by Judy Nunn
‘And why do you feel you want to be an actress?’ he asked.
A perve on the board of NADA, Maddy thought, a lecturer and director of the National Academy of Dramatic Art, no less! Tough as she’d tried to make herself over the past months, Maddy was deeply shocked. Oh well, she supposed they were in every walk of life, and she certainly didn’t want to jeopardise her chances of getting into NADA.
She smiled and took a deep breath, which Jonathan couldn’t fail to notice. ‘I’ve wanted to act since I was ten.’
Nobody took her seriously when Maddy made the announcement shortly after her tenth birthday. ‘I’m going to be an actress. In the theatre.’
‘Of course you are, darling.’ Her mother was pleased. It was so beautifully normal. Every little girl who didn’t want to be a ballet dancer wanted to be an actress.
‘I’m going to act at the Theatre Royal,’ Maddy declared. Her mother was a subscriber to the Elizabethan Theatre Trust seasons and Maddy had been to the Theatre Royal many times. ‘And then I’m going to act in London.’
Helena smiled at her husband. ‘I think we’ve got a star on our hands, Robert.’
Robert McLaughlan smiled back and returned to his paper. He was very fond of Maddy, just as he was very fond of Helena. They both conformed happily to the lifestyle he provided for them. Which couldn’t have been too difficult—after all Robert was a generous provider.
The only son of Scottish immigrants, Robert had been the pride and joy of his hardworking parents: worth every penny they poured into his education.
Even as a child he had the uncanny ability to decide upon his course and apply himself to it with a tunnel vision amazing in one so young. It was therefore no surprise when Robert became one of the youngest orthodontists ever to set up practice in Sydney. Certainly it was no surprise to Robert; he’d planned on becoming an orthodontist since he was fourteen. There weren’t too many of them around then and there was big money in dentistry, especially orthodontics.
Robert hadn’t been wrong. Orthodontics had provided a harbourside home, the latest model Mercedes and most of the things that money could buy.
It was exactly the life that Helena’s parents had wished for her and, indeed, that Helena had wished for herself. She’d merely switched harbourside homes, really: from Mummy and Daddy’s to Robert’s. And Daddy was an orthopaedic surgeon with consulting rooms two blocks from Robert’s practice in Macquarie Street, so they had a lot in common.
Like her mother, Helena worked tirelessly for charities and was one of the most featured faces in the magazine society pages. Occasionally Robert would accompany her to the special race days, award nights or gala premieres but he was more than happy to contribute generously to the cause while she attended with a ‘celebrity’ escort.
The one issue in their marriage which could have become a bone of contention was fairly easily resolved. Helena’s parents, being Protestants in name only, weren’t too upset about Robert’s insistence that any children be brought up strictly under the guidance of the Catholic Church. Robert didn’t even insist that Helena convert, which was surprising, really, given his devout beliefs.
It was an exceedingly comfortable marriage and far from disrupting it, Maddy fitted in perfectly. She arrived on the due date at the convenient hour of four pm, Helena suffering only minimal discomfort during the birth. And when she was taken home from the hospital Maddy slept at the right times and cried only when Nanny was around to tend to her. In all, she was the perfect baby and grew into the petite, devastatingly pretty child Helena had always wanted.
Robert was content with his life and his ‘two favourite girls’, Helena was content with her social life and her good works, Maddy was content with her dolls, her secret harbourside cubby house and the fantasy world her parents didn’t know about. So when did it all start to go wrong?
For Maddy it was when they sent her to boarding school. It wasn’t the nuns, although there was one strict disciplinarian she could have done without. It wasn’t the heavy-handed religious instruction which pervaded every waking hour at the convent. It wasn’t her dormitory mates or fellow students. It was plainly and simply the lack of privacy.
At the age of twelve, having been left to invent and explore her endless realms of fantasy, Maddy was totally unprepared for the lack of space allowed her at the convent. And she rebelled. For five years she rebelled.
Finally, at seventeen, when she’d just managed to scrape through her final exams, she looked back on the whole ordeal and saw it as nothing but a blur. What a waste of five years, she thought, and decided then and there to make up for lost time.
‘I want to go to drama school,’ she announced to her father.
For once Robert was unforthcoming. Apart from their bewilderment at Maddy’s low school marks, and the frustratingly repetitive report card comments—‘could do better if she concentrated’—he and Helena were unaware of just how unhappy Maddy had been at the convent. ‘It’s puberty, dear. She’s restless,’ Helena had said time and again and it seemed a satisfactory explanation.
Now, try as she might, Maddy couldn’t get through to her father. He refused to discuss it. If she wanted to go to university and study something sensible like Law or Medicine, of course he was right behind her. Why not orthodontistry? With his help she’d be assured of a bright future there. But acting? The theatre? It was a foolish profession for which one certainly didn’t need training.
‘I don’t mind if she dabbles in some amateur stuff for fun,’ he confided to Helena. ‘But it’s ludicrous to treat this acting business as if it’s a profession. Just a lot of silly people dressing up and making fools of themselves.’
Much as she loved the theatre, the opera, the ballet, the splendid opening nights and the glamour of it all, Helena didn’t defend the performing arts. She liked to think of herself as a serene woman and she never made waves.
That was it. The die was cast: no drama school. So Maddy ran away to share a flat with two art students in Kings Cross.
The very expensive private detective Robert hired found her within a week but it didn’t do any good. Maddy was adamant. She was going to make it on her own. She had enough money in her personal account to see her through for a while, she said. Then she was going to get a job and she was going to audition for NADA, she said. And then she was going to drama school the following year, and that was that.
‘But what if you don’t pass?’ Robert asked as he squirmed uncomfortably in the beanbag. There wasn’t a chair in sight and he was beginning to wish he’d opted for the camp bed in the corner.
‘Then I’ll keep auditioning till I do.’
‘Your mother’s very upset.’ Robert looked around at the room which, although large, seemed unnecessarily cluttered. Posters covered every inch of wall space, a fringed shawl hung from the central lamp and beanbags and cushions were strewn about the floor.
A kitchenette arrangement of sink, stove and cupboards ran along one wall and two tattered bamboo screens stood at the far end of the room.
‘Where do you sleep?’ he asked.
‘There.’ Maddy pointed to the camp bed.
‘And the others?’
‘Behind the screens.’
Robert nodded. The room smelled of mould and he was beginning to feel a little queasy. ‘I might just pop to the bathroom, dear,’ he said. But the beanbag was a very sloppy one and the more he tried to get a purchase on the floor, the more horizontal he seemed to become.
‘Do you want a hand?’ Maddy offered, jumping out of her own beanbag.
‘No. No, thank you. I’m fine.’ Robert eventually had to roll over onto his stomach and struggle up from his hands and knees. He took a deep breath of the damp air before he could trust himself to speak. ‘Where is it, dear?’ he asked.
‘Down the end of the hall and up one flight of stairs.’
He stared at her, aghast. ‘You don’t have a bathroom.’
‘Of course not, Dad.’ Maddy smiled condescendingl
y. ‘It’s called a flatette. Some of them don’t even have a proper kitchen set-up. We’re lucky, we—’
That’s it, Maddy.’ Robert couldn’t take any more. ‘You’re coming with me right now.’
‘I’m not, and you can’t make me.’
Robert stared at his daughter. Where had he gone wrong?
‘I’d only run away again.’ Maddy’s voice was gentler.
She had everything money could buy, he thought. A comfortable home where her friends were always welcome, successful parents she could be proud of—what more did the girl want?
‘I’m seventeen, Dad, I’ll be eighteen in a few months.’ She took her father’s hand. She knew what he was thinking and she felt sorry for him. ‘I want to do things my own way. I’ll be OK. Honest.’
Robert felt helpless. She was his daughter, there must be something he could do for her. But his hand felt trapped in hers and he wanted to leave. Prolonged physical contact always made him self conscious.
‘I’m going to write you a cheque,’ he said, disengaging his hand to reach for his breast pocket.
‘I’ll only tear it up.’
Robert conceded the battle. Three months, he thought, as he climbed into his Mercedes, she’ll last all of three months.
Robert was wrong. Maddy lasted much longer than three months.
One night Maddy came home four hours early from the Indian restaurant where she washed up three nights a week.
There’d been no bookings, the one family of regulars had eaten and gone and Mrs Predan, the chef-owner, wasn’t feeling well so she decided to close up for the night. ‘Do not be worrying, my dear, I will not be docking your wages,’ she’d said. She was a nice woman. ‘Go home now.’
So Maddy had gone home, thankful that this was one Thursday night she wouldn’t have to stand over the kitchen sink for an hour scrubbing the turmeric stains out of her fingernails.
What would she do, she wondered, as she fumbled for her front door key. She could give herself a facial; she had enough Clarins left for one more treatment. No, she decided, remembering her budget, she’d better save that for the NADA audition in six weeks.
She’d spent her entertainment allowance in one hit when she’d gone to the opening night of Othello at the Old Tote Theatre on Tuesday. The theatre should really be listed under study allowance, she thought, not entertainment. But then study allowance went on voice classes, books, plays and trade magazines.
It was times like this she regretted not having accepted her father’s offer of a television set. No, bugger it, she told herself proudly as she pushed the door open, she’d made her statement and—
The room was filled with convulsive animal sounds. Maddy instantly broke into a cold sweat.
‘Oh God, help me!’ It was a tortured scream. It was Sal! Sal was having an epileptic fit or a heart attack or …
Maddy dropped her bag, raced to the bamboo screens and threw them aside.
Sal was naked, her head lolling over the side of the bed, her eyes rolling in their sockets and her mouth wide open. She was clutching fistfuls of bedding in each hand. Her knees were spread wide, her back was painfully arched and there was a head between her legs.
The bamboo screens crashed to the floor. There was a split-second pause, then they both looked up at Maddy.
‘Shit,’ Sal said and lay back, exhausted.
Maddy was in a state of shock. She’d never seen a couple making love before. And certainly not two women.
Jane got up and crossed to the sink. ‘Serves you right, Sal.’ She poured herself a large glass of water. ‘How many times did I say it? You should have told the kid.’
Strangely enough, Maddy’s relationship with her flatmates improved from then on. The fact that she didn’t gather her belongings together and move out in high dudgeon immediately endeared her to Sal.
Soon Maddy found herself being whisked out to all the lesbian night spots, bars and private parties, Sal protectively warding off any would-be contenders with a ‘naughty, naughty, hands off, pet, she’s mine’. And to Maddy’s astonishment the hulking, leather-jacketed bull-dyke with the crew cut would shrug and skulk away to search elsewhere for fresh meat.
It was all very novel to Maddy whose only experience of lesbianism had been one dark night at the convent when a classmate had slid into her bed and placed a hand between her legs.
‘What are you doing?’ Maddy had asked, not even aware who it was.
‘Open up and I’ll show you a good time,’ the voice urged.
Oh no! Eunice! ‘Piss off, Eunice,’ Maddy said as she kicked the girl out of bed.
Eunice was a grubby little creature who boasted about getting off on a bicycle seat and, although Maddy hadn’t quite understood what that meant, it sounded decidedly tacky. If Eunice was what lesbianism had to offer then Maddy wasn’t interested.
For a short, disturbing while she wondered how she might have reacted if Eunice had been Megan, the Firsts hockey captain she idolised. But not long after the Eunice episode, one of the final year girls was caught with the assistant handyman in the gym equipment storage room. Rumour reported that both of them were stark naked and heavily ‘at it’ and Maddy found the mental image of them so erotic that she supposed she must be heterosexual and she paid no further attention to lesbianism. Now here it was, thrust at her in the form of Sal and Jane.
After one inoffensive pass, Sal good-naturedly accepted the fact that Maddy didn’t want to convert and even the surly Jane was persuaded to join forces in protecting Maddy’s virginity.
‘What do you mean she’s a virgin?’ Jane had exclaimed in astonishment. ‘The kid’s eighteen in a minute.’
‘We’re not all sluts who lost it to our cousins at ten, pet.’
‘Oh fuck off, Sal.’
But Jane was impressed nevertheless and decided that she quite liked the kid. She also decided that the kid needed some general all-round survival lessons. The first was to be a crash course in shoplifting.
It suddenly became clear to Maddy why the kitchen cupboards were always full of luxury items. She’d wondered how the girls, who never had any cash, existed on smoked salmon, pates and imported cheeses. As far as Maddy had been able to ascertain, the sales of their paintings were few and far between. Both girls were in the final year of their art course at Tech and they augmented their income by hiring themselves out as kitchen hands whenever things got too desperate. Indeed, it was Sal who had introduced Maddy to Mrs Predan.
Flattered as she was that Jane should go to the trouble of teaching her, Maddy didn’t take well to shoplifting. As she lined up at the checkout counter with a loaf of bread, a carton of milk and a bag of sugar in her basket, she felt herself break into a sweat that she was sure the shopgirl must notice. Just as the girl must notice the bulges in Maddy’s sleeves and pockets where the packets of bacon and cheeses were stuffed.
Jane had it down to a fine art, with concealed pockets sewn into several special shoplifting garments. Winter was the best season for shoplifting, she told Maddy—all those heavy clothes. She always stocked up on tins and jars in winter.
Although Jane, like Sal, was only three years older than Maddy, she was a tough, streetwise young woman. Maddy was totally in awe of her and, after three consecutive Saturdays of feeling sick with nerves, she didn’t quite know how to approach Jane with the news that she didn’t want to be included in the shoplifting roster.
‘Wimping out, are we?’ It was more or less the reaction Maddy had expected. ‘Chicken, eh?’
‘Leave her alone, Jano.’ Sal came to the rescue.
‘Well, the kid’s got to pull her weight.’
‘She does, you cow. She’s better with her rent than you are. And who the hell brings home the curries every fortnight?’
It was true. Mrs Predan’s curries were served to her patrons for two weeks and then the remnants were scraped from the massive pots into a series of plastic bags which Maddy brought home. For several days a fortnight the girls pigged out
on lamb, beef or chicken and a choice of korma, kofta, or vindaloo.
‘Yeah.’ Jane looked thoughtful. ‘I’d forgotten about the curries. Fair enough.’ And Maddy was let off the shoplifting.
All in all, it was a good time for Maddy. A learning experience. She adjusted astonishingly quickly to the cockroaches, the mouse droppings and the coin-operated gas meter in the upstairs shared bathroom.
She was finally growing up, she told herself. No more cotton wool. This was life and she was living it. She’d soon be a struggling young actress and struggling young actresses needed to know about life. She worked hard at her voice classes, she devoured a half a dozen books a week—some from the library and some purchased with her study allowance—and she never once questioned whether or not she would pass her NADA audition. She was on the road to becoming an actress and that was that.
Besides the expanse of thigh and the ripe young breasts, it was Maddy’s commitment that Jonathan Thomas noticed during the interview and it impressed him. He was further impressed by Maddy’s audition. It was a raw talent, one that needed shaping but it was most certainly talent and her attitude was perfect. Maddy was one of the first selected for admission to The National Academy of Dramatic Art for the year of 1970.
1970 was indeed the year that shaped Maddy’s destiny. It was the year she went to NADA, and it was the year she met Alex.
Alex Rainford was a typical Australian: sandy-haired, tanned, healthy white teeth, a smattering of youthful freckles about his shoulders. But he wasn’t handsome. Certainly not by Australian standards. For starters, he wasn’t the mandatory six feet tall. He was a good two inches short of the mark, his body was too thin and his face was too bony.
So why was Alex fascinating? Why was he devastatingly attractive to men and women alike?
The too-bony face was intelligent, certainly. And the blue eyes focused on the object of their attention with a flattering intensity. And the women Alex bedded found that his skinny body was far from unattractive when naked. It was lean, wiry, well-endowed and knew exactly what it was doing.
