The Boys from Binjiwunyawunya (37 page)

‘This looks all right,' said Les.

‘It's the best motel in the area and very private,' replied Pamela. ‘Besides. It wouldn't be very civil to put a big star like you in the YMCA for the night, would it?'

‘I'd be exceptionally pissed off if you did, Pamela,' said Norton, reaching over for his bags.

‘Do you need a hand with anything?'

‘No. She's sweet.'

‘No worries.'

An automatic door opened and Les followed Pamela into a tastefully and expensively furnished foyer. Thick, brown carpet, matching furniture, lush indoor plants and a nice collection of paintings and mirrors around the walls. A haughtily attractive woman, not unlike Pamela only more into her
thirties and with her thick dark hair bobbed up at the back, was standing at the desk. She was wearing a colourful, three-piece woollen outfit, the extra long knitted top tied in the middle with a matching sash. Behind her a younger girl in a black uniform was working at a switchboard.

‘Les. This is Mrs Perry, the owner,' said Pamela. ‘Mrs Perry, this is Mr Norton.'

Mrs Perry gave Norton a very heavy once up and down. She blinked a couple of times and stared at him for a moment before answering. ‘Why hello Mr Norton,' she smiled, gushing just a little. ‘Pleased to meet you. You're the gentleman from Sydney down to do the television commercial.'

‘That's right,' said Norton, returning her smile.

‘Well I hope you have a very pleasant stay with us.'

‘I'm sure I will Mrs Perry. Your motel looks very nice too.'

‘Why thank you Mr Norton,' she breathed, with more fluttering of the eyelids.

‘Well I might leave you to it Les,' said Pamela, exchanging an even look with the motel owner. ‘I've got quite a bit more running around to do tonight. You know it's a six a.m. start tomorrow.' Norton nodded again. ‘So we'll probably call you at five-thirty. I'm not trying to tell you what to do. But it might be an idea if you got an early night. It's going to be hectic tomorrow.'

‘To tell you the truth Pamela,' smiled Les. ‘I was up early myself this morning and I'm pretty rooted as it is. I intend doing just that.'

‘Okay then.' Pamela held out her hand. ‘I'll see you first thing tomorrow.'

Norton gave her hand a quick, warm shake. ‘See you then Pamela. Nice to have met you.'

‘No worries.' Pamela exchanged another even look with Mrs Perry, smiled thinly at her then disappeared out the door.

As he watched her leave Norton swore he could feel two eyes burning holes in the back of his neck. He turned around and Mrs Perry was staring at him like he was a TV set tuned to her favourite program.

‘If you'd like to follow me Mr Norton,' she cooed, ‘I'll show you to your room.'

‘Thanks.'

‘No worries Mr Norton.'

Light background music was playing when they stepped
inside the lift for the short ride to the first floor. Admittedly the lift wasn't very big, but if Mrs Perry had stood any closer to Les she'd have been inside the fob pocket of his jeans.

‘So you've just flown in, Mr Norton,' she said as the door closed.

‘Yeah,' replied Norton. ‘Only about half an hour ago.'

‘And what do you think of Melbourne?'

Norton looked at her for a moment as the door swished open again. ‘You've got nice roofs.'

He followed her down a carpeted hallway to room 19. Mrs Perry unlocked it, switched on a light, and Les followed her inside.

Norton couldn't help but be impressed with the room. It was beautiful. A huge, pink double bed pushed against one wall and, facing it, a matching suede ottoman with a full-length wall mirror above it, reflecting oil paintings on every wall and indoor plants beneath them. There was a kitchenette and a bar with a stereo. A remote-control colour TV sat on pure white carpet that thick you almost needed a dog-sled and a team of huskies to drag you over it. Mrs Perry moved across to the balcony and drew the curtains to reveal the darkness of Port Phillip Bay, broken here and there by the flickering lights of fishing boats dotted against the blackness like distant campfires.

‘Christ, there's nothing wrong with this room Mrs Perry. It's the grouse.'

‘Yes, we like our guests to be happy here Mr Norton.' Mrs Perry glided across the carpet and stood directly in front of Les, peering deeply into his eyes. ‘You will be happy here. Won't you Mr Norton,' she almost crooned.

‘Happier than a hunchback that's just seen another hunchback with a hunch bigger than his Mrs Perry,' replied Norton.

Mrs Perry nodded and smiled softly. ‘There's a fully stocked bar there,' she indicated with a delicate hand. ‘Champagne in the fridge. A coffee machine. And we always leave a bowl of fresh fruit for our guests.'

Mrs Perry edged in a little closer to Les. ‘But of course, should you require anything else. Anything. Don't hesitate to ask,' she breathed.

‘Righto. Just ring for room service do I?'

‘No. You ring for me personally.'

‘Okay.' Norton eased back from the motel owner just a little. ‘Say Mrs Perry,' he asked. ‘Do you run this motel on your own or with your husband?'

‘With my brother. I'm divorced.'

‘Oh, I see.'

Mrs Perry gave Les another heavy once up and down, then moved across to the door. ‘Don't forget Mr Norton,' she smiled. ‘Anything you want. Just call.'

‘I'll do that. Thanks Mrs Perry.'

‘No worries Mr Norton.'

The door closed softly and she was gone, leaving Les standing there stroking his chin thoughtfully. Is that bloody sheila fair dinkum, he mused. You will be happy here won't you Mr Norton. Ring for me personally Mr Norton. He gave a bit of a chuckle. Nah. They're just different down here, that's all. Christ, imagine if I did have a lash at her and she blew up. Warren'd have a stroke. You're only in the place five minutes and you tried to rape the woman that owned the motel. Yeah, that'd be my luck. He shook his head, unpacked his bag and changed into a dark blue tracksuit and joggers. Now. Let's see what they've got in the Lightning Ridge.

There were numerous bottles of spirits and liqueurs on the bar, two bottles of Veuve Cliquot, splits and a couple of dozen beers in the fridge. Some of it was imported, but no Fourex. Les settled for a can of VB. He tugged the ring-pull off and stepped out onto the balcony.

It was cool but not cold. He watched the cars zooming past on the wide road below and noticed that the marina he'd seen earlier was almost in front of him. There were other buildings near the beach, but at that angle he couldn't quite make out what they were. Further in the distance he could see what seemed to be some sort of an amusement park. Might finish this, he thought, and go for a bit of a walk. Give my legs a bit of a stretch. It's only about nine-thirty. He finished his beer and did just that.

Mrs Perry wasn't in the foyer but the girl in the black uniform gave Les a smile which he returned as he went past. The door opened and he went down the steps, hesitated for a moment and then turned towards some shops and hotels he'd seen on the way in.

He hadn't walked far when he turned a corner into a blaze of neon lights and wide footpaths teeming with people taking advantage of the unusually warm spring weather. After about two hundred metres it reminded Norton of Kings Cross; a little roomier, a little more laid back, but pretty much the same scene. Pizza shops, milk bars, and neon-spattered restaurants.
Hotels, motels, rock palaces and amusement arcades. Voyeurs on foot, voyeurs in cars. Skinheads, straights and vacant-looking night types propped in doorways. Christ. I can't see myself lasting too much longer here he mused. It reminds me too much of work. The only redeeming feature was that the green-and-white numberplates on the cars reminded him a little of Queensland. He paused for a few moments outside a German restaurant full of drunken patrons hiccuping their way through a Nordic drinking song to a German band on stage. Then he strolled on past a hotel called the Duke of Kent and on to a bigger one that seemed to be in the process of being torn down. One bar on a corner was open. He put his head in there but it was full of seedy types you'd expect to see in a seedy hotel in any seedy part of any town in Australia. No thanks thought Norton. I might have one beer in that other pub then hit the toe.

He walked down to the Duke of Kent, went in one bar, through another and into a third. A jukebox was playing in one bar and a video screen going in another. It was smoky and fairly crowded with nearly everyone dressed to kill, and if the majority of the patrons weren't gay, they were that happy it didn't make any difference. In his blue tracksuit and suntan, Norton stood out like a black with a banjo at a Ku Klux Klan rally, and was already getting pretty much the same looks. Ohh bugger this he thought. I think I'll leave the St Kilda dag rattlers to drink on their own. I'm going to head back to the motel, drink what piss is in the fridge and hit the sack. I've got to be up around five anyway. He had one last look around the bar and headed back to the St Moritz.

He returned the smile of the girl on the switchboard and went straight to his room, tuned the stereo to some local FM station, kicked off his joggers and socks and opened another beer. He lay back on the bed to give it a test; it was firm yet wonderfully comfortable. Jesus, how did I manage to fluke this he chuckled as he took in the opulence of the suite. There was a TV guide sitting on the smoked-glass coffee table in front of the ottoman. That's what I'll do. I'll watch the late news and check out Mousey's map again before I go to sleep. He finished his beer and was about to get another when there was a soft knock on the door. He opened it and there was Mrs Perry.

Norton was taken slightly aback. ‘Oh hello Mrs Perry. What... seems to be the trouble?'

‘There's been a complaint that some of the phones aren't working properly. Do you mind if I come in and have a quick look?'

‘No. Go for your life.' Norton stepped back from the door and closed it behind her.

He stood near the bed as Mrs Perry made a great fuss about picking up the receiver, pressing the buttons and clicking the switch hooks up and down with her finger.

‘Yes — well. That seems to be working properly now.' Mrs Perry was acting sophisticated and businesslike but all the time her eyes kept darting nervously around the room, always coming back to rest on Les.

‘Well that's real good, Mrs Perry,' smiled Les. ‘Is there anything else you think you ought to check while you're here?'

Mrs Perry moved over and stood right in front of Les again. ‘I don't know Mr Norton,' she breathed. ‘What do you think?'

‘What do I think?'

Norton looked at her. This is getting absolutely ridic he thought. This sheila's doing everything but send up smoke signals; and she's a bloody good sort too. If I don't make some sort of a move she'll either think I'm a bigger mug than what I look, or a poof. Bugger this. I'll have to have a lash.

He reached out and took Mrs Perry by the knot in her cardigan sash and drew her gently towards him. She gave about as much resistance as the Italian Army in 1943. Eyes swimming, she looked up at Norton who smiled, stooped his head slightly, and kissed her softly on the lips.

That was all Mrs Perry was waiting for. She wound her arms around Norton's neck, moaned quietly and kissed him back, avidly, hungrily, her tongue darting into Norton's mouth and around his ears and neck. It wasn't long before Les had a horn hard enough to break an icepick. He drew her in a little closer, ran his hand up over her ribcage and across her firm well-rounded breasts. Mrs Perry began kissing him more passionately than ever. Steadily, Les eased her back against the edge of the bed. She gave another little moan as he sat her down on it, spread her legs apart and stepped in between. Mrs Perry was only too willing to oblige and opened her legs up more, sitting her knees up on her chest. Norton pushed her long, woollen dress up over her stomach and ran his hand tenderly across her backside and her thighs.

It was then that Norton, much to his disgust, found that
Mrs Perry, ladylike owner of the classy St Moritz Motel, was a bit like the girl in the Holeproof ad on TV. For Mrs Perry was wearing no knickers. She was wearing no knickers at all. No underwear. Nothing.

Well I'll be buggered, he thought. Sophisticated, conservative bloody Melbourne eh. At least the sheilas in Sydney wear pants. He had a quick look to make sure. Yeah. Smooth white skin, neatly trimmed pubic hair. But definitely no knickers. You filthy little devil. It was revolting.

It was also very convenient. The next thing, Norton's tracksuit and Speedos were off quicker than you could yell ‘Up Collingwood'.

Norton eased her right to the edge of the bed, lifted her legs up a little more and entered her, slowly and gently. Mrs Perry let out a long moan of agonised ecstasy.

‘Ohhh yessss,' she gasped. ‘Yessss.'

Well, that definitely doesn't sound like no to me thought Norton — and away he went.

In a word, it was sensational. Mrs Perry got into it with him like there was going to be no tomorrow. She bucked and squealed. Norton lifted her legs up further till her ankles were up behind her ears. The sudden unexpectedness of it could have had something to do with it but there was no two ways about it, Mrs Perry was one hell of a woman in bed. She went off like a Chinese new year. Norton would have liked to have gone on for ages, for both of them. But it was just too good and Mrs Perry's ted was too warm, tight and delicious. With his knees going like the pistons on the Spirit of Progress, Norton slipped into top gear with Mrs Perry screaming encouragement. Finally Les had to clench his jaws to stop from screaming out himself, and with his eyes virtually spinning around in his head he arched his back and with a huge shudder poured himself into her. Mrs Perry let out one long wail that ended with a choked-off scream.