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Freeing Kirsty

By: Egmont Grigor



NOTE: For the month of October my wife and I exchanged our home in New Zealand with a couple living on Long Island, New York. This tale arose from that visit; I scribbled down the opening when sitting in the art gallery herein named. Enjoy. – Author.

* 

An autumn chill in the breeze under overcast skies persuaded Merrick to choose an indoor activity on his second day in New York. Unaware he was deciding his fate for years hence he decided to visit a gallery. 

Checking his notebook in the closing minutes of his train trip in from Bellmore on Long Island, Merrick turned up a recommendation from a business associate back in Auckland: "Frick Collection for Old Masters and glorious Garden Court – worth lingering."

Normally one doesn't expect a romantic interlude in real time to arise from a viewing of a private collector's magnificent 40-year collection of 14th to 19th century art. Certainly nothing was further from Merrick's mind at his introduction to the work of the French rococo painter Boucher and Veronese and a reintroduction to the enduring artistry of El Greco, Goya, Gainsborough and Rembrandt from his travels to the Old World. Indeed, in the South Hall where he was lost in his own little world of visual concentration on a work by Vermeer - a 17th century Dutch master whom he was familiar only through the film, 'Girl with a Pearl Earring' - he stepped back to lengthen the perspective and so began an extraordinary adventure.

"Ouch!" yelped the victim of the heel of his new leather boot as it met resistance.

Good God, I've stepped on someone, Merrick rued. But it was worse than that.

The thrust of his tan cowboy boot anchored to a 168-pound frame had hit and slid down the leg of a woman standing behind him, tearing her stocking and gouging before being deflected by her ankle to thump on the hard-surfaced floor.

The woman reached out for support.

Merrick grasped that outstretched hand and swung his left-hand around her waist as she fell. Gently he lowered her to a sitting position.

In and instant he'd pulled out his handkerchief - fortunately a folded and unused one - and dabbed away the blood before the first of two gallery attendants arrived at a run. He still had not offered an apology.

"Go," hissed the woman. "Go!"

The urgency in the victim's voice persuaded the foreigner to slip through the small gathering of people. He'd assumed she wanted him to vanish for good reason, whatever that was. Aware that Americans litigate at the drop of a hat, he assumed that the woman was generously removing him from that expensive equation.

Thereafter Merrick was unable to concentrate on the paintings and other artwork, so sat in the garden court with its marble floor, fountain and pools – an area that originally had been a drive-in for horse-drawn carriages.

The woman: was there some deeper reason for her hurrying him away? The incident and minor injury in the hands of a good attorney could have been worth $20,000 probably very much more to her. 

Who was she?

Scrunching his face, Merrick tried to reconstruct her appearance: Blonde hair - short blonde hair, exquisite sunglasses probably Italian, very red lips, a black-knit poncho over her shoulders and beneath that a red - possibly a red-patterned shirt, a short black skirt and a black stockings now one torn - Merrick was very sure about that – though he remembered seeing only one leg, a rather shapely leg encased on a black shoe with a silver buckle. Presumably it was one of a pair.

A spy, or a more likely an under-cover cop? That would explain why she'd shooed him away. 

What was her name? She looked like a Susan or perhaps a Marlene.

Bullshit!

He had no idea whether she was white, brown, hazel or yellow or was pretty or a hag. Wait a minute - she was pretty. Although the face was twisted in pain the lips were full and the skin appeared unblemished.

Ah-ha, Merrick thought. He knew virtually everything about this woman but her name. Then his head sunk as he realised he was bending the truth again.

Was she fat, thin or middling? He had no idea. 

Her age would be? 

Was she right or left handed? 

Presumably when she hissed 'Go!' that meant English was her first language unless she was smart enough to recognise him as English-speaking by his sympathetic appearance, thus switching from Egyptian, Spanish, Russian or Mandarin to bid him in English to depart pronto.

This full-on and flawed speculation about this unknown woman left Merrick feeling a little aggrieved. In forty-nine hours in New York she'd been the only person with whom he'd been in contact who had not been a taxi driver, hotel clerk, bellboy, room maid, waitress or store assistant and he'd let the chance of meaningful contact with a bone-fide New Yorker - assuming she was one - slip away without her conversation in shorthand drawing a reply from him.

Merrick Jamieson chastised himself: what absolute crap you let run through your mind at times. Encounters of the meaningful kind don't happen to the likes of you in a place as impersonal as New York.

At that a curly-haired tot clutching a doll came up to Merrick and said shyly, "Hullo. I'm Kate."

Frantically Merrick tried to form a suitable reply but before he could utter that response the mom pulled the child away, glaring at Merrick.

"It's not your day for memorable encounters with the opposite sex, is it?"

Huh?

The seated Merrick turned slightly to his left and looked straight into a midriff covered partly by a red patterned shirt and black skirt over a flat belly. He knew it was ungentlemanly to make such an assessment, but there it was. Up went his gaze climbing over a well formed bust, over a strong chin line devoid of hanging flab and across red lips showing a slash of teeth. By now he realized this woman was the victim of his cowboy boot.

The face was tanned, the blonde hair was cut short with curly ends and the eyes viewed from his low vantage point were smiling in tune with the lips but their colouring remained uncertain him. Merrick, being a photographer, placed great importance on the shape, colour and expression of a person's eyes at any given moment.

He jumped to his feet.

Christ, she was as tall as he was - six-one!

"Oh, how wonderful to see you again, giving me the chance to apologize. I was such a clumsy fool to step back without looking.

"I was ..."

"Hush. A simple apology is quite sufficient. Thank you for that I just wanted to say thank you for catching me. I could have had a nasty fall. Would you have coffee with me?"

"Yes, yes. I welcome that. I am very new in New York and was hoping to converse with locals."

"You have rather a dramatic way of effecting introductions."

"Oh no, I ..."

Merrick was stopped by the stunning smile below trendy sun glasses. God, she was absolutely beautiful! 

Aware of her intent gaze he refrained from checking out her body but already the signals were that it was A-OK. How on earth had he managed to get a Dream Girl as his first real social contact in a city the size of New York? He refrained from mouthing a one-line prayer of thanks.

"Well, I shall lead the way but before doing so we introduce ourselves. I'm Kirsty, Kirsty Fallon."

"Hello, Kirsty. I am Merrick Jamieson. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"My word, how gallant you are. Are you English?"

"No."

"Australian?"

"No, but very close."

"My God, a New Zealander! I've always wanted to meet a New Zealander. My parents were stationed there for two years - daddy was in oil. I have this interest because my mother believed that I was conceived in your city of Wellington during their last two weeks of every-night-a-party or a formal dinner before they left your country. She recalls daddy was the randiest he'd ever been."

"How remarkable; so had your father's appointment been for a further year you would have been born a Kiwi?"

"Excuse me?"

"Born a New Zealander - we call ourselves Kiwis after the name of our unique native bird."

"Oh, really? Well, I guess instead I became a Bald Eagle?"

They both laughed, and the warmth of Merrick's laughter and the openness of his face - as Kirsty would tell him later - was the reason why as they came out of the Frick Mansion on East 70th Street, that she hailed a taxi. The intention had been to walk to a pleasant location for coffee. Instead they went to an address in East 102 Street.

"We shall go to where I live to have that coffee - I do not feel my usual immaculate self walking along sidewalks with a damaged stocking and tape over my wound."

"That I can understand," Merrick said, sucking in breath to avoid an apologetic replay. He turned to her, confident that his sympathetic smile would not be wasted.

At that Kirsty revealed a curiosity.

"Do you have a family connection with New York?"

"Yes. Is that a perceptive question or a shot in the dark or simply making conversation?"

"Oh my, now which one of those shall I select to create the impression that I am a New York sophisticate? I believe perceptiveness has an intelligent ring. The link I have is your name, Merrick. We have a place on Long Island of that name."

Merrick was impressed, and said so.

"What a boyish thing to say - New York men would not think to compliment a stranger on her intelligence."

"Well, are you a stranger? After all, you're carrying my brand mark?"

At that they both wordlessly watching the cab driver, waiting for the traffic lights to change, look at them curiously in his interior mirror.

Traffic moved forward again.

"My mother was born on Long Island," Merrick explained. She went to New Zealand with her family when she was sixteen, absolutely devastated, believing that her life was over - her prime years at high school being taken from her. 

"Incredibly for her it was like a cygnet changing into a swan. Instead of being a run-of-the-mill student in a big American high school she became the most glamorous, vivacious and popular student in her Auckland girls' college, so she recalls, and, as they now say, really found her grove. She became head girl of that college and met my father who was deputy head boy at the neighbouring college. They went through university together and became teachers and later married and had four children, I being the first-born."

Kirsty remained puzzled.

"That's a lovely little story, but I'm still awaiting enlightenment."

"About how I was conceived?"

The cab driver's eyes were glued to his rear vision mirror again.

"No, you fool. How you got the name Merrick."

Merrick was enjoying this intimacy; all this brought about by simply walking backwards onto this lovely woman. He thought she would give him ten years, which would make her twenty-five. Entering her prime! He wondered if she was thinking uncouth thoughts about him.

"I'm sorry. Did I upset you calling you a fool? I was only chiding."

Well, why not be truthful? "Sorry, I was just thinking how fortunate it was that I snaked my big cowboy boot down your leg, peeling open your stocking and cutting into your ankle."

Their taxi screeched to a halt, and with a light clunk went bumper to bumper with the yellow cab in front. That driver gave three sharp blasts on his horn while their driver gave one short blast and an apologetic, submissive salute out of his window. Obviously he'd been mirror gazing again.

"Fortunate?"

"I am in the company of a genuine New Yorker and enjoying every minute of it."

"Well, you are refreshingly frank. I hope you are not thinking this is your lucky day?"

"Not at all, at least not in that sense. We seem to have bonded socially, that's all."

The eyes of the driver were in the mirror again.

"This is One-oh-Two coming up," reprimanded Kirsty. Wordlessly the driver turned into the right lane at the first opportunity.

"My mother wanted an American name for me, and names like Hank, Troy, Spencer and Zach were rather frowned upon in our little country. So she decided to be inventive and give me a Long Island name. She'd lived in Massapequa, which was not a suitable name for a young Kiwi lad, so she called me after the arterial route she and her family travelled very frequently."

"Yes - Merrick Road. How innovative. Well, here we are."

She handed a bill to the driver, told him to keep the change and was getting out of the cab while Merrick was still struggling to haul out his wallet.

"You have a great time in New York - do you hear, Kiwi?" Merrick thanked the driver for those kind words and followed Kirsty.

Kirsty and Merrick emerged from the elevator and Kirsty unlocked a door a little way down the hall. The hallway was extensively tiled with good artwork on the walls, a bowl of fresh flowers opposite the elevator and everything was clean and well-lit - completely unlike most apartments Merrick had seen in movies. 

As he entered behind Kirsty - who Merrick had noticed thankfully was not limping – he noticed the apartment was a luxuriously appointed, though not quite to the standard of the hotel room he recalled seeing in the film, 'Pretty Woman'.

A swift inspection of the main area that he would call a lounge sobered Merrick. His lady friend was obviously married and to a strong-willed male at that. The room was decidedly masculine apart from flowers, two paintings that could be feminine choices and the coffee table was piled with women's magazines.

Kirsty turned to him and said coolly, "I would have told you this in the cab, but that driver was exceptionally nosey. The man who leases this apartment has a home and wife in Atlantic City and another lady friend like me in an apartment in Chicago. He has business interests in all three cities. So that's where we're at. If it no longer suits you to be in my company – well, there's the door."

"No, it's fine. How's your leg?"

"Painful, to tell the truth."

"Let's get this bandage off and look at it."

Kirsty looked at him in surprise.

"You are a guest here for coffee, not a medic."

Merrick steered her gently by the shoulders to the sofa. Initially she resisted but as he applied power she slumped on to the seat.

"Turn your back while I unhitch," she commanded.

Merrick heard two faint snaps and realised that she wasn't wearing thigh highs. That pleased him as he was a fan of garter belts, although his interest in this instance was elementary. Involuntarily his eyes closed and he had a vision of a beautifully encased leg in a stocking with a woman's long, sensuous fingers undoing the last fastener. Obviously that was a long forgotten image from some woman's magazine.

"The wait is over," she said softly.

Merrick turned and smiled at her, receiving a lovely response from lush, slightly parted lips. She'd taken off her sunglasses and the perimeter of her eyes were beautifully made up to enhance the pale blue eyes,

She was lying back on cushions; the short skirt covered her modestly. The injured leg was up on a cushion and the fine patterned by torn stocking remained in place. "They put a plaster on the cut in the gap through the stocking. The bandage was then placed over the top of the stocking at my insistence. Are you OK in removing the bandage and then the stocking or should I do it?"

"No. I volunteered and would be offended if my services were now to be rejected."

"Very well, Nurse Merrick. Proceed. No need to be overly careful as I have good tolerance to pain."

Merrick unrolled the bandage, pleased that there was no sign of blood seepage. The patient cooperated by lifting her leg without being asked as he prepared to roll the unfastened stocking off. Gently he raised a corner of the plaster. Gripping it he looked into the cool pale eyes and said, "There's no sign of seepage, which is good." 

At that, with a wrist flick, he pulled off the plaster, noticing only a slight flicker in those blue eyes. "You may cry now."

The smile revisited her face.

It was Merrick's turn to smile as he bent over the wound for a close inspection. The cut was not particularly deep.

"There should be no scar provided we keep this wound clean."

"We?"

"Used figuratively."

"Oh." 

That response sounded tinged in disappointment. Merrick resisted looking at her, not wishing to display surprise. This woman was beginning to lift his heart-beat. He looked around the room and his gaze rested on the entrance door. Kirsty read his mind.

"He's at home for the holiday weekend - Monday is Columbus Day."

Merrick beamed at her, attempting to conceal his delight by asking brightly, "Where do I find anti-septic ointment and plasters?"

"The cupboard above the fruit bowl in the kitchen, second shelf."

The kitchen was immaculate - not a sign of a dirty dish or anything out of place. Even the mauve bra and bikini pants and a flimsy night-dress on a clothes horse against the glass door opening on to a balcony were neatly arranged, signalling that even if Kirsty were a slut at least she was a tidy slut. Slut? He felt guilty as if he'd brutalised her mentally. The woman was entitled to earn a living the way she chose, and at least she was not trolling the streets as far as he knew. Would she be pre-judging him like that? Not likely.

Merrick strolled back into the living room with ointment, plaster and a tube of arnica.

"Look, to counter bruising," he said triumphantly, then stopped, realising that she was asleep.

After treating the wound and placing the throw rug from the back of the couch over her, Merrick wandered around the room looking at the paintings and knickknacks. If the furnishings did not belong to the owner of the apartment it was obvious that Mr Lucky was here for the long-haul.

Mr Lucky?

That question startled Merrick. He'd already assessed her as being a desirable – er- companion and that, for him, was entirely normal. But surprisingly he'd advanced into making a valued judgement – responding emotionally with concern about her personal relationship with someone else. He felt rising jealousy; attempts to whisper denials died in his throat, no doubt strangled by guilt.

An hour earlier he'd behaved like a yokel, lunging backwards into this woman and hurting her, and now he was on the verge of thinking about mounting a seduction. He shook his head in wonderment - did this mean his post-divorce depression had lifted? 

Let it be!

Walking lighter and perhaps even a little taller with the possibility of being released of that self-imposed loading following the divorce he'd never wanted, he revisited the bathroom. Looking around as he stood over the toilet he saw it was expensively fitted out and the bath seemed exceptionally long, prompting visions of Kirsty soaking at one end and Mr Hairy Chest - Merrick grinned, noticing the change from Mr Lucky - lying besotted at the other end of the bath.

Finishing up, he didn't yield to his inquisitive temptation as a journalist to check out the cabinet behind the wall mirror that would reveal in a flash numerous indicators of personal intimacies. Brand preferences for mouth wash, toothpaste, dental floss, razor, talc powder and the like. He'd forgo that sneaky review of cupboard contents, thus avoiding of the possibility of being faced with a pile of contraceptives; that was not an image he wanted to retain of his Kirsty.

Merrick smiled thinly. So already she was his Kirsty. Oh great, and what had he done to earn that accord? Accepted her kind invitation to coffee and gently put on a clean plaster? This air of the Big Apple is doing crazy things to your mind, he thought, adding, Get a life!

The bedroom was dominated by the bed. It was huge, with pink satin drapes on the wall behind it tied back with gold braid cords and behind that between the drapes was a painting of a knight on a white horse fording a stream in woods and in his arms was a golden-haired princess. The instant Merrick looked at the princess he was aware it Kirsty he saw looking up into the face of the knight with absolute adoration. The bastard had commissioned this painting!


Freeing Kirsty Ch. 02



SO FAR: Divorcee Merrick Jamieson (35) visiting New York comes into contact with the moll of the mysterious Spiro whom the spirited Kirsty Fallon has reason to fear if she so much looks at another man. But when Merrick makes painful contact with her leg Kirsty (25) finds something has been triggered inside her. 

*

Riding the off-peak train for just under an hour from Penn Station to Bellmore on the Long Island Rail Road, Kirsty and Merrick happily exchanged information about their youth, family connections and interests. 

Without embarrassment Kirsty revealed that she had no need to work, that she was a kept woman and all that was required of her was to be waiting at the apartment when Spiro called twice a month, usually for a two or three night stay-over. Spiro took her out every night, including to business dinners and wild parties – "hence all my little black dresses you saw in the wardrobe."

In turn Kirsty was fascinated to Merrick was a self-employed photo-journalists who worked through three agencies and because of his reputation in delivering in top content, quality and on time, he said he was able to pick his clients according to his interest in their requirements. He said he loved action sport and for a time was on the South Pacific circuit as a semi-professional kick-boxer, but Kirsty showed no interest in that because she was anti-violence, not that she told her new companion that.

Kirsty had voluntarily answered something that had been puzzling Merrick – why she, as a local resident – had been at the Frick Collection today of all days when she could have visited it many times in the past? She'd explained she'd gone to see a special exhibition of bronzes, and since she was in the gallery had gone on to see the work of three of her favourite artists, one of whom was Johannes Vermeer.

"Whereupon you chose to step right under my backward moving foot," teased Merrick.

Kirsty countered: "There was this yokel, standing in front of me who inexplicably moved backwards to step all over me."

They laughed. At that moment Merrick remembered her urging him to flee.

"Why did you urgently say to me, 'Go, go'?"

"Because I am the property of Spiro. If he, his associates or his agents see me with another man it's possible that man could be harmed," Kirsty said unsmilingly.

"My God, do you mean garrotted and dumped into the Hudson?"

"Perhaps, or castrated or knee-capped or simply roughed up a bit."

Merrick gaped. "You freed me then fifteen minutes later pulled me back into the web. I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"Calm down Kiwi. There's little to fear. Spiro gives me three days' notice before he arrives and he has no-one to watch me; he trusts me totally otherwise he would be unable to fall asleep with me. That's how it works. I shooed you away in the gallery because an injury to a member of the public is most unusual and surely would be reported to administration and that could get into the press or a newsletter. Then an agent or associate of Spiro's might just happen to sight my name in the report of me being injured by a man – in this case you."

She continued, "The attendants took my name and address but naturally I was unable to provide them with your name. Spiro would not bother to ask for an explanation; he'd just order you to be picked up. Your image would be on gallery security cameras. I image imagine your fate would depend on the information he extracted from you and how he felt on the day."

"How he felt on the day?"

"Yes, is that so strange? Does that not apply to teachers and anyone else administering discipline?"

"I...er...am not sure how to answer that."

"Well, I don't make the rules, nor do I have a snow flake's chance in hell of changing them." "What about now; am I in danger?"

"Of course not. Spiro and his people ride in black automobiles. Trains are for the common people."

"What about any agent of Spiro seeing me coming out of the apartment in your company or running this morning with you?"

"That's where the system of looking after the boss's interests defeats itself. Spiro's associates – at least those subservient to him – and his agents know that I am to be left entirely free of surveillance. So if they should report me on a possible act of indiscretion I might not be the only one facing punishment."

By now Merrick was certain that Spiro was not in the business of servicing refrigerators or providing contract cleaning services to department stores.

"This pal Spiro of yours – what line of business is he in?"

"It is not in you best interest to know, Merrick; any further questions?"

"No, and thank you for your frankness; my growing affection towards you remains unchanged."

"Your growing affection? Oh God, Merrick. Don't pull that one on me. I'm just a lonely girl sick of the company of other females who chanced upon you as being someone exceedingly interesting. Spiro simply could not tolerate the thought of being cuckolded. The mere whisper that I might be involved with someone else, no matter where that person disappeared to, could initiate a retrieval mission. Be very certain of that, and be very certain that there is no limit on the amount of money available to ensure such a mission ends in success."

"Good heavens, Kirsty. This is the 21st Century, not the 1920s. People don't behave like that any longer – they are not allowed to behave like that any longer."

Kirsty reached for his hand. "Merrick, sweet Merrick, a visitor from a part of this Planet where personal retribution and other crimes are perhaps virtually unknown. Read your newspapers while in New York; watch the TV news, listen to radio. You'll find that the police and other crime busters spend much of their effort investigating crime rather than preventing it. Don't fight the notion – just accept that crime is a business going on all around us. Just be a good tourist, keep your nose clean and in all probability your nose will remain clean."

Merrick gave her the grim look of a jilted lover and lowering his voice, said: "Do you think we are being followed now?"

"No but then again who really knows anything?"

"Right, I was supposed to phone Uncle James to fetch us from the station. He has an old, large red Jaguar, possibly the easiest vehicle on the whole of Long Island to tail. If you don't mind, we'll take a cab and do a spot of cross country jogging to shake off any tail."

Kirsty giggled and said he was funny. "But what you suggest sounds exciting and professional. Obviously you go to gangster movies?"

"Cheeky bitch."

"Oh sweetie, the sweet things you say to me."

They laughed at their jesting.

She'd call him sweetie, using a 1920's style gangster moll accent. When the laughter died they remained gazing at each other – the jesting had become transparent.

"Oh God," Kirsty whispered looking deeply into his eyes.

"Let it be," Merrick soothed.

Kirsty and Merrick left the taxi at the entrance to the park through which he'd jogged on the morning of his arrival at his aunt and uncle's home.

They walked down the long path beside the waterway and turned left at the far end, pausing to look back before doing so. The only living thing they say behind them was a cat licking its butt. They were greeted at the house by the short, plump and red-faced James Cleland, distinguished by white-cropped hair who expressed disappointment he'd not been called to the station. 

"You can ferry us back to the station Uncle."

"Uncle; don't like it. Call me Jimmy boy; you too girl."

"But really, we've only just met," Kirsty fussed. "You don't know a thing about me."

"Well, my name doesn't know you don't know me," Jimmy cracked. His visitors laughed with him.

"Come in you noisy Bohemians," shrilled a voice. Knowing that first appearances count, Merrick pulled Jimmy back by the arm and pushed Kirsty forward. "Ladies first, Jimmy," he whispered.

"Goodness gracious, just look at you; you're beautiful. Oh my, just look at that figure," enthused the over-weight Aunty Betty.

"I've been trying to, but she keeps moving," Jimmy grumbled, pausing to say 'Hello Tweet-Tweet' to a canary caged on a stand singing its welcome.

"You, you lecherous old fool. Get your better glasses if you want to take a proper look at our sweet visitor. You can't read curves properly with reading glasses," Aunty Betty cackled.

After the introductions Jimmy was instructed to show Kirsty the house; Betty obviously wanted words with Merrick.

"You gave me a fright not coming home – this is New York," she began.

Merrick went on the defensive, preparing to tell her that as a thirty-five year old he was capable of running his own life, even in foreign counties.

"I promised your mother I'd keep an eye on you. However, you were a good boy phoning me as soon as you could wriggle out of her arms."

That defused the situation and Merrick thanked her for her concern and pointed out that despite all signs to the contrary, he and Kirsty had not been lovers and nor were likely to be. Betty glanced at him and read the truth.

"My poor boy," she soothed. "You can't let a lovely lady like that slip through your fingers without sampling her wares. I will attempt to pave the way for you."

That startled Merrick. "Oh no, don't play cupid," he pleaded. "It could become so embarrassing. She has her reasons; she's with someone who's away at the moment."

Merrick briefed her about his entire encounter with Kirsty, though avoiding references to Spiro's background and the fact the hood supported Kirsty financially.

"It sounds to me that she's his fancy woman," Betty concluded shrewdly. "But that is none of our business. Here they come. "James, please serve us coffee and cookies on the lawn – I don't think it's too cool to be sitting out there, although autumn is well with us. Then get the car out and we'll go down to the boardwalk at Jones Beach for a family stroll and then a picnic lunch. Merrick, assist James please."

Obviously it was Kirsty's turn for a one-on-one. When the men arrived under the pergola with morning tea Merrick was relieved to find Kirsty smiling happily and even managing to verbally engage in the conversation with his bossy and talkative aunt.

Returning along the boardwalk to a sheltered spot they sipped a glass of wine while Betty served a salmon salad to be followed by apple pie.

"The poor boy's mother emailed me when he was on the way here instructing me to ensure he tasted real American apple pie so he's getting fed it twice a day," Betty smiled.

"I'll be glad when he's gone and we can return to more interesting fare," Jimmy grumbled although eyeing the pie.

On the boardwalk Betty had explained to Kirsty that she'd turned twenty when her parents went to Auckland where her father had been appointed general manager-designate of an American-owned insurance company. She'd refused to go with them and after a big family row went and proposed to her current boyfriend James, who accepted. They married a week before her parents and younger sister Linda left for New Zealand.

"Linda had her 60th birthday last year and we went Down Under for it. We had a lovely time and it was only the second time we'd met Merrick who was devastated by the collapse of his marriage. At that stage he was fighting to retain the two children, a fight that ultimately the poor boy lost."

Noting that the two men strolling in front of them were deep in conversation, Betty took Kirsty by the hand. "This is presumptuous of me to say this, my dear, but that's how I am. That boy has known you for only a few hours but already you've done wonders to him. He arrived here with the same dead eyes that I remembered seeing last year – but look at him now; they are shining again!"

"Well, Mrs Cleland..."

"Call me Betty, leave off the aunty."

"How nice, thank you Betty. Well, we haven't..."

"I've already dragged that situation out of him. There is no need to say more. Just meeting you has been the tonic he required. Obviously your personality is greater than the glimpses I've gained so far."

Betty let her grip go as Kirsty laughed, the light of happiness permeating her face. Her head was thrown back a bit and the long line of her neck appeared sculptured.

"Good heavens." Betty whispered. "I can see it now why that boy is smitten; he'll be longing to touch you."

Kirsty looked a little bewildered. Patting the much shorter Betty on the shoulder, she said: "Why are you talking to me like this? I have someone else."

"Because, my dear, there are four days of exquisite enjoyment waiting before you before he leaves us. They are there for the taking. That's enough from me; let's wind up the men by inviting them to paddle in the sea."

Topping up three of the wine glasses Betty informed Merrick that he was restricted to water.

"Why?" he protested.

"Because you will be driving; you're taking this lovely lady shopping later this afternoon at Roosevelt Field Mall, returning here by 7:00 for a lovely roast dinner. Here are the keys to the Jaguar."

Merrick looked quickly at Kirsty, who nodded.

"Thank you Aunty Betty, Jimmy," Merrick enthused. "That's great, but do you mind if we took your Honda, Aunty Betty?"

Betty thought that would be a good idea, especially since the roads would be busy and they would be reading the map unless Kirsty knew the way. Kirsty said she was familiar with the main routes and had been to the mall a couple of times.

As they drove off Kirsty said she would prefer to go to Sunrise Mall as 'everyone' went to Roosevelt Field. Merrick caught the drift and agreed they should keep out of the limelight. 

Walking into the smaller mall Kirsty slipped her hand into Merrick's. He looked surprised but saw by the look on her face that she was simply out to enjoy herself; she was after all a woman and this was shopping!

Glancing at Kirsty again, Merrick wondered what she really thought of him. Her grip on his hand tightened momentarily as if to answer that - either it was that or it was the handbag she glanced at as they were passing through Macy's. Never in his life could Merrick recall being wrenched out of his axis by a woman so quickly as this. 

Admittedly he'd never had such a dramatic opening encounter, one that surely would never be topped. But memorable as it was, that was not entirely it – the real moment of one-on-one engagement came when she appeared at his side in the garden court at the gallery. He'd looked up into her waist upon hearing her voice, scarcely believing it was her; his heart had flipped. Snapping out of that introspection, Merrick noticed Kirsty's lingering sideway glance at the perfume emporium – the collection of counters was too large at Macy's to be dubbed a bar.

"Should we look," he suggested, simultaneously steering her into the glittering environment of wanton temptation.

Forty-five minutes were spent in a tight huddle sampling various fragrances. Kirsty was invited to choose one; she couldn't decide so nominated five and asked Merrick to make the decision for her. Only one she had not used before, so he chose that – Pure Poison by Dior, purchasing two of larger spray units. He also purchased two sprays of Burberry Brit Fragrance, saying one was for Betty and the other for his mother.

"And the second sprayer of Pure Poison?"

"You shall be notified in due course," was all that Merrick would say.

Out in the mall Merrick was hauled into a jewellery display where after almost thirty minutes Kirsty asked him to leave her for a few minutes. He went diagonally across the concourse to another jeweller's and was back sitting on a seat within two minutes.


Merrick watched her walking towards him. At just over six foot tall she was a magnificent specimen, moving with the grace of a sportswoman. She played tennis and swam as well as jogged with extended sprinting bursts, went to the gym and admitted she scarcely ate anything. She was the tallest white woman he could see in the reasonably crowded mall. He stood up as she approached, noticing that there was a serious tone to her smile. She walked straight into him, and clasping her arms around his neck and leaning back she said, "We are wasting time, let's behave like lovers."

Merrick was tongue tied so performed the alternative - he kissed her, long and deeply. "Look, Larry. These guys are having sex."

Kirsty and Merrick broke apart and looked down at two grinning eight or nine-year-old boys who then moved on, looking back and giggling.

Arriving back at 6:15 Merrick and Kirsty found the house lit up and the Jaguar gone. The house was locked but Merrick knew where the emergency key was hidden.

Inside the front door on the floor was a note from Betty: "Your dinner will be ready at 7:00. Enjoy. Jimmy and I are staying the night with friends."

"How sweet of them," Kirsty said excitedly, twirling herself into Merrick's grasp. "We can have a leisurely meal and you can put me on a late train back to the city."

"Yes," said Merrick, before burying his mouth into hers.

After a drink they began serving the meal, working awkwardly until Kirsty took command to create greater efficiency. Merrick took the roasted beef to the table to 'rest' where he found a letter addressed to Kirsty and marked, 'Not to be opened until you are finishing after-dinner liquors.'

They had a lovely dinner, chatting with great affection and happiness. After clearing away they took coffee into the sitting room and sat on the exceedingly comfortable lounge chairs sipping coffee. Kirsty downed her liquor fast and then went off to read the letter.

She returned to announce, "Your bath is ready sir. We are staying the night."

Merrick was beside her in a flash, kissing her passionately and getting a suitable response. At the same time Kirsty began undressing him and he reciprocated. Soon he had a warm breast in his hand and was licking the extending nipple gently. Kirsty sighed.

She led him to the bedroom lit only by a circle of candles on the floor around the bed.

"Betty wrote that I was to stay for the night. There is clean linen on the bed. I was to light the candles and run a bath for two. They used to do this when they were young. Isn't she lovely?"

Merrick took Kirsty behind her knees and lifted her. They kissed and she worked a hand down between her hip and his waist until gasping, "What's this?"

"It's for you to find out," grinned Merrick, walking her to the bathroom while trying not to pant due to lust and her deadweight.

Kirsty had massaged him with her feet in the bath and she had sucked his toes. Not surprisingly, after quickly towelling each other dry they fell into bed in a high state of arousal and after multiple orgasms drifted into exhausted sleep in each other's arms. 

At dawn Kirsty was awakened by myriads of soft kisses circling her breasts and then progressing downwards, temporarily halting for a tongue twirl around her navel. Sleepily she stretched and opened her legs wide as the soft lips neared their target. Lifting her hips she offered the morsel, and was not disappointed. Soon she was writhing in ecstasy and then screamed as she came in a gush.

"My turn," she said, rolling her lover over, and then leaning over his stomach in reverse position began licking him gently before picking up the pace. He busied his fingers and they both came within seconds of each other. 

After resting, they showered and dressed and were having breakfast in the sunroom when their hosts signalled their arrival with a couple of hearty warning blasts on the car horn.

Betty looked disappointed to find them finishing breakfast.

"I was looking forward to bringing you breakfast in bed," she pouted.

After lunch Kirsty and Merrick returned by train to the city. Kirsty had explained that she needed to be at home at evenings in case Spiro called. Their understanding was that if she was out one night, she should be at home the next, allowing him to give her notice of his intending arrival.




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 02



Questioned why Spiro would want to be so considerate, Kirsty laughed and replied in a near whisper, as their carriage was crowded. "That's a polite way of demonstrating he doesn't keep me on a tight leash. Well, in his words, he doesn't want me to be a mechanical pussy."

"Oh."

"Yes, from that I guess I don't have to explain the double entendre?"

"Quite. So you are entirely at his disposal – that you are left without having to take a job or accept other responsibilities?"

"Very good – you have summed it up well. That's why I have my freedom - to do things to keep me interested in life and have my group of girlfriends. Never have I been told specifically not to have males as friends as it's understood I don't need to be told."

"How did you meet Spiro?"

"I have a degree in journalism..."

"Good God, you never indicated that, not even when I divulged I was a photo-journalist?"

"Ah, yes. But there is no comparison – I'm a journalist only on paper, with very little practical experience."

"Well, journalism got you a meeting with Spiro?"

"More or less. I had applied to produce client information releases for one of his subsidiaries. I was short-listed but did not get the job. Instead the principal took me up two floors and introduced me to Spiro, who calmly told me he'd watched my interview via an inhouse television monitor and was most impressed. He invited me out to lunch which is where he proposed."

"Proposed?"

"Exactly. From memory his words were, 'I wanna babe in New York to love and cherish exclusively. Do you wanna be that babe? Before you decline think about it – your own apartment, all expenses paid, my visits limited to about four nights a month, you can have as many girlfriends as you wish, I will also pay everything required to keep you beautiful and fit – clothes, everything. Oh, and you also go on a salary – exactly five times the amount you would have got had I not buzzed Ralph and ordered him not to give you that writing job'."

Kirsty recalled she swallowed and then said she replied that she didn't know what to say. Spiro filled her glass with more champagne and suggested she think it over while he made a few phone calls.

"He sat away from me at another table - he always has separated me from his business activities saying, 'It's for your own protection babe'.

"When he returned to our table he asked: 'What's the score babe?'

"I was struggling, working as a waitress earning good tips but it was lousy work and the apartment I shared with three office girls was always noisy. It seemed almost like a perfect offer of marriage. My only question was would I be shared with anyone else. His reply was typically blunt: 'Not at my invitation; you have my guarantee on that'."

"So I accepted and he asked when I wanted to settle into the apartment. As I joke I said as early as a couple of hours. He calmly replied right, that if I gave him my address he would send a moving van around in two hours' time. I was appalled, thinking I would be responsible for some woman being thrown out on to the street from that apartment, possibly his wife! I'd assumed he was married. However, Spiro told me his New York woman had moved out of the apartment two weeks ago – that she'd decided she wanted to find a fellow to marry and raise kids. He lined up some candidates and she'd actually picked one of them. I thought that was fiction, but then a month later Spiro took me to Gloria's wedding. At the wedding breakfast, with tears streaming down her face, Gloria pleaded with me to look after her Spiro."

"Jesus, you New Yorkers are a weird lot," Merrick said. He patted Kirsty on the shoulder saying, "I'm sorry, darling, but it's the truth and I include my aunt and uncle in that sweeping appraisal."

"We New Yorkers like to be seen as being different," Kirsty replied sweetly. "You have just paid us a big compliment."

Merrick kissed her, ignoring the people around them. 

"Look, I don't think I should visit you in your apartment again. Irrespective of your assurances, I feel it is putting you too much at risk."

"Hmmm. I was counting on getting more of that extra special treatment from you. Tell you what – let me make a phone call."

Merrick looked out of the window as the train approached the city, aware that they would soon plunge into the tunnel taking them under the Hudson River and into the underground Penn Station. He made no attempt to listen to Kirsty's call.

"It's all arranged," Kirsty said, snuggling against his shoulder. "My friend Meg – you met her on the jog yesterday morning – will leave her tiny apartment for her parents' apartment shortly after four today. You can sleep there for the next two nights and I'll come over and we can fuck all day or do that as well as move about the city discreetly. Galleries and museums will be our best bet as Spiro's people, like Spiro himself, never go to such places. I also know they dislike French and vegetarian restaurants and gay bars, so we will have flexibility there."

"Gay bars?" Merrick asked, doubtfully.

"Yes, but don't worry. Once partnered you usually are left alone expect for casual conversation. The two bars I have in mind often attract conventional couples as they find the environments rather pleasant."

Merrick was pleased about that.

"You said two nights – was Meg unable to stay over for three nights?"

"I only asked for two nights. You should spend your last night with Jimmy and Betty."

"Will you accompany me and spend all night there with me?"

As they stood up to leave the train, Kirsty responded to that question with a glorious smile. "I was hoping to be asked. You secure the invitation and I would love to see them again – but they are not to run away this time."

"Right, hand me your phone. As soon as we get out of this crush I shall phone Aunty Betty. I have her number."

"I'm going to love these next few days," Kirsty enthused.

"Me too," choked Merrick, stroking her arm that sent shivers to her heart.

At the JFK International Airport on Jamaica Bay on Long Island, fifteen miles from midtown Manhattan, Merrick sat chatting to Jimmy and Betty waiting for his final call, just under fifteen minutes to go.

Betty's phone went. She glanced at her nephew who now sat motionless, eyes closed and not appearing to be breathing.

"Hullo sweetie – yes, he's right here beside us. Now you come and visit Jimmy and me occasionally, do you hear? You can't spend all your life jammed in over there with those Manhattan weirdoes. Here he is."

At the age of sixty-five, it is unlikely that Betty would get to experience a lot of heart-throbbing moments but clearly she was having one at this instant of handing the phone to her nephew whose face outshone that of the most devout gospel singer. Though her eyes were fixed on Merrick's joyous face, she felt the tremble running through his hands as he took the phone before turning and walking away. 

Kirsty was crying, again apologising for not seeing him off.

"I know, I know," soothed Merrick. "Spiro has to take priority."

Kirsty told him Spiro would arrive within the hour.

"Right, in two minutes you terminate this call and get yourself looking your best for him. You owe that to him."

"Now, you never asked me why I bought that extra sprayer of Pure Poison. Well, it will sit on the cabinet beside my bed in Auckland waiting for you to come and claim it personally. I don't care how long it takes, but you come for it – do you hear?"

Merrick wasn't sure that she could hear above all her wailing. But eventually he heard her sob, "Yes".

They made their final farewells and the phone clicked. Merrick stared at the phone for a few seconds and then walked back cheerfully to hand it to Aunty Betty.

"How is she?"

"A wreck."

"Oh."

"But I cheered her up a bit."

Merrick told her about the Dior perfume that would sit waiting to be claimed.

Betty slumped against her husband, bawling her eyes out.

"You clown. Why did you go and tell her that. You know she's a woman."

Merrick felt a little distressed until he saw Jimmy's big grin.

"Women just love to howl," Jimmy chuckled.

The barely grinning nephew went through to commence departure formalities with a final wave and he shouted something. He'd left his Aunty Betty in another crying fit, and his uncle supporting her weight while maintaining his grin. Merrick's confident shouted message snapped Betty out of her misery.

He'd yelled: "You'll both be my special guests at the wedding in LA – date as yet unknown!"

* * *

Four months later Merrick received a heart-flipping phone call.

"Hi. I'm at the airport. Would you like to collect me?"

"What!" he shouted idiotically. "Is that you Kirsty?"

"Do you know someone else with my voice?"

"No, no; of course not. I'm coming. Where will I find you?"

"First of all, is this convenient for you? Is there someone else?"

"Of course it's convenient. No, there is no-one else nor has there been apart from the occasional one-nighter."

"Right, ask at the Air New Zealand/United desk. I will be in their VIP lounge. Take your time getting here as I want you relaxed and in one piece. After sitting seventeen hours in aircraft seats thinking mostly about you has left me absolutely horny."

"Right. I'm on my way, sweetheart."

It was 7:30 Tuesday morning, housekeeper's morning. He found Mrs Stewart on her hands and knees cleaning the bath.

"Mrs Stewart, Mrs Stewart!" he shouted. "Remember the story I told you about that packet of perfume on my bedside cabinet?"

"Y-e-e-s," hesitated Mrs Stewart, wondering if the perfume had gone missing and she was about to be questioned about its disappearance.

"The woman, the woman! She's at the airport. She's here to claim it!"

"Oh my goodness, then you'll be waiting clean linen on the bed and fresh towels in here."

"Yes, yes thank you Mrs Stewart. I know this is not within your terms of engagement but here's forty bucks – could you please nip out and try to find strawberries, if not cherries or failing that grapes, Kiwifruit, a small selection of cheese and water biscuits. Then take the rest of the day off."

"Oh, there's no need for that, Merrick. You can lock the bedroom door and I'm sure my old ears won't hear a thing."

"The rest of the day off, Mrs Stewart. We do make a rather lot of noise."

"Oh dear, then I shall take the rest of the day off. Now off you go to your darling, I'll finish up here and then get your groceries. She must be a wonderful girl to have you so excited as this." "She is, Mrs Stewart. She is. Goodbye and thanks a million."

The reunion in the airline lounge at the airport was, not unexpectedly, chaotic and bordering on the obscene.

"Let's throw a bucket of water over them; they are out of control," snorted a senior male attendant.

"N-o-o, Roger, I think you are out-voted here," said the manager of on-ground passenger services, wiping her eyes.

"You out of control romantic, you should be ashamed of yourself," Roger declared, pulling himself up to his full height that was still two inches short of his female superior.

"Look," she sniffed.

Roger's mouth dropped in disbelief. There in a line were four female trainee cabin attendants, all with their handkerchiefs to their leaking eyes as they witnessed this romantic reunion.

"I'm asking for a transfer to engineering services, grunted Roger, stalking off well aware of his lie as the emotion had also triggered in him; it was lovely seeing people so happy.

"Good gracious. You better carry one of my suitcases in front of you," was Kirsty's motherly response upon spotting that Merrick's zip was in danger of being blown apart by building back-pressure.

He grinned. God she'd noticed...wasn't she wonderful? 

"I'd give that couple eleven out of ten in rating for the most sexiest reunion ever, and I suspect they hadn't yet gathered a full head of steam," said an official conducting trainees on an inspection of passenger processing facilities.

With impressive strength Merrick placed his hands under Kirsty's shoulders and knees and in one smooth movement lifted her chest high without so much as a grunt.

"God, you are so strong," she simpered, feeling his left bicep and fancied herself in almost a swoon. 

Carrying her into the bedroom Merrick placed her on to a towel on the bed, and began rubbing in aromatic oil into her limbs.

The remainder of the evening proceeded slowly with swirling subterranean emotions building up until at last they were puppets to the passion that engulfed them.

An 8:00 a.m. telephone call ended a day and night of exhaustive petting and lovemaking. It was Merrick's commissioning editor in Sydney pressing for assurances that the text and photographs of the eight-page article would be completed and filed by next Wednesday's deadline.

"Yes, of course Cyril," Merrick soothed. "You know me, always on time and delivering one hundred and twelve percent. Should I email you sample graphics?"

Cyril perhaps was tempted to accept, but would be aware from experience that there was no substitute for the instant appreciation afforded by reviewing the total package as it was intended to be reviewed.

"No mate, I trust you. Shake a leg."

Merrick rained a dozen juicy kisses over the eyes of his beloved. She squealed, saying she didn't believe she could go another round as she was almost rubbed raw.

"I promise you, there's no sex until we airmail all the text and transparencies to Sydney on Tuesday morning. It's all go, my girl, and you being academically qualified as a journalist now have the job of writing a tight 2000 word descriptive and riveting text plus captions."

"Why, what for, why me, how do I go about it? Those shall suffice for my first questions."

"Listen lassie, you're in New Zealand now. They say Kiwi's fly by the seat of their pants and as sure as hell over the next three to four days you are going to learn that's the truth. There's just you and me, darling. The Calvary ain't going to come." 

"You're scaring me, Merrick."

"Stick by me Kirsty, and be prepared to pull out all stops. If you do you will be amazed at what we'll achieve. I'll hold your hand."

Kirsty then pleased Merrick. Her next comment was to query whether his decree no sex until Tuesday was negotiable. He replied perhaps it was necessary to remain flexible.

It was a holiday weekend and just before 9:00 Merrick was photographing people boarding the super fast class of catamaran ferry called a Quickcat to Waiheke Island.

He pulled a party of six females aged about nineteen or twenty and a guy of about seventeen aside for a photograph, getting the youth to kneel in the front and the girls gathered tightly around him.

"Lean a bit forward girls, and show some cleavage." All but one leant forward and pulled down their tops a bit.

"Hold it, while my assistant gets your names," he called. Whispering to Kirsty he said, "Ask why Bozo is in the group." I t turned out that Alex – not Bozo – already was an authority on the flora and fauna of Waiheke Island and the girls were at university doing an environmental paper.

Kristy was appalled when Merrick leered and said, "Who's going to bunk in with Alex?"

The reply amazed her; it was not at all obscene."

"We all are," said the buxom blonde Maggie. "He's already got us terrified about the creepy crawlies resident on this island, and that's not the humans!"

"Wonderful," Kirsty heard Merrick groan; he knew what the young lad was playing at.

Merrick had briefed Kirsty about his commission. An influential Australian outdoors magazine wanted a multi-interest article about the holiday weekend invasion of 26-mile long Hauraki Gulf island of Waiheke, exploring some of its prime attractions in depth.

"We can't cover everything in-depth in an eight-page spread, five pages of which will have your text," he said. "So we'll go for a limited number of topics covering why people go there, arts and crafts, Waiheke's premium wines, fishing, crashing out and pigging out. That's it."

"Crashing out?"

"That's Kiwi for snoozing away most of the weekend in a hammock, or lying under a tree with a dozen of beer or waking up unaware of you are between the legs of a unknown woman or man, as the case may be."

"People will buy magazines to read about crap like that?"

"Yes, provided it is expertly photographed and competently described."

"Oh my; dare I ask what is pigging out?"

"Old fashion gluttony. Visitors come to the island to eat and drink until they drop. They wake up next morning and by noon they start the cycle all over again."

"How revolting."

"Perhaps, if you ate food you mightn't thing so. Needless to say it provides some wonderful photographs and stories. Many timid people dream of engaging in a bout of gluttony. Our illustrated stories will allow them to almost live that dream."

Kirsty looked rather dismayed.

"I really have a problem in accepting what you say. It's nothing like what we were taught in journalism studies; absolutely nothing like it."

"That's correct," Merrick said with a disarming smile. "You were taught the theory and rudimentary practical approaches that provide you with the skills to authoritatively gather information and write on a huge range of topics, from the origins of mankind to the super-natural. College and university armed you with the tools to be creative as well as authoritative, subjective, accurate and so on. As a graduate you emerge to adopt those skills to the best of your ability to accomplish the task in hand."

Kirsty continued to look nonplussed. "But why wasn't that explained to us so vividly as you have done, and I must concede what you have said sounds plausible."

"Well, perhaps you should have attended a school of journalism in New Zealand and proceeded to gain higher qualifications. In this country we tend to concentrate on realism rather than the abstract – although I accept a sound argument exists for both schools of thought."

"Now you are confusing me even more."

Merrick grinned and swung an arm around Kirsty and patted her butt affectionately.

"It doesn't matter anymore academically – you are now out in the field sucking up practical experience under my expert guidance."

"You don't half fancy yourself."

Merrick maintained his grin. "Why don't we leave that for now and revisit it for your assessment at the end of the weekend when the results will be in."

"All right, but I'm telling you now that you are better at sex than briefing me on this assignment."

Merrick leered as he thanked her for such a magnificent compliment. 

Surprisingly, for a hardened veteran, Kirsty flushed.

At Oneroa Merrick took some discreet photographic shots of three boys, aged about six, playing with an unmoored dinghy on an incoming tide. 

He and Kirsty watched as the boat began to be pushed out to sea by the off-shore breeze.

"Those kiddies are going to get into difficulties," she said, signalling mounting alarm and looking for parents rushing up to tend to their children.

"Yes," Merrick said. "Grave difficulties, perhaps. Can you swim?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"Very well in fact."

"Good, stand by."

Kirsty looked at Merrick in disbelief.

"What! You're going to watch those kiddies float into possible grave danger."

"Aye, our job is to observe and report; nothing else. However I believe it takes at least a minute for a child to drown, which is why I asked for confirmation that you can swim and to standby. I can swim, and will drop my camera if necessary and plunge in to their aid. I'll grab two, leaving one for you."

"But this is outrageous. Will their parents thank you for almost allowing their kiddies to drown?"

"No, but so what, providing it scares the crap out of them? Slack parents never thank anyone."




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 02



The three boys, realising they were slowly drifting out to sea, yelled for help.

In a flash Kirsty kicked off her shoes and was joined by a woman – later identified as the mother in charge – in the dash into the water. By this time the three boys had stood on the same side of the dinghy and they tumbled into the water.

With his feet dry, Merrick calmly took frame after frame of the inshore rescue. Both women, soaked and their bodies apparent under their wet clothing, emerged from the sea triumphant. A brilliant picture, thought Merrick, even if I say so myself.

As soon as the lad she'd carried ashore was in safe hands Kirsty ran storming at Merrick, beating her fists on his chest.

"You did nothing, absolutely nothing; they could have drowned," she screamed.

"Steady on, it's all right. They never were in danger," Merrick replied.

"How could you know?" she sobbed. "You'd do anything to get your picture."

"I spent eighteen summers on this beach," Merrick said softly. "I know it like the back of my hand. Look!"

"Sobbing, Kirsty look out into the bay, semi protected by high rising land to their left. A man and one of the 'rescued' boys had secured the dinghy and although just beyond the 'rescue' area, the young lad was still only chin deep in water.

Kirsty burst into tears and turned partly away from Merrick only to be gathered into the appreciative arms of the other soaked rescuer. Kirsty heard the camera click again.

"You poor dear," soothed the other woman. "You have had a traumatic experience. Why don't you and your companion come up to our bach and I'll get you some dry clothes. I'm Liz Waters. What a horrible experience for you. For us it's happening all the time - this is normal behaviour for young boys, pushing everything to the brink." 

Merrick followed behind, calling up their accommodation on his phone. He confirmed they were on the island but would be checking in much later. His island experience told him they would be amid a rip-roaring party that night. Liz who he'd know as a youngster, was the now married to Bud Elder's tear-away son Mervyn. Saturday night was always a full-on night for the Elders, Waters, McKenzies, Ivors and hangers-on. Kirsty would be given a stiff gin and a cosy girlie shower with Liz – tank water collected from the roof had to be conserved; all this would cheer her up no end. Then later she would be introduced to New Zealander inter-family socialising at the very lowest level on the cultural scale. Merrick was absolutely certain she would revel in it.

Seven hours later Liz delivered them to their luxury beach lodge in her family's clapped out Land Rover. Kirsty was almost unconscious but was still aware enough that Liz was not in a fit state to drive home. She insisted that Liz should double up with her, muttering they'd had such a promising time in the shower together.

Merrick didn't mind. He'd taken numerous photographs during the evening so put the films into the cartridge cases and put them away safely. He lay back on the double bed, hands behind his head, smiling. It had been a great day. He'd enjoy helping to shape Kirsty into an effective journalist. The signs were good.

"Move over chump," Liz said, sending her dress and panties flying over the bed end. She'd been wearing nothing else.

"The others will be missing me unless I get back soon. Let me have my quickie; of course you are expected to move your bum."

Merrick was tempted, but pushed her away gently. "Sorry, love. But I'm on a promise to someone else. Just go to sleep, that's a good girl."

At 8:30 Kirsty crawled into the double bed, groaning and holding her head.

"What a night that was!"

"Yeah, awesome. I thought you would like it."

"Whose pants and dress are on the floor?"

"Liz's I suppose."

"Did she have her way with you?"

"Nah."

"Why didn't you let her?"

"Because I'm promised to you."

"Well, that's a novel defence. What did she wear home?"

"Nothing, I suspect. I saw her weaving off totally nude."

"Why didn't you stop her?"

"Because it was nervous about any further delay in her return home. The men would have come looking for her and they would have wanted to sample your wares."

"Thank you, kind sir, for saving me from that possible fate. Please get me pills for my headache."

"Yes, but remember we need to be on the road by 11:00 to get a good day's work in. Let's skip parties tonight and have sex in our spa pool."

"Can I delay my reply?"

"Yes, but we'll be having great wine at lunch time so you'll get rid of this hangover to start again."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes."

"Right then."

"Right then what?"

"Sex in the pool when we return here, and party afterwards."

Merrick grinned, and ran his hands down his thighs.

"You know, you're a really neat lady."

"I know. The headache pills?"

"Right."

Just on noon the small sedan Merrick was driving stopped short of a very modern-looking winery, perched dramatically on a hilltop. Equally dramatic was the view beyond it of other nearby islands of the gulf and Auckland in the distance.

"This is a sensational view – why aren't you taking a photo?"

"Patience, patience Kirsty. We'll come back this evening for late afternoon and sunset shots. It will be even more dramatic them."

Photos were taken of a group of Asian visitors examining the orderly rows of budding vines and watching the vines being sprayed mechanically. 

Inside, Merrick spent almost fifteen minutes by his deliberately slow actions to have everything right and in doing so helped to develop cramp in the arm of a red-faced and moustached elderly man holding up a glass of chardonnay to look at its colour before tasting it. 

Merrick goal was to take the photo at the optimum angle to capture the rich gold liquid in the glass and the ruddy features of the drinker's face while also allowing the background view of sky, sea and islands to show, although they would be somewhat blurred because of compromise to get the wineglass and face in sharp focus.

"I'm almost sorry I agreed to pose," said the old chap rubbing his elbow.

The subject's eyes lit up when Merrick tossed a $50 note on to the bar for the man to taste another wine and his eyes positively popped when Kirsty tossed her notebook and pen beside him and had to hitch her dress up high in order to climb onto the high stool to sit before taking down caption details.

"Ask Harry where else in the world he has tasted wine," Merrick suggested, putting a new film into one of his two cameras.

Kirsty asked that question, looing as if wondering whether she would have thought to ask it.

Harry's reply startled her: "Italy, France, Greece, Yugoslavia, Romania, Portugal, Hungary, South Africa, California, Chile, Argentina, Australia, New Zealand - those are the main ones. I'm here on holiday right now. My job is buying wine for distribution throughout the United Kingdom. Please join me for a drink, my dear."

Half an hour later Kirsty found Merrick seated outside, sipping water while basking in the sun and drinking in the panoramic view.

"The dirty old man – he was after my body, not to teach me finer points about wine tasting," she fumed.

"It's you fault for looking so beautiful and sexy."

"Bah to you too!" she snapped, before giggling.

They watched four twenty-somethings roar up in an open top bright red sports car.

"That's a rental car – why didn't you rent one of those for us Merrick instead of this lumbering hunk of old metal? We would have looked stunning in that and enjoyed the wind-slip streaming through our hair."

The reply was ever so practical. "You get room in the boot of that sports car for swimming gear, a picnic basket and a dozen of beer. That's about all. In our vehicle we can pack in all that plus all of my photographic gear and our overnight luggage and have it all securely locked away."

"Must you be so practical?"

"Yes, when it comes to my art and my livelihood."

Kirsty sighed and said of course.

"Right, let's get rid of the last elements of your hangover with fine food and fine wine," Merrick said, returning from the car carrying just a digital camera.

"I suppose that camera is coming with us as something might crop up?"

"Yes, just as you notebook and pen should be in your handbag."

"Yes master."

Merrick silenced those cheeky lips with a long kiss.

"Right, fresh up your lipstick and we'll go in for lunch. There is a table reserved for us."

"Yes master."

"By the way, our hosts manage the restaurant and wine sales and their other guest is that esteemed British victualler, Harold Leigh-Somerton you were rubbing your body against earlier."

"Oh no – can you sit between him and me? He'll be in groping mode by now."

That evening Merrick and Kirsty were late invitees at a formal dinner sponsored by several of the island's top winemakers; the restaurant was closed to the public for the function. 

Guest of honour was Harold Leigh-Somerton and Kirsty groaned when informed they would be at the top table with Harold and his wife. That despair turned to delight when she found that Harold's wife, from Mendoza in Argentina, was seated beside her and was only a few years her senior.

Late in the evening Harold confided to Kirsty, "I asked that you to be invited here tonight because Camilla adores being in the company of tall, beautiful and intelligent women and it's damn difficult finding specimens possessing all three attributes. Then today I found you."

"Thank you for your compliment, Harold," Kirsty replied, giving him a dazzling smile as she hiccupped.

His mouth dropped open when she added: "It is not every day I'm admired as a trophy."

Camilla, over-hearing this, laughed delightedly. "Poor Harry, he never learns. Selecting a trophy, as you call it, with the intelligence factor can prove embarrassing for him; they can bite back unlike the others he calls bimbos." 

Returning to Auckland on the ferry, possessing five times the amount of text and ten times the number of film exposures required for the final article for the client in Sydney, Merrick and Kirsty sipped coffee, watching Waiheke Island growing smaller beyond the turbulent wake of the QuickCat.

"That was a wonderful time on the island, darling. I can see why you loved spending your summers there in your youth."

"Aye, but then islands anywhere in the world seem to have their charm."

"Well, Merrick," Kirsty said sadly. "This marks the imminent end of my stay in your home. It's time for me to find my own accommodation and I'd like to find a job. Would you help me find a little apartment?"

Merrick took her hand and said there was an alternative.

Kirsty looked slightly dismayed, as if expecting to be selfishly asked to continue their existing living arrangement of her being his bed buddy.

"What is that?" she sighed.

"Marry me."

She swallowed and turned to examine his face.

"Marry you?"

"Precisely."

"But Merrick – my background; you don't really know me yet."

"So?"

"I can't allow you to take such a risk."

"So this lovely, charming, open and incredibly sexy companion has dark secrets to hide?"

"No."

Merrick opened his aluminium photographic case and from a recess in the lid pulled out a little black box and handed it to Kirsty with a soft smile.

"I anticipated my luck was about to change so purchased this with you in mind on that afternoon in the mall on Long Island."

"A ring?" whispered Kirsty, opening the small box with shaking hands. A gold ring with three small inset diamonds was exposed.

"It's lovely," she breathed. "Please slip it on to my ring finger for me."

It fitted perfectly. Merrick had taken to the jeweller a ring she often wore on the fourth finger of her other hand. When he made the purchase he'd known if not Kirsty he'd find someone to wear it for him.

She placed her arms around his neck and said to him sweetly, "I accept your offer of marriage sometime in the future."

They kissed, and sat back happily gazing at each other.

On the drive home, Merrick said that he wanted Kirsty to continue living and working with him.

"I have again grown accustomed to having sexual opportunity placed alongside me, to having company in the house again and I want to tutor you in practical journalism to allow you to turn that interest of yours into a career."

"Are the priorities in that order?" she enquired, mischievously.

"Yes," he smiled, and she clutched his arm happily.

"I am pleased about that – financially I am very secure so forging a career is not an absolute priority for me at the moment and then there are visitor permit restrictions to consider."

As they drove up to the garage Merrick said he would unload the vehicle and sort out films. Kirsty said she would make coffee and check for emails while running a bath.

A few minutes later she ran into the spare bedrooms that Merrick used as a studio.

"What's wrong?" he asked in alarm, noticing her expression. Kirsty handed him the print-out. The email was short and to the point: "Return immediately or I'll send someone to bring you back. Spiro."

Kirsty burst into tears. "How can he find me?" she wailed. "I've disappeared to the other side of the world."

"Easy," Merrick said grimly. "He's got your email address, has access to your computer in New York and no doubt visited some of your girl friends you emailed before you left. Have you sent emails to any of them on this machine?"

"Yes," sobbed Kirsty, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Two to my best friend Meg."

"Well then," said Merrick. "I'm buying a couple of baseball bats for protection and tomorrow will get the security system of this house upgraded with some panic buttons and pressure mats added. We'll have to take care from now on, keeping doors locked."

"But what about your safety?"

"I'll have to look after myself, won't I? I'm not concerned about you as you are only to be retrieved; Spiro would not want you marked or abused."

"Oh God – shouldn't we go away and hide?"

"What, and not know when the retriever will pop up? Here I have the advantage of being on familiar ground."

To Be Continued



Freeing Kirsty Ch. 03



SO FAR: Divorcee Merrick Jamieson (35) visiting New York comes into contact with the moll of the mysterious Spiro whom the spirited Kirsty Fallon has reason to fear if she so much looks at another man. But after a brief association with Merrick Kirsty (25) finds she has become attracted and follows him to his homeland and begins working with the photo-journalist. Spiro contacts Kirsty warning her to return otherwise a 'retriever' will be dispatched to bring her back. 

* 

Kirsty was afraid for Merrick's safety and even her own future was uncertain as Spiro now had good reason not to trust her so anything might happen. She chose not to attempt to define 'anything'.

Her instinct was to flee but Merrick stubbornly had decided to stay put, thinking it was his best chance of dealing with the retriever when having no idea when the home invasion would occur. She thought her lover was a bit naïve – she could be snatched when she was out walking or emerging from the supermarket. Then she remembered that would not allow the retriever to rough up Merrick or whatever.

After a couple of days the threat eased to the background of Kirsty's mind; she had considered emailing Spiro, pleading to him to call off his retriever and let her off the hook. She decided against it as Merrick had been so insistent that she must not reply to Spiro's email ordering her to return to New York.

Eight days after Kirsty had received that demanding email from Spiro, Merrick slowed his vehicle when approaching the house and then gently accelerated down the street, now looking straight ahead: he'd noticed all the windows visible from the street had the curtains drawn. Never were all of them drawn; obviously the retriever had arrived. 

Parking around the block opposite the property behind his house, Merrick figured out what to do. It was unlikely that the retriever had been instructed to kill Merrick as the escape route being a long flight in an aircraft was not ideal. More likely the instruction was to beat Merrick up and warn him of the consequences of sounding the alarm. It was probable that Spiro was holding Meg under a death threat that unless Kirsty arrived back in New York Meg would disappear. That threat would allow the retriever to travel with a compliant Kirsty.

After attempting to invent other scenarios, Merrick decided his original thought was by far the most logical; he had to assume East Coast crime bosses either thought logically or had advisers that did that thinking for them. He knew that the couple in the house would both be away at their offices so walked through their property and climbed over the fence into his property. He skirted the lawn behind the cover of ornamental trees until reaching the garage. Quietly unlocking the side door he stepped inside. Both baseball bats where inside the house, so he picked up the axe and quietly used a screwdriver to work the wedge loose and extracted it with vice-grips to remove the axehead; murder was not on his mind either.

He then used his mobile phone to call the house, knowing that Kirsty had three choices – to answer the phone in the kitchen, living room or bedroom. It didn't matter which one, as long as she answered with the goon standing over her and listening.

Kirsty answered, and Merrick put down his phone, unlocked the door into the house and quietly closed it behind him.

"Who is it?"

It was a voice with an American accent. He'd been right with his assumption!

"There's nobody there," Kirsty replied.

"Okay, move back over to the window where we can keep watch."

So far, so good.

Merrick slipped out of his shoes. He went to the backdoor and knocked loudly, then quickly moved back to the connecting passage to the garage door, holding his axe handle at the ready. 

"That's someone at the backdoor."

"Well, get rid of them. No secret signals or attempt to escape."

"No, I understand. I have my friend to think about."

Bingo he was right again, Merrick half-smiled in satisfaction.

Standing motionless he watched Kirsty walk past, eyes fixed on the door, followed by the tall, raven-haired goon with a kitchen knife held out in front of him.

"Pssst," Merrick whispered.

The goon turned, the knife no longer pointed at Kirsty's back. Merrick clubbed him on the side of the head and he dropped like a stone.

"Good day, darling," Merrick said brightly to Kirsty, standing looking at the fallen retriever with the knuckles of her hand jammed in her mouth. She looked up at Merrick wide-eyed and whimpered.

Without waiting for her to recover, Merrick went to the garage for a length of rope and a pocket knife. Picking up his phone he returned and began binding his victim's wrists behind his back.

"Is he dead?"

"No, just sleeping deeply. He's breathing. Grab one of my handkerchiefs and a tea towel."

Tying the man's feet Merrick then took the handkerchief and stuffed it into the man's mouth, snatching a kiss from the startled Kirsty as he took the tea towel from her and cut off a strip to tie the gag in place.

Merrick went through the man's pockets until he found a passport.

"Look in the list of phone numbers by the kitchen phone and call Lisa a Mason's Travel – get her to hold, I'll be back inside two minutes."

He took the passport into the garden, slit open a piece of hard ground with the spade, and dropped the document into the opening after noting the man's name, Tony Mario. He stomped the ground until satisfied that it looked exactly like the surrounding earth.

Wordlessly and still looking a little shocked, Kirsty handed him the phone.

"Hi Lisa, it's Merrick.

"Great your lovely client; how are you?"

"Look, I've got to get to New York urgently. Any chance of getting me on the flight this afternoon?"

Lisa asked him to hold.

He held out an arm, and Kirsty came into it.

"What are you doing? You have no show in hell of trying to reason with him. He's a criminal."

"I'll think out tactics on the aircraft. My feeling is my current run of luck will hold out."

"If it doesn't?" Kirsty asked coldly.

"Well, darling. It was great while it lasted."

She stared at him impassively looking ready to cry as Merrick resumed speaking on the phone.

"Yes - that's great, Lisa. I'll take the business class option all the way through. I need to arrive in tip-top shape. Get me an economy return two days later, final flight of the day. But do your best to wheedle an upgrade for me. You've got my credit card details."

"Yes and your passport number. 

"Good, electronic ticketing means I don't have to come it, doesn't it. I'll buy something in New York for you to make that lovely face of yours even more beautiful."

"I bet you say the same think to all those women who are nice to you."

"No, I don't flirt like this with all women. Bye Lisa and thanks."

Kirsty looked at him balefully. "Although we are not yet married, you are turning me into a widow."

"That's the gloomy side - look at the reverse side. If I succeed the threat is removed. I feel I can only get your release through face to face negotiations. Remember, your predecessor negotiated her release."

That last comment perked up Kirsty a little, conceding that was true. She asked to be allowed to accompany Merrick to New York.

"No, if there were two of us there he'd be more likely to outsmart us. This way is best. Come on, start packing while I go and fetch the SUV. I want you to stay a few days in hiding; my best buddy and ex-brother who is a doctor up the coast will offer you refuge. I'll phone him on the way to the airport. I'll need you to help me get this ape into the back of the SUV."

"What will you do with him?"

"Dump him at the airport, with his identify documentation intact but no passport. There will be a brief investigation and then he'll be deported. With luck he'll call Spiro, adding to their confusion."

"Are you sure you are not a criminal?"

"Of course not, why do you ask?"

"It seems to me you think like one."

Merrick grinned, and slapped her on the butt, telling her to go and pack.

Dr Brian Raymond told Merrick he'd be delighted to have Kirsty as a house guest. Marg being heavily pregnant would welcome the company of a bright American only about her age.

"Thanks buddy, she will drive herself up in my wagon later this afternoon. We are engaged and will throw a party as soon as I get back."

"Am I to be best man?"

"Best man - you? I was intending to have a respectable person, but perhaps we might make an exception."

In the airport parking lot Kirsty left the vehicle and walked to the terminal. After fifteen minutes when there was no apparent activity in that parking area Merrick pulled the still conscious hood from the rear of the vehicle and dropped him onto the ground. He then drove some distance off and parked, thinking that with a bit of luck no-one had witnessed the dumping and his action had not been caught on security camera. In all probability the vehicle registration had been photographed arriving, but so would the registration numbers of hundreds of other vehicles.

Noting the row and space number of where he was now parked to give to Kirsty, Merrick grabbed his bag and headed for the terminal.

Kirsty was surprisingly composed when it came time to say goodbye. They kissed and hugged enthusiastically and she told him, "I now feel a little confident that you might pull this thing off."

"Why, what's changed you from dread to almost jubilation."

Kirsty led him to the window and straining to get the oblique angle, pointed. Merrick took her position and could see the flashing lights of police and airport security vehicles grouped where they had first parked Merrick's SUV.

In the remaining minutes left together he noted down details of the names of company principals that Kirsty named as Spiro's business associates. She was good, fantastic in fact. Merrick had a list of thirteen names.

"So you suspect all of these people are involved in crime at least at some level?"

Kirsty nodded, saying it was customary to have a legitimate enterprise masking the real money-making activities.

"Be careful what you do with that list of names, Merrick. Make accusations and you'll not be seen again."

"Understood, now come here for our last passionate embrace for the next thirty-six or so hours. While I'm away you might like to get Brian's wife help you plan an engagement party. She's a great sort; she was a semi-pro women's cricketer in Australia." 

Kirsty told Merrick when he phoned her from Los Angeles that she'd found the vehicle without a problem and on the way out passed a police check. She'd told the police she'd not seen anyone dumping a large package in the car lot. She showed her American driver's license and confirmed that the owner of the vehicle, Merrick Jamieson, was her finance and she'd just left him at the airport where he was catching a flight to Los Angeles on business.

One of the policemen detained her. He phoned someone and paused to check with Kirsty that it was the Air New Zealand flight at four-fifteen. She heard him say 'Jamieson, Merrick'. 

"The policeman returned and said tome, 'On your way, madam. We just needed to check your story as you were not directly related to the owner of this vehicle'."

"Excellent said Merrick who said he had a two-hour wait for the United Airlines connection.

"Take care darling, you are very precious to me," was Kirsty's farewell followed by the sound of kisses. 

Merrick hoped he had years more of farewells like that ahead of him.

On the flight over the Pacific through Oceania to the Americans he'd consumed some fine wines and lovely food. Instead of watching a film he thought about tactics; he'd had the germ of an idea when he'd asked Kirsty for those names of Spiro's business associates. 

Sleep came to him easily after he'd checked and double-checked the robustness of his strategy and was satisfied it should have a chance of out-smarting his adversaries. 

At the airport in Los Angeles Merrick wrote a one page letter to his lawyer, a junior partner in one of the largest law firms in Auckland, asking that the enclosed sealed letter be lodged in the firm's documents security room. He instructed that the letter be opened at midday on the twenty-second of the current month and taken to the police unless that written instruction had not been cancelled by Merrick in person before that date. In a footnote he asked that a photocopy of that instruction be attached to in the documents security room day book for the 22nd.

Merrick photocopied that letter of instruction and then had the original letter and the sealed letter packages lodged for couriering to New Zealand. As a precaution he tore off his solicitor's address off the top right-hand corner of the letter he placed in his inside pocket and discarded the address.

As Los Angeles dropped away behind the United Airways jet Merrick accepted a glass of California chardonnay from the flight attendant. Without fear he wondered if this might be his final flight in an aircraft – the finality of everything. It was likely that Spiro was into gambling, drugs, prostitution and keeping on top of competitors using the age-old tried and proven methods.

Without fear? There was nothing in Merrick's background to support such a he-man image. Nothing in the genes – his father was a school principal and his paternal grandfather had been a radio officer on merchant ships, these days called freighters; his maternal grandfather had been a farmer.

His mother was feisty, hot-headed enough to be termed brave as she hadn't a clue about knowing how to back down. That was just how she was, the rebel daughter of a kindly second generation clergyman.

Nor had home life been a hard physical struggle for Merrick, who being the elder of two children ruled the roost and was accepted in that role by his sister whom he'd adored through childhood and had that affection reciprocated in a mostly queenly manner, Merrick being eager to respond to her commands when it suited him. As Melba progressed though her teens Merrick made up his mind he would marry a girl like Melba. Unfortunately, his choice of wife was not in that mould; she was almost the opposite in fact.

Not unexpectedly, Merrick's girl friends as he'd journeyed through his teen years began to date Melba's friends – girls six years older than him. Initially this caused problems as although New Zealand is socially mature as a nation, a sixteen-year-old boy dating 22-year-old women had him cast as some sort of depraved monster by some of those girls' parents. Merrick largely kept his head down through double-dating with Melba and her friend who fancied going out with the kid brother who appeared so worldly. The incentive was Merrick had access to his parent's car and didn't drink so there was no problem for the girls of being driven around by a drunk driver as they hit the night clubs.

When he turned eighteen his parents sent Merrick to a toughening up adventure school in the Marlborough Sounds where he learned the skills of bush craft, watercraft and self-defense – three new passions that returned home with him. The family was astonished by the change in him. He seemed taller stronger, more focused and, most unexpectedly, had become extremely polite.

Before dropping out of urban social life for wilderness training, Merrick had not jelled well with his father, whom he thought was a grump and rather useless as a father, never wanting to throw a ball or run, and his mother had to attend to most breakdowns and other emergencies around the house. 

The exception was discipline; his father Basil was exceedingly expert at that. However, the last thrashing Merrick received was just after coming home from that Outward Bound course when Basil refused to stop slapping Melba around. Merrick intervened and when being whacked turned on his father, knocking him to the ground, watched by his terrified sibling.

"You wait, you'll get it from your mother when she comes home," Basil had snarled, with one eye closing rapidly. Instead of berating her son, his mother turned on his father. A meek 'Yes dear' from Basil never to hit Merrick again was a promise kept by Basil until his death eight years later in a hunting accident. 

At the character-building course, Merrick had been so fascinated by one of his tutors - an acclaimed mountaineer - who he decided to model himself on that man, who was hard as nails physically while being the politest man Merrick could ever remember meeting.

The first evening after his arrival back home Merrick went to enroll in the local judo club; he'd won the award as the most approved student in self defense at the training camp, and was eager to work through the belts. Alas, every class was full. Already appealing to women with his rugged good looks and almost shy smile, Merrick's hound-dog expression of disappointment turned the heart of the female judo instructor. She whispered she should not be 'sending a potential student to the enemy' but wrote down the address of a man who'd just set up a kick boxing studio in his car garage. 

Merrick was turned into a hard, fearless and award-winning student of the art –with two false replacement teeth screwed into his jawbone as more enduring reminders of his six-year adherence to the sport of kick-boxing than were the trophies on shelves in the family room at home.

It was the third discipline of skilled action on watercraft that Merrick brought home from training camp that really gave him direction in life. Entering university he joined the rowing club, and performed better than average. That interest, however, was short-lived when a fellow rower invited him out one weekend for a social sail on his father's 54ft sloop. When Merrick went to the aid of a grunting deckhand and the winch really began flying and that was noticed by the skipper and boat owner, Alec Raymond. As a result, the next Wednesday evening Merrick was sitting at dinner with the Raymond's in a fancy restaurant.

Brian their son would join them later, being at a tutorial. To his astonishment as he was talking about his interest in sailing with Alec, Merrick felt the toe of Mrs Mary Raymond running up and down his leg, and then a few minutes later the foot of Brian's older sister Kate sitting opposite him; that foot plopped straight into his crutch.

Embarrassment was all over Merrick's face as he heard Alec inviting him to join his regular crew which would mean giving up rowing. He urged Merrick to consider the request favorable - "I will make it worth your while," said the senior partner of one of the largest law firms in the city. "I need you aboard. I've been trying to get Brian on the crew and after that sail last Sunday when I brought it up for the umpteenth time, he replied that if I could tempt you he would join you. His twin brother Stan, who is at law school, is already on board as a trimmer.

"I'd like you to join the crew, Merrick," Mrs Raymond had smiled, her shoeless foot now inside the cuff of his trouser left.

"Yes, Kate said, also with a shoe off and her foot massaging Merrick's disbelieving cock. "Join and we'll adopt you as an honorary member of the family. I feel you have promising talent." Saying that, she licked her lips provocatively, a display not lost on her mother.

Merrick's idea of sailing along with a winch handle in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other were quickly dispelled. Alec had Brian and Merrick and the rest of the crew at a gym two nights a week training, with superbly fit Alec setting the pace. 

Brian doing medicine had a punishing study schedule and if he missed a crew training night he was expected to go solo the next evening. Brian would call on Merrick to join him, as he got bored working out alone. When they finished they would go on to the boxing ring if it were available, where Merrick began teaching him the rudiments of kick boxing. Quickly they bonded.




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 03



One evening Brian met Merrick at a pub for a couple of drinks and they left five hours later well tanked. "Listen, old buddy, Brian said to him, arm around Merrick's neck "The women of our household think you really are something."

"Come off it," Merrick had laughed. "They must be the two most stuck up bitches in the entire city."

"Well said, buddy," grinned Brian. "But I know them from old; all the signs are there. But I tell you this - fuck my sister by all means. She is a bit of a tramp. On the other hand, don't lay a finger on my mother. Why? Because my father will kill you, that's why. He'd a really jealous bastard and his possessions are his possession alone. Get it?"

"Yeah, but I really aren't into stuffing my sponsor's women."

"Don't be too correct - two of my old buddies reckon Kate is one of the best lays in town, that she really knows how to pump a guy dry."

"Thanks for the advice buddy. You better drive home now before you get any drunker."

"Good advice, Merrick, and I shall take it. Don't you wreck that car of yours either."

One long holiday summer weekend, the Raymond's invited Merrick on a cruise. On Saturday night there was a big party ashore. Merrick, not in a drinking mood which was usual for him, swam out to the moored sloop and had just got into his bunk when he heard a clunk of a dinghy alongside, and considerable giggling. 

He went to investigate and helped Kate and her mother aboard. They were both all over him affectionately and he shooed them off to bed, with Kate inviting him to her cabin in ten minutes; she said she would have something for him.

Merrick decided to accept the offer and went to the cabin where Kate, already sprawl out naked on the double bed in the dimly lit cabin, held out his arms to him. He didn't have to work hard to get her excited and was just about to enter when Mary her mother, also nude, slipped into bed beside them.

"Alec has that slut Mrs Rogers ashore and I'm not going to miss out," Mary had said, bending over her daughter's left breast while massaging Merrick's nuts with her other hand.

At that time Kate had graduated with a Masters of Arts degree and was teaching at a private girls' college. A year later Merrick graduated with a bachelor's degree plus a diploma in photojournalism gained from an associated technical institute. He decided to seek experience in Australia and was engaged by a magazine company based in Adelaide. Kate went with him. They returned to Auckland six months later and were married, returning to Adelaide where they spent the next five years. Their first child Giles was born there and they were back in New Zealand living in Christchurch when Bella arrived.

Mostly happy years followed. At times Merrick suspected that Kate had the occasional one-night stand but stood aside to avoid it becoming a deep suspicion leading to a confrontation. The weeks turned into months and he realized that Kate was referring to the name Mark more and more and one day he arrived home and found Mark in his place in bed.

"Hullo, you must be Mark," Merrick said, as the bare-chested man sat up in bed, very surprised and embarrassed. As Kate stirred Merrick calmly said, "I'm off for a walk around the block. If you are still here when I return I shall smash you to pulp."

There was no Mark around when Merrick returned but he found a very irate Kate in the bath who screamed at him for threatening 'Dear Mark' is such a childish way.

"Choose between me and Mark," Merrick had challenged.

"Don't be so childish," she sobbed. "I want both of you. You had not compunction about having me and my mother together all those years ago - remember!"

"I do, much to my shame," Merrick confessed. "But here is now - Mark or me?"

"Then I choose Mark - he is far more sensitive and considerate than you are, and the children adore him."

That enraged Merrick; she'd exposed her lover to their children. He told her that he would sleep in the spare room until the weekend, when he would shift out. He was happy to get a divorce by qualifying under the legal terms of irreconcilable separation, but would consult his lawyer – her brother Stan, Brian's twin, to ensure that the house was sold and he obtained his legal share of their assets and retained legal access to the children. In fact, he would be happy to have the children if she wanted to flit off into a romantic sunrise with precious Mark.

"Daddy is my lawyer and he's a better lawyer than Stan. You'll end up with nothing."

"So be it," Merrick had replied, removing his toiletries from the bathroom.

The next two evenings he'd slept at Brian's house. Brian and Marg were very sympathetic. Brian's view of his sister was uncharitable: "Once a slut, always a slut."

Merrick shifted out that weekend, Kate having been kind enough to spend the weekend with her children out sailing with her parents to leave him to make a peaceful exit.

After that it turned to custard for Merrick. Brian joined Stan in the battle to negotiate successfully for Merrick's guardianship of the children but lost it; Merrick decided not to try to win a custody order in Court saying, "Let the children live in Australia with their mother and the man they apparently like so much."

The final farewell with the children was traumatic. Giles wished his father would stay and accept Mark as a kind uncle, while Bella didn't know which parent she wanted. Giles had gravely shaken his father's hand at the airport when Bella finally made her decision; she hugged her father and declared she'd always love him, he was her daddy and she'd return to him when she was free to do so. Her mother was anything but conciliatory: 'If you need to contact us, write to my father." She then moved off to where her own family was waiting out of sight.

Mark had thought that was the end and that he would never hear from them again. But thanks to the establishment of email cafes he began receiving emails from Bella, who with commendable enterprise emailed her uncle Brian Raymond for her father's email address. 

Merrick sent his messages to the email address of one of Bella's friends. Over time he noticed Bella's wordage was becoming more and more affectionate until a year on she finally announced, "Long ago I decided that as soon as I turn eighteen I'll return to live with you, daddy – that's if you'll have me. Mummy remains a bitch, if you will excuse the expression; Mark is ever so kind to us all, but he's weak and is not my daddy." Although not a heavy drinker Merrick went out and got blind drunk that evening, being delivered home to his dwelling by a kindly barmaid who had to wait until dawn next morning to get thanked properly. However Merrick kept to his rule much to her disappointment: only the occasional non-recurring, one-night stand. 

They were dark times for him but he coped. When properly sober he sat in front of the keyboard feeling far more excited that he'd ever been at a computer. He wrote:

'My Darling Daughter (usually he addressed his messages, 'Dear Bella'). I await your homecoming deliriously. Let's keep this a secret between ourselves as I have no wish for your current relationship with your mother to deteriorate. I trust you can understand the importance of that. I'm honored to accept that you have chosen me entirely uninfluenced by me. It is a tribute that I shall remember hugely for the remainder of my life. I shall, of course, not hold you to your intention to rejoin me as sometimes people's plans change. Just let's see what happens, huh? Your ever-loving father. Merrick. PS. Please respect Giles' decision about which parent to remain with. Remember, he always tended to favor his mother whereas you were the exact opposite. M.'

Situations indeed do change so Merrick decided he'd email Bella about the entry of Kirsty into his life as soon as this business with Spiro was finished. He avoided wondering whether Bella, now twelve years old, and his twenty-five year old lover would take to each other enthusiastically; he'd learned long ago that he possessed no skill at predetermining any female's thought or action. The answer would come from the two women.

He was glad that he'd purchased a house rather than still living in a one bedroom apartment even though it had been a very luxurious pad. Development as a freelance photojournalist had been very profitable from him mainly because he was so damn good at his work. People who commissioned his services for the first time invariably came back again. That, of course, gave him great satisfaction, strengthening his self-belief.

After reviewing the past, including those gut-wrenching times on this flight to the JFK International Airport, Merrick slipped into a peaceful sleep, ready to battle for the freedom of the new love of his life or possibly being beaten up or worse trying to win freedom for Kirsty.

* * *

Merrick rang the bell to Kirsty's apartment in East 102 Street. He saw an eye appear at the peep hole.

"Yeah. Who are you?"

"Merrick Jamieson from Auckland New Zealand."

"Christ!" was the disbelieving response. "Wait there!"

Merrick had no intention of leaving. He tried to image the scene instead the apartment: The black suited goon who'd answered the door whispering to Spiro in shirtsleeves, smoking a cigar with a glass of red wine in front of him. He imagined a distraught Meg who was being used for the entrapment of Kirsty, sitting on the toilet seat, handcuffed to the water pipe. Merrick deduced if he could take out the goon he might have a chance of flying across to handle Spiro before he could pull a gun out.

The door opened.

"Come in punk," snarled the goon.

Merrick almost grinned, thinking it was like a reply of a B-grade gangster movie. He'd seen scores of them in his time, and if today's gangsters modeled their physical behavior on their predecessors he was in for a rough time. The voice of the goon sounded slightly unsettled which pleased Merrick - either the guy thought Merrick was insane coming here or was some kind of superman. That might slow down the goon's tiny brain a tad.

As Merrick walked passed the goon he was commanded to halt and something hard and round slammed into Merrick's back and just missed his spine; it could only be the barrel of a gun.

The goon's hands swept over his back, under his armpits, up his legs to almost jam his balls into his under-belly and down the other leg.

"Turn around, goon," ordered the goon. Well, someone was using the wrong name, Merrick thought.

It was a short barrel revolver in the goon's hand. It was the first time in his life that Merrick had seen a real handgun as they were outlawed in New Zealand for ordinary citizens apart from members of gun clubs under certain restrictions.

This time he was frisked – Merrick was sure that was the correct word – down his front, under his arms and up and down his legs again, his balls taking another painful hit.

He's clean, boss, Merrick almost mouthed, staring at the goon, trying to unnerve him.

"He's not carrying, boss."

Well, almost right with his wordage.

"Hi Mr Jamieson, welcome to New York although I understand it's a return visit to this city for you and to this apartment," boomed a big voice. "You may face me."

Merrick turned and was astonished. Lovely, sweet Meg whom he'd jogged with in the company of Kirsty was sprawled across Spiro's lap, looking as if it was the only place in the world she wanted to be. She was totally nude. Spiro was nude from the waist down, was in shirtsleeves with his tie yanked opened. He looked hot and sweaty. Both had a bottle of beer in their hand as if recovering from some sort of exertion. With a start Merrick had also noticed that Spiro had an empty gun holster on the table in front of him. That meant the gun was probably on his lap, giving him the feel of cold steel against his dick.

"You have one of my top men being deported from your country, you naughty man." Spiro grinned. "He was supposed to be one of my best, and is not very happy with you. He called me and requested that I get you to linger so that he can mess you up a bit when he arrives tomorrow evening. Why didn't you bring Kirsty?"

"It wasn't necessary."

That reply seemed to upset Spiro but at the same time he squirmed, as Meg busily worked to re-prime his cock, apparently ignoring the gun. 

"Why wasn't that necessary?"

"Because it only takes one of us to negotiate her release."

"Her release as you call it is non-negotiable."

Spiro nodded almost imperceptibly to the goon behind Merrick. Merrick was thankful that he was eying Spiro instead of watching Meg at work.

The gun barrel pulled away from Merrick's back. He took a chance that an old movie was being replayed. He lunged to towards Spiro, half-turned and shot his left-leg up high and fast where he knew instinctively through hours of practice all those years ago where the assailant's throat should be, only this time there was no pulling back as this time he was free to maim although regrettably he was long out of practice.

Merrick's eyes held those of his victim who had, like in the old films, flicked his gun around and had raised it high and was in the process of slamming it down on Merrick's skull. 

In the same instance as Merrick saw the goon's eyes widen the edge of Merrick's leather boot slammed into the goon's throat. Those coal-black eyes turned up into the goon's head and with a high-pitch rasp he dropped to the floor already unconscious.

Merrick spun around and hearing a heavy metallic click, froze.

Spiro had a gun pointed at him, having just removed the safety catch and his dark brown eyes and surrounding face were expressionless.

Meg was picking herself up where apparently she'd been tossed aside. She now looked afraid.

"A very impressive performance, Mr Jamieson; I think that earns you the right to negotiate, don't you think Meg sweetie."

Meg nodded.

"Well, apparently that's confirmation from Meg. Very well, persuade me Mr Jamieson."

Well, this was it. Merrick had reasoned on the aircraft that Spiro would greet any plea for release with contempt from a man he intended to punish for luring her into becoming a runner. Spiro had to be convinced to make a concession as an unavoidable business decision.

Merrick cleared his throat.

"Kirsty and I became engaged a few days ago, but her association with you continues to hang over our heads. I want your promise as a gentleman that she is released, totally and utterly with no further price to pay."

"The problem with that, Mr Jamieson, is that I am not a gentleman. But carry on."

"In return for that concession I will stay written instructions on a countdown for execution at the offices of my lawyers back in New Zealand. That suspension will cancel a process that will lead to your investigation by the Inland Revenue Service here of yourself and a number of your business associates apparently tipped off to the authorities by you in order to have the IRS go easier on you."

Spiro's face turned almost purple in rage and for a split second it appeared he was close to pulling the trigger.

"You're lying," he snarled.

Merrick worked hard to remain calm; it was important not to show weakness.

"Kirsty had an enjoyable time with you Spiro and describes you as a fair guy when it comes to relationships. She says you treated her with tenderness, consideration and rewarded her handsomely. She wishes you well. May I remove my right boot?"

Without hesitation Spiro said yes but warned Merrick would get a bullet through the chest if he pulled out a weapon.

"Just a piece of paper that I hid, expecting to be searched on my arrival; it would have meant nothing without the build-up I have just presented you."

He removed the shoe and pulled out the piece of paper.

"May I approach you with it?"

"Move slowly."

Merrick approach and almost felt the power of the man. He stepped back, allowing Spiro to read the names on the list.

"Christ, how could she get this information? I kept her separated from my business activities."

"Almost, but not quite. There was an overlapping between business and social activities, and you involved her here in New York in social activities, no doubt very proud to have such a beautiful lady at you side. Unfortunately for you Kirsty has an excellent memory: these names she memorized. She also assures me she doesn't have a clue about what business operations you are involved in, although suspecting that some of them may be of interest to the authorities."

"If this list falls into the hands of the authorities I'm done for - many of those gentlemen on this list would personally wish to put out my lights."

"I can understand that; a hazard of your profession no doubt."

Spiro smile thinly and put the gun on the table.

Merrick knew this was it: "So do I have you word that you release Kirsty and leave us alone ever after?"

"Yes, provided that you as a gentlemen will retrieve your list or lists of these names and destroy them."

"I give you my word on that, absolutely."

"This is a peculiar way of doing business, and I'm uneasy about it; it's most irregular. I will call my man off as soon as I talk to him again, but make sure you don't run into him at an airport. Now fuck off and hurry through that door before I'm tempted to put a slug up your ass."

"Goodbye, Merrick," called Meg. "Please give my love to Kirsty and tell her that I've taken her vacated position."

"Bye Meg, goodbye Spiro."

"Through that door fast, Mr Jamieson."

On the way down in the elevator, Merrick thought he would burst into a relieved sweat and his knees would give way. However, he remained relaxed and strong, but was very, very relieved.

Outside he waved down a cab and headed for Penn Station. He would make a surprise visit to his aunt and uncle on Long Island. He'd call Kirsty from outside Penn Station. He felt elated, knowing that a wedding was coming up– he'd tell Kirsty he wanted it within three months as he wanted to make an honest woman out of her, as they say.

Merrick could hear the phone at Orewa ringing. Damn, she might be out. He decided to let it ring for another thirty seconds.

"Dr Brian Raymond's residence," was the tentative response. But it was undeniably Kirsty's voice. Merrick felt a surge of adrenalin pump through his chest.

"New York calling, Penn Station. It's all over; you're free."

There was a brief pause, then the sound of air being sucked in. With ear-drum-saving anticipation Merrick held the phone away until the scream subsided.

"Truly, truly?"

"Yes, truly,. truly? I am unhurt and wish to be married to you inside two months."

"Well, we can talk about that."

"Inside two months, Kirsty; I'm afraid this is not negotiable."

There was a pause as Kirsty grappled with the competing forces of instinct and conservatism. Instinct was triumphant.

She took a deep breath, "Yes master, as you wish master."

"Excellent - phone your parents as soon as you have finished here with me. Any date will suit, and any location. I'd be inviting a dozen people plus my best man and his wife."

"Oh, that sounds as if you want to rush it."

"How very perceptive of you," Merrick chuckled. "By the way, Meg has just been installed as the replacement New York; she looked very happy and sent her love."

"Well, fancy that. Meg used to be so offhand about sex, saying she could go for months without feeling the need."

"Perhaps it's the life-style she has bought into? Anyway, I think we should invited Spiro and her to the wedding."

"What!" was the anguished cry of disbelief.

"Want me to repeat myself?"

"No thank you. I heard you loud and clear. How could you think of such a thing? I can imagine you did not have the nicest of receptions when you visited Spiro. Either Stevie or Solly would have had a gun shoved in your back."




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 03



"Something like that. My reasoning is additional insurance. As difficult as this may be to accept, I think Spiro has a soft streak running through him. Look how he released your predecessor to get married. I believe your linkage will be truly severed in his mind when he sees you taking your marriage vows. It's worth the outlay of a couple of places at our wedding breakfast to test that theory. Can your parents afford the outlay for that test?"

"Don't worry about them, they are loaded. Look, I need time to think about this radical suggestion. Already in my mind I'd seen the last of Spiro, and now you want to bring him right to me. It's rather unnerving."

"Sure, do that darling. You know you are taking a big risk marrying a man ten years older than yourself and I took a big risk going to New York. But sometimes one has to take risks, knowing that the chances of things coming unstuck cannot be discounted. My instinct tells me this is the right thing to do. If yours tells you otherwise, then so be it. I shall leave it to you to make the decision. I'll not raise the matter again."

"Thank you darling. Just give me a little time to get my thoughts straight. You blew me away for a moment."

"How are you liking it up there on the coast?"

"Oh, scenically it's lovely, the people are friendly but there's so few of them. The place appears deserted. Brian and Marg have been so lovely. I can see why you and he are so close. Marg and I have become close, also. She's constantly hugging me and inviting me to feel the baby moving. She introduces me to people they know as 'My lovely friend Kirsty Fallon from New York.' She makes it sound as if I am a princess; I've never had a female regard me in high esteem like that since college days. It's wonderful."

"So you won't be returning home with me the morning after next from the airport."

"Oh yes I will. I'll be eager for the kisses and the sex but most of all I want your arms around me. I'm truly in love with you, Merrick."

She could hear his strong breathing but he did not speak. 

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, it's just that I'm exposed here in Pen Station at a phone, so I have been thinking about flying mice over the wheat fields of South Australia."

Kirsty laughed. "Fancy in danger of getting a boner when I talk to you sweetly. If you want dirty phone sex, I can..."

"I'm happy just the way things are, thank you. That was a wonderful thing you just said to me. I feel blessed."

"God, Merrick. Now you're getting me going."

"Well, perhaps fortunately I must dash. The train to Bellmore leaves in five minutes. I'm off to see Jimmy and Aunt Betty. They'll take me to the airport."

"Give them my love, darling. I shall see you at the airport. Save journey."

"Bye darling, keep it warm for me."

"Don't be revolting," giggled Kirsty. Hurry home – oh, phone me from LA. Bye."

"Bye." 

"No, wait. How did you get Spiro to agree to release me?"

"I promised to destroy my list of names my law firm is holding in return to him promising to free you and ask for nothing in return."

"Only a promise? You idiot – can't you see what Spiro is?"

"I figured it was a novel agreement for him, that in his whole life no-one has asked him to do a deal on the strength of a promise and that would make him feel good."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing," Kirsty wailed.

With great reluctance, Merrick terminated the call.

At JFK Airport Merrick kept an eye out for the returning henchman, having no idea what flight he'd be on. He looked for anyone in a neck brace, as it was likely one would have been needed after that blow with the axe handle. He saw nothing to alarm him.

Jimmy and Merrick mostly listed to Betty prattling on about the wedding. She had already emailed Kirsty with suggestions about the dress – 'short, lacy and white with a short white veil. Have no compunction about wearing white – I wore full length white at my wedding all those years ago despite having been a very naughty girl before the wedding'. She was absolutely sure the venue would be LA. 

"It's going to be so exciting wandering the malls in Los Angeles and going star spotting," Betty told Merrick. "I haven't done that for fifteen years when we stopped-over through going to Honolulu or was it that trip to New Zealand; it was fifteen years, wasn't it Jimmy?"

"If you say so dear," was Jimmy's automatic response. That produced a pleased grunt from Betty and a big grin from Merrick. He was damn sure he would not drop into automatic responses with Kirsty, not that he'd be allowed to anyway.

"I'm so much looking forward to this wedding and seeing my dear sister again," began Betty, in another replay, unaware that her naughty nephew had dragged Jimmy away to find a bar.

* * *

The Air New Zealand jet landed in a fine, windless early morning at Auckland Airport. In Merrick's bag were five choice presents purchased in the shop of the Museum of Modern Art in New York. One for Kirsty (plus a bottle of her favorite perfume) and gifts for Brian and Marg and an equally expensive gift for his travel consultant, purchased in anticipation that he would be upgraded to business class - possibly all the way through. That had happened.

Merrick emerged into the main concourse from customs and was looking around the big crowd gathered around the arriving passengers exit when Kirsty slammed into him with a jump, wrapping her legs in unladylike fashion around his waist and was smothering his face with kisses. She was so soft, warm and smelt exotic. Merrick kept his mind in neutral and then heard her reciting something, "Flying mice over the wheat fields of South Australia ... flying mice over the wheat fields of South Australia."

Grinning, he placed her on the ground gently and kissed her thoroughly, feeling entirely under control. What a homecoming!

Then Marg was beside him, face upturned waiting to be kissed. He ran his hand over her huge belly. "When?"

"This Saturday," we believe. "Being my first it may delay its arrival."

"So it's 'It', not my choice of Trevor?"

"Ha-ha. It's a boy and it will be named Logan which was Kirsty's suggestion."

Marg pulled down Merrick's head and whispered, "She's absolutely lovely, well done."

Merrick gave her a grateful smile and shook hands with Brian.

"Kirsty has told us how you guys came to meet, and then one night when we got her drunk she told us why you had gone back to New York. Christ, mate, it would have been safer to have holed-up somewhere in Australia."

"I know but without guarantees. If these people decide they want to find you they'll find you."

"I guess you're right. You always were a hard bugger so that way would be the only way for you. It's good having you back. Come on, we'll take you home then go shopping for baby clothes for a couple of hours, giving you time to get reacquainted. Then we'll come back for lunch and you can tell us all about it – the New York adventure I mean," Brian said, grinning cheekily.

Laying back on the bed after his most memorable fuck ever, cuddling his lover, Merrick asked Kirsty to tell him about her younger days.

"What do you wish to know?"

"Just the interesting parts."

Kirsty told him her first memories were living in Dallas, where her father had been assigned after returning from New Zealand. The appointment contracts tended to last for five years. Their next relocation was to Chicago and her father landed a renewal of contract there which covered her high school years. He then won a contract in New York and that covered her college years.

"It was very convenient of daddy, really. But despite all of his influence he couldn't get me the type of job I wanted in journalism after I graduated. He retired and he and my mother Bess decided they would like to go to the West Coast to find a choice place to retire, so daddy generously paid up the apartment lease for me for one more year. When that expired I began a series of joint sharing apartments with other girls, trying a number of jobs. But none I liked; I wanted to be a journalist."

Kirsty said she accepted three trial positions with publishers but each time found they were simply out to engage her as cheap labor under the guise of receiving on-job training, but the reality was no training system was in place. She picked up information by watching others work and asking questions and amassed some experience but only doing mundane work such as rewrites and producing fillers. 

"It was all very depressing. I found waiting on tables was the most suitable thing for me to do while I waited, and waited for an opportunity to crop up. One day I applied for a position in journalism and that's when the manager dialed up his boss to watch the interview, which is how I met Spiro. You know the rest."

"What was he like at making love to you?"

"Is that asking for a blow by blow account in all its variations?"

"God no; generalizations if you please."

Kirsty sucked in her bottom lip, composing a suitable response. She said that Spiro's interest was always in 'getting one away', as he called it. He varied from being quite gentle for such a large man to being rather rough but he respected her enough to not to be brutal.

Merrick looked thoughtful and said he guessed there could be a fine line between being rough and brutal.

"Yes, in my experience men who are brutal carry on regardless. Spiro was not like that, fortunately."

Spiro invariably brought her to wonderful orgasms, Kirsty said, but orgasms devoid of real emotional attachment.

"He would call me 'love' in address, but never did he say he loved me. When we finished he might give me a couple of strokes on the body or a pat or two on the butt, and that was it. Just a form of 'thank you lady'. He would then roll over and go to sleep, or put on his shorts and loll back on the sofa and began a long round of phone calls, talking quietly so that I could not follow the conversations. It was agreed between us that I would not be involved in his business affairs. Never did I go through his brief case or his pockets."

"Were you aware he carried a gun?"

"Yes."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. It is not rare for New Yorkers to either carry a gun or to keep one handy."

"You are going to love living here where it is illegal to carry any weapon for the purpose of offensive use."

"I hope so. My main worry is I may become bored. Life looks rather slow here and theatre is pathetic, if you excuse me for being critical and TV lacks the bright and funny full-on chat shows that I love so much."

That response made Merrick aware more than ever that Kirsty was in need of reprogramming, to help adjust to a new and very different life-style.

"Do you like sailing?"

"Yes, at times I went with Spiro out on company-owned yachts, some being more than 120ft long. It was very enjoyable and the saloons would be all gold and velvet."

"I mean small boat sailing?"

"I really don't know. Are they safe?"

"Invariably. Brian's twin brother Stan now owns his father's yacht that I used to sail as a winch hand. I'll organize a trip out on that when I go in to see him tomorrow. He's my lawyer and he'll want to meet you."

"Why are you seeing him tomorrow?"

Merrick then told him how he'd set up the IRS threat including implicating Spiro's business pals, using the list of names she'd provided. It was now necessary to retrieve that sealed envelop and to incinerate it.

"God, that was brilliant. Spiro would have been mad about it, but impressed. He then would have imaged himself being disemboweled by a knife-wielding fanatic acting under orders. It could have occurred any time, any place. In a restaurant, emerging from a business meeting or even out on a crowded street, witnessed by scores of people. Did he offer you money to get that list?"

"No, I traded your release on the promise that I would destroy that list. It was a gentleman's agreement."

Kirsty said she still believed emphatically that Spiro would be incapable of comprehending the meaning of that term 'gentleman's agreement'.

Merrick grinned, conceding that he'd worried about that possibility himself. But Spiro's eyes had convinced him that Spiro did understand, was genuine and eager to complete the agreement. "I guess you have expressed the reason why," Merrick chuckled. "The image of being publicly disemboweled in the company of one's friends – knowing that probably one of those friends was responsibly for arranging the execution – is not the most comforting of thoughts."

Merrick now came under close interrogation.

"Was Meg in the room while this was going on?"

"Yes."

"What was she doing?"

"Sitting close to Spiro."

"What was she wearing?"

"Nothing that I can recall." 

"What about the minder? There always was a minder when Spiro and I were together."

"Yes, one was there. On the floor with a near death rattle in his throat."

"What happened to him?"

"I kicked him."

"I was under the impression that a kick in the nuts is painful but not life threatening."

"I kicked him in the throat."

"Bejesus, how did you do that? Minders are no mugs."

"He wasn't expecting me to do it, so I jumped him."

"What, you jumped high enough to kick a six foot man in the throat?"

"Not exactly jumped, I spun around and kicked my legs up and sliced into his throat with my boot."

Kirsty sat up to look directly a Merrick. "What kind of man are you, Merrick? First you try to chop my ankle off with your cowboy boot and now you're telling me that you almost killed a man by kicking him in the throat. You appear to be a walking deadly weapon, and I guess the minder had a gun pointing at you?"

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"He'd changed his grip to hold it by the barrel and was about to try to slam the butt through my skull."

"Oh Merrick," said Kirsty shaking. "That was my worse nightmare; I was sick with worry all the time you were away."

"Now, now; I've filled you in with the details. There is no need to think about this any more. Get your mind on other things – kiss me and love me. We've got another hour to go before the others arrive back for lunch."

Brian arrived back with two bottles of French champagne and a loan hamper filled with food from a delicatessen's.

With glasses filled – fruit juice for the very pregnant Marg – Brian proposed a toast. "There is an engagement party at our place on Thursday night as Friday night might be bad timing for Marg. Here's a toast to two lovely people who have luckily found each other Congratulations, Kirsty and Merrick; welcome into our tight little circle, Kirsty."

During lunch Kirsty gave the Raymond's her account of what Merrick had told her had happened in her old apartment in New York. The Raymond's listened wide-eyed, in the end asking only two questions.

"How did you know exactly where that guy would be standing when you weren't looking at him?' asked Brian.

"My instructor all those years ago used to make me practice that kick repeatedly, session after session," Merrick said. He was lightning fast, and would catch my foot, and twist it savagely if it was off target. If he blocked me on target he would simply grasp my foot. I found it a lot less painful to keep kicking right on target. Miraculously, it seems that I haven't lost the skill after all these years. He trained me to see in my mind where the target would be."

Marg asked a real curly question.

"How is it that you are so descriptive about what happened in that room and yet you can't remember what that woman was wearing?"

Merrick was conscious that all three of them were waiting for the reply.

"I instantly blanked her out as she was not a threat to me. As Spiro promised to put a slug up my ass if I didn't move through the door quickly there was no reason to stand around waiting to see what clothes she had on or whether Spiro was going to shaft her. Are you guys coming to the wedding?"

Attention immediately swung away from apartment action.

"Oh heavens, I forgot to tell you Merrick," confessed Kirsty. "Mama phoned back last night to confirm she wants the wedding in Los Angeles and had booked a reception lounge for the 30th of next month. The facility has a beautiful garden where temporary seating is placed for the wedding ceremony. Weddings of famous people are often held there. Is the 30th acceptable to you?"

"Absolutely. I had anticipated it would be in LA because that's where your mom lives."

"Good. I'll email her right now." Kirsty left the room.

"Yes, we'll be there," said Brian. "I expect I am confirmed as Best Man."

"Yes, and the new-shape Marg will be my chief bridesmaid and I will have one other attendant," came the voice from the study.

Merrick winked at the Raymonds. "That means I'll need another man - I guess Spiro will stand in."

Kirsty rushed from the study screaming, stopping when she saw the three grinning faces. She returned to her emailing, giggling.

"I'll ask Stan; I'm inviting the Raymond seniors as well as they were very hospitable to me over the years."

"That's nice, darling," said Kirsty re-entering the room. Mama is expecting a strong contingent from New Zealand."

"I haven't spoken to you about this, darling," Merrick said, but I would like to invite Kate and the children and their foster father. It seems the right thing to do and I would like my children to be there."

"Yes, of course," Kirsty said, smiling warmly.

Brian cleared his throat and said that in his opinion his sister would stay away, as she had a vindictive streak in her, but she would probably send the children.

Merrick nodded, saying he agreed that was the most likely outcome. But he'd be happy about that.

"The other bridal attendant?" Merrick asked.

"I want to invite Spiro and Meg. If he accepts then I would like Meg as a bridesmaid if that is acceptable to you."

"Very acceptable, and you two women will find out for yourself what she is wearing when I went face-to-face with Spiro," said Merrick, taking the risk, having downed four glasses of champagne. Kirsty poked her tongue while Marg merely looked at him pitifully. 

"How did you know Spiro would be in that apartment when you arrived?" Marg asked.

"I had a hunch he'd be there waiting to welcome back Kirsty."

Kirsty turned white and Brian caught her as she fell.

"Just a temporary loss of blood supply to the head," Merrick grinned. "She tends to buckle a little under pressure."

The next day final page proofs of the Waiheke article arrived from Sydney for checking. The setting sun shot of the winery looked very arresting. The heading was 'Auckland Retreat of Wine & Fun'. Kirsty had seen photographs and text separately but not the series of small photographs and Merrick's caption-story of the article headed, "Drama for Three Little Boys in a Leaky Boat." 

With relief she found that the story made no suggestion of a dramatic life-saving rescue, although the pictures did depict that, particularly of the two women rescuing the young lads - wet dresses revealing that neither woman was wearing a bra.

"Well done," was all she said, handing that page back to Merrick with 'the' ringed as a literal that had been missed by the magazine staff and Merrick. "Well done yourself," he acknowledged.

Merrick went on to find two captions on another page were transposed and he noted that the very artistic wine tasting picture could be cropped a little tighter to allow the re-worked image to be make larger and thereby more dramatic. He drew in the cropping marks and then rescanned the page proof for sending back. 

After emailing the changes, Merrick asked: "Notice anything in particular about the subbing of your articles?"

"Yes, all are now more tightly written but despite that they flow well."

"Good girl. That's exactly it. Better you find that out for yourself than for me to point it out. Self-criticism and self-appraisal are excellent teachers. 




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 03



"Now what should you do?"

"Make us coffee?"

"That too, but you should print out your articles as dispatched and match each one against the edited version. You may not agree with every change but even so attempt to determine why such a change was made - more likely than not it is simply related to house style or the subeditor's preference. Many other editing changes, however, may prove to be eye-openers and useful for your learning curve. Actually you did very well - my impression of your submitted copy was that it would be a breeze to sub, even with the re-writing. You write with reasonable word economy, display a good grasp of language and your wordage is crisp and clear. There clearly is a writer inside you."

Kirsty sat in her chair for a minute after Merrick had turned away and started working on his accounts. She was flushed with pleasure. She was determined to work very hard to earn more genuine accolades from him.

To Be Continued... 



Freeing Kirsty Ch. 04



SO FAR: Divorcee Merrick Jamieson (35) visiting New York comes into contact with the moll of the mysterious Spiro whom the spirited Kirsty Fallon has reason to fear if she so much looks at another man. But after a brief association with Merrick Kirsty (25) finds she has become attracted and follows him to his homeland and begins working with the photo-journalist. When Spiro sends a retriever to bring Kirsty back to him Merrick goes to New York and wins her freedom from Spiro. The couple are now free to marry but trouble lies ahead of them. 

* 

Merrick prepared the dinner while Kirsty worked in Illustrator on the desktop computer signing their wedding invitation she'd designed, great happiness pulsating through her as she worked on this more agreeable of tasks.

At 11:30 they were awoke to a phone call. It was Kirsty's mother, worried that the reception area she'd chosen might not be large enough. 

"It's simple, mama. Ask fewer people."

"You know dear, that's exactly what your father said. After all these years you two are still ganging-up on me."

"We both love you, mama; don't you ever forget that.

"Oh, I feel so much better talking to you. I think I will reduce my guest list. That's an excellent idea. Now, let your father and I talk to this young man of yours - we wish to welcome him to the family."

Kirsty rolled her eyes and shook Merrick fully awake.

"That is, providing he's not at work."

"It's 11:30 at night here, mama. I know that New Yorkers believe they are at the centre of the universe and the world works on the same time as them but I didn't realize Califorinians had similar problems with the ego."

"I'm sorry, dear. It's just that it's so light here. It's difficult to image people elsewhere being in the dark."

"Some people in the light can be in the dark."

"What do you mean, darling. Is that one of your obtuse remarks?"

"Here's Merrick - and he's not my young man, mama. I'm twenty-five and he is thirty-five. We are both approaching middle age fast, especially when denied sleep."

"Thirty-five - isn't that a little too old for you?"

"We've had that conversation twice before in the last ten days, mama. Just accept it – I'm in real need of his maturity. Now be polite and not nosey when speaking to him. Here he is."

"Is that you, son?"

"Hello, Mrs Fallon. How nice to hear your lovely voice. You have a real international accent."

"Oh really, how lovely of you to say that. Kirsty says you're thirty-five so you better call me Bess, as some of my friends who call me that are only a little older than you."

"Thank you for that privilege Bess. May I ask what perfume you have on today?"

"L'air du Temp."

"Oh, how lovely. That's by Nina Ricci, isn't it?"

"Well yes, it is."

"Obviously you are a woman of expensive tastes, Bess."

"Well thank you, er, Merrick. But this telephone conversation is supposed to be about you, not me. I wish to welcome you to my family and to ask you to promise to always keep my daughter happy."

"Providing that she always obeys me, Bess."

"I beg your..."

"Oh, Stan is signaling that's a joke. I look forward to talking to you again, er, Merrick. Here's Stan."

"Hullo Merrick, Stan here. Welcome to the family."

"Thanks Stan, I appreciate that. Are you into boating and fishing?"

"Oh yes, and big time into golf and bird watching, if you get my drift."

"You've going to love it down here when you and Bess come to stay with us, Stan. We've got all of that here."

"You sound my kind of man, Merrick."

"Likewise, Stan. Here's you fabulous daughter wanting to say hello."

"Hi dad. Isn't he a smoothie? I knew he'd be your kind of man. Look dad, mum has been going on in her emails about having French champagne by the truck load. Could you handle the rejection of that idea for me please. I want a truly Californian wedding, as that's where it will be. Only Californian wines and foods - and no exotics brought in. By the way, my darling also looks a charming man daddy. I'll email photographs tonight, including one of me involved in a minor rescue mission – but don't show that to mama as I'm showing a bit of tit and you know how she goes on about that. You'll love watching the women here dad and many of them are very sporty; they don't tend to hang out at malls here."

"Does your darling play golf?

"No, a great deal; I think he said a struggling fifteen. Of course he won't mind you playing off a seven, he'll only be concentrating on trying to beat the living daylights out of you."

"He does sound my kind of man."

"Confirmed, daddy. Good bye. Please do the call in future as you'll choose a better time than mama. Auckland is currently twenty-one hours ahead of Los Angeles time. Goodbye and kisses for you both."

Kirsty rolled over on to Merrick with a loud whoopee.

"Daddy thinks you sound a charmer and come across like his kind of man. I thought he'd have to meet you before coming to that conclusion. I've very happy about that. Mom, well mom can be all over the place at times and even I have trouble with her. But from what I could hear I would think you have her half round your little finger already. They really are super parents, you know."

"Well, I did have to try. It's handy to have parental approval if you're whacking their daughter."

"Don't be crude. You should try to like them as personalities, rather than try to score high approval ratings."

"That was a joke."

"Was it?"

"Yeah."

"Then come here."

"I'm not going anywhere with your hefty frame all over me."

"Hefty! My God you are rude. I scarcely have an inch of extra flesh on my body apart from my tits."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Oh, by the way - it's your turn to meet the parent in the morning. Mum was due back from Surfers Paradise in Queensland about now, and I promised I would have you around at her place for breakfast at 8:00."

"Oh my God, I can't go. My hair, my finger nails..."

"Yeah, yeah and you'll need a new dress, new shoes and a new bag. Calm down. Mum is mum. She'll never notice."

"Oh won't she? Those first thirty seconds under her gaze mean everything to me. Women are not blind and easy pushovers like men. They don't change their minds about a prospective daughter if she flunks the initial appraisal."

Merrick couldn't let go. "How do you know that?"

"I just know."

"But that's an illogical response."

"I know, that's why women can be difficult to deal with."

That was a big invitation to go for a king hit, but Merrick wisely decided to leave it. Almost sulking he had a sudden thought. "What's the time please, honey?"

Honey replied it was three to midnight.

Merrick picked up his cell phone.

"Who are you phoning at this time of night?"

"Mrs Stewart."

"Who's Mrs Stewart?"

"My, I mean our cleaning lady."

"Is she late for work," asked Kirsty tartly, then began giggling at her joke.

"Ha-ha. No, I'm just in time. She often tells me she reads in bed till midnight then gets up at 6:00. Her husband sleeps in another room because she snores."

"Good heavens, your cleaning lady shares intimacies like that?"

"Yes, and even started on vaginal bleeding one day until I disappeared; she got the message."

"Hullo Mrs Stewart. Merrick here, calling just before lights out time."

"It's so lovely to hear from you. I hope you are well?" 

"I'm fine thank you. And you? And Buster?"

"He's a little bound up."

Merrick screwed up his face. "Oh dear – then pile fresh fruit into him plus plenty of prunes and water. Look, a crisis has arisen. You know how you told me that you're ever so excited about meeting Kirsty? Well as a big favor could you do her hair early in the morning. Her hair looks OK to me and so do her fingernails, but she says they both are in a mess and I've just told her that she's meeting mum for the first time at 8:00 in the morning. I told her not to worry as mum won't notice, that mum is just mum."

"Don't by a prat Merrick. In the first thirty seconds your mother will decide whether or not this woman is right for you."

"The first thirty seconds you say – have you been speaking to Kirsty? Of course, I know you haven't. It's just that Kirsty used almost those exact words."

Mrs Stewart went on and on about the instinctive intelligence of women and their ability to reading bonding signals and to deal with hostilitites. 

"Right, women don't have to be told, they just know," Merrick said agreeably, eager to terminate the call. "Well, it has been a privilege receiving this glimpse into the second world of women. What time should I bring her round?"

"I don't want her here with Buster sneezing all over your perfect flower as you called her and leering at her breasts." 

"How do you know Buster will leer? I didn't know all men did that - I thought I was an exception. Incidentally, why did you call Kirsty my perfect flower?"

"You described her as that. It's also a summary of all your lovestruck babblings over the weeks before she arrived."

Merrick now looked embarrassed. "Well, I'm sorry about that; I must have bored you."

"It's a privilege hearing a man go on about a woman like that." 

"Why thank you, Mrs Stewart; I take that as a supreme compliment. Good night Mrs Stewart."

Kirsty eyed him keenly. "I heard what she said. You described me as your perfect flower to your cleaning lady?"

"More or less, apparently."

"She agrees about the need for a good first impression on a prospective mother?"

Merrick hung his head and nodded.

"She says all men stare at women's breasts?"

Merrick lifted up his head with pride: "Yes, absolutely, which makes me normal."

"Finally, Mrs Mop is coming over here to do my hair and finger-nails? Oh Merrick, how could you?"

"Wait, wait. No tears! She's been a hairdresser for forty-seven years and still works at it every Monday and Fridays, has a loyal clientele and a waiting list the saloon owner told me is half a mile long. She still wins awards and still learns modern techniques. She cleans my - I mean our house - on Wednesday mornings and the Mathieson's house down the road in the afternoons as she loves cleaning but is sick of hairdressing. She only does hairdressing to get out of the house and away from Buster her moaning husband."

Kirsty looked at him through greatly narrowed eyes: "Merrick, I'm finding this hard to believe. It is impossible that a Mrs Mop, the person you have described, can exist. Should you not admit to me that you have gone over the top a tad?"

"No, of course not."

"It's not fair on me to raise my expectations to unrealistic levels."

"I know darling; I'll tell you what. If you honestly conclude that I have been lying about this I promise not to make any sexual demand on you for one week."

"Um, that is excessive. What about one night?"

"Very well, done. But I'm not making a counter bet because you hate losing."

"Well now, how can I possibly lose - you have nominated me as sole judge."

Mrs Stewart arrived next morning, gushing on about Kirsty's flawless skin, the quality of her hair, the pert shape of her breasts, the flatness of her stomach and her shapely bum, as she called it.

Poor Kirsty. Her face was flaming red. She heard Mrs Stewart slurp her coffee and wondered whether she usually drank it out of the saucer. While Merrick was chatting to Mrs Stewart, Kirsty took a good look at her: A terrible skin, breasts hanging down to her pot belly and an as ass that could politely be called 'comfortable'. A sense of impending doom consumed Kirsty.

Mrs Stewart lifted a carton of bits and pieces on to the table, and shooed Merrick from the room. It was a common as muck beer carton.

As soon as Mrs Stewart swept the fingers of her right hand through Kirsty's hair Kirsty's heart lifted. Those fingers seemed to shimmer through the hair. They then moved over to the kitchen sink where the hair was washed, and only briefly massaged before they returned to the kitchen chair pulled well clear of the table.

Mrs Stewart walked around Kirsty completely to return facing Kirsty and then she took two steps backwards. She stood with her left arm folded over her belly and supporting the elbow of her right hand, the index finger of that right hand resting lightly on her right cheek. Mrs Stewart's eyes riveted on Kirsty's face and hair, and all she said was, "Hmmmm."

Kirsty silently shouted, " Hallelijah!" If Merrick had the sense to walk through the door right at the moment he was welcome to have her, right on the floor and right in front of Mrs Stewart she fantasized. She'd jumped to an undeniable conclusion that everything was going to be all right and that for the first time, or at least as far as she knew it would have been the first time, Merrick had not been lying to her. Her eyes remain closed as she heard Mrs Stewart rummage around the carton, probably for scissors. Yes, scissors. They were very sharp and passed through her hair in a hand that was butterfly light.

"What's he like in bed, love. I've often wondered?"

Kirsty's eyes flew open...

Twenty-nine minutes later with the hair blower switched off, Mrs Stewart screamed out, "Come and have a look at your darling."

Merrick bounced in confidently, grinned and said, "I guess it's sex tonight after all."

"At your ages I thought you would have it was also at noon," Mrs Stewart said, conversationally.

Kirsty fluttered her eyelids at Merrick, rolling her eyes at the same time. He got the message and smoothly changed the subject as Mrs Stewart worked on Kirsty's nails.

He began magnificently: "Do you like the result darling? No need to be shy if you are critical because Mrs Stewart is oblivious to criticism or reprimands."

"It's equal to the best my hairdressers in New York have done for me – a fantastic cut and shape," Kirstly enthused.

"I bet you were nervous about an old tart like me taking to your hair with a pair of scissors," chortled Mrs Stewart.

"N-o-o," began Kirsty, realizing that Merrick would now learn that she sometimes lied. She wanted to reach up and hug him when he cut in smoothly: "I sang your praises high and loud Mrs Stewart," he said. "Kirsty came to you with great expectations."

"Huh?" said Mrs Stewart. "I came to Kirsty actually, but I get the drift. I'll do your hair and nails regularly for you now if you wish, Kirsty. I love being around sexy people. That's the reason why I've been a house cleaner for his nibs here. Now your shoes you'll be wearing to breakfast love, do they need cleaning? I'll attend to them if they do."

"No thank you Mrs Stewart. I will be wearing a new pair. I must look my best."

"Well, if she's going looking immaculate I want you to dress up too, my lad. No jeans and Sloppy Joe."

"Yes, ma'am."

Kirsty smiled sweetly at this remarkable woman. "How much do I owe you, Mrs Stewart? Will eighty dollars cover it or do you want more?"

"Good heavens, girl. Put your money away. This was an emergency so there's no charge. In future a hair and nails combo will cost you $45 if I do it here as I get the whole fee and pay no tax."

"That's very generous of you, Mrs Stewart."

"Call me Milly, honey, but he can keep on calling me Mrs Stewart; I like receiving respect from younger men."

An idea appeared to be forming within Kirsty.

"Mrs Stewart, do you and your husband like dancing?"

"I do, but that old coon won't go out at nights, so I miss out unless there is a girls' night out organized at the saloon; I usually get invited because most of them respect me."

"Well, this Sunday night would you be the guest of Merrick and me at a dine and dance - I just feel the need to reward you in some way for preparing me so beautifully for my imminent appraisal."

"Invited to a restaurant and at night. Oooh, I say. Yes dear, I'd be honored, but I must ask that you take me home because I do tend to over-imbibe at such functions."

"Collected and returned in a door-to-door service guaranteed," Merrick grinned, "but bring your husband. Tell him women showing lots of tit will be there. He'll go stale on you if he doesn't get out and about."

"That's lovely," trilled Mrs Stewart. "Right you two, your time is running out. Off and get ready. You don't leave this house unless you pass my inspection."

Kirsty, standing still completely nude while Merrick sprayed perfume over her entire body, said: "That was an unbelievable experience, darling. I still am shaking my head. She is so good."

"You are on a learning curve, darling. Kiwis are amongst the world's most creative people when given raw materials or implements. They even amaze the new technology gurus in the way they can adapt new hardware and software."

"That's very interesting darling, but please hurry. Your steel blue suit would be best, I think."

"Me wear a suit to my mother's house? That simply will not do. She will be convinced that you have bewitched me – that is, providing she recognizes me. No, a smart open neck shirt and sharp creased trousers finished off by shiny shoes. That passes mum's muster."

"I'm not sure what you are talking about, but pl-e-a-s-e dress and act to meet her highest expectations of you."

"I will."

They paraded before Mrs Stewart, who thought Kristy looked stunning.

"Those breasts dears, you height, your hair. You make me go weak at the knees," she said, making Kirsty feel a little edgy.

"Passed with honors," decreed Mrs Stewart.

She then inspected Merrick. "Nice butt," she said, giving it a playful slap. Then she cried, "Go replace those shoes - wear black for God's sake!"

"I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen," said Kirsty, as Merrick slunk off to change his shoes.

"Continue to apply the pressure, my love," advised Mrs Stewart. "Men really have little in the way of good taste; they must be manipulated."

"Thank you, Milly, responded Kirsty. "You are a wonderful mine of information."

"When sex leaves our lives, that is one of our few relevant functions," replied Mrs Stewart, with profound certainty that rocked Kirsty.

"Make sure that you build your foundation of marriage around more levels than sex," Mrs Stewart said, giving Kirsty a huge wink. "You know, you are very much like the daughter we never had. We had a son, but he no longer wishes to know us."

Walking up to Merrick, now preppy in black shoes, Kirsty announced that she was prepared as she ever could be for the head-to-head meeting. She surprised herself at baring her soul: "Thank you darling, for assisting me in my moment of need."

Merrick only vaguely knew what she was on about, whereas Kirsty knew, even in this modern technological age, she was being swept up in one of the most ancient rituals of mankind: meeting the prospective mother.

Kirsty was nervous and quiet in the drive over to the North Shore so Merrick left her to her thoughts and instead amused himself by trying to imagine what was passing through his mother's mind.

The reality was that Mrs Linda Jamieson was an ageing widow who'd married a man with the unflattering name of Basil, now deceased. Linda Jamieson was very aware that her son Merrick had allowed one marriage to slip through his hands and now he was attempting to achieve a more successful replay. 

Merrick sighed as he continued to think about his mother. She regarded his previous wife as being more or less a self-ingratiating cow and it was unlikely that this new candidate would be any better, particularly as she was an American - and not only that - a New Yorker. In Linda's mind this was an unbalanced relationship and was doomed. Not only that but Linda would be consumed with jealousy when she saw her son's new lady. Not only did the New Yorker sport a flash new haircut but her finger-nails were done to perfection and she was dressed in clothes to die for. 

Actually, thought Merrick, would the fingernails be noticed? His mother would certainly notice according to the scheming wench at his side, togged up in clothes more suited for a revival Sunday School picnic. He then imagined his mother pulling her right hand up near her face and looking at the jagged, bitten nails. She would then scowl, what right has this American intruder to outdress and outshine me!




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 04



Oh dear!

They were still a few miles away from his mother's townhouse when he pulled over and parked.

"What's up?" asked Kirsty, coming out of her troubled thoughts.

"We don't have to go through with this, you know. I could phone mum and say you're gone down with a cold or something."

Kirsty looked shocked.

"Are you losing your nerve?"

The flush speeding on to her partner's face gave her the answer before the slow arriving quasi-denial sounded. "I'm only trying to do what's best for you."

"Drive on," commanded Kirsty, "but talk to me and try to make me laugh. It has been so lonely sitting here in the quiet while you are darkly brooding."

"Darkly brooding?" he queried, thinking it should be brooding darkly.

"Yes, darkly brooding in the fashion typical of a man with women trouble."

"Women trouble?"

"Must you repeat every second phrase I utter?"

"Are we having a row?"

"Would you like to have one? That would just be dandy, wouldn't it, arriving at your mother's home all flushed and bad-tempered and provoking her to rub her hands with glee? I can just see her now, writing up a note on her fridge door and saying, 'That's one-nil to me',"

Merrick looked horrified, and swept a hand nervously through his carefully brushed tan and blond-streaked hair as Kirsty had attempted to describe its color the first time they had been in bed together. Clearly he was at fault: Kirsty had felt the trauma of the occasion seizing her and instead of dragging her out of the hole she was in, he'd pitched in and was digging it deeper for her.

"Merrick you clown," he groaned aloud.

"Possible an apt description," smiled Kirsty, "but you could try to become ringmaster. Just don't allow your mother to dominate and we shall be fine. She may have a shred of sympathy for me."

Merrick asked how did she figure that out?

"She will have memories of being presented to her own prospective mother."

"Wow, an excellent though. Right, let's go. We are now late, which will mean we have her on the back foot."

Linda Jamieson answered the front door and Merrick's jaw hung dumbly when he saw his mother. A blonde wig now covered her thinning, ratty grey hair and the hand that dropped on to his shoulder as she turned a cheek to be kissed had fingertips sheathed in iridescent blue-tipped false talons.

That was only the start. Linda had regained a definite bustline again, she was wearing a natty white jacket and matching skirt with black trimming and the flatties had made way for high-heeled shoes.

"You look lovely, mum."

"Thank you, dear. The man I was living with on the coast encouraged me to get a makeover."

"Living with?" Merrick gulped. His mother was back into having sex. Good heavens, she was sixty-one.

"Mind your own business," she responded, with a motherly snap. "Well, do I have to introduce myself?"

"Er, no mum. Mum, I mean Linda Jamieson, I have great pleasure in introducing you to my fiancée, Kirsty Fallon."

"Hullo, Kirsty. Call me Linda, my dear. You look beautiful. Come, we'll go out on to the deck while my over-wrought child goes to the fridge and pours some sparking wine for us, or are you addicted to coffee?

"No, sparking wine will be a lovely treat, Linda."

"What a well-mannered woman you are. That pleases me greatly, my dear."

Merrick poured the bubbly, wondering if was dreaming all of this. Or had his mother was overdosed on her medication? He shook his head, not only was his mother back into having sex again, but she'd spoken about it openly in front of Kirsty, a complete stranger. 

Dropping a flute he lunged and made a one-handed catch inches from the floor. Then he popped the bottle closure too fast and a spray of wine froth went over the kitchen cupboards and on to the jam and cream sponge. I need medication, he thought. Mum is right, I'm over-wrought.

"The wine will have qualified for vintage classification if we have to wait any longer for it," came the confident call of a mother in control from the front deck.

"This is a view to die for," gushed Kirsty, looking across rooftops to the sparkling blue waters of the harbor and to the Hauraki Gulf beyond, taking in the myriads of sailboats, the majestic blueish-tinged Rangitoto – a dormant volcano – and to the outer islands.

"When I bought this place last year I did not have the thought in mind," Linda said dryly.

My God, mother has a humor, thought Kirsty. Merrick made no mention of that. She laughed and Linda laughed with her, pleased that her prospective daughter-in-law appreciated oblique humor.

Merrick arrived with three flutes on a tray and placed them on the table without spillage, not helped by Kirsty encouragingly rubbing a shoe against his trouser leg.

"Now my dear, a piece of cream cake or dry low-cal biscuits?"

Kirsty's brain ordered dry biscuits but her body screamed for the cream cake. As the cream cake had obviously would have been made to impress her, she asked for cream cake.

"Very good, you need fattening up," said Linda, appalling Kirsty whose main pride in life was exhibiting a super-trim body on which she toiled and denied herself to retain its slimness and to nurture.

"Two 2-inch slices and cake forks for us if you please, Merrick. You may cut the usual greedy thick slice for yourself."

Seconds later he arrived back with the slices he'd already cut - two and a half inch slices for the women and a six inch slice for himself.

"Don't stuff all of that into your mouth at once," Linda said to Merrick, making no comment on the speedy service.

"Now Kirsty, let's get down to the nitty-gritty. My son already has had one failed marriage and failed to retain possession of his two children. So are you capable of assuring me that you can make a better success of the marriage than did your predecessor?"

"We'll have to wait and see, won't we?" Kirsty replied, raising her flute and saying, "Cheers".

Linda did not look at all cheerful at that moment, but replied to the toast and did Merrick whose face now glowed with pride.

Watching a seagull soar over the rooftop for a moment, Linda looked at Kirsty again. "That actually does not answer my question. Of course none of us can predict the future; it is intent and commitment to the task that I am talking about. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, of course. You are entitled to express a motherly concern and I have no problem with that. At the same time if I chose not to reply to any question in the manner expected, you are faced with having to accept that."

Like a tennis umpire, Merrick's glance went back to his mother. The smile had gone, the corners of her mouth had tightened. He felt certain that she was being outplayed, and that she knew it but would not give up just yet. This was enjoyable!

"So, I am to be treated as an outsider, am I?"

"No, not at all. It is my hope that you will adopt me completely as your own daughter by marriage. I wish for that to happen."

"But you are confusing me. You want total acceptance but without giving yourself completely?"

Kirsty gave an exaggerated sigh and smiled warmly at Linda.

"My attitude here is simple - my personal attitudes to my imminent marriage are just that, my very personal attitudes that I shall share only with my beloved. I daresay many things in the lead up to your own marriage and after it were never discussed with other people, your own parents and yours in particular."

"Well yes, I shall have to concede that," Linda said with a heavy frown. "But as I have explained, Merrick has had a failed marriage and I have no desire for us to face a second failure."

Kirsty looked across the sea to the graceful shape of Rangitoto which collecting her thoughts. "Linda, it is good that we are having this discussion but please understand that the days of seeking parental approval are gone. Merrick and I are also mature adults, totally capable of making our own decisions. It is up to Merrick to decide whether I am suitable to partner him in marriage and he's made that choice unequivocally in that he's not asked me for concessions, assurances or to make changes within myself nor have I from him. As the risk of possibly shocking you, I must say it is not important that our marriage lasts a lifetime. What is important to me right now is that we do marry and do so optimistically and being very much in love. It is then over to fate and our individual manipulations to how we progress and endure together beyond our wedding day. Although Merrick and I have not spoken about this, I feel we both are in tune with this philosophy."

"That is correct, absolutely correct," Merrick said, earning a glare from his mother.

"But what about the spirituality and sanctity of marriage and the expectations of loved ones around you?"

"What about them, Linda? I see them simply as a framework some people prefer to have erected around them. Both Merrick and I only have very basic religious beliefs so the human-inspired rituals and protocols have no relevance to us. We have discussed this at length and are agreed."

"So, why get married?"

"Now that is a question that I can answer, but only from my point of view, Linda. "I love Merrick and wish to commit to him legally through marriage as that does provide mutual benefits to us and to children if were are to have them. But above all I see the simple ceremony of marriage before family and friends of our desire to be welded together in partnership in the most public and glorious way possible. It will, however, be an emotional and ceremonial bonding of us, not a religious bonding, although both of us believe there is a spiritual basis to our very being. That's all I really wish to say. If you desire more discussion, direct your questions to Merrick."

"Well, that's very direct."

"I am that kind of person, Linda. Please don't interpret it as rudeness and I accept your right to act as a concerned mother even though your son is thirty-five years' of age."

"Well, that's putting me in my place. I guess I must accept it. I expect there are some rough times ahead of you and me Kirsty."

"Only if we fail in our skills in communication, Linda, or any differences are actually irreconcilable."

"Quite. Well that ends the nitty-gritty session. I do not expect to hear anything from Merrick that I don't already know. He used words to describe how he loved you after his time with you in New York. I accepted what he told me about how he felt and what you were like and the influence you had on him. But it was that hound-dog look on his face whenever I saw him after his return from New York until your arrival four weeks later that convinced me that he loved you."

"Aw, how sweet," said Kirsty, jumping up and kissing Merrick on the forehead.

"Fetch another bottle, please Merrick," requested his mother. When he'd left them Linda told Kirsty that she now accepted her fully as her daughter. "Don't worry about that first marriage, my dear. The real fault lay with her; I never really liked the woman."

Merrick came out with another bottle of sparkling wine to find the women locked in a hug. He beamed, wrenched the cork out of the bottle and was horrified to see it spray over his mother and Kirsty. They broke apart giggle and began dabbling each other with their handkerchiefs.

Leaving Milford and a happily waving Linda behind them as they drove off, Merrick said innocently, "There, I was perfectly correct, wasn't I, in saying that in meeting mother for the first time you had nothing to worry about?"

"Yes, quite so, Merrick. I must thank you for the excellent manner in which you defused a potentially eruptive confrontation."

They looked at each other with love, and laughed.

"I'm taking you down through Devonport to park on Mt Victoria to see the spectacular city-harbor-gulf views and then, if you are still talking to me, we shall trundle down to the village for lunch. There are some great restaurants down there. But first I want to discuss something with you on Mt Victoria."

After they returned to the vehicle after Merrick had pointed out landmarks to his American fiancée, he told her about how Bella had re-established contact with him and had expressed the wish to one day return to live with him.

Anxiously watching Kirsty's face he waited for her reply.

"Nothing would please me more than to be the mother of an instant teenager. My only concern is will she accept me?"

"Oh darling, will she what! She's very much like me, she will adore you."

"Well, if that does occur in a few years hence we might already have a baby or two."

"Yes, I guess we have the instinct and intelligence to know how to handle that. I have kept the emails from her which I will give you to read when we get home. But there is one more thing - I suspect when Bella meets you in Los Angeles at the wedding she'll want to come back home with you and live with us immediately."

"Oh Merrick, that would be lovely. I really would like that to happen."

"In all probability it will involve a legal wrangle."

"Then let's get the best possible consul to represent us."

"We still may lose."

Kirsty smiled faintly. "I can't see that happening - the Courts today have become more sympathetic to the views of children capable of making sound judgments."

"Quite. Finally, what if the other side scrapes up dirt on either you or me? That could be embarrassing."

Color drained from Kirsty's face, "You mean my time with Spiro if they could prove he had criminal connections?"

"Exactly although such information is unlikely to be anything more than hearsay. Even so, that type of muckraking could influence a Court if this matter goes that far."

Kirsty brushed aside tears. "I want Bella to be with us if that's what she wants, Merrick. To achieve that I'll go through anything; it is also absolutely necessary to have Spiro at the wedding as that will establish we enjoy normal relationships with my ex lover. We also can hit back by dragging up dirt on Kate."

"Good girl, that's the spirit. In fact we should challenge Kate's suitability as a mother at the opening legal discussions, but our counsel will determine tactics. However, the best way is to avoid any legal confrontation."

"Your attitude on this makes me ever so happy. Thank you, thank you."

Kirsty reached across and stroked his neck: "Bella will deserve to live in a household like ours. What about you son Giles?"

"It is unlikely that he would choose to uproot - he always has been very close to Kate."

At the restaurant where they took an outside table under a huge umbrella, both ordering rock oysters to be followed by a dish of assorted grilled fish, Kirsty raised the question of Bella again.

"Have you told Bella much about me?"

"No, just that you are beautiful, have a wonderful brain and personality and we both want to get married. That's all."

"Well, that's not much. Does Kate get to read the emails?"

"No, I send emails to Bella's best friend. Brian suggested that."

"That's good of Brian to do that when Kate is his sister."

"There's not much love between them."

Washing half an oyster down with a dry white, Kirsty said that she would like Merrick to tell Bella more about her. "Tell her that we are living together and planning excitedly about the wedding and that you don't really have a clue about my wedding dress. Tell her that I am a young twenty-five year old who wears very interesting clothes and perhaps attach a photo of me. I want her to become curious, and wanting to know the answers to some of those matters you leave up in the air. I suspect she will email a request for me to start corresponding with her. I want that to happen very much, but she must initiate it - please understand that."

"I do," said Merrick, reading the label on the wine bottle. "You think exactly as I do on that score. I'll email my first mildly provocative message tonight. Poor thing, she won't be able to resist wanting to know about the wedding dress. I feel a bit of a heel being so sneaky."

"Is there another way?"

"No, the gently, gently lead-in that you have suggested seems absolutely the correct way. You do have the devious mind of a good journalist."

Merrick ducked as half an oyster shell shot passed his ear.

Two mornings later Merrick, clad only in underpants, called Kirsty to the computer.

Dressed only in a shirt-gown, she sat provocatively on his knee.

"Look at this."

It was an email from Bella. One sentence jumped right out at Kirsty and she screamed excitedly: 'Please ask Kirsty to email me details about her wedding dress'.

The scream coming on top of the bare skin against his thighs brought the end of Merrick's intention to have an early start on planning their South Island trip to Queenstown to do a six-page feature for an international magazine specializing in featuring world-class resorts. He picked up Kirsty who asked innocently, "Are you taking me somewhere?"

"Yes little Red Riding Hood, I'm taking you to beddy-bed," said Merrick, baring his teeth.

"Help! Help!" were the muffled cries of Kirsty as she sunk her teeth around his right nipple.

The small engagement party at Orewa on Thursday night was a lovely event. Brian had driven into the city to fetch Merrick's mother. Kirsty and Merrick would be arriving from the opposite direction as they had been up at Paihia in the Bay of Islands working on a magazine feature for the launching of a new fashion designer's label. Brian was aware that his parents would only have to make a minor diversion to pick up Merrick's mother but he thought that it was quite likely that the two women – who'd never met – would lived in different worlds and that his mother would only be too happy to make their passenger very aware of that.

It was a typical Kiwi engagement party: the women admiring the ring and asked about wedding details, being astonished that Kirsty hadn't really thought about her wedding dress, hadn't any idea how many children she wanted, where they would honeymoon or whether she would carry on working. The men were far less demanding in wanting information; their combined although unspoken sole objective was to get Merrick drunk.

On Sunday two hours after midnight, Brian was in the bar of a club pumping drinks into himself, Merrick, Kirsty, his parents and his brother Stan in celebration of his daughter, born less than three hours earlier with mother and daughter doing fine. That sex of the baby surprised Merrick because Marg had told him it would be a son but would not be named Trevor, the name he'd suggested to antagonize her as in New Zealand it held the image of an idiot in gumboots acting the fool thanks to a TV series screened years ago that had gone down very big. "Marg wouldn't have a scan," Brian declared, shaking his head. "She wanted to be surprised. Well, we certainly were surprised as both of us had become certain it would be a boy. We really hadn't agreed on a final name for a girl, it being a toss up between Pearl, Megan and...and, oh some other dumb name which I forget. Here, let's get another couple of bottles."

With his jacket off, tie undone and an unlit cigar in his mouth – Dr Brian Raymond was an avid opponent to smoking – and very unruly hair, he projected the classic image of a happy new father. Merrick, who'd captured the very new arrival in the arms of her mother on camera, also photographed the beaming, sloppy-looking father weaving back to the table at the club carrying two bottles of wine.

"I think you should call that sweet little grandchild of mine, Jennifer," suggested Brian's mother.

"Claire would be nice," said his father.

"I rather like Megan," offered Kirsty.

"Alice after my first girl-friend at primary school," said Stan, with a dreamy expression.

Brian and the others looked at Merrick, who shrugged.




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 04



Another round of suggested names followed, with Brian saying he rather fancied Sylvia.

"What, after that tramp you brought on holiday with us that summer after your second year at med school!" shrieked his mother.

Brian looked embarrassed and turning to Merrick whispered, "You gotta help me out, mate." 

Leaning over to grab a bottle to refill his glass, Merrick grunted "Avon" without having a clue how that name shot from his mouth.

There was a gasp, then Stan started hiccupping uncontrollably, Kirsty looked very disappointed in Merrick, the grandparents glared at him and Brian drunkenly said, "What a bummer of a name, mate. Wait till I tell Marg, she will break off relationships with you, I'll bet my left nut on that."

"Brian!" censured his mother, now looking at Merrick as if he were demented.

An irritated tapping on his left shin – Merrick guessed that could only be from Kirsty although Brian also was seated opposite him, caused Merrick to shake his head to clear it. He pondered and with everyone was rabbiting on in a vocal melee he suddenly shouted, "Polly". 

That got some support but was adamantly opposed by the grandparents, with Mary Raymond locked on to Merrick with a viperous gaze.

"Not a good suggestion, mate," whispered, Brian. "She later found out that while she was carrying me that dad was out popping a chick in his office called Polly Masters."

Well primed with liquor, Merrick turned to the still staring grandmother, winked at her and waved, "Howya doing, Mary?" Her reaction was to immediately leave the table.

"You've done it this time," Stan called to Merrick, grinning.

"Come, you drunken fool," snapped his mother to her husband.

Kirsty looked at Merrick and smiled, slacked-mouthed. "I think they are all pissed. What would you like to drink now darling? I've gotten used to that name Avon. But what a terrible name for a girl."

"I remember where it comes from," sniggered Merrick. "It's the name of a creek that flows through the centre of Christchurch City in the South Island. Kate and I lived there for a while."

"No wonder it's a bad choice," sniffed Kirsty, standing up to fetch two peach Bellinis.

Brian phoned Kirsty the next evening to announce mother and daughter were fine and he'd be collecting them in the morning. 

"The parents will be here for lunch, but we want you two guys here for dinner - we shall eat in the lounge where I'll put mother and child on the sofa."

Kirsty said they would love to accept the invitation, but would leave early as Marg would be tired and she and Merrick were off south in the morning.

"Oh, by the way. The baby is going to be called Avon. Marg called me a insensitive idiot for not recognizing it as one of the most romantic names that parents could bestow on a daughter. Hospital staff must have got her medication mixed up. But if she wants Avon she can have it. I think you better reconsider Merrick's proposal of marriage Kirsty. He's a fucking idiot!"

"Come on, Brian; he's your best friend. You're sore because you favored Pearl. Don't you know Marg and I can stand pearls?"

"Huh?"

"See you around six tomorrow, Brian. Goodbye, daddy."

* * *

On the direct flight into the southern resort of Queenstown in the South Island, Kirsty with sunglasses perched on her head re-read the schedule of photo-story activities and their locations, together with a brief outline of possible photographic opportunities.

"I've said previously that this seems to be very thorough, covering the adventure highlights. But something is missing."

"What?" Merrick asked curiously.

"Originality."

Merrick grinned, called her smarty-pants and asked her for an original approach. "It's been done hundreds of times by real hot professionals coming in from around the world. Dream Resorts Magazine knows that and so does not expect to be gob-smacked.

"From memory, all reasonable expenses are covered in the terms of contract."

"Yes, what are you proposing?" Merrick asked encouragingly.

"Nothing yet, just read your girlie magazine while I think.""

"It's not a girlie magazine," said Merrick indignantly," showing the cover of 'Auckland Metro' to her. Kirsty merely grinned, having scored another wind-up.

She thought long and hard, and eventually creatively. Again she smiled, elbowing Merrick awake.

"You snore because you doze with you mouth open," she lied.

"Sorry - you must not let me do that," Merrick apologized. "Well?"

Kirsty took a deep breath. "We devote the rest of today looking for two very athletic, personable, photogenic and cooperative couples. We ask them to be at our disposal for six hours for two hectic days during which time they will participate in activities at our expense in return for being photographed and interviewed. Then on the final evening they will be our guests for dinner where each couple will be presented with two bottles of French champagne in appreciation of their cooperation. The theme of our coverage will be: 'A Foursome Hot-dogging in Paradise'. Perhaps on that first evening we can snatch a few shots of them in a bar. What do you think?"

"It has promise - I like the concept of a foursome trying one adventure highlight after another. It gives continuity and perhaps will allow couples reading the article of doing exactly the same things. Yes! But in engaging people to perform in high-risk adventure, even without pay, we open ourselves to financial liability if any of them gets injured due to our mismanagement."

"Surely they will have travel insurance in coming into this area?"

"Yes, but it's unlikely to be enough if their claim falls into the hands of a commercial litigator."

"Then take out our own project cover - say for $l million. It probably won't cost a fortune if we agree to certain conditions such as only having our team take part in commercially operated and supervised activities. Those operators will also have huge public liability cover against misadventure or operator negligence."

"Right, I was thinking along those lines myself. You are not just a pretty face, are you?"

"If you say so. So as soon as we have booked in to our room we split, looking for two separate couples or a foursome. We'll meet back at our room at 2:00 and go to late lunch and compare notes. Then if required we go looking some more. We must aim to have the two couples tied up by nightfall and we may have to compensate them if they cancel their own bookings and don't get refunds."

"Yeah, but let's wait over that; some of the activities booked may fit into our coverage. Do you believe that one of us could find the two perfect couples?"

Kirsty was optimistic: "Anything is possible - just peer hard and keep the pace of the search up. Believe that the more you look, the more you will find."

"That's good advice, sweetie. I tend to work like that anyway."

They met over lunch: sandwiches and beer for Merrick, while Kirsty had mineral water and selectively picked over the fillings of her sandwiches, leaving the bread for Merrick to scoff. Kirsty had found one couple, but one of the women seemed timid. Merrick had done a little better, possessing the mobile phone numbers of three couples, all of whom would do "in a pinch".

"Not beautiful people."

"No, just average kiwis on holiday."

Success came just like it had been scripted. They walked out of the bar and Merrick walked straight into the butt of a young woman bent over reading the bar's food blackboard on the footpath. The long-hair blonde looked startled and the handsomely gaunt husband or partner moved possessively to her side, glaring at Merrick. An even prettier blonde and a heavily built man with dark brown curly hair joined them.

"I am ever so sorry, madam," Merrick said politely, aware he was looking at a near-perfect foursome.

"It is of no consequence," she said replied in accented but excellent English. "I am not hurt and have retained my dignity."

"Are you visitors?" Merrick asked.

"Yes, we have just arrived if that is any business of yours," said the man built like a weightlifter.

"It could be to your and our advantage," Kirsty said, stepping forward and passing one of Merrick's business cards to each of them.

"Would you care to join us inside for a drink or a cup of coffee while we put a proposal to you?"

After a brief whispered conversation the blonde woman Merrick had bumped, identifying herself as Adina, announced they would accept the offer of just one drink.

Adina was Austrian, her partner Malcolm was a Scot, the 'weightlifter' was Canadian and his partner was Monika, also Austrian. They were touring the country with a busload of twenty-something tourists from various countries.

The next morning, after a riotous night with the visitors and three more of their larger party, Merrick and Kirsty met three of the original foursome. The Canadian had continued on partying and had only just arrived back to the motel, barely able to walk. He was substituted with Al, a handsome American who was already holding hands with a delighted Monika.

A snapshot photographer since childhood, with probably better than average understanding of the principals of photographer, Kirsty had received a crash course in lens changing and camera features to operate the second camera at a different location and this worked very well.

At the bungy jump she was down below photographing the retrieval of the four jumpers while Merrick took the tougher role up top of trying to capture the mixture of expressions ranging from pumped up ecstasy to something bordering on terror of the foursome, and then individual shots of each of them. 

Similarly with the jetboat ride through the rapids, Kirsty positioned herself to photograph the cheerfully waving foursome taking off and returning while Merrick positioned himself aboard the craft to get a series of very dramatic shots, using a water-proof camera. That teamwork was repeated two hours later in the whitewater rafting adventure.

Kirsty went ahead in an earlier helicopter lift to the summit restaurant. When the foursome and Merrick arrived the pilot cooperatively hovered long enough for Kirsty to capture a magnificent shot of the helicopter with Lake Wakatipu and snow-capped mountains in the background.

After late lunch the party went down in the gondolas to end a tiring day.

On the final day a helicopter was chartered to ferry the foursome for photographs skiing and snowboarding, abseiling, quad-biking, tramping - all crammed in to five hours. Some much time was spent on getting geared up and receiving instructions for the activities that the foursome had a frustratingly brief time engaged in each activity. But all agreed that the series of helicopter rides made up for that.

At the dinner that night the visitors made a joint presentation of appreciation to Merrick and Kirsty– a silver photo frame – and each couple whooped as they received their bottles of champagne. 

Adina as spokesperson declared that in her opinion Queenstown had earned its audacious claim of being the adventure capital of the world, a declaration that was wildly cheered by the group joined by people at neighboring tables. 

The group partied and later Kirsty had to use all of her strength to pull Adina off Merrick. The Austrian was babbling on about wanting to demonstrate her gratitude to Merrick more fulsomely, with Merrick attempting to explain to Kirsty he had no idea what Adina was trying to tell him as she kept lapsing back into mother tongue.

"Well, by the way she was physically tonguing you her intent should have been as clear as the Queenstown air," Kirsty snorted.

On the flight back to Auckland the next day the two weary journalists agreed they had a wonderful time and should have amassed more than enough quality material.

"I hope my photographs will come out OK," Kirsty worried.

"They will," she was assured.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because the camera I gave you is idiot-proof," replied Merrick, earning himself a clip over the ear.

After a three and a half day exhausting assignment Merrick had assumed this would be one night without sex, but he'd under-estimated the recuperative powers of a fit twenty-five year old. 

Earlier he'd diverted on the drive from the airport to drop off the films at the professional processors and in his studio workroom he attended to his cameras, checking on 'professional quality' film supplies in the fridge and then completed his diary notes on the trip and checked that he'd recorded all expenses and clipped all credit card slips together and put everything into the box file marked 'Dream Resorts Project'. 

Merrick told himself approvingly, "Good boy." knowing from long experience that the only efficient way to complete the file on any project was immediately it ended. Otherwise time spent on searching for credit card slips and tying up other loose ends was time wasted.

Merrick was now ready to waste time leisurely as he was finished work for the day. He'd make coffee and chat to Kirsty, but that reminded him that Kirsty, who'd gone off to check out what they would have for dinner, had not appeared with the regulatory cup of coffee.

Hmmm. He found her asleep on the comfortable bench seat under the windows of the breakfast area at the end of the kitchen. After lovingly fingering a lock of hair on the middle of her forehead, he covered her with a throw rug from the living room and went for a bath.

It seemed like a minute but it must have been an hour when Merrick awoke. Christ, he'd fallen asleep in the bath. What a dumb thing to do. Dimly he'd remembered turning the tap mixer with his toe. After running in more hot water, he turned off the tap and was soon was dozing again.

Merrick heard a noise, looked up and there was Kirsty smiling at him. 

She began swaying to the phantom beat of strip tease music and began shedding her clothes as he lay back with very watchful eyes. This was not the first time she'd danced provocatively for him, not by a long shot. But somehow this time her sensuality was reflected by excellent timing and subtle gracefulness, causing Merrick to feel a deep stirring beginning it seemed at the base of his brain and radiating to his groin. 

She finished with a belly thrust towards him; her eyes appeared to be incredibly luminous. Was he dreaming - no way! He could feel his heart pumping, his erection stiffening.

This Salome moved quickly between his sprayed feet and slid into the water, facing him so he could gaze at her full breasts and enlarged nipples.

"I feel like sex, we haven't done it in the bath, apart from me doing a few administrations on you with my feet. That was true and with dismay Merrick heard his spontaneous rebuttal - "There isn't room to be comfortable." 

Merrick Jamieson – who fancied himself as a minimum of once a day sexo – turning down the chance of getting a shot away? This was unbelievable. He was about to negotiate when she smiled, and said, "I understand, then how about this!"

She leaned over the edge of the bath, reaching over and pulling up his towel for a cushion between her tummy and the bath edge. She'd spread her legs, opening herself to him. Merrick was already hastily getting to his knees when she cooed, "You'll like this, my tits are drooping clear of the bath; use them to hold yourself steady."

Merrick was in danger of blowing there and then. Breathing heavily he sprawled over her back, pushing against her to let her know everything was at the ready. She turned her head and they kissed deeply.

"Christ, this is sexy," she said. "I'm already heavily self-lubricated. Why don't you put it in?"

Merrick took hold of her left breast, and she groaned. He swiveled slightly on his left hip and guided the most eager part of him into the right crevice, knowing at this angle there was not a big margin for error. She remained motionless as he fed it in but as soon as she felt he was fully home she began slowly rotated her ass to one side and then back to the other side, increasing the sensation as he stretched around to grab her right breast and started to pump. 

Kirsty half-turned her upper trunk and bit his right arm, the sharp nip causing Merrick to wince and increase his tempo.

"Ooh, this is s-o-s-o fantastic," she groaned. 

Merrick scarcely heard that because his was reciting 'Flying mice over the wheat fields in South Australia'. The discomfort of the hard surface of the bath was simultaneously performing a useful role of seducing his brain against triggering the signal for a full ejaculation.

Kirsty switched from ass rotation to thrusting her hips forward and back in time with Merrick's movements, also raising and lowering her ass as different times to managing the delivery of internal sensation, and squeezing her vaginal walls with practiced control to increase the friction for both of them.

She began gasping. 

With Kirsty's gasping now advancing to an almost continuous flow of panting his right hand slipped under her hip and his finger circled her clit, not quite completing the second revolution when her body stiffened and she screamed, drawing a simultaneous discharge from him.

Panting to a stop, Merrick was aware that semen did not pump out by the 'bucket loads' as some writers quote their sex-machine characters as thinking, but he felt as if that had been a good half of an egg cup. He imagined right then he was so spent that he would not manage to haul himself to his feet. So he began massaging both breasts, causing Kirsty to groan, "That's nice darling."

A minute later she made an announcement connected with a decision they agreed on six years ago that she should come off the pill.

"I'm sorry that I cannot be more accurate, but my productive cycle was due to start either yesterday or it could be today or tomorrow. The way I felt as I was doing my dance was that I was in a reproductive mood."

"Well, I send a huge flock of tadpoles up you to go looking."

"Shouldn't that be schools or swarms of tadpoles, darling. Birds flock and I don't fancy having a flock of birds up into my cervix."

"Huh?"

"It's all right dear. You just provide the tadpoles and I'll look after the rest. I've got a thick piece of juicy steak for you for your dinner, carrots and heaps of greens. Then I think I'll serve you a heavy rice pudding.

"You go out if you wish. I just want to stay still here for a few minutes more. No need to make it any more difficult for those tadpoles of yours if today is the day. If it's a boy, perhaps we'll call him Frog."

"He'll forever be mumy's boy from the day I tell him who gave him his ghastly name."

"I'll counter than by informing him who gave mummy the tadpole."

"Huh?"

"It's all right dear, I don't really think that Frog depicts the image I have of my son."

To Be Continued...



Freeing Kirsty Ch. 05



SO FAR: Divorcee Merrick Jamieson (35) visiting New York comes into contact with the moll of the mysterious Spiro. The spirited Kirsty Fallon has reason to fear if she so much looks at another man but after a brief association with Merrick, Kirsty (25) finds she has become attracted and follows the photo-journalist to his homeland and begins working with him. Merrick deals with a retriever sent to return Kirsty and goes to New York and wins her freedom from Spiro. The couple plan to marry in Los Angles in a couple of months which begins an exciting and eventful countdown.

* 

Driving to the Auckland CBD in drizzle to collect his transparencies Merrick wished he and Kirsty were back in the south enjoying Queenstown's cool but fine alpine weather. The counter assistant read a note on the job bag and asked Merrick to see the manager.

"Hi Merrick," greeted Fred Sharpe, a former newspaper photographer. He'd often worked alongside Merrick, then a reporter, in 'the good old days'. They chatted and finally Fred revealed the reason for the meeting.

"As you know, our staff peruse every tranny and print passing through this place, looking for any foul-ups by us, any grossly unacceptable stuff such as porn or mutilation and, of course, for the pic of the day, week, month or decade. You must have had a boring time down in Queenstown mate. No porno on you films."

Merrick said, "Wouldn't say it was boring; there was this hot Austrian bird..."

"Seen her mate, she's on most of your exposures. Wouldn't mind getting a leg across myself. But the one I really would pay big money for the privileged for going camping with for a week was that six foot blonde with those magnificently shaped compact boobies. She was only in a few shots; who is she?"

"My fiancée."

"Oh gawd, mate. Sorry about what I said. I didn't know."

"Take it easy, Fred. She'd be really flattered by your interest. She likes to be admired and I know it sounds odd, but I rather feel proud when I see the look of admiration in the eyes of men and women."

"Women?"

"Yes, most guys don't appreciate even women like perving at a good looking or well constructed babe. But carry on; I guess you want one of my pix?"

"Yes - a shot of the jetboat roaring up Skipper's Canyon with those Jap tourists waving at you in the helicopter. You were flying so low that the blades must have been almost striking the canyon walls."

Fred flicked through a couple of pages of his jotter pad, "Here it is, film seven, frame twenty-one."

While Merrick dug through his packets of trannies for the Film Seven exposures, Fred pushed a button and a screen came down through an enclosure in the ceiling. Merrick found the appropriate strip and Fred said, "Give it here and I'll bring it up on the projector."

Shots of bright red, water splashing jetboats roaring up through Skippers Canyon near Queenstown are old hat because of sameness, but not like this shot. It was superb. The jetboat was on a lean, spray was flying everywhere, it was only inches away from the canyon wall and everyone was looking up waving at the heli-photographer, even on this one frame the skipper had obviously taken a quick glance and was waving.

"A classic shot, but so what?"

"Look at their faces," said Fred. "Obvious someone aboard thought your chopper was going to hit the canyon wall and they were warning him off. That's near terror on some of those faces."

"I see what you mean," Merrick grinned. "But we weren't as close that we sometimes were in the old days in search and rescues hovering between the masts of pitching ships and going into mountainous country to winch guys out of crevasses. My pilot here was Joe Mapper, ex-Army and ex-search and rescue. He's one of the country's best chopper pilots. I saw where we were and had no fear knowing he was the pilot." 

But Fred had more to add. "Look, all of those guys in the jet are in suits and because of the lean of the boat they're all holding on with their right-hand and waving with their left hand; even the skipper is with his right hand hard down on the wheel turning away from the cliff face." 

"That's quite remarkable," Merrick agreed.

"Yeah, and to cap it all off there's the incredible lighting – the sun is shining just at the right angle to penetrate fully into the canyon and to brighten the cliff face – look how it has brought out the colors, and there is even lighting bounce back on to the cliff from sunlight hitting the water. It's a stunner, Merrick. One of those one-in-a-decade shots, I feel."

"So, you want it for company promotion purposes. You can have it in return for you and Elle taking Kirsty and me out to dinner on the company tab."

"That's very generous of you mate, but I want to sell this shot and to destroy all five directly associated shots to make it a unique exposure."

"OK, it was just a shot I took as our target was the next boat up the canyon. Would a grand be asking too much?"

"Mate, this is a giant Japanese corporation, and these suits in the boat include the company's chairman, chief executive officer and their top agents from around the world. If asked to pay a grand they would suspect something wrong with the tranny."

Merrick cocked his head and suggested ten grand.

"A bit steep, but I could give it a go."

"Make it eight grand then, no eight grand, eight hundred and you take eight hundred as commission."

"That's pitched about right in my opinion. The director of corporate public affairs is coming in tomorrow for some other stuff we commissioned photographers to take for them at other resorts."

"Tell him it's eight and a half, take it or leave it."

"Oh he'll take it all right, I've already met him and he's a real pro. He'll see this shot on the cover of the company's most important publication of the year, and they'll send a publication on the New Zealand tour featuring this photograph to their suppliers and clients around the world."

As Merrick was leaving, Fed called, "We'll still have that dinner mate, I want to get a close-up of your honey-pot."

Merrick arrived home an hour later than estimated. That was ignored by Kirsty but she noticed his expression.

"So that's what the cat looks like when it's got the cream?"

The grin went even wider: "I may be paid eight grand less tax for a single exposure from Queenstown."

"What, one of my shots?"

"No, one of mine in Skipper's Canyon."

"Ah, yes. When you returned you were raving about the light in the canyon. It must be a pretty big spender to pay that amount for a single exposure."

"Yes, a multi-national Japanese corporation."

"Oh," Kirsty said, losing interest. "What do you fancy for lunch," she asked wickedly, cupping her right breast.

"Nothing I can think about for the moment," Merrick said, straight-faced.

After sex and lunch, he began the long task of looking at 697 exposures shot on the Queenstown trip. The original tally was 703, counting the five to be destroyed by Fred at the film processing studio and the one to be sold.

"How many do we need to look at?" asked Kirsty, in a thin robe, having just come from the bath.

"Six hundred and ninety-seven."

"My God, what a tremendous waste of film. How many will you submit to 'Dream Resorts Magazine'?"

"Twenty."

Kirsty attempted a mental calculation.

"So that's one film for each exposure you will email to them?"

"More than one and a quarter films actually as the 120 films are only twenty-four exposures. The twenty we select will be couriered as the job specification calls for transparencies as they prefer to do their own scanning."

"But why the high wastage ratio?"

"I had explained that to you – we were in high altitude where reflections are rampant especially off snow and water; we were mostly capturing the facial expressions or freezing body movements of four people in usually quite difficult circumstances and on top of all that we were working at a fast clip. Those pressures induce mistakes and general foul-up, which is why we bracket shots and also take them at different exposures. Film and procession is dirt cheap compared with the real cost of not getting a required shot of excellent quality. But that's enough of this. Drag that pretty butt of yours over here to this light table. I've got a couple of things to show you."

On film seven Merrick choose a strip of the foursome on the jetboat in Skipper's Canyon and then he selected another strip from another film.

"This is the shot of the foursome on the second run they had up the canyon. If you remember on the first day I was on the boat with them but we were offered a freebie on that second day. I had them at the rear of the boat. We were hovering in the canyon as they came thundering up and at the skipper's signal they stood up and everyone waved. Here it is."

"It's a lovely shot, and the lighting is fantastic. Oh the colors and patterns on the canyon walls; the colors are so rich."

"Yes, a lovely shot, but not the greatest shot."

Merrick then described his shot-of-the-decade, actually it was his best shot ever.

"I would like to see it."

Merrick made a phone call. Kirsty heard him saying that he promised to comply.

"Just in time; Fred at the film processing bureau has retrieved one of the five exposures going off to the shredder. I can have it so long as we do not show it to anyone within the next six months. I promised I wouldn't. He will personally present it to you when we go out to dinner; Fred rather fancies you."

"Does that worry you?"

"Nah, his wife will be there and she watches him like a hawk. Anyway, he's only around five-five."

"Good God, while would a short man like that take an interest in me?"

Fred is a tit man. He knows you are over six foot which makes your breast roughly at eye level for him. I bet he makes you stand up for the presentation. His wife won't catch on to that and he might even manage a sneaky touch."

"Yuk, men like that need putting away."

"Fred's a good guy; a little quirky, but a good guy. Now, take a look at this."

On the light box was Kirsty's shot with a wide-angle lens of the helicopter hovering for the photograph. She'd managed to get in a bit of the Skyline Restaurant with lake and snow covered peaks in the background.

"Look – look how clear the faces are inside the helicopter," she trilled. "How did I manage to do that?"

"I persuaded the helicopter company to wire in a flood light and I was crouched down out of sight holding the lamp covered with a piece of cheese cloth to cut back the strength of illumination to light the faces of pilot and passengers. We'll choose the shot we want and will give the rest to the chopper company with our thanks, They went extremely close to breaching regulations in placing me in the optimum positions in Skipper's Canyon."

"What! You took extreme risks just to get a lousy picture."

Merrick stroked her cheek, telling her that she better stick to being a writer rather than trying to become a photo-journalist.

"People who take the risks usually get the best pictures which is what magazine photography at the leading edge is all about."

"Well, if you get yourself killed, there will be no more sex. You better keep reminding yourself of that – and no baby and no big daughter and no loving wife to be at your side."

"Baby? Are you pregnant?"

"I don't think so, but I'm feeling incredibly horny, which is why I jumping you all the time."

"Darling, just allow me recovery time between bouts and you may have me as much as you wish. Why don't you take a nap while I sit here generation a powerful batch of tadpoles. When you wake up you may wish to present us with a candle light dinner over which we shall sweet talk and when we are ready we shall slope off to bed, leaving the dishes."

"All right, except you can do the pots and pans while I'm attending to the desert and then serving up."

"OK, and please wear my favorite little black dress – no bra."

"Certainly, and will you please wear your full dinner suit. Just seeing you in that makes me swoon."

While Kirsty was having her nap Merrick slipped out and bought a dozen white roses for the dinning table.

Beginning work at 6:00 next morning, Merrick was joined a little over an hour later by his still sleepy partner who was particularly welcomed as she arrived with a coffee pot and two mugs.

"How are you progressing, lover," yawned Kirsty, pouring.

"Better than fair, in fact I'm rather pleased."

Merrick took his coffee from her. "Ah, the first fix of the morning is one of the day's best."

"I don't understand why you wait for me to make the coffee if your addiction is so great."

"It's the servitude factor, it adds to the drinking experience; the impatient wait that ends with delivery by a pretty face. You can't beat it."

"I'll beat those sexist remarks out of you if you continue to harbor them. I'm miffed that you regard me as a kitchen wench."

"Nothing could be further from the truth, my sweet flower. Come here and let me stroke your petals."

Kirsty failed to hold back a grin.

"You can be such a chump at times. I'm not here to be petted. I want to learn. Tell me, why is it that my trannies are those small oblong ones and at least half of yours are those much larger ones that are square?"

Merrick sighed, thinking she should have cottoned on to this unassisted. She'd picked up his larger format Bronica SQ-Ai several times.

"Smaller film cameras – that is, the majority of film cameras – use standard film referred to as 35 millimeter whether it's the regular negative used to produce prints or so-called slide film also know as transparency film. The not so common, larger and therefore heavier cameras use a variety of film sizes. 

"I was using my Bronica which, when using 120 film, produces an image 55.6 by 55.6 millimeters which is 3.5 times larger than the 24 by 35 image of the 35 millimeter camera. I can also run 35 millimeter and even Polaroid film through the Bronica by switching film holders."

Kirsty indicated that she understood those explanations but she had another question. "If that Bronica is so flexible and opticially superior – I gather that's what its called – why use a smaller camera?"

Pleased at that glimmering of insight, Merrick mentally patted her on the back.

"The more compact cameras are easier to carry around and point and shoot. I use the Bronica for portraits and group shots. For example, you may remember I used it when our adventurers came down that steep incline four abreast. I would expect to get a sharper image with greater detail for enlarging than using a 35 millimeter camera because of the much larger image captured on the 120 film."

Kirsty smiled her understanding.

"Now, be aware of this – every type of camera has its optimum use. Thirty-five millimeter cameras come closest to performing most roles with distinction and now they are being challenged even in the cheaper mass market by better quality digital cameras. If anyone wanted to capture a stunning scenic shot for a calendar they probably would use a medium format camera in preference to their 35mm. For portraits the well equipped photographer would use the medium or even a larger format camera. But having said that, some of the greatest photographs in the world were taken on 35mm cameras at a 5.6 exposure using film brought from a neighborhood pharmacy. They say a classy golfer can play excellent golf using steel-shafted clubs borrowed from old Uncle Bert. Likewise a classy photographer can pick up Aunt Maud's beaten-up camera and take shots that when developed will amaze her that they came out of her camera. They do that through their understanding of light, composition, camera settings and timing, and make decisions that help them to be in the right place at the right time to be lucky."

Merrick stood up and kissed her in one of her favorite snap-kiss positions – just under her right ear. 

"Come over here; I've set up my old light box for you here, with a swag of the Queenstown trannies for you to examine. Note the film number and exposure number of any exposure you believe is worth considering for the final selection and put one of these small stickers on the edge of the film like this – you use blue, I'll use white. We will then compare notes and debate which ones should go into the final twenty, with me retaining the power of veto because I'm boss. Usually it is fairly easy to glance at them to sort the wheat from the chaff, but still look closely at every image as even apparent rejects may just have something that can appeal – and remember defects can be cropped out or upon scanning digitally edited and enhanced."

Kirsty topped up his coffee.

"For exposures that look similar or worth taking a closer look, use this magnifier - it's called a loupe. This one magnifies times six. This is how you use it. Try it."

He blew into her ear as she used the magnifier as instructed.

"Good, well off you go. Don't worry about making a mistake. I'll go through the whole lot anyway as I like to examine my 'chaff'. Have fun."

"Thank you master, you explained that very well."

Just short of an hour later, with her eyes feeling a little 'pulled', Kirsty went and made coffee and called Merrick out to join her on the back patio, where they sat under a leafy climber curled out over the wood 'egg-crating'. He arrived rubbing his eyes, but said that would be OK within minutes.

"You'll find you will suffer eye-strain from long sessions, but one gets used to it, just like you do when reading under candle light."

Kirsty looked puzzled so decided to challenge that statement.

"Who reads under candle light these days?"

"Nuns for one."

"What a ridiculous thing to allege. You'll have no idea whether that is true."

"Okay."

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

He nodded, she called him a chump. Life with him was never going to be boring!

Merrick went out and returned with a folder which he handed over.

"What's this, more South Island shots of excellence?"

Opening the folder Kirsty's body stiffened and she whispered "Oh God." She was looking at the winning photograph in a 1988 International Photojournalism Competition, still photography, photographer Merrick Jamieson, New Zealand. It showed two nuns reading facing each other at a small table against a stone wall. Their illumination was a single candle. 

"Will you accept sorry as an apology, or do you want something else?"

He just grinned.

With her guilt dissipating, Kirsty asked, "What have you decided as the heading for our submitted article?"

Merrick scratched his head, watching a thrush on the lawn with its head cocked, listening for worms working their way to the surface. At least he presumed the bird was listening for that rather than conversational titbits from the table.

"Something along the lines of an adventure Down Under. Northern Hemisphere travellers know that means down this way somewhere, though they probably think of Australia."

"Right - 'Adventure Down Under' it is."

"I wasn't suggesting that as the title."

"Well I am, unless you have something better."

Rubbing the corners of his tired eyes by sliding a thumb and forefinger up and down the top of his nose, Merrick thought why not. It had everything but the location, but neither New Zealand nor Queenstown were words that looked particularly good in headings. 

"Readers will focus first on the lead picture anyway, and finding out where is this fantastic place where one can jetboat wildly up a canyon, they will be encouraged to start reading the article, achieving the editor's goal."

He told Kirsty to write her draft story to that theme, and use 'Adventure Down Under' as the heading. As he said that he saw the thrush swallow a worm, pause for a second and then fly off.

Thank God New Zealand doesn't have snakes, he mused. "That worm had looked rather large."




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 05



"What are you talking about?"

"Snakes."

"Yuk! Thank God New Zealand doesn't have snakes."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Oh my, aren't you in an agreeable mood today."

It intrigued Merrick to further muse that Kirsty could elongate a conversation out of nothing like that and end it with her in the superior position. How can women be so manipulative? Perhaps he should have floored her by boldly proclaiming that she'd stolen his unspoken line that thank God New Zealand did not have snakes. Oh God, why was he thinking rubbish like this. Little wonder some men most of the time have a passing thought about women's breasts, bums or ankles; it was something positive to fill the vaccum. Really he should be thinking about something original to excite her.

Miraculously, through a hazy pink opening Merrick guessed was a window in his brain, he saw an electronic-like impulse of light and his mouth began to open with an original thought, addressed to Kirsty. "You know, it depends on the day and what selection of stuff is available to the editors but if that gorge pic gets the nod we might get front cover of 'Dream Resorts Magazine'."

Kirsty lifted slightly into the air, boredom was wiped off her face.

"Do you really believe that? Wow! What a tremendous honour that would be, for New Zealand as well as for you."

"And you."

"Me?" exclaimed Kirsty modestly. I was there only to look pretty."

"You weren't and you well know it. You were so fatigued and pissed that second night that when we had sex you just lay there."

"That's a uncharitable way of measuring one's contribution."

Merrick held out his mug for more coffee, and told her she would be inescapably linked to the feature if they got front cover as it was the magazine's policy to run a pointer on the front cover giving the name of the feature, name of the photographer, name of the writer and where the article could be found inside the magazine.

"Then the international readership of the rich and famous and those closely in their wake will read your byline at the top of the article and on at least three of your photos."

"Three?" queried Kirsty, wide-eyed. "I thought I might get the hovering chopper outside the Summit Restaurant as you seemed proud with the result. What are the other two?"

"That's for you to find out while you are completing your selection or when we jointly argue the final twenty selection."

"Oh God, you're making me nervous now. What if I miss them?"

"It will be of no consequence, you are my student. However, if you do aspire to be punished, something can be arranged," he said.

The next morning Mrs Stewart arrived at 7:00 to clean the house. Kirsty had suggested that her service could be terminated but Merrick wouldn't accept the suggestion.

"This job is an essential part of Mrs Stewart's Wednesday bolt-hole, allowing her to escape from the constant pressure of a moaning husband. Balancing that need against your unlikrly desire to dirty your hands cleaning, I must reject your suggestion."

Actually, Kirsty was pleased as she really didn't want to risk damaging her fingernails, She was even more pleased when she arose at 8:00 and Mrs Stewart immediately swooped on her to comb up her hair and do nail maintenance.

"Here's your coffee, love. This is now all part of my adjusted service. Tell me, how are you enjoying these attempts to get pregnant, or are you already there?"

Later Kirsty resumed her viewing of the transparencies, picking up her pace to try to catch up to Merrick's position.

Kirsty had bonded so well with Mrs Stewart that during a late morning coffee break she asked her to stay for lunch.

"I don't think Merrick will be too pleased eating lunch with hired help," Mrs Stewart said doubtfully.

"It doesn't matter a fuck what he thinks in that regard - I've made the decision."

"Cor, you're not just a pretty thing are you? There's obviously a bit of grunt in you. I'll stay, thank you."

Merrick didn't even comment. He saw the extra place laid and fetched an extra wine glass. The conversation flowed well and brightly and when Mrs Stewart rose to go off to her afternoon cleaning job Merrick suggested she stay for another half hour. She declined, saying her loyalty was to all her employees, to which Kirsty clapped her hands and announced, "Well said." 

At 2:15 Kirsty's shriek could almost be hear across the entire suburb of Epsom.

Both she and Merrick had finished viewing all the filmstrips and had made their final selections - Merrick ending up with twenty and Kirsty twenty-four.

"I'm sorry but I just couldn't trim the number back to twenty - my last eight were all equally good."

"They won't be, and later I will teach you the shades of differences and how other influences such as continuity, subjectivity, technical merit, emotional impact all come into play. In all probability you were simply trying to pick out the twenty or so nicest looking images."

"Yes, as well as best representing our theme story."

"Oh, excellent. That is one of those extra dimensions needed in this appraisal. Now, lets see where were are in agreement."

To Kirsty's surprise and to Merrick's greater surprise, they had agreement on fourteen exposures for their top twenty. They didn't need to look at those trannies. He called for exposure eleven on film twenty-three - "One of your films, from memory," said Merrick.

Kirsty burrowed through the stack of sheets and with a triumphant smile threw in down on to the light table. Why had she missed this one?

Then followed her scream and admonishment.

"You can't submit this one! Definitely not! No! No!"

With shaky authority, Merrick said, "I'm sorry, but you are over-ruled."

"Merrick, I can't believe this - you said we would debate the final selection."

"True, but I expected you to be objective in every instance. You are display raw emotion over this one, so I'm making an autocratic decision, allowed by my power of veto."

"But that's horribly unfair. I took this as a fun picture, intending to send both women a copy of it. It was never meant to be submitted for inclusion in the selection process. Adina and Monika will be furious with me if this picture is published, they will feel violated."

"Right, keep calm. Did you say to them anything like, 'I'm taking this as a fun picture, it won't be published'?"

"No."

"Did she say anything like, 'No, don't take a photo of us like this' or 'Take the photo but promise it won't be published'?"

"No," whispered Kirsty as if conceding she was losing the confrontation.

"Well, on my desk I have a releases from all four of the team authorizing the use of each and every photograph taken of them for the exclusive use of 'Dream Resorts Magazine' and solely for the use in the illustrated article on their adventures in Queenstown photographed by Jamieson Media Services Ltd of Auckland New Zealand in October of this year. Each of them signed their authorization. Any questions?"

"No," Kirsty said, in a small voice.

"Kirsty, please listen to this: If you wish to engage in commercial photography –and I urge you to continue to do so – you must always commit to take every photograph specified, and where you take additional shots at your discretion, never take any shots that you would not wish to see published. You then protect your desires and integrity."

Nodding, Kirsty thought there was an inconsistency involved here. Merrick was implying that every exposure on very film used during the assignment belonged to the commissioning party – she could understand that. Then why had he sold the stupendous gorge shot without consulting the commissioning magazine? She felt too drained to argue.

Merrick put the strip containing the exposure at issue into the XGA DLP projector. Looking at the image blown up many times larger that it would appear in the magazine, if selected, Kirsty brightened up a little. 

It really was a neat photograph. It was of Adina and Monika sitting on a bench seat in a small dressing room after their white-water rafting adventure. Their wetsuits were at their feet, their hair was wet and they had an arm around each other, and looked exhausted but were smiling weakly at the camera. They were naked, except for Adina's thong and Monika briefs. Both young women were displaying pert breasts, their tummies were taut. 

Kirsty had to admit it was a lovely photo of two women in their prime. There was nothing obscene about it. Her only concern was that it might be an invasion of privacy if the two women had assumed Kirsty was taking a fun photograph, not for general exhibition.

She watched as Merrick removed the short film strip and with two deft cuts with scissors, took that image and placed it into a little bag, wrote identification notes on a sticker and stuck that to the bag, which he then folded over and sealed.

"Do you want a break, or do you wish to carry on?" he asked kindly.

"Let's finish like professionals," she said, smiling, hoping that cheered him. 

One of the remaining images selected was the foursome abseiling, with two of the party standing at the base, holding the safety ropes. Not far above them was Al from Chicago, the expression on his face looking as if he wished he was back home in bed, while above him smiling and leaning down offering an encouraging hand was the sweet-faced Monika.

"Yes, I see the high impression of drama now. I missed it looking at the small image, thinking that there was too much wasted space on the side of the climbers."

"Perhaps. The magazine illustration and layout design team may leave it as it is portraying four puny souls against a massive granite-like vertical cliff-face. Alternatively they may crop it tightly to allow it to be blown up to show the expressions on Al and Monika's faces more dramatically, which is the choice I would make."

The twentieth and final image was another of Kirsty's photographs, which she had been pleased with but had rejected because only part of Monika's face was showing.

On the projector it certainly told a story. Adina was sprawled at right angles over Malcolm the Scot, both appearing to be asleep. Alongside them was Al the American, arms outstretched, mouth open, and looking very much asleep from what could be seen of his face. Sitting upright against him was the Austrian professional skier Monika, looking into a mirror and applying lipstick. Behind them was the raging Kawarau River where earlier they had been white-water rafting.

"This one has to be submitted because it's a telling photographic essay," Merrick explained. "Although it was at the end of the first day shoot, in fact not long after you took that shot in the changing room, it can be cropped top and bottom to make a very suitable finale picture of four very tired international adventurers after their tremendous grueling two-day stint at accepting some of the physical challenges at 'Queenstown, Down Under'. I will suggest this on my notation on the sticker." 

He smiled and suggested Kirsty have a pee and go outside on to the back patio. Merrick smiled.,"We've had rather a heavy time of it; I'll fetch the drinks."

A few minutes later he arrived on to the patio, which was bathed in late afternoon sun, carrying two glasses and a jug of freshly mixed martinis. 

"This is my last word on it, I promise," Kirsty said lightly. "I now totally accept your decision on the changing room image. I acted with a touch of professional irresponsibility. I'm happy again. May I come over and sit on your lap?"

Merrick looked surprised. "Since when have you required permission?" He pulled back his chair and patted his thigh.

Two mornings later a courier called for the package addressed to the editor who'd commissioned the Queenstown adventure feature at 'Dream Resorts Magazine', based in Monaco. Kirsty was already dressed and made-up, as Merrick had told her that he wanted to take her out as soon as the courier had called.

"Where are we going," she asked, as they set off.

"To see a man, New Zealand's top designer of wedding dresses."

The squeal from Kirsty was probably heard over half of their surburb of Epsom.

* * *

The wedding invitations had gone out and all replies had come in, some invitees having to be chased for their response. There would be a party of twelve from New Zealand, plus Kirsty and Merrick who would go on ahead. Brian and Marg and their infant daughter Avon would be accompanied by Merrick's daughter Bella from Australia, released by Kate without any stipulation. She'd written to Merrick that that neither she nor their son Giles would be able to attend, and wished him a happy marriage. 

Soon after that day Merrick took a phone call. He heard heavy breathing, then the deep voice said, "Spiro here, I wanna speak to Kirsty confidentially."

"Right my friend, just a moment," Merrick said bravely. "Kirsty is in the garden picking flowers, I'll take the phone to her."

There was no response, so he thought he'd said enough to indicate a sparkle of goodwill existed on his part.

Almost twenty minutes passed before Kirsty came in and said cheerfully, "They'll be attending."

"Hooray for that – so what was the secret pow-wow?"

"Understandably, he's completely confused about you. Normally he'd expect a man like you to try to put a bullet into him rather than invite him to his wedding. The thought occurred to him that because you seemed to be rather unusual, perhaps you are scheming to do it the other way round: invite him to your wedding where you would put a bullet into him."

Merrick stared at her, mouth open.

"He said that?"

"That's what I said."

"He's seen too many gangster movies."

"You more than most people ought to know by now that the old ways and old thinking haven't changed much."

Merrick nodded, saying he still thought it was bloody unbelievable. He asked what they talked about.

"The weather, our respective health, did they have a share market in New Zealand and how was it trading."

Merrick slowly shook his head as she said that.

"Then what?"

"What I said earlier; he asked were you planning to top him."

"You mean shoot him?"

"Yes, does it mean something else?"

"I wouldn't know; it's certainly unlikely to be known to every man living in Epsom or anywhere in New Zealand or Australia that I know."

"Then he asked if I minded that Meg had taken up with him."

"Oh, sure; the big guy who packs a gun and has minders would have been rather embarrassed if you had minded."

"Yes."

Merrick sat down. "I really am having difficulty in coping with this conversation, one of the weirdest conversations I've ever had, although I must admit I have already had an exceptionally weird conversation with him in New York."

"Now you're getting your head around it."

Afraid to ask exactly what she meant by that, Merrick asked what else could she report, presuming that some of the conversation with Spiro could not be repeated.

"No, I'm telling you everything. Neither of us spoke secretly. He did get a bit close to the bone, asking me were you good in bed. He thought you were sassy enough to him with a very high kick, so you ought to be good. So I generalized a bit and he seemed rather impressed."

Merrick jumped over that one, asking, "What else?"

He said it was lovely that I wanted Meg as a bridesmaid, that she'd cried and cried when she read that request.

"Good for gentle, sweet little Meg," said Merrick, with one of his last memories of her being her jacking off Spiro at the time Spiro pulled a gun on Merrick. He was damn sure gentle, sweet little Meg would not tell Kirsty about that one. In turn Meg would now assume Merrick had not said anything to Kirsty otherwise she would not have received the bridesmaid invitation.

Kirsty continued. "He asked if he could give me away, but without thinking I said no, my father would have that honor. I had the thought that perhaps he might think of having daddy incapacitated. Ilaughed and told him my ridiculous thought. He agreed it was a ridiculous thought, that the same thought had jumped into his mind but he thought that would be unfair and malicious."

Merrick sat still, eyes glazing.

"He really wouldn't do that, he has too much respect for me. Anyway, that's about all - oh, one very nice thing: he asked me what I wanted as a wedding present, to name anything I liked. He didn't say within reason, so I was tempted. Instead, I told him that was a lovely, generous thought but I would rather he be creative and think of something himself.

"We laughed ourselves silly when he said emphatically, 'Me be creative over something like that?' and then he said he'd think of something, and ended the call wishing me all the best."

"He didn't send me best wishes, did he?"

"No, but what do you expect. You thoroughly embarrassed him - you must understand that, and he still thinks you may be his assassin."

"Right, I'm sorry, I'll go and stand in the corner facing the wall."

"Come here silly, it's not your fault. Come and let mummy cuddle you."

"What, are you pregnant?" Merrick's face brightened considerably.

"No and after a negative pregnancy test I had the doctor send me to a specialist, who checked me out two days ago. Her preliminary examination indicated everything was OK. She wondered about you and when I said you had a son of fourteen and a daughter of eleven she thought you should be OK provided you hadn't suffered a bad virus or had an accident 'down there' as she put it. I said no, you never have it put away long enough to have it lying around waiting for an accident."

"You said what!" Merrick yelped.

"Sorry darling, I jest; something I learned off you."

"Get me a whisky, darling."

"It's a good hour to midday."

"I know, make it a double."

A week later Marg came down from Orewa and left baby Avon with Merrick, while she accompanied Kirsty to the fitting of the wedding dress and then to parade around shops with a piece of the material to get a pair of shoes. There had been doubt whether Merrick would be capable of looking after Avon but Kirsty settled Meg's fears by arranging to have Mrs Stewart at the ready should Merrick have need to call her.

Uncle Merrick took almost two whole films of baby Avon, who was too young to stand up but could sit supported by pillows. She loved this attention and gooed and dribbled and smiled, giving Merrick all sorts of photographic opportunities. He stapled a paper hat and attached a rose to that and Avon wore that with pride. He also put her into Kirsty's shortest black dress, bunching it up at the bottom and at the back and then stapling it many times and that careful manipulation amused Avon no end.

Finally he made a mask for her out of black paper and drew fangs down her chin with a black felt-tip pen. He did this after rejecting the idea at the last second of clearing a space and putting her in the fridge, taping an ice-cream to her tiny hand. But on reflection he decided such a pose might be a little too radical for Meg, Kirsty and possibly even Brian the father.

Avon began yawning, so Merrick prepared the bottle exactly as set out in the written instructions and Avon slowly demolished it in his arms, refusing to let go of his thumb and staring and staring at him with those gorgeous blue eyes until they finally closed.

When the two women returned excitedly, as women tend to do after shopping together, with Marg's taste of freedom and happiness tinged with just a little concern that she might no longer be a mother, they came into the living room and went crazy with oohs-and aahs. Kirsty picked up the camera on the table, noting only two exposures were left. She used them photographing Merrick lying against the sofa which squabs piled up on the other side of him to prevent Avon rolling off his chest. She was still clutching his thumb. Both were asleep.




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 05



"Isn't that s-o-o-o beautiful," wept Meg in enormous relief. Within seconds Kirsty had joined the tear shedding.

The next evening Brian and Marg were at the Raymond seniors for dinner, with Merrick and Kirsty also invited. Mary, looking a million dollars in a sleek black dress with silver trim hugged Merrick and her welcoming kiss was rather raunchy for a sixty-four year old.

"I was wrong, sorry," she cooed. "Avon is a wonderful name for my darling new grand-daughter."

Alec gave Merrick a bone-crunching handshake and said that he hadn't heard many of those in forty years, which rather puzzled his former deckhand.

"Heard what?" asked the puzzled visitor.

"My wife apologizing to anyone for anything – and that includes me. I reckon I could count those apologies over forty years on one hand."

"Are you being your charming self again, darling?"

"I'll get the drinks," Alec said, scuttling away out of harm's way. Mary watched him go with an obvious 'I-deal-with-you-later-you-bastard' expression.

When everyone was relaxed and on to their third pre-dinner drink – grandma had already lovingly rocked Avon to sleep – Merrick went out to his vehicle, returning with two photographic albums. 

"I amused myself babysitting yesterday," he confided. "Here are the results."

He handed one album to Avon's parents and one to the grandparents, advising Kirsty he had a full set of prints at home for them.

The oohs and aahs came thick and fast as the earlier pages were viewed, there were chuckles at the set of photos of Avon wearing the paper hat, tilted a little sideways with the weight of the crookedly stapled rose. There was silence when they viewed the baby dressed in black, broken only by Alec saying "All babes look good in black" followed by a thump of Mary's fist striking his chest.

Merrick waited for real adverse reaction when Mary and Marg turned to the next page in their albums. Mary's mouth tightened, but she said nothing, at seeing her innocent granddaughter in a black mask with hideous Dracula teeth drawn down her chin; Marg looked startled for a moment before her mouth trembled and she began giggling; Brian looked up at Merrick with a heavy frown while Kirsty smiled and said, "Oh, how cute."

Mary sniffed and turned to the next page and Marg followed suit.

"Oh, how cute!" emphasized Mary as everyone looked at the cute photo of Merrick asleep, a protective arm around Avon with her hand around the thumb of his other hand. "You are a good photographer, Kirsty," she acknowledged.

Mary and Marg turned to the last spread – a full page photo covering the entire left-hand page which had been 'flipped' at the processing studio on Merrick's instruction and placed on the facing page so that in both shots Avon was looking into the centre of the album.

"Bloody marvelous, Merrick," responded Alec, first off the mark.

"Oh, my beautiful baby, thank you Merrick," Marg said, reaching for her handkerchief.

Her husband punched Merrick on the arm and choked "Bonza mate," while Kirsty just studied the photo in awe. 

Mary seemed to be smiling and weeping at the same time. "This is one of the most beautiful photos I've ever seen, Merrick. I thank you from the bottom of my heart." That declaration caused her husband to sit slack-jawed, but wisely he held his tongue.

Technically it was a superb photo. Clear, precisely focused and with magnificent flesh tones. He'd used a tripod and because he didn't want to use flash, it meant a longish exposure indoors.

During processing Merrick had the studio to clear-cut the background and replace it with the same cream color of the surface Avon was sitting on, but five per cent lighter so it was possible to see a realistic line where the horizontal and the vertical surfaces bisected. Avon's chubby legs were out on front of her, ending with pink booties, and she clutched a toy tiger. Her hair had been combed, with a slicked lock hanging down her forehead and ending in a curl.

"How did you get her to sit so still and looking up to above right of the camera lens?" Kirsty asked.

"She's sitting on the kitchen table as we have good window lighting on one side, with good reflected light off the white cupboards opposite, and good window lighting behind the camera. I had her at an angle on the table so that my shadow would not fall on her and I opened the face of the wall clock and she sat fascinated, looking at the swinging pendulum.

"But Merrick," said Marg. "What I can't understand is Avon can't yet sit up unsupported, yet here she is sitting up unsupported."

"I put the microwave on the table and a pillow between that and Avon's back. I could see both the pillow and part of the top of the microwave when focusing the camera, but of course they disappeared in the clear-cutting. For my birth gift to Avon I've ordered an A3 size copy of this photo on twenty millimetre artmount and laminated. You may wish to hang it in her nursery. It should last her lifetime."

"Thank's pal," said Brian while Marg kissed him and patted him affectionately. 

"Well, not long before we will all be together in Los Angeles," Alec said as Mary called them to the table. "Kirsty, have you done any big boat sailing? I was thinking you and Merrick might like to come out with us on Stan's yacht – my old boat – which is rather different to small boat sailing."

"She'll want to know if she will be safe; she's done all of her sailing on super yachts eighty to one hundred and fifty footers," grinned Merrick.

"Wow," said Alec impressed. "Is that out of New York?"

"Yes, but daddy's got a half-share in an eighty-footer which he doesn't use much now because he's become totally addicted to golf. But after the wedding he may take you out – it will be a nice break for you, as 'Silver Bullion' is based in San Francisco."


Alec's eyes popped. He patted the chair next to his around the corner of the table and said to Kirsty, "Come and sit here, my dear. I would also appreciate you telling you daddy that I play golf too, a rather mean game in fact." 

As the others were walking up to the table while Mary was out in the kitchen, Kirsty said to Alec, "Perhaps you better extend your stay, Mr Raymond. I think you and daddy may have several interests in common, though you may have to watch that he doesn't lead you astray. He's rather addicted to sport, drinking and he fancies the ladies a bit."

Alec beamed as said to Kirsty, "Listen my dear, please call me Alec from now on." 

Four assignments - three for magazines and one for a major British newspaper - were completed, the variety and complexity of the editorial requirements taxing the inexperienced Kirsty, but rather than recruit another journalist Merrick assisted her. Mainly that work required only one or two direct interviews for the principal figure at the centre of each assignment and digesting and writing summaries from supplied reports or other documents written to length as specified by the commissioning publication.

Both Merrick and Kirsty were aware that she was progressing quickly. It was a matter of having to; one of the assignments covered secret trials of a disguised (to conceal it from the motoring press) prototype of a new all-wheel drive Japanese vehicle. Two of the others were more mundane economic/political delegations. 

However the fourth really flustered Kirsty: it concerned a claimed breakthrough in the long search within the dairy industry to find an efficient and economic way to extract water from milk to reduce its bulk so that the near-solids could be collected and moved around between processing units more economically. An acceptable solution would save millions of dollars annually in milk collection costs.

Not only was this a highly technical subject, but the parties involved in the research and pilot development scheme while wanting the publicity through the European dairy industry publication, didn't want to release information that would benefit direct competitors. Fortunately Kirsty had the more experienced and harder-headed Merrick at her side to help negotiate a mutually acceptable compromise. 

Merrick's solution was to set up a joint three-person editing team (including himself) to discuss and modify the article as it was being written by Kirsty. An email from the journal editor congratulating Kirsty and Merrick for getting more information than she had expected pleased the two Kirtsy and Merrick no end.

Finally their last night before leaving for the wedding arrived. It was a Tuesday and before beginning her duties Mrs Stewart handed them wedding presents, which they opened. Inside the parcel was a retro hair dryer for Kirsty and ultra-modern European hand-held battery shaver for Merrick designed to remove excessive nose and ear hair. He looked surprised until Mrs Stewart said, "You mightn't think it's of much use to you now but you are entering the age group where you will need it more and more; the quality of both products is such that both will last a lifetime. I got them from a rep who supplies equipment to our salon."

She was invited to lunch which began early to avoid her being late for her second cleaning appointment of the day.

"Goodbye, you two," she laughed as she left. "I'm so delighted Merick went to New York to bump into you, Kirsty. You will make such a lovely mother for his second lot of children." 

Kirsty was preparing the dinner when Merrick came up behind her. He placed his hands around her and leaned forward gently blew into her ear. That usually got her going. He'd offered to take Kirsty out to dinner but she declined, saying they would be eating out a lot during their whole month away.

"Oh God," she said. It was her standard acknowledgement in such circumstances that she was feeling herself revving up.

"Take off your apron," Merrick murmured.

"What, do it here your naughty man? The lights are on, the curtains are not drawn. What will the neighbors say?"

"Nothing, but if they do bother to look they'll either pull their blinds down in disgust, or simply switch off their lights, pour drinks and sit back to be entertained."

"The window sill is high enough to conceal the real action."

"I know. Get that apron off."

She tugged it up and over her head.

He reached around and immediately felt her wetness. "What, not knickers?"

"No, I didn't put them on after my bath because I thought you would be randy on your last night before we go."

"Very perceptive of you; and you're not randy?"

"Not really," she lied, knowing before long he'd be feeling her juices oozing over his fingers.

"Christ, you're wet."

"I know," she said, reaching around to undo his belt and drop his shorts.

"You sneak - you've got no undies on."

"I know, I guessed you would be looking for a quick hit before we had dinner."

She sunk down slightly, flexing her knees, driving into his fingers. She groaned as his right hand snaked between the buttons on her shirt and began grinding a stiffening nipple.

"Oh fuck," she groaned.

"That's the general idea."

She seized his erection and worked it between her legs.

"Careful, you might hit the wrong hole," he said, increasing the rate of his finger-humping.

"I wouldn't mind," she gasped, "but the bigger hole is best because I want that baby."

"Me too," he grunted, withdrawing his fingers. With both hands he pulled her hips back to give him a better angle of entry and with one thrust moved forward and in exactly on target and without hand-help from either of them.

She gasped with the shock of it. "Gosh, that was quick."

"Yeah, look, not hands mum."

"What does that mean?" she puffed, as he slapped in and out of her enthusiastically with appropriate heavy squelching sounds.

"It's a joke, I don't know if it's exclusive to New Zealand, but it's something when kids building up their experience riding their first two-wheeler bike say to their mum when they take their hands off the handle bars and ride along masterly – before crashing, according to the joke, and knocking out their front teeth."

"Ohmigod, I can't say I'm in danger of having my front teeth knocked out but it feels as if you're well past my navel."

"At that unexpected verbal stimulation Merrick through his head back and yelled, "I'm coming!"

Kirsty was slightly behind him. She went "Eeeeeek", pleased that she could still feel him pumping when she got away.

"Quick, let me go down on to the floor with my legs up," she said. "I want to give your tadpoles their best chance."

The phone went.

"We enjoyed seeing the bobbing heads but actually saw rather little else, though you look rather cool standing there there in the nude with the telephone. What's that thing I can see?"

"Sally?"

"Yes."

Realising it was Sally their closest neighour, Merrick casually lowered a hand to conceal his gear.

"Sorry if we offended you."

"You didn't dickhead. You're got us so worked up that we're off to have it off in the shower. The kids are happily watching a DVD. Why don't you two come over in half an hour for a drink and share dinner with us. We won't be seeing you for a month, you know."

"That's a beaut offer, I'll check with Kirsty. She's lying on the floor trying to get pregnant."

"I think it requires that earlier sort of activity to do that," Sally said dryly.

Merrick went to brief Kirsty.

"It's OK, I could hear her talking – she's so worked up that she was almost shouting. Kevin is going to get a good pounding in the shower. Tell Sally that I'll bring our steaks and uncooked veggies over and two bottles of our best red to compensate them for having to watch us hooning about."

"Did you hear that Sally."

"Loud and clear - she's catching the Kiwi idiom very well. These digital phones are great, aren't they. Gotta dash."

Merrick and Kirsty laughed their heads off. She said, "Get me a glass of white wine, darling. I'll drink that and will be ready to go again."

Merrick trotted over to the fridge and pulled out the wine.

"Nice butt," she called.

He was almost ready to go again.

To Be Continued 



Freeing Kirsty Ch. 06



SO FAR: Divorcee Merrick Jamieson (35) visiting New York comes into contact with the moll of the mysterious Spiro. The spirited Kirsty Fallon (25) finds she has become attracted to Merrick and follows the photo-journalist to his homeland and begins working with him. Merrick deals with a retriever sent to find Kirsty and travels to New York where he wins her freedom from Spiro. The couple now head to Los Angles for their wedding, with Kirsty eager to become pregnant. Merrick is unaware that his prospective mother has not accepted him but her husband immediately bonds with the New Zealanders.

* * * 

As soon as the film on the aircraft finished, Merrick selected a classical music channel and said with a yawn, "Night-night darling." 

Darling leaned over and received the sweetest of kisses. "Sleep safely," Kirsty purred. "I'm reading this fashion mag for a while; it's interesting to read critically what other journalists write."

Kirsty concluded that was a rather significant thought because it reflected her blossoming maturity as a working journalist. On the flight to New Zealand four months earlier she'd red magazines hopefully expecting to be titillated. If the writer had disappointed Kirsty would have bailed out early, mentally giving that journalist the fingers. Now she was interested in dissecting the reasons why the writer had failed to hold and even fire her interest.

The critical task was to find if Kirsty herself the problem or was the writer off-beam? Even better, when the writer gripped Kirsty from the outset she would read to the very last word and sigh, sob or smile as appropriate, her emotions barred. Then, after a few minutes respite she would return to find what techniques, skills and command of language had been engaged to draw Kirsty headfirst into such a superior article. 

It was, of course, impossible to determine the contribution of good editing, but then one is reminded of the saying about a silk purse and a sow's ear.

Understandably, Kirsty didn't do this analysis with everything she read; just occasionally and selectively, when she had the time to work her mind leisurely in that manner.

Take this article she was reading, she thought, It was dumped on to pages 59-60. Even the heading to the article was third-rate: 'Despite the Fags and Booze I Conceived'. What a disgusting thought. However, the word 'conceived' had snared her attention. The writer was a subeditor on the magazine and for some weird reason the editor had allowed the woman to wallow in her desire to share her story with readers. 

Kirsty had to admit that it was written a notch of two above the work of a hack journalist. But she knew had she been assigned to write the article she would have interviewed the expectant journalist to extract more emotional comments and then would have tried to produce a very much more captivating account

The silly idiot, though Kirsty; fancy filling her body with alcohol and nicotine while shagging away trying to get pregnant. I do hope that baby is all right, she sighed. Perhaps the writer had curbed her excesses as soon as she was declared pregnant. Now that was a serious omission from the story and there were others.

Kirsty had cut back on alcohol drastically and limited herself to two cups of coffee a day. Those were major sacrifices and the mind battles not to yield had mostly ended positively. That's why this article had attracted her – she'd been wracked trying to be good whereas this weak-minded cow of a subeditor probably had a glass in one hand and a fag in the other while being poked the very time she was impregnated and now was telling the world how lucky she was.

Thanks to the one pre-dinner glass of wine – her only alcoholic drink for the day – and diligently including those nice foods designed to boost her intake of folic acid to try to help increase her chances of getting pregnant, Kirsty had not been unduly upset by the appalling behavior and slack attitudes of this woman she was reading about. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine the woman's child as a smiling, gurgling little tot who absolutely radiated good heath.

The aircraft was roughly in line with Fiji when the sleeping bride-to-be began to dream, a dream that she would mostly remember in the morning simply because it was so astonishing.

* * *

Kirsty dreamed herself into a rather large cave. Not a rock cave, because its walls, floor and roof seemed to be heaving membrane, colored white through to red with perhaps touches of purple. 

Fluid of varying viscosity was dripping off the roof and walls and surging up and down on the sloping floor like a white-water rafting river where it swirls into a whirl pool, or that's how it seemed. 

Suddenly a counter-flow of thick lumpy white fluid gushed through a smallish opening downstream.

By some strange manipulation Kirsty found her vision cycled up enormously in magnification. She'd not managed to focus on the first white wave in time, but a second wave followed and then came four or perhaps five more.

Focusing into the second wave Kirsty could see they were cute little tadpole thingies; Hundreds of thousands of them, perhaps millions. 

Then she realized that she was watching sperm being deposited into a vagina. How remarkable! It astounded her that she was in this privileged position.

Then, absolutely unbelievably, out of those zillions of tadpoles in the second wave one stood out as it washed by. It was the only one with a gold aura around it. It called out - "Hi Kirsty, Tiger's doing his best for you. This one is what surfies call the seventh wave - the really big one in a set." 

Then it was gone, diving with the mass into the creamy fluid to enter what Kirsty now realized must be the cervix.

Little Goldie as Kirsty called him, as he'd not given his name, had flashed past so quickly. She was doubly staggered, not only in being able to witness this remarkable happening but also because Little Goldie had referred to Merrick as Tiger. Until now only Kirsty and Merrick had been privy to that most intimate of nicknames, being bestowed by Kirsty the first time Merrick had gone down on her Muzzling around he'd growled and growled until she was so tingling with anticipation that she screamed, "Go Tiger" and she continued using Tiger as an intimate appellation.

A mind-switch instantaneously had Kirsty witnessing the action in the uterus. She'd already been aware of the carnage happening outside with fatalities already apparent within the waves and huge number failing to make the narrow opening into the cervix. 

It was bedlam in the uterus so Kirsty though 'egg' and found herself in a fallopian tube.

"Hi mother."

The soft form Kirsty deduced was one of her released eggs didn't look feminine at all, but not male either she noted with relief.

"I'm hoping one of the Ricky's will be the one to penetrate me; there are two hundred and twenty thousand Ricky's out there struggling into exhaustion to try to get to me first. That sounds a lot, but I understand there are five million Johns in this lot."

"Goodness gracious, how many tadpoles in total?"

"Well, thanks to you lying on the floor with your feet raised twenty-eight degrees and a reasonable sperm count because you have been feeding and exercising Merrick very well, according to my information he managed to ejaculate 66.37 million."

"He pumped that many into me? No wonder I felt so full."

"It wasn't that which was making you feel full," she was answered with a giggle.

"Darn it, here comes a Bruce."

"Oh, not a Bruce," Kirsty wailed.

"It's OK, he's been caught in a back-suction so has gone."

"Look, look!" screamed Kirsty. "There's Little Goldie."

"Little Goldie? No, he's a Ricky and there's another Ricky just ahead of him. But they are too far back. Here comes a Marvin."

"A Marvin; oh yuk!"

"You don't want a Marvin, mother? Well, I'm not supposed to do this but you are so cute I will."

Just as Marvin was about to attach to the egg it suddenly moved sideways and Marin went headlong on.

A Ricky was coming up the tube and the egg said softly to Kirsty, "I think I'm going to be the successful egg. It must have been a worrying time for you?"

"Yes, and I've now decided to accept my fate. Oh look, it seemed as if something flicked Little Goldie - I mean Ricky - over the heads of the others. There is a chance he'll make it, isn't there?"

"I'm sorry, Kirsty, but he's back too far back to sprint home first. If I swing out of the way again I'll not get back in time for your Little Goldie and the next one is one of those Bertram idiots– you'll not like arriving home with him in nine month's time."

As the leading Ricky was almost home, he did a victory barrel roll and lost momentum. Little Goldie applied last-gasp acceleration. As he went past he flicked his long tail at Kirsty, his golden aura disappeared and he penetrated the egg to fertilize it.

Kirsty wasn't sad because she knew that although the job of Little Goldie was over, she knew he would live on in spirit.

"Goodbye mother. I must move along and attach myself to the uterine lining."

"Goodbye, darling. Will I be having a boy or a girl?"

"Chemical changes have to take place before anyone will know that. But don't worry, either one will be lovely. Why don't you wait and be surprised when your baby is delivered?"

Everything went black. 

* * *

Kirsty stirred as she felt a soft hand in hers. "Are you all right Miss Fallon? You have been crying out a name - Little Goldie. I think you have been having a nightmare."

"Oh no, not a nightmare. Could you please get me a glass of milk and a whisky for my fiancée? I'm about to give him some wonderful news."

"Of course," said the cabin attendant. "I will be right back."

Kirsty went to shake Merrick awake but she found his eyes open and he was smiling at her.

"What are you about to tell me that's worth a whisky?"

"Don't be an impatient, Tiger. Wait till you get your drink."

They clinked glasses.

"You're giving me an after-midnight whisky and you're only drinking milk?"

"For the next nine months, daddy."

"What? When? Where? Who said?"

"I'm telling you. I don't need medical confirmation because I saw it all happen."

Merrick groaned, thinking the pressure to conceive was turning Kirsty neurotic. 

Then he saw the magazine folded on Kirsty's lap. Picking it up, he began reading, was disgusted and stuffed it into the seat pocket.

"I am absolutely certain I am pregnant from last night."

"Oh yeah? Well I happen to know it will take some days before a doctor can tell you that, and they are experts.

Ignoring that comment, Kirsty said, "I also believe it will be a boy, he will have golden hair and he will look like a Ricky."

Merrick grinned and gulped down quality whisky.

"I tell you what, darling. If it's a boy we'll call him Ricky."

"Thank you darling. I'll remind you of your confidence in me when you first hold little Ricky. I think he'll be even a better athlete than you darling, as he's already shown great potential."

"Yeah, yeah. One in a million winner, no doubt."

"That's rather clever of you Merrick. But actually it was one in 66.37 million in his first competition.""

Merrick took the empty glass from her hand, pulled her blanket over her and said, "Go to sleep darling. You are over tired."

* * *

Bess Fallon had organized a cocktail party to welcome home her daughter with her betrothed; the invitees in the Fallon's adopted city of Los Angeles had not met Kirsty with the exception of the McLean's. Murray and Shana were the Fallon's best friends on the East Coast and had shifted to the West as well to retire. Murray was Sam's regular golfing partner and Bess and Shana went shopping and had their hair and nails done together.

Expensive jewelry dropped from Bess's ear lobes and encircled her neck, wrists, fingers and one ankle as she entered the decorated entertainment room to join her husband, daughter and Merrick to welcome the first arrivals – the McLean's, who'd announced their arrival with a distinctive toot of an old-fashion car horn Murray had fitted to his latest Mercury.

Not only were the best jewels receiving an airing but Bess was dressed to party in a tight, finely pleated Gucci dress ending three inches above her knees and barely an inch above her surgically enhanced breasts.

"Wow!" was the genuine response from Merrick as she entered the room. 

"Why thank you, Merrick," she said, arching an eyebrow at her husband sampling his huge jug of martini mix.

Merrick whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "She wants recognition that she's a princess."

"You look – er – like a princess, sweetie!"

"Oh, really? Bess said, moving across to the passage leading to the front door with a hip sway, reminiscent of a Marilyn Monroe walk, but wound back fifty percent due to age. Sam continued looking at the doorway through which she'd disappeared, a thoughtful expression on his face as he scratched under his left armpit like an ancestral primate.

"She's looking hot tonight," Merrick said, winding up Sam a couple of more notches. Sam looked at Merrick sharply as Kirsty went out to the kitchen to check the warming drawer temperature.

"You appear to know something about babes," Sam said to Merrick. "Perhaps I should ask was that act all for me or is she strutting to warm herself up for someone she'd invited here this evening?"

Without hesitation Merrick said he had no idea although his instinct told him that she had Stan in her headlights.

"Her what?"

"She's dressed up for you, is focused totally on you and wants you to know it."

"Holly cow!"

Merrick asked Sam if he'd he been ignoring Bess a bit.

"Of course not. Oh – well, you know. She'd getting older and less responsive when I slam my hand on her hip. I haven't lost my drive you know!"

"If you don't mind me saying so, Sam, she's your wife, for better or worse, and she'll still be around when the younger butterflies catch the next breeze and flit away. You have to learn to keep her happy, even if you find it necessary to find a little attention elsewhere."

"Huh? Are you suggesting that I'm unfaithful?"

"Who am I to speculate on such a thing, Sam? That's your personal affair. All I'm suggesting is that you don't let her slide away from you to be towed in your wake like a forlorn dinghy."

"Christ, mate, I wouldn't do that. That will be callous. She's been my buddy all these years and her contribution to our business success and this family has been massive."

"Good on you Sam. Your comments indicate that you care; there's no need for a twit like me to give you advice. "It sounds like you've got everything under control."

Sam had a guilty look when he turned to eye Merrick, his confidence now appearing a little askew. He swallowed. "Look Merrick, we've been speaking like a couple of dames. I've needed to speak to someone but my mates and I don't really talk seriously about things like this. The truth is I've been seeing a couple of younger chicks at different times in recent months; it's been keeping me rather aroused, actually making me feel very much younger. Then I have to attend to Bess when she ..."

"Er, Sam. Don't you think this is getting a little too personal?"

"Nope, it's the truth and I want you to hear me out," said Sam, finishing testing the martini mix. "Bess is so dry these days that we have to slap lubricant about. Then she complains that I am twisting her hips or she neither has the strength nor the inclination to be so athletic in bed any more. In comparison both younger chicks like it rougher. That makes them excited and they bang away harder which gives them want they seem to want – multiple orgasms. When I leave them I feel I'm walking ten feet tall." 

"I can understand what you are telling me. All I'm, saying is to make allowances; treat her beautifully, make her feel she truly remains your partner and you will benefit as well."

Sam looked a little happier. "So you're not saying to quit fooling around?"

"I'm passing on that. It's not my place to advise you on morality – you're a big boy, an educated man. You make your own decision. I hope it has helped you to talk about this."

Expelling a huge sigh and drumming fingers of both hands on the table top, Sam looked slyly at Merrick then asked the younger man if he would consider accompanying him on a double date on Sunday night with his friend Crystal and her younger sister Coral.  

An inner voice shouted, 'Tell him no, no way!' 

"That's when Bess is taking Kirsty bowling with friends, isn't it?"

"Yes, which is the reason why I suggested Sunday night."

"Sure, if you'd like me to go out with you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, a chance to bond with you, to see what type of chick appeals to you. But get this – I won't be fooling around."

"Well, that OK as I think Coral is almost only half your age. Actually I have to confirm that she would be available, but if she isn't we can still go out for some drinks as a threesome."

"You mean when she learns that I'm thirty-four she won't want to double date?"

"Er, I couldn't guess. But she's bound to ask about you. I know that she usually is home on Sundays as Crystal has told me they usually do each other's hair and nails on Sunday evenings. They can do that earlier, not doubt."

Merrick said anything was fine; he'd simply fit in.

The party to introduce people to meet Kirsty and Merrick was a great success and to the surprise of all three Fallons, their friends seem fascinated by Merrick. They said they found his accent appealing and liked his openness and directness in conversation and his humor.

In fact Sam had brought the subject up. "What's the fuss over Merrick?" he asked Kirsty. "Why are the folk gathered around him rather than you my dear?"

Kirsty said his natural charm seemed to appeal to women. One of the mean had learned Merrick had trained in martial arts and that seemed to interest them. I'm just the babe, daddy. Those who stay conversing with him find he seems to know something about almost everything they bring up of a general natural and that he seems to want to listen to them expound what they know about such subjects. His interest is genuine, and this comes through to them. It's the boyish charm that snuck through to me the first time I met him, daddy."

Sam kissed her on the forehead, well pleased. "Yes, he converses well and has a good way of delivering his viewpoint. I know – we've been talking," he said. "One feels he's intelligent, with a lively mind."

Sam was no sluggard himself, having led a varied life that had taken him around the world. Born in Dallas, the son of an oil drilling rig boss, Sam had disappointed his father by choosing accountancy instead of working his way up in the industry, starting in the oilfields as a rough neck as he'd done thirty-five years earlier.

Actually Sam worked as a driver, steel fabricators and assistant cook between university semesters. This allowed him to build up a good working knowledge of the industry.

When Sam completed his formal education he worked into project management work in oil exploration, being posted to several countries. He ended up running major exploration and field development projects from onshore and offshore.

He'd met Bess in Okalahoma. Two evenings after their first date they ended up in bed and married that same year.

Sam had never met a woman like her – she was soft, romantic and totally focused on him. She was genuinely interested in everything about him – everything. 

The next morning at five-thirty Sam heard a now familiar noise in the kitchen. The reasonably trim 61-year-old yawned and slid out of bed and into the bathroom with an ease of a physically active person pegged back a little by advancing age. Sam felt good. A good session with Bess last night and some heavy thinking had apparently cleared his mind a little. That cheered him. 




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 06



Hurrying through elementary ablution in the all white and stainless steel bathroom, the only coloring being the hated (loathed by Sam) pink towels and a painting of a lonely surfer in Hawaii riding a moderate-sized wave that seemed to stretch forever (loathed by Bess).

Saluting the surfer – the epitome of grace, balance and power – Sam winked at the painted figure and went downstairs to join Merrick whom he considered was a live version of that figure in the painting. The noise Sam had heard minutes before was Merrick lightly toasting two slices of bread and squeezing a lemon into water to consume before going for a run.

"May I join you?" Sam yawned.

"Yeah," responded the surprised younger man. "Welcome aboard the fitness bus. You better a least grab an apple or a handful of something."

Dressed similarly in shorts, aged polo shirt, socks and sneakers and a cap, the two men jogged away slowly but as they warmed up the pace quickened somewhat. After a couple of miles Sam was red-faced, sweating and breathing very heavily.

Merrick was waved on, but instead he circled back.

"All right, mate?"

"Yeah, just haven't done this pavement pounding for sometime – like some years."

"You'll be right, just stand feet apart and lean over nice and loose with your hands resting lightly on your knees."

It seemed less than a minute and Sam was breathing much easier.

"I'll stay back with you; we can walk and mix in just a few short lengths of easy jogging."

With a grin, Sam said, "Fuck off; I want to be alone now. With my mind clearing I've got some thinking to do."

Startled, Merrick realized that Sam simply wanted Merrick to have a good workout. So he slapped Sam lightly on his no longer heaving back and continued on with a cheerful salute.

Walking on at a brisk pace, Sam's thoughts returned to Bess. For some time he'd been aware of Bess's largely concealed irritation. Rarely did she harbor hostility towards anyone, Sam assuming he was the focus. But no; when he finally tackled Bess about it one night hen she had been tossing and turning, he found the problem was this guy Merrick. Bess thought she was too old for Kirsty and said that anyway she would rather their daughter married an American, preferably someone her own age and with wealthy and socially prominent parents.

"Oh yeah, and preferably white skinned, well educated and who is a hit with his prospective mother's friends," Sam had said sarcastically.

Surprisingly, Bess had turned to him, and stroking the side of his face said, "Yes, oh you do understand. This pleases me greatly."

Sam didn't understand at all. Kirsty was twenty-five for Christ's sake. If she couldn't pick someone suitable at that age she deserved what she got. Smiling at him Bess had asked him to join her to work on Kirsty to get her "to ditch this totally unsuitable man."

"What's unsuitable about him?" queried Sam, alarmed. "Kirsty has picked him and says she'd deliriously happy."

"She'd lost her mind in passion," snapped Bess, pulling her hand away. Facial caressing was over – claws were now out.

They had a big row.

Sam accused her of interfering and being a snob.

"He's a New Zealander."

"I've met many bloody good Kiwis in my time – give him a chance. He'll probably amaze you. You're a snob."

Bess had run off with her beloved pillow crying, heading for the spare bedroom.

"Christ, women!" Sam had shouted, sending her on her way.

Early next morning he'd gone to the markets and returned with flowers and her favorite tiny loaf of dark and allegedly organic bread, allegedly organic butter and allegedly organic honey. Those gypsy-type folk taking his extra money for organic certified produce must be laughing their butts off, thought Sam grumpily. Anyway, where were the certificates? There were none in sight! What a fucking rip-off!

"Oh darling, flowers – and look my organic favorites," Bess had cooed, after an excellent sleep. She always slept well in the spare room free from Sam's snoring.

A great meal was consumed that evening in a restaurant and when Sam entered the house after putting out the refuse for collection early next morning, he followed the line of Bess' discarded clothes up the stairs, patting down his hair and thinking, "I've got something very organic for you, baby."

Afterwards, with Bess lightly snoring herself into sleep he suggested they should row more often, pleased with such a profound thought, but got no reply. Bess, who was six years his junior, half a head shorter and who now weighed more than he did, was already asleep. She was hunched up and breathing like a much older woman.

"Why do women let themselves go when the kids leave home or when they hit fifty," Sam wondered aloud.

"What's that dear?" Bess mumbled.

Sam froze, but was not asked to repeat himself. The snoring resumed.

The routine was familiar. She'd wake up in the morning complaining of a dry throat – through drinking too much wine and sleeping with her mouth open – and complaining about a recurrence of her old back injury because they'd been too active in bed. Younger women began coming into Sam's life when he went away on golfing trips with buddies. He was very aware that some men strayed, some more than others, but he'd not felt the need for it, aware that it can lead to major trouble downstream.

The breaching of his marital fidelity happened ... well, it just happened; not at all like that way authors invent acts of naughtiness and indiscretion. He and Bess had been due to go out with Ray and Honey Killup on their boat – Honey was in the crowd of women Bess hung out with and Sam rather liked her and Ray from joint outings with the gang and their partners.

The previous night to the boat outing, Bess had received a phone call to fill in for someone at a promotional event. So she told Sam to go without her; he readily agreed as he enjoyed boating, and Bess phoned Honey to explain. As she did so Sam lounged back in his chair wondering if Honey would wear her two-piece swimsuit on the boat or that slippery black one-piece that looked glued to her still quite shapely body.

That's exactly how an author might write about this upcoming sizzling set-up.

But when Sam boarded the boat Honey came up and kissed him wearing a white polo shirt – it was so voluminous it must be Ray's – and baggy white shorts.

"Join Ray up top – I'm going into the saloon to help Belinda with the food."

Sam did as instructed. He wondered about the boring day Belinda would have without being accompanied by her husband. She was a nice kid, only twenty-two, and lacking real curves like her mother.

As usually, they found a quite spot to anchor for lunch.

After a drink of sparkling wine Ray pulled out another bottle from the fridge and followed Honey down the companionway, smacking her on the butt as she went. She giggled. Sam had an idea that they would not be lunching for quite a while.

"We're going for a rest," Ray said to Sam straight faced. "Lunch in an hour, eh?"

Belinda still looked a bit glum.

"What's up, love?" Sam asked: You haven't looked yourself today."

She burst into tears and held out her arms. Sam hurried to her side and began patting her back.

"I'm so unhappy. Tom is playing around."

"Oh Christ."

"Exactly," said Belinda, mascara running. "May I play around with you?"

And there it was; a simple, direct question.

Actually, at first Sam had no idea what she was talking about. All he'd been thinking was how to extricate himself and go outside for a discrete pee over the side and he didn't want to go down below to the head (toilet) and disturb Ray and Honey.

Yes, seemed to be a logical reply to her question, and that would lead to enlightenment.

"Oh, I've always fancied you Sam. I like your square shoulders and the way your muscles ripple across your chest."

That surprised Sam, and he wasn't aware that his chest muscles could be seen underneath the fat he'd piled on a bit over the years. But he was aware that both Ray and Tom were rather lean.

Sam felt foolish, so acted foolish – puffing out his chest at Belinda.

"Oh God," she said, dropping her unbreakable flute to the ground and dropping her head on to Sam's chest, her fingers working to unfasten his shorts.

By now Sam was aware how she wanted to address her happiness – though sex with another man and he was the only man handy, it seemed. For an instant he had a moral poser – does one fuck the married daughter of one of his best friends? Well, the poor girl certainly needed cheering up.

Belinda was good, very good in fact. She had Sam's shorts open and her hand in charge before he'd managed to resolve his dilemma. His resolve simply crumbled.

Later they heard movement below and Honey appeared.

"We've hungry – need a snack," she said. "You look much happier, love."

Belinda rose and went over to whisper something to her mother.

"Good God," gasped Honey. She then looked over Belinda's shoulder at Sam – right at his crutch, he thought. She then gave Sam a huge wink.

"Look," Honey said to Belinda. "Help me load a tray and Ray and I will lunch down below and remain down there for the next couple of hours to allow you two to have some fun. Since you both have decided to commit adultery you may as well get yourselves legless."

Later Ray appeared, having made considerable noise before climbing up to the saloon. He looked thoughtfully at them, indicating no hostility.

"I'm going topside to get us underway. Honey is taking a nap. So for the next couple of hours you two have this area to yourselves. Enjoy. Glad to see you looking so happy again, darling. These have been two grueling weeks for us all.

With that, Ray was gone.

Sam shook his head, remembering that day. Tom and Belinda got right back together again, with Belinda now expecting her second child.

Sam was surprised that Merrick was not adverse to the suggestion of double dating. The New Zealander didn't appear to be obviously promiscuous, but this suggested otherwise. Kirsty might take it hard if she found out, but then again Kirsty was not your ordinary female who had wanted to settle down early and raise kids. She'd thrown it about quite a bit, apparently, and then there was this mysterious guy in New York who appeared to treat her like a high-class prostitute – though he'd never suggest that to Bess. Christ, paint would flake from the ceiling with her wailing if he made that revelation and then the dishes would fly.

On Sunday evening Sam and Merrick arrived at a tidy ground floor apartment, only one block back from the beach. Crystal headed a public affairs team at a huge law firm and Merrick was told that her sister Coral was partly qualified.

Crystal was an occasional companion, Sam had said – someone to take out and have fun with. Another even young woman was Kate, who at present was touring in Europe.

When the door opened Sam held the older woman possessively around the wait and made the introductions. He and Crystal watched Coral shake hands with Sam but their exchange of greeting gave little away.

"Well ladies," said Sam. "Do we eat locally or head downtown?"

"Locally," Crystal said. "Let's walk around the corner to the fish restaurant. Mike is expecting us and promises to wow us."

After a beautiful meal, Sam and Crystal said they were heading back to watch some TV. Coral said she'd eaten too much and wanted to walk, with Merrick saying he would accompany her.

Sam watched them walk off, Coral reaching for Merrick's hand. With Merrick involved even at that minor level it was unlikely that he would be indiscreet at home.

* * *

Merrick was finding his prospectives a rather mismatch, at least that's what it appeared to him. The dressy and articulate Bess was defensive and a snob whereas Sam was open, very charming and friendly with quite a rough edge. Sam was impressive; here he was advancing into old age (early sixties seemed old to Merrick) but was not closing the door on his long accustomed ways without almost full-throttle immersion into the activities closest to his heart – his beloved golf, boating and, it seemed, sex.

He went to the gym regularly, now appeared to have resumed jogging, and he also played senior tennis – originally he joined with Bess, but within the year she'd pulled out, saying it was too exerting for her. Bess freely admitted that she'd readily picked up the label 'senior' whereas Sam was not at all happy to be dubbed that title.

As they had driven up to Crystal's apartment, Merrick almost had second thoughts. Perhaps by double dating Sam also meant being together in bed with the sisters. He'd wished that thought had occurred to him earlier. Perhaps another reminder would not go amiss.

"Sam, I'm not interested in having it off should the opportunity arise – understand?"

"Sure, sure, my boy; let's just enjoy ourselves, huh?"

As Sam rang the door bell Merrick saw him suck his belly in, not that there was a great deal of flab there. Sam was in good shape, excellent shape really for an old man.

As soon as the door opened Merrick's eyes widened, but he said nothing, and simply smiled at the two women.

The fish soup, entrée of scallops followed by a huge platter loaded with hot and cold varies of fish served only with side dishes of tomatoes and greens that looked something like water cress, looked superb, and tasted like true gourmet food. He gorged.

Not unexpectedly, after that sumptuous feast and drinking a sharp, dry Californian white wine in reasonable quantities, when Coral took his hand Merrick felt an electrical charge leap between them and it seemed to earth somewhere in his groin.

Oops, he thought. Tighten your resolve, my boy; no need to weaken simply because you've been quaffing wine.

They walked a long way along a board walk and then went down on to the beach. They took off they shoes and socks and walked back along the water line, chatting easily.

Then Merrick said, "Does Sam know that you are mother and daughter?"

There was no sudden change in hand pressure to signal Coral's surprise. But her gasp told him all. The distant blended roar of road traffic and jet aircraft was punctuated by a small fish jumping just out from where they walked. Merrick waited for a response. Being a woman she'd be unable to endure his silence.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's no business of mine."

"How did you guess?"

"Sam had told me you were Chrystal's kid sister. When I saw you both standing there I immediately thought there were sixteen or seventeen years between you. I them imagined you both with the same color and shape of hair style and came to my conclusion. During dinner I confirmed it by covertly studying your profiles and then began to see unmistakable similarities in mannerisms."

"Such as?"

"You both sweep your hair back with an identical gesture. You both are left-handed. When you smile hard enough to grin both of you have a slightly lopsided drop at the left corner to your mouth. Then I considered the fact that you're a good three inches taller than Crystal. A height different like that does occur between sisters, but I feel it is more likely to occur between mother and daughter."

"Goodness – who are you? I was aware, of course, that we are both left-handed, but was not aware of the hair swishing and lop-sided mouth drop as you so pragmatically call it. Why hasn't Sam picked up on this?"

"I really couldn't say – perhaps blinded by lust. The blonde coloring of your hair would also be a sufficient differential to satisfy most men. I am a photographer – I study faces, poses and work to bring out key points of physical character if I can."

"So, you won't tell him?"

"Certainly not."

"Thank you. Perhaps we should find somewhere quiet where I can reward you."

"I don't need rewarding."

"Don't you. Then what's this?"

Merrick jumped as she clutched at his groin, giving his swelling a friendly squeeze.

"You took a risk," he grinned.

"That comes from experience."

"But you're only twenty-one," he teased.

"Nineteen, actually."

"Oh my God," he said, pulling away from her grip.

"What's the matter?"

"You're young enough to be my daughter."

"So?"

"You're incorrigible."

Coral began stroking his upper arm, increasing the pace. She invited him to sit down on the steps. Merrick did so, warily.

Dropping to her knees, she attempted to open his zip.

Gently Merrick imprisoned her hands in his, preventing her fingers from progressing any further.

"Why," she groaned, trying to wriggle free.

"Because."

"What sort of answer is that?"

Merrick told her he was about to get married and felt that he was promised. He freed her hands.

Coral stood up, brushing sand off her knees. She pouted prettily.

Merrick reached out his left hand to walk away with her. 

She grasped it and with her momentum spun herself around his hand to fall against his chest. "Massage my nipples," she whispered.

Merrick obeyed, finding that although she wasn't abundant in breast flesh she had firm rises supporting now very hard nipples.

Working his fingers in soft concentric circles under the cover of her multi-floral V-neck top he told her it felt good.

"Mmmm," was all she said, trying to slip to the ground and taking him with her. He resisted. She moaned and passively allowed him to stand her back on to her feet.

They walked on slowly, hand in hand. Making lots of noise they entered the apartment, finding Crystal and Sam lolling back in armchairs sipping coffee, both having the appearance of being freshly showered.

Sam and Merrick left an hour later, both women kissing them lightly.

As they drove off Sam said, "How did you go?"

"I had a lovely time, but kept my zip done up if that was what this is about."

"Well, I'm sorry for you buddy. I got two great ones away."

Merrick asked, "Have you and the sister every considered a threesome?"

"No, she comes in sometimes and watches, which really excites both of us. But then she'd gone."

"You've got to take your opportunities, Merrick," Sam said seriously. "You won't be able to pop that gun of yours forever."

"I'll keep that in mind, Sam," Merrick said dryly. "Thanks for the advice."

Sam chuckled, a looked please.

Within the hour Merrick was in bed bringing Kirsty to a climax.

"Jesus," she said, rolling away right over to her side of the bed. "Get a towel please – we're flooded. Obviously you weren't a naughty boy tonight. Mum thinks dad is having it off with some bitch. What were you two up to tonight?"

Merrick was already in the bathroom getting a towel. He pretended not to have heard, and almost got away with it. As he dried the bed Kirsty said, "Well?"

"What, you want to go again?"

"No, you fool. What were you two doing tonight?"

"We had a great fish meal, plenty of drinks and just jawed. We're beginning to really bond."

"Oh darling – that's wonderful. I never thought you would have any trouble being accepted by daddy. Mum's the nigger in the woodpile."

"I thought the word nigger was a derogatory word."

"It is, but that's an old saying I learned from my grandma. She told me that mum had a Little Black Sambo doll when she was young but the church minister made grandma destroy it."

"What a pity – actually I remember hearing that story of Little Black Sambo when I was a kid. It was so quaint that I loved it"

"Well, obviously you did – but the conversation is really about mother dear. You've made headway, but you're still not there."

"Perhaps I never will be, darling. But at least I will try for your sake. Her problem, as I see it, is that she's learned to be difficult. That makes her a hard person to roll."

Kirsty looked at Merrick curiously.

"How do all of these things get into your mind?"




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 06



"Like what?"

"Like saying that my mother has learned to be difficult. I'm sure daddy and certainly I haven't ever considered her behavioral patterns operate in that way. Yet you're here for five minutes and you have her sized up."

"Kirsty, I'm sorry. I did not mean to be offensive or to put my mouth where it was not wanted."

"Merrick, I'm trying to say how right you are. 

"She has grown into becoming a mother who is greatly more difficult and stubborn and critical about others – especially their behavior. She was not like this in her younger days, as I remember her. She really has learned to become more difficult."

"Well, if you're arrived at that conclusion, can you help your father to effect a reversal?"

"Oh Merrick, I really have no idea; I'm still getting use to having the problem identified."

"It's probably something lacking in the drinking water."

"Merrick, don't get started on that, please. It all becomes too weird for me when you get on to that hobby-horse.

"Now get into bed and say goodnight."

"Kirsty?"

"Y-e-e-s," Kirsty muttered. "Is it time to get up?"

"No, not at all. I've been lying here staring into the dark thinking. Now I'm worried. Will you promise me never to learn to be difficult."

"Merrick! Shut up and go to sleep. That's an order!"

"Yes, dear."

Five days later Kirsty was beside herself in excitement, her mother chiding her for acting like a brainless teenager.

They were at the airport to welcome visitors – Brian and Marg who were accompanied by Merrick's mother Linda, Brian's parents Alec and Mary and Merrick's daughter Bella and Brian's twin brother Stan and wife Gail. The Fallon's friends Murray and Shana McLean were also there as greeters as they were hosting some of the Raymond's.

Few parties in the crowded airport terminal received a nosier greeting that Brian and his party. Never had Merrick seen Kirsty so near to losing it. She and Marg flew into each other's arms, Brian and his mother kissed her and Alec pressed her and kissed her fully on the lips. Stan shook hands with her and Gail and she exchanged a polite kiss. That left Kirsty looking directly at a pale, shy twelve year old.

"Hullo," you must be Bella," Kirsty said, oblivious to the noise and heaving movement of bodies and luggage trolleys around them.

Kirsty held out her arms, bending low, but was disappointed when instead of running in Bella approached her hesitantly.

Holding back her tears Kirsty received a push from behind, with Mary Raymond advising, "Make the move – she's shy."

Unable to stop her momentum when still bending over – the push was quite forceful – Kirsty grabbed Bella in her arms as she staggered forward.

Bella looked startled and then caught Kirsty's huge smile, openness and a whiff of glorious perfume. The shyness disintegrated. She threw her arms around Kirsty, kissed her twice, then burrowing into Kirsty's hair whispered, "What do I call you?"

"What would you like to call me?"

"Kirsty."

"Ok. That's nice. You may call me Kirsty."

"All the time?"

"Yes."

"Kirsty. Kirsty. I am very happy to be with you Kirsty."

Kirsty's eyes watered but she held her composure. But Kirsty and Bella felt a soft hand on their back.

"Hello you guys, I see you've become acquainted."

"Oh daddy, oh daddy; she's lovely," cried Bella, now being held high and kissing her father.

"Well, was that surprising?"

"Nope. I knew you wouldn't choose a horrible stepmother for me."

"Oh, really. How nice of you to say that," grinned Merrick, in great tenderness watching Kirsty brush away tears.

Mary given Merrick a lovely greeting after Bella had dashed from her upon arrival to jump into her father's arms. Then Marg had given him the most surprising greeting, after kissing time very warmly had said to him softly, "I've missed you, I've missed you so much."

Merrick didn't reply; he didn't know what to say without sounding like an idiot.

That evening they all went out to dine with the McLean's who were hosting Alec, Mary, Stan and Gail.

Murray McLean had booked them into a restaurant at the northern end of the beach.

"I've heard it's great – specializes in fish so fresh that they have trouble keeping it in the pan for cooking," he said.

Brian and Merrick's mother looked squeamish, but Marg, feeding baby Avon a delayed bottle in the hope she'd go to sleep in her carry-cot, barred her teeth and growled, "Bring it on." 

She'd going to be trouble tonight, thought Merrick, an accurate prediction as it happened, though really no fault of Marg's.

The City of Los Angeles has a population approaching four million, and one database lists 8550 restaurants of all categories. It was therefore reasonable for surprise to flash over the faces of Sam and Merrick, with an exchange of raised eyebrows, when they discovered the chosen restaurant was known to them. Their faces were expressionless, their eyes troubled as they entered Crystal and Coral's local restaurant.

Entering the restaurant at the rear of their big party, the two men looked around anxiously and then relieved: there was no sign of the two women.

"Highly unlikely they would eat here every night," Sam grinned, mopping his face.

"Ooh, what a nice atmosphere," Bess commented. Everyone eyed the portions of fishing nets attached to some of the walls and most of the ceiling and the walls were dotted with pictures of fish, fishing boats and fishermen.

They all sat around a big square table made up of normal tables. Although it was a traditional looking fish restaurant, patrons were seated comfortably in new age composite rounded-baked chairs with red cushions.

The music was live – a guitarist playing mostly classical Spanish music, though she did perform requests.

"I like this place – it feels so homely yet gives one an expectation of culinary delight," said Murray. "It apparently has a great reputation. What do you think, Sam?"

"Huh? White wine for Merrick and me and probably the others, and lots of it, thanks Murray. It's all fish here."

Sam winked at Merrick. Looking up he suddenly pulled a finger over his throat, frowning. 

Casually turning looking mostly at the pictures on the wall, Merrick found himself looking directly at Crystal and Coral, both dressed in sheath dresses. They headed for their preferred table near the back of the room.

"Hello, Mr Fallon," Carol said as she passed Sam, her eyes raking Merrick.

"Oh, good evening Coral," Sam said, looking calm.

"Who's the pretty girl?" Bess asked curiously. 

"She's a legal executive at our law office – I'm surprised she remembered our name," Sam replied smoothly.

Merrick was impressed. Sam had expressed himself fluently and with no stress in his voice. The use of 'our' in 'our name' was the masterful stroke of an artful cheat and liar.

"She had her eyes glued on you, boyo," Stan said.

Merrick was thankful that Kirsty was down the far end of the table where Stan's casual comment would have been drowned by the general hubbub of conversation and surrounding noise.

Merrick jumped when he felt fingers dig into his thigh. Bloody hell, Mary was attempting a re-run of what happened several years ago and was getting amorous already.

He turned. It was not his former mother sitting on that side of him; somehow Marg had changed places without Merrick noticing.

"I've REALLY missed you," she said, throatily.

Merrick decided it was time for a diversion.

"Sam, as I mentioned to you before Alec is big into golf and sailing, Stan is really into sailing, and they are hoping some opportunities will crop up for them during their stay."

"For Alec golfing is already organized," Sam grinned. "We start the day after tomorrow to let you get over flying and settling in to this new environment. One of my regular golfing buddies is standing down to allow you to play whenever we go out. I suggest we all for to 'Frisco after the wedding and those with sea legs can come out sailing for a day or two."

"Let's drink to that," called Alec, raising his glass and shooting a grateful look at Merrick.

The next time Merrick checked, Crystal and Coral, they had gone. They must have quietly skirted their table. Relieved, he felt he could now enjoy himself provided Marg behaved herself. He saw that her chair was empty – where was she?

Merrick looked around the table and around the room. He leaned over slightly to view the passage leading to the toilets and their caught the flash of Marg's bright green patterned skirt. But that's not all he saw! She was struggling with a man in black trousers and white shirt.

As Marg's head came into view again, Merrick saw the guy had a hand over her mouth. Obviously he was trying to rob, rape or possible kidnap her.

Merrick was sitting midway along the table. The quickest route was across it. The surprised face of Stan's wife Gail flashed beneath Merrick and he leaped straight on to the table and flew over her head in his dash to the corridor.

To Be Continued...



Freeing Kirsty Ch. 07



SO FAR: Divorcee Merrick Jamieson (35) visiting New York comes into contact with the moll of the mysterious Spiro. The spirited Kirsty Fallon (25) finds she has become attracted and follows the photo-journalist to his homeland and begins working with him. Merrick deals with a retriever sent to return Kirsty and then travels to New York and wins her freedom from Spiro. The couple are now in Los Angeles for their wedding, The New Zealand party take their hosts out to dinner and during the evening Merrick spots his ex-brothers wife Margaret (Marg) being attacked by a knife-wielding man, probably a thief.

* 

The assailant in the passage heard Merrick running at him and pushed Marg away. She hit the wall on her left side with a sickening thud which is when Merrick's lack of recent training in his martial art proved almost fatal for him. He focused for a split second to check on Marg again and that gave the attacker freedom to lunge forward, his knife aimed at Merrick's belly.

Merrick sensed, rather than saw he was in grave danger. He twisted him body and lunged down powerfully with his right arm, deflecting the knife lunge.

The blade sliced open his arm and dug into him, low down. Merrick fell to the floor with a groan, his arm bleeding profusely and now blood spurting from his leg.

The thief ripped off Merrick's diving watch, scooped up Marg's purse and ripped off her necklace – a wedding present from Brian. He then race away through the restaurant kitchen to the rear entrance,

Responding to Marg's scream moments before she hit the wall, Brian was already running to her, but Stan was even faster and was cradling Marg who had regained conscious and was moaning with pain. She's taken a quick horrified look at Merrick.

"Go to Merrick, Brian," she called. "I'll keep – he's bleeding to death.

By now the restaurant was in an uproar, the screams of staff adding to the confusion as some patrons pushed and shouted to get out of the room.

Kirsty came against the flow, clutching Bella with Bess right behind them.

Brian had checked Merrick, turned and saw Kirsty coming towards him.

"Get a sharp kitchen knife, tea towels and a heavy linen table cloth; hurry."

Bess took Bella and Kirsty was off to the kitchen.

The manager appeared with two waiters.

"A container of clean hot water; call an ambulance," barked Brian.

"A rescue unit is already on its way," the manager said. He ordered one of his waiters to get the hot water and the other to keep people clear.

The manager then called the police and asked for a police escort to lead the rescue unit to the emergency hospital.

"Good man," Brian shouted, hearing that call. "Now phone the hospital. Tell them we've got a femoral artery breach.

Kirsty raced back, white-faced but relatively calm with the items Brian wanted.

"I'm here darling," she said to Merrick, and he smiled. He'd earlier ripped off his shirt to attempt to stem the worst blood flood in his mid-thigh.

Brian concluded that Merrick must have deflected to knife and it plunged into his thigh, piercing an artery. He hoped that the blade tip had pierced the artery longitudinally rather than severing it completely which would give Merrick a chance.

"How's Marg?" Brian snapped as he worked on Merrick.

Marg managed to answer him herself. "Wowsie, darling. I'm concussed I'm afraid. Banged my head heavily but can't feel pressure of internal bleeding."

"Thank Christ for that," Brian said reverently. He worked quickly ripping the heavily tablecloth into strips assisted by his mother Mary.

He instructed his mother to fold that tea towel into four and place that pad over the wound. He shouted to the manager to fetch something to act as a rod – a knife steel or a heavy long handled spoon,

Mary had placed pressure on the pad just over the wound, but blood was still spurting.

"He'll by OK if this works as it should," Brian said, trying to sooth Kirsty who was now emitting huge sobs at the sight of so much blood.

Brian wrapped two lengths of tablecloth strips over the pressure pad and began using the ladle handle like a winch winder. The bandage snapped.

Four more strips please, Brian said evenly; Mary thrust them at him.

"Stay steady mate," Brian said to Merrick. We've almost done here."

"The arm is under control," called Kirsty, having stopped that bleeding by ripping Merrick's shirt into strips and tying them tightly around the arm. She was no longer sobbing heavily.

The four-ply strop held as the tourniquet was tightened.

"Good – that's stopped most of it, Brian declared, relief in his voice.

"Good work Kirsty – it looks as if you've got that arm secure.

"Anyone got lipstick?"

A waitress handed Brian her tube.

"We need to let medics know the exact time we applied the tourniquet. My watch says ten fifty-five. Is that right?"

"Yes," called Mary and the manager almost simultaneously.

Everyone watched at Brian wrote 'T – 10.55' on the forehead of the now unconscious Merrick.

Brian slipped across to check on Marg who was slipping into unconsciousness.

"Keep awake, Marg. Do you hear?"

"Yes, dear. I'm s-o-o-o s-l-e-e-p-y."

"Keep urging her to keep awake Stan. She's concussed."

Meanwhile Kirsty had dug into Merrick's back pocket and extracted his wallet. Removing a small card she handed it to Brian. "Here, this will save time. He's a blood donor – the card verifies his blood type."

"Brilliant, Kirsty," said Brian. "He is doing fine."

"Sirens sounded and in less than a minute emergency medics were at Merrick's side.

Brian identified himself as a registered medical practitioner from New Zealand and drew attention to the tourniquet on the thigh, and two pressure pads covering the long slit on his arm.

"Two knifings – I belief the femoral artery has been slit open – a straight incision," he said.

The medics thanked him and the senior one inspected the tourniquet. He decided to leave it in place but applied his own one over it.

Completing their assessment and emergency aid to both patients, the medics took both victims out to the emergency vehicle.

Brian grabbed Kirsty's arm and asked Mary to look after Bella.

"Both of them are going to be OK, baring any unexpected developments," he shouted. "We'll try to go with them."

The medics were apologetic but really not interested in taking two passengers. Brian didn't argue. Spotting the police vehicle in front of the emergency vehicle ready to lead it off with lights and sirens opening up the route ahead, he approached a police officer, identifying himself and Kirsty as the victim's next of kin.

"Can you guys get us to the hospital?" asked Brian.

"Sure, you go in the lead car," said the sergeant.

"Mike," he yelled to a policeman standing at the driver's door of the lead vehicle. "Take these two civilians with you – partners of the two injured parties. Get statements from them at the hospital."

"Thanks a million," Brian said.

"Always ready to help the countrymen of Crocodile Dundee," grinned the police officer.

Brian had no time to give the friendly officer a lesson on accents and geography.

At the hospital Merrick was rushed on to surgery when a team was waiting to repair the damaged artery. Although the major artery appeared to have been cleanly punctured rather than severed which in many instances proves fatal, Merrick had suffered a significant blood loss. Blood had also flowed from his arm wound. A transfusion commenced immediately, using the blood type shown on his blood donor's card.

The surgeon later congratulated Brian on an accurate assessment. The femoral artery had indeed been slit lengthways, allowing a straightforward and relatively fast repair which meant the tourniquet being removed and full blood circulation being returned to the limb with appropriate procedures being followed to minimize the chance of infection and other nasty side-effects such as gangrene.

The senior surgeon complimented everyone involved and said, "All in all, our Mr Jamieson is a very lucky man; exceedingly lucky."

Kirsty was allowed to visit Merrick in the recovery room. Brian was in the emergency department with Marg. She had superficial injuries – one small cut, abrasions and was developing quite severe bruising. She was admitted for 48-hour observation for concussion. So far there was no evidence of internal bleeding or clots.

Four hours later Brian and Kirsty returned to Sam and Bess' home, satisfied by hospital staff assurances that both patients appeared out of danger and it was now only a matter of time under observation to ensure they continued to progress.

Relieved and able to relax at last Brian asked Kirsty who was the man in a leather jacket she'd been talking to in the hospital.

"A reporter, chasing the story about the knifing. But he seemed to lose interest when told that Merrick was out of danger. The reporter had one more try, asking if Merrick was a 'somebody'."

"And?"

"I said, 'To me yes, very much so, but to your readers no'."

"And?"

"He said he'd file a couple of paragraphs and it probably would get published because of the fact of patrons fleeing the restaurant almost in terror. Then he said a rather sweet thing to me – 'I hope that one day I meet a lady who will think of me as a somebody as you describe your man'. I'd regarded all reporters in big cities as cynics, tough and rude."

"You're been watching too many B-grade movies, lady," interjected the cab driver. "They now have sweet dames covering crime and city beats on the big Met papers these days. Even the cops have gone soft. My police precinct even has several declared homosexuals on its staff. In the old days the homos would have been used as punching bags and the dames working as frontline cops would on have been used in decoy work."

Later that night Marg awoke and buzzed a nurse. She asked about Merrick and was told he was in the room next door, sleeping.

"I want to sit with him."

"I'm sorry, but you must stay in bed and lie still. If you develop a blood clot in your head it could be life threatening."

As soon as the nurse had gone Marg went to the room next to hers, checking the name on the door before entering. It was the right room; Merrick was soundly asleep – drugged no doubt.

Sitting right up to him, Marg stroked his face. His whiskers were growing, feeling like fine sandpaper. She wanted to play nurse, and shave him. She felt love for him and that warmness seemed to flow through her stroking fingertips. She could feel it, she wondered if he could, in his sleep. Resting her head gently against his chest she thought that rarely had she felt so serene.

"I love you, I love you, I love you, Merrick," he whispered. She began imaging him carrying her off somewhere and fell asleep.

Forty minutes later she was shaken awake.

"Mrs Raymond – I must insist you return to your room," said the nurse who'd spoken to her earlier. "You must return to your bed and stay there."

A little later Marg returned to Merrick's room, showering his face with gentle kisses, barely touching his skin. She then wept for him, and for herself, before drifting off to sleep. She was discovered later during the routine nursing inspection.

"We are sorry, Mrs Raymond, but for your own protection and well being, we must so this," the tubby blonde nurse who had escorted Marg back to her bed said sympathetically. A wrist strap and an ankle strap were attached to Marg, the other ends of the leashes fastened to the frame of her bed which was pushed against the wall.

The two nurses tested their handiwork and one went off to write up a report.

"You have enough slack to turn," said the blonde, Nurse Gollins. "But you will not be able to get out of bed unassisted. Call if you require assistance." She added that Marg would probably be allowed to breakfast with her friend Mr Jamieson in the morning – "I'll suggest this in my night report," she said. "We realize you will have an attachment to your friend as we hear he probably saved you from a potentially more serious attack. He was very brave. Good night."

Marg closed her eyes and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Margaret Guest was the youngest of five children – "Tail end Margaret" her father, who owned a supermarket, used to tease.

Before she turned six Margaret had decided she wanted to become a nurse. As soon as she could sit up as an infant, she became the baby in the games of her three sisters and 'the patient' when they played hospitals.

In her early teens Marg, as she called herself by then, went to films featuring nurses, watched TV shows that romanticized nursing and read books about nursing, hospitals and medicine. Her favorite author was one of her mother's favorites as a teenager – Frank G Slaughter, a qualified surgeon, born in Washington DC in 1908, whose books sold more than six million copies.

Marg was accepted into nursing training by a whisker, being the minimum age for acceptance. Her birthday fell eleven days from the date she applied – exactly on the closing date for applications. 

As a junior nurse Marg was on night duty one evening when a new house doctor – Dr Brian Raymond – entered the ward to perform a post-operative check. Marg took him to the patient, already having being briefed that 'the ruggedly handsome son of Dr Kildare is as green as grass'.

The patient complained that the operation area on her femur just above the knee felt hot and sticky.

"Your pressure bandage is probably just a little tight," Brian had said confidently.

Mary felt the woman's forehead. She was hot and sticky. "Something's not right," she murmured, but was ignored.

"Make yourself decent Mrs Skipper," Brian smiled, giving the elderly woman a couple of seconds to make sure her night dress was in place.

Brian flipped back the bedding, tool one step backwards and said, "Jesus!" The upper leg was lying in a pool of blood.

"Get the crash team," Brian ordered.

Marg pushed the buzzer and placed the end-piece in the patient's hand, asking her to keep pressing the buzzer. Brushing past Brian, Marg started undoing the tight bandaging.

"No, wait for the crash team."

"Can't – we must act now."

"Do you know what you're doing – what the risks are?"

"Yes." "Right," said Brian. "Let's go!"

He held up the patient's leg while Marg quickly unrolled the bandage, re-rolling it as she went. She got it completely removed from the operation site at the top of the femur and the blood flow increased significantly.

"We've got to get the first few winds over this pressure pad very tight – you do it, you'll be stronger than me. As tight as you can – you won't damage anything. I suspect a stitched blood vessel has ruptured."

Marg comforted the patient while holding the woman's leg up to allow Brian to roll the bandage under her thigh.

A senior nurse came running in. "Problem?"

"Was," Marg said. "We seem to have got it fixed. Please call a senior registrar urgently."

"You've done it," Marg said to Brian, who grunted, sweat dripping down his brow. "There is no new bleeding."

Marg turned to the patient. "We had to stop a blood flow, dear. You'll be heading back in surgery in a few minutes for repairs. These things happen sometimes, it's just routine. You are going to be quite all right."

Marg reached from one of the patient's towels behind the bedside locker and wiped Brian's brow. He looked at her gratefully. He washed up and then went back to the patient to calm her further.

When she came on duty next evening there was a bouquet of flowers waiting for her – "Thanks. Brian" was all that the message said. Fortunately she flipped over the card. Scrawled on that was the message – Dr Kildare's Café, 7.30 in the morning.

That café – its real name The Kapai Café – was in a row of shops opposite the main gates of the hospital. A novel could be written about the romances, intrigues, broken hearts and sobbing confessions that swirl around the tables in that place. Marg, mindful that her mother had made her promise to always be a good girl, had resolved never to enter that dingy den of immorality where allegedly one's propriety can be stripped away in seconds by an evil seducer or perhaps more than one.

Marg looked through the doorway before entering, nervously, ready to turn and bolt at the sight of a bare penis or a fornicating couple or even women pulling each other's hair out watched by evil-faced men.

She stood, surprised. It was as dirty and untidy as any other second-rate café she knew of – certainly nothing unusual there. A night porter called Jack was almost falling asleep over his bacon and eggs; Mrs Black from admissions was looking into her cup at the tea leaves while Liz, who'd be late reporting for duty, was shyly holding hands with the new porter already dubbed with the nickname of Stallion.

Marg marched forward, now aware that tales of Mr Ratanui's café might be over-exaggerated – or were mornings not the time for dramatic events to unfold? It was 7.40 and she worried that he might not turn up – house doctors were notoriously unreliable, mainly as a result of being over-worked, over-sexed and getting insufficient sleep. To her surprise there was Dr Brian Raymond, in the far corner of the room.

"I thought I'd been stood up – nurses are notoriously unreliable," he'd said, something Marg would always remember, plus the first thing she said: "I'm taking you home to bed as soon as we've had breakfast."

Marge froze. She'd not meant to say that, only to think it. People around them were grinning.

"OK," Brian replied. "Why don't you sit and look at the menu – you look famished."

His boyish grin eased her embarrassment. What had made her utter such a thought aloud?

He learned over the table to her. He smelt nice and friendly. "If we go well together in bed, I'd be interesting in dating. You seem to have it all together."

Marg looked bewildered. "How did I get myself into this position?"

"I'd call it job stress – your mind stops working and instinct takes over. Your instinct expressed itself so beautifully."

Mary though, I'm going to marry this man. She slapped her hand over her mouth, but a few seconds later realized that thankfully she'd not said that out aloud.

Brian looked up from his menu. "Are you married or spoken for?"

"Neither. And you?"

"Neither."

She told Brian she wanted bacon, eggs, tomatoes, chips and milky white coffee and wanted to share the bill.

"Medically what you have ordered is good for stamina. I'll add steak to mine, and payment is not open for negotiation.'

"Add steak to mine, please and tell the waitress to hurry when you place the order." 

Marg had become interested in a phantom called Merrick. Merrick had not been produced to meet her, and Brian rarely talked about him but everyone else around them did. She came to suspect that Brian was keeping Merrick away from her, perhaps fearing an illicit seduction.

God, what a turn on; she couldn't wait to see this mysterious chap to give him the come on. But seriously, she thought, the guile of Brian pleased her as too often for her comfort he became too rigid in the pursuit of being correct, well-mannered - becoming even a tad subservient to maintain his desired social equilibrium. Few things pleased Brian more than over-hearing himself being called 'what a nice man' or 'what a lovely doctor'.

Get a life, Brian – live a little dangerously at times. 

At her instigation they both purchased bicycles months after they first met. They began to ride regularly – at least as regularly as their jobs would allow – through suburban streets and open space reserves. Brian became an enthusiast and replaced his old sports car with an even older Holden station wagon so they could dump their bikes in the back (he was now so liberated that he was calling them bikes instead of bicycles) and they tootled off farther afield, much to their mutual pleasure.




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 07



This initiated the liberation of Brian, and observing the slowly emerging results Marg continued to discreetly apply pressure. Brian became more enthusiastic about their physical fitness, which intruded on to what they ate and drank, and his interest in her in the bedroom also extended. Brian's routine in making out had been number one, in bed; number two, the blinds must be down; number three... She'd offended him once by teasing that he was she made love by numbers.

The meet-the-parents expedition had been a harrowing experience for Marg. A similar meeting with Brian and her family and their dependents had been a breeze. Everyone but her sister who lived in Singapore with her banker husband and their two children had been there.

Maureen became concerned, asking what was wrong, that Marg NEVER cried. Was she pregnant?

The house – really it could only be called a mansion – of the Raymond's, with its wonderful harbor sweeping views rather over-awed Marg as did the Raymond's senior. Both were dressed formally – Alec looking like the commodore of the yacht squadron (actually he'd been commodore) in a dark blue blazer with gold buttons and cream trousers with knife-edge creases and imported fancy brown shoes from a supplier in Lode England. Mary was in a mixture of black and grey, and held a cigarette holder with an unlit cigarette. She also dripped gold.

The images grated through Marg's mind. Oh why hadn't Brian brought her that clinging blue silk dress? The lying bastard – he'd told her to dress informally, so she was wearing baggy white shorts and a brilliant yellow and blue shirt knotted at the waist. Jesus! Brian, she thought. Wait till I get you home. Brian looked ex-army – dressed in khaki.

Only one of their children were home that day – Kate. Brian's twin brother Stan – whom Marg had been dying to meet, was out sailing.

Kate entered the tiled floor room through a side door, dressing in a bikini and dripping water from the pool.

"You're dripping water, Kate."

"That I know, mother. That's why we have tiles in this reception room and not carpet."

Mary did not respond, but Kate arched an eyebrow.

"Why are you and daddy dressed up as if you're going out with your yachter poofs?"

"Well said, Kate," Alec had replied.

"Look," he said to Marg. "We didn't know what to expect. We'd gathered from Brian that you move, dress and act like a second Grace Kelly. Would you mind if Mary and I went and got out of our penguin suits and into something more like us – I will be ever so grateful if you say you don't mind?"

Marg rolled the words around in her head – 'We'd gathered from Brian that you move, dress and act like a second Grace Kelly.' I don't think Brian has any idea how I used to adore Grace Kelly – Princess Grace Kelly! Oh Brian!

Realizing that everyone was looking at her, Marg turned pink and said no, they could come out in their birthday suits if they wished. Anything was fine with her.

Everyone laughed, including Kate. Brian had told her Kate could be very difficult at times, a comment that Marg interpreted as an implied warning to be careful.

"Do you swim?"

"Yes indeed, Kate. I love it."

"I get you one of my bikinis that with luck may go around your top. Should I do that?"

"Yes, thank you Kate," Marg said, her pink coloring returning. It was not her fault that she had 'luscious melons' as Brian called them. Someone had to have them."

The young women fooled around in the water, watched by Brian who eventually was joined by his parents, now dressed casually, with Alec wheeling a laden drinks trolley.

"Drinks, girls!" he called.

"Just a minute daddy!"

Kate asked Marg if she'd like a four-length race before jumping out for a martini or whatever she wanted to drink.

"Yes, I'd like four lengths and then to be plied with exotic liquor," Marg quipped Marg.

Kate turned, saw the cheeky smile and grinned.

"Filthy bitch. Come on, on the count of three. As hard as you can go."

There were off. Marg had already assumed that Kate's best distance was four lengths, otherwise why would she nominate that distance.

Marg was great at many things, and swimming was one of them. But this was not the time to be a show-off. She caught Kate's pace and dropped back half a body and kept that position right to the end, maintaining it even when Kate unleashed a great finishing sprint.

"I won!" crowed Kate.

"Yes," smiled Marg. "You're a really good swimmer."

"Why thank you," Kate said, handing Marg her towel. "Tell me, what are your other interests besides nursing, sex and obviously swimming? Clearly you could have carved me to pieces in front of my parents if you'd wished."

"Oh, I connive with relish, enjoy touches of humility and enjoy being in the company of similar-aged women who also believe in not letting the bastards get us down."

"Has Brian being telling tales about me?"

"No, in fact he's said very little about his family."

"That's Brian all right. You know, already I've got the feeling that you and I are going to get along just fine. It's very unusual for me to be so emphatic so early."

"That's a lovely offer of friendship, Kate," Marg said, wishing she could hug the wild one.

Instead Kate held out her arms and they hugged briefly.

Walking back up the steps Marg noticed the eyes behind Alec's sunglasses flit over her body and rest in line with her breasts. Mary reclining beside him raised her sunglasses and openly looked at Marg's breasts. Marg colored, thinking what an unusual family.

"Well, come and let me pour your drinks girls, and then I'll get the barbie on."

"A light martini thanks, daddy, and no lunch. Merrick and I are going bowling."

"You still going with Merrick," Alec commented. "I'm pleased about that. He'd make a great son."

"Daddy – butt out."

Merrick? Marg was curious about the name. Brian frequently mentioned it and now here was a direct connection. This Merrick guy was dating Kate, the possibly tempestuous Kate. How interesting.

At that moment Marg had no idea that Kate would marry this Merrick fellow and then in marrying Brian she and Kate would become not only sisters but that Marg would become one of the few people who could tame Kate when the older woman was going through a nasty patch.

A 'coming out' party was held at the Raymond's home to celebrate the end of Brian's formal training and buying into a medical practice on the Hibiscus Coast, a thirty minute non-peak traffic drive north of Auckland City,

Although automatically invited, Marg received her own printed invitation from Mary. It indicated to her that she was accepted and Mary had a cutting humor, as the wording 'Dress: Formal' was circled with lipstick and signed below in the same lipstick, 'Love, Mary."

They were out on the back lawn at dusk drinking white wine when Marg showed the invitation to Brian.

"How bloody insulting," he thundered.

"Steady on Brian – she's being intimately friendly to avoid me being misdirected by my partner – one of her sons! – on what to wear."

"Oh."

"Yes, Oh! For that I wish to be taken to a real restaurant tonight, not a local yokel café."

"Right."

At the restaurant Marg asked casually, "Will Kate be there on Saturday night?"

"Of course, it's a Royal Command."

"Good, I'd like to catch up with her – we meet occasionally in the city for lunch you know."

"I know – you never forget to remind me."

"I'm sorry, if you're bored with my conversations..."

"Heavens no, my sweet. You're always telling me the most delectable things."

"Will Kate be bringing anyone?" Marg asked idly, looking up at the darkening sky.

"Merrick, of course."

"Of course?"

"He'd the only one – there are about to announce their engagement, according to mum, who thinks her nasty little daughter will do that during my evening."

"She wouldn't."

"She would."

"Holy shit."

"Marg!"

"Sorry."

They sipped in silence until Marg saw a shadow of a grin grip Brian's mouth.

"This supposedly good mate of yours – Merrick. "Does he ever ask to meet me?"

Brian performed a corkscrew on his chair.

"I thought as much. I also have long suspected that I have not been introduced to him because you fear he may whisk me away from you."

Lobby that grenade; Marg imagined she felt the heat from Brian's inflamed face across the table. He perfectly replicated the appearance of a stunned mullet. That will teach the prick from keeping secrets from me, she thought.

"Er, I didn't realize you'd be interested."

"Liar."

A flock of late home-going birds overhead flapped to their roost, a dog barked as a hot-rod vehicle back-fired and a suburban stressed mother screamed down the street – "Jock and Sharon, come home this instant, do you hear?"

During that medley a hound-dog expression appeared on Brian's face; Marg noticing it with mixed feelings. She was already pissed off at him and now she was both surprised and appalled by that look on his face that made him appear twelve years of age.

"Sorry darling," he practically whispered. "I was afraid – women go all gooey over him. I was afraid he might induce you to stray."

Marg had to turn away for a moment and clap her hand over an emerging laugh. This was priceless – Brian Raymond thinking that a man existed that could knock the socks and possibly the pants off his very own lovely lady?

She coughed to conceal her mirth.

"Sorry darling – a gnat down my throat."

"But we don't have gnats in New Zealand, do we?"

Marg couldn't help herself. She exploded. "For Christ's sake, Brian. What's wrong with you? Are you going to fantasize for the rest of your life that I'm going to jump into bed with every guy you introduce to me?"

"No, good heavens no! It's just that you don't know Merrick."

"Don't know what, Brian?"

Brian swallowed hard, looking upwards for inspiration.

"Girls go to him like lemmings."

"Oh really. And how do lemmings go, Brian?"

"I don't know, really. But I know what I mean."

"Brian, go to the restaurant alone. This is pathetic. I'm off to bed with something decent – a book imbued with intelligence."

At ten o'clock Marg looked down at the pathetic figure on the lawn. There was now a second empty wine bottle in front of him. She decided to play a variation of his trick. Tapping on the window, when she got his attention she cupped her breasts and waggled them obscenely. He jumped to his feet and collapsed. She waited a few minutes and then went down and placed a pillow under his head and a blanket over him.

"Good night, darling, you funny boy," she cooed, kissing him and leaving him there to sleep himself sober.

"Marg, this is MY Merrick," said Kate, performing the introduction. She slipped out of Merrick's arm as if to free him to kiss Marg. But with great proprietary he simply shook hands with her.

"Hi, Marg. Please to meet you. Kate is always talking about you."

"And Brian, too, I trust."

"Well, actually no. At least not to the same extent."

Marg was disappointed. He had shown little interest in her – if he'd ran an eye over her she was not aware of it. Where was all this magnetic personality and an operational Venus Fly Trap that Brian apparently so much feared?

She openly looked him up and down – yes, Brian was right to feel he was down the pecking order. Merrick was taller, darker, stronger and more handsome than Brian. But so what, Brian? Get a life!

Merrick appeared surprised to find he was being so closely inspected. Kate also noticed and stepped forward to wrap Merrick's right arm around herself, thereby signaling whose man he was. Kate realized that her behavior was socially uncouth.

She held out her hand. "Come on Kate, let's go and demolish a martini while these two get their blokes' talk out of their system."

Kate's eyes brightened as if relieved the threat was over.

The party was an enormous success, many guests staying hours after the 3 to 7 period printed on their invitations. Mary took great delight in introducing Marg to her friends and Marg was glad that she was beautifully dressed, so beautifully that Mary felt obliged to run her hand up and down Marg's flank on several occasions during this round of introductions and once even walked across to a group – fortunately with their backs to them – cupping Marg's left breast. 

Marg also met Brian's twin, Stan. Brian had said they weren't identical twins and that was an understatement. Stan looked more like Kate's twin; he even had blond hair.

Catching Marg inspecting his hair Stan grinned: "I'm a bottle blond. But don't worry, we are twins – dad says so and he was there in the delivery room."

"Oh, sorry. I tend to be a little forward at times."

"So I hear. Kate thinks you are a cool chick."

"Isn't that phrase rather dated?"

"Not in our family – we believe if it works, use it. Mum and dad apply that to themselves literally, as they both are still playing around at their age. Disgusting don't you think?"

"No, of course not."

"Well then, being a very lush baby you won't be surprised if dad or even mum try to make a hit on you," laughed Stan, grinning he was led away by a pouting girl who looked not a day over seventeen.

"Your mouth is hanging open, dear," giggled Kate, handing Marg a flute of champagne. "Has my brother being propositioning you?"

"No, not at all. I was just surprised at how young his girlfriend appears to be."

"Who, Lily? I suppose she is towards the younger end of those in his harem."

On the drive home Brian trusted she'd had a lovely time.

"A truly lovely time, darling, and I met so many interesting people. I also had the opportunity to get your family into perspective."

"Good – they will be yours early next week."

"What!" shrieked Marg.

"Yeah, dad had a quiet word and said I shouldn't wait too long as you are ripe for plucking."

I bet he said that, thought Marg, wondering if the family excluding Brian was also into incest. "Oh, what a horrible thought," she spluttered.

"What was?"

"Oh, just something that crossed my mind. So we now hang around for a couple of weeks, do some packing and then in three weeks from yesterday we move up to the Hibiscus Coast."

Brian asked Marg to pull out two envelopes from inside his jacket.

"I could do it but I love to feel your hand stroll over my nipple."

Marg made a slow extraction of the envelopes with a short detour.

"Open them."

The first contained two return tickets to Sydney for seven days, starting the next Tuesday. The slip of paper was a check for $10,000.

"O-o-o-o-h. Are we going?"

"Yes, after all my effort and sacrifices I need a bit of a blow."

"Goodie. Alec has been very generous."

Marg opened the other envelope and announced there was nothing inside. 

Brian grinned and said there better be something there. 

She looked inside again and found a check standing back-on and looking part of the envelope.

"Brian...oh Brian. This is a check for $30,000. That is a huge amount of money."

"Yeah, it is. Mother is also generous. I think I've told you before that she is loaded."

Merrick drove Brian and Marg out to the airport for their flight to Sydney and Merrick and Kate brought them back from the airport a week later. They began seeing a lot more of the couple, who'd become quietly engaged while Brian and Marg were away.

"Oh, you could have had such a great engagement party," Marg said.

"It would have been too close to the wedding," said Kate. "I'm pregnant,"

Marg screamed and hugged her, wildly excited and Brian delivered his congratulations.

"I'm still having a white wedding – the twenty-second of next month. You're both invited along with mummy dear's 1200 guests."

"You're Best Man, mate."

"Right, thanks."

Kate asked Marg if she would assist her with the wedding outfits for the bridal party and Mary.

"Mother knows next to nothing about choosing clothes. She knows you are going to be asked to assist, and she told me, 'Good choice.' We both so much admired your dress at the big party. It wasn't bought off the hook."

"No, it wasn't. I saw one once, went back but of course it was gone. The shop assistant told me that the designer who also made it is a retired dress designer who continues to dabble to supplement his income. She gave me his address, and I told him I wanted a clinging blue silk dress with character.

"He said, 'Ah, my favorite type of client who loves blue silk. Certainly my dear. "Perhaps we should ask if he will do your wedding?"

Kate said why not, his workmanship looked exquisite. She asked who he was and when told, shrieked, "Ohmigod – he's a legend. I thought he was dead."

"Perhaps that's how he wants people to think – he's rather buried down a leafy right-of-way and lives like a recluse. Half of the lounge is his workroom."

Before long Marg happily became aware that Merrick liked her; he joked with her and teased, like many men did, but he also would talk to her at length, intelligently and interestedly. She also liked the way Kate would smile so pleased to see them in deep conversations; clearly Marg was no longer treated suspiciously when around Merrick.

On the other hand, the way Merrick occasionally looked at her – and continues to do – made her aware that he might like to do more than just kiss her cheek as he now did when greeting or fareweling.

The second New Year's Eve after Merrick and Marg had met she'd decided to try him out. Both couples were married by then – Brian and Marg living on the Hibiscus Coast while living at Devonport with great harbor views, Merrick and Kate had their rising two-year Giles and Kate was working to present him with a sister whom she planned to call Liliana, but Merrick favored Bella.

Marg had been on champagne for most of the evening as they celebrated the end of the old year and welcomed in the new at a city hotel events centre, in the company of the Raymond extended family and many friends.

During the midnight kissing frenzy when Marg came against Merrick she swung one of her long legs between his, and pushed forward. She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen in surprise.

They kissed and she drew his hand down on to her breasts, dropping her hand away.

She began breathing heavily when she confirmed that his hand had stayed there, not that confirmation was difficult: his fingers searched for her nipple and he had no trouble locating it because both nipples were now very erect as Marg felt a hot flush sweep through her body and her heart-beat increased noticeably.

Then, just as she realized she was approaching a state that could only be described as the feeling of incredible bliss, some drunken woman grasped Merrick and led him away: and that was that!

Thereafter, he seemed keep himself rather distance. Obviously he thinks that bonking one's best friend's wife is not the done thing, Marg concluded a little sourly. But at least he remained friendly with her.

Years later when the marriage of Kate and Merrick ended, Marg was heartbroken. She cried for both of them. She made no approach to Merrick, not even when Kate decamped to Australia with Giles and Bella. It was such a sad time. 

Time passed and she continued to socialize in groups that included Merrick and she and Brian occasionally had Merrick to stay and went out with him to city restaurants. For some months he always was alone, but gradually women began to appear beside him, though never the same one twice. Merrick had decided to shield himself by committing himself only to one night dates – probably one night stands, thought Marg.

Marg accepted that, the poor blighter had to have some fun and to keep his reproductive system in working order – did they not say, use it of lose it! Marg had always wondered with that little homily who 'they' were.




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 07



However, her neutrality changed dramatically with the arrival of Kirsty and the almost pathetic revelation by Merrick in glances and actions that he was infatuated by her.

Initially Marg was despondent about her reaction – it was so immature of her. She wallowed in such thoughts until she recognized what her upset was – she was jealous!

That appalled her, as she had no right to feel that way and had over the years worked hard to control her feelings for Merrick.

Well, thought Marg the next morning when having coffee on the back lawn, this Kirsty looks set to stay. Marg had met her briefly on the crowded patio of the Raymond's at a party held to formally welcome her to New Zealand. Very little time for a proper assessment, but the woman was radiantly beautiful.

So, Marg settled on a tactic: she would adopt an aloof attitude with Kirsty. But that lasted all of ten minutes when the two women met the next time. Kirsty was so refreshing, displaying a simply delicious personality – little wonder Merrick was smitten.

As their friendship deepened, Marg worried that she was in a treacherous situation: true friends would not have the hots for their friend's partner. This was eating at her. Either she should give up one of them, or confess.

She decided on the later and arranged a meeting.

"It's lovely of you to bring me to this secluded spot on the riverside, Marg. Are you proposing to seduce me?"

Mouth open in shock, Marg braked the station wagon to an abrupt stop. She turned to make an absolute denial to Kirsty but upon sighting Kirsty's wicked grin realized that her leg was being jerked.

They dissolved into laughter, finally leaning together and hugging.

Wiping happy tears from her eyes, Marg explained that she'd brought Kirsty to this peaceful spot as she had something very serious to say to her. She began her confession.

Kirsty stopped her midstride.

"I've heard enough, dear one. I don't want you to suffer any longer. I understand; it's a naughty but perfectly understandable lust to harbor. You've known Merrick for much longer than I have, but unfortunately for you, he's chosen me. Look, if at any time he decides to give you a little bit of loving – a rare treat, mind you – I shall not be concerned. You are his friend – already I have seen he treats you with an attachment like no other women expect me and of course his mother. Your willingness to make this confession only strengthens our friendship. You are a brave woman to approach me like this; had our positions been reversed I don't think I could have broached the subject."

The two women hugged and kissed, and soon were kissing almost like lovers.

"Holy cow! I've never been kissed like that by another woman," Marg said, easing back a little. "It's fantastic."

"Get's right to your core, doesn't it, grinned Kirsty. "I've done it a bit – quite a bit actually, but that doesn't make me a lesbian."

"No, of course not," Mary said, straightening her hair and then reaching for her lipstick. I'll look forward to doing that again when one of us is despondent and in the mood for that kind of revival. It was one of the sweetest things I've ever experienced."

* * *

Four months later had come the attack in the restaurant, and for hours Marg lay awake in her hospital bed thinking about that horrible attack and how Merrick had almost lost his life in coming to her assistance. Her head was sore but the tenderness part was where the villain had dug his fingers into her shoulders when he had a knife across her throat demanding she let her leather hand bag go.

There had been a struggle for the bag as he tried to rip it from her grasp. But Marg wrenched it away from him; incredibly the leather straps and fasteners had held. I should have let it go, she thought, and then Merrick and I would not be in this hospital. But the natural instinct not to let go, not to give up had made Marg into a swimming star as a teenager and a fearsome hockey player in club grade after that. So she got her body between the thief and her bag, and that really angered the skinny runt. Never did she expect him to pull a knife.

A nurse appeared and unfastened the restraining straps just as a specialist entered accompanied by a house surgeon and a charge nurse. The specialist examined Marg, flashing a torch at her eyes and observing the reaction of her eyes. 

She answered several questions about how she felt and where she felt pain or discomfort, and then was told she could walk to the bathroom but no further than that. Smiling he added that she was not to put herself under stress. She probably would be cleared to go home mid-morning the following day.

Marg phoned Brian with that news.

"Good," he said. "I'm leaving soon to come and to see you any way."

"Leave it till after 9:30, darling – they are rather busy until them."

Rarely did Marg lie to Brian; usually there was no need. She had no idea how busy the ward would be but now at 8:00 it seemed to be very quiet for a hospital ward. Surprisingly, she did not feel guilty about her priority to breakfast with Merrick.

Marg and Brian talked about Merrick, the previous night's experience and how shaken everyone had been.

"Apparently Bella was in near hysterics outside the restaurant and cried and moaned all the way home."

"Oh yes, she would be upset the poor darling, Marg said. "It must have been terrible glimpsing her father on the floor amid all that blood."

"Yes, but she was also crying out for Auntie Marg"

"What?" Marg said in surprise. "Asking about me?" A surge flowed through her as she realized a relationship had established itself between her and her young niece. "Bring her in when you come, Brian. Bring everyone – I'm fine and the registrar just whispered to me that Merrick is recovering surprisingly quickly."

"He would – he's in great shape physically."

And don't I know it, thought Marg.

After chatting longer with Brian she went to Merrick's room to invite herself to breakfast. Merrick was awake and watched her walk in, expressionlessly. Marg worried about that. As she bent over to kiss him Merrick grinned and said, "Nice legs."

"God, I must look a mess."

"You'll do – your legs will get you're a pass mark. I didn't realize you have freckles."

Marg colored.

"Or that you blushed." She was wearing a hospital issue dressing grown, very short and frumpy, had done her hair of course with a hospital brush and applied lipstick belonging to the nurse who'd unfastened her restraints. Her own make-up was in her handbag, now in the hands of the police as material evidence of the crime.

They discussed Merrick's condition. His right femur was sore but surprisingly he felt no pain in his arm – it just felt heavy.

"It's the splint and bandaging, you dill."

He grinned. He was such a tease.

Marg's eyes went moist and darker as she said softly, "You probably saved my life last night."

The big tease brushed that aside, saying that was an over-dramatization.

"Think what you must but I was terrorized last night. Thank you, thank you and I deeply regret that I'm the reason why you have landed up here with those bad injuries."

"You poor thing, you're upset," soothed Merrick, holding up his good arm.

Marg had the presence not to rush at him, instead moving in slowly and allowing him to kiss her. He chose to kiss her on the lips but she was too saddened to celebrate within herself. She pulled away a little and a finger of that good hand brushed aside a couple of tears trickling towards her freckles.

Merrick told her that she was a lovely person – so lovely that he'd had no option but to race to her assistance; he accepted her thanks and unnecessary apology and added she must not fret.

Their visitors arrived shortly after 9:30, and Marg's room was packed like a shopping mall on sale day because Merrick was limited to two visitors at a time as his condition was still listed as serious.

"Don't worry – that's normal procedure," Brian assured Marg, handing her a make-up bag filled with requirements after kissing her yet again.

"I'm so pleased to be getting you back," he choked. She was dumbfounded.

Brian diverted by saying that he knew she would be without make-up but really wasn't aware of what she put on to her face.

"Bella helped me out."

"Bella?"

"Yes – hullo Auntie Marg. May I kiss you?"

Kirsty came in behind Bella and wrapped herself around Marg with a joyous cry.

After thirty minutes the charge nurse arrived and cleared all visitors out. "You may return at 4:00 – but not so many of you, please."

Marg returned to Merrick's room.

"Well?"

"The wedding remains on schedule. Brian has been doing some persuasive talking to the surgeon. Provided I continue to make progress, I will be discharged – possibly on Thursday - into what was termed 'Brian's professional custody.' So he's my keeper. I must stay in a wheelchair but I may stand for the actual ceremony."

"That's great, so no social disaster."

"Nope, and who know what they say – something usually comes to the fore in times like this. Bella has been really cut-up – she cried herself to sleep last night in Kirsty's arms and dived into Kirsty's bed this morning. Kirsty says this thing has really bonded them; she is over the moon about that."

"Excellent. That's really great, Merrick. Now you settle back and go to sleep, Marg said, straightening his pillows and other bedding. "I'll stay with you."

As he was settling down, Marg told Merrick that she'd dropped in to see him during the night.

"I had an idea you were there – it was a great comfort to me."

Marg squirmed and told him about being taken back to her bed twice by nursing staff who after the second excursion tied her to her bed.

"Oh dear," he said drowsily. "Was it the nurses or the doctors who then had their way with you?"

That afternoon Marg talked to Kirsty about the wedding. She held Kirsty in a hug as the bride-to-be was showing signs of stress. "Relax, sweetie," Marg cooed. "The bad bits are all over. The wedding remains on schedule which is fortunate for both you and Merrick and all those people who are coming from around the globe. It's all going to be fine."

"I feel dreadful."

"It's just reaction. I'll talk to Brian about it. You just need lots of sleep and rest. Then go for long walks just with Bella. The recuperative powers of associating closely with the young are virtually ignored after weaning; believe me that's true. Bella's natural openness and sheer zest for life will spill over you like the glowing dust from the wand of the Queen of the Fairies."

Kirsty sighed and smiled.

"You are so very good for me Marg."

Later that night Marg returned to Merrick's room. He was sleeping. She stroked his hair and covered his face with soft kisses. Marg had just sat back in the chair, holding Merrick's had when a tall and barrel-chested man entered the room.

"Scat, lady." The accent was heavily American.

"Excuse me! Who are you?" Marg asked, becoming alarmed.

"All right stay – wake him up."

"I will not, he needs recuperative sleep."

"OK, please yourself. I'll do the waking."

That wasn't necessary. Merrick stirred and as his eyes focused he started, and then relaxed. "Come to finish off the job, Spiro?"

Mary chocked with panic at the mention of that name. During one of those cozy tête-à-têtes Kirsty had really filled her in about her former lover, mentioning that he probably ran some sort of crime syndicate.

Spiro chuckled.

"You've got a crazy sense of humor, buddy. "I'm here for you – to get the guy who did this to you hunted down. It's too small cheese for the cops to get really interested. They need bodies or at least famous people involved if it's only a robbery with slashing."

Marg listened fascinated as the two men talked. She was surprised at Merrick's complete description of their attacker. She could recall only a few of the things as he related them, but it jogged her memory. The three things that she'd remembered, and gave to the police when interviewed shortly after arriving at the hospital were a swarthy face, a dirty white shirt, fawn trousers and a prominent gold tooth.

But Merrick also recalled seeing a green and gold serpent on a gold chair around their assailant's neck, half a finger missing on one hand (Merrick couldn't remember which finger or what hand) and a tattoo on the back of his knife hand, which indicated he was left handed. That promoted Marg to recall the serpent and tattoo but she couldn't recall seeing the missing half of finger and some other minor detailing that was being described.

Merrick then gave a description of his stolen watch, and then introduced Marg, who nodded to Spiro a little apprehensively.

In a shaky voice she described her necklace, then her handbag and contents.

"Right," almost growled Spiro. I'm on my way – improve in time for the wedding. Oh yeah, Meg said to say hi from her."

Then he was gone, leaving Marg staring at Merrick and looking as if she'd just been run over by a bus.

"Cheerful guy, huh?" grinned Merrick.

Merrick was soon back to sleep and Marg returned to her bed just before midnight. She dreamed of being in Merrick's arms, nude. But it was a muddled dream as Kirsty kept drifting in and out of the bedroom and Merrick was stupidly attempting to negotiate a limit on the number of times he was prepared to give her sexual relief as he called it.

Marg was up at six. She showed and dressed and then went to Merrick. Thirty minutes later she was helping the nurse sponge Merrick – the good old bed bath. Marg help up his penis while the nurse washed and dried under it. Merrick appeared to be muttering a little ditty over and over again.

"Thank you for helping, Mrs Jamieson," said the junior nurse, assuming that's who Marg was.

After the nurse left Merrick grinned at Marg: "You would have embarrassed me had I not remembered that you are a former nurse."

They had breakfast together and then Marg talked about some of her nursing memories.

At mid-morning Spiro walked in.

"You still here?" he said, scowling, then grinning added: "Is there something going on between you two that I should know about?"

"Earlier she helped to wash my dick, if that's any interest to you."

"Only washed it – nothing else? No, it is of no interest to me. Here – got a picture for you. Here's your watch and lady here's your purse and contents but not the money and here's your necklace," Spiro said, dumping those items from a paper bag on to the bed.

Marge and Merrick looked at the blurry photo from a digital camera. It was the villain, looking terrified.

"Is he, um, shown just before, um, being removed from society," she asked,

Spiro roared with laughter and obviously had remembered Marg's name.

"That's a quaint way of putting it, Marg. But no – he lives. Right now he's staring a life sentence, being shipped to a certain country in Central America where he'll be a mechanic, dishwasher, driver, latrine cleaner, clerk or cook, depending on his talents. He never will be allowed to leave.

"We found this to be a clean way of tidying up – no unexpected police inquiries that occur when bodies turn up. He goes on an aircraft returning after making a delivery to some place in Mexico. We make no profit but our expenses are covered by the syndicate."

"This is awful – think of the poor man's family, if he has one."

"Oh, we do, all the time, Marg. We're always in tears. Actually if he has a wife he'll be invited to write to her asking her to come to visit him alone. That is providing she is fit and healthy and is a hard worker."

"That's insane," Marg said indignantly.

"Mario probably doesn't think so right now darling. He knows he's still alive."

"Mario?" Merrick asked.

"Yeah, a local hood without real connections. Your description of the missing half finger and gold tooth did it. I offered half a G and Mario was delivered to me ninety minutes after the word went out. There are very efficient over here on this coast."

"Who are?"

"You don't really want to know that, do you Marg?"

"No she doesn't," interjected Merrick. "So I owe you at least five hundred dollars?"

"No, I'm well ahead," Spiro grinned. "The bounty hunter was an honest guy and thought I might like to have Mario's gold tooth."

"Jesus!"

"Oh now, Marg, don't be sensitive. These things happen you know. Merrick, I think you've got to work on this lady to desensitize her. Or do you wish me to do that?"

"It's okay, Spiro. I like her the way she is and besides, she's a great buddy of Kirsty's."

"Ah, my lovely babe Kirsty; turn her into a lovely lady, Merrick. She's got great class."

Spiro was silent for a moment, looking at Marg's body.

"Say Marg, fancy coming with me now and having a bite to eat and whatever?"

"That's very solicitous of you, Spiro, but I'm not due to be discharged until near lunchtime when my husband will be collecting me."

"Please yourself, I could have you back here in time if that's a problem. I'm just offering you an alternative. It must be boring sitting in here holding Merrick's hand?"

"No, it's fine. Thank you for recovering our possession and administering justice – I would, however, have been even more satisfied had you had his knife hand lopped off."

"But then his value to the syndicate would have been lost. Are you sure you don't want to come along with me? You have quite a way with you and a great accent and physical accents."

"She said no and repeated it Spiro," said Merrick, a tad testily. "LA awaits you out there, so perhaps you should go. Oh Marg, write down our address for Spiro please, Meg will want to see Kirsty."

"It's okay, Merrick. Meg's over at the Fallon's place right now. See you guys later."

Spiro gave Merrick a wave and blew a kiss at Marg.

Marg was surprised that for a big man Spiro moved well – he seemed to be very athletic. He was gone almost before she realized it. Wringing her hands nervously, Marg asked: You don't mind Spiro knowing where Kirsty is when you're here stuck in hospital?"

"No, but why? He's managed to find our villain so finding Kirsty would not tax him. Meg has to talk to Kirsty about hair, make-up, shoes and get a dress fitting."

Marg still looked concern and asked how Spiro would have found out where Kirsty was located.

Merrick grinned. Meg would have told him – the address of Kirsty's parents is printed on the wedding invitation.

They laughed, and Merrick grimaced.

"Pain?"

"No, come over here and stick something under my thigh bandages will you – I've got an itch."

And so have I, Marg told herself.

"I'll rub anything you want rubbed."

"You're a wicked woman, Margaret Cheryl Raymond."

Marg was surprised by that; even Brian had trouble remembering her middle name. Merrick received a please-explain look.

"It was on the envelope you gave Kirsty when she was going to stay with you when I made that rush trip to New York; the address of your home. I also know a lot more about you than you realize. Kirsty keeps a notebook of birth dates, anniversaries. She asks discreet questions of her friends or else notices things, and back home diarizes that info. I actually pried to see what she had on you. For instance you wear size seven slippers, your favorite two perfumes are Eternity and Poison and you like to play foxy music in your car and you breasts are 38C."

"She got that wrong – 38B Marg said, triumphantly."

"I just pretended that was a diary entry, thanks for the info. I've always wondered," Merrick leered.

Mary giggled, and then looked at him curiously. "How can you remember trivial information like that?"

"I've always had a good memory, but had to fine-tune it for my job. I can now take photographs and interview the person at the same time without taking notes. I will recall at least ninety percent of everything I'd hope to remember."




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 07



"So, you never forget to put out the household refuse on collection day or bring in the clothes if it starts to rain?"

"Of course not; who'd want stinking rubbish around the place and dripping clothes?"

"Exactly! Now where is this itch?"

It was on the outside leg, much to Marg's disappointment; she was unable to reach the spot with her finger so retrieved a pencil from her handbag.

"Ooh, oooh!" he exclaimed as the pencil hit the trouble spot.

"Patients in full plaster often have awful times with deep down itches," recalled the former nurse.

She sat back in the chair with a sigh. Obviously sex wasn't on Merrick's mind, or if it were she wasn't in the picture. They continued small talk until Marg was asked to return to her room as a medical team was on the way. She waved a cheerful adieu to Merrick then stepped forward and kissed him, almost passionately. Their teeth clashed.

As she pulled away he swatted her on the behind, and leered. Looking up Marg saw that the nurse had returned and was staring at them, wide-eyed.

"Hurry," said the nurse leading Marg to a chair. "Has hospital brought you two together?"

"I wish," was the reply.

Marg was cleared to go. She phoned Brian who said he'd been waiting outside the hospital with Sam for the past hour, waiting for her call. They would be right up. He said they and Alec had gone out to play golf at six, and Alec had taken them to the cleaners, playing six under his handicap.

"He's beside himself in joy – playing just one over par. We're having a big party tonight at his expense."

Marge went to say goodbye to Merrick.

"I'll come back tonight with Kirsty," she promised.

"You'd be better off staying home with Brian and getting relief – you appear to be all pent up. Nothing that Brian can't fix," he added helpfully.

She stared at him, expressionlessly; her eyes were much darker than usual. It was Merrick who looked away first.

"Hi, precious," called Brian entering Merrick's room with a huge smile. "Being looking after every need of my buddy?"

"I wish," replied Marg, bursting into tears and holding out her arms to Brian.

"There, there. You've had a very traumatic time," he soothed into her hair, looking at Merrick and winking.

Merrick formed an 'O' with his thumb and forefinger and held it aloft at Brian.

Brian's response was, "Come on darling, I've got to get you home to bed. So long buddy – I'll nip in at 4:00 to see you as we've got something on tonight."

* * *

On Monday – five days before the wedding – Merrick was released into Brian's professional care, both having to sign papers indemnifying the hospital against any claim arising from Merrick's premature release. Brian also had to sign an undertaking to comply with a prescribed procedure of care.

The discharging physician advised Merrick to stay off alcohol for another two or three days and to minimize the time spent in the wheelchair while maximizing time spent in bed.

"I am aware of your imminent marriage is the reason for this early release. I advise passive sex on your part, keeping excitement down to low levels. We will review these recommendations when we see you again in one week's time from today. Nurse here will provide you with waterproof sheaths to place over your right arm and leg to allow you to shower – but please, no standing; just slip across from the wheelchair with assistance on to a stool placed in the shower.

After lunch that day Kirsty was talking quietly to Merrick. She turned and called to Brian, "What's passive sex, Brian?"

The conversation of the others under the umbrellas outside stopped dead. Brian opened his mouth to reply but Marg rushed into the room saying, "It's OK Brian. I'll take Kirsty somewhere quiet and brief her."

The briefing was very professional. Marg said Merrick could either sit in a chair or lie in bed on his back. He could move his hands and his mouth – that was all. The idea was to keep his right thigh free of tension and knocks.

"That's it, Kirsty. Remember, he's come within an ace of bleeding to death."

"Ooh. I'm going to like this; I'll have to be very creative."

"Give me a call if you need help to hold you steady," Marg offered.

Both women broke into laughter, causing another abrupt stop in conversation outdoors. Merrick looked up nervously at the two women returning to the room. Brian patted his good arm soothingly and said, "The lesson has just degenerated into something smutty."

That evening Merrick and Kirsty were delivered by Sam in the borrowed van to an Italian restaurant where they dined with Meg and Spiro.

The two men quickly established rapport, leading to a very successful evening. Merrick learned a lot about Spiro through the anecdotes he related and he found that Meg was not the brainless moll she had appeared. She had a wicked sense of humor and conversationally was very lively and knowledgeable. It became clear to him why she and Kirsty had come together.

At 10:30 it was time to go – Dr Brian Raymond's orders. Sam was already outside waiting.

"Before you go, we've got something for you, Spiro said gruffly.

Meg dived to her handbag and pulled out a beautifully wrapped small box – a ring or ear rings, thought Kirsty, taking the gift from Meg's shaking hands.

She stripped the paper, opened the pigskin box and gasped. The glittering pendant and ear rings obviously were not glass.

"Insured for seventy-eight G's," Spiro said proudly.

Kirsty kissed Meg with a thank you and ran and sat on Spiro's knee, hugging him as she kissed him.

Spiro raised his arm and the attentive maitre-d' clapped his hands and two waiters marched to the table carrying a big box, with a third waiter following them.

The three Italian waiters then sang in English, unaccompanied, 'I'm Getting Married in the Morning'. They were excellent and other diners cheered and clapped, called out 'Congratulations' and "Good Luck".

"Open," Spiro commanded, looking at Merrick.

Merrick tore through the wrapped carton and found an oblong aluminum case. Without opening it, he knew what it was.

"What is it?" Kirsty asked excitedly.

"A  DVCAN Camcorder – professional quality."

"How do you know?" asked Spiro. "You have not opened it."

"I know, Spiro. I have looked at this brand many times, but felt it was a bit expensive for me."

"Rubbish, Kirsty says you are a professional photographer. If you are to get into video you must have professional equipment."

Merrick did not reply. He opened the case and drew out the body of the camera, and began stroking it, watched intently by Spiro.

"It is my gift to you; I chose it personally, on professional advice. All that I ask is that you occasionally send me a shoot saved on DVD showing my beloved Kirsty enjoying her new life."

Spiro began dabbing his eyes. Kirsty jumped off his knee.

"You better go to him, Meg – he'd a goner."

Out on the pavement Spiro and Meg waved goodbye to their guests who carried their booty still looking a little shell-shocked.

"An amazing wedding gift," Merrick had said. 

Spiro hugged him.

"Diamonds to remember you by Spiro," Kirsty said. " I think I will wear them on Saturday." 

She had to hug Spiro because he was busily mopping his eyes again.

To Be Continued



Freeing Kirsty Ch. 08



SO FAR: Divorcee Merrick Jamieson (35) visiting New York comes into contact with the moll of the mysterious Spiro. The spirited Kirsty Fallon (25) finds she has become attracted and follows the photo-journalist to his homeland and begins working with him. Merrick foils a retriever sent to return Kirsty to New York and then travels to Manhattan and wins her freedom from Spiro. The couple are now in Los Angeles for their wedding where Merrick is incapacitated, suffering two knife wounds when defending his ex brother's wife Margaret. Marg's suppressed sexual interest in Merrick re-emerges.

* 

Saturday provided a typical Californian sunny afternoon for the wedding. The gallery in the events centre was over-decorated, American style, which produced an uncomplimentary response from the recuperating bridegroom as Brian wheeled Merrick in.

The men waited in the small alcove for late-arriving people to settle.

The marriage celebrant entered the alcove and greeted them again; they had met the previous morning for introductions and a briefing. The celebrant went out and stood before the 192 guests plus Kirsty's parents and Merrick's mother.

The burble died as the celebrant turned towards the alcove. Taking that cue, Brian pushed Merrick out in his wheelchair. A wave of 'ooohs" and sympathetic clicking from tongues were clearly audible as Merrick came into view, dressed in a white tuxedo, lace-fronted shirt, multi-color bow-tie and black trousers and shoes. This was how Kirsty had insisted he dress.

Another of Kirsty's decision's was it was not necessary to go through the ritual of her father 'giving her away'. "He gave up on me years ago," she had quipped, and her parents agreed with her desire.

There was a pause, almost long enough to make the gathering restless. That was Kirsty's instructions again. Then the organ began playing 'Here Comes the Bride' and in she walked daintily, those fabulous legs well exposed. She wore a short white and very lacy dress, white lace topped shoes and a white veil almost to her shoulders. Spiro's diamonds flashed at her throat and ear lobes. Behind her in hot pink were paired Meg and Marg who looked lovely, in their prime.

Being a non-church wedding, the congregation decided to clap in the bride and her attendants to which the organist responded by changing tune to give them a perfect beat.

Kirsty had allowed her hair to grow longer for the wedding and her blond mane was clearly visible under the thin veil. Head down as she walked, she looked the epitome of the virginal bride which was what she'd intended to convey. That image would be long remembered by her adoring new friend Bella, almost swooning in excitement.

The two big-bosom attendants in their noticeable short pink dresses with plunging necklines looked anything but virginal, as both were heavily made up and walked with pouting lips.

Only Kirsty carried a bouquet.

When the time came for the couple to take their vows, Brian and Marg helped Merrick to his feet. That went smoothly as they had been practicing and for the past two days Brian had allowed Merrick to walk a few steps every two hours.

So, with a heavily strapped thigh and bandaged forearm, Merrick took his place beside Kirsty amid sounds of sights and sniffling from some of the congregation.

During the short ceremony a photographer with two cameras flitted around while another woman recorded the event on video. Later the photographer secured her best shot of the day (according to Merrick) -- Kirsty immediately at the end of the ceremony leaning forward to say something to Brian, with her two attendants behind her facing each other talking, with Merrick in the foreground leaning back in his wheel chair with a smug smile on his face.

It was, of course, simply one of those shots captured by a photographer being in the right place at the right time. The wedding party was captured looking so happy, so relaxed; it would be agreed afterwards when viewing the result it was a very natural shot.

Marg and Brian wondered what Kirsty had just said to Merrick that brought joy to his face so enquired. "I've just told Merrick that I'm confirmed pregnant."

* * *

Watching this event in suppressed emotion, apart from a few dabs to his eyes with a silk handkerchief, was the seemingly split personality and crime boss Spiro who was know by his victims, business associates, mistresses and others including Merrick by no other name. But he was named conventionally.

Benji Alonis Spiro was born on the outskirts of Milan. So, he's Italian one would assume. Yes, by birth.

His late father was an Albanian immigrant -- a stone mason. Stone masons were much in demand in Italy in the post-war revival from the early 1950s. Ebonique, his part-Egyptian, part Iranian mother was born in Rome and in her late teens went north looking for the opportunity to be trained as a seamstress. She found success in Milan.

In Milan Ebonique also found Kostandin Spiro and they had three children -- one a boy. Ebonique chose the name Benji while his father chose Alonis. As a defiant young teenager Benji decided he liked neither name so adopted Spiro as his only name, though neither parent concurred: his mother continued to call him Benji and Kostandin called him Alonis.

Shortly after turning sixteen Benji/Alonis/Spiro became involved with a street gang and narrowly escaped being brought before court to join older members of the gang who murdered the leader of a rival gang.

"Alonis -- you are going to America to live with my half-brother," his father decided.

"My Benji -- he cannot go, I need him here."

"Why?" demanded his father.

His mother could offer no substantial answer so Benji/Alonis/Spiro was sent to America. As soon as the ship left Genoa, Benji/Alonis/Spiro declared: "From this day I am to be called Spiro and only Spiro." 

One day during the voyage Spiro was talking to a priest also immigrating to America. The priest had prodded for another name but Spiro said Spiro he was, nothing more. Intrigued the priest told Spiro that authorities in America would call him by his proper name, unless he changed it legally, but it was doubtful that a 16-year-old would get his name change application granted.

The priest and Spiro continued this debate the following day, and finally Spiro knew what he had to do. Within a week of his arrival he had won Uncle Alexis' support and a legal name change resulted. Benji Alonis Spiro was now Spiro Spiro. This was the preferred outcome; had it not been accepted Spiro had an alternative at the ready, suggested by the priest -- Shapiro Spiro. The learned priest had informed the teenager and Spiro is actually a shortened form of Shapiro.

Uncle Alexis was a stone mason with his own small business. He put Spiro to work, and taught him a great deal while paying him a pittance. After three years, with her daughters becoming teenagers, his Aunt decided Spiro should sleep elsewhere.

"I'll put a shed in the yard -- he can leave here after his evening meal and sleep down there. With the rats!"

Spiro did not think this was a good idea. It was absurd to think that he would molest the daughters -- they were ugly!

Spiro put down his knife and fork.

"Thank you for all you have taught me, Uncle Alexis, and taking me into your home. It is time I must leave this town."

Alexis opened his mouth to protest but opened it further when receiving a painful kick in the shin from his wife.

"All right, my son," Alexis said glaring at Yolanda. "You sleep here in your bed as usual tonight. Tomorrow I will go to the bank and get you money. I will give you an address of an old friend and ask him to give you a job."

For four years Spiro worked for that Italian-born contractor in Boston where he continued to specialize in stone columns and arches. In time Spiro became an irascible, time-waster who disrupted other workers so after their twentieth dispute over Spiro's behavior and slothful habits, the contractor finally fired his best craftsman.

Spiro by then had grown into a big man, a very strong man. He also liked to exhibit his toughness. So his response at being fired was to knock his boss to the ground and urinate over him in front of the man's cowering wife and his foreman.

"You'll never work in the city again," yelled the postulating foreman, hoping to ingratiate himself on the fallen man's wife. Spiro's reply was an obscene gesture. He was on his way to Atlantic City for a holiday, to revel in wine, women and singing. In his back pocket was the bulging wallet of his boss which Spiro had removed deftly when turning the man over to wet him.

Boarding the bus for New York Spiro reviewed his life and was relatively happy, except that he was now a criminal as he assumed his boss would angrily report the assault, foul humiliation and the theft of money. Smiling darkly, Spiro pulled out the wallet. He whistled and began counting the wad of money; it came to forty-two hundred dollars. He also found a key, what appeared to be a safe deposit key.

All this appears to suggest that piss-face must be evading taxation. If that were true, thought Spiro, it means I will remain a free man as he won't want the contents of this wallet to end up in police hands. As the bus crossed a river bridge, Spiro threw the wallet -- less the $4200 -- way out into the muddy waters. With a pocket full of money, Spiro resolved he'd never would he work as a stone mason again.

After two days and three nights gambling, drinking and whoring in Queens, making new buddies, Spiro continue to his destination to enjoy a holiday in Atlantic City, the city having being described to him in Boston by an itinerant workmate as 'the Golden City of my dreams'. That man Stephen had told him that ordinary men can become moneyed men in Atlantic City. 

It occurred to Spiro that Stephen himself was not a moneyed man, but he did not ridicule him for the simple reason that the dream had taken hold of Spiro. He'd actually set a date for quitting and going to Atlantic City just a few days before he was fired. Within hours of his arrival, Spiro was in trouble. He'd laughed at a bargirl who tripped over a chair left carrying a tray, falling on to her face and sending empty glasses flying.

A bouncer helped the girl to her feet and glowered at Spiro: "Apologize to Janis, you ape."

Spiro looked at Janis; pale-faced and squirming she tried to free herself from the brute's grasp. "Let the moll go, Spiro hissed.

The girl looked surprise, the big man looked angry. He let her go and at the same time sank a first into Spiro's belly.

Spiro moved back with the blow, emitting a painful whoosh of air. But he remained standing.

Bewildered, the bouncer threw a punch at Spiro's mouth. Spiro easily weaved out of harm's way, caught the fist as it went over his shoulder, and turning the arc applied bone-crushing pressure just with his left hand. The man howled with pain and sank to the floor in agony.

The short silence was broken by a cry of rage as the manager came around the bar at Spiro wielding a baseball bat.

"Abe!" thundered a voice.

Abe slowed to a stop, dropping the bat to his side.

"Yes, Mr Montalbano?"

"That will do. Drag your man away -- get someone to clean up his vomit. Hey, young fellow!"

Spiro turned and saw a fat man wearing a light hat the same shade of his jacket beckoning to him. Seated on either side of him were two burly men. A young woman sat with them.

"Yes?"

"Do I know you, kid?"

"Nah, just got into town."

Mr Montalbano smiled and whispered something to the man on his left, who shifted to the next table.

"You catch on fast, kid. Come sit by me."

Spiro introduced himself as Spiro and sat down. 

"Spiro?" queried the heavyweight sitting on the other side of Mr Montalbano.

"Just Spiro -- nothing comes before it, nothing after; get it?"

"Running away from something, kid?"

"Yeah, a mug who didn't appreciate my value, so I stoked him, pissed all over him and said adios."

The young woman looked shocked.

"We keep clean mouths when we are in the company of ladies," Mr Mantalbano yawned.

"I apologize, miss," Spiro said, rising from his chair. "May I fetch you a drink in compensation?"

"We buy our..." began Mr Mantalbano.

"Just a soda, thank you; your choice of flavor."

Spiro snapped his fingers and a bargirl came over quickly.

"A peach soda for the lady, please. Whisky for me. Gentlemen?"

Both men shook their heads, watching Spiro closely.

"Do you have a name, Miss?"

"Francine."

"What a pretty name."

Out of the corner of his eye Spiro saw the restraining arm of Mr Montalbano on the chest of the heavyweight.

"What about my name appeals to you?"

To Spiro, the answer to such a question for an Italian born and initially raised man was no problem. "It has an exotic smoothness to it, expressing the attractiveness of a classy European flower." 

"That's only my name you are talking about. What do you say in praise of me?"

"That's enough, Francine. Here's your drink coming."

"You're not suppose to be eavesdropping, daddy. But since you are, may Spiro accompany use to dinner?"

"My clever girl. I was thinking the same thing as Spiro interests me."

Eight months later Francine and Spiro were married and after Spiro returned from two weeks in Mexico, Mr Montalbano semi-retired, put Spiro in charge of the Laundromat business, with branches in New York (Manhattan) and Chicago.

Spiro took over the apartments Mr Mantalbano operated through the business in New York and Chicago, installing younger women as his 'secretaries'. This side of the business rather appealed.

The other side to the business was the real business -- debt collection and keeping the operations of clients free from interlopers and the commercially unacceptable tactics of stand-over gangs. That side of the business was worked through contracts -- soldiers were engaged on a job by job basis.

This system appealed to Spiro because of its simplicity. Soldiers hired out to anyone who suited them, and their allegiance was held by the operator at the time of hire. In most instances the system worked faultlessly. But one exception hit right at home: one morning a disgruntled solider harboring a festering grudge, fatally stabbed Mr Montalbano outside Mr Montalbano's home as he began to walk his dog; the murderer escaped.

Riccardo Mantalbano had been feared because of his skill with a knife, whether throwing it, removing ears or whatever. His death by knifing was considered so significant that his funeral was one of the largest held in Atlantic City for some years.

"This successor, the son -- who is he?" was the question asked in bars and restaurants after the funeral. The conclusion was that this 'Mr Nobody" would not last -- he had no reputation.

A week later the murderer was located by agents of Spiro in Miami and returned secretly to Atlantic City. Next morning at daylight he was found outside his own home, his neck broken an eye gouged and testicles pulverized by a hammer. Word spread quickly that the remaining eye was open, staring frozen in terror.

A month after the police lost interest in this inexplicable assassination. At a restaurant meeting of notable men a nickname was adopted, news of it sweeping through the underground: Spiro had received the title, The Testes Grinder.

By now Spiro was aware of how crime operated and how criminals thought and acted. He took particular interest in how they thought. Soon the underworld in three cities got an unequivocal message -- if anyone topped Spiro his minders had sworn to deliver retribution -- beginning with the pulverization of knuckles, then toe joints and finally testicles.

Spiro's eventual retirement was assured, provided he was not taken by natural causes.

Happily watching Meg at the bridal table, really enjoying herself, Spiro glanced at Merrick. What a pity Merrick was thirty-five years of age, only seven years younger than Spiro -- had there been ten or better still fifteen years of age difference, Merrick could have been Spiro's natural successor. That is, provided he could be persuaded to move on to lower moral ground.

"Ah, Mr Spiro -- what do you do to make money?" enquired a middle-aged socialite sitting next to him. " Ah, Mrs Magellan," he said, reading the name tag on her drooping chest. "I operate a chain of Laundromats."

"Oh, how nice," she commented coldly, turning away from him.

Spiro returned to his musings.

Blast Francine, he thought. She'd turned their elder son into a softie -- he had begun studying to be a doctor.

"No laundry business for my Lenny," she'd said repeatedly. 

So firm was that that Spiro wondered if she actually knew that the business was a front. He'd never told her, never involving her in any business activity, telling her that it would be beneath her dignity to associate with the morons who worked for him.  

His late patron, Riccardo, had advised him to keep Francine ignorant about all forms of business. If he needed a partner to a business associated function, there were girls around who would be only too willing to accompany him anywhere and at anytime. 

Sophia was his usual choice in Atlantic City. A young widow with two children and readily available babysitters, a swinger with a small mouth -- she didn't gossip as far as he was aware. It was Francine who had introduced him to Sophia -- socially, of course. The two women were in a group that read poetry or something weird like that and Sophia lived only one street away from them. The choice of Sophia was perfect and coming home from functions she was always a perfect partner in the back of the limo as well. Sophia also kept him amused, asking direct questions such as, "How does Francine keep her respect for you when she must be aware there are other women in your life like me?"

Spiro recalled having to scratch his head over that one before replying: "Now that she has three children she does not like so much activity between the sheets, you know. She prefers I get my exercise elsewhere."

He'd not liked the next question, "Why is Lenny so much like Francine and not very much like you at all?" 

Sophia had realized the questions had upset him and recovered well: "I'll get Francine to allow Lenny to play with my Oliver. Ollie likes to play rough and will toughen up Lenny, show him how to be a man."

Spiro had told her to arrange that tomorrow and then began opening her dress and exposing her breasts with a roughness that she loved, giggling and heaving around in the back seat to make Spiro excited.

Thinking about this comfortable arrangement with Sophia, Spiro sighed. Sophia was really fun to be with but she was ugly, well, just a little off being pretty. Francine -- she was just a little off being beautiful, even after three kids. But Kirsty, sweet Kirsty -- she was the beautiful one, beautiful inside too.

Spiro was brought out of this musing by a gently shake on the shoulder. It was the tall, thin daughter of Alec Raymond. He'd noticed her before -- the quiet woman with dark, sexy eyes. They had been introduced but he'd forgotten her name. Her husband was the twin of Brian, not that they looked like peas out of the same pod.

"Spiro -- come dance with me. Stan is on the turps," Gail invited, champagne having temporarily eradicated her natural reserve.

"Huh?"

"Oops, I'm sorry," Gail giggled, picking up Spiro's glass and draining it. 

"Lost in translation as they say. He is drinking whisky and swapping stories. Where I come from our rough name for alcoholic drink is turps."

"I don't much like to dance -- I only dance when my Francine insists that it's expected of me."

"If you don't dance, what do you do?"

He leered; she flushed at looked below his midriff.




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 08



"You look a little over-warm," he said smoothly. Shall we go out to my hired limo and sit with the air-con on?"

Without waiting for a reply he walked out of the outdoor reception area into the darkness. She gave him a thirty second start and followed.

Thirty minutes later Spiro returned unnoticed, and stood in a shadow by the dancing area.

Gail returned moments after that and sat at her original seat. Spiro went over and asked her to dance.

"I've just sat down," she complained.

"That's true, I'll dance with you if you wish," said an older woman at the table.

"No thank you. You are very kind, but my choice is this one."

Spiro held out his hand. The six other people at the table (Gail's husband Stan was still at a male gathering at the bar) watched silently, expecting to see the man humiliated.

"Very few women receive this opportunity," Spiro said, teeth gleaming.

"Well then, I really must accept this honor, my lord."

Gail held out a hand, Spiro pulled her to her feet and led her to the dance floor leaving most of the onlookers at the table agog.

"What is your name, lovely one?" Spiro asked. "We have been introduced but forgive me; your name went from my head."

"Gail, but my father always called me Tinker Bell and sometimes when he's drunk Stan calls me that name."

"Ah, a pretty little fairy with passion -- that pet name suits you rather well."

Spiro smiled as Gail pressed against him harder and harder. He knew she could feel him as he was half-aroused. There was not quite a full barrier of clothing between them as he had her panties in his pocket.

As the dance came to an end she sighed: "You were wonderful out there in the car."

"You surprised me -- so much energy, so much noise," Spiro grinned. "I must go now and find my Meg before she begins to feel neglected.

"What about me -- I shall be neglected?"

"My limo will be at the end of your street at noon tomorrow. I shall ask the driver to wait no longer than fifteen minutes. 

"I don't expect you will come as you are probably a rather quiet little fairy when you are sober -- but you will have this final opportunity to allow me to sample your honey pot again. Meg and I fly home tomorrow evening."

Spiro turned and walked away without waiting for her response. He didn't need to know it. She would now fret about whether she should do such a daring thing, sober and in broad daylight. He knew his words 'honey pot' would dwell on the mind of the fairy, giving her perhaps a fifty-fifty chance of succumbing to his rather off-hand proposal.

Spiro grinned. It was the quiet ones who liked to be treated masterfully.

* * *

The prospect of a baby was the perfect wedding present for Kirsty. Late morning on her wedding day she had been at the hairdressers' with Meg. She was finished first as she'd had her nails done the previous days. "I'm going for a walk -- Meg. I shan't be long."

Kirsty went outside and noticed the premises right next door housed a medical centre. On impulse she went inside and asked if she could book in for a pregnancy test.

"I can take you right now," said the nurse, seated behind the receptionist and filling out a form. "Our morning rush is over. Just complete the paperwork with Dolores here and pay the fee. Dolores will bring you through to me."

Kirsty returned to the hairdressers.

"My, you look very flushed," Meg drawled, exaggerating her New York accent. "Did one of these beach hunks look at you? Or did you see an old man jacking off?"

The salon erupted into laugher, Kirsty joining in. This was very embarrassing but it relieved her tension. She wanted to tell someone, but Merrick had the right to know first.

"Your hair looks lovely Meg; you look ever so princess-like."

Meg bowed; her mind now far removed from her enquiry about Kirsty's flushed face. She was happy to be the centre of attention, even happier to be complimented by the centerpiece of the day's big event.

Hullo daddy, thought Kirsty as she went up to Merrick on their wedding day. He was standing, assisted by Brian. He looked straight and strong, just like his usual self.

"Oooh," she said.

"He probably looks better than he is, Kirsty. Old Merrick has been through severe trauma. Remember the hospital's estimated time for virtual complete recovery -- four to six weeks. It's only been ten days since his operation."

"Yes, I accept that."

"Hullo, you two. Don't ignore me -- I am here!" Merrick said, miffed.

"Hello, darling. Mrrrrhhhh; how's that for a sexy welcome. You look fine back on your feet but that's it; down boy!"

Late that afternoon, from the back of the reception gallery, Kirsty watched Brian push Merrick out from the alcove to stop in front of the marriage celebrant. She felt happy, at peace, and stood hand-in hand with Meg and Marg -- feeling their slight tremors of nervousness.

Kirsty was grateful that her time had come. Perhaps twenty-two would have been the perfect age to marry, but the wait had been worth it. She was now mature, worldly, complete with the basic skills to be a good wife to a man with marriage experience and to be a good mother to a baby boy who'd probably be incredibly forward, personable and talented. Oh yes, he'd be a boy.

Suddenly they were playing her tune.

"Let's go, girls," she said, giving the hands of both women a squeeze. "I hope you'll both still love me when I'm married."

Meg and Marg stared at her, shocked.

"Why wouldn't we?" they chorused in whispers.

The words of the celebrant would -- Kirsty had expected -- be carved into her instant recall memory for life.

But inexplicably, she heard few of the woman's words -- repeating each stage only after the celebrant had patiently repeated them a second time.

"She's awfully nervous," whispered her mother.

"I don't think so," smiled Sam. "I think she's on another planet. Either that or she's experiencing an euphoric over-dose; perhaps she's found she's pregnant.

"Sam Fallon," shouted his shocked wife.

"Goodness, what is Sam up to?" commented a friend very audibly, causing most eyes to shift from the wedding ceremony to the bride's parents.

"Pregnant" was the buzz word spreading through the congregation.

"Bess pregnant? I don't believe it," said her friend Shona MacLean. "Her ovaries closed down years ago."

A bigger buzz went through the assembly while the celebrant continued on, now only fully heard by Merrick, Meg, Marg, Brian and Merrick's mother Linda.

Linda had come all this way to attend her son's latest wedding, not to hear his bride's parents carrying on about some phantom pregnancy, she told Kirsty later. She turned to remonstrate with them and found them tight-lipped and looking shocked, realizing they had careered out of control.

"I do."

"You are now man and wife. You may kiss the groom."

"Sit back in the wheel chair first," commanded Kirsty, and for the first time in her short married life was obeyed by her husband.

As soon as he was seated Kirsty leaned over him, and they kissed sweetly. But as she was straightening up Merrick pulled her back down with his good arm around her neck. They kissed passionately, ignoring the clapping assembly.

Looking deeply into Merrick's eyes, Kirsty said: "I love you, I love you profoundly."

"Me too," responded Merrick, squirming a little with embarrassment. This sort of soft stuff was usually spoken in moments of intimacy or whispered across a restaurant table or in peaceful isolation in the backyard or on a mountain range -- not in front of almost two hundred people.

"Stay still, dear one, don't go wheeling away from me," Kirsty chided, noting that his eyes were flickering - looking for an escape route. I've got some fantastic news for you."

She saw she had Merrick's complete attention: "I had a pregnancy test earlier today -- Little Goldie and the egg did their stuff -- our son is on the way."

Merrick had already guessed by the overture that this was the news he was getting. He beamed at looked proudly at Kirsty and let out an excited whoop and kissed her. 

"That's great, that's fantastic." But then he paused, looking pensive. "So the testers were able to confirm it is a boy?"

"Kirsty ruffled his hair, and kissed it. "No, silly. It's a little early for medical confirmation. But I told you before that I knew I would have a boy."

"Of course you did darling," said Merrick, rolling his eyes.

"Having your first married tiff already," Brian joked, arriving to kiss the bride and punch the shoulder of the groom.

"No, anything but -- I've just told Merrick that I'm pregnant."

"The honeymoon," said Brian, apparently not hearing her.

"Ah, the honeymoon," echoed Merrick without enthusiasm, while Kirsty bit her bottom lip watching Brian's face for a promising sign. But the normally expressive face was found wanting.

"Well, my agreement with Kirsty on that first day after the attack was we should not discuss the question of a honeymoon until here at the wedding breakfast. It was a practical decision as it kept the pressure off, though we all knew that the proposed wildly romantic romp through Mexico was a dead duck.

"Yes Dr Raymond, whatever you say Dr Raymond -- I know I would be stupid to ignore your wise counseling."

"Thank you, Merrick; Kirsty?"

"Yes, of course -- the medical well-being of Merrick comes before everything else. We've had heaps of trial honeymoons anyway," she laughed, a little hollowly.

"I thought we'd leave in the morning and honeymoon ad hoc in Southern California -- traveling and stopping at will, nothing planned," sighed Merrick. "Kirsty and I have already decided on this, subject to your approval."

Brian looked at Merrick sternly. "You should stay quiet, in clean surroundings. Your body is still recovering. Plenty of rest, free of stress, will speed recovery. You have a repaired artery, veins, nerves and muscle and healing tissue to consider. My feeling is that every day you stay here in 'pottering around' mode is a bonus to you. You are due for a hospital clinician's assessment of your progress on Monday. That, of course, can be carried out at any suitable facility. My feeling is that you will then be released from your wheel chair."

Kirsty reached for Merrick's left hand -- his 'good arm', squeezed it and held it against her cheek.

Brian added: "I must say that if you took great care and went about it slowly the trip south would probably do you no harm. 

"It's your decision," Brian said, turning away to let them chat privately.

Kirsty nodded to Merrick and he said, "I'm staying on here; it's the right thing to do."

Merrick wanted Kirsty to go south with Marg, Linda and Bella for five days when Linda and Bella were then due back to fly to Sydney. Kate wanted her daughter back in time for the start of the new school term.

"I'll be happier here, close to my darling," she said. "Besides, I want to go out with Bess -- she's itching to show me the best baby-wear shops and outlets that cater for women with expanding bellies."

"I thought pregnant women these days just wear larger size normal clothes," Merrick said. "Christ, some expectant mums are now even up with the bare belly craze; it's revolting."

"Just because we go shopping to look at one type of thing, that doesn't limit us to just shop for that type of thing," Kirsty said defensively. "In fact we might not even follow our original plan and instead go off in another direction. That is what makes shopping so interesting."

"And that's why men find women so interesting at times," muttered Merrick.

* * *

Brian returned from the gym to relieve Sam, who'd given up his game of golf to keep Merrick company. Merrick, however, was restless and simmering -- wanting to get out and about.

"These walls are my prison," he growled to Brian, who was not at all sympathetic.

"What walls -- you're sitting outside by the pool?"

"You know what I mean."

Brian suggested to Sam that he head off to the golf course and either play the last few holes with them or else set up the drinks.

"Good idea," said Sam, and was off, without revealing which option he favored.

Brian looked at Merrick, who obviously was restless.

Before leaving Brian checked Merrick's pulse-rate, temperature and examined his leg -- a procedure which he'd done every eight hours since Merrick had been discharged into his care. "OK -- let's go," said Brian, and thirty minutes later they were in a bar at Venice Beach.

"This is the life, cobber," Merrick said to Brian cheerfully. He wiped a beer froth moustache from his top lip after dipping enthusiastically into his big glass of Budweiser.

Brian had allowed his 'patient' a beer. He intended it to be a low alcohol beer but there was no information about its alcoholic strength and neither of the two bar people could assist and appeared shocked at the idea of supplying lowered alcohol beer to a customer.

"I'm sure the brewery would not risk its reputation by weakening the strength of its beer, sir," said the balding, pot-bellied elderly barman.

Merrick said to Brian, "You've got no idea how grateful I am for your assistance. You saved my life. I don't really think Kirsty's realizes that, and perhaps that is all for the best."

Brian rubbed his nose. I suspect she knows, and I suspect she just doesn't want to talk about it. After all, she was there, covered in your blood. She was bloody good -- her eyes revealed her panic yet she kept her cool remarkably well. She's a great woman."

"Yeah, I know. I'll never be able to thank you enough, Brian. I probably would have been dead within minutes have you not been there."

"I dunno about that; Kirsty may have saved you."

"Nice try, Brian." Merrick leaned forward in the wheelchair, pressing his fingers together. He cleared his throat. "Listen, Brian. There is something I must say to you; something beyond my control. But you've got to know -- although I'm between a rock and a hard place in raising this, as cross loyalties are involved. I'm probably dead in the water from either you or Marg -- perhaps both of you -- over this, but here goes..."

"Are you planning to tell me Marg's got the hots for you?"

Merrick sunk back in his wheelchair, sighted deeply and lifted his glass to his mouth. While taking a gulp he looked at Brian with his face devoid of emotion.

Seagulls mewed, a group of passing women on the boardwalk laughed and the every-present dull hum of heavy, fast-moving traffic provided a mixed background infill. Finally Merrick replied: "It's that obvious, huh?"

"Not at all, but I see it in the occasional glances, hear it in the intonation when she voices your name -- which is often. I thought this minor infatuation would diminish and eventually disappear when she became pregnant. It did, but since the arrival of Avon it's bounced back again.

Merrick sucked in his breath and said: "I really don't think I've done anything to encourage her."

Brian seemed to appreciate that comment. He smiled and patted Merrick on the shoulder. "Thanks for telling me that -- it underpins what I think, which is it's a classic case of fixation. Because of the long hours I work, she sees me as being boring; never on hand it seems to her when she needs me. So she buried herself into books, mostly fiction, and through that has become a romantic. She sees you as being exiting, repeatedly taking the main chance, doing things romantically -- like going to New York City to release the shackles on your sweetheart. You represent what she dreams about -- and not only that, you are seducer material. You are charming, rather ruggedly handsome and you have a bedroom manner about you. What more could any woman want?"

Merrick sat pondering that.

Brian had responded without any sign of aggression or self-pity; he remained very affable -- seriously affable, and this cheered Merrick. Indeed, Brian had expressed himself so clinically he could have been talking about someone else's wife. This was so unexpected.

"What do you want me to do?"

Without hesitation Brian said: "Whatever you wish. Let her grow out of it, or give you what she wants. Go live somewhere else perhaps. It's over to you -- but I make this one request: don't move away as it wouldn't really help anyone, me included. Good mates don't just materialize: they seem to be thin on the ground. Thanks for raising this; it must have been difficult for you. It marks you as a true friend."

"Thanks mate," Merrick said humbly, aware that such declarations man-to-man are rather uncommon.

"Oh, another thing, Merrick. Say nothing to Marg about this and don't withdraw from her. It would seem that she needs you emotionally. Can I get you another soda?

"Lime, please."

They chatted, watching the passing parade on the boardwalk, as the bar steadily filled. The subject of lunch was raised by Brian when two women in their late thirties/early forties walked up to them and one of them asked without embarrassment, "May we join you guys?"

Merrick appeared diffident but Brian surprisingly took charge and felt very confident: "Please, sit down. We welcome the opportunity of being in the company of two beautiful women." Actually he thought neither was beautiful, but neither did they look like hookers -- they had an up-market manner about them.

"We were interested watching you two talk -- you appeared to be so deep into it, so animated," said the darker woman who'd introduced herself as Melissa Lynch. "It's rare to see men talk head-to-head without hearing their bouts of obscene laughter as the joke or story unfolds."

Merrick entered the conversation, rather stiffly. "Have your husbands gone over the mountains to the car racing?"

"No," replied Karen. "That's my Cory over there at the bar -- he owns this joint. Melissa's Jerry is out somewhere on his fishing boat."

"So, is must be handy having a husband who owns a bar?"

"Yes and no -- he also owns another bar and a restaurant. He once owned more, inherited from his father, but had to liquidate a bit to give his first wife a going away present."

This casualness of Californian women in talking about relationships with the opposite sex slightly unnerved Brian, so he blurted, "Holy smoke; then what are you doing talking to the likes of us?"

"We want somebody to take us to lunch -- we'll pay."

"Er..."

"We'll be honored to escort two charming Mesdames to a refueling station," Merrick said jauntily.

"Have you been crunched? Karen asked. Both women stared at Merrick's right leg elevated on the wheelchair extension, and his right arm in a sling.

"No, he's just had a reversal of a vasectomy."

Both women shrieked with laughter and the two men grinned.

"My God, can they do that? Melissa asked, wide-eyed. "How do you know if it's successful?"

"We probably need a half dozen volunteers," Brian said.

"We can quickly round up four other girlfriends."

Merrick gaped at Karen until she blushed. She laughed, saying that she also was a leg-puller.

As they were about to leave Brian said, "I guess I better tell your Cory where we're going -- perhaps it would be couth to invite him to join us?"

Grinning, Karen said: "Tell him if you wish, but do you know where we're going? He'll assume that we are in safe hands, although he won't know that Merrick here has had his tubes rejoined. If he knew that he might be really worried. How many years is it since you last shot a full load Merrick?"

Merrick colored. Karen and Melissa stared at him, waiting for his answer presumably with academic interest. Belief in the vasectomy reversal appeared to have taken hold.

"Eighteen years," croaked Merrick.

"My God, some little bob-tailed bunny is going to get the surprise of her life very soon!" Karen said. She clutched Melissa and they convulsed in laughter.

They went passed Cory on the way out. Karen leaned over the bar, kissed him and said: "We're taking these English guys over to Beachcomber. You can join us if you wish."




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 08



"No, I'm waiting for Ronnie to deliver our meat order. Enjoy yourselves guys. These babes are almost as solicitous as under-worked hookers."

"Asshole," Karen cried, swinging at him with her handbag but missing as he ducked, grinning and winking at Brian.

Disappointingly, Beachcomber was a rather nondescript and untidy restaurant from the outside -- rather messy architecturally, and nor was the interior uplifting.

A handsome young man dressed in white shirts, block trousers and shiny black shoes and wearing a long black apron approached them with a smile worthy of a toothpaste advertisement. Both women greeted him as Antonio, and he kissed their outstretched hands. 

"Separate tables, senoras?" he enquired.

"Si, But close enough so we can talk."

"Si."

Merrick growled at Brian, wondering what was going on. Brian was also nonplussed. What kind of game were the women playing? They were enlightened.

"You might find this arrangement peculiar boys," said Karen, weaving the wheelchair between tables. She'd obviously decided she'd take Merrick, confirmed by Melissa hooking her arm around Brian's.

"The truth is that business at Vinny's here has been very slow, particular for lunches. Cory, being the businessman he is, has asked us to take a couple of men for a complimentary lunch to help make the restaurant appear busy. So there's nothing more in this for you two than a free lunch."

"Oh," responded Brian, in a small boy's voice, sounded very disappointed.

The two women cackled helplessly. He had sounded if he'd lost his prized toy.

Merrick remained neutral, and thoughtful. "That's a commendable initiative, but a rather cumbersome way of going about it, don't you think"

"Cumbersome? What do you mean?' Karen asked, bending over the top of the chair as they reached the outdoor table to look at Merrick. The fragrance of her perfume wafted over him, infiltrating his mind as it was designed to do. Her dark, almost violet eyes locked on his, the wheelchair crashing into their table with a glancing blow. Fortunately it hit the side of Merrick's good leg.

"Jesus, I'm sorry Merrick. I'm notorious as an undisciplined driver. Are you all right?"

Brian has turned in alarm, but saw his patient was laughing. In fact Merrick, he thought, seemed to be enjoying the incident, with Karen's not inconsiderable cleavage inches from his face as she brushed Merrick's forehead tenderly with his lips, just as a mother would do to a child involved in a scrap.

"Where was I? Oh, yes. Cumbersome. You were about to savage our marketing plan."

"No, I was not mounting an attack, Karen. What you are doing is commendable in principle but cumulatively it will have little more effect than a feather dart up a duck's ass."

Karen and Mellissa looked shocked, while Brian sported a big grin, aware that this was classic Merrick.

"That's both very critical and rather vulgar, Merrick."

"Well," responded Merrick, "Both you and Cory must be aware that you are only pawing the ground -- you're wallpapering over the deficiencies instead of working to root them out."

"Root them out -- is that a New Zealand male expression; it sounds very male?" queried Melissa.

"I could have said eradicate but wasn't sure that Californian blondes could handle such a big word," Merrick grinned.

Ignoring the finger from Karen and Melissa's poking tongue, he continued: "Taking two men to lunch -- I guess you do two shifts -- is only playing with the problem. You need to look at the operation globally, analyzing its strengths and weaknesses and then moving forward intelligently with those findings."

Karen looked at Merrick as if he were the Thirteenth Disciple. "Okay, Mr Mastermind, our lunch partners have never bothered to talk to me like this. So, tell me about moving forward."

Brian cast a worried look at Merrick, but his friend did not look like a victim sinking into a hole he'd dug for himself. The bastard was enjoying himself; he had Karen dancing on a string!

Merrick began by saying that six even eight couples eating under umbrellas in front of the premises with another eight couples inside would not necessarily lure more people inside. "Why should they come in? The premises are neither inviting nor different. Restaurant patrons are very demanding, unless they are drunk. They expect a little excitement, to be pampered a little and to be entertained, even at a low-priced establishment. Look around you," Merrick urged, warming up. "This place looks a dump -- it is a dump. I bet this restaurant replicates hundreds of similar restaurants all over Los Angles, right?"

Karen looked at him coldly while Melissa drawled 'Yes,' pressing her knee against Brian's causing him to reach for his water glass to cover his confusion. The women had previously indicated there would be no 'afters'.

"Make this place physically different so that it heightens the expectations of passing prospective clients so when lured inside they are not disappointed. Regulars also need to acknowledge that this is the place to be. Give regulars first-rate ambience, service and food that satisfies them; give casual customers the dining experience they desire. Then and only then will you see a major turnaround."

"Merrick, I'm sorry but don't you think Cory and I know all that -- Cory is an experienced operator. Have you even run a restaurant?"

Brian interjected: "Karen, you are not listening to him. You have your pre-conceived ideas and you want him to say some magical words to you; the magic comes when set up properly and run it with aplomb. The elements are here -- a tremendous location, a reasonable building and that smart young waiter presents a great image but after him, what is there?"

Karen looked rather hostile and clasped Melissa's hand when it was held out to her.

"Listen to my mate Merrick, Karen. Nothing will change unless you and Cory change. We don't doubt that you are experienced operators, but this particular location perhaps needs different treatment. Your main clientele are beachfront strollers, not slack mum and dad diners who go to the same comfortable place for thirty years, with the express mission of shoveling down food and getting half-pissed at minimal cost. I bet many of those people promenading past here are international dining sophisticates and even some of the beach-bum types are used to eating low price meals in places with some class and character. This place has no character, believe me -- believe Merrick."

"OK Brian. I do hear you two. But you must concede you are not experts in the restaurant trade."

"That is readily conceded," Merrick said.

"Yeah, but we are very discriminate diners and we're also Kiwis?"

"Kiwis, Brian? What on earth does that mean?" Melissa asked, a hand now on Brian's thigh.

"New Zealanders have an international reputation as being practical problem solvers."

"And who gave them that reputation -- fellow New Zealanders?" Karen snapped.

"Cory's consultant advised him to create the impression that this restaurant is popular. The consultant said what you have said and that is most of our potential trade are people walking by. She said our sole objective has to be to drag those people in here. We paid a lot of money for that advice so Merrick what do you have to say to that?" 

"Fuck consultants, they are usually failed business people or are academics either unable or unwilling to transpose themselves into the real world."

Karen clapped her hands, saying she agreed entirely that their preoccupation seemed to be on fee mining.

"Some consultants are good. In the world of medicine we..."

"Sorry Brian," interrupted Merrick. "But could we keep focus -- we are detailing with retail here, customer food and beverage service."

"Right, go ahead, mate."

Merrick told Karen that he did not believe that she and Cory would accept the consultant's recommendation "to drag people in" as being the complete answer; something had to happen for those people once they were contained.

"Look at them," Merrick said, waving his good hand at the streams of people passing on the beachfront; hundreds of potential customers. "What you have to do is to say to them, 'Hullo, here we are; we are different'."

"Hullo, here we are," Karen said, almost absentmindedly.

Merrick's eyes were attacked to her left hand as she adjusted the top of her dress. He raised his eyes to meet Brian's gaze. Brian's eyes were cocked quizzically as if saying, "This is bullshit, mate."

Shifting his butt into a more comfortable position in his wheelchair, Merrick decided to let fly. The worst that could happen was the women would walk out on them, leaving them to pay the bill and to thereby reinforce the saying, 'There's no such thing as a free lunch.

"Right he said -- here goes. Just sit back and listen, Karen." Merrick said that the restaurant looked ten years out of date, the interior was uninviting, giving dinners no sense of arrival apart from the view beyond the open front sliding doors to the beach and ocean. "Encouragingly," he said, "the staff appear to be very professional, the menu is varied and interesting and the food we have had so far has been of excellent standard. So what needs attention is the exterior -- signaling, 'Here I am" plus an ambience that when one walks in signals, 'This is where I want to be.' Tie those essentials to the existing good food and service and bingo -- you'll be drawing in the custom you deserve."

Karen looked a little miffed. "Excuse me, Merrick, but as I've already said, Cory and I are experienced operators. Don't you think we know what to do?"

Merrick shrugged: "Do you mind if I take a look at the CDs."

Karen wheeled him over to behind the bar, although Merrick was capable of doing that himself.

"There's no need to go over the top, Merrick," said Karen. "We've enjoyed the company of your both -- in fact you're two of the best."

"Thanks for those kind words, Karen. But look at this: this stuff is crap, designed to drive beach dinners away. They don't want to hear sleepy Mantovani and thunderous Pavarotti with a little bit of strident Streisand. Your customers are on the beach, close to nature, with a sense of adventure in the air."

"If you say so Merrick."

Merrick wheeled back and spoke to Brian, who went outside to the van.

Bloody Merrick, thought Brian, sorting through the CDs in the van. He'd complicated what could have been a lovely sociable lunch with two lively babes. He'd goofed it up and there goes my chance with Melissa.

Brian arrived back with the CD and Merrick asked Karen what was the authorities' restricted limit on the volume control of the speaker system. 

Karen called Antonia over who said it was 'red-lined' at twelve on the volume control.

"Antonio," said Merrick. "Put this CD on and wind the volume to fourteen. Complainants and officials without testing gear would be unable to confidently tell the difference between twelve and fourteen in volume. Anyway, you probably have to be warned about excessive noise levels before offices take the next step. Just obey them if they issue a warning."

Antonio looked questioningly at Karen. She looked as if she was wavering, so Merrick dug his fingers into her thigh just above the knee. She jumped and nodded a yes to Antonio.

"I'm a married woman," she hissed to Merrick.

"And I've done nothing to relieve you of that status," he whispered, flat-faced.

Karen stared at him and then giggled.

The 'Best of the Beach Boys' began thumping out.

"Christ, Melissa said brightly. "This is the music I used to hear way back in the days when I was just beginning to find out that boys had some use after all."

She said that loudly, and the few nearby diners laughed, causing Melissa to cringe.

"Always be proud of your past unless you have been vindictive or acted unlawfully,"

"There was go again -- Merrick the oracle," smiled Karen.

"No -- he's just a Kiwi," giggled Melissa.

Karen conceded that the music was "persuasive'. "But what's loud music going to do for us expected to get handed a violation notice?"

Patting her on the arm, Merrick said: "Karen -- notice how people here are speaking louder to make themselves heard over the music? None appear displeased and I can see one or two diners tapping their fingers in tune. This is beach territory, Karen, and many of these adults probably grew up on the Beach Boys even though are probably hail from Kansas or Ireland. Just give it time."

Like most Americans, Karen spent give minutes asking about New Zealand and then going on for twenty minutes around the glories of the United States, with Melissa adding her comments.

"Take a breather, Karen."

"Sorry, Merrick. Am I going on a bit?"

"Not at all, it's been very educational. But take a look at your restaurant."

Karen looked around. Every table under the umbrellas was taken and inside only five or six tables remained empty.

"This is amazing," she burbled. "We never had the restaurant this full for lunch expect on holidays or during special events."

She went around to Merrick and kissed him a smacker between the eyes. He nuzzled her cleavage as she did so, enjoying her natural scent and perfume.

"What more can you suggest?"

"But aren't I am idiot New Zealander?"

Brian and Melissa watched this byplay, grinning. Melissa now had her arm around Brian's back.

"No, you are the best, most entertain, enterprising person that I've ever had lunch with, apart from Cory.

"No better than Cory?"

"You've been elevated in my estimation, Merrick. Don't push it."

Brian looked at Karen closely. She must have been quite a beauty in her younger day. But now her face showed the ravages of excessive exposure to the sun, wind and probably the surf. Crow's feet were prominent, and her chin flap, breasts and probably her stomach and thighs would be heavier that in her glory days. One the other hand she had the mature women's sense of presence, an acid tongue uplifted by impish humor that younger women usually have not yet developed. That was a counter-balance that appeared to him. Marg had it, and so did Kirsty. He wondered if Merrick would fall under her spell, not that she appeared to be waving a wand at him.

"What do you think could be done to physically attack custom, Merrick?" Brian asked. He told Karen that Merrick was a professional photographer with a highly developed appreciation of visual presentation, perspective and, of course, ambience.

"May I be ruthless?"

"Oh dear, Merrick, sighed Karen, lifting her sunglasses above her brow. "Please give me a minute to prepare." Karen waved to a bargirl and ordered another beer for Brian, iced tea for Merrick and peach Bellinis for Melissa and herself.

They were now a foursome, Antonia having shifted them as newcomers wanted a table. The drinks arrived; Karen took a deep draught of her champagne cocktail and said: "I'm all ears, Merrick."

"The exterior of these premises as you approached from the street are forgettable, and I imagine the appearance from the boardwalk is only marginally better. The interior looks like the majority of restaurants -- homely, meaning clean and tidy and altogether wholesome, which means it would earn a low rating. Families and laid-back couples are used to going into such restaurants. But for this restaurant those types are not your catchment -- your potential clientele from what I've seen are tourists or holidaymakers and couples of all ages who walk hand-in-hand."

"So, what would attract those people?

"An environment, I would suggest, that compliments their euphoria of being in vacation or feeling of intimacy. So -- out go these yellow and orange painted walls incorporating huge murals of swordfish and crabs. In their place should be a wall mural of a surfer going through a pipeline at dusk with the sunset lighting her athletic power. Another wall could be a desert scene, with a rider on a camel cresting a sand hill, a woman in white draped romantically within his arms. A peaceful unbelievably beautiful underwater reef scene could be on the third all, leaving the unromantic to focus on the plain wall on both sides of the bar.

"Don't forget tables with sea grass tops and chair frames made of stout bamboo."

"Now you're cooking," Merrick said enthusiastically, giving her another horse bite just above the knee.

"Jesus!" Karen yelped. "That hurt, and I'll be bruised for days."

"Good -- that one was to ensure that when you wake up in the morning beside a hand-wandering Cory, you will remember what we were talking about."

"You are a strange man, Merrick. However I really like you," she said, massaging her painful lower thigh.

Brian wondered how Merrick could so such a thing to a woman virtually a stranger to him, and get away with it. If he'd tried that with a woman he'd either get his face slapped or she'd call the cops, or both. Women always seemed to be all over Merrick whereas they never looked twice at him. Correction: when women learned that he was a doctor they came on to him strongly, attempting to get a free consultation or else seeking confirmation that the opinion of their medical practitioner was sound. Precisely as that thought was drifting out of his mind Melissa's hand dropped directly on to his crotch, making him gasp.

Christ! She'd touched him sexually, uninvited and without any encouragement. He couldn't believe this was happed. He turned to Melissa and smiled weakly. She smiled right back at him, opening her lips AND her teeth; he could see her tongue flicking back and forth. She was now trying to stroke him. Brian began to perspire. Normally his mind categorized women into three groups -- patients, family and friends and thirdly women whom he found desirable, and that last group included Marg. Brian found difficulty in thinking they were women he'd like to bounce around with; that was rather improper. Yet sometimes his thoughts about a woman did border on the depraved. That, of course, was perfectly natural, wasn't it? No such answer ever came because Brian was too embarrassed to discuss such a subject, not even with Marg or Merrick.

When Melissa's hand had landed in his lap he'd immediately wormed his hand under hers, gripped it. She'd looked at him in a calculating fashion and deftly flipped his hand upwards, allowing it to pressure her hand against his stirring penis. Close to panic he looked at Merrick, but he was in deep conversation with Karen. He attempted to pull her hand away, but Melissa gritted her teeth and resisted. Hell, everyone in the restaurant must be looking at them! Furtively, Brian scanned all around them. Everyone seemed to have their focus elsewhere, which was a relief.

Melissa flipped her hand again, still under Brian's hand, and squeezed. Brian jumped; she smiled, appearing ready to giggle. Brian felt the need to pull out his handkerchief in his right-hand pocket, to mop his brow, but pulling his hand away --he'd managed to lift her hand off his tackle and on to his thigh -- Melissa would be free to grope him at will.

"I need to go for a visit," she said, looking at Karen who replied, "I'll come with you."

As they walked off Brian wanted to tell Merrick about what Melissa had been doing to him. But usually that only talked that intimately when they were rather intoxicated.

How would he start: Melissa has been playing with me under the table? Merrick being Merrick would reply, 'Then I think you better go off with her and shag her'. He'd say that in normal voice, causing people at surrounding tables to look at Brian as if he were some sort of sex fiend. Brian felt his confidence sag. He couldn't say that out cold to Merrick. No way!

Merrick eyed him: "What are you thinking mate, you look so pensive?"

"Oh, I was hoping that my locum is managing OK."

"You don't want to worry about that mate. You're thousands of miles away. Concentrate on where you are. "Take a good look at Melissa. Why don't you have a go -- she looks ripe for plucking?"




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 08



"Plucking?"

"That's what I said. Want it in plain English."

"No." Brian gulped. Here was the opening he required. Merrick would listen, not be surprised now, and perhaps even offer advice. It had been years -- in fact since meeting Marg all those years ago -- that Brian had gone head to head with another woman who he didn't know. Those exceptions were women at medical conferences.

The worrying thing about this encounter was the Melissa was taking the initiative. This was rather unnerving. "Karen seems interested in your ideas for promote this business."

"Well, nothing to it really: sixty percent bullshit, twenty percent commonsense and twenty percent perception based on experiences of going into restaurants that have had an impact on me. It's that last twenty percent that counts. It's just like any proposed action -- eighty percent of your mind instinctively tells you to proceed or can it, which is fine. The other twenty percent, more or less, is the intelligent critique that possibly holds the key and should be examined before any action is taken. But how often is ignored or, for that matter, is its existence is even recognized?

Brian sat glumly. Merrick hadn't helped him at all and was now prattling on about some phantom twenty percent of one's reasoning. Ninety-nine percent of him was telling him to get up and run. As sure as hell he wasn't going to find a profound answer in that remaining one percent justifying sticking around in the expectation that Melissa would invite him to shaft her. Right now, Brian thought darkly, the two women were in the ladies' powder room laughing themselves sick as Melissa related how she'd aroused him. Women could be so treacherous!

Karen and Melissa returned to the table, Melissa sitting down and Karen remaining standing. Well, that glimmer of hope had died, thought Brian. Karen was preparing a strategic withdrawal. Well, he had no objection. He had no desire to commit adultery, did he? No! Well, probably not.

Before Brian could debate with himself that sudden shift in ethical thinking, Karen flashed a stunning smile at him. "Toss me the keys, Brian. I want to take Merrick back to talk to Cory. He'll present his thoughts better than I could.

"Here Melissa, you take my keys. You guys stay here for a drink or two then perhaps you might visit some of the sights off the tourist beats. We'll need some time to convince Cory. By the way, Brian, can Merrick have a couple of wines? His tongue is hanging out."

Brian couldn't believe this was happening. Melissa must have taken Karen to the bathroom to set this up. She obviously wanted him! OK, no more than two. We go in for an appraisal tomorrow so I don't want anything to screw that up. He'll probably exchange his wheelchair for crutches or even a walking stick."

"That's great Merrick -- we wish you luck," said Melissa, who'd pulled her chair up against Brian but kept a narrow gap between them.

"Thanks for the meal, Karen," Brian said. "Merrick has you guys on the right track, I'm sure."

"Bye bye, Brian. It was nice meeting you," said Karen. In a neutral voice she said she'd see Melissa soon.

"Cheerio, guys," Merrick called, as he was being wheeled away. He looked slightly surprised, as if he was going before the main act.

Brian wondered if that thought about Merrick's surprise was a figment in his imagination. Currently his imagination was very active and exceedingly vivid -- he'd just had a mindful of Melissa, totally nude. His thoughts were not remotely like what occupied his mind when dealing with half-dressed patients. This was total erotica!

"Let's go, lover," Melissa said, standing and waving the car keys provocatively.

Can one wave keys provocatively? Brian wasn't sure but he was noticing every movement she made, although she made no effort to touch him. Twice she pouted at him provocatively and YES, one can pout very provocatively. And twice she had licked her top lip; he'd not seen her do that even once in the entire time that had been together before that.

Merrick was right -- she was ripe for plucking. What a far nicer term that the usual male description. Brian followed her delightfully swaying butt to the bar.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Lee, Sir. I trust everything was to your satisfaction," the manager said, handing back Kirsty's father's CD. "We've been exceptionally busy today -- it must have been the Beach Boys' music," he laughed. The laugh converted into a puzzled look when both Melissa and Brian nodded in agreement with his comment. Brian slipped him twenty dollars.

Firing the engine of the Saab, Melissa asked, "Would you like to go on the secret tourist tour or do something else?"

Brian didn't hesitate: "Oh, a cup of home brewed coffee would take my fancy."

Melissa pounced on him, kissing him with a hungry open mouth. You're my boy, buckled up and let's go!" she said huskily, She drove out in front of an approached car and accelerated out into the fast lane before the other driver managed to angrily sound his car horn.

The experience left Brian bewildered. It was an unromantic coupled, not at all what Brian had composed in expectation in the rarely used smutty compartment of his mind.

"We'd better get straight into it," Melissa had said, shedding clothes as she walked into the bedroom. "Lock the door, please." She had well-shaped legs, and her buns, emphasized by the thong, looked firm and -- well -- ready to carry the weight of the plucking.

Brian began removing his clothes, watching her hands rise behind her back and then her bra go flying across the room to drape obscenely over a picture on the wall.

She turned: "How do I look?"

"Bloody magnificent," Brian said.

Actually, she was in good shape. Thighs and stomach very trim -- better contoured than Marg but her mons did not stand out provocatively like Marg's and her breasts dropped lower.

Melissa rolled on to her back on top of the bed and drew up her knees, opening them wide. Her fingers worked on her nipples. 

He finished undressing, not bothering to turn away. She watched intently said holding out her arms to him said, "My, that pole looks ready for action."

As they sat at the kitchen bar, drinking coffee and refreshed after showing separately -- she being anxious to get Karen's car back to her and to be in the clear before her husband returned -- Brian felt that he'd cheated; definitely he'd been cheated. He sighed, and deservedly so. Adultery had been the expected outcome; there was no question about the inevitability of that. What had been unexpected was Melissa's indifference because as soon as he'd climbed beside her she'd pulled at his arms moaning, 'Hurry, hurry', trying to haul him on top of her. Brian loved foreplay. Well, he thought, if she wanted a quickie to get her going, he was the man.

Plugging away he felt her racking his back with her fingers, putting those long nails of hers at risk. She groaned and moaned, gasping instructions to have him thrusting at the angle she apparently preferred. Suddenly -- too suddenly for Brian -- she convulsed and the wetness under them became like a ponding. Melissa's hands fell away from him, her reciprocal rocking ceasing.

The bitch, Brian thought. She'd got what she wanted, to hell with him! He now had to grind unaided to a finish.

In the shower he'd grinned, realizing that positions of the proverbial 'bang, bang thank you ma'am' male had been reversed. Many female patients had complained to him that their partners lost interest immediately upon ejaculation. Well, he now had clinical knowledge of what they were complaining about. As he had continued, it felt little different to pounding a pillow -- at least he thought that might be so.

"Come on, come on," virtually completed Melissa's final contribution.

Brian picked up the pace but apparently that was not good enough. She raised her head and sank her teeth painfully into his shoulder.

"Christ!" he'd bellowed, erupting.

As they got into the car she had the audacity to smile and say, "You were good."

Brian had never hit a woman, and this became a close first. Really, she'd earned herself a good clip over the ear. That thought appalled him -- not only had he betrayed Marg but he'd thought of striking another person, a woman.

Looking darkly out of the car window he felt that he'd sunk almost as low as one could. Unbelievably his first affair with a stranger since marriage had not been almost celestial - white flowers floating through his mind as he gazed at the adorable feminine form stretched on the bed like in a famous painting, holding her hands out and whispering, "Come to me my love."

He'd showered, but still did not feel clean. Melissa's home had been immaculate, and fitted out expensively. So the environment was immaculate. Yet he felt unclean as if he'd taken some dame in a nightclub outside into a dark back alley, lifting her on to his crutch and pounding her, knowing only her first name.

Brian had never planned to be unfaithful, never though much about it actually taking place, though a cerebral thought within in occasionally whispered, "It will be great." Those promiscuous thoughts had come more often since realization that Marg had mentally attached herself to Merrick; she appeared to be discreetly, very discreetly, stalking Merrick. He'd never seen Merrick recuperating beyond his normal, open affection towards his best mate's spirited wife.

Brian had automatically expected Melissa to give him an awesome display of her sexual prowess, and with high emotions triggering electrical discharges between them. They both had lean, tight bodies and fitted like hand and glove. But instead of indescribable beauty -- or even unbridled lust -- it had simply been a machine-like copulation with Melissa tailing off with the end not in sight.

That would have to rate as one of the worst fucks ever, Brian scowled. Driving back to the bar where they'd first met, it was left to Melissa to make the conversation. Unbelievably, she started off with sex.

"Did he put it around much?"

"Not really," was his reply. For goodness sake, what a question to ask a man. Next she'd probably ask, 'Was I any good.' If she did, Brian was of a mind to answer bluntly. He knew he wouldn't answer like that, and was relieved that the conversation shifted.

She asked did he like to travel.

"Yeah, we have at least one trip a year."

"Trip?"

"Vacation."

"Oh."

"And you?"

"Jerry and I go up to Canada a bit and love Mexico, and we've been to fishing symposiums in Europe three times. We're not interesting in going to New Zealand but what can you tell me about Australia -- it's such a huge country full of kangaroos and koala beers and big rocks. That much I know through TV ads -- Oh, and they have a big iron bridge spanning a harbor that's used to set off fireworks."

That level of conversation occupied them until they got back to the bar.

As they entered, Melissa suddenly took Brian by the hand and led him into the room, a huge smile lighting her face. She pushed her hair back with her other hand and upon seeing Cory, Karen and Merrick, she yawned hugely and greeted them.

Brian smiled weakly, realizing that he was being paraded as a trophy. He imagined his working end shriveling to come barely and inch long. That pathetic piece of self-pity less than five seconds -- in fact the aforesaid piece of anatomy actually revived when Brian's eyes rested on the swells of Karen's breasts and he wondered idly whether she would be a better lay than her friend. With a jolt Brian realized he had turned the corner of respectability and there was now a touch of a seducer to his character that had not existed prior to lunchtime on this very day. Was he comfortable about that?

Dwelling on that question he looked up from Karen's midriff to find her looking at him intently. Her lips parted slightly and either she pushed her pelvis towards him slightly or he imagined it. What was happening? Until today women had never given him more than a passing glance.

Then Brian noticed Cory was looking at him rather quizzically. Oh hell. Brian realized he was acting just like Marg eying up Merrick but that he lacked her skill.

"Great location you have for your beachfront restaurant, Cory."

"Yeah," said Cory, now smiling. "We paid through the nose to get it and now, thanks to you guys with your couple of good ideas, we'll think positively of what we're going to do with it. I've already ducked out and bought three CDs of the Beach Boys for starters."

"That's the way to go, Cory. Good luck."

"Thanks -- Brian, isn't it? What can I get you guys to drink?"

Brian ordered a Cab Sav. Watching Cory walk to go behind the bar he realized that he was going to have to polish his act if was to develop an active interest in other women, otherwise their men folk would be on to him. Exercise professional standards, he grinned.

"What are you grinning about?" "Oh Karen. Sorry, I just had a cute thought."

"Really, how interesting. You are an interesting man, Brian. Initially I had the impression you were shy, but methinks you're a dark horse. Melissa tells me you didn't go seeing the sights, you naughty boy. Watch yourself there; hon. Jerry is big and enormously strong."

"Thanks for the friendly warning, but I have no problem. Melissa was only trophy hunting so there won't be a next time."

"Oh really? How long are you staying around here, Brian?" She lowered her voice: "Unlike Melissa I'm more interested in just getting myself off."

Brian and Merrick left an hour later. Cory shook hands with them enthusiastically; Melissa kissed both of them demurely while Karen kissed Merrick on the lips but only shook hands with Brian. However there was a piece of paper in her hand and he secured the transfer, thumbing it against his palm.

After getting Merrick settled in the van which was no trouble as Merrick was now very strong on his feet, Brian paused at the driver's door to read the note. It was short: 'Phone me any weekday afternoon at two-thirty', and it gave the number.

"You look happy," Merrick said, as they drove off.

"Yeah."

"You drilled Melissa, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Good on you mate, you needed perking up. Now as soon as Marg gets back from Southern California drill her, and you won't feel so guilty. An old retired postman gave me that tip."

"I don't believe that."

"He reckoned it never fails."

"Well, as least Marg will be an improvement."

"What, no good?"

"In a hurry, got what she wanted, then immediately lost interest."

"Oh no, how disappointing. You know Brian; you let her assume control -- never do that. Now, as you appear to be a new boy on the block, let me give you some advice."

It was one of the most interesting tutorials Brian had ever received.

They arrived home to find the women were still out there somewhere. Another hour passed before they arrived, deadbeat.

"We did the factory outlets," Kirsty apologized, feet up and starting on her first martini.

"It was wonderful," Bess said.

Kirsty said: "Then I made the mistake of saying to Bess there wasn't much excitement at their local mall and the women dressed rather casually. Bess pushed me into the car and I asked where were we going and she said, 'Into central LA my girl, to where it's all happening. First, I'll give you a jaw-breaking drive up and down Rodeo Drive. Oh guys, you should have been with us. It was just like the movies and I imagined I was Julia Roberts in 'Pretty Woman' riding in a limo. It was fantastic."

Bess cut in. "Now, look what Kirsty and I bought. More drinks please Brian, shopping is thirsty work thought I must say you look a bit pooped yourself."

Brain had the grace to blush.

"Just ate and drank a bit too much, I guess," said Brian. "At this sitting around is not good for us."

The next round of drinks was handed out, a soda for Merrick.

"Here's to a successful appearance before the specialist tomorrow Merrick."

Everyone toasted Merrick enthusiastically.

To Be Continued...



Freeing Kirsty Ch. 09



THE FINAL: Divorcee Merrick Jamieson (35) visiting New York comes into contact with the moll of the mysterious Spiro. The spirited Kirsty Fallon (25) finds she has become attracted and follows the photo-journalist to his homeland and begins working with him. Merrick foils a retriever sent to return Kirsty to New York and then travels to Manhattan and wins her freedom from Spiro. The couple are now in Los Angeles married. Merrick is incapacitated, suffering two knife wounds when defending his ex brother's wife Margaret. Marg's suppressed sexual interest in Merrick re-emerges and her husband Brian has committed adultery for the first time; it didn't go well for him and left him cleaning unclean and remorseful.

*

The next day Brian Raymond and Merrick Jamieson walked into the house. Kirsty's mother Bess Fallon greeted them, thrusting a hand over her mouth to suppress her excitement. She called, "Kirsty, you better come in here." 

Kirsty in white trousers and a multi-colored shirt was on a sun lounger on the terrace reading. She rose, stretched and went in to find out what Bess wanted.

Merrick and Brian were standing with Bess grinning at her. There was no wheelchair.

"Darling, you've graduated," she screamed. "Whoopee!"

Brian told Kirsty the surgeon was happy. Merrick's cleared but was warned to take it easy for the next six months. No violent movements, no undue stress at all on that leg -- and definitely no kick-boxing. He was to use a walking stick for the next ten days when negotiating stairs and steep slopes. Medically he was in excellent condition and there was no sign of weeping around the femoral repair. The stitches would be removed next week.

"He's to have another check up with a specialist in Auckland and a final one in six months and that's it!"

When the excited chatter died, Bess said: "Listen you guys -- take off to San Diego in my car and catch up with the others. I have the address of their hotel. Get Marg to stay down there with you -- Linda and Bella can come back by bus in time to board their plane -- we'll meet them at the bus terminal. It's lovely down there. You can be back here in time for us to head off to San Francisco on schedule on Saturday morning."

"Go on, off with you!"

An hour later Brian, Kirsty and Merrick were on their way south.

Following the San Diego reunion, Merrick was pleased to see Kirsty and Bella so well bonded but was disappointed that Bella made no mention of wanting to live with them.

When the group returned to Los Angeles to farewell Merrick's mother and her granddaughter, Bella kissed everyone goodbye, leaving her father and Kirsty till last. As she prepared to go through for final passenger processing for her Qantas flight, she and Kirsty had a very emotional hug -- both sobbing freely. Then Bella and Linda were gone.

"Bella had such a lovely time," Bess sniffed. "According to Linda she arrived as a girl and in going home a teenager. Bella and Marg related extremely well but poor Marg (Marg was in the other vehicle) dropped out of the picture when you arrived Kirsty. Young girls get excessively romantic -- she thinks of you as a film star."

"That's not excessive, Bess; that just good judgment," Merrick grinned.

Kirsty squirmed. "I was hoping she would say she wanted to come to live with us, but she stopped short of that."

"What -- then she made a hint?" Merrick asked, suppressing excitement. 

Kirsty had known it would please him to hear her comments. "Her final words to me were, 'I'm going to talk to mum about my future." She then kissed me and was gone.

"That's fantastic," Merrick crowed. "The initiative has to come from her. I'll do the negotiating and, if it's necessary, the battling."

"You're taking it for granted that she wants to live with you."

"Yes, Bess. Why else would she say such a thing?"

"Here's a bar -- signal to the others behind us and pull over, Brian. The drinks are on me," Merrick said.

"No -- I'm picking up half the tab," Kirsty insisted. "I also have cause for celebration -- she likes me."

Five days later the bride and groom were back in Epsom, Auckland, enjoying the end of summer -- the season changing full circle on the 'down under' side of the globe. The only communication from Bella was a lovely card, thanking them for a wonderful holiday and wishing them a great start to married life.

Merrick and Kirsty organized a post-wedding party for friends and neighbors. Merrick had suggested there was no need to bother while Kirsty was adamant that all the women would want to hear full details.

"Well, why don't you just have a 'do' for the girls and I'll act as wine waiter," Merrick offered, earning himself the first dark look since his marriage.

Kirsty's preference was for an outdoor function, starting at 4:00. Merrick favored that but was mindful of the fickleness of Auckland's weather which often defies the best efforts of meteorologists to produce accurate forecasts. The city is smack on the narrowest section of the North Island, less that a half mile across at one point of the isthmus between the Waitemata Harbor on the east coast (Pacific Ocean) and the equally deep penetrating Manukau Harbor on the west coast (Tasman Sea) between New Zealand and Australia. It's not uncommon for the region to have three of more weather turns in a day when seasons are changing.

Merrick explained this to Kirsty, describing the influence of the two harbors on Auckland's weather. He kindly converted the distance from metrics to imperial but Kirsty didn't require that, being already familiar with both measurements in terms of speed and distance through driving on New Zealand roads. With logic, she was not quite so precise, asking, "Why can't I have a fine Saturday evening when I need it?"

That problem for Kirsty began soon after first landing in New Zealand almost a year earlier.

"This weather here," she'd complained. "It is so unpredictable -- it's like a woman trying to decide what color and style of shoes to buy.

Merrick had stood speechless -- an unusual vocal state for him. But it was such a shock Kirsty conceding that women might sometimes have difficulty in making up their minds. Normally no such concessions came from her,

The current situation was too serious for bantering.

"We'll wait until the last minute before deciding whether to have it outdoors or in the house, Merrick said wisely.

But Kirsty came up with even a better idea.

"I'll ask Mrs Stewart."

Merrick could only shake his head in wonder.

Mildred Stewart the cleaning lady arrived at 7:00. Merrick had left to perform a small photographic job in Tauranga -- a wealthy client in Sydney had an option on an apartment penthouse he'd found on a website and had commissioned Merrick to fly down and produce 'some decent photographs' of the place. The photographs the prospective buyer had received from the real estate agency apparently appeared to have been shot on a $50 digital camera.

Mrs Stewart had arrived excitedly with flowers and a small sleeping suit for an infant, Kirsty told Merrick as soon as he returned from Tauranga. "I held up the tiny suit in surprise and Mrs Stewart said, "You're pregnant, aren't you?" 

Kirsty related the conversation in full as she and Merrick sat out on the lawn, he drinking coffee, she preferring orange fragrant herbal tea. "I nodded dumbly and thanked her and said the gift was so lovely. She looked very pleased. I asked why she had chosen blue instead of a neutral color -- that is could be a girl. She just tossed her smiled and said that it would be a boy. Them she looked at my hair and swore: 'Christ, look at your hair. It looks like a wig. Those American hairdressers are like their male counterparts with military weapons -- an overkill of firepower.' She told me that she needed to get some of the stiffness out of my hair to get it flowing freely again, that she'd go out to her car to get her box of tricks. She is full of funny sayings like that."

Merrick's yawn was ignored.

"When she started working on my hair, she rather embarrassed me. She said, 'Right, now tell me about the wedding night. I want a blow by blow description on how you coped and what it felt like considering you would have mentally transported yourself back to being a virgin'. How could she know that I had tried to picture myself like that at the wedding? She wasn't even there?"

Merrick had no idea, and said so. It surprised him to find she'd been playing mind games at the wedding. He'd been too preoccupied about getting through the ceremony and out of the spotlight, feeling such an idiot being wheeled in and then being helped to stand up as if he had been knee-capped and emasculated. A few people, Kirsty and his mother included of course, seemed aware of his predicament -- his embarrassment -- but actually it was only Marg who had whispered encouragement and focused him on the fact that it would soon be all over. Marg really was a brick.

"Are you listening?"

"Yes, dear," he said dutifully.

"Well, Mrs Stewart was appalled to hear about your near-death experience. Then she wanted to know how we got on in bed on our wedding night."

Merrick braced himself.

"But I avoided any description whatsoever. Then she said, 'Oh God, I can't imagine which was worse -- Merrick being so badly wounded or you missing out on wedding night stars and rockets roaring overhead as you had that first wonderful orgasm as a bride."

"She said what!"

"Shut up, Merrick. As she said that we looked at each other in the mirror and we both began to weep."

Merrick jumped to his feet -- "Gotta get a whisky to steady my nerves. More tea?" Kirsty asked for tonic water on ice, no gin.

Waiting patiently for Merrick to settle, she resumed, with a sly grin.

"I told Mrs Stewart that my friend Marg had offered to hold me on..."

"Marg what!"

"Steady on, Merrick. That's the sort of kindness that makes good friends great friends."

Suddenly Merrick was all ears. "Mrs Stewart then shocked me, asking had I even had a threesome or been involved in a foursome. I asked how could a woman of her age know about such things? She positively smirked at me, saying, 'You young things think you invented sex, don't you. If only you knew.' She then worked away with a dreamy expression on her face. She was quiet for almost a minute, which must be some sort of record for her. I was tempted to ask her to elaborate but then the thought of a woman at her age describing how she'd engaged in sex with multiple partners seemed rather depraved, so I asked her about her garden."

"Oh, dear. You shouldn't have become shy -- you should have pressed her."

"Shut up, Merrick. How was your day?"

"I really like your hair, darling. Looks far more natural."

"Oh darling," Kirsty responded, feigning surprise. "You noticed my hair! But then writers always describe how husbands never notice such things about their wives. Good boy."

"Oh, I notice, like your butt is beginning to spread a little -- I rather like the new shape."

"Merrick! If you can't say nice things about me, then don't say anything!"

He walked over to her, kissed her below the right ear -- he called that his sucker kiss as it almost invariable melted her. However, this time she shook her head and held out her empty glass.

"Tonic and ice please."

When they resettled -- Kirsty sitting on the window seat with her arms around her legs in her virginal pose, as Merrick liked to call it while he slouched on the sofa -- Kirsty told him they could proceed with preparations for an outdoor party.

Looking at her doubtfully, Merrick sat up straight, concerned.

"So you've decided to take the risk."

"No risk. Mrs Stewart told me we're in a south-westerly flow that will hold until at least Monday, so the fine spell will continue.

"Oh, so Mrs Stewart had added weather forecasting to her multiple talents?"

Merrick hadn't realized that Kirsty could look so steely-eyed, so he coughed, patted his chest and with Kirsty now looking concerned, beamed at her.

"Right, outdoors Saturday evening it is. Mrs Stewart is never wrong."

Saturday dawned in a drizzle. Merrick didn't even bother pointing this out to the dozing darling because he knew it was going to be fine; Mrs Stewart had said so.

Removing a sleeper from his eye he stood in his long T-shirt. Both had worn T-shirts to bed for years and continued to do so, although for the wedding night Merrick had requested that Kirsty wear the hugely expensive French-label black satin and lace night dress that Spiro had once given her to patch up after a quarrel.

Already Merrick had taken almost four hundred photos of Kirsty, ranging from extremely formal to rather ribald. One morning he woke her at dawn. She was still intoxicated after the previous night's party, so obliged him -- that is allowed herself to be persuaded to dress up in that nightgown and go out on to the lawn.

Her blonde hair -- being grown long for her wedding -- was a mess, all over the place. But he demanded she leave it as is, in fact he asked her to mess it up a little more . After taking several photos, using a tripod, Merrick asked to yawn and stretch. The digital 'check exposures' looked good. She asked to be allowed to go back to bed. Just one more -- he urged. Only one more.

"All right, but hurry. I need to go to the bathroom."

"OK, just allow your right nipple to show, then stretch, yawn and think of bathing in your favorite perfume -- really think of wallowing in it, with me in the kitchen preparing you your favorite desert -- coffee pear Alaska."

"Y-u-u-u-u-m-m-m," Kirsty genuinely yawned.

"Right, thank you madam. You may retire."

Kirsty no longer asked him why he was always taking photos of her, knowing the difficulty of getting a straight answer. She trusted him that the raunchy ones would not be displayed to friends or sent to a girlie magazine. It was possibly that she didn't even wonder why he'd spent so much time over the nightdress shoot.

It hadn't been clear in Merrick's mind why he took that series, either. He'd seen the nightdress in her drawer which had been left open. Then just before dawn he came wide awake knowing it was the thing to do.

As Merrick looked at the transparencies he'd collected from the film processing lab he was rather pleased. As he went through them they seemed to get better and better. His hands were shaking at he put the final set on to the light box. They shook because he knew that if the focus was right, her eyes were open wide enough and her mouth was a crooked yet tight yawn without showing too much interior it would be a great photo.

It was. He looked at it again and again and finally announced to himself, "Exquisite!"

The golden dawn had toned her face and done magical things to her hair. Kirsty looked so fresh, so womanly; so beautiful.

Merrick took the single tranny in and had two copies of professional quality taken from it. The original went to his personal archive in a commercial vault, one of the copies went into his filing system at home after he had a large print taken off it and the third was mailed off to an agency he occasionally supplied in London.

Three months later to the day -- which was yesterday -- Merrick's submitted tranny was no more; it had been purchased by a French fashion magazine and with the rights for exclusive use, Merrick received after deduction of agency fee, $2434.00 when the payment was converted to New Zealand currency.

At 8am Merrick arrived at the bedside with apricot juice, two dried figs, a pot of fat-reduced yoghurt and lightly minted lemon tea for his darling. She sat up, inappropriately dressed in a T-shirt emblazoned 'Diets Suck'.

"Oh darling, what's the special occasion? Come here and give mummy a kiss."

The mummy thing didn't unnerve Merrick. She'd used it in dirty talk to him from the outset in Manhattan so he was used to her, although now realizing that with her pregnancy the name had taken on proper meaning. As yet she'd not called him daddy, and neither had he.

"Got something for you to look at -- here you go."

Kirsty opened the envelope and looked at the amount on the check. She blinked, saying that's a handy amount to have in kitty.

"I've earned it from your body, your glorious body."

"Oh dear, have you being removing parts while I've been asleep," she joked -- a terrible joke, Merrick thought.

He reminded her about the nightdress shoot weeks earlier.

"You sold one of those photos to a slut mag? Oh, I wish you hadn't."

"Keep calm. I sent the tranny to my agent in London and he had the nous to email me to get the brand name on your nightdress. He then sent a rough print to the advertising agency of the French manufacturers and they raved about it. It's coming on next month as the cover shot on a leading magazine doing a feature on boudoir apparel."

"Ooh. Very nice -- but I'm too old to go on a cover."

"Older women -- older than you -- have the money to spend on luxurious bedroom gear and apparently many French men think the perfect age for a mistress is thirty."

"Well, I do approve, but I think you ought to have cleared it with me first. After all, it's my body."

"True, but you might have said no. I couldn't take the risk."

"My, you do have a devious side to you."

"Want to see the photo?"

"Yes, please."

"Right, close your eyes for two minutes while I swap pictures. This new one is bedroom material par excellence."

"OK -- you can look now."

Kirsty gasped.

"Is that me? How did you do it?"

"No tricks, though I did use a special filter. It's just you, beautiful you, and particularly the golden dawn light of that morning.

"It was meant to happen. Remember -- I work you up at 5:00 am and you didn't mind, which was surprising, and you co-operated throughout."

"Yes, I think I was a little drunk."

"Not really drunk -- perhaps well-imbibed."

"Go on." " I'd seen the night dress in your open drawer before we went out, and thought how beautiful, now sexy. And that was it. I awoke just before 5:00 with a premonition -- something was telling me the time had arrived, I had to get you outside and start clicking. At that stage I didn't even know if there was sunrise outside or rain. It's just one of those things -- my subconscious mind had worked it all out for me."

"That's a truly wonderful photo, Merrick, ever so flattering of me. Come here for your reward."

"No, I think I will go out and do some gardening."

"Merrick!"

"Hush, just joking. But first the money."

"What do you want to do with it?"

"I asked you first."

"A big awning over the back terrace -- then we can eat out under in the summer in rain and sunshine. What are your thoughts?"

"Establishing an investment account for our son. If we contribute to it fairly generously over the years he may be a wealthy young man by the time he turns twenty."

"Oh, Merrick. What a wonderful idea. Let's go in an open a bank account this morning -- I believe we can do that, naming ourselves as signatories for an infant who'll probably have to be named as a nominee at this stage because he has yet to be born."

"Right, sounds great; now, what about my reward?"

"OK, just let my have my juice -- could you put the tray somewhere safe. I feel like giving you a real treat.

"You know, that photograph will in time be a painful memory to me."

Merrick could see what she was getting at -- old and wrinkly looking at that photograph of herself in her prime.

"Burn it when it no longer appeals to you."

"No, I want to keep it as a memorial to my younger self. Very, very few people possess photos of themselves of this quality, Merrick. You have honored me." 

"For goodness sake, Kirsty. It's only a snapshot that's been given a little biff. You shouldn't get too consumed by it."




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 09



"My looks and my athletic body have been precious to me, Merrick, and have been since I was ten. But I have never lost my perspective. I've worked at it, training and training and spending on physical care and denying myself then suddenly I am aware that after twenty years I have peaked, or about peaked, and from now it will be all downhill. I shall adjust, but I'm terribly grateful you have handed me my personal monument."

"Christ, Kirsty. You are making me nervous. You will live at least another fifty years."

"I know. Now let's drop this, eh? I've given you my innermost thoughts, so there's nothing more to be said.

"Come here, darling. I want to put the smile back on that face of yours."

Within the hour Merrick stood on the bedroom balcony again. Kirsty had eaten her yoghurt and had gone back to sleep.

A faintest of breeze puffed on to Merrick's face. He grinned. It definitely was blowing from the sou-west. It was classic Auckland weather -- the puffs would rise into a stiffer breeze somewhere between 10:00 and 11:00 -- pleasing yachties -- and around 3:00 pm would begin dying away. By around 9:00 am the warming sun would be breaking up clouds, ending the drizzle. Around 7:00 pm it would be dead calm.

He stretched and groaned in pleasure.

"What are you going out there -- playing with yourself?" was the cheeky cheap shot from the bed.

Merrick shook his head affectionately. If she wasn't trying to improve things she was taking the piss. There was very little that could be called normal about foxy Kirsty.

"Stop taking the piss; I thought you were asleep?"

"Don't use that expression. You know I think it's crude."

"I'll give your crude," he said, rushing through the door at her.

She shrieked, and they hugged and kissed just like in their first days together, awash with happiness.

Merrick still was careful with his right leg, but if it weren't for the long scar on the outside of his right arm and the small scar on the inside of his right leg he'd scarcely remember being knifed. He tended not to look back. On the other hand, Kirsty still vividly retained the memory. In the bath together she would lean over and kiss his scars.

"I left you asleep to lie in, he said, holding her and stroking her hair as she sighed and thought of what they had to do to prepare for the party.

"I was dreaming about a rain storm so awoke to check out the weather."

"It was drizzling earlier, but by 9:00 or just after a fine day will blossom."

"That sounds so pretty -- you really are very romantic."

"Who, me?" Merrick asked in surprise.

A feral cunning within Kirsty, developed in her pre-Spiro days in Manhattan, allowed her to easily speculate on Merrick's reaction. He associated any link to him being romantic with a distasteful experience. She assumed it had something to do with Kate, but it was not her business to probe or in her interest to do so; that particular piece of his past must stay buried.

At that moment Kirsty was not to know Merrick had been recalling Kate in one of their final off-the-wall clashes calling him a horny toad and the most unromantic man she'd ever known -- and she claimed to have carnally known an awful lot of them.

He sighed, Kirsty sighed.

"I think we'd better get cracking."

"Yes, Merrick. You are so right. Let's go." They spent the morning rushing around 'like blue ass flies" according to Merrick.

"Like what?" giggled Kirsty helplessly. "Could you repeat that?"

She repeated it after him and rolled around in her seat in the vehicle in near hysterics.

"What's so funny -- it's just a saying I picked up from dad."

"It's just so funny. I can't recall any other quip being so funny.

They arrived home with liquor and party food expensively harvested from grateful delicatessen shops.

"No, not the supermarket, Merrick," Kirsty had said. "It food is great, but for this occasion I wish to handpick everything from specialist providers."

"Gawd, you speak just like your mother when you wind up like this."

"Watch your mouth buster!" she threatened.

They began at the waterfront fish market and visited another six premises spread over a considerable distance before Kirsty was done.

"How do you know about these places -- I didn't know most of them existed?"

"Mrs Stewart; she knows everything."

"She doesn't know anything about photography, Merrick countered triumphantly.

"Only a mind like yours would think like that," Kirsty said stiffly.

For lunch Kirsty sneaked some of the party salmon and a loaf of French bread while Merrick decided they should sample a bottle of bone dry French white.

After eating, in uplifted mood, they lay in the double hammock in the shade on the lawn. They went through the list of invitees, with Merrick back-grounding some of whom Kirsty either had never met or had only briefly encountered.

Both watched the small white clouds playing on a blue sky. They were laying hand-in-hand, pressed close together by the dished shape of the colorful Mayan hammock.

Kirsty stirred.

"Merrick," she began, in the female version of a Churchillian voice.

"Oh dear," thought Merrick. "I'm about to be told the lawn needs to be cut again."

Kirsty continued sternly. "This is a special event for me. We are entertaining friends and acquaintances that would have been invited to the wedding had it been in New Zealand." "Quite," responded her husband, pleased that the lawn had escaped her eagle eye. "I want you dressed semi-formal -- no old jeans, sneakers and a slopping Joe." "Yes dear," replied Merrick.

Kirsty turned and lifted her head to assess his level of seriousness. Apparently nothing she saw apparently to worry about because her head flopped back on to the hammock.

"To make certain you dress to an adequate standard, I've put some new clothes out on the bed for you."

Merrick's eyes rolled into his head -- he visualized laid out on the bed new patent leather shoes, black trousers, a white tuxedo jacket with a pink carnation on the lapel and pink shirt, one of those fancy outfits favored by homosexuals with slicked down hair. 

"Yes, dear," he sighed. "That's very nice a you; it's a joy to have such a lovely, caring young wife.

To his amazement it was suddenly all on. That simple response -- he'd decided to say something really nice -- had tripped her switch. She was all over him, having hauled his polo shirt up over his face and was circling his right nipple with tiny, soft kisses followed by very wet licking.

"Careful," he warned. "We could roll out." Christ, he was sounding like an old man.

It occurred to him to say what about the neighbors, but that REALLY would make him sound like an old man -- a very ungrateful old man who did not deserve what he was getting.

Pulling himself together, he said in a beautifully modulated voice, "I love you, Kirsty."

Her teeth bit into the flesh around his nipple, making him yelp.

"I'd appreciate some caressing," she invited, lifting up to stare at him with smoldering eyes.

"Shouldn't you be preparing for a party?" he teased.

"No, Mrs Stewart and her helper are due here soon to get things ready."

Merrick sighed. Mrs Stewart -- he should have guessed. Presumably Mrs Stewart and friend will be dressed as French maids and speaking in appalling fake French accents.

At 3.58 pm Merrick and Kirsty were awakened by Mrs Stewart's Scottish accent. "Oh my. I knew that you two would have lovely bodies under those flimsy clothes you usually wear."

Merrick opened his eyes and saw Mrs Stewart and friend.

"At your service, Mousier," said Mrs Stewart. Both women were dressed in French Maid costumes that obviously had been hired from a sex shop, or that's what it looked like.

"Oh, Mrs Stewart and friend," Kirsty said. At least she had a small towel to drape over her lap. All Merrick had to cover him were two leaves that had fallen on to him from one of the ash trees -- totally inadequate.

"Honey," he said, casually rolling over so his back was facing the interlopers. "Why don't you take these ladies up to the bedroom and give each of them on of those black slips you have to put under their -- um -- costumes. We don't want to frighten the horses."

"Frighten the horses?" Kirsty appeared mystified then she noticed the bulging flesh of the two women from the area of their pelvises.

"Oh yes -- follow me please, ladies."

Kirsty was immensely proud of her body shape and was now yet showing. She marched off as if she were dressed, unaware of a leaf sticking to her left buttock. Both women and Merrick managed to suppress their mirth, watching the leaf looking like a novice rider gamely trying to hang on as their mount swayed from left to right.

Once the women had disappeared Merrick hurriedly crabbed across the lawn, hands cupping his 'privates' and hoping the neighbors were all at the beach. A piercing wolf whistle told him not all were away. He worried: could a woman whistle that loud?

Two hours later he had the answer. Old Mrs McCollum arrived for the party from one of the two houses backing onto the rear fence shared with the Jamieson's. 

"My niece Nancy was lunching late with me this afternoon. She thought it was such a laugh watching you two having sex and falling out of the hammock. She reckons you two should be tutors. I couldn't make an assessment as I only had my reading glasses with you, but later we saw you do a funny dance across the lawn. She whistled her appreciation, young man. Even I could see you have a rather nice compact bum."

"Thank you -- most interesting. A glass of champagne, Mrs McCollum?"

"Thank you. I hope you don't mind by I brought Nancy with me. Say hullo, Nancy."

Nancy was all of fifteen and was holding up her face to be kissed, lips parted.

"Go on, the girl won't bit you, Merrick," Mrs McCollum said, as he began backing off.

Merrick obliged coming in side on and giving the girl a peck on the cheek.

Nancy looked disappointed by brightened instantly when Merrick handed her a flute of champagne. She took a sip, looking of the rim of the glass as Merrick, eyes not wavering.

That brazen little girl should be at home with her mum, he thought sternly. Then he remembered what Nancy had seen him involved in earlier that afternoon. Fortunately as that instant Marg arrived carrying Avon with Brian humping the carrycot, tin of goats' milk powder, nappies and other items of wardrobe.

Avon recognized Merrick and held out her hands to him, causing him to beam. Mrs McCollum and niece were already making clucking noises.

Welcoming this diversion, Merrick moved to take Avon, kissed her and then handed her over to Nancy. But unsighted, his hand went behind the tot and straight between the lapels of Marg's lightweight jacket; his fingernails scraped her left breast and lodged under her bra cup.

Marg visible jumped in surprise and gave him a dazzling smile.

"Oops, sorry Marg. Lost direction for a moment. May I give Avon to Nancy to hold?

Marg nodded consent.

Avon gurgled in delight and she tried to suck Merrick's nose as he went to kiss her. She looked surprised but unafraid as she was placed into Nancy's experienced hands 

"Nancy makes money as a babysitter," Mrs McCollum said hopefully, but no-one was really listening.

Marg may have been miffed at missing out on her welcoming kiss. Merrick, however, being basically well house-trained realized his omission and circled Marg around the waist and swung her around so that he faced Brian and could shake hands.

"Hi Rex," he said to Brian who was quick on the uptake and grinned. A couple of years earlier Merrick and Brian had gone to a strip club. This was after Kate had gone and well before Kirsty's entrance. On that evening Marg was at a concert with a girl-friend.

Two women who'd come in with a dozen other women to see the strips were walking to the restroom when one bumped her hip into Brian's chair, spilling his drink.

"I'm, sorry," she said, her embarrassment very real.

"No problem -- drinks are cheap, hips are not," he quipped noting she was rubbing her hip.

When they were returning the woman said to Brian, "Please allow me to buy you and your friend a drink."

"Yes, of course -- proving you stay with us while we drink them."

Merrick had the urge to test his hearing, this didn't sound at all like Brian. What a lousy pick-up line and anyway, Brian wouldn't know what to do next if his cheeky response worked.

"Okay," said the redhead, aged about thirty-five. I'm Judith Wilde and this is Pamela Staines -- we're in Auckland for a medical conference."

Brian froze at the mention of medical conference, so Merrick took over. He was aware that Brian was to present a paper to a conference session the next afternoon on the propensity of young girls aged give to ten to suffer school playground fractures to the arms at a ratio of almost 2:1 to boys suffering fractures.

Assuming that Brian would prefer to conceal his real identity -- delegates would not be expecting the presenter of a conference paper to be inhabiting a strip club on the eve of addressing an august body of professionals, Merrick said smoothly, "Judith and Pamela, this is Rex Harrison and I am Peter Finch."

For a moment Merrick wished he'd chosen more obvious pseudonyms but neither women raised an eyebrow and both called them Rex and Peter.

They chatted and watched several raunchy shows. 

Then the women's well lubricated compatriots came over to collect Judith and Pamela as the minibus had arrived to return them to their hotel. All the women in the party insisted on kissing Rex and Peter goodbye.

"Rex, if you're ever in Wellington please look me up," said Judith. I'm in the phone book and live in Hataitai above my rooms. I'd love to take you out for a coffee or whatever."

"OOOOOOH!" chorused her companions noisily and out of line.

"Or whatever," Brian asked after they had gone. "What did she mean by that, Merrick or should I say Peter?"

"It means it's your decision, my friend. She's come on to you."

"But I don't know her. How could I have aroused her? I didn't do anything suggestive."

"Women want men to read between the lines, Rex."

"Rex?"

"You assumed name. It's probably the name Rex that brought her on. Either that or you massaging her hip. What did she say -- 'You have a long and incredibly subtle stroke, Rex'. Don't you think she was communicating something?"

"Yes, but..."

"No buts, Rex. She was coming on to you. You wanker -- you should have grabbed her hand and stormed out of that sleazy place right there and then, Rex."

"But I'm a married."

"So you are, Brian. Rex is the seducer."

Now, two years later, Merrick had come up with that name Rex again.

Why? Brian was intrigued.

As Marg walked over to talk to Mrs McCollum, Brian said, "Why Rex, old buddy."

"Because Rosa is here -- I invited Tim and partner, and Tim has turned up with Rosa.

"Christ!"

So profound was the shock that Brian turned white, intriguing Merrick. He'd expected Brian to be surprised, but not like this. The poor fellow was now almost hyperventilating, the pack of nappies spilling from his grasp and on to the floor.

It's funny how one's past sometimes comes to haunt one, thought Merrick. Everyone at the yacht squadron had wanted Rosa -- well, everyone who put it about.

Rosa was the only child of Robert and Stephanie Fairchild, who imported quality ceramics -- not works of art but floor and wall tiles. Their specialty was slip-resistant tiles for patios, bathrooms and particularly around swimming pools, hot tubs and spa baths and entrances and foyers to commercial buildings and in their toilets and kitchens.

The Fairchild's were super-rich. Rosa lived the high life with enjoyment, but had to suffer non-stop attempted 'hits' from males.

Occasionally an immaculately presented and interesting person attracted her attention, but those times were few. Merrick prided himself in finally gaining one hot night with Rosa and she invited him back twice more which boosted his ego enormously as word got around.

For a while that elevated him on to the A-list socially in the category of personable unattached males. Two men topped that unwritten A-list by a country mile -- Mike, the son of the squadron commodore, an immensely wealthy property developer desperate for his only son to marry into a socially accepted yachting family, and Merrick, although his elevation petered out after a few months.

This son of a widow, with neither mother nor money, was a name on the lips of every squadron member's daughter (and wife). That entry of Merrick into the social elite of the squadron was the reason why Alec Raymond had invited Merrick to join the crew of Alec's keel boat. It was not that Merrick had the physique of an 'ape' providing muscle power to grind a winch powerfully under heavy conditions, or that he was a grand dancer, a brilliant conversationalist or that Alec's wife Mary couldn't keep her eyes off him. 

No, those considerations were inconsequential, well almost. What attracted Alec to Merrick was that daughter Kate had brought him aboard a couple of times and they'd been short of crew. Them Merrick has proved his worth: he'd made phone calls and within thirty minutes five pairs of able hands recruited by Merrick were aboard, ready to go racing.

Alec had found that unbelievable. Merrick learned later that Alec took Kate out to dinner one evening when Mary was out somewhere, plied Kate with fine wine then said to her, "Kate, don't you think you should marry this fellow Merrick?" Kate told Merrick she was gob smacked -- never before had her father a kind word to say about any male Kate had brought to the family table for dinner. 

Merrick sighed. Kate had not proved to be the catch of the decade. That was the subtle hip-swaying, flat-bellied, nicely boobed and luscious lipped Rosa. Added to all that she was pretty, intelligent and there it stopped. She actually was a spoilt brat who demanded things done her way, was foul-mouthed and quite intolerant -- but nothing that a good management program couldn't re-work to iron out such wrinkles.

One fine sunny late morning, feeling a little over-used and over-partied, Rosa went for a walk in the park and after a long walk went to sit on a seat that was occupied at one end by someone from the squadron in fact -- that fellow Brian, a doctor she seemed to remember. They chatted away and eventually she left, feeling she'd been treated sensitively for a change.

That Brian Whatshisname -- he'd never made a pass at her and this intrigued her. She phoned her former lover Merrick, as she knew he often sat in the company of Brian at the squadron.

"This Brian. Who is he? Is he queer, mama's boy, his sister's lover? He just doesn't look at me, there's something wrong here."

Merrick responded out of loyalty (Rosa actually was not the super lay everyone assumed she was). "He's a man who has extraordinarily high expectations but sadly the women who've associated with him so far have been a real disappointment to him. He has been trying to save himself to give his heart to a woman with class, but so far he's found women wanting, which is a pity, because one day he is bound to be an eminent surgeon probably specializing in cosmetic surgery to enhance younger women and to make older women younger."

Rosa bit like a Great White Shark. "I like him. I didn't know this about him. Bring him to me, Merrick."

"Say please."

"Please, please Merrick."

"OK, but answer me this: Why have you taken such an interest in him?"

"Because he's shown no interest in me."

Oh, one of those answers one sometimes gets from women, thought Merrick. He thought the fib he'd told her about Brian aspiring to become a leading cosmetic surgeon may have wetted her desire. Brian will end up being disappointed if something happens between them, but at least he'd have some fun in the meantime.




Freeing Kirsty Ch. 09



"We'll be at the squadron for drinks at eight on Saturday evening. Bring along someone who likes going to be early for me, will you?"

"Thanks, you're a darling Merrick. Oh -- what's his surname?"

"Raymond."

"What -- is he related to Alec Raymond." "Son."

"But Alec's got a son of that age, Stan."

"They're twins."

"I don't believe it -- anyway, Stan's a blond."

"He wasn't when I first knew him."

"Oh. Goodbye, sweetie."

Brian was as nervous as a schoolboy on his first date at the squadron on Friday night. There had been a major briefing at 6:30 on a long race around the inner gulf over the next two days, so the clubhouse was packed and very noisy and the liquor had flowed freely after the hour-long briefing.

Merrick had happily dealt with a barrage of questions from Brian, including:

"What is she REALLY like?"

"Should I bring flowers?"

"When should I make the first move or doesn't she kiss on first dates?"

"What if she doesn't like me?"

"Does she know that I am a senior medical registrar?"

It is necessary to realize that this was some eight months before Brian met Marg. Marg was also 'a daughter of the squadron' as parents with nubile daughters fondly referred to their offspring, well aware that it was socially significant to have a romance within the squadron blossom into a marriage with the wedding breakfast held at the squadron's facilities.

Marg's father sailed his boat rather successfully in fact and she'd been sailing regularly since eight weeks after her birth.

Merrick was getting Pru Kettle, one of Rosa's hangers-on primed on vodka. He saw Rosa lean forward a whisper something into Brian's ear, and Brian jumped as if he'd been shot.

Grinning, Merrick knew what she would have said: "Would you like to fuck me tonight." Rosa loved to shock and make her dates horny. He also knew what Brian would be thinking, while shaking his head, unable to believe what he's just heard: No woman -- at least no women in the free world -- speaks like that!

Welcome to the real world, Brian!

Brian reported to Merrick next day that he'd gone to bed with Rosa -- in her bedroom in fact.

"She was all over me, and panting like a dog most of the time. It was eerie. She seemed determined to exhaust me, but I reckon by the time we collapsed into sleep it was a dead heat."

"That's something. So she does kiss on the first date?"

"Merrick!"

"Just kidding. So, she's the best one ever."

"Surprisingly, no, I couldn't say that."

"Well, don't tell anyone that, you'll ruin her reputation and that's not a gentlemanly thing to do."

So, after all this time, Merrick thought, Brian would come face to face with one of the few women in his life who'd desired him -- Rosa, the woman with the fabulously sexy walk. He wondered how Brian would handle the situation.

Actually, Brian only appeared awkward in difficult situations involving personal relationships. He coped quite well, really. He'd not shied away from Rosa, had he? And once he realized that Marg was something special he'd pursued her relentlessly.

Oh Marg. Now she'd created an interesting situation. Brian was aware that at long last she'd accepted that she had an interest in Merrick and was now virtually socially stalking him. He smiled. Brian must surely be aware that Merrick was darting about between people trying to keep a reasonable distance between Marg and himself. Hell, she was determined. Twice he'd gone in to get more wine and beer and became aware that Marg had followed him apparently to try to either talk to him or to corner him.

Merrick had made his escape through the back door, thinking that really it was time Brian had a good talk with Marg. He was sure that Brian had not been serious when saying one of Merrick's alternatives was to 'give Marg what she wants'. Anyway, Merrick was damn sure sex was only part of Marg's pursuit -- she wanted to possess him. Clearly she needed expert counseling.

"Brian -- Brian Raymond," oozed Tim Theissen, art critic and restaurant reviewer for high class tourist publications nationally and internationally and a regular contributor to websites featuring New Zealand tourism. They had been at school together and then at university until Brian went on to med school.

"Tim you old dog, greeted Brian. "You don't look a day over twenty."

Brian bit his tongue after saying that, because the woman beside Tim was Rosa, looking decidedly middle aged.

"Nice to see you again, Rosa," said Brian, kissing the hand held out to him.

She coughed, then said: "Another cigarette please, dear Tim."

Merrick, listening to all this, then welcomed them. He knew Tim, having taken photographs for him over the years. Tim was genuinely pleased to see him again and congratulated him on his marriage.

"The invitation said No Presents, but there's a bottle of fine scotch on the kitchen bench for you and a bone china coffee set for your good lady. Where is she, by the way?"

"Come, I'll take you to her. Hullo, Rosa. Nice to see you again."

"Hullo, Merrick. Nice to see you too." She didn't hold out her hand to be kissed, in fact all she did was to blow smoke over him.

Later when Merrick and Brian were, pouring cups of coffee -- the weary 'French Maids' had been sent home more than an hour earlier -- Brian said: Rosa has deteriorated massively. How can that be?"

"You're the doctor mate, but my guess in an addiction to sex, late nights, drugs and good food."

"Yeah, I'm the one who should say that. If I ever shag another woman not Marg, she's going to be pure and wholesome."

"Then I wouldn't bet on getting another extra-marital shag, mate. However, although difficult to find they are around; just make sure they are at least eighteen years of age!"

They cackled over that, both being quite intoxicated.

"You better stay the night -- you're pissed," said Merrick.

"What, and risk having Marg getting into bed between you and Kirsty -- no way, mate."

They laughed over that one and slapped each other on the back like old cronies.

Just before 11:00 there was a lovely interlude for Merrick. He and Brian were watching Marg trying to put Avon down again; she'd woken and cried herself into a really paddy before drawing attention to herself. After being comforted and changed, she remained restless and after only a few sucks refused to take any more bottle. Marg then noticed Avon's fixation. Without a word she handed Avon to Uncle Merrick and then passed the bottle. Without two or three minutes Avon was asleep.

"You are useful to have around even though you continue to ignore me," Marg said with unaccustomed frankness in Brian's presence. "But thank you -- that was much appreciated.

She walked away with Avon to the bedroom. Merrick and Brian looked at each other and smacked a hand together, grinning -- an act of deep friendship.

"She's a sweet kid," Merrick said, thinking of Avon.

"They're both sweet," Brian said levelly, with Merrick repeating that after him.

He then frowned. "Marg is getting worse. She's never been that open about it before."

Brian considered his reply. "That's true, but even so she has it under control; it's not passionate, just a yearning to be attached to you, I believe, that's why it is necessary for you to stay near her. Perhaps you should not try so hard to distance yourself when she is around. Obviously she interprets that as rejection. She'll grow out of this fixation, I'm sure of that, Merrick."

"Well, if you're confident that nothing bad will come out of it -- I do love her, as you know, although not in a wanton sense."

"I know, Merrick, and I also know that you'd like me to sit her down and talk sternly to her about it; but in my opinion that it likely to achieve very little, except perhaps to drive her feelings into concealment. She's a naturally open personality and I have no wish to blight her very being. It's just something we must accept.

"We will stay the night if the offer is still open."

"Great, Stan is taking us out sailing at noon tomorrow so you will be able to join us, I'll let him know."

"But..."

"You can borrow suitable gear from us -- Marg and Kirsty frequently swap clothing. It's time little Avon began to get her sea legs."

"Right, sounds great. Marg is forever pestering me to get a keel boat so we can assume we have her approval."

Later in the night -- actually it was early morning -- Sam Fallon phoned from Los Angeles, and asked Merrick to bring Kirsty to the phone for a four-way conversation through the speaker phones.

"What are you guys doing today?" asked Sam. "Out in your garden?"

"It's almost an hour past midnight here, daddy," Kirsty said. "We've got a few friends around for a post-wedding celebration."

"That's lovely darling, really lovely," Bess said. "I told the stubborn fool to check the time difference but he declared that if he phoned about this time it would be alright."

"It doesn't matter, mum; is everything all right."

"We want keep you away from your guests," Sam said, "But we're so excited we just have to talk you. Bess and I have created an investment trust -- ultimately you and your family will be the beneficiaries. All we ask is that you pop across to see us occasionally when we become house-bound through old age."

"Okay, we promise that; your action is very generous," Merrick said.

"Yes, absolutely, but I don't see the urgency," Kirsty said, sounding very serious. "Are you certain nothing's wrong, that you're not holding back on me?"

"Of course nothing's wrong with us," Sam snorted. "But we've settled into a groove here and have become excited about this grandchild we are going to get in a few months. So we just reflected on things and decided to get everything adjusted to our satisfaction for the next stage of our life."

"Next stage?"

"Old age, Kirsty. It comes to us all," said her mother.

"I don't like hearing this," Kirsty said, sniffing.

"Look you guys," Merrick said. "Don't let time slip by -- commit. Come here next month and let us show New Zealand."

"Ooh, that would be nice, but I don't really know if we want to do that," ventured Sam.

"It's a long way to go," said Bess.

Merrick jumped in saying rubbish; they would go to sleep on the late flight and wake up and be perhaps only two hours out from landing at Auckland Airport.

"Do come, mum and dad; you're fit and you'll enjoy it. I remember you both telling me that the best things in life are beyond your fingertips -- and that's what New Zealand is -- come and tour my new homeland."

"Your new homeland," Bess said sadly. "You've never made such an absolute statement like that until now, dear."

"Right -- so come and visit us. You'll see whey I have committed. When you get into the deep south of the South Island you'll meet oodles of Americans who have relocated and are now utterly committed.

"You do sound so utterly decided, Kirsty," Bess said. "I'll have to think about it."

"Go buy your ticket and come, mother! Don't vacillate -- and come if dad won't."

"Well I don't know -- I like keeping myself busy, you know."

"Sam, there are golf course galore here and trout so big that the boat sinks when you bring them aboard," Merrick enthused. "You can get them in lakes or off the banks of fast-flowing clear-water streams with often nobody around for miles -- just you and the fish."

"And sea fishing?"

"Yes -- even game fishing if you wish."

"Shooting?"

"Yes -- what would you like: clay target shooting or going after pig, or goats or deer?"

"We're coming."

When the call ended Kirsty looked at Merrick, joy on her face. "They have to see where we live; it's important to me," she said, running her fingers gently down the side of his face.

"Remember this moment, dear on. We'll never experience another like it."

Merrick was perhaps aware that was an exaggeration. Although Sam put off their visit until Christmas, Kirsty and Merrick experienced an unbelievable moment of joy when seven months later their child -- a boy -- wailed into life under the expert hands of an obstetrician.

"Three weeks early, but as far as we can determine, he's a bonny wee laddie," they were told.

Exhausted but profoundly happy, Kirsty looked at the wrinkled old man's face in the wrapping in her hands, a nurse standing by ready to carry the babe to the special facility for the new born -- the nursery.

"Isn't he beautiful," Kirsty sighed, looking beyond the babe's wrinkles.

That, Merrick thought, was absurd; the little monkey-faced bundle in Kirsty's arms was not at all representative of beauty. If there was any relationship it would be to a gnome. However, it was undeniable: he felt a touch a kinsmanship.

Merrick grinned. His mother, caught unawares, was in the far north on a garden tour and Kirsty's parents were not due for another three weeks. Perhaps when the grandparents were gathered the little guy would have lost his monkey-like appearance and would be like one of those babies one sees in nappy advertisements.

Kirsty drifted off to sleep. The nurse stepped forward ready to take charge of baby Jamieson.

"Five more minutes," Merrick requested.

The nurse hesitated, looking at his ruggedly handsome face but it was the piercing eyes that melted her resolve but there were procedures to follow.

"Five more minutes please, dear one."

Merrick had said that quietly, no plea in his tone. The young nurse simply picked up the bundled baby and handed him to Merrick and then retreated holding up five fingers to indicate Merrick was on count down.

Standing in almost darkness of the dimly lit room, just before midnight, Merrick looked at the old man features of his third child. Christ, if he'd been forced down that narrow opening under pressure he'd look not better. He began talking to his new son, telling him about his mother, his father and grandparents.

The nurse returned to claim her charge.

The eyes of the baby opened and Merrick looked into them deeply and imagined he saw intelligence and profound understanding. It could take it for granted, because of the parentage, that the baby would grow into a likeable personality of strong character. Well, Kirsty certainly was, and surely he was as well.

"Welcome to the world, Ricky," he said. "I promise to dedicate to grooming you to become a fine young man.

Merrick felt almost fulfilled. All he wanted was for Bella to come home. He knew she would -- she'd want to be with her new half-brother. And if she could not break down her mother's resistance, then Merrick had a secret weapon on hand -- Marg. She could exert influence over Kate better than anyone on the planet. In Los Angeles Merrick had secretly met with all three grandparents and all agreed they would support what Bella wanted.

At 3:00 am Merrick was woken by the phone ringing. It was Marg.

"Congratulations, we're so excited for you and Kirsty. What wonderful news. We've just home from a medical ball and two calls -- two unbelievable calls were waiting for us. 

"One was from you, announcing the arrival of Ricky. The other was from Kate, sounding as if she's in a real mess. Bella has told her she wants to come home, to be with you and Kirsty."

Kate said Bella had made the announcement and then refused to debate it. Kate wanted Marg's advice.

"I'll try to get on a flight tomorrow," said Marg. "I'm afraid Kate's going to lose this one. Bella says she wants to be home for Christmas."

When the call ended, Merrick closed his eyes and tears squeezed through: he felt he was a may who now had everything.

THE END 



Freeing Kirsty



Well, if the likeness of Kirsty was that good presumably he was now looking at Mr Hairy Chest although that fuzz was hidden behind chest armour. In physique he was powerfully built, even allowing for ten percent of artistic licence. Good teeth, observed Merrick walking right up to the foot of the bed, a great smile but the dark eyes looked hard and so did the corners of the smiling mouth for that matter. Not someone to trifle with.

Disappointed that Mr Hairy Chest was not a wimpy looking man, Merrick was in the process of deciding that he'd better not be around when the knight called to revisit his princess and then something caught his attention. He'd missed it after examining her face and then flicking his gaze to her champion: a breast was exposed through a gap in her flimsy white gown. Obviously the period was not mid-winter, Merrick deduced, but it probably was not mid-summer either otherwise Hairy Chest would have been swimming in sweat in his armour. That would explain why the nipple of the princess was standing proud - she was cold!

Pleased with his speculation, he examined the breast and for the best part of a year felt himself about to drool. It was rigid and shapely. Even allowing for the aroused sensuality of the artist - whether it be male or female - at the sitting leading to fifteen percent exaggeration, it would still be a handsome breast with a hidden one to match. 

The books on the cabinet on the left indicated that was Hairy Chest's side - all three were products of blood and guts writers and there was a big alarm clock - women with good eyesight would prefer a more delicate and perhaps fancier encased device - and there was a fitting for a notebook computer connection screwed to the cabinet top and a portable printer in the opening directly beneath it.

Merrick walked around to the other side of the bed where he found on the cabinet top a book on the life of Joan of Arc and an open diary that he did not read. The opening below was crammed with what appeared to be on-line shopping catalogues. He then noticed that there was a fitting for a notebook computer connection behind the Joan of Arc book.

Opening a wardrobe door Merrick closed it quickly. It was full of male clothing. The other two wardrobe openings were fully feminine - a virtual fruit salad mix of fragrances suggesting various traces of perfumes, talcs and hair sprays. Absolutely no suggestion of body odour as faintly apparent in the wardrobe of her partner.

Blessed - or alternatively, cursed - with the unrestrained ability to invade privacy honed from years as working as a freelance investigative photo-journalist, Merrick pulled open the top drawer of the wardrobe drawers. The divided drawer was filled with panties on one side, stockings on the other with no panty hose in sight. There were a number of rather sexy elastic topped stockings that one sees featured prominently in men's magazines.

The next drawer down contained bras on one side, garter belts on the other. That interested Merrick - who had the big interest in stockings supported by a garter belt. His divorced wife Kate had only acquired garter belts shortly after meeting Simon which was a liaison that would tear apart an eleven-year marriage.

Merrick opened and quickly closed the next drawer; it was filled mainly with the sort of bedroom gear a woman would wear to excite her man. However he did note a couple of rather thick night dresses that she probably wore during winter when Romeo was at home with the wife in Atlantic City or elsewhere.

The bottom drawer was of far greater interest to him. It was filled with an array of clothing and light equipment that identified Kirsty as a gym bunny. That delighted him, providing a far more positive image for him than any connected with bedroom gymnastics. 

He closed the drawer knowing from this uninvited intrusion that she favoured pastel patterned underwear with frills and looking along the two open wardrobes he could see one was devoted to cooler season clothing, the other to warmer weather wear. She liked baggy shorts and black dresses. She was his kind of woman!

On the dresser sat an exotic hair brush set. Very nice. The only other item on top was a blue cut-glass spray bottle - one of those old-fashion types with a hand-pump bulb at the end of a short tube connecting to the top of the bottle. So, where were the lipsticks, powers, lotions and jewellery? In the drawers of course, bonehead!

There was an entire drawer of perfumes, each sitting in its own enclosure. Most were of French origin; very nice.

The drawer of lotions seemed to span every treatment for wrinkles, blemishes and dry patches known to mankind.

On the other side Merrick found the jewels, and gasped. He knew a little about jewellery, having bought increasingly expensive trinkets for his mother over much of his lifetime, for his sister almost over her entire lifetime and then expensive items for Kate, whose preference was for gold, silver or platinum. Some individual items in this drawer could be traded for a car and two boxed necklaces in the drawer below could perhaps be traded for an apartment or small house. No doubt even more lavish gifts from Hairy Chest were stashed away in safe custody. Sadly, Merrick accepted he was out of his league.

Back in the bathroom Merrick felt dry and hungry. The coffee he'd been offered had not been served.

Washing his face he looked into the mirror. Reflected back was the face of a youngish thirty-five year old, square jawed, clean-shaven and not unduly lined and lightly tanned. Women still referred to him as being handsome - female relatives including his sister, that is - but Merrick had been inclined to dismiss that as flattery. His nose was a little too wide and flat, his green eyes a little too recessed and his hair did not have the right colour for him to be called handsome. 

The hair was a mousy brown infiltrated with fair streaks. Merrick was unaware that women existed who were unimpressed by blond or black haired men, suspicious that such men lack fidelity. He assumed his overhanging eyebrows served to frame the luminosity of eyes that had attracted Kirsty whether or not she wished to admit that.

Merrick's build was solid - his shoulders square and wide but his straight down trunk meant he missed having the copybook tapered waist that women writers love to go on about. At least he knew he scored with a firm and perhaps noticeable butt in terms of a feminine appraisal. Legs as with arms were strongly muscular from gym work and sports and physical recreational activity.

Well, Little Brother - the name he used for himself when in an uncertain situation of introspection - what now? Leave after writing a note, or stay till she wakes? A conventional person would have answered that poser without hesitation – go. Merrick was habitually a little devious so it suited him to reply, stay Buddy as she has still to serve you coffee.

In the kitchen he found a beer in the fridge and demolished that while making himself a salad sandwich. No way could Kirsty be a slut, he insisted; she was too tidy to be anything but top shelf. He grinned, thinking that had she been after a piece of his ass she would have not rolled down her stocking so discreetly - she would have allowed him to manage that delicate operation while staring into his eyes, tongue tip protruding between her teeth with the sexiness perfected by the sexiest of American women. Wow, that was a up tempo piece of thinking.

Merrick cleaned up, leaving the kitchen how he'd found it.

It was not quite 7:00, now well dark outside. He pulled a chair over to sit near and facing his beautiful hostess, having dimmed the lights. When she awoke she could give him the promised cup of coffee and he'd depart.

Hours later Merrick awoke. Taking a few seconds to adjust to his situation - and realising that he was still recovering from jet-lag - he noted Kirsty was no longer on the couch. The throw rug that he'd placed over her was now over him.

He checked the time - just after 4:00. Well, Aunt Betty and Uncle James had been warned he may be late returning home so would have gone to bed perhaps not particularly worried. He'd better phone them at 6:00 before they called up a posse. 

Merrick peeped into the bedroom. Kirsty was a shapeless hump in the bed, just the back of her hair showing. He carried his chair into the bedroom to just inside the door, and settled down facing her. Within minutes he'd drifted off to sleep with the image of her in a bubble bath holding up a shapely leg for him to remove a stocking.

Just before 6:00 he awoke to feel something fluttering on his unshaven cheek, knowing from old that it was a feathery kiss, one of the best kisses of all. As his eyes opened she stepped back, all smiles.

"I had hoped you'd stay," she said, simply.

"I'm waiting for my coffee."

She giggled. 

"Then you are going to have to wait for some time as I am in no hurry to let you go. I'm off for a run with a group of friends through Central Park. Please be here when I return."

"Can I come with you?"

Kirsty looked surprised and pleased.

"Do you run? We are all quite good and keep up a keen pace. Of course I could always fall back to keep with you. I just run with the group as one never knows who one will meet at this time of day in the park."

"You won't have to bother about me not keeping up. What size are your running shoes?"

"Sixes."

"Oh."

"Spiros's are tens."

Ah, the name, a man of European descent it would seem.

"I guess your foot is a bit smaller?"

"Yes, a full size actually."

"Well I get some clothes out for you and a pair of his ordinary socks as well as his thick winter socks."

"Thanks - meanwhile may I phone my Aunt in Bellmore - she'll call out the police if she wakes and finds I did not come home last night."

"Of course, not that the police would do anything but record details. We are a big city, people go missing all the time. Here's my phone."

Merrick went into the living room and made the call to his aunt who was grumpy at being woken when it was still dark. She'd not even missed him and when Merrick explained where he was Aunty Betty expressed disgust.

"She's not a street prostitute, Aunty Betty - far from it."

Horrified that Kirsty could hear the conversation, Merrick was relieved to hear her cracking up with laughter in the bedroom.

"No, I can't indicate when I will return, she wants to keep me here until she makes me coffee and she won't be doing that until it suits her."

"No, it's not deviate behaviour - she's a regular woman, no doubt exactly like you were when you were twenty-five Aunty Betty."

By now Kirsty sounded almost in hysterics.

"Goodbye, Aunty Betty. And tell Uncle James not to worry."

"Yes, I will use protection if the need arises, which I'm sure it won't." 

The call had terminated before Merrick had mischievously added that last comment. He went into the bedroom where Kirsty was dabbing her eyes.

"That call - that call was one of the funniest I've ever overheard," she giggled. "She'll think you are lying, you know. Old aunts usually expect randy nephews to lie to them."

"Randy? Have I given you justification to earn such a title?"

"No, not at all. But I know how old aunts think, that's all I'm saying."

"Thank God for that. I have been on my best behaviour since I wounded you, apart from poking around your apartment while you slept."

"Really? Trying on my underwear?"

"No, not even tempted. But I would like to see you in one of those little black dresses."

Kirsty looked at him through narrowed eyes, and then said, "Come on –get into these clothes. We must rush if we are to join the pack. Here, let me help you."

Merrick hauled off his polo shirt and she handed him a running singlet, turning her back as she held out a pair of lined running shorts. They were rather baggy, he found, after dropping his track suit pants and underpants.

"Put the thin socks on first," she ordered, turning the instant he said he was decent.

As soon as he'd laced up the shoes they were out the door and into the elevator.

She smiled and hauled open the door as Merrick pulled in the waist ties of his shorts even tighter.

They met a pack of ten runners aged from around seventeen to sixty-five perhaps, jogging up and down rarin' to go.

"This is a New Zealander who goes by the name of Merrick, who is staying temporarily in the apartment next door to me," Kirsty lied. "No time for all round introductions, let's go!"

As they entered the apartment Kirsty said, "I'm running a bath. You can either go first, last or with me." Merrick said "With you", not giving himself the chance to teeter.

"Right, you do the bath and I'll get us a couple of energy drinks and bagels."

Merrick fancied he detected a touch of excitement in her voice but dismissed that as wishful thinking. She was just being sisterly - or perhaps there were water restrictions? No, she'd made no mention of that. Christ, he hoped he didn't get a boner before climbing into the bath! 

As he turned on the water he tried to fill his mind with a hundred thousand look-alike Chinese on a great march alongside a walled city - no it was a the Great Wall - no it was in India and they were Indians. Dark clouds came into the image and it began to rain with everyone appearing to be depressed. The rain lifted and a plague of flying mice arrived overhead, somewhere in South Australia perhaps? There were wheat fields.

He looked down and found it was time to turn off the water. Kirsty arrived with the refreshments. She appeared to have done her hair and definitely had applied make-up; she'd only had lipstick on previously. There was need to recall the mind-filling image of flying mice over the wheat field in South Australia to avert a boner.

"Oh," said Kirsty. "You haven't put in bubble bath mix. It's lovely to luxuriate in bubbles."

Or to conceal one's form, mused Merrick, preparing to be asked to turn around.

Kirsty tipped in a dollop of bubble mix then stood back, faced him and dropped her track suit. She was totally nude and devoid of pubic hair. Her body was gorgeous.

"How do I look?" she asked, head tipped on an enquiring angle.

"Stunning, absolutely stunning."

She looked pleased and stepping into the bath, laying back to watch him.

The vision of flying mice had now become two mountain peaks in the Southern Alps of New Zealand and with a start Merrick realised that they were conical in shape. With relief both were struck simultaneously by huge avalanches, losing any connection with the shape of a woman's breasts. He removed his top and allowed his over-size shorts to fall to the ground.

"H-how do I look," he stammered.

She leisurely eyed him up and down.

"Prime, very promising if I may say so."

"Anything you say is honky-dory with me," said Merrick, relieved that his mind control exercises had been eighty-plus percent effective.

He wished she would sit up so he could see her sculptured chest.

She laughed, sitting upright and moving back as he got in: "Honky-dory - what kind of saying is that?"

"I am unaware of its origins but it's a variation for it's very OK," he replied, desperately attempting - and barely succeeding - from unabashed pinpoint focusing on the slightly upturned orbs gracing her chest. 

"Flying mice over South Australia," he groaned aloud.

"Pardon me?" she queried. "Did you say flying nice over Australia?"

"A daily ritual of mine," he lied. "I feel so humble at being privileged to be temporarily resident in your great city of New York."

"Oh Lordy!" she exclaimed. "If only you knew what a maelstrom of human beings were are and soaring from the geniuses and creative leading lights to the riff-raff at the bottom of the barrel. In truth your arrival will have raised the bar, albeit microscopically."

As he sunk down into the bath and ran his legs past her hips she lifted her legs and settled them on to his belly. Without thinking he gently grasped her ankles down low clear of her inquiry and sighed. He felt absolutely contented and no longer worried about the antics of his clowning penis that occasionally took on a mind of its own; it too, seem to be wallowing in lethargy.

Directing a warm and dazzling smile at him, Kirsty asked, "Did you envisaged being in a situation such as this within three days of your arrival in the Big Apple as the tourism likes to call it."

"In here, with you, naked?" Merrick stalled.

Kirsty nodded encouragingly, her distracting superstructure now returned into the water.

"I-I-I honestly haven't thought about it."

She raised an eyebrow in the most sophisticated rebuttal, signalling, LIAR.

"No, I didn't."

The eyebrow arched even higher. 

A feeling of dread swept over Merrick. Obviously his response was considered to be inadequate. Worries about a rampant penis were no longer with him. The poor fellow was attempting curl up in shame in his under belly. It was time to be upfront.

"Kirsty, my new friend," he began. "Please excuse me but right now I am out of my depth."

"The water is shallow, it's barely over my tits," she giggled. 

Then placing a hand over her mouth she released it to say, "Oh, excuse me. I forgot myself for a moment."

"Certainly - after all, this is your home but in my more relaxed moments I as uncouth as the next fellow, though that's unlikely to be of any consolation to you."

"On the contrary," she countered. "I am finding you to be a complex character - someone to trifle with perhaps. Certainly I never had invited another man back to this apartment before, which is saying something. But please proceed, I feel you were about to tickle my fancy with your utterances."

Merrick was gratified to be encouraged to continue. He felt compelled to explain his submissive behaviour, the reason being it was completely out of character.

"I've enjoyed numerous relationships with females of varying ages and in varying circumstances," he confessed, eyes riveted on her left little finger which she was sucking. 

God, how can women be so incredibly sexy in indulging in an innocent baby like action like that. Then he spotted the other half: while the little finger was being sucked the thumb and other three fingers were stroking up and down her cheek very sensuously.

The small curled form under his belly stirred and Merrick frantically thought of flying mice over the cornfields - no, dammit, the wheat fields of South Australia. 

Kirsty's left foot curled down Merrick's belly. 

He gulped as it halted, just short of the hibernating penis. 

Flying foxes over the wheat fields of South Australia he thought, urgently trying to conjure up a relieving image. But an error message came back: "Possess no clipart of flying foxes." Bugger, the limitations of one's imagination can at times be rather inconvenient!

"This procrastination," began Kirsty. "I assume that I am correct that you never had had a bath with a female before other than your mother when a babe and after marriage with your wife?"

"You've hit the bull's-eye with that one, Kirsty," said the much relieved man under interrogation, "My mother would be ever so proud of you for arriving at that conclusion."

"And you, Merrick?" Kirsty asked with considerable interest. "How does such activity fit into your expectations?"

"Well, I can only be truthful, Kirsty. In my life there have been one a series of one-nighters and the only extended stayover was with my wife Kate prior to our marriage, now terminated."

"Terminated? I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was her decision to engage with someone else and flee the nest."

"Children?"

"Yes, two. Bella eleven and Giles fourteen."

"Well, I guess just young enough to avoid major dislocation?"

"Yes, the other man is older, her pottery tutor, and fortunately he was childless and just adores the kids."




Freeing Kirsty



Kirsty looked at him softly. She leaned forward and took one of his hands.

"Are you still bleeding?"

Merrick told the truth. "The funny thing is that it lifted in here late yesterday. I'd just come back from the kitchen with the anti-septic ointment, tube of arnica and plaster. I-I..."

"Yes," breathed Kirsty, squeezing his hand.

"I-I saw you lying there, asleep. So angelic. The image I captured could have graced any of the walls of the Frick Collection.

"Oh God," gulped Kirsty, turning away to try to conceal an unexpected flush of tears.

But Merrick appeared not to have noticed.

"At that moment I realised the shroud had lifted."

She sobbed, tears streaming down her face. In one graceful, athletic movement she pulled herself erect and stepped out of the bath and fled the room.

Merrick was nonplussed. What there someone at the door, or had she remembered she owed him a cup of coffee?

He dried himself, wrapped a towel around his waist and went to the bedroom, discretely coughing as he neared the doorway.

She was standing facing the door, in pale green knickers and garter belt with stockings already attached. A pale green bra dangled from her hand.

"May I help you with that?"

She nodded.

With practised ease - Kate had liked such intimacy - Merrick went behind Kirsty and took the garment from her lifeless hand. He encircled her with it, did up the hooks and then reached around her and cupped each warm, freshly bathed orb into its support cup. He stretched the material out in front of her slightly, and she wriggled herself into a position of maximum comfort. He then bent forward and kissed her right below her right ear. 

Kirsty's legs began to crumble but in a swift, powerful move Merrick spun her around and the shock of that returned energy to her legs.

"Right," he said authoritatively, "What goes on next"

"The white leather skirt," she said, her smile returning.

Both of his hands ran down her thighs and lower legs as he stooped to pull up the skirt she'd stepped into. She shivered and sighed.

"Next?"

Her eyes shot open at that command.

"The matching light green shirt, silly," she said. Then looking around realised it was still in the wardrobe.

Returning with it she appeared conscious of his gaze - his appreciative gaze - on her bra-encased breasts. 

He stood behind her, helping her into the shirt. His hands rested on hers as she did up the buttons, fumbling as she did so. "Come, let's go out for breakfast," he said. "Are you otherwise engaged today?"

She shook her head.

"I'd like you to come with me to Bellmore to meet my mother's sister - you will be entranced by her. She's nothing like the old bat she may have sounded like when I was talking to her on the phone."

Kirsty licked her lips.

"Very well, I'd like that. But your aunty will consider I'm dressed like a whore. I should change."

"Please don't - I want you like this."

"Very well. I'm ready to go. You need to understand this: I haven't been on a real date in years."

As they left Merrick thought this was like walking a dream. It seemed so unlikely and yet she was like no other woman he'd ever met - so assured and classy and yet a self-confessed moll. To be invited to join her in her bath hours after they;d first met and yet hadn't had sex seemed so weird but with her, the way she projected herself with such confidence and directness, it really seemed less that weird. His word for it was unbelievable and he anticipated more was to come.

To Be Continued