The Dark Part of Me (16 page)

Mum bobbed around in the shallows, not wanting to get her hair wet. ‘Hurry up,’ she yelled at Randy. ‘It’s lovely once you get in.’

Like most men, Randy wasn’t content with a measly jump in the shallow end. He wanted to make a big splash. Like driving in the fast lane and assembling Ikea furniture, diving was a test of
a bloke’s manhood.

‘Watch this!’ he said, jogging down to the deep end, his muscular arms swinging from his scrawny torso. He stood with his back to the pool, tilting his head from side to side and
taking deep breaths like he was going for gold at the Olympics. His jaw was set, his lips pursed in concentration. He inched backwards so that his heels were hanging over the edge. He peered over
the back fence to see if any neighbours were about and, with a flick of his wrist, he whipped off the towel.

He was naked.

From her end, Mum gasped. From my end, the sight killed me. His penis was enormous, obscenely large for any man, let alone a man of his restricted height. I was shocked but I couldn’t stop
staring. Thick and straight as a salami, it hung in all its buffed glory. My mouth went dry. In length and diameter, it was twice the size of Scott’s and about four times the size of
Jed’s, the monkey-boy poet’s. It had to be surgically enlarged or some form of abnormality. I forced myself to look away.

Randy yelled to Mum over his shoulder. ‘Count me down from ten!’

‘OK, but don’t hit your head on the bottom,’ she warned. ‘Ten… nine… eight… ’

Randy swung his arms in windmills and jigged up and down on his toes like a pro diver about to reverse triple somersault into a half pike entry.

‘Seven… six… five… ’

I sneaked another look at his Long John, which was swinging pendulum-style as he bounced up and down, and, at that moment, Randy glanced up and saw me under the paw-paw.

‘Golly!’ he spluttered, bending over, trying to cover himself. ‘Didn’t see you there, Rosie.’ He lost his balance, hopping from foot to foot, and toppled backwards.
Airborne, his giant member protruded from his compact form like a pink tail as he crashed butt-first in an almighty bomb dive. Water gushed over the sides. Mum, who still hadn’t spotted me
yet, cacked herself, laughing and bouncing about like it was the best entertainment she’d had in ages. I resolved to put Randy’s cock firmly out of my mind, and went back to my
book.

The rapids subsided to a gentle lapping and the suburbs went quiet. I glanced back towards the shallows. Mum had stopped splashing about and was anxiously peering towards the deep end. Randy
hadn’t surfaced. He’d been down there for well over two minutes. From where I was sitting, I could just make out a pink, shifting splodge on the bottom. I had a nasty vision of Randy
the quadriplegic, his massive member dangling limp and useless as a dead sausage dog. Although she couldn’t swim properly, Mum was paddling into the middle of the pool, choking and
spluttering.

‘Possum? Are you alright, possum?’ She struggled over to the edge and clung on, looking desperately around for someone or something to help. ‘Help! Please! Somebody help
me!’

It must have been nearly three minutes now. I stepped out from the shade of the paw-paw tree.

Mum shouted, ‘Oh, thank goodness, Rosemary. Save him!’

I dived into the deep end. Under the water it was quiet; the lapping flap and suck of the pool filter, the rush of water in my ears, the sunbeams loose and scattered, swaying like reeds. I
touched down on the pebbly bottom and looked around. Randy was sitting cross-legged like a monk meditating, a steady stream of bubbles ascending from his nostrils. He smiled and gave me the OK
sign. I shot up to the surface where Mum was leaning over the edge.

Assuming the worst, she screamed, ‘Oh my god, he’s paralysed. Quick, call an ambulance!’

‘He’s fine,’ I said. ‘He’s just kidding around.’

‘He’ll have brain damage!’

Randy’s bald spot broke the surface.

Mum shouted, ‘He’s alive!’

He was coughing and gasping for air but grinning like a maniac. Mum leapt in on top of him with a splash. She slapped him on the bicep. ‘What a stupid, stupid thing to do.’

‘So I had you going, did I?’ Randy’s eyes were bloodshot from the chlorine.

‘You sure did. We thought you were paralysed.’ She wrapped her arms about his neck, clinging onto him like a koala.

‘No, we didn’t,’ I said.

‘I’m in training for the Queensland over-fifties underwater breath-holding championships in Townsville next month.’

‘That’s amazing,’ Mum raved. ‘You were under there for… how long was it, Rosemary?’

I hauled myself out of the pool.

‘Four minutes, fifty-two seconds,’ Randy said, showing Mum his stop-watch. ‘Only two minutes, forty-three off the Andy LeSauce record.’

The weekend was nearly over and Scott still hadn’t called. At work that evening, I lied to Trish about my progress, inventing sexual antics deviant enough to satisfy her.
It was all bullshit but she believed me and proceeded to describe in graphic detail the sex she’d had the night before with some guy called Zane she’d met at the Norse-Raider rave.

‘He went down on me for hours. Kept saying how much he loved eating pussy and he must have because he jerked off while he was licking me out.’

‘Was he cute?’ I asked.

‘Dunno,’ she said, ‘Everyone looks cute on ecky.’

I wondered if Scott might have been at the same rave. At least he wouldn’t have been eating pussy. He always told me how he hated the taste and preferred ‘real pump action’,
but in retrospect he was probably just too bloody lazy to go down there. Not that this ever worried me; I could orgasm every time without fail so long as I was on top with Scott wet-pinching my
nipples simultaneously, like the first time we made love after the car crash.

After shutting up shop, Trish got out the stuff for Scott. We stood behind the counter with the lights dimmed low while she unwrapped a square of alfoil. Inside, there were ten white pills, each
stamped with an identical green elephant, its trunk trumpeting in the air. Trish flipped them over so all the elephants were on show, lining them up in a grand procession down the bench-top.

‘Fucking beautiful, hey,’ she said. ‘Makes your legs go like honey and your cunt feel all funny.’

I laughed, loving the thrill of being bad. Trish pulled a snap-lock of speed from her bag.

‘Want a bit?’ She dipped her finger inside.

‘Nah, I’m OK.’ I was crap enough on pot and booze.

‘Relax, babe. It’ll just get you a bit buzzy.’ She stuck her finger under my top lip and rubbed in a circular motion over my gum. It was a bit like being at the dentist.

‘Mind if I go some?’ Trish said. She scooped a small amount out of the bag with a latte spoon and pushed and prodded the stuff into a thin line with her credit card. She nicked a
fifty from the till and rolled it into a tight cylinder. Then, pressing her finger against her left nostril, leant over the bench-top and snorted. A wide grin spread across her face. She sat up on
the bench and lit a fag. I dipped my finger in again. Trish cranked the hardcore. My heart was racing and, although I was buggered from work, my brain was alert and sparky and my body felt hard and
springy. I could have gone for a run. The shop took on a new vibe. The counter slick and metal bright. The chairs and tables expectant, like they wanted to dance. I looked up and saw my face,
reflected a million times in the parfait glasses which hung upside down from the overhead rack. I got a spurt of childish excitement, like being locked in a toy shop overnight, as if anything was
possible.

‘Told you it was good shit,’ Trish said. ‘Hope lover-boy likes it.’

I took some deep breaths and thought about how cool Scott would think I was, getting him A-class so easy. It would be my shout, my welcome home present to him.

Now I had a legitimate, non-desperate reason to call. Still, I decided to wait a few more days to see if he would ring me first.

I got home just after midnight, still buzzy from the speed. Trish had lent me one of her hardcore import CDs and, driving back, I pumped it to the max. The bass thumped low and deep in my
stomach as the car shook around me and the steering wheel sent vibrations up my arms. I was feeling mega-supreme-sexy-queen-of-the-road until I pulled into the driveway where, to my ultra
annoyance, Randy’s Beetle was blocking my side of the garage. I blasted the horn continuous, even though the house was in darkness.

Across the road Mr Leyland stepped out with his pet shihtzu to suss out the racket. Mum came running out in her chenille, but I kept on with the blasting, which I could barely hear over the
hardcore anyway. Mum was yelling and hammering against my window but I wasn’t letting up. It was important to make my point. Randy came sauntering out of the house in a pair of leopard-print
undies. He said something to Mum and waved across at Mr Leyland. Then, as if he had all the time in the world, he cruised into his Beetle, reversed down the drive and parked on the side of the
road. Mum daggered me through the windscreen before following Randy back into the house.

I zapped the roller doors, released the brake-stick and rolled into the garage next to Mum’s Holden, the darkness swallowing me up. I pumped the hardcore and butt-danced in my seat for
ages, but then the stuff started to wear off and I felt like a bit of a dick so I jabbed it off and sat listening for the tiniest sounds I could hear. The muffled tick of the engine cooling down.
The soft crunch of a moth’s abdomen hitting the windscreen. The crack of my big toe. It felt safe; the car a shell with me the soft, squidgy mollusc inside. When I was a kid and Mum and Dad
were fighting, I’d lock myself in the car with the radio up full-blast, listening to The Cars. I’d get hungry and eat all the barley sugars from the glove box until my teeth hurt. Once,
I slept in there all night with the cabin light on and a picnic blanket wrapped around my legs.

Right then, I had the same urge to sleep in the car. Anything was better than being inside while Randy pumped his sperm germs into Mum with his surgically enhanced member. I took off my sandals,
climbed into the back seat and lay down with my feet dangling out the window. It was cool inside the garage and there was the same smell of petrol, grease and rusty toolboxes as when Dad used to
tinker about drinking beer and listening to the cricket on his pocket radio. I took off my clothes and stretched out in my bra and undies, my body all limp and floppy. My muscles ached with fatigue
but my head was still firing like a piston. I checked my mobile for the zillionth time. There were more missed calls from Hollie and she’d left a frantic message about Danny being missing. I
thought about him being outside Scott’s that morning and wondered if I should tell Hollie, even though I’d promised not to. What did Danny want with Scott anyway? It was weird, almost
sinister. When Scott finally called me, I would ask him about their history. I had good vibes he’d ring me tomorrow. My legs had gone to sleep and it was pretty uncomfortable in the car, so I
went inside.

Outside Mum’s room, I knelt down to listen for any grotesque sex noises but all I could hear was the loud ticking of her bedside clock and Randy snoring. I crept down the hall to my
bedroom, hid Scott’s drugs in my undies drawer and stripped off naked for bed. Awake and horny, I lay in the dark for hours tracing figure eights across my stomach and tugging at my nipples,
imagining the split-second before Scott’s cock rammed up into me. I tried to wank myself with the end of my hairbrush but I was all bound up and edgy, and I couldn’t fucking do it. It
was like having the worse itch ever but with no arms to scratch it.

Four days went by and Scott still hadn’t fucking called me. Extreme paranoia was kicking in, but I convinced myself that Mrs Greenwood had changed his sheets and that the
note and choc had fallen down the crack between his bed and the wall. He can’t have got the note or else he would have called about the drugs.

On Friday morning Mum was heading into town to buy a new outfit for a date that night with Randy. I dialled Scott’s number as soon as she left the house.

Mrs Greenwood answered. ‘Yes, love. He’s sitting right here reading the paper.’ She passed me over.

‘Hi, babe.’ He was munching on a piece of toast.

‘Did you get my note?’

‘Yeah, nah, I was meaning to give you a call but I’ve been a bit busy.’

‘Did you like the chocolate?’

‘Yeah, but it melted all over my pillow.’

There was a squirmy silence. I took a deep breath and went for it. ‘Listen. Mum’s gone shopping for the day and I thought you might like to come over,’ I dropped my voice to a
husky whisper, ‘for some S.E.X.’ As Trish said, there was no point in beating round the bush.

He laughed. ‘Bomber’s coming round to shoot hoops this arvo.’ There was a long pause. ‘But I can put him off. I’ll be over after lunch.’

‘Great. And I can give you the stuff from Trish.’

All morning, I ran around in a fluster: washing and blow-drying my hair; plucking the stray hairs from my porno-strip; painting my nails red to match my new half-cups and g-string; applying
kissable lip-gloss and a butterfly sticker to my cheekbone. I took down his postcards in case he thought I was a psycho and I pulled out the fly screens in case he came to the window like he used
to. Under my bed were the handcuffs and the leather whip I’d bought from a dodgy shop in the Valley. The thought of Scott coming round for sex and drugs really got me going. I grabbed the
snap-lock from my undies drawer and opened it. I licked my finger, dipped it inside and rubbed all around my gums. My heartbeat quickened. Taking some deep breaths, I lay down on my sun-soaked bed,
wriggling my fingers and toes like plant tendrils angling for the light. I focused, slitty-eyed, on the ruby sparkling in my belly-button. I hadn’t had the opportunity to show it to Scott at
the party and I couldn’t wait for his reaction.