“Confident! Confident! I can be confident,” Jeanie repeated the mantra with every step of her heeled shoes as they tapped along the Sydney footpath down to the Overseas Passenger Terminal at Circular Quay. Rows of marquees lined the foreshore and music wafted through the sparkling night air.
“Slow down a little bit, Jeanie, I can’t keep up with you when you stride out.”
“Sorry, Gran.”
“For someone who didn’t want to do this, you sure seem keen to get there.”
Jeanie grinned. “I just want to get it all over and done with and then we can either enjoy our weekend in Sydney or go home.”
“You’ve made it this far. One of twelve finalists isn’t bad for someone who doesn’t do gamine.”
“Gran, don’t hold out too many hopes. I don’t want you to be disappointed.” Not only that the last thing she wanted was to be thrown into the limelight. It was as though she had been dragged aboard some sort of fairground ride and she had no idea which way was up.
Jeanie ground to a halt. A queue about a mile long stretched along the waterfront. “Is this it? There are an awful lot of people.”
“Yes, this is it.” Norma did a little skip and a hop and pointed to the black and gold Starstruck banner emblazoned across the top of the marquee. “And there’s a red carpet too, we’re nearly there then we’ll be standing on it. I love these little posts and the fat red rope. My goodness me! I feel as though I’m at the Oscars.” Norma’s hand fanned her face furiously.
Jeanie managed to squeeze out a nervous sounding laugh as she studied the queue and took in the excitement of the largely black clad crowd of beautiful people. She smoothed her hand down the full skirt of the blue and white polka dot dress and shuddered. When Gran had brought out the old dress and insisted she try it on it hadn’t seemed like such a bad idea, and teemed with her red peep toed shoes she’d actually thought it was okay, but now faced with the almost monochrome multitude she stuck out like Dorothy impaled on an oversized table cloth.
“We’re nearly there.”
“Settle down, Gran. It won’t be long.” She took a quick glance at her grandmother’s bright face and hoped Norma had remembered to bring her blood pressure tablets with her. The last thing they needed was a medical emergency.
The queue started to move and within a matter of moments they stood in the foyer of the marquee. The red carpet opened out to a huge area full of people clutching champagne flutes and chatting confidently to each other. Ignoring Norma’s insistent tapping on her arm, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath; convinced her worst nightmares had followed her from Oldbridge.
The tapping became a veritable drumming. “Look who’s here.”
Jeanie snapped her eyes open to find herself nose to nose with her bête noir.
“Jeanie, Norma you made it. I was beginning to worry about you.”
“There was such a long queue; we’ve been waiting for ages.” Her grandmother dropped her hand and tucked it into the crook of Xander’s arm.
“You didn’t need to wait in the queue; they’ve got a table reserved for us at the front. You’re VIPs this evening.” Jeanie accepted his offered arm and let him lead them through the mass of circular tables hovering like ballerinas in their floor length white table clothes. A waiter miraculously appeared, and held their chairs.
“Would you like a glass of champagne?”
“Oh yes, please.” Norma wriggled in her seat, her face still flushed with excitement.
“Jeanie?”
“Um, no I don’t think so.”
“Come on, darling, it will do you good. We’re here to sample the high life. Make the most of it.”
“I’ll be back in just a moment.” Xander worked his way through the tables, stopping every now and then to blow air kisses or shake hands, and then disappeared into the crowd. The tables filled up quickly and an air of expectancy pervaded the massive marquee. The black stage loomed above Jeanie and a series of huge banners hung as a backdrop, but without any stage lights she couldn’t work out what they were.
“There you are.”
She took the offered glass from Xander and passed it to her grandmother, then took the second.
“Here’s luck,” he said.
The bubbles tickled her nose as she lifted the flute to her lips and she shuddered slightly when the dry wine hit her tongue.
“Are you all right, Jeanie? Nervous?” Xander leaned across the table so close, his sandalwood scent merged with the flavor of the champagne, sending bubbles of anticipation chasing through her constricted veins.
“Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit overawed. There are an awful lot of people here. I didn’t realize it was so important. I thought they’d just pull a few names out of a hat and send me a letter saying, ‘Thank you but no thank you.’”
His deep laugh reverberated in her heart. “It’s a bit bigger than that, and we’re one of the finalists, so fingers crossed and wait and see.”
A buzzer sounded and the background noise damped down as the audience rapidly filled the empty tables. Her grandmother’s hand landed in her lap, squeezing her fingers like a pair of tiny bellows. A spotlight flared on the stage and she sank back in her seat, thankful to be cocooned between Xander’s comforting shoulder and her Gran.
A tall man in evening dress stepped forward to the microphone. Jeanie hardly heard the applause or his words for the pounding in her ears and the mass of hornets doing circuits and bumps in her tummy.
“Here we go.” Xander’s words warmed her cheek; she blinked furiously as the comforting darkness dissipated in a flurry of incandescent lights and the huge banners at the back of the stage became visible.
Black dots danced in front of her eyes and her grandmother’s outraged voice echoed in the silence. “They’ve left you out.”
Jeanie squeezed her eyes tightly closed and then opened them again, forcing herself to focus on the eleven banners hanging across the stage. Her gaze danced along the perfect pictures of beautiful bodies and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Such a reprieve. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Like a criminal facing execution saved by a power cut. A bubble of laughter rose in her throat and she grabbed Norma’s hand and squeezed. She could hear feet drumming on the floor in excitement.
No wonder they’d left her picture out — the others were in full color. Big, brazen blocks of color filling the catwalks, strutting models screaming attitude and pizzazz, diametrically opposed to the monochrome picture Xander had taken of her. She shot a look at him. Was he disappointed his photograph hadn’t won? With his long legs stretched out under the table and his fingers twirling the half full champagne flute, Xander was a picture of bemused relaxation. As though he was watching a mildly entertaining skit play out on the stage in front of him.
The finalists trooped onto the stage and Jeanie tried to tune into the commentary. Unknown names spoken in what might as well have been another language. Model and photographer, model and photographer. Envelopes were handed out. She sneaked a surreptitious glance at her watch — another half an hour and they’d be back in the hotel room and then tomorrow the train back to Oldbridge and it would all be over.
The lights dimmed and the buzz of conversation settled. There was a rustle on the stage and the sound of a new backdrop being rolled into place and then the stage lights blazed. Xander pushed his chair back and sat up straight his eyes fixed on the stage.
“Jeanie!” Jeanie turned to her grandmother, concerned by the note of sadness in her voice. “Oh, Jeanie.”
“It’s all right, Gran. I don’t mind. At least we came to Sydney and — ”
“Jeanie!” Xander’s deep bass caught her attention and she gazed back at him. “The stage.”
Thunderous applause filled the room and she stared up. Her mouth dried and she froze in horror at the twelve-foot high image of Jeanie Baker chewing her fingernails.