The Society Game

by H. Lanfermeijer

  I found an information board at Sydney Airport that detailed all the different back-packers’ accommodation in and around Sydney. I picked the Kings Cross backpackers’ ‘hotel’ as they offered a free pickup and the accompanying pictures were of happy travellers in a bright and colourful dorm. The reality was I had to make my own way there and the hostel was above a sex shop with a filthy door to an equally filthy reception. I mused that at least I wouldn’t get lost in the city as my ‘hotel’ had a huge luminous neon-lit condom reaching to the third floor and could be seen from most parts of the Kings Cross district.

  My first night was spent hugging my rucksack for fear those around me in adjacent bunk-beds would steal my clothes and shoes (of course in hindsight, I should have been grateful as that may have saved my back). In the morning I calculated that there was no shame in returning straight back home on the next available flight I could get. However, to this day I smile at how on my very first day travelling, the very first person I spoke to was Carolanne.

  ‘Wow you look like you’ve been slapped with an iron pillow. You’ve either lost all your money, lost your passport or discovered you’re not in Oz but back home in Wormwood Scrubs?’

  Carolanne was petite, blonde, toned and tanned. She was the type of woman who could model for Mattel as Malibu Barbie. She was confident and had a warm inviting smile. She also had an enviably small rucksack.

  ‘Oh er, no, I’m fine thanks.’ I broke a smile just to reassure her I didn’t need reassuring.

  ‘You’re not in Wormwood Scrubs, you know that? You are in Oz in the Kings Cross ‘hotel’… though Wormwood Scrubs would probably be cleaner and more comfortable – but at $12 a night you really can’t complain.’

  She was wearing pyjama shorts and a red vest top, effortlessly sexy and the opposite of my attire of a long nightshirt and socks. My red hair was pulled back into a tight knot to hide its unruly, fuzzy nature. Carolanne’s in contrast was long, smooth and bouncy.

  She was an instant friend and I followed her around Sydney going wherever she suggested (which was invariably another bar to chat to men who always bought her and me our drinks for the afternoon and night). Even though I had a rucksack full of clothes, I too bought silver hot-pants similar to the ones she wore. I was a faithful companion by perfecting my broad smile, tilting my head seductively to one side and allowing Carolanne to do all the chatting. Eventually, Carolanne would summon me to go, when she was bored of their company, and we’d leave for either another bar or back to the luminous condom we called home.

  In the spirit of travel, we both decided that Australia offered more than Sydney and it would be appropriate to at least attempt to venture beyond the city boundary. After two months we picked up our rucksacks and took the train to the Blue Mountains just outside the city.

  As any good sheep dog would testify, my best feature is my ability to obey instructions. Carolanne herded me to a caravan park she’d heard about. She sat on the 1970s sofa cushions in our tired and weary trailer and said, ‘I told you, it’s great. We’re going to have a good time here. All the caravans are full and did you spot the blond bloke going into the one about two doors down? You should have – he was gorgeous! I haven’t seen any other women around – though there usually is one sniffing about. I vote we go over as soon as we can and see if they’ve got any alcohol on them. They should, he looked like a laugh.’

  The ‘blond bloke’ opened the door and a waft of stale beer, cigarettes and body odour surrounded us. Carolanne was not put off as she fell into her giggling, sexy, femme fatale that could snare any male. We entered a typical male domain that had produced the smell and I sat at one end with Carolanne holding court the other.

  ‘Fancy a VB? It’s beer, but only by Ozzy standard – I’m afraid I’ve got nothing else to offer you.’

  A thin, long man held out the can, which I accepted.

  ‘Mind if I smoke?’ he asked as he was about to light a cigarette.

  His head was cocked to one side and as he drew the initial glug of smoke his cheeks hollowed and his jaw bones sharply jutted out revealing the shape of his skull.

  ‘Please go ahead, I don’t mind at all. Thanks for the beer, sorry I’ve not bought anything; we’ve just arrived,’ I said, though I wasn’t really sorry for the lack of offering as I’ve found a polite excuse has always proven to be an accepted substitute for manners.

  ‘Hey no worries. Soo, I’m James, this is Tom, Chris, Monty and Rob.’

  Each one turned their head to me as the register was called then promptly turned their head back to Carolanne leaving me with James.

  ‘I’m Olivia, Olive or Ol, whatever you choose. I respond to any form of my name.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Olivia.’

  We both smiled our introduction smile. James’ smile drew his eyes in on the act. They were embracing and momentarily distracted me from the shine of oil over his face. Around his hairline and around his hollow cheeks was a rash of spots; his acne had also migrated to his shoulders as I could see fierce spots with white mountain peaks poking out from his t-shirt, they tumbled down his back which was slightly displayed as the neckline of his top sat away from his thin neck; a neck which housed a disproportionately large Adam’s apple.

  ‘So, what bought you to Oz, Olivia, Olive or Ol?’

  ‘My sister decided it was time I went; she wanted her own space under her rules, so I didn’t fit in anywhere in her perfect little life.’

  ‘And you do everything your sister says?’

  ‘Usually.’

  ‘Well as I see it, your sister’s a wazzock. She kicked you out of wherever to live in Oz. It’s paradise here girl!

  Another beer? There are some more somewhere. If not, you can top up with the dregs from the bottles around me… I know what you’re thinking, I really need to dust this armpit of a caravan, but I’m a bloke from Sevenoaks so I get away with this crap-hole thanks to my own gender thinking dregs from a bottle is a suitable substitute for a drink to offer a lady – sorry!’ He winked.

  I learnt he was from a small village and that his ambition was to be a carpenter but he was a gardener instead as it was available work. I informed him he was wrong, they are both laborious jobs and he should reconsider his options to a warm cosy desk somewhere. He then asked what I did for a living?

  ‘The same as you – I’m avoiding it all, I’m travelling.’ James laughed and each time he did his bulbous Adam’s apple bounced up and down his long neck.

  ‘I’ll be a carpenter one day but the course fees are proper high. My Dad has promised to invest in the tools I need as soon as I start. I’m pretty lucky. I just really enjoy making stuff with my hands, seeing the things in my head come to life and all just from the tools God and genes gave us. Hopefully what I will make will stay on this planet longer than me. I just love it, especially the wood.

  I sometimes wonder where it’s come from before I get hold of it. Maybe the wood I use once protected a person from the rain and they’re no longer alive today, but for that moment the tree loved and cared for that person. Then a cutter comes and I get to create something, anything, just to show off the wood. Ah, I bet you think us a right wazzock?!’

  He was holding his hand in a bowl shape as he was telling me this.

  ‘Have you ever sold anything?’ I asked,

  ‘Twice; my friend has a glass company and tours around England following the craft markets and she agreed to sell my pieces for us. So far, I’ve sold a salad bowl and a chopping board. I can do more than just that and it’s good money when I do. I don’t have the equipment for it yet but I will one day. Aah, watch out Rob, you wazzock!’ he said, as he broke his bowl and placed his arm across me to shield me from Rob, a large man made larger by being drunk and in charge of a body. As Rob manoeuvred around me his arms hit me in the chest.

  ‘Sorry, I was just trying to grab a lighter that’s behind you… Sor
ry, sorry…’ Rob attempted a salute then fell back to his original position on the floor beside all the other, now very drunk, men.

  ‘Would you like to go for a walk?’ James asked.

  It was not the walk that concerned me or even James, but it was the fear of other people thinking I may be going on a romantic walk with him; it was also the fear that James may think I was going on a romantic walk with him

  ‘I’m not sure, only because it’s hot in the caravan. Only a short walk if that’s okay? Sorry but, er, okay. Just a small walk for air only.’

  As we left the caravan I could hear sniggers and laughter. I looked back at the crumbling cave.

  ‘Relax, I don’t bite. You just looked uncomfortable and I thought fresh air would be good. If you’re worried, no one has noticed – they’re too pissed to notice their own feet let alone anyone else coming and going.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mean that. I don’t care what people think and anyway Carolanne would put them straight, so don’t worry.’ I hurriedly said.

  ‘Oh right, thanks, nice,’ James whispered.

  He towered above me like a council block of flats; tall, thin and tatty. His clothes were designed purely to dress this great structure as economically as practical.

  We continued to chat about who we were and then what I liked and what I wanted. He listened intently to everything I said and he didn’t interrupt me or try to contribute examples of his own life to corroborate my stories. He just listened, learnt about me and smiled.

  When we returned sometime later, wolf whistles and laughter erupted around us.

  ‘Where have you two been? Ha, didn’t take you long James!!!’

  The blond, good-looking one laughed at us and smothered me in humiliating sniggers. I protested my innocence but it was thrown out of court so I used an alternative tactic of sitting apart from James and purposefully looking anywhere other than in his direction. James accepted my rebuttal and, as a gentleman, he sat next to Rob.

  ‘Ol, we’re off to see the Blue Mountains… that’s right, isn’t it? I’m sure something is blue. Anyway, we’re going to see them. Going to be amazing, really spiritual I hope,’ Carolanne declared. She then swivelled in her chair to face James.

  ‘You’re coming James… James?’ she swivelled back to confirm his name from others around her then swivelled back.

  ‘Yes, you’ve got to come as Olive needs a hand, this little pretty lady needs looking after and you can do it.’

  She didn’t wait for a reply but swivelled on a smile and winked to all her jesters. Her performance made me squirm but I mainly felt dejected that anyone placed me in a category of women who would have accepted the advances of someone like James.

  The matchmaking continued for our walk into the Blue Mountains. Regrettably, I couldn’t fully appreciate the views of the purple hue from the eucalyptus trees across the vast expanse of wilderness, with its deep forested gorges and precipitous cliffs, as I was too preoccupied with proving to others that I had no interest in James whilst making sure James didn’t notice my rejections of him.

  ‘Is there something wrong? James is soooo sweet. I really feel his spirit – it’s pure and I think he’s cute,’ Carolanne said that evening.

  ‘I wouldn’t call him that,’ I said. ‘He is lovely as a person but that’s all.’

  I stopped short of admitting that I measured myself to be at Major level in the social army, and many ranks above James.

  ‘Shame,’ she sighed.

  I slumped further in the deckchair that I’d been sitting in for the last hour. It was my retreat outside my caravan as it overlooked the camping area and the communal fire-pit. Each caravan had their windows and doors open to let in maximum cooling air, albeit at the expense of more flies.

  I pondered, whilst watching Carolanne being entertained by her male fan club; perhaps I was deluded and everyone else was just showing me that I should be grateful for what I could get and that was James – sweet on the inside but spotty on the outside.

  I didn’t stay in the Blue Mountains much longer as Carolanne wanted to move onto Melbourne. We left together, thankfully leaving all sniggers behind me.

  Melbourne felt European with a hint of ‘1920s American Al Capone city’ about it. There were trams that railed around small uniform tree-lined open parks and through streets with tall brown buildings and black iron-windowed bars. All of this was seen through squinted eyes as it rained most days whilst I was there. It was an easy stay of avoiding the rain and going out for occasional coffees but I could feel the restless twitching from Carolanne.

  ‘Captain’s Corner followed by the Gateway, yep we’ll start there. Geez does it ever stop raining here?’

  Carolanne head-butted our room window, ‘That Susie girl, the short one with the big bum, declared Melbourne was better than Sydney! So far, I’d say she’s conned us – it is dull, Olive! I said it’s dull here, don’t you agree?’ She stared at me and I nodded.

  I was on page thirty-two of my magazine, stuffed full of perfect lives seen through the eyes of perfect women with perfect wardrobes. On this page the Countess ‘whomever’ was standing in a ball-gown on the slopes outside her Alpine lodge looking rich, serene and cold.

  ‘Awwww! Why do you waste your money on these magazines? You’re always buying them. But you know what I’ve got to say? Don’t look at their pictures. These women are all airbrushed just to sell you an image. It’s fake, not real.’

  She stopped and grabbed my magazine.

  ‘Seriously, look at her on this page – the model advertising coffee, she’s pouting over her morning mug. Who does that? She almost looks aroused as she puckers up to take a sip. Creepy! Ol, you need to see that now is real; this room with your smelly trainers and questionable taste in luminous sports socks is real, and it’s worth far more than the way a designer wants you to look at that moment.

  You know what, sweetie, my mum used to say, ‘Hold your head up and enjoy the day otherwise, you’ll be attached to someone else’s fantasy life and become detached from your own’, it’s only now, in Oz, that I get her words. Ol, do the same, feel the spirit of now and then you’ll feel the spirit of you and others around you.’

  ‘Not a clue what you’ve just said, Carolanne, but all I know is I want to be that woman pouting over her coffee looking gorgeous.’

  ‘You don’t like coffee.’

  ‘She’s persuaded me to start, speeds up my metabolism. That’s the spirit I want.’

  ‘You should read the book – ‘The Spirit of Life and How to Touch It’. I’m reading it right now and I’m already feeling it. I will be free of the chains we bind ourselves with.’

  ‘Mmmm, I think I’d rather feel the now the way my magazine shows me, but thanks all the same.’

  There was a knock at our room door. Doing nothing all day infected my ability to enthuse about anything, including merely opening the door to, undoubtedly, the owner claiming our rent was due or checking we were okay – a ruse to see Carolanne. I expected to see a grinning, short, fat, sweaty man and instead I opened it to a tall, thin man who startled me:

  ‘James! What are you doing here?’ I said, whilst frantically straightening my hair.

  Carolanne bounded over to James to give him a hug.

  ‘Wow, you’re a welcome surprise! Where’s Chris? We were just talking about tonight and now you’ve helped us decide: wherever you two are, we’ll be!’ she said.

  The inevitable question of whether Carolanne could travel to Cooper Pedy with Chris, alone, arrived within a week of their arrival. Cooper Pedy was an opal mining region with underground cave homes; it sounded interesting but far too hot for me and the way the question was phrased, by Carolanne, it was a region I was not invited to. I bowed out and agreed to further explore Melbourne with James.

  They disappeared on the Tuesday and by the Wednesday we had planned open air cin
ema, evening strolls, tours of the coffee shops and various long days on the beach between rain showers.

  By the end of the following week we decided we wanted to continue on to Adelaide. It was the town of churches but I was more interested in the fact there was a free concert by Crowded House in the centre of the city on the following Friday.

  ‘I can’t say I’m a huge fan of Crowded House; I thought they’d split?’

  ‘It’s free and they’re great. Just think, everyone would want to be there and we get that chance for real – be excited,’ I commanded.

  ‘Don’t care what other people think. Either way though, I’m made up to be going to the concert with you. You know what, Olive, you’re alright!’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment but take that wry smile off your face; friends, remember?’

  ‘Yes, Olive, just friends.’

  Our intention was to arrive early as we were aware that it was not a private concert for us with a concert hall consisting of two lounge chairs and a bottle of wine but that others from around Adelaide would be joining us. What we weren’t prepared for was the rest of Australia and beyond invading this concert.

  When we arrived, we were directed to various different vantage points by the police, unfortunately, we discovered this was not to see the band on stage but to be in a spot to look up at huge screens.

  ‘So, we arrive two hours early to sit for two hours to watch a piggin’ TV screen for a further two hours. Somehow, this doesn’t seem a particularly clever plan when there’s a TV in our hostel showing the concert, with a sofa and beers, but maybe I’ve got this all wrong?’

  ‘But we have to be here. Everyone would want to be in our shoes. I did say we should’ve left earlier,’ I said whilst trying to squeeze in between other duped people in the same position as ourselves. ‘I hate our position, I bet there’s a VIP section. Where’s Carolanne when you need her?’