by Gemma Crisp
‘Trust who?’ Nina asked, trying to make sense of what Johan was saying. She desperately wished she had an extra-strong drink in her hand – vodka, gin, rum . . . hell, even whiskey – anything that would numb the pain of this awful conversation.
‘Ed.’ He spat the word out like it was toxic. Which, in a way, it was. ‘It turns out that my boyfriend has been HIV-positive for the past decade but never bothered to let me know, until it was too late. In fact, he’s kept it quiet from pretty much everyone. He’s so in denial about it that sometimes he even forgets himself, which is why, when we were high as kites, he let us have unprotected sex that night. Well, that’s the explanation I got when I confronted him, anyway. At first he tried to deny he had anything to do with it – he accused me of cheating on him with other guys and insisted that’s how I contracted it, but I knew I hadn’t done anything more than grope a few strangers on the dance floor since we got together. And last time I checked, you can’t get HIV by groping someone through their clothes.’
‘So he admitted it was him?’ A ball of fury was burning in Nina’s stomach. She’d never liked Ed, but she’d never thought he was capable of something like this.
‘Eventually – after I ransacked his apartment looking for the antiretroviral drugs to prove it. When I moved into his apartment, he insisted I use the guest bathroom – he said the idea of sharing a bathroom revolted him, and I didn’t question it. Ed was very particular about certain things so it didn’t seem that weird. You know how precious some gays can be. But now I realise it was because he didn’t want me poking around in the cabinets in case I stumbled across his stash of meds. But once I’d found them he had no comeback. He broke down, begging me to forgive him. I threatened him with legal action, packed my stuff and left. If I never see that bastard again, it will be too soon,’ he said blackly.
‘Where did you go after that?’ Nina felt like she was on autopilot, asking question after question as she did her best to absorb Johan’s news. She gave up trying to ignore her craving for alcohol, waving down a waitress and ordering a double-shot Bloody Mary.
‘I dragged my suitcase to the nearest bus stop and sat there like a zombie for a few hours while I tried to process everything that had just happened. When it started getting dark, I realised I needed somewhere to stay. Most of my friends in Sydney are also Ed’s friends, and obviously they were the last people I wanted to see. So I got in a taxi and asked the driver to take me to one of the backpacker hostels in the Cross.’
‘What? A hostel? Why on earth didn’t you call me? You know you could have stayed with me and Tess,’ Nina reprimanded him as she sucked down the spicy booze-laden goodness that had just been delivered to their table.
Johan raised an eyebrow. ‘I did call you. While I was sitting at the bus stop, I left you a voicemail, asking you to call me urgently. But you didn’t call me back, so I figured you were too busy with that bloody job of yours, or you were pissed off with me for letting our friendship slide while I gallivanted around Sydney’s gaybourhood with Ed. I needed somewhere to go while I got everything sorted before I fly back to the UK tomorrow, and a hostel was the easiest option seeing you weren’t picking up the phone. And I didn’t want to spend too much – I need to save my pennies for specialist appointments when I get back to London. Being HIV positive ain’t cheap, you know,’ he said, with a weak smile. ‘Where are the loos here? That coffee’s gone straight through me.’
Pointing him in the direction of the bathroom, Nina stared out the window as her brain sifted through the worst conversation of her life. Her best friend was HIV positive. She hadn’t been there when he’d needed her. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she had totally ignored him even when he’d specifically stressed how much he needed to speak to her. In fact, it had taken her a full three days to bother returning his call. Now he was leaving the country in less than twenty-four hours, his life changed forever by one terrible decision.
And where had she been?
Too busy fighting with her power-tripping boss about a stupid magazine cover.
Too busy feeling sorry for herself and blaming everyone else for her problems.
Too busy believing that her work took precedence over everything else, and that no one could possibly understand the pressure she was under.
Too busy thinking about when she could get her hands on her next drink.
Too busy trying to hide her drinking problem from Jeremy and Tess, the two people she loved the most, while throwing their attempts to help back in their faces.
Too busy being self-obsessed, when at the other end of town, her best friend had called for help and she hadn’t been there for him.
Nina hated herself. Hated what she’d become, hated what she was doing to her life and the people in it. If she’d needed a reality check, she couldn’t have asked for a better one. It was too late for Johan to change what had happened to him, but she could still change what was happening to her. ‘Just as soon as I finish this Bloody Mary,’ she promised herself, removing the straw and draining the last half in one large gulp.
twenty-six
Sitting in the make-up chair at the Channel 37 studios, Nina squinted, concentrating hard on merging the double reflection in the mirror into one. As the make-up artists gossiped about the previous night’s TV ratings and the hairstyles of the breakfast show hosts on the rival networks, she started to regret buying the bottle of gin after she’d said goodbye to Johan, having promised to take him to the airport that night for his flight back to London. The gin had seemed like a good idea at the time; a salute to the early days of their friendship, when they’d bonded over copious amounts of the liquor after a particularly stressful shift on the hotel’s front desk, pouring it down their throats like it was water.
Marching down Oxford Street while trying to hail a taxi in peak hour, she’d found herself slowing down outside the hole in the wall that sold booze around the clock. Despite having sworn less than fifteen minutes earlier that she owed it to Johan to get her life sorted out, her credit card had been swiped and the bottle of Hendricks had been stashed in her bag before her brain had caught up with her body. ‘It’s not every day your best friend tells you he’s HIV positive just before you’re due to do a live TV interview,’ she’d thought, finding yet another excuse to justify her drinking habit. ‘Jesus H. Christ, if I can’t have a drink now, when can I?’
The bottle had been half-empty by the time the taxi had pulled up outside the TV studios, and Nina was glad there hadn’t been anyone in the car park to see her stumble out of the back door, the tell-tale brown paper bag poking its head out of the top of her favourite old Miu Miu tote. Waiting for the TV show’s associate producer to collect her from reception, she’d used the time to nip to the bathroom and take another couple of swigs, washed down with cold water gulped from the tap, before being taken to the make-up room.
‘Okay, love, you’re all done. You’re not due on set for another twenty minutes, so go upstairs to the green room and one of the producers will collect you when they’re ready for you,’ the make-up artist told Nina, interrupting her attempts to rectify her double vision.
Clambering out of the chair, she headed to the green room and was relieved to find it empty. Grabbing a plastic cup from the water cooler, she quickly splashed some of the Hendricks in and topped it up with water to dilute the distinctive smell. ‘Idiot,’ she chastised herself. ‘There was a reason you switched to vodka, remember?’
By the time the associate producer appeared at the door, Nina was no longer seeing double, but triple. While wallowing in the mess that she’d made of everything, the alcohol had stoked a burning rage against Ed, the man she held responsible for destroying her best friend’s life. In her irrational state, Ed had become a scapegoat, someone she could blame not only for Johan’s problems, but her own as well. In her drunken state, she figured that she would never have become so obsessed with work if Johan had been around to give her the reality check she needed. But he’d been too busy splas
hing around in Ed’s shallow world to notice. If Johan had never met Ed, their friendship wouldn’t have been put on ice and she wouldn’t be in this situation; he would have pulled her up on how she’d been acting like a selfish bitch and would have warned her that she was in danger of losing everyone she cared for, all because of a job she didn’t even enjoy. Ed had stolen Johan from her. Everything was Ed’s fault. And he needed to pay, not only for what he’d done to her, but for what he’d done to Johan. Oh boy, did he need to pay. Immersed in a thick fog of drunken indignation, she decided she had to get revenge, no matter what.
Nina did her best not to stagger as she followed the producer down the hallway and into the studio of G’day Australia, the network’s top-rating breakfast TV show. Taking her place on the red couch, she smiled at the cookie-cutter blonde co-host who would be interviewing her about the big editorial campaign in the new issue of Candy, which had gone on sale that morning. Checking her pre-written notes, the co-host waited until the floor manager counted down as the cameras started to roll.
‘Welcome back to the program! The new issue of Candy has hit the stands and this month they’ve launched a big investigation into the effects of Photoshop on women’s body image. After seeing the results, the editorial team have decided to ban Photoshop from the magazine and have produced Australia’s first Photoshop-free issue. I have Candy’s editor, Nina Morey, with me now – Nina, congratulations on a wonderful initiative! Can you tell us what the reaction has been like so far?’
Nina stared at her own face that had appeared on the monitors at the far end of the studio then remembered that everyone was waiting for her to speak. It was now or never. Clearing her throat and making a concerted effort to enunciate her way through the haze of gin, she began her spiel.
‘Thank you, Lucy. The response to our first Photoshop-free issue has been absolutely amazing,’ Nina lied smoothly, having completely forgotten to check Candy’s Twitter account that morning given everything else that had happened. ‘But there’s something more important I want to talk about this morning.’ She turned to face the camera straight on, ignoring the look of alarm that tried to flicker over Lucy’s Botoxed features as she realised Nina was going off on an unscripted tangent. ‘And that is betrayal. The betrayal of someone very close to me who did nothing to deserve it . . . a betrayal that will affect the rest of his life, all because the person responsible was too selfish to admit the truth. Edward Butler, if you’re watching this, I always knew you were a son of a bitch, but what you’ve done to Johan is un-fucking-believable,’ she hissed. The morning’s alcohol consumption came home to roost and her words jumbled together in her hurry to get them out before the sound guys cut off her microphone. ‘I hope you’re ashamed of yourself, you bastard! You deserve to burn in hell!’ she screamed, as tears poured down her cheeks.
She was barely aware of the pandemonium in the studio as the executive producer yelled at the head cameraman to cut the live feed and go to an ad break, stat. She saw what looked like shock and pity on Lucy’s frozen face, before she found herself yanking off her microphone, grabbing her bag and walking straight out of the studio, through reception and into the car park, where a taxi was dropping off a man who Nina belatedly recognised as the head of the TV network. ‘Wait till he hits the shit storm inside,’ she thought grimly as she climbed into the back seat. She started to giggle hysterically through her tears, high on adrenalin as the craziness of what she’d just done filtered through to her brain. ‘Am I insane?’ she wondered. ‘Probably. But at least I went out with a bang.’ She felt strangely exhilarated.
Giving the driver an address, she pulled out her phone and dialled Elizabeth’s office number. Cursing as it rang out and voicemail picked up, she took a deep breath as Elizabeth’s terse tone told her to leave a message.
‘Elizabeth, it’s Nina. I quit. This voicemail is in lieu of me handing in my notice as the editor of Candy. I will put it in writing when I get home. I’m guessing you won’t want me to work out the three-month resignation period that’s in my contract so I’ll ask my assistant to pack up my desk and have my personal belongings sent to me. Tell Michael I’ll be in touch with him later to explain. Good luck with finding a new editor.’
The next call she made was to Jeremy, who picked up on the first ring.
‘Nina, where the hell are you? One of the guys in the office just said something about you having a meltdown on live TV? I was just about to call you to check if you’re okay.’ She could hear the concern in every word and burnt with shame at how badly she’d reacted whenever he’d tried to make her see that she was going off the rails. All he – and Tess, for that matter – had wanted was for her to be happy, and every time they’d tried to help or offer support, she’d not only thrown it back in their faces but had made out that it was their fault for not understanding what she was going through.
‘Jez,’ she bleated, wishing desperately he was in the taxi with her so she could give him a big hug. ‘I’m okay. I’m more than okay. Yes, I just had a spack attack on national TV, but it’s all good. I doubt I’ll get invited back again any time soon, but that’s fine, because I just quit my job.’
As Nina said the words, the reality of what she’d just done began to sink in. She’d dropped the F-bomb in a drunken rant on live TV in defence of her best friend, who’d probably be horrified if he knew. She’d quit her coveted editor’s job, a role that thousands of women would mow down their best friends for, and had most likely destroyed any chance of getting another position in the publishing industry along with it. But funnily enough, she’d never felt better.
‘Did you just say you’d quit your job?’ Jeremy’s voice was stunned.
‘Sure did,’ Nina replied. ‘I just called Evil Elizabeth and left her a voicemail saying I was handing in my resignation. I’ve had enough. And I know you and Tess have, too. I’m so sorry about the way I’ve treated you; I’ve been a total nightmare and I don’t know how I’m going to make it up to you. Johan told me some devastating news this morning, which I’ll tell you about later, that made me realise that all the stress and pressure isn’t worth it,’ she explained. Suddenly it all seemed so crystal clear. ‘It’s not what you do that matters, it’s who you are. And I don’t like who I am when I’m the editor of Candy, putting my job before my friendships and my relationship. I love you and I don’t want my job to come between us.’ She felt tears well in her eyes as she realised just how close she’d come to ruining her relationship. Okay, it wasn’t one hundred per cent perfect, but whose was?
‘Don’t cry, honey, it’s okay,’ Jeremy soothed. ‘I won’t lie, things have been a nightmare recently, but I guess I never gave up hope that we’d pull through. I think you need to take some time out to get back on track and work out what you’ve learnt from this. You’ve been pretty stressed lately, so I’m not surprised it all got too much for you. Sometimes people work so hard to get to where they think they want to be that once they get there it’s hard to admit that it’s not the right place for them after all.’
After hanging up, Nina sighed heavily, realising that, once again, Jeremy was right. She’d been too stubborn, too arrogant, too proud to admit that being the editor of Candy wasn’t right for her. Maybe she’d been promoted too soon, maybe her personality clash with Elizabeth was to blame or maybe she would never be the right person to be an editor, no matter how old she was or who she worked under. She’d never know – all she knew was that she felt sweet relief at finally working out what really mattered, before it was too late.
There was just one thing left to do. Getting out of the taxi that had pulled up in front of a nondescript building in Kings Cross, she ignored the lure of the bars, bottle shops and pubs that lined the street. Throwing the gin bottle into the nearest bin, she walked into the building’s foyer and headed for the reception desk.
‘Hi, can I help you?’
‘Uh, yes . . .’ Nina hesitated. She pictured Johan’s face in her mind, then remembered Jeremy’s faith i
n her and Tess’s strength in admitting she had a problem and getting help, then forced herself to continue. ‘What time does the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting start?’
acknowledgements
A book doesn’t write itself (unfortunately!) – there are a few people I want to thank who were involved along the way, so please bear with me.
Firstly, Claire Kingston, my publisher at Allen & Unwin, who emailed out of the blue to ask if I’d ‘ever thought about writing a book’ – BEST. EMAIL. EVER. With so many writers struggling to get their voice heard among the 50 Shades madness, I know how lucky I am to have this book on the shelves and it’s all thanks to you.
Thanks to my editors at A&U, Christa Munns and particularly Ali Lavau, who ironed out all the kinks and polished my manuscript until it was shinier than the Taylor-Burton diamond.
In the magazine world, there are too many people to name who have given me a stack of inspiration and advice, but special thanks go to Gerry Reynolds and Peter Holder – gentlemen, I owe you a drink – and to all my magazine friendships that have continued well after we’ve moved on from the desks we first bonded over. I also owe Acacia Stichter, my friend, former colleague and art director extraordinaire, a massive favour after she dropped everything to design my book cover at the last minute.
Tina, Mickey, Dan and Benny – I wouldn’t be who I am without you; thanks for putting up with me and being my crazy family.
Bree – thanks for being my best friend, my partner in crime, the other pea in my pod. And for being brutally honest whenever I asked you to read the first draft.