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The Key

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Old 10-20-2015, 06:25 PM
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The Key
(c) Pete Malicki 2015

Note: there's a fair bit of Australiana in this one. Deal wid it yo.
Note: strong language warning.


I have the biggest surprise lined up for Amy. She is going to go hysterical. I mean she will have no idea this is coming and it’s going to blow her mind.

There are a few minor challenges setting it up but everyone knows I don’t shy away from one of those. First is I don’t have a key to her place. She’s been my girl for what – ten months? – but she hasn’t given me “the key” yet. That’s going to change quick smart when she realises how devoted I am to her. I am more serious than a brain haemorrhage when it comes to Amy Nelson.

That’s why I’m masquerading as a painter standing up the top of the world’s shakiest ladder. Not because I’m trying to rob her. Nuh uh. I need to slip inside her second storey window without the nosy bloody neighbours calling the cops. As an added bonus she gets a free upgrade from puce to bone on her window frames. Not part of the surprise but she’ll be grateful if she ever looks up from the car park.

You know what? No one’s looking so I’m going to slip inside. She shuts but never locks this window. “No one can get in, Jonny. It’s way too high,” she says.

There we go. Access not denied. Boom!

Ah shit, I got paint on the venetians. They’re this really nice shade of avocado. She’s going to come in and the first thing she sees’ll be bone paint on her avocado venetians. Fuck, this won’t do.

I head through to the bathroom and get some paper towels to wipe ’em clean. Smear it everywhere but it doesn’t come off. Try a bit of water, then Spray and Wipe, then Ajax then Mr Muscle then fucking turps. Venetians are usually PVC or some kind of plastic polymer and they’re meant to clean way easier than this. I scrub all the paint out but I clearly put too much elbow into it ’cause when I was done I’d scrubbed a hole all the way through one of ’em. Jesus, I’m supposed to be surprising Amy, not ruining her décor.

Check the time. I have at least six hours before she comes back. All good, I can multitask. Call Spotlight while I set up in the kitchen. Pull out all the pots and pans I need and raid the spice rack. Amy adores Italian food and she’s going to wet her panties when she tastes my tortellini. “Oh, yeah hi. Do you stock vertical venetians? Great, do you have any avocado in stock? Avocado. Avocado. Not the fruit, you nong. The colour.”

The clown puts me on hold and I get started on the pasta. Bruschetta for starters, tiramisu for dessert. Amy will go wild when she sees this. By the time we get to dessert she’ll be mad keen to eat it right off the washboard.

Alright, fresh tomatoes, expensive gruyere, field mushrooms...

“Yep, I’m here. Okay, I’m after avocado-coloured vertical venetian blinds. Stocking any? Brilliant, can you deliver to the city? Sweet. I need them by two at the latest. Three days? Fuck, that won’t do. Can you send ’em by courier? Don’t care what it costs. Fine, I’ll hold.”

Useless bloody monkeys. Anyways, I spend the next ninety minutes slicing and dicing and garnishing and waiting for the store manager to call me back after I offered three hundred extra bucks for priority delivery. Toppings are ready to go on the bruschetta, pasta is cooked and ready to heat and serve. When the store manager finally gets back to me she says they can’t do it! Unbelievable. I tell her I’ll head out there my-damned-self as soon as I get on top of the tiramisu.

I leave the front door unlocked as I head off. Drive the ute to the nearest Spotlight store. Fuck me with a bendy tyre-iron, they don’t stock avocado blinds here! Have to drive out to Lidcombe. Normally this kind of run-around would make me seriously consider killing a nun but… today is all about Miss Nelson. Ha ha, what kind of a surprise would it be if she gets this call, like, “Amy, Jonny’s in prison. He strangled one of Mother Teresa’s bosom buddies with her own habit”!

Get to the other Spotlight and have a fairly animated discussion with the clerk there who reckons the length and number of slats I need isn’t the standard deal with verticals and I’ll have to get them custom made. We go back and forth a bit until I tell the clerk I’ll stab her repeatedly in the face if she doesn’t get me the damned venetians I want and I decide it’s best I leave before she calls the fuzz. Might have crossed the line a little there, but come the fuck on Spotlight! What’s wrong with these homemaking suckers of dicks?

I go back to Amy’s. I’ll just deny having anything to do with the blinds. Knowing Amy she won’t even notice them for weeks.

I open the door.

I freeze.

Someone’s here. No… some ones. There are noises. Noises that sound an awful lot like a couple of people have broken in to Amy’s place to have sex. In her bed.

Motherfuckers.

These break-and-entering bastards are about to get the biggest shock of their lives. Only I can break into Amy’s place. I go into the kitchen. Knife? Too lethal. Frying pan? Still too hectic. Ooh, chili powder! That’ll show them. Get a big handful of this up the clacker and you’ll be squirming for weeks.

I turn around and all of a sudden I’m standing face to face with some naked fella. He’s just staring at me, mouth open like a fish who just found out its mother was a lesbian. I tell you, this dopey face and his semi-erect cock make him look spectacularly stupid. It’s probably the only reason I don’t break his neck on the spot.

“So I’m guessing you’re Amy’s boyfriend then.” He says it all rhetorical-like.

“Who’s in the bedroom?” I ask.

Then the penny drops. He wouldn’t be asking what my relationship to Amy is if the cunt hadn’t just been fucking her. He opens his mouth to reply and I cut him off with, “Get out.”

“But my clothes are...”

“Do you want your clothes or do you want your cock attached to your body?”

He gets the point and fucks off out of the apartment quick smart. I’m so fucking livid I could murder a puppy; I could strangle that nun for real. How could Amy even…? I mean, on the day I cooked a three-course meal for her!

Then Amy comes out of her bedroom, naked. She freezes when she sees me. We stare at each other for a long moment.

“You cheating little slapper.”

“Who are you?” she says.

“Who am I? Who was he?”

“You’re in my place, pal. You don’t get to ask the questions. Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Jonny.”

She stares at me. “Well, Jonny, I suggest you get a head start on the police.”

Did she really just threaten that? “Look Amy, I don’t care who that guy was. Sure, if he comes here again I’ll seriously break every bone in his body in alphabetical order, but I’ve spent the day making you an amazing three course Italian feast. We should forget about all this and just enjoy it. But I need another fifteen with the tiramisu…”

Out of bloody nowhere, Amy charges across the room and slugs me in the mouth. I drop like a sack. She screams and punches me and screams and kicks me and it’s just a messy fucking blur of noise and violence. I only catch odd words – words like “stalker” and “psycho”; the phrase “how do you know my name?” seems to come up a fair bit.

She lays off and I collapse against the wall near the kitchen door, my arse thoroughly kicked. I wipe my eyes so I can see again but they’re full of blood two seconds later. Before I can even catch my breath, Amy’s kneeling beside me, pressing a teatowel against my bleeding nog. Her naked breast is inches away from my face.

“How about you don’t tell anyone I busted your face and I won’t tell anyone you broke into my place?”

I nod.

“You’re a royal fucking creep, you know that?”

I nod again.

“Do you promise you’ll stop stalking me? I mean, God save you if you even think about breaking into my…”

I put a hand on Amy’s arm. She looks me right in the eyes, furious but also… impressed? “I ruined your venetians. Let me pay for them.”

She scowls. Damn it makes her look sexy. “Fine. Leave cash in my letterbox but don’t come near this place again after.”

I nod. Amy disappears for a bit and comes back fully dressed. She wraps a bandage around my head then helps me up and opens the front door.

“Fuck off now, Jonny.”

I look right at her. Amy Nelson. My dream girl. Glowering at me like I’m some pervert who wants to fiddle with her nephew. I reach into my pants and take out my business card. “Enjoy the dinner, hey?”

She shoves me out the door and slams it right in my face. But she takes the card.

Few days later, I get the right-sized avocado venetians and ship them to her place. She doesn’t call to thank me. I find my card in her garbage three days later.

I... hmm.

Hmm, maybe she doesn’t like Italian food as much as I thought. Monitor her outgoings for a couple of months and it turns out she eats a lot of Mexican food.

Well, thank God for that. It wasn’t me after all – it was my poor choice of recipes. I look up how to cook with chillies and beans.

Amy’s going to fucking adore my nachos.

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  #2  
Old 10-21-2015, 02:12 PM
BluebellCharm (Offline)
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Hi Pete

I liked this. It made me laugh in parts and I enjoyed some of your humorous similes.

I'm no where near experienced enough to give a valuable critique however there are a couple of bits I could point out if I may?

You mention that Amy would notice the bone paint on the avocado venetian as soon as she walks in, however later you contradict this when you say 'Knowing Amy she won’t even notice them for weeks'.

Also, how would he know these sorts of details about her, if he is indeed only a stalker that I presume would observe from afar?

The other thing that didn't sit quite right was, it is made out she doesn't know who this man in her flat is as she asks "Who are you?" but then she asks if he'll stop stalking her.
It just kind of occurred to me that if you ask someone to stop stalking you, you maybe already know they are stalking you? If that makes sense? Otherwise they would just be seen as some psycho intruder, wouldn't they?

I might be wrong there but they are just the initial things that seemed to leap out when I read it.

Overall though, I liked this.
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Old 10-23-2015, 04:03 AM
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Hi BluebellCharm,

Thanks so much for the feedback. That's helpful indeed. Hadn't noticed the inconsistency with Amy's observational skills.

His remarks about Amy are as much founded in delusion as they are a result of him stalking and genuinely uncovering data about her.

Amy figures out he's stalking her because he's a stranger but knows her name and is making her - and very intentionally her - a meal.

Thanks again. I appreciate it. I've made a few adjustments as a result of your feedback

Cheers,
Pete
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Old 10-29-2015, 06:04 PM
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This is quite entertaining. The ending caught me off guard. quite enjoyable to read. I hope you continue making works of this nature.
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Old 10-29-2015, 06:54 PM
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Hi Pete,

Loved the story - but was confused when Amy referred to Jonny by name, rather than "the creep" she had just accused him of being. Did he tell her his name and she decide to take it on board?

Anyway, there is a skill here I would dearly love to possess - you write in a way that makes me want to read on and know what the hell is going to happen next. Loved it.

On Amy's apparently flawed observational skills:
I saw the inconsistency in Amy's observational skills more an extension of Jonny's psychopathy. He is the one that reckons that Amy will notice the blinds. He is also the one that dismisses Amy's ability to discern the change in blinds.

Just my tupoence.
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Old 10-30-2015, 05:16 AM
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G'day Risk and davevito.

Thanks for the feedback and kind words. I'm glad you enjoyed the read. Like a lot of what I write these days, this is actually a performable one-person monologue. It's been performed a few times already.

My other monologues (more or less short stories) are all readable here: www.monologues.com.au if you're keen to check 'em out.

Risk, it's nothing but practice. Read a lot, write a lot.


Cheers
Pete
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