Husband Hunters

by Genevieve Gannon

  Clementine drained it in one go.

  ‘That helped.’

  ‘I’ll get you another.’ Annabel headed off the waitress at an onyx coffee table in the adjoining room.

  When she returned, Daniela was stockpiling cocktails. A blond head popped over the pie-warmer.

  ‘Hello,’ the man said. ‘I thought I saw you.’

  He’d been at the wedding, too. He held out a plate of chocolate tarts. ‘I noticed there was a siege in the kitchen, so I thought I’d bring you some sugar to help keep your energy up for the stand-off.’

  He was looking at Clementine intently. She took a tart and thanked him. Annabel gave a little cough.

  ‘I’m Annabel.’ She offered her hand.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m Damon.’

  ‘Avoiding the enemy?’ he asked. Clementine nodded. Damon told her that he was sorry for the way she had been treated.

  ‘Jason is my oldest friend, but he always has had a thing for the ladies,’ he said.

  Clementine nodded stiffly. The pink dress she had chosen brought out the bloom in her cheeks. Damon couldn’t take his eyes off her. She couldn’t take her doleful eyes off the French doors that led to Jason.

  ‘So, Damon,’ Annabel spoke over the people gathering at the food station, ‘has Clementine ever told you about the high-school skiing trip where we collided and each broke a leg?’

  ‘No, she hasn’t.’ He came out from behind the pie-warmer and forged his way through the crowd towards them.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Clementine hissed in Annabel’s ear.

  ‘You have to talk to a single man tonight. It’s your one task.’

  ‘But he’s Jason’s best friend.’

  ‘It’s just practice. You need to restore your confidence and remind yourself that you are an attractive woman who can do better than that lying, cheating liar.’

  Damon arrived. ‘So, you’re a skier,’ he said to Clementine. Annabel discreetly excused herself to take her glass of red wine for a tour of the party.

  But first she rustled in her handbag until her fingers curled around a compact of highlighter. Turning her back to the room she pulled it out and attacked her cheek and brow bones with the brush. Satisfied, she accepted a crab claw from one of the waitresses and moved off to assess the men on offer.

  She tried to picture herself propped up in bed with one of them, the newspapers spread over their laps. Him reading the sports pages through horn-rimmed glasses. Her, in a Calvin Klein nightie, trying to pay attention to a feature about genetically modified foods before flipping to the fashion pages. Their bedcovers would be unrumpled and catalogue-ready. A sexless chill would linger between them. It all seemed so sad, like a form of surrender to the expectations of others at the expense of your own happiness.

  Annabel noticed that most of the attractive men were outside with Jason. He had an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth and was wearing a white shirt of textured cotton that was offset by a careworn velvet blazer. A single tortoiseshell button nipped it at the waist, creating the perfect inverted isosceles triangle of broad shoulders tapering to slim hips.

  As she watched him talk and wave his cigar around, anger bubbled inside her. How dare he be so cheerful? How dare he laugh casually after what he had done? She acknowledged that his features were handsome, but instead of looking attractive they seemed sinister; like bait to lure unsuspecting women. His teeth were hateful. His smile was arrogant. He had selfish lips. Lips he had pressed to the apple of Annabel’s friend’s cheek to make her believe she had found someone to love. Lips that weren’t his to give. Lips he had already pledged to Amanda.

  This was not how it was supposed to be, Annabel thought. In all the paperback romances she had devoured backstage before catwalk shows, the great love stories never involved the hero having an affair. They had titles like To Have and To Hold and Shores of Love. Chisel-jawed Chad, or Rhys, the rippled prince of Loch Leigh, never cheated on their wives.

  I should go out there and say something, Annabel thought. She imagined his guileless grin melting away when she told him what she thought of him.

  Jason took a silver lighter from his pocket, put the cigar between his lips and bought the flame to its tip. He puckered his mouth, sucked greedily, then blew a geyser of blue smoke over the crowd. Annabel ground her teeth. How inconsiderate.

  A short man in glasses coughed and waved his hand in front of his face. Dressed in tweed, he stood out in the crew of blue-suited men. He seemed gentler, and looked vaguely familiar. Jason opened his mouth and laughed. Annabel felt a shudder of rage.

  In the kitchen, she could see Clementine deep in conversation with Damon. Her pale neck was bent down like a melancholy swan. She was nodding along to Damon’s conversation, but not contributing much herself. Annabel wanted a chocolate tart from the tray Damon was holding. But something about the way he was looking at Clementine told her not to interrupt.

  She stole another glance outside. Jason looked up in time to catch her eye. She hurriedly looked away. Too late! He faintly raised his brow as his eyes met hers. The arrogance! He thought she was checking him out. Annabel put her hand up to her face, hoping nobody had seen the exchange. He lifted his chin. Then he winked.

  It was like a slap.

  Amanda gasped. How dare he? She paced the lounge room angrily, thinking ‘I should say something.’ She couldn’t believe he had winked at her. ‘I should definitely say something.’

  It had never been her style to make waves. When makeup artists talked loudly about how to correct her greasy hair or sallow skin, she had always sat quietly. And Hunter. She had let him shout and intimidate her, all the time thinking that he was smarter. That he knew better. But this was not right. Jason had tricked Clem and he had just shown Annabel it had all been for the sake of a conquest. He had crushed her heart for sport.

  I can’t let him get away with it, Annabel thought and charged outside.

  In three steps she was behind him. She tapped his shoulder with short, sharp pokes. He turned and half-smiled. ‘Can I help you?’

  Annabel felt a calm settle over her. She knew what to do.

  ‘I saw you looking at me, so I decided to come and introduce myself.’ She pulled her lips into a smirk.

  Jason’s half-smile grew. He looked at the ground in an act of faux shyness, then raised his eyes. Annabel knew that trick. Clementine never had a chance.

  ‘Did you now?’

  ‘Yes, I thought I had better make myself known to you.’ Annabel stuck her hand out. ‘My name is Annabel Summers.’

  He took her hand in his, but instead of shaking it, he held it, pressing it slightly. ‘Annabel.’

  ‘Yes,’ she smiled coyly. ‘My PR company has done a few jobs with your wife, Amanda.’

  This was a lie, but she wanted to scare him. She saw a momentary flash of panic cross his face, but he righted it and changed tack.

  ‘Have you? Lucky you,’ he said, regaining his composure. He let go of her hand.

  ‘For a moment there I thought you were flirting with me,’ she said, keeping her voice playful.

  Annabel saw that flash again, deep in his eyes. It was like a shadow drifting across the sun; an instant of fear that he had been caught out. He affected charm. ‘Now what would make you think that?’ he smiled again, but this time it was more guarded.

  She looked to the man in tweed to Jason’s left, cleared her throat and spoke up.

  ‘Well, my friend Clementine Crosley told me you’re quite the ladies man.’ The men murmuring around them paused their conversations to listen.

  Jason shifted. ‘Clementine?’

  ‘Yes, my dear friend Clementine. She’s inside. She warned me about you.’ Annabel waved her finger at him. She kept smiling, though. She wanted to keep him guessing.

  The man in tweed smothered a grin with a sip of his martini.

  Jason laughed dryly. ‘Clementine. She is a feisty one.’

  ‘She certainly is.’


  Annabel took a step forward. Jason inched backwards. She cupped her hand to his ear and whispered: ‘I’d be very careful if I were you. I know every major food company in the city. If I was launching a food transportation logistics business, I’d watch who I upset.’

  She turned on her heel and walked away. Her heart was bashing into her ribs. She collected a cocktail and drank quickly. She felt jittery. A trickle of margarita dribbled down her shirt-front.

  ‘Oh sugar,’ she ducked into the bathroom. She dabbed the spot and dried her hands, then stumbled back to the party. She jumped. Jason was in the passageway.

  He still held his cigar by his side. A red ember burned in the dark. It dropped ash onto the carpet. His face was concealed, draped in shadow. Annabel’s chest tightened the way it used to when she was late coming home to Hunter. Perhaps I shouldn’t have provoked him, she thought.

  But when he spoke, his voice was tense, soft and fearful.

  ‘You won’t—’ He cleared his throat and stepped into the light. He squinted. ‘Please, don’t say anything about the aff— About Clementine.’

  ‘Jason?’ A man’s voice followed them down the hallway. ‘Jason, what are you doing? You’ve had too much to drink, come back to the garden.’

  It was the man in tweed.

  ‘Hang on, Patrick,’ Jason said. Annabel’s memory clicked: He’d been sitting with Belinda and Clementine at Mirabella’s wedding. She smiled faintly at him. He nodded.

  Instead of leaving, Patrick advanced, still clutching his martini. He used it like a traffic warden’s baton to try to shoo Jason back to the grassed area. ‘Come on,’ he had a reassuring voice. Like a doctor. Or a kindly police sergeant.

  ‘In a minute,’ Jason said, without removing his gaze from Annabel.

  Patrick looked to her for guidance. ‘It’s alright,’ she told him. The anger coursing through her was subsiding, leaving a residue of pity. The fear was gone.

  She already knew she wasn’t going to say anything. Of course she wasn’t. Still, she hated him for his public show of innocence. She had wanted to strike at him, to leave him fretting.

  Instead, she clenched her teeth and said no. ‘No, I won’t say anything.’

  Jason’s face relaxed. He breathed out and nodded. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I don’t want my wife to find out.’

  Anger blazed in Annabel’s chest. He didn’t care about Clementine. He was worried about his own skin.

  He touched her arm — a gesture of thanks. For a second she lost her composure. She grabbed Patrick’s martini and threw it over Jason. Jason gaped, blinking through wet eyelashes. Then he slinked away.

  ‘Thanks,’ Annabel handed Patrick’s glass back to him.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For coming to rescue me.’

  Behind his glasses, his eyes were twinkling with amusement. ‘I would never make the mistake of thinking you needed rescuing,’ he said.

  He was an unusual-looking man. Bookish and not very tall, yet lean. Annabel laughed, intoxicated by what she had just done.

  ‘Now,’ Patrick took her arm, ‘I believe you owe me a martini.’

  Chapter 6 Daniela

  There were two specimens: a larger one with a mane of blond curls combed back over his head, and a shorter, darker one with a furry face. Daniela had tracked them from the patio to the dessert table where they were grazing on trifle. Her ears were cocked forward like a dingo stalking prey. She was trying to catch what they were saying. She needed a chance to interject, like Annabel had instructed.

  ‘A quick interruption is a great way to start conversations with men you don’t know,’ Annabel had lectured over marinated octopus at Pucci. ‘Say they’re debating whether to buy red wine or white, all you have to do is say “rosé” and you’ve got an opening.’

  Dani had first spotted them out by the pond, casually drinking. She had moved closer and heard them talking about fibre optics — something she knew nothing about. She lay in wait as they moved to the patio.

  ‘How’s your naked DSL?’ the taller one asked.

  ‘Good, mate,’ said the shorter.

  Still not a subject Dani could talk about. She kept her head down as they walked inside to discuss hockey.

  Come on, come on, she thought. Switch to rugby, or even AFL, something I know something about. She shadowed them as they moved towards the cakes.

  ‘I’m thinking of buying a boat.’

  No.

  ‘I’ve got to replace my tow-bar.’

  Boring.

  ‘Can you give me the name of that podiatrist you saw?’ the darker one said. ‘I need someone to look at my feet.’

  That’ll do. Daniela pounced.

  ‘I have feet.’

  Mannaggia!

  The targets turned to look at her. She felt herself shrink.

  ‘I mean, I know a good podiatrist,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just overheard—’ She had no idea what she was saying, all she could think was she didn’t know a good podiatrist. ‘Um …’ she stammered. ‘Daniela—’ She stuck her hand out.

  ‘Daniela’s the podiatrist?’ the blond asked.

  ‘No, ha, I am.’

  Inside Dani’s head, Clementine was yelling at her. Annabel was sympathetically shaking her head. But the bucks each extended a hand for her to shake.

  ‘Roger,’ said the first.

  ‘Paul,’ said the second.

  Daniela’s eye travelled to their hands. Two gold bands were locked around their wedding fingers. Damn. These two were already in captivity.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, shaking each hand. ‘I just remembered: Dr Smith relocated to Melbourne.’

  ‘Oh,’ said the blond. Then they scampered away.

  Dani gathered up a handful of strawberries and ate them as she strolled around the Vaucluse party. She had failed the first husband-hunting task. She hadn’t spoken to one single single man all night. Outside, James was circulating with a profiterole tower. She watched him pluck one for himself and bite into it. It had been a stupid idea to attempt husband-hunting at his party anyway, she thought.

  An hour later the crowd had thinned out. James was weaving between guests collecting paper plates and glasses. Daniela picked up some empty platters and took them to the kitchen. She watched James fill his arms with champagne bottles under the porch light. She found garbage bags in one of the drawers and took one out to him. He looked up and smiled.

  ‘Did you have a good night?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘I thought there’d be more people from work here, though.’

  ‘Um. Yeah. I decided not to invite anyone else.’

  He picked up two cans of beer with one hand. One slipped. The dregs spilled on his shoes, making him swear under his breath.

  ‘Your friends both cleared out pretty early. You don’t mind them ditching you for men?’

  ‘They didn’t ditch me,’ she said.

  ‘You weren’t tempted to disappear with someone yourself?’

  There was an unusual tone to James’s voice. Daniela picked up some paper plates sandwiched together with salmon dip.

  ‘No. What about you? No one of interest here for you tonight?’

  He bent to pick up the bottles that had skittered onto the lawn. There were now only two people left with them outside, a man and woman, talking closely to each other. She was towering over him in heels. He lifted his finger and stroked the soft underside of her chin. James stood and looked at them.

  ‘I was surprised you brought your friends,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I thought—’

  ‘It’s fine,’ he waved his hand.

  ‘You said the more the merrier—’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘I just thought … never mind. Thanks for helping me clean up. You didn’t have to.’ He took the bulging bag of bottles inside.

  The effect of the night’s early drinks had worn off and Daniela was wide awake. She had an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach, as though she had sw
allowed something large and indigestible. Like an exhaust pipe.

  When she got home, Simon was on the couch watching a World Cup re-run. The skeletal remains of a pizza lay in an open box on the coffee table.

  ‘Another fight with Liz?’ Dani asked.

  ‘I do live here, too, you know,’ he wailed in protest. ‘Can’t a man spend his Saturday night on his own couch in his own home?’

  Daniela raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Yeah, she kicked me out.’

  At first Gia had been horrified at the idea of Daniela living with a man out of wedlock. But she came around to the idea. She quite liked that there was someone strong around the house to protect her daughter from rapists and energy salesmen, and Daniela suspected her mother secretly hoped the relationship with Simon would develop into something more. She even caught Gia talking to her friends about ‘the lovely couch Daniela and Simon have’, perhaps to head off any judgement or pity they may have felt towards her for raising an un-marryable daughter.

  The arrangement suited Dani, because it allowed her to save for a house deposit. Her picture of marriage wasn’t a steak-or-chicken dinner reception for two hundred people; it was her lying on a mattress with her husband in a completely unfurnished house, the floorboards stripped and the walls half-painted. They would both be wearing paint-spattered clothes, eating takeaways because the oven hadn’t arrived yet, drinking beer and listening to The Kinks.

  When she was twelve years old her pa had bought her a Victorian-style dolls’ house, which she had duly remodelled using balsa wood and supermarket glue. Gia had yelled at her for ruining the gift. But Vincenzo had calmed Gia down until she contented herself with the idea that Dani’s desire to redecorate was a symptom of a domestic temperament. From a young age Daniela had preferred her brother’s Lego sets, Meccano and trucks to the dolls she was given. No doubt it was the moment Dani embraced the dolls’ house that Gia had begun to nurse fantasies of a house full of brown-eyed granddaughters. She even donated an old cameo brooch to act as a picture for one of the walls, and some foil chocolate moulds that Dani put in the kitchen to play the part of pots and pans.