You Wouldn't Be Dead for Quids (22 page)

Les got up bewildered but still grinning. The next thing a flash went off, temporarily blinding him.

‘All right Les, thanks for coming,' said the director as he and the writer escorted him to the door. ‘We'll be in touch with your agent.' ‘Yeah righto,' said Norton. They shook hands once more and Les left the building still absolutely mystified as to what was going on.

He was still mystified but had just about put the whole silly episode out of his mind by late that afternoon. He was at home sucking on a can of Fourex and reading the paper when the phone rang.

‘Hello,' he said into the phone.

‘Hello Les. It's Warren.'

‘How are you?'

‘I'm all right. But how are you? You little film star you.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You got the ad.'

‘Fair dinkum?'

‘Fair dinkum. They loved you.'

‘Well that's good. See, I keep telling you Woz, I'm not just a pretty face.'

‘No, you're a fuckin' ugly one. But don't ever forget one thing.'

‘What's that?'

‘I discovered you baby. I'll be home in an hour, I'll tell you all about it then.'

‘Righto. See you when you get home.'

Well I'll be fucked, thought Norton as he stared absently at the phone. That director's got to have a pumpkin for a head grabbing me instead of those other blokes out the front. He shook his head and went back to his can of beer and the paper.

‘Now for Christ's sake, Les, behave yourself up there,' said Warren as he drove Norton out to the airport the following
Saturday afternoon. ‘Don't get too pissed and for God's sake don't go belting anyone.'

‘Piss off will you,' said Norton, grinning from ear to ear. ‘I'm a movie star. Movie stars don't go around beltin' people.'

‘No, but you do.' Warren was still lecturing Les after he'd parked his Celica and they walked into the domestic flight terminal at Mascot aerodrome. Mitchell Buchannan was waiting there to greet them.

‘Hello Les, hello Warren,' he said shaking hands warmly with Norton. The writer's thinning sandy hair was plastered untidily across his head and he had noticeable dark circles around the puffiness under his eyes. He looked like he could do with about 24 hours' solid sleep. ‘Looking forward to the weekend in Brisbane, Les? The ad should work really well.'

‘Yeah I am,' replied Norton with a grin. ‘My agent drove me to the airport.' He nodded towards Warren. ‘He's been giving me some excellent advice to help me at this tender stage of my career.'

‘Just remember what I said, Les,' said Warren evenly.

They had time for a chat and one quick drink at the bar before the announcement came over that Flight 602 for Brisbane was now ready to depart. All aboard the aircraft please.

‘Like it says on the garbage tins Les,' said Warren, shaking Nortons hand as they left through the departure gate. ‘Do the right thing.'

‘Jesus, you're a worry, Woz,' said Norton slapping him on the shoulder. ‘What could go wrong? I'll see you when I get back. The next thing they were winging their way to Brisbane.

About 15 minutes into the flight the stewardess stopped in the aisle next to their seat. ‘Can I get you a drink at all, Sir?' she said pleasantly.

‘Yeah. I wouldn't mind a can of Fourex myself,' replied Norton. ‘What about you, Mitchell?'

‘Just a brandy and soda for me,' he said tiredly.

When the stewardess brought the drinks back Norton went to pay her. ‘That's all right sir,' she said. ‘There's no charge for drinks first class.'

‘Oh. Is that right?' replied Norton casually.

Les and Mitchell didn't say a great deal on the flight up, but when they landed at Eagle Farm there wasn't a drop of Fourex left on the plane and Norton was in a pretty good mood.

As soon as they stepped out of the hatch and the realisation that he was back in Queensland hit Les, about four gallons of adrenalin surged through his body like a miniature tidal wave. ‘Ah, smell that Queensland air, Mitchell,' he said stopping half-way down the gangplank. ‘You can bloody near taste it.' The writer smiled back briefly. ‘If you like,' said Les, ‘I'll grab our swags and you can get us a cab.'

‘There'll be a car waiting for us,' replied Mitchell.

They picked up their bags and went to the front of the airport where a shiny black Mercedes and driver was waiting for them. He took their bags and placed them in the boot.

‘Crest Hotel. Is that right, Mr. Buchannan?' said the driver.

‘That's right.'

As they left Eagle Farm and cruised quietly through the darkened suburbs towards downtown Brisbane signs flashed past the windows of the car that engulfed Norton with pangs of nostalgia. Cairns Draught. Fourex on Tap. The Courier Mail Sold Here. 4BK Number One On Your Dial. When they pulled up at The Crest Norton was misty eyed. He was true to the old saying. You can get the boy out of Queensland but you can't get the Queensland out of the boy.

They booked into the hotel and while taking the lift to their adjoining rooms Mitchell told Les that he would be eating in his room as he had some phone calls to make and a few things to organise; he suggested Les do likewise. He wasn't keen on Norton's suggestion that they go out for a few drinks later, but he agreed to meet Les in his room and maybe go for a few; he'd see him then.

This is all right, thought Les, as he threw his bag on the bed of his $100 a night room and stepped out on to the balcony to view the Brisbane skyline and gaze fondly at the coloured lights reflecting on the Brisbane River as it wound a long silver snake through the heart of the city. Not too bad at all.

He unpacked his clothes then picked up the phone. ‘Hello room service? This is Mr. Norton in 704, could I have two mud crabs, chips and a large side salad please. And a bowl of strawberries and cream.' A small bar fridge with an electric jug on top caught his eye. ‘You'd better send up a bottle of Taylors White Burgundy and a dozen cans of Fourex too. Thank you.' He smiled to himself; James Bond, eat your heart out.

By the time Les had finished a shave and a shower the food arrived. He gave the room waiter $2 then tore into the two muddies; the first bite nearly brought tears to his eyes. By a quarter to ten all that remained was the gleaming shells, the Taylors was gone and Norton was in a terrific mood and starting on his second can of Fourex. He finished that and went to collect Buchannan.

‘Where do you fancy going Les?' asked Mitchell wearily as he stepped into his jeans.

‘Dunno. I just feel like a few drinks, I'm not used to going to bed early on Saturday night,' replied Les.

‘And if there's a bit of crumpet available you'll be in that too, eh?'

‘Oh yeah. Why not?'

Acting on one of the room waiter's advice they went to a bar about 10 minutes walk from the hotel. There wasn't much happening, a few frumpy looking beer bandits were propped up on stools round the bar and on the dance floor several couples were shuffling around listlessly to a hackneyed band murdering some old Beatles songs in the corner.

‘Not much doin' here is there?' said Les checking his watch. It was 11.30.

‘Do you want to go up the Brisbane Underground?' asked Mitchell.

‘It couldn't be any worse than this,' replied Les. They finished their drinks then walked out the front and caught a cab.

The Bianca Jagger look-alike on the door of the Underground nearly had a stroke when she saw Les. ‘I'm sorry,' she sniffed ‘but it's members only.' Being a trendy on the door of a half baked exclusive nite-spot she was determined to let only trendy types in and her idea of a non trendy was anyone over five feet six, that didn't look like John Travolta and dress like Roger Moore. However, like all would-be glamours, as soon as Mitchell told her who he was and mentioned the names of an advertising agency and a film company she started gushing, batting her eyelids and had them escorted to one of the best tables in the place. Norton hardly had his bum on the seat when some money changed hands and a waiter returned with an ice bucket and two chilled bottles of Veuve Clicquot.

‘This is a bit more like it,' said Les.

‘It's all right,' shrugged Mitchell.

After a couple of quick glasses of shampoo, Norton settled back and let his gaze wander around the night club. The place was fairly crowded with punters of both sex all decked out in their Saturday night ‘kill 'em' gear. On the packed dance floor serious faced couples were pivoting and gyrating under a spinning mirrored ball and doing their best to imitate all the latest dance steps they'd seen on TV. A few disconsolate waiters and waitresses glided among the tables and everybody seemed to have a look of bored indifference, appearing to be out for a pose more than just a good time.

Les ordered another two bottles of shampoo. He glugged one down almost straight away when he noticed Mitchell seemed to be staring behind him, a look of apprehension on his face. Norton was about to say something when he felt himself grabbed under the armpits and hauled roughly to his feet; champagne spilling down the front of his shirt. ‘Righto, on your feet cunt,' he heard someone bark.

Norton's eyebrows were bristling on his darkened face as he spun angrily around, fists clenched ready to fill the Brisbane Underground with left hooks and uppercuts. When he saw who it was he dropped his hands and let out a roar of laughter that shook the glasses on the surrounding tables.

‘Well I'll be fucked,' he bellowed. ‘You pair of dills. What are you up to?' It was two of his old mates from Dirranbandi, Lawrie Walters and Joey Lynch. ‘Christ it's good to see you,' he grabbed the two men's extended hands and started pumping them vigorously. ‘You're the last blokes I expected to see, especially in this joint.'

‘Listen blood nut, don't be worryin' about us,' said Joey shaping up to Les. ‘What the fuck are you doin' in Brizzie?'

Norton threw back his head and roared laughing again. ‘I'm a bloody movie star.'

‘Ah bullshit.' The two men grabbed Norton and started pummeling him again. Finally Les sat them down, introduced them to Mitchell and told them what was going on, smiling smugly as they sat there laughing with amazement.

‘So what are you pair doin' here anyway?' asked Les.

‘Well, you know that magnificent thoroughbred horse of ours?' said Lawrie.

‘You don't mean that refugee from a glue factory, Flash Dirrin do you?' said Les. ‘Christ, that thing should've gone into a carton of Pal years ago.'

‘Hey don't knock it. We got him up today.'

‘It didn't win a race, did it?'

‘My oath,' said Joey. ‘66/1.'

‘Fair dinkum?' Norton was astounded.

‘And how much do you think these two little old country boys had on it?'

Norton shook his head.

‘Ten thousand.'

Norton stared at them both. ‘You've won over half a million.' His two friends just nodded their heads and grinned back at Les.

Norton let out another great bellow of laughter. ‘By Jesus, I always said old Flash was a good horse now, didn't I?'

‘You lyin' red headed bastard,' roared Lawrie.

‘Anyway Les old son,' said Joey. ‘We brought old Flash down for the meeting, we've left all the bookies at Doomben with faces longer than a milk run and now we're out celebratin'. Why don't you get your mate here and join us. We got a couple of sheilas at our table and we can soon get some more.'

Mitchell looked at the three of them and realised there was going to be a bit of a night on so it was as good a cue as any for him to leave. He stifled a yawn and turned to Norton.

‘Les, I don't want to sound like a wet blanket but I might leave you and your mates to it. I'm just about knackered and I've got a fair bit on tomorrow, so . . .'

‘All right Mitchell, if you want to hit the toe fair enough.' Les stood up as Mitchell rose to leave. ‘Listen, we'll probably kick on so will you give me a yell at say 10 o'clock. We don't start till 12.'

‘No worries.' Mitchell turned to the others. ‘See you again fellahs. Nice meeting you.'

‘See you, Mitchell.'

‘Righto blood nut, over to our table,' said Joey as Mitchell left the club.

Norton picked up the remaining bottle of champagne plus the ice bucket and followed the boys over to a large table where two attractive but street-wise blondes were sitting surrounded by more ice buckets full of champagne.

‘Hello,' said Norton to Joey. ‘Where'd you find the two lovelys?'

‘Escort agency. They're not bad scouts either, you want us to get you one?'

‘Fuckin' oath. Why not?'

They sat down and Lawrie introduced Les. ‘Terri, Jill, this is a mate of ours, Les.'

‘Hello Les.'

‘Hello girls. How are you?'

The two blondes were in their mid-20s and fairly much alike except Terri was a little taller than Jill and wore her hair long and straight whereas Jill's was done up in a bun. They still had their good looks and figures though the hard life and the sands of time had etched a few small lines on their faces that make-up couldn't quite conceal. But there was no hardness in their eyes tonight. The two country racehorse owners were good blokes and obviously looking after them, so as far as the girls were concerned they were out to have a good time and get paid for it. Handsomely.

‘Old Les here reckons you're two of the best sorts he's ever seen in his life,' said Joey. ‘And he wants to know if you can get a girlfriend for him.'

‘Sure Les,' said Terri smiling at him. ‘Anything in particular you'd like?'

‘Yeah. A redhead with big tits,' replied Norton, a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

‘Sounds like Renee,' Jill said to Terri without changing the expression on her face. ‘Is she available tonight?'