False Advertising (39 page)

‘What are you doing?' he asked nervously.

She placed his hand on her belly and he looked over at her as the baby jigged around under his touch. He smiled, then he looked back up at the ceiling. And so did Gemma, feeling unusually contented. At least she had one good friend; maybe that was all anyone needed.

*

Helen walked in the door just on seven. She didn't like coming home this late, but work had been frantic, and she still wasn't finished for the day. She was going to have to write up some schedules later, but they could wait until after Noah was in bed. And preferably when Gemma wasn't around. It seemed to annoy her whenever Helen did any work from home, or if Myles rang. She'd snoop around, wanting to know what it was about. And if Helen mentioned anything about a meeting, that would really set her off. So Helen had made her own personal policy not to talk shop with Gemma, no matter how much she goaded. She did not want to upset her this far along in her pregnancy.

They must be out in the kitchen because Noah didn't come running as he usually did. Helen kicked her shoes off into her bedroom and dropped her bag. She slipped her jacket off on her way through the front room and tossed it on an armchair, too tired to care about hanging it up for the moment. When she appeared in the kitchen doorway, Noah's face lit up and he jumped out of his seat and scurried around to give her a hug.

Helen hugged him back, ruffling his hair. ‘Hi,' she said to Gemma as she pulled a chair out and sat down, scooping Noah onto her lap. ‘You shouldn't be doing dinner tonight,' she added.

Gemma turned around from the kitchen bench. ‘I didn't. This is one of yours. I just thought I'd better heat it up when it started to get late.'

‘Sorry . . .' Helen said lamely, reluctant to offer any excuse. She had taken to cooking meals on her days off and freezing them, partly due to Gemma's lack of culinary prowess, but also because she was too tired to cook most evenings, and she wanted to spend the little time she had then with Noah.

‘Someone from Brookhaven called today,' Gemma said as she served up dinner.

‘Oh, was it urgent?' Helen said, guilt and anxiety joining forces to mount a coordinated assault on her.

‘No, they didn't say it was,' said Gemma offhand. ‘They just left a message for you to call back.'

Helen hoped there wasn't a problem. She hadn't been to visit her mother for a few weeks. She'd been working too late to fit in a visit on her way home, and she always seemed to run out of time in the mornings to pop in before work. She had taken Noah a couple of times on her days off, but he had been uneasy, and Helen was loath to push it. She mustn't forget to phone before heading out on location tomorrow.

They had been shooting footage in a supermarket in Edgecliff but they hadn't felt they were getting a good cross-section of the population. They needed to hear from middle Australia: they needed to venture further into the suburbs. They had settled on the Sutherland Shire and Helen had located two stores in the same chain and had made all the necessary arrangements with the management. The test case they had selected was an established brand of washing powder, part of an extensive line of household cleaning products. It was being relaunched with new packaging, and Myles felt that if they made a presentation to the client on just this one product, they might get him to seriously consider doing an entire ‘I buy it because . . .' campaign.

They were working with the team responsible for the account, thankfully not Justin's. They had brainstormed the best way to get to the ‘man on the street' and decided, after initial trial runs, to go direct to the supermarket, to the very site of the purchase. They needed to find out what was going through the mind of the consumer as they reached for the item on the shelf. So they were going to ask them.

At first the interviews were straightforward and upfront: an interviewer sporting clipboard and ID with the camera operator in plain view. There had been some interesting responses. People either brushed by, shaking their heads and muttering, ‘Not today, thanks.' Or they were tongue-tied and star-struck, and just plain useless. Or there were the show-offs, who thought their opinions were worthy of ten or more minutes of film, or who thought they were hilarious and decided this was an opportunity to try out their best material. Whatever, they were hardly getting the inner motivations of people as they reached for their soap powder. So they had decided to try a hidden camera, involving a whole new set of logistics, revised permission from the supermarket
management, and release forms for the unsuspecting shoppers to sign after the filming to allow them to use the footage. Most wouldn't sign, some even expecting a ludicrous upfront payment for their newfound celebrity. It was difficult to explain that this was only preliminary shooting which was unlikely to be used in any finished advertisements.

The most successful strategy had come when they had decided to use actors striking up conversations with real shoppers, caught on hidden cameras. The team had devised a number of scenarios: the hapless bloke who'd lost his shopping list and couldn't remember what brand they usually bought; the young woman who'd just moved out of home; the harried housewife dissatisfied with brands she'd tried lately. They still had the issue of obtaining releases, but by and large the team felt they were beginning to get some worthwhile material. And so they were off to conquer the suburbs tomorrow.

Helen's role throughout all this had been as a kind of executive producer, as Myles described it. She didn't have to actually do the thing; she just had to help get it done. So she had been responsible for liaising with the supermarkets, and then with their own legal department, to arrange the appropriate permissions and releases, and, of course, constantly with Myles. He only attended the occasional progress meeting; the rest of the time he relied on Helen to keep him briefed. Her nursing training was actually standing her in good stead: she was used to documenting absolutely everything, which meant if she couldn't answer Myles's questions off the top of her head, she could quickly put her hand on the information. He was impressed. And he told her so, frequently.

Helen couldn't deny she was enjoying the challenge, being treated with respect, having authority – the whole thing was quite a buzz. Apart from the feeling that David was at times tut-tutting over her shoulder, on the whole Helen felt comfortable with the straightforward approach of this campaign.

The only downside was that she missed Noah, not too badly yet, but she knew the time was coming when she'd be expected to work every day, and that was going to be tough. The morning rush hour and a quick story before bed did not seem nearly enough, though Helen knew that was by and large all the time
the majority of men got to have with their kids. How did they cope, she wondered. How did they ever manage to develop meaningful relationships in so little time? And it wasn't just men: Helen was well aware that more and more women were in the same boat, and she was not sure it was one she wanted to board.

‘So, what kept you at work?' Gemma asked as Helen sat down to eat.

She shrugged. ‘Oh, you know, the usual.'

Gemma looked at her. ‘Filing and answering the phone doesn't tend to keep me late.'

Helen sighed inwardly. Just change the subject. ‘So what did you two get up to today?'

As Noah proceeded to prattle on, Helen avoided eye contact with Gemma, but she could feel the tension nevertheless. Perhaps one good thing would come of her taking over full-time. Gemma would be right away from Bailey's with a new focus and her own set of challenges. That had to be better for everyone.

Gemma couldn't understand why she was still feeling so tired. She'd had Thursday and Friday largely to herself, as usual, and she'd spent almost the entire weekend in a horizontal position. Phoebe had come over on Friday night, but she was a bit of a drag these days, since she had talked Gemma into letting her be her support person during labour. Gemma was beginning to think that had been a mistake. Phoebe was acting like a coach before a big game. She had taken to scouring the birth manuals and marking passages to read out loud to Gemma, and then quizzing her on them later. This week her obsession was the benefits of perineum massage. Gemma said she could barely reach her perineum let alone massage it. So Phoebe had offered to do it for her, and that was right about when Gemma had told her to go home.

Then Charlie had turned up on Saturday afternoon to try to talk her into going to see a film, but he couldn't budge her. As there was no beating her, he'd ended up joining her, and they had both lolled around for hours watching Noah's DVDs because Gemma could not even be bothered going to the video store.

But the rest seemed to have done little for Gemma's energy levels, probably because she wasn't getting more than a couple of hours' sleep at a time with the baby using her bladder for kick-boxing practice. She'd had to drag herself through most of the day today, and she was really beginning to wonder if she could make it into the office again tomorrow. She should just throw in the towel, take her leave and be done with it.

‘So why don't you?' Charlie had asked when she'd brought it up between
Finding Nemo
and
The Incredibles
. ‘I'm getting a little worried about you, Gem.'

‘Well I'm just worried that the longer I'm away, the less likely I'll be to get my job back.'

‘Gem, we've already been over this. Helen won't do that to you.'

‘How can you be so sure?' said Gemma. ‘Everyone seems to have the idea that Helen's so sweet and innocent, but who really knows what she's thinking?'

‘Then ask her!' Charlie declared. ‘And while you're at it, ask the MD as well.'

‘Ask him what?'

‘Ask him if you're going to have a job to go back to after the baby,' he said simply.

‘I can't just come out with it like that.'

‘Why not?' said Charlie. ‘I get the idea he'd much rather people were straight with him, you know. You should talk to him, get some of this out in the open. Might put your mind at rest, and then you can stop cutting off your nose to spite your face and finish up at work.'

But Gemma was not so sure. She slumped forward on her desk, resting her chin on her hands. She was sure she could go to sleep right now, just like this . . . she closed her eyes . . .

‘Gemma?'

She jumped. Myles was standing over her desk, frowning down at her. She hadn't even heard him coming.

‘Are you okay?' he asked. ‘You don't look so good.'

‘I'm fine,' she said, sitting up straight and giving her hair a flick.

He considered her for a moment longer. ‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes, I'm sure,' Gemma insisted through barely gritted teeth. ‘Do you need something, MD?'

‘Um, no . . . well, yes, actually,' he said. ‘I was just wondering how much longer you intend to keep working?'

Here it was, finally. ‘Why do you ask?'

‘Well, Helen's well and truly settled into the position now; in fact, she even does a bit of work Mondays and Tuesdays from home. There's no reason for you to soldier on, Gemma.'

‘I'm fine, really,' she said curtly. ‘I can manage.'

Myles stood his briefcase on her desk and leaned on it. ‘The thing is, you mustn't have much longer to go. When are you due?'

She dropped her eyes. ‘I'm not exactly sure.'

‘Haven't you had an ultrasound?'

‘Yes,' she relented, ‘but they're not a hundred percent accurate.'

‘I thought they were pretty close.'

‘Oh, so when you had your baby, that was your experience, was it?' Gemma said petulantly. She glanced up at him and he was staring curiously at her. ‘Look, I had no idea of my dates,' she explained, ‘so they work it out from the baby's measurements, and obviously babies come in all shapes and sizes. So the best they can do is an estimate.'

‘So what's the estimate?' Myles persisted.

‘A few weeks still,' she said vaguely. ‘So, there's no rush to get me out of the door just yet.'

There was a pause as the acid in her words ate a hole in the ozone layer.

‘What's the matter, Gemma?' asked Myles.

She didn't appreciate his tone. It was too . . . considerate.

‘I'm just not sure this is going to work out,' she said finally.

‘What are you talking about?'

‘This job-sharing arrangement.'

‘I think it's working out fine,' said Myles. ‘Better than fine, in fact.'

‘For you, maybe.'

‘I hate to pull rank, Gemma, but I think I hold the deciding vote.'

She couldn't exactly argue with that.

‘Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?' Myles asked her, using that tone again.

How much time did he have? Her back was hurting, her feet were so swollen she couldn't fit into any of her shoes, she had a vague sensation of nausea all the time, she had constant heart-burn, she was so tired she couldn't see straight, and her emotions had a life all their own, so that right now, if she attempted to actually answer him, she couldn't guarantee what was going to come out of her mouth.

‘Gemma?'

Bugger it. Charlie said she ought to be straight with him, and what did she have to lose anyway?

‘Okay, you want to know what's bothering me?' she cried. ‘I'll tell you what's bothering me. In all the months I've worked for you, answering your mail and updating your schedule and filing your files, you've never asked me to one meeting or included me in any “projects”, and then Helen waltzes in here and you give her the run of the place.'

‘Okay, putting aside the gross exaggeration,' said Myles, ‘you're right. And the reason for that is I haven't had the same level of trust with you, Gemma, that I have with Helen.'

‘Whose fault is that?'

He shook his head. ‘Helen didn't lie to me to get the job.'

‘But you only found that out a couple of months ago. What about before that?'

‘Gemma, I knew in the interview that you were lying to me.'

She blinked. ‘You did?'

‘Not about the pregnancy,' he said. ‘But I'm not stupid, Gemma. You had a very impressive record at Bailey's before you jumped ship. I knew you didn't want to be my PA; you were just trying to find a way back in.'

‘So why did you give me the job?'

‘I thought since you knew the business so well, you might be quite an asset as a PA, if you did as you promised and really threw yourself into it.'

‘Well, I tried to,' she insisted. ‘You just wouldn't give me a chance.'

‘That's not true, Gemma. You sulked your way through most days, grudgingly doing your work, making it quite clear that you felt it was beneath you. You never tried to build any trust or rapport.'

‘I did too!'

‘What, by telling me to get a haircut and pushing your way into meetings?'

Gemma could feel herself going red.

‘You know what, Gemma? I think you probably have a huge amount to offer, if you just got over the attitude that everybody owes you. So your boyfriend left you in the lurch. Life is unfair sometimes, but it takes two people to get pregnant. Start taking some responsibility for your own actions instead of blaming everyone else. If you want things to change, then get off your backside and do something about it.'

The
ping
announcing the arrival of an email broke Gemma's reverie. The MD had long since gone into his office, and she had no idea how long she'd been sitting here, staring into space. Where did he get off saying those things to her, homing right in on her insecurities like that? Who did he think he was?

She turned to the computer and clicked on her inbox. The email was from Mel.

Gemma sighed, hitting reply.

Not more than a minute passed before the phone rang. Gemma picked up the receiver. ‘Mr Davenport's office.'

‘Gemma, it's Mel.'

‘Oh, hi.'

‘You have to come down to DryDock.'

‘Mel, I'm exhausted –'

‘It won't take long, but it's important. You're going to want to be there for this.'

‘What's it about?'

‘It's about your friend, Helen.'

Gemma walked wearily through the front door as Helen backed out of Noah's room, switching off the light.

‘Hi, you're late,' said Helen in a hushed voice, pausing to examine her more closely. ‘You look terrible, Gemma. Are you feeling all right?'

Gemma was about sick of hearing that. ‘We have to talk,' she said squarely.

Helen nodded, trailing Gemma as she walked determinedly out to the kitchen.

‘I served you up some dinner,' said Helen, crossing to the bench and picking up a foil-covered plate. ‘Do you want me to heat it up for you?'

‘I'm not hungry,' Gemma said grimly, pulling out a chair to sit down.

Helen turned to look at her. ‘You should eat, Gemma. Or did you go out for dinner? Is that why you're late?'

‘I met some of the staff after work,' she said.

‘That's nice.'

‘Why didn't you tell me about the campaign you've been working on, Helen?'

She shrugged. ‘I did, I'm sure I've mentioned it.'

‘Yeah, sure you've
mentioned
it,' said Gemma. ‘Like it was no big deal.'

‘It's not that big a deal, Gemma. It's just an idea Myles had –'

‘I heard it was your idea.'

Helen shook her head. ‘It was something I said to Myles, quite offhand, about toilet paper of all things, and he ran with it. He wanted to develop the idea of having real people talk honestly about why they choose the products they do.'

Gemma folded her arms. ‘And he thinks that's never been done before?'

‘No,' Helen groaned. ‘Look, we had to go through all this with the teams, Gemma.'

‘Yeah, well I had to hear it from the angry mob.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘Down at DryDock tonight. Everyone was there and they're really pissed off about what's going on, Helen.'

She frowned. ‘What do they think's going on?'

‘Oh, just that some nobody without any advertising experience whatsoever has managed to bend the MD's ear with lame ideas and he's letting her run her own campaign.'

Helen's eyes narrowed. ‘Who said this?'

‘I told you, a whole contingent from the office met down at DryDock. Justin Moncrieff was the spokesman.'

‘Why am I not surprised?' Helen leaned back against the bench and shook her head. ‘He's so arrogant, that man. He shot down everything Myles said, he didn't listen, he didn't want to be open to new ideas. He actually didn't want any part of it, so I don't know why he's complaining. Were there any other team leaders there? I bet Julie Russo wasn't.'

‘No, she wasn't there,' Gemma admitted. ‘But Lewis –'

‘Oh, come on, Gemma,' Helen declared. ‘Lewis is a complete idiot. He's an embarrassment; in fact, I don't understand why they keep him on staff.'

‘His uncle's on the board.'

‘Well, that explains that. You know, Myles actually has quite a lot of respect around the place, especially from people who don't listen to hearsay.'

‘Look, there were about a dozen people there, all right?' said Gemma. ‘And they're all really pissed off, Helen. They reckon this “I buy it because” idea is lame, and the MD shouldn't be dictating how the teams run their campaigns.'

‘It's not like that,' said Helen. ‘You're only getting their side.'

‘Yeah, well, that's because you never told me anything about it.'

‘And that's because you get miffed every time I do tell you anything that goes on at work,' Helen retorted, tired of this. ‘If I say I've sat in a meeting, I have to listen to you complain for ten minutes because you never get to sit in on meetings. So I
stopped telling you. It's not my fault that the MD asks me to do this stuff. I don't know why he does.'

Because he trusted her so much, supposedly. That was his story anyway. Gemma hadn't believed one bit of his bluster today. He was making excuses, and she was going to out him.

‘Everyone thinks it's because you're sleeping together,' Gemma said bluntly.

‘What?' Helen exclaimed. ‘I hope you set them straight.'

She shrugged. ‘How am I supposed to know what you get up to 24/7?'

‘Gemma,' Helen said, clearly upset, ‘you know perfectly well we're not sleeping together. I thought you were my friend.'

‘And I thought you were mine,' Gemma threw back at her. ‘You needn't get all wounded with me, Helen. I had to talk you into even considering this job in the first place, and now you're taking over. You don't know the first thing about advertising. You shouldn't be using the circumstances to get influence over the MD.'

‘What does that even mean? What circumstances?'

Gemma shook her head. ‘I can't believe you're so naive, Helen.'

‘Please don't patronise me, Gemma. I'm not naive, and I'm not stupid. Just because you don't get along with the MD, you suspect there has to be something between us because I do. You've been implying it ever since the day we met, and frankly it's insulting.'

‘How is it insulting?'

‘It's insulting to suggest that Myles could only be interested in what I have to say because he's attracted to me,' said Helen, becoming shrill. ‘That that could be the only reason he hired me.'