Centre Stage

by Judy Nunn

  ‘No,’ Alex said. His mind was in gear now. What a bastard it all was. These things did happen, of course, but what bloody awful timing. ‘No, we’ll tell his wife and his parents.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘Will he regain consciousness?’ Alex asked hastily before Sister Tresize hung up.

  ‘Oh no. I’m afraid that’s quite impossible.’

  Alex went straight around to the front-of-house office. Mavis seemed to be expecting him. She put aside the correspondence files she’d been working on and awaited his orders. Her face registered concern when he told her the news but she didn’t utter a word.

  ‘They say he won’t regain consciousness for a very long time, if ever,’ Alex finished. He neglected to add that they also said he could die at any moment.

  ‘I see.’ Mavis waited long enough to be sure Alex had nothing further to add. ‘I take it you don’t think we should say anything to Miss Wright until after the performance.’

  ‘Well …’ He left it hanging.

  ‘I agree. We can’t afford another cancelled opening.’

  Alex had expected Mavis to take some convincing. My God, she’s lethal, he realised, rather taken aback.

  He was right. In her own domain Mavis was a force to be reckoned with. She’d been running the theatre’s front of house for nearly twenty years. She’d seen producers, directors, playwrights and actors come and go, and not for one minute had she questioned or interfered with their artistic policies. But when it came to the box office, front of house and general staff management she expected equal consideration. The clockwork running of the theatre was totally her concern.

  ‘It’s only a matter of several hours, after all,’ she continued, ‘and if her brother is not going to regain consciousness during that time, I think we should delay the news.’

  ‘Right.’ Alex breathed an inward sigh of relief. ‘If the hospital should ring again …’

  ‘I’ll have all calls transferred to me here and I’ll keep you informed,’ she nodded. Alex turned to go. ‘That poor young man,’ Mavis said, and there was genuine sympathy in her voice. Then she returned to her desk and picked up her correspondence files. The show must go on.

  As Alex passed by the greenroom on the way to Susannah’s dressing room he heard the early edition television news: ‘… Bankstown Airport … steered the aircraft off the runway to avoid a group of maintenance workers.’

  ‘Evening, boys.’ Alex nodded a greeting to the four stage hands who were eating pizza and watching the news on the greenroom set.

  ‘… the identity of the heroic young pilot has not yet been released pending notification of his family,’ the newsreader continued. There was a distant shot of an unidentifiable body being carried away on a stretcher by paramedics. ‘… he remains in a critical condition.’

  Out of the corner of his eye Alex saw Susannah come out of her dressing room down the corridor. She started walking towards the greenroom.

  He rushed to meet her. ‘I thought you were resting,’ he said and he embraced her.

  ‘I wanted to take my mind off things,’ she answered. ‘I thought I might have a cup of tea with the boys and watch the news.’

  ‘It’s half over,’ murmured Alex as he kissed her neck, ‘and I know a much better way to take your mind off things.’

  One minute later they were on the floor of Susannah’s dressing room. They’d removed only the barest essentials of clothing. In the full-length mirror, Alex watched Susannah’s silk dressing gown billowing about her as she opened her thighs to him.

  She moaned as she lifted her pelvis and drew him into her and she continued to moan gently with each thrust. Alex, watching in the mirror, knew she was using him, knew she was luxuriating in the feel of him. It was a sexual massage, her way of relaxing, and the sight of her in the mirror and the awful secret of her brother combined to excite him to the point where he found himself fighting to preserve his control. Susannah’s moans quickened and finally evaporated in a contented sigh of fulfilment. Not a moment too soon, thought Alex, as he let himself go with a strangled cry of relief.

  ‘Now that’s what I call unwinding,’ Susannah said and she stretched languidly. ‘Maybe we should include that in a regular opening night relaxation routine?’

  ‘Suits me.’ Alex grinned and zipped up his trousers. ‘And now I’ll get you that cup of tea.’

  As Alex stepped out of the shower, he heard Susannah on the telephone. ‘Yes, thank you. As soon as he gets in tell him his sister rang.’

  Susannah opened the bathroom door. ‘Michael hasn’t arrived at the Hilton yet.’

  ‘Well, maybe he’s not staying at the Hilton this time.’ Alex towelled himself vigorously.

  ‘He always stays at the Hilton. Anyway, Priscilla rang and made a booking.’

  ‘Do my back for me, will you, sweetheart?’ Alex handed her the towel.

  ‘He might have thought it was a bit of a rush trying to get to the hotel and then on to the theatre,’ Susannah said thoughtfully as she dried Alex’s back. ‘Maybe he’s decided to come straight from the airport.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Alex changed as quickly as he could. ‘I’d better get out there and prepare to mingle,’ he said. ‘I can’t come backstage at interval—we’re laying on Dom in the manager’s office for the VIPs. Not that you will need any favours bought from the critics, my darling.’ He kissed her gently. ‘Your Hedda is magnificent.’ Then he kissed her again. ‘Be wonderful and have fun.’

  Susannah nodded gratefully and smiled. ‘You too.’ As he was about to close the door she added, ‘You look great in your evening drag.’

  It was the biggest, most glamorous, and most important opening night Alex had experienced since I, Me and Us. He was fully aware that the buzz in the air was due to the massive publicity, the sympathy for Susannah and the morbid curiosity about whether she’d be able to make it through the gruelling performance the day after her collapse. But it renewed his taste for the spectacular. Enough middle of the road, he vowed. His next show would be new, dangerous and exciting. It would be a Rainford/Oldfellow blockbuster. He couldn’t wait for his meeting with Julian at Harold’s next week.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Rainford.’ Mavis smiled apologetically and Alex excused himself to the wealthy investor, signalling for the waiter to refill the man’s glass. It was interval, the Dom was flowing freely and Acts One and Two had been splendid.

  ‘Yes, Mavis.’

  ‘I wouldn’t interrupt if I didn’t think it was absolutely essential, Mr Rainford, I hope you—’

  ‘Yes, I realise that, Mavis.’

  ‘The hospital rang during Act One to see where Miss Rainford was and I told them she would be there as soon as she possibly could.’

  ‘Fine, that’s fine,’ he said encouragingly.

  ‘But they rang again only a few minutes ago to say that they don’t expect him to last long. Oh dear,’ Mavis fretted, obviously riddled with guilt, ‘we’ll have to tell her, Mr Rainford.’

  ‘No, we won’t, Mavis.’ He put a steadying hand on her arm.

  ‘But …’ Mavis left her objection hanging.

  And then Alex said the words she wanted to hear. ‘I’ll take full responsibility.’

  ‘Very well, Mr Rainford.’

  As she left Alex made a beeline for Myra Nielson. Myra’s starting to look her age just a little, he thought. Well, hell, who could blame her—she must be close to fifty by now. Still a good-looking woman, though, and more powerful than ever. He wondered whether he should renew their sexual acquaintance—that is, if she wanted to, if she wasn’t sharing her favours exclusively with women these days.

  ‘Myra, how nice to see you.’ Alex was pleased to note that she was in the company of a young man.

  ‘Alex! What a triumph. You must be very proud.’ Three years off sixty, Myra was certainly not exclusive in the granting of her sexual favours. She was as rapacious as ever and, while her escort went in search of a waiter to refill her glass, she made an assignatio
n with Alex for the following week. ‘We have so much to catch up on, don’t we?’ Her smile said it all.

  The performance continued as triumphantly as it had started. Susannah went from strength to strength, taking the rest of the cast with her as the play built towards its climax.

  There was an audible gasp as the gunshot rang out. Neville, Harold and Rosie rushed to the alcove and Neville flung aside the curtains.

  TESMAN

  Shot herself! Shot herself in the temple! Fancy that!

  BRACK

  Good God!—People don’t do such things.

  Several seconds of silence followed Harold’s final line. Then the applause broke out. It was deafening.

  Sections of the audience had already got to their feet during the curtain calls, but when Susannah walked down centre stage to join the cast, there was a complete standing ovation.

  As the cries of ‘Bravo’ were at their loudest, Alex felt a hand on his arm and the familiar, ‘Excuse me, Mr Rainford’.

  He was standing at the back of the stalls near one of the exits and he silently followed her out into the foyer.

  ‘They’re on the telephone again,’ Mavis whispered. ‘They want to speak to either you or Miss Wright and they won’t leave a message.’ Her face was white with guilt. ‘I think—’ She couldn’t complete the sentence.

  Mavis was right. And Sister Tresize was more brutal than ever. ‘Tell Miss Wright her brother died fifteen minutes ago, in case she’s interested.’ Sister Tresize was good at her job, but public relations wasn’t her strong suit.

  Alex instructed her not to move the body, and told her that Susannah would be there within half an hour. Then he mingled with the critics, investors and general well-wishers for ten minutes. Enough time for Susannah to take off her make-up and shower and change. She never accepted visitors to her dressing room, preferring to meet them in the greenroom or bar.

  Susannah was ready and waiting for him when he went backstage. The moment he opened the dressing room door her mouth was upon his. The kiss was hungry, demanding. She barely noticed his passive response as she broke the embrace.

  ‘I told you it’d be a wonderful opening night, darling. It was, wasn’t it? It felt marvellous. Are they all raving about it?’ Susannah babbled in her excitement.

  ‘Oh yes, they’re all gathered in the bar waiting for you.’

  ‘Then what are we doing here?’ She grabbed her evening bag.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll want to see them when you hear the news,’ Alex said.

  ‘Where’s Michael? Did he get here in time for the Act One curtain? What news?’

  ‘It’s about Michael, actually.’ Alex took a deep breath. There really was only one way to say it. ‘There’s been a very bad accident, Susannah. Michael’s plane crashed on landing.’

  Alex had never seen blood drain from someone’s face so quickly. One minute flushed pink with excitement, the next white as a ghost. Fascinating.

  ‘He died half an hour ago.’

  What followed was a nightmare. The dash to Westmead Hospital, the icy reception from Sister Tresize and her staff, the hysterical telephone calls to Queensland. Only one thing remained clear in Susannah’s mind: the sight of Michael’s dead face upon the crisp, white hospital linen.

  His head was covered when they arrived and Sister Tresize had to draw back the sheet. Why did they do that? Susannah wondered. I could have pretended he was asleep. Despair flooded through her whole being. Oh, dear God, just for a few seconds I could have pretended he was asleep. Michael certainly looked as though he was asleep. There wasn’t a mark on him and his face was peaceful in repose. Tears coursed down Susannah’s face as she stroked his cheek and gently kissed him on the lips. ‘I love you, my darling.’ She wasn’t sure whether she whispered it or whether she thought it but it didn’t matter.

  Sister Tresize, standing a discreet distance away by the door, watched Susannah kiss her brother. For the first time in many years, she was shocked. The poor woman hadn’t been told, she realised. She looked at the husband who seemed fascinated by the face upon the white sheet. Michael Wright had been in a coma for three hours before he died and the husband hadn’t said anything.

  Sister Tresize had seen many strange reactions to death in her twenty-five-year nursing career and she thought she’d inured herself to them all but the cool detachment of this man was something new. It was shocking.

  Alex sensed the woman looking at him and glanced briefly in her direction. She certainly wasn’t the waspish creature he’d expected. She was a handsome, healthy, buxom woman in her early forties, actually very attractive. But he returned to the more interesting spectacle of Susannah’s bedside performance and her brother’s dead face.

  How beautiful he is in death, Alex marvelled. A boy’s face flashed through his mind: Tim. Yes, Tim had also been beautiful in death. Not as beautiful as Michael, though. Michael’s face was the face of a hero: manly, handsome, gallant. Alex felt a rush of affection for Michael. Michael had died a heroic death, the reports said. He’d knowingly risked his life to save others. Alex felt happy for him.

  ‘You knew, didn’t you?’ They’d been home from the hospital for two hours and there’d been more lengthy phone calls to Queensland, namely to Susannah’s mother who seemed the only one capable of maintaining a conversation. Both Priscilla and Franklin Wright had gone under.

  ‘The hospital told Mummy that they rang the theatre hours before Michael died and that you said you’d ring the family.’ Susannah was no longer hysterical. She’d had several hefty Scotches, the sedative Alex had given her twenty minutes before was starting to take effect, and he’d finally pursuaded her to lie down. For the moment her grief was numb. But it would be back tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. She felt exhausted.

  ‘I wondered why that woman was so cold when we got to the hospital. How long had you known?’

  Alex looked at her sympathetically but he didn’t reply.

  ‘How many hours, Alex? Did you know when we were fucking on the dressing room floor?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Oh my God!’ She didn’t have enough strength left in her to feel rage but the tears threatened to come again.

  Alex knelt beside her. He didn’t attempt to touch her but his face was close to hers. ‘Listen to me, Susannah. They said he would never regain consciousness. He wouldn’t have known whether you were there or not. You had an opening night. You had a thousand people waiting to see you. What was I supposed to do?’

  Susannah’s eyes, now barely able to focus, looked at him.

  ‘I hoped he wouldn’t die before you could get there,’ Alex continued, ‘I really did.’

  A glimmer in Susannah’s eyes told him that he’d made contact.

  ‘What else could I do, Susannah? What else could I do?’

  As Susannah’s mind slipped into unconsciousness she was aware of only one thing that truly appalled her. She understood! She understood so well that if the situation had been reversed she knew she would have done the same thing herself. She was appalled at the callous attitude of the theatre, she was appalled that ‘the show must go on’, and she was appalled that the next night would see her up on that stage. The only sensation that remained as she passed out was one of utter self-loathing. Michael’s heroic death made headlines the next day, as did Susannah’s heroic insistence she perform.

  ‘No, I’m not being particularly brave,’ she was quoted as saying. ‘Performing Hedda Gabler is the only thing that’s keeping me going.’

  It was perhaps the one completely true statement she’d made to the press in a very long time, Susannah thought listlessly. But then she’d lost sight of what was real and what wasn’t long before. Michael was probably the only thing that had ever been real in her life. He was certainly the only person who had ever known the real her, Susannah was convinced of that.

  Alex stood quietly and supportively by his wife’s side during the brief press interviews he allowed. He was quick
to whisk her away when he sensed she’d had enough and he didn’t participate in the interviews himself. What was the point, after all? Susannah was far more effective left on her own.

  Her Hedda was not quite the same, Alex thought, after seeing the next few performances, and it probably never would be. It was technically flawless but there was a spark missing which was hardly surprising. Not that it really mattered. No one else noticed and the entire season was booked out.

  Alex was wrong. Someone else had noticed. Maddy had noticed.

  Maddy hadn’t seen Susannah since NADA, twelve years before. Enough time for changes, certainly, but not this drastic, she thought. Where was the vivacious Susannah Wright? The craftsmanship of the actress onstage was undeniable but where was the electricity and charm which had always been Susannah’s trademark? And she looked so ill! Susannah had always been thin, but now she was positively emaciated. The make-up didn’t disguise the dark rings under her eyes and even her glorious titian hair had lost its lustre. Her recent family trauma couldn’t be solely responsible for such a change, surely.

  Maddy was fully aware of the turn of events. She and Jenny had arrived in Sydney the day after Michael’s death. She’d read about the accident in the press and her mother, still an avid devotee of the theatre, had told her of Susannah’s previous troubles—her collapse and the cancellation of the original opening night. Poor Susannah, Maddy thought. She would have got in touch if Susannah hadn’t been married to Alex. Any contact with Alex was unthinkable.

  Despite her dread of bumping into Alex, Maddy hadn’t been able to resist coming to the show. She was keen to see not only the faces from her past, but Susannah’s performance of Hedda. Hedda Gabler was a role Maddy had always longed to play.

  Strange, she thought. Susannah and I were constant rivals at drama school and now here she is, not only playing Hedda but married to Alex. Maddy felt no envy. Far from it. She felt an overwhelming pity for Susannah and a flood of relief at her own escape. Suddenly she wished Douglas was with her.