I’m halfway through a Cardio Burnout workout in a the gym of a former superstar hotel in Salt Lake City when I hear that Olivia Newton John has died.
For the brief moment that always occurs before devastation, I think how fitting it is that I was getting physical while she took her final curtain. I imagine a small Cadillac waiting at stage door to drive her into the dark while the whole world hums the final bar of “hopelessly devoted to you”. She’s smiling and waving and reminding me to keep me elbows off the table. This is something she would do in life to spare me the ire of my socially conscious father at bank functions, charity dinners and other forms of paediatric torture.
Olivia was a family friend. She’d often perform with my mother at everything from Christmas Carols and the Sydney Olympics to the occasional insurance luncheon. The latter felt like they were the entertainment for troops fighting a war could all feel but never saw.
My sister and I were put on kids tables, reluctant party guest lists and families-of-performers green rooms with her daughter, Chloe, who was infinitely more beautiful and suited to the entertainment business than us. We’d arrive like unbroken dogs to most black-tie dinners in surf shorts and thongs, punching each other in the arm to see who would cry first. Chloe, by contrast, was refined, accented and knew how to cinch her waist in primary school. She’d be invited to those parties on her own now, even with Olivia gone. We’d be invited to stay as far away as possible and please return the glassware, thank you.
I wonder if Chloe will wear a veil to the funeral, if it will be a state event and if anyone’s heard from Barry Crocker lately. Unlock my phone to call mum but it’s 5:47am in Australia. She’ll be sleeping for another hour. Go to call dad and get him to hold his hand under her nose to check she’s still breathing. He’s awake but I decide against it. He might be sad. Or he might not be. I’m not sure which one I couldn’t handle.
One of my drama school friends sends me a post on Instagram explaining something about a Leo portal opening up and all of the energy of the world being suddenly in flux. Somebody needs to arrest that fucking portal. It has the face of death.
We lost Judith Durham the day before yesterday. Another woman in show business in her early 70s. Bad things don’t always happen in threes, I whisper, trying to believe my own bullshit. Mum replaced Judith as the lead singer of The Seekers in the late 80s, when she was having health issues. From then on, guitar, bass, Judith and their respective kids all became an extension of our family and regulars for tea and cake at the house. We had a piano in the music room and they’d sing and share touring schedules, stories of the clubs to avoid at all costs and the stages where it’s best to bring your own microphones, if you knew what they meant.
There are lights going out everywhere. Of course, stars die. But it takes lifetimes for new ones to be raised in their place and a whole global vetting process for who we’ll allow to glow for us. I strain my neck on the elliptical trying to think of the stars that are left keeping the sky overhead and not pooling at our feet like a dark water. We need to keep those stars where we can see them.
You’d better stay in the fucking sky, Julie. I think I say that part out loud because my mouth’s ajar and the notes app’s open on my phone. I’ve started a list of all of the idols I can think of but the one name my exercise-and-death struck brain is stuck on is Lady Gaga. Lady Gaga. Lady Gaga. LADY GAGA?! FUCK! SHUT UP. I notice I’m crying and it’s mixing with my sweat. Well hell, now I’m my own Salt Lake City.
DING.
It’s my boss.
A text asking if we can organise to play Xanadu at the end of the show tonight.
Sure.
I set my alarm for 11pm to go down to the lobby and see if the sky seems darker.
Everyone knows there are more stars in the desert. But I want to see for myself that there’s not a new gap.
By the Salt Lake lights, I might catch a glimpse of Olivia’s tyres as burns into the night after all.
If not, I’ll say goodbye with my elbows firmly by my side.
RIP O.N.J
-TN
absolutely the most beautiful thing I've read today .. thankyou Tamara .. you rock .. and by the way .. I love your writing .. cheers Susie Struth xx
Beautifully written.