By the end of her first interview, the station was inundated with companies who wanted her as their spokesperson.
More importantly, Paulie already had several people offering to help capture her grandmother’s language.
Derek arrived with his colleague, Jade, coffees and bagels.
“You look like crap,” Jade hugged Mason, her hazel eyes searching his with concern. “Derek told me what happened. No sleep?”
“Did you read the press – I’m supposed to be a roving ambassador for the company while they bring in the new CEO to run my company.”
“So, let’s work out what you need us to do about it,” Derek pushed past him into the lounge room where the television was blaring.
“The head hunting company gave the Board a shortlist. All highly experienced in delivering on shareholder value.”
“What about my staff, and our customers – do they even figure?” Mason took a bite of his bagel. “They are the ones who built the company. I trusted the Board to remember them.”
“Acquisitions and growth. If I’m reading the CVs right, the Board is looking for some quick wins to prove to the market how good a stock Softli is to hold. Once things settle down, hopefully the staff and customers will be looked after.”
The three of them focused on the breakfast news as Derek’s warnings sunk in.
“We are crossing live to Andamooka Gorge a small town 200 kilometres from Alice Springs where Australian model, Ellin Kenmarre has returned home to try and save her heritage. Ellin, tell us why you’ve gone home.”
“Mason, isn’t that the breakfast host who kept calling you?” Jade asked cheekily. “Did she ever get over your rejection or did you cave?”
“Nah, not my type,” he watched the graceful young aboriginal model light up his TV.
“Thanks Danielle,” she trusted Paulie and hoped the camera would love her, sitting cross legged in the red dust. “The Arrernte people have been on this land for over 60,000 years. When you look around, you might see nothing – perhaps bare earth with few trees. For us, this is country - we see stories of our beginning, our dreamtimes. This earth,” Ellin cupped her hands and let the red flecks fall over her camel colored long dress, “It is part of me. No matter where I travel or how much I love Sydney, this is home. This will always be home.”
“It certainly looks beautiful, but tell me, why is it under threat and what do you want from my viewers?”
The producers and Paulie had planned the next scene for maximum emotional impact. The camera panned to a silhouette of her grandmother, sitting underneath an old gum tree singing a lullaby to a baby, surrounded by adoring young children. Occasionally, the camera returned to Ellin, her already beautiful face softened by the obvious love for her grandmother and these children.
For two minutes, Australia and through streaming services, the world, was captivated by the gentleness, stillness and love of a grand-daughter for her grandmother, and the love by the older woman for this younger generation.
Unscripted but captured by the camera was a single tear rolling down Ellin’s face at the end of the song. Danielle jumped on the chance.
“Ellin, such a beautiful song, I can see it really touched your heart.”
Ellin brushed away the tear, embarrassed and proud. She wanted the song to be her story, not her tears.
“What makes me angry, Danielle, is how my grandmother’s language, like so many other ancient, indigenous languages, is at risk of dying out. My aunt died last month. My grandmother is the last of her generation, and in our family, there is no next generation. It passes to my brothers and I.”
Ellin paused, trying to remember the words Paulie had written for her. They were gone. She took a deep breath and let the tears flow, nothing had worked, nobody cared. She had nothing to lose.
She looked straight at the camera, serenaded by another of her grandmother’s lilting songs, “Australia, we need you. I need you. My grandmother is old, and every time I see her, I feel her frailness. But when she dies, so too does her language. Please,” she pleaded, “It’s too late to save my grandmother – help me save her language. Please.”
The producer allowed a further fifteen long seconds to focus on the beauty of the Australian outback, the proud love of Ellin, weeping into her grandmother’s arms, as together they cradled the baby.
Mason, Derek and Jade were speechless as the station rotated through a series of visions. The grandmother teaching, cooking, walking slowly towards her vegetable garden. Ellin walking with the red hills in the background, Ellin urged on by youngsters to climb trees. At the end, flashed the online details for people who wanted to support.
“Wow,” Jade broke the silence. “Wow, just wow.”
“Scripted better than most commercials. We should find out who pulled that package together – and the girl. Jade, think about which of our clients deserves her to be their public face. Can you imagine how we could use her?”
“Derek, can’t you think of anything other than business?” Jade laughed. “You’re right and I’m thinking banking or car sales – she is personable, and consumers will trust her.”
“Why don’t you two head off and find your next fortune.” Mason got up. The breakfast interview shook him in a way he couldn’t quite explain to himself. Nor could he understand why his friends’ reaction infuriated him. “Thanks for breakfast, I’ll be fine.”
“Look, mate,” Derek said in the driveway before leaving, “It makes sense that you built Softli from the ground up, and now having someone new coming in makes you feel all protective over what they will want to do. Think about it this way, your baby has grown up and met someone new. You need to love it enough, to let it go.”
Mason’s chest tightened, as he smashed the side of his own car with his fists. “Don’t you get it? It’s been my whole life. Understand, my whole life. If they push me aside, what the hell am I supposed to do?” Anger and fear collided as Jade hugged him. Friends for so long, and at one time could have been more. He knew she was trying to reach him and didn’t have the strength to push her away.
“Mas, take some time off. Go out, party, have some fun.”
He didn’t have the will to push her away. Craving the companionship, the soothing back rub in direct violation of the emptiness facing his life, “I don’t want to party. I’m sick of women coming up only because of my money. They’ve seen me on the television or magazines – ‘Australia’s most eligible bachelor.’ They think they know me, but they don’t and they don’t care. They want their photo with me in magazines to show their friends. They want me to buy them stuff – and invest in their businesses or anything.”
His face crumpled into Jade’s shoulder. “I don’t want to party. I want to be Mason, tech nerd who is building a business with his friends. I want it to go back to the way it was.”
“I know,” Jade soothed.
“You don’t know,” how could he make them understand. “All I had was Softli. Now they have pushed me aside. I don’t know what that means for me. Who am I without my company?”
“Take a break, go away for a while. We’ll tell the market you are working on the next project for Softli.” A gentle kiss on his cheek, “Mas, I care about you – we all do. Don’t make hasty decisions you might regret. Get out of here for a while. Do what you’ve got to do to make you whole again. Come back to us when you are ready.”
Mason closed the door to an empty house. Large enough to host parties for over 200 guests. Styled for magazines. Cold and lonely. He craved the cluttered mess of his parent’s home. The smell of fresh baking from the kitchen and the sound of his father singing old fashioned love songs to his mother. Always off key and out of rhythm – but his mother never cared.
How the hell did he end up with all the money in the world and nothing to show for it?
He walked into one of the smallest rooms he had turned into a lounge room. The television still frozen with the address from the last interview still on the screen. ABillionStars.
>
Within half an hour, he packed up his old development laptop, a backpack with a handful of t-shirts and old jeans, battery chargers and had booked a flight to Alice Springs. On the way to the airport, Mason Winters withdrew a couple of thousand dollars in cash, dropped into a suburban barber shop to get his signature blonde hair shaved off. A few more dollars at a beauty salon and his pale face was slightly tanner, older looking.
He needed a name. What was it the report said – he looked like an American actor – Ryan something? Well, now he would be Ryan Swan. Tech nerd, secret billionaire. Looking to find himself under a billion stars.
Dreaming
Mason made good use of the three-hour flight from Sydney to Alice Springs. It didn’t take long or much research to find out the problem was real. Languages passed down from one generation to another were dying out and very few people or governments had the time, energy and resources to record them.
At least for the moment, he had all three – and the need to do something good for the world while his own world figured out what to do with him.
With all the best intentions, they weren’t thinking big enough. Ideas rushed through his brain as he started to design options for capturing the language. One option was to use Softli’s voice recognition software components, but with a little effort, he could also take one of the expert systems and teach it to learn the language as quickly as the system captured it. A system that would adapt and learn the language, and then teach it to a new generation.
By the time he landed, he had wire-frames mocked up and the whole system designed in his head. For the first time in years he felt the rush of starting something new. Building something meaningful – giving his life a new purpose while Softli settled into new management. He almost forgot his carry-on luggage in his rush to find a car, drive to wherever this town was and get started.
If the old woman agreed to his idea.
If the indigenous community accepted a rich, white, city dude as their cultural savior.
Damn.
He kept forgetting his disguise. At first all he wanted to do was hide from the press and fortune-hunters. But, this new “Ryan Swan,” could come in handy. He could turn up, a humble programmer offering to help. Hiding behind a new name would keep the press at bay and stop anyone from judging him on his name, reputation and money. A fresh start – exactly what he needed.
The rental desk in Alice offered a range of cars – from brand new four-wheel drives, guaranteed to have comfortable suspension for the open roads, to sports cars. Over in the dint and scratch area, he spied a rusty, old four-wheel drive. The service desk tried to convince him to upgrade, but he convinced the man he was on a budget.
Turning from Mason into Ryan proved easier than it should have been. Everyone took him at face value, no one asked for identification – even the car hire desk accepted the name he gave them and convinced by his story that his wallet and cards were left in a cab in Sydney – the only cash he had was the wad of notes in his carry-on luggage.
After a trip to lost property, he swapped his new, labelled casual clothes for long-forgotten shirts and shoes.
Ryan Swan left Alice Springs airport a different man to the Mason Winters who lost his company. For the first time in years, he could start from nothing and build something new, not only not-for-profit but for the sense of genuine and heartfelt community service.
Feeling every bump in the road through the non-existent suspension, he figured that barring any tyre trouble, he should arrive in Andamooka Gorge by mid afternoon.
“Paulie, no. I said no last week, and I’m saying it again.”
“Ellin, baby, come on. The publicity will be good for you, good for your grandmother.”
“I’m not going to be the face of a beer campaign. What will they want me to do – roll out of a pub swilling from the bottle?”
“I promise, I wouldn’t let them do that to you. But, if you don’t want to do beer, how about the sports betting agency? They want a fresh face to promote the next football season. They will give you a portable studio, white backdrop and lighting. You can dial in your report from wherever you are.”
“No. What about asking for help recording my grandmother’s language – did any real leads come through or only offers to date me?”
“Sorry, honey. We had calls and interest straight after the interview, but even then, most wanted to meet you and didn’t have any clue on how they would go about it.”
“I did it for nothing.”
“What? You got great visibility – most models would kill for the opportunity. You are now Australia’s most famous current model – you are the face of a cause. Not just a Koori girl.”
Ellin slammed down the phone. It wasn’t Paulie’s fault. His job meant pushing her into jobs she didn’t want to do – to put money in both of their wallets.
He had no idea how much she hated baring her soul to the camera turning on fake emotions to sell overpriced clothes and accessories. Agreeing to the interview stepped her completely outside her comfort zone – and made her face her fear about losing her grandmother and language. Watching the replays Paulie thoughtfully sent her, her vulnerability in her eyes and on display for all to see. Ready to be exploited by thousands of online trolls. She suspended her social media accounts rather than deal with the racist taunts.
She put herself out there, for nothing.
Birrani sauntered into the room and threw a swag at her. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
“What?” Since she left home and his growth spurt, not only did he tower over her in height, but had also started embracing his “man of the house” role. Sometimes endearing, other times possessive. Mostly, sweet.
“You heard me. It’s about time you stopped moping about, feeling sorry for yourself. Little miss princess on all the news, isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I wanted the government, or someone to care. You know I didn’t do it to be in the news. It’s not just our gran and our language – they are dying all over the country and no one cares,” Ellin pushed away angry tears. Time for crying had passed. “I got another email from the government agency about my request for funding.”
“And …” he asked, filling their canteens full of water and stuffing their bags full of fruit and bread rolls.
“The Government appreciates the indigenous culture of the land.” She read out in a fake, clipped voice, a parody of bureaucracy speak. “Unfortunately, at this time there are other funding priorities relating to indigenous health that must take precedence. We thank you for your enquiry and wish you success in approaching philanthropic organizations,” she read from her phone before throwing it at Birrani. “They don’t care. Never have, never will. They only care about the rich, city bastards.”
“A night under the stars will do you good. You and me, just like we used to,” not since he was a baby and her mother made her promise to always look after him, could she refuse her brother. Especially when he knew exactly what she needed.
“Go down this road for about a mile, take the dirt track on the left past the old water tank. You’ll see a couple of dozen old houses. It’s the one with the massive vegetable garden in the front and up the sides.”
Mason thanked the service station owner and paid to fill up his tank.
“Hey, what do you want with gran?” Mason turned back to the old man.
“Is she your grandmother, too?”
“Nah, but she’s everyone’s gran. What do you want with her?”
“I saw the breakfast interview she did with her grand-daughter. I think I can help.”
“You for real? Does she know you’re coming?”
“Not at all, I flew into Alice this morning and drove straight here. I figured I’d rock up and see how we go from there.”
The old man sized Mason/Ryan up and down. Mason shivered under the gaze but held his nerve. He’d spoken the truth and figured the old man would be the first to send him packing if he thought Mason was out to cause trou
ble.
“You’ll need some bread.”
“Cash, I don’t have a lot.”
The old man laughed, “I’m talking freshly baked bread. We got fresh food this morning and it’s the only time for a fortnight anyone will be able to buy fresh bread. Grab her a loaf and she’ll hear you out.”
It never occurred to Ryan how hard fresh food would be to buy in the outback – surely it was available if you had the money! Apparently, not. He bought up fresh bread, bananas, apples, cauliflower and carrots. Paying almost four times a much as he would have paid in Sydney. “How do people afford to eat here?”
“They don’t. Cheaper to buy hot chips than real food. You got a name?”
“Ryan Swan,” he held out his hand to shake the gnarly old hand.
“Old Salt,” the grip was stronger than he imagined, and held longer, “You mess with gran or her kids, you deal with me. Got it?”
“Got it,” Ryan tried to smile, the old man didn’t let his grip go.
“We’ve had white do-gooders here before. And whites wanting to make their fortune. When you all leave, it’s up to us black-fellas to pick up the pieces.”
“Old Salt, all I want to do is show them my ideas. Either they like them, and we can work together, or they show me the door and I fill up my car here, have a beer with you while I lick my wounded pride and then get me back to Alice.”
“Then, welcome to Arrernte country.”
Ryan awoke with a start to a tapping on his car window. Only when he had pulled up outside the ramshackle house did he realize how insane this trip would appear. “Hi, you don’t know me but trust me, I’m here to help!” What sort of crazy person would he seem! After finding the house empty, he’d fallen asleep in the car while trying to practice what to say.
A Billion Reasons Why_Billionaire romance Page 3