I'm frozen. Not cold, but immobile. I can hear the sounds of morning downstairs. Children clatter in the kitchen and a television shouts cartoons into an empty lounge room. Something akin to fear grips me and holds me pinned to the warm bed. I can't even speak to call out to Lisa who I can hear singing in the ensuite shower. My breath comes in ragged shallow pants and sweat beads on my forehead. I recognise this anxiety attack. It's not the first one I've experienced and most likely will not be the last. Knowing it for what it is does nothing to diminish its debilitation. So, I ride it out; shuddering in cold feverish horror at nothing in particular, just another day to face.
"Okay lover?" Lisa stands naked and towels her face. Tiny drops of water trace lewd lines down her pale skin. I see she's shaved her pussy again, gone is the little landing strip. This seems to penetrate my awareness sufficiently to distract me momentarily from the imagined terror that shakes me.
"Diazepam darling. Can I have my pills please."
"Oh..." She hustles to the medicine cabinet and I watch her arse sway naked away from me wondering how intense terror so encompassing it physically disables me can simultaneously co-exist in space and time with sexual interest. The first surge of blood to my penis tells me that as unlikely as it is, it is possible.
Lisa hands me a little white bottle and a glass of water. "Something bothering you? Is it work? Tonight?" She still believes after all these years that anxiety needs a focus or trigger.
"No, just the terrors. I'll be fine in a moment."
She eyes me suspiciously as she pulls on underwear. "You know, at any point you can choose to change the direction your taking. You don't have to do, go, be, anything. You're in control."
"Sure I am." I swallow down two little pills, "Some people ride the ferris wheel, I got on the roller coaster."
"Would you have it any other way?"
"Not for a moment."
Conversation and tranquilisers seem to have taken the edge off my paroxysms and I commence the daily rites of washing and dressing. The drugs leave me feeling wooden and robotic. Lisa babbles from the bedroom as I shower about babysitters and her own plans for the evening. She is meeting friends for a meal and perhaps some dancing after. "Masquerade... ballroom dancing..." are all I catch over the shower noises then she's silent.
I dress in the grey pin-striped suit she's laid on the bed for me and find the house empty. Children are gone to school and Lisa has left for work. A note on the kitchen table next to a jug of coffee reads, "See you in the morning. Love L"
Susan eyes me suspiciously as I walk past her desk, "Sleep in boss? Traffic?"
"Neither. You have nothing else to do?" I'm annoyed at her for noticing that I'm slightly off centre.
"I'll fetch coffee then, shall I?" Her tone is clipped.
"Office fucking... Never shit where you eat." I tell myself silently and bury myself in an in-tray which threatens avalanche.
"Boss?"
I snap up from the laptop, startled by the voice, "Susan, yes... sorry, I didn't hear you come in."
"I'm off... It's almost six pm. You should probably think about heading off as well."
"Oh... Of course. I..." I rub my eyes, suddenly hungry and aware that I've been glaring at numbers since the moment I walked in the door and snapped at this poor girl. "I'm sorry, Have I missed anything? I got kind of swallowed in things."
"No, I brought you lunch. Did you eat?"
"Oh." I notice the foam container on the corner of my desk. "I..."
"I spoke to you. You nodded... You looked busy."
"Sorry. Thankyou." I wave my hands in exasperation. I have no recollection of her even being in the office. "What else have I missed?"
"Elizabeth left you several emails then called my mobile. She was just confirming arrangements for this evening. I said you were a little distracted but that I'd get you to call her."
"Damn it!" I can smell myself; a stale 'sat in the one spot mustiness' rises from my chair as I stand. "I need to freshen up. What time are we meeting?"
"I have to go freshen up myself Joe." Susan smiles, "I have some plans for the evening... Here." She takes my mobile from the desk and presses numbers into it then hands it back, "I'll let Elizabeth sort you out."
The phone dials as Susan swings narrow hips through the door and I catch myself wondering how the back of her neck would taste as Elizabeth answers, "Oh lovely, I was hoping you'd call."
"Hi. Susan said..."
"Yes, she told me you were in a mood. I hope you'll keep our play date Mr Smith."
"Of course. I had diazepam this morning, it leaves me grumpy and tired."
"Oh, are you ok?"
"Just some anxiety. Too many women in my life."
"Oh, the horror. You probably don't fancy seeing any of them this evening then?"
"Try and stop me."
"That's the spirit. Now," she seems to shift gears and tone mid-sentence, "Listen carefully, since you ignored my emails today you will have to follow some simple instructions. Are you listening?"
"Yes."
"Firstly, take a cab to Elizabeth Street. When you arrive, there is a booking at the coffee shop next to the bar for you. Eat. Eat well. Drink the coffee that they bring you."
"I'm kind of fussy about my coffee..."
"You will do as you are told for now. It's punishment for ignoring me and you need to wake up a little in any case. You have a long night ahead. Have you finished being impertinent?"
"Well, I guess so..."
"Good. When you have eaten, go to the bar have a couple of drinks and relax."
"I should freshen up a little... I may be a little late."
"You may not."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You may not be late. You may not freshen up. You will do what I have told you. Are we clear?"
"Well yes, I suppose."
"Suppose nothing Joe, do as you are told or do not come." The phone clicks and the line goes dead. I stare at it for a good long moment and frowning I stuff it in my pocket in disgust. I hate that I am so equally intrigued and angered. With no avenue of protest, I wad my pride into a seething lump and bury it in my chest. I take my coat from the hook and lock the office and everything I control behind me.
The coffee shop is busy. The waitress is pretty. The food is very welcome. I had no idea I was hungry until I started eating. The blonde girl with pink tips in her fringe smiles at me as I wolf down the spaghetti and slaver over giant hunks of cheesy garlic bread. "A little hungry Joe?"
"Mmph" I nod wondering how she knows my name. A spider web tattoo peeks above her collar and she places a small indelicate looking earthenware mug of something like mud on the small table. I raise an eyebrow and she speaks.
"Cafezhino."
I bring the scalding liquid to my lips and sip sweet strong perfect coffee. The pleasure must spread across my face like the caffeine through my veins as she continues, "Brazilian traditional coffee. Not so trendy as the Italian counterpart the espresso, but I was told you would like it."
"I do. Thankyou. I'll need a card so I can phone orders through in the future or perhaps a pipeline built straight to my office."
"Haha, I've instructions to keep giving you those until you start becoming a smart-arse. I guess we are heading in the right direction." She winks and her hips sway like an anaconda juggling stolen coconuts as she walks briskly away leaving me a fresh cup of my new favourite drug of choice. She's very tall, my height at least and athletic in a sinuous muscled way; coiled tension and slow confidence in a black mini skirt and white blouse.
I sit and sip and stare across the street at the theatre that is costing my investors money and me sleep. It's an otherwise dowdy building to match all the other dowdy buildings in the street. One can't imagine it being a thriving street eighty years ago but there were once six hotels along its short quarter mile length as well as the central theatre and a plethora of small specialty shops. The theatre group wish to revive it somewhat for arts and local productions and have tendered considerable offer for lease through my investors. The benevolent trust, which holds title to the theatre, passed stewardship on to the city pending suitable tenders for use. The city has it currently listed as untenable due to structural faults and blocks my attempts to affect structural improvement at every turn.
A feeling close to 'groovy' fills me as the late afternoon sun splashes playful palettes of gold and red on the flaking façade of the old buildings and the last of the sedatives is hunted from my system. Once this was called "the street paved with gold" but the black and white photographs I've seen from the 1940's don't convey the play of afternoon light on the cobblestones which adds real meaning to the sobriquet. I thought it reflected only the financial importance of Elizabeth Street. Now, I can almost imagine the top-hatted men and evening gowned women strutting along the gold flecked pavers beside the glowing yellow sandstone buildings.
Paralleled by the financial centre of town and the business district, this old accommodation and entertainment street is a sad and almost forgotten part of a busy city that has left it far behind. The Queens Arms Hotel on the corner, now a boutique bar once boasted a hundred rooms on three stories. The theatre once hosted international performers and the first motion picture in the state. This coffee shop was the lower floor of the St Vincent's Hostel, the cities only 'dry' hotel and has been refused a liquor licence ever since on some strange perpetual moral basis known only to the city council.
My interest now though is leaning toward the establishment next door, the small bar wedged between the old pub with no beer and the Palace backpackers hostel. I read her nametag and ask about the bill.
"On the house. Mrs Gaultierre is a generous friend and a wonderful employer. Tell her I mentioned that last part."
