CHAPTER 1

Hazel O'hara

'Are the staff on paralysis training tonight?' came a sharp, sarcastic cry,and Hazel waved his serviette as if the boat was just leaving the dock.'Darling, over here we happen to be this strange race called 'clients'.'

A waiter moved across the room. 'I heard you the first time,' he spat.

'Darling, how could that be? Do you think the battery has gone inyour hearing aid?' and Hazel smiled falsely. 'Another two bottles,darling, because we don't want to interrupt your night off.'

'Arsehole!' The waiter retorted.

'I knew it,' cried Hazel. 'He must be going to win an award forliterature. You can tell by his grasp of words that he is going to bea greater writer. Eat your heart out, Barbra.' The other three at thetable fell about laughing. Hazel was at it again, never to be put down,a word or generally more than a word, to put people where theybelonged—according to Hazel.

He was almost six feet tall, thin as a rake, with green eyes, reddishblonde hair, a very pale complexion, a good nose and strong jaw-line,which sometimes made drag nights even funnier. He had no realpatience and no real staying power: when he saw a task ahead, hewent for it. The moment it was mastered he became bored and foundit repetitious and moved on. He was always the one to have at adinner party; he was the star in every sense, the entertainer, the cleverboy. Boy Hazel was now 35 years-old and had never bothered, exceptfor a teaching job, ever to stay at one job for a period of time aftermastering it. He had first trained as a teacher of youngsters from fiveto eleven and that had worked for a while but then the predictabilityof it all swept over him and he was off on another avenue. He was,to say the least, a very difficult personality, one minute quiet andconsiderate, and in a flash, if someone annoyed him, his viper tonguetook over. He could slaughter any character within a dining room'slength. Even at the hotel where Hazel drank and drank regularly,no-one really thought it worth while to enter into a fray with him,and as a result his friendships were very few—a million acquaintancesbut real friends only two or three at the most. He was so difficultand far too unpredictable for anyone to get close to him and gettingclose to him he hated. He found it extremely claustrophobic anddemanding.

Yet despite all this he was strangely methodical. His tiny rentedapartment was always immaculate. Saturday morning it was alwayscleaned from top to bottom: no great task given how small it was—akitchen, a bathroom and a bed-sitting room; nothing of importancein the decoration, in fact it was rather minimalist, a complete contrastto his personality. The only extravagant thing he possessed was anextremely large European painting he had purchased at a smartauction in a very important home, more the result of waving to anacquaintance than bidding seriously. The painting was knocked down"to the tall man with red hair". 'Charming,' said Hazel later. 'Thecretin could have said "to the elegant gentleman on my right"—whata limited piece of work!'

And so, over his two-seater settee, hung in a large ornate gilt frame, aEuropean landscape which completely over-powered the whole space.And with time Hazel had become remarkably attached to it, whichwas odd as everything else he owned when it didn't function or hewas simply tired of it he disposed of without any compunction: butthe painting always remained.

His love life was extremely difficult to know. As Hazel gossiped abouteverything but never about what he did in his private life, no-one wassure but the stories were many. His tongue, or better still, his repartee,was such that it tended to negate his ever having a fixed relationshipor in fact any relationship at all.

He was the supreme entertainer. If he did a drag show, he alwaysused something clever—no Barbara Striesand for him. He used aWorld War Two nurse's outfit and mimed Gracie Fields's "Wish meluck as you wave me goodbye", which had the queens cheering andscreaming for more. He was calculating. He knew very well that todo serious drag meant that there were always going to be bittersend-up comments, so he always got in first. He sent himself upbefore the others could do so and as such was always a great success.For example, dressing as Doris Day and singing "Younger thanspringtime", he had everyone in hysterics, especially as he was sotall and in stilettos. Hazel became a vertical image of entertainment.But with the microphone in his hands, it was death to anyone whothought to make a smart comment from the crowd and get awaywith it. His replies were super-sharp and delivered without a singleshred of charity. Hazel was, indeed, someone to be careful of. Evenin ordinary situations, for example. Meeting him at the supermarketor at the greengrocer's one could be absolutely sure that the commenthe passed was generally not going to be in your favour. Altogether, hewas generally summed up as 'a very bitchy queen'.

But he had another side to him that he kept completely secret frompeople, or perhaps it should be said from all but the two or threepeople he really liked. He was completely faithful and would doanything to help them and at any cost.

One of these persons was Keven O'Malley. Hazel had carried a torchever since he had seen him, which must be almost ten years ago. Hewas extremely handsome, of average height, and with a great body,as a result of a lot of body-building, thick black bushy hair andelectric blue eyes. He was the ideal for Hazel and woe betide anyonewho passed a comment that was not favourable about him in Hazel'searshot. He was like an Araphoe Indian on heat.

Some years before, after a party in the late hours of the morning,Hazel was obviously one of the last to leave and from inside the partyhouse he heard a scream and much yelling on the street. He dashedto see what the noise was and to his horror he saw two hoodlumsattacking Keven, who had also been at the party—and everyone juststood around watching. No-one, not a single person, moved in to helphim. Hazel raced forward but not before ripping off a loose picketfrom the front fence and just attacked. The length of timber swungin all directions and every strike hit the target. The two hoodlumsscampered quickly away, using sharp expletives to describe him. Hehelped Keven to his feet and then turned on the crowd of partygoers.'Cowards!' he screamed loudly. 'You would let a person you know bebeaten up and look at you there—there must be fucking thirty of youand there were only two shits. Don't any of you ever think that if youwere in the same situation that I would ever, ever come to your aid.You could all be beaten to a fucking pulp for all I care. Go home,little boys,' he shouted sarcastically, 'it's where you belong.'

Hazel helped Keven to his car, but because he was in pain Hazel drovehim home and put him to bed after cleaning him up. Keven neverforgot the sacrifice that Hazel had made for him, while the othersjust stood back and watched; and in any social situation he alwayswelcomed Hazel, which was more than many of his acquaintanceswould have done.

It was after that evening that Hazel began lessons in kick-boxingand, being tall, with long, strong legs, he began to master this art ofself-defence, except that, sometimes, when really angry and fighting inthe gym with an opponent, he would have to be physically restrainedas he set out to attack his foe rather than use the exercise as a learningprocess.

Keven O'Malley was a good-looking, successful architect, in greatdemand from his clients as his work was very thorough and inventive.He lived in a large terraced house in South Yarra and as he becamefinancially secure he purchased it when it became available. He alsobought the derelict terrace next door and converted it into his office/showroom. He had four staff and he streamlined his business so everycent ended up in the right place, namely his bank account. If he sawHazel in Toorak Road, he always invited him back for a drink andoccasionally took him out to dinner. But the Hazel he knew was acompletely different character from the Hazel everyone else wasobliged to suffer. Hazel was quiet, polite and chattered on to Kevenin a sophisticated manner about architecture or interior decoration,world affairs—quite the person to be with, a few sharp funnycomments but not the raw humour he usually used.

The other friend he had was Mary Warren. She lived not far fromhim and often they would go to the supermarket or a film or hewould just arrive with a whole meal, everything, wine included, ina large supermarket bag, just take over Mary's kitchen and produce asplendid meal but only for the two of them.

Mary was very overweight, "ten tons of fun", as Hazel jokingly calledher but she had a very beautiful face, excellent skin, fine features,blue crystal clear eyes, a full mouth and a mane of auburn-colouredhair. She was good for Hazel; she was the only person he wouldtolerate giving him a talking-to, and at times a sharp one, withouthis becoming vicious and retaliating. Mary was Hazel's oldest friend.They had been at school together, the two most outlandish figuresat the school in both personality and physical appearance, and it wasMary alone who held the secret as to what Hazel's real name was. Hehad become "Hazel" at a young age and the name stuck. He used it asa badge; he flaunted it just to make people uncomfortable originally,but with time everyone just accepted that this tall, blonde-hairedqueen was called Hazel.

They were remarkably similar. Mary and Hazel neither really wanteda relationship as in the past their experience in this field had beenrather disastrous or awkward. They both needed their privacy butboth swore they would change their ways if Antonio Banderas askedeither one of them to marry him. He was their ideal of the perfectman and they never got tired of watching at Mary's house DVD afterDVD of him. Mary had in fact framed several photos of the star andhad them on a table in the sitting room and any time Hazel found anew photo he would immediately have it framed and it would jointhe others on the table including the photos of Banderas naked. EvenHazel had a copy of that. So the two of them lived in an odd fantasyworld, with Banderas strangely holding it all together.

Mary worked as a child psychologist: she was very good at her workand very dedicated. She had gone to university, completed her studiesin record time and started work at once and unlike Hazel remained inthe one job all her life.

Hazel at this time had thrown up working as an interior decoratorand was working as a waiter in a smart restaurant. The only problemwas that his retorts to some of the patrons could never be describedas smart. Then, only six weeks before, an emergency occurred inthe kitchen of the restaurant, and, as the chef fainted and had tobe sent home, Hazel as ever came to the rescue. He donned thechef's hat, put on an apron and off he went. The owner was sosurprised at Hazel's ability to change from waiter to super-chef, butall the clients that evening remarked to him that the taste and thepresentation were splendid. From then on, Hazel was fitted outin a chef's outfit and was trying his culinary skills on the patronsand with great success. In his inimitable style he did away with thechic printed menus and put up a blackboard, admittedly on a goldeasel, and limited the choice to four entrees, four main courses andfour deserts. The owner, Godfrey Simms, was in great doubt as tothe change, but with a full restaurant every evening when Hazel wasworking, he changed his mind at once. Hazel insisted that he dosomething with the interior. 'Darling,' he said to Godfrey, 'it's so oldhat—a bare brick wall! So 70s! Get it plastered and put a fabulouschandelier in. Come on—get moving!'

It was at this time that Hazel's bank account started to climb. Hehad always been careful with money, as two or three times in his lifehe had been without work, his fault, of course, but he realised theimportance of a healthy bank account as it secured him the thing hevalued above all, privacy, and that could only be assured if he had hisown apartment and did not have to share in order to pay the bills.

* * *

'Darling, I have a night off. I'm on my way over. Open the wine,' andhaving hung up he collected a bag of semi-prepared food from therestaurant and a couple of complementary bottles of wine and madefor Mary's in his pale lilac Volkswagon. He had had it sprayed thiscolour, his excuse being that even if he got completely drunk he couldalways recognise it. He beatled up the street where Mary lived andto his joy located a car leaving and so took the space only two doorsfrom his destination.

Mary opened the door to a very excited Hazel. 'Darling, I hope youlike lobster,' and went on noisily to describe the contents of the bagwhich he set down on Mary's kitchen top. 'Well, what do I have foryou?' Hazel smiled wickedly.

'Oh, don't tell me.'

'Yes,' cried Hazel, 'but you can't see it until I have a drink.'

They danced about like school children, completely at one with oneanother, in their own very private fantasy.

'Well, where is he?' demanded Mary. 'I'm waiting,' and Hazelwithdrew a neatly packaged frame and handed it to her.

'Happy Birthday, darling.'

'Thanks, sweetie,' was the reply, and she withdrew an antique framemade up at Mirror and the occupant of this frame was a smilingAntonio Banderas.

'Oh, it's heaven,' she screamed, 'and the frame—oh, Hazel, youshouldn't have, but I'm so glad you did.' And she leaned over and gavehim a kiss.

'Darling, I have managed to organise a diet food evening.'

'Oh, how boring,' laughed Mary.

'I was just joking, sweetie. You will gain at least twenty kilos thisevening.'

'Sounds divine! Bring on the kilos!'

There were lots of "ohs" and "ahs" as Hazel produced yet another treatfrom the bag.

'Oh, he is so gorgeous,' said Mary, smiling back at the new picture.'Now, pick up your glass.' Hazel never had any problem with that.'Have a drink. I have something to show you. Come on,' and Maryled the way down the hallway of this large house which had been leftto her by her godmother many years ago. It was a double-frontedVictorian house in Hawthorn, with a large bay window on either sideof the front door. All the rooms were large, which was perhaps just aswell as Mary, in Hazel's apartment, was always terrified of knockingsomething over, the space being so very limited.

She directed Hazel to the main sitting room and to his surprise henoted on one wall a beautiful antique gilt frame hung in a verticalposition but with a blank white canvas in it.

'Darling,' said Hazel, 'don't you think it's just a bit too minimalist?'

'Oh, Hazel, you are a dill! What do you think of the frame?'

Hazel moved closer and had a good look. 'It's fantastic. Where didyou get it?'

'Well, you won't believe this, but a woman I work with said that hermother was being placed in an elderly care centre and invited me overto have a look at the furniture she had to sell. I thought of you, Hazel,but as your apartment is'—and here she stopped, had another sip andlooked over the top of her glass—'well, so compact—'

'I think you mean small, don't you? Oh, how could your be so cruel?'feigned Hazel.

'Hazel, why don't you rent a bigger house. You would be muchhappier.'

'What's happy, Mary, about having a big house! I have so manyproblems just with my mouse-hole now—imagine if I moved into aspace like yours, I would get lost,' and they laughed. 'Well, finish thestory, as I've finished my drink.'

'Well, I bought the frame. It was on top of a wardrobe. And alsothis little table with the marble top. What do you think for? $200. Ithought it wasn't too bad.'

'Too bad, sweetheart—you got a steal. A frame nowhere near asornate or with real new gilding is going to cost you $600 or $700 butthe blank canvas?' asked Hazel, frowning.

'Well,' smiled Mary, 'you study it for a moment and just think aboutit and I'll return with the bottle,' which she did.

'Well?'

'I'm stumped, sweetie, you'll have to let me into the mystery.'

'I've found a fabulous artist who can paint a portrait from a photo.Now do you get it?'

'The answer is no, unless you are going to be immortalised forposterity.'

'Oh, Hazel, sometimes you are so dumb.'

'Really, sweetie,' said Hazel, sharply.

'I am going to have a portrait of Antonio Banderas painted for theframe. Won't that be exciting!'

'If it's done well, yes. If it's not, it will be simply kitch,' replied Hazel.

'Oh well, if it doesn't work, I guess I can use another mirror,' andMary laughed. 'Come on, Hazel, I am starving for this diet food.'

'To the kitchen!' cried Hazel and they went back to the large kitchen/dining area overlooking a lush back garden. Mary refilled the glassesand was surprised when Hazel put his arms around her ample chest.

'Happy Birthday, and I'm sure the portrait will be just divine.'