Blaze (15 page)

Now Nina had left for Europe, it was time for change. To Ali's annoyance, Belinda had not arrived. Ali glanced at her watch, it was twenty to nine. Not good enough. She'd been late on Ali's first day in the office and after a clumsy excuse about family problems, to which Nina had clucked-clucked in sympathy, she'd been making a habit of it. That would stop today.

Ali walked slowly round the office deciding what had to go from the newly decorated editor's suite, and what style she would prefer in its place. Nina's democratic idea of using a round table instead of a desk had always irritated her. That would be the first piece of furniture to go. Ali started making a list of what she wanted, including what she expected of Belinda – to arrive early, to turn Ali's computer on, to make a note of all emails, and to have her espresso coffee ready to pour. Flower arrangements were to be replaced twice a week.

Belinda appeared at her door, pulling off her coat as she described the traffic chaos that had delayed her. Ali cut her off mid-sentence.

‘Belinda, I'm sure it won't happen again, as I'd like you in here early. I've left a list of tasks on your desk that I expect to be done before I arrive.'

Belinda paused, clutching her jacket. ‘Oh, I'm sorry, Alisson. I'm normally very punctual. Just tell me what you want and . . .'

‘My name is Ms Gruber. And please keep the door between my office and your area closed unless I choose to leave it open.' Ali made her displeasure known despite Belinda's stuttering explanation that she'd had a problem taking her two young children to school.

Belinda's lips tightened. ‘I apologise. Buzz me when you need anything.' She closed the door behind her. Dorothy had never kept it shut.

With Nina safely in Europe, Ali had scheduled her first editorial meeting to start at 9 a.m. The editor checked her papers at 8.55 a.m. She had spent the weekend clarifying the changes and strategies she intended to implement. No sense in sliding into position and creeping in her new regime. She wanted to be regarded as incisive and authoritative from the beginning.

Ali and Larissa had lunched and talked about the magazine only in general terms. Ali believed in not telling anyone anything that wasn't absolutely necessary. Simply good tactics.

Larissa knew this, so didn't probe too deeply into her plans as Ali repeated several times, ‘I'll go over everything in detail at the first editorial meeting.'

Ali wanted to make a stand right off, so everyone would understand she was now in control, and she was prepared to make unpopular decisions if she considered them necessary. She would show them her authority was not to be questioned. Nina was gone. Ali had the baton in her hand and was ready to run.

Ali kept busy until she heard the murmur of voices outside. Peering through the glass panel in one wall, she could see most of the senior editorial staff clustered around Belinda's desk.

Smoothing her hair, she ran her tongue over her lip gloss, picked up a folder and opened the door. ‘Good morning. Shall we?'

Ignoring the round table in her suite, where the first edition of
Blaze
had been planned with Nina, Ali headed for the boardroom, and added, without glancing at Belinda, ‘Tea, coffee and mineral water please, Belinda. No food.'

Tiki Henderson, the fashion editor, and Barbara Jamieson, the beauty editor, exchanged a glance and mouthed at each other, ‘No food?'

‘No biscuits?'

‘No donuts?'

The weekly editorial meeting had always been a time of bagels, Danish and croissants. Following Ali's bony body through the door, the two older women who wouldn't see a size twelve again, sighed.

‘Shall we boo?' whispered Tiki.

‘You mean as in boohoo or hiss and . . . ?'

‘No. Bring Our Own.'

‘I don't like your chances.'

The staff who would make the decisions about the content and direction of each issue of
Blaze
settled themselves along one side of the boardroom table where neat folders of documents had been placed, each named to mark where the men and women on the senior staff should sit. The new boardroom table was glass and steel. Nina had agreed that Ali replace the old teak veneer, but the staff were instantly uncomfortable as they seated themselves at the apparent floating sheet of glass.

‘Can't pass notes or scratch your balls under this table,' commented Bob Monroe, the features editor, to contributions editor and senior writer, Jonathan Gibb.

Ali surprised them by taking the single chair opposite, putting the long table between them and herself. Dorothy had always sat amongst them, flanked by Fran, the promotions director, and Tiki. Their editorial meetings had always had the feeling of an intimate tea party where conversation, ideas and differing opinions were exchanged.

The atmosphere was chilly. Even the new decor ordered by Ali seemed intimidating – cool beige, icy white, gleaming metal, lots of glass and sleek, clean lines. No trims, no falderals. Ali had removed Nina's touches – flowers, pot plants, paintings and comfortable, elegant chairs. The room was now coldly businesslike, avant-garde steel chairs drawn around the bare table. Stylish contemporary slatted blinds had been installed to screen the stunning – and potentially distracting – harbour view.

Larissa caught the tense mood in the room and thought back to how Nina had conducted these meetings at her egalitarian round table in New York. There was always an agenda but under Nina's gentle guidance everyone felt free to voice their opinions, even if they conflicted with other views. If there was a visitor included in the conference – perhaps the art director or advertising director or a specialist in a field who'd been invited to address the section editors and then leave them to business matters after the coffee break – that person would sit at Nina's right. If they were contemplating covering a sensitive or difficult topic, a specialist in that area would come in to address them and answer questions.

Ali had no intention of continuing this pattern. Instead, she would privately seek out such people and produce their advice, statistics or knowledge as a fait accompli. She did not intend to run meetings like a girl guides' show-and-tell. She'd already, she reminded herself, had to carry most of them to make the right decisions for the first edition. They really had no idea what quality was about.

To the men and women seated opposite her along the table, it seemed as though electricity crackled around Ali, a threatening energy. They each felt it and each was on guard, defensive and apprehensive. While Ali had been editor since the start of
Blaze Australia
, Nina's quiet presence had kept her in check. The staff knew this. But there had been enough prickly one-on-one confrontations with Ali that had sent a clear message to the staff – Ali was tough and uncompromising and they wondered what she'd unleash the minute Nina was out the door. For once the editorial team felt united. Them against Her. Bickering and competitiveness between the staff were commonplace. They worked in a supercharged atmosphere of pressure and creative energy that each person handled in their own way. Occasional frictions were inevitable. But here they sat silently waiting, wondering who would first feel the sting of Ali's tongue.

Ali moved straight to business. ‘Before we start on long-term strategies, there are more immediate matters I'd like to address. First off, as you know, Larissa Kelly is my deputy editor. We have a working relationship from
Blaze
in New York, which means we understand the
Blaze
ethos. However,' Ali threw a polite smile at Larissa, ‘this magazine will act completely independently of the New York edition.
Blaze Australia
will have its own identity. It is up to us to make
Blaze
a success.'

Larissa nodded, but Ali had no intention of allowing Larissa to say anything and moved quickly on to her agenda. ‘Housekeeping first. I intend to make a number of significant changes. I realise they will not all be welcome, but they are in the best interests of the magazine. I have been given a charter for a fresh start. Before I explain what that is, however, would anyone like to say anything?' Ali sat back expecting a little speech of welcome, at the very least an expression of goodwill. There was stony silence.

Fran Hirshcombe leapt into the lengthening abyss. ‘I think I speak for all of us when I say, while we are excited about this new challenge, big changes are always destabilising. Most of us have worked here since
Carina
began – and all of that with Dorothy and, er . . . Carina Brett-Moir. So, while we were never complacent, there was a certain familiarity about the magazine which . . .'

Ali held up her hand and cut in. ‘Precisely what I intend to change. The cliché that familiarity breeds contempt doesn't quite apply, but familiarity gives readers predictability and that's tedious. I intend that
Blaze
will shake Australia's magazine readers, and gain us new ones who have had plenty of reasons lately to be contemptuous of magazines in this country.'

The group around the table stared at Ali, each silently absorbing the insult. Larissa decided to maintain her silence. This was Ali's scene.

Ali returned their gaze. ‘In your folders, you will find briefing notes of the market we are aiming at and the initiatives expected from the senior staff of
Blaze.
So what stories have you come up with?'

The group examined the notes in front of them, suddenly unsure about their ideas.

Jonathan Gibb, employed by Nina on her arrival in Sydney, spoke first. ‘There's a new study out showing the alarming rise of alcoholism among young and middle-aged women. There are also aspects of the study about ageing women that I thought worth exploring.'

‘I read that report too. I was surprised at the large numbers of middle-class women . . . women who are our readers,' broke in Barbara. ‘Why do these women, who are financially comfortable, in apparently happy homes, with achieving kids, take to the bottle?'

‘So is that the story angle we look at?' asked Jonathan. ‘What makes a woman start drinking? Why are there so many women in their middling years out there who are not coping well with growing older? They can't cope with changing lifestyles, or keeping up with their careers? Why are there so many husbands that leave to look for younger women, or have no sense of identity or achievement?'

Bob Monroe warmed to the topic. ‘So let's look at the reasons why a typical middle-class woman, who works, looks after a husband and family, who seems to be balancing her life and having it all, suddenly starts to lose her grip. Is it sudden, or had it been coming and no one saw it?'

‘Sounds like it's worth exploring in depth,' said Tiki. ‘I suppose there are always relationship problems – abusive, alcoholic spouses, or no partner at all, lack of love and companionship.' Tiki paused, wondering if she should raise the issue of ageism, then decided to go for it. ‘If we did a feature, whoever wrote it could spell out the smouldering conflict of “maturity and experience” being pushed aside for “fresh and innovative”.' She continued. ‘And we should talk to women who've survived ageism.' Nina Jansous was sixty and she'd managed to keep a contemporary slant on life. ‘I suppose a lot of our readers are experiencing the life-changing thing,' she finished carefully.

Ali was dismissive. ‘Old hat, matronly stuff. And if you're talking change-of-life readers, that is about to go,' said Ali briskly, annoyed Nina's senior writer had brought up this subject. He should have known ageism was not a subject that would interest Ali. ‘Those people will enjoy reading
Blaze
, yes, but we're targeting where the money and action is – the achievers, the twenty-five to forty group. Men and women who are confident, cluey, tuned into technology and not afraid to aim high, whatever the cost.' Ali spoke softly, but matter-of-factly, reeling off a description that seemed to everyone present to describe Ali. ‘This is not a women's magazine, even though we may sometimes address subjects that might be of particular interest to women. The
Blaze
approach is to make these articles – fashion, beauty, style, health – of interest to go-get-'em men and women. I am also not about giving advice to readers on self-improvement or solving life's problems.' At this, the former
Carina
staff who'd been briefed by Nina blinked. They understood that had been very much the credo of responsibility, as well as entertainment, that
Blaze
strived for.

‘What are we on about then?' asked Bob Monroe.

Ali came back swiftly. ‘We don't treat our readers, men or women, as losers with problems. They want to be promoted, exploit opportunities, make the most of life because they have the income to do so. They want to start achieving before thirty. By forty, it's too late.'

‘Oh, it's all over at forty, is it?' said Fran Hirshcombe who'd just turned forty and now felt fragile.

‘Well, if you haven't made it by then, yes,' said Ali, a hint of patronising surprise in her voice as if to say, don't you understand yet?

‘Yes, what do you mean by . . . made it?' asked Barbara. ‘I'm over forty and like to think I still have goals to achieve.'

‘What do you think of when you say “have it all”, Ali?' asked Fran quietly.

‘Name it. Silver Porsche, smart condo in the best part of town, designer gear, skiing at the top resorts, always being given the best table at the hottest new restaurant in whatever town they happen to be working or playing in. And independence. No ties.'

‘No responsibilities, you mean. No kids, no husband, no elderly parents to care for?' added Barbara in a neutral voice.

‘You bet. Unless it's on your terms – a partner who can look after him or herself, a nanny and a housekeeper. That's getting there, today.'

Ali's interpretation of achievement jarred with the older women. They were baby boomers, they were still idealistic, still believed one had to care about others and a woman could still do it all – thanks to the women of an earlier generation who'd made big changes possible. Ali came from a more selfish generation. The old hands felt her definition made the magazine sound too elitist and that it would alienate readers who didn't fall into Ali's category.