My Magazine Ch. 03

Just as they were about to leave, a porter came in carrying a huge parcel.

Jenni had known A.B. was a bachelor and lived in a very pleasant English-styled house, though she'd never seen it. She had been told his fetish was quality English clothing and knickknacks. She became excited.

"This is for you sir," said the porter. "I'm told it's from a Miss Giles."

"I don't know anyone called Giles," said A.B.

"I'm a Giles and I'm offended that you didn't recognise my name. I had this gift flown up from Christchurch – it's an English goose-feather duvet. It's nearly put me into the poorhouse buying it and getting it here, but you are worth it. Don't unwrap it here, it might get dirty."

At that Jenni got to her feet. "Goodnight, Anthony," she said, holding out her hand.

Anthony ignored the hand, rose and kissed her gently on the cheek. He reeked of quality after-shave.

"I find this difficult to believe, but you're given me so much pleasure Jenni. Continue being yourself, breathing that little bit of fire. You will go far."

Everyone on the editorial staff at the Waikato Challenger attended the farewell function of course because the drinks were free. But in this instance their partners were also invited and the office was to close at 4:00, as was the custom for similar functions when senior staff left. Jenni wasn't senior staff but a few words in Ivan's ear from Anthony made him think about making the exception and after representations the invitations to attend were extended to all staff.

Then came telephone calls from the Mayor, president of the Chamber of Commerce, the acting president of the Retailers Association, the Superintendent of Police, the chairlady of the Mullins Street Book club and the president of the Midget Racing Car Association Don Parsons, his wife and his father all wanted invitations to young Jenni's farewell.

This interest really impressed Ivan – he'd attended the farewell of the previous editor and no community leaders had inquired about attending his send off. This interest in Jenni was without precedent

He phoned the newspaper company's sole owner, Victor Henchman, a virtual recluse.

"Sir I thought perhaps you ought to know that some of the city's big guns including the Mayor are coming into the office at four on Friday to the farewell of one of our reporters.

"A reporter you say, that's rather odd."

"Yes sir and actually a fairly junior reporter."

"This is damn strange; what's his name?"

"Name sir, you won't know her."

"Jenni Giles, she spells her first name in an odd way."

"Yes sir – she's Jenni Giles.

"She's the only decent reporter on the paper."

"If you say so, sir. I'll advise staff that you are coming in at 4:00 on Friday. Many will be thrilled, having been here for several years and never seen you sir."

"That's being bloody impertinent."

"I'm not been impertinent, it's the truth."

"Well Monk that took guts to say that to me."

"Thank you sir, my wife also says I am courageous."

"I didn't know you were married. How long ago did you make an honest woman out of her?

"I've been married for fourteen years to Bella."

"That name also strikes me as being silly."

"It's a shortened, familiar version of her real name, which is Isabella."

The sole proprietor of the newspaper sounded very interested and asked where the editor had met her.

"In Spain, sir."

"I once met an Isabella in a Spanish brothel. It could be the same woman."

"I've never been in a brothel in Spain or anywhere else for that matter sir. My Isabella trained horses for riding establishments."

"Women who ride horses are immoral."

Perspiring as he felt under pressure, Ivan said, "I don't think you can say all women who ride horses are naturally immoral sir."

"Hmmm. I'll be the judge of that."

"Yes I understand and you'll come to your own conclusion when you meet my Isabella on Friday."

"I didn't say I would attend."

"Good afternoon sir; I'll introduce you to my wife on Friday."

Ivan muttered to himself, "What a nasty prick, assuming I had first met my Isabella in a whorehouse. The guy's positively evil but at least knowing about Jenni Giles through her by-lines proves that he reads his newspaper. Sometimes I have wondered if he read the news pages. At our infrequent meetings, he's occasionally mentioned mistakes in the financial and racing pages."

Ivan recalled one surprising incident: the near-blind prick pointed out his newspaper had just published a race winner under the caption naming it as Captain Courageous when in fact the horse pictured was Captain Court. Nobody else had reported the goof.

At the farewell, so many people wished to speak that Ivan was forced to declare a time limit of three minutes.

The manager of the production department jumped to the microphone first – a first in itself as people in that department generally were intolerant with journalists and the feeling was mutual.

Ross Mullins described Jenni's immaculate manners, recalled within her first week she knew everyone in his department by name and everyone knew her, and always welcomed her walking past in her exceedingly short skirts.

Next up was 'Moaner' Adams, the circulation manager, who never spoke at farewells. He revealed that when Jenni was driving past a delivery girl one afternoon she saw the girl was bailed up by a mongrel of a dog.

"Jenni jumped out of her car, kicked the dog up the arse and it buggered off howling. She then put the girl into her car, stuck the bicycle in the boot, and delivered the papers according to the instructions of the girl. The girl's father came in to find out who this Samaritan was and I knew that if it was someone from this outfit, it would only be Jenni, and she admitted to helping out the girl."

"She accepted the father's thanks but refused the offer of the monetary reward, asking that it be donated to the SPCA. She asked that nothing be said about the incident but a complaint should be lodged about the mutt. The father is here tonight – Alf Johnston, who heads the Chamber of Comics – sorry Chamber of Commerce."

Alf confirmed the story and then complimented Jenni on the most accurate reports ever produced by a reporter covering the monthly meeting in his twenty-two years' membership of the chamber.

There was a noise and everyone turned to the main entrance.

Victor Henchman entered, wearing an old dark three-piece pin-striped suit with a double watch chain across his belly, stomping along with a walking stick.

"Ladies and gentlemen – a welcome please for the illustrious proprietor of this newspaper company," announced Ivan, the managing editor.

A round of applause followed.

"That's enough of that crap – where's this woman?"

The standing crowd parted to where Jenni stood in a simple green and very short dress.

"Yes, she looks like one, but she's not Spanish. Where's the Spaniard?"

"Over here, sir," called Ivan, motioning Bella to move in beside him.

Ivan had wisely asked Bella to dress in her traditional formal attire brought with her from Spain, which she kept on hand in case they were invited to fancy dress parties. She looked very much like a Spanish countess.

All of the women present had wondered why Bella was dolled up in fancy dress – it seemed very odd.

Victor came close and peered at her.

"Yes," he said to Ivan. "She's no whore."

Ivan was ready for that.

"No sir, she's certainly no bore – she's very interesting," he said loudly, so quickly that people hearing Victor's extraordinary statement concluded they must have misheard him.

Victor spoke to Bella rapidly in Spanish, greeting her and complimenting her on her beauty and how charming she looked in traditional national dress.

Bella replied in Spanish, returning the greeting and said he appeared to be looking in perfect health and asked how his parents were keeping.

Victor howled with laughter at her humour.

"You're as impertinent as your husband," he said in English.

She bowed her head at him.

"Now where's this great little reporter of mine who looks like a whore?"

It was said so loudly and so clearly that they could be no mistaking his wording. Ivan knew it was useless to try to pull the 'bore' cover-up.

"Over here, Victor," called Jenni. "How much money did you have on you?"

Victor howled with laughter again, causing him to dab his eyes with a handkerchief the size of a tea towel.

"By god this girl's great," he said. "Because I have big money folk fawned over me and that bores me to death. So I mainly stay at home. But when I go out I call some women a whore and everyone falls about trying to resuscitate her and to whip me away to safety from her usually murderous-looking partner. It's so funny. But Jenni, your response was total theatre. I almost wet myself laughing. I think I should give you a going away present. Do you have a car?"

She shook her head.

"Ivan I am eccentric and do these things from time to time that would get other men locked away. Take care of the transfer of a low mileage car from our fleet to her, will you."

"Jenni I'm generally known as a bad bastard by many people who work for me. I'm now demonstrating I have the Midas touch, thought it won't do anything for my image I suppose."

"We have quite a fleet of company vehicles and I want you to pick one out for yourself – but not Ivan's car as lovely Isabella could not be expected to walk home in that magnificent dress. You are free to drive away in that vehicle tonight as your vehicle. Ivan will take care of the transfer and ensure it's filled with petrol."

"Thank you Victor. I shall not refuse the gift as you obviously can afford it and hopefully other worthy people in the future will enjoy similar treatment. Thank you – like most people here tonight, I've at last met you. Contrary to rumours, you appear to be a swell guy – a little odd perhaps – but definitely swell."

"Come on, clap her for that impertinent speech," Mr Henchman urged.

Jenni was enthusiastically applauded.

"Something told me when I was being driven here tonight that that she'd have the guts to address me as Victor. She's one dangerous woman. I think I have almost three hundred big ones in my wallet Jenni. So do we have a deal?"

It was Victor's turn to be warmly applauded by the laughing assembly.

The speeches resumed, with Victor and Bella sitting together and whispering.

Mayor Stravinsky said Jenni's smile, confidence and competence had impressed him – "I was smitten, particularly by those long exposed legs."

The short straw to be spokesperson for the entire editorial department was drawn by 'Smithy' Smith, known for his split infinitives.

He said it was time for confession, that most reporters had been a little jealous of Jenni's ability to produce clean and impressive copy. The ease with which she related with everyone could only cause despair amongst her rivals who wanted to be labelled the best reporter.

"It's impossible for us to label Jenni as our best reporter because our grading system does not provide for such liberalism. But all of us have our private thoughts."

"You time is up – sorry Smithy," called Ivan.

"Let this fellow continue – he's not boring the pants off us."

"You make a good point sir. Please continue Smithy."

"Jenni made an impact in her first week as a reporter – her story about chundering while screaming around the track in a midget racing car strapped to the belly of champion driver Ray Parsons is already a classic."

"The story and photo were syndicated and used by twelve of this country's largest newspapers, three newspapers in Sydney and appeared in numerous midget racing car publications in several countries, particularly the United States. It appears that covering your driver with spew and then having him strip you and shower you and then get you back quickly to cover the next race as a reporter appealed to news editors immensely."

"There are many other reminders of Jenni's prowess – her coverage of the crass of three small airplanes practising for the air show, and the follow-up interviews of the widows the day after the funerals, her very revealing interview of the rugby park stripper when he came from the Courthouse after paying his fine – remember that one? He claimed that he'd received thirty-four phone calls from honey-voiced women after our newspaper coverage of his first appearance in Court had published his name and address.

"But it's nothing about journalism for which some of us will remember Jenni. She unwittingly revealed to us the human side of our chief subeditor Anthony Burrows. I shan't say anything more because Anthony is here with us this evening and I would not want to risk embarrassing him.

"Thank you."

"Let Ant say something – he and I used to get pissed together on Friday nights when I used to run this newspaper," Victor recalled.

Anthony grasped the microphone and coughed to clear his throat.

"Most farewell speeches contain nine-five percent content that is bullshit. Listening critically to speakers this evening I would judge that the reverse applies here.

"Jenni is going far, we all know it. It may take her time, but she'll do the hard yards and get there. I've become old and grumpy, I know that – but Jenni has through her personality and limpid-like attachment ability managed to remind me of who I am and what I can be. I probably will continue much as I was before Jenni came to us – but there will be a subtle difference – I will be waiting for someone else like Jenni to come along who is eager to be professionally nurtured."

"Thank you."

Ivan looked at his watch.

"Sorry folk – we must stop as some of you have mouths at home to feed.

"Jenni – you have been a treasure to have in our team, and our respect for you is immense. I honestly believe that you really don't know how good you are. I wish you well in Wellington and wherever you go after that. It is a tribute to you that we never have had a farewell function achieving this level of interest."

"I now wish to hand over this cheque which comprises the collection from staff in all departments which totted up to an impressive amount, and following custom the company has matched that collection two-fold."

Jenni, smiling quietly, accepted the cheque with thanks. She began a short speech.

"We all should know that good students never under-estimate the value of good teachers. I was a good student, even though I say that myself. Occasionally I visited my retired secondary school headmistress Miss Childs, who apart from my mother has been the most influential person in my life."

"It was she who recognised and encouraged my talent in writing. When graduating from university I became despondent when my responses to advertisements for vacancies as newspaper cadet reporters produced not even one offer of an interview. I went door-knocking at the offices of newspapers, again without success."

"I told Miss Childs – a talented poet and painter – of my frustrations. She immediately picked up her phone and called her nephew. And here I am. Miss Childs is Ivan's aunt. I value the contributions received from both of them in getting me into a flying start into newspaper journalism."

"I didn't think induction and on-job skills development would be easy, and it wasn't. To the female partners here this evening, I apologise for wearing my skirts a little short but unless you do something to get noticed, you don't get noticed, as even Victor knows."

"Thank you all, for putting up with me initially. As I gradually became productive and came to be noticed, good buddies in the front office, Sylvia and Raewyn, were particularly generous in giving their time to help me drink away my pay – and theirs also – and to introduce me to other females and males who expanded my social life here.

"Thank you again for the car Victor – I'll name it Victor. I've already said my farewell to my tutor extraordinaire Anthony Burrows who became a father-like figure to me. When I achieve successes I intend always to pay silent tribute to you Anthony – but now, let's drink this place dry!"

One of the 'boys' from the press room gathered around the keg, called out to Jenni to join them for a drink.

"I'll be over in a minute Rangi. Get one ready for me."

Ivan shook her head.

"See," he said to Bella. "She knows all of them, and they know her. Most journalists never speak to the crew in overalls in the press room. We've never had anyone here before like Jenni."

* * *

Jenni started work in Wellington, the same day as a slightly older university graduate from Masterton who was the proud recent recipient of a diploma from the School of Journalism.

Within minutes of each other they entered the newspaper offices and headed to the room as detailed on their letter of appointment. In that office they would be formally processed and added to the company payroll.

There was no one else in the waiting room. The young man nodded to Jenni and selected a seat at the far end of the room. Either he's a misogynist or recently has had a bust-up with his girlfriend, Jenni thought.

Neither assumption was correct. He admitted to her later he simply was not interested in sitting near an office girl and having one of those inane conversations about the weather and who had just become Number One on the Top Twenty music chart.

"Good morning," said Jenni with usual brightness. Then lowering her voice suggested he must wish to adjust his attire.

He casually dropped his hands into his lap and appeared embarrassed.

Jenni had noticed because the end of his white shirt was protruding through the opening. The zip had therefore declared to all and sundry 'Look at me, I've been left open and now the shirt is attempting to do a runner'.

She giggled, again embarrassing the young man.

"Gone on, zip it up. There's no need to think you'll be judged to be a sex maniac through simply doing up your zip."

Red in the face he did as instructed.

"Thanks miss. My name is Ron Wiggins and I hail from Masterton. This is my first day here – I'm signing on as a journalist."

"Really, how exiting for you. I'm Jenni Giles and my hometown is Auckland. I guess you must be a pretty experienced journalist?"

Ron squirmed slightly.

"Not really Jenni, you see I've just completed post-graduate studies in journalism and so my coalface experience has been limited to working for short periods on newspapers and one radio station during my training period."

"I h intended following my father into public accountancy, but that just didn't work out, which was a pity. I had worked during school holidays in my father's office and found it rather boring, but he kept saying it could only get better. But it didn't and when I graduated from university I decided to take a break and think about my future and took a temporary position delivering mail."

"What being a postman?"

"Yes I thought that was better than a job in the meat freezing works."

Jenni laughed, "I would totally agree with that! And then what happened?"

"One day this woman reporter stopped me while I was doing my round. She introduced herself and said she was doing a feature on what motivated people to work in their chosen employment. She asked me a few snappy questions which I answered truthfully. She actually made me feel as if I were somebody, although I was only a temporary postman. The photographer with her took my photograph."

"The 'spread' as she had called it was published a few days later and there was my photograph toward the end of it. She had written only six paragraphs so I assumed that she had only quoted a couple of things I'd said. But to my surprise it was all there, written very tightly with what I told myself was passionate expertise."

"And so you began thinking about journalism and ..."