I don’t think Dad is too thrilled to be here
either. He is fidgeting and drumming his fingers on the table.
‘Stop that,’ says Mum. ‘Do you want everybody to look at us?’
‘No,’ says Dad. ‘Just the waiter. What do we have to do to get some service around here?’
‘Be patient,’ says Mum. ‘This is a five-star restaurant, not a fast-food outlet.’
‘It is for some people,’ says Dad, nodding towards a table nearby. ‘That couple arrived after us and they’ve already been served drinks, and they’ve got menus.’
I’ve got something that will get the waiter’s attention. Hanging on the back of my chair is my jacket, and in the pocket is a party popper I brought with me.
I reach around to get it, but Danny stops me.
He grabs my arm.
‘Hey,’ he whispers. ‘Isn’t that Natasha Teasedale?’
‘Where?’ I say.
Danny points at the couple Dad was talking about. They are sitting a few tables away from us.
‘No,’ I say. ‘It can’t be.’
‘It is,’ says Danny. ‘Look at her hair. And that’s Dirk Gibson with her.’
The more I look, the more I think Danny might be right. She has curly red hair that cascades down either side of her face and rests in bunches on the table-top. It’s Natasha Teasedale all right. Nobody else in the world has hair like that.
‘Wow!’ I say.
In case you’ve just crawled out from under a rock, Natasha Teasedale is the biggest star on Australian television. She’s been in millions of shows and movies and won thousands of logies. Her boyfriend Dirk Gibson is on television too, but he’s not as big a star as Natasha. He’s on the wrestling program where big dumb beefcakes pretend to fight each other. Beats me what she sees in him.
‘Should we go and say hello?’ says Danny.
‘No!’ I say.
‘Why not?’ he says. ‘Are you chicken?’
‘No, I just wouldn’t know what to say or do.’
‘How about, “Hello”?’ says Danny. ‘And we could give her some flowers.’
‘Where are we going to get flowers from?’ I say.
‘From there,’ says Danny, pointing to the table next to ours. It’s all set up with plates and cutlery and there’s a vase of little pink flowers in the middle, but there’s nobody sitting at it.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Go on.’
‘You’ve got to come too,’ says Danny.
‘No way,’ I say. ‘You saw her first.’
‘You like her more than me,’ says Danny.
‘Do not.’
‘Do so.’
‘But she’s with her boyfriend,’ I say.
‘No she’s not,’ says Danny. ‘Not any more. He just left the table.’
I look over. Danny’s right. Natasha is alone. It’s now or never.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Let’s do it.’
We stand up.
‘Where are you going?’ says Mum.
‘We’re just going to the toilet,’ I say.
Mum looks at Dad.
Dad is cleaning his fingernails with his fork. He puts his fork down, looking guilty. ‘What are you looking at me for?’
‘Go with them,’ says Mum.
‘Me?’ says Dad. ‘Why?’
‘Well I can’t go,’ says Mum.
‘Actually, we don’t need anybody to take us,’ I say. ‘We’re old enough to go by ourselves.’
‘Well, don’t cause any trouble,’ says Mum.
‘We’re only going to the toilet,’ I say.
‘No need to use that tone of voice with me,’ says Mum. ‘You know exactly what I mean. Go straight there. Don’t play with the flush buttons. Don’t lock the cubicle doors and climb out over the top. Wash your hands when you’ve finished. Don’t have races to see how fast you can empty the soap dispenser. Don’t point the hand dryer at your hair and pretend you’re rock stars—remember, other people have to use the restrooms as well as you.’
I give Mum a withering look.
‘How old do you think I am?’
‘Do I have to answer that?’
‘Come on, Danny,’ I say.
‘And don’t throw your pants out the window!’ calls Mum.
We walk quickly away from the table before Mum can say anything else embarrassing. I don’t want Natasha to hear.
‘Grab the flowers,’ whispers Danny.
I take the flowers from the vase.
Danny and I are both very nervous.
We walk up to Natasha’s table. Up close she is even more beautiful than she is on television.
‘Hello,’ I say.
Natasha is concentrating on her menu. She doesn’t hear me.
I clear my throat and try again.
‘Um, excuse me,’ I say. ‘Natasha?’
She looks up.
‘No autographs, boys,’ she says with a sigh. ‘I’m relaxing, okay?’
‘We don’t want autographs,’ I say. I offer her the flowers, which are dripping. ‘We just wanted to give you these.’
Her face softens.
‘Why, thank you,’ she says.
‘They’re from me too,’ says Danny. He reaches across the table to try to give them to her as well. He can be so childish sometimes.
As he reaches, he bumps my arm and I knock over a candle. It falls out of the holder and rolls across the table towards Natasha. The flame connects with her frizzy curls and climbs up her hair in an instant.
This is unbelievable. We just wanted to say hello—not set her hair on fire.
There is an almost-full glass of beer on the table. I pick it up and throw it at her burning hair. It puts the fire out. Apart from being wet, her hair hardly looks any different. If it wasn’t for the smell, you wouldn’t even know there’d been a fire. I’m a hero.
‘How dare you!’ she splutters. ‘How dare you throw beer in my face!’
I must have been too quick. Natasha doesn’t seem to realise what has happened. Before I can explain, she picks up her glass of red wine and throws it at me.
I duck.
She looks past me and puts her hand over her mouth. I turn around.
It’s Dirk. The wine has gone all over his shirt. He looks like he’s splattered with blood.
‘Sorry, Dirk,’ she says. ‘I wasn’t aiming for you. It was meant for him.’
‘Why?’ says Dirk. ‘Did he hurt you?’
‘He threw beer in my face,’ says Natasha.
‘He what?’ says Dirk. His face goes as red as his shirt.
He picks up a breadstick. It’s a giant one— more like a club than a breadstick.
‘I’ll teach you to throw beer in a lady’s face,’ he says.
‘No, you don’t understand,’ I say. ‘Her hair was on fire.’
‘You set her hair on fire?’ he says.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Well, no. I mean I did, but I didn’t mean to. I was just giving her some flowers.’
‘They were from me as well,’ says Danny.
Dirk’s face is twisted with rage.
‘You tried to give my girlfriend flowers?’
I’m backed up against the table next to Natasha’s. Dirk steps towards me. I realise that nothing I can say will calm him down.
I reach behind me for a weapon. My hands close on something soft and oily. I look down. I’ve got three olives.
‘Stop right there!’ I say to Dirk.
But he keeps right on coming.
I throw one of the olives at him. He uses the breadstick to bat it clear across the restaurant. It hits the front window and splatters like a bug on a windscreen.
‘Andy!’ yells Mum. ‘Stop that!’
She is standing up, hands on her hips, glaring at me.
‘What about him?’ I say.
Mum looks at Dirk.
‘You stop it too,’ she says.
But Dirk doesn’t stop. He takes a step towards me.
I chuck another olive. Dir
k bats it into the chandelier and sets it spinning. It creates a sort of disco ball effect, throwing little circles of light around the room.
‘Stop it, Dirk!’ screams Natasha.
‘Just let me hit him once,’ he says. He raises the breadstick over his shoulder.
I throw my last olive. Dirk bats it straight back at me. It’s like a bullet. It hits me in the chest with such force that I am propelled backwards onto a table-top.
I look up. I see the surprised faces of two old ladies above me.
‘Excuse me,’ I say. ‘A little accident . . .’
‘Accident nothing,’ says one of the ladies. ‘It was that brute’s fault.’
‘I’ve never liked that Dirk Gibson,’ says the other lady, putting a little bowl of pepper into my hand. ‘He’s nothing but a big bully. Give him this from us.’
‘Thanks,’ I say. It’s just what I need. And just in time.
Dirk picks me up by my collar. He’s frothing at the mouth. I throw the pepper into his face. The reaction is instant.
‘Ah-ah-ah . . . CHOO!’
Right in my face. I’m blown back across the table. Dirk staggers around blindly and crashes into the waiter who is carrying a tray of drinks.
The waiter stumbles backwards into my dad’s lap. Dirk lands on top of them both. Dad’s chair collapses and they end up in a sprawling heap on top of him.
‘Get off me, you big ape!’ yells Dad.
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ says the waiter.
‘I wasn’t talking to you,’ says Dad. ‘I was talking to that gorilla on top of us.’
‘Are you calling me a gorilla?’ says Dirk, getting to his feet.
Dad wriggles out from underneath the waiter and stands up. ‘On second thoughts, no,’ says Dad, brushing himself off. ‘Because it’s an insult to gorillas. I’d say somebody who picks on people smaller than himself is more accurately described as a coward.’
‘Go, Mr G!’ calls Danny.
‘Shut up, Danny!’ says Dad.
‘You just made a big mistake, fella,’ says Dirk. ‘Nobody calls Dirk Gibson a coward and gets away with it.’
‘Oh knock it off, Dirk,’ says Natasha.
But Dirk’s not listening. He is bearing down on Dad. Dad is backing away. He looks behind him at a large display of fruit. He picks up a pineapple.
‘Don’t come any closer,’ says Dad. ‘I’ve got a pineapple . . . and I’m not afraid to use it.’
Dirk laughs.
‘Just try it!’ he says.
‘If you insist,’ says Dad.
Dad whups Dirk over the head with the pineapple. Dirk staggers around looking dazed. His legs buckle underneath him and he slumps to the ground. You can almost see the birds and stars circling above him.
‘Good one, Mr G!’ says Danny.
Mum appears beside us. She has my jacket in her hand.
‘Come on,’ she says. ‘We’re leaving. Before you can do any more damage.’
‘But what about our food?’ says Danny.
‘Never mind your food,’ says the waiter. He’s kneeling on the floor, putting the broken glasses back on the tray. ‘I think it’s best for everyone if you leave now. There is a fish and chip shop at the end of the street. You might feel more at home there.’
Mum gives him one of her withering looks.
He gives her one back.
She huffs, turns and walks straight into an ice bucket on a stand. It clatters to the floor and she falls on top of it. Dad rushes to help her.
‘Oh no,’ says Danny, grabbing my arm. ‘Look!’
I turn around.
The noise seems to have woken Dirk out of his stupor. He shakes his head and looks at us.
‘Quick,’ says Danny. ‘Run!’
‘Oh no you don’t!’ roars Dirk.
We are heading for the door. Danny is just ahead of me. We are almost at the cake cabinet near the front register. I look back. Too late.
Dirk leaps and tackles me to the ground. I’m scrambling to get away but he’s holding me tightly around my waist, boa constrictor style. He’s going to squeeze me to death.
‘Help me, Danny!’ I gasp.
Danny runs around to the back of the cake cabinet and grabs a pavlova.
‘Let go of him!’ says Danny, balancing the pavlova on one hand.
‘Not until he’s learnt his lesson,’ says Dirk, squeezing me even tighter.
‘Have it your way,’ says Danny. ‘I just hope you’re hungry.’
He pushes the pavlova into Dirk’s face. Dirk yells and lets go of me to wipe the cream and strawberries from his eyes. I quickly wriggle away.
Dirk gets up and lunges at Danny.
Danny jumps up onto the cake cabinet, leaps for the chandelier and swings himself clear across the restaurant.
Dirk turns back to me.
I run to the corner, pull a table over and barricade myself in against the wall.
Dirk reaches over the top of the table.
I see a fork on the floor. I pick it up and stab at his hand.
He shrieks and pulls his arm away.
He tries to grab the table and pull it away from the wall. I stab him again.
‘For heaven’s sake, control your boys,’ the waiter yells at Mum and Dad. ‘They are destroying the restaurant.’
Dad points at Dirk. ‘What about him?’ he says. ‘He started it!’
‘Yeah,’ says the lady who passed me the pepper, ‘the big ugly brute!’
‘He is not ugly,’ says Natasha.
‘You would say that, you floozy!’ says the lady. She grabs a bowl of fruit salad and tips it over Natasha’s head.
Danny rushes to Natasha’s aid.
‘Leave her alone!’ he says, grabbing the pepper-lady’s hair.
‘No, Danny!’ I yell. ‘She’s on our side!’
But it’s too late. Danny pushes the pepper-lady’s face into a bowl of soup. Her friend throws an omelette at Danny. He ducks and it wraps around the head of a man at the next table. The man’s wife retaliates by throwing a huge plate of seafood at Danny.
Her throw is wild and the stuff on the tray goes everywhere. Pieces of fish, prawns, crabs, squid, oysters, and lots of other blobby squishy things are flung across the room. Almost everyone in the restaurant is hit by something.
Suddenly everybody seems to be involved. Food is flying in all directions—entrees, main courses, desserts—you name it, people are chucking it. Even Mum is hurling stuff. She’s not exactly hitting anyone, but she seems to be enjoying herself all the same.
Dirk smashes a chair against my table. ‘Are you a man or a mouse?’ he roars. ‘Come out and fight!’
‘Dirk! That’s enough!’ screams Natasha above the noise.
But nothing will stop Dirk. He is on a mission. A mission to destroy me.
If only I had my party popper.
I look around for my jacket. It’s lying on the floor where Mum dropped it when she fell over the ice bucket.
I come out from behind the barricade. Dirk is in such a frenzy that he doesn’t see me. I grab a tablecloth and put it over my head.
I crawl towards my jacket.
Somebody is hitting me with something hard.
I peer out from under the tablecloth. It’s Danny. He’s whacking me with a lobster.
‘Knock it off, you moron,’ I say. ‘It’s me.’
‘Sorry, mate,’ says Danny.
I make it to my jacket and fumble in the pocket for the popper. Got it!
I stand up. Something wet and spongy hits me in the face. I fall down and drop the popper.
I look up.
Oh no, Dirk has seen me. He’s seen the popper too.
He dives to the floor. We are both scrabbling for the popper. He grabs it and holds it centimetres away from my face.
‘Got you now, you little weasel,’ he says.
‘Watch out,’ says Dad. ‘He’s got a party popper!’
‘I know that, Dad,’ I say, not taking my eyes off the popper fo
r a second.
‘Don’t worry,’ says Danny. ‘I’ve got you covered.’
We both look up. Danny is standing on top of the bar. He’s holding a bottle of champagne, his thumbs poised on the cork. ‘Drop it, Dirk!’
Dirk stares at him.
‘You keep out of this,’ he says. ‘This is none of your business.’
‘His business is my business,’ says Danny. He shakes the bottle and takes aim. ‘Drop it or I’ll blow you into the middle of next week.’
Dirk hesitates for a moment and then drops the popper.
‘Damn kids,’ he says.
He stands up and turns to Natasha.
‘Come on,’ he says, ‘let’s get out of here.’
‘No way,’ she says. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’
‘But . . .’
‘It’s over, Dirk.’
She takes off an enormous engagement ring and throws it at him.
‘I was only trying to protect you,’ he says.
‘That’s what you always say,’ she says. ‘And you always end up making it worse.’
People start applauding. Natasha looks radiant. It’s one of the greatest performances of her career—and we’re seeing it live.
Dirk bends down and picks up the ring.
‘You’re all crazy!’ he yells, and barges out of the restaurant.
Everybody in the restaurant applauds.
I stand up.
Danny jumps down off the bar and we high five each other.
Natasha comes over to us.
‘I just wanted to thank you both,’ she says.
‘Don’t mention it,’ I say.
‘No, really,’ she says. ‘I’ve never seen anybody stand up to Dirk the way you did today. And to think I was going to marry that brute. You’ve shown me just how violent and bad-tempered he really is. You were very brave and I’d like to give you a reward.’
‘No, please,’ I say. ‘It’s not necessary . . .’
‘Close your eyes,’ says Natasha. ‘Both of you.’
I can’t believe it! She’s going to kiss me!
Just Stupid! Page 5
