They’d been there a little over an hour, Les was on his third cup of coffee, watching the show go on around him. KK was at another table, his arm around some white shoe’s neck who was wearing Mexican cowboy boots. KK looked at his watch, got up and walked over to Norton.
‘Les, bring the car round, will you.’
Norton screwed up his face. If the car was any closer, you could piss on it. ‘Bring the car round?’
‘Yeah. Just pull up out the front. I’m still talking.’
‘Yeah, righto, KK.’
Chauffeur Norton stood up and drained his coffee; KK left him standing to continue talking to the white shoe in the Mexican boots. Bring the fuckin’ car around, eh? Les got behind the wheel, hit the ignition and eased the big Jag out of the hotel parking area. The bloke in the King Gee shorts smiled and gave him a bit of a wave. Les winked and smiled back; there wasn’t much else he could do. The traffic along The Esplanade had increased noticeably now. Les had to chance it a bit to get out, only to pull up a few metres on to a screeching of brakes, bipping of horns and a loud ‘Ya fuckin’ goose’ from a four-wheel-drive right behind him. Then the lights just ahead turned green, leaving Les sitting there with more traffic, more horns bipping and a lot more being yelled at him than ‘Ya fuckin’ goose’. Norton looked across at KK still talking and thought, You’re not fuckin’ wrong. KK heard the commotion, thrived on it momentarily then after waving goodbye to everybody, made a big show of paying the bill and ambled casually over to the car. For some reason Norton reached across and opened the door for him.
‘Where would you like to go now, KK?’ asked Les, wanting to pull the steering-wheel out of the dash and wrap it around KK’s little Jewish head.
The smirk was well and truly back in Kramer’s eyes. ‘Home, James.’
Which meant driving about a kilometre up The Esplanade to find a street that ran left then back onto the highway into more traffic, all to save a 300 metre walk. ‘I should have known, shouldn’t I?’ answered Les quietly.
Les moved off just as the lights turned green. There wasn’t much traffic ahead, but plenty behind him still bipping their horns; especially the bloke in the four-wheel-drive who was right up his arse. About half a kilometre further on Les noticed a break in the traffic coming the other way. Fuck this, he cursed to himself. He tromped on the accelerator, getting about ten lengths in front of the cars behind him in around a second, slammed on the brakes, spinning the steering-wheel at the same time, and did a screaming U-turn back up The Esplanade, still finding time to give the bloke in the four-wheel-drive the finger as he sped past. KK barely blinked an eyelid. He came to life as they went past Peggy’s, hoping someone would notice him as he reached across Les and waved. Norton pulled up into the driveway of the flats to find a huge stretch limousine sitting there. He couldn’t tell the make, but it looked like they’d taken Queen Victoria’s rail-coach, painted it white and turned it into a lowrider. There was a chauffeur leaning against the bonnet; average looking, dark hair, wearing a grey suit, sunglasses and black gloves.
‘What’s this?’ asked Norton.
‘What do you think it is, you big dill?’ replied KK. ‘A fuckin’ Mr Whippy van? That’s what we’re going to pick Crystal up in. We’ll be getting around in that most of the time from now on.’
‘What about the Jag?’
KK shrugged. ‘I might even let you have it, now and again.’
‘Gee — thanks.’
‘In the meantime. Stick it in the same garage and give me the keys. I want to have a word with the driver.’
KK got out. Les put the car in the garage and started to feel a little easier. This was more like it, and a chance to get my hands on the nice Jag for a while as well. The driver was showing KK inside the limo when Les closed the garage door and walked over.
‘Yeah, that’s as good as gold, Tony.’ KK nodded to Norton. ‘Tony, this is Les. He’s our minder for the next few days.’
Tony offered his gloved hand. ‘Hello, Les.’ His voice was cheerful, in a laconic sort of way and his handshake was warm. Les figured him to be just a driver for some car-rental company.
‘How are you, Tony?’
KK absently looked at his watch. ‘Well, I’ve got to grab a couple of things and I suppose we’d better get going.’
‘Yeah. I wouldn’t leave it too late,’ said Tony. ‘The traffic into Brisbane can get a bit heavy this time of day.’
‘What about you, Les?’
‘Yeah, I might grab a clean shirt.’
‘We’ll be back in twenty minutes, Tony.’
Les used his key to let KK in and they didn’t say much going up the stairs: see you out the front. After three cups of good, strong coffee, Norton’s mouth was starting to taste like an old tyre some dog had pissed on. He cleaned his teeth and had a think. All this media crush, yobbo fans and whatever. If I put a good shirt on I’m a moral to get it ripped. Bugger it. If they wreck my Mambo Musical Dog T-shirt I can soon get another one. Those shirts are worth money, even if I do buy them off thieves. He left what he had on. Tony was down the front, still waiting patiently alongside the limo when Norton came out the front door.
‘Could be a busy day, Tony?’ smiled Les.
Tony returned the smile and shook his head slightly. ‘For you maybe, mate. Not for me. All I gotta do is drive this.’
‘Don’t knock yourself around — willya.’
Tony continued to shake his head. ‘No way in the world, mate.’
KK suddenly came bounding out of the flats over to the car. ‘Righto. Let’s go.’ Tony opened the door and they bundled in.
In the back of the limo was a TV, phone, bar, vase of flowers and other things spread round a padded, air-conditioned area big enough to play ice-hockey in during winter. Les sat alongside KK with another seat somewhere in the distance behind the driver. It wasn’t quite the same laid-back, sarcastic KK Les was used to, however. Maybe it was the occasion, but KK was babbling away at 100 mph, waving his hands around, jabbing at the air with his fingers. What’s the song say, mused Les, ‘He’s just an excitable boy’. I’d like to get a look behind those sunglasses. But listen up now; the generalissimo was speaking. He told Les what he had to do. There would be a media crush. Crystal would be tired and probably irritable after the flight and not wanting to give any interviews. Les had to keep the media hacks off her back and especially any mugs trying to grab her boobs. Coming home the press would probably be on their tail, Crystal would want to go inside and get some rest. If they wanted a photo session and all that rattle she’d do it on Monday before she left for New York; or possibly Sunday. Give the lady a break, folks, it’s been a long trip and she’s just got off the plane. Later that night after dinner, they’d be going out in Surfers for a few drinks, they could take as many photos as they liked. But the interviews and the topless photos. Monday. Keep the pricks guessing. Make them wait. They’re only shit anyway.
KK rattled on some more to the driver and Les, repeating himself half the time. With Norton it was going in one ear and out the other. He had the gist of it though. Get Crystal into the limbo unscathed, especially her gazonkas, and tell the mugs from the tabloids to piss off and leave her alone; she’d pull her tits out on Sunday. Easy. Though out on the ran-tan that night, amongst all the drunks in Surfers Paradise, could be a bit trickier. And just what is this Crystal Linx like? Christ! thought Les. I hope she’s not as big a lair as her dopey fuckin’ boyfriend.
Eagle Farm looked exactly like it did the last time Les had seen it, and the International Departures and Arrivals section the same as just about every other major airport in Australia. Except as they approached, there was a media scrum brandishing TV cameras, tape-recorders, microphones on poles that looked like long dusters, ordinary cameras and other things, spreading out from the footpath and across the road. A group of curious onlookers surrounded all of this. The car rocked gently to a halt. Oh well, thought Norton, adjusting his sunglasses, looks like the circus has hit town. I w
onder if Annie will recognise me on the news tonight?
As soon as the press corps saw the limo pull up they converged on it like piranhas. Les thought he might as well have some fun so he jumped out first, pushed a couple out the way and held the door open for KK. The media scrum was the usual scruffy bunch of hungover, sardonic hacks of both sexes from the entertainment end of the papers and every cheap, tits-and-bums magazine in Australia. They were about thirty strong and surged forward, taking a few tentative photos and a bit of TV filler, their main target of course was Crystal Linx.
‘Kelvin, what’s going on?’
‘Where’s Crystal? How long’s she out here for?’
‘Can we get a few words, Kelvin?’
Kramer stood next to Les for support and held up his hands as more flashes went off. ‘Jesus Christ! Give me a fuckin’ break, will you, you pricks. She’s not even here yet.’
‘How long will she be on the Gold Coast?’
‘Will you be doing a video?’
‘When are we gonna see her tits? Hic!’
KK started towards the arrivals lounge with the press crowding after him. ‘Now listen, you pack of fuckin’ hyenas, shut up for two minutes and I’ll tell you what’s going on. You’re enough to give anyone the shits.’
Despite his feelings towards KK, Norton loved the way he spoke to the media. No matter what he said they’d bad-mouth and misquote him. It was in their nature. Being nice to a journalist, especially from the tabloids, is like feeding and patting some mongrel dog that hates the world. No matter how you are, it’s still going to bite you, piss on your leg and shit on your lawn. KK realised this from past experience so he was just getting in first. Plus he had a hot item: Crystal Linx. He knew it, and they knew it, and if they didn’t like it they could all go shit in their hat and piss off. And there was no chance of that. A photo of Crystal’s giant, enormous set splashed across the front page of some cheap Oz tabloid was more important than the discovery of a cure for cancer or a solution to global starvation.
‘She’s here till Tuesday, okay? She’s staying at my place in Surfers. After leaving NY in a snowstorm and being stuck in a plane for thirty hours she’s not going to feel much like talking to a bunch of cunts like you. We’re having a quiet weekend together. She is my girlfriend, in case you dills might have forgot. We’ll sort out the promotion for her new song. Then on Monday, maybe Sunday, you can do all the shitty interviews and take all the cheesecake photos you want. You got that — schvantzs.’
‘Do you agree with what Miles Eisenberg said in Variety?’ trilled some female journalist from the Brisbane Sun. ‘That Crystal Linx has done for the record industry what Pol Pot did for inner-city living in Cambodia?’
A half chortle went through the media. KK turned to Les. ‘Tell these pieces of shit what I told you in the car, Les.’
‘You heard the man,’ said Norton. A couple of cameras flashed. ‘Give these young lovers a chance to see each other again. And give the lady a bit of a break. Then on Monday, you won’t only have your page-three girl, you’ll have enough tits to fill pages four, five and six as well.’
KK looked at Les and blinked. ‘Hey — I like your style, Les Norton. I might make you press liaison officer.’
‘You’d better supply me with some Dettol and rubber gloves if I’ve got to deal with these turds.’
‘Yeah. Follow me. Let’s get away from the cunts.’
Les fell into step with KK towards the VIP section, putting as much distance as possible between them and the media. They stood near the door and KK pulled out a small cigar and lit it.
‘We shouldn’t have to wait long. Her plane arrived before we did, I’ve timed this splendidly.’
The VIP door opened and a couple of tennis players, one or two pro-golfers, a politician and a rally driver came through after each other, all pushing metal trolleys with their luggage stacked on top. None looked too happy when they saw all the baying press jackals gathered for the kill. But their looks of displeasure turned almost to disbelief when they were totally ignored. The door pushed open again and there was Crystal.
Norton had never seen her in the flesh before and she was still wearing sunglasses. But there was no mistaking that shock of teased, blonde hair poking out from under a big, floppy denim cap, the pouty pink mouth and the slightly plump face. She seemed a little taller than Les expected, then he noticed underneath the mandatory ripped denim jeans she was wearing blue suede spiky, high-heeled shoes. Despite the Queensland heat she still had on a full-length sheep-skin coat done up, her hands barely visible poking out from the thick wool inside.
KK tossed away his cigar. ‘Get her straight in the limo,’ he said urgently.
KK put his arms round her and gave her a kiss; she flashed a big, white, showbizz smile and kissed him back. There were two suitcases in the trolley, Norton picked them up and began shoving his way, none too gently, through the media crush, whose circuits had now started to overload with the arrival of Crystal. She clutched her handbag, held onto KK, then they both held onto Les and set sail for the safety of the limo with the press jackals in hot pursuit. Cameras were flashing, arc-lights came on as the TV cameras whirred, microphones were thrust at them and questions were shouted at Crystal from every direction. Naturally she was asked the mandatory question every entertainer or celebrity is asked as soon as they step off a plane by some genius in the Australian media.
‘Hey, Crystal,’ shouted some boozy hack. ‘How do you like Australia?’
If KK treated the press a bit ordinary, his American girlfriend was absolutely diabolical. Plus she blasted the Australian journalists with a thick Bronx accent and a loud, gravelly voice that almost singed the hairs on the back of Norton’s neck.
‘Howz would you like to go fuck your grandmother, dust butt.’
‘Crystal, is it true that your record company cancelled your contract?’
‘Is that your ass I can smell, or did a fuckin’ cow shit in here?’
‘Miss Linx, have you just spent a month in a European clinic?’ shouted some woman reporter.
‘Have you been getting fucked by any big black niggers lately, cactus cunt? Or do you always walk that way?’
They shoved through the one big crowd that had gathered now. Norton could hardly believe what he was hearing. Crystal blasted all and sundry all the way to the car. It was beautiful. Wait’ll this hits the news, Les laughed to himself. Has this sheila given them an in-depth interview or what. Tony had the boot open, Les threw the two bags in and skipped round to open the door for Crystal as Tony got straight behind the wheel. Still leaving Crystal time to give the Australian press one last blast.
‘Hey, Crystal. Is that right, your last two records laid a giant egg?’
‘You know what I’d like to do,’ said Crystal, putting her hands on her hips. ‘After thirty hours stuck on that plane eating piss-ass airline food, I’d like to lay a big shit on each one of your pointy little hayseed Australian heads. You goddam motherfucking goofbrains.’ She then gave them all the good old American finger. ‘Sonofa-bitch! No wonder Sinatra still throws up everytime he thinks of you assholes.’
Les slammed the door and jumped on the seat behind the driver. From the rear window he could see the TV crews still filming the limo as they sped off. Crystal and KK sat there without saying anything: Crystal on the driver’s side. They didn’t carry on like lovers all thrilled to see each other and kiss madly. Instead there appeared to be an air of tension in the car. They were out of the airport, nearing the highway, before Crystal finally spoke.
‘Well, KK darling. How did you like the press conference?’
‘Crystal, all I said was be abrupt, make out you’re tired, give a bit of cheek if you want and get to the car. But shit…’
‘Ohh kiss my ass, KK. If anything, you’re just as big an asshole as any of them. How the fuck I let you…’ Crystal’s voice trailed away as she appeared to notice Norton for the first time. ‘So who’s the big cheeseburger with the red ha
ir?’
‘Crystal, this is Les. Les is going to be looking after us till you go back.’
Norton gave her a bemused smile and a short, slow wave. ‘Hello Crystal. Nice to meet you.’
Crystal gave Norton a disinterested, once up and down. ‘So what are you, Les? Some good ’ol Australian boy, are you?’
‘That’s me, Crystal. One good ’ol Australian boy. With a root-beer to go. Hold the mayo. It’s still nice to meet you though,’ he added, the half smile still on his face.
‘Likewise, I’m sure.’ Crystal looked at Les for a moment then started undoing the front of her coat. ‘Phew! Thank Christ I can loosen this shit up, I’m almost suffocating. Is it always this fuckin’ hot here for Chrissake?’
Crystal undid all her coat and that was when Norton’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. In proportion to the rest of her, Crystal had the biggest pair of boobs Les had ever seen. She was wearing a bulky red ski jumper yet they still pushed it out almost to breaking point. They were perfect, they never moved a centimetre. The limo would rock a little moving through the traffic and they sat there like two mini Ayers Rocks. Jesus! thought Les, fascinated, what about those. No wonder the tabloids go mad. Bad luck the pool’s empty. Fuck it, if KK doesn’t fill it I’ll fill it myself. If not, I hope she likes going down the beach topless.
Crystal could sense what Norton was staring at through his sunglasses. She gave her chest a slight shake; nothing moved. ‘You like these, do you, Les? KK does. Don’t you — darling?’
White Shoes, White Lines and Blackie Page 8