‘Right, well let’s see. What have we discovered about Brad and me in the course of the evening? Well, we both play rugby, but unfortunately he plays A grade and I play in a team so far down the alphabet that you’d have to watch three years of Sesame Street just to recognise the letter.’
‘Look, if you’re going to …’
‘No, wait … there’s more. He’s good-looking, well built, fit and a champion athlete and I’m … not; he’s got confidence, charisma and personality and … hey, what do you know, I don’t. So tell me, Razz, where precisely do you think my “competitive edge” lies?’
‘Hmmmm … well,’ Razza said thoughtfully, ‘are you handy with a rocket launcher at all?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Man, you need to chill out. You’re reading way too much into this Kelly and Brad thing, anyway. Sure he’s sort of with her tonight and they’re dancing together a bit and there might be some handies every now and then, but she’s not all over him like a rash, is she? So what I reckon is, he digs her much more than she digs him. I mean, you gotta admit, dude, it’s hardly been a grope-a-thon or duelling tongues, has it?’
I didn’t know whether Razz was making sense or I just desperately wanted to believe him. ‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Right – so you gotta snap out of it, man, and let Kelly see what she’s missing out on. And just remember, she invited you to this party and she wouldn’t have done that if she didn’t like you, OK?’
‘I guess.’
I looked across to the rumpus room where Sally and Jess were talking excitedly over a pile of CDs.
‘Anyway, what about you? You seem to be making quite an impression tonight.’
‘Yeah, I’m gonna see if I can get Jess’s number later. Man, she’s so hot, she’s white. She’s white hot.’
‘Jess? What about Sally?’
Razza gazed over into the rumpus room and for a rare moment went quiet. ‘Yeah … Sally’s really cool … She’s great … but I don’t think she’s my type.’
‘Not your type? What are you talking about, not your type? You guys like the same music, you’re both into soccer and you’ve both got the same warped sense of humour. I mean, I know Jess is well … Jess is incredible, but Sally’s … she’s something else.’
‘I know all that … but you heard what they said. She’s a brainiac, mate. She’s a chick version of Prindabel.’
‘Razz, Prindabel never looked anything like that.’
‘Yeah, all right … but why would the future dux of Lourdes College want to hang out with me? She got an Outstanding Achievement certificate in the National Maths Competition, dude. You know what I got – a sympathy card. Don’t laugh, it’s true. “Dear Mr Zorzotto, please accept our deepest condolences on the tragic loss of your brain”.’
‘Get out of here – you’re not dumb. Do you think you could come up with all those jokes if you were dumb? You’ve got brains all right, plenty of them.’
‘Really? Gee, do you think you could explain that to my teachers, because according to my report cards, there seems to be some confusion.’ Razza took a deep breath. ‘Look, all I’m saying is, I know my limits and Sally’s way too brainy to want anything to do with me.’
This didn’t sound like the Razza I knew.
‘So let me get this straight. It’s all right for you to give up just because Sally gets some stupid certificate, but when I find out Kelly is going with Mr Perfect I’m not allowed to wave the old white flag.’
‘It’s not the same.’
‘Seems like it to me.’
‘No, it’s not. You see, we’re different. For you it’s Kelly Faulkner or no one. You’re a sucker for all that love stuff. But me, I’m willing to accept defeat, cut my losses and give someone else a chance to enjoy the obvious pleasure of my company.’
‘Right, and of course I suppose it makes it easier to cut your losses when that someone else just happens to have some sizeable assets of her own?’
Razza raised an eyebrow at me. ‘What are you getting at?’
‘I was just wondering how much Jess’s “white-hot bod” might have influenced your decision.’
Razza’s mouth dropped open. ‘What … Are you seriously suggesting that that’s all I care about? Do you really think that just because some chick has the face of a centrefold goddess and the body of a lingerie model and is not afraid to show it, that somehow that’s important to me?’ He looked around wildly as if the world had turned against him. ‘Are … Are you accusing me of being … shallow?’
‘I just wondered …’
‘Well … maybe I am a little shallow,’ Razza said with a quick smile, then pointed a finger at me. ‘But it’s not like you think. It’s different. It’s a … a … deep kind of shallow.’
‘What!’
‘You heard me – a deep kind of shallow. Yeah, that’s right, just imagine if every guy was like you and thought stuff like personality, brains and being nice were more important than a to-die-for bod and a kick-ass face. I’m telling you, man, it would be chaos.’
I shook my head in disbelief, but Razza was only just warming to his task.
‘Yeah, if every guy was like you, just imagine all the really hot chicks who’d be lonely and abandoned. But because of me, and guys like me, hot chicks can rest easy knowing that we’re there to take care of them. Now, don’t you feel ashamed of yourself? Do you see now how selfish and narrow-minded you really are?’
‘Yes, I get it now. Looks like I had you all wrong. You’re kind of like … providing an important community service for hot chicks, is that it?’
Razza clicked his fingers as a crazy fire started to burn in his eyes. ‘Yeah, you got it exactly, man – an essential community service. Like a doctor … or, or … a social worker. Yeah, that’s it. That’s what I am. I’m a social worker for love. I’m doing my bit, man. I’m … part of the web of love!’
‘Part of the what?’
‘Part of the web of love-you know, just like that web of life thing that Hackworth’s always going on about in science – all that delicate balance of the ecosystem crap where all the animals and birds and plants are sort of linked together with creepy stuff like grubs and dung beetles and even those bacteria dudes in the soil.’
‘Right. So don’t tell me, let me guess. You’d be the dung beetle in the ecosystem of love, would you?’
‘Well may you laugh, Leseur, but I’ll tell you what I am,’ he said as his eyes darted about searching for inspiration. ‘I’m … I’m …’ Then he stopped and his eyes glowed with wonder at the night sky. ‘I’m a child of the universe,’ he said grandly, raising his arms into the air, ‘no less than the fleas and cigars – I have a right to be here!’
I studied Razza closely but still couldn’t work out whether he was being serious or just trying to be funny. It was also difficult to decide which of those two possibilities I found more disturbing.
9.
EEEEEEEEEEEEUUUUUUWWWWWW!
I survived the karaoke by playing a small but vital role as one of the back-up singers in various performances including an enthusiastic but melodically challenged version of ‘We are the champions’.
The real highlights, though, were Kelly and Sally doing a medley from Grease that was better than the original, Jess doing a Tiffany Jackson song with dance moves that made you completely forget that her voice sounded like someone had reversed a steamroller over a chihuahua, and Razza bringing the house down with a truly scary imitation of Elvis with ‘All shook up’. But what really had me cheering on the inside was the discovery that Brad was definitely no rock god and, like me, was happy to restrict himself to backing vocals.
The evening was certainly looking up. That is to say it was until someone said, ‘Hey, how about a swim?’
This is what I’d been dreading. I could just see myself stranded in my togs beside alpha male Brad and looking like the unbackable favourite in the Mr Puny-verse competition. I decided my only hope was to get changed fast and su
bmerge myself in the relative safety of the pool. So, while most of the others were still chatting away or getting themselves organised, I grabbed my gear and slipped into the nearest bathroom.
By the time I made it to the pool there were only two other people in the water-a guy and a girl up the deep end who seemed much more interested in each other than me. I threw my towel over a chair and dived in. Not long after, Brad came out and started talking to the couple at the far end of the pool. It gave me a chance to check out his muscles – I guess he had a few here and there. Who was I kidding? Brad had muscles where I didn’t even have a here and there. I inspected my own tanned and bulging arms in the pale light. They looked like two bent fluorescent tubes. I sank down to my neck in the water.
Pretty soon a couple of girls joined me in the shallow end and started talking quietly together. I paddled about and waited for Razza.
A little while later Sally’s baby sister Sophie wandered out struggling with a big plastic bottle of orange cordial. She looked around before coming over to the edge of the pool. ‘It don’t open,’ she said, thrusting it towards me. ‘You do it?’
I took it from her and loosened the top. ‘There you go,’ I said as I handed it back. Sophie wrapped her little fingers eagerly around the bottle but it slipped from her grasp and torpedoed into the water. For a second she stood there with her mouth gaping, then she burst into tears and ran back inside. The girls beside me turned briefly to see what the disturbance was, but by then it was all over.
With only the light coming from the rumpus room to work by, I started feeling around for the bottle with my feet. I was busy peering into the shadowy depths when I stepped forward and felt my foot land on something that started off firm but then popped and squashed flat under my weight.
At that exact moment Sally called from the back deck, ‘Hey, do you guys want some light down there?’ and suddenly the water around me lit up like a bright blue screen. More people spilled from the rumpus room. Two boys dive-bombed into the deep end. I looked up at Sally and smiled, but for some reason she didn’t smile back. And neither did the red-haired girl beside her – the one who was screwing up her face and pointing at me in horror.
I looked down at myself. At first I thought their reaction was because the underwater pool lights had turned my already pale body into a frightening replica of Gollum from Lord of the Rings. But then I saw it. A sinister yellowy-green cloud was spilling out from between my legs and billowing towards the surface. It’s just the cordial, I thought. My eyes flicked back to the deck. Sally looked ill. The red-haired girl was opening her mouth. ‘No … no … It’s just …’ But that was as far as I got. The red-haired girl’s face shrivelled up as if she was being force-fed a lemon, and then she let out a loud and extended ‘Eeeeeeeeeeeeeuuuuuuwwwwww!’
Instantly, around twenty pairs of eyes shot to the deck and then traced the line of the pointing finger back to the pool like they were tracking a ricocheting bullet. Twenty pairs of eyes came to rest on my groin. Two of those pairs of eyes belonged to the girls beside me who stood mesmerised as a stain of yellowy-green water snaked out from my togs and began to curl around their waists. We all looked up at the same time. Our eyes met. ‘No … no … It’s just …’ But that was as far as I got before they showed their tonsils and unleashed upon the world the shrillest, the most brain-piercing sound ever produced by human vocal chords. If only the Guinness Book of Records people could have been there to witness it. It was the sound of the universe unravelling. It was accompanied by a mad blur of hands churning up the water like a thousand outboard motors and a hysterical mass evacuation that would have been right at home in Jaws.
When the panic finally settled I was left standing alone in a choppy pool surrounded by a yellowy-green smudge and towered over by a circle of appalled faces.
Just when you think it’s safe to go back in the water (Daaaaaa-dum … daaaaaa-dum … da-dum-da-dum-da-dum-da-dum-da-dum), Ishmael Leseur’s Syndrome grabs you with its razor-sharp teeth.
10.
THE HUMAN RIP
‘You know, maybe it’s just me, but if I was desperate to win on to some chick, I really don’t think pissing in her best friend’s pool would be that high up on my to-do list.’
‘It. Was. Cordial.’
I grated out the words between clenched teeth as I imagined myself inflicting on Razza a variety of slow and excruciating forms of torture.
He looked at me through narrowing eyes. ‘Cordial? Sure. Originally.’
It was Monday morning, and we were waiting for Miss Tarango to arrive for English. I was sick of trying to explain away what Razza kept referring to as the Pool Piddle Affair or Piss-in-the-Watergate. I’d been through it enough on Saturday night, and the memory of those horrified faces burning down at me like spotlights was scorched permanently into my brain.
Of course I’d tried to explain. I told them about Sophie and the cordial bottle. But all they did was nod, smile weakly and exchange knowing glances. Sally, Kelly and Razza supported me, but I could tell the others weren’t convinced. I wasn’t helped much by the fact that Sophie, who obviously thought she was being accused of some horrendous crime, clammed up and refused to confirm my story. Not only that, but the cordial bottle seemed to have vanished and, strangely enough, no one was keen on leaping into the pool and helping me search for it. I felt surrounded by some kind of force field that repelled anyone who got too close. I couldn’t really blame them, I suppose. After all, they had just witnessed first-hand the horrors of Ishmael Leseur’s Syndrome and were probably petrified that it might be contagious.
‘You believe me, don’t you, Razz? I mean … really?’
He stopped twirling his pen and looked at me. ‘Yeah … Yeah, I guess I do. You’re just not the Star Trek commander type, are you?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You know,’ Razz said with a smile, ‘you’re not the kind of dude who boldly goes where no man has gone before.’
I smiled too. I didn’t think I’d be doing that for a while. Razza rolled his pen through his fingers then flicked it up so that it twirled like a helicopter rotor blade on his knuckles before sliding neatly back into his grasp.
‘Hey Razz … look … Sorry about Jess and everything.’
Unfortunately, at the party poor old Razz had suffered badly from guilt by association, and Jess, who up to the incident in the pool had been showing a lot of interest, suddenly kept her distance. Just by being my friend and sticking with me, Razz had been stained as well – and the stain was yellowy-green. By the time we left, Jess had become very friendly with a mate of Brad’s from Churchill Grammar.
‘Nah, forget it. Look at it this way – at least you saved me from Tiffany Jackson. Anyway, don’t forget that our real problem is how to get you and Kelly together.’
I’ll just let you imagine the expression on my face. ‘Do you have these fits often? Me and Kelly? Razz, there is no me and Kelly. It’s over-surely even you can see that? I don’t think I’ve exactly improved my chances against Brad, do you? I mean, in a battle to the death between Captain America and Urine Boy, you’re hardly going to put your money on me, are you?
‘I don’t know-judging by Saturday night’s effort, I’d say you’d probably piss it in.’ Razza threw back his head and laughed at his own joke. ‘Now that’s gold,’ he said, ‘… or possibly yellow.’
I buried my head in my hands.
‘Look, dude, you’re worrying way too much about the pool bit. That’s just one of those wacky things I told you would happen before you two finally get it on.’
‘Wacky? You think being labelled a serial pool wetter is wacky?’
‘Yeah,’ Razza said looking surprised, ‘don’t you?’
‘No … no, I don’t. And do you know why? Because I’m what is generally referred to as “normal” and you’re what’s commonly known as “a complete nutter”. You are. You’re mad, Razz. Kelly and I won’t “get it on”. It’ll never happen. It’s over.’
‘No way. It’s not over till the fat chick sings.’
I couldn’t believe it. It was like talking to a brick wall, only brick walls don’t argue back and they don’t grin stupidly at you as if you’re the one with your head filled with cement.
‘Razz, she’s sung already, all right. She’s … she’s packed up and gone home, and by now she’s probably six weeks into her weight-loss program at Jenny Craig’s and already forty kilos lighter. Read my lips – It’s over. I’ve got no hope with Kelly Faulkner. I got nothin’.’
‘Wrong, wrong, wrong,’ Razza said with a smug smile. ‘You got me.’
‘Hey, that’s right! How could I forget? I’ve got you – the social worker for love. I feel a lot better now. Mind if I borrow your mobile? I think I’ll invite Kelly for a sleep over this weekend.’
‘Awesome! Hold on-would your folks be cool with that?’
I bent forward until my forehead thudded on the desk. I was exhausted. It was useless trying to fight Razza. It was like being caught in a giant rip at the beach. You could struggle against it all you like, but you’d just end up draining all your energy and drowning. They reckon the trick is to relax and let the rip take you out to sea and then, when it weakens, all you have to do is signal for the lifesavers or drift down a bit and ride the waves back to the shore.
Well, here I was, sitting right beside the human rip. I realised that if I kept struggling against him he’d eventually suck every last ounce of strength from me and I’d end up agreeing to anything just to shut him up. That’s when I decided to apply the Surf Safety approach – just go along with Razza, pretend to let him carry me away with his mad ideas for a while. I figured he’d run out of steam eventually and then I’d simply paddle calmly back to reality.
It really did seem like a good plan, and I was sure that those lifesavers and beach-safety-expert people would be pleased. But still … I’d often wondered. What if the rip you get caught in is really strong? What if it carries you so far out that you can’t touch the bottom and the waves are huge and you can’t even see the beach any more? What if you start to cramp up before the lifesavers arrive? And what if there are sharks out there waiting for you?
Ishmael and the Return of the Dungongs Page 4
