The Glitter Game

by Judy Nunn

A hush descended. The men rose from the table.

  ‘Edwina!’ Alain looked as if he were about to embrace her but stopped at the graciously extended hand.

  ‘You’ve met Davey, of course.’ Edwina released Alain’s hand so that he could shake David’s. ‘David Kennerley, Alain King.’

  ‘Of course. Welcome to the team, David.’ Why the hell has she brought her little poofter hairdresser to the reading? Alain was aware that his voice was a little louder and a little more forced than before. The woman had unsettled him again. Why did she do that? Christ, he couldn’t wait to get rid of her. ‘You’ve met Jim and Chris and Evan, of course.’

  A self-conscious wave from Evan, greetings from Jim and Chris, and Alain continued, ‘Let me introduce you to the rest of the cast.’

  Edwina faced the boardroom table and offered a general apology. ‘Hello, everyone. I’m so sorry I’m late.’

  ‘This is Mandy Burgess.’ Alain had started from Mandy’s end of the table which gave Mandy a misguided sense of star billing.

  She sprang from her seat. ‘It’s this rain, darling, would you believe it?’ Then she planted her cheek against Edwina’s, kissed the air and said, ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Edwina.’

  It was Greg who saved the moment. As Edwina’s steely gaze hit Mandy and she felt the ground about to open, Greg was at Edwina’s side, his hand extended. ‘Hello, Edwina, good to see you again.’

  Edwina’s smile was warm and grateful. She’d sung at several charity concerts and gala events at which Greg had acted as Master of Ceremonies and she liked him.

  ‘Greg. Hello.’

  ‘Sidney Meredith.’ Sidney shook Edwina’s hand vigorously. ‘Amazing weather, isn’t it? Absolutely filthy, causes havoc with the traffic.’

  Edwina passed on to Vicky. Astonishing eyes, she thought as she shook the girl’s hand. Good casting. I hope she can act.

  Edwina wasn’t the only one doing the ‘sizing up’. Jane hadn’t taken her eyes off Edwina from the moment she entered the room. Like the others, she was in awe of the woman’s presence, but how much of that was simply because Edwina was a star? You’ll need more than that, Jane thought. I’ll act you off the screen, lady, you can bet on it.

  ‘Hello, Jane.’ As Edwina met Jane’s gaze, she thought, here’s one to be reckoned with.

  Narelle was next and she bobbed a half curtsy as she shook Edwina’s hand. ‘You’re my greatest fan, Edwina … I mean … ’ The atmosphere relaxed as everyone laughed.

  ‘I’ve seen your work too, Narelle.’ Edwina smiled encouragingly. ‘I’m delighted you’re in the show.’ Well, they needed a resident sex symbol, Edwina thought, and this one was harmless enough. Certainly no competition.

  Alain finished the introductions with Paul.

  ‘Hello, Paul.’ Edwina decided a bit more flattery wouldn’t go astray — after all, the man was playing opposite her. ‘I’ve been a great admirer of yours. I’m looking forward to our working together.’

  Paul had also been riveted to Edwina from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Strange that he’d never met her socially, strange that singers and actors seemed to mix in separate circles. But he’d seen her many times on the screen and found her fascinating. She was even more magnetic in the flesh. As he felt the firm handshake and looked into the aquiline face, he was overwhelmed by Edwina’s sexuality. Bugger Narelle, he thought — she could wait. Here was the challenge. He had to have Edwina Dawling.

  Edwina recognised the signals at once. Oh, no you don’t, boy, she signalled back. Hands off. But the more she signalled, the more Paul wanted her.

  Alain took charge again. ‘Right. If you’d all like to take your seats, I’ll hand you over to Chris and we can get on with the reading.’

  When everyone was settled, Chris stood up. ‘One or two things before we start. You’ve all had your scripts for a while now so you should be pretty au fait with them. Unless there are any objections I’d like to do a straight read-through, no stop-starts, so if you bump into something you want to query or discuss, make a note of it in the pads provided.’ There was a shuffle as everyone lined up their notepads and pencils. ‘I don’t want anyone to give the full performance,’ Chris continued. ‘Just feel your way for now. I’ll read the big print, dailies and fifty worders.’

  As Chris opened his own script, Vicky whispered to Greg, ‘He’ll read what?’

  ‘The stage directions and small parts,’ Greg whispered back.

  ‘Everybody ready?’ There were murmurs of assent and the reading began.

  Chris was a good director. He always started a new production with a casual read-through. It helped introduce the cast, not only to each other but to their characters and relationships. But it never ceased to amaze him that no matter how many times he urged the actors to hold back, not to ‘perform’, there were always those who simply had to. Today was no exception.

  Mandy and Sidney, of course, gave their all. Chris stifled a smile. They really were terrible old hams but the viewers loved them and he’d be able to hold them back. Vicky, out of her depth completely, was also trying to give a performance. The edges were certainly rough, Chris mused, but, with a lot of work she’d be wonderful. Narelle, as usual, simply couldn’t help giving it everything she had. Her bottom wiggled in the chair, her breasts caressed the boardroom table, as she draped herself over her script. The girl seemed to be constantly on heat.

  Greg and Paul gave good straight intelligent reads. Greg never ceased to astound Chris. The camp act was gone totally and even his appearance changed as he read his lines. He was a stunningly handsome, heterosexual young male heart throb.

  Jane and Edwina were particularly fascinating. They weren’t giving away a trick. They were not just holding back on performance level — they weren’t giving any performance whatsoever. Chris wasn’t worried about Jane. He’d seen her in action on stage. But Edwina was an unknown quantity. Hell, this could be a big worry.

  Evan barely raised his head during the entire reading but assiduously followed every word of the script, making the odd note here and there.

  Alain and Jim, however, watched the actors like hawks. Jim’s appraisal was very much the same as Chris’s but Alain couldn’t resist a flash of triumph over Edwina’s reading. It didn’t worry him; Chris would somehow get her up to scratch, then Alain would have every excuse to dump her. He turned his attention to Vicky. The girl’s rawness and youth excited him and his pulse raced at the prospect of ‘research’ sessions with her. He wondered how many it would take before he’d be able to get her to bed. He’d have to take it gently, she was a gutsy little number and he didn’t want her crying rape. Mind you, she knew the score. That same gutsiness made her aware which side her bread was buttered and there was no way she’d risk losing this job and landing back in the gutter. Yes, she’d probably be an easy lay. He’d allow her three research sessions and then … Alain couldn’t wait to put her to the test. He was unaware that he was being observed. He was unaware that, to those who knew him, his face was eminently readable.

  Jim could feel his anger mounting. You touch her, Alain, he thought, and I’ll … He caught Greg’s eye and realised that Greg was way ahead of him, that Greg had sensed not only Alain’s lust but Jim’s own reaction to it. Greg gave a tiny smile, a slight shake of his head and returned to his script.

  Jim knew that he’d found an ally, that Greg had meant, ‘Don’t worry, mate, he’ll get to her over my dead body too’. He felt his anger subside to be replaced by an overwhelming fondness for Greg. God, don’t do it, he told himself. Don’t start falling for Greg MacNeil — it’d be the quickest way to blow your cover. A one-night stand with him! Hell, you might as well take out an advert. God, he was attractive though. Greg looked up and again caught Jim’s eye. Jim gave a small brisk nod, a professional smile and concentrated on his script, feeling slightly flushed and angry with himself.

  After the reading, the heads of other departments were called in to meet the cast. Big Sally was first: Big S
ally Cheswick, ex-designer and coordinator for Maggie Mae fashions for large girls. And Big Sally was one large girl. She’d been costume designer on nearly all of Alain’s shows, had the top designers in the palm of her hand and was invaluable. She was closely followed by Carol, head of the production department and her assistant Anna, armed with call sheets which she distributed to the cast.

  ‘When you’ve all got your call sheets,’ Jim announced, ‘Sally will sort out times when she can arrange fittings for you and discuss labels.’ This was with the exception of Edwina, of course, who was to have all her costumes exclusively designed by George Gross.

  While the boardroom table was being cleared to make way for the caterer’s smorgasbord, the publicity department arrived: Tim Arnold and his assistants, Lois and Val. Tim was a big man with a soft effeminate body and a rabid, cruel wit. He described himself as an evil old queen and he was quite right. Many a Channel 3 star had learned not to cross Tim — it could be very dangerous for one’s career.

  There was chaos in the boardroom. Tim and Sally drove the production girls mad trying to arrange individual appointments for the actors to fit in and around the rehearsal schedules which had been so painstakingly worked out by Carol and Anna. Besides costume fittings there were photo sessions and publicity interviews and Alain’s announcement, ‘Don’t forget — Liza gets first priority’.

  Tim fumed. Liza! Bloody Liza Farrelly! He considered her appointment by Alain to be a total intrusion into his sanctified area.

  Liza Farrelly had once been a topline feature journalist for the Herald but a bad case of RSI had ended her career. She was still unable to type, or even write by hand and, despite the fact that she was one of their prime writers, the Herald had refused to employ a secretary to take her dictation. They’d even tried to give her the sack when she could no longer meet the workload. She sued them, of course, and won the case — but it appeared her journalistic career was over.

  Not to be daunted, Liza turned freelance and sold her skills to the highest bidders. She’d concentrated on theatre productions, new art galleries and artists in concert to start with as that was where her interests lay. But it didn’t take long before Liza realised that the big money was corporate money, particularly corporation-owned television money. They also provided secretarial assistance, so she didn’t have to employ someone to type up her dictation. The work poured in.

  Following the mammoth success of Australian television series overseas, the networks were promoting their stars like so many packages of breakfast cereal. Who better to build those plastic images than Liza Farrelly? So Liza started to specialise. Before long she was the best.

  And now, not only had Alain hired her to assist with the promotion of ‘The Glitter Game’, he’d actually instructed that she be given priority over the Channel 3 publicity department. No wonder Tim Arnold was fuming.

  ‘So where’s Fleet Street Fanny now, then? Why isn’t she here?’ he demanded.

  ‘She said she’d rather interview the cast on a one-to-one basis,’ Alain replied. ‘Which reminds me … ’ He turned to Edwina. ‘Liza Farrelly wants to take you to lunch tomorrow. One o’clock, Jordan’s at Darling Harbour. There’ll be a limo to collect you from rehearsal and we’ll work around you for the afternoon so … ’

  ‘I won’t need the car. Davey will drive me.’ Edwina’s tone was acid. She didn’t like Alain’s peremptory manner. She also didn’t like the presumption of his arranging appointments directly with her instead of going via her personal manager. She paid the woman twenty-five per cent, after all, that’s what she was there for. Edwina reminded herself to pop in and see Rosa after lunch tomorrow and instruct her to clarify the situation with Alain. Awful little man, Edwina thought, as she turned back to resume her interrupted conversation with Greg.

  Actually, Alain wasn’t little at all. He was 180 centimetres tall and rather overweight but on first meeting him, Edwina had quickly read that, like many men in powerful positions, he had a tendency to megalomania and was a coward underneath. That made him little to Edwina.

  Furious at Edwina’s snub, Alain decided to seek out Vicky to assuage his anger. He grabbed an open bottle of champagne and two glasses from the caterers who were popping corks and setting up trays of vintage Moët et Chandon and started wending his way to the other end of the boardroom where Vicky was talking to Mandy and Sidney.

  Tim Arnold had misread the exchange between Edwina and Alain and presumed Edwina’s irritation at hearing about the interview was due to a dislike for Liza. He whispered an aside to Edwina. ‘Don’t blame you, pet, she’s a sour old lemon-lips.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Liza Farrelly. Vinegar-tits.’

  ‘We get on rather well, actually. What was that, Greg?’ And Edwina turned back to her conversation.

  Well, up you, dear, Tim thought.

  ‘Like a word with you, Vicky.’ It was a very readable command for Mandy and Sidney to disappear. Alain offered the girl a glass of champagne. ‘Just one won’t hurt, will it, to toast the show?’ He raised his own glass. ‘To “The Glitter Game” and all who play it.’

  Vicky clinked glasses with him and sipped at her champagne. They were right, she thought. The real stuff did taste better. More bubbles.

  ‘Now, Vicky.’ Alain dropped the smile of camaraderie, put an avuncular arm around the girl’s shoulders and sounded deeply concerned. ‘You’re very new to this game. You’ve got a lot to learn and I’d like to help you.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr King.’

  The smile came back, like magic. ‘Alain, my dear, Alain. No formality in the family. Now, agents. You don’t have an agent, do you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m going to make an appointment for you with Rosa Glassberg.’ Although it was to Alain’s advantage to have Vicky represented by Rosa, he wanted the girl to know she owed him a big favour, so he added, ‘Normally a reputable agent wouldn’t touch you without a few years’ experience, but with my recommendation … ’ He shrugged modestly. ‘I’m pretty sure Rosa will sign you up. She’s Edwina’s personal manager, you know.’

  Vicky was impressed. ‘Great. Thanks, Mr King. Sorry — Alain.’

  ‘As for performance level,’ Alain continued, ‘You’ll need to put in some hard work. It’ll be a learning process for you.’

  ‘I’ll work hard, all right. You can bet on that.’

  ‘I’m sure you will, my dear, I’m sure you will. But a bit of help never goes astray. I could probably find the odd hour here and there for a little tuition, a little character research. I thought perhaps … ’

  ‘Excuse me, Alain.’ Jim had been slowly making his way towards them from the moment he saw them clink glasses. Now he stood beside them. ‘Could I see you for a moment?’

  ‘Of course, Jim. I won’t be long, Vicky — don’t go away.’

  The two men eased themselves into the corner vacated by Evan, who’d left as soon as possible to avoid socialising.

  ‘What can I do for you, Jim? Good reading, wasn’t it? And don’t worry about Edwina — I’m sure Chris’ll get her up to scratch.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure he will.’ There was a glint in Jim’s eyes and his smile was forced. ‘It’s about Vicky … well, the actors in general, but mostly Vicky.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘She’s the most inexperienced member of the cast and she’s very young.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, it could confuse her, taking acting direction from two sources. That’s really Chris’s area and I think we should leave the actors to him, don’t you?’

  The eyes that now met Jim’s were deadly. Dangerous. ‘What exactly is it you’re trying to say, Jim?’

  Jim was a mild man who generally avoided any form of confrontation. In fact, he was a little amazed at his audacity in fronting Alain the way he had. ‘Just that maybe you’re trying to take too much on yourself.’ Jim felt himself back-pedalling frantically. ‘You’ve been involved in every area of the show from the st
art and now that we’re mobile you should be able to take some of the pressure off yourself by leaving the actual production area to Chris and me.’ Hell, that didn’t sound good – where was his customary diplomacy? ‘I mean, you’ll have your time cut out with the advertisers and sales and marketing and … ’ That was as far as he got. He knew he’d hanged himself.

  ‘This show is my baby, Jim.’ Alain spelt it out quietly, as though reading from a child’s primer. Jim didn’t know whether it was that which unnerved him most or the chilling smile that accompanied the words, but the combination of the two was lethal. ‘It has always been my baby and it will always be my baby. That means every area of it — including scripts, directors, actors and on-line producers, every one of whom are expendable if they don’t measure up to my standards.’ Alain gestured to the waiter hovering beside Jim. ‘Have some champagne.’ And he walked off to refill Vicky’s glass.

  ‘Don’t worry. More than one way to skin a cat.’ The voice was two inches from Jim’s right ear. He jumped and turned to find Greg smiling confidently at him. ‘We’ll look after her between us, sport. Now come and have something to eat.’

  For one hideous second Jim thought Greg was going to take his hand but he didn’t. He took his elbow instead and ushered him towards the boardroom table which was now laden with food. Even so, Jim was consumed with self-consciousness. He wanted to shrug Greg’s hand off, yet he enjoyed the warmth of his touch and the pressure of his fingers.

  Jane and Chris were still so deeply engrossed in conversation that they hadn’t noticed the food, despite the fact that they were standing next to a huge silver platter bearing a huge mound of smoked salmon, Jane’s favourite. They’d discovered their mutual background in theatre and the debate was animated and exclusive.

  Beside them, Sidney had tried to join in with anecdotes of his Shakespearean season at the Old Vic but Jane and Chris had been saved after the first ten minutes by the arrival of the lobster tray.

  Lobster was Sidney’s favourite delicacy, but it was far too overpriced for him to ever contemplate buying it. When lobster was offered at someone else’s expense, therefore, Sidney made a point of pigging out. Today was no exception and Mandy watched with utter distaste as Sidney devoured lobster by the plateful, cracking the legs with his abominable teeth. It wasn’t a pretty sight. But then Mandy was appalled at any public display of people’s eating habits. She ate very little herself at public functions, preferring to wait for the refrigerator raid when she got home. Then raid she did: Sara Lee cakes, Toblerone chocolates, Tim Tam biscuits and, if none of those were in the house, bread and jam or Arnott’s Assorted. Mandy was a cupboard eater with a sweet tooth.