The Property Manager: You'll never rent again... (2 page)

It’s lease-signing day. See you at 10:00a.m in the office.  I’m heading off now to print a few copies

P.S.

You missed a top spaghetti last night a culinary masterpiece if I don’t say myself.  One day. One day.

9:15p.m Friday.

All done. You are probably unpacking. The kids must be excited. Your last place was a unit, wasn’t it, so the change to such a huge house must be glorious. It’s not much to look at from outside, is it? Red brick, grey trim, bare front yard and messy looking drive way. The house is only two years old and the owners never got around to landscaping it. You are only the second tenants.

But my goodness it’s stylish inside, isn’t it? Nicer than my place. I’m in a little weatherboard cottage on the other side of the train tracks. The town side. It’s quaint and does have character, but it’s tiny. A little claustrophobic sometimes. Down the track, I’ll sell it, to size up a few notches. I’ll find something with plenty of space to share with my loved ones. My mother is a mad gardener. She’s in her seventies now, but comes on the train from Sydney once a fortnight to maintain my very busy garden.

I wonder what you thought of the flowers. I opted for a bunch of Irises. I don’t really know why, but I thought you’d like them. They’re from my garden.

I did a ‘drive by’ this afternoon on my way to another property and saw the removal truck. They were carrying in a double or queen sized bed, presumably yours and I have to admit my imagination was titillated. I think you’ve got a nice body. Big breasts, curvy hips and thin legs. I would say you’d have a smattering of freckles over your chest and back. Your colouring suggests that. I must stop or I’ll get carried away. Thoughts like that get my temperature rising and that’s not all.

Anyway, you’ll be sleeping in that lovely big, blue room tonight with the sound of alpacas grunting next door. They are very strange creatures and spit, so don’t stand too close. 

I’ll be sleeping in my bed with the sound of a wind-chime, tinkling annoyingly from the back door. My mother insisted I put there as it was my fortieth wedding present from her. That and a set of golf clubs – both ridiculous presents as I am a light sleeper as it is and I don’t play golf. Mothers. I used to take the damn silly thing down whenever she left and hang it back up for the next visit. But then I got sick of doing that and now just embrace my insomnia and listen to the bloody thing.

Sweet dreams, my sweet little tenant.

22/05/05 Sunday

Market day. The streets are full of cars and there’s a vibrant atmosphere in town. The fourth Sunday of every month. Today I walked down there with an air of expectancy. I just KNEW I would see you there. And, as you know, I did. You looked stunning. The green blouse you had on, perfectly offset your eyes. You actually looked pleased to see me and you spoke warmly, introducing me to your youngest son, Harry. A good strong name for the little fellow. He’s a good looking boy. I remember our entire conversation, word for word.

“Are you all settled in?”

“We are actually. I’m one of those nutcases that stays up all night on the first night to unpack absolutely everything. If you were to walk in my front door, you’d swear I’d lived there for years.”

“When do you start at the surgery?”

“Monday. Tomorrow.  Are you a patient there?”

“Not generally speaking. But if you wear a little nurse’s outfit, I might be tempted.”

The second the words came out of my mouth, I regretted them. I wanted to pay you a compliment and instead I just came off sounding sleazy. I stared numbly into your eyes to gauge a reaction, thinking I’d offended you but you smiled and took it in good humour.

“Not likely, Jack.”

I felt a shiver as you said my name. You said it so tenderly without so much as a raised eyebrow.

“Well, enjoy the markets,” I kind of mumbled and hurried away, as your voice was arousing me and my face was beginning to flush.   

After buying a bottle of water, I wandered around the markets. It’s always the same overpriced rubbish really. Hippy-looking hats and more of those ludicrous wind-chimes.

I picked up a second-hand copy of George Orwell’s “1984.”  I read it years ago and remembered liking it. Do you read much, Grace? And what do you read? Patricia Cornwall or John Grisham? Perhaps a bit main-stream for you. I’d pick you for more of a Tom Robbins girl. There’s so much about you that I have to discover. I’m loving the journey. As I left the town hall behind and headed to the café, I saw you talking to another woman with little children and Harry waved at me. I gave him a little wave back. Did he tell you?

I sat inside, taking a window seat and ordered a Latte. I watched you talking and laughing. I tried unsuccessfully to lip-read. I think I know that woman you were talking to. Hey, it’s a very small town so I know just about everyone. I can’t remember her name but I do know she’s a recently divorced single mother. She bought a house from us last year but I keep my nose out of that side of the office.

Did you know her before you moved here or is she a new acquaintance? I guess it’s only natural for single mothers to gravitate toward each other. Comrades in arms, so to speak. I think couples, particularly the wives, feel threatened and insecure around an available woman, who has a job vacancy. Lover. Husband. And instant step-daddy. I’m afraid there’s not much in the way of eligible bachelors in town. I think -  there’s me, a couple of gay men and the rest are geriatric widowers. There may be others but they are keeping a low profile. I think you would go for ‘quality’ in a man. I don’t think you are a gold-digger and I can’t see you falling for some trashy fellow just because he’s good looking. I am a loyal friend, I’m honest, reliable, neat and I don’t come with emotional baggage. I do have an ex but she’s been out of the picture for a long time and I’m completely free of her. Never give her a second thought. It’s as if she never existed. Can’t even remember her name.  No – I am joking. Her name was Vickie the Vulture….she just hung around waiting for me to die so she could eat me. But I got free and stayed alive and uneaten. And I stand before you a happy, generous, committed man. I will make you the centre of my universe. All I do, will be for you.

Hope you had a fabulous day at the markets and good luck tomorrow at Dr Death’s. I hope he doesn’t flirt with you. I wouldn’t like that at all.

24/05/05 Monday

Good morning sunshine,

It’s a cool May day and you start your new job. You’d probably be up and getting ready. I wonder who will help you with child-care because the surgery is open until six and young Harry finishes school at three. I wouldn’t want the little chap to have to walk home and be there all alone. You must feel like a little girl on her first day of school. I know you’ll do really well. Your personality will endear you to all the patients. Warmth and openness are two of your strong points. By yourself you could heal the sick with a smile.

I like the gap in your teeth. It’s sexy. Different. I hate Hollywood teeth. I hate people who strive to be physically perfect. We are all flawed and to pretend otherwise would be dishonest. All this plastic surgery and botox nonsense is ridiculous. Eat well. Exercise. I mean really, you are what…thirty-seven. You look great. You’ve got the beginning of small lines at the corners of your eyes and a bit of a frown line but you are just you. I don’t know if you dye your hair but I think not. It’s too beautiful a colour to come out of a bottle. Your breasts are real because I saw a bulge of nipple through your green blouse - there was no padded bra and I know they’re not silicone or whatever they use these days because fakes always look too round and high. Yours are what I would expect of someone your age with three kids. God that came out the wrong way. I meant it nicely though. You are a natural woman and I like that about you.

My hair is thinning and because I keep it so short, I sometimes, particularly at a distance, appear to be bald. I like the look. Do you find me attractive, Grace? I’ve got a well-defined body, which you’d know if you ran your hands over my arms, down and back over my tight buttocks. Running keeps me in shape. I’m careful about what I eat. Lots of fruit and vegetables. I don’t smoke. I hope you don’t smoke. I find it a repulsive habit. Your skin is too good to be a smoker. I like my red wine too. A good Pinot Noir hits the spot and I have two cases of Californian Sangiovese that I am getting through slowly. It’s a top drop. I hope to introduce you to it some day.

God, I’ve just looked at the time. I’m running late and no jog this morning. You are becoming something of a distraction, Miss Templar. I don’t mind one little bit, though.

10:30 p.m.

I saw your white Camry out the front of the surgery. You’d left your window half down. This may be a small town but don’t get complacent about security. There’s a Moorebank around every corner. Junkies. The Moorebank men are always drunk and their women, high and pregnant. You’re sure to come across them. They’re hard to miss. The cleaning contractors are still repairing the disaster area left in their wake. I saw one of the girls, Sandy, in the street today. She crossed the road and pretended not to see me. I couldn’t be bothered chasing her to give her a piece of my mind. It wouldn’t have been worth it.

  I looked up the sales files today and I found the name of the woman you were chatting to on the week-end. Jenny Wray. She’s in Highland Street, not far from my place. Have you met any one else in town, yet? It’s early days. You’ll soon know everyone in town, working for Dr Death. And I guess you’ll know more about them than the average Joe.

You will be paying your rent to our office on Fridays. It’s Monday and I don’t know if I can wait that long to see you. I might just feel a bit off colour some time this week and come and say hi at the surgery.

I’m going to the Small Business Awards night in Boowah tomorrow night. A tedious event but I got out of going last year and Ron wants all the staff there, except Belinda the receptionist, who incidentally is back at work. She doesn’t look very sick. I doubt she ever was. Probably just went on a mini holiday.

The wind has picked up tonight. Your place is built in a kind of dip so you’ll probably feel it more than me. It’s howling. Does wild weather bother you? I love it. The power of nature is awe inspiring. Gale force winds and cracking good electrical storms are fairly common here at certain times of the year. You’ll probably feel the first winter. Most people only find that first one hard. Due to the town’s elevation, we usually get a fall of snow and then no-one goes to work outside of town as the roads out are too dangerous and the local kids all boycott school and spend the day making snow-men and throwing snow balls. By late afternoon it’s all brown slush!

Hope you had a good day at work.

26/05/05 Wednesday

I didn’t write to you last night as I had that boring function to attend. I don’t think I’d ever realized how many self-inflated egos reside in these parts. Most of the thank-you speeches went something like this –“I’d like to thank me for being so wonderful.”

Hardly surprising that our agency was overlooked. Every year Ron gets or pays someone to nominate us and he builds up delusional hope that he may have some honour bestowed upon him. But the truth is he is a shallow shark, he cheats on his wife, he runs the business abominably and he spends far more than he makes. Business was good last year but it’s dropped right off.

Karen, our other salesperson, and I were making small talk and your name came up. I don’t remember how. I think we were discussing the high number of city folk doing the tree change. Anyway it appears that your eldest son Daniel is rather keen on her daughter Sofia. They travel together on the school bus and have a few classes together. I understand your young man is quite a musician. I think she said he played guitar and piano.  Where does that stem from? Are you musical yourself, Grace? I love jazz. Can’t get enough of it. I fire up the stereo every afternoon while I prepare dinner. I guess you’re into …I’m not sure. I’ll have to think about that one.

So it’s nice that your kids are fitting in so well. To have an almost girlfriend at sixteen, two days into a new school, is pretty impressive. Your family certainly packs a punch when it comes to making an impact on people.      

You are still leaving your window down. I know you’ve got the car parked directly out the front of the surgery so that you can keep an eye on it but I’m surprised a girl from Bondi is so relaxed about locking up her vehicle. I’m not harping. Just concerned.

I spoke with you today on the phone. Definitely the highlight of my day. You’ve made me an appointment with the good doctor for midday tomorrow. You were obviously busy so our conversation was brief. Your voice is like cognac. Sweet and yet rich, warming and sends a tingle down my spine. You were sounding very efficient and professional. I’m sure you’re doing a great job there. Someone mentioned the new medical receptionist the other day, saying you seemed very nice after the last one who was a bit of a dragon, I gather. I smiled to myself proudly, knowing that I knew you so much better than anyone in town. Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. Perhaps from a past life. No. I don’t actually buy into that particular philosophy.