Blaze (12 page)

Ali raised her glass of fine Hunter Valley verdelho. ‘You chose well. It's not New York, but it's pretty sensational.'

Nina agreed, but added, ‘Ali, may I suggest you stop comparing. There are positive and negative sides to both cities. You've chosen Sydney, so enjoy it. You have a big job ahead of you, and I know you will rise to it. I've brought along briefing notes on the staff, the contacts I have made, the business plan. Manny and I have begun the advertising structure and completed the set-up of the editorial environment. We're primed for you to put the first edition into shape and we're ready to work with you. Now let me fill you in on how I see your role while I'm away.'

‘Shoot.' Ali produced a small leather notebook and pen.

‘First up, what is happening with Larissa?'

‘Still unsure. She wants to come, but the boyfriend is a problem. I've asked her to decide quickly,' answered Ali.

‘I hope it's yes. You'll need a deputy you can talk shorthand with. And Larissa is such a lovely person, as well as being excellent at what she does.' When Ali didn't come back with even a platitude, Nina moved on. ‘We're going to have to do a bit of shuffling of the staff in order to accommodate new people. We need more young guns to cater to the eighteen to thirty-year-olds. We've targeted advertisers for that age group and they are expecting to be briefed by you tomorrow on
Blaze Australia
's profile. They know we're about current affairs, high fashion, lifestyle, fascinating hip places, provocative articles – as in thought provoking, not shock tactics. So how you approach the potential advertisers will be important. I've left you a brief on the deal we are offering the Australian-based multinationals like Qantas, and one of the newly merged Australasian/US IT companies to name two. It's an international deal promising them space in the US and European editions for the first twelve months. That's an offer no other magazine in this country can match.' Nina tapped the folder beside her plate. ‘There are other equally attractive deals for foreign-based big boys.'

‘I've also had a few thoughts,' said Ali, quickly establishing her ground. She was not going to merely follow a list set down by Nina.

‘Excellent. Let's hear them.'

‘I want cross-promotion with the top-rating TV network and their website, and to establish product placement for us and our advertisers in the major international films being produced here now. I want to set up a radical, interactive website for the magazine that will offer subscription sales, access to previous articles, reader feedback and input and so on.'

Nina nodded thoughtfully. ‘The Internet is a massive promotional tool. Making money from it is another question, but as a means of reaching and selling to an audience, let's go ahead. Combining with a TV network is harder. Those marriages between magazines and TV stations have already happened here with the major players owning both.'

‘Pay TV is making big inroads, I understand,' said Ali, who had done her homework. ‘Why don't we look at having our own show and make it interactive. Talkback radio is still big.'

Nina chuckled. ‘Talkback TV. Not a bad idea. But first let's establish the magazine and put issue one to bed. I've kept everything under wraps. I thought it would be a way of introducing you to the media by letting you handle the launch of the magazine. I'm talked out anyway. I'm really looking forward to tooling around Europe with no set itinerary.'

‘I'd like to splash on the launch. What's the budget?' asked Ali, reaching for Nina's folder of notes.

‘I haven't been so specific, Ali. You have a budget and you are scheduled to meet with Manny to discuss the administration of that in two days time. As in New York, he will oversee it, but it's up to you how you meet it, what you do with it. Naturally the board has to agree to any major decisions, but I believe an editor should have the freedom to edit the magazine without hand-holding, but by following the guidelines and recommendations I've spelled out in the big picture.' Before Ali could speak, Nina shifted in her seat. ‘However, there is one staff decision I've taken which I hope you will agree with, and that concerns Lorraine Bannister's daughter.'

At the mention of the late Lorraine, a shadow passed over Ali's face. Ali pushed aside the thoughts trying to reemerge in her mind. She wasn't going to carry any guilt for Lorraine's death. It was Lorraine's instability that had caused her to end her life. ‘Lorraine's daughter? Isn't she at college?'

‘She's just graduated. With a journalism degree.'

Ali's heart sank. She saw what was coming. A sassy, know-it-all graduate with a piece of paper that said she knew everything about the newspaper and magazine business. Like hell. Ali had come through the ranks the hard way. She was a rare species. An ambitious, clever, articulate young woman who'd made it without a college degree. By sheer luck. Not that she admitted this publicly.

At sixteen, Ali had been desperate for any kind of work to give her the independence she craved. Unskilled, she had registered with a domestic agency that had sent her to Nina's apartment as a house cleaner, dog walker, and plant waterer while Nina was touring the overseas
Blaze
offices. As soon as Ali had realised she was working for the famous Nina Jansous, she'd been quick to detail her desire to work in magazines and make something of herself. Discovering the girl also had an Australian background, though Ali was shy about going into details, Nina had decided to help the bright youngster and she'd taken her on at
Blaze
.

Even Nina had been surprised at the speed with which Ali had taken off. A sixteen-year-old running messages for the staff, Ali would also submit small but well-polished articles. But it was mostly as office troubleshooter that Ali had made herself indispensable. She had leapt upwards at a rapid rate. Just as Nina had done.

Ali managed a tight smile. ‘Not like you and I learned the business, Nina – hands on, from the bottom up, eh? Graduates from the hard school.'

‘Right. They didn't have journalism degrees in Sydney in my day. I know you would have liked to go to university also. Ali, I've never pried into your family background . . . Maybe one day you'd like to share it with me.'

But Ali had no intention of prising open the tightly locked box that held her past. ‘I knew what I wanted,' she said quietly. ‘Are you saying you've offered Lorraine's daughter a job?' continued Ali, adding to herself, ‘whether she can write or not.'

‘Miche also happens to be my goddaughter, so I suppose I can be accused of nepotism,' smiled Nina, adding without rancour but reminding Ali, ‘I gave you your start when you were still a teenager.' Then she continued, ‘Miche is finding it hard to handle her mother's death, and . . . before Lorraine died, Miche had already made the decision to come out to Australia.'

‘Yes, Lorraine told me. She wasn't thrilled about it. Something about Miche looking for her long-lost father. I didn't know Lorraine had been married to an Aussie,' said Ali, suddenly slipping back into the vernacular she knew she'd have to adopt for her new role.

‘She was very bitter. He seems to have been a larrikin charmer who talked big but couldn't match the silver tongues of the slick city. I know very little. Lorraine had put him out of her life once they split. Miche is, was, her life.' Nina brought the conversation back to the present. ‘Miche is willing to start at the bottom. I can objectively say I think she has talent as a writer – I've been reading her college pieces for years – and I think it best she be away from New York and its memories,' added Nina quietly.

‘You mean you're giving her a job, here? With me?' God, not only an uppity graduate who knew zilch about the real world of journalism, but a girl who would be a constant reminder of a very unpleasant situation.

‘That's right. I think it will be excellent for her. You can teach her a lot, Ali. I'm sure you remember the days when you had a lot to learn,' added Nina pointedly.

Nina was well aware of Ali's machinations behind the scenes to undermine Lorraine as editor of
Blaze
in New York. It had been a board decision to bring in a new and younger woman to be editor and Nina could not disagree with the board's decision. Nina only wished she had been more aware of Lorraine's personal instability. Then she would have fought harder to find a balance between Lorraine and Ali's roles at
Blaze.

‘Miche has grown up with the magazine business. She understands the situation,' said Nina diplomatically, remembering Miche after her mother's funeral breaking into a tearful tirade over the unfairness and bitchiness Lorraine had railed about at home. ‘What is important for Miche now is that she moves on with her life. Like you, she knows what she wants. There's only one way to find out if she can achieve it.'

‘Coming to Australia to start out seems a big step for someone straight out of college,' said Ali, thinking Nina could have arranged a job on any magazine in the US for the girl.

‘She's determined to continue in her mother's footsteps. There's also the issue of finding her Australian father. It's understandable she wants at least to meet him after all these years.' Nina paused. ‘She is my goddaughter, Ali, so I want to help. She holds dual citizenship, so it's no problem for her to work here. I did suggest she might like to write a piece or two about her impressions of Australia for
Blaze USA.
But where you use her, I leave up to you.'

Ali saw it was a fait accompli. Whatever Nina said about editor's independence, Ali knew the older woman still held the power. Such decisions would never be hers alone. Ali longed for the day she could rise above Nina Jansous, not here, but in New York. She'd be the person to lay down the rules, and no one would argue.

In Greenwich Village it was evening. A time of movement and light – flashing neon, warmly lit interiors, a river of car headlights, doors opening, people hurrying, grabs of music, laughter, calls and car horns. Everyone on the sidewalks moved with purpose.

In the rear of the speed-then-slow cab, Larissa yawned. Her day was done – at last. She glanced at her watch in the reflection of the street lights and the glow from busy shops and restaurants. Ten-thirty. She was tired. This was madness. Since Nina and Ali had left, her workload had trebled.

She paid the cabbie and hurried into her building, glancing to each side, checking she wasn't being followed – a habit acquired since moving to New York from California fifteen years ago.

The building was a warehouse makeover that had become a desirable address after years as a riverside slum. Sections of the block were still a little scummy, but this building had been renovated in recent years and attracted a yuppie vanguard, though the boom expected by the developer had not occurred. The few tenants loved their spacious floors and wide windows that glimpsed the Hudson and shared a sense of community, born of attraction for the riverfront neighbourhood.

The world's slowest elevator creaked to the fourth floor, one floor short of the sprawling penthouse rented by a photographer who always seemed to be away in Europe doing architectural photography. Only occasionally did the sculptor below them make his presence known with the tapping of hammer and chisel.

Larissa stepped out of the elevator into white space that normally smelled of turpentine and oil paint from Gerard's work, but tonight these were buried under the rich wine and garlic flavours of boeuf bourguignon.

‘Gerry . . . it's me,' she called, dropping her bag and kicking off her shoes as she threw her coat on the sofa. Gerard appeared from the kitchen through an ornate wrought-iron archway. He had a teacloth over one shoulder and carried two glasses of red wine.

‘Say nothing. Sit. Drink. Take a deep breath. And then regale me with the drama of the day.' Gerard's theory was that if she unwound slightly, the recounting of the machinations at
Blaze
might be edited slightly and they could move on with their evening, or what was left of it.

‘Gerry, it's a nightmare. Why am I always expected to have all the answers? Da Costa is leaning heavily on me until her deputy starts. I know coming into an organisation, even at the top, you need a period of adjustment. But
hell
. . .' She sipped the wine and eased into her favourite chair. ‘Even Ali in Sydney is on at me about what I'm doing, wanting to know every detail of what's going on back here and, of course, what I'm going to do. I have to give her a decision by the end of the week.'

‘The cut and thrust of Ali's rapier, all the way from Australia,' drawled Gerard, sitting opposite her.

‘For a few days there I almost forgot what a rapacious bitch she can be. She was always champing at the bit with ambition, ideas, conniving schemes – you name it. It's just so damned shocking the way everything has fallen into place for her. It's like she waved a wand and made it happen, and I include poor Lorraine in that.'

Gerry tilted his head with a quizzical look on his face. ‘That's a bit harsh, isn't it, darling? Things fall into place for you from time to time.'

‘We're not in her league. The rest of us slog away doing the female foxtrot – one step forward, two steps backward – but Ali has the magical capacity to achieve her needs and dreams.'

‘That could be construed as envy, my dear, when, in fact, Nina has made you an offer and Ali obviously wants you there as an ally.'

‘Yeah, the devil you know. What she doesn't understand is how hard a decision this is for me.'

Gerry heaved his shoulders and looked into the glass of wine as if seeking answers, but instead came up with a question. ‘What
do
you want, Riss?'

An answer didn't automatically spring to Larissa's lips. Christ, what did she want? She used to be so sure. It was always the job. The drive to charge through the ranks, to be a success, to make her mark, to work for the best. And then along came Gerard and she'd fallen in love. ‘Since Lorraine's death and Nina dropping her bombshell, Ali going . . . nothing seems sure and stable and reliable and predictable any more. My life has been turned upside down. Where the hell are we going?'