My Magazine Ch. 07

Jenni went to Garth Oliver's office early evening to join him to interview the short-list of applicants that she'd chosen from the twenty-eight applicants for the position of accountant with partnership options available.

Some of the applicants had supplied photographs and Jenni had noticed that one in Garth's pile of rejects was the young woman that had impressed her at the restaurant when taking the rogue order for a bacon sandwich to the kitchen of menu-inflexible chef and kitchen staff.

Entering the office Jenni walked past the three selected for final interviews. She smiled at them, noting the reaction including body language of all three. All were women and her objective was to get a suitable business partner for her aimlessly drifting and woman-shy friend, one with whom a romantic attachment might well develop.

When closing the door behind her, Garth rose from her chair and said almost breathlessly – "They're here!"

"So I noticed, Garth but let's get you a little more relaxed, shall we. We don't want you losing the plot."

Jenni stood behind him, massaging his shoulders – fingers digging in firmly – as Garth rocked his head from side to side.

"God I should have married you Jenni."

"Shhh I know. But try to relax and adjust your focus."

The first applicant was interviewed with Jenni watching Garth's body language rather than the applicant's. After fifteen minutes of pleasant verbal intercourse, Jenni announced, "Thank you Dale, I'm sorry but you don't quite fit what we have in mind."

The disappointed woman looked at Garth, who nodded and thanked her for her interest.

As soon as the door closed Garth turned on Jenni.

"Why reject her – she was all woman and her qualifications were quite immaculate?"

"There was something about her that sounded my alarm pet. I didn't trust her. Call it dumb instinct if you like, but I've learned to trust it."

The second applicant was much more to Jenni's likening and she was asked to return outside and wait.

"Well?" demanded Garth.

"Very good."

"Is that all you can say?"

"Yes, until we have completed the final interview."

The third applicant interviewed well and was asked to wait outside.

"Well Garth," said Jenni. "There you are – two ideal applicants for you. Make you decision."

"B- but which one? I can't decide."

A worried expression layered across his face. With mellifluous connivance, he whispered, "Please make the decision."

Outside in the reception area sat the two women, such alike to a remarkable extent – Shona was thirty-eight, Linda was forty-two. Unmarried and although not asked the two women had mentioned that they lived alone. Both were fully qualified and had worked in both small and medium-sized firms and wanted to relocate where partnership possibilities existed. They projected well and physically were quite similar.

"It sometimes happens like this," Jenni sighed. "The look equal, but the reality is there are not."

"Well, I can't decide. Let's flip a coin."

"No let's have each of them back in here. But first, let's draw up say five questions and we'll make the choice be analysing their answers."

"That sounds good to me," said the relieved Garth. "You're beginning to think like an accountant."

"Heaven forbid," Jenni muttered.

"I heard that," smiled Garth, his humour returning.

The five questions, in the main suggested and worded by Jenni, were:

Would you be happy working in this three-person office environment, with your desk in the principal's office?

After a settling period of three months do you think the timing would be right to consider a partnership proposal?

Are you relatively outgoing or conservative in your attitudes and behaviour?

Are you particularly fussy about meal breaks and where you eat and when you eat?

It is not required that you answer this final question:

What do you feel you want most out of life?

When Jenni went out to the reception area to invite the first applicant in, she'd noticed that Linda had touched up her make-up and undone the two top buttons of her blouse, whereas Shona had simply combed her hair.

At the end of question time, with both applicants seated out in the reception area, Jenni asked, "Have you made you decision?"

Garth decided to be decisive. "Yes I pick Linda but knowing you I believe you would have picked Shona."

Jenni smiled: "It doesn't matter what I think now, they were relatively close and you must make your decision. You may very well be living with your decision."

Garth paled.

"But Jenni, I have to know. You are so clever in these situations."

"Garth why did you pick Linda?

"Well the vibes felt right, in fact there are signs that look rather promising."

"Two buttons undone don't add up to romance Garth."

"Two buttons, what do you mean?"

"Anything else?"

"Yes I think Linda and I might be temperamentally more suited to me than Shona although in such a brief encounter it's unwise to come to such a hasty conclusion."

"Excellent, Garth, what a mature and professionally weighted answer."

"Now Jenni why do you favour Shona?"

"Wrong – I don't and that's because I thought carefully about her answers and deduced she has attempted to give the answers that you wanted."

"On the other hand, Linda fired off short answers including her main goal in life which, if you recall, was, "settling in to a lasting relationship" whereas Shona's was "to build up wealth for my retirement."

"Yes but an accountant is supposed to be thoughtful. I wondered if Linda was too slick with her answers."

"They were basically emotional questions, certainly nothing directly relating to the dour work of accountancy. She's out there waiting for you Garth."

"Do you think I can get something going with her?"

"Perhaps but isn't the focus on trying to get you're a perfect business partner? But I'll say this: just don't rush it. Perhaps in six months there will be a conference that you can go to out of town, and late at night there will be a gentle little tap at the connection doors between your rooms and ..."

"God Jenni do you think that such an event would happen? There are a couple of conferences coming up that I'm interested in."

"Well then book early to secure connecting rooms. Furthermore, I'd advise that you don't look at your receptionist's legs or bosom while Linda is in the office. Women tend to like men who give the appearance of being trustworthy."

Linda accepted the position and Shona, visibly disappointed, made her exit with Garth's praises ringing in her ears.

Two days later when Jenny cleared the mail box outside her apartment she saw a letter displaying Garth's business logo.

Opening inside the apartment she smiled, "Oh, you good little boy, Garth."

"Rhonda," she called. Rhonda was in her bedroom doing her nails.

"Fancy a three-night stay in Brighton with me, courtesy of Garth Oliver? We can attend cultural events, you doing your column and I writing an article about fashions on the streets and in the restaurants – we'll engage a photographer, perhaps someone who takes your fancy?"

"Perhaps he may have an older brother," Rhonda giggled. "I'd love to go with you."

With the first sections of Issue One of My Magazine now in the final stages of preparation, a late afternoon editorial meeting was held in the lunchroom. It was chaired by Jenni and attending were deputy editor and chief writer Viv Stanton, chief subeditor Tina Roach and designer Mae Cheung. Jenni had also invited Timothy Brandon to attend.

Jenni apologised about the meeting room, saying that within a few months they could in new premises. She added that a quality magazine could easily be prepared from a cave, whereas many inferior magazines where produced in premises that were quite palatial.

"I've invited Tim to join us because he's initiated some excellent ideas that I have adopted."

"Mae – I'm sorry about this but the excellent and carefully crafted cover produced by you and Felix is to be scrapped. Don't be downhearted, as your time will come and I have accepted only one other major change from Tim and that is to rename Rhonda's column."

"Well I claim no originality in thinking for this as it has been used before, no doubt many times. I feel the full focus of people looking at the front cover should rest on the story – still under wraps – for which I have paid a small fortune to secure. We shall go for a glossy black cover, with just the masthead in gold and the pointer to the article inside in large type – white, I should think. That decision will be yours, Mae."

"For maximum impact our typeface should be around one hundred points – it will depend on the number of letters," Mae said. "If I can get it larger, I will. To stand out a little more against the black background the type should have a colour outline in say one point – scarcely visible but nevertheless providing a boundary. It could be yellow but I would prefer a rich red."

"Mock up something using say eight words totalling thirty-six letters with the outline in both yellow and red please Mae and then call me to make the decision," Jenni said.

"The second thing is that Tim wants to change the heading on Rhonda's column. In this first column she's really pulled some words out of people. I think the comments that many readers will find are riveting."

"We have a split decision on the heading. I liked what Rhonda and I decided - the Look Who's Been Talking to Rodo Queen. Tim says it's too wordy and Mae agreed, saying she'd gone along with the original because it was my suggestion. I've asked Tim for an alternative, and he said Girlie Talk with Rodo. Mae thought that older women wouldn't like the word Girlie used in that context and suggested Bar Chat with Rodo.|

"We kicked this around without reaching a convincing conclusion so I want it resolved now. Has anyone got yet another alternative?"

There was silence as Viv and Tina studied the three sample headings.

"Sorry to do this Jenni," Timothy said "I've just had another thought as not all the chatting will be in bars. How about Loose Lips by Rodo?"

"Yes," exclaimed Viv and Tina together.

"Yes," Mae nodded. "I've got some artwork of very bright red lips as if they were the remains of a perfect lipstick kiss. I could increase them in size and put the words Loose Lips between the lips and put By Rodo underneath the graphic."

"Yes that appeals, do it!" Jenni said.

She looked at her watch.

"Look we have perhaps three hours of work ahead of us. We can either work for an hour or so or reconvene in the morning. Alternatively I could ask Rhonda to get some Chinese food send in with beer and wine about 5:30 when we would take a break and then finish up. What's the verdict?"

Everyone agreed to work through.

"Right that's the spirit. While I go and check for urgent messages and brief Rhonda you guys ought to phoned your partners or whatever and explain that you are eating on the job tonight. Rhonda will come through and get individual orders."

After the meal Timothy asked Jenni was she sad that the first issue would be slimmer than originally proposed.

"Yes and that's being realistic. It's always a hard grind to get advertising support for a new magazine. Although we have ideals and have set high standards for ourselves, advertisers and their agencies remain unconvinced and will remain so perhaps until publication of the third issue or perhaps even the fifth issue before they reach any conclusion. This's how it is – and we can't change that unless we bedazzle them, which I am hoping to do with our hot cover story. My feeling is that the public will rush our magazine and the advertising will be hard on the heels of that rush."

Viv looked unconvinced.

"It is difficult to imagine one story having that much clout, unless it's an exclusive announcing the start of World War Three."

Tina said, "Or we reporting unequivocally that an inventor has given us a car to test that runs entirely on purified sewerage water."

Jenni said, "Look I'm sorry that I've been so secretive about this mystery article but I have done so out of necessity. I've taken a huge gamble paying so much for it that any premature leak would mean money down the drain. My normal practice, as you well know, is for full disclosure unless there is good reason to be tight-lipped. Well I have reason for this non-disclosure that you'll learn about on publishing day."

The joint review of the final layout of issue one was completed just before 7:45 with Jenni thanking everyone for their contributions over the past week.

"We've consolidated as a team," she said happily.

The first issue of her new magazine was all but wrapped up at her end and she was pleased with the clean, stylish look of the sections that had already come back for final proofing.

On the way out that evening, Jenni tossed her own column into the chief sub's copy basket.

Next morning Tina Roach read the column with interest and thought it would tell readers something about the editor of the new magazine.

I Fell on to My Butt and ...

By Jenni Giles, editor

I was walking along towards the River Thames the other day, hurrying because it was raining and I had no umbrella although wore a very expensive raincoat big on looks and weak on water-proofing.

Head down I slipped on the proverbial banana skin – actually it was a plastic lunch bag. Landing hard on my rear end on the concrete, I sat for a minute, a little bewildered rather than hurt. Normally I am quite athletic and was thinking perhaps I should have done something semi-acrobatic to help cushion my plunge.

But no, a jarring thump shook me.

It's a wake-up call, I thought: age is catching up with me and my quick athleticism lies in my past. So in despair I remained there, on my butt, and noticed people hurrying past, either ignoring me or casting sideway glances laced with superficial pity. It wouldn't be like this out in the county or even in a provincial city, I thought. Someone in those more caring communities would readily have come to my assistance.

"Here love, let my help you."

A woman in an unfashionable grey plastic raincoat and smelling of cheap scent thrust her arms my under-arms and grunted as she lifted me to my feet, with my assistance.

"My you're a pretty one," she said, matter-of-factly, gazing at me.

It has been quite some time since anyone has endowed me with such a beautiful comment. I could have skipped with joy, but the pain in my butt would have brought me to my knees.

I looked at her, a woman in her mid-forties, I would have thought. She had a purple and red birthmark running from near her left eye right across to the nearby ear. She wore no make-up, not even lipstick.

I felt compelled and so said it: "You are a true Samaritan."

"Oh get away with you. I only did what anyone would do."

She refused to allow me to take her for a cup of coffee and seemed incredulous that I should offer to reward her with the £50 note that I drew out of my purse.

"You put that back, you may need it," she said.

We chatted for a few moments. She told me her name was Sarah and I revealed her my name. Then she asked me if I had the time – she didn't trust clocks on buildings. I told her the time and she became anxious, saying she'd missed her bus.

I took her by the elbow to the edge of the pavement and tried to flag down a taxi, my third attempt being successful.

"I'm sending you home by taxi," I said firmly. "Where do you live?"

"I have a room in Old Street, near Regent's Canal."

"Will this do it?" I asked the driver holding out £20. He nodded.

Just before closing the door I said to Sarah: "Thank you again."

"Thank you," she said, her eyes wide opened. "This is the first time I've ever ridden in a taxi. You are really spoiling me."

Thank you Sarah. Although I know it is unlikely that you will be reading this £8:15 magazine I have pleasure in paying tribute to you. Thankfully there are people like you in our community. I hope that next time – and all times thereafter – when I see people in trouble I will follow your example and lend a helping hand. Your beauty resides within you, Sarah.

Good gracious, sniffed Tina a little emotionally. This woman is unbelievable. She slips over and turns it into a tear-jerker – at least it will hit some softie readers that way. You think she's tough as old boots and then she files something like this. Little wonder men can't understand women – some women even have difficulty!

* * *

My Magazine's pre-launch promotional campaign reached into most corners of England, Scotland and Wales raising minor curiosity but netting only a few hundred subscriptions and a handful of requests for information packs from potential advertisers.

However, in London the advertising teasers raised considerably interest in media circles.

The name of the new magazine was on the lips of news editors, chief reporters and investigative reporters as well as nervous personnel on other publications catering primarily for women's interest. Those who knew Jenni Giles or knew of her by reputation realised that this would not be a stunt.

So what was it?

The advertisements announcing the launching of a spirited new magazine for spirited British women claimed the publication that would carry a lead story that would rock the nation, exposing a top VIP.

Who was this person? What had she or he been doing? It would appear that new mag had netted a coup.

There was a possible attempted break-in at 2:00 in the morning at the temporary home of Jenni's magazine. Janus was unsure whether the dogs began barking before the alarm went off or the alarm set the dogs into frenzy.

A crowbar and padded heavy mallet were found abandoned outside the entrance to the stairs leading to Jenni's premises and Nico and Jenni agreed that a rival organisation might have been attempting to steal the mysterious article.

"We'll now feel vulnerable," said Jenni, who'd been called out by Janus.

Nico was standing with then wearing trousers, slippers and a pyjama top. He said he'd install a CCTV alarm system at the top of the stairs.

"In all probability it would have been a couple of hopeless crooked amateurs attempting to steal the big scandal story and intending to hock it off to the highest bidder," Nico said. "Professionals wouldn't chicken out on a raid like this and nor would they abandon their tools of trade."

* * *

Printing of the magazine of 60,000 copies with 136 pages plus cover because of a luke-warm take-up by advertisers even on the introductory offer of 'pay for one, get the second one free in the 2nd issue" was scheduled, with agreement that a late increase in page numbers would pose no problems for production at Zephyr as it was a fairly slack time of the month for them.

Nobody at the office apart from Jenni and Tina saw the cover proof or the eight-page section containing the five-page story.

That section was handled with the tight security at Zephyr Media under the supervision of Ron Wiggins. The security required was nothing special because the company often did contract printing for companies requiring similar security on their prospectus or other highly confidential and limited distribution printing.

Jenni had been relieved that the law team at Sue's office had only required one minor deletion to the story because the quotation was not attributed to anyone.

On the Sunday, Issue One of My Magazine was either trucked directly to resellers locally or flown to more distant centres Subscription copies numbered fewer than 1300 were taken to the mail centre.

The advertising agency principal Snowy McKissock knew that true 'newshounds' would manage to get their hands on copies of the magazine that same day. He'd actually tipped off some contacts in newspaper and in radio and TV to make very sure that happened.