The Cait Lennox Box Set

by Roderick Donald

  He’d been patting his pocket on and off all day, feeling for that shape. Imagining. Fantasizing. Role-playing in his mind.

  It’s all Elle’s fault. If she would’ve come across, then I wouldn’t have to visit Sasha.

  Then as if hit by a momentary guilt trip, Tony also felt the side pocket of his jacket, just to make sure that his other package—his”Get Out of Jail Free” card—was also there. His insurance for the night; the Bulgari necklace he’d bought his wife, Elle.

  Shit, this bathroom stinks, thought Tony as he opened the door, the acrid waft of misaimed urine now drying on the floor assaulting him as he entered.

  Tony checked himself out in the mirror and wiped a nondescript mark off his cheek—you’ve always gotta look good—then, opening his jacket, pulled out the silver popper packet, bouncing it up and down in the palm of his hand before rolling it over and reading the same label he had read a hundred times before.

  “I could do some serious damage with this,” he commented with a sly grin, lying to the puffy, shameful face staring back at him in the mirror as he opened the packet and flicked the little triangular blue pill of dreams into his mouth. He reveled in the feeling of it sliding down his throat, anticipating the urge that would soon overtake him.

  Viagra.

  “This’ll give me a hard-on for the next six hours,” he said and smiled in expectation.

  “Paul and Steve are great guys, aren’t they,” said Tony to his clients, sounding them out. “Now, would I, or would I not tip you into a dud deal or put you into bed with a bunch of cretins? Trust me guys, you’ll not only save a shitload of tax with these apartments, but they’ll make a great investment with a big upside in value.” Tony was starting his sales pitch. He figured that his clients had now been plied with enough alcohol to make them amenable to his suggestions.

  “Yeah,” said client number one. “Ring me Monday when I’m sober and we’ll talk about it.”

  Yes! One down. Two to go, then I’m outta here! Images of Sasha’s lithe body were playing inside Tony’s head like a porn movie, and he was the stud.

  Tony smiled inwardly as the first of the now familiar facial flushes and the beginnings of a warm glow in his loins were urging him to close the deal ASAP so he could get down to more important matters.

  Yeah baby! Here we go.

  “Mate,” said Stretch as he sidled up beside Tony, placing his elbow on his shoulder. At nearly six foot five, he had a height advantage of nearly a foot, so he was looking down on Tony’s bald spot.

  “You religious?” he slobbered, a bit of midair spittle landing rather obviously on the shoulder of Tony’s Hugo Boss jacket.

  “Sorry ‘bout that,” said the slightly inebriated man, wiping his spit off Tony’s coat with the back of his own sleeve.

  Quickly glancing at his shoulder to survey the damage, Tony thought, Dickhead! I wonder if he realizes how much I paid for this? He made a mental note to give his jacket to Elle to take it to the dry cleaners tomorrow.

  “Religious? Strange question when you’re out drinking, but no, I don’t believe in any of that bells and smells bullshit.”

  Pausing momentarily as if to catch his thoughts, Tony then continued, “But I do believe in God, mate.”

  “Eh? That doesn’t make sense . . .”

  “Well, I’ll tell you a story. When I was a kid growing up in Kings Cross, I did it tough. Even lived on the street for a bit.” Tony figured that Stretch didn’t come from the right side of the tracks either, so giving Stretch an insight into his own tough background may just ingratiate him with his client.

  “I did have a brief experience with a well-meaning priest once who tried to get me to see the light,” continued Tony. “Which was fine by me, because my old man had pissed off when I was young; we had no money and my mum worked the streets a bit, so I had to fend for myself and the priest was always good for a free feed.”

  “Shit, sounds like me and you had the same old man. Mine ran off with a barmaid when I was nine. Never saw the bastard again.”

  Something to remember, thought Tony. Might be able to use that on him later.

  “The priest would even slip me a bit of small change sometimes if I turned up at his drop-in center. But then the arsehole shoved his hands down the front of my pants one day and that was the end of religion for me.”

  “Holy shit. Fuckin’ pedophile. What’d ya do?”

  “Gave him an uppercut to the guts and bolted. Left him doubled over and gasping for air though. The prick! No more religion after that.”

  Tony paused and took a sip of his drink that he had been gesticulating with.

  “But you said you believed in God? Go figure.” Stretch was being sucked in by Tony’s story.

  “Wondered if you’d pick up on that. You’re not as drunk as you look.” Tony was chiding him.

  “Yeah, I do believe in God, and God’s money, and the more of it the better. You know, like Hermes, the Greek god of trade, commerce, and good fortune. So stick with me mate, and I’ll make you a shitload,” Tony joked. He may have said it in a lighthearted fashion, but he was deadly serious: making money almost was a religion to Tony. He certainly liked to have it, he liked to spend it, and he particularly liked to be seen with it. And who he screwed over to get it or how he came across it was inconsequential.

  Stretch smiled. He thought about what Tony had just said, then burst out laughing, slapping Tony so hard on his back that he staggered forward unsteadily, slopping his drink. As quickly as switching on a light bulb, Tony pushed his backside out, pulling his gut away from the drink as it spilled over his hands, harmlessly landing on the floor in front of him.

  No stains. Lucky, thought Tony.

  “Hey Stretch, mind the threads. You’re looking at expensive cloth here.”

  “Hey Tony, what about the news in the papers the other day about that Indian kid being beaten up in St Kilda. And it’s not the first time it’s happened. That’s got to have an effect on your student accommodation surely,” said the quiet one of his three clients. He had an ineffectual, rather toneless voice that normally wouldn’t have left an impression, and up to this point Tony had let him slide while he concentrated on Stretch and his friend.

  This guy’s not as dumb as I thought he was, thought Tony. Before, he seemed to be about as bright as two pissed-on candles. Must have underestimated him.

  “Mate, yeah, I read about him.” Tony was lying. He had rung Paul about Rishi’s bashing earlier in the week as soon as he read about it in the paper. It wasn’t good press.

  “Oh, he was just some dumb Indian kid. He wasn’t one of our students, I can tell you that.”

  Tony had to change the topic away from Rishi. It was too close to home for his liking.

  “Mate, I ask you, does Raggedy Ann have material tits? Trust me, none of it’s an issue.” Tony shrugged, letting the sentence hang in midair for a forced moment while he gathered his thoughts. “There are millions of the fuckers belting our doors down to send their kids here. We only need to attract a couple of hundred and then we’re full. One less Indian kid’s not a problem.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right, but I’d still like to know a bit more about what I’m putting my money into. And the banks. Surely they must be a bit nervous about all this. That’s not good.”

  Tony was streetwise enough to realize that the Quiet One’s concerns about Rishi’s bashing were going to be like crumbs in his bed: he wouldn’t be able to properly rest and make a decision until they were all brushed out.

  “Not a problem. I’ll get back to you first thing Monday morning and we’ll go over it,” Tony replied in a feigned upbeat tone. This was heading in the wrong direction.

  “Just out of interest, Tony, how many of these apartments have you bought into? I presume you’ve put your money where your mouth is?”

  “Ah, as much as I’d love to buy into the development, it’s a conflict of interest for me. If I bought in, I’d cease to be able to give you impartial a
dvice. One of the downsides of being able to offer this deal to my clients.”

  Shit, I wouldn’t buy one if you paid me, Tony thought to himself. Get a good return on investment, yeah, but the capital appreciation will be rat shit. And the downside is terrible if the pricks stop coming here. Plus the maintenance to keep the apartments up to scratch will be horrendous after all those fucking curry munchers have trashed the place.

  Tony needed to close this down. Any more talk about that Rishi kid’s bashing could kill the deal for all of his guests if they cottoned on.

  So Tony took evasive action: he bought yet another round of drinks—heavy beers for his guests, a light beer for himself. There was no way he was going to spoil the games that he would soon be playing with Sasha.

  Steve raised his head, and leaning over to Paul, said for his ears only, “Time to leave. I can’t stand being around this fat, short-arsed prick any longer. Let’s go and have a civilized bite to eat somewhere. I’ve got some updates on the China deal I need to talk with you about. And you can fill me in on Rishi’s progress. Notice how it was brought up in conversation?”

  “I’ll ring you early next week as soon as I finish crunching these guys,” said Tony to Paul and Steve as they were about to walk out. “All’s looking good, so hopefully I’ll bag the three of them before next Friday. Then we can go out and really celebrate.”

  And pigs might fly, thought Steve. Think I’ll be busy every Friday for the next few weeks.

  “Hey guys, I’ve got to have a leak, then off home to the wifey. Last drinks for me,” said Tony.

  “I’ll get you one for the road while you’re having a squirt,” mumbled Stretch out of the side of his mouth, a faint run of saliva dribbling down his stubbled chin.

  “Love to mate, but I’ve got to split. I’ll ring you guys Monday, okay? We’ll put a deal together then.” Tony was into the power of suggestion.

  It went over the heads of Stretch and his friend, but the Quiet One picked up on what Tony had just said.

  “Don’t forget I need those statistics before I can make a decision.”

  “Yeah, yeah . . . sure mate, whatever.”

  But Tony was on a mission. The brain between his legs was taking over.

  He went to the toilet, tidied himself up, played with his dick for a minute or two, watching it as it doubled in size, and smiled smugly. Then he put it back in his pants and joined the others outside.

  “Got to go, guys. There’s plenty of nightlife happening up Fitzroy Street if you want to kick on.”

  Yes! Bring it on, he thought. Time to get my dick wet.

  Tony’s arrival home was heralded by the sounds of crunching stones underfoot as he walked up his driveway, echoing a sharp crushing noise that was loud enough to wake the dead. Well, certainly loud enough to wake Elle’s yappy Pomeranian, Lu Lu. Then the whole house would stir and he would be in the shit for getting home at three in the morning.

  Again.

  The thud of the front door echoed like a stone dropped in a silent cavern as Tony accidently let the door slip from his grip when he bent down to pick up Lu Lu before she started yapping. She was waiting for him just inside the front door like a sentinel guarding the entrance to a castle.

  “Fuck it,” he whispered to himself as he kicked his shoes off, pushing them to one side.

  Tony peered through the silence of the night. A crack of light squeezed out from around the edges of the almost closed door to the living area. He put Lu Lu down and she bolted toward the light with a cartoonlike, wind-up motion of her paws as they skidded and slipped on the smooth travertine before she managed to get a grip and take off.

  Shit, she’s still up, thought Tony to himself as he crept silently toward the door. Or maybe she’s just left the light on.

  But Elle was still up. Well, she would argue that she was still up, but really, she had been sucked in by some chick flick and had fallen asleep. She was curled up in the fetal position on the couch under a blanket and the credits were rolling across the screen.

  Tony listened to a rattling, high-pitched whistling noise that was a precursor to a snore emanating from Elle’s direction and he thought, I’m in luck. She’s sound asleep. I’ll sneak upstairs and leave her to herself . . .

  But Lu Lu wasn’t in on the brief and she started barking her high-pitched yelp, promptly jumping up on Elle, waking her instantly.

  Tony figured that he needed to take the initiative straightaway to deflect Elle’s thoughts away from the time, so wandering over to his wife full of boldness and confidence he said, “You’re up late. Sorry to wake you. Been working.” Tony was thinking on his feet. “I had a really good night tonight actually. Think I’ve crunched these guys I took out for lunch, so it’s looking good for a seventy-five grand commission. What’d you do?”

  As if it wasn’t obvious, thought Elle. Home by herself watching Netflix, in her frumpy nightgear, glass of wine. No husband. Total bliss.

  Tony leaned over to give Elle a kiss hello, staggering slightly as he moved, then caught hold of the back of the couch.

  “You’re drunk,” said Elle, cranky and annoyed at being woken up. “Shit Tony, you’re fifty-six. When are you going to grow up? You can’t keep going on like this; you’ll end up killing yourself.” Elle knew that what she said would be like water off a duck’s back, but she berated him in any case. She was a person who loved her sleep and was always grumpy when she was woken prematurely.

  Tony continued his previous attempt to land a well-placed peck on his wife’s cheek, but as he bent over to initiate the ritual she sat bolt upright as if she had been plugged in and someone had flicked on the switch, instantly recognizing the unmistakable smell of beer and sweat and the stale scent of another woman’s perfume.

  But Elle said nothing. She’d been there before with Tony. In fact, many times. Messing around was what Tony did; that’s how she met him. Six years ago Tony had been on one of his benders, and although he was married to his second wife at the time, Tony was fun to be with and they somehow ended up in Elle’s bed at the end of the night. She was all of twenty-six at the time and Tony lied about his age and said he was forty-three . . . and separated. He was loading up his credit card with drinks and entertainment expenses as if he had a black Amex and he was a blast. Elle had recently come out of a six-year relationship with a lover who was fifteen years her senior, so she wasn’t fazed by his age.

  And then the next thing Elle knew, she was married to Tony and pregnant with her now four-year-old daughter, Brooke. Which to Tony was a nuisance, if nothing else. He’d already a son, Eddy, by his first marriage, who was now at university, and he was a pain in the arse. Always getting into some kind of trouble that Tony had to usually buy him out of. Just like when had to pay that cop off recently to get him to drop the dealing charges at the Espy.

  Basically, to Tony kids were an unfortunate and occasional side effect of having sex, so he left Elle to look after Brooke, and he took care of the dollars.

  So she overlooked Tony’s indiscretions one more time, as she was now used to that smell, parking the experience along with the others in some hidden part of her mind as if it never occurred.

  “Just go to bed, would you. Can’t you see I’m watching a movie?”

  Tony glanced over at the final credits. “Looks like it’s over to me. But I’ve got something to amuse you.”

  “Tony, no sex tonight. I’ll get a headache if you try.”

  “So what’s new?” said Tony with a sarcastic inflection. Besides, he’d just been laid by Sasha at the Daily Planet, so the last thing he needed was trying to get it up for Elle. But it was worth rubbing in her lack of interest in sex, he thought to himself.

  Ever since you had Brooke your legs have closed. Funny thing about that, you dumb bimbo. I married you for your tits and now you won’t let me near them.

  “No? Maybe you’ll change your mind after you see what I bought you. Here.” Tony looked very pleased with himself as he reached into his jack
et pocket and presented Elle with a small gift-wrapped package.

  “I was going to save this until tomorrow, but since you’re awake you may as well have it now.”

  Tony had found himself with an hour to kill before lunch and he knew it would be a big night, so he bought the glitzy Bulgari necklace that Elle had been pestering him about on and off for the past few weeks.

  What a perfect distraction, thought Tony. Nothing like a bit of bling to take a woman’s mind off matters in hand.

  Elle’s eyes lit up as Tony passed over the small package. She loved gifts, especially jewelry. Elle may have been a trophy wife, twenty-four years his junior, but Tony gave her a good life and she liked the way she lived. She didn’t work and her days consisted of looking after Brooke, the light of her life, endless beauty treatments, and shopping. And having lunch with her girlfriends. And going on holidays.

  And that was about it, really.

  “Gee, thanks Tony. It’s gorg. Can we go out to dinner tomorrow night so I can wear it?”

  “Sure. Where do you want to go? Thai, Japanese, or Italian?”

  Yes. The bling works every time. Tony smiled inwardly to himself. Certainly didn’t marry her for her brains though. If there’s a Nobel Prize awarded for stupidity, it’d have your name on it.

  “You know I won’t eat that raw fish stuff. I read somewhere that they cut the meat out while the fish is still alive. Yuck. It must hurt the fish so much. And Italian food is fattening. You should know that. You’re Italian and you’re fat. Let’s do Thai.”

  It’s not even worth the effort answering that. She’s having another blonde moment.

  “Okay, Thai it is. Now I’m going to bed. You coming?”

  “I’ll just tidy up first.” Elle mightn’t have been overly endowed with the gray matter, but she was house-proud and obsessive about tidiness.

  “Sure. Night.”