The Ultimate Aphrodisiac

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘The Australian consulate rang,’ said Keleu. ‘The Americans wanted to run a phone line through to your office.’

  ‘Oh they did, did they?’ said Milne. He smiled and winked at Brian. ‘Looking good, Takatau.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Brian.

  ‘So we arranged everything,’ said Airu. ‘It will ring on your desk.’

  ‘You’re good girls,’ said Milne, giving Airu a peck. He looked at his watch. ‘Okay, if anyone rings, tell them to call back at six o’clock.’

  ‘Very well, Sawi,’ said Airu.

  ‘Call back at six,’ said Brian. ‘You’re very casual, Ron.’

  Milne pointed to the window. ‘It’s the grouse outside. And there could be a good wave on. I’m not hanging round in here all day.’

  ‘Good thinking, Ninety-Nine,’ said Brian. ‘I’ll get my board shorts.’

  Milne took the Tracker, Brian chose the Gordon and Smith. They put them in the Jackaroo and headed for Windmills. It was such a nice afternoon, Brian brought a little disposable camera with him for taking photos underwater.

  ‘So Clooney wants to get in touch,’ said Brian, removing the camera from its packaging as they drove along. ‘It didn’t take him long.’

  ‘No,’ said Milne. ‘He got the picture all right. Umatilla was the offer I was going to make him that he couldn’t refuse.’

  ‘Well done, Don Corleone Sawi.’

  ‘But I’m still going to have to play this very cosy.’

  ‘Oh? How do you mean?’

  ‘I want to give Clooney a bone,’ said Milne. ‘Something that’ll keep him happy. And something he can feed to that God-fearing, peace-loving American public. Even though the prick doesn’t deserve it, it’s better all round if I let him have a kind of peace with honour.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ asked Brian.

  ‘You’ll see. With a bit of luck it’ll all work out just nice. And we’ll all live happily ever after.’

  ‘Just like in the fairytales,’ said Brian.

  Milne turned to Brian. ‘Well, it is a fairytale,’ he said. ‘Nobody would ever believe what we just did. Unless we showed them. And I have no intention of doing that.’

  ‘I’m with you there,’ said Brian.

  ‘Same when you write your book. If you told the truth, people would laugh at you. Write a load of bullshit about ancient Atlanteans living in the moon and they’ll love you. You’ll sell squillions.’

  Brian thought for a moment. ‘You’re probably right,’ he agreed.

  ‘I am right,’ winked Milne. ‘Take Sawi’s advice, and you’ll be Stephen King and Arthur C. Clarke rolled into one. With a dash of Jackie Collins.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that,’ said Brian. ‘I’d swap Jackie any day.’

  Milne guessed right about the surf; when they got to Windmills it was two metres and pumping. Brian put the little camera in the back of his board shorts and they paddled straight out on the rights and ripped. They swapped surfboards at times. The whale sharks were around, even the dolphins and turtles came in a little closer. Brian got some good photos. The dolphins swam off then all the tiger sharks came over behind the big one to say hello. Milne jumped in amongst them and Brian got the most amazing photos. Especially a couple of Milne with his head in the big shark’s mouth. Brian gave Milne the camera and jumped in with the sharks, too. He put his arm around the big one’s head, but he couldn’t quite put his head in its mouth. It was hard to imagine that the friendly sharks swimming around them like happy sea otters had earlier torn what was left of the SEAL team to pieces and eaten them. If you opened up one of the shark’s stomachs you’d probably find pieces of legs, arms, probably a couple of heads. Brian checked his mutami and made sure it was tied tight round his neck as he posed for a photo propped between the heads of two huge tiger sharks like he was playing hooker. The sharks swam off and Brian watched them as the sun slipped slowly towards the horizon.

  ‘This is a bloody paradise all right, Ron,’ he said. ‘It’s absolutely unique.’

  ‘I know,’ replied Milne. ‘It’s sure worth fighting for. Bad luck a lot of people got killed. But, that’s the way it is.’

  ‘Do you think the fighting might be over?’ said Brian.

  ‘I hope so.’ Milne looked up at the sun as a flock of petrels swooped down on a school of small surface fish and started pecking them out of the water. ‘Anyway, we should know before long. Come on. Let’s make the next one cobblers.’

  ‘Righto,’ said Brian. ‘The last it is.’

  They surfed their way in, put the boards in the Jackaroo and drove back to the PP. After hosing the boards and putting them on the rack they walked up to the office. Airu and Keleu were still there.

  ‘So what’s happening, girls?’ asked Milne.

  ‘There was one one phone call while you were away,’ said Keleu. ‘It was Clifford Clooney. President of the United States.’

  ‘Yeah. What did he want?’ said Milne.

  ‘I don’t know. I told him you had gone for a surf, and to ring back at six.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Milne looked at his watch, and turned to Brian. ‘Okay, we’ve got time for a shower. I’ll see you back here at six.’

  ‘Righto. See you then,’ said Brian.

  Brian went to his room and got under the shower. He was a little spun out at what Keleu had said. The President of the United States, the most powerful man in the world, had just rung. Milne’s gone for a surf. Ring back at six. This is a fairy tale, Brian told himself. I’m going to wake up later like Alice in Wonderland and find out none of it happened. I was stoned and I dreamed it all up. He got into a pair of cargoes and a yellow T-shirt and walked down to the office. Milne was behind his desk sipping a beer. The phone was on speaker and a video camera was set up on a tripod to record the conversation. Airu and Keleu were seated on the lounge in front of Milne with a cold beer sitting on the coffee table for Brian. Brian picked up the beer, sat on the lounge between the girls and raised the bottle to Milne.

  ‘Cheers, mate,’ he said.

  Milne raised his bottle. ‘Yeah, cheers,’ he said and took a sip.

  Brian had another mouthful when the phone rang. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I wonder who this might be?’

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ said Milne. Keleu switched on the video camera and Milne picked up the phone. ‘Hello. Who’s this?’

  A familiar voice came on the other end. ‘Yeah … it’s me.’

  ‘Me?’ said Milne. ‘Me who?’

  ‘Me. You know? Me.’

  ‘Me? Me what? The Mee Kai Chinese takeaway? Me and Bobby McGee? Carry me back to old Virginny? You left me standing in the fuckin rain. Me who?’

  ‘Me. Clifford Clooney. President of the United States.’

  ‘Cliff,’ hollered Milne. ‘Well why the fuck didn’t you say so? How are you, mate?’

  ‘I’m … I’m just fine.’

  ‘That’s good. The wife and kids. How are they?’

  ‘They’re fine, too.’

  ‘Good on you, mate. I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks … Ron. Is it all right if I call you Ron?’

  ‘Of course it is. Shit! Blokes like you and me should be on a first-name basis.’

  ‘That’s what I believe.’

  ‘And listen, Cliff. Before we go any further, there’s something I have to get off my chest.’

  ‘Sure, Ron. What’s that … mate?’

  ‘Well, some of the things we said about each other. You calling me a rotten, low drug dealer. And saying I’m running with the North Koreans. And me calling you Edgar Head and saying all your mates in Washington were a bunch of dropkicks. That was just said in the heat of the moment.’

  ‘Hey. Ron. I agree. In the heat of the moment.’

  ‘There was no need for it,’ said Milne. ‘And I apologise.’

  ‘Well goddamn, Ron,’ said CC. ‘So do I.’

  ‘Good on you, Cliff. Mate, when this is all over, we’ll get together and ha
ve a beer.’

  ‘That’d be just great, Ron. I’d like that. And we’ll put all this behind us.’

  ‘That’s the caper, mate,’ said Milne. ‘Good idea. So anyway, Cliff, what can I do for you? I imagine you’re ringing up about the war.’

  ‘Well actually, I did want to mention that,’ said Clooney.

  ‘How’s it going?’ asked Milne. ‘We don’t get any newspapers here. The TV’s on the blink. And the radio’s stuffed half the time. I haven’t got a clue what’s going on.’

  ‘Oh it’s going just fine,’ said Clooney. ‘We’re holding our own.’

  ‘Well, why wouldn’t you, mate. You’re the most powerful nation on earth. I’d hate to fuck around with you.’

  ‘Thank you, Ron.’ Clooney paused for a moment. ‘Actually, I was hoping to get a message through to your buddies, the Loo Noo.’

  Milne shook his head. ‘Oooh, now that’s a different story altogether, Cliff. I hate to say this, mate, but they’ve got the shits with you good and proper.’

  ‘They have?’ said CC. ‘I can’t understand why. I’ve never met them.’

  ‘No. They’re not from round this way.’

  ‘Yeah. Who are they, Ron? Where do they come from? Would you mind telling me?’

  ‘Sure. No worries, Cliff,’ said Milne. ‘They’re ancient high priests from Atlantis. They used to live on earth. But they had to leave thousands of years ago after a big meteorite explosion. So now they live in the moon. On the dark side.’

  ‘Ancient high priests from Atlantis. Living on the dark side of the moon,’ said Clooney.

  ‘That’s right. Like that song by Pink Floyd. They don’t like sunlight and warmth, so they moved up there. Remember when Armstrong landed on the moon and the camera picked up those lights in the background?’

  ‘Yes. I remember that,’ said CC.

  ‘Well, that was the Loo Noo,’ said Milne. ‘Just having a Captain Cook to see what you were up to.’

  ‘So that’s what those lights were?’

  ‘That’s right, mate. They don’t mind you going there. Just don’t leave too much shit lying around when you leave.’

  ‘I’ll tell the astronauts that.’

  ‘And that’s what all those UFO sightings are, Cliff. Forget your Air Force Blue Book and all that bullshit about men from Mars and stuff. It’s only the Loo Noo calling in to Lan Laroi.’

  ‘Right. I gotcha.’

  ‘And that’s the reason they got the shits with you, mate,’ said Milne.

  ‘Yeah. Why is that, Ron?’

  ‘Well you see, Cliff, the Loo Noo have got this spiritual connection with Lan Laroi going back thousands of years. This is like Mecca to them. Leaving that radioactive waste here was bad enough. But wanting to invade the island. Mate. I got to tell you, that really put a boil on their arse. And they can be cranky little buggers when they want to. Really nasty.’

  ‘I’m sure they can, Ron,’ said CC. ‘So what are those little disc things they fly around in?’

  ‘Mate. I haven’t got a clue. They took me for a ride in one once. And I spewed me guts up for nearly a week. Christ I was crook. I thought me ring was coming up at one stage.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Bloody oath. I told them to shove the things up their arse.’

  ‘Okay. So Ron. How can I get a message to your little buddies the Loo Noo?’

  ‘Ohh, I can arrange something, Cliff me old mate,’ said Milne. ‘What did you want to talk to them about?’

  ‘Well. Back here in the States,’ said CC, ‘we believe all this fighting is pointless. And I’d like to arrange a cease fire.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Milne. ‘I can have a yarn to them for you. Not right now though. Can you give me a coupla’ours. They’re calling round later for a cup of tea.’

  ‘Hey. That would be just great, Ron.’

  ‘Okay. Well give me a coupla’ours and I’ll see what they have to say. Do you want me to ring you back, or …?’

  ‘No. I’ll ring you. Two hours from now,’ said Clooney.

  ‘You sure you don’t mind?’ asked Milne.

  ‘No. No problem at all,’ replied CC.

  ‘Okay, Cliff. I’ll see you then.’

  ‘G’bye for now, Ron.’

  Milne hung up, Keleu turned off the video and Milne looked at the three of them. ‘Well. What did you think of that?’

  ‘I thought it was very good,’ said Airu.

  Keleu agreed. ‘You were most polite. I was impressed.’

  Brian raised his beer. ‘I got to give it to you, Sawi. You’d charm a death adder out of a woolshed.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Milne, acknowledging the compliments. ‘But it ain’t over till it’s over. He’s got to ring back and cop the message from the Loo Noo.’

  ‘If he’d cop that, he’d cop anything,’ said Brian.

  ‘We shall see,’ answered Milne. ‘In the meantime, Lengi’s back on deck. And Sawi is starving.’

  ‘I’m a bit peckish myself, to be honest,’ said Brian.

  ‘We will finish here,’ said Airu. ‘And see you in the kitchen.’

  On a day in Washington DC that never seemed to end, President Clooney stared at the hotline on his desk then looked intently round the Oval Office. ‘All right. You all heard him. What’s your opinion?’

  The Attorney-General was the first to speak. ‘Mr President. He sounds like the dumbest sonofabitch I ever come across, sir. Even for an Australian. Where does he live? Under a wet rock?’

  ‘Ancient priests from Atlantis, living on the moon?’ said the Secretary for Defense. ‘Mr President, I never heard such a crock of shit.’

  ‘Actually, Mr President,’ said the NASA scientist, ‘that’s an extremely appealing clarification.’

  Arlene Tandiero beamed around the room. ‘I think it’s an absolutely fascinating concept.’

  ‘Well I don’t give a fat rat’s ass what any of you think,’ said Clooney. ‘I’m ringing the guy back in “a coupla’ours”.’

  Brian and Milne both gave Lengi a hug and told her how much they had missed her cooking. Lengi got all embarrassed and served up curried mango chicken and rice, plus fresh vegetables, rolls and coffee. Followed by Norwegian prune pudding with marshmallow sauce. They ripped in, the girls joined them, then Brian and Milne left the girls to help Lengi and keep an eye on things in the office while they retired to the Key Bar.

  The lights were on, but once again there was nobody home. Brian sat down at the bar, Milne went round the other side and pulled out the bottle of Jack Daniels. He poured two stiff ones with mineral water, ice and a slice, and clinked Brian’s glass.

  ‘Well, Takatau, here’s to the Loo Noo.’

  ‘Your little buddies,’ replied Brian, taking a sip.

  ‘Yep. That’s them,’ nodded Milne. ‘Bless their little Anti-Matter-Interferometers.’

  They sat around killing time and talking about surfing and this and that. To Brian it seemed too much like polite conversation. Not two blokes throwing them down after killing thousands of people and blowing up half the world. Milne seemed to be chuckling to himself now and again and try as he might, Brian couldn’t escape this feeling the President was still holding something back from him. They had one or two more drinks and, despite his reservations, Brian was starting to get rather mellow, when Milne looked at his watch.

  ‘Well. It’s about time we heard from good ol’ CC,’ he said.

  ‘Okay,’ replied Brian, holding up his glass. ‘We taking these with us?’

  ‘Yeah. We’ll leave the bottle here.’

  They walked back upstairs to the office and resumed their previous positions. This time Milne placed a piece of paper in front of him. The girls had a cup of coffee each; Brian and Milne sipped their bourbons. Then the phone rang. Although they were all expecting it, it sounded like a fire alarm going off in the room. Airu leapt from her seat and turned on the video camera. Milne picked up the receiver.

  ‘Hello. Is that you, C
liff?’

  ‘It sure is. How’re you doin’ there, Ron?’

  ‘Happy as a pig in shit, Cliff. Wouldn’t be dead for quids, mate.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Clooney. ‘So did you talk to your pals, the Loo Noo?’

  ‘I did,’ replied Milne.

  ‘And what did they say?’

  ‘Mate. I hate to tell you this. But they’re still spewin’.’

  ‘They are? Oh Jesus! What’s wrong?’

  ‘Ohh they’ve got the shits about something. I think they’re just getting old. One of them’ll be two thousand next birthday.’

  ‘Oh Christ!’ wailed Clooney. ‘This is Godawful. What do they want from me?’

  ‘Now hang on there, Cliff,’ said Milne. ‘Don’t go getting your bowels in a knot. Everything’s sweet.’

  ‘Sweet?’

  ‘Yeah. I got right in their ear. It wasn’t easy. But they’ve seen your point of view. And they’re going to turn it up.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘They’re going to knock it on the head. They’re rolling their swags and going back to the moon.’

  ‘They’ll cease hostilities?’

  ‘Yeah, Cliff. The war’s over.’

  ‘That’s great, Ron. Just great,’ Clooney’s voice coming over the phone was ecstatic. ‘I’m … I’m … I’m over the moon. If you’ll excuse the pun there, buddy.’

  ‘Hey. No worries,’ said Milne. ‘However, before you go getting a bit too carried away there, Cliff, they did leave a few demands.’

  ‘Demands?’ said Clooney. ‘Well, sure. What kind of demands, Ron?’

  ‘Ohh nothing too drastic. Hang on. They wrote them down on a piece of paper. I’ll read them out to you.’ Milne adjusted the sheet of paper. ‘And they said if you don’t adhere to their demands, they’re coming back to … Amarilla? Armatella?’

  ‘Umatilla?’ said Clooney.

  ‘Yeah, that’s it.’ Milne straightened the sheet of paper. ‘Christ! They might be high priests but they’ve got the worst bloody handwriting. Anyway,’ continued Milne, ‘they said they’ll come back to this joint, Umatilla. And next time they’ll bring some mates. Can you understand what they mean by that, Cliff?’

  ‘Clear as day, Ron,’ said Clooney. ‘Okay. Read out the demands.’