Published: 31 Jul 2023

It was almost two weeks before Alun received a further call in reference to the part in Barrington’s production. It was from Barrington’s assistant Melissa, who invited him to attend auditions, taking place at the Gas Works Studios on Beach Street in Port Melbourne, where Mad Max One was partly filmed some years previously.

“It’s on at last,” Alun gleefully exhales.

“Obviously good news,” Jillian suggests and puts aside her reading.

“Yes, it was Barrington’s secretary. I have an audition tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good, how do you feel about it?”

“I’m not sure, sorta’ nervous, excited and frightened all in the one gut churning package.

After time given to elation and a strong coffee Alun returned to reality; could he convincingly play a gay role? He remembered his teaching from the academy. To play the part you must be the part and put aside any prejudice you may harbor. Alun wasn’t antigay, more he didn’t understand how one man could love another in that way. If truth showed its fearful self, he didn’t understand the concept of love which came from his upbringing, as love was one of the many commodities lacking in the Hughes family.

‘Love?’ Alun thinks. He had a dog once and he believed he loved Jenny his golden cocker spaniel, or at least there was tears and remorse, when she was run over on the street outside their house. It had been his father who stopped his tears. It was only a dog boy, David had declared, real men don’t cry over a dog, besides you shouldn’t have left the gate open, maybe it will teach you to do what you are told. So Jenny’s demise had been his fault and not the incapability of a six year old boy to remember every demand given by his father, as he couldn’t comprehend the connection between an open gate and the demise of a family pet.

There was another reason for Alun’s vacillation, which he could trace back to his school cadet days, something that almost happened and may have except for the sounding of the assembly bell. For a moment he was back in the school’s equipment shed, secreted behind a stacking of sporting equipment, his mouth dry his hand trembling as it managed the buttons on his friend’s jungle greens. He now visualized the anticipation he saw in his friend’s eyes, begging him to advance further. Flesh touched flesh, cool on rising warmth, as the assembly bell called them to parade.

Once again Alun mentally dismisses his memory as adolescent antics. What if there hadn’t been a call to parade, would he have advanced further and to what extent? The twisted feeling he had in his gut at the time he now considered nervous tension and not a wish to participate further.

“What are you thinking?” Jillian lifts her eyes from the script she received for the new play in which she had a minor role but if played well was integral to the production’s success.

“I was thinking about my audition.”

“Have you finished reading the script?”

“Yes a couple of times.”

“Do you understand Logan?”

“I’m not sure if I do, he appears to be simply a country lad, one you may find in any country hotel bar but what does confuse me is he doesn’t appear bothered by his stigma.”

“Why do you call it a stigma Alun?”

“What else would you call being gay?” Alun takes a deep breath and again collects the script. He appears to be reading.

“I don’t think you should go for this audition Alun.” Jillian’s tone is tempered.

“You don’t think I can do it?”

“I don’t think your heart is with the part which will show through and if you fail then I know how hard you take failure.”

“Then I’ll try harder. I suppose by this time tomorrow I’ll have the answer one way or another.

“What if you don’t get the part?”

“That is a bridge too far.”

“What do you mean?”

“I won’t even think further than the audition, besides something usually comes up, possibly more television commercials, or like you I’ll try live theatre.”

“Live theatre is totally different than film acting.”

“As I said, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“I have tomorrow afternoon off, would you like me to come with you?” Jillian suggests.

“No, I need to do this on my own.”

Alun arrived at the studios with time to spare and is surprised to discover he is third on a list for auditions, believing he would simply have the part with a nod.

After announcing his presence Alun takes a seat and waits.

Twenty minutes pass with his nerves building. If the part wasn’t so important, he is in the mood to walk away. It would be simple to lift from the seat then retrace his footsteps from the building. Even so he remains seated.

A young lad comes from audition and by his mood he had failed. He quickly departs without a glance towards those waiting.

‘Good that is one I don’t have to compete with.’

‘Possibly he was for the part of Chance Wilcox?’ Alun hopes.

‘No he can’t be as they haven’t yet issued auditions for the part of Chance, so it must be for the part of Logan.’ Alun thinks as the second is called in.

Alun remains alone in the waiting room for close on half an hour before the second lad comes out and appears as equally dejected as the first. He throws Alun a deflated smile then quickly departs. Soon after the door opens and a woman approaches Alun. She has the attire of a business woman, her voice as sweet as honey while trailing the strong scent of expensive Yves’ Black Opium perfume.

“Mr. Hughes?”

“Yes that is me.”

There is a slight stammer in Alun’s voice.

The woman smiles.

“Mr. Barrington is ready for you now.”

Alun follows the woman through the door and directly onto a small stage.

There are a number of seat rows in the audience chamber.

The lighting in the auditorium is dim but those on the stage are strong, leading towards perspiration.

Alun can hardly make out Barrington seated some distance back with two associates. There is a third patiently waiting in the wings, he is a young man of Alun’s age who appears to be holding a script.

“Alun I’m pleased you could make it,” Barrington’s voice echoes across the almost empty chamber.

“Thank you Mr. Barrington.”

“What is your opinion of the part?” Barrington asks as one of his associates rustles pages and commences to write. The other turns to Barrington and whispers something close to his ear.

Barrington gives a gentle nod.

“I found it most interesting but I guess a little confused on its direction.”

“It is a love story that had endured from birth to the grave.”

“Yes a love story,” Alun says but his tone has obvious reservations.

“A love story between men is no less a love story,” Barrington says.

“I can’t argue that love isn’t the same no matter who it is with,” Alun agrees.

“Do you have any reservations? If so you must give them now,” Barrington’s tone is harsh.

“No sir; none whatsoever.”

The young man standing off in the wings approaches, he offers Alun a copy of the script.

“Are you ready Alun?”

“Yes sir quite so.”

Under the strong lighting Alun begins to sweat.

“Go to page thirty-nine and commence where Logan is in conversation with his Uncle Edward – Brian will play Edward.

“Yes ready Mr. Barrington,” the young man answers

Alun finds the page, clears his throat then pauses.

“Ready when you are Alun,” Barrington says.

Alun faces Brian and commences;

“You really loved James?”

“That is a strange question Logan,” Brian answers from his part in the script.

“What I mean is how did you know you were in love with James?”

“I can’t answer that in simple words but if you are attempting to describe your feelings then I am prepared to offer you a sympathetic ear.

“No reason Edward.”

“Is it because you think you are in love with Chance?”

At this moment the scrip has Logan releasing a nerves chortle. Alun follows the script.

“Well are you?”

“Stop!” Barrington bellows from the auditorium and advances closer to the action.

Alun lifts his eyes from the script but remains silent, ‘I’ve well and truly fucked up!’ he thinks. His cheeks are prickled with nervous tension, his throat dry.

“Play it how you feel and not how you think I want you to play the part. Put your soul into it. You are supposed to be in love with Chance, so convince me.”

“Should I start again from the top Mr. Barrington?” Brian asks.

“Take it from the next line Brian.”

Brian returns to the script, “well are you?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” Alun remembers his workshops and commences to feel the part and for the first time he was Logan and in love with Chance.

“What does Chance think?” Brian asks.

“He said so.”

“Are you and Chance active?”

“Yes sort of – no – well again sort off.”

Stop,” Barrington calls.

‘Shit I’ve fucked it,’ Alun thinks.

“That was ninety percent better. You have the part but we will still have to get the missing ten percent out of you. And don’t change that accent. Once spoken Barrington departs and one of his associates approaches while fidgeting with his written notes.

“Good work Alun, you even convinced me I was Chance,” Brian congratulates.

“So how do you feel about playing Logan?” the associate asks.

“I’m looking forward in doing so.”

“I’ll have the contract drawn up and send it to your agent. There will also be a retainer cheque issued to hold you over until filming starts. Have you any questions?”

“No, none I can think of.”

The distance from Port Melbourne to the city is a good four kilometers and Alun is so pumped with success he decides to walk. By the time he returns home it is late afternoon and Jillian had gone, also the air conditioning was again failing, so once in the door he strips away his cloths and showers.

Coming from the shower he discovers Jillian had left a note, reading, “give me a bell when you return and your dad called on the land line saying your mother wants to know why you haven’t paid a visit for more than a month.”

Alun is quick to call Jillian with his news.

“Then come on – tell all.”

“I got the part.”

“That’s great news, we will have to go out and celebrate and don’t forget to call home.”

“I will.”

“I’ll take you out for dinner tomorrow night.”

“I would like that. Also Barrington said there would be a retainer.”

“How much?”

“He didn’t say, only he would send a cheque with the contract through my agent.”

“I’ll make a booking for tomorrow night at Chin Chins.”

“That sounds good but Chin Chins is a little up-market for my pocket.”

“As I said my shout, you can pay for me when your cheque comes through, now go and call David and I’ll phone back with the booking arrangements.”

If smug is the correct description, then smug Alun was as he fell back into the comfort of his sofa. “At last,” he exhales in reference to his success, ‘right, now to ring the old man,’ yet he lacks urgency to make the call. Remaining Naked Alun passes to the glass expanse that leads onto his postage stamp balcony and his attention is captured by a glint from fading sunlight and movement behind curtains in the high rise apartment building across the way; he notices someone has trained binoculars onto him.

Alun gives a soft chuckle, “you’re at it again feller’,” he quietly voices as it wasn’t the first time he had been spied upon. He moves away and makes the call to his father.

“Dad,” he simply says as his father answers his call.

“Alun, you mother is worried as you haven’t contacted.”

“Sorry dad, I’ve been busy and I have some good news.”

“What would that be?”

“I’ll come for lunch on Sunday, I’ll tell you then.”

“Have you found work yet?”

“I have.”

“Did you take up the offer I arranged with Dave Morris?”

“I’ll talk to you on Sunday.”

“Be sure you do, or I’ll have your mother on my back.”

Leafy Brighton was a blessing from the unusual building heat as Alun comes from the train and walked the short distance to his parent’s residence. Alun held many memories of growing up in those pleasant surroundings, of family and friends. Even now Brighton appeared as a separate country to him and far in difference to the small cottage the family rented after arriving from Britain, with a single room shared between three siblings. That was before David put his advanced, if not dubious, business attributes to good use becoming one of the city’s success stories.

During those early years there had been little need for Alun to travel far from home, as everything was close from school, to friends to entertainment. Alun’s father was now considered, although the country didn’t outwardly recognize a class system, to be upper middle class. David was a member of the Brighton Yacht club, Lions and the MCC, giving Alun best seats for football finals and the cricket season. As for education, Brighton Grammar assured Alun at least a foot in the door of the VCA, even if David disregarded with acting as a profession, vigorously describing the industry as a haven for homosexuals and deviants, while refusing to financially back his son.

Once through the front door Alun was struck by the full force of the air conditioning, turned so high it was almost necessary to wear a jumper.

“It’s cold in here!” Alun complains loudly.

“I’m in the kitchen.” Sylvia calls.

Alun enters into the kitchen and true to custom approaches his mother from behind, wrapping his arms around her, while restricting movement as he gently rocked from side to side.

“Don’t, I’ll drop the pot.”

Alun releases his hold, “it’s like an icebox in here.”

“I haven’t noticed, you can turn it down if you like,” Sylvia suggests as David comes from the lounge, “it’s your mother, she has thin blood and no regard for the cost of electricity.”

“That’s not true David.”

“So you decided to give a visit?” David says.

“I said I’d be here. Where is Peter?”

“He is around somewhere, possibly in the garage tinkering with that confounded car of his.”

“Has he managed to get it going?”

“I couldn’t say, but he hasn’t found work and that was a waste of an expensive University education,” David disparages.

“Peter is trying,” Sylvia defends.

“Trying is right; isn’t it time he found himself somewhere else to live, instead of that heap of crap he calls a car leaking sump oil over my driveway.”

“I’ll go see what he is up to.”

“Don’t be long Alun as lunch will be on the table in a few minutes; David would you make the salad dressing?”

“Peter, are you in there?” Alun calls from the open garage doorway.

“I’m behind you,” Peter answers as he places a hand on Alun’s shoulder.

“Do you want to give me a hand? I’ve almost got her going.”

“You know me and cars don’t get along,”

“No you were never much good at motors. From what I can remember you couldn’t ever start the lawnmower, I’m surprised you ever got your driver’s license.”

“I’m not that dumb. As for the lawnmower, I was almost gone from home before dad gave up on the push mower and went petrol.”

“As I well remember, he has an electric machine now. How is Jillian?”

Peter, although three years older appeared young enough for them to be considered twins, while blessed with a less serious disposition than his brother. Unlike Alun, Peter had been University educated but was considered by their father to be irresponsible. Peter also had difficulty holding down a job, while coming up with money making schemes that always came to nothing.

“Jillian’s fine and busy rehearsing for her latest part. Mum said lunch is on the table.”

“I’ll finish up here.”

Once the meal was over David brings out the whisky bottle with Peter accepting. Alun declines and gets a beer from the refrigerator, “you always had a common taste Alun,” David says with a mocking huff.

“As I recollect that may have come from a certain experience I had as a kid.”

David ignores Alun’s recollection, “so what is this news you spoke off on the telephone?”

“I’ve been offered the lead in a film.”

“What happened with the interview I arranged with Dave Morris?”

“I didn’t go.”

“I thought you have given up on that caper lad.” David discredits.

“David!” Sylvia scolds.

“Acting isn’t a real man’s work. I didn’t pay for an exclusive education to have the kid play at being someone else.”

Sylvia commences to clear the table without responding.

“You don’t mind watching television dad,” Peter interjects in his brother’s defense.

“Acting is work like any other job,” Alun follows in protest.

“You know my opinion on that matter.”

“I respect your opinion dad but I’m good at acting and know I can make a career out of it.”

“Yes as a kid you were always bunging on,” David collects the scotch bottle, his glass and commences to leave the table.

“David!” Sylvia again finds voice.

“Don’t worry mum. That is why I don’t bother coming home anymore,” Alun turns to his father, “aren’t you even interested in the part.”

Without answering David retires to the sitting room.

“Don’t mind your father Alun, he is really proud of you both, it’s only he doesn’t know how to express it.”

Sylvia continues to clear the table but Peter takes over, “leave it mum you sit and rest your legs, Alun and I will do the dishes. He turns to his brother “come on, I’ll wash, you dry?”

Alun agrees and helps carry the dishes to the kitchen as Peter fills the sink with hot water.

“Why not use the dishwasher?” Alun asks.

“Believe or not Alun, I like doing dishes, it’s therapeutic.”

“Then you should have kept that job at Leo’s spaghetti bar.”

“I’m not that keen. Now tell me all about this part you have been offered.”

Alun takes his time explaining the scrip but is somewhat guarded when it came to the character of Logan McGregor.

“So when will be seeing it at the movies?”

“It can take anything up to twelve months.”

“Does it pay well?”

“I haven’t got the contract yet.”

“Even if the old man doesn’t accept you acting, I sorta’ envy you but you were always the actor, I couldn’t do it with any amount of coaching.”

“I don’t know, I remember your Joseph in the school Christmas Pageant.”

“Yea and the best thing about it was I didn’t have spoken words, or I would have pissed myself. By the way who is the producer?”

“Lucas Barrington,”

“I don’t know him. Then again I’m not much on producers or actors. It’s enough I like the film without having to know more.”

Alun is please for his brother’s ignorance and doesn’t elaborate further. “I should be on my way soon, as I have a date for tonight.”

“Who is it with?”

“Jillian, she is taking me out to celebrate me getting the part.”

“Do you still see Vivien?”

“Yes quite often why?”

“I always fancied Vivien – so did the old man.”

Peter pauses with his hands deep in the soapy dishwater. His silence brings concern.

“You appear as if something is troubling.” Alun encourages.

“You could say that.”

“I’m listening.”

“I think dad is having an affair.”

“What makes you think he is having an affair?”

“Just things, last week I noticed an expensive jewelry case in his car’s glove box, I opened it and it was a diamond necklace.”

“Possibly it was a present for mum.”

“Come on Alun when was the last time dad gave anyone in the family anything expensive?”

“True, he’s always been a tight bugger.”

“Except when it came to pampering his own luxury, remember the DVD player in his office and a good year before we got one.”

“So you remember the DVD player?” Alun gives a cheeky smile.

“I do.”

“Do you know what he watched?” Alun asks.

“Pornography.”

“How did you know that?”

“I had a copy of his office key made and when he was away, I would sneak in and watch it. I always remembered where it was paused, so I could return it to the same spot.”

“I was almost caught watching,” Alun admits and they both laugh. “About your suspicion, a diamond necklace doesn’t necessary amount to having an affair. Have you told mum?”

“No, it would make the situation at home any more difficult than it already is.”

“That is why I moved out. Dishes finished,” Alun hangs the dishcloth over his brother’s shoulder, “what about you Peter, what are your intentions?”

“About what?”

“Moving out, last time I visited you said you were looking to find an apartment.”

“It’s mum; she is a little fragile at the moment. The doctor gave her something to calm her nerves but in my thinking they only make her worse.”

“What does dad say?’

“Whenever mum approaches him about anything, he simply asks if she has taking her pills, even suggesting she should see the doctor for something stronger.”

“You could ask Dianne to visit more often,” Alun suggests of their sister.

“Dianne is having enough trouble with the boys and Mick to bother about anyone else’s problem. Mum says that with Mick, Dianne has three children to contend with. Beside you know what they are like once together.”

“This family,” Alun sighs.

“Yes this family.”

“On that note I’ll be on my way but keep me in the loop and if I can do anything then don’t be afraid to ask.”

“You better say goodbye to the old man as you go, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I will.

“And even if dad isn’t, I’m proud of you getting the acting so don’t take notice of dad, I am of the opinion he is jealous of his own family’s successes.”

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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