn’t interfere. Besides, Austin was seated in the front row and could easily deal with her if the need arose. She leaned back and watched more of the story unfold.
At the end of the session Adam gave the cast a few notes, then handed over to Clara-Jane for wardrobe fittings.
Austin stood up, holding a small parcel, and called out to Tamara. She walked downstage, squinting against the lights, and took it from him. She tore off the wrapping and held up a garment on a hanger. It unfolded, revealing a little white vinyl “naughty nurse” uniform, complete with split-crotch fur-trimmed panties and a stethoscope. She exclaimed in disgust, threw it back at him, and unleashed a torrent of invective that sent Austin reeling, laced as it was with obscenities that would have made even Billy Connolly blush. The theatre’s excellent acoustics meant that her voice penetrated every corner of the auditorium, leaving nobody in any doubt of her feelings at Austin’s highly inappropriate costume suggestion.
‘You’re a dirty, sleazy pervert!’ she screamed. ‘I bet you can’t even get it up any more and this is the only thing that gives you a thrill. Who’d want to screw you anyway, you filthy old goat! Go suck on your own dick and I hope it chokes you!’
‘Tamara!’
A stern voice from the auditorium stopped Tamara in mid-rant. She peered into the darkness, shading her eyes.
‘Oh Christ, that’s all I need.’ She spat out the words. ‘What the hell do you want? Have you come to tell me what a bad and horrible person I am again? Well, tell it to this guy instead, will you? He’s the one being an asshole.’
She turned to storm off stage but the thin woman called her back.
‘I want a word with you please, Tamara. Right now!’
The authority in her voice was strong enough to force the unwilling girl to obey. Tamara flounced down the steps from the stage to the auditorium and faced the woman square on. Tamara was rigid with anger, standing perfectly still, while the other spoke calmly and quietly. Jessica couldn’t tell what was being said, or even if Tamara was actually listening.
Meanwhile, Adam had taken Austin aside and was speaking to him very seriously. Austin was nodding, looking subdued. A few more minutes and he’d be ready to cry.
Jessica let out a deep breath she hadn’t even known she was holding. Another dramatic evening at the theatre – and the show hadn’t even opened yet.
It was just as well that Saturday dawned grey and damp with occasional showers forecasted, otherwise Jessica might have been tempted to skip going to the theatre in favour of going for a drive instead. On a sunny day, a trip in her little white VW convertible to visit some wineries or craft galleries would have been a much more appealing prospect than spending yet another afternoon shut away in the dim and dusty Regent.
Her first task, before the cast arrived, was to pick up all the messy bits of tissue left on the stage from Thursday night, muttering under her breath about actors expecting the crew to clear up after them. Fair enough when there was a performance, then the crew was responsible, but this was just rehearsal and at this stage they shouldn’t even be using props.
‘You all right there, Jessica?’ asked Howard, walking across the stage on his way to the workshop. ‘Happy talking to yourself?’
‘Yes thanks – just badmouthing the actors again. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Hey, if you’re free, would you give us a hand with this tent thing today?’
‘Sure. I’ve had enough of watching rehearsals this week. Some sane company would be great.’ She followed Howard into the workshop where he pulled out a large roll of cream canvas.
‘This is the material we’re using, and over there’s the tent design that young Nathan came up with. He’s getting clued in to how a set works now, so it should be fairly straightforward.’
She studied the sketch, noting approvingly how Nathan had given side views as well, and included outlines of each piece of fabric with the measurements required.
‘Wow, he has done well. We’ll have to keep him on.’
Gazza ambled in, warming his hands on a mug of coffee. He grunted a greeting even more taciturnly than usual.
‘Well, hi there, big fella,’ Jessica chirped brightly. ‘Are we going to have a swell time doing fun stuff today?’
He levelled a look at her that would have daunted a lesser woman. She pulled a face and laughed at him. ‘Are we a big grumpy bear this afternoon?’
‘We feckin’ will be if you carry on like that. At least let me drink my coffee first.’ He settled himself on a corner of the workbench and sighed.
Jessica wisely left him in peace and looked at the sketch again.
‘These scallops along the edge of the awning – are we going to have to sew all those?’
Howard looked over her shoulder. ‘That will be a hell of a job, won’t it? We’d probably need an industrial machine for it too. I wonder if any place in town stocks them.’
Gazza glanced over. ‘Glue the bastards,’ he said succinctly. ‘Then draw the stitching on with a fine pen afterwards.’
‘Brilliant!’ exclaimed Jessica. ‘That must be damned good coffee, Gaz. I’m gonna get me some of that. Do you want one Howard?’
‘Sure, if you’re going – thank you. Better pull the side doors closed after you so we don’t disturb the thespians. They’ll be getting started any minute.’
She heaved the thick double doors across, cutting the workshop off from the stage area. She would come back through the Green Room by taking yet another quirky set of stairs into the other end of the workshop.
Entering the kitchen, she saw that Simone had buttonholed Adam and was waving her script with some agitation.
‘I really feel that the line is open to misinterpretation!’ she insisted. ‘Look here, where Jefferson says “I was afraid that the trip here might knock you up completely.” I’m certain that the audience will laugh at the very suggestion of my being “knocked up”. Don’t you agree?’
Adam looked over and caught Jessica’s eye which almost proved his undoing. He struggled for a moment to keep a straight face, covering it by coughing into his elbow.
‘Ahem. Excuse me, Simone. Yes, I do see what you mean. It’s one of those linguistic changes that we have to watch out for in these older scripts. Well spotted! I’ll have him change the line to “knock you out completely”. How does that sound?’
‘Very much better,’ said Simone gratefully. ‘Thank you, Adam. I knew I could rely on you.’
She sailed off towards the stage, allowing Jessica and Adam to break into broad grins.
‘We certainly don’t want Simone to get knocked up, do we?’ giggled Jessica.
‘I can promise you I’m definitely not volunteering to do it!’ Adam shook his head. ‘They never cease to surprise me, these actors. Once they have a role, they’re the centre of the universe. Well, I’d better go and make sure Simone doesn’t get knocked up in Act two Scene one.’
He sketched a wave and disappeared through the stage door.
Jessica made two mugs of coffee and headed back towards the workshop. At the top of the stairs she paused, hearing Nick’s voice in the workshop below. She didn’t want to run into him so she sat down out of sight on the top step hoping he’d go away soon.
Howard was giving him a hard time about his liaison with Tamara. ‘You’re stuck with her now, son. Little Miss Limpet-lips won’t let you go till she’s sucked you inside out.’
‘Don’t see a problem with that, myself,’ put in Gazza.
She heard Nick laugh self-consciously. ‘She is a bit of a handful. She wants me to take her to the Moonlight Club tonight, but I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. If I ran into any of my clients it might be a bit embarrassing.’
‘Gee, Nick, haven’t your clients seen you naked in a sauna before? You could give them a flogging with birch twigs and score yourself a whole new contract,’ Howard suggested.
‘Hey, get Tamara to flog them, and you could name your own price, mate,’ Gazza offered.
Then Howard called out, ‘Hey Jessica, where’s that coffee? Did you go to Brazil to pick the beans?’
She stood up quietly, took a few steps back, then came forward loudly down the stairs into the workshop. She handed over one of the mugs.
‘Here you are, Howard, no need to shout. Hi Nick.’
He acknowledged her awkwardly.
She looked at the three of them, standing there, looking as guilty as kids who’ve drawn on the walls.
‘Well, it’s Saturday night, boys,’ she said innocently. ‘What are you all doing tonight? Nick?’
He looked startled. ‘Me? Nothing, why?’
‘Nothing on a Saturday night? That doesn’t sound like you, Nick. Isn’t the lovely Tamara going to take you out for a nice healthy evening of folk music and fat-free milkshakes?’
He shook his head. Then did a double-take. ‘You were listening!’
‘To you lot talking through your testes, yes.’
‘Ooh,’ said Howard in a high voice. ‘Who’s testy now, dear?’
Nick edged towards the stairs, a pink flush slowly fading from his cheeks. ‘I’ll see you around, guys. Goodbye Jessica.’
She couldn’t quite read the expression on his face.
‘Jeez you’re a tough woman, Jessica,’ said Gazza when Nick had left. ‘What are you giving him a hard time for?’
‘I don’t know, really. To see his reaction, I guess. Something seems off with the way he picked up Tamara so fast, and I’m trying to get a feel for what he’s thinking.’
‘And are you any the wiser?’ asked Howard.
‘Nah. Not in the slightest. What do you think, Gaz?’
‘Duh, me man. Me not think with brain. Have woman good, not have woman bad. End of story.’
‘Yeah, fair enough.’ She stretched her arms wide and eased her neck from side to side. ‘Man, I’m looking forward to a couple of days off. So glad Adam will be away tomorrow and we can have the whole day free with no rehearsal. Oh, we’re OK with construction, aren’t we Howard? We don’t need to fit in a catch-up day, do we? Please say no, please say no!’
‘No. So long as we get this tent thing at least half done today. Let’s start cutting it out, shall we?’
They laid out the fabric on the workshop floor, in pencil they drew the outlines according to the plan, and cut the shapes. An hour later they had assembled the pieces using glue and staples, and Jessica had cut out the scalloped edge for the awning. Two hours later and the whole thing was standing on sturdy poles looking ready for an Arab prince.
‘Brilliant!’ said Jessica. ‘Thank God for that. Now let’s get the hell out of here and have a life, shall we?’
After making sure there was nobody left backstage, they walked in single file across the empty stage, their footsteps loud in the dark and otherwise silent auditorium. Gazza was last one out, flicking off the lights at the mains panel and turning the self-locking lock on the inside of the door. He pulled the door shut.
‘See you on Tuesday, then.’
‘Yep, have a good day off tomorrow.’
‘See you, bye.’
Chapter 6
8 weeks to opening night.
Sunday. At last. The proverbial day of rest, and Jessica intended to do just that. In fact if it hadn’t been for Jellicoe’s reproachful paw dabbing at her face, she might have slept in until lunchtime. As it was, she hauled herself out of bed reluctantly at 10.30 to dish out the requested cat food and put the kettle on for a cup of coffee.
Outside, the day looked grey and dull. An ideal day for blobbing out at home, catching up on housework, surfing the Net, and maybe watching a movie for the evening’s entertainment. Jessica smiled to herself. Her lifestyle certainly wouldn’t win her any prizes for riotous living.
By the end of the afternoon, she’d managed to get a respectable number of domestic chores done, before slumping onto the sofa. The laundry was clean, the ironing ironed and put away, the floors spotless, the little house was pleasingly tidy. She thumbed through the TV guide to see if there was anything worth watching that night or if she’d need to hire a movie or two.
Her cell-phone chirped quietly from the bedroom dresser. She hurried to pick it up.
‘Hello? Jessica here.’
She waited, hearing only a faint buzz then some breathing.
‘Hello?’ More suspiciously this time.
‘Hey, Jessica. How ya doing?’ The voice was so slurred that she couldn’t work out who it was. ‘Jessica, it’s me, I really need to talk to you…’
She frowned. ‘Who is this?’
The silence returned and she was about to hang up when the voice said ‘Wait.’
She waited, holding her thumb over the off button. If this was a crank call they weren’t going to get the satisfaction.
Just then there was a thump at her front door.
‘Just a second,’ she barked.
She padded towards the door, still holding the phone to her ear, trying to place the vaguely familiar voice.
Nobody was visible through the spyhole, but when she opened the door Nick was sprawled on the ground, clutching his phone. His face was oozing blood from several raw scratches down his cheek.
‘Hey, Jessica. Don’t hang up. I really need to talk to you. Is that OK?’ He looked up at her blearily. ‘I might be a bit drunk.’
‘Just a bit? You think? What the hell are you doing here, Nick?’ She switched off her phone and shoved it into her pocket, looking down at him with distaste.
‘I’m – I’m sorry, Jessica. I’m really, really sorry.’ His words were so slurred she could barely make out what he was mumbling. ‘I didn’t mean it. Oh God, I’ve been so bloody stupid. Oh Jess, I wanted you, you, not her.’
He retched, producing nothing but a string of spittle that hung down and dampened his shirt. His eyes closed and his head dropped forward.
‘Jesus, Nick – what the hell did you show up here for?’ she muttered. ‘You’re not going to communicate much in this state, are you? Just sit there for a sec while I ring your flatmate. He might as well take you home and put you to bed before you pass out completely.’
No way was he coming inside her house to puke and spit!
She pulled out her phone and rang Nick’s home number, explaining the situation to his flatmate who promised to come round with his van straight away. In the meantime she cleaned off Nick’s grazes and put sticking plaster on them, turning her head away from the stink of alcohol and vomit on his breath.
‘Lie him on his side in the back to drive home,’ she told the flatmate when he arrived. ‘When you get him there, put him to bed in the recovery position, and you’d be wise to put a bucket beside him. Get as much water into him as you can, otherwise he probably won’t make it to work in the morning. And can you keep an eye on him now and again through the night?’
The flatmate promised to take good care of him and drove off carefully, intent on keeping the victim’s volatile stomach contents from erupting in the back of his van.
On the way back to her front door, Jessica found where most of it had already ended up in her flowerbed.
‘Nick, you’re really losing points as a romantic hero, buddy. Spewing in a girl’s garden is not the way to
win her heart.’
Jessica decided to shut out the world for the rest of the night. She switched off her cell-phone, fed Jellicoe his supper, made a healthy snack for herself, and curled up on the sofa to watch TV.
Lying in bed that night she heard several heavy rain showers pass over. Damn, she’d have to go in to the theatre in the morning and mop the stage. But on the plus side, at least it would wash away the puke in her garden. With that happy thought she rolled over and went back to sleep.
On Monday morning she unlocked the theatre door, keying in the combination for September, which she could recall from memory after using it for a full week.
The familiar smell of rope and paint met her in the corridor. She leant her umbrella among the No Parking signs beside the door, flicked the stage and Green Room lights on at the switch panel, and went through to the back of the theatre to fetch a mop and bucket. On the stage, a wide puddle had spread right across the floor to the wings, reaching one of the black cloth legs hanging there and soaking the heavy material to about two feet up from the floor. Jessica pulled one corner right offstage, clipping it to a rope that would let it hang clear of the floor till it dried.
Then she mopped up all the water, checking to see if she could see where the new leak had come from. Nothing was obvious from ground level, so she climbed all the way up the solid wooden ladder at the side of the stage to get to the fly floor. She didn’t mind heights, but was always relieved to reach the top and get off the ladder, and pass through the open trapdoor into the room above.
A dilapidated couch was pushed against the sloping ceiling where it came down to the wall. Drifts of tattered girly magazines lay like skin-toned scatter rugs, with empty beer bottles as bookmarks. Around the rectangular opening above the stage, coils of heavy rope hung at intervals, secured on massive metal cleats. Stout wooden beams ran crosswise above the stage, ready for drops or lights to be hung from them.
Jessica looked up, trying to figure where rain might have found a way in through the rough-sawn planks that carried many decades of chalked-up names. Above her head was “Julius Caesar, Feb 1899”, with a list of crew who had worked on the show. Just to the left of “Annie get Your Gun, 1948” she saw a damp streak and watched a drip run down to plop onto the stage far below. She tore a piece of paper from one of the magazines and wedged it into the crack – more to mark the spot than to block the leak. Howard or Gazza could have a look at it the following night during rehearsal.
