Chapter Thirty-Seven
DAN
‘Since the al gorithm is doing us dirtier than ever, we’re launching a new approach,’ Lisa informs us in the Thursday morning meeting. ‘I’ve been chatting to Christian, and our numbers are dropping again, even after our OG best-performing content approach.’
With my face resting on my fist, I give Blake a weary look.
Her features look about as flat as mine, maybe because it seems like we’ve been chasing our own tails to try and come up with content ideas that are going to perform well, to no success.
There hasn’t been much to write about either.
No new events, businesses shutting down. Grim grim grim.
‘We’re going to be launching our newest venture: Tea Time .’ Lisa lifts her hands in a billboard fashion. Blake, Cherry, and I glance at each other, then back to Lisa for context.
‘Tea Time?’ Blake questions her.
‘Yes, it’s going to be a space for spicy, tongue-in-cheek true stories,’ Lisa goes on. ‘High drama. Clickable articles. Bit like a tabloid magazine, but for more localised stories featuring regular people rather than celebrities.’
‘That could drive the clicks up,’ Cherry shrugs. ‘People do love getting in on the drama. ’
‘But is that something we really want to venture into?’ Blake asks, frowning. ‘Might be a little out of left field for Untold Media.’
‘We’ve got to try everything we can right now,’ Lisa says sternly. ‘Because if we don’t, we might have to lay off more staff, and we don’t want to do that.’
I swallow a lump in my throat, only now realising how disposable I am as an employee. I very well could be next on the chopping block.
Moving forward, we spend the rest of the morning sourcing stories for Tea Time and writing up a few articles.
Lisa launches Tea Time on socials at midday, asking our followers to send in any juicy gossip they want featured. It’s mostly well received, aside from several comments that say, unfollowing now.
Despite our skepticalities, the first Tea Time article, written by Cherry – about a thirty-five-year-old Brisbane woman who just inherited her Sugar Daddy of ten years’s estate and now has enough money to not work for the rest of her life – boosts our clicks dramatically.
It’s the best-performing post from the past couple of weeks.
Later in the day, Lisa asks me if I would be free to shoot a new activation at Euphoria next Friday night, bribing me with double time plus an early Friday.
Since I have nothing better to do and need the money, I ultimately agree.
*
On Saturday morning, I head to Jean’s house with a mailing bag fu ll of paper tucked under my armpit. Her finished story, here for delivery.
‘Come in, Dan,’ she calls from inside when I’m at her door.
As I enter the living room, though, I’m met with more than just her eager eyes to read what I’ve written.
She’s sitting in her armchair, a bandage on her right arm.
Jean’s black eye is the first thing I see, and there’s a woman in the kitchen, perhaps three decades younger than Jean.
The lounge room is in the process of being packed up.
Books are in boxes. Some remain in the same place from my last visit, but it’s certainly lost its touch.
‘Hello, love,’ Jean greets me with a tired smile.
‘Jean, oh my gosh, what happened?’ My jaw drops.
‘She had a fall,’ the woman in the kitchen, who’s packing kitchenware into boxes, calls out, walking toward the living room. The moment she looks at me, I notice the similarities in her and Jean’s appearance, even the short curly golden hair.
‘I can speak for myself, thank you very much,’ Jean argues. ‘Dan, this is my daughter, Keely.’
My gaze drifts from Jean to Keely for a slight moment as we exchange ‘hey’s, before my focus returns to Jean’s black eye.
‘I took a tumble down the stairs,’ Jean says with a short shrug.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Oh, yes. Orbital fracture, hence the black eye. But I got lucky with just bruises and scratches elsewhere. ’
‘Jeez.’ I don’t know what else to say as I sit down next to her on the couch.
Keely goes back to packing the kitchen.
‘What’s with all the boxes?’ I ask Jean after a moment. ‘Are you moving?’
‘Yes. Down to the Gold Coast next week. To live in Keely’s granny flat.’ She laughs at this, and I follow suit. ‘It’ll be okay,’ she then says, as if an important affirmation. ‘I’ll be closer to my family.’
‘Damn, who am I going to have scones and tea with on a weekend?’ I joke, hoping it’ll keep her spirits lifted.
‘I’m sure you can think of someone,’ she winks. ‘Speaking of, did things go well with your special someone?’
My heart takes a plummet. ‘It did, then it didn’t. But anyway, I’ve got your story here.’ I take the printed manuscript out to show. ‘Want to read it?’
She smiles. ‘Nothing would make me happier right now.’
If there’s anything Jean would like people to take away from her story, it’s that taking chances can lead to beautiful things. Sometimes love. And in Jean’s opinion, there’s not much else that compares to love.
Now in her seventies, she often thinks what her life would’ve been like if she hadn’t taken those chances – with Ron in the early days when distance and rules were in sight; buying the caravan to pack up and travel two laps of Australia, one in each direction; and of course, starting to read books ritual ly when she was sick of the doom and gloom news cycle howling from her television.
‘We never know how much time we have left,’ Jean says as she bites into a spongy ginger kiss, her smile radiating from the taste of something sweet. She then washes it down with a gulp of milk coffee and leans back in her favourite reclining armchair. She closes her eyes and hums a little tune.
I sit with Jean as she reads the whole thing in just over an hour, during which there are a few laughs, smiles, even some moments when her eyes are so fixed on the paper, I think she might cry. She finishes the last page with a heavy exhale, one I hope is of satisfaction.
‘How is it?’ I ask, putting down the self-help book I’ve been reading, titled How to Live in the Now and Kick A** Doing So.
A small tear runs down her cheek as she looks over at Ron’s photo. I hope that while she was engrossed in her own story, she was back with him in a way, even for a short time.
She then looks back to me and says, ‘It’s great, Dan. Thank you.’