‘I never really noticed, Crystal,’ answered Norton. ‘But yeah. I wouldn’t mind one full of margaritas and the other full of Eumundi Lager. They’re not bad — are they?’
Crystal didn’t bother to reply. KK looked like he was going to say something for a second, not necessarily to Les, instead he seemed to be deep in thought, picking a little nervously at his chin and gazing out the window. The limo cruised towards the Gold Coast practically in silence, the air of nervous tension seemed to persist all the way to the flats. KK spoke briefly with Crystal a couple of times; Les couldn’t hear what they were saying and didn’t particularly want to. He was looking forward to the photo session on Monday, though, and was definitely staying in Surfers for that.
Before long they arrived at the flats. There were no TV crews, the networks had more than they needed for the six o’clock news and were probably rushing it to air at that moment. Just two cars with some reporters from a local paper and a tits-and-bums magazine. Crystal did her coat up tight, Les opened the door and stepped out. The journalists and the two photographers barely had time for a quick photo and an even quicker ‘Go blow it out your ass motherfuckers’ from Crystal. When she and KK were inside the flats with the door slammed behind them, Norton got the bags from the boot. Tony shut it, saying something about he’d be back at eight, then drove off leaving Les standing there holding the two suitcases.
‘Well, fellahs,’ he said with a shrug to the reporters. ‘Not much good you hanging around. She’s having a sleep, she’s pretty shagged. But we’re all going out on the town tonight. Get your photos and that then if you want. They’re my instructions anyway.’
‘Who are you?’ asked one journo, his photographer raised his Canon reflex.
Norton thought he’d take a leaf out of KK’s book. After all, wasn’t he supposed to be family? ‘Don’t worry about who I am. But if you try and take a photo of me. I’ll wrap your camera round your fuckin’ head.’
The photographer lowered his camera. ‘Did she say anything in the car?’ asked the journo.
Norton hoisted the two suitcases. ‘Yeah. Yo’all go get yo’selfed fucked now. Y’hear.’
Les slammed the door shut behind him. KK’s door was closed when he got up the stairs. Les knocked and waited. Kramer opened the door and took the cases. ‘You did good, Les,’ he said, half closing the door. ‘Tony’11 be back with the limo at eight-thirty. We’ll see you down the front then. We’ll go for a meal.’
‘Okay,’ shrugged Les. ‘If you…’
‘Just keep any mugs away from the place. I’ll see you then.’Kramer gave Les a quick wink. ‘You did good.’The door closed.
The big, red-headed Queenslander stood there for a moment then went inside himself. Well, close the door and bring in the mat, he thought, kicking off his Nikes in the loungeroom. You did good, Les. Good? I did fuck all. Except try not to burst out laughing at the moll. And what about the moll? Tits or no tits, isn’t she something else. And doesn’t she give out a good pay. I’d like to be around when Crystal baby gets a roll on. The look on that sheila’s face when she called her cactus cunt. Ha!
Norton went to the fridge, got a cold beer and took it out on the back sundeck. One thing for sure. If you were putting on a scam, the last person you’d do it with would be her. She’s about as cool as a burning oil well. No. Les sat down on a big plastic banana-chair and put his feet up. I can relax now. If there was any scam going on, it would have been between KK’s brother and that Black rooster. Now all I have to do is keep those two out of trouble till Tuesday; and get into plenty of trouble with the lovely DD while I’m doing it. He took another slurp of beer. In the meantime, all I gotta do is keep an eye on this joint and hang round till eight, then fill myself full of more good food, and probably have a bit of a late one tonight. Heh-heh! How hard’s that? Sipping on his beer, Les figured he’d at least have time for a quick swim. He had a look out the front; the two reporters had gone and there were no cars on the driveway. KK’s curtains and blinds were still drawn all around and the place looked safer than Fort Knox. A high brick fence ran around the back; if anyone tried to jump over that, he’d be waiting with a lump of wood. He got down to his Speedos, grabbed a towel and jogged down to the beach, making sure the back gate was closed solidly behind him.
Once again the water was glorious; an easy little wave rolling in and a nice breeze blowing in over the ocean. The only thing missing was DD. Norton splashed around for a short time but duty called so he reluctantly trotted back to the flats; apart from the water, there was a smattering of shapely girls on the beach sunbaking topless.
After closing the back gate, Les noticed a shower near the pool, so he stood under that then got changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt upstairs. He got another bottle of Red Stripe from the fridge and was about to take it out on the sundeck when he thought he heard a car pull up in the driveway. Hello, who’s this — more fuckin’ reporters? He stepped out onto the front verandah and it was a white Econo-Van with ‘Mermaid Pool Service’ on the side in blue. Norton’s eyes lit up. They’re going to fill the pool — you bloody beaut. Wait a minute. I know those two blokes. It was Steve and Frank. Steve got out wearing white overalls, carrying an overnight-bag. He had a look around for a moment then noticed Les, stared for a second then smiled and waved. Les smiled back and made a gesture with his bottle. Steve said something to Frank, sitting behind the wheel, who looked up, smiled and waved also. Les acknowledged his wave. The boys are certainly friendly today, he mused. He was about to go down and open the door but by the time he thought about it Steve had let himself in. Les strolled out to the sundeck to see if maybe he wanted a hand; however, after waiting a couple of minutes there was no sign of Steve. Scratching his chin Les strolled back out to the front verandah, but rather than appear to be snooping or make a gig of himself he watched through the curtain. It wasn’t long before Steve returned to the van still carrying the overnight-bag. He had another look around then climbed in the front and they drove off. Well, so much for getting the bloody pool filled, thought Les. Then again, KK’s probably told him to piss off — he wants to do a bit of porking with Crystal, come back tomorrow. And I can’t say I blame him. He took another swig of beer. That’s the way they do things in sunny Queensland.
Norton spent the rest of the afternoon sipping one or two more beers on the shaded sundeck, keeping an eye on things while he listened to the FM stereo down low; he even managed to doze off for about an hour. Yes, it was a hard way to earn a dollar.
Later in the evening, the place still looked safe and sound, with no sign of the young lovers, so Les walked to a small supermarket around the corner in the main drag and bought fruit, milk, bread and a few other odds and ends to make a sandwich, getting back in time for a cup of tea and a biscuit and watch the six o’clock news.
There she was, all right; Crystal Linx in all her foul-mouthed glory, giving it to the media and anyone else who happened to be standing around. KK looked kind of cool and kind of nervy at the same time, until he hid himself away in the back of the limo. Behind his sunglasses, Norton looked like Norton. In fact if you didn’t know him, you’d think he was just some other big stonefaced minder doing his job. The Brisbane newsreader seemed quite bemused by the whole thing, and with all the bleeps and the accent, you couldn’t tell much what Crystal was saying anyway. Les thought the whole thing was a great hoot and hoped Price and Warren saw it in Sydney. Then it was straight to Canberra and the Prime Minister saying yes, the United States grain subsidies were just about fucking the Australian wheat farmers completely and he would definitely be discussing it with the President when he arrived in Australia on Monday night for a three-day stop-over on his way to Japan. Norton didn’t take a great deal of notice of this, he was still chuckling about seeing himself and Crystal on the news. He dunked an arrowroot biscuit into his tea. I can’t wait to see what the papers say in the morning.
Wearing jeans and a red check button-down-collar shirt, Les walked down the fr
ont around 8.30 p.m. He had heard the limo pull up earlier but left it as long as he could as he didn’t fancy being stuck with the driver who, from what Les gathered so far, wasn’t the greatest conversationalist in the world. Tony was sitting behind the wheel, Les said a quick hello, got an even quicker one back, then leant against the door. There was no sign of any reporters. About fifteen minutes later, KK and Crystal came out the front door. KK was looking very Boz Scaggs in a white shirt, white belt and trousers; Crystal had on a bulky, blue polka dot shirt with huge dots, a red polka-dot tie, jeans and a blue, loose-fitting cotton jacket. Compared to in the car earlier her moodiness seemed to have vanished, and behind his glasses KK seemed positively ebullient.
‘How are you, KK?’ asked Les.
KK actually shaped up to Norton and gave him a slap on the shoulder. ‘Wouldn’t be dead for quids, old mate. Top of the world.’
‘How are you, Crystal?’
‘Fine, big guy,’ she drawled.
Les held the door and they bundled into the limo and drove off. Les settled back to watch them. This time they sat a lot closer, KK even had his hand on Crystal’s knee and she was very chummy also; a definite contrast to before. Which was understandable, thought Norton, being stuck in a plane for hours then having to run the gauntlet of the Australian gutter press as soon as you got off. Also, she would have had a rest, got cleaned up and KK probably would have given her one; maybe even two.
Without the sunglasses, she reminded Les a bit of Deborah Harry, only her eyes were narrower and her hair thicker and spikier. The other thing Les noticed was her boobs didn’t seem as monstrous as before. They were covered up securely under the shirt and tie, but they didn’t seem to thrust out everywhere like when he first saw them. Still, that would have been his first impression plus that big, bulky ski-jumper. They were still heaps big enough though and Norton imagined he’d probably have his work cut out keeping the mugs’ hands off them later that night.
‘Where are we going for a feed, KK?’ he asked.
‘A place called Fedora’s. Just this side of Burleigh Heads.’
‘All right is it?’
‘All right! It’s the fuckin’ grouse. Taking you there is like giving a pig strawberries.’
‘Remember what I told you, KK,’ chipped in Crystal. ‘I don’t want some bunch of hillbillies rubber-necking me while I’m eating.’
‘No chance, my dear. That’s why I chose this place. I’m a regular.’
‘I got a feeling it’s gonna be the pits afterwards, running in and out of half a million discos with those goddam reporters on my ass. And I ain’t stayin’ out all night either.’
‘No. But we have to celebrate.’ KK threw back his head and laughed. ‘Hey, do we have to celebrate.’
‘Agreed.’ Crystal laughed too. ‘We do gotta celebrate.’ ‘You stitched up this record deal, have you?’ asked Les tentatively.
Crystal blinked. ‘What was that, Les?’
‘I said, this music thing, your new record. You stitched it up, have you?’
Through his glasses KK blinked at Les also then threw back his head again and roared laughing. ‘Oh yeah. I stitched it up all right. Like you wouldn’t believe. Didn’t I, Crystal?’
His girl got in on the act and started roaring with laughter too. ‘Oh Jesus Christ! He stitched it up all right. He sure damn did.’ She bubbled with laughter almost fit to bust and looked at Norton. ‘Oh my God, Les. You’re priceless.’
KK had tears running down his cheeks. ‘You’re beautiful, Les. You really are.’
Norton looked at them howling away at what was obviously some private joke, shook his head and stared out the window. The things a man has to put up with to get a quid. The limo cruised on into the night. After a while Crystal and KK settled down, then they arrived at Fedora’s.
The restaurant was right on the beach, sparkling white, brick and timber, all terraced gardens and palm trees and fenced off from the surrounding buildings. The beaming maitre d’ was waiting at the door, tuxedoed up to the hilt, all flashy white smiles and oilier than a kerosene lamp. He ushered them to a table overlooking the ocean, treating Crystal as if she was Cleopatra entering Rome; and by the time some waiter had pulled Norton’s chair out for him to settle his arse on, Les felt like a slice of snow pudding that just had custard poured all over it.
‘Champagne, Mr Kramer?’ asked the maitre d’. KK nodded. ‘The usual?’ KK nodded again. ‘Of course.’ The head flunky left them to study a menu each then returned with a bottle of ’71 Moet in an ice-bucket.
‘Want a glass of fizz, Les?’ asked KK.
Norton thought for a second. If I’ve got to keep an eye on these two tonight, I’d better keep a clear head. Besides, that shit gives me an industrial strength headache the next day. ‘No. Just a beer’ll do thanks. A Crown Lager.’
‘You are just a good ’ol boy — ain’t you, Les,’ smiled Crystal.
‘That’s all there is where I come from, Crystal,’ replied Norton, returning her smile. ‘Good ’old big ’uns. And big ’ol good ’uns.’
No matter what Les thought of the company, he couldn’t knock Kramer’s choice of restaurant. It was all blue and white inside with a beautiful view of the beach, a pianist tinkled a baby grand in one corner and there were tasteful flower arrangements on all the tables, complemented by the subdued lighting. And if the service went overboard, so did the food. It was sensational.
Norton settled for a whole garlic mud crab and a tropical seafood cocktail for an entree. KK and Crystal had a grilled lobster each and mussels a la Parisienne for starters. There was heaps of garlic bread and salads. Les washed it all down with mineral water and finished with pecan pie and orange-coconut sauce. KK and Crystal had glazed blueberry cheesecake, which they didn’t finish. Les didn’t say a great deal, happy just to pig out while the two lovers got revved up on Moet and pawed at each other. Now and again some of the other diners would look over and make a discreet remark to each other. But they definitely weren’t the ‘Hey Norm, you know who that is over there’ mob. The maitre d’ got his photo taken with his arms around the two celebrities, and if his flashy smile had been any whiter, wider or oilier, it would have wrapped itself round his neck and leeched down his back.
All the earlier tension had completely vanished now, though Les figured the third bottle of Moet would have helped. He also figured Crystal definitely had a thing for the little Aussie conman. It may not have been blind passionate love, but it was definitely a thing. Norton had spent worse nights in worse company. Another thing he noticed. Although Crystal spoke with a thick New York accent, every now and again she’d slip into this Southern drawl, smooth as molasses in summer and sweeter than momma’s drop-sugar cookies. Norton could have listened to it all night.
With the maitre d’ doing everything but hold their hands, they left Fedora’s around eleven and bundled back into the limo. KK and his girl were roaring a bit; Les just felt contented.
‘So where to now, KK?’ he asked, as they moved off along the highway.
‘First up the Jade Terrace for a bit of reggae. Then we hit Surfers and let ’em know.’ Kramer raised his voice. ‘KK’s back in town — yeah.’
Crystal slapped KK across the shoulder and started singing. ‘The boys are back in town. The boys are back in town. Yeahoooowooayeah…’
By the time they went past the casino turn-off, Les figured out why Crystal’s last two records had laid a giant egg. Even with studio help and the Sydney Symphony Orchestra behind her, Crystal couldn’t carry a note if she and KK were carting it round on a stretcher.
The limo rocked gently to a halt outside the Jade Terrace, which was above the hotel with the mirrored windows Les had noticed the previous day. They climbed out of the car; KK had a beeper with him to let the driver know when they were ready to leave. There were big smiles all round from the doormen; one, a solid bloke going a bit thin on top, walked up the stairs with them. Les immediately liked the Jade Terrace. There was plenty of room,
comfortable cane furniture, fish tanks, plants every where, and two balconies opened out over the street so you didn’t choke on cigarette smoke. The bar in the middle was a sort of split-bamboo island. But the best part was the band. They were only a two-piece reggae outfit with a synthesiser but they made plenty of sound and the coloured singer had a huge white grin, dreadlocks, and looked as if he’d just stepped off a boat from Trenchtown, Jamaica. All the staff knew KK and most of the people had an idea who Crystal was; those that didn’t just wanted to know who the spunky little blonde was with the giant, enormous boobs.
It wasn’t long and a bottle of champagne in an ice-bucket materialised at their table and Norton had his fist round a bottle of Fourex, which he sipped slowly. KK and Crystal hit the dancefloor and boogied drunkenly around; Les stood close by, quietly sipping his beer and talking to the bouncers who were a pretty good bunch of blokes. There wasn’t even the slightest bit of trouble, because as well as yarning to Les, the bouncers were keeping an eye on KK and Crystal too, so Norton earned his money easy. Les could have stayed there all night; the band was great, it was a good atmosphere all round and there was any amount of nice-looking girls. Unfortunately it closed at midnight. KK hit the beeper and with the bouncer and the manager in step they swept down the stairs to the waiting limo.
After the Jade Terrace they hit just about every night-club and disco in Surfers so KK could let the Gold Coast know he and his American starlet girlfriend were in town. The ridiculous part was, every place they went to was barely fifty metres from the next, yet KK insisted on taking the limo. Oh well, who gives a shit, thought Les. He’s paying for it. Though Les was getting a bit sick of opening and closing the doors all the time. And every place they went to, it was the same thing. No matter if there was a queue a mile long or just a few out the front, whoever was on the door would welcome KK with open arms and usher them straight in. The manager or owner would be all smiles and find them the best table in the place, where KK would order a bottle of champagne, drink it, have a dance or two with Crystal, while he lapped up being the centre of attention, then after about thirty minutes they’d be on the move again.
White Shoes, White Lines and Blackie Page 9