The Real Thing Page 18

  ‘Bloody beauty,’ said Norton, grinning and giving the knots a final tug. ‘I don’t mind paddling these.’

  ‘You’ll love it where you’re going. Boambee lagoon’s beautiful. Anyway, let’s have some breakfast, I’m starving.’

  ‘Yeah, so am I.’

  Reg’s home-made muesli, which he bought from some hippies on another little farm somewhere, was delicious at any time, but with the fresh peaches it was even nicer. After several bowls plus some scrambled eggs Norton was ready to head for Sawtell. He told Reg he didn’t know when he’d be back, probably later that night. Reg wished him all the best giving him a knowing wink as he drove off.

  Boambee lagoon is just that. A beautiful blue lagoon formed by a small creek, its size and depth determined by the tide as it runs into the ocean a kilometre or so north of Sawtell. A picturesque railway bridge spans the mouth and a small caretaker’s house, surrounded by ghost-gums, sits neatly on the township side. Dense swampy scrub starts on the other side, over which you sometimes see and hear the droning of various aircraft as they take off and land at Coffs Harbour airport a few kilometres at the other end of the bush. It was about 10.30 when Les and the schoolteacher from Grafton drove down the dirt road and pulled up a few metres from the edge. Apart from them, and probably the caretaker, the place was deserted.

  ‘So this is it eh? It sure looks nice enough,’ said Norton, switching off the motor.

  ‘I reckon it’s beautiful,’ replied Betty. ‘It’s my favourite spot up here. Anyway, come on,’ she said, clapping her hands together, let’s get everything sorted out.’

  ‘Yes Miss Cox. Whatever you say ma’m,’ replied Norton derisively.

  They started unloading the car. Betty had made some coleslaw and buttered bread, plus a few other things. She’d also supplied a large blanket from the flat. Norton had borrowed an esky from Reg which he’d filled with beer, ice, orange juice and two bottles of Great Western champagne bought at Sawtell. He also bought a dozen lamb cutlets, sausages and a slice of rump steak, as well as some paper plates and a few other odds and ends. While Betty started spreading everything out on the blanket Norton gathered up some wood and twigs for the barbecue.

  ‘I won’t light this just yet,’ he said. ‘We’ll have a swim and a few drinks first.’

  ‘Good idea. In fact what’s wrong with having a drink right now?’

  In no time they’d polished off three stubbies each. They went for a swim. Betty was wearing a red, cotton bikini this time. It covered her nipples and part of her crutch and that was about it — when Norton first saw it he nearly bit the neck of his stubbie.

  They splashed around in the clear, blue water like a couple of happy sea-otters. Betty had brought a little rubber surf mat which she made Norton blow up and paddle her around on. They had a couple of races across the lagoon which Betty, much to Norton’s surprise, almost won. Les piggybacked her around. They had a ferocious water fight which culminated in a bit of a wrestling match. About one p.m., and a few more stubbies later, Les lit the barbecue. While he was standing there poking at the fire Betty wrapped her arms around him from behind and gave him a big squeeze, then ran her icy stubbie up and down his back just to annoy him. If anybody watching hadn’t known better they would have sworn they were in love.

  The picnic area barbecue was one of those small ones built a couple a metres or so off the ground with a hot-plate on one side and a grill on the other. Satisfied the coals were at the right heat Norton threw a handful of gum leaves on them for flavour, then spread all the meat across the two metal plates.

  ‘Are you sure there’s enough there?’ asked Betty.

  ‘There is for me,’ replied Les. ‘But after watching the way you tore into that fish yesterday I’ll probably have to go back to the butcher and get a side of beef.’ Betty didn’t say anything, she just clouted Norton across his big red head. They had time for another two stubbies. Then it was ready.

  Betty had spread everything out on the blanket. Norton put all the meat on two paper plates and opened a bottle of Great Western. Without any further ceremony they got stuck into the food, washing it down with mouthfuls of champagne and orange juice.

  Norton couldn’t believe his luck. He’d have been happy just to spend a few quiet days in the country with an old friend not doing too much at all, yet here he was — having a terrific barbecue with one the nicest young girls he’d met in ages and if he played his cards right and took his time, he was a laydown mesère to do the business.

  ‘Jesus that coleslaw’s all right,’ he said emphatically. ‘What did you put in it?’

  ‘Some pineapple pieces and a little sweet-and-sour sauce. Makes a difference, doesn’t it?’ Norton nodded his head enthusiastically. ‘You don’t make a bad barbecue either Mr Norton. This meat is absolutely delicious.’

  ‘It’s all in the gum leaves Miss Cox. All in the gum leaves.’

  About half an hour later there was a lamb cutlet and two sausages left. The first bottle of Great Western was gone. Les offered to open another one, but Betty shook her head: she couldn’t eat or drink another thing. All she wanted to do was to lie down on Les’s banana chair with the front doors of the BMW open, listen to his tapes and take it easy for a while — and she did just that.

  Norton was still feeling a bit revved up from the few beers and the champagne and seeing Betty stretched back on his banana chair, with her legs slightly apart and her beautiful big boobs almost hanging out of ther tiny red bikini, he knew if he stayed there, before long he’d either do something he’d regret or just straight out monster her.

  ‘Well while you’re lying there,’ he said, patting her gently on her thigh. ‘I might go for a bit of a paddle on the ski. Work off some of that meal.’

  ‘All right then,’ she mumbled sleepily. ‘Come here a minute.’ As Les bent over her she wound her arms tenderly around his neck, drew him down to her and kissed him softly but passionately on the lips. ‘See you when you get back.’

  ‘Okay,’ croaked Les. Beads of sweat burst out across his forehead.

  Fair dinkum, a man’s a mug, thought Norton, as he put his feet in the straps and pushed the surf ski out from the sand bank with the paddle. I should be back there grabbing her on the lamington instead of floundering around out here. Ah well. He adjusted his eyeshade and paddled out into the middle of the lagoon with a leisurely if not slightly clumsy stroke.

  He let the current take him down to the railway bridge where a couple of kids were fishing in the shade underneath.

  ‘Any luck fellas?’ he called out.

  ‘Yeah. I got a couple of bream and me mate got a flathead,’ drawled the tallest one wearing a huge, ragged straw hat.

  ‘Good on you.’ Norton drifted on a bit further almost to the beach at Trapdoors, sat for a moment or two then started paddling back up. It was much harder coming back against the current and he was starting to get a bit of sweat up when he reached the bridge. He manoeuvred the ski up against one of the oyster-encrusted pylons and sat in the shade watching the kids fishing. Before long a freight train rumbled over the top of them with a deafening racket that sounded as if the whole bridge was going to fall down. As it got to the other side the driver let out several piercing toots on the whistle. Betty was still sleeping soundly next to the car when he got back to the middle of the lagoon so he paddled up a bit further and decided to go for a walk. He drifted back down with the current, pulled up with a crunch on the sandy edge of the lagoon directly opposite the car, pulled the ski up out of the water, laid the paddle across the top and started walking slowly into the swampy bush.

  The sandy ground beneath his bare feet was an oily, orange black interspersed with pools of glistening stagnant water. Rotting logs covered in bright green moss lay across the pools, and vines and creepers hung from the stunted, asymmetrical trees. The air was steamy, unpleasant and buzzed with countless tiny insects. A normal person would have found it most distasteful, but Norton liked walking in the bush on his own so he
found it almost enjoyable. Strangely enough he seemed to have stumbled on to a faint, almost imperceptible trail; a person without any knowledge of the bush would have missed it altogether. Quite puzzled as to why there would be a trail in such hostile terrain Norton decided to follow.

  After about 500 metres the ground started to firm up; there was more topsoil and the shrubs and trees began to take on a more pleasant appearance. The singing of birds was becoming quite audible and, now and again, Les could see different birds bobbing around in the branches. He followed the trail till it ended in some chest-high bullrushes. He pushed through the few metres of bullrushes, then stopped abruptly scarcely able to believe his eyes.

  In front of him was a clearing about ten metres in diameter and growing right up to the edges were rows and rows of marijuana plants, some in plastic pots, some in tiny jiffy pots but mostly growing straight out of the ground, all around one metre high. However, at the edge of the clearing someone had run strands of thin clothesline between the trees. Hanging upside down on the clothesline were rows and rows of marijuana plants drying in the shade ready for packaging.

  ‘Well I’ll be rooted,’ mumbled Norton out loud, his jaw dropping slightly. He stood rubbing his chin for a moment then had a quick look around and behind him; there was definitely no one about, so he walked gingerly over and felt one of the plants. They were dry and ready to go. Even at a rough estimate Norton could see there had to be at least twenty kilos of pot. Something Reg had said to him on the farm suddenly hit him like a bolt out of the blue. It was when they were walking back from Reg’s little patch down by the billabong.

  ‘You know Les, because of the ham-fisted, stupid attitude between the government and the cops, pot’s now worth between 1000 and 1500 dollars a kilo.’

  ‘Fair dinkum. That much?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s the money that causes all the trouble Les. Not the dope. Ridiculous, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, it sure is.’

  The wheels inside the cash register inside Norton’s mind started to tick over. Even if there’s only fifteen kilos there and I get the minimum amount for it, if I can get that back to Sydney? The cash register suddenly rang up over $15,000. Norton’s eyes widened and a huge grin broke out across his face. Cackling like a hyena he picked up a small branch and started dusting away his footprints. He backed out of the clearing and started walking softly back along the trail.

  The tape had stopped playing and Betty was still dozing peacefully on the banana chair when Norton put the surf ski back on top of the car: the sound of him closing one of the doors woke her up.

  ‘Oh! Wazzat?’ she mumbled groggily, blinking her eyes and shaking her head.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Les, ‘I didn’t mean to wake you up.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ She stretched and yawned loudly. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘It’s after four.’

  ‘Is it?’ Betty swung her feet over the edge of the banana chair and stared at the ground for a moment. ‘I’ve been asleep for almost two hours. Have you been paddling all that time?’

  ‘I ended up going for a walk along the beach.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You still want to go out for a drink tonight?’

  Betty yawned again and shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I’ll see how I feel after I have a shower. I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee though.’

  ‘Yeah, me too.’ Norton helped her to her feet and she fell up against him winding her arms around his waist for support. ‘How about we have one back at your place? I’ll stop at Sawtell and get a nice sponge cake.’

  ‘All right then.’ Betty nuzzled up against Norton’s chest and closed her eyes. ‘I’m so tired.’

  ‘You’ll be right.’ They put the stuff back in the car, cleaned up their rubbish, then drove back to Sawtell. Norton stopped at a cake shop and bought a passionfruit cream sponge cake. He also made a quick visit to the hardware store and a supermarket, placing what he’d bought in the boot of the car.

  Back at Betty’s flat Norton let her use the shower first. He put the electric kettle on, cut the cake up and checked out the flat. It was a typical flat. Two bedrooms, with a double bed in one and two singles in the other, a cheap cloth-and-vinyl lounge with a scatter rug on the lino floor and a kitchen with a laminex table and a cheap fridge humming in the corner. But it was clean and bright, there was a large colour TV, the shower sounded like it worked okay and there didn’t seem to be any shortage of hot water, as Betty was in there over quarter of an hour.

  ‘Are you sure you’re clean enough?’ asked Les. She came out holding a towel round her body and another one wrapped round her hair. ‘Christian Barnard doesn’t scrub up that much when he does open-heart surgery.’

  ‘Don’t be cheeky. Go on it’s your turn.’ She disappeared into the main bedroom and closed the door.

  Norton showered and shaved, got changed into a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He came out to find Betty had changed into an incredibly brief pair of shorts and a cotton top: the cake and a pot of coffee were sitting on a coffee table.

  ‘Well isn’t that nice?’ he said. ‘Afternoon tea with the vicar.’

  ‘You want to hurry Mr Norton or you might just miss out.’

  They sat chatting and sipping coffee and eating cake till it was all gone. By then it was almost time for the news so Betty switched the TV on.

  ‘Les,’ she said, wiping a few crumbs of cake from her mouth. ‘Do you really want to go out tonight?’

  ‘I don’t care mate,’ replied Norton with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘It’s up to you. What ever you want.’

  ‘How about we stay home and watch TV? They’re having a Marilyn Monroe special tonight starting at 7.30. And maybe we could go out somewhere tomorrow night. What do you reckon?’

  ‘Righto. That other bottle of shampoo’s in the fridge. What say we give that a bit of nudge while we’re watching the movie?’

  ‘Okay.’ Betty was ecstatic. She had someone to cuddle up to with. Norton starting to look better all the time and Marilyn Monroe movies were her favourites.

  Bloody beauty, thought Les. I should be able to do some business here, get away by eleven and nick that pot. He rubbed his hands together and gave Betty a hand to put the things away.

  Norton cracked the bottle of bubbly just before the start of Some Like It Hot. By the time Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon were in their drag gear on the train heading for Miami, the champagne, mixed with orange juice, was just about gone and Betty was snuggled up against Norton with a bit more on her mind than Marilyn Monroe.

  He started slowly massaging her stomach: she gave a little purr of delight, snuggled in a bit closer and rested her head on Norton’s shoulder. He carefully turned her head up towards him, smiled gently into her eyes, which were swimming noticeably, and kissed her tenderly on the mouth, rubbing his tongue lightly over her lips. Gingerly, he moved his hand up to her firm, heaving breasts kissing her softly on the neck at the same time. Betty gave a moan, wound her arm lovingly round Les’s neck and darted her hot, moist tongue seductively into his ear.

  Norton unhooked her bra, moved his hand between her open legs and began stroking with a gentle but firm pressure. It wasn’t long before Betty started getting steamier than a bathroom mirror. She placed her hand tenatively on Norton’s fly. Her eyes misted over completely.

  ‘Come on,’ he said quietly. He gently helped her to her feet and led her into the main bedroom.

  ‘Go easy Les,’ she said barely audibly. Norton removed her shorts and dropped them at the side of the bed. ‘It’s been a long time for me.’

  It might have been a long time for Betty but she certainly hadn’t forgotten anything. She tore into it with Norton like there wasn’t going to be a tomorrow. Norton just kept stroking away at a steady pace controlling himself as best as he could while Betty screamed and cried with ecstasy, biting into his neck and running her nails up and down his back. After the mouse she’d been engaged to, Les was like a big, red-haired panther
who didn’t let up.

  Norton was just as equally rapt. Betty’s young, brown body was firm and supple. She moved with him like they were one person. Les couldn’t remember a more enjoyable, exhilarating sexual experience. It was one of, if not the best he’d ever had.

  After they’d finished they lay with just a sheet over them cooling off for a while. Betty had her hand on Norton’s arm running her index finger around the stubby red hairs on his chest. Neither of them said anything. They just let out a selfconscious chuckle every now and again at the enthusiasm they’d put into the last three-quarters of an hour. Norton really fancied Betty and would have liked to stay the night, but the thought of $15,000 worth of dope just up the road kept running through his brain. He took a glance at his watch over Betty’s tousled head.

  ‘Y’know Betty,’ he said, ‘it might be an idea if I got going soon.’

  Betty frowned slightly and looked at him. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Well, if I stay here much longer I’ll only end up falling asleep, and I don’t think it’d look very nice me sneaking out of here at all hours of the morning like a mangy dog.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly. Who’s going to see you anyway?’

  ‘Well, the neighbours for a start. Then that aunt and uncle you mentioned might call around out of the blue. It could be a bit embarrassing. Besides Betty,’ he kissed her tenderly on the forehead, ‘you’re a helluva nice girl and I wouldn’t like to get you a bad name.’

  Betty chuckled lecherously, put her tongue in Les’s ear and ran her hand down to his loins. ‘Oh Les,’ she sighed. ‘Get me a bad name. Get me a bad name.’

  Betty was snoring softly into the pillow when Norton got up to leave around 10.30. He quietly put his clothes on and tiptoed into the kitchen. He had three glasses of water, splashing a bit on his profusely sweating face. Before he departed he left a note with Reg’s phone number on it on the coffee table. He clicked the front door softly behind him, trotted to the car and drove off.