By Kathleen Newell

Rob was a good mate.  A tall guy, six three, butch as they come, but he was a bit too straight.  We were all up for a good laugh.  Somehow you felt that it was like having your maiden aunt with you.  The nearer the knuckle a joke was, the less he laughed.  Back in the late sixties, in Oz, you could have plenty of fun, if you were in the know. 

      He should have had a class job, not stuck with us on a building site.  Rob knew more than the rest of us put together.  I never once saw him read, not even a newspaper.  It didn’t figure.

     One night, when we were kicking our heels, Rob said, ‘Let’s grab a few tinnies and crash a beach barbie.’

     I pulled a face.  ‘Nah, that’s a bit tame,’ I said.  ‘Let’s go down the red-light district.  We haven’t been there for months.  I reckon it’d be good fun.  See what crawls out of the woodwork.’

     ‘You wouldn’t say that, Jimmy, if it were your sister,’ Rob said.

     ‘It’s a bit late for our Maggie to flog her mutton,’ I said with a wink.  ‘She’s six months gone.’

     ‘Or your mother?’

     ‘Leave off.’  I grinned.  I was trying not to picture my old Ma on the streets.

     We headed off to Bondi.  I trawled around for a while.  Didn’t make out.  The tucker was great.  We stuffed ourselves with seafood and anything else they had shoved on the barbie.  The music was just how we liked it.  Ear splitting, so the whole of Sydney could enjoy it.  We drank our fill of the beer, lager and cider that flowed freely.  Later, with a full moon that stage-lit the swell of the ocean’s big dumpers, the kids shrieked and giggled as they streaked down the beach for a spot of skinny-dipping.  Afterwards, we meandered home.  Set about entertaining the neighbourhood with our singing.

     Rob came over all school-teacherish.  ‘Keep it down,’ he said, ‘people are sleeping.’

     ‘Sh!’  I said, holding on to one of the lads as I put my finger to my lips.  ‘It was a great barbie.  We had a laugh.  There were plenty of girls begging for it.  Shame all the best talent was taken.’    

     Rob looked a bit narked.  ‘You should save yourself for the right one.’

     I laughed.  ‘You what!  Save myself!  I like to spread a little happiness wherever I go, as often as I can.’

     ‘Grow up, Jimmy!  Settling down is important,’ Rob said

     ‘For Christ’s sake, Rob, we’re nineteen!  There’s loads a time for settling down,’ I said.  ‘If I looked like you, I reckon they’d be grovelling at my feet.’ 

     A good-looking guy like him should have had the sheilas fighting over him.  Now me, well I reckon a ‘roo took a kick at my face.  I was skinny too, a shrimpy five six with straight manky hair.  I was a bit of a practical joker.  Why not?  You’ve got to make the most of what you’ve got.

     ‘Have a good time, that’s my motto,’ I said.  The lads nodded.  ‘Get a good chat-up line.  Loosen them up with a few Snowballs or Babychams.  I usually make out.’

     Rob gave me a disgusted look.

     He had no go in him.  Know what I mean?  Don’t get me wrong.  He’s a great guy, the best.  Just needed to loosen up. 

     While he was visiting his folks in Brisbane, we checked out the red-light district.

     God, you should have clocked some of the sheilas down there.  One hag looked as if she’d been at it eighty years.  She smelt like a dingo’s armpit.  Her face was like an old loofah with make-up trowelled over the holes.  But I don’t suppose any of her clients noticed her face.  You saw high-heels and plunging necklines.  That was only the fellas!  There were good lookers, scrags, young kids and weirdoes.  They were all there, good and bad.  Some you wouldn’t touch with a surfboard.  It was a right laugh.

     We spotted this show.  It was none of your cheap bump and grind.  It was a real class act.  Posh place, decked out like a music hall, that kind of set-up.  The compère was a comic in ridiculous drag.  He practically fell on to the stage as he tripped up on his oversize shoes.  His jokes came thick and fast.  He had us in stitches.

     Then it went as quiet as a reef with a shark on the prowl.  All eyes swivelled forward left as the strippers came on.  Gorgeous they were.  Long legs balanced on heels the height of ships’ masts.  Could they strut their stuff!  I remember one, in a plain dress, sang “Second-hand Rose”.  Course, we knew they weren’t actually singing.  Back then, even most of the Aussie TV stars mimed to US or Pommy records. 

     The others had long posh frocks and puffed out wigs.  Some wore sparkly headdresses, others had coloured emus’ feathers.  They looked eight feet tall!  Done up to the nines they were.  They all sang as they stripped.  Some did a double-act.  Trouble was you couldn’t scrape your eyes from one to get a good gander at the other.  They all ended up practically topless.  Most of them could have done with a boob-job.  Shame there wasn’t much of that done back then!  What they lacked up top they certainly made up for in the “tease” part.  They knew all the moves, and some!  You felt they were singing just for you.  Inviting you.  You wanted to reach out, to grab a handful.

     After every act, the comic was back.  He brought you down to earth.  The next stripper got you going again.  Each time his rig-out kit was more outrageous than the last.  One of his get-ups was Scottish.  He wore a bright orange wig, topped by a tartan bonnet.  The house almost caved in when he showed what Scotsmen wear under their kilts!    

     At the interval, the sheilas strutted up the aisles and there we were, stuck in the middle of a row.  No chance to chat any up. 

     The next night, we didn’t make that mistake!  We were first in the queue. 

     ‘I’ll toss you for the end seat,’ I said as I took out my old two-headed penny.  ‘I’ll take heads.’

     The routines were just as good the second time around.  I nabbed one of the sheilas as she walked up the aisle.  She was a looker, best of the lot.  You could smell the greasepaint mixed with her scent.  The stuff of her dress kind of rustled.  Even that was a come-on.   

     I smiled.  Opened my mouth, determined to give her my best chat up line.  She ignored me. 

     When she walked back for the finale, I said, ‘What about tomorrow, then?’  She tipped me the wink.  We were on.

     We met after the show.  God was she a stunner!  Long platinum blonde hair, all done up on top in elaborate swirls.  Pools of sea-blue eyes swallowed me up.  She wore scent that screamed, “Come and get me”.  Her make-up looked as if she’d been done up for the movies.  Her legs were so long that they climbed right up to heaven. 

     Trouble was Angelina, God’s gift of an angel, didn’t fancy me.  It was hardly surprising.  In those high heels she was a good eight inches taller than me.  There was more to her than that though.  She had a great personality, with a fantastic sense of humour.  And she was a real sport.  Would have suited Rob.

     ‘My mate should have been here,’ I said.  ‘He doesn’t know what he’s missing.  He’s a great guy, you’d love him.’ 

     I told her all about Rob.  I think I cracked it, when she realised he wasn’t an ugly runt like me.  Her eyes twinkled wickedly.  She gave me a funny kind of smile, coy, but willing

     I decided to push my luck.  ‘Let me set up a meeting with Rob when he gets back from Brisbane.’

     ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said.

     By then she was laughing.  I knew I’d won her over.  She agreed to meet Rob after the show the following week.

* * *

I picked a class bar for the meeting.  Just outside the red-light district.  Didn't want him looking down his nose.  All we had to do was convince Rob that this gorgeous sheila wanted to meet him. 

     He looked more at ease when he got back.  I reckon he must have needed that break.  I wasted no time

    ‘I’ve been trying to get off with this sheila,’ I said.  

     Rob laughed.  ‘Only trying?  What’s up, Jimmy?  Lost your touch?’

     ‘Straight up,’ I said.  ‘Her name’s Angelina.  I fancied her rotten as soon as I clapped eyes on her.  She’s real shy.  Took me ages to suss that she’d had her eye on you for weeks before you went away.’

     I told him all about her, except the strip-joint part.  The lads gathered round, making envious noises.

     Rob’s eyes were on stalks.  ‘Great.  When do I meet her?’ 

     I’d sorted out our lookout spot in advance.  We crouched behind some greenery, waiting for the action.  Rob was early.  He’d sure loosened up.  That was no surprise, after the billing we gave her.  Done up like a wallaby’s wedding, he was.  His aftershave surfed in across the room, hitting us full on the nose.  He put a couple of records on the jukebox, then sat in the alcove at the table we’d reserved.

     As Shirley Bassey belted out “Big Spender”, Angelina walked in, minus the feathers.  Heads turned.  She was a knockout.  Kind of slow and slinky, she walked over to Rob, hips swaying to the music. 

     We could hardly keep quiet.  Nothing happened!  They sat there, heads close together, talking.  It looked as if they were getting on great.  Come on, Rob, get your glasses on mate!  Then I twigged it.  I realised why he never read.  Why he never tried for a good job.  The bloody fool’s short-sighted!  That must be it.

     The sheilas from that show are absolute stunners.  Shapely.  Great legs.  The thing is, they’re all fellas.  Transsexuals, cross-dressers, drag queens, who knows?  Maybe they did have implants or injections.  They had this wired “U” shape, like a bra with no material, just tassels.  Maybe it just pushed up their own flesh.  Whatever!  They could sure make those tassels swirl! 

     Rob stood up.  Angelina joined him.  They walked out together, arm in arm.  Bloody hell!  I got up sharpish.  Nearly sliced my cheek on a pad of prickly pear.  I caught them as they were leaving.

     God, this is going to be awkward, I thought.  ‘Rob, mate...’ 

     ‘You’ve met Richard,’ Rob said.  He put his big mitt on the gorgeous Angelina’s shoulder.  ‘He told me about the set-up when I phoned him before I left Brisbane.  Great gag, Jimmy, one of your best.’

     I stared, confused.

     Rob laughed.  ‘We’ve been seeing each other secretly for six months.  That’s why I cleared off to Brisbane, to see if I could forget him.  I can’t.  We’re moving in together.  Sorry mate.  The sting’s on you.  We set you up good and proper.’ 

    I gawped like a shark that's had its tucker snatched.