Extract from chapter 19. Two little piggys

A special treat for a special day: Saturday! Quite possibly - if you're a special bee - I will do the "you-know-me" and update the zippity-zoopity-zee with some more free free free. Yes, it's a teaser, all out of context, designed to wet your lips, and make an attempt to add the missing pieces together to form the entire whole. "Where to get these pieces?" The pieces exist; I got 'em, all written down, all ready to be connected. 

For the purposes of prior sense making - the snow globe contains a facade of the film institute building. A spoiler, I know!


[Update: Sean has a bag filled with presents from the company he was working with.]

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By the time he had walked back up the hill and onto Oxford Street, the thunderstorm had stopped as quickly as it had begun.  The shower had not washed the grit away from the gutters. Steam rose from the road. Shell-shocked and unaccustomed to the humidity, Sean turned down a side street that seemed to lead to Woolloomooloo. The descent overlooked the suburb in general. He refused to look into the bag hanging limply from his side and focused his attention on the surrounding proceedings. The homeless had disappeared to a locale unknown. On tired feet he staggered along the broken cobblestones. When the road flattened out he realised where he was. He redirected himself in the direction of the hotel. Cars blasted by on the Eastern distributor.

For wont of nothing else to do he looked around. On the corner there was a terrace house. On the balcony a door opened.

Out of vague interest he watched. A girl in frilly green lingerie, replete with belt and garter, followed by a second in black, exited the door. The first was sweating profusely and waved the air under her chin. The girl in black was covered in dark tattoos, a butterfly on back and matching sparrows on biceps. Sean slowed his step. Another girl – in pink, similarly dressed – joined them, followed by a young lady in white. He strained to look, trying to discern their individual features. The inside of the house was dark. Men’s voices sounded. Strains of music, too quiet to discern as any one band, floated out of the door when it opened. The girls hung back, all pretty young blondes and brunettes, and chatted amongst themselves, fanning their bodies from the heat inside. The girl in green sucked in a breath and composed herself. The door opened and she walked inside. The other ladies followed in order, in a line. The building gave the impression that heat rose off it. Sean slowed on his way down the street and stopped by the entrance. Outside, a sign advertised that he was passing by the Twin Peeks Restaurant. Seats were by booking only. 

He was surprised at how late it was in the afternoon when he arrived at the Woolloomooloo Waters. That Rachel should not be there was another matter entirely.

He kicked off his sodden shoes and laid the bag on the writing table. He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. He removed the AFTRS book. The white hard cover was finely misted in condensation. The pages were untouched.

There were no missed calls or text messages when he checked his phone. He dialled her number. He wasn’t sure if her phone would have any charge. She answered regardless.

“Hi. How are you?”

“Hey. I’m good. How are you?”

“I’ve got so many people in Woolloomooloo who want to be nice to me.”

He paused and stared at his reflection in the mirror as he forced out the words.

“Where are you?”

“I’m at a friend’s.”

“Right. Well, I’m back at the hotel.”

He pulled at the wet shirt that clung to his back.

“So, I’m back. Are you coming over?”

“I’ll be ten minutes. I’m really close.”

“Ok,” he snapped, “See you.”

“Bye. Bye!”

He couldn’t think of what he should use to dry the book. He ran a hot shower instead.

Sean waited on the front steps of the Waters, dry and in fresh clothes, and searched for a sign of her. The time was long past the ten minutes she had told him. Her absence was closer to an hour. The grey clouds hung overhead the drably coloured buildings and patchy rain splattered the paving bricks underneath. He chose not to step into the street so as to avoid the drizzle.

He was unimpressed with the old jeans and plain black shirt he wore and jerked at the frayed pants. The long trip home, with its resulting poor weather, had ruined his chosen attire for the pool competition and possible winnings to come. He imagined how many players would be there tonight. He knew he could beat them all. He was unsure as to whether he would make it to the Jackson’s on George entertainment complex that evening. Her nonappearance was a source of annoyance to his plans. It was his last few days in the city. He didn’t want to spend the time inside, waiting.

A figure appeared in the distance. He peered through the murky precipitation.

The woman in question wore her raver gear: pink jeans, black and white striped shirt, and dyed blonde hair cut into a trendy bob. She slowly slunk with a beige handbag slung over her shoulder.

He hung at the steps and made a move towards Rachel. She grinned at him, oblivious. Out of pure impulse he reached for her shoulder. The fabric of her clothes was soaked to the bone. Her grin grew wider, exposing her full smile: all white teeth stained yellow and a colour not dissimilar to that of tobacco. Her hair was slicked flat. He motioned to the hotel’s foyer doors and she led him inside.

She told him a story as he unpacked the rest of the gifts on the table.

‘Someone’ had been stalking her. They waited outside her apartment. They called out her name from the street below when she was with other boys. She could hear them over the noise of the traffic that kept her awake. She loathed sleeping there. The tires and engine were so loud that she never slept at home. She would have to stay at other houses, in other beds. The best way to sleep would be to stay awake for two or three nights in a row. That way the slumber would be so deep that she wouldn’t hear anything. Sometimes, ‘Someone’ followed her in the streets of Surry Hills, shouting out to her. All the people close-by would hear ‘Someone’ and look at her.

While she recounted this anecdote to Sean, Rachel’s voice was unmoved by emotion but he could sense that there was an underlying annoyance in what she said.

He paused whilst listening, his arm inside the bag hidden up to his wrist. When she had finished, he played the slow reveal. He turned his hand and exposed the film institute’s promotional snow globe to her.

She seized the item off him. She looked at the fake snow flakes, freshly shaken and floating around the cardboard building in an ersatz storm. Assuming that the gift was for her, she opened her knapsack and the globe disappeared.

From inside her ‘sack she produced the tiny tube of tooth paste, the same one that had been on the edge of her bed sit sink. The tube had been strategically left on top of her bag’s contents and she held it out for him.

“You didn’t need to bring your toothpaste. I was going to buy some this afternoon.”

She frowned at him, taken aback.

“You keep it.”

The toothpaste went to live with the snow globe.