by Di Morrissey
The two other men at the table glanced at him, thinking it was typical of Reg to hold his tongue until he was sure of the lay of the land. Ali ignored him. ‘Fran, you and Reg brief the agency to come back to me with a TV ad concept, tell them to include the song, and we want footage of real igloos and natives.’ Ali warmed to the idea. ‘Get a caribou coat, or an Eskimo woman to knit a fabulous cape or something that we could give away to a reader.’
‘Giveaways!’ shuddered Bob. ‘Next we’ll have shrink-wrapped hair-conditioner packets on the cover. I thought we were above value-added and gift promotions.’
‘Even rich people like something for nothing,’ said Ali.
Fran, as director of promotions, spoke up. ‘My understanding of Triton policy from Nina is that Blaze was to be a high-quality magazine. Which makes my job more challenging. Promotions are a way to increase circulation and subscriptions as well as promote awareness of the magazine. If Blaze is to be competitive, yet still maintain its quality image, our promotions must be above the run of what the others are doing.’
‘Fran, I agree with you, we don’t want to damage a classy image by resorting to anything too . . . supermarket tabloid,’ said Bob.
The staff had embraced the idea that Blaze Australia would set the highest standards under Nina’s classic hand.
‘Well, it’s going to be up to you to create innovative ideas then,’ said Ali. Fran backed down.
‘What’s Nina think of this idea?’ asked Larissa, voicing the question all the others were thinking, knowing very well Nina probably had no idea of Ali’s slash-and-burn plans.
‘Nina is out of the loop. In fact, she has already left the country.’
There was a brief pause. They knew that a new editor had the power to exercise control of staff and content. With Nina as publisher and editor-in-chief out of the picture, it would be up to the proprietor to argue with the new editor. That presumably was Baron Triton and they couldn’t see him interfering, even though he was due to arrive any day for the magazine’s first edition launch. Ali was his new star. He was about to introduce her formally to Australia as the founding editor of what would be the corporation’s latest success story.
‘How is your wife’s new job going?’ Fran whispered to Bob, while they waited for the conference to resume.
Without lifting her head, Ali cut in, ‘This is a business meeting, not coffee klutch. Can we get on with the meeting?’ Ali scanned her agenda, made a few more announcements of changes she intended for the offices, and they all sat numbly making notes, wishing Nina were there. Larissa was an unknown quantity and she was under Ali’s authority, so she was a doubtful ally for them. Privately, everyone was working out ways to entrench and consolidate their positions, even at the cost of office friendships. With Ali at the helm, no one on board was safe.
Ali reached the end of her list. ‘And, finally, arrival and departure times, including lunch hours, will be monitored. Time clocks are being installed to keep track of hours spent away from desks.’
Jaws dropped and Jonathan laughed out loud. ‘What! Ali, this is a magazine, remember, not the public service. That’s how we work – out of the office. Stories don’t walk in the door.’
‘Belinda will be keeping a check on all staff, just what they are doing, where they are going and how long it takes.’
‘Ali, is that fair, to make her the policeman?’ asked Larissa. ‘Is it really necessary?’ She looked about the table. ‘Have hours worked been a problem?’
There was a faint shaking of heads. No one had ever considered the situation. They had just put in long hours to get the first edition under way and Nina had approved overtime payments, making it clear this was an exception for the first edition only. Normally they were used to working whatever hours were needed. If that meant working late then an occasional long lunch or late arrival compensated.
Ali was unmoved. ‘And that includes the senior staff.’
She looked quickly at her notes and snapped her Filofax shut. It had been a productive first morning. ‘That’s it. Email me if you have a query.’ She rose from her chair. ‘I’ll have the human resources people deal with the new arrangements.’ She gave a brief nod at Tiki’s empty chair, her glance sliding over Barbara as she left the room.
The others gathered their bags and papers and left without the usual chatter and laughter. Each person felt they were on their own now, engaged in a personal battle for survival. And no one was looking forward to the rest of the day, let alone the longer term. Each of them was composing what he or she would say to Nina the minute the opportunity arose. But then, where was she? The staff had been so thrilled to be working for Nina Jansous. How could she deliver them into the nightmare clutches of Ali the Ambitious and then disappear?
TAKE SIX . . .
It was past eleven o’clock that evening when Tom, the chauffeur, opened the door of the limousine outside Ali’s apartment. He handed her a bundle of folded newspapers and her briefcase.
‘See you at seven, Tom.’
‘Righto,’ he responded brightly. ‘Not planning to sleep-in then?’ he ventured with a big smile.
‘No, Tom. Not at all.’ Ali was still trying to adjust to the casualness of Australians, who seemed to have remarkable resilience. A chauffeur in New York City would never dare to be so familiar.
Despite her cool response, the driver looked admiringly at her slim figure, a cape draped from one shoulder as she swept into the lobby. He wondered who or what waited for her upstairs. For the past three weeks he had been driving her to the beauty parlour each morning, to work and then home each evening, and from the few snatches of conversation he’d managed to draw from her, she didn’t seem to have a life outside Blaze. The only calls she made on her mobile phone were business related.
In her apartment, Ali ignored the big window display of glittering lights on the harbour foreshores and the giant coat-hanger of a bridge that was one of the city’s icons. She made a cup of green tea, kicked off her shoes and turned on the cable TV news in case there was a story worth following up, but then ignored the images on the screen. Her attention was mainly on the newspapers, a selection of dailies from around the country.
She turned to the financial and business sections, quickly scanning the stories, circling several paragraphs with a gold pen as she went, ripping out a long story on a high achiever in the corporate world. She then turned to the obituary notices. One sent her scanning eyes into freeze-frame, and with a satisfying ‘Hmmm’ she underlined a name that matched the one she had marked in the business news and turned back to read it again:
Bulmar Enterprises chairman, John O’Donnell, is taking extended leave following the death of his wife, Carol May. In a brief statement issued by the company yesterday, Mr O’Donnell said he planned to spend time with his children. The funeral will be a private service for family only. Mr O’Donnell has specified no flowers and suggested instead that donations be made in his wife’s memory to a cancer research facility in Sydney.
Ali sat for a moment and then picked up the small dictaphone from the coffee table. ‘Belinda, pull what bio material you can find on John O’Donnell from Bulmar Enterprises. As much personal stuff as possible, also anything new about the company. Make an appointment for me to see him as soon as possible. Make a note to bring up a special feature on ovarian cancer at the next editorial meeting.’
Something complex had stirred in Ali’s neatly ordered emotional deep-freezer. And it was due to John O’Donnell, a man she didn’t know apart from what she’d read and seen in the bizoid press, which had alluded to his wife’s cancer. Attractive lean face, grey hair, about sixty. This was when these men were at their most vulnerable, a window of opportunity that rarely lasted too long before another woman stepped in and slammed it shut. Ali, ever the opportunist, decided the chairman of one of the largest construction companies in the country would be a useful new friend – professionally and especially personally.
It was a prospect that made her
feel excited, a nice thought to end the day on, she mused. She switched off the TV and headed towards the bedroom, pausing briefly to take in the world outside the window. A full moon hung low over the bridge and seemed to balance on the top of the arch. It was a pretty scene, but Ali felt none of the emotion an expatriate may expect to feel at the classic image of Sydney’s harbour with the span of the bridge and the sails of the Opera House. Ali was here for business, nothing else, she reminded herself.
Larissa and Belinda were having a quick lunch with Tiki Henderson. Even though she hadn’t set foot inside the building since being pushed aside by Ali, Tiki liked to keep up with the internal news.
‘So how’s the velvet steamroller, the Yank Tank, doing upstairs? Who’s been squashed today?’ Tiki inquired with a grin.
Belinda gagged on her coffee as Larissa laughed.
‘So how are you settling in then, Larissa?’ asked Belinda, quickly changing the subject. ‘Like your little pad in Paddo?’
‘Love it. A terrace house in Paddington seems to be regarded as right up there in yuppie-ville. Which, I have to say, isn’t me. But it is a fun area.’
‘Used to be arty-farty years ago. Before the money belt took it over. Still, you’re close to the CBD and surrounded by sensational shops, terrific restaurants and some interesting art galleries,’ said Tiki.
‘Yes, I’ve started exploring those. I wish my boyfriend was here with me. He paints.’ Larissa’s face clouded over. She wondered if she were missing Gerry more than he was her. At least his life was still a familiar routine. ‘So why isn’t he here?’ asked Tiki in her blunt manner, propping herself on one hand on the table as if settling in for a long explanation.
‘Work. He’s a stockbroker. The paint splattered overalls only came out on the weekends or nights I worked late. Which was frequent, I have to say.’ Larissa took out her wallet and pulled out a photo of Gerard.
‘He’s so handsome,’ said Belinda with genuine admiration.
Tiki took the picture and examined it in silence for a while, then gave an appreciative nod and a raised eyebrow. ‘Hmmm. Must have been hard leaving a hunk like that.’ She handed back the photo. ‘He still going to be there when you go home next year? When’s he coming to visit?’
‘Tiki, that’s not a nice thing to say,’ chided Belinda. ‘Lots of people have jobs that keep them apart.’ She gave Larissa a comforting smile. ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder, isn’t that what they say?’
‘A cliché which, like most clichés, one hopes is trite but true,’ sighed Larissa.
‘Do you want to tell us how you met, how long you’ve been together, what he likes, that kind of thing?’ asked Belinda hoping that would make Larissa feel better.
‘I won’t bore you with that . . . at this moment. I will another time. I have to go back to the office to phone a friend’s daughter who is leaving the US tomorrow to come out here. She’s taking a small holiday in Paris on the way. I’m looking forward to taking her under my wing a bit.’
‘Ooh, can I help? Who is this?’ asked Belinda, ever curious about details of other people’s lives.
Tiki chuckled. ‘Always the mother hen, as you might have noticed, Larissa. How old is this girl? Need babysitters? One of my nieces is available.’
‘Thanks. But Miche is twenty-two. She needs to be away from the States for a bit.’ She paused, wondering whether to divulge more, then decided these two women could be helpful to Miche. ‘Her mother died – well, committed suicide. She worked for Blaze in New York. Nina is Miche’s godmother.’
‘Oh, my. How sad. Where is she staying, what’s she going to do? Can we help?’ Belinda was all caring concern.
‘Thanks. Maybe when she arrives. Nina thought a small break might help her move on with her life. They’re meeting in Paris. When she turns up, she’ll stay with me for a bit, till she decides what to do. She’s just graduated from college . . . in journalism.’
‘So she’s going to work for us!’ said Belinda.
‘Handy to have a godmother who runs the biggest magazine in the world,’ mused Tiki.
‘It’s actually not like that,’ said Larissa, suddenly defensive. ‘Miche has had a few freelance pieces published already. Nina says she has a lot of talent. She has to learn the ropes of the business now. Having a degree doesn’t always mean a lot when you start out in the real world.’
‘Dorothy used to say you can’t beat a thorough cadetship training,’ said Belinda. Then a thought hit her. ‘Ali’s a tough boss. Working with her will be the real world. At least Miche will be with other Americans.’
‘Ali is Australian. She only wears a New Yorker’s skin,’ laughed Larissa. ‘In the States, foreigners usually end up sounding just as American as the natives. It’s something of a survival tactic and it’s a catching accent, though Ali has been there since she was quite young. What her background is, no one knows. Never talks about herself,’ Larissa stretched, ‘which suits me fine. I’ve always kept our relationship on a professional level.’
Belinda leaned forward, ‘I would never have guessed Ali was Australian. Surely she has family here? Yet she doesn’t seem to have much of a personal life. She never has personal calls. And do you mean to say that you and she haven’t talked about . . . the changes, you know, what she plans to do? She’s certainly been hands-on once Nina was out of sight.’
Larissa looked into Belinda’s eyes. ‘Tell everyone – there’s Ali, and there’s me. I may be her 2IC but I am as much at Ali’s mercy as they are. I’m a worker, and a newcomer. I don’t want to be lumped on the other side of the table with Ali so that it’s a case of us and you. I’m not going to denigrate a colleague . . .’
‘But . . . said she diplomatically,’ interjected a faintly amused Tiki.
‘But . . .’ Larissa ignored her, ‘it is in all our interests to make this magazine work. Sometimes you have to put personal feelings to one side.’ She continued looking at Belinda, who nodded slowly.
‘I understand, Larissa. Believe me, I really do.’
Larissa relaxed. She knew she now had an ally in Belinda. Ali, on the other hand, wouldn’t need allies. She had a knack for looking after herself.
It had taken all of Belinda’s persistence to line up an appointment for Ali with John O’Donnell.
‘Ali, he’s a high-flyer still trying to run a business while recovering from his wife’s death,’ said Belinda. ‘His secretary says very firmly that he’s unavailable.’
‘Tell him it’s to do with a story on ovarian cancer. That’ll make him sit up. It killed his wife.’
When Belinda finally convinced John O’Donnell to come on the line, Ali was all caring and charm. ‘I understand how you must be feeling. I appreciate the fact you want to be with your children, so I hope you’ll forgive this intrusion.’
‘Thank you. Your secretary mentioned you were writing something on cancer . . . ?’
‘Specifically, ovarian cancer. It doesn’t command the attention breast cancer does and there needs to be a lot more awareness of it . . .’ Ali rattled off statistics knowing the man’s wife was one of them. ‘However, I don’t want it to be a cold, statistical type of story.’ Before she could go further, the man broke in sounding alarmed.
‘I’m sorry I can’t speak publicly about any of this. Naturally I support the idea, but if I can help in any other way . . .’
‘Well, yes, you can. I have two very special projects I’d really like to talk to you about and hopefully enlist your support. One is a special ovarian cancer program, the other a foundation for young people . . .’
‘I don’t see how this concerns me. I’d be happy to make a donation, but . . .’
‘The cancer program is as yet unnamed, I thought perhaps, as a tribute to your wife . . .’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘If it’s connected to Blaze, I assume it will be appropriate. Could you send me the details, please?’
Ali gave a soft chuckle. ‘I’m afraid I’m the detail at the moment. My
magazine’s interest in this is still in the early stages, and I would prefer that nothing is bandied about on paper. With Bulmar’s experience, you can appreciate my sensitivity on this.’
Her remark hit home. Several months before, O’Donnell’s corporation had been the target of a sophisticated piece of corporate bugging in which details of a construction bid had been revealed and they’d lost the contract to an Asian firm that had seriously bid below Bulmar’s bottom line. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I see you keep tabs on the construction industry as well as your publishing empire.’ Before returning the call he’d had his secretary check why Ali was calling and not Nina Jansous.
‘I find the corporate world utterly sexy. Fascinating in fact. I follow the high and lows, takeovers and mergers like my girlfriends follow the major league baseball.’
His voice thawed for the first time. ‘I’ve never considered the business world sexy, but I’m flattered to think I’m part of such an intriguing world you describe.’
‘I’d be extremely flattered if you’d give me ten minutes. I wouldn’t waste your time or mine on anything trivial,’ said Ali with a hint of flirtatiousness.
‘You’re a very persuasive lady. I look forward to hearing what you have to say. Karen will set it up with your PA. Goodbye for now.’
Ali waved the receiver in the air with a triumphant salute before calling Belinda.
‘Make an appointment with O’Donnell in a week’s time. I’m leaving the building for a meeting. Call me on the mobile if you need me.’ Ali had taken to using the local expression rather than the American term cell phone. She didn’t elaborate further to Belinda. To Ali’s mind her whereabouts were of no concern to her secretary. She wasn’t going to set a precedent of being answerable every time she left the building. This was despite expecting everyone else in the company to be at their desks or leave precise details of their movements.