Campaign Ruby (16 page)

‘Thanks for your time, Russell.' Felix shook his hand.

‘No worries, Felix,' said Russell. ‘My wife and I'll be voting for you. Will your girlfriend be joining us this afternoon?'

‘Girlfriend?' hissed Maddy.

‘Nonie's at work,' said Felix, ‘but she'll come if she can—she's dying to meet Max and Shelly.'

‘Terrific,' I said, to distract him from the sound of Maddy's heart shattering into a billion pieces.

Maddy excused herself. I took the opportunity to check my BlackBerry. I had about eighty unread emails, which seemed impossible because I didn't know that many people in this country let alone people with my four-day-old email address. There was one from Luke.

R

Please find a way to get the media bus to the shopping centre without passing the newly erected billboard.

Couldn't resist.

L

PS Let's chat about your role at some point. Keep up the good work.

I went to find Maddy in the loos.

‘Where are you?' My voice echoed through the stalls. ‘Anyway, what kind of a name is Nonie?'

I heard a giggle. ‘A dumb one,' Maddy said, opening the door. ‘He's just so spunky.'

‘That means something entirely different where I come from,' I said. ‘There are better candidates for you, I'm sure of it.'

‘Doubt it.' She reapplied gloss in the mirror. ‘There's no time to find a bloke in this job—it's all pollies, staff and journos, all of whom are off limits.'

‘All of them?'

‘All of them. Why?'

Yes, Ruby, why?
asked my head.

‘Come on,' I said, ‘we need to find a way to get the media bus here without passing the billboard.'

‘I'll do that. You wait for the cops and buy me some chocolate.'

I went outside to Felix. ‘What are you wearing this afternoon?'

‘This.'

My head shook itself.

‘Felix, you're about to be on national television and these will become your new file photographs with all the local papers.'

He looked down at his front-pleated chinos and the stripy shirt under his droopy jacket.

‘I've watched enough Trinny and Susannah to know that shirt will strobe on telly, the jacket and chinos are too similar to look contrasting and too different to look matched. The LOO will probably be wearing a suit because he's coming straight from the plane.'

He looked wounded.

‘Sorry.'

‘No worries,' said Felix, perking up a bit. ‘I'll go home and change. I've got a really gangster pinstripe—'

I shook my head. ‘Anything plain?'

‘Nonie knows my wardrobe better than I do. I'll get her on the phone.' He dialled and gave me his handset.

‘Nonie, my name's Roo and I work for Max Masters. I need your help. Has Felix got any block-colour suits?'

‘I am
so
glad you asked. I bought one for him, but he never wears it because he thinks it's too flash. It's just a two-button black suit I got in the sales last year from Hugo Boss. It fits him like a glove. He has a white shirt and textured red tie to go with it.'

‘Gorgeous,' I said. ‘Is it clean?'

‘It's still got the tags on. Listen, while I've got you on the phone I was thinking of wearing a little royal-blue summer dress and white cardigan—does that sound okay?'

‘How little?'

She laughed. ‘Below the knee.'

‘Shoes?'

‘White sandals, low-heeled.'

‘Lovely,' I said, ‘I look forward to meeting you.' I handed Felix his phone. ‘Go home. Nonie knows what to do.'

When the cops had arrived and were satisfied with the venue, I went in search of chocolate and called Debs to track down my suitcase.

‘Young Ruby,' she said, ‘you'll be pleased to know I sent your bag to Perth with my colleague.'

‘Actually, I'm in Adelaide.'

‘Bugger. Are you going to be there overnight?'

‘I have no idea.'

‘Well, when you know, tell me and I'll have it couriered to you. Are you still wearing your pink frock?'

‘No,' I said. ‘I bought myself some new gear and I sort of borrowed your overnight bag from Daphne's cupboard in Melbourne.'

‘Did you now?' She laughed. ‘And all this time I've been self-flagellating for my poor wardrobe-challenged niece, only to discover she has stolen my favourite pants.'

‘I didn't steal any of your pants. That's disgusting.'

‘Trousers are pants in this country, dear girl,' she said. ‘The only people who wear trousers are old men and, in any case, they usually refer to them as slacks. Flip-flops are thongs, thongs are g-strings, sweets are lollies and a lay-by is a purchasing method—not a lorry stop. And we don't say lorry. It sounds like a girl's name, not a truck. Rhymes with fuck—far more appropriate. Daph has the list.'

‘Whatever,' I said. ‘Anyway, Aunty Debs, I'm very impressed that you referred to me as your niece. And there I was thinking you were a puppy-hating commitmentphobe.'

‘I did
not
call you my niece. Anyway, I've got to go, champ. Super busy.' She hung up.

Then I remembered the trousers. I had left them and Debs' shirt in the Perth hotel laundry. I emailed Beryl.

Beryl

Could you please track down the number for housekeeping at the hotel in Perth? I need to do some urgent trousers recovery.

Roo

For the life of me, I couldn't remember the name of the hotel. I did recall that the bed had been comfortable and I hadn't spent enough time in it.

Armed with three bags of something called Fantales, I got a text message from Maddy.

In manager's office with Felix who looks seriously hot. Nonie looks like Cate bloody Blanchett with Angelina Jolie's lips. Come quickly—Luke on way from airport. M

She wasn't wrong. Felix looked like he'd stepped off a red carpet and Nonie was a vision in a bias-cut, cobalt silk dress.

‘You two look the part.'

‘You must be Roo,' said Nonie, rushing to embrace me. Maddy shot me a murderous look.

We made our way to the designated entrance to wait with the media scrum for Max and Shelly, Luke and the rest of the campaign team.

‘Welcome back to Watson, Max,' said Felix when the LOO arrived. They began the walk.

I hung back at a safe distance with the journalists. ‘Where have you been?' Oscar breathed in my ear.

‘Here and there,' I said. ‘And you?' Maddy, who was walking with Luke, turned around. I tried to ignore her stare.

‘I just came in from Perth. We missed you on the media plane.'

‘Who's we?'

‘Me.'

‘I'd better stick with Max,' I said, quickening my pace to join Luke and Maddy at the front of the scrum.

‘Don't think we didn't see that flush of colour, missy,' said Maddy. ‘Am I right, Harley?' But Luke was charging ahead, pea-green tie flapping behind him.

Max, Felix, Shelly and Nonie were at the bakery sampling hot cross buns when they were approached by a woman and her young son who had obviously just been to the pet shop. Max got down on his haunches. ‘Hi there,' he said to the boy. ‘I'm Max. What's your name?'

‘Steve.'

‘And who's this, Steve?' Max pointed at the lone goldfish Steve was holding in a water-filled plastic bag.

‘Nemo 2.'

‘After Nemo the movie?' asked Felix, chuffed that he knew the reference.

‘No,' said Steve, ‘after Nemo 1—Jaws ate him.'

Felix and Max rose to talk to Steve's mum, Nancy—it was safer up there.

‘Mummy,' said Steve, tugging on Nancy's skirt.

‘Don't interrupt, darling,' she said sternly and kept talking to Max. ‘My husband runs a small business and it's really tough at the moment.'

Max and Felix nodded.

‘BUT MUM!' A small puddle had formed at Steve's feet. ‘Nemo 2's home is leaking,' he cried. ‘A lot.'

Felix grabbed the bag and ran, chased by Max, carrying Steve, followed by Nancy, Flack the Cop and a squadron of snappers. Felix burst into the pet shop. ‘I'm Felix Winks,' he said, competing with meowing kittens, ‘and this is Nemo 2 and he needs a top-up.'

‘I told management you people weren't welcome in here,' said the pet shop owner, double-bagging Nemo 2. Journalists scribbled furiously. ‘You'll scare the animals!'

Max joined the fold. ‘I'm sorry about all the commotion,' he explained, ‘it's just that we were chatting with Steve's mum, Nonie here, and—'

‘Nancy,' corrected Felix. ‘Nonie's my girlfriend.'

The confused cameramen switched their attention to Nonie, who was with Shelly outside the shop.

‘Hi,' she grinned and waved. The moment was awkward enough without the poor girl slipping in Nemo 2's puddle, and thudding onto the ground, dress well above the knee.

‘Code red,' Maddy said.

Luke hung his head.

Cameras zoomed.

‘The billboards look like paradise now,' I said.

In the can

It was the middle of the night, or at least I thought it was. I knew I was in a hotel room because the sheets were tucked in too tightly and my skin smelled unfamiliar from the citrus-scented soap. I couldn't find my BlackBerry, so I hit 0 on the bedside-table phone, in search of answers.

‘Good morning, Guest Relations, this is Michelle.'

‘Would you mind telling me what time it is?'

‘Certainly, ma'am. It's 3 a.m.'

‘Thank God it's Friday.'

‘Saturday. Will that be all, ma'am?'

‘Actually, Michelle, I was wondering whether you could tell me which hotel I'm in.'

‘The InterContinental, ma'am.'

There was no way to ask the next question without sounding stoned. ‘And which InterContinental is that?'

‘Collins Street, ma'am—there's only one InterContinental in Melbourne.'

‘Of course,' I said. ‘Very kind of you.'

If nothing else, our encounter might have given Michelle something to talk about with her graveyard-shift colleagues. ‘You'll never believe this,' she would say to the porter. ‘Some hussy on the fifth floor has no idea where she is, let alone whose bed she's in.'

Go back to sleep, Ruby
, said my head.

‘I can't,' I replied. ‘I'm wide awake now.'

Well, do some exercise or something
.
Don't just lie
there. Your body and I are fed up with these sleepless
nights, so you may as well do something productive with
them.

‘Sorry,' I said. Clearly, I was well on my way to Barking.

I opted for a swim. A plain black bra and pants would have to suffice. I threw the fluffy white robe over the top of my makeshift ensemble, grabbed a towel and headed for the fitness centre.

It was quiet. The plopping sound my feet made as they entered the water ricocheted off the walls. I went in up to my torso. The temperature change triggered an outbreak of goose pimples. With one deep breath, I immersed myself.

Underwater, the blue lights turned my skin the colour of powdery snow. My hair pulsed out in front of me like a blonde jellyfish and tiny baubles of air escaped my lips, shattering when they hit the surface.

I came up for air, heard the filter whirr and plunged back under, soaking up the silence. My head had stopped hectoring me; my body was grateful for the stretch. The peace was intoxicating. Not because I was distressed, but because I knew no one could hear me, I opened my mouth to scream. The sound was muted; bubbles scurried.

When we were kids, during long summer holidays in Bellagio, Fran and I held underwater screaming competitions. We would pretend we were mermaids jostling for the position of Mer Queen, which was usually determined by the loudest scream or highest number of consecutive underwater somersaults. As there were but two contestants for Mer Queen, both of whom were the competition's only adjudicators, they were summers fraught with fights. We would jet up and down the pool for hours until our hair turned green and our eyes pink from the chlorine.

After about an hour of mermaid jetting, I was ready for a shower. I towelled off, re-robed and headed for the lift. It reached me with a ping and opened to reveal a sleepy Oscar Franklin. He was deliciously rumpled, with messy hair, faded shorts and a moth-eaten T-shirt. Gone was his usual pristine TV state; this was far sexier. His face was still creased from the bedsheets.

‘Hi,' I said, trying to normalise near-nudity with small talk. ‘Why are you up so early?' I tightened the belt around my robe.

‘I could ask the same of you.' He stopped the lift doors from closing with an outstretched arm, the kind of limb I thought belonged only to plastic action-hero figurines.

‘I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep, so I decided to go for a swim.'

He scanned my face. ‘I can see that.'

I dabbed at lingering water droplets with the collar of my robe. ‘Well, I'd better go.' My heart beat a little faster for seeing him, but it was easy enough to tell myself that it was nothing more than swim-related breathlessness.

‘Why? What's there to do at 4 a.m.?'

‘You're a political journalist. You should know the day starts in half an hour.'

‘I was going to hit the gym,' he said, swinging his iPhone headphones around his finger, ‘but if breakfast with you was on the table, I'd ditch the treadmill in a heartbeat.'

‘Sorry,' I said, ‘I've got to get showered and read the papers.' I stepped into the lift. He didn't leave it.

‘See you, Roo,' he said after a moment. ‘Let's grab a drink sometime.'

The airconditioning was freezing on my wet skin.

‘That would be nice,' I said, fumbling with the key card. My eyes wouldn't stop looking at his until the doors closed between us.

Descending, I exhaled in a bid to regain control of my erratic heart beat. I examined myself for stray bra straps in the mirrored walls of the lift.