Chapter 1 - Breaking News

My great uncle Bob, long-time mayor of Upper Tilba Tilba, once said there are no surprises left after a long time in any job dealing with the public. He announced this two days before suddenly expiring of snakebite - a less than gruntled farmer protesting high local taxes sent him a death-adder in a U-post-it box. There are two points here: first - timing is everything. And second - you can tell old Bob never spent time in the state school system.

“This just in,” said Angie, my personal assistant, setting the 'phone back on its console. “There is a naked girl on the bandstand”.
Such news wouldn't raise an eyebrow if my office looked out over the stage at Sindy’s in the Cross. Or maybe the park at Tamarama beach. But in this particular case there was a certain element of the unexpected, because in fact it overlooked the assembly quadrangle of a pretty ordinary high school in the suburbs of Sydney - where I happen to have the misfortune of being one of the two deputy principals.
I got up and walked across to the window. This young woman was not quite naked. She had the most tiny of G-strings on, but the rest of her in all its glory was on full display. A pretty nice looking sweetie from this distance, about 17, tall, slim, blond hair, great tan all over.
“Nice eyes,” I said.
“I thought you’d be distracted by her other assets”.
“I’m a regular boy-scout”.
“I’m distracted.”
“Knock me down with a feather”.
Angie bats for the other team, 100%. Which breaks my heart on account I’m madly in love with her.
“That girl has one sensational body,” breathed Angie. "But she doesn’t look like one of ours." This was a bit of a relief, but not that much. She sure looked familiar.
It was pretty lucky the time was mid-lesson with no kids outside. But I could tell by the shouts, hoots and general noise level that quite a few were already checking the scene from the classroom windows.
“Angie, I’m going to see what this lady wants.”
“Crazy if you don’t.”
“ I'll buy you the latest JD Lang if you can get all the teachers who are off lessons onto the doors to the quad to keep the kids away”.
Angie looked disappointed. “Come on Pete, I should go with you. You need a woman out there.” There is nothing Angie would like more than a close-up of some gorgeous near naked young woman. Normally I don’t mind such a sight either, but this situation was a bit different. I shook my head.
“This place is starting to get to you Pete. You’re no fun anymore. I thought boy scouts are supposed to have fun”.
“When we aren’t untangling knots”.

As I walked towards the door to the quadrangle, I could hear the kids had a syncopated clapping going. Miss Suntan was doing a kind of wriggle-sway to it. I headed into the open to an instant swell of cheers, boos and hisses. There are about 25 rooms fronting the quad and around 500 of our 1200 kids were at the windows. The average teacher hasn’t got a hope in hell of sitting them down when a show like this is on. Many average teachers didn’t want to. I could see old Harry Watts peering over his student’s heads with a huge grin on his face. I swear the old bugger was salivating. I bet his pacemaker was bouncing off the redline right now. Careful Harry, you could fritz the wiring.
A small group of Year 8 grubs had just climbed out one of the ground floor rooms. Their teacher, Arty Albert was probably having a smoke in the staff toilet again, against all regulations, leaving his class unsupervised. Bad luck Albert, you miss the burlesque show.
I summonsed up the sergeant-major voice. “ Get back inside!” The kids fell over each other to comply. I have a reputation as a bit of a heavy around the place. That did not stop a renewed and louder round of boos and catcalls. The anonymity of the group makes people real brave.
As I walked towards the girl, I noticed she had new bronze streaks in her hair and a small Aquarius tattoo on her left shoulder I hadn’t seen before.
A very clear female voice in the crowd yelled “Don't hit her, Fuggly”, which broke everyone up. This referred to two things; a nasty rumour around the place that some transgressors get smacked when they displease me, plus the fact that I haven’t got the best looking head in town. As a matter of fact it falls into the category of “only his mother would love it”. ‘Fuggly’ of course is short for ‘Fucking ugly’. Kids are at the cutting edge when it comes to thinking up names.
I reached the foot of the bandstand and looked up at the girl..
She grinned. “Fuggly? Wow Pete. You sure generate a lot of respect around here”.
I ignored the comment. Never show you are riled is number one rule when dealing with junior smartarses. I stared at her left shoulder and then moved my gaze up to her beautiful baby blues. “Nice tatt, sweetheart. Who did that, one of those spaced out granola eaters down at New Age Haven?”
She rolled her eyes. “You are so phoney, Pete, with that Joe Cool routine. You are supposed to get pissed and ask me what I’m doing here”
“Okay, I’ll play along. I’m pissed. What the hell are you doing here. Why aren’t you at school?”
She smiled and tossed her long hair in that familiar way. “I’m stripping for money”.
“What does that mean? Who’s going to pay you to strip?”
“You are.”
“You’re dreaming”.
“No way. But you pay for me to keep my stuff on, not take more off”.
Jesus! A shakedown from a 16 year old Lady Godiva.
“Listen sungirl, get one thing clear. No more money from me. I can’t afford it. There is no way I’m paying out.”
“Is that a fact?” she grinned and grasped the strings of her mico bikini bottom and began to edge them even lower. The noise from the crowd swelled to a crescendo.
So what does a guy do? I had half a mind to let the little scrubber go ahead, but imagine the response. I would have half the bible-bashing parents from the Christian Coalition banging on the District Superintendent’s door howling about how their kids’ lives had been ruined forever by such a sight and screaming for my resignation. Not to mention how the school’s Moral Majority and Feministas would react. Already I was heavily into combat with the District School Superintendent and Head Office. I could not really afford any extra aggravation.
So I folded. “Relax girl, slow down.” I shot her a genuinely pissed look. “ How much do you need?”
She gave a little victory smirk. “Five hundred would be fine”.
“ Five hundred dollars?” I paused for dramatic effect and gave her the flinty eyed stare I reserve for people who need kicking into line - bad kids, debt defaulters, brawlers at night-clubs, trash talking checkout girls. “Listen to me, sweetheart. Listen real good...”
“That’s ungrammatical Pete. What were you before the big promotion to deputy principal? A metalwork teacher?”
She knew damn well my background was metalwork teaching.
Once again I ignored the provocation. “Listen to me.... Five hundred, you have to be kidding. What the hell do you need five hundred for?”
“Benny’s amp blew up last night and they have a big gig on the weekend. A scout from the record company might be coming.”
What bullshit. Benny was her braindead boyfriend. Something was always going wrong with his lousy career. Or at least attempt at a career. The day Benny and his pathetic bunch of head bangers land a recording contract is the day I make Director General of Education.
I pulled my wallet out, took out a card and a pen from my pocket and pretended to write something down, while checking how much money I had. Perhaps the kids would think I was taking her name.
“Make sure you get her address for a snog later!” came the same clear female voice from the crowd. Much hilarity.
“I only have two hundred odd”, I said after a surreptitious count.
“That’s fine for now”, the stripper replied. “You can give me the rest tomorrow afternoon. We got a lesson, remember?”
“That’s ungrammatical”.
She just smiled. So, I took out my notebook, pretended to write a bit more, tore out the page, wrapped the cash in it and handed it across.
"He's giving her his phone number!” came the loud clear voice. How did that distant girl manage to project it above all the other shouted suggestions and the general racket?
With a smirk and a flourish, little Miss Striptease grabbed a sarong lying across the bandstand railing, wrapped it quickly around her and jumped down from the bandstand. A surge of groans and boos from the onlookers broke out. She fixed me with a level stare. “Pete, you don’t pay the rest of the money tomorrow and I’ll be back here Monday”.
She then strolled across the quadrangle to more boos and jeers. As she passed out through the main entrance, she held the index finger of her right hand high in the air. Such a sweetie. You could tell she had been brought up really well.

“ Mr Andrews, Mr Andrews!” I turned and saw the school's Girls’ Supervisor, old Hating Hillary, standing close by. Hillary is the school’s busybody, convener of the Christian Coalition and a big wheel in the affiliated Moral Majority. Naturally the old bat felt she should get herself out here.” Did I see you hand that young lady some money?”
“Just the cab fare, Hillary. She isn’t exactly dressed for public transport.”
“Who is she, Mr Andrews? You seemed to be talking to her with some familiarity?”
“She’s a lapdancer from Strippergram. She thought this was the Anglican seminary - one of the student clerics is having a birthday”.
Hillary shot me a withering look.
I began the long walk back to the building entrance. With the main attraction gone, many kids had already abandoned the windows, but there were still enough to give me a rousing payout.
It was all I could do to resist raising the index finger. What a circus! But then, what was new?
............

Note that this isn't a story about teachers and schools, even though it starts and ends there. Less than 10% of the action takes place in the school. The real story starts when the bad guys appear, and it's not at the school.