“Seriously?”
Shannon Le'Vin
Copyright Shannon Le'Vin 2011
Smashwords Edition
“Seriously?”
Chapter 1
Palmerston North, New Zealand, about two and a half hours north of Wellington.
Joyce Franklin hated conflict. She particularly hated confrontations with her tenants, especially when it came to rent arrears. She tried not to show it, but at times like this, she felt vulnerable, being a woman on her own. Her soft nature didn't help, either. Five minutes earlier, she had been pacing up and down in her own apartment lounge, determined to stand firm and not be fobbed off again by Dan Foster. Finally, as psyched up as much as she could be, she knocked on the door of C 2.
When Foster opened the door, a familiar smell wafted out onto the landing. Baby boomer Joyce knew only too well what the aroma was. She'd smoked enough of it herself, in her youth. It was live and let live, as far as she was concerned, regarding what her tenants got up to in the privacy of their own apartments, providing they kept the noise down to a reasonable level, didn't annoy the other tenants, and paid their rent on time. Foster ticked the first two boxes, but was a bit of a nightmare with the third requirement. In all other respects, Foster was a likeable man in his late twenties. Not big on personal hygiene or grooming, he was always civil and generally quiet. As usual, he was only wearing jeans, nothing else.
Before Joyce could say something, Foster said, 'Ah. I've been meaning to come and have a word.'
'About the arrears, I hope?'
'Yeah. I know I owe a couple of weeks...'
'Three. Four by the end of this week.'
He paused to do a quick mental calculation. 'Yeah. You're right, Mrs Franklin. Jees. I didn't realise. The thing is....'
Here it comes, thought Joyce.
'The thing is, I'm owed a fair bit of money myself. I did a bit of business with a mate of mine, and I haven't seen the money, yet.'
Joyce was under no illusions that the 'business' involved the exchanging of marijuana for cash. Again, as long as it was done discreetly, and didn't bring the police into the place, it didn't bother her much.
'Mr Foster. I have bills to pay too, you know? I'm running a business, not a charity. If the arrears aren't settled by this Friday, I really will have to put somebody in here that can pay their rent.'
Foster nodded. 'Understood, Mrs Franklin. I'll go and kick my mate's ass this afternoon.'
'As long as we're clear about this, Mr Foster.'
'I'm onto it, Mrs Franklin. Friday at the latest.'
With that doubtful promise made, Foster went back inside and Joyce returned to her own apartment on the ground floor. She needed a strong cup of tea to calm her nerves. Having to deal with tenants like Foster, tended to ruin her whole day. She took the tea to the table where she had been doing her paperwork. Next to the folders was a silver framed photograph of Simon and Rebecca. It seemed a lifetime ago since she had taken that. It had been taken on Rebecca's eighteenth birthday, just one month before Simon died at the age of forty two, slipping on the ice one foul winter. He never recovered from the head injury. The four years since Simon's death had been lonely, empty ones.
Rebecca had taken a geology degree, and was all over the world in her final year. Whether she would ever return and settle down in New Zealand, was anyone’s guess. Joyce had long gotten used to the idea that Rebecca was gay and would probably never have children, but that was much more acceptable, these days. She had met Rochelle, her girlfriend at the time, on a flying visit before they flew off again, to Cairo. With a life so full and exciting, why on Earth should they settle down?
The apartment had been Simon's idea, really. It had seemed a good one at the time. He had been the accounts manager at a construction company, and had seen the potential in the place, that the company were prepared to pass over. The idea was, to buy the run down ex-council block for a knock-down price because the council was glad to get rid of it, have the work of renovation done at almost cost price by the company, fill it full of tenants, live there themselves for a year and then sell it as a going concern for a reasonable profit. Not a bad idea, had his untimely death not got in the way. Now she was trapped. The rents barely covered the loan repayments and other expenses, and that was if it was fully tenanted and they all paid their rent on time. With the world financial meltdown, she would lose heavily by selling, and that's if she could find a buyer. Having sold their house as a deposit on the block, she would have nowhere to live if she got rid of the place, and no income.
'Nice one, Simon,' she said, holding the picture. 'But that's life, I suppose. I know you would have figured some way out of it.'
Something soft and furry brushed her legs. 'Hello, Tiger. And that's your way of telling me you want feeding again, is it? Well I've news for you, young man. The cupboard is bare. I have to go to the shops. Okay, okay. I need a break, anyway.'
Joyce checked herself in the wall mirror, and applied lipstick. The stress of the last couple of years was beginning to show on her face. She looked closer to fifty, than forty four. When Simon had been alive, she was able to treat herself to regular hair and beauty treatment. Now every day was a bad hair day, it seemed. That and the daily battle of keeping it all together by herself were beginning to tell. At least she had kept her figure, a well padded size twelve, but her blue eyes had lost a little of their normal sparkle. With a little time and a modest investment, she wouldn't look too bad, she thought. She was hardly moving in the circles to meet any worthwhile men, these days, barely able to feed herself and her cat, let alone socialise. As if to bring her out of her malaise, Tiger brushed by her legs and purred.
'Okay. I'm on my way. Stop nagging.'
Chapter 2
Joyce walked to the supermarket, less then a mile away. She didn't have the money to buy much, so she wouldn't be carrying a load of groceries back with her. At least it wasn't raining. She never stinted on Tiger, though. Always the best for him. It had proved false economy trying the cheaper cat foods, as he would wrinkle up his nose at them, and give her such a look she felt guilty trying to fob him off with the budget brands. It wasn't always the same for herself. It was “special” this, “reduced” that. She fed Tiger the minute she got back and gave thought to what to do with the cheap cuts of meat she had bought for herself. She had become quite an expert in making something from practically nothing, but even she had limits, which was why when Maria Carson phoned her that evening and invited her out on the weekend, she panicked a little.
Maria Carson had been a friend forever. From school, into womanhood, being maid of honour at each others weddings, supporting each other through Maria's divorce and Maria being a true friend when Simon had died. But Maria had moved to Wellington, to be an administrator in the Beehive, Parliament House, rubbing shoulders with the politicians of the day and the well heeled famous visitors. It was never beans on toast for Maria. Only the best for her. Joyce wasn't jealous of her friend, just a little envious. Maria had worked hard and deserved to be where she was at. Maria was also sensitive to Joyce's position, well aware of her financial situation. It was Saturday morning when Marie parked her Alpha Romeo sports coupé' next to Joyce's old Mitsubishi Lancer, making the old car even more of an embarrassment.
“Joyce. Wonderful to see you again,” Maria exuded affluence and taste, a devastating combination. Wriggling out of the car, her long and shapely legs, capped off with designer shoes, had Joyce looking down at her own scuffed Hush Puppies. “You haven't changed a bit,” Gushed Maria.
“That's a depressing thought,” said Joyce hugging her friend. Maria smelt the way Joyce thought heaven should smell. “You look bloody gorgeous, as usual.”
“A girl has to work with what she has,” said Maria, taking several bags off the back seat. “My car will be safe here, won't it?”
“As safe as anywhere, I suppose. Come on inside.”
Maria followed Joyce into her apartment, scrubbed from top to bottom before the arrival. It still looked shabby. Joyce had thrown a clean white sheet over one of the armchairs, to protect Maria's clothes from Tiger's cat hair. For the same reason, extra air freshener had been sprayed liberally throughout.
“Coffee?”
“I'd love one,” said Maria, sitting down.
As Joyce went into the kitchen to make the coffee, she knew Maria would be casting her eyes over the apartment lounge, forming her opinions as to her best friend's circumstances. Undoubtedly, she would be spot on. She returned with a tray of coffee in best china cups and a selection of fancy cakes. Maria took the coffee but ignored the treats. Joyce sat on the settee, and Tiger appeared from nowhere, and sat by her side, staring suspiciously at the visitor.
“So,” started Maria. “How's life treating you these days?”
“Not quite as well as you, I suspect.”
It was hard for Joyce to think that Maria was only a few months younger than she was. Her blonde hair sat like a golden mane about her long neck, curling over her shoulders. Her teeth were perfect and were white enough to guide ships into port. The deep green eyes, Joyce knew, were due to the tinted contact lenses. Her figure would be the envy of women a dozen years her junior. The tailor made dark blue two piece, emphasised her trim waist, tapering down at the knees to show off those long legs to best advantage. Maria was beautiful.
“I can't complain. Joyce. Do you have a bed for me here tonight? Only I want to treat us to a girl's night out, and I want somewhere to crash.”
“I have a spare apartment you can have. It's all nice and clean.”
“Thanks. Now then. I don't want you to be offended, but I've brought a few of my old clothes for you to try on. We're about the same size.”
“Maria... “
“Ah, ah. I was only having a clear out to make room for some new stuff. I haven't even worn a couple of things. No arguments. Try them on.”
It was obvious Maria wasn't about to take no for an answer. Joyce was also more than a little intrigued as to the contents of the bags.
“Okay. Anything for a quite life.”
Joyce took the bags to her bedroom, and the caterpillar returned as a beautiful butterfly.
“I'm sorry,” said Maria. “You haven't seen my friend Joyce, have you? Wow, girlfriend. What a transformation.”
Joyce did a double spin. “How could I not look good in an outfit like this?”
The suit was a two piece, black with white trim, tapered in all the right places, the jacket a bolero style, not intended to be fastened. The black patent leather high heels were an inch higher than Joyce would ever have bought for herself, but they made the total effect a work of art. Joyce hadn't felt so good about herself in years.
“There's more in the trunk of the car.”
“Maria!”
“No discussion. You're having them. But...”
“What?”
“We gotta glam you up a bit. We are going on the town, and we are going to be hot!”
In another life, Maria had been a qualified hairdresser. She had also come prepared. From the trunk of her car, she collected the rest of the posh threads and her make up case. Joyce was beginning to see a pattern here, that some forward planning had gone into this. But when she looked in her mirror two hours later, she wasn't about to complain. Her hair was now a vibrant auburn, and her make up was immaculate. Maria had worked her magic and if it had been a high street salon job, there wouldn't have been any change out of two hundred dollars. They called a taxi, because Maria was intending to have a good time.
When they walked into the Majestique, they both turned heads. The fine wining and dining place was top class, and they didn't look out of place. Joyce allowed the more confident Maria to take the lead, and two waiters were practically fighting each other to find them a table. The Maître D' intervened, and the waiters behaved.
“Mesdames. Welcome to the Majestique. My name is Henri', and I am here to ensure your every wish is granted. Maurice will look after you tonight. Enjoy you meal.”
Maria took charge of the menu, and ordered the best of everything.
“Maria,” whispered Joyce. “This lot will cost a bomb.”
“One pays for the best, Joyce.”
And it was the very best. Joyce hadn't tasted anything like it in years. Henri' personally suggested the wine and by the time they were on their second bottle, the women were positively glowing.
Maria said, “Don't look now, but we have a couple of admirers. I said don't look.”
Joyce pretended to study the wine menu, peering over the top of it to the next table. Two men sat together, and it was clear they weren't studying any menu's. They were in their late thirties, well heeled, tanned and toned. Either of them could have modelled boxer shorts in a fashion catalogue.
“They must be looking at you,” said Joyce.
“Only one of them. Up for a bit of fun?”
“Maria!”
Maria got up and made her way towards the ladies wash-room. There was a look so subtle at the two men, but it lit a fuse. Joyce watched them staring at Maria's backside as she crossed the room, the wiggle only slightly exaggerated. While she was out of the room, they turned their attention to Joyce. One of them got up and crossed over to her table.
“Hi. Say. My business partner and I were wondering, if it isn't too presumptuous, would you mind awfully if we joined you two ladies?”
“Well, I'm not sure... oh. My friend's coming back.”
Maria's expression was inscrutable as she returned to her seat.
“Maria, this gentleman was just asking me if we wouldn't mind them joining us.”
Maria made a point of looking the man up and down. He must have ticked all her boxes. “I don't see why not.”
The Maître D' was keeping a watchful but discreet eye on the proceedings, and when a slight nod from the man summoned him, a snap of the fingers was all it took for the tables to be moved together.
“I'm Vincent Andrews, and this is David Prince.”
“Maria and Joyce,” said Maria. She wasn't about to divulge their surnames.
The conversation was light and pleasant. The men were down from Auckland to attend a conference. They were in the fruit import business. Maria told them she was Lawyer, and that Joyce was an important client of hers. Playing along, Joyce let Maria do the talking, trying not to let her face flush as David tried to engage her in small talk. He was, she guessed, about five years younger than she was. His hair was receding slightly, at the temples, and his blue eyes were devouring her. She hadn't been given so much attention since Simon had died. She knew one thing. She was enjoying it. It was almost disappointing, when Maria declared it was time to go, and without saying as much, the men knew she didn't mean the four of them.
“We have some legal stuff to wind up tomorrow, so if you don't mind, we'll be heading home.”
Her tone told them it wasn't up for debate, and she handed Henri her plastic to pay the bill. Joyce said goodnight to the men, with a special smile for David, and they got in a taxi waiting outside.
“You might have let me have the option of seeing David again,” Joyce said.
'He was cute, but not for you. They are both married. You don't want to be getting mixed up in that nonsense.”
“How can you tell?”
“Years of experience. There was a white mark where their wedding rings should be. Plus the fact that Henri' gave me the nod. They're locals who use the place for picking up posh skirt.”
“So all that about fruit and Auckland...”
“Total bullshit. You can do better.”
Joyce didn't see how.
Maria continued, “Besides. I want to talk to you about something.”
“Oh?”
“Something interesting.”
Chapter 3
Joyce had enjoyed her 'glam' night out, but was relieved to get the high heels off.
“Nightcap?” said Maria.
“I've nothing in,” said Joyce.
“I have.” From her bag she took out a bottle of brandy. “This should do the trick. Got a couple of glasses?”
“Kitchen. Top cupboard on the left. I have to put Tiger out for a couple of hours.”
Joyce shooed the cat out of the back door, and went to her bedroom to take off her fine new clothes. She came out in a robe and slippers.
“It's a good job Dave didn't see you like that,” joked Maria, pouring large amounts of liquor into the glasses. “He'd have been put right off.”
“Thanks a bunch. I suppose you wear high heels in bed, do you?”
“If I've a new man in there with me I would. Whatever gets the job done, I reckon. Here. Get this down you.”
Maria sat in the chair with the cover, and Joyce curled up on the settee. “Cheers, Maria. And thanks for a brilliant night.”
“Cheers. Oh, that's good.”
“Okay. Out with it.”
Maria sipped her brandy, looking thoughtfully at her friend. “I'm guessing... no, I know things have been tough for you since Simon died.”
“It's been a bloody nightmare to be honest with you, Maria. I'm trapped in this place. I can't keep this place running for much longer, and I'd make a thumping loss if I sold it. And that's if I could find a mug daft enough to buy it.”
“I figured as much. Is it fully tenanted?”
“I've two rooms empty, including the one you're in.”
“And how much rent do you ask?”
“That depends on the rooms. The cheapest is one twenty a week, the best three are one eighty a week.”
“That's the going rate, I suppose?”
“Pretty much. I could ask more if I could improve them. They all need redecorating again. I don't have the money.”
“So. If you could get between three and four hundred a week for the apartments, would that help?”
Joyce heard the numbers, but it was hard to let them sink in. She got up and poured them both another drink. She sat back down and stared at Maria. “What are you up to, Maria?”
“I've a business proposition for you. It could solve all your problems.”
“I don't understand.”
“In the morning. Clear heads and all that.” Maria got up to go to bed.
“Maria...”
“In the morning, Joyce. Clear heads. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Maria.”
Chapter 4
Joyce didn't like her head. She definitely didn't like her eyes. That much alcohol she wasn't used to. She had squinted through half closed lids for half a second, and that was probably enough exercise for the day. Why were there roadworks going on outside on a Sunday morning? Ah! Not roadworks. That was her head again. She chanced opening one eye to glance at the alarm clock. Nine thirty seven. She would have closed her eyes again and sought sanctuary in the dark recesses of her mind, if not for three things. Tiger licking her face for one, which was his way of demanding food in the morning. Number two was the fact that she had Maria staying with her. And there was something else. Dan Foster's rent. Friday's deadline had been and gone and there was still no sign of the rent.
Joyce heaved herself out of bed and put her robe on. “Come on, Tiger.”
Shuffling her way to the kitchen, she put the kettle on as a priority. Then she opened Tiger's cat food and filled his bowl. She stood at the worktop, leaning on it, her eyes closed and what was left of her brain swirling round like some clapped out washing machine. Then after her first mug of tea she opened the back door for Tiger, and made another mug full. A sense of normality was attempting to return.
As she showered, the stinging hot water blitzing her skin, she smiled and remembered the night before. That was the best night in years. And that a man, albeit one on the make had fancied her, was the cherry on it. Apparently she wasn't quite dead yet. She dressed in her Sunday casual clobber, faded loose fitting jeans and a sweater with a hole in the sleeve. Maria was obviously sleeping it off, so she decided she was in just the mood to face Foster. She hammered on his door. Foster was as usual dressed in his jeans only. The smell of the dope coming from his room was overpowering.
“Jees. Mrs Franklin. 'Mornin' to you.”
She was in no mood for pleasantries. “Mr Foster. I really must insist on your rent today and in full.”
“Ah. Yeah. Jees, Mrs Franklin. I went round for my money from my mate and the bugger has skipped town. I should get it by next Friday at the latest, scouts honour.”
From down the corridor, a door opened, and Maria stepped out. Seeing the altercation, she went back inside, but left the door slightly open.
“That isn't good enough, Mr Foster. I want my money within the hour or you can pack your bags.”
“Hey. I do have rights, you know.”
“People who pay their rent have rights. One hour, Mr Foster.”
“You can't do that. I need more notice than that.”
“I've been giving you notice for weeks. Money or go. Your choice.”
“Now you just look here...”
He was about to protest some more, when Maria left her room and marched right up to them, cell phone in one hand, a leather wallet in the other.
“Having some trouble, Mrs Franklin?”
It surprised Joyce to hear Maria call her Mrs Franklin, but then she caught the wink.
“Mr Foster is just being his usual uncooperative self.”
Maria sniffed the air. Then she pushed Foster hard on the chest and stormed into his apartment, then she put the cell phone to one ear and flashed the I D wallet under Foster's nose.
“Inspector? D S S Jones, here. I need two units here now. Yes. Foster. Thanks.”
“What the hell...?” Foster started.
“Shut it. We've been watching you for weeks. You are going down big time.”
The way the blood drained out of Foster's face was a pleasure to watch.
“You ain't got me yet,” he said. He jammed his bare feet into his boots, threw on his leather jacket, and ran out of the front door.
Joyce was stunned. “What the hell just happened?”
“Vermin removal,” said Maria, pulling open drawers. “Here it is. Must be a kilo of dope here.”
“But you're not a cop.”
“Yeah, but he didn't know that. Fancy a smoke like the good old days?”
Chapter 5
Minutes later, they were in Joyce's lounge, Maria using Foster's gear to roll one enormous joint. It was instantly nineteen eighty five, and they were two nineteen year old kids having a smoke again.
“Simon never approved.”
“He was always a bit straight laced. Nice, but straight,” said Maria, blowing out smoke.
“What just happened back there?”
Maria passed the joint to Joyce and began rolling another one. “I heard and saw what was going on. I thought I'd help out.”
“So the police aren't on their way?”
Maria laughed. “I bloody hope not,” she said, patting the stash of dope. “It was all bullshit to get rid of that cretin.”
“Thanks. I got no chance of getting my rent off him, now.”
“I doubt if you ever did. He's gone. Good riddance.”
“You're probably right. That I D you showed him?”
“My Security pass for the Beehive. It got the job done.”
“It did that, alright. I could have done with the rent money first, though.”
Maria lit up the second joint. “Don't worry about it. Any danger of coffee in this place?”
With great difficulty, Joyce got to her feet and staggered to the kitchen emerging a few minutes later with two coffee's. She sat down and her head seemed to float off her shoulders.
“Wow. Good shit.”
“Not bad.”
“Okay. Out with it.”
“Joyce. I'm telling you this because, next to my old Mom, I trust you more than anyone else in the world.”
“Maria. What the hell have you done?”
Maria chuckled. “Nothing,” then added, “Yet.”
Joyce was almost too stoned to care.
They finished the joints and coffee, then Maria said, “I'm having an affair.”
Joyce almost shrugged. That didn't seem so shocking. “So?”
“He's high up in the government, and... he's married.”
“Bloody hell, Maria. Who is he?”
Maria shook her head. “I'll not tell anybody, not even you. Look. Here's the thing. My lover is well known. In a country this small, he would be. You have no idea how difficult it is for us to find somewhere we can be together. Then a couple of weeks ago, I thought of you and this place. We could rent a room here, and it could be our little love nest.”
“You mean keep it just for you two?”
“We would pay you four hundred a week, every week, whether we use it or not. Does that idea appeal to you?”
Joyce nodded. “I don't have a problem with it.”
“Okay. But I want the best room for that kind of deal. Not the one I was in last night.”
“Mrs Williams is in that one. She's a good tenant. Never a bit of grief.”
“And what rent is she paying?”
“One eighty. Never misses.”
“I'm offering more than double that. It's a no-brainer, Joyce.”
“But if you want to be discreet, what about my other tenants? He'll be seen eventually. It would be inevitable.”
“Not if there are no other tenants.”
“You've lost me again.”
“Okay. I have a lover, right? High up in the government. Do you think he's the only randy MP in the beehive?”
“Probably not. Ah!”
“I hear the sound of dropping pennies,” said Maria with a grin.
“You want to turn this place into a knocking shop for cheating MPs.”
Maria shrugged. “I'm not on about a brothel, Joyce. I know you wouldn't allow that. What I'm on about is a safe place for the MPs to bring their bits on the side where they can relax. Nothing seedy. Well, not really. How many apartments are there?”
“Twelve, excluding mine.”
“Right. So, twelve times an average rent of three hundred dollars a week, comes to three thousand six hundred every week, guaranteed.”
Joyce though that sounded like a very nice figure. “What's in this for you?”
“Here's the deal. All the flats want completely decorating and refurnishing you said.”
“Maria. I haven't the money for that.”
“Let me finish. I'll pay for the first five flats. Do the best ones up first, right? I'll take the best of the best. I'll pay you for doing up the apartments, and some extra for loss of income while they are being renovated. As long as you organise things so it gets done fast. I already have a list of punters wanting to take one. As we start getting the money rolling in, that pays for the rest of the apartments, and then it all snowballs from there. We must have all the old tenants gone before anyone moves into the first few apartments, though. My partner will pay for our apartment, I'll take one thousand dollars cash each week from you as my cut. That only costs you six hundred, because of the rent he'll be paying you. That leaves you with all the apartments fully done up and with a guaranteed income of three thousand dollars each and every week.”
“It all sounds good, Maria. I can't see it costing less than sixty thousand to do all the apartments up, though.”
“So it will take a year and a half to get my investment back. After that, I get a grand a week for the rest of my life. Even over say, twelve years, I would be talking about half a million tax free. Plus I'll have my own private little love nest for me and my lover. What do you say, Joyce?”
“Maria. I say you are a bloody genius. It won't be easy getting long term tenants out in a hurry, though.”
“Ah. I knew you'd say that. Take a look at this.”
From her bag, she took out an official looking document in a plastic sleeve and passed it to Joyce.
“What's this?”
“A copy of the two thousand and four building act and an inspection report. According to that report, this building does not comply with the earthquake standards, and must be evacuated immediately for earthquake proofing.”
“This place most certainly does meet the standards. Simon was scrupulous about things like that.”
“It's just a piece of paper, Joyce. It's a fake. Use it as a last resort to shift any stubborn tenants.”
“We could get in a whole heap of trouble if we got found out.”
“Oh, yeah. In reality, if the building did have problems, you would probably have years in which to fix it. Your tenants don't need to know that. Like I said, the last resort. That is all genuine paperwork. I just filled in the blanks myself. Only use it if you have no other choice.”
Staring at the paper made Joyce nervous. But three thousand dollars a week for life was very tempting.
“Joyce?”
“Okay. I'll do it.”
Chapter 6
On Monday morning, with Maria gone, Joyce had a mission. She sat at her desk, ready to make a plan. Simon's face was staring up at her from the silver plated frame.
“God, Simon. I hope I'm doing the right thing. But what bloody choice do I have?”
Simon's face was as inscrutable as ever. She started with a list of her apartments. Three were now empty, thanks to Foster's hasty retreat. That left nine occupied. Seven were month by month fixed rentals, so that meant she couldn't move them out until the end of the month, by law. That was easy. The other two were periodic rentals, given to two long term tenants for their security and to retain her two best tenants. That was a little more difficult. To end the periodic agreement, forty two days notice in writing had to be given, but only if she was either moving in herself, or sold the apartment, or moving in a family member. None of that fitted the criteria, so it was down to the ninety day rule, which didn't seem unreasonable. A start could be made on the already empty apartments in the meantime.
The so called building inspection report was also in front of her. She had serious misgivings about that, and it was only ever going to be an 'if all else fails' option. In a folder, she already had copies of the formal end of tenancy forms and she filled out those, one for Mrs Williams in C 4, and the other for the gay couple, Peter and Julian. She liked them, as they always kept the place immaculate and paid their rent on time.
She had been awake all night thinking about it. The idea sounded too good to be true, and Simon lived by the motto, if it seems too good to be true, then it probably is. Worst case, she had an empty block with no tenants and therefore no income at all. She was relying entirely on Maria to fill the place with randy cheating MPs, to make it all work. It all came down to how much did she trust her friend to deliver.
She thought back over their friendship of nearly thirty years. She could only recall them ever having one serious fight, and that was over Charlie Tranter. They both had a crush on Charlie, but it was the prettier Maria who landed him. That had been after Joyce had lost her virginity to him in a fumbling romp in the back of his mothers car. Maria soon became bored with his shallow ways, and dumped him within a month. They didn't speak for months over that egotistical boy, then they realised he wasn't worth the time of either of their days. They had been seventeen, for God's sake. After that, they had become inseparable friends. True, with Maria a high flier in Wellington, their paths didn't cross so often, these days. That meant nothing to true friendships.
Maria was always the one with ideas, beauty and brains. Joyce was often in her shadow. But Charlie Tranter aside, she did trust Maria. There was no reason to be setting this project up if she wasn't damn sure it would work. There was one sure test, however. Would Maria put her money where her mouth was to kick things off. Joyce picked up the phone and called Maria's direct phone number. Amazingly, she got straight through.
“Hi, Maria. It's Joyce.”
“Oh, hi. You haven't had second thoughts, have you?”
“No. I'm still keen. The thing is, I have three apartments empty and I could make a start on those. The trouble is...”
“Let me guess. Finance.”
“You're on to it. I'm about to get some tradesmen in to quote but....”
“No worries. You make a start, and then email me the quotes and I'll go through them. We need to make the place nice without going stupid.”
“I agree. I'll make a start and email you tonight. Thanks Maria.”
“Not a problem. I have to go. Joyce, this could be good for both of us. I'll see you later.”
That was all the reassurance Joyce needed. “Sorry, Simon. Don't you look at me in that tone of voice. I'm going to do this.”