My Magazine Ch. 02

"Do you talk about your sexcapades?"

"No Rhonda."

"Why not?"

"Because it's private, I'm influenced by the way I was brought up, I suppose."

"Exactly Jenni and that's how I am. I grew up in a house where we talked openly about all sorts of things, including sex. I remember my mother asking me once, 'How do you feel when a male has made sexual connection with you' – or at least words to that effect."

"I knew she was not enquiring about the actual act – she was just interested to learn of my thoughts and my emotional responses. Why did she ask? I guess for a comparison with her experiences. I didn't need to know why. When it's family you don't question everything everyone says."

"So it's easy for you to talk about sexual experiences?"

"Yes unless there is good reason to remain discreet. Since we began this conversation we've veered a little off the track. But the point I trying to make is that if I thought I was drinking excessively or it was becoming a health problem then I would talk about it, particularly someone like you if you were some way involved. I have no fear, no inhibition about talking about things like that – the so-called social taboos."

"Rhonda?"

"Yes, Jennie."

"Are you aware that this little spin that you have put into this little conversation of ours, drawing a confession out of me that I do not believe I have told anyone else, is exactly what I want you to do?

"And when it comes to writing I ..."

"You don't want me to write like a journalist, but as exactly as one of those cackling, slightly tipsy and sweet young things with whom I have been in conversation?"

"That's spot on Rhonda. We'll tighten up your writing where it gets a little loose or ungrammatical."

"What will my column be called?"

"What would you like it to be called?"

"Something catchy I suppose."

"Look Who's Talking to Rhonda Flagstaff?"

"God no if mum reads it she'll know I have been to booze establishments. While she's very liberated intellectually and remains very open about many of the social taboos, her one hang-up is over indulgence of alcohol. Her idea of having a drink is having one drink. End of story."

Jenni suddenly remembered the management farewell and glanced at her watch.

"Look at the time – let's go, the party started fifteen minutes ago."

"I've got it."

"Got what?"

"Look Who's Been Talking to Rodo Queen – it's a penname I used at school. Queenie is my horrible second name."

"Yeah I like catchy or unusual names. This one has both. But I suggest it be called

"Talking to Rodo Queen."

"I like it, really like it."

"And you really want your identity as a columnist to remain a secret?"

"Yes at least for the time being. I know that mum will recognise something about the writing to connect back to me if she reads the column. You think I'm pretty sharp but wait until you meet my mother!"

* * *

At 8:30 next morning Jenni opened her eyes and groaned and her head ached. She was annoyed with herself for drinking too much at the 'wake' after the demise of the magazine. However, she was pleased with herself – as she arrived at the party venue she remembered to phone Sue her new lawyer to apologise for not being able to make their drinks date.

"No problem, don't apologise," laughed Sue. "Actually I expected a no-show as I know Zephyr Media has got a little bit of class as I sometimes do work for the company. I thought they would give you all a bit of a send-off, even though some would be feeling the boot print in their rear end!"

"I'll see you here at 10:00, hangover and all. Then let's say we do lunch?"

"Excellent."

Jenni thought she'd try her new coffee-maker, but taking it out of the box and seeing all the bells and whistles attached to it plus a really thick instruction booklet, she settled for a big mug of herbal tea and two pieces of lightly done toast.

She remembered something else. Padding across the room – her old white pure cotton nightgown flapping round her ankles – she found her handbag on the wooden floor and smiled. Her last significant memory of the previous evening was coming into the bedroom, shouting, "Yippee – I'm free" and throwing the handbag across the room where it disappeared into the bathroom.

Free? Listen here my dear, she lectured herself, you are about to enter a business world that will imprison you and probably drive you near crazy.

Her head hurt again. She pressed fingers to her temple and groaned with almost a whine, "Oh God, what have I done!"

It was her worst hangover since immigrating to England and being welcomed at a pub by a few old friends from Australia and New Zealand eighteen years ago. God was it that long ago? "

A hot bubble bath and two more mugs of apple and rose petal tea had the restorative process underway. Sitting up for another sip of tea, she saw the handbag on the floor beside the bath. Then her mind clicked. She reached down dripping water, extracted a Zephyr Media envelope from the bag, and held it up, gazing at it. Jenni settled back into the bath, still holding the little treasure chest aloft.

When deciding she'd teased herself long enough she ripped open the envelope and withdrew the statement. She whistled – not only did it show the amount of company subsidised superannuation paid into her bank account by the company the previous day but also a gratuity payment – the total amount came to £287,641. Jenni knew that she'd been a long-serving employee of the company and had been described as a valued member of the executive team, but until now no one had indicated how much they had valued her.

She grinned, thinking about 'the softies' in that company executive that until yesterday had included her. She was certain that in her company, if the magazine went down the plughole, no one but no one would be given a departing bonus. Perhaps that was part of the reason why they had failed in attempts to save garden-kitchen; within the corporate structure executives had become fat cats, all losing their hard edge.

Gosh, it had not been like it when she first arrived there – Zephyr Media, named after the founder's treasured car from his hooning days, had been a real sweatshop – but no time for fond memories now. She had her own company to get going.

Entering her accountant's office just after 9:15 Jenni had to divert to the small room, where she left behind approximately the equivalent of three mugs of herbal tea. But the toast was kicking in and she began to feel a little energised.

"Right, Garth," she called, sweeping into the engine room of Garth Oliver's domain. What do you have for me?

"And good morning to you too Jenni," was the tetchy response from the over-worked accountant.

Jenni went around his desk, drew his head to her breast, and kissed his thinning dome. They were of similar age and had become like brother and sister. Neither had married.

"Look big boy, why don't you advertise for a cute graduate with accountancy qualifications to help get this huge backlog of work reduced?"

He grinned, showing a missing tooth on one side and a prominent insert of gold between two teeth on the other side of his mouth.

"I can't do that because I need to concentrate on my work."

"Oh Garth, you still haven't had you mouth re-engineered. Get it done and perhaps then your cute little graduate might be tempted to give you something. Anyway, what's wrong with Mrs Hughes out there?"

"Mrs Hughes has had three unsuccessful marriages. I don't think much of that recommendation."

"But Garth you are missing the point; obviously she's a very experienced lady."

For a moment Garth paused, twiddling his pencil around his fingers, lost in thought. Then he blinked rapidly three times and barked, "Sit down and shut up, Piggy, and begin signing these papers."

Two years ago Jenni's parents have visited her in London and her mother had told Garth that Jenni had her hair in pigtails between the ages of 4 and 7½and hence Garth's us of that offensive teasing name of Piggy.

They worked on the application for the registration of JJ Publications Ltd.

Leaving the office, Jenni sat in the sun on a seat in a tiny street edge public resting place, and phoned directory for a number.

"Tess it's Jenni Giles. Yeah it's been a long time. How are Alf and the babe? What, another one? When did that happen? Oh, she's one? How time flies."

Jenni asked Tess to find her suitable premises to ultimately house up to forty workers mostly in open plan offices, preferably premises that were already wired for heavy electronic usage. Where? Anywhere in the central business area where chic people congregate – possibly where there are advertising agencies, cafes and bars.

Tess then reminded Jenni that she specialised in top-shelf residential properties – she scarcely knew a thing about commercial. It was about as different to residential as were farm sales.

"Well, team up with a commercial salesperson who has all the expertise – the salesperson's share of the big commission I will be charged should split nicely into two. I want you looking as we have similar tastes. Picture this: I want to launch my publishing company in classy premises adjoining a much larger area on which I hold the head lease. We don't have to have river views and being adjacent to a public car parking building would be choice.

Any questions?

"Could you be more specific. You are usually rather demanding in your tastes, I seem to remember."

"Yeah, right I am picky and with the things I require I guess somewhere between average market and exorbitant levels is what I'll have to pay. But please dig the heels in as you get dragged up towards exorbitant in discussion with greedy landlords. Yeah, five by five would be good – I aim to be there for the long haul but one never knows in publishing.

"Well that's it. Use this number to contact me any time. I'll get you and Alf to come to the opening. Bye sweetie."

Sue's legal offices were near the fringe of the central business district, on the ground level with available parking for clients behind the building. The other occupants of the two-level brick building were a dentist, accountant and financial adviser. A good mix, thought Jenni.

She read on a brass plaque at the entrance that the premises built for Smith & Watson Traders Ltd had been opened by the Mayor in 1951. It made her wonder if her premises would have an occupancy recycling history.

Jenni was impressed by Sue's set-up. The reception room serving the three solicitors was tastefully and expensively decorated, the seating was comfortable leather, the lighting artistic and the two women behind the reception desk looked up as she approached and both smiled beautifully.

Wow, almost ten out of ten, thought Jenni.

Sue came out to greet her and an instant affinity established between then.

Dressed totally in black, even down to the fine fishnet stockings, Sue looked an advertising agency's image of what a successful commercial law specialist should look like. Her hazel eyes showed sparkle and she had stunning red hair. Sue radiated poise and confidence. She was exactly the right kind of lawyer for her Jenni mused, silently thanking Tom Bennett and wondering how he'd come to know Sue. She sensed something, without knowing what.

In turn Sue would have liked what she saw, confirming her more distant glimpses when Jenni had been pointed out to her by someone within her group. She would have noted the very tidy hair and unblemished facial make-up of her new client, who on this occasion wore a below the knee dress of multiple browns with a matching handbag and long boots and around her neck was a gold choker. They shook hands and Sue ushered Jenni into her office commenting, "You look great for someone who's had a hard night."

"Thanks for that kind porky," Jenni laughed. "By the way, how did you come across Tom Bennett? He acts on transactions generated here for my father who lives in New Zealand and you were the one of three names Tom gave me?"

"What Tom turned down business? He must have become too successful. His older brother Brenton Bennett is my birth father. He and my mother who also lived here in London met during a Commonwealth law conference in Hong Kong in their younger days and were both naughty, cheating on their spouses. Happily I am the result of their after-hours conference activity birthday. Brenton introduced me to Tom at a local law function and we've been friends every since although Tom doesn't know I'm his half-sister."

"Oh Sue, I'm terribly sorry. I did not realise."

"How could you? I don't mind you knowing about it, or rather about me so intimately. It's only fair as over time I'm going to know a lot more about you as my client. Dad came to accept mum's indiscretion and when I was born he registered himself as being the father, and always has loved me as his own."

"Right let's get through this list of things we must do and then we can prattle on over lunch."

More Coming