Husband Hunters

by Genevieve Gannon

  ‘Can I—?’ She walked towards windows. There was very little light.

  ‘No—’ Miles began to say as she pulled the bottom of one of the dining-room blinds. Up it flew up, and dusty sunlight filled the room.

  ‘Wow.’

  The space was open and airy, and the light transformed it. She could see plaster architraves and high ceilings. Walking into the lounge area, she found that its chimney had an ornate mantelpiece. She imagined what it would look like if she built bookshelves on either side and hung a painting in the space above the mantel. Her large bridge print could go opposite it, above her couch. The dining room was the perfect size. She walked around the room imagining the dinner parties she could host. There was plenty of room for her whole family, unlike her flat in Glebe where some had to sit on the couch with their plates on the arm rests.

  Miles was watching her, chewing on the arm of his sunglasses. There was another window on the other side of the fireplace. Dani opened its blind, too.

  ‘Keep an open mind—’ he blurted. More sun lit up the room.

  Then she realised why he had wanted to keep the blinds down. The walls, which she had thought had been painted a drab green colour, were covered in mould. The moss-coloured spores grew in circular stains, like a watercolour painting. She looked at the floorboards. They were rotten and ruined. Miles sighed.

  ‘There is a problem with the plumbing,’ he said.

  ‘How much of a problem?’ Dani walked to the kitchen and turned on the tap. The pipes made a groaning sound, but nothing came out.

  ‘The entire plumbing system has to be replaced,’ he said meekly.

  ‘And the floors?’

  ‘All of the floors have to be re-done as well.’

  ‘And the walls.’

  ‘Fresh plaster needed in every room.’

  She did the sums in her head. All of this would add tens of thousands of dollars to the cost of the home.

  They walked up the stairs which sighed and protested under their weight. Dani looked up at the ceiling and thought how much a few skylights would improve the space. There were four doors on the second floor. All looked as though they had abstract paintings on them. More mould. She pushed one open. It was damp to the touch, but the bedroom behind it was large and had double built-in wardrobes. The carpet was covered in lumps of plaster. The ceiling looked as though it had survived a bombing raid. Barely.

  ‘There’s also a little problem with the roof. It’s not exactly waterproof.’

  She stood under the largest of the holes and looked up.

  ‘Is that the sky I can see?’

  ‘It’s well-ventilated,’ said Miles.

  She shut the door. The second bedroom had survived better than the back room, and the bathroom was in relatively good condition, although it would have to be re-tiled. Miles opened the last door to the master bedroom.

  ‘We don’t know why this room didn’t suffer the same damage as the others,’ he said.

  Dani stepped inside. It was the width of the entire house and had been painted the colour of buttermilk. Light was streaming in from the large windows that looked out into the bare branches of plane trees. This room also had fireplace, wide and with a marble surround. Miles went to the window and wrenched it open, paint chips flying into the air as he did so. They stepped through it out onto a balcony. The floor was a mosaic, but, unlike the path below, the tiles here were preserved. Daniela pictured herself sitting there on outdoor furniture, music playing, a magazine on her lap. The house needed a lot of work, but she was in love with this room.

  ‘It’s not bad,’ she said, trying to stay cool. ‘And they definitely want five-seventy?’

  ‘Not a penny less.’

  ‘No room for negotiation?’

  He shook his head. ‘They were originally asking eight hundred thousand.’

  Again, she gave her noncommittal nod, but she was crying on the inside. After he drove her back to his office she told him she would think about it and left with his card.

  Half an hour later, Dani was descending concrete steps to a basement parlour decorated with balls of yarn, old-fashioned tins, and books about crocheting. The place was called Grandma’s Bar and was another of Annabel’s ‘must sees’.

  ‘The house is perfect,’ Daniela told Clementine. ‘It’s just way out of my price range, and it needs tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of work. I could do a lot of it myself, and I could live in the master bedroom for two or three years while I slowly repaired the rest. My brother Silvio is a plumber, too, so that’s another bonus. But the cost of the materials and the deposit is just out of reach.’

  ‘How much more would you need?’

  ‘Ten, maybe twenty thousand. I could sell my car, but I’d still be short.’

  ‘Let me buy you a drink,’ Clem said, getting up and going to the bar.

  Dani looked around the room for possible dates to take to Emerson’s, until Clementine returned and handed her a glass of red wine.

  ‘There’s a more immediate problem,’ she said holding up Emerson’s invitation. ‘A work engagement party. I’m going to have to face James and his underdressed paperweight.’

  ‘Do you have to go?’

  Clementine watched Daniela quietly assess the few men scattered around the bar on wicker chairs.

  Avoiding the party would save her spending $50 on a present, bringing her one tiny step closer to home ownership, she thought. But she shook her head.

  ‘If I can get through this one first time, the rest will be okay. But I can’t go without a date.’

  Everyone in the bar looked much younger than them. They were lanky hipsters and edgy geeks in buttoned collars.

  ‘Let’s try somewhere else,’ Dani said.

  They turned the corner to The Slip Inn, a bluestone pub made famous for hosting the first moments of the relationship between Denmark’s Crown Prince Frederick and a Tasmanian woman named Mary, who would go on to become his princess.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Clementine. She slipped off her glove and held it between her teeth while she unhitched the small silver hoops from her ears. One she dropped into her pocket, the other she slid onto the fourth finger of her left hand so that it resembled a platinum ring.

  ‘I’ve found a loophole in the single girls’ rule book. A married woman can approach a man on behalf of her friend. The single girl doesn’t lose any of her allure, and by sending in a wedded wing-woman she can chose who in a bar she speaks to.’

  ‘I should have hired you years ago,’ Dani said. They ordered two gins and tonic, then moved outside.

  ‘What about him?’ Clem predictably pointed to a man in a grey suit.

  ‘Too smarmy,’ Dani dismissed him. ‘What about him?’

  He had sandy stubble and was ordering a glass of wine from the outdoor bar.

  ‘He’s a bit young,’ said Clem.

  ‘Right now he is exactly what I’m looking for in a man. In that, he is a man.’

  ‘Okay, hold this.’ Clementine pushed her glass into Dani’s hands. She made sure the clasp was hidden on her earring-disguised-as-a-ring, then strode over to the man.

  Dani watched them chat. She knew what Clementine would have been telling him: her attractive and incidentally single girlfriend thought he was handsome.

  ‘Don’t tell her I told you,’ she would whisper conspiratorially.

  The man looked in Dani’s direction, smiled and nodded. Clementine grinned and brought him over.

  ‘Dani, this is Christophe. He’s from Marseille.’ He reached forward and shook Dani’s hand. His palm was warm and smelled of sawdust.

  ‘How long have you been in Sydney?’ Clementine asked. ‘Do you miss France? My husband and I were in Marseille last year.’ She was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder.

  ‘Clementine? I thought that was you.’

  His face was familiar, but Dani couldn’t place it. He had salt-and-pepper hair and a growly, persuasive voice.

  ‘Rex,’ Clementine
stammered. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m so glad I ran into you,’ Rex looked delighted. ‘I swear, the morning after we had dinner my car was robbed.’

  Clementine tittered nervously and twisted her fake-wedding ring. Daniela realised the man was Rex Stonehouse, the first mark in Clem’s husband-hunting history.

  He was explaining to Clementine that thieves had taken his stereo and his briefcase. When he replaced his phone, he discovered that her name had been saved to the device, not to the SIM card and so he couldn’t contact her. He started scrolling through his new Blackberry to show her that he had tried emailing.

  ‘I didn’t know your last name, but I Googled marriage counsellors and psychologists named Clementine in Sydney.’

  Three days after their first date he had sent emails to four practitioners operating in the CBD.

  ‘Who would have thought there would be so many psychologists called Clementine?’ he said, shaking his head. ‘One of them even wrote back saying she’d love to have dinner.’

  Clementine laughed.

  ‘I’d love to take you out again,’ Rex said. ‘This time I’ll give you my number too so we don’t have this problem.’

  Clementine was just about to tap her digits into his Blackberry when Christophe blocked her hand.

  ‘You know she’s married, don’t you?’

  Clementine seemed to shrink. Rex looked at her. One of the fingers holding his Blackberry was ringed in silver.

  ‘Is this true?’ Rex asked her.

  ‘Um …’ Clementine looked at Dani and Christophe.

  ‘Unbelievable!’ Rex snatched his Blackberry from her. ‘All the good ones are married.’ He stormed off. Christophe shook his head, drained his glass and left, too.

  Despite trudging to two more bars — including trying their luck again at The Establishment — it was an unsuccessful night. Dani knew why: she was needy, and they could smell it on her. This was never going to work. She needed someone she already knew.

  For a week she racked her brain, trying to recall which had been her least disastrous breakups or her most good-natured exes. There had been that nice orthodontist who had kept her crock-pot. He owed her. Was a three-year-old crock-pot worthy of a favour of this magnitude? Probably not. She gave up and called Clementine.

  ‘Will you be my plus-one for Emerson’s engagement party on Saturday?’ Dani asked.

  ‘Finally,’ Clem said, ‘somebody I actually like asks me out. But be warned, I don’t put out on the first date.’

  ‘I know you think there’s a higher chance I’ll propose if you don’t sleep with me straight away, but I’ve got to warn you: I don’t like your chances.’

  Clem laughed. ‘I’ll pick you up at eight.’

  The party was at Emerson’s home in Arncliffe. Dani spent the drive over staring out the window and trying to suppress the sickly anxiety in her stomach. She fiddled with the ribbon on the gift-wrapped fondue set in her lap.

  Clementine reached out and stilled her hand.

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

  ‘I have to,’ Dani said, determined.

  Emerson greeted Dani and Clem at the door, took the present and passed them a glass of sparkling each. There were plastic engagement rings in the flutes.

  ‘Nice touch,’ Dani said.

  His hair was slicked back and he wore an open-collared shirt. She barely recognised him as the workplace miscreant, until he rolled his eyes.

  ‘Those rings cost $4 each, but Cassie insisted.’

  They followed him through to the lounge room, which was full of unfamiliar faces. Daniela’s eyes darted from person to person, searching for James. He wasn’t there. She and Clem quickly visited the kitchen to pay their respects to the bride, who was being fawned over by a brace of girlfriends, before finding a corner that gave them a view of the room.

  ‘What do you think? Any potential targets?’ Dani asked Clementine.

  ‘No, this room has already been worked over. Look.’

  Everybody was standing two by two. It was like Noah’s Ark. Each couple had distinctive markings. Some wore matching wedding bands. A man and a woman who were fiddling with Emerson’s iPod both had the sunbaked skin that suggested a recent overseas holiday. Another couple had the tell-tale signs of being new parents: the baggy eyes, rumpled clothes, the weary glow of pride, the slight odour of talc and baby sick. Daniela kept her eye on the door.

  At 10pm Emerson gave a speech. Then his fiancée brought out a cake that was decorated to look like a bride and a groom. After they cut it, the older guests — parents and parents’ friends — started to leave.

  ‘Perhaps he’s not coming,’ said Clementine.

  There was a whoop from the backyard where guests were gathered around a chiminea. Through the glass doors they saw Emerson skolling beer from a lead-crystal vase his fiancée had just unwrapped.

  ‘Remind me why we’re so desperate to get married,’ said Clementine.

  Dani turned back to the party and clutched Clem’s arm.

  ‘He’s here.’

  At first it was just his hair that she could see. But then the crowd parted a little and his smile broke through the faces. Dani’s heart thumped. In front of him, Abbey was looking around the room wide-eyed. His hand was on her waist, gently guiding her through the throngs of people. Dani felt her blood was thickening in the manner of the coagulation that follows severe poisoning. Abbey called out to her. The interiors consultant’s blonde hair was hanging loosely, and she was wearing a flowing, knee-length dress. She looked friendly and — Daniela hated to admit it — attractive.

  ‘Daniela, so nice to see you!’ Abbey bounded over and kissed her.

  James followed. Dani’s fists were clenched so tight she feared she’d crush her own bones into powder. He bent down and gave Dani a kiss near the lips, then he shook Clem’s hand, saying of course he remembered her. They stood speechless for a moment.

  ‘I should find Emerson,’ James announced, leaving Abbey with Daniela and Clementine.

  ‘We need more drinks,’ Abbey said gaily, collecting three glasses of champagne from a passing waiter.

  Daniela drained hers while Clementine made small talk. Dani desperately wanted Abbey to leave, but it was obvious she didn’t know anybody else at the party. She looked out into the backyard where James was talking to the few guys from the site. Briggs saw her and raised his hand in a wave. Dani waved back, forcing a smile. Toby and Mark made their way inside. When they arrived, Abbey transformed.

  ‘About time you came to say hello,’ she said, flicking her hair.

  ‘I didn’t know you all knew each other,’ Dani was halfway through the sentence when she realised James would have invited Abbey along to the pub after work one night. The thought made her wild with jealousy.

  ‘Oh, we go way back, don’t we, boys?’ Abbey playfully shoved each of them.

  ‘I think I’ll go and get a piece of cake,’ Dani said.

  She barged towards the kitchen, seeking solace and a sugar hit. She cut a large piece of the bride part of cake. Clementine followed a moment later.

  ‘This party has become a microcosm of our lives,’ Clem said. ‘All of the interesting, attractive men have been ushered away by their wives and girlfriends, and the remaining two are being circled by a pack of single women. Look.’

  The bachelors were Emerson’s cousin and a man who worked at an accounting firm with the future Mrs Emerson. They were both being tugged onto the dance floor by a pack of women.

  ‘Here.’ Dani cut Clementine some cake. ‘Eat some bride.’

  Dani took another slice of the cake and bit greedily into it. Clementine took another piece, too. Halfway through, she gave a cavernous yawn.

  ‘You should go — you’ve had a big week,’ Dani said. ‘He’s here now. I’ll be okay.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  Clem hesitated. Her eyes were red from sleepless nights. ‘Okay. But call me if you want me to co
me back and pick you up.’

  Dani nodded and hugged her goodbye.

  ‘Thanks for doing this tonight.’

  ‘Of course,’ Clem smiled and was gone.

  Dani was reaching for more cake when she bashed into the back of someone tall.

  ‘I’m sorry—’

  ‘Daniela?’

  It was Nicky Mangione, the man who talked about jar sterilisation and had never called after their one husband-hunting date.

  Mannaggia. She hadn’t thought this night could have got any worse. ‘Nicky,’ she said. ‘Looks like we got that second date after all.’ She tried to sound playful, but the words came out sour.

  ‘I meant to call. I’ve just been so busy …’

  ‘Obviously,’ she said, nodding at the glass of wine in his hands. Again, she had aimed for nonchalance but hit on vinegary.

  Nicky looked embarrassed. Daniela adopted a pragmatic stance.

  ‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘A courtesy call would have been nice, is all.’

  Nicky looked away. ‘I told you, I’ve had a lot on.’

  Daniela realised this was a good opportunity for an exit interview. She could get some feedback.

  ‘Nicky, come on,’ she said calmly. ‘I obviously did something that stopped you calling for a second date. Why don’t you tell me what it was so I don’t do it in the future?’

  ‘Daniela …’ He looked at his hands.

  ‘It’s okay, you can say it.’ She wanted to hear that she had been over-eager, or that she had talked with her mouth full. She needed something she could go on; some trait or habit that she could eliminate.

  ‘I really don’t want—’

  ‘Nicky, I can handle it.’

  ‘There’s really nothing—’

  ‘I work with men all day: you’re not going to burn my sensitive ears.’

  ‘It’s not that—’

  ‘Just say it.’

  ‘Alright,’ he snapped. ‘You weren’t hot enough.’

  Daniela was stunned. She looked at him; a man almost physically identical to her. He had the same brown eyes and the same Italian nose. His widow’s peak was pronounced, as was hers. She was trying to think of something clever to say, but she was speechless.