I Dare You: By Rachael Morgan

By Rachael Morgan

Twenty nine year old Charlotte Baker is single and an unemployed journalist desperate to land her dream job at The Westerly; Perth's number one newspaper. After a run of mishaps and a misunderstanding that her pet dachshund George is actually a two month old baby, she finds herself not interviewing for the newspaper but its sister s

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dandelion Press
• Release date: May 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9780648328407

Rachael Morgan

Rachael Morgan grew up in regional Western Australia. In her past life she travelled the globe extensively, settling in some places long enough to teach. Returning to Australia from living in Cambridge and finding herself missing the glorious wet weather, long summer days and hues of green fields, she settled in Melbourne; in her mind a distant cousin of London, but the cider is just as good. Rachael also writes for Amateur Theatre and is published with Lazy Bee Scripts, London.

Book preview

For Brooke.

May the world never run out of Baileys

and may we never run out of conversation.

Thank you for always being there.

Title page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the author

Chapter 1

‘Don’t stop. No one needs to get off or on. Please let me get to my interview on time.’ Charlotte Baker silently pleaded with the bus slash rally car driver and his passengers as the packed bus sped over potholes along St George’s Terrace into the heart of the city. Hugging her portfolio to her chest, Charlotte bounced around with the rest of the passengers. She made a mental note to email the Lord Mayor of Perth to complain about the state of the roads. Or, she could just pitch it as a story; if she ever made it on time to her interview. She glanced at her phone every few seconds checking the time which only made her eyes look as though she was suffering some sort of fit. There were exactly five minutes left to get uptown to the Roman & Fields building.

For six years Charlotte had been a vital journalist at the Greenwich Gazette. In fact, she was one of only two journalists for the suburban paper. She’d reported on local events and had won the West Australian Journalism Award or WAJA as it was commonly known. It was for a piece on the endangerment of native fauna and flora due to tourism. After the award, her editor had promoted her with a personal column; on top of her usual story requirements. Her boss called it a promotion, but Charlotte knew what it really meant considering her salary itself never promoted. Although she loved her column, it was still a small paper and a stepping stone. And at the very least Senior Journalist and Columnist looked great on her resume.

However, her sights were and always had been set higher. Charlotte’s aim was the largest newspaper in Western Australia; The Westerly. When she’d heard on the wire a position had opened in Features, Charlotte felt destiny calling. This was it. Her chance to shine.

The bus pulled up to a red light. Charlotte’s eyes flicked to her watch then up to the light. ‘No, no, no!’ She tried a yoga breathing technique by inhaling through her nose for four counts and exhaling for six. Her mind raced to that morning’s events that had made her so late. George, the tan coloured dachshund she’d received for her birthday from her younger brother Daniel, was sick. When he’d passed the puppy to her, she was sure it had been a joke as she had never been much of a pet person and Daniel loved to play pranks. Apparently, this wasn’t one. Some bloke had been handing out the puppies in the alley behind the bar Daniel and his band had been playing at. Daniel, high on applause and a few drinks in, thought a dog would make a great gift for his older sister and so, Charlotte became the brand new owner of a puppy with no return receipt.

Despite her best efforts, George seemed to be having a hard time adjusting to his new surroundings and hadn’t been eating. It wasn’t that Charlotte disliked the warm furry bundle that suddenly occupied ninety percent of her time, it was the fact that he occupied ninety percent of her time, and as someone trying to focus on a writing career, focus elsewhere made her job that much harder. Charlotte had told herself she was doing her hardest; George needed a loving home and she would do the best she could by him.

Although, Charlotte’s best wasn’t really ‘best’, more like winging it. A bit of trial and error really, as it turned out that puppies weren’t particularly fond of crackers and cheese as she’d discovered after a trip to the vet. Charlotte had arrived home laden with George (glad to have not been abandoned at the vet’s...though there was cause for concern and a mild warning to call the RSPCA if she didn’t start feeding him correctly) and enough puppy products to open a pet store. In spite of a renewed understanding of her fur baby (a term she found online for people who have a pet in lieu of children), George still seemed unhappy and his whimpering and toilet breaks continued to keep Charlotte up at night. In the end she’d taken to sleeping on the couch, with George on her lap. He preferred to snuggle up under her neck, and it didn’t matter how much Charlotte moved him away she always woke with a furry neck pillow.

The next morning as she dressed for the interview, George, who despite Charlotte’s accidental initial neglect thought she was the sun; following her everywhere, had made his way into her washing basket relieving himself over her newly cleaned underwear.

‘George, no!’ Was all she could cry as she scooped the scared pup out of the basket. Sighing mournfully at the state of her washing, she wouldn’t have cared very much if she hadn’t been so lazy recently that every single pair of underwear was in that basket. Charlotte had gingerly fingered through the washing to find a pair that could be salvaged. Not one pair had gone unscathed. Drawing in a deep breath, Charlotte racked her brain for a solution. The one that came to her wasn’t what she had in mind, but it would have to do. She ran to her mum’s room, snatching a pair of undies from her draw. Charlotte wasn’t proud of this moment and they were a little too big. She knew she ran the risk of them falling down as she walked. It was a tough decision, but she didn’t plan on going commando.

The light changed to green and the bus started off again with a jolt and a grunt. Charlotte checked her phone. Three minutes left. She could feel her heart thumping through her jacket and pulsating in her throat. She couldn’t be late. Sweaty palm marks glistened the black plastic portfolio containing her best articles. Suddenly the bus jerked as it hit another pothole. An older lady lurched forward in her seat and was caught by another woman. These roads really were terrible.

The other passengers must have heard her silent prayer to stay still. No one had pressed the bell, and no one signalled from the bus stops outside since the light change. As the top of St George’s Terrace came into view, Charlotte stood up from her seat, ready to disembark and discretely rearranged the underwear through her skirt, sheltered by the portfolio. She pressed the bell, beginning to feel hopeful. The ‘bus stopping’ sign at the front of the bus lit up to alert the driver. Charlotte waited for the driver to down gear, but the bus continued struggling up the hill. She considered that maybe the driver needed to push the bus up the hill before he could down gear. But as the bus approached her stop and momentum only increased, Charlotte’s hope turned to panic. Her stop would be missed. Her thoughts turned to fear. Maybe the other passengers had wanted to get off but the driver didn’t notice?! We are all trapped! She pressed the bell again, harder this time and waited for the ‘ding’, but the sound never came. She pressed it again, and again and again. Frustrated and running out of time, Charlotte carefully maneuvered her way towards the front of the bus focussed on the driver, ‘Stop the bus!’ 

The driver glanced up at her through the rear vision mirror. ‘Please!’ She urged as she watched the driver register her request, lurching the bus almost into the curb. The sudden movement jolted every passenger forward. Charlotte was flung across the aisle into the arms of a well pierced teenager carrying a skateboard. As her elbow hit the board she winced. The teen held her a moment then nodded eagerly with raised eyebrows and a grin as he peered down her silk blouse, ‘Hey girl, sup?’

Charlotte quickly stood embarrassed, with her portfolio covering her chest she could feel the knickers slipping down her hips. Not wanting to give this boy a show she squeezed her legs together and rubbed her elbow. ‘Not much. Thanks for um, catching me.’

‘Is a’eight. Y’can makit up t’me?’ He winked suggestively.

Charlotte wondered for a split second if the youth had a speech problem then realised he was simply another youth raised without want for education. Perhaps that could be her next pitch? She shook her head politely to the teen. ‘No.’ She made her way off the bus, hurrying the final twenty metres to the building down the hill. ‘Bloody stupid shoes!’ In that moment, Charlotte made the decision that the navy blue four inch heels she wore weren’t made for distances, only standing and looking pretty as she’d done at the Ascot racing carnival last October. Charlotte had stood and watched the horses as she drank champagne with Anna. It was her best friend Anna’s boyfriend Zach that did all the running around, placing bets and buying drinks. Normally on assignment at the Greenwich Gazette she wore flats and other sensible heels but today, for her dream job, she wanted to be that person who dressed for the job they want not the job they have. Charlotte’s calves began to ache as sharp pain shot through her shins. She cursed herself; wincing at her choice of shoes and decision to borrow her mum’s undies. Charlotte pushed through the pain and hiked up the knickers. She tried not to care about shin splints, she just wanted that job. Though she did care about the knickers falling down half way through the interview. She placed a firm hand on her hip to hold them in place whilst gripping the portfolio and her handbag sat in the crook of her elbow. All in all, she resembled a lopsided teapot.

Journalism jobs were few and far between in Perth with a population of 1.8 million. Most of Charlotte’s graduating class had either taken cadetships in rural cities and towns or chased down higher paying careers on the east coast of the country where opportunities were more readily accessible. She thought that one day she’d end up in Sydney or Melbourne, but for now she was climbing the West Australian ladder. Suddenly, she felt the knickers slip down her bottom which cut short her stride. She realised she’d only been holding her skirt in place. ‘Bugger, shit!’ The building was only a few metres away now. Spying her target, she just had to get in there and she could rearrange herself.

Charlotte quickened her pace as the knickers slipped further down. Trying to walk with your thighs together is not a particularly encouraged move. Charlotte’s feet began losing control of their step and as she reached to secure the knickers at her bum with a firm hand as a gust of wind whipped her ash blonde hair about her face blocking her vision. Again, she cursed her third bad idea for the morning to not tie up her hair. Pushing aside her long fringe she checked her phone. There was exactly one minute and forty six seconds to get to the 10th floor.  ‘Oomph!’ Her legs had given way in pain and Charlotte fell head on into something. Or someone. Strong arms steadied her. Charlotte’s eyes wandered along and upwards until she reached an almost amused face.

‘Well, looks like you’re in a hurry. You should slow down, or you could really hurt yourself.’ In a split second Charlotte took in the tall man before her. His toned frame was wrapped in a charcoal suit. Perfectly shaped thick cocoa coloured hair begged to have a hand run through it and to Charlotte’s dismay, aviator sunglasses covered his eyes. A surge of electricity shot throughout her body as she observed him. She knew she had to go but suddenly her only thought was I wonder what colour his eyes are. She considered pulling the glasses down. A loud beep snapped her out of the moment. ‘My alarm! Oh my god! I’m so, so late!’ Charlotte gave the man an apologetic smile and a quick dismissive ‘Sorry!’ As she broke into a run, or gallop considering her heels; her shins splitting with each stride and knickers slipping further down. Dashing through the revolving office doors to the elevator she began an affirmation. ‘I’ll make it. I’ll make it.’ But it was at that precise moment that she strode to the open elevator doors that the knickers slipped to her knees. Charlotte hopped inside the empty elevator repeatedly punching the ‘close door’ button before anyone else joined her. As the heavy doors shut Charlotte dropped every-thing, hitching the knickers back up and attempting to tie a twist in the side which tightened them. ‘That should do.’ Satisfied, Charlotte begged the universe there were no more awkward clothing malfunctions. As the elevator whisked its way to the 10th floor with no interruptions she sighed gratefully. She must have caught the express. She gathered her purse, portfolio and her breath, whilst wiping her sticky palms down the side of her black pencil skirt. Under each brush of her palm against her hip she could feel the knotted knickers. Charlotte felt as self-conscious as though she was carrying two thousand dollars in her purse. To try to take her mind off the situation, she sniffed her suit jacket. ‘Hmm questionable.’ Out of her purse she pulled an atomiser of perfume spritzing a few squirts over her clothes. By the time the elevator doors opened, she’d just reapplied an-other coat of lip gloss and had just finished composing herself. Charlotte took in a deep breath as she stepped out of the elevator, walking towards the reception desk.

The receptionist, a bubbly looking woman in her early thirties with a mass of long blonde curls and red framed glasses greeted her. ‘Good morning, how can I help you?’

Charlotte smiled. ‘Good morning. My name is Charlotte Baker. I am here for an interview with Mr Skerritt.’

The receptionist tapped her keyboard. ‘Okay. Just a moment.’ She scanned the computer screen before looking up at Charlotte. ‘Your interview was scheduled for 11:15.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Charlotte gripped the handle of her bag.

The receptionist tapped the computer screen with the end of a pencil. ‘Well it’s 11:18 now. I’m afraid you’ve missed it.’

Charlotte’s eyes widened. ‘No that can’t be. It says here on my phone 11:15. I’ve just made it.’ Charlotte looked at her phone. It was 11:18am. ‘No. No, I swear I made it on time...into the building.’ She sighed and continued, half talking to herself, not caring if the receptionist was listening or not. ‘It’s not my fault really. I slept in but only because I had a horrible night. George cried almost the whole night. He’s so little, and he’s refusing to eat, and I don’t know what to do.’ She sighed, ‘I really wanted, no, I needed this job.’ The receptionist looked at Charlotte sympathetically. She saw the pleading in Charlotte’s eyes.

‘How old is he?’

Charlotte looked to the receptionist. She hadn’t really expected her to be listening. ‘Um,’ Charlotte quickly remembered what the vet had said, ‘Two. Two months.’

The receptionist gave Charlotte a questioning look. ‘Really? And you’re working so soon? He’s still quite young.’

Charlotte thought it was a strange question but under the circumstances she didn’t ponder on it. ‘I’ve already put my notice in at my other paper, I have to pay the bills somehow. I wasn’t expecting him at all. He was a surprise.’ Charlotte thought back to her wet underwear. ‘He’s little, but trust me he makes his presence known that’s for sure.’ She paused. ‘I’m just really keen to work. My articles are good, I’ve even won awards,’ she corrected herself, ‘an award. Are you sure there isn’t another available time? I’m sorry I missed the interview, I really am. I just think I’m a perfect fit here.’ She leant over to the receptionist whispering, ‘This is my dream job.’

The receptionist gave an apologetic look. ‘I am so sorry, but they are only interviewing this morning. I understand what it’s like with a little one, I have three. It’s hard getting to work or anywhere on time.’

Charlotte raised her eyebrows, the receptionist had three puppies? ‘You must be at your wits end!’

The receptionist chuckled, ‘You have no idea. Well, you will.’ She winked holding up her index finger. ‘I don’t mean to pry, but are you going it alone?’

Charlotte was surprised, ‘Well, I have my mum and I suppose my brother.’ For some reason Charlotte felt the need to justify why she had extra help with George. ‘Actually, they both live with me, ever since mum’s divorce three years ago. It’s nice having her around I guess, but Daniel gave up his university placement in lieu of starting a band and working at a hipster café. He lives in my garage. It’s all his fault really, but I won’t get into that.’

The receptionist smiled a mixture of confusion and sympathy, ‘At least you have them for support hey? Sorry to make the assumption though. You should never assume Sandra,’ she giggled, whispering ‘that’s me,’ and continued on, ‘my husband is always saying to me. But sometimes, you just know. I feel for you, I really do.’ She picked up the phone dialling. ‘Just give me one minute, I may be able to help somehow.’ Charlotte hoped she was calling Mr Skerritt as it seemed the receptionist had taken pity on her. As she waited, she pondered on what the receptionist had said. Charlotte didn’t realise being single was such an obvious thing, but she decided quickly it must have been her lack of ring. Then her mind flipped, and she also decided it was a very nosy and judgmental question and what did that have to do with an interview? Then again, if it got her the interview she would stay single.

Sandra looked up gesturing to Charlotte, ‘Would you mind taking a seat? I won’t be a minute.’ Charlotte nodded politely walking over to the waiting area, sighing as she sat. She hoped the receptionist could help her out somehow even if it meant enduring a little judgment. Perhaps Mr Skerritt would make an exception and reschedule the interview? The receptionist, whose name Charlotte had already forgotten seemed really friendly and into pets. Did she say she had two or three? She wondered if they were cats or dogs. Or both. That would be a handful. Glancing over to the receptionist as she continued speaking quietly into the phone Charlotte wondered how much longer she’d be in suspense. Finally, after what felt like an hour instead of two minutes, the receptionist ended the call waving Charlotte over. ‘Sorry about that, he can talk.’ Charlotte laughed nervously at the comment waiting for the good news. ‘Unfortunately, I can’t reschedule your interview.’

‘Oh.’ Charlotte’s last hope dried up and she sank a little into the desk. ‘I understand. I was late. Thank you for trying.’ Charlotte stood and turned away. That was it. She’d have to free-lance, until another job became available. She cursed herself for the umpteenth time that morning. She should never have quit the gazette before securing another job. Suddenly her head went into overload. She’d have to move interstate. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a possibility. Maybe one of her old classmates knew of jobs going. Charlotte began walking towards the elevator.

The receptionist looked puzzled. ‘Where are you going?’ Charlotte shrugged, questioning the receptionist’s motive. Per-haps she wanted to talk about pets, but Charlotte really didn’t feel like it. She just wanted to get home and put on new knickers. ‘I just got off the phone with the Editor-in-Chief of Dare magazine. Have you heard of it?’

Charlotte raised her eyebrows unsure where this conversation was going. Wasn’t she supposed to be speaking with HR? ‘Dare? Of course. It’s the magazine owned by Roman & Fields, run in conjunction to The Westerly. I’ve read it a few times. Not bad. Very good feature articles.’

‘Well, I’m glad you feel that way. They’ve been looking to hire, so far mainly internal. I was supposed to put out a job advertisement today for a new opportunity that’s come up. I just called and asked if they’d be interested in seeing you. Seems like your unlucky day just turned around.’

‘Really?’ Charlotte suddenly felt a glimmer of hope creep back into her mind. This couldn’t be happening, could it?

‘Yes. I just got you an interview. It’s in twenty minutes. You’ll need to head down to the 8th floor.’

Charlotte couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Are you serious? You got me an interview?! But you don’t even know me! Thank you so, so much!’ Charlotte could have kissed this woman. She began to walk towards the elevator then stopped and turned. ‘I’m sorry, what is your name?’

‘Sandra.’

Charlotte beamed. ‘Well, Sandra, I could hug you. Thank you again!’

‘You’re welcome Charlotte. When you get the job come up and say hello sometime.’

*

Charlotte held out her hand to meet the hand of Jules Carmichael, Dare’s Editor-in-Chief. His smile was as warm and welcoming as his clothes were bright. Charlotte liked him immediately. ‘Welcome Charlotte Baker to Dare. I’m sorry to hear about your interview upstairs. But between you and me, it’s so boring up there!’ He was short, bald and wore thick horn-rimmed glasses. As Jules led them both to his office, Charlotte admired his bold outfit; maroon jeans and a patterned jacket. ‘A bunch of tired old journos in drab grey suits writing about politics and misery. The clothes match the atmosphere up there.’ Jules gave her the once over, ‘and you certainly don’t look boring. Their loss is our gain. I think you belong where the fun is, don’t you?’

Charlotte felt a smile creep to her lips. Was Jules basically giving her a job? It certainly sounded that way. ‘I guess. I mean yes.’ Jules gestured for her to sit with the flick of a wrist and almost automatically she did. More than wanting this job something told her Jules was worth pleasing and would make an excellent ally.

‘So, your portfolio?’ Jules motioned to look at it with two eager hands as if he were a child greedily reaching out for a toy. Picking the file up from the side of her chair Charlotte passed it over to Jules who flicked through the sleeves, skim reading articles. ‘You’ve certainly got a good style. Flows well, a bit raw but we can work with that. You’re quite funny too. Very relatable. I like that.’ Charlotte poked her head over to see which article Jules was reading. It was one of her opinion columns: Try Yummus Hummus at Greenwich’s Newest Café.  It was her review on the local shopping centre’s new vegan food bar. She’d enjoyed the hummus, not that it had enjoyed her. She never ate there again. Jules closed the portfolio. ‘So, Charlotte, do you read Dare?’

‘Yes.’

‘Regularly?’ Jules wanted elaboration, but Charlotte didn’t know how to.

‘Yes. No. Sorry.’ Charlotte twisted her fingers together in her lap, trying to steady her nerves, but it was clearly too late. She really wanted the job, but she didn’t read Dare, and she wasn’t sure what kind of job she was actually being interviewed for. She’d thought she’d be interviewed by Mr Skerritt in Human Resources but here she was across from the Editor-in-Chief.

‘Don’t be. Have you heard that Dare has expanded?’ Charlotte didn’t have time to answer, ‘We want Dare to not just be a women’s lifestyle magazine. You may have heard we’re moving into all things feminine. Weddings, home decorating, babies.’

Charlotte remembered vaguely hearing about it on the journalist grapevine. ‘I’ve heard about it, yes. In fact, I’m sure I saw the Dare wedding magazine out last month.’

Jules smiled proudly. ‘Yes. Dare to Wed. Thought of the title myself. Did you find it eye catching?’

‘Very.’

‘We were lucky to get Kristen Carpenter for the cover. Australia’s golden girl. So lucky she happened to be marrying later this month. Would you, if you were a bride-to-be, buy it?’ Jules leant over the desk, his fingers poised on their tips as he waited for Charlotte’s response.

Charlotte nodded thoughtfully. ‘More than likely, especially with women like Kristen on the cover. She’s great.’ Perhaps she’d be writing for Dare to Wed. Charlotte toyed with the idea of interviewing people like actress Kristen Carpenter. The people she would meet!

‘Isn’t she just?’ Jules spoke with passion, ‘Well, we feel we need to really compete with the interstate magazines and I believe we can do it. With the right resources and staff of course.’ Jules leant back in his chair observing Charlotte.

‘I’m sure you will do very well.’ Charlotte nodded politely again. Was she nodding too much? She forced herself to stop.

Smugly, Jules continued on, clearly proud of his accomplishments. ‘Dare to Wed has taken off so well over the past year that in the next quarter we’ll be launching our newest magazine. Dare Baby.’

‘That’s great.’

‘Exactly my thought.’ Jules suddenly stood. ‘Walk with me Charlotte.’ Charlotte stood following Jules out of his office on-to the floor as he moved about the cubicles. ‘The thing is, not many of my writers turned mothers or fathers are coming back full time. A lot are choosing to stay home or freelance. And that is perfectly fine, in fact it’s great for the magazines. Shows we’re supportive of the parent who wants it all. I have a few writing freelance for me that were full timers before their kiddy-winks came along. I’d just really like some staff in the office to bounce ideas off, attend staff meetings, that kind of thing. I have a small crew and I’m looking to add one more.’

‘Ah-huh.’ Charlotte suddenly felt the familiar slip of the knickers. What happened to the knot? As she felt for the knot she tried to think of how to keep them up as Jules chatted and showed her the office. The knickers slipped again as Charlotte desperately tried to pin them