© Denis Fitzpatrick, 2016
By far the best pot that
I’ve ever smoked was from Sydney University. It was the most amazing, Universe
launching, pot that I’ve ever had. The buds had a good bit of purple in them,
were hairy, and you could actually see the crystals on them. Yeah, definitely
the best smoke I’ve ever had.
It was sold by an education student,
Nicole, and she sold this dynamite smoke just to pay the rent. She soon
mentioned while we were initially getting to know each other that she had a
casual checkout job at the local Quinnswerth, in Redferne, and so, along with
dealing pot, she had her finances under reasonably good control. She didn’t
smoke at all herself, didn’t even drink except at someone’s birthday party, and
then only enough to be sociable.
Nicole and I weren’t really close but we
often came to have a good talk together. I was doing a creative writing degree
and bought the pot to help me come up with weird ideas for stories. I showed
her some of my writing, which she liked, and she also pointed out the obvious
flaws in them. Well, obvious to me.
And since we weren’t really close I was
thus surprised when she confided in me one day, soon after I began buying from
her, telling me a secret that seemed very ironic but which could also cause a
wee nastiness to the university. She had, not an hour ago, sold a twenty dollar
deal of pot to a new psychology lecturer, there in the Manning student bar. Not
only that, he had got it on credit. How he knew to ask her, Nicole had not the
foggiest idea. His asking for credit she also could not believe, but all of her
clients were thoroughly earnest and noble young ladies and gentlemen so Nicole
felt confident in trusting him as well.
Nicole though had a reason for telling me
this, however. She would like to keep this guy, Ward Devans, in unlimited
supply in return for his passing her in her required psychology units. Should
she broach the topic, and risk alienating him, and possibly earning
consequently poor marks thereby, or should she go for the big prize, all high
marks in psychology without the need to study? She’ll spend the resultant free
time reading novels; perfect!
Well, it seemed clear to me. Since she had
this guy in her debt already with his illegal purchase it was but a short step
to more devilry. Ward would probably accede to Nicole’s request. I knew I would
with the prospect of an endless supply of her unique, potent pot. Basically, I
told her to go for the easy marks, that she should have no trouble winning her
wish.
Nicole thanked me and we talked about the
best novels she should read instead of having to study her psychology. Soon
after that I drifted away from the Manning bar scene as I was drinking too
much. It had stopped being fun. I still smoked pot, though, but I got it
elsewhere, from my housemate’s guy. Not as good smoke but potent nonetheless.
Still, I never went back to Nicole and soon drifted from her.
*
I met Nicole again for
the first time yesterday, several days before the start of what promises to be
a mild spring, 2016. She still looked and dressed the same. She also still sold
pot, for she invited me over for a smoke. I accepted and after Nicole had
bought the bread she stepped out for we were back at her share house around the
corner, near Redferne train station.
And would you believe it, she still had
that good smoke, just as hairy, just as purple and green, and with even maybe
more crystals visible on the buds. Naturally, the smoko being the same got us
to talking of old times and she told me that Ward had been a big mistake. Getting
into a romance with him had been a bigger mistake. He was a nice guy all right,
intelligent, always polite and well groomed, but he was also a bastard. He was
a bastard when he fled after learning that she had fallen pregnant by him. He
fled the same day that he learned the news, probably being so skunkish as to
flee within an hour of hearing the news. Within half an hour.
‘Now,’ she said after putting the bong
away after I had three cones, ‘Ward is back.’
‘How is he back? Is he here to cause
trouble?’
‘Not from his point of view, he just wants
to see his five year old daughter. Wants to be a “real father.” Says he has a
right to, and that he’s thought about his “wife and child” every day for the
past six years.’
‘How did he find you?’
‘He hired a private detective.’
‘They’re not cheap. He must be making good
money. Maybe your daughter could do with that?’
‘Ward is not at all trustworthy. He’s
shown that. Besides, I told him that I was married.’
It was then that Nicole revealed the real
reason for inviting me in for some of that good smoko. She wanted me to play
the part of this fictional husband, whom she named Lesley, for the sake of the
good old times. She said that she had no male friends that she could ask, all
being married (and whose wives undoubtedly would have to be asked for
permission, probably instantly denying the charade.) She also didn’t want to
unduly distress her child, Jessie, who had always been high strung and wasn’t
adjusting to the new routine of school as well as one would hope. She needed me
to play the part because Ward kept calling over, not believing that she was
married and wanted the fact confirmed or otherwise. She was in a real fix.
Could I help? Was I already married?
No, I wasn’t married, hadn’t even had a
girlfriend for a few years. I had no difficulties in assisting this distressed
damsel, and when I replied positively to the request she offered to give me a
fifty of smoko, three grams, for the trouble.
‘No need for that, Nicole. I’m just doing
it for old times sake.’
‘Thanks, Vince, but if you pay peanuts
then you get monkeys. So you have to take the fifty, which then should make you
act well the role of the adoring spouse, because I really don’t want Ward
around. I want it just to be me and Jessie. We’ve done great so far.’
We quickly agreed that I should move in
with Nicole temporarily to properly look the part of the husband. It would most
probably be only for a short while, for Ward had called over four times in the
past three days, so he’d probably call over again soon.
‘I hope he’s shocked when he sees you
answer the door. And deflated,’ she said.
We invented a whole story for Lesley’s
courting of her but we just remembered the broad points of the story, to bring
up in front of Ward. Jessie was over at a friend’s place, Nicole wanting to
keep her as far as possible from a daddy with no backbone. When Jessie did come
home for the night, the whole house went promptly to bed soon afterwards,
avoiding having to let Ward in if he called late. Nicole and I lay in bed
together, reading. Neither of us had any idea of going further than that.
*
Eventually Ward once more showed up, on a
school day, two days after my newfound matrimony. I knew instantly it was Ward
when I opened the door to him, for he had a certain sheepish air to him. He
didn’t react to my telling him that I was Nicole’s husband, and I politely
invited him in.
I made some coffees and when it was ready
we sat around talking about university. It was while Ward was about halfway
through his cup that he asked me,
‘How come you don’t wear a wedding band,
Lesley?’ It was an obvious oversight.
‘That’s a simple story,’ I replied, making
up a story as I went. Good thing I’ve been trained in story making. ‘I was at the beach just last month and, as
usual, I took off all my jewellery before going for a swim. I know there’s no
real need to, except for your watch, but it’s just a habit I’ve got into since
my late teens. Anyway, I left my neckchain, wedding band, and watch just under
my towel. When I got back, about twenty minutes later, they were gone. I asked
around but no-one saw anything.’
‘I don’t wear one either,’ chimed in
Nicole, obviously thinking on the spot too, ‘out of sympathy for Les.’
The conversation continued pleasantly
until Ward became high handed. He didn’t wish to disturb our peaceful family
but he was still Jessie’s real father, and as such he had certain rights, least
of all the right to meet his progeny. He was willing to go to a lawyer to
secure those rights, but if Nicole and I co-operated we could all get along
well, save the costs of a legal battle, and Jessie would be bound to be pleased
to get to know her natural father. Had we told her that I was just her stepfather?
Nicole reluctantly confirmed such.
Nicole, also reluctantly, assented to what
Ward was asking for and promised him he would meet his daughter the next night.
I then let Ward out and returned quizzically to Nicole.
‘There’s no way I’m letting him see
Jessie. She wouldn’t take it.’
‘So what’ll you do?’
‘We’ll go to the other side of Aus, to
Western Aus. He won’t find me or Jessie if I change my name.’
‘He probably will, Nicole.’ Nicole looked
glum, knowing I was mostly right, if not wholly.
‘Well, he’s not going near Jessie. We’re
still going to WA tomorrow.’
‘Why not write him a letter explaining
everything. I’ll see him here tomorrow night and can give it to him. I’ll do my
best to talk him out of following you.’
It seemed like the only solution.
‘Ok,’ she said. ‘Meet me at Central Station
tomorrow morning at eight and I’ll give you the letter. Meet me at the Devonshire
Street entrance. I’ll also give you your fifty then.’
She gave me the letter and the fifty the
next morning and when I saw Ward that night (after waiting all day at Nicole’s
house in case Ward turned up early) he was not happy after having read it, also
asking me to confirm that I wasn’t really married to her, that last night had
been a sham to misdirect him. But I talked to him man to man and made him see
that a gentleman never hounds a lady whom is wary of that gentleman. That if
she wants nothing to do with him, and has clearly said as much, then he, as a
gentleman, should simply walk away and learn to recall only the fond times with
the lady. Nicole’s letter obviously said she wanted no part of him, that he had
had his chance, and it was now time for him to move on. Some mistakes simply
can’t be corrected.
I let him out of the house an hour after
he had arrived, and he clearly saw the path a gentleman must walk. He swore to
me that he’d forget her, chalking the whole thing up to experience. He looked
crestfallen, but resolved to make the best of it.
When he was gone I shut up the house and
returned home with the fifty Nicole had given me. She had actually given me
four grams (or so it looked) instead of three and I decided to savour it for as
long as possible. There’s probably no way I’ll ever get such good smoko again.
~~~
If you have been enjoying Fitzpatrick's stories here you may also enjoy his short story collections, and other books, available online as both Kindle books and paperbacks (go to http://amzn.to/1NfodtN). Other ebook and paperback options are available at http://bit.ly/1UsyvKD Fitzpatrick is also having a collection of short stories, Aberrant Selected, published by Waldorf Publishing on September 01, 2018. You can follow its journey at www.aberrantselected.blogspot.com
