Be Careful What You Wish For

by Gemma Crisp

  ‘Oh gawd, not you too.’ Nina rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve already had a lecture from Jeremy tonight, I don’t need another one, thanks very much,’ she managed to enunciate without slurring as much. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the bathroom to get ready for bed.’

  She hauled herself off the couch with as much dignity as she could, and weaved her way across the living room, ignoring Tess’s concerned look. No one understood. Didn’t they realise that she had to keep on trucking? Couldn’t they see that she still had to prove herself, that if she quit now it would look like she wasn’t up to being an editor? She could just imagine the industry gossip now: ‘Shame about that Nina Morey – she had a lot of talent, but I guess she couldn’t cope with the pressure. Was promoted too soon, probably. ABM did take a risk on her, you know. Sometimes it just doesn’t pay off. Oh well, if you can’t handle the heat, get out of the kitchen – isn’t that what they say?’

  Nina stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. No, she wouldn’t let it happen. She wasn’t a quitter. She had to keep at it, no matter how much Evil Elizabeth made her life hell – she didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of winning. But . . . if she was completely honest with herself, she was so sick of feeling like she was never good enough, like she didn’t have an iota of talent, like she was an imbecile who couldn’t be trusted. Then there was the queasiness that sloshed around in her stomach every Monday morning when her alarm went off. And the panic that shot through her when she thought she’d accidentally left her BlackBerry at home and wouldn’t be able to check her emails on her way to work. And the lies she had to tell everyone about how much she loved her job. Her bravado suddenly was nowhere to be found. ‘I don’t know if I can do this anymore,’ she whispered, hating how pathetic she sounded. She felt like she was unravelling at the seams.

  Gripping the basin with white knuckles, she hung her head in shame. The mountain of stress and pressure that was her constant companion reincarnated itself as a massive lump in her throat. Without warning, tears started running down her face and a strangled sob escaped. Not wanting Tess to hear her distress, she grabbed the nearest towel and stuffed it in her mouth to muffle the sounds of her howling. Her head bowed, she sobbed and heaved, watching the river of tears run down the sides of the basin until they disappeared down the plug hole. When there was nothing left, she sank down onto the cold bathroom tiles and closed her eyes, utterly exhausted, her BlackBerry clutched tightly in her hand.

  twenty-three

  Nina surfaced groggily from another crap night’s sleep with the all-too-familiar lump of dread sitting in the bottom of her stomach. Her tongue was furrier than a Labradoodle and her head felt like it’d been run over by a road train of semitrailers. Holding her breath, she slowly turned towards Jeremy’s side of the bed, hoping he’d already left for the day. Result! She couldn’t face his all-too-regular look of concern mixed with resignation and a dollop of disdain. He’d been dead to the world when she’d ricocheted through the door at . . . wait, what time had she got home last night? Nina tried her best to remember as she automatically groped for her BlackBerry, then hauled herself out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. A snapshot of hitting up one of the bars near the office flashed into her brain while she sat on the loo, scrolling through the avalanche of emails that had landed in her inbox after she’d finally left the office at eleven pm. More snapshots followed, featuring Nina ordering a succession of double vodka sodas until she eventually did away with the soda and ended up drinking straight vodka while talking to anyone who’d listen to her slurred rants about how much she hated her boss.

  Shit, her boss! Cutting through the pea soup in her brain, Nina remembered the eight thirty meeting she had with Elizabeth. Christ, it was already eight! There was no way she could be late, not after last time when Elizabeth had torn strips off her in front of everyone because she’d been fifteen minutes late to a production meeting. Nina had tried to explain she’d got caught up consoling her fashion editor whose father had passed away suddenly, but Elizabeth didn’t want to hear it.

  ‘Evil bitch,’ Nina muttered as fiercely as her hangover would let her, while she yanked a Ginger & Smart dress from its hanger, crammed her feet into a pair of five-inch Marc Jacobs heels, slicked her hair back into a ponytail and made for the door of the apartment. ‘At least I’ll get the worst part of my day over and done with first,’ she consoled herself as she tried to ignore her protesting stomach. Then she remembered that her art director was expecting a selection of snappy coverlines to be waiting for him when he arrived at work, so he could start designing the cover. Nina had left them to the last minute yet again, too stubborn to send them to Elizabeth for her approval because she knew exactly what would happen. She’d be summoned to the editorial director’s office, where they’d spend three hours dissecting each coverline, even though Nina and her team had already slaved over them until they were the perfect combination of fun, promising and informative, tempting the reader to fork out $7.50 for the magazine.

  But, of course, Elizabeth was on a completely different coverline wavelength. No matter how many times Nina tried to explain why they’d crafted them in a particular way, or pointed out the pop culture reference they referred to, her boss always tore them apart to make them as dull or as cheesy as possible. Every time, Nina swore she wouldn’t let it happen again but then, four weeks later, she’d be so worn down by Elizabeth’s nit-picking and passive-aggressive comments that she found herself giving up and letting her have her way. She hated herself for it, but in the end it was easier to admit defeat. Especially after that time she had decided to stand her ground and Elizabeth had retaliated by booking a meeting with HR to discuss her ‘attitude’.

  It had been six months since her meltdown in the bathroom, and things had gone from bad to worse. Nina’s confidence had been sucked well and truly dry. Elizabeth had made it clear she didn’t value her opinion at all, even though Michael had hired Nina because of her reputation as a fresh new talent. ‘Pity Elizabeth didn’t seem to get the memo,’ Nina thought bitterly. So much for her vision of turning the struggling magazine around when she’d first accepted the job. She’d had such faith in herself back then – now she just did what she was told by the dictator, and hated herself for it.

  Nina bit her lip as the ache in her stomach turned into sharp stabbing pains. Halfway down the stairs, she had to stop and lean against the wall as sweat oozed through the make-up she’d hurriedly slapped on. She unconsciously checked to see if the red light on her BlackBerry was flashing, signalling the arrival of yet another email, before sucking in a deep breath and shuffling down the street towards the bus stop. ‘I’m fine,’ she insisted to herself. ‘So I probably drank too much last night; I’ll just make myself throw up when I get to the office to get rid of the booze, then I’ll be right. It’s all good. Mind over matter, right?’

  Just as Nina was turning the corner, she heard her name being called. ‘Nina, wait up!’ She gritted her teeth, before swivelling around and forcing a smile onto her face so that Jeremy couldn’t see the lines of stress furrowed between her bloodshot eyes.

  ‘Hi, J, what are you doing here? Thought you’d be at work already,’ she said nervously, wishing she’d brushed her teeth before running out the door. Standing on tiptoes to give Jeremy the obligatory kiss on the cheek, she prepared herself for yet another lecture.

  ‘I left my iPad at your place, and it has the redevelopment design on it that I’m presenting to clients today,’ he explained. There was a brief silence before he asked tentatively, ‘So, what time did you get in last night?’

  ‘Um, I’m not sure, I didn’t really notice the time – maybe half eleven?’ Nina lied. Try more like half past one, by the time the bar staff had refused to keep serving her.

  ‘I see.’ They both knew she was lying, but neither of them was willing to come clean. ‘You look like shit,’ Jeremy said bluntly.

  Nina blinked. They often fought about how late she worked, how much she was
drinking and how stressed she was, but Nina thought they’d argued themselves dry. Jeremy had long since stopped offering to pick her up from the office when she eventually finished editing copy and proofing layouts at eleven pm after dealing with Her Evilness all day. She knew he was just trying to make her life easier, but she didn’t want his help, thanks very much. He’d also stopped encouraging her to blow off steam at the pub, even though alcohol helped wipe the omnipresent spectre of Elizabeth from her mind on weekends. After a few vodkas, a bottle of red and maybe a cocktail or two, Nina felt more like her old self – the fun, happy Nina who used to love her job when she was at Nineteen and Lulu. Not the emotionally exhausted Nina who hated anyone asking about work because she felt obliged to tell them how glam it was, how many celebrities she’d met – because after all, she was the editor of a glossy magazine and thousands of women would kill for her job.

  But these days, getting blind wasn’t just for weekends. Since she’d started drinking in the office after Candy’s staff had left for the day, she found herself craving alcohol almost every night after she forced herself to leave the endless emails from Elizabeth in her inbox and the piles of work on her desk. Nina didn’t see anything wrong with propping up the bar – any bar – by herself; there was always someone to talk to. She worked hard, so she deserved to play hard. Right?

  ‘Well, don’t you know how to make a girl feel good?’ Nina tried to laugh off Jeremy’s comment, while pulling her Tom Ford sunnies out of her bag.

  ‘I’m serious.’ Jeremy’s voice hardened. ‘I know you work these crazy hours because of Elizabeth, but you don’t have to go direct to the nearest pub when you finally leave the office. I’m happy to pick you up but you never let me. At least that way I’d get to see you for a bit, rather than waking up every morning to find you passed out in bed, reeking of booze.’

  Nina ignored her frustration and embarrassment. She knew that he and Tess were worried about her, which made her feel like a child, but quite frankly she got enough of being treated like a child at work. The combination of stress, exhaustion, her hangover, the thought of the heinous day ahead and her protesting stomach made Nina snap. She’d show him where he could stick his attempt at tough love.

  ‘I don’t have time for this,’ she said furiously. ‘It’s my life, you can’t tell me what to do. You’re not the one who works fourteen-hour days and weekends too, only to be told you can’t do anything right by your out-of-touch micromanaging boss from hell. You don’t understand the pressure I’m under to turn this magazine around. I can’t just clock off at six like you do. And it’s not like I have time for a lunch break, so I’m sorry if I want to go out for a bit after work to socialise. Obviously I’m not allowed to have fun, even though I work my butt off. So thanks for telling me I look like shit – I’ve got a hideous schedule at work ahead of me, including a meeting with Elizabeth in fifteen minutes, so you’ve really set me up for the day, Jeremy. Thanks a lot.’

  As Nina stalked off, she saw Jeremy’s shoulders slump and his head drop. For a second, she was tempted to turn around and apologise for her dummy spit, to wrap her arms around his broad chest and bury her head in his neck, to take the day off and spend it in bed like they used to when they first hooked up. Then a fresh burst of indignation exploded inside her. ‘Fuck him,’ she thought. ‘He’s just jealous of my career and how dedicated I am. It’s my life; if he feels second-best, that’s his problem, not mine.’

  Huddled with the rest of the wage slaves crammed onto the packed peak-hour bus, Nina wished she could call Tess or Johan and have a good bitch about how selfish and unreasonable Jeremy was being. But she didn’t want to make Tess worry about her more than she already did. Although the antidepressants and therapy had helped, her cousin still had a long way to go in recovering from her mental illness. She could call Johan but it would be a bit random – how long had it been since they’d actually spoken to each other? Sure, there’d been a couple of texts over the past year, always asking each other when they were going to catch up, but neither of them ever committed to anything. Work took up so much of her time and he was always busy with Ed. Being Ed’s boyfriend had turned into a full-time occupation, plus Johan didn’t like to stray too far from his gay comfort zone. Nina had long ago tired of all the scene queen stories and Johan got weird if he didn’t get to hang out in one of his usual haunts – the last time they’d met at a new cafe in Redfern, at her suggestion, he’d spent the whole time bitching about the ‘breeders’ with their prams and moaned about the lack of eye candy. The fun, sweet guy she’d worked with back at the hotel in London who had encouraged her to pursue her dream of working in magazines had turned into a self-obsessed, bitchy queen. And if she was brutally honest, she wasn’t much better. ‘God, what’s happened to us?’ Nina wondered.

  Getting off the bus, she strode down William Street, gulping in the traffic fumes as her stomach heaved with the anticipation of dealing with Elizabeth. ‘Maybe she’ll cancel?’ Nina thought hopefully. ‘Maybe she’s been up all night with food poisoning and she’ll have to work from home? Maybe Michael will want to see her urgently so she’ll postpone our meeting till tomorrow?’ While offering these options up to the universe, Nina found herself pushing open the door of the seedy twenty-four-hour pub two blocks away from the office. A smattering of old men sat at the bar, staring into their schooners of Reschs, while a few guys still out on the lash from the previous night poured Jack Daniel’s and Cokes down their throats.

  ‘Yes, darl?’ A sixty-something woman with dyed black hair and pink lipstick that was bleeding into the lines around her mouth looked at Nina sullenly from behind the bar.

  ‘A triple vodka on the rocks, please.’ The words were out before Nina realised she’d even opened her mouth. She pushed a twenty-dollar note towards the barmaid, clutched the glass of clear goodness like it was the elixir of eternal happiness, then downed it in one gulp. Her stomach recoiled as the fresh vodka made its acquaintance with the stale vodka from the previous night. ‘That’ll get me through this morning,’ Nina told herself, wiping her mouth and making her way unsteadily to the office. She kept her sunglasses on in the elevator while it zoomed up to level twenty-seven. Trying to ignore the acute pain in her stomach and the fresh sheen of sweat that was making itself at home on her forehead, she pushed her way through the crowd of people in front of her as the doors opened. ‘I’ll just check my make-up in the bathroom – don’t want to give Elizabeth any excuse to have a go at me,’ she thought blearily. Opening the door to the bathroom, she was relieved to find it empty. She just managed to crash into a stall and lock the door before her stomach staged its coup d’état. Hanging over the toilet, Nina vomited up booze and bile until there was nothing left. She rinsed her mouth at the basin, swallowed three breath mints, squeezed out some eye drops while expertly managing to avoid smudging her mascara, then smoothed her hair and washed her hands. ‘Right,’ she told her reflection in the mirror. ‘It’s show time.’

  twenty-four

  To: Morey, Nina

  From: Crawford, Elizabeth

  The cover looks great.

  Nina stared at the four words on her computer screen, her mouth hanging open in shock. Surely there must be a mistake? Surely Evil Elizabeth hadn’t just given her a compliment? Her eyes involuntarily shifted to the window – surely the sky had to be falling in? Any minute now, she’d spot Chicken Little sprinting down the street.

  She wondered when Elizabeth had got her hands on a copy of the printed cover. Obviously she had seen it before it had been sent to the printers, but when you used as many fluoro colours as Candy did – all the better to stand out on the newsagent’s shelf and the supermarket rack – you could never quite tell how it would turn out until you had the actual cover in all its Pantone glory in your hot little hands, fresh from the printers. Nina quickly dialled her production assistant.

  ‘Hi, Ange. Could you please call Chris and ask for a printed copy of the cover? Elizabeth has one already, so they must
have been delivered to the courier dock. Thanks.’

  Glancing at the bar fridge she’d had installed in her office on the pretence that the larger fridge in the communal kitchen was a toxic health hazard, Nina was sorely tempted to pour herself a celebratory drink. After all, getting her first-ever compliment from her boss after months of pain and suffering was no small feat. And there was a brand-new bottle of Absolut chilling in the freezer compartment.

  ‘No, Nina,’ she told herself sternly. ‘It’s only eleven twenty-five. Remember the promise you made to yourself the other day? No drinking in the office till after midday.’ But surely this was a special occasion, whispered the voice that was so often in her ear these days. And if she added a splash of soda, everyone would just assume it was sparkling water. It was almost too easy.

  Powerless to stop herself, she was opening the fridge when Angela walked into her office with a yellow A4 envelope in her hand. Nina jumped, slamming the fridge door closed with way more force than necessary.

  ‘One brand-spanking-new Candy cover, as requested,’ Angela announced, seemingly oblivious to Nina’s guilty expression, as she placed the envelope on top of the overflowing pile of magazines, invitations, financial spreadsheets and design layouts in her boss’s in-tray. Nina closed the office door as Angela exited. She wanted to savour this moment without being interrupted. She’d worked so hard to secure this particular cover and for Elizabeth to finally acknowledge her efforts made it all worthwhile.

  Being an Australian magazine on the opposite side of the world to Hollywood meant most of their cover shots were purchased from the local picture agencies that syndicated the work of photographers who shot celebrities for the big American and English magazines – ELLE, Vogue, Glamour, Harper’s Bazaar, Nylon . . . But occasionally they’d get lucky, with an A-list celebrity’s publicist agreeing to a shoot that would be exclusive to Candy. Unfortunately they didn’t have the budget to fly a creative team overseas, so instead they’d use a company which specialised in overseeing every aspect of the photo shoot in their absence. The company would book the photographer, the stylist, the hair and make-up team, plus have a production assistant on the ground to make sure they were sticking to the creative brief supplied by Candy.