Scatter the Stars, page 46
And it was great timing for Michael’s story that was going to air across the States tonight, their time, Randy thought. The Behind the Scenes profile had been months in the making. It had all the material the others couldn’t throw together in a rush and more importantly, it had the only interview with Hollywood’s star of the fifties and sixties, about to make his much celebrated return to the big screen.
Standing on the top deck of the jetcat, the salty wind in his face, Randy brought his concentration back to the sensations of riding across the blue water between the north and south shorelines of Sydney Harbour. For him, this was more than just a quick ferry ride. It was also a trip back in time, back to his wild days in Sydney when he was an art student frequenting grotty studios in what was then a rundown quayside section of old Sydney. Now, as he scanned the tourist-trendy Rocks area on the western side of the Quay, the memories came flooding back. They weren’t all pleasant memories.
Janie tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Dreaming?’
Randy was shaken by the remark but recovered at once. ‘Yeah. No. Quiet reminiscing actually. An old man’s pastime.’
‘You’ll have to take Ariel and me round some of your haunts. This is such a great city. I wish I could explore more. I seem to spend most of my time in that office at Foreshore. Mind you, it does look out at the harbour. So spectacular, all the yachts and cruisers and water traffic. Kinda like San Francisco, but sunnier.’
‘How’s it all going? Pat seemed happy enough today.’
‘You always make her perky. I never thought I’d see her giggle and be girlie. You do that to women, you Casanova, you!’ laughed Janie.
‘You could be right there. Though I understand Michael has some charm, too.’ He nudged her. ‘How’s the romance going?’
‘It’s not just a romance. It’s more than that. I can’t explain it, Randy.’
‘You don’t have to. I had it with Talia. It’s that merging of soul and spirit, and heart and body. Rare when it happens.’
Their steps were in time as they strolled to the lower end of George Street, turning into the park in front of the Museum of Contemporary Art, where they sat on a bench looking out at the harbour. Janie couldn’t stop thinking about Michael. ‘I can’t believe how our relationship has grown from a sort of crash with both of us pulling in opposite directions, then time apart, then him being there to help me . . . They were all forms of love and we can now love each other without the hang-ups,’ she said, joy in her voice and face.
‘It’s called unconditional love,’ said Randy softly, ‘where you don’t make demands on the other or have expectations. It’s a wonderful sense of acceptance of yourself and another person without pressure to change.’
‘We had to do our own changing first,’ qualified Janie. She still had a sense of tingling wonder and excitement when she thought back to how she and Michael had finally come together.
He’d been patient and supportive but sometimes challenging too, as she’d worked through her anger, fears and grief over her childhood, her father, the loss of the baby. He’d held her and let her cry until she couldn’t cry anymore. Because he was not responsible in any way for her pain, he gave himself to her and slowly reaffirmed and awakened in her a trust and lovingness towards the men who were now in her life, and a forgiveness for those who hadn’t been there when she needed them.
She’d stayed with him for many nights, safe and secure. Then, as she became stronger, a subtle shift came into their closeness. The physical bond became arousing, for both of them, and it had been Janie’s turn to nurture and be open with Michael. So he too, came to learn to trust, to give his heart and body and free himself from his fears of commitment. Their lovemaking stumbled sometimes, Michael withdrawing or stopping himself from ejaculating. Regretful and frustrated, it was his turn to bury his face in Janie’s arms. ‘I’m sorry Janie, I’ll get there.’
And then one day, on a Saturday afternoon, she’d come dancing into the beach house from the shops with an armful of daffodils and jonquils. Michael had been writing in a chair in the garden in his swimsuit. He was hot and wanted a glass of water. Janie threw a flower at him and then it had been an impromptu laughing battle until they fell on the bed amongst the scattering of flowers and made love without planning to . . . deep, satisfying, lingering love that had left them gasping, drenched and totally joined.
After that sex became a sport, an adventure, a romp and fun. There were no more discussions, worries of pregnancy, commitment, future, problems or precautions. Life took on a new dimension and wonder for them both. They talked of marriage at some stage and the fact Michael was now relaxed about it; if she wanted to formalise what they now saw as an inevitable, pre-ordained bonding, that was fine by him. Janie had let go of her fears of finding a partner, having a family, being alone. Michael was part of her and while they promised never to take each other for granted, their bond held them together as two equal individuals. And all the while, with her new sense of security and love, she’d continued to rewrite and rewrite, polishing and working on the Casanova script. She’d read it to Michael and Randy, who both made suggestions and criticisms and encouraged her line by line.
And when Janie’s final script had landed on Pat Jordan’s desk, she’d started to speed read it, skimming over the first few pages. Then she had stopped as vivid images leapt from the black print. ‘Bloody hell, I don’t believe it,’ she’d thought with shock, going back to the opening scene, reading, savouring slowly, feeling as she read the tingle and quivering ripples of excitement that began in her gut and spread through her. She’d read the script through without stopping, turning off the phones, shutting the door. Then she’d read it again, eagerly turning the pages, starting to make notes.
She’d rung Janie. ‘You’re on board. I’ll negotiate a fee with Ariel. We’ll start working on this when you come to Sydney for the launch of the studios.’ She waited while Janie’s breathless shrieks subsided. ‘It needs fine-tuning, to get it to a shooting script. That’s par for the course,’ she’d added comfortingly.
Randy and Janie turned into the Park Hyatt for afternoon tea. Settled in the restaurant that looked out at the harbour and a replica of the Endeavour, the eighteenth century sailing ship of explorer Captain Cook who had sighted this coastline and claimed it for Britain, Janie squeezed Randy’s hand. ‘I wish Michael was here to share all this.’
‘Tell him to come out. There must be a dozen stories he could do for his show in the Olympic city.’
‘He’s thinking of leaving television, Randy. He’s been busy putting together a proposal.’
‘For what?’
Janie lifted her shoulders. ‘He has this mad idea. Well maybe it’s not so mad. Shana and I like it.’
‘That means it must be good. What is it?’
‘He wants to open the hot springs in Ojai again. Set up a sort of small creative community with studios for artists, potters, craftspeople, a shop, a health centre with massages, Alexander, Pilates, yoga classes and so on. Plus the baths.’
Randy stared at her. ‘That’s a sensational idea. How long has he had this up his sleeve?’
‘Not long. We’ve talked about it a lot. If he can fund it, he’ll say goodbye to Los Angeles and do it.’
Randy was thoughtful. ‘Well, well,’ he said at last, ‘what do you know.’ A small smile played at his mouth. ‘Sibyl told me when Cressida died that I’d end up doing things my mother liked. I’ve fought against my mother’s influence all my life. It was as if we lived on opposite banks of the river. Then when she died in India, I went back and completed that part of my life.’ A shadow passed over his face. ‘There are still a few gaps.’
‘Was that hard? To go back?’ asked Janie gently. They’d never talked about this later personal part of Randy’s life.
‘Well, by then I was living in Ojai. I used to go to the Oak Grove School and listen to Jeddi Krishnamurti. Many people outside the local community came to listen to him. He was very famous because of the impact he’d had on influential people round the world. But really, what he said boiled down to simple sense. When I realised that, it helped me come to terms with who I was. Not a drunken failed actor who’d played too hard and lost it. Who I really am. That’s when I learned to understand my flaws and foibles, and find the good bits of me.’
‘I’ve always wondered how you ended up living around Ojai.’
Randy turned to Janie. ‘When I was really low, walking around in a fog of booze, loneliness, zany roistering, lost days and nights, dulled perceptions, I reached out blindly, as I guess we all do when we need help. And you hope somebody will clasp your hand.’
‘Sibyl,’ said Janie. ‘She’s your guardian angel now.’
‘You got it. There are guardian angels around, you know.’
‘How did you find Sibyl?’ Janie realised at last the final pieces of the jigsaw that was Randy were falling into place.
‘By the seventies I was well out of work and lost. The only place I thought of going to that would be far removed from all my problems was the old farm at Mullumbimby.’
‘In Australia? Where your parents lived?’
‘Yeah, it was a pretty mad idea I suppose. I rang the local realtor and he put me onto the owners. They didn’t want to sell, of course. But Sibyl – you see, she and her husband were the owners – wasn’t at all surprised I rang. She told me I should go to Ojai instead of heading to Australia, and she said she’d look me up when she was in the States. I didn’t know a thing about this woman living on my parents’ old farm, but one day I found myself driving into Ojai.’ He gave a philosophical shrug. ‘It was the start of the road back to being me.’
‘So what happened when your mother died?’ Janie returned to their earlier conversation.
‘I understood I had to cross the river and get out of the boat on the other side and make my peace with my mother. Until then, it was as if I’d been in that boat going back and forth and I didn’t have the courage to stop it and get out on a strange shore.’
Janie watched Randy’s eyes stare over the harbour, but she knew he was seeing something else.
‘You ever think much about the role of water in life, Janie?’ he asked. Not waiting for an answer he went on. ‘Water nurtures life. Dorgei taught me it is the shaper of people’s lives, it quenches a spiritual thirst, washes away sin and provides a path to salvation. A river is the source of many things. He says it’s female, a giver, holding magical powers.’
Janie broke in, ‘Michael says he is linked to his past and future in the ocean.’
Randy acknowledged the observation with an understanding nod. ‘That’s good. A lot of my teenage mates used to get a feeling like that when we’d go surfing at Bondi. Young surfers today appear to make the same connection with even greater intensity. Probably because they’re more environmentally aware.’
‘In other words,’ interpreted Janie, ‘there’s more to catching a wave than catching a wave. You know, I missed out on all that beach surfing stuff. It seems to be quite a subculture down here. Life begins and ends on a beach almost.’
Randy felt another stab in his stomach that reached further back in his youth, to his childhood. ‘Dorgei taught me as a boy that there is celestial water from the heavens and the rivers and terrestrial water from the oceans. When they combine it’s a powerful life force. He believes it is the conduit of knowledge.’ He paused and looked thoughtful. ‘When I scattered Cressida’s ashes in the River Adyar, a rainstorm came unexpectedly and drenched me. In that moment I knew I loved her.’ He sipped his tea and gave her a small smile. ‘And you know, Janie, when I walked back to the ashram, Vishna Vihar, where I’d been as a small boy, there was a man waiting for me.’
Janie caught her breath. ‘Dorgei?’
‘Yes. He came to tell me that I’d been given my final lesson but I still had one challenge to meet before I could be a totally free and honest man.’
‘And what was that?’
‘He said I’d know when I was ready for the challenge.’ He straightened up and patted her arm. ‘We shall see. Now you sidetracked me. Back to Michael. Call him, tell him I have a suggestion to you both.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I think you guys should plan a holiday in the new year when the Casanova filming is finished. Why don’t you go to Papua New Guinea? Stay a couple of days at Paradis. My old friend Frank has retired and is running the place.’
‘Gosh, what a wild and brilliant idea. I love it.’ Janie’s eyes shone.
‘You could check out a few things for me. I set up a bit of a community thing, a sort of cultural centre outside Madang. For the locals to learn crafts and keep the old skills going. It’s called the Talia Community Art Centre. I thought she’d like that.’
‘Randy, that sounds wonderful. Of course we’ll go. God, I must call him.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘He’ll still be up.’ She started to gather her bag. Randy touched her hand.
‘I haven’t finished. Tell Michael I’ll put up the dough for the Ojai hot springs deal.’
‘What! Randy, you can’t! I mean . . .’ Janie was flabbergasted.
Randy grinned. ‘Don’t worry about it. This movie is going to make us heaps, kid. We won’t know what to do with all the net points, salaries, share of the gross . . . you wait and see.’ He pulled her to her feet. ‘Indulge an old bloke. Now, let’s go see if I can find where Pirowski’s old studio used to be.’
Rincon Beach 1999
Michael and Shana were running on the beach. They headed back to the cottage and gulped down water. Shana stretched her quads to relax her hot muscles. ‘So, when are you going out to New Guinea? I wish I could go.’
‘I know, honey, need I say the magic words . . . ?’
‘School and money. I know. But it sounds so exciting . . . and going to Papua New Guinea! I had to look it up in the atlas. When will Randy be back? I miss him.’
‘He’ll be back from post-production in Sydney in a week or so I guess. Janie said the filming of Casanova has been a huge trip for him.’
‘Because of his age?’
‘He’s not that old, Shana. Sixty-six. No, it’s been stepping in front of a camera after such a long time and doing something that he really cares about. Before he said he just bopped through the pictures, never took them or himself seriously. This time I suppose he has something to prove to himself. And to Ariel.’
‘But now the film is finished, will it be as good as everyone thinks?’ worried Shana. ‘And what about Janie? Why is she still out there? It’s been months.’
‘Tell me about it,’ sighed Michael. ‘Janie is in meetings with Foreshore about another film. So exciting for her. We’re going to Papua New Guinea after the premiere of Casanova. The rest at Paradis will do her good. What a year it’s been. A wonderful one, though I miss Janie with her being away so much.’
‘God, it’s humungous. I can’t believe Janie has written the year’s biggest ever blockbuster film! And Randy starring.’
‘Let’s hope it’s the biggest.’
‘Do you think I can get to meet Leonardo at the premiere?’
‘Randy will fix that, you know he’d do anything for you.’
Shana smiled. ‘Yeah, he’s so great. It’s just like having the coolest grandad.’
‘Don’t tell him that! He’s being Casanova, remember!’ laughed Michael. ‘Anyway, what do the two of you get up to when you spend all that time together? I must say I’m dying of curiosity.’
Shana hesitated then came to a decision. ‘I’m going up to Randy’s house this afternoon. Maria has taken a couple of days off. I said I’d feed the dogs and water the plants. I might stay over, would you mind?’
‘No, if you’re not scared on your own.’
‘Listen, Dad, come up with me. I think it’s time you saw Randy’s shed.’
‘Shana, I don’t think that’s right if he’s not here . . .’
Shana shook her head. ‘I’ll wear this one. I just think it’s time he shared it.’
Shana had her own key to the shed, the doorway reached along a shrub-lined path of recycled bricks that Randy had put down during one of his handyman outbursts. Before she unlocked the door Shana instructed her father to close his eyes. ‘I want to open up the drapes first, let in some light. You just stand there and be a little patient, Dad.’
He did as instructed, enjoying tremendously this escorted entry into part of his daughter’s private world. ‘Okay, open your eyes,’ she said. ‘Da-dum.’
Michael caught his breath. The huge room had little furniture – a couple of chairs, three easels, some bookshelves, an old cheap wardrobe loaded with paints, paper, canvases and fibreboard bases for future art works, and a huge wooden table covered with a scatter of brushes and paints. Around the walls were dozens of paintings, some hanging, others in rows stacked against the walls.
‘Some shed,’ said Michael in amazement. ‘More like an art gallery.’
‘Not exactly, Dad. It’s an artist’s studio,’ corrected Shana with a possessive tone that suggested a shared stake in the place.
