The Boys' Club (7 page)

What he was also unaware of was how much she
had
stopped
the paper running and how many favours she owed old friends as a
result. Then again, she'd learned over the past eighteen months that
in publicity, only the stories that got through mattered, not the ones
that were actually spiked.

Trying to steer the conversation in another direction, Rosie decided
to bring up Karen Day's move from news to morning TV, hoping
to get the heads-up before her meeting with the young reporter:
'Can anyone here tell me why Karen Day has been moved to
G'day
Australia
? The first I heard of it was a call from her this morning
saying she's unhappy and wants to speak to me. If it's true, I'll need
to spin why we're turfing Ross Montague. I mean, he's an institution
on the program and will surely be missed?'

The ensuing mumbles and knowing looks around the table
indicated that something had gone on that Rosie was excluded from.
When no one said anything, she turned to Allan Bales. As head of
news, he must have okayed Karen's transfer from his department to
entertainment, which
G' day Australia
fell under.

'It was out of my hands,' Bales said awkwardly.

Still not satisfied, Rosie turned to The Darkness for – ironically –
some light.

'I really don't see what this has to do with you, Rose,' Nash rebuked
her. 'Just tell the press whatever you need to. Ross Montague is a
valued member of the Six family and is embarking on new projects,
yadda yadda.'

Completely frustrated now, Rosie turned to Keith for some honesty.
'Keith, are you across this? What's really going on?'

The Big Man took a loud slurp of his tea, then plonked the cup
down roughly. 'Look, we just thought Karen, being the attractive
young lady she is, would be better suited to mornings.'

Nash, Johnno and Russ sniggered. Following the lead but always a
beat behind, Jason Jarvis let out a high-pitched chortle.

'But she has a journalism degree and was nominated for a Kennedy
Award last year for her nursing home series. I can't see how that
makes her better suited to read the weather. What's really going on
here?' Rosie asked. Again, she noticed the men around her shift in
their seats.

'Look, sweetie,' Keith started. When Keith addressed her as
sweetie, Rosie knew something she didn't want to hear was about
to be said. 'The girl has assets we feel are wasted on news. We figure
they, I mean she, will be better appreciated in the morning. End of
fucking story, okay?'

Rosie was stunned. She had heard about things like this happening
in television but had never actually witnessed it first hand.
You sexist
bunch of . . .

'Listen, sweetie,' Keith continued, aware that he had shocked his
publicity head, 'just make something up about Montague. Fact is
he's tired, so we won't be renewing his contract this year. You should
be happy. Now you have a fresh face to promote
G'day Australia
with. Get her out there. Surely the bloke magazines will love her.
Let's face it, she has a great set of cans.'

'Keith, the woman is a trained journalist, not a pin-up.' Rosie
knew she had that tone of indignation in her voice that Keith hated.
'Surely this goes against what's written in her contract?'

'Quite frankly, Rose,' Nash interjected, 'contract negotiations are
none of your business. Perhaps if you paid more attention to what
your job is supposed to entail –
publicity
– we might not be in the
mess we currently are with Graham Hunt.'

'That's a good point, Simon,' Keith said. 'I'm not happy about the
leaks "Secret Sydney" is running every day, not fucking happy at all.
When I find out who's talking to those arseholes – and I will – I will
personally rip their fucking heart out with my own hands.'

Nervous glances were cast all round. Was someone at the table
the snitch? Certainly several of the reported snippets had only been
mentioned within the confidential daily briefings. Jason Jarvis
appeared particularly uncomfortable.

'Good point, Keith,' Johnno piped up, 'which is why I think it best
if we limit these meetings to those of us who really need to be here.'

Murmured dissent filled the room.

'I don't like it,' Keith yelled, causing the chatter to stop. 'But you've
got a point. Those pricks at the
Sentinel
are doing my head in. Johnno,
Simon, Russ, Bales and Alicia you stay. The rest of you can piss off.'

'You're kidding me!' Rosie yelled over the ensuing din.

'No, I'm afraid I'm not – and that goes for the rest of you,' Keith
said, staring down Jason Jarvis, puffed with rage. 'This is only
temporary, mind you, just until we find out who's been grassing on
us.'

And with that, the boys' club got smaller and more powerful as
an entire tier of executives, including Rosie, found themselves on the
other side of the boardroom doors.

Rosie was so angry by the time she got back to her office that she
could barely speak. Lisa, knowing her boss only too well, could see
she was in no mood to chat and handed her the latest log of calls in
silence. Rosie snatched them from her hand, then faltered, realising
she was taking things out on her PA, who deserved better.

'Don't worry, I understand,' Lisa said in response to her boss's
double-take. 'Must have been a doozy of a meeting – what there
was of it, anyway. That would have to be the quickest programming
meeting on record.'

Rosie looked at her affectionately. 'You know, Lisa, if I didn't need
you for my very survival, I would tell you to run – not walk – from
this place and never look back,' she said.

Lisa, clearly chuffed at the compliment, added: 'And I would
happily hold the door open while you did the same. It's just over
there, you know.'

Rosie smiled at her warmly and took a moment to be grateful for
having such a dependable woman at her back.

Finally in her office, Rosie cleared the pile of interstate news
clippings Lisa had placed on her chair as a forget-me-not and quickly
scanned the latest message log. There were probably another thirty or
so messages, most of them requiring a return call. To have someone
do it for her would no doubt be construed as a personal slight by the
egocentric types she dealt with.

There were three messages from an on-air personality asking what
Rosie was going to do about the column in the
Brisbane Gazette
.
Rosie smiled to herself. She had read this particular piece by the
paper's acerbic television reviewer, who described the presenter
as having 'a voice that made cats having sex sound like Mozart
in comparison' and 'the dress sense of a hooker who is happy to
bargain'. Rosie wondered just what she was supposed to do. Bomb
the guy's house? Call his editor and demand he be fired? It was a
review, for god's sake, and a fairly accurate one at that.

There was a message from an irate reporter complaining that the
engraved silver compass publicity had sent out a week earlier as a
freebie teaser for a new jungle mystery series was stuck.
You can take
the bloody compass and stick it up your true north
, Rosie thought. Still,
she knew she would eventually call, rather than risk alienating him
before the new season launch. She sent Lisa an email asking her to
get another compass to him along with a bottle of champagne.

Then there was the on-air presenter who, obsessed with being
nominated for a Gold Kennedy, had called yet again, wanting to go
through Rosie's strategy to ensure he got a look-in. Rosie sighed and
wondered what the most diplomatic way would be to tell someone to
pull their head out of their own arse.

There was only one person on the long list who Rosie really felt
like calling – her best friend, Lou, who'd left three messages, the first
being, 'Are you still alive?' and the last, 'Call me or else I'll call your
mother.'
Bless her
, Rosie thought to herself, pondering how long it
had actually been since she last spoke to Lou rather than just texting.
She knew she had no time to return Lou's call and continued to
scan the list. There were routine messages from network talent and
management, all urgent and all usually, she guessed, involving some
sort of rort. Could they get tickets to the Arts Festival opening, Billy
Joel concert, Grand Final box, Australian Open tent, Easter Show,
Big Day Out . . . ? Why they thought the publicity department was
akin to a box office Rosie had no idea. In the old days, before cost
cuts, it was true that publicity would have a cache of tickets to give
out as sweeteners, but that was a long time ago.

Before she could pick up her phone and begin dialling, she heard
someone enter her office and close the glass door behind them. Rosie
looked up. It was Portia, and Rosie was not in the mood, though she
suddenly realised she hadn't yet sighted Portia that day, something
she usually made a habit of doing first thing every morning, if only
to keep abreast of the current – or about-to-be – hottest thing in
fashion. Today, Rosie noted that at the top of her 2IC's long licorice-strap
legs – clad in opaque black stockings – were tailored shorts
with a matching snug-fitting black jacket. Rosie could tell from the
buttons alone that this ensemble was Chanel. As always, Portia had
made the outfit her own, teaming expensive designer with a vintage
Ramones T-shirt and adding necklaces adorned with ironic charms.
Her hair, in pigtails, was just messy enough not to look try-hard.
Once again, it was a sartorial triumph that left Rosie feeling like
catalogue to Portia's upmarket glossy.

'Rosie, I know you're busy but I wanted to check if there's anything
I can do to help you?' Portia asked timidly.

Rosie saw the uneasiness in Portia's eyes. It had been hard for
her having Rosie come in from out of nowhere to take the job she
longed for. But then again, Portia had only worked as a PR for a
cosmetics house before joining the network, so Rosie understood
why Keith wanted someone schooled in media hard-knocks for the
top job.

'Sorry I haven't had a chance to chat with you, Portia, but I've had
a hell of a morning.'

'I know,' Portia replied. 'I heard you earlier with Hunt. You were
great, he needed that.'

Rosie immediately felt guilty for her earlier suspicions about
Portia's loyalty. If she was to be really honest with herself, she
genuinely liked and respected this young woman from the moneyed
side of the tracks.

'Thanks, Portia, but I don't think losing my cool like that was
advisable under the circumstances. In fact, I'm a bit embarrassed I
couldn't keep my temper at bay.'

'Don't beat yourself up,' Portia replied gently. 'You're under a lot of
pressure, which is why I want to help in any way I can.'

Rosie could feel she was about to be more honest than was wise,
but felt powerless to stop herself. 'Actually, there is something you
can do, Portia, and that's keep Alicia on track for her drama launch.
She's still hassling me for updates when you've been on it for weeks
now. I really thought you had this covered for me.'

'Oh but I do,' Portia replied, sounding a little hurt. 'You know Alicia,
though, she prefers to deal direct with you. I have tried, honestly.'

'Well, if you really want to help me, you can make sure she knows
you're on top of things, give her daily updates – make that hourly,
considering it's Alicia. And she really has to start letting us know just
exactly what she's planning here. Keith and Johnno, not to mention
Simon Nash, have given her creative licence with this drama but god
only knows what that means to Alicia.'

Keith referred to his drama head as batty but Alicia was saved
from his total scorn because she 'knew about television'. An enduring
family drama was something Keith had failed to get up in his entire
career at Six and he wanted one badly. Alicia had runs on the board
in this respect, having created the phenomenally successful series
Moving On
for Network Three several years earlier.

Like Keith, Rosie admired Alicia's success but still wasn't sure
if she was the smartest woman alive or the flukiest when it came
to TV. Having experienced what she described as 'my triumphant
life crisis' following the death of her fifth husband, Alicia decided
to spend her inheritance by coming out as a lesbian and travelling
around the world on numerous animal rescue missions with her
activist girlfriend. Being the personality powerhouse she was, Alicia
soon found herself in expensive legal stoushes with police, poachers
and government heads, and baksheeshing her savings away buying
animals out of torture.

When the money ran out, Alicia got clever, turning her travel
journals into a thirteen-part drama series. Of course, by the time
Moving On
debuted, Alicia's female protagonist was straight, half her
age, half her size and not even half as charismatic, but the eighteen- to
thirty-five-year-olds loved her – especially the males. And as anyone
who 'knows about television' is aware, they're the hard ones to hook
and keep with local drama.

'Well, I did overhear her describing the lead character she wants
actress Lisa McCune to play as a butch lesbian with a heart of gold,'
Portia continued.

'Tell me you're kidding, Portia – please!' Rosie felt as though she
was about to choke.

'Er, sorry, I wish I could.'

Rosie's head suddenly felt heavy and she rested it in her hands on
the desk. 'I can't believe this,' she snuffled.
Alicia's turning Australia's
sweetheart into a bulldyke!

'I need your help here, Portia,' Rosie said, raising her head. 'We
need to get through to Alicia that Big Keith does not understand
lesbians, that the network is not sympathetic to our Sapphic sisters,
and that seven-thirty is not the time working-class Australians want
to sit down and explain rug-munching to their kids!'

'I'll do my best, Rosie, I promise, but in reality, isn't that Simon
Nash's job?'

Portia had a point. What was Nash doing letting a drama get this
far along if it featured a national treasure as a lesbian lead?

'You're right,' Rosie replied. 'I'll get Lisa to organise a meeting with
Nash, Johnno, Keith, Alicia, you and me first thing next week. In the
meantime, can you try to find out what else she has planned? I mean,
bless her, but Alicia's pretty damn out there. We'll need to rein her
in fairly quickly before the press get wind that we're panicking. A
lesbian lead! Can you imagine Keith? He'll spontaneously combust,
I swear.'

'Will do,' Portia said with a chuckle, before adopting a more
serious demeanour. 'I'll call her now . . . but before I do, can I ask
you, Rosie, is there any bad blood between us? You don't seem to
include me in discussions any more and . . .'

Rosie looked up at her 2IC and decided she had no choice. It was
time to show her cards. 'Portia, things are crazy around here at the
moment as you well know. Management is so angry with the leaks in
this place that as of today they're no longer allowing me to attend the
daily meetings, so I don't have a lot to tell you. As you know, I have
my hands full with Graham Hunt and right now I just need you to
back me up. I need to trust you. Can I do that?'

Portia looked devastated. Rosie was sure she saw tears welling in
her huge Kewpie-doll blue eyes and suddenly felt awful for being so
blunt, but there was more.

'Portia,' she said, 'I know you've been getting in early every day
and you now make a habit of having breakfast with Johnno, Simon
and the boys. I also know you had your heart set on my job and
working for me can't be easy. But I
am
here and I'm sorry about that
for you. This is probably the most fractious time in this network's
history and everyone is looking at publicity to save the day. I'm under
siege from above and all sides and just can't handle the thought that
knives are coming from below as well.'

Rosie watched as Portia lost it, her tears turning to full-blown sobs
and then heaving retches as she tried to reply. All Rosie could make
out was, 'You don't know the whole story.'

'Portia, lovely, come on,' Rosie said, now rocking the hysterical
young woman in her arms. 'Maybe you should tell me so I can
understand what's happening with you.'

'I can't,' Portia wailed. 'It's a mess. I'm so sorry. You don't want to
know.'

Rosie did want to know, but it would have to wait, as Simon Nash
was at her door. The smarmy bastard was grinning.

'Yes, Simon, I think you can see this is not a good time,' Rosie
said, knowing the head of entertainment loved nothing more than to
watch someone emotionally unravel.

'When is it a good time for you, Rose?' he said smugly. 'Perhaps
when you've finished with your staff problems, you can find some
time to see me,' he continued, sarcasm dripping from his every word.
He was still fuming over the Muffingate episode in the boardroom.
'Now you're no longer attending the programming meetings, you'll
need to be briefed on what shows I want you focusing on, so when
you're through here, perhaps we can all get some work done . . . at
last?'

You cold-hearted son of a . . .

'Thanks so much for your patience, Simon,' Rosie spat back. 'As
always it's been an absolute pleasure.'

'No need to get stroppy,' he replied tartly.

Just when she thought he was walking out the door, Nash turned
around and, with his biggest thin-lipped grin, added, 'You sure you're
not on your rags?'