Indelible Ink

by Fiona McGregor

  Forever now the curving white sails of the Sydney Opera House daubed with the words NO WAR in red would be associated with Dulux, and Blanche. Everybody in Huston Alwick was queuing to work with her when she was appointed a creative director. Blanche chose Lim, more for his sex appeal and exoticism than his copywriting talents. She chose Kate for similar reasons, and because she still had a photograph on her desk of the painted sails. Kate was black and spoke in a tough Manchester accent and wore Gaultier jackets over tight ripped jeans and cowboy boots, and Lim was half Vietnamese half Swedish with a broad Australian accent. All in all a formidably cool team.

  Blanche sat up straight with her arms stretched either side in oblique curves so she resembled a bell. Three p.m., another lunch break at the desk eating chocolate and yoghurt, her back was killing her. She had one leg longer than the other and her sacrum rotated, her shoulders tilted from scoliosis, and her right breast bone stuck out more than her left. Nothing could be done about this, nor about the rib that continually popped out as a consequence. Blanche was condemned for life to the chiropractor, Nurofen and heat packs. She undid the top buttons of her shirt and glanced at her sternum. Crooked as ever. She stretched into her bell pose, looking out the window at her patch of harbour. She envied Terry’s office for its view of the Opera House. Still, her view wasn’t bad. It was like meditation: at this time of day if she sat still and watched the same spot for long enough, she would see the windows of the eastern suburbs gradually absorb the afternoon sun till they glowed so brightly she had to squint.

  Blanche had left her door open and Lim moved so quietly that he was standing beside her desk before she even noticed him. ‘Willy Wonka’s here.’

  Blanche redid her lipstick, gathered her papers and walked down the corridor with Lim. He was twenty-nine years old and six foot two, his high school full-back physique already softening. His thick black fringe hid lazy intelligent eyes. There was a flirtation in their rapport with a sexy undertone of threat. Lim was like a large sleek animal who swam alongside her as a buttress, equally capable, Blanche knew, of flipping and crushing her any time. This made her power over him that much more exciting. He was a strong ally in meetings: men loved his laconic heftiness, women his softness.

  Kate was still at her desk, on facebook. ‘Hiya.’ She looked up vaguely.

  ‘Meeting.’

  ‘God, yeah, sorry.’

  ‘Let’s hope he likes it,’ Lim said as they approached the door. ‘This guy is so humourless. He honestly thinks his company’s recipe comes from a Nobel Prize laboratory or something.’

  ‘Lim. Narva’s a good product. And he’ll love it.’

  William was at the window, discussing the cricket with Terry. He was a surprisingly dowdy man, considering his job, all checked shirt and mismatched blazer and tousled curls.

  ‘William.’ Blanche moved forward, hand extended. ‘We’re in love with your chocolate. We’ve completely demolished everything you sent us. I feel like I’ve discovered El Dorado,’ she said, addressing this to Terry. ‘Narva’s been going since 1806 and I’d never heard of it!’

  ‘It was confined to the East until recently.’

  ‘I’d love to go to Slovenia. I think it sounds fascinating.’

  William smiled. ‘Narva’s from Estonia.’

  ‘Come and sit down, William,’ said Terry.

  ‘We’re really excited about working with a chocolate company,’ said Lim. ‘I read that cocoa beans can’t be cultivated on cleared land, so you need to conserve a particular type of rainforest ecosystem around the plants for them to thrive.’

  ‘Really?’ William knitted his brows. ‘That’s interesting.’

  ‘Anybody for coffee?’ said Kate. Blanche pushed the tray of petits fours towards William, and after he refused took an éclair.

  ‘So, William.’ She held eye contact. ‘Chocolate. Gourmet chocolate like yours is essentially feminine. It’s elegant, special, we savour it. It’s associated with luxury.’

  ‘Women crave it at that time of the month.’ Kate nodded at Blanche.

  Blanche gritted her teeth. Terry sat back, foot propped on knee, smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He was cultivating a hybrid of Beckham and Branson with his cropped beard.

  William looked from one to the other. ‘We don’t want to alienate any portion of the market. We don’t want people to think this is just another piece of fuffy confectionery. This is the highest-quality chocolate. It’s better than most foods you buy in health-food stores. It’s actually good for you.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Blanche. ‘And that’s how we’ve framed it. Remember how attractive to men a feminine product can be, William.’

  ‘I switched to James Boag because of those seamed stockings,’ Lim chipped in. ‘Truly. How are those ads? And they’re still going.’

  ‘We’re using the concept of feminine in a broad contemporary sense.’ Blanche spread some papers out on the table. It was a good excuse to push the petits fours, which were wiggling their little arses at her, out of reach. ‘What Kate means is that chocolate — quality chocolate like Narva — is full of magnesium. Muscle relaxant, heart tonic, such a crucial mineral. Some scientific studies recommend a piece a day, as you would know, William. The reason we crave it is that we need it, scientifically.’

  William watched her, nodding. ‘That’s right, that’s right.’

  ‘It’s an aphrodisiac for the same reason,’ said Lim.

  ‘I honestly get a little rush when I eat it,’ said Kate.

  ‘Kate? We’ve gone for an urban feel,’ said Blanche. ‘To do with the demographic in the areas where most of the billboards are. Also because we think there’s potential for the Asian market.’

  Kate hit PowerPoint and her first image came up, a man and woman in sepia tones, the man feeding the woman a piece of Narva, and Blanche forgave her everything because it was so well designed. ‘These are just roughs,’ said Kate.

  ‘It’s timeless,’ Blanche enthused. ‘Everybody loves the ’20s. Fun, excitement. Class.’

  The next slide came up with the cocoa percentage, the company stamp and Blanche’s copy. The love drug.

  William looked over, tickled but unsure. ‘I was really keen on trying a new angle here. And using the quality of our ingredients to our advantage. Chocolate always has such a soft image.’

  Blanche pursed her lips. She crossed her legs and felt her rib pop out. ‘William, science is boring. Until you show the effect it has on our actual bodies, the things around us. The things we touch and see and feel. Narva is a love drug, quite literally. But we don’t need to go into the details. Nobody has the time to read them. People are sceptical. They’re stressed from a long day at work. They have enough energy to be seduced by this beautiful couple then maybe to take in the amount of cocoa and how long you’ve been making the chocolate. They just want to relax. They want the comfort and luxury of Narva. They’ll see a report somewhere else that tells them about the merits of pure cocoa. They’ll make an automatic association.’

  ‘But then anyone making chocolate with a high cocoa content can say the same thing. Anyone can make that claim.’

  Blanche leant forward. ‘But they’re not. Only you are.’

  William turned back to look at the image. Behind Blanche’s shoulder blade, a bullet wound began to throb. She could have thrown her arms around William when he turned back and said, ‘I like it.’

  She ushered everyone out of the room, then discreetly helped herself to a profiterole.

  ‘You,’ said Lim, on their way back down the corridor, ‘are having a Negroni on me after work.’

  ‘I can’t, Lim. Hugh and me promised each other we’d have dinner together. Great work by the way, Kate.’

  Kate grinned. ‘There’s a new barmaid at the Shanghai who makes Negronis to die for.’

  ‘I won’t keep you from your husband. Just one drink. Because. You. Are. A genius.’

  ‘Okay then. I have to run some errands so I’ll drive up. Six o
’clock.’

  Lim had their drinks waiting when she arrived. ‘Cheers, dears.’

  ‘Where’s Kate?’

  ‘She said she’d come later. She’s still working.’

  ‘You’re kidding. I didn’t see her at her desk. She’s always stuffing around.’

  ‘I know. That’s why she works late. I’m going to see Cirque du Soleil tonight.’ He pronounced it in perfect French, oblivious to how sexy he sounded.

  ‘You speak French fluently, don’t you?’ Blanche looked at him in awe.

  ‘My grandmother was French.’

  ‘Are they good? The Cirque?’

  ‘They’re amazing, yeah. Amazing make-up and costumes.’

  ‘God, I can’t believe I’ve never been to see them.’ Blanche groaned. ‘I never get out anymore, Lim. I’m turning into an old woman.’

  Lim made a sad face and Blanche pouted back at him.

  ‘They’re on for the next fortnight. Treat yourself.’ Lim moved forward so Blanche could smell his breath. ‘Let’s go do a line.’

  She leant against the wall watching the back of Lim’s head as he chopped up the coke on the toilet seat.

  ‘I wish they hadn’t renovated,’ he said. ‘The other toilets were so much better, they had those big shelves behind the cistern. So uncivilised, making us do it like this.’

  ‘God. I’ve actually got cravings for Narva. Can you believe it?’

  Lim straightened and gave her a straw. ‘This’ll cure that.’

  Blanche snorted slowly, messing up the line, using each nostril. ‘I’m really bad at snorting coke.’ A little white cloud floated out of one nostril as she spoke.

  Lim said nothing, hoovering his line in a nanosecond.

  One by one, the teeth along Blanche’s upper left jaw went numb.

  ‘It’s good stuff, that chocolate,’ Lim said, pinching his nostrils.

  ‘I’m excited about it, you know. I mean, we are launching it. I so hope it takes off. I want cinema! How about what you said about the rainforest ecosystems and all that, isn’t that amazing?’

  ‘Yeh, yeh, and I’m sure it’s true.’

  ‘I mean like the chocolate market world over has increased by something like five hundred percent in the last twenty years alone, and most products these days, if you said that, you’d be straightaway hit with a whole bunch of awful facts about commercial exploitation to make you feel guilty about the impact of increased crops on the environment or something, like what soy’s doing to the Amazon. D’you know anything about that?’

  ‘Yeh, yeh, yeh.’ Lim was nodding. ‘What? Oh yeah, they’re clearing it.’

  ‘But I mean it’s so nice to know that for once it’s actually okay, you know?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And how about coca?’ Blanche’s eyes gleamed deviously.

  Lim frowned. ‘I always get mixed up between them. Then there’s guarana ...’

  ‘But aren’t they all related? Like how does cocaine grow? Isn’t it a bean?’

  Lim was standing very straight with his back to the wall. ‘I don’t know. I’m the last in the food chain in that one.’

  Blanche felt so excited she wanted to gnash her teeth. ‘Why hasn’t the cocaine market ever taken off in Australia? It’s so bloody expensive like there’s a stranglehold on supply, I’ve never figured it out.’

  Somebody came into the toilets. Lim rolled his eyes and whispered with stagy seduction, ‘The love drug.’

  ‘I better go home and fuck my husband now,’ Blanche said airily over her shoulder as she walked back into the bar and swooped onto their table just in time to save their Negronis from a zealous waiter. Lim tittered.

  They drank and watched the bar fill slowly with suits.

  ‘What are you doing this weekend?’ Blanche asked, realising one second later that he had already told her.

  ‘Apart from the circus, just having a quiet one. Maybe the beach. My girl’s just bought a flat in Bronte.’

  Something lanced into Blanche’s chest. She rummaged through her handbag, thinking of the phrase stabbed by jealousy. She tried to retreat from her body, shaken by the vehemence of its feelings. ‘I didn’t know you had a girl,’ she said, trying to be flippant.

  ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Blanche,’ Lim replied with heavy innuendo.

  ‘Really? Do tell.’ Rummage, rummage.

  ‘I can’t. Then you’d know it.’

  A bitter glob fell down the back of Blanche’s throat and she sucked up the last of her drink. Her rib twanged angrily. Her car keys were in her hand even though she didn’t want to leave. ‘Sometimes I can’t understand why Terry comes to every meeting when he hardly says anything.’

  ‘He wants to watch over his minions.’

  ‘Hal-looo.’

  ‘I mean, that’s his line of thinking.’

  ‘He still doesn’t trust me. Even though he promoted me for my signature risk-taking.’

  ‘Fuck ’im. We’ll give the old farts a run for their money.’

  Blanche only had four blocks of the Pacific Highway to drive, but on a Friday evening it could take half an hour, longer than walking. She pulled out of the underground car park and drove up the hill and when the lights went green, like a little metal tooth her black BMW slid into the chain of cars heading north. Thirty-six degrees out there, ten less in here. She plugged in her iPod and scanned to Radiohead. The cocaine was ebbing now and her backache moving to the fore. She noticed how premenstrual she was, her legs needed waxing. She felt dirty.

  Half an hour later, she was sliding the gear into Park, pushing the remote, and watching the garage door rise before her. She pulled back into Drive too soon, nearly skinning the hood of the car. Hugh was in the shower when she came into the house. She dropped her keys into the bowl on the mantlepiece and went into the kitchen. It was hot and stuffy, the windows shut all day against a promised storm that never came. Blanche opened the freezer and rested her forearms inside its gelid shock, then withdrew a carton of cookies’n’cream ice-cream. She took it into the living room, switched on the television and ate watching the news.

  Hugh crossed the hall wrapped in a towel, then returned to the doorway in shorts and singlet, drying his hair. ‘André’s wife moved out this afternoon,’ he said over the top of the television.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yup. The removalist van was packing the last things when I got home. Adios!’ Hugh spoke with a note of triumph: both of them had sided with André because his wife had screamed louder.

  ‘Fantastic. We might sleep tonight.’

  Hugh draped his towel over the back of a chair and sat down. ‘I saw this place today that might be perfect. I want to take you to have a look at it tomorrow morning. It’s got a view.’

  ‘You’ve got the day off?’ Blanche said excitedly.

  ‘No. Before my inspections.’

  ‘I wanted to sleep in tomorrow and maybe go to a gallery, Hugh. You promised me you’d get a free Saturday. I was having drinks tonight and I came home for you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, pooky. It’s just crazy at the moment. I sold that Deco place in Kirribilli in one week, didn’t even advertise it.’

  ‘You really want to go ahead with this now? With the downturn and everything?’

  ‘Downturns are good. They bring back the investors.’

  ‘I don’t think I can handle another mortgage right now, Hugh.’

  ‘Why not? The more you have the easier it gets. And we’ll get money from the Sirius sale in a few months.’

  ‘Are you sticking to six million by the way? Isn’t it more like six and a half?’

  ‘Better to be conservative, then when you get more you’re over the moon.’

  ‘Will you take the usual commission?’

  ‘I think it’d be wrong if I didn’t do things by the book.’

  ‘The book might say we should give mates rates.’

  ‘We?’ Hugh arched an eyebrow.

  ‘Get out of town, Hugh.�
�

  Hugh kissed her on the forehead then got a bottle of white wine from the fridge. ‘Ultimo’s a safe bet.’

  Blanche stared at the television, spooning ice-cream into her mouth direct from the carton. A line of tanks rolled towards a crowd, Molotov cocktails shooting through the night.

  ‘Blanche, can you at least look at me?’

  ‘Hughie, I’m really tired, okay? I’m pre-menstrual and it’s been a big week.’

  Hugh poured her a glass of wine and muted the television. ‘What are you doing, pooky? It’s half empty. Have you eaten all that? I thought you were trying to lose weight.’

  Blanche sighed and stretched along the couch, lifting her legs onto Hugh’s lap. Hugh looked worn and jowly. There were camels on his boxers, all heading in the same direction — nowhere — around and around his hips. He looked so unsexy that she felt sad. ‘You can talk with your middle-aged spread.’ She poked her toes into his armpit.

  He jammed it over her foot. It was hot and moist and comforting, like a mouth. ‘I know. We both have to go to the gym.’

  Miffed, Blanche turned up the television. A kookaburra laughed in the bedroom and when Hugh walked out to answer it, Blanche began to eat the ice-cream again. Why did they play such shithouse ads in prime time? What an embarrassment. No wonder Australia was the laughing-stock of the world. Her mind became keen and predatory, slicing through each twenty-second slot with the clinical precision of a surgeon removing tumours.

  ‘Hey, Stav,’ Hugh spoke into his phone, watching her from the doorway. ‘Yeh, yeh I’m working on her.’ Blanche raised her eyebrows over the spoon moving towards her mouth. The ice-cream felt fantastic slipping down her throat. The quicker she ate it, the deeper it retained its chill, cooling her from the inside. She scraped the bottom of the carton, thinking how wonderful it would be to get fat and really go to seed. Attached to Hugh’s arm, she would wrap red lamé around her corpulence, tie a ribbon around her fat waist and go as a giant Christmas bauble to the next realty Christmas party.