I was still thinking about enlisting the aid of Wanda Wonderpussy while I continued to serve from behind the bar. So lost had I become in those thoughts that I didn’t notice her arrival, thus allowing Caroline Cross the opportunity to catch me off guard.

I looked up across the bar as I handed a customer his Corona with a lime wedge, and there she was standing just beside him. As the guy wandered off, Caroline offered me a small smile.

“Hello Puck,” Caroline uttered from between pouting lips, revealing twin dimples in her cheeks I would’ve happily dug out with a pneumatic drill. I found it astounding that she stood there, dressed in an expensive, virginal white outfit by some high-end fashion designer, where as far as I was concerned, she ought to have been garbed in scarlet.

“Well, well, well…” I responded and crossed my arms over my chest, bringing myself up to my full height. “Caroline. Hmm. So – what’s a girl like you doing in a nice place like this?”

“Don’t you mean -?”

“I said what I meant,” I assured her firmly.

Caroline hesitated before responding. “Puck, I am trying.”

“Yes, you are,” I agreed. “Very trying.” Glancing over her shoulder, I saw Drew Ducharme was also present. He lingered a few feet behind, talking to a couple of guys and a drag queen. I wondered whose idea it had been – Caroline or Drew’s – to drop by like this?

Caroline did her best to retain her cool composure. “May be I’ll just order a drink,” she said thoughtfully.

“Sure. Would you like lies with that?” I asked her.

She could not ignore my acerbic attitude that time, and grimaced accordingly. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you Puck?”

“Thanks for noticing,” I replied. “Do you think it should be easy?” I asked her.

Caroline tapped the top of the bar with her long, well manicured nails while meeting my gaze. Then she announced: “Think I’ll pass on that drink for the time being…” she withdrew, returning to Drew’s side. He looked up at me, his expression betraying a sense of uncertainty; he seemed caught by the uncomfortable circumstances. Still, he managed a smile for me. I gave a grim nod by way of reply.

Nicky approached the bar mere seconds later, by which time I was busy at the blender, making a couple of daiquiris, but noticed him nonetheless. He was giving me a meaningful look.

“Guess who’s here?” he said.

“Hmm, judging by that smug expression on your face, it has to be someone pretty special…” I said, considering the range of possibilities. “Ian Thorpe in an edible g-string?”

“God how I wish – but no,” Nicky said, appearing dejected. “It’ll happen one day – wait and see,” Nicky said, nodding vigorously.

“If you say so,” I replied, sounding less than convinced. “Nicky, I don’t really have time for ’20 Questions’…” I pointed out.

“Ok, Ok,” he snapped. “Caroline Cross,” he said, hissing her name.

“Yeah I know already. Saw her about five minutes ago,” I told him casually.

“Oh really?” he said, leaning closer over the bar. “What did she say?” And so I recounted our little exchange to him. Nicky giggled with approval.

Finished with the daiquiris, I carried them to the end of the bar to the drag queens who’d ordered them. When the transaction was done, I went back to Nicky.

“Hmm, can I grab a Bloody Mary?” he asked me.

“But you hate tomato juice,” I reminded him.

Nicky smiled at me. “Don’t argue with me, bar boy. Just get the drink, ok?,” he said haughtily.

I bit my tongue – otherwise prickly with scathing retorts as a result of the ”bar boy” remark, not to mention his superior attitude. I set about to put the drink together for him, telling myself that the customer is always right – at least until they develop alcohol poisoning or crystal meth rage, at which point they will be unceremoniously dumped out onto the street to lay there in a puddle of their own vomit and piss.

Moments later I placed a tulip-shaped cocktail glass in front of Nicky, garnished with a stick of celery and a slice of orange. Nicky took out his wallet with devilish flair while I glared at him.

“I should charge you double,” I told him.

“Perhaps. But you won’t,” he said handing over a $20 bill. “Keep the change – you’re doing a really splendid job, bar boy...” And with that he flounced off with the cocktail in hand.

“Obnoxious much?” I muttered after him, yet still happy to drop the left over change into my tip jar. I considered the notion of using that evening’s tips towards a contract on Nicky’s life; or if I didn’t have enough for that, perhaps take a contract out on his hair care products.

A matter of mere minutes passed before one of the new bussies, Kyle, pushed his way passed patrons to the front of the bar, appearing hot, sweaty and harassed.

“Puck, can you toss me a tea towel…?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, fishing the tea towel out of the back pocket of my jeans and throwing it to him. “What’s up?”

“Oh… big dramas,” he moaned, rolling his eyes for extra effect. “Some screaming queen just tripped and spilt a Bloody Mary all over this girl in an expensive white dress, and she’s freakin’ out to the max, man!” Kyle exclaimed. He turned quickly on his heel and headed towards the fracas, just a couple of meters away from the bar.

My eyes followed him and until he was handing the towel to Caroline Cross. She wiped furiously at the dark red smear on her thoroughly ruined dress, her face having transformed to a hue that matched the ugly stain which ran from breast down to hem.

Nicky stood in front of her doing a marvelous rendition of his ‘Much Aggrieved and Apologetic Cute Faggy Boy’, a role that had almost won him a Tony Award going back a few years (damn Hugh Jackman and ’The Boy from Oz’!). Looming at Caroline’s side was Drew. Being the gentleman he was, Drew was attempting to help remove the stain, having procured a handful of paper toweling (presumably from the toilets). But all his efforts seem to accomplish was spread the stain further as Caroline produced a string of expletives that could be heard above the deafening beat coming from the dance floor.

Standing behind the bar with a grin from ear to ear, I silently vowed to name my first-born child (or Dalmatian dog, whichever was more probable and/or happened along first) after Nicky.

I nodded. “Good idea,” I replied. “Shame about the outfit… may be she could get it all dyed ‘tomato red’…?”

He eyed me warily. “Please tell me you didn’t put Nicky up to this…?”

I laughed out loud. “No, but God, I wish I’d thought of it.”

Drew sighed, but could scarcely hide a crooked – yet guilty – grin. “OK, I’d better get going… But there’s just one more thing,” he said, leaning across the bar. At that moment, I noticed that Sullivan Dale had moved up along side of Drew, two empty glasses in his hands. Then Drew’s hands reached out, gently taking my face between them, and he drew me in close, fast and hungrily, and kissed me deep. He pulled away and winked.

“’Night, Puck,” he said and turned away and headed towards the stairs where Caroline, a picture of heated fury, stood waiting for him, her eyes narrowed and fixed upon me. As they descended the stairs to the club’s doorway and the outside world, I suddenly remembered Sullivan Dale. I turned to see him leaning against the bar, a sly smile on his face.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” he said eagerly.

“Pff!” I cried. “Not even if you handcuffed me,” I cried.

“Mmm... now there’s a thought,” he said, as though pondering the image carefully. “How do you feel about cavity searches?” he asked me suddenly.

“How do you feel about going through the rest of your life without your ball sack?” I shot back. “Assuming, of course, you have one?”

He made to undo his jeans. “I can prove it if you like….?”

“God no! Spare us all that nightmare, puh-lease!” I begged, and put my hand across my mouth, as though fending off a bout of violent vomiting. To my extreme irritation, Sullivan Dale just stood there, chuckling to himself, a twinkle of pleasure and amusement in his dark eyes.

I looked over at Ari, who was working nearby. “I’m going for a fag break, cover me,” I growled and before Ari had time to reply, I slipped out the back of the bar.

I lingered in the bussy area, so named because it was a small alcove filled with rubbish bins, mops, buckets and also held the sinks and glass washing machines employed by the bussying staff as part of their nightly routine. There I leant against a wall and lit up and drew back hungrily on the cigarette.

I took the moment to take my mobile phone out of my jeans pocket and dialed Wanda’s number. The call went to her voicemail service, so I left a message.

“Hey hun, it’s Puck. I know you’re performing over the other side of town tonight, but have a huge favour to ask of you. Can you drop by The Depot tomorrow night? I start at ten o’clock, so any time after that is cool. Speak to you then, Wanda. Take it easy.” I disconnected from the call and finished my fag, wondering why the world seemed to be so heavily populated with the dickheads like Sullivan Dale and Sevastian Von Dahl.

Desi reacted to the concoction with considerable drama; poking her tongue out and waving fresh air across it as her eyes water. The sight of her discomfort brought a smile to Tish’s lips, and my own, too. When she realised we were amused by her situation, Desi giggled, shaking her head, her wild and curly hair flipping from side to side.

A little later in the night, when I took my fifteen-minute break, I sat on the other side of the bar with a long, frosty glass of vodka and Cranberry juice. Nicky and I chuckled about his devious act of ‘frock sabotage’ as if we were reminiscing about a pleasant family Christmas gathering from a bygone era, as we filled Desi and Tish in on the drama that they’d missed. At the conclusion of the tale, I took some time out from the mirth to warn him that Caroline would be inclined to send him the dry cleaning bill.

“Oh honey…!” he replied, dismissing the suggestion with a flamboyant wave of his Bvlgari bejeweled hand. “I’d pay to have her entire wardrobe dry cleaned – and her pussy, too! The expression on her face was bloody priceless!” He roared with glee.

I raised my glass in a salute to him. “To the master,” I declared, and Desi and Tish raised their own glasses to salute him.

Happily, Nicky picked up his own glass of champagne. “Ah, thank you, I do, young Padawan learner,” he replied with a camped-up – and utterly deplorable - attempt to mimic Yoda. “Much have you to learn in the ways of The Scene, though the Chosen One you may be – he who brings faaaaaaaabulousness to the The Scene. Mmm…? Yes…?”

“Faaaaaaabulousness? I’ll drink to that,” I said with a decisive nod, and we brought our glasses to meet.

“Am I the only one who didn’t see this coming?” I asked bluntly.

Desi and Tish looked at one another in a slightly conspiratol manner. Tish spoke first. “It’s not like it’s been a burning thought in my mind or anything…. And when Desi and I were talking about I earlier, on the drive over here,” Tish explained, “we realised we both kind of thought the same way – it didn’t really come as that much of a surprise. We’re more surprised that Michael never said anything to us about it…”

“He was probably too embarrassed,” Desi offered.

“What do you think was in the letter meant for Alexander?” I asked.

“Think that’s pretty obvious, don’t you?” remarked Tish, and I nodded.

“Yeah… thought as much,” I said in agreement. The letter to Alexander had probably been Michael’s way of confessing his feelings to him.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Nicky cried, his voice betraying his annoyance. When I looked up to see what the problem was, I spied Goldie Knox, decked out in a shimmer silver and blue cocktail dress, standing right at my side, one hand on her hip, the other holding a cigarette to her painted lips. So this was the source of Nicky’s irritation.

Goldie shook her head at us. “You lot really are as fucking thick as they come, aren’t ya’?” Goldie bellowed in her gruff, deep voice. Tish looked offended and about to say something, but Goldie beat her to it.

“Anyone with half a fucking brain could’ve worked out that Michael and Alexander had the hots for one another,” Goldie declared. “And you guys – their best mates – are just figuring it out now?!” Goldie exclaimed. “Jesus fucking Christ in a Barbie Camper Van” she moaned, then eyed me critically. “I expected better from you, Puck darlling. After all, you figured out who was blackmailing me last year… but this? C’mon!”

“Wait, what did you say…?” I interrupted, frowning at her.

She heaved her padded bra up, adjusting her tits slightly, then gave me an exasperated look. “Who does a lady gotta’ do to get a bloody drink in this hole…?”

Nicky muttered something unpleasant to Goldie’s query, of which I only caught a few words, but it sounded like it involved livestock and a dentist’s drill.

“Goldie…? You reckon that they – Michael and Alexander – were together?” I asked her.

She rolled her eyes at me. “No, you stupid shit,” she said. “I said that they were hot for one another – didn’t ya’ hear me?” She whacked me across the ear like some elderly aunt high on Hormone Replacement Therapy drugs. “The two things are not the same – get it, darling…?!”

“Ok, ok,” I said, fending off any more attacks. “I get it, I get it,” I replied. I looked over at Desi and Tish and in their eyes I saw reflected my own dawning understanding, mixed with incredulous surprise: 'Was that it? Was it true? Had Michael and Alexander both been secretly in love with the other...? And if they had... what did this mean in terms of Michael’s suicide attempt, not to mention Alexander’s apparent efforts to save Michael's life…?’

Goldie was holding onto her Jack Daniels and coke, which she sipped through a straw. She took a deep draught of the beverage, burped like a sailor and said: “I remember seeing them at the pub a few months ago, y’know? And they were standing together at the bar, talking and what have you… and it was just so bloody obvious, and so fucking sweet I wanted to ralph…”

I shook my head, not following her comments at all and wondering if we were talking about the same two people.

“Huh...?” I said stupidly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Goldie cried caustically. “What are ya’…? Thick or something?” she asked. “I mean geez, you’re pretty, but bloody dumb,” she said matter-of-factly. She sighed. “Look, I’ve been around awhile – no smart arse comments, either,” she warned, pointing a red-taloned finger at me in a threatening manner. “Anyway… I’ve seen it all, darling. And I know what I saw that night. They were completely besotted with one another. It was in their eyes, the way they smiled… it was revolting,” she said with a sneer. “But you know what else I saw, Pucky, darlin’…?”

I shook my head.

“I saw a secret,” she said with a smile. “And like any good fag who has survived on The Scene as long as I have – and don’t you fuckin’ even think of asking how long that is!” Goldie cautioned. “I know when it’s the right time to keep a secret, and when it’s the right time to tell a secret…” She winked at me and then another burp rumbled up from her belly.

“Why didn’t we see it?” I asked, more of myself than of Goldie.

She shrugged. “Our mates know us, darlin’…. Our closest friends know us best,” she added. “So they know how to hide from us, y’know what I’m saying? They can make sure we only see what they want us to see. Unless you’re an old tart like me who’s seen it all and doesn’t give a rat’s arse anymore.”

At that moment, a tall, shirtless guy walked by; well muscled and young and handsome, he caught Goldie’s eye instantly. She grinned at me. “Gotta’ go and introduce myself to that … he’s going to be the next Mr Goldie Knox… well, at least until I kick his arse out of bed in the morning,” she concluded with a grin, and thus turned to follow him, swaying her hips provocatively.

When Peter Devries, the club’s head of security, came up to the bar towards the end of the night, looking for a bottle of water, I happily fetched it for him from the fridge behind me. But before he left to resume his rounds of the venue, ensuring all the patrons were playing nicely, I grabbed his hand, urging him to stay put.

“Peter, before you go… there’s something I gotta’ ask you,” I began.

He nodded, waiting patiently. “Sure mate, what’s up?” He prodded me as I silently grappled with my request.

“I need your help with something…. Some information,” I explained. “But it’s going to be a big ask… and if this thing with Michael wasn’t so important, I would never put you in this position,” I told him.

“Puck, just ask,” Peter said, looking serious.

“OK, well you once said that the guy who runs the security company for the hospital down the road was an ex-army pal of yours, yeah…?” I said, refreshing his memory.

“Yup, he is,” he said, a frown on his brow. “Why?”

I took a deep breath. “I was wondering if you could do something for me….” And so I sketched out what I wanted Peter to do. He didn’t bat an eyelid. He just smiled, when I was done talking, and leaned across the bar to pat me reassuringly on the shoulder.

“Done, buddy,” he said. He paused for a moment, looking at me intently. “What do you expect to find?”

“The truth. And lies,” I replied simply.

<< - >>

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