The Longest Road Pt. 02

Mary Margaret Maeve Morgan was in her late sixties. She had one time been the Mayor of Kalgoorlie. It was rumoured that her and Barney had run a brothel there for years. There was a rumour that she had murdered her first husband and dissolved his body in acid. There was a rumour that she illegal casino in Sydney and was in the witness protection program after testifying against senior Police at New South Wales Royal Commission into police corruption. Further rumours said she had been a nun, a tunnel rat in Vietnam, a KGB spy and a mafia hitman. Anyone who knew her and came to call her Mrs M, quickly learned what loyalty and friendship really meant.

It was a windy, dusty, and desperately hot Thursday afternoon some weeks later when Paul pulled up at Long Bore. Mrs M was on duty, and greeted him as he came in. He had been by a few times, but never got to speak to Monique. If he saw her at all it was a smile from behind the bar, or a wave as she went about her work.

"Good afternoon, stranger!" Mrs M greeted him.

"Good afternoon, Mrs M. Has the truck come in yet, I'm waiting on some spacers?" Paul asked through the sweat and dust.

"Sorry love, it's been delayed, due in a couple of hours," she answered kindly.

The look on his face told of his frustration. It was a long drive in and now he'd have to wait. "Gimme a beer, please, Mrs M."

"Sure thing."

He slammed the beer down. She could see his mind was working. What could he do whilst waiting for the truck?

"Why don't you head down to the old tank for a swim? It's full of water thanks to this wind." Mrs M suggested kindly, a flicker of a grin crossing her lined face.

"Nice call, Mrs M. I'll be back in a while." Paul replied enthusiastically. The idea of a cold swim would waste some time as well as cool him down.

He walked the hot dusty kilometre to the old tank. Sure enough, the old windmill was groaning and turning, despite having lost a few blades. That meant the tank would be filling up with cold artesian water. He tore off his shirt as he walked down toward the tank, following a rough path through the overgrowth. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her.

Her soft smooth back glistened in the afternoon sun, the water droplets clinging to her white skin. She was picking her top up off the ground. Her panties barley covered her buttocks and his eyes floated over those perfect round buns, then followed the silky rivers of skin that made up her legs. She turned before he could avoid her seeing him. He caught a glimpse of her tiny breasts. The nipples pinched and teased by icy artesian fingers into tight chocolate bullets, in striking contrast to the white swollen mounds from which they protruded. She gasped as she caught sight of him and hurriedly pulled her white cotton blouse over her hair, messing up her wet curls in her haste.

"How long were you there for?" she snapped at him angrily as she tried to fix her hair, not really interested in how long he had actually been there, she was more concerned about how much of her he had seen.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you were here. Mrs M suggested- "

He didn't need to finish his sentence. Without a word they both knew Mrs M had set them up.

"The water's cold but very refreshing. You should jump in, looks like you need to cool off," she snapped, her eyes fell to his crotch before she gathered her towel, rudely brushed past him and marched up the path. He watched her disappear before he looked at his crotch. The huge bulge gave away how aroused he was. Something about those tiny white mounds with the rock hard nipples just did it for him. And those legs!

He jumped in and let the icy water take care of his embarrassment.

When he got back to the pub the truck was being unloaded. He helped unload his gear, as well as everyone else's, before he loaded up his truck. He went inside to see Monique but she was nowhere to be seen. Mrs M was flat out explaining why she couldn't sell anymore beer to two drunks, but she noticed Paul looking about anxiously and paused to call to him, "Paul, Mon's feeling ill and had to go have a lie down, love."

"Feeling ill, my ass!" muttered Paul under his breath as he turned and walked to his car.

He angrily slammed the ute into first gear and took off down the track. Mrs M raised an eyebrow as she saw his vehicle disappear behind a cloud of red dust. They all took a dim view of city drivers inconsiderably stirring up the dust, but her concern on this occasion was of a more personal nature.

That night he drank more than his ration of beer, and slept worse than he had done the entire trip. He kept seeing Monique's wet, shiny body. Alcohol anaesthetised his mind and allowed his lust to abate. For now.

Monique too slept badly. At one stage she woke up in a fright. She dreamt she was in the tank. A man had her pinned against its slippery cold edge and was kissing her passionately. She felt her legs open, inviting him inside her, even though she did not want him there. Then he was inside her. She felt out of control and overwhelmed...

---

Weeks went by before he got to talk to her again. He had to come into Long Bore now and again for supplies but she was often too busy or simply nowhere to be seen. Sometimes he wondered if he was just plain unlucky or if she was avoiding him.

Monique was working the bar that evening on account of Larry being hit by a drunk the previous night. A small collection of clients were in the bar. A rowdy group of girls from a nearby station, "jillaroos" as some called them; a few stockmen, in for a cooked meal and a few quiet ones. A couple of tourists, eyes wide, drinking in the sights of an old fashioned outback pub.

Long Bore was named after the bore which allowed the country to be opened up for grazing. It was dubbed "long" because it was a long way from any town. The bore was not used anymore, but the old place kept the name. Cattlemen, drifters, drovers and backpackers used to camp at the bore, so someone decided to build a pub there. The pub evolved into a store, petrol station and a one star motel over the years. The long running joke at Long Bore was, if a client was telling a boring story or talking too much, stockmen would ask; "Are you the original Long Bore?"

It was Monique who was bored tonight. Same old beery stories, same old complaints about the price of beer. Same old hard work and long long days.

"If you're not too busy, I'd like a Corona, please?"

She looked up to see Paul at the end of the bar. She suppressed a smile and fetched his drink. "You want to pay now or start a bar tab?" she asked casually.

"Actually, I was planning to get a room, so can you get me a room, then charge it to my room?" Paul answered softly.

"Can do." she smiled. She liked being able to do something for him. He looked lovely, she thought to herself, even though he was covered in red dust.

"The Jasper dingoes not company enough for you?" she asked, whilst logging in to the ancient computer. He observed her. Her long blonde curly hair was pulled back tonight, and she wore a plain flowery knee-length dress. It was about as plain and non-flattering as she could have chosen, but still she looked good in it. He cast his eye over the station girls drinking at the back of the room. He knew the sort all too well. Foul mouthed, bitchy gold-diggers the lot of them. Not this girl though.

"Not when there are pretty girls like you serving cold beer in here." he answered smoothly.

"Oh please! A dusty cowboy trying to chat up the barmaid in Long Bore? What a cliché!"

"Paying a pretty lady a compliment is hardly a cliché."

Monique tried to hide her smile. "Here's your key. You're in number 5, it's just outside and to the right. Kitchen is closed but there is some cold serves left. Would you like another corona?"

"I would thanks. I might stay here all night and talk to you."

She was flattered with the attention, but she didn't want to lead him on. She was definitely not what he was looking for. He deserved so much better than her.

"Maybe you should go back to your dingoes. You're barking up the wrong tree here." she retorted.

"Oh really? Then why are you blushing?"

Monique put her hand up to her face, then realised she was giving herself away, so put her hand down awkwardly. He chuckled into his beer.

"To me you're just another long bore." She regretted saying it as soon as she said it. He looked hurt and stared down at his beer. It wasn't his fault that she was a freak. He was a decent, very attractive man, paying her compliments and simply being charming. She wanted to apologise.

Instead she said, "So did you want me to see if there was a cold serve left?"

He picked up his key, drained his beer. "Thanks, I've had enough cold serves for tonight. Good evening."

Monique was in a foul mood for the rest of the evening. Not until Mrs M poured her tea did she let go and push the conversation with Paul out of her mind. Her lips were burnt from unloading a truck in the sun earlier in the day. To make matters worse, she could only find orange lip balm in the store.

So she sat in the dark, sipping hot tea, looking at the stars with tender orange lips.

"So this is where the ladies sit?" His voice cut through the still night air, it's resonance filling her with fury and longing both at the same time.

"Have a seat, love. You don't mind if Paul joins us, do you Mon?" Mrs M chirped, fully aware that Monique would quietly be angry with her. Mrs M enjoyed that sort of thing.

"Free country." Monique replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Hi there, orange lips!" Paul said as he drew up a chair. Both he and Mrs M chuckled.

"It's the only sort we have. My lips got burnt unloading the grog truck, if you must know." Her response was too quick to maintain her feigned nonchalance.

"That's unfortunate, anyway, they still look lovely." Paul smiled. He understood the frustrations of life in a remote area like this, and about making do with what was available, however his empathy was not appreciated and his words were met with silence. The air was tense.

"Tim Tam?" Mrs M offered them a biscuit. Both declined politely

"So what's a fine young fella doing way out here, Paul?"

Monique tried to kick her under the table, but Mrs M was quick on her feet, and she winked at Monique as if to say "Nice try!"

"Well, to cut a long, sad and boring story short," Paul started, "I married too young, and married the wrong girl. She took me for everything I had, then ran off with a fat kiwi dole bludger; left me with a two year old son and a couple of nasty creditors. I filed for bankruptcy, got my mother to care for my son, cashed in all I had for the rig and headed up north to make some money."

"Oh Paul, love. If I had a dollar for every time I heard a story like that." Mrs M had a way of saying things that cut to the truth. There was nowhere to hide when you spoke to her.

"Yep. I guess that makes me pretty stupid!"

"Oh no!" cooed Mrs M and Monique in chorus. Monique had a tear in her eye. She wanted to jump onto his lap and cuddle him.

"A man can't think straight when he's in love." Mrs M said, drawing upon her 67 years of hard knocks. "You need to go through that and come out the other side, that's what life is all about. Learning as you go."

"Yep, well I certainly learned the hard way." Paul mused in a wistul tone.

"There's no other way!" the old lady added with a sigh.

Monique went to say something, but realised she had little to say that would not sound condescending or stupid.

"I'm so sorry, Paul" Monique finally managed. Paul looked up at her and smiled. Her orange lips glistened in the moonlight. He wanted to reach over, guide her by her crazy hair to his lips so that his tongue could sooth and nourish her tender mouth.

"It's not your problem, Monique. You have your own problems too, no doubt."

"We all have our problems, I'm sure." Mrs M offered, before announcing she was going to bed. Monique tried to stall her but she was gone. It was just her, Paul, the night, and a million stars.

"So what's your story? Why is a super model working way out here?" Paul fixed her in his blue steel gaze. It felt like his eyes were looking into her heart, reading her feelings and thoughts.

"I'm a bit of a basket case myself. You don't want to bother yourself with me. There's just so much shit. Too much shit for anyone but me."

"I'd like to know. Maybe I could help?"

Monique didn't like the way this conversation was heading. Like a cornered animal she lashed out. "Oh really? You're a psychiatrist as well as a fencer, are you?"

"No, but I know that by sharing problems two people can often help each other."

"If I needed help, I wouldn't ask you!"

"Boy, you must really hate yourself. I'm so sorry. I really like you, but I can see that your self-loathing makes you hate anyone who likes you." Paul's tone was assertive yet kind. Monique had no come back to that, and she felt like a heel for being so nasty. A long uneasy pause held the night air still and silent.

"I'm tired. I'm going to bed." Monique eventually managed to splutter.

"OK, good night Monique, but don't dismiss my offer for help so lightly."

Monique disappeared into the darkness leaving him at the crooked little table with the stars. That night, alone in the darkness, she cried herself to sleep. In her subconscious a little voice kept repeating "I really like you."

He went to his room. He enjoyed the hot shower and the feeling of being really clean again. He decided not to have another drink. He went to sleep on top of the covers, his body shot from weeks of gut busting hard work in the extreme heat. He was out like a light. He dreamed of playing with a waterfall of curly blonde hair and kissing soft, shiny orange lips.