The Reluctant Wag

by Mary Costello

  ‘You’ll be going as Cal McCoy’s partner,’ Bev added, and somehow Merise’s heart dipped and soared at the same time. So much for that low profile.

  ‘But . . . I can’t. I mean . . . I don’t think he’ll be too happy.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Well, we don’t exactly get on.’

  ‘Oh, I see. No, I suppose you two don’t have much in common. But you’re wrong, you know; it was his suggestion to take you.’

  ‘Really?’ That floored Merise. What did it mean?

  ‘Oh yes. He lives for Yarraside. He’d do anything that he thought would be good for the club. And trust me, you’re good for the club.’

  Yeah, that made sense. She’d be a handy accessory. ‘But . . .’ She searched for some way out. If she arrived with Cal, there would be no hiding place. ‘It’s just, I’ve got nothing to wear.’

  ‘No worries, as soon as people hear you’ll be coming as Cal McCoy’s partner, every designer in Australia will be falling all over themselves to dress you.’

  Merise cringed – at the thought of ‘Cal McCoy’s partner’ being her claim to fame – but part of her buzzed with excitement. Did he really only choose her as his partner for the sake of the club? Everything about Cal McCoy was so troubling and confusing. Damn! If only she could feel normal again.

  Merise knew that she looked good when she stood in front of the mirror on Friday night. She had spent the afternoon having her hair styled and getting a manicure, a pedicure and her make-up done. She felt that she really didn’t look like herself. She looked at the girl in the mirror, and felt somehow detached from the glamorous image. She was wearing a magnificent silk dress in the Yarraside colours of black and silver. The corsetted bodice hugged her upper body, revealing her slim, shapely figure and leaving her gleaming white shoulders bare. The skirt floated out behind her as she moved, giving an impression of graceful elegance.

  ‘You look like a goddess,’ said Erica, who’d come to help her dress. ‘Really, I’ve never seen you look so lovely.’

  ‘That’s because I’m not so lovely. It’s the clothes and the make-up and the hair.’

  Erica shook her head.’Don’t be silly – those things only enhance the way you look. Your natural beauty shines through. I’m so glad they left your hair out.’

  Her thick, long mane was gently curling around her shoulders. It had been ages since Merise had worn it like that. She usually tied it back in a ponytail or piled it up on her head to keep it out of the way. Now it added a voluptuous quality to her classic beauty.

  ‘I don’t know. I just hope it’s not windy – it’ll fly off in all directions and I’ll look like Medusa.’

  At that moment the doorbell rang and Erica went to open the door. It was Cal. He stood there filling the doorway, looking unexpectedly elegant in a tuxedo and white shirt. When Merise turned and saw him she gave a small, involuntary gasp. He looked so ruggedly handsome. She felt her insides flutter as their eyes met. Neither of them moved.

  Erica instantly sensed the tension. ‘Right,’ she said cheerily. ‘Come in. It’s Cal McCoy, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ he muttered, barely noticing Erica as he walked up to Merise, never taking his eyes off her. She felt herself go hot and cold by turns. He opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to have second thoughts. The expression on his face was hard to read. Then he smiled and said casually, ‘The club colours have never looked so classy.’

  Her heart sank. Nothing about her – always the club, always his precious Wolves. Taking her cue from him, Merise responded as casually as she could manage. ‘Yes, it’s a magnificent dress. And you look very smart. Did SMO send a stylist to sort you out, too?’

  He laughed mischievously at that. ‘They tried. They’ve sent me a lot of emails and they’ve been ringing me, but somehow I haven’t been available.’

  ‘Very wise,’ she said brightly. If they could keep up this light banter all evening, she might manage not to stare at him, not to let him see that the sight of him had left her swooning on the inside. But he was so utterly, powerfully compelling. It wasn’t just the way he looked, it was the way he moved, his deep, seductive voice, the power that seemed to emanate from him. Stop this! she told herself. Focus on the job ahead.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, looking forward to it.’

  He looked surprised. ‘Really? I thought you’d be dreading it – an evening of empty-headed glam dominated by shallow celebrities and the parasitic paparazzi.’

  ‘Well, I’m trying to take a positive approach,’ she admitted. ‘I thought I could turn the experience into an article for my portfolio.’

  ‘Ah yes – ever the intrepid reporter,’ he quipped. ‘Just leave me out of it.’

  ‘Hah!’ she retorted. ‘You flatter yourself. Now, shall we get to work?’

  ‘Yep,’ he said. ‘Let’s do it for the barrackers!’

  Erica chatted easily as she walked them to the waiting limousine and waved them off. In the car, there was a strain between them that made Merise feel uncomfortable and edgy. She sat as far away from him as she could and kept her eyes fixed on the window. Neither spoke during the ten-minute drive to Southbank. But when they neared the casino precinct, the traffic slowed as they joined a long line of limousines waiting to deposit their celebrity passengers at the grand entrance.

  Merise peered anxiously over the driver’s shoulder and began to fussily arrange her tiny evening bag and the folds of her skirt.

  ‘Nervous?’ he asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.

  ‘No . . . yes, I mean, I’m a bit worried about getting out of the car. It’s so hard to look elegant when you’re trying not to trip on ten metres of train.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Everything you do is elegant – and I’ll come round and stand in front of the door until you get organised.’

  Merise thought he might be joking, but when a few minutes later the car pulled up at the entrance, he was as good as his word.

  ‘I’ll get the door,’ he said to the driver as he stepped out of the car. Seconds later he opened the door for Merise, blocking her view of the casino and everyone’s view of her.

  She carefully swung her legs to her left, as Bev had taught her to do, and stood up slowly, allowing her dress to fall into place.

  ‘Nicely done,’ he said encouragingly as he offered his arm. She laid her small hand on it and felt instantly better. He was so calm, so reassuring as he stood looking down at her, no hint of censure in his eyes, and she gave him a radiant smile – a smile that was for him, not the cameras.

  Then he stood aside and the world rushed in. A score of photographers moved forward as they stepped on to the red carpet that led into the dazzling, cavernous foyer. Merise had an overwhelming impression of light – from the dozens of camera flashes as well as the thousands of golden bulbs glowing on the casino walls and ceiling. She recoiled for a split second from all that glare, then felt his arm go around her waist as he guided her forward. His body was so warm and solid, she wanted to just disappear into his shoulder.

  ‘Just take it slowly and smile,’ he whispered into her ear. And the next moment they were advancing as the photographers snapped and a crowd of fans called out to Cal. He smiled easily, keeping one arm around her and waving with the other. She loved the feeling of his arm about her. She loved the hardness of his body touching hers. It was as if he was transferring something of his strength and energy to her. He was born to do this. The scrutiny didn’t trouble him. He seemed comfortable, self-assured, and in total control – as usual.

  Merise just kept looking straight ahead. The fans hadn’t come to see her – apart from her dress – and she didn’t want to trip over anything. Up ahead she could see a press of gorgeously clad and coiffed women, some posing for photographers beside illuminated pools of water that spilled over platforms of black marble, others being interviewed on the red carpet by one of the camera crews. But as she and Cal came forward, on
e by one the journalists and cameramen turned, spotted them and started moving in their direction.

  ‘Brace yourself,’ he murmured, and she straightened her shoulders just a little, lifted her head and put on the widest, sweetest smile she could muster.

  ‘Cal! Over here!’ A tuxedo-clad man waving a microphone was bearing down on them. ‘Can you do a quick interview for Channel Nine?’

  ‘Sure, no worries,’ Cal responded in a reassuringly relaxed voice.

  A second later, a young woman dressed in an emerald-green gown appeared in front of them, stuck a mic under her nose and said, ‘I’m here on the red carpet with Yarraside captain, Cal McCoy, and his lovely companion, Merise Merrick.’

  Merise smiled dutifully. ‘His lovely companion’ indeed!

  ‘Merise, you look absolutely magnificent. Who dressed you this evening?’

  Now the mic was under Merise’s nose. ‘It’s a Carelle Magee gown,’ Merise said in a clear voice. ‘Carelle is undoubtedly one of Australia’s finest young designers. It’s a lovely dress, but also very comfortable to wear.’ She had to say something.

  The presenter look surprised. Probably didn’t expect that I could string three words together, Merise thought.

  ‘And how are you enjoying your experience as the Wolves’ It girl?’

  Merise thought for second, then said, ‘I’m not even sure what an It girl is, but it’s all so interesting and exciting, I love working with the club.’

  ‘And with the gorgeous Mr McCoy?’ prompted the interviewer.

  ‘Of course,’ said Merise. Keep it light, she told herself.

  ‘Well, there are a lot of glamorous ladies here, but I think you’ve just about stolen the show tonight, Merise. Don’t you think she looks amazing?’ Now the mic was waved under Cal’s nose.

  ‘You won’t get an argument from me on that,’ he said lightly. Then he firmly took her hand, nodded to the interviewer and made for the grand staircase leading to the function room.

  ‘Okay?’ he asked under his breath.

  ‘Holding together,’ Merise whispered.

  ‘You did pretty well. You’re a natural at this,’ he said giving her a smile of approval, just before a camera flashed in their faces yet again.

  They were seated at a table with the Wolves management and leadership group and their wives and partners. Cal was kept busy all night with people coming up to him for a quick chat about one thing or another, but Merise didn’t feel left out. After dinner a band struck up and couples made their way on to the dance floor.

  ‘Shall we?’ said Cal, already on his feet and taking her hand.

  ‘Um, yes. No! I mean . . . I can’t dance, not like this, anyway,’ she said, watching the dancers glide or flit around the room in something that might have been a waltz or a quickstep, for all she knew.

  He pulled her to her feet. ‘Everyone can dance. Just pretend no one’s watching.’ And a second later she was in his arms and he was sweeping her across the floor. Cal moved with powerful grace, and she found herself following him naturally, falling easily into step as if they’d done this a thousand times before. Now that she thought about it, it made sense that he could dance. He was an athlete – a master in the realm of the physical. He understood movement and he could command his body, and hers too, she thought, which was just as well. As the dance floor became more crowded he pulled her into his chest, wrapped one arm around her, and she felt his big hand span the small of her back. It seemed that her temperature rose ten degrees. It felt so light, so airy, so right to be moving in sync with this man, nestled in his arms.

  When the music stopped she finally dared to look up at him. He looked straight back into her eyes, and she felt somehow exposed. ‘Enjoying yourself?’

  ‘Yes, it’s wonderful,’ she sounded somehow breathless, and she realised that he hadn’t released her; he was still holding her close, his arms still clamped around her. And it felt perfect.

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered close to her ear, ‘thrilling, isn’t it?’ and he pulled her even closer. She felt something inside her dissolve and she had to dig her hands into his arms to steady herself. She became aware of every line of his body – bone and muscle – and felt her own heart pounding against his chest. Surely he could feel that too? Sense the disturbance within her? But just then a little man tapped Cal on the shoulder and boomed heartily, ‘Cal McCoy! How ya going?’ and the spell was broken.

  As they drew apart, Merise felt herself breathe more freely. She tried to clear her head. She didn’t want to think about the effect this man had on her – the power he seemed to have over her. She understood that the attraction was merely physical, and the power of that attraction was something she would resist, for her own sake. She was only human. What woman wouldn’t be dazzled by the sheer physicality of a man like Cal? And no doubt most of them would melt in his arms, then fall straight into his bed. That’s what he’d be expecting. He would consider it his due, and it would mean nothing to him. So she’d better keep a grip from now on, she told herself. She might be susceptible to him, but she wasn’t going to become another of his women, another of his cast-offs.

  For the rest of the evening, as Cal was monopolised by one acquaintance after another, she chatted politely with the other guests at their table and before she knew it, it was midnight.

  ‘Time to go?’ Cal suggested as the waiters cleared away the coffee cups.

  ‘Yes, I’m just about ready to fall into bed.’

  ‘Indeed?’ His eyes lit up in mock excitement before she realised what she’d said and she felt her face flare.

  ‘Yes,’ she said very firmly, ‘I’m exhausted and these shoes are killing me.’

  As they made their way across the upper foyer, Cal was hailed by a group of men. ‘Excuse me, I’ll just be a moment,’ he said.

  She was standing looking over the gallery at the still-busy scene below when an older woman approached.

  ‘Hello. You’re Merise Merrick, aren’t you? I’m Nina Smally, chief football writer for the Times.’

  ‘Oh really? I’m delighted to meet you.’ Merise meant it – a real media contact at last! ‘I’ve been enjoying your articles. There aren’t too many women at your level in sports media.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ve been in the game – or at least on the fringes – for a long time, unlike you.’ She indicated Cal. ‘McCoy’s quite a project. They’re some of Australia’s top TV executives he’s schmoozing there. He certainly has them eating out of his hand,’ she said admiringly.

  ‘Yes,’ Merise agreed, ‘he’s quite a media performer.’

  ‘Oh, it’s more than that, dear. He knows the business inside out. He’s always had a flair for it, and of course he absolutely starred at uni.’

  ‘Uni?’ Cal had been to university?

  ‘Oh yes. He did his journalism degree at RMIT. A friend of mine runs the course; said she’d never had such a gifted student. He came out with a high distinction.’

  ‘Really?’ Merise felt herself shrinking and going puce at the same time.

  ‘Yes. He did it part-time – enrolled the year he started playing for the Wolves, and finished the year before last.’

  Merise bit the inside of her gum. Cal had already achieved her life’s goal, and he’d done it as a mere sideline, en route to sporting glory. And when he’d overheard her remarks about his easy run in the media, he hadn’t bothered to enlighten her. He hadn’t explained that he’d put in the work and earned the right to have his voice heard. She felt herself seething with resentment. That was just like him – to let her go on making a fool of herself and all the time saying nothing. He was impossible!

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d studied journalism at uni?’ she demanded once they were back in the limousine.

  He looked coolly down at her and she felt utterly insignificant. ‘Why would I?’

  ‘Because . . . you just let me go on making a fool of myself.’

  A lazy smile spread across his face. ‘That wasn’t my intention.�
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  ‘Wasn’t it?’ He was so maddening!

  He sat back and looked hard at her. ‘Do you really imagine I waste my time thinking up ways to get one over on you?

  ‘No, I . . . I meant . . .’

  ‘Frankly, I’ve got more important things on my mind,’ he dismissed. There was silence for a minute, then he added, ‘We obviously don’t hit it off, Merise. It always ends in a fight with us, have you noticed? It’s nothing personal, just a personality clash.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Maybe if he wasn’t such a . . .

  ‘Look, we don’t have to get on, we don’t have to like each other. We’re both in this for our own reasons. Let’s just accept that we don’t have a working partnership made in heaven. We can still make the best of a bad job, okay?’

  ‘Fine.’ But Merise was trembling with a mix of annoyance, frustration and something more that she couldn’t identify.

  It’s pretty clear how things stand between us, she was thinking when the limo pulled up at her apartment and Cal got out to open the door for her again.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, rather subdued and feeling strangely deflated. But in the next second he surprised her. He pulled her to him and kissed her hard on the mouth. Her hands were trapped against his chest and she tried to push away, but he only tightened his grip, one arm completely encircling her slim body, holding her to him. He cupped the back of her head in his other hand and deepened the kiss. Even as her unease grew, she couldn’t suppress her body’s response to his onslaught. Some visceral instinct took over as she angled her head, parting her lips to take in his thrusting tongue. She felt a rush of fire run through her body and she pressed eagerly against him.

  She felt the passion grip him too, and her heart soared. She had him! Him! Their bodies locked together; that body that she’d desired, that she’d admired so intensely as she watched him move, displaying his grace and power.

  Almost as suddenly as he began, he stopped, drew back and released her. She swayed slightly and stared up at him, uncomprehending – her mouth still open, her lips still red and swollen with his kiss. But all the heat had gone out of Cal’s eyes, and there was something strangely unfeeling about the way he said, ‘Just checking that there’s life on planet Merise. That’s as far as it goes. Don’t worry, I won’t trouble you again.’