by Sarah Belle
“Juliette! How are you?”
“Good, good, thanks. Um…I have a business proposition for you, can we meet?”
“A business proposition? I like the sound of that. Sure, when and where?”
“In two hours, Diego’s in Lygon st.”
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, all good. See you there,” I say.
“Juliette! How are you? In the big time now! Of course, I’m as jealous as hell, but you deserve the victory. You’ve worked hard.”
“Thanks, Sonya. How’s business?”
Sonya Schafer is the woman Big Al was going to award the contract to after me, my closest business rival.
“Wonderful. Wonderful,” she says as she lights another cigarette even though there’s still one smouldering away in the ashtray. “Not as busy as yours, obviously.”
“Big Al’s contract has tripled my business. I just can’t keep up. And we’ll have to move to bigger premises to cater for the extra staff; mind you the lease was up anyway. I’m thinking about Southbank.”
“Ooooh, nice. Half your luck. Now what’s this proposition about? I’ve got a horror day ahead.”
Stay calm, Juliette. Control the situation, don’t let it control you.
“Sonya, are you in this for the long haul?”
“This industry? By God yes. I love it, I love the chaos.” I sip my tea and pause for breath, hoping that Sonya doesn’t notice the rattling of my teacup being placed back on its saucer. Gran’s words reinforce my strength.
“I’m selling my business, my book of clients,” I say.
Her eyes light up and shock spreads across her face like wildfire in the bush.
“Including the Big Al contract?” she asks.
“Yes. Fifty players for five years, as well as my existing clients and staff. You’d want them because they can hit the ground running.”
She inhales her cigarette so deeply that I expect to see it disappear into her mouth and down her throat.
“How much?” she asks.
She already knows what that contract is worth. I push a piece of paper towards her; it has my price on it. Her eyebrows touch her hairline.
“Whoa! Who else is interested? Anyone I know?”
“Yes, but of course I can’t divulge that information. This is all strictly confidential you understand.”
“Are they locals?” she asks.
“No, Sydneysiders.” The entrance of another player in the local business would dilute her market share even further, as well as jeopardise her current business. She knows that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.
She mumbles to herself, tapping a shellacked finger on her platinum cigarette box. “I’ll need some time.” She has an excellent poker face, but it’s not as good as mine.
“I can only give you until midday. After that I will have to accept another offer, I’m afraid.”
“They’re ready to buy? Today?” She looks worried.
“Yes. They’re eager to wrap it up.”
“Hold on, Juliette. I just need to make a call to my banker. Just give me a minute, OK?”
She gets up and teeters off to make her call. If she is bluffing me and calling Big Al, I will be screwed. Not only because Big Al will probably find a loophole and cancel the contract, which will mean that I will only get a small price for my book, but because it will ruin my reputation in the industry.
I am trying not to sweat, which is anxiety-inducing in itself. Damn this silk top.
Sonya comes back to our table and sits down, lighting up another cigarette. Her poker face is still relatively intact, but an experienced player can see between the cracks. She wants this.
“I can do this…” She shoves a piece of paper with a number on it at me.
I glance at the paper, my heart pounds out of my chest, then I reply, “I’m sorry, Sonya, but the others have offered more than that already.”
“No! Wait. OK, OK, you win. I’ll pay what you’re asking. Do we have a deal?” Her voice is laced with anticipation.
My lips work over time to control the smile and curtail it into a polite grin.
“Yes, we have a deal. Congratulations Sonya, well done. This is still absolutely confidential until all contracts are signed. Big Al will be ropeable if you let it slip to anyone, and you don’t want to start on the wrong foot. He will be in contact with you sometime tomorrow.” After I’ve broken the news to him.
She grins and says, “Well, I have to say that I never thought I’d see the day when you sold your business. What’s prompted this — you’re not sick are you?” A look of concern works across her face.
“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” I ask.
Her look is wary but she nods slowly. “What would you like to know?’
“Well, you’re a mum too, right?”
“Yes, I most certainly am.” A loving smile spreads across her face.
“How do you do it? How do you manage to run a busy agency and be a wife and mother at the same time?” I ask.
Sonya sits back into her chair and seems to be pondering the question as she inhales another cigarette. After a moment she leans forward again and looks me right in the eyes. “Honestly, it’s hard. There are days where I feel like I’m juggling thirty balls and it’s a mad scrabble to keep them all up in the air,” she says. “But, my husband is very supportive and I am a supremo at delegating in the office.”
“Delegating isn’t my strong suit,” I say.
“I’ve heard,” she smiles. “The time I spend with my family is precious because there’s not as much of it, but I think that my family life is stronger because I am doing something that fulfills me as a person. Happy wife, happy life, as my husband says.”
Her honesty touches me.
“Is this the reason you’re selling? To be at home?” She tilts her head to the side.
I exhale loudly. “Yes. I’m not managing the balance between life and work too well.”
“Is this what you really want to do, or is guilt making you do it?”
The question shocks me a bit, because although we have known each other for a long time, Sonya and I have never had such a personal conversation. But I can tell that she isn’t being nosey or snide, she’s genuinely interested in my motivations.
But then she continues, “Because there’s always guilt – mother guilt. It’s actually a hormone that is released into your body the second you give birth and makes you feel bad when you take time for yourself. But I can tell you, that whether mums work or not, we all need something for ourselves. For some it’s work, for others it’s study or volunteering, exercise or social activities. It doesn’t matter what it is, we all need an outlet – a sanctuary where we can be ourselves.” She leans forward and touches my hand. “One size does not fit all, Juliette. Finding that balance is a very personal thing – it’s different for each of us. You have to do what suits you best.”
“Thanks Sonya,” I smile. “You’re right, and I appreciate your honesty.”
She nods and inhales another cigarette.
“Shall we share some champagne to celebrate? Isn’t that the usual way to consummate a business deal?” she asks.
“Another time perhaps, Sonya. You’re not the only one with a horror day. I’ll organise for my solicitor to send the papers over immediately.”
We both stand up and shake hands.
“Thanks, Sonya. It really was a pleasure doing business with you. I’m sure you will take the agency on to bigger and better things.”
“I’ll certainly do my best!” she smiles. “Good luck, Juliette. I hope that everything works out the way you want it to.”
Me too.
One down, five to go.
Pure terror fills me as I wait for Big Al to answer his phone. My mouth is as dry as the muffins I attempted to make in my first week back in 1961, and the anxiety sweat that my body managed to retain whilst dealing with Sonya has now leached out of me.
“Juliette, PR extraordi
naire. What can I do for you?” he asks.
“Hi Al. Just a quick call.” He must be able to hear my blood pressure rise through the phone. “Sonya Schafer and I…” Oh fuck it, speak woman.
“Yes.”
Get to the point quickly, Juliette. Big Al responds to verbal efficiency.
“We are amalgamating. She was your second choice anyway, so you know that she is more than capable of handling everything. You get the strength of two agencies for the price of one. It will be seamless; the service will be absolutely flawless.”
Silence.
“Amalgamation will begin a.s.a.p. Just thought you’d like a heads-up.”
“Juliette, cut the crap. You’ve sold your business to her, haven’t you?”
Shit! I knew this wouldn’t work. If he’s against it he’ll cancel the contract and it will go to Sonya anyway.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I …” Oh shit, there’s no fooling this man, may as well be honest. “…I want to be somewhere else right now.”
“Somewhere else? I award your agency the most coveted contract in the business, and you tell me that you want to be somewhere else right now? And where is that somewhere else?”
“My family. I’m sorry to let you down Al, but my family is…”
“Is what? Are you saying that you are retiring from PR to concentrate on your family?”
I am scared to answer because he may think less of me. Fighting blood. “Yes, I am. My children are young and they need a mother more than you need me as your PR guru.”
There is a short silence on the end of the phone. My heart rate rises significantly, which is quite something because I am near cardiac arrest already.
“Well, Juliette, I’m surprised and disappointed…” and then his voice softens. “Disappointed to lose you, but I understand your decision. All my ex-wives told me the same thing, but I didn’t listen to any of them. My children grew up with an absent father who just compensated them with material possessions. I lost my family because I was too focused on my work. When I die I’ll have a fabulously ornate funeral packed full of the rich and famous, but my children may not be among them. So, I can’t be angry with you for having the courage to make things right with your family.”
“Thank you Al,” I say quietly, choking back the lump in my throat.
“Just so we’re clear, did you wait to sign my contract so that you would get a higher book price when you sold to Sonya?”
The truth hits me again. “No, I never intended to sell the business, but I didn’t tell Sonya that she was your second choice either, because then you’d just cancel my contract and re-award it to her.”
He lets out a bellowing laugh and says, “Well, how can I be angry with you for being smart enough to negotiate with the best bargaining chip you could get your hands on? If you decide in a few years time that you want to work again, call me. I need cunning and smart people. Good luck, Juliette.” And with that he is gone.
My cardiac arrest has ceased and although there is an overwhelming need to visit the ladies room, it looks as though I might survive today after all.
Two down, four to go.
It’s dark when I pull up out the front of our house. The street looks so different, crammed with cars and renovated houses. It looked better in 1961.
Having to knock on the door is odd, but it wouldn’t feel right to just let myself in, not after Chris asked me to leave. This feels like his territory now, even though the house has more of a history with me.
A contract of sale in one hand, bank cheque for enough money to set us up nicely in the other, and a head that is completely empty of thought, my stomach lurches as he approaches the door. He opens it and stares at me like my purpose is to convert him to another religion. Not quite the ideal greeting, but at least he hasn’t slammed the door closed in my face…yet.
“Chris…”
He looks at me and it’s clear that he feels nothing, neither anger nor forgiveness. This is going to be a hard sell, which is fair enough. It was my behaviour that led us to this point.
“Chris, can we talk, please?” I ask as my stomach gurgles.
He steps outside onto the porch opposite me and closes the door a little.
“The kids are asleep. I don’t want to disturb them. If you’ve come to collect your things you can grab some stuff now, and then come back tomorrow when the kids aren’t home,” he says, crossing his arms.
“No, that’s not the reason for my visit. I’ve come to apologise to you, for everything.”
He raises his eyebrows and remains expressionless, which is so unlike him.
“My actions were inexcusable. I take full responsibility for what I did and the impact that it had on you and the boys. I’ve abused your trust, taken advantage of your kindness and neglected my family to pursue my own dream without considering the consequences for any of you.”
He nods.
“I’ve been a terrible wife, an absent mother and I’ve forced you to this point because of my behaviour. I deserve every bit of contempt you have towards me.”
He nods again but doesn’t move in any other way. My stomach is swirling like a whirlpool, bringing on dizziness, but I’ve got to keep going.
“I realise now why my work meant so much to me,” I add. “It was a cover, something to keep me busy so that I didn’t have to deal with Dad’s death and Mum’s illness. It all built up over time and I just took the easy way out by not dealing with it.”
His face softens into an expression of recognition as though we are speaking the same language now. My mind stretches back to when he said that he understood my need to achieve, even if I didn’t. He’s known this all along but he still needs to hear me say it.
“I thought that if I could be the complete opposite of my Mum, then my life would be happy. If I crammed as much achievement and success into it as possible, then…I…” My eyes gravitate towards the ground. “But it didn’t work, it just made me…empty, and then the vicious cycle began — work more, feel worse, work even more, feel even worse. Thank you for stopping it, for making me stop and face the reasons behind it all.” I look up at him, searching for something that says he’s going to forgive me.
He uncrosses his arms and seems to relax a bit.
“You and the boys…” My eyes start to fill with tears. “Our family… is…” Tears prickle the back of my eyes and I struggle to contain the wavering in my voice. “This weekend has taught me about what’s really important. Our marriage and our family are the only things that matter, nothing else even comes close. You are all the biggest and best part of me, my biggest achievement. Please give me another chance.”
Now the tears are streaming down my face, ruining my mascara. Waterproof my arse.
“We’ve been down this road before and it always leads to the same point — you lying and breaking every promise you make. Give me something concrete, Jules, because I won’t risk you hurting our children anymore.”
I hold up the sale contract and bank cheque. He looks at them and is taken aback, literally a step back, by what he sees.
“What’s this?” he asks.
“I sold the business to Sonya Schafer. It’s gone. As of today I am no longer a PR agent. I’m rebuilding myself.”.
He nearly falls over in shock and steadies himself against the verandah post.
“I would never have gotten that much money without Big Al’s contract. I had to sell the business to Sonya with the contract. Otherwise it would have just gone to her anyway because she was Al’s second choice.”
He looks at me as though he is mentally linking the two actions together. “Was that your intention all along? To increase the value and then sell it?”
The old Juliette would have cashed in on this offer of good will, making out that it was all part of the plan so that Chris would think well of her. It’s tempting, and hard to break old habits. But there are no more lies.
“No, it wasn’t. I fully intended
to take on the business and keep it. I didn’t intend to sell it.”
He’s disappointed. “Oh, I see. So why the change?”
“Because…” Because for the last nine months I’ve been living in 1961, where women didn’t have the option of working or having a career, and although it nearly killed me in the beginning, it gave me the time I needed to face up to things and re-establish myself. The people there were inspiring, heroic, compassionate and generous. They loved me and I loved them, and you and I were as happy as a couple could ever wish to be. We lived a beautiful, simple life full of love and family and I grew to see beyond the facade I’ve been wearing since my Dad died. I finally understood that my mother didn’t hate me; she loved me. Most of all, I grew to love myself, to accept that I am not perfect, but that it’s OK to be flawed. But it would be crazy to say that. “Because you’ve been right all along. There’s no need for me to prove myself worthy anymore. The simple fact that I am loved is enough. There will be time for me later, when I grow up and figure out what I’d really love to do with the rest of my working life, but right now, I just want to be here.”
“Why didn’t you lie to me and tell me that you’d intended to sell all along?”
“Because I’m not that person anymore, not a phoney,” I say.
He looks at me, his eyes searching my face for any sign that would tell him that I’m lying. I stand there with mascara stains on my cheeks, hoping that he will take me back, because if he doesn’t I’ve lost everything…everything.
Sweat is trickling down my spine and my body heats up to lava temperature. Any hotter and it will melt. It seems like an eternity.
Finally he opens his mouth, closes it again and looks at me. His expression is troubled, his beautiful smile buried under a mountain of doubt.
“I don’t know Jules. It’s not just me, it’s the kids too. They deserve…”