Fire Eye

by Peter d’Plesse

  “But this isn’t hot!” advises the weed with the white shirt buttoned up to the second last hole with a beer in his hand. “Wait till the wet season, the sweat will be dripping off you!” he offers as his contribution to the conversation.

  Alex puts her fingers to the side of her face, runs them down her neck and diagonally across her chest above her breasts. “This seems hot enough to start fires,” she drawls in that sultry southern accent. Jed tries to butt in but everyone ignores him, so he waits patiently for an opportunity.

  “Do you know this guy?” says the man Grey Hair thinks is her husband.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Alex replies, looking Jed straight in the eye. “Do I know you?” she asks, perching on the stool with her legs crossed as she leans on the bar.

  What’s she doing? Jed puts his mind to the problem. PMT, he wonders? No, can’t be. She had that just yesterday or was it the day before? Maybe women get it in unexpected ways? I bloody haven’t done anything to upset her! He reviews the night before and then dismisses it. All they did was almost kiss goodnight and she started it so that can’t be a problem. What next? Maybe she likes having men buzz around like bees to a honey pot? What does it matter to me? She means nothing to me other than this job opportunity. Or does she? He knows there is a reason for her behaviour. He’s just not sure what it is.

  “Sorry guys, just a tourist looking for company,” he says in an icy tone, looking straight into her eyes.

  My, my, Alex observes smugly. I think he’s pissed off! I think I like that. Or do I? She considers the problem with no answer in sight.

  A waitress comes looking for a booking in the name of Mitchell so he takes the opportunity to claim the table and orders a bottle of champagne. The frustration is still playing around inside him as he scans the décor of the room. He peruses the menu absentmindedly a few times until Alex eventually comes over and sits down. He doesn’t stand or offer to pull her chair out.

  “You joining me for dinner?” he asks politely.

  “Yes.” The southern accent is gone.

  “Have you finished with the fan club?”

  “Yes.”

  He looks at her over the menu and studies the fathomless expression on her face. “Would you like a champagne?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He pours her a drink and sits back to look at her. They are both travelling light, so she must have been to a shop. Her vest looks tailored and her short tartan skirt is teamed with black stockings and black high heels. Her only jewellery is a delicate gold necklace nestled just below her throat. Very simple as individual pieces, but stunning in combination. No wonder the men were circling. “We leave tomorrow. I repacked all the gear we need. Are you ready for it?”

  “Yes,” she replies, sipping the champagne.

  This will be a great meal. The conversation is going to be riveting!

  She looks at him while sipping the champagne. His shirt is open, exposing just a small area of chest with the necklace nestled in black, curly chest hair. She can detect a hint of his aftershave, a mix of sweat, jungle and attitude that makes the busy bees from a few minutes before seem like children in a playground.

  “Your outfit looks expensive,” he offers.

  “It does. It isn’t.”

  This is going wonderfully, he decides sarcastically. The crickets in the scrub clicking away at dusk will be more fun! Can I take a few nights of this? At times she strikes him as the kind of woman who could take a cold shower in winter and stand outside naked in the breeze to dry off. “Where did you buy it? It looks classy for Darwin, although I guess I shouldn’t put down the taste of Territory women,” he offers again.

  “It’s amazing what you can find in a Vinnie’s store,” she replies as she sips the champagne.

  Good heavens! A complete sentence! Jed sees some hope the evening won’t be a complete stuff up. But what is he supposed to say next? How are you feeling? No, used that one before. He sips the champagne to buy time and decides to take a gamble.

  “It shows off your best features to perfection.” Jed waits, ready to duck or run but she smiles back at him.

  “Which are?” she replies, an open challenge.

  “Which are what?” He thinks he’s onto something, but not exactly sure what.

  “My best features?” she challenges, her eyes not blinking as they stare back into his. This is going to be good.

  Damn! Trying to be smart opens a mine field! What now? He thinks back to a time when his aircraft had an engine failure over King Island. He decides he’d rather be back there than here and now. Thank heavens for champagne! He takes another long and slow sip as he collects his thoughts and weighs up the options.

  “The vest and skirt show off your figure discreetly and tastefully, but don’t hide your assets. The shoes and stockings highlight the lines of your legs… Watch it! he warns himself … particularly when you dance. I get the impression you are a woman with taste who knows exactly what she wants.” The champagne is starting to get to him. Bloody bubbles and no food! He feels his mouth opening to verbalise a thought and can’t stop it. “When you walk, and particularly when you stand with your weight on your left hip and your right foot out at an angle, it suggests a question like: Are you sure you want to fuck with me?” My God! Did I just say that out loud? He waits for the napalm strike, but nothing happens. The stillness drags on. It is like sitting in the eye of a cyclone.

  She looks back at him without expression, but he can tell she is thinking something through.

  They eye each other intensely, suddenly becoming aware of a presence standing next to their table. “Are you ready to order?” asks the young waitress, hovering expectantly with her pad and pencil. Jed feels a wave of relief wash over him—he has avoided that one only by divine intervention or sheer luck. He doesn’t care which!

  Alex breaks the lingering tension. “Garlic bread, the seafood combination, a Greek salad and coffee to follow,” she responds immediately without looking at the menu. “And a bottle of the Clare Valley Riesling please.” She is hungry and has already checked out what is on offer.

  Jed has only glanced at the menu but isn’t going to give in and finish looking, so he takes a stab. “The steak, large, medium rare, pepper sauce and vegetables. Coffee after, thank you.”

  The waitress sensing the atmosphere, aware she has interrupted something, scurries off to take care of the order.

  “He couldn’t dance!” Alex offers.

  Jed knows she is referring to Grey Hair. “He had no rhythm and no idea what to do with you. That was a good track, one of my favourites, and he stuffed it.”

  “Perhaps you should have asked me!” she fires back.

  “As if I could get a bloody word in! I may as well have been a gecko clinging to the wall. Besides, I would have had to ask your ‘husband’ for permission!”

  “He was simply the first one there and the other two just assumed. You didn’t seem to try very hard,” she needles.

  Aah, he concludes, I was supposed to react to the little road show. “Perhaps I should have punched him out!”

  “Which one? The ‘husband’, the dancer or the hanger on who fantasised about having sex?”

  Jed almost gags on his champagne.

  “Actually they all fantasised about having sex with me, but here we are having dinner together.”

  Thankfully, they are interrupted again by the waitress bringing the wine and pouring a glass each before leaving them alone.

  “Maybe I should have punched them all out then asked you to dance, but I couldn’t do that because I’m a pillar of society and it wouldn’t fit the image.”

  “Shame,” she says with a quizzical expression. “Who knows where it may have led!”

  “The lock up probably and you’d be loose on the town again.”

  She smiles sweetly. “I’d come back and bail you out, eventually.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I don’t do lock ups very well.”

  “How do y
ou know?”

  He isn’t going to answer but is saved by the food arriving.

  She leaves the question hanging, recognising a no-go area. Their repartee has lessened the tension and they eat in a companionable silence broken by small talk, until Jed senses the opportunity to raise a topic that still holds his curiosity.

  “How did you meet Chelavenki?” he asks without warning.

  “Through a mutual acquaintance,” she replies vaguely. “He was doing some investment work and I met him at a seminar. We got on well and he was able to do something for me.”

  “Financial advice?” Jed probes.

  “Yes and no. I needed something and he had the contacts to supply it outside the normal sources.”

  Knowing Chelavenki, that can cover a lot of things, Jed considers. She gets clothes from Vinnie’s and sources things through Chelavenki. The lady is a continuing mystery. He senses it is a no-go area for her.

  “When I started my little quest to find Karl’s plane,” Alex continues, “I got back in touch with him. He spoke highly of you and here we are.”

  Here they are indeed. He is sitting opposite a woman, a conundrum. She is a fortress surrounded by an impenetrable wall, from behind which radiates random bursts of pulsating sensuality. She is intelligent, sharp, tough and determined but also emotional, sensitive and vulnerable underneath the shield, with the potential to unleash a blast of napalm or a gentle caress without warning. He knows there is an explanation for the mixture but can’t yet connect the dots.

  They finish the coffee and agree it is time to retire, settling the bill and walking back to their rooms. This time Jed is determined to avoid the shambles of the last two nights. They walk past a balcony and he invites her out to see the lights of the harbour as the moon reflects off the water. He stands behind her as she faces the view. His eyes run down along the line of her neck and shoulder. She feels him behind her and knows he isn’t admiring the harbour view.

  He’s about to run his fingers down along her neck when she turns to face him, looking up into his eyes. This time he takes command. Throwing caution to the wind, he leans forward and kisses her gently on the lips, so gently it feels like the faintest touch of a summer breeze on the night air. The second touch is just as gentle. He leans in for a third time, ever so lightly touching his tongue with hers. He feels her flinch with shock as his own body shivers in response. Her aroma wafts over him. He may have only milliseconds before being flattened, but doesn’t care until he realises she isn’t kissing him back. What has he done wrong this time? Jed is flying blind in a strange aircraft with no handling notes.

  In the last two days Alex has experienced so much—flying, shooting, dinner, exploration, intellectual engagement and discovery. Foreplay beyond description! She is fighting her emotions, instinct crying out to slap him but she can’t make it happen. It has been too long since those feelings were given recognition. Jed’s kiss is stirring half-forgotten passion, but she is frozen by fear and the memory of her past. She instinctively breaks the contact.

  Jed steps away from her, puzzled and lost. “Goodnight, Alex,” he says in a strong voice, although huskier than he likes. “I may see you for breakfast.” Then he turns and walks away to his room.

  She watches him leave, not moving for a long time. It has been seven long years. Is it time to dismantle the wall or is it safer to let things be? She has no idea.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Landcruiser hums along the Stuart Highway, heading south under a late morning sun with Jed at the wheel. The speed restrictions coming out of Darwin are eventually left behind and they cruise at a fair clip, settling into a long-legged gait that covers ground smoothly and effortlessly.

  The Stuart Highway runs south from Darwin, through Tennant Creek and Alice Springs to Port Augusta in South Australia over two thousand eight hundred kilometres. John McDougall Stuart was the first European to cross the continent from south to north and the highway carries his name, roughly following the same route. While it is now sealed all the way, for many years it was known simply as ‘The Track’. For quite some distance south of Darwin, various historical sites can still be found relating back to World War II.

  They have already passed the old fighter strips of Sattler and Strauss on the side of the highway. The old Hughes strip passes to the left as they pass by, then Livingstone on the right.

  “I didn’t realise there were so many old airstrips up here,” she comments. “It must have been a hive of activity during the war.”

  “It was. I could easily go on a roll and talk history all the way to Alice Springs. That would only be one thousand five hundred kilometres of history,” he says, looking at her with a sideways glance. He sees her eyes roll at the thought and decides to play it a bit more. “Further south we pass Coomalie Creek and then Pell. Off to the right will be Batchelor and Gould and then further south again another string of airfields. Wouldn’t it be great to spend a few days checking them all out?” This time he doesn’t need to look to sense the steely-eyed glare of impending death aimed at him. “Only kidding!”

  Alex settles into the seat with relief and watches the landscape roll by. “It’s alluring country. Rich colours.”

  “Certainly is. Certainly are. Some amazing stories up here, as well as the Gulf, the Kimberley and Cape York. Stories that are the equal to or more exciting than the American West.”

  “You will have to fill me in some time.”

  Time rolls by as they both enjoy the red landscape, areas of undulating savannah and scrub-studded flats mixed with rocky, sparse ranges rearing up out of the land to challenge the sky.

  “Adelaide River is coming up soon. It has a war cemetery, the main one for Northern Australia. We have time. Would you like to have a look?” he asks.

  She looks across at him. “To be honest, no cemetery would be on my favourites list, but given the purpose of our trip a visit would be the honourable thing to do. Karl and the others gave their lives for us.”

  He nods agreement at that, mildly surprised that a value such as honour would be brought into it. Something else he has learned about this perplexing woman.

  Adelaide River is located one hundred and twenty kilometres south of Darwin, where the Stuart Highway and the North Australian Railway cross the stream. It is black soil country, good for vegetable and rice farms and cattle properties. They turn left up a tree-lined avenue and soon come to the cemetery. Parking under the shade of the huge trees and their overhanging canopy of green leaves, they walk together up to the entrance.

  Before them is an imposing section of painted block wall with an open, door-sized entrance looking through to a small concrete memorial topped by a cross. Rows of bronze plaques set into the ground stretch to either side, alternating with small shrubs and green manicured lawn in between. He can see the effect the place has on her and lets her do her own thing. She wanders slowly down a row, stopping to read each plaque, lost in a world of her own. He heads off, doing the same in his own way, putting mental pictures against what he reads on the plaques.

  Alex is lost in a private world. Seeing the B-25 and aircraft wreckage in the air museum has allowed her to step back in time and connect with long past events. Here she faces the reality of personal sacrifice. So many, so young, from all over Australia, America, Great Britain and even one lonely soldier from Canada. What on earth was he doing here? The minutes pass. She is lost in time, eventually seeing Jed standing in front of the monument waiting patiently for her. She stands quietly in front of him, a reflective mood wrapped around her like a protective blanket.

  “Usually everything we see about the war is almost stylised, with the same pictures and films used over and over again in documentary titbits,” she states thoughtfully. “There’s nothing wrong with that, but the very familiarity of the images dulls the sharp edge of historic reality and makes them less emotionally moving.”

  There’s an incisive perspective, Jed thinks.

  “Thank you for bringing me h
ere. I enjoyed the air museum but this is even better, if that is the right word to use. This is people. Here are their stories. Now I understand what I really started. Karl must come home and it’s up to us to do it.”

  Jed looks into her eyes and sees the depth of emotion there. “There are four hundred and thirty-four burials here Alex. They come from the Australian Army, Royal Australian Air Force, Australian Merchant Navy and reconnaissance groups who were killed in Timor and Northern Australia and at sea. Some have no known grave. I read that on a sign, by the way. There are still hundreds like Karl out there with descendants waiting for closure. Maybe we will bring some home.”

  “Let’s get back on the road, we still have some good travel time,” she suggests to snap herself out of a mood that is becoming too reflective.

  They fire up the Landcruiser and head back out to the Stuart Highway, turning left to keep heading south across the bridge.

  Suddenly, Alex yells, “Turn around! There’s stuff I need back at the servo!”

  Jed looks across at her, raises his eyes in silent acquiescence and hangs a U-turn at the first opportunity. Heading back across the bridge over the Adelaide River, he pulls into the service station. “You get what you need Alex. I may as well top up,” he says as she jumps out of the vehicle.

  While he refuels, she goes into the shop and searches around. Finding the right shelf, she picks up a handful of Chupa Chups lollipops and a pack of hard lollies. She goes over to pay at the counter served by a sweet young blonde with lovely blue eyes. Her black name tag has Mandy engraved across it in gold letters.

  “A girl’s got to have her little secrets,” she shares with Mandy as she pays for the sweets. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him!”

  Mandy laughs. “I love the Jelly Babies! Can’t resist them! Have to hide mine from my boyfriend otherwise he sneaks the lot!” After a shared chuckle she drops the lolly supply into her travel pack and goes back outside to the Landcruiser.