The Reluctant Wag

by Mary Costello

  A few days later, she was having an early-morning coffee with Erica at a tiny café in one of Melbourne’s inner-city laneways when she opened the Melbourne Times to be confronted by her own image. It was on page five: a half-page photo of her smiling – adoringly of course – up at Cal. In the photo he was looking straight at her and he was smiling, too. She couldn’t remember that. He looked almost charming. A trick of the camera, probably.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ cried Erica, snatching the paper out of her hand. ‘Wow! You look gorgeous! You’re like . . . a . . . like a real model.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Merise sardonically, ‘but look – they’ve photoshopped me to death!’

  ‘It’s still you, Merise, and it’s no wonder McCoy is looking at you like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘As if he could devour you.’

  ‘Is he?’ Merise studied the photo. ‘No, he’s just the consummate professional – giving his all for his club.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  Merise felt herself blush as she felt a tiny thrill on the inside.

  When Cal walked into the players’ room that morning a cacophony of hoots and wolf whistles arose from his teammates.

  ‘MMMwwwaaahhh!’ Tom Rivers, his vice captain, made a loud kissing sound as he held up the newspaper with the photo of Cal and Merise. ‘Mr Wonderful!’ he shrieked in mock adoration. The others fell about laughing.

  Cal only grinned and snapped the back of his legs with the wet towel he’d just carried from the lap pool.

  ‘Are you two a number?’ asked Tom, half-seriously.

  Cal set his jaw. ‘I’ll tell you what’s a number, mate – your lousy twelve-disposal game on Saturday, with a feeble fifty-three per cent kicking efficiency. That’s a number you’d want to be working on.’

  ‘Yeah right.’ Tom took no offence. He’d known Cal since junior league. ‘First game of the year. I must have been a bit rusty,’ he said.

  ‘My first game, too,’ Cal responded coolly, ‘and I got “best-on-ground”.’

  ‘And so modest about it! Anyway, she’s a decent-looking girl. When’s the big day?’

  ‘Grand Final Day,’ Cal shot back. ‘September.’

  Tom rolled his eyes. ‘Geez, mate, don’t you ever think of anything but footy?’

  ‘No, I don’t; and I wish you wouldn’t either. Okay, boys, let’s just concentrate on the Bulls this week. We got off to a good start, now we’ve got to build on that, right?’

  ‘Right,’ they chorused back and no one dared mention Merise again that day.

  But Cal’s mind was on that photo. It had been a shock when he’d first seen it. To him there was a raw intimacy in the way he was looking at Merise. He’d had no idea that the shot would turn out like that. It was the kind of shot that got the gossip magazines going, and he didn’t need the hassle of any more media scrutiny. Just one more good reason to stay away from Merise Merrick.

  Merise was determined to get off to a good start at uni this year and aimed to get through all her texts before term began. She was reading in the university library when her phone began to throb. It was Bev.

  ‘Yes?’ Merise answered, her voice little more than a whisper.

  ‘Merise, good news. SMO wants another photo shoot.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ I think. At least the money would be welcome.

  ‘Yes, it’s terrific. They’re so pleased with the first lot that they want to run with the same theme again.’

  ‘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 l
ive 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.

  Chapter 4

  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 tu
rn 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.