Smoky Joe's Cafe by Bryce Courtenay

Author:Bryce Courtenay [Courtenay, Bryce]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Fiction, War & Military
ISBN: 9781742280707
Google: 0vvx9UHdLNkC
Publisher: Penguin Group Australia
Published: 2006-08-27T14:00:00+00:00

Unknown

I catch Gazza’s eye as I’m going out and I can read what’s going on in his head clear as daylight. He’s shaking it slowly from side to side and what he’s saying inside is, ‘Jesus, Thommo, you oughta belt her one. I wouldn’t put up with that kind a shit from my missus!’ I admit, I’m not much me self, but I’m glad I don’t wear Gazza’s head atop me shoulders. He’s a good warrior but he has his moments. After Vietnam he joined the French Foreign Legion, which scrambled his brains even further.

Macca puts his hand on my arm as I go through the door, but he don’t say nothing. He’s a good bloke, Macca. Like Mo, not much said, but always there at your side when you need him.

I know Wendy will want to doll herself up a bit and, as every bloke knows, that takes a bit of time. I’m kind of grinning to me self as I walk down the street on the way to Smoky Joe’s. These dumb bastards don’t know what they just agreed upon. Wendy Thompson ain’t a woman to be denied. Besides, she’s not got a brain freshly fumigated by last night’s piss fumes.

It don’t take too long to get Wendy to the meeting. She worms her way into a pair o’ fresh jeans by lying on the bed and pulling them up over her bum, wriggling and puffing like she’s fitting on a new skin.

‘Hey, you’ve got no panties on,’ I say, pointing to the unzipped jeans. She’s lying there, topless, looking beautiful, and I’d be telling a lie if I said I didn’t feel a stirring.

‘Don’t fuss, Thommo, panties would show through,

it’s the new look. Now help me with the zip, will?’

‘Jesus, Wendy, them jeans are so tight if I zips, it’ll cut a very painful path through the jungle!’

She laughs. ‘That’s why I need you, Thommo. I need both my hands to push down my tummy to avoid just such an eventuality!’

‘I suppose a quickie would be out of the question?’

I ask, hopefully.

‘What!’ she yells and stabs a finger down at her jeans, ‘And have to do this all over again! Get real, lover boy, I’m dressing for a different sort of action.’ ‘Take a deep breath then,’ I instruct. Then I zip her, successfully missing the forest canopy. She slips on a light blue sweater that’s not exactly flat in the front nor sagging neither. She ain’t that big in the front but her nipples point to the moon and there’s as nice a handful available as any man could wish for. I admit the look ain’t exactly what you’d call subtle and a married bloke like me ought to say something as a matter of duty. But after this morning I’m not game to open me big mouth.

Besides, to tell the truth, I’m concentrating on fighting the battle of the bulge down in me own jungle region.

Thank Gawd, she don’t put on high-heel boots but slips on her loafers.

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