by Clare Naylor
“Will must be quite keen if he’s skipping the rugby to take you out.” Alex grinned.
“I told you Dave knows what he’s doing when it comes to the workings of men’s minds.” Liv waved over at Rob, who was sitting between horse pee girl and a girl called Kicca whom Liv recognised from the dinner after Mardi Gras.
“Hey there.” Rob stood up and scooped Alex onto a bar stool and plonked a mineral water in her hands before she could say vodka lime and soda. He bought Liv a beer, which she gamely had a go at as they filled him in on the day’s excitements and the current state of RSVPs for the party.
Liv looked around to see if Ben was feeding the cigarette machine in the corner or making his way back from the gents’, but he didn’t seem to be there. She kept her fingers crossed and tried to calculate how long it would take him to get from work at the museum to here. Any minute now, she hoped. Amelia had confirmed his appearance tonight by moaning about having to spend another bloody evening in the Royal while he watched the rugby. Good for some things then was our Millie.
Liv knocked back her beer and then ordered a Scotch. She needed a bit of fire in her belly if she was going to pull off this whole Barbara Woodhouse thing. In fact, even the idea of seeing Ben from afar and ignoring him was making her feel nervous and bringing out a rash on her neck. Of course she fancied him still and of course she’d do anything to have had him not behave like such a completely predictable dog, but he had and so here she was ready to administer the first whack to his head with a rolled-up newspaper.
“When he sees that the other dog’s got his stick he’ll go mad and start dribbling,” Dave had assured her. So Liv simply took another sip of Scotch and waited for the two mutts to show so she could engineer a standoff.
And she didn’t have long to wait before the first canine bounded in, hiding his mean, nasty fangs from view and instead looking for all the world like the most glossy, handsome, adorable creature she’d ever seen. In his moleskins and black T-shirt Ben looked around and caught sight of his crew in the corner and suddenly Liv found herself offering her kingdom for a comb.
“Hi, guys.” He smiled and patted backs and shook hands and delivered the odd pair of kisses to Amelia’s friends. But not to Liv and Alex, who were admittedly sitting at the next table, but still. Confirmation of the big postfuck freeze-out, Liv noted. The dog.
“So, Alex, I hear it’s going to be quite the party of the year?” said Kicca, who had previously perceived Alex and Liv as two of the unhippest nobodies ever to grace the same coveted restaurant table as herself. “Well, I’m a huge fan of your designs. Can’t wait. And is it true that the dress code’s lingerie only?” she asked. As Alex filled a disappointed Kicca in on the fact that she’d have to wear a dress and not be able to show off her hard-earned six-pack Liv turned and watched Ben at the bar. He was getting in the drinks, laughing at something the barmaid was telling him. He didn’t turn around for even a second to find Liv’s gaze. Her heart sank slightly. And did he not even feel slightly guilty, she marvelled at his temerity and rudeness.
“I thought you’d at least be wearing a bikini, babe,” Charlie said to Alex. “I’ve invited the rugby team to see it.” Charlie laughed, and Rob, who was sitting quietly in the corner, didn’t.
Alex was unfazed. “Oh, I don’t think my figure’s up to a bikini at the moment,” she said innocently enough, but it was instantly clear that at least half the table already knew the gossip, because a few glasses of Chardonnay were raised to lips to hide sly grins and Rob looked proudly in Alex’s direction. Though if Amelia had been responsible for playing bush telegraph in this instance then everyone was doubtless under the impression that Charlie was the eligible, irresistible father. Liv looked at him and hoped for the baby-to-be’s sake that Alex hadn’t got her dates muddled up.
Charlie was currently throwing peanuts into the air while watching a young soap star who’d walked into the bar. Well, he could thank his lucky soap stars that next week he’d be free to admire the soap star at closer quarters, though judging by the wink she flashed him and the way he spilled his nuts as she did, he was perhaps not such a distant admirer after all. In fact, minutes later, after the soap star had left the bar and could be seen moving up and down in front of some flowerpots outside the bar, Charlie got a call on his mobile. The soap star outside the window threw back her head and laughed just as Charlie mumbled, “Long time no see, eh?” wittily into his phone. Alex barely noticed, as she was still trying to persuade Kicca of the postmodern humour of the name Greta’s Grundies and that Intimate Secrets wasn’t the name that the fledgling business was crying out for.
“Liv, you are looking spectacular.” Will put his pudgy little hands around Liv’s waist and she nearly jumped two feet in the air.
“Will!” It came out high-pitched like a schoolgirl who’d had her pigtails pulled. “I booked us a table at Hugo’s.”
He gave her a peck on the cheek. “I just have to go say hi to Charlie and the boys for a second if that’s okay, sweetheart. Now are you okay for a drink?”
“Fine, thanks,” Liv muttered as she looked around to see if Ben had noticed that his stick had been pinched by another dog. Admittedly, one with the body of a pug and the face of a Rottweiler, but Dave maintained that it didn’t matter that the interloper was never going to win best of breed. Dogs didn’t notice stuff like pedigree. They only wanted their stick back.
“He’s watching you,” Alex leaned over and whispered in Liv’s ear.
“Truly?”
“Staring. Oh no, he’s looked away again. He caught me watching him.”
“Can men really be so dumb, Alex? I don’t want to believe it.”
“Ssshhhh, talking of . . . here comes Will.” Alex turned back to what passed for conversation with Kicca but was actually more of a living, breathing interactive flip through the pages of Hello! magazine.
“You looked incredible in your gym outfit the other day, Liv.” Will sat next to her and began to fiddle disconcertingly with her knees. “Fantastic legs. I hadn’t noticed them before,” he remarked to no one in particular
“I’m not a racehorse, Will. Or perhaps you’d like to check my teeth while you’re at it.” Liv had very little patience with Will and his knack of making her feel as though she had as much intellectual relevance as a lamb chop.
“Ohhh, you’re feisty tonight. We like that.” He chuckled and slapped her thigh. “Can’t wait.” Liv gulped down an ice cube from the bottom of her glass and told herself that this was all in a good cause. In many ways Ben had treated her like a lamb chop, too, and he deserved to know how it felt.
“I’ll bet you can’t, you fat fuck,” Liv mumbled with the ice cube in her mouth.
Will wasn’t sure whether he’d heard properly and looked puzzled for a second. “So is that body all pumped and toned and ready for me?” Liv spat out the ice cube and giggled coquettishly as she suddenly saw Ben looking her way. Unabashedly staring at her. Had she had her old romantic head, she might have mistaken it for a gaze. But no—it was simply the stare of a simpleminded mutt who is jealous because a body-of-a-pug-face-of-a-Rottweiler type is dribbling saliva all over a stick that he once chewed and spat out.
“We’re off to supper then.” Liv made a big deal of saying good-bye to everyone even though they’d never noticed she’d arrived in the first place.
“See ya, babe.” Alex stood up and shoved Liv to one side a bit, hissing under her breath, “Please, whatever you do, don’t sleep with him. We’d have to have you deloused and fumigated and maybe even put down. You’d catch some kind of doggy dysentry or something.”
“Gross, don’t even begin.” Liv swiped a quick look at Will, who was staring at her deliberately-on-view-in-tight-trousers bottom in a way that suggested he wouldn’t mind a good sniff. “I’m going to order shellfish and throw up in the loos after the starter. Piece of fish cake.”
“Ben looks as though he’s about to cry into his beer. I think we should write a book on do
g handling. It works like a dream,” Alex marvelled, and gave Liv a hug.
“Bye then,” Liv threw behind her, glancing one last time over her shoulder and catching Ben’s eye for the first time that night. God, he did look sad sitting there on his own. She almost felt bad. Almost.
“Liv, this is Ben. I’d really like to take you to lunch if that’s okay. I think perhaps we should talk.”
“I cannot believe it. Can you believe it, Alex? Can you believe that he’s doing this?”
“You’re not supposed to be outraged, Liv; you’re supposed to be delighted that everything’s going according to plan.”
Alex and Liv were at Liv’s the next afternoon indulging in a bit of MTV after their week of baby-sitting Amelia. Laura had gone up the coast with Jo-Jo, so they were taking advantage of the flat because Alex was feeling a bit of creeping guilt for staying at Charlie’s mum’s house given her present condition.
“But am I meant to call him or what?” Liv asked. “What’s the dog-handling procedure on this one? I should call Dave.” Liv picked up the phone. “Dave, can you talk?”
“I have two seconds to spare. So tell me, how was last night?”
“Perfect. Prawns. I munched them all down and listened to him droning on about the illegal trade in AK-47s for a few minutes, then ran off to the loo. I did method acting and was thinking about what it would be like to have him lying on top of me twisting my nipples again and I think I went a pretty convincing shade of green, because he took me home straightaway.”
“And you didn’t feel guilty?” Dave asked.
“I did a bit until he made me hang my head out of the window all the way along the Pacific Highway in case I puked inside his silver Jag.”
“What a tosser. Okay, so now all we need to do is sit tight and wait for number-one dog to call.”
“He just did. But I don’t know what to do next. Do I call him?” Liv was beginning to feel a bit queasy about all this.
“No. More subtle. You haul your backside down to where he works. The museum, right?”
“Yup. Aboriginal artefacts until next week, when he has a dig in Bermagui. Amelia filled us in.”
“Great. Well, off you toddle with a nice frock and no knickers—adds to the vibes—and just sort of bump into him. It doesn’t matter if he believes it’s a coincidence or not. But just be there and be aloof and then if he asks you out be a bit cool and then agree grudgingly. Like god, I have a million and one tastier fish to fry, but I guess it’d be rude not to. That kind of aura.”
“What if he doesn’t try too hard to persuade me?” Liv sounded worried.
“He’s on the trail, Liv. You’ve got the ball again and you have to hold onto it this time. Comprendez?”
“Yeah, I think so. Okay, well, thanks, Davo. I’ll check in later.”
Liv wandered through the cool portals of the museum trying to look riveted. She stared closely at the delicate wood carvings covered with hundreds of colourful dots and then did a surreptitious head swivel every few minutes to see if she could see Ben anywhere. But for heaven’s sake he was the archaeologist, wasn’t he, not a beady-eyed security guard who sat out on view all day just waiting to be bumped into by some girl on a mission. She might as well go home now. The only people in evidence were a group of schoolchildren who were much more interested in one another’s nits than the exhibit and some desiccated pensioners who had probably been around longer than the dots on the wood carvings. Liv had one last glance around her and then slung her bag over her shoulder to leave.
“Would you mind taking a photograph of us, dear?” one of the pruney pensioners asked.
“Not at all.” Liv took the very swish and high-tech camera from the old man and stood back. “Smile, all of you,” she said, and wished she’d put on some knickers. Imagine what they’d have thought if they knew, she thought in horror and deference to their pacemakers and frail hearts.
“Cheese.” The prunes all put their arms around one another and smiled.
“Excuse me, the sign says that all flash photography’s forbidden in here. Would you mind putting that away?”
Liv had already committed a crime by pressing the button. “Whoops, I’m really sorry. Have I done loads of damage?” She turned to the security guard to face the music only to find that they were playing her song. “Ben,” she yelped, and nearly dropped the camera.
“Liv.”
“God, I’m, erm, sorry.”
A prune appeared beside her and tapped her on the shoulder. “Thank you so much, dear. Very kind of you.” He retrieved his camera and scuttled off, not even attempting to stop her from being arrested.
“I was, er, just, well, I was having a wander round and—”
“I had no idea you were interested in stuff like this, Liv. I put this exhibit together, you know. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Oh, it’s lovely,” said Liv. Thankfully she’d had nothing else to do for the past hour other than swat up, so she could quite honestly say that. “The Eora—they were the indigenous people of Sydney, right?”
“Yeah. Would you like me to show you around? Give you some of the inside info, as it were?” he asked eagerly.
Liv knew that she was supposed to be here to smoosh him into an emotional pulp, but what was the harm in looking when he was clearly so excited about sharing this stuff with her? She could smoosh him later.
“So it could have been as long as a hundred thousand years ago that they landed here really. We have to say fifty thousand to be conservative, but when the first settlers came it was the ice age. Their whole culture was based around the sea—bit like Oz now really; pretty much everyone still lives on the coasts.” Ben had his hand on the small of Liv’s back as he guided her to the last display. “God, I’m sorry, are you bored?” He turned to look at her.
Liv shook her head. She’d hadn’t been bored for a single second. “No, I feel privileged. I can’t believe that you actually discovered some of these things. What an incredible job. Truly.” Liv looked more carefully at one of the dotty plates and thought it the most beautiful thing she’d seen almost ever.
“Anyway, I suppose I should be getting off. It’s lunch break and if I hang around here I’ll get roped into translating for Japanese tourists or something,” said Ben.
Liv suddenly remembered that she was here as a stalker and not a genuine art appreciator and felt fraudulent. Then she remembered that Ben had slipped his leash and she was meant to bring him to heel. He’s a shit, she repeated in her head a few times, and drew herself up to full height. “I have to go, too. Thanks a lot, Ben.”
“You could always come and have a sandwich with me. I mean maybe you’ve got heaps of other stuff to do, but—”
“Okay. I’m actually starving.” Was that too eager? Liv wondered. No. Dave had told her that she had to get a date with Ben. And what was this if not success on a plate? Liv took a reality check and thought of her Sunday by the phone waiting for Ben to call her and clicked back into dog-handling mode. He’d done it once and you could bet your pants he’d do it again. Bad dog.
Okay, so it wasn’t Doyles or Hugo’s or some wonderful seafront watering hole where he would try to seduce her over Chardonnay and she’d resist and leave him panting. It was the museum canteen with plastic tables and wedges of carrot cake and bread baskets filled with bananas by the tills, but Liv figured it would do the trick just as well if all she had to do was lead him on and make him want her. They’d been chatting perfectly pleasantly about art and television and travelling and how they both wanted to drive across America someday, eat beignets in New Orleans at four in the morning, and nice stuff like that, and she was just psyching herself up to be mean to him when he threw her off balance.
“Actually, Liv, I don’t know if you got my message this time, but I called you. I really wanted to talk to you about something.” He put down his fork and looked thoughtful.
“Really?”
“Do you think we could go somewhere a bit more private and hav
e a chat? There’s a bunch of stuff I want to tell you.” Ben looked very serious. God, he was good; she had to give him that. He really had that earnest baby-I’m-not-joking-I-really-feel-deeply-about-this thing down to a fine art. He was making her feel like she was the only girl in the world and that nobody else mattered. And he had the cheek to not seem too confident of her response, just reveal a ripple of doubt so she couldn’t accuse him of being arrogant and cocky. Clearly he wanted another shag. But Liv wasn’t quite prepared for this yet. Though she was pretty much easy access all areas without her knickers, she hadn’t got round to discussing with Dave what happened after the date yet. She knew that she was supposed to tear Ben limb from limb emotionally and make him feel as used and cheap as he’d made her and Laura Train Wreck feel, but she hadn’t a bloody clue how to do it.
“I’ve got to go.” She suddenly looked at her watch.
“It won’t take long,” Ben said.
Oh, even better, Liv thought. He’s not even pretending to be in the market for anything more than a very quick one. There’s a sharing, caring kind of guy for you.
“In fact, I’m late for . . . something.” She picked up her bag and her postcard of the Eora pottery and stood up. “Thanks so much for the sandwich. And the exhibition was lovely. I’ll see you around.” Liv walked away without so much as a backwards glance. Well, if she had cast a nonchalant, uncaring look over her shoulder she might have melted into a big knickerless puddle of longing, because he’d looked decidedly sexy with his cheese-and-ham baguette in front of him. But how convincing had he been? Wow. She was amazed at what a fantastic lying, deceitful bastard he was capable of being. Was there no depth to which he wouldn’t stoop to make her want him just so he could pee up her leg all over again? Metaphorically, of course.
On the bus back to Bronte, Liv stopped herself from thinking what a nice bumping-into situation that had just been and focused instead on the idea that life never really turns out as you planned. A snack in the work canteen of the guy who’d fucked and chucked you and whom you were now responsible for reprimanding on behalf of women everywhere wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind all those months ago when she told Alex she dreamed of a knickerless lunch with a sexy man. But things had changed. Back then Liv had been a card-carrying romantic with a head full of pink slush. A stranger to thrilling and illicit things. Sadly, now she knew the truth. That thrilling and illicit was just like hopping aboard a handcart to hell, so the most that could be hoped for in a knickerless situation was that you didn’t catch a draught or have a brain haemorrhage or anything that would mean going in an ambulance and being exposed as a cheap floozy. Grim but true. And how strong and controlled had she been by not sneaking off into a dark corner with him for a quickie? Very, she told herself. Ubergirl that she was turning out to be.
