Under the Southern Cross

by Claire McNab

  Relationship. That was the crucial word. Sharon had said Lee played the field. I had to accept that I was just another contestant.

  There was a knock at the door. Before I opened it I knew it was Lee. She'd changed into jeans and a jade green shirt. She was restrained, serious. "Hi. Can I talk to you for a moment?"

  I stood aside, gesturing towards the table. "There's still some coffee in the pot. If you don't mind using my cup..."

  She smiled a little at that. "I kiss you. Why wouldn't I share your cup?"

  Feeling awkward, ill at ease, but immeasurably pleased that she was here, I pulled up a second chair and poured the rest of the coffee for her. She sat, elbows on the table, cup held in both hands, scrutinizing my face.

  "What?" I said.

  "You should play poker — you've got the face for it."

  I had a try at flippancy. "You're telling me I look blank?"

  She sipped the coffee. "I'm saying I don't really know what you're thinking and feeling."

  This was getting dangerous. I had a mad impulse, quickly stifled, to tell her the truth — that I was sliding, inexorably, incurably, in love with her. My words were more prosaic. "I'll order more coffee," I said. "Do you want anything else?"

  While calling room service I watched her. She was uncharacteristically still, gazing out the window as I had been doing before. Even when sitting, she usually had an aura of vitality, but tonight that energy was dormant. When I came back to the table she said, "I'm sorry about this morning, Alex. I had no right to judge you."

  I sighed. "I must seem a gutless wonder to you."

  That made her smile. "A gutless wonder?" she repeated.

  "I'm just not willing to let everyone know I'm a lesbian. I don't know what would happen if I did... Anyway, I'm not brave enough to give it a go."

  A discreet knock at the door heralded the arrival of room service. I busied myself pouring a fresh cup each and putting crackers and cheese between us, as though these domestic actions would blunt the critical words I was sure she was about to voice.

  But she was silent. At last I said, "Have you always been so open about yourself?"

  "Not at first, but then — yes." She gave a tight smile. "Sorry, that was somewhat cryptic. I was sure I was a lesbian by the time I was sixteen, but I kept quiet. Maybe I thought it'd go away."

  I wanted to know everything about her. "But..."

  "When I was eighteen I fell in love — totally, disastrously in love — with Justine. And she with me." She looked down into her cup and was silent. I could imagine the memories parading past her eyes — and I was jealous of them.

  "What happened?" I said reluctantly.

  "Justine was terrified that someone might find out. She tried to run two lives. A secret one with me and another for the outside world. She had a boyfriend... just for show, she said, but she slept with him, and she slept with me. I told her I wouldn't share her, that she had to choose." She made a face. "She didn't choose me."

  here was nothing to say that wouldn't sound trite, so I waited. Lee said, "I loved her so much..." She shook her head. "Enough of the sticky emotion. After that, I came out. It seemed the right thing to do at the time — and it was. I've never regretted it." She reached over and touched my hand. "Alex, I'm not telling you that's what you should do, but it's been right for me. I'm free. No one can threaten me with disclosure, no one can try a little gentle blackmail. More than that, I've made a statement to myself about who I am." She released my hand and leaned back with a self-deprecating smile. "Sorry. Got on the soapbox for a moment, there."

  "How did your parents take it?"

  "Not very well. They were horrified and blamed themselves, of course. Where had they gone wrong? What had turned me into one of those women? But they love me, and eventually they accepted it. I'm not saying it was easy, Alex, but now I can be completely open with them — and that's worth the pain."

  I looked away from her. "My parents would never forgive me, if they knew."

  "You're close to them?"

  "Close? No."

  I'm not close to anyone, Lee. Can't you see that?

  She pushed the chair back, stood up. "I'll go." She smiled mischievously. "We've both got to get at least one good night's sleep on this tour."

  I kissed her at the door, as gently as I knew how. Held her lightly, carefully, as though she might break. But, of course, I was the one who was fragile, the one who would be broken by our affair.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I know the physical facts about Ayers Rock — it's made of a red coarse-grained sandstone called arkose that five hundred million years ago was part of the sediment that formed the bed of an immense inland sea. The huge shape rearing a thousand feet above the plain is only the summit of a buried mountain that goes perhaps ten thousand feet down into a sea of sand. But the geology cannot explain the impact that the Rock itself has.

  I watched Lee's face as she saw Uluru — its Aboriginal name — for the first time. Our flight approached over sandy desert and suddenly there it was, a gigantic red monolith, its walls rising steeply, drenched in Dreamtime myth, brooding as it has for a million years over the flat featureless plain.

  I wanted her to respond to its grandeur, but she was silent. At last I said, "What do you think?"

  She shook her head. "Words don't describe it."

  She was right, of course. And she would again find it hard to find words for the changes in color that the Rock displayed throughout the day. The first time I visited Uluru I watched the massive stone walls alter in the course of the day — brilliant red at sunrise, progressing through orange, crimson, purple, pastel shades, and lastly chocolate brown, before the desert night swept across the plains.

  As our plane glided in to land, she said, "It's possible to climb to the top?"

  "Yes, but it can be tough going."

  "Will you come with me?"

  I can't think of anywhere I wouldn't go with you.

  "All right," I said.

  The Uluru National Park is owned by the Aborigines, but administered in a lease-back agreement by the government. Our accommodation was twenty kilometers from Ayers Rock at the resort village of Yulara, "the place of the howling dingo." I always find the contrast bizarre. In harsh and ancient country dominated by the largest monolith in the world sits the technological luxury of air conditioning, television and swimming pools, complete with space-age parasol sails to shade pampered humans and direct the desert breezes to the best advantage. True, the resort is designed to blend in with the landscape, but essentially it trespasses upon an environment where, outside its comforts, every living thing, plant and animal, has a daily struggle just to survive.

  Lee was unfazed by the information of how many people had managed to fall off the Rock — only a few — or who'd succumbed to heart attacks — rather more. She beamed at Tony. "You've never climbed it? It'll be a great experience."

  "So you say," he said suspiciously. "I'd like a better idea of what's involved before I commit myself."

  They both looked at me. "You want statistics? I have statistics." I ticked them off on my fingers: "It's six miles around the base. It covers nearly a thousand acres —"

  Lee interrupted. "We're going up, not around."

  "Unfair comment. I didn't want to waste any of the information I've memorized, but if you insist... Ayers Rock is about twelve hundred feet high. The only safe route is marked. The actual distance covered is a mile and a half and two hours should be allowed to complete the round trip. Wear sensible clothing and non-slippery shoes. There's a general warning that it'll be a challenging task for anyone who's unfit."

  "That's decided me," said Tony. "I don't want to die. You two are on your own. Mr. Wen has already set out with camera and tripod to photograph everything in sight."

  I'd never climbed to the top of Uluru either, so the thrill of the challenge lifted my heart as we stood at the northwest corner of the base gazing up at the formidable sloping flanks looming above us.

/>   The first ten minutes or so weren't too difficult, but then the challenge of the climb became apparent. As we paused I said, "Trish and Suzie, friends of mine, climbed Uluru last year. They told me this point where we are now is called Chicken Rock, because if you're going to chicken out, you do it right now."

  "I'm not going to chicken out. How about you, Alex?"

  "Never."

  I spoke boldly, but I felt decidedly nervous. It was all very well to know eighty-year-olds had bounded up the Rock like mountain goats, the truth was that the incline was now so steep that it would have been almost impossible without the knee-height chain that snaked its way up the red sandstone. Stern signs warned of fatal results if the chain were left to retrieve anything dropped. Half-crouching, buffeted by a malicious wind that suddenly swirled about us, we inched our way upwards. Rather, I inched — Lee, seemingly immune to the fear of falling that made me grip the chain compulsively, was way ahead of me.

  I'd been, told that this was the most difficult part of the climb, and I could believe it when I looked back over my shoulder, quailing at the thought of the descent.

  The rest of the way was much less steep and I regained my initial enthusiasm. Lee forged ahead, moving with athletic grace. I caught up with her at a huge saddle of red rock before the final ascent, and together we reached the very top.

  "Not bad, eh?" I said.

  Lee spread her arms wide. "The space!"

  The immense pale dome of the sky arched over the bleak beauty of a primordial landscape baked by relentless light. We could see for hundreds of kilometers. To the west were the strange squat shapes of the Olgas and a range of hills called the Sedimentaries. The huge expanse of plain was dotted with clumps of spinifex grass, dark green mulga and mallee scrub — stubborn drought-resistant vegetation that provided shelter to an amazing variety of reptiles and birds, as well as rock wallabies, kangaroos and dingoes.

  There was a cairn with a book where climbers recorded their achievement. I put my signature after Lee's, ridiculously pleased that there was now some permanent record of our names together.

  Lee, restless, wanted to explore. "There are legends to do with the Rock?"

  "You'll learn a whole lot more about the Aboriginal Dreamtime this afternoon when we take the guided tour of the paintings and rock carvings, but I know there's a waterhole that's the home of a huge mythical snake called Wanambi, the Rainbow Serpent. When it's provoked it rises out of the water and transforms itself into a rainbow that can kill whoever's offended it."

  "I doubt you'd see a rainbow around here."

  "Wrong. I did the first time I visited Uluru. Admittedly it doesn't happen often, but when it does it's spectacular. I remember the water poured off the Rock in torrents and within a few days desert flowers had sprung up everywhere. They only last a short time, and then they die, but their seeds lie in the earth waiting for the next rain."

  She smiled at me, a smile so full of affection that my heart faltered. "Alex, I wish I had more time to see your country with you."

  "Could you stay longer?"

  "No."

  I had to make a joke of it — not let her see how much it mattered to me. "I forgot for a moment the Lee Paynter schedule comes first, second and last. Yes?"

  "Something like that."

  We found a spot out of the stiff breeze but where we could gaze out at the desert. We sat in companionable silence for a while, then Lee said, "You were married..."

  "Before I knew better."

  "Would you tell me about it?"

  Strangely, it .was easy to talk about my parents and about Carl. She didn't ask questions, just glanced at me now and then. Most of the time she rested her chin on her knees and looked out towards the horizon. I told her more than I'd told anyone before, more than I'd ever intended to reveal.

  Intimacy breeds intimacy: there is an unspoken rule that allowed me to ask Lee about her personal life. "After Justine... has there been anyone important?"

  She turned to face me. "I love women, Alex. I love their company and I love their bodies... And sure, once or twice I thought there was something that would last, but it's never worked out. I don't think it's in me to have one, special person. My life is full and satisfying as it is."

  This is a warning, isn't it, Lee? A warning not to get too involved, not to expect too much.

  I said cheerfully, "Lots of appetizers and no main course, eh?"

  She threw back her head and laughed. "I love it!" she said.

  The climb to the top of Ayers Rock marked a change in our relationship. It was now a friendship — perhaps more than a friendship, because our intimacy in bed was being translated to a matching intimacy in our conversations.

  During the afternoon we joined Tony and Mr. Wen and a group of other tourists as an Aboriginal ranger took us around the base of the Rock, explaining the significance of the rock carvings and the mythological beings depicted in them. I felt an intruder in an immense tapestry of folklore and legend that I couldn't fully comprehend. Juxtaposing two facts explained my sense of dislocation: Uluru had been central to the spiritual beliefs of Aboriginal tribes for forty thousand years; a white explorer, his heritage twelve thousand miles away in Europe, discovered and named it Ayers Rock after his uncle in the eighteen-seventies.

  I tried to explain what I felt to Lee, half-expecting that she wouldn't understand. Short-changing people is a habit of mine — I've always avoided expecting too much, because that way I can't be disappointed. But Lee did understand. More, she could relate it to the effect the European exploration and settlement of her own country had had upon the Native Americans.

  She was suddenly dear to me on a level I'd not considered. Dimensions of her personality, of her mind, of her experiences stretched before me, all to be explored.

  Dinner in the quietly luxurious dining room of the Sheraton Hotel featured emu and crocodile on the menu, to the delight of Mr. Wen. We were all relaxed with a pleasant fatigue and by the time coffee was served I found myself stifling a yawn. Mr. Wen, delighted with his photographic achievements during the day, insisted on describing the shots he'd taken and passing around the photographs he had developed of the Barrier Reef.

  I looked around the table. We were like old friends lingering over a meal. I resented the fact that tomorrow Sir Frederick and the others would be arriving to disturb the links we had forged between us.

  When we broke up to go to bed, I said to Lee in an appropriately light tone, "Your place or mine?"

  She looked surprised. "There's a choice?"

  I knew very well what she meant, but I still said, "Why wouldn't there be?"

  She looked at me gravely. "Because, Alex, if you come to me, you can leave when you want to, and that gives you control."

  "Come to my room."

  She grinned. "Okay, but don't try and throw me out in the middle of the night. I won't budge."

  A beautiful languorous sensuality possessed me. I sat astride Lee, leaning over her, my lips brushing her face, my fingers buried in her hair, gently caressing. I raised my head. Her eyes were shut, her lips curved with pleasure. I could feel the bones of her skull, the vertebrae in her neck, the flat planes of her shoulders.

  She stretched, purred under my touch, pulled me down to her. We kissed, deeply, slowly — exploring, probing. I held her face in my hands, traced its lines with my tongue, words that couldn't be spoken swelling in my throat.

  It was an aching sweetness to feel the heavy throb of her pulse against my fingers. Desire burned in me, but it was a patient, leisurely warmth. The palms of my hands brushed against her breasts, teasing her nipples until they were taut.

  Head back, eyes closed, Lee began to quiver as her hips lifted under me. "Alex," she breathed. My own name was a fire along my thighs. I wanted to murmur impossible endearments. Tell her how the very essence of me loved her...

  I moved down her body, my hands, mouth, skin learning her secrets. For a moment, I broke contact.

  "Don't leave me — don'
t stop."

  Sliding off the end of the bed, I knelt, pulled her towards me. She drew her knees up, opened fully to me. It was delicious, the smell, the taste, the response that her body gave me. My tongue tantalized, touching gently, tentatively, then, as my fingers within her were clenched in a tighter and tighter embrace, I grew fiercer, more demanding.

  I could hear inarticulate sounds as she arched, vibrated. My arm was under her, clasping her against the wet heat of my mouth. Then she drew in her breath and was poised, silent, waiting.

  "Alex!" The tremors that shook her were violent, consuming — and I was consumed by my name.

  "I love you," I said, knowing she couldn't hear me through the storm of orgasm.

  I couldn't believe I'd ever say it again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The flight from the Top End bringing Sir Frederick, Steve, Hilary Ferguson and several others from the convention were due early in the morning. I hoped we could leave for the Olgas before they arrived at the hotel, but it was a vain wish. As we waited for our transportation with a group of other tourists and our guide, Sir Frederick came striding into the lobby. Heads turned — he was a suave, distinguished figure and his clipped English accent cut through the murmur of conversation. "Glad I caught you before you went out. What's your program for today?"

  As the others from his party straggled in he said to them, "They're off to the Olgas, and since we've only got one day at Uluru, I fancy some of you might want to go with them."

  The company of strangers was one thing — the presence of Steve, Hilary et al. was another. "It's best to climb Ayers Rock in the morning," I suggested helpfully.

  Hilary looked startled at the very concept of scaling the monolith. Steve brushed aside the suggestion. "I've climbed it, and it's bloody hard yakka. And hardly worth the trouble when you get to the top. We'll come with you to the Olgas."

  I sighed to. myself. I had wanted to spend one more unfettered day with Lee, but this idea was rapidly evaporating. Perversely, I said, "Are you coming too, Sir Frederick?"