When they got back Bex and Comma were asleep in the double bed. Larceny turned her back on Lynx and stripped off her wet things, leaving them on the floor. She’d sort them out in the morning. She pulled out a clean t-shirt from the pile of laundry and lay down on the sofa, pulling the rug up to her chin. Lynx pulled the mattress over beside the sofa. He’d also stripped off his wet gear and found a blanket.
‘Larce?’
‘What?’
‘You’ve got funny feet.’
Larceny look down at her toes. The little toe on each foot was bigger than its companions and curled over. She was the only person she’d ever met who had these weird toes.
‘So?’
‘Nothin’. Um … do you feel like some company?’
‘No.’
‘We’d be warmer if we shared this mattress.’
‘I’m warm enough.’
‘I’m not.’
She heard him move towards her on his hands and knees. She lay rigid beneath the blanket. She’d kill him if he touched her. The grey mist came swirling, swirling … The sofa sagged as he sat down beside her.
‘Larce? You’re beautiful.’
‘Piss off,’ she hissed between clenched teeth.
‘I thought you liked me.’
‘Yeah? Well, you thought wrong.’
The rage took over. She jackknifed upright, pushing him hard in the chest. He fell off the sofa onto the floor.
‘Do I have to spell it out? LEAVE ME ALONE!’
‘All right, all right, don’t get so shitty.’
He crawled back onto his mattress. After a while his gentle snores told her that he was asleep. But she couldn’t sleep. She lay staring into the darkness, her stomach in knots at the thought of him holding her, touching her. He was a nice guy. Why couldn’t she unfreeze enough to let him have sex with her? Was there something seriously abnormally wrong with her? All those bloody shrinks hadn’t been able to help —
‘Why did you feel the need to burn the school down?’ one had asked when she was in therapy.
How the hell did she know? The teachers had been on her case for smoking in the dunnies. They’d got in some woman from Quit Smoking to run a course to get her and some of the other girls to quit. But she didn’t want to quit, that was the whole point. Who cared if her lungs were full of cancer in twenty years’ time? She’d been so angry that they’d imposed their school rules on her she’d gathered dry grass near the school fence and set it on fire with her cigarette lighter. She hadn’t been burning the school down, just the bloody fence, for shit’s sake.
‘Why are you so angry? Why don’t you like yourself?’ another shrink had asked her, staring at her through his thick glasses like she was an alien species from another planet.
‘I do like myself,’ she’d spat at him. ‘Do you?’
‘Like you, or myself?’ he’d said smoothly. She’d felt like smashing his glasses into his face. Smug little prick.
‘Oh, who cares? Go to hell,’ she’d said, turning her back and refusing to answer any more of his dumb questions.
‘Uncooperative,’ she’d seen written on her card. Yeah, well. The few times she’d tried to cooperate it had been the pits. As soon as she’d revealed a weakness the shrink had gone for her jugular. To reveal that you were weak, scared or confused gave them power. And once they had power they could manipulate you, control you. It was all Shit! Who the hell did they think they were anyway, trying to pry into her soul: God?
Finally she slept and was woken by Bex crashing through on her way to the bathroom. She was thirsty, and decided to make herself a cup of coffee.
Getting out of bed she padded over to the sink and put enough water in the jug for one coffee. She spooned Nescafe into a mug and found some milk. She was sitting sipping it when Bex came back.
‘Where’s the rest of the hot water?’ Bex asked, lifting the jug. ‘That’d be right. Only make enough for yourself. You wouldn’t think that anyone else would want a coffee, would you? And where’s Frantik?’
‘No, I don’t ever think of anyone except myself, and Frantik could be anywhere,’ snapped Larceny.
‘What did you do with him last night?’
Bex stood, hands on hips, glaring. Her face was pinched, ugly and tight.
‘We left him at Emergency,’ said Larceny shortly.
‘You left him?’
Bex looked incredulous. Then she narrowed her eyes. ‘You bitch. Lynx would never leave Frantik on his own. They’re buddies, best mates. It was you. You couldn’t be bothered staying, could you? You just walked off, didn’t you? And Lynx was torn between you pissing off and Frantik in hospital, and he chose to go with you!’
‘Get this,’ said Larceny. ‘Lynx walked outa there of his own free will. I didn’t ask him to come with me.’
‘You —’ Bex lunged. Larceny picked up the coffee mug and threw it at her. The hot coffee splashed on Bex’s arms and bare feet. She gave a howl and fell back against the sink.
‘What the hell —’ Lynx rolled off the mattress wearing only his jocks. His eyes went from one girl to the other. Larceny looked at him. Then out of the corner of her eye she saw a movement from the double bed. Comma had woken up and was rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She was trying to get her brain into gear. She was definitely not a morning person, thought Larceny, though it was probably nearer to lunchtime. She turned back to Bex who was trying to wipe coffee off her arms. The mug lay shattered at her feet where it had ricocheted off the cupboard onto the floor.
‘I’ve had a gutful of you,’ said Larceny calmly to Bex. ‘You’re a twisted bitch and I don’t need to be near your space. I’m outa here.’
She walked over to her clothes and dragged on clean underwear, jeans and a top. She found her sneakers and jammed them on her feet. Then she picked up her wet things and stuffed them into a plastic bag.
‘You’re bad,’ sobbed Comma, who was comforting Bex.
‘Bad and mad, that’s me,’ said Larceny, ‘and don’t you forget it.’
She scooped up her tote bag, jacket, and the plastic bag full of wet clothing and sauntered towards the door.
‘Wait!’
Lynx had put on his jeans and t-shirt. He pulled on his black Gurus top, and some socks, shoved his feet into his boots, and reached for his jacket.
‘Where are you goin’?’ wailed Comma frantically.
‘With her.’
‘I don’t need no minder, man.’
‘Yeah? That’s what you think.’
He followed behind her, slamming the door. Larceny was striding down the stairs.
‘Wait up!’
She kept walking.
‘WAIT!’
She turned and faced him at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Why?’
Lynx sighed.
‘I dunno. Thought I might come with you.’
‘You thought wrong.’
‘Thought you might like a nice hot bath and something to eat.’
‘Yeah? What are you offering, a room at the Hilton?’ she said sarcastically.
‘We could go to my place.’
‘Your place?’ Larceny stared at him incredulously.
‘My folks’ place in Toorak.’
‘Oh, sure. Your mother’s a school teacher and they have a place in Toorak?’
‘They’re rich,’ Lynx explained patiently. ‘Old money. I told you, she teaches because she’s got to be good at something she sees as useful. And my old man’s a dentist. There’s big money in teeth.’
‘I don’t get it. You could be home in the comfort, warmth and safety of your own lounge room watching tv and you choose to hang about with low life like Comma and Bex? And me?’
‘You’re not low life, Larce. You’re just confused.’
‘Yeah. Right.’
Suddenly, Larceny felt tired. Bone-weary. A hot bath would have been nice. She shrugged.
‘What about your folks?’
‘At work. Come on …’
It was a long walk through the sleeting rain, along St Kilda Road, up Toorak Road and down a side street. It was old money all right: big, stately homes brooding between new money — high rise apartments with high price tags. Huge trees dripped forlornly and it was very quiet.
‘In here.’
Lynx stopped outside a big two-storeyed brick house with mammoth trees, high walls and security gates that made Pentridge Prison look like an escapee’s paradise. He punched some numbers into a security system built into the side of one of the brick pillars and the gates swung open.
Larceny hesitated. She didn’t like being behind high walls and security gates. It gave her a feeling of insecurity: what if she couldn’t get out?
‘Come on!’
Lynx was waiting impatiently inside the gates. Once she was in he went to close them.
‘No!’ Larceny panicked. ‘Can you leave them open?’
‘The neighbours’ll get suss.’ Then seeing her tension he relented. ‘Okay, I’ll just pull them together. I won’t activate the locks.’
They walked up the driveway.
‘Keep to the side, then the security camera won’t activate the alarm,’ he said casually when they reached the door.
‘Oh, shit. I hate alarms.’ Larceny froze.
‘It’s cool. I’ve got a key. I’ll turn it off.’
He opened the front door, walked inside and deactivated the alarm system.
‘Come in. It’s okay now.’
The place made Nick Farino’s apartment look like a shit-box. It was very big. And old. Larceny stood dripping all over a lovely carpet patterned with red, blue and green swirls.
‘Nice rug!’
‘It’s Persian. I’ll show you where the bathroom is. You can take a spa while I throw your clothes in the drier.’
Larceny faced him, her arms folded.
‘I want to take a bath alone.’
‘Okay, okay, keep cool. I won’t touch you.’
‘Or perv on me?’
‘What do you think I am?’ Lynx was quite indignant. ‘You are my guest! The bathroom’s up the stairs, on the right. Or there’s another one further down the hall, if you prefer that. I’ll get you a bathrobe.’
Here in his own surroundings Lynx was a different person. He was the rich kid from a privileged family: private school, education, all manners and charm. Larceny didn’t like it. She preferred Lynx the street kid, not Marcus J Manchester, rich snot. In this place, surrounded by the trappings of the wealthy she felt like a useless piece of shit. Still, it wouldn’t have hurt to take a bath, eat some food, hang about for a while, then she’d bail and get back where she belonged, on the streets.
She went up the wide staircase, along a passage and found the bathroom. It was huge and had been modernised, with a sunken spa bath, mirrors, fluffy white towels on heated rails and luxuriant pot-plants hanging from the ceiling.
‘Whoa!’
Larceny turned on the taps and sat on the edge of the tub watching the water swirl into its marbled depths. There were some bath salts in a glass jar on a shelf so she tossed in a handful. The water turned green, and there was a fresh, pine smell. Through the steam it looked like a churning river pool below a waterfall. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. She tensed.
‘Yes?’
‘Toss out your wet clothes.’
‘Okay.’
She peeled them off in a hurry then wrapped herself in one of the towels. Padding to the door she opened it.
‘Here.’
Lynx took them and passed her a thick white towelling robe.
‘Enjoy,’ he said.
Larceny shut the door and leaned against it for a moment, staring through the steam at the bath. She had to trust him, and she never trusted anyone. Could she really trust him? She saw a heavy silver hand mirror lying on the shelf and picked it up. If he came near her she’d hit him with it. She laid it on the edge of the bath. The tub was nearly full. Leaning over, she turned off the taps and tested the water with one toe. Just right. She dropped the towel and went to climb in. There was another knock at the door.
‘Shit.’
She grabbed the robe, put it on and, holding the mirror like a club, she walked over and opened the door.
‘What?’
Lynx was standing there with a silver tray on which sat a glass containing a bubbling liquid and some slivers of biscuity-looking stuff.
‘Champagne and almond bread,’ he said, passing her the tray. ‘A snack while you have a bath.’
‘Thanks.’
She took the tray with one hand and shut the door. Well, this was something new. She’d never drunk champagne and eaten almond bread while taking a spa bath. Okay, so she’d never drunk champagne. Eaten almond bread. Or taken a spa bath. She put the tray on the floor near the bath, took off the robe, and climbed in. The bubbles caressed her like a lovely warm hug that didn’t compromise her in any way. Reaching over, she lifted up the glass and took a swig. The bubbles made her sneeze. It tasted good. Warmth flooded through her and she giggled. This was better than goony juice or beer. Nibbling on a piece of almond bread she settled back in the tub, her thoughts wandering all over the place.
It was crazy. If she had a home like this she’d be in heaven. Two doting parents, all this wealth and luxury. Lynx had to be a full-on idiot to abandon all this and get psychotic about being a Fijianl/Indian. Who cared if he was dark brown and from another culture.
He cared; that was his problem.
Mentally she went through the list of foster homes she’d had. Maybe if she’d had a rich family from the start she’d have turned out normal. She’d been fostered out when she was a baby, a nice family in a small country town. Vaguely she could remember being cuddled on her foster mum’s lap, read to, rocked to sleep. And her foster dad tickling her and playing this game where he’d toss her into the air and pretend to drop her. But he always caught her. She trusted him. And her foster mum. But then they’d let her down. Dropped her. They had to go to the States and they didn’t take her with them. At the time she’d felt unwanted, hurt and abandoned, too young to understand why her foster family had dumped her like an unwanted dog. She learned much later that her dad couldn’t be found to sign the papers to let them take her, or wouldn’t sign them, she wasn’t sure. But the emotional damage had been done.
She was put back into residential care and then with another foster family. They’d been very strict because she was hard to control, ripping things up, throwing things, and behaving like a monster because she didn’t want to like them or them to like her. There were no guarantees that if she was lovable they’d keep her. Her first family hadn’t, had they? She’d become a biter; had bitten everyone who came near her, bitten all the other kids at the kindergarten. They couldn’t handle her. Back into a residential. Fostered again, too hard to handle, they’d said, back into residential. Out and back, out and back like a boomerang, getting angrier, more untrusting, and more violent.
Another knock on the door.
‘What now?’ she yelled.
‘You’ve been in there for an hour. I thought you might’ve drowned or something.’
The water was cold and she hadn’t even noticed. She was all wrinkled like a prune and goosebumpy.
‘Okay, I’ll be out in a minute.’
She pulled the plug and climbed out quickly. She’d always hated staying in a bath while the water was draining out. When she’d been little she’d been frightened she’d go down the plug hole with the water. Old fears hold fast and won’t let go, she thought, jumping in the shower and turning it to “hot” to unfreeze herself. Then wrapping herself in the robe she scooped up the tray with its empty glass and went back along the hallway and silently down the stairs, the carpet thick and luxurious under her bare feet. Following the music, she found Lynx in the lounge room.
‘What’s the group?’ she said sourly, standing in the doorway. She knew it wasn’t a group as such: it was some orchestra playing the classics.
‘London Philharmonic. Some Beethoven. Do you like it?’
‘No. It’s … morbid!’
Lynx shrugged. He was wearing clean blue jeans and a dark blue turtleneck sweater in some soft sort of wool that clung expensively to him. He looked rich, sure of himself, and alien.
‘You look like a rich snot,’ said Larceny in a frosty voice. This new Lynx terrified her.
‘Maybe I am.’
‘You are in this house!’
‘That’s why I want out.’
It suddenly made sense. He looked the part, he played the part, but he felt like an alien in his own environment. Two aliens against the world.
‘Here. I’ve done a couple of tv dinners. I can’t cook.’
He’d put them on china plates with knives and forks.
‘What are they?’
‘I dunno. Lean Cuisine shit. I did doubles. I think there’s Beef Satay and Chicken Marengo, and I gave us both. Is it okay?’
His voice sounded uncertain.
‘Looks great to me.’
Larceny sat down, grabbed a plate and began forking up the food. It was hot and tasty.
‘Do you want dessert? There’s Sara Lee cheesecake or some pecan pie.’
‘I didn’t know rich people ate Sara Lee.’
‘Over it, Larce. Rich people eat, sleep and shit, same as everyone else.’
He sounded annoyed.
‘Sorry. This is the first time — well — I’ll have the cheesecake, thanks.’
‘And coffee?’
‘Yeah. That’d be nice.’
He went out of the room with the empty plates, giving Larceny a chance to look at her surroundings. The room was big, with heavy old-fashioned furniture. There was a piano in one corner and a tv built into a console along one wall. Everything was olive green and dark brown: it was a drab, uninviting room, richly furnished with expensive things but unemotional, devoid of any family memorabilia, magazines and the usual paraphernalia that makes a house a home. It was filled with creature comforts but not comfortable. Little wonder Lynx felt pressured and confined.
The music was grating on Larceny’s nerves, so she got up, switched it off and turned on the tv. It was some dumb program about cross-dressers and the women who loved them. Larceny stared at the screen. Was anyone normal? What was normal?
Lynx came back with a tray. There were two servings of cheesecake and two mugs of coffee. He put it down on the low table.
‘Help yourself.’
‘Thanks.’
They ate in silence, both wary of each other. The tv was a lifesaver, an excuse not to communicate as they both sat eating the cheesecake and sipping the coffee. Larceny reached in her bag for her cigarettes.
‘Sorry. You can’t smoke in here,’ said Lynx apologetically. ‘No smoking in this house. But I’ve got something else you might like.’
He disappeared then came back with a plastic bag. He pulled out some syringes, phials of sterile water, and a spoon along with two capsules.
‘Speed?’
‘No. Some really good smack.’
‘I don’t do drugs.’
‘No?’ He seemed surprised. ‘This is top H. It’ll mellow you out.’
‘No.’
‘Okay, okay.’
He prepared the fix. Larceny watched tv. It was nothing new to her: she’d seen countless fixes being prepared, watched countless kids shooting up. It neither excited nor repulsed her. As far as she was concerned it was a fact of life. Lynx found a vein, tapped it vigorously with two fingers, then injected.
‘Sure you don’t want a taste?’
‘No. Told you, I don’t do drugs.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’ve had enough shit pumped into me to last a lifetime,’ she replied shortly.
Lynx smiled as he felt the rush. ‘This is good, man,’ he said, beaming.
‘Yeah, right.’
The drug gave him confidence. He put his hand on her knee. Larceny jumped like she’d been stung and leapt to her feet, eyes blazing.
‘Don’t.’
‘Okay, okay. Relax. We’ll just talk.’
‘Maybe I don’t want to talk.’
He lay his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes. Larceny regarded him warily.
‘Sit down. I promise I won’t lay a finger on you,’ he said gently.
She sat. He didn’t say anything. The tv droned on. For something to do Larceny picked up the newspaper that was folded neatly on the table.
‘Don’t mess it up. My old man likes it exactly right when he reads it at night.’
‘I thought people read papers in the morning.’
‘Dad’s too busy getting ready for work. Paper-reading’s done at night in this house.’
‘The news of the day’s stale by then.’
‘Yeah. Well, they’re not that interested in the rest of the world, are they — only themselves.’
Larceny opened the paper carefully, scanning the pages. ‘Bid to halt youth suicides,’ she read out. ‘What a load of crap!’
‘What’s it say?’ asked Lynx in a slightly slurred voice.
‘Victoria will supply an extra 550 beds for the mentally ill and set up suicide prevention schemes for young people, the Minister of Health said yesterday. In his first major statement since taking over the portfolio the Minister detailed how the government would spend more than $80 million it has committed to mental health services,’ Larceny read out.
‘The extra money includes a boost to child and adolescent mental services aimed at reducing youth suicide in metropolitan and rural areas. The Health Department would set up suicide prevention networks, and appoint regional suicide prevention liaison officers. Up to 15 per cent of young people suffer from psychiatric disorders, but only a small number are diagnosed and treated.’ She stabbed at the article with one finger.
‘They haven’t got a clue. Typical government wankers. Why don’t they try to stop kids getting suicidal in the first place? Why don’t they look at the reasons? It’s just a load of bullshit, spending money to make themselves look good!’
‘How do they know there’s 15 per cent of basket cases if only a small number are diagnosed?’ said Lynx, opening his eyes. ‘From the kids I’ve seen there’s more likely 40 per cent.’
‘Meaning?’ Larceny glared at him.
‘Meaning I’ve seen heaps of real screwed-up kids. More than 15 per cent.’
‘Meaning me?’
‘You’re not screwed up. You’re mad.’
He said it matter-of-factly. Larceny sucked in her breath. She felt the familiar rage begin to swell like an outsize bubble in her chest. She threw down the paper angrily.
‘And you’re not? Sitting there blissing out on H, when you’ve got all this — this —’
She waved her arms wildly to encompass the room and all its trappings.
‘I’m screwed up, not mad. Why did you kill that guy?’
‘What?’ Larceny stared at him. She’d forgotten that she’d told him.
‘Why did you kill the guy? How? Where? When? What for?’
‘It doesn’t scare you that I killed someone, that I might kill you?’ she grated, glaring at him.
‘I don’t care if you do. It’d solve all my problems,’ he said.
‘Crap. That’s the smack talking. And why should I tell you, anyway? It’s none of your business.’
He looked at her dreamily. The rush had gone and he was beautifully mellow, at peace with the world, the euphoria cruising through his whole being, relaxed in his drug-induced paradise.
‘To kill or be killed, that is the question,’ he murmured. ‘Why did you kill him?’
‘He was giving me major grief,’ she snapped.
‘Who?’
‘Sammy Soul.’
‘Good name. Hope his soul’s happy. How do you know he’s dead?’
‘I just know, that’s all. Look, I’m sick of you asking me questions like a bloody shrink, I’m sick of all this rich shit. I’ve had a bath, I’ve eaten your food, I’m grateful and all that, but I just want to go now, okay?’
‘Sure,’ said Lynx. ‘You’re free to go at any time, babe. Don’t let your love for me hold you back.’
He giggled.
‘You’re off your face, man. I’m outa here.’
She grabbed her bag. ‘Where’s my clothes?’
‘In the drier. And don’t slam the door on your way out!’ He giggled again. That H was a real mind-spinner. Larceny stormed through the house in search of the laundry. She finally found it, yanked the door of the drier open, and put on her clothes. They were still warm. He hadn’t done her jacket or the stuff in the plastic bag. Her eyes lit upon a Drizabone coat hanging on a hook. Probably his old man’s. Well, stiff. He could afford another one. Dragging it on, she rolled back the sleeves and then stormed back down the passage, the tote bag bumping against the wall. She paused in the lounge room.
‘Hey, man. Fair exchange. My company and a bag of wet clothes for this coat.’
She paraded in front of him, but his eyes were closed. Lynx was totally out of it. So, who cared? He was just another chunk of floating crap in her life. She went out, banging the door behind her. Good riddance, goodbye, and best of luck, Lynx. You need it!