The Boys' Club (18 page)

Here we go . . .

'It's about Portia.'

'Portia? What do you mean, Simon?'

'Well, Rose, I think she's letting you down. A lot of the executives
believe she's quite lazy and talks out of school. I know Alicia is
disappointed with her efforts on drama so far and, well, I think it's
time for her to go.'

'Go? Go where, Simon?'

'To be let go, Rose. I just don't think she's a strong enough member
of the Six team and you should start looking for a new number
two.'

Rosie was flabbergasted. She'd thought Portia was a hit with the
executives, especially the males. Hadn't she been breakfasting with
them most mornings?

'Simon, I'd have to have a reason to fire Portia and frankly I
don't. It's illegal just to sack someone. She has months to go on her
contract.'

'Well, I suggest you pay her out then.'

'Simon, I really don't understand why this is so urgent. Surely I
can take her off drama and put her on daytime if you feel strongly
that she is a problem.'

Nash began to fidget in his seat, which meant he was holding back
a thesaurus of expletives.

'Rose, look, I've asked you nicely and I really don't want to have to
argue this with you any further. It's time for Portia to go. I think you
should make it a priority. I'll talk to Bettina about the payout but we
need her gone. Okay?'

'I hear you, Simon. I'll talk to human resources about the best way
to handle this,' Rosie said, numb.

'Good. Just let me know when you've told her, okay? Now, let's go
and see what Alicia has in store. God help us all.'

Rosie had never seen Nash visibly nervous before but there was no
denying it. Tapping his finger on the wooden seat arm, his eyes
kept darting from his watch to the executive viewing door and back
again. Alicia was running late – as always – and with every second
that elapsed, Rosie felt the tension grow. It was a surprisingly small
crowd, considering the magnitude of what was to be unveiled: just
herself, Nash, Johnno and Bettina Arthur – back in the fold once
more, Rosie noted. No sign yet of her mysterious boss Adam Short,
though.

As Jan and Grace departed the room, leaving a cheese platter,
chocolates and silver pots of strong coffee, the lights began to dim –
all but a single spotlight in front of the screen where a lectern stood.
Music began, the techno thump that Rosie found so annoyingly
repetitive and inane at dance parties. The music grew louder as the
doors to the cinema opened once more and Alicia entered.

Rosie smiled at her wardrobe choice for the great unveiling:
a witch's hat orange smock dress that looked like it had been
issued at Guantanamo Bay, and jewel-studded cowboy boots. Her
trademark dangly earrings were there, as was her customary jarring
lip colour.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' Alicia began. 'Let me give you something
to consider: one in two Australian women experience physical or
sexual violence at some stage in their lives. This figure refers to those
who are actually hit, battered, raped or killed. It does not take into
account the number of women who will be emotionally abused. So,
where do these women flee when their lives and those of their children
are at risk? Where is their sanctuary in these cruel, patriarchal cities
of ours? And who is at the other end to mop up these shattered lives?
Who is there to witness the drama first hand, to rebuild these women,
to teach them how to love and trust again? The answer is: the girls at
the Women's Refuge! Please roll tape.'

With the thumping techno now pounding so hard she thought her
fillings might come loose, Rosie watched in horror as the showreel
began with a montage flashing in time with the hypnotic beat: women
with black eyes, screaming children, huddled families, babies crying,
men yelling, raised fists, and –
LORD NO, MAKE IT STOP! –
butch
women kissing!

Rosie had never been more grateful for the cover of darkness.
Holding her knees to her chest, she had to force her splayed hands
from her face to watch the continuing car crash as a voiceover boomed
through the strobe-flashes:

'When you feel you have no choice in life, when you have taken
your last punch after his payday booze-up, when he's said sorry for
the last time, when you want to start over and there's nowhere else to
run, that's when it's time to find shelter at the
Women's Refuge
.

'Channel Six is proud to present a drama unlike anything Australia
has ever seen, a look at life so gritty and real it's like you are there
amidst the carnage, a drama that breaks all the rules, then kicks
what's left to the kerb. Welcome to the
Women's Refuge
, coming soon
to Six.'

Rosie swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat, hugging
her legs and rocking in shock. For a brief moment she thought she
might actually have soiled herself, then realised she'd merely crushed
the cheese-laden biscuit she'd been holding as the video began and
was now sitting in a splat of brie. Wishing a very large tumbler of
hard liquor would somehow miraculously appear in her hand, she
shuddered, then shuddered again as she realised the lights were
coming on. Generally, at this stage of any presentation, applause
would be the norm, but this was no ordinary presentation. This was
a horror that would give even Stephen King nightmares.

Rosie remained glued to her seat, too scared to turn and look at her
colleagues. She didn't need to. Simon Nash was already standing, his
normally waxy pink complexion now a pulsing shade of vermilion.
Alicia, still standing proudly at the lectern, must have thought she
was about to receive a standing ovation from the entertainment head
and curtsied modestly.

'
What the fuck was that?
' Nash screamed. 'Are you out of your
mind
,
you stupid cow? That was a fucking abortion. A disgrace. I have never
seen anything so fucking awful in my entire career. I mean, what the
fuck were you thinking? Tell me.
Tell me, you moron!
'

Johnno stood up suddenly. Rosie hoped he was going to calm
Nash down. She should have known better.

'Are you on crack?' he asked Alicia, who miraculously remained
upright. 'I can't program this shit! What the fuck do you think
this network is, Dyke TV? Do you really think Australia wants
to see your rug-munching mates rubbing uglies at the end of the
day? How do you expect them to explain to their kids that some
daddies like to bash mummies? Do you really consider this to be
entertaining? You are fucking delusional. In fact, I think you're
insane.'

Rosie managed to snap herself out of her numb state of shock and
stand up. Without even knowing what was about to come out of her
mouth she heard herself scream, 'ENOUGH! Leave her alone, you
bullies. You've said enough. Let it rest!'

Rosie's intervention gave Alicia enough time to flee the screening
room, slamming the door violently as she left. The eerie silence that
followed only made what had preceded it so much more potent.

'Well, fellas, you've really done it this time,' Rosie said, noting that
she was actually trembling. It was then that she recalled Bettina's
presence in the room. She looked over at the woman, who was visibly
livid.

'
Gentlemen
,' Bettina said in a scathing tone, 'although that is a
word I would hardly use to describe either of you. How dare you
speak to a colleague like that. To use a colourful phrase of your own,
get the fuck out of my sight. I need to call head office. Then, I can
assure you, I will be calling HR.'

* * *

'So, how did it go?' Lisa asked cheerily as Rosie staggered back into
her office. 'Are you okay?' she added, noticing her boss's beleaguered
appearance.

'It didn't go well – at all,' Rosie replied. 'In fact, the
Titanic
was a
joyride in comparison. Can you get Simon Nash on the line for me.
He should be back in his office. I need to see him ASAP.'

Rosie staggered back to her desk and held her head in her hands.
She had never wanted Keith here more than she did at this very
moment. Then again, he would have been of little help earlier, not
being known to hold his tongue and take a PC tone himself.

Rosie kept going over and over the showreel Alicia had presented,
wondering how she could have got it so wrong. Then she remembered
it was just a presentation of an idea. It wasn't as if she had already
filmed thirteen episodes. It wasn't too late to save, even though it
might appear that way.

Rosie grabbed a pen and began to make notes. For a start, the title
would have to change. Take out
Women's
and maybe call it
Refuge
.
That had nicer connotations. Or, even better,
Hostel
. No,
Hotel
.
Maybe a friendly halfway house where women can rebuild their lives
and where men are not the enemy – or at least only the violent ones
are.

Rosie scribbled. The lead character could be an earthy old broad, a
whore-with-a-big-heart type of character, only one whose goal was to
help women – rather than the hardcore lesbian depicted (surely she
wasn't thinking Lisa McCune play her?). She could be Pippa from
Home and Away
only older, and taking in grown women instead of
kids. We could give her a sympathetic background – her daughter
was murdered by a violent husband and ever since she has made it her
life goal to help other women. She could have a lovely husband who
fights for these women too. There could still be a lesbian character,
although perhaps Alicia could be talked into making her a little more
approachable and a lot less hirsute. This way, there could be teen
conflict, young kids, redemption, renewal, pathos, joy . . . Alicia
wasn't wrong in seeing the potential, she had simply slipped up on
the execution.

Oh, but the way those men spoke to her. If I was Alicia I wouldn't
hang around to fix the show.

Rosie's thoughts were disrupted by her phone vibrating. She had a
text message. Immediately her mood lifted at the mere thought that
it might be Daniel. It was: '
Still thinking about you. Still smiling
.'

Rosie texted back
XXXXX
in caps.

She wasn't going to make the mistake of acting uninterested with
Daniel. She was, big time.

While she had her mobile in her hand, Rosie impulsively called
Elaine Norman's number. After several rings, she heard the elegant
woman's voice.

'Elaine, it's Rosie,' she whispered. 'I can't really speak but hell has
broken loose here today. I don't want to worry Keith, it's only that he
made me promise to keep him up to date with what's going on. And
let me tell you, there's a lot.'

'Oh, Rosie, are you okay? Keith filled me in on some of the things
you told him yesterday and now I'm worried about you, dear. You
must let me know if I can help you in any way, promise?'

'I promise, and thanks, Elaine.'

'Now, I'll put you through to him. You know, he's been so much
brighter since your visit. He's even talking about returning to work.
I've given up. From now on I've decided that it's best to let him do
what he wants. It's his life – what's left of it.'

'Elaine, you are a damn fine woman,' Rosie replied.

'I don't know about that, Rose, but thank you. Now, let me see if I
can transfer this call. I'm still trying to work out all these buttons.'

As Rosie waited to be put through, Lisa appeared at her door,
white with panic.

'I have Simon Nash on line one. And Graham Hunt in LA on line
two!'

Holy hell!

'Tell Simon I'll call him back – no, better still, get him to come
down – and put Hunt through. Before you do, make sure you get a
contact number for him wherever he is and don't let him try to talk
you out of it.'

Lisa ran from Rosie's office to do what she was told while Keith
finally came on line on the mobile.

'What's up, sweetie?' he asked, sounding relatively upbeat.

'So much, I don't know where to begin. Alicia's unveiling didn't
go down too well – at all – and I have Graham Hunt on the other
line.'

'Tell that cunt Hunt that I will have his balls the minute he steps
back in the country. Tell him how fucking dare he humiliate this
network. Tell him he is the lowest little—'

'Enough, Keith!'

Rosie couldn't believe she had just yelled at the most powerful
man in the history of television, but she might as well continue.

'Keith, when are you going to realise that abusing people is not
the way to deal with things? I just sat through Nash and Johnno
doing the same thing to Alicia and, let me tell you, it went down like
Snoop Dogg at a Klan meeting. You're looking at big trouble with
that one, Keith. And if the press get hold of it, there will be little I
can do. Bettina was in the room too and she is seething. It was a
disaster, Keith, but it needn't have been. If everyone learned to hold
their tongue—'

'Fuck, seems like you're having a shocker.'

'I am, Keith, but I've given a few things some thought and I reckon
there's a way we can get out of this Hunt situation. I've got a plan.'

'Talk to me.'

'Well, at first I thought we should just fire the creep, as he's in
breach of his contract, but then, looking at the almost cult status the
guy has achieved via the media and the net, maybe we should make
the most of it.'

'I like it so far.'

'Let's get him on
Balls Eye
. Ratings are down, and Hunt could
garner us some much-needed press, even though most of it will be
bad. We can get him to tell his story of remorse on camera – the
ratings will be amazing.'

'I like it!'

'Good. Now, let me see if he will too.'

'Just fucking tell him he likes it. The prick won't want to lose the
cash we're paying him. Call me back and let me know how you go.'

'I will, Keith.'

'And, Rosie, I always believed you knew something about
television.'

'Thanks, Keith. I think.'

With that, Rosie put down her phone and picked up line two.
'Hunt? Where are you? Actually, don't bother. Just tell me how long
it will take you to get back here. I have a plan to save your sorry arse
and if you know what's good for you, you'll follow it.'