The Real Thing

by Robert G. Barrett

  Norton looked at his little artist mate who had embarrassment written all over his face, and he wasn’t very amused. ‘Well, Reg,’ he said evenly. ‘We’d definitely better not go to Pinkie’s then.’

  ‘I’d rather not Les.’

  ‘Anyway don’t worry about it. We’ll go somewhere else.’ He reached over and patted Reg on the shoulder. ‘You feeling a bit hungry at all? How about I whip up a feed of steak sangers.’

  ‘Yeah, righto.’

  ‘I’ll give you a yell in about half an hour. You finished with your coffee?’ Reg handed Les his empty mug and Norton disappeared into the kitchen.

  Norton knocked up the steak sandwiches and took them on a tray, along with a big pot of tea out to the studio. When they’d finished Les spent the rest of the afternoon watching Reg paint. They talked about art and Bondi and old times. A little after four they decided to have a couple of hours sleep so they’d be in good shape for a bit of a night on the town. I don’t mind these lazy afternoons at all, thought Norton, as he lay drifting off, his head on the pillow in the spare room, letting the afternoon breeze bring the fragrance from the jacaranda tree in through the window. I don’t mind them one little bit. He intended seeing plenty of action that night though.

  They got up around six. Reg showered first and, while Norton was getting cleaned up, he grilled a few lamb chump chops and made some fried rice. With that, plus a couple of cups of coffee under their belts, they gave themselves a last detail and headed for Sawtell.

  ‘You haven’t brushed up too bad Reg,’ said Norton, as they walked out to the cars. Reg was wearing a pair of dress jeans he’d picked up in Double Bay, tan loafers and a brown-striped, button-down collar shirt.

  ‘You look almost human yourself.’ Norton was dressed pretty much the same only he had on a dark blue, Hawaiian shirt tucked into a pair of Levi’s, and shiny, black R. M. Williams riding boots.

  ‘You may as well come with me as take both cars,’ said Les. ‘The only thing is, I might slip back to Miss Cox’s place afterwards and see if she wants to give me another look at her “map of Tasmania”. What are you going to do?’

  ‘That’s all right. I’ll just curl up on the back seat and go to sleep. Mate, I don’t often get a chance to ride in a grouse car like this. I got to make the most of it.’

  ‘Fair enough. Anyway we’ll work something out. Come on, jump in.’

  ‘You’ll only be in there five minutes before she screams and throws you out anyway.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it. The schoolteacher thinks I’m a good sort.’

  ‘Yeah? Fair dinkum Les,’ said Reg, as he opened the car door, ‘just how did you meet her? Did you run off with her white stick?’

  The BMW purred into life. With Skyhooks, belting their way through ‘You Just Like Me ’Cause I’m Good in Bed’, they cruised sedately down the driveway and headed towards Telegraph Point Road and Sawtell.

  Betty’s front door was open when they got there; Norton knocked twice, opened the flyscreen and they went inside. Betty was in the kitchen shovelling ice, bananas, kiwi fruit and pieces of rockmelon, plus liberal amounts of Bacardi, into a blender. When she turned round a distinct, rosy glow was almost pulsating from her cheeks.

  ‘Les,’ she cried out happily. ‘How are you?’ She ran over, put her arms round him and kissed his cheek.

  ‘Pretty good.’ He smiled and nodded towards the mixture in the blender. ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘Making fruit-salad daiquiris. Boy, what a way to go! Two of these’ll grow hair on your eyeballs.’

  ‘Yeah, I can see that. Anyway Betty, this is Reg, my mate that owns the farm.’

  ‘Hello Reg,’ Betty extended her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  Reg gave her hand a light squeeze. ‘Nice to meet you Betty.’

  ‘So you’re the brilliant young artist Les keeps telling me about.’

  Reg shuffled his feet a little self-consciously. ‘I’m not that good Betty. I’m still only an amateur really — I’ve only sold a few.’

  ‘Don’t you believe him,’ said Norton. ‘He’s bloody good.’

  ‘Les is just being polite,’ smiled Reg.

  ‘Well I’m going to be polite,’ giggled Betty, ‘and pour us all one of these.’ She gave the blender a whirl then filled three glasses with the icy, frothy, orange-coloured mixture. ‘Cheers,’ she said happily.

  ‘Yeah. Cheers,’ chorused the others.

  ‘Jesus how good are these?’ said Norton, smacking his lips.

  ‘Bloody beautiful,’ said Reg.

  ‘I told you they were nice.’

  Norton drained the rest of his in a swallow. ‘I think I’d better have another one.’ He handed Betty his empty glass.

  They finished off the first blender full of daiquiris pretty smartly so Betty made another: a bit bigger this time. By quarter to ten that was gone, and they were laughing like drains, each with quite a glow up.

  ‘Well, I guess we’d better make a move,’ sniggered Betty, ‘or we’ll finish up too sloshed to go anywhere.’

  ‘Righto,’ said Norton, draining the last of his drink. ‘Let’s hit the toe.’

  Betty locked up the flat and, laughing like hyenas, they piled clumsily into the BMW. Norton hit the stereo and with John Paul Young thumping out ‘I Wanna Do It With You’, they headed noisily for Coffs Harbour.

  ‘Where are we going anyway?’ asked Reg, when they were about a kilometre or so from Coffs.

  ‘Pinkie’s’ replied Betty, turning around to Reg. ‘Have you been there?’

  Reg waited a few moments before he answered her. ‘Yes, I’ve been there,’ he said a little quietly. ‘Les, what did I say to you earlier?’

  ‘Don’t worry Reg,’ replied Norton jauntily. ‘Everything’ll be sweet.’

  Betty turned back round to Reg. ‘What’s the matter with Pinkie’s? Don’t you like it there Reg?’

  ‘Reg had an argument with one of the blokes that works there,’ said Norton. ‘He bought a painting off him and won’t pay.’

  ‘What? The miserable bloody so-and-so. Just point him out to me Reg, I’ll have a word with him.’ Betty unsuspectingly started shaping up to Les across the front seat. ‘I’ll sort him out in five minutes.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, don’t go putting ideas in anyone’s head Betty.’

  ‘What was that Reg?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Norton caught Reg’s eye in the rear-vision mirror: he grinned and gave Reg a wink.

  A row of motels on either side of the highway told them they were entering Coffs, Betty gave Les directions. Finally they saw a pink, flashing, neon sign saying ‘Pinkies’ over an entry-way and doorway. ‘Here it is,’ Betty said. There was a parking spot across the street so Norton did a quick U-turn and backed into it. They locked the car and got out.

  ‘Is that your mate on the door?’ said Norton to Reg, as they started to cross the road.

  ‘No, that’s his offsider Ken. He’s nearly as bad though.’

  As they approached him, Norton started checking Ken out. He was about 190 centimetres with short-cropped blonde hair, a sullen-looking fat face and a huge domed forehead, with two beady little eyes set up underneath it about one centimetre apart. He was all puffed-up tits and biceps squeezed into a white T-shirt with ‘Pinkie’s’ written across a pocket on the front; he looked as though he sat around pumping iron all day and borrowed his sister’s T-shirt to wear out at night. As they got close he gave them a very sour once up and down — giving little Reg a twice up and down.

  ‘I don’t want any trouble out of you tonight. Understand?’ he growled, jabbing a huge, fat finger at Reg.

  ‘You needn’t worry about us boss,’ said Norton sweetly. ‘We’ll be like little lambs.’

  ‘Just make sure you are,’ growled the bouncer again. ‘Or you go out on your arses. The lot of you.’

  Betty didn’t, but Reg noticed Norton’s eyebrows bristle slightly as they walked through the padded, black vinyl door.


  They entered a large, fairly well-lit room decorated mainly in red and black. A well-stocked bar ran along to their right with a space in front of it, then chairs and tables led up to a wall full of high set windows. A dance floor, with the mandatory spinning mirror-ball and flashing lights divided the room and beyond that were more chairs and tables leading up to a small food servery. A happy-looking, but obviously very stoned, DJ was bouncing around on his stand while a throng of people, mainly big-bummed girls, were bopping away happily in front of him. The place wasn’t anywhere near packed but there was a good enough crowd, fairly well-dressed, all mainly in their early twenties.

  ‘There’s an empty table under that window,’ said Norton. ‘Why don’t we grab it?’ They moved into a padded vinyl cubicle up against the wall facing the bar. Les and Betty were still laughing away and quite happy, but Reg kept looking around him like he was a member of the French Resistance waiting for the Gestapo to walk in and start checking every one’s ID.

  ‘Well, what are we drinking?’ said Les. Betty ordered a Bacardi and coke, Reg opted for a Scotch and dry. Norton got two of each, plus two cans of Victorian Bitter for himself.

  While he was waiting at the bar a tall, morose-faced guy somewhere in his late twenties leant up against the bar on his elbows, almost next to him, and scowled around the room. He was well over 180 centimetres tall, solid-framed with greasy, thick brown hair combed straight back off his forehead: he reminded Norton of a sour faced Jerry Lee Lewis. Like the other big moron out the front he, too, had on a tight-fitting T-shirt with ‘Pinkie’s’ written across the pocket. It didn’t take long for Norton to figure out he was the big mug that belted poor little Reg. As he heaved himself off the bar and walked towards the front door Norton noticed he didn’t weave his way through the crowd like a normal person, showing a bit of manners and consideration, he abrasively pushed his way straight through making everyone step aside.

  ‘I think I just saw your mate George,’ said Norton, as he arrived back with the drinks and put them on the table.

  ‘Yeah. You were just about standing next to him at the bar,’ replied Reg. ‘He’s not hard to miss, is he?’

  ‘I didn’t get a chance to have a talk to him unfortunately, but he seems like a decent enough sort of chap. Are you sure you haven’t got things a bit mixed up Reg?’

  Reg took a sip of his drink and stared at Norton a little derisively. ‘Are you sure you haven’t been getting into some of my pot Les?’

  They finished their first drinks off pretty smartly and started on the second ones. Norton pulled some twenties out of his pocket and threw them on the table. ‘We won’t worry about having shouts,’ he said. ‘Just take it out of that and we’ll just take turns going and getting them. Fair enough?’ He smiled at Reg. ‘Do you think you can make it to the bar and back without getting into another toe-to-toe with George?’ Reg nodded and smiled back wearily. ‘Good.’

  Sitting on Norton’s right, Betty went to open her handbag. ‘I’ve got some money,’ she said. ‘There’s no need to spend all yours.’

  ‘Stick your money in your arse Miss Cox. Diamond Les Norton’s in town. Ain’t that right Reg?’

  ‘That’s him Betty,’ replied Reg. ‘Carefree Les. Doesn’t care how much anything costs, as long as it’s free. Only man in Bondi with a burglar-alarm on his garbage tin.’

  Norton sniffed and ignored Reg’s insults. ‘Now Miss Cox,’ he said, turning back to Betty. ‘You said something earlier about could I dance. Want to try me out?’

  ‘Okay.’

  Les led her on to the dance floor where they squeezed in among the others — Reg looked after their table and kept and eye on the money.

  The first song the DJ played when they got there was AC-DC’s ‘It’s A Long Way To the Top If You Wanna Rock’n’Roll’ one of Norton’s favourite tracks — they tore straight into it. Betty was a pretty energetic dancer, fit, with a very sexy hip movement. She moved and swayed to the driving beat. Norton couldn’t be classed as a stylist but he and Billy Dunne were used to skipping to rock’n’roll tapes for up to an hour at a time, so what he lacked slightly in finesse, he more than made up for in condition.

  The DJ had plenty of rock’n’roll blood in his veins and showed the dancers absolutely no leniency. He kept throwing on Cold Chisel, Rose Tatoo, The Angels, Daddy Cool, and so on. Within twenty minutes Norton’s Hawaiian shirt was soaked and clinging to him and Betty was begging for mercy. They went back to the table to find Reg had bought a fresh round of drinks.

  ‘I think I might have to trade you in on a newer model Miss Cox,’ said Norton, when they were seated. ‘You’re just about worn out. I think you need new rings and pistons.’ He took a huge mouthful of beer and sat with a smug look on his face.

  ‘You just keep your eyes to yourself Mr Norton, or you might find yourself dancing around a few straight lefts.’ She tore the can out of Les’s hand. ‘Gimme a mouthful of that beer, too,’ she laughed. ‘I’m a bit thirsty.’

  They sat drinking and laughing for a while. Even Reg seemed to be losing some of his nervousness. When a few quiet songs came on Reg even got up and danced with Betty. While they were on the dance floor Norton thought he recognised a bloke’s face he knew from somewhere in Sydney but he wasn’t quite sure. He also noticed that, while they were sitting there, a young blonde girl on a stool near the front door kept staring over at their table, but every time he’d look at her she would quickly look away.

  ‘Hey Reg,’ he said, when they were both seated back down. ‘That girl you had the bit of a fracas over — Diane: is she shortish, got a pretty but sad sort of face with long blonde hair done up in a pony-tail. Not a bad little body?’

  Reg looked at Norton quizzingly for a moment. ‘Yeah that’s her all right. Why, what . . .’

  ‘Oh nothing Reg. I was just curious, that’s all. Anyway it’s my turn to get the drinks. Same again?’ The others both nodded.

  Norton got up to go to the bar but instead he walked over to the blonde with the pony-tail sitting at the door. ‘Excuse me,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Are you Diane?’

  The girl looked up at him nervously. ‘Y..yes. Why?’ She was certainly quite pretty up close but in a melancholy sort of way.

  ‘A friend of mine, Reg. He wants to know if you might like to join us for a drink. We’re only just sitting over there.’

  The girl looked at Norton for a moment then shook her head. ‘I don’t think that would be a very good idea, mister.’

  ‘You’re wrong Diane. I think it’d be an absolutely fantastic idea. Come on.’ He picked her up under one arm, picked up her handbag and started walking her towards their table. She tried to struggle a little but she was only a slight little thing and in Norton’s firm, but gentle grip she didn’t have a chance.

  ‘Mister, I don’t know who you are but you’re making one helluva big mistake.’

  ‘No I’m not,’ replied Norton, with a tight smile. ‘But I think somebody else round here might be.’ He dropped her bag on their table and put her down in the cubicle next to Reg.

  ‘Reg,’ he said, ‘I’ve got a friend here to see you. You know Diane, she’s into pottery. Not the type of pottery you specialise in though.’ Reg was open-mouthed — his eyes looking like two Rolls Royce petrol caps. ‘Well don’t just sit there like a stale bottle of piss Reg. Introduce Diane to Betty while I get the drinks. What would you like to drink Diane?’

  Diane sat blinking but before she knew it she’d mumbled, ‘Bacardi and coke.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Norton cheerfully. He rubbed his hands together and headed for the bar. Before long he was back with the drinks on a tray. He put them on the table and sat back down next to Betty at the edge of the cubicle facing the door.

  ‘Les, do you know what you’re doing?’ said Reg. He was in a state of extreme agitation. Diane was chewing her nails but Betty on the other hand was quite oblivious to what was going on — she just kept laughing away, snuggling into Norton’s shoulder.
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  ‘Of course I know what I’m doing. I’m having a few drinks and a night out with some friends. What do you think I’m doin’? Sellin’ hot-dogs?’

  ‘I think I’d better go,’ said Diane, rising in her seat.

  Norton reached across and put his hand on her shoulder gently pushing her back down in her seat. ‘You don’t have to go anywhere Diane,’ he said softly. ‘Just stay there.’ She sat back down, licked her lips and started nervously sipping on her drink. Reg looked across at Norton watching the front door, shook his head and stared down at the table.

  ‘You come here much, do you Diane?’ said Betty pleasantly.

  It wasn’t long before George reappeared in the club. He glanced at where Diane had been sitting, scowled, then turned and said something to the girl at the reception desk. She pointed to where Norton was sitting and you could almost see the storm clouds gather as George’s already brooding, malevolent face turned black with rage. His chest heaved up and down a couple of times, then he charged straight through the chairs and tables, bumping people’s shoulders and knocking their drinks from their hands to stand towering at the edge of Norton’s table. He was almost shaking with anger.

  ‘What in the fuckin’ hell do you think you’re doing?’ he swore loudly at Diane. She quickly turned white as a ghost and started to shake visibly. Even the exuberant Betty was quite taken aback by the huge bouncer’s sudden and unexpected outburst. Norton however, just sat quietly sipping his can of VB, a strange half-smile on his face.

  ‘George, it’s all right,’ said Reg, his face the colour of bad shit: he, too, was shaking like a leaf. ‘She only just came over to say hello, that’s all. Honest.’

  ‘You shut your mouth, you fuckin’ little smart-arse,’ snarled George. ‘You’re lookin’ for another smack in the fuckin’ mouth. And you, you fuckin’ moll. Get up.’

  He went to grab Diane by the shoulder and drag her to her feet when Norton’s left hand shot out like a snake. It took George’s wrist in a vice-like grip forcing his arm back down by his side.

  ‘Take it easy son,’ said Norton evenly, the strange smile still on his face. ‘The girl’s only having a drink — she’s not doing any harm.’