The Boys' Club

by Wendy Squires

  'Jason,' Rosie began, measuring her voice in order not to sound as impatient as she felt. 'As much as I understand that there are contractual concerns with Peter Ingles, I think the fact that he is seeing someone again not so long after tragically losing his wife of forty years is something the public is really going to want to hear about.'

  'I know but—'

  'No, Jason, I really think you need to accept the fact that as far as the public is concerned, Peter Ingles is Great Gardens. Pesky, I know, but the truth nonetheless. Look, I sympathise with you, honest I do, talent can be an absolute nightmare,' she added, 'but I think Peter should be made aware that sharing his newfound happiness with his viewers would be the best thing all round for the show.'

  Jason looked crestfallen, forcing Rosie to pull out one of the tricks from her PR insincerity box: 'I mean, you know how Peter Ingles looks up to you,' she continued, hating herself. 'You are his boss, after all.'

  I should have a psych degree for this job. Talk about pandering.

  'I guess you have a point,' Jason responded. 'I'll talk to him again. I'm constantly telling him he needs to freshen up his image. It would be a weight off my shoulders, I can tell you. Saves me from talking to those vultures in the media.'

  'That's what I love about you, Jason,' Rosie said, cringing deep within over what she was about to say next. 'You always put the program first. You're a true professional. Anyway, I'm looking forward to us having a good old chinwag about all of this. In the meantime, I have to get upstairs and phone a few vultures.'

  As Rosie finally ascended to the executive level in the relative safety of the lift, she was overwhelmed with relief. It was a feeling, she knew, that would be short lived.

  CHAPTER 22

  Lisa's face said it all.

  'Jeez, do you have a crappy day ahead,' the PA grunted as she handed Rosie a printout of her appointments diary and phone log. It was 8.45 am and already, it appeared, the phones had been running hot.

  'Hell! What happened to your eye?'

  'Don't ask,' Rosie replied. Her attempt to cover her shiner with make-up was the failure she had suspected.

  'O-k-a-y then,' Lisa said, exaggerating each syllable. 'Let's see, Portia phoned and said she won't be in and that you know about it. What's that about? Her diary is almost as full as yours. It's hardly the time to be taking a holiday!'

  'I'm not sure,' Rosie replied, recalling Portia's mysterious letter, 'but I don't think things are too good for her at home at the moment so let's just keep that under the radar should anyone come snooping, huh? Actually, can you get me her mother's phone number from personnel? I'm sure Portia listed it as her emergency contact. Portia isn't answering her mobile, so I might give her mum a call just to check she's okay.'

  'All right, if you say so,' Lisa replied, clearly annoyed that Portia was letting the team down at such a critical time. 'Now, what do you want first, the bad news or the shit news?'

  'Um,' Rosie pondered. 'Give me the shit.'

  'Your mother rang – twice – and told me to tell you she'll turn up here if you don't return her call pronto. I think she means it, Rosie.'

  'That's okay, you can take her to lunch if she does,' Rosie joked, knowing how much Vera terrified her otherwise cool PA.

  'Look, there's little I wouldn't do for you, but spending more than five minutes with your mother is one of them. I don't know how you do it.'

  'I don't, that's why she keeps ringing,' Rosie laughed. 'Don't worry, I'll sort her out. First I need caffeine. Buckets.'

  'Consider it done,' Lisa replied. 'Hey, I see you have a meeting in the screening room at twelve to unveil Alicia's drama. Can't wait to see what it's all about. Some of the rumours doing the rounds have it as a cross between Prisoner and Home and Away.'

  Rosie giggled. 'Great. Can't you just hear Keith – "What does that mean, teen bulldyke tits?" '

  Lisa laughed so loud that heads popped out of their offices to see what was so amusing. Rosie shooed them back in with a dismissive wave of her hands. It was time to get down to business.

  'Oh Rosie,' Lisa yelled as Rosie was about to enter her office. 'Simon Nash has been here looking for you. He made some snide remark about you being late. He says he has to discuss something confidential with you. You might want to get back to him before he starts stalking you as well.'

  'Great!' Rosie said sarcastically. 'Can't wait to hear what that's all about. Is there any good news for me?'

  Lisa thought for a moment. 'Yes there is! Crystelle dropped in to say hi. She sends her love and says she has a fun segment she's taping this arvo if you want to pop by.'

  'What would I do without that woman?' Rosie asked.

  'She's a beaut, no doubt about it,' Lisa agreed.

  * * *

  Rosie managed to return a good number of calls, realising her day could turn to manure very easily after Alicia's presentation. The one person she couldn't get hold of was thankfully the one she dreaded talking to most. Karen Day had left yet another message for Rosie, this time saying it was urgent. Rosie knew what it would be about – it was always the same thing – but there was nothing, as she had explained before, she could do. The poor girl was miserable reading the weather, and it was starting to show. The boys at the meeting had expressed it crudely but it was true, Karen had put on quite a bit of weight lately. The girls in wardrobe had rung Rosie to ask if publicity would chip in for her clothing allowance as she was no longer a sample size 10 and therefore had to have clothes bought rather than borrowed.

  This was a problem for the female on-air talent since Bettina's budget cuts had come in, making the pressure to remain thin more intense than ever. In fact, wardrobe had also complained that the female talent were creating a mess in the toilets, purging and leaving the acrid aroma of freshly disgorged vomit hanging in the air. But it was obvious that Karen, now a size 14, wasn't one of them. Although the average Australian woman was size 14, in the TV world this was akin to morbid obesity – or, as the men so delicately put it, a distinct lack of 'fuckability'.

  What riled Rosie was that Karen was a trained journalist, not a model. It would have been different if she'd been hired to stroke whitegoods on Price the Prize or turn letters around on What's That Name? Still, Karen Day would have to wait. With half an hour until the drama unveiling, Rosie couldn't put it off any longer. It was time to call her mother.

  Breathe. Be Buddhist. Don't mention Jeff straight away. Think about your child. Try to be calm . . .

  'Vera Lang.'

  Just the sound of her mother's voice made Rosie's charitable thoughts evaporate, leaving in their place pure rage.

  'Mum, it's Rosemarie. You need to speak to me?'

  'Well, well, well, if it isn't my daughter, finally making a window in her busy life to recall she has a mother who worries about her.'

  Oh, break out the violins, why don't you?

  'Is this urgent, Mum, or can it wait? I'm at work so I don't have time for chitchat. I'm also very busy, so if you're about to torment me emotionally I will have no choice but to hang up.'

  'Well, I see you're in one of your moods, Rose, so I'll keep this quick as you so obviously have more important things to attend to than family. I just thought you might be concerned to know I received a call from Jeff's solicitor today. It appears Jeff is intent on trying for full-time custody of Leon and somehow expects me to be a witness of some sort. I mean, I never—'

  'You never what, Mum? You never called Jeff to tell him I'm losing my marbles or that Leon is suffering from fucking malnutrition?'

  'There is no need to swear, Rosemarie!'

  'Listen to me, Mum! Did you ever stop to think that telling Jeff I work ridiculous hours and that you think my boy is not being loved or cared for properly might not reflect well on me? You're my mother! What were you thinking?'

  Rosie could just hear Vera sobbing over the sound of her own seething breath.

  Gee, I'm doing well with the Buddhist attitude.

  'I just . . . wanted
to help . . . Rosemarie!' Vera stammered through her tears. 'He's my grandson and I . . . I love him.'

  'Calm down, Mum. I'm sorry. It's just that I'm quite fond of him too, you know. I know I'm working too hard and I know I'm not mother of the year but I defy anyone to love that boy more than I do. I know you were there every day when I got off the school bus – you tell me often enough – but those days are over. Very few women have the luxury of not working when they have children today, especially when they're raising them on their own, and I'm one of them. Do you think it makes me happy to hear that my boy misses his mum? It stabs at my very core. Do you think I want to work these ridiculous hours in this stinking, thankless job where the only recognition I get is abuse? I'm trying my best, Mum. I might be failing but just give me some credit!'

  Again, Rosie listened to the sobs at the other end of the line until Vera piped up once more: 'Who abuses you, darling?'

  'Mum, everyone here! Haven't you heard a word I've said? I can't win a trick in this place. I keep something out of the press, it's not noticed. Something gets through – usually something true, mind you – I get abused. I don't work long enough or hard enough. I wasn't trained in the world of TV and therefore will never know enough about television. I have boobs, not balls I can scratch in front of the boys, so I'm basically a waste of space. I'm miserable, I'm lonely, I'm depressed. I haven't had sex in months. I am over it! All I have that makes me happy is my boy. And now not only is my ex trying to take him away, my own mother is aiding and abetting him!'

  'Like hell I am!' Vera roared from the other end of the phone, knocking Rosie for six. 'I am so sorry, darling. I had no idea. I guess I just didn't think. I can tell you one thing, though – it will be over my dead body that Jeff takes that boy away from you. I promise you that, Rosemarie. I will be calling that lawyer back this very minute and giving him an earful. How dare Jeff think he can get away with this.'

  Rosie stopped to admire her mother. Vera Lang was a feisty old broad when she was angry and, she had to admit, would fight to the death for her only daughter. God help that poor lawyer!

  'Thanks, Mum. And I'm sorry I yelled. Look, I'll make the same promise to you I made to Leon. I'm going to slow down. This won't go on much longer. But if you can just hang in there with me . . .'

  'I'm here for you, Rosemarie. And I'm sorry too. Not as sorry as your ex husband is about to be, though.'

  'Yeah, well, we have Leon's birthday to get through first, Mum, so we're all going to have to get along with Jeff – or at least act like we do. I've promised him a party at Salty Sam's.'

  'Not that terrible pirate place advertised on the telly?' Vera replied snootily. 'Why, all they serve is artery-clogging junk food. Couldn't we have a nice party in the backyard here, maybe get a clown in—'

  'Mum! He wants Salty Sam's and he's getting Salty Sam's!'

  Rosie could hear Vera grinding her teeth in frustration on the other end of the phone.

  'Oh, and another thing,' Rosie added, cutting Vera off before another alternative venue could be suggested. 'I'm going to invite Jeff's fiancée, Heather.'

  Again there was silence.

  'Are you there, Mum?'

  'Yes I am, Rosemarie. Well, I guess there's no changing your mind then, although I hate to think what your father will say.'

  'He'll get over it, Mum,' Rosie sighed. Vera always used Rosie's dad Mick as a voice of dissent when she knew hers had run out of steam.

  'Great, all set then. See you on Saturday at one o'clock.'

  'All right, Salty Sam's it is then. But don't cater for your father or me, Rose. I'll make us something to eat before we get there. I can't risk your father eating all that refined sugar, what with his cholesterol being so high and all.'

  'Fine, Mum. I have to go now. Have work to do.'

  Twenty minutes later and for the first time in a long while, Rosie felt like she had things relatively under control. She had replied to all her emails, cleared her two most urgent in-trays and glanced at the 'kind of' urgent pile. She had even called back a certain TV presenter who had admonished her for not doing enough to ensure him a gold Kennedy nomination – prat! – and finally booked the speech therapist to work with the new pretty young travel reporter who mispronounced so many words that the Sentinel ran an item each Friday showcasing her 'slips and lisps' of the week. Rosie had a nagging belief that this sweet young thing wasn't just mispronouncing – she actually had no idea of the meaning of certain words and, as such, was merely bluffing. Badly. Still, she was a hit with those precious eighteen- to thirty-five-year-old males, so she wasn't going anywhere, except down the line to Rosie with the edict 'just fucking fix her'.

  With fifteen minutes until the drama unveiling, Rosie even thought she might have time to apply some make-up and visit Mae to tell her about her catch-up with Keith the day before. But, of course, this was not to be, as an unwelcome visitor entered her office.

  'Rosie! Simon Nash is here to see you,' Lisa said, terror etched on her face. Rosie had no time to reply before Simon sidestepped around Lisa, instructing her to leave – and shut the door behind her.

  'Simon,' Rosie said, refusing to pander with a 'nice tie' comment or a 'how was your weekend?' even though she knew she probably should if she was ever to break the ice between them.

  'Rose, I'm concerned that we haven't been getting on lately,' Simon said, almost rocking Rosie out of her chair.

  Not getting on? We HATE each other!

  'Now why would you say that, Simon?' she replied sarcastically.

  'Listen, you can try to one-up me as much as you like but the truth is we need to get on, so if you could bite that tongue of yours occasionally it would be appreciated.'

  Suddenly Rosie felt like a smacked puppy.

  'As you know,' he continued, 'Alicia is presenting in a moment and frankly, I'm worried. I know Keith gave her free rein to be creative but I think that was a mistake and I'm now concerned that any fallout is going to land in my lap.'

  Always thinking of yourself first . . .

  'And before you start thinking I'm only worried about myself here, it should be pointed out that you, too, will have to carry the can for whatever is about to be unveiled and I need to know you're on my side.'

  Rosie realised Nash had a point. Whatever was ahead, they were going to have to work together. She also realised that constantly bickering with him was tiring her out.

  'Okay, Simon. I agree. Let's shake and try to make the most of what's ahead together.'

  Rosie saw the relief in Nash's face as he handed her his sweaty, pale palm.

  'Good. I'm pleased. You know I've always been a supporter of yours, Rose, ever since Keith suggested you for Lara's job.'

  He just had to blow it with his bull . . . Breathe. This a fresh start . . . try to be open.

  'Thanks, Simon. I appreciate that.' Rosie bit the inside of her lip in contained rage.

  'Good. Oh, and Rose, there's something else . . .'

  Here we go . . .