Hell of a Helping Hand

Her name was Simone. She walked up to me at this club Revolver one night, sat opposite me, grabbed the drink out of my hand and had a long, slow sip. Staring at me. Big, beautiful green eyes. Transparent white silk dress. Tattoos on her arms.

I stared back. Unsure. Excited.

My friend Glenn had some work to do later that night at a god-awful bar in the Casino in the city. He was the resident social photographer, snapping drunken moments and red eyed, dolled up R&B girls as they bootied to Destiny's Child and swarmed (drooled) over anyone with an American accent. I was going with him for a laugh. I invited Simone, expecting rejection.

She shrugged and said, why not..

In the taxi it was her smell. Soft, white with a hint of pink. Every time she touched me...God, I fucking still remember that...

We arrived at the Casino and did the VIP strut through the queue, finding a booth as Glenn went to work. We sat and drank pink drinks and talked music and cynically judged the crowd. She would cross her legs and touch my arm and I would feel a shock, a current shoot through me.

At one point, we almost kissed.

Glen finished up and we decided to go back to his house. We sat up drinking and smoking joints and laughing and she and I were getting closer and there was no doubt anymore, none at all and that made waiting a whole lot easier.

All three of us fell asleep on the couch.

My mouth open as she lent her head against me.

I wanted her dress to move just so.

Seven in the morning, Glenn's house mate, Archie, came home. He managed the Casino Bar we were at earlier. He walked in on all three of us, saw Simone and silently waved Glenn and me into the kitchen. She didn't notice. Asleep. Fucking angelic.

Archie said, what the fuck is she doing here?

We didn't understand.

Guys, we've got video footage of her stealing from bags last night at the bar, we've been trying to work out who it is. The police are looking for her.

This was new. She'd sitting next to me all night.

Mate, the video doesn't fucking lie, that's the girl. You guys know her?

Well we didn't, but we were smitten. I was smitten. This china doll angel. No....

Get her out of the fucking house.

I gently woke her up, and we left, walking into the light. Light and truth.
It was her and me now. Holding hands.

Were you stealing from bags last night? That's really strange? Who ARE you?

At first she brushed me off. Nose out of joint denial. But my nose is good. I could smell it. Sickeningly, I could smell it. I always fucking can. And gently coaxing, assuring her I was not judging but rather curious as to her motives I brought out the confession in her and a whole lot more.

Her heroin problem. Her struggle. Her need for help as she teary eyed held my hand and lay her oh-so-light head on my shoulder.

I can remember drinking Orange Juice.

This was no junkie, this was an Angel. A model. A wisp, a feather of a girl. So, so beautiful.

I was a strange boy. I followed her and she took me home and shed her clothes as she had shed her secrets and believe what you will it wasn't lust that had me beside her, inside her but it was Alice in Wonderland following the White Rabbit. I wanted to be where she was. Not the junk, never the junk I swear, but where her shattered heart lay, believing she had a soul, I could sense it, feel it, searched for it. But searched from inside her as we wrestled urgently on her bed and she came and cried and cried and cried and I held her so close.

In the morning she told me the address of the clinic. I packed her bags with her and walked at first to the train station until she began to break down and I picked her up and carried her to the platform and I held her in my arms. The train came as her tears came and we barreled closer and closer to her painful future, the pain of Oh God, Fucking God, please fucking help me.

From the Station I put her on my back and I carried her down the hill to the clinic. Made my promises to visit. Twice a week was all I was allowed. And I did, twice a week I brought her some Malboros, but more importantly I brought her the only friend she had and I still do not know why. Each time I visited we kissed, not a sensual kiss, but I was her kiss of life and I could feel death on her lips. I thought it was fading.

She came out after six weeks and was weak and hungry and sad but free. I smiled at her from across the street and we ate spaghetti and she told me of her plans, her family interstate and each time she looked at me she cried and cried and wondered who I was. I wondered the same fucking thing.

We said goodbye.

A few years later I stood on the corner of the street holding a newspaper and watched a Mercedes Benz drive by. She sat in the passenger seat and just when it was almost too late to react we locked eyes and both of us smiled and both of us looked happy and healthy and I watched that Mercedes drive off and I watched her leaning over the back seat...waving and waving and smiling back at me.