Peter Corris - Make Me Rich

Make Me Rich

[Cliff Hardy 06]

By Peter Corris

Scanned & Proofed By MadMaxAU

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T was just another party job in Vaucluse.Mrs Roberta Landy-Drake was paying me five hundred dollars for keeping an eyeon the valuables and the cars and throwing out the drunks gently. It was no funworking at a party, and these big money bashes were all the same. They had thesame rhythm of arrival, mouths opening and closing to permit talking, eatingand drinking, farewell and departure. Rich drunks are all the same too, and notdifferent enough from poor drunks to be interesting.

But the money wasokay and the work was steady and getting steadier. It seemed more rich peoplewere having parties that year; maybe they felt better about being rich whileeveryone else was getting poorer. But they werent all bastardsthe generousones might give you a half scotch and soda at the end of the night and let youstick your finger in the cheese dip.

It was the secondjob Id done for Mrs Landy-Drake; I never did find out who Landy and Drakewereex-husbands would be a fair guess, judging from the abundant evidence ofunearned income. The house had more rooms than there are names for, and if youdbacked a truck up to the door and taken away the paintings youd have been setfor life. Roberta, who got on first name terms within sixty seconds, employedpeople like me to keep a sharp eye out for trucks. Nothing went missing fromthe function Id officiated at in the spring, so here I was, back for thesummer one. It was clearly going to be easierno furs to worry about.

Roberta, hostess ofthe year twice running, set the fashion style: her black dress was designed toshow the maximum amount of suntan on her long, slim body. It had holes in it andscallops that made it seem more off than on. I was allowed to relate to theother help for a whilethe drinks servers and food preparersonly letting meglimpse her from afar, before her sense of drama told her it was time for us totalk. She approached me as I was accepting a set of car keys from an earlyarrival who asked me not to let him drive home, no matter what he said.She gave me her carefully painted smile and took a sip from her glass.

You were wonderfullast time, Cliff. Im glad you could help again.

She liked the illusionthat everyone was her friend and that there were no employees. Why dispel that?

Happy to be here.Enjoy your party, Roberta.

The first flotillaof guests sailed in and the mouth-opening started. I cruised around thegroundstennis court, pool, barbecue pitand checked the carsVolvos, BMWs andtheir cousins. Inside, I renewed my acquaintance with the Drysdales and theNolans.

The house filled upfast, and the guests spilled out under the marquee at the back where thecaterers kept the food and the booze well up to them. At 9.50 I swept up abroken glass; at 10.25 I parked a car the owner was too drunk to do anythingwith but leave in the middle of the road; at 12.30 I earned the five hundredbucks.

The first time Ilaid eyes on him I could see he was drunk, but he wasnt in charge of a car andhe had all his clothes on so it wasnt any of my business. That was around11.30; an hour later he was raping one of the guests under a Drysdale in one ofthose unassignable rooms. She was screaming and he was grunting. He was a bigguy, six two or so, and therefore had an inch or more on me and the weight tomatch. His grunts were deep and rhythmic. His shirt was hanging out at the backand I bundled up a fistfull of it, pulled hard and swung him up and off theblonde teenager on the pile of cushions. The pull brought him around to faceme; he stood unsteadily and yanked the long shirt-tail free.

Put it away, Isaid, and go home.

The blonde screamedand he grunted again as if he liked screaming. I looked away to the girl andthats when he threw a punch. It wasnt the first punch hed thrown, he knewhow to do it, but it wasnt one of his best. The booze in him made him slow andindirect; I stepped inside the swing and dug my fist hard into his belly. Thewind goes out of them when you do that, and if you can hit hard enough andquick enough in the same spot they go down. I did and he did. I helped the girlup and she pulled down her dress and adjusted things.

Did he hurt you?

She shook her headand a panicked look came into her eyes. Dont tell ...

No telling, Isaid. Go that way and wash your face.

She grabbed up adetached shoe, stepped around the cave man, whose grunts were of a differentquality now, shot past me and went out. I knocked the cushions back into shape,checked that no harm had come to the painting, and turned my attention to theman on the floor.

He was vaguelyfamiliar; Id thought so at his unsteady arrival and the feeling was strongernow, although its hard to place someone when hes three shades redder thanusual and is lying on the carpet fumbling with his dick. I was curious to know.

Whore you? Loverof the month?

Get fucked!

I doubt it, nottonight. And you neither. Youve had enough party. Time to go.

Im CollyMatthews.

He was. It wasnt aname youd lay false claim to. Colly Matthews was a Rugby League front rowforward, a regular member of a senior side when he wasnt serving outsuspensions. Im a Union man myself, and I hadnt even seen him play, but Iknew from the back pages that his nickname was Sin bin, that he was undersuspension at the moment and that there was a movement afoot to ban him forlife. Or at least to ban his elbow, which would have banned the rest of him aswell.

I dont care whoyou are, you should ask a ladys permission first. Youve got time on yourhands, you should go to a charm school.

Ill kill you, hebellowed.

Theyd work onthat, first lesson.

Hed got himselfback in order by this time, but every instinct told him to hit until somethingbroke. Maybe they train them that way, I dont know. He told me to get fuckedagain, and I found this very boring,

Piss off,Matthews. Ill tell the hostess you came over faint.

He might have hadanother go; he pulled himself up off the floor as if that was in his mind, butjust then another man appeared in the doorway and some party chatter floweddown the passage outside. Matthews finished adjusting his clothing. The newarrival laughed at the footballers buttoning and zipping: he was short andslight and not young, but laughing at Sin bin didnt seem to worry him.

Matthews made as ifto bullock past us but I eased him into the door jamb. I could hold him there asecond because I was sober and had my balance.

Are you driving?

What business isit of yours?

No drunk leavesthis party drivingthats the rule.

I lost my fuckinlicence!

I stepped back andlet him lurch through and away. I followed him down the passage; he looked backa couple of times and I made go motions with my hands and steered him towardsthe front door like a cattle dog. A few party persons stopped talking longenough to watch us, but they mostly regarded the incident as entertainment andtheir response was well-oiled laughter. Some of them would have laughed at akneecapping.

The short man pasthis prime had followed me all the way.

A mess, he said,as the door closed behind Matthews.

Yeah. I wasntfeeling chatty; drunk athletes dont cheer me up, and I turned away from him totry for a handful of peanuts or something. But he stuck close.

Are you a fan ofthe game?

It was difficult totalk to him, because to do so I had to look down and when youre looking downyoure not looking around, which was what I was being paid to do. Still, whatsworse than being at a party and having no one to talk to? I looked down.