by Judy Nunn
A week later the girls were told, all right, or rather the agents were. They were told that neither of them had the role. The producer had decided that he wanted a ‘name’ after all.
That had been four years ago. Jane had kept the plait. It sat in the bottom of a suitcase of souvenirs on top of the wardrobe.
It was back to the bit parts, back to the understudying. And the actresses she understudied were always so damn healthy! Her big break certainly wasn’t going to come that way.
Then she’d landed ‘Laura’. It was a role she’d always wanted. The Glass Menagerie was her favourite Tennessee Williams play and she knew she was good. Of course it was only fringe theatre but it was good fringe and surely someone would see her. And someone did. Kate.
Tall and leggy, with flaming red hair, Kate looked more like a model or an actress than a director. But a director she was, and one of the best. In fact Pentameter Productions had allowed her carte blanche in casting their big-budget production of Peter Wainwright’s latest play and even acquiesced to her insistence that a non-commercial actress be given the lead.
‘Peter’s name alone will guarantee bums on seats,’ was her argument. ‘He’s the hottest playwright in the country. And this is the role of the decade. We need a fresh face.’ The producers gave in when she promised them a piece of the movie action. ‘Peter’s already started on the screenplay. We should create a new star, from stage to screen.’
And so Kate had commenced the fringe theatre rounds. She liked discovering talent that way. General auditions were suspect to her. She’d been caught out a couple of times in her early directorial days by actors who’d polished up their set show pieces immaculately only to fall apart when they had to start on a new role from rock bottom.
Jane was only one of fifteen actresses that Kate had ‘discovered’. She’d systematically read ten of them for the role, then stopped. Jane’s was the tenth reading and Kate knew she need look no further. Never one to mince words, she’d told the stage manager to call it a day and asked Jane to follow her to the theatre production office.
Kate closed the door behind them, gestured for Jane to sit down and slung a denim-clad leg over the corner of a desk. She picked up a copy of the play and dumped it in Jane’s lap. ‘It’s his best yet, you know.’
Jane looked down at the play then back up at Kate who seemed to tower above her. Did the woman always move this quickly? Did this mean she was giving Jane the role? What had happened to the normal channels — the phone calls to the agent, the endless seeded auditions? No part was ever won this quickly. And certainly not the lead in a big commercial production of a Peter Wainwright play. Virtual unknowns never got so much as a look-in for such a role.
Kate seemed to read her mind. ‘It’s yours. Take it home and read it. It’s an actor’s dream.’
‘But … ’
‘I’ll ring your agent with all the details and you’ll have a contract by the end of the week.’
Jane still couldn’t believe it. ‘But, Miss Redman … ’
‘Kate. The name’s Kate.’ Her chiselled features softened as she smiled warmly and leaned forward to put a hand on Jane’s shoulder. ‘I’m moving too fast for you, aren’t I? But don’t worry, Jane. I’m not going to change my mind. The role is yours and you’re going to be wonderful.’ The voice was gentler now as her hand began to caress Jane’s shoulder. ‘This part is made for you. You have a wonderfully sensitive quality. Sensitive, but still strong, defined — that’s what I’m looking for. And your looks… ’ She pushed Jane’s black shoulder-length hair from her face. ‘Your looks are perfect.’
Jane sat frozen to her chair. Oh God, no. So that was the catch. A dyke director. It didn’t even cross Jane’s mind to play the game back. What would be the point? A quick fuck and the role would go to someone else anyway. The sick feeling in her stomach started turning to anger. At least she could give this dyke bitch the lesson she deserved.
Kate was practically purring as she stroked Jane’s cheek. ‘Classical, great face for film. Peter’s writing the screenplay and we —’
Jane jumped to her feet, pushing Kate’s hand away so forcefully that the woman had to clutch at the desk to keep her balance.
‘That’s going a bit far isn’t it? If I was going to fuck you for the part you didn’t need to throw the movie in too.’
Kate heaved a patient sigh and rose slowly from the desk. ‘Jane… ’
But there was no stopping Jane now. ‘How bloody gullible do you think I am? You do the rounds of fringe theatre and think every actor you see will jump into bed at the merest hint of a good job. I’ve been in this business four years and I’ve done quite well so far minus the obligatory fucks with directors who think they’re tin gods and if you… ’
‘Yes, I’ve checked your track record. It’s not unimpressive. We’re certainly not after an untrained actor, just one without a high commercial profile.’
Jane was a little taken aback by Kate’s mild, unoffended reaction. Still she’d done it now — there was no backing out. She might as well give herself an exit line. ‘So if I haven’t had to screw directors in the past, why should I start with a bitch dyke like you!?’
She had the door half open when the peal of laughter from behind compelled her to turn back.
Kate was sitting on the desk again and looked genuinely amused. ‘OK, OK. I’ve learned my lesson. Pity. It could have been fun, but it’s certainly not essential.’ She bent down and picked up the script that had fallen to the floor at the outbreak of Jane’s explosion. Jane remained frozen, her anger spent, as Kate crossed to the door, script held out like a peace offering. ‘Take it. It’s yours.’
After that incident, Kate and Jane developed an understanding. Their mutual respect for each other’s work led to a friendship of sorts, although Jane, with her rigid standards, could never understand how Kate could mix business with pleasure. And the more Jane kept her at arm’s length, the stronger Kate’s attraction became. Not that there was any great drama involved — she’d laugh when Jane knocked back yet another pass.
For a short time it had given Jane food for thought. This sort of thing had happened before. What the hell was it about her that lesbians seemed to find so attractive? She wasn’t particularly ‘butch’ — so why had she always been so attractive to women? Then she’d shrugged it off — there wasn’t time to worry about it. Rehearsals were well under way.
Not that Jane was asexual. Far from it. She’d had her share of affairs and one-night stands. There’d even been two men in her life who’d started to mean something but she’d rapidly got rid of them when the relationship started to interfere with her career. She still experienced the odd twinge of regret on a Sunday afternoon walk through the park when she witnessed the couples embracing, but it never lasted long.
This role was the biggest break of her career. It was hardly the time to get introspective about her sexuality. Every ounce of energy had to be channelled into her work. There was no way she’d put this God-given chance at risk. And she didn’t.
After the dress rehearsal, Kate Redman and Peter Wainwright agreed that the girl was good, very good — even star material. If the play was a hit and they got the go-ahead for the movie, Jane was made.
The play was a hit. Another major success for Peter Wainwright and rave reviews for Jane.
Peter had completed the screenplay, brokers were seeking investment and there was already talk of setting a preproduction date on the movie.
Yes, everything seemed assured as Jane looked around at her theatre dressing room and yet again luxuriated in the surroundings. She’d got used to the trappings and she intended to keep them that way. Surely a hit stage show followed by a smash movie would assure her of ongoing success. But still there was a cynical little voice somewhere saying, ‘Oh yeah?’. Then something happened that changed it all, and Jane had to make the biggest decision of her life.
The play had two weeks left to run. It was a Thursday night, one of those rar
e nights when the audience was thin. They usually played to capacity audiences but Thursdays were always a bit slow. It was late night shopping on Thursdays. Nevertheless it hadn’t been a bad performance. Jane was halfway through taking her make-up off when there was a knock at her dressing room door.
The stage doorman popped his head in. ‘A Mr Avalon to see you.’
‘Oh.’ Jane didn’t know any Mr Avalon. Probably some stage door creep. ‘OK, show him in.’ She gave Sam the special nod that meant ‘Stay by the door’, in case she needed help getting rid of the man.
‘Miss Richmond.’ A tall mild-mannered man, not unlike Clark Kent complete with glasses, extended his hand to her. ‘My name’s Jim Avalon. I’m presently producing a television series with Alain King for Channel 3.’
Avalon. Jim Avalon. Of course she knew the name. He was a highly successful television producer and he’d worked with Alain King on a number of series. As Avalon continued, Jane couldn’t believe her ears. Mr King would like to see her. The King! The King wanted to see her with a view to one of the leads in his new drama series. Jane’s heart skipped its customary number of beats whenever a breakthrough role appeared. Then she checked herself. What the hell was she getting excited about? Old habits certainly died hard. Here she was in a hit play, with a movie about to get off the ground and she was getting clammy hands at the mention of a television soap. Sure, Avalon was calling it a drama series, but wasn’t that what all producers called their crummy little soaps? It was probably a daytime one at that.
Nevertheless she agreed to the interview. ‘Tomorrow morning at ten. Fine.’ Well, an interview wouldn’t do any harm, surely. And you never knew when The King might come in handy for the future. Even the top actors filled in time with soap.
‘So, what do you think, Jane?’ She was seated in Alain’s office together with Jim Avalon and the director Chris Natteros and now The King was nodding encouragingly at her from the other side of his huge mahogany desk.
‘I think the concept of the series and the role both sound fine, Mr King, but … ’
‘Alain.’ Again the boyish conspiratorial smile, but there was something behind the eyes that she felt she couldn’t trust.
‘Alain. It’s just that they’re getting a movie together of Peter Wainwright’s script. I’ve been offered the lead, and with the play having been such a hit … ’ She shrugged. Surely she had said it all — but no, The King was shaking his head sympathetically.
‘Oh Jane, Jane. A flash in the pan. One hit play … ’ A dismissive gesture. ‘And as for “getting a movie together”. Come on, now. You’re a smart girl, you know the business better than that. How many movies are planned and never get off the ground? And even if they do get up, how many end up on the back row of the video shelves after one showing?’
‘But Peter —’
‘Even if they are Peter Wainwright scripts.’ Now came Alain’s pet theme and he was sure of his ground as he leant forward over the desk, his eyes boring into Jane’s. ‘It’s the brain drip system Jane. You need to be in people’s lounge rooms every week, fifty-two weeks a year for three years — that’s what makes you a star. Then if you want to go into theatre or the movies, you click your fingers and they all come running.’
Chris and Jim exchanged a look. They’d seen Alain in action before. He won every time. But to their surprise Jane’s voice was firm and decisive as she replied.
‘I’m sure you’re right, Alain, but the movie would be a starring role and I really don’t want to let it go.’
There was a few seconds of silence before Alain turned to the other two men. ‘Jim, Chris, I wonder if you’d mind leaving us for a few minutes. I’d like to have a little chat alone with Jane.’
At the door, Chris raised an eyebrow at Jim. Surely she wasn’t Alain’s type and there was no way she’d be in it anyway. Jim gave a barely perceptible shake of the head in return. No, Alain was going to pull a Svengali on her and Jim had never known him to fail, although the girl was certainly tough.
The door closed. Jane waited expectantly. The man seemed deep in thought. Actually Alain was wondering whether he should sit back behind the desk which was deliberately placed with the light behind him so that it was difficult for the interviewee to see his face, thus making him a figure of authority. But no, he decided, this should be a paternalistic approach. He circled the desk and sat in the seat beside Jane’s.
‘Jane… ’ His brow was furrowed and his voice concerned. ‘This series has presold to the UK on the strength of Edwina Dawling’s name alone.’
‘So you said.’ Jane was confused. Why the worry? ‘It can’t fail after the overseas success of her album.’
‘Ah yes, her album. But what other credits has she got?’
‘But she’s … ’
‘Oh sure.’ Alain was way ahead of her. ‘She’s one of the most popular on-air personalities in the country. But as an actress, Jane. As an actress! She’s never acted in her life before.’
Jane waited. What was the man getting at? They needed a few trained backup actors to boost a non-talent star? What a hell of an argument that was. No, she’d take the movie, thanks.
Alain leaned forward and took Jane’s hand. It wasn’t a forward gesture but a desperate bid to communicate. ‘I intend to get this series off the ground on her name but I need to build another star alongside her. A strong actress, an actress who can take over as the pivotal star of the series. Then we drop Edwina and she can go back to her records and we keep you, Jane. You’re our star.’
Alain took a deep breath as he rose to his feet. It was exhausting being genuine and he’d meant every word he’d said. Jim would pick a bloody actress who was proving difficult, wouldn’t he? But Jim said the girl was brilliant and Jim was invariably right. Jim had been right too when he’d suggested they’d need strong acting talent to back up not only Edwina but Narelle. What Jim didn’t know was that Alain already intended to dump Edwina. He wanted stars he could manipulate, stars that he’d created. Edwina was too powerful.
Alain picked up an armload of scripts from the desk. ‘These are the first five blocks. Have a good look at the part of Paulina. You’ll see where the build starts in the fifth block, episode ten. She takes over as Head of Drama in episode twenty which isn’t here, of course, but the storylines are already finished.’ Indeed, Evan Ryan, the executive writer, had been mystified as to why Alain insisted on such featured storylining for a supporting role but Alain had explained it with, ‘Conflict, for God’s sake, Evan, conflict!’ And Alain had been proven to know best.
Jane read the scripts that night after she got home from the theatre, then lay awake for hours tormenting herself with indecision. Damn it, she had to sleep — it was matinee day tomorrow. But as the scripts and the characters whirled through her brain, she knew that Alain was right. Edwina Dawling’s role of Christine started in the series as the all-powerful Head of Drama within the fictitious network. By the tenth episode, the strongly feminist Christine was vying for the position of general manager. It was obvious that if, in future storylines, the character were to be promoted, she was destined to disappear in network bureaucracy. This would leave Jane’s role, Paulina, already second in line, to come through the ranks and take over as Head of Drama where all the action was. Alain hadn’t been lying. How ironic that the star character in the series held the same position as Alain himself did at Channel 3. Jane wondered whether it was deliberate. Yes, of course it was. After all, ‘The Glitter Game’ was his baby.
It was between the matinee and the evening performance that Jane rang Kate and Peter. They were so shocked that they insisted on taking her out to supper to talk her out of it but she was adamant. She would complete the present season but, in the event that the movie went straight into production, she wasn’t available. She was joining forces with The King and signing up with Channel 3 for twelve months.
‘No way! The man can’t control his cock.’
Jim Avalon heaved an inward sigh. This was grea
t, coming from Alain.
‘We need him, Alain.’ A mild plea from Chris Natteros.
Jim gritted his teeth and waited for the explosion. Chris should have known better.
It was a slow-fuse explosion but an explosion nevertheless. Alain rose slowly and threateningly from behind his office desk. ‘We don’t need him, Chris. We don’t need any actor. They need us.’ He had been about to say ‘me’ but thought better of it at the last minute. ‘We make them. We make them or we break them. Don’t ever forget that!’ His voice had risen a decibel as he leaned across his desk, a megalomaniac gleam in his eyes. ‘We never, never need them!’
‘OK, OK.’ Chris backed down. There was no point arguing with Alain when he was infected with his power mania. There was definitely a touch of madness about the man, Chris thought.
Jim came to the rescue, ever the diplomat. ‘Of course he’s not essential, Alain, but he’s a very convenient choice. He’s still very popular.’
‘Sure. In shopping centres.’ Alain sat down again, a dismissive sneer on his face.
‘Yes! And don’t you see, that’s exactly our market!’ Jim nodded triumphantly. Chris waited for another outburst but The King was suddenly a captive listener. Jim always knew how far he could push Alain, he also knew how much Alain respected his opinion. ‘You can’t get into the centres when Paul’s booked to make an appearance,’ he continued. ‘He hasn’t lost it, believe me.’
‘It’s been over a year since his face was on the screen.’ Alain still wasn’t convinced.
‘But he’s made non-stop promotional appearances ever since, and that’s what we want.’ Jim always had the good sense to say ‘want’, not ‘need’. ‘We want a familiar actor popular to the general public. We don’t want to create a new charismatic star who’s likely to overshadow Edwina. At least not until we see how much acting talent she’s got.’
