Making Headlines (28 page)

They didn't say much in the car. She didn't want to speak. They found a female doctor to attend her, who was sympathetic. Rachel could only manage monosyllabic answers to her gentle probing.

It was only when they were driving home that Rachel put her hand on Mitch's and turned to him. ‘Thank you.' She squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, keeping his eyes on the road.

‘Why did you come back?' Her swollen lips made the words awkward.

He shrugged. ‘Just didn't feel comfortable. Kept thinking about you at home. I sent Julia a text, checking you really were fine with me being away, and she said she wasn't seeing you because of her sister. And that's when I just got this creepy feeling about your dream. Guess you might be psychic after all.'

She rolled her eyes and patted his hand. ‘If I was that good, I wouldn't have stayed home.' She stared straight ahead into the darkness and felt tears falling down her cheeks.

When Mitch pulled up outside her house, all she could think about was hopping into the shower to scrub herself clean.

Then
flash!
Light filled the car. She reeled back. And
flash.
Again and again.

A horde of photographers was at her window. Somebody had already leaked the story. It would be front-page news tomorrow.

Rachel sat uncomfortably in the general manager's office. Adam was beside her. She couldn't stop fidgeting. It was difficult to find a position where her body didn't ache.

Steven Cohen had rung her personally to offer his sympathies and insist she have as much time as she needed to recover. Then she'd had another call, asking if she would come to his office for an urgent meeting on Wednesday, and that it would be best if she had a lawyer present. Steven was flanked by two legal representatives of the station and his secretary, taking notes.

With a black eye, split lip, multiple bruises and sprained ankle, Rachel sat there, anxious to hear why she had been summoned. Pleasantries aside, Steven cut to the chase.

‘So, of course, you know we are sympathetic, but the attack has raised other issues, Rachel. Apart from the fact that the publicity about the attempted rape is not really what we want surrounding our main newsreader . . . it's something else as well.' He looked at her and sighed. ‘It has come to our attention, through both Human Resources and a police report, that you raised Helmut Becker's name as a suspect. Helmut has been told about this, which means it will be impossible for the two of you to work together. Helmut, of course, has a long history of success as a news director in the industry . . .'

Rachel couldn't hold back. ‘He might have a history of success, but he also has a reputation as a bully.'

Adam put his hand out to silence her. ‘We also have to think about Rachel's reputation,' he said. ‘She's a very popular and successful newsreader. How will it look if you sack her, just after she's been the victim of an attempted rape?'

‘I realise that. Which is why we called this meeting today. We're not talking about sacking Rachel. I'm sure we can come to an agreement that will suit us all, one where perhaps Rachel is offered financial remuneration and gets to write her own press release about why she has chosen to leave. Or if you can think of another solution, let me know. But we won't be letting Helmut go.'

‘I see,' said Adam, his face stony. ‘My client has just suffered the most horrendous of attacks and now you want to put the boot in as well.'

‘Not at all,' protested Steve. ‘We're just trying to work out a solution that will suit everyone.'

‘It's the sort of
solution
that could lead to court action for unfair dismissal,' said Adam.

‘Let's hope it doesn't come to that.' Steve stood up, signalling they should leave. ‘Let's meet again in two days and see if anyone has any fresh ideas.' He put his hand out.

Adam ignored him. ‘See you Friday. Eleven am. Come on, Rachel.' He put his arm out to help her up. She felt shaky and leaned on him as they walked out the door.

‘I can't believe what bastards they are,' he said loudly.

Rachel looked at him in surprise. She'd never heard him use such language. But it was called for.

***

Julia came to visit that evening after work. She'd already spent hours with Rachel on the weekend, wracked with guilt for not being there the night of the attack. Rachel told her she'd have to leave if she didn't stop apologising, so she'd finally refrained. Instead she became a pseudo-florist, tending to the dozens of flowers and bouquets sent in sympathy.

At least Rachel could rest easy knowing Brent Garrison was safely locked up after being denied bail. He was facing a range of offences including attempted rape, assault and attempted murder. Police were hopeful further DNA testing would provide a match with evidence taken from Rachel's car. Of course, there'd be a court case down the track but prosecutors still had more work to do before a date could be set.

Her mind constantly turned over the reasons he'd targeted her. She'd started researching the psychology of stalkers and discovered that just the smallest incident could set off a chain reaction of delusional fantasies. Was it because she'd refused to go on a date with him? When she looked back at the timing of his letters, the first had arrived only four days after she'd turned down his invitation to go out to dinner. Of all the categories of psychopaths Rachel had read about, Brent fitted the ‘predator' profile perfectly. This type of personality was all about sexual gratification, control, and violence. They usually engaged in a long period of inducing fear and spent a long time planning their attack, which involved living out their intense
sexual
fantasies. He was a textbook stalker.

Rachel lay on the couch as Mitch cooked dinner and Julia continued her fussing. Steve Cohen's words kept circling in her head. All she could think about was the power of the boys' club. Perhaps it was time for a woman to strike back.

She relayed the meeting to Julia, whose back grew straighter, her expression
growing sterner with every new piece of information.

As her own anger grew, Rachel could feel herself quivering. ‘I think Adam's suggestion about legal action is the best. He says he was only bluffing them and it would cost too much, but stuff that, I think I should take them to court. Don't you?'

Staring at her hands, Julia twisted her fingers in and around each other. ‘You're not going to like what I have to say, but no, I don't think you should go to court.'

‘Why not? Haven't you seen
Erin Brokovich
? I'll write a speech like that, but about television, and tell the world how women are
really
treated in this industry.'

‘This isn't a chemical company, Rach, it's a television network.'

‘And your point is?'

‘They'll spend whatever it takes to blacken your name. They'll sling the mud from here to Iceland and back. And believe me, you'll never get a job in the media again. Not in television or newspapers. You'll be labelled a troublemaker.'

‘So there's no such thing as justice, then?'

Mitch walked out from the kitchen and sat down next to her, taking her hand. ‘I think Jules is right. Take them to court and the case could take years to settle, years of your life stuck in an expensive shit-fight. Years of negativity eating away at your insides. And you wouldn't get another job.'

Rachel turned away from them and lay down on the couch. Her voice was muffled. ‘I probably won't get another job anyway, so what's the difference?'

‘Of course you'll get another job, after this is all over. But why go to court and waste all that time even
thinking
about them? They're not worth it.'

She turned back. ‘That's true. They're not worth it. Not worth a speck of shit. Bastards. Fucking bastards.'

‘Total bastards,' said Mitch. ‘Oh, and Jules? Keep this to yourself, but I'm resigning. No way I could stay there after this.'

Rachel tightened her hand around his.

‘I've always wanted to take off in my Kombi van with the woman I love, and drive around Australia.'

Julia let out a shriek. ‘No! Rachel in a Kombi van? Going around Australia? Yeah right.'

Laughing made her ribs hurt, but Rachel pressed her hands against her chest and laughed anyway.

***

‘Good evening, this is Rachel Bentley for Network Six News.'

This was how she had introduced herself to the world for the past two years but today she was her only viewer. The words hung like hollow pieces in the air. It was Friday. Rachel stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror at her blackened eye, her limp hair.

She wasn't sure what to wear or if she should bother getting dressed at all. This morning Adam was meeting with Steve Cohen and her future would be decided in the next few hours. He'd advised her not to get her hopes up.

A flash of light through the window caught her hair, highlighting the edges. Perhaps it was an omen. A new beginning. Maybe Adam had convinced them to keep her on as main newsreader and find Helmut another job in another state.

Fat chance. Her head might as well be ablaze with a crown of thorns.

She dressed in jeans, a black T-shirt and black zipped hoodie, and sat on the couch watching mindless morning television for hours until the phone rang. It was Adam.

‘Sorry, Rachel, but it's what we expected. You've been offered a hundred and fifty grand payout. And a guarantee that you can say it was your choice to leave. And you know my feelings about legal action. You're better off taking the money and starting afresh.'

She agreed, thanked him, and reached for the vodka bottle. She wasn't going to get drunk. She just needed a shot to calm herself. And to wake her up. Or anaesthetize her. She wasn't sure which.

Just one shot. Then she got in her car and drove to St Kilda. It was a windy day. And freezing. She'd forgotten how cold it was by the beach in winter. And she'd forgotten her coat. But she'd tucked the vodka inside her hoodie. She took it out and had another swig, the acrid taste burning her throat. She zipped the jacket to her neck and walked along the pier. The tide was high and waves crashed over the edge of the boardwalk, splashing her feet. They looked inviting. She could sink into that jade green iciness and just float away. A welcome thought. The sound of the waves crashing around her was rhythmic and soothing.

Then she remembered she hadn't called Mitch to tell him the news. She should at least do that.

‘Where are you?' His voice was full of concern.

‘In St Kilda. At the pier. Might take a dip.'

‘Don't be stupid. At least wait till I bring you a wetsuit.'

That made her laugh.

Then his voice, soft yet insistent. ‘Wait at the cafe at the end of the pier. I'll be there straight away.'

He found her sitting at a table outside, trying to smoke in the wind. He kissed her cheek then took a seat. They sat in silence while she puffed away until she reached the filter.

‘Remember that story about Edward Winter?' She butted out the stub.

‘Vaguely . . .'

‘My old teacher. He wasn't thrilled when I told him I'd got a job in TV, warned me they'd take my soul. Maybe that's what happened, Mitch. I took a job that took my soul and ended up working for the devil.'

‘I think that's a mild over-reaction, Rach. Surely the devil is better looking than Helmut?'

She almost smiled. He hugged her fiercely, only releasing her when she made the first move.

He kissed her nose. ‘And you didn't let them take your soul. I just checked. It's doing fine. Just needs a trip in a Kombi van. A new adventure.'

‘You sure I can't do battle in court instead?'

‘I'm sure. If there was a chance you'd win, I'd be behind you one hundred per cent. But we both know you wouldn't. This way, you might get the chance to work in TV again — if that's what you want.'

‘I'm not sure I do.'

‘Give it time. But forget about justice. If it's about evening the score, just look at Helmut. He has to stare at that face in the mirror every day of his life. He's already been punished enough.'

Rachel nodded. ‘Yes, exceptionally ugly, inside and out.'

‘So will you drop the court case and come on a holiday instead?' Mitch took her hands in his. ‘I'm not asking you to marry me. I need to know if we can travel together first. I'm thinking of a long trip, a very long road trip. Six months. Me painting, you writing. A fresh start for both of us. What do you think?'

Rachel looked into those deep blue eyes, knowing they would always take her from the darkest of places to a haven of light. She nodded. ‘Yes.'

Spring wasn't due for weeks, but already Rachel could smell its familiar freshness in the air. Hazy morning sunlight dusted the first blossoms sprouting from cherry trees in their street. The street where they lived together in their new home. The new home they were about to leave. A friend was going to house-sit while they were away.

Mitch hauled a carton of groceries onto a stack of boxes in the back of the Kombi van, groaning as he dropped it in place. ‘Christ, enough food for an army. You got much more stuff?' He jumped back to the ground.

‘Just this.' Rachel stretched up, placing a huge beauty case on top of the esky.

‘You think you'll need that much makeup for the beach?' He stared at her, hands on hips.

Rachel patted the case. ‘Ah, see, you don't know me that well after all.' She kept her face neutral, then burst out laughing. ‘Just kidding!' She grabbed the case and turned back inside.

‘Thank God, I hate the taste of lipstick,' he called.

As she walked in the door, her phone rang in the kitchen. She hesitated then took the call.

‘Rachel? It's Tony. Tony Nielsen.'

She gripped the phone. ‘My God. Tony. Um . . . good to hear from you. How are things at Seven?'

‘Marvellous, thanks. I've settled in quite nicely. Just a few problems to iron out. How are you?'

‘Well, I'm sure you know what happened at Six. I'm just taking a break from it all. About to head off on a holiday.' She walked into the hallway and watched from the front door as Mitch moved crates and bags around the van.

‘Right. I heard you might be heading off, so I thought I'd try to catch you before you left. Look I really am very sorry about how you were treated. I've always thought you were very talented. But I know how it works, and I'm guessing your departure wasn't quite how it was reported.'

‘Well, as you said, you know how it works.'

‘I do, and you deserve better. Which brings me to another matter. We have a job
going. It includes newsreading and updates. Not as good as the main gig you had, but it could lead to something better down the track. Would you like to come in and have a proper chat about it?'

Rachel paused. Mitch waved at her to get a move on.

‘I am interested. But I wouldn't be able to come in for a while . . .'

After she hung up, she took one last look around the place, then walked out, closing the door behind her. Mitch started the engine as she hopped into the passenger seat.

‘All set? No emergencies you need to deal with first?'

‘Nothing that can't wait.' Rachel looked down at her watch. It was just after nine. ‘Good to be making an early start.'

‘You call this early? Wait till I start waking you up at dawn to catch the best waves.'

Leaning over to kiss him, she noted how his eyes reflected the sky.

When they'd been driving for about half an hour, she thought it was safe to tell him about Tony. ‘That phone call was from Tony Nielson, asking if I want a job at Seven.'

Mitch's foot tapped the brake pedal for half a second. The Kombi lurched then kept going. He stared straight ahead. ‘Right, I see. So there are some decent men left in the industry. Do we turn back then?'

‘Nah. Said I'd think about it and let him know by the end of the week. They wouldn't need me for a month anyway.' She kept her eyes on the road.

Mitch glanced at her. ‘It's okay. I won't let them take your soul again.'

She reached out to clasp his hand. ‘Don't worry. Neither will I.'