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The Tough Butch Girl.
a.k.a Girl On A Motor-bike.
By Robertodavo
Rodney Keating had just left the law office where he worked in Moonee Ponds. As he made his way up to the station, he reflected on the career counselling session he’d just had with Mr Clarkson, the most senior partner in the law firm.
He had completed his articles and was due to be inducted as a fully qualified lawyer in the Supreme Court the following Thursday.
Mr Clarkson said he would be only too pleased to sponsor him at the ceremony and looked forward to Rodney joining the staff on a full-time basis.
Rodney had now reached the bluestone laneway that ran between two buildings, which served as a walkway to the station.
He had left his car to be serviced with a mechanic in Glenroy, and had taken the train to work that morning.
Ahead of him in Margaret Street three men were talking and laughing. They entered the laneway and Rodney was suddenly afraid. He felt trapped in the deserted lane.
The men were now encircling him, cornering him. One grabbed his jacket while another leered into his face. ‘Let’s have some fun before we …’ The third man was filming everything with his cell phone.
Rodney struggled with his attackers but he was no match for three men, who were now bullying him, teasing him, mocking him, and pushing him up against the brick wall. He called for help several times, but no one came. One of the men, the skin-headed one, put a headlock on him, and another, a black man of African appearance punched him in the stomach.
Rodney screamed, the sound ricocheting off the surrounding walls.
‘I’ll punish you for that,’ the first man shouted in his face. This man was solidly built like a boxer and had a mop of blond hair that hung over his eyes.
Rodney let out another shout for help.
The skinhead grabbed Rodney by the hair and jerked him down on his knees. And put his whole weight on the younger man.
He then pulled Rodney up by his hair to his feet, slammed him into the wall, his shoulder hitting the brick.
Rodney saw lights explode before his eyes.
He screamed again.
The blond-haired man pushed him to the ground once more. The black man grabbed him and pulled him up to a standing position, while the third man reached down trying to feel his cock through his pants.
‘Stop it, you filthy animal.’ Rodney slapped his hand away before the man could touch him. ‘Get away from me!’
The black man slapped Rodney across the face and started to drag him by his clothes out into the street to where a small car was parked.
The blond-haired man ordered Rodney to drop his trousers and bend over an older model MG parked at the kerb. The bald-headed man is filming the whole proceedings.
The first man now grabbed Rodney from behind, holding both his wrists. The black man was pulling down Rodney’s trousers while laughing at him.
‘Let go of me!’ Rodney screamed while trying to fight them off. ‘You filthy pigs. Get away from me!’
Without warning, the bald-headed man pushed Rodney hard against the car, kissing him roughly. ‘Be nice to me, pretty boy!’
The skinhead’s weight was overpowering Rodney who was stretched across the bonnet of the MG. ‘I want you!’ the bald man cried, clamping a rough hand over the young man’s mouth. He was undoing the fly of his own trousers.
Suddenly, an incredible sound filled the air as a motor-bike roared from the street into the alleyway. The thrumming vibrations of a big all chrome and black Harley Davidson bounced off the brick wall on the far side of the lane.
The rider killed the throttle and jumped off the bike and immediately assumed a combative stance and lurched at the massive black man who was charging forwards. With a lightning fast reflex, the rider side-stepped the man and using the man’s own forward motion against him easily threw him to the ground.
‘Get off him now,’ the rider ordered. ‘Let go of him. Stop touching him. Let him go!’
The bald-headed man had again grabbed hold of Rodney by his arms.
‘Get off of him now!’ the rider repeated. ‘Leave him alone!’
The blond-haired man then made a sudden run at the rider. As if it was all happening in slow motion, the rider didn’t move until the last moment, then stepped out of the way of the man’s path, grabbed the thug’s arm and redirected the direction of his assault. Using his own unchecked momentum against him, the rider caused the blond man to hurtle forward.
The man staggered to his feet and charged again, but this time the rider knocked the blond-haired man senseless with a karate chop to the side of his neck.
The rider then turned to the bald-headed man and hit him first with a straight right to the nose and then a left upper-cut to the jaw. This was followed by several hard punches to the head and stomach.
The black man was struggling to stand up, but the rider tripped him and pushed him
back down on the ground. Picking himself up again, he pointed to the rider, shouting, ‘It’s a Çankaya travesti bloody woman!’
The woman then turned again to the bald-headed man and delivered a fast judo chop to the right side of his head.
The black man came at her again this time flashing a knife. With a swift kick-boxing technique she aimed at his wrist with her steel-capped boot knocking the knife from his hand and fracturing his wrist in the process.
‘You fucken bitch! I’ll break you in half for this,’ he screamed as he ran towards her.
But again she side-stepped him, tripping him over, he came down with a crash. She was obviously an expert in ju-jitsu. The man’s breathing was ragged. No doubt he had concussion from the impact.
Out of control, he had crashed to the cobblestones with enough force to leave him momentarily stunned.
Rodney just stood there, too astounded to move.
Rodney is visibly dumbfounded by the woman rider and her brilliant part in the melee. He looks at the girl in admiration and takes in her hand-tooled, silver-studded leather jacket, the black leather pants, riding gloves, the zipped-up steel-tipped boots.
‘That was incredible!’ he said to the girl who is hardly out of breath. ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘Donna Quinn,’ the girl said as she came closer, extending her gloved hand.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Rodney said after shaking hands. Again he thanked her profusely. ‘I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come to my rescue.’
Donna was taking off her helmet revealing coppery red hair tied back in a ponytail.
‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Donna Quinn. And you are?’
‘Rodney Keating.’
Donna exuded such an aura of confidence and power, which Rodney found both discomforting and exciting.
‘Where did you learn to fight like that?’ he asked.
‘It’s my job,’ the girl replied. Her voice – deep and throaty. ‘I teach Martial Arts!’ she projected such a degree of quiet strength. After a pause, she asked, ‘What do you do?’
Her eyes traversed Rodney, leisurely, appraisingly.
‘I work in a law office at the other end of Hall Street. I’m almost a lawyer.’
‘That’s good to hear. What were you doing in such a quiet alleyway at this time of the evening?’
‘I was heading for the station.’
‘The station? You’re a lawyer and you don’t have a car?’
‘My car’s being serviced at a garage in Glenroy. That’s my train coming now. I’m sorry, I’ll have to leave you.’ He looks at the three men lying prone on the cobblestones. ‘Did you want me to call the police or anything?’
At that moment the skin-headed thug was regaining consciousness and was staggering to his feet. The other two men were making odd-sounding groaning noises.
‘Perhaps,’ said Rodney, ‘we ought to call an ambulance and get them to hospital.’
‘No hospital. No police. I’m all right,’ said the bald-headed man.
‘You don’t look all right,’ said Rodney.
The other two men were sitting up and looking blankly at Donna. The blond-haired man was rubbing the side of his neck.
Rodney looked towards the station. ‘Damn, I’ve missed my train.’
‘You in a hurry?’ the girl asked,
‘It’s just that the garage closes at six o’clock, and I need to collect my car. I’ve got a meeting in North Melbourne later tonight. It’s now twenty to six and the next train comes at ten past.’
Donna pulled on her helmet, clipped the strap under her chin, and slung her right leg over the saddle. She leaned back with her left boot planted on the cobblestones.
‘I can give you a ride,’ the girl said as the bike coughed to life. ‘Have you ever ridden bitch?’
Rodney, feeling intimidated by the big machine, muttered nervously, ‘No.’
‘Then come on. I’ll get you there in ten minutes. I’ve got a spare helmet in my storage compartment. ‘Just put it on. Climb on behind me. Grab me around the waist and hold on tight.’
Securing the helmet onto his head, Rodney climbed awkwardly onto the Harley to ride pillion behind the woman.
‘What do you want me to do now?’ he asked.
‘Just be prepared to hold on very tightly,’
Donna turned to make certain Rodney was seated correctly. ‘Wrap your arms firmly around me and hold on. Ready?’
‘Yes.’
Donna gunned the throttle and sparked up the powerful engine and with a loud roar the big Harley caught on the first try. ‘Here we go,’ she called above the thrumming vibrations. ‘We’re off!’
Another loud roar filled the laneway as Donna threw the bike into gear and turned the bike into Hall Street and accelerated down towards Pascoe Vale Road.
Rodney felt his stomach lurch as they turned sharply onto the main road. He felt the wind tearing at his clothes as Donna weaved the powerful bike in and out of the slow moving traffic.
He feared for his life and at the same time felt exhilarated by the deep vibrations in the pulse of the bike. Now everything was rushing past him in a blur as the street lights flashed by.
Donna then turned the machine Dikmen travesti out into the right lane as they passed a large estate car pulling a trailer.
Eventually, they turned right into Glenroy Road and arrived at Station Street, just as the garage-man was about to close.
Rodney thanked Donna for getting him there on time to pick up his car. ‘That was very thrilling,’ he said breathlessly as she climbed back on the bike. ‘It was my first time as a passenger on a motor cycle. I had no idea what it would be like.’
‘I’ll have to be going now,’ Donna said.
‘Hold on a minute. I want to thank you again for coming ort my rescue.’ He wanted to say something more to her but the moment passed. ‘Well, goodbye, and thank you again.’
She looked him over before she climbed onto the bike, start the motor, and drive away.
Rodney wondered if he would ever see her again.
2.
A few days later Donna came to the law office where Rodney worked. He is surprised and delighted to see her and directs her into his office.
‘I’ve got a problem. I received a letter from a solicitor in Keilor yesterday. That blond-headed man, Robert Wilson, who attacked you, with two of his friends, is planning to sue me and have me charged with assault. Apparently, he’s having much trouble with his breathing due to damage to his windpipe when I gave him a karate chop to the side of his neck.’
‘But you did that in defence of me. There were three to one against you.’ Rodney replied.
‘I need you to explain that to the Essendon Magistrates Court in six weeks’ time.’
‘I’ll be only too happy to. And provide you with any other legal assistance should you need it. Why do you think they attacked me?’ he asked.
‘They were tough-guy poofters, locker-room jocks, who crave a lot of rough male on male sex. They saw you as fair game.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘I had an older brother who was very much like those men.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Geoffrey loved going out on the town, as he called it, night after night. Frequently, he would meet up with men in a public lavatory in a park near our home in Brunswick. He often said he was having such a gay time. That was until he contracted AIDS. Ten months later he came down with double pneumonia. His immune system wasn’t strong enough to fight the virus. He died at the age of twenty-four.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Rodney.
Rodney is not only very grateful to Donna for coming to his rescue, he is also very attracted to her as a woman. Her strength and tough manner really turns him on.
So much so that he hasn’t been able to get her out of his mind. He is truly smitten. But he was unsure about the next step he should take.
He is afraid to ask Donna to go out with him, fearing she will reject him. He is highly embarrassed by his predicament, his lack of confidence, his self-consciousness.
But it was as though something was compelling him to ask her. So he steeled up his courage.
‘I’d like to invite you out for dinner one evening,’ he nervously asked. Donna didn’t expect this and gave a small laugh.
‘No!’ she answered abruptly, ‘I don’t think that would be a very good idea.’
Rodney now felt very foolish and vulnerable. He felt all his will drain away.
There is now an awkward silence between them. Donna can see how hurt Rodney is.
It seemed to him that Donna was relishing the power she had over him.
He asks for her mobile phone number in case he needs to contact re their coming court appearance.
He shows her out of the office, feeling terribly disappointed.
3.
The following day Rodney telephones Donna and leaves a message on her cell phone that he has good news for her. By mid-afternoon he is a little disturbed that she hasn’t rung him back but at four thirty she arrived at his office in person.
‘I just wanted to tell you that I spoke to my boss, Henry Clarkson, and told him all about how you came to my rescue. Henry immediately rang the local police and has discovered that a CCTV camera was operating in the lane last Tuesday evening and has recorded the whole fraccus with those three men. It is quite clear that Donna was defending Rodney.
Henry also said that the fact that the tall black man, Mahommad Abbas, who flashed a knife, and threatened them during the melee, would be soon dealt with by the police.
‘You should disclose the fact of the CCTV footage to Robert Wilson’s solicitor,’ Rodney told her, ‘and the charges against you will most probably be dropped.’
‘I’ll do that right away.’
Rodney realised that Donna didn’t even thank him, but it didn’t matter. He wondered what she saw in him when she looked at him. Her self-confidence was intimidating.
He felt he didn’t come up to her standards. Yet something drew him to her. Attracted him although she frightened him. She was strikingly good-looking. Thick red hair. The swell of large breasts. The smoothness of long legs
Rodney was thoroughly average in looks. Shaggy Eryaman travesti dark hair needing a cut. His face pleasing but basic.
He reflected how fear congealed in his stomach. So he had to build up the courage to try again. Took a deep breath.
He took a deep breath. ‘I was wondering if … you’d like to have … to have a cup of coffee some time.’
She said in a ‘don’t ask me for anything’ voice. ‘No. I … don’t think so,’ came her reply. Her slight hesitation saying more than her words. Again she was acutely aware of Rodney’s disappointment.
Rodney is embarrassed, ashamed, humiliated and cursing himself. He couldn’t get her off his mind.
‘I only wanted to thank you once again for everything you did in coming to my rescue. I would really like to get to know you better. If there is any way I can make it up to you, please just ask.’
A smile flitted across her face.
‘You just want to get to know me better?’
‘Yes. I really think you’re worth it? It will give us a chance to talk some more with no pressure. We’ll just have a coffee or perhaps a meal and leave it at that.’
‘I think I’d like that,’ Donna said after considering it for a moment. ‘I like French food.’
Rodney was delighted. ‘I’ll check out online for a place, there’s most likely to be a suitable restaurant in Carlton. If not in the city.’
‘I know a good place,’ said Donna. ‘It’s a new restaurant that’s just opened around in Puckle Street. It’s only a few blocks away. You can walk there from here in five minutes. It’s called Moniques.’
‘I’ll ring them straight away and make a booking.’
‘I’ve already made a reservation,’ she smiled. ‘Next Friday. Six pm. That okay with you?’
‘Six will be fine.’
‘Meet me there at six o’clock and don’t be late.’
The red-tressed girl leaned towards him in such a way that made Rodney think for a moment that she was going to kiss him goodbye. Instead, she merely placed her open palm on his shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze. Then, with another smile, she turned and headed out to the street.
He watched her as she walked across the street to where her bike was parked.
She threw a leg across the saddle as she paused to regain her breath. Then untied her helmet from the back of her bike. And started up the big machine.
4.
All day Friday it has been raining heavily.
Six o’clock found Rodney waiting in the foyer of Moniques restaurant in Puckle Street.
He felt as though he has been transformed to another time and place. The restaurant has been decorated in the style of Paris in the nineteen-twenties. There are large photographs of Ernest Hemingway. Gertrude Stein, Scott Fitzgerald on the walls. On an opposite wall there is a big photo of James Joyce standing outside Sylvia Beach’s bookshop. The place certainly had an atmosphere. On each table there were cardboard models of the Eiffel Tower, the Arch of Triumph and Notre Dame.
‘Table for one, sir?’ a woman in her mid-thirties asked as she stepped out from a small counter.
Donna was late. Rodney didn’t know whether he should ring her or not.
‘Oh, I’m supposed to be meeting a friend here,’ he said. ‘I guess I’m a little early.’ He looked at his watch and saw that it was ten past six.
‘Did you make a reservation?’ asked the woman as she checked a small clipboard in her hand. ‘What is your name. m’sieur?’
‘I think the booking will be in the name of Donna Quinn.’
‘Ah, Donna.’ The woman’s sculpted eyebrows lifted above silver-rimmed glasses. ‘Ah, Donna Quinn? Oui m’sieur. She is a great friend of ours. You are most welcome. Let me introduce myself. I am Monique Duval, ownair of the rest’rant. My ‘usband Jean-Paul is chef.’
Monique was a tall bottle-blonde in her early thirties. Wearing white slacks with a blue buttoned-down blouse that reveals fat dimpled arms, she was now casually leaning against the desk and studying Rodney carefully.
‘I know Donna so well. We met under unusual circumstances. She’ll be here soon and won’t let you down.’ She touched his shoulder with a plump, heavily-ringed hand.
Rodney was very aware of her sharp blue eyes. There was an amused smile on her face.
Rodney glanced into the restaurant. There is a long, highly polished oak bar to one side with a number of tables covered in damask and a few booths at the back against the far wall, where there is a large portrait of Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir sitting outside Le Deux Magots cafe.
At that moment a musical ring-tone from the cell phone in Monique’s pocket rang and she tells Rodney that Donna has rung to say she is running late, as she has been waiting thirty-five minutes for a taxi. She’ll be here as soon as she can.
Meanwhile Monique was telling Rodney how she had been walking in nearby Queen’s Park with her seven year old nephew Louis, when they were both threatened by a large bulldog, who had somehow got off his lead and was blocking the path beside the lake. The dog barked at them and had a very nasty growl.
Suddenly, a girl on a motor-bike pulled up at the kerb and went straight to the dog and grabbed his lead which was trailing on the ground.
She held the dog away from Monique and the boy until a moment later the red-faced owner of the dog arrived.
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