You Wouldn't Be Dead for Quids (12 page)

Sophia came back, handed Les a glass of water and started getting dressed. ‘There's no food left,' she said, ‘and there's not a drop of anything in the fridge. I'll go down and get some Chinese take-away; and I'll get you a case of beer too.' She sat on the bed and kissed Norton's back. ‘Nothing's too good for you,' she whispered in his ear.

‘Thanks Sophia,' mumbled Les. ‘There's some money on the dressing table.'

‘That's all right, I'll get it. I've still got a couple of million left, you know.' She stopped in the doorway. ‘Les,' she said.

Norton lifted his big red head slowly up off the pillow. ‘Yeah?'

‘How would you like to marry a rich widow?' She blew him a kiss and ran out the front door.

Les closed his eyes and dropped his face into the pillow. She's half-pie fair dinkum too, he said to himself, more worried now than ever.

In about half an hour Sophia was back with the Chinese food and the beer. She dragged Les out of bed, watched him as he gingerly climbed into a pair of Stubbies then ushered him out in the kitchen. Les went straight to the fridge. Inside was a two-dozen carton of Fosters Lager, not Norton's favourite beer by any means; who does she think I am, Barry bloody McKenzie, he thought to himself. But Les was so thirsty he would have drunk a gallon of gorilla's piss through a bus driver's sock. By the time Sophia had the food laid out he'd knocked over four cans.

They sat down at the table and started spooning large helpings of sate-chicken, garlic-prawns, fried-rice and other tasty dishes into their mouths. Norton was going at it like a school of piranhas but Sophia was almost matching him bite for bite. All the time she had this tigerish gleam in her eyes. When they finished there wasn't a grain of rice, a skerrick of meat or a drop
of soy sauce left. Sophia rose from the table and started to clean up, Les sat there and polished off another four cans.

‘I might — ah stick the TV on,' he said tentatively.

‘Good idea.'

Hello, she's gonna have a rest, thought Les. He made a bee-line for the TV, switched it on and lay back on the large ottoman lounge with a cushion under his head. Bill Collins had hardly introduced an old Humphrey Bogart movie, which Norton fancied watching, when Sophia zeroed in alongside him; the tigerish gleam was well and truly in her eyes now.

‘Take off your shorts,' she said.

‘What?'

‘Take off your shorts. Come on.' Before Les had a chance to argue Sophia had dragged his Stubbies off and flung them across the room. From out of her handbag she produced a large jar of Vaseline. ‘Just lie back and relax, she said. She took a scoop of Vaseline from the jar and started massaging it into Norton's burning loins. This is all right, he thought as he lay back and relaxed, letting Sophia do her thing.

Under her gentle touch the pain was almost starting to go away. However it wasn't long before the constant massaging caused a definite stirring in his loins. Oh no, thought Les, stay down you bastard. But Norton's old boy, like a punch-drunk fighter that can't tell when he's had enough, started to rise to the occasion again. It no sooner had than Sophia had her clothes off and was straddling him with a vengeance. Norton didn't even get a chance to see a commercial, let alone any of the old Humphrey Bogart movie.

Whether it was the spices in the Chinese food that did it or what, Les couldn't tell. But somehow or other Sophia just seemed to come on stronger than ever. By stopping every hour or so to massage Les with Vaseline she managed to keep him going all night, almost grinding him through the ottoman lounge, then just before midnight she switched the TV off and dragged Les into the bedroom for what he hoped and prayed was going to be the grand finale. Although his pride wouldn't let him admit it to Sophia, deep inside Norton felt that he was almost gone and by now he knew that he needed another root like Custer needed more Indians. But Sophia would show no mercy.

Around lam Les was lying on the bed in a state of semi-shock, he was dog tired but in too much pain to go to sleep. His loins
were throbbing and the sweat on his back was running into all the scratches, making them sting like a thousand sandfly bites. He was dying to use the bathroom but by some strange quirk of fate Sophia had fallen asleep next to him and Les was terrified that if he moved she would wake up and start attacking him again. Eventually he could hold out no longer.

Slowly, cautiously he eased himself up painfully from the bed and tip-toed quietly to the bathroom, closing the door gently behind him before he turned on the light. After he'd finished he examined himself closely in the full-length mirror. What he saw scared shit out of him.

His old boy was dangling there like a skinned whiting fillet, just to look at it made it hurt; it was that red and chaffed it glowed in the dark. His bloodshot eyes had ugly dark circles under them and were sunken deep into his head, the skin seemed to be drawn across his face like a ghastly mask. It reminded him of photos he'd seen of some prisoners in a Russian labour camp. His back was a welter of bruises and criss-cross scratches that were starting to weep openly; noticing how his ribs appeared to be sticking out he stepped on to a set of bathroom scales.

‘Jesus Christ,' he said out loud. ‘I've lost nearly ten kilos in three days.'

As he stared in horror at the face reflected in the mirror it suddenly dawned on him why Sophia's husband died of a heart attack at thirty. The poor bastard, he thought, she's shagged him to death and now she wants to do the same to me. Christ, what am I gonna do? A sudden knock at the bathroom door nearly made his heart jump straight up into his mouth.

‘Are you all right in there?'

‘Yeah, yeah. I just feel a bit sick.'

‘What's the matter?'

‘I — ah — think one of those prawns must have been a bit off. I'll be out in a second.'

He flushed the toilet, gargled a bit of water then stepped out of the bathroom clutching his stomach and moaning. Sophia was standing there, a concerned look on her face.

‘Oh Les, are you all right?' she said.

‘Ooohh,' replied Norton. ‘Oohh, I don't feel real good at all. Must've been those bloody prawns.'

‘I had some and I'm all right.'

‘I must've cracked it for a dud one. Give us a hand into bed will you.'

Sophia helped Norton on to the bed where he lay moaning softly and clutching his stomach.

‘I'll get something,' said Sophia. She returned with a wet face cloth and started mopping his face. ‘You do look a bit pale.'

‘I'll be okay,' said Les. ‘Just let me lay here for a while.' He lay there with his eyes closed for about ten minutes, then started to snore softly, pretending he was asleep. He could feel Sophia staring at him but after a while she gave a sigh, turned out the bed-lamp and went to sleep herself. Before long Norton relaxed, then slipped into unconsciousness himself.

Saturday morning was a carbon copy of Friday. Norton's sleep was broken by Sophia's moaning as she prepared him for her morning glory; a groggy check of his watch revealed it was 6am. Oh God, here we go again, he thought and braced himself for the onslaught.

Sophia savaged him till about 8.30am. Till finally she gave one last scream of exhilaration then fell on the bed next to Les gasping with satisfied bewilderment. ‘Ohh! How good was that?' she cried and threw her arms across Les's chest.

Norton lay there shuddering like a pole-axed bullock; for the last hour tears had been streaming down his face. He was in so much pain he thought he was going to go mad and he knew that if Sophia had gone another ten minutes, with his last ounce of strength he would have punched her fair on the jaw.

‘Yeah. Bloody unreal,' he groaned.

They lay on the bed in silence for a while till eventually Sophia got up and started getting dressed. ‘I suppose I'd better get going,' she said. ‘It's almost nine o'clock.' She bent down and gave Les a big wet kiss. ‘But I'll be back darling. About three.'

‘Beauty,' groaned Les.

She gave her hair a quick tidy in the mirror and picked up her handbag from the dressing table. ‘You stay here,' she said smiling over at Les. ‘I'll bring back everything we need. I'll get some meat and make you a nice big carpet bag steak for tea. Plenty of oysters.'

‘Thanks.'

‘And I'll get you another case of beer.' She paused for a moment. ‘You — don't like stout at all, do you Les?'

‘Not particularly.'

‘Mmhh. Oh well, never mind.' She blew him a kiss from the door. ‘See you at three.'

‘See you then.'

Les lay there with his face in the pillow listening while she got in her car and drove off down the street, giving the horn a couple of beeps as she went. Oh shit, he thought, how am I going to get out of this? He worried about it for a while but tiredness overcame him and he dozed off.

Three kookaburras in a tree next to the bedroom, arguing fiercely over an unfortunate little grass snake one of them had caught, woke him just after midday.

‘What was that?' he said, raising his head off the pillow. For a moment he thought he was back in Dirranbandi. He glanced at his watch; it's after lunch, he thought, I'd better get up and have a shower. He swung his legs off the bed and sat there staring numbly at the floor for a moment then headed slowly towards the bathroom.

The hot water stung all the cuts and abrasions on his body, the soap made it worse; but after a lengthy burst of cold water he felt noticeably better. Almost wide awake. He checked himself in the mirror, shuddered at what he saw, then went out to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee; towelling himself as gently as possible. With a steaming mug of brew in his hands he sat in the lounge sipping it slowly and staring glumly into space. His eyes had narrowed and worry lines an inch deep were forming on his craggy forehead, adding menace to the darkness that was spreading across his face.

How the hell am I going to get out of this? he thought. If I stay here with her I'll be dead by Monday, or that close to it it doesn't make any difference. If she keeps it up I'll finish up doin' me block and hitting her on the chin, then I'll be on an assault charge and she'll probably say I tried to rape her. Hah. Or I can turn tail and piss off, like a dingo, and know some sheila's held the wood over me; I'd never be able to look myself in the eye again. Neither of the three options appealed to him. He glowered into the empty mug for a few minutes his anger steadily increasing then got up to make some more coffee.

‘Fuck it!' he cursed out loud. ‘I only came here for a bit of peace and bloody quiet, there's been nothing but trouble then
that bitch has to turn up.' He flung the coffee mug into the sink, breaking the handle. ‘Why me?' he roared through gritted teeth waving his arms around the kitchen in frustration. ‘Why bloody me?' He was just about to put his massive fist through one of the redwood teak cabinets when unexpectedly the phone rang.

A feeling of extreme trepidation swept over him. It's got to be bloody her, he thought; she's ringing to say she's coming over early. He stood in the kitchen staring at the phone, transfixed with fear and hate as it kept ringing for almost three minutes. I suppose I'd better bloody answer it. Reluctantly he walked to the lounge and picked up the receiver.

‘Hello.'

‘Hello Les. It's Price, how are you son?'

A great sigh of relief oozed out of Norton's body. ‘Oh Price, how are you? It's good to hear from you.'

‘Yeah. Listen Les, I've got some horrible rotten news for you, mate.'

‘What's that?'

‘Mate. I'm going to have to cut short your holiday.'

‘YOU WHAT?'

‘Ohh, Les, I can understand you blowing up. I know I promised you two weeks up there but all the trouble's blown over and I'm opening the club tonight. I need you back here.'

Norton stared into the mouthpiece. ‘You want me back tonight?'

‘Yes mate. Sorry.'

Norton was speechless, he kept staring at the mouthpiece. ‘No, no that's all right Price,' he said quickly. ‘I'll be there, don't worry.'

‘Ohh good on you, Les. I know how you must feel and I hate having to do this to you but don't worry, I'll make it up to you. I'll see you tonight then?'

‘Yeah, no worries, I'll be there for sure. Goodbye.'

Norton stared at the phone for a moment then a grin like a split in a watermelon spread across his face and he sprang into action.

Within 30 minutes Les had the house tidied up, the broken mug fixed, his clothes packed and thrown with the remaining beer and groceries on the back seat of his car. He scribbled a quick note to Sophia explaining briefly what had happened and telling her he'd ring her from work. Don't know how though, he
thought as he slipped it under the large brass knocker on the front door, I don't even know your phone number. And I don't want to. He gave it and the house a last look and sprinted for his car. The next thing he was belting his old Ford along The Entrance Road, looking in the rear vision mirror for speed cops or possibly a white BMW and heading for the freeway back to Sydney.

The pale blue neon light of the Kelly Club threw an almost translucent glow over the two men in tuxedos standing casually at the entrance. The shorter man was peeling an orange, the taller one was leaning against the wall not doing very much at all.

‘Well,' said Billy Dunne tossing the orange peel into the gutter. ‘Wasn't much of a holiday was it?'

‘No. Not really,' replied Les Norton.

‘I suppose you must have the shits having to come back so soon.' He offered Les a piece of orange, Les shook his head. ‘I had a prick of a time myself.'

‘Yeah?'

‘Yeah. Never stopped bluein' with me missus the whole bloody time, smashed the windscreen of the car half way down, one of the kids has trod on a broken bottle and got eight stitches in his foot. I've had an argument with me brother in a pub over nothing and ended up flattenin' two of his mates. Fair dinkum, Les, I was glad to get back to tell you the truth.'