Between the Devlin and the Deep Blue Seas

by Robert G. Barrett

  Norton looked at the esky full of icy cold Tooheys Dry and his mouth watered. ‘Yeah, righto. Thanks a lot.’ He got a bottle, squeezed off the top and held it towards the girls. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Yeah. Cheers,’ was the general reply.

  Les gave them more or less the same story he’d told Sandra the artist, but said he’d come down from Townsville. It was easy money to him and he hoped to get more work soon. That would do them. He regretted blabbing so much to Nola Lloyd the writer and now wished he’d never shown her the murder scene.

  It turned out the girls came from Melbourne and Adelaide. The Elvira lookalike on the banana chair was Franulka; she played lead guitar and sang. The blonde with the purple tint next to her was Riona, she played saxophone and bass. The copper-haired one playing backgammon was Isla, the group’s drummer. The other dark-haired one was Alastrina; she played rhythm guitar and keyboards. And the one reading was Gwendoline, who did the mixing. They’d formed the group in Melbourne about eighteen months ago and although they hadn’t actually set the world on fire they had quite a cult following south of the border and had been on ‘Hey Hey It’s Saturday’ and ‘The Big Gig’ twice. They’d released a single which had laid an egg but were about to do another one and if it fired, they might even get to do an album. They’d been in Sydney about three months when ironically they met Syd. They lived in Blue Seas because even though it was a dump and cramped, it was super cheap, handy to a pub and transport — and when they arrived in Sydney they scarcely had a pot to piss in. Life on the road was hard. The most they could get for a gig was between one thousand and fifteen hundred dollars; split five ways, after agent’s commission and paying their roadie plus not to mention a myriad of other expenses and tax, didn’t exactly give them the life style of Dire Straits or INXS. But they supplemented their income with the odd TV or radio commercial and a bit of back-up vocals and other things now and again. They enjoyed performing and, like all up and coming rock ’n’ roll bands, were hoping for that one big break, a hit single or a best-selling album. Till that happened they’d just keep going as best they could. In the meantime, apart from a gig at the Revesby Roundhouse next Wednesday they had almost ten days off before they started touring the north coast.

  ‘So that’s life on the road, Les,’ said Riona. ‘And you know the old saying...’

  ‘Yeah,’ cut in Norton. ‘It’s a long way to the shop, if you want a sausage roll.’

  ‘Hey, you got it,’ beamed Alastrina.

  By now Norton was more than halfway through his second beer. He finished it and put it in a garbage bag the girls had brought with them. He wouldn’t have minded another one, or even another three, but drinking in the sun on top of his hangover and the headache tablets had Les half-pissed already. So he thought it might be best if he got on the toe before he brought himself undone. There’d be plenty of time to see the girls again; and even if they did swear like bullock drivers and seem more than a little weird, they weren’t a bad bunch.

  ‘Well, thanks for the beers, girls,’ he said. ‘But I got a few other things to get done this afternoon. And you know that other old saying: a caretaker’s work is never done,’ he added with a wink.

  There was a general muttering of ‘goodbye’ and ‘see you later’. He was told to call round anytime and have a cup of coffee or a drink or a joint or whatever. Les replied that, if ever the girls needed him for anything, just knock; he’d be there most of the time. He picked up his broom and left. If Norton wasn’t mistaken, as he closed the door to the roof behind him he got a very heavy once up and down from Franulka; and a heavy sideways and back too.

  The water at Coogee was absolutely beautiful and just what Les needed to clear his head late in the afternoon. He splashed around in the nonexistent surf and lay around the beach for the best part of an hour and a half, after which he had a shower on the beach and two cappuccinos in a beachfront coffee lounge. It hadn’t been too bad a day, really, and was made even better when he called into the TAB to find that, although two of his bets went down he’d picked up another $150 on a quinella in Brisbane, which made him around four and a half hundred in front on the day. And he didn’t have to go to work busting heads in The Cross that night.

  He returned to his sumptuous apartment, had a shave, then got into a clean T-shirt and went in search of a Chinese restaurant he’d found earlier and filled up on prawn cutlets and chicken in mushroom sauce with almonds. After that it was back to the Royal for a couple more beers and a few bourbons and Coke.

  The Royal was a little quieter that night, which suited Les, as he wasn’t actually in a raging mood. In fact, by ten, the Chinese food, the booze, the sun and the remnants of the previous night’s hangover were starting to catch up on him. He finished his last drink and went back to the flat, looking forward to an early night. In his own, almost childish way, Les was having a bit of fun secreted away in the old block of flats at Randwick. The next day he intended making a start on the horrible mess in flat five. He’d also have to decide what to do about the disappearance of Jimmy the bikie. He couldn’t just leave that as it stood and by rights something like that should be reported to the police; if only to protect his own hide. He now wished more than ever that he hadn’t blabbed about that to Nola Lloyd when he was pissed. Christ! Wouldn’t it be lovely if she started blabbing to some of her journalist mates?

  Norton was having a last can of Fourex as he listened to the radio while he thought about this when there was an unexpected soft knock on his door. Hello, I wonder who this is?

  Les opened the door and there stood Franulka, wearing high heels and a tight, shoulderless black dress that buttoned all the way down the front except for the top four buttons, which were undone and showed enough cleavage to lose your arm in. Her pitch black hair was loose and shiny and she had ‘fox’ written all over her carefully made-up face.

  Almost mesmerised, Norton just stood at the door and blinked. ‘Franulka,’ he finally spluttered. ‘What’s...?’

  ‘Hello, Les’, purred the Elvira lookalike. ‘I heard the radio going so I thought I’d pop in.’ From behind her back she produced a chilled bottle of Houghtons Cabernet Rose, already opened. ‘You are going to invite me in?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. Right... come in,’ replied Les.

  He closed the door behind her as she walked in, had a quick look around and placed the bottle of Houghtons on the table. Norton, besides being a little mystified, also felt a bit self-conscious having to bring a top sort like her into a dump like this and wished he had her back in Cox Avenue with the stereo, the lounge and a few more home comforts.

  ‘Welcome to the penthouse suite at Blue Seas Apartments,’ he said.

  Franulka smiled at him as she gave the flat another quick peruse. ‘It’s no worse than ours.’ She nodded to the bottle of wine. ‘You got a couple of glasses?’

  ‘Sure.’ Les dropped what was left of his can of Fourex in the kitchen tidy and rinsed two glasses. He placed them on the table, filled them up and handed one to Franulka. ‘Well, here’s to the breezes that blows through the treeses,’ he grinned.

  ‘And lifts the girls’ dresses up past their kneeses,’ answered Franulka.

  ‘And shows us the things that teases and pleases.’

  ‘And gives us diseases. By Jesus.’

  ‘You know that one too, Franulka?’

  ‘I learnt that one at school, Les.’

  They each took a good sip of the light sweet wine and stood for a moment looking at each other. All of a sudden Norton’s tiredness and hangover cleared up and he felt a sudden rush of fresh blood flow through his body, especially around his loins. Franulka looked good enough to eat, clothes and all, and Les felt like putting a headlock on her and spearing her straight onto the old night-and-day. She sure as hell didn’t come round to complain about a blocked-up sink. But whatever was on the big horny thing’s mind, he was still going to have to be a little cool.

  ‘So, what’s doing, Franulka?’ he said, taking another si
p of wine. ‘Just having a quiet night, were you?’

  ‘Yes. Two of the other girls have gone out. The rest of us were watching TV and I thought of you down here all on your own, new in town and not knowing a soul. So I just thought I’d call in and say hello.’

  Norton gave her a wink. ‘Yeah that’s me, Franulka. Lost and alone in this big heartless city. It’s... it’s almost frightening in a way.’

  ‘Ooh, I don’t think you’d frighten too easy, Les. It might be the other way around if anything.’ Franulka gave her head a quick toss and her raven hair danced almost magically across her shoulders.

  Les made a gesture with his hands. ‘There’s not much in the way of furniture. But why don’t you sit down?’

  ‘Okay.’ Franulka had a quick look around then sat on the night-and-day and kicked off her high heels.

  Oh well thought Norton, after all this is my bloody flat, so he sat down next to her on the night-and-day too. He finished his glass of wine and smacked his lips. ‘Hey, this wine’s all right,’ he said. ‘You want another glass?’

  ‘Sure.’ Franulka finished hers and Les topped up both their glasses.

  They sat there, chit-chatting about nothing much in particular with the radio playing softly in the background. Norton kept cracking the jokes and Franulka kept laughing and before long the bottle of Houghtons was gone. Franulka now appeared to be in an extremely relaxed mood and FOX was blinking on and off above her head in bright neon lights; Norton felt like kicking in one of the walls. It was time to make some sort of a move.

  ‘I’ll tell you what, Franulka,’ he smiled. ‘That’s not a bad dress you’re almost wearing. Do you wear that on stage?’

  ‘This old thing?’ Franulka gave her boobs a bit of a shake. ‘It wouldn’t last the first two bars of our opening number.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose it would.’

  Les reached across and undid the fifth button. Franulka smiled at him but didn’t say a word. Les undid the next button and the next, till the whole of her dress was open, revealing those unbelievable, round, firm breasts that just sat there jutting out towards him with two delicious, big pink nipples in front. The dress fell away some more to show that Franulka was wearing a pair of black satin knickers that came up on the sides with a V-shaped satin flap around the front. The tiniest wisp of hair ran from the top of her knickers up to her navel. Norton felt like tearing the knickers and her dress off and eating them right there and then. He ran his hand over her shoulder and the dress fell away. Norton couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen or had his hands on a body like this. He ran his hands over her breasts and softly massaged the nipples as Franulka heaved and panted. He put his hand round the back of her neck and drew her towards him as Franulka did precisely the same thing to him.

  Their lips met. Norton couldn’t remember ever kissing a woman like this — it was almost as if someone had tipped a spoonful of molten lava into his mouth. She fairly sizzled. Her tongue found his and it was like a red-hot razor blade slicing into his emotions. Les ran his tongue over her neck and ears and across her breasts and nipples and heard her moan softly in his ear. He massaged her breasts and nipples and the flat of her stomach then ran his hand over her ted which felt warm, moist and delightfully slinky beneath the black satin.

  Franulka scrabbled at his back and pulled Norton’s T-shirt out of his jeans. He got up, kicked off his sneakers, pulled off his T-shirt and jeans and lay down alongside Franulka, caressing her beautiful body and kissing the boiling volcano that was her mouth. Franulka did much the same to Les, running her hands up and down his spine and scratching him lightly with her long, red fingernails. Christ! This is enough foreplay to last the next six weeks, thought Norton — his old boy was throbbing that hard you could hear it a block away. He got out of his Speedos, slid Franulka’s knickers off and was about to slip inside her when she put her hands against his chest and softly, but firmly pushed him away. Norton blinked in disbelief.

  ‘What’s up?’ he said.

  ‘Do you know anything about Taoist Yoga, Les?’

  ‘What!!?’

  ‘Chinese Taoism, Les.’

  Norton looked at her incredulously. He was that homy it was almost crippling him. If Franulka didn’t liven up she’d find out about something called premature ejaculation. About four gallons of it.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Les. ‘I had a Chinese meal earlier and I didn’t see it on the menu. Jesus Christ! Don’t stop now.’

  ‘Get on your back, Les,’ ordered Franulka.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘On your back. Lay on your back.’

  Norton looked at her for a moment then rolled over. Franulka climbed over his chest, got herself into position and straddled him. A shudder went through Norton’s body as she lowered herself down. It was pure heaven.

  ‘This is how we drive the elixir of immortality into the cauldron,’ gasped Franulka.

  ‘Sounds all right to me,’ croaked Les. ‘Go for your life.’

  Franulka ‘drove’ for a while, then turned around and did it with her back to him.

  ‘Now we plunge the spirit into the lower T’ien cavity.’

  ‘Plunge all you like,’ said Norton, holding her round the waist.

  After that, Franulka and Les got into it in about six hundred different positions which had Norton not knowing whether he was coming or going. One minute she’d be on top, then on the bottom, the side and from the back. Legs and arms were going every which way and half the time Les couldn’t work out who was screwing who. But it was certainly a lot of fun, and seemed endless which definitely stopped Norton from blowing his bolt too early.

  Every time they’d change positions, Franulka would come out with all these strange phrases. ‘This is called gathering the microcosmic alchemical agent,’ she’d say. ‘Clearing the eight psychic channels... Microcosmic orbiting... Driving the fire... The light and vitality at the mysterious gate... Formation of the immortal foetus... The egress...’ Les didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, but just about every time Franulka would change positions, she’d throw back her head, scream and get her rocks off.

  Finally, in a lather of sweat, Les found himself on top with Franulka’s knees somewhere up near her ears, so he started with a solid, steady stroke.

  ‘Ohh, yesss,’ groaned Franulka. ‘The dragon and tiger in copulation. Leap into the great emptiness, Les.’

  Norton didn’t have to be told twice. Away he went, putting in the big ones. As he hit the vinegar strokes, the lead singer of the Heathen Harlots hit high C. Norton arched his back and drove it in faster and harder till finally he went off with an explosion that nearly blew his spine out. Franulka let out with a scream that virtually rattled the window panes and almost cracked every glass in the kitchen. Somehow they shuddered to a stop and lay there. Franulka was panting away, Norton’s eyes were spinning around like a couple of well-oiled roulette wheels. After a while they both came back to earth.

  ‘Well, Les. What did you think of that?’ purred Franulka.

  ‘What did I think of that?’ answered Les. ‘I dunno. But I reckon it’d beat tai-chi hands down.’

  Franulka gave a throaty chuckle. ‘You got a towel?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Norton got a towel and they both got cleaned up. They’d finished the wine so he got a couple of beers from the fridge. Franulka put her knickers back on and her dress, but didn’t bother to do it up. Les decided he may as well put his jeans and T-shirt back on as well. If the Shao-Lin priestess, or whatever she fancied herself as, wanted to descend into the cauldron of immortality or something again he could soon get them off. They sat on the old night-and-day sipping beer, having a bit of a kiss and a fondle while the radio played softly in the background. Norton thought it would only be a matter of time before they were into it again, when there was a knock on the door. Only this wasn’t a nice little tap like Franulka’s. This was a dead-set knock which if it had been any louder would have ta
ken the door right off its hinges. Oh oh, thought Les, I think I know who this might be. In the suddenness of Franulka’s arrival and the gear she had on Norton had forgotten all about him. He looked at Franulka and opened the door.

  Syd was standing in the doorway, his face a stone mask. In his jeans and tight-fitting Johnny Diesel and the Injectors T-shirt, he looked about half a metre taller and about five kilos heavier than when Les had met him out the front.

  ‘Is Franulka in here?’ he snarled at Norton.

  Les was about to shake his head and give Syd a definite no, when a voice came from inside. ‘What do you want, Syd?’

  Syd charged past Norton and found Franulka sitting comfortably on the night-and-day, her hair all over the place and her dress still undone.

  Syd’s voice was almost piteous. ‘Franulka. What are you doing in here?’

  Franulka gave Syd a tired smile. ‘Ohh, I’m in here selling bloody encyclopedias. What do you think I’m doing in here, Syd?’

  His gaunt face now a portrait of anguish, Syd stared at Franulka. ‘Franulka! How could you?’ Then the anguish turned to pent-up rage as he swung round to Norton. ‘What did I say to you out the front? You... you... aaarrghhW

  Norton more or less knew what to expect, but he didn’t think Franulka would be so blunt and the suddenness of Syd’s attack took him off guard. With a scream of hatred and jealousy the huge roadie threw himself at Les, forcing him against the wall and those two monstrous hands Norton had noticed holding the cigarette on Friday went straight to Norton’s throat. Les barely had time to gulp in some air before Syd started choking the life out of him.

  Les couldn’t believe the strength in Syd’s hands and fingers — it was like two steel bands clamped around his neck. Les banged his fists down on Syd’s elbows, that didn’t work. He brought his arms up; that didn’t work either. Syd was as strong as an ox and a grief-stricken lover to go with it. Les tried to knee him in the balls but couldn’t seem to get any leverage. His head was starting to swim now, after the best part of an hour’s solid screwing this was all he needed; some crazed fifteen-stone roadie choking the life out of him. He knew he didn’t have much time left before he blacked out. Syd’s grip only seemed to get harder when Les brought his arms up and jammed his thumbs into Syd’s eyes — he didn’t just stick them in, he gripped the sides of Syd’s head and began doing his best to gouge them both out. Syd screamed and jammed his eyes shut but Norton didn’t have a bad grip either and if Syd was going to choke him, he’d be blinded in the process.