Bettina closes the door behind her.
“I saw you; I was watching you the during the entire event. Why are you here?” She asks, but does not wait for an answer. “You are not interested in simplicity and mindfulness, from what I remember your house was considerably cluttered, mostly with beer cans. Go ahead, tell me why you are here, tampering with my computer?” Now she is demanding an immediate reply.
I don’t give her a response; instead, I look down at her hand that is holding my arm, as an indication that I want her to let go. She drops my arm and steps back, positioning her back against the door she closed moments ago.
My hand trembles and I have to remind myself that I have control over this situation, I orchestrated this confrontation. We both have our eyes on the envelope I have slipped out of my bag, slowly, for effect.
“The photos you may have thought I was transferring onto your computer are the same as the ones I have here.”
“Photos? What photos?” she asks through gritted teeth.
I open the top of the envelope and slide out the contents. The top page is a letter I have handwritten, with my expectations of what I want to happen once she sees the photos, but now I am here, facing her, so I can say it all to her instead. I have it well memorised.
I hesitate to hand over the photos to her, so I lay them out on the table that is nearest to me.
“Photo evidence of your cruelty,” I say at last, proudly.
A gasp escapes her mouth, then I watch her face screw into a tight ball.
***
There are five photos in total, taken six years ago through a missing panel in the fence, now spread out before us. The thoughtless cruelty that the images present is tangible. The first picture exhibits a sizeable red bucket of water that, over time, turned a dark shade of green; the next photo is of a large black and white dog lying desolately next to the bucket. The following three photos were taken consecutively, the beginning of a kick, mid kick and then the strike of Carlana’s foot against the dog’s rib cage.
“You bitch,” she spits, her eyes scrunched up at the sides. “You photographed me; you had no right,” she yells.
I hold up my hand.
“You had no right treating the dog that way,” I retort.
“You are delusional... you must remember that when the Animal Welfare inspector which you reported me to came to check on the dog, they found no mistreatment. I loved Rex, I loved my dog. I was going through a stressful time. I had just found out I was pregnant and I was going through a tough time at work…”
I interrupt her weak story.
“By the time the inspector came out the second time to speak to you, you had replaced Rex’s dirty water with fresh. I heard you talking to the officer that day. You told him how you fed and took the dog for walks regularly,” I explain. She opens her mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand and continue.
“I took these photos after the inspector’s investigation was complete, after the officer had informed me they had found no mistreatment. I was ready to supply them with these images,” I point with agitation to the photos on the table.
“But shortly after I took the photos, because of you, my whole life fell apart. After I lost my house, and was unable to find another, I didn’t have the capability to be concerned for the welfare of that poor dog. I never did thank you, for making renting a house impossible for me. Do you know what happened to Amy and me, because I was denied the chance to rent any house in West Glassport?” I don’t continue talking until she shakes her head.
“I must have been punished for being a nosy neighbour. Do you know who we moved next to, Carlana, in our housing estate? Our new neighbour never washed. I could smell her from her open window, so you can imagine what she smelt like when she came to the door, asking if I had any crack she could buy.”
“Well, you would have fitted in nicely into that neighbourhood. Don’t think I didn’t notice you had a drinking problem. No matter how hard you tried to hide it, the few times we spoke, I smelt it on your breath. You were, are, disgusting. Are you drunk now?” she asks.
“You sobered me up, years ago,” I reply, not meaning it to sound like a compliment.
Carlana looks at me smugly.
I need to take that smug look off her face. “What did end up happening to poor neglected Rex?”
She doesn’t reply, and it would just make me angry and distraught to hear the truth, so I don’t press her.
“What are you going to do with this?” she asks circling her hand above the photos.
I begin to place the photos in a pile on top of each other; it is safer if I hold them in my hands.
“You think I was disgusting? Look at yourself. You believe you’ve redeemed yourself through meditation, looking after the environment and all the rubbish life philosophies you follow. You are a hypocrite, and shortly the clique that supports you will know it. Unless…”
Her eyes snap open.
“Unless what?”
“I know you and hubby sold your house, how much did you sell it for? Was it for about two million dollars?”
Carlana throws back her shoulders, walks to her computer and snaps it shut, yanking out the USB and throwing at me. It lands on the floor, and I bend to pick it up.
“Do whatever your sick mind has conjured up. I’ve worked hard to build up a life for Maia and me. You don’t know what I went through, the night sweats, the anxiety attacks that happened when I was showing people houses. All of this will be golden material,” she nods at the envelope I am holding. “I already use the breakdown I had as part of my story, part of my marketing. This will add another dimension to my narrative.”
“Nobody will accept an act of animal cruelty, mental breakdowns are no excuse.”
I can’t believe she is actually justifying what she did and considering using it for her own benefit. I hadn’t even thought that was a possibility when I put this plan together.
“Breathe out, Carlana, because the USB was empty. Do you truly think I would have shown these photos to your tribe, without getting a reward back in return?”
I say, shoving the USB into my bag. “Carlana, if anyone sees these photos, you will lose your licence,”
She swallows. In her calm blue eyes, I finally find the instability that was there all along.
“What do you want from me?” she exclaims.
I speak calmly. I need to show her that she is the one losing control in this situation.
“Call your husband, tell him that you need to meet him for a coffee. You have just decided you require a new assistant to help you with your work. Bettina wasn’t working out,” I instruct, proud that I had spoken the words, as before this plan had been in writing only.
“What?” she says in surprise and apparent confusion. “Were you not just implying that you wanted our money?”
I take a deep breath and explain how I intend to make my life slightly more pleasant, from today.
“Carlana, you have a daughter. You realise how important it is for her to be happy and healthy, right?”
She nods because we agree that the wellbeing of a child is important to all mothers.
“My daughter, Amy. I had such grand plans for her, she did so well in High School. But because of the direction life took us, specifically how difficult you made it for me to rent a decent house, Amy could now use some financial stability. She’s not doing too well. From today, more than ever, she will require funds to rebuild her life, but I can’t help her financially so you supporting her would be perfect. Do you know what I do need, after all these years of hardship?”
She rolls her eyes like it’s all too much effort. She doesn’t understand because she hasn’t experienced hardship.
“I need security. The first step I need to take to achieve that security is to be employed by you. Your employment of me will give me a better chance of receiving a Wellness Practitioners’ licence. I have a simple yet effective idea of how we will present this to your husband, unless you don�
�t need his approval. Perhaps you can just hire me here, now?”
“You slobbish… what are you saying?” she hisses through clenched teeth.
“You will pretend that you met me at your talk through one of your wealthy friends. Think of someone that you know that would have a personal assistant. An assistant that everyone wants to have. If he says no to me being your assistant, then asking for the payment transfer will be my last resort.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I can’t employ you, you don’t know a thing about the wellness industry,”
“I worked in the medical field.”
“That’s not even close to knowing how to live well.”
“You mean that’s not even close to being able to make a super-smoothie.”
“Fuck off.”
“Well, well, that’s more like it. Let’s not waste time. Call your husband and tell him you need to meet him for a coffee. You have just decided you need a new assistant,” I instruct.
Carlana’s face drains of colour, and her voice falters as she sees the big picture for the first time.
“No… never. He won’t agree to it. Wait, you won’t show him the photos, will you?”
I try not to be annoyed that she isn’t following my plan, but at least now the realisation of her situation seem to be dawning upon her fast.
“Carlana, it’s your job to convince your husband that I need to be your assistant. If he doesn’t agree to that proposition, then I will show him the photos – and ask him if he has a spare million to give me.”
“Please, please don’t show him the photos.” She’s begging now, like she has finally accepted the implications of the images being seen by her husband. What would he do to protect her wellness realm?
I am so close to the security I strive for I can almost touch it. I imagine that this tingling I feel on my fingertips is what people feel when they get that job or are finally able to buy that house. I am considering now that perhaps I should show these photos to Evan immediately, instead of allowing Carlana to negotiate this for me. He is a man, more than likely a man with pride; all men have too much pride. I am quite confident he’s not going to muck around. Initially, he will tell me to go away, but then he will understand what will happen to Carlana’s image and licence if these photos get out into the public domain. Evan also isn’t going to want me hanging around as a reminder of what a wimp he is. Surely he has a million dollars to give me, to make me go away? But I am enjoying this control, having power over these successful people, so I will start by draining Carlana.
“Carlana, time is ticking. I calculate there are two hours and five minutes left until I reveal the photos to Evan, then to your supporters. Are you going to make that phone call?” I ask.
“He won’t drop everything he’s doing, to meet me at a cafe at midday.”
I yawn, I am enjoying this feeling of advantage. Carlana relents and takes out her phone, keeping her eyes on me.
I give her a small smile.
“Evan, yes, the talk went well. I’m calling to see if you could meet me for a coffee at Timeston’s Cafe,” she pauses and swallows while listening intently.
“Yes, I am aware this isn’t on the schedule, and the cafe is very far away, but there is something important I need to discuss. I didn’t bring it up at our progress meeting yesterday because I only thought of it now.”
A laugh escapes my throat, I can’t believe I am witnessing this sad conversation. I almost feel sorry for her. I do admire her quick thinking in organising the meeting in a cafe far away, presumably so no-one she knows can overhear the terrible predicament she is in.
I walk over to the window and look out; I need to hide my smile, this is a beautiful feeling. I think I have already won. I need to contain my reaction to my amusement and pleasure. Composing myself, I concentrate on listening to her conversation.
“Yes, I will come home, then we can talk about it.” She finishes her conversation with a meek goodbye.
There is silence in the empty space behind me, and I continue to stare out the window. For a second, I am concerned Carlana has left, and I spin around to find her biting her lip, staring at a spot on the floor.
“Ahem,” I clear my throat.
She looks at me with alarm.
“Please, please?” She is urging me to show her compassion. “There is no possible way I will be able to persuade Evan to hire you as an assistant. You obviously know we are moving? So you can’t work for us. What about if I make a deal with you, right now? In exchange for all the photos and files. I have a new book coming out soon. I can pay you a nice sum then, and Evan won’t have to know.”
I shake my head.
“What you are suggesting doesn’t sound like a million dollars in my account tomorrow, or a job opportunity, does it? Look, I am quite flexible, I understand it may be difficult for you to organise the capital you owe me. That is why I added the option of hiring me.”
Carlana shoulders slump. She puts her computer away in her backpack, muttering. “I can’t, I just can’t.” She proceeds to move out of the room. I follow her. She looks over her shoulder and increases her pace.
“Running away isn’t going to make the countdown I set for you slow down,” I call out, walking after her. A man in a baseball cap looks at us as he walks past, and lifts his eyebrows questioningly.
“Angry boss,” I whisper, as I scurry ahead.
Carlana slows down and I am able to catch up with her. I notice her eyes are damp, and a lone tear slides down her face. She wipes it away with the back of her hand. The dog used to cry too.
“Where is your car parked?” I ask, as if I don’t remember where I crawled out of her boot earlier. I am unable, cannot keep the satisfaction out of my voice. She doesn’t reply and keeps on walking.
I walk next to her as we head towards the car park. If I previously imagined that she smelt like a brand of expensive perfume, I was wrong. Carlana emits no smell, not even sweat, surprisingly because it is T-shirt weather. She is dressed so restrictively and blandly. I am sure she would prefer not to be overdressed for the weather – and I’m sure she also wishes I wasn’t here. But she can make choices. She can take off that cardigan and just wear her organic T-shirt, and she can choose to follow my instructions; doing both these things will make her more comfortable. I wonder if the people surrounding us think we are friends enjoying one another’s time. Walking side by side, she is so much taller than I am; we are similar to one another only in what we want to achieve. Carlana, with her long homely hair, is dressed in neutral-coloured clothes. She wants to disguise how much money she has, she doesn’t want to be seen with someone like me. I have an unkempt black bob and I am dressed in clothing composed of bright prints, like I want to be noticed.
She has slowed down as if she’s given up. I shrug my shoulders and keep walking ahead, towards the car, in the boot of which I travelled early this morning.
“I’ll wait for you next to your car,” I inform her.
Jean, 10:45AM
Carlana starts her car and a podcast about gardening springs to life, breaking through the heavy silence between us.
‘A few years back, we needed to cover plants in winter to provide a layer of insulation against the cold. As we head into June we can now leave the plants uncovered…’
I press the side of my head against the glass as Carlana drives the car through suburban streets. I keep my head twisted at an angle so I can watch her, should she perform any sudden moves. But this expert on wellbeing is trying to keep calm. She is practicing a type of meditation technique where she grips the steering wheel, then loosens her grasp.
Having successfully completed her meditation, and the drive, Carlana stops the car in the driveway of the pale pink house. A black car which is slightly flashier than the one we are in, which wasn’t there earlier this morning, is parked on the street in front of the house.
Carlana turns off the engine and sits looking straight ahead for a minute. Her eyes occasionally dart nervous
ly to the front door of her house.
“It’s your turn to listen to me, now.” She snaps her head in my direction.
“Let me do all the talking. Say nothing; I will try to persuade Evan to employ you as my assistant, I know what to say to him to persuade him. Damn it, I can’t even believe I am saying that. If he doesn’t agree, give me an opportunity to help you out with whatever problems you are having in life.” Her voice is simultaneously pleading and demanding, like she still hopes she has some leverage in this situation.
“One vital thing you must not say, is that you want to replace Bettina as my assistant,” she warns.
I look at the house, thinking how pretty it seems, at the same time contemplating what she is telling me. It’s a shame that none of us will be leaving it anytime soon.
“If it becomes noticeable that you are hesitating and you aren’t as convincing as I need you to be, I may step in to help you out,” I say, getting out of the car. I’m eager to be inside the house. I notice that Carlana is also keen to be inside, because she rushes to the front door ahead of me. By the time I walk up the steps, an open door greets me. I take a step inside and stand in the hallway next to a mirror and a small table. I can hear voices coming from a room at the back of the house, and I walk toward the sound.
I peek inside the rooms on either side of me as I walk down the hallway. One of the rooms, which I am guessing is the child’s, is decorated in earthy colours. The only toy I notice in the room is a large brightly-coloured plastic gun lying on the floor.
I am now close to the room that I hear the voices coming from. I pause by the doorway of a room which features only a neatly-made bed. I take no further steps, as I don’t want to be heard or seen. The tone of the voices I am listening to seem agitated.
Carlana must have already told Evan she wanted to hire a new assistant.
“So you are telling me this paper cup isn’t yours, even though it was on our driveway, obviously run over by you,” a male voice says accusingly.
The Plastic Seed Page 7