Mexican Kimono (23 page)

‘Dad, they were onto you, OK? They had me sitting in one of those dusty confession rooms for like
thirty-five minutes
or something. You know how much I hate the smell of dust!’

‘Yeah, yeah, dust motes make you sneeze, so?’

‘So? As I said, they were totally onto your scheming, they mentioned something about rackets? Racketeering or something? I said, well, that couldn’t be you, you hate sports with a passion unless there was money involved! I mean, am I right?’

He sighed big and heavy, ‘Oh, God. Yeah, and then?’

‘Well … and then they good-cop, bad-copped me, you know, like they do on SVU? And did I mention it was so hot in that goddamned room? My hair started to frizz up and Kylie had only straightened it the day before and charged me like thirty dollars and all …’

‘Yes, and then?’

‘And then I was getting so thirsty and bad cop said I couldn’t have a drink until I told them where you were, and then I began to get one of those splitting headaches from the fluoro light …’

‘So you just ’fessed up?’ he said glumly. ‘That easily, in thirty-five minutes, you told them everything because you hate dust motes, it was hot, your hair was getting frizzy, you were thirsty, and had a headache from the
light
?’

‘Well, when you go emphasising it and putting it all simple like that it sounds bad, but at the time it was pretty intimidating! The bad cop actually had little bubbles of spit that kept bursting onto my face! It was disgusting! He had that sour stale coffee breath that made me want to vomit!’

‘Samantha, Samantha, Samantha.’

‘Oh, God, are you friggin’ cursing me again? I warn you, I’ll reverse it on your arse!’

‘I think you could do more damage to yourself than I ever could.’

‘What?’

‘Never mind. I’ve got my answers now,’ his voice softened. ‘You can come visit me once in a while you know.’

‘Look, I’d love to an’ all, but I’ve told everyone you’re dead so, you know, it’s a little awkward,’ I looked around the bar and almost every set of eyes were pointed straight at me. I covered the phone and mouthed to the crowd, ‘He is dead,’ nodding my head to reassure them.

‘I understand, Sambo. You’ve got that entire set of unwritten rules and everything.’

‘Yeah, sure have.’

‘Do me a favour and put a bet on for your old man once in a while?’

‘Sure thing, Dad. But Mum can cure you of that bad habit, you know.’

‘Ah, your mother. God, I miss her. Looking forward to those conjugal visits I’m eligible for in five to seven.’

Firstly, eww, then, oh dear. ‘Oh, Jesus. You haven’t heard about Mum and your brother, then?’

‘Of course I have, love. Your mother tells me everything. And Bob and I have a thrice decade agreement as soon as the conjugal visits are approved.’

Oh, goddamn it, more abuse for my already assaulted ears.

‘Ah. Good for you guys, I guess.’

‘Mum told me you’re in a quandary with Tim and JJ.’

‘Nah, that’s all sorted. We also have an agreement. They have work commitments or something thrice weekly, so it’s panned out quite perfectly for all three of us. We’re going abroad for a while. I need to get away from the toxicity of this town.’

He laughed his big barrel Daddy laugh, ‘Yeah, I saw a chain email about you this morning. I’m surprised you found out so quickly it was me who put the curse on you.’

‘What are you implying?’

‘Ah, just that. Look, never mind. I’m sure your heart’s in the right place most of the time; what with all those hair malfunctions and broken acrylic nail dramas, you can’t really be held responsible for your ever-apparent selfishness, can you?’

‘Is that why you did it, Dad? The curse, I mean.’

‘Yeah, Sambo. I thought if I took away all those petty things you place so much importance on, you’d start to realise what life is really about. You dobbed me in because you were worried about your hair, for God’s sake. I’m not there to keep an eye on you now, so I wanted you learn the fast way that all those shallow attributes mean nothing. Your friends will still love you, no matter what you look like, or where you live, or what you do for work.’

‘I’m not so sure about that.’

‘Are your friends with you now?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘See. You’re the only one who follows that demanding list of unwritten rules. Relax. Life is about more than hair and make-up, Sam. You’ve got a great group of friends. Learn to cherish them, they’ve stuck by you, even when they had every right not to.’

Like a movie reel, all the horrible things I’d said or done to my friends flashed before me. He was right, I was lucky they were still in my life. How did I not see this before?

‘Hey, Dad, maybe I can manage a quick visit before we go away. Maybe put a few bets on the gee-gees for you?’

‘I’d love that, darl, really would.’

‘OK. Well, I guess I have a bit of apologising to do.’

‘Good girl.’

‘And I’m sorry I told the police everything.’

‘It’s OK, Sambo. They would have found out one way or another.’

‘Love you, Dad.’

‘Love you too, darl. Make sure you look after those boys.’

I imagined myself going to the maximum-security prison to visit him. It was doable, I guess. If Kylie’s reputation survived her jail sentence, then I guess mine could handle a quick jail drop-in.

I hung up the phone and placed it on the table, ignoring the room full of eyes boring in to me.

I bet you can guess who asked first. The hairdresser, of course. ‘Samantha, was that your
father
on the phone?’ she lowered her voice dramatically. ‘
I thought he died!
’

‘Yeah,’ JJ piped up. ‘I distinctly remember going to the funeral.’ I know you’re thinking a fake funeral is somewhat morbid, but I needed closure – my dad had practically died, for all intents and purposes.

‘I have a little bit of explaining to do,’ I said as Charlize and Sharona walked into Toff’s.

Kylie and Michael moved their chairs around to make room, and I gestured for Toff to come over to buy me some more time.

‘Well, ah, here’s the thing. It’s been somewhat of a trying week, as you all know I had the whole curse fiasco, which entailed quite a bit of damage to my person – I mean let’s face it – my hair is never going to be the same, no matter how much Kylie murmurs to it.’ There were knowing nods all around.

‘And I’m unemployed now, which is fine, since my job wasn’t so much on the corporate ladder, as on a stepladder really, you know to reach A4 paper, that kind of thing …’

‘I knew it!’ said Gemma. ‘The whole clothes shopping thing for your boss was a dead giveaway.’

‘And I’ve also been evicted from my apartment for not paying enough rent. So, to cut it short: I’m jobless, homeless and hairless.’

‘And your dad?’ said Leila, ‘is he dead or alive?’

‘Dad is alive and well, thanks for asking. He’s in a maximum security prison for money laundering and faking his own death. He’s due for release in 2030, but with good behaviour it’s likely he’ll be out much sooner.’

‘Wow! I mean, I’m glad he’s alive,’ said Sharona, ‘but your eulogy was pretty bloody heart-wrenching, Sam. And he was alive?’

‘Yeah, look, I’m really sorry, guys, not just for the funeral, but for everything. After reading through the chain email about all the things I’ve done to you all, I’m kind of surprised someone didn’t curse me sooner. I mean, you must have thought about it?’ All eyes were cast to the floor. Were they all looking for crumbs? Was OCD contagious? ‘Anyway, I hope to slowly get my life back together, and grow, develop as a person …’

‘Darling!’ The rest of my sentence was strangled out of me by an exuberant embrace from my mother. ‘You managed to heed my warning!’ She looked around the table, full of her ‘clients’, nodding and smiling at them. Everyone rose to hug her, she really was very popular among my peers.

Toff walked over with a chair for Mum and squashed it beside me. Mum sat down, clasped my hand and turned it to look at my palm.

‘Now, I don’t want to alarm you,’ she said, ‘But the tea leaves…’

Turn the page for an exclusive extract from

Snake Typhoon

Chapter One

The gossip is impossible to believe, but I pack my backpack and ready myself to head to the airport. My office had been abuzz with the news of some kind of freak storm heading towards the Northern Territory and, wait for it, raining snakes. So far there was no footage, and no one really believed it, but when a call came in from someone high up in a secret government department, my boss’s mouth pinched tight like he was sucking lemons and,
finally
, I got the nod. I’m new to the team, in an office full of zoologists all vying for the top spot. I hope I can prove I’ve got the nous to head a mission, even one as crazy as this purportedly is. At least they’re taking it seriously enough that I’m going to fly in a chopper from Brisbane to the Red Centre. The snakes wanted to see Uluru, apparently.

Fresh out of university, and labelled the ‘new girl’, a few months in the field and I’m still the lackey. Getting flung from one snake-containment disaster to the next,
to bring the crew coffee
. It’s not fair, but I don’t complain. Let’s face it, it’s only a matter of time until someone picks up a snake the wrong way, and I’ll move up the hierarchy. Between us, I hope it’s Cindii, who started a day before me, which somehow translates to her flicking her glossy too-blonde hair in my face and acting superior. I mean, she started a mere
twelve hours
before me. And, to be honest, anyone who spells their name with two i’s like some kind of Barbie doll shouldn’t be handling snakes and cane toads, anyway. She might break a nail, or ruin the blood-red varnish she insists on wearing. She’s like Ranger Stacey on Botox.

I suit the job description much better. Long brown hair, always tied back in a ponytail for safety reasons, khaki shirt and shorts - regulation length, steel-capped boots, a smothering of sunscreen, and super-fit physique. Just as the manual stipulates. Cindii wears tight shorts and a teeny tiny singlet which leaves her well open to being the most likely to get bitten. She can’t run, or pivot, without hoiking the shorts from whichever crevice they creep in to, and in the heat of the moment when it’s us against snake, you simply don’t have time for shorts hoiking. You just don’t.

Shaking the vision of Cindii from my mind, I rush to the car, giving myself a silent pep talk.
Secure the area, lead civilians to a safe place, contain flying snakes, save the world
.

This time it won’t be my team that pushes their shiny faces in front of a TV camera to report that disaster has been averted. It will be me. If I stay focused, I can do this.

And let’s face it, raining snakes? Usually, there is some simple ecological reason for something extraordinary and I’ve no doubt it’s been exaggerated. Cindii said half the inhabitants of central Australia, the human ones, wake up with a beer in their hand, which they continue to drink like water throughout the day to deal with the unrelenting heat. She says it’s probably just a heatwave with the locals wearing beer goggles, and that can only mean one thing. A group of inebriated men standing over a colony of centipedes, claiming their, er, worm is biggest. But I won’t get anywhere with an attitude like that. If a secret government department says they need my help, then they’ll damn well get my help.

I gun the engine and pull out of my driveway. My rusty old car whines as I pop her from first to third. I don’t have time for second gear, it’s a waste of energy. And the car can cope with the extra revs. Smoke billows behind; I really must remember to get the old girl serviced. Even though my job seems glamorous - nice uniform, travel and the added bonus of snake-wrangling - it’s not really all that well-renumerated. I’d get more at a fast-food outlet. But you can’t put a price on passion, and I am passionate about my job.

Especially working so close to Jay. I nearly run a red light thinking of him. It’s just…Jay. Sigh. I
always
sigh when I think of him. One of those great big bosom-heaving sighs like the girls in
Downtown Abbey
. Jay doesn’t even know I’m alive. It’s the bloody hierarchy again, and Cindii with the two i’s always gets in first. She falls over her non-regulation thigh-high boots to get him cups of decaf and herbal teas. Leans over his desk with her buxom breasts popping out all over the place while she throws glances my way. I don’t even get a look in at his carefully coiffed hair, which he constantly flicks with his manicured hands.

She’s like Good-time Barbie, with her cleavage spilling out all over the place, her inappropriateness making an uncomfortable heat spread through my body.

And Jay, well, he’s more like Safari Ken. With his regulation-length shorts and his khaki shirt, which he leaves unbuttoned one hole under the required minimum (I do like a man who lives on the edge), not to mention the thick beige socks he scrunches down into his limestone-coloured desert boots. He has fine golden hair on his arms, but his legs are strangely hair-free. Must help in the field, I guess. Probably trying to avoid chafing or something else hairy-leg related. I picture myself running my hands down his smooth tanned skin, then push the vision away. I’m invisible to him. Always stuck in Cindii’s curvaceous shadow, cuddling a King Brown I’ve rescued from a day-care centre, or purring to a vibrant green tree frog who’s lost his way.

Anyway, back to the task at hand. I’m roaring towards the heliport; time is of the essence. I’m not scared of flying in choppers, but most of my crew are, which I know is the main reason I landed the gig. I’ve even thought about getting my pilot’s licence so in future I can fly myself, but that would take some careful budgeting on my salary.

Pulling into the small car park, I flash my badge to the guard at the gate. He nods and pushes a big button, allowing me access to the hangar. I feel a little bit special that I get to park my dinged up car near the limos and prestige cars that line the Tarmac. I ignore the frowns of the stylishly dressed women waiting silently with their designer holdalls sitting at their feet. I’m guessing they’re designer labels, by the way they give my battered mountaineering backpack the once over and stand closer to their glittery, golden mini suitcases. Cindii is a fan of those fancy bags, I know, because I’m constantly blinded by the gleam that shines off the metal labels when I’m walking behind her, watching her swing her hips like a catwalk model. It’s quite a safety hazard.