Apartment 255

by Bunty Avieson

Ginny wondered who Jom was.

  ‘My friend Jom,’ continued Sarah.

  Ginny had never heard Sarah mention a friend called Jom.

  ‘It’s Jane, Jane Smith,’ said the girl with a sneer.

  ‘Somehow I don’t think so,’ replied Sarah archly. ‘But no matter. I’m sure Jom will remember who was running his shop and insulting his customers today.’ She turned on her heel.

  ‘It has been such a pleasure meeting you,’ she said before slamming the heavy glass door. It rattled dangerously behind her. Ginny had been forgotten and with a meek smile at the assistant, who was now glowering at Sarah’s retreating back, she followed her friend outside. Sarah was seething when they sat down at a nearby café.

  ‘Can you believe that? I’m so angry. She should be sacked.’

  Ginny was elated. Admittedly she had been shocked by the girl’s rudeness. She had seen attitude in trendy shops before, it was part of the reason why she never went into them, but never quite so blatant as that. But what interested Ginny was Sarah’s reaction. Mild-mannered, always understanding, friend-to-everyone Sarah. While Sarah vented her rage over the girl’s rudeness, Ginny replayed the scene in her mind. It was glorious to see the look of dislike on the girl’s face as she had sized up Sarah then turn into a look of pure loathing when Sarah had attacked her. It was balm to Ginny’s soul. And Sarah’s angry reactions had been so good. In all the years Ginny had known Sarah, she had never seen her react like that. She was usually insufferably poised.

  ‘Who is Jom?’ asked Ginny.

  Sarah looked at her friend and started to laugh. ‘I have no idea. His name is written on the front of the shop as proprietor. I saw it when we walked in.’

  Ginny laughed too. She had been holding in all her joy and delight and now she gave it full rein. It made Sarah laugh harder. The two friends laughed until they had tears pouring down their faces. They couldn’t stop, nor did they want to. It was the sort of laughing fit they had had frequently when they were schoolmates. In those days they had doubled over laughing at something silly. It hadn’t taken much to set them off. It felt good to laugh like that. It was such a release of tension. Finally it subsided. Ginny composed herself first. Wiping her eyes and smoothing her hair, she looked across at her friend. Sarah had mascara smeared across her cheeks and her eyes were red and bleary.

  ‘I haven’t laughed like that in years,’ said Sarah.

  ‘Nor have I,’ agreed Ginny.

  ‘God, it feels good,’ said Sarah, smiling fondly across the table at her friend.

  The waitress interrupted them to take their order. When they were alone again Sarah turned to Ginny.

  ‘How was Perth?’ she asked.

  Ginny’s face changed instantly, her smile replaced with the tense, thin-lipped look she had worn all night at Sarah’s birthday. ‘Fine,’ she said.

  It was obvious she was lying. Sarah wondered how to draw her out. ‘Did you sort out your aunt’s affairs?’

  Ginny would not be drawn. She would not discuss her trip to Perth with Sarah. It had been a difficult time for her and, as was Ginny’s way, she would internalise her pain. She changed the subject. ‘So did Tom meet his dad?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sarah. ‘They had lunch together. It sounds like it went pretty well. He said Hal is into motorbikes. He has a bike shop in North Sydney. Tom thinks that’s pretty cool.’

  ‘Has he remarried?’ asked Ginny.

  ‘That’s exactly what I asked,’ laughed Sarah. ‘Tom doesn’t think so. He said he didn’t mention anybody so Tom assumes not.’

  ‘You mean Tom didn’t ask?’

  ‘No. Don’t you love it? That would have been my first question. But according to Tom they didn’t talk about things like that. They didn’t talk about Thel at all. Tom says her name didn’t even come up. Can you believe that?’

  This was familiar ground for the two friends. They had often discussed the difference between the way women, namely Sarah, went about things and the way men, namely Tom, did. It was a constant cause of fascination for Sarah and of course anything to do with Tom was of interest to Ginny. She would listen avidly to Sarah’s anecdotes about life with Tom. It was a double-edged sword for Ginny. She ached for the intimacy of the life Sarah described and through encouraging Sarah to share all the details she was able to live vicariously and feed her own fantasies. But it also brought up her overwhelming feelings of jealousy. She felt its white heat burn inside her.

  ‘Men are weird,’ replied Ginny, playing her part, knowing the expected response.

  ‘Hal says he wants to meet me,’ said Sarah, looking worried.

  Ginny shifted in her seat. Sarah had to bring it back to Sarah. It was always about Sarah, she thought nastily. Ginny wasn’t interested in Sarah and how she fitted into this new family arrangement. She wanted to know about Tom – how he felt, what it meant to him, what he and his father had said to each other. But Ginny knew her role, the concerned friend, understanding and empathetic.

  ‘Oh, how scary. Are you going to?’ she asked.

  ‘I suppose so, eventually,’ said Sarah. ‘Tom is going on a ride with him next weekend but I’m not invited. He is going to ride on the back of Hal’s bike. It’s a charity ride. All these bikers take toys that they have collected to a park on Pittwater where they give them to underprivileged kids and have a fete.’

  ‘I didn’t know bikers did things like that,’ said Ginny.

  ‘Me neither. Hal reckons they get about forty bikers along.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘I know, amazing isn’t it?’

  ‘So what else did Tom say about this cool guy Hal?’

  ‘Not much. He was so hung-over when I left this morning it hurt him to talk. I hope to get the rest out of him tonight.’

  The waitress arrived with their order and Sarah heaped three teaspoons of sugar into her coffee.

  ‘How much coffee do you drink, Sarah?’

  ‘Too much, but I love it. I love the rush it gives me. I don’t think I could function without my morning cup and then my mid-morning coffee and pretty much every one after that. I get headaches if I don’t have a cup.’

  Ginny looked thoughtful. ‘I was reading a report from America. They say that caffeine is actually good for you. I know everyone has been saying too much is bad for you but according to this report it actually helps protect you from disease. Brazilians, who drink the most, have virtually no heart disease and no blood disease.’

  ‘Really?’ said Sarah.

  Ginny nodded. She had been planning this conversation for weeks, looking forward to the right time to drop it casually into the conversation. ‘Yes, and what’s more, it actually helps burn up calories.’ She knew her friend well enough to know her triggers.

  ‘Really,’ said Sarah, suddenly very interested.

  ‘Well, have you ever seen a fat Brazilian?’ asked Ginny.

  They erupted in laughter.

  ‘Ginny, you are my oldest and kindest friend and I love you dearly, particularly now I know I can have as much coffee as I like and it’s actually doing me good.’

  Ginny lifted her cup to conceal her triumphant smile. ‘Thank you, Sarah. The feeling is entirely mutual.’

  The café was crowded and a young waitress squeezed past some people waiting for a table. She hoisted a tray of steaming focaccias and coffee above her head. It was an accident waiting to happen. As the waitress drew level with Sarah and Ginny’s booth, she lost her footing on the uneven floor and the tray slipped. Ginny saw what was coming but her reflexes were too slow. The focaccias tipped sideways off the plate, knocking the coffee, which spilled onto Sarah. It was only a drop, but it landed on Sarah’s bare arm. Sarah leapt to her feet in shock. Her face, which had been relaxed and smiling, instantly turned purple with rage as she turned on the waitress.

  ‘You stupid idiot !’ she screamed, stunning the crowd at the café into silence.

  The girl was stricken. Sarah loomed over her, her face contorted in uncontrolled fury. Ginny
watched in horror as Sarah shoved the girl against a seated diner.

  ‘YOU BLOODY FOOL!’

  The girl scrambled in an attempt not to fall and the diner put out his arm to steady her. She was frozen in fright and the man rose slowly, blocking her from Sarah, his eyes fixed on Sarah’s white face. ‘I think that’s quite enough,’ he said.

  He wasn’t a tall man but his demeanour was formidable. His tone was like steel. Sarah stood toe to toe with him, unflinching, as she angled her head so he had a view straight up her nose. The diners watched in embarrassed but fascinated silence as Sarah glared at the man. The only sound was the hissing of the cappuccino machine and muffled noises of clanging plates from the kitchen. The waitress burst into tears and fled.

  ‘Come on, Ginny, we are out of here. I wouldn’t stay in this cockroach hole for another minute,’ spat Sarah.

  Ginny left money on the table, gathered up Sarah’s bags and scuttled out of the booth. Displaying all the righteous indignation and fury she felt, Sarah turned on her heel, haughtily dismissing the stares and whispers of the other café patrons and followed Ginny out. She stalked down Oxford Street elbowing shoppers out of her way, with Ginny scurrying behind to keep up.

  *

  Ginny stared through her binoculars. She felt elated. If she hadn’t seen it for herself she would never have believed it. ‘That, Kitty, is what is known colloquially as “a roid rage”,’ she said, rocking backwards and forwards and chuckling. She could see Tom sitting on the couch and Sarah moving about in the lounge room. They were deep in serious conversation. She wondered what they were saying. Was Sarah telling Tom about what a witch she had been, what a spectacle she had made of herself? Or was Tom talking about Hal and was Sarah making wildly inappropriate comments? Poor Tom. How confused he must be feeling. Her eyes strained as she willed herself to follow what they were saying. It was no use.

  Frustrated, she undressed and went to bed. She opened a book she had borrowed from the library on a whim many months ago. It was way past its return date but it was just too good to give back. Ginny had no intention of returning it. It fell open at the chapter headed ‘Steroid Abuse by Women Bodybuilders’. She could almost recite the text by heart, she had read it so many times before. She read it again for pure enjoyment.

  An anabolic steroid is basically synthetic testosterone, a hormone that differentiates men. While no-one is suggesting it makes women men, the effect it has on the female body is called virilisation.

  ‘Isn’t that a lovely word?’ Ginny said to Kitty as the cat curled contentedly into her lap. ‘Virilisation.’ Ginny repeated it, enunciating every syllable of the word. ‘Vir-il-is-ation.’

  She continued reading.

  Most notable side effects are a deepening of the voice, and increased and excessive hair growth on the arms, legs, back, chest and pubic region.

  ‘Oh, Kitty, how gross. I wonder if that is happening to our Sarah.’

  Other side effects can be a reduction of breast size. They become ‘plate-like’. More symptoms include bad breath and sweating with strong body odour, since steroids are excreted through the lungs and sweat glands. Steroids are also excreted through the skin which can lead to severe acne, mainly on the chest and back. Growth of the nose and jaw have been reported, as has male-pattern baldness.

  ‘Oh, Kitty, I like the sound of that. Male-pattern baldness. I wonder what Sarah would look like bald. Tee hee.’

  Indications suggest steroid use in women leads to severe menstrual problems. As with male anabolic steroid users, they can make women irritable and cranky. ’Roid rage is more commonly associated with males but

  that’s probably because so many more males take them.

  The rest of the chapter was a series of case studies describing violent episodes that had been attributed to roid rages. One man went berserk, killing his wife with a dumbbell then attacking the neighbour who barged into the house after hearing the screams. Ginny felt her eyes grow heavy. She folded the corner of the page and put the book aside for another time. With a contented smile she drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER 6

  It was a quiet day. Dr Black was in the surgery so Ginny took a long lunch. She walked briskly to the local shopping centre, taking great, long strides. She wasn’t in a hurry but she walked everywhere like that – fast, with her head thrust forward, as if her brain should get there first. She bought herself a sandwich and sat in the courtyard by the fountain. It wasn’t running. It had been broken for months and the council hadn’t bothered to fix it, but she liked to eat her lunch by the still pond. It was calming.

  She looked at the paved brickwork and felt a stirring of unease. It was a basket-weave pattern, quite complex, but worrying. It reminded her of something, something scary, but she wasn’t sure what. It nagged at a memory so long buried the merest hint of it resurfacing sent waves of terror through her. Some of the bricks seemed to hover above the others. But when she looked directly at them, they retreated and the others seemed to hover. Ginny brought her hand up in front of her and tried to focus on it, sending the bricks away. She looked at her short, slim fingers. They looked so white, not at all like her hand. And hovering on the periphery of her vision she could see the bricks looming, swelling and retreating.

  Ginny felt the panic rising in her. She looked up at the sky then bolted for the shopping centre. Her feet found the grey concrete and she kept walking, her heart clutching painfully. Neon awnings covered the sky and she started to relax. Her breathing slowed and she allowed her eyes to look down. She saw the grey concrete and felt relief wash over her. Her hands were clammy and she wiped them on her jeans.

  She leaned against a shop to catch her breath and stared at the window display. It was an electronics shop. She looked at the mobile telephones laid out, all on sale, the tape recorders and microphones. She had been wrestling with a tricky problem for a few days and something was coming into focus. If she could just figure it out. On a whim she went inside. An hour later she emerged, laden with shopping bags. She walked back to the surgery, the terror of the courtyard forgotten. Her step was lighter and a small smile played about her lips.

  *

  Sarah looked in horror at the red patch on her chin. More pimples. There were three new ones, angry and red. She applied foundation, smearing it thickly across the offending patch, then patted it with a sponge to make it look natural. It didn’t. She looked pasty and decidedly unnatural. There was a knock at the bathroom door.

  ‘Sarah, are you going to be much longer? I’m running late,’ called Tom.

  ‘All right, all right,’ snapped Sarah. She had slept badly and been up for an hour already, drinking strong coffee and reading the morning newspapers.

  She had showered thinking she could get into work early but the sight that greeted her in the mirror had exacerbated her anxiety and she had spent fruitless minutes trying to make herself look what she considered half decent. She patted some blush over the foundation, hoping to give her pasty face some natural colour. She inspected her reflection. She looked like a garish clown. She took a tissue and wiped away most of it. She had bags under her eyes and her hair felt like straw. She looked awful.

  ‘Sarah, it’s eight-thirty. We are both going to be late. Please,’ pleaded Tom.

  Sarah flung open the door and glared at him. ‘For God’s sake,’ she growled as she swept past him to the kitchen. She wasted a further five minutes hunting for her keys, which were on the floor, under the kitchen table.

  She drove to work in a fury, her foot alternating between the accelerator and the brake pedal. On the approach to the Harbour Bridge a woman in a Volvo tried to move in front of her and Sarah deliberately blocked her. ‘Why should I let you in?’ she muttered under her breath. The woman, neatly coiffed, in her impeccably new car, annoyed Sarah for no reason at all and when she pulled in behind her, Sarah slammed on her brakes. The woman braked too, screeching her tyres and narrowly avoiding driving into the back of her. Sarah smiled with satisfaction then
sped off.

  She was twenty minutes late when she walked into the TV newsroom. The news director stared at her as she tried to creep past him to her desk.

  ‘You’re late again,’ he barked.

  Sarah knew there was no point making excuses. Bob McKenzie ran his newsroom with an iron determination. He was short and squat with a flabby beer belly and a receding bottom. He wore his trousers belted tightly under his stomach and they hung loosely behind. His temper was legendary. Sarah had borne the brunt of it a lot recently – two weeks ago because she had missed a story that a reporter from a rival news channel had succeeded in getting and twice last week because she was late. He was starting to lose patience with her and she knew it.

  Sarah mumbled an apology, hoping she could get away before his temper took hold. But McKenzie’s nostrils flared. He had Sarah in his line of fire this morning and it wasn’t going to be so easy.

  ‘What’s that on your chin?’ he asked.

  Sarah kept her face averted, aware of the pimples throbbing painfully on her face. He kept staring, sizing her up like a piece of rancid meat.

  ‘You look awful. Have you been partying all night? Doing drugs? Well you look like shit. How are we supposed to send you out looking like that? You would scare the kiddies. I don’t know what’s going on with you, Sarah, but get your act together or you are out. There is a queue all the way to the Harbour Bridge of people just itching to do your job. If you don’t appreciate this gig, there are a hundred others who would give their eye teeth for such an opportunity …’

  Sarah had heard this speech before. The same lines, the same threats. It was legendary McKenzie. He never commented on how the men looked. But for the women in the newsroom, it was suits with short skirts, no trousers, never trousers, and impeccable grooming. The message was clear. The men had to be smart. The girls had to be sex on legs. There was nothing she could say. She knew the rules. And she knew she looked awful.