Floodtide

by Judy Nunn

  'Tony Curtis, eh?' He looked impressed. 'Gosh.' And he smiled again.

  God, he was sexy, Hilary thought.

  'Come on,' he said several minutes later. The theatre had rapidly emptied and, having scanned the faces of the few remaining, he could see no-one he knew.

  But as soon as they stepped into the foyer, he ran into trouble.

  'Young Mike McAllister!' It was Mrs Hewson, chatting to old Tom Russell. 'My goodness, haven't you grown.' Molly Hewson eyed him up and down. She'd seen the boy only about nine months ago and he'd been a big lad for his age then, but my goodness, she thought, he must be nearly six foot now. 'I'd hardly have recognised you –'

  'G'day, Mrs Hewson. Good to see you after all these years.' Mike grabbed Hilary by the hand and bolted, leaving Molly Hewson in a state of bewilderment.

  'What was that all about?' Hilary asked.

  'Silly old bat. She hasn't seen me for five years. You want to walk down to the river?'

  'Sure,' she shrugged, and they strolled hand in hand through the balmy night down Bay View Terrace towards the jetty.

  'Shall we go out to the end?' she asked when they got there.

  'Nah, let's walk along the beach.'

  He headed off to the left, and Hilary followed obligingly, taking off her sandals and relishing the feel of the sand between her naked toes.

  'Do you want a ciggie?' she asked, delving in her clutch bag.

  'Yeah, thanks.'

  He didn't, but he took a cigarette from the packet she proffered him, and produced a lighter from his top pocket. It had been Spud's suggestion that he always have a lighter at the ready whether he smoked or not. 'Girls like it, mate,' he'd said. Spud was already a seasoned smoker. Mike didn't much care for cigarettes, although he'd practised diligently in order not to look like a novice.

  Heads together, hands shielding the flame from the light breeze off the water, they lit up, then sat side by side on the sand looking out at the river, dark and dappled in the moonlight.

  'It's beautiful,' Hilary said.

  'Yep.'

  They were silent for a moment, and Hilary, listening to the gentle lap of the waves licking the shore, thought how romantic it was and wondered when he'd kiss her again. She wouldn't let it get out of hand like she had in the pictures though. She rarely did it on a first date, it was a rule of hers.

  Mike wasn't listening to the lap of the waves or feeling the romance of the moment. He was aware that they were only twenty yards from his home and the boatshed. He stubbed his half-smoked cigarette out in the sand and waited impatiently for her to finish hers.

  'That's my dad's boat,' he said, making conversation so that she wouldn't sense his restiveness. He pointed at Alana, silhouetted and bobbing on her mooring barely fifty yards away.

  'Is it?' She turned to him, eyes wide. 'Really?'

  'Yeah, really. He built her himself. She's called Alana, after my grandmother.'

  'Gosh.' Hilary looked back at the yacht. She hadn't known that people built boats. Not that she'd given it much thought, but she'd presumed they came out of factories, like cars. 'That's fantastic.' She took a final drag and dug her cigarette butt into the sand. 'Really fantastic.'

  'I can show you where he built it.'

  The words sounded juvenile and clumsy, and he cursed himself. He'd rushed things, she must surely guess what he was thinking. But her look was blank.

  'I live just there.' He pointed along the beach.

  'You live right by the river?' That was even more impressive than the home-made boat.

  'Yeah, come on and I'll show you.'

  She picked up her purse and sandals and he helped her to her feet.

  There was no rear gate to the McAllister property, just a gap in the bamboo where the sand led directly to the grass, and the grass led directly to the boatshed. The narrow strip of bamboo that grew along much of the foreshore protected the privacy of a number of riverside homes, and like many other property owners Jim McAllister had deemed it unnecessary to construct any further form of barricade.

  'This is where Dad built Alana,' Mike said, leading her into the open boatshed. 'And he restored a Vee Jay for me too. There she is.'

  In the half-gloom of the boatshed it was impossible to see the Vee Jay, which was buried beneath its tarpaulin anyway, but Mike was so bent on seduction that he wasn't thinking clearly.

  'Wow,' Hilary said dutifully, presuming he was showing off and prepared to make the right response. But through the far end of the open boatshed she could see the shapes of trees and vines, which interested her far more. 'Can I look at the garden?' she asked, not waiting for an answer.

  'Oh. Yeah. Right.'

  Mike followed her as she walked in the direction of the house. Once past the grape vines she could be seen from the balcony, and his dad often sat out on the balcony in the late evening, having his nightcap and looking at the river. But she stopped at the grape vines. Old, with thick gnarled trunks and dripping with great clusters of as yet unripened fruit, the vines formed a perfect arbour, beyond which Hilary could see a rambling garden of fruit trees and grassy slopes.

  'Oh,' she whispered. In the light of the moon, it was quite breathtaking.

  She appeared entranced and it seemed the right moment to kiss her. Besides, he was emboldened by the need to stop her before she stepped out into full view of the house. His kiss was tentative at first, in case she feared that he'd grope her as he had in the cinema, and as he so urgently wanted to right now.

  Hilary dropped her sandals and clutch bag. It was perfect. The grape vines and the moonlight and the fact that he looked like Tony Curtis. She responded with fervour.

  They sank to the grass, Mike trying not to rush things, but, with an instant and raging erection, finding it difficult. He ran his hands over her breasts, but when he investigated beneath the knitted top, the brassiere appeared so impregnable that he quickly gave up, lifting her skirt instead, caressing her bare thigh, making his way upwards. He was glad there was no suspender belt anchoring the panties in place as had been the case with Jeannette. Jeannette hadn't let him get any further than this. 'Not now,' she'd said, as they'd pashed behind the Dalkeith Hall. 'Not now, not here,' – the suggestion being that another time and another place she'd let him go all the way. But she hadn't. The next time she'd seen him she'd cut him dead. She'd turned on her heel and walked away without a word. Someone had obviously blabbed.

  Mike's senses were assailed by the taste and the touch and the very smell of Hilary. It was about to happen! God, he prayed, as his fingers slid beneath the crotch of her panties, don't let her stop me now. Please God, don't let her stop me now!

  Hilary was aroused. Like there was no tomorrow, she realised as she felt his fingers slide beneath her panties. She was hot and wet and ready, and with her mouth still glued to his, she pulled up the knitted top, reached her hands behind her and unfastened her brassiere. As her breasts sprang free, Mike threw all caution to the wind, his right hand groping from one to the other while his left, which had been at her crotch, disappeared to struggle frantically with his trousers.

  Hilary was aware that he seemed to be having some trouble, so she dived her own hand down to help him, slipping off her panties at the same time. They were fumbling now, both of them, flustered and urgent.

  'Have you got a rubber?' she whispered.

  'Eh?' Mike halted. He hadn't thought of a condom.

  'Doesn't matter.' She grabbed her clutch bag and fossicked about. She didn't make a habit of doing it on a first date, but she always carried a rubber because you just never knew.

  Hilary had been sexually active for the past three years, but she didn't consider herself promiscuous. Rather she was a modern woman. She had no intention of being married at twenty-one like her mum – a shotgun wedding, she was sure, although her mum had never said so – and then deserted at twenty-six with three kids to bring up on her own. Hilary was going to be a woman of the world, with lovers, and when she was thirty she was going to
marry a rich bloke and settle into a life of luxury. Hilary had plans.

  She found the condom and ripped the packet open with her teeth.

  Mike couldn't see what she was doing, but suddenly her hands were on him and she was feeding the condom down the shaft of his rigid penis with great expertise. Then, before he knew it, she was guiding him into her as she lay back on the grass.

  Any vestige of control deserted him as he felt himself engulfed. He moaned at the indescribable pleasure of it. A long, heart-felt, incredulous moan of euphoria. His penis felt like a lost soul that had finally found its way home. Then he started pumping for all he was worth.

  Hilary was about to tell him to slow down. 'It's not a race,' she was going to say. But it was too late – he'd ejaculated.

  'Oh,' she said as he lay panting over her. She had a nasty feeling that perhaps he'd been a virgin.

  Mike rolled away from her onto his back and looked up at the stars, which seemed alarmingly bright as they glittered at him through the grape vines.

  'Haven't you done it before?' she asked bluntly, doing up her brassiere and searching about for her panties. It was more an accusation than a question.

  'Yeah.' Mike leaned up on one elbow, struggling to regain his breath. 'Tons of times.' He knew he'd rushed things and come far too fast, and that he should feel terrible for not having given her more pleasure, but he couldn't help it, he felt elated. He'd finally done it! And sex was every bit as wonderful as his wildest imaginings.

  'I'm sorry, Hilary, I got too excited.' What would Spud say at a time like this, he wondered. 'I'm really, really sorry,' he said in all earnestness. 'But it's because you're so sexy, you see? You're such a turn-on – that's why I got carried away. It'll be better next time.'

  The boost to her ego was some mollification, but Hilary wasn't sure if there'd be a next time. 'Yes, well, I have to go now.'

  He walked her back along the beach and up the hill of Bay View Terrace to Stirling Highway where he waited half an hour with her for the late-night bus service. He kissed her again while they waited, but her response wasn't the same. She was guarded, and now that his euphoria had faded a little, Mike felt genuinely apologetic.

  'It really will be better next time,' he whispered. 'I promise.'

  Hilary reserved her judgement. 'We'll see,' she said primly, but agreed to go swimming with him at Cottesloe on Wednesday. She'd bring her bathers and meet him after work, she said.

  It was half past one in the morning when Mike snuck quietly into his bedroom. His curfew was midnight on Saturdays, but his parents didn't wait up for him and it was unlikely they'd hear his return. His bedroom was a section of the side verandah that his dad had converted into a sleepout when Mike had first started at Mod. 'The boy's nearly a teenager,' Jim had said, 'he needs his own room for study and privacy.' Before that, Mike had shared a bedroom with Jools.

  He lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. So that was what it felt like to be inside a woman! He wanted to relive the moment and relish the feeling, but there was no time, sleep was claiming him. His last waking thought was his promise to Hilary. Next time would be better, he'd make sure of it.

  But there was no next time. At least, not with Hilary.

  'Don't you come near me,' she hissed as he greeted her outside the post office on Wednesday. It was the same scathing look Jeannette had given him, and he knew in an instant. But how had she found out so soon? She didn't even live in Claremont!

  Mike's expression of Tony Curtis-like boyish bewilderment infuriated Hilary, and she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how she'd found out. It had actually been her friend, Maureen. On Sunday she'd boasted to Maureen that she'd been to the pictures the previous night with a bloke who looked just like Tony Curtis.

  'Trapeze, what's more,' she'd said. 'And the lights came up and there I was looking at him! Tony Curtis, I swear it, and just as sexy!'

  Hilary had drawn a personal veil over the fact that Mike hadn't been sexy at all when it had come to the crunch. She'd decided he was too good a prospect not to be given a second chance. But she wasn't going to tell Maureen she'd gone all the way on a first date. Not yet, anyway. Not until she was wearing Mike on her arm. Then, who knew, perhaps she'd boast about the fact that she'd set her sights on him and scored on the very first night.

  'What's his name?' Maureen asked.

  'Mike McAllister. He lives by the river and he's got his own boat, and I'm going swimming with him on Wednesday.'

  Maureen worked in the haberdashery department of Boans in the city, and at her shift's morning tea break on Monday she'd told the girls that a friend of hers was going out with a Tony Curtis look-alike who lived by the river and had his own boat.

  'Wow, what's his name?' someone asked.

  'Mike McAllister.'

  That was when Maeve Farrell, who worked the same shift but was in cosmetics, had dropped the bombshell. 'He's my little brother's best mate,' she'd said. 'He's fourteen.' And Maureen had rung Hilary that night. Perth was a very small place.

  'If you tell anybody what happened, I'll say that you're a liar,' Hilary muttered. She didn't look angry now, she looked embarrassed and insecure. 'I could lose my job, you know.'

  'I won't tell anyone.'

  'And don't come to the post office any more,' she said. Then she walked off, head held high, maintaining her dignity but inwardly terrified that Mike would show off to his mates.

  Mike did show off. Just to Spud. He couldn't resist.

  'I've done it,' he said.

  Spud didn't have to ask 'Done what?' There was something different about Mikey. He could see it in his face.

  'You've had it off.' It wasn't a question.

  'Yep.'

  'Who with?'

  But Mike refused to say.

  'It's bullshit. You're lying. How am I s'posed to believe you've had a root if you won't say who with?' Spud tried every trick under the sun, but still Mike wasn't forth-coming, so he gave up the interrogation. 'What was it like?' he said instead.

  'Fan-bloody-tastic!'

  Spud was eaten alive with envy. It wasn't fair, Mikey got all the breaks. But if Mikey could score, then so could he, he told himself, and he set out to conquer with a renewed vigour. It only landed him in trouble. He was reported to the headmaster for touching up a final-year student and threatened with expulsion if it happened again.

  The following year, Spud embarked upon a money-making scheme. His plan was simple. If he couldn't seduce a girl, he'd buy one. But he'd need at least double the going rate, he figured. For a prostitute to take on an underage client, he'd need to make it worth her while.

  Hub caps started disappearing from luxury vehicles parked in the wealthy areas of Peppermint Grove and Mosman. Mercedes-Benz fetched the best price, Spud found. He had a good contact in a wrecker's yard through Ernie, his dad's friend who ran the milk delivery service. No questions asked.

  For months he squirrelled away his money. He'd set his sights on ten quid. A good earn for a hooker was a fiver, he'd discovered – he'd asked outright at the Sun Majestic Massage Parlour in Roe Street, West Perth. Of all the brothels in Roe Street, the Sun Majestic held the greatest attraction for Spud. It had a mystique about it the others didn't, and the sign out the front promised 'a touch of the Orient'. Madam Ruby who ran it was a top-looking sort, what's more – raven-haired, almond-eyed and exotic.