Novel - The Ozone Café - Tattoo Lady

Tattoo Lady

There's a flurry in the morning to get dressed. Rosanna puts on her yellow silk suit. Anna raises one eyebrow at Natasha's purple and pink dress, matching pill-box hat. They are all dressed for the Queen, but haven't realised that they will have to walk the sandy road edges to the Ozone Café. The café that has floorboards covered in the stains of the sea, cracked seats and youths playing billiards. Louts who would look at you with their toothpicks dangling, their mouths grinning. The same café that once served beautiful Italian pasta, gonchi, baked fish with garlic and wine, now offers fish and chips, hamburgers, greasy savaloys or steak and onions. The women are in a rush, the back verandah where the sleepout is, is overflowing with junk. Starting with the three beds, the covers are in chaos; strewn skirts, hats, underwear, slips and pyjamas of all shades and hues. The sickly-sweet smell of perfume is unbelievable. The one dressing table that they all share is a dust bowl of powder, jewellery, lipsticks and hair pins.

Anna is looking for her one last unholed stocking. 'Excuse, excuse,' she says, pushing past Rosanna who is plastering her lips candy apple pink. 'You seen my nylons, I put them there,' she says, pointing at the end of the bed.

Rosanna shrugs. 'You can have a pair of mine, down there, in my suitcase. We find yours later, hurry, hurry. We need a cup of coffee first.'

It was a tight squeeze around the kitchen table. Sandra had made a pot of good Italian coffee and was serving her guests with Bouslaka bread and cheese.

'You good girl,' says Natasha. 'We like you, better than Titianna. She was, how you say, a packet of noodles short of a bowl.'

'I never met her,' says Sandra. 'Rennie told me that one morning she packed her bags and left while he was at work. The police found out she went to Queensland and Rennie told me he was better off without her.'

'She probably wanted a cane farmer,' says Anna. 'You know, a man on the land, that she could work beside. I bet she's up there now, cutting cane and killing snakes.'

'Na, too soft for that. That little babushka would be rocking the cradle, with three children, and baking cakes.'

'Oh, well. Hey, what time is Vinnie coming to collect us?'
'He'll be here any minute,' says Sandra. 'I won't be coming because I must prepare for the party tonight.'

All the women give a loud cheer, fluttering their polyester front bows, fingers under their cultured pearls. They scuff around, rinsing coffee cups and generally getting in the way of each other.

There is a squeak of the front flywire door and Vincenzo pops his head around the kitchen door. He's dressed in shorts, a white open-necked sports shirt and thongs. He chuckles at the sight before his eyes. 'Hey,' he says, 'You look like the time you came to my wedding. You girls could always put a man through the punishment, but believe me, and seven hail Marys for my penance, how you gals gonna walk along the road in those crocodile stilts?'

'Walk?' says Anna.

'Yeah, it's just up the road,' giggles Vincenzo. 'I never had anyone dress up for me like that before.'

The ladies look unforgiving at each other through Sandra's coughing smoke fit. 'I'm glad you're telling them, Vincenzo,' she says, swiping the air to dispel her extra cigarette plume. 'I didn't have the courage.'

'We don't know Australia,' says Natasha, 'so how we know what to wear, huh?'

'Oh, come on. Doesn't matter. We wanna see the Ozono. What you got for lunch, Vinnie?'

Anna swings herself around in the hallway, dervishing her new pleated skirt, while Natasha pushes her along.

Vincenzo hasn't told his sisters yet, but he has a surprise for them. He couldn't bear to think of the ladies trying to plonk their false teeth into a mound of hamburger meat or a thick beef steak, so he has prepared his piece de resistance. Fresh King Prawns with a pesto salad for his entree. Then he's baking a whole large Queensland Barrumundi with yoghurt, shallots, red peppers, garlic and wine, with fresh side vegetables. For dessert he will open his strawberry preserves, serving them with homemade waffles, so that he will drizzle each section with the fruit, strawberry juice and fresh cream.

* * *

The three women sink down into a cubicle and remove their shoes. The café is an inner sanctum after the long, hot walk on their wobbly high heels. Vincenzo had held them in suspense about the lunch he will serve, keeping them in good cheer, telling them that next time he would take them to the supermarket and buy each sister a pair of rubber thongs (for the sand).

On impulse Anna tries every flavour of syrup at the milkshake stand. Natasha is a little annoyed that Maria was too pained to come with them to see her husband's beautiful café. They take photographs commenting on the children's mural, the outside walls shaped like a woman's body, all curvey and humpy like big thighs and bosoms. His beautiful vegetable and herb garden. The outdoor dining area for special events, with Mediterannean umbrellas and timber decking. His palm trees with colourful fairy lights. His emaculate kitchen with stainless steel pots, a deep fryer, and all the latest modern appliances, especially the waffle machine. They love the pinballs, the young men playing snooker and play the jukebox along with the boys, as if they eighteen again.

A trickle of tears lines Vincenzo's cheek. He wanted four women today, prancing around. Maria begging him to dance to Tony Bennett, while Natasha and Anna rock 'n' roll along the aisles. But there is only three and he claps to their knees-up, the flaying of skirts side to side like Annette Funicello. Anna pretending to slick her hair back like Bobby Darren.

'Oh,' says Natasha, sitting back down again. 'I get too old for this. Hey look! Vinnie's bringing out the first course.'

* * *

They plied through the meal, laughing, joking, singing all the old songs from back home. When the last of the snooker boys had left, Vincenzo closed the front door, swinging his sign around. He was tired of listening to the clacking balls. It was time to give some cheer to his favourite sisters and maybe plug them for some information about Maria.

When the dishes were stacked away, Vincenzo brought out his best Blue Mountain coffee. He had bought a new Italian coffee pot for the occasion, little white porcelain cups and saucers, sugar bowl and milk jug to match.
'You think of everything, Vin.'

'I think of Maria, Anna. I don't wanna spoil you girls fun, but I was hoping...'

'Ah, it was never meant to be. She's too selfish, full of her own aspirations....she wanna be a famous artist. Vinnie, forget her. You got a new life here, with your brother, a beautiful bay to fish, a cafe that has a view that is magnifico and well, why not think about...'

'Hey, leave him alone,' interupts Anna. 'He can get drunk tonight at the party.'

'Party?'

'Yeah, Sandra is putting on a party for us. Would you believe it? She's invited all your friends, Vinnie.'

'In that case, I have a few Oozo's.'