The Reluctant Wag (4 page)

‘What do you mean?’

‘You and Cal McCoy – you two seem to have a natural chemistry going.’

‘Do we? I hadn’t noticed,’ Merise lied. This would mean seeing Cal again. ‘What’s involved?’

‘Right, the concept behind it is that Yarraside supporters are with the team all the way, through thick and thin.’

‘Okay, so what will we be doing?’ she asked cautiously.

‘You’ll be jogging with the team.’

Merise stared blankly at the wall of the reading room. ‘Jogging? Me? As in running?’

‘That’s the idea,’ said Bev with a little laugh. ‘You’ll be running around the Tan – you know – the track that runs around the outside of the Botanical Gardens.’

‘I’ve heard of it. I might even have been there, inadvertently, but I’ve never noticed it. Listen, Bev, I’ve never run so much as a lap of the school athletics track in my life! I’d be hopeless.’

‘Oh, that doesn’t matter!’ Bev said airily. ‘You don’t actually have to run the whole thing. You just have to look the part. You can simply trot along at your own pace and let the photographer snap away.’

‘I see, well he should get some action shots, then – probably of me having a heart attack.’

Bev only howled with laughter, then arranged to meet her at the gates of the Botanical Gardens at six-thirty that Thursday morning.

At seven-thirty Merise emerged from the SMO caravan which was parked just outside a rear gate of the Gardens. She was kitted out in pink shorts and sweatbands and a Yarraside training T-shirt, and she felt horribly self-conscious.

She stood chatting to Bev and Tim for a few minutes until the Yarraside players appeared in the distance, running at a steady pace towards them. Tim stepped into their path and raised his hand when he saw Cal. Cal slowed, running on the spot as the other players ran past him. Cal looked at Merise and she knew her heart was racing, but she just looked back at him, expressionless.

‘Morning,’ he said, openly studying her skimpy outfit.

Merise felt the blush start, but she only said ‘Good morning’ with frigid politeness and turned away, pretending to be watching Simon the photographer with intense interest.

‘Ready to go?’ asked Tim. ‘Merise, fall in beside Cal and off you both go.’

They set off in silence, Merise staring down at the track and Cal looking straight ahead.

‘Okay!’ yelled Tim behind them. ‘And pick up the pace, kids!’

Merise cast a quick look over her shoulder to see Simon shadowing them. ‘How many times will we have to do this?’ she asked Cal.

‘We’ve already done ten laps,’ he said. ‘This is a training session first and a photo shoot second.’ When she didn’t respond he added, ‘I like your gear. Cute!’

‘Cute?’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘Very, especially those micro-shorts. Now come on, Merise, let’s button it and jog.’

She felt like screaming. Instead, she suddenly picked up speed and shot out in front of him. But Cal was beside her again in three long, powerful strides, and didn’t miss a beat.

‘Hey, don’t provoke me. I’m seriously tempted to tackle you to the ground.’ Her mouth dropped open and she was about to object vigorously, but now it was Cal’s turn to sprint ahead and a second later he had disappeared round a bend, leaving her fuming and panting at the same time. She could just about thump him! If he thought he could speak to her like that, he’d have to think again. She wasn’t going to be wowed or swayed by that kind of cheap innuendo.

She was standing with her hands on her hips when Tim began to call up ahead, ‘Come on now, Merise, don’t dawdle. Remember – you’re with the Wolves every step of the way! Hurry up – you’re losing Cal.’

Merise only growled in frustration and set off again at a reluctant trot.

‘Okay there, Merise?’ She turned to see a player she half recognised coming up beside her. He had a friendly face and a playful look in his eyes. He matched his pace to hers.

‘Yes, thanks, I’m fine.’

‘Since McCoy refused to introduce me, I’ll do it myself. I’m Tom Rivers; delighted to meet you at last.’

‘Hello, Tom. You’re the deputy captain aren’t you?’

His eyes crinkled into a smile. ‘Vice-captain, technically. Yes, I’m our hero’s right-hand man.’

‘Hero! Is that how he sees himself?’ she responded tartly.

Tom only laughed. ‘It’s how everybody else sees him, so he’s got to live up to the role. Mind you, he drives us all nuts in the process.’

‘I’ll bet he does. He just drives me nuts full stop.’

Tom looked at her out of the corner of his eye. They’d just rounded the bend and could see Cal pounding away a good distance in front of them.

‘He can be a hard man, that’s for sure. He expects a lot from us, but an awful lot more from himself.’

‘I’m sure he’s a paragon,’ she said, not bothering to mask her skepticism.

‘Actually, he kind of is, in footy terms anyway.’

Before she could respond Cal came up behind them, roughly elbowed Tom out of his way and placed his hand in the small of her back. ‘That photographer guy’s waiting just up ahead,’ he said. ‘Let’s nip in here and give him the slip.’ And he steered her through a small gateway that led into the gardens and directed her along a narrow path between high shrubs.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Let’s go for a drink.’

‘A drink? We’re supposed to be doing a photo shoot,’ she protested.

‘Come on! How many shots does that guy need? You look fantastic in all of them anyway, and so long as I look as if I’m suffering but determined, they’ll be happy.’

She couldn’t help but laugh at that. ‘Where would we get a drink at this time of the morning? The café can’t be open yet.’

‘No, but I know the owner. We can scrounge a mineral water or something. We’ll go in the back way.’

He led her into a small parking area at the rear of the café and opened the door.

‘Hi, Cal!’ a man called out cheerily as they made their way through the kitchen and out into the stylish café. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Two juices would be good.’ He didn’t bother consulting her. ‘And, Matt, in case anyone asks, you didn’t see us.’

Matt laughed. ‘Of course not. I never do.’

They sat at a table near the terrace. It was cool and quiet and the window-wall gave them a clear view of the ornamental lake edged by luscious tree ferns and graceful willows. She turned to look at him, and felt a thrill run through her. He was so . . . compelling. There was a sheen of sweat on his golden skin – a glow of health and strength that was irresistibly attractive. And when he smiled at the waiter who brought their drinks, his whole face was transformed and she felt something inside give way. Could he tell? Could he see the effect he had on her? She prayed that he couldn’t, and tried to look composed.

‘I’ve never been here before,’ she commented. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘Yeah, better than pounding the Tan, that’s for sure.’

‘Yes, but I wonder if I’m about to get the sack for playing truant.’

‘They’d have to sack me, too, and they won’t do that,’ he said confidently. He was so totally sure of himself and his place in the world, she thought.

‘But they need you. You’re – well, Cal McCoy – they can’t do without you. I’m just another model, and there’s plenty more where I came from, all just dying to race around Melbourne with the Yarraside heroes.’

‘Yep.’ He didn’t elaborate, just eyed her in a detached way.

‘And I suspect that while it might be flattering for players at first, it must get really annoying after a while – to be so adored.’

‘Yeah,’ he said lightly, ‘it’s a pain in the neck. But we get paid a lot of money to do something we love, so we can’t really complain about the unwelcome attention.’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘And what about you? Enjoying the publicity?’

‘I hate it!’ she said with feeling. ‘The whole celebrity scene just isn’t me. I can’t stand it.’

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Then why do it?’

‘I really need the money, to be honest, and I thought it would be good for my career to get some sort of insight into how a media campaign works.’

He said nothing, looking at her rather sceptically. Then he quickly finished his drink and glanced at his watch.

‘We should go,’ she said hurriedly.

‘Yep. I’ve got to get over to the training oval now.’

‘Where will we say we were?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Leave it to me,’ he said. ‘I can always sweet-talk Paige.’

Yes, she’d just bet he could. He probably thought he could sweet-talk any woman, including her. It was with this thought in her mind that she barely looked at him when they got back to the SMO caravan, and she dismissed him with an impersonal, ‘See you.’ She was praying that it fooled everyone – especially Cal.

Merise was making herself a pizza for dinner when she flicked on the radio and was immediately arrested by the sound of a familiar voice – a deep, manly voice with a sharp note that somehow made it irresistibly easy on the ear. It was Cal.

‘The Wolves’ barrackers stick with us because we’ve never bottomed out. We’ve played finals footy for the past five years, gradually improving our position on the ladder, and we mean to do better this year.’

‘Are you saying it’s the premiership or bust?’

‘Let’s just say that every man on the team will give everything this year, and if we don’t finish top two, we’ll consider the year to have been a complete failure.’

She was trying to concentrate on chopping cubes of feta for the pizza, but he sounded so determined, so strong, yet so cool, that she couldn’t help realising that she found the dark timbre of his voice absolutely thrilling. Oh well, she reasoned, she’d always loved the sound of the human voice – but then she added, especially his.

‘And something else new this season, Cal – the Wolves’ newest barracker in today’s ads. What a knockout she is, mate! Must be hard work posing with her.’ A burst of all-lads-together style laughter followed.

Cal paused before responding. ‘Yeah, she’s not a bad sort,’ he said, almost dismissively.

‘Not a bad sort.’ Merise threw her knife across the workbench. It made her sound like . . . like . . . one of his footy groupies. She practically threw the pizza into the oven and banged the door shut.

‘Come on now, Cal,’ insisted the presenter, ‘you can tell us. Are you and this classy lady an item?’

Even through the radio she could feel the coldness of his response. ‘Very definitely not.’

She didn’t know whether to feel more disappointed or insulted. She snapped off the radio and began roughly banging dishes into the sink. She felt under siege. It seemed to her that Cal McCoy – someone she’d never even heard of until recently – was now everywhere she turned. He was on billboards, in the papers, on TV, radio and the internet. She was being assailed by images and audio of the one man she didn’t want to think about.

She sighed, took several deep breaths. Don’t let it get to you, she told herself. Deal with the things you can control. She resolved to spend the rest of the evening looking at one of the textbooks she hadn’t yet tackled.
Guide to Australasian Media
might put her to sleep, but if nothing else, it would take her mind off him.

Bev called her the following day.

‘We’ve had a terrific reaction to the photos, Merise, so SMO will be stepping up the campaign. Everyone’s asking me about you, and the ads have been mentioned on four different radio shows already.’

‘Have they?’ Oh yeah; apparently she wasn’t ‘a bad sort’, Merise thought.

‘Yes. You know, we really need to capitalise on the interest you’ve generated. It would help if you could get out and about a bit – be seen around town.’

‘Around where exactly?’

‘Well, there’s a Tennis Australia party on at the Crown Casino tomorrow night. I know you’re not sporty, but the Australian Open has just finished. All the big overseas names will be present. It would be good if you were seen there.’

‘I actually hate parties, Bev.’

‘Don’t we all, dear! But think of it as work. If you turn up and stay for an hour, I’ll see you get a decent appearance fee.’

Merise thought of the bill she’d run up at the university bookshop. Her books for the new academic year had cost over six-hundred dollars, and those fees were due in six weeks.

‘Okay,’ she said before she could change her mind. ‘What should I wear?’

‘It’s a casual affair, so I’ve got something for you – something relaxed but sexy by Oz Girls. I think you’ll love it. Okay?’

‘Fine. Send it on.’ At least she wouldn’t have to iron anything.

‘Great. And I’ll make sure there’s a ticket for you at the door. Try to circulate, and if any photographers approach you, just flash that lovely smile everyone’s talking about and you’ll be in the papers again tomorrow.’

That prophecy proved to be painfully true.

Merise worried all day about turning up at the tennis party alone, but forced herself to think of it as work. She would find someone to talk to, smile on demand and make her way out of there as soon as she could. It was the sort of thing she’d have to do as a journalist anyway, so she might as well get in some practice now.

At nine that evening she entered the exclusive Oak Room at the casino. She was relieved to see that there was such a crowd, it was unlikely that anyone would even notice her. That was a huge relief, because she felt like a traffic light in the dress Bev had sent over. It was short, tight, low-cut and positively scarlet. Merise hated it, and had tried to focus on her hair, which she’d piled loosely on top of her head, so that long curls fell artfully about her face. Unsure what to do, she made her way to the bar, already thinking that maybe she could slip away early. She ordered a mineral water and decided to just keep moving around the room, squeezing through the crowd. That way she wouldn’t look lost or alone, and she’d have done her duty to Bev and to SMO.

She spoke briefly to a few people but kept circulating. She noticed a number of tennis celebrities in the room, as well as actresses from TV soaps, singers, other sportspeople and plenty of models. She watched how the more experienced models positioned themselves near the top celebrities, posing for photos as the local paparazzi circled, looking for that one image that would capture the public imagination the following day.

She was standing at the bar nibbling some peanuts – she was starving – when she felt someone press against her from behind. She turned around to see a face that was vaguely familiar – the face of a man she’d seen on TV and in the papers. But she couldn’t place him at first. She just knew that he was uncomfortably close to her.

‘Ssssorry, lovely lady,’ he slurred drunkenly. ‘Didn’t mean to push you.’

She merely nodded and turned back to the bar. But the next minute he was pushing against her again, the smell of alcohol on his breath quite nauseating.

‘Excuse me,’ said Merise firmly as she attempted to get past him. It was time to go home.

‘Nah, c’mere, gorgeous. What’s the rush?’ he said. ‘What you wanna drink, lady in red? I’ll get it for you. They’ll serve me straight up. They know me here.’

As he said that the penny dropped. He was the footballer, Jason Murdoch. She knew about him, not because of his footy, but because he was currently Melbourne’s most badly behaved sports star, and appeared regularly in the papers embroiled in one escapade or other. He was often drunk and he was always in trouble. It was definitely time to get out of there.

She moved to slip past him, but he dodged to block her way. She moved in the other direction, and he blocked her again. She got angry.

‘Do you mind! I would like to leave now, please,’ she hissed.

‘Hold on!’ he suddenly exclaimed. ‘I know you. You’re the girl in the Wolves ad, aren’t you, darlin’? You’re bloody McCoy’s girl!’

‘I’m not anybody’s girl,’ she spat out furiously.

‘You should be. Wanna be mine, gorgeous?’ He lurched drunkenly towards her, grabbing her around the waist, trying to nuzzle against her neck with his wet lips. Merise was disgusted and tried to push him away. ‘Stop it! Get off me, you . . . moron!’

She glanced desperately around to see if there was anyone whose eye she could catch, someone who could help. But the crowd was thicker than ever and the music almost deafening. No one was taking any notice of them.

‘Come on now, babe, loosen up a bit. Jus’ a little kiss . . .’

She tried to slap his face, but he quickly pinned her arm behind her back. She felt his strength directed against her. She dug her elbow into his ribs, but was no match for a man who towered over her and who seemed to be twice her breadth. His lips were searching for her mouth now as she struggled to fight him off. She felt his hot tongue between her teeth. She was just beginning to panic when she heard a deep, commanding voice.

‘Oi! Mate, back off!’ And Cal McCoy grabbed Murdoch by the collar and tossed him easily to one side.

Murdoch stumbled and fell against the wall. The commotion drew the attention of a security man who quickly moved to help Murdoch up, at the same time signalling for a colleague to assist him. Together they bundled Murdoch through a side door and Cal turned to look down at Merise.

‘You okay?’ He had one hand on her shoulder. It seemed to burn through the flimsy silk of her dress. Still rattled, she merely nodded. He dropped his hand.

‘You want to get out of here?’ His manner was businesslike, even brusque. She’d probably interrupted his evening. No doubt he’d be at the centre of the in-crowd.

‘Yes please. I . . . I just want to go home,’ she added in a voice that sounded small and pathetic, even to her.

Something in his face seemed to soften momentarily, but then he took a firm grip of her elbow. ‘Let’s go, then.’

‘Oh no, I don’t want to spoil your evening. I can get a taxi.’

He merely snorted at that and muttered, ‘You’ve got to be kidding; this kind of thing is purgatory.’

She looked at him in surprise, but he was already heading for the exit. He easily steered a path through the crowd and they soon emerged into the lobby. Merise felt a wave of relief sweep over her, before she was blinded by a camera flash. A young photographer had stepped up as they came through the door of the Oak Room and snapped them together. Cal scowled but kept walking. The next minute they were outside and Cal had signalled valet parking.

‘Really, I can get a taxi if —’ Merise started to say.

‘No,’ Cal cut her off. ‘I’m taking you home.’

At that moment the valet arrived in the black Ferrari and Cal quickly opened the door for her. She got in, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with tiredness. As they eased through the city she sat silently, aware that he was looking at her from time to time.

‘You okay?’ he asked at last.

‘Yes, really, I am. Just tired and . . . and disgusted with Jason Murdoch.’

‘He’s a fool, and worse – he gets nasty when he’s drunk. Do yourself a favour and stay well away from boys like him.’

‘As if I don’t!’ she snapped back.

‘Hey! I’m sure you do. I just mean you can’t be too careful. Why were you there anyway? I thought the celebrity nightlife thing wasn’t your scene.’

That stung. Did he imagine she was some sort of publicity hound?

‘I am actually allowed to go out at night – to have a life, you know,’ she retorted. ‘Just as you seem to have a very full nightlife for someone who’s supposed to be an athlete.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, let me see; Lisette Masters at the Grand Prix Ball, somebody called Andrea at
Nocturne
, twin sisters at the Melbourne Cup launch party last year – the list goes on.’ As soon as she said it she could have bitten her tongue. Now he’d know that she’d googled him.

He was silent for a second. ‘I see you’ve been monitoring my media pretty closely. I’m flattered,’ he added with a maddening smile.

‘Don’t be. My interest is purely professional, in view of our ongoing working relationship,’ she responded with an angry flush. ‘Otherwise, I’m not in the least interested.’

‘Good, because I don’t like anyone intruding on my privacy.’

‘I . . . I wasn’t intruding —’ she spluttered indignantly.

‘Where do you live exactly?’ he cut in.

She told him and they were silent for the rest of the drive. When he pulled up outside her apartment complex he got out and opened the door for her. She was already regretting the things she’d said. She’d overreacted. He had, after all, rescued her from Murdoch – not that she’d really needed rescuing, but it had been an awkward moment, she’d felt really threatened and Cal had arrived just in time. She decided to be very civil as she stepped out of the car.

‘Thanks for bringing me home. You’ve been very helpful. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you.’

She thought for a second that she detected the spectre of a smile around his mouth, but he only said, ‘No worries.’

As he walked away without looking at her, he paused and called over his shoulder, ‘And next time you go out at night, if you don’t want boofheads like Murdoch bothering you, wear something less . . . obvious – unless you enjoy the attention?’

‘Oh! You—’ she spluttered, gasping in fury as he walked away. She had an impulse to launch herself at him and, and . . . she could barely find the words to express her outrage. ‘What? What did you say?’

‘I said—’

I know what you said,’ she cut in furiously, ‘and I know what you meant – that I was asking for it, that it was my fault.’

‘Look —’

‘Don’t you dare talk to me!’ she snapped. ‘You’re so damned sexist; it’s always the woman’s fault, isn’t it?’

‘Actually, I’d say it’s never the woman’s fault. I think men should get a grip and take responsibility for their own actions. And I don’t think the fact that a man is pissed out of his mind is any excuse for behaving like an animal. But hey – assume I’m a sexist pig if it makes you feel better.’

‘Wait!’ But she was wasting her breath; he was already leaving. As he drove off, she flounced into her unit and banged the door behind her. If she never saw bloody Cal McCoy again it would still be too soon, she thought. But she saw him sooner than she expected.

They made the papers again the following morning, only this time it wasn’t the Yarraside advert. On page 5 of the tabloid,
Melbourne Tribune
, under the headline, ‘New Season, New Woman?’, there was a colour photo of Merise emerging from the Oak Room with Cal’s arm round her shoulder. It seemed like an intimate gesture and they looked like a couple. It had only been a momentary thing as he’d steered her away from the pouncing paparazzi. She was just looking at the paper in dismay when the phone rang. It was Bev.

‘Have you seen the
Tribune
? Fabulous publicity! Well done. We couldn’t have planned it any better!’

‘It’s not what it looks like —’ Merise tried to explain.

‘Who cares?’ interrupted Bev. ‘It’s just what we need to keep the focus on Yarraside. You’ve done well. In fact the campaign so far has been a runaway success. SMO want more, and as soon as possible. Are you available for a video shoot on Friday evening?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Yarraside are playing the Brighton Brumbies in a preseason practice game at seven-forty, and we’re planning a shoot with you in the changing rooms before the game.’

‘What? What would I, or rather, what would a supporter be doing in the changing rooms before a game?’

‘Ah, Merise, you know nothing about the footy world. Some fans pay thousands of dollars a year for club memberships giving them occasional access to the rooms before or after games. The corporates all do it, too – it’s a real earner for the clubs.’

‘But won’t I be in the way?’

‘No, you just have to stand in the corner and —’

‘Let me guess – look adoringly at Cal McCoy.’

Bev laughed. ‘You got it in one! I’ll email you through the details shortly.’

When Merise put down the phone she was surprised at her own mixed feelings. Her blood was still boiling at Cal’s parting shot from the night before; but while part of her was dreading the Friday evening session, she was strangely excited at the thought of seeing him again. She was annoyed at herself. She was acting like some besotted barracker drooling over her petty footy god. Why did he make her feel like this? She didn’t even like him, not really; he was just so damned . . . intriguing. Anyway, she should be focusing on her studies. Thankfully, classes started again the following week. That would help keep her mind off Cal. And she went to find one of her new textbooks and settled down to read.

Cal just knew. He sensed something before he even opened the paper that morning. He’d made himself a big breakfast and taken it out to the privacy of his courtyard garden. When he turned over the pages and saw the shot of himself and Merise the food almost stuck in his throat. But even as he registered his annoyance at the invasion of his privacy, he couldn’t help lingering on her image.

He hated the effect she had on him. She was nothing like the glamazons who normally fawned over him and made it clear that they were very available, in every way possible. It was the fact that the prickly Ms Merrick would certainly be very unavailable that made her so intriguing. Maybe some day he’d change her mind about that, and he’d really enjoy the challenge. He wouldn’t push her. She would need a lot of time and careful handling.