And De Fun Don't Done (66 page)

‘A wa do yu,' protested Esme. ‘She no heh. She ovah deh. No, Les. Mi no good nuff for yu. Tell trut, mon.'

‘Oh arseholes! Come here.' Les put his hand around Esme's waist and gave her a kiss. It wasn't too bad either. Her lips were disgustingly soft and warm, with a little bit of spice, and her body firm; even if she didn't close her eyes. ‘Goodnight, Ez. I have to go. I'll see you in the morning.' Les gave her one more on the cheek. Esme stood there for a moment, giving Les another strange look, before she climbed in the back of the Honda. ‘See you later, Errol,' winked Norton and climbed up the stairs.

‘Ire mon.'

Bloody sheilas, thought Les back in his room. It's alright for them to knock you back for a root. But knock them back and they carry on as if you're either a poof or there's something wrong with you. What are you supposed to do? Light candles round it, roll out a prayer mat, get down on your knees and worship it? Christ! Creepy- crawlies aside, I'm too drunk, too tired and it's too fuckin'
hot. Les finished his drink and yawned. Next door decided to play another reggae track just for a change. ‘Dirts Heart' by Coca Tea and Ninja Man. Bloody hell! Do they ever play any rock 'n' roll in this joint? Even some Col Joye, Bay City Rollers, ABBA, Duran Duran, techno funk, house music. Anything. Hang on. What am I saying? No, keep the reggae going. Ire mon. Norton yawned again and looked at his watch. It wasn't getting any earlier. He switched off the light, lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.

It wasn't easy trying to sleep. He'd doze off but the steady bass, the short, tinny rattle of drums now and again or bursts of laughter coming from below would keep waking him up. And there was nothing Les could do about it. He'd toss and turn and try to switch off, but to no avail. Oh well. I suppose I'll drift off sooner or later. I'll just feel buggered when I wake up in the morning, that's all. Les laughed bitterly to himself. I should have let Esme and Delta have the room. I'd be better off sleeping in the fuckin' car.

Reggae music continued to pump into the room. Before long it all began to sound the same; one continuous bass riff punctuated by drums and unintelligible lyrics. By now Les was half asleep, half awake, drifting in and out of consciousness, more buggered than anything else. One minute his mind would be in Australia, the next minute it would be in Jamaica as he'd toss and turn and sweat into the sheets. Les yawned and rolled over and the beat seemed to get closer. Then the beat sounded like a knock on the door. Les opened his grainy eyes. It
was
a knock on the door. What the…? Les looked at his watch in the half-light, swung his legs wearily over the bed then got up and answered it.

‘Esme! What the…?'

Esme didn't look horny or doe-eyed or in love. She was pouty and shitty.

‘Daht iez-haad, bugayaga I'rrol mon,' she smouldered. ‘Him a one bad man dat. Let mi in, Les. Please mon.'

Before Norton had a chance to say yes, no, or maybe,
Esme was inside. He closed the door, switched on the light and looked at her through puffy eyes. ‘What's wrong, Esme? What did Errol do?' Bloody hell, Les muttered tiredly to himself. He's probably tried to get her pants off. I'm fucked if I'm going down there to defend her honour, or her bloody chastity, or what bloody ever.

‘I eenai biksit mi sleep im done i wuk…' Esme started blowing up.

Les held up a hand. ‘Hey, hang on, Esme. Slow down. I can't understand a bloody word you're saying.'

‘Ire mon. Mi bex. Sorry, Les.'

It turned out Errol hadn't tried to pork her or Delta. He hadn't even made so much as a sexist remark or a mild sexual innuendo. Esme would have been happier if he had. Les had slung Errol fifty dollars earlier to get him a loan of a pinchbar or a crowbar; with another fifty in his dook when Les returned them in the afternoon. Norton remembered seeing Errol helping the caretaker earlier with the gate and figured he might be able to get him a loan of some tools. For a hundred dollars US Errol would have choked the caretaker and torn them out of his hands; stuff the new gate. Evidently there wasn't much happening so Errol finished work early. He'd got the tools together on the sly, didn't want to have them lying around and didn't have a key to the boot of the Honda. So being the good, honest bloke he was, and not knowing when Les was leaving in the morning, he'd thrown them in the back, a pinchbar, crowbar, shovel and one or two other things, all over Esme; nearly busting her skull. Delta was alright in the front, but in the back you would have been more comfortable locked in an iron maiden. Errol's philosophy, however, was Esme wasn't giving him a hundred bucks and if she didn't like the idea she could fuck off. So here she was; tired, shitty, a lump on her scone and Norton had a spare bed. Fair's the go. Even his rotten ancestors wouldn't have been that bad back in the slave days. Les looked at her, closed his eyes and shook his weary head.

‘Alright,' he said, clearing some stuff off the spare bed. ‘But behave yourself. And no snoring or farting.'

‘Sure Les,' answered Esme happily. ‘No problem, mon.'

‘You can leave that to me.'

‘Wa yu say, mon?'

‘Nothing. If you want a glass of water or whatever, it's in there.'

Esme had a drink, took her sandals off, but left the rest of her gear on and climbed on the bed, pleased as punch. Les turned off the light, pulled a sheet over him and said goodnight to Esme; she smiled the same back at him. Norton closed his eyes and resumed staring into the cosmos as more reggae continued to pump in from next door. Bloody hell, he thought. How am I ever gonna get to sleep? And I've got to be on the ball a bit tomorrow. Norton was about buggered now and another thought was running through his mind; worrying him. If he was right about what he was going to do tomorrow, and he stuffed it up, there was a good chance he could get badly hurt; more than likely killed. There was also a chance he could get sprung. A slim one, but a chance nonetheless, especially if he stuffed up. Les was lying on his back, drifting off, half thinking about different things, miles away at times, when instinct told him someone was watching him. Someone was. Esme. Les opened his eyes slightly and Esme was lying on her side, resting on one elbow, staring at him. In the gauzy darkness Les could see and feel these soft pink eyes boring into him like laser beams. His mind on other things he'd almost forgotten about her and got a bit of a start.

‘Esme? What's the matter? Can't you sleep?'

‘Mebbi sleep,' crooned Esme, her eyes never leaving Norton.

‘Yeah, righto. Whatever.'

Les closed his eyes again and continued staring into the cosmos, trying to get some rest at least, and not get up feeling too shithouse in the morning. Try as he might, however, Les found it impossible to switch off from the beams Esme was scorching into him from about a metre away. Go to sleep will you, Esme? Les almost pleaded. For Christ's bloody sake. But Esme wasn't letting up.

‘Les. Les.'

‘Yeah whad?' mumbled Norton.

‘Wa wrong wi mi?'

‘Nothing's wrong with you. Esme, go to bloody sleep.'

‘No. Suntin' wrong with me. Wa?'

‘Esme. Go to sleep. You're enough to give anyone the shits.'

Norton tried to get to sleep as Esme continued to stare at him and more thumping reggae pounded in through the bathroom window.

‘A hiry music deh pon i radio,' she said dreamily.

It was some old Bob Marley track Les vaguely remembered. ‘Yeah. Some of it's alright,' he mumbled.

There was silence for a little while apart from the music. ‘Les, wa wrong wi me?'

‘Nothing. I can't afford you and you're too nice. Now go to sleep and stop being a pain in the arse.'

Even with his eyes closed Les could sense Esme slowly shaking her head. He yawned, settled back and again tried to ignore her. Next thing his bed moved. Esme was sitting on the edge staring down at him.

‘Esme!!?'

‘Les. Wa matter wi yu?'

‘Oh Esme! Give it a bloody rest, will you? Go to sleep. Jesus!'

Norton lay back on the bed with his eyes closed, too tired and too buggered to argue any more. Anything for a peaceful life. There was silence, darkness and more reggae music.

‘Ire mon,' Esme finally said. ‘I think I understand.'

‘That's terrific, Esme. Now goodnight.'

‘But Les.' Esme placed her hand on his chest. ‘Yu bin so good wi mi 'n Delta, I want do suntin for yu.'

‘Esme,' protested Norton.

‘Relax mon,' soothed Esme. ‘I give yu Jameercan sno'stum.'

‘Esme. For…'

But it was too late. Esme pulled the sheet back and started running her fingers across Norton's chest and
stomach muscles, very much liking what she was finding. It wasn't long before her soft pink fingers were sliding gently down his midriff and under his jox. Shit! Isn't this nice? thought Les. All I wanted was some sleep, now I've got this bird attacking me with some monstrous tampering. I s'pose I'll just have to lie back and think of Australia. What else can a man do? Les let out a little sigh. I suppose it could be worse.

Norton might not have been all that keen for any porking, but Mr Wobbly was more than keen to get up and have a look around. Esme's hands were gentle, she gave him a rub, a stroke and a squeeze and Mr Wobbly got keener than ever and from where he was now standing, he didn't mind the view either. Then Esme got down to it. Her tongue and lips were soft and warm and her mouth moist and wide; a shiver went up Norton's back then down to his knees. Ohh yes, he sighed. It definitely could be worse alright. Even the music started to sound better. ‘Stranger on the Shore' by Scotty and Johnny P. It was all bass and beat pumping up the wall with Mr Wobbly now pumping away in unison also. Les writhed on the bed, sweat pouring down his face and stinging his eyes as Esme's head bobbed up and down over his loins. In practically a dream-like state Les could make out some woman with a beautiful, crackling voice singing the lyrics and some bloke rapping out a chorus. ‘Tell you where me stand, tell you where me stand. Tell you where me, tell you where me, tell you where me stand. Need a 'oman to keep me healthy and strong. To all 'oman dis is an invateershun.' Yeah, whatever, muttered Les. I ain't gonna argue. It was all he could do to stay on the bed. Esme knew what she was about. Then the Jamaican girl hit warp ten and Norton's erogenous zone or whatever at the same time, sending the big Queenslander cross-eyed. He gasped in some air, arched his back and Mr Wobbly exploded into what felt like a thousand pieces. Esme bit and chewed and, try as he might, Les couldn't help but howl like a werewolf that had just put one foot in a dingo trap and the other on a cigarette butt as Esme got square
for everything Norton's ancestors had done to hers back in the good old days. His back arched again, his bones rattled, then Les flopped back on the bed, completely drained, with his eyes spinning around like roulette wheels. After a moment or two Les dragged in some air, let it out and glanced up at Esme, who was looking down at him through the soft light and the music with this enigmatic, almost Mona Lisa like smile on her face.

‘So that's a Jamaican Snow Storm, Esme?' Norton smiled dreamily back at her. ‘Unreal.'

Esme shook her head slowly. ‘N'Les,' she garbled. ‘No daht. Di is.
Shhsplluuurrrshhphllwt! Phwt! Phut!'
Esme sprayed the lot all over Les.

‘Ohh, you dirty, rotten low moll!' howled Norton. ‘You prick!'

Les flopped back on the mattress with the Norton dynasty bloodline in his face, his eyes, all over his chest plus the sheets and pillows. He drew back his arm in a half-hearted attempt to belt Esme one, but he was too stuffed and now too weak to move. Esme had done a good job and all he could do was lie there and listen to her laughing as she went to the bathroom then came back and climbed on her own bed, still giggling. To make things worse again, Les found himself starting to laugh too. Naturally, like a typical woman, insouciant or otherwise, as soon as Esme's head hit the pillow she was asleep.

‘Righto, Esme,' muttered Les, ‘that's it. Get your gear and piss off.'

‘Zzzz.'

‘You heard me, Esme. Get. And you can forget about breakfast in the morning. You just had it and knocked it back.'

‘Zzzz.'

Shit! What am I gonna do? Les was a beaten man. Too tired, too lazy and too whipped to move. He found a piece of sheet that hadn't got dragged up his arse in the finale, half wiped his face and eyes then flopped his arm back down by his side. Ahh, bugger it. I couldn't give a stuff. More reggae pumped in from next door, the humid
Jamaican night settled in further and for some reason Norton went out like a light.

Les didn't wake up feeling too bad in the morning, his eyes were a little bit grainy and he'd slept in a bit longer than he'd planned. But apart from that he felt alright. Esme was still snoring softly in the next bed with her back to him and her arse up in the air. Les climbed out of bed, looked at her for a moment and a nasty smile flickered round the corners of his eyes; Les couldn't miss. He raised his right arm, with his hand and fingers dangling loose, and flicked her right across the rump. She jerked her eyes open and mumbled something as she moved slightly on the bed. Les flicked her again and got a better reaction this time.

‘Yeeooww!!'

‘Morning, Esme. Have a good night's sleep, did you?'

Despite rubbing gingerly at her backside, Esme still had this insouciant smirk on her face. ‘Hi Les. How are yu di maanin?'

‘Fine, thank you Esme,' Les smirked back. ‘You won't mind if I use the shower first?' Esme looked up at Norton and blankly shook her head. ‘Thank you,' smirked Les.

Les climbed under the shower and got cleaned up. He didn't bother shaving — he didn't want to waste too much time —just freshen up, get rid of the sweat and anything else he didn't fancy clinging to him. When he came out, with a towel round his waist, Esme was sitting on the bed sipping a glass of water. She smile up at Les staring down at her pofaced, then jumped up off the bed, put her arms round his neck and kissed him. Despite himself Les kissed her back.