The Day of the Gecko

by Robert G. Barrett

  Susie seemed to think for another moment. ‘Lemon-lime.’

  ‘Coming right up.’ There were a few people in the take-away side so, while he was waiting, Norton reflected on how he got to meet Side Valve Susie.

  It wasn’t long after Les finished with Easts. He met her at a party in Rose Bay. They went out, got on famously, and even managed to get into each other’s pants on a couple of occasions when they were consumed by the demon alcohol. They bumped each other in a hotel one night where Les was in an argument with two old Easts officials he was unlucky enough to come across. Susie put her head in, half-drunk, and started needling Les. Les was a bit testy and sort of told her to piss off. For which Norton copped what was left of Susie’s Bacardi and Coke over his head and she left with another bloke. Les bumped her again in the street and apologised for what he said, though he didn’t feel like a drink tossed over him was needed. Susie sort of apologised too. She was a bit drunk. But the bloke she left with turned out to be not such a bad chap and had plenty of money. So see you round, Les, anyway, and no hard feelings. And that was that. No hard feelings. Les would see Susie now and again and Susie would always give Les a bit of cheek and they’d laugh and share a joke.

  Susie’s cheek, however, got Side Valve her comeuppance and her nickname one night at The Bridge Hotel in Balmain, listening to a band. Susie kept pitching up to this bloke she fancied, even though his girlfriend was there. As the girlfriend got drunker, she got shittier and ended up belting Susie on the chin with a roll of ten cent coins, breaking Susie’s jaw. It wasn’t all that bad, but somehow it took ages to knit and every time Susie spoke it came out the side of her mouth with a lisp a bit like Sylvester the cat. Some horrible, low, insensitive, sexist men at the North Bondi started calling her Side Valve Susie. And it stuck; amongst a few callous women too. Even today, Susie’s jaw caught occasionally and she lisped the odd word now and again. Somehow, after that, Susie stopped going after other women’s men and throwing drinks over blokes as well.

  Les returned with the two Gatorades and sat back down alongside Susie. She thanked him, then they both took a drink. Susie had taken off her sunglasses to wipe her face and, despite a sweaty red face and no make-up, Les couldn’t help but notice Susie still had those attractive Joan Collins type of features and when he bumped her getting up from the stool he noticed there was nothing wrong with her body. Side Valve Susie was still very much a good sort.

  ‘Oh yeah. Good one, mate.’ Susie belched politely into her hand. ‘Thanks again, Les.’

  ‘My pleasure, Susie.’ Les took another swallow, then looked at her for a moment. ‘So what are you doing with yourself now, Susie? I haven’t seen you around for a while. Still hairdressing?’

  ‘Yeah, casual. That and some waitressing. Plus I do a bit of buying and selling on the side. I bought a home unit, Les, and it’s a constant battle between myself and the bank as to whether I should still be allowed to live there.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. They can be drop-kicks all right. I’m lucky. I own my joint.’

  ‘I got a young student staying with me at the moment. That helps a bit.’

  Norton’s eyes narrowed for a second. ‘Yeah, I’ve got a boarder at my place too.’

  ‘Warren?’

  ‘That’s him.’ Les decided to change the subject. ‘So what’s this buying and selling you do? Guns, drugs?’

  ‘That’s more in your line, isn’t it? No. CDs. Imports mainly. What about you, Les? What are you up to these days? You look good.’

  ‘So do you, Susie. Don’t worry about that.’

  ‘Thank you, Les.’

  Norton told her pretty much the truth. Casual work at the club. He’d had a couple of trips away. A bit of what happened. They laughed and joked. Susie said it was work mostly for her, trying to pay off a home unit. She hadn’t been going out much and when she did it was generally no great turn-on and expensive. Les smiled at her and thought, ‘why not?’

  ‘Well, I get a night off from the pickle factory now and again. How about we go out and have a nice meal? Or see a movie? Anything you like. Just for old times’ sake. This time, throw something over me I like. Jim Beam or Eumundi Lager.’

  Susie tossed back her head and laughed, then put her hand on Norton’s and looked at him. ‘All right, Les. That sounds good to me. I always had fun when we went out together.’

  Norton gave Susie’s hand a warm squeeze. ‘Did we ever.’

  ‘The thing is, though, I’m flying down to Melbourne at seven tonight. I won’t be back till Sunday.’

  Les seemed to sense something in Susie’s voice. ‘Everything’s okay? Nothing . . .?’

  ‘Actually it’s an old aunty died. She left the family two houses. So after the funeral and the weeping and wailing there’s the reading of the will. And I’m not sure, but I think I’m in the whack. Shit! I hope so.’

  ‘Yeah, wouldn’t that be handy,’ agreed Norton.

  ‘So I’m away for a week.’ Susie took her hand away and looked evenly at Norton for a moment. ‘Les, would you mind if I asked you a small favour?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ shrugged Les. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Your place is only just round the comer from my unit. Would you keep an eye on it for me while I’m away?’

  ‘What about the boarder? What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘He’s away somewhere.’ Susie’s voice seemed to soften. ‘It’s two minutes from your place. I’ve got all this stuff there, and there’s been some strange goingson lately. For an old friend, Les?’ she added with a coy smile that could have meant anything.

  Norton stared at Susie. It was as if the heavens had opened up and all the storm clouds had rolled away, leaving great shafts of sunshine. The answer to his problem. Les looked briefly at the sky. You’re up there, pal. I know you are.

  ‘I’ll go one better than that, Susie,’ he said. ‘How would you like me to move into the place while you’re away? Guard it night and day. I’ll do it for you, Susie.’

  ‘You will?’ Susie gave a bit of a double blink.

  Les looked Susie straight in the eye. ‘I’ve just had my place done over for white ants and Bondi butterflies. The place is full of poisonous, deadly chemical smells. Plus I’ve had a carpet mob in.’

  ‘Yes. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to clean your place up, Les. The last time I was there, the dog next door used to leave its backyard to bury bones in your carpet.’

  ‘Don’t slag Chez Norton to me, tart. It’s a palace. But I’ll do that for you if you want, Susie, while my place is off tap.’

  Susie looked at Les then gave him a quick cuddle and a peck on the cheek. ‘That’d be great, Les. Thanks a lot.’

  ‘Any time I can help. You know me.’

  ‘I sure do.’ Susie winked and raised her bottle. ‘Well, come on, let’s finish these and I’ll show you where I live. I have to start making tracks anyway.’

  ‘Okey doke.’ They finished their drinks and began walking towards Campbell Parade. Les offered to carry Susie’s hand-weights in his bag. Susie accepted.

  Les lived barely five minutes from the beach and, with parking and all that, it was easier to walk down, and even better if you found someone nice to walk back with. They nattered on about nothing much at first. How Bondi with its myriad trendy restaurants and coffee shops was now the new Hollywood Babylon and everybody you met was either an actor or a writer, or a film producer or a director. Some were. But there was no shortage of wannabes and gunnabes either. They also agreed Bondi was a nice place through the week, but if you were a local you just stayed inside and locked your doors on the weekend. Les and Susie couldn’t split what they liked about the weekend circus the best. All the roid-heads who’d been doing three-tonne bench presses, strutting round in their lycra shorts and cut-away singlets. Or the Western suburbs wogs, in or out of work, screaming around in the gridlock with their car boom-boxes blasting out house music. Or maybe the suits on their Harley-Davidsons. Work in the bank or sell insurance
all week, then come Sunday and stick the bandanna and vest on and it’s rolling thunder up and down Campbell Parade. That was in the daytime. At night the complete rats and monsters took over the freak show. Good old Bondi. But it was nice through the week. The sushi and coffee were good and there was always the chance you might get discovered. Shit! Jason Donovan lived there and Kylie Minogue had a boyfriend there. That had to mean something. Les tried to pump Susie for a bit more SP about the boarder in case he should suddenly arrive when Les was there. His name was Ackerly and she didn’t know where he was. He was a student writing a book on a grant. He rang up after two days, but before Susie could understand what he was talking about he hung up again. He’d only been there a couple of months, was very quiet and didn’t say much; just seemed to be thinking all the time. The funny things that had been going on? Well, Susie just had this feeling her unit had been broken into. Nothing was missing. But Susie had this feeling someone had been in the flat. Maybe a perv. And the old Russian couple above her had moved out suddenly. It was only temporary she’d found out, but they both seemed agitated when they left as if they didn’t want to go. Another two Russians had moved into their unit. A young bloke and an older one. The older one was always friendly and sort of joking, but there was something off-putting, even slightly sinister about them. Between them and all the other comings and goings and carryings-on around the units, Susie was grateful Les would be there while she was away.

  The unit was about two hundred metres on the left-hand side of Hall Street, just past all the shops at Six Ways and pretty much like Susie said: just round the comer from Norton’s house. Twelve brown brick units, trimmed with white concrete, faced the street and each unit had two cream-coloured brick sundecks; a long narrow one and a shorter, deeper one. Most sundecks were filled with pot plants and vines and there was a well-kept garden and lawn out the front. A driveway ran down the left to the parking area and a row of poplars separated Susie’s units from a bigger block next door. Susie’s unit was on the bottom right-hand side. She had pot plants on her long, narrow verandah, which was next to the entry pathway, and some vine-covered latticework on the comer to stop people reaching over or getting onto the balcony too easily. She also had the name of the units painted in a scroll on her wall. Golda Court. It looked like a nice part of Bondi with lots of tall, leafy trees, wide grassy median strips, grand old homes and expensive-looking home units.

  ‘Not bad, Susie,’ smiled Les. ‘Looks like you’ve done well, mate.’

  ‘Yeah, I think so,’ nodded Susie. ‘Once I get in front it’ll be better. Come down the back and I’ll show you where the garages are before we go inside.’

  ‘Righto.’

  Susie led Les along a gravel path that went past her unit and the front door of the flats, to where there were more units and a door built out on the right. She opened it and Les followed her down an angled flight of stairs to the parking bay. There were twelve garages with metal roller-doors; Susie’s was open all the time because the lock had jammed and empty because her car was in for repair. Another larger roller-door opened onto the driveway and worked by a buzzer; Susie said she’d give Les her buzzer when they went upstairs. She showed Les the garbage bay and where he could wash his car if he wanted to. Les had a bit of a look around, then followed Susie back the way they came. She opened the front door, a set of stairs ran up to the left, a hallway banked off to the left again past the other three ground floor units; Susie’s was the one on the end. The key clicked in the deadlock and they were inside.

  The unit was roomy, yet compact, with a decentsized lounge room. A mirror wall next to the alcove as you entered and another at the end of a short hallway past the two bedrooms also added an illusion of size. A sliding door led to the kitchen and laundry on your left as you walked in and a sliding glass door led from the lounge onto the deeper of the two balconies. The lounge room edged in a bit next to the balcony which was where Susie had the TV. There was a bedroom door that was closed, another one half-closed along a short hallway with the bathroom opposite, and that was about it. The carpet was plain brown with matching cream wallpaper and curtains, and there were low-hanging soft light fittings. One of those solid wooden Spanish-style lounges and lounge chairs in red and yellow with matching foot stools and coffee tables ran along one wall. Framed posters hung on the walls, mainly old Marx Brothers movies or old rock stars: Buddy Holly, Janis Joplin, James Brown, Little Richard, though there was one of Prince or whatever he called himself now, with his new, odd-looking guitar. Plants and vines either sat or hung in the comers giving the place a little warmth and an obvious woman’s touch. The best thing though — along the wall next to the kitchen and facing the lounge — was a stereo, the speakers separated by a table packed with hundreds and hundreds of CDs just like in a record shop. Beneath the table were boxes crammed with more CDs. Norton had never seen so many CDs in one person’s home.

  ‘Not a bad place you’ve got, Susie,’ said Les, giving a nod of grudging approval. ‘Modem, clean, roomy. Like I said outside, you’ve done well. Good luck to you.’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks, Les,’ smiled the new owner. ‘I. . . rather like it myself.’

  Norton ran his eyes around the stereo again. ‘I’ll tell you what. Jesus! You’ve got some bloody CDs.’

  ‘Yeah. Some of them I keep, but mostly I wheel and deal. I got a bloke gets me imports and I offload them to specialty shops and recycled record shops. There’s a good earn there. You like music, Les?’

  ‘Reckon.’ Norton flicked through a couple of rows of CDs. ‘I might tape a couple of these while I’m here — if that’s okay?’

  ‘Sure, go for your life. But you can see why I was worried about leaving the flat empty. I got a security alarm but if they got in they’d have all those out in two minutes. I can’t claim insurance, because, to be honest, Les, most of them aren’t quite kosher and the ones in my collection are irreplaceable.’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Les absently, still looking at all the CDs like a kid in a toyshop.

  ‘Anyway,’ Susie started loosening her tracksuit, ‘I’m going to have a shower. Make yourself a cup of coffee if you want. There’s juices and cold water in the fridge.’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’

  Susie went into her bedroom and locked the door. Les soon heard the sound of a shower running and figured she must have an en suite in her room. He gave the CDs another loving look, then decided to make himself a cup of coffee.

  The kitchen was all matching brown and white tiles and brown-timber laminate and was a little wider than Les had first thought. It looked onto the pathway through a grilled window and a curtain. Cupboards ran round the walls and beneath the stainless steel sink set under the window. There were plenty of electric do-dads, a solid electric stove and a microwave oven. A large refrigerator hummed against the wall next to a breakfast table near the laundry door. A Mexican hat and a framed photo of some Mexican food and the recipe hung above the kitchen table.

  Norton had no trouble finding what he was looking for and before long had the kettle boiled and a cup of instant in his hand, which he’d flavoured up with some Carnation he got from Susie’s well-stocked fridge. Yes, this might just suit me, thought Les, as he sipped his coffee in the kitchen. I can do plenty of cooking here. Use all her food, it’ll only go off. Try all sorts of things. Though I’d better not make too much mess. Shit! She keeps it clean. But what about those fuckin’ CDs. Les moved into the lounge and slowly looked over the table full of CDs while he sipped his coffee. He’d never heard of half of them. Ronnie Earl and the Broadcasters. Shane Pacey and the Cigars. John Heartsman. The Leon Thomas Blues Bank. The Nighthawks. There was Zydeco. Rockin’ Sydney. Terrence Simien and the Mallet Playboys. Country and Western. Confederate Railroad. Neal McCoy. The Kentucky Head Hunters. Shit! How good’s this, thought Les. There’s gotta be some top tracks amongst all this. He clicked his fingers. That’s what I’ll do as soon as I finish this coffee and get the keys, buy a stack of blank tapes and start going
for it. Though I should offer poor Susie a lift to the airport. I’ll do it first thing after.

  Gaping at the CDs, Les didn’t hear the shower stop and didn’t hear Susie come out of her bedroom. She was wearing a long, loose, blue-striped Grandpa shirt, open a little at the front to give a glimpse of dainty white bra, and looking and smelling good.

  ‘I see you managed to make yourself a cup of coffee. I hope you made one for me?’

  Les smiled over to her. ‘Susie, I knew you’d come out of that shower all freshened up and looking for either a stink or an argument. So I did. There’s a cup ready to go near the kettle.’

  ‘Oh! You’re . . .’

  ‘But don’t move. I’ll get it. Two sugars?’

  ‘One.’

  Les poured Susie a cup of coffee, handed it to her in the lounge room and had another look around.

  ‘Yep. This isn’t a bad set-up you’ve got here, Susie. I like the photo of Little Richard.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s coming together slowly but surely. It’s just the bloody payments.’ Susie put her coffee down on one of the small tables. ‘Before I forget, I’d better show you how everything works.’

  Susie showed Les how to work the stereo, the TV, the video and the intercom. She gave him the buzzer for the garage and a set of keys, also mentioning he may as well eat whatever was in the fridge as it would only spoil while she was away. She then led him over to the door.

  ‘Now, Les, this is the security system.’ Next to the door was a plastic box of small square buttons numbered one to ten with three tiny lights: red, amber and green. The amber one was on. ‘Now the security number for the alarm is 1002. But so you don’t get confused, you think of the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey. Reverse it, which is 1002, and press it and that’s it.’

  Les looked at the box of numbers then looked at Susie. ‘Let me get this straight. When I come in, I think of 2001: A Space Odyssey. The movie?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And I press 2001.’

  ‘No. You press 1002.’