The Real Thing

by Robert G. Barrett

  As well as being delicious, the food servings at the little Sawaddee Restaurant were only about a spoonful short of enormous, and there was still quite a bit of food left on the plates when Betty laid down her knife and fork and eased back into her seat.‘Oh goodness,’ she groaned ‘I’m googed. I don’t think I could eat another thing.’

  Norton was still picking away at his deep-fried snapper, the bones of which stuck out about six centimetres on either side of his large oval plate. ‘Yeah, I’m starting to get the same way,’ he said. ‘Christ they give you enough, don’t they?’

  They sat idly picking at their food, both feeling more than a little bloated.

  ‘Y’know,’ said Norton, the hint of a devilish grin starting to flicker around the corners of his eyes. ‘I think it’s about time we livened old Basil up.’ He nodded towards the humour-less owner who was handing a table their bill with a look of bored contempt.

  ‘How do you mean?’ asked Betty.

  Norton grinned and produced the rubber cockroach from his pocket.

  Betty’s eyes widened. ‘Oh God Les. What are you going to do with that?’

  ‘You want to play a little trick on the sour-faced bastard?’

  Betty looked at Les for a few moments before she answered. ‘Yeah righto,’ she grinned. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Okay. I’ll tell you what we’ll do.’

  They waited a little while longer, still watching the owner, then Norton called him over and asked for another couple of cans of Fourex. The Maitre-d made a big show of checking his watch in front of them, then scowled off to the kitchen. He returned shortly with the two beers and the bill. He plonked them on the table in front of Les. The owner was about to go when Betty tapped him on the arm.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, in a loud indignant voice. ‘But what is that?’ She pointed to the plate of curried pork in coconut milk.

  Sitting half-submerged in the lovely, creamy white sauce between a piece of broccoli and several slices of pork, was the odious rubber cockroach. With its spindly legs to the side and its elongated, spidery feelers spread out in front, it looked more realistic and repulsive than the genuine article.

  ‘Well?’ said Betty, her voice rising slightly. She glared up at the owner then back down at the plate. ‘Well. What is it?’

  The owner stared terrified at Betty’s plate then at the po-faced Norton. His face slowly drained of colour and his bottom lip started to tremble. ‘That,’ he stuttered and stammered. ‘That’s. . . that’s a. . . it’s a. . .’

  ‘It’s a yabby,’ said Norton. ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the owner quickly ‘it’s a. . . yabby. A little, tiny yabby. It must have got in there by mistake. Now I’ll just get rid of that plate for you.’ Like a flash his hand went down to retrieve the plate but just as quickly Norton’s snaked out and took him by the wrist.

  ‘Hey. Hold on a sec,’ he said. ‘Where do you think you’re goin’ with that. I’m gonna eat that. They’re the grouse.’

  ‘A yabby?’ said Betty, screwing up her face. ‘It doesn’t look like a yabby to me.’

  ‘Look Betty,’ said Norton, deliberately putting on a loud, know-all Australian voice. ‘I’m an expert on bloody Thai cooking and that’s a bloody Thai yabby. They live in the canals around Bangkok. Don’t they mate?’ He paused for a moment and looked up at the pale, grim-faced owner who didn’t say anything: he just blinked and nodded at Les. ‘Yeah,’ continued Norton. ‘If there’s one thing I know it’s Thai food and those little Bangkok yabbies are the best eating ever. Look, I’ll show you.’

  He dipped his fingers into the plate of curried pork and picked up the rubber cockroach; deftly he tore off one of its wings, dipped it in the sauce then popped it in his mouth and started chewing it. ‘Mm, bloody beautiful,’ he said, rolling his eyes in apparent ecstasy.

  By now the owner’s face had gone from a bilious, chalky white to the same shade of green milk goes after it’s been left in a fridge for a few weeks. He closed his eyes, swallowed and leant against the wall for support.

  ‘Well don’t eat the lot, you guts’ said Betty, ‘give me some.’ She reached across and tore off one of the cockroach’s little rubber legs and put it in her mouth. ‘Oh yes,’ she said, giving it a chew. ‘Nothing wrong with these. Why didn’t you tell me they were on the menu? I’d’ve got a plate of them.’

  ‘I told you they were nice,’ said Norton, ripping the other wing off, dunking it in the sauce and putting it in his mouth also. ‘Mm beautiful. Here you are mate, you want some before it’s all gone?’ He held the sauce-drenched, rubber cockroach close to the horrified owner’s face. ‘Go on — help yourself.’

  The owner stared at it for a few moments as if in a trance. His face changed colour again, then he put his hand over his mouth, turned and bolted for the kitchen.

  ‘Something wrong Marty?’ asked his wife, as he went through the kitchen like an F-111 jet. He almost tore the flyscreen off the kitchen door in his panic to get out in the backyard, where he spent the next half an hour bringing up everything he’d eaten in the last two weeks; plus a few pieces of stomach lining.

  Back in the dining-room, Les and Betty were almost under the table just about paralysed with laughter; the few others left in the restaurant were staring at them like they were either mad or on some sort of hallucinogenic trip. After fifteen minutes or so there was still no sign of the owner so Norton decided to go out the back, pay the bill and retrieve the rest of his Fourex. When he picked up the docket to see what he owed Norton could scarcely believe his eyes: the whole lot didn’t even come to thirty dollars. Christ, he thought, how do they make a profit? That snapper would’ve cost me ten bucks on its own. Smiling to himself he wrapped the docket and the rubber cockroach, in three twenty-dollar bills and went out the back to find the owner’s wife in the kitchen cleaning the stove.

  ‘Here you are,’ said Norton, handing her the money. ‘That food was beautiful. Thank you very much.’ The wife smiled shyly, took the money and placed it on a sideboard. ‘Where’s your husband?’ asked Les, glancing around the kitchen.

  ‘He go outside,’ she replied, nodding her head towards the back door. ‘He not feel very well I think.’ A slight frown crossed her features. ‘I no understand. He look like ghost.’

  Norton smiled down at her. ‘All right if I get the rest of my beer?’ he said.

  ‘In fridge. Top shelf.’ She nodded towards a large, four-door, stainless-steel shop freezer.

  Norton got his cans out, leaving a couple for the owner then smiled back at the wife again. ‘Well, thank you for the lovely food. I hope I can get back here again.’

  The wife looked at him evenly for a moment. ‘Food good,’ she said. ‘Service. . .?’ She pulled a face.

  ‘It wasn’t that bad,’ grinned Norton. ‘Thanks anyway.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ The wife dropped what she was doing, clasped her hands in front of her face then bowed her head slightly in typical Thai fashion. ‘Khorb jai. Sawaddee’ she said, with a grateful smile that almost stole Norton’s heart away.

  ‘Yeah, my oath’ replied Les. ‘Khorb jai. Sawaddee.’

  Norton returned to the dining-room feeling on top of the world. As soon as he caught Betty’s eye he burst out laughing again. They were still laughing when they pulled up outside Betty’s flat.

  ‘Honestly Les, that’s got to be one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen in my life,’ said Betty, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

  ‘Yeah,’ chuckled Norton, switching off the motor. ‘I thought Basil was nearly gonna have a stroke when I shoved that half-eaten cockroach in front of his face.’

  ‘You mean the Bangkok yabby.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  They roared laughing again. When their laughter subsided they sat in silence with just the tape playing softly in the background. Their eyes met and they reached for each other. Somehow the music, the moonlight and their feelings for each other suddenly seemed to melt in around them.
Impulsively, Norton placed his hand gently behind Betty’s neck, drew her face towards him and kissed her tenderly on the lips. Betty responded avidly, passionately, lovingly.

  Betty smiled at him and ran her fingers lightly over his lips. ‘Well Mr Norton, the big, bad bouncer from King Cross; are you going to come and tuck me in and see that I get to bed safely?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ winked Les. ‘I might come in and have a cup of coffee for five minutes.’

  ‘Only five minutes?’

  ‘Well, I might stay a minute or two longer.’

  They locked the car up and went inside. Betty put the kettle on and they waited for it to boil, looking at each other. Norton started kissing Betty again and, unable to help himself, started playing with the zipper on the back of her dress. Betty couldn’t help herself either and switched off the electric kettle.

  ‘Are you sure you feel like a cup of coffee?’ she said quietly.

  ‘Not really,’ smiled Les. ‘The bloody stuff only keeps you awake.’ Arm in arm he led her into the bedroom.

  They didn’t do anything much through the night and into the morning, just made love to each other, again and again; sometimes with strength and passion, other times slowly and gently but always with everything they had to give and with the utmost care and consideration for the other.

  Some time, early in the morning, Norton was lying in bed, not asleep, not really awake, just feeling good with his arm around Betty’s shoulders. She was cuddled up to his side with her head resting on his chest, snoring softly. The moonlight was shining through the thin, lace curtains in the window, playing wonderful tricks on her smooth brown skin and turning her amber hair into shimmering strands of gold. Christ, he thought. As he gazed down on her, an unusual, wonderful, warm feeling of contentment seemed to start in the pit of his stomach and spread through his entire body. I hope I’m not falling in love.

  They both woke up feeling pretty good at around eight o’clock. But with the sun shining in on a glorious spring day and with the birds singing melodically in the trees just outside their window, they couldn’t help themselves — so they got up at nine.

  They showered, fiddled around a bit getting dressed then cooked up breakfast with what they could find left in the flat. About 10.30 Norton was sitting in the kitchen having a cup of coffee and watching Betty while she tidied up the flat and packed the last of her gear. It was a funny, empty sort of feeling he had sitting there quietly sipping his coffee and knowing that once he dropped her off he’d probably never see her again. He could if he wanted to — there was no doubt about that — Betty must have told him a dozen times last night she was in love with him. And the rotten part about it was he was starting to feel the same about her. But what was he going to do? Keep coming up to Grafton all the time? Or say she came down to Sydney. What was he going to offer her there? A life in Bondi, with all his hoods, hookers and murderers for friends and him working four nights a week in a casino getting up at lunchtime the next day. Terrific. He knew how long her old-fashioned, country freshness would last. He’d met plenty of nice country girls who had probably been a bit like Betty before they’d lived in Sydney. Sure he had plenty of money and a house — but what was the use? No. He’d knock their little affair straight on the head as soon as he dropped her off. It was a bit of a bastard really. In fact it was more than that. It gave him the bloody shits just thinking about it. Still. No good being mawkish.

  ‘You got much to go?’ he asked, as Betty dropped a suitcase in the alcove where the kitchen joined the lounge-room.

  ‘No,’ replied Betty. ‘One more overnight bag and two blankets. And that’s it.’

  ‘You sure you don’t want a hand?’

  ‘No, it’s all right.’ Betty looked at Les for a moment then walked over and ran her fingers through his hair. ‘Les. You will come up and see me, won’t you?’

  Norton slipped his arm round her waste and gave her a squeeze. ‘Yeah, of course I will,’ he said.

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘Yeah. I promise.’

  ‘When?’

  Norton gave his shoulders a bit of a shrug. ‘I dunno. I’ll ring you when I get back to Sydney. Drop you a line, then I’ll be up the first chance I get.’

  ‘When’s the first chance you get?’

  ‘I dunno,’ shrugged Norton again. ‘About a week or two. Something like that. That’s all.’

  ‘Good.’ She bent down and kissed him on the lips, looked at him for a moment then went back to her packing.

  Norton was smiling as he watched her walk back into the lounge-room but inside he felt the greatest cunt in the world.

  It wasn’t long before Betty had the flat cleaned and her bags packed. ‘Well, that’s it,’ she said. She sounded a little sad as most people are when an enjoyable holiday comes to an end. Norton picked up the two bags and walked out the front to put them in the car: Betty closed the door behind him. As he placed them on the back seat of the BMW Betty produced a small, instamatic camera and told him to stand in front of the flats. Norton stood there with his arms folded and a lop-sided sort of grin on his face while Betty clicked off two photos. ‘Just a little souvenir of Lobster Flats,’ she said, with a whimsical smile. ‘And you,’ she added. They got in the car, dropped the keys off to some caretaker in a shop in Sawtell and drove out to Reg’s farm.

  ‘I just want to get a fresh change of clothes,’ said Norton, as they headed for the Pacific Highway turnoff. ‘Besides, I’d better let Reg know I’m all right,’ he added with a grin. ‘He’s probably starting to worry.’ I also got to pick up that bag of pot and get it into the boot of the car without anyone seeing, too, he thought, giving his chin a bit of a thoughtful rub. This is going to be interesting.

  ‘When you drop me off, you’ll have to come in and meet my parents,’ said Betty.

  ‘Yeah righto,’ replied Norton. ‘What’s your old man do anyway?’

  ‘He’s a dentist.’ Betty flashed a pearly grin that would have made the Macleans girl envious, and clicked her teeth together. ‘Can’t you tell?’

  ‘Your teeth are all right,’ shrugged Les. ‘You just need a new set of gums, that’s all.’

  Reg and Diane were in the kitchen having a late breakfast when Norton pulled up at the old farmhouse. Sally gave two horrendous, spine-chilling barks as he and Betty walked up the stairs then flopped face down, exhausted at the effort and lay in the sun quietly breaking wind.

  ‘Well, well, well. And how are you young lovers this morning?’ beamed Norton, as he walked into the kitchen. ‘Have a nice night last night, did you?’

  There was a distinct, devilish twinkle in Reg’s eyes but the bags underneath them looked like a pair of purple hammocks. Diane looked pretty much the same only with a rosy glow of satisfaction radiating from her cheeks. Norton quickly summised that between them they’d got plenty of bed but not a great deal of sleep.

  ‘Oh yeah, it was all right,’ replied Reg, with a bit of a grin. ‘What about yourself?’

  ‘Good. The food was enormous,’ replied Norton.

  ‘So what are you doing?’

  ‘Well, I’m just about to get changed, then I’m driving Betty back to Grafton.’

  ‘You in a hurry?’ asked Diane, smiling up at Betty. ‘Why don’t you have a cup of coffee?’

  ‘That sounds like a good idea,’ said Les.

  Diane put a fresh pot on while Reg gave Betty a quick tour of the house. They sat in the kitchen talking over a few cups and some home-made pumpkin scones Diane had brought over. When they’d all finished laughing at Les and Betty’s caper with the owner of the restaurant Norton stood up, saying he was going to put on some clean clothes.

  ‘Hey Reg,’ he said, stopping at the kitchen door. ‘While I’m getting changed, why don’t you show Betty some of your other paintings out in your studio?’

  ‘Oh I don’t think Betty’d be interested,’ replied the artist, a tint of slight embarrassment showing in his cheeks.

  ‘No. I’d love to see t
hem,’ said Betty.

  ‘I’ll put the dishes away while you’re out there.’ Diane stood up and began to clear the table.

  Norton took Diane by the arm. ‘I can do that. Go on, join Betty and Reg. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

  ‘All right.’ The three of them walked out to the studio.

  Norton watched them through the window. As soon as they went inside he went straight out the back door, crawled under the house and retrieved the gladbag full of half-useless dope.

  Keeping the BMW between himself and the studio he made a sprint for it, opened the boot and tossed the relatively light, but cumbersome, bag inside. You bloody little beauty, he thought, with a great smile of relief at being able to get that little task out of the way undetected. He closed the boot gently and walked back to the house.

  In the bedroom he changed into a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt. The small bag of dope he’d pinched from Reg was in amongst his socks; he got it out, removed it from the gladbag and packed it loosely in the front, right-hand pocket of his jeans. That should do the trick, he thought, as he closed the drawer. He was in the kitchen tidying up when the others came back.

  ‘Well, what do you reckon?’ Norton rinsed the last coffee cup and put it in the rack.

  ‘I’m very, very impressed,’ said Betty, shaking her head slightly in astonishment at the quality of Reg’s paintings.

  ‘I told you the young fellah wasn’t too bad, didn’t I?’

  ‘Betty said there’s an exhibition of paintings on at her school next month and she’s going to arrange for me to bring some up.’ Reg shrugged his shoulders and smiled. ‘I might even sell some.’

  ‘You’ll sell some. Don’t worry about that,’ said Betty.

  ‘See, what did I tell you Reg?’ Norton grinned and made a magnanimous gesture with his hands. ‘You’ll have that VCR in no time.’

  Soon it was time to go. Betty told Reg she’d be in touch next week and would make all the arrangements for him to bring his paintings up to Grafton. She also told Diane she’d ring her, and they could all get together again for a dinner or something when Norton came up to see her. The way she smiled and looked so convinced when she said it made Les feel low enough to walk under a landmine. They said their goodbyes at the car. Norton gave the horn a blast and they headed towards Grafton.