The Jacaranda House, page 16
Finally she spotted him on the far side of the square through the fountain’s shimmering curtain of water. She skirted the fountain’s pools, disturbing the pigeons, and casually approached, sitting next to him as he concentrated on rolling a smoke.
‘Afternoon,’ he said.
‘What have you got?’
‘Fuck all. Bit of dragon.’
‘Nothing else?’ Polly didn’t use heroin.
‘You’re a bit late in the day. Come back tomorrow.’
Polly swore under her breath and walked off. Now what?
She began to sweat, feeling dampness gather in her armpits. Her heart thumped heavily, her chest felt constricted and she couldn’t swallow properly. She didn’t want to go home. She didn’t want to go to work. She just wanted to hide somewhere dark and safe. But she kept going and by the time she did get home she’d taken one of the morphine tablets to calm herself.
‘Any luck?’ Rhoda asked when she got in.
‘No.’
Rhoda peered at her eyes. ‘It doesn’t look like you had no luck.’
‘Have you been shopping, Mum?’ Gina asked.
Polly nodded. ‘But I couldn’t get what I wanted. Never mind.’
‘Guess what, though?’ Rhoda said, sounding pleased with herself.
‘What?’ Polly said cautiously, lighting a smoke.
‘I went downstairs to talk to Helen and Keith about babysitting –’
‘They’re not going to want to do it,’ Polly said. ‘They only just got married. Anyway, I should be looking for a babysitter, not you.’
‘Has someone got a baby?’ Gina asked.
‘A babysitter for you, treacle,’ Star said. ‘For when we’re all out at work.’
‘I’m not a baby!’ Gina was most indignant.
‘No, I know you’re not,’ Polly said, ‘but I can’t leave you alone at night. Some nights I don’t get home till two in the morning. Even later, sometimes.’
‘And neither do we,’ Rhoda said. ‘So anyway, Helen said she’d love to but can’t ’cos she’s changing to evening shifts, though actually I think what she meant is she’d rather spend her nights with Keith, but he said his auntie might be interested, especially if you’re paying. Are you?’
‘Well, I don’t expect anyone to do it for nothing.’
‘We’ll do it for nothing,’ Rhoda said. ‘When we’re home.’
Polly said, ‘Yes, but you live here.’
‘Apparently Keith’s auntie used to be a teacher,’ Rhoda went on. ‘He reckons she’s a bit eccentric, but a good old bird. Though apparently she is getting on a bit.’
‘You mean she’s a loony old bat?’ Polly said.
‘No, he didn’t say that. Not exactly. He says if you’re interested he’ll ask her to come round and you can meet.’
Polly sighed. It was worth a try, she supposed. She’d imagined finding someone much younger to keep an eye on Gina, someone who wouldn’t fall asleep at nine o’clock, or require endless cups of tea and packets of Custard Creams. But what harm could Gina come to with an old lady? And the woman had been a teacher, after all. She’d go down and see Keith tomorrow.
She yawned hugely, regretting now having taken the morphine tablet. Yes, she felt calmer, but she desperately wanted to go to sleep. She got up and poured herself a brandy.
By the time she left for work, she’d had five or six and wasn’t completely steady on her feet as she walked along Darlinghurst Road, the neon signs, traffic noise and jostling pedestrians blurring in her head in a dull chaos from which she felt strangely removed.
Evie was already at work, in her customary seat in the crowded, noisy dressing room, doing her face.
‘So, how was the concert?’ she asked, her eyes open wide as she plastered on mascara. ‘Whew. Been on the brandies?’
‘Yep. That little bastard Terry cleaned out our flat, including my stash. Left me with nothing.’
Evie stared at her, mascara brush in hand. ‘Really? How did that happen?’
‘Stupid bloody Rho and Star let him stay the night while I was away. I told them he was bad news.’ Polly upended her make-up kit on the counter so everything fell out. ‘But would they listen? No they bloody wouldn’t. Where the hell’s my powder?’
‘You’re in a mood. Behind the tissues. What else did he take?’
‘Rho’s money she kept in her room, Star’s clocks, the ones on the mantelpiece? And a couple of the girls’ costumes.’ Polly lit a cigarette. ‘Arsehole.’
Evie went back to her make-up. ‘I’m surprised he stole from people he knew. I’m quite disappointed by that.’
‘Well, I’m fucking disappointed, too. It was my drugs he nicked.’ Polly leant her elbows on the counter, missed, slipped and almost knocked her brains out.
‘How much have you had to drink?’ Evie said.
‘None of your beeswax.’ Polly fluffed on a bit of face powder, squinted at herself in the mirror, then drew on a vastly uneven pair of eyebrows.
Evie laughed. ‘Do you want me to do them for you?’
‘No I bloody don’t.’
‘You can’t dance like this. Do you want me to tell Adler you’re sick?’
‘No! I’m not sick. I just need my drugs.’ Polly scrabbled in her handbag. ‘Look, this is all I’ve got left,’ she said, and held up the little pill bottle she’d taken to Brisbane. ‘One shitty little morphine. One!’ She shook the bottle, scowled, and peered at it, panic suddenly flaring. ‘Where is it? I had one left. Where’s it gone?’
‘Oh, Polly.’
‘I did! I had one left!’
‘You’ve probably taken it.’
‘I haven’t!’
Evie turned away from her. ‘I’ll talk to Adler if you want me to. I really think you should go home.’
‘Well, I really think you should fuck off,’ Polly said.
‘OK,’ Evie said, gathering up her things and walking away.
Polly sat for a moment, staring at the mess she’d made on the counter. The song ‘Glad All Over’ by the Dave Clark Five was playing on someone’s transistor radio, several of the girls boisterously joining in with the chorus. Polly didn’t feel glad all over, she felt desperate. And angry. She didn’t want to dance: why hadn’t she let Evie talk to Adler? Delving into her bag again she retrieved her flask of brandy and swallowed a third of it, wincing as it burnt her gullet. She put her head down on her arms and closed her eyes. If she could just go to sleep things would be all right.
‘Are you OK?’ someone said.
Polly nodded without lifting her head. After a while she sat up, lit a cigarette, finished her face, changed into her costume, and made her way to the back of the stage. When her music started she drifted on stage, knew immediately her high heels would have to go, and kicked them off. She floated around, vaguely aware that her dance moves weren’t remotely in time to the music, disoriented and almost blinded by the stage lights. When the music changed to ‘Wipe Out’ she stood still for a second, her heart thumping, hand raised to her eyes, concentrating on what she was supposed to do next. The hips – she had to do the hips. She launched into a fast hula, but it didn’t feel right. Why didn’t it feel right? Her hips were moving right, her skirt was flicking out properly, but her feet . . . What was wrong with her feet? The drums pounded in her ears, the lights dazzled her eyes, the curtains swirled past as she turned in a circle, and then the floor tilted, came up, and hit her in the face. Hard.
She lay there, her cheek pressed against the dirty stage floor, while the drummer from The Surfaris carried on going mental on his snare drum.
She wanted to get up, and knew she should, but nothing would work.
Eventually, Evie – she thought it was Evie – came, and said, ‘Come on, love, let’s get you up.’
Hands helped her to sit, then someone hoisted her to her feet, then she was in the dressing room sitting on a chair, her coconut bra digging into her ribs as she rested her elbows on her knees. Someone was having a go at her, shouting and swearing – Adler, probably. And then she was in a taxi, then in the flat, and then nothing.
*
‘Mum’s been asleep for ages,’ Gina said the following morning.
‘I think she’s a bit crook this morning, sweetie,’ Rhoda replied, exchanging a glance with Star.
What an understatement: Polly had been in an absolute state when she’d come in last night. It was a miracle she hadn’t died in the night, but she hadn’t – they’d checked. They couldn’t understand it. Yes, she’d knocked back a few brandies before she’d gone to work, but she can’t have overdone the drugs because she didn’t have any. God, she was a worry.
‘Should I take her a cup of tea?’ Gina asked. ‘I could make her some breakfast.’
‘She probably won’t feel like eating,’ Star said. Polly hardly ever felt like eating. ‘You’re right, though, she might like a hot drink.’
While Gina was staring at the jug, hands on hips, waiting for it to boil, Rhoda went in to try and rouse Polly. Her room smelt stuffy and stale, and quite a lot like a public bar.
‘Pol? Polly?’
The lump under the bedcovers stirred. ‘What?’
‘It’s past lunchtime. Gina’s been up for ages. Do you want a cup of tea?’
Polly slowly sat up, then swung her legs out of bed. Her face was puffy, her hair was all over the place, and she was still wearing the bra and pants in which Star and Rhoda had left her when they’d put her to bed. ‘Oh, God.’
‘What happened to you last night?’ Rhoda asked.
A long silence. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You were back home not that long after you left. In a taxi, in a shocking state.’
‘In a taxi?’
Rhoda nodded. ‘Star saw it pull up, and she saw you fall out all over the footpath.’
Polly looked completely bewildered.
‘Can’t you remember?’
‘No. I must have . . . no, I can’t.’
‘Well, Gina wants to bring you a cup of tea.’
‘No, I’ll come out.’
Guessing that Polly didn’t want her daughter to see her lying in bed stricken by a hangover, Rhoda nodded. ‘Well, rattle your dags. She’s been waiting all morning for you to get up.’
In the kitchen Gina had set a pot of tea and a cup and saucer on a tray. ‘Have you got a teeny-weeny vase? I thought I might pick Mum some flowers.’
Oh, you little darling, Rhoda thought. ‘Don’t worry about that, love, she’s coming out. Why don’t you put the teapot on the table? I might have a cup, too.’
Polly shuffled out, tying the sash to her robe. ‘Sorry I slept in, love. Not feeling the best this morning.’
‘Are you sick?’ Gina asked.
‘A little bit.’
‘Why don’t you have some of your medicine?’
‘I’ve run out. I’ll go out and get some later.’ Polly sat down at the table, glanced at Star’s half-eaten bacon and runny fried egg sandwich and raced for the toilet. They all heard her being noisily sick.
‘Yuck,’ Gina said. ‘Poor Mum.’
‘Yes, poor Mum,’ Star said.
Rhoda gave her a hard look. ‘I’ll get her a towel. You go and see if there’s any Hennessy left. She’ll need a hair of the dog.’
After tea, a shot of brandy and a couple of cigarettes, Polly did seem to revive a little.
‘So, what happened?’ Star asked.
Polly rubbed her face wearily. ‘I really don’t know. I went to work. I was getting ready, and then . . . really, I don’t know.’
‘You must have really tied one on,’ Star said.
‘But I don’t think I did.’
‘What does that mean?’ Gina asked.
‘It means she got sick,’ Star said.
Someone knocked on the door. As Gina ran to answer it, Rhoda darted after her, reached past her and opened the door a crack.
‘Oh, it’s you. Sorry, just checking it wasn’t that little bastard, Terry.’
Evie stepped inside. ‘Nope, just me, come to visit Sleeping Beauty.’
‘Eh?’
‘Don’t tell me she can’t remember?’
‘Not a sausage.’
‘Oh dear.’ Evie sat down at the table. ‘Any tea in that pot?’
Star poured her a cup.
‘So, what happened?’ Polly asked. ‘You might as well just come out with it.’
Rhoda said, ‘Gina, love, I think Baz might want to do wees. Why don’t you take him out to the garden for ten minutes?’
‘But don’t let him run away,’ Star warned. ‘You know how naughty he is.’
‘I won’t,’ Gina said, scooping up the puppy and bearing him off.
Everyone but Polly lit cigarettes, settling in for a good, long story.
‘Well,’ Evie began, ‘you were already pissed as a chook when you got to work, and I’m fairly sure you’d taken something as well . . .’
‘Well, I don’t know what,’ Polly protested. ‘Bloody Terry stole everything I had.’
‘No, you thought you still had some morphine in your bag, but I think you’d taken it but couldn’t remember.’
Polly insisted, ‘No, I had nothing. I had to go up the fountain to try and buy something but my man was out of everything. It was a nightmare.’
‘Well, you were loaded, love. I thought you should go home. I didn’t think you’d be able to dance. You told me to fuck off.’
Polly looked mortified. ‘Did I? Sorry.’
‘So I did, and you went on anyway, and collapsed,’ Evie said. ‘Or fell over, or passed out, or something. And just lay there. And bloody Adler was out the front, worst luck, and came belting out the back going, “Get her off! Get her off!” the arsehole, never mind that you might have died up there, so Belinda and I helped you off. Adler tore strips off you in the dressing room but I don’t think you even heard him. We put you in a taxi and sent you home.’
Sweeping her hair off her face, Polly said, ‘Well, that’s it, I suppose. I’ll have to go down the Pink Pussycat or the Paradise Room and ask for a job there.’
‘Maybe not,’ Evie said. ‘Adler wants you at the club this afternoon at four. He wants to talk to you.’
‘What about?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, I’m not turning up just because he’s clicked his fingers,’ Polly said.
Sighing, Evie said, ‘Just go, Polly. You don’t know what he wants. If it’s not to your benefit you can just leave. But it might be.’
‘I can’t imagine how,’ Polly grumbled.
‘You could be cutting your nose off to spite your face, you know,’ Rhoda said.
Polly snapped, ‘Oh, don’t be such a stupid old woman!’
‘Well, you could!’
‘You don’t even know Joe Adler. And apart from that, you’re such a good judge of character. If it hadn’t been for you and Star, I wouldn’t be in this shit.’
‘What do you mean?’ Star demanded.
‘You let Terry in here, he stole my drugs, that led to last night. That’s what I mean.’
‘That’s a bit harsh,’ Rhoda said. ‘He stole off us, too.’
‘Well, it serves you right, then, doesn’t it?’ Polly shot back, then marched off to her room and slammed the door.
Rhoda, Star and Evie looked at one another.
‘Bitch,’ Star said.
Chapter Nine
That afternoon, to her immense relief, Polly found her dealer in his customary spot.
‘What are you after?’ he asked, his long legs stretched out, arms crossed, leaning back comfortably on the bench as he contemplated the fountain.
‘Some speed, say Dexies or Bennies, and some Mandies or ’Ludes, as many as you can manage, and some morphine tabs. And something for sleep. Noctec, maybe? I got cleaned out.’
‘It’ll cost you.’
‘Don’t care.’
‘Meet me in the usual place, twenty minutes,’ he said, getting up and wandering off.
Polly had already been to the bank, so she crossed the square to a tobacconist’s, bought a packet of cigarettes and some chewing gum, looked in a few shop windows, then made her way down a narrow alley between the houses on Macleay Street. Negotiating smelly bins and hissing feral cats, she stood in the shadows, waiting. It wasn’t pleasant, it certainly wasn’t glamorous, but it was better than attracting the attention of the cops.
A battered door at the rear of a property opened and there he was. He beckoned and she shot towards him, like a pin to a magnet. From the pocket of his jacket he took three small glass pill bottles and a brown paper packet.
‘A hundred Dexedrines, a hundred Quaaludes, fifty morphine, all still sealed, and forty-five Noctec. Best I can do.’
‘Perfect,’ Polly said. She preferred unopened bottles straight from the chemist or the warehouse: they were unlikely to have been tampered with or substituted with something useless. ‘How much?’
He told her. It was a fair bit and she wasn’t surprised.
‘Don’t take them all at once,’ he said as she handed over a pile of notes.
‘You’re so funny.’
‘Yep,’ he said, pocketing the money and walking off.
*
Feeling immensely better now that her hangover was wearing off and she had some medication on board, Polly knocked on Joe Adler’s office door at exactly four o’clock. When he called her in she sat without being invited, refusing to allow herself to feel like a naughty school kid in front of the headmaster. As usual he was smoking one of his stinky cigars and had his feet on the desk. Polly noticed he’d almost worn a hole in the sole of his shoe. But why only one? Was one leg shorter than the other?
He gazed at her for quite a while, then said, ‘Well, you made an arsehole of yourself last night, didn’t you?’
‘Actually, I can’t remember.’
‘Not surprised. You do know we have a rule about no drinking during work hours?’
‘Not sure I did drink during work hours,’ Polly said.
‘You were a bloody disgrace. I can’t stand the sight of a woman drunk in public.’
One more or less in the nude is fine, though, isn’t it? Bloody hypocrite. ‘Well, sorry. It won’t happen again.’
