Miles’ main task in the next few days to come, his main task of every week, was to find a story which could be used as a lead story for the Koala Bay Bugle. While Miles was looking for a lead, he also needed a few more stories plus pictures for inside, although that was much less of a problem. Interviews with returned exchange students; a high–spirited lady who had been 60 years with the Red Cross; a man with a genuinely interesting collection of antique cars and residents complaining about a noisy air conditioner in a nearby supermarket, were all grist for the local media mill. But none of those relatively small doings would be acceptable for the lead story itself.
In his first calls Miles made contact with Lovett council. The council itself was covered by the Lovett Bay journalists but the council press officer occasionally dealt directly with the Koala Bay Bugle. He was happy to hear from Miles, but could not point to much that week apart from a few events which belonged in community notices. There was an ambulance station and a fire station in Koala Bay, but all their recent calls had been outside the area. What about the surf lifesaving club on the foreshore? They had nothing and, in any case, summer was over, but they would keep Miles in mind. The local chamber of commerce had little to say, while the Rotary Club president had a great deal to say but none of it was worth repeating. The local branch of the State Emergency Service was involved in a fundraising, as was a drop-in youth coffee shop in the main mall down the road. Miles thought he could throw a little publicity their way, but the stories were not going to be candidates for the front.
Unusually, there were two state Members of Parliament for his area, as the boundary between the two electorates neatly bisected the Koala Bay Bugle’s circulation area. The southern-most of these two electorates was a Liberal but the northern-most was held for Labor by a strong local member, David Lindley. His electorate was shown in the maps printed in newspapers around election time as an island of red amongst a sea of blue north of Sydney Habour. The press secretaries of both of these MPs wanted to be Miles new best friends. Lindley took the trouble to call him personally to spruik a press release about housing for the elderly in the area. The release said there should be more accommodation for the elderly, and that inspired Miles sufficiently to ring two nursing homes in the area. Both said their waiting lists were always long but their length had not changed in years; in fact, if anything, they had shortened; but there could always be more accommodation for the elderly. Hmm! All that could be stretched to a “crisis” in housing for the elderly, but he instinctively recognised the story as ‘a bit thin’, and went on looking.
At one point Miles got up to look in the filing cabinet, earning a glare from Angela. She had finally taken off her music earphones, only to replace them with a phone headset to make what were obviously personal calls. Miles found these calls wearing. Angela had a penetrating voice, the tiny office had a tendency to echo and the conversations were inane.
“Well, that’s what I told him,” she would say. “He didn’t! He didn’t! That arsehole! Tell him where to get off! … New person’s a guy.” (This was said in a particularly scornful voice.) “… You guys coming out with us? Dunno…. Maybe we c’d go into town – that new place. No, I see him tomorrow…” And so on, and on. Miles suspected it would be even more mind numbing to hear both sides of the conversation but at least Angela’s phone chats drove him to put his own phone headset back on to make more calls.
Before going back to his phone that time, Miles found that the filing cabinet was full of reports. There were several Lovett Council annual reports; a state government drainage report of two years ago and a Federal Government report on the development of north-eastern Sydney of five years ago, which had a useful map. He found some blutack in a drawer and put it up, earning another glare from Angela.
“We’re not supposed to put anything on the walls,” she said, after finishing her call.
“Uh huh,” said Miles without moving or looking at the offending map, “so you’ve got any stories on this week?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, you know, things you can write up to put in the paper. The stories that keep the ads apart. Any interviews lined up; anything happening you know about?”
“I told you,” she said, after an exasperated pause. “I just do the stuff that comes in.”
“Okay, then,” said Miles patiently, “how does the stuff come in? Where do you get it?”
Angela gave him the look she reserved for total idiot-loser, drop kicks who tried to pick her up in pubs and gestured vaguely at the screen. “There’s an inbox with stuff that comes in.”
“Do I have access to it?”
“Guess - Jan did.. I got on really well with Jan.”
“Glad to hear it.” He was soon flicking down a list of not very interesting statements, notices, releases and occasional letters to the editor. One was about the beautiful trees in the park, another was commenting on a story of two weeks ago. There were several reports from sports clubs on games they had played. It was the job of the secretary of the local clubs to write a report about the club’s latest game. Sometimes they did.
“What do we do with the sports reports?”
“Send to the subs.”
“Just send it back out again as an email?”
“Uh huh!”
“What about this item on hiring an extra parking officer?”
“What about it?”
“Its not worth much at the mo – they’re just hiring an extra parking officer. But it c’d be worth more. Everyone hates parking fines, so maybe they’re hiring an extra officer because they’re getting lots of fines, or maybe they’re not getting enough? How many officers have they got for this area?”
“Didn’t it just say they’re hiring someone,” said Angela.
“So we ring ‘em up. Why are they hiring the extra person? It may be worth something.’
Angela shrugged, evidently unconvinced. “Maybe.”
“I’ll do it if you want.”
“I’ll do it!” she said quickly, shooting Miles another look of withering contempt. She never did anything about the parking attendants story. He discovered it later in a corner of the paper, almost unchanged except for Eve having rewriten the lead paragraph. He later rang up himself to discover that a story about a general increase in controlled parking areas requiring an additional inspector had been prominent a month previously in the other two papers for the City of Lovett – the Lovett Bay Bugle and Cowan Creek Bugle - but not in the Koala Bay Bugle. Well, it had been worth a shot.
At lunch time he walked to the mall and bought lunch; a hot dog and chips. His tastes were not refined, but on his salary lunch would be sandwiches made up at home, when he found a place to live. He was living in a hostel but the room rate even for that down market establishment was eating into his savings at an alarming rate. On an impulse he walked the two blocks to the park behind the beach and sat on a bench to eat.
Although it was almost winter the sky was clear and blue and the sun bright enough on the broad, rolling Tasman to make Miles squint against the glare. He wished that he had brought sunglasses. A stiff, cold, offshore wind forced him to wrestle with the sheets of the Sydney Morning Herald he had saved for lunchtime reading, after eating he watched a container ship float south on its way to the Botany terminals. As a high country man born and bred he had not often seen white beaches and the sea, but he thought he could get used to them. On the way back he lingered for a moment in the mall, which had a distinct colonial feel of sandstone combined with wide verandahs and big shop windows. There were a few, more modern buildings down side streets. In all, it was a nice beachside suburb.
“Not such a bad place to work,” thought Miles, “if it wasn’t for Angela and Ros.” That thought reminded him that Justin had not called him back.
Back at the office there was no message from Justin but there was a young women sitting in his chair, legs crossed. She had long, dark hair, wore tight jeans and T-shirt and carried a camera. She raised one eyebrow when she saw Miles, eyeing him speculatively, then smiled. Miles thought that he liked the legs.
“Hi, I’m the photographer, got any pictures for me?” she said, cheerily, lifting her camera as proof that she was the paper’s photographer.
“Emma, is it?”
“That’s the one.”
Emma was shared between the three Lovet papers, which meant that she maintained a work schedule that would make metro paper photographers call their union. She moved around a lot, dropping into the Bugle offices as the mood took her and digitally processing her pictures at the South Forest building. Miles sat on the corner of the desk. Angela had her earphones on and was firing off email messages; ignoring them.
“Just down from the country, someone said.”
“That’s right.”
“From Orange myself.”
“That’s big smoke where I come from.”
“Round here it counts as country, let me tell you. So you’ve already met Angela,” she waved her hand slightly to indicate Angela - Miles got the impression that the wave also indicated what she thought of his fellow reporter.
“I’ve met you, now I’ve met all the important people.”
“Of course! First time in a big city?”
“Been to Melbourne a few times.”
“Sydney’s different.”
“Oh I dunno. Bit faster. Weather’s nicer, so far anyway.”
“Bring your family up here?”
“Just me. Got a horse back home with my folks, if that’s any help.”
“Miles – I’m going to ask you this - did you and the horse split up?”
Miles considered this for a second, nodding his head sagely. “We’d grown apart and I think she understood that. My sister’s riding her.”
“Well, listen Miles, when you get over this horse breakup thing, I’m engaged myself, but I’ve got single girlfriends who are always telling me there are no single men around.”
“Sounds good. Interesting women have interesting friends.”
She slapped his leg playfully. “Ooooh! Country charm. Okay, I’ll see what I can arrange.”
“Do I have to tell ‘em about the horse?”
She looked at him seriously for a moment. “Miles, these are city girls, they may not understand about the horse. But listen, have you got any piccies for me?”
“Been on the phone a bit; got a couple. Do I just tell you?”
“I’d really like the form filled out.” She indicated a pad of photographer request forms in the corner of his desk. “Or you can just do it on the form on the system and email me. I c’n check my messages on the road.”
“Sure. How many pics do they usually want?”
“Four or five keeps ‘em happy. Get below that and you have to start thinking of something. Ring around the schools to see if they’re doing stuff.. you know.”
“I know,” said Miles. As it was more convenient at that time to write out the requests, he wrote on the request pad while Emma waited.
“That SES guy again,” she said of the second request, “I could open an exhibition with the pics I’ve taken of that man.”
“Umm, well, you don’t have to have him; it’s just a fund raising thing. Get ‘em to get someone else.”
“Think I will.”
“I dunno if Angela’s got anything. You could ask her?”
Emma rolled her eyes to indicate what she thought of that idea. Angela, for her part, had continued to listen on her ear phones and type emails the entire time the photographer had been there. “I won’t worry, I think,” said Emma, “she’s more important things on her mind. Getting on well with her are we?”
“No.”
“What about Ros?” she said lowering her voice to a whisper. “Get on with her do you?”
“Nope!”
“Miles, those are just the right answers to give to me,” she said. “We’re going to be great friends.” She took a business card out of the small purse she wore on a long strap around her shoulder and handed it to him. “My mobile number and email address is there.”
“How long have you been working for Bugle group?” Emma was the first colleague he had met who had not been frantically busy or plainly contemptuous of him.
“’Bout a year. I was a junior accountant in a suburban practice before that.”
Miles looked at her with renewed interest. He was not sure he had met an accountant before. For that matter he had not met a full-time photographer before. The editor of his previous paper had also doubled as the photographer.
“Thought there’d be more money in accountancy.”
“At a price, Miley. I was bored solid. I did a course and pushed my way in here.”
After a few minutes she looked at her watch, squeezed past him with a “Ciao”, leaving a hint of perfume, and left Miles alone with Angela. With a sigh he went back to the phone.
Although he had some experience as a reporter, this was Miles’ first time alone with a newspaper, and that meant he had to find a lead by himself - Angela did not count - in a place he had never been before. He made calls. One local councillor who represented the Koala Bay area in Lovett City council was overseas, the other did not return Miles’ calls. The local community radio station had little to say for itself, and a community health centre could offer only a picture story. And so it went on. There were a few more glitches than might be found in any other editorial office. Miles came in on Tuesday to find the map he had stuck on the wall ripped down and a note from Ros.
“Miles – don’t put things on the wall. Your files are password protected. I can’t get in. See me with the password.’
He had no intention of giving out passwords to anyone. He put the map back up and called Justin to ask why he had not returned his call of yesterday, to have an almost identical exchange with Bronwyn. On Wednesday morning, the same thing happened, except that the map was beginning to look a bit tattered. By this time Miles knew a bit more about the community on which he had to report and went out to meet people twice. But he still had only the housing for the aged story, at a stretch, for the front. He was beginning to worry. Also, Justin still had not called him back.
He rang Bronwyn. “So is he in?”
“Who’s in Miles?”
“Who do you think I mean! Justin. He still hasn’t called me back.”
“Don’t take that tone with me. I told you what the message was.”
“Look, I need to speak to him about it. No other office manager in the group has authority like that.”
“Yes they do.”
“No they don’t.”
“They do.”
“They don’t! I rang up the other offices. No one else does it. All the copy goes straight to the subs. Ask Justin to call me back.”
The result of that exchange was not to make Bronwyn realise that she could be wrong, but to make her furious that she had been contradicted by a mere journalist – a junior who obviously knew nothing! A few moments later Miles received an email from Justin which had been copied to Ros.
Miles – Ros has complete authority there, including over editorial staff. Please do exactly as she says.
Miles sent back his own email.
Justin – very odd arrangement. I have left messages to call me, please call back one of your own reporters to discuss this.
Now exceedingly puzzled, Miles went back to the phone. In succeeding weeks, when he got into the rhythm of his weekly round, the first part of the week would be for features and the second part for news, but for that first week he was all over the place and still without a lead. Angela, for her part, never seemed to finish her irritating phone conversations.
“That drop kick! … Well, whadda you expect…. I told her, see a doctor.. Bullshit! .. No, bullshit! She just doesn’t listen… So, you doing anything tonight?”
On Thursday, after leaving him another message about being unable to see his stories on his PC Ros poked her head in the door to ask, with a smile, whether he had any stories for her to look at. Miles had heard her laughing on the phone a few times during the week, but otherwise had not spoken to her. Despite her office being a few paces away from his desk, she had not troubled herself to visit someone she saw as a highly unimportant junior.
“Justin still hasn’t called me back about that,” said Miles, taking off his phone headset and swiveling around to look at her.
“Call you back about what?”
“About letting you look at stories.”
Ros gaped at him with a look between stunned bewilderment and horror.
“But I’m the office manager.”
“So?”
“But.. that’s what office managers do in newspapers.”
“What is it around here! Bonwyn also had this idea and its wrong. If the group allowed office managers to look at stories they would be alone, but they don’t… I rang up the other offices.” He added the last part hurriedly as her mouth opened to contradict him. She shut it with a snap and glared at him. “It’s unusual anywhere.”
This was not strictly accurate. In small magazines anything can happen. But it was certainly true for the Bugle Group. In any case, as the Bugle Group management could add little value to stories about aged care and foreshore regulations in Koala Bay, it was better that they be able to plead ignorance. Miles knew something of this; Ros knew nothing.
“Now look you!” said Ros, her voice rising. Miles felt his own anger rise to match Ros’s own. “You’ve been told. You got an email.”
“It’s gonna take more than email. If they do things differently here then Justin should tell me about it, personally. When I took this job he said I wouldn’t have anything to do with admin.”
“Do you know who my brother is?”
“Sure I do, but if you’ve got such influence round here then don’t argue with me, get – Justin – to – pick – up – a – phone – and – tell – me – what’s - happening.” He emphasised those last few words by pausing between each word and pointing downwards with his forefinger.
She crossed her arms. “It’s not going to change.”
“You mean the copy still goes through to the subs.”
“No, I get control – that’s not going to change.”
“Ros – mate - have – him – call – me.” With that, he swung back to his desk. Ros glared at his back for a moment then stalked off.
Angela, who had taken off her ear phones, for once, to listen to his exchange with Ros, with a hint of bewilderment in her clear blue eyes, made one of her few remarks to him.
“You know, I don’t think she likes you.”
“Nah! You think? Ros and I are the best o’mates. We’re gunna be going out soon.”
She puzzled over this for a moment, shook her head and went back to her music.
Later in the day, after Angela had gone and just as Miles was about to steal away the phone rang. The voice on the other end was deep, educated and assured.
“It’s Jim Charles here.”
“Yes? What can I do for you?”
“I’m the managing director.”
“Right! You are too.” Mr Charles – the only person in the group that rated a mister - ran the place for the Dixon family.
“Glad you agree.”
“It’s my first week.”
“So I understand. Up from the country I believe?” Miles told Mr Charles where he was from. “Yes.. ummm, Rosalind..“
“Your sister.”
“.. My sister has called to ask me to ask you to let her see stories.”
“Ask me or tell me?”
Mr. Charles hesitated. “Well, I am asking you. You see, I give Ros some leeway up there in forming the strategic direction of the paper and, to be honest, I never saw the reason why management couldn’t have some say in stories.”
Miles was not going to argue that point with the managing director, on his first week, but he had thought of a way to side step the whole issue. “That’s a big issue Mr. Charles, but it’s not up to me to argue it. I’m not even really editor of the paper. Justin’s editor in chief and he should tell me these things. I’ve been trying to get him on the phone since Ros told me of this arrangement and it’s still no show. You don’t happen to know where he is? I’d like to talk to him.”
“Well no, I don’t know where he is right now.”
Miles thought that at the mention of Justin’s name some of Mr. Charles’s assurance melted away.
“I need to talk to him. Is that too much to ask to get your own editor in chief on the phone?”
“No, I suppose not. Look, all I’m asking is that Ros look at the stories.”
“Look?” said Miles, scenting a loophole. “Just look? I mean, it’s not as if she adds value She just blocks stories – made some of the past issues flat and tame. Hurt the paper if anything.”
“All I’m saying is let her look.”
Miles sighed. “Is it just a question of letting her see what’s in the paper before it comes out?”
“That’s right, and she can always make suggestions.”
“Suggestions?”
“Yes, suggestions. Managers should always be able to make suggestions about the direction and tone of newspapers.”
Miles did not agree or, at least, he might have been more agreeable, if the manager concerned had shown that she was knew what she was doing. Rather than try to explore this with the managing director he contented himself with a non-committal “hmm!”
“So we are agreed?”
“I’ve really got to talk to Justin about this.”
“Well.. any assistance you can give me in this matter would be greatly appreciated.”
Miles thought there was a faint note of pleading in the voice.
“Sure,” he said, hesitantly.
“Good, very good, well I must go now.”
After Mr. Charles had hung up Miles sat staring at the screen saving pattern on his PC for a few seconds then printed out the stories he had written so far from the copies in his sent items file, walked through to Ros’s spacious office, slapped them on her desk without looking at her or saying a word and then left. Walking out to the car he wondered if the wire services were now hiring.