The Boys' Club

by Wendy Squires

  'It's about Portia.'

  'Portia? What do you mean, Simon?'

  'Well, Rose, I think she's letting you down. A lot of the executives believe she's quite lazy and talks out of school. I know Alicia is disappointed with her efforts on drama so far and, well, I think it's time for her to go.'

  'Go? Go where, Simon?'

  'To be let go, Rose. I just don't think she's a strong enough member of the Six team and you should start looking for a new number two.'

  Rosie was flabbergasted. She'd thought Portia was a hit with the executives, especially the males. Hadn't she been breakfasting with them most mornings?

  'Simon, I'd have to have a reason to fire Portia and frankly I don't. It's illegal just to sack someone. She has months to go on her contract.'

  'Well, I suggest you pay her out then.'

  'Simon, I really don't understand why this is so urgent. Surely I can take her off drama and put her on daytime if you feel strongly that she is a problem.'

  Nash began to fidget in his seat, which meant he was holding back a thesaurus of expletives.

  'Rose, look, I've asked you nicely and I really don't want to have to argue this with you any further. It's time for Portia to go. I think you should make it a priority. I'll talk to Bettina about the payout but we need her gone. Okay?'

  'I hear you, Simon. I'll talk to human resources about the best way to handle this,' Rosie said, numb.

  'Good. Just let me know when you've told her, okay? Now, let's go and see what Alicia has in store. God help us all.'

  CHAPTER 23

  Rosie had never seen Nash visibly nervous before but there was no denying it. Tapping his finger on the wooden seat arm, his eyes kept darting from his watch to the executive viewing door and back again. Alicia was running late – as always – and with every second that elapsed, Rosie felt the tension grow. It was a surprisingly small crowd, considering the magnitude of what was to be unveiled: just herself, Nash, Johnno and Bettina Arthur – back in the fold once more, Rosie noted. No sign yet of her mysterious boss Adam Short, though.

  As Jan and Grace departed the room, leaving a cheese platter, chocolates and silver pots of strong coffee, the lights began to dim – all but a single spotlight in front of the screen where a lectern stood. Music began, the techno thump that Rosie found so annoyingly repetitive and inane at dance parties. The music grew louder as the doors to the cinema opened once more and Alicia entered.

  Rosie smiled at her wardrobe choice for the great unveiling: a witch's hat orange smock dress that looked like it had been issued at Guantanamo Bay, and jewel-studded cowboy boots. Her trademark dangly earrings were there, as was her customary jarring lip colour.

  'Ladies and gentlemen,' Alicia began. 'Let me give you something to consider: one in two Australian women experience physical or sexual violence at some stage in their lives. This figure refers to those who are actually hit, battered, raped or killed. It does not take into account the number of women who will be emotionally abused. So, where do these women flee when their lives and those of their children are at risk? Where is their sanctuary in these cruel, patriarchal cities of ours? And who is at the other end to mop up these shattered lives? Who is there to witness the drama first hand, to rebuild these women, to teach them how to love and trust again? The answer is: the girls at the Women's Refuge! Please roll tape.'

  With the thumping techno now pounding so hard she thought her fillings might come loose, Rosie watched in horror as the showreel began with a montage flashing in time with the hypnotic beat: women with black eyes, screaming children, huddled families, babies crying, men yelling, raised fists, and – LORD NO, MAKE IT STOP! – butch women kissing!

  Rosie had never been more grateful for the cover of darkness. Holding her knees to her chest, she had to force her splayed hands from her face to watch the continuing car crash as a voiceover boomed through the strobe-flashes:

  'When you feel you have no choice in life, when you have taken your last punch after his payday booze-up, when he's said sorry for the last time, when you want to start over and there's nowhere else to run, that's when it's time to find shelter at the Women's Refuge.

  'Channel Six is proud to present a drama unlike anything Australia has ever seen, a look at life so gritty and real it's like you are there amidst the carnage, a drama that breaks all the rules, then kicks what's left to the kerb. Welcome to the Women's Refuge, coming soon to Six.'

  Rosie swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat, hugging her legs and rocking in shock. For a brief moment she thought she might actually have soiled herself, then realised she'd merely crushed the cheese-laden biscuit she'd been holding as the video began and was now sitting in a splat of brie. Wishing a very large tumbler of hard liquor would somehow miraculously appear in her hand, she shuddered, then shuddered again as she realised the lights were coming on. Generally, at this stage of any presentation, applause would be the norm, but this was no ordinary presentation. This was a horror that would give even Stephen King nightmares.

  Rosie remained glued to her seat, too scared to turn and look at her colleagues. She didn't need to. Simon Nash was already standing, his normally waxy pink complexion now a pulsing shade of vermilion. Alicia, still standing proudly at the lectern, must have thought she was about to receive a standing ovation from the entertainment head and curtsied modestly.

  'What the fuck was that?' Nash screamed. 'Are you out of your mind, you stupid cow? That was a fucking abortion. A disgrace. I have never seen anything so fucking awful in my entire career. I mean, what the fuck were you thinking? Tell me. Tell me, you moron!'

  Johnno stood up suddenly. Rosie hoped he was going to calm Nash down. She should have known better.

  'Are you on crack?' he asked Alicia, who miraculously remained upright. 'I can't program this shit! What the fuck do you think this network is, Dyke TV? Do you really think Australia wants to see your rug-munching mates rubbing uglies at the end of the day? How do you expect them to explain to their kids that some daddies like to bash mummies? Do you really consider this to be entertaining? You are fucking delusional. In fact, I think you're insane.'

  Rosie managed to snap herself out of her numb state of shock and stand up. Without even knowing what was about to come out of her mouth she heard herself scream, 'ENOUGH! Leave her alone, you bullies. You've said enough. Let it rest!'

  Rosie's intervention gave Alicia enough time to flee the screening room, slamming the door violently as she left. The eerie silence that followed only made what had preceded it so much more potent.

  'Well, fellas, you've really done it this time,' Rosie said, noting that she was actually trembling. It was then that she recalled Bettina's presence in the room. She looked over at the woman, who was visibly livid.

  'Gentlemen,' Bettina said in a scathing tone, 'although that is a word I would hardly use to describe either of you. How dare you speak to a colleague like that. To use a colourful phrase of your own, get the fuck out of my sight. I need to call head office. Then, I can assure you, I will be calling HR.'

  * * *

  'So, how did it go?' Lisa asked cheerily as Rosie staggered back into her office. 'Are you okay?' she added, noticing her boss's beleaguered appearance.

  'It didn't go well – at all,' Rosie replied. 'In fact, the Titanic was a joyride in comparison. Can you get Simon Nash on the line for me. He should be back in his office. I need to see him ASAP.'

  Rosie staggered back to her desk and held her head in her hands. She had never wanted Keith here more than she did at this very moment. Then again, he would have been of little help earlier, not being known to hold his tongue and take a PC tone himself.

  Rosie kept going over and over the showreel Alicia had presented, wondering how she could have got it so wrong. Then she remembered it was just a presentation of an idea. It wasn't as if she had already filmed thirteen episodes. It wasn't too late to save, even though it might appear that way.

  Rosie grabbed a pen and began to make notes
. For a start, the title would have to change. Take out Women's and maybe call it Refuge. That had nicer connotations. Or, even better, Hostel. No, Hotel. Maybe a friendly halfway house where women can rebuild their lives and where men are not the enemy – or at least only the violent ones are.

  Rosie scribbled. The lead character could be an earthy old broad, a whore-with-a-big-heart type of character, only one whose goal was to help women – rather than the hardcore lesbian depicted (surely she wasn't thinking Lisa McCune play her?). She could be Pippa from Home and Away only older, and taking in grown women instead of kids. We could give her a sympathetic background – her daughter was murdered by a violent husband and ever since she has made it her life goal to help other women. She could have a lovely husband who fights for these women too. There could still be a lesbian character, although perhaps Alicia could be talked into making her a little more approachable and a lot less hirsute. This way, there could be teen conflict, young kids, redemption, renewal, pathos, joy . . . Alicia wasn't wrong in seeing the potential, she had simply slipped up on the execution.

  Oh, but the way those men spoke to her. If I was Alicia I wouldn't hang around to fix the show.

  Rosie's thoughts were disrupted by her phone vibrating. She had a text message. Immediately her mood lifted at the mere thought that it might be Daniel. It was: 'Still thinking about you. Still smiling.'

  Rosie texted back XXXXX in caps.

  She wasn't going to make the mistake of acting uninterested with Daniel. She was, big time.

  While she had her mobile in her hand, Rosie impulsively called Elaine Norman's number. After several rings, she heard the elegant woman's voice.

  'Elaine, it's Rosie,' she whispered. 'I can't really speak but hell has broken loose here today. I don't want to worry Keith, it's only that he made me promise to keep him up to date with what's going on. And let me tell you, there's a lot.'

  'Oh, Rosie, are you okay? Keith filled me in on some of the things you told him yesterday and now I'm worried about you, dear. You must let me know if I can help you in any way, promise?'

  'I promise, and thanks, Elaine.'

  'Now, I'll put you through to him. You know, he's been so much brighter since your visit. He's even talking about returning to work. I've given up. From now on I've decided that it's best to let him do what he wants. It's his life – what's left of it.'

  'Elaine, you are a damn fine woman,' Rosie replied.

  'I don't know about that, Rose, but thank you. Now, let me see if I can transfer this call. I'm still trying to work out all these buttons.'

  As Rosie waited to be put through, Lisa appeared at her door, white with panic.

  'I have Simon Nash on line one. And Graham Hunt in LA on line two!'

  Holy hell!

  'Tell Simon I'll call him back – no, better still, get him to come down – and put Hunt through. Before you do, make sure you get a contact number for him wherever he is and don't let him try to talk you out of it.'

  Lisa ran from Rosie's office to do what she was told while Keith finally came on line on the mobile.

  'What's up, sweetie?' he asked, sounding relatively upbeat.

  'So much, I don't know where to begin. Alicia's unveiling didn't go down too well – at all – and I have Graham Hunt on the other line.'

  'Tell that cunt Hunt that I will have his balls the minute he steps back in the country. Tell him how fucking dare he humiliate this network. Tell him he is the lowest little—'

  'Enough, Keith!'

  Rosie couldn't believe she had just yelled at the most powerful man in the history of television, but she might as well continue.

  'Keith, when are you going to realise that abusing people is not the way to deal with things? I just sat through Nash and Johnno doing the same thing to Alicia and, let me tell you, it went down like Snoop Dogg at a Klan meeting. You're looking at big trouble with that one, Keith. And if the press get hold of it, there will be little I can do. Bettina was in the room too and she is seething. It was a disaster, Keith, but it needn't have been. If everyone learned to hold their tongue—'

  'Fuck, seems like you're having a shocker.'

  'I am, Keith, but I've given a few things some thought and I reckon there's a way we can get out of this Hunt situation. I've got a plan.'

  'Talk to me.'

  'Well, at first I thought we should just fire the creep, as he's in breach of his contract, but then, looking at the almost cult status the guy has achieved via the media and the net, maybe we should make the most of it.'

  'I like it so far.'

  'Let's get him on Balls Eye. Ratings are down, and Hunt could garner us some much-needed press, even though most of it will be bad. We can get him to tell his story of remorse on camera – the ratings will be amazing.'

  'I like it!'

  'Good. Now, let me see if he will too.'

  'Just fucking tell him he likes it. The prick won't want to lose the cash we're paying him. Call me back and let me know how you go.'

  'I will, Keith.'

  'And, Rosie, I always believed you knew something about television.'

  'Thanks, Keith. I think.'

  With that, Rosie put down her phone and picked up line two. 'Hunt? Where are you? Actually, don't bother. Just tell me how long it will take you to get back here. I have a plan to save your sorry arse and if you know what's good for you, you'll follow it.'

  CHAPTER 24

  Rosie had barely hung up from Hunt when a very timid-looking Simon Nash appeared at her door. The fact that he had deigned to come to Rosie's office rather than having her come to him was unheard of, especially twice in one day. Nash must really need her. Big time.

  'Simon,' Rosie said, noticing the head of entertainment was hesitant, waiting to be invited in. 'Come in. Sit down.'

  Nash remained silent as he took a chair, then sighed audibly. 'What a disaster, huh?' he finally said.

  'Er, yes, Simon, I have to agree with that.'

  'What do we do?'

  'Well, I know what you have to do and that is apologise to Alicia. You and Johnno. I think you both need to go to her immediately and grovel unconditionally. In person. Getting on your knees is optional but advisable.'

  Simon looked crestfallen. 'I know you're right but, fuck, if anyone should be apologising it should be Alicia for trying to sell us that right-wing feminist bullshit as a potential drama. You saw it! It was fucking horrible.'

  'Simon, I agree . . . to a point. I mean, I may well have nasty flashbacks over the showreel too, but you have to consider that's all it was – a five-minute visual first draft of an idea, and one you gave her full creative control over. If you stop to think about it, as I have, it's not such a bad one. I've written some notes you should have a look at. I think it's not only salvageable but could be a winner. But that's beside the point. The real issue here is that you can't talk to people like that. Would you cop it, Simon? From anyone? Be honest. The answer is no.'

  Rosie had to look away. At any moment Simon 'The Darkness' Nash might actually tear up in front of her – something she once would have relished but now found excruciating. His eyes were red-rimmed and his thin lips were trembling. He was in deep shit and he knew it.

  'Rose,' he said, his voice cracking. 'I need you to keep this out of the papers. The press will have a field day if they get a hold of it. Those bastards love to think of this place as a big boys' club, which you know it's not.'

  It took every iota of Rosie's self-control not to jump up on her desk and scream into his face, 'IT IS SO, YOU FREAK!' But for once, the Buddhist bit actually kicked in and she reminded herself that The Darkness' karma was being the pathetic punish he was.