The Property Manager: You'll never rent again... by NS Thompson Page A

whole package. Everything I’ve been looking for and I’ve done a lot of soul searching …..questioning my intentions, putting my faith in you through the obstacle course. And do you know what? I still love you.
    You have stumbled morally. We are all human and weak at times. That is our nature. But you must pick yourself up, dust yourself off and say…sorry…to yourself …to that man’s wife….to your family and to me. Not aloud. But just feel it. Mean it.
    You have probably woken up wracked with guilt. Process that. It’s healthy. I am prepared to forgive this transgression and we can move on. I will be a little more cautious and paranoid for a while. I’ll have to keep a much closer eye on you and step in to manipulate situations so that you can avoid dangerous stumbles.
    I should have protected you. I had a gut feeling about that fellow the first time I saw you talking to him in my office. They are quite a bit behind in the rent. I’ll check it on Monday but I’m sure it’s more than the fortnight I need to issue a termination notice. With tribunal hearing etc that will still take six weeks to get them out.
     
    I was going to erase this footage from the computer. I just sat down and forced myself to watch it once more. I could taste bile as I watched you make the first move, leaning forward to kiss him as he spoke to you. It was so brazen and risky. He might have pushed you away and then you would have felt like a foolish slut. But he didn’t. He latched on like a hungry dog. The two of you were like desperate animals, running your lips and tongues all over each others faces.
    It took you all of three minutes to get him into your bedroom.  I don’t think I breathed once through the entire act. You were rabid, Grace. Astride him like the whore of Babylon, literally riding the seven headed beast.
     
    4:25p.m
     
    I didn’t sleep at all. I played that damn thing over and over. It aroused me which I found disgusting. In fact I was so aroused I would have needed to eat a dead wombat to ease the burning. I decided to go to the Park Café for lunch. I couldn’t be bothered preparing anything.  I assumed you’d be leaving the school after your drama class and would have to pass me. I’m surprised I had an appetite at all.
    As soon as I pulled the car into the main street, I realized I should have walked. There were cars everywhere- covering driveways and even up on the grassy area outside the train station.
    I was fairly spaced- out but I knew it was a Saturday morning so it couldn’t be a market day. As I got closer I noticed that there was a general current of well-dressed people flowing toward the Anglican Church. Suddenly it dawned on me that this was the double funeral for the murdered Moorebank waifs.
    Although I wasn’t dressed appropriately I got sucked into the slipstream and ended up at the back of the old, stone church. I stood against the wall, a silent observer, feeling invisible. Out of the blue, Erin Summer walked over to me and said stiffly,
    “I’ll have the rent paid up in a week.”
    I let my eyes roam over the tiny black cocktail dress and in a lazy voice replied,
    “Whatever,” and then added, “You, as usual, look like the town slut. Maybe you and Sandy Moorebank could start a business together.”
    She looked as if I’d punched her in the face and told me I was done for now! I’d gone too far.
    I just smiled sweetly and said – “Blow me.”
    She reeled away and melted into the crowd. I felt good for having crossed the line. I’d never used such an obscene expression. I’d only ever heard it yelled at ME by local punks when I reprimanded them for skateboarding down the footpath outside the Real Estate.
    I guess it’s the R-rated version of “Eat my shorts.”
     
    Finally I saw you. Right down behind the empty front row. I didn’t pick you for a dress circle guest to a Moorebank funeral. You were sitting with Dr. Death and his fiancé, the rather glamorous Jacinta. You