“Bryce, you’re not suggesting we ‘occupy’ one of these apartments?”
“Well it’s such a great opportunity.”
“I don’t want to move again!”
“But I thought you didn’t like it here?”
That was true, Ally had never liked this apartment. It brought new meaning to the term “minimalist.” All the walls were ghostly white, but there wasn’t any timber anywhere to warm it up. Not even floorboards. The floor was polished concrete, and there were thick granite slabs for benchtops. She felt like they were living in a morgue.
“I don’t, but I’ve told you before, I want a backyard, and a dog.”
“Well, you can’t have a dog in these apartments…”
“Exactly!”
“I don’t understand what the big deal is about getting a dog!” Bryce declared. “I thought you’d like the idea of living closer to the beach again.”
“I’m sick of moving all the time. Can’t we just stop somewhere for a while?”
“Right, we’ll spend the summer at these apartments on the beach, and then we’ll look for a house, I promise.”
“No, Bryce! You said that five moves ago. Always ‘the next time.’ I want to live in a house with a yard, and a dog. And I want to have a baby!” she finished, plonking herself on the bed in her underwear, and folding her arms resolutely in front of her. The green dress remained on its hanger. “And I’m not going to any stupid party tonight.”
Bryce sighed. He pulled the bedroom chair over and sat down in front of her.
“I see what this is all about now,” he placated. “You’re just upset because of your grandfather.”
“That’s right, Bryce! And you haven’t even asked me how I’m feeling since I came back.”
“I know how you feel,” Bryce insisted. “I’ve done loss. You don’t have the monopoly on that, Ally.”
Bryce wore his father’s early death like a badge of honor. He knew every cliché on grief, and Ally was about to be served a selection.
“Your anger is a normal part of the grieving process, so I won’t take it personally.”
Ally just glared at him.
“And the baby thing, well that’s because you’re feeling a sense of your own mortality.”
“Bryce, I’ve been wanting a baby since I turned thirty!”
“Yes, well that’s a whole other story then, isn’t it?”
Ally shook her head, frustrated.
“Come to the party, meet Brendan…”
“I don’t want to meet Brendan. I don’t want to move! I mean it, Bryce.”
He considered her for a moment. “Okay, let’s drop the subject for now. But come with me. I have to go, I’m expected.”
Of course.
“You’ll feel worse staying here on your own, and you can tell me all about the funeral on the way.”
Ally relented. She shouldn’t waste an expensive hairdo and manicure. Besides, going with Bryce to the party was probably preferable to staying at home alone in the morgue.
* * *
But she was wrong. There were so many movers and shakers in the place, the walls rattled. As usual, Ally couldn’t have a decent conversation with anyone. People postured, they didn’t listen. Especially Bryce.
“Why did you tell that man that we would take the lease?” Ally started once they were in the car on the way home.
“His name is Brendan Metcalfe.”
“Whatever! Why did you tell him we’d take the lease?”
“Well, I didn’t want to miss out—”
“But I said I didn’t want to move, and I meant it, Bryce.”
“Look, I know we still have to discuss it—”
“There’s nothing to discuss, I don’t want to move to that new apartment, and I’m not going to.”
They had pulled up at some lights.
“Oh, I see, and I have no say in this?” he said tautly. “If you would just let me finish one sentence without interrupting, I was going to explain that this is really too good an opportunity to pass up…”
Ally groaned inwardly. “Opportunity” was Bryce’s personal mantra. Everything was an opportunity. But an opportunity for what? Where was it all leading to?
Bryce kept talking but Ally had stopped listening. She watched the headlights of passing cars, staring, her eyes not focused. She knew what he was saying. He would work away at her, little by little, day by day, and in the end they would move. She would go along with what he wanted. Just like coming to the party tonight, just like changing her dress.
But somewhere inside her there was that voice again, screaming. She was doing just what she swore she would never do. Following a man around, living his life, his dream. She couldn’t do it this time. She really couldn’t.
There she’d said it, if only to herself, and now she had to decide what she was going to do about it. That was the hard part.
It was not as though she’d never thought about leaving Bryce. She had, many times. And she was not afraid to be on her own. In fact, a lot of the time that’s how she felt anyway. Alone. They were not exactly sweethearts, but they got along. Ally had hoped they might be able to make it work. If they could just settle in a house, have a baby, they’d be a family. That was something she’d never had before.
Now she realized that was probably never going to happen. Not with Bryce. She’d been hanging onto an idea all this time, but it was like trying to hold onto a puff of smoke.
They parked in the basement garage and took the lift up to their floor. Bryce busied himself checking messages on his mobile, ignoring the uneasy silence that had fallen between them.
Ally followed him into the apartment and through into the bedroom. She watched him take off his jacket, open the wardrobe, take out a hanger, hang the jacket carefully onto it, pick off a stray bit of fluff, and place it back into the wardrobe. She realized that she hated how he did that, so precise and finicky. She watched him, hating him. That was it.
“Bryce, I want to move out.”
He walked over to her and cupped her face with his hands.
“You’re a contrary little soul, aren’t you?” he smiled indulgently. “But I’m glad you came around, I knew you would.”
“No, Bryce,” she said, removing his hands from her face. “I want to move out, on my own.”
“I don’t get it?” he frowned. “You want one of the apartments to yourself?”
She sighed. “This has nothing to do with the apartments, Bryce. I’m leaving you.”
“Oh Ally,” he held her by the shoulders. “You really are upset about your grandfather, aren’t you? Perhaps I’ve been a bit insensitive throwing all of this at you right now.”
Ally looked at him calmly. Being a salesman gave Bryce an incredibly thick skin. He didn’t register rejection.
“Bryce, I am upset by everything that’s happened in the past few days, and maybe it has brought all this to the surface. But that doesn’t make it any less real.”
His hands dropped to his sides, and he watched her, frowning.
“I just don’t know what we’re doing together anymore. I want a baby, I want to settle down somewhere. You don’t, and I don’t know how long it will be before you do. I can’t waste any more time.”
He sat dejectedly on the bed, pulling his tie loose. “Thanks,” he said weakly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
“I thought we were good together? You were going to get into real estate…”
“That was your dream, not mine.”
He paused, looking up at her. “Our sex life has been good, hasn’t it?”
“We have sex a lot, quantity doesn’t necessarily mean quality.”
He looked crestfallen. “You didn’t tell me there was anything wrong.”
Whoops. Ally forgot—male ego, fragile, handle with care. She didn’t want to hurt him, there was nothing to be gained by that. She sat down next to him on the bed.
“The sex was fine, Bryc
e, it was good. But it’s not everything. Can you explain to me why we’re together?”
“We love each other.”
“You love me?”
“Of course I do!”
Ally looked at him squarely. “What do you mean by that?”
He shrugged, taken aback. “What does anybody mean by that?”
“No, Bryce. I don’t want you to tell me what everybody else means, I don’t want a slogan off a desk calendar. What’s inside of you?”
He looked blankly at her.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
“It’s nearly Christmas,” Bryce said eventually. “You can’t leave at Christmas.”
Ally thought about Christmas dinner with his insufferable mother and unbearable sister, and decided that it was the perfect time to leave.
Imagine! Studios
It was the last day of shooting for the year. They had to finish today or they would never make the client’s deadline, with everything closed down over the break.
As usual Meg had already cleared her schedule, and as usual Simon was swamped. He’d asked her to keep an eye on the shoot this afternoon and, after making him beg, she’d said yes. She still got a kick out of watching a shoot, despite the fact they could be unbelievably boring affairs.
Today they were photographing a roadside poster ad for a male deodorant that was supposed to make women chase after men. Whose wish fulfillment was that?
The set was meant to resemble a jungle, with Tarzan swinging through the trees carrying Jane, presumably. The caption would read, Some guys will go to any length to get the girl, others just wear Tusk.
The set designers were still fussing over the positioning of a palm frond when the photographer called for Tarzan and Jane to come on set. A big-breasted brunette in a spray-on leopard-skin bikini sauntered in a minute later, and plopped herself on a stool, crossing her legs. She looked bored already.
“Where’s Tarzan?” the photographer boomed as a man appeared through a side entrance. He had blond, shaggy hair and wore a torn T-shirt, cargo pants and designer stubble.
“Haven’t you been in wardrobe and make-up yet?”
“Sure,” the man said, lifting the T-shirt over his head. “I was just waiting around so I went outside for a smoke.”
He dropped his trousers where he stood, revealing the ubiquitous leopard-skin loincloth. Usually models for semi-naked shots were part-time male strippers, all rippling six packs and bulging biceps. But he was leaner. He had a body like a swimmer, broad-shouldered and smooth. Meg watched him, intrigued. He didn’t have that self-awareness that a lot of models did. He moved fluidly, almost catlike, extraordinarily comfortable in his own skin. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.
The photographer began to instruct the pair on how and where to stand, but it was proving difficult. The plan was for Jane to have her back to Tarzan, with his arms around her from behind. However, Jane was tall, probably nearly six foot, and although Tarzan was taller, the proportions were all wrong. And her substantial bosom was getting in the way as well.
Sean, the photographer, was histrionic at the best of times. “Didn’t any of you morons actually put these two together when they were cast?”
Everyone mumbled, shuffling their feet and avoiding eye contact with Sean.
“Christ, I work with imbeciles!” he sighed, raising his arms dramatically. “Where’s Meg Lynch, I thought I saw her before.”
“I’m right here, Sean,” Meg said, stepping forward.
“What can you do about her tits?”
“No one’s touching my tits!” the girl protested in a high-pitched voice.
“We’re only talking ‘touching up,’ er, Jane,” Meg tried to explain.
“No one’s touching up my tits either!”
Meg sighed. Sometimes models really got on her goat. “I mean post-production, on the computer screen.”
“Can you make them smaller?” Sean broke in, exasperated.
“Geez, Sean, you guys are never happy. Usually they’re not big enough.”
“Oh thanks, Meg,” he said tightly. “We really need a bit of comic fucking relief at the moment!”
Meg suppressed a grin, shaking her head. “Calm down, Sean. Anyway, I don’t know that giving her a breast reduction is going to help.”
“Why not?”
“Well, we’re not seeing enough of Tarzan.” Meg stepped closer to the pair. She glanced up at Tarzan. “Do you mind…?”
“Not at all,” he smiled down at her. His eyes were unusually pale, like discs of glass, tinted blue. Meg felt a bit rattled, which was not at all like her. She was always cool, calm and professional. She focused on maneuvering his arm into place around Jane.
“See, Sean, it’s all wrong. I can trim the boobs, but she’s still blocking too much of his face. And we can hardly see his chest.”
Sean was frowning. “What’s the market? Who are we targeting?”
“Gay men, and housewives—they buy it for their teenage sons,” Meg said dryly. “Tarzan has to be the focus.”
“This is fucking great,” Sean exclaimed. “If we have to recast, we can’t shoot before Christmas.”
“That’s not an option, Sean. Settle down,” said Meg. “We have to think laterally. Let’s try a different position. Jane, turn around and face Tarzan.”
She did so.
“Now lean back. See, Sean, her boobs look smaller already.”
He was frowning. “Yeah, but her head’s covered by that palm leaf. Would someone cut the fucking thing out of the way?”
“But it will leave a gap—” one of the assistants offered timidly.
“We can patch it digitally. Don’t worry, get rid of it,” said Meg. “Now Jane, you raise your leg and sort of hook it behind his calf.”
“What?” she whined. “But I’ll fall.”
Meg sighed.
“Maybe you should show her how it’s done,” said Tarzan.
Meg’s eyes flew up to meet his. “What?”
“Good idea,” said Sean.
She looked back at Tarzan. He was smiling mischievously at her, he was obviously enjoying this. She felt flustered, again. She looked around at the crew. Everybody was watching her, waiting.
“Go ahead, Meg,” said Sean impatiently.
“Um, sure, right.”
Jane moved out of the way, and Meg took her position. “See Sean, if Jane inclines back, then her height’s not a problem. They can both hold the rope with the other hand—”
“Nah,” Sean shook his head. “Let him hold the rope, bring your arm up under his shoulder.”
Meg swallowed as Tarzan leaned in closer and she tucked her arm around him. She knew he was staring at her, but she avoided making eye contact.
“Okay, now what were you saying about the leg?” asked Sean.
“Um,” she faltered. “Well, if she raises her leg, and he holds her here…”
“No, grab her on the backside,” said Sean, his arms folded, watching them closely.
“And we haven’t even been introduced,” Tarzan murmured, grinning down at her as he slid his hand along her thigh. Meg felt a shiver.
“Now angle your chest toward me, Tarzan,” said Sean, looking through the viewfinder on the camera. “That’s it!” he clapped his hands together. “Mind you, I’ll be buggered how anyone could actually swing through the trees like that. But it works for the shot. Thanks, Meg, you’re a lifesaver. Okay, Jane, into position. Everybody, look alive!”
Meg looked up at Tarzan. “You can let go of me now.”
“Do I have to?” he grinned.
“I’m not really dressed for the part,” Meg said, trying to sound unaffected.
“Mm, pity about that,” he murmured, releasing her slowly.
Meg walked back to the corner of the studio and leaned against the wall. She felt a little flushed. She stood there, watching the shoot, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. From time to time Tarzan looked around and caught her eye, smilin
g at her, a sexy, knowing smile as if they were both in on the same joke.
After nearly two hours Sean was as close to satisfied as he was going to get. “That’s a wrap, everybody.”
Meg should have left that minute. There was nothing keeping her there. But she lingered.
She watched Tarzan as he signed a clipboard an assistant handed him. Then he looked directly across at her, meeting her gaze. Meg turned away, embarrassed. When she looked back again he was gone. She glanced around the studio, wondering where he went, berating herself for feeling disappointed. She picked up her handbag and wandered toward the exit.
“Hi,” a voice said behind her.
Meg swung around. It was Tarzan, fully clothed. “Hi.”
“I thought I should introduce myself, since I fondled your bum and all.”
Meg was sure her face had reddened, even though she never blushed, it wasn’t her style.
“Jamie Carroll,” he said, offering his hand. She put her hand in his and he squeezed it gently.
“Meg Lynch.”
“Can I buy you a drink, Meg Lynch?”
She started to protest, but he talked over the top of her. “It’s the least I can do, after you saved the shoot. I needed this job.” He still had hold of her hand, and he was looking directly into her eyes.
“They wouldn’t have replaced you,” Meg assured him. “Betty Buxom was more likely to go.”
“Well, I’d still like to thank you,” he said. “You know, for letting me cop a feel without slapping me.”
Meg smiled, despite herself. He was awfully good-looking, in an untamed sort of way, with his two-day growth and his couldn’t-care-less hairstyle. But it was his eyes that really drew her in, startlingly pale against his tawny complexion, crinkling at the corners when he smiled.
Call Waiting Page 6
