by Judy Nunn
‘Sorry about Saturday,’ he’d muttered to Greg in the canteen at lunch.
‘Why?’
‘Well, I remember everything in the restaurant but when I got home I … ’ He shrugged lamely.
‘Oh. You kissed me and tried to unzip my fly.’ Jim searched Greg’s face for a spark of humour but it was deadly serious.
‘Oh, Christ!’
Then Greg burst out laughing. ‘It took you ten minutes to open the front door, then you tripped over an armchair and when I picked you up you said “I wish I’d met Roddie”. I left you in the armchair.’
They sat and had lunch together then and it didn’t cross Jim’s mind to wonder what the rest of the canteen might be thinking. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway because they weren’t taking a blind bit of notice.
Vicky had quickly adjusted to the publicity hype of the series. It hadn’t gone to her head, it was just part of the job, she told herself. But this network bash business, this was an altogether new ball game. After being chatted up by several rather drunken executives with a penchant for the young ones, she’d dived for the refuge of Jane and Chris who were also new to this aspect of the business. Normally directors weren’t invited to network bashes so it was a first for Chris and, of course, Jane had never been a ‘television star’ before. The three of them compared notes and agreed that it was one of the things about a successful network show that they would just have to grin and bear.
Vicky enjoyed the company of Jane and Chris. They were her kind of people: straight from the shoulder. No bullshit. Except with each other, she thought. It was very obvious to Vicky that Jane and Chris were deeply attracted to each other. What a pity they were both so ethical. But she respected them for it.
Greg arrived with the champagne. ‘I think they’re about to call us to the tables, gang. Gird your loins.’
Brian Hopgood, head of security for Channel 3 was at the door to the restaurant as everyone filed through from the bar and foyer areas. He wasn’t counting numbers or ticking names off lists, just giving a cheery hello here and there. It was amazing the way Brian appeared to know every single employee of Bryce’s television network. It was a discreet security check, of course, just to make sure no outsiders crept in to the privately booked dining area.
Brian Hopgood had every reason to know each and every one of the Network Three employees — he held dossiers on them all under lock and key in his security office. He himself, though, was a mystery to everyone but Robert Bryce. It was general knowledge that he’d resigned from the police force ten years ago to take up a position as personal bodyguard to Bryce. It was also general knowledge that when Bryce bought Network Three Brian was ensconced as head of security, but the reasons for such a promotion, his present relationship with Bryce, his personal life — all else was unknown.
He was a big man in his mid-forties with the start of a beer gut but fit nevertheless. He always had a friendly grin at the ready and was available at any time for a chat about whichever television programme the Channel 3 personalities happened to be involved in; he knew them all, the current affairs and sports departments being his favourites. Everyone liked Brian but, despite his jovial appearance, there was a distance about him that made one feel he’d be a good man to have on side, not one to be crossed.
‘Hello, Brian.’ It was Narelle, wriggling up against him invitingly. She’d always fancied Brian, such a lovely big man. ‘I don’t know what table I’m at. The waiter told me but I’ve forgotten.’
‘You’re at table 3, love.’ Brian didn’t even consult the copy of the seating plan he had. ‘The West Australian contingency, up the end there.’ He pointed the way, then turned and nodded to Alain who was passing by. ‘G’day Alain, congratulations on the show.’
A disappointed Narelle weaved her way off to find her table; she’d much rather have stayed for a chat. Alain gave Brian a curt nod. He didn’t like the fellow’s familiarity. He didn’t like the way Brian behaved as if he were more than just a security man. But then he’d been personally appointed by Bryce so maybe he was. Alain didn’t dare push it.
Edwina was seated at table 6 with the big guns, headed by Ray Chaplin, and Paul was seated at the table alongside with Roy Mansfield, the rather ineffectual Channel 3 managing director, and the rest of the New South Wales contingent. Paul jumped up and pulled Edwina’s chair out for her.
‘Thank you, Paul.’ She smiled warmly and gave him a specially cocked eyebrow which meant ‘What are we in for?’ Paul gave her an understanding nod and grinned back. It was a friendly workmates’ exchange, although Paul felt anything but a friendly workmate. Ever since the first taping day, Paul’s lust for Edwina had become an obsession. He’d stopped chatting her up and now played it cool, the way she obviously wanted it. And it had worked. The cooler he played it, the more Edwina dropped her guard and was warm and charming to him. Little did she know that Paul, in his obsessed state, was misinterpreting every move. He read every little friendly gesture as a signal that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Soon, Edwina, he thought. Soon.
The truth of the matter was that Edwina had relaxed considerably with everyone. She hadn’t realised how tense she’d been about her acting performance. She should have known that once those cameras started turning she’d feel at home. And it had happened. Suddenly everything had fallen into place at the call of ‘action’. She was good and she knew it. She could now afford to be at ease with her co-stars, including Paul.
As soon as everyone was seated, Ray Chaplin crossed to the small podium and microphone set up at the end of the room. ‘Good evening, everyone.’ He waited patiently while the chatter and clatter faded. ‘On behalf of Bryce Holdings I’d like to welcome everyone and to congratulate all the sales executives on the terrific job their departments have done since our last dinner. It’s been a great two months.’ He raised his glass and the dozen or so executives who’d just been given the seal of approval cheered as they waved to each other from their various tables.
Ray was good at his job. He didn’t need notes to remind himself of specific names that needed mentioning and there wasn’t one department that didn’t get a congratulatory word, albeit a brief one. He tried hard to be lightweight and amusing but there was a touch of arrogance about him nevertheless.
He’d been a nice man once before he joined the network and he presumed that he still was. But he was now an important man too and this had to be recognised. It was recognised all right — every executive in the room knew that Ray was the most important man present. In fact, only one thing could possibly have overshadowed his importance and that would have been the arrival of Robert Bryce himself. And if the obeisance to Ray’s position was sometimes interpreted as ‘brown-nosing’ or ‘arse-licking’ by those not familiar with corporative structure, like actors, writers, and directors, then it was just proof of their ignorance. This was big business and ‘talent’ just didn’t know how it was run.
Ray moved on to the most important tribute of the evening. ‘And of course we’d all agree that Network Three’s major achievement over the past two months would have to be the overwhelming success of “The Glitter Game”!’
There was a roar of approval from all present. A hit series made everyone in the network proud and proprietorial. In fact even the most humble executive dined out on the fact that it was his network which had produced the hit show. It made for a good ‘happy family’ feeling all round.
With only a fleeting glimpse at the card secreted in the palm of his hand, Ray rolled through the line-up of names connected with the show, starting with Edwina, followed by Alain, then through the ranks of the cast, ending with, ‘and last but certainly not least, the lovely Narelle!’ Ray gave a wave to Narelle who half-stood, blew him a kiss and acknowledged the round of applause.
‘On behalf of Network Three,’ Ray continued, ‘I’d like to welcome all concerned with “The Glitter Game” to the bosom of the family.’
Narelle’s ample breasts promised to esca
pe the skimpy confines of her cocktail mini and, as she wriggled her bottom back into her seat, there was a general executive laugh of approval. It was a cheap but deliberate gag. They were all halfway drunk and Ray knew it was what they wanted, just as he knew Narelle wouldn’t be remotely offended. She wasn’t, but basked happily in the knowledge that her attributes were so appreciated.
‘Of course, “The Glitter Game” hasn’t been an overnight success. There’s been a lot of work behind the scenes to get the show mobile and we’d like to congratulate all those who contributed, including our own Channel 3 publicity whiz Tim Arnold.’ There was applause for Tim. ‘I look forward to seeing the cast members at Bryce Island the weekend after next — you’ll all find the invitations in front of you — where Melanie and Robert Bryce would like to thank you in person for your splendid efforts. In the meantime,’ he raised his glass again, ‘to “The Glitter Game”. Long may it prosper.’
As everyone drank to the show, Chris cast a surreptitious look in Evan’s direction but the writer was deep in discussion with Vicky and didn’t notice. I wonder if he likes being one of those who ‘contributed behind the scenes’, Chris thought, aware of the months of sixteen-hour days Evan had put into creating the show, followed by the storyline conferences, the character breakdowns, the sweating over endless script revisions. Chris himself felt overlooked, surely Evan must.
Chris had yet to realise that corporations took scant notice of directors and writers. Their recognition was limited to executive producers and stars. Evan was so accustomed to being overlooked that he hadn’t even noticed the omission. Indeed, if he’d been mentioned he would have been hideously embarrassed — he was wishing that he hadn’t been invited at all. He usually wasn’t and was grateful for the fact.
It was all a lesson for Chris; most of his previous work had been for independent production companies where directors were, if at times overworked and underpaid, at least acknowledged and, if they were good, respected. Oh well, this was obviously the name of the corporation game.
As he looked at Evan, Chris wondered why the writer had been so evasive over the phone when he’d suggested equally strong storylines for Jane and Edwina. ‘It’d be good for both women, they bounce off each other,’ he’d said.
‘Can’t do it, Chris, orders from above,’ had been Evan’s reply.
Orders from above meant Alain, of course, and when Chris had tried to corner him he’d met with an equal blank. ‘Sorry, Chris, no way. The writers are already overworked, we can’t expect Evan to restructure a whole month of storylines. No time.’
Surely that didn’t mean that Alain was still phasing Edwina out? That would be madness. Chris couldn’t lay his hands on the advance storylines either. Evan said that they hadn’t been finally typed up. Chris shrugged to himself. He’d done what he could, he’d just have to wait and see.
For the first time during the evening Evan was enjoying himself. He was talking shop, of course. He always enjoyed himself when he was talking shop. Evan’s mind was a sea of storyline possibilities and he was never happier than when he had an avid listener who appreciated them. Vicky was just such a listener.
‘That’s a fantastic idea, Evan.’
The blue eyes sparkled with genuine admiration and Evan went from strength to strength. He was outlining to Vicky the new character he was writing into the series: Jodie’s brother. Vicky had proven so immediately popular with the young viewers that Evan had decided that her character, Jodie, should be expanded and given more background. ‘More springboards to bounce her off,’ was the way he’d put it to Alain.
Thank goodness Evan had found another song to sing, was all Alain thought. He was sick of the endless disagreements about the phasing out of Edwina and had even threatened to sack Evan if he didn’t shut up and do as he was told.
‘Jim’s started casting sessions already.’ The normally reticent Evan was aglow with the excitement of creating a new character.
‘The brother’s nineteen, and you haven’t seen him for four years, not since you ran away from home when you were twelve. He comes to the station as a trainee cameraman and doesn’t know you’ve been hauled off the streets and given a job. Great scene where you first meet. He doesn’t realise it’s you but you remind him of his little sister and we do a flashback to when you were kids. Good stuff eh?’
‘Great.’
‘It means we can give you a background. We can see the parents, see what made you run away, why you bucked the parental … oh, sorry.’ The entree had arrived and Evan nearly knocked his wine glass over to make way for it.
Edwina picked at her entree. Smoked trout was a favourite of hers but she wasn’t really interested. Just as she wasn’t really interested in the wine or the company. Davey never said much when they were out socially but his presence was support enough and she missed him when he wasn’t there. And of course he wasn’t there tonight; network bashes never included partners. Edwina remembered them only too well from her ‘Tonight Show’ days. Well, she decided, this was the first and last ‘Glitter Game’ bash she’d attend.
‘I’m sorry, Ray, what was that?’
She really must concentrate. What the hell had the man been talking about? It wasn’t that Edwina disliked him, it was the others’ subservient attitude to him that made her shudder, as well as the feeling that, underneath his pleasant exterior, he expected such subservience.
‘I said Melanie’s looking forward very much to seeing you again. She’s hoping you’ll be able to get up there for the weekend.’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll be going.’ I suppose I’ll have to, Edwina thought, but she was damned if she was going to say ‘I’m looking forward to it’ as was obviously expected.
‘She’s a great fan of yours, you know.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Melanie. She’s a great fan of yours.’ Dammit, the woman wasn’t listening to a word he was saying. Ray wasn’t used to that and it made him feel ill at ease.
‘Yes. I’m very flattered. She’s a woman with great style.’ Edwina caught Paul looking at her and they exchanged sympathetic smiles as he fought his own battle with Roy Mansfield.
Edwina had found herself warming to Paul ever since he’d stopped putting the hard word on her. She realised he was a little infatuated but that couldn’t do any harm. It certainly lent sparks to their work together and, apart from his obvious obsession with sex, he was a nice man, generous and good-natured with a lovely sense of humour. Yes, so long as he kept his distance they could be friends.
Paul felt a shiver of ecstasy at Edwina’s smile. She wants me, he thought. He’d take it very gently, he told himself — no pushing, but maybe tonight?
‘Yes, she still talks about your concert at The Pavilion.’ Ray again. Still talking about Melanie.
Edwina smiled at the compliment and nodded to the waiter who cleared her half-finished entree plate. She wasn’t at all surprised that Melanie remembered The Pavilion concert. After all, it was the night of The Pavilion concert that Melanie had made a play for her. Of course she’d been rather drunk at the time, but with a woman of Melanie’s style it was difficult to tell how drunk and Edwina was pretty sure that Melanie would remember everything that had happened that night.
So why the veiled messages via Ray? Did she want another bite at the cherry? It promised to be an interesting weekend if she did.
But a boring night, she thought, as the waiter plonked a plate of rare roast beef in front of her. Edwina never ate red meat and she’d ordered the chicken so she shook her head at the waiter who apologised profusely. ‘I’m so sorry, Madam, I’ll bring the chicken.’
‘No, don’t bother. The trout was ample, thank you. I’ll skip the chicken.’
Paul had watched her every move and, having refused his own main course, waited until everyone had been served and crossed to Edwina’s table. ‘Excuse me, Edwina. Just noticed you’re not into the mains either. Do you want to duck into the bar while everyone bleeds the beef?’
R
ay gave a hearty smile as Edwina agreed and excused herself but he didn’t approve and a silent black mark was ticked up against Paul. Paul knew it but, much as he’d always made it his rule to play the game, he didn’t mind. Edwina wanted to be with him and that was all he could think about.
Edwina, on the other hand, was delighted to be rescued. How kind of Paul. A quick thank you drink and she’d sneak off home.
‘I’ve got an even better idea,’ Paul said as they entered the bar. ‘Why don’t we shoot through and go to Mimi’s instead?’
Edwina shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, Paul. It’s getting late and … ’
‘Marcel will give us the back room — it’ll be quiet and we can get away from all this bullshit.’ Edwina still looked unsure. ‘We won’t stay long, just one quick drink. Marcel makes the best margaritas in town.’
Edwina laughed. ‘All right, you’ve got me. But just one,’ she warned, as he signalled for her jacket.
‘Sure, sure. Are you driving?’
‘No, they sent a car.’
Better and better, Paul thought. ‘Fine. I’m parked right outside.’
‘You’re right. They are the best margaritas in town.’ Edwina dabbed at the salt-rimmed cocktail glass with her finger.
‘What a shitfight, eh? I wish they’d just let us get on with making television and stop insisting we play their marketing games as well.’ Paul had always quite enjoyed playing ‘their marketing games’ in the past, impressing the advertisers and talking timeslots and ratings with network executives, but he knew Edwina hated it.
‘Yes,’ Edwina agreed. ‘I know it’s the actors’ popularity that sells the show so I suppose it’s fair enough we cop the advertisers, but why we have to suffer these in-house pat-on-the-back nights is beyond me.’
