by Cenarth Fox
The developer submitted plans for demolition of the Slim family home to be replaced by two double-storey townhouses. This was the new gold rush. Demolish old homes, and make a mint selling dual occupancy.
Being a penny-pincher, the developer placed short-term tenants in the Slim home while everyone waited for council to approve the plans.
Next Monday, Bernie arrived at work early. He wanted news.
What happened with the new human guinea pig? Please don’t be late, Lois.
She too arrived early. The look on her face told all.
‘Well?’ asked Bernie.
‘We have trial number four,’ she sparkled.
‘And?’
‘Cup of coffee, MCP stirred in, along with a drop of brandy.’
Bernie gasped. ‘Alcohol? You gave the drug with alcohol?’
Lois panicked. ‘Just a drop.’
‘Lois, we don’t know how the MCP reacts with alcohol.’
She felt ill. Had she blown the trial?
‘I’m sorry. I thought it the best way to be sure she’d drink all the coffee. It really wasn’t much brandy.’
‘And she’s the one person we can’t watch.’
‘But we can watch her boss. If the drug works, the Premier may make some statement about her Chief of Staff.’
‘What, that she’s dead because a combination of my drug and alcohol caused her to have a stroke?’
They stopped talking, and tried to work. Both breathed tension, and then things got worse when the door opened, and His Holiness the Hyphen entered. He sensed a strange mood.
‘Somebody die?’
Bernie felt empowered to tell the CEO to get lost. He stopped just short of Fuck off Ralphy!
Mind you, had Bernie known the Hyphen was spying on him, and knew about his MCP; Bernie’s language might well have been brutal.
‘I’m just here to advise that security found a listening device in the building last week.’
Bernie froze and Lois nearly fainted.
‘In here?’ asked a worried Bernie.
‘Why? Have you something to hide?’
The Hyphen looked straight at Bernie, daring him to confess.
He hesitated then did just that. ‘Yes, I have.’
Lois felt ill. The Hyphen believed he’d struck gold.
‘I helped my girlfriend get some freelance work with Marketing. Would that be considered insider trading?’
The furious Hyphen snorted, told them to be careful, and departed.
Bernie and Lois looked at one another.
‘I think he knows,’ she said.
Bernie put a finger to his lips and made a soft shhhh sound. Lois realised and closed her eyes. Things went from bad to worse.
People talk about the first 100 days of a new government. What’s been achieved? How the electorate has reacted, and so on.
With Jessica as Premier, the talk began after the first 30 days.
Internal polls produced good news for the government. Jessica won everywhere. Being a happily married woman with a young child appealed to voters. Even being a successful lawyer prepared to take on any client scored a tick. Her policies and presentation appealed.
She luxuriated in her success. Her happiness surged. Life could hardly be better.
Until.
Jessica and Genevieve held a daily briefing over breakfast. This morning Genevieve was late. Jessica went to her friend’s office. Empty. She went to the outer office.
‘Anyone seen Genevieve?’
‘No Premier,’ sang the chorus.
Jessica rang Genevieve’s mobile. Message bank.
‘Morning darl. Where are you? Call me. Oh, hope you’re okay.’
Half an hour later, the Premier’s worry beads got a solid workout.
Where the hell is she?
They tried her home, her husband, her parents, and her kids’ school. Nothing. They were about to call the cops when a staffer arrived looking worried. He went straight to Jessica’s office.
‘Premier, I just parked downstairs and saw Genevieve in her car.’
Jessica panicked. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I think she’s okay.’
‘Think? What do you mean think?’
‘I waved and she didn’t respond, so I went over, and she just sat there. I tapped on the window, and she looked at me. I asked if she was okay and she nodded.’
‘And?’
‘I’ve come to tell you.’
Jessica moved as she spoke. ‘Get security to meet me in the carpark.’
The Premier found Genevieve then got her out and upstairs.
‘Absolutely no calls or visitors,’ she barked with menace.
Genevieve Kovács was the Premier’s Chief of Staff, right-hand woman, PA, best friend, head kicker, and staunchest supporter. But what she said and did that morning in her boss’s office started a mini tsunami.
‘I’m sorry, Jessica, but I have to quit.’
At first the Premier thought it was a joke.
It has to be a sick joke.
But the ashen look on Genevieve’s face screamed serious.
‘Are you ill?’ gasped Jessica. Sisterly concern filled the room. ‘Have you got cancer? Is it Justin, the kids, your parents? Tell me, darl, please.’
Genevieve spoke softly and slowly. ‘We’re okay. We’re all okay.’
‘Is it money? Have you been scammed? Have you accidentally killed someone?’ Genevieve shook her head. ‘You’ve gotta help me here, babe. Something really strange is happening.’
‘I can’t explain it.’
‘Explain what? You’re not sick. Your family’s fine. There has to be a reason. You look terrible. Please, what’s happened?’
Genevieve became agitated. ‘I don’t know. If I knew I’d say.’
Silence. Jessica went walkabout. Genevieve didn’t care.
Jessica loved problems. She loved the challenge of having to solve things. But this had her beat. Genevieve’s behaviour made no sense.
How can I help when I don’t know what’s wrong?
‘Okay, let’s work backwards. You were fine on Friday, and now you’re not fine on Monday. What happened on the weekend?’
‘Nothing special.’
‘Tell me.’ That came out wrong. Softer. ‘Please.’
‘We watched the kids play sport on Saturday morning. We had my folks over on Saturday night. We went to my godfather’s birthday on Sunday. That’s it.’
‘And how did you feel? Were you sick or upset?’
Genevieve shook her head. ‘Nothing, I was fine. Maybe I had a small headache on Sunday night, but that was minor.’
‘And this morning?’
‘I still had that headache.’
‘And now?’
‘It’s worse.’
‘Oh for crying out loud, woman. Get yourself to hospital.’
‘It’s not a normal headache.’
‘Are you in pain?’
‘Not as such.’
Jessica moved closer to losing it.
‘Jesus Genevieve, what the fuck is going on?’
‘I feel terrible about all the things I’ve done to help you win office.’
Wow.
The silence roared. Jessica became a rare species — a politician lost for words. The women looked at one another. Who would speak? What would they say? Jessica broke the ice, and spoke slowly.
‘You feel terrible about all the things you’ve done to help me win office. Is that it?’
‘The lies, the dirty tricks, and especially that fake news about Myles being a paedophile. I just feel … guilty.’
‘Okay. I think I understand. But why now?’
Genevieve shrugged.
Jessica rubbed her forehead. She wanted to explode. She hated being impotent. It wasn’t so much Genevieve’s mind-blowing comments, although they shaped as being catastrophic, but rather their out-of-the-blue arrival. No warning. Not the slightest hint this was coming. Genevieve’s behaviour came out of lef
t field — on Mars.
‘Right,’ said the Premier, ‘let’s work through this. You feel terrible about telling lies.’
‘And running dirty tricks, and using people and …’
‘Yes, yes, all right, one at a time.’ They paused. ‘When you told lies before, did you ever feel guilty?’
Genevieve shook her head. ‘No. I didn’t.’
‘When you thought up a dirty trick, like leaking that Myles was involved with child porn, what were you thinking?’
Genevieve concentrated. ‘I was thinking it was a clever idea, it would trick your opponents, and could be used to get you the leadership.’
‘So no guilty feelings at the time?’
Genevieve shook her head. ‘None.’
‘And you were fine on Friday when you left here?’
‘Yes, fine.’
‘Then something happened on the weekend. Something happened to your brain, your psyche. Are you on drugs?’
Genevieve suddenly became angry. ‘Screw you, Jessica. What do you take me for?’
‘I mean prescription drugs. Have you seen a shrink, a therapist? Have you been watching telly evangelists? Is your marriage sound?’
‘I may be sick, Jessica, but I’m not stupid, and yes, thank you, my marriage is fine.’
A soft tap on the door interrupted their meeting.
‘What?’ yelled an angry Premier.
A nervous staffer entered with news of a possible terrorist event in suburban Melbourne.
‘All right,’ snapped Jessica. ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’
Jessica’s pain increased. She faced a problem for which she had no answer. If her Chief of Staff quit days after they took office, what would that tell the electorate?
I can’t keep my staff. I must be a tyrant. No smoke without fire. I’m a loser.
But far, far worse, would be Genevieve confessing her lies and dirty tricks. Here’s your death warrant, Premier — sign here.
‘Okay,’ said Jessica. ‘I want you to go home and stay there. I’ll have your GP and a shrink make a house call, and give you the once over. I’ll get my driver to take you.’
‘I’ll be all right.’
‘It’s not a request, Genevieve. Now wait in Reception.’
From his desk at work, Bernie rang Kate. Still no response.
I hope she’s okay.
He left another message, and battled on at Labcope. He and Lois had sent one another to Coventry.
Bernie went to Marketing, and found Josh. Smiles were in.
‘G’day Buddy,’ said the reformed womanizer. ‘Thanks again for all your help. I couldn’t be happier.’
‘Great,’ said Bernie. ‘Look, I just wondered how you got on with that graphic designer.’
‘Kate, she’s fantastic. We’ll certainly use her again.’
‘That’s terrific.’ He paused. ‘So you haven’t spoken to her of late?’
‘Ah, not since last week. Is there a problem?’
‘No, no problem. Just wanted to know how she got on.’
Josh kept buzzing. Bernie mumbled something about being pleased Josh was doing so well on the home front and left. At least one of his guinea pig trials looked good.
But where the hell is Kate? Is she back from Sydney?
After work, he decided to try and track her down. She stayed in a hotel in Lennox Street. Bernie entered Reception.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to get in touch with one of your guests. I can’t reach her by phone.’
‘And your friend is a guest here?’
‘Yes, I dropped her off last Friday.’
‘Unfortunately we can’t reveal details of our guests, sir. Have you tried leaving a message on her phone?’
‘I have. Could I leave a note for her?’
‘You could. Do you know her apartment number?’
‘No. And I think she was moving out to live with her cousin.’
‘Well, perhaps you could try her cousin’s place.’
What place?
Bernie blew a deep breath, thanked the receptionist and left. He walked home, opened his front door, and heard a familiar voice.
‘Mr Bernie, Mr Bernie.’ His elderly neighbour appeared.
‘Oh ciao, Signora.’
‘I have the message to tell to you. Signorina Kate she knock on your door, and you not home.’
‘Signorina Kate?’
‘Si. She tell to me that her phone is broke, and her mother is very sick, and she have to go back to Sydney to look after her, and she will try to call to you tomorrow.’
Bernie felt fantastic.
‘Grazie Signora, molto grazie. Now let me feed Albert, and then I will take Gary for his walk. Un momento.’
He did as promised, then phoned Annuska. He told her his love life had taken a big step. Subtle? Hardly, but Annuska understood and bade him visit.
Bernie set off for Balaclava but failed to spot The Hyphen’s spy. Bernie now had a tail.
In the privacy of her lounge room, Annuska heard Bernie’s news about guinea pig number four. The eavesdropper listened nearby.
15
IN THEIR DARKENED BOUDOIR, Annuska and Dorothy chatted in bed. It helped them fall asleep.
‘Our favourite scientist is taking more risks,’ said Annuska.
‘I worry, Nussy. Are you sure this drug is safe?
The listening device in their bedroom worked a treat.
‘Bernie has a new guinea pig, a friend of the Premier,’ said Annuska.
‘A friend of the Premier? My God, it’s getting out of hand.’
‘It’s her Chief of Staff, Ms Genevieve Kovács.’
‘Kovács?’
‘A good Hungarian name. They’ve given her the drug, how do you say, surreptitiously.’
Dorothy grasped Annuska’s hand. ‘Oh Nussy, what will happen?’
‘If Bernard’s conscience drug works on someone important, and this person confesses their guilty secrets, the whole world will know it is created, and then … kaboom.’
‘But will you be in trouble?’
‘Perhaps, but Bernard will be in big, big trouble. He is sweet and so intelligent, but I fear, Dotty, the shit will soon hit the pan.’
Dorothy didn’t correct Annuska. Hitting the pan or fan was irrelevant. Bernie faced a crappy future. His secret formula was poised to explode.
In the dark, the women lay still, the listening device even capturing their breathing. The Hyphen’s spy typed a message on a certain Recipe site. In code it translated as:
Dead letter drop tomorrow.
Dr Pauline France found her way to the Premier’s home.
‘Come in, Doctor’ said the Premier, and led the psychiatrist to a study with décor suitable for your average millionaire.
Jessica forgot her manners, failing to offer her guest a drink.
‘I can’t thank you enough for doing this, and at such short notice.’
‘Happy to help,’ smiled the medical professional.
‘As you know, I’m seriously worried about Genevieve. She’s not just my Chief of Staff; she’s been my best friend for years. Tell me, has she had some sort of breakdown?’
‘She’s certainly not well.’
‘God almighty; tell me the worst.’
‘Something dramatic happened, I’m guessing, in the last 24 to 48 hours. She feels tremendous guilt about things she’s said and done; some of the things going back many years.’
‘Why? Will she recover? God, I’m sorry, I’m in a mess. Forgive me, would you like some tea or coffee; something stronger?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Please, go on.’
‘We need to find out what’s triggered her unusual behaviour.’
Jessica started pacing the study. She stopped, and sat again.
‘I’m sorry. Have you ever had a patient with these symptoms?’
‘Not as such. People feel guilt for all sorts of reasons but with Genevieve, there doesn’t seem to be a specific reason
.’
‘What do you recommend?’
‘Her GP has prescribed a sedative, and written a referral to a neurologist.’
‘Do you think she’s likely to do anything … silly?’
‘Like harm herself?’
Jessica nodded. She couldn’t say the word suicide. But if truth were told, Jessica was far more worried about Genevieve telling the world about every lie, leak and dirty trick she’d committed on behalf of her pal, the Victorian Premier. Topping herself would actually be a solution.
Forget about hubby and the kids; it’s my head on the block.
That night, Jessica sat on her husband’s bed and talked; the atmosphere similar to one in a bedroom in nearby Balaclava. Worry.
Next morning Bernie woke and checked his phone. A text from Kate.
Sorry. Mum v ill. Still in Sydney. TTYL.
Albert put in his breakfast order, and Bernie kept thinking about Kate. He worried about her worrying about her mother.
Kate’s shorthand appealed. Bernie’s knowledge of the Periodic table far outweighed his ability to decipher the Twitter Dictionary. When he checked, her Talk to You Later shorthand made him smile.
At the same time, Ralph’s laptop failed to work. He used his phone to check his emails, and a certain web site for recipes. Server down. Several swear words later Ralph went for his morning jog on the Tan, the 4K running track around the Royal Botanical Gardens. He took out his anger and frustration via exercise. He would be late for work but didn’t care.
In their lab, Bernie and Lois worked abnormally. They were frightened to say anything about the MCP. According to The Hyphen, their workplace may be bugged.
‘You need a break, young man,’ said Lois. ‘Go for a walk, and try and stop worrying.’
They looked at one another and grimaced. Not knowing was bad. Not being able to talk about it was worse.
Bernie checked his phone for a text from Kate. Nothing.
‘I’ll take your advice, oh wise one.’ He removed his safety glasses and coat, and grabbed his jacket. ‘I’ll call it a very early lunch, if that’s okay.’
‘Take as long as you like. I’ll call if anything happens.’
She winced realising her words sounded suspicious.