Wife for Hire

by Dianne Blacklock

  ‘So, let me find Denise, she’ll take care of you, show you the ropes.’ He touched Sam’s elbow lightly to guide her along past a row of stalls. He stopped where a young man was intent on attaching a banner across the front of one of the stalls.

  ‘Brad,’ Andrew said, ‘have you seen Denise?’

  ‘Sure,’ he grinned. ‘Big woman, dark hair . . .’

  ‘Very funny, Brad. Brad’s the team clown,’ Andrew explained to Sam. ‘Brad Moss, this is Samantha Holmes. She’s considering coming to work for us.’

  She was considering?

  ‘Hi,’ Brad smiled, shaking her hand. ‘It helps if you’re a little crazy.’

  ‘If that’s the case, I should fit right in.’

  ‘So you don’t know where Denise is?’ Andrew persisted.

  ‘She’ll be around somewhere, boss. Follow the voice.’

  They smiled knowingly at each other. As they walked along further, Andrew explained that Denise was his most senior manager and arguably the best event co-ordinator in the business. He introduced Sam to more members of the team as they came to them. Not all the people working here today were his staff, he told her. Many were contractors, the tent hire people, for example. They’d come in, do their job and leave. The team were responsible for co-ordinating all the various contractors, and then the exhibitors, as well as liaising with the venue management, sponsors and any number of other interested parties.

  ‘It’s a juggling act,’ said Andrew. ‘You have to keep a lot of different people happy and try to meet often conflicting needs. You’ve got to be a master of negotiation and diplomacy. And you have to do it all to a deadline.’

  Sam noticed that all the team members were wearing a dark green T-shirt with ‘Outdoor Living Expo’ plastered across the front and ‘Green Team’ on the back. They also sported a small set of headphones each, not unlike the type Sam had worn when she worked in the call centre.

  She and Andrew had come to the end of the aisle. From here the space opened out and it appeared they were setting up some kind of stage. There were tracks of lights being lifted into position, backdrops being hung, while another group was building what looked like timber framework at the far end. A row of trestle tables along one side served as the administrative centre apparently. There were three members of the ‘Green Team’ manning computers and phones, surrounded by cardboard cartons and stacks of papers.

  And in the middle of it all there was one voice going nonstop, over the sound of hammers and saws and power drills and phones ringing. A largish woman, wearing a vibrant overshirt that was as loud as her voice, paced back and forwards across the stage area, barking orders into her headset at a breathtaking rate.

  ‘Trev, Trev, Trev, no I don’t think so. Tell them if they leave ten dozen orchids here now, they’ll all die . . . No, Justine, that’s no good . . . Well, Trevor, remind them that they were not expected until Friday, so it’s not on our heads and as we don’t have the watering system connected yet THEY WILL DIE! Can I make myself any clearer? Am I going to have to come out there, Trevor? I hope not, Trevor. That’s the boy . . . Justine, if they unload there how the hell do they expect to shift five tonnes of bush rock from the other side of the venue? . . . Yes, Stephanie, that’ll work, but have them come down tomorrow, yeah? We can’t handle it today . . . You know, Justine, you can tell them that if they had actually bothered to follow the delivery instructions which we went to great trouble to fax ahead, we wouldn’t be having this discussion . . . of course, that’s assuming they can actually read . . .’

  ‘I’m guessing we’ve found Denise?’ said Sam.

  Andrew smiled down at her. ‘Come on, I’ll introduce you.’

  They walked across the stage area, stepping carefully over leads and around ladders.

  ‘Denise,’ Andrew said loudly.

  She swung around, holding her hand up, obviously in the middle of another conversation. ‘Well done, Trev . . . Yeah, Friday. We’ll have the system on by then. Andrew, what can I do for you?’ she finished without missing a beat.

  ‘I want you to meet Samantha Holmes. I mentioned she’d be dropping by.’

  ‘So you did.’ She grasped Sam’s hand firmly. Denise was an attractive woman with sparkling hazel eyes and a cap of shiny dark hair. She exuded energy.

  ‘So do you get Sam? Shall we call you Sam?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely.’

  ‘Well, it’s just not good enough!’ she boomed suddenly, dropping Sam’s hand. ‘I said today, by four! You can tell them we’ll be looking for another supplier.’

  Andrew noticed Sam’s startled expression. ‘You get used to her after a while,’ he assured her. ‘Denise, do you want to turn that off for a minute, it’s a bit distracting.’

  ‘Too bloody right,’ she agreed. ‘Same with that fucking hammering. It’s driving me crazy. Hey, Bob the Builder, TAKE FIVE!’ she bellowed towards the back of the stage area.

  A chorus of ‘Denise!’ came back at her from around the pavilion. All the green T-shirted workers were holding their ears and wincing.

  ‘Whoops,’ Denise whispered. ‘Sorry guys, I’m signing off now.’ She unhooked the headset from her ear and looped it over her shoulder. ‘Who’s for a cup of coffee?’

  ‘I have to get going,’ said Andrew, checking his watch. ‘Meeting.’

  ‘On your bike then, I’ll take care of Sam.’

  ‘Good to meet you, Sam,’ said Andrew, shaking her hand. ‘We’ll talk again soon.’

  ‘Thanks for everything,’ said Sam.

  He shook his head. ‘You can thank Ted.’

  Denise led her over to a trestle table set up with an urn, cups and catering size tins of coffee and biscuits. ‘What will you have?’

  ‘Coffee thanks.’

  ‘Good,’ said Denise, making them both a cup. ‘You’ve gotta like caffeine to survive in this business. Caffeine before and during. Alcohol after,’ she winked. She handed Sam a cup. ‘So, you’re interested in working for us?’

  ‘Very,’ Sam nodded, sitting in the chair Denise indicated.

  ‘What kind of experience have you had, Sam?’

  She sighed. ‘Well, in this actual industry, not a lot. In fact, nothing to speak of. But I’ve been working as a lifestyle manager the past year.’

  Denise raised her eyebrows. ‘Pardon my ignorance, but what the hell’s a lifestyle manager?’

  ‘I work for an organisation called Wife for Hire. We provide a service for busy executives –’

  ‘You’re having me on!’ Denise exclaimed.

  ‘No,’ Sam said in a weak voice.

  ‘You’re not like, really a wife, in the full sense of the word?’

  ‘No, no!’ Sam assured her. ‘It’s not that kind of agency.’

  ‘Thank Christ for that, I was starting to wonder,’ said Denise, slurping her coffee.

  ‘No, we do all kinds of things, from paying bills to organising renovations to planning dinner parties.’

  Denise nodded. ‘Fair enough, a lot of that experience will help you here. It’s just on a greater scale.’

  Sam glanced around the vast auditorium. ‘That’s an understatement.’

  ‘Take what’s going on up there,’ she said, indicating the stage area. ‘There are live demonstrations every day during the expo, headlining with the Backyard Blitz team. So what do you think would be involved in setting up for them?’ she said, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair.

  Sam looked momentarily bewildered. ‘Well, a backyard for starters.’

  ‘Right, that’s what they’re building up there. A kind of simulated backyard for them to “blitz”. So take it from there.’

  ‘Well, there’d be so many things they’d need. Plants and equipment, though I suppose they’d supply a lot of that themselves . . .’ Her voice trailed off as she became lost in thought. ‘Okay, so you would have to establish who your contact is, and liaise with them to find out what they are bringing with them, and what we would have to provide. I mean,
to begin with, what kind of space do they need, power, water –’

  ‘You’ll do fine,’ said Denise with a satisfied smile.

  Sam looked at her. ‘There’s a lot more to it than that.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me.’ Denise considered her for a moment. ‘Do you have children, Sam?’

  She nodded. ‘Three.’

  ‘Phew.’ She leaned forward. ‘Let me tell you something. We get these kids showing up fresh from a six-month stint at college and they want to tell us how to do it!’ Denise shook her head. ‘Had this little slip of a thing start the other week, and she had a fabulous idea for decorating the pavilion.’ She was making no attempt to hide the sarcasm in her voice. ‘Paper flowers, she said. Paper fucking flowers! They showed her how to make them at college. Honestly, I thought Brad was going to strangulate a hernia, he was trying so hard to stop himself from laughing.’

  Sam grinned. ‘Funny, I don’t see any paper flowers around.’

  ‘Yes, well, I told her that she could practise her origami techniques on the twenty thousand brochures that needed folding. She thought I was joking.’

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘She decided that perhaps we were not the company for her. Brad was quite devastated,’ Denise chuckled. ‘Frankly Sam, give me a woman who’s done an eight year old’s birthday party and I’ll show you an event organiser.’

  Sam smiled. ‘Well, I’ve done a few of those.’

  Denise drained her cup and got to her feet. ‘I’ve got to get back to work. Can you hang around?’

  ‘I was planning to.’

  ‘How are you at folding brochures?’

  ‘I just can’t believe how fabulous it is!’ Sam enthused.

  Max had been listening patiently to Sam rave about her day for the last half-hour, virtually without a break.

  ‘I’m getting the idea.’

  ‘Oh, okay, I’m going on a bit.’

  Max grinned. ‘It’s alright. It’s good to see you so charged about something, Sherl. You haven’t been a very happy camper lately.’

  Sam looked at her. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You don’t have to be sorry.’ Max walked round the kitchen bench and opened the fridge, peering inside. ‘I’m glad things are looking up. Got anything to drink?’

  ‘Sure, sure, sorry, I should have offered,’ Sam moved her out of the way and reached for a bottle on the lower shelf. ‘I wish I had some bubbly. I feel like celebrating.’

  ‘You can do that just as well with still wine,’ Maxine assured her.

  Sam started to open the bottle while Max found glasses.

  ‘You know the best thing,’ Sam said, picking up the thread again, ‘is working with other people. It made me realise that I’ve worked on my own most of my life. I mean raising children is a very solitary occupation. And then there was the call centre.’ She drew the cork out of the bottle. ‘Sure they called you a team, but all day you’re stuck in that cubicle on your own with only a voice down the phone line to relate to. Then with Wife for Hire I was working on my own again. But today I was part of a team, there was always someone to talk to, someone beside you to help, work with you, throw around ideas. It was . . . fantastic!’

  Sam had been waving the bottle around as she spoke, and finally Max grabbed it out of her hand and poured them both a glass.

  ‘I’m raving again, aren’t I?’

  Max smiled, handing her a glass. ‘It sounds like you’ve found your niche.’

  ‘I have, I really have. I think things are really going to come together for me now, Max. I can feel it.’

  ‘So when do you start for real?’

  ‘I called Andrew Byron this afternoon and he said I’m welcome to observe as often as I like, but I’ll start officially at the end of January, when I get back.’

  ‘Get back from where?’

  Sam had forgotten to tell Max. ‘I have the use of a house in Palm Beach for the holidays.’

  Max’s eyes widened. ‘Wow, who did you have to sleep with to score that?’

  Sam turned to open the fridge again. ‘Just Hal.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I don’t know what to give the kids for dinner,’ she mused, staring inside the refrigerator. ‘It’s too hot to cook tonight.’

  ‘Sam!’ Max exclaimed, grabbing her by the arm. ‘Did you just say you slept with Hal?’

  ‘Not in so many words,’ Sam said calmly. ‘I think you asked who I had to sleep with, and I said, “Just Hal”.’

  ‘Sam!’ she squealed. ‘Sam!’ she squealed again, hugging her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because I knew you’d carry on like this.’

  Max drew back to look her in the face. ‘Aren’t you happy about it?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so. Now anyway.’

  ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘Last week. Friday, actually.’

  Max gasped. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I haven’t had the chance.’

  ‘But I saw you on Saturday.’

  ‘I was still confused on Saturday.’

  Max looked at her. ‘Come on,’ she grabbed her hand and started for the back door. ‘Out here, away from the kids. You’re going to tell me everything.’

  ‘But I have to start dinner.’

  ‘I’ll shout takeaway,’ Max dismissed. ‘Oh, and grab that bottle.’

  They sat on the back step while Max made Sam recount everything, though she reneged on some of the more intimate details. Talking about it made it seem more real, reinforcing that it actually had happened, it was not just one of her fantasies.

  ‘So, how was it?’ Max asked, nudging her. ‘I mean really, how was it?’

  Sam sipped her wine. ‘It was pretty bloody wonderful,’ she said slowly.

  ‘You’re in love!’ Max swooned.

  Sam felt her heart drop into her stomach. ‘Slow down! I’ve only slept with him once.’

  ‘Yes, but I know you, sister. You married the last guy you slept with,’ Max reminded her. ‘Not counting Sleazy, of course. So it’s a fair comment.’

  ‘Look, I’m not going to allow myself to even think about whether I’m in love with him.’

  Max was thoughtful. ‘You’re becoming an avoidant.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Psychological theory on attachment types. It’s very well documented. You used to be an anxious ambivalent, but now you’re turning into a fearful avoidant.’

  ‘Which is better?’ Sam frowned.

  Max grinned. ‘Oh, don’t worry, they’re both dysfunctional. The anxious ambivalent is the clingy, dependent type. If they’re rejected they may become ambivalent about showing emotion and so they use avoidant coping strategies. Which is what you’ve been doing with Hal.’

  ‘You think I was dependent and clingy with Jeff?’

  ‘Well, maybe not on Jeff the man. But you were dependent on the relationship, don’t you reckon? The whole wife-and-mother gig. It was what gave you a sense of identity. So now you’re avoiding attachment because that didn’t work out.’

  Sam was thoughtful. ‘What about you?’

  Max laughed. ‘Oh, I am the absolute Queen of avoidance, haven’t you noticed?’ She took a sip from her glass. ‘But I’m coming around.’

  Sam looked slyly at her. ‘Dan?’

  Maxine nodded.

  ‘I like him,’ Sam said simply.

  ‘I know you do.’

  They both sat lost in their own thoughts.

  ‘So what’s normal?’ Sam asked eventually.

  ‘We prefer not to use the word “normal”,’ Max warned. ‘Secure attachment is the ideal. You know, you see it in the toddler who is happy to wander away from Mum, while keeping her in sight. The child who can separate without trauma.’

  ‘And the adult who will risk starting a relationship without knowing how it will turn out?’

  Max smiled. ‘You said that, I didn’t.’ She took a sip from her glass. ‘Speaking of mo
thers and separating from them, have you decided what you’re going to do about Christmas?’

  Sam drew her knees up, hugging them. ‘I can’t tell you how much the thought of it fills me with dread,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve told Jeff he can have the kids. He’s going to pick them up about eleven.’

  ‘That was very generous of you.’

  Sam shook her head. ‘No, it was the right thing to do.’

  Max leaned over against Sam. ‘Maybe you should come to Mum’s. You don’t want to be here on your own.’

  ‘The thing is, I think I’d rather forget it was Christmas at all once the kids are gone. It might be easier that way.’

  Max looked at her doubtfully.

  ‘What do you think I should do?’ Sam asked earnestly.

  She paused. ‘I think you should do whatever feels right for you. Stop worrying about everyone else. You’ve got to start looking after yourself.’

  Christmas Day

  Sam had prepared everything ahead so that she would be able to give the children her full attention for the morning. She was up at six with Ellie, though they had to wait another hour for Jess and Josh to emerge. In the meantime they shook presents, played at guessing, giggled a lot, and Sam generally revelled in the anticipation of her little daughter who still believed in Santa and magic and happily ever after.

  When the others woke, Sam sat back and watched them open their presents. She knew she had spoilt them this year. She wasn’t trying to compete with Jeff, it wasn’t like that. He had contributed to their Santa presents anyway and he seemed just as eager to overdo it as she was. Clearly they were both overcompensating for everything the kids had been through. It was probably not realistic, nor the wisest thing to do. But Sam couldn’t help herself.

  After the presents were opened, she made ham and eggs for breakfast and tried to get the kids to linger at the table. But with new toys to play with, and clothes to try on, and make-up to test, they were soon off again. The knock on the front door at eleven came too soon. Ellie ran at her father before Sam had barely opened the door.

  ‘Daddy, Santa came last night! Come and see!’ she blurted.