by Ber Carroll
‘If there’s one thing I learnt from my ex-fiancé, it was not to gamble in half-measures.’
Angela stayed for only one glass of wine and left them with a reminder of the presentations the next morning.
‘All of the partners will be present,’ she told them. ‘You’ll need your wits about you – try not to stay up too late.’
The restaurant closed at ten but, despite Angela’s warning, it seemed too early to call it a night.
‘Let’s relocate to the bar,’ suggested Oliver.
‘Only thirty minutes left before it closes,’ David pointed out. ‘Why don’t we have a nightcap in my deluxe suite instead?’
Laughing and making far too much noise, they crunched across the gravelled yard.
Carole was peeved when she saw David’s room. ‘This is double the size of mine.’
Katie couldn’t resist it. ‘It’s not all about size, Carole.’
Carole smiled icily while everybody else cracked up laughing.
Jim crouched down and scanned the contents of the bar fridge. ‘Shiraz . . . chardonnay . . . four bottles of beer . . . something tells me this lot won’t go far.’
‘Just don’t land me with the bill,’ David complained.
Jim caught Katie’s eye and they shared a secret smile.
‘Glass of white, Katie?’
She felt as if he was asking her something else entirely. ‘Yes, please.’
Katie took her glass out to the balcony; she needed a cigarette. Setting her glass down on the railing, she searched her bag for her lighter. She located one amidst all the junk, and the orange flame flickered for the instant it took to light the cigarette.
She leant over the railing. ‘Jim Donnelly,’ she whispered into the anonymous dark.
She was ready to admit that she wasn’t just slightly attracted to him, that her feelings went much deeper. She wished fervently that Isabelle was wrong, that Jim wasn’t taken, and that he wasn’t the type to flirt behind his girlfriend’s back.
She knew Jim would follow her out, and a few minutes later she heard the balcony door slide open. A glass of wine in his hand, he came to stand next to her. Together they looked out at the dark peaceful vineyard.
She took a drag of her cigarette.
‘How many of those do you go through a day?’ he asked.
‘Somewhere between five and ten,’ she shrugged and then added, ‘Before you say it, I know it’s a filthy habit.’
‘I wasn’t going to say that,’ he laughed, ‘but you put it so well.’
A long silence followed. Katie finished the cigarette and reached for her glass of wine, her next prop.
Jim straightened up and she felt the full force of his gaze. His face was shadowed, his eyes enigmatic.
‘So, this ex-fiancé of yours,’ he said slowly. ‘How long has it been since you broke up with him?’
‘Six months.’
She took a nervous swig of the wine.
Ask him. Ask if he has a girlfriend. Make it sound casual.
She practised the words in her head, adding, deleting, just like she would do to some problematic sentence in a contract.
‘So, what’s your girlfriend doing while you’re away this week?’ she asked eventually.
Her question hung between them. She could tell that the answer wasn’t straightforward for him.
Oh, no, there is someone. Why else would he flounder?
The balcony door slid back and they both turned around at the sound.
‘What are you two doing out here alone?’ asked Carole, her voice loud and intruding.
‘Giving myself lung cancer,’ quipped Katie. ‘Come on, Jim, let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here.’
The rest of the group was gathered around the coffee table, ten-dollar bills thrown carelessly in the centre. David, the top of his shirt unbuttoned, was shuffling a deck of cards.
‘Poker, ante up ten dollars,’ he said.
Katie stared at the blue cluster of ten-dollar bills, then at Oliver, the only one who understood. His sympathetic eyes flashed a message. There was nothing I could do to stop it – other than tell the truth.
Jim reached in his pocket, presumably for his wallet.
I could join in with them. It’s not as if they’re committing a sin, Katie tried to reason with herself.
David started to deal, his hands deft: Isabelle, Carole, Jim, Oliver.
In her mind’s eye, Katie could see Geoff, the obsessed look on his face, the tremor of excitement in his hands.
‘Katie, are you in or not?’ David asked impatiently.
I can’t. I know it’s just a game of poker. But I just can’t do it.
‘No,’ she shook her head, her voice strained, ‘I think I’ll call it a night.’
She ignored the questioning look on Jim’s face and let herself out.
Back in her room, she couldn’t stop the memories. For three years she had lived with a compulsive gambler. After what she had gone through, it was no wonder she couldn’t participate in a simple game of poker.
For the first six months, she was blissfully unaware of what was going on. They lived separately and Geoff had plenty of opportunities to go to the TAB or the casino without having to explain himself. Yes, she had noticed small things but she’d never realised that they formed part of a big, big problem. One day, at the racetrack, Geoff went to place a bet but didn’t return. Two hours later, wondering what on earth had happened to him, she went to find him. He was staring intently at a race on one of the TVs, the form guide gripped tightly in his hand.
She pulled him away from the TV. ‘We’ve come here with our friends and you’ve totally ignored them – and me.’
He kissed her nose. ‘Sorry, my sweet. I just got caught up in the adrenalin.’
He didn’t leave her side for the rest of the day, and by the time they went home she had forgotten about the incident.
Another time, at a city pub, she had gone searching for him when he didn’t return from the ATM. It was a large establishment with several levels. She pushed her way through the crowds. He should have stood out, his auburn hair a distinguishing feature. But there was no sign of him anywhere.
The slot machines were the last place she checked. She saw him straightaway as he frantically pressed the buttons, a glazed look on his face.
‘What the hell are you doing, Geoff? I’ve been waiting for you upstairs for the last hour.’
He looked at her blankly. It took a few moments for him to come back from wherever he was in his head.
‘I’m sorry, sweet. I got delayed talking to a guy I know. I just had a minute on the machine, I swear.’
She sensed he was telling a lie. ‘What guy? Who was it you met?’
‘An old schoolfriend. You don’t know him.’
He had been more careful after that, and their relationship got deeper, more serious. He surprised her with an engagement ring and she said yes because he was smart and sexy and fun, and because she loved him. Not long afterwards they bought a house together. And that was the start of the end.
Chapter 10
A thumping noise infiltrated Katie’s sleep. She turned in the bed, hoping it would go away. But it didn’t, it only got louder.
‘Katie! Katie! Are you in there? Are you okay?’
Teetering between consciousness and unconsciousness, Katie recognised the voice: Isabelle.
Why is Isabelle calling me?
The answer was slow to come but it eventually registered.
I’ve slept in.
She staggered out of bed, still half asleep, and opened the door.
‘Sorry – I forgot to set the alarm clock,’ she mumbled sheepishly.
‘You’re going to have to think up something better than that for Brent Lavell,’ was Isabelle’s retort. ‘The presentations have already started.’
‘I’ll be there in ten minutes,’ sighed Katie, running a hand through her tangled hair.
‘No,’ Isabelle shook her head, ‘I’
ll wait for you. If we arrive separately, it will be two disruptions rather than one.’
‘Sorry,’ Katie said again as Isabelle followed her inside.
‘Don’t worry about it – just hurry.’
With no time for a shower, Katie slipped on a pair of chocolate-brown pants. Flat at the waist and flared at the ankles, they complemented her long legs. A tight-fitting white top and her trusty boots finished the outfit. Wetting her hands, she untangled her knotted curls. There was no time for make-up, just a dash of rust-coloured lipstick.
‘Not bad for six minutes,’ declared Isabelle as the door slammed shut behind them.
David was making his presentation when they opened the back door to the room. Discreetly, they made their way down the side aisle to the front row.
‘Okay?’ whispered Jim as Katie sat down on the free seat next to him. He looked concerned.
‘Yes,’ she nodded.
David paused to give her a disapproving glance before he moved to the next slide with a click of the mouse. Katie read the bullet points. It seemed that his proposal related to an expansion of MFJ’s tax division.
‘Over the last few years there has been a steady rise in the demand for taxation advice,’ he declared, ‘mainly due to increased audit activity by the tax office and a growing complexity in the legislation. I’m proposing that we boost our investment in the tax division by hiring ten extra lawyers. We would then have enough manpower to capture and service a significant number of new accounts . . .’
Katie felt a tangible resistance emanate from the partners behind her. Ten extra heads. Ten more salaries. They would need some serious convincing.
The next few slides didn’t add any further substance to his proposal.
Wide open for criticism, he asked, ‘Any questions?’
Neil was the first to air his derision. ‘You have a lot more work to do with this, David. All I see are some wishy-washy statements about a market gap. I can’t see any concrete evidence of who the clients are – or if they are viable.’
David flushed as he defended himself. ‘I didn’t think it appropriate to include names at this forum.’
Katie heard Brent’s cold tones next. ‘You’re not likely to get a better forum. This isn’t some play-act. We want a real pitch, no holds barred.’
David looked gutted. Despite all his forethought, he had still underestimated the detail the partners were looking for.
Angela got to her feet and rescued him. ‘Any further questions?’ She scanned the room. ‘No? Well, thanks, David. It looks like you have some extra homework to do. And thanks to Neil and Brent for your . . . honest feedback. Next we have Jim.’
Jim’s arm brushed against Katie as he got to his feet, and the brief touch felt like a bolt of lightning. He stood up on the podium, casual and confident, as Soccer Australia, the title of his presentation, flashed across the screen. Laughter erupted when the partners saw the background picture: Brent Lavell heading a soccer ball.
‘Brent, I hope you’ll forgive me for superimposing your head on this player’s body, but I took some artistic licence,’ Jim smiled, his audience already in the palm of his hand.
He has the nicest smile. Warm. Sexy, thought Katie.
Jim’s smile singled her out. It was only for a few seconds but she felt that the whole room could see. Some colour had started to creep into her cheeks by the time he turned his head away.
‘My proposal regards a sponsorship deal with Soccer Australia.’
No, Jim! Don’t ask them for money . . .
‘Soccer is the fastest growing sport in Australia,’ said Jim, totally unaware of the turmoil his opening statement had caused Katie. ‘The federation already has some very high profile sponsors, names that MFJ would be proud to be seen alongside, and the exposure would put us in a completely different league to our competitors . . .’
Jim was a natural presenter, with his relaxed stance, easy eye contact and perfectly timed humour. Katie turned around once and saw a few nods of approval from the partners.
Oliver talked about designing joint websites with the Federal government, and Carole suggested a new MFJ branch for India. Isabelle lobbied for a comprehensive training programme to give the firm a competitive edge in mergers and acquisitions. The partners put challenging questions to all the presenters but Katie hardly paid any heed to what was being said. She was frantically revising her own presentation so she could distinguish her request from Jim’s.
By the time Angela called her name, she had a loose plan. She got to her feet and, instead of calling up her presentation, she shut down the projector. She had decided that going solo was her best chance.
‘Apologies for my late arrival this morning. Those who know me well are aware that I have a dependency on alarm clocks. It’s a little problem that I’m seeking help for.’
Her joke earned a laugh. A good start.
‘Now, I’m going to ask some questions and I’d appreciate if you could raise your hand if they apply to you.’
Best to involve them right from the start. Get them to participate before they realise what I’m after. Make it damned hard to back away.
‘Hands up if you broke a bone when you were a kid.’
There was a healthy show of hands.
‘Okay, show your hand if you know some kid who’s got cancer,’ she said next.
Hands crept up more slowly this time.
‘Isn’t it sobering to think of a young child being seriously ill? Not being able to leave his bed for weeks on end. Not being able to walk or run or play or go outside.’
Nobody answered. She didn’t expect them to.
‘It’s even worse when you realise that many of the kids don’t even have a decent TV to help the long days pass by.’
She saw their faces change as they realised that this was another request for money. She barged on before they closed down on her.
‘I’m not asking you to solve the whole problem, just one part. An easy, achievable part. Northmead has twenty-five kids on average in the children’s ward – two thousand dollars will buy a “fun machine”, which is a mobile unit that will enable the children to watch DVDs, play computer games, email their friends and listen to music. That’s fifty thousand dollars for the whole ward – not a big sum by our standards.’
It was Claudine who had unknowingly given Katie the idea about the fun machines. ‘One of the nurses here used to work in Westside Hospital,’ she had said on Katie’s first visit. ‘They have machines there – the kids can get on the internet and watch movies. The nurse said they’re like a lifeline for the children. Pity they don’t have any in this hospital.’
Katie had phoned Westside to check the cost and the manufacturer of the machines. Now she had her facts and figures and, from the sour look on Brent’s face, it was time to fight her corner.
‘Have the guidelines not been made clear?’ he snapped. ‘We asked for ideas that would be of long-term benefit to the firm. Don’t get me wrong, charities are good, but this isn’t the time or place.’
‘The guidelines were made very clear,’ replied Katie, holding Brent’s mean little eyes in her stare. ‘I believe that making social conscience part of our culture will be of benefit to our firm. We would relearn empathy, broaden our horizons and ultimately provide a significantly better service to our clients.’
She finished to a silence. She continued to stare defiantly at Brent.
‘Interesting that you haven’t bothered with slides.’ She recognised Neil’s sarcastic tones and turned her head his way. ‘I thought that a PowerPoint presentation was part of the guidelines.’
She had slides, twelve of them. Pictures of Ethan with his legs hanging from traction. Pictures of bald children, tired parents and smiling nurses.
‘Jim was a hard act to follow,’ she said, ‘and I decided to try something different.’
One of the partners, who she had seen nodding through Jim’s presentation, spoke next. ‘I see far too many similarities between
your proposal and Jim’s.’ His tone made it very evident that Jim’s was far more appealing.
‘Let me help you with the distinction,’ said Katie with a tight-lipped smile. ‘Firstly, I am not suggesting a contribution by the firm. I’m advocating individual contributions, deductions from the monthly salary run. Social conscience is an individual thing and individuals must make the gesture. I intend to distribute salary deduction forms to all partners and senior associates. Donations would be at their discretion, but the form will provide a guideline of what is needed by an individual to make the target. Secondly, with all respect to Jim, nobody in Soccer Australia is confined to bed for weeks on end, nobody is terminally ill. Jim wants to get involved because he likes the game, not because of some higher, more worthy reason. It’s not the same at all.’
There were no more questions, and Katie returned to her seat. She risked a glance at Jim as she sat down next to him. He spurned her gaze. She had a sinking feeling that he didn’t understand.
A buffet lunch followed the presentations. Katie was scooping some salad onto her plate when Neil sought her out.
‘Given the time you’ve supposedly put into your presentation, I was expecting it to be spectacular.’
She bristled at his tone. ‘I think it will be very spectacular if I manage to raise fifty thousand dollars from the personal pockets of our professional staff for children in need.’
She moved on to the cold meat. Neil followed, his plate empty, food apparently not on his agenda.
‘And you can hardly justify that it is for the long-term benefit of the company,’ was his next caustic remark.
She put her plate down – it clattered as it hit the granite ledge. ‘Do you really believe that insular thinking will benefit the firm in the long run? Money is the only value we teach our staff to understand, yet we have clients with a full range of values. We must find a way to relate to them, Neil. Money alone won’t do it.’
Her passionate outburst had no effect on him at all. His eyes were cold as they stared back at her. ‘Don’t ever turn your phone off again, Katie.’
So that’s why you’re pissed off: because you couldn’t get hold of me for a few days. Well, you can get stuffed!