Indelible Ink

by Fiona McGregor

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it’s eleven o’clock and we’re going to begin the auction of this beautiful house on this warm not quite sunny day. Four bedrooms upstairs, the master bedroom directly above with ensuite and a balcony overlooking one of the most exclusive parts of Sydney harbour. Look at this view folks. Words can’t describe. There’s a rumpus room downstairs that you can keep or improve upon. Room for a cellar, games room, gymnasium, anything you want. Oak-panelled study, marble bathrooms and Persian carpets, the latter not included in the price, I’m afraid.’ Hugh waited for a response then continued. ‘For the home decorator there’s plenty of potential for extensions.’

  Hugh orated with both arms on the move, his accent imperceptibly broadening to Strine as he rapped out the legal conditions of the auction then returned to his spiel about the house. He glanced at the papers in his hands occasionally, and Blanche felt herself hypnotised by his hubris. She wished he came to bed like this. Her hands were sticky with sweat; she wanted a glass of water. Looking around the room she saw that everybody else was mesmerised by Hugh as well. His sentences ran faster, the words joining and flattening like fettuccine, noded by the occasional joke.

  ‘Speaking of warm, what better place to be during a heatwave than on the harbour feeling the breeze come off the water. Look at this deck, folks, perfect as is or improved by your own designs. What better thing to do of a summer afternoon than while away your hours and mind your own business with a champagne or beer? Look down on the garden: a work of art, or your new swimming pool and watch your kids play. Is there a better place to bring up children than here surrounded by trees and water? Sniff the air! You’re in the country! Is there a better place to entertain, relax, put your feet up after a hard day’s work because you-know-you-deserve-it-folks. They say this is the most beautiful city in the world and I agree, and I’ll wager you this is the most beautiful location in the most beautiful city. I’m gonna start us off at five and a half million today, ladies and gentlemen, then you’re taking over.’

  What? thought Blanche. They’ve gone down five hundred? Nobody else seemed surprised. People smiled coyly, as though pulled on stage by an entertainer. Rupert’s eyes were gleaming, riveted to Hugh.

  ‘There’s an eerie silence in this room.’ Hugh raised his eyebrows theatrically.

  Stav cleared his throat. A sulphur-crested cockatoo squawked from a tree on the border of the bush and one of the women laughed gratefully.

  ‘That’s right, he’s protesting because I didn’t mention the birds. How could I not mention the wildlife! I’ve been visiting this house for years and there are days you can’t speak for the noise of the lorikeets. Come on, folks, whaddaya say? I’m in your hands. Once in a lifetime, ladies and gentlemen, this property hasn’t been on the market in nearly thirty years. With all due respect none of you look like you can wait another thirty.’

  Blanche saw Stav’s hand extend and Hugh said, ‘Five five ten, good as gold away we go.’ She did not see who had bid. A silence fell again that was filled with more of Hugh’s good-natured goading then the lawyer put up his hand. The bid rose again, it was someone behind the corner in the dining room, the Chinese man, Blanche realised as she edged a little closer to Hugh. The bidding climbed slowly to five million six hundred thousand then stopped. ‘There’s that eerie silence again …’ Hugh stood with his arms raised either side. ‘Can we move on, folks?’

  The fridge shuddered to a halt and on top of the hill someone’s lawnmower burst into action. The tinkling sounds of the harbour mocked the tension that stretched across the living room like elastic. The silence deepened and in its far reaches Blanche could hear Ming and Tang howling in the heart of the Hendersons’ house. She looked at Rupert, whose eyebrows had come together in an acute angle as he stared at the Chinese man, then back at Hugh. Blanche remembered the Hendersons had paid a pittance for the Hammets’, Pat not caring enough to get a better price. She remembered Hugh coming home from his first auction wild with excitement, a bottle of Moët Brut, two dozen roses, talking about the bids leaping one hundred thousand dollars at a time, seven to eight million in less than a minute. The twenty-first century had started with a bang and not ten years on was beginning to whimper. This awful, still, glaring light; heavy heat, even the harbour seemed baked to a crust. Blanche ran her tongue around her acidic mouth.

  The bidding began again — the Lebanese, the lawyer, the Chinese man. With both arms, Hugh plucked the numbers from the air like a conductor. Blanche watched him, edging all the while towards the kitchen. There was an acceleration, the increments decreasing simultaneously, and Blanche’s heart began to gallop. Then it stopped altogether. Hugh stood with a finger raised. ‘Five six hundred and seventy, folks, where do we go from here, I’ve got five six seventy from the gentleman in the corner.’ Hugh addressed himself mainly to the lawyers, but they ignored him, whispering heatedly. He looked across at Blanche, then one by one at every person in the room. His accent was now completely flat, like a race caller’s, and even when he looked directly at her Blanche didn’t feel he was seeing her, only the job, and this callousness made her hate him, while admiration and sexual pull flowed harder through her. ‘Five six seventy, ladies and gentlemen. I’m in your hands, whaddaya say?’ Hugh waited. ‘Going once.’ Blanche slipped into the kitchen.

  Hugh came in as she was pouring a glass of water. They conferred in urgent whispers. ‘Grinding halt. What do we do?’

  Blanche opened her phone, called, waited then snapped it shut. ‘She must be out of range.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Sell.’

  ‘Five six seventy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You wanted five eight at least, didn’t you?’

  ‘Um, I actually thought we were starting at six. Remember?’

  ‘We couldn’t, pooky.’

  ‘Okay, if we’re not going to get the price we want today, then when will we?’

  Hugh pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I’ve never done this.’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything.’

  ‘My instinct is to pass it in.’

  The narrow space between them seemed an abyss. Blanche felt frozen. ‘I can’t believe we’re selling to that Chinese guy,’ she muttered.

  ‘They’ve got money, those Chinese.’

  ‘I just mean it’d be nice to sell to someone who knows the area and appreciates it.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s happened to that lawyer couple.’ Hugh sounded wounded.

  Blanche listened to the silence of a house full of twenty people.

  ‘Stuff it. Mum said sell. So we sell.’

  Hugh put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Your call. You want me to sell, I sell.’

  ‘Sell.’

  Hugh walked back into the living room followed by Blanche. He smiled and raised his hand. ‘The property is on the market, folks. Any price below reserve will be accepted.’

  Blanche saw Celia cock her eyebrow at her husband. Rupert frowned and stared at Hugh. The male lawyer put his hand up. Hugh sprang to life.

  ‘Five six seventy-five, five six eighty-five, five seven folks, five million seven hundred thousand dollars.’ He grabbed the bids. The lawyers put their heads together, the woman shaking hers. Hugh watched them. ‘Five seven, ladies and gentlemen. Where do we go from here?’ Hugh sought out the Chinese man. The Chinese man shook his head. The female lawyer began to weep quietly. ‘I’ve got five million seven hundred thousand dollars from the gentleman in the corner … Place your bids now, folks … Going once … going twice …’

  Hugh waited. The kitchen clock ticked. The air grew tense. There was a clearing of throats, people glanced around. The woman who had passed Blanche on the stairs fell into a coughing fit. Hugh brought his fist into his palm. ‘Gone!’

  The lawyer began to weep freely then walked out of the room. Her husband, red-faced, glanced around then followed Hugh into the kitchen to sign papers. Rupert and Celia clapped. The Lebanese couple lingered, the woman
sitting on the lounge, blinking tears from her eyes.

  Blanche moved mechanically to the door to see people out. ‘Interesting,’ Rupert said blandly to her as they passed. ‘Very interesting.’

  ‘I do hope your mother is happy with the outcome,’ Celia said, smiling. ‘Give her our regards.’

  The male lawyer was shaking Hugh’s hand vigorously when the female came in to find Blanche.

  ‘I just wanted to say thank you,’ she said, wiping her eyes. For a second, Blanche thought she was going to hug her. The woman looked around the room. ‘I can’t believe it — it’s ours.’

  After they had left, the house fell eerily silent. Like it, Blanche felt drained and hollow. She went outside and through the bushes saw Stav on the street folding up the signs. She went down the side path and found Hugh on the lawn, beneath the angophora. He turned at her approach, his face clenched. ‘It feels so unreal,’ she said.

  Hugh shook his head. Then he managed a choked ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Hughie. Maybe it’s this.’ She indicated the scorched garden. ‘At least it was the Mosmanians. I feel much better knowing the house will be taken care of.’ She was waiting for an embrace or kiss. He had taken off his jacket and was damp around his armpits. He frowned and toed the grass. It was rare to see him this angry. She was touched that he had loved the house that much. She drew a little closer to him. ‘I’ve never seen you auctioning. You’re quite the showman. I was impressed.’ She gave him a nudge. ‘Your accent goes totally Aussie.’

  ‘Puts ’em at their ease.’ Hugh shrugged. ‘You don’t want to come across as a ponce.’

  A breeze had come up and the trees were moving restlessly. A motorboat idled in the cove. Hugh hung his head. ‘I can’t believe it I can’t believe it. Five million seven hundred thousand dollars when we were talking about six and a half only a few months ago. I can’t fucking believe it.’

  ‘It’s okay, Hugh,’ said Blanche, although she didn’t think it was.

  ‘It was bad enough coming down from six five, but this?’

  ‘And how come I didn’t hear about the five-five starter, by the way?’

  ‘I didn’t want to stress you out.’

  ‘There’s a bottle of Moët in the fridge, but I don’t feel like drinking it.’

  Hugh kicked the grass. ‘I’m overdue with payments on Ultimo.’

  Blanche opened her mouth in shock. ‘You bought that place?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  Hugh said nothing.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t even like it! Why?’

  ‘Because it was a good investment!’

  ‘But why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I paid for it with my own money.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have had enough.’

  ‘I got a loan. I’m allowed to make my own investments once in a while, Blanche!’ he whined. ‘I just wanted to put a big slab down and stop stressing about mortgages for a while. And I wanted to take a holiday, a proper one. You know we owe thirty thousand dollars on Visa?’

  ‘Just sell it, Hugh,’ Blanche snapped. ‘I’m sure you’ll make a mozza.’

  ‘Fuck.’ He kicked the grass again. ‘Fuck.’

  Blanche walked back to the house then up to her mother’s bedroom. She picked Mopoke off the chair, took her onto the balcony and rang her mother’s mobile again. This time Marie answered.

  ‘Mum.’

  ‘Yes. How did you go?’

  ‘Sold.’

  ‘Good.’

  The abrasion of wind came through the phone.

  ‘Are you having a nice walk?’

  ‘It’s lovely.’

  Mopoke squirmed. Blanche put her down and felt her sacrum click out of place. Immediately, it began to thrum with pain. ‘We didn’t get that much, Mum.’

  ‘That’s alright. The best price of the day was what we agreed.’

  The three of them had been walking for over an hour and, through the trees, Marie could see the old Defence Force buildings clustered whitely along the headland. Since Taylors Bay, where Nell had had a tantrum, Clark had carried his daughter on his shoulders and his face was now shot through with pain. A branch had come off the angophora next to Marie. Red sap oozed from the wound. The bark rumpled around the knob like skin, the sap dried into amber. Only another ten minutes then she could sit down. Have a cool drink. Nell clamoured to get off her father’s shoulders and, like a cat sensing grief, grabbed Marie’s thighs. Marie passed the phone to Clark. She leant back against the tree, placed her hand over her eyes and wept.

  The blinds in Terry’s office were half drawn and it took a few seconds for Blanche’s eyes to adjust. She sat on the white, undulating couch. She wanted to lie down. She had thrown up after breakfast and felt queasy ever since. She wondered if it was due to her chiro treatment the day before: her bowels and entire digestive system felt squashed. In spite of her empty stomach, she felt disgustingly bloated. Her thighs rubbed together when she walked. Unable to think of anything she wanted to eat, she had worked through lunch, then gone into the meeting and pitched for Diet Coke on an empty stomach. Terry was looking out the slit of window at the Opera House, foot propped on his knee, Puma sports bag on the floor beside his desk. It was two o’clock and he appeared to have spent lunch at the gym again. He said to Blanche, ‘Why?’

  She watched his jiggling foot, shod in a winklepicker, the end of which he stroked compulsively with his fingers. ‘I thought it was a good idea, Terry. And so did my team.’

  ‘I don’t check up on creative, you know. That’s your job.’

  ‘It was my idea. I’ll take the rap.’

  ‘I could see that, actually. Lim wouldn’t have put forward something like that.’

  Blanche let this remark sink in.

  ‘It’s hip and sexy. And Coke could do with some sexing up.’

  ‘Really? I wouldn’t buy something because of a guy with an erection.’

  ‘Terry, it’s a metaphor. And I buy products with sexy women on them all the time!’

  ‘Like what?’

  Blanche’s mind went blank. Terry smiled and jiggled his foot some more.

  Blanche thought about how the one holding the purse strings was always the real boss, and how tired she was of fighting. She thought about Neil French saying, Women inevitably wimp out and go suckle something. If that’s the attitude you had to have to be a celebrity exec, then god help her. Terry was definitely the one who’d pulled the Dulux ad off YouTube, just when it was going into the top ten. He was jealous. Blanche remembered her dad’s claim that Jonesy was a failed artist.

  ‘Look, Coke ads are always so juvenile. Why do we have to be afraid of risk? Risk is sexy. You were saying only a few months ago that you wanted us to be more edgy. Remember the underwater Levi’s?’

  ‘A masterpiece. A cinematic masterpiece. The market for Coke is mainly juvenile.’

  ‘Not for Diet Coke.’

  ‘Blanche …’ Terry looked bemused.

  ‘What?’

  He raised his arms. ‘It was ludicrous.’

  ‘So is wearing jeans underwater. Ludicrousness is the spice of advertising!’

  ‘I mean it was ludicrous to take that pitch into Asher — you know what he’s like.’

  She realised that second that Terry was wearing the same Tsubi jeans she had seen on a Hillsonger a fortnight ago in Redfern. Ha! She clamped her grin. She wanted to grab Terry’s winklepicker and snap it off. Maybe he was gay. Photographed in the Telegraph with an Australian Idol finalist. Yeah, right. He had never so much as glanced at Blanche’s body. Not a single joke let alone flirtation had ever passed between them. Maybe he did fuck women but hated them. Wouldn’t be the first. He only liked her when she made the agency a bomb, or won a prize. He sighed, and right over here, three metres away on his new couch, Blanche could smell his rank breath. Her nausea stirred. How outrageous for him to come in here with such bad breath and not think he should do anything about i
t.

  ‘Coke, Blanche. Coke.’

  ‘Fantastic couch,’ she said, with total sincerity.

  ‘Marc Newson. Nineteen eighty-six. Their marketing team is on the verge of advising them to go elsewhere so you’ll have to come up with something else fast.’

  Blanche nodded without looking up, absent-mindedly as though in response to her own deep thoughts, because while the part of her sitting here was hating Terry diligently and passionately, thinking the couch must have cost tens of thousands of dollars and Terry would have had the agency pay for it, another part of her was trapped in a fantasy of straddling Terry in his chair, pulling out his cock, the fuck moving to this couch, aggressive and desperate. A hideous, frantic fantasy all in one split second sprayed across her mind. She felt herself blush and was glad for the half-closed blinds. She couldn’t speak. Terry smiled at her, eyebrows raised, hands behind his head. ‘What’s that ad for manchester, with the guy in the bed? Bold for its time.’

  ‘I can’t remember.’ Blanche rose to leave.

  Although she could remember the ad, and that it was around twenty years old. But her idea was a completely different angle.

  God. How could she have thought those disgusting thoughts about Terry? Where did they come from? Like birdshit dropping out of the sky into her eye. She was ashamed and angry as she went down the corridor. Was it something to do with neuroscience? Neuroscience was everywhere now, have to do something with that … But, Jesus, get out of my head, please. Blanche stopped to get herself a cup of water from the cooler. Yeah, okay, so the chocolate ad had been sexy too, maybe she could let sex go for a little while. Still, it was a great idea. It would have been noticed. She dropped her cup into the bin and went down to Lim and Kate’s office to deliver the news.

  ‘It was too radical for this industry,’ Lim hissed.

  ‘That is such a shit,’ said Kate to her computer, looking up guiltily as the swish of a full suit landed. Blanche had trashed solitaire and every other game on Kate’s computer twice, and Kate just reloaded them. She could have had the nous to mute it. ‘Better than googling porn,’ Kate quipped.