‘I was watching you out there, Les,’ she said, ‘and you were just like a little boy.’
‘Oh yeah.’ Les shrugged a little self-consciously. ‘But I wasn’t doing any harm. And it was fun.’
‘No, I didn’t mean it like that, Les,’ Mitzi smiled. ‘It’s good to see you still have some of the little boy in you. That’s a good sign in a man. I like it.’
‘Oh. Well, one thing I can tell you, Mitzi, this little boy’s got that much sand up his khyber, it’s coming out through his ribs. How about walking up to the shower with me?’
‘All right, surfer Joe.’
‘That’s me,’winked Les. ‘Kahuna Norton. The bronzed wonder from down under.’
‘Down under what? The table?’
Norton looked at Mitzi for a second. ‘I think you’ve been hanging around with Andrea Hayden for too long.’
The water poured straight out of the shower nozzles and was quite cool. But it was very refreshing and Les felt pretty good after he got all the sand out and changed back into his shorts. Mitzi sat up on a picnic table and watched him with her arms folded over her knees.
‘I should have gone for a swim myself,’ she said.
‘Well go on. I’ll wait for you. But watch the shore break. You’ve got more places to pick sand out of than me.’
Mitzi wrinkled her nose. ‘Maybe when we get to Sunset.’
‘Okey-doke.’
Les took a few photos of the beach, a couple of Mitzi, then they climbed into the Mustang and got back onto the Kamehameha Highway.
There were a few more houses now as they drove through Pupukea and past Banzai. The road was fairly straight with plenty of long, windswept beach and reefs on the left, then there were cars parked everywhere and it was a little like the circus had hit town. Les slowed up for the traffic as they passed a cluster of tents, marquees and scaffolding on the left from which some Californian accent came droning out over a PA system above what sounded like some scratchy old Doors music. There were police cars, other cars with official insignia plastered all over them and pick-ups clustered around the marquees, people swarming everywhere and cars parked bumper to bumper on either side of the road. Just past the contest area a small gully on the left separated the road they were on from another street full of houses that ran along the beach. About half a kilometre or so further along Les parked the car and decided this time he might put the hood back up. They got their gear, crossed the small gully and walked back past the houses to the contest area.
Sunset reminded Les a bit of Long Reef or a couple of beaches he’d seen around Coffs Harbour. The beach itself angled down to the water and wasn’t very wide, with thick green hills behind and reefs at either end and running out the front. The surf was about six feet, lumpy and all over the place due to the howling cross wind and Mitzi agreed with Les that it wasn’t the best of conditions for a surf contest. But with waxheads, the show must go on. There would have been five or six hundred punters walking about or lolling around on the sand, looking cool and off shore amidst the usual mass of TV cameras and telephoto lenses positioned along the water’s edge like batteries of field artillery. Right in the middle was the stage and judges’ tower, with a sign underneath saying ‘Coors Light Triple Crown of World Surfing’. There were other tents and seating areas and stalls selling souvenirs and drinks. Les got two cans of Hawaiian Sun, an Orange Passionfruit, which was half cold and tasted like flat, sweet cordial, and a program. Blonde surf bunnies like in the magazines were very thin on the ground. Most of the girls looked like Sumo wrestlers or earth mothers and it wasn’t long before Mitzi was getting a few once up and downs from the local waxheads hanging cool to the same scratchy Doors music Les had heard driving past. There was a sudden commotion on stage and Les suggested they get a spot on the sand and see what was going on.
The droning voice Les had heard driving past belonged to some American with a ponytail and sunglasses who was now introducing a clean-cut American in crisp and yummy T-shirt and shorts who was the announcer from some radio station. He in turn introduced the four contestants for the final: two Hawaiians, a Tahitian and an Aussie. Go the Digger, thought Norton. After introducing the contestants, the MC went for the in-depth interview. Each interview was about as deep as the lid on a tin of Ovaltine and although Les was no rocket scientist he was pretty certain the four waxheads on stage didn’t do any brain surgery or discover new compounds and elements between surfing contests either. The MC almost needed a cattle prod to get their names out of them, although the lone Aussie did come out with a couple of laconic quips that unfortunately went over the heads of the gathered seppos. Next thing a helicopter hovered into view, the rescue team gathered as the four contestants walked down to the water’s edge with their boards, a hooter sounded and it was on.
How they judged a surfing contest Norton for the life of him didn’t know although according to his program it went by length of ride, manoeuvres, wave selection and style. No matter what, there was no doubting the contestants’ stamina and courage, paddling out a good half kilometre through a wind-blasted rip and what looked like a fairly treacherous undertow. Although he’d been doing a fair bit of swimming Les conceded he wouldn’t have liked to have been dropped out there with a boogie board or whatever and no fins and told to do his best.
The two Hawaiians had the place wired and were obviously doing the best of the four; at least, they were catching most of the waves. The Tahitian kept getting washed into the reef to the right and the Australian only got a handful of waves, though the ones he did get were screamers. Les and Mitzi watched intently, along with the oohs and ahhs from the crowd and the hype from the commentator, and both agreed the winner would be one of the Hawaiians. Then the hooter sounded again, the helicopter flew off and the four contestants surfed or paddled their way back in. Les and Mitzi followed the crowd back to the stage for the placings.
The Hawaiians took out the first two places, then came the Aussie with the Tahitian running fourth. Cameras flashed, the TV cameras rolled and the same MC went for some more in-depth interviews. He may as well have tried to interview four jam donuts. But it was all very off shore and hang ten or five or whatever and the crowd loved it, cheering and clapping both the winner and the runners-up. Not being a surfer, most of it went over Norton’s head and he couldn’t quite appreciate the grandeur of it all. In fact, the most Norton had to do with waxheads was argue with them when he’d be swimming between the flags at Bondi and they’d be running over him, then abusing him in the process. Norton was firmly convinced that if they put a set of flags on the dark side of the moon some waxhead would want to surf between them, firmly convinced that that was where the best waves were. He and Billy Dunne and various others got sick of arguing with them in the end and just dragged them off their surfboards and gave them a good drowning, like so many unwanted kittens.
In the euphoria of it all and the heady smell of perfumed board wax and tanning lotion, Norton almost forgot the main reason he was there: the camera case. He asked Mitzi to wait there for a few moments, then he went to one of the official tents and asked for the person Tony Nathan told him to see. He was pointed to a good style of a bloke about five nine, with brown hair and sunglasses and a bag over his shoulder, carrying a mini-recorder and writing something down in a notebook.
‘Excuse me, mate,’ said Les. ‘Are you Noel Edgeworth?’
The bloke looked up and smiled. ‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘Are you Les Norton?’
‘That’s right,’ nodded Les. ‘Tony Nathan asked me to give you this.’ Les reached into his overnight bag and pulled out the plastic camera case.
‘Oh, fuckin’ unreal, mate. Thanks a lot.’ Noel offered his hand. ‘I gotta take some photos out at the Pipeline on Thursday and I’d have been stuffed without this.’
‘That’s all right, Noel. No worries.’
Noel looked at the camera case then put it in his bag. ‘Tony rang me and said you’d be over. You’re staying at the Regency in Waikiki. Rig
ht?’
‘That’s right,’ nodded Les.
‘Me and a couple of the boys are coming into town for a drink, either tonight or tomorrow night. I’ll give you a ring and we’ll get out and shout you a few drinks.’
‘All right,’ answered Les, trying not to sound reluctant.
‘Probably tonight. But tomorrow night for sure.’
‘Terrific,’ lied Les. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’ That’s all he needed — a bunch of drunken waxheads hanging off him while he had a chance of the lovely Mitzi being around. Even if Noel did seem like a nice sort of bloke.
‘Anyway, Les, I got to take some photos and do a couple of interviews. But I’ll ring you tonight. Thanks again for bringing this over. Unreal.’
‘That’s okay, Noel. I’m glad I came out. It was… unreal.’ They shook hands again and Les walked back to Mitzi.
‘Did you get everything done?’ she asked.
‘Yeah. Now they’re threatening to come round and have a drink with me.’
Mitzi smiled a perfect row of white teeth framed in a delicate pink mouth. ‘I might go in for a swim. It’s fairly safe down in front of those rocks.’
‘I might just join you, Mitzi. I wouldn’t mind another swim myself.’
They walked down to the place Mitzi pointed out, where the full brunt of the surf was stopped by a reef. There was still plenty of swirling white water but no pointing shore break like there was back at Waimea Bay. Les got down to his Speedos again and beneath her top and shorts Mitzi was wearing a one-piece, black lycra costume, which sat her boobs up like two lovely firm peaches and fitted her so snugly round the crumpet the costume must have come in an aerosol can. Despite the warm water lapping round his ankles, a slight shiver crept up Norton’s spine. Bloody hell, he muttered to himself. I’ve got to stop looking at Mitzi like she’s some kind of sex object. But what are you supposed to do when they get around in outfits like that? Sign yourself into a monastery? Again the water was delightful and they frolicked around happily, diving up and down, jumping over waves and just having a good time in general. Les kept his hands off Andrea’s accountant, but when Mitzi got knocked on her dainty little behind a couple of times he helped her back up and a couple of times when the current caught her Mitzi grabbed for Norton’s hand. Even with the undertow dragging her, Mitzi still seemed to weigh almost nothing in Norton’s grip and once again evil ideas formed in his fertile mind, which Les was forced to hurriedly dismiss.
After a while they got out, picked up their clothes and walked up to the showers. If Mitzi was getting a few once up and downs before in her shorts, this time, standing under the open-air shower with her costume clinging to her like a second skin and her nipples almost shredding their way through the lycra, she had the local waxheads’ tongues hanging out over their beating chests like 1970s paisley ties.
‘Well, that was fun, Les,’ she said, running a towel back through her hair after they’d put their clothes on. ‘I really enjoyed myself.’
‘Yeah. I don’t know, Mitzi,’ replied Norton. ‘I was watching you at times, and you were just like a little girl.’
Mitzi walked up to Les, stood on her toes and poked her boobs in his chest. ‘I am only a little girl.’
Les shook his head. ‘No you’re not. You’re just a boring old fuddy-duddy accountant.’
An odd kind of smile appeared on Mitzi’s inscrutable, oriental face. ‘Andrea warned me about you.’
‘Yeah, I’m inscrutable. Come on, pen-pusher to the stars. Let’s head back to the car.’
They eased their way through the crowd and Norton didn’t quite know what to think when Mitzi gently slipped her arm in his.
Back at the convertible, Les started fiddling around with the clips that held the roof. ‘This time I wouldn’t mind going back the other way,’ he said.
‘Down the windy side of the island?’ answered Mitzi.
‘Yeah. It looks a bit longer on the map, but maybe we can stop and get a couple of beers or something.’
‘Sounds fine by me.’
Norton started the engine, switched on the cassette and with the Harlem Shuffle swinging into ‘Caldonia’ they cruised back along the highway, if you could call it that, heading for the windy side of O’Ahu then on to Waikiki.
Les drove past rows of old houses, a dairy, shrimp farms and other old buildings set amongst the rolling valleys and bushy plains facing the ocean, and he was reminded a little of parts of Queensland or the north coast of New South Wales. The road curved south at Kahuku and Les soon figured out why they called this part the windy side of the island. The wind howled in from the ocean, strong enough to blow the proverbial dog off a chain; when he’d slow down or stop for some traffic Les could feel it gusting over the top of the little convertible. Between the wind and the music Les and Mitzi didn’t talk about all that much, but it was fun driving along with the sun streaming down, and Mitzi seemed happy enough tapping away to the different songs. Les certainly wasn’t complaining.
They stopped at a little store near Kahana Bay and got a couple of bottles of mineral water, which they drank sitting on the bonnet while they watched the wind turning the water over the reefs into a swirling mass of countless white caps. Compared to Honolulu with its concrete and highrises this part of O’Ahu was virtually unspoilt and it was nice to see the developers hadn’t had a chance yet to turn it into another Surfers Paradise or Waikiki. Further on it was towering, granite cliffs gazing out over the ocean and lush jungle, then the traffic seemed to thicken a little and there were more houses. They went up a rise then entered a tunnel where the noise reverberating around the convertible was not only deafening but almost scary — you literally could not hear yourself think, let alone hear Dave Hole going for it on the cassette. They left the tunnel behind and before long were on the outskirts of Honolulu, just in time for the late afternoon gridlock. Eventually they ended up on Kalakau Avenue and the second tape Les put in cut out with another Black Sorrows track just as they pulled into the driveway of Norton’s hotel. Both were laughing and both agreed it hadn’t been a bad day all round as they got the lift back to the room.
‘Well, what do you fancy doing now, Mitzi?’ asked Les, handing her a fruit juice. ‘Even though I’m supposed to be the guest of honour, I’ll leave it to your better judgement.’
Mitzi moved across to the window and the afternoon sun streaming in caught her hair, turning it almost gold. ‘How does this sound?’ she said. ‘The sun hasn’t quite gone down, so why don’t we walk up to the Royal Aloha and have a couple of cocktails? Then go and have a meal somewhere. What do you feel like eating?’
‘I wouldn’t mind a steak, some salad and a great big potato, to tell you the truth,’ replied Les.
‘Allrighty. There’s a steak house not far from there that’s good. After that we can get changed back here and I’ll take you to the Green Giraffe.’
‘The Green Giraffe?’
‘Yes. It’s a nightclub behind Ala Moana. I have some friends who go there. I’d like to introduce you to them.’
‘Okay. You got me, Mitzi. Should I put my dancing shoes on?’
Mitzi flashed another inscrutable yet lovely smile. ‘If the guest of honour so desires.’
Mitzi freshened up a bit, Les threw some water over his face and still in their damp costumes and shorts they caught the lift down to the lobby. From there it was a quick stroll across Kalakau, up past the police station and through the foyer of an older, smaller hotel, painted white and gold, out into the beer garden. There was a bit of a crowd, but plenty of chairs and tables giving a pleasant and relaxing view of the beach, reefs, catamarans, canoes and whatever else was out on the nearby ocean taking advantage of the late afternoon sun.
They sat facing the water, and placed on the table was a small drinks list of exotic cocktails. A waiter in a floral shirt arrived with a bowl of nibblies. Les ordered a Chi Chi, Mitzi went for a Princess Kaiulani Punch. Just after the waiter left, four or five little grey-brown birds, som
ething like a small pigeon, fluttered onto the table, so Les broke up a couple of pretzels and began hand-feeding them while Mitzi watched quietly.
‘Don’t worry, fellahs,’ Les said to one of the little birds nibbling from his hand, ‘you’re safe with me. She only eats dogs.’
‘You know what the most popular song in Korea is, Les?’ asked Mitzi. Norton shook his head. ‘Woking the dog.’
Les was trying to think of something to say when the waiter arrived with the drinks. Mitzi’s was in a tall glass, full of pineapple juice, flowers, little plastic swords and slices of fruit. Les’s was in a fat champagne glass, white and creamy, with more flowers plus a slice of pineapple and a cherry.
‘Cheers, Mitzi,’ said Les, clinking Mitzi’s glass. ‘Here’s to… Well, here’s to hoping everything turns out all right.’
‘Yes,’ nodded Mitzi. ‘I know what you mean. Let’s hope so.’
Norton’s Chi Chi was delicious, and strong. It was just like drinking a lovely sweet smoothie only the top of your head started to lift off. Les had another Chi Chi plus a Mai Tai and Mitzi had a Moana Sands. Before long the sun had gone down and Norton was starting to feel no pain.
‘Mitzi,’ he said, slowly and deliberately, ‘I think it might be an idea if we went and had something to eat. Or they’re going to have to steam my face off the table.’
Mitzi nodded her head and it was more like a jelly wobbling.
‘I think I know what you mean. But they’re easy to drink, aren’t they?’
‘Too bloody easy,’ agreed Norton.
They finished their last drinks and Les went to pay the bill, but Mitzi shook her head. The night was on Andrea — strict orders from the boss lady. Oh well. Who’s to argue with one woman, let alone two, thought Les, and put his money back in his pocket.
The Mamaia Steak and Chop House was about another couple of hundred metres’ boozy walk from where they were, into the lobby of a bigger hotel then the lift up one floor. It was a fair-sized restaurant with comfortable seating and a large balcony looking out over the ocean if you wanted. It was full, so they chose a red leather booth which was in a little from the entrance and close to the bar. There was a salad bar against one wall, a blackboard menu with the specials, with the rest of the menu written on the sides of wooden pineapples placed on the table. The place was fairly casual and in his shorts and T-shirt Norton didn’t feel out of place because the staff were dressed the same. After a skinful of rum cocktails Les didn’t feel like any more booze for the time being and neither did Mitzi, so they both ordered mineral waters with ice and lime. Les went for a New York cut, Mitzi chose Lemon Herb Shrimp with a Scallop Skewer. They piled their plates with salad and blue cheese dressing, then picked at that and chatted and joked away till the mains arrived. Norton’s steak was a boneless sirloin, thick and juicy and tender enough to eat with a spoon. Mitzi’s shrimps were golden and crisp and the scallops were broiled to perfection sitting on a bed of fluffy rice. Norton knocked over his Idaho potato and sour cream with ease and for a petite woman Mitzi was managing to put hers away without too much trouble also. For sweets Mitzi had a slice of papaya tart, Les went for chocolate devil’s food cake again followed by not a bad drop of brewed coffee. After that it was discreet burps and smiles all round, Mitzi paid the bill and more than contented they proceeded back to the hotel.
Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker Page 12