Screw Loose (14 page)

‘Hardly. Material possessions are no replacement for a happy family life, Khiem. I'm as deprived as you now, but in a different way. So, how has your Sunday been?' She was behind the bar opening bottles and searching the bar fridge.

‘Got up. Had noodles. Played
World of Warcraft
. Couldn't use the lift because of that pool of piss. Practised Vo Vietnam.

Came here.'

She was pouring alcohol into a silver flask. ‘Fascinating.

What's Vo Vietnam?'

‘It's a martial art.'

‘Good.' She was dropping ice cubes into the container. ‘I might need a personal security guard…' she giggled. ‘And while I remember, I've put you down as a bouncer at the combined-schools formal I'm organising. I can't pay you for that, but you'll get a lot of respect.'

He couldn't figure her out. How serious was she?

‘I wonder if Mum would be prepared to hire you full-time.

Would you like to live in this house as our security guy and chauffeur-cum-pool-guy? You can live in the pool room. Craig is having the guest room, I'm told. But we'll see about that,' she muttered.

That would be a million times better than the commission flats, but she couldn't be serious.

He laughed. ‘Sure. Craig is really living here?'

‘He will be soon. I told you. I couldn't stop it. Speaking of which, Khiem, I have another job for you: I want you to spy on Matilda Grey and report her movements to me. Now that Craig's moving in, I think the Dog Girl might try to get in here and mark her territory.'

‘No way. Craig's my mate.'

‘You should be trying to help Craig escape her, Khiem. She's obviously not normal. She'll run off with a border collie some day, and he'll be left on the shelf. Remember when she brought her puppy to school in a pram? I mean, hello? Normal? No wonder it ran away.'

‘I'm not doing it.'

She handed him the flask. ‘Well, you could shake cocktails for me, then.' She giggled. ‘Security guard, chauffeur, pool guy, cocktail shaker – but not spy. So be it.'

He shook the container hard, then she took it from him and poured two drinks. She placed them on a little black table beside a large sculpture made of chicken wire and dangling spoons.

Her mother appeared at the door. ‘Chelsea!'

‘What!'

‘Oh, you have a guest?'

‘Yes. Mother, this is Khiem Dao, our new pool guy. I just hired him.'

Mrs Dean nodded. ‘Nice to meet you, Khiem. Chelsea, what are you doing?'

‘We're having cocktails.'

‘Well, you shouldn't be.'

‘Really?' Chelsea's voice was hard.

Her mother frowned. ‘Don't get all uppity with me, Chelsea.'

‘These are Singapore Slings, Mother. I hardly put any gin in them. I'm having one before dinner. Is that a crime? What are
you
having?'

Her mother glared at her and left.

Chelsea expelled air contemptuously. ‘Khiem, when you're introduced to someone it is polite to stand up!' She lifted her Singapore Sling. ‘To many happy days pool-cleaning and chauffeuring me to parties and such like!'

He seemed to have just got the job. He took a sip of her jet fuel. She got up and slid the kitchen door closed, then came over and sat down next to him, leaning in closer.

This was it. The seduction. Would the Lynx hold up?

‘Khiem,' she said, ‘I want you to do something very special for me. You've heard of Paris Hilton – famous for being famous?'

He nodded. What was coming next?

‘Well, I have a secret dream of being an Australian Paris Hilton.

So what I want you to do is make a video of my life. Follow me around and video me doing stuff for this formal. I'll pay you.'

Now that really was crazy.

‘Not crude stuff, Khiem. I am an ex-Mary Magdalene girl, after all.'

‘Sure.'

‘Just me helping people and enjoying myself and meeting famous and interesting people and doing stuff with guys. You know, while I organise the formal. Then I want you to post it on YouTube. I'm going to call it:
Mysterious Girl
.'

‘Will I get paid by the hour?' Khiem asked.

‘Yes, by the hour. It's a business plan. McDonald's rates, and you can keep the tips.'

‘What tips?'

‘If you do things really well, I may be prepared to tip. This formal will be, like, the most talked-about social event
ever
.'

She winked at him and raised her Singapore Sling. ‘To a successful business relationship, clean pool, my future fame – and who knows what else?'

They clinked glasses.

STR8 GUYS
DON'T
TIPTOE

J
OSHUA
Y
EATMAN HAD
a picture in his mind of the boyfriend he wanted: about his own age and height, good swimmer, funny, able to sing karaoke in tune, able to cartwheel, out of braces. He knew getting that combination would be a challenge, but he liked challenges.

On Gaywayz, he had pretended to be a nineteen-year-old college student from Orange County called Brad who was doing pre-Med; then he was Jeff, an eighteen-year-old farm boy from Mildura. But he'd tired of lies and decided to be himself – and he'd quickly met Fly. Fly had posted a photo: cheeky smile, long hair, eyes looking directly at you – not drop-dead gorgeous, but okay. No braces. Looked like fun. If it was him.

They'd been communicating easily: school, sport, phone plans, music, fave foods; the usual nervous rubbish. You built up a picture, and Joshua was starting to like the picture – although who was he really talking to? Frankly, he had no idea.

Quite a chunk of physics and maths had been lost thinking about Fly. Earlier on in their exchanges there had been a few cryptic remarks like
no music obsessives
, which made Joshua wonder if Fly wasn't a bit strange. Fly was also an Aries, and their symbol was the goat – not exactly the hottest member of the animal kingdom. Under
hobbies
, he'd written:
Going
sick at Flinders Street Station, guinea pigs, causing havoc
. Flinders Street Station hardly seemed the best place to go sick, and guinea pigs were really rather quiet animals, but Joshua now had a picture of Fly nursing a guinea pig and running around Flinders Street Station screaming – a picture that was strangely attractive. Was this the boyfriend for him? You could never be sure on Gaywayz. He couldn't even remember now what crap he'd told Fly when they first came across one another.

Fly had promised to be on Gaywayz after school. Joshua examined the rowing blisters on his hands and clicked in.

yanmate? wots wiv the nick anyway?
Joshua read. It was an anagram of his surname, but Fly didn't know his surname.

just a nick. wots with urs?

its a clue
, Fly responded. Josh wondered. It wasn't a really

attractive nick. Perhaps his first name was Louie.

been gay long?
Fly asked.

all my life
, answered Josh.

i new when i was 6
, Fly responded.

u in braces?
asked Josh.

no but i wear something else.

wot?

secret.

Fly had a secret – a secret something? This wasn't good.

Prosthetic nose, hairpiece, glass eye, ammunition belt? Josh felt a welling concern.

anything prosthetic i don't mind.

wots prosthetic?
Fly wanted to know.

false.

lol
, answered Fly.

He was hiding something for sure.

if the
fl
oor is cold do u tiptoe?
Fly asked.

Strange question.
i tiptoe
, wrote Josh.

ur gay, str8 guys dont tiptoe
, responded Fly.

Joshua tried to think whether he'd ever seen Angelo tiptoeing. He hadn't. He couldn't remember ever seeing Tom, his older brother, tiptoe either – except on stage when The Tank Engines did Rolling Stones covers and Tom tried to be Mick Jagger. And Tom certainly wasn't gay – he was a tank engine, or so he'd been bragging ever since he got back from London the other day.

crap
, Josh typed in.

true. do a survey.

Certainly he always tiptoed if the floor was cold, but did straight boys? It would be hard to survey them – you couldn't just hang around in change rooms and ask.

eva had a bf?
Fly asked.

not really
, Josh responded. Angelo wasn't a boyfriend – just a sad crush.

gf?
Fly wanted to know.

once.
He had his usual twinge of guilt.

wot skool u at?

vistaview. u?
wrote Josh.

judith durham sec college. eva heard of it?

no. where is it?

Joshua was momentarily startled by the click of the front door opening below. It was almost certainly his mum.

st albans. where do u live?

fitzroy.

He heard her footsteps in the hall. Where was St Albans?

She was coming up the stairs.

brb. wait 4 me.
Joshua minimised.

There was a knock at the door. ‘Joshie!'

‘Yes, Mum.'

‘Just saying hello. What are you doing?'

‘I'm on the computer.'

‘May I come in?'

‘Yep!' He leant back.

‘School okay?'

‘Okay.'

She bent over and kissed him on the top of the head.

‘How's Angelo?'

‘Fine, I guess. I haven't spoken to him for a while.' She was so nosey.

She put her arms around him and hugged him. ‘Never mind.'

‘Mum, I've told you! We're just acquaintances. He's going out with Zeynep. He's straight.'

‘Poor Zeynep – passed from one boy to the other. I hope you're both respecting her feelings.'

‘Mum!! Angelo is not gay! He's obsessed with girls. Obsessed.

He doesn't tiptoe!'

That got her.

‘What?'

‘He doesn't tiptoe?'

‘What's that got to do with the price of bananas?'

‘Straight boys don't tiptoe. It's well known.'

You could hear her thinking. ‘Your father tiptoes! Your brother tiptoes!'

‘They don't. Not properly.'

His mother was silent again. ‘What's properly?'

‘Right up. Tippy-toes.'

‘Really? Very strange,' she said. ‘Japanese?'

‘Japanese is fine. But no sushi.'

She hurried out. ‘No tippy-toes!' she called as she left.

He maximised.

wots up?
Fly had written.

sry, mum came in.

wanna meet?
asked Fly.

where?

fl
inders st stn. this sunday.

Sure he did, but he was nervous.
ok, time?
he typed.

5 and meet my mates, see something difrent.

Joshua stared at the screen with a sense of unease. The truth about Fly. What would be different?
I'm actually a fifty-three-
year-old without teeth. I'm halfway through a gender
reassignment. I'm fifteen and prematurely bald.
No, he was wearing something. A sombrero, stilettos?

tell me
, he typed.

find out for urself.

give us a clue.

read my lips.

that's the clue?

thats the clue.

He wore lipstick.

g2g cya mwah!!! :)

cya sun :)

Josh's hands were shaking. He was meeting a guy at Flinders Street Station. Was he being lured there to be murdered?

He decided not to send a
mwah
back. He didn't believe in kissing on first dates.

FRUITLOOPS
ATTRACT

T
HE BALL FLEW
out of the sky like a bomb and smashed into Angelo Tarano's nose. The impact flung him backwards into the mud; his mouthguard was still only half in, and it stabbed into his lips as he landed. The crowd howled. The ball had just come out of nowhere! The pack thundered away, and he heard one of his own team call back, ‘Wake up, Tarano!'

He got to his feet in a head-spin, blood all over his front. The blood rule. They were running on to get him. Bummer: he wanted to punch something.