Cheaters

by JR Carroll

  As the food became ready he served steaming portions into their bowls on a bed of fluffy rice spooned there by the waitress, who also plied them with the Hill of Grace before respectfully melting away. The high point of Simon’s act was to scramble and then fold the eggs lengthwise, after which he chopped off bite-sized sections and flicked them into their open mouths with his spatulas. This was what made everyone in the place scream, and Simon did not miss his target once. The meal was certainly delicious, but the vintage Henschke’s, the last available bottle at Dan Murphy’s cellars down the road, stole the show.

  Danny had never tasted a finer red. Watching Mischa sip hers over the top of his goblet while Simon went about his business and diners clapped and shrieked around them, he experienced, along with the bursting of flavours on his palate, a sudden wave of pure optimism that all would be well, that he was destined to triumph over everything, that he would have his Mischa. If not this night, soon. It was absolutely a sure bet. Apart from the signals he was getting from her, their association with Barry was his ace.

  When they left the restaurant leaving Simon a hefty tip, the first thing Danny did, while they stood on the footpath, was put his arm around Mischa’s shoulder, bring her hard against him and plant a serious kiss on her upturned lips. When it was over he pushed his hand firmly through the hair at the back of her head so that he was rubbing the curve of her scalp, and said: ‘You’re something special, you know that, girl?’

  She smiled, but didn’t say anything, so he kissed her again, first on the lips and then on the cheek, feeling the tip of her drop earring brush against his nose. His hopes and other things were rising by the second. Mischa nestled into the crook of his shoulder, and he was surprised at how small she felt. He had never thought of her as small, just … neat and compact.

  ‘What do you want to do now?’ he whispered against her face.

  ‘Hmm … a coffee would be nice. Somewhere a bit gentler on the ears than that.’

  Danny laughed and said, ‘If I’d known it was going to be a three-ring circus I’d’ve picked somewhere else. Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It was fun.’

  ‘Did you like Simon?’

  ‘Very much. He was a total scream. So clever and quick.’

  ‘He’s gonna be a doctor, for Chrissakes. Did you get that amongst all the flummery?’

  ‘Yes, I did. But I couldn’t follow a lot of what he said.’

  ‘I don’t know if I’d like to have him operating on me. He’d have your bloody appendix and your gallstones and whatever else whipped out before you knew you’d been sliced open.’

  They had begun to walk in the direction of the car. Before reaching it, Mischa suggested that since they were so close they might as well adjourn to her place for a coffee or tea. She had some Twining’s Orange Pekoe and Darjeeling and she was pretty sure there was some chocolate cake if he was interested in that. Danny wasn’t really a tea and cake man but who was arguing. His plan was coming together nicely.

  The hallway in the narrow terrace was illuminated by a purple Chinese lantern, suspended from the high ceiling, in which wooden battens could be seen through patches of rotted plaster. There was also the smell of rising damp, like the smell of wet carpet and a mustiness that was only partly offset by burning incense. Nobody else seemed to be home, although Danny noticed there was a light on in the second bedroom as they went past on the squeaky floorboards. In the lounge, Mischa switched on a leadlight lamp with a red and green parrot design sitting on a large stereo speaker, then went into a galley kitchen with a wooden bench and an ancient porcelain sink. Danny leaned his shoulder on the doorjamb while she examined the contents of the fridge with her backside pointed straight at him.

  ‘Ah. Here we are,’ she said, and took out the remnants of a chocolate mud cake with whipped cream and candles on it. Setting it on the sink she said, ‘It was for Stephanie’s birthday.’

  ‘Did you make it?’

  ‘No, Jan did. She’s the only cook in this place. She’s had gourmet lessons. I don’t know how I’m gonna manage without her, really. Yum.’ She’d scooped some cream into her mouth with her finger.

  Danny said, ‘She’s very … brave, going off on her own like that.’

  ‘Very brave indeed. I wouldn’t do it. Do you want tea? Or coffee? Have to be instant.’

  ‘Tea, please.’

  She began boiling water, opened a cupboard and withdrew a jar of teabags, found mugs.

  ‘So when is Jan leaving?’ Danny said.

  ‘Soon. In about … three weeks.’

  ‘Iran, for Christ’s sake. Are you allowed to go there?’

  Mischa said, ‘Only if you’ve got a doctor’s certificate saying you’re out of your tiny mind.’

  Danny laughed, then said, ‘You told me they were both leaving the house.’

  ‘That’s right. Stephanie’s going home just before Christmas.’

  ‘Where’s she from?’

  ‘Oh … Deniliquin, somewhere around there. Her family has a farm.’

  ‘She’s going to live on a farm?’

  ‘No. There’s a man involved. They’re going to be married on the farm. Then I don’t know what their plans are.’

  ‘So you’ll be left on your lonesome.’

  ‘Sure will.’ She gave him a bright expression. ‘But I can just handle it. I think.’

  The water boiled. She made the tea, cut two wedges of the cake and put them on a plate with spoons and forks. Then they went into the lounge room and sat on the ottoman with the velvet patchwork cover. When they were settled against the wall with the supper set down between them, Mischa cupped her hands around her mug, turned towards him, sipped her tea and said, ‘You look like a very private person to me, Danny. Now tell me your history and all your deepest, darkest secrets.’

  Danny thought, What a mindreader she is. ‘All of them?’ he said.

  ‘Absolutely. Don’t leave anything out. I should warn you I’m very good at getting people to tell me intimate things, even when they say they don’t want to. I’m known for it.’ He blew on his tea and sipped it and said, ‘There is a bit of a story if you really want to hear it.’

  She looked at him squarely, and was most alluring in the lamplight with the shadows and the streaks of lurid red and green reflecting on her face and setting off her eyes. ‘I knew there was. God, I’m a terrific judge of people,’ she said with a husky burr, then cleared her throat. ‘So tell. Give.’

  So off he went, launching into the whole business concerning Paul Sigmund Barry while Mischa sipped her tea with her wide eyes fixed unwaveringly on his. When he was partway through she placed a hand on his thigh and said, ‘Wait. Hold it right there. I’ll be back in a sec.’

  She got up and left the room, disappearing into the darkened hallway. When she returned in two shakes of a puppy’s tail she was holding a Drum tobacco pouch, a box of matches and an ashtray. She resumed her position, smiling eagerly, folded her legs underneath her and set about making a reefer – there was no mistaking that sweet, seductive scent.

  ‘It’s mostly seeds and sticks now,’ she said. ‘But we should be able to make something out of it. Sorry. Go on.’

  ‘Well, there isn’t much more,’ he said. ‘The rest you basically know from what I told you at Shanghai House. The joke is I’m probably laundering the missing investors’ funds for him.’

  ‘That’s weird, Danny,’ she said, hunching over the makings. Danny was watching her load the two papers she’d stuck together with tobacco, then lace it with the green stuff. ‘I mean, Victor, picking you out at the casino and all. Maybe, you know, it was meant to happen, that kind of shit.’

  ‘I don’t know about that kind of shit,’ Danny said. ‘But I know about this kind of shit.’

  She had finished rolling the roach, tapered the end with her lips and was now igniting it. There was a little shower of sparks. She sucked deeply, held it in and then breathed out slowly before passing it to him. Soon they were puffing awa
y. It was a damn good reefer, rich and reasonably potent, but not a total blast. The seeds in it popped now and then. They passed it back and forth, discussing Paul Sigmund Barry and Victor Wineglass, the clothes horse who was his front man. In a short time, Danny was drifting nicely. It was a purely benign high, made even more so by virtue of the fact that he was sharing it with Mischa, at her instigation. The higher he got the more lurid she looked with the lampshade playing on her face. Somewhere in the middle of it she said, ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Danny, but … are you part-Asian?’

  Danny took a pull on the joint, sucking the smoke deep down into his lungs in the prescribed manner, then let it out in a succession of rings towards the ceiling. ‘My mother’s grandmother was half-Chinese, from Singapore,’ he said, and to his own ears the words seemed to come out twice, like a deja vu effect. They were actually stated before leaving his mouth, and he was sort of echoing himself. Amazing shit. Good dope.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘that makes me … one-sixteenth.’

  ‘Right,’ Mischa said, nodding trance-like, dilating her eyes to keep them open.

  He reached across and took her hand. ‘How’re you travelling?’

  She curled her fingers around his and shut her eyes, smiling into space, but didn’t speak; a perfect, still, soundless moment.

  They finished that number and Mischa was soon putting another one together while Danny hungrily ate cake. They smoked happily through the second reefer, and in the middle of it one of the other women in the household, Stephanie or Jan – Danny couldn’t tell them apart – came into the room and chatted for a while. Then Danny noticed she wasn’t there any more. It was the weirdest feeling: he’d simply missed a slice of time. Stephanie – or Jan – might have been there for five minutes or an hour for all he knew. There was just this third voice in the room, and then there wasn’t. He looked through his trance at Mischa, who seemed far away. She was nodding and looking very drowsy, so he drew her against his shoulder. He had the impression there was this vast distance between them, making him reach way over. She slumped against him, and for some vague, indeterminate time they lay sprawled on the quilted ottoman, stoned and half-asleep, enfolded in the stillness and tranquillity of the room. Danny had no idea what time it was, and all he got from trying to read his watch was confusion. His mouth was dry and he needed a drink, but didn’t believe he could climb to his feet and then make it all the way to the kitchen and back. When he sat up a little, his head started to swim ominously, round and round, so he settled back again with Mischa snoozing against him, her head drooped so that her fallen hair concealed her face. He straightened her up, pushed the hair back off her face and admired her beauty in sleep. She really was something special. Leaning on the end of the ottoman with Mischa nestled limply on his chest he realised he was there for the duration. No way was he driving. Her passive bodyweight resting on him was a precious burden he would not have disturbed for anything. There would have to be a fire for him to wake her up.

  As it turned out he didn’t need to because she eventually stirred of her own volition, lifting her head and looking about in a sleepy, disoriented way. On noticing Danny she mumbled in a slightly surprised tone, ‘Oh – Danny. Hi there,’ before sighing and coming down onto his chest again.

  Danny brushed a hand over her head and said, ‘Tired?’

  ‘Hm hmm. Tired. Majorly tired.’

  ‘Do you want your bed?’

  ‘Hm hmm. Bu’ you’ ha’t’ carr’ ’e.’

  ‘I’ll carry you. Come on, then.’

  When he lifted her up she snuggled into him like a baby, with her arms locked around his neck. She was not heavy: in fact there seemed to be nothing to her as he twisted sideways and made his way up the narrow hall to the front room. Once in there he set her down gently on the end of the bed and steadied her by holding her shoulder. Then she sort of came to, getting herself together and smiling and giving him her doped-up eyes, perhaps wondering what he was doing there, or what lay in store. Danny didn’t know what to do next. The plan was to jump into bed with her, but he wasn’t really sure if she realised that.

  ‘Wassa time?’ she said, rubbing her arms and yawning.

  ‘Late. Quarter past three.’

  ‘Oh. I fell asleep, didn’t I.’

  ‘Sure did.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘No.’

  A silent impasse followed, during which Danny began to feel that he had overstayed his welcome. Neither of them moved, until finally Danny decided he would have to leave.

  ‘Well, Mischa,’ he said.

  She looked up at him, trying hard to focus. ‘Well. I can’t seem to get my act together, can I.’

  ‘Want some help?’

  In reply she thrust her arms into the air – an invitation for Danny to pull off her skivvy. He reached down over her, freed it from her corduroys and carefully lifted the garment over her head. And there she was, sitting in her bra, one strap of which had slid down her shoulder to reveal most of her breast, including a part of the nipple. A nervous tension flowed through Danny. Mischa stood up on wobbly pins, touching the large brass bed for support as she indid the cords and pushed them down her legs, nearly falling over when she kicked them off. Danny could not help staring as he unbuttoned his shirt and worked off his Rockports.

  What she had on underneath were the skimpiest panties imaginable, a nifty little number in dark blue satiny material with gold stars and crescent moons on it. During her undressing they had slid down over her hips and there was so little material anyway he could see most of her shaved pubic triangle. When she turned around there was so much cleavage at the back she needn’t have bothered having anything on. She unclipped her bra and tossed it on the floor as if she were moving in slow motion. As he remembered from the first time he saw her, Mischa’s breasts were not big but flawlessly shaped, all firmness and bounce. She massaged them briefly as if they were itching and then climbed inside the covers, muttering, ‘Bed’, and leaving the panties half-on, as if they’d slipped her mind as well as her waist. Danny didn’t know what to make of that, so to avoid embarrassment and misunderstandings he kept on his underpants, which were black Calvin Klein Y-fronts with a white band. Danny always paid top dollar for his underwear and accessories. He switched off the light, shut the door and got in unobtrusively alongside her. He still wasn’t really sure if he was supposed to be there or not, since she had been too spaced to issue an invitation in so many words. Danny himself was no longer stoned at all, but wide awake and ready for the business. He turned towards her. It was just possible to see in the gloom.

  Mischa was facing him, but was almost completely concealed by bedclothes and hair. They did not touch, and Danny was wondering if she was already asleep. No sounds of breathing came from her, nothing at all. All was stillness and silence, as if they were in a state of suspension. After a while he reached across and placed a hand on her shoulder, under the bedclothes, then moved the hand gradually along the silky curves of her body to her naked hip. No response. He moved the hand back up, stroking her softly the way he would a cat, trying to arouse her interest. Mischa murmured, but did not move. He took one of her breasts in his hand and fondled it gently and as he did so his cock became stiff, straining against his underpants. He edged a little closer while continuing to fondle her breast, which sat nicely, tightly, in his palm. Then he sneaked his hand down over her stomach and navel and inside the skimpy panties, feeling her bristly mound and allowing his hand to rest on it without doing anything. His cock was throbbing in his Y-fronts. In a few moments, Mischa murmured something and pushed his hand away, so he returned it to her shoulder and began the process again: stroking, fondling her breasts, briefly touching her nipples, placing the flat of his hand on her stomach, which was filmed with a light sweat.

  He leaned over and kissed her hair and face as his fingers ventured into her knickers and felt her cunt. He could smell the marijuana in her hair. She let him touch her up for a few seconds, then languid
ly pushed his hand away again, making a short, negative sound in her throat. Randy as he was, Danny was seriously starting to think there was no way he was fucking Mischa this night. He touched her bristly cunt again. She let him, then tiredly brushed his hand away. This was becoming really frustrating. His hard cock felt uncomfortable squashed into his Calvins, so he pulled them down a little and let it spring out. Christ he was so horny. With his cock out in the open this time he leaned across, parted her hair and kissed her on the dry lips, tasting marijuana. She did not respond, so he did it again, pressing his mouth onto hers with some urgency and playing with her firm, rubbery tits. He kissed her repeatedly, inching himself closer all the time, putting his hand inside her panties yet again and stroking her mons. She rustled slightly as his middle finger snaked its way between the soft lips of her opening, but he refrained from pushing it in for the moment. He kissed her and she kissed him back as he held her cunt quite firmly, massaging it and keeping his fingertip, now moist, on the cleft of her opening. Now he slid it in a little. Mischa parted her legs and then seemed to wake up to what was going on, made another rejection noise in her throat and decisively thrust his hand away. Danny sighed and lay on his back. Now he was right back to square one.