3.  SIMON

by Cliff Stinson

Simon hit the mute button on the steering wheel, silencing the polished tones of his sales guru. The CD was inspirational but now he needed to focus on finding a car park. How unfair that even on a weekend all Docklands parking was metered. It was bad enough to be working on this glorious day, but to pay for the privilege? Not likely! At last he found a spot and parked the Mercedes under the sign marked handicapped.

He gave his hair a quick once-over in the mirror and checked the time on his Rolex. Ten o’clock, right on time; that would not do. Punctuality was a sign of subservience and could cause a client to lose confidence in his abilities as a realtor. A short detour along the waterfront would ensure the correct degree of lateness.  

Ignoring the building intercom he used his realtor’s access card to let himself in, took the lift to the 13th floor, and found the apartment. Beyond the door male and female voices were raised in argument. He paused a moment and, realising he could not make out what was being said, rapped sharply on the door. The voices fell silent and for a while there was no reply. Then just as he was about to knock again the door opened to reveal a woman in her early 30s. She wore a loosely tied flannel dressing gown gaping to reveal an oversized t-shirt. Smudged make-up, bleary eyes and unkempt dark hair caught in the act of escaping from a hair clip told Simon she was not expecting guests this early in the morning.

“Yeah, can I help you?”

“I’m Simon, Simon King.”    

The woman stared as if trying to remember something. Simon smelt stale alcohol on her breath.

“Tom asked me to call by.” Simon pressed his card into the woman’s hand. “Is he in?”  

“Oh, sorry, no he’s uh, out at the moment. I can tell him you called.”

“Who is it, Kate?” A male voice called from within the unit.

Kate turned to follow the voice and seizing his opportunity Simon wriggled past her and strode into the kitchen.

The night before had left most of Kate’s neurons in a state of stupor, but enough were firing to register rage at this intrusion. Following Simon into the kitchen she saw him shaking hands with Tom.

“You must be Tom. I’m Simon, Simon King, REIV, purveyor of prestige properties.”

“Hi Simon, thanks for coming. I guess you’ve met Kate.”

“Yes, she let me in.”

“No, you pushed …” and then Kate stopped. Another cluster of neurons kicked into gear and the look on her face changed from annoyance to puzzlement.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?”