Luck in the Greater West

by Damian McDonald

  He had overwhelming bouts of doubt when she wasn’t there. Was her love for him all some kind of warped practical joke to be televised after some clever editing? Or was it some other type of set-up?

  Or was she just young?

  THIRTEEN

  Human Society and its Environment had been one of Sonja’s favourite classes, but she couldn’t recall one word that Ms Hunter had said to the class in the last three weeks. She’d sensed they were steering towards the Middle East and Islam lately, but it was peripheral to what really mattered.

  Patrick. There really was nothing else. School just punctuated, for way, way too long, the real, beautiful, and totally fulfilling purpose of her life. Patrick. God, the way he touched her. There was soft electricity in his hands. And his smell. She could live in it. She’d taken one of his T-shirts and slept with it draped over her head. And hugged it in the morning. And when he kissed her everywhere, and was inside her, that was what life was about. It was all love. He was a man, but not like her father. She’d seen him drink, but he put down his drink without a second thought in order to hold and drink her.

  She wanted to wake up next to him. She wanted to live with him.

  But Polly and Peter. And her mother. Her mother didn’t know yet. Mum could ruin the whole thing.

  FOURTEEN

  Abdullah Najib loved to drive. And he loved to drive when he was whacked. It was insane fun, tearing around the streets where the councils had yet to lay speed humps, stoned and zipping on speed. The speed. Last time he was on the zip he couldn’t get a hard-on. He was planning to bring it up with the boys, see if it happened to any of them. But he hadn’t worked out how to broach it yet.

  He pumped the horn. Abdullah Najib didn’t get out of the car, especially if he was driving. He saw the venetian blinds in the front window of Pinhead’s house bend. Pinhead’s mum looking out. Fuckin’ bitch, he thought. Thinks that her son, fuckin’ Pinhead, is too good to hang out with me. Fuckin’ Abdullah Najib. Cunt’s lucky I hang with him. Abdullah didn’t call Pinhead Pinhead to his face; none of them did. Not because any of the boys were scared of him. Just because it was slack — the guy did have a long, thin head. But he was funny to be with. And always thinking about pussy. To his face the boys called him Fadi.

  Fadi Mobahad slammed the front door and nodded slightly at Abdullah’s metallic-blue Subaru WRX. He saw the tinted driver’s side window roll down slightly, and knew he’d have to go and cop some shit at the window before he got in.

  —Fuckin’ mum lettin’ ya out? Abdullah asked.

  —Yeah, mate. What about your mum?

  —What about my mum?

  —Nuthin’.

  —Let’s go and pick up my bitch, Abdullah said.

  The bong was passed between the WRX’s Recaro seats. You had to be careful not to spill any bong water or let a burning pot seed come flying out of the cone. The WRX was cool, but it made you paranoid. Because it was Abdullah’s, Ali Nora thought, and passed the bong back. The cone wasn’t fully smoked, but he was too stoned already. He was the last of the crew to be picked up before the session, and this made him paranoid as well. It was like coming in on the end of a joke and no one will tell you what it’s about. And today Abdullah had brought his new missus too, so both Ali and Fadi were in the back seat. Mia was hot, but a bit stuck up. Italian; I’d only go out with Lebanese chicks, Ali thought — others don’t understand what it’s like to be a Leb. Different when it comes to just fucking chicks; doesn’t matter what they think, does it? Abdullah was going out with Mia though, being romantic and shit. She was just for him. I’d like a girlfriend too, Ali thought, but all the hot chicks I know are mates’ girls or family.

  The car’s momentum was acutely felt by its stoned occupants. Only Mia, who wasn’t stoned, was enjoying it. Abdullah appeared tense and seemed to be lacking the usual confidence this car gave him.

  —You okay, babe? she asked him.

  —Huh? Yeah, just freakin’ out a bit. Don’t want to smash up this dickhead’s arse, he said, motioning with a darting finger to the car in front of them. I’ve had to miss two fuckin’ payments on this car already, thanks to my fuckin’ suspension from work.

  Mia didn’t know exactly why Abdullah had been suspended from his job at the railways, but she’d worked out from what he had said that it had something to do with harassment. She wasn’t sure she should ask about it. The subject seemed to change his mood pretty rapidly.

  Abdullah swung the car into the carpark of the Road Ripper convenience store.

  —I’m goin’ in ta get a drink, he said.

  —Oh, get me a — Mia said, but he’d already shut the door.

  She watched him walk away. He had a hot body, she mused. Worked out with weights. Needs to grow out that shaved head though. Apart from that, she wanted Abdullah Najib. She’d never wanted a guy before. There’d been cute guys, but she hadn’t wanted them. She hadn’t wanted to have sex with them.

  —Wanna freak Abdullah out? Ali asked her.

  —What do you mean?

  —Ya know, freak him out when he gets back to the car.

  —I guess. Depends, she said.

  —Pull up that lever near the front of his seat, the one that adjusts it.

  —Why?

  —C’mon. Don’t worry; he won’t get the shits with you.

  She leant over and moved the lever. Ali pushed the seat all the way forward. It looked ridiculous, because Abdullah always sat with it all the way back. They laughed. Which was good, as it cut the paranoia that hung thickly between them.

  Abdullah came out of the shop with a guarana drink. He opened the door and tried to get into the seat.

  —What the fuck? he snarled, but continued to force himself behind the wheel. The three passengers began to laugh.

  —Ha fuckin’ ha, he said, and smiled.

  He released the lever and slid the seat all the way back.

  —Good one, boys. Who’s the fuckin’ smart arse?

  Ali and Fadi shut up. Mia laughed and touched Abdullah’s leg

  —Ooh, poor baby.

  He slapped her across the jaw.

  She’d never been hit. Abdullah started the car, put it in gear. If he hadn’t revved the shit out of the engine and abruptly dropped the clutch, she might have thought she’d imagined it. And the slap only began to hurt once they were out on the suburban roads, which now looked sunless, harsh and a deep green. No one moved their mouths, despite the dryness.

  They drove through the streets. The tension wouldn’t leak out the open windows, but there was hope when the car pulled up outside Abdullah’s house. At least they could escape from the scene of the incident.

  —Me and Mia are just gonna go inside for a bit, Abdullah said.

  Mia felt threatened, but also a little excited and even flattered that, after not saying a word since the store, he’d included her in his plans. Her mind was churning though. She got out and followed him to the door.

  Ali ran his hand over his shaved head and looked at Fadi.

  —Fuck. I guess we gotta stay in the fuckin’ car, hey?

  They laughed. Because they’d have to just sit and wait and make it seem as though they hadn’t been saying anything about him when he got back. Abdullah was the undisputed leader of the guys. Partly because he had the WRX, but also because his uncle and one of his cousins were fuckin’ hard cunts. Murder and shit. Abdullah had also begun to assert more lately. Since he’d been suspended without pay from his job with the railways for hassling some school girls, and since those gang bangs. Abdullah seemed to know what to do and say to get those chicks to root. It was heavy, being so forthright with the chicks, and so physical. But Abdullah’s confidence seemed to make the situation flow, and they fed off each other’s actions.

  Abdullah motioned to Mia to sit on his bed. She moved over to it and touched it lightly.

  —Hey, he began. Hey, I’m sorry, babe. You know.

  He grabbed her hand. She cried, but didn’t want to. It was li
ke when she was a little girl. She’d always been able to bring on tears, tears that would get her warm, soft sympathy, or sway her father’s strictness. But there were also the tears that came suddenly, and had embarrassed her, because she could tell that whoever was around — her brother, a friend or cousin — found them inappropriate. But sometimes an experience would trigger in her a deep hurt. Like hearing a baby cry for too long, or seeing a grasshopper being mobbed and eaten alive by ants. She cursed these tears because they betrayed the control she thought she had over her emotions. She knew she had good reason to cry now, but didn’t want to do it here, with Abdullah. She had no idea what effect her tears would have on him.

  He hugged her and kissed her neck.

  —I’m sorry, babe, he said.

  She hugged him back. She could feel the tension melt between them. That guy who’d smacked her in the car, that wasn’t Abdullah; this guy here was Abdullah. There was no way she would like a guy like that, a guy who’d just haul out his hard hand and smack it on her jaw. This guy here now, who felt so good, so warm and masculine, who was so confident but understanding; this was a guy she could love. He kissed her. It was so passionate. She got wet. It was so hot. He was rubbing between her legs. This was going to be it. This time she wanted it. She knew he wanted to love her. He took off her jeans. He removed his. Jesus. She’d never had one inside her. Not all the way inside. She wanted it. Abdullah was between her legs.

  —What about a condom? she asked.

  —Don’t worry, babe, he said. I’ll take it out at the end.

  It went in. It was a shock how quickly. She’d experimented. With the handle of her hairbrush. But she’d done it slowly, millimetre by millimetre. Abdullah just popped it in, and it stung a bit. And it was so hot inside. But he stopped, and she could feel it going soft.

  —Fuck, babe. I was so hot for you.

  Mia sat on the toilet. The cum was dripping out. She wasn’t sure if she should worry.

  Abdullah was a bit pissed off that he’d come so early, but he was thinking of those sluts: you could just ram it in and blow; it didn’t matter what they thought. You were never going to see them again. And they weren’t going to tell your mates; your mates were there and didn’t give a fuck because they were next. But anyway, Mia was in love with him. She’d let him in now. She was his.

  He grabbed her around the waist as they walked back out to the car. Mia smiled at him.

  The jets of water from the shower-rose penetrated like when she’d been sunburnt. And she washed until the soap stung. She got it all out, she thought. There was a mark on her jaw too. But she was sure Abdullah loved her now.

  She’d only met Abdullah three months ago. Through Deba, a girl from school who’d invited her to a birthday party. Deba was Abdullah’s cousin — or some kind of relative. Mia had liked the look of him from the first moment. The way he had control of himself. His muscles, his confidence; the way everyone around him laughed with him. And he’d kept looking over at her. Guys always looked at her, but she had wanted Abdullah’s attention. Deba introduced them and he’d taken her for a drive in his car. The car did nothing for her, but he’d kissed her when he brought her back to the party. She wanted to see him every day after that, but Daddy would put an ugly end to it if he found out. He didn’t like Lebanese. Peasants and terrorists, he scoffed. He didn’t like any boys though, apart from Charlie. And Abdullah was always busy with his mates. They’d spent some time together, but never really alone. Once, in the back seat of his car, they’d nearly done it but then his phone had rung. She knew she wanted to sleep with him: she didn’t need her virginity anymore, she’d decided. What was it for? Daddy wanted her to keep it, that was for sure, but she didn’t see the point. She was the only girl in her group who hadn’t done it. Even Deba, a Muslim, had done it heaps of times with her boyfriend. And it was hot, all that leading up to it. And when it went in, if he’d just done it slowly, and not pushed so hard making it sting — she could have had some more of that. It was kind of nice, what he did, but there was no way that could make her come. She’d heard sex was like that for women though. She’d once heard one of her aunties, drunk on Cinzano, telling her mother that she had to wait until her husband rolled off and fell asleep to take care of things herself. Mia did like to take care of things herself. But she’d thought that once she let Abdullah do it to her, he would have her screaming and coming all afternoon. Anyway, she’d done it now. And she was too raw from scrubbing and soap to take care of things herself.

  Charlie knocked on his sister’s door. It’d taken an hour and a half to work up the courage to do so. She’d looked a bit pissed off when she’d come in. Abdullah must have said something to her, about the other day, with that chick down at the old pool.

  —Yeah? Mia said.

  —It’s me, Charlie said.

  —All right.

  She was putting on make-up. After a shower?

  —How’s it goin’? he asked.

  —Not bad.

  —How’s Abdullah?

  —Good.

  —Tell ya about the other day, when I hung out with him?

  —No. Why, what’d you do?

  —Just hung out and that.

  She either didn’t know or didn’t care. The former, thankfully, was more likely.

  That chick had gotten away. Bolted off without her pants and started yelling. They’d left the park straight away after she’d run, rather than chase her. Thankfully. Went and had another session with the pot they’d found in the chick’s jeans. Abdullah had promised Charlie that next time, next time he’d get his end in. She wasn’t an Aussie anyway, Abdullah had said, and wasn’t enough of a slut for all the boys to have a go. He did want to get his end in, but maybe not with a chick who’s forced to do it with him. The way her voice sounded when she was running. It made him feel so sickeningly low. But Abdullah had promised that he’d get him laid. And even though the promise seemed more like a threat the more he thought about it, he had to come up with a way of getting out of receiving it. But he didn’t want to tell Mia about it. How could he? Abdullah was her boyfriend. And why was Abdullah letting him see what he did to girls? It terrified Charlie that someone, who was now so close to their family, could have such alien ideas. He’d have to play along for now, he thought, because he’d rather have Abdullah think that they were friends than — what would they be if Charlie told Mia, or worse, Dad? Enemies?

  —You feeling all right? he asked his sister after some silence.

  —Yeah. I’ll be okay, she replied.

  FIFTEEN

  A plank of early afternoon sun lit Sonja’s face as it broke through the sheet covering Whitey’s window. She had the softest breathing when she slept, like a puppy. He moved his arm from under her and kissed her forehead. She woke and smiled. He loved that smile. It was for him, and he couldn’t help grinning back, and kissing her again.

  —Let’s go shopping, he suggested.

  He bought a longneck of Coopers and they walked through the plaza close enough to smell each other. Sonja was in her school uniform and people stared. So Whitey kissed her hair. In Panties ’n’ Things he bought her some bra-and-underwear sets. He let her pick them, and was impressed by her taste. In Grace Sisters he bought her a pair of Lee stretch jeans, but was asked to ditch the beer. At Fonetastic he bought her and himself pre-paid mobile phones. They had honey chicken and beef with pepper sauce at Happy Chef in the foodcourt and then went back to his flat. Sonja laughed and tossed the shopping bags aside and then lay on top of him in her new bra and jeans.

  —I love you so much, Patrick, she said. I want to move in here with you.

  Whitey was suddenly aware of the stubble on his chin. He felt oldish.

  —Sonja, baby, I’d love that too — but what about ya mum, and ya dad?

  —They can stay where they are.

  —Sonja, they won’t like it.

  —But I like it. I want it.

  —I want it too.

  —I want to stay her
e tonight.

  He hugged her and they watched TV until they fell asleep in front of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. He woke in the still, black part of the morning and turned off the religious show that had been chasing his dreams, and knew that this daughter had now chosen him.

  Sonja’s eyes were something new in the morning. They were hungover from her last dream. They looked like innocence to Whitey, but also, nonchalance. Like her thoughts were anywhere but here, with him. Sonja got up to urinate.

  —Good morning, baby, he croaked.

  She didn’t answer. She coughed and Whitey hugged her when she came out of the bathroom. There was still a lot of that dream in her eyes. She lay back down and closed them.

  —Do you want coffee? he asked. Do you drink coffee?

  —Mnmm.

  —Okay.

  He switched on the kettle and threw some powdered coffee into a couple of mugs.

  —How many sugars?

  —I don’t know. How many do you have? I’ll have the same.

  Sonja sat up and wiped her mouth.

  —My mum’ll be freaking out, Patrick.

  The front door was open as Whitey and Sonja got up to the Marmeladovs’ flat. They walked in and Whitey could smell some of Sonja in the room. It was overwhelming, the familiarity and the foreignness of this place. The mother was sitting at the formica table. With two other people. Cops. Fuck. Of course. He’d seen the car outside, but this was nothing unusual for Brunei Court’s carpark.

  —Sonja! her mother exclaimed. My God, Sonja!

  She stood, the mother, but didn’t go to Sonja. She looked to Patrick White, who had just become too aware of his arms. He moved them and interlocked his fingers as the mother said something — in Russian, he supposed.