Ray Silky returns.. and some Dee TV

Ray Silk returns...the previous Ray Silky post was on 28.5.2012 and continues here...

...I get the call from Hastings a couple of hours and four cigarettes later. He tells me there’s nothing, nada, zip. I call Marianne and tell her what I’ve done to check Ari out and that I believe him. That I think he’s genuine, that he doesn’t even want to see her.

“You know I trust you, Silky. That if you say he’s ridgy didge then I’ll go with what you say. He doesn’t want to see me though, hmm, that’s a blow to the ego but it’s a good result. My boy can handle him if he turns up. Give me a couple of hours to phone him in Broome and I’ll get back to you.”

Crocodile in South Alligator River

 I get a phone call from a bloke I don’t know asking me to check on his wife. He thinks she might be cheating. His name is Anton Chesny and nothing about him rings a bell. Darwin isn’t a big place and you know people talk and you hear a name here and there but nothing on this guy.

“Anton should I know you? Who gave you my number?”

“Phillip Cummings.”

“You know I’m going to call him, don’t you?”

“I thought you were a private investigator.”

“Any objections. He knows already, right, so shouldn’t matter.”

“Call Cummings, doesn’t bother me but will you take this on. I just want to front the wife with some proof.”

“You know what, I don’t get these so much anymore, what with camera phones and people covertly recording their friends on their phones. You can’t get...”

“You know what smart-arse,” he says, “fucking-forget-it. Get Lost.” Consider me lost but I don’t like these phone calls from mystery men with Russian names. Sounds like a load of horse shit but I also get calls all the time from semi-crazy people wanting ridiculous things done so...I make a file for Anton Chesny on my laptop hoping it stays a very small file.

Marianne calls me back and gives me her son’s contact details. I call Ari and pass on the details and he says,

“I’ll be on a plane to Broome, tomorrow.” Good. It’s not very often that I get such a clean result. Call me cynical but I call my contact at Virgin, Sissy, and ask her tell me if anybody by the name of Ari Lipsen books a flight to Broome for tomorrow and then I check on the times and there’s only one flight at 2pm. She calls me back in two hours and tells me Ari Lipsen is booked on. Normally I’d leave it at that but Marianne is different and the next day at 1.50pm I see Ari Lipsen walk down the aisle of the Virgin gate number three and onto the plane. I then wait there until the plane has taken off. Call me anal but I then call the Poinciana Motel and ask my friend, Mona, if he was booked in there. He was and he’s gone and he has no return booking. That’s all bases covered for Marianne.

Now I only have a few hours left of Wednesday and Con Cirrus, star footballer, will be back tomorrow. Tommy Ah Mat hasn’t called me to let me know he’s fucked up so that’s good. Mr Cummings has also been silent. I decide to go and move some clean clothes into the Parap Rd apartments and then do my swim-run-swim exercise again. When I get out of the pool for the second time a pretty red-head approaches me while I’m recuperating on the side of the pool.

“You’re Ray Silky.”

“Yeah, do I know you?”

“No, my name is Tessa Riggs and I’m the manager here. You’re looking after the footballer.”

“Yeah, that’s right this is a great pool.”

“Do you live close by?” She asks me and I tell her yes and that I’m staying here while Con is in town.

“You can use the pool anytime you like, even when the footballer goes home.”

“That’s very generous of you. I’ll take you up on that.”

“Fancy some dinner too? In the manager’s flat, tonight?”

“Just give me the time and your name.”

“Sophie says, 7pm.”

Territory women, you’ve got to love them

Thank God for, Tommy Ah Mat, dragging Con Cirrus away and then this pops up for me.

The manager’s flat isn’t any different from Con’s flat in the style stakes but there are flowers and it smells nice and Sophie got dressed up in a pair of short shorts and a singlet. She offers me a choice of VB or Carlton Cold.

“Don’t drink, love,” I tell her.

“How are we going to loosen you up, then?”

“You won’t have to.”

“Take a seat.” She drinks cold white wine and I sip on water. She’s only just arrived so my crack about Territory women was a bit off the mark.  She’s an Adelaide girl and I make a point not to mention my ex-wife and what I truly think of Adelaide and I’m wondering if it’s true. Do people screw up your perception of a place?

Twenty minutes later I ask that question because I went back to Melbourne and contrary to what I told you earlier I enjoyed it. Wouldn’t want to live there but seeing Footscray play Richmond at the MCG wasn’t all bad.

So, I ask, Sophie.

“Am I wrong about, Adelaide? Is it a crap hole?” She stares at me and says,

“You’re way off the mark. It’s a beautiful place. Some people can’t stand the hot dry heat of summer but it’s a great place. The wrong people can stuff up your ideas of a place.” And I wonder if she read my mind.

“I’ll have to go back and see for myself.”

“Maybe I can be your guide?”

“Maybe, you can.”

“I have a cold ham salad or I can cook some Thai food or we can get take-away pizza?”

“I might go the salad.” We watch a DVD. Some crap that I don’t bother following because Sophie is putting the moves on me and I hope Con Cirrus stays on the Tiwi Islands.

The next day I sneak out of the manager’s flat quietly. I’m not sure why. I had a great night. Is it just something men of my generation do without thinking? I turn out of the apartments at 8am into Parap Rd and decide to go bacon and eggs in the centre of town. I park on The Esplanade again and walk through that little lane where I read Ari his rights. I sit down at a cafe on Mitchell St and go the full treatment. Strong coffee and add some hash browns and sausages to the bacon and eggs. Lovely. And I smoke before and after and my cell phone goes off just as I take a sip from my second coffee. Con Cirrus,

“Ray, I’m leaving now. Be back in an hour or so. Tommy’s not coming back with me. Can you pick me up at the airport?”

“I’ll be there. No worries. How did it go?”

“Brilliant, Ray, brilliant, loved it.”

“Silky, Con. Call me Silky.”

“Thanks, Ray.” And he hangs up. It’s little like having a ten year old kid coming back from a camping trip.

I see him and his magnificent mullet waiting just near the taxi rank. He’s wearing the oldest pair of footy shorts in the world and this time it’s an Essendon jumper. No, it’s a Tiwi Bombers footy club jumper and when he gets in he’s got this beaming smile on his face and he says,

“Check out the jumper, Silky. Tiwi Bombers! Mate, they were so friendly and I had a training run with them. Might do what I’m doing for Buffs and play a few games for them.”

“Not this season you won’t. You want to tell me anything else? Back to training tonight, mate. Big game against Wanderers on Saturday.

“Fair dinkum, Silky. All they talk about is footy and they love it. Went out fishing, it was amazing, Silky. The water was so clear all I wanted to do was jump in and go for a swim. Saw some crocs and they caught heaps. Saw these guys spear fishing, with just these sharpened sticks and they caught heaps too.”

“I get the picture, mate. Fair dinkum and everything. I did a bit of fishing too, while you were away.”

“Catch anything?”

“Yeah, hooked one beauty.” We drive and he tells me about all the people he met. The kids he played footy with and how he was teaching them how to kick the ball properly and Silky they played in bare feet, these kids, all running around like crazy. It was great he keeps saying, great. And I’ve seen it before. Little trips like that change people’s perceptions not only of place but of race too and maybe I’ve answered my question about Adelaide. I don’t think I’ll hear Con talking about Abo’s again or maybe he’ll just forget about it in two days time. Something inside me doubts that. I know he’s a hell of a lot smarter than he generally makes out and the way he dresses doesn’t help people’s perception of him and there’s that pre-judgement thing going on again. We all do it.

 I drive into the apartments and no sign of Sophie and Con decides to take a nap and I go for my run. I turn left at Parap Rd and the sweat’s flying off me in a few strides. Humidity’s right up today, some early rain starts to fall and I run along Ross Smith Ave, down past the Fanny Bay shopping centre and along and onto East Point Rd to Goyder Rd and the Stuart Highway and I’m blowing like an unfit racehorse after a 3200 metre race and I’m stuffed and then it starts to piss down with rain and I get a second wind and storm home down the outside and back to the apartments and a quick shower and a swim in the pool and when I get back into the apartment, Con is gone.

I’m about to scream blue bloody murder and he walks in with a litre of milk in his big mitt.

“You could try buying two litres at once it might save you a walk.”

“You always have to snipe, Silky.  A bloke does the right thing and buys milk so we can all have a cup of coffee and you berate him.”

“Well, la de da, a bloke buys milk and he gets berated, spare me. Berated, Tommy Ah Mat teach you that word....” 

Ray Silky will be back next week... maybe Wednesday or Thursday.

Aaron Davey on Dee TV

 

DVD REVIEW TOMORROW...

Air Guitar...part two and....AC/DC

Air Guitar...continued from 30.5.2012

 ...She has a key and lets herself in. He’s still asleep and she leaves him until he gets up of his own accord a couple of hours later. In the kitchen he tells her what happened,

“All these people arrived, at first about thirty all at once and then people kept coming in, just in twos and threes but they just kept coming and they were making heaps of noise so I started freaking out a little bit on stage, you know doing the goose step and Cal and I would face each other during a lead break and he’d mimic my moves and Jud would doing the same as that bass player from, The Angels, you know he had his sunglasses on and would just play and not move any other muscles in his body and Ivan was going off on the drums, just going off!” Rochelle gets the picture and laughs and hugs him but says,

“What are you going to do about work?” He needs to think that one through.

“I can’t go on not coming in on Monday. They’ve been good to me, let me take that time off to travel and I paid off this house thanks to them. Just let me think about it can you and...just let me think over this week. Don’t mention it again hey, sweetheart.”

“I won’t. Did you have any groupies hanging about?” She asks in a semi-serious, half mocking tone but concerned as well, which is quite a feat all in one sentence.

“Some girls were hanging about but Cal’s the one they all want and strangely enough there were two or three fighting for Ivan.”

“Why strangely?”

“Well, you get it I see, you know why they like him.” And Rochelle laughs,

“It’s those big drummer’s bicep muscles of his.”

“Oh yeah,” says Ryan, “What about a movie, let’s go to the video shop. I don’t feel like drinking.”

“Nor me,” She says and hugs him again.

At work on Friday after thinking about it the whole week, Ryan knocks on the door of, Russel, his immediate boss,

“What’s up, Ryan, nearly going home time isn’t it?”

“Have you got ten minutes?” And he tells him about the band.

“What do you want to do, Ryan? Clearly you’ve thought about it and...”

“I’d like to go part-time, for six months. That way I can keep working and keep playing in the band. I can do nine hour days if you want me too but I can’t come in this Monday either. I’m way ahead with my work.”

“I think you’ve made the right call, Ryan,” Russel says, “I can run it by everyone I’m supposed to run it by and, you’ve been a good, no a very good worker and some idiots might have wanted to chuck the whole job in. I can’t see anyone having a problem with it and forget about the nine hour days. I can give you an answer this time next week or earlier.” And that’s that. Ryan just decided he can easy live on the money from four days because he’s getting money from the band and the house is paid off. Everything is going right and that sort of worries him. Something bad will have to happen he muses.

Rochelle, Mondo and another three mates are in the audience on Saturday night and Ryan gets a laugh when he sees his boss, Russel and his wife. They look a little out of place but seem like they’re enjoying it and it happens like it did last Sunday, a big burst of people and then more and more coming in all the time. They practised a Cal original, ‘Black Fire’, non-stop on Tuesday and Wednesday and did an extra session on Friday. They didn’t tell the audience they were playing an original just watched for the reaction and the reaction is very good. Rochelle and Mondo tell the band that people were saying,

“What was that song? Have you heard it before, is it a cover? Is it The Doors or John Fogerty or what?”

Also at the jam sessions earlier in the week, Ryan was asking for them to do one of his all time favourite songs and Jud and Ivan knew it but Cal didn’t, he learned quickly and when they come back after the break Cal introduces the song,

“Our lead guitarist begged us to do this song and we couldn’t refuse. This is,

“Goin to a Go Go.” And the crowd goes ape-shit even though most of them don’t know the song and Ryan is in rock star heaven. His boss leaves and the band play an extra set when the manager asks them and he slings them each an extra $50 each. Business is good.

The band room is tiny but there are twenty people jammed in like sardines. Backslappers that no one knows, some girlies, Rochelle. Mondo and Dave who belong to Ryan and other friends of Cal, Ivan and Jud. Ryan pushes into a spot next to Cal.

“‘Black Fire’ went down well, really well,” he says to Cal.

“Thanks man and I’m glad you turned up two weeks ago. You’ve rejuvenated the band!” And they high five and laugh. Ryan tells Cal he’s been working on two songs of his own.

“That’s great,” Cal says, “because Jud got the bug too, he reckons he has a song worked out for our next jam session.” Ryan shakes his head and walks off to the toilets and he’s adding up the songs in his head, four, no five, um, how many songs on an album he thinks. They need more gigs or a better, bigger place on Saturday and Sunday nights. He won’t say anything to the others. Not yet and maybe never. They’re young and if they want more they’ll tell him and not the other way around. That’s what he figures. If just one has an ambition to take it as far as they can then he’s along for the ride. But he can’t dictate, can’t call the shots, not yet anyway. And then he laughs at himself because he’s getting way ahead of where they are.

Cal calls him on Monday night.

“Ryan, jam sessions are off on Tuesday and Wednesday.”

“How come? What’s going on?”

“We have a new gig, two new gigs.” Ryan doesn’t say anything and Cal asks,

“Well, are you in?” Ryan’s already considering work, he can’t push it anymore they did the right thing but Cal’s one step ahead of him.

“Don’t worry about work. The pub closes at 11pm we finish at 10.30. The gigs are at The Central Club Hotel, in Richmond. And get this,” And Cal almost shouts it, “It’s a six month residency, the manager dude loves us. Saw us play at the Nation!” Ryan smiles and says,

“Yeah, but we still need to practise.”

“Already covered. Friday night and one other day or evening. We’ll just decide when the extra jam session is each week and the more we play live the less we need to practise, except for the new songs, our own songs.”

“You mean we play at the Central Club tomorrow night? Just like that.”

“Exactly.” And Ryan, after the initial, oh shit what will I do, knows it’s cool, in bed by midnight, eight hours sleep. Rock’n Roll! He tells Rochelle and she tells him it’s great and Ryan feels like everything’s squared away, once again.

Three months down the track and Ryan and Cal feel like they’re in a battle for supremacy with each other. They both want to play lead guitar, they both want more of their songs to be played and Ryan wants that demo made yesterday. They’ve added Friday nights to their gig roster, not a residency they’ve picked up gigs at the Corner Hotel, the Punters Club and a special gig at the Espy and a whole range of pubs and clubs in-between, including the Lounge. They’ve been courted by someone at Mushroom Records, which is why Ryan is pleading with them to make this demo, they’ve even been offered free studio time. Ryan’s not twenty like the rest of these guys and he’s started singing too, they only let him do his originals but it’s the classic band standoff.

Another month down the road and they’ve done the demo. It’s standing room only at the Central Club and the Nation, momentum is building. They have Friday night booked solid for the next three months including gigs at The Prince of Wales, The Old Greek Theatre and the Espy again. Ryan freaks every time they play at the Espy. How can I tell you how important it is to him? It would be like growing up watching and worshipping the footballer, Robert Flower, watching him weave down that wing every second Saturday afternoon at the MCG and then whammo! At nineteen you pull on the Guernsey and run out and play football on that wing.

Two weeks later it all comes to a head in that tiny band room at the Nation where all this started for Ryan and Cal. The two butt heads and then throw fists, it’s on and Ryan has the upper hand until Cal kidney punches him and takes the wind right of Ryan watched by a representative of both Mushroom and two other A and R guys.  Two days later there’s no going back. Cal says to Jud,

“He’s out man, he’s too old anyway. Lonesome Thunder is my band. Our band.” And Ivan says,

“He’s right, man. Ryan wants to take over and we can get another guitarist.” Jud says,

“Yeah, but those songs, he writes great songs, people know us for those songs now.” But Cal’s already made his mind up and he was right, it is his band.

Two weeks on and Ryan hasn’t even lifted the guitar up, he’s hearing rumours that Thunder have already been signed, not by Mushroom but some hot new independent label. Rochelle runs her fingers through Ryan’s hair and says,

“Well, you better just do it, babe.”

“Do what?” Ryan asks her.

“How does this sound?” she asks him,

“Ex-Lonesome Thunder lead guitarist and vocalist, Ryan Tripshot, is recruiting for a new band. Requires back-up vocalist, drummer, rhythm and bass guitarist, will consider keyboards.”

THUNDERSTRUCK....

Ray Silky tomorrow morning...he's back.

Air Guitar...Full length short story....and two great mystery video clips.

Part one starts today with a couple of bands thrown in and concludes on Friday....

AIR GUITAR...

 Ryan’s at, The Top Nation, a nightclub in St Kilda that has seen better days. Ryan’s possibly seen better days too. He’s holding hands under the table with Rochelle. Rochelle is a rock chick and there’s a better than average cover band belting out Rose Tattoo’s, ‘Bad Boy for Love’,

“Thirty days in the county jail, let me out and I just wanted to wail, cos I’m a bad boy, bad boy for love.”

 Ryan nods his head in time and takes another gulp of his beer. They started at yuppie pub, The Geebung Polo Club, in Hawthorn, and what the hell were they doing there; Rochelle’s new best mate, Kim, had found herself a yuppie guy to show off and Ryan had to put up with George Michael, Tears for Fucking Fears and Feargul or Fergie Sharkie or whatever his name was pumping into his head, ruining his Sunday. He got Rochelle out of there as quick as he could and that was two hours too long. He relaxed the moment they walked in through the front doors of The Espy and he heard a real guitar.

Ryan works for the public service. He took a public service test on the day he left school and five weeks after that he started work. And he’s been there for twenty years apart from some extended leave of absence when he went travelling (twice) and fair call to Ryan because according to him the job suits him perfectly. No uniforms, hair as long as he wants it, tatts, and a method and routine he likes. He’d like to be up on stage at The Espy playing his own guitar. So the job suits him but there’s that thwarted ambition too and he knows he’ll take the day off from work tomorrow. He knew that as soon as they walked through the doors of, The Top Nation. If you go home after the Espy closes you go to work on Monday. Take the evil little walk to ‘The Nation’ and make sure you wake before nine on Monday to make the sickie call. ‘Bad batch of Thai food, Murray, sorry mate, be a 24 hour thing, see you Tuesday’. You’ve got sick days in your contract why not use them.

And Rochelle is ten years younger than Ryan and she adores him. She’s never met anyone on this planet who knows more about bands and rock than Ryan. He doesn’t show off about it either, it comes naturally, he just knows stuff. A group of them were talking about great guitarists like Slash and Eric Clapton and Keith and he just said all matter of fact,

“Ian Rilen from X is the greatest guitarist I’ve seen or ever will see.” And Rochelle will look at him and just shake her head. Of course, Ian Rilen, she never even thought of him and it’s just such a rock thing to say. Not even Angus Young could go with Ian Rilen that’s what Ryan says and you have to believe him.

The cover band move on from Bad Boy and go into Status Quo, ‘Rocking all over the World’, but they put some oomph into it, a little grunt that’s not in the original and Ryan looks up impressed, gulps some more beer and throws his long thick hair back and does a little air guitar under the table and Rochelle, well, she just squeezes his bicep, the one with the barbwire tattoo and she can’t wait to screw him later on, she’ll grind down on him in the middle of the lounge room. Band takes a break. ‘Be back in twenty minutes’ the singer says. Ryan looks at Rochelle and says,

“What band is this? What are they called?”

“Lonesome Thunder,” Rochelle says and, “they’re wicked aren’t they?”

“I’m shocked at how good they are,” Ryan says, “I mean. I’m so glad we came, man, so glad.” And he gets up, hitches his black Levi’s up and over his arse crack and makes for the bar and Rochelle watches him and laughs to herself. He can be so serious.

Monday at around 3pm and Ryan’s looking through Drum Media, choosing the gigs for the week. He’s not a pisshead and some nights, if he’s witnessing a great set from a pumping band, he doesn’t drink at all. He owns his own house in Collingwood, bought it before what he calls, ‘the yuppie invasion’, which dates Ryan a bit. Do we still have yuppies or has the name for them just changed. What were they? Paul Stewart from the Painters Dockers (the band not the Union) said they lived their life by the ‘Good Weekend’. Perhaps they just don’t exist anymore.

What catches Ryan’s eye is an ad for a guitarist, a gigging rock band seeks guitarist, playing only covers at present but looking to do originals. Influences include Guns & Roses, X, Rose Tattoo and Iron Maiden. He’s seen these ads before but this particular afternoon he just thinks, what the hell have I go to lose. He and three mates have jam sessions every now and then and he’s done these jam sessions with all kinds of different guys and players and they all say,

“You’re really good man, you should be in a band.” But whenever he asked these guys, he must have asked dozens over the years, about starting a band for gigs, it was always the same,

“Nah, we just do it for fun. Don’t wanna get serious.” So here is an ad for someone serious. He runs it by Rochelle.

“I’ve always said you should do it, babe. Mondo and Trevor, they all say it, you should be in a band. Just answer the ad. Do it, babe.” Ryan makes the call and gets an answering machine and he leaves his name and number, call him back after hours. And Ryan’s got this huge grin on his face. Anything is possible you just have to have a go. He and Rochelle get down to some serious sex and later that night he gets the call,

“When can you come? We jam on Tuesday and Wednesday and we have gigs on Saturday

 and Sunday nights. We just started this residency at The Top Nation.”

“You guys are Lonesome Thunder?”

“Yeah man, I mean, you’ve seen us play, dude?”

“Yeah, last night. That cover version you did of, ‘Rocking all over the World’, it was awesome. I can be there tomorrow night. Just give me the address.” And Ryan has an audition.

He doesn’t tell anyone at work about the audition and nobody asks him about his day off, it’s just accepted. And truth be told he feels confident; he can sort of read music and he knows a heap of songs, at least one hundred maybe more. He’s confident. He calls Rochelle just before he leaves work.

“This is it babe,” he says, “I’m not nervous but it means a lot to me. I just hope they think I can cut it.”

“They’ll love you. I told you. Everyone’s says you’re good enough.”

“Forty’s not too old?” he asks as the first sign of doubt enters his mind.

“You don’t look your age,” she says sweetly, “just don’t tell them, that’s all, they’ll never know.” And it was just what he wanted to hear and the doubt disappears.

He parks out the front of the house in South Melbourne. He hasn’t been in this area for a long time. When he was very much younger he visited mates who had share houses in the area. The front door is right on the street and he knocks. He recognises the lead singer from the other night and says,

“Cal, isn’t it. I’m Ryan, for the audition.”

“That’s great, you made it. I couldn’t believe you were at the gig on Sunday night.” And Ryan inches inside as Cal steps aside. The windows are blacked out with garbage bags and some foam stuffing and when Cal closes the front door he stuffs some under the door and says,

“We’re loud, really loud and we’ve been warned but that stuff works.” Ryan takes in the huge amps and speakers and gets introduced around. He’s pretty jumpy now and he only remembers the name of the drummer, Ivan. Cal’s a guitarist as well as being the singer and he just says,

“Alright Ryan, jump in when you’re ready,”  and he hits the chords to, ‘Under My Thumb’, the Stones song and Ryan smiles and he’s straight into it and the guys in the band all smile too because they know straight away they’ve found their new lead guitarist. They jam for another hour, break, and then do another hour. Ryan confesses he’s never played a live gig before and Cal asks him,

“Are you nervous?” And Ryan answers truthfully,

“I really feel like I should have been doing it for years so I’m not nervous.” And we jump forward to Sunday morning at 1am and Ryan’s on stage in those same black Levi’s wearing a studded belt and studded wrist bands and he’s on lead guitar doing Peter Frampton’s, ‘Baby, I Love Your Way’, a song he detests but all for the glory of the band. Rochelle and Trevor and Mondo are laughing and high fiving, their mate is in a band and Rochelle thinks he looks hot and when the band takes a break a couple of skinny girls in black jeans and T-shirts start talking to Ryan and Rochelle moves quickly and goes up to him and wraps herself around him and says,

“You were awesome. So Good.” And Ryan’s pumped out of his mind. Forty years old and he’s finally playing in a rock band. Why didn’t I do it years ago he asks himself but doesn’t linger on it. Life is too good. And he tells Rochelle he’s just going backstage to check on the song list and she feels a little miffed but she can understand it. His first night, he doesn’t want to blow it.

During the next two sets, Ryan doesn’t ‘freak out’ on stage. He doesn’t assume the posture he just plays, just like Rochelle says, he doesn’t show off it just comes naturally and even though it’s his first gig he’s the coolest guy in the room. At the finish they stay and drink until 7am, Rochelle and Mondo stay until the morning too and as they part ways a very drunk Mondo says,

“A red letter day, man, you were AWSOME!” And yeah he screamed it out and Ryan gave him the high five and hitched his guitar up in his other hand. He and Rochelle jumped in a taxi and when he woke up at 5pm he thought, this band is very good; these young guys can really play. Cal said he was writing songs. Maybe just maybe the dream could get bigger. Rochelle left hours ago. She said to him,

“I want to be with you all the time. I want to move in with you.” She’s always been forward, more than forward when it comes to him. She’s told him all along exactly what she wants but it’s his house and he thinks maybe she stepped over the line. He loves her of course he does, really loves her and she’s been so honest and trusting with him but surely it’s up to him to ask her. And he likes his space, likes it that she’s not there all the time. I mean a guy needs his space doesn’t he. He calls Cal to ask him about the original songs he’s writing and Cal shuts down some because he’s embarrassed but Ryan tells him he shouldn’t be. Maybe they can write some songs together but he doesn’t push too hard. Hey! One gig in. He doesn’t want to be dictating. Ryan falls asleep again.

He’s back at The Top Nation at 9pm, they go on at 11pm. Cal is there but the other guys haven’t rocked up yet and he feels more nervous than last night. He can’t place why he’s nervous, he just is.

This is one of those winters Sunday nights at a nightclub that’s just hanging on, just enough desperados to keep it going and the band has brought in some new punters. The Top Nation may hang on, just. Having said that there are only maybe fifty people in the room. The Espy closes soon, more stragglers to come. Lonesome Thunder pound onto the stage and go straight into that Deep Purple classic, ‘My Woman from Tokyo’, and Ryan absolutely digs it and he starts strutting a bit, not quite like the great Ted Mulry but he’s giving it some action and the crowd like it and Cal starts imitating him and we have some live head banging guitarists going for it. Out of nowhere, twenty or thirty more punters arrive and they’re of the black T-shirt and jeans description and can’t believe their luck with this awesome band they’ve come across down here on Fitzroy St. They were going to kick on to the Prince of Wales but Lonesome Thunder rock and Ryan can’t wait to tell Rochelle what she missed because she went home early, had to start work at 6am.

 Ryan won’t be going to work tomorrow he knows that because it already is tomorrow, 5am in fact and he’s till winding down with the boys from the band and some hangers on and a few girls hanging about too he notices. A part of him is a little scared too, another Monday off, two in a row. He hopes nobody has to pick up his slack. He likes the people at work; doesn’t want to let them down. They’ve been good to him but those thoughts get washed away by alcohol and he calls Rochelle before he falls asleep at home at around eight in the morning to ask her to call his work and let them know he won’t be in. She half-expected the call and can’t get much sense out of him. She’ll be over to his place as soon as she knocks off from her shift at the 7-11....continued on Friday

X...from 1985

Ray Silky returns on Saturday morning!

Spider-man 3...DVD Review

I’m a fan of the original Spiderman cartoon. I mean the television series not the Marvel comic but it’s the same deal, in the chill of night...here comes the spider-man. I like that old Spidey is not always loved by the people of New York. It’s a battle for recognition and Peter Parker is a first rate dork and I haven’t seen the other Spider-man films but I will. Spider-man 3 is full of great action shots and not just the web shooting and skyscraper flying and it brings in a couple of great and original bad guys and Tobey Maguire is just fine and dandy as Parker/Spider-man.

We begin by finding out that at the moment Spider-man is currently loved by New York. We see Peter Parker watching a huge film screen in the street with Spider-man on it and a bunch of little kids cherring Spidey on. I find out that James Franco was his best mate and that Kirsten Dunst is his girlfriend and Thomas Haden Church is a bad guy and escaped prisoner. I do not need to have seen the previous films to get this one. Peter Parker is in love with himself at this present time but yes, in a good-dorky way but his girlfriend doesn’t think so, it looks like she’s sick to death of being overshadowed by Spidey.

James Franco it turns out is not Spiderman’s friend, not at the moment anyway. He turns into some high flying black suited guy on a very impressive skateboard that flies through the sky and this is the first of the great fights. There’s plenty of self-depreciating talk from Spidey and Franco is kind of cool but also a little nuts and Spidey knocks Franco out but takes him to hospital, the only thing is he wakes up with partial amnesia and he’s Peter Parker’s best mate again.

 Thomas Haden Church is Flint Marko and he says,

“I’m not a bad man I just had bad luck.”

My point of view is that is bullshit. The guy is an asshole and he gets caught up in this weird science experiment in a sand quarry or something and he turns into this great big sand monster thing although he can change back and forth. If he's not a bad guy how come he’s beating up cops and stealing money from armoured vans outside banks. Anyhow, Topher Grace also turns up and he’s trying to take Peter Parker’s job as the photographer on the well known rag, The Daily Bugle, and things are beginning to heat right up.

Parker tells his aunt he wants to marry MJ (Dunst) and she gives him her wedding ring and old Peter Parker, he books a fancy French restaurant for the big night. And there’s a nice little nod to Peter Sellers in the Pink Panther here but MJ is pissed off because she lost her job singing in a Broadway Show and the night basically turns to shit and I won’t give any more of the story away.

 It’s just heaps of fun with some great snappy dialogue. There’s also some odd black shit that sticks to Peter Parker and it sort of turns him into Jerry Lewis from the Nutty Professor and old MJ doesn’t like it too much and it somehow gets transferred to Topher Grace and he becomes a very bad dude.

Cliff Robertson turns up as Peter Parker’s uncle and it explains some storyline stuff as he’s dead and so is William Dafoe and it explained to me that he was James Franco’s old man and I’m right up to date with the Spider-man saga. Bryce Dallas Howard, James Cromwell and JK Simonds co star and this is just a film that is heaps and heaps of fun with a plausible storyline that is somewhat camp in places but it’s all good fun.

Trailer...

Ray Silky PI...and a blast from the 1980's!

The previous Ray Silky blog post was on 23.5.2012 and it continues here...

 

...And I hear the car start and they drive off to the airport.

While I’m here I decide to swim some laps. The pool is fifteen metres long and there’s no peanut shape, it’s straight up and down and I spend about half-an-hour churning up and down. I’ve been missing my run so I do an extra few Km’s. I shower at the Parap apartments and then do another half-an-hour in the pool. I turn on my phone and get a voice mail message from Rad.

“Need your expertise, Silky. Call me.” Marianne calls as soon as I put the phone in my top pocket.

“Silky. I got the call my ex is in Darwin. I organised to meet him in that little lane way off Mitchell St. The one that runs through to the transit centre, next to the one hour photo shop. There’s a cafe. He’s going to be there in fifteen minutes. I don’t want to go.”

“No problems. Any idea what he looks like now? I have his Facebook photo. I’ll email it to you now. Are you sure this is...”

“It’s what I do, Marianne.”

“Thanks, Silky, call me afterwards.”

“He has your address too, Mrs White Pages.”

“Make him understand.”

“I will. See ya.” Job for the day.

Mitchell St Darwin

 I drive into Mitchell St and can’t get a parking spot so I park on the Esplanade and walk through to the laneway from the Transit Centre. I see the ex sitting on a plastic stool. He’s wearing black jeans and black T-shirt. Black Dunlop Volley’s on his feet. Must be from Melbourne in that get up. He has a round face with remarkable eyebrows. They don’t meet in the middle but Brooke Shields would be proud of them. He has a short buzz cut because he’s going bald and he’s smoking like is life depended on it. I saunter up to Ari Lipsen and introduce myself,

“Ari, my name is Ray Silky. Please call me Silky. Marianne won’t be coming.” I signal to the guy in the tiny café that I want a latté. He’s a Thai guy and I’ve been here a million times with Marianne. He gives me his best smile and nods. I feel welcome. Ari does not.

“So you’re here to tell me to go home.”

“That’s pretty much it.”

“You don’t think I have a right to see my son. Look, I know what you’re thinking, mate. I’m some loser from down south looking to make things right with his son because he wasn’t there when he should have been. OK. Alright. That’s me but I’m not the same person that Marianne knew twenty-five years ago. We all develop, we all find our own way; sometimes it takes some people longer to work out who they are. I’m not some bum. I work hard at what I do. I write and I make a living as a writer that’s not an easy thing to do and...”

“Whoa, hold on, partner, I’m impressed but it doesn’t mean a bloody thing to me. You want to know your son. I hear that there are legal ways that you can do that so take those steps and don’t be contacting Marianne again and do not go to her house.” I say it in my threatening voice. Something I’ve cultivated over time.

“You’re telling me to go home and go through the legal channels which will take forever.” I look at him and you know what, I believe him. I’m not sure what to do. My instinct on these things is good. I have a radar that works well. I look him in the eyes, straight and hard.

“Ari, I’m a hired man. I’m not Marianne’s lover or boyfriend. What I’m telling you is I do this kind of thing for money and I get paid on results. You getting the drift now?”

“I get it.” And I look at him again and he’s pissed off. Not at Marianne or me. Just pissed off. It might take some time to find his son through the legal channels but I can see he’s going to do it. As a freelance writer he doesn’t have to go back to Melbourne. He can work on the move. I can see he’s going nowhere and I make a split second decision.

“Ari, give me your cell phone number.” He looks at me and says,

“You’re going to...”

“Ari, give me your cell phone number. What are you working on now? Give me some names of magazines or whoever you write for and I mean now and give me some web addresses, let me know who and what you are and I may, I MAY try and convince Marianne to make proceedings go faster.” He gives me a list of five or six magazines and the same amount of websites and I make a note to call, Peter Hastings, a cop who played for Buffs for two years before returning south. He can check out Mr Ari Lipsen for me. I give it to him straight.

“Where are you staying, Ari?”

“Poinciana Motel, just down the road.”

“Ari, I now the lady who owns that motel, be a good boy. What I’m also saying is stay here in Mitchell St. And I mean up this end. You go out you walk up this end of Mitchell St. I know you know where Marianne lives, don’t go there. You contact her again before I call her, this deal is off. Get it?”

“I got it. I never wanted to contact her but there’s no other way is there. If the boy meets me and  says he never wants to see me again then I’m fine with that. No, I won’t be fine but...”

“But you’ll respect it like you’ll respect me now and don’t bother, Marianne. I gotta go, Ari but mark my words, stay away from, Marianne.” I walk away convinced he won’t contact her again and I call Marianne and lie to her that everything’s cool. I hate lying to her. I go home to my flat in Parap and do some research on Ari and he comes up clean. Just waiting on the cop report from Peter Hastings now . I congratulate myself for working so fast and celebrate with a ciggie and coffee on the balcony. Ah, the decadent life...

Ray Silky will punch me out but here's Depeche Mode and...Just Can't Get Enough.