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.