The next day, Jodie was stinking out one end of the giant newsroom, the features end, testing nail varnishes.
‘Can you not do that somewhere else?’ groaned Fiona.
‘How am I supposed to test these damn things otherwise?’ said Jodie.
She held up one hand with each finger painted a slightly different colour. In front of her on the desk were a gaggle of beautiful little nail varnish pots in various shades.
‘I sort of like this one,’ she said, wiggling her index finger in Fiona and Ginger’s directions. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think they all look exactly the same to me,’ said Fiona, ‘and they stink. I’m sure it’s a health hazard.’
‘That one’s the cutest,’ said Ginger, pointing to a pearly pink on Jodie’s ring finger.
‘Bit of a classic,’ said Jodie, going into beauty-speak.
From her corner, Fiona grinned. ‘We are not the readers. We know this stuff because we have been sitting beside you for ages.’
Ginger smiled. It was funny how the three of them had bonded over the fitness articles, even though Ginger felt you couldn’t get three more different women if you tried.
She and Jodie had gone out to dinner one evening and then Ginger had brought Jodie back to her place for tea where Jodie had gone into blissful admiration over the adorableness of Ginger’s house and been thrilled to meet the guinea pigs. Jodie lived in a tiny rented flat and said she’d have killed to live in a beautiful little house like Ginger.
Now that she knew Jodie, she could see that the other girl was a lovely twenty-six-year-old woman who’d just started dating a decent guy called Peter. She wasn’t into the club scene like Liza or her friends and she didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong with Ginger because she wasn’t interested in those things either. It was comforting being with Jodie, having a friend.
Ginger went back to working on her article and was in the writing zone when her desk phone rang. It was the managing editor’s personal assistant. Mr Leon, said managing editor, wanted to see her pronto.
‘Mr Leon would like to see you at half four, if that is convenient?’ said the assistant in a voice that implied that unless Ginger was having something amputated at that precise time, it had better be convenient.
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Ginger anxiously.
‘Shit,’ she said, turning to her colleagues.
‘What now?’ said Fiona. ‘I have got to have this filed in ten more minutes.’
‘I’m being summoned to see Mr Leon in forty-five minutes,’ said Ginger. ‘What do you think I’ve done?’
‘Written some bloody good articles, that’s what you have done,’ said Fiona. ‘Sorry, can’t talk, gotta type.’ She swivelled her head back to her computer.
‘It’s got to be good,’ said Jodie, pulling her wheelie chair over closer to Ginger’s. ‘Our fitness series has had a huge number of hits on the site and your piece is the most popular, so could he want to see you about that?’
‘Dunno,’ said Ginger. ‘A couple of months ago I was writing advertorials about peanuts and industrial estates and now this ...’ She shivered. ‘What if I’m getting the sack?’
‘He’s not going to fire you,’ interrupted Fiona. ‘He doesn’t do the firing. Someone from human resources delivers the news and you get a box to clear out your desk. So either he wants hints on working out, or he has some brilliant new thing he wants you to do. Now shut up, you pair. I am going to need earplugs to work soon.’
Ginger bounced back to her desk an hour later.
‘What is it?’ said Jodie, ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Course it’s OK,’ said Fiona, grinning. ‘Tell us, then!’
Ginger could barely hold it in. ‘The editor says I’ve been writing such brilliant pieces that he wants me to take over a lot more major feature writing. I’m getting a two-year contract and more dosh! Isn’t that amazing?’
‘Oh, Ginger,’ sighed Jodie and hugged her friend. ‘I am so pleased for you. You deserve this. You’re a brilliant writer and ...’
‘... And that will be one in the eye for Carla Mattheson,’ finished Fiona with glee. ‘That will shut the old cow up.’
‘That’s not the point, obviously,’ said Ginger quickly, ‘but ...’ she paused, ‘... it would be nice to have it recognised that I’m not just something to be kicked around.’ And the three of them laughed uproariously.
There was still chattering and discussing exactly what Ginger’s new role would be, when a sharp cough made them all look up. Carla Mattheson stood close by, elegant and perfect as ever. Long legs encased in a skintight but somehow elegant skirt and a little swishy top that managed to conceal and not conceal at the same time. She looked amazing, Ginger thought with a hint of irritation. And then felt guilty. Carla Mattheson did bring out the worst in her.
