“What do you mean?” asked Louise, finally paying attention. She had vented her spleen to Vera, but hadn’t anticipated an actual conversation.
“Well, now that Phil realizes that you are not only better qualified than he is, but have the same qualification as Leonie Eaton; and given the EEO mandate that more women must be represented in the managerial ranks of the department – he won’t be able to help himself. He will have to prove that you are inadequate and inferior to him in any way he can.”
“What about Chris Hardy?” Chris was Leonie Weston’s level and yet another supervisor.
“What about him?” asked Vera.
“Well, does the same apply to Chris?”
“No – for one thing, you have the hots for Chris, which I think he rather enjoys; and for another, he is good friends with Leonie and Mark Eaton, so I think Phil is the one you need to watch. Oh – and Greg Dawkins.”
Greg Dawkins was the section head.
“Why Greg Dawkins?” asked Louise. “And how did you know – I don’t have the hots –“
“Why Greg Dawkins?” Vera was disbelieving of Louise’s ignorance. “Greg is another Phil! Neither of them was accepted at the University of Canberra, which is why both of them got their degree by doing a correspondence course. And,” she added conspiratorially, “Greg’s wife weighs about 90 kilos.”
“So?”
“So – that makes us ‘the enemy’!”
“Why? Because we are not able to find a man to marry us, and therefore have to work and study for qualifications so that we can stay employed, while other women get men to go to work to support them, so they can stay at home and have kids?”
“No; because we are competition for them in the promotion arena, and wouldn’t go out with them even if they were single!”
“How do you know all this stuff, Vera?” Louise was in awe of her knowledgeable friend.
“Aagh – I’m Rrrussian, darlinka,” Vera rolled her R’s on “Russian” very impressively and put on her Babushka accent. “Ve know vot goes on in zee vorld.”
“Shit,” groaned Louise. “Well, I just hope I get this promotion, then.”
“Have you read Defence’s annual report?”
“Their what?”
“Geez Louise, good thing I’m here to look after you!” Vera was only 5 years older than Louise, but mothered her nonetheless. “It’s no good just knowing how to do the accounting – you have to impress them with the knowledge you have about their department and what they do. That “closes the gap” between you and an internal applicant. The annual report will tell you who the big-wigs are; why the department exists in the first place; what the big issues were last year; what the plans are for this year and what the “buzz-words” are. Then you can speak their language.” Vera finished her cigarette and stood on the butt to extinguish it. “It is no different to applying for a job at a multinational company.”
“But I’ve already had the interview!”
“The first interview – once they speak to Leonie, you’ll be called back for another interview. I’ll coach you.” Vera linked arms with Louise as they headed back upstairs to the office.
“You know,” Louise whined “all I really want is to look pretty, and earn enough to support myself.”
“I know, dear,” said Vera soothingly. “Me, too.”
*
Jim Keats loved family events. He still found it hard to believe that out of what had seemed like endless years of endless chaos, this fabulous family had emerged.
He was especially proud of Michael, his eldest son and second child. At first, he had despaired of Michael ever finding his place in the world. Although a very intelligent boy who excelled at field sports, Michael and been the scourge of the poor nuns all through Primary school. He couldn’t sit still and refused to follow instructions. In Grade 5, all the boys left St Thomas More’s convent school and went to the brothers at Daramalan. There, Michael had been the star of the cricket and football teams, both of which Jim coached, but he had generally played truant from every other class.
During his teens Michael had fallen in with the wrong crowd – not bad boys, any of them, but they seemed to attract trouble. They brought it all on themselves, Jim had to admit, but his paternal understanding did not extend further. None of his other children had given them any trouble – why was Michael different?
So, Michael had gone from one Catholic boys school to another, usually having been asked to leave the one and accepted on probation at the other; and upon turning 15 years of age had promptly left school. Having movie-star looks and a disarming smile, he had quickly gained employment with a left-wing, overseas-aid operation and commenced work as their printer’s boy.
And that had been that. Jim, who had been a straight A scholarship student, and had an economics degree at a time when not everyone finished high school and fewer still went on to university, wondered why his son had chosen to make his own life so difficult. Jim was happy to put Michael through university – wanted to do it for him. But Michael had enrolled himself into technical college and the five year long course to be a lithographic printer. At the end of it all, he had been named “apprentice of the year” and now managed the biggest printing operation in town, and was more highly paid than any of the others – something Louise often pointed out when she complained about the cost of her own studies.
Jim couldn’t be more proud of his son. Tall, handsome, an accomplished sportsman, a well-known member of the growing, privately-owned business community in this otherwise government town, Michael embodied all that young manhood should in his father’s eyes. He was, in many respects, a self-made man – that highest of accolades, and one Jim aspired to himself. And Michael relied on his father’s input in all the important decisions in his life.
Sometimes Mary complained at the level of financial support they had contributed to Michael’s business ventures over the years, but Jim loved being a necessary inclusion. Sure, Michael needed more money to fund his plans. What young man didn’t? And how many rich men had rich fathers? Almost all of them. Well, Jim might not be a multi-millionaire, but he wasn’t poor, and if he wanted to help his son, he would.
“It’s not fair, though,” Mary had protested the last time she’d discovered that Jim had helped Michael out financially. “What about the others?”
“What others?” Jim didn’t want to be talked out of his decision. He was able to make Michael’s dreams come to life by injecting money. Michael always turned to his father for solutions and so far Jim had never let him down.
“The other kids!” Mary was losing her patience. “What if they all wanted as much help as we have given Michael?”
“They don’t, do they?” Jim was horrified by this idea. “Louise has never asked us for money. Jane doesn’t need anything – she and Sam are better off than we are. James is perfectly happy and Marie only ever wants the odd dress, or pair of shoes.” Having acquitted himself of the charge, Jim was comfortable again. “Michael is the only entrepreneur in the family, and I am his silent partner.” Sensing that Mary remained unconvinced, he added “Besides, Mary, it is my hard earned money and I’ll spend it however I like.”
“I see.” Mary was terse. “So, I can like or lump it, I suppose?”
“Why would you want to stand in Michael’s way?”
“I don’t want to stand in anyone’s way – but I do want everyone to stand on their own two feet, without having us propping them up!”
“We’ll benefit if Michael profits,” argued Jim.
“How?” Mary demanded. “And how will we even know whether Michael is profiting? He and Roxanne will have spent every cent before anyone can even count it!”
Jim was turned to his wife, eyebrows raised. “I thought you were behind Roxanne all the way,” he commented drily. He had heard a lot of the anti-Louise sentiment in the women’s conversations, and wondered where it was all headed.
“Roxanne’s not a fool,” answered Mary. “When she i
nherited all that money from her father’s estate, she put it straight onto the mortgage, which is entirely in her name – not Michael’s. Roxanne wouldn’t put a cent into his business – and she makes no bones about it.”
Jim knew this was true but till now, hadn’t realized that Mary knew it, too. But he was sticking to his decision.
“All the more reason why we should support him,” he said firmly. And Mary knew that there was no use in discussing it further.
*
Michael had only had one other serious girlfriend before meeting Roxanne when he was just 19. He had been chased by girls since he was 14 years old, but he was not a womanizer. Michael was lazy when it came to women, and would still be with his first girlfriend had she not dumped him just for the drama of it. Unfortunately for her, he was too lazy to chase after her and before much time had passed, he had met Roxanne who had not let him go. She was five years older than he; a strongly built, country girl, who made announcements rather than actually conversed with people. Jim and Mary immediately knew that she was perfect for Michael. She left no room for doubt or error – she was right and there was no other way. For Michael, who often lacked discipline and suffered from an inability to self-assess, Roxanne was the antidote to all his failings. So what if she didn’t invest in Michael’s latest scheme? She had taken on Michael, hadn’t she?
They had married soon after his 22nd birthday. Because of Roxanne, Michael would always have a home and a family, despite his ill-fated schemes.
This Christmas was going to be a real family event. Jim was bitterly disappointed that it wouldn’t be held in his own home, though. The whole place was so beautifully set up now, and they wouldn’t be having Christmas there. It was a real shame. Jane and Sam’s place was bigger, but Jim never really felt comfortable accepting Sam’s hospitality. He would be merely a guest, rather than the father, father-in-law and grandfather. Sam tended to lord it over everyone when they were at his house, and anyway, Jim preferred to be on his own turf. He didn’t mind Sam, who was a hard worker and a decent provider, but he thought him too hard on his young son, and Jim disapproved of the surreptitious dope smoking. He should have outgrown that by now, Jim thought critically. Dope smoking was something teenagers did – not grown men with families.
Chapter 3
It was Friday night, and the Hyatt Hotel – previously the historic Canberra Hotel – was filling up. Well-dressed business people sauntered across the lawns, by the prolific roses and up the stairs past the liveried doorman. The reception area was beautifully decorated in the style of art nouveau, with marble floors and columns, ebony fixtures and French windows opening onto courtyards to both the left and the right. The right-side courtyard was the largest, and now held many of the as yet unmarried graduate employees of the nearby government departments. The Hyatt was well placed beside what was known as “the Parliamentary trangle”, within walking distance of the departments of Treasury, Finance, the High Court, Prime Minister & Cabinet, and Foreign Affairs. Employees from other departments drove to gather there on Friday nights, so Defence, Immigration, Social Security and the Tax Office were also represented.
A male pianist and a female singer in the reception area made music that flowed out into the crowded courtyard, where drinks waiters in dinner suits kept the various conversations oiled.
“What do you think?” Margot asked Louise as she watched the young singer performing a light hearted jazz number.
Louise had never known Margot to take any interest at all in the entertainment, and looked more closely at the singer.
“Oh my God – is that Claire?” Louise asked and Margot nodded, trying to contain her huge smile.
“Not bad, huh?” said Margot, acknowledging that the singer was her little sister.
“She’s fantastic, actually. I had no idea – I thought she was still at school!”
“Nope. Got out last year.” Margot was one of nine children, all of whom had done a stint at the Catholic boarding school in the rural town of Yass, chosen by their parents to “finish them off”. Margot had seen it as a cruel and unusual punishment, and had spent most of her mid-teens plotting her escape. On about the fifth occasion, her parents had given up and enrolled her in the local school which Louise attended. “She has been at the Conservatorium since then,” added Margot, “doing piano and voice.”
“Well, she got this gig, so clearly she is a professional musician, regardless of her student status.” Louise took a glass of champagne from a passing tray and paid the waiter. “How come we never did anything like that?”
Margot laughed. “God – would you want to?”
“Yes, I would! Look at Claire – she is having a great time and she’s being paid!”
“I’d rather be here, enjoying the performance, than up there, giving it.” Margot sipped on her cocktail. “Besides, all the men are down here with us.”
“True. Good point.” Louise took a break from scanning the room for interesting faces and turned to her friend. “How come you don’t meet guys at work?”
“Adrian is married.”
“No – not your boss. I mean your clients. There you are, in your little uniform, bending over them as they lay back in the big chair – they are totally captive! How can you miss?”
Margot guffawed at Louise’s description. “I’m a dentist, Lou – not a nurse! For one thing, I’m holding a drill in their mouth; a sure fire turn-off if ever there was one; and for another thing, men don’t go to the dentist between the ages of 18 and 60. Thank God women do, otherwise I wouldn’t have a job.” Margot paused to sip her drink. “No – I’ll never meet my true love at work – which is why I am forced to do the bar circuit when I am not taking Kon Tiki tours of the western world.” She pulled a face at Louise. “Anyway – you should talk! You’re an accountant. You work entirely with men. What’s your excuse?”
Louise sighed. “Male accountants marry as soon as they finish university.”
“But don’t they risk marrying too soon and missing out on someone better?”
“That’s what we have been raised to believe, but the opposite is true. Having spent years learning how to measure and avoid risk, the young, ambitious accountant nails down as much of his future as possible, as soon as possible.” Louise paused, then added “Remember how many guys we had chasing us when we were 20? Now we have to find out whether the man asking us out is married – or worse – if he is paying child support for 3 kids under the age of 8.” Louise shook her head slowly. “At our age, the pool of available men had been shrunken by those enemies of all spinsters seeking partners: marriage and travel.”
“You said it, sister.” Margot replied in agreement. “But there are still one or two floating about.”
“By the time you meet them at work, they have wives and babies.”
“Chris Hardy doesn’t have a wife or kids.”
“He isn’t an accountant. He’s an economist.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Big difference.” Louise held her hands apart as though preparing to clap; about 9 inches apart.
Margot laughed, spluttering her drink. “You are revolting!”
“Crude, rude and totally undesirable, darl!”
“He doesn’t think so,” Margot pointed her drink towards a nearby group of men.
Louise looked over in time to catch a smile and salute from Gordon. She turned abruptly back to Margot. “Margot – that’s him! Gordon – from Simon’s dinner party. Sydney Gordon!”
Margot peered discretely over Louise’s shoulder. “Very nice,” she said in her best low-purring voice.
“Stop!” hissed Louise. “Stop looking!”
“I’m just checking out the group he is with, to see if there is any talent”
“Are there any girls with them?”
“No, not yet.” Margot took a sip of her drink and surreptitiously shifted her view to another section of the courtyard. “But if we don’t join them now, there soon will be.”
&n
bsp; “OK,” Louise stood up straight. “One, two, three –”at which point they both laughed at each other in a much-rehearsed style, and moved languidly towards Gordon’s group.
“I was wondering how you could ignore me for so long,” Gordon said teasingly. “I’ve heard how snobby you Canberra people can be.” He was smiling his heartbreaking smile and Louise could barely breathe.
“It was only a short walk – you might have come and said hello yourself.” Louise pretended to be at ease.
“But then I would be forcing my company on you. Don’t women hate that?”
Louise ignored this comment, and introduced her friend. “Gordon, this is Margot.” She turned back to him. “I’ve already told her all about you, so there is no need for any further introduction.”
“What did she tell you?” Gordon asked Margot.
Louise quickly interrupted, shooting Margot a fearful look. “Oh, just that you are from Sydney and work with Simon.”
“So, you told her everything you know about me.”
“Pretty much,” agreed Louise.
“Tell me, then, what do the good-looking girls in Canberra do on the weekends?”
Before the girls could answer, a man from Gordon’s group spoke up. “It’s a ritual pub crawl, Gord. Friday night: here, at the Hyatt; Saturday night: the Private Bin; Sunday: the races, if there is a big one on, and the Boot and Flogger if there isn’t; and if you are still not worn out, and want to join a big crowd, the Ainslie Footy Club has a live band on Sunday night. There is a smaller thing on at the Manuka footy club too.” He turned to Louise and Margot. “Am I right?”
The girls laughed. “That’s right,” said Margot. She said to Gordon “Stick with this one – he will look after you.”
“And it is the same every week?” Gordon asked his friend, disbelievingly.
“Not only is it the same each week, but the same 500 people show up to all of them! By the way, I’m Peter,” he said, turning to Margot and Louise and hold their hands in turn.
Christmas in Canberra Page 3