Dominic was a hairy armed, bald man in overalls. The only clue was his name stamped on his overalls.
‘Ahhh… I’ll look after it for you, Lily. Likely... Need a coupla days, but no worries. Heard you on the radio… have it on in the workshop. Famous aren’t ya?” Dominic wiped his oily hands on a rag. Sunlight glinted on the hairs of his short, muscled arms below the rolled up navy overalls Bald on top, Dominic’s hair seemed to have replanted to his arms.
‘I’ll use my bike this week then. How much will the service be? ’
The spilt petrol smell clung to Dominic’s Garage which was just a street away from the studio. Music and talkback blared from the oily finger-printed tranny.
‘Don’t worry luv. I won’t rip you off. Student aren’t you? Know Paul, my kid brother? He’s studying Sports Management. Our family helps him. I tell you what, I’ll do yours in between the other jobs. I’ve got a few corporate fleets… can charge them more than you….’ Dominic opened the driver’s side and checked the dashboard. Lily waited for the bad news. ‘I know it’s a few kilometres over the service, but Paul recommended you….’
‘No. I was looking at your clock. It’s two hours fast.’
Lily peered in. ‘How did that happen?’
‘You ask me luv. It’s your car!’ Dominic gave a loud laugh.
‘But I didn’t touch the control.’
As Lily left Dominic’s garage a few minutes later, wheeling her bike, that had been in The Vomit’s boot, she was still puzzled. Could a clock fast forward itself? No way. Maybe there was just something wrong with The Vomit’s electrical system. After all, most other parts of The Vomit were on slow, not fast.
Back at the flat, Genevieve twiddled her rings. ‘Where did you park the Vomit? Why isn’t it here?’
‘Getting a service at the garage. Down at Dominics. Paul and his brother must have had different parents. They don’t look anything alike. Neither do Ben and me. ’
Genevieve wasn’t interested in genetics, unless her employer was doing a survey and paid for her to ask the questions.
‘Thought you might have given me a lift in. Got a three hour job. Soup research. Later we’re doing some campaign on pet-care.’
Genevieve didn’t like being seen in The Vomit, but waiting for the train was worse, in her opinion. For broken shifts, sometimes she borrowed Lily’s car. Telemarketing was a shit job, but Genny intended going overseas as soon as she saved the fare. Sharing the flat was just bearable, because they were so rarely there together. Genny’s hours were erratic, depending upon the market research company contracts. Both had to talk in their jobs, the difference was Genny’s hourly pay rate.
She thought volunteers were idiots, and said so, often,
‘Genny, you didn’t touch the clock on The Vomit by any chance? ‘
Genevieve turned. ‘No. Why should I? I’ve got a perfectly good watch.’
‘At the garage, Dominic said the clock was two hours fast.’
‘Maybe someone was trying to turn back the speedo?’ offered Genevieve.
‘Huh.’ Lily gave a little smile. ‘That speedo has already done a few circuits.’
‘By the way,’ Genevieve called over her shoulder. ‘Phone message from some “Flowers for All Occasions” shop. Said to tell you that the lilies had been paid for by credit card. Signed by L. Noelle Why were you sending flowers to yourself? I thought you were broke?’
‘Oh…. Research. Thinking of doing a phone-in on unusual flowers for the program,’ said Lily quickly.
‘The florist sounded a bit annoyed. Thought you were sending her up or something.’
Someone had her credit card number. And had forged her signature. Was it a woman? Surely the florist would have noticed if a man signed a woman’s name?
Lily fumbled in her wallet for her card. Relieved, she pulled it out. The card hadn’t been stolen. It was safe. Then she peered at the signature. Of course. Dad had warned her before he left. Start a new signature, using just the initial L. so people won’t know you’re a female living alone. The phone book just had an initial too. She’d forgotten about the new signature. And something else.
‘I thought this new number of ours was meant to be unlisted? Did you give it to the florist?’ Genny swept out. ‘Don’t blame me then if people know our number.’
Idiot! Lily blamed herself. She was getting really rattled. Normally she wouldn’t do something stupid like that. And she was getting narky with everyone, even that Paul who had helped about the Vomit.
But someone had forged her signature. Had they taken the card and returned it to her wallet? When had the flowers been ordered? When had the thief taken her card? And when had it been returned? How dare someone bill her for something she didn’t want!
She dialled the florist and identified herself. ‘Was it a man or a woman who signed? Oh. You can’t remember. And no receipt. Thank you VERY much. Most people do notice the difference between male and female customers. Maybe you need glasses… or a sex education class.’
Lily slammed down the phone.
A cold shiver went down her neck. The fear of what MIGHT happen was beginning to make her do silly things. And be narky with people who were just helping. She felt as if she had to be on guard all the time. This suspicious and irritable person she was becoming, Lily didn’t even like.
****************************************************************
I’m special. Your fan! And then that Jamie called me a FAN-a-tic. I overheard him in the carpark. That’s why he gave you the FAN-A-TIC coffee mug. You just didn’t get it. I was SO close to you often, I could almost have touched your hair, but I didn’t. That would have spoiled the game. My campaign. My plan. My strategy. If you’d known I was so close, at first, the thrill would have gone out of it. Later, it was different.
I don’t make mistakes. Although I shouldn’t have bought so many tapes at AudioLand early on. That’s when I was recording your graveyard shift , just for fun, before things got serious. The man looked at me the third time I went back. So I told him I was doing a project for uni. Well I could have been if I hadn’t dropped out. My choice. Boring place.
Your signature is so easy. I should give you a lesson in how to write an unforgeable one… lots of up and down strokes, none of those big round loops you use. So easy to write L. Noelle in rounded shapes. No challenge in that. But a nice touch don’t you think? Charging you for the flowers which I sent. No duplicated receipt. And getting your card back before you even realised it was missing.
5
Taped
Brrrr…..ring.
It was Tuesday afternoon, when the phone rang, at home. She picked it up.
‘Lily speaking.’
A click.
‘Hullo. Lily here.’
Another click.
Then she heard her own voice… and Anna, the clairvoyant responding to her query… the tape made at the session a month ago.
‘No,that will always be part of your life, but you make the choices…. You decided how little or how much… there must be a decider in any relationship, and in this one it must be you. I see increasing attention….
Something fell under her stomach. An emptiness. A hollow. A gap now, where everything had been okay before. A feeling of familiarity. Something she’d listened to many times. Part of her emotional life. Not that she believed exactly in clairvoyants. Specially after she’d talked on air to that guy from the Sceptics Society who questioned everything… but…. She liked the thought of patterning her life on something… so she’d gone once, twice, this was from her second visit.
This was her tape. Her personal tape of Anna’s reading. The one that should have been at the back of her bedroom drawer. A private reading by her clairvoyant. It was like a medical. Private and confidential.
A thought stabbed at her.
Someone had played this, so they could find the exact bit to quote on the phone. Someone was playing it now from a
tape into the phone. Someone had a bit of her private life, out in public. Someone must have taken it from her private drawer AND she hadn’t even known.
‘Who are you?’ she screamed into the receiver. ‘Give it back. You have no right!’
For a second she was screaming over the top of her recycled voice. Then it stopped.
Click.
Her stolen voice had gone.
‘Hullo…. Who are you? Why are you doing this?’
Lily tried to lower her voice. Not to let panic sound as a give away. Nutters like this probably got off on their victim’s fear. Victim? The mental word stopped her. She wasn’t going to be a victim. She might be a target, but she wasn’t going to be a victim.
‘Why wait until after you’re hurt,’ Jamie had warned. ‘Do something about it.’ At times, she really appreciated Jamie’s help, even if he was such a know-all.
But she was being hurt.
Think! Lily took a deep breath. Was the tape still in her drawer? Taking slow steps, she went to her bedroom and opened the drawer. Her tapes had never been in alphabetical order. But she usually knew what was there. Music tapes were in the old junk drawer. This tape had been different. Her hands scrabbled amongst the bras and knickers. She’d hidden the tape there originally because it was sort of mental underwear.
Her hand grasped a plastic rectangle. The tape was still there! The familiar crack in the plastic cover.
Everything was okay. Maybe she was just imagining the voice? Maybe fear was just taking over? There wasn’t enough evidence.
It could have been Anna’s voice. It had been saying her words. Perhaps it was an imitation? Or a copy?
Maybe he hadn’t got his hands on this part of her mind?
Lily pulled the audio tape into the light and read the label, written in firm black texta, with strong, downward strokes.
Dub of Anna, Lily’s clairvoyant April 1st. He’d made a copy, and left her the dub, just so she’d know! He’d been in her bedroom on that day. Or maybe some time before? How long did it take to make a dub? And where had it been made? On her equipment?
Was that his handwriting? Could it be traced, like fingerprints or something? But she’d have to go to the police for that, and she didn’t want to make a public fuss. Not like a real celeb.
**********************************************************
Getting into her house was easy. I just watched for a few days. The flatmate was careless. She often left the backdoor unlocked. And once she even put the spare key back in the not-so-secret place under the rock near the African Violet pot plant. Anyone could have been watching. I planned my visits. Didn’t want to run into anyone.
I knew when Lily was on at the station. Her roster was on the wall at reception. I just photocopied it. Of course, I paid 20 cents for the copy on their machine. Volunteers have to pay you know. That’s fair. And even if I’m not a volunteer, I pay.
At first, I just ‘visited’ her room. Then I decided to take a copy of her life away with me. Photographs are one way. So I photographed the house and car outside on one of those instant cameras from the chemist shop…the wide shots. Later, I took indoor shots… needed a different camera for that.And pinned them around my desk at home as part of my campaign record. Told the chemist my parents were thinking of buying that house as an investment… best to give a reason, even if the chemist didn’t ask. Anyway, that’s one of the reasons they’re in Los Angeles now, sorting out the properties.
Then it was time to leave my mark…
6
New Wheels
Lights shone on the wet road, like snail trails. Lily drove cautiously. This was only the third car she’d ever driven. During her licence test, it took her four goes to park properly. But she wasn’t telling Bernie, the station manager that! At least this was automatic , so she didn’t have to plan gear changes. Vomit’s second gear was a grind and reverse was a battle. This car moved so smoothly it was like velvet. Lily felt pure pleasure.
‘Way to go!’ After the talk with Jamie, in the uni cafe, she’d felt really down.
When Management offered a week’s test drive and CD trial, it seemed a gift from the universe. Really it was a guilt job by the local car-seller who’d had some bad press.
What Bernie said was, ‘Management is concerned about you and these late shifts. We don’t want you going out into the carpark on your own.
Call security and they’ll escort you. We’re even going to loan you this test drive car, for a week so you’ll be safer than on that bike of yours. It has an electronic locking device.’
Lucky or what?
‘Thanks,’ Lily didn’t know what else to say. ‘What d’you want me to do?’
‘Monty’s the local car-dealers have offered it free for a week. They want you to be photographed for the daily newspaper… and for an in-flight magazine… they’re doing some feature on cars and media. Get a few shots in the papers about supporting community projects like the radio… to offset their bad publicity recently about the unhappy customer suing them. You’ve probably seen the coverage over the past few weeks.’ explained Bernie. Attracting sponsors was one of his jobs. ‘You can write something, so it doesn’t look too much like a freebie. Review the sound system, test the CD in the car.’
‘Fine.’ said Lily, trying to sound as though things like this happened all the time. Maybe they did on commercial radio. A few sample packs of peanut nibbles were the best you could hope for on public radio. That was her last freebie. ‘Is it insured?’
‘The car or the sound system?’ Bernie wasn’t joking.
‘I’ve only got a probationary licence… still on my P’s….’
‘Oh. Hadn’t thought of that.’ Bernie looked concerned, so Lily wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Maybe he didn’t know her age. Everyone said she looked older, probably because she was carrying a few kilos.
‘I’ve never had an accident, since I got my licence.’ said Lily. You couldn’t count slight bingles before being licensed.
‘Maybe we should have offered it to one of the others, but the owner said they wanted a young girl for the photo.Probably okay. I’ll check.’
Bernie returned quickly. ‘Just as long as you’ve got it back for the photos.’
‘Thank YOU,’ said Lily.
She’d been pumped to test-drive the sponsor’s car. ‘Supporters’ they called them on public radio stations. Taken delivery that day. Monty’s PR lady explained how the electronics worked and gave her the key.
Beep Magically the door opened.
‘Fan-tas-tic!’
‘Didn’t you want to take some photos of the car and Lily in front of the studio?’ asked Bernie anxiously.
‘Tomorrow Lily. Wear something er… to contrast with red… not so student-ish. We’ll take some photos tomorrow.’ advised Monty’s PR car lady whose long red nails grasped the steering wheel like a tropical insect.
She looked at Lily’s op shop pants and vest as if they should be returned.
‘Head and shoulder shots mainly.’
‘What time?’ asked Lily. ‘I’ve got a 9 o’clock lecture tomorrow.’
‘Eleven?’ Even her nails were colour-coordinated with the Red Peril’s wheels. ‘But you can drive it home tonight, Lily. Here’s the key. You just do this.’ PR Face aimed, ‘Beep. Zap.’ A light flashed. Locks clicked open electronically. The car was available. ‘Okay. Here’s my business card. I have to rush.’
‘No worries,’ said Lily, accepting the zapper-key. ‘Thanks.’
She zap-locked the car. ‘Wow!’ After playing with the Red Peril’s dashboard controls for a full half hour, Lily went inside to check her pigeon-hole, organise the music for Friday night and write up her hours. All the time, the thought of that red car sitting waiting was like an unwrapped birthday present.
The gleaming Red Peril was parked in the corner where the PR woman left it. Lily fingered the zapper in her pocket. Then she aimed:
&nb
sp; ‘Pow!’
Nothing happened. The car was still there. But no noise. The doors didn’t click open like they did for PR Face. No lights. No sound. No action.
She couldn’t even open the door.
Lily felt mega stupid. She’d had the car twenty minutes and couldn’t get into it. The brilliant red racer with just a few kilometres on the dial. And a door which wouldn’t open. What was it, with her and keys this week? She turned the zapper around. Maybe it worked like those remotes for TV. Dead batteries? Zap. Nothing. Upside down? Nothing. she tugged at the door which was so shiny she could see her face in the red panel.
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