Campaign Ruby (15 page)

‘Which email?'

‘One of my old banking buddies forwarded it to me. You should be proud.'

Don't encourage her
, my head begged.

I flushed red and buckled for landing. ‘Does anyone else—'

‘I haven't told a soul.'

That's when it occurred to me. ‘Theo,' I called. He couldn't hear me. ‘Theo!'

‘What?' he asked, still annoyed.

‘You didn't say why this policy makes us different.'

He stared at the ceiling, then pulled out his laptop, which was supposed to have been stowed for landing, and tapped furiously at his keyboard until the flight attendant confiscated it.

That afternoon at the hospital in Perth, one of the radio hosts led Max, Shelly and a cohort of cameras through a brightly coloured ward. Maddy was in her element. She had spoken beforehand to the Health Department and a group of patients' parents to seek their permission to film. Everyone was thrilled to be meeting Max and Shelly.

Genevieve, a little girl not much older than Clem, showed Shelly how the radio worked. ‘You see, Shelly'— her big brown eyes gleamed from beneath an electric-blue bandana—‘I have my own headphones so I can hear Patch. Sometimes they have music and sometimes they read stories to us. If I call them I can request a song.'

‘What's your favourite song?' asked Shelly, sitting on the hospital bed, next to Genevieve's dad.

Genevieve pulled Shelly in close, whispering something into her ear. Shelly smiled. The sound technicians leaned in with their boom mikes.

‘What did she say, Shelly?' asked one of the journalists, notepad at the ready.

‘Can I tell them?' she asked the little girl, who nodded coyly.

‘Genevieve loves Chris Isaak's “Baby Did a Bad, Bad Thing”.'

Genevieve buried her head in Shelly's arm to hide from the laughing journalists. Max was standing at the end of Genevieve's bed. ‘Max loves that song too,' said Shelly. ‘It's on his iPod.'

‘I can request it for you, if you'd like,' offered Genevieve.

‘I'd like that very much,' said Max.

Julius, one of the volunteers, showed Max into the tiny studio and handed him a pair of headphones. ‘Hi, everyone,' said Julius. ‘I'd like to introduce a friend of ours, Max Masters. He's the Leader of the Opposition.'

‘Hi, kids,' said Max. ‘I want to say a special hello to Genevieve in ward sixteen, who said you would play me “Baby Did a Bad, Bad Thing”—we both love that song.' Julius obliged and Max bopped embarrassingly to the music. From outside, I saw a beautiful shot of Max, Shelly and Genevieve on the preview screen of a snapper's camera.

The scrum pushed through to the press conference room to set up, while Max collected his thoughts.

‘Can you do his make-up?' asked Di, shoving a toiletries bag into my hand before running into the conference room.

From Subprime to Primer
, joked my head.
Ruby Stanhope's
bestselling memoir.

I unzipped the bag, pulling out a latex sponge and powder pack, and edged towards Max.

‘Have I got BO or something?' he teased. ‘Believe me, I'd do it myself, but Di says I'm crap at it.'

He closed his eyes. This wasn't like doing my own make-up. The sponge rasped against the stubble on his chin and I couldn't figure out how to highlight a man's cheekbones or whether I was even supposed to.

‘How long have these guys at Patch been going for?' Max asked.

‘Ten years,' I said, dabbing at his nose. ‘They've had the volunteer program in place for about eighteen months and take senior school kids and university students on six-month rotations.' I started on Max's forehead. ‘You've met Julius already and you'll meet Ying and Praneeta. They're all school-leavers. Julius is about to start medicine at UWA. Ying's little brother is a patient here in the oncology ward and she's taking a gap year next year. Praneeta is starting a newspaper cadetship in six months.'

Di exploded into the room with Shelly. ‘Okay, ready when you…Christ! He looks like a bloody inpatient!'

I stood back as if I'd been caught at the scene of a crime. Max looked like a geisha.

‘I see you found the powder,' Di said.

‘Sorry, I've never done this before.' I dug through my handbag for the wet tissues in my Toolkit.

‘You're like Mary Poppins,' said Max, wiping at his face.

‘I'll fix this,' said Di. ‘You go and tell them he's on his way in.'

I raced into the conference room next door where everyone was staring at the wall clock. ‘Sorry people,' I said, ‘two minutes max.'

Oscar laughed at my unintended pun.

Shortly afterwards, a less creamy Max paced into the room and stood beside the Patch Radio volunteers.

‘Julius, Ying and Praneeta have chosen to end their childhood by bringing laughter and fun to kids not that much younger than they are—and these are kids who could really do with a laugh. The great work these guys do will have lasting effects. Their well-spent summer will shape them for years to come.

‘I can tell you this because when I left school I spent the same summer break volunteering for the local RSL, where I met some incredible old blokes who shared their war stories—stories that were harrowing and inspirational. That summer experience led me to a career in the armed services, and now this gig, and possibly an even bigger one if you decide to give it to me on the third of April.

‘Prime Minister Brennan says that there's not much the government can do for the charity sector in tough economic times. I disagree. There's plenty government can and should be doing for the not-for-profit sector because our nation wouldn't function without organisations like Patch Radio.

‘If we are elected, I hope the next round of school-leavers will take advantage of the opportunity to participate in our Serve the Nation program. It will pay dividends for us all.'

Leaning on my shoulder at the back of the room was a spent Maddy.

‘Well done,' I whispered.

‘Thanks, mate,' she said. ‘
This
is why we do it.'

Fish out of water

Serve the Nation landed us with the most popular story on every news website in the country for two days. Lines were loaded at the nation's talkback radio stations, and TV bulletins ran polls asking viewers whether they supported the initiative. Brennan was on the backfoot, forced to either denounce the policy or back it. She chose the former, resulting in headlines like BRENNAN DID A BAD , BAD THING .

Better still, Luke was given a sneak preview of the Southpoll results, which had us only two points behind Brennan on a two-party-preferred basis, whatever that was. According to Luke, this gave us underdog status without making us losers.

By far the biggest news of the day was the
Nightcap
revelation that a senior government backbencher had masterminded the plot to get rid of Patton on the proviso that he would become Minister for Foreign Affairs, but a callous last-minute manoeuvre had left him stranded on the backbench with the mere promise of a position in the outer ministry if the party retained government.

We fantasised about the conversations they'd be having over at Camp Brennan. The Prime Minister must have thought she'd made the cleverest move in political history, only to have it all blow up in her face by Day Four of the campaign.

Maddy and I had been asked to advance an event for Felix Winks, a human rights lawyer and promising young candidate in the Adelaide seat of Watson. Maddy fancied Felix and was determined to leave a lasting impression.

‘Felix and I have history,' she said from the driver's seat of a hire car on the way to the electorate in question. ‘National Conference 2001. He moved a motion. I seconded it…' She sighed. ‘We're going to do a shopping-centre walk.'

I imagined Max and Shelly in hiking boots on a browsing expedition. ‘I'm new to this, Maddy,' I said, unwrapping a white mint-flavoured sweet. ‘You're going to have to explain.'

‘You chart a path for the candidate through a shopping centre or pedestrian mall so they can stop and talk to people on the way.' She held out her hand for a Mintie. ‘For a politician to be able to have normal conversations in normal places with normal people is good,' she said through stuck-together teeth. ‘And anything can happen in a shopping centre. You name it: protesters with flaming effigies, old people yelling abuse, kids calling you names, babies crying or spewing or both, and security can kick you out if it gets really bad. It's great.'

‘Why not just go somewhere safe then?' I couldn't follow her logic.

‘Because when a politician can handle an effigy or a spewing baby without losing the plot, it buys a lot of goodwill. On the other hand, if a baby cries and the polly freaks out and hands the kid back to its mum, that'll make the six o'clock news and everyone will talk about it.'

We parked outside a small strip of shops and offices. ‘This is it.' She pointed to a caravan plastered with yellow FELIX WINKS FOR WATSON signs. According to the dashboard, the temperature outside was thirty-two degrees. ‘How's my hair?' She sprayed herself with perfume.

‘Lovely,' I coughed.

We went inside to find a cluster of campaign workers folding letters. Envelopes stuck to their forearms on account of the lack of air-conditioning. In what looked like a stationery cupboard, we found Felix Winks on the phone. He wore a big NO WHALING badge, which made his lapel sag.

He finished his call, stood up and smiled at us. ‘Great to see you, Maddy.'

‘Hi,' said Maddy, as if she was auditioning for a porno.

‘Roo.' I shook his hand.

‘I'd offer you both a seat but I've only got two,' he said. ‘Let's go out for coffee.'

He led us down the street to a quaint little coffee shop where everyone knew his name. ‘What can I get you?' he asked.

Maddy froze.

‘I'd like a latte,' I said. ‘And you, Maddy?'

‘Same,' she swooned. ‘But make it skinny. I only drink skinny.'

Save that poor girl from herself, Ruby.

‘So,' Felix said, ‘how do you want to do this?'

Maddy reddened. I stepped in. ‘Max and Shelly will be here at half four, leaving us enough time for a quick half-hour walk-through.'

Maddy's hand trembled so much she struggled to pick up her teaspoon. I thought I had better continue. ‘I understand you've been talking to Maddy about a shopping-centre walk.'

‘Yes,' he said. ‘The local Westfield works well for me because it's a Friday so we'll get the after-school mums and kids.' His brick of a phone started to vibrate violently on the table. ‘This will be centre management—I'd better take it.' He took the call outside.

I turned to Maddy and whispered, ‘I have no idea what I'm doing. You need to take over.'

She tore open a packet of sugar and emptied it everywhere but in her coffee. ‘I'm cool,' she said, ‘just a little jumpy—too much caffeine.'

Felix returned. ‘We can go for a run-through now if we like. Does that work for you?'

‘Yes,' said Maddy, ‘we can come together—
go
together.'

We piled into the car and hit the road, stopping a hundred yards away at a set of lights near a busy intersection. Outside, in the scorching heat, a man was smoothing an adhesive sign onto a billboard. It was a colossal photograph of the LOO.

‘What does it say?' Felix squinted in the sunlight.

‘MAX MASTERS : STEADY HANDS , READY TO GOVERN .' I scanned the photograph. The silvery tie was perfect with his skin tone. His smile was friendly, his eyes serious. ‘Oh no.' I groaned.

‘What?' They both turned to me.

I pointed to the adjacent billboard.

EXPERIENCING ERECTILE PROBLEMS? TRY READY,

STEADY, GO! CALL 1300 GET IT UP.

‘That's just great,' said Felix. ‘On the same street as my bloody campaign office.'

I took a photograph of the billboards and emailed it to Luke.

Hi Luke. Postcard from Adelaide. Regrettable slogan coincidence. R

Maddy found a parking space at the shopping centre and we were inside the blissfully cool air-conditioned building when my phone rang. It was Luke.

‘Tell me you're kidding.' His voice was low.

‘Sorry, Luke, photos don't lie.'

‘There's not much we can do about it now, I guess. How big is it?'

‘Long and stiff as a board.'

‘Shhhh,' he said, ‘don't make me laugh—Max is doing live radio. See you in Adelaide.'

I turned to Felix, who was busy chatting with Russell from centre management. Maddy stood behind Felix, shamelessly scoping out his arse.

We were shown the entrance Max and Shelly would use and walked past a number of shops, including a green grocer, bakery, butcher, shoe repair, cafe and pet shop.

‘All of these tenants are happy to have Mr and Mrs Masters in their shops,' Russell said, ‘except the pet shop owner, because she's worried the flashes will spook the kittens.'