Just My Luck (13 page)

“We’ll take them,” he said firmly, bending to scoop up the box, motioning the woman toward the counter. “Leave them on if you like, Kristen.”

“You really can’t buy me clothes,” she was still objecting when they were on the street again. “Lunch is one thing, but those boots were
expensive.”

“Good thing you wore them then, isn’t it? Letting me see them on you, giving me my money’s worth. And talking of lunch,” he added, “this is a pretty good spot.” Not too noisy, he knew, and comfortable. Homey.

“You don’t have a—” she started to say, then broke off as they entered the little café.

“A what?” he asked. “A purple dinosaur? A vestigial tail?”

She laughed in surprise, then sobered. “A . . . you know. A foot fetish,” she whispered.

He laughed himself, which caused a few heads to turn, a few eyes to sharpen in recognition. “Nah,” he said with a smile. “No vestigial tail, and no foot fetish either. At least, your feet wouldn’t be the first thing I’d kiss. Put it that way.”

He regretted saying it when he saw the almost imperceptible drawing back, her hasty turn toward the counter.

“Sorry,” he said penitently. “I can do the celibacy. Can’t always do the celibate thoughts, though. That gets away from me, I’ll admit. Let’s order. Then we can talk about it more, if you like. Or not.”

She didn’t like, it was clear. So he concentrated, instead, on chatting, once they’d placed their order and sat down at a table near the window to await their lunches.

“What are you buying now, at work?” he asked. “Motorcycle boots?”

“No,” she said, but she smiled again, at least. “Though it’s not a bad thought, because we’re looking at autumn clothes right now. You’re always two seasons ahead. But, unfortunately, our shoe selection is really limited. It always has been, I guess, which I don’t understand, because shoes are
great.
Shoes are a big draw. At least they are for me,” she said with another smile. “As you saw.”

He’d asked a couple more questions, could see her starting to relax again when they were interrupted by the appearance of a young Maori woman carrying a baby.

“Can I just ask,” she said apologetically, “can I get a snap of you with her? Her dad would love that.”

“Course.” He reached for the little girl with her halo of dark curls, her bright eyes and perfect rosebud of a mouth.

“Eh, sweetheart,” he crooned, settling her into his arm and bouncing her a bit so she laughed, then turning to face the mum, holding her camera phone now. He waited while she took the snap, then asked, “What is she, eight months or so?”

“Seven,” the mother confirmed.

“Got a tooth coming in, too.” He peered into the little mouth while the baby favored him with a beaming smile featuring one tiny dot of ivory on the bottom.

“I’ve got a niece a bit older than this,” he told the mum, handing the little girl back. “She’s been dead slow on the teething, though. Still got a mouth full of gum.”

“I’m almost wishing Eva didn’t have any either,” the mum sighed. “Been making her right fussy, these past couple days.”

“Have you tried a frozen bagel?” he asked. “One of those little ones? The taste keeps them sucking it longer than those rings, and the freezing helps. Gets a bit messy, but well worth it.”

“I’ll try that. And I’ll let you get back to your lunch. Cheers for the photo.”

“That’s all right.”

“What?” he asked Kristen in surprise. She was sitting over there
laughing
at him. Better than the withdrawal he’d sensed earlier, he supposed. “What’s funny?”

“Let’s see,” she said, still smiling. “You go shoe shopping with me. You hold babies and talk about teething. If you suggest we watch
The Notebook
together because it’s your favorite movie and you need a good cry, I’m going to
know
you’re just trying to impress me.”

“Oi.” He did his best to sound pained. “I’m actually a pretty sentimental fella. I’m Maori. We’re romantic, haven’t you heard? That’s our specialty.”

“I thought that was war. Or maybe rugby.”

“All of the above,” he said firmly. “Or, you know, could be I’m a secret cross-dresser. Using you as a decoy, eh. Could be popping back into that shop later on the sly, asking if they’ve got those shoes in a 13. Though I’d probably go for the purple ones, myself.”

“I guess I’ll worry when you encourage me to shop for lingerie,” she said.

“When I encourage you to shop for lingerie,” he couldn’t help saying, “it won’t be because I want to wear it. That’s a promise.”

Sharing Another Beer With Nate

Pretty good, Nate thought on Monday. He’d even talked Ally into a beer at the brewpub this time. And she’d smiled, looked happy to see him instead of nervous when he’d arrived at the gym tonight, the last thing on her schedule as always. Getting better every time, and it was only Lesson Three.

“I’ve got a question for you,” she said, smiling her thanks at the server who’d just set down her glass. “I got so distracted last time by the sheep and bulls—”

“Not to mention the trout,” he put in. “Don’t forget the trout.”

“And
the trout,” she agreed, “that I didn’t think to ask you the obvious question. Why
are you in Wellington? I looked it up, and there’s a rugby team down there, near where you’re from. Not in Southland, but in O— however you pronounce it. Why don’t you play for them?”

“Otago. Yeh, the Highlanders, in Dunedin. Which is a lovely city.”

“No, really,” he protested at her skeptical look. “I’m not just saying that because I realized, belatedly, that I’m not meant to be slagging off the sheep of my homeland. Let alone the farmers,” he said with a shudder. “Got a bit too relaxed there, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t have to watch yourself,” she said. “I’m not going to tell anybody that you weren’t the Perfect New Zealand Ambassador. You can be honest with me. Heaven knows I have been with you.”

“Cheers for that,” he said with real relief. She seemed to understand, to his surprise. Well, she did know Drew and Hannah. But Drew never put a foot wrong, he thought glumly. You’d never catch Drew making a disparaging remark about Farm Days. More likely to see him riding the tractor to open the show. And looking as if life could offer nothing finer.

 “Anyway,” she persisted, “why Wellington?
Was
it too much of the sheep and cows? Because I have to say, you don’t strike me as that much of an urban animal.”

“Nah. I’m not, really. I like being out in the bush as much as any other Kiwi joker. But I do like Welly,” he said hastily. “Being in the capital, the excitement of the place. That it’s lively, like you said.”

She sighed. “Quit worrying about what I’d be writing if I were a journalist, and just tell me what you think.”

“Right.” She had him confused again, this time because she was being thoughtful. Understanding. Why was he always so off-balance with her?

“I came here for the footy,” he began, actually wanting to explain. And wasn’t that a novel feeling. “Well, for everything, really. Though none of it was my idea. I was fifteen, starting to get pretty good at it, at rugby. And Gore’s small, like I said. So I needed to go somewhere else, someplace I could play in the First Fifteen. The schoolboy competition,” he explained at her blank look. “And my mum wanted me to go to a better school too, one that would challenge me more. She never really took to me being a rugby player. Not her dream for me, and all the injuries as well. But anyway. I had an uncle in Wellington, so . . .” He shrugged. “This is where I came.”

“And lived with your uncle,” she said slowly. “It must have been hard to leave your family, though, wasn’t it?”

“Cried every night for weeks, in bed,” he found himself admitting. “Missed my mum. My dad, my uncle . . . they’re pretty . . . tough. Typical Kiwi blokes. All the softness came from my mum. I missed my big brother, too. Tagged around after him my whole life, and when he wasn’t there, crikey, I missed him. And Wellington was so big, and I kept getting lost. New school, no mates . . . it was a bit rough.”

“More than a bit,” she guessed. “It must have been brutal.”

“Yeh. At first. But I wanted to play, and my mum was right, the school was better. It all worked out in the end. Made some good mates, most on the team, of course, but some not. And we came third in the First Fifteen, eventually. Then I made the En Zed Under-19s squad, went to Uni, played in the Under-20s . . .” He stopped, feeling self-conscious despite the many times he’d shared this story with interviewers. “And, eventually, the Hurricanes, then the All Blacks. There you go. My life story.”

“Condensed,” she said slowly. “Because to do all that . . . everything you’ve done. And to do it so well. The captaincy, too, of both teams. How old were you when you became captain of the Hurricanes?”

“Twenty-four. Which isn’t that unusual,” he said hurriedly. “The skipper got injured, they popped me in there. Then he went overseas to play, and I hadn’t done too badly, so they kept me on.”

“Because you’re so . . . serious. So focused. All that’s taken a
lot
of effort. A lot of strength and determination. Which is the Toro nickname, I’m getting it now. The bull.”

He shrugged, fully embarrassed now, even as he felt the glow of knowing that he’d finally managed to impress her. Because he’d cried when he was fifteen, and got over it. He didn’t understand women, and that was the truth. “It’s like I said. A lot of this game, specially at test level. At international level, the All Blacks. A lot of it’s mental. Of course you have to be fit, and in form. Not injured. Be the best at your position every year. More than that, every series. Have a rough patch, turn up for the season out of shape, and you’ll be on the bench for your squad, and not selected for the ABs at all. And you have to have the instincts, be able to lift your game to the pace, because everything happens so much faster at test level. But some of it’s just how much you’re willing to flog yourself. How consistent you are. How much it . . . burns.”

“And it burns pretty hot in you,” she guessed.

“Well, yeh. It does. It always has.”

Enjoying It Heaps

“Maybe we could just try it for a month, see how it goes,” Ally suggested to Mac, trying not to show her frustration. She was standing behind the counter with him, late on a Friday afternoon. An afternoon that should have been a lot busier than it was. She shouldn’t have time for this conversation, but she did, so she’d taken another shot at changing Mac’s mind. With, as usual, no results.

Mac sighed with exasperation. “I told you already. No. No bloody kids’ birthday parties. This isn’t a playground, it’s a climbing gym. What bloke wants to climb with a bunch of kids running around? Probably why they’re coming to the gym anyway, get away from them.”

“Sunday mornings, maybe,” she persisted. “That’s always a quiet time. And it’d get women to see that climbing isn’t intimidating too. We could offer some women’s classes during that same time slot. Early, when there aren’t so many people around. Women like to get up early anyway on the weekend and do their exercise. Fit it into their day, get their partners to watch the kids, for the mothers. We could even do a two-for-one special, or just a discount,” she went on, caught up in the idea. “Women like to try new things with a friend, make it not so scary.”

“Why the hell would I focus my energies on getting more women in?” he asked. “You don’t go after your worst customers. You focus on your target market. We don’t get that many women in because women aren’t
interested.
”

“You’re right. You only have twenty-nine percent women right now. I did a quick survey, this past week,” she explained at Mac’s sharp look, his frown. “And that figure’s well below industry standard. I checked. It should be higher. It
could
be higher.”

“Do us all a favor,” he growled. “Don’t waste the bloody time that
I’m
paying you for to do something I never asked you to do. You’ve got a job to do. Do that.”

“But . . .” she began.

“You’ve got Nate Torrance coming in today for another lesson, haven’t you?” he demanded. “That’s the market I’m interested in going after. That’s the kind of thing that’ll get the boys into the gym. See if he’ll bring in some more of his mates. That’s who I’ll give a bloody discount to. Meanwhile, you can go check harnesses. That’s your job. Not marketing. Not promotions. And not running the bloody gym.”

“You’re a bit quiet today,” Nate said when he’d had his lesson and they were sitting over a beer that had been all too easy for Ally to agree to. “Did I stuff up that badly? Are you trying to think of a tactful way to tell me to give it up?”

“What? No,” she said with a hurried smile. “You’re doing great. You know you are. No, just a conversation I had with Mac before you came in. Still on my mind, I guess.”

“You having trouble at work?” he asked with surprise. “Should I have a word, tell him what a good instructor you are?”

She was touched. “Well, I wouldn’t say no, if you wanted to do that. That wouldn’t hurt. But it’s not really trouble. It’s just that . . .” She stopped.

“What?” he pressed.

“I feel stupid telling you,” she admitted. “Telling you about how I’m not getting ahead at work . . . well, it makes me feel like a little bit of a loser, you know?”

“You’re not a loser,” he promised. “You just haven’t found your focus yet, maybe. Tell me what happened.”

She sighed and repeated the gist of the conversation to him.

“We ought to be doing everything we can to get more women in,” she finished, “but Mac’s too fixated on men. He doesn’t realize that women climbers are what really put a gym over the top. Couples climbing together, men coming in to meet women.”

“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully.

“Because I know you don’t have any problem meeting women,” she went on. “I’m sure all you have to do is show up. But for the average guy, his chances in a bar? Not that good. And who wants to meet their next partner in a bar anyway? People say the grocery store, but really, what are the chances of picking up a woman there? When they ask you how to tell if the cantaloupe’s ripe . . . How often do you think that works?”