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THE GRASS IS BROWN ON BOTH SIDES OF THE FENCE
HOMICIDE
part 5
LAS VEGAS
I pumped one ten-cent piece into a poker machine, my only contribution. By not gambling there were all sorts of benefits to be had. Free breakfasts being one and free shows another. I was pleased to see that Freddie Bell and The Bellboys were still earning a living in Vegas. How many times since the 1956 release of Rock Around the Clock, had Fred and the lads sung their contribution of Ding Dong and We’re Going to Teach You to Rock?
A lot. In Las Vegas fifteen years later I would see them perform the exact same free show
The one show that I was prepared to pay ready money to see was Ann-Margret’s, and it turned out to be worth every penny. The great thing about Ann-Margret was that it didn’t matter what she did, it always came across as flirty dirty. From her film debut in State Fair opposite Pat Boone, you knew that if you took her home to meet mum, she wouldn’t have approved. Dad? Yes. Mum? No way.
Ann-Margret had taken a bad fall last time she had appeared in Vegas. It had required lots of surgery, including plastic surgery, to reassemble her. This was to be her comeback show.
When it came to the seating, I was asked by the maitre de what my profession was? Saying that I was a professional actor got me onto a table with other contemporaries. Seated next to me was an attractive, heavy industrial lesbian, who had missing fingers and scars on her arms. In talking to her, I found out that she had been in charge of the animal stunts in the Doctor Dolittle film. On the other side sat a couple who were not in show business, but they turned out to be neighbours of the young blonde man who stood up at that outside restaurant to sing the German propaganda song in the film Cabaret.
The entry price also included two free drinks. As that was my sickly go back then I ordered Bourbon and Cokes. They brought them to me both at once and, being from Australia, I thought that I’d drink these quickly and get them out of the road. I took a good mouthful, then spluttered and coughed. It was near to neat Bourbon. That’s the difference between Australia and America, I thought. Australia would penny pinch on liquor in the free drinks, whereas America knew that if you got a couple of stiff ones into the patrons, the show was going to appear even better and they were right. The show was spectacular. Mind you, I did get a bit of a fright when Ann-Margret appeared. I thought it was Rosemary Clooney. That earlier accident must have done considerable damage, as the new Ann looked quite strange. Not that it mattered as far as the show was concerned. If she had been ill and I had stood there in her place it would still have been a great show. Ann, always flirty dirty, seems to imply that a gangbang is just around the corner. The opening number was her centre stage with five guys on either side of her. The thing that was remarkable was that they were all on motorbikes, and were going flat out on what had to be rollers set into the floor. They were pumping out Born to be Wild while leaning to the left and right. All very exciting, but if one of those bikes had jumped out of those rollers it could have shot over our heads and ended up in the foyer. When that segment ended the male dancers, whose motorbike skills were considerable, drove off into the wings on their back wheels only. Ann’s bike was propelled, riderless, off stage. Whoever caught it deserved a medal. As all this was happening under a strobe light - still a mesmerising novelty in the early 70’s - Ann was tantalisingly stripping off her black leathers and being assisted into a pale blue full-length gown with a fluffy white fur trim. Then three large video screens descended from the roof. One showing a headshot of Ann. The next, a mid-shot and the last screen that was lowered covered Ann full length. While this was happening, from around a distant corner at the back of the stage came a moving platform, on which was seated a full orchestra and its standing conductor. Everything arrived exactly when and where it should. The transition from the rock ’n roll number with motor bikes, to Ann wearing a delicate blue gown, singing a love song whilst backed by a 21-piece orchestra, that was all captured on the lowered screens, would be extraordinary today, let alone back then. A great show.
Arriving back in LA on the Monday I could feel my demons resurfacing so I arranged to meet up with the lady about my ticket problem. She was again considerate and suggested that I go to the more relaxed atmosphere of Hawaii. Then after three days, I would qualify to fly back to Australia. I thanked her a lot and did just that. When I landed in Hawaii I thought I would see if they too would pick up on my ticket restriction. They didn’t, and next thing I was on a flight back to Melbourne.
I could have stayed in Hawaii but I wanted to be back in familiar surroundings and to put the unpleasant aspects of the trip behind me. What were they about? It crossed my mind that maybe I had been in the grip of an L.S.D. flashback.
It’s 1974, I’m back from my Christmas break, and it’s the first day of another year of filming Homicide episodes.
The location for the episode is West Melton, on the way to Geelong. I consult my trusty Melway map and it appears that the way to get to where I have to go is through South Melbourne. But when I get there the map stops making sense and I find that I am lost. I’m driving around in circles and can’t fathom how to get out of my predicament, and I’m now running seriously late. I had a lot of things to answer for regarding my attitude on Homicide, but lateness had never been one of them.
I start shaking and the apprehension that started in LA is starting to come back. I then add the missing element
to what is becoming a familiar trifecta. But my screams do not help me come to terms with the fact that I’m lost.
I try to reason with my panic and that it’s not my fault - a share of the blame indeed lay with the Melway
map, as they have included projected roads that haven’t been built yet, and the bridge I’m looking for
is the Westgate that is a long way from completion. I reflect on my outburst. What had people in passing cars, and
bystanders who had seen me so certifiably out of control, thought? Somehow, I managed to find a way around the docks
to a highway that would lead me in the direction of Geelong. I arrived on location late, but as filming was running
behind it was not noticed. Everybody on the crew looked a lot more refreshed from the Christmas break than I did. I
knew from my earlier panic that I was far from well. The time allotted for me to be able to hide behind my now wafer-thin
facades was running out. CRUNCH time was just around the corner.
A week later a new kid on the block started to make its presence felt.
Am I suicidal or is this yet another scream for attention.
Why does death suddenly seem such an attractive alternative? It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m driving
fast too fast down Toorak Road in my wanky little sports car. At the corner of Rockley Road, I see a Doctor’s
lamp suspended above a metal plaque set in a stone wall. The light in the lamp isn’t on it was after all
Sunday but there is a distinguished looking man pruning the roses that are hanging around it.
I pull my sports car to the side of the road and approach him. He was already well aware of me by the way I had
hit the brakes and pulled up. I asked him if he was a Doctor. He said that he was. I pointed to my car and said
that I had a problem. He asked what it was? I said that I couldn’t find any reason not to drive that car
into something at high speed. He said ‘well thats no good’ and would I like to come inside for a
cup of tea.
I did, and he had a very calming manner about him that relaxed me - although I did notice that his secateurs
were never to be far from his side. We talked and he tried to encourage me to take some pill that would dumb down
any tendency towards suicide. I didn’t want to take the pill and told him that it was not necessary because in
talking to him, I felt I had, at last, made a positive move to seek help. He suggested that I should see a colleague
of his and that he could arrange an appointment for me. We talked on. My thoughts of suicide left me. They had gone
for something that had felt so ingrained, how come it had disappeared so easily. Now I felt foolish and wanted to
leave, and expressed this to the Doctor and his nearby secateurs.
He once again suggested that I should take his offered sedative; I assured him that there was no need. This was
true. Was it because I had filled my need for a scream for attention, or did I feel relief that he was going to
initiate something that may be to my benefit?
He rang me the next morning I had given him my phone number to say that he had made an appointment for me for
later in the day. I tried to fob this off by saying that whatever had led me to interrupt his gardening had passed
and I was now fine.
He insisted and made me commit to the arranged appointment. He then gave me the address and name of a Doctor who was to become an important figure in my life.
I was going to see a shrink. This thought preoccupied and pestered me.
Why? How could I be mad, I had nothing to be mad about? I had what I wanted and considered myself very lucky.
I was doing well. I had a lead role in a Television series, was earning good money, and I knew that these factors
had to fly in the face of my Father’s predictions of me ending up as a bum.
Australia had been good to me.
Certainly better than I had been to it.
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