Got the rough trade, rough trade,
Rough trade Saint Kilda blues
Got the rough trade, rough trade
Rough trade Saint Kilda blues
You look at me, I look at you
We come together holding hands
We walk and lie upon the sand
We make love, call it what you will
‘Cause I’m rough trade, rough trade
Yeah watch out I’m rough trade
No bluffing, a rough rider, don’t argue
I’ll give you the rough trade, rough trade
Rough trade, Saint Kilda Blues, oh yeah.
Squares or do-gooders usually picked the quietest accommodations in their efforts to reform blokes like Balga. So Stand the Man had settled him in the suburb of Hawthorn which was similar to North Perth where they had once put him and right next to the zoo too, but not this Melbourne suburb with its empty streets and with the recent introduction of television into Victoria, the front windows of the houses fluttering with the blue glow of screens. Not much to experience there, so on the weekend. Balga used the two days to wander through the inner city suburbs, Richmond, South Melbourne, Fitzroy and Carlton, looking for odd bods and with his antenna up to catch the vibes of any place that might switch him on. He had sought out the pub Revel had mentioned, Tatts, but pubs were closed on Sundays and he made do with a coffee lounge and listened in on blokes talking about nothing much except cricket, football, or how dull it was compared to the war years. As the day ended Balga sought out a street through which one of the infrequent Sunday trams rattled him back to Hawthorn to the house which could never be a home.
The lad revolted against such dullness. He wanted to move to a livelier area and listened to some blokes engaging in man talk and how St. Kilda was the place to let it all hang out. Ah, St. Kilda and Fast Eddy, remembered Balga and the following Saturday afternoon getting off the tram at the Flinders Street railway station stop, he glanced to one side and saw on the front of another tram just pulling up, St. Kilda Beach. He jumped aboard, sat on one of the wooden slatted benches and stared out as they rattled across Flinders Street, past the station, across the bridge over the Yarra River, then along a tree lined avenue to reach a junction marked by a football oval which proudly declared: Home of the Saints. Balga felt that it was a welcome to him as he still considered himself a member of the Saints’ juvenile gang. He jumped off the tram to admire the sign then walked through the scrap of park in front of the oval to come out at the head of a busy street. He crossed over to find that he was in Fitzroy Street which Fast Eddy had mentioned to him so long ago. Remembering Fast Eddy and his flair for smart threads made the lad glance into a mirror to check out his threads. Very neat in the Bodgie fashion and his hair was flat top and unlike any style the blokes sported. Satisfied that he was with it Balga sauntered along feeling his antenna quiver, his nose twitching and his eyes flickering here there and everywhere for a sight of the fabled gang. Balga went past a big pub sign, The Prince of Wales and got into an area of coffee lounges and cafes filled with people that seemed not to have a thing to do except to direct quick glances to check him out. None of the eyes were really challenging and Balga, well, felt at home. This was what he had expected of Melbourne. He smiled a tight smile his mind filled with memories of Fast Eddy and his two molls that might have become his if the cops hadn’t arrested him. Tough luck and Balga wondered if Fast Eddy might still be in the same trade. This excited him. His eyes went this way and that way sliding into coffee lounges with smiling jukeboxes sending out rocking songs to boys and girls looking city tough, walking razors rather than the bunched fists of louts. Ah, yes, this was his scene! His steps slowed and he found himself standing in front of the The Prince of Wales hotel, a large ornate fronted hotel with its importance spilling out over onto the pavement. He smiled and was about to enter when a voice suddenly shouted: ‘Hey, hey Bodgie!’ Balga gave a start and his eyes darted towards the owner of the voice and held: it was, it really was, his old mate of Boys’ Town and Fremantle Prison, Tommy Cooper. God, he was happy, at last someone from his home town and in the right place too. Yes, there was the freckled face still as blotched as he remembered it from his Clontarf days, though his hair had changed and now he sported a style similar to the duck’s tail that Balga with his nappy hair could never master. ‘Lo Tommy,’ he drawled across the space between them which his old mate quickly crossed to thrust out a speckled hand. Balga gave him the less complicated Saint’s shake, as he wasn’t one of the gang. As their hands brushed away, Balga drawled: ‘And how’s the world treating ya?’
‘Like sugar and spice,’ Tommy replied with a grin.
Balga looked him over and saw that he was dressed like a movie waiter with an auburn bow tie, a white shirt, a wine coloured velvet waist coat, dark pants and shoes. ‘How’s the waitressing,’ he leered though with a grin to take the edge off, ‘get many tips or only pinches?’
‘Ah, come on Bodge, I’m a receptioner in this grouse big pub towering right over you. I sit at a desk and check guests in and out. Come to the bar and I’ll get you a free beer. Just one though, ‘cause the boss is stingy.’
He was as good as his word and in an instant they were sitting at a table with beers in front of them. ‘Good drop,’ he exclaimed. ‘See, I’ve made it East,’ he said with a laugh, ‘and just need to find where the action is.’
‘It’s here, Buddy, it’s here if you can find it,’ Tommy sneered with a hip smile that showed that he had the edge over his mate.
‘Well, yeah and I’m looking,’ Balga retorted.
‘And you’ll find it too. I’ve been here a few months, but I’m about ready to split to Sydney. King’s Cross is the next place to be they tell me.’
‘Yeah, yeah, cutting out as soon as you catch a glimpse of me, eh?’
‘Naw, Bodge, gee it’s grouse seeing you. Real grouse, first Clonny boy I’ve seen in donkey’s ages.’
‘What about blokes from the other place?’
‘One or two have come through. St. Kilda is the place for them, but they never remember someone who was a juvenile in the can.’
‘Yeah, and St. Kilda seems like my place too,’ Balga said with a laugh. ‘It looks as if it could rock as well as roll, you know what I mean.’
‘Yeah, but be cool about it,’ Tommy replied seriously. ‘It can be rough and not like Perth at all. There you only had the Abos to contend with, here you got, just about everybody, sometimes you just look at a bloke and he wants to do you one way or the other, you get what I mean?’
His reference to “Abos” made Balga go on guard. He remembered that he had always hid that side of his identity from even mates like Tommy and in Perth had been passing himself off as a Yank with a father from New Orleans. Since reaching Melbourne it hadn’t been necessary, but maybe, he thought, maybe it was.
‘Yeah,’ Balga said, easing away from that forbidden subject, ‘but I’m as tough as they come or if it comes to that I can run a mile as fast as John Landy so St. Kilda will suit me fine. Now I just need a place to flop and then we can make the scene together. How do you like this cardigan thing? I got it just the other day. New and nothing in the city can touch it. Green, red and blue stripes and hanging halfway to my knees, gas, eh?’
‘Yeah, bit bright though; doesn’t look too warm for this weather and that Ivy League style is in now. You know the pants are tighter and the coat is without padding and loafers, man, they’re cool. I never liked that loose draped Bodgie style anyway.’
‘It’s still with me, man and I can stroll well as rock, you know. Just new in town and been taking it easy, just feeling my way in this big city and now,’ Balga almost shouted with glee and indeed raised his voice so that the barmaid all frizzy blonde hair and big blue eyes stared over at them. The lad winked at her as he said: ‘Yeah, and now I’m ready to see what this town is made of and listen to some good rock’n’roll and then there’s the Saints, the Bodgie gang to hang out. Man, it’ll be the most, like (and he laughed) New Orleans.’
‘Yeah, yeah, the best of luck, but now I have to leave you. Duty calls in five minutes. Sorry to split, but I have to. Anyway you know where to find me. Gee, it’s great meeting you, Bodgie. Yeah, find a room, there are lots in Dalgety Street and we’ll jive together. Grouse, huh,’ and he got up, made to rush off, then stopped and said: ‘Hey, I’m off at ten. Hang around the street until then and you can doss with me in my room. The boss won’t mind if it’s just for one night. Besides he has a floozie and is just settling down for another round by then.’
‘Uhuh,’ Balga replied staring down at his beer then lifting and draining the glass. He got up and followed his mate to his desk at the side of the foyer not wanting to leave, but also to see if he was on the up and up. One never knew, but when Tommy sat down as if he owned it, he knew he was genuine and said: ‘You sure it will be okay to come back?’
‘For sure, the front doors will be locked by then, but see that side passage there. It ends at a door which opens onto the street. Check it out now so you’ll know where to meet me after ten.’
‘Right, see you then,’ and Balga grinned as he went down that passageway happy as Larry. Tommy was as right as rain and he wouldn’t have to rush back to Hawthorn that night.
Time didn’t hang around in bars, it put on wings and flew so when Balga came out on the street evening was reaching out its fingers and even a few lights were winking at the setting sun. It wasn’t that late as the bar had to close at six, but it was getting towards that and as it was early spring the cold darkness was rushing in. He hoped that it wouldn’t get too chilly. His cardigan may have looked like the dog’s balls, but as Tommy had said it wouldn’t keep much of the cold out. He needed a warm coat, but didn’t feel like going for an overcoat. As Balga thought this he came to a shop, The Gents and in the window was featured a garment he fell for. It was called a car coat and was like one of the long draped sports jackets he still fancied. Balga studied it and if the shop had been open, he would have entered to try it on. Well, it was closed, but he could see himself in it; but for now it would be best to seek out a nice warm coffee lounge with a jukebox of great tunes for him to spin. No, he wanted to check out the whole of this street first while there was still some heat left in the day.
Balga sauntered on still smiling at his luck in meeting an old friend as soon as he had hit St. Kilda. Maybe he would meet Fast Eddy tonight as well. He came to a coffee lounge and ducked in for a coffee. He checked out the god and rang a coin for a new singer, Eddie Cochran and his song, Summertime Blues. It was grouse and he bought the reverse side, Come on Everybody. It really rocked his soul and finishing his coffee he bopped out of that place ignoring the sneer of the square shop keeper and suddenly came to a halt as the smell of roast pork hit him from a shop with a window filled with lots of good things to eat. A side of pork brown and juicy made him drool. It drew him inside and he got the bloke behind the counter to cram a long roll with the meat with a few pieces of crackling to keep out the cold. He got a bottle of coke to drink and then went on looking for a place to sit and eat. The street ended at a cross road and beyond lay the rippling water of Port Phillip Bay with lights twinkling on it. He crossed over to sit on the sea wall. He scoffed down his roll, crunched on the crackling and slurped up the coke. The chill was beginning to reach for his bones, but he shrugged it off as just part of the feeling that it was good to be alive. Yes, he was thinking that the world was his oyster when a bloke sauntered up to ask if he had a cigarette. Balga replied that he didn’t smoke.
‘I do,’ the bloke replied, then added: ‘Nice spring night tonight.’
Balga looked at him. He seemed harmless enough and so the lad answered: ‘Getting on to being a bit chilly.’
Balga jumped down onto the beach from the sea wall which was about four or five feet above the sand. He stumbled and came down with a thump on his behind. The sand was warm and he stayed there. The bloke followed and sat down beside me. ‘We’re out of the wind here. Lights look nice on the water, don’t they?’ he commented.
‘They do,’ Balga replied glad of the company. ‘You know it’s been a while since I came to Melbourne, but it’s the first time that I’ve seen the sea. Lazy, I guess,’ and he gave a laugh still feeling at ease with the world.
The bloke was looking around, this way and that way. Balga’s eyes went this way and that way too but there wasn’t anyone else on the beach. He was staring at the sea when he felt a hand on his thigh. He left it there and on a whim asked: ‘You got any dough on you?’
‘A couple of bob, maybe a quid,’ the bloke replied.
‘You won’t get much for that,’ Balga retorted, shifting away from him and his paw. It came back on his thigh. He left it there. It was kind of exciting and he was getting hard too.
‘A quid,’ the bloke replied, his fingers touching the lad.
‘Two and right in this hand now,’ Balga snarled, dropping his hand onto the bloke’s lap palm upwards.
The deal was settled and Balga had two crisp notes in his hand. His fingers closed on them as he jumped up. ‘Thanks buddy,’ he shouted, ‘that’ll do me just fine. Not hard enough for anything,’ and he ran to some steps he had glimpsed leading up from the beach and was across the road and in Fitzroy Street in a flash. He sauntered along flushed from his adventure and wondering what else the night might hold.
He ducked into a coffee lounge for the warmth and a coffee. It had a juke box, all rounded glass and with those new 45s in it. He thought of the big god in the The Royale Cafe bar in Perth and this got him thinking of Fast Eddy again. Balga thought about him as he sipped on his expresso while staring at a heavy girl with super breasts, curly dark hair and a slash of red lipstick on her white face which flashed at him as she caught his eyes. The girl got up and went to the juke box. She bent over so that her big behind stretched tight the cloth of her tight skirt. Balga ambled over to the god and bent his face next to hers. ‘You like a good rocker, try Summertime Blues. Naw, you don’t have to buy it, I’ll get it for you,’ he said dropping a coin into the slot and out came the number really loud, hot and pulsating.
‘Grouse,’ she replied without much enthusiasm in her voice, though her foot tapped to the beat, ‘but I prefer something softer and sweet, like Sugar in the Evening.’
‘Don’t know that one as I only like it hard,’ Balga answered, his hand coming up to rub his short spiked hair.
The lad bopped back to toss off his coolish coffee. She was still at the god, so he went back to her and she said, ‘I like that one too.’ She had a finger on E14, some tune called; Please, Help Me I’m Falling. ‘It’s yours,’ Balga drawled and dropped his coin into the slot. Out came a song that wasn’t rock, some sort of hillbilly number, but the lyrics were okay, perhaps for her. ‘You want a coffee,’ he asked her.
‘No,’ she replied, ‘I’m waiting for someone and he won’t have me drinking with strangers; but if you’re still hard, I can let you have it for a fiver.’
‘Huh,’ Balga exclaimed, not believing his ears.
‘Yeah, you should get off in a short time as you’re ready for it,’ she said touching him.
‘Make it three and I’m in,’ Balga grinned.
‘What are you grinning about, loose change,’ she said and Balga said that he was a stranger in the big city and she was the first doll that had offered him anything.
‘Well, you’re in luck, if you add another quid,’ she replied sardonically. ‘Then you’ll have a real born and bred Melbourne doll.’
‘Well, I suppose that you’d be better than a pull,’ Balga answered cynically.
‘Four quid and you’ll find out.’
Balga found another note and sneered as he asked her where the ground might shake.
‘Just follow me, flat top, or will I call you Brownie.’
‘Naw just Blackie, you know my dad was from New Orleans.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know you’re not from around here.’
Balga followed her out of the coffee lounge down a lane which ended at a brick wall. She stood with her back against the wall and opened her legs, one forward and the other slightly back.
‘Get it out and put it in,’ she urged. ‘There’s a cold breeze and I don’t want my fanny all frozen.’
Balga was a bit put off, but quipped as he got ready: ‘Don’t I even get a kiss.’
‘Christ, hurry up,’ she replied, her hand grabbing him and squeezing hard. She pushed it in and Balga wobbled once, twice and then emptied into her. ‘Call me Flash Gordon,’ he commented.
‘Lucky for you, I might have charged you a tenner if you had gone on any longer.’
‘Yeah, well, see you’ Balga shrugged, doing up his fly. He started to say something else, but she wasn’t looking at him and so he made his way back to the coffee lounge to order a coffee and ponder the ways of “love” — and soon had Jerry Lee Lewis the wanker singing Whole Lotta Shaking. Such a great rocker put him back into a good mood and he sipped on his piping hot coffee and thought that he should have asked the moll if she knew Fast Eddy. It was then that the door opened and in came a well-dressed bloke. Balga stared and grinned. It was Fast Eddy though his Bodgie gear was subdued enough to seem square. He wore a striped blazer, thin dark pants and sharp toed shoes, though he still had kept his D.A. hairstyle. Balga’s hand went to his own spiked hair as he envied that Tony Curtis style.
Fast Eddy’s light blue eyes flickered here there and everywhere about the room. They hesitated on everyone, lingered on Balga, went away and came back for a longer stare. Recognition for sure and the Noongar got to his feet and strolled over to him. ‘Hey, man, give me some skin,’ he accosted him with.’
‘Some skin,’ he asked coldly, but held out his hand so that Balga might commence the ritual.
After it was over, he demanded, ‘and who might you be?’
‘Remember West Oz not all that long ago, Audrey and Leslie and the Royale as well as the big house in FreO.’
Fast Eddy still looked puzzled and Balga had to say: ‘I’m “Bodgie” and you told me to look you up if I ever got to Melbourne. Well, I’ve gotten to Melbourne and I’m looking you up.’
‘Yeah, and now you have, what’s the deal,’ Eddy sneered then lightened up enough to add ‘How are things going with you in the big smoke,’ in a dead pan voice that indicated that he didn’t care two hoots how the lad was getting on.
’Fine, fine, how else could it be’ Balga sneered in reply and was turning to go back to his coffee when Eddy said: ‘sit!’
‘Why not,’ Balga shrugged then slumped in a chair with his back to the wall so that he could keep an eye on the door.
‘You took my seat,’ Eddy commented, then said, ‘yeah, FreO and that awful Western Australia! God, I’ll never go back there, not even if my life depends on it.’ He broke off then and this was because the girl that Balga had shagged was coming through the door with another one just as heavily built.
Balga stared at them. They might have been sisters with those 36 24 36 bodies that blokes liked.
‘Lo, Jane and Rita,’ Fast Eddy intoned as they reached the table. ‘If you like I’ll introduce you to one or the other or both,’ he said to Balga.
‘Naw not really, I still like the Audrey type,’ Balga answered, then suddenly tensing as to what Fast Eddy might do when he learnt that he had already shagged his Jane moll.
Fast Eddy asserted his authority by sneering: ‘Can’t you get the girls a coffee.’ Balga was tempted to say “No,” but what the heck? He got up, went to the counter and got himself a fresh brew at the same time. He even got Eddy one just for old time’s sake though he was being a real arsehole.
When he returned to the table, Eddie was in deep conversation with Jane, snarling and sneering at her: ‘You don’t go with anyone unless I give you the say so,’ he grated. ‘So what if you got paid for it and it was just a quickie. I didn’t get you the customer, did I? Yeah, so you want a little stick do you? I’ll give you stick all right. Ah coffee,’ he said and drained the cup Balga placed before him. ‘Now you Rita, you would never do that, would you, so I trust you to stay and entertain, no keep my friend here company while I just fix this moll up. Sorry, sorry she shouldn’t of done you,’ he directed at the lad. ‘She just wanted a bit of stick; I’ll give her one all right. Stay here and buy Rita a tune, not Please Help Me I’m Falling, I hate that one.’
He went off dragging the offending girl by one wrist. Balga stared after them and then went to the juke box and put on the number he didn’t go for too; but then what Eddy hated he decided he liked. Still he followed it up with Eddie Cochrane to get the sound out of his ears. Rita smiled at him as he came back and then defended her pimp. She said: ‘No worries, his stick is better than his bite. He just likes to come down on us especially in front of blokes. He thinks it impresses them. You know him long?’
‘Haven’t seen him for a year or so, but he was different then, cooler, not so strung out.’
‘Yeah, I suppose we all were back then; but now we’re as we are, for better or worse.’
‘As the song goes, right; but I like Summertime Blues, better.’
‘Kiddie song.’
‘Yeah, but it bops.’
‘Maybe.’
‘So your name’s Rita, right,’ Balga said, hoping to change the subject or something, perhaps even elicit a smile from the sour puss.
‘Naw, it’s really Mary, but Eddy thinks I look like the film star, Rita Hayworth.’
‘Yeah,’ Balga broke in, ‘and the other’s Jane Russell, right?’
‘How did you know?’
‘’Cause it’s my business to know such things,’ the Noongar said, laughing and even getting to his feet and bopping about a little to the music. After all it had been over a year since he’d been in such company.
‘Yeah,’ she answered, staring up at the lad as he scrubbed at his spiky hair with his left hand.
Balga looked down at her thinking that she was really top heavy. He winked and went back to the juke box, bent in prayer over the titles and the singers and his eye fell on a number called I’m a Wild One sang by someone called Johnny O’Keeffe. He got that and it rocked out. ‘Hey, that’s good,’ he called to Rita from the jukebox. ‘Yeah, he’s a real Wild One,’ she replied. Balga got the other side and the words boomed out as he strode back to the girl and the table. When I left school, they said I was bad, the very worst they ever had ... ‘That’s a gas,’ he yelped, his feet moving to the beats and then Eddy appeared with a scowl on his face and no Jane. ‘Got her a customer, for an half an hour,’ he gloated. ‘Hey you got Johnny on the box. He’s Bodgie, though not a Saint. I’ve met him and he lives just as he sings: wild, huh!’
‘Uhuh,’ Balga agreed. ‘If it rocks roll it and the world’s not that bad when you’ve got a rocking tune on the box.’
‘Yeah, yeah, but you get old and the music starts fading away into eternity,’ Eddie said sadly.
‘Maybe, maybe, man, but you got Jane Russell and Rita Hayworth working for you, that’s something that is.’
‘Something like nothing; something like work, these lazy sluts,’ he sneered, ‘Something like nothing much, that’s them. All they can do is lie on their backs or stand still while some bloke prods them. As for me, I’m something, I have to be if I’m to protect their fannies and collect the dough. Leave it to them and they’d give it away for five bob. Not a thought in their scones. No gratitude either for how hard I work for them to make sure that they don’t get done for nothing. I select their customers and try to keep them a class act. I don’t like cheap molls or hot chicks for that matter. Both no good for business, man, no good for the profits, though sometimes I get so fed up that I feel like giving the whole game away and get a worthwhile job like driving a truck. It’d be easier, wouldn’t it babe,’ he flung at Rita.
‘Oh Eddy,’ was all that she could muster.
‘There you see,’ he said, ‘that’s what she and Jane are like. I try to get out from under and all I get from them is “Oh, Eddy,” and they big eye me and make me stay on to protect their business. You know what might happen if wasn’t around, huh,’ he said smiling a deadly smile at Rita.
‘Oh Eddy,’ she replied again and it was then that Balga began to feel a sarcastic smile tugging at his mouth. Balga had been ready to shag Rita, but Eddy had put paid to that desire at least for the time being. Sitting with him was pretty wearing and he knew he couldn’t stay there much longer without cracking up with harsh mirth. God knew what Eddy would or wouldn’t do then, for surely he was a walking razor quick to take offence and cut off his pound of flesh. Balga glanced down at his watch and saw that it was ten. Now he had an excuse to split the scene.
‘Hey, Eddy, I’ve got to cut out,’ Balga told him. ‘Nice meeting up with you and all that, but there’s a mate waiting for me and he won’t wait much longer. One question though before I split, your duds are all changed. Once the threads were like the heppest, now, well, they’re cool, but what happened to the drape shape?’
‘I grew outa that old set of rags,’ he retorted. ‘Man, we’re at the Sixties and everything has tightened up and look, the foot ware has gone all pointy. I’m a sharpie, if you want to put a name to me. Cool, huh?’
‘Yeah, you’ve always been a sharp dresser so you might as well put your name to it,’ Balga grinned, then added: ‘How’s the Saints these days? You told me that you were all together like a fist, but that was awhile ago and things change.’
‘Yeah, when you’re a kid you hang around in a gang, but once you get past eighteen, there’s other things besides your mates, so they’re around, but not into having parties and things like that anymore, too grown up and one by one they’re dropping away and even getting married.’
‘So I’m too late,’ Balga remarked with a scowl.
‘You were always too late,’ Fast Eddy sneered.
‘Maybe, well, at least I got my wick into Jane Russell and I’ll be back to try Rita Hayworth,’ Balga wanted to say, but held his peace.
‘Yeah, see you around.’
‘Yeah, I’ll see you.’
‘Yeah, I’ll be around here and so no sweat, eh Buddy? Fast Eddy signed off and began heckling Rita as if Balga wasn’t there. ‘What do you think,’ he began. ‘You want to do him? You like these tall, black types don’t you. You’d do him for nothing, wouldn’t you; but you won’t, will you?’