Page 23 of Power Moves
Boss looks perplexed. ‘Ah, I’m not sure. Did I? Maybe. Figure of speech, I guess. But as I was saying—’
‘I think you’ll find youdidsay that,’ Archie says.
I see Kendra from the ABC and Marissa from Sky share a glance.Oh god.
‘What did you mean by that?’ Archie asks.
‘I, er …’
‘Is that something you’d say about a man?’ interjects Kendra.
‘Well, no,’ stammers Boss, ‘but it was a compliment, wasn’t it? She’s a woman who wears a skirt well and—’
Oh fuck, shit, NO!That’s only okay when he says it tome!
‘Minister, do you agree that was blatantly sexist language?’ asks Marissa.
‘Minister, do you often think about Nancy Miller’s figure?’
‘Minister, would you ever wear a skirt?’
Arghhhh!The questions are barrelling towards him like tennis balls from a serving machine. I don’t know how to rescue this. I can’t draw attention to myself or it’ll remind them that Boss raised his hand at me to tell me to pipe down, less than a minute ago. It’s all on film and they could cut that so badly.Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
‘Minister, what’s your comment on reports that Minister Miller refused to sit next to you at the last Cabinet meeting?’ asks Archie.
I step around the cameras to position myself behind the press pack and start jumping so Boss can see me over the tripods. ‘Wrap!’ I jump. ‘It! Up!’ I mouth the words like a crazedelocution coach on an episode ofAmerica’s Next Top Model. ‘Wrap! It! Up!’
Boss is squinting as he tries to lipread what I’m saying.Goddammit, for a guy who’s in charge of the state’s education portfolio, he is so clueless sometimes!
The jumping clearly isn’t working, so I raise my hands above my head and start waving in the universal code forStop, retreat, this is an ambush!
Archie’s eyes flicker back to where I’m standing, andoh shit, he’s seen me in full arm-waving mode. Desperately, I clench my fingers and try to pass off the action as some kind of enthusiastic double fist-pump.ARGHHHH!What am I doing?! Fist-pumping for sexism?!
Suddenly one of the cameramen bends down and I have a clear line of sight to Boss. Urgently I mime a line across my neck.Kill it. Kill the whole thing. Kill me. Kill this campaign. My eyes are going to burst out of their sockets, I’m glaring at him so hard.
‘I think we should wrap up now,’ he says cheerfully, oblivious to the carnage he’s created.
FINALLY! That’s my cue.
‘Thanks for your time, everyone,’ I say, striding back around the melee for the lectern—that sweet, sweet lectern whose mere dismantling simultaneously dismantles media pile-ons. At least until everyone jumps online.
‘If you have any questions about the infrastructure project, please call me,’ I trill. ‘You have my number.’
They’re all ignoring me.Shit. Kendra and Marissa are bent over their phones, muttering urgently. The cameramen fromSBS and Ten are being uncharacteristically collegial, winding back their reels to check who got the best footage. Echoes of ‘out of touch’ and ‘creepy’ are wafting around the crowd like anthrax powder on the breeze.
Boss straightens his blazer and leans towards me. ‘How do you think that went?’
I stand up, dropping the half-packed lectern.
‘Boss!’ I hiss. Does he not realise what a disaster this is? These are the kinds of incidents that bring out the worst in Australian journalism: the woke brigade mobilises for cancellation and the shock jocks sharpen their conservative knives to swing back. It’s yuck. It’s not debate, it’s not journalism: it’s schoolyard bullying, and both sides are equally vicious. There’s no middle ground for a good guy who makes an innocent slip-up. If this makes it onto TikTok we’re screwed.
‘What?’ he implores. ‘It’s nothing you can’t handle. Everyone knows I have the best media director.’
I frown, unimpressed.
‘And theprettiestmedia director,’ he adds, as if that will help.
‘Boss,’ I groan. It’s like he’s from the Stone Age sometimes, the way he thinks complimenting a woman about her appearance is the easiest way to resolve a conflict. Like,Oh your dog just died? Don’t worry, your hair looks top-notch!
