The Ultimate Aphrodisiac

by Robert G. Barrett

  With his backpack over his shoulder, Brian followed Milne back to the Key Bar. There was no one in there. Brian tossed his backpack on the bar and pulled up a stool. Milne got two bottles from the fridge, opened them and placed them on the bar. He stayed on the other side and clinked his bottle against Brian’s.

  ‘Cheers, Takatau. Thanks for the backup.’

  ‘Yeah. Cheers, Sawi.’ The cold beer tasted delicious and Brian took a long swallow. ‘Ron,’ he said, belching into his hand. ‘There’s something I have to ask you.’

  ‘Go for your life, Takatau, old mate,’ Milne belched back.

  ‘Why was your gun loaded with blanks?’

  Milne put his beer down. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll be fair dinkum with you. Just in case the Yanks do happen to take the prisoners on the weekend, I wanted to give Lee Britt one last hiding before he went. I hate the slimy Seppo bastard.’

  ‘What do you mean … do happen?’ asked Brian. ‘I thought …’

  ‘I mean, just in case something goes wrong.’ Milne gestured with one hand. ‘You know?’

  ‘Not really. But okay. Why the blanks?’

  Milne had another drink. ‘Well. If ever I go out there, I always take a couple of the boys and we’re always armed up. I knew when Lee Britt saw there was just me and you, and you only had a camera and I had my gun still in its holster, and the boat sitting there with ‘take me’ written all over it, he’d have to talk the others into trying something. And they did. Especially that bloody Taggart.’

  ‘All right. But what if I’d have shit myself, and just stood there like a stale bottle of piss?’

  ‘Well, I was pretty sure you wouldn’t. Though I admit, I wanted to make sure.’

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ said Brian. ‘But say I hadn’t jumped in. Blanks or not, they still could have given you a hiding. Probably taken you hostage or something.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I had this in my hand all the time.’ Milne placed on the bar a square of black plastic with a small serated button in the middle.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Brian. ‘It looks like a credit card.’

  ‘Close. Slide the little button up,’ said Milne.

  Brian picked up the piece of plastic, pushed the button and a razor-sharp blade slid out the end.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ said Brian. ‘That’d cut your arm off.’

  ‘Cut your head off,’ said Milne. ‘It’s a credit card knife. Good, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yeah. Terrific.’

  Milne took the knife from Brian, slid the blade back and put it in his pocket. Brian stared at him. ‘You never cease to amaze me, Ron.’

  ‘And you me,’ replied the President. ‘I was proud of you today, Brian.’

  Brian shrugged and sipped his beer. ‘If getting into fights is something to be proud of. Christ! If you’re that keen on giving it to Lee Britt, why not just go out there with Ohlo and Sohte and kick the shit out of him and be done with it?’

  ‘You can’t do things like that,’ said Milne, shaking his head. ‘There has to be a challenge. Where’s the challenge? You may as well go around bashing up drunks.’

  ‘If you say so, Ron,’ replied Brian.

  ‘Let’s just say it was a bit of fun, and a test all round.’ Milne raised his beer. ‘Anyway. Let’s finish these and go stick our heads in a few tubes. We’ve got another big one at the Key Club tonight.’

  ‘Yeah? What’s on tonight?’

  ‘It’s hari-kari-oke night.’

  ‘Whoa! Hold on a minute, Mr President,’ said Brian, putting his hands up. ‘If there’s one thing I can’t handle, it’s bloody karioke. It stinks.’

  Milne shook his head. ‘This is hari-kari-oke. It’s different. I’ll explain it to you later.’ The President finished his beer. ‘Come on. Let’s make a move.’

  Brian finished his beer, walked upstairs with the President and got into his board shorts then met the President down at the board rack. This time Brian chose the old Tracker. Milne went for the Wizstix. They placed them in the back of the utility and drove straight to the beach.

  Brian put his Rolex on the bonnet next to Milne’s and gazed hungrily at the lineup. It was the same glassy conditions as the day before, only a little bigger. ‘Ron, I might paddle straight out on the rights,’ said Brian.

  ‘Okay. I’ll whet my appetite on the lefts for a while, then I’ll see you over there.’ The President picked up his surfboard and they walked down to the water.

  The Tracker floated Brian easily and he had no trouble paddling it. Before long he was across the channel and behind the lineup watching the swells wrapping around the reef towards him. A two-metre wave loomed up in front of him. Brian swung the surfboard round, gave a few quick paddles and he was away. He sprung to his feet, took the drop and bottom-turned hard right.

  The Tracker whipped around faster than the mal and Brian almost over-balanced. He quickly trimmed then the Tracker took off and burnt through the barrel like it had another gear. Unlike the mal, the Tracker wasn’t made for nose riding. It was more a speed and rip thing. Cut back, turn. Cut back, turn. Let the wave break over you then jam in another cut back and follow it with a snap bottom-turn. Brian worked the wave over all the way to the beach then straddled it and patted the rails. He had it made. Surfboards for nose riding and the Tracker for blasting. He could just picture Milne and his father out at Green Island on that fifteen-foot day. The Tracker would have flown. And you can bet at times they would have swapped boards. His father would have ridden this surfboard. It was all too good. Brian paddled back out, picked up another wave, and did a howling right turn straight up into the tube.

  After a few perfect waves, Brian stopped and looked around. He had to be dreaming. Perfect waves, warm crystal-clear water and no one out except several schools of dolphins and the whale sharks in the distance. And he wanted to throw it all in, go back to Bondi, and sit amongst the crowds in a wetsuit with a bitterly cold westerly stinging his ears. Suddenly a movement coming towards him made Brian look up. It was a grey fin sticking out of the water, over a metre high, and if Brian wasn’t mistaken it was the same huge tiger shark that charged him the day before. Brian watched it getting closer and a surge of adrenalin hit the pit of his stomach. When the shark was barely two metres away it turned and stared at Brian with its coal black eye as all six metres of its massive body surged past. Brian stared straight back. But instead of looking sinister and terrifying, the shark seemed to be smiling. As if it was saying, hello, remember me from yesterday? Just thought I’d call by and let you know I was in the neighbourhood. And apart from the quick adrenalin rush, Brian was quite cool. The monster shark went below the surface and without any sensation of fear, Brian stared at the vortex its huge tail left on the surface. It was the strangest feeling, like a sudden natural high, and Brian started laughing. He picked up the next wave and with all that unnecessary adrenalin still swirling around inside him, absolutely tore it to shreds.

  Brian was sitting out the back waiting for another wave when Milne came paddling over. ‘Hey, what was all the laughing about?’ he said. ‘You haven’t been sneaking hot ones out here, have you?’

  ‘Ron, you’re not going to believe this, but that bloody great shark from yesterday just buzzed me. And it was like the fuckin thing was saying hello.’

  ‘Yeah. He was hanging over on the lefts with me for a while, chasing some big trevally.’

  ‘But I didn’t even blink, Ron,’ said Brian. ‘I almost said hello back.’

  ‘You should have. He’s our mate.’

  Brian shook his head. ‘This is weird.’

  ‘No it’s not. It’s Lan Laroi.’ A wave loomed up and Milne started yelling and putting on a turn. ‘My wave. My wave. Piss off. My wave.’

  Brian was still shaking his head as Milne took off, cranked a big bottom-turn and disappeared. A bigger wave rose up, almost peaking on top of Brian. He spun the Tracker round, gave two lazy paddles, and took off.

  They surfed the rights till the sun sta
rted falling across the mountains towards the ocean, smearing the sky with pink and violet, while it tinted the sea with gold. Milne gave Brian the nod, they caught their last wave and paddled in. Back at the utility, Brian tossed his rashy in the back next to the President’s.

  ‘How did you find my old Tracker?’ asked Milne.

  ‘Real good,’ replied Brian. ‘It hits a hot section and goes into turbo-charge.’

  ‘Actually, it was Allan’s old board.’

  ‘My father’s?’

  ‘Yeah. Allan reckoned it was too small. So I swapped him my Gordon Woods and twenty bucks for it.’

  ‘Fair dinkum? That’s unreal.’ Brian was ecstatic. He knew there was a good vibe about the old surfboard.

  They got in the ute and headed back to the Presidential Palace. On the way, Milne told Brian to frock up and meet him in the kitchen at six-thirty for dinner, and he’d fill him in on the night. They swung round the back, rinsed the surfboards and put them away, then Brian went to his room. As he was getting ready to have a shower, Brian noticed someone had been in his room. Whoever it was, they had taken all his clothes, even the ones that weren’t dirty, and washed them, ironed them, then either put them them back in the drawers or hung them in the wardrobe. They’d also left fresh towels.

  While he was shaving in front of the bathroom mirror, Brian couldn’t help thinking about Milne. He was getting used to his uncanny youthfulness. But at times it was hard to imagine the President had grown up with his parents. He still would have passed for Brian’s younger brother. Especially out in the surf. Brian dabbed himself with after-shave, put on a white Freddy Jones Urapuntja Aboriginal print T-shirt and his Levi shorts and walked down to the kitchen. Milne was seated in a pair of white Wranglers and an R.M. Williams T-shirt. Lengi was standing in front of the stove.

  ‘Hello, Lengi,’ said Brian.

  ‘Good evening, Takatau,’ she replied.

  ‘Hello mate. You hungry?’ asked Milne.

  ‘A bit,’ answered Brian, taking a seat. ‘What’s for dinner?’

  ‘Fettucine marinara. Peach cheesecake and coffee.’

  ‘The spoil continues,’ said Brian. ‘Hey, someone cleaned all my gear for me today, Ron. Whoever it was, will you thank them for me?’

  Milne nodded to Lengi. ‘Thank her yourself.’

  Lengi served the food and again it was sensational. Oysters, big pieces of crab and other seafood in a creamy garlic sauce. Brian ripped in, without overdoing it, then he and Milne were down to coffee and cheesecake.

  ‘Where’s the others tonight?’ asked Brian.

  ‘Having dinner in the house’ replied Milne. ‘Airu’s getting her hair done.’

  ‘Right,’ nodded Brian. ‘So what’s with this hari-kari-oke, Ron? Which I am so not looking forward to.’

  ‘Mate. It’s the grouse,’ replied Milne. ‘Instead of singing a song, you mime one.’

  ‘Mime it?’

  ‘Yeah. We draw five contestants out of a hat each month. They get a chance to rehearse, then bring in a tape of their favourite song, and mime it. There’s three judges, one from each tribe. Plus the audience.’

  ‘What’s first prize?’ asked Brian.

  ‘A top with WINNER on it, and a bottle of rum. I’m up tonight, myself.’

  ‘You? What are you going to mime?’

  ‘Ian Drury’s “I Want To Be Straight”.’

  Brian started to laugh. ‘That’s appropriate.’

  ‘Don’t knock it, Takatau. You’re up, too. Special guest contestant.’

  ‘What? Ohh, give me a break.’

  Milne shook his head. ‘Too late now. You got a song you fancy? I’ll see if I can dig it up amongst the tapes.’

  Brian thought for a moment. If he was going to make an idiot of himself, he may as well do it in style. ‘Okay. You got “Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again” by The Angels?’

  ‘Sure have,’ enthused Milne. ‘It’s the first track on tape twenty-two.’

  ‘All right. I’ll give that a lash.’

  There was a knock on the door. Sohte and Ohlo came in. ‘Good evening, Takatau,’ they both said. Ohlo turned to the President. ‘When you are ready, Sawi.’

  Milne finished his coffee. ‘We’re ready now. Come on Takkas. It’s showtime at the fabulous Key Bar.’

  ‘I can’t wait.’ Brian thanked Lengi for the meal, then walked down the stairs with the others.

  It wasn’t quite as busy as Thursday night, but it was still standing room only, with chairs and tables out the front. Everybody was wearing their best clothes, their beads and feathers, and wildest face paint. A cheer went up from the people as Ohlo and Sohte lead Sawi and Takatau through the crowd, up to the VIP section. The girls and the three chiefs and their wives were already seated, done up in their colourful best the same as the crowd; Airu’s hair had been braided and tied with coloured beads and she looked beautiful. Keleu was wearing a flowered wihros under a see-through pink top, and looked good enough to eat, right down to her red, white and black face paint. There were greetings all round and drinks waiting on the table. Ron sat next to Airu, facing the chiefs, Brian sat alongside him next to Keleu. Soft island music was playing through the speakers and a happy, expectant vibe came from the crowd. Checking out the punters, Brian summised hari-kari-oke night was quite an event on the Lan Laroi social calendar.

  ‘Well, Ron, here we are again,’ said Brian, clinking his beer against Milne’s.

  ‘Yeah. We sure are,’ replied the President. He took a pull on his beer and looked at his watch. ‘I’d better get the show on the road,’ he said. ‘The natives are starting to look restless already.’

  ‘Yeah. They’re all wearing war paint, too,’ remarked Brian. ‘Better make the first song a whole lotta scalping goin’ on.’

  Milne took his beer across to the DJ booth to a muffled cheer from the crowd. He fiddled around with the controls, the island music stopped and the President gave a dub-dub-dub over the microphone. Then he went into his spiel.

  ‘Allllrriiiggghht, music lovers and double-bed covers, midnight tokers and late night pokers. Welcome to another night of fabulous entertainment at the sensational Key Bar in — downtown Key Harbour.’ A wave of applause went through the crowd. ‘And we all know why we’re here tonight — don’t we?’ Milne cupped a hand over his ear. ‘And why are we here tonight?’

  ‘Hari-kari-oke!!’ came a roar from the crowd.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Milne. ‘That glittering night of nights. And first prize is the thing you’d kill for, the coveted winnnnners jacket.’ The crowd roared again as the President held up a yellow hemp top with WINNER printed across the front in green. ‘This is it. This is the thing that makes you stand out from the crowd. This is thing that says — you are a star.’ The crowd whistled and cheered. ‘And has Sawi got some great news for you tonight. Along with our five contestants — including me — we have a special guest contestant. That’s right, the dancing dynamo himself, the ace man of the can-can-can. Takkatauuu.’ An enthusiastic roar went up from the crowd. ‘Come on, Takatau,’ said Milne. ‘Take a bow, cool rocking daddy.’ Brian stood up and waved around the room. ‘And wait till you see Takatau strut his stuff later. Guaranteed to put more zee in your zed, shoes round your bed and dreads on your head. But enough of this. It’s party time again at groovesville by the sea. So I’ll hand you over to the beach inspector of boogie. Here he is. The Rambo of mambo, the boolah boolah of the hula hula. Beeeebop Bazzzilll.’ The crowd roared again as Milne rolled out the punching torso. ‘And let’s kick the night off with a Key Club favourite. Creedence Clearwater Revival and “Green River”.’ Milne hit the pause button and music started pumping out of the speakers. As he walked back to the table, the dancefloor filled with punters, and bongs, chillums, joints and bags of pot with heads in them as big as corn cobs appeared from everywhere.

  Brian watched in amazement. ‘Is that the protocol, Ron?’ he asked, as the President sat down. ‘No one lights up till Sawi gives the n
od?’

  ‘Of course,’ replied Milne. ‘What do you we think we are? A bunch of drug-crazed, undisciplined savages?’ A huge bong appeared in front of him. Milne offered it to Brian.

  Brian shook his head. ‘I reckon the honour should go to Airu, because she looks so nice.’

  ‘You’ll get no argument from me there,’ said Milne.

  ‘Thank you, Takatau,’ said Airu. ‘You honour me.’ Chief Isosueri lit the cone and Airu sucked in enough smoke to fill an aircraft hangar.

  After that the night erupted into one rocking good time. In between smoking cones and trying to fight off monster joints, Brian started sucking down beers and fruit-flavoured rum like there was no tomorrow. He looked up and there was a woman standing at the table dressed in red, with her hair full of feathers and her faced painted blue and yellow.

  ‘Good evening, Takatau,’ she said. ‘I’m Zari.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ said Brian. He turned to Keleu. ‘I won’t be long,’ he winked, and hit the dancefloor with Zari to Ted Mulray’s ‘Jump in My Car’.

  Brian had two dances with Zari, kissed her on the cheek and went back to his seat. He danced with two other women, polished off two apricot rums, a beer and three more cones, and was zooming in and out of the cosmos when Keleu put her hand on his leg.

  ‘Would Takatau like to dance with me?’ she asked.

  Brian looked at Keleu and through the pink top sitting just above her navel. ‘Would Takatau what,’ he replied. ‘And I told you, Keleu. You’re allowed to call me Brian.’

  ‘Thank you, Brian.’

  Daddy Cool’s ‘Sixty Minute Man’ was cutting into The Rolling Stones’ ‘Route 66’ when they joined the crowd on the dancefloor. Milne was dancing with Airu, Ebonee was dancing with a soldier, two of the chiefs were up and going for it with their wives. Brian liked dancing with Keleu and was beginning to enjoy her company more and more. Even under all the face paint, she was prettier than he first thought, and not being as tall as Brian, she had a lovely shy, polite way of looking up at him when she spoke. They had several dances then sat down. Keleu went to powder her nose, Brian thought it might be a good idea too. He asked Milne where it was. The President directed him to a sign near the DJ’s booth.