Heller's Girlfriend (2 page)

The head organiser was himself
dressed as a Las Vegas Elvis in a resplendent blue
rhinestone-studded jumpsuit and blue high-heeled boots, made from
genuine pseudo-suede. He stepped onto the stage and named the lucky
ten contestants who’d made it through to the final, disappointing a
lot of other Elvises as he did.

One of those who missed out was
a particularly fervent contestant who’d undeniably gone the extra
mile as one of the hottie Elvises. He was bedecked in a tight black
leather outfit identical to that worn by the man himself at his
famous 1968 comeback concert. The contestant bore a passing
resemblance to Elvis that he cultivated fanatically, so he really
looked the part. In fact, his sideburns were so precise that I’d
wager he’d used a ruler to measure them. But he’d been let down by
his reedy, unpleasant voice that had made us all cringe with its
lack of tone. The applause after his act had been sparse and merely
polite at best.

“
That’s bullshit!
” he
screeched, his shrill voice bouncing around the room. “I was twenty
times better than
that
fat bastard!” He pointed his finger
accusingly at a tubby Elvis in yet another white jumpsuit who’d
mesmerised the audience and judges with his beautiful voice.

“Who are you calling a fat
bastard, you no-talent loser?” demanded the tubby Elvis, striding
over to the angry leather-pants. “I won that spot in the final fair
and square. You sucked. Deal with it.”

“Robbed! I was
robbed
!”
Angry Elvis howled. “Look at him! He’s too fat to be Elvis. What
the
fuck
were you people thinking?” he berated the judges.
“I look like Elvis. I know I do. I’ve practiced in the mirror for
two years.” He glared at the now-frightened judges, the wildness in
his eyes hinting that his failure to validate his devoted efforts
was having a slightly negative effect on his mental stability. “Two
whole fucking years! Nobody in this competition has worked harder
than me!”

“And nobody has less talent than
you either,” sneered Tubby Elvis. “Even that old guy with the dodgy
hips was better than you.”

“Hey!” puffed out the ancient
Elvis, half-rising from the seat where he was still recovering from
his performance. “You’ll leave me out of this if you know what’s
good for you. Or I’ll come over there and kick you in the
goolies!”

“Settle down, grandpa,” soothed
Tubby Elvis, palms up. “No offence meant.”

Mumbling darkly to himself,
Ancient Elvis lowered his bony rear back on the seat and addressed
the angry young man. “And anyway, that fat Elvis is right – you
sucked, junior. Man up about it.”

“I was robbed!” insisted Angry
Elvis, his voice rising a disagreeable octave in fury. “And I’ll
take on any fucker that says otherwise!”

“
I
say otherwise,”
challenged Tubby Elvis, evidently not one to turn the other cheek.
“So you better be prepared to take this fucker on, tossbag.”

Ben and I exchanged glances.

“Let’s bossa nova, baby,” he
suggested, and we headed off to quell Angry Elvis before things
turned really nasty.

He wasn’t thrilled to be
politely reminded of his manners and started swinging out in
violent fury. Tubby Elvis had unwisely positioned himself front and
centre before him, butting up against him aggressively with his big
belly. Ben was much bigger and stronger than me, so after another
exchanged glance, I moved to force Tubby Elvis to retreat, while
Ben tackled the fiery, thrashing Angry Elvis. Before he could
though, Angry Elvis struck out with surprising accuracy, cracking
Tubby Elvis one on the chin, and sending him reeling backwards.
Unfortunately for me, I was standing directly behind him at that
point in time and he fell back onto me heavily, taking me down with
him. I broke his fall, while he nearly broke my back.

He was heavy, very heavy, and I
had the air thumped out of my lungs as efficiently as if he’d run
over me with a steamroller. I didn’t know how Ben was going with
Angry Elvis, because Tubby Elvis floundered around on top of me
trying to right himself, like a beetle on its back. With every
movement he crushed me further into the carpet. All I could think
about was oxygen – beautiful, clear, clean, pure oxygen. I needed
it and I needed it urgently. I knew it was all around me for free,
but I currently suffered a grave deficit of it.

I mustered up my strength to
roll Tubby Elvis off me. Free of him, I laid on the floor looking
up at the ugly air conditioning ducts and fluoro lighting on the
ceiling of the room, hauling great breaths of air into my lungs.
When I’d re-oxygenated my body sufficiently, I roused myself and
staggered to my feet. I made sure that Tubby Elvis was okay and
with great effort, helped him to his feet.

“Thank you kindly, ma’am,” he
said to me with that renowned Southern geniality. I bobbed my head
courteously and turned to check on Ben. He continued to struggle
with Angry Elvis, egged on by the newly revived Ancient Elvis,
whose rheumy eyes shone with excitement. That little wizened elf
hovered around the tussling duo as annoyingly as a mosquito,
getting in Ben’s way and shouting out instructions for him to kick
Angry Elvis in the goolies.

“I’m not kicking him in the
goolies,” patiently explained Ben again, trying to swat away
Ancient Elvis while simultaneously subduing Angry Elvis.

I stalked over to them, pain
twinging in my back, pulling out my capsicum spray from one of the
many pockets in my cargo pants. The spray wasn’t a standard issue
weapon for
Heller’s
security officers, but Heller insisted
that I have some with me at all times. He’s a bit over-cautious
like that. For some inexplicable reason, he considered me to be a
trouble-magnet.

“Oi! Angry Elvis!” I yelled in
his snarling face, giving him fair warning by holding the spray in
clear sight. “It’s capsicum spray. Do you want a dose of extreme
pain? If not, then I suggest that you calm down right now.”

To his credit, he stopped
resisting immediately. Ben flashed me an appreciative look, but
Ancient Elvis seemed disappointed that it was all resolved so
quickly and peacefully.

“You should have kicked him in
the goolies,” he grumbled, his entertainment spoiled.

“Look, we don’t kick people in
the goolies, all right?” snapped Ben, his patience dried up. “And I
don’t know what makes you think that we do. Now, go and sit down
over there and let us handle this, instead of getting in our way.”
Still grumbling, Ancient Elvis limped away, his white jumpsuit
flapping around his scrawny, bandied legs.

“Okay, good. I want you to
settle down,” I ordered Angry Elvis. He slumped against Ben’s chest
and let himself be led out the door. I followed them out to the
foyer.

“Don’t even think of coming
back. Take your loss like a man,” Ben recommended as we watched him
slouching away.

“Yeah, harden up, princess! And
if you come back, we’ll kick you in the goolies!” yelled out
Ancient Elvis from where he’d trailed after us, keen not to miss
any of the action. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the
altercation more than he’d enjoyed the potentially incapacitating
swivelling of his hips on stage.

“What the hell is it with you
and goolies?” Ben asked him, shaking his head in disbelief, both of
us really wishing he hadn’t butted in at that particular
moment.

And as though struck by the
elderly man’s taunt, Angry Elvis suddenly spun around and ran back
towards us to re-enter the room, obviously wanting another go at
Tubby Elvis. I ran interference between the door and him, but he
forcefully shoved me out of the way, fuelled by his consuming
belief in the injustice served up to him. I fell hard for the
second time that day.
Surely that went beyond the call of
duty
, I thought unhappily as I landed on my back with jarring
painfulness. Again.

I rolled onto my stomach quickly
and grabbed Angry Elvis by one of his ankles as he jumped over me.
He was in full flight, so by holding his ankle I halted his
momentum quite abruptly and he fell to the ground as well, twisting
around and kicking out at me aggressively when he landed.

Angry Elvis was still very
angry, but guess what? So was I. In fact, I might even have been
angrier than him. I’d arranged a far too rare visit to my
boyfriend, Will, tonight and I didn’t want to be late or turn up
with a face full of bruises. I wanted this whole situation sorted
out now.

I sprung up to sit on his legs,
stopping him from kicking. To compensate, he began striking out at
me with his fists. I slid up his body, straddling his pelvis until
I could restrain his arms. It was a curiously intimate position
being astride him, holding down his arms, looking into his face.
I’d been there many times with Will, but with much less clothing
involved. He struggled to buck me off, but I pinned his arms down
with as much force as I could muster, and he wasn’t a big man.

“Do you want me to kick him in
the goolies for you?” offered Ancient Elvis, fluttering around us
with alarming eagerness.

“No, she bloody well doesn’t!
Will you just
go away
?” Ben suggested tersely, his testiness
with the feisty senior growing every second.

“Calm down now or we’ll be
forced to call the police,” I said to Angry Elvis slowly and
patiently, keeping my eyes locked on his. “You don’t want to be
doing the jailhouse rock, do you?”
Damn!
Ben didn’t hear
that one so it probably didn’t count.

Angry Elvis shook his head and
stilled.

“Good. This is what’s going to
happen. I’ll get off you and my colleague will help you to your
feet. Then we’ll escort you to the entrance of the convention
centre where you will leave peacefully and you won’t return. Do you
understand?” He nodded. “Otherwise,” and I indicated over my
shoulder to where Ben was standing by on alert, all six-foot-three
of menacing muscles, “
he
will be the one sitting on you next
time while we wait for the police to arrive.”

I climbed off him and Ben took
custody of him, assisting him to his feet. The man was dishevelled,
his quiff in disarray, his leather outfit scuffed. He dusted
himself down, ran a comb through his hair, and with his chin lifted
high, allowed himself to be escorted to the doors of the convention
centre where we watched him stalk away down the stairs.

“Do you reckon he’s gone for
good?” I asked.

“Yeah, I think you scared him
off when you mentioned the cops.” Ben looked at me, raising his
eyebrows, a smile playing on his lips. “That was an interesting
hold position you had on him,” he teased. “Was it good for you? Do
you need a cigarette now? I think a few of the other Elvises were
about to become rowdy on purpose just so you would sit on them as
well.”

“Sure they were,” I laughed,
rolling my eyes.

As we sauntered back to the room
to supervise the last of the contestants out of the convention
centre, Ancient Elvis suddenly kicked over a chair, causing a
racket.

“What the hell?” demanded
Ben.

Seeing that he’d captured our
attention, the elderly man kicked over another one, then
another.

“What on earth are you doing?” I
asked, bemused and concerned about his hips.

“Look what I did. I’m a real
badass. You better stop me before I hurt someone.” He kicked over
another, puffing with the effort. Ben and I stared at each other,
not sure what was going on.

“I think you should stop doing
that, sir,” said Ben politely. “The only person you’re going to
hurt is yourself.”

Ancient Elvis carefully lowered
himself to the carpet and laid his limbs out straight. He looked
over to me. “Well, what are you waiting for? You better come to
subdue me. You saw what a total badass I am. Come and sit on me.
Just like what you did with that angry guy. But be careful of my
hips – they’re not as flexible as they used to be.”

“Oh, brother,” I sighed, rubbing
the back of my neck, not sure what to do. Ben unsuccessfully
smothered a laugh.

“Hurry up,” Ancient Elvis
insisted. “I might just start kicking over more chairs otherwise.
I’m bad, I tell you. I’m a real motherfluffing badass, I am.”

“Go on, Tilly,” smirked Ben,
nudging me. “You better manage that motherfluffer over there.
That’s what you were hired to do. God only knows what he might do
next. He might even kick someone in the goolies.”

Shooting Ben a dirty look and
muttering under my breath, I gently dropped to my knees next to
Ancient Elvis. His eyes were bright with mischief.

“Look, if I do this, will you
promise to go straight home afterwards? You need to rest your hips.
You might even need to see a doctor.”

“Okay,” he agreed mildly.

I threw one leg over the wrinkly
supine body on the ground, careful to keep myself a few inches
above him at all times. I wasn’t going to be responsible for
injuring a senior citizen.

“There you go. You’re now duly
subdued. Off home with you.”

“Do it properly!” he wheezed
indignantly. “You’re insulting me.”

Rolling my eyes, I gently pinned
his hands to the ground with a couple of fingers, and said in an
embarrassed voice, “If you don’t calm down immediately, I’m calling
the police.”

“Say it meaner. Like you did
with that other guy.”

“God!” I raised my voice and
tried to inject some anger into it. “If you don’t calm down
immediately, I’m calling the police.”

“Never! Anarchy forever!” He
struggled beneath me, even though I wasn’t restraining him at
all.

“Hey!” I said, alarmed. “Calm
down. You’ll hurt yourself. Remember your hips.”

“Is this
absolutely
necessary?” demanded the head organiser in a heated voice liberally
laced with undisguised disgust. He’d come out to the foyer in time
to witness our display. “He’s harmless, surely. Get off him!
Jesus!
Do we now live in a police state?”