Dog Handling

by Clare Naylor

  “And then?” Dave quizzed.

  “And then he brings the ball back to you and you’re back where you started. The ball’s in your hands.”

  “Exactemondo.” Dave slapped Liv’s thigh in triumph. “Hence?”

  “Hence, do not give your ball away. For as long as you have the ball you are in control of the game. Be a tease. Hold onto the goods. Give a little away, but then back off. Never let them know that you want to play ball, too. Men, like dogs, prefer life this way,” Liv concluded.

  “And how else are men like dogs?” Dave had by now run out of matches so just chewed his nails.

  “Men, like dogs, are hunter-gatherers. But like dogs they have been domesticated. They no longer have to go out and slay supper, but the instinct is still there in their genes and behaviour patterns. So in the absence of cute little deer and adorable bunnies to kill they hunt women. This is a law of nature and if you deprive them of the hunt then they will go elsewhere to satisfy that need. A man must always be kept slightly hungry, six feet away from his prey. This way he will remain in constant pursuit.”

  “Fantastic. You’re getting there. Already all the men you want are panting at your heels. Pleading for dates. Slobbering on your sandals,” Dave said excitedly. “Now all I want is for you to sustain this position of power. How will you achieve that?”

  “Well.” Liv cracked her knuckles in a businesslike fashion. “The thing is that dogs are pack animals. They need a leader who is firm with them. While they may gaze adoringly at the leader forever, the leader must not show signs of weakness, because they’ll think he is being submissive and appoint themselves pack leaders. Then they run amok.”

  “Which, translated from doggy language to boy language, means what, Liv?”

  “That if you want to remain in control you must never back down. Let them gaze adoringly at you and all will be well. You may sneak sidelong glances at them and feed them and be nice as can be, but you must never gaze back too adoringly at them. Never let them know you love them as they love you. If you do, the game’s up. The man appoints himself leader of the pack and runs amok.”

  “Bravo.” Dave sprang from his chair and kissed Liv right on the lips.

  “And you’re saying that’s all I have to do to make any man want me and stay?” Liv asked, not quite able to believe it.

  “Absolutely bloody right it is,” Dave said. “Now the sooner we set you to work on your dog-handling exercises the better, my darling. The big question is who will be dog number one?”

  Liv spent her afternoon break wandering around the stalls pondering the merits of dog handling. She loved boys generally. How would she ever manage to treat them meanly and keep them at arm’s length? And wasn’t that crap, that you had to spend your entire life playing stupid games and being a controlling old witch in order to make a man love you? But then she thought about what Alex had said. Certainly Alex never had trouble getting a man to return her calls. She genuinely didn’t care very much and had never been known to gaze adoringly at any man. Ever. So it certainly worked for Alex.

  Then Liv remembered Will. Ordinarily she would have had a bloke like Will eating Pedigree Chum mix out of her hand, but she had been so keen to rinse away the past, to kick the ghost of Tim to the kerb once and for all, that she’d been positively gagging for it. Panting desperately in his lap. And the result was that he’d vanished. Left her high and dry. Kicked her to the kerb like a worthless piece of rubbish. It should definitely have been the other way around, she admitted, given his propensity for self-obsession and frankly plain unattractiveness (which she had previously turned a blind eye to because she wanted sex so badly). So maybe Dave was right. Maybe she should try a bit of dog handling. Just a bit.

  Liv moved over to try out one of the hand-crocheted Mexican hammocks in a nearby stall and dreamed of having a snooze. She felt a bit woozy actually—too much time studying dog handling in the blazing sun. Her earlier run-in with Ben Parker wasn’t exactly settling, either. Such close proximity when she’d been so unprepared to see him had made her sick with panic. She wondered if she had managed to fool him. Had he really recognised her from that French holiday or had he caught a glimpse of her at lunch the other day or even at the races? There was no way of knowing. She hoped he’d got it totally wrong and just mistaken her for a waitress who’d served him at Hugo’s last month or something. But that was a slim hope. She stuck out like a sore thumb, so he’d certainly recognise her when he saw her again. Thanks to all the sunshine and Just Right breakfast cereal, Australia seemed to grow its women tall and lithe. Liv was neither. She was convinced that she was the stoutest, palest, doughiest girl in the whole city. And being rejected by a fellow stout, doughy person, namely Will, wasn’t exactly encouraging. Of course Ben would recognise her if he saw her again. In which case she was going to have to look so wow that the memory of today’s weirdness would be obliterated from his mind with her explosion of gorgeousness. Not going to happen, actually, she thought as she climbed out of the hammock and tried on an ostrich feather skirt.

  “Buy, buy, buy,” a voice demanded behind her. Liv turned to see Alex laden with bags and almost obscured by a huge bunch of flowers. “James told me you were around and about. It’ll look fantastic at the party.”

  “What party?” Liv asked, helping Alex to deposit a few of her purchases on the ground.

  The stallholder smelled a woman on a spending spree and came over to them to encourage a sale. “It does look divine. Just the thing for a party.” He grinned, paying more attention to Alex’s legs than Liv’s ostrich-swathed hips.

  “What party? And why’ve you got a bagful of watermelons?” Liv asked.

  “Tonight. Huge surprise. It’s Charlie’s birthday and that’s all I’m going to say. I’m holding it at his apartment in Bondi. So you have to come and you have to wear ostrich,” said Alex, picking up her bags again and turning on her heels. “Seven-thirty at Charlie’s. And only ostrich, okay?” And she vanished, leaving Liv to contend with an overexcited stall owner and the horrifying prospect of socialising when all she wanted was to phone her mum and scrape the grime from under her fingernails as she watched Seinfeld.

  “You know, if you’ve not got a date for this party . . . I guess Cameron Diaz won’t be too disappointed if I stand her up to come with you,” the Stall Slime said to Liv as he watched Alex sway through the crowds towards Oxford Street.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sure Cameron Diaz won’t mind at all that you’re not going out with her,” Liv said, and prized the skirt down over her shorts. “And actually, I’m engaged to be married,” she hissed, and stormed off. Sometimes Alex as a best friend was not a picnic.

  As James squeezed his van the wrong way up her street he looked at Liv in bewilderment. “Why don’t you want to go out tonight with that lot?” he asked Liv as he pulled up in front of her house. “They’re the happening young Sydney crowd. To tell the truth, I’m pretty impressed with your social rise.”

  “I don’t belong up there. I believe you should find your level in life and stay there.” Liv scraped her bags and grocery shopping up from the crisp packet–strewn floor of the van. “I know where I belong. And it’s not at Charlie Timpson’s surprise birthday party. I should have taken the Stall Slime up on his offer and considered myself a lucky girl.”

  “I’m sorry if I called you a bushpig, honey. You know I’d never really call you that if you were,” James said, salvaging a can of organic baked beans that had rolled under his seat. “I’m sure Ben Parker would fall over himself to spade you if he wasn’t a poof.”

  “He’s not gay. I told you, he’s going out with Amelia.”

  “Yeah, right. And that’s not denial? The girl he chooses has the backside of a Polynesian deck boy. Figurewise she’s the next best thing to . . . well, to me, I suppose. Well, me as a boy, without my falsies,” said James.

  “So for a girl I’m all right?” she asked as she opened the van door and jumped out.

  “All ri
ght? You’re amazing. Liz Taylor before the ice cream and painkillers, I’d definitely say.” He pinched her cheek, which hurt a bit, but she smiled anyway.

  “Thanks, James. Sure you don’t want to be my date tonight?” Liv yelled back from the pavement.

  “Ta very much, but I’m going dancing with my very own Richard Burton. Ciao, bella. Oh, and by the way, Dave and I expect full reports on how the dog handling goes. No slacking, gorgeous.” And he drove off and honked his horn enough times to rouse a few grunts from lawn-mowing neighbours.

  “Laura, how do you fancy painting the town a lurid shade of scarlet with me tonight?” Liv yelled out towards the hut as she dumped her grocery shopping and scurried into the bathroom to pull off Laura’s T-shirt before its absence was noted. She quite wanted a bit of moral support tonight in case she had to endure further public humiliation.

  “Sounds good; don’t think I’m doing much other than working on the colour of death. Jo-Jo’s gone riding in the Blue Mountains for the weekend,” said Laura, appearing at the back door and shaking her hair loose from her ponytail. When she smiled she wasn’t bad-looking at all, Liv thought. If she dabbed a bit of white spirit on her eyebrows to get rid of the paint she might even be pretty.

  “I’ll just call Alex to check out the details,” Liv said, shoving the phone down as she got Alex’s answerphone. “She must be out buying balloons or something.”

  “Sure she won’t mind?” Laura asked. “Only I feel as though I haven’t seen a soul in days. It’ll restore balance to my life.”

  “Not at all. You’ll be my date,” said Liv. “Mind if I have first shower?” Liv added, heaving off her shorts and heading for the bathroom before Laura could object. Even though it wasn’t strictly her house, the girls felt a certain obligation to include Laura. Possibly because she was the only one of them who knew what Mr. Clean was for.

  Later Liv sat on the sofa wrapping a pair of faux-cashmere socks she’d bought Charlie from the market. She wasn’t accustomed to buying gifts for billionaires so had opted for almost-luxury goods, which she felt sure he’d be able to wear as he tottered around the first-class compartment on the Concorde or something.

  “All set.” Laura emerged from her bedroom obviously having employed a few litres of white spirit somewhere along the way. Her hair was actually wavy and auburn when not under a head scarf and two coats of Dulux and she had a face—tiny, pretty, little bit of red lipstick and blob of mascara and her green eyes went all glittery. Like the Lady of Shallot after a few glasses of red wine.

  “Laura, you’re lovely,” Liv said, wishing that she’d dolled herself up a bit more now instead of settling for Ameliaesque minimalism, which made her feel that she should be on her way to a third-form chemistry class and not a party where she planned to fell Ben Parker with her glory and tame a few of the neighbourhood strays so she could impress Dave and James.

  “Whatever,” Laura drawled, replacing the rusty nails at the bottom of her rucksack with a lipstick and credit card. “Someone I know . . . used to know . . . said that being wanted I’d be more wondered at.”

  “What did that person mean?” Liv asked, knowing full well that it was The Heartbreaker who had said it.

  “I think that I had a much bigger impact on that person when I was dressed up because I was usually covered in crap. But actually, that person was crap, so let’s not go there.” Laura shoved the rucksack over her shoulder and picked up her car keys. “If we’re having just too good a time we can ditch the car and get a cab home, eh?”

  “Sure,” said Liv, still shaking her head in shock at the beautiful spitfire who was taking her to the party.

  Bondi had become one of Liv’s favourite Sydney places. Although it was just slightly tatty round the edges, it wasn’t Sydney’s most famous attraction for nothing. The beach was perfect, there was a swimming pool that sat just above the sea and was lapped and filled with water from the ocean (some called it the pee pool, but Liv chose to have more faith in human nature), and then a skip and a belly flop away from the beach were more cafes than you could shake a stick at. Or rather shake your fat behind at, as Liv had pretty much eaten her way through: macadamia nut cookies, fried breakfasts, and endless, whippy, creamy smoothies. It was very possible to spend the entire day at Bondi and be well fed, well read on the beach, and exercised by the time you caught the bus home over the hill to Bronte with the workaday crowd in the evening. Tonight all the beach crowd had gone and, apart from a lone surfer who was doing things with a board that gave Liv nightmares, the place was deserted.

  Liv and Laura parked the car at the top of the hill and walked along the beach path towards Charlie’s very grand house. It was dusk and Alex had decorated the garden with fairy lights and candles. Laura took off her shoes and kicked back the sharp pampas grass as they walked. Strains of music collided with the sound of crashing surf and Liv could make out a few figures standing around in the garden as smoke rose from a barbecue guarded by a group of men.

  “Oh, there are people here. I thought we were just picking Alex up and then heading off for a night out,” Laura said as they approached the front door.

  “No, the party’s here. Didn’t I say? It’s Charlie’s birthday and Alex is having a surprise bash.”

  “Here?” Laura stopped dead in her tracks and turned this weird bluey-green colour that made her look as though she’d been embalmed. “And Charlie’s mates are going to be here?” She was looking at the front door as though it were the mouth hole of hell and any minute now the ferryman was going to drift up and offer them a lift.

  “Well, I guess so. Actually, I hope so, because I sort of have a bit of a soft spot for one of them. You know, this guy Ben I was telling you about.” Liv giggled, hoping that divulging her own secrets might help Laura spill the beans on hers. But Laura wasn’t spilling anything. “Laura, are you okay?” Liv asked as Laura took a few faltering steps backwards. But clearly Laura had come over all train-wrecked again.

  “You know what? I feel incredibly nervous that I haven’t managed that shade of red for death yet. We have a design meeting tomorrow and god, call me a workaholic, but . . .” And she turned round and headed up the hill. “Will you be okay to get a taxi home? I’m sorry, Liv. I’ll explain later.” And she was gone. A small figure wending her way back up the hill to the cliff top where her car was parked.

  “Laura?” Liv called up, but she raised an apologetic hand and got into her car, leaving Liv merely dumbstruck. But before Liv could make sense of Laura’s vanishing trick, the door was opened by Amelia, who grabbed Liv by the arm and pulled her indoors.

  “Quick, Charlie’ll be here in a minute. You’ll give the game away.” Liv was whisked through to the kitchen by Amelia’s deceptively strong arm—obviously a few hours a day on the rowing machine came in handy.

  “Where’s everyone gone?” asked Liv as Amelia pushed her into the darkened bedroom. But as her eyes adjusted to the darkness she saw rows of faces of those sitting on the floor and lounging on the bed.

  “Alex is going to pretend she forgot her purse and come back here. Charlie thinks they’re going to see a movie—he’s been whinging about it all day, but we pretended we’d forgotten it was his birthday.” A voice came from beside the wardrobe. It was Rob, and Liv inched over towards him, hoping that she didn’t step on Ben’s toe or fall on Amelia and crush her on the way.

  “Shhh. They’re here,” someone said, and the burr of conversation ground to a halt. Liv leaned against the dressing table and tried to make out where Ben was. She shuffled her feet so that she could see behind the man’s head in front of her when the man turned around and whispered, “Do you mind shifting back a couple of inches? I’m crushing the poor bloke in front.” She could feel his words on her cheek, and as he turned back around his hair brushed her lips. Liv was stunned. She stopped breathing. Then started again in case he noticed that she’d stopped breathing and took credit for it. Ben Parker three millimetres from the tip of her nose and she had begun
to shake. She shuffled back again so that she wasn’t thrusting her chest into his shoulder blades. Thankfully the attention of the entire room was suddenly focused on the voices next door.

  “Come on, Alex. Didn’t you say the reservation was for eight? What are you doing now?” Charlie’s voice filtered through the crack in the door and the room stifled a snigger.

  “I’ll just have a quick pee. Can you get my bag for me? It’s on the bed!” Alex yelled, as carefully planned, from another quarter of the house.

  Everyone took a huge breath in and got ready to yell. “Surprise!” they squealed as light flooded the room, and Charlie was nearly catapulted into the afterlife with shock.

  “Fuck me!” he managed to spit out before he collapsed in a nearby chair. Liv laughed out loud at his surprise and the room erupted with the sound of champagne corks popping. She’d always thought surprise parties were sick cliched affairs and dreaded anyone surprising her with one—god, she’d undoubtedly be wearing rank jogging pants and picking her nose if it happened to her—but for someone else it was actually great fun, almost as much for the assembled surprisers as the surprisee. Charlie didn’t have a finger up his nose and looked perfectly clean and crisp and so willingly accepted all the attention and the opportunity to snog Alex—and all the other women in the room—and sip champagne. The party took their glasses and toasted Charlie’s birthday before filing out of the room and spilling into the rest of the house.

  “Glad it wasn’t me. I hate surprises,” Ben Parker laughed as he brushed past Liv towards Amelia, who was being typically gorgeous and social. “Got a glass of that for me, Millie?” he asked as he wrapped his arm around her waist. Liv shook her head to try to shake off the strangeness. He clearly hadn’t seen her yet or recognised her in either of her guises: the purple-lipped, Poison perfume–scented teenager or the deranged fake-Aussie chick who ran the undies stall at the market. It was one of those occasions when you don’t actually know if you exist or not. When maybe you’re imagining the whole thing because nobody’s speaking to you, but they’re all chatting away among themselves. First Laura vanished into the night like a will-o’-the-wisp and now she was hearing voices from her past.