Warnings: Sexually explicit, includes woman-to-woman sex,
bad language. Set in New Zealand http://.nz.com
so some words and phrases may be unfamiliar.
burningtree2.htmIllustrated
version go here. Return to Karen's
Homepage. Copyright Karen Malevich 1999.
Comments welcome: Email
Karen
PART 4
The stone chips in the asphalt dug into Logan's palms. Half of her mind was in shock and denial of the vision of Frith disappearing into the dark void beyond the platform. The other half wanted to follow her over the edge.
The bruising pain in her hands and her knees inched its way through her consciousness, clearing a path along the fissure between despair and madness. For a long moment, it seemed as if the world stilled, traffic noise faded, the wind ceased its breath. Into that nothingness, a small sound crept. It was a whisper, a whimper, a murmur. Logan... Logan ...
"Logan? Logan? Are you up there?"
She was abruptly filled with self-mocking amusement. Twisting and sinking on to the road, she threw her head back and roared with laughter. The bellow of relief and release echoed around the empty street. She lay on her back, giggling slightly hysterically.
As her chuckles died away, the plaintive cry came again. This time it had a distinct undertone of annoyance.
"Logan! For god's sake, get down here and help me!"
With a whoosh of exhaled breath, she sat up.
"Right!" she called back. "One rescue-the-maiden coming up," she muttered to herself.
Once on the platform, she edged past the cars to the rim. Peering down, she could see a pale form about fifteen feet below her.
"How do I get down?" she called.
"Same way as me, you idiot."
"But I'd land on you. Seriously."
"Go down to number 51. Their path goes right past here."
"Are you okay?"
"Sure. Us ex-Greenpeace types are tough, you know. I'm just a bit stuck."
"Hang on, then."
Logan walked slowly down the road to letterbox for number 51. Her body was stiffening up a little, now that the adrenaline was ebbing away. The path was thankfully obvious and easy to follow. Once she was under the platform, Logan was puzzled that she couldn't see Frith.
"Where are you?" she asked.
Frith's voice surprised her. It was right beside her ear.
"Here. In the ... compost bin."
A hand flopped over the edge of a concrete bin and hit Logan on the shoulder.
"Hold on, princess.... let's get you out of there...."
A few moments of effort and Frith was out - along with some wilted cabbage and a dead rose she had to untangle of from her hair.
"I swear I'm getting it cut off one day," she muttered.
"How the hell did you manage to .... I thought you ...." Logan couldn't quite frame the question.
"What? Land in the crap - so to speak? I dropped my keys off the platform one day - don't ask - and had to rummage around in something a lot worse than cabbage and roses. Amazing what spring's to mind in a crisis." Frith was conscious she was blethering, but if she stopped talking she would start thinking about the man who had just attempted to kidnap her. She wanted desperately to ask Logan what it was all about, but she knew, she knew anyway. She had started down this path and now the shit was about to hit the fan. But Logan ... she hadn't counted on Logan.
Abruptly she turned away from Logan and trotted across the road and up her pathway. Logan stared after her, puzzled. Then she hurried after her.
Scant minutes later the two women approached the brightly lit house again. This time Logan strode straight in, checking each room quickly. Apparently safe. Frith went directly to the bathroom and stripped out of her clothes. They lay in a disconsolate pile on the floor while she ran a shower.
Logan felt her body slowly seizing up. Her ribs and stomach throbbed from where she had hit the tree and her hands were scraped from the road. She leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, wanting nothing more than for this day to be over and to crawl back under her rock. She had come down off her adrenaline high with a real thump and it was all she could do not to slump down against the wall and curl up into a miserable ball.
But she held off, keeping watch until Frith was finished in the shower. She collected Frith's smelly dress and jacket and dumped them in the tub in the laundry. Out of sight, out of mind was her motto for dirty clothes. In an effort to stay awake and focused, she looked around for something else to do.
The front door lock had broken when she kicked it in, but miraculously the latch still worked. At least the possums and hedgehogs wouldn't have free access to the house tonight. She pulled the door closed, realising it was not a good idea for Frith to stay here. Logan didn't think they - whoever they were - would come back tonight, but she was feeling somewhat risk averse.
What had they been after? And who were they? Logan had some definite suspicions on that score. And judging by the lack of questions from Frith, so did she.
A cloud of steam issued out of the bathroom door as Frith finished her shower and came out. Her hair and body wrapped in white towels, she grinned slightly at Logan as she wandered into her bedroom.
"Silver lining and all that," she said. "At least I don't have to open any closets to see what I've got to wear." Logan peered into the young woman's bedroom.
"And I thought I was messy," she cracked.
Every drawer, cupboard and closet had been emptied on to the floor and bed. Frith plucked some trackpants and a sweater from the tangle and dressed. Logan stood, leaning against the bedroom doorjamb, watching. She couldn't keep her eyes off Frith's trim body, yet the desire which had flamed in her was now curiously absent. It was like her mind and body were playing different pages in the songbook. She could rationally think Frith was a beautiful, desirable woman, but her emotions and body were numb.
As Frith toweled her hair dry, she became aware of Logan's regard. Turning, she assessed the tall woman's condition.
"You manage to look beautiful and like death warmed up all at once," she sighed. "Go on, have a shower. I guess one of my jerseys will fit you, if those pants are still in good enough shape."
"I should go. And you should go to a hotel for the night. It's not safe here."
"A hotel?" Frith's face fell. "What about you? I want to be with you."
She could have bitten her tongue. She hadn't meant to state her need for Logan quite so bluntly. Not yet. But a hotel room did not appeal to her in the least. Perhaps this was the opening she had been waiting for.
"Why don't we head up the Coast to your place? Or maybe go to ..." she broke off.
Logan shot her a look. And not a pleasant one.
"Go to? Go to where?"
"Your home."
"My - "
"Well, yes. You know a lot about me, Logan, but I know almost nothing about you."
Putting her arms around Logan's bare waist, she gave it a gentle, friendly squeeze.
"C'mon, sailor. Take me home."
Logan's sharp intake of breath alerted Frith. Taking a closer look, she could see the bruises starting to form and the scrapes starting to bleed. Glancing up into Logan's face, she asked gently, "Logan, do you need to get those taken care of?"
A half-grin answered her.
"Nope." Logan echoed Frith's earlier words. "Us defenders of free-speech are tough, you know."
She returned the pressure of Frith's embrace, kissing the top of her head lightly.
"But we should check out what is missing, then head off."
"Okay," came the doubtful answer. "What could they have been after?"
In the living room, the two surveyed the mess. Cushions were removed from the couches, paintings were askew on the wall, CD's were scattered over the floor, books tossed in every direction. Frith crouched down to mournfully gather the broken pieces of a glass vase that had not survived the maelstrom. The carnations she had put in the vase - was it only yesterday morning? - were scattered around the room, their fragrance dissipated in the violence.
Logan knelt down beside her, gently touching her shoulder. Frith turned, conscious of the tears filling her eyes. She repeated her forlorn question, not really expecting an answer. Not an answer that would give her peace of mind, anyway.
"I think they were looking for whatever Darryl had," said Logan, watching Frith's reaction closely. Frith looked at her blankly.
"Darryl? How does he figure in this?"
"Jack said he thought Darryl had something tangible. Something easily hidden. And he thought Darryl had given it ...."
"To me?"
"To you."
"You mean, I am involved in this more than I thought?"
She surveyed the mess again.
"I can't even tell what's missing that I know I had. How can I figure out what has gone that I didn't know I had?" Her head ached slightly with the logic of it. "Darryl never gave me .... well, it wasn't that kind of relationship." She coloured slightly, as if admitting to an ex-lover who was so unlike her current ... whatever ... was an admission of weakness or inconsistency. Not that Logan had given her anything yet. Well, nothing tangible, at least.
Logan regarded her thoughtfully, wanting to poke this particular wound until it bled, yet not wanting to hurt Frith. Jealousy. It was Logan's wound to bear.
"Fair enough," she replied. "Have a look around anyway, see what you can see."
Frith's shoulders slumped. "Do I have to now? Can't we come back tomorrow, when it's light?"
Logan felt the throbbing in her side echo Frith's plea. Oh, to sink into a warm bath and keep the world at bay. Safe and secure, with her arms around Frith.....
"Okay," she said finally. "Let's go."
Pausing only for Frith to grab another jacket and to secure the front door as best they could, they left. This time Logan went ahead down the path. Near the road she halted, looking intently up and down the dimly lit road, listening for any hint of an unusual presence.
It seemed all clear. The wind had died down in the pre-dawn lull and Logan could hear the faint noise of machinery from the port across the bay.
"You follow me and -" said Logan.
"No," interrupted Frith. "I'd rather come with you."
Logan considered it. Her initial response, which she bit back, was to keep Frith at arms length. To deny her stated need to be near Logan. Was she over-reacting to Frith's desire to know her better? Did it really matter if she came home? Where was her home these days? These embryonic thoughts could not gain more than a tenuous foothold in Logan's consciousness. She was too tired, tired of being alone.
"Logan?"
Logan shook her head, She was a little disturbed how easily her mind was slipping into these small periods of introspection. It seemed her capacity to focus had not yet fully returned to her. WIth an effort, she said, "Sure. Jump in."
They drove down the hill away from the city, towards Evans Bay and the airport. Logan was cautious enough to not take the most direct route to Island Bay, so she followed the shore-line past the airport and along the south coast. It was still dark, but a string of bright lights off the coast indicated the squid-fishing fleet was active in the straits. The boats may have been ten miles or more away, but the brilliant lights, which lured squid from the depths of the ocean to waiting death, were still clearly visible.
The after-effects of the strenuous day had caught up with Frith and she was dozing in the passenger seat, despite the rattle of the heater and the reverberation of the engine.
The slight bump as the car left the road and crossed the footpath jostled her awake.
"We there yet?" she mumbled.
The Mazda had climbed steadily upwards, the driveway seeming to wind on interminably. Somewhere high above the ocean it finally came to an end.
Logan’s house was silhouetted against the deep blue of the night sky, a jumble of geometric planes, a modernist cube deconstructed for a post-modern age. Glass, steel, concrete and stone seamlessly melded by clever design, maximising privacy from. the road.
The car juddered to a halt outside the garage doors. A security light had come on, illuminating a tiled courtyard.
Logan was suddenly apprehensive. She had not been here since that ruinous day over three months ago. After Jack dropped her off at the clinic and disappeared, she had been physically patched up and given the name of a counselor. Leaving the clinic, she walked directly to an ATM and took out $2,000. Two streets over, she had plunked down $1,500 for the Mazda and driven to the house on the Kapiti Coast.
This was the first time since then she had been home.
"Come on, baby. Let's get inside." Frith seemed to realise that Logan had reached the end of her energy. Taking the key from Logan's hand, she unlocked and opened the door. She turned, took the tall woman by the hand and led her inside.
In the entranceway, Frith felt around for the light switch. Flooding the space with warm light, Frith could only stare around herself in amazement. Huge windows provided views of the ocean and the wild southern coast line. Living spaces tumbled over multiple levels, furnished sparsely but expensively, furniture classic pieces which transcended fashion.
'So this is how journalists live these days?' she thought.
Putting aside her reaction to the house, she turned her attention back to Logan. Awareness was slowly returning to the blue eyes.
"Logan?"
Once again Frith's quiet voice brought her back from wherever she had drifted off to.
Mentally shaking herself, she seemed to take stock of Frith and herself.
"Right. I need a shower, maybe a bath. Let me show you to a bedroom. Down this way..." and she led Frith down into the lounge and along a glass-walled passageway. Two doors along, she entered what was clearly the guest bedroom. The rooms were surprisingly warm - passive solar heating, Frith guessed.
She stood awkwardly as Logan acted like a realtor, showing her the features of the room. Inside thirty seconds, Logan had made her excuses and gone, leaving her alone.
This was not the way this moment should have gone. She could just crawl into bed and try and sleep, but dammit, she was not going to be treated like a guest forced to stay the night because her car had broken down. Logan was clearly not firing on all cylinders, so she should take the initiative. Right.
Acting with a confidence she didn't feel, Frith went back towards the front door. Sure enough, on the other side of the lobby was a kitchen and dining room. Maybe a cup of tea would do the trick. They had seemed so ... connected earlier in the evening. What had happened to cause Logan to retreat? She had been sullen and withdrawn when Frith had found her sitting on Oriental Bay.
Whatever it was, Frith was determined that she would not let this embryonic friendship falter at the first hurdle.
In the time-honoured New Zealand response to any emotional or physical stress, Frith put the jug on. The electric kettle was sitting on the bench top in plain sight. As it boiled, Frith looked through the cupboards and found cups and teapot and tea. In the fridge, the milk was clearly off. With a grimace, she poured it down the sink, washing it away. Black tea would have to do. How had Logan made her tea at Kapiti? Was it only two days ago she had sat at Logan's kitchen table in that tiny house?
As she waited for the tea to draw, her thoughts turned to the connection she and the tall woman had forged so quickly. It had been so physical that she would have been able, not willing but able, to write it off as a one night stand. She had almost fled the beach house early that morning, not wanting to see rejection or indifference in Logan's face. But those thoughts had all been swept aside when she looked into those blue eyes and that dazzling smile in the Solaris office. 'She came for me' was all the blonde woman could hear in her mind. Since that moment in her office when they hugged, they had been getting closer and closer. Dinner had been a pleasant revelation, Logan proving a witty and sweet companion.
But after that, after being separated at the nightclub, walls had been flung up. 'Time to tear them down,' she thought.
The tea made, she went in search of Logan. Past the bedroom Logan had deposited her in, was a bathroom. Unused. Frith turned back to the entranceway. There, to the left, was a staircase. At the top of the stairs and down another hallway, a door led into what was obviously the master bedroom. Frith saw steam wafting out of the ensuite bathroom and she tentatively made her way in, careful not to spill any of the tea on the plain cream carpet. The bath was empty, though one of the taps was still running, feeding hot water into the tub. The sweatshirt Logan had borrowed from Frith was lying on the floor. Putting the tea down by the handbasin, Frith turned the faucet off.
With a sigh, she set off in again.
Opposite the bedroom, Frith saw a glass-door. Opening it, she found herself outside on a balcony or walkway. The sound of the southerly swell far below came clearly to her ears, rolling waves breaking on the rocky shore.
A shadow spoke, barely audible above the surf.
"What do you want?"
Frith felt a sharp contraction in her heart. This had not been a good idea. Somehow Logan had been jolted into a frame of reference which did not include Frith, and Frith could not allow that. Intuitively she realised that words, usually her ally, would not suffice.
Reaching toward the darker shape, she gently touched Logan's face. The pre-dawn dark was giving way to the pale gray of the new day and she could now see more clearly as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Logan flinched away, but not before Frith had felt the tears on her face.
She felt her own tears welling up in sympathy. Moving forward, she put her arms around Logan, seeking as well as offering comfort. No flinch this time. Instead, a tremor shook the tall woman in her arms. With an effort she controlled herself, a cough sounding suspiciously like a sob.
Again, Frith took the initiative. Sliding her arms inside the torn silk overshirt Logan was still wearing, she hugged her. The hug was solid, yet gentle - trying to persuade Logan, using some body to body talk, to let her in. Again. When Logan made a move away, Frith held on tight. Somehow ... somehow she had to convey what she was feeling. Compassion. Admiration. Caring.
Love.
Still holding tight, she pressed her lips against Logan's collar-bone. The skin there was smooth and sweet. It led her inevitably to Logan's throat, where the sensation of mouth on skin brought a sigh in response from the tall woman.
Frith slid her hands up Logan’s arms and under the silk shirt pushing it off strong shoulders. Frith trailed her tongue over a curved collar-bone, hands now kneading tense muscles in Logan’s back. She decided to lighten the mood, to back off anything too dangerous, to concentrate on bringing Logan back - not pushing her over another brink.
"Jesus, your muscles are so tight," she looked up into Logan’s dark eyes. "Those bruises must be painful. How about we go inside and I give you the Frith Buchanan special?" Frith’s easy tone, gentle smile and soothing hands were a persuasive combination and Logan felt her mood lighten a little.
"Got any massage oil?"
Wrapping her arms around the smaller woman's body, Logan nodded. Her first attempt to speak failed, but she coughed to clear her throat and tried again.
"I think there is some in the bathroom cabinet," she said.
Adding, as her body reacted to a small hand cupping her breast, "Do you do 'extras'?"
"Only for very special clients. Come on."
Frith took Logan’s hand and led her back inside into the bedroom, sitting her down on the edge of the bed. Lowering her head, she kissed the dark woman gently, cradling her face between soft hands.
"Beautiful." Green eyes drank in the smooth curves and planes of Logan’s face.
"Is it okay if I go into the bathroom and get that oil?"
Logan nodded. Another gentle smile from Frith.
"Why don't you get out of those clothes? I’ll be right back."
Logan shook her head slightly as Frith went into the bathroom. She couldn't quite believe that Frith was here, in her house, a space hitherto kept totally private. She stood, wincing slightly as her scrapes made their presence felt and stripped off her clothes.
"Now that is a sight for sore eyes."
Frith reappeared from the bathroom with an armful of towels and the bottle of massage oil. She dumped the towels and bottle of oil on the bed and moved into Logan’s arms.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" Frith’s hands wove a simple pattern over Logan’s bare skin. Logan, content to hold the smaller woman and give herself over the the sensations, didn't feel capable of a sensible answer.
"Right..." Frith took a deep breath, calming herself a little. "Let's get this massage underway before I think of other things I would rather be doing to you."
She quickly pulled the duvet off the bed and spread a large fluffy towel over the sheet. Crossing the room she dimmed the light and turned the temperature up a little on the thermostat of the central heating.
"Go on, lie down, sweetheart."
Logan, unusually passive, did as Frith suggested, stretching out face down on the bed. Frith stripped off her clothes but left her knickers on. The thought of being totally naked and near the woman lying on the bed was too distracting, rendering the likelihood of giving a reasonable massage very small indeed.
Frith got onto the bed and straddled Logan’s hips.
"This okay?"
"Mmmm .." came a muffled reply from Logan her, head buried in her arms.
Frith poured a little of the oil into her hands, warming it between them, then leaning forward she began a series of long smooth strokes, tracing the contours of Logan’s back.
She worked purposefully for twenty minutes, stroking and kneading tired and tense muscles and as Logan’s physical stresses were soothed, so too were many of her emotional ones. Slowly, the woman relaxed.
"God, that feels good. You have hidden talents."
"I have many skills you don't know about," Frith bragged a little. "Feeling sleepy?"
Logan shook her head slightly. "Nope, I think I'm beyond sleep."
The surface beneath Frith suddenly shifted as Logan turned over under her. Frith swallowed as she found herself staring down into intense blue eyes from her position still astride the tall woman's body.
The two women regarded each other in silence for several moments as something in the air shifted and the calm atmosphere that had prevailed during the massage was replaced with the rising tension of sexual attraction.
Logan ran her hands over Frith's thighs sliding her thumbs under the elastic leg of Frith’s underwear.
"You wanna get rid of these?"
"Uh huh, soon." Frith leaned forward and stretched herself out along Logan’s body. Threading her arms underneath Logan’s shoulders, she moved in and kissed her gently.
The two women were content to linger over the kiss, a soft exploration, a reintroduction of sorts. Then the tenderness too became more urgent as Frith again took the initiative. Raising herself on all fours she looked down at Logan. "I want to bury my face in your cunt." Wasting no time she retreated down the bed. Before she could settle herself, Logan spoke.
"Me too"
"Me too, what?"
"I want to taste you too. Take your knickers off and turn yourself around. Two can play this game." A slight grin came from Logan as again the mood in the room shifted and lightened.
"Oh... okay... who am I to refuse that sort of an offer?"
It took Frith all of four seconds, to get off the bed, take her underwear off and resettle next to Logan.
The women curled into each other, legs parting and heads were lowered simultaneously as tongues began tasting.
Frith immersed her face in Logan’s cunt, reveling in the moistness, rubbing her nose, her cheeks, her chin over slick full flesh. Wrapping one arm around Logan’s left thigh in order to maximise her closeness, with her other hand she began firmly massaging Logan’s buttocks. She was dimly aware of the sensations of Logan’s tongue circling her clitoris, but for the moment she was too intent on bringing Logan pleasure. Frith slowly slid her hand down Logan’s crack, her fingers lubricated by the massage oil. Two fingers rested at the entrance to Logan’s anus. She raised her head a little.
"Is this ok?" lightly massaging the tight opening to underpin the question.
"Oh yeah." The answer was quick and certain from Logan, her backside thrusting back a little to meet the welcome pressure.
Frith smiled to herself and bent her head again to taste the slick flesh on offer, then slowly and persistently pressed her fingers forward.
"Oh fuck!" the exclamation came from Logan as she involuntarily raised her head, the sensations registering in her brain.
Much as Logan wanted to continue her exploration of the space between Frith’s legs, her concentration was shot. Frith’s, on the other hand, was not. She fucked Logan slowly, intently relishing the feeling of the circle of tight muscle around her fingers. The slow, solid thrusting of her hand was counterpointed by her tongue, a series of light strokes over Logan's hyper-sensitive flesh.
"Please Frith - harder, fuck me harder."
Frith was happy to oblige, even if her hand was beginning to ache a little from maintaining the tension required to meet Logan’s vigorous thrusting.
And soon, the fullness created by the magic fingers in her arse and the tension in her belly, wound slowly tighter and tighter by Frith’s educated tongue and seemed all the sensation Logan could take. But even then, somehow, Frith managed to free her other hand and thrust a thumb deep into Logan’s cunt. As wave upon wave of orgasm began rolling over her, Logan was strangely quiet, uttering only a single exclamation of Frith’s name as her body succumbed to the intense feelings.
Finally, the crisis was over and Frith raised her head, kissing Logan gently on her belly as she slowly withdrew her fingers. Frith turned herself around and crawled up Logan’s body, their sweaty skin sliding together smoothly.
Propping herself up on an elbow, Frith looked down at Logan, her fingers running over heated skin. Logan moaned slightly, her eyes hidden from Frith's view by an crooked arm.
Slowly the arm was lowered and Logan looked up into Frith’s concerned face.
"You okay, sweetheart?"
A small nod.
"Good." Frith lay down again and wrapped her arms around Logan and kissed her on the forehead.
"You know how we have known each other for only three days?"
Another mute nod from Logan.
"Do you think its possible to fall in love in that time?"
No reaction this time and Frith mentally kicked herself for blowing it, for giving in to the sense of heightened emotion, when slowly Logan nodded for a third time.
The lovers lay curled together on the bed, watching the sun rise over Palliser Heads. Once again, the acts of love had brought them close together. Frith was determined to make full use of this closeness and not let the past and its memories drive them apart. In order to keep Logan in the present, she needed to know and understand Logan's past. All of it. Or as much of it as Logan could share.
Frith desperately wanted to know about whatever trauma was keeping Logan off-balance. But perhaps it was not the right place to start, just yet.
"Tell me .... " she started. Logan stiffened, almost imperceptibly. Frith continued, "Tell me about ... what you were like at school. Where were you brought up?"
"Up the Coast," Logan replied.
"Uh huh?"
"We lived in Waikanae, even though Dad worked in Wellington. He was determined to live a country life-style on a city salary."
"What did he do?" Frith asked.
"He was a lawyer, for an intellectual property firm. Patents and all that. I went to Kapiti College, until my seventh form year. Then I took the train into Wellington to Wellington Girl's High. They had an English teacher who had been a journalist, and Mum and Dad thought ... well, if I was serious about journalism that I should get a head-start."
"Did you enjoy school?"
"Kinda. It was like waiting for life to start. Sometimes I couldn't wait to get out and into the real world. Sometimes I hid there - trying to avoid growing up."
"Were you an achiever even then?"
Logan smiled at Frith. "Even then? So I'm an achiever now?" Without waiting for an answer she went on. "Yes. Enough to realise early on that if I chose, I could make a difference. But there were distractions...."
"Boys?"
"Girls."
"Ah..."
"Not you?"
"No. Not until I went to university. And got away from home. It wasn't really safe to be ... um .... unconventional at home. How did you manage? With girls at school?"
Logan laughed. "At first there was lots of sublimation. Sport. But I soon realised the double-edged sword of team games. Hockey and softball were a lot of fun, but there were a lot of cute girls. So I tried judo."
"I had wondered where you got your ... "
"Fighting skills? Or wildly aggressive nature? Judo was supposed to train and channel that. But the local sensei was a git. He saw the martial arts as primarily a way to pull chicks."
"Pull chicks? How seventies. Were you .... one of them?"
"Nah. He had me pegged straight away. But once I was traveling into Wellington everyday, I found a kenpo dojo near Courtney Place. It was near the bus-stop. And there were a few women there. Quite a few. I sometimes used to stay with my aunt in Mt Victoria. And that made it easy for me to be unsupervised in town.... so I took advantage of that."
"First girlfriend, huh?"
"Yeah. I'd just pick a night Mum was out and leave a message on the phone that I was staying with Aunt Kathleen. She usually got in late, so she never rang to check up."
"Who was your first?"
"Anne. She was a student up at Victoria University. She was at the dojo, too."
Suddenly, Frith did not want to hear all the details of Logan's love life. Not even the early stories. She was sure that Logan's sexual experience far outstripped hers and knew that she could be quite jealous, unreasonably so at times.
"Did you go straight to journalism school?"
"No. It's a post-graduate degree, so I started off at Victoria. But after my second year, Dad got a chance to work in New York, with the New Zealand Trade Development Board. So we packed up and went with him. I enrolled at Columbia and finished my degree there."
"That must have been exciting," said Frith. "Why did you come back and not do a journalism course there?"
"I missed home too much. I knew the MA programme down in Christchurch was well regarded, and I had made some contacts in New York anyway. They all wanted to come to New Zealand for the skiing during the summer break."
"Did your parents come back, too?"
"No. They ... were in a .... an accident. A car crash .... in Arizona. At the Grand Canyon of all places. A tourist came around a blind corner on the wrong side of the road," Logan said. "They were DOA at the Flagstaff Regional Medical Center."
Frith leaned across Logan's torso and gently squeezed her. "So you didn't even get to say goodbye?"
"Nope. But that's all in the past now."
"The past can still hurt us. Even if we move on and change."
Logan fell silent.
Frith tried another tack.
"So what do you do for fun? Apart from win awards, that is?"
"And beating people up? I'll show you around later and you can see for yourself. You could even give me a hand, if you like," she finished shyly.
"Later?" Frith took a deep breath. "So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?"
Logan considered the question. It seemed she could no longer pretend she was just playing. Even if she turned tail and fled - again - the forces at work would search her out. With the assault at Frith's house, it had suddenly become personal. Logan had committed the cardinal sin of all journalists and gotten emotionally involved.
Time to get some ideas straight between her and Frith.
"I think I need to get into Tall Trees," she started, quietly. "And the best way to do that is to get Sarah to help me."
"So it was useful, seeing her last night? What happened?"
Logan levered herself up and off the bed. "I'll tell you all about it - but we have to get a move on," she announced. Frith saw the half-hidden wince on the reporter's face.
"Oh, Logan!" she started. "Your body -"
"Yeah, it's a bit sore," Logan said. "Could you help me with a bandaid or two?"
Logan went to the bathroom cupboard and pulled out a first-aid kit. Frith joined her and looked critically up and down the tall frame. Nothing was bleeding. But a couple of the scrapes looked very raw. Moving Logan's bangs aside, Frith could see a bruise forming near her temple.
"Oh, great," she said. "We've got matching bumps. How did you get this one?"
Logan outlined the events in Glover Park with Sarah and Gareth. As she talked, Frith smeared antiseptic cream gently on to the scrapes. Two required some gauze padding and tape, but the others got covered up with the sticking plasters.
"You carried him how far?"
"Well," Logan got defensive, "he wasn't that big. And it was only a couple of blocks."
Frith laughed. "Don't worry. I'm just teasing. It sounds very heroic. Did it cut any ice with the spurned ex?"
"She didn't slice my throat, if that's what you mean. But yeah, I apologised for being a bitch. And we talked ... about Tall Trees and stuff."
"So, what triggered it?"
Frith's quiet question took Logan by surprise.
"Triggered what?"
"Logan, since last night you've been vague and spaced-out. There's something bothering you - more than just a scuffle with some shit-heads in the park."
Logan turned away jerkily. In hindsight, Logan herself was puzzled by her behaviour the previous night. She had thought her three months in therapy had put her mind to rest. Suddenly, she was close to tears.
"Damn. I'm sorry, Logan." Frith regretted her question, but she really wanted to know. She cast around for a way to get the answers she craved, without scaring Logan back into her shell.
"I hate this," Logan stammered. "I hate not being able ... crying ... I don't want ... it's not...." As Frith looked on helplessly, unable to fathom what was happening inside Logan's head, Logan slowly controlled herself. Arms tucked tightly around her body, head down, muttering fiercely. After a couple of minutes, though it seemed like an hour, she raised her head and was able to look Frith in the eye, wiping the moisture from her face.
Frith just sat there, barely daring to breathe. Whatever was coming was going to be serious.
With a deep breath, Logan said, "My therapist told me I might have some reaction, but I didn't believe her."
Frith was stunned. Of all the things she had been dreading, the revelation that Logan Kendrick, of all people, had a therapist, was almost unbelievable.
"Reaction to what?" she asked, faintly.
"The fancy term is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Not coping is what my mother would have called it. But I have been fine until now. I thought I was fine."
"Can you tell me about it?"
Logan hesitated. She knew she should be able to, that it was the healthy thing to do. If she was fixed, truly all right, she would tell Frith and it wouldn't matter, it wouldn't hurt. But a part of her suspected that it would hurt and it would matter. How could Frith love her if Logan was not strong? How could she love Frith if she wasn't in control? Of herself, at the very least.
"Logan?"
"Okay. But ..." she sought some temporary respite. "Let's go down to the beach. I always feel better down there."
Frith acquiesced, determined to hear this story and not let the opportunity slip away.
The two women dressed quietly and Logan lead the way down the narrow path at the front of the house to the rocky beach. The south coast of Wellington faced directly into the southern ocean currents, the same currents which brought the squid and the sperm whales up the Kaikoura Coast and through the Strait. There was no sand here, unlike the Kapiti Coast. This was rugged rock.
They picked their way along the rocks until they found a spot where they could both sit down. The breeze was pleasant, brisk enough to ruffle hair. The early morning sun was warm on Logan's back as she leaned down and picked up a handful of small rocks. She tossed them one after another into the swell. Sea-gulls swooped low overhead, hovering in the wind.
The two women sat companionably, throwing rocks into the water. A little competition started, trying to land the next stone within the ripple circle of the previous one. After a few minutes, Logan stopped.
If she waited any longer, she would lose her nerve. 'C'mon Kendrick, it's the healthy thing to do.'
"He was .... he was crazy. But I didn't know it. I thought he was just another bullshit artist, taking good citizen's money and blowing smoke in everyone's eyes. And taking the lord's name in vain. But he thought he was special. The New Business Age was keen to nail him - their first really high profile international target. The kind of expose that would put New Zealand, the NBA and me on the world stage."
"How did it all start? How did you know there was something screwy?" asked Frith, as Logan paused.
Logan gathered her thoughts.
"A snitch. It's often the way. Someone on the inside gets sickened by the scam, or doesn't get enough of a cut, not their fair share," the cynicism in Logan's voice was unmistakable. "A flunky of David Cartwright's. Julia Fitzroy was her name. She had been down here on holiday the summer before and seen my by-line. She thought that talking to me would be harder for Cartwright to trace. And harder for the US authorities to catch her. So she thought.
"She told me nearly everything. Every detail of how the scam worked. How it tied in to Cartwright's television evangelist appeals, how he siphoned off nearly 60%, how he hid it from the IRS - everything. With that level of detail, checking facts becomes a lot easier. You can ask smaller, more specific, less suspicious questions. In fact, Jack got a counterpart in the US Treasury Department to start digging."
"So you and Jack often worked together?"
"We did. I could do the dodgier things he couldn't. But he could get me information that would take days to get otherwise. By the time I was ready to publish my story, the authorities were nearly ready to arrest him. And then, the unexpected happened. He came here. Of all the places to come on vacation, David frigging Cartwright came to New Zealand."
Logan shook her head, still somehow disbelieving the strange twist events had taken.
"And like every frigging tourist since 1997, he came to Wellington to visit Te Papa. Why does everybody want to see the new museum? Why don't they just stick to mudpools in Rotorua and mozzies in Milford Sound?
"So there I am, writing the final copy for the article which will rip open his slimy little scheme, and he walks past a cafe and claps eyes on Julia Fitzroy drinking a fucking latte. I guess she panicked, because it seems she told him everything."
Logan's voice became remote. This was the hard part, but it was only the past, right?
"I was working at home on the final version. Just the last polishing. The boss had planned to publish it that week. And he rang me. That little son of a bitch rang me."
Frith moved over on to the same rock as Logan. Not touching, but close.
"He rang me and asked to meet. Said he had an offer I couldn't refuse. I ... I thought it would make a good ending to the story. A last attempt to bribe his way out of trouble. The noble, incorruptible reporter. Jesus, what a fool. It was like a rush of blood to the head - I just forgot everything I had learnt about him.
"So I said yes. He suggested the entrance to the seal colony at Red Rocks. I agreed."
Red Rocks seal colony was a little further along the road in Island Bay from Logan's house. The road, or more accurately, walking track, hugged the bottom of the cliffs for three kilometers, passing through a gravel quarry and some old World War 2 gun installations.
"I wasn't a complete idiot. I rang Jack and he agreed to be my back-up. From that point, everything went wrong."
Now, the low voice faltered. Frith simply put her hand on Logan's arm, resting it there. Blue eyes tracked to green, but Logan couldn't hold the contact and she looked away.
Frith stayed silent, letting her touch do the talking.
A deep, shuddering breath.
"He hadn't gone all the way to the seals. He was waiting for me at the quarry. I couldn't see his car, I thought he had parked it at the entrance and walked. As I got out of the car, he pulled a gun."
The memory of that awful morning was playing in Logan's mind like a film. She closed her eyes. She could smell the salt air, the dust of the quarry, hear the quiet surf and the cry of gulls. The sounds of the present melded seamlessly into those of the past.
"He didn't even really talk to me. Just tossed a pair of handcuffs at me and told me to cuff myself to the passenger side door. I laughed. God help me I laughed and told him my editor already had the final copy. And I knew that Jack was on the way."
Logan's voice was a mere croak.
"He ... he walked off ... I figured he was just playing a stupid spiteful trick.... but he had his rental car parked out of sight behind one of the quarry buildings. When he drove it around, he had his wife and kid with him in the car. I figured he was gonna give me the fingers and bugger off, but I was wrong. He -"
Her voice was failing her. She had to go on, but her body was rebelling. Her frame shook.
Frith wrapped her arms around the tall woman and held her tight. She poured all her feelings into the physical link, trying to give Logan the courage, the strength to go on.
"He dragged them out of the car. I could the fear in their eyes. They knew. And when I saw the terror in her face, I knew too. He was going to kill them. And me too," Logan stopped. She was now gasping for breath.
"I couldn't help them. She looked right at me. I pulled and pulled, but the car wouldn't budge. I broke my left wrist trying to .... he had it all planned out. He kept saying things, awful things, like it was all my fault and that they would die because of me, because of my story.
"He had a knife. He .... took it ... and ... he butchered them.... the boy first, then the woman... across the neck... and I ... I ..."
Frith now was cradling Logan's head against her breast, murmuring words of comfort.
"It's all right, you're all right, I've got you."
"He said ... he said .... and then...."
With a superhuman effort she controlled herself.
"He shot himself. The bastard walked right up to me and shot himself."
Frith cried out with the horror of it. It was almost too much to bear, just listening to it.
There was a long pause.
With a shuddering breath, she continued.
"He died in my arms. I had his brains all over me."
Her voice was remote now, as if the repressed emotions had built a transparent, tough layer somewhere in her psyche.
"I don't know how long I was there before Jack arrived, maybe ten minutes. By the time he got there I was out of my head. He got me out of there before the cops arrived. The article went to press as planned - the editor wrote the ending, fronted the publicity. I disappeared."
"Where did you go?" asked Frith.
"Jack took me to a private clinic. I was there a week and they would only release me if I saw a therapist. I found one in Waikanae, near the beach house."
"And you've been there since then?"
"Until you. Until you came along."
"I'm glad I did, then," said Frith.
For a long moment, they sat together silently, staring out to sea. Frith had sat down again, next to Logan, softly holding her hand. She did not know what to say. Surely there was nothing to say. But a key had been handed to her. As with all keys, it would not open every door and she had to be careful she did not attribute too many of Logan's quirks to this trauma. She knew almost nothing about post traumatic stress disorder. Didn't Vietnam vets have it years later? Or rape or abuse survivors? Was it fixable?
Would talking about it make things worse? Or better? Frith was no therapist. What could she offer? Perhaps Logan needed a friend as much as a counselor. 'I could be your friend,' she thought.
"I'd like that," said Logan, quietly.
Frith started. She hadn't realised she had spoken aloud.
"If you want .... to," Logan continued.
Frith was silent.
Logan lead the way back up the track to the house. In the daylight and from the front, Frith could further appreciate its beauty.
"Did you build it yourself?" she asked, half-way up.
"No," replied the tall woman. By mutual unspoken agreement, they paused.
"I saw it in an architectural magazine one day and promised myself if I ever had the money I would buy it. And with the last couple of years at the paper I could. But I had to persuade the owners to sell."
"It's stunning." Turning, Frith looked east toward Cape Palliser. "And a great view."'
The winter sun, still harsh, shone on the barren hills across the entrance to the harbour. The reef guarding the harbour lay brown and menacing in the bright blue sea - it had claimed many lives during the century, with large ships tossed on to the rocks by southerly storms.
"Does the wind bother you?"
"Only in a southerly. But then, every house on the south coast battens down the hatches."
They continued up the path and around the back of the house. The battered yellow Mazda was still parked in the courtyard. Logan went to the side of the garage and, entering a code, opened the garage door.
The double garage had only one car in it - a fire-engine red sports car. Logan stood uncomfortably, half proud, half embarrassed.
Frith grinned at her. "So this is the real love story, huh?"
Logan smiled back.
"Yeah. My baby."
Frith traced the letters on the front. T-R-I-U-M-P-H. And walked around it to where the model name was revealed. SPITFIRE MK 3.
"You doing the work yourself?"
Frith could clearly see this car was being lovingly restored. One bucket seat was ripped, but the other had been patched. The soft-top material was lying on a bench nearby and the windscreen wipers were sitting on the bonnet.
"I've done about as much as I can with the engine. Now I'm sending bits and pieces off to experts."
Frith closed her eyes as she suddenly visualised Logan, hot, sweaty, with a grease smear across her face, wearing a white tanktop and overalls tied around the waist. She came up behind Logan as she bent over the engine sliding her hands underneath the tight shirt there was no bra and pulling the pants down she placed one hand on the hood and one down the back of Logan's long leg stroking and caressing and pushing gently up between her legs until she felt the wet warmth of an aroused woman the clatter as a spanner fell to the concrete floor the groan and shudder as Logan gripped the windshield tightly bracing herself as Frith's mouth touched the base of her spine kissing down to the top of ....
"Frith? You okay?"
Frith swallowed and opened her eyes. Logan's clear blue eyes were mere inches away, as she looked closely at Frith's face.
"Sure. Just maybe need something to drink. Cool myself off...."
"All right," said Logan, doubtfully. "Let's see what's still in the kitchen. Maybe you need some breakfast, too?"
"Right. Breakfast. That should help."
Back in the kitchen, Logan glanced in the fridge, dismissing the contents. Investigating the freezer, she pulled out some frozen croissants and defrosted them before putting them in the oven to heat.
"Tea okay? Frith?"
Frith had collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table and was poking desultorily through the papers on it. Someone had obviously been clearing Logan's letterbox during her absence. But on top of the pile was a familiar looking envelope. It was the documents they had nicked from the hydroponics place.
A large glass of water appeared at her elbow. She drank most of it down in one long swallow. When she looked up, Logan had the envelope in her hands, regarding it thoughtfully.
"Let's see what's in here, shall we?"
"Where did you get that? I ha- " Frith broke off as she realised she was just about to admit to purloining it from Logan's beach house.
"I picked it at your house last night. Let's see what that hydroponics farm is up to. And then, I think, a visit to Tall Trees is in order."
"Tall Trees? How will you get in there?"
Logan smiled grimly. "Someone I know there owes me a favour. I just saved her boyfriend's life."
Frith was appalled at the calculated thought processes that had led Logan to that statement.
"And if she doesn't?"
"Well, there are other ways to skin that particular cat."