The Property Manager: You'll never rent again... (15 page)

I’ve downloaded the clarinet acoustic version of Amazing Grace but I’ve decided to add the soundtrack later. It’s easier that way and very complicated to change once I’ve done it. I am doing constantly thinking of pieces of music to add here and there. This project is on my mind nearly every minute of the day.

The opening is a beautiful view out over the gorges and gullies of the National Park. I was impressed with my cinematography really. I managed to spy a wallaby amongst the undergrowth near the look-out and zoomed in on it, as it nibbled a blade of grass. Next I cut to the main street of town and as I took that footage very early in the morning, almost a week ago, the main street is deathly quiet and the fog hangs like a transparent curtain over the village. It’s haunting and more so for the clarinet that will eventually accompany the images. To mix the genres a little with this – my masterpiece- I have inserted three still- photographs that flash like frozen moments in time onto the screen. I will narrate over the top of these.

Image one.

“Grace” - I scanned the photograph I took from your coffee table album into the computer.

Text – “In the month of May, Grace Templar, appeared in the village of Babylon.”

Image two.

A shot of the Babylon Medical Centre.

Text –“She began work at the Babylon Medical Centre as the office manager.”

(Sounds better than receptionist, don’t you think?)

Image Three

Shot of me standing outside the Real Estate Office. (It’s the standard one used by the business for publicity but it’s a good one of me. I look quite debonair!)

Text – “And she came to John Byrne to find a house to rent. The rest….as they say…..is history.”

I’m putting on my best voice. I’ve been told I sound a little like Michael Caine.

I must go to work. There’s a lot to do for this Trivia event! Haven’t we had a great response? There are bookings for eight tables of eight and more may show tonight. You haven’t told me who will be at your table. That will be interesting to see. That’s $960 we’ve raised already. That should buy the Moorebank family plenty of booze and dope.

See you this afternoon. I believe your boys will be at the hall this afternoon at about three. They’re on school holidays now, aren’t they? Is Harry going full time to Jenny’s? I got that impression last time I heard the two of you conversing.

I may need to change the batteries in the smoke alarm cameras soon. I will have to be careful about letting myself into your place if those kids are hanging around. I might actually organize an inspection soon. I’m organizing one for the Cox’s. They’ll be too concerned about their future to argue about it. I’ll pretend that I might be able to give them more time if the owner can be persuaded that they are looking after the property well. That is not, of course, true.  I really just want to have a poke about the place and see if I can dig up any dirt on them to file away in case I should need it as ammunition in my fight against your friendship with them.

Off to work. I’ll write again after the BIG EVENT!

Good luck tonight my little trivia queen.

11:45 p.m.

I wouldn’t be home right now to write this but I needed my damn computer and left it behind. I’ve been keeping it in the car recently in case I feel the sudden urge to go and look in on you and the boys. I have to run….I’ll write in the car. That Cox fellow has given you a lift home and as he’s alone I am racing to check that you don’t slip up. I’ll set a fire outside your house or something if I have to.

12:08a.m.

He’s still in there. His dilapidated truck was parked on the lawn. I hate that. There is a driveway. Why do some slobs think its okay to drive over the front lawn? It’s not landscaped…just an expanse of grass but it IS a front lawn not a car park. I was forever reprimanding the last tenants about that. They had friends using it as a race track some nights. I knew because after a good rainfall, I could see the deep, muddy grooves, slashed through the grass.

I am trying to be patient and calm. I have you on the screen beside me. You have made him a cup of tea and are sitting at the dining room table. Opposite each other. So far the conversation has been small talk about the trivia night. 

It was a good night, wasn’t it? Naturally you won, you clever girl. I knew you would but why, why, why was that curly headed bastard on your table? And where was his wife? He told me when I casually asked, that she was sick and had a business meeting interstate tomorrow so she’d stayed at home to rest. Is this woman a hypochondriac or what?

I’ve noticed her at the surgery quite a lot over the last six months, now that I think about it. Before you arrived, that is. And her husband might not have got his end away with you last week if she hadn’t demanded to be taken home with a migraine. Her health might be the death of her marriage.

The other surprise of the evening was that the SLOTH was on your table next to Jenny. Are they friends? That wouldn’t surprise me! Jenny’s got a bit more class…not much…but a bit but they are both party girls. Single. The blonde witch didn’t make eye contact with me all night. The other two couples sitting with you were faces I have seen about town but don’t know much about. One of them is a barmaid from the hotel. Linda? Liz? Whatever. I think you could find a better niche in this village. I’m sure some of them are nice people…salt of the earth….but you need to move up the food chain a bit. The Buxtons, the Hills. There are lots of professional, home-owning couples with educated senses of humour and more to offer on many levels. I don’t want to be friends with the barmaid and those other working class folk. They’re altogether too brassy and bold. Your table was notably louder than the others. I hope you don’t think that Sloth is friend-material. I didn’t notice much communication or warmth between you.

I have butterflies in my stomach listening to you talking to this guy. Dan came out of the garage for a while and asked you to wash his clothes for a party tomorrow night. You rolled your eyes and told him to throw them in the laundry. I think it was an excuse to see what this man was doing hanging around his mother. Dan left.

Oh shit…hang on…arsehole is talking about his wife….yeah..yeah..you’ve been together forever…fifteen years did you say? God they must have been kids when they hooked up…you just said the same thing…. He’s leaning forward and lowering his voice. Jesus…he’s looking at your cleavage. You’re flirting. Your body language is very wanton, Grace. Sit up straight and stop slumping forward so he doesn’t get such an eyeful.

I swear I’ll lose my mind if he touches you.

I’ve just turned the volume up…he’s talking about his frustration…no sex…oh FUCK OFF!  Don’t buy that…don’t you dare buy that piece of shit LINE. This is not a singles bar, Gracie so stop acting like a desperate and dateless single woman. YOU ARE SPOKEN FOR. Oh God, he’s telling you how gorgeous you are…he’s telling you that SHE is going away to Queensland in the morning. He’s up…walking around the table…he’s rubbing your shoulders…..Damn. I’ve got a lighter in my glove box and I am bloody well going to stop this right now!

10/07/05

Saturday morning

I couldn’t do it. I’m a gutless fool. I stood near the kitchen window, straining to see from an awkward angle in across the bench to where you were sitting. He was rubbing your shoulders and caressing you hair. You’re eyes were shut and the hint of a smile played on your lips.

He doesn’t love you Grace. I could see his face. He was a hungry dog. You are nothing but a quick feed for him. You are a can of cheap Pal. That is how he sees you. I see you as a banquet and I would savour you and make you into a ten course meal.

Thank God for Harry. There is a god and he woke your restless son at the perfect moment. Sleazeman’s hands shot away from you as if he’d been electrocuted when Harry’s little voice sounded, getting closer.

“Mum?”

You got up from your chair, looking most annoyed. Your visitor made his exit quickly and you gave him a look that was so inviting it made my dinner rise into my throat and you said….

“WELL I SUPPOSE I’LL SEE YOU TOMORROW!!!!!!”

Well now it is tomorrow and you had better have been joking.

My bloody mother has left two messages on my answering machine begging me to come to Sydney. Of all the rotten times to begin a campaign of harassment….. 

I’m not even going to call her back. I won’t respond to that sort of bullying. If she asks me why I didn’t answer, I will say that you and I were away for the week-end. We went to…aarrhh….the seaside for a few days. Wouldn’t that be nice, Grace? Just you and I. No kids. Splashing in the ocean and walking hand in hand along the sand at daybreak, watching the sun rise over the horizon? Maybe a midnight skinny-dip? Now I’m getting raunchy but you do that to me.

PLAN A  - I will go to your place around lunchtime, after your drama class is over, to warn you that there have been a few burglaries in the area. While we are chatting I might begin to get chest pains and ask to sit down for a minute and have a glass of water.

PLAN B – If the swine is already there..I will mention that I am also dropping about his area to let tenants know about the burglaries and that I’ll mention it to his wife. That will force him to mention that she is away for a few days and perhaps he’ll ask me not to mention …oh I don’t know what the fuck I am talking about. Scrap plan B.

I will do the possible heart attack thing and just play it by ear. Whatever happens, you will not be jumping on that man again.

I just threw up. This affair you are considering is not good for my health. I am crawling up the walls with anxiety. The phone rang. It will be my mother. I pulled it out of the wall. I don’t even want to hear her voice on the answering machine.

I can’t eat. My mouth tastes like a mint factory because I’ve brushed my teeth six times to eradicate the taste of vomit.

I can’t stay here. Must go out. I’ve got all my equipment in the car, ready for action. I’ve typed up a flyer about the make-believe burglaries.

10:05a.m

I’m sitting at the window table at the Park Café. Chris makes a good Latte. I’ve got a coffee machine at home but it’s always nicer to have an excellent café latte made for you by a good barista. This is fun. Writing while out in the actual landscape of my scribblings. Watching the passing traffic. This village is an entertaining melting pot of personalities. There’s Jenny and her girls coming out of the newsagency. She’s got a newspaper under her arm and a packet of cigarettes in her hand. Disgusting. I was passing her place last week and through the bushes along her fence, I saw the two of you on her balcony, sipping what was probably champagne and you actually had a cigarette in your hand. I don’t know why I didn’t write about that earlier. Something must have made it slip my mind. Perhaps I was in denial. I don’t think Jenny is a good influence on you. She drinks too much, smokes and should have taken a stronger stand and forced you to sever your ties with the Cox freaks. I know how she feels about it. She’s counselled you on the matter and thinks that it’s either some sick ruse to get you into a kinky threesome or that it is tom-foolery that will end in tears. She’s right about that. This is morally wrong and there is always a price to pay for evil. Not being religious here you understand but I feel strongly about the philosophy of karma and balance….for every good deed there is a reward somewhere and the same goes for a bad deed. You are contemplating sliding into a very, very bad deed. I urge you to step back and be the woman I know you are, not the whore you are currently masquerading as.

A gaggle of teenagers just walked by the cafe, laughing and swearing. The language of youth is so crass. Don’t they realize how ridiculous they look and sound? I think one of the girls was Karen’s daughter, Sofia. It’s hard to tell because they all look alike. Black and spiky. Metal bits jammed into lips and eyebrows. Self-mutilation. And what is the thing with the tattoo revival? Once only the decoration of sailors and criminals…..now every healthy young woman sports an arrow on the small of her back, screaming ‘fuck me from behind’ or a barbed wire chain around her upper arm, like some kind of slave mark. How ridiculous will these women be as great grandmothers in nursing homes? Oh hello Mrs Brown, let me roll you over for a sponge bath and hey, there you go, I’ll fuck you from behind like the arrow says……little Johnny will wonder why great-granny has saggy, baggy, barbed wire around her arm. It’s a bizarre world. I hope your son doesn’t buy into the body art. It’s a lifetime pictorial scar.  And let’s face it, what we like looking at, changes over the years.

Got the bill. Good coffee but Chris charges like a wounded bull.

See you in a tick, Grace!

later

I’m pleased it was my monthly Saturday off. What a ridiculous day. I went to your place as planned and it all went a bit pear-shaped after that. If this wasn’t all so serious, it would be hilarious. No sign of bastard’s truck upon arrival at Chateau de Grace. I parked in front of the garage. Knocked. Harry answered with his charming grin.