by Graham Guy
He nodded. “Do you have a favourite?”
“I love them all, but I do have a soft spot for this one. You watch.” Emma turned to face the stallion. “Come on now, go down for me… down… down… down… come on… down.”
McLoughlin’s jaw dropped as the magnificent stallion dropped to its knees and Emma climbed onto his back. He clapped. “Fantastic… I love it.”
“Aunty Betsy said she used to get Stanley to do that for her, so she taught me to do it.”
“You’re a very lucky girl, aren’t you?”
“Would you like to get on?”
McLoughlin laughed. “Hell Emma, I’d fall straight off the other side.”
“No you won’t. Come on.”
She slid off the horse’s back. “Up boy… come on… up now.”
Immediately Samson stood up.
McLoughlin climbed through the railing. Emma turned again to face her horse. She gently rubbed his nose.
“OK… can we do it again? Will you let this man climb onto your back? Of course you will. Good boy! Come on boy… down… down… down… come on… down. And again Samson dropped to his knees.
Very tentatively, McLoughlin approached the two. Even more tentatively, he put a leg across the animal’s back then sat down.
“Up boy… come on… up boy.”
McLoughlin grabbed a handful of mane as he felt the horse get back to a standing position.
“Isn’t he wonderful?”
“Hell, I could get used to this,” he said, patting Samson’s neck.
“Do you like him?”
“Takes your breath away, doesn’t he?”
“Oh, I just love them to death. Can’t wait to get some foals.”
The chit-chat between the two continued until they finally made their way back to the house together. As he walked inside, Kazumi walked over to him. “Miss Katie, she say for me to join you for dinner. You not mind, yes?”
“I will be absolutely delighted,” he told her.
“Thank you, Sergeant Ken. Dinner be in thirty minutes. I see you then. I also make up your bed in guest room. Miss Katie, she say you stay tonight.”
McLoughlin smiled as he watched her walk away. By hell she’s a stunner. Bit hard to tell how old she’d be. Probably round the 30 mark. Maybe 32. Yes, he told himself, dinner could be interesting.
* * *
McLoughlin had his head in a newspaper when he heard Katie’s voice.
“If you’d care to take a seat, sir,” she jested.
He looked up and actually fell back into his chair.
Katie stood before him, her long, blonde hair falling casually around her neckline, slightly touching her evening gown and partly obscuring her necklace; a twisted rope of Baroque pearls. McLoughlin was fairly impressed with the necklace and matching bracelet, but it was the gown Katie wore that totally blew him away. It was a full length, body-hugging Dolce & Gabbana crocheted dress with slip. He had never been to a fashion parade, but he knew that nothing he could ever witness anywhere else in the world could possibly top the way this woman looked at this moment.
Next instant, Gabe came bounding into the loungeroom wearing a dinner suit and stopped dead in his tracks.
“Lift your chin off your chest, dear,” Katie told him. “Do you like it?” she asked as she spun around in front of him.
“What did I tell you, Ken? Puts a bloody lump in your throat doesn’t she?”
“Hold the bus, folks!” McLoughlin piped up. “I can hardly sit round here looking like a bushranger with you lot dressed like you were going to the Ritz. Let me change my shirt.”
Moments later he returned, just as Mrs Cropp walked into the room. The old lady, like the two men, was visually swept away at Katie’s beauty.
Moments later, Kazumi made her entrance in a near-full-length Perri Cutten red chantilly lace dress, complete with Cosgrove Beasley evening bag, a Joyce velvet flower in her hair, Bettina Liano velvet mules with a Peter Lang choker.
“Kazumi, that is simply gorgeous,” Katie gushed. “Where did you get it?”
“I got mail order Miss Katie. Save up for long time. But when I see, I had to have. You like, yes?”
“Didn’t know I had such a house full of glamorous women,” Gabe said proudly.
Kazumi wanted to look at McLoughlin, but shyness overcame her.
He took the initiative, walking over to the dining table and pouring champagne from an already uncorked bottle into six flutes. He filled five, pouring just a little into the sixth.
“Emma,” he called. “Emma, your presence is required.”
As she approached, McLoughlin handed her a flute.
Immediately she flashed her eyes to her mother.
“Just a taste, all right?”
Emma smiled with glee.
After handing out the other four flutes, he raised his own and said, “To the two… no the four,” he corrected himself, glancing at Emma and Mrs Cropp, “most beautiful women in the world.”
“Jesus, I’ll drink to that,” barked Gabe. “Now let’s eat. I’m bloody starving.”
“First course, yes? You come, Yes? Now. Yes?” Kazumi said to them all, then placed her hand through Katie’s arm and led her to the dining table.
“Now, it seems to me there’s one spare seat. That’s the seat next to Sergeant Ken, yes? Kazumi, it looks like that’s where you’re sitting.”
McLoughlin drew back Kazumi’s chair.
“Thank you Mr… er… Sergeant Ken… thank you.”
Talk throughout the evening was brisk and lively. Kazumi was up and down all the time serving the meal and clearing the plates, despite Katie’s protests. But there was no doubting both Kazumi and McLoughlin enjoyed the match-making efforts of Katie Caplin. Their eyes met on various occasions and both felt the magnetism. It was after two a.m. before the last of the wine was drunk. Mrs Cropp had long departed, as had Emma. Over a delightful Penfolds Grandfather Port, Kazumi, now a little more brave, asked Ken McLoughlin, “When you finish current assignment, you come back again, yes?”
“He’d bloody better,” Gabe chipped in.
“I think that would be very nice… but on one condition.”
“One condition?”
“You let me cook dinner for you.”
“Oh no, Sergeant Ken, you not use my kitchen.”
“Why not?”
“You mess up.”
“I won’t make a mess. If I do, I’ll clean it up.”
Kazumi looked at Katie.
“Don’t look at me. You fight your own battles.”
“You want to cook for me, yes?”
“That’s fair. You cooked for me.”
“If I say no, you not come back then, no?”
“That’s right.”
“Then I say you can cook for me,” she replied as she burst out laughing.
“Well thank Christ that’s settled,” said Gabe. “Bedtime, I reckon.”
Katie rose from the table with Gabe. “We’ll see you two in the morning,” she said.
Then it was just Kazumi and Ken McLoughlin.
Neither spoke for a few moments. But the attraction each felt for the other was mutual. McLoughlin leaned over and ran his index finger down her forearm. When she didn’t pull away, he gently took hold of the middle finger on her left hand. She turned her head towards him, but didn’t raise her eyes.
“You look positively beautiful tonight,” he half-whispered.
A slight smile fell across her face. McLoughlin stood up from his chair and enticed her into his arms. For a few moments they stood together, Kazumi resting her head against his chest. He couldn’t believe how wonderful it felt to hold her.
Kazumi felt her heartbeat quicken. She knew she should probably pull away. But she couldn’t. McLoughlin raised his hand under her chin and tilted her head back then leaned down and gently kissed her lips.
Again she didn’t pull away. But he could tell Kazumi was no push-over. And it pleased him. He withdrew from her,
softly touching her cheek. “Thank you for a wonderful meal and an even more wonderful evening. I’ll see you in the morning.”
* * *
It wasn’t until in late morning the day after he’d arrived that Ken McLoughlin was finally able to continue his journey to Robe. He said goodbye to everyone with a hug and a thank you, but when he began to drive off Kazumi could contain herself no longer. Quickly she ran to him. McLoughlin braked.
“You special man, Sergeant Ken. You come back and see me… and everyone? Cook for me maybe, yes?”
“I promise. Keep the fires burning,” he told her, cupping her delicate face in the palm of his hand.
“Oh they burn, Sergeant Ken. They burn already and you not gone yet.”
Emma rode Samson alongside McLoughlin all the way to the ramp.
He pulled up and looked at her. “You look after everybody now, OK?” he told her.
But Emma couldn’t hold back. “You just promise you’ll be back, all right?”
Chapter 6
George Hanks was the News Director of RTN ELEVEN, Sydney’s only free-to-air, twenty-four-hour, All-News television station.
A veteran of 30 years on the job, cutting his teeth as a cadet reporter in newspapers before moving to radio, then to television. As a journalist, George had pretty much done it all. The war zones, the tears, the tragedy, the heartbreak. The burning buildings, the sieges, the murders, the kidnaps, the rapes, the homeless, the underprivileged, and the celebrities.
He had also covered politics at length, consumer affairs and environment. During his career he had been shocked, reduced to tears and subjected to the back-stabbing environment of the media. He also prided himself in being his own man. He didn’t take crap from anyone and was very quick to see through the façade of reporters who were only in the job to satisfy their own egos. And he knew a truckload of them. On his staff were 72 reporters, cameramen, sound technicians, writers, producers, and directors. And he knew only too well that balancing so many egos across a day was pretty much a fulltime job in itself.
When it came to hiring and firing, he almost had carte blanche. Almost. Even RTN ELEVEN had its sacred cows.
His close friend, associate and Chief of Staff was Jack Rider, a man of roughly the same age and experience. Both had been married and divorced twice. Each had been the other’s best man. Both had children from both marriages. Both lived de facto. Both also had mistresses. The two were hocked up to the hilt. Both were paying maintenance, mortgages on houses they no longer lived in and school fees. And both wished they had rich uncles who would die and leave them a fortune.
“No bloody fun pushing 50 is it, George?” Jack would say in jest.
“Yeah, well we’re not there yet, are we?” he’d answer.
This particular day the two decided to slip away quietly for a catch-up lunch. Something they always liked to do in their almost parallel careers, although in previous years it had been much easier to accomplish.
With the pressure of constant deadlines and no letup from a twenty-four-hour operation, stealing an hour or two became increasingly difficult. They chose their usual quiet, out-of-the-way Chinese restaurant in the suburb of Glebe. Both liked king prawns and fried rice, sweet and sour, and honey chicken washed down with a couple of cold beers. “So,” Jack began, “no bloody picnic is it?” He was referring to the grind of turning out a product every hour of every day.
George knew it. “Got its use-by date, I reckon,” he replied, opening the first of two beers to arrive.
“Any shit from upstairs?”
Again, George knew Jack was referring to the pressures applied by management. “Mate, you get ‘em a 15-share and they want 18. Get ‘em a 10, they want a 12. You know how it works.”
“So what’s this, the fifth year?”
“Next month.”
“You get renewed?”
“Yeah, we both did. Yesterday. Another two years. Sorry, I meant to ring you last night. You got five per cent. I got eight. Bloody big of ‘em isn’t it?” he said, almost apologetically.
“That’s crap, George! Christ those presenters are on a shitload. Not to mention some of those useless dickhead reporters you’ve hired.”
George Hanks laughed. “Yeah, but Jack, they don’t have two-year contracts!” he chirped as though achieving such was a major victory.
The truth being that to achieve any sort of media contract was indeed a very major victory. And anything over one year was a bonus. Media owners hate the thought of having to pay out contracts.
“The presenters are on a week,” he went on. “The journos are on four weeks. There’s no bloody awards in there, Jack. If the readers drop the numbers, they’re out on their ear, there and then. The journos get a bit more latitude. They get the ‘three strikes and you’re out’ bit.”
An attractive young woman approached the two.
“Same as usual, love,” George told her. “Can you remember? It’s been a while?”
She smiled graciously. “I remember, sir. Are you both well?”
“Yeah, good, love,” George told her.
“Got a question for you,” Jack said, sipping his beer.
“Yeah, righto… who?” he smirked knowingly.
“Georgette fucking McKinley!”
He laughed. “What about her?”
“What’s the go?”
“You fancy her?”
“Piss off ! Not even with yours.”
“Every other bastard does.”
“Mate, she’s so far up herself, she can’t even breathe. How come you hired her? Christ, she invented solipsism!”
“Some things I can change. Some things I can’t. She’s one I can’t. But you have to admit, she gets results. Jesus, I don’t know how she does it. Must have a bloody good snitch. But she’s sacred territory.”
“Bullshit!”
“True story.”
“How come?”
“Mahogany Avenue.”
“Oh shit! Who’s fixing her up?”
“Buggered if I know, but she’s an untouchable. No weekend rosters. No early shifts. No overnight shifts. No late shifts. A straight deal. Office hours. Monday to Friday, daytime. Unbelievable isn’t it?”
“You’re kidding!”
“I’ve got a couple of sacred cows. You know who they are. But she’s the most sacred of all.”
“But she’s a total bitch!”
“Tell me about it!”
“So who picks her stories?”
“You’re the Chief of Staff. That’s your job.”
Jack laughed. “Mate, I’ll put her name on the board next to a story I want her to do and she just walks in and says, ‘I’m not doing that. Swap me with Jamie or Christine or whoever.’
“And do you?”
“I do now.”
“How come?”
“Got a bloody phone call didn’t I!”
George looked at Jack with a inquiring look. “Really?”
“Shit!… ages ago. The old man’s two-I-C. Ricketts.”
‘The old man’ Jack was referring to was the owner of the station, Sylvester Monkhouse.
“What did he say?”
“You don’t know?”
George laughed. “How the hell would I know?” he answered, leaning back in his chair.
“Too long ago… er, Ricketts came on the line. ‘Oh Jack, Tom Ricketts. Bit of a problem with Georgette?’ The prick totally threw me. ‘Not that I know of,’ I said and he goes on to say management saw her as special, and when she was hired it was on the condition she could choose her own stories. Obviously George hasn’t mentioned that to you? I said you hadn’t and then he says, ‘I don’t see this as a problem Jack, do you?’, then he hung up. Well, fuck me! What’s the line? If you’ve got that special thing, then you’re flying without wings. Well, she’s bloody flying all right… right over the top of every bastard.”
George sat there smiling. “Great business this, isn’t it?”
Jack threw his hand
s in the air in despair. “So who’s slipping her a length?”
George pondered the question for a moment before answering. “Actually, I don’t reckon anyone is.”
“Crap!… has to be. Barry’s been trying to give her a quick shot for months. Greg’s just waiting for her to bend over. But I suppose the only place they’re saying, ‘while you’re down there… ‘ is around the corner.”
“I reckon you’re wrong.”
“No way!”
“She’s had a pretty tragic life you know?”
“In what way?”
“Lost her entire family in a house fire when she was a kid. Raised in foster homes. Doesn’t really have anyone in the world. Apart from a rich uncle who only in later years acknowledged her existence. He’s her mother’s brother. Those two hated each other’s guts. To the extent that even when the kid was orphaned, he didn’t want to know. So she pretty much had to bring herself up. But like you say, she’s a bitch of a thing.”
“Who’s the uncle?”
“Ever hear of a horse Rogan Star?”
“I don’t follow the races, you know that.”
“Rogan Star won the third at Rosehill last Saturday.”
“So?”
“If you have a look at the fine print, you’ll see it’s owned by McKinley and Monkhouse. I checked it out. McKinley is McKinley Rubber and Monkhouse is the old man. Georgette is McKinley’s niece and both McKinley and Monkhouse have been in bed together for years. They own twelve racehorses between them. The old man owns a bit of McKinley Rubber. McKinley owns a bit of RTN.
“Between them they’ve got time-share apartments on the Gold Coast, big dollars in a cinema chain in Melbourne, and on and on. I reckon you’ll find that McKinley put the word on the old man, and it was just a case of one corporate mate doing another corporate mate a favour. Apparently one of them saved the other’s life during the war. Don’t know who saved who, but they’ve been fairly inseparable since. So I’ve been told.”
Jack was quite taken aback. “Shit! That explains a few things doesn’t it?”