The Glitter Game

by Judy Nunn

  Jane wondered whether Edwina had read the storyline amendments. ‘Don’t think about it,’ she told herself, as she dredged her mind for the lines she’d known perfectly last night. Could Edwina have had anything to do with the drastic changes? ‘For God’s sake, don’t think about it,’ she steeled herself as Sandy called for a camera rehearsal.

  Two hours later, a note was handed to her. ‘Got your message, just read amendments. Meet you 12.35 scheduled lunchbreak, staff entrance.’

  She was five minutes late. Chris took her arm and made straight for the car park. ‘I checked the schedule — they haven’t changed the running order, have they?’ Jane shook her head. ‘Right, you’re third scene up after lunch, so we’re safe if we get you back to make-up by 2.30. Let’s get out of here.’

  Jane didn’t say anything as Chris drove. She didn’t even notice where they were going. She stared out the window, her mind a blank until suddenly they pulled up at a tiny beach. ‘Where are we?’ she asked.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. I’ve got a favourite little fish cafe here — thought you might like it.’

  Chris led the way into a take-away fish and chip shop overlooking the beach.

  Food was the last thing Jane wanted. She’d probably throw up again if she tried to eat. And the place was packed with people queuing up for the fried fish and chips which were being thrown by the bucketful onto piles of newspaper by a large fat man, then speedily salted, wrapped and exchanged for money by a short fat woman. Why on earth had Chris brought her here?

  ‘Eh, Chris!’ The woman rattled her metal salt shaker like a castanet and nudged the large man. ‘Gio, is Chris.’

  Gio dumped a pile of baby squid into the huge frying pan, gave it a shake to coat it with oil, then turned and waved. ‘G’day mate, how ya goin’?’ The mixture of the heavy Italian accent and the Australian vernacular was almost impossible to understand.

  Chris was aware of the baleful looks he was getting from the queuing customers as he pushed his way through to the rear of the shop. He smiled, waved back, then shepherded Jane up the tiny staircase to the two rooms above which had been converted into a restaurant. There were only six tables — all of them were taken.

  ‘Popular place. You can never get in at lunchtime,’ Chris said. So what the hell are we doing here? Jane asked herself again. Then she groaned inwardly. The eight people at the large centre table were nudging each other and two other tables were starting to notice the none-too-surreptitious pointing. She’d been recognised.

  Chris led her through the archway and across the other dining area to the French windows at the end by which time most of the restaurant was buzzing with ‘That’s Jane Richmond from “The Glitter Game”’.

  ‘Chris, can we … ?’

  He opened the French windows to reveal a tiny balcony overlooking the beach. There were two chairs and a table with a ‘reserved’ sign on it.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Take a seat,’ he said as he closed the doors behind them.

  Jane stood at the balcony and looked out over the still waters of the little bay. Even though they were at the end of autumn there was a bite to the sun. The water sparkled and the sand reflected a brilliant white.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Yes, it’s a nice spot. I come here a lot. Mainly to get away from the channel — no one at work seems to know about it. Great food, too.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Chris, I won’t be able to eat a thing. I’m too … ’

  ‘ ’Course you will. Wait till you try the garlic baby squid.’

  ‘No, honestly. I just needed to talk about —’

  ‘There’s nothing to talk about, Jane.’ Chris pulled her chair out from the table and gently but firmly sat her down. ‘After we’ve had lunch, we get you back to the channel, you do your three scenes, then we go and see Alain together.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘I’ve spoken to Jim and to Evan. Neither of them approve of the amendments. The orders for the changes came directly from Alain.’

  ‘So? Alain has the final word, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Bugger him, no! Not if the writer, the on-line producer and the director all say he’s wrong.’ Chris looked angry now. ‘We’ll go over his head if we need to. We’ll go directly to Bryce.’

  The French windows opened and the fat man from downstairs appeared. Gone was the white apron and chef’s hat – he was wearing an outsized grey pinstripe suit with a red bow tie.

  ‘Ciao, Chris.’

  ‘Ciao, Paolo. This is Jane.’

  ‘Bella, bella! Ciao, Jane.’ Paolo kissed Jane’s hand.

  Chris insisted on ordering a full meal for two, although Jane swore she wasn’t hungry, and the only concession he made for her was to skip the garlic squid in deference to her fellow actors during the afternoon.

  ‘How can that man cook and wait tables at the same time?’ Jane asked when Paolo had left.

  ‘He doesn’t. That’s Paolo, the other one’s Giovanni — they’re twins. Sometimes they swap the chef and waiter roles and the only way you can tell them apart is Giovanni plays the dinkum Aussie and Paolo sticks with the Neapolitan.’

  Jane laughed. The mingled aromas of olive oil, lemon juice and garlic suddenly smelled wonderful and she started to relax. Chris was right. Alain couldn’t override them all, he couldn’t renege on his agreement with her just like that. With Chris fighting for her, everything was going to be fine.

  But everything wasn’t fine.

  In fact everything couldn’t be worse, Jane thought, as Alain flung his trump card at them.

  ‘Robert Bryce! What do you mean, you’ll go to Robert Bryce? It was Robert Bryce who gave the order in the first place!’ Alain regretted it the moment he’d said it. Now they knew that he’d accepted directives from Bryce. Alain’s pride didn’t like that — he liked to be thought of as omnipotent.

  He started to feel angry. How dare these nobodies dictate to him? He’d given Chris Natteros some of the best jobs of his career; and where would the girl be if he hadn’t offered her the chance of a lifetime? Slaving her guts out in the theatre eight performances a week, that’s where. No one became a star in the Australian theatre.

  The rave reviews of the Peter Wainwright movie which had premiered that weekend flashed through Alain’s mind and he recalled his conversation with Jane six months before. He dismissed them both. One movie. So what? Here today, gone tomorrow. He was offering the bitch much, much more. She should be grateful. A familiar burning sensation rose in the back of his throat and another thought flashed through his mind. He’d run out of Mylanta tablets. He hated Chris and Jane all the more for that.

  ‘What do you mean, it was Bryce’s idea?’ Chris’s voice was disbelieving. ‘Why would Bryce want to know about storylines?’

  Alain shrugged, wishing he’d never mentioned Bryce. ‘Because his wife’s a dyke and she’s mad about Edwina — how the hell should I know? Stop pushing me, Chris.’

  There was a loathing in the way Alain said Edwina’s name that caused a sinking sensation in Jane’s stomach. ‘It’s her, isn’t it?’

  There was a confused silence. Both men turned to look at her.

  ‘Edwina. She made you do it.’

  Another silence. The tension was palpable.

  Then Alain spoke slowly and venomously. ‘No actress makes me do anything, Miss Richmond … ’

  Chris interrupted. ‘Alain, I —’

  ‘No director either. I suggest you go while you’ve still got a job.’

  ‘I haven’t.’ Chris crossed to the door. ‘As of now. Four weeks’ notice.’

  ‘You’re a fool. You might never work in this industry again.’

  ‘I’ll take my chances. You coming, Jane?’

  ‘I’d like to resign too, Alain.’

  ‘Check the fine print in your contract,’ Alain sneered. ‘Or if you can’t read, get your agent to —’

  ‘I know my contract. I said I’d like to resign too.’

  Alain suddenl
y hoped that Peter Wainwright’s film would be the start of wonderful things for the young girl starring in it. ‘Oh no, Jane, you’ve got six months to go. Six months of Edwina cutting you up into so much dead meat.’

  After Jane and Chris left, Alain reached for the inner coat pocket where he could usually find the stray Quickeze. There was one left. Then he tried to calm down and convince himself of the positive outcome of the interview.

  So what did it matter if Chris Natteros was going? His loss would be a blow to the series. If Alain didn’t replace him with a director of equal talent, the series would suffer. And the more the quality of ‘The Glitter Game’ diminished over the next six months, the more everyone would equate it with Alain’s departure. He would have to invent a story for the press — how much he regretted that Channel 3 had not allowed him the artistic freedom to continue the quality production which he had originally created. The show was already rating well in England, and the US network deal would be through next week – all of which would be credited, and justifiably so, to the show’s executive producer, Alain King. If everything started to crumble after he left, surely it was positive proof of his acclaimed Midas touch.

  Alain’s heartburn started to ease.

  It was six-fifteen when Chris and Jane entered the pub and ‘Happy Hour’ was well and truly under way. ‘Two drinks for the price of one from 5 till 7’, the sign boasted, which meant that the second ‘happy’ hour was very noisy.

  ‘Hell, I’d forgotten Happy Hour,’ Chris shouted above the din. ‘Do you want to go to the cocktail bar at the Hyatt?’

  Jane shook her head. If they were going to drown their sorrows, as they’d agreed to, she preferred to do it in private anyway. ‘My place,’ she yelled back. ‘Drinks are on me.’

  Jane surveyed the impressive collection of bottles on the lounge room dresser which served as a cocktail bar. ‘What say we go for lethal mixes? A dry martini or a sweet cocktail?’

  ‘Hate to have to admit it, but a sweet cocktail.’ Chris sat on the sofa facing the open fireplace.

  ‘Me too. Just trying to impress you with the range.’ Jane whirred up some crushed ice and got busy with a cocktail shaker. She wasn’t much of a drinker herself but the bar had become a symbol of her success when she’d landed the Wainwright play. Instead of having to offer friends decanted flagon port and instant coffee served from a pot, Jane could now stop pretending and do the real thing. It was important to her.

  ‘Try that.’ Chris was jolted out of his reverie. He stopped staring into the fireplace and took the cocktail she handed him.

  ‘Lethal and stunning,’ he said when he’d taken a sip. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A Scotch mist — Drambuie and Scotch.’ She sat on the sofa beside him, with her legs curled up under her.

  They sipped their drinks in silence.

  ‘It’s winter,’ Chris said finally. ‘You’ll be able to have open fires now.’

  ‘Yes. That was one of the main attractions when I rented the house.’ There was another pause as they both stared at the fireplace. Then: ‘You shouldn’t have done it, Chris.’

  The silence broken, there was no stopping them. As they drank through the cocktail shaker and Jane got up to crush some ice and prepare another, it all tumbled out.

  Chris was sick of working for the likes of Alain, he was sick of working on series and soaps, in fact, he was sick of working in television. He wanted to go back to the theatre or to features.

  ‘I sold out five years ago, Jane – when I did my first soap for Alain. It was a conscious decision — the kids were little, Helen needed to be home with them. But she’s back working now. She wants to be,’ he added. ‘Now’s the time for me to freelance again.’

  Jane no longer felt guilty about Chris quitting. In fact she felt envious. ‘Oh God, how I’d love to be back in the theatre,’ she agreed.

  The next two rounds of Scotch mist saw Chris commiserating with Jane over her ensuing six months with ‘The Glitter Game’ but advising her not to let it get her down. ‘Use it, Jane, use the promotion you’re getting out of the show.’

  ‘What promotion? I’m not a supporting lead any more, I’m an also-ran member of the cast.’

  ‘Believe me, anyone connected with “The Glitter Game” is big news. The CBS deal I told you about, remember? It’s all tied up. They’ll announce it next week.’

  The final round of Scotch mist led to the inevitable discussions on talent, charisma and commitment and it was agreed that Chris was the most inspired director Jane had ever been directed by and that Jane was the most inspired actress Chris had ever directed and they drained the last drops from the cocktail shaker for their toast, ‘To inspiration!’

  Then they realised they were drunk.

  ‘My God, how did that happen? We haven’t had that much, have we?’ Jane crossed unsteadily to the bar and inspected the bottles. They were both half empty. She held them up. ‘Oh, yes, we have.’

  ‘Shit.’ Chris stood up and looked at his watch. Nine o’clock. ‘I’d better ring home and tell Helen I’m on my way — she’ll be worried.’ He joined Jane at the bar, looked disbelievingly at the bottles, picked up the phone, stared at it for a second, then put it down again. ‘What’s my number?’

  Jane couldn’t help laughing. ‘Oh hell, you can’t drive home like this.’

  ‘No. I’d better stay the night, I guess.’

  Their eyes locked for a moment and Jane found she had to look away. ‘Yes. The study upstairs converts to a spare room, there’s a sofa that pulls out to … ’ She broke off as she made the mistake of looking back at him. And suddenly they were kissing. Fiercely, hungrily at first, then, when their desperation subsided, tenderly, lovingly, their tongues gently exploring each other’s mouths, their hands caressing each other’s bodies as they surrendered to the feelings they’d suppressed for the past six months.

  When the kiss was over, they held each other close for a long time until Chris finally broke the embrace.

  ‘I feel very sober.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Chris picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Hi … Yes I know, sorry, love, I should have rung earlier but I got drunk … Well, one of the cast was virtually written out for no reason so I went in to bat for her with Alain and … Jane Richmond … ’ Chris nodded in agreement and flashed a quick smile at Jane. ‘Yes, I know she’s the best thing in it. Anyway, the shit hit the fan and we went off and got drunk together … ’

  Jane couldn’t take her eyes off Chris and his attention to the phone. She could feel the presence at the other end, she could feel the familiarity, the love and the trust buzzing down the line between them.

  ‘ … I’m at Jane’s place.’ He looked at her and time stood still for a second. Then she gently shook her head. Chris breathed an inward sigh, a mixture of disappointment, regret and gratitude. Thank God Jane had made the decision. ‘No, I’ve sobered up, I’m OK to drive now … Yes, I’m quite sure. See you in an hour.’

  He hung up and they stared at each other. Jane finally grinned. ‘You would have hated yourself in the morning.’

  Chris nodded. ‘Good luck, Jane. I’ll be in post-production until I leave so … ’ He shrugged regretfully. ‘I hope like hell we work together again.’

  ‘So do I.’ He moved forward to kiss her goodbye but Jane backed away a step. ‘Oh no, we’ve done that bit.’

  ‘You’re right.’

  After he’d gone, Jane allowed the alcohol to take effect again and cursed herself as she stomped about cleaning her teeth and removing her make-up. Why did she have to be so damned ethical? Any other woman would have enjoyed a damn good one-night stand and to hell with the rest. But underneath it all, she knew she was proud of herself. The kiss was all she and Chris had needed, an open acknowledgement of their attraction for each other. Now they could get on with a lifetime’s true friendship.

  Nevertheless … You lucky bitch, Helen, Jane thought as she climbed into bed and passed out.

  The next
morning, Jane woke with only a minimal hangover. It took her a while to remember why she felt slightly strung out and depressed and, when she did remember, she was pleasantly surprised she didn’t feel worse. She wondered how she’d feel when she faced Edwina.

  No, she told herself, as she turned the cold shower tap on full blast, you will not be bitter, you will not hate Edwina. You can’t really blame her, anyway, she’s a product of the system. She needs to play the game that way.

  Jane continued to convince herself as she stepped into the shower recess and held her face up to the freezing jets of water. Edwina’s always been a nightclub singer and a recording artist, and now that she’s a television star she needs to kick any would-be contenders off the roost. Jane slowly regulated the shower to warm and started soaping her body. You’re an actress, Jane — different ball game. Edwina will never be considered an actress. Let her have her domain; you don’t belong there anyway — just serve your six months and get out!

  Jane felt very strong when she arrived at the channel. She hadn’t been called until mid-morning and she’d had all the time in the world to go through her cold-hot-cold shower routine, do her stretching exercises, jog around the block and eat her raw bran and yoghurt and contemplate how she was going to attack her day.

  Then she saw Edwina. And it was face to face, on set, in character — confrontation time. Jane had come from make-up, Edwina from her luxury dressing room and both women had looked only at their scripts during the line run.

  ‘Full rehearsal,’ Ken called.

  They put their scripts down and were on their own. As cameras, sound, lights, all stood by, Edwina and Jane looked each other in the face for the first time.

  The resolve that Jane had built up that morning from the moment she’d stepped into her cold shower was momentarily shaken as she looked into the eyes of the woman who was ruining her career. She felt a flash of hatred. But then her resolve was back, stronger than ever. Edwina can have the flash-trash fame, she told herself. I’m the better actress.