by Di Morrissey
‘So that’s a new life,’ said Belinda. ‘Carina doesn’t have a family like you do. That’s why she headed to London the minute the cheque was in the bank. She’s not ready to step out of magazines. Or the limelight.’
‘I think Nina Jansous sees a new life as taking on a gung-ho career again. That’s for the birds. Especially at sixty,’ replied Dorothy, wondering how Nina managed to look the way she did. Money and America she supposed. Not that Nina appeared to have had cosmetic surgery – she just radiated youthful energy. Her health and looks must be in her genes, Dorothy decided.
Nina approached the microphone and a hush fell over the restaurant.
‘Good evening, everyone. I’m Nina Jansous. I’m so happy to be here and I thank you for coming.’
‘Royal decree, wasn’t it?’ whispered Fran Hirshcombe, the promotions director, to no one in particular. ‘It’d be like being late for your own execution.’
‘I’m sure each of you has been speculating about what I’m going to say this evening. I imagine there is no small amount of tension in the ranks, and that there’s been a lot of speculation over the past few days with appropriate bitter-sweet jokes and smart satire.’ She spoke with a lightness in her voice and the hint of a smile that immediately lowered the emotional temperature. Then she added with a grin, ‘I would dearly like to hear a few of the more clever jokes that the changeover fertilised, and perhaps they will filter through over the next few days.’
Surely she couldn’t smile like that and then tell them they were out on their ears? Everyone was nervous. Who might be buried along with the Carina masthead?
‘With the acquisition of Carina there will be changes. And that is not to demean the achievements of this magazine, which has been superbly led by Dorothy Power. Dorothy, as you know, has decided to retire after a very successful career in journalism, both here and in the UK, to pursue other interests. Dorothy, we wish you much happiness and success in your new life.’ Nina gestured to Dorothy who, with a slight bow of her head, acknowledged another burst of clapping from her staff. Suddenly the retiring editor felt close to tears and hoped Nina wouldn’t ask her to speak. While she hadn’t made radical changes to Carina in its brief life, she had hoped the magazine would take off in a big way. But sales had never reached Carina’s levels of hype. And Dorothy was pragmatic enough to know there would not be a place for her at the helm of a magazine like Blaze. Nina was bringing in her own top people. Dorothy was satisfied that she could retire with a respectable track record.
Nina continued, ‘Our magazine will aim at a broader and younger demographic. The details will be made public at a media event in a few weeks. It will be the duty of the new editor to introduce herself to Australia as well as to introduce the Australian edition of Blaze. I have appointed an editor who will come from Blaze USA, but . . .’ she held up a finger at the murmur from the audience, ‘she is Australian and is looking forward to coming home to begin this exciting new venture of which you will all be a part. Once the first issue is put to bed, I will be taking a temporary leave of absence. I’m due for a long holiday and I would like your new editor to settle in without me looking over her shoulder. Finally, I’d just like to say to those of you I don’t know well, I’m looking forward to getting to know you and hearing your ideas and comments.’
By now the atmosphere was relaxed, a communal sigh of relief running round the room. Their jobs were safe – for the moment – and thankfully the new editor was Australian. She’d be on their wavelength.
Nina gave a slight smile. ‘I hope you feel as I do, that this is an exciting challenge and that we have the opportunity to start afresh, to build a new era and make a significant contribution to the rich heritage of magazine publishing in this country. I look forward to your support and enthusiasm. Thank you.’
‘I haven’t heard the dramas of producing a magazine described as a rich heritage before,’ murmured Bob Monroe, the features editor.
‘Maybe she was just referring to rich and heritage in the sense of proprietor’s pockets,’ said Fran. ‘It’s hard to survive like she has in the magazine business these days,’ she added.
‘Carina must have eaten up a whack of cash,’ said Bob. ‘Anyway, with Triton behind her, Nina can’t really lose. We’re part of a big group now.’
Fran was wistful. ‘Paris, Rome, London, New York, Tokyo . . . do you suppose any of us might get a guernsey to the other offices?’
Nina followed the staff function with a series of intimate luncheons in the boardroom to network with the movers and shakers across the spectrum of social, political, marketing and corporate worlds. Manny sat in on these, outlining details, where needed, about the backing of Triton and the fact they were sparing no expense in setting up a major publication to ‘smother the market’, as Manny put it bluntly.
Nina spoke about her reasons for returning and what she hoped to achieve with her new magazine. ‘Thanks to its success in the States and Europe, Blaze is a respected and internationally known name. As you are aware, Blaze Australia must sell a lot of magazines in order to make it financially viable. To do that, we plan to appeal to a broad-based popular readership in Australasia. Given a choice of Blaze’s classy, ethical entertainment or down-market exploitative superficiality, I trust Australian readers will choose the former. The dramatically falling circulations of the women’s magazines in this country is proof that the readers are fed up with the diet dished out to them in past years. And while we are a general interest magazine, women are the largest buyers of magazines.’
‘Most of those women’s magazines are still making money, Nina,’ an advertising agency executive reminded her.
‘Thanks to clever people like you, James. Hype and large promotional budgets still feed that particular market. But for how long? At the rate the circulations are falling, my guess is not for long. What we’re doing is putting hype and larger promotional budgets, on a scale never envisioned in this country, into a product that will be thought-provoking, glamorous and creative. Blaze has never been an elite magazine, marketed to a few readers who know and care about quality and are prepared to pay for it. It has always been, and will always be, a magazine of the highest quality in its content and production standards, offering something for every reader, male and female, in the particular country it serves. Blaze has proved this worldwide. Blaze Australia will be no exception.’
‘Is that why we’re here today, Nina?’ asked Bevan Lean, Australian CEO of one of the largest international hotel chains. ‘To help you bridge the gap between consumerism and culture by providing the advertising support? In other words, our dollars are to support your idea of some sort of consciousness raising of popular culture in Australia.’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’ asked Nina with a disarming smile. ‘I do want Blaze to provide news features, information, entertainment and, yes, meet that voyeuristic streak of looking at how other people live, think, behave, as well as discovering new ideas on a wide range of subjects. I see this magazine as having a tangible link to the readers’ lives. Television is transient, and being cyber-savvy doesn’t give the same satisfaction as holding a beautifully designed magazine that is also stimulating to read. There are such rifts in society and families today. I would like to think our magazine, reflecting the standards of a civilised society, could help close that gap.’
‘Pretty ambitious concept,’ remarked another of the businessmen at the table. ‘How can – dare I use the expression – a mere magazine do that where government, the media and society itself have failed?’
‘For all its misdemeanours, the tabloid press is still considered to echo the voice of the people. Blaze will not lecture or impose, but it will try to reflect current issues, interests and concerns . . . and celebrate the joy of life. To give positive messages, while not ignoring the problems. Yes, we need to address the bleak side of society and ask the hard questions – such as why are our children killing themselves, how can we reduce teen drug use and pregnancy, and w
hy is there so much poverty in such a rich society? What can we as individuals do to improve our world in this new century?’ Her voice softened as she spoke, and the men and women around the table fell silent.
Finally it was a woman banker who spoke. ‘If you can produce a magazine that answers those questions, I’ll buy it.’
‘All I’m asking is that you consider what we plan to do in light of this discourse. We are about glamour, yes, but we’re not backing away from the serious either.’
‘New Yorker and Vanity Fair also manage to tackle the meaty stuff and they’ve managed to succeed in the most difficult market in the world,’ said Bevan Lean. ‘And look at the new mags that try to copy that success. Along with the buzz, they slap in a lot of solid meat. Australia’s history of quality magazines hasn’t had a healthy run lately. Advertisers here are used to putting their money into what they call the fast-food mags, the read-it-on-the run popular rags, even though the circulations have dropped.’
‘That’s because they’ve had no alternative, no promise of better returns. A few years ago, if someone had asked you to invest money in selling bottles of water to Australian consumers, would you have done it?’ asked Nina.
The group burst out laughing. ‘So Blaze is going to be a gourmet hamburger with spring water on the side?’ declared Bevan Lean. ‘Healthy, filling and tasty with a sparkle.’
‘And an affordable meal, don’t forget,’ responded Nina.
‘Can’t we cut to the chase, Nina? We’re anxious to know more about who’s actually going to head up the hunt,’ said Campbell Gordon, chief of one of the biggest electronic companies in Australia.
Nina looked at the five men and two women representing a cache of international companies at the table. ‘I don’t want to steal the new editor’s thunder. She is very capable, exceedingly clever and has a terrific track record. I will tell you this much, she’s young. This generation doesn’t want to hang around and wait to move up the line, they find their target and make things happen. At Triton, we have had to sit up and take notice. I think it’s time others did, wouldn’t you agree?’
Nina had accepted the shift in ageism in magazines. Young, bright and pushy versus over-forty, experienced and baby-boomer idealistic. She enjoyed seeing young women make their mark, but not at the expense of a generation of women who still had much to offer. It was difficult to make them cooperate as a team because each threatened the other. She tried to set an example, but when something like the death of Lorraine happened, the generational split shifted once again. Sometimes Nina felt overseeing the staff of a magazine – men and women – was like peering down a microscope at amoebae that divided and doubled, clinging to one another and then breaking apart on the glassy slide of magazine media.
‘I have a thirty-year-old woman on our board. Wouldn’t have happened even a few years back,’ said Bevan Lean, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Some of the old codgers find her difficult. By that, I mean the fact she is where she is, and that she has opinions that she defends quite spiritedly. Others assume she’s there because the government has made an issue of gender representation.’
‘A woman on the board can be a token,’ said Nina. ‘Not that our two lady guests here today are that by any means. But I think you have to agree that most major boards still do not include women, especially young women. I also wonder about a few of the women who are on boards. Is it because of their ability or because it puts the board in a positive light?’
While the two women nodded in agreement, none of the five men present answered, so Nina deftly turned the questioning over to her guests, inviting them to update her on their own fields of interest, and the present and future problems and directions of the community and the country. In the course of the conversation, they shared information in a loose, off-the-record chat that none of them would construe as gossip. Nina found this helpful in filling in the background of local personalities, politicians and their agendas.
In the following days, Nina paid official visits to the Prime Minister, leaders of the other major political parties, CEOs of the country’s key corporations, bankers and lobby groups. She talked to women’s lobby groups, Greens Party MPs, conservation people, mining bosses, heritage minders, the Reconciliation Committee and an adolescence foundation.
With news that the world’s most famous magazine, founded in Australia, was being re-launched in Sydney, Nina found community and corporate groups knocking on her door. The fact that she was keen to meet people and listen to their ideas created a sense of excitement and expectation. Among those hoping the magazine would support their cause were women’s preventative health organisations, arts bodies, children’s rights movements, women’s affirmative action groups, and animals’ rights activists who made appointments with the former editor’s secretary, Belinda, to meet Nina Jansous.
Belinda had never had to deal with such a string of luminaries and was somewhat awestruck. Always first in line were the advertising agencies sussing out the page and position rates, along with value-added incentive deals. They were also curious on behalf of their clients who’d heard of the fabulous returns to be made from the various Blaze publications abroad.
Nina included representatives of these groups in her round of lunches, then politely and firmly advised the agencies that briefings with the advertising manager and the finance controller would be taking place with the new editor on her arrival in Sydney.
Privately, Nina found it frustrating not to dive in and immediately involve herself with the nitty-gritty, but as publisher and editor-in-chief that was not her role. When Ali was in place and the first issue off to the printers, Nina would temporarily step out of the picture.
Many assumed she was tired and needed to recharge her batteries. Nina had never taken more than two weeks break before. No one knew something was troubling Nina – something that even Nina had only recently identified as her ‘little volcano’.
The increasing flashbacks and powerful dreams had concerned Nina so much that, once back in Sydney, she had sought the advice of Doctor Richard Leitch, a retired psychologist friend of her late husband, Paul Jansous.
After several quiet dinners at his home, they’d sat in his study and talked about her thoughts and emotions. Gradually she had come to realise it was a combination of circumstances that were contributing to her feeling so unsettled.
Living back in Australia was one. Based in New York, apart from making fleeting trips to Australia to visit her mother, Nina’s focus was devoted to work issues. Now, on a regular basis, she was confronting places, people and memories of her life growing up in Sydney before Blaze. It occurred to her that her life was divided into compartments – her early childhood in Croatia, growing up in Australia, a career and marriage, and then Blaze. And Blaze had been the major and most demanding chunk of her life. It was her life. Now her mother had died and she had turned sixty. The combination was unsettling.
Then had come the death of Lorraine, and Miche’s need to come to Australia and find her father. In a talk together before Nina left New York, Miche had confided that it was more than a desire to meet and find out what her father was like.
‘Nina, since losing Mom, I’ve felt so adrift. I have no family here and we’ve never kept in touch. You’re my family, as are all Mom’s friends on Blaze here in New York. This is the only place I’ve ever lived. I’m half-Australian and I still want to know what that means. I’m not a whole person till I explore that. It’s just a need to come to terms with what and who makes me the person I am . . . or want to be.’
Nina had agreed with Miche. And then she’d begun to think along similar lines. She also had lost her mother. But she hadn’t wanted to burden the young woman with her sorrow. For Nina, there was a lifetime of loving memory. For Miche, only bitterness. Time was all that could mend Miche’s pain, time would recall the sweet times she’d spent growing up with her adoring mother.
Maybe it was because of Miche’s words, or maybe it was something to do with age, but
Nina found herself thinking more and more about her roots, her heritage, her childhood. Her mother, Clara, had always refused to talk about Croatia.
‘Nina darling, it’s gone, it’s over. There is nothing there any more for us. This is our home. Australia. This is a good place. Good for you. Forget everything from before.’
Nina had little to forget. Her knowledge of her mother and father’s country was sketchy.
But when Clara fell ill and knew she was not going to recover, she had begun to talk to Nina about her homeland, her parents. She never mentioned Nina’s father. He’d died so young, Nina had so little time with him, he didn’t seem to come to the foreground of Clara’s memories. But in her sedated state in the hospital bed, she was back in Croatia with her parents and little Nina.
During Nina’s final weekend visit to her in Sydney, Clara had grasped Nina’s hand, mumbling a disjointed story that made little sense to Nina.
‘The tree in the garden at Papa’s house. You remember the tree, Nina? Seven big steps left when you look at the house. That’s where it is, darling.’
‘Where what is? What are you talking about, Mama?’ Nina stroked her hand, paying little attention.
‘Important papers . . . many things. Find them, Nina. Before it is too late. I was too afraid to go back . . . you must . . .’ Clara’s eyes closed and her breath came in shallow, short bursts.
Nina tightened her grip on the still elegant, white hand with the pink oval nails and lace of blue veins. ‘Mama?’
Clara opened her eyes and gave Nina a penetrating look, a fierceness with such a depth that it startled her. Then Clara’s face softened, her eyes filled with love for the beautiful woman who was her daughter and had been her closest friend for most of her life. A sweet smile that hovered for a moment and then she closed her eyes, her hand fell slack in Nina’s and she slipped quietly into peace.