“Frankly, I don’t know how you could be bothered anymore—I’ve closed up shop,” said Kaz to Bec and Jo as the three of them were chatting in a coffee shop just around the corner on Grattan Street from their student accommodation development. Kaz thought it best if the girls had a strategy get-together before the board meeting so they could confront their husbands with a common voice.
But of course, this agenda didn’t preclude them from indulging in some day-to-day chitchat along the way.
“I’ve taken Paul’s boots out from under the bed and put them in the closet; not to be worn again, unless of course I need something from him, then I may dust them off for a quick revisit.” Kaz had been gossiping to the girls about Paul’s and her sex life.
Or the lack of it.
Bec and Jo both chuckled.
“You’re surely not serious, Kaz,” said Bec. “I know we all complain about it, but sex does go with the territory of being married. Whether you like it or not.”
“No really, sex was becoming just so predictable and need I say, boring. Apart from the fact that I’ve got to cope with all these hot flashes, it’s uncomfortable. So that’s it. As far as I’m concerned it’s done and dusted and confined to the annals of history. And joy of all joys, no more wet spot in the bed.”
“That’s a big call, Kaz,” said Jo, who was eleven years Kaz’s junior. “Aren’t you worried that Paul will start to wander? You know what they say about keeping a man happy—feed him and fuck him, and his brain will follow.”
“Jo, I really think Paul couldn’t care less, to tell you the truth. Besides, he’s certainly not God’s gift to women anymore in the lovemaking department.”
“But won’t you miss the intimacy?” said Bec. “I mightn’t always feel like it, but it’s nice to know that Sean’s there and still wants to make love to me.”
“Oh Bec, stop being so lovey-dovey,” replied Kaz. “That side of your life’s over. You’ve had Rory. Wouldn’t you prefer it if Sean left you alone, without him trying to jump your bones?”
Silence.
“Let’s just leave it at that,” said Bec.
It was time to change the topic as it was all getting way too personal. “Now, today’s meeting. I don’t really know much about the boys’ business . . .”
“It’s our business too Bec,” interjected Kaz. “The boys may run it, but we’re also shareholders and directors and legally have a say in things.”
“Well, I don’t really understand all this finance stuff,” said Bec. “And I think Sean’s a bit lost too. So what are you suggesting that we do? How can we help?”
“Bec, I’m not talking about physically helping. Unless of course you want to pick up a hammer and work as a carpenter. Otherwise, we can do diddly-squat. And Jo, this concerns you as well. The problem is, we’re all joint guarantors so if the project falls over, and God forbid it doesn’t, guess who the bank will be coming after?”
Kaz paused for effect, allowing the gravity of what she was saying to sink in.
“All of us, that’s who. In a nutshell, girls, this is a really bad case of sexually transmitted debt. We could all lose a significant amount of money.
“Think about it. And pardon the bluntness, but we’d all be fucked. All of us. And I for one don’t intend to let that happen.”
Kaz then filled Bec and Jo in on Paul’s concerns about the bank and the slowdown in presales, plus she touched on his idea to help out Rishi, but it seemed to go in one ear and out the other. The girls quite frankly couldn’t give a damn, apart from nodding in approval when Rishi’s name was mentioned.
Tony walked into the room and his warning antenna immediately sent signals that all wasn’t right. What are Kaz, Bec, and Jo doing here? Unusual.
Feeling the icy tension in the air, Tony took in the body language of everyone sitting around the table: Kaz, Bec, and Jo were like statues, totally avoiding his greeting stare; glancing over at Paul, he noticed he was angled away from him and was moving his hand up to cover his mouth when he looked back at him, nodding his head with a seemingly false hello; Steve was stroking the side of his neck in an obvious sign of discomfort; and Sean was silently staring back at him through deeply furrowed eyebrows.
Something’s up.
Tony hadn’t been a street kid and crawled out of the gutters of Kings Cross by luck alone. Instead, he had survived and in fact prospered later in life because his early upbringing had left him with an innate ability to instinctively read people.
“Good to see you, Tony. You know Kaz, Bec, Jo,” said Paul, too formally for comfort. “Take a seat. Please, tell us what you’ve got to report.”
Yeah, this isn’t normal. Straight into question time, thought Tony.
Before he even had a chance to sit down, organize his papers, pull out his Montblanc pen—just in case he needed to impress someone of course—and prepare for his monthly report, Kaz jumped in.
“So how are sales going, Tony?”
Paul looked over at Steve with an element of concern at Kaz’s abruptness, but Steve just smirked. He couldn’t stand the little wog and was enjoying seeing him squirm. Sean just leaned back in his chair and smiled quietly to himself; Bec and Jo looked at Kaz with respect.
Kaz had met Tony two or three times before and also detested him. She thought he had an unmistakable talent for gracelessness, just the way some people are naturally cursed with body odor.
But Tony took it all in stride. He could see that Kaz was trying to establish control in a very male-dominated arena, so he just let Kaz’s comments slide.
Dumb stuck-up bitch. You don’t have a bloody clue, do you? You’re as transparent as a pane of glass.
Choosing to totally ignore Kaz, Tony instead spoke directly to Paul, Steve, and Sean. After all, they were the ones who wielded the power and signed his commission checks, not this dumb bitch who was trying—unsuccessfully—to get the better of him.
“So where do you want to start? Confirmed sales, pending deposits, or pipeline sales?” To Kaz’s total frustration and absolute embarrassment, Tony then made a point of turning his back on her, as if she didn’t exist.
“Ah, hello Tony, I’m over here,” said Kaz, oblivious at this stage to the blokey camaraderie in the room that was all-pervasive. “I’m the one who asked the question. Not the other side of the table. So if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like an answer. I don’t appreciate looking at the bald spot on the back of your head.”
Kaz was in a”don’t fuck with me” mood and she certainly wasn’t going to be ignored by an uncouth prick like Tony.
Momentarily stunned by Kaz’s acerbic tongue, Tony pushed himself back in his chair slightly to gain a few needed seconds of breathing space. But as the red mist settled, he remembered that while his bread may be buttered by the boys at the other end of the table, strategically the worst thing he could do was end up as the man in the middle between warring partners, so he let it slide.
“Sorry Kaz, I’m used to reporting directly to your husband, that’s all.” Tony straightened his chair, pulling it back in toward the table, then removing his glasses, feigned cleaning them to give himself time to gather his thoughts.
Kaz kept glaring at the side of Tony’s head, homing in on the distinct line from his brow to the top of his ears, and the red indentations on the bridge of his nose where a pair of glasses should have rested.
Got you on that one, you crass little prick, thought Kaz rather smugly to herself.
On that note, Tony proceeded to give his sales report: including the deposit he took last night for two apartments from Stretch, he now had confirmed presales on twenty-one units in Stage One.
Not bad for four months’ work, Tony thought to himself. Over $270,000 in fees when the sales settle, and there are a shitload more sales in the pipeline that I’ll close over the next few months.
Tony looked around, expecting to receive accolades for a job well done and see smiles all around, but instead he saw forced grins and glum faces behind a façade of appa
rent normality.
The vibe isn’t good, thought streetwise Tony, picking up again on the tension in the room.
I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something majorly wrong here . . .
As if hit over the head by a sledgehammer, Tony’s sixth sense suddenly picked up on it: there’s no talk about the future; instead, it’s all about the here and now.
Now that’s definitely not normal! Tony’s mind was working overtime.
The answer’s there, somewhere. I know it . . .
Then out of the blue as if someone, somewhere, had just walked over his grave, a cold shiver ran up his spine.
That’s it. They’re having cash flow problems! Tony realized.
“So tell me Steve, how’s the project going?” asked Tony. “Everything on course?”
“Yeah, it’s all good,” said Steve. “Now, can you just get on with your report? We’ve got other, more important matters to discuss and I don’t want to be here all day.”
Bullshit, thought Tony. His antenna was picking up strange vibes: why didn’t you give me any specifics? If all was good, you’d have given an example.
You’re lying through your teeth, you arsewipe. Tony’s feelings toward Steve were reciprocal.
"So, where to from here? When can I tell my investors that their units will be ready?” Tony was probing, staring at Steve, trying to put him on the spot. But Steve was way too smart, flicking Tony’s question off like it was a piece of lint on his slacks.
“Paul, give Tony an update will you, to shut him up. You’re the operations guru.” Steve was always one to shove the responsibility onto someone else whenever possible.
Paul was taken aback by Steve’s abruptness, but like the politician he always felt he should have been, ducking and weaving, he responded by diverting the conversation away from matters at hand and on to Rishi.
As Paul started talking about them throwing a few dollars toward Rishi’s rehab, Tony picked up on the fact that there was more to this than meets the eye: cash flow issues, yes, but throwing good money at this kid Rishi? To Tony it just didn’t add up.
I reckon you’ve got a soft spot for him, thought Tony. You’re genuinely concerned about this Indian kid. Really, why could you be bothered?
On that note a slight hiatus in the conversation dominated the space. Tony took it as a convenient time to make his apologies and leave, making an excuse about a business meeting he had to attend in an hour.
As Tony walked to his car, collecting his thoughts on the way, he pulled out his mobile phone, pressing the now familiar speed dial.
“Hi Lois, it’s Tony. Is Sasha in yet?
“The vibe’s really bad here. Got to get out and clear my head. I’m going for some fresh air and a coffee,” said Bec. “Kaz, Jo, you want to join me?” With that, the girls all headed out for a bit.
“So what about poor Rishi? I had a really good vibe about us all helping him when we first started the meeting. It’ll still happen, won’t it? I’ll vote for it,” said Bec, as she took a consoling mouthful of her Italian Torta al Limone slice. This was not a time to think about her pledge to Jools to go on a diet. She needed comfort food, and a sweet pastry was about as close to heaven as she could get at present.
“Fuck Rishi. He’s not important. If we don’t get this financing problem sorted we won’t have a business, let alone helping solve some kid’s problems who I really couldn’t give a shit about,” said Kaz in an angry, frustrated tone.
“Bec, wake up, girl! If this falls over and the bank doesn’t come across with the money, you won’t even be able to afford that damn pastry you’re shoving into your mouth. You’ll be poor! Think about it. We all could lose the lot.”
“Oh Kaz, I’m sure it’s not that bad,” said Jo in her slightly squeaky, young girlish voice.
“It’s all right for you, Jo. You’re worth a squillion. It won’t even make a dent,” snapped Kaz. “But Bec and me, we have everything we own on the line with this.” Kaz wasn’t in the mood to play games with an overweight spiritual God-botherer or some way-too-rich airhead who was more concerned with missing her weekly facial than she was about their business dealings.
“Sometimes I really can’t understand you two.” Kaz shook her head slowly in disgust. “Quite frankly, I’m flabbergasted at the fact that you can’t see the gravity of the issue.”
With that, Kaz picked up her bag and said in a cold, businesslike tone, “I’m going back to the meeting.” Leaving her half-finished caffe latte on the table, she stormed out of the café with an almost visible black cloud trailing behind.
After a thirty-second silence the air cleared of Kaz’s glacial mood and Jo leaned toward Bec and said, “That was a hissy fit and a half. Do you suppose she meant it?”
“Don’t know. I’ve never really seen her like this before. Must be a side effect of menopause,” replied Bec as she dreamily stared at life passing by through the window, feeling like she was a goldfish in a bowl looking at the outside world.
“Well, I don’t know about you Jo, but I’m going to finish my coffee and this delicious pastry and go back and vote for Rishi.”
The Australian Tribune, November 20, Death Notices:
Chauhan, Hrishikesh (Rishi)
Tragically taken from us on Thursday 18 November, aged just 23 years.
Yours was such a pointless death and you struggled so hard to recover, but now you rest with your Maker.
You were such a beautiful, gentle, caring person. God is privileged to have you. We will carry you with us in our hearts until we meet again for all eternity.
Our heartfelt thanks to the nursing staff and doctors at The Alfred ICU and High Dependency Unit who fought to the end to save our beloved Rishi.
May you rest in peace, dear son. We will love you forever.
Divya, Arnav, and Naveena Chauhan
“Mum, I’m finding this really hard to come to grips with. I think I need your help,” sobbed Cait. “One minute I’m talking to Rishi in the hospital, he’s all positive and we’re planning for his future, and the next he’s in that coffin there, in front of us . . . dead.”
Cait was so upset that she was beside herself. She was at a total loss to know what to do next. The world had suddenly closed in on her, enveloping her in a cold, lifeless fog. All she was aware of was a black hole sucking her into some dark, foreboding space faster than she could fathom, drawing her toward a place where the all-pervading atmosphere was so thick with negative thoughts and emotions that it was like death itself, except it was still part of this world, not the next where Rishi had passed over to.
Apart from her cat Tiggr being run over by a car when she was nine, Cait had never really experienced death before. Well, she had, because her grandmother had died last year and she loved her gran heaps, except in Cait’s eyes she was really old, eighty-four or something, so that didn’t count, because people of that age always died. That was the way of the world.
But this was different. It was Rishi’s body lying lifeless in that polished box with the shiny handles, sitting on the stand directly in front of her. He wasn’t supposed to die; he was her age. Other people die, not your soul mate.
“Mum, I’ve got a hole where Rishi should be, and I’m never ever going to see him again.”
Cait was in the funeral parlor sitting on a wooden pew next to her mother, squeezing her hand, tears rolling down her cheeks, trying to come to grips with Rishi’s death as the monotone funeral service dragged on and on like a wet week.
The sweet smell of jasmine incense gently wafted through air, masking the lingering aroma of grief and concern, pushing it away with its heady fragrance. But to Cait the scent barely registered.
“It wasn’t meant to happen like this,” Cait yelled to herself. But no one heard, only the demons of death that were tormenting her.
“Cait, my darling, give in to the moment,” whispered Jools, gently squeezing Cait’s hand. “Mourn, cry, feel upset, feel depressed. It’s perfectly normal.
Just let yourself go and succumb to the moment. Say goodbye to your friend in your own way.”
Jools knew, not only from the personal experience of losing her own mother recently, but also from listening to her patients off-loading a hundred tales of woe after the death of a loved one, that it was imperative for Cait not to suppress her emotions at this early stage. She had to be allowed to grieve. Otherwise, she was at risk of being stuck in a repeating cycle of unresolved sadness and frustration that had the potential to bury itself deep in her subconscious, and then when totally unexpected, rear its ugly head months, or even years, later.
Glancing over at Dec, who was sitting next to Cait, Jools noticed a glycerine-like tear running out from under his dark sunglasses, leaving a trail as it slowly meandered down his cheek. She took in the solemn, almost expressionless look of disbelief on his usually happy face, watching transfixed as Dec slipped his hand through his sister’s, squeezing it lightly in an “I’m here for you, sis. I’m hurting too” manner.
What a lovely, gentle gesture. They really do care for each other. I’m so proud of them.
This simple act of sibling love added to Jools’s already upset state and a wave of mixed emotion welled up deep inside her. She was feeling an angry sadness at losing Rishi, because she’d truly liked him. He was almost a part of the family; such a gentle, caring soul and a true friend to Cait.
But at the same time Jools’s heart was aching for Divya and Arnav, as only a parent’s can when they have outlived one of their own children. Their hopes and dreams for their son now lay destroyed inside that coffin.
“This is such a harrowing experience,” she whispered silently to herself, The Gift putting her in touch with the dark emotions in the room.
Jools’s inner feelings rushed to the surface and she began uncontrollably sniffling and heaving. As tears were welling up in her eyes like a rising tide about to break a levee, G placed a protective arm around his wife’s shoulders, gently pulling her into his space. She succumbed to her husband’s supportive embrace, melting into his body, finally letting the floodgates to her soul open and divest itself of pent-up emotion.
The Cait Lennox Box Set Page 22
