We shared mind and body and spirit that night. Ariana said many things, but never once that she loved me. Still, it was enough.
Fifteen
'Giles! Where the hell are you?'
It was no fun being Giles, Earl Garfield's assistant director. In fact, it was no fun being anything around this poor excuse for a human being. His balding head shining and his gray ponytail flying, he whirled around to berate some underling. Garfield was the embodiment of every arrogant, dictatorial despot portrayed in fiction. In movies behavior like his was often funny. In reality it was teeth-grindingly unpleasant.
Darken was on the set, as in this scene she was to leap heroically through a window, sum up our perilous situation with one glance, then hurry to gnaw through the ropes that bound me to the chair. Next she was to rush to Timmy and release him from similar bondage.
She had a full entourage in attendance-Dingo O'Rourke, of course, but also a stunt trainer and his assistant, plus a groomer, who hurried forward after every take to brush Darleen's coat to gleaming perfection.
I had to admit that Darken was the most handsome dingo I'd encountered. In the wild they were thin and scruffy, with rough coats and mean expressions. Darken was sleek and seemed quite cheerful, although she did keep a wary eye on Earl Garfield as he stamped around swearing.
Between takes, I'd tried to strike up a conversation with Dingo, but all he said was, 'Can't talk now.'
Although it sounded glamorous, I was finding acting consisted of a lot of waiting around and not much action. I wished I'd brought a book to read. I'd also discovered that scenes were often shot out of order, so although Olive hadn't yet met Timmy after their decade-long separation, here she was tied up with her brother in a remote mountain cabin. I was a bit hazy about who the villains in the story were, but they had no hope against Darken, anyway.
With Julia Roberts as an audience, I'd dutifully learnt my lines. Although no one watching was likely to call me a crash-hot actor, I thought I did a fair job under the circumstances, which were trying to say the least. First, it was fiendishly hot under the glare of the lights; second, Earl Garfield was a truly detestable creature; and third, Dustin Jaeger was deeply unhappy with the script.
We got ready for yet another take. I was tied to the chair with trick ropes which would release when Darken rushed behind me to apparently gnaw through them. A couple of meters away, a woman in a pink smock was dabbing at a shine on Dustin's nose.
A voice shouted for quiet on the set. It was almost unnerving the way one moment people were dashing around, adjusting equipment and calling out to each other, then the next everyone was frozen in place and absolutely silent.
We had several lines of dialogue before Darken came to our rescue. The script had Olive speaking first. 'Stone the crows, Timmy!' I cried. 'What will happen to us? Fair dinkum, I'm scared!'
'Is it healthy fear you feel, or primal, blind panic?' Timmy inquired.
'Cut!' screamed the director. 'Jesus, Dustin, stick to the script! Your line is 'Don't be frightened. Darken will find a way to help us.''
Dustin looked aggrieved. 'That's not how Timmy would express himself. It's not psychologically true to the existential element in his nature.'
Earl Garfield made a crude suggestion as to where Timmy could put his existential element.
'Dustin's got a good vocabulary for a twelve-year-old,' I said to the pink-smocked woman who had appeared with powder puff primed to eliminate any shiny spots on my face.
'Twelve? Dustin's fifteen if he's a day.'
'Dinkum? He doesn't look that old.'
'Small for his age, but watch out for him,' she said darkly. 'The little creep's got wandering hands.'
I looked over at Dustin with an entirely different mindset. 'The fact remains, Earl,' he was saying in a superior tone, 'the puerile words in your script do not in any way convey the Timmy that Dustin Jaeger knows.'
'You don't know him, you little prick. If anyone does,
They glowered at each other. The woman in the pink smock said to me in heartfelt tones, 'It's going to be a looong day.'
After an exhausting morning, we broke for lunch. I joined the stream of people heading for the Bellina Studios commissary. Outside the entrance I was astonished to see Upton and Unity in the company of a youngish bloke with a smooth tan and an intense, brooding expression.
I introduced myself to him, then said hello to the poodles, who today were wearing polished brass collars. They seemed moderately pleased to see me, although in Upton's case I noticed he cast an anxious look around, possibly checking to make sure Julia Roberts was nowhere in the vicinity.
'Pauline's inside?' I said.
'With Ursula Jaeger.'
He spoke as though I should know who this was. I made an educated guess and said, 'Some relative of Dustin's?'
His brooding expression vanished as he broke into a peal of laughter. 'Some relative of Dustin's. That's rich!'
'Let me in on the secret. Who is she?'
'You really don't know? His dear old mom. Ursula Jaeger's the stage mother to end all stage mothers. She's a legend in this town. Uber Ursula, they call her.'
Inside, the commissary was in two levels. The top one, reached by carpeted stairs, appeared to be for studio executives and other VIPs, the lower level for everyone else. I figured I was lower-level material, so I was surprised when I heard an unfamiliar voice bellowing, 'Kylie Kendall! Come and join us,' from the top of the stairs.
The invitation had come from a substantial sheila wearing a bright pink-and-white outfit with many flounces, ribbons, and bows, so she looked rather like a garishly wrapped parcel. Next to her at the table sat Pauline Feeney, her anorexic body clad in an iridescent green jumpsuit with a brass choker to match Upton and Unity's collars.
Pauline introduced me to Ursula Jaeger. 'G'day, Ms. Jaeger,' I said.
'Ursula, please! Every bloody Tom, Dick, and Harry knows me as Ursula.'
She had a coarse, confident face, frizzy brown hair, and an Aussie accent, overlaid with a Yank twang. Her son Dustin's voice was much more mid-Pacific, the product of a voice coach, I was betting.
Paula said in her soft, sweet tones, 'Ursula was good enough to call out to catch your attention, Kylie. I, myself, can't raise my voice. It's a physical impossibility.'
'That could be bloody inconvenient,' Ursula observed. 'What happens if you're being attacked, raped? Are you saying you won't be able to scream?'
'I'm afraid not.'
'Helluva thing! So what do you do? Whisper for help?'
'I do this.' Pauline whipped out a whistle on a chain that had been concealed under her jumpsuit and blew it hard. There was no discernible sound, but frantic barking came from outside. 'Beyond the range of human hearing,' Pauline said. 'I do hope Jason can control Upton and Unity. He's a sweet boy, but is unaccustomed to poodles.'
'Give me a bull mastiff any day,' declared Ursula. 'Or an Irish wolfhound. Intimidation is the name of the game. Poodles are effete. They don't intimidate.'
Clearly this got up Pauline's nose, but she managed a grimaced smile. 'I think you'll find standard poodles are more than a match for any guard dog, Ursula. Loyal, intelligent, athletic…'
'Girly dogs,' said Ursula dismissively.
Seeing trouble brewing-under Pauline's dead white makeup I detected a flush of rage-I rapidly changed the subject. 'Ursula, will Dustin be joining us for lunch?'
