by Peter Butler
The production company they worked for was owned by a now retired veteran of the television industry, Julian Peg. Simon ran the place, unchecked, these days as Julian had succumbed to the ravages of old age. Their offices were located in a fashionable section of London. It was a two story single-front building with an ornate bright yellow door and a brass plaque beside it. It sat amongst many similar buildings on busy King's Road in Chelsea, but double-glazed windows created a blissfully quiet aura inside, only penetrated by the occasional emergency vehicle siren or the odd blast from a car-horn.
Sunny played soft, laid-back music through the speakers on her desk. She adored Dido and had been to every concert she had played near London, in the past six years. Dido was subtly inviting her to, "Let's Runaway" and she hummed along as she typed out a request to film some sequences of a shoot, scheduled to take place three weeks away. Regulation were the bane of her job and she hated all the red-tape and hoops she had to jump through, just to get a junior level Government employee to regally grant them approval to do their job.
'You look frustrated and somewhat stuffed, if you don't mind me saying so,' Simon said, beside her. She hadn't heard him approach and she jumped as he spoke. 'A little tense, also,' he added, noting he had startled her.
She turned to see him holding two glasses, both containing a small quantity of a clear liquid. She raised her eyes, questioningly.
'Time to knock-off, Sunny,' he said, as he held one of the glasses out to her.
'What am I drinking?' she asked as she took it from him and sniffed it.
'Vodka.' He gave her a quizzical look. 'You're acting like I might try and poison you.'
Sunny's mind had immediately flashed back to the night she had met Garrett and his consequent conclusion that Simon had been trying to drug her. It was nonsense of course, but she had still subconsciously reacted to it. 'Just a reflex action. I thought I could answer the question myself. But, seeing it's Vodka it's odorless.' She took a sip and felt the alcohol warm her mouth and slightly burn her throat as she swallowed.
'I like that song,' Simon said as she sipped. 'You're crazy about her, aren't you?'
'Crazy, is a bit strong. I'm closer to enthusiastic. I've found another I like, also.' She clicked on to her media player and scrolled to the top of the playlist until she found the song she wanted. She double-clicked and a similar haunting voice floated out of her speakers.
'Very sweet,' Simon agreed.
'Her name is Kate Miller-Heidke. The song's called, Share Your Air and I've nearly worn it's little digital signature off my hard drive by playing it so much,' she laughed, and sipped again.
'I like it when you laugh. It's very... sexy. Hang-on a moment,' he said, as he walked back to his office.
Sexy..? Sunny thought it was a little inappropriate to use that word. Just another act of strangeness to come from Simon recently. Before she could give it deeper thought he returned carrying the bottle of Vodka.
'I noticed you had almost finished,' he said, and topped up her glass before she could stop him.
What to do? He was her boss, the person who paid her and a mover and shaker in the industry who could be a bad enemy to make. She really couldn't afford to start anything. Even if he was coming-on to her, he could just deny it and claim she had misinterpreted what he had said, and she would look like an idiot. No. She would have to wait for something more conclusive before she raised the subject.
'We should do this more often, Sunny,' Simon said as he moved behind her as if he was looking over her shoulder and reading her playlist. 'Your taste in music is heavily biased towards women. Have you got a thing against us fellas?'
'Not at all. I just find the girls voices more relaxing and that's usually what I need to do at the end of a day when I use this computer.'
'So, I was correct about you being a little tense?'
Suddenly Sunny felt his hands on her shoulders and he gently began to massage the taut muscles in her neck. It felt wonderful and she would normally want it to continue, but Simon had too many question marks building up against him in her mind. And, he had just crossed another boundary. As she was trying to find the right words to use to ask Simon to stop what he was doing with her neck she realized she was having difficulty concentrating; the words she wanted were not there, the sentence just hung, unfinished in her mind. She blinked her eyes because the computer screen seemed to become fuzzy. She felt herself begin to rock in her chair, his massaging was making her whole body sway. Weird...
Sunny's last thought before she passed-out was: Oh shit... He's just crossed another boundary.
***
Still in a timezone confused state I woke early, so I headed down the corridor to the bathroom for a shower. Despite it only being 5:00AM. someone had already been there and had left the bathroom a mess. Two towels were lying in the middle of the floor and the shower rose was dripping profusely, a cake of soap sat in the drain hole. The shower only had a cold tap and I turned it off, even though I was going to be using it in a few seconds. I knew how valuable that resource was in this parched part of Australia.
I also knew Truf would never have left the tap like that and I strongly doubted even Tim would. That narrowed the list of potential culprits down somewhat.
I stripped off, entered the shower stall and turned the tap back on. The pressure that came from the shower-head was pathetic. I suspected it would be due to the limited water supply. I quickly washed and shampooed. The rinsing-off was the difficult part, but I eventually got the suds out of my hair.
As I turned the tap off I heard the door rattle. When it didn't give there was a polite knock.
'Nearly done. Give me thirty seconds.' I yelled.
It had to be Tim or Truf, so I quickly dried myself and wrapped the towel around my waist. I opened the door. In front of me stood a woman in her early thirties dressed exactly like me.
'Oh!' I said in surprise, gripping the flap of my towel even tighter to prevent any accidents. 'So sorry, I thought it was one of my friends wanting to use the shower.'
'No worries, darling,' she answered. 'You take as long as you like.'
In spite of having just woken up and having that early-morning, disheveled look about her, I could tell she was a fine looking woman. I knew that because I was really staring at her. Her face was clear of blemishes and naturally pretty. Her crowning glory was a head of bright orange hair - a sure sign of madness, according to Aunt Maude, an elderly relative of mine. The towel hid any bumps and curves that she possessed, but I could guess they were there. Her hair was tied back in a tight ponytail and fell between her shoulder-blades.
I realized she would be correctly thinking I was ogling her, so I deliberately concentrated on her face as we passed each other. I said, somewhat defensively, 'That mess on the floor was there when I arrived.'
She smiled sweetly and said, 'I know. It's there every morning.'
I raised my eyebrows and said, 'Felix?'
She nodded and gave me a surreal half-smile. 'He wastes the water dreadfully, too.' As she spoke she bent down to pick up the dirty towels. This caused the towel around her to ride up to her waist and gave me a perfect view of everything a man wants to see. I noted Bev's collars matched her cuffs, so to speak, adding even more evidence if Aunt Maude's madness hypothesis was true. My fine upbringing told me to respectfully turn away, but my eyes would have none of that nonsense, and remained fixed on that one tiny part of her body.
I'm not stupid; I realized this was anything but accidental on her part.
She straightened up and tossed the dirty towels on the floor outside the bathroom door. Then she extended her hand to me, and said, 'I'm Bev.' An enigmatic smile eased its way onto her face. 'I live here.'
I realized what she was doing. By offering me her hand she had created a situation whereby I had to try and use my left hand that was holding my shampoo and soap, to also hold my towel together.
I tentatively released my right hand to shake hers. As I took her hand
I prayed my poorly gripped towel would remain closed. A big ask as it was now under threat from the inside as well.
'Nice to meet you. I'm Garrett.' I'm sure my voice quavered as I said my name. I used my full name to try and regain some formality between us
She grinned at me and said, 'By the way, Garrett, It's not a good idea to lock the door. What if you had an accident? I don't take the risk. I always leave it unlocked.' She looked at me, knowingly, released my hand and stepped back inside the bathroom. As she did she let her towel fall to the floor, giving me the complete, uncensored version of the tease I'd just enjoyed.
Then she gently closed the door.
I stood there with my mouth open staring at the doorknob. "Little Gary" had fought his way free and was frantically pointing at it also.
Indecision.
Mad Bev was obviously George's wife, and he was a nice guy. I was a nice guy - a nice guy who didn't knowingly do married women. But... there was only a door between me and, unquestioningly, an invitation to a helluva good time. And Little Gary was quite adamant about which way his vote was going.
As it turned out, I was not a nice guy. I would argue it was a shortage of blood that caused the problem. Little Gary gets his supply it seems, directly from my brain.
She also lied, she did lock the door... after I joined her.
Actually, that might have been me. Mr. Paranoid.
***
It was now 7:30 and the three of us Poms were sitting around our Aussie breakfast table. The heat had already built up and we were all sweating slightly. The overhead fans did their best, their motors whirred in acceptance that they were fighting a losing battle. I had Gran's mud map of the location of Warra's campsite that she had emailed to me after I'd made the decision to come to Australia. She had marked Culgawinya and the main roads that spread out from it. Warra's current camp was marked clearly with a big X, just like an old pirate treasure map. Because it was hand drawn the scale was non-existent, but I knew from what I'd been told that it was at least a half an hour from where we sat waiting for our waitress to appear.
We were the only people in the room and a noise alerted us to the arrival of another person. We all turned to see Bev walking towards us. She looked sensational, she had a glow about her, a freshly scrubbed look, which I could personally vouch for. We had a clean waitress.
'Morning, boys!' she said with a grin on her face as she strode up to our table. 'I hope you all had a good night's sleep and any stiffness you had from your big trip yesterday has gone away.'
At that point I had to look away from her. I just knew her eyes would be focused on me.
'I'm Bev and I'll be preparing your breakfast.'
'I'm Truf. Very nice to meet you, Bev. This is Tim and this is Gary,' he said, pointing to each of us in turn.
'Tim and I said, 'Hi.' Then Truf continued, 'That was a superb steak you cooked for us last night.' Clearly he was impressed with Bev and intent on making an impression. She was that type of girl, outgoing and cheerful, some might argue a bit over-friendly even, but clearly stifled and bored by the constraints of living in a small country town.
'Thanks Truf. I try and make people welcome to our little pub, and meat is a kinda specialty of mine.' She turned her attention to me when she said the word "meat", and said, 'Gary... You look familiar. Have we met?'
'I don't know, Bev,' I replied, trying to give the impression I was thinking it through. 'I've only walked up the street once. Then into this bar, then into my bedroom. Oh, and I've had a shower this morning. Is there any chance we bumped into each other in any of those places?'
'Mmm,' she mused with a thoughtful expression on her face. 'You do look very familiar.' She paused and looked closely at me, then she added, as if suddenly enlightened. 'Like a boyfriend! That's it, you're the spitting image of a guy I once had in my life.'
'I hope it ended well,' I said.
'Hard to say... I believe we left it kinda open ended, now that I think about it.'
'Bit late now,' perceptive Tim added. 'With husband George on the scene, that must have closed down things like that.'
'Yeah... You'd have to think that,' she conceded.
'Bev, you know your way around here,' Truf said. 'Would you be kind enough to have a look at our map and give us some help on how we get to X.'
'Sure,' she said as she leaned over Truf's shoulder and studied the piece of paper. 'So, this is where the treasure is buried,' she said with a chuckle. Bev studied the map for a second. 'Okay, now I know where you're going - the aboriginal camp,' she announced triumphantly. 'This is meant to be the main road out of town,' she pointed to a line Gran had drawn. 'This is Deadman Creek... and the next one is Wombat Creek.' She traced the pen line with her finger. 'They're both pretty dry at the moment, so you'll need to keep an eye out for the white poles beside them that mark the water level during a flood. That will be your best and only clue that it's a creek you're crossing, not just a ditch. After Wombat Creek you need to drive for about another ten minutes, then the road makes a sweeping right bend, the track you need is just after that. It'll be a little overgrown as hardly anybody uses it. It takes you to the new aboriginal camp. The poor buggers had to move cos their water went sour at their main camp. What do you need to visit them for?'
'Gary's grandmother is old friends with one of the elders, called Warra,' Truf told her. 'We're on a short outback holiday and she asked us to call in and say hello.'
'I know Warra. He's a local artist. He came here once a while back, after their water went bad, actually, and asked if he could make an overseas call. George wasn't keen to let him until he waved a hundred dollar bill at him. George even dialed the number for him after that.' She laughed at the memory. 'We never knew it for sure, but we think he walked all the way from his camp to make that call. George offered to drive him back, but he said he was okay. He's a funny old bugger.'
'He must make good money from his art. My Gran has a big painting of his in her house.'
'You'd think,' she said, 'but they're not very good negotiators. Duh!' She chuckled. 'A hundred bucks for a phone call,' she shook her head in amazement. 'All I know is, some guy comes up here every couple of months and buys his paintings. He usually stays with us, but he keeps the paintings wrapped in brown paper with bubble-wrap all around them. He drives a big closed-in 4 wheel drive truck and he locks them in the back, so I've never actually seen any of Warra's work.'
'Thanks for your help, Bev,' I said. I gave her my best smile. 'Where's George at this hour of the day?'
'George is still asleep. That's the way we run it - a bit like ships in the night. I cook the restaurant meals at night and then leave him to look after the pub until he closes. I get up pretty early, usually before 5.' - She looked at me when she said that, 'and get some things straightened out, while he works on his beauty sleep.' She grinned at me. 'Which reminds me, I need to clean your rooms. Which one are you in Truf?'
'I'm in three.'
'Who got the one with the dicky air-conditioner?'
'I think that's me,' I said, getting a very strong feeling that there was a message being sent to me in all of this.
'Number two is Gary, then,' she said. 'Sorry about that noisy aircon - might have to see if we can give you a discount or something.'
'That's not necessary, Bev. I love it here. I think I'm getting value for money, you're doing a terrific job.'
'Great to hear. If you leave here satisfied, you might come again.'
I almost blushed at how literal her message was. To me.
I looked at the other two and, thank God, they were clueless - just listening to small talk.
'Okay, boys' she said, smiling at the three of us as she pulled a small pad and a pen out of the front of her apron. 'Breakfast! What can I get for you, fellas?'
***
Wombat Creek had been crossed about ten minutes earlier. I was very grateful for Bev's directions as the creek itself had no sign, just a chest-high white pole with black lines ar
ound it, on each side of the depression that apparently occasionally had water in it. Without her help we probably would be well on our way to Darwin or whatever existed out there at the end of this road.
'Which side is our turn-off on?' Tim asked. He had been made designated driver for this leg. I'd been pleasantly surprised at how well we had all been getting along. Obviously, both Truf and I had found some distractions to divert any pent-up frustrations into. But to Tim's credit he had been trying to fit in and be one of the boys, not king of the boys. Maybe the trick was to get him away from his home ground.
'The left,' said Truf.
'I think this is the bend she was talking about, up ahead,' Tim offered as he slowed the car down to a speed that allowed us to examine the edge of road for any hint of a track.
Just for added coverage I scanned the right side of the road in case we'd got it mixed up.
'Up ahead, just after that scrawny tree,' Truf said, 'looks like it might be the track.'
We all focused on the patch of bush he was referring to. There was no obvious opening or tire marks, but the bush did seem to be further from the road than the bushes on either side. Tim pulled to a stop and we all got out and walked to the area in question. The bushes did have a gap between them wide enough for a vehicle to pass through, but the sand colored grass was at least knee high and gave little hint that it may be covering a track.
I flattened down some of the tall grass with my boots, ever wary that one of the murderous snakes might rear up in front of me and stab me with its poison-laden fangs. And then club me with a Stinging Tree for good measure.
I would have made a crappy early explorer.
As I pushed the grass down I could make out two parallel depressions in the earth, that were very likely tracks from a vehicle. 'What do you think?' I asked the other two.
'I'd say this is it, but how the hell do we follow a track that's completely overgrown?' Tim said.
'I think it's the track, too,' added Truf, 'but I reckon we should drive along the road for another mile and make sure, before we commit to this one.'