Don't Know What You've Got Till It's Gone

By Gemma Crisp

Nina Morey is back - with her glamorous life, a career on the rise - could life get any better?

After surviving a less-than-ideal start as a hot-shot editor in the competitive magazine industry, Nina Morey has picked herself up, shaken herself off and is back, ready to do deals with the devil in her job as editor of Juice, one of Australia's hottest weekly celebrity gossip magazines.

In the cut-throat world of weekly trash mags, Nina thrives on the adrenalin of out-bidding her rivals for scandalous photo sets, scoring exclusive rights to Australia's A-list weddings and having the most influential celebrity managers on speed-dial. But in her personal life, things aren't quite as glossy. Just as she's back on the single scene, all her friends start getting up the duff faster than you can say, 'Welcome to Nappy Valley'. While Nina spends her days managing her magazine's multi-million-dollar budget and stalking Kim Kardashian's every move, they're managing their miniscule maternity leave allowance and stalking their local daycare waiting list. Suddenly she feels like she's being rejected from a club she doesn't even want to join.

With a reality TV show in the works and a Facebook feed overflowing with endless baby updates, Nina heads to New York on an impromptu girls' trip to get away from it all - but little does she know that things are about to get a whole lot more complicated.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allen & Unwin
• Release date: Jan 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781743434956

Book preview

Gemma Crisp developed her love of books and magazines while growing up on a sheep farm in the middle of Tasmania in the prehistoric days before the internet. It wasn’t until she’d hit the bright lights of London some years later that she realised she could get paid to write about mascara, threesomes and celebrities (not necessarily all at once!). After acing her first magazine internship, thanks to being a photocopying and coffee-fetching ninja, Gemma moved to Sydney and has spent more than a decade working for some of Australia’s glossiest magazines, including New Woman, Girlfriend, OK!, Cosmopolitan Bride and NW. She popped her editorship cherry at teen bible DOLLY, then moved to the editor’s chair at CLEO, where she spent her days fending off wannabe Eligible Bachelors, wrangling celebrity publicists and attempting to craft the perfect coverline. Gemma is now based in London again, where she’s trying not to buy Topshop out of shoes. You can find her on Twitter and Instagram at @theshowpony.

GEMMA

CRISP

9781743434956txt_0003_001

First published in 2014

Copyright © Gemma Crisp 2014

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin

83 Alexander Street

Crows Nest NSW 2065

Australia

Phone:   [phone]

Email:    [e-mail]

Web:       www.allenandunwin.com

Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available from the

National Library of Australia

www.trove.nla.gov.au

ISBN 978 1 74331 718 1

eISBN 978 1 74343 495 6

Typeset in 12.5/18.5pt Joanna MT Std by Bookhouse, Sydney

For Dottie and Joan –

wish you were here

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Twenty-eight

Twenty-nine

Acknowledgements

one

‘I’m sorry, you said how much?’

Nina tried not to strangle herself with the phone cord as Sam, a celebrity manager with some of Australia’s biggest stars on his books, repeated the eye-wateringly large figure. She knew the fee for the exclusive magazine rights to Lulu Hopkins and Jason Dell’s wedding would be sky-high, but even so she was surprised by the amount Sam had just named. There was no denying Lulu was Australia’s sweetheart, the girl-next-door best known for her glossy mane and killer body who spruiked everything from lingerie to vitamins, but her long-term boyfriend Jason was pretty much a zero on the celebrity scale, despite his previous attempts to hitch a ride to Showbiz Town on the back of Lulu’s popularity train. It wasn’t like Sam was brokering the rights for Brangelina’s wedding, so why on earth was he racking up the price so much?

‘Hmmm, I see,’ Nina said coolly, invoking the first rule of negotiating an exclusive celebrity story – never let them get a whiff of how keen you were. ‘And would that fee include the exclusive engagement reveal, plus a follow-up honeymoon story?’ She crossed her fingers – if she could squeeze three cover stories out of Sam, maybe her finance manager would approve his astronomical asking price.

‘Nice try, Nina, but no cigar. We’ve already negotiated the sale of the engagement story with another magazine which hits the stands next week, but Lulu wants to share the love around – you know she doesn’t like to play favourites,’ Sam said, somewhat unconvincingly. It was well-known in celebrity magazine circles that the reason Lulu liked to share the love around was because creating a bidding war between Juice, the magazine Nina edited, and its rivals meant more money for her already-hefty bank account. And with Sam taking a healthy cut of every deal he brokered on Lulu’s behalf, he wasn’t going to argue.

Nina decided to play along. ‘I’m not going to lie to you, Sam – of course we’re absolutely thrilled and flattered that Lulu wants Juice to cover her wedding to Jason later this year –’ her tone was all sweetness and light ‘– but if the surprise engagement story has already been sold to one of our rivals and there aren’t any added extras like a honeymoon follow-up story, then to be frank, I’m going to struggle to get your asking price signed off by the Big Cheeses. Of course, I’ll do everything I can to –’

‘Nina, you know full well that Lulu is cover gold,’ Sam interrupted her. ‘Your readers love her and, let me tell you, this wedding is going to be SPEC. TAC. U. LAR. Plus she’ll be inviting all her celeb mates, so it won’t just be pictures of random family members looking awkward. It’s the celebrity wedding of the year; you’d be crazy to let this go.’

‘Oh, Sam, if it was up to me, I would autograph the contract right this minute, but you know what these finance people are like!’ Nina squeezed out a fake laugh – blaming the bean counters was one of her many bargaining tools. As the editor of Australia’s hottest weekly celebrity magazine, it was essential that she maintained a cosy relationship with the people who repped the variety of media personalities her readers couldn’t get enough of. It wouldn’t be a particularly good idea to tell Sam the truth: that his asking fee was completely overpriced for a wedding in which only half the couple was famous; better to blame it on the nameless, faceless accounts department and hope he agreed to drop his original asking price to lock in the sale.

‘Look, it goes without saying we have interest from the other weekly mags, but Lulu really wants to do this with Juice, so have a chat with your finance people and let me know, okay? Call me when you know what’s what.’

Nina sighed as Sam hung up – he was obviously pissed that she hadn’t fallen all over herself to lock the exclusive in then and there, but the days of magazines blowing that kind of money on one issue were long gone. She’d have to make sure she buttered him up by taking him to Chiswick, his favourite restaurant, the next time they went on one of their power lunches where every course was doused in a heavy layer of schmooze.

Since becoming the boss lady of Juice, Nina had worked hard to develop a good rapport with the most important celebrity managers in Australia’s entertainment industry. She wasn’t stupid – she was fully aware that her first stab as a magazine editor had left her reputation in tatters – so she set about proving to people that she meant business in ways she knew would work: take them out to the best restaurants in town, lay her cards on the table, lock in an exclusive with their client, get her staff to treat the celebrity like the Second Coming during the interview and photo shoot, make sure she put in a personal appearance at the shoot to make the talent and manager feel special, then follow it up with some impressive sales figures.

Staring out her office window at the afternoon storm clouds gathering over Sydney Harbour, Nina rewound the events of the past eighteen months in her crazy life and pressed play. After humiliating herself via a very public meltdown on live TV that had been helped along by the nasty drinking problem she’d developed to cope with the stress of working under her heinous crime of a boss, she’d quit her job as editor of the monthly women’s magazine Candy. She had assumed her days of editing a magazine were over, with a capital obvious. At that stage, she was past caring – she’d been so miserable at Candy she’d decided that being top dog at a magazine wasn’t necessarily the prescription for happiness she’d thought it would be. After all, not everyone was cut out to be an editor – surely it was better to acknowledge and accept it rather than trying to hop back on a glossy show pony that didn’t want you in the saddle.

But after six months of drying out, clearing all the debris from her head and getting her life back under control, she was surprised to get an email from Kat, a former boss with whom she’d always got on well, asking if she was interested in a short-term stint as deputy editor while Kat’s second-in-command was on maternity leave. Although Nina was worried about stepping back into MagLand after it had all gone so horribly wrong, she knew this could be the first and last opportunity she’d ever have to give it another crack. She’d figured as deputy editor, the stress levels wouldn’t be as stratospheric, and she knew Kat wasn’t a bitch of a boss. Plus the role was on a celebrity weekly title, which would be something completely different. If Nina was honest with herself, she had to admit she missed the buzz, missed being part of a team, missed the satisfaction of seeing people on the train reading a copy of the latest issue of a magazine she had helped to create. What had she got to lose? She was fully aware that all the staff would have heard about the messy end of her time at Candy, but she’d just have to deal with the raised eyebrows and surreptitious stares when she got there. So she bit the bullet and said yes – and had been surprised at just how much she loved it and how easily she had slotted into the world of gratuitous gossip, red-carpet rundowns and juicy scandals. So much so that when the editorship of Juice came up just as she was about to finish her six-month contract with Kat, she’d decided what the hell, had stuck her hand up and waved it in the air until the HR department couldn’t ignore her any longer, then proceeded to own the interview process like a boss. With the help of a glowing reference from Kat, an impressive presentation detailing all the changes she would make to Juice to boost its circulation, some searingly honest answers about her demise at Candy and an understanding publisher who just happened to have a substance-abuse problem buried in his own past and who knew the importance of not judging people on past mistakes, she’d killed it.

But it hadn’t been all rainbows and lollipops – returning to the magazine industry meant she’d also signed the death notice on her relationship with her long-term boyfriend Jeremy, who had been by her side through all the struggles at Candy. He couldn’t understand why she would want to return to the world that had almost destroyed her and she couldn’t really blame him – it had been tough for him to watch her spiral out of control and then have to pick up the pieces afterwards. But he didn’t get how much she missed working in that world, the only world where she’d felt like she belonged, before things had taken a wrong turn. The end of their relationship was devastating for both of them, but deep down Nina had known it was the right thing to do. She needed to channel all her energy into Juice so she could prove the doubters wrong, and the less distractions the better. If she stuffed this up, she knew there wouldn’t be another chance.

A brief knock on the open door of her office interrupted Nina’s trawl through her memory bank. Layla, Juice’s photo editor, hovered in the doorway looking like she’d just swallowed a twenty-four-karat canary.

‘Hey, what’s up?’ Nina asked. ‘Did we score that set of Beyoncé and Blue Ivy that you showed me this morning? I’m thinking it could make a good cover splash seeing nothing else seems to be happening in celeb world this week.’ It was one of the many challenges of putting out fifty-two magazines a year based entirely around celebrity gossip – when a scandal broke or it was awards season, deciding on the main item for the cover was dead easy. But when there were tumbleweeds rolling through the celebrity gossip universe, every weekly editor prayed for a big story to break just before their print deadline. Or failing that, the release of an exclusive set of paparazzi photos featuring a brand-spanking-new A-list couple or a brand-spanking-new A-list baby or, better still, a brand-spanking-new A-list couple with a brand-spanking-new baby they’d just adopted on a whim, despite only having dated for a week. The more ridiculous the story, the better – that way, punters who thought it was crazy would buy the magazine so they could hate on the celebrities involved, while those who loved the celebs would buy it so they could soak up all the juicy details. Nina knew it was an absurd, sensationalist world, but if that’s what it took to sell truckloads of magazines, who was she to argue?

‘Yep, we got that set with no dramas; the high-res images are saved in this week’s folder on the server. But something else has just come through from one of the picture agencies that I think you should see.’

‘What? What is it? Is it good or bad?’ Nina shot past the editorial assistant’s desk outside her office, down the path in the middle of the open-plan space, then through the art department to Layla’s desk and waited impatiently for her to catch up.

‘I don’t know – have a look and tell me what you think.’ Layla clicked onto their file transfer site, entered her log-in details then scrolled through the endless folders from the paparazzi agencies until she found what she was looking for. Nina held her breath as several images opened up on the computer screen.

‘Oh, it’s our good friend Lulu Hopkins – funny, I was on the phone to her manager just before. So a pap has caught her having lunch with someone in . . . where does the caption say they are? It doesn’t look like one of her usual sceney, look-at-me haunts.’

‘It’s a random cafe in Cronulla,’ Layla confirmed. ‘The caption says the other woman is her grandmother, but that’s not the interesting bit – check out her hand.’

As Layla zoomed in on the image, Nina felt like giving her the high five to end all high fives. Although the shots were grainy, probably taken with a long lens at least five hundred metres away and through a cafe window to boot, there was no mistaking the whopping great big boulder of a diamond ring weighing down the third finger of Lulu’s left hand.

‘Layla, this is amazing! What would I do without your eagle eyes? Has bidding started on this set yet?’

‘Nope. And the starting price isn’t that high either, which makes me wonder if anyone else has noticed the ring – if Lulu and Jason are engaged, surely this is major news?’

‘Oh, it’s major news alright – and just between you and me, they’ve sold the exclusive engagement story to one of the other weeklies. It won’t be on sale till next week . . . which means we can snap up this set and do a huge spoiler when we go on sale this Friday!’ Nina was tempted to punch the air in celebration. ‘Quick, get on the phone and get that set off the market before anyone else notices the rock. What an idiot, I can’t believe she’s wearing it! Surely whoever got the exclusive put a clause in the contract saying she’s not allowed to be seen with it in public until the issue is on sale!’

‘I guess if the old duck is her grandma, she wanted to show it off to her. But yeah, it’s a pretty stupid move on her part.’ Layla called out to her assistant, ‘Annie, can you call Spook Photos and get the new Lulu set off the market ASAP?’ She began saving the watermarked images into the art department’s folder so they could start mocking up the page design. ‘But don’t appear too desperate,’ she added, ‘otherwise they’ll wonder what all the fuss is about. We don’t want them to realise they’re sitting on a potential goldmine until it’s too late.’

Nina hovered behind Annie’s desk as she placed the call. She would have given good money to be a fly on the wall when the staff of the other weekly – probably Bizarre, she guessed – feasted their eyes on her spoiler cover and realised the sound they could hear was the gurgle of the money they’d spent on the engagement exclusive going down the drain. Nina almost purred with satisfaction at the mental image.

But then . . . there was no denying this was a risk – a BIG risk. Sam would have a coronary when he saw the cover on Friday morning. He’d be screaming down the phone before she’d even peeled open an eyelid. And if she went ahead with it, she could kiss goodbye the offer of the wedding deal, not to mention any other exclusive stories with Lulu for at least the next decade.

‘But it’s the silly bint’s fault for being stupid enough to wear the goddamn ring in public before the news is official,’ she rationalised to herself. Then again, was she cutting off her nose to spite her face? This would ruin her relationship with Sam; he wouldn’t let her near any of his other celebs, let alone Lulu. Surely there was a way she could use these photos as leverage . . .

As Annie confirmed the sale and hung up, a devious idea popped into Nina’s head. She sprinted back to her office as fast as her rose-gold leather pencil skirt would let her, slammed the door closed and dialled Sam’s mobile.

‘Sam? Hi, it’s Nina from Juice. No, I haven’t made a decision about the wedding exclusive yet, but I thought you might want to know about a set of pictures we just bought. Yes, of Lulu. In Cronulla. WEARING . . . HER . . . ENGAGEMENT . . . RING. No, I’m not bullshitting you. I can email you one of the photos as proof.’ Nina smiled when she heard his sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone. ‘Now, I know that you know she shouldn’t be wearing the ring in public before Bizarre or whoever goes on sale next week, so it’s lucky for you that my picture editor spotted it and took the set off the market before another magazine could get their grubby paws on it.’ Nina paused, enjoying herself immensely. ‘I have to say, these photos would make a great cover for my issue that’s out on Friday. But you know what, Sam? I wouldn’t want to do that to you. So let’s talk turkey – in return for me killing this picture set of Lulu waving her rock around for everyone and their blind granny to see, you drop the price of Lulu and Jason’s wedding exclusive by at least twenty per cent. Oh, one more thing – because I’m being so nice to you by sacrificing a cover we both know would go bananas at the newsstand, I think you should throw in a follow-up honeymoon story, too. What do you say?’

Ten minutes later, after much spluttering on Sam’s end, the deal was done. Looking out at the rapidly darkening Sydney skyline, Nina smiled. ‘Good job, Morey,’ she thought, giving herself a figurative pat on the back.

two

Rushing into the restaurant, Nina scanned the room for Heidi’s gleaming red hair. Spotting her friend at the bar, she charged over and slid onto the adjacent free stool, just as the barman pushed a lethal-looking pineapple and mint margarita towards Heidi, accompanied by a not-so-subtle wink that was heavy on the innuendo. Nina furtively scrutinised him: on the short side, with slicked-back blond hair pulled into a stubby ponytail and eyes the colour of the infinity pool at the resort where Nina had stayed during a press trip to Fiji the year before. ‘Definitely her type,’ she thought, ordering a large bottle of sparkling water and ignoring Heidi’s disappointed gaze.

‘Sorry I’m late. Whaaat? Quit giving me that look of yours, missy – you know I don’t drink during the week,’ Nina said firmly.

Having finally admitted she had a drinking problem when she’d quit Candy, Nina had attended a few Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, but found them to be more irritating than helpful. She’d replaced them with a weekly appointment with a substance-abuse counsellor who had helped her to understand that she’d been using