by Judy Nunn
Edwina had been waiting for Jane’s response; she read it correctly. She saw the hatred, the resolve and the superiority. And the twinge of guilt Edwina had felt when she’d read the storylines and realised just how much ‘background wallpaper’ Jane’s character had become disappeared in an instant. She was glad she’d pushed Bryce: ‘No, I don’t want the roles equal, Robert. I’m the star of the show, and that’s the way I want it to stay. That’s the favour I’m asking.’
Robert Bryce couldn’t give a damn who was the star of the show so long as it rated and made money, but he didn’t like the demanding way in which Edwina reminded him he’d promised a favour. Robert Bryce always returned favours when he thought they were owed and this time was no exception but, as far as he was concerned, it left a clean slate. No more favours for Edwina.
Edwina was aware that she’d pushed him just a little too hard and she’d regretted it at the time. But not now. Not as she read Jane’s face. The woman was most certainly a danger and Edwina had been right to push her out of the race.
‘Standing by!’ Rehearsals were over; they were going for a take.
‘And … action!’
The scene was brilliant. There’d been many splendid confrontation scenes between the two female leads. After all, they were the main protagonists of the series. But this time Edwina and Jane outdid themselves as they vied for power over each other.
‘Cut!’
The crew broke into spontaneous applause and Sandy came down from the control room to congratulate them. There was mutual respect in the look shared between Jane and Edwina, until Jane raised an eyebrow slightly, as if to say, ‘Look what you’re missing out on — no more scenes like this after I’m shoved in the background’.
The mask was back on Edwina’s face in an instant. ‘I’ll be in my dressing room,’ she said to the first. And she said it with the knowledge that hers was the only luxury dressing room in the entire channel, reminding everyone, ‘I’m the star and don’t you ever forget that’.
‘Scene 27, day two. Vicky, Jane and Greg. You’ve got a wardrobe, hair and make-up change, Jane.’
When she reported back to make-up, Greg was leaning over the make-up chair having just fed Vicky the punchline to a joke. Vicky was cracking up, Max, the make-up artist, was stamping his foot in a queenly rage and Greg was looking very satisfied at the havoc he’d created. Jane looked at them fondly. It really was impossible to take oneself too seriously with such a good-humoured pair.
‘Hi, Greg, Vicky.’
‘Hello, Magic,’ Greg whirled around. ‘Got the best one … ’
Jane took one look at Max fighting a losing battle with Vicky’s make-up, a mascara wand in one hand and a cotton bud in the other.
She shook her head. ‘Bugger off, Greg, they’re waiting for us on the floor.’ But she smiled as she sat and nodded to Tanya, and of course Greg took no offence.
‘Humorous, humorous, what’s happened to humorous? Come on, girls, chop chop! On set, please, we’re waiting for a line run.’ Greg was out of the make-up room and into the studio, his voice wafting back to them before the soundproof door closed gently behind him.
Jane and Vicky smiled at each other, sat back in their respective hair and make-up chairs and let Tanya and Max get on with it.
Vicky hadn’t been sure whether she should bring up the subject. After a few moments she decided, what the hell. ‘I read the new storylines, Jane. They can’t be for real!’
‘They are.’ Oh don’t, Vicky, please, Jane thought.
‘But you’re going to do something about them, aren’t you? You’re not just —’
‘There’s nothing I can do.’
Vicky was outraged. ‘Oh, come on, there must be. We’ll all —’
‘You’ll all nothing. Leave it, Vicky, it’s done.’
‘But —’
‘I said, leave it.’
As Vicky sank back into her chair, Tanya and Max exchanged glances. They couldn’t wait to read the storylines.
Jane regretted the edge to her voice. ‘Thanks, love. There really isn’t anything that can be done, but thanks.’
‘It’s a bummer,’ Vicky scowled.
‘Yes,’ Jane smiled back. ‘It’s a bummer. There is a favour you could do me, actually.’
‘Sure. Whose head do I smash?’
Jane laughed. ‘Spread the news that I don’t want to talk about it. It’s done and I want to get on with the job. OK?’
‘OK,’ she said. Shit, she thought.
‘Hi, stars.’ It was Simon, poking his head around the make-up door. ‘Want to run some lines, Vicky?’
‘Not just yet. I’ve got one scene before ours.’
‘Oh. Sorry.’ Simon looked very contrite as he crossed to the running schedule pinned on the make-up supplies cupboard. ‘Are we behind time?’
Max gave an irritated moue as he held a tissue for Vicky to blot her lipstick. ‘Nearly an hour down, dear, isn’t it a bugger? Upsadaisy pet, you’re done.’
‘Found the car yet?’ Vicky jumped out of the make-up chair and grabbed her script.
‘I’ll know tonight.’ Simon had been on the hunt for a 1960s M.G.B. ‘I’m looking at one after work. The guy reckons it’s in great nick. He’s a mechanic and he restored it himself.’ He held the studio door open for her.
‘Good one,’ Vicky grinned. ‘I hope it’s red.’ The door closed behind her.
‘Thanks, Tanya.’ Jane nodded approval at the restyled hair and slid into the make-up chair vacated by Vicky. ‘You two seem to be getting on well now, Simon. That’s great,’ she said, as Max started changing eye shadows.
Tanya nodded to Simon to take a seat.
‘Yes,’ he said, closing his eyes to avoid the fine jets of water being sprayed into his hair. ‘It just took me a little while to settle in, that’s all. My fault.’
When Jane left for the studio, Simon settled back to the drone of the hairdryer and the chatter of Tanya and Max. He congratulated himself as he thought back over the weekend. Yes, Jane was right, he and Vicky were getting on well.
It hadn’t taken him long to talk Vicky round. Of course she made it easy, she was a forgiving sort of girl, a sucker for an apology.
Simon had used the telethon and the endless hours of waiting around between panel and phone rooms to get to her, and he’d gone easy on the coke before he did.
He didn’t think he’d be able to win her over at first. His abject apologies had been met with a cold but polite, ‘It’s OK, Simon, forget it’. It was only when he admitted that he’d let the coke get out of hand and he hadn’t realised how much until she’d told him and … It was only then that Vicky had become putty in his hands. She was glad that Simon was giving up the coke. She’d seen the damage it could cause physically and emotionally, the personality changes. As she warmed to her subject, Simon knew he was home and hosed. Hell, he was a schoolboy again, convincing his mother that the fifty dollar note she’d given him really had been stolen from his sports locker. Talk about naive. It was so easy.
Simon was right. Strangely enough, Vicky was naive. She’d been observing social users and junkies since she was twelve years old and she thought that meant she knew them. But Vicky had always been a loner. She may have ‘mixed with’ but she’d never ‘lived with’ and that made her naive.
The comfortable, middle class families who had contended with a junkie son or daughter — the families to whom Vicky had always felt a condescending superiority — knew far more about addiction than she did. They knew more about the devious, secretive, schizophrenic behaviour of the addict than Vicky could have ever known.
Having accepted Simon’s remorse, Vicky would have been shocked to learn that he’d followed her home from the channel on Friday evening and that he’d been parked outside her flat first thing on Saturday morning. She would have been appalled to know when he approached her at the telethon that same afternoon, that it was his first step in a carefully considered plan of attack.
That
morning Simon had observed Vicky going about what appeared to be a routine Saturday, a routine so mundane that Simon was surprised. Her first stop had been the laundromat. What on earth was a television star doing at a laundromat? The only concession she made to disguise were an American baseball cap and a pair of dark glasses.
While her laundry went through the washing machine Vicky visited the supermarket, and as it dried, she called into the greengrocers and the chicken shop.
Two hours later, as he watched her give her all to the millions of Australian viewers, Simon felt very close to her. They don’t know, he thought, but I do. And next weekend I’m going to know more. Much, much more.
‘Wake up, Simon, you’re done.’ Tanya gave his fringe a tiny blast of hair spray and whisked the plastic cape off his shoulders.
‘Next!’ Max stood aside, camping it up as he gestured to the make-up chair. He’d always fancied Simon.
As he was being powdered down, Simon looked at the monitor. Greg, Jane and Vicky were giving their all.
Twenty minutes later it was Jane watching the monitor. This time Simon and Vicky were giving their all.
She was in the greenroom, sucking back the fifth coffee of the day and telling herself what a foolish industry it was that she had been caught up in. Then she caught sight of Vicky’s face in close-up on the greenroom monitor. The girl was certainly good. There was an energy about her that refused to go unrecognised. Admittedly, it was raw and needed to learn when to hold back, but if Vicky stayed in the game and kept fighting, Jane was sure she could make it to the top.
Jane liked Vicky — a lot. Although they came from vastly different backgrounds they had a great deal in common. Vicky reminded Jane very much of herself at that age: the same fierce independence, the same desire to do battle.
‘Hi, Jane. Edwina in her dressing room, is she?’
‘Hello, Paul. Yes, I think so.’ As he left Jane switched back to the monitor. Poor bloke, she thought. She knew that Paul’s marriage had collapsed. Mind you, his wife was probably better off — according to the social pages, she was making a killing with her return to the fashion world.
When Paul had studied the schedules, he’d been pleased to discover that Edwina had a four-hour break between her first scene for the day and the five scenes she had to do with him during the afternoon. It gave him an excuse to suggest they have lunch together while they went over some lines. It also gave him a reason to get out of his hotel room and go into the channel early.
Paul was desperately lonely. He’d given up ringing Barbie. Mostly he got the answering machine anyway and, on the rare occasion that Barbie answered, she was pleasantly remote and spoke only about the children. The day he’d visited the house to see the twins she’d made sure she was out and had left Jamie in charge. Paul fought to keep himself in check all that afternoon, but when he got back to his hotel room, he burst into tears. No more trips to the house, he promised himself. He’d only seen the children once since then. Jamie had brought the twins to the hotel and Paul had taken them all to a football match. That had been upsetting enough.
Davey opened the door to Edwina’s dressing room.
‘Paul,’ Edwina looked surprised. ‘You’re not called for hours. What are you doing here?’
‘I thought you might want to go over this afternoon’s lines.’
‘You’re keen,’ Edwina smiled. ‘What time is it, Davey?’
‘Nearly one o’clock. Liza’s due any minute.’
‘Sorry.’ Edwina shrugged regretfully and Paul turned to go. Four hours sitting in the canteen. God, he felt depressed.
‘Paul, wait.’ Edwina exchanged a look with Davey as Paul turned back. ‘I don’t really feel like a heavy dose of Liza in the middle of a taping day. Why don’t you come back when they call lunchbreak and Davey’ll bring us something up from the canteen?’
Paul smiled with relief, saved from his own company. ‘OK, great. What time are they calling lunch?’
Edwina looked at Davey. ‘One-thirty,’ he said.
‘Make it one forty-five.’
Paul gave a salute and left. Davey closed the door behind him. ‘Liza expects to lunch with you. Don’t you think it’s a bit rude?’ he asked.
‘Probably. But I know she’s going to start angling for the “Edwina Dawling inside story” and I can only fob her off for so long.’
Davey shook his head disapprovingly. ‘Honestly, Edwina, it was sheer madness to make that promise in the first place.’
‘I know, I know.’
‘Well, what are you going to do?’
‘Avoid the subject as much as possible and if she doesn’t give up, tell her to bugger off.
‘Why the hell did you agree to this appointment with her, anyway?’ asked Davey
‘I didn’t. Rosa did.’ Edwina gave a sigh of irritation, and Davey countered, ‘Well, she doesn’t know that you owe Liza one for the Paul Sorell expose, does she?’
Edwina was about to snarl back at him when there was a knock on the door. ‘Moral support, Davey — don’t you dare go away.’
‘Hello, Liza, come in.’ Davey ushered Liza into the room and gestured to one of the leather armchairs.
‘Hello, Davey, Edwina.’ Liza sat down and looked around her appreciatively. ‘What a beautiful dressing room.’
‘Yes, it’s very comfortable. Tea or coffee?’
Liza looked slightly taken aback. ‘Coffee, thanks. Black.’
Edwina nodded to Davey. ‘Same for me thanks, and bring us some of that lovely shortbread.’
Liza’s smile was slightly fixed as Edwina turned back to her. No lunch, she was thinking, I’m about to be fobbed off. So Rosa must be right.
Liza was well aware that Rosa Glassberg hated her guts but of course they played the game with each other. When Davey had gently fielded Liza’s last two phone calls, saying that Edwina had a very heavy work week and would get back to her, Liza had worried that he was being a little overprotective and that her messages might not have been relayed.
She decided to go through the more official channel of Edwina’s agent and she was glad she had. In an effort to glean as much inside information as possible, Rosa had been most helpful. Yes, she had Edwina’s schedule in front of her — there was a four-hour break on Wednesday. Edwina would be only too happy to meet over lunch.
‘Now, is there anything I can do?’ Rosa had asked. ‘What angle are you taking on the story? As her close friend and agent I’m sure I could give you an added insight.’
‘Yes, I’m sure you could, Rosa, but it’s not really an interview I’m after this time. When we get around to doing the Edwina Dawling life story I’m sure you’ll be a great help.’
Damn you, woman, Rosa thought, if it’s not an interview you’re after, then what the hell is it? And as for Edwina’s life story … well, that was a laugh. ‘I doubt whether you’ll find Edwina agreeable to a life story, Liza.’ Rosa didn’t even attempt to disguise the sneer.
‘Oh, she’s already agreed. We made an arrangement quite a while ago.’
There was a pause while Rosa fought to regain her composure. What ‘arrangement’? What was the favour in return for which Edwina had promised a story Rosa knew she would never give? But most important of all, why had Rosa not been told? The anger she felt towards Liza turned full bore against Edwina. The ungrateful bitch — how dare she?
‘Congratulations, Liza. That’s quite a coup. And when you get around to writing it, I’ll be only too happy to help. Don’t forget I know Edwina better than anyone. In fact I know all about her and I’d be only too willing to share it with you.’
The woman is furious, Liza thought as she hung up. Furious with Edwina. That could be very helpful.
As Liza sat in Edwina’s dressing room and realised she was about to get the full run around, as she watched Edwina cross her long, elegant legs and flash one of her dazzling smiles, Liza thought, yes, Rosa, I’m sure you could be very helpful indeed.
‘Now, what can I do for y
ou, Liza?’
‘It’s more a case of what I can do for you at the moment, Edwina.’ Might as well play the game back for a while, she thought.
‘Oh?’ Edwina pushed the small china plate which Davey had placed before her to the centre of the table. ‘You must try one of these shortbreads, they’re marvellous.’
‘Thank you.’ But Liza ignored the biscuits and lit up one of her rare cigarettes. Menthol, 0.4 milligrams of nicotine. She’d kicked the habit ages ago. She only carried the pack in case she was hit with the odd occasion which called for a cigarette, so that she wouldn’t have to bot one with a higher nicotine content. That ‘odd occasion’ was always prior to a showdown, and Liza had a definite feeling that a showdown was imminent.
Nevertheless, she continued to play the game. ‘I wondered if you knew that the CBS deal had gone ahead? They intend to announce it next week.’
Edwina hadn’t. She gestured for Davey to open a window and bring an ashtray. ‘I knew they were negotiating, but … next week! How did you find out?’
Liza gave a self-deprecating shrug. ‘Trade secret — no one but a couple of people close to Alain know but I thought you might want to act on the advance news.’
‘In what way?’ Edwina looked shrewdly at the journalist. What was she angling at?
It was the question Liza had counted on. ‘Well, a new agent for starters. You want to be well and truly set up with an American manager before the show goes to air in the States.’
‘So? Thank you, Davey.’ Edwina offered the sugar bowl to Liza as Davey set the coffees down before them. Liza ignored both. ‘Why a new agent?’ Edwina continued. ‘Rosa can liaise with whoever I choose to represent me in the States. In fact, she could probably arrange an American manager for me.’
‘Rosa?’ Liza’s face said, You’re joking. ‘Come on.’
Edwina stopped trying to figure the journalist’s angle as she realised that the woman was right. Rosa would be totally out of her league mingling with the big American negotiators and was bound to stuff up any deal which might present itself. And more than anything else, Edwina wanted stardom in the United States. Liza was right.
