How Not To Commit Murder - comedy crime - humorous mystery (14 page)

He stretched his lips out the way he’d seen women do, and applied the lipstick. After testing all the lipsticks in Carlene’s considerable collection, he’d decided that Ruby Rose was the most flattering for his colouring. Shit, his lips appeared lopsided, he looked as if he’d had a stroke. He tore off a piece of toilet roll, wiped off the lipstick and started again. It was vital to get it right – nothing shouted ‘drag queen’ more than crooked lipstick. And he didn’t want to be a drag queen, he wanted to be a real woman. He’d figured it was the only way he could follow Lucy home – if, despite his best efforts, she noticed a pink motor scooter trailing her, she wouldn’t recognise him in his disguise and a woman would be less likely to arouse her suspicion.

A door screeched, footsteps clacked in and the cubicle door beside him opened and closed with a bang. He heard the rustle of clothing then the rush of urine into the toilet bowl. Reuben held his breath, feeling like a toilet voyeur. The stream of urine trickled to a stop and his neighbour tore off some toilet paper. Why was he holding his breath? It would be obvious to her there was someone in the next-door cubicle. Reuben ripped off several more bits of toilet paper, rattling the holder loudly, so she’d know he wasn’t doing anything untoward.

He finally achieved a reasonable job with the lipstick and checked his face again. His complexion looked sallow; maybe he should have packed blusher. He wouldn’t say he was the most attractive woman he’d seen, but he certainly wasn’t the ugliest. He stuffed his jeans and shirt into his backpack and waited for his neighbour to leave. When he heard the restroom door bang shut, he donned a huge pair of sunglasses, also from the op shop, opened the cubicle door and ventured out.

He gave himself a final once-over in the mirror. Talk about an op shop fashion tragic. But there was something missing from the woman staring back at him. She had no breasts. How could he, tit lover and connoisseur extraordinaire, have forgotten his own? Too late now.

The restroom door swung open and a large woman swept in, almost bowling him over. ‘Sorry,’ he squeaked in his best soprano and hurried out. He tried to take small feminine steps, but it was difficult in boots and he was aware that they looked incongruous with the rest of his outfit. But wearing high heels or any feminine footwear while riding a motor scooter was courting disaster.

He reached the carpark behind Joe’s Café without incident, walking with his shoulders hunched forward to hide his pitiable lack of bosom. He looked at his watch. Four-thirty. He hoped Lucy hadn’t left early. How was he going to hang around inconspicuously for the next thirty minutes? He leaned against the Barbiemobile, opened his backpack and rummaged around in it, as if he were looking for something. He wished he hadn’t given up smoking – at least it would give him something to do.

He heard footsteps and glanced behind him. A man in a business suit was approaching. He shot Reuben a curious look and his top lip curled as he opened the door of the Audi parked nearby. The Audi purred into action, backed out and passed him on its way to the exit. The man was staring at him in the rear-view mirror
.
Reuben’s mind flashed back to the time at university when the theatre company had put on a spoof of Hamlet called Spamlet. Reuben had played the part of Ophelia Balls. He had the audience in tears of laughter just by being himself; albeit a larger and more outrageous self. It was scary, yet exhilarating, to discover that his real self was a woman with a penchant for drama and drowning herself.

Think Ophelia Balls.
As the driver reached the exit, Reuben gave him the finger and watched with satisfaction as he braked suddenly, almost mowing down a man on a pushbike, who yelled at the driver and gave him a double whammy of the finger.

Noise in the next-door car park diverted Reuben’s attention. Three women were strolling through, chattering and laughing. The woman on the far side was Lucy. Reuben’s heart raced. The group split up, with cries of ‘Bye! See you tomorrow!’ as they went to their cars. Lucy’s auburn hair glinted in the pale sun. Watching women as they walked, he often became aware of the individual parts of their body – buttocks swinging, breasts bouncing, arms pumping. But Lucy moved with precision and grace, all parts of her body in tune with each other. He wondered if she’d been a dancer, could see her in a tutu, arms curved above her head, slim muscled thighs tensing under the stiff frills...

He whipped out his camera and using his zoom, took a couple of shots of her from the back, side-on and getting into her car, a silver Mazda 2. He pocketed the camera, put on his helmet, slung his backpack onto his back and started up the motor. Lucy had already pulled out onto the road, so he exited the car park and out into the traffic directly behind her. He made a mental note of the number plate. As they turned into Gympie Road, he pulled back and allowed another car to go in front, so he could still keep an eye on her without being too conspicuous – or as inconspicuous as a blonde in a skirt and boots riding a pink motor scooter could be.

Despite the bite of afternoon coolness in the air, it was hot under his wig and helmet, and sweat soon dampened his face and neck. Thank God there was no wind – he’d had visions of his skirt billowing out and getting caught in the wheels, exposure being the least of his problems.

Progress was slow in the peak hour traffic. Children’s faces slid by plastered against car windows and bus passengers smirked down on him from their lofty superiority. He ignored them – he was used to being stared at on the Barbiemobile.

By the time they got to Aspley, he was two cars behind. He couldn’t see her indicate and suddenly she was in the left hand lane to turn down Webster Road. Reuben slid into the lane in front of a shiny green ute, smiling and waving at the driver, who just looked bemused and shook his head. He was now three cars behind and had to crane his head to keep her car in sight. The wig was making his head itch and it was murder not being able to scratch it.

He followed Lucy through a succession of streets in suburban Aspley. Boys played football on a sports field, parents watching from the sidelines in director’s chairs, people walked their dogs and a couple of teenage boys on skateboards played chicken with the traffic. The car in front of him turned off and he suddenly found himself directly behind her. That wasn’t supposed to happen - what was Plan B? He didn’t have one, wasn’t even sure he had a Plan A.

He slowed down and dropped back a few yards. Lucy’s indicator flickered and she turned right. He puttered up to the street. The sign said Elm Street, No Thru Road. He couldn’t follow her now; it would look too obvious. He continued straight ahead, glancing down Elm Street as he passed it. It was a short U-shaped street with three parking bays in the middle. He saw Lucy’s car turn into the driveway of the fourth house on the left. He’d give her a few minutes to get out of her car and into the house, then take a quick drive down the street.

He continued down the road for a couple of blocks and stopped in front of the Henry Mitchell Park. It was a patch of brown-tinged grass the size of a large backyard, boasting two faded picnic tables under a group of scraggly gums. If he were Henry Mitchell, he’d be insulted to have this piece of ground named after him.

After ten minutes, he headed back. He imagined by now she’d be in her house, cooking dinner or perhaps having a shower.
Don’t think about her having a shower
. He turned into Elm Street. An old man watering the front garden of the house on the corner stared at him. A child’s muffled shouts and a dog’s yap floated towards him from the other side of the street. The fourth house on the left, number eight, was an unpretentious brick home with a double lock-up garage set in a small square of lawn. Much like all the other houses on the street. Obviously parole officers didn’t earn as much money as he’d thought. How disappointing that Lucy didn’t own a house that matched her loveliness. He felt a rush of tenderness – that was part of her allure, that she was so normal and down-to-earth.

One of the garage doors was open and Lucy’s car was parked in it. Reuben looked around quickly. The street was quiet and no one appeared to be watching him. He paused in front of the house and took a couple of quick shots of it and her car. Then he took off to the end of the cul-de-sac and made a U-turn. As he zoomed up the street, a small furry bundle rushed out onto the road in front of him. He braked and swerved to his left, hit the kerb and bounced off the seat.

As he sailed over the handlebars, his only thought was, ‘for fuck’s sake hold on to your skirt.’ He hit the ground headfirst, arms flailing as he tried in vain to keep his skirt from flying up. He lay on the footpath, winded, pillowed by his backpack. A chilly breeze tickled his bare thighs and he tugged his skirt down over them.

‘Muttley, come here! Naughty dog!’ a woman’s voice said, followed by a child saying, ‘Mummy, the lady fell off.’

Reuben sat up. A dumpy woman in a tracksuit and ugg boots was hurrying towards him, a grubby-faced urchin trotting behind her. Muttley stopped and looked back, tongue lolling, as if laughing at the devastation he’d caused, then continued sedately down the street.

‘I’m so sorry,’ the woman said. ‘Are you all right?’

Reuben nodded. It hurt when he breathed and his left arm was sore where he’d fallen on it. He wiggled his toes within his boots and tensed his calf muscles. All good, he wasn’t paralysed. He hauled himself to his feet. The woman stepped forward and put out her hand to help him. He batted it away.

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ he said, but it came out as a muffled squeak through his helmet. The woman looked uneasy and stepped back.

‘I really am sorry; it’s all Cooper’s fault. I’ve told him before not to chase the dog on the street.’

Cooper peered at Reuben from behind his mother’s legs. She swung around. ‘And you get on home, boy!’ she shouted. ‘Or I’ll give you the biggest walloping you’ve ever had!’

Cooper took off, little legs pummelling the pavement. Reuben brushed himself down, smoothing the skirt over his legs, and hoisted his backpack into position. The woman was staring at his chest. He looked down. A button had popped off his blouse and a tangle of hair peeped out through the gap. Fuck. He pulled his blouse together, although there hardly seemed much point now, and stepped over to where the Barbiemobile lay on the side of the road.

He picked it up and inspected it. Apart from a dent and some scratches on the front mudguard and a bent mirror, it looked okay. A gate clicked. A ruddy-faced old man stood in front of them holding a can of beer, resting it on his protruding belly like a shelf. Reuben’s hand went to the gap in his blouse.

‘You all right?’ the man growled.

‘Yeah,
she’s
fine,’ the woman said, looking him up and down.

Reuben nodded and smiled at the man. As he mounted the Barbiemobile, his skirt rucked up, revealing an expanse of hairy leg.

‘Holy Jesus,’ the man said.

Reuben rearranged his skirt and turned the ignition.
Please let the engine start.

The man shook his head and clicked his teeth. ‘Never thought I’d see one of them in me own street.’

‘Now you’ve seen everything, hey, Ralph?’ the woman said. She looked across the road and waved. As the engine spluttered into life, Reuben looked over. Lucy was standing at her front gate. In her arms was a curly-haired toddler in a jumper and pink overalls, and they were both staring across the across the road straight at him.

Reuben revved up the Barbiemobile and took off in a spray of gravel. Muttley sat at the end of the street, his furry face slit in a self-satisfied grin as he continued to ignore the entreaties of his owner. Reuben kept an eye on him as he rounded the corner, then put his foot down and sped off.

All the way home his mind oscillated between two thoughts.
Surely Lucy didn’t recognise me, not in this get-up,
and
She has a child! I didn’t expect her to have a child. Maybe she was minding it for someone else.
But he knew it was hers from the way she held it and it clung to her; as if they belonged to each other.

As he neared home, he realised he needed to find another public toilet. Arriving home in drag would do little to convince Carlene he was not suffering from post-traumatic stress. Scanning his surrounds, he concluded there was a notable lack of secluded public toilets where a person could change sex without fear of scrutiny. He pulled into a Hungry Jack’s two blocks from home. It was buzzing with families and groups of teenagers. He found the rest rooms, squared his shoulders then opened the door of the Mens. He almost collided with a lanky youth coming out, who did a double take and said, ‘Hey, Mrs, the Ladies is next door.’

Head down, Reuben made a beeline for the nearest cubicle and slammed the door. His body sighed with relief as he peeled off his wig and clothes, and stepped back into the familiar comfort of his jeans and shirt. He wiped off his lipstick with toilet paper and stuffed everything back into his backpack.

He left the cubicle and took a quick look at himself in the mirror. The corner of his mouth was still smudged with lipstick. He wiped it off with his hand. In the mirror, his eyes met those of a burly, bushy-haired man standing at the urinal. He looked as if he wrestled bulls for a living. The man pursed his lips and made a smacking kiss in Reuben’s direction.

‘Hey, sweetie, I got something you could put those gorgeous lips around.’

He rubbed his hand back and forth across his crotch. Reuben was tempted to retaliate with a scathing remark.
Not a good idea to upset him – especially if he sees you make a getaway on a pink motor scooter.

Reuben buttoned his lip and made a quick exit.

CHAPTER 13

He stashed the backpack in a corner of the garage behind a pile of empty boxes, making a mental note to collect it at the first opportunity and consign the contents to the nearest Lifeline bin.

The aroma of frying onions greeted him as he entered the house. Carlene was in the kitchen stirring something in the electric frypan. Reuben put his arms around her waist and kissed her cheek.