The Boys' Club Read Online Free PDF Page B

forefinger before raising the glass to his bulbous,
hairy snout to inhale its aroma at length. Rosie was reminded of a
documentary she had once seen on the Discovery Channel about
truffle pigs. Finally, after much swishing and another long inhale,
Keith took a deep gulp, deeming the wine acceptable with a quiet tilt
of his enormous noggin.
    'I hope you like red,' he said, ''cause if you don't you can get your
own fucking drink.'
    'I fucking love it,' Rosie said, grabbing at her glass and gulping way
too big a mouthful.
    Keith smiled. Well, Rosie thought she saw his lips curl, at least.
    'You are ballsy, I'll give you that,' the Big Man said, taking another
sip. 'I like a sheila with gonads.'
    This time the smile was genuine, so Rosie smiled back.
    'I think I like you,' Keith said. 'Who are you again? No, before you
answer that, you'd better tell me you have a cigarette.'
    'I am Rose Lang, Mr Norman, and I am so happy you smoke.'
And with that, Rosie believed a friendship was born.
    The following day, Mae put a call through from Keith telling Rosie
he wanted her as his right-hand woman heading up the network's
publicity and public relations department. Looking back, Rosie
realised this phone call was not just the start of a new relationship; it
was also the end of her marriage.

CHAPTER 5
    By the time Rosie had dropped Leon off at her mother's and arrived
at the network – aka the Death Star, as the imposing grey concrete
compound on the outskirts of Sydney's CBD was also known – Rosie
was acutely aware that she was twenty minutes late. This meant she
had saved herself twenty minutes of pure hell, though she doubted
Big Keith would see it that way.
    A man who was uncomfortable around people in general, Keith
was certainly going to hate every second he had to spend with the
other network heads and their coteries of executives attending the
Kennedy Awards meeting without Rosie there to smooth feathers.
It was unusual to have the enemies so close, she reflected, running
towards the fifth floor lift, hoping the slow-moving cage wasn't stuck
as usual. In her first stroke of luck for the day, the doors were still
slowly closing.
    'Hold the door,' she yelled aggressively, as if hailing a New York
cab in a snowstorm. 'Thanks for that,' she bellowed again, just steps
away, but when she saw who was holding down the open button, she
instantly wished she hadn't bothered. It was Bettina Arthur from
Tang.Inc head office, her thin lips pursed in a smile that was more of
a constipated grimace.
    'Bettina, thank you so much,' Rosie said, trying not to look as
frazzled as she felt. 'I got stuck with a journo from the National and
then the traffic was—'
    'Good morning, Rose. May I ask, what time is the Kennedy
Awards meeting?' Bettina interrupted coolly, looking down at her
elegant Cartier Tank watch, the model Rosie had always fancied for
herself.
    'It's supposed to be eight-thirty but these things never start till
nine,' Rosie replied nervously.
    'Just as well then,' Bettina said, readjusting her watch, clearly
rubbing Rosie's nose in her tardiness.
    'The Kennedys meetings are always interesting. You know they
were named after Graham Kennedy, the comedy legend?' Rosie
continued, aware she was babbling inanely. It was just that this
woman threw her with her chilly superiority.
    'Yes, Rose, I am aware of the name's origins.'
    As the two women spent the rest of the excruciatingly long,
creaking journey up five floors in silence, Rosie observed how
impeccably turned out Bettina was. Her suit was the kind of dark
navy synonymous with Armani, set off by the softest nude pink
blouse that tied gently at her throat. Her jet-black hair was pulled
tightly off her face into a neat bun that hung low on the nape of her
extraordinarily long neck. Her shoes were conservative yet elegant –
Rosie guessed Vuitton or Hermès – and looked almost brand new in
comparison to Rosie's suede pumps, which she now noticed sported
a telltale scuff at the toe. In