The press were waiting for them at the first two places, Maxines and the Sand Castle, but as soon as they’d got enough photos, got sick of Crystal telling them to ‘get the fuck out of here, you piss ass sonsofbitches’ and found out they had to pay for their own drinks, they left them alone. The best part was, the manager or owner would always leave one or two bouncers with them so there was no drama at all. The yobbos would whistle and make a few derogatory remarks about Crystal’s boobs, but that was as close as they got. Norton was doing it easy and could have got on the piss if he wanted to. But even having one at every place they went to was enough, because they went to plenty, the names going over Norton’s head after a while: Blondie’s, the Loft, the Love Boat, Rivers, Banana Splits, Cadillacs and more. One place the DJ was suspended above the dancefloor, another he played in the cut-away front half of a truck, another was built into a big sea shell. But they were all pretty much the same inside, mirrored walls and spinning lights going everywhere, they all played the same music and all full of the same boozy punters ogling Crystal while KK lapped it all up, playing Jack the Lad.
By about two-thirty, Les stank of cigarette smoke, was getting awfully tired and he didn’t give a stuff if he never heard another Kylie Minogue, Madonna or Prince record again as long as he lived. He also noticed that even though KK was bubbling over with boozy joie de vivre, Crystal had stopped laughing at his jokes, no matter how hilarious KK thought they were. They’d just left some place called the Lighthouse and were in the limo motoring the fifty metres to the next one when Crystal finally snapped.
‘All right, KK, that’s fucking it.’ She was half tanked, her hair was all over her head and the blue polka-dot shirt looked like a tablecloth in a cheap restaurant. ‘How many more of these goddam flophouses do we have to go to? I have had e-fucking-nough.’
‘Just one more. Then we’ll go home.’
‘Jesus H Christ!’
‘How about you, Les? You havin’ a good time?’
‘Yeah, terrific, KK. All I live for is cigarette smoke, warm beer and house music.’
The last place was Squadron 9. All done up like an airforce hangar. Photos of aeroplanes all over the walls, half an old Tiger Moth hanging from the ceiling and the DJ in an Air Force uniform playing the usual schlock, now going into a Grease soundtrack medley. Norton felt like vomiting. That’s fuckin’ it. If I’ve got to put up with all this shit tomorrow night, I’m throwing the towel in. KK can get fucked. Again KK got the royal treatment and again he ordered another bottle of champagne; just about finishing it on his own. Crystal was staring daggers at him, and when they got up to go, Les had to help him to his feet and out to the car.
‘Straight back to the fucking apartment,’ Crystal snarled at Tony as soon as Les opened the door.
Sprawled in the back of the limo, KK was now a blubbering, yammering wreck. His glasses were all over his face and his Boz Scaggs outfit looked like some wino had been sleeping in it. ‘What a night,’ he slurred. ‘What a ripper of a bloody night. What a rip… ripper of a day all round. Wadabowd you, Les, old mate? Ripper, or what?’ ‘Yeah, mate,’ replied Les solemnly. ‘It was a ripper of a night all right. I’ve never had such a good time in my life. And you’re a ripper of a bloke too, Kelvin.’
‘Onya, Les.’
‘And thanks for that grouse feed too. It was tops. Especially the crab with all that garlic and cream and butter all over it. It was a bit greasy but, Jesus, it was nice. I can still taste it.’ At the mention of food, Kramer’s expression seemed to change. He gave a rumbling belch and swayed against the seat. ‘What about you, Crystal?’ continued Les. ‘Did you have a good night?’
Crystal stared moodily at Les. ‘Did I have a good night? In and out of those fish markets all night. Having to hold your arm to get through all those drunken peckerwoods every time I went to the john to take a leak. Yeah, it was just peachy.’ Then she looked at KK, staring into space and smiled. ‘Oh I guess I had a good night. And the food was beautiful.’ Crystal put her arm around KK and gave him a cuddle. ‘And the company. There’s just something about these Aussie boys.’
‘Yeah. KK’s a gem all right. And can’t he put the champagne away too for a little bloke. Especially on top of all that rich tucker.’
Kramer stared at Les uncomfortably. His eyes started to bulge a little, he licked his lips and swallowed a burping hiccup. Norton thought he noticed a slick of sweat starting to glisten on his brow.
‘Hey, Crystal,’ said Les. ‘Have you ever heard of the expression “Having an up and under”?’ Crystal shook her head. ‘A technicolour yawn? Having a laugh at the footpath?’
‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.’
‘Well, your boyfriend’s just about to have all three, sweetheart.’
Les reached over and hit the automatic window button just as KK started to come to life; one hand over his face, the other on his paunchy little stomach. ‘Aaaoowargh… glurg!’
Norton grabbed him, pushed his face out the window and Kramer let it all go. About five bottles of French champagne, a grilled lobster, cheesecake and one prawn he’d nicked off Norton’s seafood cocktail. ‘Atta boy, KK. Go for your life, son.’ Kramer heaved again and splattered about another half a gallon of vomit all down the side of the limo. ‘That’s it, mate. Let ’em know KK’s back in town.’
KK kept heaving all the way to Hancock Avenue, then dragged himself back in; his face looked like a kilo of octopus that had been off for a week. Crystal had some tissues in her bag and Les had a hanky so they managed to clean him up a bit. But Kramer was a shot bird. He just sat there moaning in Hebrew, English and Swahili.
‘Yeah, Crystal,’ grinned Les, ‘there sure is something about those Aussie boys — isn’t there?’
Crystal didn’t reply. She kept dabbing at KK’s mouth, trying not to get any on her jacket.
The big car came to a stop outside the flats. Les got KK out of the back seat, kicked the door closed and held him round the waist, his head lolling against Norton’s shoulder. Tony got out and looked at all the vomit along the side of the car. He was about to say something to Les when Norton noticed another car in the driveway and two figures get out. One was tall and gangly with straggly black hair while his mate was shorter and had a beard. They almost ran over and the beard raised his camera.
‘Hey, what do you want?’ said Les, propping KK against the limo.
‘What do we want?’ smirked the tall one. ‘Fuckin’ photos, you dope. What do you think?’
Norton was tired, just a little edgy, he also had flecks of vomit on his good shirt. And that wasn’t a very nice way to talk to people. The beard went to fire off a couple of quick photos when Les grabbed the camera, ripped it straight from round his neck, breaking the strap, then holding it by the lens, smashed it against the concrete driveway. Les gave it another whack then tossed it back to the beard.
‘There. How’s that for a photo.’
The tall one charged up to Les. ‘Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?’
Norton backhanded the tall reporter, spinning him against the front of the limo, then grabbed him by the hair and speared him towards the Ford they came in, kicking him up the arse at the same time. The tall one yelped as he hit it head first. Norton grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, banged his head against the door again, opened it and flung him inside.
‘And you’re on private property, shithead. Now piss off, before I call the cops.’ Les turned to the beard. ‘You too, whiskers. Fuck off before I shove your camera up your arse.’ Whiskers didn’t need to be told twice. Holding what was left of his Leica, he was behind the wheel and out of the driveway by the time Les walked back and took hold of KK again. Kramer might have been an obnoxious little turd at times, but he’d just sprung for a terrific dinner and it was Norton’s responsibility to keep the mugs away. Whatever his and Crystal’s faults were, they didn’t deserve to be made to look like idiots by a couple of shitmouth journos from a scumbo tabloid.
‘Hey, you’re not bad on your feet, are you — you big cheeseburger,’ smiled Crystal, taking hold of the still half-comatose KK, who’d missed the whole thing.
Norton ignored her. ‘Come on, let’s get champagne Schlomo to bed.’
Tony didn’t seem to take a great deal of notice at what happened. He was still looking at all the spew down the side of the limo. ‘Hey, Les,’ he said, ‘you got a hose somewhere, mate?’
Norton hoisted KK and started towards the front door. ‘All I gotta do is look after the flats, mate, you look after the car.’
They half dragged, half walked KK up the stairs. When Crystal opened the door he seemed to momentarily come to life and gurgled straight inside towards the bathroom.
‘I’ll be all right now, Les,’ said Crystal, starting to close the door. ‘Thanks, Les.’ Then she smiled a genuine, warm smile. ‘Hey, you’re a bit of a honey. You know that, boy?’
‘Why ma’am,’ drawled Norton. ‘Yo’all ain’t so bad yo’self.’
Crystal screwed her face up slightly. ‘You sure you ain’t Suthin, boy?’
‘No ma’am. Ahm from the Deep North. Goodnight, Crystal. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Norton blinked around him after he switched on the light in the loungeroom. Well, so much for Friday night in Surfers, he thought, kicking off his shoes. Ahh, it wasn’t that bad. I’ve had a terrific feed, met a couple of good blokes in that first place we went to with the reggae band. So I gave flip from the press a smack in the mouth. So what. And I got paid for it on top. The night was a piece of piss really — easier than I thought. If it’s all like that, I’ve earned my money easy. But what about my clothes. He sniffed his shirt and gave an audible ‘phew’. His hair was the same. Will I have a shower? No, fuck it, I’ll have one beer in peace then hit the sack. I’m knackered.
Les tossed his clothes in the bathroom, got into a clean T-shirt then took a beer out of the fridge and went out on the sundeck. There was a nice breeze coming in off the sea which swept over him like invisible velvet; he noticed a couple of lights on next door, but no sounds. Halfway through his beer, Les couldn’t believe how tired he suddenly was. Shit! Why not? It was almost 3.30 a.m. Les didn’t even finish his bottle of Red Stripe. He was yawning like a bear when he tossed it in the bin and turned off the lights. A smile momentarily flickered across his face as he crawled into bed and thought about DD and Sunday night. Half a minute later Norton was snoring his head off.
Les surfaced around ten, not feeling too bad at all. He’d had six solid hours’ sleep and not having drank much there was no sign of a hangover. After getting cleaned up a bit, he made a cup of tea and took it out on the sundeck to find it was another hot, sunny day, with just the odd cloud in the sky and a light sou’-easter flicking across the tops of the waves. It was quite pleasant standing there in the breeze, but he still felt grimy and sweaty from the night before. Only one way to get rid of that, he thought. A bit of a gallop and a swim. There was no sound or movement from next door, no cars in the driveway, also no sign of Mermaid Pool Service to fill the pool either. Well, no one’s going to miss me for a while. He got into his old training gear, wrapped a sweatrag round his head then after doing a few stretches by the back gate headed south on the soft sand, figuring to have the wind with him on the way back.
It was almost enjoyable jogging along on the soft sand, which was white and clean; the ocean, a few metres off to his left, was as blue and clear as ever and there were a number of girls sunbaking to have a look at as Les ground past. One good thing about running on soft sand, you don’t need a Ca Va track-suit or a $300 pair of crosstrainers. All you need is stamina, and plenty of it. By the time Norton got around three kilometres he had to stop and ring out his sweatrag, and when he retraced his steps and arrived back at the flats, everything he’d had to drink in the last week was pouring off his face and running down his back. He found a grassy place by the back gate to do some sit-ups and push-ups, then walked down to the water and flung himself straight in, running gear and all. After the run, the water was that good it was almost indescribable; Les flopped around for almost half an hour and could have stayed in another three. But duty would eventually call.
He had a shower, got into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt then made an awful dent in a litre of fresh orange juice he had in the fridge. There was still no sound from the lovers next door and still no cars around. Les decided to walk up and get the papers and have breakfast at the same place they did the day before. The food there was excellent and he couldn’t see any of KK’s white shoe friends wanting to put a mag on with him, even if they did recognise him.
Les was about to leave when a thought crossed his mind and a strange smile etched itself across his craggy face. He glanced at his watch. I wonder how things are at Chez Norton’s right now? Only one way to find out, and I reckon he’d be up. Norton picked up the phone, pushed the appropriate buttons and took another swallow of orange juice.
‘Hello,’ came a very dismal, subdued voice at the other end.
‘G’day, Woz. It’s Les. How are you, mate?’
‘Les. Oh, how are going?’
‘Pretty good. So how’s things with you? Has the house been burgled? Is my car still out the front? What’s going on?’
‘Ohh things are terrific, Les. Just great.’
‘Nice to know you miss me. So what’s doing? Did you give the lovely Annie my letter? How did she take it?’
‘Terrific, Les. She was rapt.’
‘I thought she might have been. Did she get her hairdryer?’
‘Yeah. That’s what really set her off. I thought I was going to get it wrapped round my head. Christ! Talk about swear.’
‘Ahh fuck her anyway. As long it hasn’t stuffed things up with you and Gianna.’ Norton hedged a little. ‘Everything still sweet there?’
Warren seemed to hedge a little too. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this, Les, but there’s been a bit of trouble since you’ve been gone.’
‘Trouble?’ Norton raised his voice. ‘What do you mean by trouble? You haven’t gone to bed pissed and burned the fuckin’joint down, have you? You’ve blown up the stereo, haven’t you. Full of fuckin’ dope.’
‘I wish to Christ that’s all it was,’ replied Warren. ‘John turned up last night.’
‘John?’
‘Gianna’s boyfriend.’
‘Oh dear. What happened, Warren?’
‘What do you think happened? He punched the shit out of me.’
‘Good God, Warren. Are you all right? Tell me what happened, mate.’
Through swollen lips and a swollen nose, Warren told Les how he’d picked the girls up after work on Friday night; Annie still had the shits but was coming along for the ride anyway. They pulled up out the front and there was John. He got out of his car and started abusing the girls, who started screaming. John threw them in his car then went for Warren. Warren put up a fantastic effort, getting punched all the way up the front steps. He would have got punched through the front door as well, only in his rage John slipped on the top step and Warren was able to hit him in the face with a pot-plant off the ledge, splitting John’s head open and knocking him down the steps. But not quite out. With blood all over him the girls managed to drag him away and into the car and Warren was able to get inside and lock the door. However, before he drove off, John got the pot-plant and threw it through the front window.
‘What!?’ bellowed Norton. ‘You mean to tell me, I’m not out of the place five minutes and you’re out the front brawling in the street. You’ve wrecked one of those grouse pot-plants dear old Mrs Curtin across the road gave me. And my bedroom window’s broken as well. Christ! What must the neighbours think.’ Norton was doing his utmost not to laugh. ‘You’re fuckin’ good, Warren, I’ll give you that. But fuck it. That’s it. Pack your gear. Soon as I get home you’re out on your arse. Go move in with your vindaloo queen.’
‘Fair dinkum, I am sorry, Les. It’s all my fault. I’ll pay for i
t.’
‘I’m fuckin’ sure you will. Even if I’ve got to chase you all over Sydney ’cause you’re still goin’.’ Norton took another sip of orange juice. ‘Ahh don’t worry about it. Who’d have you anyway — after the reference I’d give you. So how are you? Are you all right?’
‘Ohh yeah, real good, Les. Apart from two black eyes, a split lip, a swollen nose and a rotten headache I feel terrific. Plus my knee’s fucked.’
‘Shit! Jesus, bad luck I wasn’t there — the cunt. I might go round and give him a slap for this. He’s not too big, is he?’
‘He’s bigger than me. I know that.’
‘Mmmhh! I might have to think on this, Warren.’
‘Look, just forget the whole thing, Les. Let it go. It’s over anyway.’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’ Norton took another sip of orange juice and looked out the sundeck to make sure the sky hadn’t suddenly gone dark and there were no lightning bolts around. ‘I wonder how the cunt found out? Hey, I’ll bet it was that fuckin Annie.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I reckon. Though she seemed to have cooled off a bit coming over in the car.’
‘Yeah, that’s just the calm before the storm, mate. You know what Bullwinkle, the world’s most intelligent moose, said. Hell hath no fury like a woman’s corns. Never trust sheilas, mate. She couldn’t have me so she crabbed it for you.’
‘Did she ever — the bitch.’
‘Oh well, bad luck. Though in a way it’s partly my fault with that letter I suppose. Anyway let’s not dwell on the past. Though no one likes getting a pasting. But things are going all right up here.’
Les told his flatmate about the weather, the unit, meeting Crystal Linx. Warren missed the news but he’d have a look at the papers when he went round the shops. He told Warren about DD and the top night they had and coming back for a gigantic bit of the other. Things were going along swimmingly. Sorry about his love life folding like that, but it could have been his front teeth.
White Shoes, White Lines and Blackie Page 10