Have you ever entered a pub or a bar for simply a cold beer to quench your thirst and down the other end of the bar was a small group of people, all huddled around one man who was telling a story. The words he used were mesmerising even though all there knew there wasn't a truthful word being spoken. It was the rhythm and narration technique being used, which drew you in. He'd swear on his honour, that every word he uttered was true, may God strike him down if they weren't.
The following story, I swear on my honour, is true, may God strike me down if it isn't.
Seventeen year old Clare was screeching at the top of her lungs at her mother, "What do you mean I've got to take the brat with me. Are you trying to completely ruin my social life! I wouldn't be caught dead with a baby following me around. You're not being fair, Mum!" her voice went off the Richter scale with frustration.
"After breaking curfew three nights in a row, you're lucky we let you go out at all. Anyway, there's no point in screaming at me. It was you're father's decision, not mine. He told me before he left for work, this morning, to tell you. If I had my way, you wouldn't be allowed out again for a month, and then still would have to take Beverley for the rest of the year. One more word from you, young lady, that's exactly what will happen."
Her mother voice was quiet and reasonable, but very firm. She remembered very well what she used to get up to, before Daryl was repatriated. There was no way she was going to let her wild daughter take the risks she used to take. She was lucky, Clare may not be so lucky. She had done a wash this morning and she saw the state of the child's underpants.
Clare groaned, and headed back to her room. Mum's tone of voice and her playing the 'Dad card' had screwed up this night completely. But she was stubborn and she would out-stubborn them.
Monday afternoon, in front of school, she could hear the Harley bikes almost a block away. What else could go wrong today? The three bikes stopped in the middle of the road then were pushed backwards, side by side angled to the gutter. Six girls met the bikers there and they were all saying how good a night they'd had in the city the night before.
Clare realised they were all tramps, but she still joined them when black eyed Davis gestured to her.
"Your parents still have got the ban on?" Clare nodded, looking about as down as a girl could feel. "Okay, this is how we will handle it. Friday night, bring the kid and Digger and Brandon will keep her occupied. You can keep me happy and I won't drop you. Be at the milk bar at seven and it will be up to you how often you keep all three of us happy. You do understand, this will be your last chance, don't you? If you've got the keep the kid happy, that's the way it must be."
Keep the kid happy, and I get to keep Davis, went through her mind. The things she had done to 'keep Davis happy' made her flinch. He was twenty years old and a better looking version of Marlon Brando. His hair was slicked back with Spruso, which he once also used to grease her bottom, when she was on her rags. It had felt better than good, even if she didn't walk properly again for two days. Mum had been very suspicious however decided to accept, the 'hurt my back from sports, ' excuse. Her little sister hadn't believed her for a second and just shook her head at how naïve their parents were.
This was this last year of school for her, and then Clare could stop relying on her parents for money. Then she could do what she liked at night. The question being, would she still have Davis by that time?
When she was sitting in the homeward bound bus, she reminded herself to buy condoms this week. She'd almost gotten over her embarrassment at going to the chemist in the next suburb over and asking for Wetcheks. If she didn't buy them he'd do her anyway, and the last thing she wants was to become pregnant and being forced to get married ... well, maybe, but one way or another.
She's 'got a lot of living to do', like the song says, and babies were not a factor in her plans. Little Bev would be with her Friday night and she's not getting to use her condoms, and those boys don't take no for an answer as Clare knows well.
Beverley was the smartest person in the Virgil family and that's not what she thinks, it was simply a fact. The trouble was that intelligence in girls wasn't valued in this day and age. Beverley understands maths up to Leaving Certificate level already, including Algebra, Calculus, Trig, and English was so easy it was boring. She found Geography annoying, as they don't place the landforms into perspective with the local environment, but this could be simply bad teaching from a disinterested teacher. Mrs Hamilton even had her marking year's one and two, English exam papers.
Some of the sciences tend to stretch her imagination a little, like organic chemistry for instance. If it hadn't been for them, she would probably be like her idiot big sister, Dumbo, and screw anything for something to do of interest. Bev could see the dumb bitch seated ahead of her in the bus.
She'd seen her talking to Davis while they were waiting for the bus, and had already worked out the probable scenario. Animal Davis, the so called leader of the pack, had told his come-slut, slave, Clare, to turn up and have sex with him or else lose him.
Order one would be bring baby sister, order two would be to let his two hairy apes take 'care' of baby sister. Meanwhile big sister gives him what he wants, whatever that that may be, literally. She knew about sex, she just didn't know the minutiæ. What virgin would?
Okay, I understand what the opposition will do. Now, what are the time limitations, and how do I counter the problem before Dumbo asks Mum? It will be guaranteed for Friday night, as there was no likelihood of her grounding ending before then.
Her condom box is empty because I've removed two extra condoms a week myself without Dumbo realising it. She will have to get more, and do that at Sutherland, two suburbs over. Our local chemist, Mr. Abernathy, would dob her into Mum so fast it would make her head spin. Also, his twin daughters are in her year, and he wouldn't let them associate with a slut who would buy condoms.
Yep, Friday night it would be! So what could I be doing Friday night that would be acceptable to Mum for me to be doing, and not be with Dumbo on Friday night? Five minutes to get off the bus and ten minutes to walk home.
My lack of a social life has to be remedied in fifteen minutes! Hold it! Scottish dancing! Almost all the girls in English are going to it at the Jannali Congregational Church Hall beginning at six. Lots of adult supervision, and all I have to do is ask before Dumbo asks. Make that five minutes home, the exercise is bound to be good for me. I wish that everything was as easy to work out as Dumbo and Greaseball. I like these new Beatles hairdos but the surfies are neater though that bleached hair bit looks stupid. The surfy girls are as thick as two planks but ... sigh ... at least they have boyfriends.
Tactic: Kiss Mum on cheek, which lets her know I'm going to suck up to her about something. Dumbo goes straight through to her room, so she'll leave it until Dad gets home or 'till tomorrow. She will have to buy condoms yet, and she didn't do her chores last weekend, so won't get her pocket money this week. I didn't have anything better to do, so I did the ironing and vacuuming, which took two hours ... and Mum knows. I made sure Mum knew. So I'm a scheming little bitch? Tell me something I don't know.
"Okay, Little Miss, what have you got on your mind?"
Tactic: place visibly fake, obviously guilty, chagrined expression on face.
"On Friday night, starting at six, is a Scottish dancing thing that all the girls in my English class are going to. It's on at the Jannali Congregational Church Hall, and goes until ten. It costs sixpence, and I will be able to wear that square-dancing dress that Clare has never used. If you wouldn't mind, you may have to pin the bust and the waist in a bit but the length is about right. May I go, please?"
"Yes, I think you have earned it. What boys will be there?"
Tactic: Give sarcastic, rhetorical reply to cover truth.
"To Scottish dancing, Mum? I don't think so, and if they were there, I wouldn't be going."
Mum muttered under her breath, "At least we won't have the Miss Hot Pants problem with you," out loud she said, "You had better go and get that dress. Do you know where it is?"
"In my wardrobe, where most of Clare's clothes are kept." <gotcha!>
"Ah yes, you may like to bring that subject up with your father, as it is a bone of contention at the moment. He listens to you."
The master of the house, Daryl, was repatriated from Changi POW camp in 1945 and had worked in old man Walton's stores since he got out of repat hospital, stayed when they became Walton-Sears and he had ever since and had been delivering furniture. Now it's become Walton's again, and he had been given a management position which had less hours, less manual labour, and more money. His body had never gotten over the hardships from the railway they all suffered through, though his mind was both alert and strong of will ... and he's alive.
Dad had absolutely no patience for the nonsense that Clare spouts, and would simply say no to anything, and it just won't happen. Beverly however, was a completely different set of wheels. It occurred to Bev a long time ago, that he'd done the date count back and both her mother and sister were on a very short leash. He most definitely was not having sex with her, while he was in hospital.
Mum never, ever, contradicts her husband's orders and being an ex-officer, he expects to be obeyed. Bev had a lot of respect for her old man but realises that he uses Mum like his sergeant; he gives the orders and she makes sure they were carried out, with no excuses accepted. It was a very big gun he holds, and the only one who hasn't clicked with the why of it, was Dumbo. She thinks I'm simply being the bitchy little sister when I call her a bastard.
Dad arrived home dead on six thirty, as usual. Dinner was lamb chops mash potatoes, cauliflower and carrots and peas, which Beverly shelled while Mum placed tacks where Bev prayed to have breasts one day. Large nipples were not the same thing. While they ate, Beverly told her Dad about the Scottish dancing and the dress mum had fixed up. Listen, Dumbo, don't tune out, I'm telling you something.
He was pleased, as his little girl does have very little social life and dancing with all her female classmates was an activity with which he wholeheartedly approved. He thought a zack was a bargain for entrance though he didn't approve of the money going to a useless church. He'd lost all religious convictions after the first six months in Changi and became militantly so on the Burma Railway.
Half way through the family table conversation, Clare, who sort of zones out at these times as they were all below being worthy of her attention, suddenly understood the gist of what her idiot sister had organised for Friday night. She felt sick to her stomach. She excused herself to leave the table saying she doesn't feel well.
The lord and master of the house put his foot down, "You may not leave; you neglected all your chores on the weekend leaving them all for your sister to do. You are due to wash and dry the dishes for the week because of it and you know it. If you had even tried to carry your weight around the house, your sister would dry for you. You haven't done anything for two weeks to earn your allowance. Do your chores girl or you may find yourself grounded until you leave home."
Clare went white in the face and didn't reply, not that there was a reply to be made. Clare bided her time and Friday did not come home from school. He told her how to escape doing chores and hadn't realised how literally she took his pronouncement.
Clare had a suitcase with her when Davis pulled into the front of the school in a cacophony of motor bike exhaust. She placed it between them and sat on the pillion without a word and he gave her a puzzled frown not quite getting what had just occurred. He told the boys he'd see them tonight. And kicking the starter, and roared off down the road.
Davis lived in a run-down fibro cottage behind his older brother's house. He didn't pay rent because the ex-garage was almost uninhabitable, which was fine for a young bloke who's never home. They entered through the side door, which was simply rough timber slats with some angled cross pieces, kept closed by a piece of wire hooked over a bent nail and attached to hole through the door.
Currently his brother was doing time in Long Bay for non-payment of fines. He had found it cheaper to let them mount up, and do three months soft time every five years. He had his own motorcycle repair shop in Redfern. His clientéle fully understand the situation, thinking that it was an elegant solution to a problem they all have.
If they need something done urgently, Davis was freely available and just as talented. Davis' only problem was he's doing University at the moment which leaves him sort of short of time. The girl explained the situation succinctly to Davis and Davis immediately realised he had been outmanoeuvred by little sister. Davis smiled. Yeah, big sister was a problem, but the timing that the kid used was ... simply ... impeccable.
He sat her on his bed and she never stopped talking, whining, whinging, crying and all the time he did not hear a word she said. He was thinking over the problem. His brother Denny's hag, was home most of the time, she may be sober but that's debatable until he checked. He was not even sure he'd ever seen her sober, and he fucks her five or six times a week to keep Denny happy. Denny thinks it may heal over unless she had something shoved in it on a regular basis.
If she's sober enough he could put this blonde idiot with her so he could pick up little sis who was smart enough to know what to do to counteract this situation seeing as she created it, and would have already worked out the solution. He's liking that kid more and more, and smart women interest him... a lot.
His only problem was that he had no idea where the Jannali Congregational Church Hall was and if he asks this bimbo, she would go off the deep end. Why could't everyone just get along, like his brother and him? Then again, they only had their mother's word on them being related, which was not something you'd bet your left testicle on.
She retired wealthy after selling her cunt exclusively to the Yanks on leave during the war. While their fathers were debatable, the brothers aren't dead certain that she was their mother except for her say-so. She had tried to tell them that Denny's hag was their little sister too and they know for a fact she was hatched by an abo gin. They look after her anyway, just like any good brother should.
Okay, no use putting it off. The hag was not only home, but sober, and not being fucked by anyone for piss money. She's just watching TV. Oh Chee ... rist, she's watching Bob Dyer, sheesh. Why would someone as dumb as her ... and she's answering the bloody questions out loud.
He left the blonde there, telling her not to leave the lounge except to have a piss, and rode the twenty minutes to the Total petrol station local to the blonde's area, and asked about the hall. The owner's kid, Harry he thinks, but maybe it's Alph, but one of the twin sons, said that a local girl was missing and the father was out looking for Davis or a very close facsimile, thereof.
Making no comment, Davis pulled up a couple of houses from the hall and walked in the dark along the extremely rough dirt and weed footpath to where a small covey of girls plus a couple of blokes wearing dresses were in front of the open doors getting some fresh air. You could almost see the, sniff, sniff, pipe smoke roiling through the doors.
One of the girls out front was wearing a square-dance dress, dark to sandy hair and very, oh, very pretty. No tits, but the rest was worth staring at. He realised now he had seen her before as her sister had pointed her out previously, as 'the kid'.
He remained in the dark behind the scout's crates full of empty glass bottles, and she, luckily, was not talking to anyone. Going by bimbo sis that's normal, as she had no friends. On silent observation, he realises her demeanour really was that she doesn't need any friends, being totally self-contained.
An old man mutters something to her and she nods but unlike the other girls out the front, does not go in. She seems to be looking for someone. He approached behind the open door and cleared his throat. She jumped and turned, she sounded annoyed, not angry and most certainly not afraid, "Where have you been? I expected you half an hour ago. Where's your bike, let's go and get my idiot sister."
Without a word, frankly he was afraid to speak as she was still out-thinking him on every move, he led her down the darkened street. She climbed onto the back behind him, "How on earth did you ride this thing so quietly? I was listening for it and never heard a thing."
"I can always ride quietly, I just like annoying people."
He looked around for her reaction, expecting a sour derogatory expression.
She wrong fooled him again as she smiled cheekily, and said, "I thought you were smarter than you looked ... you have to be."
He kicked it to start and they were doing fifty by the time they had reached the end of the short dirt road and that's when he recognised that he had a virgin rider on pillion, she didn't lean.
He pulled up in the middle of the start of the tar, got off, and turned to face her only to see straight up the starched material of dance dress to her pair of virginal white Bonds Cotton Tails. It was only his body staying still on the front pillion, which had held the dresses starched stiffness in check. She pushed the front down to make herself presentable, but also didn't carry on like an idiot.