Blaze (18 page)

‘I'm sorry I can't speak publicly about any of this. Naturally I support the idea, but if I can help in any other way . . .'

‘Well, yes, you can. I have two very special projects I'd really like to talk to you about and hopefully enlist your support. One is a special ovarian cancer program, the other a foundation for young people . . .'

‘I don't see how this concerns me. I'd be happy to make a donation, but . . .'

‘The cancer program is as yet unnamed, I thought perhaps, as a tribute to your wife . . .'

There was a moment's silence. ‘If it's connected to
Blaze
, I assume it will be appropriate. Could you send me the details, please?'

Ali gave a soft chuckle. ‘I'm afraid I'm the detail at the moment. My magazine's interest in this is still in the early stages, and I would prefer that nothing is bandied about on paper. With Bulmar's experience, you can appreciate my sensitivity on this.'

Her remark hit home. Several months before, O'Donnell's corporation had been the target of a sophisticated piece of corporate bugging in which details of a construction bid had been revealed and they'd lost the contract to an Asian firm that had seriously bid below Bulmar's bottom line. ‘Yes,' he said. ‘I see you keep tabs on the construction industry as well as your publishing empire.' Before returning the call he'd had his secretary check why Ali was calling and not Nina Jansous.

‘I find the corporate world utterly sexy. Fascinating in fact. I follow the high and lows, takeovers and mergers like my girlfriends follow the major league baseball.'

His voice thawed for the first time. ‘I've never considered the business world sexy, but I'm flattered to think I'm part of such an intriguing world you describe.'

‘I'd be extremely flattered if you'd give me ten minutes. I wouldn't waste your time or mine on anything trivial,' said Ali with a hint of flirtatiousness.

‘You're a very persuasive lady. I look forward to hearing what you have to say. Karen will set it up with your PA. Goodbye for now.'

Ali waved the receiver in the air with a triumphant salute before calling Belinda.

‘Make an appointment with O'Donnell in a week's time. I'm leaving the building for a meeting. Call me on the mobile if you need me.' Ali had taken to using the local expression rather than the American term cell phone. She didn't elaborate further to Belinda. To Ali's mind her whereabouts were of no concern to her secretary. She wasn't going to set a precedent of being answerable every time she left the building. This was despite expecting everyone else in the company to be at their desks or leave precise details of their movements.

Belinda watched Ali leave, waited ten minutes and then rang the garage security attendant. ‘Has she gone?'

‘Yup. The car's halfway down the block.'

‘Thanks, Steve.'

Belinda had set up the Ali coastwatch. Several times Ali had left the office and then caught the elevator back upstairs to surprise anyone standing around chatting or otherwise slacking off. She unnerved staff by descending unannounced into cubicles and offices, demanding to see what they were working on. Once, on finding a small group sharing a birthday cake for one of the art department boys, she had issued an edict that personal celebrations should be observed out of office hours. Two people poring over personal photographs would jump apart feeling guilty if Ali came into view.

More and more, staff members kept to themselves, busying themselves with their individual tasks until meetings and collaborative decisions had to be made.

Ali liked it that way.
Blaze
was a business and she ran it according to her rules. If someone needed to see her they could make an appointment. Occasionally she would step out of her office and ask a particular staff member if he or she had any problems. This was her compromise to executive–staff relations. She found she quite liked to prowl the halls checking all was humming along, without a lot of time-wasting and noisy chatter. Aware of Ali's expectations, the staff sat before silent computer screens and emailed each other rather than stroll around the corner with a cup of coffee in hand to chat over an idea or problem.

Nina's innovative ideas to make the work environment a comfortable, relaxing and productive place now seemed as far away as Nina herself. The floor below the
Blaze
offices was a private club, available to the
Blaze
staff as well as other tenants in the building. It had a gym and pool, a relaxation centre with a meditation room. On call were a masseuse, reflexologist, chiropractic healer and reiki practitioner. Meals were served bistro style in an open room filled with bright, funky furniture. In one corner were lounges with a large-screen TV, magazines and newspapers. Off this were rooms with beds and showers for those who worked extra long hours or into the night.

The staff also had access to a children's creche nearby and there were plans to establish more facilities. Nina had called in a specialist in workplace environments to make
Blaze
a friendly, non-toxic, efficient, fun place to be. It encouraged people to be productive, to enjoy their work and not to feel they were choosing between a life and a career.

Under Ali, people who had taken advantage of these facilities in office hours were soon unearthed. Ali had made it clear they either changed their attitude to fit this leisure space into their own time, or they could go their own way.

Ali was rarely seen in any of the communal areas. She ate in her office or attended business lunches. No one was aware of her ever meeting friends. Indeed, she had dropped a comment, at Belinda's constant attempts to intrude into her privacy, that she wouldn't be allowing time for friendships during her twelve-month stay.

Ali slipped into her chair at the Yellow Brick Road and Dane took over, shooing Tottie away. ‘I'll do Miss Ali. Head massage darling?'

Ali leaned back and felt the warm water slide through her hair. Dane's fingers worked from her temples across her head. Ali closed her eyes and slowly the tension eased in her neck and shoulder muscles.

There was no one near them and Dane leaned close to her as he worked, the running water muffling his voice from the rest of the salon. ‘Been big changes at
Chic
magazine. Their style editor has been poached by
Glory
mag. She whipped in here in a brand-new baby Merc convert . . . a little inducement to leave, I believe.'

‘Umm. Is she any good?' asked Ali drowsily.

‘In bed or at work, dearie? Though it's now the one and same I hear. She's in bed with the owner of Boysies
,
that new homewares that's growing bigger than Conran ever imagined. Heard about the inside running on their new home collection. Lots of money being spent on big swishy ads. We're doing the rugs and slap.'

Ali opened an eye and looked at Dane.

‘Hair and make-up sweetie,' he translated.

‘What else? What about cover stories?'

‘Wouldn't know about storieeees . . . but they're after our serious footy star hunk to pose in leathers on a Harley. Saying he's been offered a guest appearance in a TV police series. Seems he was caught misbehaving in an S&M bar and so his people are doing a cover-up job in the legit press in case it's leaked. Making hard core look like high fashion or something.'

‘He was researching his role, right?'

Dane laughed. ‘Something like that. The football fans might buy it, but nobody round the Oxford Street end of town will!'

‘Wasn't he just paid zillions to front a bunch of health food products? One of those wholesome family companies?'

Dane sniggered as he wrapped a towel around Ali's head, beginning the lengthy highlights process. ‘Puts a whole new meaning on lunch boxes and snack foods if you ask me.'

Larissa tapped at Ali's door, marvelling at the editor's sleekly groomed appearance. Larissa had not slept well. Gerry still couldn't work out the time difference, or didn't want to, and had rung her at 3 a.m. They'd talked for an hour and he'd listened patiently to her stories about Ali, the staff, Miche's impending arrival, the hassles of living in a new city.

Finally he'd asked: ‘Riss, what about me? Do you miss me?'

‘Of course I do. I hate this lonely bed. I have a lovely house and no you to share it with.'

‘No one to cook you dinner, eh? Rub your back, give you a cuddle . . .'

‘All of that. Do you miss me?'

‘Hell, no!' He gave a low chuckle that made her tingle. ‘Riss, I'm not going to tell you how much I miss you. It's not fair to lay that on you with all you have on your plate. You chose to do this.'

‘Gerry . . . we agreed, this is a step up for me. I know it's hard but . . . it's the middle of the night . . . I'm really tired.'

‘Yeah, yeah. Sorry I woke you. Just remember, Riss, you chose to do this . . .'

‘You could be here! You'd love it! It'd be so good for you . . . This is a perfect place to explore your potential as an artist. The pressure wouldn't be on here like it is in New York. Gerry, come over, please.'

‘Riss, calm down. We agreed you needed two months to settle in. I'm working on it. Listen, go back to sleep. Email me the shit and then we can just talk about the happy things. I miss you, cupcake.'

She smiled in the darkness. ‘Be good. I miss you too.'

‘I love you, Riss.'

‘Love you.' The phone went dead. Larissa punched her pillow and settled under the covers. But she didn't go back to sleep. At 6 a.m. she rose and made coffee.

Now it was 10 a.m. and Larissa felt exhausted. Ali was looking at her expectantly. ‘Ali, the LA bureau has called to say that Dixon Landers is engaged to be married. They could go for an exclusive.'

‘Landers . . . What do you think?'

‘Well, he was Australia's biggest soapy star, and he's made two major movies since he's been in LA. And he's tipped for an Oscar nomination. He's celeb news.' Larissa stressed the derisory word ‘celeb'.

‘He works for me.'

‘There's a hitch – so to speak.'

‘Money?'

‘No. I hear he's gay.'

‘That is news. So who's he marrying? His boyfriend or his manager?'

‘He's marrying a lady. A female. A make-up artist.'

‘You saying he wants to change?' asked Ali.

‘No, he wants a green card. To stay in the US. It's a business deal.'

‘And we can break this story?'

‘I was thinking of the Hollywood Wedding for Aussie Star angle, not the Gay Star in Sham Marriage deal. Though it will be obvious to anyone with a few smarts. He's never been publicly outed.'

‘Makes it less of a story. How would we play it?'

‘Do the honeymoon. Exotic location, exclusive, intimate photos.' Larissa was making her distaste clear. ‘If we want it.'

‘What's it going to cost us?'

‘You don't think it's too showbizzy, too tabloid? We'd be competing with the paparazzi and the supermarket sleazoids if the word leaks.'

Ali ignored Larissa's last comment. ‘Where are they going for the honeymoon?'

‘The Great Barrier Reef. An island. I didn't pay that much attention to the details. I'm really just letting you know about it. I didn't think you'd be interested.'

‘He's big news. We can make a deal with London to share the costs on this. That Aussie TV soap of his was the top rater in the UK. Can't we set up something else at the same time to defray the costs? A fashion shoot? Travel piece? Competition to join the happy couple?'

Larissa winced. ‘Ali, I thought we'd discussed freebies and promotional tie-ins. It's just not us.'

Ali flicked a hand dismissively. ‘It's time to drop that stuffy thinking. We're in business like everyone else. We have a product to sell and competition is the name of the game. We just have to do it better, right?'

Larissa's head was thumping. ‘Fine. Tell me how we deal with trailing after an airhead actor on his phony honeymoon with two competition winners in tow – who could be from the other side of the country, a farm outside Perth, who have never left the state before, and have probably never read
Blaze
?'

Ali grinned. ‘You're saying some hick couple who love Dixon Landers' movies only bought
Blaze
for the competition, and therefore are not our usual readership.'

‘I guess so.'

‘So if we do it and they win, then we ask our farmer friends why they bought
Blaze
and we use them as a promotion to show them this magazine is for all Aussies. That's how wide our market needs to be in this country. It's something for nothing, Larissa. We should be making sure a couple like these people win the chance to holiday on a tropical island with their own Hollywood heart-throb. If they win, how many of their friends and neighbours will start buying
Blaze
to see what's in it for them?'

‘Ali, such competitions aren't new to magazines.'

‘To us they are. We'll do it with our usual style, first class all the way. We can do a contra with the resort for a free ad in
Blaze
. Make the island
Blaze
's
“
Place in the South Pacific”.' Ali was warming to her idea. While it wasn't Triton policy elsewhere in the world, it seemed to her it could work in the commercial free-for-all of Australia. Piracy and entrepreneurs disguising themselves as Robin Hood, while feathering their own nests were alive and well below the equator. The rules that applied back in New York seemed unnecessary here. ‘Every couple of months we could do a “Favourite Place of
Blaze
”, like Fiona was suggesting for north Canada. Is this island like Mustique, or is it touristy?'

‘Ali, I have no idea. I'll look into it.' Larissa hurried from the office before Ali could take off again. At her desk, she rested her head on her hands and wished she'd never passed on the message for Ali about Dixon Landers' wedding. She'd assumed it would be dismissed out of hand. This was supermarket tabloid stuff.