Jimmy was about seventeen, a bit on the thin side, with straight dark hair and plenty of good looks in an almost girlish sort of way. He’d worked in the supermarket for nearly two years, but was studying art, hoping to be a signwriter or maybe a commercial artist. An extremely polite, likeable young kid, he got on well with everyone who worked there and had an especially good rapport with Davo. Jimmy also had a very good-looking eighteen-year-old sister, Sandra, who worked part time in a chemist shop not far from the supermarket. Davo had got to know Sandra through Jimmy and thought the sun shone out of her; and the funny thing was Sandra rather fancied Davo, who never realised this and never thought to ask her out always thinking she was too young and he’d only make a fool of himself.
Jimmy never noticed Davo behind him, who tapped him on his left shoulder then moved to his right. Jimmy turned round to his left, then, slightly confused, turned to his right, where Davo was standing watching him with his usual cheeky grin plastered across his face.
‘Davo,’ said Jimmy, returning the grin. ‘I might’ve known it’d be you. How are you, mate?’
‘Not too bad, James my boy. How’s yourself?’
‘Pretty good thanks.’ Jimmy stared at Davo curiously for a moment trying to figure out what was different. ‘Ohh wow,’ he finally said. ‘I like your haircut. That’s really neat.’
‘You reckon?’ Davo turned slightly side-on to give Jimmy a better view.
‘Ohh yeah, it looks great. Where’d you get it?’
‘Vermillions.’
‘Fair dinkum? Wow, do you go there?’
‘My oath. A good sort like me—where else would I go?’ ‘Fair enough.’ Jimmy gave a chuckle and continued packing the shelves. ‘I’d better keep doing this while I’m talking to you just in case old Brinsden comes along. You know what he’s like.’
‘Yeah. A fat pain in the arse. Hey while I’m on the subject of good sorts. How’s your sister these days?’
‘Good. She’s working this afternoon. Why don’t you call in and say hello to her on the way home.’
‘Yeah alright, I will.’
Davo stood there talking to Jimmy for a few more minutes about this, that and the other then said he’d see him tomorrow. He paid the girl on the checkout for the apples, opening his bag for her inspection and joking that he had a whole pig stuffed in the crutch of his jeans, then collected his change and melted in with the rest of the shoppers going past the front of the store.
The Chem-Mart pharmacy, where Sandra worked, was in the same shopping complex only a few yards round from the supermarket. Davo thought he could see her crouched down in one of the aisles as he stopped outside the front window; he paused there momentarily. S’pose I may as well go in and say hello he thought. Buy a tube of toothpaste or something. That’ll give me an excuse to hang around for a while.
Davo’s secret fondness for Jimmy’s sister wasn’t just because she was young and goodlooking and nor just for the sake of getting her into bed. Not that he would have minded. Nor was it just the silly infatuation of an older man for a girl much younger than himself. Davo genuinely thought the world of Sandra. They had a chemistry and a certain rapport between them, which, along with her bubbly personality, both tantalised and delighted Davo. He was always wanting to ask her out, but her being eighteen and him in his thirties he thought it a bit ridiculous. And he tried not to hang around her too long in case he ended up saying or doing something stupid and making a complete fool of himself. So for the time being he just kept himself sweet and hoped that maybe one day, you never know, something might happen.
Sadly, poor Davo couldn’t see the wood for the trees and never knew that Sandra felt pretty much the same way about him. The boys in her age group she used to hang around with at Bronte, where she lived, only ever talked about surfboards, Cold Chisel or pot. And they spent every living minute trying to get into her and her girlfriends’ pants while bludging money from them at the same time. Davo, with his kind, sensitive nature and cheeky sense of humour was almost a knight in shining armour. And, secretly, like a lot of young girls, she had an impulsive desire to be wined and dined then swept off her feet and seduced by an older man. Someone with feelings and a little compassion; and Davo slipped into this category just nicely. But in the meantime she could dream—and so could Davo.
When Davo came up behind her Sandra was stacking shelves too. Even from behind, Davo couldn’t mistake that shapely little bottom and beautiful, long blonde hair, shining almost like silk.
‘Excuse me miss,’ he said, standing almost over her as she reached into the cardboard carton, ‘Could you give me something for a bit of pre-menstrual tension?’
Sandra turned around and looked up curiously. When she recognised who it was her soft green eyes lit up and she broke into a grin to reveal two rows of perfect white teeth like strings of pearls.
‘Bob. I should have known it was you.’ She gave his leg a little slap and stood up. ‘How are you, darling?’ she said, looking up into his eyes as she wiggled her eyebrows seductively. ‘I’d give you a kiss big boy,’ she added, in a deep, flat Mae West type of voice ‘but the boss is watching and I need the job. I’m putting my young brother through art school.’
I’d like to give you a kiss too you gorgeous little thing thought Davo, looking at her two tiny moist lips, completely devoid of make-up yet still as pink and soft as rose petals. ‘That’s alright, Sandra, I understand,’ he grinned. ‘I always have that effect on women. How are you anyway?’
‘Good. Better when I see you of course.’ Then she noticed his haircut. ‘Ooh you’ve had your hair done,’ she exclaimed. ‘Where did you get that? It looks unreal.’ She reached up and ran her slender fingers through his hair, lightly tickling the extension at the back.
‘I got it at lunchtime round Vermillions. The boss, Wayne, did it.’
‘Wayne St Peters did it, did he. I might have known. Gee he did a good job.’
‘Thanks.’ Davo started to shuffle his feet a little nervously. ‘Anyway you’d ah . . . better give me a tube of Colgate fluoride and ah ... a box of Kleenex tissues, and I’ll get going. I’d better not be hanging around here too long—I don’t want to get you the sack.’
‘That’s alright. What’s your big hurry anyway. I was only kidding about the boss, he’s gone round the TAB. Stay and talk to me for a while.’ Sandra tugged lightly at the front of Davo’s windcheater. ‘It’s not often I get to talk to some one as tall and good-looking as you.’
Davo smiled as his cheeks coloured slightly. Christ he thought. I wish you were fair dinkum. ‘Well. . . okay then. What would you like to talk about?’
They chatted away happily, about nothing much in particular, for a few minutes while Sandra kept re-stocking the shelves. Work. Her brother’s art course. About it being half-way through June and how much they both hated winter. Then Davo told her about how he and Wayne were going to the Santana concert on Thursday night.
‘Santana—and Mondo Rock. Gee, Bob, that’s going to be a fantastic concert. I wish I was going with you.’
‘I only wish I could take you Sandra. I really do.’
She paused and looked him directly in the eye. ‘Oh well, you never know. Maybe some other time.’
‘Yeah . . . maybe.’
But there was something in the way she said it and something in the way she looked at him that made Davo think. Shit! I wonder if I should ask her out? I’ve been pussyfooting around her now for over a year. I suppose I should. Christ, she can only laugh at me and tell me to piss off. But as it stood, their relationship was a lot of fun. They’d kid each other and maybe squeeze hands now and again or blow each other silly kisses and although Davo often thought of asking her out, somewhere, deep in his heart, he knew it was impossible. Christ, she was barely out of school and he was a middleaged, divorced man. It was ridiculous, maybe some time in the future when she was a little older; if she hadn’t met anyone by then. The best thing to do was dream about it, because once he asked her an
d she said no the dream would be over, possibly forever, so why shatter the illusion. And what is it the kids say? Never trust anyone over thirty.
But they also say ‘faint heart never won fair lady’ and she looked so beautiful standing there with those wide, innocent green eyes and that enigmatic smile on her face. Ah bugger it. Davo sucked in a deep breath. Why not.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said a little hesitantly, as he looked at her and shuffled his feet nervously for a moment before he spoke. ‘There’s a bit of a turn on over at Watsons Bay this Saturday night. It’s a barbecue. If you’re not doing anything I could take you to that. I mean . . . you know. Only if you want to,’ he added, with a selfconscious shrug of his shoulders.
‘Alright.’
Davo stared at her for a second not quite believing what he’d heard. ‘What was that?’
‘I said alright, I’d like to go.’
Davo tried to speak but somehow his tongue seemed to be getting in the way. ‘Yeah. . . well. Okay then,’ he finally blurted out, almost swallowing the words.
‘I’m supposed to be going out with a couple of girlfriends on Saturday night, but I should be able to get out of it alright. I’ll tell you what.’ Sandra took a biro and a small notebook from the pocket of her white uniform. ‘Here’s my phone number, ring me on Saturday afternoon to make sure. But it’ll be okay.’ She tore the page off and handed it to Davo who put it in the pocket of his windcheater. ‘Now don’t forget to ring me will you?’
‘No. No I’ll ring for sure.’ Davo was still slightly dumbfounded. Shit! I can’t believe this he thought. She said yes. Just like that. I don’t believe it. Then he noticed her glance a little cautiously over her shoulder.
‘Hello, here’s the boss back. I’d better keep doing what I was doing.’ She bent down, picked up a few more bottles of conditioner and continued packing the shelves; rearranging the other bottles so she could fit them in.
Davo continued to stare at her in disbelief for a few more seconds till he realised the man she had pointed out as the boss was looking over at them. Well I’d better not stand around here like a Lowes dummy he thought. I suppose I’d best make a move.
‘Anyway, Sandra. Give us that toothpaste and those tissues and I’ll get going.’
‘Very good, sir,’ she replied, with a brassy grin. She walked around to one of the other aisles and got the two articles which she handed to Davo who was following sheepishly about two steps behind her. There you are, sir, Kleenex tissues and Colgate fluoride. And . . . something for the PMT was it?’
‘Ah . . . you needn’t worry about that, miss. I might just get the doctor to change my pill.’
‘Good idea, sir. I’ve noticed you’re getting quite a bit of hair on your upper lip.’ She pushed her finger into Davo’s chest. ‘What about round your nipples.’
Davo felt that good he wanted to burst out laughing and kick his heels together as he followed her over to the cash register and paid her.
There you are, sir,’ she said pleasantly, as she handed Davo the two articles in a white paper bag with the name of the pharmacy on it. Thank you very much. And don’t forget Saturday night,’ she added with a whisper.
‘As good as gold,’ whispered Davo. ‘Thank you, miss.’ He smiled at her for a moment then turned and walked casually from the shop.
Sandra had a smile on her face too as she watched him walk out the door. Well he finally got round to asking me our she thought whimsically, as Davo disappeared amongst the other shoppers. I don’t suppose I can actually accuse him of sexual harassment or monstering me. It’s only taken him a year. She couldn’t help but chuckle to herself as she stared out the door after him.
‘Are you alright, Sandra?’ came a voice to her rear.
‘Huh?’ She turned around to see the owner looking at her curiously. ‘Yes. Sure, Mr Gilmore. It was just something that customer said—that’s all.’ She smiled at the owner and went back to stacking the shelves.
The sun had started to go down and a chilly, westerly wind was whipping along the quickly darkening, concrete canyon of Oxford Street Bondi Junction as Davo strode past Grace Bros towards Bondi Road and the warmth of home. The people huddled at the bus-stops or swarming along the bleak, windy footpaths blinked their eyes against the dust and grit swirling in the air and buried their necks further into the collars of their jackets as they cursed the bitter westerly that chafed their lips and stung their ears. Jesus I reckon I’ll be wearing something a bit warmer than this tomorrow thought Davo, stuffing his hands deeper into the pockets of his windcheater. He felt the piece of paper with Sandra’s phone number on it, stopped, pulled it out and opened it. Have a look at that. Can you bloody believe it. He stood there smiling and shaking his head, stared at it for a moment or two before folding it neatly and placing it in a safe part of his wallet. He jogged across Oxford Street to get a newspaper off a kid who was still shivering despite a heavy layer of scarves and jackets then, at a brisk pace, headed up Bondi Road; despite the cold Davo was smiling and whistling and walking along like he had wings on his feet.
The six pm news was just starting when Davo walked into his home unit and turned on the kitchen radio, hitting the switch for the electric kettle at the same time. He rubbed his hands together and stared out the plate glass, sliding kitchen door that led onto a balcony with a good view across Bondi Road and Waverley Oval. One of the local rugby league teams was training on the main ground. On the adjacent fields several other teams of young men were playing touch football under the milky, yellow glow thrown out by the ground lights which had just blinked on. Even from where he stood Davo could see how cold and miserable it looked and gave a little shudder; he was glad it was them running around out there in the wintry darkness and not him.
The unit being on the second floor, Davo got quite a good view of the oval and beyond and with the two bedrooms at the back, he missed nearly all the traffic noise of busy Bondi Road. Sometimes he’d go for a jog round the park adjacent to the oval for twenty or thirty minutes and maybe do a few sit-ups in his large garage downstairs but training was never Davo’s forte. He was always going to put a proper gym in the garage but the longer he left it the more he seemed to lose interest, plenty of swimming in the summer months would do him; besides, working in a butcher shop was exercise enough wasn’t it?
He made a cup of coffee and started thumbing idly through the paper, spread out on the bar-type kitchen table. There wasn’t a great deal in the headlines. Some new group of terrorists had hijacked a French plane and were going to blow it up. A mob of skinheads had beat up some gays in Oxford Street and one was in a coma and looked like dying. The builders’ labourers and the mail sorters were out on strike along with some other union, neither knew positively what they were out for but they definitely weren’t going back till they got it. The only good thing in the paper was a massive-breasted page three girl. Davo dwelt on that while he finished his coffee then, feeling a bit hungry from missing lunch and seeing as Colin was coming around at nine he decided to have an early tea. He peeled some vegetables, put them on a slow boil then climbed out of his smelly work clothes and got under the shower.
Davo couldn’t help but break into a song as the steaming, hot water splashed over his body and he soaped away the sweat and grease from work; before long a grin broke out across his face as he started thinking about Sandra and Saturday night. I still can’t believe this he thought. It’s got to be too good to be true. She’s what—eighteen? And an unbelievably good sort to boot. He shook his head. No. It’s too good to be true. As he started shaving in a small mirror he had hanging from the shower nozzle he decided to put it out of his mind. If I rely on it, knowing my luck, something’s bound to go wrong. It’s too good to be true and I’ll believe it when it happens on Saturday night. He finished showering, dried off and climbed into a track suit. In the kitchen he got two pork chops out of the fridge, placed them under the griller and switched on the TV in the loungeroom to get the 6.30 news at the same
time.
Davo’s two bedroom unit was quite large and modern with two balconies and a double garage downstairs. It was carpeted throughout, there was plenty of solid, comfortable furniture, some indoor plants and the odd painting or poster on a wall to brighten things up. Sue had taken more than her share of things when she left but she didn’t actually leave him staring at bare walls either, and Davo wasn’t short of a dollar to get it all together again. He kept it reasonably clean, especially the kitchen, and it was more than adequate for one man; or a married couple for that matter. However, compared to Wayne and David’s three bedroom unit a few blocks closer to the beach it looked like a $2 a night lossman in Bali.
White, pure wool, Berber carpet, that thick you almost needed snow shoes to walk on it, splashed up against every wall and built-in wardrobe. This was enhanced by exquisite, crystal chandeliers that tinkled in every room, including the toilets and bathroom. A monstrous, burgundy coloured, crushed velvet Ottoman spread itself across the huge loungeroom, surrounded by a numerous variety of lustrously healthy indoor plants and vines that meandered around and under the original oil paintings, watercolours and beaten bronze plaques that hung on every wall except one. This wall was covered by a mammoth, antique, polished cedar bookcase, crammed with everything from the classics to Hunter S. Thompson, S^ren Kierkegaard and Allen Ginsberg. If you didn’t care for reading and felt like a drink or a bit of music, a sumptuously stocked bar, complete with crystal decanters and silver goblets, stood next to a dazzlingly modern Bang & Olufsen TV, compact-disc, stereo home entertainment centre with an extensive collection of records, CDs and cassettes and not one out of place. This faced an enormous kitchen full of all the latest electrical appliances, so modern and up-to-date it was almost experimental.
The loungeroom light was on when Wayne opened the front door and stepped inside; he called out cheerfully before walking across to the kitchen then down the corridor where he could see the light shining from David’s bedroom. David was propped up in bed surrounded by almost a wall of salmon-pink, satin pillows, matching satin sheets and a deep maroon, woollen bedcover. A pair of red, silk pyjamas, with his initials monogrammed on the top pocket, were buttoned up under his chin and a Cambridge-blue, velour shave-coat was draped across his narrow shoulders; the glossy, though elegant display of colours somehow only seemed to make him appear more miserable than he was. His fine blond hair was dishevelled and his thin featured face pale and waxy, except for two blue circles forming under his eyes. A pair of light steel-framed reading glasses were perched on the end of his nose and a copy of the latest Frederick Forsyth hardback sat unopened on the bed next to his elbow.
Davo's Little Something Page 4
