Wife for Hire

by Dianne Blacklock

  ‘What is it?’ said Hal.

  Sam blinked. She realised she must have been staring at him and she was still holding his collar. She cleared her throat. ‘There,’ she said, patting the lapels of his jacket smooth. ‘All done.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied, bemused.

  ‘Max, I’m leaving!’ called Sam, coming into the entrance. She opened the front door as the girls walked up behind her.

  ‘A limo!’ Jessica shrieked.

  Sam looked around at Hal. ‘I thought you were driving tonight?’

  He shrugged sheepishly. ‘When I checked the street map and saw how far away this was, I decided it was a bit ambitious for me just yet.’

  ‘You should have told me,’ Sam protested. ‘I could have driven in myself.’

  ‘I thought it might be fun. Have you ever had a ride in a limo before?’

  Sam shook her head. She felt embarrassed, awkward, overwhelmed.

  ‘What’s your problem, Sherl?’ said Max. ‘Go . . . What’s that expression you Americans use? Knock yourself out!’

  Max and the girls stood at the door whooping and waving as they drove off out of the cul-de-sac. Sam sank back into the comfort of the soft leather seat. She was so comfortable, in fact, she was likely to doze off, given the busy day she’d had. But that would hardly be appropriate. She supposed she ought to attempt some small talk. She sat up straight and turned to Hal.

  ‘So, where are you from?’

  He looked a little confused. ‘The States . . .’

  ‘I know that. But which part?’

  ‘Oh. All over the place.’

  ‘Okay. Where were you born?’

  Hal smiled slowly. ‘Sydney.’

  ‘Sydney? Sydney where?’

  ‘Sydney Australia.’

  Sam’s eyes widened. ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘My father took a visiting professorship at Sydney University. We went back to the States when I was seven.’

  ‘So you started school here?’

  ‘Uh huh. Just like Mel Gibson.’

  ‘Pardon?’ Sam frowned.

  ‘Mel Gibson lived in Australia while he was growing up too.’

  ‘Oh, so that makes you just like him?’

  He nodded, grinning. ‘Only better looking.’

  ‘So I must be just like Nicole Kidman because my husband left me for another woman?’

  ‘Your husband left you for another woman?’ Hal said seriously.

  Bugger, she hadn’t meant for that to slip.

  ‘And he still has his clothes at your house?’ he persisted.

  Sam looked out the window. ‘He takes things on a needs-only basis.’ She sighed. ‘I guess he hasn’t needed formal wear yet.’

  ‘So you separated recently?’

  Sam thought about it. ‘It’ll be six months soon,’ she said, almost to herself. God, sometimes it felt like six years, and other times it felt like it had only happened six days ago.

  ‘That’s not so long. What happened?’

  Sam glanced at him warily. They were veering into private territory again. She had to keep the relationship professional. ‘Look, no offence, but this is not really an appropriate conversation to be having with a client.’

  He sighed audibly. ‘Can’t we be friends as well? I’ve been told I’m a good listener.’

  Why did they all want to be friends all of a sudden? She must remember to ask Sheila if that was the norm. ‘Well, be that as it may, I need clients, not friends.’

  ‘Well good for you. I need friends. I don’t have a whole bunch in this country.’

  ‘Imagine my surprise.’ As soon as the words left her mouth Sam regretted them. They lingered in the air between them, like a rotten smell. What was wrong with her? Why did she keep making nasty barbs at him?

  She looked across at Hal. His jaw was clenched and he was staring straight ahead. She had always presumed that Americans were totally impervious, that nothing could put a dent in their confidence. But she’d never actually met anyone from the US until now, so how would she know?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t know why I said that.’

  He didn’t look at her. ‘You don’t like me much, do you?’

  ‘That’s not it. I just . . .’ she hesitated. The truth was, she was rattled. Partly because of her hectic day, partly because of running late, but it was the suggestive banter and the limousine that had really thrown her. Especially after what Max had said. Hal Buchanan wouldn’t be interested in someone like her, so why all the flirting? It made her uncomfortable. Despite all his protests to the contrary the other night, Sam was not so sure he wouldn’t take advantage of the situation. Did he think she was so desperate that she was easy pickings? She didn’t want to be taken for a fool.

  ‘Liking you or not liking you has nothing to do with it,’ Sam said in a level voice. ‘This is my job, okay? I think I should maintain a certain professional distance.’

  Hal still didn’t look at her. ‘Absolutely. Suits me.’

  March

  ‘Imagine being able to fill one of these!’ said Sam, wide-eyed, holding up a Double-D cup.

  ‘A tube of silicone ought to do it,’ Liz quipped.

  Liz had dragged Sam out lingerie shopping. There was a huge sale at Grace Bros and she had insisted some new lingerie was just what Sam needed. Sam had tried to point out that in her current situation she needed new lingerie like she needed the proverbial hole in the head. But her protests had fallen on selectively deaf ears. Liz always made sure she had a flexi-day up her sleeve for important occasions like half-yearly clearances or leg waxing appointments. She was the office manager for a midsize legal practice and while she was good at her job, her motto was that one should ‘work to live, not live to work’.

  ‘What about this?’ Liz suggested, holding up an almost see-through, lilac push-up bra with scalloped edges.

  ‘It’s gorgeous,’ said Sam. ‘But I wouldn’t have anything to wear with it.’

  ‘You don’t need anything to wear with it!’ Liz admonished. ‘Oh, except matching undies, and I’m sure they have some here somewhere,’ she said, searching the rack.

  ‘Liz, I’m not going to spend,’ Sam glanced at the price tag and frowned, ‘that amount of money on something I’ll never have the opportunity to wear.’

  ‘Sam,’ Liz said firmly, ‘you don’t keep beautiful lingerie for special occasions. You wear it any time, all the time.’

  ‘What, under my trackies while I’m doing the housework?’

  ‘Especially then!’

  ‘What’s the point of that?’

  ‘It makes you feel sexy and desirable and good about yourself.’

  ‘If I wore that while I was mopping the floor I’d feel like an idiot.’

  ‘Okay, don’t wear it while you’re mopping the floor. But when you’re out meeting a client and you’re dressed up all businesslike, don’t you think it’s sensual to wear, say,’ she grabbed a leopard-skin G-string off the rack, ‘something like this underneath?’

  ‘It’s not sensual, it’s uncomfortable,’ Sam winced. ‘I bought a G-string once and I ended up tossing it out. Why anyone bothers with them is beyond me.’

  ‘To avoid a panty line,’ Liz told her plainly.

  ‘Yeah, well I need a better reason than that. Tell me that they help you avoid heart disease and I’ll think about it.’

  Liz sighed. ‘Don’t you want to keep yourself a little sexy?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So you give off different pheromones, send the message that you’re out there. Guys pick that up.’

  ‘Like dogs sniffing each other in the street?’

  Liz frowned at her. ‘That’s disgusting.’

  ‘My point exactly,’ Sam insisted. ‘Women are supposed to package themselves up and give off a scent to indicate they’re available?’

  ‘Only if you ever want to have sex again.’

  ‘Yeah, well I’m not so sure that I do.’

  Liz fr
owned at her. She linked her arm through Sam’s, steering her away from the sensible underwear section. ‘You can’t be serious, Sam.’

  ‘I’m just not that interested at the moment.’

  ‘But how do you know until you give it a try?’

  Sam hesitated. No one but Max knew about Stewart. It was like some dark, ugly secret Sam had buried at the end of the garden, and she was certainly not inclined to dig it up now.

  She sighed. ‘It’s just something Max said. That basically anyone half decent wouldn’t touch me with a forty-foot pole.’

  ‘Did you smack her?’ Liz exclaimed.

  ‘No, she had a point. Nice eligible guys are not looking for thirtysomething single mothers with three children in tow.’

  ‘Oh, Sam, that isn’t true,’ said Liz. ‘I mean, you do have to be realistic. Three kids would scare off a lot of guys. But the ones who stick around are going to be pretty special. You know what they say, you have to kiss a lot of frogs before your handsome prince comes along.’

  ‘I don’t think I’m prepared to kiss a lot of frogs, though. The whole dating thing . . . ugh,’ Sam shuddered.

  ‘That’s why you need new undies,’ said Liz. ‘Come on, let’s try on some of these.’

  Sam realised then that Liz had gathered up an armful of lace and satin in almost every colour. She considered her dubiously.

  ‘There’s no harm in just trying them on,’ Liz insisted, propelling her towards the fitting rooms.

  Inside the cubicle Sam plonked herself down on the chair provided, while Liz dropped her stash on the floor.

  ‘Did you date much after Mick?’ Sam asked, watching her sift through the pile.

  ‘Oh, sure. You’d be surprised at the guys who come out of the woodwork. Of course a lot just thought I’d be an easy lay. You know, her husband’s left, she must be desperate.’

  Sam bristled. That’s what she’d suspected about Hal Buchanan. But she was sure she’d seen the last of him after her foot-in-mouth attack on the way to the black-tie dinner. The next couple of hours had been strained, to say the least. When the meal had barely finished, he’d informed her stiffly that she had fulfilled her duty for the evening and the limousine driver was waiting to take her home. She did feel bad, and she had thought about writing a letter of apology, but she didn’t really know what to say. It was probably for the best. The dynamic was all wrong for a client relationship, it would never have worked.

  ‘Then there were the ones who were desperate themselves,’ Liz was saying, ‘who obviously thought I couldn’t be too fussy.’

  ‘You’re not making it sound very appealing.’

  ‘Ah, but then Michael came along, don’t forget.’

  ‘Yes, exactly,’ Sam sighed. ‘As if lightning’s going to strike twice. Maxine would tell you it’s statistically unlikely.’

  It was hard to imagine a gentler soul than Liz’s Michael. He was a physiotherapist and they’d met after Liz had sprained her ankle in a rather embarrassing accident at a party, involving a trampoline, a karaoke machine, and the song, ‘Your Love is Lifting me Higher’. The moment Michael laid his hands on her, as Liz liked to tell it, she was putty. She took to having pedicures before every appointment, wearing more and more provocative clothing, and insisting that she still needed treatment long after her ankle had healed. She was desperate for Michael to show some interest beyond the professional, but week after week, nothing happened. Finally, he firmly insisted that not only did she need no further treatment, but that he could no longer be her therapist. Liz showed up at Sam’s, distraught. She couldn’t bear the idea that she might never see him again and started spouting wild ideas about injuring herself so that she’d have an excuse. Sam had never seen Liz so unhinged, it was not her style at all.

  The following day, Michael appeared on Liz’s doorstep holding a bunch of flowers. It was unethical to date a patient, he told her, and he had been waiting for her treatment to end so he could ask her out. They’d been together ever since.

  Sam shrugged. ‘It isn’t fair, you know. Jeff’s separated with three kids too, but it doesn’t have quite the same ring for a man.’

  ‘He’s not in the market though, is he?’ Liz pulled her top over her head and tossed it on Sam’s lap. She reached for a tangerine lace bra from the pile. ‘He’s still with what’s-her-name?’

  Sam nodded. ‘Jodi.’

  ‘What’s she like anyway?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘But what does she look like?’

  ‘I’ve never laid eyes on her.’

  Liz was bent over, adjusting herself into the bra. She stood up straight. ‘You haven’t run into each other yet?’

  Sam shook her head. ‘Jeff always picks the kids up and drops them off as well. She’s never with him, as far as I know.’

  ‘Oh,’ Liz mused. ‘She must be frightened of you. You could always pump Jess for information.’

  ‘No, I don’t want to know.’

  ‘Really?’ Liz said in a high-pitched voice.

  ‘Really,’ Sam repeated flatly. ‘At first I was curious. Too curious. I started obsessing. I couldn’t watch a movie without imagining Jodi as one of the characters.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Have you seen Stepmom?’

  ‘God yes,’ Liz rolled her eyes. ‘The only bloody movie that Susan Sarandon’s ever looked anything but gorgeous.’

  ‘Well, she was supposed to be ill.’

  ‘It was a crock, let me tell you. The first wife’s a hag, and the mistress is Julia Roberts? Please. What movie executive’s wet dream was that?’

  ‘Yeah well, I watched it one weekend when the kids were with Jeff, and all I could imagine was Jodi flashing the gazillion-watt smile, driving the kids to a Pearl Jam concert, singing in the car on the way.’ She sighed. ‘Or else I’d see her all fragile and tragic like Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge. Or sweet and kooky like Meg Ryan in –’

  ‘All of her movies,’ Liz finished. ‘Sam, you should never watch stuff like that when you’re alone. Same reason they don’t screen disaster films on aeroplanes. Now, what are you going to try on?’

  Sam screwed up her nose.

  ‘Listen to me, woman. It’ll give you a lift. You know what Elle McPherson says.’

  ‘Oh, this’ll be good.’

  ‘The world would be a better place if women matched their bras to their underpants.’

  ‘She did not say that.’

  ‘Oh yes she did. I read it in an interview with her.’

  Sam shook her head. ‘Heaven help us if that woman ever decides to enter politics.’

  ‘I don’t think we’re in any danger of that happening,’ said Liz. ‘Now, the strapless in grape or the lime push-up?’

  One week later

  ‘Can I get a mobile phone for my birthday, Mum?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’ Jessica whined.

  Sam stood the iron on its base and looked squarely at her daughter. She hated haggling with the children over things about which she had no intention of changing her mind. So she resorted to the comeback of every cornered parent.

  ‘Because I said no.’

  ‘That’s not a very good reason,’ Jess retorted.

  ‘Well, why don’t we do it the other way around and you convince me why you should be allowed to have a mobile phone.’

  ‘Okay.’ Jessica took to the task with gusto, while Sam resumed ironing Josh’s school shirt. ‘Firstly, remember, I am turning thirteen. I will be a teenager,’ she announced importantly.

  Why did it feel as though Jess had already been a teenager for about a decade?

  ‘I wasn’t aware it had become standard equipment for teenagers now,’ Sam returned. ‘I didn’t get that memo from the Department of Family and Community Services.’

  Jessica rolled her eyes but continued undaunted. ‘Secondly, with a mobile phone I can be contacted anywhere at any time,’ she stated plainly, as if that was also a perf
ectly self-evident notion.

  ‘Why do you need to be contactable anywhere? Are there matters of national security that might be compromised if you can’t be contacted immediately?’

  ‘Some of my calls are important!’ Jess insisted haughtily.

  ‘Oh Jessica, give me a break. The only conversations I have ever heard between teenagers on mobiles go like this,’ Sam held the iron up and mimed talking into a phone. ‘“Hi, where are you? Oh, okay, I’m at the station. I’m about to get on a train. Talk to you later. Bye.” What’s the point of that? It’s like a tracking device.’

  Jessica sighed noisily, pouting. ‘Well, everybody else has one!’

  Why did kids always use that argument? Did they ever think it was going to work? Sam wanted to know where the sucker parent was that said, ‘Why yes, darling, if everyone else has one, then you absolutely must too!’

  ‘You’re going to have to come up with something better than that, Jess. In the meantime –’

  ‘Dad said he’d buy me one,’ she blurted.

  Jessica took two steps backwards as she watched her mother’s face turn thunderously black. Sam slammed the iron down on the board.

  ‘That’s only if you agree,’ Jess continued breathlessly. ‘He said I should talk to you first and then get you to call him if you want to discuss it,’ she finished, talking so fast she almost tripped over her own words.

  If she wanted to discuss it? Sam was past fed up with the new phase their relationship had entered since . . . well, the ‘episode’ was how she referred to it in her head. She certainly had not told a soul, not even Max. By the time she had seen Jeff again, neither of them had been inclined to dredge it up.

  Instead he’d sent her a letter reiterating the amount he was obliged to pay under the child support scheme, and stating that he would continue with the mortgage payments on top of that, until such time as ‘the property was settled’. It sounded like a pro forma business letter. She imagined Jeff sitting at his computer and the help box appearing on the screen – It looks like you’re writing a letter to screw your ex-wife over. Would you like help?