Page 26 of Power Moves
Remi:HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I was pretty glowy though. Maybz I should reconsider for pre-wedding skincare routine?
Me:Vomit! Glad I don’t have to stand next to you at the altar!
Remi:Too bad! I’m making you bridesmaid. YES SORRY HARD LAUNCH VIA TEXT BUT I GOT OVEREXCITED. You walked right into that.
Me:OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG—screw you Remulus, now I’m crying at work
I hastily press the call button next to her name but it hardly rings before I hear the disembodied phone-lady saying, ‘This call cannot be connected’. Remi must already be at work too.
Another text buzzes in.Sorry, can’t chat right now. But drinks with the bridal gang after work?
I send a crying-face emoji.I’m in Wagga. Wet pussies when I’m back!
I send another text:THE SHOTS OBVIOUSLY!
And another:And obvs, only suggesting that for old time’s sake. Fully realise we are both very old and responsible now and drink grown-up adult drinks i.e. tea, and Yakult for gut health.
Remi:Haha, go back to work, loser
Me:Love you
Remi:Love you too x
I tuck my phone into my pocket as Boss wanders over. I wish there was a probiotic cure for FOMO. We shouldn’t even be in Wagga today but the Premier’s office instructed us to fly in early because they need some pics of Boss and Nancy Miller being civil with each other.
The town is crawling with politicians and advisors who all want their fingerprints on the good-news story of the week: the near-completion of Wagga’s new sports precinct. Unfortunately, in proof of the scarily symbiotic relationship between politics and the media, the town has also been overrun with journalists.
I don’t know which nefarious offshore political donor has funded this, but there is now a media bus. It’s ferrying all the big-name journalists around the state to ensure that there’s hard-hitting coverage of regional issues in the lead-up to the election (renewable energy, baby lambs, the Elvis festival, et cetera).
Predictably, Boss is overjoyed to be in Wagga. He loves any chance to get his high-vis on.
‘Mill, remember what we talked about,’ he says in a low voice, sidling up to me. ‘You need to get Archie on side. He’severywhere at the moment. I even saw him on ABCNews Breakfast.’
This comment irritates me for several reasons. Firstly, it wasmewho told Boss that Archie was on ABCNews Breakfast. Secondly, Boss doesn’t know media. He knows politics. He needs to leavemeto deal with the media strategy, which is ostensibly going swimmingly. In the wake of the Fine Figure gaffe, his facepalm TikTok has clocked six hundred thousand views and counting.
The only journo who’s yet to be persuaded by my charm offensive is Archie Cohen, but I’ve neutralised him through a series of devious tactics. First, I offered to share my pie with him last Tuesday (he declined), then I offered him an exclusive look at our literacy framework data (he accepted). Possibly more significantly, I made only two (very witty) snide comments when he sat with me in the cafe yesterday. It meant I had to endure thirty minutes of conversation about his foray into cycling, listening to him explaining the intricacies of riding in cleats as though I’ve never been to a spin class before, but I think our performative friendship is back on track.
‘I’ll go and find Archie now,’ I offer.
‘Good,’ says Boss. ‘But I don’t want you wasting more time with him unless there’s a payoff.’
‘Trust me,’ I assure him. ‘I know exactly how to play Archie.’
I find Archie kicking a concrete footing as if to check whether the stadium is structurally sound. He’s always so physical with everything. If he stubs his toe, he’ll probably report that the site is full of defects.
‘Hey Archibald.’
‘Millsy,’ he says with a nod, straightening up and wiping his now-dusty shoe on the back of his trouser leg. It annoys me how easily the dust slides off. ‘Please tell me you’re not pulling out of another exclusive.’
‘Why would I do anything like that?’ I reply in my saccharine voice. ‘I told you, I’m really sorry for ruining that last one for you.’
The corners of Archie’s mouth quirk up. ‘No, you’re not. You’re just sorry it didn’t turn out well for you.’
I throw my hands up. ‘Well, of course I’m pissed off, Archie. I already work ninety-hour weeks, and this stupid Nancy Miller stuff has sapped at least another three hundred hours from my life that I’ll never get back. I missed my brother’s birthday because of you.’
‘You mean because of your boss.’
I scowl. ‘If I ever start suffering from panic attacks, I will directly attribute the blame to you.’
