by Judy Nunn
‘Lolly’s’ was a sitcom set in an Australian confectionery factory with a colourful cast of migrant factory workers — it would be a breakthrough comedy series. Alain had recognised it as a winner the moment Evan mentioned the vague outlines of his idea.
From that moment on, Alain had worked as closely as possible with Evan to the point where it had become impossible to say who had contributed what. He made sure all meetings were solely between Evan and himself and indeed Alain’s input was such that, if challenged, Evan may well have found himself confused to the point of admitting it was as much Alain’s work as his. This had been Alain’s intention from the outset. Writers were such a naive bunch, it was like taking candy from a baby. Alain had pulled the same trick many times before.
‘Lolly’s’ was presently sitting in Alain’s safe at home, along with two other Evan Ryan concepts. It would see the light of day as a Channel 8 production a year down the track. The character names and title would have to change of course. What a pity, Alain thought — great title, ‘Lolly’s’.
Alain spent five minutes consoling Evan then ushered him out of the office and leafed through the paper work on his desk. Greg MacNeil’s contract was there. Pity he couldn’t have stuffed that one up. Greg had agreed to renew. For megabucks of course; he was a sharp man and knew his worth. Alain respected him for that.
Paul’s contract was also there, signed, sealed and delivered. Paul was still popular but a few more months and the booze would solve that one. Nobody loved a drunk.
Edwina’s contract remained not only unsigned but unnegotiated. She refused to discuss it until her return from overseas. By then her promotional trip would have set the world on fire, and she would undoubtedly demand the earth. Thankfully, Alain would be gone by then and wouldn’t have to witness her triumph.
With Greg and Edwina re-signed, ‘The Glitter Game’ might limp on for possibly another year, but it would definitely be on the way out by the time ‘Lolly’s’ hit the screens. And then Alain would be responsible for the next Australian hit series — this time for Channel 8.
The increase in the popularity of the characters played by Mandy and Sidney was only a minor concern, a passing public fad that would make no difference to the destined death of the show. Bit of a mystery though, Alain thought as he buzzed Wendy to get him a coffee.
Mandy’s and Sidney’s success wasn’t really a mystery. It was the result of damn hard work. The veteran actors had been pushing for months to raise their stakes in the popularity polls.
They both knew only too well that, until the end of the second year to air, contract renewal time in a series meant severe pruning. And if there were any members of the original cast likely to be considered dead wood, they were it. Mandy and Sidney both felt the familiar sense of panic. No, don’t do it to me, don’t send me back to the bottom of the heap. Not now, for God’s sake. ‘Not now’ meant ‘not at my age’, although neither of them would have admitted that.
If they could only get to the end of that second year! After the first two years of a series, it was unlikely for management to sack any of the original cast members who by that time were firmly entrenched with the viewers.
They never talked to each other of their fears, being unwilling to admit their insecurity, but they both grabbed at every possible opportunity for self-promotion. And, as the comic elderly couple, their ‘Glitter Game’ characters were always identified together, so that each promotional appearance invariably involved the other. If Mandy scored a gala charity event, she was asked if she could bring Sidney. If Sidney scored a store promotion he was asked if he could persuade Mandy to appear as well.
And then there was the Saturday shopping. That had become the biggest promotional gig of all. After thirty years of assiduously avoiding each other around the streets of Kings Cross, Saturday morning shopping had become a shared ritual.
It had happened by mistake. Both Mandy and Sidney had become masters of the art of noticeably struggling not to be noticed, which meant they managed to call a remarkable amount of attention to themselves.
So the day they accidentally bumped into each other at the pastry shop they’d both acquired a number of gawking passers-by.
‘Mandy, my dear!’
‘Sidney! Sidney, darling!’
A smattering of applause broke out as they hugged each other and people picked up small white paper bags from beside the cake stands, hunted around for pens and demanded autographs.
A small band of loyal followers trailed behind them from the pastry shop to the butcher, the greengrocer, and the supermarket. By the time they reached the newsagency, they were being followed by a veritable army of admirers and their hands ached from signing autographs.
That was just the beginning. Since then they’d shopped together every Saturday. They never arranged to meet. It was a tacit understanding that ten o’clock on Saturday mornings saw them at the pastry shop.
The Kings Cross residents knew this and each week there was an increase in numbers as the locals brought their families and friends and their kids brought their classmates. And Mandy and Sidney always managed to have an adequate supply of Channel 3 photo fan cards of themselves to hand around.
The pastry shop man loved Mandy and Sidney. He did a thriving trade in pies, sausage rolls and chocolate eclairs as the crowd lolled about outside his shop waiting for their ‘Glitter Game’ celebrities.
Then one day, Mandy varied the routine. Her agent had rung late Friday and asked if she’d be interested in calling in at the Central Mission House on Saturday afternoon. The Reverend Tom Spence evidently wanted a few celebrities to make a brief appearance at a funding drive being held in aid of homeless children.
‘There’s no money involved,’ the agent said, ‘but Central Mission’s only around the corner from your place and there’s some press coverage so … ’
‘It’s for homeless children,’ Mandy interrupted. ‘Of course I’ll be there.’
So it was that Mandy suggested Sidney accompany her to the Central Mission House. They were at their final port of call, the newsagents, and Sidney naturally thought it was an excellent idea. ‘When we can do a little something for homeless kiddies it makes our foolish industry truly worthwhile, doesn’t it?’ he commented. Mandy nodded her agreement and suggested they leave their shopping with Don the newsagent. Sidney agreed. It certainly wouldn’t look good, stars arriving carrying plastic bags of sausages and laundry powder.
Don was only too happy to be of service. The weekly invasion of soap-watchers always saw a rise in the sale of comics, Mad magazines and Mills and Boon books.
Mandy and Sidney turned out to be the fund raiser’s main attraction. The Reverend Tom hadn’t managed to score the services of many celebrities — the event wasn’t high profile enough. In fact there was only a faded ex-quiz show hostess who now hosted a regular five minute flower-arranging segment on Channel 3’s morning show and a stand-up comic who still trotted out John Wayne impressions but was very popular with the RSL clubs.
As Mandy and Sidney wandered through the exhibition of handiwork done by reformed streetkids from some of the halfway houses run by Central Mission, they were filmed briefly for a possible late night news human interest segment. Then they posed for a few publicity shots with one of the reformed streetkids.
His name was Nathaniel, Nat for short, and he was the pride and joy of Reverend Tom. ‘Nathaniel’s background is terrible,’ he explained. ‘A severely underprivileged boy. That’s what makes his talent so remarkable. Show them your work, Nat.’
Nat led them to the section of the exhibition displaying T-shirts. Screen-printed T-shirts, T-shirts which were tie-dyed, hand-painted or beaded, T-shirts in every possible style of original design. There must have been hundreds of them.
‘It’s one of the most popular art-forms in the workshops,’ Reverend Tom said. ‘And Nat’s the star talent.’ He gave Nat a hefty pat on the back which nearly sent the scrawny boy sprawling. The Reverend was a big, thic
kset man who, on first meeting could have been taken to be a heavyweight boxer which was understandable enough because ten years ago he had been. Since declaring himself a born-again Christian he’d kept in training and the children, particularly the boys who were mostly aspiring Jeff Fenechs, worshipped him.
At the Reverend’s suggestion, Nat showed Mandy and Sidney the computer room where he designed his computerised, screen-printed T-shirts.
‘We’ve only got the one computer, though, so I only get to use it two hours a week,’ Nat whined. He was undersized for his age, looking at least two years younger than his fourteen years, but he had a wiry body which could have appeared quite fit, if it weren’t for the stoop of his shoulders and the defeat in his eyes. He looked so sad Mandy wanted to cry.
‘That’s one of the things we’re raising money for,’ Nat continued, ‘another computer.’ He looked from Mandy to Sidney and back again. ‘Don’t want to contribute, do you?’
Mandy and Sidney were shocked. Contribute? Contribute money? Stars were never asked to contribute money. Time, yes. And, after all, time was money, wasn’t it? But ready cash? They looked at Reverend Tom but he obviously didn’t think it was too impertinent a question. He should have known better and they both thought he should have corrected the boy but nevertheless Mandy found herself diving into her handbag. That poor pathetic child.
Sidney scrounged around in his coat pocket for a two dollar coin. ‘Sorry, my boy, seem to have come out a bit short, that’s all I can do.’ Mandy handed Nat a ten dollar bill. ‘Now if there’s anything else we could do,’ Sidney continued, ‘by way of giving our time, personal appearances and all that, we’d be only too happy to … ’
‘Could I use your photos for a T-shirt?’ Nat asked and, for the first time they saw a touch of animation in his face. ‘I’d only make a few,’ he added hastily. ‘Just for me and me mates at the home.’
‘Naturally, Nat,’ Sidney said, which sounded so silly that he was relieved Mandy said, ‘Of course you can, dear’ at the same time.
‘We’ll get the Channel 3 publicity department to send you out —’ But Mandy was interrupted.
‘It’s OK,’ Nat said, ‘I’ve got a camera. I can do them now.’
‘Oh. Well … ’ Mandy demurred, unsure of her make-up.
‘I think it might be best if … ’ Sidney balked, aware that natural daylight didn’t show him to his best advantage.
‘Great idea, Nat. Grab your camera and let’s go.’ The Reverend Tom shoved them out the back door into the harsh midsummer day and, before they knew it, Mandy and Sidney were squinting into a ferocious Australian sun. Click. Click. Click. Before they’d had time to reposition their faces from the shock of the glare and before they’d been able to make further protest, Nat was grinning from ear to ear.
‘Hey, bizarre! Thanks heaps.’ And he disappeared around the corner of the building, a different, jaunty set about his shoulders and a clearly defined swagger to his walk.
‘Thank you so much for giving us your time.’ Reverend Tom shook their hands effusively, severely bruising several knuckles, and then he too disappeared, leaving Mandy and Sidney alone in the back yard of the Central Mission House. They found the side entrance and wound their way through several back alleys to the newsagent where they collected their shopping. Nobody saw them, nobody followed them and it was all a bit of a let-down after such a successful start to a Saturday.
A fortnight later, in fact, the day after the Channel 3 burglary, two things happened that had a marked effect on Mandy’s and Sidney’s future standing in the industry.
Firstly, there were the phone calls from their respective agents. Channel 3 was renewing their contract, with a ten per cent salary increase for six months, with a possible six month option to be discussed.
After their initial relief, which knew no bounds, Mandy and Sidney told each other how insulted they were at the contract conditions. But both knew neither of them was going to make waves. They knew that a whinge was necessary to retain their dignity and each was grateful the other was there to whinge to. Mandy and Sidney were actually beginning to like each other.
The second thing that happened on that Tuesday was the arrival of two parcels from the Central Mission House, Kings Cross, addressed to Mandy Burgess and Sidney Meredith, c/o ‘The Glitter Game’, Channel 3. Inside each was a personal note from the Reverend Tom Spence:
Hope you like the enclosed. Nat’s done a good job, don’t you think? The cheeky young bloke conned the use of another computer and he’s worked around the clock for the past fortnight to get these out to all the Mission sales outlets. There’s hundreds of them around already and he’s not stopping till he’s flooded the market. All proceeds, bar the twenty-five per cent necessary for Nat’s expenses, go to the Fund and, on behalf of Central Mission I’d like to thank you most sincerely for your generous contribution.
It’s donations of time and energy like yours and Nat’s that make our purpose so worthwhile.
Thank you once again,
Yours, Tom Spence.
Inside each envelope was a large white T-shirt. Emblazoned boldly across the chest were the words ‘THE OLDS’ in black, and there, underneath, were Mandy and Sidney.
They gazed at the T-shirts in horror. How had the boy managed to get so much detail onto a screen-printed T-shirt? No one had ever looked that old!
‘Ladies first,’ Sidney said as he handed Mandy the phone. And for the first time, they rang their agents together. They were a team now and there was strength in numbers.
Both agents said the same things and made the same points. Firstly, Mandy and Sidney had given permission for their photos to be used so it was hardly illegal. Secondly, it would be dreadful for their images to withdraw permission from a money-making concern which was benefiting homeless children. And thirdly — this was the only point made that Mandy and Sidney ultimately remembered — a potentially huge fan club had been set up from Central Mission House and was already running hot through all the Mission halfway houses and sales outlets.
The Mandy Burgess/Sidney Meredith Official Fan Club had been started by a Nathaniel somebody, they were told. The National Headquarters of the club had been set up at the Central Mission House, Kings Cross; branches were opening up at halfway houses all over the country and fan club kits complete with ‘THE OLDS’ T-shirts, badges and biographies were presently being parcelled for distribution in the UK.
Mandy and Sidney appeared to be the only employees at Channel 3 not obsessed with the endless burglary discussions that day. While everyone asked ‘who, why and how’, Mandy and Sidney couldn’t have cared less. They were flying.
So was Alain as he prepared to leave the channel that afternoon. He was knocking off early today, bugger it. After all, there were only three days to go. Only three days, then goodbye ‘Glitter Game’ and hello ‘Lolly’s’.
It was going to be a steamy, hot summer evening. The heat always made Alain extra horny and Tran was waiting — he couldn’t have been happier. He stopped on the way home and bought a chilled bottle of chardonnay and a bunch of pink roses. He’d give Tran a special treat. She deserved it.
Robert Bryce looked out the portside window at the eastern coast of Australia only five hundred feet below. He’d instructed the pilot twenty minutes ago to drop from forty thousand feet as he neared the coastline. And here it was.
Robert never tired of air travel. Sometimes he missed the four-seater Cessna Skyhawk he’d cut his teeth on. And of course he missed being in the cockpit himself. He still managed a couple of fun-flying hours a week at the controls of his Beechcraft Baron but he was resigned to the fact that time and business dictated he employ a professional pilot to fly his Citation. Besides, corporate image demanded it.
The white beaches stretched endlessly from bay to bay and the ocean glistened a vivid aquamarine over the sand and a deep blue over the weed. Robert wished Melanie were with him. They’d be sipping Dom Perignon, holding hands and telling each other that no
thing mattered, except life, the beauty of it, and each other. Looking at the world from five hundred feet always did that to them. And they inevitably fantasised about ditching the entire corporation and flying away together in a little single-engine Cessna.
‘Fuck Bryce Holdings,’ they’d say to each other. ‘Who needs Lear Jets and forty thousand feet?’ The jet set could have their mile-high club; the world at five hundred was all that Melanie and Robert required.
Of course as soon as they touched down the fantasy bubble would explode and it would be business as usual, but if Mellie were with him right now, Robert thought, at least they’d have had the fantasy.
As it was, all Robert could see beneath him was the beauty of the eastern coast of Australia and all he could feel inside was a weariness at the unpleasant business ahead. I miss you Mellie, he thought.
‘For me?’ Tran was thrilled with the roses. He’d never bought her roses before.
Alain was glad he’d gone to the trouble because Tran had been out shopping and bought him his favourites for dinner. Avocado, king prawns, a chicory salad — it would all go so well with the chardonnay. But first things first, he decided, as he led the way to the bedroom.
Alain never got to eat his avocado and king prawns. In fact, he hadn’t even pulled the cork from the bottle of chardonnay when his world started to crumble.
After their sex, Tran had washed him down as usual and helped him into his towelling robe. Then she brought him the wine, corkscrew and two glasses on a small tray with a dish of mixed olives. It looked very pretty, but then Tran always did things delicately.
As Alain picked up the bottle, they heard the first rap at the door. They looked at each other in surprise. It was eight o’clock at night — who could it be? No one ever called at the flat. Any contact out of office hours was strictly via the telephone. Even before the days of Tran, it was a rule Alain had always enforced. Meetings outside the channel were conducted in restaurants, cocktail bars or other people’s boardrooms, never on home ground.
