by Cenarth Fox
After uni, Genevieve became a high-flying banker, and Jessica a high-flying lawyer. The two women kept in touch, and when Jessica was first endorsed as a Liberal candidate, her part-time adviser cum campaign manager just had to be her bestie. The main reason Jessica did so well in losing that safe Labor seat was down to Genevieve. So it was no surprise when, three years later, and Jessica won her latest preselection, her first call was to her right-hand woman.
They met after work in Jessica’s office.
‘Now listen, darl,’ said Jessica, ‘this is serious.’
‘The Honourable member for Brighton,’ mocked Genevieve. She pronounced Honourable and Brighton with exaggerated sarcasm.
More laughter.
‘Decision time, babe. Tis time to ditch that shaky career in banking.’
‘Shaky!’ scoffed Genevieve. ‘Let’s compare take-home pay, and the size of my bonuses — plural.’
Their joking couldn’t hide the pending lifestyle changes both now faced. Jessica would soon become a member of parliament, but would Genevieve join her and become the power behind the throne?
Jessica desperately wanted Genevieve on board. But the banker had built a brilliant career, and didn’t want to back a loser. If Jessica remained a backbencher, especially in opposition, or at best reached junior minister level, where was the fun in that? Big drop in salary, no such thing as a bonus, and no joy in being close to the woman 26th in line to the throne. Both women loathed failure.
‘You know I want you as my campaign manager and Chief of Staff.’
Genevieve roared. ‘Campaign manager in an unlosable seat, and Chief of Staff to an opposition backbencher in a broom cupboard.’
‘Every Premier’s gotta start somewhere.’
More scoffing from Genevieve, but the laughter covered the crunch question. Will the banker switch to politics? The laughter subsided. They sipped their chardonnay and fell quiet.
‘I’m serious,’ said Jessica.
‘Duh,’ replied Genevieve.
‘Think about it. Have a chat to what’s-his-name … Jason.’
They both roared as one. ‘Justin!’
This was a running gag. Jessica pretended to forget the name of Genevieve’s husband. For once, the gag wore thin. More silence.
Then the banker announced her switch to politics — subtly.
‘I’ve been thinking about your next move,’ said Genevieve.
Jessica sparkled. Welcome aboard Genevieve. This is what the would-be pollie wanted, needed; her bestie onside, doling out pearls of wisdom.
‘I’m all ears,’ said Jessica. Genevieve hesitated. ‘Well, come on.’
‘Get married.’
Jessica was struck dumb. This she didn’t anticipate. New wardrobe, new hairstyle, join the board of certain charities, even sponsor an African orphan, were all possibilities. But wedlock?
‘Married?’
‘It’s part of the big picture; Joe Stalin’s Five Year Plan. Know what you want tomorrow, create the tactics today, and then do the business.’
Getting hitched was not on Jessica’s radar. She oozed sarcasm.
‘So is this a big church wedding or a quickie in someone’s backyard?’
Genevieve remained deadly serious. ‘Your marital status is irrelevant to your parliamentary colleagues. If you’re running for a leadership role, they’ll vote according to what’s in it for them.’
‘Running for leader? Even the state election’s not till next year.’
‘But Joe Public and the missus will warm to you more if you’ve got the little man by your side. Their thinking is that she’s not a man-hater, and she sure as hell ain’t a lesbian.’
‘God, you’re serious.’
‘Life is full of choices, sweetie, and winners take action.’
‘Okay, I’ll make a diary entry. Attend Court, speak at the Young Libs conference, and then find a husband.’
‘You asked for my advice.’
Genevieve knew Jessica better than the lawyer knew herself. Jessica had pushed her motherly instinct aside, unlike Genevieve who had a husband and two kids. Jessica’s two kids were her careers — the law and politics.
She remained stunned. ‘Any other gems like that?’
‘Only the name of your future husband.’
Jessica’s sails went limp. ‘Bloody hell, Gen, you’ve got to warn me about this stuff.’
‘You know me, darl. Tell it like it is and the sooner the better.’
Jessica paused. ‘Well go on. Who’s the lucky fella?
When Genevieve replied, Jessica’s jaw dropped.
‘Myles Lane! Are you kidding? Isn’t he gay?’
‘It’s the perfect match. He’s a rising star in the corporate world held back by archaic traditions. You’re a rising star in the political world needing to tick all the right boxes.’
‘You’re talking about an arranged marriage.’
‘So?’
‘So? This is the twenty-first century, woman, and not some medieval union of two royal houses.’
‘But that’s exactly what it is. Two tremendous talents working alone may struggle. Together, those two talents can become a powerful, hugely successful partnership. This is quintessential synergy, darl. Carpe diem.’
Jessica shook her head. It’s not often she was lost for words. ‘Whatever happened to love?’
‘A good title for your memoir. Now this will only work if both parties abide by the rules.’
‘Oh, and what pray tell are they?’
‘Come on, Jess, you’re a big girl. No scandal, no playing away from home, and no letting the domestics discover the couple’s pre-arranged sleeping arrangements.’
‘Unbelievable.’ Jessica puffed her cheeks and exhaled. But because her trust in Genevieve was so deep, so locked in, she couldn’t reject the idea out of hand.
‘So he is gay,’ stated Jessica.
Genevieve held up her hands. ‘There are fifty shades of sexuality, and anyway, who cares?’
‘Me. I care. And I’m the one in white, remember?’
Genevieve grinned. ‘Bags be matron of honour.’
Jessica clenched her hands and grimaced. Her friend had been right so many times before; never wrong in fact. Why would she propose this move if it wasn’t in Jessica’s best interest? There was a long pause broken finally by the lawyer.
‘I think I’ve met him once.’
‘Yes, at my dinner party.’
‘You conniving bitch.’
‘I was simply testing the waters.’
‘You even had us sit together.’
‘And?’
‘And?’ Jessica pondered. ‘All right, he was pleasant and charming.’
‘Congratulations. He said the same about you.’
Jessica pointed at her friend. ‘Now you’re taking the piss.’
‘Come on, babe, it’s cards on the table time. You want the top job. As a single woman, you’ll lose points to the prejudiced men and women who judge a politician by their lifestyle. With a talented but out-of-the-picture gentleman sharing your life, you’re “normal” and definitely more electable. Tick all the boxes.’
Jessica suddenly felt sick.
‘Please don’t tell me you’ve already told him about this crazy scheme?’
‘Oh come on, give me some credit.’
The women fell silent. Genevieve worried their relationship might be irreparably damaged. Jessica worried she had to take one for the team — her team.
Again silence dominated. Finally Jessica spoke.
‘So how do I get him to ask me?’
Myles Lane had a lot going for him. He was clever, poised for a stellar career in international law, wealthy in his own right, and the sole heir to his father’s squillion dollar estate. Add to that his wit, his passion for music theatre and felines, plus his innate charm and urbane nature, and Mr Lane became a magnet for any society dame’s unmarried daughter. True, he was no oil painting, and he did bat for the other side — albeit a
lmost always as 12th man — but hey, nobody is perfect.
Jessica took advice from Genevieve, and met Myles a second time at yet another dinner party arranged by Jessica’s bestie. If Myles thought he was being set up, he said nothing, and went along for the ride.
Soon after, Jessica found herself asking Myles for a huge favour. Would he, could he, please compere a fundraiser she arranged for one of the largest animal shelters in Melbourne?
Are you kidding? He’s Mr Ailurophile. Of course he could and would.
From there, the relationship between Myles and Jessica took root. No suggestion of a root because this was a marriage in name only, a marriage of convenience. They dined together in public. Gossip in various wealthy postcodes set off spot fires and, when the couple announced their engagement, fire engines began racing around Toorak, South Yarra and Brighton. Genevieve high-fived herself.
Jessica agreed to marry Myles, a wealthy, well-closeted gay man, and both knew the deal. They gave one another a cover story, and agreed that their lack of any issue was down to God giving Jessica (or was it Myles?) imperfect reproductive capabilities. Blame God — he never blabs.
Each saw their union as a new and rewarding adventure. Pecks on the cheek became frequent, morphing to soft kisses on the lips. Their friendship grew, and both found fondness to be fulfilling. Could respect and affection ever become love?
It was an expensive wedding with every guest sucking on his or her BYO silver spoon. The honeymoon in the Bahamas was relaxing and brief as Jessica had business back home.
In November, the good burghers of Brighton gave Jessica a resounding tick of approval, and she won her seat in a canter.
Jessica Reid MLA — she retained her maiden name — increased the Liberal vote, and became an elected politician. But not all was bliss. The other mob won — again.
Jessica became a humble backbencher with Genevieve her trusted PA. Genevieve thought long and hard about throwing away the wealth and prestige of a senior post in a major bank. But hey, if her instincts were correct, her friend was destined for much bigger things.
As Jessica began her parliamentary career, a youthful Luca Parisi started a one-man drug empire in Melbourne’s inner north; a youthful Ulsterman, Brendan Murphy, prepared to swap West Belfast for Melbourne; and an equally youthful Bernie Slim was a final year science student at Melbourne Uni.
Once parliament began, Jessica was delighted to score a minor shadow portfolio. It had less to do with her potential, and more to do with the Liberals having lost so many seats. Almost everyone got a gig.
‘Are they trying to be funny?’ asked Jessica. ‘The Shadow Minister for Families and Children has nil issue and never will.’
Genevieve frowned. ‘Not so loud,’ she mouthed.
‘I was hoping for something with a bit more bite. Surely it makes sense to allocate Police or Corrections to an experienced criminal lawyer.’
‘You have got Family Violence.’
‘God, I’d love to be Attorney-General. I could give the old crime-and-punishment platform a right good seeing to.’
‘I think it’s called crawling before you walk into the top job.’
Jessica went back to reading the day’s political commentaries, while Genevieve had other fish to fry. Her ideas bubbled; ideas to position her “boss” for promotion, publicity and power.
‘We need to discuss a few tactics, madam,’ said Genevieve, opening a notebook and sitting in front of Jessica’s desk.
Jessica’s heartbeat accelerated. Nothing gave her a greater thrill than learning about her friend’s schemes.
And so it began. Two intelligent women, planning their way to the leadership of the state Liberal Party, and then, to the all-powerful position of Premier.
Within the Liberal party, many people noticed Jessica Reid. Within the general public, she was Ms Anonymous. That situation continued until the day of her first big break.
It took three years for Jessica to hit the headlines, and hit them she did. Youngest Shadow Attorney-General in State’s History ran one leader.
Years ago, nobody imagined that mixing with crims, and defending their wicked ways, would earn Jessica such a prestigious reward.
Her new office was bigger, her staff numbers doubled, and the Attorney-General suddenly found himself confronting a feisty and intelligent shadow who knew about lying and bully-girl tactics. Go Jess.
There was a reason Jessica won such a prize with so little political experience. It was step #2 in Genevieve’s manifesto — Dig up dirt.
The then Shadow Attorney-General had shares in a relative’s building company which collapsed leaving hardworking Victorians with half-finished homes.
Genevieve’s banking contact tipped her the wink, and the former Shadow AG suddenly developed a stress-related condition. He stepped aside but with a plan to return once his condition improved — of course.
Jessica became the new Shadow Attorney-General. After not even three years in Spring Street, she had slid up the greasy pole, and if anyone could slide upwards, ‘twas Ms Reid.
The next election came and went, bringing mixed results. Jessica increased her majority, the Liberals increased their number of seats, but alas, not in sufficient numbers to seize government.
‘Shit, bugger, bum,’ vented Jessica. ‘More opposition and more wandering in the bloody wilderness.’
She and Genevieve drank to drown their election-loss sorrows. It was late, and Genevieve’s mind was never idle.
‘I’ve been thinking about our next four-year plan,’ she said.
‘More of the same, Gen. If we lose the next one, there’ll be a leadership spill, and then I might, might be a chance for deputy.’
‘Forget the wing-and-a-prayer approach.’
Jessica became tetchy. ‘There won’t be a spill before the election.’
‘But if there is, are you ready?’
‘Oh come on, Gen. I might be on some accelerated promotion gig, but it’s way too early to run for any leadership role.’
‘I’ve got an idea to enhance your appeal.’ Jessica finished her drink.
‘Another husband perhaps? Or what about a gender switch; Jessica Reid becomes Jesse Reid?’
‘Listen ma’am,’ — Genevieve had taken to addressing Jessica in regal terms when she thought her friend got ahead of herself — ‘you don’t have to take my advice but lay off the petulant sarcasm.’
Oops. A chill settled in the office. Jessica felt bad.
‘Sorry. You were saying?’
Genevieve paused then lobbed her latest grenade. ‘Adopt a child.’
Jessica held back. She was used to her friend’s out-of-the-blue suggestions but this one knocked her for six.
‘What, so now I’m a cross between Madonna and Angelina Jolie? I nip off to Africa and pinch a tribe of orphans?’
Genevieve persevered. ‘If you adopt a young child, a toddler, and bring him or her up as your own, you will earn kudos with a lot of voters. You’ll have no labour pain but cause Labor pain. Motherhood’s a winner. Make some statement about you as a couple being unable to conceive — leave it blank, don’t identify the misfiring party — and explain how you both desperately want a family.’
‘More lies.’
‘Think of your Christmas cards — family photo with the politician, the banker and their darling offspring and pets.’
Jessica shook her head. She never wanted kids. She worried sometimes that a lack of a motherly instinct meant she was somehow not a proper woman. Her drive for power swamped her drive for procreation. Her lust for promotion was barely concealed. Genevieve continued.
‘Before you reject the idea, talk it over with hubby. If he’s keen, you’ll be mad to say no.’ Jessica said nothing. ‘You know, you might actually enjoy being a mother.’
Genevieve was right — again.
When Jessica broached the subject with Myles, he came alive. He longed to have a family but dared not raise the topic believing his ambitious wife would ridic
ule the suggestion. So enthusiastic was her husband’s response, Jessica agreed.
That Christmas, their greeting card included a family of five. Rufus the labradoodle and Vera the moggie were there together with toddler, Simone. She swapped the orphanage for the palace, and her plastic spoon for one of the silver variety.
4
BERNIE KNEW WHEN to tease Lois, and when to say nowt. This morning his colleague looked terrible, and any joke about her clubbing last night would be dead out of order. He plumped for safer ground.
‘How’s your Mum?’ Wrong question.
Lois turned away and didn’t answer. Bernie winced.
Surely not death. Lois wouldn’t be here if Mother had carked it.
A muttered reply saw both scientists resume work. Seconds later, Lois, with her back to Bernie, spoke in a shaky voice.
‘My mother punched me last night.’
Bernie gasped. How does one respond to such a statement? He touched Lois on her arm. Her mental torment led to tears.
‘I’m sure she didn’t mean any harm,’ whispered Bernie.
‘Oh yes she did, and she hurt me,’ whimpered Lois.
Bernie rubbed her arm. Giving her a hug seemed a step too far.
‘It might be an age thing,’ he said. ‘Maybe her health problems cause frustration, and she just reacts in that way.’
Lois let rip. ‘I’ve sacrificed my life for her. She never thanks me. She constantly complains. Nothing I do is ever right, nothing.’ She took deep breaths. ‘I don’t think I can take much more.’
Bernie crunched eggshells beneath his size nine brogues.
‘Perhaps it’s time you considered putting her in care.’
Lois laughed sarcastically. ‘Oh that would give her the greatest pleasure. She’d tell the staff I only wanted her money, and couldn’t wait until she died. Then, when I’d visit, she’d perform.’ Lois mimicked her mother. ‘Oh, so you’ve finally bothered to show up. How lucky am I? Look everyone, it’s my loving daughter.’