Mo-tivation

For five years Shelley had been living in New York, collecting experiences and becoming someone. Primarily from downtown, between three and nine am.

Destined for a life much larger than the one her mother or her high school friends lived, she pursued fame with purpose. Even though her efforts hadn’t yet amounted to a lead role in a major motion picture or a recording contract, she just knew it was going to happen. By 27, with a trail of bad decisions and debt behind her, it was time to go back to the town she’d escaped. Perhaps ‘best friend to the stars’ would end up being her claim to fame.

Living above a row of shops in a flat she referred to as her apartment (despite the way people looked at her when she did) Shelley fantasised regularly about returning to the city that never slept with its full time clubbing, sniffing, dancing, smoking and dark skinned men who adored her Aussie accent. George Street Bathurst was hardly the east village but Shelley appropriated the latter’s vibe as best she could. She special ordered hip hop, soul and R&B records from the local record store and stayed up late listening to them. She burned candles in glass jars adorned with Our Lady of Guadalupe and Christ’s sacred heart, lighting them with matches from small white cardboard books. On a shelf was a stack of blue and white ‘WE ARE HAPPY TO SERVE YOU’ disposable coffee cups, and suspended above the sink was the distinctive map of New York City’s subway.

Her days were spent on the local university campus; in the library, on the lawn and in the student union bar. It was easy to imagine herself in Greenwich Village while she was surrounded by young people with colourful hair in political t-shirts toting bags. Although she wasn’t enrolled, in between perusing celebrity gossip blogs, Shelley read the university’s books on James Baldwin, Malcolm X and Marcus Garvey; supplemented by prose from Maya Angelou and Toni Morrison.

One evening on her walk home from the uni, Shelley’s attention was caught by a handsome black man driving a van up William Street as he flashed a luminescent smile in response to something said by whoever was sitting in his passenger seat. She was gobsmacked by his effortless gorgeousness. If this man had been in Bathurst before, Shelley would have seen him… he was definitely not a local.

Energised, she turned around and headed back towards the uni, in the same direction as the mysterious van driver. Striding towards the union bar and maybe a potential short or even long term destiny.

Despite searching the car parks thoroughly, the van was nowhere to be found. After an hour or so, Shelley resigned herself to mission abort. Instead of taking her usual route home, she decided to walk down the highway past take-away burger shops and pubs.

At the top of the highway strip was Bathurst’s most upmarket motor inn, and lo and behold, parked silently outside one of its rooms was the van Shelley had been seeking.

Quietly she crept into the carpark and checked the van’s number plate… Queensland. So he wasn’t a new student but a traveller. Satisfied with herself, she filed this information and headed home.

Buoyed by the baritone crooning of Big Daddy Kane, she envisioned leaning into the tall dark handsome tourist. She lit incense, ran a bath and joined Alyson Williams singing the chorus….
“I’m not ashamed…”

Sashaying into the bathroom in her vintage kimono, Shelley stood in front of a mirror. She cleaned her teeth with Darkie toothpaste, treasuring the last tube she had, unwilling to replace it with the new improved politically correct Darlie, and took care of her face with Kiehls skincare. Printed on her shower curtain was the iconic Brooklyn Bridge.

Eager to get into the day, Shelley leapt out of bed and drew the curtains. Just like Bob Marley said it would be, the sun was shining and the sleepy central western settlement offered much more promise than it had previously. Dressing carefully in regulation black, she took time to straighten her hair and apply make up. Equipped with a plan dreamt up in last night’s bath she took to the street.

When she reached the motor inn, Shelley was relieved to find the white minivan hadn’t moved.  From her bag she retrieved a notepad and reread the note she’d written,

Hi, I’ve seen you driving round and I’d love to meet. ######## Sx

Satisfied, she tore it from the book, folded it and tucked it under the driver’s side windscreen wiper. Headphones on, she walked home, vibing to the sound of Brooklyn Funk Essentials.

It had been some hours since Shelley left her note and she was anxious… fussing over details of cleaning her apartment. She’d changed the sheets, put flowers in a vase beside the bed and placed her collection of holy being candles strategically.

Zzzzhhhhhttttt… her mobile phone vibrated. Unknown caller. Swallowing, touching her tummy, Shelley answered it.

“Hello”

“Hi” said a voice with a strong British accent, “you left your number on my car”

“Oh hi” she smiled… “I’m glad you rang”

“It was a surprise to get your note”

“Good surprise I hope”

“Oh definitely”

“What are you doing?”

“I’ve finished work and I’m taking my team bowling… what are you doing?”

“I wondered if you’d like to come over later…”

“Sure. What’s your address?”

Shelley rattled off the details.

“I’ll bring some wine”

“See you then”.

Preened within a smidge of impeccability: perfect eyebrows, perfect lips, carefully scented pulse points, pacing glances at the clock with deep calming breaths and distracted reading of d listed dot com, she made a conscious effort not to panic. Eight o’clock passed… then nine… bing bong… finally… the doorbell chimed. Shelley pressed play on the stereo, checked herself in the mirror, flicked the ceiling light off, rubbed her teeth and opened the door.

Abruptly adjusting the angle of her neck, Shelley tilted down from where she’d expected to focus on the dream man’s face and met him at a little over thirty degrees south. Bearing flowers and a bottle of wine, Mister Mystery was all of five feet.

She smiled at the handsome face, desperately scrambling to gain control of her discombobulation.

“Hi” he said

“Hi… it’s good to meet you”

She offered her hand,

“I’m Shelley”

“Mo”

Shelley opened the door wider and bent to kiss Mo on the cheek. Fuck it, she thought, we’ll have some wine and see what happens.

She flicked the ceiling light on before opening the wine.

“Where are you from?”

“London originally, but I’m living on the Gold Coast. I’m in town with my sales team”

“What are you selling?”

“A cleaning product”

“Oh cool”

Seating herself across from Mo, she handed him a glass and clinked it with hers.

“Yeah, it’s really powerful”

“What is?”

“My product. You can use it in the kitchen, the bathroom, even on driveways…”

“Wow”

Nodding toward the stereo Mo asked “Got any One Direction?”

Shelley paused…

“No… um… no I don’t”

“Never mind”

Silence.

“I can give you a demo if you like”

“Of One Direction?”

“No” laughs “of my product”

“Oh… sure”

“I’ll be right back”

Mo went to his van. Shelley ran to the bedroom and blew out the candles.

“Where would you like me to do it?”

She looked confused.

“The kitchen’s a good starting place” he said, smiling.

“Now when you’re cleaning a kitchen floor, you need to dilute it twenty to one….”

Shelley watched disbelievingly as Mo knelt down. He took a cloth and started cleaning her kitchen floor.

“See… it works a treat”

“Amazing”

Her mind raced, was she really prepared to sleep with this guy for cleaning liquid?

“Mo… I’m sorry, but when we spoke I didn’t realise how late it would be when you finished bowling… I have a really early morning, I’m sorry…”

“Oh no worries” he got up, clearly disappointed… “I can give you a couple a bottles if you like”

Shelley stumbled “Um, sure, that would be great”

Mo put the bottles of cleaning liquid on the kitchen bench.

“Don’t forget to dilute it in the correct proportions”

“I’m so sorry”

“Don’t mention it”, he smiled his sales team leader’s grin.

Shelley followed him to the door and waited while he got in and started his van. She waved, smiling.

Locking the door, she grabbed the open bottle and went to her laptop. Banging keys she typed in web jet dot com.

 

(c) Kelly Chapman 2019