Jillaroo

by Rachael Treasure

  Bec had been drinking beer since lunchtime and the second batch of rough-cut chops and spitting fat sausages were being cremated on the barbecue. Hungry and drunk she and Gabs tore at the half-raw chops like lionesses.

  ‘Lucky it’s dark. These taste awful so I’d bet they look awful,’ said Bec. A smear of grease lined their mouths and shone under the spotlight.

  The neat-as-a-pin first-year girls were now feeling the affects of the beer and one of them said a rosy-cheeked hello to Bec and Gabs as she nibbled on a piece of bread. With chop-greased fingers, Bec shook hands with her and the rest of the group as they nervously moved closer. In between chews, Bec said, ‘First years?’, knowing full well they were.

  ‘Yes,’ said one with a big nose.

  ‘You’ll enjoy it. You get to do animal production. My favourite subject.’

  ‘Mine too,’ said Gabs. ‘We got to study penises.’

  ‘Pardon?’ said one with a model-slim body.

  ‘Penises!’ said Gabs in a loud voice. ‘Part of the animal production unit.’

  ‘Yes. That’s right,’ said Bec. ‘Fascinating. Did you know that a pig’s penis is like a corkscrew … sort of curly.’ She waggled her finger in small circles.

  ‘And a bull’s penis is an s-bend and erects with a reflector muscle,’ said Gabs, thrusting her hips backwards and forwards.

  ‘Yes. You paid attention in lectures, Scabs! And,’ Rebecca continued, ‘a ram’s penis has a little flicky thing on the end called a flagellum-thingo.’

  ‘I know cats have barbs on theirs,’ said the girl with the big nose.

  ‘Yes, they do too!’ said Bec, who was pleased the girls were starting to mix in.

  ‘According to our lecturer, Ross – you’ll meet him this week – a stallion’s penis is most like a man’s in that it’s engorged with blood when aroused.’

  A male voice came from behind Bec’s shoulder. ‘Does anyone know what a rooster’s penis looks like?’

  As the girls, including Gabs, looked blank and shrugged, Bec spun around. Her eyes widened.

  ‘Charlie Lewis! What the flock are you doing here?’

  ‘Why, Miss Rebecca.’ He smiled with his eyes and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek.

  ‘Mmmm,’ he said licking his lips, ‘nice chop fat!’

  The other girls stood around looking puzzled.

  ‘What does a rooster’s penis look like?’ said Gabs.

  Everyone shrugged while Rebecca continued to stare with an amazed smile into Charlie’s face.

  By midnight warm drops of plump summer rain had begun to fall, landing in sizzles on the cooling barbecue. The second keg was blowing froth and the boys were getting rowdy. Bec, Charlie, Emma and Gabs had been dancing to Garth Brooks songs which blared from the speakers of Paddy’s ute. When Charlie casually slung his arm around her waist, Rebecca felt a bolt of desire instantly run through her. The slow, intermittent raindrops fell hot on her face as she looked up to the sky. For some reason her drunken desire was to take Charlie by the hand and introduce him to her dogs. If Dags reacted the same way as last time to him, she knew he was a good person, and in this drunken moment she’d give her whole soul to him.

  She looked to where her dogs had been chained all day. They had lain on the ends of their chains and watched the day-long party and Rebecca’s every move. Now they had retreated into the shed and were curled up with their noses in their tails.

  Paddy was hanging upside down from the Hills hoist with Hamish, and both were doing ‘bat-sculls’. They urged the first-year boys to try them too, and the clothes line’s metal frame creaked and sagged as two more bat-scullers hung by the crooks of their legs. Their shirts fell about their chins and their bellies shone white and rain-wet in the spotlight. They put plastic cups to their upside-down mouths and drank their beer until it ran from their nose. Someone started spinning the clothes line until it cracked like a dry stick and the boys fell to the ground in a heap, spluttering and laughing in the rain.

  Then the party flowed inside.

  ‘This is our dead room,’ said Rebecca to Charlie, sweeping her hand across the room.

  ‘Dead room?’

  ‘As opposed to our living room. Apparently this is where they used to keep the stiffs when it was a morgue.’ She looked up at his face, and in the brighter lights he took her breath away. He was better looking than she’d ever imagined in all those replayed images of that kiss in the river. Dark stubble grew on his square jaw and his green eyes were the same colour as the gum leaves which had waved outside her bedroom windows at Waters Meeting.

  In her mind she ran her fingertips over his face and onto the brown, soft skin of his neck. As he kept his focus on her, his strong look, his handsome face, made her suddenly shy. She probably had chop fat all over her face and a massive pimple on her chin. Her hair had long since escaped from its ponytail and was sticking out wildly, and blades of grass and raindrops were caught in her curls.

  ‘Nice couch,’ Charlie said, motioning to the hay bales.

  ‘Yes, very handy in drought emergencies.’

  The crowded room exploded with cheers as Paddy and a first-year called Bill staggered in with a cardboard box filled with rum and coke. Everyone had thrown bruise-coloured $5 notes into Bill’s big Queensland hat and their mission to the bottleshop had been a success.

  Bec took the distraction as a chance to duck out of the room.

  ‘Bugger,’ was all she could say when she saw the reflection of herself in the bathroom mirror. Her chop fat theory had been correct, and her eyes were red-rimmed.

  ‘Grog monster,’ she berated her reflection. She ran a hot washer over her face and brushed the grass from her hair. Her T-shirt was splattered with tomato sauce and ripped under one arm so that her grey-looking bra could be seen.

  ‘Bugger,’ she said again.

  She dashed down the hall to her bedroom, skirting around the couple who were pressed up against the wall kissing. In her room she pulled off her shorts and T-shirt, found her matching underwear, pulled on her blue jeans and rummaged for her tight-fitting black top. The top accentuated the blondness of her hair and ran neatly over the curves of her breasts. She knew when she wore it that she turned men’s heads. That’s why she never wore it. Dave had stirred her so much the first night she’d put it on at Blue Plains that she’d changed just before they left for the pub. But this was an emergency situation. She wanted Charlie Lewis. Big time.

  As she walked back into the hub of the party she saw Charlie’s face light up. He moved through the crowd with two cups of rum and coke in his large farmer’s hands which were ingrained with machinery oil.

  ‘You’ve changed!’ He handed her a drink.

  ‘Yep. Got a bit wet outside and I thought the girls might get keen to go to the nightclub later.’ She hoped he’d buy her excuse and not think her vain. In her head she wanted to say, ‘I’m trying to show off my tits so that you’ll be overcome with sexual desire and take me to bed for some serious mattress-dancing.’

  By the time the last bottle of rum was finished she again didn’t care what she looked like. She’d fallen into an easy drunken conversation with Charlie, so that the party revolved around them as if they were in a fish bowl together, while the world went by outside. They sat together on a large beanbag, which Emma had bought from an op shop as a house-warming present.

  ‘Tell me if I’m jibbering,’ she said.

  ‘No. No.’ He held up his hand. ‘Tell me if I’m jibbering,’ he jibbered.

  They’d covered cropping, machinery, dogs, families – that part of the conversation had continued on for hours – they’d talked about politics, the state of rural Australia and even period pain. It was slurred, drunken talk that flowed comfortably. Every now and then the conversation was interrupted with splashes of rum thrown from cups and by people landing on top of them.

  ‘How come you’re only doing the two-year associate diploma and not the full three-year degree?’ asked Bec.

 
; ‘I chose it so I’d finish the same year as you,’ said Charlie.

  Rebecca’s mouth fell open and a puzzled look came across her face as her muddled drunken brain tried to work out his words. Her face changed as his meaning became clear.

  ‘But you hardly know me!’

  ‘I know. But I know I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the day I met you. It’s weird, you know, here I am supposed to be “Basil Lewis, B&S king and party animal”, but I’m stuck, Rebecca. Really stuck. I’ve been stuck on a picture of you in my head. A picture of you in a river. And … in an AR annual report.’ He ran his fingers through his short dark hair and said to his rum, ‘Now this is sounding like jibber. You’ll think I’m a weirdo. Some sort of sick stalker.’

  ‘No! No,’ she said gently and was about to reach for his hand and tell him she felt the same way when a biscuit of fresh-smelling hay was thrown on top of them. Next, the zip on the beanbag was undone and they were rolling and laughing on a sea of white beans and golden-green shreds of hay. Chokoes smashed in pale green pieces against the wall and bottles shattered against the steel of a shopping trolley. The party had hit overdrive and it wasn’t long until the police were at the door, stepping over the crumpled body of a drunken first-year and a pool of fresh warm vomit on the carpet.

  Rebecca saw Gabs take on her look of responsibility – a rare look for Gabs – as she walked up to speak to the policemen. The music stopped, the yelling stopped, the smashing stopped. The party spilled out onto the street and quietly took itself off to the pub, with the policemen calmly and sternly watching them go.

  ‘Do you want to go to the pub?’ said Bec as she stood ankle-deep in hay and beanbag beans, cups and bottles.

  ‘No.’ Charlie looked into her eyes.

  ‘Well, come on then, I’ll show you my train set.’ She took his hand in hers.

  ‘Your train set?’

  ‘Yes, I keep it in my bedroom.’ She looked at him with wicked eyes. Then she led him into the room, shut the door and lit the candles.

  ‘There’s no train set, is there?’ he said, smiling and pulling her close.

  ‘No,’ she said as she raised her mouth to his.

  It was only nine o’clock but already the heat in the room was unbearable as the morning sun tapped on the tin roof and crept through the windows. Rebecca rolled over, frowning as she felt the hangover and heat sweep over her. Then she felt the smooth skin of Charlie Lewis who lay next to her. She smiled with her eyes closed, savouring the touch.

  ‘Good morning.’ His deep gentle voice washed over her and goosebumps rose on her skin.

  This is too good to be true, she thought as she opened her eyes to see his face. He was propped up on his elbow looking at her, running a strand of her hair through his fingertips.

  ‘Hi,’ she said in a croaky voice. ‘Are you feeling as seedy as me?’

  ‘Crook as a dog,’ he said. ‘Do you remember last night?’

  Rebecca smiled. ‘Yes.’

  He pulled her to him so her naked breasts pressed warm onto his chest. The defined muscles in his arms stood out and she felt like sinking her teeth into them. There was something about farmers’ arms.

  ‘I just didn’t want to … you know … go all the way with you until we were both sober.’ He kissed her then pulled back to look in her eyes. ‘So we could both remember it as special … Does that sound dorky? You must think I’m weird by now! We were both so hammered, I just thought it best.’

  ‘It’s certainly an unusual decision. You’re at ag college now, Charlie. You’re supposed to “use and abuse”! But it’s really sweet of you just the same.’ She paused and shot him a flirty look. ‘I didn’t think it was a case of Fosters Flop.’

  ‘It certainly wasn’t,’ Charlie said, with a glint in his eye.

  Rebecca began to run her fingertips over his back, ‘Am I sober enough for you now, Charlie Lewis?’

  He looked into her smiling blue eyes, and buried his head into the smooth skin of her neck.

  ‘I want you,’ she whispered as she touched her lips on his shoulders.

  He drew her body closer so she felt the hardness of his penis against her thigh. She looked up at him meekly and asked, ‘Do you have protection?’ and immediately cringed at her cliched question.

  Charlie was just reaching for his jeans, which lay on the floor by the mattress, when the door flew open and the dogs came hurtling in, panting, tails wagging, whining with excitement.

  Gabs put her head around the door and said, ‘Thought you guys might like to do it doggy style.’ She slammed the door shut and laughed her way back down the hay-strewn hall.

  ‘Mossy!’ squealed Bec as the dogs leapt on the bed. ‘What are you all doing inside?’

  Charlie sat up with a big grin on his face.

  ‘Hello Dags ol’ buddy!’ He pulled the dog to him and patted him with big, firm bloke-strokes. Stubby play-bounced and barked on the bed in search of feet under sheets.

  ‘This is the crew,’ said Bec to Charlie. ‘I hope you like them!’

  ‘They’re doozies! Hey, I know! Now that we’ve been so rudely interrupted and now that it’s so bloody hot in here, let’s grab some grease to fix the hangovers and take the dogs out to the river. I know a great swimming hole. Mum and Dad used to stop there for us on our way out west after we’d been to the city.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Bec, but began to wonder … was Charlie trying to hide something in the bedroom department? She pushed the thought aside and decided to enjoy his company for the day, thrilled he wanted to spend it with her.

  ‘Come on Dags. Shift your black butt, we’re getting up now.’

  Charlie looked at Bec as he went to fling the sheet aside, ‘Don’t look.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding – I’ve seen it all before, Charlie Lewis.’

  ‘I love that.’

  ‘Love what?’ asked Bec.

  ‘I love it when you say my name.’

  ‘Don’t go all mushy on me,’ she teased. ‘You can grab the towel on the back of the door. The shower’s second on the right.’

  Wrapped in the sheet, she leant against the doorway and watched his muscled back as he walked down the hall. A still-drunk Gabs sprung from her room laughing and pulling at his towel while the dogs danced and barked around him. Rebecca was tempted to join him in the shower, but decided against it and waited in her room until he came in to get dressed.

  ‘You can borrow a clean shirt if you like,’ said Bec. ‘I’ve probably pinched a couple from my brothers … Have a rummage around in the drawer. There’s some boxer shorts in there too. Help yourself.’

  As she left for the bathroom Charlie felt a wave of pleasure from the intimacy of looking through Rebecca Saunders’ cupboards. Judging by her clothes, this girl was cool. No flowery bullshit like the girls his mother liked. Charlie held up a T-shirt and laughed. In red writing on the back it read, ‘Drink till he’s cute.’

  Fresh from her shower, her hair falling in wet ringlets, Rebecca found Charlie in the dead room in the midst of party aftermath, a garbage bag in hand. Gabs leant on a rake chatting to him.

  ‘Feeling better?’ he asked.

  ‘Much.’

  Gabs nodded to the door. ‘Your dogs were good at cleaning up Donger’s spew!’

  ‘Gross!’ said Bec before she ordered the dogs outside.

  With the floor now clear, the house looked slightly more ordered, but chunks of chokoes still lay in spatters along the windowsill.

  ‘Bugger this,’ said Gabs. ‘I’m going for another spew, then I’m going back to bed. We can finish cleaning up tonight.’

  In the ute the warm breeze whipped the hair around Rebecca’s brown shoulders. She felt so excited to be driving Charlie Lewis through the traffic lights and out of town. He looked so right. So right in her life. Sitting with his elbow propped along the doorframe, fiddling with the radio in search of good songs. He found the golden oldies channel and they sang along laughingly and loudly to Elvis.
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  The river he led her to was stunning. A shimmering trail of silver, running through red and brown craggy rocks. It had been a fairly long walk down a rough gravel track. The heat of the screaming bush brought Bec out in a sweat. Alcohol oozed from her pores and she longed for the cool rush of the river. Her palms sweated as she carried the cooked chook and bread in a shopping bag. Charlie carried the drinks, fizzy cold lemonade and a big bottle of water. In Bec’s rucksack he carried two towels and a box of condoms.

  The dogs trotted out ahead of them on the track. They could smell the river and there was excitement and anticipation in their eyes. Every now and then Stubby turned to look back at them and let out little barks, as if to say, ‘Hurry up!’

  At the river’s edge, the crags of red rock towered above them. Shallow-rooted trees clung to the sides of the riverbank and leant over as if looking for their reflection in the slow-moving water. It was dark water, dark and cool. The ripples from Charlie and Rebecca’s naked bodies quickly dissolved the reflections and their whoops and splashes echoed up in the gorge as they swam side by side upstream. Mossy, Dags and Stubby swam in circles about them and unseen wallabies watched. Birds cried out. Charlie found an underwater rock and sat while Rebecca touched his fingertips. He clasped her hands and pulled her through the water towards him. She sat on his underwater lap. He looked at her beauty. She felt his warm mouth on hers. Wet fingers on wet young skin.

  ‘This is like the first time I kissed you,’ he said.

  With his eyes fixed on hers, he led her downstream. Back to their towels and the bag. Back to the grassy bank. Beads of water lay on Rebecca’s skin with tiny reflections of the gorge contained within them. As she lay down on a towel, the perfect silver beads were broken and smeared as Charlie moved his body over hers. He kissed the wetness away and drank in Rebecca by the river. She ran her hands over his brown skin and felt for his tight muscled buttocks. His weight on top of her on the grassy bank was so satisfying. So comforting. So right.

  As he pushed into her, Rebecca looked past his hair which smelt of sweet river water and up to the bluest of summer skies. She felt her soul up there. Up there next to the silent eagle which hovered on warm clear thermals. They shuddered together and then lay looking into each other’s eyes as the river quietly slipped on by.