DAMP IN THE MIDDLE
In the previous story I was trapped in the far north of Australia during the 'Wet', a time when it rains in monsoon proportions. After saying my farewells to the Aboriginals on Groote Eylandt, and to the lovely Polynesian girl Rebecca, I was able to make it back to Surfers Paradise in Queensland.
On my return I was advised by the Hotel Corporation they had a new job for me – Manager of a brand new high rise tourist apartment block right in the heart of Surfers Paradise.
So with my wife and two young children we moved into a three floor apartment looking out towards the sea.
The Top of the Mark was centred above a 4 storey shopping mall and car park and had 12 floors of 6 apartments on each floor. Its entry was right in the centre of Orchid Avenue, one of the main tourist centres.
On the 5th floor was about an acre or more of artificial turf. At one end a large pool and Jacuzzi was flanked by a communal B-B-Q area. Behind this were a large games room and a sauna.
5 town houses on each side completed the right angle, with the seaward side ones leading to the main apartment block. It was still in its final stages of preparation when we moved in.
Just before it opened we decided as a family to test out the sauna. As there was no one else in the place we stripped off in our unit and wandered about 150 yards over to the sauna. About 10 minutes later there was an almighty bang on the door which burst open to reveal 3 firemen. They were as astonished as we were to find other people in the building. Evidently a faulty fire alarm had gone off in the car park below, with duplicate alarms going off right through the whole tower.
It took a week to get the place cleaned up, especially the water left by the sprinkler system in the car park that was reserved for guests. There were already guests due to arrive on opening day so we had our work cut out.
In addition each apartment was privately owned by individual or corporate investors and there were about 10 units still unsold.
Realtor licences are handed out like confetti in this town, so we became real estate agents as well. And as I was to find out that not only gave us commission but other benefits as well. When a unit was bought we were commissioned by the owners to furnish it ready for occupancy.
Various agencies also vied for the rights to undertake interior decorating, fit drapes and any other accessories that might be needed, offering us as managers a percentage of the sale.
A major supplier of furnishings for apartments, such as beds, dressing tables, dining tables and chairs, crockery and cutlery etc. allowed us to build up % credits for everything that was bought. That meant we never paid for a thing for our own use like TV's, stereos, Manchester and the like. Our back pockets were also full of spare cash as a result.
It soon became apparent to me that various female buyers also wanted personal attention of the sexual kind while being shown what we had provided in their units. To say I walked around totally knackered most of the time was an understatement.
We had been operating nicely for about 6 months when a general strike of cleaners and house maids left us in a bit of a mess. But one day a nice lady came in and asked if there was any casual work available. She was in her early 50's, nicely dressed and spoke with a European accent.
My wife decided to hire her and between them they got an excellent team of workers together. It was approaching Xmas when Carmella, our now chief housemaid asked if we would like a night out on the next Saturday. Her husband was holding a party for some friends and had said we would be welcome as he would like to meet us.
The party house was on the elite island of Capri, right opposite the main town and part of a major canal development. We were asked to dress up (as against the usual shorts and shirt) as there would be some dignitaries there too.
At the appointed time we got into our old midnight blue Ford Falcon station wagon and motored over the bridge connecting to the island. Our directions were to drive down a private road at one end of the island and someone would meet us and park the car for us.
As we drove along and passed an assortment of flash Bentleys, Ferraris and other expensive toys, I began to get a bit apprehensive. We arrived at a pair of massive wrought iron gates and were stopped by a giant about 9 feet tall. OK, I am exaggerating a bit but he was dressed in an ill fitting suit that almost encompassed his massive body.
"Are you Mr and Mrs Higginbottom?" he asked politely. When we nodded yes he said, "If you would care to disembark here we will park the car for you. Carlos here," pointing to what could have been his twin brother, "will escort you to the front entrance."
So we got out and followed Carlos through the gates to an enormous Spanish type villa of about 5 square miles. Sorry for the exaggeration again, but this place was massive compared to other mansions owned by the rich in this playground of Queensland.
As we reached the door Carmella appeared. Some house maid – she was wearing a dress that must have come from a major fashion house and enough jewels to sink a battleship.
She took my wife's arm and said "Do you mind if I use your first names for introductions?" She always called us Mr or Mrs at the hotel. My wife Helen said "Carmella, this is your house and we would love you to use our first names."
Carmella smiled and said "OK Helen you come with me. Carlos will take Jimmy to meet my husband and some of his friends. He will be away for quite a while – this is almost two parties in one; one part for the males ,and the other for us women."
Carlos motioned for me to follow him along the patio to another wing of this palace, through a door into a long corridor and up to a pair of massive oak doors. By this time I was giving the rear of my underpants a hard time and my sphincter muscle was working overtime. I don't scare easily at any time but it was not the heat that was causing me to sweat.
Carlos knocked and there was an exchange of words from inside in a foreign language and the doors swung open. The room was huge and in the centre rear a large Victorian style desk. Behind it sat a fairly elderly man with greying hair, not only on his head but on the back of his great big crab hands.
"Jeeemy." he said with what I assumed was an Italian accent. "Welcome. I am Luigi, Carmella's husband. Please sit in this nice guest chair. What would you like to drink?"
"Rum and coke thanks." I squeaked. He nodded to another big goon type over by the bar and the drink was in my hands in seconds. Then he dismissed the 'staff' with a wave of his hand.
"I want to thank you and your wife for looking after my wife so well. She has never been happier and that makes me happier too."
With that he handed over a large envelope. "Go ahead – open it, Xmas is a bit early this year." I opened it a fraction to uncover a wad of $100 notes.
As I started to protest that it was entirely unnecessary he put up his hands and said "As you might guess I am very rich and that is because I am the head of the Costa Nostra here. You know what that is?"
I gulped " Is that what we know as the Mafia?"
"Si, we are not gangsters as portrayed by the news media. In this tourist centre we control and prevent mob and gang violence. As you know anyone can walk these streets at any hour without fear. We also carry out legitimate business. In the main hall later on I will introduce you to the Mayor, the Commissioner of Police and others who benefit from our community protection. How does that fit with your previous perception of us?"
