‘I might put on one of the tapes I made up, Frank,’ suggested Les.
‘Yeah, good idea, Les,’ replied the major.
Les put a tape on, turned it down a little, and, with Larry Boone twanging his way through ‘Hotel Coup de Ville’, he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Norton had absolutely no intention of putting any work on Coral. If anything, he felt shitty having her back at Susie’s unit in the first place. It was a situation Les would have preferred not to be in, but it was the major’s call and there wasn’t a great deal he could do. However, he’d be polite and not say anything for the major’s sake. And here I am, mused Les, as he got the cups and spoons and whatever together. The polite little maid again. He heard the toilet flush, then voices in the lounge room and the next thing Coral was standing behind him in the kitchen.
‘Do you want a hand, Les?’ she purred.
‘No, it’s quite all right thanks, Coral,’ said Les. ‘I’ve got it all together. The kettle’s almost boiled, the coffee has to draw, and that’s it.’
Coral edged a bit closer. ‘I’d like to draw you, Les.’
‘What with? Oils?’ Les forced out some laughter at his own weak joke. ‘I mean, you work for an oil company. It’s a . . . I say it’s a gag, boy.’
‘Don’t go on silly, Les. I meant I’d like to do a sketch of you. I have been to art class, you know.’
‘Really. I’ve never met an artist before. We don’t have many in Ballina.’
Coral moved closer again. ‘You’d make a great subject, Les.’
‘Depends what you want to subject me to,’ said Les. ‘Oh goodness, is that the kettle boiled already? Coral, would you take that stuff on the table out to the others while I get this together.’
Coral breathed back from Les, giving him a very heavy once-up-and-down. ‘Okay,’ she said.
Les didn’t know what to think while he waited for the coffee to draw, so he didn’t think about anything. Just punt high and follow through and hope for the best. He’d get out of this somehow, without stuffing things up for the major. But no matter what, he wasn’t porking Coral. No bloody way. The major could bayonet him, blow him up, shove chopsticks down the eye of his dick — a man can only not do what a man can only not do. Or words to that effect. Les took the plunger of coffee and placed it on one of the coffee tables where Coral had put the tray containing the cups and things. Susie had two double lounges set against the wall. Garrick and Doreen were intertwined at the end of the one on the left. Coral was seated on the other. Oh well, thought Les. He poured coffee into all the cups, then sat down on Coral’s right facing the stereo.
‘Ahh, well done, Les,’ said the major. ‘Good on you, mate.’ He released himself from Doreen and picked up a spoon. ‘Wait till you taste this, Doreen. My driver brews the best coffee in Australia.’
The two girls stirred in their milk and sugar and took a sip.
‘Ooh, yes. It’s really lovely,’ said Doreen.
‘Mmhh, great,’ breathed Coral.
‘Well, I do my best to please,’ said Norton, taking a sip himself.
They settled back, sipped their coffee and listened to the tape Les had playing. Nobody said if it was good; nobody said if it was bad. The conversation was again very limited. The Gecko was too busy blowing in Doreen’s ear and she was giggling and tittering away like a little budgerigar, or a long, skinny one. Coral was eyeing Les over the top of her coffee cup, giving him her oily, sweet Klingon smile, biding her time.
‘So how do you like working on the council up in Ballina?’ she said. ‘It looks like it keeps you fit.’
‘It’s a good, honest job,’ intoned Les. ‘And with the overtime, I get a good, honest wage.’
‘I don’t mean that,’ said Coral. ‘I’m not interested in your money — honey.’
‘Yeah,’ said Les. ‘What are you interested in? My truck? It’s a Volvo F86 Table Top with a bogie-drive tipper. Goes great since we modified the clutch.’
‘You didn’t say crutch. Did you, Les?’ purred Coral.
‘No!’ Les was adamant.
‘Oh, okay then. We’ll just put it down to a slip of the tongue.’ Coral ran her tongue over her top lip and all the hairs on her moustache glistened with a moist, slick sheen.
Norton shuddered and wished he’d kept his mouth shut and said nothing. There was a sudden movement to his right as the major and Doreen rose from the lounge hand in hand and, without consulting anybody, went into his bedroom and closed the door behind them. Norton chuckled to himself and glanced at his watch. I reckon in about five or ten minutes, you’ll be able to hear the screams coming out of that room at Norah Head lighthouse. If it wasn’t for Lieutenant Worf sitting next to me, I reckon this could turn out to be a funny night. Les caught Coral’s eye for a second and a thought briefly flashed across his mind. A blow job? No, no not even that. Not with a new BMW and house on the Gold Coast thrown in.
‘Well, that leaves just you and me, Les,’ said Coral, inching closer.
‘Yeah, it sure looks that way,’ answered Les. ‘I don’t see anybody else around.’
Coral put her coffee down and moved right up next to Les. Norton tried to get away, but she had him pinned on the end of the lounge.
‘Righto, Les,’ she said. ‘Let’s stop fucking around. Come here.’ Coral put her hand on Norton’s leg and tilted her face up to kiss him.
Coral mightn’t have been a Klingon, but it smelled like she’d been eating Klingon dog food. Her breath would have scorched white ants out of a rotten verandah. Norton took one whiff and jerked his head away. ‘Aarrgh! Yuk!’ he gagged.
Coral glared up at him and her dark face got darker. ‘What’s the matter?’ she snapped.
‘Nothing,’ said Les. ‘Nothing’s the matter.’
‘Something’s the matter.’ Coral drew back from Les. ‘It’s me. That’s what it is. There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there. What is it?’
‘No,’ said Les. ‘It’s not you, Coral. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s . . .’
‘It’s what!?’ Coral was getting steamed up.
‘It’s . . . it’s . . . it’s me.’
‘You!? What the fuck’s wrong with you?’
‘I . . . I’m gay.’
‘You. A poofter?’
Les nodded happily. ‘Yeah, that’s right. A poof. A horse’s hoof. Camp as a row of tents, Coral. Punched more donuts than the Red Cross during the Second World War.’
Coral glared at Les and slunk back against the lounge. ‘Oh shit! A bloody poofter. I don’t believe it.’
Les nodded and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Yeah. That’s the way it goes these days, Coral. You just can’t tell any more. Rock Hudson. James Dean. Me.’
Coral threw her arms across her chest and exhaled sharply. ‘I should have bloody known though. All those muscles. You’re probably just an aerobics princess. You shit yourself when the trouble started in the bar. If it hadn’t been for Frank, we’d have still been there.’
‘I know,’ confessed Les. ‘It’s awful. The main reason I’m down here is to deliver the parts for our float in the Gay Mardi Gras.’ Les smiled and fluttered his eyes at Coral. ‘Did you watch the Gay Mardi Gras last year, Coral?’
‘No! I did not!’
Yeah, I didn’t think you would, you homophobic bitch. ‘All right. But will you promise me one thing, Coral. Truly, I mean it.’
‘What!?’
‘Please don’t say anything to Frank. He’s my uncle. He’s also President of the RSL. And it would break his heart.’
‘Yeah, all right,’ grunted Coral.
‘Oh, thanks, Coral. You’re so sweet.’
Coral turned and gave Les a sardonic smile. ‘Hey, Les,’ she said. ‘You know what GAY stands for, don’t you?’
‘No, what?’
‘Got aids yet?’
‘Hey, that’s not bad,’ beamed Norton ‘You got any more?’
Coral gave Les a quick, hostile once-up-and-down and slunk furthe
r back on the lounge. Les gave an inward sigh of relief and folded his arms also. Well, this has turned out all right, he smiled to himself. I’ve got rid of Lieutenant Worf. And any minute now, the fun should start when the major starts shoving that ten-pound Danish salami of his up poor skinny Doreen. I reckon the first screams should bring down Ackerley’s old Star Trek poster. Then the ones in the lounge room. Les settled back, listened to his tape, and waited.
Five, ten, almost fifteen minutes went by; not a sound from The Gecko’s room. Nothing. Not even muffled voices. The light had gone out. But nothing. Les was confused. Coral was bored shitless. She reached over and turned the music up loud. Les didn’t give a stuff. He was more interested in what was going on in Ackerley’s room. Jesus! He must be a slow starter. Then an awful thought hit Les in the pit of his stomach. Christ! I hope she hasn’t knocked him back and he’s murdered her. Garrick can be a bit odd at times.
Another twenty minutes went by and Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers were belting out ‘Making Some Noise’, when there was a sharp, loud rap on the door. Coral didn’t seem to take any notice. Wondering what was going on and, hoping it wasn’t the police, Les got up and looked through the spy-hole. It appeared to be a woman. He opened the door.
She was about sixty with a dour, plump face and grey-blonde hair and was wearing a powder-blue brunch coat. She looked like either a John Laws listener or Alan Jones; maybe Ron Casey. More than likely all three. ‘Yes,’ said Norton politely. ‘What can I do for you?’
The woman gave Norton a smile that needed scaffolding to stay on her face. ‘I’m the chairperson of the Body Corporate. Would you mind keeping the music down. It is getting rather late, you know.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ apologised Les. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it was so loud. I’ll fix it right now. Sorry . . . miss.’
The chairperson of the Body Corporate’s smile creaked up about half a centimetre. ‘Thank you.’
The woman’s unit was adjacent to Susie’s; she closed her door about the same time Norton closed his. He turned the stereo down then sat on the lounge near Coral.
‘What was that?’ she grunted.
‘Julian Clary. He wanted to know if I just raided the council dog pound.’
‘What!?’
‘Some woman wanting me to turn the music down.’ Les then ignored Coral and went back to listening to the music.
Another twenty minutes or so went by and the tape began playing the reverse side. Coral was tapping her feet impatiently on the floor and Les was beginning to get a little concerned. He was thinking of either switching on the TV or knocking on the major’s door to see if they hadn’t fallen asleep or something when there was the sound of voices and the light came on under the major’s door. A few moments later the door opened and they both came out. Doreen’s hair was all over her head and her clothes were a bit wrinkled. The major had his tracksuit pants and a T-shirt on; his hair, too, was plastered all over his head, his face was red and streaked with sweat and he looked like he’d just run a triathlon. Doreen went straight to the bathroom, the major gave Les and Coral a brief, weak smile then went straight to the kitchen and poured himself two long glasses of cold water from the fridge. He gulped one down, drank half the other, then brought it out into the lounge at the same time Doreen came out of the bathroom.
With her bag over her shoulder, she looked down at Coral. ‘You ready to go?’
‘Reckon.’ Coral got her bag from the lounge and stood up.
‘We’ll get you a taxi,’ said the major.
‘No. That’s all right, Frank.’ Doreen gave the major a quick peck on the lips. ‘See you next time you’re in town. Thanks for the meal.’
‘It was . . . my pleasure, Doreen.’
Les batted his eyes at the Klingon. ‘Nighty night, Coral. See you next time I’m in town, too.’
‘Yeah.’ Coral didn’t bother to look at Les.
The major opened the door, then closed it and they were gone. Although the music was still playing and he’d hardly spoken to Coral and not seen all that much of Doreen, it seemed strangely quiet after they had left, like there was a kind of tension in the flat. Les heard the front door close and the two girls’ footsteps down the side just as the major flopped down in one of the lounge chairs and gulped down some more water. Les was about to say something when the major spoke.
‘I’m absolutely stuffed,’ he said. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, took a couple of deep breaths, then opened his eyes again and looked at Les. ‘So anyway, what happened out here? Or am I being a trifle indiscreet?’
‘What happened out here, Garrick?’ replied Les. ‘Nothing. Zilch. A big fat zero.’
‘Nothing?’ The major seemed surprised. ‘I thought you were a walk-up start?’
‘To be honest, Garrick, that sheila was a beast. I’m not Brad Pitt, but she looked like a Klingon. Plus her breath smelled like a pig that had been eating rotten turnips.’
The major tried to laugh, but he looked too exhausted. ‘Not a bad comparison, Les. I thought with that mole on her chin, she looked more like one of The Borg. The only thing missing was the tubes coming out of her head.’
‘Yeah, thanks, Garrick,’ Les looked directly at the major. ‘So what happened with you? Christ! You were in there long enough. Or am I being — a trifle indiscreet?’
‘What happened with me?’ The major slumped back further in his seat. ‘Les, you’re not going to believe this, but the skinny Doreen had the biggest fanny I’ve ever seen.’
Norton gave the major a massive double blink and slumped back in his seat also. ‘She what!!?’
‘It was a monster. I banged and bashed away, but I didn’t even touch the bloody sides. That’s why I took so long. At one stage there I thought I was going to have to shove that boogie-board of Ackerly’s through my braces so I wouldn’t fall in. Either that, or throw in a few shovels’ full of blue metal to take up the slack. It was a horror show.’
‘She had a big ted?’ Les stared at The Gecko, scarcely believing what he was hearing.
‘Big? I bit her on the snatch, Les, and my head went straight in up to my shoulders. And there was a bloke inside walking around with a horse and cart, trying to light a hurricane lamp. He yelled out to me, “Hey, mate, have you got a match? Mine are wet.” In the end I had to think about my wife so I could empty out.’
Norton shook his head slowly with disbelief. Again, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Again, the major never ceased to amaze. Suddenly Les felt tired. This whole scene with the major was just getting too weird.
‘Anyway, Les,’ yawned the major. ‘I am absolutely knackered. I don’t know whether sweet Doreen got rooted, but I sure did. I’m going to have a quick shower and go straight to bed.’
Norton nodded blankly. ‘Not a bad idea, Garrick. I wouldn’t mind putting my head down myself. Tomorrow’s the big day.’
‘Yes, it certainly is, Les.’
Les gathered up the cups and saucers and put them on the tray to take into the kitchen. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Major.’
‘Yeah, see you then.’ The major stood up, rocking a little tiredly on his feet. ‘Oh, and Les, thanks for taking us out tonight.’
‘A pleasure, mate. See you in the morning.’
Les put the tray in the kitchen, then went to his bedroom about the same time the major limped into the bathroom; he’d stripped down to his jocks and was cleaning his teeth in Susie’s en suite when he heard the shower running. He looked at himself in the mirror, shook his head, then turned off the light and crawled into bed. Well, that’s another day over, he thought as he stared at Susie’s star map on the wall. Norton’s thoughts suddenly drifted from the star map back to the bullet ricocheting into the glass cabinet just above his head. And in a way, I’m lucky to bloody be alive again. Coral was half right about me shitting myself. When those two Mossad blokes opened up, I was too busy gawking around to duck down behind the bar. One thing for sure, I’ll never ignore anything th
at major says again. If he says black is white, black is bloody white. Or vice versa. Les chuckled to himself. What about his girl Doreen though? Shit! If what he said was true about her ted, I wouldn’t mind it full of antique dressing tables. And what about poor Coral? She thought she’d found herself a real man and all she got was a big poof that drives a Volvo. What if Billy and the boys find out? I can’t wait to tell them. Les yawned and shoved his face further into the pillows. Anyway, tomorrow’s the big day — or night. I hope it doesn’t stuff up. After tonight though, I’m just about ready to give up. I couldn’t give a stuff one way or the other. Les gave another yawn and, before long, he’d zoomed off into the galaxy once more and was snoring soundly.
Around nine the next morning, Les was sitting in the kitchen in his jocks and a T-shirt, sipping coffee, after eating an apple. He’d woken up earlier, sometime before seven, after hearing noises in the bathroom, then the sounds of someone cursing and doors slamming as they tried to start a car out the front. Les dozed off again and, with his sleep disturbed, slept in longer than he meant to. The major’s door was slightly ajar and the kettle was still warm sitting near the kitchen sink, but there was no sign of the major. Les took another sip of coffee and stared impassively from the kitchen into the lounge room. An apple and a cup of coffee wasn’t quite the ideal breakfast; but it was all Les felt like at that time. Today was ‘nuke the handball court day’ and, despite his previous sentiments, Les was hoping it all went smoothly. ‘Nuke the handball court day.’ Norton smiled mirthlessly over his coffee. The day of The Gecko. Or night. Take your bloody pick. Les was still staring into the lounge room when the front door opened and the major stepped quietly and easily into the kitchen, wearing his tracksuit pants and a white T-shirt and carrying the Telegraph Mirror.
‘Hello, Les,’ he said, dropping the paper on the table and opening the fridge. ‘How are you this morning?’
‘Pretty good, Major,’ replied Norton. ‘How about yourself? You sleep all right?’
‘Like a top.’ The major went to the sink and poured himself a glass of cold water. ‘But six or so hours was plenty.’
The Day of the Gecko Page 15