Mattress Actress (3 page)

I had three days left in the town before I was to move to Sydney. I wasn’t really upset by the decision, I was too numb to feel any emotion. I did however feel relief to be leaving the town that had brought so much pain and misery to me.

In those final days, I seemed hell-bent on self-destruction! So I set my self-destructive sights on Joe. He was the James Dean of our high school, handsome beyond belief. Everyone wanted to be with Joe, but only for one thing. He was a few years older than me so I had always thought that he was out of my league, both in years and in beauty. But one night Joe saw something in me that put me in a whole new light. I was a girl on a mission, a girl out for danger no matter what the consequences.

I told Joe that my friends and I were going to a party we’d heard about. He said he would try to lose his girlfriend and come with us. Part of me was feeling nervous because I knew where we were going, a house with no adults and three bedrooms. I knew that if I went I would be pressured into doing something that the real Annika didn’t want to do. But angry Annika didn’t give a fuck and she seemed to be the one in control.

It turned out not to be a party at all but one guy with a carton of beer. I didn’t drink. I didn’t like the taste of beer and Mum had always said that it was for commoners. We sat in this guy’s house for about an hour before my friend Kerry said there was a spare bedroom upstairs if Joe and I wanted to be alone. She said we would be able to talk and have some privacy. The old Annika would have told her to fuck off and mind her own business but self-destructive Annika didn’t say a word in dispute. Joe asked me if I wanted to. I wasn’t used to being asked. I wasn’t used to winning arguments and I wasn’t used to my ‘no’ meaning anything. So I said yes.

We were on the bed talking when he started kissing me. I could feel his dick growing. He ripped my clothes off and I helped him do it because I was sick of fighting it.

Teenage boys have not changed over time—there is a thick blurry line between fantasy and reality. Boys will tell tall sexual tales about how far they got with a particular girl, yet the truth is always far less eventful. So a kiss on the cheek quickly becomes a passionate all-consuming face suck, which then becomes a boob grope, to a sticky finger and on and on it grows. This was the case with me—people had heard about my near miss long ago in the car when I was eleven. After numerous retellings, I had become a wanton Lolita who seduced grown men. It seemed that to deny the rumours just breathed new life into them, so tonight I was going to confirm them once and for all.

I don’t remember even seeing his penis. He put it in me and I told him to stop because it was hurting. He wouldn’t stop.

It was all over in two minutes.

It was not the beautiful experience my mother had described. There were no kisses, no passion and definitely no warm afterglow. Was that sex? The thing that the adults and big girls in school raved about? I didn’t understand it, it was painful and I didn’t want to have anything to do with it, ever again. I assumed that sex was a pleasure for men and not women.

I had been used as vaginal masturbation by a boy I barely knew and absolutely didn’t care about. I thought
Annika is officially a whore!
was printed across my forehead. Previously it was assumed that my virginity was long dead by every neighbour, customer and school kid alike but now the vicious rumours had come home to roost.

Guilt tormented my sleep that night. Why had I not shared this most intimate experience with Ben? He had been my boyfriend for nearly a year. He had always shown me tenderness and compassion and he held a certain reverence for my virginity. I was embarrassed to admit a part of me felt if it had been him, would that have been the last I saw of him?

I flew to Sydney and was met with lots of hugs and kisses from Grandma and Grandpa. They were Mum’s parents and were in their late seventies. They barely spoke English and I barely spoke Dutch. They seemed happy to see me but to them I was the problem child and they were the saints who were going to straighten me out.

For as long as I had been in Australia Grandma and Grandpa had lived in this magical house. It had a creek in the back, a national park at the end of the street, views all the way to the ocean and a street full of kids my age. As a family we shared Christmas cards with all the neighbours but I was pen-pals with two of the kids in the street, Alison and Glen.

Glen was about a year older than I was and he came over to welcome me. His parents were very wealthy and, as a result, he was very spoilt. He said it was great that I was staying in Sydney and that we were going to be the best of friends. He said he was tough too and if I wanted to wag school he would come. I instantly realised that my reputation had preceded me, extending outside the family to all the neighbours and even filtering through to the children, but as warning or amusement, I wasn’t sure.

As I was unpacking my gear, Glen pushed me up against the bed, fumbling to kiss me. I told him to get off me and that I wasn’t interested in him, but he wasn’t listening.

‘We don’t have a girl like you at school, it’s going to be awesome having you two doors up.’ All the while he groped my boobs with one hand and held me down with the other. Here I was not even unpacked in my new ‘safe haven’ and I was getting felt up without permission again. I wondered if I had a big sexual target on me, because apparently all men who came into contact with me believed that I was sexually available to do with as they saw fit.

Ben wrote to me every week, which was my only solace. Letters from Ben and sweating it out in the gym were the only moments where I felt relaxed and uplifted. As always, men from the gym seemed overly friendly with me, often going out of their way to introduce themselves, and big note themselves by saying things like, ‘I play professional rugby’, ‘I own a real-estate company’. I would always respond with: ‘I’m in year nine.’ One particular man seemed far less sleazy than the rest. He ran a restaurant and catering company. I saw financial independence as my only way out of Grandma and Grandpa’s house, so I told him to call me if he ever needed some additional staff to wait tables.

Sometime later he did call, much to my grandparents’ disappointment. They were furious that I had given my number to a 45-year-old man and they were dubious of his intentions. They were not buying for one second that I was going to work as a waitress, but rather assumed that I had an older man I was meeting after school for sex.

When I arrived home, my grandfather threw me around the house. He screamed at me: ‘You are a liar and a slut and we don’t know what to do with you. Your mother doesn’t want you and your father doesn’t either. We can’t afford the stress and reputation you are bringing on us, so we are sending you home to your mother whether she wants you or not. You will finish this term at school and then you are off.’

Grandma was standing behind me slapping me with a wooden spoon, and with each strike came an insult.

I took my punishment, without offering a defence, without shielding my head, without speaking. All I could think was, yee-hah, I am out of this geriatric shit hole!

While I had been living with my grandparents, my parents had divorced. Mum had taken my brothers and moved far, far away from my father. I didn’t know about any of this until I was driven through the main gates of my mother’s new home on the Sunshine Coast. I began school with a new found enthusiasm. I quickly realised that not one of my three brothers had spoken about me. I suppose I expected too much, stupid me for thinking the boys might have boasted about having an older sister. More fool me! I had learned previously that kids would rarely befriend a new girl for no good reason, but if I joined a sports team they would be forced to get to know me. So I joined the swim team, but, of course, I didn’t have to talk to anyone but myself as I chased that black line from one end to the other. For four hours a day I was left alone to my own thoughts. Despite my lack of friends it was heaven.

Mum told me she couldn’t afford to keep me as she was now living hand to mouth on government assistance. If I wanted to stay, I had to get a job.
If I wanted to stay?
What was my fucking alternative? So dutifully I got a job in a grocery store on Saturdays and Thursday nights; instead of taking $5 per hour, I could take $6 per hour worth of food.

Ben came up for a visit. He’d left Rockhampton in pursuit of furthering his education and now lived an hour away in Brisbane where he went to flight school. The moment I set eyes on him again, I knew the meaning of true love. Ben and I became lovers. I was thirteen.

At this point, I was tired of reinventing myself to fit in. I was over making new friends, and playing typical thirteen year old. I wanted to get on with my own life, a life of income and mutual respect. I saw acting as a way to be someone else even if it was only an hour. A world where you can express emotion, vent, scream, cry or even smile without judgement. I believed that I had a world of emotional history that I could draw on to succeed in the acting profession. Plus I liked the idea of earning three million dollars a film. So when I turned fourteen, I convinced Mum to lie about my age and enrol me into an acting school in Brisbane. I promised her that night school wouldn’t interfere with my schooling or grades, and for a while that was true. I vowed to never miss a shift at the grocery store otherwise Mum would pull the pin on tuition in a heartbeat. With all those conditions agreed to and promises of good behaviour we struck a deal.

The course included three nights a week and every weekend. Mum arranged for me to stay in a flat owned by Trudy, the sister of one of her old friends. Little did she know that the sister was much younger than Mum’s old friend—God forbid Mum would check it out for herself. It was Trudy’s job to make sure I was safely tucked into bed roughly thirty minutes after classes were finished, but she really didn’t see herself as my chaperone. The only thing that worried Trudy was making sure I didn’t steal her pot. She was so paranoid she would take it—and her handbag—to bed with her. So I decided Ben’s flat was a far nicer option for us all.

I caught the train home from Brisbane at five am and would be just in time for two hours of swimming training at seven am. I would be at school from nine am to three pm, then Monday, Wednesday and Friday I would catch the afternoon train back to Brisbane. I felt that I had well and truly left home.

I loved every minute of the school. There were no boring classes, I even loved stunt work where we practiced falling and getting hit. I was the youngest student there by far and I relished the adult company, the freedom of expression and the sense of independence I had in strolling around the big city all by myself. What made me the happiest though was the fact that I was excelling. My teacher heaped praise and positivity on me as did my fellow students. It wasn’t long before I would get a little work here or there from my agent, more so than any other student. I had never been this happy or at least I couldn’t remember a time when I had been.

It was hard to obey all of Mum’s rules. I did party hard in Brisbane with my fellow students after class. After a while I was going to nightclubs every night after college, catching a few hours’ sleep, then getting the train to school or work in the morning. All of this became too much very quickly. I realised that I couldn’t maintain night school, high school, competitive sport and a job. I arrogantly believed that I was past being a schoolgirl. I was in a stable romantic relationship, I had a blossoming career and I was in college already so I didn’t need high school. So I left high school and got a full time job working in a surfwear clothing store. Mum had to give legal consent for me to do both as I was still shy of fifteen.

Living with Mum was going surprisingly well until she met Jeffrey, who seemed to move in overnight. I didn’t like or trust him one bit. His story just didn’t ring true. I had my suspicions that he was trying to get his hands on her divorce settlement. I could smell sexuality on men by this time and he reeked of pure sleaze. Jeffrey approached me the day before he was to move in and ever so politely asked if I wouldn’t mind giving up my room so that he could bring his computer over. I looked at my mother, who was standing directly behind him, only to find her eyes pleading with me to be agreeable.

I didn’t understand why Jeffrey needed an entire room for a computer. Reluctantly, I complied and moved all my belongings into the linen press. By night I slept on the sofa. This meant my sleep times were dictated to me by the whims of my family and Mum’s freeloading lover’s TV preferences. I needed my bloody sleep, I was constantly exhausted, night school, travel, work, swimming training. Yet here I was sitting up until eleven thirty pm waiting for this sleazy freeloader to go to bed. I refused to sleep on the couch if Jeffrey was up late watching a movie alone; I just didn’t trust him. Very quickly I began to unravel from the long hours and lack of sleep.

Ben was convinced that I was anaemic, because I wasn’t looking after myself physically. ‘You’re burning the candle at both ends, sweetheart, give yourself a break.’

He was right, I barely ate, I trained in the pool three hours every day, I got so little sleep thanks to night school and the travel and working full time, I hadn’t even had a period in over six months.

It all came to a head one day at work, an hour before closing time. One minute I was serving customers, next thing I knew I was in an ambulance on my way to the hospital. They put me in a small cubical, took blood and asked me what felt like a million questions.

Finally a doctor came in. ‘How long have you known you’re pregnant?’

My mind was reeling. ‘I had no idea that I was pregnant, are you sure?’

‘Yes, and you’re also severely anaemic. We will have to keep you in and do an ultrasound to see how far along you are.’

Within minutes my mother was at my side, concern written all over her face. ‘What’s wrong with you, have you spoken to a doctor yet?’

‘Well I’m anaemic and . . . I’m . . .’ I couldn’t bear to admit my condition to myself, let alone my mother. She just stared at me for the longest time, then she turned around and threw up in the sink.

‘I assume it’s Ben’s fault, I’m going to have him arrested for carnal knowledge. You’re fifteen, he is twenty-five. The whole thing is sick, he’s a paedophile who’s stalked you all across the state.’ She stormed out.

The next time I saw her was in my hospital room as they were wheeling me to the ultrasound. She held my hand and kissed my forehead, which I was grateful for, as I really needed the support.

I had no intention of having a baby—I couldn’t even look after myself. My life was only just beginning and it felt so promising. I was going to be a famous actress, people were going to clamber over themselves for my autograph. But the moment I saw the outline of the baby’s head, my heart clenched.

‘Well, here’s the reason you’ve been so drained, you’re having twins. Congratulations.’ The sonographer looked at me. I think it must have been the first time she noticed my youthfulness and my tears. ‘I’m sorry, love, I didn’t realise this was an unplanned pregnancy.’

I got off the table and walked myself back to my room. I had created something, did I want to undo that? These babies were already living inside me. Could I make this decision on my own, was I even entitled to act without telling Ben? I knew to keep the babies would be even crueller. Apart from love I had nothing to offer.

Mum came into my room fifteen minutes later. She was as pale as a ghost. ‘You’re ten weeks along, we have to act soon. The doctors have booked you in for the surgery in three days but it’s in Brisbane so I will have to drive you there.’

She had made all the arrangements before consulting me. Legally, she had to, as I was still underage. I didn’t argue, in fact I didn’t say a thing, I just sobbed for three days straight.

My mother drove me to the clinic—I say clinic with my tongue pressed firmly into my cheek. It was a dodgy old house with tall grass and a fence barely standing erect. Once inside I refused to fill in their questionnaire, or speak to the psychologist. That made her job easy; ‘termination approved’ was stamped on my file. I was given a robe and a sanitary pad. I remember refusing to say thank you. They led me through to theatre. I wasn’t kicking and screaming, all my inner strength, pride and self-esteem had left me. They lay me on the steel table. My legs were placed onto stirrups. My mind swung back to the last time I found myself in this position, aged eleven in the hospital after my incident in the car. Years on and I was still not in entire possession of my own body.

The nurse told me I needed to wiggle my bottom down closer to the edge. I could see a sliding steel tray directly under my bum and I knew that would be the final resting place for my unborn children. My heart was aching. As the needle went in, I felt violated all over again. But my body didn’t flinch and I stayed silent. Even my eyes were dry. Then everything went black.

As I lay on the recovery bed I prayed for death to come and take me. I didn’t want to get up, talk, dress or face life ever again. But the smell of the place was surely worse than what lay waiting for me outside. Surgery has its own distinct smell. I could even taste it. On the way home, Mum had to pull over twice so that I could vomit. Then I spoke.

‘Mum, I am never going through this ever again. No one will ever touch me again unless I say so.’

She just nodded.