The Boys' Club

by Wendy Squires

  'I know him, Lisa,' Rosie interjected curtly. 'The point being?'

  'Well, the point is I just saw him with Jason Jarvis. At least I think I saw him, but I'm still not sure.'

  'What do you mean, Lisa? Out with it.'

  'I mean the guy is unrecognisable. He looks like a bloody alien.'

  'What's happened? What are you talking about?'

  'Jason Jarvis says it was your idea, that you told him that Great Gardens and Peter Ingles needed to be freshened up.'

  'And they do.'

  'Yeah, well Peter's freshened himself, all right. He's had that much surgery I reckon his balls are now his earlobes.'

  Rosie felt acid churn and bubble in her guts, rising sickeningly into her throat. 'Tell me he's just had a bit of eye work. Maybe a tiny, baby lift. Tell me you're exaggerating.'

  'Sorry, I wish I could, Rosie, but the guy looks like something out of the X-Files. I mean, he scared me. Like, I'm scarred for life, what that sweet old guy's done to himself.'

  Rosie sighed. 'I hope this isn't as bad as you're saying it is or we have a full-on crisis on our hands.'

  'Another full-on crisis, you mean,' Lisa said.

  'Can they reverse these things?' Rosie asked her. 'Surely they can reattach his skin somehow? I mean, Peter Ingles is like everyone in this country's favourite grandfather. What you're telling me is that he's turned into Michael Jackson overnight.'

  'More Jocelyn Wildenstein, but you're getting the picture,' Lisa replied.

  'Nooooo! You'd better get him and Jason Jarvis in my office pronto. And Lisa—'

  'Don't worry, Rosie, you'll have a fresh coffee every ten minutes.'

  'Thanks, honey. What would I do without you?'

  Lisa rolled her eyes skyward and walked out the door. Rosie knew her PA was fed up with her job and wanted to move on. She also knew she wouldn't do so until she knew Rosie would be all right without her which, at this minute, seemed years away, if at all.

  * * *

  The list of emails in her in-box was 178 long when Rosie logged in, although judging by the rate of the pinging noises the final tally could well be around the 200 mark. To speed things up, she sorted alphabetically by name, then scrolled down to those sent by Johnston, Nash, etc. To her surprise, there wasn't a one. From any of them. And she didn't know how to feel about that. Glee came to mind, but then so did dread. Scanning for their assistants' names, she found just one from Nash's PA, containing a review her boss had disliked, but that had been sent several days earlier. There was nothing, from anyone, since last night.

  Rosie scrolled through more names and saw a block from Lou, all unread. She didn't have time to open them and didn't need to anyway; the content was clear from the subject lines alone:

  10.30 am Where are you?

  11.05 am Have you heard the radio?

  1.45 pm Just let me know you are okay?

  2.05 pm It's 2 o'clock!!!!! Where are you????

  And more . . .

  Basically they were the same messages Lou had also sent via SMS. Rosie laughed at the image of Lou manning her computer then turning to her phone with raging frustration. She always liked to know what was happening as it went down, if not before.

  Ping! A small box appeared at the bottom of Rosie's screen: another email. Before it faded from view, she noted the sender. Lou again. But Rosie wasn't sure she'd got the subject message right. She thought it read: 'Heading to your mother's. Call us!'

  Rosie felt a pang of guilt just reading the word 'mother'. She hadn't called Vera in days and, if she and Lou had been talking – as they no doubt had – Rosie's shabby performance at Salty Sam's would have been much discussed. As, no doubt, would Daniel Jones and how Rosie had blown it with such a great guy. Vera, although she wouldn't say as much, believed any woman unmarried in her thirties was an embarrassment to her family. Vera had grown up believing her destiny was to marry well and as such never pursued a career of her own. Luckily, she did marry well, and even though Rosie believed her mother emasculated her father more with each passing day, she also knew Mick and Vera still loved each other. Or should that be tolerated?

  Rosie often wondered whether any relationship that endured longer than thirty years could only be companionship at best, but maybe she was just cynical. Maybe true love could last time.

  Rosie coudn't deny she loved her mother – deeply and profoundly. But, hell, she could shit her sometimes. It seemed Vera always wanted to be a bigger part of Rosie's life than Rosie could offer. That was why she had imposed the three-meal rule with Vera – never three in a row. A breakfast could sometimes settle into a lunch without a blow-up, and a lunch might last through to dinner without blood being let. But try all three consecutively and there would be hellfire and damnation of some sort. Much to Rosie's chagrin, she knew deep down that she was inevitably the one to lose it first. And she hated herself for that.

  Rosie began to feel the panic surging. She wondered what Lou and her mother were meeting about. Was there a problem with Leon? Had something awful happened? It had! Something was wrong. Very wrong.

  Oh my God! Leon might be hurt! Or . . . dead!!!

  Rosie felt a sharp pain near her heart, the kind that makes you lose your breath momentarily. Then came the jabbing sensation, as if her intestines were being probed with an electric cattle prod. Rosie gasped violently for air but her lungs felt like they had imploded. She was going to pass out for sure.

  'Rosie! What's going on?' Lisa was at her boss's side, looking concerned.

  'I can't breathe,' Rosie gasped. 'I think it's a heart attack . . .'

  'It's not a bloody heart attack, it's a panic attack,' Lisa answered, tugging loose the collar of Rosie's blouse. 'I knew this would happen! Shit! Now, Rosie, listen to me. You have to concentrate for a moment, okay? Start breathing. Let's see if we can count to three. Deep now . . . one . . . two . . . three. Okay, now another, one . . . two . . . three.'

  Lisa was a picture of practised calm, her eyes closed as she held on to Rosie's hands, taking in every breath with her.

  'Come on, honey, let's see if you can go even longer this time. Okay, one . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .'

  After a few minutes of breathing in sync with Lisa, Rosie felt like she might manage the next on her own. She was numb with shock and embarrassment – but eternally grateful to be alive.

  'What was that all about?' she asked Lisa incredulously. 'That had to be more than anxiety. It felt like my eyeballs were giving birth to my lungs!'

  'Honey, that was a shocker, for sure, but I can assure you it was a panic attack. I used to have them myself. Felt like I was dying every time.'

  Rosie looked at the kabuki-white face of her friend and was overwhelmed with sympathy. No one, she realised, should ever have to experience what she just had, especially someone as real and confident in her own skin as Lisa.

  'How did you stop them?' Rosie asked, hoping the answer was simple but knowing that wasn't likely.

  'I stopped trying to be what other people wanted me to be,' Lisa said earnestly. 'I stopped trying to please my parents. I pulled out of medicine at uni and gave myself a life. I realised I can't play the game. It kills my soul.'

  Lisa looked deep into Rosie's eyes, trying to convey telepathically that this was a message she hoped Rosie would absorb fully. And she had. In fact, Rosie felt like the lights had come on in her heart and head, like her soul had been reignited.

  'You've got to be happy in your skin, Rosie,' Lisa continued. 'You need to get authentic. Otherwise, you're living your life for others, who probably won't be happy with the results anyway. Just the residual stress I receive from being close to you these days is doing my head in. I hate to think what it's doing to yours.'

  Rosie sat stunned, yet to her surprise, an involuntary smile turned up the corners of her lips. She grinned even wider as a result of this awareness. She had reached a turning point, she saw that now. Suddenly, there was light and clarity. Salvation even.

  'Oh, and get ri
d of the cigarettes, will you,' Lisa said. 'I'm not giving you mouth-to-mouth next time if you smell like an ashtray.'

  CHAPTER 33

  Jason Jarvis looked quite happy with himself. Rosie braced for the cologne assault that usually followed his entrance, and wasn't disappointed. The man must actually bathe in the stuff, she thought.

  'Well, have you seen him?' he asked Rosie, peering at a photo of Leon on her bookshelf before moving to the one of Lou, Stephen and her at the Blues Festival in Byron Bay.

  Rosie stood up to block his unwelcome perusal and gestured to him to sit down. No one was going to infringe on her personal space ever again.

  'No, Jason, I haven't seen him. But before I ask you why I wasn't informed about any intended change to a major star's appearance, I need to know if Simon Nash has seen him.'

  'Well no, not yet.'

  'You are aware that we're seeing the network promo this afternoon, aren't you?'

  'Yes, of course I am. Keith's coming in.'

  'That's right. Keith is coming in.'

  Rosie wondered how the executives were going to deal with Keith's appearance. She knew he had been on the phone to most of them recently but, as far as she knew, she was the only one to have actually seen him. That was weeks ago now and he'd looked then like a man who could confidently start counting down his last days.

  'Well, do you think Keith is going to be happy that the biggest star in this network's talent pool, Peter Ingles, no longer resembles the man in the promo, Australia's favourite friend?'

  'Well, you were the one who said Ingles' image needed freshening. What was I supposed to think?' Jason looked worried.

  'I didn't mean turning him into a freakshow!'

  Rosie realised she was yelling when Lisa appeared at her door, scowling at her angrily through the glass. It was a look that reminded her she was becoming one of them and it scared Rosie to death. That wasn't going to happen. She willed herself inner peace and found it came easily.

  'I'm sorry, Jason,' she said, now composed. She was not going to fall into the stress trap again. She need not absorb all this pain. Not now there was light again.

  'Well, you hardly turned out to be a support,' Jason sniffed back. 'You know, I always stood up for you when all the others were putting you down, and you repay me by yelling!'

  'Look, Jason, I really am sorry. I'd like to tell you that a hundred times and beat myself with a cat-o'-nine-tails in a darkened closet in penance, but the fact is I've beaten myself up enough over the past few months, believe me.'

  Jason looked at her cautiously for a moment, then relaxed his shoulders and reclined once more in the chair.

  'So, how bad is it?' Rosie asked.

  'Look, it's probably a little too tight for a man of his age and they've gone a little heavy on the eye areas . . .'

  'Will the public recognise him?' Rosie asked.

  'They might get a bit of a shock to begin with but people settle in to new faces.'

  'New faces? Remind me again, what was wrong with his old face?'

  'Rose, this will get us press. Isn't that what you wanted? You know I've been lobbying for a younger host for the show for a while now. My Dean is a fantastic gardener. Personally I think Peter is tired in the role.' 'Your Dean? You mean your boyfriend, currently employed as Caspar the Cat?'

  'Well yes, I do. But that can all be discussed at another time.'

  'Yeah, another time,' Rosie replied. She had to laugh. The alternative was no longer an option.

  'I guess I'd better call him up then and have a look myself. Is he in the studio?'

  'You could try Green Room 2.'

  Rosie called out to Lisa to come into her office. 'Lovely, would you do Jason here and me a favour? Can you please run down to the green room and fetch Peter Ingles for us?'

  Lisa's face contorted with alarm. 'Er . . . Peter Ingles who was in here before?' she queried, her voice raised several notches.

  'Yep, the same,' Rosie replied sympathetically. 'But here's the trick. Can you get him in here without anyone seeing? We need to keep him out of sight for a while, until we have a chat with Keith and Simon.'

  Lisa sneered in disbelief, and Rosie wasn't sure there was any mirth in it at all.

  'All right,' Lisa replied. 'It's not going to be easy, though.'

  'You'll think of something, I know. Maybe drop by wardrobe and grab something to drape over him. Maybe a cape?'

  'Sure you don't want me to sing him "Music of the Night" too?'

  Rosie laughed. She could never resist a dig at Andrew Lloyd Webber. He needed to pay for that night she had suffered a performance of Starlight Express at Vera's urging.

  'I don't think you need to sing the entire score of Phantom of the Opera, no, but maybe a few hummed bars would help,' Rosie joked.

  Lisa gave her a look that said Rosie would owe her one for this and turned to leave.

  'Wow, I wouldn't let my PA speak to me like that,' Jason Jarvis exclaimed when she'd gone. 'You know that PA from sales is back from maternity leave. She seems competent. I could have a word and see if she can be transferred to publicity . . .'

  'No thanks, Jason, I'll stick with Lisa.'

  'It's your choice, Rose, but surely if anyone needs a good PA it's you. I mean, that girl actually gave you lip! Doesn't she know who's running things around here?'

  'I can assure you she does, Jason,' Rosie replied, pondering just how lost she would be without her faithful PA. As she did, she looked up to see Lisa's concerned face at her door once again.

  'What's up now?' she asked.

  'Rosie, it's Karen Day. She's here, and she needs to talk to you.' When Lisa was sure Jason couldn't see her, she made rubbing motions under her eyes to indicate tears.

  'Jason, I think I might need five minutes to take care of something urgent. Would you mind?'

  Jason looked slightly miffed as he got out of his chair. 'I'll be waiting outside,' he sniffed, 'but don't forget we have the promo reveal at four-thirty.'

  'Oh, I won't forget, Jason, don't worry about that.'

  As soon as he was out the door, Lisa led in Karen Day, who was a distraught wreck.

  'They got to her,' Lisa said angrily. 'They're a bunch of bastards. Anyway, I have to flee to the green room before nightfall to find Quasimodo.'

  Rosie took Karen from Lisa's arms and led her to the sofa, clearing a stack of unread magazines to make room.

  'Sweetie, what's happened?' Rosie asked. 'What's made you this upset?'

  'I've been fired,' Karen wailed, tears spilling from her swollen eyes. 'And you want to know why?' she asked, her voice near hysterical. 'It's because I'm too fat! I'm too big to be a fucking weathergirl on morning TV! Can you believe that? I got honours at university. I'm a fucking journalist, not a fashion model!'

  Rosie flashed back to the canteen chatter she'd overheard and realised this had been planned for a while. Simon Nash wasn't going to return Karen to news after 'livening up the weather' for a few months as he had promised Rosie. And Allan Bales did not 'admire her journalistic skills and impeccable track record' as he had made Rosie write in the press release announcing Karen's appointment to news when she first joined the network. Those bastards had moved her to mornings for her big tits appeal then sacked her when they deemed them too big!