Authors: Mary Costello
Merise was getting ready for bed on Monday night when the phone went. It was Bev.
‘Sorry to ring you at this hour, but I just got a call from SMO. They want to do a very quick shoot tomorrow morning at seven a.m.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘I know it’s late notice, but they’ve just wangled a spot on the front cover of the
Footy Quarterly
and it goes to print this week. They want a shot of you and McCoy in front of the MCG.’
‘At seven a.m?’
‘It’s the only time McCoy can do it. We’re lucky he can fit it in at all.’
Merise felt her jaw tighten. Did half of Melbourne dance to this man’s tune?
‘The money’s good, Merise, and the exposure would be well worth it. Can you manage it?’
‘I suppose so . . .’
‘Terrific! Now I’m going to run before you change your mind. Go straight to bed. We don’t want rings under your eyes in the morning. And by the way, you’ll need to be at Gate Two at five a.m.’
‘Five a.m!’
‘Got to organise your gear and make-up – have you looking beautiful.’
Merise felt anything but beautiful the following morning as she stood in silence with Bev and the photographer outside Gate Two. She hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d been worrying about the shoot, she’d been worrying about waking up on time, and above all, she’d been worrying about seeing him again. She’d resolved to be the total professional. This was just another job. She wasn’t going to start parrying words with him. She was going to be totally cool, detached, composed, and she was absolutely determined that she wouldn’t let him rile her.
But he did, and without even trying, because he failed to put in an appearance. The little group had been waiting for almost an hour when the photographer began to get restless.
‘This should have been done and dusted by now,’ he said, checking his watch for the tenth time. ‘It’s almost eight o’clock. I’ve got to get down to Mount Martha for my next gig.’
Bev had been trying to ring Paige with no success. ‘I’ll try again,’ she said, taking out her mobile and moving away from them.
Merise stood tapping her feet impatiently. She wanted her breakfast. She hadn’t had time to eat anything before rushing out this morning. She was fuming at Cal for keeping her waiting. It was like that book launch. He must make a habit of being completely selfish and inconsiderate. Just then Bev came marching back, her face set hard.
‘He’s not coming.’
‘Not coming?’ Merise and the photographer chorused together.
‘No. Paige says he has a slight calf strain. It happened when he was running early this morning.’
‘A slight calf strain? Oh my! I’ll alert the media,’ said Merise with bitter sarcasm.
‘Don’t bother,’ said the photographer. ‘They’ll be all over it already. I’m off then.’ And he packed up his gear and left.
‘Sorry about this, Merise,’ Bev apologised, ‘but you’ll still get paid, of course. It’s a pity McCoy couldn’t have given us a ring.’
‘I don’t see why he couldn’t have turned up,’ said Merise hotly. ‘There’s nothing very strenuous about having a photo taken. Don’t know what harm it could have done to his precious calf.’
‘Paige says he’s in the hyperbaric chamber,’ Bev explained. ‘She says he’s determined to get himself right ASAP.’
Yes, Merise thought, and to hell with everyone and everything else. And she knew the photographer was right – the media would be onto this like a shot. It was ridiculous that every move this man made – every tiny creak of his muscles – was reported, discussed, dissected; the source of endless speculation. No wonder he was so puffed up with his own importance. But what was really irritating her was that she minded at all. She had to face it, she’d been deeply disappointed when he’d cancelled. Whether she liked to admit it or not, she’d wanted to see him. This man had some sort of hold over her, and she hated it!
It was about ten days later that Merise saw the first Yarraside ad on TV. She and Erica were having a quiet night in front of the TV watching a crime thriller, when the ad came on. It was a shock. The very first frame was a close-up of Merise’s face, looking nervous. It then cut to Cal scoring a goal, then back to Merise cheering with delight.
‘Oh no!’ she exclaimed. ‘Did I really get that excited?’
Then, immediately after scoring, Cal turned and smiled into the stands, only the ad was cut so that he appeared to be smiling directly at her. She appeared to be smiling back, and the last frame was of the two of them touching hands as he went down the race.
‘Oh, my God!’ squealed Erica, ‘it really looks as if you two have a thing going on.’
‘Well, we don’t,’ Merise insisted, but she’d seen how it looked. Who would believe her? And what would he think of her, making a spectacle of herself like that? He’d think she was throwing herself at him. At that thought the hot shame rose into her cheeks and she covered her face with her hands.
‘What?’ asked Erica.
‘Nothing,’ Merise mumbled, ‘I’ll just die of embarrassment.’
The next week, Bev rang to let her know that the gala football season launch would take place the following Friday and that Merise was expected to go.
‘It’s a big TV event – especially the red carpet, so you’ve got to be there.’
Merise quailed. She’d seen highlights of last year’s launch on the news and remembered how the fans and media gathered at the entrance to the casino to ogle the players and the WAGS as they arrived. But if she couldn’t get out of it, she could probably slip in early or late and keep a very low profile.
‘You’ll be going as Cal McCoy’s partner,’ Bev added, and somehow Merise’s heart dipped and soared at the same time. So much for that low profile.
‘But . . . I can’t. I mean . . . I don’t think he’ll be too happy.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well, we don’t exactly get on.’
‘Oh, I see. No, I suppose you two don’t have much in common. But you’re wrong, you know; it was his suggestion to take you.’
‘Really?’ That floored Merise. What did it mean?
‘Oh yes. He lives for Yarraside. He’d do anything that he thought would be good for the club. And trust me, you’re good for the club.’
Yeah, that made sense. She’d be a handy accessory. ‘But . . .’ She searched for some way out. If she arrived with Cal, there would be no hiding place. ‘It’s just, I’ve got nothing to wear.’
‘No worries, as soon as people hear you’ll be coming as Cal McCoy’s partner, every designer in Australia will be falling all over themselves to dress you.’
Merise cringed – at the thought of ‘Cal McCoy’s partner’ being her claim to fame – but part of her buzzed with excitement. Did he really only choose her as his partner for the sake of the club? Everything about Cal McCoy was so troubling and confusing. Damn! If only she could feel normal again.
Merise knew that she looked good when she stood in front of the mirror on Friday night. She had spent the afternoon having her hair styled and getting a manicure, a pedicure and her make-up done. She felt that she really didn’t look like herself. She looked at the girl in the mirror, and felt somehow detached from the glamorous image. She was wearing a magnificent silk dress in the Yarraside colours of black and silver. The corsetted bodice hugged her upper body, revealing her slim, shapely figure and leaving her gleaming white shoulders bare. The skirt floated out behind her as she moved, giving an impression of graceful elegance.
‘You look like a goddess,’ said Erica, who’d come to help her dress. ‘Really, I’ve never seen you look so lovely.’
‘That’s because I’m not so lovely. It’s the clothes and the make-up and the hair.’
Erica shook her head.’Don’t be silly – those things only enhance the way you look. Your natural beauty shines through. I’m so glad they left your hair out.’
Her thick, long mane was gently curling around her shoulders. It had been ages since Merise had worn it like that. She usually tied it back in a ponytail or piled it up on her head to keep it out of the way. Now it added a voluptuous quality to her classic beauty.
‘I don’t know. I just hope it’s not windy – it’ll fly off in all directions and I’ll look like Medusa.’
At that moment the doorbell rang and Erica went to open the door. It was Cal. He stood there filling the doorway, looking unexpectedly elegant in a tuxedo and white shirt. When Merise turned and saw him she gave a small, involuntary gasp. He looked so ruggedly handsome. She felt her insides flutter as their eyes met. Neither of them moved.
Erica instantly sensed the tension. ‘Right,’ she said cheerily. ‘Come in. It’s Cal McCoy, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ he muttered, barely noticing Erica as he walked up to Merise, never taking his eyes off her. She felt herself go hot and cold by turns. He opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to have second thoughts. The expression on his face was hard to read. Then he smiled and said casually, ‘The club colours have never looked so classy.’
Her heart sank. Nothing about her – always the club, always his precious Wolves. Taking her cue from him, Merise responded as casually as she could manage. ‘Yes, it’s a magnificent dress. And you look very smart. Did SMO send a stylist to sort you out, too?’
He laughed mischievously at that. ‘They tried. They’ve sent me a lot of emails and they’ve been ringing me, but somehow I haven’t been available.’
‘Very wise,’ she said brightly. If they could keep up this light banter all evening, she might manage not to stare at him, not to let him see that the sight of him had left her swooning on the inside. But he was so utterly, powerfully compelling. It wasn’t just the way he looked, it was the way he moved, his deep, seductive voice, the power that seemed to emanate from him.
Stop this!
she told herself. Focus on the job ahead.
‘Are you ready?’ he asked.
‘Yes, looking forward to it.’
He looked surprised. ‘Really? I thought you’d be dreading it – an evening of empty-headed glam dominated by shallow celebrities and the parasitic paparazzi.’
‘Well, I’m trying to take a positive approach,’ she admitted. ‘I thought I could turn the experience into an article for my portfolio.’
‘Ah yes – ever the intrepid reporter,’ he quipped. ‘Just leave me out of it.’
‘Hah!’ she retorted. ‘You flatter yourself. Now, shall we get to work?’
‘Yep,’ he said. ‘Let’s do it for the barrackers!’
Erica chatted easily as she walked them to the waiting limousine and waved them off. In the car, there was a strain between them that made Merise feel uncomfortable and edgy. She sat as far away from him as she could and kept her eyes fixed on the window. Neither spoke during the ten-minute drive to Southbank. But when they neared the casino precinct, the traffic slowed as they joined a long line of limousines waiting to deposit their celebrity passengers at the grand entrance.
Merise peered anxiously over the driver’s shoulder and began to fussily arrange her tiny evening bag and the folds of her skirt.
‘Nervous?’ he asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.
‘No . . . yes, I mean, I’m a bit worried about getting out of the car. It’s so hard to look elegant when you’re trying not to trip on ten metres of train.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Everything you do is elegant – and I’ll come round and stand in front of the door until you get organised.’
Merise thought he might be joking, but when a few minutes later the car pulled up at the entrance, he was as good as his word.
‘I’ll get the door,’ he said to the driver as he stepped out of the car. Seconds later he opened the door for Merise, blocking her view of the casino and everyone’s view of her.
She carefully swung her legs to her left, as Bev had taught her to do, and stood up slowly, allowing her dress to fall into place.
‘Nicely done,’ he said encouragingly as he offered his arm. She laid her small hand on it and felt instantly better. He was so calm, so reassuring as he stood looking down at her, no hint of censure in his eyes, and she gave him a radiant smile – a smile that was for him, not the cameras.
Then he stood aside and the world rushed in. A score of photographers moved forward as they stepped on to the red carpet that led into the dazzling, cavernous foyer. Merise had an overwhelming impression of light – from the dozens of camera flashes as well as the thousands of golden bulbs glowing on the casino walls and ceiling. She recoiled for a split second from all that glare, then felt his arm go around her waist as he guided her forward. His body was so warm and solid, she wanted to just disappear into his shoulder.
‘Just take it slowly and smile,’ he whispered into her ear. And the next moment they were advancing as the photographers snapped and a crowd of fans called out to Cal. He smiled easily, keeping one arm around her and waving with the other. She loved the feeling of his arm about her. She loved the hardness of his body touching hers. It was as if he was transferring something of his strength and energy to her. He was born to do this. The scrutiny didn’t trouble him. He seemed comfortable, self-assured, and in total control – as usual.
Merise just kept looking straight ahead. The fans hadn’t come to see her – apart from her dress – and she didn’t want to trip over anything. Up ahead she could see a press of gorgeously clad and coiffed women, some posing for photographers beside illuminated pools of water that spilled over platforms of black marble, others being interviewed on the red carpet by one of the camera crews. But as she and Cal came forward, one by one the journalists and cameramen turned, spotted them and started moving in their direction.
‘Brace yourself,’ he murmured, and she straightened her shoulders just a little, lifted her head and put on the widest, sweetest smile she could muster.
‘Cal! Over here!’ A tuxedo-clad man waving a microphone was bearing down on them. ‘Can you do a quick interview for Channel Nine?’
‘Sure, no worries,’ Cal responded in a reassuringly relaxed voice.
A second later, a young woman dressed in an emerald-green gown appeared in front of them, stuck a mic under her nose and said, ‘I’m here on the red carpet with Yarraside captain, Cal McCoy, and his lovely companion, Merise Merrick.’