Lucille Nailed It Ch 02

As the presentation of national media awards at the Events Center in Sydney continued, with sometimes awkward or gushy short speeches by recipients adding to the occasion, Lucille though ah Australia.

Over the years Lucille Lightfoot returned many times to America but after first arriving in Sydney Australia had become her home and she gained citizenship.

She'd never married and had a daughter buried in Sydney who died two weeks after birth due to a heart defect.

The death of her career benefactor Mrs Graham occurred just after her first visit back to New York before returning to Australia as an approved immigrant with priority because of her skills. Whenever in America she always visited Maria and Enzio who remained in awe of her as if they lived in different level, which was the reality.

Life in Australia had happily matured Lucille and she'd gained two great friends Debs (Deborah) and her long-time business partner, Mo (Morgan). There was much to think about. Mo's brother Digger had been her first lover in Australia and they remained rather detached as friends but Digger's much younger wife Chrissie was Lucille's protégé.

* * *

When first arriving in Australia Lucille's conditions of entry allowed her to stay in the country for up to three months. Without having any intention of staying any longer than that in the country she sought longer-term accommodation.

After two nights at a central city hotel, Lucille went off by suburban train east to nearby Double Bay, an inner harbor-side residential area.

'Room to Let' stated the notice in the window of a sweet cottage with a lovely garden that nestled between a large home and three Terrace houses in Cross Street.

Walking on for almost two hundred yards Lucille changed her mind and returned and knocked on the door of that cottage.

Within two minutes she was sitting drinking coffee and being interviewed by Mrs Ida Maxwell, an elderly widow, and watched by Mrs Maxwell's elderly mutt named Mac and a tabby called 'Rabbit'.

How odd, but the potential landlady looked quite normal.

Lucille believes her early impressions of her life in Australia will remain with her until breathing her last.

"You look clean and tidy, quite beautiful in fact," said bright-eyed Mrs Maxwell, stroking the purring 'Rabbit'.

She was looking at a raven-haired young woman of perhaps 5ft 10in, 115 pounds, a 34B bust and narrow hips – the figure of a model. She focused on the rosebud full lips, square jaw and friendly smile fired by incredibly deep and vivid green eyes containing no trace of brown.

"American, you say, from New York? Then what do you think of our village?"

"Double Bay looks lovely."

"No, I meant Sydney Town – it must look small to you?"

"It looks very similar to the environment I overlooked – Manhattan and the Hudson. But I guess the buildings are smaller."

"Guess? Don't you know dear?"

"I was attempting to avoid sounding to be boasting about cityscape height."

Mrs Maxwell considered that.

"You sound a very nice girl. Are you?"

"Yes."

"Do you smoke, drink, play the wireless up loud and party in your room with drunken men who you invite to stay and sleep with you?"

"Is that what your last tenant did?"

"Yes and the one before her and there were others."

"Oh dear, then I must state that while I don't smoke I do drink in moderation and while I won't bring men home to take to bed I am rather interest in quality...um..."

"Sex?"

"Quite."

"You sound absolutely normal – just like my two daughters."

"Can you afford the rent – I want $80 a week, paid 6 o'clock each Friday evening with two weeks rent held as a bond."

"Yes."

"That includes breakfast and dinner."

"What?"

Mrs Maxwell asked was there a language problem?

"No I understand what breakfast and dinner mean; I was just surprised that was included in the $80 a week."

"I also do your washing and make your bed; I like being kept busy. So you'll take the room I showed you?"

"Oooh yes please."

"Do you accept Mac and 'Rabbit 'as part of the family and to be respected as such?"

"Yes I don't know much about dogs but I do like cats."

"Good and move in when you a ready."

Lucille walked back to her hotel where she signed out after packing her bags and returned to her new accommodation by cab, scarcely believing her good luck.

Mac, his front paws on the window ledge, watched her approach with a suitcase and large shoulder bag.

Lucille was sure he winked at her.

"It's Sunday tomorrow," Mrs Maxwell said, taking Lucille to her room. "I always go to one of my daughter's homes for lunch and usually we have a barbie. Deborah – everyone calls her Debs – has invited you and so we'll leave by taxi at noon; dress is casual."

Lucille felt she would be intruding. "But..."

"My daughters wish to inspect you, to decide whether you are a suitable house companion for me. My son Blade couldn't care less so long as you don't appear to be a mass murderer."

"I'll try not to give that impression."

Mrs Maxwell considered that and laughed.

"Oh Mac, we have a funny girl living with us."

Next morning Lucille rolled on her bedroom floor pulling her hip-hugger jeans on and put on a simple top with built in bra, tied her hair in a ponytail and put on her sun glasses and then a black New York Yankees cap.

Mrs Maxwell's mouth fell open when she saw her new boarder.

"The men will all have sex with you on the lawn."

Lucille looked aghast.

"She doesn't know she's living with a funny landlady, does she Mac?"

The cab – Mrs Maxwell called it a taxi – dropped them off at the ferry terminal at Circular Quay where they caught the Manly ferry.

At the Manly terminal Lucille noticed a woman eying them.

"Ohmigod mum, she comes from Hollywood, not New York," said a woman who looked about twenty-five, blonde and sun-tanned with an infant on her hip.

"Him I'm Lizzie, mum's youngest and this is Sam."

"Oooh what a little darling. May I hold him?

"Best not, he's crabby today."

Lucille ignored that, stepping forward. Sam looked at her carefully then leaned forward, holding out his arms.

"Well, look at that," Lizzie laughed, as Sam snuggled down and reached for Lucille's closest breast.

"You won't get want you want out of that one bubbas. God, you have a lovely figure, Lucille."

"Thank you – I'm sure you'll get most of your figure back again in due course.

"Yeah and 'most' is the operative word. I lose some of it permanently each time."

"You have other children?"

"Yes, the twin boys are five."

Lizzie's red-haired husband Mike was a jovial marine engineer, who jumped out of their station wagon, helped his mother-in-law into the vehicle then kissed Lucille on the lips, smacked her butt and said, "Welcome to Oz Yank."

"Aussie men like fondling women," Lizzie said dryly. "You'll learn to distinguish between a friendly fondle and one with intent. A leer generally goes with the latter and he's probably a big red meat-eater. And don't call her a Yank Mike – Americans may regard that as derogatory. When Mike's relaxing at weekends Lucille he sometimes becomes acts like a brick short of a load."

Lucille thought she understood the significance of that last comment. She liked seeing the older children scrapping over which of them would sit next to their grandmother.

They approached a low sprawling house with wide verandas on a hillside amid gum trees and burnt-brown grass. Two men stood on the deck, bottle of beer in hand, watching the vehicle arrive while two women were bringing out food to place on a trestle table also turned to watch the arrivals.

"The one on the left is my ex-husband Alec who my girls believe it's their duty to continue to ask to family functions," said Ida.

Lizzy added, "And the other bloke is Deb's husband Andrew Monk – he's a publisher and far more refined than the git driving this vehicle."

"I'll put you across my knee and smack your bum," Mike grinned.

"Mike – the children," Lizzie said casually.

Debs was slim and tall with unkempt hair and sloppily-applied lipstick. She looked to be in her late twenties.

"What does Debs do?" Lucille asked.

"She teaches music at the local college and plays the clarinet in orchestras. Her eldest Meg is eight and Kirsty a year younger," Deborah's mother said. "Their father David, whom Deb's married when becoming pregnant at eighteen, drowned at sea during a storm-hit yacht race; she and Andrew have been married almost a year."

"Thanks for mentioning that; prevents me from wrong-footing myself."

"What's wrong-footing mummy?"

"I mean saying the wrong thing; we sometimes call it putting our foot in our mouth."

"That's hard to do."

"Yes dear, but sometimes the stuff can hit the fan when you do."

"What stuff is that mummy?"

"Oh look, there's Murphy," said Lizzie, pointing to a Jack Russell hurtling towards the vehicle like a missile.

The meal cooked on a wood fired barbecue was lovely and everyone had switched from beer or gin to wine. The adults looked set for a long afternoon, with the two families of children playing inside the house and Sam asleep away from the noise in the Ford sedan parked under trees.

"Do you play an instrument Lucille?" Debs asked. "We often have a sing-song after lunch."

The answer was drowned by the arrival of a noisy car with racing stripes.

"Damn you Blade you'll wake Sam," Lizzie groaned.

A guy in his mid-twenties looking very much like a blond Bondi surfer Lucille had seen in the travel brochures stepped from the vehicle and waved, a mouthful of white against his bronzed face revealed he had great teeth. Lucille felt a quickening interest as she'd not had sex for several weeks. Or was it months?

"Bevan this is my new boarder Lucille – she's from America," said his mother.

"Hi babe, call me Blade," he leered. "Great body."

"Blade," yelled his sisters and all the men grinned.

While Andrew supplied the new arrival with food and drink Deb tried again. "Mum will do keyboard and I play the clarinet. Do you play anything?"

"Yes, I get by with accordion – the squeeze box type – flute and piano but my preference is the guitar."

"Good – I have three of them, come make your choice."

She called to Andrew to set up the keyboard.

They played sing-song music and during a pause Debs told Lucille she was very good and then asked why Lucille was looking at her so intently.

"You are fine boned, you really could be..." She tailed off.

"Beautiful? I was once but let myself go. It's a wonder Andrew found me. He's my second husband – I lost my true love at sea. I'm still getting over it."

"How sad, will you allow me to help?"

"What do you mean?"

"Restore you physically."

Debs looked taken aback but recovered quickly. "That's kind of you – I am quite capable but lack motivation."

Then she obviously had a re-think: "I suppose I can't be in denial forever. Life is so short. Tell you what, could you come and stay next weekend? I'll pick you up at the ferry terminal – I can be there from 3:30."

"I'd love to do that. Can you get Andrew to mind the children while we go shopping?"

"He has them anyway as he's taking them up-country to see their other grand-parents. I have two pupils to take on Saturday morning but I'll get both to come earlier – then we can hit the shops."

Alec called for more music.

"We'll start with something sweet. You choose," Deborah said to Lucille.

"La Paloma?"

"Okay, none of them know the words and mum will supply only the rhythm. But let's go."

Lucille had played that tune over many years and it had become her signature tune so when they began playing it without thinking she sang the lyrics in Spanish.

Everyone stopped talking to hear the beautiful voice, the children emerging from the house. When she finished Lucille was clapped.

"Come on Lucille," Alec called. "Lead us into something we can all sing with you."

She whispered to Mrs Maxwell and Deborah, 'Blueberry Hill', and they nodded.

"Lucille, from now on I'm Ida to you, understand," Mrs Maxwell called, and thumped the keyboard to begin the opening.

Eventually it came time to go.

"You and Debs alone – just one more," Ida requested. "I want you to finish on a high note."

Lucille said quietly to Debs, "Is 'The Girl from Ipanema' okay with you?"

"Yes but it's difficult to sing."

Lucille strummed the opening bars and away they played, tears falling as she remembered the life she'd left behind, thinking of Maria and Enzio who now had a son aged four and a new baby they had called Lucille. Only Debs saw the tears and probably thought she hurts too.

Blade drove his mother and Lucille home as he lived at Bronte Beach. He offered to take Lucille for a drive to see some sights but she knew he was keen to find what she had under her panties so decided to give that a miss; she'd prefer him to also have an interest in her as a person.

Each day Lucille searched through the newspapers looking for suitable short term employment. Her visa allowed her to work under certain conditions but she knew she could apply for an extension and even permanent residency if she fell into the category of skilled worker so decided she should be seeking employment in the fashion clothing sector.

On the Thursday Lucille had two interviews and was told she would be advised in 'due course', neither interviewers being able to define the length of 'due course'.

Feeling a little depressed - purely emotionally as she did not need to work – she nevertheless though it was unflattering not to be snapped up by an employer instantly recognizing her talent from her work portfolio and glowing testimonials.

She took Ida out to dinner on Thursday and had a great time. On the way home Ida confided: "I way so proud of you relating so well to my family last Sunday and very proud of you when declining Bevan's invitation to go out with him. Beware of him, my dear; I regret to say he's predatory."

On Friday Lucille caught the ferry and going almost to the harbor heads to Manly suddenly felt free and excited. Work wasn't everything and anyway, she wasn't intending on staying in Australia much longer.

Debs waiting for her and looked tentative but after receiving a huge hug and momentarily shocked by her visitor's carefree comment – "We'll do everything tomorrow except have sex" – she slipped into overdrive under the influence of her very personable American companion.

The evening began with cocktails with five of Debs' friends who wanted to meet 'the young loud-mouthed American' as at least two of them assumed she'd be. They were, of course, seduced by charm, wit and outright frankness of Lucille.

"Are you sure you're not Australia with a funny accent," Sylvia said as the group was leaving. Andrew having just arrived home was looking for his dinner.

Andrew had thinning light brown hair and almost perpetually looked a little worried. He was thin and wiry and was dressed well and, in Lucille's opinion, looked laid-back enough to suit Debs with her uncertainties and cultural interests. What did he do? Debs hadn't said.

When the visitors had departed and the adults were having dinner – the youngsters had eaten earlier – Debs told Andrew Lucille was looking for work and had a qualification in journalism.

Andrew seemed surprised, rubbing his left eyelid and looking at Lucille carefully as if wondering what place she'd have in journalism, if she'd ever pursued such work. He finished chewing, looked quickly at his wife, then focused on their guest: "Have you worked in journalism?"

Lucille saw no reason to be evasive. Either he was interested in her professionally or not; it appeared he was some sort of publisher.

"No apart from activity for my course requirements as part of my degree. But I have written articles for many editors on request."

"Don't think me as being rude but why then would any magazine publisher employ you?"

The rude unsurfing-like skinny Aussie bloke, thought Lucille, who never regarded herself as being skinny, wondering what Debs saw in him but she accepted the challenge.

"I deserve such a break because I am an exciting woman, lovely to look at I believe, very talented and will probably sink into prostitution if I can't find a job."

Lucille dramatically swept an arm over her forehead. Debs looked aghast and Andrew looked moved saying he was sorry.

"Good heavens, it's the alcohol talking. I have heaps of money in the bank."

"If you had possessed active experience I would have had one of our editors appraise you."

Continuing her playful mood Lucille asked: "Andrew how is it you became a father when you'd had no experience? Did Debs say to you, "Sorry Andrew, you have the equipment but not the experience?"

Debs sipping white wine blew some of it over the table while Andrew sat like a stunned mackerel.

They laughed so loudly that the children came in from watching pre-bed TV, wondering what they were missing.

When Debs packed the children off to bed, Andrew looked at their visitor over his glass of red wine.

"I'll ask around."

"What, an opening in prostitution or journalism?"

"Prostitution is a little out of my depth."

Lucille smiled. "A funny man lurks, does he?"

Andrew looked away. "I used to be a laugh a minute."

Lucille ignored the self-pity.

"Publishing is a tough business and but you have to try not to bring work pressures home. Please go and say goodnight to your children."

"Pardon me?"

"Andrew I spent almost my entire childhood in a home for parentless children, commonly known as an orphanage. If anyone came to me at bedtime, it was an older girl who'd whack me. Young children like to know they have two parents at bedtime."

Andrew didn't quite know how to handle this conformation and meekly said, "Well I...okay. Pour yourself another wine."

Debs returned smiling. "I can't believe this. My husband is reading to the children. He's never done this before, despite repeated requests."

"I mentioned to him that I was bought up in an orphanage."

Debs sighed and looked fondly at Lucille.

"Yes, mum mentioned that and obviously you said a little more than just that to Andrew. I'll be telling him tonight that I want you interviewed."

"Please don't do that. It won't be necessary; he's already thinking about it."

Over coffee Andrew said he was thinking about finding a possible slot for Lucille in editorial generally but not as a writer, at least not initially. Possibly the trucking, hardware or grocery trade magazines could absorb another person on a trial basis.

"Are you mad Andrew? Just look at her – the way she dresses, her overall appearance, her poise. She's made for your fashion monthly."

"Perhaps," Andrew said, looking again at Lucille as if seeing her for the first time. "But unfortunately the death rattles are sounding – Digger, Mo and I have agreed two more issues and if it fails to show an uptake in sales then it's finished. We're told it lacks impact and is too similar to competitors."

That rang Lucille's bell.

"If that's all, then it's an easy fix. I could turn it around."

"Oh yeah," Andrew laughed.

Debs eyed Lucille acutely.

"You've worked in the fashion industry, haven't you; that's why you radiate style?"

"Yes."

"Tell us about it; mum has not told me about this. Listen carefully Andrew."

In thirty minutes they had the full résumé.

"Excuse me," Andrew asked, taking his glass.

Debs sighed and apologized, saying to her guest, "Friday night football on TV. I'd hoped he was listening."

Twenty minutes later Andrew appeared in the living room, smiling.