Playing the Field

by Foster, Zoe

Fuck Cameron. What did he know.

  ROUND 12

  Fierce Anticipation vs The First Date

  I woke the next morning with a start. Today had a Joshy flavour to it – I could feel it in my nose. I had spent the minutes before sleep the previous night visualising his name manifesting itself on my phone by the end of the day, and hated to think of my fierce disappointment should this effort fail to produce results.

  I used Tess’s shiny, long TV-ad hair as motive for blow-drying my hair properly today. I had a lot of time to come up with a motive: seventy minutes was a long time to spend doing your hair before so much as a whiff of caffeine or a banana. I tried not to tell myself it was because I would be seeing Josh, even though my hair and I both knew I was building myself up for one dramatic fall should I hear nothing from him today.

  Col was at the gym, which was a blessing; she could be too much at 8 a.m. I ate my toast, made my tea, switched on the weather channel and flipped through Harper’s BAZAAR. I ripped out a few pages of an eveningwear shoot. The adornments were incredible: all heavy metal cuffs, and layer upon layer of chains dripping with oversized charms. I was going to post them up on my inspiration board in the spare/sewing/computer room. Maybe I could make something like that next time I was in a makey mood. Hopefully this would be sometime before I hit menopause.

  Feeling good in my black cigarette pants, peep-toe shoes and delicate ruffled blouse (courtesy of my forty per cent discount at the shop), I left for work, stopping to collect our mail from the post-office box on the way. Just as I was getting back into the car, I heard a horn tooting from the passing traffic. I smiled to myself. Excellent. All that wrestling with my hair dryer had been worth the effort. But the horn kept going, and I heard a voice yell, ‘Jean!’

  I snapped my head up. There was Josh in his black BMW, stationary so that I might see him, and holding up traffic in the process. The cars behind him began beeping furiously, so he sped off. I grinned from ear to ear. Yes! Yesyesyes! Not only had my hour-plus of heat-styling been worth it, but there was no way he couldn’t call now. Perfect, perfect, perfect!

  Just as I was about to pull out, his car came racing down the street towards me. He pulled up illegally in front and jumped out, jogging over to my window, which I wound down clumsily, as fast as Mary would allow.

  ‘Jean!’ He looked handsome, even in a ridiculous yellow silky tracksuit. How could that be? ‘So glad I saw you! Hey, I’m sorry I haven’t called – you must think I’m a total bastard. But we’ve been in lockdown since Monday, in a training camp down at Browns Beach, and I didn’t get a chance to tell Frank, which I realised I should’ve ’cos then he could’ve told your sister why I’d disappeared …’

  I smiled. ‘Josh, it’s fine.’ No chance in hell he was going to see that he had pushed me into a cave mere centimetres from the cliffs of insanity.

  He jammed his hands into his pockets and shook his head, smiling excitedly. ‘Can’t believe I saw you! We just got off the bus, like, ten minutes ago.’

  ‘How funny,’ I said, then went blank, enjoying the absence of my conversation skills as much as most people enjoy cutting themselves while chopping zucchini.

  He looked down at me intently. ‘Jean, do you think I could maybe take you to dinner tonight? That’s if, you know, you don’t already have plans …’

  Thoughts of him and Tess sharing strands of spaghetti bolognaise in dimly lit restaurants reluctantly took their coats and left. I would cancel on Stevie Wonder to have dinner with Josh tonight.

  ‘Sure, that’d be nice,’ I said, trying to contain the excitement in my voice.

  A horn blared to our right, and then: ‘Bulls suck!’

  I looked around, taken aback. Who would say such a thing?

  Josh laughed. ‘We kinda do suck at the moment. So, um, how about maybe you text me your address and I can pick you up around 7.30? Does that suit you?’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’

  ‘Well, I look forward to it.’ He smiled warmly. ‘See you tonight!’

  With that he waved, smiled, trotted back to his shiny car, pulled out, honked twice (adorably), and was gone. Bless him and his silky, flared pants.

  I smiled at how tortured I’d been, thinking that he wasn’t calling me because he’d gone back to a girl with beautiful eyes, blonde, voluminous hair and a father who owned the club he played for. How very silly of me indeed, I thought. How perfectly outrageous. The smile swelled uncontrollably. I had hoped to hear from him today, but I certainly hadn’t expected to see him and score a date all in one two-minute bubble of roadside coincidence. I needed to tell Col.

  Someone has a date tonight …

  Vibrate, chime, lights, action.

  Is it tess clifton

  Haha.

  so u gonna do it on the 1st date

  Oh yeah, totally. Best way to keep a guy interested.

  Wonder wr thuggo footyhead will tk u … mcdnlds?

  Hopefully. Can I wear your shoes again? Come on. Be nice.

  well see. b home at 6 2 dress u in ur finest boob tb n nee highs – thts wt wags wr, rite?

  Who knew?

  I was in a fantastic mood as I opened up the store. A homeless man could’ve greeted me with urine-soaked pants and a c-word-soaked tirade – it had happened before – and I still wouldn’t have quit my Disney Princess humming. I wanted a customer to style. I always did a cracking job when I was in a good mood.

  Come on, someone come in. Anyone.

  No dice. Save for Ingrid, who stalked in twenty minutes later, by which time I was groping and grabbing at the window mannequins, changing their outfits to reflect not the weather or even the current fashion, but my mood.

  ‘Did you just put a tuxedo jacket over a hoodie?’ she asked. She never bothered with platitudes.

  I looked at my plastic model. Yes, it appears I did. How about that. ‘I think it kind of works …’ I said. ‘How was your trip?’

  ‘Well, I think you’re high. No one will wear that; take it off, please, Jean. I want dresses. It’s racing time.’

  I slumped and exhaled loudly.

  ‘Oh, you will carry on, won’t you, you stubborn little mule. Tomorrow it comes down.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said gaily, trying to yank – delicately – an embroidered miniskirt onto hoodie-tux girl without it looking inappropriate.

  ‘So, how was the trip?’

  ‘As exciting as you might imagine. Ran into vile Jackie Denison. I swear, she’s single-handedly keeping Botox afloat.’

  I giggled and busied myself with putting opaque tights on to my model.

  ‘When you’re finished manhandling that poor woman, would you grab me a coffee?’

  ‘Of course. Toast?’

  I always offered but she never wanted any. I rarely saw Ingrid eat; she seemed to exist on coffee and rogue particles of lipstick.

  ‘Just coffee, thanks, Jean.’

  There’d be no coffee for me. My heartbeat was already set to hummingbird pace, and if I were any more alert I would be accused of drug use.

  ROUND 13

  Nerves vs Italian Curves

  Col was adamant I looked ‘incredible’ for the first date. I felt the term was subjective, and that some might in fact view what I was wearing as ‘overdressed’, or perhaps ‘bridesmaid-appropriate’, but she wasn’t having it. I – or rather, Col – had settled on her beautiful peach-toned slip dress and some tan strappy heels. I had to admit I did feel pretty sexy. My hair swished and swirled around me as I walked down the steps of our terrace onto the street, where Josh’s black beast was waiting silently, engine off, lights on. I wondered whether he was watching me walk down the stairs, and made sure to step carefully, lest I stack it – which was very likely in these shoes, and being me.

  My little heart was pounding and my mouth was dry as I opened the passenger door. What if he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt? What if he thought I was completely over the top and trying to compete with Tess? That I was some stupid Queenslander who totally
overdressed? I took a deep breath.

  ‘Hi, Jean. You look beautiful. Very pretty dress.’

  Several million hectopascals snuck out of my pores in relief and delight.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, grateful for the darkness that hid my teenagey flush of embarrassment. I arranged myself daintily into the huge leather bucket seat and looked at Josh, who swiftly swooped in for a kiss on the cheek. He smelled like Man. Sexy Man. I took him in as he started the car. He was wearing a long-sleeved black V-neck, grey pants and cool black trainers that looked as though they had been sitting on a shop shelf until a few hours ago. He was freshly shaved and his skin was smooth and flawless. I couldn’t believe I got to spend an entire evening with him.

  He looked me directly in the eyes – this seemed to be his custom – as though I were someone far more engaging and beautiful than I actually was. Every time he did this something inside me lifted before returning gently back into place. Not sure what. Probably my pancreas.

  ‘I know you’d rather I’d worn my yellow tracksuit, but I had to make do since it was in the wash. Next time, promise.’

  I giggled like a Monthy Python cast member in drag. Since when did guys make me this silly and shy? I was usually rather formidable on a date, cracking jokes and making them laugh and being quite entertaining in general. But Josh was different. Just his presence had me rattled. I wondered whether I would be the same if he were just Josh, and not Josh Fox. Perhaps, I reluctantly conceded, his fame was to blame for my unusual nervousness.

  My phone beeped loudly. I got it out to switch it to vibrate so that it wouldn’t sear through our evening again. It was Col.

  hv fun sweet tits x yeeew!

  I shook my head. Honestly.

  We arrived at the restaurant, a tiny Italian place I’d never heard of in a district I’d never been to, and witnessed Josh greet his very own welcoming committee.

  ‘Josh!’ said a tall man with a comical moustache. ‘Long time no see! When you gonna start putting some points on the board, huh? You boys are ruining my whole tipping comp!’

  ‘Tony, I do apologise. This Sunday we’ll set things straight, I promise.’

  ‘If you can’t beat the Vikings, you’re in real trouble, boy! Now, who is this gorgeous young lady?’

  I blushed.

  ‘Allegra,’ he yelled in the direction of the kitchen, ‘some champagne!’ And then to us, ‘Now, over here, please.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’ve saved you the best table in the house.’

  As we walked past the other diners, I recognised a soapie actress and a brother–sister design duo whose clothes I adored. Who would’ve guessed such a tiny place in such a ghetto suburb would be host to all these famous people? Thank you, Col, for annoying me to the point of rage to dress up, I said silently.

  We took our seats and I realised why it was the best table: we had views over the entire city, from an angle I didn’t know existed.

  ‘Woooooow,’ I breathed. ‘Josh, this view is amazing.’

  ‘I know. I love it here. Tony always looks after me. Are you sure you’re okay with Italian?’

  It dawned on me that the last time he was here, he would have been with Tess. That made sense; she would’ve fitted in here. Me? I was just A Girl.

  ‘Oh shit. You don’t like Italian, do you, I should’ve ask—’

  ‘No, no! I love it! Honestly.’

  A slim, attractive Italian woman with her long hair tied back in a ponytail suddenly appeared with a bottle of Veuve. She had poured herself into a tight black dress and applied several kilos of lipstick to her already heavily made-up face. She had to be Allegra. No one that glamorous could have a name like Sharon or Debbie.

  ‘Joooooosh,’ she purred, planting a kiss on his cheek. ‘So lovely to see you again. Have you been well?’ She poured two glasses of champagne as she spoke, without lifting her gaze from Josh’s eyes.

  ‘I have, thank you, Allegra. And yourself?’

  He was careful to look at her, but never for longer than a few seconds.

  ‘You know, same same. Busy. We’ve missed you in here. Why don’t you come see me any more? I see all the other boys around – mostly Lukey, of course – but never you!’ She pouted. Wow. A Real Life woman pouting. This was priceless.

  ‘I’m sure that after tonight’s meal I’ll be back again next week because I will have been reminded how good your father’s cooking is.’ Josh looked at me and smiled.

  ‘Well, enjoy your meal.’ Allegra held the bottle and smiled her big, pretty smile, her eyes drilling holes into Josh’s. The she turned and walked away. Gosh. I’d never experienced anything like it.

  Josh grabbed his champagne flute and raised it. ‘I propose a toast,’ he said. ‘To finally being able to buy you a drink.’ I laughed and we each took a sip.

  ‘So, how’s Colette?’

  ‘Oh, she’s fine.’

  ‘Have she and Frank been in touch? I haven’t seen him for a while.’

  ‘Um … not sure, actually. She’s been away so I haven’t spoken to her.’ I hoped to steer Josh onto another topic but was too slow.

  ‘Do you … do you think she likes him?’ His eyes were full of hope.

  Shit. What exactly do I say here? Earlier tonight, Col had confided to me that she wasn’t going to pursue the Frank thing any more, on any level. Despite the fact that she’d told him she didn’t want a relationship just now, he didn’t seem to be willing to keep things on the friendship level. (‘Only human,’ she’d said, as she always did when a guy fell for her.) And now that Josh and I seemed to be working out, she was ‘actioning the fade-out’, she said. Both she and Frank had been out of town the past week, so it was kind of easy for her to do it.

  ‘Um, well, I mean, I think they talk on the phone sometimes … ’

  I may as well have been describing the carpet.

  ‘Uh-huuuuuh, but I didn’t ask how often they spoke on the phone.’

  I smiled. ‘Okay, well, it’s just that — Oh, I really shouldn’t say.’

  ‘What? Is she seeing another guy?’

  ‘God, no.’ I shook my head and slurped a big sip of champagne. ‘No, see the thing is, she got hurt pretty badly by her ex-fiancé a few months back. I think she’s just – and this is nothing to do with Frank – but I think she’s just not ready for anything yet.’

  ‘Whoa. Ex-fiancé? What’d he do to her? No, actually, that’s none of my business. Sorry, Jean. You don’t have to tell me a thing.’

  ‘He cheated on her. With his ex.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Mm-hmmm. I don’t get it, you know. Why would you get engaged if you still wanted to sleep around? Or if you still had feelings for someone else? You’re in a relationship because you want to be in a relationship. ’Sjust stupid.’

  ‘Col’s awesome. Frank never shuts up about her.’ He took a sip of champagne.

  ‘So!’ I said brightly. ‘Tell me about your camp. Did you have bonfires and play trust games and tell ghost stories?’

  He threw his head back and laughed. Oh, I’d never tire of that laugh.

  ‘Noooo, nononono. It’s not that kind of camp. It’s only called “camp” because we’re away. It’s just like training, only at night we have, say, a motivational speaker, or fans come and eat dinner with us, or we all watch a movie.’

  ‘Sounds like camp to me.’

  He smiled. ‘It’s not fun, trust me. We only ever go if we’re playing really, really badly, so they up the ante on everything: training, strategy, preaching about attitude, you name it. It’s like a boot camp, I guess you could say.’

  ‘So, have you decided which of my delicious treats you would like to try yet?’ asked Tony, who had snuck up on us from behind.

  ‘Oh, Tony – we haven’t even looked yet. Sorry.’

  ‘Maybe I can decide for you? Some tasting plates of my finest dishes?’

  Josh looked at me, his eyebrows raised. ‘Would you be happy to do that, Jean?’

  ‘Of course. I’m sure wh
atever you select will be lovely,’ I said, snapping my menu shut.

  ‘Wonderful! You won’t regret it,’ said Tony, as he dipped in and grabbed our menus. ‘Now, some wine. Red? White? I have a beautiful pinot from the south of France you will love …’

  More questioning eyebrow movements from Josh.

  ‘Sounds perfect,’ I said. Josh smiled warmly. I wondered if this was weird for him, to be dating a new girl so soon after breaking up with his long-term girlfriend. But he seemed to be at ease.

  The truth is I don’t like red wine, but I didn’t want to look like hard work. I’d drink straight ouzo from a gumboot in order to appear the easy, non-fussed girl who could roll with whatever she was given; for whom nothing was a drama. Guys loved those girls.

  ‘So, did you enjoy the game the other week? Tell me the truth. Between you and me, I find footy pretty boring.’ I could feel my eyebrows lifting. ‘I mean, when I’m playing it’s not boring, but my team-mates – they all watch five or six games a weekend. I can’t do it. I’d rather go for a ride. Hey, you ever been to Crow Mountain? It’s amazing. I’ll take you up there one day. It’s a bitch of a walk, but it’s worth it for the sunset …’

  Oh, stop it. Seriously, cut it out. A handsome, smart football-hero guy who liked bike-riding and sunsets? Somebody was yanking my crank. Next he’ll tell me he started a Fluffy Kitten Appreciation Facebook group.

  ‘Sweetie, your wine … ’ The Italian was back, forcing her musky, woody fragrance and impressive mams onto Josh as she leaned over him, slowly pouring his wine.

  ‘Thank you, Allegra.’ He didn’t take his eyes away from mine.

  She poured mine in half the time, tipping from roughly a metre away.

  ‘Just sing if you need me,’ she cooed before jiggling away. She made Jessica Rabbit look like fuckin’ Alice in Wonderland. I’d never had a woman openly come onto a guy I was with before. It would have been fascinating if it weren’t so unsettling.

  ‘Nice, huh?’ he asked, placing his wine back on the table.