BUILT ON SAND

BUILT ON SAND

“It’s a bloody El Dorado, mate.”

“Yeah, we just have to figure a way to get rid of the Indians.”

“Shouldn’t be hard. They’re all solo Mums, dole bludgers or surfies.”

“Dole-bludging surfies at that.”

“Oh, that’s a bit harsh, mate. Some of them work at McDonalds when the surf’s flat.”

Bob guffawed through a mouthful of wine. “Steady on, mate, you nearly made me spit up a perfectly good pinot.”

Ed plucked a piece of fluff off the right knee of his trousers. He looked up at Bob. “Seriously though, Bob, they’re pond scum and none of them’s got two cents to rub together. We’re looking at probably the last coastal real estate in this country that’s been overlooked. Hippies, greenies and old fart pensioners can’t stand in the way of progress. When the real money moves in, our money, they’ll be squeezed out to some shabby suburb where they can afford the rents.”

Bob poured himself another glass of wine. “Another?”

Ed proffered his glass. “Don’t mind if I do. It’s a nice drop. What is it?”

“It’s local, a ‘98. Lacked body at the time, but it’s cellared well.”

Bob sat down opposite Ed. “You’re right, of course, it’s ripe for the plucking. Everyone’s in a lather. Coastal is the new black, but right now out there it’s just penny ante real estate agents piss-farting about. What’s your plan? I know you, Ed, you wouldn’t come to me before you’d mapped out a direction in your head.”

Ed smiled. “You’re a busy man, I wouldn’t waste your time. I have a concept, but it’s flexible and certainly open to input from you.”

“Dazzle me.”

“Well, we’re not going to get past first base if we don’t get the council on side.”

“That’s where I come in?”

“You are a man of influence, Bob, moving in powerful circles.”

“Ed, save the butter for your toast.”

“In the last local election that old reconstituted Marxist who calls himself the Mayor clung on, but all his leftie mates got swept away. Now we’re looking at councillors who are more favourable to business interests, people who don’t think progress is a four-letter word.”

“So?”

“So we sell them the sizzle. They all know New Eastbourne is a damp squib. The retailers are struggling. You’ve got a big flash library that’s some architect’s wet dream and a bloody long pier full of dole-bludging refugees who can’t speak English. And what else is out there? Diddley squat!”

“That’s where we come in.”

“Exactly! Civic-minded businessmen who want to see New Eastbourne realise its full potential.”

“No one can appreciate the magnificent vista of Perseus Bay from a poky, run-down weatherboard buried behind a walloping great sand dune.”

“Give the man another wine! You read my mind. No wonder this partnership’s unstoppable. We’re the Batman and Robin of real estate development.”

“Steady on, Ed. Who’s Batman?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s the power of the combination.”

“So I’m betting we press the struggling retailers button.”

“Exactly. We create the conditions to flush out the losers and bring in quality people with disposable income.”

“How?”

“We establish a beautiful symbiosis.”

“Ed, you’ve got to stop watching the Discovery Channel. Symbi-what?’

“Two things that need and feed off each other. In our case, retailers and retailees. What do people with wads of spare cash want to spend that cash on?’

“Flash SUVs, home theatre systems, holidays, wine, eating out . . . need I go on?”

“You missed a crucial one: flash homes with all the mod cons, low maintenance and a view that restores their spirits after a hard day of pulling teeth or hostile takeovers or whatever.”

“Which we provide for a healthy profit.”

“Singing from the same songbook, Bob.”

“But where’s the flypaper?”

“Seaside living at its finest.”

“Ed, we’re not talking about St Tropez or even the bloody Gold Coast here. You’ve got maybe two months of beach-going weather if the summer’s not fickle and ten months of prevailing easterly. If it’s not freezing your tits off, at the very least it’s whipping a bit of sand into your latté.”

“Christ, Bob, these big earners don’t have time to go on the beach, they just want to look at the bloody thing!”

Bob smiled wryly. “We make their apartments so cosy they only venture out to spend money.”

“Something like that. They spend money locally and the retailers are happy.”

“I’m picking you haven’t been out there much lately.”

Ed looked sideswiped. “The odd recce. Why do you say that?”

“Well, every time you’ve done these recces, your eyes must have been blind to all but the sparkling vision.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think people with serious money spend much time in two dollar shops or buying herbal remedies.”

“C’mon, Bob, you know money follows money. Lesson one in the entrepreneur’s handbook.”

“True. The apartments hit critical mass and the hipster parasites start crawling out of the woodwork.”

“The polished rimu woodwork at that. Before you know it, it’s wall-to-wall designer clothes, fair trade coffee and Bang and Olufsen stereos.”

“That’s fine and dandy, but where do we lay the smokescreen while we’re whipping up apartment buildings?’

“The foreshore. We convince the council to lay down a lolly scramble there, perhaps some chic art galleries, watersport rentals, cafés, restaurants, a promenade to link it all…”

“Saltwater baths. They’re revamping the ones in Dunedin.”

“Brilliant.”

“And that sad excuse for a mall has got to go.”

“The promenade would make it obsolete. Walk near the sea, fer chrissake, then drive up the main drag spending like a Lotto winner on P.”

Bob stood up, laughing. “This calls for a drink. I’d better break out the Bolly.”

“Definitely. The thought of all that lolly makes me thirsty for Bolly.”

Bob brought over two glasses of champagne and handed one to Ed. Bob raised his glass. “To you, Ed. You’re as ugly as a charwoman’s backside, but you’re as cunning as a shithouse rat.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment from a man whose own mother pretends she’s out when he knocks on her door.”

Bob sat. “Actually, Ed, all jokes aside, I’m glad you came to me. This is a bloody good scheme and I’m definitely interested. It’ll take some hard graft, but it’ll pay big

dividends. Count me in.”

“When I first started to knock the idea together in my head, I thought of going it alone, but I value your expertise and, hell, it’s still big moolah split two ways.”

Bob smiled an insider’s grin. “Now drop your guard a moment, Eddie boy. I imagine your missus was pissin’ in your ear just a wee bit.”

Ed looked sheepish. “Well, I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit she has been on at me to slow down. You know the sort of thing: ‘You’ve worked hard, let’s enjoy the money now. No good being rich if you drop dead from a heart attack’.”

“They don’t understand, do they?”

“It’s not really the money, is it? Although you’ll never hear me bad-mouthing money. It’s the challenge. We’re driven, we’re achievers. It’s the thrill of the kill without the smelly animal furs.”

“Jeez, sometimes I think you missed your calling, Ed. You should have been a poet.”

Ed made a face like he’d swallowed something distasteful. “You know what I mean, ya wanker.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“So how are you placed? I think we really need to get the wheels in motion on this.”

“Absolutely. I’ve got a few subdivisions and lifestyle blocks on the go, but nothing I can’t delegate.”

“Good, good. Well, I don’t have to spell it out for you.”

Bob grinned like a wolf scenting caribou. “Step one.” He took out his cellphone and flicked it open. “George, how’s your schedule looking? You might have to shunt a few ribbon cuttings. I have an urgent civic project I need to discuss with you.”