by Robin Storey
‘Like vacuuming?’
‘I was thinking more along the lines of the usual job searching, but vacuuming sounds more fun.’
Carlene stepped into a black skirt, wiggled it over her hips and zipped it up. Then she turned back to the wardrobe and peered into it again, as if expecting some item of clothing she hadn’t seen before to suddenly manifest itself.
‘I’m sure a man of your capabilities could do both in one day,’ she said, slipping on the first blouse she’d taken out of the wardrobe and buttoning it up.
‘Oh shit!’ Reuben remembered he’d decided to start jogging today. He bounded out of bed, pulled on shorts and a t-shirt, laced up his joggers, picked up his keys and gave his startled wife a smacking kiss on the lips.
‘Going for a run. See you tonight.’
‘Can you pick up some steak for dinner?’ she called after him.
The morning was overcast and a bitter August wind whipped around him. He picked up his pace to stop himself from freezing solid. As he took a circuitous route around the suburban streets, faces peered at him from front yards or from the windows of passing cars. His aching legs and burning lungs diverted his attention from his woolly head. He was now a bona fide member of the panting, red-faced, masochistic fraternity he had disparaged until yesterday when he’d decided to join them. Joggers, he’d always maintained, were ruining their bodies and would end up in middle age with dicky knees and shin splints. And if it were so enjoyable, why did they always look as if someone was shoving a hot poker up their backside?
As he burst in through his front door and collapsed in a sweaty heap on the bed, he realised that both those points were irrelevant. At this rate he’d die of agony before middle age and having a hot poker shoved up his backside would at this moment be a welcome respite.
He forced himself off the bed, showered and dressed. Over coffee and toast he considered his decision – if ‘decision’ was the right word. It was a wimpy imitation of a decision, borne not from courage but desperation and cowardice. He had to let Lucy know her life was in danger. But not by telling her outright – which would put his life in danger – and not by giving her enough information to justify her going to the police. He had to let her know in a subtle way that she should be careful.
He didn’t have a clue how he was going to do it. He was tempted to take the easy way out and send Lucy an anonymous warning letter. But that would attract attention and undoubtedly police involvement. He’d have to do it in person. His next appointment with her wasn’t until next Tuesday, so he had a week to figure it out. And to hope to God Frank didn’t do anything before then.
CHAPTER 10
‘How are you today, Reuben?’
‘Fine, thanks.’
Lucy gave him a quick glance as she fired up the computer. ‘You look tired. Are things okay with you?’
He couldn’t argue with her first comment. Thinking about his appointment today and what he was going to say had kept him awake – that and Carlene’s snoring, which according to her, was a figment of his overactive imagination. In the end, he reminded himself of one of the maxims of his previous career: success depended on knowing when to plan and when to wing it. And this was a time to wing it.
Lucy, on the other hand, was looking delicious in a fresh white blouse and rose pink, hip-hugging skirt. Crisp yet soft at the same time, like a strawberry donut topped with cream. But whereas overindulging in donuts could make you sick, with Lucy, you’d just keep wanting more....
‘I’m okay. I guess the strain of looking for work is catching up with me.’
Jesus, cut the self-pity crap.
‘But there’s some good news. I enrolled with a promotions agency and did an audition. The manager thinks she can get me some modelling work.’
Lucy raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? That’s something ... different.’
Why the hesitation? Did she think he wouldn’t make it as a model? For one of the few times in his life he felt self-conscious. He shifted in his chair.
‘I suppose it is. It’s a starting point, though.’
‘Of course it is. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great, you never know what it will lead to. It’s certainly not something I can see any of my other offenders doing.’
Was that a compliment or not? Then she smiled at him, warmth shining from her eyes like the sun glancing off the ocean. His heart almost burst out of his chest. I’ll take it as a compliment.
She asked him a few more routine questions then reached for her appointment pad. ‘You seem to be going fine, I’ll make an appointment for another two weeks.’
He watched her print the date on the appointment slip. Say something now. It’s your only chance.
‘You know, in another life, I’d like to have been a parole officer.’
She looked up. ‘Really?’
‘I think it’d be interesting – all the different types of people you meet.’
‘That’s certainly true.’
‘And some of them must be dangerous – not the sort you’d want to meet in a dark alley.’
Lucy handed him the appointment slip. ‘Dark alleys aren’t promising places to meet anybody.’
As he signed the slip, he said with studied casualness, ‘So I suppose you have to be really careful not to expose yourself.’
Whoops, Freudian slip.
‘I mean, you’d have to avoid situations where you could run into those dangerous types.’
She looked at him as he handed her back the appointment slip. ‘Is there a point to this conversation?’
There was a cool edge to her tone. You’ve blown it. She thinks you’re an idiot.
But I’ve got to keep going. I’d rather her think me an idiot than be dead.
Reuben mustered up his most charming smile. ‘Not as such. Not really a point. It’s just that I know a lot of offenders hate the so-called “system” - not me, of course - and that includes parole officers, and I assume you have to be extra careful in case one of them decides to ... er ... get really nasty.’
She tore out his copy of the appointment slip and handed it to him. ‘I really don’t think there’s any need...’
‘The reason I brought it up,’ he interrupted, an idea suddenly flashing into his mind, ‘was that I read the other day about this case in the U.S. where a guy had a grudge against his parole officer and he hired a hit man to run her down. Did you hear about that?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘That made me wonder if the same thing could happen here.’
Jesus, you’re making it sound like a threat. She’ll report you now.
‘That’s why I was concerned,’ he finished and smiled again to reassure her that hiring a hit man was the last thing on his mind.
‘I appreciate your concern,’ Lucy said, ‘but I don’t think you should lose any sleep over it.’
She gave him a curious look. ‘Unless you have some specific information.’
Reuben shook his head. ‘No. Just thought you’d be interested in the case.’
She stood up and he did likewise. ‘See you in a fortnight,’ he said.
He was out the door and about to close it when Lucy said, ‘Reuben!’
He turned back, heart racing. She suspected something, was going to demand he give her the information.
‘Where did you read about it?’
Reuben looked thoughtful. ‘I think it was on the internet, maybe one of the online newspapers. Was it in California? Or maybe it was Alabama.’ He shrugged. ‘I forget which state.’
‘Thanks,’ Lucy said. ‘See you next time.’
***
When he arrived home, a large brown packet was sticking out of the letterbox. He pulled it out, unlocked the front door, went inside and flopped onto the couch. The packet was from Pizzazz Promotions; presumably it contained his photographs. He sat staring at it, reliving his interview with Lucy.
It had been pointless, had achieved nothing, apart from making her think he was weird. When it came
to the crunch and she’d asked him if he had any specific information, he couldn’t tell her. Anyway, if he had no idea how Frank planned to do the deed, how could he warn her? Just to be on the safe side don’t go anywhere after dark, avoid sidewalks, city streets, crowds, uninhabited places – in fact, just lock yourself in the house and don’t answer the door.
What now? He opened the packet and slid out the photos. Apart from the inevitably contrived look of studio photos, they were good, enhancing the boy-next-door demeanour that had been the backbone of his success, the type a woman could take home to her mother – except Nancy, who would remain unmoved if George Clooney appeared before her and started grovelling at her feet. Reuben automatically sucked in his stomach as he looked at the photos taken of him shirtless. He’d started doing sit-ups as well to tighten his stomach muscles – one hundred every afternoon. Just as boring and painful as his morning jogs, but mercifully, much shorter. The things you had to do when you wanted to be in showbiz.
He hadn’t heard from Posie in the week since he’d registered. There was no way he was going to be ripped off, like Carlene’s friend, and become just another name in the database. He’d ring Posie every week until she got so sick of him, she’d give him a job to shut him up.
He got up and went to the phone on the kitchen bench. The orange message light was flashing. He pressed the play button.
‘This is Kurt from the employment agency. Ring me on...’ A mobile number followed.
The voice was vaguely familiar but he didn’t know anyone called Kurt. Maybe he was new, a replacement for Droopy Dave. Maybe Reuben had caused Droopy Dave to go on stress leave, a ‘positive outcome’ indeed.
He dialled the number. ‘Littledick. You’re prompt. An admirable quality.’
Reuben’s skin prickled. How the hell did Frank Cornell get his phone number? It was listed under Carlene’s maiden name of Rutherford, as she’d organised the phone connection before he was released from prison. And he had an inkling that Frank wasn’t phoning to invite him out for a friendly drink.
‘I have a business proposition for you.’
‘I’m not in the market for a business proposition at the moment,’ Reuben said. ‘But thanks for the offer.’
‘I guarantee you’ll be interested in this one.’
‘Why is that?’
‘It’s not something I can discuss on the phone. Meet me on Sunday, at 2pm, at The Grosvenor in the city. Public bar.’
CHAPTER 11
The radio alarm blared into the morning silence. Reuben reached out and fumbled for the ‘off’ switch. What day was it? Saturday. Thank God. He’d forgotten to switch the alarm off last night.
‘Are you going for your jog?’ Carlene mumbled into his shoulder.
‘No, I’m giving myself the weekend off.’
‘Good.’
She pressed her warm body into his back, slipped her arm under his and began to circle her fingers in his chest hair. ‘So what are your plans for this morning?’
‘I don’t have any.’ Her fingers moved down to his belly with feather-light strokes. ‘But I do now.’
He turned over onto his back, pulled her down to him and they kissed – a slow, lazy kiss, that got his nerve endings pinging and his cock springing to attention.
‘I thought,’ Carlene murmured when they came up for air, ‘we could go shopping later.’
‘Keep talking dirty to me, baby. I love it.’
She was stroking his pubic hair now, her fingers almost on his cock. He caressed her breasts and circled her nipples, watching them grow hard.
‘What are we shopping for?’
She giggled and gave his cock a playful tug. ‘You should know better than to ask a woman that. I have a couple of birthday presents to buy. And a few things for the barbecue tomorrow.’
‘What barbecue?’
‘The family’s coming over for lunch. I’m sure I told you.’
‘You might have, but I don’t remember.’
Her fingers stopped. ‘Why, what’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Yes, there is.’
‘Honestly, there isn’t.’
She removed her hand from his cock and propped herself on her elbow, looking down at him. ‘Something’s up, I can tell. Don’t you want them to come?’
He sighed inwardly. ‘It’s not that at all – it’s just that I have to meet a friend in the city at two o’clock.’
‘What friend?’
Reuben resented the implication that it wasn’t possible for him to have a friend that Carlene didn’t know about. Never mind that it was true. Before he went to jail he’d had lots of acquaintances, but few he could call friends. Those he had known who weren’t on the wrong side of the law had dwindled away after he was charged.
‘A friend I went to school with. His name’s ... Finn.’
‘Oh. You’ve never mentioned him before.’
‘I hadn’t heard from him for years then he rang me yesterday out of the blue. He lives in Sydney, he’s in town on business and we organised to meet for a drink tomorrow afternoon. I didn’t know about the barbecue.’
‘Invite him along then we can all meet him.’
Reuben racked his brains. ‘The thing is, he’s not feeling very sociable at the moment. He’s just gone through a horrible divorce and he’s very depressed. If he came to the barbecue, he’d probably cry all the time and make everyone else depressed.’
‘It sounds like he needs some counselling.’
‘I’ll suggest that to him. Now, where were we?’
He reached out to take her hand. She drew it away, looking pointedly at his deflating cock.
‘I think the mood’s gone. For both of us.’
She jumped out of bed, went into the ensuite and turned on the shower.
Reuben laid back on his pillow watching the steam fog the shower door. Fuck you, Finn. Or Frank. Whoever!
***
Despite her assertion that the barbecue was to be ‘nothing fancy,’ Carlene spent the morning cleaning the kitchen and preparing salads and dips while Reuben hosed the patio and degreased the barbecue.
He’d lied when he said he didn’t mind her family coming. Not a week went by when he and Carlene didn’t visit her family or were visited by them, usually for dinner or a barbecue. At first, he thought it a quaint, cosy custom – as a child, there were just him and his mother. According to his mother, Reuben’s father, an occasional lover with itchy feet and a shady past, had vanished into thin air after she broke the news of her pregnancy and she’d never heard from him again. Reuben had yearned to be part of a big, close-knit family like The Brady Bunch or The Waltons.
As he grew up, he’d come to realise that families were nothing like those on TV, and the bigger they were, the more likely there was to be bickering, fights and even estrangement. But still he held on to his romantic notion of family and after jail, the prospect of any family life at all was inviting. But the appeal had worn thin, even after only a few weeks. There were times he felt suffocated; other times he felt the burden of obligation.
At least this time he’d have an excuse to escape early. Disturbing as the excuse was – a brick of apprehension had been lurking in the pit of his stomach since his phone conversation with Frank. What business could he and Frank possibly have in common? Unless Frank wanted Reuben to set up some sort of scam for him, there was only one other thing – or rather, person – they had in common. He tried to put the thought out of his mind, scrubbing the barbecue so hard that he put a hole in the scourer and took a layer of skin off his middle finger.
The family arrived all at once, filling the house with noise and bodies and clatter. Nancy immediately took over the kitchen. Jo tried to convince a sceptical Indya that Uncle Reuben didn’t have cable TV so she couldn’t watch ‘The Wonder Years’, while dabbing at a glue-like substance leaking from Brayden’s nose. Alec and Wayne hovered near the barbecue, Wayne regaling Reuben with barbecue horror stories about exploding
gas bottles and singed eyebrows.
When the food was ready, they served themselves in the kitchen and sat outside squashed around two small outdoor tables. Reuben and Carlene’s patio, in keeping with the rest of their home, was tiny – just a narrow rectangle of pavers under an awning, with a built-in brick barbecue at one end. The backyard, in comparison, was quite large – Reuben didn’t understand why the renovators couldn’t have made the patio much bigger, also resulting in less lawn to mow.
As they ate, Carlene brought up the subject of Finn, his unfortunate circumstances and why Reuben had to rush off soon to meet him.
‘Poor guy, how terrible!’ Jo said. ‘He should join a men’s group.’
‘Lot of namby-pamby stuff if you ask me,’ Alec said.
‘Would you prefer that he spent all his time at the pub instead?’ Nancy asked.
Alec gave an elaborate wink around the rest of the table. ‘Is that what you think I’d do if you left me, dear?’
The look she gave him was clear. Don’t think for one moment I’d give you the pleasure.
‘I’m with Alec on that one,’ Wayne said. ‘I knew a guy who went to one of those groups. He said all they did was sit around, eat pizza and complain about what bitches women are!’
‘Just like the pub,’ Alec said.
‘Finn’s an unusual name,’ Jo said. ‘Why did they break up?’
‘I don’t know, he was too upset to tell me.’
‘Maybe his wife was having an affair,’ Jo said.
‘Or maybe he was having an affair,’ Carlene said, ‘and she threw him out.’
There were more questions and speculation, especially from Carlene and Jo, to which Reuben either professed ignorance or made things up. He was soon feeling sorry for abandoned Finn, whose life was being dissected by a bunch of people he’d never met. He looked at his watch. One-thirty.
He jumped up. ‘I’m running late, can I take your car, honey? It’ll be quicker than the scooter.’
‘It needs to be filled up, it’s almost empty,’ Carlene reminded him.
No time for a petrol detour. He’d take the Barbiemobile and hope for an opportune parking space. He was almost at the front door when Indya called out, ‘Uncle Reuben, you said you’d take me for a ride on the Barbiemobile!’