Free The Boys' Club by Wendy Squires Page A

true north , Rosie thought. Still,
she knew she would eventually call, rather than risk alienating him
before the new season launch. She sent Lisa an email asking her to
get another compass to him along with a bottle of champagne.
    Then there was the on-air presenter who, obsessed with being
nominated for a Gold Kennedy, had called yet again, wanting to go
through Rosie's strategy to ensure he got a look-in. Rosie sighed and
wondered what the most diplomatic way would be to tell someone to
pull their head out of their own arse.
    There was only one person on the long list who Rosie really felt
like calling – her best friend, Lou, who'd left three messages, the first
being, 'Are you still alive?' and the last, 'Call me or else I'll call your
mother.' Bless her , Rosie thought to herself, pondering how long it
had actually been since she last spoke to Lou rather than just texting.
She knew she had no time to return Lou's call and continued to
scan the list. There were routine messages from network talent and
management, all urgent and all usually, she guessed, involving some
sort of rort. Could they get tickets to the Arts Festival opening, Billy
Joel concert, Grand Final box, Australian Open tent, Easter Show,
Big Day Out . . . ? Why they thought the publicity department was
akin to a box office Rosie had no idea. In the old days, before cost
cuts, it was true that publicity would have a cache of tickets to give
out as sweeteners, but that was a long time ago.
    Before she could pick up her phone and begin dialling, she heard
someone enter her office and close the glass door behind them. Rosie
looked up. It was Portia, and Rosie was not in the mood, though she
suddenly realised she hadn't yet sighted Portia that day, something
she usually made a habit of doing first thing every morning, if only
to keep abreast of the current – or about-to-be – hottest thing in
fashion. Today, Rosie noted that at the top of her 2IC's long licorice-strap
legs – clad in opaque black stockings – were tailored shorts
with a matching snug-fitting black jacket. Rosie could tell from the
buttons alone that this ensemble was Chanel. As always, Portia had
made the outfit her own, teaming expensive designer with a vintage
Ramones T-shirt and adding necklaces adorned with ironic charms.
Her hair, in pigtails, was just messy enough not to look try-hard.
Once again, it was a sartorial triumph that left Rosie feeling like
catalogue to Portia's upmarket glossy.
    'Rosie, I know you're busy but I wanted to check if there's anything
I can do to help you?' Portia asked timidly.
    Rosie saw the uneasiness in Portia's eyes. It had been hard for
her having Rosie come in from out of nowhere to take the job she
longed for. But then again, Portia had only worked as a PR for a
cosmetics house before joining the network, so Rosie understood
why Keith wanted someone schooled in media hard-knocks for the
top job.
    'Sorry I haven't had a chance to chat with you, Portia, but I've had
a hell of a morning.'
    'I know,' Portia replied. 'I heard you earlier with Hunt. You were
great, he needed that.'
    Rosie immediately felt guilty for her earlier suspicions about
Portia's loyalty. If she was to be really honest with herself, she
genuinely liked and respected this young woman from the moneyed
side of the tracks.
    'Thanks, Portia, but I don't think losing my cool like that was
advisable under the circumstances. In fact, I'm a bit embarrassed I
couldn't keep my temper at bay.'
    'Don't beat yourself up,' Portia replied gently. 'You're under a lot of
pressure, which is why I want to help in any way I can.'
    Rosie could feel she was about to be more honest than was wise,
but felt powerless to stop herself. 'Actually, there is something you
can do, Portia, and that's keep Alicia on track for her drama launch.
She's still hassling me for updates when you've been on it for weeks
now. I really thought you had this covered for me.'
    'Oh but I do,' Portia replied, sounding a little