by Andrew Daddo
At least, I did. And it looked as if this was going to be my chance. I closed my eyes and wished. Please don’t make it underwear. Please don’t make it underwear. And if it is, don’t let it be white. And don’t make me tuck it in.
Mum snapped the visor back into place and opened her door. ‘Right, let’s go, shall we?’
‘Not yet,’ whined Kylie. She turned the rear vision mirror on herself and gagged. ‘Oh, spew. I look disgusting!’
‘And your point is?’ I laughed and got out of the car before she had a chance to pop me.
I checked my own look in the window of the car next to us: a big black jacked-up 4WD. I almost had to stand on tiptoes to see myself in the passenger window, where the tint was as dark as sunglasses. I messed my hair, wiped my teeth with the tail of my shirt, scraped the stuff out of my eyes and was just about to rip into whatever that was in the corner of my mouth when the window slid open. I didn’t even have time to pretend to cough or splutter or turn around and act as if I hadn’t been styling.
‘Don’t forget that bit in the corner,’ said the girl who was sitting there. Her face was centimetres from mine.
‘Huh?’
‘The corner of your mouth. I think it’s Vegemite. Or chocolate. It looks like Vegie.’
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. She shook her head and her blonde hair shimmied against her face. This girl opened her mouth exactly the way Mum did when she was putting on the bottom half of her lipstick and she scratched a long, perfectly painted red nail against the corner of it. ‘Other side,’ she said.
I wiped the other side.
‘Just kidding.’ She smiled. ‘You look great, kid. You coming in?’
Kid? Did she just call me ‘kid’? I was surprised that I wasn’t more annoyed. She looked only a bit older than Kylie, and if Kylie had called me that I would’ve thrashed her. But from this blonde babe in the jacked-up rig, ‘kid’ was kind of cool.
Her window slid up again, the door opened and she slipped off her seat and landed on the ground with a distinct slap. ‘Tap shoes,’ she said, before pointing at the church. ‘It’s not what you think it is. It’s not a church. It’s a dance studio.’ And with that she knocked out a really pathetic rat-a-tat-tat. ‘Ta-daaaaaah!’ She held her final position – arms wide, left leg in front, right behind – as if she was waiting for me to clap.
I missed my cue.
‘Tough crowd. You new kids are all the same. It’s harder than it looks, you know. I hope you’ve got dance clothes. Madame Aerussol doesn’t like boys in anything but tights.’ Then she turned and skipped noisily into the church. Rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat. The 4WD fired a clap of eight-cylinder thunder, took off and left me wondering what that was all about. I remembered the suitcases in the boot that the dog had probably coated in slobber by now. Mum was still on the edge of her seat with the door open and her head back in the sun visor. Kylie looked as if she couldn’t work out whether to put her hair up, down or a bit of both.
‘Sucked in,’ I said to them both. ‘You nearly had me that time, Mum.’
‘Sorry?’ she said. ‘I don’t really love you talking like that, Ashton. Is there some word other than “suck”?’
‘Yeah, well, you shouldn’t try and trick us like that.’
‘Like what?’ she and Kylie said at the same time.
‘I know it’s not a photo studio, but a dance studio. Lying bites, Mum. You’ve said that yourself.’
‘A dance studio?’ said Kylie. ‘Really? I thought being a model would be the best thing ever, but you’re right. It’d be better if I could dance before I model, because there’s lots of moves you have to learn and – oh, Mum, this surprise just keeps getting better!’
5
With a final mzuck Mum dragged herself away from the mirror and got out of the car.
‘We’ll say hello first, then come back and get the bags.’
‘Will I bring Tess?’
‘No, leave the dog,’ said Mum.
Kylie was first to the gate, but lost momentum as she worked her way up to the front door. I knew it wasn’t a race, but decided to beat her there, anyway. There were two signs on the door: ‘MADAME AERUSSOL’S DANCE STUDIO’ with an arrow pointing downstairs; ‘LEROY STRETCH: PHOTOGRAPHER, FRAMER AND ARTISTE’ with an arrow pointing up.
I decided to wait for the others.
Kylie was trying hard to look shy. She had hung back and waited for Mum and now the two of them were holding hands. Dad pulled up in his car and punched the horn a few times so it played a song, but he was the only one who would have recognised it. Mum and Kylie turned round to look at him. I don’t know if it was the tilt of Mum’s shoulders that gave it away, but I knew she was happy to see him. And I liked the way Dad brushed it off.
‘Hel-lo, ladies. Ashton. Honey, a religious retreat in the inner city? I thought when you said we were going away it might be a physical thing, but I suppose a little spiritual travel might be cool.’ Leonard Limpid the comedian.
She waited for him to catch up. Dad tried to plant one on her lips, but she pulled away and offered him a cheek. ‘Lipstick, babe. Lipstick.’
‘For me? Whoa! And full make-up! God’s going to love you, honey.’ Despite the bad acting, she was totally in to him. And if it wasn’t so completely gross, it would have been good to watch.
‘Madame Aerussol’s or Leroy Stretch’s?’ I yelled from the front door. Mum says I always yell, even when I’m talking, but this time I actually did yell and they told me to be quiet straightaway.
‘Wait, Ash,’ said Mum. ‘We’ll go in together.’
‘But which one? Up or down – prance or dance?’
‘Okay, before we go in, it’s surprise time,’ she said. ‘We’re –’
‘Dance lessons, dance lessons,’ said Kylie.
‘Not a family portrait!’ said Dad. ‘We had one of those every year from the time I was five. We had to brush our hair and clean our teeth and smile and we hated it.’
‘It’s not a family portrait, and thanks for your enthusiasm. You’ll see,’ said Mum. ‘Okay, for me this is work. I’ve organised the whole thing through the paper. Aaaaaarrrrgh!’ she squealed. Then she and Kylie squealed at each other, the way girls do at school when one tells another something and it’s all good. Dad and I stared. I couldn’t work out whether it sounded good or not, but Dad had already made up his mind.
A little man with lots of hair, but only at the sides of his head, opened the church door. ‘Marnie, darling,’ he said. ‘I can see you’ve told them already. Wonderful, sweetie, wun-der-fool.’ He stuck two thumbs up. ‘Come inside under the lights and let me look at you.’
He disappeared up the stairs and we followed him. There were no pews or altar – it was just a massive white room with stained glass windows of half-naked women instead of saints. I pointed them out to Mum and she told me not to look. But she didn’t mean it. ‘It’s art,’ she hissed. ‘So it doesn’t count.’
‘Welcome, everyone,’ said Leroy. ‘Welcome.’ He stood in the middle of the room and barked at us with an accent a bit like the man in the white suit from ‘Fantasy Island’ had. Not the short one, who said, ‘De plane, de plane!’, but the other one. He smoothed the hair behind his ears. ‘Beautiful family, Marnie. You make my job harder than I expected. I’ll call Candy. She’s my new make-up artist and she’s terrible. She’ll be able to make you look awful without even trying. I think she’s colour-blind. Candyyyyyyyyy!’ he yelled.
‘I heard that, you bald dwarf,’ a voice echoed from some back room. Leroy made a face, as if he’d been busted.
Candy clicked across the floorboards in bright red shoes with mega-high heels. Her legs were long and thin and, as she got closer, what looked like flesh turned into a flesh-coloured tank top.
‘Do the boys get make-up, too?’ said Dad. Mum elbowed him in the gut.
‘Hi, I’m Candy.’ Her hair was boy-short. ‘And I’m not colour-blind. How’s it going?’
‘Getting better all
the time,’ said Dad.
‘Are you a model?’ said Kylie.
Candy laughed. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘You’re so tall. And–’
Candy saved Kylie from herself. ‘A long time ago,’ she said. ‘But I’m a bit old for that now.’
‘A bit? Okay.’ Leroy was getting edgy. ‘Plenty of time to talk while Candy puts your face on – or off.’ He looked at Mum. ‘Now, is this what you’re wearing?’
Mum was suddenly back with us. ‘Right. Bags! In the car. Honey?’ she said to Dad. ‘Can you grab the big one? And don’t forget the dog.’
6
Leroy pulled down on a massive brown paper roll that was on the wall. It was like a five-metre roll of toilet paper without the little holes. It had to be the background. Then he faffed about with light stands and a funky little hand-held gizmo that he called Larry. ‘Come on, Larry,’ he said to it. ‘Give me what I want. You’re kiddin’ me!’
‘What’s that?’ I said.
‘Larry the Light Meter. Do us a favour, buddy. Take those shoes off and stand in the middle there so I can get a reading off your face, will you?’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Kylie, practically knocking me over to get past. ‘I’ve seen this on Search for a Supermodel.’ She didn’t bother undoing her laces; she just stomped on the heel of her shoes until she got her feet out.
‘You might as well hop in there too, sport.’ He smiled. I saw Mum looking at me in the make-up mirror. She was being worked by Candy. They were in a gabfest, and Candy looked as if she was taking off more make-up than she was putting on. Mum waved. Kylie and I waved back. In the corner I could see a whole bunch of Coke stuff: bottles, cans, towels, a beach umbrella, a fridge. A fridge? Kylie just shrugged; being a bit of a Britney fan, she was a Pepsi drinker, when she was allowed.
‘Der!’ I whispered to her.
‘Der, what?’
‘Well, der, it’s pretty obvious. The background we’re standing in front of is the same colour as the froth on Coke, right? And there’s all that Coke stuff. Don’t you get it? We’re doing a Coke ad. Might be a billboard.’
‘You think?’ she said. She was suddenly very still, like the bay before a big southerly wind blows up.
‘I think we’re going to be the new Coke family.’
‘There is no Coke family, is there?’
‘Well, there is now. You, me, Mum and Dad. And the dog from next door.’
‘Mum?’ Kylie was trembling. ‘Are we the new Coke family? Oh, my God!’
Dad was back with the big duffel bag, which he swung over the top of the stairs, and the dog. It was straining against the leash. Dad tied it to the banister and gave Mum the look. ‘Babe?’ he said. But even he was smiling.
‘We are going to be so famous. We’ll be everywhere,’ said Kylie.
‘Stop,’ said Mum. ‘You’re not going to be the new Coke family. There’s no such thing, anyway.’ She jumped up out of the make-up chair, grabbed the duffel bag, and emptied it onto the floor. ‘All right. You’ve all put two and two together and come up with eleven. We’re not doing an ad.’ She looked from Dad to Kylie to me. ‘We’re getting a makeover!’
‘A what?’ we said together.
Hrrrphh! went the dog.
‘A family makeover. Cool, huh? And we’re here to do the “before” shots. Then we’re going to a health farm for a week, and coming back for Leroy to do the “after”. What do you reckon?’ Her smile dulled slowly when she saw the three laughing clowns in front of her, each waiting for a ping-pong ball in the mouth. Leroy and Candy were still grinning.
‘But why?’ cranked Dad.
‘What’s wrong with us?’ I said.
‘Who needs a makeover?’ Kylie had her arms folded across her chest, as if she was hiding something.
‘Well,’ said Mum. ‘After that whole muffin top thing the other day, I thought it’d be kind of fun. And,’ she was battling, ‘we’ll get some cool family photos and it’s going to get a two-page spread in the local paper and we’ll all be healthy and –’
‘Back up, Mum. We’re going to be in the paper?’
‘Uh-huh!’
‘We’re going to be in the paper?’ barked Dad.
‘We don’t need a makeover,’ I said.
‘I need one, okay,’ said Mum. ‘The truth is, it’s not for you; it’s for me.’
Dad pulled his head into his neck and sucked his teeth. ‘So why don’t you get one? And stick yourself in your two-page spread and leave us out of it. Leave me out of it. Cripes. You know what they’ll say at work – and the surf club? You do it. Do it with Kyles, and Ash, even. And the dog. If anyone needs it, it’s that dog. Look at it.’ The dog was asleep, its head on its paws, tongue hanging out of its mouth with the tip on the floor. ‘Just forget me.’
Mum’s look changed. Her chin was going the wobble and I knew what came next. She was going to cry. Her tears always started at her chin and slowly worked their way up her face until they dripped out her eyes. ‘Because, darling, the paper wouldn’t buy the idea when it was just me. So I said, “What about the whole family?” and Genevieve the editor said, “Get your whole family and you’ve got the feature.” So.’ Her cheeks were red. ‘I need it.’ The first tear fell and that was it. She was really crying.
Dad looked up, he looked down – everywhere but at Mum. There wasn’t going to be an argument. I’d seen this before and I’d probably see it again. He rubbed his eyes, and we all watched as he shook his head. Even Mum managed to sneak a look at him between sobs.
‘Oh, honey,’ he said, and she straightened up slightly. ‘Wouldn’t you like to take a week at this health place alone? Wouldn’t that be better? The kids could go and visit their –’
‘As a family, Len.’ She sniffed. ‘It’s a family thing.’
‘Oh, and like the dog’s family?’ That really helped. Dad slumped. He’d lost. It was over. ‘I can’t believe I’m going to say this. But, okay, just this once. Never again, though. Right?’
‘Great! Brilliant!’ cheered Leroy. ‘We’re good, right? Candy, back onto the job. Get cracking! Marnie, for goodness sake, keep crying. Your eyes are getting nice and puffy and you’ll look a shocker. This is going to be the best “before” shot ever.’
Mum did this weird little jig, and she was still bawling.
7
‘Okay, quick,’ said Mum. ‘Come here.’ She’d finished getting made up and was standing over the mess she’d made earlier on the floor. The duffel bag had been full of clothes. Our old clothes. There was a pair of checked shorts I hadn’t worn in years and that daggy t-shirt that shouted, ‘My parents went all the way to London and all they bought me was this scummy t-shirt.’ Kylie’s old jeans with a horse head in diamantes on the thigh and a halterneck top she didn’t like, even when it was new. Mum made a grab for her own things and told us to do the same and hurry up about it.
‘What’s going on?’ Kylie squeaked. ‘I’m not wearing those. I haven’t worn them for years. I probably won’t even fit into them. I’ll look like a total bogan! This is supposed to be a proper shoot. I want to look cool – not like a retro-spaz.’
‘Where’d you even get this stuff?’ said Dad. ‘I thought we dumped it all in the Brotherhood bin ages ago. In fact, I distinctly remember making a pile of clothes, and I remember the argument we had when I said I wanted to hang onto that tan leather jacket in case Ash wanted to borrow it when he was older, just like I’d borrowed my own dad’s old leather. And you said it had never been in fashion and it never would be. Remember that, Marnie? And these –’ He picked up a pair of brown wide wale cord pants, the kind that had sloping pockets that went all the way from the zip to the hip. My teacher wore some just like these on our last mufti day, but everyone thought it was a big joke. ‘I’m not wearing them, babe. I’ll wear what I’ve got on.’
‘Me, too!’ This was beyond a joke. I’d grown about a foot in the last year and those shorts were kind of cool then, but not now. ‘No way am
I wearing that stuff. It won’t even fit.’
‘That’s the point.’ Mum laughed, as she held her eyes open with her thumb and forefinger to keep the tears coming. ‘We’re supposed to look like dregs, okay. We’re going shopping on the last day of our week away, and we’re going to get good clothes that fit and are funky, so the after photo will be even better. Get it?’ Her voice sounded strangled, as if she had something wedged deep in her throat. Her big adventure was going pear-shaped. ‘Now hurry up, while my eyes are still swollen.’
‘No chance!’ grumbled Dad. ‘I’m out. Kids?’
Mum had lips of string. Then that thing happened with her chin and I knew she was about to cry, again.
‘Babe,’ said Dad, ‘don’t.’ But she did.
‘Just once, could you do something I ask without arguing?’ she said. ‘I get so tired. Could you paint the shed? You grumble. Could you put your dirty clothes in the laundry basket instead of on the floor? You complain.’
‘This is a bit different, don’t you think? That’s house stuff; this is like, public.’
‘Whatever. I ask, you screw up your face.’
Dad tried to stop himself from screwing up his face, but failed. ‘Get dressed, kids,’ he moaned.
‘Mum!’
‘I’ll make sure it’s a small picture,’ she said. ‘We’ll go shopping and get really funky stuff. Billabong, maybe?’
I was in – as if I had a choice in it, anyway. I grabbed the old t-shirt and shorts and told myself they weren’t really that bad.
‘You’re a good boy, Ashton,’ said Mum, a bit snivelly and red. I remembered the time she stayed in bed half the morning, reading some book about bridges and country. Nothing would budge her. Kylie and I would have starved to death if we hadn’t got our own breakfast, but Mum stuck it out under the covers. When I went in to ask her if she was getting up, she was lying there, bawling. Not normal crying when a movie gets a bit soppy – which means most movies for Mum. She cries whenever we watch The Lion King and she’s seen it about a gazillion times. These were the sort of tears you couldn’t read through. Her body was bouncing about so much with her crying, she couldn’t hold the book still. When she finally got up, all puffy and snivelly, I asked her how the book was. Of course she was going to say it was terrible. But she stood there, leaning on the kitchen bench and gave me the same happy-sad smile she was giving me now. ‘It’s the best book I’ve ever read.’
