Published: 10 Jul 2023

Alun Hughes was Wales born, Devon bread and Australia schooled, with aspirations from an early age towards becoming an actor. After two years at Melbourne’s VCA one of the country’s finest acting academy, he graduated with much hope and aspiration, only to discover disappointment with little work in the offering and many applying for each role offered.

Now the best part of a year had passed since his graduation, as had his twentieth birthday, with his only success being a speaking part in a supermarket commercial and a minor role in two others, hardly paying enough to survive but there was hope, believing even after two failed interviews for parts in film that sooner or later he must break through.

During Alun’s tenure at VCA there had been little time to think of his future and it wasn’t until after graduation he realized there was a big hungry world outside the academy’s doors, although Joe Ashworth, his academy friend, was always ready to give him advice.

“Firstly I would suggest changing your name, as Alun is much too common even with the way it is spelled as it doesn’t remain in a director’s psyche” – was his friend’s advice.

“I was born Alun and will stay with the name god gave me” – had been Alun’s answer.

“You’re not remotely religious.”

“True, although I can’t see how changing my name would help me get an audition.”

“Buck Chandler, now that’s a good solid name,” Joe had wilfully suggested.

“I don’t think so,” Alun quickly dismissed, while quoting it had the inclination of some LA porn star.

There had been further suggestion from his friend Joe on the subject of pornography, that being if offered give it a go, as it was a good way to get notoriety and paid well, especially gay porn.

“Yea then what?” Alun had questioned. That would be the end to any chance of serious acting.

“Have you done porn Joe?”

“That would be telling.”

That conversation with Joe Ashworth was Alun’s last with his friend. They parted company in good spirit, with Joe heading for California accepting an undefined offer and Alun to register with a local agent. Soon after registering he received the parts in the Television commercials. As for serious acting Alun commenced to lose heart, when hope arrived early one evening from a telephone call from his agent.

No sooner had Alun finished his conversation with George Prentice his agent than the intercom to his apartment sounded.

Buoyant from the call Alun joyfully answered.

“Jillian?”

“Yep it’s me alright.”

“Come on up, I’ve some good news.”

Some minutes later there is a key in the lock and Jillian enters displaying attitude, “the lift is out again,” Jillian gripes. Dumping her bag heavily onto the kitchen bench she lights a cigarette, “and its fricken’ hot,” she huffs not wishing to use expletory adjectives, although she was most apt in doing so and when in collaboration with her friend Vivien it was f’ing this and f’ing that without apology.

“I thought you had given up smoking.”

Jillian coughs liberally, “My nerves have got the better of me today. Firstly I miss my tram and was late, then the plumbing failed at the theatre with half our costumes ruined and we had to cancel the day’s rehearsals.”

“Will it delay opening night?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you want to hear my news?”

“I have to wee first, its hard work having to walk up five floors by the stairs and when are they going to fix the lift.”

“That’s a fair question and one I can’t answer – I’ll put the jug on for coffee.”

“I’d rather something stronger and we’re going out for dinner, I want to try that new Thai restaurant over on Lonsdale. Vivien has been raving about it.”

“I haven’t the readies.”

“My shout,” Jillian calls from the toilet, moments later she is back. “I’ve needed that all the way over on the tram. Now what is your news?” Jillian goes to the side cabinet, “what have you got to drink?”

“As I said I haven’t the readies for luxuries such as alcohol. Is that a new dress?”

“I have a television interview tomorrow, so best I look the part and I’m trying it out for comfort but I’m not sure if I like it, also it pinches under the arms. What do you think?”

“It suits you.”

“You men are all alike, if we wore a sugar bag you would agree, as long as our tits were showing.”

Alun ignores Jillian’s suggestion, “Is the interview to do with your part in the play?”

“It is partly.”

“Why not wear costume.”

“If you saw my costume you wouldn’t make that suggestion. Besides it isn’t that sort of interview.” Jillian finds a Gilbeys gin bottle holding enough for one drink, she empties the contents into a tumbler, “any mixers?”

“There is a little tonic water in the fridge; probably flat by now.”

Jillian mixes her drink and takes a seat, some of her long brunette hair escapes from its tie, she fixes her hair and huffs, “now I’m settled, what’s your news.”

Alun becomes animated, “I have an interview for a part in a film.”

“Is it an interview or an audition?”

“George said interview.”

“When is the interview?”

“It is half one tomorrow afternoon, at the old Robur Tea Building in South Melbourne.”

“What is the film?”

“That I don’t know but George said I was seen in that Audi Supermarket ad and the producer was impressed with me.”

“What producer?”

“George said Lucas Barrington. Do you know him?”

“Huh.” Jillian issued with a playful smile.

“Why huh?”

“Barrington did that movie on Crossing the Blue Mountains a couple of years back I think it was titled Eighteen thirteen.”

“Yes Eighteen thirteen, now I remember and I knew Jack Cowper who played the part of Edward Buckley.”

“He did and now Cowper is doing soapies in Los Angeles. There are stories you know.”

“Are they about Cowper?”

“No about Lucas Barrington.”

“Go on.”

“The casting couch, how do you think your mate Jack Cowper got the part?”

“Jack Cowper was never a mate of mine and from what I knew of him he would be wrongly cast for a part in a period film but surely that doesn’t happen with male actors.

“I’ve heard it does with Barrington, now what about dinner?”

“Who else is going to be there?”

“Vivien and her new bloke, also Wayne will be along.”

“Who is Wayne?”

“He’s a friend of Vivien, you will like Wayne he is a hoot.”

“Are you staying over tonight?”

“As I said, I have an early morning interview and it is in Elsternwick so as my unit is closer to the Sandringham line then I’ll go from home.”

“Who is the interview with?”

“It’s with Roslyn Gatton from the ABC that’s entertainment programme.”

“The piranha, so you better watch what you say and why isn’t the interview at their Southbank studio?”

“I believe she likes to do her interviews from home. She said it lends more towards a relaxed atmosphere.”

“Knowing the piranha I would suggest it is to take you out of your comfort zone and into hers.”

“You are more than likely correct; now what about dinner?”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Firstly I think I’ll return home and change this dress, so we will leave for the restaurant from there.”

“Righto’ I’ll have a quick shower.”

A warm evening breeze funnels along Hardware Lane, tossing street litter about their feet as Jillian leads the way into the crowded restaurant. She immediately spies her friend seated towards the rear.

“Jillian love,” Vivien loudly calls above the hum of conversation; Jillian approaches and the two lazily air-kiss.

“Alun,” Vivien greets spying Alun bringing up the rear.

Alun gives a slight nod but doesn’t reply.

“Where is Tony?” Jillian asks.

“He couldn’t make it, some problem at work. Wayne will be along any minute. So Alun what have you been up to?”

“Keeping my head down Vivien,” Alun answers somewhat despondently. He had never warmed to Vivien, tolerating her as she was a long time friend of Jillian’s and by Vivien’s tone whenever they were to meet the sentiment was mutual.

“Any work on the horizon?” Vivien asks.

“Alun’s has an interview for a part in a film,” Jillian answers the question for Alun.

“That’s nice. Here’s Wayne now,” Vivien dismisses and waves high towards a young man as he enters. She guides him to their table, where he approaches Jillian and they kiss, “and who would this be?” Wayne says as his interest wanders from Alun’s eyes to lower portions.

“Silly of me,” Vivien loudly apologizes. Instead Alun does his own introduction while feeling uncomfortable with Wayne’s exaggerated mannerisms and obvious wandering eyes.

“I hear you are an actor?” Wayne suggests as the girl’s debate the menu.

“I am trying to be, Wayne.”

“Although we’ve never met, I have to admit I saw you in that supermarket commercial.”

“That was sometime back.”

“What would you like to order?” Jillian asks.

“You order for me, I’m not accustomed to Thai,” Alun admits.

“Well share,” Vivien decides as she gains the waiter’s attention. Moments later the girls are ordering as if experts in Thai cuisine with badly pronounced dishes and pointing fingers at numbers on the menu.

“That, that and number seven,” Vivien suggests.

“Also a bottle of your house red,” Jillian attaches to the list. She then remembers Alun, “beer?”

“Yes beer,” Alun says.

Again Jillian instructs the waiter, “two beers as well.”

“What do you do for work Wayne?” Alun asks.

“In principal I am a set designer.”

“So you are a carpenter?” Alun corrects with a humorous tut.

“No Wayne does the frilly bits,” Vivien laughs.

It soon became obvious Wayne was somewhat unrestricted in his social behavior but as he was a friend to Jillian, Alun remained affable.

“Wayne is doing the costumes for the play I’m in, also helping with the sets,” Jillian informs.

“So then Wayne you’re not only a carpenter,” Alun’s tone is a whisker’s breadth from sarcasm.

“Jillian tells me you knew Jack Cowper?” Wayne suggests.

“Yes I had met him on a number of occasions while doing workshop as he was finishing up at the VCA as I started but that was a year or so ago, before he went to America.”

“I met him when he was in that movie Eighteen-thirteen. I worked on the costumes,” Wayne admits.

“Then you were on friendly terms with Jack.”

“You could say that Alun.” Wayne’s grinning expression says more than his words.

“Service is slow tonight,” Vivien complains.

“They are busy; come on Viv’ time for girl-talk;” Jillian implies and both leave for the restroom, leaving Alun and Wayne in conversation.

“I didn’t know Jack Cowper all that well,” Alun is disassociating from his suggested relationship with Cowper.

“I did;” Wayne smirks.

“Wayne, are you Queer?”

“I prefer gay Alun, didn’t Jillian tell you?”

The girls return; “what is the subject?” Vivien asks.

“Wayne was telling me he is queer,” Alun attempts to keep his tone friendly.

“I thought I told you,” Jillian says.

“You simply said Wayne is a hoot.”

“If you are going to be any kind of actor, you need to learn how to read between the lines. Does it concern you Alun?” Jillian asks.

“No, why should it?”

“I am in the room you know,” Wayne asserts.

“And what a handsome presence you are,” Vivian advocates.

The girls laugh.

“I’m sorry Alun I was under the impression you knew,” Wayne offers as an excuse for his forwardness.”

Alun forces a smile and diverts, “Vivien I understand Tony is a computer programmer.”

“He manages the computers for a city financial firm but can programme when asked. Why do you have a computer problem?”

“As a matter of fact yes, my laptop is running slow. I think it has a bug or something.”

“Virus,” Wayne suggests.

“Yes that as well.”

“Would you like me to have a look at it for you?” Wayne offers.

“Do you know computers?”

“I look after the computers at the theatre, I’m sure I can work out your problem and that of your computer.”

“I don’t know.” Alun vacillates more from having a gay person in his apartment than a question towards Wayne’s ability.

“I’m not doing anything on Saturday. If you like I could come around during the afternoon and have a look at it.”

“He is good,” Vivien assures, “he is often debugging my mobile.”

“Maybe,” Alun remains hesitant as Jillian calls for the bill.

As the tray is placed on the table, Vivian in her usual manner waits back pretending to be searching for something in her bag, while Wayne takes possession of the bill. “I’ll do this,” he declares but Alun isn’t pleased with the outcome.

‘He is buying me,’ Alun thinks and the thought is obvious by his expression.

Seeing Alun’s displeasure Jillian, as quick as a bird on a beetle, snatches back the bill, “No Wayne I said it was to be my treat.”

“With that settled, I must be off.” Vivien says while collecting a number of articles from the table and tossing them into her bag. The force sets her mobile off. She reaches in and stops the sound. “Silly me,” she says

“Hold a mo’, I need to use the bathroom, we’ll share a taxi,” Wayne suggests and quickly departs company.

“Have you any thought on Wayne taking a look at your laptop?” Jillian asks.

“Not really.”

“Wayne won’t jump you!” Vivien loudly exclaims, bringing heads to turn from a nearby table.

Alun cringes and his voice lowers, “it isn’t that Vivien.”

“Besides I’ll be there to protect you,” Jillian promises as Wayne returns.

“Right girls, I’m ready, so what time Saturday Alun?”

Alun relents, “early afternoon would be fine.”

“I know your address from Jillian. I’ll see you Saturday sometime around two-thirty.”

“Do you need anything to fix it?”

“No only you and the laptop”

At the restaurant door Vivian hails a taxi and with Wayne close behind she piles into the rear seat. As they depart Alun repeats his earlier request to Jillian, “will you be staying over?”

“I’ve already told you I have an early interview.”

“At least we could go somewhere for coffee.”

“Coffee yes but as I said I need an early night,” Jillian agrees.

Alun didn’t sleep well as he concerned about his interview with Barrington. Rising early he is standing on his apartment balcony with view of the sun between two apartment buildings, glittering joyfully on his postage stamp view of the bay.

He releases a deep breath.

‘What was George’s advice?’

‘Act naturally,’

‘More easily said than -,’

A container ship passes through the postage stamp gap between the adjacent buildings in stages, first the bow then amidships followed by the stern. Piled high on its decks like Lego blocks are many containers; rusty red from continuous usage and weather, clearly marked Wan-Hai, bringing ever more cheep goods from Asia’s developing industry. Alun makes a disapproving sound, ‘we should make our own,’ he silently implies but realizes the country couldn’t compete with low foreign wages, ‘I guess we have not only sent our jobs off shore but the pollution from factories and that may not be such a bad idea – for us anyway.’ Alun moves away from the window; the thought continues, ‘it won’t be long before what we buy from overseas is ticked against out pollution output.’ Alun wasn’t greatly concerned with global warming only giving audience to the continuous barrage of television and radio advice. When questioned on the subject he would simply say, I guess the experts know what they are doing I’ll leave it to them.

“Coffee;” he sighs as the electric jug bubbles in readiness.

“Strong,” and he piles in two teaspoons of granules. It is bitter so he adds extra sugar. It remains almost unpalatable. He adds more milk, ‘funny,’ he reflects, ‘in the movies no one adds milk. It is always coffee black, no sugar, poured from the pot to the cup and down the gullet. That is one kind of acting I can’t do.’

Remembering his encounter with Wayne and the lad’s forwardness Alun believes he should call and cancel Saturday. ‘Jillian will be here,’ he thinks and returns to his concern towards his interview with Barrington. A flutter of excitement takes away the coffee’s bitterness as he considers what to wear. He remembers Jillian’s suggestion of Barrington. If true should he pander to the man’s sexuality? He quickly discredits the idea as it would not be professional to do so, besides he did not know Barrington and the industry was plagued with rumor. Alun finishes his coffee and washes the mug, ‘dress normal and act naturally,’ he returns to a previous thought as that little negative devil that lives in us all takes control, ‘the worse that can happen is I don’t get the part,’ Alun releases a secret smile, ‘or he jumps me.’

‘What if he does jump me?’

‘Na’ you’re becoming paranoid.’

Alun is distracted by the ringing of his landline. He ignores its persistence, it stops and moments later his mobile sounds but it is not in sight. It is beside his bed and covered by his discarded clothes from the previous night. The phone goes silent. As he reaches for the phone it again begins jingling a tune. “I hate that fucken’ song,” he loudly curses. It had been Jillian’s choice as she presented the telephone for his previous birthday with the ringtone already installed, ‘it’s definitely a woman’s choice and how many times have I thought of changing it,’ he chides his renowned procrastination.

“Jillian,” Alun roughly answers.

“Yes me, you sound as if you are coming down with something. Try taking some of that ginger concoction, I left in the cupboard above the sink.”

“No I’m fine, I just I didn’t sleep well.”

“I’m about to meet for my interview,” Jillian pauses and laugh, “with the piranha,” she added jovially.

“Good luck and think out your answers, she is an expert in catching you out.”

“Will do, how do you feel about your interview with Barrington?”

“Nervous.”

“Remember be natural.”

“Call and let me know how your interview goes with the piranha,” Alun reminds.

“And you with Barrington.”

A deep breath and slow release, “Shower,” Alun says and goes to the closet to choose what to wear for his interview. Easy choosing as most of what he owns is identical. There is one suit but not regarded fashionable for such an occasion. The suit was purchased for his brother Peter’s wedding but the happy occasion was cancelled a week before the ceremony, when the bride to be was caught having sex with a previous boyfriend.

‘Funny,’ he thinks as most of what he owns is conservative with a slight leaning towards country, being somewhat surprising for a lad who was Wales born and England bread. He places his selection on the bed and collects a fresh towel.

‘I should upgrade my wardrobe,’ Alun thinks while remembering something Jillian said about wearing that what made you uncomfortable, as it takes you out of your comfort zone and creates character. He remembers much the same suggestion during his time at the VCA.

The water is cold and takes forever to warm. While Alun waits he shaves what little stubble he produces, ‘possibly I shouldn’t, as it is fashionable to wear a few days growth these days, especially if it is a period role.’

Too late one side of his face is clean.

He runs the blade across the opposing side, ‘anyway there isn’t much for a show,’ he thinks of his facial hair, ‘funny as both Peter and Dad are quite hairy. I must take after mum.’ Alun recollects being teased during his last year at school about shaving. He recalls a joke he coined in defense of the ribbing, where not a hairy family, my mother never shaved either. He also remembers not receiving even a titter towards his attempt at wit.

Alun recollects Barrington’s last movie. It was historical based on crossing the Blue Mountains west of Sydney during the first years of white settlement and slanted towards an alternative lifestyle. He thinks of his father and his opinion on anything that deviated from what was considered normal.

“Huh,” Alun says and pats his face with aftershave, again a present from Jillian the previous Christmas. He had not seen Barrington’s Eighteen-thirteen, only the trailer and that had been enough for him to decide Jack Cowper wasn’t up to it. Good looking yes but his acting ability was wooden. ‘I could have done better,’ he considers but wasn’t sure how he would react to such a part.

‘Yes I would accept for the experience’ he thinks.

‘Yes for the experience and cash in pocket,’ being an additional thought with an overview such thinking could be considered hypocritical.

The water is now warm and he steps under.

“Ahhh,” he exclaims as his greatest pleasure in life and almost better than sex, was a hot shower with a generous water flow. He had now both and was satisfied. Even so he could feel tension growing throughout his body as nerves commenced to grip at his gut.

‘I should release the tension,’ he thinks as his member began to rise from the strength of the water’s fall.

‘Possibly not, a little tension may work in my favour.”

He finishes his shower.

Again his mobile rings.

Wrapped in a towel he answers.

“Yep.”

“It’s Eddie,” the caller says.

“I realise that.”

“I hear you have an interview today.”

“I have, how did you find out?”

“Jillian told me.”

“I’ve just come from the shower and dripping water across the carpet.”

“I’ll let you go. What are you doing tonight?”

“I haven’t anything planned.”

“Then give me a call after your interview.”

“Jillian may be coming over.”

“Call me anyway. I’m interested in knowing how you go with the interview.”

Eddie Stanley was the first friend Alun made during his school days at Clayton South Primary and they had been as close as two peas in a pod since. Green peas that is, as their general outlook on life was somewhat basic, with Alun remaining virginal until meeting Jillian. As for Eddie it could be said he remained so. Some suggested Eddie was gay but more so he was embarrassingly shy and waited for the day when some young lady would take him by the hand and lead him to her bed.

‘What is the time?’ Alun rhetorically questions as he finishes drying.

‘Eleven thirty.’

‘No hurry.’

There was plenty of time to make the short distance to Southbank by way of Orrs Walkway, while stopping for a second coffee to settle his nerves along the way.

Now dressed Alun remains unsatisfied as he catches his reflection in the long mirror that is the door to his closet. He makes a pose and laughs at being ridiculous. “It’s the shirt,” he says, “maybe I should ware that designer t-shirt Peter gave me for my birthday.

Alun makes the change and returns to the mirror.

‘No, it is too loose fitting.’

Alun has a good physique and accustomed to wearing tight fitting clothing to accentuate his pecs. He would never admit it but the sight of his nipples through the material gave him narcissistic pleasure. He relents from usual and wears the t-shirt. He turns for a rear view and runs a hand across his arse then huffs at his vainness.

The Robur Tea building was a most handsome edifice, rising high from the streetscape in red brick, being recently refurbished as apartments with a number of offices, which were in the most leased by high flying money magnates and private investors.

With ten minutes to spare Alun enters the building’s lobby. He pauses for a moment to allow his nerves to settle. They don’t appear to be willing to obey his command. Stepping into the lift he pressed the button for the eighth floor. Slowly the lift creaked its way up through the floors until with a loud sharp dong, the doors opened onto the plush red and blue carpet of that level. Potted plants perfectly spaced along the passage turn out to be artificial and although appearing real are out of context with the modern fittings. There are ten offices on this floor and Barrington’s is beyond a blind corner leading to the stairwell.

Alun nervously approaches the door of 8/11 and pauses. He is second thinking his ability but ego and necessity drives him forward. It is a glass door with the stylized artwork of a bird in an oval of words and the words read as Magpie Productions Inc.

Clearly through the door a young woman is seen seated behind a small desk and obviously busy with her work, even so her desk is almost clear except for a laptop and telephone. The view appeared too studious to disturb as her fingers lightly transverse the keyboard. He must progress but should he simply enter or should he knock.

Alun’s hand forms to knock, instead he thinks he should display confidence.

“Well here goes nothing,” Alun quietly utters and makes his entry as the woman lifts from her work and smiles.

“Good afternoon you would be Mr. Hughes?” She warmly suggests her voice is soft and sweet, her smile calming.

“Yes that would be me,” Alun confidently answers and immediately feels at ease.

“I recognize you from that television commercial,” she kindly recollects and stands away from her desk.

“That was some time back now.”

“Then we soon hope to see you on the big screen.”

“That would be nice.”

“Mr. Barrington is expecting you, I will show you through.”

Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Conder 333 at Hotmail dot Com

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