The Reluctant Wag (5 page)

He remembered Murdoch manhandling her. He could have killed the idiot. Cal had noticed Merise earlier – no way he could help it in that skimpy number – but he was determined to stay well clear of her. No point in making things any harder than they were. Why the hell had she been there on her own anyway? He wouldn’t have picked her for the party type. Maybe she’d been seduced by the celebrity lifestyle after all. He realised that he really didn’t know Merise Merrick, and he needed to be aware that she was a future journalist. She was probably always on the prowl for news. He’d better watch his step; he wasn’t planning to be part of her first big scoop.

At first, the Friday night shoot wasn’t as awkward as Merise had imagined. She’d been instructed by the imperious director, Kyle, to simply stand off to one side with a group of other supporters, watching the players go through their warm-ups.

‘Just look interested, until Cal comes in – then you step forward and get excited, got that?’

‘Yes,’ said Merise tightly as she felt herself blush and squirm; she’d be getting excited anyway, but she’d actually be trying to hide it.

‘Then after a bit he’ll come over to you and chat for a moment before the rooms are cleared, okay? Got that?’

‘Okay’ she nodded, trying to seem impassive. She kept up that façade as the players gradually arrived and began stretching or going through handball drills. She wasn’t at all affected by the sight of so many young athletes flexing their well-developed muscles just metres away until Cal came in. As he walked through from the locker room he was talking animatedly to the head coach, already absorbed in the game to come. He wouldn’t even notice her, Merise told herself, which was just as well, because she was immediately aware that he wasn’t wearing his guernsey and the sight of his golden, muscle-hardened body was deeply disturbing.

She gulped and tried to slide behind a group of men who had sent up a cheer at the sight of the captain. But Kyle was instantly at her elbow hissing, ‘What are you doing? Come out of there. I said excited, Merise – now, please!’ and he pushed her forward into Cal’s path.

Cal turned, momentarily annoyed, then recognised her. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said unenthusiastically. ‘Damn it, I’d forgotten about this nonsense.’

She didn’t know what to say. She just wanted to disappear.

‘It’ll only take a moment, darling,’ said Paige Gorton, who had appeared from behind Cal. ‘Just say “rhubarb” and smile charmingly.’

He laughed at that and his whole face became at once so much more appealing. The forbidding frown cleared and he looked down at Merise with humour in his eyes.

‘Right, rhubarb it is then.’

She tried to laugh and moved closer to him. ‘And custard,’ she said, smiling for the cameras.

‘Oh really?’ he asked, playing along and grinning broadly now. ‘What about some pavlova to follow?’

They both burst out laughing and Kyle shrieked out, ‘Yes! That’s it. Now, Merise, you’ve asked to have a photo taken – Jim!’ And Jim stepped up, his camera at the ready. ‘Cal, can you put your arm around her, please? Please! That shouldn’t be too much of a trauma for you.’

For a second Cal looked as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or stalk off, but then he put one bare arm around her shoulders. Merise felt herself gasp at the sudden contact of his flesh. It was hard and soft at the same time. She felt the heat from his body, as if he were giving off a powerful energy, and knew that a blush was rising from her neck upwards. She didn’t dare look up at him. His side touched hers and she wondered if he could feel the mad beating of her heart. It seemed to her that it was thumping through her entire body. The photographer snapped away.

‘A couple more, to be sure,’ said Kyle. ‘I suppose a little kiss would be too much to ask, Cal?’

She felt him go rigid. ‘You suppose right, mate. Excuse me. Got a game to win,’ he said to Merise and he walked towards the race, pulling on his guernsey as the other players fell in behind him and Kyle stood wringing his hands.

Merise felt her face burning with shame as a club official led her to a prominent seat in the members’ area. He hadn’t wanted to kiss her, that was clear. He probably thought of her as a scheming wannabe celebrity, using him to get her name in the papers. That stupid photo!

Kyle and his team had set up in a side aisle off to her right. They would be filming her reaction during the game. She dreaded the thought of sitting there for three hours and longed to be at home. She wouldn’t understand what was happening anyway. But almost as soon as the whistle blew, she found herself caught up in the excitement. The crowd around her followed every kick, every handball, every tackle, and they erupted at every goal. And there were a lot of them. It was a high-scoring game, not at all like soccer. This was full of drama.

At some point in the second quarter Merise really began to feel the thrill. An opposition player had kicked long to the Brumbies’ captain who caught the ball on the run and raced towards the Yarraside goals. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Cal was upon him, tackling him to the ground. He deftly dispossessed him of the ball, then turned and ran hard in the opposite direction, bouncing the ball every few steps, all the while weaving his way among Brumbies players who tried to catch him. The stadium was electrified as he neared the Brumbies’ goals, Wolves fans on their feet, willing him on, yelling, ‘Go Cal!’ Even Merise was on her feet, her hands clasped under her chin, her mouth open in awe as he powered up the field, a perfect image of pure masculine power. He kicked and the ball split the middle of the goals, and Merise and everyone around her jumped and yelled with delight. She was only half aware of the cameras trained on her the whole time, and Kyle pacing agitatedly up and down the aisle, barking instructions and groaning every few minutes.

At the end of the game, when the Wolves had won by a whopping seventy-three points, Merise was approached by Kyle’s assistant, Dave. She was wanted at the race, he explained. She followed him to where Kyle was directing security guards to clear her way to the front of the race.

‘Okay, Merise, as Cal comes off, you hang over and touch him, okay?’

‘Touch him? Why?’

Kyle rolled his eyes, ‘It’s a fan thing – just do it.’

She could see Cal leading the victorious team towards the race, where crowds of elated supporters were pressing forward to congratulate their heroes. She noticed that Paige was hurrying along beside him, gabbling, trying to keep pace in her high heels and sinking into the turf at every step.

As he entered the top of the race she felt Kyle thrust her forward and leant down, her arm outstretched towards Cal. She was praying he wouldn’t even notice her, but just as he came level with her he looked up, cracked a smile that instantly dispelled her self-consciousness and grabbed her hand for a second before moving on.

‘Perfect!’ she heard Kyle exclaim behind her, but she was only aware of the way her heart was drumming in her chest. And it came to her as she stood there, being jostled by a mob of footy nuts dressed in black and silver, that Cal McCoy was starting to have a very, very disturbing effect on her, and what was worse – she liked it.

She spent the next two hours in the small suite of rooms under the stadium which had been the operations centre for the shoot. Kyle had wanted to talk to her about their next project – a two-minute ad of the players in the club gym with Merise moving among them as they trained.

‘What am I supposed to be doing there?’ she asked.

‘Who cares? We’re not shooting
War and Peace
, Merise. No one’s going to be questioning your motivation. You’re the face of the fan base and you’re getting access to training. It’ll be a blast – a glimpse of the inner sanctum with all those hunks working their abs or whatever, and you moving from one piece of equipment to the next, drooling.’

Merise lowered her head into her hands – more drooling. She’d look like such a fool.

‘Can’t I just, I don’t know . . . look at the honour board or something?’

‘No, babe – it’s all about the sexual tension; gotta generate it in spades and that’s where you come in.’

He finally released her and as she walked through the dim, empty underground car park towards the exit she heard heavy footsteps behind her. A little spooked, she spun around and saw Cal McCoy.

‘You’re still here?’ he asked, surprised.

‘Yes. No – just leaving,’ she said, relieved, but at the same time feeling awkward.

‘I thought you’d have escaped at the earliest opportunity.’

‘No. It was fun, and I had a briefing session with Kyle Carruthers.’

‘Oh yeah. Cecil B. DeMille. Did you enjoy the game?’

‘I loved it.’ Her enthusiasm was real. ‘Wasn’t nearly as boring as I thought it would be.’

‘Really?’ He was watching her closely. She felt a generous impulse.

‘You weren’t bad either.’

He smiled and somehow looked younger. ‘Thanks, glad you approved.’

‘I think everyone there approved, apart from some of the Brumbies fans, who actually said some very unkind things.’

He laughed. ‘I’ll bet – no need to elaborate.’

Three or four other players had now emerged from the stadium and called goodnight to Cal as they walked to their cars, casting one or two curious glances at Merise.

‘How come you’re all leaving so late? Is it to avoid the fans?’

‘No, not so much that. We have to go through our cool-down exercises, sit with our legs in an ice bath, get some physio if we need it. It all takes a couple of hours.’

‘Well, you must be exhausted. I’ll let you get home,’ she said, turning to go.

‘Actually, no, I’m so pumped with adrenaline I could run a marathon. I can never sleep after a game.’

‘What do you do?’

‘I usually go for dinner, to a little Spanish restaurant I know in Fitzroy. It’s quiet – a bit off the beaten track. No photographers and hardly ever any barrackers. Want to join me?’

The invitation was so casual, so unexpected that she simply said, ‘Yes.’ A second later she half regretted it, but at the same time she realised that she wanted to be with him. They should at least get to know one another, she reasoned. They should be able to work together as professionals without always crossing swords, and without her always feeling that her heart was about to explode.

‘Great,’ he said with one of his rare, devastating smiles, and trying to control the flutter in her stomach, she followed him to his car.

La Cocina del Diablo was small, dark and intimate. The maitre d’ came straight up to Cal with a wide smile. ‘
Bienvenido amigo
! Another victory – well done. I heard on the radio you had twenty-nine possessions, so I know you’re hungry. Your table is ready.’ He led them to a table in a private alcove near the rear of the room.

The small space glowed by the light of a brace of candles. As Cal studied the menu, Merise peeped over the top of hers to watch his face. He was studying the list as if his life depended on it. He seemed to do everything with such intensity and concentration. She liked that about him, and she liked his lips. She couldn’t help noticing them. They were so well defined, so beautifully shaped – like the rest of him.

Just then she realised what she was doing – staring at this man – a mere recent acquaintance, as if she were in thrall to him. What was going on? She’d better get a grip on herself. Now where was she?

As she examined the menu he suddenly reached out and touched her ear. Involuntarily she whipped back with a sharp intake of breath. He paused for a second, looking hard at her. ‘It’s only your earring – it was coming out.’

‘Oh, sorry. Great. Th . . . thanks.’ Her voice betrayed her – it sounded so husky. Trying hard to regain her composure, she fiddled with her cutlery.

She felt the hot blush of red rising in her cheeks. He had to have noticed it, but he just asked in a matter-of-fact way, ‘So, are you enjoying your modelling work?’.

She pulled a face. ‘Well, I suppose . . . it’s not too bad. But it’s really not something I want to have in my life for too long. It’s serving a purpose at the moment, but as soon as I make enough money to cover my uni fees and my living expenses, I’ll drop it.’

‘But what about the female face of Yarraside? If you desert us, we could just plunge to the bottom of the ladder,’ he said with mock alarm.

She smiled easily. ‘Then you’ll just have to kick a few more goals to ensure that doesn’t happen.’ She had a sudden thought. ‘By the way, what did the maitre d’ mean, “twenty-nine possessions”?’

He smiled back. ‘The number of times I got the ball tonight.’

‘Oh yeah, of course.’ She paused for a second, then asked, ‘Why would they bother to count that?’

‘I take you knew nothing much about Aussie Rules before this?’ he asked.

‘Yes, and I must say, I had no idea it would be so exciting, or have so many different aspects to it.’

‘Such as?’

‘Marking, for a start. It’s so thrilling to see a player leap into the air, right up on the back of another player. I presume that’s legal?’

‘It’s legal. Yeah, marking is certainly one of the glories of the game. If AFL is a religion, then marking is evidence of the transcendent impulse. Whenever I’m going for the ball, rising off the ground, above someone’s shoulders, it feels as if I’m reaching towards the gods, with all the barrackers urging me on. And sometimes, I can’t help it – I think of an old Irish prayer my grandma used to say:

That’s exactly what it feels like when I’m up there, going for the ball.’

Merise was riveted. He was the first man under forty she’d ever met who could quote poetry, and with power and feeling. She felt something inside her shift and she suddenly saw him in a new light. His eyes were shining, his face transfigured from its habitual scowl, and she knew that he was revealing something secret, something sacred about himself.

‘That’s so beautiful, Cal. And maybe lots of players feel like that, but I doubt that any of them have articulated it in that way.’

He looked at her, a little smile in his eyes and said, ‘Eat your gazpacho, it’s getting warm.’

The meal was delicious and for a while she found herself relaxing as Cal answered her very basic questions about the game.

‘The tackling seems to work quite well,’ she said over dessert. ‘Why don’t you do it more often? The stats on the screen after the game said that Yarraside only had a hundred and thirty-one tackles.’

He threw his head back and laughed. ‘That’s almost a preseason record for tackles. We did fine. We can’t spend the whole game on the ground.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ she said thoughtfully, absently tucking a stray curl behind her ear. ‘But there’s one thing I don’t understand. Everyone tells me that Yarraside is a powerhouse of the game – that you’ve got the greatest number of supporters, the best facilities and training staff, yet you haven’t won a premiership in such a long time. Why is that?’

He paused and looked at her for a moment. ‘Are you sure you don’t barrack for the Devils?’ he asked bitingly.

‘No, I didn’t mean . . .’ She realised that she’d touched a nerve – she’d said the wrong thing. It was only a game to her, and one she didn’t begin to understand, but it was his whole life. She’d certainly put her foot in it. Her boot, even.

‘Look, I really don’t want to talk about footy any more. I get enough of this sort of grilling from the media.’ He paused and looked at her warily, ‘But then I suppose you’re part of the future media, aren’t you? Is that why you’re cross-examining me?’

‘I’m not cross-examining you. I’m just trying to understand —’

‘Don’t bother,’ he said, signalling to the waiter for the bill. ‘I’m sure that when you graduate you’ll turn your writing talents to something much more important than sport.’

Damn! She’d done it again, and it had been going so well until she’d opened her big mouth.

Fifteen minutes of tense silence later he pulled up outside her apartment and got out of the car to open the door for her. She smiled up at him, anxious to make up for her clumsiness, her ignorance. He’d been such good company before that. She’d actually enjoyed being with him.

‘Thanks for dinner. I had a great time. And, I’m sorry if I said anything, ah . . . inappropriate about the Wolves.’

He merely smiled – somewhat sceptically, she thought – got back into his stupid, fancy car and drove off.

Dinner had been a mistake, Cal told himself as he sat on the stone balcony of his home, staring out over the open spaces of Royal Park. It was almost three in the morning, he still couldn’t sleep, and not just because of the adrenaline. It was her. The most attractive and the most maddening woman he’d ever met. Correction – girl. She knew nothing and she knew everything. She had him puzzled. At moments she seemed completely naïve, but then she’d throw up that icy wall of superiority.

And she had the gall to judge him. He could take it; he’d been judged by strangers, for as long as he could remember – the price you paid for having a father who captained the most famous sports club in the country. Strangers had been heaping expectations on him since his first day at school. Would he be like his dad? Could lightning strike twice in the same family, just a generation apart? He’d see to it that it would. He’d worked like a dog and fought like a Spartan to get where he was today. He would be mad to take his foot off the pedal now, just because of a woman.

He sighed. But what a woman! He should have known he wouldn’t be able to resist her – she was so hot, even if she was prickly as hell. He stood up and paced along the balcony, even the smell of the gums sweating in the warmth of the night reminded him of her. He’d smelt the lemon myrtle in her hair that day at training. That day he’d just wanted to scoop her up and carry her inside into the shade. She’d looked so young . . .

She was a total rookie as a model, he knew that – no phony poses, no practised pouts. But was she just another newshound? Was that why she’d agreed to go with him tonight? Did she feel even a fraction of the attraction he felt for her? Either way, he’d better keep his distance and remember that Merise Merrick was a budding journalist. She might just be a very calculating operator, another would-be celeb on the lookout for her next photo opportunity. One thing he knew, she was well able to resist him, and maybe it was for the best.

Just then he heard the roar of a male lion from the zoo at the heart of the park. ‘Yeah, mate,’ he muttered, ‘I know exactly how you feel.’