And De Fun Don't Done (11 page)

‘Hey man. Are you Australian?'

‘Yeah,' nodded Les. ‘Why's that, mate?'

‘That T-shirt,' said the man-mountain. ‘Rugby. Man, I played that shit at college for a while. That's one helluva game. Broke mah goddamn collarbone.' He looked directly at Les. ‘You play rugby?'

‘Yeah.' Les nodded again. ‘In the forwards. Second row mainly. I suppose you play gridiron?'

‘Yeah, man. Used to play tight end for the Dolphins.'

‘I'd believe that,' grinned Les. ‘Christ! I'd hate to tackle you front on, you big bludger.'

The big man gave a bit of a laugh then seemed to concentrate on Norton's T-shirt. ‘Hey, just what is that man? Wests. The Mag-pahs. Hey, that's one bitchin' T- shirt.'

‘Yeah, that's them, mate,' said Norton. ‘Wests. The mighty Magpies.'

‘Mag-pah. Man, I like that.'

Les looked evenly at the big man for a second. ‘What do you mean, you like it?'

‘That T-shirt, man. I like it.'

‘You mean you want it?'

‘No, man, I don't want it. All I's sayin' is, I like it.'

‘In other words, you want it, don't you? Well, here you are. Take the bloody thing.' Norton started taking off his shirt. ‘I'm not gonna fight you over a lousy bloody T-shirt. You're too bloody big.'

‘Hey, man. Be cool. I don't want your T-shirt.'

Before the big man could argue Norton had his shirt off and handed to the bouncer in the T-shirt, his Wests T- shirt off, folded and handed to the big man; he was glad to get rid of it. ‘There you go, mate,' said Les, tucking his shirt in. ‘Take the clothes off my poor back. Leave me to freeze. I don't give a stuff.'

The big bloke looked at the T-shirt in his hands and the huge grin flashed back. ‘Hey, man, what can I say? I dig that.'

‘That's okay, mate.' said Norton. ‘Thanks for letting me in.'

‘That's cool. Listen, man,' the big bloke came right up to Les, ‘I owe you one, brother. Anybody give you any shit, you come see me.'

‘I'll do that. What's your name anyway?'

‘Harris.'

Norton shook the big man's hand. ‘I'm Les, Harris. I might have a drink with you later.'

‘No sweat, brother.' Harris winked. ‘Les.'

Norton let Harris get back to bouncing then turned to find a scowling Hank pocketing some change and glaring at him. Norton returned Hank's scowl with a silly grin that dripped blissful ignorance.

‘Hey this place is alright, Hank. You come here all the time, do you? Fuckin' ripper.'

The foyer was all red and black with red and black check lino. There were more rock posters on the walls and a big poster of Superman behind the front desk. The foyer led to a short set of stairs on your left that took you to another level and the start of a bar at the top of the stairs. The dancefloor was on your right with another bar in the distance and another set of stairs leading to another bar above them. Built into the wall facing the dancefloor and the upstairs level was a stage for bands, though tonight was all disco. There were heaps of spinning lights and lasers and a big red and green neon sign saying Club BandBox. Hank seemed to get reluctantly swept along with the crowd and Les followed him up the stairs on the left. The top level was chairs, tables and booths, red and black or black- and white-checked walls, and plate glass windows looking out over the harbour. A waist-level partition with a chrome railing ran round the upstairs level to stop the punters falling over where it overlooked the dancefloor. There were TV screens built into the ceiling and on one wall was a giant video screen showing a
chimpanzee in a karate outfit sparring with some bloke. The upstairs bar was bigger than Les expected; it circled round almost to the booths on the far left wall. The bar staff were happy and busy, spunky-looking waitresses cruised around in ripped T-shirts and lycra bicycle shorts; from out of nowhere a girl in a nurse's uniform walked past carrying a tray bristling with test-tubes full of different coloured liquids. The punters were about the same age, size and shape as the ones at the first place, walking or standing around, with others, both men and women, seated at the tables drinking jugs of beer — or pitchers as the yanks like to call them. Norton liked what he saw. Club BandBox was about three-quarters full, the punters were clean and tidy, there was no shortage of girls and on the dancefloor it was back to back and bumper to bumper, and raging.

‘Hey, nothing wrong with this place, mate,' beamed Norton. ‘It's tops.' Hank didn't say anything. Les clapped his hands together. ‘Well, while you're in a generous mood you may as well shout me a drink in your favourite watering hole. I'll have another Corona thanks, mate. With a slice of lime too — if you don't mind.'

Hank's eyes spun around crazily and this time Les thought they were going to take right off and join the mirror ball on the ceiling. Instead, he seemed to shake a little then turn on his heel and went to the bar behind him. It hasn't been a real good night for you, has it, Captain Rats? mused Les, trying not to laugh as he moved away from the bar a little and checked out the punters. First you got lumbered with the cover charge, now you're actually in a shout. But think of the good side. You wouldn't have got in here if it hadn't been for me. Before long Hank returned with a Coors and a Corona.

‘Thanks, mate,' said Norton, taking his beer and a swallow almost at the same time. ‘Cheers.'

Hank took a mirthless pull on his beer. ‘That was a damn fool thing you did back there at the foyer.'

‘What's that?'

‘Giving that nigger your T-shirt.'

‘Yeah?' Norton looked surprised. ‘I thought he was a mate of yours. Didn't he say something to you when we walked in? He didn't seem like a bad bloke.' Les gave a grudging kind of nod. ‘Yeah, I suppose you're right. It was a bit uncool. But that's just me, Hank. It's my nature. I can't help giving things away. Anyway, it's only money. It's not an arm or a leg. Or a T-shirt,' Les added with a laugh. ‘And who gives a fuck? I brought that much with me I'll be flat out spending it anyway. So come on. Finish that so I can get you another one.'

Les went for a snakes and was pleased to find the urinals were the same as in Australia. One thing that did surprise him in the toilet though was a travelling barber, selling aftershave, hair gel and trims for the macho poseurs; and he was making a living. Les returned, finished his Corona then got Hank a beer and a tequila and another margarita for himself, telling Hank when he handed him his drinks he might go for a stroll and check the place out. Hank shrugged, found a seat at the bar away from the other drinkers, lit a cigarette and plotted how he was going to get some of that money out of Norton. Les ambled through the punters towards the stairs leading down to the other side of the dancefloor, knowing exactly what Hank was thinking. I'll tell you something, Laurel baby, he chuckled to himself, you'll need more than Epsom Salts.

This time it was a tall, almost striking brunette, with dark features and eyes that matched her dark, shoulder- length hair. Like Norton she was dressed all in black — shirt, slacks and shoes — only she had on a black vest as well, pinned with silver jewellery and knick-knacks. Les spotted her standing near the bar just across from the stairs, sort of boogying quietly around yet oozing energy as she did. She had a wiry, lithe body but didn't look like an aerobics princess; her shoulders were too broad and there was something else about her. The girlfriend was also a brunette and apart from having shorter hair and being a little plumper she looked very similar. She was wearing jeans and a kind of blue and white striped sailor's
top. The sailor wasn't moving around, she was standing with a drink, tapping her fingers on her handbag. They looked the type of women that if you tried to front them with some stupid pick-up line you'd either get your head bitten off or be told to go to the shithouse, very smartly. Unfortunately Les didn't have the time to think up some cool, knock 'em off their feet line. Besides he was too drunk anyway.

‘Listen, Johnny Cash,' he said, walking straight up to the brunette in the black vest, ‘I'm a hypnotist with a circus and I just finished work. That's my excuse for being all in black. What's yours? You look like a rolled up umbrella.'

The brunette gave Norton a cool, but inquisitive, once up and down. ‘Did you say something about a circus?'

Les nodded drunkenly. ‘Yeah. I'm a hypnotist. What's your caper?'

‘I'm a trapeze artist,' answered the brunette evenly. ‘I'm down here to start work with Carmichael Brothers. I've only been here two days, and I've never seen you before.'

‘What did the pork chop say?' asked the girlfriend. ‘He's a hypnotist?' She looked at Les as if she was getting ready to swing her handbag. ‘Don't you have to have a brain and be able to speak properly to be a hypnotist?'

‘You're not with any circus,' sneered the brunette. ‘Get lost.'

Norton the cool swinger suddenly found himself going over like a fart in a mini-sub. He'd sort of tried to be a bit clever and the brunette had belted him straight to the boundary. He couldn't have tried a worse approach. She was a trapeze artist alright, that was the energy and poise Les had noticed about her, and up close you could see the muscles in her shoulders and neck. No one would bother to make up a story like that, not on the spur of the moment. Norton was completely stuffed and if he didn't start tap dancing a bit quicker, and smartly too, he'd make a complete dill of himself.

‘Alright,' he said defiantly, ‘you don't believe me. I'm also a mind reader. I'll bet I can guess your name.'

The brunette gave her girlfriend a bored look then turned back to Les. ‘What?'

Norton stared at her and blinked a couple of times. There wasn't a great deal he could say. ‘Lori…?'

The girlfriend seemed to glare at him. ‘How did you know my cousin's name? She only got here from Chicago yesterday.'

Norton grinned roguishly. ‘I told you,' he said, ‘it's all part of the act. Back in Australia they call me Lesto the Magnifico. There ain't nuthin' I don't know.'

The girls had their chance, but by then it was too late. In about two minutes they were holding a fresh drink each and Norton was pissing in their pockets, their handbags, their shoes and anywhere else he could find a spot. Lori was a trapeze artist. Siestasota was an old circus town going back to the turn of the century, some circuses were still based there, while other cabaret acts refitted and organised their tours from there. Lori had just come down from Chicago where she had been working in a cabaret. That finished, she was now touring the mid-west with the circus she mentioned. Lori had also been a champion gymnast at college and represented America at the Olympic Games, winning a silver medal. Under closer inspection Norton certainly believed that; Lori was one fit, strong woman. If she decided to belt you one you'd stay belted. By the same token, if she porked you, you'd know you'd been porked too. The girlfriend was her older cousin Nadine. Nadine came down from Chicago ten years ago, she was divorced, had two kids and owned a house about five minutes away by taxi; if that. Club BandBox was handy and a good venue to see a band now and again and possibly bump into interesting people; even if it was only a stupid bloody Australian like Les trying to pass himself off as a hypnotist. It was a good thing he had a sense of humour and didn't mind shouting a drink. Or their words to that effect.

This time Les thought he might try another tack; throw in a little bit of the truth. He and a mate owned a bar in Sydney, the Kelly Club, named after Ned Kelly the
bushranger. He and his partner used to play football, which was how they got the money to buy the bar. He'd met Hank in the bar and that was how he came to be in Siestasota. He was only staying with Hank two or three days then he was getting a place on his own. After that Les was holidaying in America, checking out bars and nightclubs, and if he saw any good ideas he'd take them back to good old Oz with him. It was all tax-deductible anyway; a business trip. Norton threw down another margarita and said he just loved taking care of business.

The girls didn't mind a drink and Les wouldn't let them pay for any. In no time Nadine had downed three solid Jack Daniel's and Coke, Lori easily gargled her way through three margaritas, Norton lost track of how many he had. Lori said the only reason she drank so many margaritas was because of the salt; coming from up north she wasn't used to the heat and they helped to retain the body salts. Although she added a bit of a wink with this story, Les agreed with her wholeheartedly. He wasn't used to such a hot, sweaty climate either, which is why he was drinking them two at a time. Plus in the crowd it was a big hard to juggle four. As well as a drink, the two brunettes from Chicago didn't mind a laugh either. Norton told them a few anecdotes from Australia, but he got the most laughs just telling them about poor silly Hank.

‘Yeah, for a while there,' said Les, ‘I thought all bloody yanks were as silly as him. I was ready to ring Qantas and get the next plane home.'

‘Oh no,' said Lori, seeming to eye Norton very intently over the top of her drink. ‘You'll find most Americans are okay.'

Norton eyed her very intently back. ‘I'm sure, given time, I will, Lori,' he smiled. ‘I know I'd like to find out.'

Norton had a couple of dances with Lori, who had a funny style on the floor. It was all energy and arms and shoulder moves, something like a boxer working out on a speed ball. Les just boogied around as best he could to the unknown disco schlock, but Lori could see that the red-headed boy from Down Under was a pretty fit dude as
well. He grabbed Nadine and speared her onto the dancefloor too. She was a little more conservative. But when the DJ threw on Madonna's ‘Hank Panky' and Les started jitterbugging with her, she was stoked and went for it like a Mohawk Indian after a big win over the Cavalry.