Campaign Ruby (12 page)

‘Half four, at the office.'

I remembered the sobering schedule. ‘Sure,' I said, regretting it already.

I entered my room and opened the curtains at the end of my third day in Australia. There was Sydney in all its twilit glory. The bridge arched gracefully over a busy, sprawling harbour. The herringbone-patterned tiles of the famous white-sailed opera house reminded me of the collars on my father's business shirts. Lights still on in nearby office buildings revealed lonely professionals dining at their desks. Sated couples left restaurants hand in hand.

I was too tired to be hungry. A hot shower and La Prairie face mask later, I wrapped myself in a towelling robe and curled up on the expansive bed. I set my alarm and a wake-up call for 4 a.m., slipped under the brushed-cotton covers and into a deep, unshakable slumber.

Oscar nomination

My alarm howled. I ripped the duvet from my body and switched on the radio. Unleashing my spare bra and pants, I got back into yesterday's clothes, varying the outfit by adding the Stella belt and tucking the shirt.

I found the office: room 1209—three adjoining suites were littered with photocopiers, printers, computers, fax machines and phones.

Di was sitting on a couch in sweat pants and a T-shirt, reading through a pile of newspapers and eating toast. Archie was listening to two radio stations between phone calls.

‘G'day.' Di looked up. ‘Coffee?'

‘Yes, please.' I helped myself and took a spare copy of the
Herald
.

‘In a nutshell,' she told me, ‘all the papers are as pissed off with Brennan as they are excited by her manoeuvre. This has never happened before. The media have been caught off guard as much as we have, so the coverage is all over the place.'

The
Herald
, a Victorian paper, was headlined melbourne vs melbourne
,
and focused on both candidates being locals. The front page was split down the middle with a photograph of Brennan at her press conference and the LOO at his. Inside was an eight-page special on the campaign, with stories about Patton's legacy, the historic nature of Brennan's move and readers' comments on Max's use of the word ‘bull'. On page six was a photograph of the LOO disembarking the BBJ, with Luke, Di and Archie on the steps behind him. The caption read:

Maiden Voyage: Opposition Leader Max Masters arrives on the BBJ in Sydney last night, followed by core campaign team—Luke Harley (Chief of Staff), Dianna Freya (Advisor) and Archibald Andersen (Media Consultant).

Di caught me looking at it. ‘Prick,' she whispered. She handed me page one of a Brisbane paper, which had printed a zoomed grab of the photo, picturing only Di and Archie.

Premier 's spin doctor joins Masters The Premier has been abandoned by his Chief Media Advisor, Archibald Andersen (pictured), who quit his George Street job to help Max Masters win top office. Andersen might be just what the doctor ordered for Masters, who, until now, has relied on new kid on the block Dianna Freya.

I leaned back in my chair to see Archie, oblivious to Di's fury, singing along to a toilet paper jingle on the radio.

The door opened and Luke walked in. Today's tie was a smattering of four-leaf clovers. He caught me staring and looked down as if to check he hadn't spilled anything on it.
Not unless he had luck for breakfast,
my head laughed.

‘Where are we at?' he asked.

Di opened her mouth, but Archie was already talking. ‘Here's the line-up so far for today's TVs,' he said. Di clenched her fists. ‘Our guy's on
Brekky
and
Mornings
. Brennan's announcing her deputy and other cabinet changes today. She did a pretty full interview for
Nightcap
last night. We'll get some but not much coverage for our SMEs announcement.'

‘I'm reasonably happy with that,' said Luke ‘At least it'll take some of the heat out of the “bull” story.'

‘We don't really have an SME policy unless Theo's come up with something genius overnight.' Di pulled a skirt on over the top of her sweat pants. ‘We'll get some credit for coming out with something on Day One, but it won't be overly scrutinised.'

‘How are we with the travelling media list?'

‘Good.' Di yanked off the sweat pants. ‘We've got a really hot line-up. Pretty Boy is joining us for at least the first fortnight, maybe the whole campaign.' Luke and Archie groaned. ‘On the downside, we've got Gary Spinnaker.'

‘Who's Pretty Boy?' I asked.

‘Oscar Franklin,' she said.

The moniker suited him. Two weeks of eye candy could be sweet.

I thought you were looking forward to two weeks of
wine
, said my head.
You've quite the fickle palate.

Luke scrolled through his BlackBerry. ‘The LOO's on his way down. Are we ready to prep him?'

‘Yep,' said Archie and Di simultaneously.

‘Ruby.' Luke turned to me. ‘We need you on the road with us today.'

‘Sure,' I said, harbouring anxiety that I would be wearing the same outfit again tomorrow. My head mocked me for my vanity.

The LOO walked in with a bowl of cereal. ‘Right, what's happening, kids?'

‘We've done pretty well this morning,' said Di. ‘The focus is on the brutality of Patton's removal, his legacy, and Brennan as the first female PM. It's a saturated news day, but we've punched through by praising Patton and being critical of Brennan. There's a lot of speculation but not much substance as to how Brennan managed to get rid of Patton so quietly.' Di paused. ‘The problem for us today is the “bull” story.'

Max looked up from his Weetabix and rolled his eyes.

‘Don't freak out,' said Di. ‘I reckon it's worked in our favour. We'd be fighting for airspace if there was nothing controversial about what you said yesterday. Instead, we've kicked off a national debate about swearing.'

Luke took the floor. ‘Everyone wants to talk to you today because they think you have a foul mouth. We're due to get some party polling stats tonight so we'll see how it's playing out. My gut tells me it's positive.'

‘My dad disagrees with your gut,' said Max. ‘He called to tell me Phyllis at bowls reckons I should watch my mouth.'

We all laughed. He was in good spirits. Di and Archie briefed him on the interviews as I ran to my room to pack. Within ten minutes, we were on our way to the television studios.

From the green rooms, I should have been paying attention to the interviews, but I was distracted by all the beautiful people. I sat on a couch outnumbered by uber-chic fashionistas, rockers and soap stars, their shiny-toothed agents all arguing with producers. In comparison, the radio studios were dully lit hovels full of caffeine addicts in dirty denim and grungy T-shirts.

By eight o'clock I felt ready for lunch, but it was time for a breakfast meeting at party HQ. I had expected the party to be housed in a large, gleaming office building, but we pulled up at a blond-brick block with flickering fluorescent bulbs.

Mirabelle greeted Max and showed us to a meeting room with a laminated oval table and electric whiteboard. The air-conditioner hummed. ‘Help yourselves to pastries, people,' she said.

Two croissants later, Mirabelle was running through an outline of the campaign strategy when Di tapped me on the shoulder and beckoned me into the hallway.

‘Roo, I need your help. We're doing a school visit in the western suburbs in an hour, and Maddy, who is the advancer, just told me their cricket team is called the Burwood Bulls.'

‘Great.'

‘No, not great—the Burwood
Bulls
.'

‘Bollocks.' I followed her out the door into a waiting car.

‘Yeah, mate, more like bullocks.' The car pulled away. ‘We can't cancel it because Archie sent a fucking media alert out, so they're all on their way up there.'

‘Can't we plan it so Max isn't around any reference to the word?'

‘They've got a massive sign out front saying WELCOME MAX MASTERS—GO THE BULLS
.'

‘Can Max play cricket?' I asked. ‘Maybe he could join the cricket team on the oval with a bat and ball?'

‘Good,' she said. ‘Do it.'

‘What do you mean by “do it”?'

‘Make it happen.' She took a call.

‘But…'

She pointed to my phone. I picked up my new BlackBerry and scrolled through the calendar. There was a number for Maddy. I called it.

‘Hello,' said a broad Australian accent.

‘Maddy, it's Roo,' I said, puzzled by my own introduction. ‘I work on the campaign and Di's asked me to give you a call about this Bulls issue.'

‘Thank God,' said Maddy. ‘The crews are already getting shots of the sign—we can't ignore it.'

‘We don't want to ignore it,' I said. ‘We've decided to embrace it. Is anyone from the cricket team around?'

‘Yeah, they were told to cancel practice today because the LOO's coming.'

‘Tell them that practice is back on and ask if they would mind if Max joins in. What's the atmosphere like at the school?'

‘Everyone's really excited.'

‘Great. We're nearly there.'

As we pulled up at the school, Di called Luke to explain the situation. Almost instantly, my BlackBerry buzzed. It was Luke.

Good job, L

Di nudged me. ‘That's Maddy.'

We got out of the car.

A tiny, toned woman about my age came bouncing towards us through the car park. Her cropped, sunbleached hair stood out like a halo.

‘G'day,' Maddy said. ‘You must be Roo. Hi, Di. Let me show you both around.' We began walking.

Maddy could easily have been a school student, bar the well-worn riding boots and BlackBerry. Her tanned face was clean and fresh, not a jot of make-up.

‘He's going to serve morning tea here at the tuck shop and then hit the oval for cricket practice.' She pointed to the sprawling green field.

‘That was quick—I only called five minutes ago.'

She grinned. ‘That's my job—I do everything the LOO does before he even knows he's doing it.'

Di went over to welcome the media assembled at the school gate waiting for the LOO. Max pulled up shortly after, looking relaxed, and greeted everyone before following Maddy through to the school hall. She was like a tour guide with an umbrella at the Spanish Steps.

We then followed the principal to the tuck shop, where Max rolled up his sleeves and joined the ladies serving morning tea.

‘The Anzac bickies look great,' he said to one of the students. She broke her biscuit in half and shared it with him. Cameras clicked.

We wandered past classrooms to the oval, where the Burwood Bulls were practising.

‘Here we go,' whispered Di. One of the kids threw Max the ball, which he caught effortlessly.

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.