The Boys' Club (27 page)

'So, Rosie, are you going to run away from me again tonight?'
Daniel asked, reaching over to brush her bottom lip with his.

'Not bloody likely,' Rosie replied, blushing but no longer caring.
'Follow me, Big Boy,' she said, trying to sound old-style sultry as she
waved her keys in the air. But before they parted for the short drive
back to her place, she grabbed at his shirt, pulling him in close. Then
she kissed him in a way that left no misconceptions about how she
felt about Daniel Jones.

Rosie rolled onto her stomach, trying to drag enough sheet over with
her to modestly cover up her behind. Daniel was having none of it,
pushing the offending cotton out of the way, taking in the curve of
her naked thigh in the early dawn light.

'You are so beautiful. Look at you,' he said, caressing the soft
exposed skin with a sweep of his tanned, capable hand.

Rosie rolled onto her side to face him. Amazed by just how calm
and uninhibited she felt, she ran her finger along his lips tenderly and
reminisced about where they had been only moments earlier – and
all night before that.

'You make me feel that way,' she replied. 'I know it sounds corny
but you just do.'

Daniel grabbed Rosie's hand and held it open in front of his face,
then drew it in to kiss her palm. 'Is it true what you told your mother
last night?' he asked. 'About not going back there, to your job?'

Just the mention of Network Six sobered Rosie out of her
post-coital euphoria, but only momentarily. She wasn't going to let
anything ruin this bliss.

'I'll go back but I'm not going to stay,' she replied. 'I actually
need to get some advice from you about all that mess if I can. A few
things have cropped up lately which I think are legally . . . shall we
say dubious? I wouldn't mind you having a chat with a few former
colleagues. Oh, and there's a letter I gave my boss Keith yesterday I'd
like you to see.'

'Anything for you,' Daniel replied, moving in closer. 'This sounds
fun. But we really should organise a means of payment for my services
here as word has it you're a likely flight risk.'

'Ah, Lou,' Rosie laughed, realising her friend had been extremely
honest with Daniel regarding her past history. 'Lou is well meaning
and only wants the best for me, which she has decided is you.'

'And what about you, Rosie? Have you decided?' Daniel asked
shyly.

Rosie slid into the groove of his body, resting her eyes on the small
dragon tattooed beside the delicious ping of his left nipple.

'You know, I think I could fall in love with what's underneath
here,' she replied, stroking the ink design over his heart.

'You know if you stroke that picture too much,' Daniel said as he
straddled her, stopping just a few frustrating millimetres away from
being inside her, 'the beast will come alive.'

'Promises, promises,' Rosie replied cheekily, tossing Daniel onto his
back and arching hers like a purring Siamese primed to be caressed. As
she lowered herself onto him, Rosie felt the light fill her every cell.

* * *

When her alarm sounded, Rosie shut it off with her foot. Nothing
was going to spoil her day. Not long after, she heard her phone.

Just a few more days,
she promised herself, groping blindly on the
floor beside the bed, hoping to locate the handset without leaving
Daniel's embrace.

Snatching it up, she saw it was her PA calling from her mobile and
decided to take the call.

'Lisa, honey, what's up? I know I'm late but—'

'Rosie, I don't know what the hell is going on but I just got to work
and Jan and Grace have been fired from the kitchen. It seems Keith
gave official permission for Simon Nash to run this place until he
gets back and he's already set about cost-cutting.'

Rosie was upset though not surprised.

'But there's more, which is why I'm ringing you from my mobile. I
got an email by mistake this morning. Nash's PA sent it to me. Rosie,
you better see it. Its basically outlines Nash's plans, and I think you'll
be very interested to see what's involved.'

'You know, nothing surprises me any more, but thanks, Lisa. Can
you send it to my home email address? Oh, and while you're at it, I
think Mae—'

'She's got it,' Lisa said, showing once again she could read Rosie's
mind.

'Thank you, Lisa. Now, I have one more thing to ask you. Can you
cover for me for a few hours? You have my planner with the minute
by minute rundown for the Kennedys and if you can stall any other
calls until this afternoon we should be fine.'

Lisa paused, then finally said: 'I'm only going to do this, Rosie,
because you are up to something and I think I'm going to like it.'

'Yeah, I reckon you will too,' Rosie laughed. 'But I have a lot of
work to do until then.'

Rosie hung up and turned to Daniel. 'Put your meter on, baby, we're
getting to work. I have some names and numbers I think you should
call. Legally, you'll find what they have to say very interesting.'

Rosie reluctantly stepped out of her fragrant bubble bath when room
service rang her bell. She had only ordered the champagne minutes
earlier and was impressed with the speed of its delivery. Then again,
she had booked some eighty-odd rooms for the night, so if anyone
was going to get special attention, it should be her.

The porter seemed curious to see Rosie answer the door in her robe
in the late afternoon but she didn't care less. This was her big day and
she was determined to enjoy every second of it by doing exactly what
she wanted.

After popping the cork, Rosie poured herself a glass of sweet
French fizz and padded to her dressing-room in her fluffy white hotel
slippers. She saw the heavy beaded gold gown on its plush hanger
and felt a well of excitement: soon she would be wearing the exquisite
dress. But first there was make-up to be applied and the rest of the
champagne to be enjoyed. Rosie took out her cosmetics bag and
emptied its contents on the hotel room desk. The light was good in
that corner of her suite and the large mirror reflected the Melbourne
skyline at perfect eye level.

Sorting the foundation and concealer from the eye shadows and
lip liners, Rosie moved her two phones to the far corner of the desk
to make room to line up the various tubes, jars and compacts. As
she did, she noticed both displays showed missed calls and smiled
to herself, imagining the irate messages that must be banked up on
her voicemail. The frantic knocks on her hotel room door which
had punctuated the silence throughout the afternoon were a good
indication that her presence was much missed. Still, it was nice
to know her new colleague Nathan would be getting first-hand
knowledge of the complexities of his new role. Nothing like learning
on the job, after all.

* * *

Downstairs, the last of the red carpet was being tacked down and
floral arrangements put in place. The media accreditation booth
was already set up and name cards had been placed on the carefully
planned table settings Rosie and her team had agonised over the
previous day. Inside the auditorium, final sound checks were being
made and camera angles sorted. The dancers from the opening
number went through their moves in a last rehearsal while, backstage,
two armed guards stood watch over the trophies to be awarded, now
engraved with the winners' names. The Six hair and make-up team
were installed in the massive three-bedroom suite downstairs that
Rosie had booked for the purpose of getting her talent red-carpet
ready in time for their staggered arrivals.

Each female celebrity had jewellery, shoes and bags allocated in
separate garment bags. Rosie had learned from last year's fiasco that
there was no use letting the women preview what their colleagues
would be wearing as it only led to jealous last-minute fights. In
fact, last year one starlet had actually added up the cost of what
her so-called friend wore and left an invoice for Rosie the next day
to make up for the discrepancy.

Meanwhile, in the men's grooming suite, bald spots were being
sprayed with coloured lacquer, tissues tucked in to protect white
collars from make-up, drops inserted to whiten hung-over eyes and,
in the case of one would-be stud, a sock inserted into jocks to bulk
up his package in his slim-line tuxedo pants.

A sudden scream was followed by a loud thud as a hairdresser
fainted, her dryer still buzzing as she lay lifeless on the carpet. Peter
Ingles looked down at the prostrate stylist and wondered what on
earth had happened to scare her.

* * *

Rosie checked herself in the mirror again and was happy with what
she saw.

Looking at her watch, she realised it was time. The red carpet
arrivals were about to begin. She should show her face. Turning her
phones back on, Rosie placed them in her clutch, along with her
lipstick, room key and a bottle of Rescue Remedy just in case. As
she walked out the door, she could hear the missed message alerts
beeping frantically within the satin confines of her bag.

The elevator to the car park area under the hotel was packed with
celebrities when Rosie got in. Not that anyone in there was aware
that another body had joined the throng, so busy were the occupants
checking their teeth for lipstick or just simply appreciating their own
reflections in the lift's smoked mirrors.

As the doors opened onto the car park, Rosie felt like she had stepped
into a rock concert mosh pit, so intense was the energy, only this excited
horde was better dressed. Bracing herself for the onslaught, Rosie did a
quick check of her crew. Everyone seemed to be in place and following
her instructions to the letter, corralling the talent into groups of four,
ready for the limousines to pick them up and drive the 200-odd metres
from the underground car park to the hotel foyer.

'Rose, well about time,' a flustered voice exclaimed. Turning, Rosie
found herself face to face with her new colleague, Nathan. Looking
far less calm and collected than the last time she'd seen him, he
yelled into his walkie-talkie headpiece: 'I've found her!'

'Hi, Nathan,' Rosie said breezily. 'How's it all going?'

'It's fucking hell,' he screamed, exasperated. 'No one wants to be first
on the carpet. The executives' wives are complaining that no hair and
make-up people were allocated to them. At last count some twenty-three
people have turned up without RSVPing and now expect seats.
Jason Jarvis managed to break security and got into the auditorium and
changed the place settings, complaining that his table was further away
from the stage than his counterpart's at Three. We still have no word
as to whether Keith will actually be turning up to accept his Lifetime
Achievement Award. The after-awards party caterers are complaining
there is nowhere to set up and the extra glasses still haven't arrived.'

'Great,' Rosie said with a smile. 'Best I head to the foyer to usher our
talent around the reporters. Seems you have everything under control.'

'What do you mean, under control?' Nathan screamed as he
watched Rosie glide towards a waiting limousine door. 'No one is
doing anything I ask!'

'Welcome to your first Kennedy Awards,' Rosie replied, closing the
door behind her. As the car took off, she threw Nathan a royal wave
and watched the stunned PR guru shrink into the distance.

* * *

Alighting from the limousine a few minutes later, Rosie saw her
PA standing in her designated spot at the revolving front doors and
wolf-whistled to attract her attention. Lisa turned to look at her boss
admiringly.

'Well, well, you scrubbed up okay, didn't you?' she said wryly.

'And you too, Morticia,' Rosie replied, taking in Lisa's dramatic
black fishtail gown replete with studded collar and cuffs. 'I thought
I'd be the only corpse here tonight.'

Lisa threw Rosie a huge smile, then stepped forward and hugged
her. 'This is it, isn't it?' she asked knowingly.

'Yes, honey, this is the end of the line for me. But don't worry, I
won't be leaving without having my say.'

'It has been an honour and a pleasure,' Lisa replied, attempting a
low curtsy in her tight-laced dress. 'I can't wait to see what you have
planned. Something tells me it's going to be a doozy.'

'Let's just say this will be a night of nights for more than just
awards,' Rosie replied. 'Now, where are we at?'

'It's all going well except that young Nathan seems to have dropped
a litter of kittens somewhere. Talk about flustered – the guy's having
a bloody coronary.'

'I know, I just saw him. Maybe TV PR won't be as easy for him
as he thinks.'

'He's certainly not as cocky as he was, that's for sure.'

'Let's not give him too much grief. The poor bugger will soon find
he has enough volunteers to break his spirit.'

* * *

The sheltered workshop channels' stars were some of the first to arrive,
their PR heads no doubt hoping that by sending their charges in
early, they might get some camera time before the real crush began.
Unfortunately, none of the assembled reporters and photographers
seemed au fait with the hosts of
Finance Report
or
World Affairs
Tonight
, instead craning their necks in case a nubile soap star might
be following behind.

From her vantage point on the other side of the carpet, Rosie made
a hand signal to Lisa, indicating that now would be an ideal time for
a limo load of Six stars to arrive. Lisa whispered into her headpiece
and returned Rosie's glance with a thumbs-up.

As usual, Crystelle Callaghan was the first to alight, clad head to
toe in iridescent fuchsia sequins. Rosie couldn't stop herself from
breaking into applause when she noticed her friend had accessorised
her gown with a matching sparkling walking stick and gave her full
points for exploiting her recent accident to the hilt. The flanks of
photographers went wild, snapping madly at the star, who playfully
prodded them with her cane in a mock joust. Rosie realised just how
much she would miss her ebullient friend, a true star in every sense.

Following behind Crystelle was Jason Jarvis. Unlike the other
executives, he had chosen to walk the red carpet arm in arm with
his partner who, not wanting to be missed, wore a glittering T-shirt
featuring his character Caspar the Cat under his velvet tux.

Next came the
Balls Eye
team, who garnered a round of applause as
they stepped out of their limo and onto the carpet. But the applause
ceased as Graham Hunt showed his face and a dull round of boos
ensued. In the tiers of spectators behind him, placards suddenly
appeared reading 'Takes a ho to know one' and 'Hunt's a Cunning
Stunt'. The TV cameras swooped in to capture the moment, while
the media pack inside splintered, with several photographers racing
outside to shoot the posters as police grappled with the spectators to
remove them.

Amidst the madness, Simon Nash's hand-picked new female stars
of
Hotel
– two tandoori-sprayed blondes with enormous breasts and
skimpy skirts – pouted and postured in the flash of cameras. Rosie
thought the women looked like they were about to straddle a pole in
a lingerie bar rather than front their peers as serious actors. Still, she
realised, at least they wouldn't be out of place in the 'Happy Shiny
Day' promo.

Rosie smiled at Lisa, who was looking at the two women as
though trying to work out where their inflation valves were located,
and signalled for her to send up another car. As Lisa spoke into her
headset again and delivered another thumbs-up, Rosie was distracted
by a tap on the shoulder. It was Keith's PA Mae, looking fetching in
a billowing Kermit-green gown.

'Mae, you made it!' Rosie exclaimed, hugging her fondly. 'Is he
coming?'

'He'll be here shortly,' Mae answered, grabbing hold of Rosie's
hand and not letting go. 'Elaine is bringing him in the back entrance.
He's been trying to get hold of you. I think he wants to apologise.
Seems he is now aware of just what has been happening behind his
back.'

'Oh, Mae, he doesn't need to. I'm fine. Everything's fine. I'm just
glad to see you.'

'And me you, Rosie. I'm going to miss you.'

'So he told you?'

'Yes, and I'm happy for you, Rosie. Just promise not to be a
stranger.'

'This won't be the last time you see me, Mae,' Rosie replied,
squeezing her friend's hand. 'I will never be able to thank you enough
for your support.'

'It was my pleasure,' Mae said warmly, before several loud screams
diverted their attention.

The two women turned to face the red carpet, where Peter Ingles
was posing with a young woman who, Rosie assumed, was his
daughter. A hush filled the foyer as stunned onlookers gradually
comprehended who the strange-looking man with the trapped-in-a-wind-tunnel face was.

'It's Peter Ingles!' Rosie heard one woman shriek from the press
pack, followed by a loud chorus of clicking cameras and murmured
remarks of disbelief.

'What has he done to himself?' Mae asked incredulously.

'He's freshened himself up,' Rosie answered, shaking her head in
disbelief once again at the undignified sight.

'And who is the girl?' Mae continued.

'I think it's the soon-to-be new Mrs Ingles,' Rosie replied. She'd
noticed that the twenty-something woman was holding the sixty-six-year-old
Great Gardens
host's liver-spotted hand.

'Holy hell,' Mae said, watching the girl turn to reveal the
dramatically plunging back of her dress, which displayed three-odd
inches of bottom crack. 'I've seen two-dollar hookers with more
class.'

'Mae!' Rosie replied tersely. 'I find that comment insulting . . . to
working girls, that is!'

As the two women laughed, Rosie watched in horror as the
chicken fillet pumping up the young girl's bust popped out of her
dress, falling onto the carpet as the cameras whirred feverishly.