The Property Manager: You'll never rent again... (6 page)

I figure that when you have no hot water or heating in the morning, you’ll be straight on the phone to your property manager to report it.

I know this because women ring the property manager or the gas company while men go out to investigate and fix it. I’m not being sexist. It’s science. We are wired differently. It’s a bit like asking someone to think of a number between one and ten. It is a scientific fact that seventy-five percent of people will say seven. I’ve done that trick to a few people. I write down a number and ask them for a number between one and ten and EVERY TIME their answer is seven. That is how I know you will call me tomorrow in the morning.

I’m not going to chase you for the rent. I’ll let you come to me.

I will count wombats to get to sleep tonight to avoid playing your naked body in my brain, like a video -rewinding and playing and rewinding and playing all night long.

23/06/05 Wednesday

Belinda was sick again so I got demoted to ‘receptionist’.  That meant I had to play check-out chick to all the tenants who came to pay rent. Doling out change like a brainless cashier.

I kept glancing across the street to the window nearest your desk. You aren’t really a receptionist. That’s such an unimpressive title. You are more like the surgery concierge – meeting, greeting and generally spreading comfort and good will.

I waited for your call all morning but it didn’t come.

At midday you walked out of the surgery, pulling a vintage fake fur over your clothes. You really know how to pull focus. I saw you squint across the road and I smiled to myself when I saw you headed my way.

You threw open the door sending a rush of cold air into the office. Your face was shining and tight from the sub-zero temperature.

“I’ve got rent. Sorry I’m late.”

I waved a hand up at you and told you that was the least of my worries. I thought about your scar and imagined licking it.

You mentioned the problem with the heating and hot water and cooking and I agreed that the middle of winter is not a good time for that to happen. I generously donated my services, explaining that I knew a little bit about that particular system.

The office door opened. More cold air. Another tenant to pay rent.

“Hey there, Grace.”

It was a young bloke called Andrew Cox. I rented a nice weatherboard to him and his wife about six months ago.

“Andy, how’s it going?” You smiled back. I didn’t like the smile. It was broader than the one you had given me.

“You know each other?” I spoke rigidly as I printed up a receipt for each of you.

“My daughter’s in Gracie’s drama class.” Andy explained.

He called you Gracie. I didn’t like that either. It was far too familiar.

Then the two of you began to chat as if I didn’t exist. I looked at this fellow. He was married so he wasn’t available. I hoped you knew that. He was tall with a mop of dark, wildly curly hair. Dark eyes. He could have some Mediterranean blood, I think. I stood there with your receipts in my hand like a redundant fool while you completely ignored me, beaming at this fellow. He doesn’t even have a job. He’s the house husband while his wife brings in the bread.

“Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? We’re having a family roast. Bring the kids if you like.” He told you his wife was an excellent cook.

I relaxed a little. It seemed a very innocent invitation politely extended to his daughter’s teacher. I have to accept that you will have friends and meet people and talk to people. Not every male is a predator. I spend day in day out with Belinda and Karen here in the office and I would sooner eat road-kill than touch either of them.

You accepted the invitation. He left after writing down his address for you. I smiled at you and asked when you would like me to look at your heating system. I could go for the double entendre there but won’t.

You have two hours off for lunch every day while the doctor supposedly does home visits. I’ve only ever seen him visit the café, often at the expense of some attractive female rep for a pharmaceutical company.  He doesn’t do lunch with the male reps. I hope they don’t try to get to him through you. It is a job requirement for drug reps to be professional flirts. But you’re sharp. You wouldn’t play that game.

You agreed to meet me at your place at 1:30 p.m which gave us both time to eat and me to finish the bloody paperwork that seems to be larger whenever Belinda is “sick.” I swear she sees her in- box and when it’s full she comes down with some virus. You can’t really fire someone for having a weak immune system but I wish Ron would sack her because she’s a lazy, whining, incompetent, blonde ditz. Just between you and me, I think Ron has another job in mind for Belinda. There can’t be any other reason for his remarkable tolerance with this silly girl.

I pulled up behind your Camry. Your front door was open and you had obviously gone inside. I gave a tentative rap on the wood and called out your name.

“Come in,” you called. “I’m in the kitchen.”

I took a deep breath and walked slowly, drinking in the environment you had created for yourself. Looking around, scanning and taking mental photographs, I noted that you have a real flair for interior decorating. Your furniture looked beautiful. Bold blue couches and medieval tapestry on the walls. I turned into the dining/kitchen area. You had a bowl of oranges on the table. That was a nice touch. You were drinking a glass of water at the sink. You showed me that the gas was not working on your stovetop and I nodded.

“I’ll go and take a look at the outside box.”

As I walked past the refrigerator I noticed a little golden, plastic Academy Award reading “Best Mother,” protruding and presumably held on with a magnet. I laughed and pointed.

“That’s cute.”

“I really thought I’d win one, one day.” You sighed melodramatically.

I smiled back at you.

“You’ve done a nice job with the house. I knew it would suit you.”

It took two minutes to relight the pilot light and return the switches to ‘on’. I glanced down to where I had been crouched last night and smiled to myself at the memory of your soapy body.  You thanked me and that was that.

You paid your rent before I had a chance to mention your arrears, so the whole gas charade had been quite pointless. But I did have fun along the way.

It’s nearly midnight now and I’ve just had a shower. I wanted to see how your dinner went with the Cox family, so I parked a few doors down the road from them and watched in the rear view mirror as you knocked on their door with a bottle of wine at seven-thirty. You didn’t take the boys and obviously left the oldest boy in charge. I don’t know if I like you going out at night without leaving a responsible adult at home.

I got out and walked down through the vacant block beside their house. They have a large dog so I was playing it safe. I could see the shadow of the creature sitting by the appalling fence that Mr Cox had erected. It was a complete disaster with rickety posts and a chaotic mess of chicken wire strung up. The dog didn’t move and I got close enough that I could hear his panting. Not much of a guard dog, despite his size. I imagine he’s one of those gentle giants that would sooner lick you to death than bite.

I could hear nothing from inside and the house is set quite high so I could see nothing of interest either. Quite a time-wasting exercise so I went back to the car and after a time drifted of to sleep. Fortunately I heard your engine start up. It would have been far from amusing to wake up stiff-necked with the sunrise. Unlikely, as I’m a terribly light sleeper. A borderline insomniac.   

You must have had a good time because you didn’t drive away from there until 11:40 pm.  You might have had a few too many wines as well because you pretty much drove straight over the mini round-about in Hill Street. Don’t do that again please. It’s a twenty minute walk to your friends’ place. If you are ever invited back, I would prefer that you walk. I don’t want you to plough into a tree. For my sake and that of your children, don’t drive after drinking!

I didn’t follow you home but saw you turn into your street. You couldn’t do much damage, from that point, other than driving into your front door.

I’m going to bed. I wonder what you think of the necklace. It should’ve arrived today.

Kisses blown your way.

24/06/05 Thursday

I’m just home from work. A long day. I have taken tomorrow off work so I can bring my mother home from hospital. The old duck has made a good recovery. I’ll settle her in at home and organize the Blue Nurses to come to the house and wash her and check her scalp for any sign of infection. I might stay overnight and do some shopping in Sydney.

I’m feeling a bit flat. I wonder if you were hung-over this morning. You were late to work. I couldn’t see either of your older sons at the bus stop so perhaps you all had a bleary start this morning. They probably had a late night because they had no adult to tell them to go to bed. Tut. Tut. Let’s not make a habit of that, eh, Grace?

Did you hear all the sirens this afternoon? I was showing a house in Smith Street to a pleasant young couple when the commotion began. Coming back into town I noted quite a few police cars and wagons milling about the police station and two ambulances screamed past me, heading south. I asked a few of the shop keepers if they knew what it was all about. No one knew anything. Back in the office I started ringing to confirm details on the application form for Smith Street when one ambulance screamed back the other way, siren blaring and lights flashing. A forensic van drove south, slowly. It was becoming obvious to everyone in the main street that something quite serious was going on. I didn’t see you emerge from the surgery once. Perhaps you did when I wasn’t looking.

That’s the phone. I’ll be back.

That was Jill Buxton ringing to impart some gossip. At this stage people are sewing snippets of information together and everyone is ending up with a different garment.  

What she has heard from a pretty reliable source, is that a young girl about twelve was found stabbed to death at the Sunrise Look-Out at the beginning of the National Park – less than a kilometre from town. Another girl was found a little further down the track. She was still alive but barely. Can you believe it? No one has heard if they are local girls or not. It would be a terrible thing for this tight-knit community if they were. Either way it’s terrible. The poor families involved. How could anyone recover from that? 

Jill is in a terrible flap. Her girls are ten and twelve and it’s very possible that the girls could be friends or classmates. Everyone is frantically ringing around checking up on every young girl. The police are not giving any information out. One can only assume they were sexually assaulted. That’s generally the motive when young girls are involved. You would have heard this on the grapevine already I presume. Your friend Jenny is a bit of a town crier, I believe. She’s also good friends with our local policewoman.

The Buxtons have invited me down to The Thistle Inn for dinner. As I don’t really have plans, I accepted their invitation. I’m getting a bit sick of these four walls. There will be the usual low-lifes in the public bar and those not so conversationally-challenged in the lounge. The food there is fairly good. I feel like roast lamb.

I just watched the local news to see what they had to report but Jill was more informative than the media.

I’m feeling quite relaxed and calm tonight. Probably because I’m off to the city tomorrow and I might kick back and take in a show or something like that. I’d ask you along but I don’t want to rush you and I’m not entirely sure what my strategy to woo you is just yet.

Did you get my gift? You’ll be wracking your brain trying to figure out who your admirer is. I don’t think I’ve done anything to give it away. You will be looking at every male patient in a different light now, won’t you?

I’m sure the hotel will be packed as it always is after a local drama. It’s a comfort for the community to group together. I suppose people feel safer in a crowd.      

25/06/05 Friday.  Early morning. Still dark.

We’re getting closer, Grace. Do you feel it? I just had to set down on paper how I feel this morning before I head off in the car to pick up my mother.

Did you have a nice time last night? It was wonderful to see you.

We have officially supped together now. I sat across the table from you and completely lost my appetite. Love does that to you. You were wearing my necklace and it nearly brought tears to my eyes. You looked striking in your black high-necked jumper and well- fitted black pants. It was a plain canvas back-ground for my blue sapphire.

When I saw you walk into the hotel with your friend, Jenny, I felt paralysed and my breath caught in my throat. I coughed and almost choked. You came straight over to our table, gave me a smile and sat in the empty seat next to Jill. 

“I suppose you’ve heard the drama?”

Jill nodded, wide-eyed and asked you if you had any information, after sending her daughters over to the bain-marie.