by Di Morrissey
‘That’s because the only publication worth buying, that isn’t locked into a large network, is Blaze. And I’ve always made it clear I would never sell.’
‘With just reason,’ Ian had reminded her. ‘Though there’s a time to reassess, move forward or make changes in the direction of every company. In a few years you should be in a very different position from where you are now.’
‘You know what I’m thinking?’
‘Nina, I wouldn’t try to second-guess you. You’ve surprised me often enough over the years. I’m here to advise you, lend an ear, be a friend. I know you always listen to my advice, but you still do what you want.’
‘You wouldn’t let me do anything foolish, Ian. We always seem to come to the same decisions. What I’m thinking is a partnership with Triton.’
The lawyer smiled to himself. God, she was bright. It was one of the reasons he so enjoyed representing Nina. He also liked and respected her as a good friend. ‘Could be costly. You could become lost, rolled over. It’s a big outfit.’
‘Not with you looking after my interests. I said I’d call him back.’
The lawyer sighed. ‘Gawd, Nina. I’ll start digging around. I’ll call your accountant. Come over for a working lunch in my boardroom tomorrow.’
That was the beauty of being a private company. Nina could make these decisions quickly without facing a board or shareholders. She had paid off her bank loan and was well ahead financially. Sinking her money into the magazine and buying an old building in the inner city had paid off. She’d sold the building a year ago for a large profit and now leased office space. Instinct, as well as Ian and the accountant’s advice, told her not to commit herself to buying another building.
When the Baron had phoned and asked if she’d thought about his offer, Nina countered with, ‘Indeed. In fact, I have a proposition to put to you!’
Baron Oscar Von Triton had done his homework on Nina Jansous – she was as smart and shrewd as she was charming and beautiful. But what attracted him most was Nina’s flair and style. She did everything in a manner that set her apart. It was more than taste and class, it was a gift you were born with for seeing things differently, inventive thinking, a creative yet pragmatic mind. Given scope and backing, she could conquer the world.
With Ian at her side, Nina laid out what she saw as a way forward, considering she would not sell Blaze outright. She suggested a partnership with the Baron in taking Blaze to the biggest marketplace, the US. She would run the magazine and they would co-own it, splitting costs and profit. Each brought to the table their own assets. Triton had the infrastructure and a solid power base. Nina would make Blaze into the flagship magazine of the Triton empire, marketing it worldwide, until they were ready for the world’s major cities of style – Paris, Rome, London – to each have its own edition.
She would edit the magazine as well as be the figurehead who created it. She would close the Australian Blaze, and pay out her staff generously, doing all she could to help find new positions for them. It was time for her little dragonfly to dance on the world stage. And one day, she knew, the new Blaze would come home to launch its own Australian edition.
Alone in the New York office, Nina glanced again at the pile of correspondence on her table. Handwritten notes, email printouts, the cards – from well-wishers outside the company and, the most special, from her Blaze staff around the world. This was her family. Soon she would have the joys, the pain, the problems, the laughter and tears of rearing a new child, a new magazine with new staff in Australia. It would link her to the wonderful years of her own childhood, to the country that had sheltered her mother and given them both security and happiness in those critical and difficult postwar years. She owed Australia. Her mother may have been born and raised in Eastern Europe, but it was Australia that had given mother and child their belonging and a future.
Ali had decided to ‘sleep on’ Nina’s offer, though sleep was elusive. She tossed and kicked the tangled sheets, a few tears of anger and disappointment slipping onto the pillow. She knew Nina was right, that she should stay in the Triton stable, but she’d wanted the New York editorship so badly. New York was the peak of publishing. Australia, in comparison, was a backwater. Once she’d established herself in New York, Ali figured she’d left Australia behind. No matter how Nina dressed up the offer, to Ali’s mind it was an agonising choice – the editor’s chair in the small pond of Australia, a title with no real power in Blaze USA, or find another job in American publishing.
Forcing herself to be practical, Ali knew that being editor of a major publication, even in Australia, was the right way to go. Nina’s words came back to her about writing her ticket to the world. Being part of a major corporation, being appointed editor with the responsibility of starting up a new magazine while not yet thirty years old, was a challenge and a compliment. If she made it work, who knew what opportunities might present themselves? These factors made up the plus side.
But in Ali’s heart there lurked an unspoken fear. No one, not even Nina, could imagine what she would have to confront by returning to Australia. She’d believed the past was behind her; the nightmares stifled, her secret safe. But for how long would it remain so if she returned to the country of her childhood as a high-profile achiever? This was supposed to be a big career move. If only Nina realised, sending Ali back to Australia could crumple the tightly locked mask she showed the world.
TAKE FOUR . . .
Sydney, 2000
Manny Golan sniffed the red wine appreciatively as his lunch was put before him. ‘Promising,’ he conceded. ‘And the food is beautifully presented, but what is it?’ He raised an eyebrow at the waitress.
‘Roast emu fillet, wild pear wrapped in a crispy crepe with munthari berry and apple,’ said the waitress with a smile.
Steve Vickers, managing director of Trends Advertising Agency explained to the bemused New Yorker, ‘Edna’s Table is one of Sydney’s top restaurants that’s made a name for itself with Australian native cuisine. It used to be known as bush tucker, but this is a far cry from witchetty grubs and a goanna thrown on the hot coals.’ He lifted his glass, ‘Bon appétit, welcome to Sydney.’
‘Thanks. I really do feel I’m on the other side of the world.’ Manny gingerly tasted his meal, then nodded in satisfaction. The two men talked food and dining experiences until the main course was cleared and their wine glasses refilled. Manny glanced around, ‘I suppose a cigar is out of the question?’ But he knew the answer to that one, so he broke off a piece of bread and chewed it instead of his cigar. ‘Let’s talk business. Nina’s brought me out for a couple of months to set up the financial structure, break in the new financial controller and drum up business. That’s where you come in. We want the big boys to advertise with us. We have a head start as Nina is pals with most of the multinationals. We intend Blaze Australia to be as successful as the others. To do that, in a small country like this, we have to dominate the readership – male and female. We’re printing one million for Australia, New Zealand and the South Pacific islands to start. And we’ll be injecting enough resources into the marketing of Blaze to make every one of those one million copies sell. As Nina has said, this is not just a new magazine. It’s a revolution in publishing standards for Australia.’
Steve let out a low whistle in an expulsion of breath. ‘That’s more than a sizeable chunk in this crowded marketplace. Nina might be able to pull in favours to start with, but you’ll have to deliver those circulation figures to keep attracting the cream of the big accounts.’
‘Chicken or the egg, eh?’ grinned Manny. ‘Listen, you tell your account executives they are buying into Triton, one of the slickest, biggest media organisations in the world. Now, instead of having to buy the New York edition in Sydney, they’ll have their own baby, the sophisticated sister of the biggest magazine in the world. This baby’ll be carrying enough material from the New York edition to keep the old readers happy, but she’ll also be tackling the top local stories.�
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‘I take your point. There’s an established readership already buying the US edition of Blaze. If your research is right, this new one should have a lot of appeal.’
‘Cost less too. The infrastructure is in place,’ added Manny.
‘So let’s go over your profile of the readers,’ said Steve making notes in a small notebook.
‘Smart women, clever men . . . women who want to be on top of more intelligent information than fitness and fashion, though they will have that too, and men whose interests stretch past sport,’ said Manny quickly.
‘It’s not going to evolve into yet another classy version of a women’s magazine?’
‘No way. This country is full of women’s magazines that you and I wouldn’t pick up. Nor would our wives. To quote the august David Ogilvy, the consumer ain’t a moron, she’s your wife.’
‘I’m gay,’ smiled Steve.
‘So what. Partner then. Who decides who buys what at your house?’
‘He does.’
‘So he’ll buy Blaze. Look at Vanity Fair, they do a cover story on Armani, his lifestyle, his clothes, his house, then go to the Balkans with the UN ambassador and explore the conflicts there. Both subjects are tackled in depth. Moving on, here is the list of the top companies, and their products, we want to advertise with us. Exclusively in Blaze. In return, we’re going to offer them one helluva international deal.’
Steve took a deep gulp of his wine. ‘This could create a storm. You’re essentially asking us as an agency to take the cream of advertising revenue available out of the other magazines, and TV too, and plonk it all in Blaze.’
‘You got it.’ Manny was unperturbed. ‘We’ll be briefing you on the deal before we make the presentation to your clients next week, then we’ll go on to the other agencies. Let’s just say, for now, the benefits to your clients will be dynamite internationally.’
‘Define intelligent women, smart men for me.’
‘Hard to find,’ grinned Manny. ‘Nah, just joking.’
‘I meant demographically . . . age?’
‘You’ll find Ali Gruber, the editor, will go for the big-spending thirties.’
‘Ah, the VAs, SAs and YOs,’ said Steve. Then seeing Manny’s blank expression explained, ‘Visible Achievers, Socially Aware and Young Optimists.’
‘Yeah. Nina has been saying for a while that women over fifty are the big market, but Blaze’s demographics are spread across the board, so we’re happy with thirties as the median target. Male, female, gay, whatever, so long as they have smarts and money.’
‘They’re the advertisers’ top targets,’ said Steve.
‘So tell your account execs to go get ’em.’ Manny leaned back eyeing the menu, then asked the waitress, ‘You got decaf coffee? Real beans, not berries from some Aborigine tree?’
‘Certainly, sir. Would you like to try one of our fine ports or liqueurs?’
‘Normally, yes. But I like this red, I’ll take another glass of that.’
‘It’s Penfolds Grange, sir, our most famous wine.’
Steve ordered another bottle of the expensive classic, knowing this lunch would be taken out of the huge account the agency had just landed. As well as the pleasing prospect of selling advertising space in the new Blaze to its top clients, Trends had only yesterday signed with Manny Golan to become the agency behind the multi-million dollar campaign to launch Blaze in Sydney. The offices of Blaze Australia were close to the city in a stylish development at east Darling Harbour. Overlooking the sparkling waters, they were near the Cockle Bay wharf development and a favoured waterfront pub in Sussex Street, as well as being close to Chinatown and its restaurants.
Nina spent hours with Manny Golan poring over the budgets. She loved his approach to the numbers game.
‘Money makes the world go round, Nina. Without money to spend, you ain’t got no magazine. Money is the power. You gotta spend big to make big.’
Nina was used to his ‘big’ talk. She knew he could also quibble over where twenty dollars might have been wasted. ‘We have to deliver a perfect product, Manny.’
‘Hell, Nina, you’ve done it often enough. You started out here and built an amazing magazine, which you moved to New York and bowled ’em over. Then you spread it round the world. You got the formula and the magic touch, honey.’
Nina smiled inwardly at Manny treating a sixty-year-old woman, who was his boss, like a junior girl. ‘Times change, Manny. What worked yesterday mightn’t work in this new millennium. That’s why I want you here to make sure we start off with a solid base financially, but also to keep an eye on everyone. I’m betting my whole reputation on Ali Gruber injecting young ideas into this edition, to reflect the precocious attitude of this country. I’ll act as deputy until Larissa arrives. As soon as we have the first edition ready for press, I’m giving her complete editorial freedom and I’m off to Europe.’ It was a light remark that meant little to Manny, but a small fissure of steam from Nina’s inner volcano carried her words into the world.
‘So you’re not letting Ali do the first issue on her own? Wise move.’
‘She will be the editor and make the decisions. I can’t relinquish total control straight off the bat,’ admitted Nina with a slight smile. ‘Besides, I know what pitfalls there can be in setting up a new publication. After that, she’s on her own. And I’m not going away forever . . . three, maybe four months. I’ve told Ali she will handle the media launch. It’s important that she is the focus of this new magazine. And the Baron will be there to introduce her. I’ll hardly be missed.’
‘I doubt that.’ Manny turned his attention to the spreadsheets in front of him. ‘Okay, let’s look at what we’re spending where.’
Nina was welcomed back into the media fray in Australia with mixed reactions – speculation, suspicion, scepticism and sarcasm.
Nina shrugged it off and followed up on her plans that had been quietly moving along. Triton had bought out an independent magazine called Carina, started by Carina Brett-Moir, a multimedia identity who saw herself as a latter-day Nina Jansous. The magazine had been launched three years ago with a lot of publicity, branding itself as the alternative working woman’s magazine with the latest hip styles and trends. Carina was identified with the magazine, but the cult of personality was to become more of a handicap than an asset. Despite her media appearances and work for charities, her first night attendances, her radio show, and the fact she was written about flatteringly in friendly publications, women still didn’t buy the magazine. Advertisers, who had been initially responsive to her apparently healthy financial backing, soon withdrew their support and, with dwindling advertising revenue, the magazine was in trouble. Carina Brett-Moir had quietly searched the international market for more backers. When none was prepared to put money into a sinking enterprise, she’d accepted Triton’s offer of a buy-out.
The staff at Carina magazine had not been told of the ‘new arrangements’ until the deal with Nina and Triton had been signed. When informed the magazine would resurface in a new guise and that the bulk of the staff would stay on the payroll for a minimum of six months as part of the sale, there was relief. Knowing that Triton was the buyer also meant they could feel relatively secure as part of an internationally successful corporation.
Nina had ordered modest but stylish changes to the interior design of the now defunct Carina’s offices, but she’d put her main effort into technology. The computer systems she’d installed were the best available and sleek new PCs hummed on the soft blue desktops. TV monitors, tuned to CNN and Bloomberg News, as well as the local channels, were strategically placed for monitoring the ‘happening’ stories. In the new Syndications Centre, computer screens revealed the latest purchases of top international stories from the Blaze dealers around the globe. Blaze was a monthly magazine, but Nina had always held the news pages open until the last minute. Similarly, if someone died and was featured in a story, it would have to be pulled overnight. Like most magazine editors, Nina wou
ld make sure they had stories in reserve that wouldn’t date and could be dropped in at a moment’s notice. And the obituary file on famous people was always ready to go to press when the inevitable occurred.
Wanting technology that would give her the shortest print time, Nina had signed a contract with Pacific Magazine Publications to print the magazine from electronically transmitted page layouts. Once received by Pacific, the pages would be converted directly to plates for the printing presses. She appointed a new production manager and instructed him that where possible Blaze was to be environmentally friendly, even down to using soya inks on paper produced from plantation loppings and recycled paper. She’d negotiated a three-year fixed price for paper. PMP had acquired the nation’s largest distributor, and they would freight her magazines into sales outlets around the country.
Nina’s first ‘social’ function gathered together the existing staff of the new Blaze for drinks and hors d’oeuvres after work.
The staff eyed the lavish spread of finger food, quality wines and fresh juices, wondering if this were a softening up ‘last supper’ before the axe fell. There had been rumours in the gossipy media world that Nina would bring in staff from the US. The long-time editor of Carina, Dorothy Power, who had worked under Carina Brett-Moir – a demanding editor-in-chief and publisher – had already announced her retirement. This was interpreted in Sydney’s gossip columns as having been gently pushed.
However Dorothy, at fifty-nine, was only too happy to retire with a substantial package and avoid the upheaval associated with yet another magazine launch. Nina had called Dorothy to make sure she was going to be at this ‘little function’ so they could wish her well in her new life.
‘New life?’ Dorothy had exclaimed to her long-serving secretary, Belinda Gordon. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I plan to potter in the garden, go to lunch, spend time with my grandkids, drag Charlie around the wine country. All the things I haven’t been able to do with a full-time job.’
