Apartment 255

by Bunty Avieson

  ‘You know I do,’ said Sarah, stirring it into her coffee slowly and seductively. ‘It’s a pity you don’t like sugar.’

  ‘Oh, no, I don’t like sugar myself. I can’t stand the stuff. But I like for you to have sugar,’ replied Tom.

  Ginny felt uncomfortable and she wasn’t sure why. There was something passing between them that she didn’t understand. They seemed oblivious of the others in the room. Their banter was tender and intimate and the look passing between them was laden with sexual innuendo. She wondered what private meaning sugar held for them. Sarah happily shared much of her and Tom’s relationship with Ginny. But there was a point where Sarah would smile serenely, as if she held a delicious secret, and she would draw a veil over the conversation.

  Sarah continued to smile at Tom. She knew he was remembering the first night they had made love. They had had dinner at an Italian restaurant and, as the night wore on, the realisation that this would be the night she would give herself to him had dawned on her slowly, tantalising her and filling her body with a languid ease. Every mouthful and every gesture had become a form of foreplay. Tom had ordered coffee and had been surprised as she placed three sugar cubes in her cup.

  ‘You like sugar,’ he had said to her then, eight years ago. When she nodded, he had taken a sugar cube out of the bowl and held it to her lips. He had continued to hold it, while she licked and nibbled the cube. It was almost unbearably sensual and she had felt herself surrendering to him there and then.

  Sarah brought herself back to the present. She turned to her friend, suddenly self-conscious as she became aware of Ginny’s eyes on her.

  She had heard snatches of Tom’s conversation with Ginny on the balcony.

  ‘So what do you think, Ginny? Doesn’t it seem kind of exciting to discover you have a dad who you haven’t seen since you were a child?’

  Sarah was instantly sorry she had spoken. She knew Ginny’s own upbringing was a deep-rooted source of pain for her. Her parents had died when she was a baby and she had been brought up by an aunt in Perth until she was eleven, when the aunt had sent her off to boarding school in Sydney. Sarah, being separated from her own parents, had understood her anguish. The aunt, who clearly hadn’t wanted the young girl, had set up a trust fund to pay her way and then wiped her hands of her. Ginny never spoke of those early years.

  When Sarah’s parents had jetted in to Sydney a few times a year to see their daughter, Sarah had always included Ginny in their outings. Her parents, constantly distracted though they were by their own lives, had always made Ginny welcome. Sarah saw the look of pain on Ginny’s face.

  ‘Well, I think that’s entirely up to Tom,’ replied Ginny evenly. ‘Your relationship with your parents can be very personal. I don’t think anyone can tell anyone else how to handle such things.’

  Ginny curled herself into an armchair. She had a knack of folding herself into a compact package, taking up the smallest amount of space possible. Sarah watched her shrink and chastised herself for being so insensitive. The poor girl had just come back from burying her only relative. Sarah moved the topic back to Tom, trying to recapture the light mood.

  ‘Well, I can’t imagine not being at least curious. Tom, don’t you even want to see him? I know I do. It might give me some idea of what you will look like in twenty years, whether it’s worth my while hanging around or whether I should get out now. I want to know if he’s bald, with a beer belly and no teeth.’

  Ginny looked disapproving. ‘Sarah, how could you be so flippant?’

  Sarah laughed and wrapped her arms protectively around Tom. ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ she purred. ‘I’ve had far too much champagne and that was insensitive of me. I promise I’ll love you whether you lose your hair and your teeth or not.’

  Ginny looked away, closing her ears to the sound of the kiss she knew was coming. From where she was sitting she could see across the water to her own balcony, dark and closed and silent, as if it held secrets of its own.

  *

  A few nights later Ginny sat in the darkness, her winged armchair pulled up to her bedroom window. She sat perfectly still, barely breathing. Her eyes were fixed, staring through a pair of high-powered binoculars. Her elbows were propped on the armrests, holding the binoculars steady. The remains of her dinner sat neglected on the floor.

  A cockroach in the bathroom, scenting food, made its way along the edge of the tiles. It was huge, the size of Ginny’s little finger, with wings that helped it fly short distances when it was in danger. It crossed the bathroom floor, hesitated at the carpet in the doorway, then edged slowly along the skirting board, stopping every few millimetres, twitching its antennae, then darting forward.

  Ginny was oblivious of everything around her, her body taut and focussed on what she could see through the eyeglasses. Forty metres away Sarah held a delicate pale-peach satin nightgown against her body. It had slender ribbons for straps. Sarah was laughing. Ginny could see Tom leaning against the bookshelves as he smiled at Sarah, enjoying her delight. Sarah opened a second box and removed tissue paper. She spread it open and pulled out a matching peach satin wrap. She jumped up and wrapped herself around Tom, hugging and kissing him all over his head and face. Ginny groaned aloud. The cockroach, just centimetres from her unfinished dinner, froze, its senses alert. Sarah picked up the nightgown and wrap and disappeared out of the room. Ginny moved the binoculars along to the next window. Sarah tore off her clothes, kicking them aside as they fell. She looked fragile and ethereal in the subdued light of the bedside lamp. Ginny watched her strip with intense fascination. She pulled the satin nightgown over her head. It fell luxuriously around her thighs, moulding itself against her slender body as she moved. Sarah smiled at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She draped the wrap around her shoulders. It had transparent chiffon sleeves, each with a band of peach-coloured feathers around the edge. Sarah tied the sash, a peach-coloured pompom on each end. It was divinely decadent. Ginny had never seen anything like it. Sarah let the wrap hang loosely, tossing it off one shoulder with voluptuous abandon. She swirled in front of the mirror, fluffing her hair and pouting, then floated across the floor and out of sight.

  Ginny moved the binoculars back to Tom. He pursed his lips as Sarah came into view. She stood in front of him, twirling provocatively. He reached for her but she pirouetted away, teasing him playfully with the pompoms. He chased her around the sofa, tearing off his shirt and tossing it behind him. Sarah stayed one step ahead, ducking and diving as he reached for her. Tom strode over the sofa, knocking it to the ground as he did so. He caught the hem of Sarah’s wrap and dragged her to him. She stopped struggling and melted into his arms. Gently Tom laid her on the carpet.

  Ginny watched as Sarah wrapped her hands around his neck. Ginny could have wept at the sight of Tom’s broad bare back, with its well defined muscles. Ginny dropped the binoculars. They landed with a soft thud on the cockroach, severing its legs. She lunged for the telephone beside her bed and dialled their number. Juggling the phone in one hand she picked up the binoculars, not noticing the dying cockroach, and put them to her eyes. She listened to the phone ring. It rang and rang. She watched as Sarah and Tom continued writhing on the floor. ‘Answer the bloody phone,’ she hissed. ‘Answer the bloody phone,’ she repeated, more loudly, a note of hysteria creeping into her voice.

  Sarah gently pushed Tom away. Smiling and blowing him kisses she crawled over to the telephone. Ginny heard her voice, soft and breathy. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Sarah, I hope I haven’t disturbed you. It’s Ginny.’

  ‘Ginny. Hi. No, of course not. We were just watching TV.’

  Ginny watched as Sarah grimaced at Tom and mouthed the word Ginny.

  ‘I phoned to check you got your present. I left it with the doorman.’

  ‘Yes, I did. He gave it to me tonight. Thanks, Ginny, I’ve always wanted an espresso machine. But it must have cost you a fortune. You shouldn’t have spent so much.’

  ‘Oh, you deserve it.
I know how much you like your coffee. And this way I can be guaranteed a decent cappuccino when I come over.’

  ‘Well, I can certainly promise you that.’

  Tom stretched over, kissed Sarah on the top of her head and disappeared into the kitchen.

  ‘Did you get home okay the other night, after you left here? We were all so pissed I didn’t really think about it till the next morning. Then I was awfully worried. I’m sure it’s not safe to walk around Elizabeth Bay at that time of night.’

  Not worried enough to call, thought Ginny.

  ‘Yes, I was fine. It’s not far at all. I was home before you turned out the lights.’

  Ginny flinched as she said it. How would I know that? But Sarah didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘When do we get to see your new place? You’re awfully mysterious about it.’

  ‘No, I’m not. It’s just a shocking mess at the moment, with boxes everywhere. As soon as I’m settled and have had it painted I’ll have you both over, I promise.’

  Tom reappeared in the kitchen doorway, opening a can of beer.

  ‘Did you have a nice day at work?’

  ‘Yes, everyone has been really lovely. I can’t remember when I’ve had such a good birthday. And they are all delighted about our engagement. The girls in the newsroom want to throw me an office tea, whatever that is.’

  Tom righted the sofa and turned on the TV. He switched channels until he found the football. He sat back on the sofa, put his feet on the table and propped a cushion behind his neck.

  ‘Do you suppose it means you get presents to go in a home office?’ suggested Ginny.

  Sarah laughed. ‘I sincerely hope not. I’d prefer sexy lingerie.’

  ‘Well, all the best,’ said Ginny, smiling at the sight of Tom’s absorption in the television.

  ‘You too. Thanks for the call. See you soon.’

  After they hung up, Ginny settled back with the binoculars. The injured cockroach limped, unseen, under her bed to slowly die. Ginny’s eyes remained glued to the window opposite. She saw Sarah try to speak to Tom. He answered her, keeping his face turned to the TV. He was completely engrossed in what was happening on the screen. Sarah gave up and walked into the kitchen.

  With a triumphant smile, Ginny lowered the binoculars.

  ‘Tee hee,’ she said aloud.

  CHAPTER 4

  All day Ginny had tingled with excitement and anticipation. She could hardly keep her mind on the tasks at hand. A splint for a puppy. The owner, a young girl of about eight, had accidentally trodden on one of its tiny toes and broken it. She sat sobbing in the waiting room with her mother while Ginny bandaged the toe to a couple of splints the size of matchsticks. A local woman had brought in her small terrier, which the family had imaginatively named Dog, for a check-up. Dog was thirteen years old and incontinent. There wasn’t much Ginny could do. Dog’s kidneys had packed it in. Ginny reassured the owner as best she could and gave her some salt tablets, which wouldn’t do much for Dog but at least made the owner feel better.

  Ginny had offered to stay back late and tend to a sickly Rottweiler, which pleased Dr Black, who was keen to leave early. After she had given medication instructions to the Rottweiler’s owner she locked the surgery doors. Her heart was racing as she pulled down the blinds. She opened the medicine cupboard and took out three huge earthenware jars filled with white powder. She read the labels carefully. She knew what she was after. Dr Black had a formidable reputation among racehorse owners. While Ginny was left in the city surgery to tend to the myriad of family pets that were brought in, Dr Black spent most of his time in the outer suburbs tending racehorses. Ginny was left in charge of the books, ordering new equipment as it was needed and re-ordering drugs from the suppliers who dropped by each fortnight.

  Ginny wanted a particular steroid, a synthetic form of testosterone, which she knew Dr Black used on racehorses suffering hormonal deficiencies. She found it. Limondol. She carefully measured out two cups and put them in a small glass jar. She put the lid back on the earthenware jar, shaking it to aerate the contents, which looked considerably less but Ginny was confident Dr Black wouldn’t notice. He expected Ginny to keep track of things like that. She popped the smaller jar into her handbag and wiped all the surfaces clean.

  As Ginny locked the security grille she noticed a kitten eyeing her from a distance.

  ‘Miaow,’ it called plaintively, its green eyes glinting in the darkened street. Ginny looked with pity at the skinny kitten. It was a tortoiseshell, all orange and black swirls with a snowy white underbelly. She dropped to her knees and held out her hand.

  ‘Hello, little kitty,’ she crooned. She stayed perfectly still, making soothing noises, gaining the kitten’s trust. The kitten came closer and sniffed Ginny’s hand. She smelled of domestic dogs and cats. Interesting smells. The kitten entwined itself around Ginny’s legs, purring. She could feel the kitten’s bones through its fur. Its coat was shiny and not matted but it clearly hadn’t eaten for days.

  ‘You poor little thing. Don’t you have a home to go to?’

  The kitten purred in response.

  It followed Ginny to her car and when she opened the door, leapt inside. Ginny thought for a moment. Its eyes were healthy, its fur looked pretty good. It obviously hadn’t been living on the streets for long. She climbed in and shut the door. It was a precarious ride, the kitten sitting up attentively on the passenger seat, swaying as Ginny turned corners. They arrived at Tom and Sarah’s apartment. Ginny slid out of the car seat, juggling her handbag and a bunch of fresh flowers, and carefully blocking the kitten from escaping.

  ‘I won’t be long. Behave yourself,’ she told the kitten.

  She let herself into Tom and Sarah’s apartment just as the sun was setting behind Ginny’s own apartment. A vibrant red glow of the lights in the city reflected from the windows of the neighbouring apartment blocks, making them appear to be on fire.

  It was just how Ginny felt. On fire. Alive.

  ‘Hello,’ she called out. ‘Hellooooo.’

  The apartment was quiet. Ginny laughed aloud, feeling wicked and powerful. She walked around the deserted flat. Sarah’s birthday flowers were drooping on the dining table. She moved into the bedroom. The faint smell of Sarah’s perfume hung in the air. Ginny wrinkled her nostrils with distaste. She never wore perfume herself. She hated it, the artificiality of it, just like she hated aftershave and air freshener. To her they all smelled wrong.

  The bed, a magnificent wrought-iron four-poster, was covered with a white lace bedspread and white lace pillows of all shapes. Ginny’s eyes skimmed over it, even though she willed herself not to look at it. The room disturbed her. The bed, the smells, Tom’s navy bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. She had been inside the bedroom once before. Sarah had taken her in to show her an expensive new suit and Ginny had sat on the bed watching while Sarah tried it on for her approval. Of course, Sarah had looked gorgeous and, of course, Ginny had told her so. Ginny had felt uncomfortable then too. She remembered that close smell, the intimate sight of Tom’s discarded clothes on the chair and, while Sarah had modelled the outfit for her, Ginny had been consumed with the thought that she was sitting on the exact spot where Tom made love to Sarah.

  A photograph of Sarah, smiling, her hair blowing about her face, sat framed on a bedside table. Ginny curled her lip. No doubt Sarah put it there. What vanity.

  Ginny felt the bitterness well inside her. Any doubts she had were smothered under its weight.

  In the kitchen she hunted through the cupboards and found the sugar bowl. It had a screw top to discourage the cockroaches and ants. She set it down beside the new coffee maker with a small smile of delight that her gift was clearly being used. She took the jar of white powder from her handbag and sprinkled some of the contents inside. She looked at her hands. They were perfectly still. She was trembling inside but she knew her hands wouldn’t betray her. They were the hands of a skilled surgeon.

  The steroid powder was
much finer than the sugar. Using a teaspoon, she mixed it around until it was indistinguishable from the sugar. She opened the pantry and took out a paisley tin marked ‘Sugar’. She tipped the remainder of the white powder into the tin, stirred it up and then inspected it carefully. Dissatisfied, she took out a serving spoon and stirred vigorously. When she was sure the powder wasn’t visible, she carefully washed the spoon under hot water, dried it on her jeans and put it back in the drawer. She replaced the sugar tin, turning the label around to the front just as it had been when she opened the pantry.

  Then Ginny fed the fish. She sprinkled the food on the surface, watching for a moment as they realised it was there and swam hungrily towards it. She enjoyed being in the apartment on her own. Everywhere she looked she could see evidence of Tom. She could almost imagine him sitting in the kitchen chatting to her while she worked. She threw out the dying flowers and replaced them with a fresh bunch. Flowers for Tom. She watered the plants, Tom’s plants.

  She bustled about, humming to herself, remembering the first time she had laid eyes on him. It had been the day of her twentieth birthday and he had taken a seat opposite her at the University Café. He was tall and solid, with piercing blue eyes and a shock of unruly blond hair. He had asked her if the seat was taken. She had looked up at him and found herself unable to speak. He had smiled, a sort of shy, lopsided grin that touched something deep inside her. She had been too shocked to speak and just stared at him dumbly. He kept smiling and when she still didn’t speak he sat down. He was wearing a rumpled denim shirt. Ginny could hardly take her eyes off him. He was just twenty-two and oozed maleness. Ginny had had little contact with men and was completely at a loss as to what to say.

  She had never had a boyfriend or a lover. Her experience with the opposite sex had been limited to just two clumsy, and unhappy, episodes.

  The first was at fifteen when she was invited along to see a movie with Sarah and her boyfriend Craig and Craig’s best friend Howie. Howie was a handsome, funny 16-year-old Jewish boy from Edgecliff whom Ginny found entertaining. She was quite chuffed when they sat down and Howie immediately put his arm along the back of her seat, just like Craig had with Sarah. When the hero of the movie had taken the leading lady into his arms Ginny quite liked the way Howie stroked her bare shoulder. It suited the mood so perfectly. But when suddenly he planted his lips over hers and tried to stick his tongue in her mouth she was so shocked she had fled the cinema. Sarah had laughed when she told her, then been all concerned when she realised how upset Ginny was. Ginny had resented Sarah intensely and that day a tiny seed had been planted.