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."