The Unspannable Gulf – a short story by Des Molloy

Jacob Penny, JP to his work colleagues … or underlings as he thought of them … was in high spirits.  Finally, his bright yellow Lamborghini Aventador Roadster had been delivered and he’d already had a whole weekend to play in it.  It was a fulfilment of his dreams.  He all-but hyperventilated whenever he looked at it.  Everything about it delighted his senses.  The colour, the shape, the exquisite detailing, the power, the handling … the brakes … everything. An afternoon session at the Manfield race circuit had confirmed his hopes and expectations, as well as honing his self-proclaimed skills as a driver of fast cars.  The Aventador had been wincingly expensive, but this was what Jacob had desired, and he was a great advocate for making aspirations become realities. The sound alone was worthy of bottling and selling to the ‘great unwashed’.  It was visceral … a word Jacob loved. The twin exhausts threw out more than a sound … they gave forth a statement of intent.  An intent to rip up the tarmac like a dog flicking a mat behind it on a polished floor, when given the nod for a walk. And in the driver’s cockpit?  A sensual sensation … almost erotic … surrounded and enveloped the honoured!

The tedium of a visit to the company lawyers interrupted his joyful motoring interlude, but ‘needs must’ he mused ¬… ‘a management-heavy property development company needs clear guidance from above and rigid contractual administration. You want to play in my game, you play with my rules!’  Jacob was creating a new ‘suite’ of contracts and this would mean closely liaising with Ivory, Billingham & Watson, while they developed the documents line-by-line. Dull work that needed to be done. Annoyingly for him, IBW had recently relocated out to the suburbs, not Jacob’s natural environment.  He was an inner city-boy, recognised and feted.  He’d taken his dad Kaleb Penny’s stolid residential development company and in six short years had transformed it into a multi-million-dollar commercial giant of the sector.  Kaleb and his wife Eliza had land-banked a substantial acreage on the fringe of the Western suburbs using the collateral from building ‘spec’ houses.  Over a 45-year-period they had attained an unrivalled portfolio of development-ready sections, always looking ahead, and never taking risks or getting ‘beyond the headlights’.  Sadly, he died from a heart attack just short of his 65th birthday.  

Whether he would have approved of Jacob’s overhaul of the company’s ethos and core business, was doubtful.  Some would say that Jacob had been lucky swapping 98 residential sections from the fringes, for a small downtown block just at the right time.  A change of government saw a desperate need for a centralised mega-ministry.  Controversially, a heritage hotel and eight shops dating from the 19th century were all demolished and a 23-storey office tower with a footprint taking up the whole block was built.  The return on this was in the tens of millions of dollars, which gave Jacob the leg-up into the major league.  Two more big-player developments followed, a hotel and conference facility for an international chain, and 12-storey car park building.  Jacob had a lot of ‘balls in the air’ but seemingly thrived on the challenge of keeping them there. ‘I’m on top of my game!’ he espoused.  Unlike his mum and dad, he also loved displaying the trappings of his success.  His harbourside apartment had been featured in two glossy magazines. Eliza Jacob shrank from her son’s open display of wealth, reminding him of Bette Midler words ‘The worst part of success is trying to find someone who is happy for you.’

Finishing an interminable three-hour session with IBW, Jacob looked up and down Knox St for a suitable café.  Very much a down-at-heel suburban side-street presented itself, with a couple of boarded-up shops and just one eatery in sight.  The Magenta Tea Rooms didn’t look very magenta to him and the pedant in him felt that Tea Rooms should be one word, and there looked to be only one room … but beggars couldn’t be choosers.  The tea rooms nomenclature reminded him of childhood family road trips, so it was with interest that he headed towards the faded pinkish façade.  Giving cheer to the action was the sight of a lovely-looking young woman quickly coming to a halt on her tatty bicycle immediately outside the Magenta.  She fastened it to a pole and started to disappear inside, hesitating to hold the door open.  He quickened his step and took it from her, giving he hoped, his best smile.  She reciprocated, with her smile seeming to beam from her entire visage, eyes included … in fact especially her eyes.  In an instant, he was smitten.  This was who was missing in his life.

The Magenta was as faded on the inside as the exterior presented, yet somehow it exuded a homeliness that welcomed.

‘Sorry Auntie, late again!’

‘I’ll dock you a pikelet … as always’ laughed the older woman behind the till. ‘You take over here, and I’ll go back to Sioux in the kitchen.  She’s struggling a bit with the Cornish Pasties!  They need shaping … and she just hasn’t got it.  She’s been making things that look like the island in Island Bay.’

This new object of Jacob’s desire had grabbed an apron and was now addressing him, ‘Take a seat sir, and we’ll be with you in a moment.’  Clearly she was lovely. ‘Just like Goldilocks … not too tall, not too short, not too fat, not too skinny … just right!’ he further added after reflecting ‘not too posh, not too street … just right! … not too brash, not too mousey … absolutely just right!’  He also thought that finally he had stumbled upon someone that he would love to ‘take home to mum’. There was none of the gloss and glitter that always accompanied the young women that he seemed to attract – here was wholesomeness personified.

The next 45 minutes flashed by for Jacob.  He knew he should be back in the office, but this time seemed more important to him. The English Breakfast tea serving was enjoyed and the salad club sandwiches proved to be fresh and wholesome.  He watched and listened … not something that fell naturally to him.  Clearly the owner/manager was ‘Auntie’ to all and Goldilocks’s name was Sandy, and she was pally with the girl that he guessed was from northern England with the odd name Sioux … which he heard spelt out to an elderly customer.  There was banter and inclusive frivolity, the clientele appearing to be local and mostly regulars.  One after the other enquired about Sandy’s studies and Sioux’s love-life.  Jacob longed for a reversal of the questioning but none was forthcoming.

‘Thanks ladies, that was lovely … and I’ll likely see you at the same time next week!’

‘Delighted to have had you here, and we look forward to your return.  It’ll brighten up our Tuesday.’  Auntie had all the chat.

Sandy watched the smartly-dressed Jacob pull open the door and pass from the immediacy of her life, noting that she was not quite sure the unbranded black tee-shirt under a suit jacket was a look she liked or not.  ‘A bit pretentious’, she settled on, glancing across to Sioux who looked up from the sink, and put up a full hand of fingers of her left and three of her right.

‘Mmm … yes, I thought eight as well.  Well-presented and polite, possibly at the top end of eligibility though … shame that I am too busy to even contemplate a skirmish.’

Sandy and Sioux were polar opposites in many ways.  They’d met in the Croatian resort town of Dubrovnic, where they both ended up working for a yacht-hire business as temps.  Sandy was on a cycle-ride adventure after finishing her ‘first’ degree at Uni, whilst Sioux was on a drinking and carousing adventure ‘recovering’ from being given the ‘flick’ by a Scottish ‘git’.  Sioux was boisterous and the company that Sandy needed after a month of solitary riding.  Sandy often recalled the colour and joy that Sioux brought into her life.  Sioux’s expressive disdain towards the ‘monied’ clients was a revelation to the quiet Kiwi girl.  ‘Knob, bell-end, tosser, tosspot!’ were regular descriptors in Sioux’s invective aimed at the wealthy.  Contrarily, Sioux had then sailed off with a chinless wonder … a minor European aristocrat, parting with ‘Love you to bits Sandy Sweatman, I’ll look you up in NZ sometime!  I can only hope that this dalliance doesn’t last, and Conrad quickly tires of his ‘Yorkshire bit of rough’.’

And so it was that four years later, their eyes were following the progress of Jacob up the almost-empty footpath opposite, both enjoying the view. ‘Keep walking, keep walking …’ Sandy urged as she spotted the bright yellow, low-slung sports car.  But no, he didn’t keep walking … he stopped and slid into the driver’s seat.  Moments later a flamboyant U-turn was made, and the flashy symbol of wealth rasped its way back towards town.  The girls looked at each other and Sioux put forth a clenched fist with just her little finger stretched out, pointing down.  She wiggled it with a smirk.  Sandy couldn’t stem the thoughts of bathing her two-year-old nephew and muttered ‘Probably!’

True to his word, Jacob was back at the Magenta on the following Tuesday.  He noted with a little disappointment that Sandy’s welcoming smile didn’t seem to quite reach her eyes the same.  She was polite, but the magic was missing, there was no twinkle.  The tearooms was quiet so he was able to choose a small table near where all the staff action took place.  He was hoping to linger with his laptop open, cadging some wifi, so he could casually engage Sandy in a little discourse, some chit-chat.  He was known for his charm-offensives in business … and in pleasure.  A campaign was a campaign, no matter what the setting?

Sioux was the one to break the silent stand-off.

‘Is that your yellow sports car?  The Lammorini thing?’

‘Sure is … do you like it?’

‘Truthfully … No, it is hideous.  We call it ‘the obscenity’. ‘

‘That’s hardly fair.  Would you like a ride to see if you’d change your mind?’

‘Ha, can you imagine the catcalls?  – ‘Setting the bar pretty low today! … must be his sister!’  And I’d need a bag over my head so no one could see me!’  

Jacob was a little taken back by this forthright opinion, which flew in the face of his own feelings.  A naturally confident person, he had presumed that others would not only be a little in awe, and also more than a little envious.  On the wall in his office he had a framed quotation from Napoleon Bonaparte – Envy is a declaration of inferiority.   He’d always taken this as a positive affirmation of his own superiority and a put-down of the envious. Mentally he was a little angry that Sioux was seeming to take some sort of moral high ground.

‘What about you Sandy … it is Sandy isn’t it?  I’m Jacob, by the way, … would you do me the pleasure of your company for a ride?  It could be after work some time, and I’d treat you to dinner at Ambrosini’s.’  After the slightest of hesitation, and after a glance at Auntie to confirm approval, she responded  ‘Yes, it is Sandy … but no, I must respectfully decline.  Human nature favours the tribal, and unfortunately, we are from different tribes.  As my dad always says – ‘Oil and water don’t mix’.’

’‘I don’t understand!  I am offering to take you out in one of the world’s most desirable cars and Ambrosini’s has just been awarded a Michelin Star.  Surely that has some attraction?  You just have to say ‘Yes!’’

‘I am sorry, but your world is not my world.  Fairy tales of paupers and princes aren’t real’

Auntie then cut in ‘Reading a room is a skill, one I don’t think you have achieved yet, and you probably can’t help that.  You advocate for your car as being desired by many.  Well, if I had a Lotto winning so big that I could have anything I wished for … I think my car would be a Nissan Cube so I could take my dogs to the beach without them ripping up the seats … and I could take my garden waste to the dump.  Sandy, what would be your dream car?’

‘That’s easy.  A Jungle Green four-door Suzuki Jimny with a tow-bar, so I could cart my mountain bike to events, and get to tramping track road-ends.’

‘And mine would be one that you’ve never heard of’ chimed in Sioux. ‘My granddad’s brother came out to New Zealand specifically to be the mechanic assigned to Sir Robertson Stewart’s Gordon Keeble.  It was built in Slough where he lived and he came with the car.  I might not have a license, but if money is no object, that is what I’d have, in dark blue and silver.’

‘So you see not everyone covets a car that costs as much as a cottage in Featherston or strokes one’s ego.  And Ambrosini’s? … the mere fact of having no prices on the menu, and a slogan of ‘If you need to know the price before choosing … you’re in the wrong restaurant’ … that tells us enough to know that it is not a place for us.’  Auntie stood resolute, with her arms folded beneath her not insubstantial bosoms.  ‘Sandy, tell Jacob about Eduardo, then I’d like to tell him about the lad with the red cap!’

‘Last year, a Brazilian student called Eduardo asked me out for a meal.  It was about now, when all us students are stressed out with revision, and time is absolutely limited.  He was impecunious and told me later that he had saved for five weeks to have the funds behind him in case I said yes … which I did … and we had a lovely night at the Hare Krishna Café, which cost him $42 for the pair of us.  I recall the warm feeling I had, knowing that this night out was a big struggle for him, both financially and time-wise.  We both should have had our noses in our study notes.  I felt revered and honoured … I knew there had been anxiety in making the decision to ask me, and there was definitely a financial sacrifice.  I do believe that life needs a bit of hardship … adversity.  Otherwise, how do you know when you have achieved anything?  We had one other date in the Student Union café … then we did our exams and he went home … end of the story.  But his actions left me happy.  Now, I sense that you could take me to Raffles in Singapore, or Aggie Greys in Apia, with less sacrifice than Eduardo made for me … but I would possibly feel that I was just being lined up to be another ‘notch on your belt’, as there would have been no hardship to get me there.’

Jacob immediately started to remonstrate and refute his motives.  Auntie put up her hand and continued … ‘Sandy is the best asset of The Magenta.  Customers, young and old love her.  If they come in wearing a Greenpeace or Sea Shepherd tee-shirt, they’ll get her full beam … and they are mine forever.  A Hurricanes’ top might even get them a hug.  Although she only works Monday, Tuesday and Friday … every day the hopeful come in looking for that smile.  You’re not alone.

About two months ago a pleasant-enough young lad came in for morning tea.  He was polite and on-the-surface, charming … but he wore a red MAGA cap.  Sandy was polite on my behalf, but clearly her ‘beam’ was only on dip, in fact probably not much more than the parking light was showing – justifiably so.  Now the point is, we couldn’t unsee the red cap.  No explanations were needed, to know this lad.  He could have come in the next day without the cap … but it would be too late.  We’d seen his soul, and that can’t be changed.  We know what he stands for.  Similarly, you could turn up tomorrow in a Toyota Prius hybrid … but it is too late … we’ve seen the yellow obscenity.  You’ve shown your values.’

‘I’m sorry Jacob, but the gulf between our tribes is too big … it is unspannable.’

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‘The Obscenity’ – Lamborghini Aventador Roadster

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Nissan Cube

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Suzuki Jimny

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Gordon Keeble

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