extraordinaire, programming director
Stuart 'Johnno' Johnston.
With his feet up on a chair, holding court, as always, Johnno
had his hands wedged deep in his trouser pockets, like a paranoid
traveller checking his wallet in a crowded market square. For Johnno,
the thought of anything happening to his beloved penis was akin
to sudden death, and as such his hands were rarely far from it,
unconsciously flipping one testicle back and forward whenever he was
nervous. Funnily enough, Rosie rarely noticed his constant pocket
fondling any more, although watching Bettina Arthur's face the first
time she saw Johnno wrestling with the object of his affection was a
priceless moment she wouldn't forget in a hurry.
Opposite Johnno was the exquisitely coiffed head of outsourced
productions, Jason Jarvis. Although he laughed the loudest at these
meetings, he was usually either oblivious to the joke or, more often,
the brunt of it. Unabashedly gay, the ravenously ambitious executive
never had a chance of being accepted as inner-circle by the boys, a
fact that only exacerbated his already rampant paranoia. Rosie would
consider him the most narcissistic man she'd ever encountered – if
he wasn't sitting beside someone who made Jason seem humble in
comparison, The Darkness himself. Rosie always felt a bit miffed
that she hadn't come up with that name for Simon Nash first, as
it was simply perfect. How the hell he'd ever become head of light
entertainment was something that boggled her mind, considering
Nash was possibly the most miserable, humourless bastard she had
met in her life. All baboon-bum features, thinning hair and shiny
pink-flushed skin, he fitted the classic mould of bullied fat boy
hell-bent on revenge as an adult. His modus – get them before they
get me . It was a winning tactic; his recent promotion to head of
entertainment had granted him ultimate power over all genres except
news.
As expected, The Darkness threw the first dart of the meeting as
Rosie entered. 'Some night you guys had last night, huh?' he said,
his voice raised so no one could miss a word. 'Great to see how well
your PR function went. Graham Hunt seems to have made quite an
impression on the media.'
A moment of silence followed this particular petard's firing.
For a fleeting moment Rosie thought they might actually restrain
themselves, and refrain from laughing at her humiliation. She should
have known better. Nash was the first to let go at his own joke, though
even his heartiest guffaw was thin and joyless. With the coast now
clear to join in, Johnno burst into his hyena-like giggle, with Russ's
guttural hoots and Jason's cackle bringing up the rear. Rosie noticed
yet again how none of the men made eye contact with her as they
laughed.
When they'd had their fill, Nash turned to Rosie and, noticing her
stony face, piped: 'Come on, girl, what's happened to your sense of
humour? You used to be able to handle a joke.'
'Oh, I still laugh when I hear something funny,' she replied curtly,
before taking a seat at the end of the table, as far away from the
men as possible. She was relieved when the doors groaned open to
deliver another Christian into the ring, this time the head of drama,
Alicia Charles, her friend and the only other female executive. Alicia
was one of Rosie's favourites at the network but that didn't mean
she wasn't extremely high maintenance. She wasn't just the head of
drama in her job – there was a lot of it in her everyday life. Still,
Rosie was grateful when Alicia joined her at the far end of the table,
believing it might somehow fortify her against another testosterone
onslaught.
Allan Bales, the head of news, was next. Rosie could tell that the
shambolic-looking news director was still angry despite their long
phone conversation earlier, during which she had explained – yet
again – how she had physically put Hunt into a cab the previous
night and wasn't responsible for the fact that he must have turned it
around. Thankfully,
Stuart 'Johnno' Johnston.
With his feet up on a chair, holding court, as always, Johnno
had his hands wedged deep in his trouser pockets, like a paranoid
traveller checking his wallet in a crowded market square. For Johnno,
the thought of anything happening to his beloved penis was akin
to sudden death, and as such his hands were rarely far from it,
unconsciously flipping one testicle back and forward whenever he was
nervous. Funnily enough, Rosie rarely noticed his constant pocket
fondling any more, although watching Bettina Arthur's face the first
time she saw Johnno wrestling with the object of his affection was a
priceless moment she wouldn't forget in a hurry.
Opposite Johnno was the exquisitely coiffed head of outsourced
productions, Jason Jarvis. Although he laughed the loudest at these
meetings, he was usually either oblivious to the joke or, more often,
the brunt of it. Unabashedly gay, the ravenously ambitious executive
never had a chance of being accepted as inner-circle by the boys, a
fact that only exacerbated his already rampant paranoia. Rosie would
consider him the most narcissistic man she'd ever encountered – if
he wasn't sitting beside someone who made Jason seem humble in
comparison, The Darkness himself. Rosie always felt a bit miffed
that she hadn't come up with that name for Simon Nash first, as
it was simply perfect. How the hell he'd ever become head of light
entertainment was something that boggled her mind, considering
Nash was possibly the most miserable, humourless bastard she had
met in her life. All baboon-bum features, thinning hair and shiny
pink-flushed skin, he fitted the classic mould of bullied fat boy
hell-bent on revenge as an adult. His modus – get them before they
get me . It was a winning tactic; his recent promotion to head of
entertainment had granted him ultimate power over all genres except
news.
As expected, The Darkness threw the first dart of the meeting as
Rosie entered. 'Some night you guys had last night, huh?' he said,
his voice raised so no one could miss a word. 'Great to see how well
your PR function went. Graham Hunt seems to have made quite an
impression on the media.'
A moment of silence followed this particular petard's firing.
For a fleeting moment Rosie thought they might actually restrain
themselves, and refrain from laughing at her humiliation. She should
have known better. Nash was the first to let go at his own joke, though
even his heartiest guffaw was thin and joyless. With the coast now
clear to join in, Johnno burst into his hyena-like giggle, with Russ's
guttural hoots and Jason's cackle bringing up the rear. Rosie noticed
yet again how none of the men made eye contact with her as they
laughed.
When they'd had their fill, Nash turned to Rosie and, noticing her
stony face, piped: 'Come on, girl, what's happened to your sense of
humour? You used to be able to handle a joke.'
'Oh, I still laugh when I hear something funny,' she replied curtly,
before taking a seat at the end of the table, as far away from the
men as possible. She was relieved when the doors groaned open to
deliver another Christian into the ring, this time the head of drama,
Alicia Charles, her friend and the only other female executive. Alicia
was one of Rosie's favourites at the network but that didn't mean
she wasn't extremely high maintenance. She wasn't just the head of
drama in her job – there was a lot of it in her everyday life. Still,
Rosie was grateful when Alicia joined her at the far end of the table,
believing it might somehow fortify her against another testosterone
onslaught.
Allan Bales, the head of news, was next. Rosie could tell that the
shambolic-looking news director was still angry despite their long
phone conversation earlier, during which she had explained – yet
again – how she had physically put Hunt into a cab the previous
night and wasn't responsible for the fact that he must have turned it
around. Thankfully,
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