The Boys from Binjiwunyawunya (36 page)

At training with Billy Dunne the following day, Les told his workmates more or less what was going on. He said he wasn't relying on getting the ad and it didn't really worry him one way or the other, but the lazy $3000 would be nice. He didn't tell Billy his ulterior motive for wanting to go to Melbourne. Billy replied by saying he wouldn't spend a weekend in Melbourne for $103,000. Billy didn't elaborate on this and Norton didn't ask him any more on it either.

About four that afternoon Norton was getting ready to have an hour or so's sleep before going to work. He'd just finished a cup of tea when the phone rang.

‘Les. It's Warren.' He gave a little laugh over the phone. ‘I just rang to tell you — you little starlet you — that you've got the ad.'

‘Yeah.' Norton was pleased, but he wasn't all that enthused. After two days of indecision it was a bit of an anticlimax.

‘Yeah. I'm sitting here with the bosses of the agency now, and they're keen for you to do it. And they're sorry we had to muck you around a bit, but this is a fairly big promotion with quite a lot of money involved and everything had to be spot on.'

‘Ahh that's okay Woz,' drawled Les. Then a thought hit him. ‘Hey. Are you sitting there with Larry, Curly and Mo now are you?'

‘Ah... yes. Why?'

‘Well tell those three yuppie wombats that seeing they didn't mind fucking a big star like me around all week, they can do me a favour.'

‘Sure Les. What is it?'

‘I've found out I've got an old uncle lives out of Melbourne a bit and I'd like to go and visit him,' Norton lied. ‘Can they get me the loan of a car while I'm down there? In fact tell those three clowns I demand it. Or no red-headed ocker for their dopey fuckin' ad.'

‘Yeah that's okay Les. No problems.'

‘Good.'

‘Well look Les. I'll probably miss you before you go to work tonight. I've got quite a bit to finish off here yet. So I'll see you about lunchtime tomorrow. Don't forget, you fly out at six-thirty tomorrow night.'

‘No sweat Woz. I'll see you tomorrow mate.'

Well, thought a smiling Norton, it looks like I'm going to Melbourne for the weekend eh. This could be very interesting. Very interesting indeed. He went into his bedroom and lay down. Just before he put his head on the pillow he had another look at Mousey's map. He chuckled for a moment, then closed his eyes and dozed off.

In Price's office after work that night he told all the others, besides Billy, where he was going and what he was doing for the weekend. Without mentioning Mousey's map of course.

‘So, Price, I thought bugger it. Three thousand dollars is three thousand dollars. I'll give it a shot. And I've never been to Melbourne either. So why not?' he added with a shrug.

There was a bit of an amused silence for a moment as everyone took a sip on their drink and the story Les had just told them began to sink in. Naturally, George Brennan was the first to speak.

‘So,' he said with a cynical smile. ‘The teenage heart-throb's off to Melbourne for the weekend is he?'

‘Yes,' replied Norton, running a finger delicately across an eyebrow. ‘Just a brief modelling assignment in one of our capital cities, George. Then it's back to Sydney. It's all very boring really.'

‘One of our capital cities eh,' chuckled George. ‘You know what Melbourne is don't you?'

‘What?'

‘Dubbo without the glamour.'

‘You read the Bible, Les?' chimed in Billy Dunne. ‘You know how God made the world in six days and on the seventh day he rested. You know what he did on the eighth day?'

Norton shook his head.

‘He gave the world an enema. And Melbourne's where he stuck the pipe.'

‘You know all that a person from Melbourne is?' guffawed Brennan.

Norton grimaced and shook his head again.

‘A Tasmanian on his way to Sydney.'

‘Did you hear...'

‘Ohh look fair dinkum,' cut in Norton. ‘You blokes are just jealous. It wouldn't matter where I was going. You'd still bag it. The place can't be all that bad.'

‘You're right Les,' said Price. ‘Melbourne's not all that bad. Me and Eddie often pop down there — and we always have a good time. Don't we?'

‘Yeah Melbourne's all right,' chuckled Eddie. ‘Apart from Vietnam, I couldn't think of a nicer place to shoot someone and bury the body.'

‘You'll see some good-looking women down there Les,' added Price. ‘And well dressed too. The best clothes in Australia come from Melbourne. I still get most of my suits and shoes from down there.'

‘Price is right about the clothes,' giggled Billy. ‘They certainly like to dress up down there. You even wear a coat and tie to go and have a shit. Don't let them catch you sitting on the crapper with only your underpants on. They'll never talk to you again.'

‘Look,' said Norton, draining his can of Fourex, ‘let me sort the joint out for myself. All I know is, I'll be there till Sunday. I'll do this silly fuckin' TV commercial and whether the place is good or bad, I'll just cop the money and run. Now,' Les got to his feet, ‘anyone want a drink while I'm up?'

There was a chorus of laughter and orders and Norton started pottering around behind the bar.

‘Hey while you're on the subject of money, film star,' said George Brennan slowly. ‘You're forgetting a little something aren't you?'

‘What's that George?' replied Norton, his head stuck in the bar fridge.

‘That team of poofs from up Bondi Junction play the Tigers this Saturday. You still want to have a bet?'

‘Ohh yeah. That's right. The semi-finals start this weekend. Whoever loses gets the arse till next year.' Norton spread the various drinks across the bar and began adding the splits.
‘Yeah I'll have a bet with you mate. How much?'

‘How game are you? You've been bagging Balmain all year.'

‘I dunno,' shrugged Norton. ‘Hundred bucks?'

‘Why don't we make it five?'

‘Five hundred,' said Les. ‘Shit!'

‘Come on,' goaded Brennan. ‘Show a bit of ticker. It'll be the last game of the year for one of them. I know which one too.'

Norton thought for a moment. ‘I'll tell you what I'll do, you fat cunt. Why don't we make it an even thousand. Any-thing to shut you up — once and for all.'

‘Did you hear that? Did you hear that?' George rose in his seat and looked excitedly around the room at the others. ‘Ebenezer Scrooge wants to back Easts for a thousand bucks. You're all witnesses.' He turned back to Norton. ‘Righto you miserable big Queensland bastard. You're on.'

‘No sweat George,' replied Norton casually. He still had a thousand of the money he'd found, plus the money he'd earn on the weekend. So he wouldn't really miss it. And Easts were a good chance to squeak in against Balmain anyway.

‘Fair dinkum,' said Price, shaking his head as Les handed him his Dimple Haig and soda. ‘A thousand bucks on a game of bloody football. You blokes are off your bloody heads.'

George turned to Price. ‘How much did you have on Kelly Girl last Saturday?'

‘Fifty thousand each way.'

Brennan raised his Bacardi and grapefruit juice. ‘The defence rests,' he smiled.

They hung around drinking and cracking jokes till well after four. Everyone, including George, wished Les all the best in Melbourne and they'd see him next week. Then they closed up and went home.

Beside lecturing Les all the way from Bondi to Mascot when he drove him out to the airport the following evening, Warren also gave him his last-minute instructions on what would happen when he arrived in Melbourne. A girl named Pamela would be waiting for him at the Ansett counter; she knew what he looked like and she would drive him to his motel and fill him in on the Melbourne end of it.

‘Now for Christ sake Les,' Warren pleaded as they pulled up in the parking area, ‘don't get into any trouble down there. I'm begging you. Just be cool.'

‘Jesus you're a fuckin' old sheila Woz. From what they tell me, Melbourne's the most conservative place in the world.
I'll be one day doing this ad and that's it. There's no chance of me playing up tonight because it's a six o'clock start tomorrow. And there's no chance of me getting drunk, because I wouldn't drink that shit you're advertising if they held a loaded gun to my head. What could possibly go wrong?'

‘Knowing you, Les. Anything. So cool it — okay?'

‘Ohh arseholes.'

Norton picked up his bag and they began walking across to the departure terminal. ‘Hey just tell me one thing Woz,' he asked.

‘What's that Les?'

‘How come they're shooting this silly bloody thing in Melbourne. Yet all the organising seems to be done in Sydney. It just doesn't make sense to me.'

‘Les,' replied Warren. ‘That is just one of the intricacies of advertising. I'll explain it to you when you get back. In the meantime Les, all you have to do is take the money and run.'

Norton gave the side compartment on his travel bag a pat where Mousey's map was folded up inside the road map. ‘Yeah. I guess you're right mate,' he smiled.

They had time for two drinks in the departure lounge. The next thing Norton was winging his way to Melbourne.

Norton was struck a bit of a body blow on the plane trip down. No Fourex. But there was an abundance of Victoria Bitter and Tooheys and as he was in the first-class section it was free. Consequently Les was in a pretty good mood when they touched down at Tullamarine. Whistling and smiling to himself, he picked up his travel bag from the conveyor belt and with that in one hand and his small overnight bag in the other, he headed for the Ansett counter.

A tallish woman in her late twenties was standing there and straight away Norton tipped she was the one he had to meet. She was strikingly attractive, in a heavily but tastefully made up sort of way. Long dark hair parted on the side and flicked casually across one eye billowed across the top of a loose-fitting silver and black patterned trouser suit that seemed to conceal what to Norton looked like quite a full-breasted figure.

A smile creased the corners of her dark brown eyes as she saw Norton approach. ‘Hello,' she said pleasantly. ‘You must be Les.'

‘Yeah. Are you Pamela?'

She nodded and extended her hand. Les shook it briefly and it was a warm, firm handshake.

‘So. How was the flight down?'

‘Good,' replied Norton. ‘You no sooner seem to be on board than you're here.'

‘That's good. Well, if you'd like to follow me out to the car, we'll get going? Do you want a hand with anything?'

‘No. I'm right thanks.'

‘Okay. No worries.'

Norton followed her out of the terminal across to the parking area where a shiny red XJS Jaguar was sitting. Pamela unlocked the doors and Norton threw his bags on the back seat.

‘What sort of work do you do on this ad Pamela?'

‘I'm Mr Leishman's secretary. He owns the agency. This is his car.'

‘Not a bad heap,' smiled Les. ‘There must be some dough in advertising.'

‘The agency does all right.' Pamela started the motor and they moved off.

‘I'll tell you what,' said Norton, sounding a little surprised. ‘It doesn't seem like a bad night. I was expecting it to be freezing.'

‘I know. It's only early spring and we've had a heatwave the last couple of days. It's almost unbearable. But they're expecting a big storm on Sunday that should cool things down.'

‘I don't know about it being unbearable,' said Norton. ‘But it's not too bad.'

Pamela smiled at Les. ‘And what do you do in Sydney, Les? Are you an actor or some sort of a stuntman or something?'

‘Hardly,' laughed Norton, easing his neck into the headrest. ‘I got this thing more or less by accident.'

As they cruised comfortably along the straight, wide streets that make up the sprawling flat suburbs of Melbourne, Norton told Pamela what he did for a living and where he lived. How Warren tipped him into the ad, including the last-minute casting, and how he told the three bosses at Wirraway Advertising what he thought of their line. He could have lied to her and told her anything. But he thought what would that prove? Besides, he was still revved up from all the free booze on the plane, and the way the stories were coming out by the time they reached downtown Melbourne and crossed the
Yarra into St Kilda Road, Pamela was laughing unashamedly and enjoying Norton's easy-going company.

‘It certainly sounds like you and your friends lead a pretty good life up there in Sydney,' she grinned.

‘Yeah, it's all right. Can't complain.'

‘Fair enough. My word, you've got a good tan for this time of the year.'

‘Yeah, we've got a spot behind the Pavilion at Bondi where we, sit on our fat arses of a day. It's out of the wind and you sort of stay brown all year round. You should see some of the other blokes. They look like they just come down from New Guinea.'

‘You've certainly got a good life up there Les.'

‘Wouldn't be dead for quids Pamela,' winked Norton.

They followed the traffic down Fitzroy Street, then turned into a wide, palm-tree dotted boulevard. A marina full of boats and a vast expanse of inky blackness beyond that told him they were near the ocean. From what he could see in the darkness, it reminded Norton a little of Brighton le Sands and Botany Bay in Sydney.

‘Where are we Pamela?' he asked, peering curiously out the window.

‘St Kilda. That's Port Phillip Bay out there.'

They turned up some small side street, did a U-turn and pulled up in front of a classy-looking motel overlooking the ocean. A discreet red, white and black neon sign out the front said St Moritz Motel. It was only a couple of stories high but wide, with plenty of tinted windows, sandstock bricks and white balconies covered in lush green vines facing out across the bay.