Blaze (57 page)

‘You mean it's all mushy, nice stuff?' asked Ali grimly. ‘Surely there's something less than perfect. It can't all be good.'

‘It's a very candid, let's say a very positive, piece,' said Bob carefully.

‘Sounds terrific,' said Larissa.

Bob glanced at his notes. ‘There's another thing. A request came in to me from outside. A researcher at
Reality
. Asking questions about you, Ali. Personal questions, they seem to be researching a piece . . . the guy was vague,' finished Bob, anticipating Ali's reaction.

‘I presume you said nothing,' snapped Ali.

‘More than his life is worth,' hissed Eddie in an undertone.

‘I've already dealt with that,' snapped Ali.

‘Just thought you'd like to know there's something afoot.'

‘I had Tracey call
Reality
's executive producer. That bitch Heather Race hit on me on the way to the airport.'

‘Do you think that was wise, Ali? Asking them to pull the plug could be a red rag to a bull,' suggested Larissa.

‘I only speak about
Blaze
. My personal opinions or history are off limits to the media. And that goes for everyone on the staff.' Ali glared around the circle.

‘If you don't talk to them at all, Ali, they don't have a story,' said Bob quietly. ‘You give them one quote and that's a licence to run with anything they have on you.'

‘I'm not doing anything. April is out gunning for Heather.'

‘The story I wanted to do?' said Jonathan with a pinched look. ‘I didn't realise it was to be a massacre. Whatever happened to the code of ethics?'

‘Cool it, Jon,' chided Bob. ‘Your talents are in other directions.'

‘I can see I'll have to ask my wife to show me how women sharpen knives.' Jonathan made a brave effort at humour, but his hurt anger was plain to see.

Ali stood looking rattled. ‘The tribespeople say it's time to go.'

They all filed solemnly past the sandpit, bobbing heads at the unmoving plastic people.

‘They don't look like happy campers, do they?' hissed Eddie to Fran.

‘Us, you mean?'

‘No. The mob in the pit. I think a head might roll in telly land if they start taking pot shots at Ali.'

‘Well, they'd have a lot of ammunition,' whispered back Fran, and Eddie dug her in the ribs in delight.

‘Ooh, naughty girl! I wouldn't worry, I think Ali has her rear covered.'

Ali sat in her office with the door closed, which signalled to anyone who might approach, Do Not Disturb. She made a phone call, spoke for a few minutes and waited.

The woman on the other end of the phone returned and spoke to Ali. ‘I'm sorry dear, the information we have on Ali Gruber only goes back a few months, since she was appointed to edit
Blaze
. It says she's Australian, but there's no reference to what she did here or about her background. All our old files are on microfiche in archives and can only be accessed by staff people. Unless there's anything that can be found under the
Freedom of Information Act
. I'm sorry I can't be more help. You're the second person to ask about her in a week.'

‘Fine. Thanks anyway.' Ali hung up, satisfied but concerned about that second person.

‘I don't give a shit if the Pope is in there, I'm going in.' Reg stormed through the door, past the protesting Belinda and marched up to Ali, shaking his fist across her desk. ‘I don't know what you're up to, but you mess with me and you'll be in deep shit. If you think that little poofter is going to take over my territory, you'd better think again.'

Ali smiled. ‘C'mon Reg, you're not scared of a little competition? The more the merrier. The bigger accounts we land, the bigger impact we make, the more money we build up for the magazine.' Ali knew very well that Reg received a bonus pegged to the amount of advertising he sold each year. By Eddie eating into the market, he was hitting Reg in the hip pocket.

‘You might think you can call the shots while Nina is away, but the boys upstairs aren't going to stand for this. You don't hold the purse strings, baby doll, they do,' snarled Reg. He was a member of the informal club of senior male management and they all loathed Ali. She was tolerated because circulation was rising. The minute she put a foot wrong, she'd be gone. He made no attempt to disguise his feelings. The gloves were off.

Ali didn't blink. ‘I'm not worried about the sixth-floor boys, Reg. If I have a problem, I'll talk to Oscar about it. Was there anything else?'

Reg reeled from her desk, but turned at the doorway. ‘Don't expect me to play along with your stupid games any more. I have as much power here as you do. You want to see me, come to my office.' He slammed the door so hard a picture fell off the wall.

Belinda tapped at Ali's door and was relieved when she answered as if nothing had happened. ‘I just wondered if . . . you needed me.'

‘Thank you, Belinda. If you can fix Reg's temper it would be nice.'

‘I guess he's not happy with all the . . . er, changes.'

‘Life moves on, Belinda. Keep up or ship out,' said Ali blithely.

By the time the
Reality
story was ready to air, Sally had disappeared from the Haven Clinic and moved back into her favourite hotel, the Vanguard in Elizabeth Bay, under her usual pseudonym. She telephoned Tony. He was interstate, but back that evening. Then she called Jacques. He was away too. Miche was uncontactable at
Blaze
and Sally couldn't find where she'd put Miche's home number. Sally hunkered down and ordered room service. Then she rang Heather Race at
Reality
. Heather was out and when she came back she found Sally's strung-out message on her voice mail. She didn't bother returning the call.

Miche was thinking hard about looking for her father. She had the number of the Salvation Army but couldn't bring herself to make the call. She hadn't slept properly for several nights, and was haunted by nightmares. Shadowy figures pulled at her body, out-of-focus faces swam before her, and then she was in her mother's arms as Lorraine jumped from the terrace of
Blaze
into the New York night. Miche woke with a start each time, just before they hit the ground.

Miche confided in Larissa over breakfast. Larissa looked pale and drawn. She wasn't sleeping either.

Miche sighed. ‘I'm having nightmares. I feel like a jilted lover one minute, a lost little girl the next. I can't go off on a trip to see Jeremy feeling like this.'

‘It's just what you need to do,' advised Larissa, adding, ‘Jilted is the right word. While your father didn't exactly leave your mother at the altar, he ditched you both and hasn't gone out of his way to make amends. No wonder you feel like that. But Miche, to be fair, there are always two sides to every story. You need to hear his side of it before you can pass judgement. I'm not making excuses for what he did, but you need to know why. Until you sort this out – find out whether he's good, bad or indifferent – and let it go, you can't settle down and move on with your life.'

Miche nodded, but didn't answer for a minute. Then she looked at the sad-faced Larissa, ‘And what are you doing about your life?'

‘I'm not sure.' She headed for the shower.

Three nights later, a
Reality
promo went to air screaming of ‘the folly of beauty and the beasts'. It showed Sally waving a glass of champagne saying, ‘Up their arses.'

Jeremy rang Miche. ‘Jesus, what have they done with Sally? That Heather killer-bitch Race has done her over. Where is she?'

‘It hasn't gone to air yet, maybe it's not as bad as the promo makes out.'

‘Sally struck me as being pretty easy to manipulate. Surely she'd be putty in the hands of a pro like Heather Race?'

‘That's why I'm afraid,' confessed Miche. ‘This sort of thing makes me ashamed to be part of the media.'

‘Oh, that's a bit tough. Surely they're not all like Heather Race? Wait and see what it's like. Anyway, what else would you do for a career?' Jeremy suddenly asked.

‘You know, Jem, I've been thinking about that. Listen, let's talk after the show goes to air. I'd better speak with Larissa.'

‘Riss, how on earth did they find her?' Miche said, furious at Heather Race's sensationalist story on Sally and at the same time fearful for the vulnerable young girl. ‘I thought she'd gone to a clinic. What happened? I feel somehow responsible for her.'

Larissa felt sick and mumbled that she'd check it out.

The nauseating feeling was caused by the knowledge she'd been instrumental in setting up the story by trading off the whereabouts of Sally to make Heather agree to an interview with April. And, more worryingly, no one knew where Sally was. There'd already been a call from one of the papers asking if
Blaze
had a contact. Apparently Sally had stormed out of the clinic with her overnight bag, jumped in a cab and dropped out of sight. Her parents hadn't heard from her, nor her agency, nor
Reality
.

‘Where she shacks up is nothing to do with us. She agreed to be interviewed, we're not her keeper,' the
Reality
producer commented when Miche rang.

When the
Reality
program had gone to air, the publicity in that day's papers ensured a big audience. Heather Race's story opened with Sally sitting on her bed, waving the glass of champagne. ‘I haven't done anything really bad . . . it's hard to say no.'

Next came a close-up of Heather wearing a concerned face and asking gently, ‘What did you do, Sally, while you were living the wild life in Europe?'

‘God, what didn't I do. Those photographers and agency people rape you. Those old guys in the modelling business in Europe feed on new young blood . . .'

They cut back to Heather looking slightly shocked. ‘How wild is the feeding frenzy? What kind of situations did you fall into?'

There followed an edited version of Sally laughingly describing the chateau party with the horses, dwarf clown and naked black sax player. It was edited to leave out the subtle, funny comments, leaving in all the ribald and raunchy bits from the anecdotes Sally had told Heather, believing it was an off-the-record chat before the actual interview started.

The reporter's voice-over managed to mention that particular shoot had been for the recent
Blaze
story on Sally. Then followed more interview with a cutaway showing Heather looking suitably horrified. ‘What do your parents think?'

Sally sounded flippant as she was shown saying, ‘Not my scene any more. They think I'm having a holiday at a health farm.' Then, lifting her glass she'd added, ‘Good health.'

The next sequence had Heather talking over pictures of the clinic gates, the grounds, inside the clinic, showing cold, bare rooms with hospital beds, a pharmaceutical dispensing room, doors labelled ‘Private. Therapy Session in Progress' and ‘Detox Unit'.

Her commentary was delivered in a hushed voice-over. ‘In this place, down these quiet halls, behind closed doors, a number of the rich and famous we know so well, are being treated. They're here because they have dangerous and severe disorders, from bulimia and depression to drug addiction and anorexia, to name a few. Patients – they call them clients – are often rebellious, their behaviour unpredictable, and one only can hope that the treatment they receive here, at this resort retreat, will help vulnerable and tragic cases like young Sally Shaw. Sally is a girl still in her teens who has lived so hard, achieved so much. She had a meteoric rise, now she could crash and burn out. I'm Heather Race and this is
Reality
.'

In her hotel room, Sally threw her glass at the TV set screaming, ‘You tricked me! I didn't say that like that . . . you've cut bits out!' Sobbing, she flung herself around the room feeling violated and devastated. What would her mum and dad say? Oh God, she looked so awful. To see herself so harshly filmed without the benefit of careful make-up and flattering lighting, she looked haggard, gaunt and sick. It was frightening. ‘Please, I'm not like that,' she sobbed. Grimly she picked up the phone and made a brief urgent call.

Miche was alone in the house and, as the
Reality
segment on Sally ended and they went to a commercial break, she felt like rushing to the bathroom and throwing up.

Her phone rang and a horrified Belinda was on the line. ‘That dreadful woman . . . poor Sally . . . they made her out to be such a bimbo!'

‘Well, she has been led astray and been in that flighty world,' said Miche, also close to tears. ‘It's so frustrating. She was so keen to tell her story in a sober way to help other girls.'

‘This'll stop a lot of parents sending their kids out to be models,' said Belinda firmly.

‘Sally and I talked it through. She trusted me. Someone should have warned her not to trust that TV reporter.'

‘Ha! Remember this is
Reality
. They don't know the meaning of the word trust,' snapped Belinda. ‘Anyone is at the mercy of super-bitch Heather Race.'

‘Sally is very impressionable, very easy to manipulate. I've heard about how unscrupulous and unethical TV people can be, but these people have gone even further. I just know how they work – they brought in the booze to give her and they cut up all her words like a jigsaw and pieced them together the way they wanted.' Miche sighed. ‘The worrying part is, I don't know where Sally is. If she saw that show she'll be . . . I don't know what she'll do.' Miche could hear other calls coming in. ‘I'd better go, Belinda, in case it's Sally.'

But the other calls were from staff at
Blaze
, expressing their dismay. Several were working late and they'd watched it on the office monitor.

Miche decided to again try the hotel in Elizabeth Bay where Sally had stayed. She'd rung already and they had no one registered under Sally Shaw. Wildly, Miche tried to think of the fake name Sally had used in Paris. Donald the photographer might remember, but he could be anywhere in the world. Miche closed her eyes and tried to think . . . world, planet, moon . . . an image sprang into her mind. A pink moon. That was it, that singer from the seventies – Nick Drake. Sally had played his music when they drove from Paris to the chateau,
Pink Moon
. She'd called herself Miss P. Moon.