The Boys' Club (16 page)

Rosie watched as Keith's neck turned a familiar shade of plum.
This time, though, he reminded her more of a limp goose carcass
than the bull of the boardroom.

'Keith,' Rosie said, pointing to the French doors ajar behind them,
'you have a beautiful woman in there who loves you. This crap doesn't
matter. I know you find that hard to believe, but it just doesn't. It's
TV. Old news from a tired medium. Let it go. It's not what's going to
make you happy in . . .' Rosie stopped herself from saying 'the end',
but Keith knew exactly what she meant.

'Sweetie, I thank you for what you're saying but the last thing you
need to worry about is whether I appreciate that woman in there.
I do, believe me. There's not a day I haven't woken up and looked
at her beside me and thought I was the luckiest bastard alive. It's
a shame, you know. We never could have kids for some reason. I
always worried I'd pickled my sauce somehow but we never really
talked about it. Been too bloody painful for both of us, I guess.'

Rosie knew what would come next.

'I decided I'd throw myself into work,' Keith continued, lost in his
thoughts. 'Make it my baby. And you know, I don't regret a fucking
minute of it. I love that place. At least, I love what it has been. But
lately, I just don't recognise the faces any more. The soul has gone,
replaced by the almighty dollar.' Keith paused to regain composure,
then went on. 'I actually care about what I do, you know. I like giving
people pleasure – something to take the edge off their days when the
kids have been fed and put to bed. I want to make their lives lighter,
better. I do, you know . . .'

Rosie squeezed his hand hard in lieu of words.

'Twenty-four years. It's a long fucking time, sweetie. Now I'm six
weeks out and I feel like my eulogies have been given and I'm ready
for the fucking burner. What they don't know is that there's some
steam in this old turbine yet. Now tell me, what's really been going
on behind my back?'

Rosie deferred to her inner voice that said truth above everything,
and began to talk. She told Keith everything he wanted to know and
everything he didn't.

Rosie wondered if you could wear a text message out as she compulsively
scrolled to it yet again: 'Just the thought of you makes me smile.'

Simple. Short. Sweet. Sigh. Rosie acknowledged she had a big-time
crush on Mr Daniel Jones and decided to use the thought of him as
an emotional buoy at work when things got tough. With what was
ahead – Alicia's drama unveiling, the Sports Hall of Fame dinner in
Adelaide and the new, mysterious promo, along with the Kennedys,
and the usual carnival of crapola – she knew that the image of Daniel
Jones would be mentally accessed repeatedly.

She also had to deal with the fact that Portia had bowed out for
unknown reasons, leaving her without a 2IC. All Rosie's calls to
Portia's mobile had so far gone unanswered and even her message
said she would be out of contact until further notice – and while
Rosie may have felt Portia didn't have her back of late, she certainly
didn't discount her expertise. Portia may have come from a cosmetics
company, but she knew how to package pong as
parfum
. And in the
TV PR business, that meant 'knowing something about television'.

Still, Rosie was determined to stay upbeat. As she approached
the car park, she wound up her windows, turned the music up and
dragged deeply on her third cigarette of the morning. She was going
to extract every single second of me time she could before heading up
the elevator with one stop –
Level 5: hell, damnation and purgatory.
Everybody out.

As had become a habit of late, Rosie checked her car's rear and
side mirrors before opening the door to avoid running into someone
with a problem before she was adequately caffeinated to cope. This
morning, she spotted Crystelle Callaghan on her way to Studio 3 and
decided to say hi to her friend and thanks again for the thoughtful
card. Rosie slammed her car door and prepared herself for a high-heeled
sprint to catch up, but stopped short at the urgent ringing of
tiny bells behind her. Suddenly she felt like a luckless gazelle on a
concrete tundra about to be pounced on.

'Sweetheart, there you are,' Alicia chortled, waving her hand in the
air, the sound of her laden charm bracelet a manic wind chime.

'Alicia! Hello, lovely. Look, I'm just rushing to catch up with
Crystelle at the moment, but I can't wait for today's drama
presentation. It's all very exciting and I know we need to have a big
talk about launches and profile placements . . . You look fab, by the
way. You do brights so well.'

Rosie was already storming away from Alicia and had almost made
it when a heavily beaded sleeve appeared on her shoulder.

'It's about the foyer, darling,' Alicia panted, now right back in
Rosie's face. 'It's important. I need to know where my new cast
photos are going to go.'

Not the foyer AGAIN!

Alicia was obsessed with the photos that hung in the reception area
in the network's main entrance – almost as obsessed as the network
talent were, and that was saying something. Stars had been known
to sneak in late at night and move their portrait to a more prominent
position, hoping no one would notice, while others asked for so
much airbrushing that their photos ended up looking like paintings.
Then there was the constant demand for expensive reshoots when
hairstyles changed, weight was lost or cosmetic surgery rendered the
previous images unrecognisable.

'Alicia, we have plenty of time to talk about this. Naturally there'll
be a cast shot hung in due course—'

'But, darling, that's the point. I think the main players should
all have their own portraits. I'm putting publicity sweeteners in the
actors' contracts – billboards, profiles, magazine covers – letting
them know we plan to make them fully fledged stars.'

'In their contracts? Surely not!' Rosie countered, almost choking
on her words.

What was this daffy darling thinking? This is a recipe for another
nightmare cast of egomaniacs for me to handle.

'Please tell me you haven't signed anything that says that? I mean,
there's no way I could ever control that sort of thing, Alicia. We can't
guarantee covers, although, of course, I'll be pushing for them. And
I haven't even been given a budget for the show yet so billboards et
cetera are a way off. As for the foyer, I'll do my best, but you know
very well Keith will put whoever he damn well pleases where he
damn well wants them! I mean, there's not even enough wall space.
What happened to this being an ensemble cast?'

Rosie continued, frustration evident in her voice: 'What if we
decide to hold off on a big launch and instead sample the first episodes
during non-ratings and let the characters get a bit of a buzz going?'

'Darling, this show isn't a sample, it's a banquet,' Alicia said
fervently. 'And by god, between you and me there won't be anyone
in the southern hemisphere who is not au fait with the entire cast's
astro chart by the time we've finished with them. They will be family
to every living Australian man, woman and child, although we must
consider international sales too—'

'Give me an hour and we'll discuss this more, I promise,' Rosie
said, this time forcibly sidestepping her captor.

'Good, darling, can't wait! We have so much to go through. I'm
seeing a big press launch for this one. I have big ideas. You'll be
excited,' Alicia called from behind. 'Oh, and by the way, I felt for
you over that whole Graham Hunt thing. I don't know if I like him
at all! I mean, what a nasty piece of work. He really should have
learnt to keep his trousers zipped by now, considering what happened
before.'

Rosie turned and glared. 'What do you mean by that, Alicia?' she
demanded, surprising herself with her strident tone.

'Darling, your stress levels are out of control at the moment. You
really should come to my meditation class with me. Works wonders,
you know.'

'Alicia, what about Graham Hunt?'

'Well, darling, it's just that . . . you know I don't like to gossip but
I did hear something I thought a little unfair. You know, about the
girl who had your job before you, Lara Green.'

'No, I don't know.'

'Well, I've been told that she and Mr Hunt were very close friends
at some stage . . .'

'Are you saying what I think you're saying?'

'Yes, I'm afraid. It seems a condition of his employment was that
she had to be fired. That's how you got her job, darling.'

Rosie was stunned beyond words.

'Alicia, you can't be right about this. Keith wouldn't have allowed
it, surely.'

'Well, what I heard was that Keith wasn't happy at all but Graham
Hunt was too big an investment. I mean, the way Keith goes on
about news, you'd think it's what keeps the whole network afloat.'

'Alicia, it is what keeps the network afloat! And as for Lara Green,
I really can't believe that could happen. It's illegal for a start. She
would have grounds to sue, surely? She should have.'

'It's also a bit embarrassing for poor Lara, though, isn't it? I mean,
we all know he's a married man.'

'I see what you're saying. But Alicia, if this is true, it's just too
much. I mean, we women put up with so much sexism at the network
already, surely our past lovers can't be used against us as well?'

'Well, darling, if they can, they should fire me right now 'cause I've
had a lot of them.'

Both women giggled at Alicia's confession, although not for
long.

'Look, thanks for telling me that, Alicia. I certainly hope it's not
true but if it is, I'll be having words with Keith about it.'

'Oh, darling Keith, I do miss him. Shame he won't be coming
back.'

'What makes you say that?'

'People are talking.'

'And what are they saying this time?'

'Word is, he's to be retired. Simon Nash will be appointed the
new CEO as soon as it's done. I think the plan is to announce all the
changes the day after the Kennedy Awards.'

'But surely that can't be right? I mean, Keith's getting a lifetime
achievement award. They can't sack him the next day! Don't they
have souls?'

'Well, darling, it seems they can, but again I'm only repeating
what I've heard. You know, I'd hate to be the one to start a rumour
around here. Anyway, I'll see you at twelve for the great unveiling.'

'Yes, I guess you will,' Rosie replied, still shell-shocked at Alicia's
revelations.

'Good, darling. Oh, and do think about meditation. This job
is taking its toll on you as it is. Don't let them break your spirit
completely. My partner is a qualified reiki practitioner, you know.
I'm sure she could work wonders on you.'

'Thanks, Alicia, I'll certainly give that some thought. And thanks
also for being so honest with me.'

'Of course! We girls have to stick together.'

Rosie blew Alicia a kiss and turned to find Crystelle had
disappeared from view. She was in no mood now to chat anyway and
needed a coffee – bad. Rosie also realised she needed a conversation
with Keith, quick.

When Rosie reached the lobby, she spotted Jason Jarvis staring
at the giant framed photos, no doubt wondering how he could get
himself up there. Not prepared for another drama queen before she
had even reached her desk, Rosie swiftly turned on her heels, ready
to leg it around the back of the building and take the stairs if she
had to. Anything to avoid being zapped of energy by that needy
ego monster. But it was too late. She had been spotted. The head of
outsourced productions was walking her way, waving flamboyantly
to ensure he had her attention.

Rosie ran through the many gripes she was about to hear: how
he had been left out of important meetings; how the fact he was
trained in Melbourne meant Sydney thought him second-rate; how
his programs were not getting the big marketing and promotions
dollars thrown at them . . .

Jason Jarvis lived in a constant state of paranoia which,
unfortunately, was always for good reason. Outsourced productions
came under the entertainment umbrella, which meant he was
under the rule of The Darkness, Simon Nash. And Nash didn't like
him. Rosie knew this because Nash would regularly tell the entire
executive staff at program meetings – whenever the 'idiot' wasn't in
the room, that is.

Like so many execs at Six, Jason was so concerned about internal
politics and pecking orders he had very little time for his product,
something the stars of his shows were constantly complaining to
Rosie about. And when talent starts whingeing, it doesn't take long
to reach the ears on Level 5.

The fact that Jason was overtly gay didn't help him at all either,
not that the other men would say as much – to his face, at least.
Johnno, who prided himself on having 'nailed' most females under
thirty at the network, only understood testosterone packaged in
heterosexuality, and Keith, well he thought 'those types' should be
confined to hair and make-up departments, not allowed anywhere
near his sacred Level 5 domain. And as for Nash, as far as Rosie
could see, he simply hated everyone.

'Rosie, thank god I've found you,' Jason cooed, the smell of
Wild Fig & Cassis emanating from his every cleansed, toned and
moisturised pore. 'I'm at my wits' end.'

'Jason, lovely to see you. Look, I'm keen for a catch-up but I really
have to run at this minute—'

'Damn! I was hoping we could have a coffee, although the canteen
here can't make a decent soy macchiato no matter how many times I
show that gorgeous young barista . . .'

Rosie laughed to herself. It was true that the Six canteen staff
thought an exotic coffee was a teaspoon of freeze blend rather than
powdered instant.

'Anyway, I've heard several meetings have taken place, all very
hush-hush, since Keith had his health hiccup,' Jason continued,
seemingly oblivious to Rosie's attempt to flee.

'Well, I couldn't talk about that, Jason. I'm lucky to even get a seat
at the daily program meetings, as you know.'

'There was a meeting last Saturday, I believe. Any idea who was
there?' he persevered, clearly trying to ascertain just how low in the
boys' club food chain he was these days.

'Oh, just the usual,' she answered in her breezy voice. 'You know,
Keith, Nash, Johnno, Russ, the bean counters . . .'

The following silence indicated that Jason wanted – no, make
that needed – still more names. 'Just tell me,' he said when nothing
was forthcoming from Rosie, 'why do you think I got banned from
the programming meeting? Do you think they actually believe I
could be the one talking to the
Sentinel
? You know how much I
absolutely loathe having any interaction with the press . . .'

Rosie laughed to herself again. If there was anyone at the network
who loved to talk to the press it was Jason Jarvis. Unfortunately,
the press weren't too keen to talk to him – ever – preferring
Great
Gardens
' long-standing host, Peter Ingles.

'Of course you wouldn't, Jason,' Rosie said, not wanting to make
the executive any more paranoid than he already was. 'I got chucked
out of the programming meeting with you, remember, and my job is
to inform the public about the network's content, so I wouldn't feel
too bad.'

'Thanks, Rosie,' he replied, sounding a little more buoyant. 'It's
just
sooo
hard to know who to trust around here, isn't it? I mean, I
just loathe office politics.'

Rosie nodded, hoping that Jason would now head to wherever it
was he was supposed to go. She should have known better.

'Rosie, while I have you, we really must talk about
Great Gardens
.
It will only take a second, I promise – I mean, goodness, it's been
hard getting hold of you lately! As you know, ratings are down and I
think we really need to get out there and garner some press interest in
the series return. I have some exciting changes ahead – new opening
titles, a craft segment . . .'