Hired Help (Buffalo Street Again)

Sounded like Gambir when she called, the Madame at the Blue Diamond. Early fifties, plenty loaded here. The Sir is the opulent one. Just this afternoon the observation from the side table unavoidably passed to the height the trouser were hitched on the belly. A style from back home. One remembers it from the early 60’s in the older men of the neighbourhood, usually our foreign contingent of the various sorts; from photographs from the Levant and Greece; old movies of the same region. Approximately three inches above the belly-button. Still enough room to breathe, but Golly-gee. However that be, the Madame far more restrained. Sir carries giant inch and one half heads on the rings either hand; bracelets both arms; the waiter Prakasam avers dripping gold under the shirt too. Madame has got fat with him though, that partnership firm. A half hour after her arriving for her afternoon stint at the till one of the lads called over in order to fish out her work-a-day slippers under the stand. Each day feeling around there with her toes turns up nada. One of the lads bending on all fours with an eighteen inch ruler soon fishes out the flip-flops. All set.

          Sounded like gambir. That would have been no surprise. Prakasam was Bright; or, as this author prefers, Effulgent. Nice lad. Gambir was nice too. As at Komala Vilas, most all within these establishments on Buffalo Street well above average niceness. No room for league tables here.

         Madame had assumed a masala. No Madame, ginger lassi today.

         — Gambir. Gambir. (It ought have been recorded on the whizz-bang computerized system.) Gambir.

         The spice of course. Why not? Not a reason in the world.

         In fact no.

         Tambi is Little Brother in Tamil. Chap concerned early/mid twenties. On approximately, say, $950 per calendar month, twelve hour days and half day free per month. (Prakasam again avers. Highly illegal of course. No room for social justice here.) Sir/Madame have shit-loads. Evidently not Brahmin class, but who cares. That was then. Serious dosh. Late week and weekends a seat almost impossible to obtain at the Diamond. Good tucker. Turnover might be in the order of $25k a week perhaps. The lad here certainly no blood relation. Nooooo.

         Tambi. Tambi. Not Shit-head. Not, Hey you, Fuck-face. Yeah, you. You hearing me! Get yer arse over ‘ere. No again. No. Something else in these parts. Another clue for those slow-coaches still bumbling.