Husband Hunters

by Genevieve Gannon

  ‘Dolly? Annabel. I just wanted to say thanks for the Farouk coverage and running the piece about Rustica.’

  Delores and Annabel had worked the catwalk circuit together in their early twenties.

  ‘Don’t thank me. The swanky parties are what we cover. I hope you got some business out of it.’

  ‘Better,’ Annabel said. ‘I got a date.’

  Dolly cackled. ‘Now that’s some effective public relations.’

  ‘Yes. Let’s grab a coffee next week. It’s been forever.’

  By noon Annabel had lined up five business meetings and two lunches. The big coup had been Chocoholics; the boutique brand had seven cafés across the city. They served desserts and sold handmade chocolates. The owner was flying to the US that night for a conference, but had agreed to squeeze Annabel in for a quick sandwich. She put her shoes back on and straightened her shirt, thinking, ‘if only finding a husband was this easy’.

  ‘I’m going out for about forty minutes,’ she announced to the office as she left.

  ‘Oh,’ Sybilla raised her hand like a child in primary school. ‘While you were on the phone someone called Patrick rang. I offered to take a message, but he said he would call you back.’

  Annabel paused; she didn’t deal with anyone named Patrick.

  ‘Did he say that it was about?’

  Sybilla shook her head. ‘Next time get a number,’ Annabel said. ‘It could be a prospective client.’

  As she grabbed her coat from the hook by the door, the phone rang again. Sybilla raised her hand again. ‘It’s that Patrick man from before,’ she held her hand over the receiver and stage-whispered across the room.

  Annabel looked at her watch and took the phone from Sybilla.

  ‘Hello, Annabel. It’s Patrick.’ The man spoke as though she should remember who he was.

  Perhaps they had only met once, Annabel thought. Maybe it was someone from Farouk; she still didn’t know them all. She felt annoyed that she couldn’t place him.

  ‘Patrick. How can I help you?’ she said brightly.

  ‘Help me? Annabel, it’s Patrick Bodenheimer from the wedding and the film and the humiliation of Jason Ceravic. Sorry to call you at work, but I didn’t have your number. I remembered the name of your company, though.’

  ‘Oh Patrick, I’m sorry, of course,’ she breathed a sigh of relief. Remembering names was a vital part of her business. ‘I was expecting someone from work.’

  Sybilla was listening but pretending not to. She stared straight ahead at her computer, not moving a muscle, but Annabel could practically see the cochlear cogs turning in her head.

  ‘Do you mind if I put you on hold for a moment?’

  Annabel picked up the extension in her office. Chocoholics could wait five minutes, she thought. ‘Patrick, could you give me your number so I can call you back?’

  ‘Of course. I do apologise for calling at work. It’s just last night you came to mind again at a dinner party.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. You see, old university friends of mine are about to expand their product line. Eve’s Garden. I was telling them how I knew a woman who was doing terribly well with food PR, and — would you believe it? — they had heard of you.’

  ‘Eve’s Garden? Your friends are behind Eve’s Garden?’

  Eve’s Garden produced organic fruit juices. They had started off with mostly apple juices and non-alcoholic ciders, but had quickly expanded. Somehow the brand had struck a nerve with the wholefoods zeitgeist, and sales had gone crazy. It was the juice of choice of any self-respecting hipster, yuppie or fitness fanatic.

  ‘That company’s growth has been one of the big success stories of the year in the food industry,’ Annabel said.

  ‘Yes, I had an idea they were doing well. Anyway, they’re expanding into bottled smoothies, and further down the track they’re looking at doing alcoholic cider. Although that project is still in development.’

  ‘I haven’t read anything about it in the trade blogs.’

  ‘No, it’s all quite hush-hush. I imagine it will generate a lot of interest, though.’

  Annabel’s breath quickened. Landing the PR account for Eve’s Garden’s new products would transform Sweet Success from a boutique PR firm into a major operation. They agreed to meet at the usual time at the Botanic Gardens on Sunday.

  ‘It was good of you to call, Patrick,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you did.’

  Annabel had a quick lunch with the Chocoholics owner, and told him to call her when he returned from the US. Then she ran back to the office and started drafting a strategy to land the biggest account of her life.

  Chapter 12 Daniela

  ‘Drop what you’re doing. We have a husband-hunting emergency.’

  Clementine had called Daniela early on Saturday morning in a flap. Annabel had somehow gotten herself into the situation of having to cook a meal for a man she was interested in, paying no regard to the fact that she didn’t know how to cook.

  ‘This is our first big seduction mission,’ said Clem.

  ‘But Annabel can’t cook.’

  ‘I know. That’s why we’re going to give her a cooking lesson.’

  ‘I’ve seen her kitchen. We’d have more luck if we gave her a magic lesson.’

  ‘Perhaps she could buy something and put it on her own plates?’

  ‘For the love of Clive Owen, are you mad?’ Daniela said, hoping her ma would never find out she had a friend who would even suggest such a thing. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll hit the markets and help her plan something. Who’s the guy?’

  ‘It’s Harry Barchester.’

  ‘What?’ She hadn’t expected that. ‘Mirabella’s Harry Barchester?’

  ‘The single and decidedly eligible Harry Barchester. We were at Mirabella’s wedding, remember?’

  ‘I’ll be right over.’

  They raided Clementine’s perfect, alphabetised shelves for recipe books, then picked up Annabel and headed for the fish markets.

  ‘I’ve been studying recipes all week,’ Annabel said. ‘He called this morning and invited himself around next Saturday, but all I’ve been able to master is eggs and toast.’

  ‘Was there anything in particular you had in mind?’ Dani asked Annabel as they walked up and down the stalls. Fishmongers in rubber aprons were slapping down large pink salmon and slicing through tuna with silver cleavers. Orange and red crab shells glistened on snowy beds of ice.

  ‘Barramundi is easy. Or you could do a stew with white fish.’ Dani pointed out possible purchases while Annabel ate calamari rings from a paper bag.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said looking at dead-eyed eels with open mouths. ‘It’s so hard to imagine it on a tasty bed of rice when it’s looking at me.’

  ‘I think this is very promising,’ said Clem. ‘Mirabella was never right for Harry. Wouldn’t it be funny if after all these years you ended up with the first boy who ever kissed you? And he loves kids. He wouldn’t be a teacher if he didn’t.’

  ‘We need to go out again,’ Daniela said to Clementine. ‘Round one of husband-hunting hasn’t worked out quite like I’d hoped.’

  Instead of answering, Clementine made a non-committal noise and put one of Annabel’s calamari rings in her mouth.

  ‘What about Firefly in Neutral Bay on the North Shore?’ Annabel suggested. ‘You need to cast your net further than the city.’ She bent to look at a tank full of sea snails.

  ‘No, I don’t go to the North Shore,’ Clementine said decisively.

  ‘I grew up in the North Shore! What’s wrong with it?’ cried Annabel.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with the North Shore.’

  She explained that The Big Three lived there. The three big loves of her life. The ones that got away.

  ‘Two of them I dated for two years each. One I nearly married. Then there was Nathan. We were together for only five months, but I really thought he was the one for me. He moved to Silicon Valley, and when he returned three years later
he had a girlfriend. She’s Californian. Her name is Ryder, and Melanie Sissowitz reports that she wears fur and that her cleavage could also be described as Silicon Valley. Somehow they all ended up living on the North Shore; two of them with their new wives. And while it was very considerate of them to corral themselves into one small, avoidable part of the city, I simply cannot step into that part of town without hyperventilating.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Dani said. ‘The North Shore’s out.’

  ‘What about Oxford Street?’ Clem said.

  Daniela looked at her. ‘You did remember to write “heterosexual” on your list of requirements for a husband, didn’t you?’

  ‘There are still some decent husband-hunting spots around there. Shady Pines. The Commons. Pocket Bar.’

  A woman with an infant strapped to her chest like a marsupial walked past.

  ‘I babysat my nephews on the weekend,’ said Clementine, looking at the child. ‘We made gingerbread men, then we built a fort in my lounge room. It was the most fun I’ve had in a long time.’

  They wandered to the next stall.

  ‘Oysters?’ Clementine said. ‘The reason they have a reputation as an aphrodisiac is because they have a high level of amino acids that increase the production of testosterone and progesterone.’

  ‘I’ve never liked oysters.’ Annabel shook her hazy curls.

  The woman with the baby stopped near them. He was sleeping. His little head was resting against his mother’s chest. His legs dangled from the bottom of the baby carrier like a marionette’s.

  Thoughts of the children she and James could have popped unbidden into Daniela’s head. That’s the problem with an infatuation, she thought. It’s like your mind has been invaded.

  ‘Maybe we should focus on foods with arousing properties,’ said Clementine. ‘Like chocolate. The phenethylamine is supposed to be a mood elevator. Emperor Montezuma used to drink fifty cups of cocoa a day so that he had the sexual stamina to satisfy his harem of women.’

  ‘Chocolate marinara?’ Dani screwed up her nose.

  ‘What about prawns?’ said Annabel. ‘I think I could handle prawns. As long as they’re de-veined first.’

  Clementine nodded. ‘Chilli prawns, not garlic. The capsaicin in the chillies will put a little fire in his belly.’

  They bought half a kilo and headed for their next stop: the bottle shop.

  ‘You’ve got to have something in your liquor cabinet to offer them,’ Dani said, echoing her pa’s business philosophy. ‘We should all get a bottle of something. It has to be something exotic. You can’t say “Would you like to come up for a vodka?”, particularly if you’re at a bar or restaurant, because you can get it there. But if you say “I’ve got a lovely bottle of pinot noir from the Sonoma County in California, or a rare Amaretto my uncle bought back from Italy—” ’

  ‘I want to share it with someone who’ll appreciate it,’ Annabel cut in.

  ‘Yes,’ said Clementine. ‘Invite them up for a drink and then send them on their way. He’ll be desperate to see you again.’

  ‘How did you manage to line up a date with Harry Barchester anyway?’ Dani asked.

  ‘He called me out of the blue,’ said Annabel airily.

  ‘Just out of nowhere?’

  ‘Yes. Pretty unbelievable, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is, I suppose. When was the last time you two were in contact? I’m surprised he would have your mobile number.’

  ‘Oh, he called my home. Melanie gave him the number.’

  Harry Barchester, like Jason Ceravic, was a real trophy of a man, for women who wanted that sort of thing. Athletic, intelligent, classically handsome. Dani looked at Annabel sideways.

  Her clothes were covered in symbols for brands Daniela recognised but didn’t know. Her earlobes were adorned by a pair of diamond-encrusted C’s sitting back to back, and her jacket was cut in the pointy-shouldered way Dani had seen pictured on the front of fashion magazines at the supermarket. Her handbag was stamped with the word Lanvin. Everything looked like it was being worn for the first time.

  ‘What is it?’ Annabel asked. ‘Why are you looking at me?’ She pulled out a gold mirror. ‘Is there something on my face?’

  ‘No. It’s nothing. Just, are you sure you want to get involved with Harry Barchester? He used to be married to Mirabella.’

  Annabel sighed. ‘I know. But I always liked Harry. When we were younger I thought I was the one he belonged to. And now that he’s come back into my life, I have to see if there’s something there.’

  Daniela felt a twinge of guilt for questioning her. She knew all too well what Annabel meant.

  They each bought a couple of bottles of wine, then piled into Dani’s Peugeot. There was only one parking space in Annabel’s building so they had to circle the block.

  ‘Why are there no parks?’ Clem bit her lip.

  ‘It’s never like this,’ Annabel said, when they eventually found a space a few streets away.

  Then they saw why. A crowd was gathered out the front of a pretty, double-fronted Victorian home. A real estate agency’s flag fluttered in the breeze. There was a sign on the footpath advertising an auction.

  ‘Shall we go and have a look?’ Daniela asked.

  Annabel held up her icy bag of prawns. ‘If we’re quick.’

  It was an unusually wide block for this part of town. The house’s features were Victorian, but they had been freshened with masonry work and expensive paint so that it looked newer than it was. The owner had knocked skylights into the roof, which filled the interior of the house with light. It bounced off the honey-coloured floorboards and lemon-hued walls. The windows were dressed with beautiful bunched-up Venetian curtains made from fine cotton that let light in through the large street-facing windows.

  ‘Not bad,’ Dani said, picturing her photograph of the Golden Gate bridge in the hallway. If it were her place, she thought, she would have wallpapered it; something light and subtle in a pattern that matched the ceiling roses and architraves.

  ‘What’s the reserve?’ she asked the estate agent.

  ‘One point seven.’

  Daniela nodded and didn’t say anything. It wasn’t the type of place she was expecting to buy. She could probably only afford the broom cupboard of a place like this.

  ‘We could all pitch in and buy ourselves a little husband-hunting sorority house,’ said Clementine, turning a dimmer.

  The estate agent herded everyone out onto the front lawn. The bidding was about to begin.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Dani said. ‘I have a feeling the auction result will depress us.’

  They walked to Annabel’s place and showed her how to marinate prawns and how to tell when they were cooked. Then Clementine whipped egg whites and caster sugar into a meringue mix.

  ‘Feel it,’ she said, dipping a finger into the foamy batter. ‘Rub it between your forefinger and your thumb. The sugar should be completely dissolved. You want it to be perfect. By cooking him a meal, you’re showing him what a competent mate you would be. The ideal partner to protect his progeny.’

  ‘Try and work that phrase into the conversation,’ Dani said. ‘Men love it when you talk dirty.’

  ‘Very funny,’ said Clementine. ‘But this is important. You’ve managed to net a potential future partner. You don’t want to leave it to chance and romance. What’s the plan for the evening?’

  ‘More strategising?’ Annabel creased her brow. ‘What about chemistry?’

  ‘Chemistry happens in a lab.’ Clem added some sugar to her meringue. ‘You have to create the right conditions.’

  ‘Okay,’ Annabel said. ‘Well, at work, once we’ve secured a meeting with a client, we pitch.’

  ‘Right,’ said Clementine. ‘And what does that involve?’

  ‘You present a case for why you are the best person to do the job for the client. You have to show them you understand their needs and how to fill them.’

  ‘But in my work you have to keep in mind what you a
re able to offer,’ Daniela said. ‘For example, we have no industrial expertise; only residential. So we wouldn’t waste time chasing a contract to build a factory. Marriage is the same. We’re not selling something. We’re building something.’

  Clementine was nodding as she whipped cream. ‘When a new client comes to me, I know nothing about them. I get them to spend the first session telling me everything about themselves. Their hopes. Their fears. Their achievements and disappointments. That can be your mission with Harry on your first date. Find out what he needs.’

  ‘Understanding the client,’ Annabel nodded. ‘Got it.’

  That night, inspired by Annabel’s culinary, adventure Daniela decided to cook herself a feast. She made a pasta dish Gia had taught her when she was little, using ground pork and ricotta cheese. There was enough food to feed her entire family, so after washing up she divided it into Tupperware containers and put them in the freezer.

  On Monday morning she grabbed a container to take for lunch. Then she took out an extra container for James, thinking they could take their lunch down to the lake behind the building site. It was dull and sludgy with run-off from the excavating work, but there was a bench on a patch of grass that was quite pleasant.

  When she opened the door to her office he was inside, bent over her desk.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. There were drawings spread out over the work Dani had left open on Friday night. ‘Briggs let me in — we need the papers from the top three floors. Emerson spilled iced tea on our copies.’

  ‘That’s okay. Actually I’ve got something for you.’

  ‘Oh yeah? You’re very cheery this morning. Dating going well, is it?’

  Mannaggia.

  She forgot she had told him about that. The second beer they had shared the other night had loosened her tongue. After the barman had kicked them out, James had walked her back to her car. Ambling slowly in the cold they had drawn close together, sheltering each other from the wind. James cleared his throat and said he had been thinking a lot lately about how nice it would be to start a family.

  ‘I look at my little niece and my bro and his wife, and think: they’re just so happy.’