White Shoes, White Lines and Blackie

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘Oh, get out.’

  ‘All right, I’ll put it to you another way. If just having a shower, washing your hair and ironing an old dress makes you look like that, I’d love to see you when you put your mind to it.’

  ‘Oh, you idiot.’ Des tried not to smile, but the look on Norton’s face when she gently slapped his shoulder gave her away.

  ‘But there is something I’ve got to ask you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This “Des”? What’s it short for? I’m just Les, and that’s it. A good old Aussie name. But Des? What is it? Des-monda? Despina? Desiree. Des the next train stop at Central? What?’

  ‘Desilu.’

  ‘Desilu?’

  Des looked at Norton impassively. ‘You ever watched the Lucille Ball show?’

  Les screwed his face. ‘I Love Lucy? About twice — maybe.’

  ‘At the end it says, “Produced by Desilu Productions”. Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball.’

  Norton shook his head. ‘I still don’t…’

  ‘They used to call my mother the Lucille Ball of Taree. She looked just like her, only twice as dumb. And she used to watch the stupid bloody show all the time and it went to her head a bit. Till she had four kids. Me and three brothers. So somewhere along the way I got named Desilu.’ Norton just looked at her. ‘I don’t tell many people. I told the other pedi-cab drivers it stood for Destry. Now every time I get a fare, they all yell out, “Destry rides again”.’ Norton tried not to laugh. ‘So you reckon that boy named Sue’s got troubles. And my surname’s Donaldson. Desilu Donaldson. Great, ain’t it?’

  ‘Well, I think your secret’s safe, Des. ’Cause I can’t ever see them showing that thing on TV again.’

  ‘No, thank Christ. There wouldn’t be a TV channel in Australia stupid enough.’

  ‘Couldn’t be any worse than this girl from out my way. Her first name was Edna. And her last name was Bag. Know what we had to call her? Edna Bag.’

  Des turned away and laughed. ‘Oh you stupid…’

  ‘Anyway. What about I call you DD? I’m mixed up with KK. And it sounds better than Les and Des all the time. What do you reckon?’

  ‘Okay, Les,’ smiled DD. ‘You got me.’

  The conversation drifted off a little, with DD looking out the window at the passing traffic, apparently deep in thought. It was a beautiful warm night. Now and again, through the gaps in the high-rises on Norton’s left, you could see the moon sparkling on the ocean from a sky drenched with stars. Les couldn’t have been happier. He had a date with a beautiful girl who liked a laugh, and if something should eventuate, so much the better. No matter what, it was still going to be a good night, just having her for company. He was up here for another five days, he was a moral to see her again before she left. You never know what might happen. I might even nick that Jag and run her back to Taree. In the meantime, leave her with her thoughts. Though I bet I know what she’s thinking. How often do you go out with Steve Stunning plus he’s got a big pocket full of chops.

  DD was thinking something along those lines. Les was all right, no two ways about that; better than she’d expected. He dressed neat, didn’t stink of beer and cigarettes and didn’t seem the type who’d want to jump all over her after filling her full of drink and forking out for a meal. He still wasn’t getting his $200 back. That was hers. If he wanted to get into her pants he’d have to spend a bit more time on her and a bit more than a handful of twenties. But there was something about the big dill. And what if he did? DD could think of much better things to hump her tu-tu against than the constant thumping of that seat on her pedi-cab. A nice meal with a nice bloke. Who knows what might happen? But no matter what, Les couldn’t have come along at a better time; he was a gift. Which was why she took up his offer a little quickly. Because Desilu wasn’t only thinking about Steve Stunning and his big pocket full of chops. DD was also thinking about the overnight-bag she’d found on the road Wednesday night, coming back from Neptune’s Casino, which contained 40 one-ounce deals of choice marijuana heads, rolled up in a Brisbane Broncos jumper.

  She’d just dropped three fat Japanese off at the casino, almost busting her ring getting them up the ramp. Not having a fare, she was taking it easy as she headed back to Cavill Avenue when she spotted the bag in the gutter. It was picked up and stashed in the compartment beneath the passenger seat in about a microsecond. She never noticed the beige LTD that had almost run up the back of another car a little earlier, causing the driver to accidently knock the boot release next to the seat. The four men in the LTD were about half a kilometre up the highway before they noticed the boot was open and the bag, thrown loosely on top of some other gear in the back, was missing. A screaming U-turn and an angry, cursing search of the area failed to find the missing overnight-bag. Not that the four thick-set gents were worried about missing out on a good smoke so much. The stuff in the bag was to be swapped for something in powder form that was more to their needs and livelihood. DD didn’t notice the four men in the beige LTD morosely driving along the highway a little later; and they didn’t take any notice of the girl in the sweaty singlet, driving a pedi-cab as they went past her not far from the turnoff to KK’s flat.

  DD got a fare to Main Beach not long after, so she decided to call in home, have a quick cup of coffee and check out what was in the bag. DD nearly shit herself when she opened the football jumper. After she stashed it, got rid of the jumper and settled down a bit, her travelled mind went into action. DD had been around long enough to know a good smoke. If she could get that to Taree next week, she knew someone who could get it to Newcastle, who knew someone who could soon get it to Sydney. Forty deals? A quick sale. At least ten, possibly twelve thousand dollars. So here she is, stuck with all this potential money and still having to work Thursday and Friday night. But to suddenly tell the boss to stick his pedi-cab where the feathers are thinnest could possibly arouse suspicion, because they all knew DD was scratching for a dollar and would go bare knuckle with Mike Tyson for a fare. Then like a bolt out of the blue, Les turned up. Naturally she couldn’t get back to Cavill Avenue and wave the $200 around quick enough. Somebody else could have her shift that night. Friday night, she’d say she was too crook or he was taking her out again. This went over quite well, and there was more calls of ‘Destry’s gonna ride again’ as she handed the pedi-cab over and caught a taxi home to get changed. So Les certainly came along at the right time, and he was okay. In fact she was almost wishing now she hadn’t referred to him as some big red-headed goose with more money than brains, when she saw her boss and later told her flatmates where she was going that night.

  DD turned from the window and smiled at Norton. ‘We’re almost there.’

  Les returned her smile. ‘Good. I’m feeling pretty peckish.’

  The taxi turned into Martha Street and stopped. They both got out and despite unknowingly getting dudded on the fare, Les tipped the driver $5. Grandma’s House was a two-storey restaurant-bar, just back from the beach, in between a video store and a bakery, and a few other small shops. The front was painted white, with ‘Grandma’s House’ splashed across the front in red. Under this was a cartoon drawing of Red Riding Hood, the Wolf and Grandma, all in a chorus line kicking their legs up.

  ‘Hey, I like it already,’ said Les.

  ‘Wait’ll you try the food.’

  Norton pushed open a single door and they stepped inside. A bloke dressed much like Les was standing just inside. ‘Good evening, sir,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Are you dining?’

  ‘Bloody oath,’ replied Norton. ‘I just hope you’ve got enough in the kitchen. She eats like a horse.’

  The bloke smiled at DD. ‘How are you, Des?’

  ‘Pretty good, Ray.’

  There was an area with mirrored walls as you walked in, a long bar to your left and a DJ’s stand at one end of that. Posters and photos of film stars covered the walls and a number of indoor-plants hung from the ceiling, which led to another area out the back. There were ab
out a dozen or so people standing around having a drink; the DJ hadn’t started, just a Jenny Morris tape playing. The place reminded Les of a little bar and restaurant he knew near Randwick Junction.

  DD pointed to a set of stairs at the back of the bar, leading to the restaurant above. ‘Up this way,’ she said.

  Norton followed her up the stairs, DD’s shapely backside in the yellow dress momentarily making him forget how hungry he was. For food at least. The restaurant was roughly the same size as the front area below. Windows looked out over the street opposite a busy kitchen at the rear, with more posters on the walls and indoor-plants. It was hot, busy, with heaps of atmosphere, and the smells coming from the kitchen made Norton feel like someone had turned a sprinkler on in his mouth. A wholesome blonde girl, wearing a Grandma’s-House T-shirt, walked over.

  ‘For two, is it?’ she smiled.

  Les nodded and they were lucky enough to get a nice cool table next to a window. There was a blackboard menu: mainly grills and seafood. The girl handed them a wine list and left.

  ‘What do you fancy to drink?’ asked Les.

  ‘I’m going to kick off with an icy cold bottle of Corona,’ said DD.

  ‘Yeah, I might have the same,’ nodded Les. ‘Then we’ll have a bottle of plonk.’

  ‘Or two,’ smiled DD.

  ‘Two each, if you like,’ winked Norton.

  The waitress came back and they ordered the beers. By the time they studied the blackboard menu the beers were gone, so Les ordered another two.

  DD went for the barbecued calamari with macadamia nut and mango sauce, and the house T-bone. Norton chose the same, plus a dozen oysters Kilpatrick as well. And a bottle of ’74 Veuve Clicquot. They were making quite a dent in the shampoo when the entrees arrived. Les reckoned there wasn’t enough d’s in delicious to describe them. DD matched Norton bite for bite, drink for drink. Norton ordered another bottle of bubbly. They were getting into that when two monstrous T-bones arrived, surrounded by crispy, thin chips, onion rings and a bowl of garden-fresh salad. Still spluttering on their sizzle plates, they were as thick as a Collins Dictionary and hanging over the edge of the plate and tender enough to eat with a spoon.

  ‘Christ! How good are these,’ said Les.

  DD gave Norton a thin smile. ‘Just keep your eyes off mine, pal.’

  Again the pedi-cab driver matched Les bite for bite. She even gnawed the bone and wiped her plate with a piece of garlic bread. When she’d finished, there wasn’t a grease stain left on her plate, let alone a chip or a shred of salad. DD was something else.

  ‘You fancy sweets?’ ventured Les.

  ‘Bloody oath,’ was the reply. ‘Did you think I came here just for a snack?’

  Norton was in love.

  They ordered Bananas Grandma. Which were two big Queensland bananas, fried in butter and honey, sprinkled liberally with shredded coconut, passionfruit and chopped strawberries, plus scoops of ice cream and a splash of Cointreau. Not only was it delicious also, it finally stopped DD in her tracks along with Norton.

  ‘I think a nice cup of coffee’d go well now,’ said Les. His head floating just a little from the champagne; the Cointreau had cut the string.

  ‘Good idea,’ nodded DD, her beautiful emerald eyes starting to swim a bit also. ‘Then we’ll go downstairs and rage it off. It starts to kick on about now.’

  They finished their coffees, with possibly the odd, strange look passing between them. Les paid the bill, leaving the girl $20. Then they went downstairs. As they were walking down the stairs, The Bondi Cigars’ ‘Howling at the Moon’ came drifting up; not all that softly either. Hello, thought Les, what’s this? The place had filled up a bit and a DJ in his thirties, wearing a green Hawaiian shirt was throwing on some records.

  ‘Hey, you’re right,’ said Norton. ‘This looks all right.’

  DD took hold of Norton’s shirt and put her face about an inch in front of his. ‘Would these little green eyes lie?’

  ‘Never in a million years, I would imagine.’

  She blew him a little kiss. ‘I’ll have a Jack Daniels and Coke, thanks. And you can have anything you like.’

  From then on the night was just a hoot. There was no dancefloor so the DJ didn’t have to play heaps of punishing house music to keep zithead trendoids and gay posers happy. Instead he threw on all sorts of things, mainly rock ‘n’ roll. Of course not having a dancefloor didn’t make much difference because everybody was dancing anyway, including Les and DD, while they topped up with bourbons and the odd pina collada.

  They boogied to the Swinging Sidewalks’ ‘Now Now’, rocked and bopped to Dire Straits’ ‘Heavy Heavy Fuel’, hustled to Fontella Bass’s ‘Rescue Me’, really worked the T-bones around to Bob Geldorf’s ‘Love or Something’, and joined up with a bunch of other happy drunks in a boozy chorus line to Tina Turner’s disco version of ‘Nutbush City Limits’. That, and a bit of ‘Right Said Fred’, was the closest the DJ got to house mush all night.

  Dancing with DD was sensational. Her body was whippy and light and her backside, when they bumped, harder than some forwards’ Norton had packed scrums with; only a much nicer shape and smelled a lot better. By around midnight sweat was pouring down DD’s face and her beautiful brown hair was plastered all over her head. Norton didn’t look much better. In fact, between her yellow dress and his denim shirt, they both looked like they’d come through a carwash on a motorbike.

  DD took a slurp of bourbon and held on to Les for support. ‘You know what I feel like now — a swim.’

  ‘Yeah. Not a bad idea.’

  ‘There’s a pool back at your place, isn’t there?’

  ‘Yeah but…’

  ‘No bloody buts. That’s it, we’re going back to your place for a swim.’

  ‘Yeah but…’

  ‘Stick your buts. I’m going to see Ray and get us a taxi.’

  Les was about to say something but DD left him to weave her way over to the man at the door. Instead, Les went to the bar. DD returned and was watching him from behind as he stepped back to let a girl get served first even though he was there before her. Yeah, I thought so. A bit of a square. A real country boy. Shucks, man, do you think it proper we go back and have a swim — you havin’ no bikini and all, maam. Well, just watch yourself back home, pal. As well as spending all that money, you might find yourself being raped on top of it. They had their last drinks while they waited for a taxi. Norton was going to tell her about the pool, but the DJ was getting half tanked by now and had turned the music up, so Les couldn’t be bothered shouting. Not over Johnny Diesel’s ‘Soul Revival’ anyway. Ray caught DD’s eye and waved. They skulled their drinks, breathed a boozy goodbye to the bloke on the door that almost singed his eyebrows off, and the next thing they were in a taxi on their way to the flat.

  ‘Lift your arm,’ said DD.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your arm — lift it.’ Les did as he was told and DD snuggled up against his chest. ‘Wake me when we get to your place.’ She closed her eyes and made herself even more comfortable.

  Well, what about this, thought Les, barely able to contain himself as he felt DD purring away against his chest. The young lady seems to be very much my way. Who knows what might happen on a balmy holiday night on the beautiful Gold Coast? Might be a different story though when she looks for the deep end of the pool to jump in. This time the cab driver could see the big redheaded bloke in the back wasn’t interested in a grand tour of all the stop-lights on the Gold Coast Highway. They were out the front of the flats before they knew it. No sign of KK, thought Les, as he paid the driver. Not that I care all that much. If I make too much noise he can sack me. I don’t give a stuff.

  ‘Hey, this place is really nice,’ said DD, stepping inside as Les opened the door and switched on the lights.

  ‘Yeah, it’s a good joint all right.’

  DD had another look round when Les switched on the loungeroom light. ‘Very nice indeed. Now where’s the pool?’


  ‘That’s what I was trying to tell you.’ He opened the fly-screen and they stepped out onto the sundeck. ‘There it is.’

  DD looked at the pool, screwed up her face and turned to Les. ‘It’s bloody empty.’

  ‘That’s what I was trying to bloody tell you. But you know how it is with you sheilas, it’s like trying to get the last word in with an echo.’ DD put her hands on her hips and looked up at Norton through her eyebrows. ‘But if you want a swim. What’s that out there?’

  DD followed Norton’s outstretched arm. The sea was awash with moonlight under a sky full of stars. Puffs of tiny white waves rolled in and the noise drifting up as they gently washed against the shimmering water’s edge was as soft as a kiss. It was hot, there was no wind and after all the activity at Grandma’s House the water did look inviting.

  ‘Yeah, a bloody great ocean full of sharks, sea wasps and heaps of sand all up your Khyber.’

  ‘But it’d still be nice. And there’s two showers here.’

  DD looked at Norton as a trickle of sweat ran down her back. ‘You got a T-shirt?’

  Les grinned. ‘Small woman’s or XWOS?’

  Les gave DD his Mambo T-shirt and told her to throw her gear in the first bedroom. He got into his Speedos and a pair of training shorts, just in case Mr Wobbly should start jumping up and down as soon as he saw DD in her knickers and a wet T-shirt, and grabbed a couple of towels. It was just as well, because DD looked pretty sensational just wearing it dry as she stood in the lounge-room. He handed her a towel. Next thing they were down the back stairs jogging drunkenly across the sand towards the water’s edge.

  ‘Well, you know the old saying, last one in’s a rotten egg.’

  Norton ran into the water, crashed through a few small waves then dived in. The water didn’t have the slightest hint of a chill; if anything it seemed even better than it did in the afternoon. Les flopped around washing away the heat and sweat then stood up and turned towards the beach.

  ‘Come on, DD. It’s terrific.’ There was no sign of her. ‘DD,’ he yelled out a couple more times. Suddenly the beach looked very empty. Wonder where she is? Les stood waist deep in water looking for her. He was about to call out again. Next thing.