The Girl with the Gold Bikini

by Lisa Walker

  I step into the nearest shop door, where I can watch her. It’s a souvenir shop, but it’s not like Seiji’s. These are souvenirs for Aussies, not for overseas visitors. And what sort of souvenirs do Aussies buy on the Gold Coast? Belts that can hold six stubbies at a time, drinking mugs in the shape of a naked woman’s torso … Ew.

  I look up and by accident catch the eye of the pimply-faced guy serving in the shop. He smirks. I look away, but find my eyes on the mug again. I scurry out, feeling dirty.

  Brooklyn is typing on her enormous phone. I notice several string bracelets on her wrist, which complement her hippie dress. She’s definitely been shopping in Byron Bay. Something major must have happened to transform her from corporate executive to north coast hippie in such a short space of time. After a few minutes a girl strolls up and takes a seat opposite her. Her straight red hair brushes toned white shoulders, exposed in a cutaway singlet. Below that is a pair of psychedelic lycra tights. I catch my breath as she turns her head. It’s Madeleine from Lighthouse Bliss, the wannabe rock-star yoga teacher, she of the perfect headstand and perfect make-up. What on earth is she doing here?

  I hover in the doorway. This is too intriguing. I have to get closer, but they both know me—can I rely on my disguise? Probably not. Maybe I’ve got something better in my bag.

  I run back to the car and open my bag of tricks. Nan’s gym outfit? Nah. Her lacy ‘lunch with the queen’ frock? Nah. The last item to come out of the bag is something I’d stuffed in on a whim—the gold bikini. My stomach churns. It’s perfect, but I don’t want to do it.

  The whole street is lined with metered parking. What better excuse for wandering up and down? A good PI does whatever it takes. I slip the bikini on under my dress, find a pair of high-heeled shoes and, at the last moment, whip off my dress and step from the car.

  I feel naked.

  A cool wind blows across my exposed stomach. I suck it in, lock the car behind me, adjust my wig and sunglasses and mince up the street.

  There’s a pay-and-display machine right in front of where Brooklyn and Madeleine are sitting. I stop there, my back to them, and strain to hear their conversation.

  ‘So, any luck?’ Madeleine says.

  ‘Not yet,’ says Brooklyn. ‘He covers his—’

  ‘Are you going to feed the meter or what?’ A red-faced man in a Fourex T-shirt appears beside me. ‘That’s my car there.’

  I glare at him. He’s made me miss the rest of the conversation. I open my purse, pull out two dollars, hold it up to him and put it in the pay-and-display machine.

  ‘Is that all?’ His eyes flick up and down. ‘You don’t look much like a meter maid.’

  I’m in no mood to be messed with. ‘If you don’t mind, I’m busy here. I’ve fed your meter, now can you move along?’

  The man’s face goes redder. ‘What do you mean you’re busy? You’re a meter maid.’

  He’s speaking loudly and Brooklyn and Madeleine look up.

  It’s time to beat a retreat. I turn on my heel and sashay off down the street.

  The man’s voice follows me. He sounds plaintive—like someone who’s just found out there’s no Santa. ‘Meter maids aren’t supposed to talk like that. It’s not right.’ His voice fades as I get further down the street. ‘I’m going to ring the council.’

  I round the corner and lean against the wall to collect my thoughts. I think I’ve got away with it. Brooklyn and Madeleine didn’t see my face. What was going on there? Madeleine’s a whale lover. Given the McSushi situation, she and Brooklyn should be in opposite camps, not conspiring in cafés.

  Across the road, a girl with a blue beanie pulled down to her eyebrows and large sunglasses is sitting on a bench staring at me. I straighten my back. What’s wrong? Haven’t you ever seen a well-rounded meter maid? She isn’t exactly a fashion plate herself. Her dull-coloured T-shirt and pants are dirty—like she’s been sleeping rough.

  The girl beckons for me to cross the road. I shake my head. I have enough to do. Although … something about her is familiar. The neutral-coloured clothing … Is that hemp? She beckons again and it suddenly hits me: it’s Luna.

  I break into a smile. I’m so happy to see her.

  31

  Dodging the slow-moving cars, I run across the road to Luna. A passing suit in a Commodore gives a piercing wolf-whistle that peters out as I glare at him.

  Luna stands as I get near and, glancing over her shoulder, pushes through the door into Seiji’s shop. I follow. Inside, it is shadowy and cavernous, fitted out with tables, chairs and an extensive souvenir display. Seiji is polishing glasses behind the bar, which is decorated with the bonnet of a battered four-wheel drive and a pair of what appear to be buffalo horns.

  He raises his hand. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi.’ I wave back.

  ‘You know my brother?’ asks Luna in her high-pitched voice.

  ‘Your brother?’

  ‘Yeah, Zander.’

  ‘Zander?’ I look over at him. ‘I thought your name was Seiji.’

  ‘Seiji’s our dad,’ he says. ‘It’s the family business.’

  ‘Oh.’ I glance from Luna to Zander/Seiji and back again. ‘So, your parents were into interesting names, huh?’ I say.

  ‘Crazy hippies,’ says Luna.

  People in glass houses, I think, but don’t say.

  ‘They live on a collective up the back of the Gold Coast,’ she adds.

  ‘You want a drink?’ asks Zander.

  ‘Sure,’ I say.

  ‘A cocktail?’

  I’m not really a drinker, but I could do with an anaesthetic to dull the strangeness of the day. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Give us two Nancy Drews would you, Zander?’ Luna slumps at a table next to a life-size model of a camel.

  Nancy Drews?

  Zander drops two coasters on the table in front of us. He places a glass on each. ‘Cheers.’ He flicks his black hair off his face and ambles off to rearrange the souvenirs.

  ‘I thought you’d be more of a wheatgrass juice girl,’ I say to Luna. I’ve been reading people wrong all over the place. Seiji speaks English. And his name’s Zander. Maybe I’m not a very good PI.

  ‘I am usually. It’s the stress,’ says Luna.

  ‘I know what you mean.’ I sip my drink. ‘This is good. What’s in it?’

  ‘Rum, ginger ale, lime.’ Luna pulls off her beanie and her hair falls around her face. ‘Can’t stand that thing. Synthetic fibre.’ She’s lost the nose ring—it probably makes her too distinctive. ‘I worked here for a while, so I know my cocktails.’ She seems in no hurry to explain why she’s ushered me in here.

  ‘I got your envelope,’ I say.

  ‘Froze my tits off waiting for you.’

  ‘How’d you know I’d be there? Why me?’ The cocktail is taking effect already—the events of the day are now less painful.

  ‘I followed you to the supermarket, but I knew the cops were looking for me, so I slipped in the back door. I didn’t expect to end up in the freezer. Once I was there, the ice-cream seemed like a good idea.’

  ‘Hm.’ Putting a McSushi wrapper in a tub of ice-cream doesn’t scream ‘good idea’ to me. ‘How’d you get it in there?’

  ‘I tipped the ice-cream out. If you warm it up on the edges with your hands it slips out okay, then I put the envelope in and sat the ice-cream back on top.’

  ‘Right.’ She hasn’t answered the second part of my question, so I repeat it. ‘Why me?’

  ‘You’re in my gang. WAG.’ Luna finishes her drink and holds up two fingers to Zander, signalling for more.

  ‘Wag?’

  ‘Whale Action Group.’

  ‘Oh. I thought I was in Women Against McSushi.’

  ‘You’re in both. And you’re a PI.’ It’s not a question.

  ‘You know I’m a PI?’

  ‘Well, duh. Everyone knows you’re a PI.’

  ‘Everyone who? Everyone where?’ The alcohol is affecting my ability to create proper s
entences.

  Luna waves her hand around airily. ‘Just everyone.’

  And I thought I was being so secretive. I put down my drink, remembering I have something important to tell her. ‘Madeleine and Brooklyn … You know Brooklyn, American girl? Loud New York voice.’

  Luna nods. ‘I’ve run into her in the Bay.’

  ‘She works for McSushi.’

  Luna’s eyes widen. ‘Really?’

  Seiji places another couple of drinks in front of us. Zander.

  We clink our glasses together. ‘Brooklyn and Madeleine, they’re planning something. I saw them together,’ I say.

  Luna pokes her ice with her finger, pondering this information. ‘I reckon she’s got it in for me—Brooklyn, I mean. Because of WAM. Or it might be because of WAG. You know what?’ Luna points her finger at me. ‘I reckon Brooklyn released those rats in the yoga studio. I’d never do that—I love rats, they’re really intelligent and affectionate. She must have planted the rat hairs in my car, too.’

  ‘The McSushi wrapper …’ I say.

  ‘Yep.’ Luna nods. ‘She’s setting me up. With me out of the way it’ll be open slather for McSushi in Byron Bay.’

  ‘I can see why Brooklyn would do that, but what about Madeleine? Isn’t she a member of WAM?’

  ‘Nah, she’s a member of WAG.’

  ‘WAG, WAM, whatever.’ I sip my drink, feeling like I’ve made an incisive point.

  Luna shrugs. ‘Why do people do anything? Money, sex, power?’ She waves her drink to emphasise her point. ‘Wearing a whale singlet doesn’t necessarily make you a whale lover. Madeleine’s pretty intense, don’t you think? She’s ambitious. She wants to be a yoga rock star.’

  ‘Yeah. I saw her reading the book, How to Be a Yoga Rock Star.’

  ‘Right. You wouldn’t want to get in her way. She’s Scorpio with Scorpio rising. Definitely.’

  I nod. I’m not into astrology, but after two Nancy Drews I’ll agree with anything.

  ‘She’s a natural redhead, you know.’

  I stare at her, not sure of the significance.

  ‘Fiery. And all that lycra and make-up she wears … It can’t be doing her chakras any good.’ Luna’s eyes open wide. ‘I just worked it out. You know who murdered Ajay?’

  My mouth drops open. ‘No, who?’

  Luna drops her voice. ‘Brooklyn.’

  ‘Brooklyn?’ I know I’m not at my most clear-headed, but I can’t figure it out. ‘Why would Brooklyn murder Ajay? He was the face of McSushi.’

  Luna seems to be wondering how I ever got to be a PI. ‘To get rid of me,’ she hisses. She raises her finger and pokes it at my chest. ‘Who had the most motive? Me—everyone knows he was suing me. Who does all the evidence point to? Me. They needed a new face of McSushi anyway—someone fresh for Byron Bay. Maya’s the girl they need to ease their entrance into the Bay. Ajay’s yesterday’s news.’

  ‘But she’s gone missing.’

  ‘Maya?’

  I nod.

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘You don’t think … You don’t think someone’s killing off the faces of McSushi, do you?’ I finally voice my worst fear.

  ‘Nah, that’d be stupid.’ Luna pauses. ‘Although, on the other hand, it could save a few whales.’

  I drain my drink. I wish she hadn’t said that.

  32

  ‘Float away into the sensory labyrinth of the Infinity Funhouse …’

  I wake at home the next morning, my mouth dry and my head thumping. I’m still wearing Nan’s gold bikini, but wrapped around it, toga style, is one of the kangaroo-patterned tablecloths from Seiji’s Outback Bar. It’s lucky Nan isn’t home to see the damage to her bikini. She’s gone off to spend a couple of days with Reggie, taking Jacq with her.

  Pinned to my bikini top is a note. ‘Don’t forget—action at Ocean World Monday night.’ I moan, closing my eyes again. I had forgotten. Luna made me promise to join her for a protest against dolphins in captivity. It’s all coming back to me now, unfortunately.

  Luna had pressed my arm. ‘It’ll be great, you have to come. It’ll be a joint action with WAG and WAM.’

  ‘What happened to your last protest—the one you called me about? I didn’t get the message until the next day,’ I lied.

  ‘Oh, that never went ahead. We didn’t have enough people, but this time we will. You’ll be there, won’t you?’

  I’d agreed enthusiastically but, in retrospect, it had been the Nancy Drews talking. Things had got a little strange at that point.

  ‘I’ve been learning dolphin for it.’ Luna gestured at her phone on the table.

  ‘You’ve been learning about dolphins?’

  Luna shook her head. ‘No, dolphin, as in the language. I already know whale. Dolphin is similar—it’s like the difference between, say …’ she paused. ‘Swedish and Norwegian.’

  ‘Swedish and Norwegian? Do they even have dolphins in Sweden?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Luna waved her hand. ‘Spanish and Portuguese then.’

  ‘Right, so whales are Spanish and dolphins are Portuguese?’

  ‘Forget the Spanish and the Portuguese. I’m learning dolphin, okay? Here.’ She handed me one earbud and placed the other in her ear.

  I leaned my head next to hers as she tapped her phone. A clicking sound filled my ear, followed by squeaks, then clicks again.

  ‘What do you think it’s saying?’ Luna leaned her cheek against mine.

  ‘Its name is Juan and it likes paella.’

  Luna pressed the off button. She pulled out her earbud and glared at me. ‘Olivia, why are you resisting this? Is there something you’re trying to suppress?’

  I giggled. ‘Like what? Inappropriate crushes on suave Spanish dolphins?’

  Luna crossed her arms. ‘Have you been having dreams about dolphins or whales lately?’

  ‘No, uh …’ I remembered the dream. I’d been a whale, bursting from the water.

  ‘I’m right, aren’t I? Dreams about whales or dolphins are a sure sign they have something to share with you. The fact I’m here now to teach you dolphin when you most need it confirms it.’

  I sipped my drink and leaned back in my chair.

  ‘I can tell you’re threatened by this, Olivia. You don’t have anything to fear by accepting their teachings.’

  I put the headphone back in my ear. ‘Let’s hear it.’

  I yawn and stretch in bed, reluctant to get up. My memory of the dolphins’ message is blurry. Luna said they were talking about peace and fish, or something to that effect. It had all been clicks and whistles to me.

  The nightclub had filled around us as the night went on.

  ‘You got a boyfriend, Olivia?’ asked Luna at one stage.

  ‘No. I’ve never had a proper boyfriend.’

  ‘Girlfriend?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m not good with relationships.’ I sipped my drink.

  ‘Would you like one?’

  ‘A girlfriend?’

  ‘Is that an option?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Too bad. Boyfriend, then. Whatever.’

  ‘Yeah … Yeah I would. He’d have to be the right one though.’

  ‘Hey, Zander,’ Luna had called out at that point. ‘Do you fancy Olivia?’

  Zander paused in his glass-polishing and flicked his hair out of his eyes. He smiled. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’ll let you know if he breaks up with his girlfriend,’ said Luna.

  ‘Thanks.’ I leant on my elbow. ‘Have you ever had a really sizzling kiss? You know, one that makes you melt?’

  ‘Like in the movies?’

  I nodded.

  ‘No. All my kisses have just been, like, average. How about you?’

  I shook my head. ‘Below average. Except for one Notable Exception. But it wasn’t a proper kiss.’ I pause. ‘Do you think if a guy breaks down your door at midnight it means he has feelings for you?’

  Luna considered this. ‘
Well, it depends on the context.’

  I explained about the yoga video and the mess I’d got into. ‘He thought someone had tied me up.’

  Luna snorted. ‘I’ve never heard of that happening before.’ She straightened her face. ‘You must have been trying really hard. But, yeah, breaking down a door, it’s a positive sign I think. If that’s what you want.’ Luna shrugged. ‘You know, guys are hard to figure out.’

  For some reason, this made me think of the horrible souvenir shop. ‘What sort of a person buys a naked woman’s torso mug as a holiday souvenir?’ I said.

  ‘Say what?’

  I explained the concept.

  ‘Ew, gross,’ said Luna. ‘A man.’

  ‘Yeah, but what kind of man?’

  ‘A sleazy kind of man. Like the ones who buy those “boars and babes” calendars.’

  ‘You don’t think it could be postmodern? Like a commentary?’

  Luna shook her head. ‘The Gold Coast is not postmodern, it’s pre-modern. There are no hidden depths.’

  ‘There must be some. I mean, I haven’t found them yet, but …’

  ‘Uh uh. Think of the Gold Coast as icing without the cake. You dig and you don’t get wholemeal carrot cake like Byron Bay, or sponge cake like Brisbane, you just get tacky all the way down. Tacky, tacky, tacky.’

  I felt like her metaphor was falling apart but I let it go.

  Luna walked me home. I was going to ask her to stay the night, but she faded away, muttering something about wheatgrass juice.

  I open one eye again, and the other. Sliding my feet to the floor I walk with a slow shuffle to the kitchen.

  There’s a voice message on my phone. I press it and hear Rosco. ‘Olivia?’ He sighs, there’s a pause, then the message stops. I replay it a couple of times, but it’s hard to read much into it. If he thinks I’ll respond like a trained poodle to that, he’s mistaken.

  Kevin, who has been snoozing on his rug, suddenly jumps to his feet, yapping. Someone has slipped something under the door. I shuffle closer. It’s a McSushi poster—one of the old ones—Ajay not Maya.

  Red words are scrawled across his body. Bile rises in my throat as I read them.