Gordy on WalkaboutChapter 23 Renewal in Sydney
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Gordy On WalkaboutChapter 24: Renewal In Sydney - II free porn video
I pulled my list from my pocket. “While I was with your parents [nodding to Rachel], I tried to put together a list. But it wasn’t very long. In fact, there are only a few relevant items:
return to work
find a place to live (do P&R want the house?)
make friend[s?]?
retire in eighteen months
do something else (entomology; school; write;?)
And what I want to talk about is three or four of those. First, do you two want the house in Pennant Hills?”
“I don’t think so,” said Patrick.
Rachel added: “No. If we move away, it would be a burden; if we stay in Sydney, it’s too far from the CBD.”
“OK, then. Can you two help me?”
“With... ?”
“Finding a new place. I thought perhaps a two-bedroom condo around here.”
“There are at least two for sale near mine,” said Winnie.
“Good benchmark. I can look at size and price.”
Rachel said: “And there’s more.”
“I though Patrick was the nungungi!”
“That doesn’t make me dull.”
“True. Yes. Someone needs to go through the stuff. I don’t think I can. If Sarah were around, I’d ask her. But I don’t know where to turn.”
“I’ll do it. Winnie may help.”
“When I’ve got a place, I want you three to help me decorate it. It may need repainting. Drapes or curtains. Some furniture can be moved. And the books and art. And in under two years, my stuff from the Museum will have to be moved.”
“We can do that,” Patrick said. “But you’re going to have to do a lot yourself. We’ll move the things that are obviously mum’s. But once that’s done, you’ll have to go back there and do things. I’ll go with you. Rachel may. Sarah may be back. Winnie may want to help. [she nodded] But there’s stuff only you can do.”
“True.” The waiter was hovering. “I just want some coffee. You have sweets or liqueur if you wish.” Winnie and Rachel ordered tea, Patrick took coffee.
“I also need to make friends.” Rachel started, but I held up my hand. “Outside of work, the Evanses and the Eyres and you are the only friends I have. I know many people, but I realized that I don’t know how to make friends.”
Winnie looked as though she was really contemplating what I’d said. “And you’ve known me for nearly thirty years.”
“Exactly.”
“OK. Here’s a first thought. Lighten up your wardrobe. Your suits and shirts – at least those I’ve seen since you returned to Sydney – are too sober. Don’t go for a neon-green golf suit, but loosen up a bit.”
“And look at the housing offerings in today’s paper,” added Patrick. “You’re going to need an agent to sell the house.”
I looked at Winnie. “Thanks.”
“I can be a good friend. Better than Charlotte.” I felt myself blush. “I’m nearly 60. That wasn’t what I meant.”
“I’ll bet she did,” said Rachel.
We chatted over our coffee and tea for awhile and I signed the bill. As we got up, Patrick said: “I’ll come here Tuesday around ten. We’ll drive out to the house and fetch more of your clothing. OK?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
In the morning, I breakfasted and went out for a walk. I went to Thomas Pink on Market Street and bought a half-dozen shirts – stripes and checks. I told them to deliver to the Marriott. I then walked around the corner to Ron Bennett on Pitt, where I bought a grey suit and a teal velvet jacket. Again, I told them to deliver. Finally, I stopped at Country Road (also on Pitt) and bought a dozen pairs of striped and polka-dotted socks and half a dozen boxers in various colours and designs. I took those with me.
It wasn’t yet noon, so I phoned my office and told them I was “in town,” not yet back to work, but “willing” to talk to Nadine – and gave my Sat-Phone number. I then went down to the desk and asked whether I might speak to the manager or assistant manager. I saw panic in the clerk’s eyes and assured her that I was not complaining about anything.
A neat older woman asked whether I was waiting. I said “yes” and she asked whether I’d prefer to make my enquiry in the office. I said this was fine. I explained that I had a house in Pennant Hills that was being “renovated” and that I had come here. But I now realized that it would take at least a month and so I was wondering whether there might be a long-stay rate.
“And you are?” I gave her a business card and told her my room number. She asked me to wait a moment and went back into the administrative recesses. She was back quite soon.
“We can accommodate you till the ninth of December, Dr. Hollister. We are fully occupied from then until the ninth of January.”
“What sort of a rate might I get for the six weeks till December?”
“We could accommodate you for a total of $10,000.”
“Including continental breakfast?” I smiled.
“I think that could be subsumed.”
“May I let you know later in the afternoon or tomorrow morning?”
“Not too much later, please.”
“And might I have your card ... you’ve mine.”
With that I went off for a dumpling lunch downstairs at Mr. Wong on Bridge Street. I then walked back on Bridge to the Sydney Museum and north on Phillip to the Justice and Police Museum. I’d seen a poster about an exhibit called “Bushrangers behind Bars” and was curious. It was only open on weekends.
I walked back to the Sydney Museum and went to the desk where a volunteer asked whether I was a member.
“I don’t know. Can you look it up?”
“Usually. But the computer’s down.”
“Perhaps you have reciprocity with other museums?”
“Oh, yes.”
I took out my Australian Museum photo ID. “Will this do?”
“Oh! Oh, dear! Just a minute! Joe! I’ve got a question!”
A man in his thirties appeared. “Yes?”
“Can he get in?”
Joe looked at my card and me. “That’s a decent picture. It says ‘Australian Museum’. Well, we’re certainly Australian. So I guess he’s in. Welcome, sir.”
“I could have paid.”
“I’m sure. But there really should be complete reciprocity among all the museums in Sydney.”
“Write up a proposal and send it to me.” I gave him a card and took back my ID.
“You know, I’ll do that.”
The volunteer seemed to think she was at a tennis match. As I entered, I heard her ask: “Was that OK?”
“Do you see the hordes, dear?” came the response. “When in doubt, let ‘em in.”
I read my way through a show “Sydney Visionaries” [“This display recounts the stories and legacy of ten individuals who through intellect, determination and passion, had a dramatic influence on Sydney’s natural and built environment.”] It was interesting, and I recalled when, as a graduate student, I’d become interested in luring people to museum exhibits. I realized, too, that my boxes of arthropods which I’d taken to SciTech in Perth, were part of that as well.
I thanked the volunteer as I left and walked back to the Marriott. There were parcels in my suite. The message light was blinking. I hung up my coat, sat down and took off my shoes. It was just past sixteen. I picked up the phone.
“You have eleven unheard messages,” the disembodied voice said.
I pushed the button obediently. The first was a ‘thank-you’ from Winnie, the next three were Rachel-Patrick-Rachel; the fifth was from the hotel garage, informing me that my vehicle had been washed, vacuumed and would be available on a half-hour’s notice. That got me nearly halfway, so I stopped. I called my bank and pressed an inordinate number of digits (account, password, etc.) and heard my various account balances. My savings and trust accounts required a live person, but it didn’t matter. I had more dosh than I’d had two months ago.
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