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Authors: Nury Vittachi
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better that way.’
‘Yeah. You can understand them better.’
‘Totally.’
‘Strange, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’
There was another gap and Joyce wondered whether the topic was threatening to run out of steam. She looked for another subject. ‘So what music do you like?’
Jimmy turned to look her squarely in the eye. ‘I hate music. Music reminds me of . . . death.’
Joyce nodded furiously, although she couldn’t see the connection. ‘Oh! Right. I suppose it does, if you look at it that way! I mean they have music at funer —’
‘There was music playing when that guy died last week, you see.’
‘Oh yeah? Anything good?’
‘I thought it was good at the time. You Die 4 Me by The Booger That Ate the World?’
‘Cool.’
‘But ever since the guy died, I haven’t been able to listen to it. It reminds me of death. It’s terrible.’
‘Yeah, I can imagine, it would be.’
‘I mean, I lost my job, I lost my career, and I lost my favourite music. I mean, what else is there? Geez.’
Joyce thought about this. The right answer would be: Your friends. But that would be skirting dangerously close back to the ‘R’ word, which was best avoided. So she decided to take a different tack.
‘You may have lost your job, but you haven’t lost your career. You can get another job, can’t you? There’s loadsa gyms in Sydney, isn’t there?’
He shook his head morosely. ‘Not for me. I’m unemployable. Totally.’
‘Why? It wasn’t your fault. I bet people have died in gyms before. Was the guy very old?’
‘Fifty.’
‘Well that proves it. He just died of old age! Practically everyone dies when they get that old. It’s, it’s, biological. ’
‘That’s what I think. But they keep hinting that I, like, worked him too hard. They were making out that it was my fault. Like I killed him. Old Boa Constrictor said that I was lucky I wasn’t charged with like murder or something.’
‘Who?’
‘My boss. My former boss.’
‘That is so mean! That’s slander and libel. You could sue him.’
‘Yeah. I should.’
‘Yeah. You really should.’
Another pause.
‘Can’t you go and work at some other club or some hotel or something?’
‘Naah,’ Jimmy replied. ‘You see, if one person dies during a training session at a gym, it looks pretty bad for the trainer. But if two people die . . . well, that’s serious business. It makes people think it’s the trainer’s fault.’
‘But only one person died.’
He shook his head and turned to face her. ‘Naah. I worked before at the Millennium Centre Hotel. Some old woman popped it during a training session then, about six months ago. Old de Boer hired me for his club three months ago. And now one of his clients has popped it. It looks like the problem isn’t the old codgers. It’s me. I’m cursed. That’s what it is.’
Joyce realised that these sombre memories were badly derailing the happy, light tone that she desperately needed this first lunch date to have. She determined to steer the conversation back to more cheery waters.
‘So what DVDs do you like?’
‘Dunno. All of them. Tom Cruise.’
‘Me too. I love Tom Cruise.’
Wong trotted up the stairs. Why no elevator? When he arrived at the doorway to the Millennium Health Centre, he saw a set of lift doors to his right and realised that there was an elevator, but it ran up the opposite side of the building. He made a mental note to enter through the east wing of the hotel on his next visit—if there was a next visit.
He was on a mission. On returning to The Players after lunch, Joyce had excitedly related bits of her lunch conversation.
Wong had spotted a business opportunity. The club was part-owned by one of Mr Pun’s board members, so Wong would only get his standard retainer for the two days’ work clearing away invisible repercussions of the man who had exercised himself to death. But if Wegner’s previous workplace, the Millennium Health Centre, had also
‘Yeah. You can understand them better.’
‘Totally.’
‘Strange, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’
There was another gap and Joyce wondered whether the topic was threatening to run out of steam. She looked for another subject. ‘So what music do you like?’
Jimmy turned to look her squarely in the eye. ‘I hate music. Music reminds me of . . . death.’
Joyce nodded furiously, although she couldn’t see the connection. ‘Oh! Right. I suppose it does, if you look at it that way! I mean they have music at funer —’
‘There was music playing when that guy died last week, you see.’
‘Oh yeah? Anything good?’
‘I thought it was good at the time. You Die 4 Me by The Booger That Ate the World?’
‘Cool.’
‘But ever since the guy died, I haven’t been able to listen to it. It reminds me of death. It’s terrible.’
‘Yeah, I can imagine, it would be.’
‘I mean, I lost my job, I lost my career, and I lost my favourite music. I mean, what else is there? Geez.’
Joyce thought about this. The right answer would be: Your friends. But that would be skirting dangerously close back to the ‘R’ word, which was best avoided. So she decided to take a different tack.
‘You may have lost your job, but you haven’t lost your career. You can get another job, can’t you? There’s loadsa gyms in Sydney, isn’t there?’
He shook his head morosely. ‘Not for me. I’m unemployable. Totally.’
‘Why? It wasn’t your fault. I bet people have died in gyms before. Was the guy very old?’
‘Fifty.’
‘Well that proves it. He just died of old age! Practically everyone dies when they get that old. It’s, it’s, biological. ’
‘That’s what I think. But they keep hinting that I, like, worked him too hard. They were making out that it was my fault. Like I killed him. Old Boa Constrictor said that I was lucky I wasn’t charged with like murder or something.’
‘Who?’
‘My boss. My former boss.’
‘That is so mean! That’s slander and libel. You could sue him.’
‘Yeah. I should.’
‘Yeah. You really should.’
Another pause.
‘Can’t you go and work at some other club or some hotel or something?’
‘Naah,’ Jimmy replied. ‘You see, if one person dies during a training session at a gym, it looks pretty bad for the trainer. But if two people die . . . well, that’s serious business. It makes people think it’s the trainer’s fault.’
‘But only one person died.’
He shook his head and turned to face her. ‘Naah. I worked before at the Millennium Centre Hotel. Some old woman popped it during a training session then, about six months ago. Old de Boer hired me for his club three months ago. And now one of his clients has popped it. It looks like the problem isn’t the old codgers. It’s me. I’m cursed. That’s what it is.’
Joyce realised that these sombre memories were badly derailing the happy, light tone that she desperately needed this first lunch date to have. She determined to steer the conversation back to more cheery waters.
‘So what DVDs do you like?’
‘Dunno. All of them. Tom Cruise.’
‘Me too. I love Tom Cruise.’
Wong trotted up the stairs. Why no elevator? When he arrived at the doorway to the Millennium Health Centre, he saw a set of lift doors to his right and realised that there was an elevator, but it ran up the opposite side of the building. He made a mental note to enter through the east wing of the hotel on his next visit—if there was a next visit.
He was on a mission. On returning to The Players after lunch, Joyce had excitedly related bits of her lunch conversation.
Wong had spotted a business opportunity. The club was part-owned by one of Mr Pun’s board members, so Wong would only get his standard retainer for the two days’ work clearing away invisible repercussions of the man who had exercised himself to death. But if Wegner’s previous workplace, the Millennium Health Centre, had also
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