by Andrew Daddo
‘I’ll need sunglasses.’ Kylie still hadn’t given in. She had her arms folded.
‘We’ll see about sunglasses,’ said Mum. We all knew what that meant, but Mum nodded and made her forehead wrinkly, as though this time she really would see.
‘I’m serious, Mum.’ Kylie batted back. ‘Guccis. The ones the rock stars and actresses and models wear.’ I think Mum, Dad and I frowned at the same time in pretty much the same way. It’s a family thing. There’s a line that crosses our faces from eyeball to eyeball – but it’s funny that Mum and Dad have both got it. Can’t be from genes. Even the neighbour’s dog had it. ‘The big ones, the kind that cover the top half of your face. You know?’
‘But then no one will be able to see your face, honey.’
‘Dad. Hello? That’s the point.’ Kylie jammed her tongue in the gap between her bottom teeth and her lip.
‘Oh, man. That’s it. That’s the face!’ Leroy pushed into the family circle. ‘Can you do that for the photo? Perfect. And hood your eyes a bit. Holy, moly. You can all do it.’ And that made us laugh. ‘Let’s go, guys. Someone grab that dog; I don’t care if it stays asleep. That might be better for the picture, anyway. It can be asleep for the “before” and awake for the “after”. Good, huh?’
‘The Guccis?’ said Kylie.
‘Kylie wants a pair of those –’
‘I can speak for myself, Mum.’
‘What Guccis? The big ones? That style is so hot now!’ Leroy said over his shoulder as he headed for the door. Hanging from a hook on the back of it was a big black bag with a sign above it saying MAN BAGS. ‘These?’ He half-walked, half-ran back to us, waving a pair of black sunglasses and held them out to Kylie. Her eyes bugged out, she grabbed them and stuffed them on her face.
‘Yeah,’ she said, sashaying back to us. ‘Just like these, Mum, only white. Get me some of these and I’ll do the pictures.’
‘White? I’ve got white,’ said Leroy, running back to his man bag. ‘You can have mine. No sweat. I never wear them, anyway.’
‘I don’t know –’ said Dad.
‘We’ll pay you back.’ Mum sounded embarrassed.
‘Marnie, it’s nothing. Literally. I got them for four bucks in Bali. Now can we get these pictures done? Please?’
8
Dad and I were sent to the kitchen to change; Mum and Kylie went behind a rack of clothes. I could hear the popping sound of the flash bulbs going off. Blap! Blap! ‘That’s it, Lazza,’ Leroy would say after every couple. ‘Good stuff.’ He was giving the light meter a workout.
Once I’d wrestled myself into the t-shirt, Dad looked at me and frowned. ‘Take it off,’ he said. Mum was right: he did look ridiculous in his tan leather jacket. I battled to get the t-shirt off it was so tight, so Dad had me put my arms up and made me feel about four years old again as he practically ripped my ears, nose and anything else off that was sticking out. I felt a bit naked, standing there in my jocks. I folded my arms to cover up and watched as Dad went to work stretching my t-shirt. He yanked the sleeves apart; the collar. He stuffed his forearms inside the body of it and pulled and pulled until the writing looked ready to fall off the front of it. But when he handed it back it almost fitted.
‘Much better,’ he said, pulling his shirt collar out over his jacket. ‘It’s still too short, but at least I can’t see what you had for breakfast.’ He punched me in the gut, like a wrestler, and said something about making out with Candy. ‘Just kidding, mate. Bahaha! I mean I’m going to make-up with Candy. Bahahaha!’
Yeah, what a cack, I thought, trying to drag my shorts on. I couldn’t even get them all the way up my leg – the cuffs were stuck near the middle of my thigh. The problem was not going to be whether I could do them up, but whether I could get them up.
I pulled, I jumped – and jumped and pulled at the same time. But all that managed to do was send more flesh out the bottom of the shorts instead of getting the stupid checked things any higher.
And then I was stuck. I couldn’t get them up, or down.
Not like the time I fell off the log trying to cross the blackberry bush in the creek up by the school. That was terrible, and I still haven’t forgiven Meany Jane Feaney for wobbling the log so I’d fall off. No matter how good looking she was or how easily she let me catch her in kiss-chasey when we were in Year 2, I’d never forgive her. It was as if the blackberry bush opened up to swallow me, and all I could do was yell for Mum.
And that’s kind of what I did now. ‘Muuuuum, help! My shorts. They’re too small.’
My legs were going red, my feet were blue and my toes were purple. I was either turning into a rainbow or getting gangrene. I’d never run or walk or ride my bike again. ‘Mum, seriously. Help!’
‘Candy, would you mind giving Ashton a hand? He’s in the kitchen.’
It was all getting worse. Not only was I losing the use of my legs, but Candy was about to come into the kitchen and catch me in my underpants with my shorts halfway down my thighs. What was I supposed to say? Hey, Candy. It’s cool. I’m just taking that whole wear-your-pants-halfway-down-your-butt thing a bit further. Do I need a belt?
She’d laugh at my jocks. I should have worn boxers, but thanks to Mum’s dumb rule about boxers only on weekends I was stranded in these old things. Everyone knew boxers were more expensive than jocks, but that was the point of wearing them at school, where people could see them. These stupid jocks were old and grey and I only had about ten seconds to get my shorts up, or down or off!
I looked around the kitchen for somewhere to hide and struck out. Maybe I could put a tea towel around myself. But that’d just look weird. Candy’s shoes were getting closer. There was a knife in the sink with a smear on it, maybe peanut butter. I didn’t care. I slid the blade up the outside leg of my shorts and even with a butter knife the seam opened like a zipper. Brilliant. Same with the other leg. The rush of fresh blood to my legs and feet made them feel prickly. I pulled the shorts up to cover my undies and got the button and fly done up, just as Candy got to the kitchen.
I tried to look normal. Fold my arms? Unfold? Lean against the bench – maybe lean and fold? I was in the middle of all this when she sidled round the doorway. She was all legs, like a spider. ‘Well, hi there.’ She looked at me, toe to top, and smiled. ‘King of the jungle.’
‘Huh?’ Now I folded my arms and crossed my ankles and anything I could in between to hide from that smirk she’d fixed me with.
‘Nice loin cloth you got there.’
She knew I didn’t get it.
‘You look like Tarzan.’
I was thinking, Tarzan’s still cool, but said, ‘Is that good?’
‘The best,’ she purred. ‘You needed help?’
‘No, no, I’m fine, now. It was my shorts. But if you really think they look okay –’
‘Okay? Are you serious? They’re better than okay. You look as if you’re about to do a perfect “after” shot. Now come here for a sec so I can try and make you look as awful as the rest of your family.’ She wiped and powdered my face and sent me to the Coke-fizz brown backdrop where Mum, Dad and Kylie were standing patiently. Tess the dog was out cold in front of them. She was on her back now, front legs straight up in the air, back legs spread wide. She had no shame.
I wanted to laugh at the whole scene, but they beat me to it.
The three of them tried to hide their sniggering, but Leroy didn’t. He guffawed. The laugh fell out of him the way a fart falls out of a horse. Long, loud and natural. ‘You look fantastic. Capital K Kewl!’ he wheezed, finally. The dog woke up and rolled onto its gut.
‘I don’t know what you’re all laughing at,’ I cranked. ‘Have you had a look at yourselves?’
‘We don’t look that bad,’ Mum said to Leroy.
‘No, you look worse,’ he said. ‘Smile!’
Blap! Blap!
9
And it was over. Just like that.
‘Got it!’ said Leroy.
When I closed
my eyes all I could see were white blotches where the flash had been.
We hadn’t even had time to get into it. I’d been going to do a bit of Blue Steel from that movie, Zoolander. Kylie had muttered something about a wardrobe change, or new lipstick. But Leroy had already pulled the film from his camera and was rubbing it against his chest.
‘Well?’ snipped Mum.
‘Wait, Marn,’ he snipped back.
‘It’ll be great,’ said Candy.
Leroy looked at her in a way that made me think he really liked her. ‘You might be right there, Cans.’ She folded her arms and frowned at him. He did a bit more rubbing, checked his watch, and rubbed some more. ‘Done.’ The backing came off the polaroid with a bit of a slurp. Leroy studied it. Candy, too. ‘Perfect,’ he said.
‘Genius.’ Candy raised her eyebrows.
‘Show me,’ said Mum.
Leroy held the picture out as proudly as a new dad with his baby.
‘Oh my God!’ Mum shrieked. ‘What have I done?’
‘I love it,’ said Leroy. ‘Love it.’
Mum was flapping her hands about in front of her face as if she’d eaten something too hot. ‘It’s awful. We look terrible. It’s a disaster. You. Are. A. Magician. It’s – perfect.’
‘Can we see, Mum? Give us a look, come on. Show us!’ Kylie was all over Mum’s back, hoping to get a squizz.
‘Back off, babe,’ said Mum. ‘No one sees anything until it’s all over.’
Leroy was beaming. ‘I thought you’d like it. Hey, I love this. Look.’ He and Mum got into a giggle. ‘Good. Let me tweak the lights and we’ll get into it.’ He set the picture down carefully on his worktable. Candy had a look and came over with her brushes and a powder puff to dust away the shine.
‘I thought we’d finished,’ I said to Kylie.
‘You obviously don’t know much about modelling. First, bonehead, you do a test picture, the Polaroid – it’s to make sure everything’s right – then you do the real thing.’
‘You didn’t use up all your good faces, already? Did you?’ said Leroy. ‘Caaarmon, Candy. Get out of there, and let’s go. Same positions, everyone. Dad, up the back. Marnie on the left. Tarzan, you’re next to Mum. Kylie, cuddle up with your dad, will you? Come on, guys, loosen up. What’s the dog’s name?’
Blap! Blap!
‘Tess,’ I said.
‘It’s not ours; we just borrowed it for the day,’ said Mum through her forced smile.
Blap! Blap!
‘Then go back to sleep, you mongrel. Jeez, it’s ugly. They should have called it Bitza. Purebred everything. What do you reckon?’
Blap!
‘Come on, team. Force those muffin tops out. Yeah, that’s it, Tarzan. Work harder. Push down on it. I want to see it spilling over your pants.’
Blap. Blap. Blap.
‘Steady, Dad. I love it, looooove it. Come on, give me your guns!’
‘Guns?’ said Dad.
‘Your arms, muscles. Pump your biceps.’ Dad and I started ripping poses from Mr Universe competitions.
‘You’re hot!’ said Candy.
‘Thanks,’ we said at the same time.
‘They’re not guns; they’re rocket launchers,’ said Leroy.
I stuck my chest out, posed to one side, then the other. Arms up, arms down. Once I stopped copying Kylie and did my own thing I had much more fun. She was too busy thrusting one leg forward, flexing a calf muscle and smiling.
After a final flash frenzy and a whole lot of ‘attaboys’, ‘you’re so hot right nows’ and ‘fat is the new black, babys’, Leroy stopped shooting and checked his camera. ‘One more shot. Last one. I want to try something different.’ We dropped our poses and listened. ‘This time, I want you to stand very still. Stick your stomachs out as far as you can. Let your shoulders drop through the floor, and see how many double chins you can give yourselves.’ We all did as we were told. ‘Yeah. Oh, mate, you’re scaring me.’
I looked at the others. Nerdsville.
You couldn’t have washed the smile off Leroy’s face with a fire hose. He wound the last roll of film from the camera and put it with the others – all six of them. ‘That’s it, guys. You’re back next Monday – right, Marnie? Same time?’ Mum nodded. ‘You can see all the pictures then. But we’ve got it. Deffo.’
‘Can’t we see them now?’ said Kylie. ‘How come you haven’t got digital?’
‘Digital’s carked it and away getting fixed. Anyhow, do you want good pictures or not?’
‘Yeah. But I want to see them, too.’
‘You will – in a week.’
‘So is that a wrap?’ I knew that was what they said in the movies.
‘A rap?’ said Dad. He did a bit of funky hand-dancing and a bit of a moonwalk.
‘Dad, you’re so embarrassing,’ said Kylie. ‘That’s exactly what Stephen Woddleton did at our school dance. How did you know?’
He laughed, and stopped with a final flourish. Such a geek. ‘Wrap it up, you lot. Let’s hit the road.’
10
As soon as we left the studio, Dad started talking about food. The whole thing had taken a lot longer than any of us had expected. Normally, after school, we’d be into some toast or chips or at least some fruit. But there’d been nothing.
‘Whose turn to choose take-it-away?’ said Dad. ‘It’s got to be mine. I never get to choose.’
‘We’ll get dinner at the retreat,’ said Mum. She was giddy. Sometimes she asked us to name our top three things. They might be the top three of a day, or a weekend, or a holiday. From the way she was looking, this whole makeover was better than top three; it was number one – in her life. ‘We’re not having takeaway. It’ll spoil your dinner. And I happen to know – although it’s supposed to be a secret – that the chef is doing something wonderful for us tonight.’ She tapped the dashboard. ‘With mung beans.’
‘Oh, okay,’ said Dad. I couldn’t believe he’d given in so quickly.
Kylie and I slumped down in our seats and had a bit of a sook. If we hadn’t already dropped the dog back to the neighbours it would have gone hrrrrrmmmmph! too.
‘It’s only an hour until we get there,’ said Mum. ‘And it’ll be worth it, I promise. The chef’s supposed to be a genius.’
‘What’s the name of this place, Marn?’ said Dad. ‘I know it’s in the bush, but what’s it called?’
‘The Natural Spiritual Health and Wellness Centre.’
‘It’s vego, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘You’ve booked us into some hippy-vego-yoga-quiet-time-and-candle-burning dump, haven’t you! That’s what you’ve done, right? Oh, jeez, Marnie. Why?’ He swung the car round in a U-turn and gunned it. He took a left, then a quick right and there, at the end of the street were the golden arches. I could even see the drive-thru sign. I wanted to go. I wanted to say, ‘What about it, Dad? What about Maccas?’
There was no chance. Mum made no secret of the way she felt.
But that giant ‘M’ seemed to draw the car towards it like a fast food magnet. ‘Do it, Dad. Do it!’ I felt like saying. Instead, Mum took one of her sharp breaths, where she sucks air in really quickly. She does it when bad things are going to happen, or have just happened. The time I dropped the carving knife on my foot got a beauty. Huuuuurp! went the breath as it whistled into her.
She was having one now.
‘Len?’ Huuuuuuuuuuurp! ‘What are you doing? The Centre is the other way. Len!’ Huuuuuuuuuuurp!
Dad flicked the indicator on.
‘Leonard, no. We’re going to a health farm. We can’t turn up to a place of spiritual and emotional serenity smelling of cheeseburgers.’
Dad had gone deaf. He skidded to a stop at the order window and started blabbing before the kid with the zits had a chance to bore, ‘Can I take your order?’ Dad ordered so much stuff that the kid didn’t even ask if we wanted any desserts with that.
‘I’m serious, Len. Kids, you’re not to eat. I won’t have it.’
‘Talk to th
e hand, babe.’ Dad laughed. ‘Ash – nuggets? Quarter Pounder?’
‘The lot.’
‘Please?’
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘Very funny, sometimes.’ He grinned. ‘We’ll have an Indian diet tonight.’
‘McDonalds isn’t Indian,’ said Kylie.
‘Nah, but get that India is. Get it? In-di-ya?’
Mum was trying to suck all the air from the car in one go. ‘Coke, as well? Leonard –’
‘Same for you, Kyles?’ said Dad. He was having a blast. Mum tried to zap him with a look. ‘Death by evil eye, mooooooohahahahahahaha!’ Dad cackled at her. ‘It’ll never work when I’ve got this!’ He held a burger in front of her face and spoke in a sci-fi-bad-guy voice. ‘Back, evil dog. You can never defeat me. Not when I’ve got the power of the pickle. Back, I say! Mooooohahaha!’
Mum looked at the roof of the car with her mouth open and shook her head.
‘Oh yeah, I don’t want the pickles,’ I said.
Now it was Dad’s turn to look up at the roof of the car with his mouth open, but he chewed while he did it.
Mum huffed. Then pouted. Then she took a chip from Dad’s pile, and snarled at it before slipping it into her mouth. The only noise was chewing, but there wasn’t much of that – for obvious reasons.
Dad offered Mum her own bag of fries.
‘Don’t make me laugh,’ she said. And then she laughed, but it was like a snort. Dad put the pack in the console between them without saying anything else and hoofed into his burger. Mum stared out the windscreen at the people coming and going from the restaurant. She might have been watching the windows fog up. I know she didn’t look at the chips when she silently took another one, because I was watching her. I just couldn’t believe that someone could hate fast food so much.