Blaze

by Di Morrissey

  ‘As you now know, I am temporarily easing out of Blaze here in the US – though it’s been a wonderful and fruitful relationship. Since the company went public, my role has not been so hands-on and, I have to say I miss it. So, after discussions with Baron Triton and the other members of the board, we have agreed to start a new Blaze – in Australia.’

  ‘So you mentioned the other night,’ said Ali, trying to calm her impatience.

  ‘It may seem a strange move in some people’s eyes, but it’s what I want to do. After all, it was where Blaze started and, now that the magazine is so highly regarded internationally, it is not as if we’re faced with launching an unknown name into a competitive field.’

  Ali shifted and recrossed her legs. She really was not interested in Nina’s plans. What about her future? Sensing her impatience, Nina leaned forward slightly.

  ‘It will have to be an excellent magazine to live up to the Blaze standard. Like the other international editions, Blaze Australia will carry a number of features from Blaze USA, which will always remain the flagship magazine, but it will also have an identity of its own, purely Australian. It will have the opportunity to be very contemporary – technologically and creatively – so I want the best people in there. There will be a lot of reorganising to create the slick and classy magazine I envision will reflect the character of this young yet sophisticated country.’

  ‘Are you starting from scratch or taking over an existing magazine?’ asked Ali, feeling that she needed to show at least a bit of interest.

  ‘I have bought out an independent Australian magazine started by a woman who was backed by a financier, apparently with very deep pockets. She tried to do what I had done with Blaze decades ago. Unfortunately for her, it didn’t work.’

  ‘I imagine it’s difficult to survive without being part of an . . . empire,’ finished Ali, after searching momentarily for the right word.

  ‘That’s right. Most Australian magazines have traditionally been run by Packer or Murdoch. News Corp dominates the newspaper industry, but they have also started to move into the magazine market. With Triton’s backing, I intend Blaze to target a unique quality market in Australia, as it has in other countries.’

  Ali recalled Nina telling her when she first started working for Blaze that she’d used her own money inherited from her late husband to start her magazine. It was one of the early lessons Ali had learned and filed away – money equals power.

  Nina continued, ‘So, my best people must be right up there. Ali, I’m asking you to be the founding editor of Blaze Australia. You are ready to take on what will be a formidable job . . .’

  ‘Australia! An editor in Australia!’ Ali couldn’t stop the exclamation that exploded from her.

  Nina interpreted her stunned response as surprise and didn’t appear to hear the negative shock that registered in Ali’s voice. ‘The Triton board has moved quickly to accept the recommendation of Irene da Costa as editor of Blaze here in the US following Lorraine’s tragic death. This is one of the cream jobs in publishing. Naturally, Irene has accepted.’

  It took a minute for the fact to register that someone else had already been appointed editor of Blaze in New York. Ali fumbled to make a sensible comment while her mind was spinning. ‘Irene’s leaving Bazaar?’ Ali knew the glamorous da Costa. ‘She must be nearing forty. Is she up on today’s issues and tastes?’ asked Ali with a hard edge to her voice.

  ‘If she isn’t, she’ll hire the right people who are. I should tell you that she has made it clear who she intends to appoint as her deputy, although that information is confidential at this stage.’

  Ali was shocked. Not only had her long-craved ambition to become editor of Blaze USA been thwarted, she had also been supplanted in her role as deputy editor of Blaze. And what was just as frightening to her, as a woman who prided herself on being on top of what was happening in the executive suites above, she had known nothing of these manoeuvres that now threatened her entire career.

  Nina continued. ‘Ali, being an editor is more than keeping up with trends. With Blaze you inherit the mantle of a successful institution with profit expectations. The administrative role is as powerful as the editorial. This will apply equally with the new Australian Blaze. I believe you are up to this – that is, if you want to take it on?’

  ‘I was hoping to make my mark in New York,’ said Ali tensely.

  ‘And you have. Which is why you have been chosen. Your Australian background will be useful too.’

  ‘I’m totally out of touch with what’s happening there!’ said Ali vehemently, wondering if by some miracle she could at least hold on to the deputy editor’s job in New York, if da Costa hadn’t yet signed on someone else.

  ‘I would imagine you’ll be on top of things in Australia very quickly,’ said Nina smoothly. ‘Starting up Blaze in Sydney will certainly put you on the map.’

  ‘Big fish in a small pond, eh?’ Ali managed a weak smile. ‘Of course I’m very flattered, Nina. It’s just not what I expected . . .’

  ‘Ali, I am hoping to announce your promotion as soon as possible, before the announcement of Irene and her deputy on Friday. But if you want to think this over, please do. Keep in mind that Blaze is the jewel of one of the biggest media empires in the world. Not many people as young as you have the opportunity to be part of something new and exciting within such an organisation. Make it work in Australia and you’ll write your ticket to the world.’

  ‘And how long would that be?’ Ali was still in shock. And furious, Nina was so out of touch. Most of the new magazine editors nowadays were barely thirty. Nina was still acting as if you had to wait for the old birds to drop off the perch before you could move up a notch. It didn’t work that way any more. The strongest of the young birds pushed the mother and siblings out of the nest these days. Cuckoo-land ruled Nina, she thought. When was Nina going to recognise she couldn’t keep hanging on to her position? Maybe she was feeling insecure and going back to Australia for someone in her position was a pretty safe option. God, Australia. What a nightmare.

  Nina smiled. ‘Twelve-month contract, renewable for another twelve months. You can thrash out the details with Roberto. However, once in Australia you will be answerable to me as editor-in-chief.’

  ‘Nina, no offence, but just how much say would I have?’ asked Ali. ‘If I am to grow into the company and write my own ticket, I would need to make my own decisions for the magazine. And the move would be expensive for me.’ A sinking feeling of resignation that she had no option began to surface in Ali. Therefore she’d better make the most of it.

  ‘I agree. You know I don’t like to interfere with my editors. I understand editors need to establish their own authority. I’m going out next week to finalise details of the new offices and to talk to existing staff. Part of the deal was retaining the main core of workers. However, in addition to yourself, I will be taking Manny Golan to train a new financial vice-president. I also want a deputy editor that we know is capable and creative. I haven’t raised it yet, but I would like that person to be Larissa. I know there are terrific people in Australia, but Blaze has a certain ethos and a look that you both understand. Once you are installed as editor, and once the first edition is ready to go to press, I’m off to Europe for three months or so and you’ll be on your own. You know I’ve always believed an editor should edit a magazine, not the editor-in-chief. Those three months will be your baptism.’

  Ali looked out the window, past the round table Nina used as a desk. A whirlwind of feelings and thoughts were rushing through her. But her face showed no emotion.

  ‘Think about it, Ali. If there is a problem, money . . . your personal life . . .’

  Nina let the sentence hang. As far as she was aware, Ali was very unattached. But perhaps this was not the case. She was frankly surprised Ali had not leapt at the job offer. ‘Should you accept, I will leave it up to you to persuade Larissa to come on board as your deputy. Offer her a twelve-month contract to start. She p
robably won’t agree to leave her life in New York longer than that. I think it will be an exciting adventure for everyone.’

  Nina and the Baron, arms linked, walked slowly around Central Park across from Fifth Avenue.

  ‘I will miss you, dearest Nina.’

  ‘I’ll be back here regularly. Thank you for allowing me to keep the company penthouse. I hope you will come to Australia and see me, as well as keep a paternal eye on our new Blaze.’

  ‘You know I love Sydney. But I was thinking you might enjoy sharing your holiday in Europe?’ He gave her an affectionate look with the question.

  Nina removed her arm and ran her fingers through her hair, adjusting her sunglasses. ‘Oscar, we’ve been through this, so many times . . .’ She couldn’t explain to him how she really felt. That this time in Europe wasn’t just a . . . vacation.

  ‘The situation is different now.’ The Baron was referring to the recent death of his wife, who had long been confined to a private hospital with a lingering illness.

  ‘No it’s not,’ she said with gentle insistence. ‘We’ve never been lovers. Just because we won’t have such a close working relationship doesn’t change anything. I value and treasure our friendship. I worry that would change. I am so fond of you. And I know you are of me. Please, let’s leave things as they are.’ Then, seeing his crushed expression, she added, ‘For the moment.’

  Nina stood in her now empty office at Blaze. She looked out at the New York landscape that had been familiar for so many years. The view across the park to the buildings on the East Side, the rumble of the traffic below on Fifth Avenue, the gleam of the Hudson where boats churned its sludgy surface. Her office looked so bare, just a few cartons left from the packers. A painting she’d chosen – an Aboriginal painting from the Yolngu of north-east Arnhem Land – and a favourite camphorwood chair, also from Australia, were all that remained. They would be moved to her apartment to vacate what would now be Irene da Costa’s office, with her deputy moving into the former editor’s office.

  This building had accommodated Nina’s growth from a nervous young publisher to what the press had called ‘the dynamic doyenne of US magazine media’. In an interview with a columnist of the New York Gazette, she had spoken positively and bravely of the new challenge facing her. But was it what she really wanted? Or was it just a frightened grasp for something to fill the yawning gap in her life? No husband, no children. And, with her mother dying recently, no family. What counted more in life as one entered these golden years . . . the joy of family or career success? And what of the clamour of those faraway memories? They were becoming more insistent.

  Memories of her late husband, Doctor Paul Jansous, touched her at this moment. His death more than a quarter of a century ago had turned her life upside down. Yet it was thanks to him she had been able to push through her grief by being utterly focused on her work and plunging into a big challenge.

  Her quiet husband, dedicated to his medical work, had totally shocked her when his will revealed a huge amount of money that she hadn’t known existed. Shrewd investments and the sale to a pharmaceutical company of the interest in his fertility treatment had bolstered his already immense family wealth. And so Nina had found herself in a bewildering situation. She was beautiful, in her thirties and richly single, and suddenly at the top of the list of the most eligible women in Australia.

  Against the advice of her bank manager – he’d wanted her to keep her fortune invested and be given the right to manage it – she’d decided to plunge the money into her own magazine. She’d moved carefully and thoroughly, seeking sound advice from business people she trusted with solid track records of their own. While it was a gamble – ‘an indulgence’ in a number of people’s eyes – she’d never wavered in her belief that she knew what she was doing. The timing was right, she’d picked the ideal people to help her and she’d simply refused to entertain the thought she would not be successful. The aspects that had attracted and interested her drew her to the conclusion that she should run her own magazine.

  Clara had been utterly supportive. ‘Darling, we came here with nothing but a beautiful piece of jewellery from your grandmother. I never had to sell it, though I came close. But we managed. If you lose everything, you have had the satisfaction of trying to snatch a star, so here, I give you now the pin. I think of it as our good fortune, a lucky pin. As your Grandmother Bubacic wished. You might never need it, but if you do, it is yours to sell.’ And, despite Nina’s protests, Clara had retrieved from the safe the exquisite ruby, sapphire and diamond brooch, in the shape of a delicate dragonfly, and given it to a teary Nina with a hug.

  But Clara had refused to answer Nina’s questions, as she always had, about the details of their life in Zagreb. ‘One day, darling, one day when the time is right you will go back there and then I will tell you why.’

  Within two years Nina’s magazine, which she’d titled Blaze, had been embraced by readers and advertisers and had become so successful it was the target of several buyout offers. She’d chosen a tiny dragonfly as the logo for the magazine and it perched atop the masthead, a reminder of her grandmother and mother. Nina always wore the diamond dragonfly pin on special occasions and it had become her trademark. It was a happy marketing accident as well. Research surveys had shown that the picture of a dragonfly was instantly associated with Blaze and Nina. Despite the lucrative offers, Nina had kept control and she’d driven the magazine forward to undreamed success. Then she’d sat down to reassess her life.

  She was alone. She had her mother and a small circle of close friends, but there was no constant lover. A few cautious and discreet affairs, yes, but the only passion in her life was her work. She had scarcely had a break from the office since the launch of Blaze – except for one weekend with her sales manager and a client on the Great Barrier Reef.

  And it was while she was on the small up-market island off the tip of the Australian coast that she’d received a message to phone her office. Fearing a problem with Clara, she’d called in and was quickly reassured her mother was fine. But Baron Oscar Von Triton was trying to reach her. ‘He’s in Brussels,’ her secretary, sounding impressed, told her. ‘He’s the head of Triton Communications and he’s very insistent you talk to him.’

  ‘It can’t be urgent enough to interrupt my weekend. I will be back in Sydney on Monday, ask him to call me then.’

  The Baron hadn’t phoned. He’d walked into her office instead, charming, handsome and all business.

  ‘Congratulations on what you’ve done with Blaze, Madame Jansous. It is an outstanding publication.’

  ‘I’m glad you like it.’ Nina was trying not to be swayed by either the man or what he represented.

  ‘I like it so much, I’d like to buy it.’

  Nina had burst out laughing. ‘Thank you. But Blaze is not for sale.’

  The Baron had been unfazed and laid before her a plan where Blaze could become part of his international media empire, pointing out, ‘A company like yours could, after time, find shares spread in many hands and the company becomes vulnerable to a takeover or being split up due to unfriendly attacks.’

  Nina nodded. ‘I’m aware of that. It’s one reason I’ve never wanted to go public. I’m flattered, of course, though there is a streak of self-preservation in me which asks – are you planning on moving into this part of the world and what better way to dispense with any opposition than buying it and burying it?’

  ‘I would prefer to own Blaze than attempt to try to challenge, recreate or kill it,’ he replied.

  Nina was frank. ‘You have caught me unawares. I am still deeply involved in the magazine. I’m not a figurehead, what would I do with myself? Thank you for the offer. But Blaze and I are welded together, I’m afraid.’

  ‘There would always be an essential role for you,’ said the Baron quickly. ‘Think it over at least. I am staying here two days. You were my main reason for this trip, but while I’m here I plan to investigate the media scene more closely.�
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  ‘Shopping?’ asked Nina with a smile.

  ‘My shopping list, as you put it, has only one title on it.’

  Nina had not dismissed the offer. If there was one publishing conglomerate she had respect for, it was the low-key Baron’s group of media concerns. She had followed his trail of acquisitions over the years, just as she had taken an interest in the activities of all the major players. Watching Rupert Murdoch’s onslaught into the northern hemisphere, she had been pleased to see a European also tackling the American market. She’d run a check on the full extent of Triton, gathering every scrap of information that was publicly available, and realised Triton’s American mastheads lacked a quality magazine like Blaze. Why would he want to break into such a small market as Australia with one magazine?

  Nina had rung Ian Marcello, the brilliant young lawyer who advised her on financial as well as legal matters.

  ‘Ian, how quickly can we run a check and find out the fiscals on Triton Communications?’

  ‘Are we talking due diligence or responding to a takeover offer? Are you thinking of taking a bite out of one of the big guys? You’re not bored by any chance?’

  ‘Very shrewd of you. I am heading towards forty. Blaze is well established. I hadn’t any thoughts of moving on or making any dramatic changes, but seeing as a serious and considerable opportunity has presented itself, I feel I should at least investigate the ramifications. Perhaps it’s time I moved to the next level.’

  Ian surmised immediately what had transpired. ‘I heard the Baron was here, the top end of town players are interested. There’s talk he might look at a few of the new broadcasting licences. And there are rumours of another TV licence, which couldn’t go to a foreigner, though he could inject a lot of capital. I haven’t heard he’s looking for print media.’