A Blue Christmas

"Thanks Mike, it's having you online that's restraining this Powell arsehole and his heavies taking the girl back by force and probably giving me a beating I'll remember for the rest of my life, if they leave me a brain still capable of remembering."

"Top-ho, Guv'nor. I get the impression from Shona at PA that the Blues would prefer to get a swat team together for a dawn raid, when the party goers are at their least alert and less likely to chuck or flush. But, being Chrissie Eve, it might be too difficult to put a team together at such short notice, they've already got their hands full of teenage parties tonight. Still, when the rego search turned out to be Paddy Powell, who owns Online Betcash Bookies & Casino, well, we've all lost money to that bloody con site, so it's hard to ignore a chance to put that bodgy bugger away for a while and at least let the State claw some of our dough back in fines. Will be in touch, Guv."

"So, the police are now involved?" Bonnie asked, her mouth not quite empty.

"Yeah, our best option if we are going to get out of this without being buggered."

Bonnie was well into the bread roll and had already wolfed down half of it. I didn't know where all that tucker would tuck away into her spare frame, I was reminded of an Indian python I once saw on YouTube that had swallowed a small bullock.

"If you're still hungry, there's a couple of cold snags — sausages — in the fridge, only took them off the barbie half an hour ago. They went stone cold while your crew arrived and Max and I had our opening convo."

"Mmm barbecued sausages, yes, that'd be so nice," she said as she popped the last of the Vegemite roll in her smiling mouth.

I put a fork and the cold snags in front of her, lifted the upturned dish covering them, and placed a cheese salad next to it in a Tupperware container.

"The salad was made by me and chilled yesterday morning before I left home, but it may not be as fresh as you're used to. I was also a bit heavy handed with the chopped up spring onion as I wasn't really expecting to be sociable over the next couple of days. There's extra virgin olive oil and thousand island dressing in the fridge if you want any dressing with it."

"Thank you, I am fond of spring onions. And I'm used to living on salad without any dressing. Looks like my modelling career's probably over now, after word gets out that I waltzed off this assignment. Hell, I'm sick and tired of the business anyway, so I might even experiment with some dressings." She laughed, "You could say I'm buggered, too!"

"Here's the thousand island, if you're not used to it, I'd go easy on it. I'm going to move my truck now as agreed with your mate Powell."

"He's no mate of mine."

I moved into the driving seat, but she followed me, carrying her Tupperware container of salad and munching one of the cold snags she'd speared with the fork.

"Mind if I sit up here while you move the truck? Never sat this high up in a front seat before."

"Sure. Put your seat belt on though, otherwise the dash flashes warning lights and the loudspeaker beeps to distraction while a recording of a bossy Southern Belle, with a hint of threat in her voice, entreats me to buckle up."

"Well, we can't have you distracted by some sweet talking Jezebel while you're driving now, can we?"

She plonked herself into the left hand seat. As she twisted to locate the seat belt with one hand while holding onto the dish and the fork with the half-eaten snag in the other, my ratty old robe fell away from her legs. That robe had never looked better on anyone before, but the slip revealed the smooth contours of her thigh and the prettiest pair of knees, gently pressed together demurely, that I had ever seen in my life.

Now, my knees are nobbly, and most of the knees I've ever noticed are also nobbly, but Bonnie's leg just transitioned from thigh to sheer shin and shapely calf in a smooth bend which flowed without any visible joint, to interrupt what looked to me like one of nature's wonderful works of art. I must've stared, really embarrassingly stared. I have no idea how long, time just stood still, I thought. I came to eventually, but only when she cleared her throat to break my trance. I looked up quickly to see her smile sweetly at the drooling idiot in front of her.

"I've finished the cheese salad, so I guess we can move off now?" she enquired as if honey oozed from her lips, while appearing to ignore the fetid drool on my chin, "maybe you could let me drive, I promise not to drive over and crush any of those nice men out there."

"Are there any nice men in that crew out there?" I grinned with embarrassment, sure that my face was as red as Ayers Rock at sunset.

"No, not many, but I draw a line at taking even bad men from their everloving mothers, even if these bastards don't know who their fathers are and have been behaving to us girls like nasty little shits all week." Her eyes were narrowed, the blue irises turned as cold as a glacier. "None more so than that Paddy Powell, who is one big fat shit that I'd crush in a wink. No, I wouldn't run over them, I'd rather torture them first, and then roast them slowly over one of your barbies. You know that fat bastard bet the rest of the crew, at odds of 10 to one, that he would fuck all six models in six days? Max boasted that $5,000 was staked among the crew, so not bedding me by the end of tomorrow means Powell loses $50,000. But it is not the amount of money, that means nothing to him, he has millions to play with and plenty more coming in daily from his websites, he just doesn't like to lose."

"Well, moving the truck from the shelter of the trees to the other side of the park gives him a small victory for losing your arse, although I don't know what he'll say when he sees that you're the one driving, and realises he hasn't forced me do anything other than give you a driving lesson."

"So, you letting me drive?"

"Well, why not have a lash at it?" I stood up, although I had to bend more than a little to prevent banging my head on the roof and she had to do likewise. We shimmied around each other, trying not to touch, as we swapped places and I relieved her of the finished fork and empty Tupperware.

Damn, I thought, I must've been staring at her knees for a long couple of minutes while she finished her supper. Where the hell did my manners go? I mean, only half an hour or so ago, she was looking at being raped by some middle-aged rich old bastard who thought he'd already paid her for his entitlement, followed by being gang banged by all these sweaty fucktards out there.

Max had called her 'Mr Powell's girlfriend', but apparently Mr Powell was willingly letting his girlfriend stay with a stranger. One given tacit approval to do whatever that stranger wanted with her for the next eleven and a half hours. I assumed he still had most of tomorrow to win his bet, which included bedding five other sheilas.

I resolved to be as detached as I usually was around women, or at least ordinary women, and protect her from this Yank plank. She was my guest and should at least expect to be treated with respect by her host.

She sat in the driver's seat while I quickly went and dropped the salad bowl and fork on the end of the bed to deal with later. I returned to the shotgun seat, from where I carefully guided her through the sequence of priming and starting the engine, switching on the lights, managing the gears and steering the monster truck and trailer across mostly deserted bitumen surface to the other side of the park, leaving us pointing to the exit and the highway. With her long limbs, she had no need to adjust the seat.

She told me she'd mostly worked stick shifts before in Europe and even drove on the left side of the road in London when she based herself there for a couple of years or so some dozen years earlier. I let her start the engine, turn on the lights, as it was already getting fairly dark, find the first gear and smoothly glided into second after she moved off slowly and carefully across the carpark, turning the truck and trailer in a majestic curve and stopped us exactly where I wanted her to park up, pointing at the exit, ready for our getaway in the morning.

Bonnie switched off everything safely, turned her head and smiled broadly at me, looking very pleased with herself and a whole lot happier than when she arrived.

"Oh boy, that was fun!"

"Well, done," I praised, genuinely surprised she hadn't stalled, over-revved or crunched the gears, "for the first time manoeuvring a truck like this, you were brilliant. You're a natural truckie. If I still had driving jobs to offer, I would snap you up."

"Thank you, well, my work permit is for up to a year, if you're offering, I seem to be between jobs right now. But that was great fun, can I?—"

"No, you can't drive on the roads, you are not licensed, but you can park it off road any time we stop if you like. Now, I'm, er, really sorry about earlier when I rudely stared at your pins—"

"Even though you've already seen me virtually naked not so long ago."

"Yeah. Even so. Although a peep at a shapely leg when an article of clothing slips like that, well, let's just say that less is more, a bloody whole sight more. So I apologise for forgetting my manners and embarrassing us both."

"Apology accepted. Look, we haven't even introduced ourselves. We know our first names, by casual reference by others, but that is all."

"Well, I'll kick off, shall I? I'm Mark Cornwall, 38, possibly still married but been separated from my ex-wife for the last five years exactly to the day, no children, no girlfriend, no living rellies even, that's relatives. I was born in Melbourne and have lived in the suburbs there for the last five years, but that place's all closed up to me now and I'm looking forward to exploring the big wide world. This is my last delivery job, at least for the next few months."

"Wow, what are you doing and where are you going?"

"I honestly don't know. I have my passport with me and have applied for the usual visas, but I want to see the world before I'm 40. I've booked an open-ended return flight from Darwin to Lima on the 31st, so I will go there for my first adventure, walking the mountains, taking in the scenery and the ancient ruins, taking as long as it takes. After all I deserve it, I've hardly had a week off working since I left school twenty years ago."

"Good for you, that sounds like fun. Well, I'm Bonita Lehmann, most people just call me Bonnie. I'm 34, single, no boyfriend, a fashion model by profession, and probably an ex-model as of today. Like you, I have worked hard continuously for over 25 years. I have modelled ever since I was a small child in Denmark. It was all I ever wanted to do, dress up and show off clothes, not exactly what I had ended up doing these last few days. I was a haut couture fashion model in Paris, France briefly but my reluctance to distribute my favours to those dishing out the work meant I was held back from the best shows. Plus I am a little shorter and lot fatter than the rest of the competition."

"You are not fat," I protested without thinking, "and you're taller than me."

"No, I am not that fat compared to normal women, nor am I obsessed with losing weight like most in my profession, but I always have to watch what I eat and maintain that constant balance between being nicely trim and avoiding being scary thin with ribs and sunken cheeks showing."

"You do not have sunken cheeks, either."

"Thank you, I eat a healthy range of foods to keep my skin, hair and eyes clear and bright, while also working hard, mostly through yoga, to keep lean and supple and maintain my optimum weight and shape. I'm not ashamed to say it, but I soon had to wise up about being friendly to the right people. I am not proud of what I had to do and I kept that side of the business in focus and under control. I had a lot of help from my family, so I was never alone nor easy to victimise. I gradually picked up more lucrative work, eventually working with people who I could trust as professionals and have made a comfortable living for most of my career. However, truthfully I was not thin enough for the catwalk by the time I grew out of my adolescence, so I moved onto posing for catalogues, you know? The full range, from overcoats to lingerie." She flashed a smile at me that was coy but had a hint of shyness about it.

"Yeah, OK, I was a kid once, I've seen catalogue lingerie." I couldn't help but grin with her, despite myself.

"See, you can smile, Mark, when you let go," she laughed.

I scowled for effect.

"Ha! Well, I spent some career time based in the EU, France mainly, then the UK and US for a couple of years in each, then back to Europe again. I have a nice apartment that I call home in Monaco, and from that base I travel to photo locations all over the world. It's been a hectic life, I've travelled the world several times over yet saw nothing of it aside from where I was working."

"Perhaps when you're truly retired from all this you could go around the world again and see it at your leisure?"

"Mmm, maybe, I would like that, I think. Lately, I've been reluctant to be so friendly to the wheeler-dealers of the modelling world, and I'm finding too much competition from younger models, even for the catalogues, so this supposedly tasteful topless calendar shoot for an online betting company sounded better than it turned out, especially as I have worked with this photographer before and I had entirely put my trust in him."

"It looks like a lot of money has been spent on this. Why would an online betting website want a fancy calendar?"

"Exactly, it appears to have been a scam, albeit an expensive one, as a front for the owner, Paddy Powell, to have sex with the models before passing them on to the rest of the crew. I suppose now that he's produced it he will of course sell it, probably next October for next Christmas and New Year. He has already done the winter shoot a month ago in Colorado. I saw the selected roughs from that, they were tastefully done, beautiful rather than erotic, so I confirmed my initial commitment to come here, all expenses paid and upfront fee. I only heard yesterday that Powell took bets from the crew at the winter shoot that he could sleep with all six models in the week long shoot. Max told me a couple of hours ago that Powell won that winter shoot bet easily. Now the same bet stands for the summer shoot, with me as the 'June model', the last one holding out, according to Max. Powell didn't like that. I was the oldest and wisest, I think, of the six models, and at last night's sponsor's celebration party, I defied his advances and his desperate offers of a cash bonus. I told him I am not a prostitute. He became incandescent after I slapped him."

"I've not seen him, but I can imagine someone with that kind of money thinking he could buy anything he wanted."

"Yes, and for the younger ones that worked, but this will only damage their reputations in the long run."

"Yeah, I suppose he thinks he can force his attentions on any sheila he's cut out of the herd and away from protective friends, and turn her into a prozzie," I mused.

It was really dark in the cab and the glow from the monitor, reflecting the outside, was dark too, so I turned on the light above the passenger seat. The batteries are good in these rigs and you can have the monitor, a few of the internal LED lights on to read by for quite sometime before you get a 'low power' warning.

"Yes, Powell is not a nice man. He is arrogant, fat, in his fifties, and thinks the sun shines out of his arse. He slapped me back, across the face with the back of his hand, last night and had me locked up in one of the RVs ever since. They were shooting 'September' today, with my contribution already in the can. Now I think I have had enough of modelling and this will almost certainly be my last job. I have been careful over the years and saved and invested well. But, here I am, stranded in Australia with no passport, cash, credit cards or even any clothes to change into."

Well, she looked fantastic in my soft old clobber, as loose on her as they were and in this low light, but it was not my place to compliment her, she might get the wrong idea that I was interested in her, or interested in getting to know any bloody sheila for that matter.

I picked up the used plate and salad bowl and wiped them over clean with an antiseptic wipe, placing the wipe in a plastic carrier bag I was using to collect my rubbish in. I had a water tank for washing water but it was virtually empty, having been unable to fill it at the last servo as there was a queue and I wanted to get here to this truck park before dark.

"Can I help?"

"No, this is all I have to do. Not sure how kind this antiseptic stuff is on your hands. Makes mine tingle sometimes and my hands are used to flipping hot rissoles on the barbie with my bare hands. You can relax and sleep, or I do have the internet on satellite if you want to watch a movie or something on the screen up there. Or there's a rack of paperback books, mostly action spy or crime fiction, I'm afraid." I automatically picked up my book again, but hesitated, wondering whether it would be rude to start reading when I had company. I really wasn't used to having company lately.

"No, that's OK.... And thanks," she said quietly.

"Thanks?"

"Yes, thanks for the clothes, the food, the rescue, and now you're catering for the care of my hands and my entertainment needs."

"Well, you might need to do hand modelling in the future, you know, nails, jewellery and stuff," I suggested, wanting to keep the conversation light, I didn't want her yakking and thanking me all bloody night long.

"Yes, maybe, such as popular stuff like finger rings?" That raised eyebrow was looking enchanting and I wanted to see more of it, but I concentrated on flicking through the pages of my paperback to see if I could find my place but I'd lost it. I hate turning over corners of pages, so I usually put in a ticket or shop bill as a marker, but it must've dropped out in the last few minutes, and I had completely lost track of where I'd got up to.

"Yeah, that kind of stuff too."

"Well, it's good to know I've got some future in my hands now my looks and figure are going all to pot."

"Hey, I didn't mean—"

"I know," as she looked at the bowl and plate on the bed. "Shall I put those away?"

I nodded, "Please."

"Where do they go?"

"In there, they stack up according to size," I pointed to a low cupboard under the bed.

I stood up. "Actually, I need to go outside for a p— ... pee."

Leaving Bonnie to put away and stacking up the dry crocs, I opened the driver's door and stepped down, feeling the summer heat outside. Although it was now as dark as pitch, the heat of the day still bounced off the hot tar. This area of the car park had been in the sun all arvo, which is why I had originally opted to park in the light shade of the eucalypti. More mozzies there, sure, but it was cooler over there, with sweeter air.

I took my piss near the back of the trailer. While out there you could see across the sunscorched scrubland to the Flinders range on the horizon, stood out dark and brooding against the star-speckled sky.

You could hear the party in full swing, blaring music and shrieks from the sheilas, the deeper growls coming from the blokes, and the flashing party lights lighting up the surrounding vegetation. I walked to the front of the truck to peer round and check out the party. I guessed they were about 100 metres from where we had reparked. The Winnebagoes had all moved up under the trees and were in a line nose to tail, the party in full flow in front of the line. I heard Bonnie come down the steps looking for me and was soon stood beside me and looking at the scene before us. She looked wistful in the flickering light.