Free Campaign Ruby by Jessica Rudd Page A

off there this arvo. Gotta go, kiddo.’
    Abandoned, I pressed the buzzer. Footsteps bounded down the stairs towards me and then a pint-sized blonde lady appeared. She looked like an Olympic figure skater.
    â€˜You must be Olga,’ I said. ‘I’m Ruby.’
    I followed her into a sitting room. Olga took my handbag and reached into it for my phone, which she switched off. She handed me a robe and glass of water and showed me to one of the smaller rooms.
    â€˜I’m on quite a tight schedule,’ I said. ‘I need to be at Treasury Place by a quarter to twelve at the latest.’ Olga looked at her watch. ‘Da.’
    â€˜You want me to lie down?’ I asked.
    â€˜Da,’ she smiled.
    Another woman joined her, and as they chatted incomprehensibly, they waxed, plucked, scrubbed, washed, buffed, dried, moisturised and painted me.
    In two hours, I was a new woman. My spot had vanished, my hair bounced and my legs slithered.
    Back in my dress, I grabbed my things and thanked them profusely. ‘Da,’ they said and showed me the door.
    â€˜Four Treasury Place,’ I said to the cab driver.
    â€˜Righto, love, you off to something special?’
    â€˜I guess,’ I said. ‘I have an interview of sorts.’
    The driver eyed me in the mirror. ‘You’ll get the job for sure.’
    At Treasury Place a police officer appeared to be guarding a row of white Edwardian buildings.
    â€˜Press?’ he asked.
    â€˜I have an appointment with Luke Harley in the Leader of the Opposition’s office.’
    â€˜Right, I’ll call and find someone for you. As you can appreciate, it’s pretty hectic in there at the moment.’ He picked up a radio and said, ‘G’day, is Luke Harley there? Yeah, there’s a lady here to see him; she reckons she has an appointment. Let me ask. Are you Ruby Stanhope?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Yep, that’s her. I’ll escort her in.’ He put on his hat and stepped down from his post. ‘This way please, ma’am.’
    I followed him down a narrow pathway to a nondescript office where a receptionist who could have auditioned for Golden Girls sat at a cluttered desk.
    â€˜Ruby?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜I’m Beryl. Did you get our messages?’
    â€˜No,’ I said, remembering Olga had silenced my mobile. ‘I’ve been in appointments all morning.’
    â€˜So have we, mate,’ she said. ‘We’ve been trying to call you to reschedule. Things are pretty fraught in there.’ She pointed towards a pair of heavy oak doors.
    â€˜Big day?’
    â€˜You haven’t seen the news?’
    I didn’t have the heart to tell her there was lipstick on her teeth. ‘I haven’t had a chance to read anything this morning,’ I bluffed, smoothing a wrinkle in my dress.
    â€˜There’s been a spill,’ she said.
    â€˜Oil?’
    â€˜No, mate, a spill in the government.’
    â€˜Is someone…er…cleaning it up?’
    She laughed. ‘The PM’s been toppled by the Treasurer and the new PM’s on her way to Yarralumla.’
    I longed for subtitles. ‘I’ve just been down at the Yarra Valley,’ I hesitated, ‘it’s a beautiful place.’
    â€˜No sweet ’art— Yarralumla . The GG’s place. She’s gonna be sworn in and we’re being told she’s calling an early election.’
    I was still lost.
    â€˜How about I put the telly on and get you a cuppa?’
    â€˜That would be lovely.’
    She turned on the antique television on her desk and swivelled it towards me, ushering me to a coffee-stained office chair. ‘Voila,’ she said. ‘How do you have yer tea?’
    BREAKING NEWS: PM PATTON OUSTED—BRENNAN TO BE SWORN IN AS PRIME MINISTER, streamed across the news ticker at the bottom of the screen. ‘I’m standing here on the road to the Governor-General’s