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  What? I shout it inside my head. What?! She’s making a negative comment. Is that right? Am I hearing correctly? Is she saying “miles to go before we sleep” after a crackingly good opening night performance of my first ever play? She’s raining on my parade? She can’t find anything positive to say?

  WITCHYPOO

  Plenty of room for growth. Don’t let tonight go to your head, it’s just foyer talk. The work is flawed. You know that.

  Do I? I think it’s good. I mean, it’s not Shakespeare or Chekhov or Caryl Churchill, but it’s okay. And the audience liked it. Isn’t that who we’re meant to be writing for?

  WITCHYPOO

  You’ll get good feedback, but keep your feet on the ground.

  And she wafts off in her cloud of witchy, stiletto-heeled, perfume counter stench. Back on her broomstick and off home to her cauldron. I can’t believe she rained on my parade. Hailed on my parade, in fact! Why am I with her? Why do I let her be my agent? Why do I give two hoots about what she thinks?

  MUM

  That woman is never happy. It’s because she’s barren.

  DAD

  Lesbians are never happy, love.

  They’re great ones for generalisations, my parents. There’s no evidence to suggest that Witchypoo is barren, or a lesbian for that matter.

  MUM

  Ignore her. Jealous, that’s all.

  DAD

  It was bloody brilliant and when you got those flowers, bloody hell, didn’t you just look like a young Graeme Kennedy?

  There it is! The Graeme Kennedy reference. His comic hero. No, he’s more than that. Graeme Kennedy is Dad’s hero, full stop. He thinks he should have run for Prime Minister. In Dad’s mind, to compare anyone with Graeme is the hugest compliment you can pay a person. To me it’s . . . well . . . I’m a woman. A soon-to-be forty year-old woman, so being compared to a bug-eyed, gangly, male legend of Australian television is . . . well . . .

  ME

  Thanks, Dad.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  Coming to the party?

  ME

  Oh, um . . . I actually thought . . .

  DAD

  Go on, love. Have a good time.

  He winks again. God help me, my father appears to be turning into Benny Hill.

  MUM

  And don’t worry about Jack. He can sleep over at our house.

  DAD

  Have fun, love.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  Good advice.

  Mum seems quite charmed and whispers in my ear as she leans in to give me a kiss.

  MUM

  (whispers)

  You’re much prettier than Graeme Kennedy. You have a lovely face and a nice figure.

  She kisses me on the cheek.

  MUM

  The play was lovely. Just lovely.

  And then they’re gone, smiling at Mr. Gorgeous as they leave.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  They seem nice.

  ME

  They mean well.

  MR GORGEOUS

  I’m going to catch up with a few people before I head off to the party. I’ll see you there?

  ME

  Sure.

  Mr. Gorgeous slips away on a cloud of sandalwood and coconut oil.

  Boofhead comes up. I’d managed to stay out of his sphere all night. We’d given each other a perfunctory closed-mouth grin and head nod when we took our seats in the theatre, but now he’s making a beeline for me.

  BOOFHEAD

  That went well.

  God help me, he’s drunk. His lips and teeth are stained with red wine. As he talks, his slur is accentuated by the Claret-cum-Beaujolais red of his teeth, lips, and tongue.

  ME

  Yes, I was pleased with it. Congratulations.

  BOOFHEAD

  There’s still work that needs to be done/

  ME

  /yes, yes . . .

  BOOFHEAD

  But all in all/

  ME

  /it was great.

  BOOFHEAD

  Going home?

  ME

  I’ll call into the party on the way.

  BOOFHEAD

  Where’s Jack?

  ME

  With my sister.

  BOOFHEAD

  Your sister?!

  ME

  Yes.

  BOOFHEAD

  I’m not happy about that.

  Breathe, Persephone. Maintain your dignity, but make your point and then walk away.

  ME

  Well I’m happy to split the cost of a sitter. I think they charge about $20 per hour.

  And I walk away.

  Chapter 13

  The after party. An inner city house.

  “The truth, the absolute truth, is that the chief beauty for the theatre consists in fine bodily proportions.” Sarah Bernhardt.

  I hate this party. I feel alone. I’m used to being here as an actor. Tonight I’m the writer. I feel like an outsider, held at arm’s length. Tom hasn’t made it to the party. Probably back at the theatre cracking onto the stragglers. I feel alone. And old.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  How ya doin’?

  ME

  Good! Yeah. I’m good.

  Tell the truth, Persephone.

  ME

  Actually I’m . . . I need some air.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  Me too. I’ve got a bottle. Join me outside.

  ME

  Sure.

  I should be excited. I’m walking outside with Mr. Gorgeous. It’s nighttime, we have a bottle of something that doesn’t look too cheap and nasty, and I’m officially single. Although no one at this party knows that and they probably think I’m going outside to cheat on my husband. Let them think what they like. Here I am with Mr. Gorgeous and he’s . . . well, officially, he’s got a girlfriend. He spoke about her during the rehearsal the other day. She lives interstate. But hey . . . I’m willing to change my moral stance on gorgeous men with girlfriends for one night.

  No I’m not. Who am I kidding? I’m just talking tough.

  I should feel sexy and pert and alive and brilliantly talented and successful, but instead I feel like a soon-to-be-forty mother who looks like a young Graeme Kennedy and doesn’t do it for her husband anymore.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  You should keep writing, you know. You’re really good.

  ME

  Thanks.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  I mean it. Just keep writing.

  ME

  Yeah.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  My daughter loved it.

  ME

  She was there?

  MR. GORGEOUS

  Yeah she comes to all my shows. Always has.

  ME

  How is she?

  MR. GORGEOUS

  She’s older now, but it’s still tough. She wants me to be with her mum. Probably always will.

  ME

  I know the feeling.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  What? Aren’t you one half of the glamorous loved-up theatre couple?

  What have I got to lose? Play’s opened, rehearsal’s over and next year’s season was announced today. Not much in it for me, but maybe a small-scale musical thing. May as well fess up.

  ME

  We’re separated.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  You and Tom?

  ME

  Yep.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  When?

  ME

  Just before rehearsals started, ac
tually.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  I thought things were a bit tense. What happened?

  ME

  Um . . . I don’t really know.

  And it’s true. I still don’t know what the actual tipping point was. Maybe I never will.

  ME

  Um . . . I think he wanted other things . . . I don’t know. I’m still trying to make sense of it. I’m not saying it’s all his fault, but it was his call. I’m trying to work out what part I played.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  Must be hard. But I guess you were always a bit of a prickly couple.

  Is that what people thought? Or is that just what he thought? Prickly. Hmm, I’d ask him to elaborate but I can’t be bothered. Irrelevant now. Prickles or no prickles, it’s over.

  ME

  I hope you’re referring to him as the prickly one. My facial hair is doing just fine, thanks.

  He laughs. And I get to see his white teeth again and his very pink mouth. He exudes health. I want to sniff him. I imagine he’d smell like the sea and vanilla and musk lollies and fresh water. I’ve had the mid-range waft of sandalwood and coconut oil, but I’m wondering what a close-up would smell like.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  And Jack is so young.

  ME

  Too young.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  There’s never a good age.

  ME

  I guess.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  You think it’s tough now. Wait ‘til you find a new partner.

  I kind of hoped that might be you. Shit! Did I say that out loud? NO. Thank God!

  MR. GORGEOUS

  My daughter would run over my girlfriend if she knew how to drive. Maybe it’ll be different for you ‘cause you’ve got a son, but it’s tough.

  ME

  Maybe.

  A long pause ensues. A comfortable pause. We both sip our drinks and look at the night sky. It’s a clear, starry night. The air is crisp, but not too cool.

  ME

  Do you think I’m pretty?

  I can’t believe I just said that. It leapt out of my mouth before I could stop it. I’m an idiot! Pretty or not, I’m an idiot!

  Mr. Gorgeous turns his head to look at me, as if taking the words in. Maybe he didn’t hear me correctly.

  Who cares if it’s a stupid thing to say? I desperately need to know. And I have nothing to lose. He has a girlfriend. I’ve been dumped. He’s a safe person to ask. I just need a male human being to affirm my femaleness. Although this pause is excruciatingly long.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  I’ve got a girlfriend.

  ME

  I know. I’m not cracking onto you. I just . . .

  And there they are again—tears!

  ME

  Bloody hell. I’m sorry. I respect that you have a girlfriend. It’s just that you’re male and I’ve/

  MR. GORGEOUS

  /had the stuffing knocked out of you.

  ME

  Yes.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  You feel rejected.

  ME

  Totally.

  I laugh.

  ME

  You know, I had a massage the other day and I asked the massage guy what he’d rate my legs out of ten. I’m pathetic.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  No, you’re not. It’s all part of the process. You need to learn how to function as an individual again, not as part of a pair.

  ME

  Yes.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  It takes time. And even if he’s left because of his issues, it’s going to feel like it’s because of you. Don’t take it on.

  He moves towards me and puts his arm around my shoulder.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  For the record, you’re very pretty.

  I laugh. How wonderful it feels to connect with a fellow human being.

  ME

  Thanks. It was a ridiculous question. Sorry.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  You’re a gorgeous girl, Pers, and you need to keep writing. That’s where your power lies.

  And with that, he takes my other shoulder and turns me to face him. He leans in. He’s going to kiss me! Oh my God, he’s going for my mouth. He’s heading for my lips. I’m tilting my head to the side. I’m leaning in too. He’s really going to kiss me. A man other than my husband is going to kiss me. I can feel his breath. He’s going to . . .

  Toot toot!

  CABBIE

  You book a cab?

  And he redirects the kiss to my cheek.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  Thanks mate! Gotta go. Got an audition in the morning. Hang in there.

  He blows me a kiss as he gets in the front seat. He’s sitting up front with the driver, a sure sign of his lack of a superiority complex. He winds the window down, puts his elbow out the window and calls out as the cab pulls away.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  I bet he gave you a ten!

  I laugh.

  ME

  Eight and a half, actually. Bastard.

  MR. GORGEOUS

  Don’t take any of it on, Pers! Be kind to yourself.

  Then he’s gone. I’m left with a bottle of red and a cheek I vow not to wash for at least a week. As I turn to re-join the party, I realise that I’m also left with a rumour that I have singlehandedly started. Three bodies scurry back into the house pretending they haven’t heard or seen my Gone With The Wind moment. And frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.

  Chapter 14

  Three weeks later. Agents’s office.

  Oscar Wilde: “Do you mind if I smoke?” Sarah Bernhardt: “I don’t care if you burn.”

  I arrange a meeting with Witchypoo for the de-brief. It’s at her office, a hot, cramped unit in some industrial estate. Noisy, dusty and chaotic. I’m determined to stay positive.

  WITCHYPOO

  How are you?

  ME

  Great. Good. I’m feeling good. How are you?

  Shouldn’t have asked. She launches into an excruciating whinge about clients, her love life, her diet, her world view.

  WITCHYPOO

  Anyway, enough about me. Let’s talk about the work.

  ME

  I can’t believe how much people liked it. It was great.

  WITCHYPOO

  Well, it depends how you define great, doesn’t it?

  ME

  Really?

  WITCHYPOO

  It was fine.

  ME

  Fine?

  WITCHYPOO

  Yes. And the company has decided to offer you another commission.

  ME

  That’s fantastic!

  WITCHYPOO

  Don’t get ahead of yourself. Back to the play. The audience loved it but then again, they’re always going to.

  ME

  Are they? I’ve been to heaps of plays the audience didn’t love. But I’m thrilled that they loved mine. it’s a good thing.

  WITCHYPOO

  If you think so.

  ME

  I do.

  WITCHYPOO

  You see, the problem is . . .

  And then she begins her diatribe. She opens up the ‘how to write a play’ box and lets loose. To cushion the blow, I find myself distracted by her hair. Last time I saw her it was peroxided. Now it’s a bright, orangey red. As her denunciation of my ability continues, I make an obsessive comparison between her hair and her eyebrows. I want to give her a bit of friendly advice: hey love, next time you’re at the salon, get them to tone it down a couple of shades and maybe ask them to smear a
bit on your brows. But my distraction doesn’t last very long.

  WITCHYPOO

  You’re going to have to be careful. And I mean reeeally careful.

  Does she have a slight English accent? I’ve never noticed it before. But then again, she does have an annoying trait of picking up a hint of the accent from whichever country she’s visited recently, or more likely, watched on telly. At least the English accent is better than the American one she contracted last time she watched The Bold And The Beautiful.

  WITCHYPOO

  You’re going to have to be very careful with your next piece that you don’t fall into the trap of just trying to please an audience like you did with this one.

  ME

  They loved it.

  WITCHYPOO

  That’s the problem.

  ME

  Problem?

  WITCHYPOO

  An audience doesn’t know what’s good or bad. We need to teach them. Educate them about the difference between what they like, what they think they like, and what they should like. You were lucky this time.

  ME

  Lucky?

  WITCHYPOO

  Yes, you got away with it. You won’t be so lucky next time.

  ME

  But it went really well. People liked it. The reviews were good. It made money.

  WITCHYPOO

  And you think that’s important?

  ME

  Well, it’s part of it, isn’t it?

  WITCHYPOO

  It’s not. You need to embrace theatre as theatre.

  I thought I had. I wrote a play for theatre that was performed in a theatre and people sat in a theatre, watched it and enjoyed it. They cried in bits, laughed in other bits and went away thinking about it.

  WITCHYPOO

  You need to aspire to something like . . . The Goat.

  ME

  The Goat? As in Edward Albee?

  WITCHYPOO

  Did you see it?

  ME

  Yes.

  And I want those two hours of my life back.

  WITCHYPOO

  It’s a masterpiece.

  ME

  It’s about a man who has sex with a goat.