Just Stupid! (12 page)

   I give Mum a withering look.

   ‘How old do you think I am?’

   ‘Do I have to answer that?’

   ‘Come on, Danny,’ I say.

   ‘And don’t throw your pants out the window!’ calls Mum.

   We walk quickly away from the table before Mum can say anything else embarrassing. I don’t want Natasha to hear.

   ‘Grab the flowers,’ whispers Danny.

   I take the flowers from the vase.

   Danny and I are both very nervous.

   We walk up to Natasha’s table. Up close she is even more beautiful than she is on television.

   ‘Hello,’ I say.

   Natasha is concentrating on her menu. She doesn’t hear me.

   I clear my throat and try again.

   ‘Um, excuse me,’ I say. ‘Natasha?’

   She looks up.

   ‘No autographs, boys,’ she says with a sigh. ‘I’m relaxing, okay?’

   ‘We don’t want autographs,’ I say. I offer her the flowers, which are dripping. ‘We just wanted to give you these.’

   Her face softens.

   ‘Why, thank you,’ she says.

   ‘They’re from me too,’ says Danny. He reaches across the table to try to give them to her as well. He can be so childish sometimes.

   As he reaches, he bumps my arm and I knock over a candle. It falls out of the holder and rolls across the table towards Natasha. The flame connects with her frizzy curls and climbs up her hair in an instant.

   This is unbelievable. We just wanted to say hello—not set her hair on fire.

   There is an almost-full glass of beer on the table. I pick it up and throw it at her burning hair. It puts the fire out. Apart from being wet, her hair hardly looks any different. If it wasn’t for the smell, you wouldn’t even know there’d been a fire. I’m a hero.

   ‘How dare you!’ she splutters. ‘How dare you throw beer in my face!’

   I must have been too quick. Natasha doesn’t seem to realise what has happened. Before I can explain, she picks up her glass of red wine and throws it at me.

   I duck.

   She looks past me and puts her hand over her mouth. I turn around.

   It’s Dirk. The wine has gone all over his shirt. He looks like he’s splattered with blood.

   ‘Sorry, Dirk,’ she says. ‘I wasn’t aiming for you. It was meant for him.’

   ‘Why?’ says Dirk. ‘Did he hurt you?’

   ‘He threw beer in my face,’ says Natasha.

   ‘He what?’ says Dirk. His face goes as red as his shirt.

   He picks up a breadstick. It’s a giant one— more like a club than a breadstick.

   ‘I’ll teach you to throw beer in a lady’s face,’ he says.

   ‘No, you don’t understand,’ I say. ‘Her hair was on fire.’

   ‘You set her hair on fire?’ he says.

   ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Well, no. I mean I did, but I didn’t mean to. I was just giving her some flowers.’

   ‘They were from me as well,’ says Danny.

   Dirk’s face is twisted with rage.

   ‘You tried to give my girlfriend flowers?’

   I’m backed up against the table next to Natasha’s. Dirk steps towards me. I realise that nothing I can say will calm him down.

   I reach behind me for a weapon. My hands close on something soft and oily. I look down. I’ve got three olives.

   ‘Stop right there!’ I say to Dirk.

   But he keeps right on coming.

   I throw one of the olives at him. He uses the breadstick to bat it clear across the restaurant. It hits the front window and splatters like a bug on a windscreen.

   ‘Andy!’ yells Mum. ‘Stop that!’

   She is standing up, hands on her hips, glaring at me.

   ‘What about him?’ I say.

   Mum looks at Dirk.

   ‘You stop it too,’ she says.

   But Dirk doesn’t stop. He takes a step towards me.

   I chuck another olive. Dirk bats it into the chandelier and sets it spinning. It creates a sort of disco ball effect, throwing little circles of light around the room.

   ‘Stop it, Dirk!’ screams Natasha.

   ‘Just let me hit him once,’ he says. He raises the breadstick over his shoulder.

   I throw my last olive. Dirk bats it straight back at me. It’s like a bullet. It hits me in the chest with such force that I am propelled backwards onto a table-top.

   I look up. I see the surprised faces of two old ladies above me.

   ‘Excuse me,’ I say. ‘A little accident . . .’

   ‘Accident nothing,’ says one of the ladies. ‘It was that brute’s fault.’

   ‘I’ve never liked that Dirk Gibson,’ says the other lady, putting a little bowl of pepper into my hand. ‘He’s nothing but a big bully. Give him this from us.’

   ‘Thanks,’ I say. It’s just what I need. And just in time.

   Dirk picks me up by my collar. He’s frothing at the mouth. I throw the pepper into his face. The reaction is instant.

   ‘Ah-ah-ah . . . CHOO!’

   Right in my face. I’m blown back across
the table. Dirk staggers around blindly and crashes into the waiter who is carrying a tray of drinks.

   The waiter stumbles backwards into my dad’s lap. Dirk lands on top of them both. Dad’s chair collapses and they end up in a sprawling heap on top of him.

   ‘Get off me, you big ape!’ yells Dad.

   ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ says the waiter.

   ‘I wasn’t talking to you,’ says Dad. ‘I was talking to that gorilla on top of us.’

   ‘Are you calling me a gorilla?’ says Dirk, getting to his feet.

   Dad wriggles out from underneath the waiter and stands up. ‘On second thoughts, no,’ says Dad, brushing himself off. ‘Because it’s an insult to gorillas. I’d say somebody who picks on people smaller than himself is more accurately described as a coward.’

   ‘Go, Mr G!’ calls Danny.

   ‘Shut up, Danny!’ says Dad.

   ‘You just made a big mistake, fella,’ says Dirk. ‘Nobody calls Dirk Gibson a coward and gets away with it.’

   ‘Oh knock it off, Dirk,’ says Natasha.

   But Dirk’s not listening. He is bearing down on Dad. Dad is backing away. He looks behind him at a large display of fruit. He picks up a pineapple.

   ‘Don’t come any closer,’ says Dad. ‘I’ve got a pineapple . . . and I’m not afraid to use it.’

   Dirk laughs.

   ‘Just try it!’ he says.

   ‘If you insist,’ says Dad.

   Dad whups Dirk over the head with the pineapple. Dirk staggers around looking dazed. His legs buckle underneath him and he slumps to the ground. You can almost see the birds and stars circling above him.

   ‘Good one, Mr G!’ says Danny.

   Mum appears beside us. She has my jacket in her hand.

   ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘We’re leaving. Before you can do any more damage.’

   ‘But what about our food?’ says Danny.

   ‘Never mind your food,’ says the waiter. He’s kneeling on the floor, putting the broken glasses back on the tray. ‘I think it’s best for everyone if you leave now. There is a fish and chip shop at the end of the street. You might feel more at home there.’

   Mum gives him one of her withering looks.

   He gives her one back.

   She huffs, turns and walks straight into an ice bucket on a stand. It clatters to the floor and she falls on top of it. Dad rushes to help her.