Short Story

Client: Pacific Publications Pty, Sydney, Australia

Audience: Middle-income females, aged 18 - 35

FRIENDS IN HIGH PLACES


The Minister said he'd find me a good lawyer, and he has. He's the very, very best in the country and I'm clutching at his arm for dear life. Because if I let go, I know I'm going to tumble all the way down the courthouse stairs and into the mass of press and photographers far, far below. It's good to have friends in high places.

I try to smile, but I know I'm not going to be looking my best on the front page of tonight's evening papers. I don't care. It's the headlines that terrify me: "Minister's Affair - Aide Fails Lie Detector Test".

The press have already found us guilty, even though there's no proof - none whatsoever. And the one thing that could possibly save me, the Minister, his family, the government and the nation … is that lie-detector test.

Now the press are baying for the Minister's blood. They've forgotten everything he's done for his country. I've worked sleepless nights until dawn with him on many, many occasions. I've gone on countless tours with him, rushing from city to city. Affair? Where would we find the time?

My lawyer half-drags me through the courthouse corridor towards a short man in a brown suit.

"This is Ray Williams," he says. "He'll be asking you some questions. Just relax. I'll be with you, so you have nothing to worry about."

I can't talk, just nod, and follow them both into a room. It's small - just enough space for a desk and two chairs. There's a metal box on the desk, with a glass lid. Under the lid there's a roll of paper, and resting in the centre is a pen attached to what looks like a lever.

"Relax," says my lawyer. "I'm here. There's nothing to worry about."

I have everything to worry about. What if there's something wrong with the machine? I lower myself into a chair with as much dignity as I can muster, but my legs crumple underneath me. Mr Williams straps something black around my arm, with wires leading to the machine.

"Now," he says, "this is only going to take a few moments. Do you know how this works?"

I shake my head. I don't care. But he explains anyway. I don't listen. I just want to get out of here. Then …

"I'm sorry?"

"I asked you your name."

"Oh. It's Holly."

"Your full name, please."

"Holly Frances Jackson."

I glance down at the pen on the paper. It twitches, very slightly, and then continues its straight line. If there's any more movement than the faintest twitch, that means I'm lying. And that makes me extremely nervous. As soon as I think that, the pen wobbles from side to side.

"Relax," says my lawyer. "I'm right here with you. There's nothing to worry about."

The questions become a bit more personal. How long have I worked with the Minister?

"Just over five years."

The pen carries on drawing its straight line.

Do I enjoy his company?

"Of course. Otherwise I wouldn't be working with him, would I?"

Straight line.

Do I happen to find the Minister attractive?

"Yes."

Straight line.

Mr Williams looks up from his clipboard. Do I find the Minister … sexually attractive? I can feel the blood rising to my cheeks and my heart beating like crazy.

"No, I don't."

The line says I'm lying.

"Yes. Yes, of course I do."

The line straightens out.

And the next question - the one I've been dreading all this time:

"Have you …"

I don't hear the rest because my heart is pounding too hard. My future depends on it. The Minister's future depends on it. The government's future depends on it. The future of the whole country depends on it. And the machine knows I'm terrified because the pen's weaving a guilty black trail on the paper. I close my eyes and try to breathe properly, but can't.

I can hear my lawyer murmuring to Mr Williams. "I think, under the circumstances, it would be better to rephrase that question. Would you mind?"

"Not at all. Holly, have you ever slept with the Minister?"

My heart is thumping wildly. Just like in so many hotel rooms, when he and I would rush into each other's arms. The pen is going berserk. The answer sticks in my throat.

"Relax, Holly, just relax and I'll ask you again. Have you ever slept with the Minister?"

I'm breathless now, just like in so many hotel rooms when we'd throw our clothes back on before hurrying back to all those official lunches and dinners and functions. Now I think there is hope. But I still can't speak.

"All right, Holly … relax, and I'll ask you one more time. Have you ever … slept … with the Minister?"

Yes, there is hope, and I shout it out in one huge scream of release -

"No I didn't Mister Williams I never have - not a single wink!"

And the line is straight.

And rightly so - it's the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth … we never had time for sleeping!

"Thank you, Holly," says Mr Williams. "That's all."

And suddenly I can face the press again. But now I really can smile. I can see tonight's headlines. "No Affair - Minister's Aide Passes Lie Detector Test."

My lawyer makes a short statement before helping me through the crowd of reporters and photographers, and while opening the limousine door for me, says, discreetly: "Give my regards to the Minister, Holly, and tell him I'll see him at the club tonight."

The door closes with a dignified click. I nestle back in the plush leather seat. The chauffeur looks back at me.

"To the Minister's apartment, Miss Jackson?"

I nod.

It's good to have friends in high places.

END