Midnight Deli - chapter 1
The thumping sounds went on and on, breaking the silence at the desolate bus-stop in outer space, where Danny waited with a nervous eye on the shark circling overhead. Somebody's holding a noisy party, he thought. The noise was booming all the way up from the earth. There seemed to be voices, too.
He opened one eye, and saw his bedroom door pulsating in and out. His mother was knocking on it.
"Wake up, your girlfriend's here."
Thump, thump, thump.
Danny groaned and turned, burying his head in the pillow. He felt an urgent need to get back to his dream, to find out why the rest of the crew had disappeared.
"Come on, Danny, it's four o'clock."
That meant it was three. She always exaggerated.
Thump, thump.
"Simone's come to visit us."
Suddenly the full horror of it struck him.
"Noooo!" he groaned, waking up very fast. It was stinking hot in his bedroom. The afternoon sun roared through the venetian blinds. He threw the sheet back.
"Come on, Danny, get up," his mother said, storming in.
"How did she get here? Send her in," he said, trying to think fast.
"I certainly won't. Look at you! Why aren't you wearing pyjamas?"
"Too hot!" he groaned. "She's seen it all before, so what's the big deal."
"Has she, just? Well, whatever you get up to in the streets, I'm not having it in my house." His mother marched out.
"I'm just making her a nice cuppa," she called, from the hall. "Get up right now, Danny, and I'll make you one too."
On second thoughts, don't send her in, he thought. If she saw what was in the hall...and how the hell did she find the address?
He threw some clothes on, made a lightning trip to the bathroom, and stumbled into the kitchen. Simone and his mother were sitting at the table. From the cunning way his mother was pouring out the cups of tea, he knew she was setting up one of her ever-so-subtle interrogations.
"Hi, Danny," said Simone casually. "Sorry to barge in on you, but it's such a lovely day."
"He's terrible like that," his mother continued, ignoring his presence. "You'll need to -"
"I've heard," Simone said, nodding wisely, with a secret grin at Danny. She was wearing a tie-dyed blue and white dress, which left her golden shoulders bare.
His heart flared up for no reason at all, as it sometimes did. Mone: you're fantastic, he thought. The way you nodded just then. He was practically in tears. It was too early in the day to be rational.
He had to hold onto the table as he sat down.
"Here's your tea," said his mother, sliding it over to him. "Simone was just telling me about her family. Isn't it a coincidence: she's a Sagittarian too."
Isn't that some sort of wacky religion? he wondered. Sort of like Jehovah's Witnesses, but more way out?
"So we've already got a lot in common," his mother continued brightly. "And you naughty boy, you didn't tell me it was her twenty-first."
"Sorry," he said slowly, stirring lots of sugar into his tea. "I take a while to wake up."
"We hardly knew each other then, Kathleen," Simone lied, amused. "That was months ago."
Shit! he thought, tasting the tea. Far too sweet. How many spoonfuls have I put in here? And it's "Kathleen" already.
"I love your hair," his mother told Simone, reaching out to touch it. "Mine was like that once, but not such a deep honey colour. Of course, then I had kids, and it all went grey."
Simone just sat there, looking embarrassed.
Kathleen didn't know when to stop. "With his ginger hair and your gold, the children could be so beautiful."
"Shut up, Mum," said Danny. "Who's ever seen striped hair?"
"Like little tigers," she mused, desperate for more grandchildren. Danny's sisters were both married long ago: the older one (with children) lived in Adelaide, and the other, resolutely childless, in Bendigo.
Simone gulped her tea down, and looked pleadingly at Danny. Let's go, her sly green eyes seemed to be saying. "We won't be able to stay long at the beach. That's why I came to get you," she said. "Nearly ready? Got your cozzie?"
When he came back after a lightning shave, in his own approximation to beach clothes, Kathleen was starting on the interior decoration. "Now Simone, give me your honest opinion, which of these three shades of avocado do you think I should repaint the kitchen..."
"Let's go," said Danny, putting on his sunglasses.
"I'm so pleased I finally met you, Simone," Kathleen raved. "Do come back soon, and we can have a really good chat."
"Isn't your father charming?" Simone asked, as Danny backed the hearse down the driveway. "It was so nice to meet him."
"You met my father? But nobody ever meets him! He spends his whole life in the shed."
"No he doesn't," she said gently. "Look, there he is now, waving us goodbye. I wish my father was as sweet as that. He's OK at work, but he's a real grouch at home."
"How did you get here?" he demanded. "How did you know where to come?"
"Andrew had to come over this way, so I hitched a ride with him. I looked you up in the phone book, and found the address that went with the phone number you gave me. What's wrong, Danny? You're not ashamed of your parents, are you?"
"Not exACTly," he lied.
"It's a nice house, too," she added. "For Sunshine. So I really didn't need to get Andrew to drop me off on the main road and walk the last few blocks."
Sunshine wasn't exactly the best suburb in Melbourne. OK, so their house wasn't as crummy as some: at least it was real weatherboard. But in Balwyn, where Simone lived, the dog kennels were probably bigger.
She decided not to ask him about all the washing machines just yet: he was obviously feeling a bit sensitive.
They stopped at a traffic light, waiting to turn onto the main road. As an old man with a stick hobbled over the pedestrian crossing in front of them, Danny revved the motor loudly. The man panicked, thinking the light had gone green; he staggered frantically to the safety of the footpath.
"I hope you didn't do that on purpose," Simone giggled. "Look at that poor old guy trying to run."
"It was trying to stall. Good exercise for him. Anyway, he's only a bloody wog," said Danny genially. "We don't want these bastards in Sunshine - the last of the western suburbs where they still speak English in the shops."
He brandished a fist in the air, with mock pride.
"However did you get to meet Dad?" he added. "He usually ignores people he doesn't know."
"I knew I had the right place, because of the hearse in the driveway. I could hear somebody singing, and I thought it might have been you, practising for the band, so I called out. And then this funny man came out. He was nice, though. He had headphones on, and he was sort of dancing. He said 'Will you join me in this dance, young lady?' so we danced around a bit. Then he took me into the garage and showed me his stuff."
Danny was amazed. "But he never shows anybody, except a couple of his friends. You must be the first bird who's ever been in there, apart from Mum, and once was enough for her."
"What a fantastic record collection! All those 78s. The whole garage full of them!"
"He got them all for free," said Danny. "3LW was giving them away. They decided they were going to buy LPs, and break into the 70s with a splash. Cost him a fortune to get them moved, but."
"He showed me his hideaway at the back, too," she added, enthusiastically. "All that complicated radio equipment. And I got to talk to Larry."
"Who's Larry?" Was that his father's pet name for his old office chair?
"Your father's friend in Canada. He said we were breaking up, but we could hear him loud and clear. Larry said something to me like this: 'Sure like to meet you, lass, but there's ten thousand miles between us.' She giggled. "He had this really gravelly voice. Then he said 'Are you receiving me?' I said Yes, and your father said 'You didn't press the button. Say Roger.' So I pressed the button and said Roger." She giggled again.
"I could use the odd roger myself," said Danny. He stroked her knee.
"But first I want to get my tan balanced, while the sun's still high," she said, restraining his arm. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Of course not," he said nobly. He was so lucky to have a girl like Simone. Nothing fazed her - not even meeting his parents. But it was just as well she'd only seen the kitchen.
"And I noticed your new sign," she said. "The Undertakers."
"Yeah, Geoff finally came over with his sign-writing gear. Looks real professional, don't you think?"
"It looks so professional, you'll have little old ladies coming up to you, wanting you to do their funerals."
"What about the psychedelic clouds?"
"They could be heaven," she giggled.
This was all about trying to make the hearse look more appropriate for the band. When he'd heard about a second-hand hearse for sale last year, he'd jumped at it. A stretched EH Holden van, ten years old, but hardly used. Not only was it the perfect image for a blues band called the Undertakers, it had plenty of space for their equipment, and above all, enough room for a double mattress in the back.
Not wanting people to see into the back, Danny had sprayed purple clouds over the long side windows. Now, with the name of the band on both side doors, their vehicle was just about perfect - except that the engine kept overheating. This hearse didn't like the combination of slow traffic and hot weather.
"Hope we'll get to the beach before it overheats," said Danny. The temperature warning light was flashing ominously.
"Is it doing that already? Poor old hearse, it's like you, isn't it? Can't stand the heat."
He didn't like that very much. "Come on now, Mone, I can take all the heat you can give me."
She giggled again. "I love it when you call me Mone, but don't do it again when anybody else is around, OK?"
"Did I do that?"
"On Friday night, at the pub. Bernie gave me a real funny look when you said it. Do you think he's, um, attracted to me?"
"He told me you're the most gorgeous creature that ever walked this earth. Quote. It sounded like he meant it, too. Misguided fool."
Danny paused for her to punch him. She didn't take the bait.
"But don't panic," he continued. "I think Bernie meant it in a sort of artistic way. It's boys' bottoms that really get him excited. Deep down he's just a faggot."
"You told me that before, but it's hard to believe - he doesn't seem at all poofy. Has he tried anything with you?"
"Don't be mad. Anyway, he reckons my arse is far too round, so I'm safe. He likes pointed ones."
"He promised to make me some buns one day," Simone giggled. "Now I see why."
"One thing about Bernie, he sure can bake bread. I've never tasted rolls like it. But I guess anything would be better than Mum's peanut butter and banana sandwiches."
"Did she make you any for tonight?"
"If she did, I didn't see them. You must have distracted her, turning up like that. Guess it'll be bloody Don's pie-cart again, unless Bernie's made some rolls."
He glanced at his watch. Four o'clock. He had to be at work by eight. As it was Sunday, he could park the hearse in town, a lot quicker than taking the train. Three hours on the bloody beach - that's what he had to look forward to. He wouldn't tolerate it with anybody but Simone. For her, he'd do just about anything.
Now they were passing through an industrial area, full of big factories, all closed today. The traffic crawled along the main road.
"Melbourne drivers always remind me of a bunch of lemmings," said Simone. "Where one goes, they all go, following the leader to their doom."
"You should know Melbourne by now, Mone. When it's sunny in Melbourne, the day people think Beach."
You had to make allowances for Simone. She was from Sydney. She'd only lived here six years: not nearly long enough to understand the Melbourne mind. But there were pluses too. For example, she hardly knew what VFL stood for.
Danny glanced at the temperature light again.
"Hey, look at that!" Simone said. "Did you see that wheel go past?"
"Bloody Jesus!" he said, admiringly. "A real live wheel, all on its own. 'I don't want to be a lemming,' it thought, and it escaped. I could be that wheel, you know."
She laughed. "You're nuts, Danny."
"It's slowing down, Mone. Shove your hand out the window and see if you can grab it."
Other drivers were looking at it too, in the slow-moving traffic on the main road, but the hearse was the closest to the runaway wheel. Danny pulled over and stopped, noticing that the temperature light was flashing almost continuously.
A short distance behind them, a small but battered Toyota was stopping in a shower of sparks, as its left back corner scraped the road. It came to rest halfway across the inside lane, causing an immediate traffic jam.
Danny climbed out, and bowled the wheel back to the Toyota. Simone opened her door, swung her feet to the ground, and watched him. One thing about Danny, she thought, life with him would never be dull.
"Guess what I found, mate!" Danny called to the man getting out of the Toyota. "How'd you like one of these? Velly cheap today! Two dollar ninety-nine!"
The man was Asian. He wore big round glasses and a shiny suit, and was looking very embarrassed. On the other side of the car, a woman and three young children scrambled out. Now the man had opened the boot and was fumbling inside it, probably looking for a jack. Danny was squatting down by the back axle, seeing if he could get the wheel back on. In the end, the woman perched precariously on the driver's side of the bonnet, while Danny and the man pushed the car off the road.
Now! Simone thought. He's busy - he won't be back for a minute or two. She pulled the hearse's key from the ignition, and quickly tried to open the glove-box. The key was far too big. She fumbled with the other keys. Here was one that seemed small enough. She put it in the glove-box keyhole and tried to turn it. Nothing happened. She looked at the other keys on the ring.
"Here I am, love," said Danny, opening the driver's door and climbing in.
He'd called her Love! And she still had her clothes on. I think this is real, she started to tell herself.
"See what I did with the keys?" Danny asked, fumbling in his pocket.
"I took them, love. I was about to come and see what was happening."
"Good idea. You can't trust anybody these days. Look at all this traffic - thousands of lemmings, and nobody else has stopped for those poor bastards. Did you see them? It's a whole family, kids and grandmother and all, Chinks or something -"
"I didn't see the grandmother."
"Still in the car. Terrified. Apparently they had a puncture the other day, and looks like nobody did the wheel nuts up tight when they put the spare on. So what happens? The nuts fall off, probably miles back, then the wheel comes off. Look, I hope you don't mind, Mone, your tan and all, but really, we'd better get to a servo and find them some nuts."
"Of course I don't mind," she murmured. "You're so kind, Danny." She suddenly stopped talking; she was almost in tears. Who cared that he came from Sunshine and wore checked shirts?
He was looking very serious as he started the engine again. (He was worried about its temperature.) She reached out and patted him on the knee, resting her hand there long enough to convey a promise.
"Shouldn't be too long, Mone. There's a servo just round the corner. We should knock this over well before sunset."
A suspicion began to form, like a tiny cloud in her mind: surely he's not trying to avoid the beach, is he? She immediately dismissed this thought as unworthy.
A few blocks away they found a service station, and Danny bought a selection of different sized wheel nuts. When they got back, the old woman was collecting dead weeds from the verge, and putting them carefully into a plastic bag. Nobody else had stopped. Simone came out too, this time, and watched. While Danny bolted the errant wheel back on, the man handed her a business card.
"If I can help you in return, please call on me," he said. Simone read the card:
Doctor S. TranUnderneath this was the address, somewhere in Footscray - a suburb even less favoured than Sunshine.
Western and Herbal Medicine"Fancy a doctor having an old wreck of a car like that," said Simone as they watched the family drive away, all waving furiously at the hearse. She showed Danny the card.
"Really?" he said, flipping it over and idly studying the strange language on the back, with a lot of marks over the letters. "Nice of him, but don't see how he could help us. If I get sick, I'm not going near any herbal medicine."
"It has its uses, you know, Danny. Maybe if I ever need an abortion or something -"
"Don't even think about it," Danny declared. "You're not getting rid of any kid of mine. If it came to that, I might even have to consider getting married."
Is that so? thought Simone. She filed this interesting piece of information in her well-ordered mind, under Danny/ Attitudes/ Abortion.
"Hey, you're not pregnant, are you?" Suddenly he was worried.
"It's OK, I was only kidding. Besides, you know I'm on the pill."
He took a hand off the wheel to stroke her upper leg. The hand moved under her dress, and was disappointed to encounter her impenetrable bikini bottom.
"Keep your eyes on the road," she said, laughing. She raised her arm, as if to hit him on the head.
An odd snuffling sound came from the back.
"What was that noise, Danny?"
"Which one, love?" he asked innocently. "The engine overheating? Seagulls up there? Another wheel falling off?"
"Something loose in the back, by the sound of it."
There it was again. She turned around, pulling the curtain aside to check. The dog grinned up at her, all tongue.
"It's that bloody Leichhardt. Lying on the mattress, scratching his fleas. I hope you didn't know he was there."
"Poor old Leicho. He's only doing his job, guarding the hearse for me."
"You'll have to put him out, later on. I couldn't stand the way he was watching us last week, with his tongue hanging out, and panting. And he's always trying to sniff my crotch, too."
"Who'd blame him?" Danny sighed. "That's exactly what I'd be doing myself, if I was a dog. Top-quality crotch is really hard to come by these days."
By the time they finally reached Altona beach, it was five o'clock, so the beach-going lemmings were leaving en masse, and Danny found a parking spot right on the Esplanade. As soon as he opened the door, Leichhardt flew out and ran into the sea.
After a quick swim, they retired to the dry sand to concentrate on tanning. At least, Simone did, pointing out that there was only an hour of strong sunlight left. Danny was bored by sitting on the beach, so after a few minutes he took a walk with Leichhardt down the beach, to find out why a crowd of people had gathered.
"What was it?" Simone asked, when he returned bearing two cans of soft drink.
"Some guy drowned, apparently. I couldn't see him - too many people in the way. Don't think I wanted to, actually. Somebody else was talking about a shark."
"That doesn't sound right to me - I read that sharks never come right up this end of the harbour."
A few minutes later, an ambulance drove past them, and stopped at the crowd. Above the heads, they saw the back doors open and close. Finally the crowd dispersed: nobody was in the water now.
"You know, an ambulance might be better than a hearse," said Danny thoughtfully. "More headroom. And that sign at the top: instead of AMBULANCE it could say THE UNDERTAKERS. White's no good though - maybe a really dark blue."
"You and your undertakers," said Simone good-naturedly. "If I had a band, I'd give it a nice fresh-sounding name, like, um -"
"Country Pines," he suggested, thinking of a brand of toilet cleaner his mother had asked him to buy last week.
"That's not bad, but I don't know about pines."
"Anything with the word Country in it I knew would be OK with you."
"What are you doing, Danny?"
He'd bent his empty drink can into a scoop, and was now digging a big hole beside Simone. Leichhardt looked on wistfully.
"Getting out of the sun. I'm building me an inspection pit, and I'm going to lie in it. Look at poor old Leicho - he's too old to even dig a hole these days. His claws are all worn out."
"What are you going to inspect?"
"You, of course."
"Think I'm a car or something?"
"I'm worried about you overheating. Gotta check those grease nipples. Course, you'll have to take your bra off." He fingered a strap that was hanging loose from her red bikini top.
"Don't be silly, Danny. People might see. That boy over there."
"Come on, this is the seventies, you know. And you've already undone it."
"That's different. I'm tanning over the strap marks."
With the sand from the hole, Danny made three little rounded hills. He patted them lovingly into shape with his hands, and topped them with shell nipples.
"Triple-breaster," he announced proudly.
Finally he shooed his dog out of the hole and climbed in himself. He looked like a dead gangster, lying in there with his sunglasses, his pale skin, and his arms folded rigidly on top.
"Mone?"
"Yes?" She'd been trying to pretend she wasn't with him.
"Come over and lie beside this hole, would you, and shade me. You know I don't tan well."
"Let's go," she sighed. "The heat's gone out of the sun, and I feel really stupid with you lying in down there."
So they retired to the back of the hearse. Leichhardt was ordered to sit outside and wait. With the light filtering through the maroon curtain, and a purple tinge coming through the painted windows, it was like being underwater in the Red Sea.
"It's an oven in here, Danny, I can hardly breathe."
"The trouble is there's no ventilation, and the roof's black, so it sucks in all the heat. But at least it's private."
"Why don't you get one of those doovers they have on the tops of buses, that spin on the roof?"
"Doovers?" Danny cackled. He loved her weird Sydney expressions.
"Hoover-doovers, to give them their full name."
"I believe the technical term is whosie-whatsits. But yeah, that's a great idea, Mone, I'll see if I can track one down. Look, I'll open the front windows - that might help a bit."
It didn't, because the slight breeze couldn't get past the curtain.
There was no band equipment in the back today: just the foam mattress, which he'd proudly wrapped in purple velveteen. The effect was spoiled just a little because Kevin had left his mask there last weekend. This was a grotesque rubber mask: the face of a very old man, but green, with hair growing out of his ears. Danny took off his swimming trunks, and finally his sunglasses, and tried on the mask.
Simone was on her knees (there wasn't much headroom), towelling her lovely breasts.
"That mask really suits you," she kidded. "You should wear it more, and scare a few people."
"You look so awkward like that," he told her. "Just lie down, and I'll do it for you. Might as well take your pants off while you're at it. Might see if I can scare you."
She lay contentedly on the mattress, looking up at the dark blue ceiling. Stars, moons, and comets were now painted on it.
"You should paint a sun up there too," she said lazily, as he attended to her.
"For a blues band? No way. Besides, there's more than enough sun in this country. It's too hot already, remember? Take this desert, for example, these whopping great sand-hills. Look, Burke and Wills are trying to climb the sand-hill, but they keep slipping back."
Burke and Wills were what he called the first two fingers of his right hand.
"This sand is so soft, they keep getting bogged down in it."
"Ouch!" she said. "They don't have to stamp on it."
"Sorry. OK, you two, the lady says tread lightly. Say 'Sorry ma'am.' - 'Sorry ma'am,' says Burke, but old Willsy never apologizes. That's just the way he is. The hard-bitten explorer. Look, he's nearly at the top of the hill, and he can see this amazing rock formation - could it be Ayers Rock?"
"Definitely not," she said, laughing. "I've been there, and it's big and red and ugly. If you must compare me with something, there are some nice little round hills near it, called the Olgas."
"Quite right. This is the Olgas that Burke and Wills have just discovered, because they've got to the top of this one, and now they've discovered another sand-hill, exactly the same size, just across the valley. And guess what, it's got the same type of rock outcrop on top. Except this one's growing. There's obviously some sort of volcanic activity."
"Stop it, you Burke," she giggled. "You're tickling."
"It's Willsy, actually, and he's remorseless. A verrry curious explorer. Ruthless. Nothing can stand in his way. OK, now they've climbed the sand-hills, they're thirsty, so they're hopping down to the Simpson Desert, to look for water. Now they're trying to find an oasis. They're so thirsty, they're hopping like kangaroos."
"An oasis? In Australia?"
"You bet. Look, they've found one already, but it's all dried up. No, you pair of galahs, it's not an oasis, it's just a water-hole. Don't you know the difference? An oasis has palm trees around it, and this water-hole's just a little dried-up rock pool in the middle of the Simpson desert."
"What are they doing now?"
"Probably lost. They must be writing big letters on the sand. SOS, or something."
"That feels nice. Get them to do it again. They haven't been rescued yet."
"Too late. They've given up, because Burky's just spotted a real oasis, at the head of this valley down here. He's seen this long lush grass, and he thinks, where there's grass there's water. It's limestone country, too, because the sand's changed from brown to white."
"You're absolutely crazy, Danny," said Simone, fondling him about the groin.
"So he climbs through the grass, and he says Hey Willsy, look what I've discovered. Goodness gracious, says Wills, it's a waterfall, Mr Burke, I do believe. So Willsy steps onto the rock, but it's slippery, and down he goes, tumbling to his doom in this narrow valley."
"Stop it!" she giggled, writhing. "I'm so ticklish just there."
Taking off the mask, he began to climb on top of her. Suddenly there was a loud rapping on the purple-painted window.
"Absolutely disgusting!" a weathered voice shouted. "A public road. Broad daylight. Worse than rabbits."
Leichhardt barked politely, requesting her to stop. But the bangs on the window continued, and a tiny speck of daylight appeared where a fingernail had scratched some paint away.
"Oh God!" Danny groaned, clutching at himself. "Just what I needed."
Then he remembered the mask. Putting it on again, and leaning through the curtain, he stuck his head over the seat and out of the passenger window.
"Do come and join me, ma'am," he cackled to the old woman who was now standing back a little and glaring at the hearse. "All the dead bodies in here are trying to get away - do help me stop them!" he added, in the same voice. Suddenly the woman took fright, and disappeared as fast as she could.
"She's gone," he said, coming back behind the curtain. Simone grabbed him, laughing, and they finally got around to the main event of the afternoon.
"She was weird," he added, as they lay there afterwards. She was wearing a sort of dark green raincoat, and carrying an umbrella. She had funny eyes, too, sort of red and close together."
"I think she was a witch," a young voice added from just outside.
"What are you doing out there?" yelled Danny.
"Patting this nice dog, and waiting for my brother to come back. He told me to wait by the haunted van."
"It's not haunted," Danny muttered.
"It's all right, I'm not scared of ghosts," said the young voice. "Even when they make those funny little screams."
"I think he's talking about us," said Simone quietly to Danny, who was putting his clothes back on. "Wouldn't it be nice if we had a bit of privacy - even a bed?"
On the whole, Danny preferred the hearse. The prospect of domesticity frightened him. "Next time," he said, "remind me, straight away, to drive to some factory area where nobody ever walks past on a Sunday afternoon."
"And don't invite the dog!"
"Poor old Leicho, he's no trouble."
"Excuse me, sir," said the kid outside, as Danny opened a back door to let some cool air in. "What sort of dog is this?"
"A sorter. Sort of a kelpie, and sort of a blue heeler, and sort of a something else."
"Sort of a nosey parker too," Simone called from inside. "Watch out where that dog puts its nose."
"Sort of a cat," said Danny, to upset Leicho. "And by the way, what sort of boy are you?"
"I'm a girl," said the kid, indignant.
"I knew that all the time. Just testing you."
"He can't tell a boy from a girl," Simone called out.
"Were you watching TV in there?" the girl asked her, coming around and trying to look inside.
"Of course not - what makes you think that?"
"The program about the explorers finding the secret waterfall, and all that - it sounded really interesting."
"I was just telling a story," said Danny.
"Tell me?"
"Sorry, we've got to go."
They headed towards the city, keeping an eye out for a deli or take-away food shop where he could buy some lunch.
The problem is, Mone (he rehearsed), that I'm a night person and you're a day person. This is early morning for me, and late afternoon for you. That's why we get on so well: it's only a few hours a week, so we keep wanting each other. If we lived together or got married, it'd be all over in a couple of days.
When they met, a few months ago, he'd hoped she'd come to appreciate the blues. In every other way she was perfect - for a day person. But she didn't even seem interested: he kept inviting her to their gigs, but she'd only been to one. Should he ask her to next Saturday's? he wondered. Maybe it was impossible for a day person to be a blues fan. He remembered his dream: it would be like getting a shark to fly.
"You're very quiet, Danny. What are you thinking?"
"What if sharks could fly?" he said. "Wouldn't it be terrible? You'd have to stay indoors, or in a car. Sunbathing would be right out."
"However do you think of these crazy things?"
"An old blues song," he lied. That was usually what he told her. Actually, it wouldn't make a bad one. Take the tune of Muddy Waters' "V8 Ford," change a few words - or what about -
"Just strollin' down the road with my baby," he started, half-singing. "Flyin' shark took her away. I grabbed onto her shoes. That's all I have left to remember her by."
"What a dismal song," said Simone.
"Dismal? Come on, it's quite cheerful - for a blues. The lyrics need a rebuild, but there's definite potential there. Got a pencil and paper, Mone? Can you write that down for me?"
"No, sorry, I don't," she said, noticing how it had suddenly changed from an old blues song into one where he was making up the words as he went along. "Isn't there a pen in the glove-box?"
"No. Anyway, the glove-box is jammed. Kevin chucked up something gruesome into it one night. Haven't been able to get it open for weeks."
"Do you want me to have a go?"
"No use. I've already tried. It needs a special tool; I'll get one some day. No, don't bother, Mone." (She was hitting it in various places with her fist.) "You'll only hurt yourself."
Simone thought she had Danny pretty well sussed out, but there were a few obstinate corners of his being that she was highly curious about. One of these was the glove-box: she knew instinctively that it held profound secrets.
Danny decided to ask her anyway.
"How'd you like to come to our gig next Saturday, Mone? It should be one of the best we've done. Midnight at the Blue Roo pub in Flemington."
"Danny, you know I just don't go for that sort of environment. I don't get on very well with the other Undertakers, and I have a tennis club social I promised to go to with Andrew. And above all, I don't actually like blues."
This was alarming.
"How can anybody not like the blues? I can't understand."
"Do you really want to know? I mean, it's so obvious. To start with, the sound is all distorted - I think those speakers of yours have had it."
"It's meant to be distorted, love - that's traditional. And it makes it feel sort of stronger, too."
She laughed. "That's their excuse, anyway. B: the blues songs are all so gloomy. Where are the happy ones? I like the occasional really joyful song."
He shook his head. "But they're terrific words. They're about different things from what they say they are, it's really clever. Some of those songs are happier than they sound."
"Finally," said Simone, "we have point C." She paused dramatically.
"Is this how you talk at work? It sounds so official."
"Of course not, you nut. Sometimes I have to type letters like this. Point C: blues means misery. Don't you have to be deeply troubled to sing those songs with feeling?"
"I am deeply troubled," he protested.
"Come on Danny, you've got it made. What a life! You work the hours you like, in a well-paid job that you enjoy -"
"Enjoy? It bores me stiff. And I hate having to work with fuckwits, six days a week."
"Your mother waits on you hand and foot. You've got really good friends, like Bernie. And your dog, of course." She turned to face him, with a little hopeful smile. "Does that sound deeply troubled?"
"But I keep getting this awful feeling that I'm missing out on something I don't even know about. And I have nightmares about being dumped in outer space, and everybody disappearing."
"I won't disappear," she said reassuringly, remembering his sensitivity about the supposed social gulf between them. "I'm the type who sticks around. As long as I'm loved."
"What if I meet some sexy little piece who's really into the blues?" he kidded, showing his relief.
"I've got a few tricks up my sleeve yet," she joked. "I'll become so irresistible, you won't know what's hit you."
"And by the way," she added a minute later, "another thing about blues songs - "
Danny made a big show of clapping a hand over his nearest ear.
"D," she continued, "They all seem to start with some old guy croaking 'Woke up this morning.' But the strange thing is that none of you get up till the afternoon."
She waited for an answer.
"Finished?" he asked, unclapping the hand from his ear. "My stomach just reminded me what the blues means. It's all about hunger. It's hunger for the things you want desperately, but you know you can never get - like decent food at night."
They were in the city already. Most of the traffic had died away by now. Everything was closed. Nothing could possibly be deader than Melbourne on a Sunday night.
"How are you getting home?" he asked. "Like to borrow this old heap?"
"I can just imagine my parents' faces if I turned up in it," she laughed. "Mum's always terrified of what the neighbours might think. Thanks, Danny, but I'll catch a tram."
Sunday was the only night he could get away with parking near his workplace. There were so many restrictions on parking in the street, and nowhere else to park at that end of town. On Sundays the parking inspectors had the night off, so it was OK to park in the street. Every other night he took the train to work.
As Simone had plenty of time before her tram was due, she came with him to the side entrance to his work. They had a quick cuddle there, outside the Kremlin: the nickname for the ugly concrete building that housed the newspaper.
During the cuddle, Henry arrived, staring at them for a second as he went into the building. He was Danny's boss, the chief printer: an embittered Yorkshireman with a wreck of a family.
"You lucky bastard," said Henry afterwards, watching Danny closely, as they changed into their grey overalls. "Where'd you find a piece of tail like that?"
"Bought it at a pet show," said Danny, turning away so Henry wouldn't see the sticky patch on his underpants. He hated these conversations: Henry was badly twisted when it came to sex: he was a pervert. Anything he mentioned turned to dirt.
Danny decided to say as little as possible about Simone. It had been a mistake, he decided, to let her come all the way to the entrance. Henry was a terrible gossip, and would tell the world what he'd seen, exaggerating wildly.
I should have taken her to the tram stop, Danny thought, and come back alone. But when she grabbed me like that, how could I resist?
The first hour at work was always the worst, before the presses started. He worked with Henry and five others, setting up the presses. They had to listen to Henry raving on about how disgusting the world was. "Disgusting" was Henry's favourite word. Luckily he didn't mention Simone.
Then they all started talking about football - months before the football season started. Football bored Danny stupid. But when the machines got going, there was so much noise that conversation wasn't possible, unless they went into the office.
Just before smoko, Bernie came rushing down. "Have you started pwinting page 3 yet?" he shouted into Danny's ear, above the din of the presses.
"Yep," said Danny. "We're ahead of schedule tonight. Just for once, everything's gone according to plan."
"What was that?" Bernie shouted again. Danny led him into the office and shut the door behind them.
"You've got to stop," said Bernie, laughing. "Big mistake on page 3. Berko hit the roof, and sent me down personally to stop it."
Berko was Bernie's boss Mr Berkowitz, the chief proofreader.
"Tell me more," said Danny, leaning back in the ancient office chair and trying to keep a straight face.
"Somehow - I've no idea how - this caption bypassed the proofies. Take a look." Bernie handed Danny a galley proof, and pointed to the picture of a tram lying on its side, under the headline TRAM HITS THE DUST. The expression on its one-eyed face was one of mild surprise. Under the photo, the caption read:
Melbourne's champion toreador,"If only you'd pwonounce your R's, Bernie, we might have saved two wolls of paper."
Bernard Schroeder, yesterday
exercised his craft on this tram -
and won. "It was vewy easy to kill
this twam," he boasted. "Next time
I'll twy a twain.""I do hope you weren't in on this, Danny."
Danny grinned up at him, creaking his chair from side to side. "You know me, Berns - when did I ever make extra work for myself?"
"I'm only asking you one thing, Danny: could you take the proper caption to the composing room? I can't stand the way those bwutes always laugh at me." He handed over a piece of paper with the original caption:
A minor explosion in a gas main below"Sure," said Danny, suppressing a grin. "I'll have that seen to." He strolled across to the main switch, and the huge press clanked to a stop. Matthew, the apprentice, came running up, ignoring Bernie.
the tram track is believed to have
caused this tram to overturn near
the zoo at 3.20pm yesterday. Three
passengers were hospitalized with
minor injuries."What's the problem, Danny boy?"
"Don't call me that, you prick, or I'll cut your balls off. Call me Sir. Here, take this to the lino room and tell them to set it now."
That put the little bastard in his place. For five long years, Danny had been the apprentice, and took all that sort of shit. Now he was a journeyman printer, in charge of number 4 machine, suddenly earning so much he couldn't believe it. He even had an apprentice to do his dirty work. The only problem was, the apprentice was Matthew.
In the lull, while the offending caption was changed, and the forklift driver carted the huge stack of spoiled pages to the waste bin, Bernie and Danny had a talk.
"Don't suppose you made any rolls tonight, Bernie? I could do with some of your home-baking."
"No, I had hoped to make some, but I could not wake up in time."
"I'm bloody starving, and forgot to bring some food. Too busy playing around at the beach with Simone, I guess."
"With a woman like that, who needs food? I am so envious. And I wouldn't be at all surprised if one day there is a little par in the society column, all about you. How would it go?" Bernie looked at the ceiling, and screwed up his eyes while he composed the story:
"Sir Berty Bloggs accompanied Lady Longlegs to the Millionaire's Ball, and bought her a diamond necklace. Meanwhile, the ewwant bachelor Danny Sullivan took Melbourne's most beautiful woman, Simone Somebody, to Altona Beach and bought her a meat pie. Something like that."
"You wouldn't dare," said Danny, killing himself. "The society types would think you were getting at them. They'd be on the phone to the Wackerbies saying they'd read that other morning paper instead. What's it called again?"
"The Looking Glass, I believe," said Bernie, well-practised at avoiding the word Mirror.
"Anyway, how'd you know we went to Altona?"
"You're so pwedictable, Danny" said Bernie, on his way out. "See you at lunchtime."
Lunchtime was what they called their half-hour meal break at midnight.
As soon as Bernie left, Matthew appeared. "Hey, sir!" he said, with a sneer. "Your caption's fixed, and the press is ready to roll."
Bernie and Danny usually had their midnight lunch together. It was a quiet time for both of them, in the pause between the country and city editions of the paper. Danny didn't spend much time with the other printers - Henry only talked about money and disgust, while the others were obsessed with sport, which bored him stiff. And Bernie didn't enjoy the company of the other proofreaders, who were a weird and solitary lot.
"We've nearly caught up already," said Danny, when Bernie came down to collect him at midnight. "Might be home on time tonight, as long as no clown gets another caption wrong."
"But think of the overtime!" said Bernie. "You could be on time and a half, for an hour or so. Remember the time they pwinted half the city edition before anybody noticed the spoof about Wackers?"
"Stuff the overtime," said Danny. "I'd rather go home and get some sleep."
"It's all very well for you millionaire pwinters," Bernie complained. "We poverty-stricken pwoofreaders welcome every minute of overtime."
"Get a better union," Danny advised him, leading the way up to the street, for the five-block walk down to Don's pie-cart.
When they arrived, Don was throwing a tantrum because the young woman who helped him hadn't turned up. Dozens of shiftworkers were milling around waiting for their pies. Only the side window was open tonight, and everybody who bought a pie was getting a dose of abuse.
"Yiz gotta fuckin' wait tonight," Don yelled. "Fuckin' Lynnette's run out on me. Get in a bloody queue or I won't serve yiz."
Don looked like something from deep under the sea: a gruesome creature that had never known light. His rolls of fat had their own little rolls of fat on them. His skin was so pale it was almost luminous. And with his massive stomach and oversized wrinkled head, Don didn't seem to quite fit in his van.
"This pie's cold!" a customer bellowed. "What the hell's going on?"
"Don't have fuckin' time to heat the cunts up," snapped Don. "Cold pie's just as filling."
"Bloody heat it up, Don!" said the man vehemently.
"Stuff it up your arse and it'll be shit-hot. Next!" Like a giant slug, Don slid to the other side of the open hatch.
"Why don't you make pizza any more?" called a nurse, further back in the queue.
"Nowhere to bloody toss it in this shitty new van. What do you think this is - a fuckin' hotel?"
This went on for a few minutes. Danny noticed that Don's neck was thicker than his chin, and tried to remember if he'd ever seen anybody else like that.
"Nobody's actually getting served," Bernie pointed out to Danny.
"I wouldn't say that - Don's serving out plenty of abuse."
"He's been on the piss again. If we're lucky we'll get a cold pie, and it'll take us the whole lunch break."
"You're right," said Danny. "I can't stand cold pies, even if I'm starving. Let's go back. Suddenly I'm not hungry any more."
As they walked back to the Kremlin, Bernie remembered something.
"Do you remember that building on Little Lonsdale Street, with those green tiles you once admired?"
"Sure, just around the corner. The one that's been empty for ages. Aren't they going to pull it down, and put up an office block?"
"Nevertheless, Berko told me a deli's opening there."
"But a deli there will be no use to us, on the night shift."
"That's where you are wrong, Danny. This will be the Midnight Deli."
"You're kidding. There's no such thing."
"Berko said there's a sign, stating that it will be open all night."
"Shit, is that true? When's it starting?"
"He didn't say. Want to take a look?"
"Why not? Better than waiting in a queue for a cold pie in spew sauce."
"Look at that!" said Bernie, as they came around the corner and saw the light on in the new shop. "The Midnight Deli is burning the midnight oil at midnight."
Danny tolerated such sayings from Bernie. Proofreaders were a funny lot: all that reading gave them words on the brain. He preferred the normal sex on the brain, himself - much more interesting.
Crossing the street to inspect the new shop, they noticed a light coming from somewhere in the back. They paused outside to read the sign.
MIDNIGHT DELI
OPEN 7 PM TO 7 AM
FROM 23 JANUARYUnder that were some foreign letters.
"Greek," said Bernie.
As they digested this, a man came out, carrying a box. He looked Greek, all right: dark and hairy, with a fierce looking moustache.
"We are opening tomorrow," he said, pointing to the sign.
"That's today, actually," said Danny. "It's after midnight now."
"That will be tonight," the man said. His English wasn't 100 percent.
"It's tonight now. Look!" Danny pointed at the sky.
The man shrugged, at a loss to explain himself further, and walked to a nearby van. He opened the back doors, slid his box in, and drove away.
"Smell that," said Danny. "Food! Let's go in. We can say we're about to starve to death, and we're desperate for anything."
"But they are not open yet," said Bernie. "So they will find our starved skeletons outside the door tomorrow."
There were two problems with Bernie, not just one. Not only was he a proofreader, but he was also German, and they took things so literally.
Actually, he was Dutch, not German, but it was the same thing.
Danny pushed the door open, and went in.
"You cannot do this," Bernie was spluttering behind him.
"Come on in, Berns, this smells great."
He could hardly see, with the main lights off. At the back, some light came from an open doorway, through which also came the smell of food and the sound of voices.
"Anybody hooooome?" Danny sang, rapping a coin on the counter.
"Who is it?" A woman, with a thick accent.
"I hope it's the man to fix the power," said another, younger sounding. The voice slid in through Danny's ears and hugged him around the neck, so softly he didn't know what had grabbed him. She sounds like chocolate, he thought: I'm so hungry, everything reminds me of food.
A shadowy figure appeared through the doorway. Even in the near-dark, Danny and Bernie, with their highly developed sexual radars, could tell that this was a very attractive young woman.
"Have you come to fix the switchboard?" she asked, with a delicious trace of an accent. "Did Stavros send for you?"
"Actually," said Danny, "we're two starving explorers. We've been surviving on roots and grass in the Simpson desert for the last six months. Then we saw your light, and smelt your food, and with our last ounce of energy we crawled in here. I'm Wills, by the way, and this is Burke."
"I thought you'd already been dead for a hundred years," she laughed.
Bernie was puzzled by this, not having been at school in Australia.
"Can we buy some food?" Danny croaked. "Anything, even a dead rat?"
"I'm sorry - those aren't being delivered till tomorrow. But if you are starving so badly, I'll see. Perhaps we have some dried cockroaches. Hang on a moment." She disappeared into the back room again.
She was shorter than Simone, with pale skin and long dark hair. That was about all he could see.
"A classical figure," Bernie observed. "Worthy of Phidias."
"Whatever that is," said Danny, absently. He was in some sort of rapture: he'd never heard such a marvellous voice. He realized he was starting to get an erection, and put it down to hunger.
There was an exchange of low voices in the back room.
"Since you are starving explorers," said the girl soon afterward, "my mother has agreed to cook something for you, but we don't have a full choice of food yet. So I hope souvlaki will do."
"Certainly," said Bernie.
"Don't you have any pies?" Danny asked. "A plain meat pie would do me fine."
"Yuk!" said the girl. "It beats me why people like meat pies. They fall to bits when you eat them, and the filling drips out over your hands. The meat's always muck, and there's never enough of it. The pastry top's all soggy, and the base is greasy. And then they go and smear tomato sauce and vinegar all over them." She was laughing. "Is that what you had in mind, Mr Wills? Is that what you were dying for in the desert?"
"You're trying to put him off his favourite food," Bernie noted. "The meat pie is an Australian religion, you know. It is not to be mocked."
"We don't have any meat pies," she pointed out. "So it's souvlaki or nothing."
"You win," said Danny. "I'll try anything, I'm so hungry."
"I know you will like it very much, Mr Wills," she said. "It will take about ten minutes."
"Can I survive that long?" he croaked dramatically. "By the way, you can call me Danny. What's your name?"
"I'm Sylvia," she confided. "I'm sorry there is no light, but we have a problem with the electricity. At least the gas is working, so the food will be cooked."
"I prefer it in the dark," said Danny. "I'm a night person at heart. We both are." He waved an arm to include Bernie.
"Are those cigarettes, over there?" Bernie asked. "Can I have a packet of Crablegs filters, please?"
"What does that look like?" Sylvia asked.
"They all look black in this light," Danny joked.
Sylvia held up the packets one at a time, so that the light from the back room could shine on them, through the plastic fly-strips in the doorway.
"Here it is," she said triumphantly. As she put the packet down on the counter, she knocked the others she'd been holding up, and they went flying all over the floor. She came out to the other side of the counter, where Danny and Bernie were feeling around the floor.
"I am so sorry," she apologized. "I am such a clumsy person." A cool hand collided with Danny's in the dark, and lingered for a fraction of a second. It felt as if an enormous surge of energy passed into his arm.
"Sorry," she laughed again. "This is so silly. Let's leave them till morning."
A stern voice called from the back.
"Excuse me," she said. "Your souvlaki are ready."
She came back with two disappointingly small packets.
"How much?" Danny asked.
"I don't know. The price hasn't been decided yet. You can pay next time you come."
She came to the door with them and waved them goodbye.
"I never thought I should see the day," said Bernie, "when you would eat souvlaki."
"Wog food, you mean? Just because I'm eating it doesn't mean I'm going to give it a wog name too. Actually, it's not bad, is it? Wasn't Sylvia fantastic?"
"Yes, she was very helpful."
"I don't mean that, you galah. The way she talked."
"She spoke good English, yes."
Enjoying his lunch, Danny gave up trying to communicate with Bernie, and tried to picture Sylvia negatively. Anyone with a voice like that had to be really ugly, or have something badly wrong with them. Otherwise, it wasn't fair on other women.
The image of Simone crossed his mind, but he brushed it away. This was nothing to do with her. She was a day person.
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