Read the book: «It’s A Man’s World»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

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

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Epilogue

Read on for an exclusive interview with Polly Courtney

Q&A with Polly

About the Author

By the same author

About the Publisher

Many people helped to inspire, shape and publish this book. Firstly, I’d like to thank the members of OBJECT for their tireless work in challenging our ‘sex object culture’. Good luck with your campaigns and thank you for opening my eyes. Thanks also to those at Bauer Media who helped, wittingly or unwittingly, to provide a relevant backdrop to the story. A big thank you to my dear friend Caroline, who read every page in record time and put me straight when I went off course. Of course, I thank Sammia and everyone at Avon for turning my words into a published book and lastly, I thank Chris, for putting up with my hermit impression. I couldn’t have done it without you.

Chapter 1

‘Ah, Alexa. Thanks for coming to see me.’ Terry Peterson leaned forward and waved at the seat opposite.

Alexa pressed the door shut behind her, relishing the wall of cold air that separated Peterson’s office from the rest of the building. As the folds of soft, cool leather engulfed her, she wondered whether Peterson really believed that there had been any element of choice about today’s meeting. To turn down an invitation from the chief executive of Senate Media UK, particularly an ambiguous, last-minute ‘catch up’, was to propel oneself straight to the top of the redundancy list.

‘I’ve been thinking about your role,’ said Peterson, leaning forward and blinking a couple of times at Alexa.

She nodded, forcing a smile despite the stomach-churning sensation that his ominous words had provoked. Alexa was on a two-year contract at Hers, Senate’s leading title for the over-fifties, of which there were still three months left to run.

‘Sorry,’ he chuckled. ‘Poor choice of words. Don’t look so worried.’

Alexa smiled harder and joined in with a laugh of her own. Despite his fifty-seven years, Peterson had a good head of hair and piercing blue eyes that crinkled attractively at the edges as he smiled, which he did all the time. The chief executive wore his smile like a mask.

‘As you know, I’m very pleased with your achievements at Hers.’

Alexa nodded again, more confidently. Peterson was pleased with the re-launch of Hers; she knew that much. Who wouldn’t be pleased with a three-fold increase in gross revenue and a twenty percent reduction in costs? The magazine had been on the brink of collapse when Alexa, then a management consultant at TDS Consulting, had been seconded to establish a new business plan for the title. At Peterson’s request and at vast expense, Alexa had been transferred from TDS and brought in-house at Senate Media to oversee the execution of this transformation – a transformation that was just beginning to bear fruit. The magazine was cash positive for the first time in a decade and Alexa had made it happen.

‘I think you proved a lot of people wrong – not least the Americans.’

Alexa returned his smile. Being part of a US-owned company meant that everyone in the UK offices, including Terry Peterson, answered to the board of Senate Media Inc., or ‘the Americans’, as they were known.

Alexa knew what the Americans had thought of Peterson’s initial suggestion that a twenty-nine-year-old management consultant should take charge of their fifty-plus title. She knew, because Peterson’s PA had inadvertently forwarded her an email containing the full conversation between the UK and US board. Alexa sometimes wondered whether she would have made quite so much progress at Hers had she not caught sight of that email.

‘I’m thinking,’ said Peterson, his eyes still twinkling, ‘you might be able to help us out on something else.’

Alexa felt a combination of apprehension and relief. Peterson’s smile was suspiciously intense.

‘Another title,’ he clarified. ‘It’s the same set of problems we had at Hers, really: declining circulation, collapsing advertising industry, increasing competition from the internet . . .’

Alexa looked at him, trying to guess which magazine they were talking about. Frankly, it could have been any Senate title, or any UK magazine for that matter. The whole publishing industry was falling apart.

‘I’m referring, of course, to Banter.’

Alexa swallowed. She looked up to the wall behind Peterson’s head, where a set of black frames immortalised the front cover of every title ever published by Senate Media UK. Banter was there, top right, next to Teenz, an American import that had a limited life expectancy. Alexa glanced at the cover and then looked away, gazing at the bustle of Soho in the mid-afternoon heat. She tried to collect her thoughts. Even looking at the cover felt wrong. There was such a concentration of flesh and cleavage, it was overwhelming. Breasts spilled off the page, a smattering of strategically placed headlines obscuring nipples and other bodily parts that would tip the magazine into the category of porn – if it wasn’t already there.

Porn, mused Alexa, increasingly aware that Peterson was expecting some kind of a response. That was the answer, up there on the wall, amid the airbrushed buttocks and cleavages. Banter was a form of soft porn. It was dirty, sexist, degrading to women and, frankly, an embarrassment to UK society. What would her mother say if she found out she was working for Banter?

Alexa pursed her lips, angry with herself for letting her mother’s opinion interfere with her decision-making. She was turning thirty next year.

‘I . . .’

Alexa cursed inwardly. The image of her disapproving mother was distracting. But there was something else, deep inside her, knocking her thoughts off course. It was small, only partially formed, but Alexa knew instantly what it was.

‘I’m not familiar with the lads’ mag market,’ she said.

‘Just as you weren’t familiar with the over-fifties market,’ Peterson returned, pointedly.

The feeling swelled inside her. Alexa tried to suppress it. She recognised it from the first time she had sat in this room with the chief executive – the time he had asked her to take on the Hers re-launch. It was the buzz of the challenge. She could do little to quash it, this amorphous sensation at the back of her mind. Banter was one of Senate Media’s flagship brands. It was a household name. Licensed in seventeen countries and filled with the dirtiest smut that could be legally sold in supermarkets around the world – and some that couldn’t – the magazine had been a controversial hit for Senate since its launch nearly seven years ago. Unfortunately, though, this was one challenge she would have to turn down.

‘As I said,’ Peterson went on, uninterested in Alexa’s protest, ‘the project isn’t dissimilar to the one you’ve undertaken at Hers. The only difference is the severity.’

‘The severity of . . . what?’ Alexa knew that what she really ought to be doing was telling Peterson, politely, that she wasn’t interested in the role. But she was curious.

‘Banter’s circulation fell by a third this year. The audience isn’t buying magazines any more – or if they are, they’re buying a competitor’s.’ He shook his head. ‘And then there’s the legal costs.’

Alexa nodded. No explanation was required. Lawsuits against Banter were legendary. Nearly every week, Banter was served a writ by some celebrity objecting to a crude or racist joke in the magazine.

‘The truth of the matter – and please, don’t mention this outside these four walls – is that the Americans are looking to shut it down by the end of the year.’

‘What?’ Alexa stared. She hadn’t meant to speak, not until she had formulated her polite rejection of Peterson’s offer. But shut it down? Banter was one of Senate’s biggest brands.

Terry nodded, his smile wavering a little. ‘They’re looking to cut costs.’

‘Right.’ Alexa tried to hide her morbid fascination. She would have liked to see a copy of Banter’s financials, just to find out where they were going so badly wrong.

Peterson suddenly straightened up in his chair, looking at Alexa with a strangely breezy expression.

‘However! It’s not all doom and gloom. I’ve secured us a lifeline. If we can turn things around by the end of the financial year then we’re home and dry.’

We, noted Alexa. She hadn’t agreed to anything.

‘Mind you,’ he went on, ‘I had to agree to some fairly hefty year-end targets in order to get the Americans to agree.’

Alexa did some quick mental arithmetic. It was early July. Banter had until the end of April to hit its year-end targets. That was less than ten months. Re-launching Hers had taken over a year and that was just a magazine with a few online tools. Reviving Banter would involve websites, tablet editions, mobile apps . . . Alexa stopped herself. She was already thinking about the solutions. This wasn’t a project she would be working on.

‘Look,’ she said, meeting his eye. ‘I’m sure this would be a great opportunity for someone, but I’m not sure I’m the right person for the job.’

‘Ah.’ Peterson leaned forward, squinting jovially. ‘I know what you’re thinking. You’re young, you’re female and you’re worried that the staff won’t treat you with respect.’

Alexa hesitated. That wasn’t what she had been thinking at all.

‘I’ve come up with a solution that I think you’ll like.’

‘No, the thing is—’

‘Hear me out.’ The chief executive raised a warning finger. Alexa was reminded yet again that the smile was a veneer. ‘I think we should give you the title of managing director. That way, we won’t be treading on any toes but you’ll get the respect you deserve.’

Alexa frowned. Quite apart from the fact that she didn’t want to be discussing the politics of an office in which she had no plans to work, she couldn’t think of a single magazine that had a managing director at its helm. Magazines were run by editors.

‘How does that work?’ she asked, despite herself.

‘Derek Piggott has been acting editor for the past nine months,’ Peterson explained, so I suggest that we promote him to deputy editor and—’

‘Promote? Isn’t that a demotion?’

‘Well, strictly speaking. But I suggest we don’t make him editor in case he tries to pull rank. I’ve known Derek for years. He’s a good man, just a little . . . well, I’m sure you’ll be fine.’

Alexa wondered for a moment what Peterson meant, then stopped herself and leaned forward in the chair.

‘I’m sorry, but I think you need to look elsewhere for your managing director,’ she said, as clearly as she possibly could without risk of sounding condescending.

‘Alexa, I think you’re the right person for the job. I called you here today because I wanted to ask you to undertake the project.’

And because you need to fill the position as quickly as possible, thought Alexa, wondering how much of Peterson’s persuasion was down to his faith in her ability and how much was due to desperation.

‘You have the experience from your work at Hers and you understand digital . . . wireless . . . solutions.’

Alexa managed to refrain from laughing. Terry Peterson was not known for his technological know-how. Having worked in the magazine industry since the late eighties, he was very much a man of paper and ink. If the rumours were to be believed, his morning ritual involved his PA printing out the contents of his inbox, then Peterson replying to each email on pieces of paper for the PA to type up and send. Perhaps, thought Alexa, the chief executive’s aversion to new technology might be a factor in the decline in so many Senate brands.

‘That’s where the money is, these days,’ Peterson went on, his confidence sounding a little shaky. ‘You understand that. You did it for Hers. You can do it for Banter.’

Alexa nodded warily. There were so many reasons for not taking on the project. It involved undisclosed targets that even the CEO was describing as ‘hefty’, the timeframe seemed ludicrously short and what with this Derek character and Peterson’s managing director proposal, it sounded like a political minefield. But most of all, thought Alexa, seeing the image of her mother flash through her mind again, there was the fact that Banter was a porn magazine.

She held Peterson’s gaze, trying again to come up with a firm but polite rejection. As she opened her mouth to speak, she saw that Peterson’s expression had changed. He was smiling more intensely than ever, like a hypnotist defying his charge to disobey.

‘We’ll add twenty percent to your day rate.’

Alexa closed her mouth. After several more seconds of thought, she finally formulated her reply.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.

Chapter 2

Alexa sipped her drink, glancing periodically towards the door. She swilled the bitter cocktail around her mouth, challenging her taste buds to ascertain how exactly a Japanese margarita differed from an ordinary one and to establish which ingredient was responsible for the fifteen-pound price tag.

Only Kate would choose a place like this, thought Alexa, giving up on the challenge and accepting that tonight was going to be an expensive night. These days, hanging out in the expensive part of Mayfair was just about the only way to ensnare her high-flying friend, who seemed to spend a disproportionate amount of time in her Berkeley Square offices.

Alexa tipped back her final mouthful and asked the barman for a glass of water. As she did so, the door swung open to reveal a windswept, mousy-looking blonde who seemed perplexed by the waiter’s desire to take her coat. Alexa waved Leonie over.

‘Bit posh, isn’t it?’ Leonie screwed up her nose and nodded in the direction of the cloakroom, where men in green jackets swished soundlessly about their business. ‘Don’t they have pubs around here?’

Alexa smiled. ‘You know Kate.’

Leonie rolled her eyes. She squinted at Alexa’s glass and a look of relief crossed her face. ‘Is that tap water?’

‘Purest spring water from the Japanese Alps,’ replied Alexa, smiling. ‘Of course it’s tap water.’

Leonie motioned to the barman for another and gulped down her glassful in one, pulling a face as an ice cube toppled onto her nose.

Alexa laughed. She and Leonie had been friends since high school, their surnames – Harris and Hatton – dictating that they should sit next to one another in class. Establishing themselves as lab partners for science lessons, they both went on to study biology in their degrees, albeit at different universities. After uni, their paths diverged again, Leonie opting to teach Biology in a south London comprehensive and Alexa following the more lucrative path into the world of management consulting. It was while working at TDS Consulting that Alexa had met Kate – who, coincidentally, had been at uni with Leonie in Edinburgh.

‘How’s school?’

Leonie’s eyes flitted up to the ceiling. ‘Exhausting. Most of my kids have exams, so I’m looking after the younger ones. It’s all videos and field trips and lessons outside. Yesterday, I had two lads climbing out of the second-floor window and abseiling down a drainpipe, trying to distract the girls in the classroom below.’

‘Sounds like the end of term.’ Alexa smiled.

‘Piers broke up weeks ago, lucky bastard. He hangs around the flat like a little lost puppy, waiting for me to get home every night. Although I shouldn’t complain; he cooks dinner.’

Alexa laughed, in awe, as ever, of her friend’s perfect relationship. Piers and Leonie had met at a kids’ camp in Camberwell, just after leaving school. Predictions that the holiday romance would fizzle once they went off to universities at opposite ends of the country had been proved wrong; nearly twelve years later, they were back with the kids in south London – although in Piers’ case, it was a very different bunch of kids. He had landed on his feet at King Charles’ Boys’ School in Dulwich, recently being promoted to Head of Science and enjoying a significant pay rise with apparently very little extra work. Leonie, meanwhile, was dealing with over-crowded classrooms, drug-addicted kids, bullies and pupils who spat in her face at Langdale Comprehensive. Still, she seemed to enjoy the challenge.

Alexa nodded at the empty glass. ‘D’you want a proper drink?’

‘I think I need one.’ Leonie drew the menu towards her. She studied it for a couple of seconds, then slowly pushed it away. ‘Um . . . actually, no. I might just . . . leave it for a bit.’

Alexa looked at her friend. She knew what the problem was.

‘I’ll pay.’

‘We could . . . share?’

Alexa laughed. She could just imagine the barman’s face when they asked for a cocktail with two straws. Then she realised that Leonie was being serious.

‘My round,’ she said firmly. ‘What’re you having?’

Reluctantly, Leonie pointed at one of the martinis on the list.

‘Thanks,’ she said quietly.

Alexa ordered the drinks, grateful that Kate wasn’t here to witness the moment. Public sector teaching salaries were an embarrassment, particularly compared to the rates that could be commanded in their field of work.

Leonie grasped the slender stem and gently tapped her glass against Alexa’s.

‘So,’ she said. ‘What’s the summit in aid of?’

‘Well, I—’

‘Hi!’ screamed a voice from the doorway. A swoosh of short, raven-black hair could be seen from inside a cloud of suit jackets, laptop bags and rucksacks, all of which were shed in rapid succession and dumped on the bewildered-looking doorman. Kate had arrived.

‘Hey, guys!’ Kate leaned forward and threw her arms around the two of them. Alexa smiled as her shoulders were squeezed, aware of the dirty looks they were attracting from other customers. That was the thing about Kate. She had no shame.

‘Sorry I’m so late. Bastard project. All the partners have buggered off, leaving me to “just quickly update the pack”. I think tonight might be another all-nighter.’

Alexa pulled a face. ‘You’re going back to the office after this?’

Kate nodded, waving to catch the barman’s eye.

All-nighter. Alexa thought back to her early years at TDS, when, as a fresh-faced graduate, working through the night had been a regular occurrence. She shuddered, remembering how it felt to be trapped in that stale, airless office at three o’clock in the morning, feeling your brain grinding to a halt, filling your bloodstream with caffeine and taurine in an effort to ward off the inevitable exhaustion. Never again. Alexa had done her time. However tempting the salary, she would not be going back to work at a ‘big five’ firm like TDS.

Kate drew the sugar-coated cocktail towards her. ‘One can’t hurt, can it? Might help me be a bit more creative with my strategy.’ She grinned and wolfed down about five pounds’ worth of drink. Alexa watched, marvelling at her friend’s stamina. She was showing no sign of slowing down as she neared the end of her twenties.

Sipping her drink, Alexa became aware of Leonie’s eyes on hers. She was still waiting for an answer to her earlier question. Alexa took a deep breath and looked at her friend.

‘I’ve been offered a new job.’

Kate stopped drinking, mid-sip, and lowered her glass to the bar.

Leonie leaned in excitedly. ‘Where?’

‘Within Senate. It’s . . .’ Alexa found herself struggling to say the name out loud. ‘It’s . . . you know the lads’ mag, Banter?’

‘Oh my God!’ Kate gasped. ‘Of course we know it! Are they asking you to be editor of Banter?’

Alexa hesitated. ‘Sort of. It’s similar to what I’ve been doing at Hers. Finding new revenue streams, new channels, that kind of thing.’

‘Oh. Wow.’ Kate rocked forward on her bar stool, looking respectfully into Alexa’s eyes. ‘Lex, that is amazing.’

‘Well done, mate.’ Leonie raised her glass. There was hesitation in her voice.

‘But . . .’ Alexa squirmed, avoiding Kate’s open-mouthed stare and Leonie’s wary expression. ‘I don’t think I’ll take it.’

‘What!’ yelped Kate.

Leonie just looked at her, waiting.

Alexa sighed. She had been half expecting this set of responses. For Kate, the most important thing in life was career progression. Her beliefs were based on a kind of post-feminist mantra that went along the lines of: women should feel the same pressure to succeed in the workplace as men. She intended to become a partner at TDS before she hit thirty next year and, as far as Alexa could tell, there wasn’t much standing in her way. Leonie, however, was naturally cautious and saw life through the lens of a secondary school teacher – always thinking about the bigger picture.

‘Have you ever looked at a copy of Banter?’ asked Alexa, by way of explanation.

Leonie replied with a loaded nod.

‘What’s wrong with girls showing a bit of ass?’ Kate was clearly outraged that Alexa might be considering turning down such an opportunity. ‘That’s what men want! It makes money! Banter is one of the UK’s biggest brands.’

‘Yeah. For all sorts of reasons,’ Leonie said pointedly.

Alexa ignored this comment and turned to Kate. ‘It doesn’t make as much money as you might think. I looked at their financials. Even stripping out the cost of lawsuits, they only make a few pence profit per copy.’

Kate looked at her, smiling a little. ‘So, you’re already looking at their financial model, then? You want to take this on, don’t you?’

Alexa shrugged helplessly. No, she wanted to say. No, she didn’t want to take on the role because it was inappropriate and unethical. But there was something inside her that wouldn’t let her rule it out. Peterson had given her two weeks to decide and she had already used up one of them, yo-yoing between the arguments for and against.

Leonie cleared her throat. ‘I can see why you wouldn’t.’

‘What?’ cried Kate, staring accusingly at Leonie. ‘Sorry, but what’s wrong with working for Banter? We’re not prudes, are we? There’s nothing wrong with lads’ mags. Hey,’ she nudged Alexa in the ribs and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, ‘it’s less shameful than saying you work for Tedious Consulting.’

Alexa smiled lamely. Kate was wrong. It was far, far worse to tell someone that you worked in the soft porn industry than one of the soulless but highly respected consultancy firms like TDS – especially when that someone was your mother.

‘Have you told your mum?’ asked Leonie, right on cue. She knew Alexa’s mother from their school days.

Alexa raised one corner of her mouth in a wry smile. ‘What do you think?’

Leonie matched her expression. ‘I think she’d disown you if you told her.’

Alexa sighed. Leonie was probably right. A sudden, unwanted image flashed across her mind of the two of them, aged nine, scrambling up the stairs of Leonie’s parents’ house, wearing various lacy garments sourced from Leonie’s mother’s wardrobe and their own interpretation of pop star makeup. Her mother, arriving early to pick up Alexa, had turned purple with rage at the sight of them. It was only the presence of Leonie’s mother, hovering nervously in the doorway, that had saved them from the initial outburst of rage. As it was, Alexa had suffered alone, on the journey home, and the mental scars would probably stay with her forever. Alexa knew exactly how her mother felt. She was a Class A prude and nothing would ever change that.

‘Who cares what your mum thinks?’ Kate screwed up her nose. ‘She’s probably about fifty years behind the times! Fuck that. You don’t need to pander to her way of thinking.’

Alexa and Leonie looked at one another.

‘You haven’t met Lex’s mum, have you?’ asked Leonie, politely.

Kate looked nonplussed, then quickly brightened again. ‘What about Matt?’ she asked. ‘What does he think?’

Alexa allowed herself a little smile. Six months had passed and still it felt new and exciting – or rather, it still felt unreal. For once, things were working out on the man front.

‘His first question was whether he’d get free copies of Banter.’

Kate hooted. ‘Typical! That is so Matt!’

Alexa smiled. She didn’t mind that Kate took the credit for setting her up with Matt, or that she pretended to know him when in fact he had simply been one of the hundreds of guests at her New Year’s Eve party. She didn’t mind, because frankly she was grateful – to Kate or to fate – for getting them together.

‘Then he kind of went a bit . . . weird.’ Alexa squirmed as she remembered the way Matt’s expression had changed. It was as though he had flipped from being excited to lukewarm, in an instant.

‘What sort of weird?’ asked Leonie.

‘Well . . .’ Alexa hesitated, unable to think of a better description. ‘I think he just has some reservations.’

‘What?’ Kate screwed up her nose. ‘Matt’s not a raving feminist, is he?’

‘No. I think it might be more . . .’ Alexa hesitated, unsure as to whether her theory stood up. ‘I think it could be the male-dominated environment.’

Kate’s expression intensified. ‘He wouldn’t be jealous, would he?’

‘He’s too good-looking to be the jealous type,’ said Leonie.

Alexa shook her head, thinking of Matt’s piercing blue eyes and his fine blond hair. ‘I think he’s probably just worried. He said he’s seen what lads can be like. He said something about a “lions’ den”.’

Kate rolled her eyes. ‘Like he’d know, from his experience in a city law firm!’

Leonie flashed Alexa a warning look. ‘He’s probably had some experience on the rugby pitch.’

‘Oh . . .’ Kate waved a hand. ‘That’s bollocks. Totally different. This is the workplace. You can handle it, Lex.’

‘So, is it all men, on the team?’ Leonie persisted.

‘Apart from one.’

The first thing Alexa had done following her meeting with Peterson had been to grab a copy of Banter and tear out the credits page. There were twenty-four men on the staff and one woman – an editor’s PA/editorial assistant named Sienna Pageant.

‘One girl, eh? I bet she has a laugh,’ remarked Kate.

Alexa nodded, wondering, not for the first time, what type of person Sienna Pageant might be. She glanced at Leonie, who didn’t need to voice her concerns; they were written all over her face.

‘Well,’ said Kate, as though her mind was made up. ‘Damo says there’s a girl in his office who—’

‘Hang on, who’s Damo?’

‘Oh. He’s a guy I’m kinda seeing,’ Kate replied casually.

Leonie looked at Alexa, then back at Kate, shaking her head in wonder. ‘Where do you get them from?’

‘How do you have time for them?’ added Alexa.

Leonie raised her eyebrows at this. ‘Er . . . pot, meet kettle? Where do you get time for men?’

Alexa frowned in mock offence. ‘I’ve had the same one for months. Kate gets a new one every week.’

‘Hey!’ Kate shoved her playfully. ‘Only once a fortnight. Damo works in the office above me. We were working late one night . . .’ A grin crept across her pale face. She flicked back a lock of black hair in a half-hearted attempt to look bashful.

‘Unbelievable.’ Leonie was still shaking her head, still smiling.

‘Do you nip upstairs in the middle of the night, while you’re waiting for the printer?’ asked Alexa. ‘Is that what you’re going back for tonight?’

‘Can we meet him?’ Leonie raised an eyebrow.

‘Not yet.’ Kate looked slightly ruffled. ‘It might not last.’

Alexa rolled her eyes. Kate’s relationships didn’t generally last – simply because she lost interest and moved on to the next one. Kate treated her men as she treated her projects: she worked through them quickly, always lining up the next one as each came to an end. Nobody seemed to mind when things didn’t work out – there was never any great expectation from either party and Kate never went for the overly sensitive type.