It’s A Man’s World
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‘One more thing,’ said Neil, just as Derek started noisily bashing his papers against the desk in a conclusive manner.
‘Mmm?’
‘As usual, we’ve had a shockingly bad set of Banter Confessions in this week.’ He pulled a face. ‘I was hoping Sienna might have time to write a few?’
All eyes turned to the peroxide blonde next to Derek.
‘I reckon I could fit it in,’ she replied, with extra emphasis on her last three words.
Alexa frowned, ignoring the ripple of smutty laughter that was travelling across the room. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But shouldn’t we be getting real girls to send in their confessions?’
Derek rolled his eyes. ‘That’s the idea, yeah,’ he said. ‘But like Neil said, we don’t always get enough and most of them are too crap to print. Sienna does a much better job, don’t you, darling?’ He turned to his PA and winked.
‘Apparently I do a very good “compliant”,’ explained Sienna, smiling demurely at Alexa as the dirty laughter flared up again.
‘I just wonder . . .’ Alexa feared that she might already be testing Derek’s patience, but she wanted to get something straight. ‘I was just wondering why we don’t get more confessions in. We offer a fifty pound incentive for the best one, right?’
Derek nodded reluctantly. Marcus rolled his eyes. The pallid redheaded news editor always seemed to side with Derek. It was as though they had some secret allegiance. Alexa persevered, nonetheless.
‘We have nearly fifty thousand female readers . . . But we have trouble eliciting three decent confessions from them each week?’
‘Yeah. Look, this isn’t exactly a new problem.’ Derek rolled his eyes impatiently and exchanged a look with Marcus. ‘It’s just the way it is.’
Alexa disagreed, again, but this time she was willing to speak out. Something was ringing bells.
‘Last year,’ she said, ‘when I was working at Hers, we noticed a massive drop-off in letters coming through to our agony aunt.’ She looked around. Sienna was inspecting her nails. Derek was spinning a pen around his thumb. Marcus was trying to do the same only failing and most of the others looked half-asleep. Only Neil and Riz seemed to be listening.
‘We realised that the drop-off coincided with the new editor mugshots. Our agony aunt’s new photo made her look about twenty years younger and a lot more attractive. It was putting the readers off. They wanted to see someone they could relate to. What mugshot are you using for the confessions?’
Neil looked up immediately. ‘It’s a picture of a random lad, looking kind of curious. I’ve always thought it’s a bit seedy, actually. My wife thinks it looks like a paedophile. Maybe we should change it? We could pitch it as “send your confessions to our secretary, Sienna”.’
‘Hey,’ Sienna pouted, pushing her breasts a little further onto the desk. ‘Not if it means an ugly mugshot.’
‘It doesn’t have to be ugly.’
‘Medium-ugly,’ said Marcus, raising a ginger eyebrow.
‘Oi!’
‘Tell you what.’ Neil was obviously adept at spotting potential deviations. ‘We’ll make someone up. Give her a medium-ugly mugshot and create a fake email address for her, then we’ll see what she brings in.’
‘Hallelujah!’ cried Derek, rolling his eyes. ‘Thank God that’s sorted. Real girls confessing to a fake secretary, saving Sienna about . . . what, half an hour a week? Fucking marvellous.’
There was silence for a moment. Alexa managed to maintain some semblance of a smile and then, since Derek was preoccupied with throwing his arms about and pulling stupid expressions, she checked for any other business and dismissed the team.
The deputy editor was one of the last to leave the room.
‘Derek?’ She caught his attention as he passed. ‘Can I have a word?’
Derek stopped in his tracks, holding his position in the doorway as though deliberating over whether to heed or ignore the request. Eventually, when everyone else had returned to their desks, he turned to face Alexa.
‘I’d love to have a word with you,’ he sneered.
Alexa could feel herself tense up as she watched him return to his seat at the head of the table. They were now separated by four chairs, which seemed odd, but she didn’t comment.
‘I just wanted to say . . .’ Alexa took a breath and pushed out the words. ‘Well, I thought it would be sensible to talk about our roles and responsibilities.’
‘Our roles and responsibilities,’ he echoed mockingly.
‘Yes, let’s.’ Alexa thought for a second. She had known that this wouldn’t be easy, but she hadn’t quite anticipated the extent of Derek’s resentment towards her.
‘So, to clarify,’ she persevered. ‘In my mind, you are still the acting editor of this magazine.’
Derek snorted. ‘I don’t know what the fuck is going on in your mind. All I know is that a few weeks ago, I was demoted to deputy editor for no apparent reason and then you come along with a fancy title and start talking about rejuvenation and engagement.’
Alexa sighed. So this was what it was all about. Derek blamed Alexa for his demotion. It wasn’t exactly a revelation, but at least there was no longer any room for doubt. Alexa wished she had spoken out when Peterson had told her of his plans. She ought to have foreseen this problem; she should have realised from Peterson’s cryptic mumblings that Derek Piggott would prove to be a problem. She should have advised the chief executive not to demote him. Inflated egos were far easier to deal with than crushed ones.
‘Look,’ she said, picking up on Derek’s last few words. ‘We need to get this magazine back on its feet. That’s why I’m here, and as soon as I’ve done my job, I’ll be out of your hair.’
‘Back on its feet?’ Derek stared at her, nostrils flaring. ‘Who said it wasn’t on its feet?’
Alexa was about to reply and then stopped.
He had no idea.
For the last few weeks, she had been working on the assumption that Terry Peterson had told Derek about the Americans’ plans to dispose of the title if it didn’t improve its profitability. She had assumed that he was being discreet by not mentioning it around the office. She should have thought. Derek wasn’t capable of discretion. Peterson had clearly kept him in the dark on purpose.
‘Sorry,’ she said, watching Derek tug irritably at his goatee. ‘That was melodramatic. I just mean, I’m here to try and help Banter hit its April targets. I’m not here to run the editorial side of the magazine.’
Derek just stared at her, shaking his head.
‘Primarily,’ she said when it became apparent that nothing more was forthcoming from the man, ‘I see this involving new channels for the existing content – your content. But it’s inevitable that at times, there may be a need to look at the content itself, maybe make a few changes.’
Derek continued to stare hatefully at Alexa, slowly shaking his head.
‘For that, I need your support.’ She could hear the desperation in her voice. ‘I need to feel that you trust me to get involved. I need to . . .’ Alexa faltered. This was the real reason she had called him in. She could barely bring herself to say the words. ‘I need to know that you won’t undermine me in front of the team.’
Initially, there was no reaction from Derek. Then he sat back, slowly, still looking at her through the dark slits that his eyes had become. All of a sudden, he launched himself forwards. Alexa jumped.
‘Banter,’ he spat, pressing his face right up to hers, ‘is a fucking good magazine.’
Alexa nodded mutely. He was so close she couldn’t breathe. ‘I know that,’ he said, through gritted teeth, ‘because I’ve worked here for six years. So when some bint in a suit comes in here on some crazy salary and starts telling me how to run my magazine and how to talk to my team . . .’ He sniffed loudly, angrily, only millimetres from her face, ‘then it’s hardly surprising when I don’t take too kindly to her. Is it?’
Alexa shook her head, saying nothing.
Eventually, Derek threw himself back into his chair, shaking his head and looking into the main office with a cold, hard stare.
Alexa slowly exhaled. She was about to say, tentatively, that she wasn’t trying to dictate how he ran his magazine or talked to his team, but as she opened her mouth to speak, Derek threw back his chair and stood up, marching out of the meeting room and slamming the door on his way out.
Alexa sank down in her chair and pressed her fingers against her closed eyes. She was so close to crying, but something inside her was blocking the tears. She couldn’t cry. She wouldn’t allow it. This was just part of the challenge, she told herself. This was the lion’s den Matt had warned her against. This was the all-male environment Leonie had been so worried about. She had to stay strong. She thought about Kate’s reaction to the girl in her boyfriend’s office who had let her tears show. She wasn’t going to be like that.
Alexa grabbed her notepad and stood up. She was going to go back into the office and continue to do what she was being paid to do. She was going back into the lions’ den.
Chapter 7
The photographer squinted critically at his digital display.
‘Okay, that last one again, if you don’t mind. Yeah, move your hands about, that’s it, like you’re really enjoying yourself.’
The girl grabbed her breasts with fresh gusto, flicking her long, dark hair to one side and pouting at the camera. Alexa swallowed nervously, wondering whether the girl actually was enjoying herself. Going by the shaky knees and the look of forced ecstasy on her face, Alexa suspected not.
Kayleigh Williams was nineteen years old. This was her first modelling shoot – a fact that Alexa could probably have deduced by the girl’s demeanour, had it not been written on the call sheet in front of her. She couldn’t help thinking that it might also be the girl’s last.
It wasn’t that Kayleigh didn’t have the looks: she was tall and curvy with dark eyes and glossy, chestnut-coloured hair that cascaded in waves down her back. Her breasts, as noted on the call sheet, were a sizeable 32DD. The problem was the way she held herself. It was her confidence – or lack thereof. The girl looked petrified.
‘Can you move a bit more slowly, Kayleigh?’ Jamie, the pictures editor, obviously felt compelled to intervene. ‘That’s it. Much more sexual, yeah.’
The videographer gave a nod of approval as he changed angle.
This was why amateur photographs never looked anything like those in the magazine. Aside from the photographer there was a photographer’s assistant, a lighting guy, a junior lighting guy, makeup and a young lad whose job it was to run around the set looking busy and repeatedly offering drinks. For this shoot there was also a videographer. Banter now filmed, as well as shot, all of its most popular features, for the website and Banter TV.
The ‘Brainy Banter’ feature was up there among the readers’ favourites. The concept was simple: get a female university student to take off her clothes and then ask her some trivia questions that she would inevitably get wrong under pressure, then print the airbrushed pictures beside her incorrect answers, thus offering the readers a dumb, compliant bimbo with a perfect body. It wasn’t exactly a fair representation of the female student population, but then, nothing was ever a fair representation. Banter was no different from other publications when it came to manipulating the truth.
‘We call that the hand-bra,’ whispered Jamie, leaning over.
‘Right.’ Alexa nodded awkwardly as the girl leaned forward, lightly clutching her heavy breasts.
‘Got to get plenty of nipple-free shots, for the website and so on,’ he explained softly.
She nodded again, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. It wasn’t just that she was sitting, watching another woman grope her own breasts; it was something else. She couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but Alexa didn’t feel right.
‘Makeup?’ Jamie was talking at full volume again, which wasn’t particularly loud. Unlike most of the staff at Banter, Jamie had a quietly authoritative manner. He was boyishly good-looking, with high cheekbones, plump lips and piercing blue eyes that shone out from beneath long, blond lashes.
The makeup artist emerged from a far corner of the room, munching on a sandwich.
‘Can you try and do something about the mark on her thigh?’
The makeup artist brushed the crumbs from her hands and bent down, grimacing at the sight of the girl’s leg. ‘Hmm.’ She looked up. ‘Is that a birthmark?’
Kayleigh nodded apologetically.
The woman screwed up her face. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
The makeup artist retreated and started rummaging through her enormous kit bag, leaving Kayleigh standing self-consciously under the lights wearing a G-string and a pair of stilettos.
That was it, thought Alexa. That was what made her feel so uncomfortable: it was the fact that Kayleigh looked so uncomfortable. The girl didn’t want to be exposing her every pimple and blemish to the nation, to be scrutinised by two hundred thousand strangers. True, she had volunteered for the shoot – probably encouraged to do so by a boyfriend who saw it as some kind of trophy to show his mates – but it was clear from the way she was hugging her chest that now that she was here, she felt over-exposed.
Alexa felt a surge of pity for the girl. She wouldn’t stand up there, half naked, in front of a bunch of strangers. Even though she understood the rationale for appearing in Banter – that it was flattering to know that men saw you as a source of sexual stimulation – she still couldn’t imagine herself doing it. Alexa wondered what it was that was stopping her. What made her different from Kayleigh?
A thick layer of foundation was applied to the offending birthmark, rendering it invisible to the camera – although from where Alexa and Jamie sat, it looked like a bad cement job. Close-up, the girl wasn’t as gorgeous as she initially appeared. Beneath the streaky tan, her skin was pitted and her front teeth were stained brown with nicotine. Alexa couldn’t help wondering whether this modelling shoot was some kind of ironic attempt to boost the girl’s self-esteem.
Alexa thought about this for a moment, wondering whether she had hit on something. Was it self-esteem that made her different from the nineteen-year-old standing in front of her? Or self-respect? Alexa squirmed uncomfortably as the makeup artist surveyed her handiwork. She was trying to work out who had more self-respect: the woman who took her clothes off for a lads’ mag, or the woman who refused to do so. She couldn’t help thinking that the last six weeks had done something to dent her confidence.
‘Have you got enough clean stills?’ asked Jamie, jolting Alexa out of her thoughts. ‘I was thinking, we could do a couple of hair-bra shots – you’ve got lovely hair, Kayleigh.’
Kayleigh giggled nervously. ‘Thanks.’
The photographer nodded. ‘Good idea. Let’s give it a go.’
‘Maybe using the props?’ Jamie suggested, nodding at the desk by the window, which supported a selection of pens, papers and books that were presumably there to remind the reader that Kayleigh was a student.
The props helped, Alexa noticed. Kayleigh looked almost sassy, crawling along the desk on all fours, her buttocks raised in the air and her breasts hanging low, obscured by a thin veil of hair. On the photographer’s advice, she played with the various items of stationery provided, sucking pencils, slapping rulers against her backside and pretending to read while donning a pair of fake glasses.
‘That’s great!’ cried the videographer. ‘More please!’
‘Awesome.’ The photographer nodded at Jamie. ‘We’ve got something here.’
Alexa felt a vibration in her pocket and pulled out her phone. She had two text messages.
Of course I remember
Loopy Lara. Didn’t she
only eat pink food or
sthing? Horrible little
brat. Wouldn’t wish her
on my worst enemy. xL
Alexa smiled and opened the message from Matt.
Is she hot? Would
U be tempted . . .?
She stifled a laugh. Matt had seemed genuinely concerned about the risk of Alexa being ‘converted’, having latched on to some bizarre idea that girl-on-girl action was something that happened quite frequently, out of the blue. He had obviously been reading too much Banter, she thought wryly.
She’s young. Currently
posing for a ‘knee bra’
shot. Extremely turned
on. Ax
Alexa tucked her phone away and refocused on the action. Jamie seemed to be pleased with how things were going.
‘Well done, Kayleigh. That’s really great. Are you okay to do a few topless shots now?’
Kayleigh nodded, slowly reaching round and gathering the dark locks of hair to reveal her full, heavy breasts.
‘That’s good,’ said Jamie, under his breath. ‘They’re real. The readers prefer real ones.’
Alexa nodded, watching as the photographer directed Kayleigh to sit on the chair, open her legs and straighten her back. She didn’t feel right. Perhaps it was the muted references to various parts of the girl’s body that bothered her. Jamie seemed respectful enough, but Alexa couldn’t help noticing the way his brief exchanges with the photographer centred around Kayleigh’s hair, thigh or breasts as though they were parts of a mannequin in a window display.
‘Okay!’ The photographer eventually ran out of poses and started checking through his shots. ‘I think we’re done.’ He beckoned for Kayleigh to take a look. ‘Loads of great stuff here.’
Kayleigh grabbed her bra from the floor and pulled it on, her inhibitions visibly returning.
‘Oh my God!’ Kayleigh gasped as she caught sight of herself on the screen. ‘I look like a real model!’
The photographer smiled modestly, flicking through a selection for the girl to see. Alexa wondered what it must be like to see topless photographs of yourself, knowing that in a couple of weeks’ time, they would be plastered across the back pages of a national magazine. She couldn’t help feeling a shudder of panic on Kayleigh’s behalf.
The videographer caught Jamie’s eye. ‘Can we do a few words to the camera?’
‘Oh yes, of course.’ Jamie wandered over to the tripod and gently interrupted. He was very genteel, noted Alexa. They all were. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but perhaps she had foreseen an element of seediness in today’s shoot – a lewd remark or possibly some inappropriate gestures. There had been nothing like that. The only crudeness at Banter, as far as she could tell, went on behind women’s backs – in the office upstairs.
The videographer checked the settings on his camera and looked at Kayleigh, who was subtly plumping her breasts inside her bra.
‘I want you to say “Hi, I’m Kayleigh and you’re watching Banter TV.” Okay?’
Kayleigh nodded, looking down to check on her cleavage. She suddenly looked nervous again.
‘Ready when you are.’
‘Hi, I’m Banter TV and . . . oh, sorry.’
‘That’s okay.’ The videographer smiled. ‘Try again.’
‘Hi, I’m Kayleigh and – sorry. What was it again?’
‘Don’t panic. Just take it slowly. It’s “Hi, I’m Kayleigh and you’re watching Banter TV.”’
‘Okay.’ Kayleigh took a deep breath and looked down the barrel of the video camera. Then she turned away, flushed and exasperated. ‘Oh God. I can’t do it!’
Jamie wandered over, offering a glass of water.
‘Hey, Kayleigh, there’s no rush. We can take all afternoon if you like.’
Alexa admired his tact. She knew how much work Jamie had on his plate upstairs; he was always the last to leave the office at night. He certainly wouldn’t want to take all afternoon.
With a shaky hand, Kayleigh returned the empty glass to the pictures editor and flashed him an apologetic look.
‘Tell you what,’ said Jamie. ‘Just do a dry-run. No pressure; we’ll leave the camera off and you can just practise what you’re going to say.’
‘Okay.’ She nodded. ‘Right.’ Kayleigh looked darkly into the camera and in a slow, sexy voice, growled: ‘Hi, I’m Kayleigh and you’re watching Banter TV.’
The videographer smiled. ‘Got it.’
Kayleigh frowned. ‘What d’you mean? That was a practice.’
‘Oh, I must have left the camera running by mistake.’ The videographer glanced at Jamie. ‘That’s lucky, isn’t it?’
Alexa had to stop herself from laughing. Kayleigh was an ideal candidate for ‘Brainy Banter’.
She looked at her watch. Strictly speaking, they were ten minutes into Kayleigh’s ‘exam’, but the junior editor who was supposed to be asking the questions had wandered off in search of a pen and hadn’t been seen since. She was about to suggest popping upstairs to find the young man when the door flew open to reveal a windswept-looking Paddy, towering in the doorway, panting.
‘Hey!’ He made a half-hearted attempt at taming his wild, curly hair as he looked around the room, his eyes settling on the lingerie-clad student. ‘Sorry I’m late. I’m stepping in as exam master. Had to track down some questions.’
Kayleigh smiled timidly. Alexa breathed a sigh of relief. Paddy, she was beginning to realise, was one of the gems shining out from a mixed team at Banter. She raised a hand to the lad in a gesture of appreciation.
‘I’m Paddy,’ he said, bounding over. ‘Pleasure to meet you.’
‘Kayleigh,’ she replied, shaking his hand.
‘You can put your clothes on if you like,’ suggested Jamie, quietly.
Quickly, Kayleigh slipped on a translucent white blouse and a leather skirt, perching nervously at the desk, opposite Paddy.
Alexa wondered whether it was fair for her to stick around while the questions were asked. The photographer and videographer were already packing away. She doubted that exam conditions were necessary, but it didn’t seem fair for her to listen in. Her phone buzzed.
I knew it. I will have
to remind U tonight of
what U would miss if
you turned . . . Mmm,
looking forward to it.
Alexa hid her smile as she tucked away her phone. Paddy had already started the exam.
‘You’re at Leeds Uni, right?’ he asked. ‘Studying Sociology and hoping to get . . . a third?’
Kayleigh nodded.
‘And most importantly . . . you’re a 32DD, right?’
Alexa watched as the junior editor glanced approvingly at the girl’s flimsy top. There it was again: the blatant reference to parts of Kayleigh’s body as though they were joints of ham.
‘Okay . . . let’s begin. What is the main ingredient of the German dish, sauerkraut?’
‘Um . . .’ Kayleigh’s face crumpled. ‘Sausage?’
Paddy smiled. ‘That’ll go down well with the readers.’
Alexa followed Jamie out, trying not to cringe as Kayleigh struggled to decide whether a baby fox was called a cub or a puppy.
‘Jamie?’ she said, as the lift started to propel them up to the fifth floor. ‘D’you think, generally, we’d do better to get some higher-calibre models in for our features?’
He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. ‘You mean models with a higher IQ?’
Alexa shook her head. She knew that intelligence, sadly, was not a desirable trait for the girls. ‘No, I mean . . . more professional models. Ones that know how to love the camera.’
Jamie started to smile. ‘You don’t have any brothers, do you?’
She frowned. ‘No.’
‘I only ask because if you did, then you’d know that the thing about Banter and all the other lads’ mags – the thing that makes them sell – is not using chic glamour models who love the camera.’
‘What?’
‘They want photos of the girl-next-door. Or rather, they want photos of their fantasy of the girl-next-door. Chicks like Kayleigh . . . perfect.’
‘But . . .’ Alexa was struggling to understand what he meant. ‘All the airbrushing and touching up that you do . . . surely that’s because the readers want pictures of the perfect woman?’