by Unknown
Anthony stared into his glass, absorbing it all. ‘So you’re saying the music is a front?’
‘No, I’m saying they’re co-dependent. One’s spawned the other, like the chicken and the egg. And the music is fashionable, it’s everywhere. On the radio, in the clothing stores, in the movies. Mate, they even play it on the sports channels.’
‘Right, I get it. The more popular the music becomes, the more popular the drugs are?’
‘Right, and vice versa.’
Anthony gestured towards the garage where Johnno’s and Chloe’s friends were now dancing to a style of music I recognised but would never appreciate.
‘You mean music just like this? What that guy’s playing in there?’
I nodded, then immediately regretted it as he pushed back his chair.
‘I knew it. I’m not having it in my house,’ he said, storming around the table.
‘Let it go,’ I said, stopping him. ‘You don’t want to make a fool of yourself. Not here. Not tonight. Johnno would never forgive you.’
The resistance didn’t last. He was unsteady on his feet and I realised he was drunk. He eased away and pointed at the garage angrily. ‘It’s fuckin’ bullshit, Rubens. What kind of noise is that anyway?’
‘What do you want them to listen to, Andy? Cold Chisel?’
‘What’s wrong with that? This is just synthesised crap.’
I stayed where I was in case he made another go for the garage.
‘I agree, but what would you do if the DJ played “Khe Sanh” and they all got in a circle and sang about wanting more speed and novocaine?’
Anthony screwed up his face, as though he’d only just realised the meaning behind the iconic lyrics.
‘Suppose you’d want to hear “Run to Paradise”, too,’ I added.
‘That’s what I’m talking about. The Choirboys, classic Aussie rock. Real music.’
‘And another song about drugs.’
Anthony pushed my arm away and sat heavily in a chair, still looking at the garage with the same angry stare. I wondered if I ever got that look on my face when I was drunk.
‘How big is it, Rubens? I mean, I’ve read the newspapers but how do I know what’s rubbish and what’s real? I want you to tell me the truth.’
‘Andy, it doesn’t matter. Let’s just enjoy Johnno’s birthday. You don’t need to worry about –’
‘No!’ He laid his hands flat on the table. ‘I want to know. I want you to tell me. I wouldn’t have a clue about any of this.’
Before I could say anything, he got going about morals and how you couldn’t just condone something simply because it was popular.
‘I try to set good standards,’ he went on. ‘I sent the kids to private schools. We get them involved in sports and give them plenty of support. We even talk to them about sex. But all these new drugs . . . I don’t have a clue. Sure, we smoked hooch when we were kids. Big deal. I told Johnno about that one day, that we’d smoked a joint or two as kids. He just laughed. Apparently everybody smokes dope these days, even the girls.’
His head dropped into his hands. Some of Jonathan’s mates were looking over at us, wondering what was going on. I tapped Anthony on the leg and he looked up.
‘Sometimes I feel like I live in a hot air balloon,’ he said slowly. ‘Everything looks fresh and beautiful from up here. Soon as I get near the ground, I see the details and I don’t like it. I want to put more gas in the balloon and go back up.’
I nodded, because I agreed with him and because I liked the analogy.
‘God, I don’t even know what it’s like to have a bloody mortgage.’
‘Lucky you,’ I said.
‘You think living in the shadow of your dead parents-in-law is lucky? I can’t even take a piss without Gabrielle asking how much money I’ve spent.’
I didn’t reply to that.
‘The point is, I’m ignorant, Ruby, and I want you to tell me the truth. How big is it, mate?’
I drank the last of my scotch but didn’t top my glass up. ‘When I first saw pills in Melbourne, they were selling for fifty bucks each in the clubs,’ I began. ‘That was about ten years ago. Now they’re going for half that. What does that tell you?’
A frown creased my brother’s forehead as he did the maths. It was a simple explanation but in many ways it defied the common rules of economics: that something illegal could go down in price, despite massive attempts to stamp it out.
‘A lot more people are into it?’ he said.
‘There’s an insatiable demand, Andy. Worldwide, we’re talking hundreds of millions of pills consumed each year. In Australia, Melbourne is the epicentre. We get more seizures per capita than anywhere else in the world. In one operation alone, we seized over five million tablets. That’s enough to get the whole city high.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Not even Jesus could stop it, mate. I don’t even think we can slow it down. Not any more. It’s too big.’
‘Oh, come on. That’s a bit defeatist, isn’t it? Surely we can teach them how dangerous it is. Surely we can tell Chloe?’
Anthony’s look was almost pleading – searching – for something that wasn’t there. An answer. His face was only about a foot away from mine, and I was beginning to regret trying to explain something even I couldn’t understand. The truth was, nobody knew how dangerous it was. Governments the world over had tried to scare people into saying ‘no’ by overdramatising the risks and dangers. The problem, of course, was that when those risks and dangers didn’t eventuate, when people took the drugs and nothing bad happened, they simply assumed they’d been lied to by the government. That meant any important messages – any truths – got flushed along with all the hype.
‘I don’t know, Andy. You’ll need to leave it with me. I’m not saying anything to her tonight, but I will talk to her. I want to help you.’
‘What will you say?’
‘I don’t know. I need to really think about it.’
For a moment it looked like he might try another angle, but then he gave up. He went to pour himself another drink but I snatched the bottle.
‘You don’t need any more. Drink some water and sober up a bit. We’ve still got all night and you need to enjoy yourself with Johnno.’
He nodded and I put my arm over his shoulder, feeling almost sorry for him. My brother was a good man and he didn’t deserve this sort of stress. I promised myself I would do what I could to help him.
‘Okay, mate, I’m going inside to help with the food,’ I said. ‘Sitting next to this spit makes me feel like eating the arse end out of a dead rhino.’
That triggered a smile. I slapped him on the back as he headed towards the garage. ‘Now you go in there and have fun with your kids.’
17
BY MIDNIGHT THE PARTY was on its way into the messiness that only alcohol can cause and only large amounts of sleep can cure. Not long after, Ella and I were in a cab. Fortunately this driver knew his way around town and neither of us had to give directions.
As it happened, the DJ had gone on to play ‘Khe Sanh’ and ‘Run to Paradise’ and many other classic rock anthems, and, sure enough, everyone sang and cheered in a circle, just as drunken teenagers had done for many years and would no doubt continue to do for many more. It just went to show that no matter how fashionable electronic music became, Australians always reverted to type when it came to a backyard shindig. In the end I regretted having the debate with Anthony about the drugs. Though he sang and carried on with everyone else, there was something missing. An innocence, perhaps. Maybe he would’ve been better off staying in his hot air balloon.
Along St Kilda Road, a canopy of maple trees entwined with green nightlights arched over the boulevard, giving it the feel of a space-age tunnel. Warm air blew in through the windows as we skirted the buildings of downtown and headed into Carlton. When the cab pulled up outside the building where we’d shared an apartment for more than five years, Ella kissed me on the cheek and whispered i
n my ear, ‘I want you to come upstairs.’
Following her into the foyer, I watched her hips again as they swayed beneath her dress. She moved with more vigour this time and I knew she was putting it on. At the elevator she looked back over her shoulder and caught me watching her.
‘What are you doing?’ she said, smiling.
‘Stalking you.’
The look she gave me told me she was both scared and excited at the same time. I wondered whether she could see the same in me. When the elevator opened I followed her in and she kissed me, first gently, then with more force. I pulled her back against the wall, not wanting it to end. Soon we were staggering through the front door of her apartment. As we reached the bedroom, she unbuckled my belt with awkward hands and I lifted her dress up and over her shoulders. I sat back on the bed and she straddled me, my hands trembling as I guided her onto me. We kissed deeply and she ground herself against me with slow but deliberate thrusts. I was engrossed in her taste and the faint smell of sweat and perfume as she moaned in my ear. I resisted the urge to tell her how long I’d wanted this and how I’d missed her. Instead I just held her as she shuddered and squeezed my head tight against her shoulder.
When she was finished, I pulled her down onto my chest and stroked her back, staring at the ceiling. How long had it been since I’d held her like this? How long since I’d been in this bed, in this apartment? For a moment I wondered how many other men she had been with like this, how many others had stared up at this ceiling. The room was dark now, but the streetlights from outside pierced the window and bathed her figure in shades of soft blue, like a dream. It was a long moment before I realised I was holding my breath.
‘Is there something wrong?’ she asked, her voice muffled against me.
‘Ah, no, it just . . . it just doesn’t seem real, that’s all.’
‘It doesn’t seem real to me either,’ she said, rolling off me. ‘Do you wish it wasn’t real?’
Beneath the sweat and frazzled hair I saw a person lost in uncertainty and in need of stability. In that moment I knew it didn’t matter how many other men had been with her. For them, it would never be like this. For her, and for me, there was only one lover.
‘No. I’m glad it’s real,’ I said.
She squeezed my hand as I slid off the bed and walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. At the sink I paused, looking around the dark room. A freshly pressed hospital uniform hung from a cupboard door handle, dry-cleaning bag draped over it. The blinds in the lounge and dining area were open, the city skyscrapers rising high above. I’d expected the place to feel more familiar, but it didn’t, and I had the sense that this was a good thing. We’d bought the two-bedroom apartment off the plan before the real estate boom in the late nineties and lived in it until our separation.
With two glasses in hand, I walked to the window. About fifty metres east I could see Lygon Street – Melbourne’s Little Italy – winding up after another hot Saturday night. Back in the bedroom, I slid in beside her and pulled the sheet over us. Ella took a sip of water and hugged the sheets as I rested my head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat.
‘I want to tell you a story,’ I said after a while. ‘When I was a kid, my best mate was Tommy Jackson. Jacko, we used to call him. Our dads used to work together on the building sites. We all took holidays together and –’
‘Wait. I think you told me about him. Is he the one you lost touch with, the one who moved to Melbourne?’
‘Yeah, but I never told you why he moved.’
I pictured the events and tried to arrange them into words. ‘I guess I’d sensed a problem with Jacko, but it wasn’t till this one camping trip that I began to understand what was going on. Me, Jacko, Anthony and our dads spent a week on the Murray. Towards the end Anthony caught a cod, over two feet long. Dad and Jacko’s old man were real proud. It was the highlight of the trip and we were going to cook it up for dinner. When it was cooked, Dad flayed the fish on a platter and handed it to Jacko.’ I took a breath, trying to control my emotions. ‘Jacko was clumsy, always falling over, hurting himself. When he got close to the table, he tripped on a stick and the fish went everywhere. We tried to salvage as much as possible, but it was useless and we ended up eating canned soup. Everyone was mad at Jacko, even me. His dad went right off, told him to go to his tent and not come out.’
‘Poor kid,’ Ella said.
I ground my teeth as I recalled what happened next. ‘I don’t know why, maybe because we were all watching, or maybe because he’d had enough, but Jacko didn’t budge, just stood there, shaking. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but he gave his dad some attitude and that was it. His old man threw a full beer can across the campsite. It hit Jacko right in the face, dropped him like a wet towel.’
Ella tensed beside me.
‘He beat the absolute shit out of him, Ella. Right in front of us. Anthony and I tried to stop it but he was too strong. He just kept hitting him and hitting him until Jacko was unconscious and covered in blood.’
‘Jesus. What did your dad do?’
‘Nothing. That’s the point. He just sat there, the gutless bastard. He carries on about how tough he was to go to Vietnam, but he couldn’t stop his own mate from beating up a kid.’
I rolled off her and stared up at the dark ceiling, feeling queasy from the acids mixing with the alcohol and dinner in my stomach.
‘We ended up going home the next day and Jacko had to go into hospital. I don’t know what happened between my dad and Jacko’s dad, but we never went on any more camping trips together after that. Jacko’s family moved out of town and I’d only see him every so often. Even when we did catch up, we never spoke about that day.’
‘He leave to escape his dad?’ asked Ella.
‘S’pose. Left town as soon as he turned eighteen. By then I was old enough to know what happened on the camping trip wasn’t a one-off event. I was also old enough to know that all the bruises and scratches Jacko’d had over the years weren’t from falling over.’
We lay there for a while then and I listened to her breathing over the top of the traffic on Lygon Street. Somewhere in the distance a siren wailed across the city. Another emergency; somebody else’s this time.
‘One day I decided I was going to come down to Melbourne to find him and I made Dad come with me. We hit St Kilda and asked around but nobody wanted to help. Even the coppers weren’t interested. Back then St Kilda was wild. It scared the shit out of me. How was a kid from the country going to survive in a jungle like that? Anyhow, we spent a full week looking for him, but we were never going to find him. For the next two years I worked with Dad on the building sites and life carried on. Just after I turned twenty we heard Jacko had died of a drug overdose. About a year later I joined the police.’
Ella ran her hand through the hair on my chest. It was a sensual touch that felt out of place and I wanted her to stop, but I didn’t tell her.
‘And you blame Jacko’s father for that?’ she said after a while.
‘Course I do.’
‘What about your own dad? Did you ever speak about it later?’
‘No.’
‘Maybe you should’ve.’
‘I didn’t know how he’d take it.’
‘Well, it’s not too late, you know?’
‘Yeah, I know.’
We were silent again, and I remembered one of the nights Dad and I spent trying to find Jacko. For hours we stood at the entrance to Luna Park, just hoping he might happen by. But he never did, and Dad and I never spoke about it. By then I’d worked out that Dad had known about the abuse for many years but had chosen to do nothing about it because he was mates with Jacko’s father. Since then I’d accepted – through my own silence – that Dad’s guilty conscience was punishment enough. But it wasn’t. Dad needed to know that his failure to act or intervene made him culpable, that he was part of the problem. Part of the system. Just like anyone who chose to ignore something in the hope that someone else would dea
l with it. It wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation, but Ella was right. I had to tell him. Things would never be right between us until I did.
‘I guess I just feel a bit weird, that’s all,’ I said. ‘I mean, these last few days have been full on, and tonight with Johnno turning eighteen and all. That’s how old Jacko was when he left Benalla.’
Ella seemed to consider this, then rolled over and faced me. ‘I saw you with Anthony tonight. You looked like you were arguing. Do you want to tell me about it?’
I hadn’t considered telling Ella about Anthony’s request for me to talk to Chloe because I wasn’t sure what angle to take, and I wasn’t even sure what Ella would make of it.
‘He was drunk and he wanted the music changed, that’s all. Do you want to go out on the balcony and have a smoke?’
It was an obvious lie and I knew what was coming. She shrugged me aside and sat up.
‘No, I don’t want to smoke. If something’s going on, I want you to talk to me. I know he’s your brother but I’m your –’
She caught herself mid-speech and stared at the window. I put my hand on her naked back.
‘What are we doing, El?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, reaching over for the water and drinking the last of it.
I slid out of bed and took the glass back to the kitchen. At the sink I splashed cold water on my face and was struck by a moment of clarity. Why didn’t I trust her? I’d let her in on my movements at work, so why not the family? Just then I realised there was no other way. To get what you want, you have to know what you want. If I wanted her back, if I wanted our old life back, I needed to treat her like a wife instead of an ex-wife. I needed to trust her again.
I turned around with the glass, but stopped when she came out of the bedroom in a bathrobe, a cigarette in hand.
‘You still want that smoke?’ she asked.
‘No.’ I handed her the glass of water. ‘Anthony found drugs in Chloe’s room. Ecstasy tablets. That’s what we were arguing about.’