Centre Stage

by Judy Nunn

  They discussed Susannah’s irregular menstrual cycle and the fact that she was slightly anaemic. Dr Les told her she was suffering from fatigue and that she must remember to eat properly while she was working so hard.

  ‘I know you performers,’ he scolded. ‘You’re either dieting ridiculously or forgetting to eat altogether—bloody stupid the lot of you.’ Then he gave her a Vitamin B shot, recommended a highprotein diet, left a supply of sleeping pills and departed with the instructions that she should rest up as much as possible before opening night.

  ‘Christ, that shot hurt,’ Susannah complained, rubbing her left buttock. ‘What time’s rehearsal tomorrow?’

  ‘There isn’t one,’ Alex replied.

  ‘What! You’re joking.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m calling a meeting for notes an hour before the half. No rehearsal.’

  Nothing Susannah said could dissuade him. ‘Trust me, Susannah, I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘My God, I feel wonderful,’ Susannah said to Alex when she woke the next day. He had given her a sleeping tablet the night before and she had slept soundly till three in the afternoon. ‘I’m starving too.’

  ‘Thought you might be. I’ve got the full works standing by: tomatoes, eggs, ham—I’ll even make you a hollandaise sauce if you like.’

  ‘Yum. I like.’

  Alex waited until Susannah had eaten her eggs Benedict before dumping a pile of newspapers on the table in front of her. ‘Now that you have your strength back, take a look at these. And don’t be mad at me, Sooz, it was the only way out and I took it.’

  Both morning and afternoon editions carried the story. It was front-page news in the morning editions: ‘STAR COLLAPSES, GALA OPENING CANCELLED’. The story was accompanied by pictures: Susannah’s limp and crumpled body, her eyes closed, her face deathly pale against the black stagecloth floor; a close-up of Susannah and Alex, Susannah’s face a delicate porcelain as Alex cradled her gently in his lap; a shot of the entire company circled around Susannah, Harold at her side smoothing the hair from her brow.

  ‘God almighty, how did this happen?’ Susannah exclaimed. ‘And what the hell do they mean, “opening cancelled”?’

  ‘Read on,’ Alex answered.

  The articles stated that Susannah had suffered a complete collapse due to nervous exhaustion and was medically unable to perform that night. A press reception had been held that morning by her producer/husband, Alex Rainford, who stated that naturally all tickets for the opening would be refunded or transferred and that he deeply regretted any inconvenience to patrons. He further announced that, against all medical advice, and indeed against his own advice, Miss Wright was insisting that the opening should take place tomorrow.

  ‘The thought of disappointing her many followers for even twenty-four hours is so devastating to her,’ Alex was quoted as saying, ‘that she simply refuses to rest for any longer than a day.’

  ‘What a load of horseshit!’ It was difficult to tell whether Susannah was angry or not. She looked stunned more than anything.

  ‘Exactly, but it’s bought us twenty-four hours.’

  ‘You held a press conference this morning?’

  He nodded. ‘And I rang all the critics and VIPs.’ He picked up a pile of telegrams. ‘These have arrived from the well-wishers.’

  ‘What about the company? Everyone knows it’s a pack of lies.’

  ‘I’ve rung them all and said you had a relapse when you got home. All except Harold and Rosie, that is, I told them the truth.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘Rosie said it was a disgraceful thing to do. Harold called me a fraud and pissed himself laughing. He said it was a pity we’re not doing La Dame Aux Camelias because you’d get great reviews for the death scene.’ Alex looked thoughtful. ‘He’s not wrong, actually,’ he continued. ‘The fact that you’re soldiering on so bravely can only work in our favour with the critics.’

  ‘Well, I agree with Rosie,’ Susannah said disapprovingly. ‘It’s a disgraceful thing to do.’ A slow smile spread across her face. ‘But, by God, it’s clever.’

  As she embraced him, her lean body felt exciting. Or maybe it was his triumph over the odds that was exciting, Alex thought. Whatever it was, he wanted her.

  ‘No you don’t,’ Susannah countered, backing off. ‘I want to shower and clean my teeth and feel human first. I’ve been sleeping for over twelve hours.’

  As she knelt beside the lavatory bowl, Susannah remembered Dr Les’s comment: ‘You performers, either dieting ridiculously or forgetting to eat altogether’. Well, she had been throwing up a lot lately which probably amounted to the same thing. Most days she threw up; sometimes even twice a day when social dinners or publicity luncheons required her to eat. She knew she should cut back on it. But not now. Not after eggs Benedict? The mere thought of allowing such a calorie-filled dish to digest started to make her feel physically ill. She’d eat an apple and a spoonful of cottage cheese later in the day, she promised herself. And then she’d stick to a low-calorie diet and only throw up when it was really necessary.

  Half an hour later, when Susannah had rid herself of the eggs Benedict, scoured her teeth, showered, washed and conditioned her hair, the knob of the bathroom door rattled irritably. ‘Susannah, I’m going to the theatre,’ Alex called.

  Susannah opened the door and stood before him naked, bedraggled and rather fetching. ‘Oh. I thought you wanted to fool around.’

  ‘Too late, sweetheart, you missed your chance.’ Although Alex said it jokingly he was genuinely irritated. Not so much because Susannah had disappeared to the bathroom for half an hour but because she’d locked the door. She always locked the door these days and, for someone as sexually abandoned as she was, Alex found it annoyingly coy. When he’d challenged her about it a year or so ago, she’d countered with equal irritation.

  ‘For God’s sake, Alex, women like the bathroom to themselves from time to time. I mean, hell, I might have a period, I might be taking a crap, who knows.’

  He didn’t point out that such moments of personal hygiene had never been a matter of privacy in their early days. It was yet another sign of the growing distance between them.

  ‘Steve’s bumping the new set in tonight and I’m giving the cast notes at six-thirty.’

  ‘I take it you don’t want me to make a miraculous recovery and appear for notes.’

  ‘No bloody way.’

  Alex left and Susannah felt slightly piqued. She knew he’d been irritated, but what right did he have? Now she was faced with an interminable night alone—God knew what time Alex would be home.

  She wandered around the house naked, looked at the view across the bay, then decided to have a sauna. That was a productive way to fill in an evening. A long sauna with the thermostat turned up could knock off a good kilo, provided she didn’t replace the fluid loss for a couple of hours.

  Susannah wrapped the heavy duty plastic garbage bags around her body and lay back on the wooden bench. She tried to switch her mind off to the peace that surrounded her: the ticking of the electric heating unit in the corner; the mild sizzle of the water she’d just thrown on the stones. But she couldn’t switch off. Thoughts nibbled at her brain like mice at a piece of cheese.

  Thoughts about her and Alex. They weren’t really a couple any more. But then had they ever been?

  Thoughts about her family. Daddy’s health was worse than ever and Michael wasn’t able to come down for her show. Susannah missed her brother dreadfully but now, with Mummy’s health starting to fail, Michael was needed more than ever to dance attendance on their father.

  As the heat took over and sweat trickled around her body, seeking an outlet from the garbage bags, Susannah thought of Hedda Gabler. Whenever her personal life seemed too much to contemplate, Susannah found escape in her work. Thank God Alex had come to Hedda’s rescue, she thought. And thank God for his twenty-four hour plan. She breathed deeply, the hot air scorching her lungs, and smiled to hersel
f. Good old Alex. What right did she have to berate him, or indeed herself, for anything lacking in their relationship? They fulfilled each other’s careers perfectly, didn’t they? And that was, after all, why they’d married in the first place.

  She hoped Alex would remember to give Neville the notes from their discussion about the opening scene. The pace needed to be picked up and Neville needed to …

  Of course Alex would remember, she told herself. Beads of sweat started to hit the tiles of the sauna floor and Susannah relaxed.

  When Susannah finally stirred at ten, Alex had already been on the phone for nearly an hour and had a pot of tea brewing.

  ‘Breakfast raring to go too,’ he said proudly. ‘You name it. Eggs Benedict?’

  ‘No thanks, sweetheart,’ Susannah said, remembering her promise to herself.

  ‘Did you eat last night?’ Alex asked.

  ‘Oh damn! No, I forgot.’ Of course! She’d meant to have her apple and cottage cheese, she reprimanded herself. But she’d been in the sauna until midnight by which time she was so exhausted she’d taken her tenth quick dip in the cold plunge pool and collapsed into bed. No wonder she’d slept so deeply and no wonder she now had a headache. Better drink some water, she told herself.

  ‘That’s naughty, Susannah. You heard what Les said. You’re going “to have something to eat right now. What can I get you?’

  Susannah looked dutifully chastised. ‘A green apple and some cottage cheese, please.’ She caught his look and added hastily ‘On rye bread.

  ‘Why the special treatment?’ she asked as she followed him into the kitchen.

  ‘For my favourite leading lady nothing is too much trouble.’

  It was true. Alex always cosseted her just before an opening night. He knew the strain she was under, Susannah thought gratefully. She wasn’t unaware of his ulterior motive, of course, she knew he wanted to get the best possible performance out of her. They understood each other.

  As Alex opened the refrigerator door Susannah kissed him deeply and pressed her groin against his, determined to make up for the night before.

  But Alex’s sexual response was lukewarm. ‘Just wait till you see the set, Sooz,’ he said eagerly as he broke away from the kiss. ‘Steve’s done a great job and now that they’ve got a whole extra day to dress it he reckons it’ll look fantastic. New drapes to replace that dreary maroon shit.’ He tossed her an apple and slammed the refrigerator door shut. ‘And the bookings! Christ alive, the bookings!’

  Far from being insulted by his dismissal of her sexual advances, Susannah found his enthusiasm exciting.

  ‘The bookings have gone mad!’ he continued. ‘I’ve already told the theatre we’re extending the season and we haven’t even opened!’

  ‘You’re a genius, my darling.’

  ‘What a pity we can’t rig a scam like this for every opening night.’

  They laughed together like delighted children but they both knew Alex wasn’t really joking at all. Yes, we understand each other, Susannah thought.

  They had to quell their frivolity during the full dress rehearsal Alex called for three-thirty that afternoon. Everyone in the company was so concerned about Susannah that she felt like a terrible fraud as she nodded bravely and said she was sure she’d be able to get through the evening performance.

  ‘We’d better just do a walk-through dress then, hadn’t we, Herr Direktor?’ Harold asked with a cheeky glint in his eye.

  ‘Only Susannah, thank you, Harold,’ Alex answered warningly. ‘I’ll expect full-level performances from the rest of the company.’

  Halfway through Act Two, Mavis from front-of-house crept up to Alex as he scribbled his notes by shielded torchlight in the stalls.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Rainford,’ she whispered ‘but Miss Wright’s mother is on the phone. She’s calling from the Gold Coast.’

  ‘So what?’ Alex hissed. ‘I don’t care if she’s calling from the Arctic wastelands, she can’t interrupt a dress rehearsal.’

  ‘I’m fully aware of that, Mr Rainford,’ Mavis replied stiffly. She was a stickler for theatrical form herself and, under normal circumstances, would never have approached him until after the rehearsal. ‘But Mrs Wright has heard of her daughter’s illness and is very distressed. I wondered what message you might like me to give her.’

  Oh shit, Alex thought. The story couldn’t have made the Queensland papers, surely—that was something he certainly hadn’t contemplated. ‘Of course, Mavis, I’m sorry.’ He knew better than to get offside with Mavis; she was a valuable ally. ‘Tell Mrs Wright that she mustn’t worry. Susannah is fine and she’ll ring during interval in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Very well.’ As Mavis turned to go Alex hoped she caught his grateful smile in the dim torchlight.

  ‘Hell,’ Susannah said when Alex told her. ‘That’s all they need.’ And she hurried off to her dressing room to ring her parents.

  When Alex joined her twenty minutes later she was just hanging up the receiver and her face was glowing. ‘Michael’s on his way to Sydney,’ she said. ‘When he heard about the story in the papers he took off straight away.’

  ‘That’s amazing.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t he wonderful?’

  But Alex was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘That’s amazing. The story made the Queensland papers—I don’t believe it.’

  ‘No, it didn’t,’ Susannah corrected him. ‘A friend of Daddy’s arrived from Sydney this afternoon and he rang to say he was sorry to hear the news. Daddy sent straight out for the Sydney papers and then rang Michael.’

  ‘He’ll probably be pissed off when he finds he’s made the trip for nothing. Did you try to stop him?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, I rang but Priscilla said he left an hour ago.’ Susannah’s eyes were shining with excitement. ‘He’ll be here just in time for the curtain. Oh Alex, he won’t miss my opening night after all.’ She threw her arms around him. ‘And it’s going to be a magnificent opening night, my darling!’

  Who’s she hugging? Alex wondered. Him or me? He didn’t mind. As always, the sibling relationship fascinated him. Susannah and Michael were always giggling and whispering together. More like lovers than brother and sister, Alex often thought. The undivided attention they paid to each other frequently excluded even their own spouses.

  Alex didn’t mind at all; he found it very interesting. Not so Priscilla, Michael’s wife. On one of their early meetings, when Alex made a jocular remark about sibling flirtation Priscilla’s attack had been ferocious.

  ‘How dare you?’ she hissed. ‘What a disgusting thing to say!’ There was a moment’s silence while Alex remained staring at her, then she covered, primly. ‘You television people might find that sort of comment funny but I think it’s smutty and highly unnecessary.’

  She’d sailed out of the room, grateful that no one else had witnessed her outburst while Michael and Susannah remained whispering in the corner, oblivious.

  Alex wondered whether Priscilla’s obvious jealousy was grounded on more than just their exclusion of her. I wonder if Susannah and Michael have been lovers? he thought. Maybe they still are.

  As fascinating as the prospect was, Alex doubted it. Susannah and Michael’s conspiracy obviously sprang from childhood. And childhood in the Wright family would have meant total father dominance aided and abetted by mother, leaving the children with just each other.

  Whatever the cause and whatever the extent, the force of their love for each other was impossible to hide and, Alex decided, compelling to watch. And if Michael’s impending arrival spurred Susannah on to greater heights, all the better.

  He kissed her, then spanked her bottom lightly. ‘Freshen the make-up, interval’s over.’

  As he spoke there was a tap on the door and the ASM’s voice. ‘Stand by for Act Three, Miss Wright.’

  Alex had finished giving the cast and stage management their notes and most of them had left the theatre to dine. Susannah, who never ate prior to a performance, was restin
g in her dressing room.

  There was a tap on the production office door and Mavis appeared. ‘A call for Miss Wright has come through on the box office phone, Mr Rainford.’

  ‘That’s all right, Mavis, you can have it put through to her dressing room. She’s only resting.’ Susannah never slept prior to a performance.

  Mavis stepped inside the office and closed the door behind her mysteriously. ‘I thought I’d better check with you before I did,’ she said. ‘We wouldn’t want Miss Wright upset before the opening unless it was absolutely necessary, would we?’

  ‘No, we certainly wouldn’t.’ Alex rose from his desk and smiled agreeably, glad that he hadn’t alienated the woman with his previous irritation. In her colourless way she reminded him a little of his mother and, just like his mother, she had an underlying strength and tenacity which could be very useful if channelled in his direction.

  ‘It’s Westmead Hospital on the phone, you see,’ Mavis continued. ‘There’s been some sort of accident involving a member of Miss Wright’s family. They wouldn’t tell me any more than that but I thought you might wish to speak to them.’

  ‘Thank you, Mavis.’ She handed him a piece of paper with the telephone number on it and left.

  The way the sister at the hospital broke the news was quite brutal, Alex thought. A forced landing had gone wrong at Bankstown Airport. Michael had received extensive brain damage and was in a coma.

  ‘Frankly, Mr Rainford, it would be advisable for your wife to get to the hospital as soon as possible; her brother doesn’t have much time.’

  ‘But … how did it happen?’ Alex was confused, trying to buy time. ‘He’s an extremely experienced pilot.’

  ‘Something to do with faulty landing equipment, I believe,’ Sister Tresize replied busily. There was a slight trace of ‘this isn’t part of my job’ in her voice and then she continued efficiently with the part that was. ‘As your wife was the nearest of kin in Sydney I thought it best she be contacted first. Do you want the hospital to inform Mr Wright’s—’