The Real Thing

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘Shit I’m really sorry,’ said Les ‘I know how you must feel. I don’t think anything’s broken though.’ He unconsciously reached across and patted her ribs.

  ‘Take your bloody hands off me,’ snapped the girl. ‘I think you’ve done enough damage for one day. You oaf.’ Norton recoiled as the girl got to her feet. ‘Oh,’ she gave a little groan, turned, then stormed back up the beach and lay face down on her towel.

  Norton watched her for a few moments. Finally he shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, put his fins back on and went out for another surf, but his heart wasn’t quite in it this time; he had two waves and got out.

  After washing off the saltwater under a beach shower near the grass, he put his shorts back on, got a book out of his bag and lay back down on his banana chair to read. The girl was still lying on her towel about thirty metres to his left. Every now and again Norton thought he could sense her looking over at him, but when he’d glance back she seemed to quickly look away.

  Thirty minutes or so of uninteresting reading went by, but the girl was still on Norton’s mind. Bugger this, he thought, putting the book down, I’ll go over and front her. She can only tell me to piss off. He got a couple of peaches out of his bag and walked over. As he approached her he could see by the look on her face that the welcome mat wasn’t actually layed out.

  ‘Look,’ he said, as he got close to her. ‘I didn’t come over to annoy you. I just came over to apologise again and see if you’re all right. Are you all right?’

  The girl looked at him stony-faced at first, then smiled slightly and sat up. ‘Yes I’m all right now’ she said. ‘I was just winded before.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I shouldn’t really have snapped at you like I did I suppose.’

  ‘Oh that’s all right,’ smiled Les. ‘I’d’ve done the same bloody thing myself.’

  ‘Well, it did hurt.’ She looked at Norton’s muscular frame. ‘God, you must weigh a ton.’

  Norton shrugged his shoulders. ‘I keep fit.’ He ran his eyes over the girls well-developed body. ‘You don’t actually look like you have to run backwards and forwards under the shower to get wet yourself. My shoulder’s pretty bloody sore, don’t worry about that.’ He rubbed his shoulder gingerly. ‘I’ll bet I’ve got a big bruise there in the morning.’

  ‘Oh rubbish.’

  ‘I’m fair dinkum. In fact I thought I’d run into one of those dolphins.’

  ‘Oh don’t give me that.’ She threw a tiny handful of sand at Norton’s foot, then smiled when she saw the look on his face. ‘I do play a lot of basketball,’ she said coyly.

  ‘I thought you must’ve done something.’ Les sat down in front of her. ‘Would you like a peach?’

  The girl looked at the two huge, yellow cling-stones in Norton’s outstretched hand. ‘Yes, that’d be nice. Thanks.’

  It turned out her name was Elizabeth Cox — though everyone called her Betty — she was a schoolteacher, twenty-two years old and came from Grafton. She’d been staying with two girlfriends, two other teachers, in a flat the other end of Sawtell towards the island. The other girls had gone back to Grafton the previous day — she was going back by bus on Sunday. Besides playing basketball, she did a fair bit of swimming and went to aerobics three nights a week: there wasn’t a great deal else to do in Grafton. She didn’t have a boyfriend, but she had been engaged to another schoolteacher. However she’d broken it off about a year ago as he didn’t like to keep himself in shape and preferred to go out drinking buckets of beer with his mates. What a nice mug he must’ve been thought Les. Betty’s face might’ve been a bit plain, but her body made Bo Derek look like a sack of potatoes.

  Norton told her most of the things about himself. He didn’t tell her he was a bouncer up the Cross: he told her his father owned a meatworks at Homebush and he was a director of the company. If I can get her back to the BMW she’ll believe that, he thought. Norton asked her if it was all right if he brought his banana chair over and joined her. She said that was all right, so they sat chatting away for quite some time, then went for a swim.

  Frolicking around in the water Norton couldn’t help noticing just how fit Betty was. The shiny, wet costume stuck to her like a second skin. Her perfect backside and ample breasts were as firm as if they’d been carved out of marble, then when she put her arms on Norton’s shoulders, as he helped her over some waves and her hardened nipples scraped across his chest, Les had to turn and swim away or he would’ve been running around Sawtell beach on three legs.

  ‘That water is absolutely beautiful,’ she said, as they stood on the beach towelling themselves.

  ‘Is it what,’ replied Norton. ‘You could stay in there all day.’ He checked his watch. ‘I’ll tell you what, it’s getting on for two. You feel like a bit of something to eat?’

  ‘Yes. I am getting a bit peckish to tell you the truth. I only had some cornflakes for breakfast, and that was at seven o’clock.’ ‘Well, there’s a little pub just up the road. How about we have a couple of drinks and I’ll find a fish shop and get them to cook us up a nice feed of fresh fish?’

  ‘Sounds great. There’s a nice fish shop just across the street.’ Betty had started to take a mild sort of a shine to Norton. He’d been genuinely apologetic to her, in his clumsy sort of way, about knocking her over and he had a pleasant enough personality. When he was lifting her up in the water he didn’t start coming on heavy but she could easily sense how strong he was and, though his freckly, red head was a little rugged, he was built like it was going out of style, which certainly appealed to a girl who kept herself as fit as she did. Compared to her ex-finance, he was Robert Redford.

  They got dressed and walked up to Les’s car where he put his banana chair in and got his money out of the boot.

  ‘Nice car,’ said Betty.

  ‘Yeah. They’re not bad buses,’ replied Norton casually. It was only a short distance to the hotel, but they drove up and parked out the back.

  ‘Listen,’ said Norton, handing Betty ten dollars as they walked across the small but beautifully flowered beer garden. ‘How about you get the drinks and I’ll go over and order the stuff, and I’ll meet you at the table under the frangipani tree? Just a middie of new for me.’

  ‘Okay.’

  The fish shop Betty had mentioned was clean and bright with a fairly good display of fresh seafood in the window. The overweight owner seemed pleasant enough. Les order two large pieces of barramundi out of the window, a dozen calamari rings, six Tasmanian scallops and half a dozen king-prawn cutlets, plus some chips. He paid the bloke and told him he’d be back in half an hour. Betty had four deliciously cold middies sitting on the table when he got back: she’d already drunk half of her first one.

  ‘I got four,’ she said. ‘Save a trip in. I didn’t think that first one would last long anyway.’

  ‘That’s all right Betty. Send me broke, I don’t mind.’ Norton raised his glass and winked at her. ‘Cheers mate.’

  ‘Cheers Les.’

  They finished the first round of beers pretty smartly: Betty downed hers like she’d just finished a day loading wool at 15 Walsh Bay. ‘I’d better get another four,’ said Norton, picking his change up off the table.

  ‘I’ll get these,’ said Betty, rising to her feet.

  ‘Turn it up, sit down. I’ll get ’em.’

  ‘No. I insist; a shout’s a shout.’

  Norton shrugged his shoulders. ‘Okay. If you want to be one of these liberated women, go for your life.’

  Betty smiled and scrabbled Norton’s red hair with her fingers as she went to the bar. She was back soon with another four cold middies.

  It was lovely sitting there under the shade of the frangipani tree. Every now and again they’d reach up, pick one of the dainty white flowers and sniff its delightful fragrance. Betty even placed one behind Norton’s ear bringing a huge grin to his face.

  I wonder what some of those rough-necks at the Kelly Club would say if they could see me now, thought Norton,
as he sat back in the flower-filled beer garden watching some willie-wagtails and sparrows bobbing around in the grass at his feet. Cicadas chirped in the trees and more multi-coloured butterflies drifted lazily around in the soft balmy breeze. They’d be rotten jealous that’s for sure. He glanced at his watch.

  ‘That fish should be ready now,’ he said, getting to his feet and finishing his beer.

  ‘I’ll get another two beers while you’re away.’

  ‘Take it out of this.’ Norton handed Betty a two-dollar note, then left for the fish shop.

  He returned to find Betty waiting at the table with two fresh beers and put the fair-sized parcel on the table. The beers had put a noticeably sharp edge on their appetites so they got stuck into it.

  The fish-shop owner had cooked everything to perfection: not too greasy, not too much batter, just the right amount of salt plus several wedges of lemon. He’d obviously been changing his oil regularly as the chips were cooked to a scrumptious golden brown, and plenty of them.

  ‘Oh Les,’ cried Betty, in between bites. ‘That fish is absolutely beautiful. What is it?’

  ‘Barramundi. What about the Tassie scallops? How good are they?’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘This calamari’s the best I’ve ever eaten, too.’

  ‘And the prawn cutlets. They’re divine.’

  ‘It’s a tough life, isn’t it Betty?’

  Within twenty-five minutes there wasn’t a thing left, except a few scraggly chips and some pieces of batter which Les tossed to the eager willie-wagtails and sparrows.

  ‘For an old country schoolteacher you’re not bad on the tooth Miss Cox,’ smiled Les.

  ‘It was your fault Mr Norton,’ replied Betty. ‘Normally I wouldn’t eat that much food in a week. You just made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.’ She leant back in her seat and patted her stomach.

  ‘Do you think you could fit in another beer?’

  ‘All right, one more. I might go to the loo while you’re getting them.’

  Les returned with the beers about the same time as Betty. When they finished them they switched to Bacardi and splits, and spent the rest of the afternoon chatting and laughing. The sun slowly lengthened the shadows around them as it passed leisurely over the old hotel.

  It was after five when they left the pub. Norton had discreetly inquired if Betty was doing anything that night — without actually asking her out — but an aunt and uncle were calling around later to take her to the movies. However, she’d made no arrangements for the weekend.

  ‘You can come in for a cup of coffee, if you like,’ she said, as they pulled up outside her flat. The way she said it, it was more of a polite gesture than an open invitation.

  Norton looked at her sitting next to him in the car in her skimpy shorts and low-cut, loose knit, white top — he was more than half-tempted.

  ‘Oh, I’d better give it a miss,’ he said, taking a glance at his watch. ‘Reg is expecting me back with some things and your uncle’s coming around soon.’ If I get in there and have a lash at her it’s going to be a hurried job, he thought, and I could bomb the rort. I’m in sweet. Why not wait till tomorrow when there was more time and do the job properly. ‘But I’ll tell you what. If you’re doing nothing tomorrow, how would you like to go for a barbecue? I can bring a change of gear and we can go out for a drink somewhere later that night.’

  ‘Okay.’ Betty nodded her head enthusiastically. ‘That’d be great. Where do you want to go for the barbie?’

  Norton shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘There’s a beautiful little spot just up from here called Boambee lagoon. There’s barbecue pits and wood there. It’s lovely.’

  ‘That sounds all right to me. I’ll call around say 10.30. Is that okay?’

  ‘That’ll be fine.’ She reached across and kissed Norton softly on the lips. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow Les.’

  Norton kissed her back in return, just as tenderly. ‘See you tomorrow Betty.’

  Norton couldn’t get his eyes off her backside as she walked up the path and waved from the door. Come on tomorrow, he thought, waving back. He headed back to the farm, stopping to pick up a couple of things from a small supermarket on the way.

  ‘So you had a pretty good day Les?’ Reg smiled at the contented look on Norton’s face as he sat in the kitchen sipping a mug of coffee.

  ‘Bloody oath. And not a bad sort either. Got a top body.’ Norton chuckled to himself. ‘You won’t mind if I don’t invite you to the beach tomorrow Reg?’

  ‘Heh, heh, heh. I didn’t really think you would. I’ve got to go to Coffs tomorrow anyway. I’ve got some canvas and oil paints coming up from Sydney.’

  ‘Oh I can pick that up for you on the way in.’

  ‘No, that’s all right. I want to go in anyway.’

  Sitting in the sun drinking beer and Bacardi all afternoon had left Norton feeling tired and just a little jaded. He had another cup of coffee and a toasted cheese sandwich, watched a bit of TV for a while, then hit the sack early. Tomorrow looked like being a very, very enjoyable day: not to mention the evening.

  Norton was up the following morning about six, roaring like a Bengal tiger. He had a run for an hour, and by eight was just finishing the last of a series of strenuous, non-stop exercises. Reg stood sipping coffee with his foot across Les’s ankles, watching in amazement as Les finished off his sit-ups.

  ‘Ninety-nine. One hundred. Bugger it, that’ll do.’ Reg removed his foot. Norton sat with his hands across his knees getting his breath back. Sweat was dripping down his arms and wisps of steam were rising from his face. ‘Shit I’m hot.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t you be? Christ you’re fit.’

  ‘Ah it’s just this country air Reg. Makes me feel like I can train all day.’

  ‘Listen, if you’re that hot, why don’t you come down the billabong and have a swim? I’m going down to get some fresh peaches to put on my muesli.’

  ‘That sounds like a bloody good idea Reg. I’ll just go and grab a towel.’

  Norton didn’t bother to take his training gear off when they got to the billabong, he just jumped straight in; running shoes, T-shirt, the lot.

  ‘What’s it like, still cold?’ called Reg, when Les surfaced somewhere near the middle.

  ‘Yeah,’ yelled Norton. ‘But doesn’t it make you feel great.’

  Reg walked round to the opposite side of the billabong while Norton splashed around noisily. ‘Hey Les, come here, I’ll show you something.’ Norton breast-stroked over to Reg and clambered up on to the rocks next to him. ‘Follow me.’

  Reg led him a few metres into the bush. They got down into a concealed tunnel leading through a huge patch of dense lantana. It was a good thing Norton still had his training gear on, as the terrain was pretty rough. The lantana scratched his arms a number of times as it was. After crawling along for roughly ten metres they came out into a man-made clearing about six metres square. Two or three large plastic garbage tins and several gardening tools were placed to one side but growing in the middle were a dozen or more healthy-looking marijuana plants about two metres high. Norton had never seen it growing like that before, but he’d seen enough photos and tiny plants in people’s homes to know what it was.

  ‘So this is all your pot, is it Reg?’

  ‘That’s it Les. The dreaded marijuana. Good-looking plants but, aren’t they?’ Reg took a plastic bucket, filled it from one of the garbage tins and started pouring it on the plants. Norton examined some of the larger ones with his hands.

  ‘I s’pose they’re all right,’ shrugged Les, ‘but I wouldn’t know one from the other. What’s the big deal about these?’

  Reg put down the bucket. ‘Come here, I’ll show you.’ Reg held a thick stem from one of the plants in his hand. ‘You see this part here?’ He showed Les a thickened, bushy part of the stem, something like a fat pine needle. Instead of being green, it was a dark violet-blue, almost purple, colour with what looked like fine re
ddish, orange hairs growing all over it.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Well that’s what they call the head. That’s the best part to smoke, or make tea out of or whatever.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. Generally they’re a browny green but see how these are purple?’ Norton nodded his head. ‘Well that’s because of the strain. Me and a mate cross-bred these plants with seeds from “Durban Poison” and “Thai Buddha”. Plus the soil and weather up here’s perfect and that’s why the stuff is so good. Two cones of this’ll blow your socks off.’

  ‘I know. I had a bit the other night.’

  ‘Like I said Les,’ continued Reg, pouring some more water over the plants. ‘If I wanted to, I could grow heaps and make all sorts of money. But . . . I just grow enough for myself and some friends in Sydney, and that does me.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ nodded Norton. ‘I still think I should give you up to the authorities though.’

  ‘Yeah, why don’t you? Get me a year in gaol, I’d really like that.’

  ‘I suppose there’s plenty of old pricks would.’

  ‘Concerned Citizens Against People Having a Good Time? You’d better believe it Les. The miserable old bastards.’ Reg finished watering his treasured plants with the same care and concern of an English aristocrat tending his prize roses. ‘Well come on, let’s go up and have some breakfast.’ They headed back to the house with Reg stopping to pick some peaches on the way.

  ‘Hey Reg,’ said Norton, when they got back, ‘Is that an old surf ski under the other side of the house?’

  ‘Yeah. A mate of mine from Tamarama surf club left it up here ages ago. I hardly ever use it.’

  ‘All right if I take it with me today? I wouldn’t mind having a bit of a paddle in this Boambee lagoon.’

  ‘Sure. Go for your life. The paddle’s next to it. I’ll find you some rope.’

  Norton dragged the ski — an old, blue, three metre solid foam Aero out from under the house. Reg got two lengths of rope from the laundry. In no time it was sitting on top of the BMW.