The Boys' Club (20 page)

'That's what I like to hear. I'll put her on.'

Rosie passed the phone to Crystelle, then listened as the great lady
charmed Greg Leach with her tale of near-death. She had just landed
Crystelle the front page of every major Australian newspaper. And
for once, she actually felt proud of her job.

Rosie regretted Salty Sam's the minute she walked through its faux
cabin doors. The gaudy, neon-lit restaurant was an assault – or should
that be insult – to the senses. Screaming children wearing flimsy
paper pirate hats and plastic eye-patches were running unchallenged,
their beleaguered parents relishing the respite from responsibility.
Fishing nets overhead held plastic seashells, papier-mâché anchors,
faded rubber seaweed strands and tacky hidden treasure trinkets.
The fake timber hull walls were complete with portholes looking out
on the car park and the captain's-wheel tables were accessible only by
walking a plastic plank. Rosie grimaced, but it was too late to turn
back and have a lovely birthday picnic in the park. She was stuck in
Salty Sam hell.

'Aye, me hearties,' squawked a large man who smelt of stale whiskey
and BO, dressed in a heavy wool pirate outfit. The sad stuffed macaw
on his shoulder looked to Rosie like a bird flu casualty. 'What a fine
crew we have here! Are we ready to set sail?'

'Salty Sam!' Leon screamed, clearly impressed with this sad NIDA
reject who, on closer inspection, was not as old as he looked. He was
probably around Rosie's age, but pickled from alcohol and a day job
that made Ronald McDonald's look like Jack Nicholson's.

'Leon Lang party,' Rosie informed the stinky pirate.

'Just as well ye's on time or I'd have ye scrubbing the decks,' he
said. His annoyingly overanimated manner reminded her of those
Marcel Marceau wannabe mimes who haunted Pitt Street Mall at
Christmas, just asking to be punched by harried shoppers.

'Some of ye crew is already here, ready to set sail,' he continued.
'I'll take ye to the deck. Ho ho ho, me hearties.'

Rosie checked her watch. One pm on the dot. Past the yardarm
somewhere in the world, surely?

'Ah, Sam,' she whispered, copping a whiff of the stale sweat-lined
felt of his pirate hat. 'Ye wouldn't have a wee old dram of rum for this
thirsty mum, would ye?'

'I'm afraid we don't,' Sam replied in his regular voice, coarse from
smoking and late nights. 'But let me tell you, if I had a gold doubloon
for every time a parent asked me that . . .'

Rosie grinned.
Still, it has to be better than the office
, she told herself.

'Let me find ye your serving wench,' Sam said, back in character.
As he waved his arm skyward, Rosie noticed the poor bastard had
a rubber hook for a hand and hoped he was covered under a decent
award-wage for the indignity of it all.

A sad-looking girl who would have been pretty if not for her sullen
pout arrived, dressed in a long skirt, apron and peasant blouse tied
low to reveal her ample wobbling cleavage.

I bet she's a hit with the dads missing their weekend game of golf to
come here
, Rosie thought.

'I'm ye wench, Mary,' she said with as much gusto as 'pass me the
salt'. 'Here's ye crew kit,' she continued, passing Leon a plastic bag
with a Jolly Roger on the front and useless pirate tat inside. The little
boy's face lit up as though he had been handed a winning lottery
ticket. 'Follow me and I'll take ye to your shipmates.' As she walked
ahead Rosie noticed serving wench Mary was wearing fluoro green
Crocs on her feet.

Rosie couldn't help but laugh out loud as she entered the private
party room with its handwritten, Blu-tacked sign saying 'Captain
Leon's Ship'. Seated awkwardly at the large faux-wood table were
her mother Vera and dad Mick, both wearing pirate hats way too
small for their adult-size heads. Vera's sat perilously atop her salon-set
hair, stuck to the layers of lacquer she sprayed on daily to create her
immovable helmet.

At the other end of the table, sitting as far from Vera as possible,
were Jeff and Heather, both looking timid in their undignified
get-ups.

This might be more fun than I first thought
, Rosie realised as she saw
Jeff sneer at his surrounds.

Leon, clearly overwhelmed with excitement and not knowing
who to run to and cuddle first, pulled at her hand, interrupting
her ungracious thoughts.
This is his day. Must be tolerant and loving
mother . . .
Rosie followed behind her boy to say her hellos.

'Thanks for coming, Mum and Dad. It means the world to Leon
to have you here.'

'Well, he is our only grandchild,' Vera said curtly.

Realising Vera was in one of those moods that could bring on the
beginning of World War III, Rosie quickly moved on to Jeff and
Heather.

'Thanks so much for coming, both of you,' she said, applauding
herself for being so warm, generous and grown-up.

'Thank you, Rosie,' Heather replied politely. When Jeff remained
silent, she nudged him softly with her elbow.

'Couldn't you have found somewhere else to hold the kid's party?'
he finally piped, resentment evident in his every word. It seemed Jeff
was still smarting over the slap Rosie had given him. That or the
tongue-lashing he had no doubt received from Vera over the custody
question.

'This is where Leon wanted it, Jeff. It is his birthday, after all.'

Jeff glowered.

'He's just angry because the swell is good at the moment,' Heather
said, throwing her fiancé an angry glare. 'Ignore him.'

Rosie realised she did not or could not dislike Heather, which only
made her want to more. Looking at her with Jeff, Rosie realised that
Leon had a whole other family in his life, one with a loving couple
at the helm.

Leon probably would be better off with them
, Rosie realised
. Heather
is a better mother than I am.
She felt sick to her stomach.

Next to arrive were the Little Darlings Daycare gang. Rosie had
allowed Leon to ask his four favourite friends and was ecstatic that
the first name on his list was Elroy Jones. Most of the mothers who
had replied had seen the party invitation as an afternoon off from
their kids, asking Rosie if she would mind if they didn't attend. She
didn't. At all. Daniel Jones saw it as another sort of opportunity
altogether, RSVPing that he and Elroy would be there, with bells on.
Being the considerate darling he was, Daniel had picked up the other
boys and so they all arrived en masse, wriggling with excitement at
being out together. Rosie's self-loathing faded away as she caught
sight of him. He looked even more handsome than she remembered,
in that dishevelled, comfortable, all-male way of his.

'Hello, gorgeous,' he whispered, kissing Rosie's cheek softly. 'Am I
happy to see you again.'

'Back at you big time,' Rosie replied, feeling the blush rising up her
cheeks. 'I've missed you.'

'So, where's your ex?' he asked, prewarned that Jeff would be
attending. 'Best I know where the daggers will be coming from.'

'He knows nothing about you, so I wouldn't be too worried about
Jeff. My mother . . . well, that's another story,' Rosie replied, cocking
her head in Vera's direction.

'No problem,' he said, quickly glancing at Vera, who sat stiffly,
refolding the children's paper napkins. 'Mothers love me.'

'Yeah, well my mother is a challenge, I warn you. And don't expect
my dad Mick to help you out at all. She doesn't let him get a word in.
In fact, I can't recall him getting out an entire sentence in the past
fifteen years.'

As wench Mary returned with a tray laden with salty fries, battered
onion rings, fried fish fingers and every other breading, fat and filler
combination imaginable, Rosie felt her emergency phone vibrate in
her pocket.

'Daniel, will you cover me for a moment? I have to take this call.'

'Sure,' he replied. 'I'm going in for a full charm offensive with your
mother.'

'Good luck.'

'I won't need it. Trust me.'

'Oh yes you will, Daniel. Trust me!'

Rosie was just about to step outside with her phone when she saw
Lou and Stephen being escorted to Captain Leon's room by wobbly
Salty Sam. Hastily she waved at them, indicating she would be back
in a moment. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn Lou
rolled her eyes as she noticed the phone in her hand.

'Rosie Lang.'

'Where are you? All hell has broken loose.'

'Can I ask who I'm speaking to?' Rosie replied, trying to delay the
inevitable a moment longer.

'It's Simon Nash. I need you at the office. Now.'

'Simon, I'm sorry, but that is impossible. It's my son's birthday.
This time I must say no.'

Rosie could hear Simon groan in frustration.

'Perhaps I can help you from here if it's a matter of a phone call,'
Rosie continued, hoping Simon would soften. 'What's the problem?'

'It's the
Makeover This Mess
contestants. Tell me you haven't sent
out the press material yet.'

'It went out last week, Simon, you know that. You were the one
rushing me to get the new contestants' profiles out there.'

'Well, there's a problem.'

'What problem?'

'It seems the producers didn't do their background checks properly.
One has a prison record. Klaus Heinrich.'

Rosie sighed. She knew this would happen one day. That was the
problem with reality television: you were using real people and, as
such, their murky pasts and unknown histories. It was just a matter
of time.

'What was he in for?'

'You're not going to like it.'

'Just tell me, Simon.'

'Child porn.'

Rosie groaned in disgust, feeling dirty for even knowing a low life
piece of scum who could exploit a child. She thought back to last
week when she had lunched the new contestants to brief them on
what they could expect press-wise when the series went to air. As last
year's series was a fluke hit, there was a lot of pressure on this year's
show to be an even bigger ratings bonanza, with advertisers paying
a premium to have their products featured in the family-friendly
timeslot.

Klaus Heinrich had been particularly savvy about the potential to
build a profile for himself, making Rosie wary from the beginning.

She knew that the fame-hungry ones were the ones to watch when
it came to publicity, shooting their mouths off to get a few more
column inches, often at the expense of the network and, worse, the
advertisers. But someone involved in kiddie porn? Even as a die-hard
pacifist, Rosie was borderline on the death penalty when it came to
people who abused kids. And to have actually given him publicity?
Oh god.

'How do you know this, Simon? Does anyone else know?'

'I've heard the
Sentinel
is all over it.'

'I haven't heard a word from the
Sentinel
,' Rosie replied, mentally
cursing Greg Leach, her supposed friend.

'Well trust me, they are,' Simon continued. 'You have to stop them,
Rose. You have to hold them off until we can recast him. It's going to
cost a fortune but we can still do it.'

'Simon, if they have his record, there's nothing we can do. It's
public information. Have you called Richard Barker? What's his
legal opinion?'

'He's gone caving and I can't get through. I've left countless
messages. He'll call back as soon as he can.'

Caving? It takes all sorts to work in television
, Rosie thought to
herself.

'Hold on, Rose,' Nash said. 'There's another call coming through.
It might be Barker.'

As Rose was left to the easy listening music on Nash's phone –
trust him to make her endure Kenny G
–
she caught sight of Leon
and his gang through the large porthole window nearby. They were
playing pass the parcel with wench Mary and Salty Sam, with lovely
Daniel looking on.

Hurry up, Nash! I have to get back in there.

Several more excruciatingly long minutes passed until he re-emerged
on the line.

'Was that Richard?' Rosie asked hopefully.

'No, it was my trainer. I'm missing weights today because of this.'

Weights? I am missing my bloody son's birthday!

'So, Rose, I need you to call the
Sentinel
and tell them that if they
publish one word about Heinrich we'll file that many lawsuits they
won't see daylight for barristers' wigs. Tell them we have our full legal
team working on it. Scare them, Rose. Tell them whatever it takes to
stop them. It will be the end of us both if Keith hears about this.'

Rosie had very little knowledge of the legal system but what she
did know made Simon's suggestion preposterous at best. Her days on
court rounds had taught her that, legally, anything goes once it has
been admitted in court, except for cases heard in the children's court,
or rape cases in which names are suppressed for obvious reasons.
Suddenly she needed a cigarette. Big time. She looked around her
and noticed a cutout of a treasure chest hiding overflowing rubbish
skips.

'Are you still there?' Simon asked frantically as Rosie squatted
inelegantly behind the bins and lit up.

'Yes, I'm still here. Simon, I don't want to do this. It just doesn't
seem right.'

'There's no other choice, Rose. Hold on, another call's coming
in.'

Noooo! Hurry up!

Rosie had enough time to finish her cigarette and light another
one before Simon spoke again: 'Rose, you still there?'

'Yes, Simon, I'm still here. Tell me that was Richard and that he's
going to look after things.'

'No, that was the car wash. My car's in being detailed. Now, where
were we? Oh yes, I want you to call the
Sentinel
now. You know those
bastards, you worked there. Tell the editor we're serious.'

'Simon, I do know the editor and I also know he's not going to like
this one little bit.'

'Listen, Rose, I don't care what you think. Just fucking call him.
Now. And call me straight back.'

Rosie felt ill. Dizzy sick. But it was nothing compared to how she
felt when she looked up and saw her mother, Jeff and Lou staring
down at her as smoke streamed from her trembling lips.