Boundaries found in paradise

I was traumatised after just over a year in a job where bullying was the norm. I put up with it because I had been desperate to work in TV and TNT was the country’s only national news network. I guess you could say I was the office “go-for” – “go for this” and “go for that”.

My long days were spent photocopying, running between offices delivering bits of paper, making coffees, stacking the dishwasher and even collecting dry-cleaning.

I’d been shouted at, put down, told I’d never amount to anything, and had my already fragile self-esteem ground into dust. And no one was a bigger bully than Thelma, the co-news anchor with Malcolm, a hardened former war correspondent who got more fan mail than George Clooney.

Thelma, on the other hand, was not popular with the public but she shared the station owner’s bed so her future was assured – as long as she kept the banging the boss, her pert behind would keep the news desk swivel chair warm.

I had admired her before I started working at TNT. She was a hard-nosed news hound who secured the best, cut-through interviews I’d ever seen. She was an old school, no-nonsense reporter with a deep, calm voice perfect for news reading.

I’d put her up on a pedestal but was to discover she had no business being there. Cliches aside, she really was a stone-cold bitch. From day one, I had been screamed at for not getting her coffee on time and then not having the right milk, the right temperature or the right size.

The autocue - another one of my responsibilities - was either too fast or too slow or there was a spelling mistake or she had to rewrite sentences five minutes before she was on air. She’d once thrown one of her stilettos at me across the newsroom and no one said a thing. She berated me as a “loser”, a “no-hoper”, “ugly”, “fat” and “useless”.

According to Thelma, I was never going to make it in television and should realise my future was at best as a cashier in a supermarket or taking orders in the booth of a drive-through, takeaway franchise.

Cramming burgers and fries in paper bags would be my zenith if she had anything to do with it, she’d said over and over again. Well, as you can imagine, after a year of this grilling - no pun intended - I was burnt out and on a wide array of psych medication.

I cried every morning on the way to work, I cried in the toilets at work, and I cried all the way home on the train. I lived alone apart from my 15-year-old cat Fred and a few clapped-out indoor plants. My flat was tiny, but it was home. To amuse myself, I entered magazine competitions. I was a good writer so could certainly craft a compelling “25 words or less” for why I should win this or that.

One Monday evening as I staggered in my front door, I saw my answering machine light flicker and realized that someone somewhere had tried to call me. As someone with zero social life and no family, I quickly dismissed the caller as probably being a wrong number or worse, a crank call.

I fed Fred and heated myself a TV dinner, ignoring the flashing. I slumped into my favorite armchair and picked up my book. I am a prolific reader and lose myself in books, devouring three or four at a time.

My library membership was one of my most treasured possessions, after Fred of course. Later, as I dozed off in my chair, the drone of the city traffic lulling me off to sleep, curiosity got the better of me and I flicked on the answering machine to hear the missed call.

“Hello, this is Meredith Cantor of Sunset Cruises, I’m ringing for Tamberlane Jacobs. I have some very exciting news so please call me back on 9874 5320 during business hours, thank you, bye…” I felt like someone had thrown a bucket of icy cold water over me - exciting news? For me? I racked my brain as to what it could be - Sunset Cruises? Sunset… wait… the penny dropped.

Hadn’t I seen an article about the company not so long back? It had all looked so tantalizing yet so expensive and out of touch for someone like me on the minimum wage.

But there’d been a competition. The instructions were to write why you deserved a cruise in the proverbial 25 words or less. Could it be that little old ordinary me had actually won something? I couldn’t sleep a wink that night, tossing and turning at the thought I might be able to get away, have a break, all expenses paid.

Next morning, as I was rushing to the coffee shop to get Thelma’s brew, I dialed the number and to my delight Meredith answered after one ring. “This is Tamberlane… Tamberlane Jacobs,” I said, my voice cracking a little. “Tamberlane? I’m so very glad to hear from you … thank you for responding to my message… I have some very exciting news for you? Are you sitting down?”

I grabbed a space on a low, red brick wall and answered “Yes..” Meredith proceeded to tell me that I had won a 10-day cruise around the Whitsunday Islands in north Queensland, with flights, food and everything else thrown in… even cocktails at sunset. I burst into tears, happy tears for a change, and thanked her profusely.

I finished ordering and collecting the coffees and ran back to the office where Thelma was waiting impatiently, hands on hips and a nasty smile twisting the corners of her mouth. She snatched the coffee and deliberately dropped the napkin as she did. “Pick that up!” she shouted, inches from my face, “Now!” I did, handing it to her gingerly. She batted it away saying: “Why would I want it now, when it’s been on the floor you little twerp!”

She turned and headed into make-up to ready herself for the morning news updates. I raced up to Human Resources where one of the kinder members of staff worked. Josie had been on my interview panel and had taken a shine to me. I told her my good news and she put in the paperwork for my holiday.

My flight to north Queensland left in two days. I was walking on air. I imagined the pristine, turquoise water, the dazzling, white, powdery beaches and those Pino Coladas at sunrise mixed to perfection by some handsome, nut-brown skipper on my own private yacht. I slept so soundly that night, I thought I had died and gone to Heaven.

* * * *

Fast forward and I’m lying on the front of a white yacht with billowing, port-wine-red sails, slicing our way through the translucent, aquamarine depths of the Pacific Ocean. The day was setting and the air balmy. In one hand I clasped a chilled Margarita as Dean, the skipper, pointed out landmarks on the tiny islands we breezed passed.

On dusk, he pulled into the shallows of Heron Island, the uninhabited side. “I’m going to drop you off here for a bit … so you can savor your very own desert island,” shouted Dean above the flap of the sails against the mast.

He steered the yacht into a small, perfect bay and I leapt off and paddled my way to shore. I felt as if I was in Paradise, just me and an endless, creamy beach, palm trees and the ocean.

I threw myself down onto the sand and listened to the soft coo of the seabirds coming to rest for the night. I munched on a crisp apple from the little bag Dean had given me and it tasted ever so lightly salty from the rim of the Margarita glass.

Spreading out my fluffy towel, I lay back and flipped my sunglasses down across my eyes. Ahhh, peace and quiet…until an unmistakable shrill scream shattered the moment. “You there,” the voice commanded, “…Come here … I need help!”

Thelma? I thought for a moment I was dreaming or more to the point caught in some catastrophic nightmare. I laid as still as I could, as if I was five again playing hide and seek with my older brothers, praying they wouldn’t find me. “I said ‘Help me’,” came the voice again.

Reluctantly I got to my feet and followed the voice to the palm trees overlooking the sand dunes. Again, it wailed – it must be her, I thought. I rounded a grove and there she was, Thelma. She was as shocked to see me as I her. She was laying, propped up by a rolled towel and clasping at her ankle.

“Oh, just my luck that it’s you… now I probably will die,” she spat. “Moron, can’t you see I’ve been bitten by something.” Speechless, my gaze drifted to her ankle which had ballooned to three times its usual size. It looked as angry and as red as her face. “Well, go get me help,” she said.

“What happened?” I quietly inquired. “Oh, as if I know… I’ve been bitten by something, must have been a snake or spider, but either way I feel just awful, and I badly need help,” she said, her usually abundant, nasty confidence starting to ever so slightly falter.

I thought about helping her but then I thought better of it. I could hear Dean calling - it was time for me to go. Afterall, I was only halfway through my cruise of a lifetime.

“Well… hurry up,” Thelma hissed. I looked at her hard and felt a surge of joy meets courage spread through my chest and said: “Sorry Thelma, I’m off the clock.”

* * * *

Back at work, I went in to thank Josie for organizing my leave. “I had the BEST time,” I said. “You look it,” Josie said. I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass panel separating the desks in Human Resources and I must admit I did look mighty good. I was as brown as a raisin and my sandy hair was flecked blonde from the combination of ozone, salt and the ocean’s natural bleach. My blue eyes were bright as if all that aquamarine had actually ended up soaking into them. I felt the happiest I had ever felt.

I returned to the newsroom where I caught the tail-end of a worried conversation between floor staff. “Thelma’s not coming back,” they gossiped, “…nobody knows where she is… she’s not been seen since having a drink at a bar on Heron Island.”

* * * *