Paulina felt the blood leave her face; the pain’s nauseous afterglow. ‘That’s gonna scar, Car.’
Car lifted her arm to his lips, tongued the burnt skin.
She shoved his head away. ‘You’re disgusting.’
‘Marry me.’
‘Fuck no!’
‘Marry me.’ He held her hand to the star on his heart. ‘I’ll treat you like a queen.’
‘You just burned me!’
‘We’re hot together, eh?’ He kissed her. ‘Marry me.’
‘You’re already married, dickhead.’
‘I’ll get a divorce, eh.’
‘You’re so stupid.’
‘Marry me.’ He kissed her tits, her tummy. ‘C’mon.’
‘Fuck you.’
He kissed her pussy. ‘Marry me.’
‘You know what?’ Paulina laughed. ‘You’re the first guy to ever ask me that.’
‘Ow!’ Kymba cried as they were pouring plastic flutes of champers in the Fairfolk Tours marquee. ‘How’d that happen?’
‘Oh, that.’ Paulina rubbed the round red welt on her arm. ‘Did it on Car’s boat the other night. We were really drunk, ha-ha.’
‘You’re still seeing Car.’
Paulina glanced at Kymba sidelong. ‘He popped the question.’
‘He what?’ Liquid bubbled onto Kymba’s plump white hand.
‘It was really romantic. He got on his knees and everything!’
‘But …’ Kymba stammered. ‘You said “no”, right?’
‘I said “maybe”.’
‘Say “no”.’ Kymba set down the champagne bottle. ‘Look: he’s my cousin and all, but … he’s married. And he’s not a good guy.’
‘And I’m not a good girl.’ Paulina lowered her voice. ‘I finally let him … you know.’
She arched her back. Kymba turned so red, she looked ready to explode.
‘That’s … none of my business,’ she choked out. ‘But, Paulina. You can do better than Car. Much better.’
‘Who?’ Paulina nodded at Tony Tunes, singing off-key and strumming his acoustic guitar a few feet away. ‘Tony?’
‘Have you thought about going back to the mainland?’
‘Ugh. You sound like my mum.’
‘Does she know about Car?’
‘What are you, her spy?’ Paulina took up a plastic flute. ‘No, Mum doesn’t know.’
‘Don’t you think it’s weird you haven’t told her? If you’re seriously thinking of marrying him?’
‘She’ll just judge me. Like you’re doing.’ Paulina gulped. ‘I thought you’d be happy for me? We’d be family.’
‘You can do better.’ Kymba pushed her granny glasses up her nose; picked up the bottle and poured. ‘I don’t know what you see in him.’
‘He’s a man. Like, a real man. He knows what he wants, and he takes it.’
‘And that’s a good thing?’
‘I’m sick of boys.’ Paulina looked around the tent. ‘And he’s a “King”. Our kids’d be Kings. I could be out there in a pretty dress instead of in here like a mainie. No offence.’
‘I didn’t think you cared about all that.’ Kymba pursed her lips. ‘Besides. There’s more to being a Fairfolk Islander than dressing up on Mutiny Day.’
‘I know. I fucking live here.’ Paulina’s eyes stung. ‘You have no idea what it’s like being single, babe. It’s brutal.’
‘Do you love him?’
‘Yeah,’ Paulina hesitated. ‘He fills the void, y’know?’
She knocked back the rest of her champers. Sniffed.
‘You’re crying.’
‘So?’ Paulina grabbed a serviette. ‘Why can’t you just be happy for me?’
‘Because I know Car.’
‘Not like I do.’
‘Yes, I do.’ Kymba’s glasses fogged. ‘We … dated for a while. When I was younger.’
‘Dated?’ Paulina’s jaw dropped. ‘He’s your cousin.’
‘I was really young. I didn’t know any better. Look: this is hard for me to talk about—’
Cracking up, Paulina refilled her glass. ‘Gawd, this place is inbred! Did you root?’
‘Forget it.’
‘Youse are worse than the royals. No wonder he’s so desperate to marry me.’ Her nose fizzed as she drank and laughed at the same time. ‘Wait: how old were you?’
‘Just forget it.’
Kymba picked up a tray of drinks and bore them to a table of tippled retirees. Tony finished his song, basked in the glow of their applause. Paulina slow-clapped him.
‘Psst, mainie!’ Tony covered the mic. ‘Pour me a drink, eh?’
Paulina poured a drink. ‘If I give you this, will you shut up?’
‘Only one way to shut me up, mainie.’
He made a V with his fingers, waggled his tongue inside it.
‘Just you wait till next Mutiny Day.’ Paulina handed him the drink. ‘You won’t be calling me “mainie” then.’
Tony winked. ‘You’ll be long-gone by then, mainie.’
It rained as they were herding the olds out of the marquee and onboard the fleet of Fairfolk Tours buses. ‘Careful, Iris.’ Paulina took her arm. ‘Don’t wanna slip on the wet grass.’
‘Careful,’ Kymba warned behind her. ‘You’ve had a lot of champagne.’
Paulina flung her a death stare.
‘You’re going to be such a beautiful bride,’ Iris cooed as they mounted the bus stairs. ‘Don’t forget to send us a picture.’
‘Will do, Iris.’ Paulina flashed a grin at the bus driver. ‘Oi, Woody. Where’s the after-party?’
‘Wetties.’ He smirked. ‘Wet T-shirt contest.’
‘Ha! Mine’s already wet. Where’s my prize?’
‘Come along. I’ll shout you one, love.’
Paulina skipped back to the marquee to finish packing up.
‘Wanna come to Wetties?’ She forgot she was mad at Kymba. ‘Wet T-shirt contest?’
‘No thanks. I have to pick up the kids.’
‘Aren’t they with the rellies?’
‘I told Simmo we’d be home before dark.’
‘C’mon, get your jugs out! Don’t you wanna make the cousins drool?’
‘No, not really.’ Kymba sighed. ‘Need a lift?’
Along the winding, splashy roads, Kymba drove the Fairfolk Tours van to the primary school. They carried the plastic furniture through the downpour into an art room. There were seashell collages on the walls.
‘This one’s Zoe’s,’ Kymba pointed one out, her ponytail gemmed with rain.
Paulina admired it. ‘She’s talented, hey.’
Back in the van, she stripped off her Fairfolk Tours shirt; she had a lacy camisole underneath.
‘Gawd, I smell like wet dog!’ After spraying herself with Impulse, she glossed her lips and shook out her hair. ‘Can you turn on the heater?’
Kymba flicked the switch. Paulina spent the rest of the drive drying her hair.
‘How do I look?’ she asked, parked outside Wetties. ‘Do I look nice?’
‘You look nice,’ Kymba reassured her. ‘You always do.’
Paulina got her bag from under the seat, swung it over her shoulder.
‘Just so you know,’ Kymba said quietly. ‘I was fourteen.’
‘Huh?’
‘I was fourteen. Car was thirty-three.’
‘Oh.’ Paulina frowned. ‘But. That was, like … a long time ago?’
Kymba stared at the steering wheel. ‘I guess so.’
‘Thanks for the ride, babe.’ Stuck for words, Paulina air-kissed her. ‘Sorry — lip gloss!’
Then she scampered through the rain into the warm bar.
Car gave her the eye as soon as she walked in — then ignored h
er for two hours.
Paulina pretended not to care. Woody shouted her two rum and Diet Cokes, then Tony tried his luck for a while, then Merlinda showed up in her old-timey dress screeching, ‘Shots! Tequila shots!’
Finally, Car came up behind her while she was sucking on a lemon wedge.
‘I’d like to be that lemon, eh.’ He flicked the straps of her cami. ‘What’s this? Looks like underwear.’
‘What’s this?’ Merlinda narrowed her eyes. ‘Car, you jumping the fence for this miggy mainie?’
Whatever Car said next, it was in Fayrf’k, and funny enough to make Merlinda hoot.
‘You gonna buy me a drink?’ Paulina interrupted. ‘Rum and Diet Coke?’
‘Diet Coke!’ Merlinda mocked her. ‘Miggy, miggy, miggy!’
Car whistled at the barmaid, ordered two tumblers of rum and gave one to Merlinda.
‘Where’s mine?’ Paulina cried.
Car flicked her straps again. ‘Looks like underwear.’ Then he lurched away.
‘Car King.’ Merlinda winked. ‘Careful, there.’
‘He’s the one who needs to be careful,’ Paulina scoffed, then scurried to the loo for a cry.
Laurent’s girlfriend, Oliana, was in line for the loo, looking gorgeous in her frilly white dress with a garland atop her tumbling, dark curls.
‘Gawd, you’re gorgeous.’ Paulina touched Oliana’s hair. ‘Like a mermaid.’
Oliana laughed. ‘I usually wear it up. Little kids, you know.’
‘You look like a princess. Like Puatea. You’re sooo pretty, hey.’
Paulina kept giving Oliana compliments till the cubicle freed up. After, they spent time in the mirrors together, then went to the bar, then back to Oliana’s table. The only spare seat was next to Jesse.
‘Hey, Pellet.’ Paulina took the seat. ‘Nice beard.’
Laurent stroked his new beard. ‘Thank you.’
‘Suits ya. You look like a fatheur. How d’you like fatheurhood?’
‘Good.’ He stroked his beard some more. ‘Yes.’
Paulina fixed her gaze on Zippy, one of Laurent’s surfer mates.
‘Bet you can’t even grow a beard.’ She reached across to touch the glistening blond fuzz on his upper lip. ‘What’s this? Beer foam?’
Jesse got out his Camels, stuck one between his lips and stood. Paulina stuck out a leg.
Jesse looked at her leg like it was a stump of rotting wood. ‘Can I get past?’
‘Sorry.’ Paulina looked him in the eye and crossed her leg. ‘Didn’t see you there.’
‘Uh huh.’
She watched him go, heart twinging. ‘Sensitive bugger, isn’t he.’
Nobody said anything. She got out her tobacco and papers.
‘Did he tell youse why we’re not friends anymore?’ she asked the table. ‘I gave him a blow-job. That’s it.’
‘What, did you use your teeth?’ Zippy joked, terror in his eyes.
‘It was great. He was begging for it.’ Paulina rolled a ciggie. ‘Not my fault he feels bad for cheating on his girlfriend. He’s piss-weak. Hypocrite.’
Laurent looked at her soberly. ‘I think maybe there is more to the story.’
‘Didn’t know you were capable of thinking, Pellet.’ Sealing her ciggie with her tongue, Paulina turned to Oliana. ‘Do you smoke, gorgeous? I bet you don’t. Your skin’s flawless.’
‘Well.’ Oliana laughed. ‘Not tobacco.’
‘Bloody hippies.’ Paulina swigged her rum and Diet Coke. ‘I don’t touch marijuana, personally. Mum always said it messes with your head.’
‘Yes, but.’ Laurent’s lips twitched into a smile. ‘Your head is already messy.’
‘When did you become such a smart-arse?’ Paulina laughed and turned back to Oliana. ‘Sure you don’t wanna smoke, babe?’
Oliana shook her head. Dry-mouthed, Paulina stood, stuck her ciggie behind her ear, and stumbled out to the beer garden. It was crowded, but she couldn’t see the only person she wanted.
She pushed back inside. Car was at the bar. So were a bunch of teenagers. Leki from the Mutes’ work crew was among them.
‘Yorana!’ He smiled from ear-to-ear. ‘How are you?’
‘Thirsty!’
‘Can I buy you a drink?’
‘Are you still on apprentice wages? Aw, I feel bad!’
‘I got some money for my nineteenth.’
‘Nineteen!’ Paulina pinched his cheek. ‘You’re a baby!’
‘Nay.’ He blushed. ‘I’ll be twenty next year.’
‘I’ll be thirty. How gross is that?’
Leki looked a bit grossed out, for a second. Then his dick got the better of him. ‘Really? You look younger, eh! Let me buy you a drink. I’ve got all this money.’
He showed her his birthday money.
‘Do you wanna get robbed?’ Laughing, Paulina pushed his wallet away. ‘Rum and Diet Coke. But I’ll get the next round, okay, birthday boy?’
Leki staggered up to the bar, looking like he’d just been blessed by the angels. Paulina watched him — and also, from the corners of her eyes, Car watching her watching.
‘Cheers, babe.’ Paulina squeezed Leki’s arm when he delivered her drink. ‘Geez, it’s hot in here, hey?’
‘You should enter the wet T-shirt contest.’ Leki looked at the smear of sweat on her sternum. ‘That’ll cool you down.’
‘Are you joking?’ Paulina clutched her tits. ‘I’ll lose!’
‘I’ll cheer for you, eh.’
‘Will you give me your shirt?’ She batted her eyelashes and toyed with the hem of his loose linen shirt. ‘I need a white shirt.’
‘Aye.’ His blush deepened. ‘Take it.’
Giggling, she put her hand under his shirt, felt his warm abs. He squirmed.
‘Your hands are cold, eh!’
‘You’re warm.’ She snuggled up to him. ‘You’re hot.’
That was all it took. Car shouldered through the crowd; grabbed Leki by the scruff of his shirt.
‘Hands off!’ He grunted, throwing Leki to the ground. ‘She’s mine!’
Girls screamed. Glass smashed.
‘Car!’ Paulina pulled at his arm. ‘Leave him alone!’
He punched Leki’s face, split his lip, kicked his ribs. Then some other guys swooped in and there was a clear space around Leki; she could see the damage he’d done.
‘Bloody hell, Car!’ Paulina cried. ‘He’s just a kid!’
Car looked down at her like she was a total stranger. Then he smiled and snatched her waist. ‘You’re mine, mainie.’
Tubs of ice. Serviettes. Barmaids tending Leki’s wounds. Car dragged her away from it all. ‘Come sit on my lap, sweetheart.’
‘Fuck you!’
He sat. Pulled her onto his lap. Flicked her straps. ‘Looks like underwear.’
‘Fuck you.’ Smiling, Paulina looked at his red knuckles. ‘Are we getting married, or what?’
The following weekend, Car took her out on his boat. He showed her how to reel in a kingfish, then a yellowfin tuna. Then her arms got tired, so she just drank and heckled him.
‘Another kingfish? Is it a Gideon King-fish?’
‘Aye. Direct descendant.’
‘Bah-ha-ha-ha! Oi, don’t kill it. Leave some in the ocean, you fat fuck.’
‘Plenty more fish in the sea.’
‘Pfft! You’re so fucking lame, Carlyle.’
He killed the fish with a knife to the brain, gutted it and threw it on ice. ‘Sad,’ Paulina lamented, surveying the dead eyes. ‘This’s why I’m vegetarian.’
‘I’m nay marrying a vegetarian.’
Later, he caught a beautiful reef fish, all the colours of the rainbow.
‘Don’t kill it!’ she pleaded. ‘It’s so pretty!’
‘Nay,’ Car agreed, and gave it to her to hold. Happy as a child, Paulina slipped its live, glistening body back into the sea and felt everything in the universe.
Later, as the sky purpled like a bruise, they went below deck and gave each other head. Then they fucked like missionaries, like dogs, then Car lost his stiffy and made her pose with her bum in the air while he wanked himself back to half-mast, lubed up and shoved it up her arse. Then he fucked her arse so hard she worried she’d bleed inside, then he pulled out, then he made her kneel and lick him clean, then, and only then, he beat off till he blew his load in her face — a smallish dribble, considering what a bloody song and dance of it he’d made.
‘You like that, mainie?’ He shook his dick like it was a sauce bottle that still had a few drops left. ‘Eh?’
‘Yeah, Car,’ she moaned. ‘I love it.’
He wiped the cum off her face, then pushed his fingers inside her. ‘I’m gonna put a King in you.’
‘Yeah, Car.’ She writhed against his hand. ‘Please, yeah. Oh.’
He dozed off with his arm around her waist. She wriggled out from under him, her bladder straining like a full sack of goon.
Squatting on the loo, she pissed for thirty seconds straight, and it was nirvana.
The moment she flushed, she craved a ciggie.
She found her ciggies, her clothes, dressed and climbed above deck. She smoked and gazed at the fairyland of stars, tried to cling to the bliss — but it was already slipping.
She tied her hair in a ponytail, paced and smoked another ciggie.
Below deck, Car was snoring like a pig. How would she ever tell her mum she was in love with this fucking pig?
She went to the galley for a drink. But her hands were drunker than she realised; the Johnny Walker smashed.
‘Whassat?’ Car woke. ‘What?’
‘Dropped a glass. Where’s the dustpan?’
‘Unner …’ Car slurred. ‘Unner dere. Somewhere.’
The bed squeaked; his heavy breathing resumed. Paulina picked her way over the broken glass, opened cupboards. Something caught her eye: pale aquamarine.
A box. A jewellery box. Too big for a ring, but still.
‘Shit!’ Paulina dropped the box and covered her mouth.
The photos fanned out on the ground. Crouching, she scrambled to get them back in. But her hands — her dumb, drunk hands. And her eyes, flooding tears.
She couldn’t see.
The Newcomer Page 23