Blaze (44 page)

What led them to therapy? Who were they? How can society help them? Or was ignorance bliss? How many would repeat the cycle?

Miche put together an outline of these thoughts, the types of people she'd like to interview, where the story might lead and how she saw the relevance of the story. She had the feeling she was dipping her toe in deep waters and that once she disturbed the apparently calm surface, other people might find the courage or strength to come forward, to drag their dark secrets into the sunlight and let them go. Once one person stands up and shares an experience they'd been too ashamed to admit, it eases their burden and others tend to follow suit, relieved to know they are not alone.

She rang Belinda to make an appointment to see Ali, confident this would be a story that would suit
Blaze
.

Belinda came back to her. ‘Ali says she is a bit swamped. Talk to Bob Monroe, he's features editor.' Belinda was pleased to see Ali delegating work. ‘He's very attuned to ideas, Miche, and he loved your piece on Sally. We all did.'

Bob listened, made a few notes and asked questions. ‘Where are you doing the research? Which specialists do you have who are willing to talk and quote case histories on the record? What's going to make a reader want to read, and keep reading, this story? Who are you going to use to tell their personal story?'

Miche was prepared for most of Bob's questions and rattled off her answers. But the last two weren't so easy. ‘How do you ever know what interests people at any given point in time? I can only go on instinct.'

‘Hmmm.' Bob tapped his pencil against his teeth. ‘It needs a more personal angle. Shame we've done Sally. You'll need to find someone, probably someone in therapy, who's willing to share what they're dealing with.'

‘That could be hard if it's something horrific and violent,' said Miche.

‘The personal story doesn't have to be along the lines of “My Father Was an Axe Murderer”. Maybe something readers could identify with more easily. Someone unravelling the tangles in their life.'

Miche was thoughtful, then said slowly. ‘What about me?'

Bob reacted openly, his surprise unconcealed. ‘You? You fit into this category? In what way . . . if I may ask?'

‘Well, it's not as traumatic as the theme of the story, but it could be a springboard to those deeper waters,' said Miche. ‘I'm thinking of looking for my father. It might turn out he's not alive, not in Australia, he could be in jail, could be a boring suburbanite or a university professor.'

‘How long since you've seen him?'

‘I don't remember him at all. I just feel I need some kind of closure before I can go on with my life. After losing my mom and all . . .' she shrugged, unwilling to elaborate as the emotion built up inside her.

Bob nodded. ‘It would certainly give the story an additional angle. But what if you find your old man and he's a shit? You ready to reveal that too?'

Miche raised her hands in a gesture of acceptance. ‘No point in hiding it. I can walk away from him if I so decide and if I can't be honest, there's not much point in asking others to do the same.'

‘I'll talk to Ali. Sounds compelling. Where are you going to begin your search?'

‘Not sure. But I'll make a start . . . now I've made up my mind.'

At the next editorial meeting, Bob ran through the list of story suggestions including the details of Miche's idea. As he outlined Miche's theme, there was a murmuring of interest.

‘Sounds intriguing.'

‘She started digging with the Sally Shaw piece.'

‘Seems like a sensitive writer.'

Ali looked down at her agenda pad, fiddling with her pen, her face immobile. No one knew what she was thinking until Larissa asked, ‘What's your opinion, Ali? It's a touchy area for Miche, but I think she could come up with something.'

‘It sounds like something one of those TV current affair shows would do . . .' butted in Reg Craven.

Bob Monroe glared at the advertising director. ‘Give us a break. She's not that kind of tabloid journalist . . . that's not our kind of story. What do you think, Ali?'

Attention at the table focused on Ali. She had been silent abnormally long.

‘I think it stinks.'

‘What?' There was an intake of breath.

Bob spoke up defensively. ‘What's your objection, Ali?'

The table fell silent, everyone looking at Ali.

Ali was struggling. For the first time the staff could recall, a glib, swift, sharp answer didn't spring from her lips. But her body language, her expression, made it clear she didn't like the idea. Finally Ali gave a brusque shrug. ‘What is this? Old home week? Nina looking for her old rellies and now her goddaughter churning through her family blankety-blanks. Everyone has a broken branch or two in their family tree, why should we inflict it on
Blaze
readers?'

A row of bland faces struggling to hide their feelings stared at Ali, alone on the other side of the table.

Larissa broke the silence. ‘I don't know if that's the case, Ali. I think everyone can identify with family and personal insecurities in one way or another. Okay, not all of us are dealing with the same specific issues, but if we follow one person's journey to wherever it takes them, it shows us all the value of the exercise.'

‘Whether it has a so-called happy ending or not,' added Bob. ‘I think the girl has potential as a serious journalist.'

Ali refocused on the discussion. ‘Oh, for chrissake. Let's not make this a new-age, inner-search deal. I've told Nina to see what develops from her trip. Tell Miche the same, Bob.'

‘If it passes that litmus test, it's in?' grinned Bob.

‘Not if I don't like it,' snapped Ali. ‘I'll wait and read what they deliver first.'

‘Can we move on?' interjected Larissa. She sensed the mood of discomfort in the room. She knew the decision was a touchy issue with the staff writers and contributors, who did a lot of work only to have it tossed away by Ali. Larissa knew Ali was good at making some judgements, especially when the finished article was put before her. But she seemed less sure about hypothetical, philosophical and speculative thoughts on story ideas. Ali was not a polished writer, yet she picked over articles making the writer redo whole chunks for obscure or pedantic reasons.

For the first time, Ali was unwittingly sharing a sense of disquiet with the rest of the staff. They too were thinking of family hiccups, family secrets, family upheavals. It was universal. Just never shared. Miche and Nina were tapping into a nerve that jangled in all their systems.

Ali moved on, turning her attention to Reg Craven. ‘What the hell is this?' She waved a mock-up of an ad showing an older woman rocking with laughter. The headline read, ‘Have you pissed yourself lately?'

There was an intake of breath around the table.

‘It's an ad for a new health company. For incontinence pads,' he said as matter-of-factly as he could.

Several people burst into laughter. A few were appalled.

‘I don't understand,' said Larissa.

‘It's an Aussie expression . . . when you laugh so much you wet your pants,' explained Reg.

‘Reg, that's so tacky,' interjected Fran Hirshcombe.

‘It's not exactly the kind of classy ad that appears in
Blaze
,' added Larissa.

‘What's with this old people stuff?' raged Ali. ‘Dump it, Reg.'

‘Listen, I know it ain't a glamorous product, but at least it's different and funny . . .'

‘That's debatable,' muttered Bob.

‘There's another reason. The mob behind it is a huge health care company. They're ready to advertise all their products and services with us. That's a motza moola.'

‘Reg, the advertising dollar isn't everything. There's such a thing as quality control and image,' broke in Fran. ‘The media will make hay about us over an ad like that.'

‘Any publicity . . .' began Reg, but Ali cut him off.

‘Ask them to start out advertising other products with us first. And I don't mean a retirement village.'

‘Even if it costs close to a million bucks to move in?' persisted Reg.

‘Leave it, Reg,' advised Larissa, seeing Ali's anger mounting. It wasn't the issue of the product itself, but Reg's manner that irritated Ali. Larissa would step in and find a compromise later. Striving for a positive note, she commented, ‘Great reaction to Miche's story on Sally Shaw. Talkback radio shows have already picked it up.'

‘That reminds me,' said Ali casually. ‘You might like to know an American studio is interested in making a film, inspired by Sally Shaw, about the modelling world. Based on the story we ran.'

‘Miche's story! That's fantastic,' said Larissa.

‘It's
Blaze
's story, you mean,' Ali corrected her. ‘We own the film rights.'

‘We do? Since when?' said Bob Monroe. ‘First I've heard of us buying film rights as well for a feature article. And I'm the features editor,' he added half-jokingly, seeing Ali's displeasure at being queried.

‘It's now in all the contributors' contracts. Remember that's how
Saturday Night Fever
started. It grew out of an article in, I think,
Vanity Fair
or the
LA Magazine
. I don't want
Blaze
to lose a potential small fortune from a cut of the profits if the film is a hit.'

‘I can just see Sally's story as a film. Hot young stars, the latest music, fashion, drugs, rock and roll – way to go!' exclaimed Fiona.

‘Did we pay Miche an extra amount for the film rights?' persisted Bob.

‘She signed away all the rights to
Blaze
,' said Ali.

‘Did she know she was doing that? I had no idea,' said Larissa, alarmed.

‘That doesn't seem fair to Miche, she's a nice kid,' muttered Bob. ‘I wonder what the MEAA would say about this.'

‘If you're worried about the union, it's too late now. No one cares what they think, anyway. The contract is signed and sealed,' said Fiona. ‘I think it's a fabulous idea. Make sure
Blaze
has a screen credit, Ali.'

Fran, Barbara and Bob, who trained as journalists at a time when joining the union was mandatory, and who believed the journalists' union had done its best to push up salaries to where they were today, exchanged glances at the comment by the new young fashion editor.

‘How did an American studio find the article?' wondered Fran. ‘They'd been reading
Blaze USA
.'

‘I sent it to them,' said Ali quickly.

Larissa bit her tongue at Ali's takeover of Miche's story, knowing it wouldn't do Miche any good if she tried to defend her rights. Ali would dance on their graves if she was making something out of it. Belinda had told Larissa about the gifts arriving from expensive perfume and jewellery stores for Ali. April had also been receiving lavish flower arrangements, expensive bottles of wine. Belinda said April had contacted the mailroom and asked for her mail to be forwarded to her home. Ali hadn't thought of that one. Larissa was sick of the payola, the scheming, the bitchiness and rivalry. Her work was ceasing to be fun.

As they left the editorial meeting, Bob walked beside Larissa. ‘What do you make of the film deal?' she asked.

‘Shocking rip-off. You'd better alert Miche, see if she can have a credit. I bet Ali received some sort of kickback, excuse me, “commission”, for setting it up.' Bob was angry. ‘That Ali is a predator. And dangerous. I wish I didn't like Nina and this magazine so much or I'd be walking.'

Larissa was still depressed. ‘I'm too soft. I should stand up to Ali more. The trouble is she goes behind your back and does stuff and it's a fait accompli when you find out.'

‘You won't make it very far trying to second-guess Ali. I like Miche's story idea. I'm surprised Ali didn't go for it.'

‘Maybe it's not movie material,' said Larissa with a trace of bitterness.

‘Can I raise something else?' asked Bob. ‘Jonathan Gibb is becoming fidgety. He is our senior writer. He feels a bit sidelined.'

‘Does he have a story he's itching to do by any chance?' asked Larissa.

‘He certainly does. It's a bit sensitive, which is why I didn't bring it up in the meeting. He wants to do a story on Heather Race, the bitch tabloid TV journo.'

‘Why?'

‘He's not telling all, but says it's the right timing. Whatever that means.'

‘What do you think of Jonathan?'

‘A top journo, an excellent writer and a good bloke. He's still young, but he's going to go places.'

‘Do you trust his judgement?'

‘When it's
his
judgement. There was an incident where he came back from a long interview with an attractive lady novelist. Told me she was different from the blonde romance writer image and was an intelligent and deeply thoughtful woman. I assumed it was going to be a flattering article after his rave.'

‘And?' asked Larissa, though she sensed what was coming.

‘He turned in a rather cutting piece. More than a few snide comments which didn't sit well with what he'd told me after the interview.'

‘Why the change? What happened?'

‘His wife was in his ear. Passed on comments supposedly from her woman friends and told him he'd been schmoozed and hoodwinked by a blonde witch. He'd look a fool if he wrote a drooling article. So he sharpened his pen.'

‘With the jealous wife looking over his shoulder? What did you say?'

‘I expressed surprise, but he was defensive. I didn't discover till later that his wife is known to be somewhat poisonous. And a frustrated author.'

Larissa shook her head in resignation. ‘I hope you've made the point to him that in future he should stick with his instincts and be objective.'