Still doing her best to look cool, Francine got a packet of Tally-Ho from a small, engraved, wooden box sitting on a coffee table and proceeded to roll two medium size joints mixed with a little tobacco. Norton went back to leaning against the wall and looking dumb.
‘You feeling all right after that man?’ smirked L.A. Dave.
‘Yeah,’ replied Norton. ‘I held my breath.’ There was another snigger from the three on the lounge.
Yeah, have your laugh Larry, Curley and Mo, thought Norton. It’ll be a different story about two minutes after you light that tuppenny bunger.
Looking like she’d just performed some magnificent feat of engineering, Francine lit one of the joints. They handed it round between them; Levin offered Les a toke out of sheer politeness, which he declined with a curt shake of his head.
In a few minutes the first number was gone and the three of them were sitting on the lounge like battery hens, just staring into space. Finally Francine spoke.
‘Do you. . . want. . . me to light. . . that other joint, David?’ Her voice was nasally and whiney and sounded like it was coming from another room. L.A. Dave didn’t say anything; he just shook his head and went back to staring into space. Levin did pretty much the same, staring into his can of beer. Norton gave them another two minutes of transcendental meditation or whatever it was they were practising.
‘Righto. What do you want to do?’ he said abruptly, moving towards the garbage bag. ‘Do you want this shit or what?’
Dave opened and closed his eyes several times like they were stuck together with epoxy resin. ‘What. . . was that man?’ he mumbled.
‘I said, “do you want this dope?”’ Norton looked at him with bored contempt: he felt like belting Dave over the head. ‘Make up your mind cause I want to get going. Okay?’
‘Yeah. . . Sure man,’ said Dave. ‘I’ll get you the chops.’ He rose from the lounge like he was caught in quicksand. Norton watched him stumble to the fridge in the small kitchen, open it and come back with a bottle of orange-and-mango mineral water which he handed to Les then flopped back down on the lounge. The others looked blankly at the bottle, then back at Dave with puzzled looks on their spaced-out faces.
Norton stared at the bottle for a moment then screwed up his face and looking at L.A. Dave. ‘What am I supposed to do with this Dave?’ he said contemptuously. ‘Cash the fuckin’ thing in?’
Dave looked up at Norton for a moment quite puzzled. ‘Oh shit man. . . Sorry man,’ he said, lurching drunkenly to his feet. ‘I’ve. . . made a. . . bit of a blue.’ Norton shook his head and watched him return to the fridge, open the deep-freeze compartment, then return with a bread wrapper full of money. ‘Sorry. . . man,’ he mumbled, handing it to Les. ‘I. . . thought you wanted a drink.’ Norton handed him the bottle of mineral water and he flopped down on the lounge.
‘That’s okay,’ said Norton. He watched them for a few seconds sitting like dummies in a shop window, then a devilish smile started to spread slowly across his craggy face. ‘So you reckon that pot’s all right eh?’ he said to the three of them.
‘Yeah. . . as good as. . . gold man,’ said L.A. Dave.
‘Terrific Les. No. . . worries,’ muttered Tony.
‘Unreal,’ whined Francine.
‘Yeah I thought it might have been all right,’ said Les. He smiled broadly and gave the garbage bag a bit of a nudge with his foot. ‘Yeah. I don’t know much about pot,’ he said slowly. ‘But there’s dead set one thing I know for sure.’
‘What’s. . . that Les?’ said Tony.
Norton pointed to the garbage bag. ‘That’s definitely got the real thing in there.’
L.A. Dave looked at the others and started to laugh. ‘Oh yeah man. . . it’s the real thing all right.’ He gave Tony a nudge as he started to laugh, too. ‘Hey. . . what do you reckon?’
‘Oh yeah,’ replied Tony, feeling pretty smug because he’d got on to the dope in the first place. ‘It’s the real. . . thing. No worries.’ He kept laughing, until he and Dave were roaring.
Even super-cool Francine couldn’t help but put her skinny head in. ‘Yes Les, you’re a. . . real good judge,’ she giggled. ‘It’s the. . . real thing all right.’ She turned to Dave and roared laughing. ‘The man said. . . it’s the real thing Dave.’ They were all rolling on the lounge collapsed with laughter which was supposed to be at Norton’s expense.
Norton watched them falling around for a moment and started laughing himself. ‘Anyway gang,’ he said, tucking the 15,000 dollars up under his arm. ‘I’ve got to get going.’ He held up a hand. ‘It’s all right. I can find my own way out.’ He moved to the doorway that led into the shop. ‘Anyway, if I don’t bump into you in Sydney, I might see you up here again some time,’ he winked. ‘See you later.’
‘Yeah. . . see you. . . Les,’ they chorused between fits of laughter.
He turned and walked away. He could still hear them laughing as he went out the front door.
Norton climbed into the BMW, threw the money on the front seat and started the car. There were no other cars around so he did a quick U-turn, drove down Prince Street and turned left into Fitzroy. He cruised along a block or two then pulled over to give the money a quick check. The car stereo was on and of all songs to be playing as he sat there counting the money, was Air Supply singing ‘Lost In Love’. He finished counting the money and sat listening to the music. Air Supply filled the car with melody, harmony and beautiful lyrics and a swirl of purple and blue jacaranda blossoms caught in the breeze gusted around the car. He started thinking about Betty again. He scratched his chin and looked at his watch — almost three o’clock.
Well, he thought to himself. If I get going now, I’ll be back at Reg’s by about four and have a nice early night. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. Then on the other hand. . . I could have a few cool ones at that rowing club and maybe have a nice seafood dinner. He glanced down at the money. I wouldn’t mind a bit of a celebration. And if I leave here late tomorrow morning, I’d get to Coffs Harbour around lunch time. I reckon I could get that $900 VCR for say $800 cash — shot in a decent TV. I’d get them both for less than $1500. Reg’d never know where the money came from. As he drummed his fingers on the dashboard, Air Supply faded out and The Reels floated gently in. They were singing ‘La Mer’ in French. It was an offer Norton couldn’t refuse.
‘Yeah fuck it,’ he said out loud. ‘I’ll stay the bloody night.’
With a grin from ear to ear he started the car, zoomed back up Fitzroy and roared back along Prince Street. As he got to Kirchner he suddenly hit the brakes and screamed to a halt.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he said out loud again. ‘I forgot the bloody milk.’
Something She’d Never Done Before
Standing beneath the pale blue light of the Kelly Club, the two solid men in tuxedos seemed a little restless as they shuffled around on the footpath, waiting outside the doorway for the prospective punters to start turning up. It was just after nine o’clock on a Wednesday night; the beginning of the working week for them.
The shorter of the two men stretched his arms out level with his shoulders, rotated them several times then put his hands in his trouser pockets, finally leaning up against the wall on one shoulder.
‘Well. How was the weekend Les?’ he asked, looking up at his workmate. ‘You get up to much?’ Billy Dunne’s idea of a weekend was the four days they had off from Sunday to Wednesday.
Les Norton also had his hands in his trouser pockets. He stood in the middle of the footpath idly scuffing with the toe of his riding boot at an empty cigarette packet lying at his feet.
‘No, not really,’ he replied casually. ‘Just took it easy. Went to the pictures Tuesday night. Saw a Clint Eastwood movie.’
‘Any good?’
‘Not bad. He shot about two hundred blokes without reloading his gun.’ Norton finally kicked the empty cigarette packet into the gutter. ‘What’d you do?’
‘Took the missus to a barbecue Sunda
y arvo.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ Billy paused for a moment before he spoke. ‘That’s what I meant to ask you. What was the name of that sheila you took out a few times from over Kogarah? The one that worked in the bank.’
Norton had to think for a second. ‘The little blonde sheila? Andrea. Andrea Hayden.’
‘Andrea. That’s right.’
‘What makes you ask?’
‘She’d just been divorced or something, hadn’t she?’
Norton nodded his head. ‘Why?’
‘I met her ex-husband at the barbecue.’
‘Yeah? What was he like?’
‘Not a bad lookin’ bloke. Bit of a no-hoper. Desperate punter.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. He was trying to pump me for a bit of information. Seems he owes Harry Allen and that team from over San Souci a bit of dough and can’t settle. He was asking me what they were like.’
‘What’d you tell him?’
‘I give him the name of a good doctor and told him to get plenty of HCF.’
Norton laughed. ‘Yeah, Harry’s not the sort of bloke you’d want to owe money to.’
There was a bit of a twinkle in Billy’s eye as he looked up at Les quizzingly. ‘Were you doing any business there. . . with Andrea?’
Norton shook his head. ‘No. I had a bit of a lash, but she was still getting over the divorce. I s’pose I could’ve if I’d pushed it. But. . .’
‘You still seein’ her?’
‘I give her a ring now and again. She’s not a bad scout. Got a terrific personality. Last I heard she was goin’ to Hawaii or something.’
‘Hawaii eh?’
‘Yeah. She said she was gonna send me a card care of the club.’
When Qantas flight 648 from Sydney landed at Honolulu International Airport, Andrea Hayden undid her seatbelt and leant slightly across the passenger seated closest to the window to get her first glimpse of Hawaii. It was just after 9 a.m. Honolulu time on a beautiful Friday morning. Although the man sitting next to her and most of the other people on the plane were obviously quite excited, Andrea wasn’t nearly as enthused as she could have been. The droning nine-hour flight from Australia, crossing the International Dateline, had left her feeling quite jaded, and while she had managed to snatch some sleep most of it was spoilt by broken dreams and unhappy memories of how the trip had come about.
Six years of marriage had just finished in divorce with Andrea on the receiving end of a very raw deal in a settlement. When their modest home-unit was finally sold, Wayne’s gambling debts settled, interest rates met and a slump in real-estate values taken into account there wasn’t a great deal left. Barely enough for court costs and a cheap ten-day package tour to Hawaii; which Andrea had promised herself no matter what. Not much of a reward for six years of your life. Six irreplaceable years.
Not that she didn’t try. She did everything she could to keep their marriage and the home-unit at Sans Souci together. But while most of the money she earned at the bank went into the home-unit it seemed all the money Wayne made spray painting, when he’d get up to go to work, went to the pub, the TAB and every SP bookie in the St George area who would give him credit. So finally, instead of arguing about it all the time, they decided to get a divorce; and that was that. Six years out of her life and most of her money straight out the window.
But she wasn’t bitter. Sad, terribly disillusioned and not at all looking forward to the prospect of having to start out over again of course, but bitter? No. And while she could never love Wayne again she could never bring herself to hate him; hatred and unfriendliness were two things that didn’t seem to exist in Andrea Hayden’s nature.
If anything, it was her good nature and kind heart that were Andrea’s biggest downfalls; people were always taking advantage of her. Wayne certainly did. And her young brother and most of the people at the bank where she worked. But after this divorce episode was over she told herself she was going to toughen up one day. One day. Still, what was the use of being sour on the world? Laugh and the world laughs with you Andrea always used to say, cry and you cry alone; and who knows, some day someone or something might come along.
It wasn’t as if she was an unattractive woman, a bit plain maybe but definitely not ugly. Her roundish, happy face with a scattering of freckles and nearly always devoid of make-up was suited by the loosely bobbed, auburnish-blonde hair that wisped lightly across her hazel-green eyes. The freckles even seemed to give her an old-fashioned country girl appearance — often making her pass for younger than 29. She dressed a bit soberly, had a bit of a double-chin and was possibly a tad stocky for 170 centimetres, but aerobics classes had kept her boobs and bum reasonably tight. And being a light drinker and particular with how much and what she ate, she was always healthy and rarely got ill.
‘Well there it is Andrea, blue Hawaii. What do you reckon?’
She turned away from the window to find one of the flight stewards standing in the aisle next to her. ‘Oh, hello John,’ she said, smiling up at him through her tiredness. ‘Yes it certainly looks nice out there. Plenty of sunshine, too. A bit different to Sydney when we left.’
‘Eighty-one degrees on the local scale and the water temperature’s about seventy. Another hour or so and you should be lying on the golden sands of Waikiki, a mai-tai in one hand and a couple of rich Yanks hanging off the other.’
‘And if there’s any talent scouts around they might even sign me up for a part in Hawaii Five-O!’
John smiled and nodded his head. ‘Yes, they’re always looking for heavies on the show.’ He bent over a little closer to her. ‘Listen we start to get a bit busy now and I have to go, but remember what I told you. Okay? He patted her lightly on the shoulder and winked. ‘See you later Andrea.’
‘Bye-bye John. Thanks.’ She watched him move on down the aisle, stopping from time to time to smile and help different passengers get their bags down from the overhead luggage compartments. Her thoughts drifted back to when she first met him.
It was about five or six hours into the flight after the main meal had been served. The cabin lights were out but Andrea was still having trouble sleeping, so was listening to some music through a set of headphones. It was quite pleasant; the music was nice and light and she was just starting to relax when Elton John’s ‘Sad Songs’ began to play. ‘When every little hope is gone — Sad songs say so much,’ kept repeating. At first it made her feel just a little sentimental, then nostalgic and the next thing she knew she was crying openly. She tore the headphones off, grabbed several tissues from her handbag, hurried for the ‘ladies’ and almost stumbled into John. He was standing in the soft glow of the aft galley sipping coffee with another steward. John couldn’t help noticing the tears streaming down Andrea’s face. Being diplomatic like all Qantas stewards, he enquired casually when she came out if there was something wrong. He insisted that she have a fresh cup of coffee and winked as he dropped a nip of Tia Maria in it. After introducing himself as John Greenough and his work-mate Tommy Butterworth, Andrea got talking. It wasn’t long before she started to feel a bit more relaxed and, under their gentlemanly charm, started to open up a bit.
She didn’t go into too much detail about the circumstances surrounding her divorce but told them that mainly what she wanted was a break somewhere different and away from everybody. She told them how she was doing it a bit on the cheap with the ten-day package tour, how she’d only allowed herself fifty dollars a day spending money and 200 for presents for her family, and asked them if they knew of any inexpensive places to eat. She also added that most of the people in her group were a pretty dreary bunch, middle-aged married couples mainly and two giggling over-made-up girls from Wollongong, whom she wasn’t at all keen to join up with. She asked if they knew of any night spots where she’d be all right on her own. John and Tommy were only too willing to oblige.
They told her a few of the good things about Hawaii and also some of the pitfalls; Honolulu could be
a bit of a heavy town at times if you weren’t careful. But as Andrea was booked into the Hilton Hawaiian Village and the crew always stayed at the Illakai, almost next door, why didn’t she join them that night for drinks and they’d explain things more over a few cool ones in a more relaxed atmosphere? There was a bar on top of the Reef Hotel called the Flight Bar. It opened between five and eight o’clock, drinks were half-price and everybody went there to watch the sun set over the ocean. Andrea was ordered to be there no later than 6 p.m. and wearing the loudest mumu or Hawaiian shirt she could find. Tommy even drew her a little map how to find the place. Feeling much better she returned to her seat. She didn’t bother to put the head-phones on again.
When she left the plane John and Tommy were standing at the top of the gangway with several other flight personnel.
‘Don’t forget now,’ said Tommy, as she started down the steps. ‘The Reef Hotel, no later than six.’
‘No, I’ll be there for sure.’
‘We’ll see you then.’
‘Yes, for sure. Goodbye Tommy. Goodbye John. And thanks.’
‘Hey,’ said John, ‘you’re in Hawaii now. It’s aloha.’
‘Aloha it is then,’ she grinned. She was still smiling when she got to the bottom of the steps.
The first thing she noticed as she stood in the arrival area waiting for her bags, apart from everybody seeming to have on a Hawaiian shirt, was the number of people, both male and female, wearing huge handguns in open holsters. It was worse in the customs area. Apart from all the customs officers wearing magnums and automatics, there were black-uniformed police everywhere all armed to the teeth with hand-guns, shotguns, billy clubs, mace, handcuffs and walkie-talkies — all chewing gum and all wearing mirror sunglasses. God, she thought, I may as well have booked ten days in Nicaragua. If a car backfires around here it’ll be like the gunfight at the OK Corral.
She found it was the same in the lobby of her hotel. More Hawaiian shirts and monstrous, uniformed security guards, chewing gum, wearing sunglasses and armed to the hilt. A girl’s certainly safe here.
The Real Thing Page 28