by NS Thompson
I think I’ll walk down tonight. It’s a lovely evening for a brisk walk and I feel like celebrating so I might knock a few back with my work “buddies.” I can’t think of three people I would like less to be my buddies. That’s not fair really. Karen is alright. I’m warming to her. She hasn’t been with us long and I think my expectation that she would be a stuck up cow was ill-placed. Her husband is a wealthy farmer and she really doesn’t need to work, so I thought she would see me as a bit of a boy Friday. But she’s doing a good job. She is much breezier and yet far more sincere than Ron. He’s a used car salesman masquerading as a Real Estate Agent. Karen is on the verge of closing a very lucrative contract on the million dollar property looking over the escarpment. That’s a commission I wouldn’t mind having.
I don’t think I’ll be travelling down the portal to your smoke alarms tonight but I will catch up over the weekend.
Ciao
2/07/05 Friday
I’m running late for work. That doesn’t happen very often. But I have swamp-brain and bourbon breath and look like something the cat dragged in, ate and then regurgitated.
It has been quite a while since I overindulged so spectacularly. I have no memory of walking home. Perhaps Ron drove me. No, I think he ended up taking a room at the hotel, rather than attempting the half hour drive to Burrandong. At least I didn’t wake up with a Moorebank or equivalent beside me. I do manage to retain some standards even in semi-unconsciousness.
I must rush but I wanted to say that you were delightful last night. Although you hardly said more than a few sentences to me, I got the distinct impression that you are beginning to accept me as more than just your property manager. I’m being treated more like a friend. Thank-you. We are definitely heading in the right direction. It seems that every time I drop into the pub, you are there. Is this just a coincidence that fate arranges, or have you made the place your second home? I think it is a sign that we are heading towards that common line that we will travel down together. When I go to film you, you are nearly always at home so I know for a fact that you don’t frequent the hotel much more than I do.
I thought the idea I shared with you was inspired. It hadn’t even formed in my mind properly before it was spilling out of my mouth. You gave a little clap and agreed whole-heartedly to help me to arrange a Trivia Night at the town hall to raise money for the Moorebank family. I don’t give a rat’s arse about them frankly and I have absolutely no doubt that they will spend the entire donation on drink and drugs but what the hell. It gives us a common project and requires us to communicate quite a bit this week. We’ve tentatively set the date for next Friday night. You gave me such an incredulous smile when you told me that you were a quiz and trivia nut.
“Really? How bizarre.” I smiled innocently at you.
Now remember, Grace, you promised to call me today to start working on details.
Got to run.
7:36p.m
All this expensive surveillance equipment and all I have are fifteen minutes recorded.
Very poor effort, Jack!
I will see you later but first let me vent!!!
I went out to my car this morning. It was parked in my driveway and scratched deeply into the paint work along the drivers door was the word – LIAR.
There could be only one person capable of this and stupid enough to do it.
Erin Summer! I arrived at work with a black cloud over me, and all but snarled at Belinda, who looked as fresh and moronic as ever.
Ron was very late into the office. After ten. And he looked worse than I felt. When I told him about the damage to my car he insisted that I ring Michelle at the police station and file a complaint. I guess I needed to do that for insurance purposes anyway.
I went outside and used the work camera to take a few shots of the vandalism. The mail hadn’t been collected from the post office, so I took the key and went there on the way to Michelle’s. Most of the mail was for us. Only three or four letters had been put in the wrong box. Quite an achievement for the retarded post master.
Michelle was very sympathetic and agreed that the guilt probably lay in Erin’s fetid lap, but as a sharp instrument was used and there was a heavy dew this morning it would be pointless to fingerprint the car. She filed a report and gave me a copy for G.I.O, told me she was run off her feet with paperwork regarding the murders. I said good-bye. She said good-bye. And that was that.
I’m not waiting one minute past the fortnight that the tribunal gave Ms Summer to catch up the rent. I am going to print up an eviction notice and post date it. I’ll put it on my cork board in my office to smirk at.
You popped in with rent at midday and I called you up into my office. It was so nice to have you sitting opposite me, looking windswept and a little wild in that loud purple coat. It is a very bold colour and I doubt that many could pull it off with the aplomb that you do.
You had been making notes at work all morning. That was very industrious of you.
You passed them to me and our hands touched. Yours were like warm velvet which is odd because it is so cold outside. It definitely stirred me to feel your skin.
You had written down the following suggestions –
1. Jack Thorne to M.C the event and ask the questions.
2. Grace and Jack to approach local businesses to donate prizes.
3. Dan and Eli Templar to set up the hall on Friday afternoon.
4. Staff at Real Estate to print up flyers. (Suggested layout attached)
5. Grace and Jack to put flyers in shop windows.
6. Grace to advertise in the school newsletter and get her drama students to do letterbox drops.
7. Payments in advance to the Real Estate or Doctor’s Surgery.
8. Jenny Wray to work the door on the night.
9. Jack and Karen to compile the questions.
I looked up from your list and asked why you didn’t want to write the questions yourself. I would have thought that would be right up your alley. You’re a smart girl.
You laughed and said,
“Jack, I’m going in it. I want to win. That’s where the thrill is for me. You’ve got local knowledge and you and Karen can get some good questions together. I won’t even ask for a copy of them.”
Fair enough. So that’s that. It all sounds like too much hard work but I can hardly pull out now. My head throbbed all day. Belinda suggested coke. I was happy to stick with strong coffee.
I’m feeling less seedy after a good meal and lots of water. I will fire up the lap-top and head over to your place shortly.
3:48 a.m. Saturday morning
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE???????
I HAVE DRIVEN AROUND FOR AN HOUR IN AN AIMLESS STUPOR.
I feel like being sick and my legs are shaking, my mouth dry and my face numb.
I blame myself partly. I’ve dragged my heels. Been too cautious. I’ve fucked it all up. But I can fix it.
I can’t believe it. I’ve got it all on film, though, so I can bring it to life and relive it any time I want.
I sensed the danger there, Grace. I could feel it. He’s a predator and you were taken advantage of.
Those fucking Cox’s. I’ll evict them first thing Monday. I’ll run him over next time I see him on his bike. He’s an adulterous pig.
You are a single woman with needs and desires and I was a fool to think you could handle temptation. I should have moved sooner. You were obviously very ready to have someone in your bed. It should have been ME.
I actually love you Grace. He is a scumbag and user, just treating you like a free prostitute.
IT CANNOT HAPPEN AGAIN.
You were drunk…well if not tanked at least well LUBRICATED!
That fellow will be in big trouble at home today. That woman won’t let him within a hundred meters of you.
She’s a fool. Fancy getting a migraine and demanding to be taken home but suggesting that her husband come back and keep partying. Either she really is a complete idiot or she approves of this
behaviour. Maybe they have one of those open marriages. God only knows what perverted arrangement they have. But if she doesn’t realize that her husband came home stinking of you early this morning, then she’s the most naïve woman in town.
I need a coffee. I actually could do with a valium. There might be some in the cabinet. Probably years out of date but I’m so tense and ready to snap that I need to have at least two.
I’ve been staring at the wall for a while, trying to wrap my head around this horrible turn of events. I know you haven’t taken a vow of celibacy but I didn’t pick you for a husband-stealer. That’s very low. I should hate you. Forget about you. Say bye, bye Gracie, it was nice almost knowing you…….but I can’t. I’ve got tears. I don’t cry but this has cut me. Deeply. I’ve never ever met anyone like you. You’re the whole package. Everything I’ve been looking for and I’ve done a lot of soul searching …..questioning my intentions, putting my faith in you through the obstacle course. And do you know what? I still love you.
You have stumbled morally. We are all human and weak at times. That is our nature. But you must pick yourself up, dust yourself off and say…sorry…to yourself …to that man’s wife….to your family and to me. Not aloud. But just feel it. Mean it.
You have probably woken up wracked with guilt. Process that. It’s healthy. I am prepared to forgive this transgression and we can move on. I will be a little more cautious and paranoid for a while. I’ll have to keep a much closer eye on you and step in to manipulate situations so that you can avoid dangerous stumbles.
I should have protected you. I had a gut feeling about that fellow the first time I saw you talking to him in my office. They are quite a bit behind in the rent. I’ll check it on Monday but I’m sure it’s more than the fortnight I need to issue a termination notice. With tribunal hearing etc that will still take six weeks to get them out.
I was going to erase this footage from the computer. I just sat down and forced myself to watch it once more. I could taste bile as I watched you make the first move, leaning forward to kiss him as he spoke to you. It was so brazen and risky. He might have pushed you away and then you would have felt like a foolish slut. But he didn’t. He latched on like a hungry dog. The two of you were like desperate animals, running your lips and tongues all over each others faces.
It took you all of three minutes to get him into your bedroom. I don’t think I breathed once through the entire act. You were rabid, Grace. Astride him like the whore of Babylon, literally riding the seven headed beast.
4:25p.m
I didn’t sleep at all. I played that damn thing over and over. It aroused me which I found disgusting. In fact I was so aroused I would have needed to eat a dead wombat to ease the burning. I decided to go to the Park Café for lunch. I couldn’t be bothered preparing anything. I assumed you’d be leaving the school after your drama class and would have to pass me. I’m surprised I had an appetite at all.
As soon as I pulled the car into the main street, I realized I should have walked. There were cars everywhere- covering driveways and even up on the grassy area outside the train station.
I was fairly spaced- out but I knew it was a Saturday morning so it couldn’t be a market day. As I got closer I noticed that there was a general current of well-dressed people flowing toward the Anglican Church. Suddenly it dawned on me that this was the double funeral for the murdered Moorebank waifs.
Although I wasn’t dressed appropriately I got sucked into the slipstream and ended up at the back of the old, stone church. I stood against the wall, a silent observer, feeling invisible. Out of the blue, Erin Summer walked over to me and said stiffly,
“I’ll have the rent paid up in a week.”
I let my eyes roam over the tiny black cocktail dress and in a lazy voice replied,
“Whatever,” and then added, “You, as usual, look like the town slut. Maybe you and Sandy Moorebank could start a business together.”
She looked as if I’d punched her in the face and told me I was done for now! I’d gone too far.
I just smiled sweetly and said – “Blow me.”
She reeled away and melted into the crowd. I felt good for having crossed the line. I’d never used such an obscene expression. I’d only ever heard it yelled at ME by local punks when I reprimanded them for skateboarding down the footpath outside the Real Estate.
I guess it’s the R-rated version of “Eat my shorts.”
Finally I saw you. Right down behind the empty front row. I didn’t pick you for a dress circle guest to a Moorebank funeral. You were sitting with Dr. Death and his fiancé, the rather glamorous Jacinta. You don’t belong in church today Gracie. Not until you beg forgiveness and show that you are truly penitent. Your drama group was obviously cancelled due to the special occasion.
You are in white. Another glaring mistake. It is a funeral and you have acted like a whore so black really would have been the order of the day.
Suddenly a peal of organ music silenced the murmuring of the crowd.
The two small coffins, suspended on silver trolleys, stood at the end of the red carpeted aisle just below the raised altar. I don’t think I’ve ever been into an Anglican Church. It’s not much different from a Catholic one really. Stained glass, polished pews and the stench of religion. It all smells the same.
The Moorebank family arrived. That unfortunately-named ‘Skylar girl’ was a Moorebank in all but name. The local newspaper reported that her father had died of an overdose three years ago. I scanned the haggard faces, wondering if Sandy’s sister had been discharged from the psyche ward to attend her daughter’s funeral. She was a blonde, skeletal thing and as far as I could tell she was absent. Sandy had mascara running down her face and lipstick smudged up to her streaming nose. She was hunched over and walked with faltering steps, assisted by her mother who didn’t look much better and was obviously three sheets to the wind. The blind leading the blind. Some of the rest of the Moorebank coven straggled in behind, one fellow carrying Sandy’s youngest, an ugly toddler that looked like it suffered from foetal alcohol syndrome, with widely spaced eyes and cauliflower ears. I cast my mind back to the dog- mauled disposable nappies.
I’d had enough of the whole production and discreetly eased my way out of the church. The gawkers stretched all the way back to the ancient iron gates of the church. What a bunch of fucking hypocrites, I thought, sneering at them. Nobody ever had the time of day for the Moorebanks up until a week ago. They were all but spat on by decent folks. Sandy was constantly thrown out of the hotel for soliciting. Her sister, I think her name was Julianne, had tried unsuccessfully to break into every store in town. The police were called to brawls at the various Moorebank homes so often they had become a standard part of Michelle’s shift. Someone told me she regularly drove by their homes before her night shift ended to see if anyone needed an ambulance for injuries or overdoses. In other words they were the ultimate white trash family and they were loathed and despised…..BUT the drama of MURDER had the town in some ecstatic thrall, and everyone but everyone HAD to be involved on some level. The television cameras might have been a lure as well, don’t you think!? The Park Café was closed because of the funeral. It had become a flipping ‘Moorebank holiday’ in town.
I found my car, parked up behind the school and drove purposefully to your house, Grace. I knew you were out of the way for a good hour and I wanted to know what you wrote in your diary about LAST NIGHT. I need to know whether you are truly feeling guilty or SMUG about your wanton behaviour.
I’ve added your house key to my key-ring. Doesn’t that mean we’re going steady??????
Your bedroom was a mess. It smelt like a dirty brothel. The bed was unmade and in a state of disarray. I peeled back the chaotic bedcovers and inspected the sheets.
The footage I have of the abomination is not good quality. Frank did warn me that in bad lighting it was preferable to use black and white film. I should have listened. Your lust had been so frantic and desperate but it was
still blatantly obvious that you and your MATE did not practice safe sex. How do you know that this man doesn’t go to hookers or pick up loose women all the time? How exceptionally irresponsible of you, Grace. I’m so disappointed in you I feel like grabbing you and shaking some goddamn sense into you. You are going to have to be tested for a range of communicative diseases before we consummate our love.
I got down close, like a forensic pathologist, and found the stain - a memento of your lust. Did you really orgasm as hard as you appeared to or did you fake it???? Women are famous for lying to their men about that. In my experience about ninety percent of women are liars and have probably never had an orgasm in their life and so don’t even know how to do a good job of pretending.
My wife needed female tongue to rev her up. She told me that for the five years we were married, she had never felt an iota of pleasure from me.
I’ve paid gorgeous women to writhe about beneath me and when they roll their eyes and groan and squeal, it ruins it and I end up slipping, unsatisfied, out of bad actresses.
You however, sounded sincere. That does not make me feel good. I touched the pillow where your head had thrashed about. I smelled it, inhaling the sweaty smell of your hair. Further down the bed, I smelled YOU and HIM. That should have been my smell. I knelt above an imaginary ‘you’ and gave you one anyway! I didn’t feel at all guilty and it’s a shame you missed out……. because it was GOOD!
I lay there afterwards and read your diary. Nearly every word of it. I no longer believe you deserve privacy in that regard. It is imperative that I get US back on track and if that means reading your innermost thoughts, then so be it.
You haven’t written an entry for today but you’ve had your eye on him for a while it would seem. I’m very disappointed. It was not just a crime of passion in the moment, it was premeditated. You haven’t though, (for which I am grateful) mentioned the word love in relation to this man. You sound lonely and in desperate need of affection. Those things are enough to drive even the sanest of us toward crazy bedfellows.
