Campaign Ruby

by Jessica Rudd

Luke surfaced from the office, his sleeves pushed up and tie askew. ‘Di, do you mind joining us?’

  She rolled up her fish and chip paper and followed him in, whisky in hand.

  I went to the back of the plane to introduce myself to the others. I found a vacant seat next to an older man with lenses as thick as Di’s whisky glass. ‘Hi, I’m Ruby.’ He didn’t look up from his papers, so I extended my hand to grab his attention. ‘I’m Ruby.’

  He held out his index finger as if to silence me. ‘Theo,’ he said, and then went back to his book.

  Rejected, I returned to my original seat and merlot. Minutes later, I was joined by a middle-aged man in distressed jeans and a white V-neck T-shirt sprouting tufts of chest hair.

  ‘Don’t pay any attention to him,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Theo.’ He sat down in Di’s seat. ‘He was told about half an hour ago that we need an SME policy by first thing tomorrow morning. The Shadow Minister and his staff are on their way back from Israel and have no idea the election has even been called, let alone that there’s going to be a major policy announcement in their portfolio tomorrow.’

  ‘So why Theo?’

  ‘He’s the policy guru. I’m Archie, by the way.’

  ‘Ruby.’

  ‘You’re the banker, right?’

  ‘I was. What about you?’

  ‘I’ve just finished up as press secretary to the Queensland Premier. Now I’m here to help Di shepherd her flock.’

  The pilot announced we would soon be landing. Coffee tables were lowered, seats moved upright and merlot confiscated. No great loss.

  ‘Archie, you don’t happen to know if there’s going to be accommodation provided for us tonight, do you?’

  He laughed. ‘Beryl sorts those logistics. You’ll be right.’

  As soon as we landed, people reached frantically for their phones and switched them on, triggering a trill of ring tones.

  Archie took a call. ‘Gary, how’re you travelling? You’re what? Are we off the record, Gary? Good, then I’ll speak plainly. You can’t seriously be running with a story about the word “bull” when one of the country’s longest serving prime ministers has been unceremoniously replaced by his once-loyal minister and we’ve been plunged into an early election to “reassure” her that she made the right decision?’

  Archie winked at me and scribbled the name ‘Spinnaker’ on a piece of paper. He held it up to show Di, who was on a call with another journalist about the same issue. She rolled her eyes and made a wanking gesture.

  ‘See you, mate. Hope you’ll be joining us on the trail— we should grab a beer.’ Archie pretended to stick his fingers down his throat.

  Di finished her call just after Archie. ‘Spinnaker’s such a—’

  ‘Princess,’ Archie cut in.

  They appeared to be getting on famously, but I suspected that Di wasn’t overly comfortable with sharing her ‘flock’.

  She clasped her hands around her mouth to form a megaphone. ‘Listen up, kids. We’ve got snappers downstairs looking for a few action shots of the LOO using the BBJ for the first time—a bit of colour for tomorrow’s papers. The coppers and Max will walk downstairs first. Luke and I will go next. Give us about three minutes before you follow. Don’t look forlorn, please. Don’t smile, but don’t look depressed—we need to look in control and businesslike.’

  She turned to the party director. ‘Do you mind staying put for a bit? I don’t think your being here sends the right message.’

  ‘Of course.’ Mirabelle stepped back into the office.

  ‘Showtime,’ said Max, disembarking to a flurry of flashes. Luke and Di waited a minute before leaving.

  Then, to our astonishment, Archie went to the door. I coughed to grab his attention. Shoosh, Ruby, ordered my head. He turned and caught my gaze.

  ‘Aren’t we waiting here for a few minutes?’ I asked casually.

  ‘No need, Roo.’ He winked. ‘They’ve already got what they came for.’ He proceeded down the stairs. Flash, flash.

  Those of us remaining exchanged disapproving glances. ‘Di is not going to be happy with that,’ said Theo.

  A few minutes later, we piled into a coach waiting on the tarmac. Di and Archie were sitting in diagonally opposite seats, on separate calls. The ensuing break from conversation, however awkward, provided an opportunity to call Fran.

  ‘Hewwo, this is Cwementine speaking.’

  ‘Clem, it’s Aunty Ruby. How are you?’

  ‘Tewwible, Aunty Wooby. Da dentith said thumb childwen take a wong time to wooz teef, so I fought I might make it go a wittle bit more quickwy.’

  Fran picked up the extension. ‘Hang up, please, Clementine.’

  Clunk.

  ‘She saw a cartoon about connecting your tooth to a door and slamming it to make it fall out.’

  ‘You mean that really works?’

  ‘No,’ Fran said. ‘But she fell flat on her face in the process and almost bit through her tongue.’

  I tried not to laugh.

  ‘I have a self-harming four-year-old, Ruby. If this is how she is over the Tooth Fairy, can you imagine the lengths she’ll go to when she hears what people pay for organs in the Far East?’

  Now I had to laugh. ‘At least she’s entrepreneurial.’

  ‘I suppose,’ she sighed. ‘How’s the Yarra Valley?’

  ‘I’m in Sydney.’ While we’d been talking, the bus had left the airport. I peered out the window at the brightly lit billboards.

  ‘Sydney! Good grief, you haven’t married some hideous surfer dude, have you, Ruby?’

  ‘I have not and will not marry a surfer dude,’ I said sternly. Several of my new colleagues turned to stare at me. I smiled awkwardly and lowered my voice to a whisper. ‘A snap election has been called by the new Australian Prime Minister. She got rid of her predecessor this morning.

  ‘I met the Leader of the Opposition’s Chief of Staff at that party I went to on the weekend. Luke offered me a job on the campaign. I accepted. Sort of.’ Saying it excited me. ‘I’ve just flown on a government jet from Melbourne to Sydney, where I’m hoping someone has looked into organising a visa for me so I can do this lawfully. Now, you may speak.’

  ‘Ruby! How long is the campaign?’

  ‘The election is on the third of April.’

  ‘Clementine really misses you, Ruby,’ she said, in a neat transfer of emotion.

  ‘I really want to do this, Fran.’

  ‘Well,’ she said, then paused to prevent herself from telling me to come home at once, ‘Clementine will understand— she’ll be happy for you, darling.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said sincerely. ‘Must go.’

  We had arrived at a hotel outside which Beryl stood with a clipboard. As we got off the bus, she handed us each a room key and our luggage.

  At my turn, she said, ‘Roo, I have a laptop and log-in details for you, a phone and number, and an employment contract from the party. And someone there is sorting your visa. I’ve sent an email about this to your new address. Next!’

  I ran for the lift and hit the button for the twelfth floor. As the doors closed a manicured hand reached in and stopped them. It was Di. She was still livid. The elevator began to move.

  ‘Archie shouldn’t have done that,’ I said.

  ‘Too fuckin’ right.’ The doors opened to the twelfth floor and she breathed slowly out. ‘Brekky tomorrow?’

  ‘Love to. What time?’

  ‘Half four, at the office.’

  I remembered the sobering schedule. ‘Sure,’ I said, regretting it already.

  I entered my room and opened the curtains at the end of my third day in Australia. There was Sydney in all its twilit glory. The bridge arched gracefully over a busy, sprawling harbour. The herringbone-patterned tiles of the famous white-sailed opera house reminded me of the collars on my father’s business shirts. Lights still on in nearby office buildings revealed lonely professionals dining at their desks. Sated coupl
es left restaurants hand in hand.

  I was too tired to be hungry. A hot shower and La Prairie face mask later, I wrapped myself in a towelling robe and curled up on the expansive bed. I set my alarm and a wake-up call for 4 a.m., slipped under the brushed-cotton covers and into a deep, unshakable slumber.

  Oscar nomination

  My alarm howled. I ripped the duvet from my body and switched on the radio. Unleashing my spare bra and pants, I got back into yesterday’s clothes, varying the outfit by adding the Stella belt and tucking the shirt.

  I found the office: room 1209—three adjoining suites were littered with photocopiers, printers, computers, fax machines and phones.

  Di was sitting on a couch in sweat pants and a T-shirt, reading through a pile of newspapers and eating toast. Archie was listening to two radio stations between phone calls.

  ‘G’day.’ Di looked up. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ I helped myself and took a spare copy of the Herald.

  ‘In a nutshell,’ she told me, ‘all the papers are as pissed off with Brennan as they are excited by her manoeuvre. This has never happened before. The media have been caught off guard as much as we have, so the coverage is all over the place.’

  The Herald, a Victorian paper, was headlined melbourne vs melbourne , and focused on both candidates being locals. The front page was split down the middle with a photograph of Brennan at her press conference and the LOO at his. Inside was an eight-page special on the campaign, with stories about Patton’s legacy, the historic nature of Brennan’s move and readers’ comments on Max’s use of the word ‘bull’. On page six was a photograph of the LOO disembarking the BBJ, with Luke, Di and Archie on the steps behind him. The caption read:

  Maiden Voyage: Opposition Leader Max Masters arrives on the BBJ in Sydney last night, followed by core campaign team—Luke Harley (Chief of Staff), Dianna Freya (Advisor) and Archibald Andersen (Media Consultant).

  Di caught me looking at it. ‘Prick,’ she whispered. She handed me page one of a Brisbane paper, which had printed a zoomed grab of the photo, picturing only Di and Archie.

  Premier ’s spin doctor joins Masters The Premier has been abandoned by his Chief Media Advisor, Archibald Andersen (pictured), who quit his George Street job to help Max Masters win top office. Andersen might be just what the doctor ordered for Masters, who, until now, has relied on new kid on the block Dianna Freya.

  I leaned back in my chair to see Archie, oblivious to Di’s fury, singing along to a toilet paper jingle on the radio.

  The door opened and Luke walked in. Today’s tie was a smattering of four-leaf clovers. He caught me staring and looked down as if to check he hadn’t spilled anything on it. Not unless he had luck for breakfast, my head laughed.

  ‘Where are we at?’ he asked.

  Di opened her mouth, but Archie was already talking. ‘Here’s the line-up so far for today’s TVs,’ he said. Di clenched her fists. ‘Our guy’s on Brekky and Mornings. Brennan’s announcing her deputy and other cabinet changes today. She did a pretty full interview for Nightcap last night. We’ll get some but not much coverage for our SMEs announcement.’

  ‘I’m reasonably happy with that,’ said Luke ‘At least it’ll take some of the heat out of the “bull” story.’

  ‘We don’t really have an SME policy unless Theo’s come up with something genius overnight.’ Di pulled a skirt on over the top of her sweat pants. ‘We’ll get some credit for coming out with something on Day One, but it won’t be overly scrutinised.’

  ‘How are we with the travelling media list?’

  ‘Good.’ Di yanked off the sweat pants. ‘We’ve got a really hot line-up. Pretty Boy is joining us for at least the first fortnight, maybe the whole campaign.’ Luke and Archie groaned. ‘On the downside, we’ve got Gary Spinnaker.’

  ‘Who’s Pretty Boy?’ I asked.

  ‘Oscar Franklin,’ she said.

  The moniker suited him. Two weeks of eye candy could be sweet.

  I thought you were looking forward to two weeks of wine, said my head. You’ve quite the fickle palate.

  Luke scrolled through his BlackBerry. ‘The LOO’s on his way down. Are we ready to prep him?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Archie and Di simultaneously.

  ‘Ruby.’ Luke turned to me. ‘We need you on the road with us today.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, harbouring anxiety that I would be wearing the same outfit again tomorrow. My head mocked me for my vanity.

  The LOO walked in with a bowl of cereal. ‘Right, what’s happening, kids?’

  ‘We’ve done pretty well this morning,’ said Di. ‘The focus is on the brutality of Patton’s removal, his legacy, and Brennan as the first female PM. It’s a saturated news day, but we’ve punched through by praising Patton and being critical of Brennan. There’s a lot of speculation but not much substance as to how Brennan managed to get rid of Patton so quietly.’ Di paused. ‘The problem for us today is the “bull” story.’

  Max looked up from his Weetabix and rolled his eyes.

  ‘Don’t freak out,’ said Di. ‘I reckon it’s worked in our favour. We’d be fighting for airspace if there was nothing controversial about what you said yesterday. Instead, we’ve kicked off a national debate about swearing.’

  Luke took the floor. ‘Everyone wants to talk to you today because they think you have a foul mouth. We’re due to get some party polling stats tonight so we’ll see how it’s playing out. My gut tells me it’s positive.’

  ‘My dad disagrees with your gut,’ said Max. ‘He called to tell me Phyllis at bowls reckons I should watch my mouth.’

  We all laughed. He was in good spirits. Di and Archie briefed him on the interviews as I ran to my room to pack. Within ten minutes, we were on our way to the television studios.

  From the green rooms, I should have been paying attention to the interviews, but I was distracted by all the beautiful people. I sat on a couch outnumbered by uber-chic fashionistas, rockers and soap stars, their shiny-toothed agents all arguing with producers. In comparison, the radio studios were dully lit hovels full of caffeine addicts in dirty denim and grungy T-shirts.

  By eight o’clock I felt ready for lunch, but it was time for a breakfast meeting at party HQ. I had expected the party to be housed in a large, gleaming office building, but we pulled up at a blond-brick block with flickering fluorescent bulbs.

  Mirabelle greeted Max and showed us to a meeting room with a laminated oval table and electric whiteboard. The air-conditioner hummed. ‘Help yourselves to pastries, people,’ she said.

  Two croissants later, Mirabelle was running through an outline of the campaign strategy when Di tapped me on the shoulder and beckoned me into the hallway.

  ‘Roo, I need your help. We’re doing a school visit in the western suburbs in an hour, and Maddy, who is the advancer, just told me their cricket team is called the Burwood Bulls.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘No, not great—the Burwood Bulls.’

  ‘Bollocks.’ I followed her out the door into a waiting car.

  ‘Yeah, mate, more like bullocks.’ The car pulled away. ‘We can’t cancel it because Archie sent a fucking media alert out, so they’re all on their way up there.’

  ‘Can’t we plan it so Max isn’t around any reference to the word?’

  ‘They’ve got a massive sign out front saying WELCOME MAX MASTERS—GO THE BULLS.’

  ‘Can Max play cricket?’ I asked. ‘Maybe he could join the cricket team on the oval with a bat and ball?’

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Do it.’

  ‘What do you mean by “do it”?’

  ‘Make it happen.’ She took a call.

  ‘But…’

  She pointed to my phone. I picked up my new BlackBerry and scrolled through the calendar. There was a number for Maddy. I called it.

  ‘Hello,’ said a broad Australian accent.

  ‘Maddy, it’s Roo,’ I said, puzzled by my own introduction. ‘I work on the campaign and Di�
�s asked me to give you a call about this Bulls issue.’

  ‘Thank God,’ said Maddy. ‘The crews are already getting shots of the sign—we can’t ignore it.’

  ‘We don’t want to ignore it,’ I said. ‘We’ve decided to embrace it. Is anyone from the cricket team around?’

  ‘Yeah, they were told to cancel practice today because the LOO’s coming.’

  ‘Tell them that practice is back on and ask if they would mind if Max joins in. What’s the atmosphere like at the school?’

  ‘Everyone’s really excited.’

  ‘Great. We’re nearly there.’

  As we pulled up at the school, Di called Luke to explain the situation. Almost instantly, my BlackBerry buzzed. It was Luke.

  Good job, L

  Di nudged me. ‘That’s Maddy.’

  We got out of the car.

  A tiny, toned woman about my age came bouncing towards us through the car park. Her cropped, sunbleached hair stood out like a halo.

  ‘G’day,’ Maddy said. ‘You must be Roo. Hi, Di. Let me show you both around.’ We began walking.

  Maddy could easily have been a school student, bar the well-worn riding boots and BlackBerry. Her tanned face was clean and fresh, not a jot of make-up.

  ‘He’s going to serve morning tea here at the tuck shop and then hit the oval for cricket practice.’ She pointed to the sprawling green field.

  ‘That was quick—I only called five minutes ago.’

  She grinned. ‘That’s my job—I do everything the LOO does before he even knows he’s doing it.’

  Di went over to welcome the media assembled at the school gate waiting for the LOO. Max pulled up shortly after, looking relaxed, and greeted everyone before following Maddy through to the school hall. She was like a tour guide with an umbrella at the Spanish Steps.

  We then followed the principal to the tuck shop, where Max rolled up his sleeves and joined the ladies serving morning tea.

  ‘The Anzac bickies look great,’ he said to one of the students. She broke her biscuit in half and shared it with him. Cameras clicked.

  We wandered past classrooms to the oval, where the Burwood Bulls were practising.

  ‘Here we go,’ whispered Di. One of the kids threw Max the ball, which he caught effortlessly.