A good-looking man opened an old wooden door and held out his hand.
‘I’m James,’ he said. ‘Production manager. Can I help you with your case?’ His voice had an American accent. A dark mole showed through the salt-and-pepper stubble on his upper lip.
‘No, it’s fine,’ said Sophie, as she shook his hand. ‘Just show me where I can leave it until tonight.’
With the suitcase stowed in the corner of the kitchen, James led Sophie into the rehearsal room. It was a large room with a scuffed timber floor and posters of old theatre productions on the walls. There were racks of costumes on one side of the room and a props table covered in papers, guns and crockery on the other. At a long trestle table near the door, sat the director. He stood up, revealing a tall, thin frame. His hands were soft with polished fingernails, his handshake limp and yielding.
‘Thanks for coming at such short notice,’ he said. ‘Our last stage manager…’
‘…had to go back to Malaysia unexpectedly,’ said James. The director gazed at him and then nodded.
‘I’m Kim Chen,’ the director continued, ‘and this is my assistant Marco.’ A small muscled youth smiled at Sophie with white teeth. ‘The cast should be here in a minute,’ said Kim Chen, ‘then we’ll get started.’
Sophie had read the script on the plane on the way down so she knew the production had a cast of only three — two males and a female. Fault Lines, imported from Malaysia for the Melbourne Festival, was a combination of dance, theatre and video. Technically challenging at the best of times, it would be almost impossible to learn in just a week. When the Festival organisers had rung to ask Sophie to recommend a stage manager to fill in at the last minute, she couldn’t think of anyone available who would be up to the task. Sophie’s boss, Greg, a great supporter of professional development, had agreed for Sophie to come down at short notice.
By the end of the day, Sophie’s brain was filled with strains of discordant music and images of Gobo, a Japanese man, dressed as a traditional Geisha, his feet covered in white tabi inside wooden sandals. Julian, a blond Scandinavian, had rehearsed in nothing more than khaki canvas pants in the chilly hall, and had danced without ever tiring from what seemed to be a well of primal energy fuelled by the unrelenting beat of drums. Lissa, an exotic African American, provided the connection between the two worlds with her poetic monologues and interaction with the archival video footage. The show seemed to be about war, and memory, and gender, and bodies. Sophie didn’t understand entirely what it meant but didn’t have to. More than once she had been moved to tears during the day. It was a work which should be felt rather than analysed.
‘I’ll take you to the hotel,’ said James, once they had tidied the rehearsal room and everyone else had left for the day. ‘You’re on the same floor as me.’
James insisted he wheel her suitcase during the five minute walk to the hotel. She was too tired to argue.
‘I’m from Texas,’ he told her. ‘I met Kim Chen at an after party in New York.’ He pushed open the door to her room and deposited the suitcase in the bedroom. ‘This is my first time in Australia.’
Sophie was pleased to discover she had an apartment with a self-contained kitchen and a balcony overlooking the street. James stood in the entrance way, his hands in his pockets.
‘What are you doing for dinner?’ he asked.
‘I’ll grab something from the supermarket,’ she said. ‘I’m too tired to go out.’
James frowned for a moment before his face dissolved into a smile, his brown eyes dancing in the lamp light. ‘I’m in Apartment 36 if you need anything,’ he said. ‘Just down the corridor.’
The supermarket was a small IGA with narrow aisles and two checkouts. The front of the store was filled with alcohol. Sophie hadn’t drunk anything for a long time. Too many empty calories in a glass of wine. She inspected the trays of chicken in the fridge, the meat slimy and uninviting. She was away from home, just one day out from competing, surely she deserved the night off?
Hoping no one would pay attention to what she was buying, Sophie filled her basket with all the things she had denied herself for the past four months. She started with a packet of six croissants, some ham and cheese, and then added a family block of caramello chocolate and a tub of vanilla ice cream. To be sure she had more than one thing to choose from for dessert, she also selected a bag of licorice and a bag of marshmallows from the lolly aisle. The loaf of bread and the tub of butter were for breakfast. She was sick of porridge.
Back in the apartment, Sophie only intended to eat two croissants and a small scoop of ice cream with a few squares of chocolate and a couple of marshmallows. She put everything else in the fridge, hoping if she couldn’t see it on the bench she wouldn’t be tempted.
The first bite of buttery pastry, salty ham and sharp cheese set her taste buds reeling. A strange wave of sensuality coated her brain, dissipating the anxiety left over from her day. The sensation felt like sliding naked into a bed of smooth satin sheets, relieving an ache that emanated not from a single location in her body but from the entire space around her. If she had believed in auras, she might have expected hers to have gone from the colour of bitumen to deep pulsing red. Nothing else felt this good.
She had heard of people starting to eat and waking up hours later surrounded by dirty dishes and empty wrappers, but Sophie never zoned out. She knew what she was doing. She ignored the voice in her head that kept screaming for her to stop. The sensation in her stomach that signalled she was full had been left dormant for so long that she no longer recognised it. She kept on eating until all the croissants were gone, until the bags of lollies were empty. When the squares of chocolate grew too sweet, she switched to raisin toast with butter. She stopped when she realised another mouthful would make her vomit. She had never gone that far. Only bulimics threw up.
When she looked down at her stomach bulging out over the top of her trousers she felt disgusted. This was the last time she would binge. Starting tomorrow she would go back to her diet, recording the calorie content of everything she put in her mouth. She set her alarm for five a.m. and laid out her leggings, sports bra, heart rate monitor and sneakers for the morning. Thank goodness the apartment complex had its own gym. She hoped there wouldn’t be anyone there to witness her swollen legs and puffed face. If she couldn’t take the laxatives she usually relied on in times like these because she couldn’t afford to be in the bathroom all the next day, at least she could run for an hour and undo some of the damage.
Lying on the bottom of her suitcase were her scales. She carried them into the bathroom and placed them under the vanity unit. She decided not to step on them before she went to bed. She knew better than that.
The stage was black except for a pool of yellow light in the centre. Out in the darkened auditorium, Kim Chen sat at a long table fitted over the seats, his head bowed over a stack of papers. The light radiating from a desk lamp reflected off his black hair. Sophie sat next to him listening to him breathing over his headset microphone.
Kim Chen banged his hand on the desk. ‘I’m still waiting for the fucking video,’ he shouted. His microphone was still live. Sophie pulled her headset away from her ears.
James walked into the circle of light in the middle of the stage. Blue backlight created a halo around his head and shoulders. He was as handsome as any actor or dancer. He put his hand to the square metal box on his belt and pushed the talk button.
‘We’re working on it,’ he said. He gestured towards the dark space in the grid above the stage. ‘We’re checking the bulb in the projector.’
‘Shall we move to the next cue and come back?’ asked Sophie. They had been in the theatre for almost two hours and were still working on the opening sequence. If they had any hope of getting through all the lighting, sound and video cues by the end of the day, they would have to keep moving.
‘I have to see everything,’ said Kim Chen. ‘I don’t know what it looks like if nothing is working. Are these people stupid?’
Sophie flinched. The men and women who worked in arts venues could be easily put off side. If they were on your side, they would do anything in their power to help you. But if you made them your enemy, they would make your life hell.
‘It won’t be long,’ said Sophie, not having any idea how long it would take. She knew better than to ask what had gone wrong and how long it would take to fix it. Both questions just made the problem worse. Theatre technicians fixed things as quickly as they could. When something didn’t work it was embarrassing for everyone. The problem would be solved without the interference of Sophie or Kim Chen.
‘Why don’t you go and grab a coffee?’ she said to Kim Chen. ‘I’ll call you when we’re ready. Alan — could we have work lights on stage and the house lights at half.’
The big overhead flood lights on the stage snapped on and florescent tubes in the wings and in the grid blinked awake. Kim Chen grunted as he put his headset on the desk. He pushed through one of the auditorium side doors and out into daylight.
‘Can I grab a ciggy?’ asked Alan’s voice in her ear. He operated the lights from a glass booth at the rear of the balcony. ‘I’ll only be five minutes.’
‘Of course,’ said Sophie. ‘Let me know when you’re back.’
She rose from the desk and leaned into the pain in her hip. Her headset was wireless so she left it on her head. She walked down carpeted stairs in the auditorium and up wooden stairs to the stage. People were moving along the catwalk in the grid. In their black clothes, they seemed almost like ghosts with disembodied voices. James stood next to the Stage Manager’s desk. Prompt corner it was called, on the left side of the stage from a performer’s point of view. She would move to this position for the first Dress Rehearsal. Sometimes Stage Managers called shows from the lighting operator’s position in the control room out the front, but Sophie liked to be near the action on stage.
‘Is he always like that,’ asked Sophie, ‘or is this a bad day?’
James shrugged. ‘Pretty normal,’ he said. ‘Wait till I tell him the blue sculpture piece for Act Three was damaged in transit. He’s going to go ballistic.’
‘How bad is it?’ Sophie ran her fingers over the smooth buttons on the Stage Manager’s desk’s console. The most important ones controlled her communication system so she didn’t need to fiddle with buttons on her belt pack.
‘There’s a big dent on the back. Luckily it’s on the upstage side so the audience won’t see it. Roger’s trying to patch it up in the workshop. It’s either going to disguise the problem or make it worse.’
James stopped talking and cocked his head as though he were listening to a song playing in another room. Sophie couldn’t hear anything.
‘Here we go,’ he said. He pointed to a space above his head. Sophie could see a small red flashing light. ‘Are we good, Nick?’ he called into the grid.
‘Yeah, mate,’ said Nick. ‘A few seconds to reset and we’re golden.’
‘I’m back,’ said Alan’s voice over Sophie’s headset. ‘Shall I take out the workers?’
Sophie checked her microphone was still switched off and called out across the stage. ‘Workers going out.’ Into her microphone she said, ‘Thanks Alan, let’s go back to LXQ 14, but leave the houselights up until Kim Chen gets back.’
She pushed a button on the console and switched from talking on the show loop to the PA system backstage.
‘Mr Chen, this is your call to the auditorium. Mr Chen, your call to return to the auditorium.’
Her fingers pushed another button. ‘Nick,’ she said, once more on the show loop. ‘Can I have AVQ 1 paused up on the screen, please.’
When Kim Chen was seated back at the table, Sophie walked into the auditorium and resumed her place next to the director. A few moments after she was settled the house lights faded to black.
‘I have an idea,’ said Kim Chen, leaning towards her. ‘What if we had actual rain falling in the last scene where Gobo loses his mind?’
‘I’ll look into it,’ said Sophie. She knew the answer would be no. Gobo’s kimono, his own possession, was too delicate and valuable to get wet. Plus neither he nor Julian would be able to dance safely on a wet floor. But Sophie rarely said no to a director at the first request. Sometimes they changed their mind about outrageous ideas without her saying anything, and sometimes they forgot all about it, usually when they were rushing to get through the original show without any modifications. On the rare occasions when she did say no, she always quoted someone else’s expert opinion — an actor, the production manager, the head mechanist, the venue manager or the safety officer. She let her directors believe crazy requests were at least possible. She didn’t want to block their creative ideas.
‘Can you get James back on stage?’ asked Kim Chen. He put his headset back on.
‘James,’ said Sophie, into her microphone. ‘Can you come back on stage for a few minutes, please?’
‘Anything for you,’ said James. He slipped out of the darkness into the pool of light. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Nothing,’ said Kim Chen. ‘I just enjoy looking at you.’ They all laughed. ‘You can go now.’
Sophie smiled. ‘Nick, please standby to run the video,’ she said.
‘Standing by.’
‘OK folks, let’s get this show on the road.’ She took a deep breath. ‘AVQ 1 — GO.’
‘House lights and workers — GO,’ said Sophie. She leaned back against the cloth seat and watched the theatre transform from a mystical dream world into a working space with walls made of canvas and tape marks on the floor. ‘Thank you everyone, that’s it. Your next call is 10 a.m. on Monday morning. Have a good day off. Goodnight.’
She took off her headset and ruffled her hair where the headband had flattened it. The clock in the task bar at the bottom of Kim Chen’s laptop read 10:17 p.m. She yawned.
James approached the desk. ‘I’ll come in early on Monday and move the side masking flats downstage,’ he said. ‘Aside from that, are you happy with everything, Kim Chen?’
‘Yes.’ Kim Chen slung his satchel over his shoulder. ‘It’s all looking gorgeous.’
James looked at Sophie and winked. He hadn’t had to mention the repair to the blue sculpture piece. The head mechanist, Roger had filled and painted the gash so expertly that it was impossible to tell where the blemish had been.
‘Soph,’ said James, as Kim Chen walked out, ‘you were incredible today. You have to let me buy you a drink.’
Sophie’s first instinct was to say no, but she hesitated. She hadn’t had dinner so she had room in her calorie allowance for one drink. The thought of the soft warm buzz of alcohol and some interesting conversation was enticing.
‘Okay then,’ she said, smiling. ‘Just one.’ As she closed the folder with her script inside, her engagement ring flashed. She wondered what Michael would think about her going out for a drink with another man. She hadn’t spoken to her husband since she had left Sydney six days ago. He hated the phone. ‘I’ll only call if there’s a problem,’ he had said. She had sent him a text to say she was enjoying herself but had only received a one word response. Not talking to each other while she was away was a habit they had developed back before there were mobile phones, when long-distance calls from motel rooms were expensive. In those early days, Sophie was much more social with her work colleagues.
She had developed her first crush during the first year of her marriage, when she had been an Assistant Stage Manager on a tour of Blithe Spirit around regional New South Wales. Phillip, the Stage Manager, was ten years older than her, red-haired and wore a scruffy ginger beard. It certainly wasn’t his looks she was attracted to. One night, when she was setting up the props for Act Two on stage during interval, Phillip had walked out wearing a pair of sunglasses and had started pointing at things. Sophie had to stop herself giggling in front of the audience.
‘What was that all about?’ she asked when they came off stage.
‘I was pretending to tell you what to do,’ he said. ‘You’re so efficient you don’t even need me. I was asserting my male superiority…’ He grinned. ‘… and failing miserably.’
They spent hours after the shows drinking rum and Coke in Phillip’s room, usually accompanied by Tom, a TV actor from Neighbours, and Tom’s partner Joseph. On Saturday afternoons, in between the matinee and the evening show, Phillip would take her to the TAB and teach her how to bet on the horses. He was an expert on horse racing — he even owned a racehorse himself. During that tour, Sophie found herself doing the things she would later come to recognise as danger signs — applying mascara, favouring dresses over jeans, and wearing dangly earrings and bracelets — she was preening. Nothing happened on that tour, or on any other. Sophie had always been faithful to her husband but she wondered if he suspected her of flirting when she was away. Where was the line between harmless and hurtful? Sophie had no idea how Michael felt. The subject of other men never came up. It was one more thing they didn’t talk about.
‘I’ll meet you at Stage Door,’ said James. ‘I need to drop off the keys.’
The Melbourne Supper Club was plush and intimate with deep upholstered chairs and antique standard lamps. People spoke in hushed voices. The women in the room wore sequined dresses and diamond necklaces. Sophie felt plain in her black jeans and t-shirt. She shuddered as she took the first mouthful of wine, the smooth liquid feeling bitter on her tongue.
‘I was beginning to think you didn’t like me,’ said James. He took off his jacket and laid it across the arm of the chair.
‘Of course I like you,’ said Sophie, feeling her cheeks grow warm. ‘I’m not much of drinker.’
‘Don’t you ever go out?’
‘Not to clubs or bars. Just the gym.’
‘When?’
‘Early mornings. It’s usually the quietest.’
‘Most theatre people are night owls. You’re the first person I’ve met who willingly gets out of bed before lunch time.’
‘I have to,’ said Sophie, ‘I have no choice.’
James frowned. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.
‘If I don’t work out every day and control my food intake, I’ll put on weight. The last thing I want is to be a fat and middle-aged. I see women like that all the time. They take up a whole seat on the bus, they wear polyester trousers and have greasy hair. I couldn’t bear to be like that.’
James smiled.