by Di Morrissey
Looking through the diary, Nina found compelling, emotional stories of individuals. She could see how this would be valuable material for Lucien. In this journal was the core of a film about bravery and inspiration. Her grandfather had kept this record. She could not burn it.
But Nina also knew these papers would place her in danger if she were caught with them in her possession. Where could she hide them in her luggage? Nina wanted to leave the flat as soon as possible. She had brought with her half-a-dozen copies of Blaze in a promotional kit. Quickly she ripped out every second page of the magazines and replaced them with the personal papers. Then she returned them to their presentation folders.
She wrapped the journal in her underwear and stuffed it in a bag with her shoes. She put on a few pieces of the jewellery, leaving the others in a pouch pushed into a shoe. It all seemed a bit melodramatic, but Clara’s stories and the turmoil and tragedy of past years could not be ignored. Here the hatreds ran deep, suspicion was still an ingrained instinct. Silence could mean survival.
She turned out the kitchen light and walked through to the bedroom to nap on the lumpy bed that had come with the flat. She glanced out at the garden, shadowed in the pale night light. A movement caught her eye. And, as her night sight adjusted, she saw a man hurry across the grass and crouch at the freshly made hole. Nina strained to see who it might be. Why was he there? She must have been watched. Maybe she had been watched and followed since she’d arrived in Zagreb. Or maybe it was just the concierge, who was simply curious about her insistence on digging the hole herself. But then why would he be out there at three o’clock in the morning? Nina decided to leave the flat at once.
TAKE FOURTEEN . . .
Ali put down the last page of Miche’s story on Sally. The photo of Sally wearing a diaphanous dress that showed her thin body looking so pubescent, hair threaded with flowers and trailing below her hips, barefoot and leading Poirot, the big white stallion, through a misty field, was highly evocative. She looked all of twelve years of age. It was timely because an argument was currently raging over the use of child models as young as twelve made up to look eighteen and older.
It was a terrific piece with stunning photographs. It needed tightening a little, but Ali knew she had a hot article that deserved a big splashy spread. Ali had little time for a girl well connected to Nina and a reminder of her late, one-time rival, Lorraine. But if she could turn in a feature like this, she’d have to be nurtured.
‘It’s bloody good. When does she arrive?’ asked Bob Monroe.
‘I haven’t offered her a job. This was a spec piece. Do you suppose she did it on her own?’
The features editor bit his tongue. ‘Nina has a professional eye, and she wouldn’t push someone on board who couldn’t do the job. This girl will go places. If this came in from a potential contributor, I’d give them another story.’
‘Hmmm. Let’s see if she can do it again. I’ll use her on a freelance basis.’
Bob thought it odd that Ali wasn’t hiring Nina’s goddaughter full time. He wondered what Nina would make of this, then reminded himself that Ali was running the show now. He made one more try. ‘If she comes up trumps again, you’d better sign her before someone else does.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ conceded Ali. ‘Remember, she was writing on her peer scene to a degree. I don’t intend Blaze to be for teenoids. If the Baron wanted a magazine for fifteen-year-olds he’d launch one, not hijack Blaze.’
‘It’s just one article, Ali, not an entire magazine. The photos are pretty erotic and the issues raised about who controls the strings in the modelling business are quite frightening. Scarcely lightweight reading for teenyboppers.’
‘Unless they want to be models. The mother of every wannabe model should read this.’ She started rifling through Donald’s photographs. Bob was dismissed and he left Ali’s office shaking his head – she always had to have the last word.
Larissa and Gerard walked hand in hand through Centennial Park, the green oasis in the centre of Sydney. They’d been jogging and had slowed to a walk as the light began to fade from the day.
Gerry lifted his arm and dropped it around her shoulders. ‘When are we going to have our talk, Riss?’
‘Oh. You sound like I’m avoiding the issue.’
‘Aren’t you? Every time I start to talk about going back to New York, what I want to do when you finish up here, you change the subject or don’t hear me.’
‘I suppose I don’t want you to go.’
‘Or do you mean you don’t want to go?’ There was a chiding tone to Gerard’s voice.
‘I’m on a contract for a year remember.’
‘You can walk out any time. And go back to New York. Nina would never let you leave the company.’
‘I so hate the idea of leaving Ali to run roughshod over everyone. Her ego is totally out of control. The sandpit deal started as a joke, but the staff members hate it and are nervous wrecks when they have to confront it.’
Gerry shook his head. ‘I can’t believe she seriously wants her executives to address their ideas and explanations to a bunch of toy people in a sandpit. Sounds like a touch of Mussolini with his toy trains. What about her affair with the big shot CEO? Maybe he’ll take her off to a life of luxury and travel.’
‘Ali would go for the luxury but not the travel. She won’t leave her chair for more than a few days at a time. Even her annual vacations are token holidays.’
‘Why are we talking about Ali? See, again, you’ve changed the subject.’
Larissa twisted out from under Gerard’s arm and plopped on the grass. He crouched before her as she idly plucked pieces of clover and studied them. ‘You have to decide about us, Larissa!’
‘Of course I like Australia – and my job. And I just don’t want to go back to the way we were. I don’t understand why.’ She sounded teary and confused. ‘I don’t know what I want.’ How could she be in her mid-thirties and feel like an angst-ridden teenager? She used to think she had her goals and priorities worked out. Now her aspirations and Gerry’s weren’t meshing, the timing was all off. She felt like an old-fashioned watch about to burst a spring.
‘It’s time for us to make a new life,’ said Gerry reassuringly and continued speaking without waiting for her reaction. ‘Let’s get married. There’s something I haven’t told you yet because I didn’t want to spoil our time together . . . But it has to come out. I’ve been offered a job in New Hampshire running a start-up investment company. For me, it’s a great chance. It means I will be half out of the rat race. I’d have time to paint . . .’
‘And what would I do?’
Gerry nuzzled her ear. ‘Have babies . . . ?’
‘Oh Gerry. I just don’t know. I feel so . . . torn. Like I’m at a crossroads and I don’t know which way to go.’
He looked forlorn. ‘There’s nothing more I can say. It’s up to you. But I’m not going to keep my life on hold. I’m moving to New Hampshire in four months. Let me know what you want to do. If you want to keep the apartment, it’s yours.’
Larissa could only stare at him. She was in shock at the suddenness of his announcement, that she’d known nothing about his plans. A niggling anger nipped inside her. She held her hands as if warding off a physical attack.
‘Whoa! Let me take this all on board. In one mouthful you propose . . . then tell me we . . . you . . . are moving, you’re taking up a new job, I’m to leave my job and career, have babies, settle in a place I’ve never been to . . . I mean. I may want to think about this!’
His enthusiasm wavered as he sat back on his heels. ‘Oh. I thought you’d love my plan. It’s what we always talked about wanting and doing.’ He looked hurt, bewildered.
Larissa saw he was perplexed and really didn’t understand why she just hadn’t fallen in his arms, saying ‘yes, yes’. She took a deep breath. ‘Gerry. I do love you. I don’t understand why I feel so confused. But I just can’t imagine not working for Blaze, not travelling, not having
the challenges, the stimulation, the friends. It’s been my life.’
‘Maybe it’s time you started a new life, Riss. Or you can stay in your comfort zone. Talk to someone for God’s sake. Can’t you find Nina and talk to her about it?’ As Larissa shook her head, he gave her a quick hug – he could see she was in no state of mind to make decisions. She had to become accustomed to the idea. ‘Come on, let’s go and eat. I’m not saying any more. The ball is in your court.’
‘Don’t make it hard for me, Gerry.’
‘It’s not hard, Riss. And I won’t bring it up again. I don’t want an emotional farewell at the airport tomorrow. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t come out. I’ll grab a cab and drop you off at the office. It’ll be easier that way. Quick and painless.’
Quick it might have been, but painless it wasn’t. Gerard sat back in his airline window seat and buckled his seat belt in an agony of hurt, anger and frustration. As the plane soared over Sydney, he glanced down at the beautiful harbour and foreshores he’d seen from Kevin’s boat and his heart ached with love for Larissa. He felt fearful about their future, but what else could he do? He’d meant what he’d said – he wasn’t going to put his life on hold. He was ready to move into the next phase of his life. With or without Larissa.
The women noted Larissa’s red eyes and left her alone until Belinda, Barbara and Fran invited her to lunch.
‘I think we need a decent bottle of red,’ said Belinda firmly as they settled themselves. She rarely went to lunch, let alone drank alcohol, on a working day. Today was an exception.
The other women quickly agreed. ‘One of the best from the Margaret River,’ declared Fran. ‘You’ll have to go over to see the west, Larissa.’
‘I don’t know where I’m going,’ she sighed. ‘I thought I’d like to see more of Australia while I’m here, now it seems I’ll be tooling around New Hampshire.’
‘It’s a hard one, all right,’ said Belinda. It was a vague remark as none of the women wanted to advise Larissa too strongly. They could all see what a hard choice it was. For any of them. Belinda was glad of the diversion of the wine being poured. She sipped the shiraz with appreciation. ‘God, this is more like the good old days. Leisurely lunch with friends, toss around ideas, share gossip.’
‘Some damned hot stories came out of those weekly lunches,’ sighed Fran.
‘Days of the long lunch on expenses are over,’ agreed Belinda. ‘It used to be something of a badge of honour for the blokes to get really sozzled, insult the boss, grope a poor young woman, throw up in a cab, end up at the old Journo’s Club and lose a fortune on the pokies. Then pass out on someone’s floor, not able to remember a thing since lunch started.’
‘It’s not politically correct any more. These young birds go to the gym after work and drink water laced with chlorophyll,’ sighed Barbara.
‘That was a fad in New York for a while,’ said Larissa. ‘Everyone wanted lean green bodies. Well, alkaline in their system.’
‘Ali must have an acid system,’ said Barbara tersely. Belinda and Fran stared at her briefly, then broke out laughing. It was so unlike the always ladylike Barbara. She was still smarting from her sidelining by Ali and she missed her colleague, Tiki. Apart from Fran and Belinda, there was no one else on the staff of Barbara’s generation.
Belinda raised her glass. ‘Here’s to you, Larissa. No matter what you decide, we’ll always be your friends, and we all want you to be happy.’
They lifted their glasses and Larissa shocked herself by bursting into tears. ‘I don’t know what to do . . . And I don’t know why. I don’t know what to do . . .’
It was a welcome diversion for Larissa when she met Miche at Sydney Airport. They hugged warmly, both deeply glad to see the other. For Miche it was a familiar friend in a strange place, for Larissa it brought back memories of New York, of Blaze, of Gerry, of Lorraine – a world that seemed now so far away, so long ago.
Miche loved Larissa’s cottage and, after she’d struggled to stay awake through the day, they walked up to Oxford Street for dinner.
‘This is hip. Very Greenwich Village,’ said Miche approvingly. She lifted her glass. ‘Here’s to you, darling Riss. I’m sooo glad you’re here.’ They clinked glasses and Miche braved the subject of Gerard. ‘You must miss him. I’m sorry I didn’t see him. He adores you so, why doesn’t he move here?’
Larissa clutched her chest in mock alarm. ‘Ah, the directness of youth. An arrow straight into my heart. I’m grappling with one of those life decisions.’
Miche merely raised an eyebrow and Larissa looked crestfallen. ‘Oh, Miche, it’s so hard. I’m really confused. I like it here, except Ali is . . . difficult, as you’ll discover.’ Larissa paused at the cloud that passed over Miche’s face as they both thought of Lorraine. ‘I adore Gerry, but I feel I’ve moved on in some way and I can’t put my finger on it. I just know I can’t go back to my old life. Having him here was so wonderful – and I know he enjoyed it too. He loves Sydney, but he felt like it was a holiday being here. Gerry wants to move to New Hampshire and on to a new life, but I don’t know that I want to give up my career and be . . . mother, wife, whatever.’
‘That’s not a lot of comfort to me, Riss. I thought life became clearer with age and wisdom,’ said Miche gently. Then, seeing Larissa’s sad expression, she sighed. ‘Why is it women always have to give up something in order to do something else? I always wondered what my mother was going on about, raving on that I was the inheritor of the breakthroughs by the baby boomers. But Nina and Mom had to fight to achieve what they wanted. They talked about saving the world, making it a better place, easier for us. Yet look at you . . . me . . . even Ali . . . our lives aren’t exactly perfectly laid out on a platter. The world still seems to be run by and for men.’
‘I sort of agree,’ said Larissa. ‘Until men have the responsibility of looking after the kids, the old folk or the sick, nothing will change. We still have to fight over pay, lack of child and home-care services, violence against women, the glass ceiling.’
Miche threw up her hands. ‘I’m not going to fight that one. Be like Ali. If you hit a glass ceiling, put a boot through it and to hell with anyone else. Mom always told me not to be modest, to believe I can do anything. That’s how men think.’ Miche sipped her wine and briefly stared into the glass as if looking for an answer to the question she had often asked. ‘When does it become simple?’ she asked softly.
‘Maybe never. That’s the whole female trip,’ replied Larissa slowly. ‘Fundamentally, we still want a career, to be acknowledged as thoughtful intelligent beings, to be a mother, to love someone and be loved in return and live in a healthy, clean, safe environment. Why should that be so hard?’
‘Well, to a lot of men that’s a big shopping list,’ said Miche. ‘And another thing, any time a problem comes up in our lives – like finding legal or financial guidance, signing a contract, just putting your life in order, we think we have to find someone else’s advice,’ she continued. ‘And women like my mother seemed to think that using outside help was a failure on her part. I’m just starting to realise that I am talented at some things, but there are things I can’t do – hey, why not spread the load?’
‘I suppose as long as women feel their status is unequal, there will be the need for organised feminist action,’ said Larissa. ‘But you and Ali’s age group seem to operate more as individuals, even competitors. What happened to the sisterhood that your mom and Nina were part of? I’m in my mid-thirties, have a promising career, a lovely guy. But the days of being superwoman and doing it all are gone with the power suits. It’s back to the olden days – I’m supposed to choose.’
Miche spread her arms, warding off Larissa’s intensity. ‘Hey, gimme a break. I’m just a kid. What do I know?’ At twenty-three, Miche was excited about the future, but it worried her when all the women around her seemed to find life so difficult.
Her mother hadn’t been able to cope with ageing. She’d been left with a baby
and a husband who didn’t want to settle down, so Lorraine had made her life working for Blaze, clawing her way up the ladder and raising a child as a single parent in New York City. But it had killed her.
Nina had also dedicated her life to her work. She had looked after her elderly mother, been widowed young without children and probably now had secret regrets. Ali was an aggressive ambitious bitch and, uncharitable as it might be, in her heart of hearts – despite her mother’s problems – Miche blamed Ali for pushing her mother over the edge, emotionally and physically.
And here was Larissa, not much more than ten years older than Miche, unsure of how to deal with the crossroads she faced. Where did the men fit in, wondered Miche. Once again she cursed her absent father. She was beginning to realise she harboured a deep anger towards her unknown parent. Where was he when she’d needed him to give her a cuddle, read her stories, attend school functions? To teach her to dance, and what to say to boys? Fathers contributed so much to a girl’s self-confidence, self-esteem. She’d always resented him for not being there when she needed him.
Larissa broke her train of thought and reached over and squeezed Miche’s arm. ‘Don’t take any notice of me. I’m just having a bit of a freak-out. I think you’ll love it here and do brilliantly. Your story on Sally Shaw was quite excellent. Knocked us out.’