The Reluctant Wag

by Mary Costello

  The Yarraside press conference was set for three o’clock that afternoon and by two-thirty representatives of every media outlet in Victoria had crowded into the Hartley Centre. Merise was watching the live broadcast at home. Bev had sent her home with strict orders to talk to no one about the incident. Merise’s face burned when she thought of her ungainly exit from SMO’s lavish board room. She was too busy mentally replaying the encounter with Cal. She kept remembering the hurt look in his eyes. Now he would have to face the world, because as the media conference began, it was Cal who led out the contingent of Yarraside officials who took their places at a long table facing the press.

  A hush fell over the room as the cameras tracked along the line of grim-faced men – players, coaches, CEO and Club president. It was Roy Mears who spoke first.

  ‘Thanks for coming. We’ve called this conference to set the record straight on the events that took place at the Windrush Hotel last night. First and foremost, I’d like to make it very clear that our captain, Cal McCoy’s only involvement in the incident was to try to defuse the situation. In fact, he was not actually present at the hotel at the time of the first disturbance. He returned to the hotel when contacted by another team member who sought his advice and assistance. He is completely innocent of any wrong-doing.’

  At that, Merise moved across the room and knelt in front of her little television. She listened with rapt attention as Mears told the story, completely exonerating Cal in the process.

  ‘The leadership group has now decided that these players actually don’t deserve to wear the Yarraside Football Club jumper at the moment, so they’ve been suspended and they won’t be playing for the next three weeks. Finally, I’d just like to reiterate that our captain has been wrongly implicated in this incident, and that Cal McCoy’s actions throughout have, as always, been the actions of an exemplary leader.’

  It all had the ring of truth, and the club cited the eyewitness accounts of several hotel staff and guests who supported Cal’s version of events. Merise cringed where she knelt; to think that she’d doubted him, that she’d been among his accusers. She’d been too ready to write him off as just another egotistical sportsman, drunk on his own legend.

  As the cameras switched back to Cal and his face filled the screen, she knew she’d been wrong. He’d been going to tell her what happened, and she’d refused to listen. Now she didn’t see the overly driven, self-absorbed man she’d seen before, but a man who, even when he was suffering, had an openness and decency in his face that anyone could see.

  Then the questions started.

  ‘Cal, why didn’t you just come out right away and explain the situation?’

  ‘Because it was a private family matter and I didn’t think it was anyone’s business. But with the way the story has been blown up and distorted, we’ve had no choice but to set the record straight,’ he said coolly.

  ‘Cal, how do you feel about the players responsible? Do they deserve to play for the club?’

  Cal paused before answering. ‘Their actions were immature and unacceptable, no doubt about that. That kind of undisciplined behaviour can destroy the essence of a club. The players realise that, and they’ll take their punishment and hopefully knuckle down and work to get back into the team. They’re still very young men and it’s a big lesson for them, but this club has a strong culture and we’ll make sure they benefit from this experience.’

  That surprised her. She’d expected him to be angry, disgusted, and he was, but he was also reasonable, and he wasn’t getting carried away by his own feelings, despite having been compromised by the antics of his teammates. She had to admit it – he’d handled the whole thing brilliantly.

  Bev called that evening to see how Merise was feeling.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks; much better. And very relieved this has all been cleared up.’

  ‘Yes, thank heavens,’ Bev agreed. ‘You know, I think McCoy has come out of this pretty well. No one even knew his father was ill. They say Dan McCoy’s just living for his son to lead the Wolves to a premiership. Did McCoy ever say anything to you about all this?’

  ‘No, never.’

  Cal had spoken of his father over dinner at the Cocina del Diablo, but he’d said nothing of his illness. He probably preferred to carry his burdens privately, Merise realised.

  ‘It must be awful for McCoy,’ Bev rattled on. ‘Oh! And you know that time he didn’t turn up for the photo shoot and they said it a calf strain or some such? Well, it was because his father was admitted to the hospital. Apparently he’s missed a couple of public appearances because of the family situation.’

  Merise immediately thought of the book launch where Cal had failed to show up. His father must have been very sick that time, too. And she’d written him off as an arrogant tosser!

  ‘Anyway, you watch, Merise – McCoy will come out of this smelling like roses.’

  Bev’s view was confirmed in the Times the following morning in Nina Smally’s opinion piece on the affair.

  It could have been a disaster for Yarraside, but the way the club has handled the situation and the strong leadership displayed by Cal McCoy will silence critics. If anything, McCoy’s status has been enhanced by his cool conduct under fire.

  Merise had to agree. He was a truly unselfish leader – an unselfish man – she knew that now. But it was too late. When he’d needed her, when he’d come to her to tell her the truth – and before he’d told the rest of the world – she’d spurned him. Her heart was scalded at the memory of his face – the hurt expression. And to think his father had been so ill. She closed her eyes, shuddered. He’d probably despise her now, and who could blame him? Well, she need never see him again. She was finished with the modelling, and definitely finished with Yarraside. Her encounters with Cal McCoy were at an end.

  Chapter 11

  Cal played an uncharacteristically bad game the following Friday evening, and early on Saturday morning he decided that he needed to go home, to get away from everything, at least overnight. By lunchtime he was sitting with his father on the broad verandah of Manna Views, the family homestead in Echuca, on the Murray River. He was looking out over the broad brown waters of the Murray, soaking up the isolation and the silence broken only by the occasional raucous laugh of the kookaburras perched in trees on the opposite bank. He loved it here and stayed overnight whenever he could during the season. It gave him a welcome break from Melbourne, where, even without the recent trouble, there were always eyes on him, always people talking about him, analysing his footy; and they always expected more.

  Once the true story about the Windrush Hotel scandal emerged, interest had quickly waned. He was relieved that by the end of the week something else had grabbed public attention. But for him the damage had been done, and it was irreversible.

  As if he could read his son’s thoughts, Dan McCoy asked, ‘What about that lovely girl who was in all the ads with you? What was her name? Merise? Do you ever see her these days?’

  ‘No.’ Dan noted Cal’s abrupt response and the sudden tension in his son’s face. The older man kept silent for a moment then said gently, ‘You liked her, didn’t you?’

  Cal turned to study his father’s face. He hated to see him looking so frail, but his spirit was still strong, and his mind as sharp as ever. He’d seen right through Cal, who’d never even mentioned Merise at home. Cal couldn’t lie to his father.

  ‘Yeah, I liked her – a lot. I wanted to get to know her better, after September. It’s just . . . well, she was too ready to think the worst of me after the whole Windrush fiasco.’

  ‘Was she?’ His father sounded surprised. ‘She is very young.’

  ‘Old enough to judge me pretty harshly.’

  ‘Yeah, but maybe she made a mistake because she doesn’t really know you.’

  ‘She’ll never know me any better now,’ Cal said bitterly.

  Dan laid a frail hand on his son’s broad back. ‘Listen, son, go easy on the girl. Sometimes I think if you h
ave a fault, it’s that you expect too much from everybody. You’ve always driven your teammates hard.’

  ‘If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be top of the ladder now.’

  ‘Fair enough, and I know you drive yourself even harder. But not everyone’s like you. You can’t treat everyone the same. I mean, sport is aggressive. It’s a substitute for war. Playing footy’s a bit like going into battle. But you can’t lead your whole life like that. You can’t always be ruthless. Sometimes you have to compromise, and sometimes you have to make allowances. Especially with women. They’re a bit different from us – a bit more sensitive and complicated.’

  ‘I’ll say, but she’s no delicate flower. She’s pretty tough-minded, believe me.’

  Dan smiled. ‘I’d say she would be. Women are tough as all-get-out, but you still have to treat them with tenderness. This girl isn’t a player, Cal. Don’t delist her because of a misunderstanding.’

  ‘It’s not just one misunderstanding, we’ve been squabbling since the day we met.’

  ‘Have you now?’ Dan laughed at the idea. ‘I don’t know, son, but it sounds to me like a match made in heaven. Have you told her the way you feel about her?’

  Cal was silent for a moment. ‘No.’ He was only starting to realise himself how much he felt for her.

  ‘Why not? What are you waiting for?’

  ‘No point starting something I can’t finish at the moment.’

  Dan looked baffled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I can’t get involved, not seriously, while we’re going for a flag. I’ve got to focus on the footy.’

  Dan leant out of his chair and looked askance at his son. ‘Are you serious? Are you telling me you can’t tell this girl you’re mad about her until you win a premiership?’ And he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  ‘What?’ asked Cal, bewildered.

  ‘That’s just about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say, son! Look, love doesn’t wait on sporting glory. Go after the girl like you go after the ball – with a bit of heart and passion – and the footy will take care of itself.’

  As Cal travelled back to the pressure cooker of Melbourne’s footy world, he had one consolation – his father had had a good life. He’d had a happy marriage, a loving family, and he’d fulfilled his greatest ambition on the footy field. Cal wondered if he’d ever get half so lucky.

  It tore him up that Merise thought so little of him, when he thought the world of her. She was one of the few people whose opinion mattered a damn to him, and she’d judged him without even giving him a chance to explain. As he joined the Hume Freeway and put his car in fifth gear, he told himself it was her loss, if that was the way she felt. But as the kilometres passed in an empty silence, he knew that the real loss was his, and he wondered bleakly if he’d ever get over it.

  Merise spent the next month with her head buried in her books by day and in her pillow at night, crying. But she spoke to no one about her feelings, not even Erica. The hurt was still too tender to share, and the fact that the loss of Cal’s regard was all her own fault hurt more than anything. She’d pushed him away just when he’d tried to approach her. She’d thought of contacting him, just to let him know that she was sorry that she hadn’t listened to him – hadn’t had faith in him. But what would be the point? He might have been annoyed with her at the time, but really it would be no big deal to him. Better to just leave things as they were.

  Maybe someday she’d get over him, maybe she’d find somebody else, but she didn’t believe it. All the other men she knew seemed so boyish, so immature compared with Cal. People did recover from a broken heart. But she knew with absolute certainty that if she lived to be a hundred, there would never be anyone else like him, not for her. And she’d just have to get through the rest of her life knowing that.

  She’d been relieved to have finished with the modelling business and to return to her normal, quiet life. Then one particularly desolate Monday afternoon she had a call from Bev, who got straight to the point.

  ‘Hey, I hate to bother you when I know you’re not interested, but I have a job for this Thursday and the model just pulled out. She’s come down with flu. It’s really bad timing because so many of my girls are over in Perth on a major shoot for Southern Cross Mode, so I was just wondering if you could possibly help me out, just this once.’

  Merise hesitated. She was about to refuse, but she liked Bev and was grateful to her for the way she’d given her a chance and supported her when she had no experience, and the money had been great. But more than anything, this would be something to keep her busy, to stop her from brooding. She was tempted.

  ‘And I must tell you, Merise, they’ll be paying very, very well.’ She named an amount that had Merise breathing, ‘Wow!’

  ‘That’s what I said. It’s a big event for a mining company – Ladco – opals and tin, I think. All you’d have to do is be there and look glam. They want plenty of pretty faces to guarantee lots of pics in the papers and magazines. There will be absolutely no expense spared. And you’d only need to be there for two or three hours.’

  All that money for one evening’s work, Merise thought. She could do with it. She’d put half of the money she’d earned from modelling into an account to fund her studies and given the rest to her parents to help pay off the debt on the farm. They’d been thrilled and the financial relief had eased much of the stress on the hardworking couple, but there was still more to pay. Merise had enough for her own needs, so anything extra could go straight to her parents.

  She quickly made up her mind. ‘Yes, I’ll do it, Bev. What do I need to know?’

  Bev gave her the details, then paused and added, ‘By the way, Merise, I think it’s only fair to tell you that Ladco is one of Yarraside’s sponsors, so Cal McCoy will be there.’

  Even over the phone, Merise felt her face fire up, ‘Will he? Ah, that’s . . . not an issue . . . I mean, so what?’

  There was another pause at the other end of the line. ‘Oh, it’s just . . . I thought that at one stage maybe there was something between you two.’

  ‘No, nothing,’ Merise snapped – too quickly, she realised once the words were out.

  ‘Okay, fine then. We’re all set. Lucy will call you about your outfit and I’ll see you there?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll look forward to it,’ she lied brightly, then added, ‘One thing, Bev – can I choose my own dress?’

  ‘Sure, if you like. We can easily arrange that. There’s not a designer in the country who wouldn’t kill to dress you. What did you have in mind?’

  Merise had something absolutely knockout in mind. If Cal was going to be there, she was going to pull out every possible stop. She was going to do everything to make him remember exactly why he’d wanted to kiss her so badly that night. She was determined to look irresistible, to see if rekindled desire could possibly melt his flinty heart.

  Erica went with her to choose the dress. Merise had arranged to visit her three favourite designers that day, starting with the elegant Collins Street salon of Demolita Designs. The dramatic red-and-black interior was the perfect backdrop for displaying the powerful Gothic-inspired gowns that shimmered in the glass cases that edged the reception area.

  ‘Gosh,’ Erica whispered as a silent, wan-looking girl led them to the inner sanctum. ‘You pick any of these and you’d be a winner.’

  Merise tried on half a dozen dresses, but felt that none was quite right.

  ‘Bu, Merise, you looked fabulous in all of them,’ Erica protested as they raced down the street just in time to make their second appointment.

  ‘They were nice – fabulous in fact – but I have something else in mind.’

  ‘What exactly?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I’ll know when I see it.’

  She didn’t see it at Carelle’s Boutique at Southbank, despite Carelle personally selecting dresses for her to try. By then it was time for lunch. It was a very quick lunch.

  ‘I can’t eat much or I
won’t fit into the dresses,’ Merise explained as Erica selected a chocolate mousse for dessert. Just half an hour later, the girls hopped on a tram to South Yarra and descended outside the home of the ultraexclusive Toujours label.

  And here, at last, Merise found what she was after. She’d tried on a half a dozen dresses before designer Luc Manet threw up his hands in frustration and said, ‘Okay, okay! There’s nothing else for it. I’m going to have to let you see it.’

  ‘It?’ Merise and Erica chorused.

  ‘It. The loveliest gown I have ever created, which I’d destined to be the centrepiece of my spring collection, and which no one – no one but me and my seamstress – has seen yet. But I’m getting this feeling that it’s destined for you, Merise. Sort of written in the stars.’

  Merise could feel something tingle. Could this be the one – the divine dress she needed for the devilish purpose she had in mind? The second she saw it, she knew that it was.

  Erica gasped aloud when Luc and his assistant gently eased off the layers of tissue paper and unwrapped the soft cotton cover to reveal the gown. Merise just stood silently in front of it. She’d recognised it at once. It was subtle and stunning and sensuous all at the same time; it was utterly beautiful and it was hers. Luc didn’t need to be persuaded about that; he saw at once that she must wear this dress.

  ‘I didn’t know it at the time,’ he said, ‘but I created it for you, Merise. You will wear it like an empress.’ Yes, she silently agreed, that was exactly what she meant to do.

  Thursday arrived and Merise felt an upsurge of nerves as she prepared breakfast. But underneath the heart-fluttering was a steely resolve to do what she what she intended that evening. She knew she’d have to weave a spell. It wasn’t an ego thing. She was doing this for Cal. She knew she wasn’t beautiful enough to capture his heart again and to hold him in thrall – no one was; but she also knew that beauty was a useful illusion, and one that she could create. If only she could somehow project an image of female loveliness, then a man’s imagination could be depended upon to do the rest.