I could afford to live a little, still had nearly four grand. I could even afford a new top and maybe a blow dry. No, no blow dry. He was the type of guy who’d know I’d had one and realise I’d put in the effort. Shit. Life had been so much easier when he was gay.
I showered, dressed in jeans, a black scoop neck t-shirt and denim jacket. Pulled my hair into a ponytail and stuck it through the back of a baseball cap. I’d get my car from Brighton when Sean got home and for now would tram it to Malvern to talk to Lauren the massage girl. Before I left I ducked into the bathroom and found a square glass bottle. Sean’s cologne. I spritzed a bit on my wrist so I could smell it through the day and be reminded of him. I liked to think this sort of behaviour was cute but probably it was borderline obsessive.
I was sitting on the burgundy suede-feel couch in Hannah’s waiting room, flicking through an astrology magazine while she made peppermint tea.
My April horoscope indicated a career upheaval and warned of conflict and minor injuries when all I really wanted to hear was that I would win the lottery and shag myself silly with a succession of well built toy-boys. I tossed the magazine aside.
The forty year old businessman on the couch opposite looked up from his National Geographic and smiled. I smiled back.
A female voice floated down the hallway. ‘Great to see you too. Have a wonderful day.’ I heard the front door shut and then Rachel the budding financial guru poked her head into the waiting room. These girls sure got around.
‘Hi, Peter. Like to come through?’
He set his magazine on the side table and followed her into the hall. Today the scent in the oil burner was orangey and the music the sort that pygmies played on tiny flutes as they skipped around the Brazilian rainforest.
Hannah returned with two mugs of tea and sat next to me on the lounge. Her red curls were gathered into a loose bun on top of her head and she wore orange drawstring pants and a cheesecloth top that fell off her freckled shoulders.
‘Lauren won’t be long. Her booking finishes in five then, she’s got half an hour to talk to you before the next one.’
‘How’d you get into the handshake biz anyway?’ I blew on my tea.
‘My husband.’
I raised my eyebrows.
‘This may be hard to believe, but ten years ago I was really straight, married and living in Sydney. I worked as a nurse, he was an insurance assessor and we had a brick veneer on a quarter acre block in Parramatta.’
‘Great Australian Dream.’
She lifted one corner of her mouth and folded her legs up under her. ‘I got sick one night during my shift and came home early. Ian wasn’t there. He showed up half an hour later, looking pretty surprised to see me. Said he’d been out for drinks after work but didn’t smell like alcohol. He smelled clean. Typical suspicious wife, I thought he was having an affair, so when he went to bed I looked through his wallet and found a card for a place called Mystic Liaisons.’
I screwed up my face.
‘I know,’ Hannah said. ‘Who names these places?’
‘Did you confront him?’
‘No. Next day I went there to see what it was. I thought it would be a brothel, but there were no beds, and no sex was allowed. Just massage and hand relief.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Asked for a job.’
‘No way.’
‘Uh-huh. I was working when Ian came in for his regular five-thirty wank. I walked into the waiting room and introduced myself.’
I couldn’t help laughing. Hannah was turning out to be a total headcase. It was brilliant.
‘You should’ve seen his face. He grabbed his briefcase and ran out. When he called later they wouldn’t put him through. All the girls thought it was hilarious.’
‘Did you break up with him?’
‘Look, I was prepared to work things out.’ She pushed a stray ringlet of hair behind her ear. ‘I said if it was okay for him to go there, it was okay for me to work there. He didn’t agree. Then I found out from the other girls that he’d been a terrible customer.
Always groping, hassling for extras. Funny, I could have forgiven him anything except being a bad client. We got divorced soon after, but I stayed massaging. It paid better than nursing and wasn’t nearly as messy. I actually started studying massage, then got into natural therapies as well.’
‘How’d you end up in Melbourne?’ I sipped my herbal tea and the strong mint cleared out my nose.
‘Moved here five years ago. I’ve always loved the city, but the massage scene is terrible. Places like Bodyworld have six rooms but they’ll put on twenty girls. They encourage you to do blow jobs for an extra twenty and half the girls are doing full service. Most massage places in Sydney’ll fire you if they catch you doing oral or sex. I found the only places you could work without having to do extras were shitty down market brothels like Nev’s, where they have both services available, or illegal joints. Eventually I decided to open my own place.’
‘Can’t you get a licence?’
‘I’ve applied, but it’s hard. Takes over a year while they investigate your background and unless you’re buying an established premises you need a building in an industrial area, the owner’s permission if you’re renting and a green light from council, which is notoriously difficult to get. I’m looking around for a suitable venue and trying to get a contract pending council approval but, it’s practically impossible.’
I heard a door open and a statuesque girl with chin-length blonde hair and pouty lips appeared in the waiting room, her long legs poking out of a towel.
‘Lauren, this is Simone,’ Hannah said.
‘Hi, listen, Jonathon wants to extend for another half hour.
Can we do this another time?’
‘Later on this afternoon?’ I suggested.
‘Lauren’s booked out after this,’ she said.
‘What about when you knock off?’
‘Boyfriend’s picking me up and we’re going straight to his folks’ house for tea.’
She chewed on her plump bottom lip. ‘Later in the week?’
‘Speed really is of the essence.’
‘Hang on, I’ve got an idea.’ She raced back to the room and came out a few seconds later. ‘Jon doesn’t mind if we talk while I massage, he’s a regular of mine.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I think he’s kind of turned on by the idea.’
I thought about it for a moment. It was pretty damn unprofessional, but I couldn’t remember anything in my class notes that expressly forbad inquiry agents from discussing a case in front of oiled up, naked men.
Hannah and Lauren looked at me.
Lauren must have mistaken my hesitation for nervousness, because she said, ‘I heard you used to be a stripper. I thought you’d be cool with it.’
Yeah, I was cool. Like a frost free fridge.
‘What the hell,’ I said.
Chapter Eighteen
My eyes gradually adjusted to the dim orange lamplight and I made out a small room with heavy velvet curtains covering the windows and walls decorated with mirrors and framed Gustav Klimt prints. Thick green towels draped an ergonomic massage table and a man lay face down, buck naked, head in a hole. Lauren flung her towel onto a cane armchair and I saw she was pale and slender, boobs the size of mine but with pink puffy nipples.
Feeling overdressed I removed my jacket. Then I crossed my arms and pretended to be interested in a ceramic oil burner.
‘Jonathon,’ Lauren said, ‘this is Simone.’
He lifted his head and smiled at me in the mirror on the wall in front of him. ‘So you’re the detective.’ He was in his early twenties with a gym toned body, tousled dark hair and straight white teeth. I’d been expecting someone fat, hairy and clad in a grubby raincoat.
‘Yeah. Thanks for letting me, um, stand in.’
‘No worries. I don’t mind being in a room with two beautiful women. I know it’s warm in here, so feel free to take your clothes off if you wan
t.’
‘Jon!’ Lauren smacked his arse. ‘Don’t be cheeky. She’s not working.’
He grinned in a way that probably melted his mother’s heart and encouraged her to do his washing every week. ‘No harm in asking!’
Lauren grabbed a blue tinted glass container off the top of a lacquered Chinese cabinet, poured oil in her palm and propped the bottle between his legs. She rubbed her hands together and slicked it over his back in long strokes, from his buttocks to his neck.
I stood there, rocking slightly on the balls of my feet, wondering what the penalties were these days for being busted on unlicensed premises.
Lauren nodded at the oil. ‘Why don’t you do his legs?’
‘What?’
‘Seeing as you’re here, you might as well help out. You look silly standing there with your arms crossed.’
‘Okay. But just the legs.’
‘Alright!’ said Jonathon.
I picked up the slippery bottle and rubbed oil between my hands, onto his mercifully clean feet and halfway up his thighs.
Anything further was Lauren’s territory. Jonathon’s leg hair was rough on my fingers as I dug my thumbs into his calf muscle.
‘Feels great,’ he said.
‘So what do you want to know?’ Her hands moved in a practised fashion as if she didn’t have to think about what she was doing.
‘Were you and Tammy good friends?’
Absentmindedly she slid her fingers down between his legs and tickled his balls. He thrust his buttocks in the air, exposing his crack.
‘I wouldn’t say we were great friends.’
His arse kept rising, his back arched dangerously and his groin hovered a foot off the table. Not the most flattering angle for a man. I looked from his backside to Lauren and as I caught her eye a flood of giggles bubbled up my throat. We immediately looked away from each other but it was almost too late. From the corner of my eye I saw her shoulders silently shaking and I pursed my lips together, breathing deeply through my nose, desperately trying to stop a small mewling sound escaping my mouth. Jonathon was oblivious. After a few deep breaths and an in-depth study of the oriental rug, I was sufficiently composed to glance at Lauren again. Thankfully she’d moved up to his head and was massaging his shoulders while he stared at the bush in front of him like it might reveal the meaning of life. The airborne groin had settled back on the table.
I cleared my throat. ‘So, not great friends.’
‘No. We partied a lot, went clubbing. You know those friends you have that you probably wouldn’t be friends with if you didn’t take a whole heap of E’s together?’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Jonathon. ‘That’s like, half the people I know.’
‘Tammy ever talk about her life when she was all googly on E? Tell you about any problems she was having?’ I asked.
‘Not problems exactly. When she got out of it she liked to rave on about moving up the Gold Coast, starting her own business.’
‘What sort of business?’
‘Oh, massage, same as this. With the laws up there girls can work from their own homes. Tammy figured she could make twice the money, work half the time and spend the rest lying on the beach. Lulu was going to go up with her because there aren’t many trannies apparently. Thought they’d have the market covered.’ Lauren tapped a metal pad on the floor with her foot and the table lowered. When it was knee height she jumped on, straddled Jonathon and slid her torso up and down his back, triceps tightening with the effort.
He said, ‘Mmm.’
‘She ever talk about buying an apartment?’ I asked.
‘All the time. She wanted to buy so she wouldn’t have to worry about hassles with landlords. They’re not too keen on giving permission to use their places for sex work. Then she found out that its illegal for more than one girl to work from the same flat, so she decided she’d buy two studio apartments. One for her, one for Lulu. She wanted to get a good business together, work till she was thirty-five then retire.’
‘Where was she going to get the money for the property?’
‘That’s the problem. Tammy was skint. She made a lot of money but it all went up her nose or down her throat. I saw her take ten E’s in a weekend once.’
‘Five’s my record,’ Jonathon said.
‘I asked how she’d be able to afford it. She just smiled and said she had a plan.’ Lauren hopped off, pressed the pad and the table raised up. ‘You can turn over now, Jonathon.’
He twisted and lay on his back. His dick was standing to attention, taut and quivering.
I rubbed his arches while she slathered it in oil. ‘You ever work for Neville at Good Times?’
‘No, but I’ve heard all about him.’
‘Would Tammy ever try to extort money from him?’
Lauren’s short blonde waves bounced as she shook her head.
‘Tammy could get quite drug-fucked when she wanted to, but she wasn’t an idiot.’ She bent over and rubbed her boobs on Jonathon’s cock a few times, then took it in her hand and cooed, ‘Oooh , it’s so big,’ which was, quite frankly, a bit of a lie. It did swell and go red, however, and I was glad I was down by the feet and not up at the business end.
‘You can touch it if you want,’ Jonathon said and gave me a look first patented by puppies in pet shops.
‘I’ll be right,’ I said.
The flute playing pygmies had segued into Gomez’s ‘Tijuana Lady’ and I hummed along, rubbing Jon’s big toe with my thumb.
I had some more questions to ask but figured now wasn’t really the time. Lauren tugged at his member, slowly at first, then faster and faster, her fist a blur, fingers squelching wetly. He scrunched his face and bucked his hips and I thought how odd it was to be observing a penis you had no emotional investment in.
As Jonathon began to come, Lauren leaned back out of range.
There must have been a fair bit of pressure building down there because the first spurt hit his chest and the next got him on the cheek. Lauren looked at me and I pursed my lips again and stared at his big toe. When he was done she wiped him down with tissues and sent him to the shower.
While Lauren stripped towels from the table I wiped my hands with a Wet One.
‘You mentioned Lulu,’ I said. ‘Do you know where I could find her?’
‘I don’t know where she lives or anything but she usually performs in the drag revue at the Greyhound on Saturdays. Me and Tammy went once and it was an absolute hoot. Lulu and this Asian trannie called Geisha did a song from The Mikado . Fuck it was funny.’
I shrugged into my jacket. ‘Did Tammy ever talk about her family?’
‘No. I knew who her brother was, but she never spoke about it. Must be hard, having a relative who’s a sporting hero.’
‘Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything at all?’
‘That’s it, sorry. Your best bet is to talk to her ex-boyfriend.’
‘Tammy had a boyfriend?’
‘Kind of. I don’t think they were exclusive.’
‘Who is he? Where would I find him?’
‘Name’s Damien Trentham. Deals a bit, E’s, speed, coke sometimes. I only met him a couple of times but my boyfriend recognised him from St Augustine’s . Apparently he was in the year below.’
‘Private school?’
‘Don’t look so surprised. Those rich kids get into the party scene early. They’ve got the money. You can usually find Damien at Wicked, the day club in Prahran, on Sunday mornings. Don’t tell him I put you onto him.’
‘I won’t.’
‘I want to help, you know. I’ve been thinking about Tammy a lot. I mean, maybe she’d run out of serotonin from all the pills she was taking and got real depressed, coming down. But she didn’t seem the type to kill herself. She was a fighter. Kicking against the pricks, she always said.’
Chapter Nineteen
I was on the train back to the city when Sean rang.
‘Lulu’s real name is Leon Rousseuu. She live
s in Johnston Street, Abbotsford.’
I changed at Flinders Street for the Epping line and got off five stops later at Victoria Park. The station hovered above Johnston on a railway bridge and I scuffed down a concrete ramp twined with bell-like purple flowers and headed up the street, checking out numbers.
I passed a chemist, newsagent and a takeaway that smelled like deep fried batter. The further I walked the more I noticed Johnston was a weird mix of stores selling expensive furniture and luxury cars, and deserted shops, doors padlocked and windows opaque with grime. Despite the looming council flats on Hoddle it was finally joining the gentrification boom. Kinda.
I buttoned my denim jacket. The temperature had dropped and the sky was thick with cloud. A dirty wind picked up, scraping rubbish along the footpath. A couple of old chip packets chased each other around my ankles and road grit blew into one eye.
I stopped and blinked, stretched the lid so tears would wash it clean.
As I stood there three skinny guys in nylon tracksuits left the pub and crossed the road to my side of the street. Their hoods were pulled up and their steps were bouncy, like the ground was one giant trampoline. I wiped a black speck from the corner of my eye, clutched my bag strap a little tighter, and strode on, head held high.
Just because they were wearing ugly tracksuits didn’t mean they were going to mug me. Even junkies needed to get out for a stroll every now and then.
Their eyes slid over me as they approached. I was almost past when one side-stepped in front of me, and I had to pull up short.
‘Chasin’?’ He had a face like a rat. A rat with a really nasty cold sore.
‘No thanks.’ I went to walk around him but another one was there, blocking my path. I felt the third move in behind me. Not for the first time in my life I wished I had studied martial arts from a very early age—say, six months. I felt like a baby antelope separated from the herd, hyenas closing in.
‘Then giss a dollar.’ The one to the side bobbed up and down, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve.
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