Watson, come here, I want you!
– Alexander Graham Bell, making the world’s first telephone call to his assistant Thomas Watson, on Friday, 10th March 1876
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Alice, Shona’s personal assistant, was so excited she was spoiling her make-up. She burst into Shona’s office, heedless of the standing instruction never to interrupt Shona’s post-lunch ‘aroma-therapeutic delta-wave energy realignment.’
“We have just had a call from Marina Allan!” she squealed excitedly, waking Shona from her siesta. She had to repeat herself more slowly and in a lower register before it got though to the bleary eyed eighth most important woman in Britain.
When the message got through, Shona was as awake and as excited as Alice. Readers of Chat magazine had voted for who they thought was the best female role model in Britain. Marina Allan had come second. Shona had come eighth but there had been a bunch of pointless celebrities and Olympic medallists in places three to seven. Which in Shona’s view made her essentially, the second most important real woman in the country and Marina Allan, the first. Because second was the best any ordinary woman like her or Marina could hope to achieve. No normal woman could compete with Madonna.
Not that Marina Allan was any normal woman. She was famous. She had at least two careers and about six children. She was a very senior figure in the Civil Service and she was on the boards of directors of several large transport consortia and countless charities. She was famously clever and had a style that was all her own. She was also the wife of the Prime Minister.
It would be to under-estimate the size of Shona’s ego to think that she herself saw Marina Allan as a role model but more than anything else in life, she wanted Marina on the show. It was an article of faith among the staff of the show that this was the Holy Grail. Shona had interviewed Madonna on three separate PR tours. But Marina did not speak to the media. Marina was not to be criticised or joked about. Shona was to be brought all news items and press photos with Marina in them.
Shona went to the same clairvoyant and the same crystal therapist as Marina but she had not yet bumped into her. Or persuaded either of them to introduce her. She wanted to suggest that Marina came on the show for one of Shona’s famous makeovers. Obviously, either Madame Clara or Madame Amethyst had finally mentioned this idea of Marina Allan. And now she was calling Shona.
“She wants to come on the show?” Shona asked Alice, just to confirm she was not dreaming.
“Er.. She wants to meet Doctor Cole,” Alice answered falteringly.
“On the show?”
“No” said Alice starting to stop and take stock of her own original enthusiasm for bringing the news to Shona. She had overlooked the overriding importance of Shona in Shona’s view of the world. The show came in second place, nothing else came close. Alice saw the fury rushing to Shona face, replacing the all but evaporated elation. And she was the cause of this reversal. It was another accepted fact of life on the show that messengers bearing bad news were occasionally fired.
“They did not say.” Alice said quickly, pleading for her lifestyle. “It wasn’t her. It was her office. They just said that Marina would like to meet Doctor Cole. They called us to see if we could arrange it. Maybe she does want to come on the show?”
“Maybe” Shona agreed, her internal optimist clinging to this sliver of hope. It was better than nothing. As well as channelling her requests through their shared healer and psychic, Shona had attempted to contact Marina Allan via other mediums. But in the past, all her proposals had been rebuffed by Marina Allan’s highly expensive taxpayer provided personal office. In recent months they had stopped being polite about it, not bothering to return Shona’s call or even pretending that her messages would be passed to Marina. And now Marina Allan’s office was calling her.
Marina Allan was obviously too busy to call in person. As well as her work in the Civil Service overseeing the drafting for the government policy documents in the Department of Transport, she sat on the boards of several of the largest private companies that through a tangled network of subsidiary contracts were now running public transport. This was typical of way her husband’s inner circle operated. This did not break the letter of her Civil Service employment contract but it was so breathtakingly in violation of the spirit of them that people were at a loss as to know how to begin to denounce it.
More especially, considering who she had breakfast with each morning. Nor could they understand how he could possibly let her get away with it. Whenever any backbencher or journalist overcame their apoplexy and incomprehension long enough to challenge the Prime Minister on the subject, he would always monotonously recite that in his view was no conflict between the rules governing Civil Service contract and her outside interests, and that every committee that had investigated had declared the same. But since every single one of those committees was ultimately answerable to her husband, the Prime Minister, their conclusions could perhaps be guessed in advance. Everyone else reached the conclusion that the Prime Minister was ultimately answerable to his wife and was only allowed to get dressed in the morning after she had finished with the trousers.
Shona was not interested in political affairs. Successful women were always the victims of envy. She saw Marina as a kindred spirit. Madame Amethyst had said they had the same chakra colouring pattern. She understood that Marina might not want to come on the show right now. But once they had met and seen how much they had in common, felt the connection, become best friends it would be a different story. And this meeting would happen when Shona arranged for Marina to meet Doctor Cole. And after all, it was Shona that had made Hazel famous.
What was more, as implausible as it seemed, this highly successful mother of six, whose husband runs the country, must have seen the show. Shona perked up considerably at the thought that this busy woman with several careers must put aside a couple of hours each morning to watch her show. It must also mean that her husband had forgiven Shona for her affair with his (former) political secretary.
Shona was very happy. Alice was very happy that Shona was very happy and that she would live to work another day. All that remained was for someone to tell Hazel the happy news.
*
John was psyching himself up for a long time before he phoned Eric. He had a question he wanted to ask and for the fifth time that day, he started dialling Eric’s private personal line. Eric had given it to him the day before in the Clarion offices. He’d been in an ebullient mood and told John that if ever he had a question, he could call any time. This time he pressed the final number and waited.
“What?”
“Eric?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s John.”
The FUCK OFF that he received was so primal that John dropped his phone.
¢
“Editor’s office”
“Get me, Nichols,” Eric said.
The editor’s secretary rushed out onto the newsroom floor looking for her boss. Eric was not very happy about something. You did not need to be Hazel Cole to tell that. You did not need even have had to meet him before to tell he was furious. And if you had met him before, you would never be so foolish as to ask him what was troubling him. Even with relative protection of a telephone line between you. Unless perhaps if you were Hazel Cole.
He would probably tell you anyway. Or at least you could pick up the gist by watching to see who was being shouted at the loudest. And picking your way between the profanities, you could piece together his reasons.
“Eric?”
“Nichols, you arse. What do we know about this Cole cunt?”
“The head doctor? Appears on Shona?”
“And in almost every paper today except ours. What the fuck do we know and what the fuck do we think?”
“I don’t know. Daytime TV is not something we follow on the news desk.”
“Really? Then what the fuck do you do all day long? Cos it certainly isn’t journalism. There’s something big out there and your news desk isn’t on it. Wake the cunts up and get them to work.”
“Yes Eric.”
“Clarke did the Shona and what’s-his-face story. I want you and him on a conference call just as soon as you’ve found a fucking clue.”
The line went dead.
*
“John Smith” John answered his phone. He did not recognise the number and was terrified that it was going to be Eric, calling back to shout at him some more. But the silence on the other end of the line sounded nothing like Eric. “Hello?”
“John... It’s Sam. Look, I am sorry.”
“Oh Sam, Hello... You were just doing your job.”
“Yes, but no.. I really am sorry. Look, I got paid. I was doing my job. I didn’t really realise..” she paused, “I had a good time.”
“So you like your job. Good for you.”
“No, I mean I had a good time with you, I enjoyed your company. And you got what you wanted too, didn’t you?”
“No, I got what Eric wanted.”
“Well, I am sorry. I didn’t know.. I did know but I didn’t think.. I wanted to say sorry properly. Can I take you for dinner?”
“Okay, and which way will I have to look for the camera this time?”
“Please, I am sorry. I like you. I don’t want you to dislike me.”
She waited but John stayed silent. “I feel terrible...”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, I’ll come. Somewhere quiet?”
“Somewhere quiet. I’ll send you a text. John, thank you.”
She rang off.
John’s anger with Sam lasted about as long as it took to drop to the sofa. Nevertheless, his reason to catch up with the executive decision of his emotions. Was Sam a good person, he wondered? Your average man can forgive a beautiful woman a lot of things that must make it difficult to be a beautiful woman and still be a good person. Sam is very beautiful, so it must be very difficult for her to be good. She did seem sorry, so there was some goodness in her. And she seemed to like him, which showed good taste. Maybe there was hope for her?
Maybe he could make her his special cause? Being a source of guidance and inspiration to millions was all very well but it was very impersonal. He needed to connect with his people. He needed to help those around him share in his epiphany. Sam was troubled but with the right nurturing, with his help, she could blossom. He hoped so. He owed it to her to try.
Besides, he needed to show that his message was more than story, didn’t he? That it played out in his life, that it made him happy, as well as successful. Maybe, Sam could help him do that? She was right; they had had fun last week. Perhaps he needed her as much as she needed him.
His ridiculous daydreaming continued late into the evening. Filled with this unexpected new purpose he did nothing all day. Just revelled in his optimism. But he did not blame himself. It did not matter; His new life finally had new meaning.