Blaze (49 page)

‘Do me a favour. Let me know when she's going. What other suggestions do you have? I'd love an exposé like that Sally Shaw piece.'

‘I heard she's back in town,' said Jonathan casually.

‘Really? I could do a follow-up. What's Sally doing?'

‘No idea. I heard Jacques Triton was chasing her.'

Heather lowered her voice. ‘There are stories and stories about that clique . . . there's a club somewhere in the city where he's set up a private room for his new mates . . . sex, drugs and you name it.'

‘I wouldn't know. I'm not invited to those kinds of scenes. I'm pretty dull,' said Jonathan blandly. Heather had hit a nerve with him as he had also heard whispers around town. He knew Tony Cox was part of the Jacques clique. Jonathan felt excluded, curious and slightly peeved. ‘That'd be a story. But it would never see the light of day, of course.'

‘Not when the mogul's son and high-flying friends are involved, that's for sure,' agreed Heather. ‘Okay, tell me where Sally Shaw is and we're square.'

‘I'll do my best. Be careful with Ali. I can't help you there.'

‘More than your job is worth, eh?' grinned Heather. ‘You gotta take risks in this business, Jon. Only way to score points.'

‘I'm more interested in just hanging in there,' he answered. Life under Ali always seemed precarious.

Jonathan dropped by Bob Monroe's office and leaned against the doorway. ‘Can I run a couple of ideas past you? Unless you have a hot story for me to chase?'

‘Nothing cooking at the moment. Let's hear your ideas.' Bob knew Jonathan was feeling aggrieved. April Showers was constantly in the news, her column widely read and now he was probably seeing Miche as a threat, despite the fact she was younger and less experienced.

‘I hear Sally Shaw is back in town.'

‘Yeah. Don't even think of trying to follow that one up. End of story.'

‘Possibly. What I was thinking was doing that deep-throat piece on Heather Race I mentioned to you a while back.'

‘That bitch. You'd never make it past first base. No offence, mate, but she'd eat you alive.' ‘Unless you take your poisonous wife along to protect you,' thought Bob, who liked Jonathan but considered him weak. ‘Besides, the TV PR machine manufactures every word written about her. They'd never let you near her.'

‘I just had coffee with her. If we give her Sally Shaw's number, I think she'd be grateful.'

Bob thought for a moment. ‘I take your point. Telly people always follow up on our stories. I'll have to run it past Ali.'

‘I'd appreciate it if you'd try to do it before she leaves for New York. I'd like something to get my teeth into.'

Bob drifted around to see Larissa. ‘How's it going? Shall we break out the booze and dance band while Ali is away? Tell Reg he has another six pages to sell?'

Larissa laughed. ‘You guys wish. No, everything seems to be staggering along as usual. She won't be away more than a week . . .' she looked out the window. ‘Wish I was zipping back for a week. Even a couple of days.'

‘A dirty weekend with the boyfriend? You miss him, eh? Must be tough. Do you take the time to see people outside the office, Larissa? I mean, you're always welcome to come over to our place – we generally have a barby on Sundays, friends drop in, nothing fancy.'

‘Thanks. Sweet of you to offer, Bob. Belinda and her Laurie are always fantastic. I think I have a nice group of friends here . . . it's just hard to maintain a close relationship with my man over a long distance.'

‘Yeah, I imagine.' He remembered the good-looking and charming Gerard and wondered if he was being as true and loyal as Larissa. They had no formal partnership as he recalled. ‘Gerard seemed a nice bloke,' he said, not knowing what else to say. ‘Now, what I wanted to ask you concerns Jonathan. He's looking for a meaty story and he's still talking about doing that in-depth piece on Heather Race, the tabloid TV journo from
Reality.
Looking at media ethics, that kind of thing.'

‘Seems unlikely that she'd agree.'

‘There's a trade-off.'

‘Uh oh,' said Larissa.

‘Reality
wants to do a follow-up on Sally Shaw. Where is she?'

‘I see. Miche has been in touch with her. I'm reluctant to tell you where she is without consulting Miche. It was a personal contact, not professional.'

‘Come on, Larissa, we don't have any obligation to that girl. Miche did the right thing by Sally. I suspect she could have made the scenario sound much worse.'

‘So the deal is Heather will bare her inner soul if we hand her Sally?'

‘An interview without the station's PR people sitting in monitoring is a big step. Go, Larissa, give Jon a break.'

Larissa caved in. ‘Okay. But I'll run it past Ali before she leaves. And Sally is in a hotel near Kings Cross. There can't be too many. Make sure you talk to Miche first and we do this only if Sally agrees to a TV story.'

Bob gave her a thumbs up and left her office. Larissa wondered if she had done the right thing – he might be a member of the
Blaze
staff, but should she have trusted him?

 

A
li had capitulated and agreed to host the private retirement dinner for John O'Donnell's general manager – provided John added several names to the invitation list, even though it was short notice.

‘I only planned on including company people,' he protested mildly.

‘How boring. Let the office do that at their official farewell party. It will be helpful for the guy to meet people outside the company. He might latch onto a bit of consultancy work or something. It's a bigger compliment to gather a few heavies together for him than toasts from people he probably loathes by now. The gold watch is an add-on,' said Ali emphatically.

John O'Donnell caved in and marshalled an impressive guest list that made even Ali catch her breath. She'd insisted on doing the invitations for him. ‘Handwritten is far more personal.' She'd cleverly worded them so it sounded like the Friday night dinner was a business function that didn't include spouses. They'd been couriered to the men's offices.

Ali had Belinda call on the morning of the dinner to confirm each was coming. ‘And if they mutter about a companion, sound hesitant, a little surprised but polite, and utter something like, “Well, of course, if you want to bring so and so, we'll make a place for her. Leave it with me.” And hopefully they'll back down, understanding it to be a men-only affair.'

Ali didn't want to state this outright in case it found its way back to John, who was quite happy for wives to come along. Ali was not.

She'd pre-planned the evening, especially the seating arrangement, putting her choices on either side of her. The head of a big international cosmetic company on her right, the CEO of an international airline on her left, the biggest luxury car importer opposite. These were potential advertisers she wanted to target for
Blaze
. She had worked out a strategic plan to wrest the power from Reg Craven and undermine his credibility within the company and out in the marketplace.

Two weeks previously, Ali had approached a young gay man, Eddie Kurtz, recommended by the headhunter agency. She had read about him in trade magazines as being one of the new breed of advertising IT whiz-kids working for small niche agencies that were challenging the top-heavy established organisations. People like Eddie Kurtz were dubbed the hot new contenders of creative advertising. Ali called him, offering him the job as director of promotions for advertising, answering directly to her. It was a vague title she'd deliberately coined for someone she wanted to push her barrow and keep Reg in his place.

Eddie had thought about it for a day, then accepted. Ali explained he would work with her in attracting big new advertising clients and then book their ads directly through her. With Eddie designing and managing the account, doing the blueprints and passing it onto the advertising department as a fait accompli, Ali would earn kudos for bringing in clients with money, and totally ride over Reg Craven, hopefully putting him in an intolerable situation. Ali and Reg shared equal status in the power hierarchy, but Ali intended to tip the scales in her favour. She had wanted a gay man who would stay loyal to her camp and not be lured over to the male management network.

It added to Ali's workload, but through John O'Donnell she had an impressive calling card and access to the men who controlled big budget advertising accounts.

The dinner had been a success, though the guest of honour and the occasion of his retirement was somewhat overlooked, apart from a heart-warming toast from John O'Donnell. The GM made a small vote of thanks especially to Ali for organising the evening. Ali was not expected to reply, just smile graciously, but she was on her feet in an instant, fully prepared for this.

She thanked John for making her so welcome and for the support he'd shown her and
Blaze
and she hoped they had enjoyed the evening, which was her way of returning John's kindness.

She carried it off impressively, on one hand a bright, charming and gracious hostess, while references to her professional life made it clear she was an independent, successful woman in her own right and not attempting to merely replace the late Mrs O'Donnell. It was a speech that cleverly trod a fine line between not usurping the retiring guest of honour, nor taking the limelight from John as host, but, as she candidly admitted with a broad grin, ‘I can't let this opportunity pass when confronted with such a prestigious and charming group without mentioning I do have under my wing an eminent publication . . .' There was an acknowledging response that they would all do the same, indeed subtle networking had been active during the evening. Ali continued, ‘I believe I can provide more than simply competitive and creative thinking – a platform which would be highly suitable to presenting your corporations to the public. I would be honoured and delighted to go into further detail at an appropriate time, so I look forward to continuing the friendships begun here this evening.'

She'd stayed the night and the next morning. Despite John preferring to stay home with the Saturday newspapers, swim in his pool and potter in the garden, Ali had dragged him into cosmopolitan Double Bay. They were soon mixing with an international crowd of wealthy socialites. This was a crowd who wore name-dropping designer weekend wear, a uniform they all recognised, accessorised with heavy gold and carefully casual hair. John felt uncomfortable, he was a private man who – unlike this company – hated seeing his name in the paper or mixing with people who wanted to impress people who considered they had gone one better than their neighbour and never let you forget they had overcome incredible odds . . . real or imagined. They all read
Blaze
.

John's family was ‘old money' and he was culturally a world removed from the weekend café latte set. For Ali's sake, he tried to appear as if he were enjoying the scene.

Ali's boldness in speaking up at the dinner had brought in her first client, Small World, a new international travel corporation recommended by the airline company CEO seated near her at the table. The head of the company, a charming Italian, Signor Sergio Bristini, was visiting the Australian office and had asked Ali about advertising the company's launch.

Ali ran through suggestions of advertising and promotional tie-ins, special rates and dedicated attention from her team headed by the newly appointed Eddie Kurtz. She sparkled with professional enthusiasm, making rapid notes about the clientele he wanted to attract, persuading him
Blaze
was exactly the right venue to use to reach the target market. She won over the courtly Italian who'd hoped he'd be meeting Nina Jansous. But when it came to smart business opportunities, Signor Bristini recognised the opportunist in Ali and, after a short sparring round, where he wanted a cover-line thrown in as well, he clinched the deal by asking Ali a subtle question, ‘And will you be travelling in the near future, Signorina? Perhaps my company can look after you. I would say you are a lady who only travels first class.'

‘When someone else is paying,' she laughed. ‘And, as a matter of fact, I'm about to fly to New York.'

‘Let me handle the details,' he said pointedly.

‘Thank you, Signor Bristini. I'll arrange for Eddie to bring a presentation to your office before you leave Sydney. I'm sure you'll be pleased with his ideas.'

Eddie understood he was not to talk about what he was doing. Reg had regarded his appointment as another Ali indulgence in raising her profile, that Eddie would be promoting Ali more than
Blaze
, looking for the loan of couture clothes and booking her the best tables in restaurants. Reg dismissed Eddie as an Ali accessory that Nina would sort out on her return. Meanwhile, he went on with the important business of being an executive. His staff were cowered by him, he made a habit of reducing women to tears and had once made an account executive who'd displeased him carry a client's briefcase and mobile phone to the car like a trainee porter. It hadn't endeared Reg to his young executive or the client. But Reg saw it as a display of his power and position.

Ali briefed Eddie, who wolfed up the idea of a major travel corporation with delight and said he'd have a packaged campaign with creative concept and costs ready in a few days.

Ali felt more than pleased with herself as she packed for her trip. The next issue would carry a double-page spread for Small World Travel which would bring in big dollars, but what pleased her most of all was the fact Reg wouldn't know about it until the last possible moment. He was going to run a seminar in Melbourne and Ali hoped he wouldn't hear about their new client until the ads were at chromaline stage. That would cheer up Reg's staff to see him so undermined and bring her a lot of credit.