Lap of Luxury

by Lisa-Ann Carey

  A buzz to the receptionist chased them away for the following sixty minutes.

  “It’s a wonder I’m not dead after being forced to eat those dirty brains.”

  “I think I’d be brain dead if I had to eat that dirty vomit.

  Imagine, feeding a child that rot.”

  “Imagine there’s no hell it’s easy if you try,” she simply warbled.

  The receptionist made two trips to the room, the playpen John set up in one corner with toys and little pillows and light blankets. The babies were happy to be wearing fresh nappies and even happier after their meals. LisaAnn opened the curtain, the windows of relatively great magnitude let the eyes rove over a small garden packed tightly with blossoming cottage flowers, comfortable couches faced the view, the sandy coloured walls matching the natural tone of the cane coffee table. The door and trims boasted a toffee shade, which offset the clear finished timber floor. A field of chrysanthemums charmed an entire wall, the cascade of painted colour capturing the ambience of spring.

  They ate their meal in the enchanting courtyard at the end of the lengthy corridor, the sight and sound of water, the greenery and tubs brimming with blooms and handsome old cast-iron park benches set into the vine-covered gazebo with a pretty wall fountain attracted busy folk to sit awhile and let the world go by in this romantic retreat.

  “The island lighthouse will serve as a secluded haven far away from the maniacal metropolis for our off-balanced visionarys,” John said.

  “We shall create a pleasant, peaceful living environment for them so they too can live in the lap of luxury with servants and overseers attending to their every need,” LisaAnn said with excitement.

  “They need comfort,” he told her with watery pupils.

  A telephone call from James briefed them that Mr. Molakai had just begun fifteen years in prison for his evil deeds, and as suspected, he was the evil twin. Another victim told police of the same evil deeds he’d performed on her. LisaAnn was pleased to hear the good news and John told her he deserved to be locked away.

  LisaAnn popped into the ladies to freshen up before her afternoon appointment. While she was in the little girl’s room Sue Marr arrived and had seated herself on one of the chairs lined up along the wall in the corridor. She was munching on a foot long hot dog and a family packet of crisps gulping one litre of coke and smoking a corn pipe filled with cherry tobacco. She wore a pinafore without an under blouse it just covered her flabby butt, there was no bra supporting her large breasts, the sides of the pinafore gaped enough to show off her droopy boobs.

  “You must be eight months in the shade?” Myer asked her rudely as he marched up the corridor.

  “You guessed right wog,” she gruffed ungracefully.

  “You not only have an overcooked chickling in the oven, you have a bee in your bonnet, you need to learn some manners you churlish chub,” Myer’s final comment that she resembled an iniquitous streetwalker in her loose get-up caused her to spew all over his brown suede shoes.

  John heard the choking and flew out of the room with babes in arms, LisaAnn said afternoon greetings to her patient and John handed the twins to his wife then entered the lecture room with Mark and Myer along with members of the Hospital staff. LisaAnn led Sue to her seat, the twins she settled in to the playpen.

  “What is that peculiar odour?” asked John.

  “That is my shoes, LisaAnn’s patient vomited all over them,” Myer said.

  “Why did she do that?” asked John.

  “I called her a churlish chub and a streetwalker because she called me a wog,” Myer continued.

  John stared blankly at Myer then said, “It’s just an emotional reaction to her change in body shape, pregnant women are sensitive they lash out at times. You must be careful how you react towards the patient’s comments. You must remain understanding at all times, you had better wash off the vomit we are about to start.”

  Myer went outside to the tap and scrubbed his boots then returned to the back row seat next to his brother.

  John began: “Welcome to this lecture DIRTY BRAINS AND DEADLY BEHAVIOUR, the study of behaviour and emotions and their relation to brain function with particular interest in abnormal expressions in psychiatric disorder.” He glanced at the Italian twins.

  “The human brain is larger than that of other mammalian species. Man has a more complex brain with more extensive perceptual functions: his mental power for language,” John began.

  Myer interrupted at this point to express his findings.

  “Knowing just which dirty description to use at exactly the right moment is all important. I call it information intelligence like the tickling and the tingling, the prickle and the plague.”

  John pointed to the animals up the back thanking them for their odious eccentricity, which had the audience in stitches calling them the Oddfellows of Oafland.

  “What have you come to see me about today Sue?” asked LisaAnn.

  The patient patted her protruding belly and disclosed in discomfort, “I married a man with a drinking problem and when he’s had too much he comes out with the craziest of notions.”

  “What like?” LisaAnn questioned standing then walking over to the pen to mom the little ones turning them over on their tummies briefly patting their bottoms and pulling the jingler to lull them to sleep.

  “He bubbles beneath the surface about the fact that the alien I’m carrying will cost too much and that he won’t be able to afford a beer. He keeps telling me the baby is dead therefore blind, deaf, dumb and stupid, he says I’m weak-minded because I keep breaking down emotionally,” she bawled her eyes out.

  “Was everything fine with the baby after your last checkup?” LisaAnn asked.

  “Yes, but they told me to stop smokin’ me pipe, but at one stage I believed my husband when he said the baby is dead, that’s why I smoke, my baby is dead, he killed by baby with his cruel words. Can I have your babies?” Sue begged.

  Paralysed with fear LisaAnn kneaded her temples apologizing to her patient that she could no longer assist her, she was hesitant to give her St. John’s Syrup and told her to have a chat with her regular G.P. Sue dashed out of the door leaving her Doctor brittle from perplexity.

  She turned around and looked into the playpen, her babies were fast asleep. In one hit she felt jealous, anxious, sad, lonesome, guilty, shameful, envious and hate, horrible hate.

  Fretful and grievous she dragged her lethargic legs over to the playpen picked up Lisa-Marie and Joey-John and stumbled out the door screeching, “Malicious Tricksy is going to take my babies off me John, John help me, please.” The door to the lecture room flew open, John caught her on the floor in the corridor huddling herself and the twins up in fear, slowly, slowly she shrank from the inside out.

  “Take over please Pastor Amos the notes are on the table,” John gently ordered.

  “Certainly,” replied Pastor Amos.

  He led her out of the clinic pronto and asked what shocked her. Details of her past emerged from her memory like a hoard of fire ants from their nest, just when she’d thought there wasn’t anything more to tell him. The astonishing trip her father and mistress had made to her mother’s home that eerie Saturday afternoon stealing her little girl of eleven and a half jiffy years away from her, haunted her daughter. She remembered how the tears trickled down her mother’s serious face, it blew a hole in LisaAnn’s heart.

  “Halt the battle cry, you’ll soon forget her, I’ll knock the memory out of ya, an invalid who can’t even keep a house clean can’t possibly raise a fusty fusspot like you,” her father told her dragging her by the hair, her last words to her mother she’d sobbed were: “I’m going to miss you mommy, I love you.”

  Her mother cried a cascade of tears too, her words, “I love you,” rippling from her dewy lips. “Do what Tricksy tells you to do so they don’t beat you,” her mother had warned her. Tricksy was the nickname for her father’s mistress.

  “Did your patient ask for your babies?” John
’s words slashed through her heart.

  “Yes,” she answered teary-eyed.

  “It reminded you of the past?” John asked.

  “Oh John it was not fair what happened to my mother,” she told him.

  “Darling, it was not fair what happened to the both of you,” he added.

  “But I failed again as a Doctor, I should have been more brave, I should have helped that lady, I know I can,” LisaAnn said, distressed.

  “You’re still the best Doctor ever,” he kissed her aching head.

  She fought the agony of crashing non-performance. After a brief word to the staff he collected the babies belongings, placed them in the boot and slowly drove his beautiful family back home, the closer they got to home the calmer she became until her face changed from colourless to colourful the moment their lovenest came into view.

  The babies were still asleep, she laid them in their cots, they had outgrown the cribs that were made for them before they came into the world.

  LisaAnn took a dose of the healing herb and rested for an hour. During that hour John decided to make an old worn out garden setting look as good as new. At first he sanded down the flaking layers of old paint. Rachel saw him working and bolted to his side. She stared at the front of his carpenter’s shorts and noticed a lump.

  Now five, her own father’s shape fascinated her. In a cordial eruption she asked, “Uncle John, you have a swelling in the same spot daddy has, did you bump yourself?”

  He was startled by her jolting voice and opened his mouth like a yawning clown, his eyes widened and his eyebrows arched.

  He looked down at the lump, “How did that get there?” he interrogated with surprise.

  “Maybe St. John’s Syrup will make it go away if you rub some on it. Does it hurt?” Rachel asked, worried.

  Feeling a little awkward now, he was reluctant to say anymore, but being the perfect gent he answered her. “No, Mr. Wally Wobbly doesn’t hurt, he is part of me.” He crouched down at her level, this enabled her to study it better.

  “Why do you call it Mr. Wally Wobbly?” she twisted her fingers then pinched his cheeks. He took her little fists in his two hands.

  “Because he can wobble all by himself,” he answered with cheek.

  “What is it Uncle John?” she finally asked the two million dollar question.

  He blushed then burst out the answer after swallowing hard. “It’s called a penis.”

  “A penis, what can it do?”

  “All sorts of things like pee-pee and it can even give a lady a baby or two.”

  Immediately she began to sob, “Is that how Lisa-Marie and Joey-John came into the world?”

  “Why yes, does that hurt you?” John asked her.

  “Yes, how did you do it?” she begged, her eyes irrigating the spun flowers on her cotton blouse.

  “Uncle John lay very close to Aunty LisaAnn and put Mr. Wally Wobbly, who had grown much, much bigger by magic, deep inside a hole she has between her legs, the same hole that the babies came out of when they were born. Do you understand precious?” John told her, blushing a fiery red.

  She covered her eyes with her hands after she yanked them free from his, bellowing, “No, No I don’t believe you, I thought I was your favourite girl! How could you do that with that monster down there? Daddy taught me a new word for a bully, I’m going to call your lump HECTOR and I’m going to run away and hide from both of you!”

  She scooted through the rainforest jumping over Koalas that were crawling across thirsty groundcovers. She climbed an orchid tree and sat in the fork of the tree with legs dangling either side of the trunk.

  He had followed her at a distance and sat on a rustic garden benchseat her father Josef had built from rough wood that held pride of place under the colourful tree and gazed up at her.

  “Come down kitten, don’t be upset, you know I reserve a special place in my heart just for you and pot belly bear.”

  “That old pot belly bear doesn’t seem to care, thank goodness he aint got a lump.”

  “I think he does care, I’m going to paint the garden setting near the magnolia tree a colour bold and bright, do you have a colour choice Rachel?” John asked her.

  “I kinda like lollypop pink Uncle John,” she answered with relief.

  “Okay, lollypop pink it will be, we shall ask Pastor Amos to pick up some on the way home this afternoon,” he reassured her.

  She sighed then asked shyly, “Help me down Uncle John and piggy back me to Magnolia Green.”

  He helped her down and carried her on his back to the lush natural room they called Magnolia Green, it had a green sign bolted in the ground with the name in gold carved across it.

  In a half hour the furniture was covered with undercoat all ready for the top coat. Pastor Amos arrived with the paint after they had called him.

  By the end of the day the lollypop pink furniture was drying in the late afternoon breeze.

  “I forgot to tell you Rachel, we have two new friends of the forest, they were delivered when you were at ballet,” he informed her.

  “Who are they Uncle John?” she asked.

  “A male and a female Box Turtle, what shall we name them?” asked John.

  “Berty and Bonny Box Turtle, let’s marry them,” Rachel answered full of joy.

  “They shall wed tomorrow,” John told her. They tittered all the way back to where Aunty LisaAnn and the babies were sleeping.

  Rachel in orchid tree,

  Dr. John Wright looking up at her

  Chapter Ten

  The sun sparkled on the crystal waters of Moreton Bay animating the gatherers so suave so obliging, their bare toes sinking into the soft sand as they patiently waited for the groom to arrive.

  It was an incredibly warm day for winter, little Lisa-Marie and Joey-John sat, half-buried in the sand dressed in their peek-a-boo bathers playing with their plastic bathmates and tossing sand at each other. Rachel crouched beside them holding Bonny Box Turtle. Josef was busy operating the movie camera. John turned on the wedding march from a CD player as a heavily pregnant Jayne, dressed in a sunset pink and sea-blue flared bathing top with matching lycra bottoms carried Berty Box Turtle to his fiancées side.

  All the men were dressed in G-string swimmers of many different colours, even Pastor Amos braved a pair. Ewan walked toward an Illawarra flame tree and tied the restless Dachshund to a low branch.

  Peter and Eunice arrived a little late and joined Vaardii and Mavis sitting under the shade of the flame tree.

  “I’ve just finished the coconut dip and spooned them into half-shells of coconut, the flesh intact of course LisaAnn,” Ann-Marie told her. She was dressed in a pair of snow-white high-cut shorts and a see-through pale blue tube top revealing her cute bare globes.

  “Divine,” LisaAnn answered, clothed in two huge oyster shells covering her gorgeous plump boobs and a huge pink shell covering her pussy a string of tiny shells around the waist kept it in place her tight bottom exposed to the sizzling sun.

  John began: “Dressed in their costumes of defence we introduce to you all, Bonny and Berty Box Turtle in a martial match. Berty – hardy, manful and virile. Bonny – affectionate, delicate and ladylike. If anybody has any reason why these two turtles should not wed speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  All of a sudden…..the dog barked then broke loose from the nylon rope and ran over to the nearly married couple who were engaged in a spot of sex, biting Berty on the tail tossing him in the air then dragging him to the flame tree after one more wrestling-match and sat guarding him with his paw. Adding to the hullabaloo Rachel picked up Bonny and cried all the way to the tree, the twins cried also, the two turtles enjoying one more sex romp. John yelling, “You pair need a license to do that.” He prized them apart and with delayed response they pulled their heads, legs and tail inside their shell box, the lids slamming shut.

  Again, the Dachshund rocked and rolled them around in the sand.

  “You are a torment Hiaw
atha,” reckoned Rachel.

  “Lubricious lust ends in rust,” chanted LisaAnn at the end of the wedding march.

  “We now pronounce you man and wife,” John shouted holding the wriggling dog.

  “To Ponder Pond near Magnolia Green for din din,” Rachel announced and led the way through a mowed path to where the bright pink table was laid out for the delicious wedding breakfast.

  For over an hour frosted wedding cake and coconut dip with corn crackers, flathead bites drizzled with seafood sauce and chick pea balls were devoured amongst the sterling guests, the gummy greedy-guts Bonny and Berty gratified with head-spinning mouthfuls of the rich grub.

  A rapid dash of burning passion startled LisaAnn as John snuck up from behind and placed his two hands over the seashells that covered her beautiful breasts.

  Ann-Marie watched his beauty more than hers.

  “Mind our babes please sis,” John told Jayne then picked up his lover in his arms and carried her to Mister Right waiting on the quiet waters.

  “I’m just going to the house for more iced tea,” Ann-Marie lied to Josef. Instead, she slowly followed the two lovebirds, creeping along the barky path behind them, stopping at times to hide behind a flowering shrub or a large rock. Holding her breath, she wondered what mischief they were getting up to.

  Between jade-green vines she spied on the two impatient hot-bods stretched out on the deck, wrapped up in each other’s cosy embrace.

  A few feet away John’s voice echoed over the water, “This is our paradise My Love,” his kisses were like a gentle breeze all over LisaAnn’s moist flesh.

  Ann-Marie stared, stoned in silence, listening for the sounds of lovers at play. Jealousy rumbled through her, tearing her heart apart. Ever since she had set her hungry eyes on his cute face, his sexy body, that evening on the shore, she hankered for him like a saucy barbequed pork spare rib. His musical voice, a tone between tenor and bass, turned her on, so misty, so holy it sounded.

  Their laughter was like thunder, the way he peeled the shells off her golden breasts and fondled them with his lightly freckled hands turned Ann-Marie’s heart to ice.