Playing the Field

by Foster, Zoe

  My outfit was going to be wrong, no matter what I wore. Everyone would be in full glamouflage: Jimmy would be suited up, Paola would be wearing a beautiful gown and Josh would be sporting one of his made-to-measure Zegna suits (probably the dark blue one – I’d been to the fitting with him). In the end, under Col’s guidance, I’d gone with a cute little flippy floral dress that I thought made me look cute and harmless: the sartorial version of a small, fluffy kitten.

  Was Tess going to be with them? I wanted to know now. It was killing me waiting here, parked near the club like some kind of deranged, gypped prowler spying on her ex-boyfriend. Good lord! It suddenly occurred to me how Tess I was being, waiting here to ensnare Josh. No – mental stop sign. I mustn’t think like that. This was different, it was definitely different.

  Jesus, it was 6.35 and Paola still hadn’t texted me –

  My phone vibrated in my hand.

  FOX TRAVLS SOLO

  Paola’s inability to text in anything other than screaming caps did little for my nerves. And only 0.003 per cent of my anxiety dissipated knowing that Josh was sans lady friend. I wouldn’t have known what to do if he’d brought someone different, replaced me in the time it takes to send a text message. But if it had been Tess … well, that might actually have worked out okay, provided I had Cameron hiding behind a nearby tree, willing to come out and bully Tess into telling the truth – a scenario only slightly less feasible than Paris Hilton tapping on my window to ask for directions.

  I felt my phone vibrate again.

  ABT ARIVE U HV DO THIS B STROG!!

  ‘Be strog’ indeed. My heart started pounding along at sprint pace, my breath shortened, my palms became damp and clammy. I had parked right near the entrance to the club. It was a no-stopping zone but there was no option. I at least needed the shelter of Mary.

  I saw Jimmy’s Audi pulling up and I dropped my head. Because obviously that would make me invisible, and Mary too. He was lining up to park in the disabled spot. Bit cheeky, I thought, but then I guess he was temporarily disabled.

  I saw Josh get out on the driver’s side and Paola’s long legs leap out like lightning. She bolted around the back of the car, incredible peachy-tan dress falling elegantly around her, as her eyes darted about furiously for me. I waved and she saw me. She motioned for me to get out quickly, and then retrieved Jimmy’s crutches from the boot.

  I took a deep breath and stepped out of Mary. I shook out my clammy hands and tried to focus on the speech I had mentally prepared over the last few days, but it had vanished.

  Josh stood on the pavement, facing Jimmy’s parked car. He looked incredible: tanned and healthy and striking in a beautiful dark grey suit with an open-necked stormcloud-blue shirt. He hadn’t seen me; head down, he was fiddling with a cufflink. The evening sun framed his silhouette, making him look as regal, holy and untouchable as he was – at least to me, right now. He waited for Jimmy and Paola, then accompanied them towards the front doors of the club, which had been tarted up with several enormous potted palm trees and a deep Bulls-blue carpet.

  I walked towards Josh, moving gingerly but quickly to make sure he didn’t disappear inside before I could reach him. I was five steps off the entry when the sound of Paola and Jimmy cursing penetrated my tunnel vision; they were squabbling, lovingly, over Paola’s inability to pull Jimmy and his crutches along effectively. Quickly, Paola looked over at me and gave me the thumbs-up. Jimmy followed her gaze and gave me a strange look: it was neither disdainful nor encouraging, but just, Oh, there you are. I got the message: I’d messed with his ‘brother’. Jimmy’s contempt made my nerves triple. My fight-or-flight instinct smacked me fair in the head.

  I couldn’t do it. There was no way. The timing was wrong. I made to turn around and get back into Mary when Josh looked up and saw me. For the faintest second I saw something in his eyes that resembled affection. Then, as fast as it appeared, it disappeared, and all I could see was repulsion. I walked quickly towards him. It was now or never. I was going down fighting.

  But he threw the first verbal punch.

  ‘I have nothing to say to you, Jean.’ He began to follow Jimmy and Paola into the club.

  ‘Josh, I gave you six months of my life. Please may I have as many minutes?’

  He stopped, jamming one hand into his pocket. Even the back of him was beautiful. He scuffed his foot twice and then turned, squinting into the sun.

  ‘Start speaking.’

  He was so cold. Everything about him screamed that he would rather be lying under the footpath than standing on it with me. I saw Morgan and Phil come round a corner and walk towards me, Josh, and the entrance to the Bulls presentation night. What the hell was I thinking coming here? I wanted to melt into the earth, Wicked Witch of the West-style. Morgan was wearing what could only be described as a long gold tube, with a huge slit up the left leg that broached on inappropriate, and gold bejewelled heels with straps that wrapped around her legs to just below her knees. Her hair was coiled on top of her head and her ears bore enormous gold hoops. She looked so … snaky.

  Morgan shot me a look that said good luck. I didn’t look at Phil. They disappeared inside and I resumed the most awkward conversation in history.

  I took a step back, hoping Josh would follow my lead and move away from the entrance, but he stood rigid.

  ‘Josh, please allow me to explain.’ I took the biggest breath my lungs could cope with and began. ‘You’ve not answered one call or text; you’ve not even bothered to ask me what the truth is.’

  He laughed a nasty laugh. ‘Well, you said you wanted space, Jean.’

  I glared at him. ‘I know what Tess has told you, but perhaps you might like to know what she did to get things to where they were.’

  ‘Oh, here we go. It’s all Tess’s fault again. I suppose she was the one who made you get it on with your little retail mate?’

  ‘Well, kind of, yeah.’

  He chortled. ‘Give me a break.’

  ‘Did you know she’d been seeing him? That she had been for months, and that the two of them had been trying to break us up? Did she happen to mention that when she was dragging my name through the mud?’

  ‘Save it, Sherlock. I don’t have time for this.’

  I was astounded by his arctic manner. I’d only ever known him to be warm, funny, engaging, wonderful. But bugger it; it wasn’t ending like this. I’d made an utter dick of myself standing out here in a sundress while everyone else arrived in black tie and I was going to get my point across, dammit.

  ‘Well, make time for it. Yes, I was drunk, and I kissed Cameron. But you must be able to see that that would not have happened if there were not some serious problems in our relationship already. Tess had interfered so much and driven a wedge so far between us that I was angry. And when Cameron pretended to be the sympathetic ear, I took it.’

  ‘Am I supposed to clap?’

  ‘Josh, I’m asking for forgiveness. Whether you grant that or not is up to you, but please just hear me out first.’

  He sighed dramatically and folded his arms.

  ‘Josh, please don’t forget that I was very upset with you. As far as I knew, you’d been doing me wrong for months with Tess, and yes, I now see that you were a pawn in her game, but the only reason Cam even made a fucking move on me was because Tess had told him to, because she had spoken to you, and you had told her that things looked like being over with me. So because she wants you back so bad, and always has, and because Cam had a thing for me, the scene was set for those two to prey on my vulnerability the minute things weren’t sunshiney between us, for the simple purpose of going back to you and telling you what I did, so that we would break up for good!’

  I was crying now, trying to catch my breath after my dramatic soliloquy, with all my carefully applied makeup sliding down my face. Finally, I saw a glimmer of kindness in Josh’s eyes. He sighed again and shifted his weight to the other foot.

  ‘How do you know all of this? That they were together?�
��

  I wiped my eyes carefully, hoping I didn’t look like a junkie or a vampire. Another couple walked past us and into the club; I didn’t recognise them, but both took an appallingly tactless look at us before going in. I can only imagine how rapidly the gossip about our little scene would be infiltrating the pre-ball drinks inside.

  ‘Morgan and Phil saw Cam and me when we were out, and they recognised him from seeing him with Tess. So I confronted Cameron, and it all came out.’

  He looked away from me and shook his head before speaking quietly. ‘When Tess told me what you did, I was so angry, and so disbelieving, but she would not let up. It was like her wish had finally been granted, and she didn’t care that I was hurt or upset. She couldn’t understand that I didn’t want to jump into bed with her.’

  A wave of intense anger and jealousy rose within me. A visual of Josh and Tess in bed crept into my mind without permission and made me physically ill with rage. I now had some idea of what Josh must be feeling about Cam and me.

  Josh finally looked back at me. ‘She’s lost the plot.’

  I raised my brows as if to say, no shit.

  ‘I’m angry, Jean, of course I am. But I guess I have to take some responsibility for her, for how this may all have unfolded.’

  Sensing an opportunity, I jumped in.

  ‘I’m so deeply sorry for what I did, Josh. But … we can try to work things out. I mean, if she’s gone out of our lives … And Cam – you don’t need to worry about Cam, he’s dead to me, I —’

  He was shaking his head. ‘I don’t know, Jean.’

  I didn’t know what he didn’t know, but I figured that if I stayed quiet it would come out. I’d said more than enough. I wondered if one kiss in the back of a cab had ruined my chances at happiness with Josh. Didn’t I get any points for honesty and begging for forgiveness and stalking him in a dramatic Romantic Comedy way?

  He looked at me, his mouth flat, his eyes full of something unidentifiable – maybe anger, maybe sadness, maybe defeat.

  ‘Jean, it’s too late … ’

  Something fell somewhere far away – a Boeing 747, perhaps – and I felt the shock ripple through me. That sentence, it was the wrong one. That was not what he was supposed to say! I had tried to prepare for the fact that he might not want to give it another chance, but I now saw in high-definition that that was like trying to prepare for a flood with a pair of floaties.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

  He took a step towards me. ‘This isn’t the place or the time … I have to go.’

  ‘We’re leaving it like this? That’s all you have to say to me?’

  I hated how desperate and small I sounded, but in the race between my head and my heart, my heart had just been given a pair of rocket boots. I saw Ryan arrive, without Cassie, and I pretended not to see him. He made moves to come over, but, sensing the situation, put his head down and walked inside.

  ‘No, Jean, it’s not that black and white —’

  ‘Oh, I think it is, actually. I’m damaged goods now, aren’t I? I have one kiss and I’m fucking Satan. Well, that’s just fine. You seem to have made up your mind, and if you can’t see yourself forgiving me for one mistake, even though your ex-girlfriend was the whole reason any of this happened, and we had an excellent relationship apart from that, well then fuck, Josh, I love you, but I’m not going to stand around and —’

  He stepped closer, took my hands gently and looked at me with his huge blue eyes.

  ‘Jean, Jesus! Get a grip. That’s not what I meant. I’ve …’ He took in a breath and exhaled it slowly, never once dropping contact with my teary, miserable eyes. ‘Look, I’ve signed a contract to play in France.’

  I stopped. Stopped crying, stopped fuming, stopped breathing.

  ‘You’ve what?’ I whispered, my vocal chords only barely indicating that I was still alive and functioning normally.

  ‘You knew I was looking for a new contract. Well, a French club came through with an offer I couldn’t refuse. Mark Scott had a contact over there, and we had a couple of emails and conference calls. I’ll earn in two years what it would take me ten to earn here, and I don’t have ten years left in me.’

  I swallowed in an attempt to create some saliva so that I might speak.

  ‘When … when do you go?’

  He looked down. ‘I have to leave next week. The season has already started there and they need a full-back pretty bad.’

  I looked down, trying to take in his words. He was leaving the club, the country, me.

  ‘Jean, I know – it’s full-on. But, well, let’s just say Henry’s not so much releasing me from my contract a year early as kicking me out. And after what happened between you and me, and with the money on offer, all signs pointed to yes, you know?’ He seemed to be waiting for a response. Failing to get one, he kept going. ‘You must be able to see my reasoning, Jean? It wasn’t an easy decision, but I honestly felt there was nothing left here for me. I had a few days with Bones, just fishing and drinking and talking it over with him, and I feel like it’s right.’

  I looked up into his eyes, searching for any sign that this wasn’t really happening. Nope, it was definitely happening. His eyes, gigantic and glassy, were not the eyes of someone who was about to slap his knee and tell me he was yanking my crank.

  ‘I just thought that —’ I faltered. What was the point? He was leaving anyway. Why spill any more guts than necessary on the pavement? No point. Messy. Stupid. ‘I had no idea you were seriously considering France. I thought it would be, you know, Queensland, or Melbourne at the worst. But you’re right. It all makes sense … ’

  I tried to smile at him, to show him I was happy for him. It didn’t work. Instead I was rewarded with a fresh batch of tears. My tear suppliers were such dedicated workers.

  He looked straight back at me, engulfing my gaze with his eyes, as if trying to say a thousand things with them that he couldn’t say with words. He gulped and took in an epic breath, the kind you exhale through your lips after you’ve made them into a small tunnel.

  ‘I know this might sound crazy, Jean, but maybe … maybe you could come with me?’

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to Rachel, Nicci, Kirsten and the tireless team at el Penguino Inc for indulging me with a title, book and cover that I am both proud of and delighted with. Thank you to Tara and Pippa for all your help and hand holdiness. Thank you to Mum, Dad and the whole dingin’ family for being so proud and supportive. Thank you Meowbert for sitting two millimetres from my keyboard at all times, your big ridiculous eyes watching me adoringly as I thumped keys. (You can read this, right?) Thank you to all my cherished, ever-encouraging friends (especially Donk) for not dismissing me altogether as a Fun Young Person even though I’ve had my laptop on IV drip for 878 years. Thank you to Craig and the NRL for granting me access and insight into the football world – I, quite literally, couldn’t have written this without you. Finally and most importantly, thank you to all the ‘WAGs’ – cricket, soccer, football, surfing, golf – I’ve had the pleasure of meeting/eating pies with over the years. It’s a weird, wild little ride being the partner of a professional athlete and I admire and salute your strength and sisterhood. (Important Caps Locky Sidenote: The gnarly WAGs in this book are FICTIONAL. Can’t have a good story without villains.) Special mention must go to Renee, who managed to make a beefed-up Holden and a State of Origin jersey look elegant, and Marie, not only the most gorgeous girl to ever grace a grandstand, but one of the most beautiful human beings I’ve ever had the joy and privilege of knowing.

  PLAYING THE FIELD

  Zoë Foster took off her WAG sash in 2009 after almost a decade in the world of football, and far too many pies and beers in the grandstands. She was the Beauty and Lifestyle Editor at Cosmopolitan magazine before becoming Beauty Director at Harper’s BAZAAR. Zoë is currently the Editor in Chief of online beauty destination PRIMPED.com.au, and could really go some nachos. He
r first novel, Air Kisses, was published in 2008; and her dating book, Textbook Romance (written in conjunction with Hamish Blake) was published in 2009.

  MICHAEL JOSEPH

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  First published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2010

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