Beneath the Southern Cross

‘That’s an interesting tattoo.’

The girl leaned down to give him a better look. ‘You think so? Thanks.’

He smiled at her and fidgeted in his seat.

‘If you buy me a drink, I’ll let you see the rest of it.’

Puzzlement spread across his face.

She sat opposite him, and he finally noticed her face. At first he had only seen her from behind, and had admired her long shapely legs which reached up to a round as a peach bottom and there met her thick blond hair as it cascaded down her back. His eyes had never moved past her legs as he watched her cross the room towards him, and when she arrived they were stuck on her chest.

‘Don’t you recognise it?’ she asked.

He had noticed that some of the tattoo seemed covered by a slip of material, which was apparently an item of clothing, but did not see the full picture.

‘It’s the Southern Cross. Look!’ she said, inviting him to look more carefully. He squirmed as her collection of stars loomed close to his face. A quick glance would have sufficed, but now he could see how tightly the material was stretched over her breasts. Was his mouth hanging open? He certainly hoped not.

‘Y-yes, I recognise it.’

She smiled and cocked her head to the left. ‘Don’t go all shy on me now.’

In the blink of an eye, his world shrunk to one moment in time; a small table, a glass of beer, a beautiful woman, and a tattoo of the Southern Cross.

Before he could find any more words, she extended her hand and introduced herself.

‘My name’s Sandy.’

Someone seemed to turn a spotlight on their table making the rest of the room invisible and him feel hot. Her eyes twinkled. Twinkled? Yes, twinkled was the right word although he had never before in his life had occasion to use it. She had him enchanted, and already forgetting the limitations he had placed on himself.

Suddenly a waitress appeared beside the table, dressed in a black mini with a matching sleeveless T-shirt, standing with pen and pad poised.

‘I’ll have a Kahlua and milk.’ It was Sandy who spoke, and then winked at him. ‘And my quiet friend here will have…watcha drinkin’ there?’

‘Beer,’ he replied stupidly.

She laughed. Cutely. Not at him in a teasing way, just happily. ‘I know that silly,’ she said. ‘What kind of beer?’

With his heart pounding in his chest, the words seemed jammed and he had to force them. Like a sneeze they burst out. ‘Cascade premium.’

She giggled as she stood and moved her chair around the table beside his and casually placed her hand on his thigh. ‘Are you gonna tell me your name, sweetie?’ she breathed.

This was going beyond what he had anticipated, and way beyond what he knew he could handle. “Damn” and “fool” were two words which sprung to mind. When he turned his thoughts to how he was going to get out this obviously dangerous situation, he realised it was too late and to his surprise, he didn’t care. He didn’t want to leave, he didn’t want to stop. A voice was telling him that if he did not intend retreating then he had better make the most of it. Who was that? Madness? Make the most of it?

‘Sorry sweetie, what did you say?’

And there she was. Waiting for his answer. Her sparkling blue eyes laughing, her voice smooth and alluring, her perfume igniting his senses and messing with them all at once.

‘Better make the most of it.’

She pressed closer. He felt her breasts plunge into his side and his chest heaved in response as though she had punched him. ‘The most of what?’ she asked knowingly.

He placed his hand gently over hers, which was sneaking up and away from his knee, but did not interfere with its progress. When the drinks arrived soon after, he was fully aroused and yet surprisingly clear headed.

‘Can I ask you a question, Sandy?’

She took a sip of Kahlua and said, ‘Only if you tell me your name first.’

‘Brian.’

‘Hi Brian. What’s the question? Let me guess,’ she said as she removed her hand from under the table and placed it against his chest. ‘You want to know exactly where the Federation star is, right?’

Brian laughed more lustily than the comment warranted.

‘You can probably guess, can’t you? You look like a smart guy. What do you do for a living?’

‘I thought I was going to ask a question.’

Their eyes locked in a tense silence. Brian finally looked away from Sandy, away to the smoky depths of the bar where it seemed similarly intimate conversations were taking place around the room against a backdrop of smouldering music and skinny pole dancers.

‘I was actually wondering about the Union Jack.’

‘I’m a republican.’

‘Ah,’ said Brian as he raised her glass to salute Sandy and laughed.

Brian’s head was spinning and his body hummed and he wondered if Sandy could see on his face or in his eyes the turbulence of his emotions. Burning with lust and drowning in anxiety, with just the occasional squeak of reason squeezing through the melee to remind him of the insanity of his actions.

‘Sandy,’ said Brian.

She mocked his serious tone. ‘Yes Brian.’

There again she disarmed him with a word and a smile. Brian realised that Sandy was completely in control and he would have done anything for her. Anything. His gaze fell from her eyes to her chest and he imagined her breasts escaping their prison and falling free into the safety of his hands. The Federation star pressed firmly into his palm. But when he reached for her she gently pushed his hand away.

‘You seem to have forgotten about me, Brian,’ she said. ‘Don’t you know it’s rude to stare. Especially at a ladies breasts.’

Brian looked at Sandy confused by the clouds until sunshine broke through again: a smile and a hint of playfulness in her voice.

‘Your question?’

He recovered himself enough to try to remember what he wanted to ask. This rollercoaster ride was making him dizzy or maybe it was the beer. He had lost count of how many times the waitress had brought him a fresh glass of ale.

‘You were going to show me your breasts before you even knew my name, and you are touching me like…’

Sandy leaned close again and kissed him lightly on the cheek before whispering in his ear, ‘That doesn’t sound like a question, sweetie.’

‘Why? I mean do you normally do this? Are you a prostitute?’

The word sounded ugly and inappropriate and he regretted it as soon as it left his lips. He prepared for the spell to be shattered on the rock of his insult. Mostly sad but distantly relieved as he vaguely recalled something about an experiment. Some idea about just going to have a look, and maybe to talk, but only to talk.

If Sandy was offended she did not show it. ‘I suppose if I did it for money then I would be a prostitute but I don’t. I do it because I want to. I like it. I mean I like sex and I like men. I definitely don’t need the money.’

Sandy paused to sip her drink. Brian listened attentively as she continued although he missed the sensual touch of her hand. This embryonic relationship had shifted gear. Down changing to something far less erotically charged, back to light flirtatious conversation with no contact.

‘I’m a PA for a Bank chief here in town, you know. Very responsible job. Work hard and pay my taxes.’

‘A model citizen,’ said Brian moving closer to Sandy. ‘And I would assume the Southern Cross is kept under wraps during business hours?’

‘Good assumption, Detective.’

And there was her hand again, right where he wanted it and the intoxicating fragrance of her perfume invited him to dive into the magic of the moment.

‘I’m not a policeman.’

‘Now I am doing some assuming because you still haven’t told me what you do.’

He finished the last of his beer and surveyed the room once more. The stage was empty as the dancers now clothed, albeit barely, mingled with the patrons, ordering drinks and discussing options and payment. Some quickly left their tables, disappearing through discreet doorways.

Brian continued, ‘Aren’t you afraid of getting beaten up or catching something. I mean you hardly know these guys you pick up, do you? What about me?’

‘I’m a good judge of character but not knowing is part of the thrill for me.’

‘Why me?’

Sandy gently placed her hand over his mouth and carefully inserted the tip of her forefinger between his lips. ‘Too many questions, Brian, don’t you think?’

I’m just curious was what he thought but of course he couldn’t say anything. As he sucked her finger he thought of the poor cat which was killed by curiosity, and a verse in the Bible sprung into his head; something about a man dying because of his lack of discipline.

Slowly, Brian removed Sandy’s finger and put her hand back down under the table. Then he leaned in to kiss her while taking her face very gently in his hand as though it was fragile. She pulled away after the briefest contact, but smiled. The time for words was over as Sandy stood and took him by the hand, leading him quietly away to her lair. Unaware of his surroundings, Brian followed Sandy out of the club and into a waiting taxi where they sat silently in the back seat holding hands like young lovers, nervously excited.

‘I have to ask,’ said Brian. ‘Why did you pick me?’

Sandy squeezed his hand. ‘I thought you picked me.’

‘Seriously. What was it? You said you are a good judge of character.’

‘You looked out of place,’ she said. ‘Like you’d never been in a strip club and you were afraid someone would see you there. I saw the way you sheepishly watched the dancing girls. All the other guys leered, but you…you observed furtively like you were embarrassed for them.’

Brian was impressed and unnerved. ‘Are you sure you’re not a detective?’

Sandy laughed as the taxi pulled to a stop. ‘We’re here.’ The seductress led him inside her apartment and straight into her bedroom. As Sandy began to unbutton Brian’s shirt he suddenly felt very nervous and his body stiffened.

‘You haven’t had sex for a while have you?’

‘You could tell?’

Sandy nodded and that was enough for Brian. ‘Marriage gone a bit cold?’ she asked while removing his shirt by slowly pushing it back over his shoulders.

‘My wife died just over a year ago.’

‘Sorry.’

‘I should go.’

‘No, it’s all right. Please stay a while and talk,’ said Sandy as she tugged playfully at his hand.

‘No. I really have to go.’

Her legs parted slightly as she sat on the edge of the bed causing her skirt to ride up her thigh, then she began to roll her top down but stopped just above her nipples.

‘Don’t you want to spend some time beneath the Southern Cross?’

God knew he did and so did Sandy, but there was something else, someone else maybe, in the room. A stronger force than his lust although he never would have believed such a thing existed.

Brian reached for his wallet and withdrew a business card. ‘Do you have a pen?’

Sandy reluctantly motioned to the top drawer then lay down on the bed. ‘What are you doing Brian?’

‘I’m writing my number down for you.’ He could not tell if she was angry.

Springing off the bed, she snatched the pen from him and said, ‘It’s not your phone number that I’m interested in at the moment Brian.’

‘Sandy,’ said Brian as he picked up his shirt and put it on. ‘Don’t you know it’s rude to snatch?’

She smiled, and sighed as she handed the pen back to him and fell back on the bed.

‘I can trust you can’t I Sandy?’

She nodded.

He wrote as he said, ‘If you want to you can call me. I’d like to see you again. My private number is on the back.’ Then he handed her the card.

‘Thanks Sandy, I’m sorry I can’t stay, but it feels wrong. Do you know what I mean?’

Sandy honestly had long ago forgotten that feeling. It was buried deep in a grave of one night stands. She flipped the card over, and despite her shock, resisted saying anything to him when she read his full name. ‘Reverend Brian Marshall. Huntley Grove Baptist Church.’

When he had finished dressing he leaned down to kiss Sandy on the forehead and thanked her again, before rising, turning and walking out the door.

‘See you later Reverend,’ whispered Sandy.