by Murray, Lee
‘As I said, you will be informed of her identity in due course.’
Annalise pouts. If she had a cigarette I’d expect her to blow fat smoke ring in Winston’s direction. I don’t care. I’m fizzing in my seat. Sportzgirl’s competitor is female, which confirms it. I’m female, so it must be me. Then Winston’s eyes scan the room, stealthily, like a predator seeking out the weakest in the herd. I freeze.
‘Our results this last quarter have been poor. I’ll expect this initiative to be a categorical success. I wouldn’t like to see any reduction in marketing personnel.’ The threat is palpable. Everyone is silent. Then Winston sweeps imperiously from the room. Derek scurries after him.
The last to pick up our copies of the draft proposal, Annalise and I wait at the back of the queue outside the lifts while the elevator ferries the entire department back down to our crypt. Annalise is grumbling about the inconvenience of not being properly informed and how anyone could expect an exemplary performance with so little briefing and what do they expect her to do about styling commitments made months ago, did they think she was going to be made to look a fool and so on and so forth. Quite honestly, I’m feeling slightly peeved with her because coming up with that proposal involved a certain amount of creative brilliance on my part, not to mention a lot of hard work, and here she is pooh-poohing it. She could read it before she starts moaning.
Now that I’m looking at my copy of the draft proposal, I notice Winston and Derek have changed the cover page. They’ve added a larger, swisher version of the company logo and the document has been printed on better quality paper. That makes sense. I wonder if there’ve been any other changes? There must be some, depending on how negotiations went with New Zealand Television. There were bound to be things that didn’t suit both parties. Maybe they tweaked some of my recommendations to comply with the funding criteria. I open the document at the first page.
Racing Feat:
A Reality Show to Mitigate Obesity in New Zealand
A proposal by Derek Lissombe, Sportzgirl™ Inc.
That weasel.
14
I’m seething. Derek Lissombe is dog turd in a suit.
I turn on my heel and storm down the corridor to his office, leaving a bewildered Annalise in my wake. Hurricane Melanie. Force 5. Heading for Lissombe.
That reality show is my idea. My hard work. Who the hell does Derek think he is, putting his name on my proposal? He won’t get to take the credit for my efforts. No way, baby. I march into his office and slam the door behind me. Unfortunately, the carpet in the upstairs offices is luxuriously thick so there isn’t any loud satisfying impact, just a dull swishing sound.
Bugger.
Derek is on the phone. He grins at me and waves his hand as if to say ‘just a wee sec, Melanie.’ Wait a sec, Melanie, while I screw you over. I fold my arms and shift my centre of gravity back and downwards like I mean business. I tap my toe and scowl at the space between his eyes. Burning a hole there.
Derek eyes widen briefly, but he carries on his conversation.
The audacity of that man. He’s galling.
‘Yes, that’s right. Andrew. Yes, the announcement was well received here at Sportzgirl, too. I can assure you our people are highly motivated…’
Now, he’s pushing my patience.
‘Derek,’ I growl under my breath. My blood pressure is rising by the second.
Derek waves his hand at me again, breezily this time.
‘And your staff at NZTV?’
I take a deep breath through my nose and hold it, my lips pursed tightly.
ONE.
‘Yes, I’ll have our publicity officer contact her directly as soon as the contestants are confirmed. Kirsten, yes that’s right.’
Still holding my breath.
TWO.
‘I’m sorry Andrew, you’ll have to excuse me. My staff is already beating down the door.’ He throws me a Cheshire grin. ‘Send me your short-list and we’ll finalise, say Friday week? Fine. About 11:00am? Excellent.’
THREE.
He hangs up.
I blow out hard. Releasing the pent-up spent air. So he knows I’m livid. And with bloody good cause, too. But Derek doesn’t get it. He’s scribbling a note in his planner, not even looking at me.
‘Right with you, Melanie,’ he says, sing-songy and nonchalant.
That’s it. THAT. IS. IT. My lips are quivering with fury. Derek looks up.
‘Now, now, Mellie. I expect you’re a bit cross.’
He expects I’m a bit cross. The thieving cheat thinks I’m a bit cross! I’m so incensed I can’t even get out a coherent sentence.
‘Yes, I suspect you saw my name on the proposal.’
I scowl. Menacingly.
‘The thing is, Melanie, there was no way Winston was going to accept any idea of yours. You know that, as well as I do. So you can snort and fume and frown at me as much as you like, but it doesn’t change a thing. My claiming authorship was the only way to get Winston’s buy-in. If you don’t like it, then tough.’
‘But you stole it!’
‘If that’s how you like to think of it, fine. I prefer to think I championed a good idea. And it’s a good idea, Melanie. An excellent idea, in fact.’ Damn Derek. He knows he has me. My blood pressure drops instantly at the first whiff of a compliment.
‘You think so?’
‘I do, Melanie. And if you keep quiet about being its author, I’ll see what I can do to get you on the short-list as Sportzgirl’s competitor.’ A flicker of fear shoots through me. I’m not the competitor? But I have to be. I haven’t even started looking for another job. Derek has stolen my idea and my job! I feel my eyebrows coming together, working their way back into a scowl.
‘But I’m supposed to be our competitor. It’s in the proposal. What do you mean get me on the short-list?’
‘Calm down, Melanie.’ Ever noticed that telling someone to calm down is guaranteed to rile them up? I can feel the pressure rising.
‘Obviously, I had to make a few changes to your original proposal. I couldn’t put your name down as our first choice. Winston would’ve seen straight through that. He fired you remember? No, we need to let Winston think it’s his idea to select you. You’ll have to keep quiet and trust me to sort it out.’
‘Trust you, Derek? Trust you? I’d just as soon trust Charlie Brown to take a catch. For all I know, you could be planning to be our contestant yourself.’
Derek snorts. ‘Not likely. Look, we need to work together on this, Melanie. I’ll be frank: I don’t think Winston has any plans to step aside for me. I need a high profile project for Diana Morgan to use as leverage to get me in elsewhere.’ I have to pick my bottom lip off the floor.
‘What about Chelsea?’
‘Chelsea wants out from Daddy’s shirt-tails, too. She’s sick of being a pawn in Winston’s empire.’ I nod. I can understand that. But who would’ve thought it of little Chelsea?
‘How do you plan to make Winston choose me?’
‘Winston will choose you, Melanie. I’ll make certain of it, because you are our best choice.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely. Annalise has already ordered some great new gear to fit you...’ I nod. That’s true. ‘...and you’re already on the payroll, so that makes you cheap...’ Not flattering, but true enough. ‘...and you fit the key requirement for the reality show candidates.’ I look up. ‘Yes, you’re perfect…you’re completely, utterly ordinary.’
Gee, thanks.
Media Release:
Sportzgirl™ Steps Up in Fight Against Obesity
Sportzgirl Inc. is proud to announce its sponsorship of a running reality series to be screened imminently on NZTV. The brainchild of Sportzgirl’s own Derek Lissombe, the project is one of a number of joint-venture initiatives between the government and private sector companies; initiatives intended to create improved awareness amongst New Zealanders of the increasingly high levels of obesity and related diseases such as diabetes
, heart and kidney disease, all of which have reached epidemic proportions amongst our adult population and are now, alarmingly, making inroads in our younger generation.
The reality series will follow the efforts of a group of New Zealanders as they compete in a succession of challenging running events. While Lissombe concedes lasting lifestyle change is likely to involve simultaneous improvements in both diet and exercise, he sees getting off the couch and becoming active as the first step.
“Here at Sportzgirl, we’re committed to a resurgence of sport, fitness and good health in New Zealand, which is why we’re sponsoring this worthwhile cause. We hope the series will inspire everyday Kiwis to get out and have a go,” says Mr Lissombe.
Sportzgirl’s contestant is Ms Melanie Short who many New Zealanders will recognise from the company’s catalogues. Ms Short has selected Tauranga’s Riding for the Disabled Association as her charity of choice.
From: Mel Short, [email protected]
To: Colin Short, [email protected]
Subject: Mel’s News
Colin, I hope I can still contact you at this address. I hope your latest rally was a success. I checked the online newspaper reports, but I didn’t find any mention of your crew. I’m writing to tell you about my new venture. I’m on a national reality television series currently screening on NZTV. I can hardly believe it myself! The series is called Racing Feat. I’m not a star or anything, just one of the competitors. It’s about a bunch of ordinary Kiwis fighting obesity. I’m not obese though (in case you thought I was.) The series is more about lifestyle choices and prevention. Anyway, I’m sending you a Sportzgirl media release and a link to the network’s website. I thought maybe, if you aren’t too busy, you might like to take a look at what your little girl is up to.
I see Candygloss Cosmetics has just opened an outlet in Auckland. Devonport. I’m sure Candy will attract a lot of yummy-mummy clients out there. I’m looking forward to meeting her one day soon. In the meantime, please give her my best regards.
Your daughter, Melanie.
15
I wait until after we’ve watched House before I show Kirsten’s media release to Jack. The two of us are snuggled on his ancient sofa under a patchwork blanket crocheted by Jack’s mum, my legs slung casually across his thighs. Periodically, our hands snake out from under the blanket for after-dinner cheese and Marmite crackers and slurps of tea.
‘Hey, what’s this about the reality series being “the brainchild of Sportzgirl’s own Derek Lissombe,” Jack reads from the release, his left hand holding his latest cracker.
‘It was the only way to get it in front of Winston.’
‘But honey, Derek Lissombe is taking the credit for your work.’
‘He and Winston secured the subsidy and negotiated with the people at NZTV.’
‘Which they wouldn’t have thought to do without your original idea.’
‘I know. I told Janeen about Derek poaching the proposal, and she said given a couple of days, she could rustle me up a Derek voodoo doll. I’d love to stick him with a sharp pin, but sadly I couldn’t get hold of the necessary hair and nail clippings.’
‘Mel! I’m eating a cracker here.’
‘Sorry. Anyway, Winston wanted April Ieremia to be Sportzgirl’s competitor, but the rumour is she cracked her tibia recently and now she’s immobilised in one of those blow-up leg braces for six weeks. I do feel sorry for her. I’m not that mean. But Derek says having Ieremia was never going to work. He says the powers that be at NZTV thought Ieremia was too well-known to be passed off as an ordinary New Zealander. There was her afternoon talk show, her weight loss blog, and glossy magazine articles featuring her chilli prawn BBQ recipe...’
‘…and the fact she was once a Silver Fern netballer?’
‘And the fact she was once a Silver Fern. So it reverted back to me. I got a stay of execution on my job for six months, or until I get kicked off, whichever comes first. Winston wasn’t chuffed about reinstating me, but Derek convinced him I was perfect for the job.’
‘You are! I think it’s fantastic! And Winnie’s a…he’s a…Pooh.’
‘Yeah, poo-bum Winston,’ I respond with a moue of distaste and while Jack laughs at my expression I steal the cracker from his fingers and pop it in my mouth.
‘Hey!’ he protests. I sense a Marmite smudge on my top lip so I push up my bottom lip and lick it off.
‘I wrote to Colin.’
Jack is suddenly solemn. ‘Mel,’ he begins, but I hold up my hand.
‘I know what you’re going to say. I just thought he might like to know that his little girl is going to be on telly. He might be interested. I’m not expecting anything. Honestly.’
‘I just don’t want you to be disappointed, love. Colin’s just…’
‘…committed to his career. I know. I’m not expecting him to fly over and shout his support from the sidelines. I just want him to know what’s going on in my life. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?’ I steel myself for an argument. Ever since Colin failed to turn up in Rarotonga, Jack’s been guarded where Colin is concerned. I’ve told him over and over that it wasn’t Colin’s fault, but Jack doesn’t understand how cutthroat the rally industry is. Whatever Jack was going to say, he thinks the better of it, allowing me to drop back from Defcon 1 to around Defcon 4.
Instead, he says, ‘No, there’s nothing wrong with that, sweetheart.’ He wraps his arms around my shoulders in a quick hug. ‘So who are the other contestants?’
‘Oh, ordinary Joe Bloggses. That’s the point. To show New Zealanders we should take responsibility for our own health, eat well, get some exercise. The show’s producer is a guy named Andrew Plumley. He’s been handling the applications and organising the screen tests. We contestants don’t meet until the first event. It’s supposed to be a surprise, although there’s going to be an initial half-hour programme, which will reveal the contestants’ backgrounds, their motivations, the charities they’re supporting, that sort of thing. Then we’re straight into the competition. I’m glad it’s underway. It’s been a tough couple of weeks, especially with the pressure about my job and possibly having to sell my apartment.’
‘You have been a little tense.’ Jack finishes his cracker. He’s already had four. ‘Mel,’ he says, ‘you could still move in here with me. The pressure of losing the apartment would go away. You could sell it. Or rent it. Whatever you want. What do you think?’
‘Oh...’
‘Why not, Mel? It makes sense. My mortgage is manageable. There’s plenty of space for both of us and you’re here half the week, anyway. The floor of my wardrobe is already full of your stuff. I haven’t been able to get to my tennis racket for ages, and the bathroom cupboard is overflowing with your potions. You should move in, you’re practically here anyway…’
‘Oh that’s lovely, very romantic!’
‘Okay then, since you would be here, in lieu of rent, you could perform certain...sexual duties…’
‘Jack!’
‘You’re right. That was crap. If I were a girl I wouldn’t go for it either.’
Throwing the quilt aside in a shower of cracker crumbs, Jack pushes my leg off, forcing me upright. He drops to his knees facing me and leans his body up against the sofa.
‘No Jack, there’s no need…’
‘How’s this? I love you, Mel. You’re stunning, sexy, loyal, kind, smart, you cook a wicked vegetable lasagne and you make me laugh.’
‘Yeees, that’s very sweet, but Jack...’
‘I love being with you.’
‘Jack...’
‘You complete me.’
‘You stole that from Jerry MacGuire.’
‘I want to grow old with you.’
‘Adam Sandler, the Wedding Singer.’
‘Okay, when you’ve got eyes bluer than cornflowers and hair the colour of wheat in the sunshine…’
‘Seven Brides for Seven Brothers! And anyway, my eyes are green. Look, Jack…’ But Jack has
gone all Mary Poppins on me.
‘Let’s get married, Mel. I want to have your babies. Well, not me personally, that’d be you…and maybe not straight away, but later, when your Chasy Feet show is over...’ My heart does a somersault, and then I panic. I feel the blood drain out of my face.
‘NO!’
Dumbfounded, Jack looks at me intently. In the background, Karen Ropati reads the late night news. I scrub a stray tear out of my eye with the back of my hand.
‘I’ve gone too far, haven’t I?’ he says, dejected. I nod. He climbs back on the sofa, slumps down beside me.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbles. ‘I just don’t see the point in waiting any more. I love you.’
My heart squeezes. He looks so forlorn, I’m tempted to do a complete U-turn, jump into his arms and shout, ‘I was joking, silly! Yes, yes, I’ll do it! I’ll marry you.’ I’m tempted, but I don’t. How can I? I’m not yet ready to give up on my dreams. I haven’t had a chance to prove myself.
‘But why would anyone want to live with my smelly socks?’ he says, glum.
‘That’s true. Your socks are disgusting. But it’s not that. I’m not ready to move in with you, Jack. It’s too soon. I love you, but I still need my own space, my independence.’ Jack’s face contorts in pain. ‘No, no, I’m not giving you the traditional ‘I-need-my-space-to-find-myself’ speech. It’s hard to explain, but it’s…it’s because I want to be someone.’
‘What do you mean? You are someone, Mel.’
‘No, I mean someone important.’
‘You’re important to me,’ he says. I put my hand on his face and stroke the soft stubble on his cheek.
‘I know that, and it means the world to me. But I want to be Mel Short, Someone Famous, Someone Going Places, Someone Recognisable, and by that I mean not just a girl on a stupid cardboard cut-out. How can I be Mel Someone’s-wife, or Mel Someone’s-mother when I haven’t had a chance yet to be Mel The-best-someone-I-can-be?’ Jack shakes his head. He doesn’t get it, but he’s trying.
