When I heard them come home, just before eleven, for once I didn’t feel pained or aggrieved or jealous. Instead, I cackled with laughter at what I was about to unleash upon them. That wine wasn’t merely good, it was inspirational. I had made a list, a rather long and detailed list, of all the things I could do to make those two suffer.
10
Chapter Nine
Two weeks later, at 7.30 am on a Saturday morning, the renovation of Number 10 Ridge Street began. The timing and execution of the work was most carefully planned. When Dave the builder came by to go over various details earlier that week, I gave him very specific instructions. ‘I want the renovation to begin with a bang,’ I commanded. ‘It has to be momentous, attention grabbing. I want to hear drills, jackhammers, the works.’
Dave gave me a quizzical look. ‘Really? I can’t see why that would be necessary …’ he began to mutter.
‘Humour me Dave,’ I said breezily, ‘and I’ll leave a dozen cold ones in the fridge for you.’
Dave’s face brightened and he seemed to decide that perhaps I wasn’t as deranged as he had first feared. ‘Oh well, the lads will appreciate that on a Saturday arvo. Um, let’s see, I guess we could always kick off with the brick saw in the bathroom, and there’s that concrete out the back we need to jackhammer. How does that sound?’
‘Perfect. Do both of those simultaneously and throw in anything else you can. Now what sort of beer do the lads drink mate?’
‘Make it Tooheys Dry mate,’ Dave grinned, relaxing.
He was even game to enquire after Blake (who he’d met on an earlier visit) though he struggled with how to refer to him. ‘Now where’s … the other fellow?’
‘Oh he’s around Dave. In fact, you’ll probably see him on Saturday.’
Dave departed and I turned some music up loudly to make my presence known to them next door. I had been living in the Altair for the past week as Strauss had left for New York, though Blake and Rick couldn’t possibly know that. I wanted them to go on thinking I was living next door and for them to feel awkward about it for as long as possible. I’d installed a security lighting system which automatically turned lights on and off in the house at night, giving the impression that the place was occupied. I also made a point of going there to do my various chores at times when they were likely to be home and would register my presence.
On the appointed Saturday morning, I took a taxi to Ridge Street to meet Dave and ‘the lads’. They arrived promptly at 7.20 am, though ‘lads’ proved to be a term of affection and not an accurate description of his crew. It must have been a good twenty years since any of Dave’s workers were actually lads. They were all past their prime—a bit bald, a bit overweight—nothing for those two next door to get excited about. ‘I see you have assembled a very experienced team Dave,’ I congratulated him.
One of them—an immense Mediterranean fellow who collapsed onto one of the kitchen chairs as if he’d already done a day’s work—stared at me with curiosity. ‘I’ll leave you to get cracking,’ I said to Dave. ‘But don’t forget, I want it loud, thunderously loud. Give it everything you’ve got. Drills, sanders, brick saw, jackhammer, yell, swear, sing. Go to town.’
Dave looked gravely concerned for my sanity and took me aside for a quiet word. ‘That isn’t a good idea. We don’t want to get the neighbours offside from day one.’
I’d had a few days to think up a good reason to fob Dave off with. I pulled my video camera out of my bag. ‘I’ve warned the neighbours. They’re expecting some noise. You see Dave, I’m a filmmaker on the side and I want to make a film of this renovation. It’ll be a bit like ‘The Block’. What the house was like before all your hard work and then the transformation.’
Dave was genuinely excited by this lame concept. ‘Hey, that’s a really great idea.’
‘So purely for dramatic reasons I need you to make it real rowdy, so that the audience can get a sense of the upheaval and commotion. You know what I’m saying.’
Dave nodded. ‘Sure thing mate. Hey Con, look lively. You’re going to be filmed working.’
Con reluctantly got to his feet and pulled off his sweatshirt, to reveal the hairiest set of shoulders I had ever seen. Con noticed my stare and gave me a wink. I returned his gaze coolly, wondering how I could divert his attentions onto Blake. Hastily, I retreated outside and found the perfect position to observe the action, from behind a potted bush on Arthur’s front porch. I positioned my camera on top of Arthur’s mailbox and waited for Dave to crank things up. A few minutes later, he dashed down the hall and gave me a wave. ‘And action,’ I called out for form’s sake.
Dave gave me the thumbs up, grinned excitedly and ducked away. I set the camera going.
To my surprised delight, Dave proved to be quite the maestro. He built the construction concerto superbly. It began with the solitary painful shriek of a drill. After thirty seconds had passed, two further drills screeched in to swell this ragged harmony. The jackhammer then erupted in shocking staccato bursts, only to be countered by the excruciating whine of the brick saw. These two instruments became locked in a duelling duet, raising the cacophony to new heights of aural torture. Finally, at the crescendo something which I suspect was unplanned but which proved utterly perfect was unleashed—the shocking crash of breaking glass.
It had been going on for three minutes before they emerged. ‘My curtains’ were tugged aside, one of the French doors swung open, and a bare-chested Rick appeared. Then Blake popped up alongside him, though what he was wearing made me do a double take. It was those same blue-checked boxer shorts he’d worn over breakfast with Rick. What was that about? Usually he wore pyjama shorts to bed. Had those boxers become some fetishistic emblem, redolent with erotic associations from their first meeting? Were they now integral to their sex life?
I’d brought along my binoculars so as to appreciate the full look of horror on their faces. I raised the binoculars to my eyes and was rewarded with the exact reaction I had hoped for. Not only did they both look thoroughly shell-shocked—dazed, bleary-eyed and wincing at each new ear-splitting shriek—they also looked decidedly seedy. Rick, with a pained expression, tenderly pressed his fingers against his temple. Perhaps they had revisited Tabou the night before and overindulged on the Bordeaux? If so, they richly deserved to pay this penance.
I lowered the binoculars, wondering if Rick’s famed penis might be in view, but it was modestly concealed within a pair of 2(x)ist briefs. I sighed. I hated the guy but I was still curious about his dick. I trained the binoculars back up just in time to catch Rick turning on Blake and barking at him. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hear what he was saying over the racket but clearly he was very irate, as he began stabbing Blake in the chest with his finger. Then with a flounce of my curtain, Rick turned and disappeared back into the bedroom, leaving Blake craning his face in the direction of the noise, cringing, and looking quite crestfallen and pathetic. Then he half-turned as if listening—Rick must have been berating him from the bed—before suddenly reaching out, closing the French door, and jerking the curtain back across. He was gone too.
Five minutes later, the front door opened and Blake emerged, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. He was so focused on the noise from next door that he didn’t even glance in my direction. Grimacing, he ventured tentatively out onto the footpath, stopped in front of my house, then slowly crept forward to peer inside through the barred security door. A great plume of dust drove him back and he waved his hands frantically in front of his face. When it had dispersed, he approached the door again and tried to open it. Luckily, I’d had the foresight to lock it. He tried calling out to no avail. Then he started digging around in his pocket, and with a start I realised he still had a key. He’d left a set on my bedside table but evidently he had another. At first, I jumped to my feet, planning to rush across the street and pluck the keys from his fingers, but then I thought of something better. I pulled my mobile from my pocket and quickly punched in a message:
St
ephen: I hope u don’t intend 2 trespass
It was only after I’d pressed send that I realised it was pretty unlikely that Blake would even have his mobile with him. I slipped my phone back in my pocket and stepped out into the street to intervene, when I heard Blake’s phone beep. He’d unlocked the security door and was swinging it open, when the message stopped him. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. I quickly retreated and perched myself on Arthur’s garden wall. Blake had evidently retrieved the message as he started peering down the hall, then he went to the window and looked in there, then back to the hall. Finally, he turned to walk out onto the street, probably to check the balcony, when he saw me sitting opposite. He visibly jumped. ‘Oh Stephen,’ he gasped, blushing bright red. ‘I didn’t expect to see you.’
I marched across the street, stopped in front of him and folded my arms. ‘Oh, so we’re allowed to talk to each other now, are we?’
Blake looked flummoxed. ‘What? Oh, yeah, that. Well, I just thought that no contact was best initially. But I suppose … if there are things to discuss, we could always communicate by e-mail.’
‘Why? We live next door to each other, not in different hemispheres.’
‘Um, well, you know. In case things get ugly …’
‘Yes, well admittedly this is a little ugly. You trying to sneak into my house. Thank you, I’ll take those,’ I said plucking the keys from his hand.
Blake blushed and bit his lip. ‘I j-j-just came … to s-s-see what all the noise was,’ he stuttered.
‘My renovations,’ I said brightly. ‘Isn’t it marvellous that they’ve started at long last?’
There was a fresh burst of drilling from inside and Blake shuddered, shaking his head. Finally, he managed to raise a feeble voice of protest. ‘But what are they doing here on a Saturday? And so early?’
‘Builders always work on Saturdays. They’re very industrious. I’m sure you’ll get used to it. After a few months you won’t even notice them.’
Blake did a double take. ‘What do you mean months? Isn’t it supposed to take three weeks?’
‘Oh yes, theoretically but it always takes much longer and you must remember the difficulty Dave had scheduling the work. He has other jobs to juggle but I’m being very accommodating. It wouldn’t surprise me if it dragged on for months and months.’
‘But it’ll drive you mad,’ Blake protested.
‘Oh I’ll manage. Lately, I’ve been coping with a lot worse than a bit of construction,’ I said in a loaded voice.
Blake was lost for words. He started to say something, then stopped, then started again. ‘You’ve planned this on purpose to punish me,’ he accused me.
‘No Blake, we planned this together, when we were together, remember? Though, I have made a few changes to the plans since you last saw them. That garish colour you chose for the bedroom was the first thing to go. What was it called? Exotic nights. I expect I’ll be having so many of those, I won’t need to titillate myself by painting my walls that colour.’
‘You were having exotic nights with your Latin lovers when we were together.’
‘Now Blake, just send me a text message about that, will you? Or perhaps an e-mail? That’s the best way to discuss inflammatory issues. And if the renovations cause you or Rick any problems or inconvenience, just send a text about that too. I’ll be sure to get right back to you.’
‘Well, I’m telling you now. It is causing us problems.’
‘In what way?’ I asked all-concern.
‘It woke us up.’
‘Yes, it is rather loud,’ I conceded. ‘But never mind, I thought of that, and here you are. This should do the trick. Hold out your hand.’
I produced two pairs of earplugs from my pocket, dropped them into his hand, then turned and walked back across the street to retrieve my camera.
‘It’s not just us who’ll be complaining,’ Blake called after me. ‘The entire street will be up in arms about this racket.’
Poor Blake was yet to discover that ‘the entire street’ now knew him as a cock hungry whore who had callously abandoned me for a former exotic dancer whose only asset was a large appendage. Thanks to Eleanor, the neighbours all knew about Blake’s defection and were agog at the ‘goings-on’. They kept trying to waylay me on the street for the inside details. At first I’d avoided them and maintained a prim silence about what had occurred, but then I realised I was letting a golden opportunity pass by. Over the past two weeks, I had blackened Blake’s name up and down the street. Sympathy was now firmly in my camp.
At the same time, I also forewarned my immediate neighbours about the impending renovations. Given what I’d just been through with my trollop of a boyfriend, they were all very understanding. However, to make sure that their good will continued to endure, I also offered a few pertinent bribes. I shouted the neighbours from Number Twelve Friday night out at a swanky city hotel so they could avoid this morning’s disruption. They were delirious with gratitude at my thoughtfulness. I gave Sal, our gardening enthusiast neighbour, all of Blake’s pot plants, and he very nearly hugged me in gratitude. Thankfully, he remembered I was a faggot just in time and refrained, saving us both from a most unwelcome intimacy. Harriet, next to Arthur and Eleanor, worked on Saturdays so wasn’t bothered but I gave her a few bottles from Blake’s wine collection anyway. The three straight boy students who lived next to Harriet were tenants so I didn’t really feel the need to placate them, but then I bumped into Nathan, the cutest of the household, going for a run. He informed me he was in training for the rugby he played on weekends. ‘Actually, I have a book on rugby you might be interested in,’ I said, thinking of Blake’s book of the French rugby team naked.
‘I’m not much of a reader,’ Nathan admitted, jogging on the spot and revealing in the process that he was not much of one for wearing underwear either.
‘This is entirely pictorial,’ I assured him, ‘and sheds a new light on team sports. Pop over some time for a beer and I’ll show you.’
Nathan grinned and agreed, then took off down the street towards Moore Park. I rushed back into my house to masturbate over this delicious new possibility for seduction.
As for Arthur and Eleanor, I gave them Blake’s video player which was obsolete technology to us, but a remarkable bequest to them. I set it up for them and they were absolutely thrilled. I also gave them my collection of old Hollywood musicals. ‘You can play them loudly if the noise gets too much,’ I suggested. ‘Or perhaps you could turn down your hearing aids, or even turn them off altogether.’
Arthur and Eleanor declared me to be a very thoughtful young man.
All in all, I felt I’d taken care of business on the street exceedingly well. No one had come outside or even opened a window to gaze out disapprovingly. I pointed this out to Blake who grew quite wild-eyed at our neighbours’ absence of outrage. ‘They must all be away for the weekend,’ he finally spluttered.
‘All of them? I don’t think that’s very likely. But perhaps they understand that I’ve been through a difficult personal time recently and are extending a bit of neighbourly forbearance’
Blake frowned and was about to protest, when suddenly a new inspiration for aggravation occurred to me and I interrupted him. ‘How’s old Damon?’ I asked. ‘I’ve been meaning to call him. Just because we’ve broken up doesn’t mean I can’t still be friends with him. That would be so childish.’
‘But you never liked each other,’ Blake objected.
‘Oh, I think we have more in common than you might imagine,’ I said mysteriously. ‘I’ll give him a ring.’
‘No, you can’t do that. He’s my friend …’ Blake protested.
‘But I’m all alone,’ I pointed out. ‘You have Rick. I need to re-build my circle of friends and, heaven knows, maybe one day you might find that you need major works on your circle too.’
I left him there, fumbling for a response and began to stroll away down Ridge Street, away from my house, away from Blake and away from
that God-awful racket. As I wandered along, I felt rather sorry to be leaving Ridge Street. It was looking especially charming on this early morning: the robinia trees so green and glossy, the plants in the curb side gardens flourishing, and there was Blake’s miniature lemon tree, sitting out on Sal’s front porch looking perfectly at home. I was quite lost in my ruminations, when someone thumped me on the back and whirled past me in a flash of silky black fabric. The fleeting figure turned around. It was Nathan. ‘Hey mate,’ he called back. ‘Up early.’
‘Yeah,’ I replied, but Nathan had turned and was off again.
I watched his luscious little butt and long lean legs slowly move further and further away from me. Suddenly I felt inspired to run after him, catch up with him and perhaps wrestle him to the ground, which is what they did in rugby I seemed to recall.
Unfortunately, he was far too fast for me. By the time I reached the South Dowling Street corner, Nathan had disappeared from view. I was also panting for breath, so was not inclined to pursue him into the park. But nevertheless, there was something exhilarating about my unexpected canter down Ridge Street. I turned and began to walk home to Kings Cross, briskly, purposefully. I felt pleased with myself. I had taken care of business. I was poised for a fresh start of my own.
Continue to read The Indignities ebook series.
Private Party
(The Indignities Book Two)
By Graeme Aitken
Download from Amazon – Indignities2
You’re invited to a very private party!
It’s an intimate affair, men only, with a dress code of get undressed! And who’s the host? Why, it’s Stephen Spear, who is certainly shaking things up now that he’s suddenly single.