The Property Manager: You'll never rent again... (10 page)

I’ve chosen a pale blue shirt and a striking yellow tie with a small pattern of red squiggly spots (for want of a better description). The splash of colour is a bold and optimistic statement. If I go dressed for a funeral they might just bury me. Image, Gracie, is everything. The face you present to the world is the only one you’ll be judged on because despite what they tell you – most people DO judge a book by its cover. 

6:43 p.m

Ohhhhhhhh! Yesssssss! I am an exonerated man! Guilt free! Innocent! Without stain!

I gave a sublime performance.

The tribunal member hearing the application was Christine McDonald, a woman who I have had many dealings with. I have always agreed with her decisions and found her fair and today was no exception. The sloth arrived looking like a Christmas hamper in red stockings and a short, green velvet dress with the standard plunging neckline. Those melonous things hanging out the front are like silicone headlights. There is nothing natural about Erin Summer – from her deed-polled surname to her peroxide hair. It would not surprise me if she had mown off her own toe for attention and a payout. She was probably a terrible gymnast anyway.

Ms McDonald read through the application and raised her eyebrows. She looked over her glasses at me and I gave a sad and confused little shrug. She looked from me to the blonde Christmas tree and pursed her lips.

First up, she asked IT to give her account of my alleged “sexual harassment.”

In a totally affected voice sloth began to spew forth a torrent of lies and absurd claims.

1.  I had offered her a rent reduction for sexual favours.

2. I had asked her if her breasts were real.

3. She had seen me slowing down outside her house to look at her sun-baking on the balcony.

4. I had asked her if she had a boyfriend.

She began to dry sob and I fought the urge to lunge at her and strangle her to death. What a shockingly bad portrayal of a victim she gave.

I went next, shaking my head and addressing the tribunal member like a benevolent headmistress. I expressed my deep regret that Ms Summer needed to make false accusations in an attempt to discredit me simply because she was afraid of eviction due to substantial rental arrears. Contrary to the suggestion that the applicant was an innocent woman being preyed upon by the evil property manager, I suggested that the lewd behaviour was her own. In support of this, I produced an affidavit from each of her neighbours, stating that they were unable to let their children play in their own back yards because Ms Summer constantly walked about naked or thereabouts and had, on a number of occasions, been seen engaging in sexual acts with her boyfriend, on her back porch and  in full view of the neighbours windows.

I produced copies of my very standard and professional letters to her, requesting payment of back-rent. I indicated that I had never received a response until during a routine inspection, three weeks ago, when I explained to her that I would need to take the matter to the tribunal. At that time she became abusive and called me a lecherous pervert who undressed her with his eyes. I explained quite curtly to Ms McDonald that no one need imagine Ms Summer without clothes as she spent most of the time in that state anyway. I feared I’d gone too far with that last comment, but my pointed and most disapproving glance at the heaving cleavage, sealed the deal for Christine McDonald.

She ruled that no further action would be taken. The matter was dismissed and the tenant warned to pay all outstanding rent within a fortnight or be evicted. She also reprimanded the sloth for making false allegations and told her she was lucky I did not press charges.

I shot the creature a look of “gotcha!” and drove home singing along to the radio, something I never do.     

Ron Fisher greeted me like the prodigal son, slapped me on the back and told me he’s taking Karen, Belinda and I out for drinks tonight. The bastard said he never doubted me and that, in his words, Erin Summer “is a mangy slag.” Charming.

I’ve come home to change because I don’t want to have to dry clean this suit. I’ll get into something more casual and head down to the Thistle.

I’m keen to get more of you onto my computer screen, Grace. I don’t really want to open the film with you and Jenny guffawing like drunken hyenas. Perhaps I’ll get my camcorder out of its box and give it a test drive. I bought it with last year’s tax return and haven’t used it yet. I’ll take some footage of the township and surrounding scenery -to set the piece geographically. Perhaps, I can film patients going in and out of your surgery. If I sit in my car and park it down near the Chinese restaurant at about midday on a Friday, I might even be able to get you going in to pay rent. Wouldn’t that be amusing?

I think I’ll walk down tonight. It’s a lovely evening for a brisk walk and I feel like celebrating so I might knock a few back with my work “buddies.” I can’t think of three people I would like less to be my buddies. That’s not fair really. Karen is alright. I’m warming to her. She hasn’t been with us long and I think my expectation that she would be a stuck up cow was ill-placed. Her husband is a wealthy farmer and she really doesn’t need to work, so I thought she would see me as a bit of a boy Friday. But she’s doing a good job. She is much breezier and yet far more sincere than Ron. He’s a used car salesman masquerading as a Real Estate Agent. Karen is on the verge of closing a very lucrative contract on the million dollar property looking over the escarpment. That’s a commission I wouldn’t mind having.

I don’t think I’ll be travelling down the portal to your smoke alarms tonight but I will catch up over the weekend.

Ciao

2/07/05 Friday

I’m running late for work. That doesn’t happen very often. But I have swamp-brain and bourbon breath and look like something the cat dragged in, ate and then regurgitated.

It has been quite a while since I overindulged so spectacularly. I have no memory of walking home. Perhaps Ron drove me. No, I think he ended up taking a room at the hotel, rather than attempting the half hour drive to Burrandong. At least I didn’t wake up with a Moorebank or equivalent beside me. I do manage to retain some standards even in semi-unconsciousness.

I must rush but I wanted to say that you were delightful last night. Although you hardly said more than a few sentences to me, I got the distinct impression that you are beginning to accept me as more than just your property manager. I’m being treated more like a friend. Thank-you. We are definitely heading in the right direction. It seems that every time I drop into the pub, you are there. Is this just a coincidence that fate arranges, or have you made the place your second home? I think it is a sign that we are heading towards that common line that we will travel down together. When I go to film you, you are nearly always at home so I know for a fact that you don’t frequent the hotel much more than I do.

I thought the idea I shared with you was inspired. It hadn’t even formed in my mind properly before it was spilling out of my mouth. You gave a little clap and agreed whole-heartedly to help me to arrange a Trivia Night at the town hall to raise money for the Moorebank family. I don’t give a rat’s arse about them frankly and I have absolutely no doubt that they will spend the entire donation on drink and drugs but what the hell. It gives us a common project and requires us to communicate quite a bit this week. We’ve tentatively set the date for next Friday night. You gave me such an incredulous smile when you told me that you were a quiz and trivia nut.

“Really? How bizarre.” I smiled innocently at you.

Now remember, Grace, you promised to call me today to start working on details.

Got to run.

7:36p.m

All this expensive surveillance equipment and all I have are fifteen minutes recorded.

Very poor effort, Jack!

I will see you later but first let me vent!!!

I went out to my car this morning. It was parked in my driveway and scratched deeply into the paint work along the drivers door was the word – LIAR.

There could be only one person capable of this and stupid enough to do it.

Erin Summer! I arrived at work with a black cloud over me, and all but snarled at Belinda, who looked as fresh and moronic as ever.

Ron was very late into the office. After ten. And he looked worse than I felt. When I told him about the damage to my car he insisted that I ring Michelle at the police station and file a complaint. I guess I needed to do that for insurance purposes anyway.

I went outside and used the work camera to take a few shots of the vandalism. The mail hadn’t been collected from the post office, so I took the key and went there on the way to Michelle’s. Most of the mail was for us. Only three or four letters had been put in the wrong box. Quite an achievement for the retarded post master.

Michelle was very sympathetic and agreed that the guilt probably lay in Erin’s fetid lap, but as a sharp instrument was used and there was a heavy dew this morning it would be pointless to fingerprint the car. She filed a report and gave me a copy for G.I.O, told me she was run off her feet with paperwork regarding the murders. I said good-bye. She said good-bye. And that was that.

I’m not waiting one minute past the fortnight that the tribunal gave Ms Summer to catch up the rent. I am going to print up an eviction notice and post date it. I’ll put it on my cork board in my office to smirk at.

You popped in with rent at midday and I called you up into my office. It was so nice to have you sitting opposite me, looking windswept and a little wild in that loud purple coat. It is a very bold colour and I doubt that many could pull it off with the aplomb that you do.

You had been making notes at work all morning. That was very industrious of you.

You passed them to me and our hands touched. Yours were like warm velvet which is odd because it is so cold outside. It definitely stirred me to feel your skin.

You had written down the following suggestions –

1. Jack Thorne to M.C the event and ask the questions.

2. Grace and Jack to approach local businesses to donate prizes.

3. Dan and Eli Templar to set up the hall on Friday afternoon.

4. Staff at Real Estate to print up flyers. (Suggested layout attached)

5. Grace and Jack to put flyers in shop windows.

6. Grace to advertise in the school newsletter and get her drama students to do letterbox drops.

7. Payments in advance to the Real Estate or Doctor’s Surgery.

8. Jenny Wray to work the door on the night.

9. Jack and Karen to compile the questions.

I looked up from your list and asked why you didn’t want to write the questions yourself. I would have thought that would be right up your alley. You’re a smart girl.

You laughed and said,

“Jack, I’m going in it. I want to win. That’s where the thrill is for me. You’ve got local knowledge and you and Karen can get some good questions together. I won’t even ask for a copy of them.”

Fair enough. So that’s that. It all sounds like too much hard work but I can hardly pull out now. My head throbbed all day. Belinda suggested coke. I was happy to stick with strong coffee.

I’m feeling less seedy after a good meal and lots of water. I will fire up the lap-top and head over to your place shortly. 

3:48 a.m. Saturday morning

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE???????

I HAVE DRIVEN AROUND FOR AN HOUR IN AN AIMLESS STUPOR.

I feel like being sick and my legs are shaking, my mouth dry and my face numb.

I blame myself partly. I’ve dragged my heels. Been too cautious. I’ve fucked it all up. But I can fix it.

I can’t believe it. I’ve got it all on film, though, so I can bring it to life and relive it any time I want.

I sensed the danger there, Grace. I could feel it. He’s a predator and you were taken advantage of.

Those fucking Cox’s. I’ll evict them first thing Monday. I’ll run him over next time I see him on his bike. He’s an adulterous pig.

You are a single woman with needs and desires and I was a fool to think you could handle temptation. I should have moved sooner. You were obviously very ready to have someone in your bed. It should have been ME.

I actually love you Grace. He is a scumbag and user, just treating you like a free prostitute.

IT CANNOT HAPPEN AGAIN.

You were drunk…well if not tanked at least well LUBRICATED!

That fellow will be in big trouble at home today. That woman won’t let him within a hundred meters of you.

She’s a fool. Fancy getting a migraine and demanding to be taken home but suggesting that her husband come back and keep partying. Either she really is a complete idiot or she approves of this behaviour. Maybe they have one of those open marriages. God only knows what perverted arrangement they have. But if she doesn’t realize that her husband came home stinking of you early this morning, then she’s the most naïve woman in town.