by Di Morrissey
Miche had an appointment to see Ali on her last full day in Australia. Ali had told Belinda she could spare only ten minutes.
Ali was tidying the last of the papers on her desk and the office looked more sterile than usual.
‘I just wanted to wish you good luck, Ali, and thank you for the opportunity to be published. I think it was a fine way to launch my career and I will always remember it.’
Ali look slightly startled for an instant. ‘That’s very nice of you, Miche. Your wishes are appreciated. I trust the latest assignment is progressing satisfactorily?’
‘Yes, the story on the Hunter is shaping up nicely. A couple of super angles.’
‘Well, that’s fine. I look forward to seeing the finished product.’
‘I’d still like to work up that story of trauma we discussed a while back,’ said Miche.
Ali was brusque and dismissive. ‘See Bob about that, but you know my attitude. It’s probably not a goer.’
Miche was not deterred. ‘I had an extraordinary experience while up in the Hunter. I found my long-lost father. I just thought you might be a bit more . . . sensitive to the themes of my trauma story concept.’ It was a carefully planned and carefully aimed shot.
‘Why do you say that?’ Ali resumed casually sorting papers from a drawer, not looking at Miche, forcing herself to stay calm.
‘I came out here with an idea to find my father and find out why he abandoned my mother and me when I was a toddler. I was angry and hurt and figured he was a bit of a bastard or a loser. It turns out that he’s a handsome, nice, successful man.’
‘That must have been very nice for you, Miche, but it is hardly relevant to a story about violence, is it?’ Ali paused in her fussing about the desk, and Miche sensed a rise in tension between them.
‘I thought my story might inspire others to do the same. To face up to the past. It’s proved to be a cathartic and very valuable experience. No matter what the lost parent turns out to be like, confronting it and coming to terms with it, is cleansing. Well, that’s how I’m finding it. Wouldn’t you agree it’s an angle worth exploring?’
‘We’re not running a lonely hearts’ club or a clinic for reconciliation therapy‚’ she snapped. ‘This is a magazine.’
Miche could practically see the solid wall Ali had constructed around herself. It was like a fortress to repel invaders. Her reply was glib and hastily contrived. But Miche was dubious about how much further she could go down this emotionally dangerous path. ‘True,’ she said disarmingly. ‘We have to keep the big picture in mind. Will you be coming back to look around Oz in a more personal way, other than for Blaze, I mean?’
Ali’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why? Should I? And do what?’
‘Well, you haven’t had much of a chance to move around since you took over the editorial desk. I can recommend a trip around the Hunter,’ said Miche brightly.
‘I’ll read about it in Blaze when you finish your piece. Once again, thanks for the wishes. Was there anything else?’
‘No, Ali. But congratulations on your appointment.’ Miche held out her hand and Ali shook it loosely and briefly, then Miche walked from her office and quietly closed the door. Ali flopped into her chair, and spun it around to face the Darling Harbour view but she failed to notice the sunlight playing on the white buildings opposite. Instead, behind the defensive dark glasses she was seeing a young girl, huddled in her seat on a plane, leaving Sydney and sadness behind. But the haunted memories had followed her and never left. Now Ali was about to board another plane and leave this city and her past behind her again.
No one knew her secret. But somewhere out there was the man that had caused her unhappiness. Unlike Miche, she would not be making her father a part of her future life.
THE WRAP . . .
Eddie propped up the portable mirror on the roof of the car and dabbed at his face with powder. The boys at the Yellow Brick Road had done a terrific job – the new haircut, the very subtle make-up – just for on-camera, of course. He licked his lips to make them shine and took up his place outside the entrance to Catalina’s Restaurant. ‘Ready when you are, Ms de Mille.’
Christine, his producer, stepped forward with her clipboard. ‘This is just a brief intro to set up the party segments for later. Be excited, this is an exclusive. Reality is taking you into the A-one of A-list parties.’
Eddie waited until the soundman nodded and the cameraman lifted a finger. ‘Rolling.’
Eddie waited a couple of seconds, then began. ‘Darlings, here we are outside the most fabulous restaurant in this most gorgeous setting . . . you’ll see all that when we go inside. You are coming to the A-plus party of the minute as our guests. Remember the launch party for Blaze magazine? Well, that went down in history as one of the best ever . . . so let’s see what they’ve whipped up to outshine that event tonight as the city says farewell to its star editor, Ali Gruber.’ He started to turn, then swung back to stare straight down the camera. ‘Stick with me, sweeties, and you won’t fall in the harbour!’ Then he pranced out of shot up the steps.
‘Cut. God, he’s sickening. A total natural,’ sighed the producer, aware that so many people were lousy performers in front of a TV camera.
‘He just loves what he’s doing, so it comes across,’ said the cameraman hoisting the tripod onto his shoulder and picking up the camera. ‘I’ll set up overlooking the water, put up a light or two and you bring the talent out there as Eddie snares them.’
‘A lot of people won’t do that, there will have to be grabs on the run, taps on the shoulder jobs. Eddie’s good at it, charms them no end. He asks frivolous stuff and people don’t seem to notice he’s actually making them drop their facade and reveal more than they should.’
‘True‚’ acknowledged the veteran cameraman. ‘Not exactly mastercraft journalism, but great for a giggle, and that’s all a lot of the customers want.’
Ali’s farewell party had finally come together quite impressively, thanks to Nina’s team at the office marshalling a heavyweight guest list from the media, show biz, the arts and high society. It had been fanfared with a huge, flattering spread in a Saturday paper and they’d finally agreed to allow Reality’s new star talent, Eddie Kurtz, and his camera crew in to capture the atmosphere. There was something about TV lights that gave any party a higher rating, particularly among the guests, most of whom would kill for a few seconds on camera.
Ali was first, pausing to stare into the bright lights. Her sleek figure was draped in a pashmina shawl, sparkling sequins sprinkled on the soft cashmere worn sari-style over her head and wound around her throat. Her long black dress was strapless and outlined every inch of her pencil body. Her shoes – ‘Manolo, eat your heart out,’ was Eddie’s line to camera – had jewels across the toes and, in the high, sculptured heels of clear acrylic, tiny plastic fish were suspended. Her make-up was dramatic – the Yellow Brick Road team had gone to town with gold eyelids and heavy kohl eyeliner that swept upwards to give the effect of large, topaz cat’s eyes. Her lipstick was blindingly red. Ali had decided that if she had to make a public exit it would be a grand exit with impact.
After Ali had made her entrance in the glare of flashbulbs and camera lights, Nina appeared in a simple white pants suit, her dramatic dragonfly pin sparkling in her upswept hair. Around her throat was a strand of pearls and diamonds, a gift Lucien had ordered from a jeweller in Broome. She was followed by Jacques, who was adorned in tight black pants, a white T-shirt and black and white plaid silk jacket, with Tony Cox in tow wearing a red vest over a full white pirate shirt and black pants.
Most of the senior management executives of Blaze Australia waited inside the entrance, an informal reception committee.
‘I wonder if they’d all be here if it weren’t for Nina,’ mused one of the lower-rung Blaze staffers watching on the sidelines.
‘It’s a lot more informal than I expected, no string of heavy speeches planned. I’m surprised Nina allowed a film crew in though.’
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‘Ali’s idea‚’ said her companion staffer. ‘She and Eddie were pretty close. She wasn’t thrilled when he left, now she’s acting like she pushed him in front of the camera.’
‘If he’d flopped on TV, she wouldn’t have wanted to know him.’
Nina was stopped briefly by John O’Donnell, who kissed her cheek. The two corporate contacts had been friends for years. ‘It’s lovely to see you back in town, Nina. I heard you were staying in Europe.’
‘I will be spending more time there. As well as in London with Lucien. We’re very happy. And you, John?’ She gave him a certain look that told him she knew, or had guessed, how involved he’d been with Ali.
‘I’m all right. I still miss Carol. I guess one does a few silly things while grieving. But I’m on track now. I’m retiring, may stay on a board or two, but I plan to travel. Sailing round Greece this Christmas. Stuff like that.’ He gave a half smile and a shrug.
‘Keep in touch, I have a project going on back in the old country you may be interested in having a look at. Come and stay with us in France. I mean it. And take care, John dear, you’ll be a vulnerable target for a bit.’ She squeezed his arm.
‘I’ve learned my lesson. I’m trying to age gracefully,’ he smiled.
Miche hugged Nina. ‘You look sensational, Nina. Now, here he is . . . my father.’
Gordon shook Nina’s hand. ‘It’s so lovely to meet you. Thank you for all you’ve done for Miche . . . and for Lorraine,’ he added softly.
‘And this is Jeremy‚’ said Miche.
Nina took his hand. ‘So you’re the young man who made it all happen. Well done. You’ve brought a lot of happiness to all of us.’ Nina turned back to Gordon. ‘It’s wonderful the way events have worked out. It’s a delightful reunion and I know it will bring both of you a lot of pleasure. Being godmother to Miche has been a joy for me, I do hope you’ll come with her to Europe to visit us.’
Gordon smiled. ‘Lovely idea, but young Jeremy might have something to say about that.’
‘Ah,’ said Nina with a wink, ‘I imagine he will.’
Eddie, with camera in tow, was moving fluidly among the guests enjoying pre-dinner drinks. He’d been told to be out by the time everyone was seated. ‘Monsieur Triton, are you going to give me a teensy hint about the new editor of Blaze Australia?’
‘Of course not,’ said Jacques, who had no more idea than Eddie who Nina was planning for the job. Nor did he much care.
‘Oh, boring. Give me your news then,’ chirped Eddie.
‘Now Nina Jansous is back from leave, I’m returning to New York and then possibly Europe,’ drawled Jacques, as though he was telling Eddie about a ferry trip across the harbour.
Tony was not so laid-back. ‘I’m leaving too. I’m off to New York, going to work for the Tritons there . . . well, for Jacques . . . in a new secret enterprise,’ said Tony, preening before the young women attracted by the camera crew.
‘Secret!’ screeched Eddie. ‘You’ve tickled my curiosity! That’s a word I love . . . tell me all about the secret.’
And if Jacques hadn’t given Tony a hard look, he would have told Eddie all about it – even on camera.
Eddie took the cue, ‘Oh‚’ he cooed after a pregnant pause, ‘one of those sorts of secrets, is it? Thank you, darlings,’ and scanned the room for his next target.
Tony was still very swept up in the heady world of Jacques Triton. With Nina back in the driver’s seat looking very closely at all aspects of the magazine, Jacques was making a quick exit from town. He liked having smart, fun, agreeable – never say sycophantic – pals around him. So Jacques had invited Tony, his new best mate, to move to the US and work for a vague e-commerce company Jacques and his New York friends had been creating. Tony saw glamour, the jet set, the life of an international playboy looming. Had anyone pointed out to him that he was no more than a groupie doing Jacques’ bidding, Tony would have instantly dismissed the idea. By the time he realised he’d sacrificed his individuality, career and wellbeing to Jacques’ hedonistic lifestyle, it would be a long way home to Australia.
April Showers was in a corner talking to John O’Donnell when Eddie sashayed up. ‘Well, if it isn’t one of my oldest and dearest . . .’ Eddie angled himself for the camera and kissed the air either side of April, who gave him a forced smile and a look that said, watch what you say.
‘Hi, Eddie, congratulations on making it in show biz. Telly suits you – quick, slick, knock you off at a flick,’ said April.
‘You’re the megastar, darling. You’ve blossomed from the columnist bitch to the feature witch. Who are you ripping into next month?’
She wagged a finger at him. ‘Be careful, Eddie, could be you next. I’m the new senior feature writer at Blaze,’ said April whose smile hadn’t moved.
‘Congratulations to you too then. I’m not worried about you doing a Heather Race on me, sweetie.’ Eddie made an exaggerated aside to the camera. ‘I have all the goods on this lady, darlings. Ooooh, believe me.’
‘Fine,’ said April a little uneasily. ‘You read me and I’ll watch you.’
‘You do that, sweetie. Millions do, tra-la,’ he wiggled his fingers at her in a limp wave and sauntered off. The cameraman and his assistant glanced at each other knowingly. That little exchange would be edited out.
The evening ran smoothly. Nina made a short, elegant speech praising Ali and attributing the landmark arrival and success of Blaze Australia to Ali’s flair and acumen. She then called upon the head of the biggest consortium of companies that advertised heavily in Blaze to propose the farewell toast.
The corporate heavyweight made a short, silky speech, and everyone raised their champagne glasses – ‘To Ali’ – and the formalities were concluded. The noisy partying continued.
John O’Donnell sought Ali out and kissed her cheek. ‘I hope this is what you want, Ali dear.’
‘Not exactly. But I’m afraid you can’t offer me what I want either,’ she said with sudden candour, and added, with warmth in her voice for the first time that evening, ‘You really helped me. I’m grateful for that. Thanks.’
‘You also helped me through a difficult time. I appreciate your discretion and I think I understand what drives you. Good luck to you, Ali,’ he answered gallantly.
Before anyone noticed, Ali had left. Nina suddenly looked around and sent Tracey to check with Tom the limo driver, who reported he’d taken Ali back to the Blaze offices an hour or so earlier.
Nina glanced at her watch. ‘It’s nearly eleven. There isn’t really anything for her to do back at the office . . .’ her voice trailed off and she looked worried. She didn’t want to say anything, especially in front of Miche. For suddenly, Nina couldn’t help thinking about Lorraine. She glanced around the room, wondering who to confide in.
Her eyes fell on Reg Craven and she asked the waiter to bring him to her table.
Reg was feeling very pleased with himself and had strictly limited his drinking on this evening so that he could gain maximum enjoyment out of observing every nuance of the farewell to the woman he hated most – Ali. Also, he knew he needed to re-establish his standing with Nina. He didn’t care who Nina appointed editor next, no one could challenge or upset him the way Ali had.
Jacques, with Tony permanently attached to his side, was leaving the country and taking his shady dealings with them. So Reg was ready to reoccupy his territory and standing in the company. He’d spent a part of the evening schmoozing with Miche and her father. It occurred to him Birchmont Wines should be advertising in Blaze, no special deals because of Miche being Nina’s goddaughter, but perhaps there could be a crossover promotion deal. Maybe Blaze could hold a classical music evening or something posh at the Birchmont Estate, which he’d heard was pretty swish. Yes, that could be a beneficial connection. When the waiter approached, he was elated that Nina had asked him to join her.
As he approached the table, Reg was struck by Nina’s serious face, and for a moment his heart sank. N
o, Nina would never say anything critical in public. He smoothed his moustache. ‘A delightful party, Nina. Very impressive round-up of guests. But then, Blaze on top of an invitation helps, doesn’t it?’ he said, making the point the guests had come because of Blaze and not Ali.
Nina picked up her tiny Hermès handbag. ‘Reg, I want to go back to the office, I wonder if you’d accompany me?’
Reg did a double take. ‘Now? I mean, of course, Nina. Is there a problem?’ Reg couldn’t imagine what could have gone wrong on a Friday evening with still plenty of lead time before the next edition’s print schedule.
Nina spoke quietly. ‘It’s Ali. She’s such a dark horse, you never really know what she’s thinking. I’m a bit concerned because she slipped out of here without letting anyone know. Tom says he took her back to the office.’
Nina began to walk slowly through the dwindling crowd, nodding and smiling to people as she went. ‘I don’t want to upset Miche, I’ll just tell her I’m going home – I needn’t mention via the office. The car’s out the front, Reg.’
Reg patted his pockets making sure he had everything – phone, glasses . . . He nodded and headed for the door.
The limousine stopped outside the building, which had a few lights scattered throughout various floors. They caught the lift to the Blaze editorial offices and stepped out into the softly lit reception area. Without saying anything, Nina turned towards Ali’s office, her heart tightening as she saw the light under the door.
She called out, ‘Ali! Are you there? It’s Nina.’
There was a muffled noise. Nina opened the door that led into Belinda’s office and saw the light and heard movement in Ali’s office. The door was locked. She rattled the handle and raised her voice. ‘Ali? It’s Nina.’