Dog Handling (27 page)

“Ssshhhh, she’s here,” Alex hissed, and plastered a grin to her face. “Hi, Millie.”

“Don’t I look fuckable in that one?” Amelia handed over a picture of herself to Liv. “Now, I wanted to talk to you about the party next week. Do you and Alex have a budget in mind for the dress you want me to wear? Only I’ve seen this Dolce dress . . . it’ll be worth every penny.” So bang went Liv’s hopes of fiddling the books just enough to buy herself a dress from the market for the party, and bang went her hopes of outshining Amelia on the one night that really mattered to her. The night she intended to reduce Ben to rubble as the champagne flowed and the freshly picked magnolia blossoms scented the night air and the fairy lights sparkled from jacaranda trees.

“And, you know, I can show you how to stop your hair frizzing up like that. I know you’re going to want to look your best for the party,” Amelia gushed before opening a bottle of beer with her back teeth and offering Liv a swig.

When Amelia had been firmly deposited back in front of the camera the girls continued to get to grips with the nittier-grittier business of party planning.

“Now how many waitresses do you think we need to cover the party? Fifteen enough?” Alex asked.

The accountant in Liv’s soul leapt up in horror. “Fifteen. Don’t be ridiculous; that’d cost us half our yearly takings. You and I can take round a tray of canapés each. If Tim’s coming, then he can make himself useful, and I’m sure a few of the fashion editors won’t mind pouring out the odd glass of champagne for themselves. I can borrow the table Laura uses for wallpapering and set it up as a buffet,” Liv improvised hastily, seeing no reason why they should bankrupt themselves before they’d sold their first bra.

“Style, Liv. Style. We can’t be serving up Scotch eggs and jam tarts. It’s not a picnic in Bournemouth; it’s the launch of one of the world’s most exclusive and desirable ranges of lingerie. That lot wouldn’t pour their own champagne if you threatened to strip them of their Prada discount cards. And anyway, I’m not carrying bloody canapés and risking my unborn child’s health. Do you think I’m some kind of barbarian?” Alex asked as she stole a drag of the photo assistant’s cigarette and then spent five minutes patting her stomach guiltily.

“You’re preggars, are you?” a voice squealed behind them. “Bloody oath! Well done, darling.” Amelia leapt forward and hugged Alex in an unborn-baby-squashing way. “You’ve snagged one helluva bachelor there. Christ, you’ll be the envy of Sydney. Of course we’ve all been in love with him since we were fifteen, but to father your child . . . good going, Alex,” Amelia gushed forth with utter sincerity. Liv couldn’t say that she’d noticed Charlie being the object of desire of every woman in the Southern Hemisphere before now, but maybe he looked gorgeous in the rugby scrum or when he was muddy from polo or something.

“Thanks, Amelia. Only you know I haven’t told him yet. You know, waiting till the moment’s right and all that. It’s a bit delicate.” Alex was obviously going to take the hush-hush approach to the whole thing and let them think that it was Charlie’s baby. Just sit on the time bomb until it blows up under your bum.

“Of course I won’t breathe a word. Trust me.” Amelia put her finger to her lips and darted off to hear the photographer tell her one more time how photogenic she was.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to trust her, won’t I?” Alex said philosophically. “Must say, though, I never realised Charlie was considered such a sexpot. I mean he’s all right, but . . .”

“Would it have made any difference?” Liv asked, thinking maybe it wasn’t too late for Alex to face practicalities and pass the baby off as Charlie’s. So what if it wasn’t tall and strapping and handsome and good with horses and women? He wasn’t likely to notice until the child was in its twenties, by which time he’d probably have traded Alex in for a younger version or a new polo pony. “It’s just that sometimes I wonder how you’ll get by without any money or luxuries or even a decent education. Rob can’t make any money doing what he does, and well, I know you and I have dreams of running a billion-dollar empire, but you can’t rely on that to keep your baby in Weetabix and Pampers, can you?”

“We’ll make it work somehow, Liv. Now we ought to crack on—we’re supposed to be at the pub for your hot date with Fat Will in an hour.” Alex and Liv ran out the door before they could be roped into agreeing to pay for any more massages or collecting any more dry cleaning for their new spokesmodel.

The girls wandered down Oxford Street to Fiveways to stretch their hunched shoulders and worked-to-the-bone limbs.

“I’m turning into a crone with all that bending and scraping to Amelia. Look, I’ve got a hunch, haven’t I?” Alex said as they sauntered along William Street without so much as a peek in Colette Dinnigan.

“Did we just walk past Colette Dinnigan because you’re pregnant and can’t fit into her clothes anymore or because you can’t afford them?” Liv asked Alex in wonder. They had never ever walked past Colette Dinnigan’s shop before without entering the airy portals for just a few seconds to fantasise about scones with the vicar in a transparent navy blue polka-dot tea dress or a night of Elizabeth Taylor tantrums resplendent in a shimmering slip dress.

“Neither. I just want to see Rob and show him the photos of the ultrasound,” Alex said as she also ignored the equally dream-inducing handbag shop on the corner.

“So when exactly do you think you’ll tell Charlie?” Liv asked.

“Charlie’s making his own getaway. I haven’t had sex with him for a week and yesterday I found a pink Versace miniskirt in his apartment. He tried to tell me it was his sister’s, but only weathergirls wear pink Versace miniskirts—and I think I know the one. Pretty redhead after the ABC regional news at six. I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Alex promised as they rounded the corner and climbed the steps to the Royal. “We’ll end it in a mutually amicable way.”

The tables were steadily filling with the Friday night after-work crowd gearing up for a big one and men getting in the pints before the rugby game.

“Will must be quite keen if he’s skipping the rugby to take you out.” Alex grinned.

“I told you Dave knows what he’s doing when it comes to the workings of men’s minds.” Liv waved over at Rob, who was sitting between horse pee girl and a girl called Kicca whom Liv recognised from the dinner after Mardi Gras.

“Hey there.” Rob stood up and scooped Alex onto a bar stool and plonked a mineral water in her hands before she could say vodka lime and soda. He bought Liv a beer, which she gamely had a go at as they filled him in on the day’s excitements and the current state of RSVPs for the party.

Liv looked around to see if Ben was feeding the cigarette machine in the corner or making his way back from the gents’, but he didn’t seem to be there. She kept her fingers crossed and tried to calculate how long it would take him to get from work at the museum to here. Any minute now, she hoped. Amelia had confirmed his appearance tonight by moaning about having to spend another bloody evening in the Royal while he watched the rugby. Good for some things then was our Millie.

Liv knocked back her beer and then ordered a Scotch. She needed a bit of fire in her belly if she was going to pull off this whole Barbara Woodhouse thing. In fact, even the idea of seeing Ben from afar and ignoring him was making her feel nervous and bringing out a rash on her neck. Of course she fancied him still and of course she’d do anything to have had him not behave like such a completely predictable dog, but he had and so here she was ready to administer the first whack to his head with a rolled-up newspaper.

“When he sees that the other dog’s got his stick he’ll go mad and start dribbling,” Dave had assured her. So Liv simply took another sip of Scotch and waited for the two mutts to show so she could engineer a standoff.

And she didn’t have long to wait before the first canine bounded in, hiding his mean, nasty fangs from view and instead looking for all the world like the most glossy, handsome, adorable creature she’d ever seen. In his moleskins and black T-shirt Ben looked around and caught sight of his crew in the corner and suddenly Liv found herself offering her kingdom for a comb.

“Hi, guys.” He smiled and patted backs and shook hands and delivered the odd pair of kisses to Amelia’s friends. But not to Liv and Alex, who were admittedly sitting at the next table, but still. Confirmation of the big postfuck freeze-out, Liv noted. The dog.

“So, Alex, I hear it’s going to be quite the party of the year?” said Kicca, who had previously perceived Alex and Liv as two of the unhippest nobodies ever to grace the same coveted restaurant table as herself. “Well, I’m a huge fan of your designs. Can’t wait. And is it true that the dress code’s lingerie only?” she asked. As Alex filled a disappointed Kicca in on the fact that she’d have to wear a dress and not be able to show off her hard-earned six-pack Liv turned and watched Ben at the bar. He was getting in the drinks, laughing at something the barmaid was telling him. He didn’t turn around for even a second to find Liv’s gaze. Her heart sank slightly. And did he not even feel slightly guilty, she marvelled at his temerity and rudeness.

“I thought you’d at least be wearing a bikini, babe,” Charlie said to Alex. “I’ve invited the rugby team to see it.” Charlie laughed, and Rob, who was sitting quietly in the corner, didn’t.

Alex was unfazed. “Oh, I don’t think my figure’s up to a bikini at the moment,” she said innocently enough, but it was instantly clear that at least half the table already knew the gossip, because a few glasses of Chardonnay were raised to lips to hide sly grins and Rob looked proudly in Alex’s direction. Though if Amelia had been responsible for playing bush telegraph in this instance then everyone was doubtless under the impression that Charlie was the eligible, irresistible father. Liv looked at him and hoped for the baby-to-be’s sake that Alex hadn’t got her dates muddled up.

Charlie was currently throwing peanuts into the air while watching a young soap star who’d walked into the bar. Well, he could thank his lucky soap stars that next week he’d be free to admire the soap star at closer quarters, though judging by the wink she flashed him and the way he spilled his nuts as she did, he was perhaps not such a distant admirer after all. In fact, minutes later, after the soap star had left the bar and could be seen moving up and down in front of some flowerpots outside the bar, Charlie got a call on his mobile. The soap star outside the window threw back her head and laughed just as Charlie mumbled, “Long time no see, eh?” wittily into his phone. Alex barely noticed, as she was still trying to persuade Kicca of the postmodern humour of the name Greta’s Grundies and that Intimate Secrets wasn’t the name that the fledgling business was crying out for.

“Liv, you are looking spectacular.” Will put his pudgy little hands around Liv’s waist and she nearly jumped two feet in the air.

“Will!” It came out high-pitched like a schoolgirl who’d had her pigtails pulled. “I booked us a table at Hugo’s.”

He gave her a peck on the cheek. “I just have to go say hi to Charlie and the boys for a second if that’s okay, sweetheart. Now are you okay for a drink?”

“Fine, thanks,” Liv muttered as she looked around to see if Ben had noticed that his stick had been pinched by another dog. Admittedly, one with the body of a pug and the face of a Rottweiler, but Dave maintained that it didn’t matter that the interloper was never going to win best of breed. Dogs didn’t notice stuff like pedigree. They only wanted their stick back.

“He’s watching you,” Alex leaned over and whispered in Liv’s ear.

“Truly?”

“Staring. Oh no, he’s looked away again. He caught me watching him.”

“Can men really be so dumb, Alex? I don’t want to believe it.”

“Ssshhhh, talking of . . . here comes Will.” Alex turned back to what passed for conversation with Kicca but was actually more of a living, breathing interactive flip through the pages of
Hello!
magazine.

“You looked incredible in your gym outfit the other day, Liv.” Will sat next to her and began to fiddle disconcertingly with her knees. “Fantastic legs. I hadn’t noticed them before,” he remarked to no one in particular

“I’m not a racehorse, Will. Or perhaps you’d like to check my teeth while you’re at it.” Liv had very little patience with Will and his knack of making her feel as though she had as much intellectual relevance as a lamb chop.

“Ohhh, you’re feisty tonight. We like that.” He chuckled and slapped her thigh. “Can’t wait.” Liv gulped down an ice cube from the bottom of her glass and told herself that this was all in a good cause. In many ways Ben had treated her like a lamb chop, too, and he deserved to know how it felt.

“I’ll bet you can’t, you fat fuck,” Liv mumbled with the ice cube in her mouth.

Will wasn’t sure whether he’d heard properly and looked puzzled for a second. “So is that body all pumped and toned and ready for me?” Liv spat out the ice cube and giggled coquettishly as she suddenly saw Ben looking her way. Unabashedly staring at her. Had she had her old romantic head, she might have mistaken it for a gaze. But no—it was simply the stare of a simpleminded mutt who is jealous because a body-of-a-pug-face-of-a-Rottweiler type is dribbling saliva all over a stick that he once chewed and spat out.

“We’re off to supper then.” Liv made a big deal of saying good-bye to everyone even though they’d never noticed she’d arrived in the first place.

“See ya, babe.” Alex stood up and shoved Liv to one side a bit, hissing under her breath, “Please, whatever you do, don’t sleep with him. We’d have to have you deloused and fumigated and maybe even put down. You’d catch some kind of doggy dysentry or something.”

“Gross, don’t even begin.” Liv swiped a quick look at Will, who was staring at her deliberately-on-view-in-tight-trousers bottom in a way that suggested he wouldn’t mind a good sniff. “I’m going to order shellfish and throw up in the loos after the starter. Piece of fish cake.”

“Ben looks as though he’s about to cry into his beer. I think we should write a book on dog handling. It works like a dream,” Alex marvelled, and gave Liv a hug.