Читать книгу It’s A Man’s World - Polly Courtney - Страница 7

Chapter 1

‘Ah, Alexa. Thanks for coming to see me.’ Terry Peterson leaned forward and waved at the seat opposite.

Alexa pressed the door shut behind her, relishing the wall of cold air that separated Peterson’s office from the rest of the building. As the folds of soft, cool leather engulfed her, she wondered whether Peterson really believed that there had been any element of choice about today’s meeting. To turn down an invitation from the chief executive of Senate Media UK, particularly an ambiguous, last-minute ‘catch up’, was to propel oneself straight to the top of the redundancy list.

‘I’ve been thinking about your role,’ said Peterson, leaning forward and blinking a couple of times at Alexa.

She nodded, forcing a smile despite the stomach-churning sensation that his ominous words had provoked. Alexa was on a two-year contract at Hers, Senate’s leading title for the over-fifties, of which there were still three months left to run.

‘Sorry,’ he chuckled. ‘Poor choice of words. Don’t look so worried.’

Alexa smiled harder and joined in with a laugh of her own. Despite his fifty-seven years, Peterson had a good head of hair and piercing blue eyes that crinkled attractively at the edges as he smiled, which he did all the time. The chief executive wore his smile like a mask.

‘As you know, I’m very pleased with your achievements at Hers.’

Alexa nodded again, more confidently. Peterson was pleased with the re-launch of Hers; she knew that much. Who wouldn’t be pleased with a three-fold increase in gross revenue and a twenty percent reduction in costs? The magazine had been on the brink of collapse when Alexa, then a management consultant at TDS Consulting, had been seconded to establish a new business plan for the title. At Peterson’s request and at vast expense, Alexa had been transferred from TDS and brought in-house at Senate Media to oversee the execution of this transformation – a transformation that was just beginning to bear fruit. The magazine was cash positive for the first time in a decade and Alexa had made it happen.

‘I think you proved a lot of people wrong – not least the Americans.’

Alexa returned his smile. Being part of a US-owned company meant that everyone in the UK offices, including Terry Peterson, answered to the board of Senate Media Inc., or ‘the Americans’, as they were known.

Alexa knew what the Americans had thought of Peterson’s initial suggestion that a twenty-nine-year-old management consultant should take charge of their fifty-plus title. She knew, because Peterson’s PA had inadvertently forwarded her an email containing the full conversation between the UK and US board. Alexa sometimes wondered whether she would have made quite so much progress at Hers had she not caught sight of that email.

‘I’m thinking,’ said Peterson, his eyes still twinkling, ‘you might be able to help us out on something else.’

Alexa felt a combination of apprehension and relief. Peterson’s smile was suspiciously intense.

‘Another title,’ he clarified. ‘It’s the same set of problems we had at Hers, really: declining circulation, collapsing advertising industry, increasing competition from the internet . . .’

Alexa looked at him, trying to guess which magazine they were talking about. Frankly, it could have been any Senate title, or any UK magazine for that matter. The whole publishing industry was falling apart.

‘I’m referring, of course, to Banter.’

Alexa swallowed. She looked up to the wall behind Peterson’s head, where a set of black frames immortalised the front cover of every title ever published by Senate Media UK. Banter was there, top right, next to Teenz, an American import that had a limited life expectancy. Alexa glanced at the cover and then looked away, gazing at the bustle of Soho in the mid-afternoon heat. She tried to collect her thoughts. Even looking at the cover felt wrong. There was such a concentration of flesh and cleavage, it was overwhelming. Breasts spilled off the page, a smattering of strategically placed headlines obscuring nipples and other bodily parts that would tip the magazine into the category of porn – if it wasn’t already there.

Porn, mused Alexa, increasingly aware that Peterson was expecting some kind of a response. That was the answer, up there on the wall, amid the airbrushed buttocks and cleavages. Banter was a form of soft porn. It was dirty, sexist, degrading to women and, frankly, an embarrassment to UK society. What would her mother say if she found out she was working for Banter?

Alexa pursed her lips, angry with herself for letting her mother’s opinion interfere with her decision-making. She was turning thirty next year.

‘I . . .’

Alexa cursed inwardly. The image of her disapproving mother was distracting. But there was something else, deep inside her, knocking her thoughts off course. It was small, only partially formed, but Alexa knew instantly what it was.

‘I’m not familiar with the lads’ mag market,’ she said.

‘Just as you weren’t familiar with the over-fifties market,’ Peterson returned, pointedly.

The feeling swelled inside her. Alexa tried to suppress it. She recognised it from the first time she had sat in this room with the chief executive – the time he had asked her to take on the Hers re-launch. It was the buzz of the challenge. She could do little to quash it, this amorphous sensation at the back of her mind. Banter was one of Senate Media’s flagship brands. It was a household name. Licensed in seventeen countries and filled with the dirtiest smut that could be legally sold in supermarkets around the world – and some that couldn’t – the magazine had been a controversial hit for Senate since its launch nearly seven years ago. Unfortunately, though, this was one challenge she would have to turn down.

‘As I said,’ Peterson went on, uninterested in Alexa’s protest, ‘the project isn’t dissimilar to the one you’ve undertaken at Hers. The only difference is the severity.’

‘The severity of . . . what?’ Alexa knew that what she really ought to be doing was telling Peterson, politely, that she wasn’t interested in the role. But she was curious.

‘Banter’s circulation fell by a third this year. The audience isn’t buying magazines any more – or if they are, they’re buying a competitor’s.’ He shook his head. ‘And then there’s the legal costs.’

Alexa nodded. No explanation was required. Lawsuits against Banter were legendary. Nearly every week, Banter was served a writ by some celebrity objecting to a crude or racist joke in the magazine.

‘The truth of the matter – and please, don’t mention this outside these four walls – is that the Americans are looking to shut it down by the end of the year.’

‘What?’ Alexa stared. She hadn’t meant to speak, not until she had formulated her polite rejection of Peterson’s offer. But shut it down? Banter was one of Senate’s biggest brands.

Terry nodded, his smile wavering a little. ‘They’re looking to cut costs.’

‘Right.’ Alexa tried to hide her morbid fascination. She would have liked to see a copy of Banter’s financials, just to find out where they were going so badly wrong.

Peterson suddenly straightened up in his chair, looking at Alexa with a strangely breezy expression.

‘However! It’s not all doom and gloom. I’ve secured us a lifeline. If we can turn things around by the end of the financial year then we’re home and dry.’

We, noted Alexa. She hadn’t agreed to anything.

‘Mind you,’ he went on, ‘I had to agree to some fairly hefty year-end targets in order to get the Americans to agree.’

Alexa did some quick mental arithmetic. It was early July. Banter had until the end of April to hit its year-end targets. That was less than ten months. Re-launching Hers had taken over a year and that was just a magazine with a few online tools. Reviving Banter would involve websites, tablet editions, mobile apps . . . Alexa stopped herself. She was already thinking about the solutions. This wasn’t a project she would be working on.

‘Look,’ she said, meeting his eye. ‘I’m sure this would be a great opportunity for someone, but I’m not sure I’m the right person for the job.’

‘Ah.’ Peterson leaned forward, squinting jovially. ‘I know what you’re thinking. You’re young, you’re female and you’re worried that the staff won’t treat you with respect.’

Alexa hesitated. That wasn’t what she had been thinking at all.

‘I’ve come up with a solution that I think you’ll like.’

‘No, the thing is—’

‘Hear me out.’ The chief executive raised a warning finger. Alexa was reminded yet again that the smile was a veneer. ‘I think we should give you the title of managing director. That way, we won’t be treading on any toes but you’ll get the respect you deserve.’

Alexa frowned. Quite apart from the fact that she didn’t want to be discussing the politics of an office in which she had no plans to work, she couldn’t think of a single magazine that had a managing director at its helm. Magazines were run by editors.

‘How does that work?’ she asked, despite herself.

‘Derek Piggott has been acting editor for the past nine months,’ Peterson explained, so I suggest that we promote him to deputy editor and—’

‘Promote? Isn’t that a demotion?’

‘Well, strictly speaking. But I suggest we don’t make him editor in case he tries to pull rank. I’ve known Derek for years. He’s a good man, just a little . . . well, I’m sure you’ll be fine.’

Alexa wondered for a moment what Peterson meant, then stopped herself and leaned forward in the chair.

‘I’m sorry, but I think you need to look elsewhere for your managing director,’ she said, as clearly as she possibly could without risk of sounding condescending.

‘Alexa, I think you’re the right person for the job. I called you here today because I wanted to ask you to undertake the project.’

And because you need to fill the position as quickly as possible, thought Alexa, wondering how much of Peterson’s persuasion was down to his faith in her ability and how much was due to desperation.

‘You have the experience from your work at Hers and you understand digital . . . wireless . . . solutions.’

Alexa managed to refrain from laughing. Terry Peterson was not known for his technological know-how. Having worked in the magazine industry since the late eighties, he was very much a man of paper and ink. If the rumours were to be believed, his morning ritual involved his PA printing out the contents of his inbox, then Peterson replying to each email on pieces of paper for the PA to type up and send. Perhaps, thought Alexa, the chief executive’s aversion to new technology might be a factor in the decline in so many Senate brands.

‘That’s where the money is, these days,’ Peterson went on, his confidence sounding a little shaky. ‘You understand that. You did it for Hers. You can do it for Banter.’

Alexa nodded warily. There were so many reasons for not taking on the project. It involved undisclosed targets that even the CEO was describing as ‘hefty’, the timeframe seemed ludicrously short and what with this Derek character and Peterson’s managing director proposal, it sounded like a political minefield. But most of all, thought Alexa, seeing the image of her mother flash through her mind again, there was the fact that Banter was a porn magazine.

She held Peterson’s gaze, trying again to come up with a firm but polite rejection. As she opened her mouth to speak, she saw that Peterson’s expression had changed. He was smiling more intensely than ever, like a hypnotist defying his charge to disobey.

‘We’ll add twenty percent to your day rate.’

Alexa closed her mouth. After several more seconds of thought, she finally formulated her reply.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.