The Glitter Game

by Judy Nunn

  ‘Before and after what?’ Val asked.

  ‘Wedding, you twit. Wedding. Marriage. Nuptials.’ Val still looked bemused but Tim didn’t notice. He never did when he was on to a hot new idea. ‘Get Big Sally to line up top designer label gear, sophisticated stuff. Set up a photo session. Then look out the horniest shots from any sex scenes we’ve got: “The Idol of Erotica turns Double Bay Darling”. ’

  The conference didn’t last much longer. Tim decided that Vicky had been given a lot of press lately since Simon had been killed off and they could afford to give her a brief rest. ‘Just a tasteful reminder that Jodie’s still lamenting the death of her brother,’ he instructed. ‘A good one-liner’ll do. They’ll all assume Vicky’s in mourning herself so she’ll get the sympathy vote.’

  He decided Paul could be given a miss altogether. The man was becoming positively unbalanced. One never knew what he’d say to the press. ‘Frankly, I don’t know why the producers don’t get rid of him,’ Tim said, as he turned to go. ‘Now, hop to it. Don’t forget Jane and Narelle are our big guns this week.’ He sailed out of the conference room.

  Tim was wrong about Narelle. Marriage had changed her very little. Apart from being strictly monogamous, her sexual activity remained as strenuous as it had ever been, thanks to her equally active husband. Life was still the great adventure that it always had been for Narelle and everything she saw about her held the same source of wonderment it always had. And her body! Her body was a greater delight to her than it had ever been. Narelle was two months pregnant.

  The Narelle Farrell wedding had been the media event of the season. Channel 3 had televised the entire ceremony for their ‘Hello Australia’ morning programme, every major news report had shown clips, and magazine colour spreads and front-page newspaper shots had appeared all over the country.

  Darren had encouraged and enjoyed the hype just as much as Narelle had — in fact, probably more so. His pride in Narelle was overwhelming and the thought that the whole country would be able to feast its eyes on his luscious bride was thrilling to him. He didn’t seek the nation’s envy, he didn’t seek to boast his ‘prize’, he merely wished to bask in the admiration she inspired. And if she also provoked lust in the hearts and groins of many, as indeed she must, then what taste the ‘many’ showed, Darren thought approvingly.

  Although the wedding dress was skintight and slit to the hip, although the décolletage was daringly low and displayed her breasts to their fullest advantage, the overall effect was delightful and not in the least offensive. And the fact that the dress was white seemed entirely appropriate. There was something about Narelle’s healthy animal sexuality that was strikingly innocent; she was as proud and as joyful as any virgin had ever been. And who could dispute Narelle’s purity? Certainly no one would have been able to convince Narelle herself that she was anything other than a virgin. After all, she’d never been married before, she’d never had babies before. Hers was a virgin mind and body, reborn, as she’d planned it would be one day, to devote itself to one man and to the birth of children.

  Darren’s and Narelle’s wedding was flamboyant and, to some, not in the best of taste, but their love for each other was so evident that even the media’s most hardened cynics, while taking witty cracks at them, couldn’t help but wish them well.

  In fact, six weeks after the wedding, when Narelle announced that she was pregnant and was terminatinging her contract with ‘The Glitter Game’ and resigning from the industry to devote herself to her family, thousands of fans went into mourning at the imminent loss of their favourite sex symbol. So much so that Darren felt guilty at depriving the Australian viewing public and made Narelle promise that, when the baby was a year old, she’d let him get a live-in nanny and that she’d continue to make television guest appearances.

  ‘The Glitter Game’ had been in production for nearly a year, and major contracts were due for renegotiation. Both Jane and Vicky had announced they were not renewing.

  Alain had expected Jane to get out as soon as possible, of course, and was only too glad to hold her to the last week, day and minute of her contract. He’d made her a star and she’d tried to renege — the girl was an ingrate.

  Vicky was another story altogether and Alain was dumbfounded when a simple ‘availability’ query to her new agent revealed that no negotiation was necessary. Vicky had decided to leave the series regardless of the deal offered. Obviously the girl had no idea that her character was extremely popular and that she had them over a barrel, Alain thought. He despised her for her stupidity but secretly he was delighted. It was another blow to the show. The days of ‘The Glitter Game’ were numbered. The thankless girl could go back to the streets with her newly-acquired junkie friend and in all probability acquire her own habit and go on the game to support them both, Alain thought. She was certainly about to blow her chances.

  But Vicky wasn’t about to blow her chances at all. Simon was the best thing that had ever happened to her. In fact, Simon was the only thing in Vicky’s life she’d ever really cared about.

  At first she’d made her visits to the clinic out of a sense of duty. A promise was a promise, after all. But, several weeks later, Simon’s dog-like devotion was replaced by a genuine desire to beat his addiction and, as his willpower took over, his wit, his humour and his good spirits returned. He was no longer the pathetic creature she’d so pitied.

  It started with his exuberant plans for the future. ‘Law, Vicky. I’m going to study law. Full time.’

  ‘But it’s a five-year course. What are you going to live on?’

  Simon roared with laughter. ‘Are you kidding? Do you know how much my olds have been forking out for me to shove up my nose? I’ll give away half in uni fees and live well on the rest.’

  ‘Won’t you miss acting? I mean, you must care about your career, you trained for three years.’

  ‘Only because I thought it was the best way to be the centre of attention and it might mean an easy buck. Besides,’ he sent himself up with a wry grin, ‘if I’m what’s supposed to be an “addictive personality”, this is probably the worst business for me to be in.’

  ‘Why law? Why’s law such a big deal?’

  Simon considered the question seriously. ‘I think deep down I’ve always wanted to go into law. I’ve got an uncle who’s a lawyer and he’s the only relative I liked as a kid — well, respected anyway.’ Simon grinned. ‘He’s still the only relative I like. Good bloke.’ He shrugged. ‘Then it became more important to be noticed so I opted for drama school. I don’t know why, Vicky, I just know that it’s right.’

  The day Simon was released from the clinic, Vicky arranged to have the afternoon off. Well, she spoke to Jim and he arranged it for her. True to his word Jim had kept quiet about Simon’s problem, simply informing Alain that the doctor’s report said ‘a stress-induced nervous disorder’. Then Jim had instructed Evan to come up with an open-ended departure for the character. ‘We want to be able to bring him back once he’s medically in the clear.’

  No one knew how the story leaked, but a week after Simon had committed himself for treatment a gossip column in a tabloid newspaper carried the full story. Presumably a member of the staff at the clinic had talked. Vicky was convinced that it was the bitch at the front counter of the drug rehabilitation centre. Whoever it was, the story created a furore within the network.

  Robert Bryce was livid that any employee of Bryce Holdings was involved in any way with narcotics. He’d always looked upon the anti-drug campaign as his own personal crusade and he was appalled that Alain had not only allowed a junkie to be employed in the show, but had somehow let the press get hold of the story.

  The gap between Robert Bryce and Alain King widened even further as Alain hung up the phone, stinging with humiliation at Robert’s invective.

  ‘Kill the little prick off,’ Bryce had said, ‘and make a press announcement that everyone connected with the show had no idea that —’

  ‘They didn’t,
Robert. No one knew, I swear.’

  ‘Then they fucking well should have. Stop whining, get off the phone and do the job I pay you for, King.’

  Alain dived for the Mylanta, crunched through three tablets and downed two Dispirin before ringing Jim.

  ‘I didn’t know, Alain,’ Jim said. ‘None of us did.’

  ‘Then you fucking well should have.’ And so it went on.

  Two weeks after the episode in which Jodie got the news that her brother had been killed in a head-on collision between his sports car and a semitrailer, the public was well on the way to forgetting Simon’s character entirely, such was the ephemeral life of a television soap star. And the day Vicky took Simon home from the clinic, the cab driver, who recognised her immediately, said to Simon, ‘And what do you do, mate?’

  ‘I study law,’ Simon replied, giving Vicky a wink and a nudge.

  Simon’s large airy flat was one of four units in a converted mansion overlooking Centennial Park. It would have been extremely impressive if it hadn’t been in such a mess.

  ‘God, you’re a pig,’ Vicky complained as she set about stacking the dozens of dirty plates in the sink. ‘Look, they’re congealed. Didn’t you ever wash up?’

  ‘Sure, when there wasn’t any clean stuff left. Anyway, I was a sick boy, remember?’ He gave her his sickly pathetic look and she threw the wet dishcloth at him.

  ‘I’ll collect the junk, you start washing.’

  ‘In a minute,’ He picked up the restaurant courier directory. ‘What do you fancy? Italian, Greek, Thai, Japanese?’

  ‘Whatever you reckon.’ Vicky disappeared on the hunt for further dirty dishes. ‘A pizza’ll do.’

  Simon was on the phone for a full twenty minutes making call after call. ‘Done!’ he said finally.

  ‘That’s one helluva pizza. Are you sure you weren’t talking to “Dial a Prayer”?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, it’s obvious you’ll do anything to get out of cleaning up.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? Watch this.’ Simon leapt to his feet, grabbed the dishcloth from her and started frantically washing up. ‘We’ve got half an hour before the food arrives. Come on, move it!’

  Half an hour later Vicky collapsed on the sofa. ‘OK. We made it, now where’s the food?’

  The doorbell rang. ‘Right on cue,’ Simon said as he pressed the buzzer. ‘Upstairs, the flat to the left,’ Simon instructed as he pressed the front door release button.

  It took the courier two trips to cart the food up. Along with two bottles of Moët et Chandon vintage, Simon had ordered a sushi selection, spicy Thai soup, fettucine marinara, a barbecued Greek seafood platter, and strawberry pernod pancakes for dessert.

  ‘You couldn’t make up your mind so I ordered my favourites,’ he explained as he tipped the courier. ‘You’ve no idea what that bloody clinic food was like.’

  Later Vicky swore that it wasn’t the champagne but the spicy Thai soup that led to their lovemaking.

  ‘I’ve never had it before,’ she said. ‘That is the horniest taste sensation I’ve ever experienced.’

  When they’d finished eating, despite the fact that Vicky swore she’d never eat again, she kept going back for sips of the Thai soup as they dawdled over the second bottle of champagne. When Simon started kissing her gently, not only did it seem the most natural thing to respond but Vicky found herself taking the initiative. She started to undress him even before he put his hand on her breast. For the first time in her life, Vicky felt sexually aroused.

  When they finally rolled naked and giggling off the couch on to the floor, their lovemaking was uninhibited and joyful.

  At one stage, as Vicky became aware of an immense sense of sharing, of an overwhelming desire to give, Greg’s face flashed through her mind. It was ‘Billy’s’ face really — the seduction scene when she’d wondered for a second whether it could be like that in real life. Whether it could ever be genuinely loving. Well, it could. It could be better, much, much better, but why the hell was she thinking about acting now? Damn — it was the ‘third eye’ again. The ‘third eye’ Jane had taught her about that time they’d discussed the craft of acting. If that was what acting was all about, she didn’t want it. She didn’t want to be outside looking in. She wanted to lose herself in Simon, she wanted Simon to lose himself in her. She wanted to take, she wanted to give. Take. Give. Take. Give. And suddenly Vicky was lost. Lost in herself, lost in Simon, lost in time and, as Simon’s groans reached a peak, she flung back her head and heard her own involuntary cry of fulfilment.

  They talked, gently nibbling and caressing each other’s flesh. They dressed and walked through the park. In the evening they ate some more of the food without even bothering to heat it up and they went to bed and made love again. This time gently, consciously exploring each other’s bodies. Vicky was once more outside herself, observing, thinking, ‘Is this really me?’ and once more chastising herself for being so analytical. And then once again she became lost, once again he became part of her and once again, as she clutched him to her, she heard herself cry out.

  Two days later, Vicky sought out Jane at the studio. She needed someone to talk to.

  Jane was surprised and touched. She and Vicky were genuinely fond of each other and had developed a great camaraderie and a respect for each other’s talents but they hadn’t mingled socially and their conversations were invariably about work or acting in general. Now here was the girl discussing her intimate life and crying out for help. Jane felt maternal and protective but also a little inadequate. Hell, who was she to give advice on sex, lovers and affairs of the heart? She’d well and truly stuffed up that area of her own life.

  ‘Honestly, Vicky,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t know what help I can give except to say that, if you honestly love Simon then I think you should go for it. If you back off because you’re scared of getting hurt or scared of interfering with your career then you could end up never loving anyone.’ Jane recalled that someone had given her that piece of advice at one stage when the importance of a lover was threatening her career. It had made sense to her in theory but she’d got rid of the lover nonetheless.

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ Vicky protested, ‘I’m not scared of giving, I’m scared that I can’t give enough.’ Jane looked puzzled. ‘It’s the third eye, Jane — it’s always there.’

  Jane remembered the conversation they’d had a couple of weeks ago about her ‘third eye’ theory. It had become quite an excited debate over the canteen’s Tuesday loin chops.

  ‘Everybody has a “third eye”, Vicky,’ she explained. ‘You know, that really weird feeling of looking at yourself from the outside. Often when you least expect it.’ Jane looked down at her plate as she continued. ‘I remember when I was about fourteen my dog was hit by a car. I was nursing the poor thing in the middle of the road and I don’t know who was screaming loudest, me or the dog, but all the time I was telling myself that this was what it was like to feel panic, terror, grief. All of that. I’ve used that memory a lot since.’

  ‘You knew you wanted to act when you were fourteen?’

  ‘Oh, sure. I knew when I was ten.’

  Although Vicky was a ‘natural’ and had been hitting upon many performance techniques instinctively, it was the first hint of an acting lesson she’d ever had and it fascinated her. She let her favourite loin chops solidify on the plate before her as she and Jane talked for the whole lunch break about analysing one’s emotions and behaviour.

  ‘We’re different people, depending on who it is we’re relating to at the time,’ Jane said. ‘Whether it’s family, lover, employer, workmates. It’s useful for an actor to analyse that.’

  Vicky identified with much of what Jane was saying. She’d used the many facets of her personality for years. To lie to prospective landlords, to get jobs for which she wasn’t qualified or was underage, to fool the authorities. Her existence had been consciously chameleon-like for most of her life, but she hadn’t analysed why or
how she chose her particular ‘performances’.

  After that conversation, Vicky’s ‘third eye’ became a predominant part of her life and she found it endlessly interesting to observe her own reactions to situations and the effect she had on people and they had on her.

  But now there was Simon. He’d taken her by surprise and Vicky was in a dilemma. ‘I don’t want the third eye to take over, Jane. I don’t want to be on the outside looking in. How do I stop it?’

  ‘I don’t know, love. A lot of actors can’t.’ Jane shrugged. ‘One of the hazards of the business, I guess.’

  It was then and there that Vicky decided to quit acting.

  Jane was appalled. ‘You’re mad. You can’t!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Quit the business! Just like that!’

  ‘Oh, I think I’ll stay in the business. Go into the production side or something.’

  ‘But … you’re a star. The whole country knows you.’

  ‘Yeah. That’s one of the parts I hate.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Jane nodded. ‘But you’re so talented. You’re a natural. I mean … ’ It was beyond Jane’s comprehension that anyone, having established themselves and having experienced the challenge of acting, could ever give it up.

  ‘So?’ Vicky grinned. ‘I’ll just have to discover another talent and be a natural at that.’

  ‘God almighty, I hope Simon’s worth it.’

  ‘I’m not doing it for Simon, Jane, I’m doing it for me. If Simon disappeared tomorrow I’d still do it.’ Jane looked at the girl blankly. ‘Don’t you see?’ Vicky continued, ‘Simon’s made me realise that I can accept somebody else as being important in my life. That I can actually ‘love’, I guess. I never thought I could. I mean like … ’ Vicky fumbled for the words, ‘like love in the general sense. I can love friends, I can love family.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Well, I could if I had any. I can love anyone or anything, not just Simon. He’s only been the … the … ’