Campaign Ruby

by Jessica Rudd

  Afterwards, with cricket in the background, Max stood on the oval surrounded by journalists.

  ‘Mr Masters,’ said Oscar Franklin, who was even dishier in the flesh, particularly from behind. ‘Is it just an unfortunate coincidence that you’re here playing cricket with the Bulls on the very day you’re trying to run away from the word?’

  ‘I wish the Bulls luck with their game on Saturday,’ said Max. ‘And there’s no need for me to do a bull-run away from anyone today except my old man. He rang to tell me his bowls club wants me to wash my mouth out with soap.’

  Everyone smiled.

  ‘Smiles are forgiveness in this game,’ Di whispered into my ear. ‘Good work.’

  The cricket team stayed behind to watch the press conference and have their photos taken with Max. ‘Excuse me, miss,’ said a sweaty kid, ‘can you take a photo of Max and me with my phone?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, holding the space-aged, two-dimensional gadget on its side. I looked into the lens. ‘Smile!’ Click.

  ‘Um, miss, you took a photo of your eye.’

  ‘Did I? Sorry. That must be why they call it an iPhone.’

  No one laughed. Max was flagging—it was the last of twelve photographs in the hot sun.

  Oscar Franklin walked towards me and got down on one knee. ‘Here, let me.’ He took the phone from my hands. ‘Say cheese, guys.’

  Click.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’m more of a BlackBerry girl. Those fandangled thingies are clearly designed for James Bond and teenage boys.’

  ‘Franklin,’ he said, holding up his own fandangled thingy. ‘Oscar Franklin.’

  ‘Oh. Ruby Stanhope.’

  ‘Are you new to the team?’

  ‘I am, actually.’

  You’re blushing, said my head. Stop staring at his chest, you pervert.

  ‘Roo!’ Di gestured for me to join her at the big blue bus that had pulled up at the front of the school.

  ‘Bye, Oscar.’

  ‘Lovely to meet you, Roo,’ he said with an adorable, dimpled smile.

  ‘Watch out for him,’ Di warned when I reached her, then she clasped her megaphone hands around her mouth and morphed into a tour guide. ‘Can all travelling media please board the bus now.’

  I handed her a bottle of water. A few of the journalists, camera crews and photographers boarded the bus while others stood around to file stories. It was almost eleven o’clock and I’d been up for seven hours. I was starting to flag.

  My BlackBerry beeped.

  That worked well. Maddy

  I wrote back.

  Great event, Maddy. Let’s grab a drink at the next stop. R

  When everyone was on the bus, Di stood up. ‘Welcome, everyone, to our campaign. Roo and I want you to know that we’re here for you.’

  Look what you’ve got yourself into, said my head.

  ‘Like us, not many of you will have planned to be on the road for thirty-three days. You’ve all got editors and producers and deadlines. Roo and I are determined to make sure that you always have somewhere to write copy and file stories. If you need information about scheduling, come to Roo or me and we’ll tell you what we know.

  ‘First up, we’re off to Brisbane, where Max will be giving a speech on small and medium enterprises. We’ll circulate a release shortly and answer any questions you might have. Roo will come and meet you all now.’

  I obliged. It wasn’t even midday, but it looked as though Debs’ shirt and trousers would see another day of wear after all.

  Fast food, fast policy

  I wanted to nap in the air but the journalists were anxious to see our press release. Although it was lunchtime, the media jet could offer only a selection of biscuits. Grumpiness spread like small pox through the passengers.

  Di grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me into the toilet, shutting the door.

  ‘Look, I’m flattered, but I’m not into ladies.’

  She didn’t laugh. ‘We’re up the creek,’ she said, breathless. ‘They’re going to eat me alive.’

  ‘Snakes on a plane?’

  Still no laugh. ‘Luke vetoed the policy Theo’s been working on because it was shit, and is rewriting it himself. The LOO’s supposed to be giving a speech about a policy that hasn’t been written and I’ve got jack-all to give this lot until it’s sent to me.’

  ‘Sit,’ I said.

  She hyperventilated and shook her head.

  ‘Do as you’re told,’ I commanded, channelling my mother. She sank onto the toilet seat. I handed her a sick-bag from the dispenser. ‘Put your head between your legs and breathe slowly into this.’

  She looked up at me like Clem does when she’s in trouble. ‘Do it,’ I said. The world slowed down for a minute. ‘Now I’m going to go out there and talk to them and you’re going to stay in here and splash water on your face.’

  Di nodded, breathing deeply.

  I may have sounded cool and confident, but in truth I had a serious case of nerves. I made my way to the front of the cabin and cleared my throat. ‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ I exaggerated my accent for effect. ‘Due to the rushed circumstances of arranging this flight, we were unable to organise lunch for you.’ This was met with a collective grumble.

  ‘But when we land, I’ll be going through a drive-through,’ I improvised, ‘so if you could put some thought into whether you’re a burger or a nuggets person, I’ll take your orders just prior to landing.’ Most of them laughed.

  ‘What about the release?’ asked a bald grouch in row four.

  ‘We will give you copies of the release half an hour before Max is due to speak. I know this is a pain, but we’re having a few technology problems. We’re confident these will be resolved by the end of Day One.’

  ‘Day Two, you mean,’ corrected the grouch.

  ‘Give the girl a break, Gary,’ yelled Oscar from the back.

  ‘Thanks, everyone,’ I said. It felt like a career highlight even if I would be taking drive-through orders.

  Oscar stopped me as I passed him en route to the loo. ‘Don’t mind Spinnaker, Roo,’ he said. ‘He’s more of a nugget, if you know what I mean.’

  I smiled and returned to Di, who was applying concealer to her dark circles.

  ‘You’re a life-saver.’

  ‘Hardly,’ I said, attempting to be modest.

  ‘Don’t tell anyone I had a meltdown,’ she pleaded, ‘especially Archie.’

  ‘What meltdown?’

  We rejoined the cabin. Di fielded a volley of questions regarding a policy she knew nothing about. I worked my way through each row taking orders. I disembarked first in Brisbane. The humidity was so thick that even the palm trees were sweating. I hailed a taxi.

  ‘Is there a McDonald’s between here and the convention centre?’ I asked the driver.

  ‘There’s one at the Gabba. You got a craving?’

  ‘Isn’t the Gabba the cricket ground?’

  ‘It’s also a suburb.’

  I Googled the number and dialled.

  ‘McDonald’s Woolloongabba, Codie speaking. How can I help you?’ said a breaking voice.

  ‘Hi, my name is Ruby and I need to place a very big order.’ I drew breath. ‘Twelve Quarter Pounder meals, eight Big Mac meals, six Cheeseburger meals and eleven Filet-O-Fish meals. Half with Coke, half with Diet Coke. I need it all in half an hour.’

  ‘Is this a prank?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘I work for the Leader of the Opposition and there’s a plane full of hungry journalists waiting to be fed.’

  ‘We’ll do our best.’

  I emailed Di.

  D, McDonald’s at the Gabba is processing thirty-seven burgers and fries. Done in thirty. Try stalling them with the release for fifteen. R

  R, Stalling not an issue. Still no release from the boys. Shit a brick. Di

  When I arrived at McDonald’s, Codie was frenetic, filling cups of Coke. ‘I was praying you’d turn up,’ he said when I introduced myself. ‘My manager’s on her
lunch break and she’d freak out if I’d fallen for a hoax.’

  Ten minutes later, I boarded the bus, laden with greasy paper bags. By the time the burgers had been distributed and demolished, we’d arrived at the convention centre. Di and I joined Luke and the LOO in a backstage room with a tense vibe.

  ‘Mate, I read the policy doc,’ said Di. ‘I think it’s a winner.’

  Luke’s policy, which I’d read on the bus over a Diet Coke, seemed to be a series of motherhood statements about the plight of small business. The only real commitment was the introduction of a government mediation centre to resolve default disputes between banks and business. It was uninspiring and unworkable.

  The LOO sat at a desk in the corner of the room reading through his speech. We sat in silence and waited for the verdict.

  ‘This is a bogus attempt to make us look like we’re ahead of the game, and what it does is make us seem desperate to catch up.’ Max stabbed his pen into the pile of paper.

  Luke fiddled with the lid of his pen.

  ‘The gallery will rightly write this up as policy on the run. It does nothing of substance. What happened to our Business Bonus?’

  ‘We couldn’t get it costed in time and we can’t afford to go out with un-costed policies in this climate,’ said Luke.

  ‘You’re being melodramatic, Max,’ said Di. ‘This is just the start of our SME policy. And it’s an important start because we’re showing everyone that we’re in touch with the problems SMEs face and we’re prioritising them.’

  ‘She’s right,’ said Luke.

  ‘What do you think, Roo?’ asked the LOO.

  Don’t fuck this up, Ruby, said my helpful head. Tell them what you think.

  But this was one of those awkward moments in life when you know that the truth won’t help. There was no point in telling Max the policy was meaningless and impracticable—the media already had a copy so Max would have to sell it regardless. Luke looked up at me with anxious eyes.

  ‘My father started his career as a bank manager and used to recount harrowing stories of having to break the news of default and repossession to his clients when they couldn’t make their loan payments. It was dreadful for everyone.

  ‘The mediation centre is a good move for bankers and business owners alike. It tells them that you appreciate what they’re going through and that while it will not fix the problem it’s a start.’

  We waited for judgment. Finally, Max sighed. ‘I guess so. Who’s doing my make-up?’

  ‘I am,’ said Di, giving me a pat on the back.

  I could hear my own heartbeat, but my head was louder. First day on the job and you’re already a yes-man. Well done, Ruby.

  But Luke was down on his luck, I told my head, despite having the best of intentions and an infestation of four-leaf clovers around his neck. Blame Theo, head.

  ‘Can you track down Archie and tell him that’s how we’re positioning this?’ Luke pulled me out of the room.

  ‘But I just made that up.’

  ‘That’s what we all do.’

  I dialled Archie’s number. Luke took a step closer to me. ‘Thanks, Roo.’

  I waved his thanks away. ‘Archie, it’s Roo. Where are you?’

  ‘In the auditorium.’

  ‘Luke wanted you to know that we’re positioning this as the first of a raft of announcements for business to demonstrate that this is a priority for the LOO.’ I said it so definitively that I surprised myself and immediately wanted to take it back.

  ‘Understood,’ said Archie.

  I went back into the room, where Max was now amending parts of his speech while Di did his make-up. A shattered Theo was lying on the couch, looking even older than he had yesterday.

  ‘Showtime,’ said Max. Luke followed him out.

  ‘Wait here for me, Roo,’ said Di. ‘I’m going to give Archie a hand.’

  Delighted with the opportunity to stop, I sat down and watched the LOO’s speech on the screen set up for us.

  ‘I’m Theo,’ said Theo, still prostrate.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Because we met yesterday.’

  ‘You must look different today.’

  ‘Actually, I’m wearing exactly the same thing as yesterday, minus the belt and knickers.’

  He stared at my crotch.

  ‘I am wearing knickers today, just not the same ones as yesterday.’

  ‘Good to know.’ He yawned.

  ‘Give me your glasses,’ I demanded. They were so greasy they were opaque. He obliged. I pulled a cleaning cloth from my Toolkit and polished them for him.

  We listened to Max. He delivered the lacklustre policy with panache and received a standing ovation at the end. I gave Theo his glasses.

  ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘Magic.’

  Ten minutes later, Max, Luke and Di came back into the room and slumped on the couch.

  ‘What’s next?’ Max picked up an apple and began to munch.

  ‘A meeting with the pollsters,’ said Luke. ‘Your next interview has been canned so it’s just the fundraiser and then a strategy meeting.’

  ‘And where are we tomorrow?’

  ‘Somewhere in Australia,’ said Di.

  ‘Get the pollsters to meet us here if they can,’ Max requested. ‘I don’t want to get in the car again and I need to call Shelly and Abba.’

  We all left the room to let him speak with his wife and daughter in peace.

  This is ridiculous, I thought, lying in the hallway outside, sharing a BlackBerry charger with Di. Was it this manic all the time? ‘Any chance I could have half an hour to buy some clothes?’ I asked Di. ‘I don’t really want to wear this for a third consecutive day.’

  ‘Sure,’ she smiled. ‘I’ve run out of undies and I don’t have time to wash them so I might tag along. Let’s go in an hour or two.’

  I used the quiet time to read my employment contract, but I probably shouldn’t have because it just upset me. The party had offered me a forty-day contract, paying the equivalent of about £8 an hour if I kept working at this pace.

  This isn’t worth it, Ruby, advised my head. You’re supposed to be on holiday and instead you’re fatigued and being paid tuppence for your trouble.

  I went to the bathroom and dialled. ‘Aunt Daphne, it’s me.’

  ‘Hold on a second, Ruby.’ I held for half a minute. ‘Sorry about that. One of the pups gets excited when he sees us. I’ve named him The Widdler.’

  ‘Apt,’ I said. ‘And the other two?’

  ‘The little girl, Champagne, is bright and bubbly, and JFK’s the howler.’

  ‘You named a dog after a president?’

  ‘He was a great orator,’ she said. ‘How’s Sydney?’

  ‘Brisbane, actually.’

  ‘Oh, dear. Debs put your luggage in internal post so it’s probably in Sydney by now.’

  ‘Crap. Does her firm have an office in Brisbane?’

  ‘I’ll check,’ she said. ‘How are you finding it?’

  ‘Exhilarating but exhausting.’

  ‘Like all of life’s great pleasures,’ she said wryly.

  ‘The pay is shit.’

  ‘You’re getting paid?’

  ‘Yes, I’m on a contract with the party. It’s worse pay than I was getting as a graduate.’

  ‘You were a banker, Ruby. And you didn’t like it very much. Anyway, darling, you’re supposed to be on holiday so you weren’t expecting to make any money this month. You should see this as a bonus.’

  My head rolled its eyes.

  ‘Sorry, darling, got to go. The Widdler’s living up to his name.’

  Back in the hallway, Di leaped to her feet. ‘Brennan’s doing her presser about the cabinet line-up!’

  We ran to the convention centre cafe, where, like a mirage in the Sahara, there was a wall-mounted television showing The Bold and the Beautiful. Brooke and Ridge were smooching.

  ‘Do you have Sun?’ Di puffed.


  ‘You can switch in the ad break,’ said the drowsy waitress. ‘You haven’t even ordered anything.’

  Di looked homicidal. I stepped in. ‘Two of your largest lattes, please,’ I said apologetically as the Commercial Gods showed Di a little mercy.

  ‘Thank fuck,’ muttered Di, standing on a chair to operate the thing. Over on the Sun network, Brennan was finishing her press conference flanked by two sharp-suited men: one tall, one short.

  ‘Who are those guys?’

  ‘The short one’s Stein, the Minister for Finance,’ she said. ‘Brennan hates him, but he’s the only one who could feasibly step up into the Treasury role. Mayne’s the tall one. He’s Leader of the House, and Communities Minister. She must be making Mayne her deputy.’

  ‘Does this mean Stein and Mayne were part of the plot to bring down Patton?’

  ‘Possibly, but not necessarily.’

  The waitress handed us what looked like vats of coffee. ‘That’s $11.90, and you can put it back on The Bold now.’

  ‘I’ve got to go to this polling meeting,’ Di said outside.

  Clearly I wasn’t invited. ‘Call me when you’re ready to shop.’

  With my luggage and litre of flat white, I went outside to get a bit of air. My sunglasses fogged up in the stinking heat. Reaching to defog my lenses, I upended the coffee all over my shirt and trousers. ‘Pants!’ I screamed, rescuing a Miu from irreversible staining, whereupon I lost my footing and fell. The contents of my hand and overnight bags were strewn across the steps of Brisbane’s convention centre.

  ‘Are you all right?’ called a man from below. I recognised the resonant voice instantly. Oscar.

  ‘Absolutely,’ I lied. ‘Minor mishap.’ I reached for my arse, hoping that the seam of Debs’ trousers was still intact. Oscar, who had been doing a piece to camera at the foot of the steps, climbed towards me. Yesterday’s underpants were inside out on a nearby step—I shoved them into my pocket.

  ‘Nice trip?’ asked Oscar, lending me a strong arm.

  Back on my feet, I thanked him and gave up on covering my latte-drenched flat chest. ‘I’d better go and change,’ I said, not that there was anything to change into. We collected my scattered possessions, some more embarrassing than others, and I hailed a cab.