marie's story

A calm night, I cruise these city streets, this neon painting... Walking, hands in pockets, no purpose... I do not walk these streets for any particular purpose other than I like the way they feel... The clickety clack of my high heel shoes upon this cobblestone street... Discard these in favour of the bare sole... Comfortable again... Have heard this story before but shall tell it once more... Walk these city streets, this neon painting... And there at the foot of a stair at the rear of a dimly lit street I see Jimmy, suit pants, white shirt, a hand on each bannister... He climbs the stair, he enters the room, he is gone. For the first time the new moon has risen and I am alone again.

This present circumstance requires a past explanation... When Jimmy was a young man standing on the edge of a netball court all the girls wanted him. I watched Debbie, the way she never took her eyes off him... Eyes like telescopic sights that woman... And Nikki, a nice girl, but too easily hurt by the rumour that she had second stage gonorrhea and would be insane outside the end of the year. Yes, they all wanted Jimmy, so I had to act fast. Latched onto him one night in the Retreat Hotel... Said to him:

“You’re mine sweetie... You’re comin’ home with me”.

Bad move that... He treated me like a slag thereafter... Girls, I do decree, the age old maxim of not revealing your true intentions is still the best method for hauling in the Big Eyed Trevally.

I was smoking heaps of weed at the time. L., after screwing every guy she could get her hands on, (boy, did she show them what ‘mate’ really meant), fell in with Peter the Stripper who had just been released from jail on Supreme Court Appeal. He’d done three years for rape and came out a vicious bastard. (Jack’s brother, a screw, said they’d billysticked The Stripper in the shower cubicle when he’d dropped the soap, and this was probably true). So Peter the Stripper was with L. and he was moving some weed, which suited me because I liked a toke... And we had lots of laughs, stoned to the eyeballs on Saturday afternoons, drinking stubbies and smoking J’s before The Stripper and L. would retire to her bedroom, leaving me stoned and in deep space, forced to listen to L.’s bed squeak in between short intervals all afternoon and well into the evening.

Perhaps I was jealous or had nothing better to do but I rifled The Strippers jacket he’d left hanging over the back of a chair. There was a fat wad of cash in it; about six hundred in twenties... But I didn’t touch that. He’d have cut my throat. Heaps of grass I already had so I didn’t worry about the heads hidden in the jacket lining. But I very quickly snookered twelve strips of blotting paper in a glassine bag I found in a zip up pocket. Each strip was perforated into twenty four triangles, each with a different cartoon character. There was Donald Duck, Porky Pig and Sylvester... There was even one of Yosemite Sam. “You’re darn tootin’ rabbit”, I said to myself. I hadn’t had a decent hit of L.S.D. for years. If The Stripper and L. were going to screw the afternoon into evening then this was one trip I was not going to miss out on.

Along with the keys to Peter the Stripper’s Fairlane I pocketed the gear, had a glass of orange juice to pep up my vitamin C, then drove around to the Retreat to see my sister Jeannie, who always sat in the beer garden drinking pony’s on Saturday afternoons and who had access to the necessary apparatus for “self administration of drugs of addiction”, as the police had pointed out on a charge sheet I had acquired during an earlier drug spree resulting in a string of convictions.

I parked The Stripper’s Fairlane in a block of flats at rear of The Retreat, (the Jacks were on his tail for not reporting to the Collingwood Police Station twice a week), pushed the lounge door open and through the rear window saw my sister Jeannie holding court with a chorus of criminal felines. My eyes might have been drawn to Jeannie and thoughts of an impending date with L.S.D., but I can tell you the cobwebs parted when I saw Jimmy standing in the bar wearing a pair of white tennis shorts and drinking seven ounce glasses with Snaggles. Jimmy saw me and drunkenly raised his glass. I knew then that a heady afternoon of booze and beernuts had dismissed any and all past resistance. It was a classic case of the brain occupied drinking so the groin does all the thinking and the man in the boat might have up periscoped but I promptly dismissed Jimmy’s amorous advance and disappeared into the beer garden. His sweet face fell into his seven ounce glass before he quickly rearranged his features and rejoined the conversation.

My sister Jeannie was glad to see me and whispered that her bloke Alan had ripped off a sex toy warehouse.

“You want some freebies ?” Jeannie said.

“What’dya got ?”

“Dildos and ticklers. Duo Balls and nipple clamps. Whips, stirrups, and a variety of dirty lingerie... Not to mention erotic candlegrease for those who like a burning love”.

“Are you serious" ?

“Of course, but Alan’s going to hock the lot pretty quick. We’re having a sex party Friday afternoon. Male strippers and everything...”

“I’ll be there”, I said. “But listen, I’m after something else right this minute”.

Jeannie knocked back her pony and handed the empty glass to her friend Sheila.

“Yeah..?”

“You remember when Alan burged that pharmacy in Kew and got all those fits ?”

“What’dya want a fit for ?”

“It’s only a one off”.

“Morphine ?”

“No. L.S.D.”

“L.S.D..? You saw what that shit did to me”.

Jeannie had ended up in Larundel. Certified; six weeks.

“Yeah, but you had heaps of it over two years”.

“True... How much you got ?”

“Twelve sheets”.

“You little bitch... I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll get you a glass fit. A nice smooth Blue Lady... And a dozen picks... But only if you’ll split the gear with me. Six sheets each”.

“Nine and three”.

“No way. Six and six... Or stick it under your tongue”.

“O.K. Six and six. But I want the twelve picks”.

Sheila returned with the drinks.

“Deal. Sheila, give that pony to Marie. I’ve gotta go do the business”.

Jeannie picked up her handbag and I drank the pony. Sheila, drunk as a skunk, pulled up her top and showed off her tits to some bloke on the way to the bar. The girls all laughed. It was Saturday afternoon.

*

I sat with the girls for a while, Joy and Sissy, Katie and Sheila, drinking pony’s and smoking joints. But it all got a bit too much, what with Joy talking about her other half George about to be released from Long Bay after a ten year stint. Joy wasn’t sure how she would cope with seeing him again. But there was never any question she wouldn’t get back with him. No, that was completely out of the question... We all became a tad quiet then so I had one last toke of a juicy joint Katie had rolled and said to the girls:

“I’ve got a friend in the bar to see...”

Katie clued right in.

“You little hussy, who is he ?”

Sheila threw in her two bobs worth.

“Get him out here. I wanna show him me tits”.

I almost said Sheila’s tits might be too wrinkled for Jimmy, but quickly bit my tongue. Sheila had stabbed her fella, Kind Kevin, after he had made a crack about the stretch marks across her belly. She probably wouldn’t have said anything to me... I was Jeannie’s sister... But have no doubt, these girls would turn on you at the drop of a hat.

I said goodbye, not before asking Joy to let Jeannie know I was in the bar when she returned. Then, on my way through to the lounge, dropped into the Ladies for a widdle. Some imbecile had pissed all over the seat and the other cubicle was occupied so I cleaned the seat up before I sat down. Once this was finished I lifted my dress and pulled down my knickers then sat on the seat and listened to the sound of pee whipping one side of the toilet bowl.

I was half drunk and pretty stoned; it occurred to me - my thoughts being in a place where I had time to think - that shooting up L.S.D. was crazy. When I asked myself why, there wasn’t any reason. Just a vague hum in my head; probably the result of the pot and booze... But there was something else in me that, I don’t know... Was just sad. There wasn’t any reason for this sadness, but the place I lived in, not having my kids, my job in the shoe factory, my daddy dying in prison, it was all just, well, sad... Everything was sad... But there wasn’t any use feeling sad about everything, or else I was in danger of disappearing down the brasco. It’s amazing the thoughts you have when you’re stoned. Disappearing down a toilet bowl, can you imagine that ? A fate worse than death Jeannie would say. So, after I’d pulled up my knickers I popped a ticket from the card. Unable to wait for the syringe I placed the trip under my tongue and sucked it dry. This was the way things always went... I got sad, felt I was disappearing, got on the drugs, and disappeared anyway - but at least I was having fun doing it.

I washed my hands in the sink and was about to leave when I heard the toilet flush in the next cubicle and out came Debbie’s half sister, Gordana, in a skimpy floral dress, saw me, flicked brown hair from her face and said:

“Hello Marie... Here, listen... Have a go at this”.

In her right hand, a small plastic bottle. In her left, a cigarette filter.

“What is it ?”

“Amyl”.

“But I just dropped a trip”.

“Can you spare one for me ?”

“Yeah... Gee, that’s a nice dress...”

“Sweet, isn’t it ? Knicked it from Myers last week. They’re goin’cheap...”

“Naah. Not for me. Too short, too fat, big hips, no tits. I’d look like a fucking wagon wheel... Nice dress though...”

I gave Gordana a trip and she slipped it under her tongue, then placed a drop of amyl on the cigarette filter.

“Suit yourself. Here, get this into ya”.

I jammed the filter up one nostril, sealed the other with my finger, shut my mouth, and snorted the mixture into my system. The effect was immediate. It felt as if my head had been split in two with a meat cleaver.

“Wow, that’s sick”.

“Isn’t it ?” Gordana said.

“Quick, hold me for a bit”.

Gordana laughed, then put her arms around me. I felt the soft graze of her olive skin against my left cheek. Then the effect of the amyl was gone and I started feeling queasy, which I suspected was the beginning of a twelve hour trip into the toilet bowl, but who gives a shit ?

So I went into the bar and sat down on a stool. Billy the Punter said hello and so did Nick the Greek. (He was having a quick beer or two before he had to front up at the twenty four hour take away food joint he ran in Johnston St.). Jimmy and Snaggles were still there, but I pretended not to notice. Instead, I ordered a Kailua and milk then wandered over to Old Lily, the ‘Mother of all the Lost Kids in the World’. We had a chat for ten minutes but it was hard following exactly what Lil’ said. Her sentences spun out in threads that made the bar of the Retreat look like a video game. The trip was strong; Lily’s yellow face began turning deep blue. I tried not to let on that I was tripping, and I don’t think she suspected anything; apart from me having had a joint or two. I’d had plenty of practice at covering up the effect of drugs and was working out a plan for somehow finding an excuse to speak to Jimmy - which wasn’t easy as I had to straighten out my thoughts while also listening to remnants of Lily’s life story - when I felt a gentle touch at my elbow.

“How’re ya goin’ Marie ?”

Christ... Jimmy had caught me by surprise and I had to think quick.

“Lily’s just tellin’ me her life story. Three parts, one book. You know how it is....”

He placed his beer on the table and pulled up a stool. Lily leaned across and gave him a smoochie on the cheek.

“How are you sweetie ? I saw your mummy last week”.

“Oh yeah ?” Jimmy said: “We’re not that close really...”

“A good boy always goes and sees his mummy”.

I almost laughed as Lily trailed off into some ancient story that had nothing to do with everything. Out of respect Jimmy and I listened for five or ten minutes, nodding our heads, agreeing with everything Lily said, until her alcoholic face and paisley headscarf came together in my crazy trip and she became a sorceress spinning an evil spell around the both of us. I couldn’t take anymore and excused myself by drinking up my Kailua and milk and saying I had to get another, went to the toilet and checked my face in a mirror, thought my skin was peeling away, straightened myself out, went back into the bar, and saw Jimmy standing by the jukebox about to slip a coin into the slot.

“Lily’s a bit hard to take when she gets some steam up”.

“Yeah”. Jimmy said: “I had to tunnel out through the back door myself. Promised I’d put Dean Martin on for her...You wanna hear something ?”

“War Pigs”.

“Who sings that ?”

“Black Sabbath... I got the album. You wanna borrow it ?”

Without looking, I saw Jimmy look at me. On his face there was that hint of recognition all men experience once you let them know you’re available. I expected him to jump right in. Funny though, he quickly looked away and went back to studying the songs on the juke box. I had to set things straight; which wasn’t easy, for Jimmy’s face was becoming part of the neon display.

“I’ll bring the album in next week. But I want it back, O.K ?”

He let the coins drop, pushed the button, and with the onset of Dean Martin singing ‘That’s Amore’, selected ‘War Pigs’, then asked me what I was drinking.

“Beer”. I said: “With a shot of Green Ginger Wine”.

It was going to be a big night.

*

We sat down at a table by a window, looking out onto Johnston St. I didn’t tell him I was tripping because I was frightened he’d think I was a druggie, but soon had a strip of L.S.D. between my thumb and forefinger. He couldn’t get over the cartoon characters. Liked Porky Pig the best; before telling me to put the gear away. I should have known better and quickly did as he said.

I was tripping out; the walls screamed, slipped and skidded along the floor and fused with the ceiling. That cheshire grin of Jimmy’s I loved was up and across his face. I was Alice in Wonderland as the L.S.D. really took hold, and I slipped through a rabbit hole. The hair on Jimmy’s head stood up in a curlicue that made him look like a cartoon character. I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take but while I was drinking with Jimmy everything was alright, and we looked like having the time of our lives well into the night.

I’d been waiting for him to ask, but he hadn’t; so I asked him if he wanted a trip. I swear, I almost had to beat him off with a big stick, and was just about to do so, when in through the front door of the bar walked Peter the Stripper, jacket in a bundle under his right arm and my friend L. behind him.

He looked straight at me and I knew I was gone. I wasn’t being paranoid either. I didn’t know what to do and just hoped everything would be alright; ask L. to calm The Stripper down if he got too upset, which was likely.

She came over and said hello while The Stripper went to the bar. By the tone of her voice she didn’t know that I’d stolen The Stripper’s gear, but she quickly worked out I was on something. Jimmy, on the way up on the L.S.D., started giggling at every little incident. A fly crawled up a wall - he laughed. L.’s red bra strap slipped from her shoulder - he thought this was ridiculous. L. was about to say something when The Stripper approached, sat down uninvited, stared straight at me, and mentioned that a certain item, being twelve strips of blotting paper, had gone missing from the zip up pocket in the sleeve of his jacket.

I looked at Jimmy, Jimmy looked at L., and L. looked at me. Peter the Stripper stared at all of us; fastidiously, if I could put it that way. But before anyone said a word my sister Jeannie strolled in through the rear door, sent her fella’ Alan to the bar to get a drink, while she squeezed in between The Stripper and I. Feigning sincerity Jeannie said:

“Marie sweetie... What are you drinking ?”

Peter the Stripper grabbed my arm.

“You went through my jacket didn’t you ?”

I pulled my arm away from him.

“I don’t know what you mean”.

Jeannie looked over her shoulder toward Alan at the bar while The Stripper continued.

“You know what I’m talkin’ about. My car, the tickets...”

Alan came over with the drinks.

“Hi Al.” I said.

He didn’t take an eye off Peter the Stripper.

“Marie... What’s doin’ sweetie... Are you havin’ a drink ?”

“Yeah. I’ll just go to the loo... Won’t be a tick”.

“Goodo”. Alan said.

Then extended a hand toward The Stripper.

“Alan’s the name. We haven’t met...”

Peter the Stripper might have been a bit of a crook but Alan was serious crime. He had done time in Jika Jika before it was burnt out and they only put you in The Zoo if you were a poorly behaved animal. Richmond was his stomping ground, so up in Collingwood he was a little out of his depth. But all the rough heads in the bar looked the other way. They knew he carried a piece and wasn’t afraid of using it; (someone had given it to that big mouth Costello and dumped him in Alexander Pde. Everyone knew who, but nobody was saying anything). Meanwhile, Alan had settled down, formed a crew and turned to more profitable ways of making a living; he was now doing major burgs, along with the infrequent armed heist, but only if the job was easy pickings.

Jeannie fronted me in the loo.

“You idiot”. She said.

“What do you mean ?”

“Give us the tickets... And his car keys”.

I’d forgotten about the car and told Jeannie where it was parked.

“Now get the fuck out of here before I fucking shoot you”.

This was the best advice I’d had all afternoon.

Hopefully Jeannie would fix it up with Peter the Stripper and he’d find it in his heart to forgive me... Fat chance; in this game everyone has to pay.

It’s always the same isn’t it ? As soon as things start looking sweet between Jimmy and me, I fuck up again. Everything unravels like twine off the spool on the sewing machine at work.

I spent the weekend tripping but I didn’t shoot the L.S.D.

*

That woman’s voice. This trashy piece of cheap suburban crime. Who is she ? Who are these people that populate my waking hours ? Walk these city streets, this neon painting... Hands embedded within the pockets of my herringbone coat. The snip of a suspender belt pinching the skin in the small of my back. Along with all these characters I am just a simple braid in an endless sequence of someone else’s dream. If only I could find words... But words are not forthcoming. Once again, all that is present is her voice. That sad simple girl, full of L.S.D., out onto the streets of Collingwood...