Open Writing

'Good morning Mister Kirk! Hope you slept well,' said the cheery duty policeman signing him out, 'You're free to leave. Hope you weren't too inconvenienced by your night in jail.'

The previous night Sean Kirk had glimpsed his reflection, decked out in sartorial splendour, in the glass doors on entering the Alexandrina. Prices were massively inflated in this ritzy new restaurant, because this was the place to be, for those who wanted to see and be seen. Here glitterati, spivs and their ilk spent money they didn't have, on things they didn't need, to impress people they probably didn't even like, often working to some ulterior secret agenda. This was the world in which some people moved. Sean expected the night's entertainment to cost him a pretty penny, but believed that the investment would be worth every cent.

He eagerly anticipated this crucial evening that would be the culmination of his retail career. He had been head-hunted for an executive position in Emporium, the largest department store in the country. Inviting Don Janssen, the managing director of Emporium and his entourage to dine as his guests at the Alexandrina was a brilliant idea. This was the one opportunity he had, to make a good first impression.

Sean ordered the Alexandrina's finest wines to complement each exquisite dish. After having the dry chardonnay with the poached fish and sturgeon caviar as an entrée, he asked: 'Do you suggest a shiraz, or a hermitage with your Chateaubriand steak, Mr Janssen?'

'They are the same grape,' Don responded 'of course you mean which maker, don't you?'

A nervous laugh escaped Sean's throat as he nodded hoping that his faux pas wouldn't be noticed. It was, but it was unlikely to be consequential and such transgressions were easily dimmed and forgotten in the haze of alcohol and repartee. The wine and conversation continued to flow freely. The courses melded and blended into one another as did the topics of conversation. Soon the desserts appeared followed by port, botrytis, coffee and cigars. Sean selected a Montecristo while Don chose a fine Cohiba.

'I really like the way you think and what a banquet you've organized Sean,' said Don, 'we should have hired you years ago!'

While the wit and wine continued to complement each other, Sean started to feel like an integral part of this happy corporate family. It had been a perfect evening until now.

Reaching for his absent wallet, Sean's senses were suddenly assaulted by horror. The stark realization hit him like a well-aimed punch. He immediately concluded that his wallet was in the car. It could have slipped out of his pocket and between the seats! It must have! There was no other explanation. Concealing his panic he calmly excused himself, ostensibly to visit the gentlemen's room.

Leaving his guests in limbo and his jacket hanging on the back of his chair, he hurried down to the car park consumed by dread and anxiety. Elation engulfed him on locating his late model Mercedes, only to be drowned in desperation when he couldn't find his keys. 'What the hell!' thought a flustered Sean. In despair he smashed the driver's side window with a rock. Lacerating his clothes, he crawled through the broken window unsuccessfully searching for his wallet in the interior of his car.

'Come back out slowly with your hands in the air,' a baritone called from behind him. Extracting his bloodied torso through the broken window Sean deduced that the voice belonged to the policeman who was frisking him.

'But this is my car,' he protested, turning to face the three more burly policemen.

'Got any ID then, mate?' Growled a policeman

'Not on me,' said Sean, wishing all his ID was not in his missing wallet.

'Then shut up if you know what's good for you.'

Sean protested again to no avail as his hands were pulled tightly behind his back and handcuffed. Moments later he was unceremoniously tossed into the back of the black maria for a short but uncomfortable journey to the watch-house. During the ride Sean contemplated the slow disintegration of his prestigious career.

He pictured the reception the considerable bill for the night, together with his own unexplained absence, would receive back at the Alexandrina. Despite his greatest efforts to banish this thought, it came back to haunt him, time and again, like a recurring nightmare.

'Aargh!' he said to himself, 'for a while it had been a damn fine evening indeed!'

© Gehan Wijesinha

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Gehan writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au