‘Aargh! Gotcha.’ DD jumped up on his back from behind, same time as a wave hit him, knocking Les on his arse.
Norton got up spluttering water and was about to grab DD and give her a severe dunking but she was gone. ‘You mug,’ he yelled out. He managed to make out her laughing face in the moonlight, so he dived under the water, grabbed her ankles and lifted, sending DD backwards into an oncoming wave.
They wallowed around pushing each other, splashing water in each other’s faces and carrying on like a couple of big silly kids in general. The T-shirt was clinging to DD now and her body looked more tantalisingly beautiful than ever. From DD’s point of view Norton didn’t look too bad either, the water and moonlight rippling over the muscles in his stomach and chest. The night’s activities plus all the food and booze started to take its toll, and before long they were bobbing around in about a metre of water. DD had her arms around Norton’s neck, he was gently holding her waist. Above them the moon and stars were literally sizzling in the sky. In a situation like this, it was a photo finish who kissed who first.
DD’s lips were soft and sweet, the salt water adding a spice that spun Norton’s eyes around. Their tongues met, waves hit them, DD’s T-shirt floated up and her breasts were as firm as two honeydew melons, the cool water turning her nipples into hard, juicy raspberries. Their kissing intensified.
They didn’t bother about the Burt Lancaster-Deborah Kerr scene in From Here to Eternity, getting sand everywhere you don’t need it. They headed straight for Norton’s bedroom and the queen-size bed. Les slipped DD’s T-shirt off, along with his shorts and threw them in the en-suite. DD was wearing some sort of pink satin knickers that almost sent Mr Wobbly into a tail spin. Les kissed her down onto the bed then started kissing and licking the salt water from around her neck and nipples and out of her navel. DD was sighing and starting to make tiny groaning noises. He slipped her knickers down and DD groaned some more as she brought her knees and ankles together so Les could get them off altogether. DD’s skin was still fragrant with body oil and it bit gently into Norton’s tongue, along with the salt water as he moved from her navel down to her thighs. DD was groaning audibly now. She brought her knees up and Les moved his face in between her legs; it too was salty and fragrant and tasted better than a dozen Georges River oysters, straight out of the shell. Norton’s head was starting to swim. He pulled off his Speedos, got between her and kissed her full on the mouth and neck. DD scrabbled her fingers into his hair and crushed her tongue into Norton’s ear.
‘Ohh fuck me.’
The big, red-headed goose with more money than brains did exactly what the lady wearing the yellow dress on the bed in the next room told him.
Les worked his way into DD and couldn’t remember anything ever feeling so good; her lean, brown body was pure delight. She writhed and moaned; Les held her round the shoulders and started stroking away, feeling her moving with him. He started going a little faster, but not for too long; it was too good to finish. DD would wriggle and moan. Les would slow down and DD would choke back a tear as he’d start up again.
‘Ohh yesss.’
They worked their way all over the queen-size bed, scattering sheets everywhere. DD got on top, they had a brain-snapping sixty-niner. DD went along with it all, pushing Les if anything. Norton had a quick flashback to Terrigal. But this wasn’t Sophia. DD was just a healthy, fit Australian girl who’d met a healthy, fit Australian boy she fancied. So she’d just met Les? So what? And she did say there was something about the big dill. But it couldn’t go on forever. They found themselves at one end of the bed near the wall, Norton lifted her legs up and started putting in the big ones; DD grabbed him round the neck, threw back her head and shook it, sending a spray of water across the wall as she threw herself up with him. Then poor Mr Wobbly swelled up and exploded inside DD like a hand-grenade. Eyes jammed shut and the veins almost pumping out of his forehead, Norton arched his back, gave it his last then crashed face first into the pillow alongside DD. Bloody hell, thought Les. How good was that. He moved his face to get some air in. DD, baby, if only I could scream like you and tell everyone else how good it was too.
After a few moments his breath started to come back and DD was softly running her fingers through his hair. She had a half smile on her face that somehow reflected in her voice. ‘Are you all right?’ she said.
‘Yeah, I think so,’ answered Norton, not all that sure. ‘But could you do me a favour?’
‘Sure.’
‘Have a look underneath the bed will you. I think my spine’s stuck in the floor down there somewhere.’
‘Righto. And while I’m there. Have a look round the ceiling and see if you can find my ankles. They flew past my head about ten minutes ago.’
They had a bit of a laugh at themselves and a cuddle, then Les suggested a nice cool shower. Save water, shower with a friend. Naturally the shower went a bit longer than normal. They got towelled off, Des wasn’t in any hurry to get home so Les gave her another T-shirt, they straightened up the bed and got back in. As they did Norton popped a cassette in the ghetto-blaster. The first track was Happening Thang’s ‘Sitting by a Fireplace’. The words seemed to exactly set the tone of the moment.
It wasn’t long, and between the pillow talk and laughter, knees started nudging, fingers started walking then hands started wandering and lips met. Mr Wobbly rose to the occasion, more than willing to do battle again. The next one was as good as the first and went almost as long. But it was the knockout blow for both contestants. When it was over, DD was snoring softly, much in the same position she’d been in on the back seat of the taxi. Les could hardly keep his eyes open, but he had a big smile on his face and couldn’t remember feeling this good. Yes, he thought, if you could do that five nights a week, you’d only have to train three and you’d never have a smile off your face. Was it the best night Les had ever had? He wasn’t sure. But it was that close it didn’t make any difference. The tape cut out at exactly the same time as Norton.
Friday dawned warm and sunny; one or two puffs of cloud in the sky and a light nor-east breeze promising it would be a hot day before the clouds arrived in the afternoon. Les was woken by the blinds drawn, the ghetto-blaster playing softly and the shower running. He felt good, no hangover but just too relaxed to make a move. He half dozed off again when DD was standing in front of the bed in her underwear, drying her hair with a towel.
‘Hello handsome,’ she said brightly. ‘How are you?’
Norton shook himself awake. ‘DD. How are you? How long’ve you been up?’
‘About ten minutes. I left you snoring your head off.’
‘Ohh.’ Norton grinned and gave DD a very heavy once up and down in her underwear. ‘I was thinkin’…’
‘Yeah, so was I. But I’m just a little sore, and I do have to get home, you know.’
‘Yeah fair enough. Mr Wobbly feels like he’s got a bit of bark missing too.’
DD crawled across the sheets and gave Les a kiss. ‘So how about getting a cab together.’
‘Okay. I’ll just have a quick shower myself.’
‘I’ll make some coffee.’
Norton had a shower then got into a pair of jeans and a clean T-shirt. DD was in the kitchen with a cup of coffee waiting for him. Les thanked her, took a sip and could hardly keep his eyes off her. The yellow dress was all creased, her hair was still wet and all over her head, but she looked just as beautiful as the night before.
‘Okay, DD,’ he said ‘I’ll get straight to the point. When am I going to see you again? I’m in love with you.’
DD brought her coffee over a bit closer to Les. ‘God, you’re mad,’ she smiled. ‘But here’s what’s happening. Today I’m packing and I’ve got some people coming over tonight to look at some furniture. Tomorrow I’m selling more furniture and Saturday night I’m going out with the girls for a farewell drink.’ She put her arms around Norton’s waist. ‘But from Sunday till Tuesday. I’m home alone, on my own, all by myself. Ju
st me, a boring old TV set and Count von Seymour.’
‘Don’t worry about a thing, DD. It’s all sweet. I’m there.’
Les rang for a taxi and they took their coffees out on the sundeck to watch Surfers Paradise come to life; seagulls hung in the air, people walked and jogged along the water’s edge and the sound of the waves gently washing against the sand seemed to bring back pleasant, funny memories from the night before. Les noticed the curtains were still drawn in KK’s flat and was about to say something about him to DD when a horn bipped out the front. DD got her bag and they were on their way to Main Beach. Les joked about meeting Crystal Linx, it should be a bit of a hoot which he’d tell DD about when he saw her on Sunday night. Next thing the taxi pulled up at her place.
‘I’ll walk you to the door.’
‘I knew you were a gentleman, Les. That’s why I went out with you.’
Norton didn’t bother propping outside her door, he gave DD a squeeze at the bottom of the steps; she squeezed back.
‘Honestly, Les, that was one of the best nights I’ve ever had. Thanks a lot. And I mean it.’
‘DD, the pleasure was all mine. And I mean that too.’
DD’s beautiful green eyes smiled right into Norton’s. ‘Les. In the taxi last night you told me I looked beautiful. And this morning you told me you were in love with me. How about leaving me with something else nice. That’s if you really meant it.’
Norton smiled back at DD and thought for a moment. ‘Let me put it to you another way, DD,’ he said. ‘If ever your pedi-cab needs a seat, I’ve always got a face.’
‘You’re gorgeous, Les.’
Norton grabbed DD, gave her a quick crushing kiss then he was back in the taxi waving to her as the driver did a U-turn back towards Hancock Avenue. Ahh Queensland, thought Norton, spreading himself into the back seat. Ain’t it good to be back home. He took a look at his watch. Just on eight-thirty.
At nine o’clock Les decided it might be time to knock on Kramer’s door and see what’s going on. After two knocks, Kramer came to the door wearing a red terry-towelling shave-coat; his eyes were puffy and his hair was still all over his face.
‘G’day, KK,’ said Norton. ‘I thought I’d better give you a call. Don’t we have to pick up Crystal today?’
KK blinked at Norton for a second or two. ‘Yeah… right. The plane doesn’t get here till one though.’
‘Okay. But by the time we get to Brisbane, and all that.’
KK thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I’ll have a shower, Get the car and I’ll meet you out the front in half an hour. We’ll have some breakfast.’
‘You got the keys?’
Kramer blinked again. ‘Yeah, hold on.’
Along with his glasses, Kramer got the keys from somewhere; he handed them to Les then closed the door. Norton went back inside his flat, tidied the bedroom and folded his clothes while he listened to the radio. A bit of breakfast’d go well just quietly, he thought; after all the food last night, there was now a gap in Norton’s stomach that needed replenishing. He was going to make another cup of coffee, but changed his mind. He was standing next to the Jag when Kramer came out the front door in a pair of white slacks, blue shirt and Reeboks.
‘Where do you want to have breakfast?’ asked Les, as they got in the car.
‘There’s a place on The Esplanade, just before Cavill Avenue called Peggy’s. We’ll go there.’
‘We may as well walk.’ Les hesitated to start the car.
Kramer looked at Norton like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘What do you think I hired this for — show?’
Norton was about to answer ‘fuckin’ oath’ but they scarcely had time for two words when Kramer pointed to a driveway going into a big hotel complex on The Esplanade.
‘In there. Stick it anywhere.’
Les eased the Jaguar up the driveway and parked it in the first empty space he saw that said STRICTLY PRIVATE. GUESTS ONLY. They got out of the car and a man in a pair of King Gee shorts, pushing a broom, came over with a concerned look on his face. He saw KK and smiled.
‘Oh, good morning, Kelvin,’ he said politely. ‘Lovely day.’
KK slipped him $5. ‘Ain’t it just peachy. Keep an eye on this heap of shit while we have breakfast, will you?’
‘Certainly. Would you like me to give it a hose?’
‘Nahh! Don’t worry about it.’
Peggy’s was all dark green and white and very nice with lots of vines and trellises. Chairs and tables covered with crisp, white tablecloths spread out onto the footpath, and a radio was playing softly through speakers on a wall. Kramer pulled up a chair and sat facing Cavill Avenue: Norton sat facing opposite him. Les barely had time to take in the beach, the surrounding high-rises and the punters strolling past when a woman about forty walked briskly over wearing a dark green dress with ‘Peggy’s’ across the front pocket in white. She handed them both a menu.
‘Good morning, Kelvin,’ she said, very ladylike. ‘How have you been? I haven’t seen you for a while.’
‘Not bad, Peg. How’s things with you?’
‘Fine, thank you.’
Kramer ordered orange juice, smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, toast and coffee. Les ordered the same plus a bowl of fruit-salad with King Island cream and extra toast. It was quite pleasant sitting out on the footpath in the sun; people were starting to mill onto the beach, and the traffic wasn’t too heavy. Across the road Les noticed a bloke wearing a seaman’s peaked cap with several tattoos on a lean body that brown it almost glowed. He was getting deck-chairs and surf mats from a kind of white concrete bunker built onto the beach, and stacking them neatly on the sand. He was whistling cheerfully as he worked. A couple of Japanese tourists walked up to him; he stopped what he was doing to give them a quick going over with suntan-oil from a spray-gun and compressor sitting on the sand.
‘You know that bloke across the road?’ asked Les, taking a sip of orange juice.
‘Jimmy Martin? Everybody on the coast knows Jimmy. He’s almost as well-known as me.’
‘Evidently he’s an old mate of Price’s.’
‘Is he?’ answered Kramer indifferently.
The fruit-salad arrived and like the orange juice, it was chilled, fresh and plenty of it; the cream was that thick, Norton could stand his spoon in it.
‘So what did you do last night?’ enquired KK.
Norton chewed and swallowed one half of a strawberry that was almost as big as a blood-plum. ‘Had a bit of a feed, then I bumped into a girl I knew from Sydney. So I had a few drinks with her and a couple of her friends. Had a pretty quiet night actually. What about yourself?’
‘I had dinner at Mey… Mr Black’s house. Played a little backgammon and we mainly talked business.’
‘About betting Crystal’s new record together?’
‘Yeah. Crystal’s new record.’
Norton thought he could detect a smirk behind the little playboy’s sunglasses. ‘I only spoke to him for a few minutes. But he seems like a nice bloke.’
‘Oh, he is Les. He’s a gem.’
‘I just hope the record goes well for both of you. You deserve it.’
There was definitely a smirk in KK’s eyes this time. ‘We both, do Les.’
The eggs and that arrived and they ate almost in silence, which suited Les. For some reason he couldn’t seem to warm to Kelvin Kramer. It wasn’t because he was Jewish or anything stupid like that. In that respect, if anything, it was the other way around. Norton was the big dumb goy. He’d also shared a laugh and a joke with Kelvin when he’d come up the Kelly Club with his friends or whatever. But that was on a different basis. KK was then a customer: a punter. If a customer dropped the lowest joke going you’d laugh fit to bust. And if they carried on like a bit of a dill, you’d go along with that too. Now Les was in KK’s employ; beholden to him, so to speak. And he was a full-on little lair; his whole attitude in general was full of mug. And for the amount of pissing in eac
h other’s pockets, even at breakfast, they should have both been wearing neoprene suits. If it had been anyone else, Les would have said what a great night he had, how good the restaurant was, get there. But not KK.
And KK definitely wasn’t up there just to promote Crystal’s new record. He had to be up to something. Though with all this media rattle coming up, you’d think if you were pulling a stroke the last thing you’d want would be publicity. Then that could all be past tense. Menachem might have been doing something with Black, and KK was going along for the ride, and Les was the big, dumb heavy roped in at the last minute. But somehow Norton couldn’t help feeling he was in for a use if he didn’t watch himself, and he’d have to keep a close eye on the little shit, picking at his scrambled eggs sitting in front of him.
Then, on the other hand, Norton didn’t know how lucky he was. KK couldn’t have come along at a better time. And a use? Here he was having breakfast in the sun, he was $500 in front and sooner or later he was going to find time to sit back in that fabulous unit, listening to those tapes he’d brought up, with his feet up, having a beer looking out at a million-dollar view. And what about Desilu? If it hadn’t have been for KK, he’d have never met her. So instead of casting aspersions on Kelvin, he should be kissing his feet. And it was only till Tuesday. Sunday maybe. Because no matter what, even if the sheriff was round at Gazpuncho Blonko, or whatever he called those flats, taking out all KK’s furniture, Les was seeing DD on Sunday night. Norton chewed on another portion of delicious smoked salmon, winked up at the sky and took a sip of orange juice. Yeah, you’re right, boss, I shouldn’t be such a nark. Sorry.
By now a few more people began drifting into Peggy’s: tourists, plus a number of people who knew KK. Flashy blokes with streaks in their hair, plenty of gold plating and young birds hanging off their arms. Flashy blokes with suntanned, flashy sort of wives. They were all casually but well dressed; definitely no bums. They’d see KK, put on a bit of a show for his benefit. There’d be heaps of ‘God strike me’s’ and ‘it’s great to see you, old mate’ and plenty of back-slapping. KK would bridge up in return. He never bothered to introduce Les: a bit of eye contact and one or two nods and that was about it. But with a bit of observation and by gathering snippets of conversation, Les figured they were mostly white-shoe rorters, the others were in the nightclub game. But KK was their mate, they slapped his back and KK lapped it up; even if to get from one table to the other you almost had to wade through the false camaraderie.
White Shoes, White Lines and Blackie Page 7