Just As You Are

by Kate Mathieson

  Back in the main area, I opened the long brown curtains and looked outside. A cracked stone pathway weaved past a chipped brick fence, a kaleidoscope of spider webs and too many trees to a small barred front door, letting in only a smidge of light, which spilt across the two metres that would be called my living room.

  Mum sniffed in the corner of the living room, which was also the corner of the bedroom, and almost part of the kitchen. ‘Does it smell a little damp to you?’

  ‘Nothing some spray or candles won’t fix,’ I said, trying to remain optimistic. It was damp, it did smell like mould, and it couldn’t ever fit more than three people, but at least it was all mine.

  ‘I shouldn’t have got it without seeing it.’ Mum shook her head and got down on her knees, rubbing a stained part of the carpet.

  Dad chimed in, ‘But it’s cheap.’

  ‘I need cheap.’ I nodded, thinking of my measly little salary and leaning over to hug my Mum, which I think surprised her. ‘Thanks, Mum. I mean it.’

  After my parents went home, I unpacked the furniture they’d kindly donated to me. I had two fold-up chairs instead of a couch, I had a plastic dining room table, and an old off-white ottoman, but as I finished unpacking my candles, turned on my oil diffuser with lavender in it, and hung up some paintings, I looked around with a smile – it was beginning to feel more like home, like my home. Sitting on my bed, I took a sip of warm chamomile tea and pulled out my vision board and hung it above my bed. Step 1: Get a job, and Step 2: Get a house. Done. Which left me with one more step.

  Step 3: Get a partner. Marry him. How hard could that be?

  Chapter 9

  Donna Allbright was glossy and glorious, settled on a bar stool in the middle of Maker’s open-plan employee kitchen, as she looked at the gathered team of twenty in front of her, who all seemed somewhat besotted by her. The girls especially had all dressed quite like Donna. Which meant I fitted right in, in my caramel heels and red dress.

  ‘Now, before I talk about all the wonderful projects we have coming up, I want to introduce Emma Londstown, our newest recruit.’ She flicked her red-nailed hand in my direction. ‘Emma wowed us in the interview, so we expect big things.’

  I felt a few people eye me up suspiciously. I didn’t know what to do, so I held my hand up, and then felt a bit like the Queen, so I started waving it emphatically, as if I were a five year old in the Christmas play who’d just spotted their parents in the audience, and then felt rather idiotic for doing that.

  Finally, I said, ‘Hey, folks,’ unfortunately a bit like Porky Pig might have said it. I hoped everyone would think it ironic – which seemed to be the catchphrase here, because I’d heard two people mutter it in separate conversations in the lift and foyer – but the team just looked at me strangely. Even Donna had a quizzical look on her face.

  ‘So, everyone, let’s get a much-needed coffee then we’ll break up into smaller teams for the workshops on our newest projects.’ She clapped her hands twice and everyone dispersed like ants.

  I walked towards the sink and grabbed a cup. A tall man in a purple turtleneck appeared next to me. Ironic? Or was he part of The Wiggles? Were they doing office entertainment now?

  ‘Phil,’ he said, nodding his head.

  ‘Emma.’ I smiled.

  ‘You mean Porky Pig, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, you got that?’

  ‘Totally. It was …’ he paused, and then we both said together, ‘… ironic.’

  ‘Coffee?’ he offered, holding the cup under the automatic machine and saying ‘coffee’ loudly into the weird robotic AI microphone.

  ‘Double it,’ I said, looking at the measly portion tipped into the cup.

  ‘Voila.’ He pushed the cup into my hand and made himself a strong tea. ‘So, brand spanking new to Maker, huh?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Where from?’

  I supposed I was meant to offer my wow career history to this question, but I didn’t really have one, so instead I simply said, ‘Sydney.’

  ‘Well, that’s clear. Look, you’re in Nine West pumps and you work at Maker. Of course, you’re from Sydney.’

  ‘How do you know these are Nine West?’

  ‘Pfffft.’ He waved my words away like a pesty fly.

  ‘OK, so I’m from Marrickville.’ I’d never lived south of the bridge before and I was chuffed I was now in a trendy part of town. Even if everything was crammed into one room and it was almost impossible to turn around in my own bathroom and my toiletries hung from a plastic bag on a hook nailed into the ceiling. But at least I wasn’t over thirty and living with my parents. As I had been a few weeks ago.

  ‘Oh, honey, no. We don’t need to know where you live. Especially if you don’t live in Paddington or Bondi like everyone else.’ He waved his hand around like Cinderalla’s fairy Godmother. ‘And on our salaries who could live anywhere but a box in those places?’ He leaned in. ‘I mean, like a real cardboard box on someone’s lawn.’

  ‘Well, my place is kinda small.’ I smiled. ‘And I do have a few unopened boxes from my move that could possibly provide shelter should I need travelling accommodation.’

  ‘Sounds exactly like my life,’ he said warmly. ‘Well, I’m the Events Coordinator here, which literally means office bitch. If you need your shoes cleaned or your phone handed to you, that’s probably going to be my job.’

  He started walking and I followed dutifully like a loving orphaned pup who’d been taken in by the gay handsome hero (in a purple turtleneck). ‘Welcome to the kitchen where everything is a bit high tech. Coffee makes itself, just speak into the microphone on the machine. Tea too. The catering we get here is divine. Smoked ginger fish on charcoal platters. Pepper-roasted chicken with potato puree. Sushi rice cream. But about the size of your thumbnail. So expect to go hungry. Going back for seconds is a no-no. We normally don’t eat anything here, but we pretend to.’

  I forced a laugh because I had no idea what he was talking about, but it sounded a bit more like a wheeze than I intended. He stared at me strangely.

  ‘Lunchtime is legally thirty minutes. But in reality, if you take that long you might be fired. We eat at our desks or on the run. When the bigwigs all gather for their managerial meetings every few weeks, we can skive off for up to an hour – but only then. Otherwise you’ll be told you’re not a team player.’

  We’d walked down a brightly lit white corridor, with streaks of post-modernist pink paint on the wall. Either that, or I was in a leftover haunted Halloween mansion. Or a really bad hospital scene from Grey’s Anatomy.

  ‘Art.’ Phil flicked his hand at the wall then turned and looked at me.

  ‘Ironic?’ I guessed. Although I couldn’t guess at the type of irony. And I’d used the word so much more today than I think I had my entire life. You know when you’ve started to repeat a word over and over and it loses all its meaning. Well, irony already sounded really silly.

  ‘Exactly.’ Phil nodded, and like a perfect air steward he pointed out the exits, and then the toilets.

  ‘Other things you should know on day one. When Donna claps her hands twice – listen. If it’s three times stop everything you are doing. Don’t even breathe. It means things are about to explode. Someone’s done something. Or hasn’t done something.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Other thing is, during the peak of our events you’ll lose all hours known to man. You’ll be here so early and stay so late, you’ll forget that you even went home to change or sleep. In fact, sleep becomes optional, and coffee becomes essential. Do you have a boyfriend? A husband? A girlfriend?’

  Oh, God. The question.

  ‘Um, no,’ I admitted, feeling a bit flat.

  ‘Well, honey, that’s a good thing. No one to expect you home or nag at you when you’re late. Let me tell you, I’m envious.’

  He was envious of my single life?

  ‘Right, here’s my desk and here …’ Phil tapped an empty chair next to him ‘… are you.’
/>   He leaned into my ear and whispered, ‘Welcome to Faker.’

  ***

  That morning we had a meeting about the new artwork that was going up on the walls on a level we never went to. Emails about meetings. Meetings about emails. Meetings to discuss what was the right fabric for a PR night about a million months in the future. And many meeting invites being sent from Creative and Marketing about event nights.

  I was introduced to so many new faces, new teams, and everyone disappeared into a really well-dressed, designer blur, except for one guy who kind of stood out. Ryan. He was a Sales Account Executive (I’d had to search what that meant in the bathrooms between meetings) who I caught looking at me several times during the meeting. Each time my eyes would catch his, instead of looking away, he’d smile. Confidence. I liked that. But an office romance? That was the kiss of death in corporate life, so I begrudgingly stopped looking at him.

  Besides, I wasn’t here to have a romance, I was here to work. And it was taking all of my mental power, trying to concentrate on the PR world around me, because I didn’t know what was going on. At all. There were always buzz words I had to try and decipher. That morning Phil and Donna had discussed the ‘build buzz’ with ‘influencers’ and all I could think of was the room filling with headstrong bees.

  Also, everyone loved to ‘disrupt’ things. People’s actual role titles in our department were Social Media Disrupter or Marketing Disrupter, and whilst disrupting things in most places would not be encouraged (no one needs their sewerage pipes being disrupted), in here it was applauded, often with clapping in team meetings and more buzz words thrown after it like – ‘thought leader’ and ‘demand generation’ and ‘trail blazer’.

  That afternoon Donna called me into her office for our first chit-chat. She actually entitled it that on her subject heading in the calendar invite. Chit-chat.

  I wondered if that meant we were close, or would indulge in some girly nattering. Because I really wanted to ask her what products she used on her face – her skin was amazing and didn’t seem to have a crease or wrinkle anywhere. How old was she? Twenty-eight? Thirty-five? I couldn’t tell.

  ‘How does she do it?’ I mused aloud at lunch. One hand on the keyboard single-handedly typing an email to the copy boy – Could we get more brochures made up, please? – the other hand on my fork, which was dug deep into my homemade lettuce, tomato and feta salad (I wished it were a cheesy baguette … oh, dreams).

  Phil looked up. ‘The answer to that question is usually one of the three – Botox, starvation or career prostitution. To any question here, really.’

  I nodded, trying out his theory. Why is she so pretty? Starvation and Botox. Why am I working for the same money as a high school student? Career prostitution. He was right. ‘Makes sense.’

  Donna clapped twice and I realised it was chit-chat time. I hurried into her office so quickly, I forgot what I was doing and almost saluted when I got in there. Thankfully I took a quick breath and realised I was wearing fabulous heels and a knockout dress and I was tres chic. No saluting.

  ‘Take a seat.’ Donna smiled from behind her gleaming white desk. Nothing was on her desk besides her extra-large monitor. Just slender metal legs, and the shiny glow of white plastic on top, it clearly cost a fortune. And made her glow a bit angelically. This was extraordinary.

  I perched on the end of her white leather couch, which meant I was at a weird angle to face her. I could either face the door and just talk to her without looking at her. Or I had to sit at the furthest diagonal on the couch so I could see her.

  ‘How is everything so far?’ Donna crossed her legs and made it look like a gorgeous ballet move.

  ‘Great, really great. Friendly people.’

  ‘And what insight do you have for me?’

  ‘Um, insight?’

  ‘Yes, someone who’s so on it like you, Emma, someone with the experience that you have, I’m sure you’ve got some great insights already.’ So I might have elaborated a little too much on my PR experience in London on my CV.

  Donna was wearing striking black eye make-up today, and pale lips the colour of sand, and she was stunning, of course, but her black eyes were staring at me intently. Waiting for something wonderful to come out of my mouth.

  I thought for a second about saying I don’t know, or even telling her, Donna, I’m a little more junior than I may have led you to believe, but I’m willing and able to learn things very quickly.

  But I knew how fast people like Donna turned. I could be her BFF one day, and her mortal enemy the next. Besides, as soon as I’d got the role, I’d signed up for an online PR crash course for the next six months. I was tenacious. I’d learn. This was Maker. I’d do anything. I’d be the best PR person they’d ever seen.

  Donna was still staring at me, so I cleared my throat and said what I’d heard everyone mentioning at meetings. ‘Well, there are clearly some wonderful projects, especially the corporate strategic initiatives. I think people are really disrupting things, and that’s something that our competitors aren’t really doing, or not doing that well, and it’s all about disruption. All about it.’

  Donna took a moment. A moment of utter silence. She blinked a few times. ‘Very astute, Emma. On point. Glad you’re on the team.’ She opened a drawer and pulled out a cream manila folder. ‘I knew you were the right person to lead the next big project we have. Because this industry needs a little disruption.’

  Oh no. Lead?

  She paused and opened the folder. ‘Macabre Nights.’ She paused for dramatic effect. ‘Can you see it?’ She leaned over her desk and placed her perfect chin in her hand with her perfect nude nails.

  ‘Oh, yes, I can see it.’ I nodded enthusiastically. I could see nothing.

  ‘A tantalising and wonderful event. Our annual charity night. The event of the year, really.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘It’s a Fever Pitch. You don’t mind, do you?’

  A whatty what? I had no idea what that meant, but I sat with my back straight, as if I was her girl, and said, ‘Totally fine.’

  ‘Great.’ She handed over the folder. ‘It’s all yours.’

  I nodded and left the room feeling excited and nervous. I had forgotten to ask so many things. Who was the client? What was the budget? What did they want us to deliver? When was the event?

  But first things first, I had to google macabre.

  At my desk, I opened up Google and typed macabre. Wikipedia told me it was the ‘Dance of Death’ in English. In German the ‘Totentanz’. There were images too of jangling bones. Of wretched souls. And all of them dancing.

  Apparently macabre was disturbing, concerned with or causing a fear of death. The dictionary also provided a sentence for further context and that was even more alarming – a macabre series of murders.

  What on earth had I got myself into?

  I opened the manila folder and scanned the scant two pages Donna had provided inside. The charity night had been running for years supporting different organisations, with a plethora of annual functions – I scanned the previous themes:

  Golden Gala

  Royal Regatta

  Spring Ballet

  Oceanic Ball

  A Moveable Feast

  So it seemed all the lovely and less sinister ideas had already been used up, and this year they felt the need to go a little out there, a little screwball, and add a heap of murderous darkness to proceedings.

  Let me guess. It was the latest trend? It was on point? Add that to the Maker dictionary dialogue alongside ironic. I could probably hold a conversation using just those words.

  I read the file. An Australian charity was launching a new logo, which I’d overheard people in the London PR firm say was risky for any brand (I wrote that down – that was a good thing to say) and a new branding concept, to celebrate international charities coming together, for a massive collaboration effort. This event was part of the collaboration, and meant to represent connection and a sense
of belonging across the world.

  Well, then, why the hell did they want to kill people? This seemed slightly at odds with a charity.

  I flicked to the next page with the logo. It was a round pink circle, with a small stick figure head in the middle, and two straight lines on either side, coming out from the head. It was meant to represent a person with outstretched arms – but it looked as if John the Baptist’s head had been served up on a silver platter and bled everywhere.

  ‘You have to be kidding me.’

  I wasn’t aware I’d said this aloud until Phil said, ‘Trouble in PR Paradise?’

  ‘More like death.’

  ‘Sounds sinister. Who for?’

  I flicked to the second page in the manila folder to see who the international client was. A Kenyan orphanage. Then the word macabre seemed outrageously horrific. Who had chosen this ill-fitting theme?

  ‘Children.’ I looked at him with wide eyes. My first PR project and it was lined up to be a complete disaster already. I remembered my conversation with Donna. ‘What’s a Fever Pitch?’

  He looked up at me. ‘You got a Fever Pitch?’

  ‘Yes.’ I felt totally clueless. ‘What is that?’

  ‘A Fever Pitch,’ he said simply, ‘is when it’s down to the wire and you have to pull something out of nothing, in a matter of months or weeks.’

  ‘Because I’m going to get sick?’

  He laughed. ‘Well, possibly. But also because you’ll be running at such a tempo, it’s like you’re on fast forward, burning up, like a fever.’

  I flicked through the pages, seeing the event date was in three months. Three months? Even I knew that most of these large events were planned nine months in advance, either that, or they had an entire team of people on them. I felt a hot flush coming on already. The only thing that had been done was a Save the Date invitation to guests, and the hotel space booked. How the hell was I going to pull this off?