Under the Southern Cross

by Claire McNab

  Eyes heavy-lidded, she was looking at my mouth. Our lips, tongues met. My arms were tight about her, clamping her against me, the whole length of her body pressed hard against mine. Sensation spiraled out from the kiss, blurring into a maelstrom of feeling so intense it was like a delicious, forbidden pain.

  I intended to be slow, gentle, considerate, but I was shaking with a passion screaming for the relief her body could provide. I collapsed onto the bed, pulling her with me. She went willingly, letting me turn her so her weight was on me, her breasts full and heavy, my mouth opening to their softness. My thigh was between her legs, and she moved against me, wet as I was wet, trembling as I was trembling.

  There was nothing but Lee: her tumbled tawny blonde hair, her ragged breathing, the taste of her skin, the wild rhythm of her body.

  I knew that I was sobbing. I knew that — but I didn't know why.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The flight to Cairns would leave mid-morning, so someone would soon be coming to collect my luggage. I stood listlessly looking at the items I still had to find room for, wondering why there always seemed to be more to pack than I'd brought in the first place.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed. Musing on the vagaries of packing to prove to myself that everything was normal was hardly successful. Vivid images continually slipped past my guard: moonlight, Lee's breasts, tumbled sheets, skin slippery with sweat, the agony of desire, my tears...

  "Why are you crying?" she had said, her voice gentle.

  "I don't know."

  She had held me, comforted me, until my passion came welling up again, flooding me with a frantic wild appetite I'd never acknowledged before.

  Then we had slept. I woke at dawn, rousing her as I tried to ease myself out of her embrace.

  Half-awake, she had watched me hastily dressing. "Why are you going, Alex? Come back to bed."

  I had to escape. Guilt, fear, alarm, were hammering in my head.

  She smiled. "Do you kiss your lovers goodbye, or do you just run?"

  "I just run."

  That had been four hours ago, and I'd had time enough to consider everything. For me it was a no-win situation. Passion, once safely contained within my fantasies, now was a burning actuality — the very thought of her seared me. And beneath that physical desire there was something more. I wanted to give and receive tenderness, support, understanding.

  Jesus! One night with the woman and you want everlasting love. Grow up, Alex.

  The one thing in my life I'd felt secure about was my career, but even that could be threatened. I despised myself for my fears, but that didn't stop my anxiety. Lee was openly lesbian. What if someone had seen me leaving her cabana? And how would she act towards me now? Would she make it obvious that our relationship had moved into intimacy?

  I needn't have worried. In the mini-bus, boarding the little plane, during the trip to Cairns, waiting in the terminal for our respective flights, Lee was exactly the same as before. There were no sideways glances, no innuendoes in her conversation, no private smiles. She was, as usual, all business.

  My reaction caused me bitter amusement. On one hand I was relieved, on the other, riled. Did our passionate encounter mean so little to her?

  From Cairns, Sir Frederick and Steve Monahan would be taking a small party that included Hilary Ferguson to the Top End, touring Darwin and then Kakadu National Park. I was going with Tony Englert and Mr. Wen, the Korean representative — and Lee — to the Red Centre, first to Alice Springs and then on to Ayers Rock. There the others would join us before we all went back to Sydney.

  It was a mercy, I decided wryly, that Sir Frederick and Steve would be safely away from me for the few days it would take to sort myself out. A few days? I could hear my rational self giving a hollow laugh at my confidence.

  At Cairns airport, Sharon, who was going straight back to Sydney, hugged me goodbye, kissed my cheek, said, "You look terrific, Alex. What've you been doing?"

  Sir Frederick limited himself to a hand on my shoulder and a warm smile. "As I've said before, Alexandra, I'm very pleased with your progress. We'll have to talk about your future, soon."

  Steve tore himself away from Hilary Ferguson's side long enough to say in a stage whisper, "You're on a roll, darl. Play your cards right and it's all the way to Lady Alexandra."

  Tony had been standing silently beside me, and as Steve walked away I saw him watching his jaunty progress with something close to hatred.

  I touched his hand. "Tony, what's Steve done to you?

  His face became blank. "Nothing."

  "Oh, come on! It's obvious you dislike him intensely. He's irritating and self-centered, but not worth hating, surely."

  "Steve's a proper bastard," he said quietly. "Be careful of him, Alex. He's dangerous." Glancing up at the flight indicator, he changed the subject with evident relief. "The flight to the Alice is boarding... I'll just collect our Mr. Wen."

  Tony sat with Lee, as Sir Frederick had instructed me to take the opportunity presented by the long flight to make myself agreeable to Mr. Wen. This made good sense. Should I gain promotion to regional director for Asia, a great deal of my attention would be directed towards the burgeoning Korean market.

  Mr. Wen's English was excellent. Clad in rather crumpled seersucker shorts and a loud flowered shirt, he nursed a bulging photographic carry-bag on his bare knees. I had placed him in the window seat and, as the weather was fine and virtually cloudless, we discussed the various features of the immense landscape that slowly unrolled beneath the silver wings. We were flying southwest towards the geographical center of Australia, the true Outback, also called the Red Heart or the Red Centre, a vast, semi-arid, almost unpopulated land, eerily majestic with its ancient red mountain ranges, colored rocks and sandstone gorges.

  As we neared Alice Springs I told him about the Todd River Boat Regatta — a typically Australian joke because the Todd is very rarely anything but a dry river bed marked with a series of waterholes, one of which gives Alice Springs its name. The regatta is held each August, the boats have no bottoms, and the crews carry them as they run furiously along the parched watercourse.

  I fell silent as the land below us became even more spectacular — the stretching desert, the MacDonnell Ranges, the meandering dry beds of ancient rivers — the face of the Aborigine's Dreamtime legends.

  The Alice, as it's called, is an explosion of civilization in the middle of nowhere, and every time I come in by air it strikes me as being the antipodean Palm Springs of the Australian desert.

  As the plane approached the airport, Mr. Wen turned to me, exclaiming triumphantly, "A Town Like Alice!" thereby showing that Nevile Shute's story, whether as a book, film or television series, still captures the imagination.

  Tony and Lee were two rows ahead of us and I'd noticed they'd talked — unusually quietly for Lee — during most of the trip. Now, disembarking, they both looked preoccupied and serious. For some irrational reason this niggled at me. I caught up with Tony as he strode towards baggage collection. Keeping my voice light, I said, "What in the world did you and Lee discuss? You both look positively tragic."

  "It doesn't concern you, Alex."

  His reaction surprised and hurt me. I'd thought our friendship allowed me to ask such questions. "Sorry."

  He stopped. "Look, I didn't mean... it's something I can't discuss."

  "You obviously can with Lee."

  He nodded soberly. "Yes, I can with Lee."

  There was no point in asking why; his expression indicated the matter was closed. I made a cheerful, inconsequential remark to indicate I understood the subject was off-limits while I considered his puzzling reticence. What could he discuss with Lee, a comparative stranger, that he couldn't discuss with me?

  It had been a .long flight and the four of us were silent in the taxi on the way to the Sheraton. Lee brightened at the sight of the golf course adjoining the hotel, and, after I'd begged off, she roped Mr. Wen and Tony into an early morning round. "We could
find a tennis court later," she said to me with a grin.

  "Not enough time, unless you want to wreck your schedule — and I know how precious that is to you."

  "No sparring," said Tony with a fine imitation of Sir Frederick's pukka English accent. "I must remind you, Alexandra, that an overseas wholesaler is always right, no matter how unreasonable her demands."

  Lee's smile widened as she glanced at me. It was the first hint of conspiracy between us, and I felt my face grow hot with memories of what J had demanded from her.

  Suddenly I felt embarrassed and insecure. What did she really think of me? A woman to pass a few pleasant hours with... or something more?

  The four of us ate a subdued evening meal, chatted for a while over coffee, then mutually agreed that an early night was indicated.

  Lee let the other two get ahead of us, then, half-smiling, made eye contact. "Alex...?"

  Her intention was unmistakable. I shook my head. "No."

  My voice sounded flat and unfriendly. She looked at me for a long moment, then nodded slightly. "See you tomorrow, then."

  Alone in my room I paced the thick carpet, impatient, unhappy, irresolute. Why had I turned Lee down? I could hardly expect her to swear undying devotion on the strength of one night together...

  Don't made a big drama of it. Why not just enjoy her while she's here?

  She answered on the second ring. "Lee Paynter."

  "Can I change my mind?"

  A low, delighted chuckle. "I'll order champagne. Don't be long."

  We were on the same floor, a moment's walk down the corridor, but I lingered outside her room, again indecisive. I burned with physical desire that Lee could satisfy — but I wanted more, much more than that. And she would soon be gone.

  I knocked sharply, resolutely.

  Lee seemed perfectly at ease. She handed me a brimming champagne glass. "What's worrying you, Alex?"

  "Worrying me?"

  "There are no strings, if that's the problem... that's not my style."

  "It's just for laughs?" I suggested.

  She put down her champagne, moved closer, her eyes darkening, her breathing rough. Taking my glass from me, she said, "It's for more than laughs..."

  Her mouth tasted of toothpaste and champagne. I broke the kiss, said inanely, "You've cleaned your teeth."

  "Haven't you?"

  I began to smile. "Yes."

  "Then we're even."

  Tonight, I promised myself, I'll savor our lovemaking, not allow the unrestrained urgencies of my body to engulf me.

  Promises, promises. The flame swept up my stomach, danced in my fingertips, roared in my ears. "Lee, hurry, before I short-circuit!"

  We undressed in a flurry of shed clothing. I pulled her down onto the plush carpet.

  "Cave woman!" she gasped, half-laughing.

  Lee's travel alarm jerked me awake. I opened my eyes to her blonde hair. Her back to me, I was curled so that my knees were locked behind hers, my arm around her waist. She stirred, reached out and blindly fumbled to turn off the alarm, then burrowed closer to me, clamping her arm across mine so I was trapped in her sleepy embrace.

  "Lee, let me go. I shouldn't be here. And you've got an early round of golf."

  "Cuddling lowers the blood pressure," she muttered.

  I tugged gently to free my imprisoned arm. "If I had blood pressure any lower, I'd be dead."

  "I can figure a way to put it up..."

  "Someone might call my room."

  She sighed, exasperated, and turned to face me. "So what if someone does, Alex? What if the whole goddamn world knocks at your door? So you're not there. So what?"

  I sat up, crossed my arms over my naked breasts. "Look, it's easier for you..."

  "Is that so?"

  Her tone chilled me, but I blundered on. "My career's important to me and it matters what people think. I can't afford to..."

  "Have people think you're a lesbian."

  It was more comfortable to look away. "Yes."

  There was a long silence. I could hear her breathing, slow and measured. At last I said, "Are you going to say anything? Tell me I'm wrong?"

  "No. You make your own decisions."

  Her tone indicated there was nothing more to say. I got out of the bed, found my clothes and dressed as quickly as possible. I didn't want to stay there and endure her cool regret at my cowardice. A clinging depression settled over me.

  If there was any possibility that you could ever love me, Lee, this would put a stop to it. I'm not brave like you. I'm not willing to take the risks.

  Love? The word had a bitter, burning taste. I'd been right to cling to my solitary world.

  I hesitated at the doorway, trying to think of something that would heal the silence between us. I said, ridiculously, "Have a good game," then stepped out into the hall, closing the door softly behind me.

  The golf had obviously been a great success. Tony and Mr. Wen seemed mightily pleased with themselves when they joined me for a late breakfast. Lee was more subdued. The conversation consisted of the enthusiastic post mortem of their game that golfers seem particularly to enjoy. With masochists' delight they itemized each fluffed shot, each ball inadvertently consigned to a water hazard.

  I listened for a while, then said, "There must be something wrong with me — I can't seem to see golf the way you three do. To me, it ruins a good walk."

  "That's because you can't play," Tony snorted.

  Lee said, "I'll teach you the finer points, Alex. Then you'll clamor to join in."

  I smiled to hide my sudden misery. I wouldn't know Lee long enough to have her teach me golf, or indeed to share anything of her ordinary day-to-day life. We had a short time left in what was to her a foreign country, and then we'd go our separate ways.

  Checking my watch, I reminded Lee and Mr. Wen that we had to leave shortly to see Standley Chasm, some fifty kilometers out of Alice Springs.

  Tony was staying behind to check arrangements for our visit to Ayers Rock, so the three of us set out in a deluxe rental car — Sir Frederick spared no expense when good impressions were important — on a leisurely excursion to the Western MacDonnell Ranges.

  It was a warm, peaceful day and I pointed out items of interest as we drove through the arid land — the grave of John Flynn, the founder of the famed Flying Doctor Service; the ghost gums, framed against the expansive backdrop of the MacDonnell Ranges, which Namatjira, one of the first Aboriginal artists to paint with Western watercolors, had translated into glowing, extraordinary paintings. A densely-packed, fast-wheeling flock of bright green budgerigars flew overhead as I parked the car and we began the ten-minute walk along a dry creek bed to Standley Chasm.

  Australia uses metric measurement, as does Japan, but for Lee's sake I translated dimensions. Besides, I always think measurements in feet sound much more impressive than meters, as does Fahrenheit for temperatures. A hundred degrees seems to me a great deal hotter than its equivalent of thirty-eight Celsius.

  "Standley Chasm's five meters wide — about sixteen feet — and seventy-five meters high — about two hundred and fifty feet." Mr. Wen nodded, Lee remained solemn behind her glasses.

  We stopped at the entrance to the gorge. The dimensions I'd given meant nothing in isolation, but now they were translated into the most glorious of sights. So deep and narrow that the sun only shines directly into it for ten minutes just after noon, its red sides rise sheer from the rock strewn floor, the only vegetation tenacious drought-resistant shrubs that cling to cracks and crevices in the brilliantly colored walls.

  We were not the only visitors; several other tourists waited with cameras at the ready for the daily illumination of the chasm. I glanced at my companions. Mr. Wen waited patiently, his camera poised. Lee stood at ease, hands in the pockets of her denim shorts, head cocked back to gaze at the deep blue strip of cloudless sky.

  In my imagination I could see the earth inexorably turning, the eye of the sun ready to flood the narrow gorge with light. T
hen, as if caught by an incandescent. searchlight, the walls flashed in brilliant shades of red, russet, ocher and gold as the earth and sun synchronized.

  "Beautiful, beautiful," murmured Mr. Wen, snapping photograph after photograph.

  Lee said nothing, just smiled at the radiance of the rock walls. I felt my heart turn over.

  I could so easily fall in love with you...

  I spent the afternoon in Alice Springs driving Lee and Mr. Wen to various tourist attractions and to a gallery of Aboriginal art that displayed the beauty of the earth colors, the complex patterns and unique vision that presented animals in stylized X-ray form.

  Wherever we went, Mr. Wen photographed everything thoroughly and Lee asked questions. We finished the day with a trip to the top of Anzac Hill at sunset to see the dying light fluoresce the vermilion MacDonnell Ranges.

  Lee's manner towards me seemed exactly the same as before, but I couldn't forget the futile conversation we'd had that morning. After dinner I said I was tired, avoided her glance, and went up to my room. I was tired, but I also wanted to preempt further discussion. How could I explain to someone like Lee why I had to remain firmly in the closet when she was so obviously and comfortably out?

  It was time to put everything in perspective. I ordered coffee from room service, sat at the table by the window and watched the lights of cars hurrying to their destinations while I considered where I was going.

  Physically, Lee called up in me a wild response that I'd never known was there. As a person, she intrigued me. Certainly she was tough, but she could be tender, too. I thought of how she comforted me when I'd cried, another whole facet of her personality. And I remembered Sharon's evaluation that Lee had integrity. I agreed with that. I trusted her — there was none of that disturbing dissonance that so many people have, when what they say doesn't match what they do. And she was resolute: she told the world she was gay and it was someone else's problem if that wasn't acceptable.

  But what did Lee think of me? She found me sexually pleasing, of that I had ample evidence. But otherwise... We both had a dry sense of humor, and I could make her laugh. Surely that was important in a relationship?