Guns 'n' Rose (16 page)

‘She went home. She wasn't feeling very well.'

‘She'd had a fair bit to drink.'

‘Yes, so I'd noticed.'

‘Can I get you a drink or something, Megan?' asked Les.

Megan gave Les an icy stare. ‘No, thank you.'

‘Okay, I think I've had enough myself. I'm just about knackered.'

‘Then why don't you go to bed?'

Les gave Megan a double blink. ‘What about…?'

‘I'd like to sit here and watch TV with Jimmy for a while.' Megan turned her back on Norton. ‘You don't mind do you, Jimmy?'

Jimmy gave her a syrupy smile. ‘No, not at all.'

‘What are you watching?'

‘Some old Jack Nicholson movie. It's not bad.'

‘Sounds good to me.' Megan got up and sat down on the lounge next to Jimmy. ‘Mind if I have a sip of your drink?'

‘Help yourself. I'll get you one if you like.'

‘That would be lovely, Jimmy.'

Norton watched them for a second, then stood up. ‘Okay, I'll see you in the morning, Jimmy.'

‘Righto, mate. See you then.'

‘Goodnight, Megan.'

Yeah, all right. Les went to the bathroom, cleaned honey, sweat and pubic hair from his teeth, then climbed into bed somewhere between the sweet patches, the sweat patches and the wet patches and switched off the light. Well, how was that for a nice brush-off? he thought as he stared up at the ceiling for a few moments. And all I did was have a good time. I just hope she doesn't take her rotten mood out on poor young Jimmy. Norton started to laugh again. I've got a feeling she won't, somehow. The filthy old thing. Les chuckled away in the darkness and before he knew it he'd laughed himself to sleep.

 

 

 

Whether it was the country air, all the good food or what, Norton wasn't sure, but the next morning he was feeling pretty good when be bowled into the kitchen wearing a pair of old shorts and a T-shirt around nine. He was even singing what sounded like ‘Sugar. Ooh honey, honey.' A note on the kitchen table put a temporary stop to his warbling.

 

‘Les. I got to bed a bit late. Could you wake me by one? Thanks. Jimmy.'

Norton looked at the note again, then tossed it in the kitchen-tidy. Yeah, I'll bet you got to bed late, you rotten little shit. After you stole my girl off me. Bastard. Les shook his head. Shit, I'd better not laugh. I'll only get into more strife. He poured a glass of orange juice, had a look out the window and figured out what to do. It wasn't too bad a day; sunny, with a few clouds around, a bit of a southerly ruffling the tops of the trees. However, it wasn't a matter of what to do. It was what
had
to be done. His sheets. If they dried out he'd
have to break them up with a piece of four-by-two to get them in the washing machine. I'll do that, then have breakfast down the beach again. Stuff cooking anything. Les finished his orange juice, then bundled up any dirty T-shirts as well and trotted downstairs to the laundry.

Jimmy was right about the iron; it was completely stuffed. Luckily there was a spare one in the kitchen. And the ironing board was only bent. Les straightened it out then dumped his washing into the machine. Instead of detergent, he thought as he tipped in the Radiant, I should throw in a few carrots and onions and a cup of barley. Make some soup. Consomme of crumpet. Avec honey. I wonder what sort of wine young James would choose to complement that. Being a connoisseur he should know. Hope the noise doesn't wake the poor bludger up.

Les turned the dial and quietly closed the door; there was very little noise at all. While his washing was going round, Les tuned into some local FM station on the stereo and, with OMC's ‘How Bizarre' playing softly in the background, stuffed around tidying up his room and the few glasses in the kitchen from last night. Then he went down to the pool and did some exercises, some swimming and thought there could be worse ways to start the day. While Jimmy snored on peacefully, Les hung his washing out, had another swim around, then climbed into a pair of Levi shorts and a green Rainbow Warrior T-shirt, ready for some breakfast. By now Norton felt more like brunch than coffee and sandwiches. Some fish and chips from that place he saw when he drove into Terrigal. He locked the front door,
took the long way down to the beach and got a parking spot outside the resort across from the pine trees. The south end of the beach was well sheltered from the wind and there were a few people swimming, lying on the sand or walking about. Les locked the car and strolled up past the shops to the Flathead Spot.

The fish shop was doing quite a nice little trade when Les walked in. He ordered two pieces of hake and a medium chips and looked at the fresh seafood on display and the posters on the walls while some big bloke with black hair and sidelevers that reminded him of Elvis Presley said if he wanted some extra grouse prawns he'd just got in some super fresh ones from Myall Lakes. They did look good and Les thought he might come back later and grab a kilo. The fish didn't take long to cook. Les got a bottle of lemonade from the fridge, paid the woman, then walked back down to the south end, found a seat under the pine trees and ripped in. Norton was right about the Flathead Spot. The food was sensational. I don't know, Les thought as he squeezed more lemon on the fish and stuffed more crisp, golden chips into his mouth, the bloody nosh up here just seems to get better and better. I'll end up eating myself to death. He finished his food and drink, threw a few scraps to the seagulls, then dropped his rubbish in a bin right at the very end of the pine trees near an open air shower. Parked next to it and well past the No Parking sign was a big, white four-by-four with an equally big, white boat behind it on a trailer. It was a twin-hulled, space-age looking thing with twin outboard motors on the back, aerials, depth sounders and other gizmos all over the place. Les was patting his
stomach and absently looking at the boat, wondering which buttons you pushed to work what, when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

‘Righto, knackers, get your eyes off the boat. Or you might get a toe right up the blurter.'

Norton turned around. It was J.D. Gloves, wearing his familiar fishing jacket and cap over a pair of jeans and trainers.

‘Gloves,' said Les. ‘What's doing, mate? How's things?'

‘Good, Les. What are you doing up here?'

‘Didn't Price tell you? We're blowing up the local swimming pool.'

Gloves looked over Norton's shoulder to the one below them. ‘You won't fuckin' need what you used last time.'

They each had a good laugh over their private joke for a minute or so as a woman walked past pushing a stroller. Les told Gloves how he was staying at Price's house for a week and enjoying it, although he didn't mention Jimmy for the moment. Gloves said he was up here testing the boat Les was looking at for close-to-shore fishing. He'd just driven up with the reps, who'd walked over to the resort to pick up two Canadian fishing writers that were staying there. He was just keeping an eye on things and watching out for parking cops while they all got their shit together. Norton agreed there were worse ways of making a quid and wished Gloves luck.

‘I'll tell you what,' said Les, ‘it's not bad up here, Gloves. You come up here much?'

‘The Central Coast? Christ, Les, I've been coming up here for over twenty years.'

‘Yeah? Shit! What was it like then?'

‘A bit different.' Gloves pointed to the resort. ‘That used to be the old Florida Hotel. There was a fruit shop on the corner. Down the back where all those boutiques and restaurants are was all old wooden boarding houses and a church.' Gloves started to laugh. ‘I used to come up here with fuckin' George.'

‘Brennan?'

‘Yeah, when we were sort of young blokes. He had this nutty aunty had a farm over at Empire Bay and we used to stay there. She was stark raving mad. Completely crackers.'

‘George never mentioned this to me,' said Les.

‘We used to come up here all the time to get away from our wives when we first got married. We'd either drive up in George's white Ford convertible or my red Holden, towing an old aluminium fishing boat. It used to take six months to get here then.'

‘And you and George used to come up here fishing?'

‘Yeah, fishing.' Gloves gave Les a wink. ‘And a bit of porking as well. Young George didn't mind kicking his heels up back then. He was a real good dancer and all the little sheilas loved him with his flash car. We had some funny times together up here, me and George.'

Norton shook his head. ‘You and fat George cutting into the young spunks. I'd like to see that.'

‘And young's the word, too,' said Gloves. ‘There was a high school not far from aunty's farm and we didn't mind driving past in George's convertible with the music blaring when the girls were walking home in their school uniforms.'

‘Nice pair of louts,' said Les.

‘Yeah,' agreed Gloves. ‘Hey, don't say nothing about this to George. I don't think he wants anyone to know about his mad aunty. She poisoned her husband and someone else and they ended up shoving her in the rathouse. So don't say I mentioned it, will you.'

‘No, that's sweet,' said Les. ‘I still can't picture George Brennan as a cool swinger, though.'

‘Ohh, mate, that fat heap used to look like Kirk Douglas once. Right down to the hair and the dimple on his fat chin.'

‘I can just imagine. What about you, Gloves? Who did you used to look like?'

‘Paul Newman. Only with more iridescent eyes.'

‘You mean bloodshot, don't you?'

Gloves was trying to think of something to say, when four men came across from the resort wearing red and blue coveralls and caps covered in badges or cotton windcheaters and carrying camera gear and bags. Les said goodbye. Gloves said he'd see him in Sydney, then they piled into the four-by-four and drove off towards the boat ramp in the Haven.

Les watched them disappear over the hill then turned around and stared out over the ocean. So George, you fat cunt. You're always bagging me about the clickers up where I come from and my nutty family. And all the time there's a full-on loony-tune in yours. That'd be about bloody right. But as for a lazy, fat heap of shit like you ever being even half a good sort, let alone a good dancer and a pants man—that'll be the bloody day. Norton watched a few small swells wash over the sand towards the rocks then glanced at
his watch. It was nearly time to wake the boarder. He drove home and was surprised to find him in the kitchen looking very together in a clean T-shirt and shorts, finishing off a nicely prepared meal of steak and eggs.

‘Jimmy, what are you doing up? I was just about to cook you breakfast and bring a tray round to your room.'

‘You couldn't cook it as good as this, white boy. I don't mind you carrying my bags and driving me around, Les, but don't bother about getting me my meals.'

Norton looked and took a sniff at what Jimmy had left. ‘I don't blame you. Any coffee left?'

Jimmy nodded towards the stove. ‘So where have you been?'

‘Down the beach. I did some washing, then went down and had a feed of fish and chips under those pine trees. It was tops.'

‘Yeah. It's nice down there in a light southerly.'

Les got some coffee and sat down. ‘So how are you feeling, James?'

‘Terrific. Can't complain one bit.'

‘Good. And so you should after stealing my girl off me, you rotten little cunt.'

Jimmy shrugged indifferently. ‘Well, you know how it is with us well-hung blacks.'

‘Listen, Jimmy, the only time a black's well hung is when you can't get your finger between the rope and his neck. That was an awful, low thing you did to me last night, especially after I just gave you five hundred bloody bucks.'

‘Well, what did you expect me to do, you goose? The poor woman was frothing at the mouth, especially after what happened with you.'

‘Oh, yeah, and just what did Megan the Merciless say happened with me?'

‘As soon as you got your jeans off you shot your bolt. You were hopeless.'

Les stared evenly at Jimmy for a moment. Why spoil his fun. ‘Yeah. It must have been all the cream in those Chocolate Surprises. But shit, she was a horny bloody thing.'

‘Tell me about it. She went off like a Hezbolah suicide bomber. You should have seen us linedancing in the nude with the sun coming up. It was sensational.'

‘I can imagine. No wonder you're having steak for breakfast.'

Jimmy smiled at the look on Norton's face and nibbled on a piece of toast. ‘So what have you got planned today, Les? Anything?' Norton shook his head. ‘I have to be down Terrigal in about an hour. Is that okay?'

‘Sure. What's the story?'

‘I've just got to see a bloke for a few minutes. That's all.'

‘Righto. Just let me know when you want to leave.'

‘Thanks, Les.'

They sat around talking for a while, both of them agreeing that, apart from Paula breaking the iron in the laundry, it was a funny old night and at least she didn't get a chance to break the phone in Jimmy's room. Les was even prepared to forgive Jimmy for stealing his girl. Les had another half a cup of coffee then Jimmy washed up and went downstairs. While he waited for
Jimmy, Les sat in the loungeroom and took it easy. He had no plans. Whatever suited Jimmy suited him; especially at night. Just take him out, stand him there and the girls start waving. Les didn't mind running second. He was in the kitchen checking out the booze supply when Jimmy walked in carrying his overnight bag. Sticking out one end was a leather handle.

‘What have you got there in the bag, Jimmy?' asked Norton.

‘A whip.'

‘A whip?'

‘Yeah. You know anything about whips, Les?' Jimmy unzipped his overnight bag and handed it to Les.

‘Jimmy, you're talking to an old Queensland country boy.' Les held the coiled whip in his hand for a moment. ‘But this is a ripper.'