My Magazine Ch. 14

Yawning, Jenni decided to have a bath and go to bed. As the bath was filling the phone rang. The caller was a writer from Business People, a struggling small business newspaper published each Thursday.

"Miss Giles?"

"It is."

"It's Rhys Cain, a journalist with Business People, speaking. I apologize for calling late but I phoned twice this afternoon without success. How are you this evening?"

"I'm about to bring a lovely day to a close. How may I help you?"

"I would like to talk to you for about thirty minutes tomorrow or Tuesday at the latest about the way you went about launching your magazine so spectacularly and where do you go from here."

"Why me?"

"Would you like a smooth, ego-massaging answer or the truth?"

"Tonight I think I'll choose the latter."

"I lunched with my mum today - I do that once a month. She asked why I hadn't interviewed you."

"I said why I should do that and her reply was if I didn't know then I should resign and become a bus driver. I wish to remain a journalist, hence my phone calls."

"That's very flattering for me Mr Cain but ..."

"Mother will be disappointed."

Jenni turned off the taps and sat on the edge of the bath. What was this 'mother' thing? She had a sudden thought.

"Your mother doesn't happen to be Dulcie Cain the actress?"

"She's the one."

"Then why didn't you say so at the outset."

"I didn't wish to use that as leverage to get you to talk to me."

"Oh I say. Do I detect a journalist with a touch of integrity?"

"Some people seem to share that opinion but I have been cursed by others."

"The only time I am really free this week is tomorrow at noon."

"That will be fine. May I take you to lunch at Rossini's?"

"No thanks. The forecast is for fine weather, very light breezes. You bring a chicken roll for me and whatever you wish to munch and I'll bring a flask of coffee. We could meet on one of those seats somewhere on the Victoria Embankment. I'll arrive a few minutes early and find a spot - I have you phone number saved. Does your phone have GPS?"

"Yes."

"Good I'll phone you with the coordinates."

"That will be fine Miss Giles. You sound very modern for your age. Um oh damn."

"That's okay as I interpreted that comment as a compliment. How will I recognise you?"

"You won't need to, Miss Giles. I know what you look like."

The call was pleasantly terminated and Jenni yawned. Business People, what a rag. She would have preferred it was a major business publication chasing her.

She poured bubble mix into the bath, added more water then climbed in, prepared to have a little soak and then get her thumping comfortable in bed. Instead she awoke almost two hours later still in the bath, cold and with water-soaked skin of a seventy-year-old judging by the wrinkles - temporary wrinkles she assumed.

Jenni pulled the plug and climbed out, towelling herself and then picked up the hair dryer. Relieved, she watched the wrinkles began to magically disappear as her warm air from the dryer restored her skin back to its normal appearance.

* * *

The Monday morning meeting of My Magazine editorial staff was an editor's dream. Everyone was there on-time and chirpy. Jenni started with Vivian and went right around the table asking everyone for brief reports on progress.

Design and layout were the usually bottle-necks but Mae the page designer had come in and worked through most of Saturday, roping in Timothy to help her.

It was encouraging that the demand for advertising space was up. Vivian said because they were working on a lower advertising percentage, being a new-start magazine, they could justify going to 152 pages plus cover for the second issue.

Jenni was more optimistic.

"I'm speaking at a joint luncheon of the advertising agency and public relations executives on Wednesday and on Thursday have been invited to speak at the awards evening of the Fashion Designers' Elite Group. That means we may drag in some late bookings as a result - one never knows. So Vivian go up to 182 pages and we'll hope somebody will hit us with extra big fashion spread. These things happen."

"What if no more ads come in - you'll drop a bundle over this issue? Vivian said, looking worried.

Jenni smiled.

"I'll accept the consequences of foolishly relying on extravagant intuition, coughing up some of the net profit made on the sale of our first issue."

"By the way, Vivian, why don't you print "Not for publication" at the bottom of each page of a copy of our story on 'MP's Wives Tell How It Is' and place a blue 'Copyright' wash over each page and send it off to Jill at Zephyr. Ask her to show it only to trusted contacts and see if she can latch on to a big fashion spread. Tell her we would run the spread immediately after a 2-page article based on my speech to the Fashion Designers' group this Thursday. Obviously at this late hour it would have to be an advertiser with film-ready advertising."

When Jenni returned to her desk there was a couriered letter for her marked private and confidential. It was "a total and unreserved apology' from the Minister of Energy Cedric Chatsworth for his remarks to her during their recent telephone conversation and he would 'absolutely take no action whatsoever' against her or her publication.

Thank goodness Minister your common-sense prevailed, thought Jenni, putting the letter aside to be filed.

Later in the morning Snowy called, informing that he had recommended to the promoters of a six-page spread Visit Melbourne campaign to included My Magazine but the recommendation had been rejected on the advice of the general manager of the Victorian Tourism Bureau because the magazine did not have a travel section.

"You should look at a travel section, and then you would attract this type of advertising," he said.

"Yes, and have cooking pages to attract food-related advertising, and a section about the roofs of houses to attracting roofing advertising, and then a section for articles about door knobs to attract that kind of advertising. Then, before too long My Magazine would have sacrificed everything it stands for and would begin the slide into oblivion."

"We may well be sliding there anyway unless you get stronger advertising support."

"That's why we relate to people like you Snowy and build up a trusting relationship. When I get this outfit settled in at Zephyr we will send an editorial and advertising team to Victoria and get our own twenty page editorial/advertising feature with much of our expenses covered by State Government subsidies for assisting to promote tourism and an airline will no doubt be only too eager to assist."

On Tuesday at 11:55 Jenni claimed a four-seat bench and texted off the coordinates and waited for the smooth-talking Rhys Cain of Business People.

A casually dressed man approached the seat, sat down and emitted an extravagated "Hi how are you doing babe?"

"Rhys?"

"Wish what?" asked the dude. "I'm from South Australia, only arrived this morning. Not sure yet what you said babe with your slightly funny accent."

"I asked if you were Rhys," said Jenni, stiffy.

"Look I'm off. You're really strange, babe, really strange."

So the South Australian got up without splitting his impossible tight jeans and wandered off.

"Like to spend the afternoon with me miss? My charges are on the lower end of the asking rate?"

Alarmed, Jenni glanced at the new occupant of the seat. It was an aged, red-faced man who looked rather unwashed.

"Me name's Alec, and I entertain German and French tourists but not many of those chaps are arriving here at the moment and most of the Japanese men want women who like to be tied up a bit. I'm attempting to do um...oh yeah, diversify."

Jenni picked up her handbag, coiling half of the strap around her right hand and wrist.

"Listen buster, shove off or I'll start extricating your brains with this leather handbag."

"All right, all right. I'm going," he said, moving away in a crablike shuffle that allowed him to keep one eye on Jenni and her handbag.

A minute later a woman with a baby in a pushchair sat down on the seat, and Jenni began to relax.

"Lovely day," said the mother.

"Yes, one out of the box I daresay."

"Daresay? What are you, some kind of witch?"

She stood up abruptly and headed off, casting anxious glances behind her.

Jenni was mortified and there was a lull, with nobody seemingly bent on accosting her. It was warm, the sound of mewing seagulls could be heard in the sun-warmed air and the steady hum of traffic made an almost hypnotic sound.

She awoke almost thirty minutes later and at the other end of the seat a blond-hair man sat smiling at her. He looked to be in his late thirties, perhaps he was forty.

"Hi Jenni it's pleasing to see you relaxing. I could never go to sleep in din like this and with so many weirdos around."

"Rhys?"

"Yes Jenni. How do you do?"

Jenni had the sudden urged to lunge into his arms but fortunately her good sense influenced her to remain seated.

"May I come closer and spread out the rolls?" he asked politely.

"Yes," Jenni said passively, looking down where she'd placed her handbag and the flask of coffee she'd picked up from Leo's. They would have been stolen for sure. But no, both items remained at her feet.

"I'm pleased to meet the great Jenni Giles," said Rhys, holding out a hand to be shaken.

Jenni slipped her hand in his, as it seemed to nestle there, a perfect fit.

"I bet you were hoping the call for an interview was from of our largest competitors?" he commented, spreading out the rolls.

"Not really," Jenni lied. "It's fairly immaterial to me."

"Oh," Rhys said, brushing the left side of his head to slip back his long hair. "It sounds like you don't care who interviews you."

"Not at all, I really do care," responded Jenni quickly, wondering why she had suddenly become so negative. The environment with its over-supply of weirdoes might be the problem.

"What do you think of our publication?" Rhys asked casually, sending Jenni into overdrive. She knew she must think of something positive to say.

"The name has a splendid ring to it," she said, smilingly accepted a roll bursting with chicken and salad and oozing mayonnaise - just as she liked it.

"The name has a splendid ring to it?" repeated Rhys, dumbfounded. He probably had expected the bouquets for his better articles under his by-line and praise for the gritty performance the publication had put up against its competitors.

Jenni bit into her roll, decided not to apologise for disappointing him.

"It's dad's publication, you know. He still insists on calling the shots and I have to do the best I can. What I really excel at is extracting advertising from small firms and advertising agencies. It comes second nature to me."

"That implies you are part charlatan?"

"Definitely, otherwise how would I operate so successfully? But I'm also three-quarters a rather nice guy who loves life."

"I'm sure," Jenni said, thinking she should be back at the office and working on something meaningful. "At least your wife and children, if you have children, benefit from that."

"I'm divorced, and she has the kids," said Rhys quietly, his gaze dropping.

"I'm sorry and what a careless thing for me to say," said Jenni, reaching out and touching his arm.

"I don't wallow in it anymore," he said stoutly. "You can say whatever you wish."

"But it's never in me to put down people Rhys apart from thugs, would-be seducers and business men who want everything their way.

"Coffee?"

As Jenni poured Rhys pulled out his digital voice recorder.

"Interview, March 20, Victoria Embankment, 12:07. Rhys with the dynamic and very personable Jenni Giles, editor of My Magazine."

For the next thirty-five minutes Rhys asked his questions and Jenni dutifully responded, trying to answer positively and inject substance into those responses.

Rhys switched off his recorder. "God, you really are something."

"Really? I find that a bit of an exaggeration."

"It isn't Jenni, believe me."

Rhys pulled out two chocolate éclairs - both were squashed.

"Oh damn, into the rubbish bin you two go."

"Good heavens Rhys stop being so impulsive. Crushed they obviously are, visually totally spoiled, but has their taste changed? Absolutely not and please hand me mine. What you do with your one is entirely up to you."

They sat munching their cake in hot early afternoon sunshine, both wearing sun-glasses.

"What's wrong with Business People?"

"Oh Rhys you don't want me to answer that, surely. It's so lovely here - just look at those people leaving on that riverboat with great expectations of fine cruise on one of the country's great waterways."

"I would welcome your thoughts Jenni."

"Oh well here we go. I'll be short and ruthless.

"It lacks good design, its articles are mostly ponderous - more suitable in style for a scientific publication aimed at intellectual conical heads and it is ninety percent aimed at people who've made it and are basking in their twilight business years rather than trying to identify the up and coming new generation of achievers. You would, of course, expect me to say that fewer than five per cent articles are about women."

"Jigger me Jenni, that's rather a literary knee-capping criticism. Don't answer! Of course it is, and I admit I asked for it."

"You're quite a hard-nosed bitch under all of those smiles, pleasantries and heady perfume, aren't you?"

Jenni eyed Rhys, noting that he was smiling, especially in the eyes.

"You've got a bit of natural charm about you Rhys. I guess you are going to get away with that crack."

Rhys doffed his cap at her.

"Thank you milady; my esteem for you increases in leaps and bounds. I believe we would be a formidable team if we ever worked together."

Surprise showed on Jenni's face; whatever would have given him that idea?

"I accept my comments sounded harsh but there were given honestly. I have no idea what the resources of your publication are."

"I understand. Dad and I throw the publication together. We can't afford a designer. I collect the ads and write much of the editorial, and he places everything into the layout he's designed, proof-reads it and then sends it off for processing and printing."

"Really but what about all those people you publish as being on your staff?"

"I guess you could call it publisher creativity - our staff gradually drifted away as our ability to pay for them diminished. It's just down to dad and me now and a string of editorial contributors."

"Good God. You two must work yourselves to exhaustion."

"You could say that and would be right."

"I'm sorry; I should have come to your office for this interview to avoid wasting your time."

"Jenni this had been a welcome break and an absolute delight to be talking to you. But this last part of our conversation has made me feel guilty - I must get back and support dad."

"That's fine, here's my card in case you wish to check anything."

"Goodbye Rhys - now don't work excessively, do you hear. Go for walks by yourself occasionally to give yourself the chance to wind down."

"I will Jenni. It's been lovely being here with you."

They shook hands and Rhys dashed off.

* * *

As Jenni arrived at work on Wednesday she took a phone call from Ron Wiggins.

"Didn't we all have a great time on Jersey on Sunday? It was a pity Sally and I were delayed by that late-arriving shipment I have to check on arrival but that's business life."

"Yes and it's the first time I've had a real conversation with Sally. As to be expected we didn't even get to talk much at your wedding. She's really nice Ron and far more outgoing that I had imagined."

"Yeah in living outside the urban sprawl we're a bit cut off from city social life. We've been thinking of selling and moving back into the city. She's actually the one pushing for that to happen. What do you think?"

"Oh Ron what do I think? It's risky asking me because you'll get the answer, warts and all. Let her breath Ron; give her what she wants. That's my advice."

"Thank Jenni and now to business. The paper merchants have imposed an immediately eight point five percent price increase and I'm just phoning to let you know we'll have to pass it on to you."

"Well that's kind of you to phone Ron but I shall have to tell Zephyr to stick its price increase. My cheque went through for this final issue for JJ Giles Publishing last Thursday, and the print run of a minimum of 148 was ordered two months ago, plenty of time for Zephyr to order paper for the final issue leaving us. If Zephyr decided to hold off buying in the paper to save itself holding costs, then that's Zephyr's bad luck. It can't transfer it's inadequacies on to us."

"You're refusing to pay?"

"Yes."

"David is not going to like this."

"Damn what David thinks, just tell him I reckon he needs to tighten up staff administration."

"It's my responsibility actually."

"Sorry Ron, you know I'd try to bail you out of any personal disaster, but not anything else,"

"You're a hard woman Jenni."

"Nothing's changed, Ron. You always knew that. I'm surprised you even phone me about this Ron. Love to Sally. Bye."

* * *

Dressed in a black gown with a silver and black bodice insert and wearing a single strand of black pearls, Jenni was the after dinner speaker at a packed restaurant of quite well lubricated executives of advertising agencies and public relations firms and their partners.

She began her speech, using notes, talking about the competitiveness of the magazine market in all sectors - particularly women, motor vehicle, computer and home, garden and food categories. But even three specialist stamp magazines was a somewhat excessive for that limited market.

"Tell us something we don't know," yelled a man in a suit and open necked shirt.

The woman beside him was wearing his tie.

"Please Maurice have respect for our guest speaker," urged the chairman.

"It's okay Mr Abbott, said Jenni, halting her address. "Is there any support for this interjector?"

There was, surprisingly perhaps, from a rather large number of people.

"All right," said Jenni, "I estimate more than half of you are keen for something a little more stimulating. I'm happy to oblige but be warned. I may get up your nostrils."

"Give it to us Jenni!" Snowy shouted.

She began by saying that the so-called advertising and public relation professions were long well-established institutions in society.

"Tell us something we don't know," again called the semi-drunk without a tie.

Jenni ignored that.

"Perhaps what distinguishes the advertising and PR groups from other so-called professional groups in business circles is an extra-ordinary large percentage of unqualified, untalented and under-performing people running those businesses although I emphasize not all of those businesses are filled with such deadwood."

Her audience was hushed.

"The problem for people who wish to advertise or wish to get solid advice about inter-facing with their market, their politicians or the publicly generally, is finding out with certainty who they should be dealing with.

"Do Yellow Pages inform them that Company A is filled with egotistical morons while Company B has people who deliver triple-A results although they charge like wounded bulls? Of course they don't and the websites of companies soliciting for such business interest generally over-promise to incredible levels that are professionally embarrassing.

"Consumers who sample a new magazine like mine pay eight to ten quid for the purchase and if they don't like it they don't buy it again and so what? Their financial loss is about the cost of one or two cocktails in London."