PASSION UP A PAW PAW TREE
— A Swills & Swoon Romance —
‘Ring – ring’ Timothy’s phone rent the cool, morning, sub-tropical air with mechanical insistence “Hellooo.” A voice as smooth as serpentine caressed his ear. “Goldie here, remember? You quoted on my verandah renovations; the price is right, and you seem to have all the right dimensions, er, qualifications. The job’s yours, when con you start?”
“Is half an hour too late?! Thanks a lot Miss Digger.”
Tim sang happily as he loaded his Italian-built Zucchini-Farini customized ban “Hitler, had only one left …”. His unruly dark hair hung over his forehead with boyish impertinence.
The eager young builder crunched up Goldie’s sunny driveway; his hammer swung rhythmically as he thought of her amber eyes and abundance of coppery hair “Rommel, had two but here were…” he hummed happily. The object of his fancy appeared above him, not leaning on the verandah rail. She was diaphanous in a gossamer shift. Laser beams of desire charged the gulf between them; their eyes met, but their lips could not. The stair treads were reduced to mere shells through termite attack.
“Rotten steps eh? I’ll soon fix ‘em!” laughed Timothy as he ran to his van for materials “Those stairs will be re-built in no time, and then … and then!” Tim hammered and sawed, sawed and measured, measured and chiseled, a hardwood ascent to his love. His face shone with sweat and triumph as he stepped, tired but happy, onto the verandah, the steps complete. Four trembling hands reached out to touch…
‘Ring – ring’ “Just a minute.” Said Goldie irritably as she buried inside. Timothy signed as he rested his aching abdominus rectus against the railing – Crash! Alas, the white ants had cunningly prepared his downfall – literally! Right into the coleus bed below. The loyal Zucchini-Farini dashed over and looked down on its master with concern; but a bruised gluteus maximus (and dignity) was the only damage. The keen young craftsman was fitting a new railing when Goldie returned “That was Mort Guage,” she said in puzzlement “the rich and handsome owner of the Hirise Development Empire. He said that he had a big surprise for me – and he’s on his way. Nice railing Tim, but do you mind not parking your van on my garden. (I get the strangest sensation that the stupid van is watching me?! Ah, crazy.)”
The light of a salmon sunset was broken by a fretwork of palm fronds as Mort Guage roared up the drive in his purple sports ca, a supercharged Borsche. He parked next to the van, which had its bonnet open to cool off. Goldie slipped a check into Timothy’s pencil pocket – Time checked the dipstick.
“Hi Babe,” purred Mort “who’s the hired help?”
“Oh, er, this is Timothy, my builder – I’m sorry Tim, but I didn’t catch your surname?”
“Timothy G. Burr” he replied curtly.
“What’s the ‘G’ for?” smirked Mort.
“Gerald” Tim was now defensive.
“Gerald! The original jerry builder! Ha, ha, – time to clock off Jerry.”
“Don’t call me Jerry, it’s Tim Burr to you.”
“ha, ha, good one Jesus – Goldie, my big surprise is … a brand-new concrete verandah – for you! My construction team will be here first thing tomorrow – that old wreck will soon be history!”
“But Mort, you’re probably unaware that Jerry … I mean Tim, rebuilt the wreck .. I mean verandah, only today” protested Goldie weakly.
Mort leaned on Tim’s van, a look of patient exasperation on his sculptured features “Wrong Bab, it’ll be finished by the end of the week – permanently, in concrete!” He tossed his golden blow-dried hair in contempt. Then with a wicked ‘Beep’, the van dropped its bonnet on Mort’s beautifully manicured fingers!
‘Ring – ring’ “Mort Guage here, Hirise Developments.”
“It’s my Boss, Red Knekk your new foreman. I wish you hadn’t promised Miss Digger that we could pour her concrete today – it’s raining cats ‘n’ dogs out here!”
“You Piltdown pinhead! If I’m to win Goldie’s … I mean Miss Digger’s hand, that verandah has to be finished this week – I promised. And by the way, keep the clichés down a bit.”
“Maybe we could build in timber?” suggested Red helpfully, but thought “Who the hell are the Kleeshays?”
“Timber!” shrieked Mort “I hate timber, its aesthetic qualities disgust me – and its ease of construction is for pimps – wimps – whatever!” Mort’s voice lowered conspiratorially “There’s a thousand shares in Poseidon Minerals for you if the job’s finished this week.”
“Gosh, thanks Boss – don’t you worry, we’ll be in like Flynn!” Red hung up, breathless with gratitude “Poseidon Minerals – woe, they sound good! Maybe Flynn know the Kleeshays?”
As the wet season rain drummed on Goldie’s roof, Timothy was busily replacing the rotten verandah boards “Himmler, had something sim’lar …”
Tim always sang when he was happy – the same song!
“Milk or cream in your coffee?” cooed Goldie, her hand trembling slightly with, as yet, unrequited passion, when … ‘Thook, Thook, Thook …’
The sky darkened, Timothy’s trusty can beep-beeped a warning, but it was too late. Four huge transport choppers appeared out of the rain, they were carrying a massive black tarpaulin. They slowly descended on the house” Red Knekk’s saveloy finger was poised on the tarp-release button “Tim – berrrr!” he shouted.
“Yes, can I help?” called back Tim. Goldie swooned (conveniently) against Tim’s stone-hard left pectoral. He touched her cheek, smooth and pink like rose quartz – he lowered her tenderly onto the thick carpet …
‘Ring – ring’ the roar of the chopper made it difficult to hear the ‘copter’s mobile phone as Red answered “Yes Boss? … What? … You don’t? But you said if we didn’t finish the job this .. Okay Boss, we’ll return to base. You said we’d be standing on the threshold of a new error … what? … my pronunciation? What’s wrong with it?”
The sun shone again, Timothy’s face wore a mixed expression of relief and resolve, passion and pain, anger and anxiety, bliss and banality.
“You look weird!” said Goldie, handing him his hammer.
“Why the abort?” scowled Red later in Morts’ 101st story office.
“Abort’s not a noun.” Snarled The Boss “I’ve just found out that Timothy’s step-uncle is Shylock Shonk, the all-high Grand Vizier of the Building Inspection Board. We can’t afford to offend Shonkey in our business. We’ll use, ah, subtlety instead” Mort’s malars stood out like pre-stressed steel on his chiseled face “Send for Ruby Nymph!”
Red salivated slightly “Ah, I know Ruby, er, I’ve heard of her, the owner of the effluent Let Me Do It Bright For You Massage Parlor.”
“That’s right Red (check your orthoepy on ‘effluent’), it’s going to be your job to create a diversion to get Goldie out of the way. Ruby will be a tasty treat to trap a tow-timer eh Ted, er, Red! Ha, ha…”
“Ha, ha, ha …” laughed Ned, er Ted – Red! “(Why isn’t ‘abort’ a noun? Effluent’ means rich doesn’t it?)”
Timothy’s plane skimmed along Goldie’s new windowsill “Have you got a girlfriend?” she asked coyly, toying with short and curly shaving “I kike men with unruly dark hair hanging over their foreheads with boyish impertin …” But she was cut short by a blaring wolf-whistle from the Italian van ‘Bip – Beep’. Rudy Nymph was gliding up the leafy drive with the measured step of an ocelot. The afternoon light played lambently on her halo of platinum hair – she looked sensational!
‘Ring – ring’ “I’ll get that!” said Goldie with annoyance. Ruby ascended the new stairs; she stumbled slightly on the top step – Timothy rushed to assist. Ruby’s skin felt like soapstone in his calloused hand.
“Thank yooou” she breathed, resting against his flexing deltoid for support “My car has run out of petrol; I need a man to get me going.”
“A man … to get you going? Sure, yes, okay! I’ll just get the van out of my drum …!” gushed Tim “Er, you know what I mean hee, hee.” They ran lightly down the drive together, their hands brushing a little too often for accident. The Zucchini-Farini yearned to follow; his air-con inlet detected a hint of Ruby’s ‘Grand Prix’ perfume as she passed. But what’s this?! From his hiding place in the shrubbery, emerged Mort Guage, leather pants and porcelain smile gleaming. His mouth curved into a scaffold of malignancy.
“The plan worked, Red’s phone call has distracted Goldie, and dumb Jerry swallowed the Ruby bait like a barramundi. Goldie will be soon sooo soft and vulnerable (drool). Here she comes now.”
“Hi Mort, what are you doing here? Where’s Timothy? And where’s that meringue-head female?! Sorry Mort, not your problem; I was just on the phone, some Italian – nuisance call I think.”
“Oh? Someone breathing improper suggestions down the phone?”
“No, someone with atrocious grammar!”
‘Ring – ring’ the car phone in Tim’s van sounded a note of urgency as the happy petrol-fillers dawdled back arm-in-arm, she turned to Tim “Aren’t you going to answer it?” a think smile played on her lips. He reached in the window and grabbed the handpiece impatiently “Yes!”
“This is Goldie – or Miss Digger to you! Her voice was like steel needles “I thought we meant something to each other, but the first time I turn my back, you’re up to no good – up to mischief – like a possum up a paw paw tree – you’re just not up to it Tim …” she broke off weeping. The phone clicked softly in Tim’s unbelieving ear.
Mort Guage grinned in triumph, his burnished hair shone like anodized aluminum “After I’ve finished your verandah, we might even discuss the lounge room, the kitchen – and maybe even (smirk) the bedroom!”
When Timothy had recovered his composure, he sadly turned to Ruby for solace. She learned languorously against the van inspecting a long magenta fingernail – the radiator began to boil!
“that’s funny?” said Tim “I haven’t even been driving it? Ruby? Ruby! … Wait, where are you going? I thought that you and me, that is we …”
“Tough luck bud,” she called back coldly form the twilight “I get paid by the hour – and the meter’s been turned off.” Timothy leaned heavily against his old friend – man and machine consoled each other as the first stars twinkled alight.
‘Ring -ring’ Goldie, rheumy-eyed from weeping, picked up the phone in trembling fingers of pale jad “Sniff – H, hello?”
“Hi sweetheart (slurp), this is Red, Red Knekk – is my boss there?”
“I, I don’t know who you mean – snuffle.”
“My boss, Mort Guage honey (lust). Just give him a message for me. Tell ‘im Ruby’s ‘ere, ‘an it’s different to last time…”
“I think you’ll find that ‘different from’ is the correct usage.” Goldie was now alert, she had recognized the bad grammar at once as the ‘nuisance’ caller, even though he had feigned an Italian accent! She held her piece. Red held his too, and continued “Tell ‘im Ruby won’t take a check. Her accountant said she ‘as to be paid in cash, or she’ll spill the beans .. peas? (damn Kleeshays!) about the petrol ‘an all. Know what I mean?”
Goldie did know what he meant; she dropped the handset and ran out onto the verandah – just in time to see the van’s tail-lights, like two accusing bloodshot eyes, disappearing down the drive. She turned to Mort, who had followed her out, his eyes wide in puzzlement.
“Goldie gorgeous, what is it? Perhaps something I’ve done – or not done – snigger.” Goldie said nothing, her mouth formed a wintery smile, but her knuckles where white stalagmites on the new verandah rail.
‘Ring – ring’ “I’ll get it!” said Mort with relief, he hurried inside. Goldie fell against the verandah post sobbing “Oh what a fool I’ve been – timothy, will you ever forgive me?” she apostrophized into the night” (Even though I’ll never forgive the literary lilliputian who gave me that line!)”
A short time later, a chastened Mort returned, his face as grey as a girder “That was my Colonic Specialist from Belfast, Doctor Hem O’Roids. You see, I’ve had this pain in my … anyway, Dr. O’Roids got the pathology report back today. I’ve got Irish Elm Disease – and it’s terminal!”
“But I though only trees got that?”
“Oh really? I always said timber was a pin in the … anyway, I have a confession to make. I’ve been a rotten egg; all that business with Ruby Nymph was …”
“I know, I know – that’s all over now. (Mort by name, mort by nature!) Let’s forget about her, tell me, ow long do you think you have … er, to live, you know?” But Mort had collapsed on the swinging love seat “I’ll help tidy up your affairs,” she continued smoothly, cash register eyes gleaming “have you made a will?”
“No,” croaked Mort “golly, th… that’s jolly decent of you Goldie, after all I’ve done. Wh… who do you think I should leave my construction empire to?”
“Now let’s see,” she frowned in feigned concentration “There’s the cat’s home – you don’t like cats? Then there’s …” she twisted a lock of Mort’s thinking hair around her little finger. Just then, a perfectly camouflaged figure slid furtively from his/her/its hiding place in the greenery below – he/she/it had heard everything!
‘Ring – ring’ “Yes!” snapped Goldie, annoyed at the interruption, surrounded as she was with Mort’s back statements, will, titles, and folding lettuce – Mort, she found to her delight, had piles! A curious series of bips and beeps sounded through the receiver. “damn phone company!” she went to hang up.
“Wait!” said Mort from his sickbed, as he listened in on the extension. “That’s Mort’s code, I learnt it during my stint as a cubmaster.”
“Beep, big, Beep-beep, big, beep …” the phone fell silent. The Zuccini-Farini had at last unburdened its soul.
“You have a secret lover.” Said Mort, his voice husky with despair.
“What did he say?” asked Goldie.
“Well – sniffle – he said he’s admired your chassis from near and far and he things 4-on-the-gloor beats automatic any day …” poot Mort convulsed in nameless sobs “I, I can’t go on…”
“Spill it buster!”
“Well – choke – he said he’d like you to take hold of his gearshift and cruise down Matrimony Lane – aarrrrggghh – I’m cutting you out of my will Goldie!”
“Damn! That lovesick Zuccini-Farini – last time it gave me a ride, it pinched me on the bottom – those Italians!”
‘Ring – ring’ “Goldie, this is Timothy. I heard about your split-up with Mort Guage, and I was wondering if, if, well, you know…?”
“That would be nice, but I’m busy at the …”
“There’s someone else isn’t there?!”
“Well not really someone” hedged Goldie.
“What’s he like!?” agonized Tim “Does he travel in the fast lane? Is he reliable?” His tortured eye was arrested by the small gold frame hanging near the phone; it held his black belt certificate for Kabuki! An ominous shadow passed across his teak-hard features “you’ll see I’m a real man, not like your boyfriend!” Goldie hung up in anger.
Timothy raced down the track to the creek-crossing where he parked his van “It’s gone again!?” he fumed “Never around when you need it!”
‘Ring – ring’ he ran back u to the house “(This story’s like a telethon!) Yes!?” he panted.
“This is the R.N. Let Us Do It Quiet For Yoooo Massage Parlor.”
“Wow, you navy guys are really diversifying – puff!”
“Mister Burr, you have been selected from a lucky list for a free – over, about, through, on and under – body tone-up. Our Preposition Promotion we call it.”
“Sounds great – but wait, I know that voice – you’re Ruby Nymph. So that’s what R.N. means! Never mind, let’s forget about that old ‘run out of petrol’ trick – you were only doing your job. I’ll be right over, er, under, through – whatever!”
‘Ring – ring’ it was some time before Goldie emerged from the bedroom to answer the phone. Her thick hair, sparkling with coppery fairy lights, was tousled. The air was heavy with exhaust fumes. “Hello, whoever you are, make it quick – I’m exhausted!”
“Listen doll, I know you blew it with Mort Guage, trying to get your ‘ands on ‘is loot. Know what I mean?’ Goldie did know what he meant. With grammar like that, it could only be Red Knekk “I can put you in favor with the boss again, get to ‘is ear so to speak – before they bury it – haw, haw, haw … But you don’t get nothin’ for nothin’” leered Red “Know what I mean?”
Goldie did know what he meant, and she didn’t care (but she did care about Red’s use of the double negative). The tincture of a $20 bill washed across her narrowed eyes “Look Red, why don’t you come over, we can talk about it. Know what I mean?” Red did not know what she meant – he was too busy hyperventilating.
“But first I have to get rid of someone – er, thing.” She hung up and addressed the bedroom door “Are you still there?” her voice urgent.
“Beep”
“I never told you that I was going out with another guy – er, vehicle.”
“Bip!”
“That was him on the C.B.”
“Beep – Bip!!”
“He’s a Killowrth truck, and he’s just returned from an interstate trip hauling rodeo bulls”
“Beep – bip – Beep!!”
“He’s coming right over.” An engines’ roar – a squeal of tires – and the Zuccini-Farini was gone.
‘Ring – ring’ “Yeees?” said Goldie cautiously, it was Timothy.
“Oh what a fool I’ve been, Goldie, will you ever forgive me?” he pleaded “(What a great line, many thanks.) While you’ve been pining away, I’ve been, well, I’ve been busy improving my English. But I’ve seen the light (another great line!). I’m coming right over to ask for your hand – and the rest of you too of course – don’t say anything, I’m on my way!”
“Expectin’ a visitor?” Goldie turned, her face chalk white. Red Knekk stood silhouetted in the doorway, he grinned evilly. “I think our business can be done pretty quick – know what I mean?” Goldie did know what he meant – even with the truncated adverb!
“I, I’ve changed my mind – I seek only true love. You disgust me! (So does this dialogue!)”
“You’re just like a flighty tart!” snarled Red “But I’m going to throw a spanner in the works and take the wind out of your sails. Why don’t you like me?”
“Well, er, it could be your use of the mixed metaphor.” Red’s pride was hurt. Enraged, he dragged the struggling girl into the bedroom.
“Smells like a service station – what do you do in here?”
“you won’t get away with this – any moment now a Killworth truck… er, someone will come right through that door and rescue me!!”
“Ha!! A lively story! I personally think you’re a dishonest liar, and I’m going to teach you an educational lesson your memory won’t forget, you, you…” Goldie screamed – the bedroom door burst open. It was Timothy; his fists were clenched, his eyes blazed like burning mulga stumps “Hold it Red!” he roared “I mean let it, her, go! Caught you red-handed. A red over the bed! Goldie, what did he do to you? No, don’t tell me – I don’t think I could take it…”
“He – sob – used a string of the most appalling tautology I’ve ever heard …” she collapsed into her pillow, utterly dissembled.
“You, you brute! It’s worse than I thought – a slip of syntax maybe, but not that …” words failed him, but no, here they come again.
“Get out – you, you pernicious, perfidious, perverted predator!”
“Okay, okay – I’m going, but I think you’re use of hyperbole is a bit over the top – nice alliteration though.” Red slunk away, mumbling something about one of his ‘metaphors’ “…was a simile anyway.”
“Oh Goldie, I only really knew how much I loved you when I saw you in the arms of that, that …”
“Take it easy Tim, he was only having a bit of fun.”
“Nice euphemism” thought the young carpenter, he looked deeply into Goldie’s amber eyes “Will you cruise down Matrimony Lane with me?” he blurted, pressing hot lips to hers (or just before actually).
“I’d love to Tim, but first we’ll have to have you checked for plagiarism – and other G.T.D.s” (Grammatical Transferable Diseases – Ed.)
‘Ring – ring’ phones rang hot as everyone prepared for the wedding of the year. Timothy hung up, it was only his mechanic, the trusty ol’ Zuccini was suffering from engine trouble. “Goldie, I’m just the happiest man alive! “But poor old Goebbels, had no…” he hummed.
“Me too Tim – except for one tiny thing – no, forget it.”
“Tell me sweetheart – no secrets remember” pressed her beau.
“I hate that bloody song!!!”
All their friends had assembled on the footpath to farewell the radiant couple on their honeymoon. Even Mort Guage, feebly throwing confetti from his wheelchair. Tim’s step-uncle, Skylock Shonk the Building Inspector, assured them that ‘The foundations of married life should be strong – I recommend 4×3 hardwood bearers on 1750mm centers.”
And there was Ruby Nymph “I love the way your unruly dark hair hangs over your forehead with boyish impertinence” she said to the groom through pouted lips. Goldie silently fumed “(That scriptwriter! He gave her my best line – this is war!)”
Red Knekk caught the bouquet, dropping his well-thumbed copy of Grammar for Beginners. The flower’s Pit Stop perfume reminded him that it had just been in Goldie’s soft hands – which were connected to her pale arms (sigh) – which were attached to her smooth shoulders (pant) – which framed her two .. “I’ll put these in water.” He mumbled as he hurried off.
Even Dr. Hem O’Roids was there “You’re going to need this” he winked, as he handed them a booklet, Sexual Propagation in Deciduous Trees.
At last the young lovers set off in the purple Borsch, which Mort had given them as a wedding gift. Soon they would be snuggling safely in the bridal suite of the Sobraj Guest House in Surface Parasite.
Tiny wheels of confetti danced down the empty street – well almost empty. A lone and dirty, green Zuccini-Farini stood abandoned in the gutter, it emptied its high-octane petrol onto the roadway – a pink steam mingling with its tears It slowly removed its glowing cigarette lighter, and dropped it out of the window…
I AM YOUR POEM
I Am a Door to Other Worlds,
I Am a golden key.
Just turn and lift the Golden latch.
You knocked, but now you see.
When berated or elated,
And your soul just longs to sing,
Just give me Voice – you have a choice,
A music bird on wing.
When all is late – you can create
In a long or little time.
My friends can help your birth of song,
Setting, Melody, Rhythm, Rhyme.
Sometimes I wait for years on end,
Until your moment comes – but Oh!
When we Dance among the Words,
It’s Like – a Myriad Suns.
And when you Muse the words you choose,
My Spirit is but there –
On warmth we rise into the light,
Of Imaginative Aire.
I can be but a little song,
Or I can grow and grow,
Upon the hill or at the beach,
Or whimsey on the way.
I can come at any time,
When you call me Night or Day.
I am a caring friend for you.
For I hear your silent call.
As the Rose open spirals to the Light,
Dewdrops to Morning fall.
When frustrative, be creative,
Pick up Thy pen and soar,
Up[on the eagles’ wings of light,
Through the Worlds of Anywhere door.
Inner sound and inner sight,
Wordsteps, footsteps to future prone,
When in your home and feel alone
Write me –
For I’m Your Poem.
Susan Whitehead, February 2000.
Cover photo: Riana Vanderbyl, consummate Speech exponent of The Australian Word. Frontis photo: Susan Whitehead, creative Eurythmy exponent of The Australian Word.
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