The Naked Drinking Club (6 page)

‘No, you tell me what you would like, but honestly you don’t have to.’

‘I like the one of the fields, that’s pretty.’ Barbara pointed.

‘Right then, how much do we owe you?’ asked Norman, taking off his glasses.

‘Erm, they sell for seventy dollars each.’

‘OK, just a moment, love.’ Norman left again, taking the Stuger with him.

I stood in silence, mesmerised by the proceedings. Barbara smiled and cocked her head to one side.

Norman returned with an old wooden cigar box, counting some dollars from it.

‘Let me see now, that’s it … forty, there’s fifty … that’s sixty, and what did you say, eighty?’

‘No, seventy.’

‘Do I have a ten there? Yes I do, here you go, love.’

‘Are you sure, Norman?’

‘Course we are, aren’t we, love?’ He turned to his wife.

‘Yes, don’t be silly now, we are very comfortable. Don’t worry about us, and it’s been lovely meeting you, dear.’

I took the money and packed away the rest of the paintings. Norman and Barbara showed me to the door. I thought about making polite conversation on the way about them managing to hang that one on the wall and not leave it in a cupboard like the first one, but there was no point, it would only spoil the honesty of the situation. They knew the score; they knew what I had to do.

I stood on the step on the front porch.

‘Well, all the best, love,’ said Norman, touching my shoulder.

‘Yes, we hope everything works out for you, love,’ Barbara said, holding onto Norman’s arm.

‘Can I just ask you something?’ There was something I was really curious about.

‘Course, love.’

‘Who sold you that other painting, and can you remember how long ago it was?’

‘Oh now, let me see.’ Norman and Barbara looked at each other, trying to think back.

‘It was a young girl, Norman, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, she was young, about your age I should imagine. I can’t remember where she was from now.’

‘Was it not Holland or something like that?’

‘Yes, it might have been Holland. Oh now, when was it?’

‘Must have been a year ago now.’

‘Yes, around that time.’

‘You don’t remember her name, do you?’ I asked.

‘Oh dear, I’m afraid that’s asking a bit too much of us these days.’ They chuckled again.

‘Not to worry, I thought I might know her, that’s all.’ We all chuckled one more time before I thanked them and left. I promised myself that I would buy a phone card by the end of the week, call the nursing home and check how my grandfather was.

CHAPTER
FIVE

‘GET IN, WE’RE
moving,’ said Scotty, gesturing to the back seat of the Holden with his thumb. I was surveying a house a couple of doors down from Norman and Barbara when they pulled up. Jim was in the driver’s seat with a map spread out over the steering wheel.

‘What’s the problem?’ I asked, hauling my folder into the boot.

‘Fuck’s sake, Scotty, this is really slack,’ Jim said, still examining the map.

‘Just move out the area, mate, then we’ll sort it out. Just hit some carpet for now.’ Scotty was serious for once, biting his nails and spitting pieces out of the window. The Danish were in the back seat talking manically to one another in their own language. They were excited, punctuating their dialogue with gasps and screeches.

Jim passed the map to Scotty and put his foot down.

‘What the fuck’s wrong?’ I was forced to talk to the Danish.

‘Oh my God,’ said the lighter-shade-of-blonde one. ‘You have no idea, Kerry, it was sooo funny but scary, you know?’

‘What?’

‘I was in a house and I brought out my folder to show the people the paintings and when I turned round one of the pictures the lady said, “Hey, wait a minute, I have this picture!”’ The other Danish laughed and shrieked at this point.

‘Then what?’

‘Then she goes into another room and brings out the same one, the Blue Mountains, and shows it to me.’ We all laughed.

‘What did you say then?’

‘I said, “Yeah of course,” and I thought, oh my God, what am I saying yeah of course for?’ We all laughed again.

‘Then I say, “Well, you know, the Blue Mountains are a very popular attraction and they are painted by many different artists.”’

I could see Jim shaking his head as he drove, his shoulders moving with laughter.

‘And I am thinking, yeah, well done, Karin, you got yourself out of that one all right.’ Both the Danish were in hysterics. ‘Then she says, “Oh yeah, they paint the Blue Mountains a lot, do they?” Then she brings in another picture and turns to me and says, “So how do you explain this, do they all paint the same boats as well?”’

‘She’s only got two fucking pieces already, eh, mate,’ said Scotty, with his feet back on the dash.

‘Oh fuck, what did you say?’ I said.

‘Well, I am looking at her and smiling, you can imagine.’

‘I can.’

‘I look at her and I say, “Yes, the boats are also very popular, I mean.”’ We all laughed.

Scotty beat the car roof with his hand. ‘The boats are also very popular, very fucking true, very fucking true,’ he laughed.

‘So how did you get out of the house?’

‘I just had to say that there was no point in showing her the rest because she had probably already seen it.’

‘You said that?’

‘Hey, after we were both standing there with the same two paintings, there was no point in any bullshit, you know?’

‘Well, that makes two of us,’ I said.

‘You’re having a laugh?’ said Jim, who’d only just composed himself.

‘Nope, mine had one already as well, but it wasn’t a big deal because they were very relaxed about it, as though they knew how it all worked. They seemed happy to buy another one from me, in exchange for a bit of company, I suppose.’

‘Yep, the olds are good once they let you in, once they trust you, they just like to chat away.’

I hated Scotty saying ‘olds’ and was on the verge of asking
him
to be more respectful, when Jim started some half-pint philosophising.

‘Listen, the trouble with Australians in general is they are too bloody trusting for their own good, don’t you think? I mean, there’s no way you could get away with this back home, they’d be out chasing you down the bloody street. Everything’s so bloody new and OK here. They’re not pissed off and cynical enough yet, so they get ripped off.’

‘Hey, I asked mine if they knew who sold them the other painting and when, and they thought she was Dutch, maybe,’ I said, hoping to help with the mystery.

Scotty slapped his hand repeatedly on his forehead, and then looked at Jim. ‘Dutch, my arse, bloody German more like, and probably called Anaya!’ he said, in an entertaining fashion for all our benefit.

‘Guys, guys, I’m innocent!’ said Anaya, joking around and holding her hands up. She was sitting on a bar stool in the Honest Irishman back in the city, smoking.

‘Like hell you are, you crafty little minx.’ Scotty had it bad for Anaya, and I suspected that it had been that way for a long time.

‘It was a bit of a wasted trip, Anaya,’ said Jim, trying to make the tone more serious.

‘Listen, guys, mistakes happen. Anaya was supervising that area a year ago maybe, and she should have remembered.’ Greg glanced over at her and she shrugged. ‘Sometimes the logbook doesn’t get filled in for whatever reason, and when it doesn’t, it’s bad, I know. Shit happens, you guys, really sorry,’ he said. ‘Won’t happen again. Now let me make it up to you and buy you all a beer.’

‘Not for me, thanks,’ said Jim. ‘I’m going to hit the sack. Got some letters to write.’ He stretched and rolled his head round. ‘No bloody waking me up, you lot, OK?’ he said jokily to me and the Danes, and then left looking worn out.

‘Sorry, guys, I really fucked up with the area, yeah,’ said Anaya, swinging her legs around on her stool and catching my eye every so often.

‘So how long were you supervisor, Anaya?’ I asked, just wanting to say something to her but not knowing what. Greg
began
talking to Scotty and the Danish, leaving Anaya and me to ourselves.

‘Why? You after the job, Kerry?’

‘Might be. We’ll see. Only just got here.’

‘You have to sell a few more first.’ She stared right at me, blowing out smoke and picking her little finger with her thumbnail.

I reapplied my lipstick to cover up my unease, thinking that it would be easier to talk to her when I was drunk. I was apprehensive about being around her and the others too much in the daytime, now that I had moved into the ART house. I had problems with the day in general, much preferring to be alone until the evening, that brought with it music and drink to ease my discomfort. I had left Glebe that afternoon, packing up the few items I had with me into my rucksack and heading downtown to the flat in William Street. Greg had offered me the smallest room, next to Jim’s; it was barely big enough for the single bed and small chest of drawers, but it was fine, especially as I didn’t know if I’d be stopping long, and cheap. He and Anaya had the room next to the office, in the basement directly underneath me. The Danish were in a room with a pair of single beds, two rooms down to my left, next to the bathroom. There were two other spare rooms with two bunk beds each. Scotty lived at home with his mother in another suburb. So for now it was just the six of us, and I wanted it to stay that way.

‘So, you settling in OK, Kerry?’ Anaya asked, with her head tilted to one side. I was very good at reading other people’s gestures, and from where I was sitting Anaya’s was very obvious. She liked me. And the overuse of my name was also a dead giveaway.

‘Yeah, it’s fine, thanks, it’s good.’ The Danish, Greg and Scotty faded into the background for now. ‘How long you lived there, Anaya?’ I thought I’d start to use her name more; my drink was kicking in slightly and loosening me up.

‘Mmm, let me see, about maybe a year.’ She put out her cigarette, while still holding my gaze. I looked for signs of anything I could interpret in everything she did.

‘Not long then, uh?’

‘No, not long.’ She laughed a little, confusing me as to what amused her. Perhaps she was laughing at my dumb questions, which would get better and longer the more I drank.

‘Well, I hope you will like it with us.’ She smiled warmly for once. ‘I’m sure we will all have some real fun.’ She finished off her drink and checked the time on her watch. I looked down into my glass, giggling slightly at her use of the word ‘fun’ in her drawn-out, flat Germanic accent.

‘Would you like another drink, Anaya?’ I hoped she would stay and see me looser and more entertaining, but she declined and left, saying very little except a goodnight to us all with an open-hand circular gesture, to which I stupidly did the same back. After I watched her leave, I thought about walking back to the flat with her, but decided against it this time. After all, there there would be plenty of other nights, and besides, I didn’t want to go to bed yet.

The old guy playing pool, who’d bought Jim and me a drink the first night I came here, caught my eye again. He was chalking a cue when he winked at me; I winked back, which made him laugh. He took his dollar off the edge of the table and gestured for me to join him. I went over and picked up the other cue.

‘All right?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, kiddo, all right. Drink?’

‘Go on, then.’

He clicked his fingers at the barmaid who opened two bottles of VB, a local lager I was starting to enjoy. He didn’t pay – which meant he kept a tab, which meant he drank there all the time, which I liked. He set up the balls in the triangle, spinning the black before breaking. We kept silent for a while. His hair was greying and he had a moustache. He was clean in his appearance and I would have put him in his mid-fifties.

‘So,’ he said, after potting a stripe.

‘So looks like I’m on coloureds, then?’

He smiled. He liked me. He was attractive for an older man, in a Sean Connery in
The Man Who Would Be King
way. Just below the neckline of his T-shirt I could see the top of a tattoo.

‘So you with the art company lot, then, are you?’ He smoked constantly and spoke through squinting eyes from the cigarette smoke permanently coming out of his mouth. It was hard to make out his accent at first. It was all mixed up, transatlantic, maybe Canadian or Anglo-American, but as I heard more, I figured he was originally Scottish.

‘My name’s Kerry, and yeah, I’ve started selling for them.’

‘Have you now?’ He was playing around with me, and I knew enough to know that most of what he found amusing was down to his evident drunkenness. ‘Offloading Greg’s works of art on the endearing Australian public, are you?’

‘Yip. What’s your name?’

‘Mac.’

I put my hand out to shake his. He stubbed out his cigarette before shaking mine, making me wait with mine outstretched.

‘Mac. You Scottish, then? I’m working with a guy called Scotty.’

‘Well, I was certainly born there, but that’s going back a bit.’

‘What part?’

‘Dundee. Why? Think we might know the same people, do you?’ He laughed unnecessarily again.

‘No, I’m from Edinburgh. Only been here and there.’

‘This is some journey here, is it not? Doing the backpacking bit, are you?’

I could hear much more of his Scottishness now. ‘Not exactly. I’m on a young person’s work visa because I’m under twenty-five, so I wanted to make the most of that while I could.’ I’d almost finished my beer and shook the bottle to ask him if he wanted another.

‘Val will get us another.’ He finished his beer. ‘Val!’ He clicked again. The barmaid turned round, rolled her eyes and brought us a refill. I had potted two, he was on his last ball; Mac had put aside some serious pool practice in his time. With another cigarette in his mouth, he slammed the ball off the top end of the table and doubled it back to knock it into the bottom left-hand corner pocket, just where I was leaning.

‘Oh yes, got to make the most of things, very important,’ he drawled.

‘So what do you do then, Mac?’

‘I play pool a lot.’

‘What, professionally?’

‘No, not professionally, for fuck’s sake. Among other things.’