The Thirsty Rooster

THE

THIRSTY ROOSTER

a novel by

Colin G. Crump

To Taumalai

Author ’s Quote

Whatever anybody thinks about me is none of my business

All characters appearing in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

eBook Edition: ISBN 978 1 370 98817 4

eBook edition converted and published by Intrepid Sparks, 2017

Print Edition: ISBN 978-0-473-22198-0

Print edition published September 2012 by CopyPress Books

Copyright © Colin Crump, 2012

Except for the purpose of fair reviewing, no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission from the publisher.

Printed by The Copy Press, Nelson, New Zealand

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

About the author

Other books by Colin Crump

Chapter 1

Peter Crowley had been hunting around for a job for a half year or more, scored a few days here, a couple more there, with no real definite prospects showing up at all. The problem was although he was handy enough as well as being highly versatile and totally reliable, these attributes were not true qualifications for a full-time job. Without formally documented references or certificates and a complete absence of a ‘proper’ job history, the chances for employment were very slim. His only real money came from the work benefit scheme that had at least paid the rent over the recent down time. Unemployment was rife and job prospects for the not so well educated were few and far between. Boiling stones to make soup was now a distinct future prospect.

He didn’t like barman’s duties which he had tried several times, couldn’t handle the money end of retail and he had no time whatsoever for inside work and since his new found girlfriend Liz came on the scene, the situation was getting serious. Life was fast developing into a ‘no job – no Liz’ scenario.

Liz Feynman, a year older than Peter at twenty-five, did have a job herself – in a downtown warehouse. She could afford to dress smartly and go out shopping or to lunch and dinners with her friends. She was making out just fine and had already received two wage increases inside six months, along with a strong vote of approval from Howard, the boss (everyone called him Howard), who obviously enjoyed a pretty girl with nice manners and a pleasing telephone voice that helped keep the business flowing and the increasing number of customers happy. Howard Walters had scored his own position with records and glowing references that showed he had spent five years as a very successful purchasing officer for Woolworth’s and his appointment to the post of divisional manager had been a foregone conclusion.

It had been on one of the regular Friday nights when the girls congregated down at ‘The Thirsty Rooster’ for drinks that Peter first sighted (and was totally smitten by) Liz. The problem was, that with no regular income, there was no chance of a lasting relationship with the elegant, worldly Liz, mainly because he could not afford the drinks, let alone dates and dinners in fancy restaurants. There were other young bucks hovering about this bubbly young lady who, as far as Peter knew, were well employed or in business on their own account and quite well able to afford the luxuries of wining and dining. Two such decked-out-in-suit characters also made their play for Liz at The Thirsty Rooster – showering her with fancy cocktails, compliments, and courteous comments. She was a magnet to these hungry hunks and not normally slow in exploiting such opportunities to further her taste for the good life. However, Liz had a soft spot for Peter, and she saw potential in him. She had decided to give him six months to ‘make good’. Not that she would tell him that, of course. She wanted to keep him on his toes.

Yes. Peter Crowley had fallen for Liz and with this new found romance came the besotted desire to wine, dine and ultimately win the girl of his dreams. Along with that desire came the greater determination to find full-time employment – all in the name of love.

He started out earlier each day, vigorously searching for work, studying the early morning papers for job vacancies and registering with the local employment agencies. He made up stories about his skills and began to lie outrageously to his would-be employers until, as luck would have it, an old school chum, Bobby Whitmore, now a fairly successful landscape contractor, called around to see him at his ‘el cheapo’ flat one Sunday and asked if he could work the long Easter weekend – twelve to fourteen hours each day – to help complete a job deadline and avoid a penalty clause that was written into a fairly large landscaping contract.

Bobby was more than keen to fulfill these contractual terms, as a strong potential existed to continue on to several other subdivisions, involving a retirement village, a shopping complex, a school, a fire station, and a hundred-plus upmarket homes.

What do I have to do? asked Peter, who was thrilled, yet trying not to look too desperate.

Anything I bloody well tell you. We’re starting tonight to plan the next three months’ work. Bobby told him. Are you in?

You bet I’m in. Just give me a shovel, show me the ditch and I’ll start digging, said Peter with a huge feeling of relief and a vision of showering his beloved with gifts that would make her forget those suited suitors who hung around her like flies around a dunny.

Bobby warmed to his willingness and arranged for an all-day training session with his number one machine operator to teach him how to drive the tip truck, with a view to getting his heavy-duty traffic licence the following week.

Peter made up the team of five in Bobby Whitmore’s newly formed company, registered as ‘Landscape Love Ltd’. With great gusto he ventured into each and every task – much to the amusement of his fellow workers who were all older and so much more experienced than him. He took to truck driving like a rat up a drainpipe and within three weeks he was fully licensed and driving on his own – working through lunch breaks, weekends and late hours and of course receiving the desired funding not only to vastly improve his own standard of living but also, and – to his mind more importantly – sufficient to take Liz out to dinners and shows and pay for all the drinks himself. Peter Crowley was indeed a happy chappy and Liz, to say the least, was blissfully fitting into his newly acquired affluence, thank you very much. The Thirsty Rooster sold many more drinks and ‘Michael’s Restaurant’, their favourite eatery, enjoyed the regular business from the happy couple and their circle of friends. Life was great. Old and irritating debts were gradually settled and Peter’s credit card, that had been vastly overdrawn, began to be accepted once again.

When Peter opened a bank statement that showed not only was he no longer overdrawn but nicely in credit he began to think about the future. The idea of living together seemed to be the next obvious step towards a committed partnership. He could imagine himself and Liz, with a nice house, a couple of kids, and maybe a dog or a cat, and a boat – a boat would be sweet. Yes, Peter Crowley had dreams, maybe not very original ones, but they were very real to him and there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to realise them. But first he had to get Liz on side and he wasn’t sure she was quite as ready as he to settle down.

Liz, in fact, was sharing a big house with three of her friends and not thinking of changing her living arrangements just yet. For, although their individual housekeeping habits occasionally ground down each other’s patience, the foursome somehow stayed together – with far more periods of fun than failure.

There was Susan, a would-be actress, who when ‘resting’ worked in the same company as Liz, though in a different department. Susan was in and out of love so regularly that she kept the others entertained with tales of romance and heartbreak. She had a very interesting social circle and each of the other girls had dated at least one of Susan’s theatrical friends at one time or another. Susan always slept in, was always late getting away to her job and therefore always left her bed unmade, her dishes in the sink and the toothpaste tube with the cap off, badly squeezed from the top and overflowing from hasty use, fouling the opening and the tap, that was never properly turned off.

Dallas, Liz’s most favoured flatmate, was just the opposite: she dusted when no one else did; she vacuumed when no one saw the need; she defrosted the fridge, when no one else would even think of such an exercise. The windows were cleaned; the toilet was brushed, disinfected and left sparkling clean with carefully chosen, fresh smelling fragrances; clean towels and soap were laid out on the ready. The washing machine was unloaded with whoever’s washing hung out to dry. The whole place was nicely housekept, all by Dallas, willingly, without any expectations and seldom a ‘thank you’ for her efforts. If she knew when the girls were due home she would always throw some more veges into the pot, or another lamb chop into the oven. When they did have a meal together it was always Dallas who got up first to clear the table and start the dishes. She was just so willing. A vase of perfectly arranged fresh flowers on the dining room table, collected and paid for of course by herself, was a Friday ritual. Sweet smelling devices freshened up the entire house, all this to have a pleasant place for the weekend. On washdays – when all their laundry was returned – it was Dallas who would sort it all out, and each pile was left neatly on the foot of each girl’s own bed for her to put away.

Dallas worked only part-time as a tele-marketing operator. She made good hourly rates with attractive bonuses for new sales – but her hours were short and sometimes evening and weekend work was the downside of the deal.

Dallas, at twenty-two years, was a real country girl from a high country cattle station where drudgery was the norm and the declining relationship with her ever-demanding parents finally persuaded her to leave the family home in favour of a free life in the city, and that is when she ran into Liz. They had both applied for the same job at a retail warehouse and started talking together while waiting for their interviews with Howard the manager.

On the day it was Liz who got the job, so Dallas returned to her tele-marketing, not really too disappointed – her job was not too bad and she had just made a new friend in Liz.

The youngest flatmate, twenty-year-old Angela – a little bit over-weight though very pretty, bubbly, sometimes a bit loud – was averse to housework but a miracle-worker with a sewing machine or even a needle and thread. This talent got her off most of the house-hold chores for she not only mended anything that needed mending both for the house and for the girls, she also ran each of them up new clothes at various times, including some very special outfits. When she wasn’t sewing or working as a barmaid in a rather exclusive nightclub she spent much of her spare time on the casino poker machines, often arriving home with a half dozen bottles of good red wine or a full dozen of Lindauer Gold Label champagne. Angela’s generosity was immense. Whenever the odd comment of ill-feeling, because so and so had, as usual, forgotten the peanut butter, or the milk, or the toilet paper, would arise, you could always be sure, that very same day Angela would arrive home with a double supply of whatever they were short of, or had failed to put on the weekly shopping list; that’s why she was such a good friend of Dallas. No one knew much about Angela – she just arrived and somehow succeeded in fitting in with everyone and everything; always endeavouring to do her part and usually paying more than the share expected of her. She always seemed to have a healthy bank balance to boot.

Despite each girl’s shortcomings, everybody accepted everyone else as one of the team. And, thanks to the efforts of Dallas and Angela, a congenial flatting arrangement prevailed.

Most evenings the girls would arrive home, eat, do their chores and sleep – until Friday, when they each had their individual friends to see and places to go. By ‘arrangement’ no one ever brought her boyfriend home for more than ten minutes. It was tough enough sharing with three other females, let alone allowing the males in to start marking out their territory. Although the girls sometimes talked about how nice it would be if Tom or Dick could call and stay for dinner or maybe sleep the night, it stayed as talk. The rule was: bring your man home, then make sure he goes or you leave with him. These girls were no fools – that’s why they laughed and lived with the ‘Rules for the Boys’.

The flat phone never seemed to stop ringing and the day diary beside the phone was overflowing with memos: Dallas, your mother phoned – again. Please ring her.

Angela – Alistair rang about next Friday night, he will ring again at 9 tonight – or phone him at work.

Liz, that guy in the Landscape truck called in and left a box of apples – they’re in the laundry. He’s a hunk!

Susan, your agent rang – you didn’t get the part. Sorry, love!

Message for Liz – Peter somebody rang about thirsty chooks, or something this Friday at 6pm. He wants to know if you’ve got a mobile phone yet.

Liz, Peter rang again. And again.

Christmas was not far away. Holidays were on the horizon. Everyone was doing something. Susan was off to Europe, skiing with her new (much older) producer boyfriend; Angela was booked for a working holiday on a cruise ship; Dallas was back home with Mum and Dad and ‘catchup’ with the family on the farm. As for Liz, she had three weeks off and, for the most part, she planned to stay right where she was, sunbathing in the garden with her radio, listening in to F.M., catching up on a pile of unanswered letters, maybe relaxing the ‘no boyfriends in the house’ rule once the others had all left; but most exciting of all was the expected arrival of her girlfriend from the big smoke, whom she hadn’t seen for nearly three years. Maggie was coming to see her towards the end of the holiday and together they would spend a few days on the coast at her parents’ homestead. Liz couldn’t wait to see her again.

Maggie Thomas, twenty-six and gorgeous, had so far stayed single and ever so happy. Thanks to a well-managed trust fund set up by her late grandfather and some interesting and fortuitous business dealings of her own, she drove a late model sports car and wore the classiest gear imaginable. She usually dressed in black, which enhanced her long blond hair, sky blue eyes and naturally flawless complexion. She was impeccably presented for every possible occasion. Yes, Maggie was a picture of loveliness, and was great fun. Why some rich guy or switched on businessman hadn’t snaffled her up in marriage was a mystery to all those who knew her. She could sing and dance, as well as drink most of the lads under the table night after night. Acquaintances speculated that perhaps it was just this factor that protected her from entering into any heavy relationships. Friends thought simply that no one could keep up with her.

The day Maggie was due to arrive, Liz reminisced on their past experiences, starting at age fourteen when she and her brother Andrew were alone with Maggie and her brother, Josh; they had swapped partners to experiment and practice their first real kisses. Amidst their trials and laughter, Maggie’s little brother got somewhat carried away with the kissing and started fondling elsewhere and the trials were swiftly called off. Good behaviour was called for and the lessons ended with four very frustrated but most learned subjects. It was all pretty good, natural stuff and Maggie and Liz would relive these occasions of fun with affection for many years to come.

Come on, Maggie. If you don’t come soon I’ll have no time to go with you to see your parents; I’ll be back at work, Liz mused.

By now Liz had a splendid tan and was looking forward to showing off her new designer bikini; an extra Christmas present from Peter, who had been allowed to stay over for several nights – on condition he never let on to the other girls that the ‘no boyfriend’ rule had been well and truly broken.

Come on, Maggie, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?

The following afternoon, Liz was moving back out of the high noon sun that had become just too hot. She had her extra large beach towel, a gift from Howard – one of quite a few goodies from Howard in fact – who had ready access to redundant stock and warehouse samples and, like most human males, was of the opinion that the female of the species who doesn’t like receiving gifts is yet to be discovered. With a half-litre of sunblock, along with a variety of tanning lotions, two of the latest Mills and Boons and a plastic bag full of the usual female occupational paraphernalia in hand, she turned on hearing a car on the gravel driveway. The door to the shiny, late model, open top Porsche swung wide and there was Maggie, dressed in impeccable grandeur, all in black, with a single string of cultured pearls. A hint of designer lipstick highlighted an intriguing pair of sweetheart lips, guarding two rows of pearly-white teeth of perfect proportions, save for a tiny gap in the front that set her smile apart. And above all else, a beautiful blouse revealed an exquisite expose of cleavage. It had been said of her cleavage that it was, ‘…divinely stationed, like two freshly set jellies that vibrated their message to mankind with her each and every step.’ Luckily for the speaker, it hadn’t been said in Maggie’s hearing. When Maggie entered a room – everyone paid attention and all eyes surrendered to the view. What a lady.

Maggie..!

Liz..!

They laughed in unison, embraced, laughed and yes, cried just a little too.

Two bottles of an excellent, local Sauvignon Blanc later, the happy pair were still engrossed in a conversation that brought them up to date with the halcyon events they could recall since their last meeting, almost three years ago.

Susan, who had fallen out with her new man and cut short her holiday, poked her head around the door. Hi, Liz! It’s just me, she said, not noticing their guest.

Hey, Susan love, pop the cork of another one would you? Maggie’s here you know!

Susan was quick to oblige. A chilly-bin with four bottles of champagne generously covered with party ice (they always kept several bags in the deep freeze for such occasions), extra glasses along with a packet of fags for Liz quickly appeared. Looked very much like a party was about to kick off.

I’m going to ring Peter and invite him over, Liz decided. You’ll like Peter, she told Maggie mischievously. It was a pity about the ‘no men’ rule, she mused. Maybe the others wouldn’t notice if just this once….

A short time passed. More rubber tyres crunched their way down the drive announcing the arrival of Dallas and Angela (also back from their respective trips) who had just had a long lunch celebrating their good luck on the Lotto where a lucky dip had produced a six thousand dollar windfall. These two girls had shared a ticket every week since they first met, and made up their selection of lotto numbers from their birth dates. This was not the first time these lucky lotto numbers had produced results and the opportunity to celebrate was seized upon with festive joy.

The driveway crunched again, this time under the tyres of a service van delivering a new music centre set up that the lucky lucky-dippers had bought earlier in the day: a present for ‘the house’. The girls had also picked up some CDs: The latest Cranberries album for Liz and Crowded House for Susan. They also had Split Enz, Pearl Jam and Bryan Adams – something for everyone.

The guy in the delivery van was soon conned into setting it all up and before another cork was popped the music was resonating through the house and well beyond. A party was definitely underway.

The drive was soon filled by the arrival of two more cars – friends of Angela’s on their way to a wedding, who just happened to drop by, and Peter Crowley, answering the unexpected call from Liz, came bearing gifts of flowers for his sweetheart and two big boxes of apples which he invited the girls to give to their friends after taking what they might like for themselves.

Why all the apples? asked Liz.

Well, in the subdivision we have just started there’s an orchard full of them and our first job is to rip out all the trees, so there is more to come – that’s if you would like to have them. There’s still about three acres left, Peter told her.

He glanced at Maggie as she emerged from the house. That your friend? he asked.

Uh huh, Liz affirmed, waiting for the usual male reaction Maggie elicited.

To her delight, Peter made no other comment. Maggie wasn’t really his type.

A barbeque that Dallas had won in a pub raffle at The Thirsty Rooster the previous summer was dragged out from behind the garden shed, given a quick clean up and checked out for gas; and Peter became the chef of the day. Before he could start cooking it was his task to get back into town to secure the required provisions for the party. There was a quick whip-round for cash and he drove off. An hour or so later he returned with all the usual: steaks, sausages, French bread, salads and sauces, along with six bottles of red, six bottles of white and several cartons of beer. This gathering would not be short of anything. The weather was warm – people were happy and the music was getting louder as they all became just a little more tipsy with the abundance of fine wine, fun and loud music.

It was just before dusk when a new face appeared. Liz was more than a little surprised to see Howard who, ever so casually, said, Hi. Liz, thought you might like your holiday pay. I know you’re planning on going away for a couple of days so I thought you might need it sooner rather than later. I did try to ring you but the phone was engaged. I see you’re busy, I won’t disturb you, anyway, here’s your money.

Liz stood bewildered for just a moment before realising the rationale of his story and accepting his unexpected arrival.

Oh – of course, Howard. Thank you so much. Oh, this is my friend Maggie and you know Susan of course and, please, stay and have a drink.

Thanks, I will. He smirked at Maggie, who ignored him.

Howard was in although he wasn’t really wanted, but sure enough he stayed and even helped out with the drinks and generally played a cheerful part in the occasion.

Several times he tried, unsuccessfully, to engage Maggie in conversation; in between he nosed around the house and, with glass in hand, spent some time closely viewing the rear of the house and the sizeable section with its tall, unkempt hedges across the rear boundary and a very large shed completely shrouded by trees. The old joinery shop was sound and leak-proof; very secure; very private and unused, apart from some old machinery and gear that had been left behind. Howard was well pleased with his find and before the party was over he had taken careful stock of the property and its potential. He was astute enough not to outstay his welcome and after making his fond farewells to most everyone there, he politely excused himself and left in a gentlemanly manner, leaving Liz not so disappointed with his intrusion and now quite forgiven, if not totally accepted among her friends and in her home. Yes, Howard had wormed his way in with his casual stealth and cunning – very professional. He seemed to have been welcomed – for the time being anyway.

The sun eventually slipped below the horizon. The moon came up and Bryan Adam’s voice was at maximum volume, gradually destroying the new speakers. The party continued on through the night. The verandah’s old floorboards creaked with the jarring stomp of the party dancers yet managed to sustain the torture without someone falling through. More wine flowed amidst raucous laughter, while all present achieved another level of joyous hype – heavily laced with over-consumption of alcoholic goodies.

The house was somewhat isolated with a good surrounding of forty-year-old trees which shut out neighbours (who never mentioned anything about the noise next door) just down the road. Indeed Liz – the rightful occupier – had never even met any of the neighbours at any time. Yes it was indeed a good place for a party. Even a noisy one – if you so wished.

At around five o’clock the first call of a local rooster signalled the arrival of a new day and stirred Peter Crowley, who had spent the last two hours curled up on the driver’s seat of his old Utility, quite drunk and nowhere near recovered from a series of ‘unwellness’ where he was observed on hands and knees under the old backyard plum tree – dealing with his stomach’s contents. He wasn’t a happy chappy at all.

(The following day, when Bobby Whitmore asked him, And how was the party, Peter? he responded, You know Bobby, I was spewing things I never ate. And walked away carrying his head in a used shopping bag.)

Maggie and Liz stirred from the night’s events, fully clothed, from under the covers of Liz’s big double bed. There would be no sunbathing for Liz this day.

Maggie, on the other hand, would be spending a half hour in the shower, using most of the hot water, and at just one hour before midday she would be calling out to Liz, Come on, Liz – open one, will you? She’d be refreshed as ever and ready for more.

For everyone else it was fortunate that it was Saturday and there was time to sober up, rather than facing the horrors of having to go off to work with a punishing headache.

A full three days passed before the partygoers had all returned to normal. The aftermath was gathered up along with several cartons of empty bottles. The barbeque was cleaned up and returned to its resting place behind the garden shed. Liz loaded her kit in the back of Maggie’s fancy Porsche and off they went to the coast.

With the hood down and a refreshing wind in their faces, the trip was indeed a reviving experience and helped to blow out the cobwebs in preparation for the ‘welcome home’ now waiting. The usual family greetings took place with Maggie reintroducing Liz to her taciturn father, Kevin, her over-chatty mother, Michelle, and her much quieter younger brother, Josh, none of whom Liz had seen for some ten years. They had hardly time