Floodtide Read online

  He left Steve's an hour later and set off for Subiaco. Ruby wasn't expecting him, but she was always home on a Friday afternoon and they had a lot to talk about. Spud was raring to go.

  Spud Farrell and Ruby Chan were entering into a partnership. The property next door to the Sun Majestic Massage Parlour was up for sale, and it had been Spud's idea to buy it and extend the brothel under Ruby's management. The money it would make would repay the hefty loan he'd need for the purchase, and after that he'd be laughing.

  He parked in the street outside Ruby's house, surprised that her car wasn't in the driveway. He should have rung, he thought, but he often popped in on a Friday arvo. Perhaps she was just out shopping. He decided he'd wait.

  He walked down the side path and into the small back garden. The grass was freshly mown, he noticed, and he smiled as he wondered whether Ruby had found another young virgin to take under her wing. He doubted it; she was well over forty now – past it for a successful hooker. Not that she wasn't still a good-looking sort, but Ruby was too smart to compete with the young ones. She was a businesswoman these days. And a formidable one at that, with contacts in high places. Hell, Spud thought, the dirt he got on the corporate executives and the pollies who frequented the Sun Majestic made Ruby an even more valuable contact than Anthony bloody Wilson. It was an added incentive to their partnership.

  He sat on the back steps and lit up a smoke. Strange that Ruby chose to remain here, he thought, looking at the poky little garden and the wooden dunny, the rotary-blade mower leaning against it – he couldn't believe she still had the old mower. Surely she could afford a place flashier than this. But then perhaps not. All of her money had gone into the Sun Majestic. He hadn't known until recently that Ruby owned the brothel; he'd presumed it belonged to some anonymous fat cat – most of the whorehouses did – and that she merely ran the business. But she'd told him with great pride that she'd recently paid off the last of the mortgage and she now owned the property lock, stock and barrel. Bloody convenient, Spud thought. That's what had inspired him to make a bid for the place next door when it had come on the market. Christ, they were going to make a killing.

  'It's Spud, isn't it?'

  He'd been so deep in his thoughts that he hadn't heard the back door open behind him. He turned. Jesus, he thought. It's her.

  'Spud. That's right. G'day, Mayjay.' He stood.

  'You remembered.' She smiled with pretended surprise.

  'Yep. Took a second or so, but it came back to me.' He grinned cockily. Christ alive, of course he remembered, and she bloody well knew it.

  'You're waiting for Ruby?'

  He nodded.

  'She's out shopping, she won't be long. Come on in.'

  Shit, he thought, stubbing out his cigarette, this is what happened last time.

  'We'll have to stop meeting like this, won't we,' she said suggestively as she stood aside to let him in.

  Spud had just turned seventeen the first time he'd met Mayjay, and the circumstances had been much the same. He'd come to Ruby's to mow the grass, arriving a little earlier than usual, and she'd been out shopping. He'd stripped down to the waist and started pushing the old mower around, unaware that the back door had opened and that he was being watched.

  After a few minutes, he'd stopped to take a breather.

  'Hello,' she called.

  He looked to the back door, thinking that Ruby had returned, but it wasn't Ruby standing there. It was the most gorgeous-looking creature he'd ever seen in his life. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, her beauty was so dramatically arresting that for a moment he was speechless.

  'It's very hot out there,' she said. 'Why don't you come in and have a glass of lemonade? Or there's beer if you prefer.'

  He propped the mower against the outhouse, gathered up his shirt and joined her.

  'I'm Mary-Jane,' she said, ushering him into the lounge room and offering her hand. 'Mary-Jane Smith. But you can call me Mayjay.'

  'Spud,' he replied, finding his voice. She was somewhat taller than he was, and she wore a light cotton dress with shoestring straps, displaying the tanned flawless skin of her shoulders and a shape that was perfect. She had to be a model, he thought. He guessed her age at around eighteen, only a year or so older than him, but she was so self-assured that he felt very young and very clumsy. 'Spud Farrell,' he said with a little more force as they shook hands, he wasn't accustomed to feeling awkward.

  Mayjay smiled. She was fully aware of the effect she had upon men. Old, young, they were all the same.

  'You're a friend of Ruby's, are you?' she asked.

  'Yeah, that's right.' Why had she said friend like that, he wondered; it sounded very suggestive. 'I mow the grass for her.'

  'I bet you do.' The black eyebrows raised a fraction and the perfect mouth curved in a smile that was more than suggestive, it was lascivious.

  Spud was bewildered. What was going on? She couldn't be coming on to him – not a bird like her. Where was the lemonade or the beer she'd offered? She was taking the piss out of him, he decided. Well, bugger that.

  'Yep, I mow the grass and I fix things around the house – I'm a sort of handyman, see.' He backed away, slipping an arm into his denim shirt, about to shrug it over his shoulders.

  'Don't do that.'

  He froze. It was an order and he found himself instinctively obeying.

  She looked him up and down with a cool objectivity, the way farmers appraise breeding stock, her gaze coming to rest on the light fuzz of ginger curls that had only recently sprouted in the centre of his chest. 'You look much nicer without the shirt.'

  Shit, Spud thought, what the hell's going on?

  She kicked off her sandals and sat on the sofa, leaning back, heaving her dress up to her thighs. 'And it's so hot, isn't it? Too hot for clothes.'

  He could see a glimpse of lace-pantied crotch and the sight was arousing. She had to be coming on to him, he thought. But her eyes didn't invite, they mocked – what was she playing at? Was she a hooker? She sure as hell didn't look like a hooker, but what was she doing in Ruby's house?

  'You're a good-looking young man, Spud,' she said.

  She didn't find him good-looking at all. He was as common as muck, she thought, but cute in a way. And just a kid – little more than sixteen, she guessed. That was what made him so interesting. Mayjay loved to tease.

  'I bet you're great in bed.'

  She rose and crossed to where he stood, mesmerised, the denim shirt still dangling from his wrist to the floor.

  'How do you like it? Kinky?' She smiled a challenge. 'I do. The kinkier the better. Ever tried auto-eroticism?'

  Her hands were suddenly on the belt of his jeans, and instinctively he went to ward them off. She was teasing him, playing a game, and, despite his erection, he wasn't sure that he liked it.

  'Don't be frightened, Spud,' she said, gently pushing his hands away, undoing the belt, slowly feeding it free. He didn't stop her. He couldn't. Her eyes were hypnotically locked onto his now, and he couldn't seem to speak, let alone move.

  'I can give you the greatest thrill you've ever had,' she said. 'I can fuck you like you've never been fucked before.' She fastened the belt around her neck and pulled it tight, like a noose, holding on to the end of the strap. 'I just bet you'd love doing it my way.'

  Mayjay enjoyed teasing, but she liked to shock far more, and she could see the effect she was having on him. He was shocked all right, and fascinated too. She had him under her spell, she was turning him on, and she was beginning to feel quite horny herself. God, she could teach him a trick or two, she thought.

  Spud didn't resist as she started undoing his jeans. This was no longer a game. This was something dangerously exciting and his heart was pounding with anticipation.

  'Give him his belt back, Mary-Jane.'

  Ruby's voice cut the air like a knife and they turned to see her standing in the doorway to the hall, a bag of groceries in her hand.

  'Hello, Ruby.'

  Mayjay wasn
't at all fazed by her mother's arrival. She'd expected Ruby home soon – maybe she'd even wanted to be sprung in the act. She liked to shock her mother. She liked to remind Ruby that the daughter of a whore couldn't be expected to behave like the daughters of proper women.

  'I was just filling in for you,' she said. 'Aren't you pleased?' She took the belt from her neck and handed it to Spud, who'd quickly zipped up his jeans.

  Ruby ignored her. 'Hello, Spud,' she said. 'Come into the kitchen.'

  She left, and Spud obediently followed her.

  'I'm sorry, Ruby,' he said as she started briskly unpacking the groceries onto the kitchen table. 'I didn't mean to –'

  'I know you didn't, it's not your fault.'

  'Well, of course it's not his fault, is it – he's just a kid.' Mayjay lounged against the door frame. 'God, Ruby, you pick them younger by the minute.'

  'Go away, Mary-Jane, we'll talk about this later.'

  Mayjay shrugged. 'It's one thing to have a mother who's a hooker,' she said to Spud, 'but a paedophile as well ...?' She raised an eyebrow and slouched off.

  Mother? Oh hell, Spud thought. He'd been about to have sex with Ruby's daughter in Ruby's very own home. He hardly dared look at her.

  But Ruby appeared unruffled as she packed the groceries away. Mary-Jane was punishing her again. She didn't know why her daughter found it necessary to punish her – Mary-Jane had been protected from the world of prostitution and well educated. Ruby had put her through a June Dally-Watkins modelling course in Sydney and she had a successful career ahead of her. Yet she still felt the desire to humiliate, and this time she'd been particularly blatant. Probably because she was back in the old home town with the brothel barely a mile away, Ruby thought. It was a pity, but the sooner Mary-Jane went back to Sydney the better. They had a good relationship when Ruby visited her there – far from the Sun Majestic.

  'Mary-Jane's come home for a fortnight's holiday,' she said, as if nothing had happened. 'She lives in Sydney. She's a model.'

  'Really?' Spud was deeply relieved that Ruby wasn't mad. 'That's what I thought the moment I laid eyes on her.'

  Ruby crossed to the refrigerator with the milk and butter.

  'Honestly, I did. As soon as I saw her, I thought, wow, she's gotta be a model, with looks like that.' Spud's relief was getting the better of him, he was running off at the mouth.

  Ruby closed the refrigerator door and turned to him.

  'Like mother, like daughter, eh?' He gave a hopeful grin, but his bravado was deserting him. She didn't seem angry but her face was set in a warning.

  'Hands off, Spud. You don't go near her, do you hear me?'

  The grin disappeared in an instant and he nodded furiously.

  'You don't even know she's my daughter. You tell no-one, understand?'

  'Sure, Ruby. I won't tell a soul. I promise.'

  'How long's it been, Spud?' Mayjay sat on the sofa, her legs curled under her. This time she was wearing a pair of beige cords and a lightweight turtle-neck sweater. She looked very elegant – every inch the model.

  'Six years,' he said, sitting in the armchair opposite. She'd offered him a beer but he'd declined. He wasn't sure how long he was going to stay.

  'Six years? Really?' She knew it was six years – she hadn't been back to Perth since that trip, and she wouldn't be here now if it weren't for business. The place was a bloody backwater.

  'I've seen you in those skin cream ads on telly,' he said, 'I thought you looked really terrific.'

  'Thank you.'

  'You've changed your hair though.'

  'Don't you like it?'

  'Sure,' he said, a little lacklustre. 'It's great.' He thought it looked better the way it had been before. It was shorter and bouncier now, and much lighter – a sort of sandy blonde. He preferred it darker and longer. But hell, you couldn't mess up looks like hers, she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

  She laughed. He'd grown up, she thought. She didn't alarm him any more. It was a pity he'd lost the cuteness he'd had. He looked like a little thug. She might have fancied him otherwise.

  'It's what they're after,' she said, running a hand through her manufactured mane of curls. 'They want the wild beach girl look. They thought the dark hair was too foreign.'

  'Oh, right.' He nodded. It was the dark hair and eyes she'd inherited from her mother that gave her that added touch of the exotic. 'Who're they?'

  'The advertising agency. I'm here to do screen tests – a minimum twelve-month contract starting next year if I get the job.'

  'And what's the job?'

  'The new face of tourism for Western Australia!' She gave it a dramatic ring. 'But they want more than the face, they want the body too – someone who looks good in a bikini. "Wild, carefree, beach girl beauty", that's what they told my agent.' She stood up, legs astride, hands on hips. 'Do you think I fit the bill?'

  'Well, you've sure got the body for it,' Spud said admiringly.

  She perched a buttock on the arm of his chair and leaned in to him, her breasts enticing in the turtle-neck sweater.

  'Want to pick up where we left off, Spud?' she purred. 'I see you're wearing a belt.'

  Jesus, wouldn't he half love to. But she was teasing. Probably hoping Ruby'd spring them again, he thought. Mayjay was trouble. Besides, he didn't dare touch her with a twenty-foot bargepole. Ruby'd have his guts for garters if he did.

  'No thanks, Mayjay. I think I'll give it a miss.' He stood. 'Tell Ruby I called in, will you?'

  'Chicken.'

  'Good luck with the job.'

  She was laughing as he made his escape.

  CHAPTER SIX

  'It's lovely, dear. Quite, quite lovely!' Ian was showing his mother around the new apartment he'd purchased in the city. It was to be his pied-à-terre for the weekends when he came into town. Cynthia had been forced to overcome her dismay at the prospect of her son not staying in the family home during his visits to Perth.

  'He's twenty-three years old and he wants an apartment in the city,' Gordon had argued in his peremptory fashion. 'For God's sake, Cynthia, he's a young man.' The inference being that a young man might wish to entertain young women in his own apartment.

  She'd accepted the inevitable, telling herself it would be fun helping Ian hunt for the apartment of his choice, but she'd been thwarted there too. Ian had said he had 'people in the know', and that he wanted to make his own decisions, and Cynthia had had to satisfy herself with his promise that she would be the first to see the flat he'd selected.

  She'd approved of the building the moment she'd laid eyes on it. The block of stone flats in the Esplanade, with arched balconies overlooking the park and the river and ferry terminals, had a prewar elegance – unlike the modern brickwork monstrosities popping up all over the place and which she abhorred.

  'You've shown impeccable taste, I must say.' Her gaze wandered around the spacious lounge room with its high moulded ceilings and solid wooden floors. 'There's a touch of the colonial, isn't there?' She ran her fingers over the polished surface of the mantelpiece and the gleaming tiles of the fireplace. 'Perfectly renovated,' she said admiringly, 'the interior is so beautifully modernised without losing its original character.' That sort of thing was frightfully fashionable these days, she thought.