The Jacaranda House, page 33
‘Hi, Polly?’ a man said. ‘I’m Roy. You were wanting some photos developed?’
Well, he definitely wasn’t what Polly had been expecting. She’d been thinking he’d be older, gone to seed, and sleazy-looking. That’s usually what came to mind when you thought ‘pornographer’. But this bloke was probably younger than her, clean-cut, nicely dressed and quite pleasant-looking. He was sitting at a table covered with papers and piles of photographs, next to two grey metal filing cabinets.
She sat in a chair near the cabinets. ‘Yes, and like I said on the phone I need them done in a hurry, please. Tonight.’
‘They must be pretty important pics,’ Roy said.
‘They are to me.’
‘What’s in them?’ Roy asked. ‘I mean, I’ll see them anyway when I develop them.’
‘Well, they’re on my friend’s camera so I don’t know what some of them are, but there’s a couple of my daughter. She’s just sitting in a room doing nothing, really. They’re just ordinary photos. Those are the ones I want.’
Roy looked suddenly appalled. ‘God, she’s not . . . she hasn’t died or anything, has she?’
‘No, no. It’s just really important I have them by tomorrow morning.’
‘Well, that’s your business, not mine. And it’ll make a change. Usually when I’m doing developing jobs on the side it’s people’s erotic home photos. You know, the ones the chemist and the camera shops would report you to the police for?’
Mildly curious, Polly said, ‘Do you do a lot of those?’
‘You’d be surprised. But my bread and butter’s marketing material for the clubs, portfolio photos for models and dancers, porn, and a bit of work for the magazines, though I admit it’s a very little bit. I have managed to get one of my girls into Playboy, but my God the competition’s fierce and the bloody hoops you have to jump through dealing with an American publication. Someone needs to start an Australian edition.’
He picked up a camera from his desk and aimed it at Polly.
She flinched and threw up her hands in front of her face. ‘Don’t! What are you doing?’
‘Framing you. You’ve got the most beautiful face. Lovely bones. Have you ever thought about modelling?’
‘I was a model for a department store when I was younger. I’m too old now.’
‘You’re not too old for photography and you’re definitely not too old for porn.’
Polly didn’t know what to say. What a little shit.
‘You’re really quite thin and that’s good,’ Roy went on. ‘Girls always look a little heftier in photographs than they do in real life, so you’d look just right.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘It pays really well. You wouldn’t believe what I can get for porn, especially when the girl’s as good-looking as you, and a lot of that profit gets passed on to the model. I mean, no model, no photo, right?’
‘I said no.’
Roy passed her a business card. ‘Well, here’s my card anyway. You might change your mind. Now, your photos. You want a rush job and it’ll take a few hours so I’m afraid it’ll cost you.’
‘I don’t care what it costs.’
‘Fine. I’m looking at about four pounds fifty? I can’t just develop individual negatives so I’ll have to do the whole roll of film.’
Polly shrugged. Evie had given her ten pounds, so she had plenty. She handed over the film in its little cannister. ‘My friend took it out of the camera.’
‘Good-o. Shall we say ten o’clock tomorrow morning? Will that be early enough for you to pick it up?’
It was too bloody early, as far as Polly was concerned. ‘Do you want paying now?’
‘Whenever. I’m sure you’re good for it.’
Polly gave him a five pound note: he dug around in his pocket until he found change. As she stood she hesitated, then dropped his business card into her bag.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then. Thanks.’
‘Right-o.’
Outside, walking back home along Roslyn Street in the dark, she thought about how much money she might make as a model in the pornography industry. It would be easy work, she could do it during the day and she could probably buy as much heroin as she’d ever possibly need. And then she thought about Gina one day accidentally seeing one of those photos. Finally, she thought about herself. She’d been a hooker and she’d hated it. She’d been a stripper and really disliked that, and she knew she’d hate doing porn, too, because porn was for wanking over, and no matter how hard she tried to detach herself from it, she’d still know she was being used. And she was fed up with that.
She took out Roy’s card, tore it in half and threw it in the gutter.
*
Evie rapped on Adler’s office door. ‘I’m looking forward to this,’ she said to Emmeline.
‘You don’t like him, do you?’
‘Can’t stand him.’
‘Come!’ Adler called.
Evie went in first, followed by Emmeline, who was dressed in her sartorial finest for the occasion. She wore a bright red tunic over a pleated, calf-length indigo skirt, an emerald-green waist-length jacket, lime-green tights, orange Cuban-heeled shoes, and an orange hat. She looked like a rosella.
Adler stared at her. ‘Who’s this?’ he said to Evie.
‘My name is Miss Emmeline Carver,’ Emmeline said, ‘and I’m here to represent Miss Polly Manaia.’
‘Are you a lawyer?’
‘No, a friend.’
‘Oh, right. Have a seat, then, love.’
Emmeline said, ‘I am not your “love”, Mr Adler. Please be so kind as to address me as Miss Carver.’
Adler winked at Evie. ‘Anything you say, Miss Carver.’
Emmeline sat. ‘Do you have something in your eye, Mr Adler?’
‘Er, no. What can I do for you?’
Opening her crocodile-skin handbag, Emmeline said, ‘I have with me a bank cheque for four hundred and eighty pounds, which, I believe, is the amount Miss Manaia owes you for stealing a specific amount of heroin. Is that correct?’
‘No, actually she owes me seven hundred and ninety quid.’
‘I don’t believe so,’ Emmeline said. ‘I believe you’ve been apprised of the fact that another of your employees, one Terry Lawson, also stole an amount of heroin from you. Is that in fact also correct?’
Adler shrugged. ‘Polly’s boyfriend spun me a line, and I’ve heard a couple of trannies are saying so, but –’
‘But what, Mr Adler?’
‘Well, you can’t trust what that lot say, can you? I mean, they don’t even know whether they’re Arthur or Martha.’ He smirked. ‘Literally.’
Emmeline glanced at Evie. She’d been right: Joe Adler was a nasty little piece of work. ‘I fail to see how an individual’s decisions regarding their sex can have a bearing on their honesty or integrity, Mr Adler. I really don’t think the two things are connected.’
Adler was staring at her, as though he didn’t know what she meant. Perhaps he didn’t. ‘Well, you know,’ he said vaguely.
‘I’m not sure I do. But I do know Terry Lawson was also seen stealing heroin, by your own employees, to be precise. I therefore do advise you to accept my bank cheque for the amount that Miss Manaia owes.’
‘Why should I?’
‘Because I also have these.’ Emmeline withdrew some photographs from her bag. ‘These photographs depict Gina Manaia, a minor whom you kidnapped, present at your property.’ She handed them over.
Adler looked at them. ‘So?’
‘Well, nobody likes a child molester do they?’ Emmeline said.
Adler exploded. ‘I’m not a child molester!’
‘How would anyone know, looking at those photographs? Of an eleven-year-old girl? In your secret love nest? Alone?’
Adler ripped the photos into pieces and stuffed them into his rubbish bin.
‘Naturally those were copies,’ Evie said.
‘You can’t prove anything.’
Adler’s face was going red now and sweat was popping out on his top lip. Emmeline knew she had him scared. ‘Gina’s happy to tell the world you had her kidnapped,’ she said.
‘Who’d believe her? And who would she tell? I’ve got powerful friends. I could get her and her mother shut down just like that.’
He clicked his fingers but his hands were sweaty and the required snap didn’t ensue.
‘I have powerful friends myself,’ Emmeline said. ‘Powerful family, in fact. Close family. I won’t name names as I prefer not to be boorish, but I’m sure The Daily Telegraph would be keen to publish a feature article about your interest in little girls. And no doubt the Australian Women’s Weekly would do a feature as well. Your little getaway looks rather cosy. I’m sure Mrs Adler would be delighted with that.’
Adler sat very still for quite some time. ‘I’ll accept that cheque. Has anyone ever told you you’re a gold-plated bitch?’
Emmeline said, ‘Yes.’
Then Adler turned to Evie. ‘And you’re fired.’
‘Fine.’
Adler suddenly sat back in his chair, looking pleased with himself. ‘You’ve just blackmailed me, right? I could have agreed to write off Polly’s debt. You didn’t need to pay me any money at all.’ He snorted in derision. ‘What a pair of losers.’
‘Au contraire,’ Emmeline replied. ‘Miss Manaia assures me she always pays her debts. Now she has. In my book that makes her a winner.’
Evie said, ‘And here we are looking at a man who pushes heroin, kidnaps schoolgirls and cheats on his wife. So who’s the loser?’
Emmeline stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her tunic. ‘Thank you, Mr Adler. We’ll see ourselves out.’
As they reached the door, Adler said, ‘Hey. Is it true about Terry?’
And Evie said, ‘Ask him. I’m not a snitch.’
Outside the Stiletto Club, she started to laugh. ‘You’re very good at blackmail, Emmeline. I enjoyed that.’
‘Well, one doesn’t like to boast, but I like to think I have a number of strings to my bow. You didn’t seem too bothered about losing your job.’
‘I’m not. I’m sick to death of dancing in a poxy little strip club, and of whoring. I know I’m a bit long in the tooth but I passed University Entrance at school and I’m thinking about going to university.’
‘Oh, good on you! In New Zealand?’
‘No, London. My mother’s a Pom so I can go to school there without much difficulty and I have a fair bit of money saved up.’
‘What will you study?’
‘Fashion. They say London’s starting to swing and, well, why not?’
‘Why not indeed?’
Evie said, ‘May I ask you a question?’
‘Of course.’
‘Are you really related to the Packers?’
Emmeline gave a little smile. ‘The question you should really be asking, dear, is are they related to me?’
*
The house would have been grand once, and probably could be again, if someone spent thousands of pounds on it. But for now it sat close to derelict, its paint flaking to reveal bare, warped weatherboards, windows boarded up, bricks missing from chimneys so they teetered dangerously, and the garden wildly overgrown.
Evie hammered on the front door. Nothing happened for several minutes, then finally it opened a crack and a bleary-eyed face peered out. ‘What?’
‘Is Terry here?’
‘Terry who?’
‘Terry Lawson.’
‘Maybe. Hang on.’
The door closed again in Evie’s face. More waiting. She thought she’d been forgotten when the door eventually opened again.
‘Evie,’ Terry said. ‘What do you want?’
He looked like crap. His golden curls were limp and lank and his face was puffy, and his shapeless T-shirt and underpants were both grubby. He looked nothing like the bright peacock he was when he went out in public.
‘Were you asleep?’ Evie asked.
‘I work at night.’
‘Don’t we all. I’ve got a message for you.’
Terry looked suspicious. ‘Who from?’
‘Me. You need to get out of town.’
‘Why?’
‘Adler knows you’ve been pinching his heroin.’
‘But I haven’t.’
Evie said, ‘You have. I know you think you can get away with blaming it on Polly but you can’t. You were seen.’
‘Who by?’
‘That doesn’t matter, but you were. People talk and now Adler knows. And he’ll be coming after you. So if you can’t pay for what you’ve pinched you’d better hit the road, and fairly quickly.’
Terry’s chin came up. ‘I’m not scared of Adler. He doesn’t have many rent boys and I make him a lot of money.’
‘Don’t kid yourself. He doesn’t care about you. There are plenty of pretty boys in the Cross willing to be pimped. He’ll find someone new tomorrow.’
Terry’s expression didn’t change but she knew him, and she knew that would have stung, and she’d wanted it to. He’d always had his pride.
‘I’ve got nowhere else to go,’ he said.
‘London? America? Or back home to New Zealand?’
‘I can’t afford to go to London. Or back to New Zealand.’ ‘Then go somewhere else in Australia, make some money and then go home. Or just go to Melbourne or Brisbane or Perth, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know, Terry: it’s not my concern. I’m just telling you it’s time to get out of Sydney before Adler comes after you. I’m doing you a favour here.’
Now a hint of fear did flicker across Terry’s face. Fear and, she thought, desperation. As she turned and walked away down the broken front path, he called out.
‘Evie?’
She looked back at him.
‘Thanks.’
Chapter Eighteen
Awhi said, ‘I can’t do this. Take me back home.’
Sonny kept a firm grip on his mother’s arm as he led her across the tarmac towards the plane. ‘Yes, you can, Mum, and you will. You were the one who wanted to come, remember?’
‘Oooooh,’ Awhi wailed quietly as they approached the steep steps leading up to the door of the Lockheed Electra. ‘Oooooh!’
Sonny wished Awhi would pipe down – people were looking. She hadn’t helped herself either by dressing in her tangi outfit: a shapeless black dress, black cardigan, black tights, and black shoes. No wonder she felt ill-omened. Then an angel appeared, trotting down the steps to help.
‘Can I be of assistance?’ the hostess asked.
‘This is my mother’s first time flying,’ Sonny said gratefully. ‘She’s a bit nervous.’
The hostess looked at their tickets. ‘Well, welcome aboard, Mrs Manaia. I’m sure you’ll find things are very comfortable and that there’s nothing to worry about once we get going. May I help you up the steps?’
Awhi let the hostess take her arm and lead her up, while Sonny followed, ready to steady her if she decided to swoon or something. Also, she did have a bad hip and the steps were rather steep.
Inside, Awhi balked, saying, ‘But it’s so small. I didn’t think it would be this small.’
Giving her a gentle shove of encouragement, Sonny said, ‘It’s not that small when you’re in your seat. It just seems like that because the ceiling’s low.’
Awhi shuffled along, apparently unable to grasp how the seats were numbered and holding up everyone behind them, but finally they were seated, although she insisted on the aisle seat.
‘Wouldn’t you rather be able to see Auckland from the air?’ Sonny said. ‘It’s a pretty amazing sight.’
‘No fear. I don’t want to watch us crashing.’
Sonny patted his mother’s hand, recalling his own fear during his first flight. ‘We won’t crash, Mum. They say flying’s safer than driving a car.’
‘Well, I don’t drive, either, do I?’
Awhi let out a squeak when the plane started to move, and refused to watch the air hostess demonstrate the safety instructions, which Sonny thought was a bit counter-productive. She grabbed his hand as the plane sat at the end of the runway, and when they finally took off he thought she might actually amputate some of his fingers with her fingernails. She only relaxed slightly after they’d broken through the clouds. He knew she was feeling better when she complained about all the cigarette smoke in the cabin.
‘Am I supposed to put up with this all the way to Australia?’
‘Well, there’s no law against it,’ he said. ‘People smoke.’
And then she went on about her seat being too ‘squashy and deep’, followed by the length of the hostesses’ skirts, which were ‘vulgar’. He smiled to himself: yep, she was feeling better. She’d be enjoying herself soon.
After about an hour she broke her promise and started in on Polly.
‘Mum, remember what we said?’
‘What about?’
‘You promised not to go on about Polly.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes, you did.’ Sonny decided to take a risk. ‘Look, really, why does she upset you so much? And I don’t want a list of what you think she’s done wrong. I want to know why it hurts you.’
‘It doesn’t,’ Awhi said.
‘Well, it must, or you wouldn’t go on about it all the time. So why?’
Awhi was silent for so long Sonny thought she hadn’t heard him.
‘Mum?’
‘She never told me anything. She’d never talk to me.’
‘Well, I never told you much, either.’
‘No, but you’re not your sister.’
Sonny wondered how much to say. He didn’t want to get the trip off to a bad start. ‘It was hard when Dad was alive. We didn’t want to bother you. You had enough on your plate. Maybe it was just that.’
Awhi shook her head. ‘It was more than that.’
‘Well, Polly quite often doesn’t tell anyone anything, remember.’
‘No, she doesn’t. I don’t know why she has to be so sneaky and secretive. And look where it’s got her.’
