The office door burst open and a flushed Sia raced in, her huge designer handbag hanging off her shoulder. She was chewing a large mouthful of food, which prevented her saying hello as usual. Instead, she careened straight to her desk and turned on her computer. Throwing the envelopes strewn on her chair on the floor, she planted her curvaceous body down and sniffed out a PR goodie bag brimming with brownies. I hadn’t seen anyone this ravenous since the cool group at school dared Bobby Milton to smoke pot at lunchtime in the Year Twelve common room. He’d ended up with a mega case of the munchies in maths class, stole Mr Salliway’s sandwich from his top drawer, and muttered ‘Who else can feed me?’ on repeat until the bell rang. Sia wasn’t far from pulling a Bobby — she had barely swallowed what was in her mouth before she was tearing the plastic packaging off a brownie and biting into it.
‘I know, I know, don’t say a word, Josie … I’m an hour late, I’m a terrible person,’ she said, chewing like a cow working overtime on a bale of hay. ‘I’m so hungry again — like, murderous hungry. Toast didn’t cut it this morning, and neither did cereal, or a muffin, but this brownie may work! It smells so good and tastes …’ Her face whitened; a striking contrast to her bright red lipstick.
‘What? What is it?’ I asked.
‘I think I’m going to be …’ Sia stood up and covered her mouth, searching around for something, anything, to be sick into. She looked inside the bags piled on her desk only to discover, like I had, that they were filled with lovely beauty products. Without a second to spare, she crouched down on all fours, her head over my garbage bin, and vomited.
‘Sia! Are you okay?’ I said, willing my sympathy spew reflex to ease up. ‘I want to hold your hair back, but I can’t come any closer.’
‘All good, I’m done,’ Sia said, still wrapped around my bin. She sighed, then, using an elastic band that had been wrapped around her wrist, pulled her long, brown hair into a bun. ‘Maybe the brownies were rotten? Although, I’ve been feeling off for a while with all the anxiety of trying to get this website off the ground. I can’t even remember the last time I ate properly … or exercised! Seriously, stress must be so bad for your body.’
‘I know what you mean. It could be a bug — unless you’re pregnant,’ I joked.
‘Ha, nice try, but Scott and I broke up ages ago.’ She stood up. ‘Anyway, that was officially the grossest thing I’ve ever done — in this office anyway — so I’m going to clean it up and go and brush my teeth. Let’s never speak of this again.’
I nodded. ‘You’re the boss … Are you really alright?’
I hadn’t known about the break-up, but realised now that I hadn’t heard her mention Scott’s name for a while.
‘Peachy,’ she said. ‘Hey, where’s Liani?’
‘I was going to ask you.’
‘Weird …’ Sia rustled through her bag and pulled out her phone. She held it up to show me three messages, all from Liani. ‘Oops.’
We read them together. Liani’s baby, Dylan, had weed on her leg, pooed on her arm and spat up over her shoulder just when Liani was about to walk out the door. The final message read: Sorry, I’m running late. I’ll see you both soon. Liani x PS The timing of this kid!
‘Pooed on her arm?’ Sia groaned. ‘Babies are disgusting … not that I’m much better.’
She picked up my bin and strode off to the bathroom to clean it — and herself — up. When she got back to her desk, she turned on the radio, opened up her email inbox and started typing, her long polished nails click-clacking on the keyboard.
‘This is not my week, hon,’ she said. ‘On top of this bug, I have so much to write for Liani and Mya, but there’s a beauty launch on a private yacht, tomorrow of all days. I mean, are they trying to kill me?’
My jaw dropped. ‘For work? That’s amazing.’
‘Networking, canapés and champagne on a fancy boat sounds amazing to you?’
‘Well, yeah.’ It would sound amazing to anyone.
‘I guess the launches blend into each other after a while,’ said Sia nonchalantly. ‘I have to start watching myself though. I love my curves, they’re killer, but I’m getting fatter than ever from all those canapés. I mean, everyone knows about the beauty-editor five-kilo spread — it’s impossible not to gain weight in your first job — but seriously, I’ve been doing it for years now and my arse hasn’t stopped spreading. I’ll probably need my own lifeboat on the yacht!’
‘Your arse is fine — and I mean that in a completely reassuring friend-type way,’ I said.
‘Got it.’ Sia grinned. ‘Hey, I have eighty-seven emails. Who are all these desperados sending me rubbish? I mean, don’t they realise I have important things to do and … What the hell is this?’
I looked up, startled by her shriek. ‘What?’
‘Josie, honey, sweetie … I can’t even … Get your tiny tushie over here now.’ Sia pulled up a chair and gestured for me to sit down. ‘Um … I’m trying to think of the mature, senior-management way to ask you this so I don’t get reported to HR … Not that we even have an HR department … or any departments, really … but … look! Just look!’ She stabbed her pointer finger at the email on her screen.
It looked long — so long I couldn’t see where it began or ended — so I dived in and read out a random line. ‘I can’t help thinking I’m the last virgin in the galaxy. I bet even space aliens are getting more action than me and … Holy crap! My email!’
My stomach tossed and turned, probably in a failed attempt to make an escape through my throat. I couldn’t tell if Sia had taken pity on me, was judging me or whether she was fighting back laughter. Maybe a little of all three.
‘Put it away … I’m humiliated,’ I said, cringing. ‘How did you get it?’’
‘You sent it to me,’ she said. ‘Look, it’s in my inbox.’
‘No, I sent it to Angel — only to her,’ I insisted.
‘I feel like, as your senior, I should ask if you’re planning on using protection?’ Sia said. ‘There’s the Pill and condoms and —’
‘Sia, geez!’ I said. ‘This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me — and that’s saying something. Please forget you ever read it.’
I stormed back to my desk to open up my sent folder, confused about how Sia had received the email. I read down the list: three emails sent to individual PR consultants, one email to Angel, and one email to all contacts. My heart beat faster. The notes to the PRs were as expected: I’d politely declined their offers to include their products on the website. When I brought up my email to Angel, however, I was greeted with a succinct four-liner: a call-out for ‘real-life stories from girls aged sixteen-plus’. Wait, what? That’s not what I sent to Angel, that was what I sent to all contacts … wasn’t it?
By now my heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of my chest. I opened the email titled ‘Real-life call-out’, which had been forwarded to all one hundred and nineteen of my contacts. Fellow journos, PRs, experts, real women, Sia, Liani, Harrison. Everyone who mattered to me in this industry.
Dear Angel, today goes down as the day I tried on sexy (and painful) lingerie and daydreamed about hooking up with James. I sit here, writing this email to you (missing you hopelessly by the way, so write back and stop ignoring me, woman!), still a virgin and still yet to tell him I love him, even though I have for longer than I’d like to admit …
‘No, no, no!’ I cried out, my eyes retracing the words ‘sexy lingerie’ and ‘still a virgin’.
Sia spun around in her chair. ‘Sweets, it’s okay, I won’t show anyone. And if you ever need to talk —’
‘No, it’s the email, the email …’ I didn’t want to finish the sentence. It would make it real — and it couldn’t be real. I couldn’t have accidentally sent an excruciatingly personal email to every contact I’d made over the past few months. I couldn’t have. I rechecked the sent folder.
‘Liani got it too,’ I blurted out.
‘Shut up!’ said Sia, standing up.
‘And other people,’ I spluttered. ‘Important other people.’
I was going to have to get a face transplant, change my name, start a new life somewhere else. Somewhere far away like Botswana. Or the North Pole.
‘Half of the city will have heard of this by lunchtime,’ Sia said.
‘Maybe we could try recalling it?’ I suggested. ‘Is that still a thing?’
‘A shitty thing,’ Sia said. ‘It rarely works. People are going to get this email. We can’t change that, it’s the nature of the beast. But maybe we can prevent Liani from finding out. I know her password …’
‘You mean hack into her computer?’ I was worried about Liani walking in to find me and Sia huddled at her desk on an email-deleting spree. On the other hand, I was even more worried about her walking in to find this email snuggled in her inbox. ‘Let’s do it.’
Sia raced to Liani’s desk and fired up the computer. As I watched it struggle to load I cursed our low budget — if we’d had better computers this wouldn’t be taking so long. (Or I could have not sent the email in the first place, but this wasn’t the time for logic.)
‘Click here, then here …’ Sia said. ‘Damn. Her password didn’t work.’
‘You’ve got caps lock on! Argh! Could she fire me for this?’
‘Writing the email? Nah. Breaking into her inbox? Sure!’
‘Crap, oh crap, oh crap,’ I muttered, wondering how Sia had talked me into it. I’d experienced some ridiculous moments during the past year — kissing a pop star, spending a day trapped in a fashion closet, butt-planting the floor too many times to count — but hacking into my boss’s computer to save my reputation took the prize.
‘Now, dirty little email, where are you?’ Sia said. ‘Got it! And … deleted!’
‘Delete it from the trash folder! Delete it from the trash folder!’ I knew repeating it wouldn’t help Sia go any faster, but I was so revved up that the words flew out.
‘All done!’ said Sia.
We cheered and high-fived like two characters in an eighties television sitcom.
‘Sorry I’m late, girls,’ piped up Liani’s cheery voice behind us.
We spun around and chimed ‘Morning’ in sync, reminiscent of naughty children who’d been caught painting the school’s pet budgie. Luckily, Liani didn’t seem to notice the beads of guilt-induced sweat forming on my brow.
‘Oh, you got the computer fired up for me,’ she said. ‘After such a crappy morning, literally, I’m lucky to have you two on my side.’
‘Our pleasure,’ said Sia, her voice sweeter than a bag of pick and mix.
I mouthed ‘Thank you’ to her, then asked Liani, ‘Did you want me to get ready for our meeting?’
She clapped her hands together. ‘We’ll get to that, I promise, but first I have the most exciting news to share. After all our months of hard work, I’m so thrilled to announce that Mya has given me the go-ahead to throw a proper launch party for indi!’
‘Sweet, should I book a table at that fancy-pants restaurant around the corner?’ Sia said. ‘Harrison said the polenta chips are to die for.’
‘Polenta chips?’ Liani said, her brow furrowed. ‘Girls, I don’t mean a team party. No, we’re throwing something big, something memorable, something that will get the media buzzing about indi — and you’re both going to help me organise it!’
My eyes widened. I could barely organise my own breakfast. When it came to event management I was as useful as a nail without a hammer. Once I’d tried to help Mum arrange some last-minute entertainment for Kat’s thirteenth birthday party and we got stuck with the local accountant who moonlighted as a clown every second Saturday. Only problem was (besides the fact Kat was thirteen years old and he was a creepy clown), he got stage fright and burst into tears, his make-up ran all over his face and all her friends ran away screaming. Kat still refused to talk about that birthday, except to blame it for her now being the second-most popular girl in her year and to warn us she’ll need therapy in her thirties.
‘I’ll need both of your inputs on the VIP guest list, and I’ll get you negotiating with celebrities’ managers on indi’s behalf,’ Liani said. ‘Yes, this is going to be a big learning experience for all of us, but I need your help to make it a night to remember.’
‘So … so … there’ll be celebrities at the launch?’ I asked. ‘And you want me and Sia to talk to them?’
I was failing to play it cool, but I’d already had one brush with fame and it had maxed out my stress quota for the next decade.
During my internship at Sash, a minor — very minor — kissing incident with Billy, a famous pop star from the boy band Greed, had become common knowledge — in the magazine office, on social media and even on national television. At the time, Billy had just got a girl pregnant, but was still seeing other girls as well. For some reason, all that wasn’t enough drama for him. No, he also had to kiss me. In public. On the night of my eighteenth birthday. And our picture got snapped and did the rounds of media.
Now Liani was telling me I’d be liaising with a whole VIP guest list of celebrities. Commence nerves of mammoth proportions.
‘Wow, Liani, it all sounds awesome,’ I fibbed. ‘So … this launch … When will it be?’
‘Three weeks,’ she said, clapping her hands together again. ‘Isn’t that great? We’ll go live with the new look and content tomorrow, then launch with a real bang! Mya will be in Dubai on the actual date, but she trusts us to make it a memorable event.’
‘Um, only three weeks?’ I said, swapping a concerned look with Sia.
‘Actually, that’s not quite right,’ Liani said.
I was relieved I didn’t have to tell her it would be impossible to pull it all together in twenty-one days.
‘We’ve only got eighteen days,’ Liani continued. ‘Fewer if you don’t count weekends. Mya wants us to dominate this first quarter — get in before anyone else does. Timing is everything in this business.’
I’d never met Mya in real life, but according to Sia she was a ball-breaking businesswoman who reeked of expensive perfume and had a hint of a moustache. She was the boss of all bosses, the walking piggy bank who made Liani’s life hell — and giving a tiny team of amateurs eighteen days to plan a revolutionary launch looked to be another display of her unreasonableness.
‘Oh,’ I said, trying to think of something less panicky to say than, ‘This sounds scary and hard, so can I cry now, then eat some fudge?’
Sia put an arm around me. ‘Liani, I think what Josie’s trying to say is that it sounds like a wonderful challenge and we can’t wait to get started. Right, J?’
I nodded. It was going to be a challenge alright. I didn’t know anything about launches. I imagined roaming the city’s A-list hot-spots and lassoing celebrities with a long brown rope, hauling them in and throwing them in the back of a ute destined for our party.
‘Um … it sounds great,’ I told Liani. ‘Great for the website, great experience for us. And of course I’m happy to help in whatever way you need.’
Liani cheered. ‘That’s my girl. Don’t worry, we’ll all share the load with the organising. Of course we’ll need to think about the entertainment, venue, decorations, save-the-dates, catering, but first let’s start with the basics — the guest list. There’s no point getting too excited about the rest until we have an idea of how many people might show up. Oh, and before I forget, you’re welcome to invite a friend each if you like? And Sia, I’m sure you have some contacts you can pass on?’
‘You bet,’ she said, shooting me a wink.
Writer. Printer whisperer. Event planner. I could barely keep up. The only soothing part was the news that I could invite James for moral support.
Sia’s hand suddenly grabbed my shoulder and her eyes bulged from their sockets. ‘Something’s wrong … I need to throw up,’ she barked, standing up and knocking things everywhere.
‘Again?’ I said, scrounging around my desk to unearth something for her to use as a sick bucket.
‘Did you say again?’ asked Liani.
I thrust a plastic bag into Sia’s hands. ‘Quick, take this!’
But it was too late — Sia had already run off and vomited into one of the bags of hair products on her desk.