Centre Stage

by Judy Nunn

  Julian, who wasn’t privy to the private discussion, was also pleased with the choice. A less stable, overemotional director would have spelt disaster and he felt a lot happier once Naomi was appointed.

  Pre-production went smoothly. Julian wrote a new draft of the play, the theatre was booked and the premiere production of Centre Stage was all set for 1992.

  Early in the year, while Naomi, Alex and Julian discussed casting and screened photographs and biographies of hundreds of actors, Alain disappeared from sight. He was determined to line up a network deal for the sale of the televised opening night performance. ‘Olivier did it with the National Theatre season,’ he explained. ‘The precedent has been created. Televised stage productions can work. So long as the viewers know that it’s a filmed stage performance and not a movie, they love it!’ Alain was excited. This was so much more invigorating than grinding out television series. ‘And we’ll be the first to do it live!’ he exclaimed.

  Everyone agreed that if anyone could pull off the deal it would be Alain.

  Then came the auditions. The four supporting roles in Centre Stage proved relatively easy to cast, mainly because they had the pick of the crop. Every major actor in the country was lining up for the opportunity to appear in the latest Oldfellow play co-produced by Rainford and King and starring none other than Alex Rainford himself.

  A week into auditions Norman Oldfellow had a stroke. Julian left for Wagga Wagga to be by his mother’s side.

  He was happy to leave all the casting to Alain, Alex and Naomi. However he insisted that the elusive Katerina must be an actress they all agreed upon.

  It wasn’t easy. A week after the four principals had been cast, the leading lady was still to be found.

  Each day they sifted through the photographs and biographies of the hopefuls they’d tested and each day they disagreed. ‘Not sexy enough,’ Alex would say. ‘Too old,’ from Alain. ‘Too fragile,’ from Naomi.

  Auditions were extended by a week and, on the fourth day of the third week, they found her.

  She was strong, young and full of life. And when she’d finished her reading, they all agreed in hushed tones that she was sexy.

  ‘Too good to be true,’ Naomi muttered. ‘Let’s see how she takes direction.’

  ‘Act One, Scene Three, dear,’ she called in her big, bass, smoker’s voice, and the girl on stage started flicking through the script. ‘Page twenty-three. We’ll run through the confrontation between Edwin and Katerina.’ Naomi nodded to Alex. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, Alex.’

  Alex walked up onto the stage and accepted the script from Ian, the stage manager who’d been reading opposite the girl. As he turned to page twenty-three, he gave her an encouraging wink. ‘You’re doing a great job.’ She smiled back at him gratefully.

  Naomi worked them hard for a full hour. She was impressed. The girl was not only attractive and sensual, she was intelligent and she took direction well. It wasn’t surprising, Naomi thought. Her biog stated that she was one of RADA’s recent top graduates.

  Alain, too, was impressed. Not only by the girl’s talent but by the chemistry between her and Alex. Christ, he thought, if they’re this hot together on the first reading, what sort of electricity are we going to get after a month’s rehearsal? And they looked so strangely alike! Probably just the similar colouring but it was very effective.

  Alex is bound to screw her, Alain thought. The lucky bastard. But he thought it without any ill will. Alex Rainford was the only person for whom Alain had ever felt admiration and respect. And that was only because Alex reminded him of himself. Go for it, he thought. Good on you. And he sat back and watched the girl with undisguised lust.

  To Alex the girl was more than a talented RADA graduate, more than an object of lust, more than the answer to their prayers for a perfect Katerina. She was fascinating!

  ‘That’s fine. Thank you both,’ Naomi bellowed once more from the stalls. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind joining us … yes, you too, dear,’ she added as the girl hesitated.

  Alain thought there was little point in seeing the other three hopeful Katerinas waiting in the theatre foyer for their turn to read. ‘Let’s call a halt and I’ll take us all out to lunch,’ he suggested to Naomi as he watched the girl leave the stage. But Naomi insisted that they could hardly send the poor kids home.

  Alain didn’t see why not but he decided it wouldn’t be politic to cross Naomi so early in the production.

  ‘I tell you what, Alex,’ Naomi suggested as he and the girl joined them, ‘why don’t you take … um … Imogen, isn’t it?’ Naomi automatically consulted her auditionee list. ‘Why don’t you take Imogen out for a cup of coffee and tell her about the play. Alain and I will tie up the loose ends here.’ (Shit, Alain thought.) ‘And then we’ll all have a bite of lunch together. Oh,’ she added, turning to the girl, ‘that is, if you’re available.’

  ‘Does that mean I’ve got the part?’ the girl asked.

  ‘It certainly does, dear.’ Naomi beamed at her.

  In the coffee lounge next door Alex leaned forward and gave the girl his full attention.

  ‘Imogen … what?’

  ‘McLaughlan. Imogen McLaughlan. My friends call me Jenny.’

  ‘I like Imogen better.’

  ‘Yes, so does my agent. She thinks it’s a good stage name. It’s from Cymbeline. Mum was doing a production of it at drama school when she got pregnant.’

  ‘Really.’ Alex wasn’t particularly interested in Imogen’s mother. ‘What do you think of Centre Stage?’

  ‘Well, they didn’t give me a script, so I haven’t read the whole play, only the scenes we did at the audition—but I think they’re stunning.’

  It was an hour and a half before the others joined them but Jenny and Alex didn’t notice. They drank three cappuccinos apiece and didn’t stop talking the whole time.

  Alex told her that Julian had based the play upon him. He was interested to hear that Jenny had already met Julian—‘on holiday from England, he’s a friend of my mother’s’—but he was far more interested to hear that Jenny had always had an inexplicable fascination for cemeteries.

  ‘Ever since I was tiny,’ she admitted. ‘Mum used to worry—I think she saw it as a bit morbid in one so young.’

  ‘How could she know?’ Alex remarked dismissively. ‘Most parents don’t, do they? My obsession with death started at a very early age too.’

  Jenny listened, riveted, her eyes never leaving his face, as he talked about his early childhood and his brother, Tim, who’d died as the result of some terrible shooting accident. She had never thought of herself as having an obsession with death (despite her curious interest in graves) but she was deeply flattered to think that this charismatic man should assume she did. Within a short time, Jenny was starting to find death a very interesting subject indeed.

  She was starting to think that maybe she did have an obsession with death but didn’t know it, when a voice said, ‘Sorry to be so long’. It was Naomi and a very disgruntled looking Alain King.

  The moment Alain walked into the coffee lounge and saw the two heads close together, he felt irritated. The rapt expression on the girl’s face as she drank in Alex’s every word with wonderment verged on the pornographic. He’s doing everything but fuck her in a public place, Alain thought. Well, just don’t fuck the show, mate. But he knew he was only envious. Alex could land them every time, the lucky bastard.

  Alain couldn’t have been further from the truth. Sex was the last thing on Alex’s mind. Certainly, the girl was desirable and certainly one day he would have her. But when he did, it would be total. He would have full power over her and she would do anything for him. Just imagine! She too was obsessed with death! And she had been since she was a little girl. It was all meant to be. They had so much to share. There was plenty of time though.

  He smiled up at Naomi and Alain. ‘Where are we going to eat? I’m starving.’

  Late that night Jenny rang her mother in Munich. She w
as bewildered by Maddy’s reaction to her news.

  ‘Oh my God!’ gasped Maddy. Then there was a long silence.

  ‘Are you still there, Mum?’ They must have been cut off, Jenny thought.

  Then, finally, ‘What did Julian say? I’m surprised he hasn’t rung me.’ Her mother’s voice sounded very strange.

  ‘He wasn’t there. His father’s ill they said and he’s gone to the country.’ More silence.

  ‘Hey, don’t be mad, Mum. I didn’t get the job just so that I could stay in Sydney with Paul, honestly!’ Jenny realised with a guilty start that she hadn’t once thought of Paul and that she hadn’t even rung to tell him the news. ‘It’s the best break I could get. Alex says they’ve sold the television rights. They’re going to send in a camera crew for the last week of rehearsals and they’ll plot the whole thing so that they can shoot the opening night like a televised stage play. Isn’t that incredible?

  ‘And the play’s bound to sell to the UK, like the rest of Julian’s plays.’ There was no stopping Jenny now. ‘And Alex says that this time they’re not going to just sell the rights to the play, they’re going to take the whole Australian production to London. Isn’t that brilliant! He says—’

  ‘Darling, I finish filming in a few days,’ Maddy interrupted. ‘I’m going to come to Sydney. Shall we leave the rest of the talk till then?’

  ‘Oh.’ Jenny felt instantly deflated. Whatever had happened to ‘Well done, Jen’, ‘Congratulations, darling’, ‘I’m proud of you’? ‘All right,’ she said coldly. ‘Let me know when you’re arriving and I’ll try and meet you.’

  Maddy was fully aware of Jenny’s reaction. ‘Congratulations, darling,’ she said, ‘I’m proud of you.’ But it was too late and, after Jenny had hung up, she didn’t have time to worry about it. She didn’t have time to think about anything, which was probably merciful because, deep inside, there was a voice saying, ‘You’re a bad mother, you’re a rotten mother, this is all your fault, if you hadn’t kept him a secret, if you’d let them meet, if … if … if …’

  But there was no time. She booked her flight to Sydney. Then she rang the production office and told them that she was leaving the day after the shoot. She was reminded that she was on hold for a further fortnight in case reshoots were required and, when she said she was sorry she couldn’t be there, she was told she could be sued. She said sorry but she still couldn’t be there.

  She rang Viktor Hoff who said he’d look after the production office. Then she rang Phil Pendlebury who said he’d cancel the BBC radio series of poetry readings he’d accepted for next month. Then she rang Rodney Baines and told him not to meet her at Heathrow because she was going to Sydney instead.

  She told each of them that it was ‘family problems’, no more, but each of them heard the strain in her voice and each of them worried.

  The only person she couldn’t get hold of was Julian. She tried him at Bondi Beach in case he’d left a forwarding number but he hadn’t turned his answering machine on.

  She vaguely remembered that his parents lived in Wagga Wagga. Or was it Woy Woy? It was one of those peculiar Australian names that people found so colourful. After thirty minutes of frustrated conversations with directory enquiries, she finally got through. When she did, she was told that Julian was at his father’s funeral. It was his sister Wendy who told her. Wendy was at the family home preparing for the wake. ‘They’ll be back soon. Would you like Julian to ring you?’

  ‘No,’ Maddy said. Julian’s sister sounded nice. ‘Just tell him I’m very sorry to hear the news. I really am.’

  It had been a distressing time for Julian. For a full fortnight he’d watched his father’s slow struggle to recuperate from his stroke. It was a brave fight. Norman would never be well again but he had made it home from the hospital, and he was going to live. With the help of Wendy and a nurse employed to visit daily, he was as comfortable as could be expected and Gwen was able to cope.

  Everyone agreed that it was safe for Julian to return to Sydney. Then came the second stroke and it was a massive one. Mercifully, Noman died but it was a cruel blow to his wife who had just prepared herself for a lifetime of devotion to her invalid husband. Widowhood came as a far greater shock to Gwen than the prospect of a lifetime of nursing.

  Julian had rung Naomi who’d been duly sympathetic and told him not to bother about being late back. ‘We may even have to delay the start of rehearsals,’ she had said. ‘We still can’t find our Katerina.’

  Then, just before he left for the funeral, an excited phone call had come from Alex. They’d found her. Imogen someone. They were all thrilled. She was perfect. Julian mustn’t worry. He was going to love her.

  Julian didn’t worry. He knew that the girl would have to be good if the three of them were in unanimous agreement. Besides, he was emotionally drained and couldn’t think about anything except helping his mother who was threatening to go to pieces at any moment. He was grateful for Wendy’s daily support. But of course Wendy had a family of her own—she couldn’t take on the whole burden.

  ‘You’ll have to start the blocking without me,’ he said to Alex. ‘Tell Naomi I’ll be back on the third day of rehearsals. She should have the basic blocking done by then and we can concentrate on any rewrites after that.’

  The first morning’s read-through went smoothly enough. Alex and Imogen worked well together. Even though they were reading off the printed page, the sparks were there. The other four actors were also well cast, and there appeared to be no problems with the costume and set designers, both of whom had done their homework.

  It was in the afternoon that the first hint of trouble arose—not that Naomi thought anything of it at the time. When they started blocking the moves of the play, Alex argued with her over every one of his stage directions.

  ‘But Edwin wouldn’t sit there,’ he insisted. ‘No, Edwin wouldn’t cross to the window on that line.’

  Alex was obviously one of those actors who wouldn’t take direction, Naomi thought with mild exasperation. Oh well, not to worry, she’d worked with many of them before. She just let them have their way. But it was frustrating, nevertheless. Naomi had done a lot of work on the blocking and it meant she would have to alter many of the other characters’ key moves to accommodate Alex.

  The second day of blocking was just the same. He fought her every inch of the way and, by the end of rehearsal, Naomi was tired. But she was still determined not to let it worry her. They now had the whole play roughly blocked, she told herself, Julian would be here tomorrow and she’d have an ally. Not only the actor’s closest friend but the writer of the bloody play, for God’s sake! That should help.

  Julian arrived late at the shabby rehearsal studios above the theatre. Naomi had delayed the start of the day’s work so that everyone could meet him, but after half an hour she gave up and called a start to rehearsals. Naomi was a stickler for schedules and she intended to have the first three scenes fully worked before lunch.

  An hour later she and Alex were still arguing about the opening speech and Naomi was praying for Julian to arrive. They weren’t going to cover any ground this way.

  ‘I tell you what, Alex, why don’t we take it again from the top. Do it your own way for now and …’

  It was at that moment that Julian entered through the side door. He was instantly aware of the friction in the air and equally aware that no one had noticed him. He stood watching quietly.

  ‘Do it my own way?’ Alex interrupted, not belligerently, but in utter amazement. ‘But don’t you understand, there is only one way! It’s not my way. It’s Edwin’s way. There’s only one way.’

  ‘All right, Alex, all right,’ Naomi agreed wearily. ‘Let’s do it Edwin’s way and carry through to Katerina’s entrance, shall we?’ Bloody wanker, she thought. ‘Let’s see what happens after that.’

  Julian was surprised. He’d never seen Alex behave so indulgently in rehearsal. He had always been helpful to directors—so long as the directors
themselves weren’t indulgent, which Naomi certainly wasn’t. Her suggestions on the important opening speech were reasonable, technically efficient in their blocking and nonintrusive to Alex’s interpretation of the character. Yet Alex was refusing even to consider them. Surprising.

  Alex took his time over Edwin’s opening speech to the audience. He played the whole thing directly at Naomi, obviously intent upon convincing her that his interpretation was the only one. Or was he? Studying the performance, Julian got the feeling that Naomi had ceased to be Naomi as far as Alex was concerned; she had become some faceless observer with whom Edwin felt compelled to share his passion and his power.

  ‘I’ve finally found her,’ Alex said as Edwin. ‘Tonight’s the night … And I wanted to share it with you.’ He turned upstage. ‘Darling!’ he called.

  Jenny walked on to the stage. Julian’s gasp was so loud he was surprised heads didn’t turn in his direction. After the initial shock he tried to persuade himself that it wasn’t Jenny at all, just some freakish look-alike. But it didn’t work. This was certainly Jenny.

  What was going on? he asked himself. When had father and daughter met? Why hadn’t Maddy told him? What had happened to the ‘Imogen’ everyone had been so excited about? Julian was totally confused. Alex and Jenny couldn’t play the lovers Edwin and Katerina! There was something obscene about the mere thought.

  Then, as Julian watched them, he realised that they had no idea of their true relationship. They couldn’t, surely. They wouldn’t be able to act the way they were if they did. The two of them together were mesmeric. A feeling of horror crept over Julian as he realised the effect that Alex was already having on the girl. It was the same effect that he’d had on Maddy over twenty years ago.