Peter Corris - Casino

‘My name’s Hardy. I was a friend of Scott’s and a colleague. Gina’s asked me to tidy up some business matters. Who am I speaking to? Is Gina all right.’

‘This is Ken Galvani, Scott’s brother. I know who you are. You’re the one who got him that fuckin’ job. You stayed for about two minutes after the funeral. Gina wouldn’t ask you to do anything.’

‘We won’t argue about it. Can I speak to her, please.’

‘She’s not here. She’s gone to my mother’s place for a while.’

He hung up in my ear. Scott had two brothers. I couldn’t have recalled their names, but it didn’t surprise me that one was Ken. Scott had told me that his parents had wanted to give their sons Australian-sounding names to speed their integration. His own name was a little wide of the mark, but Ken was spot-on. It didn’t sound like a good deal for Gina, staying with the in-laws, but it was none of my business and at least it was safe. I replaced the receiver and massaged my fast-stiffening shoulder.

‘Let me do that for you.’

Vita was in the room, again silently. She motioned for me to unbutton my shirt and when I had trouble using the left arm she helped. After that it seemed the most natural thing in the world to take off my pants and shoes. I lay on the bed in my jockettes while she examined me, squatting beside me in her silky shorts and loose T-shirt.

‘Bit of flab, not too much for a guy your age. That’s one hell of a bruise, though. Gonna be sore awhile. Better let it be.’ She traced a few scars on other parts of my body with a fingernail. ‘You’ve knocked yourself about some, haven’t you?’

‘A little.’

‘I’ll bet there’s still a bit of life left in you, though.’ Her hand snaked inside my underpants and what she said seemed to be true. I reached up under the shirt and touched her breasts. The novelty of the shape and size and texture of them was arousing me and her hand was doing its work expertly. She pulled down my jockettes and snapped her fingers. A condom appeared in her hand and I laughed.

‘Jesus. How did you do that?’ I tried to lift myself off the bed to take off her shirt but the shoulder sent waves of pain through me and I groaned and fell back.

‘Take it easy,’ she said. ‘I’ll make the arrangements.’

She rolled the condom onto me and kissed the tip. ‘Lubricated, ribbed and with a tickler.’ Two quick up-and-down movements and she was naked. She was thin but not bony, with good muscle tone. She put my hands on her breasts and told me to squeeze hard. I did and her nipples stiffened. She stroked me with one hand and herself with the other. Then she straddled me and controlled everything, guiding me in, adjusting the angle, settling down. She was light and tight. I was highly aroused but the condom reduced the sensation and I was able to move with her and not come too quickly.

‘Good?’ she said. ‘Good?’

We fell into a rhythm that caused me almost as much pain as pleasure. Everything that had hurt before was hurting again, but I didn’t care. She guided my hands around behind her and instructed them to stroke her buttocks and cleft as she moved. I was in full rut, out of control, I probed with my fingers and thrust up at her, roaring with pain and pleasure as I came.

I flopped back, with sweat breaking out all over me. She leaned down and kissed me, pushing her tongue into my mouth and then rearing back.

‘“There’s enough left for me. Just enough left for me.’

She pressed down and I felt her pubic bone bite into me. She rocked backwards and forwards, her breath coming faster and shallower until she collapsed, bringing her weight down on my chest and shoulders. I think I screamed, but it might have been her.

She brought the bottle and the melted ice and the mineral water to the bed along with the remains of the pie.

‘What happened to the curry?’ I said.

‘I’ll have it tomorrow.’

No ‘we’, and I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. We drank and ate companionably, propped up against the pillows. The only light in the room came in from outside- a streetlight shining through some bushes creating a dappled effect on the bedsheets.

I rattled a tiny ice-cube. ‘D’you know what we used to do at times like this in the sixties?’

‘Probably I do, but tell me.’

‘Smoke.’

‘Are you talking dope or tobacco?’

‘Both, but mostly tobacco.’

‘If this is the I’m-too-old-for-you routine, relax. I know you’re too old for me, or too fucking young for me, or not Mr Right. Don’t worry about it.’

‘I didn’t mean anything like that. I was just talking. That was a good fuck. This is nice. I’m not saying any more than that.’

She leaned down and kissed me. ‘Your generation was, is, and always will be full of bullshit, Cliff. As well as being full of alcohol and tobacco and other nasty stuff. You can’t help it.’

‘We’re the same generation. Generations last thirty years.’

‘Hah! What generation laid that piece of crap down? Not a recent one.’

‘You win.’

‘You’re a nice man, but you wouldn’t say that about anything important, would you?’

‘Vita… ‘

‘Don’t worry about me. I’m a ball-breaker. You can stay the night. I wouldn’t throw a Florida Republican out in your condition.’

She pulled on her T-shirt and shorts and slid off the bed. I could feel the pillows getting softer behind my back and the sheet that was covering me beginning to feel heavy and comforting. ‘Who’s the dog named after?’ I said. ‘The rocker or the poet?’

Vita took the empty glass from my hand and gave me a gentle shove, not on the bad shoulder. ‘You choose,’ she said.

I woke up in Vita’s bed around 9 a.m. My tongue was furry and there was a dull ache behind my eyes as if I’d been drinking heavily the night before, which I hadn’t. A glance at the floor showed that the Jack Daniels bottle still contained liquid. It hadn’t been one of those bottle-emptying nights. I decided that my head hurt as a result of the blows I’d taken, an almost honourable injury. I began to roll off the bed and the pain in my neck, shoulder and arm made me gasp and sink back onto the pillows.

The shoulder was bruised, but I’ve had worse, including bullet wounds. This hurt more than bullets or broken bones. After lying still for a while, I figured a way to get off the bed without putting any pressure on the shoulder. I managed to stand upright. I cradled the left elbow with my right hand and shuffled out of the bedroom. The flat was empty but Vita had left a note propped up on the kitchen bench beside the Panadol packet.

Dear Cliffo

The working girl has gone to work. You were groaning in the night so I figured something must be hurting and you might need these. I don’t know what you eat in the morning but you’ll find some cereal and stuff in the cupboards. If you drink beer for breakfast like some men (and women) I’ve known, then you ‘re shit out of luck.

It was great getting to know you. Next move is up to you. I’d like to help with the matter on hand (being discreet here, see?), if you think I can.

The key unlocks the back gate, just be firm and confident with Dylan. I’ve told him you are a friend of mine and I think he understood.

Vi.

I stood in the sunny, warm kitchen, grinning and feeling good despite my injuries, infidelity and uncertainty about the matter at hand. Still nursing my left arm, I rummaged in the cupboards and found a packet of muesli that seemed to be so low on some things and so free of others that it was unlikely to have any taste. I toasted a few slices of wholemeal, low-salt bread, spread them with something called Canola and drank a cup of decaffeinated instant coffee with fat-free milk. This was an overload of self-denial-I felt as if I was training to be some kind of monk, but I was still happy.