Times Like These Read online

  Times Like These

  Ana McKenzie

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2018 by Ana McKenzie.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the publisher at the address below.

  sapphicabooks

  Dunedin, NZ

  www.sapphicabooks.com

  [email protected]

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. The characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, dead or alive, is purely coincidental.

  Times Like These/ Ana McKenzie. -- 1st ed.

  For Valerie, because for me, you are at the heart of all things.

  Also for Marian and Cherise, with my heart-felt love.

  And for Al Sparrow, with gratitude and joy for your years of support and friendship.

  How lucky I am to have you all.

  Chapter One

  ‘This your first time?’

  They were in a back room, and it was cold. Merren shivered as she tossed her sneakers and socks aside and put her feet on the bare floorboards. ‘You’d think they’d heat this room,’ she said.

  The other woman laughed, already undressed, lounging untidily against the door. ‘Definitely your first time.’

  Merren drew in a breath and shucked off her jacket, peeled her tee shirt over her head and dropped it on the growing pile of clothes. The woman grinned.

  ‘And the rest.’

  Merren shook her head, snorting a laugh. ‘I’m getting there. Give me a minute.’ Her belt buckle was cold under her fingers and she fumbled with it before pulling down the zip on her jeans and taking another deep breath and pushing them down over her hips, cursing the woman watching her. There was just no dignified, yet alone elegant, way to take off a pair of jeans. She sat down again and pulled them off, one leg at a time.

  There. Down to underwear. Bra and knickers. Sports bra and boy leg pants.

  ‘Nice colour,’ the woman cackled. Merren looked up at her, mouth twisting a little in amusement.

  ‘You know, we really should know each other’s names,’ she said, and spread a hand to gesture at her discarded clothes. ‘Considering.’

  The woman straightened and stepped forward, holding out a hand. ‘Beverley,’ she said. ‘Beverley Canton.’

  Merren reached for the fingers, clasped them for a moment, averting her eyes from the way Beverley’s robe fell open to reveal stretches of nut-coloured flesh.

  ‘I’m Merren,’ she said. ‘And yes, definitely my first time.’

  Beverley turned away. ‘Ah, you’ll be fine, don’t you worry. You’ve a nice figure for it. Interesting. They don’t like perfect, when it comes to our figures.’ She laughed and tapped herself on the chest. ‘As you might find obvious, to look at me.’ She had a throaty laugh that Merren quite liked. And despite what was under the white terry-towelling robe now, Beverley must, at one stage, have been quite the beauty.

  ‘Still,’ Beverley carried on, confirming Merren’s thought. ‘When I started out, I was something, all right. In demand, I was. Passed from one to the other for a while.’ She sniffed and smiled happily at the memory. ‘All round the country, I went.’ She dropped a wink. ‘Got to see all sorts of things.’

  Merren didn’t doubt it. She nodded, and checked the Apple watch on her wrist, supposing that she ought to take it off. Still, looking around at the bare and dusty room, she didn’t like to leave it here. Not a secure spot.

  ‘Where do we stash our valuables?’ she asked.

  Beverley turned away and snatched up a robe off a hook and passed it to her. It was the twin for her own, which she belted securely around her waist at last.

  ‘We lock them in there,’ she said, lifting her chin to point at a row of lockers, the varnish on their wooden doors nicked and scarred.

  Merren looked at them, wrinkling her nose, dubious. ‘And then where do we put the key?’

  That laugh again, and Merren wondered if Beverley still smoked. She should try vaping instead. Better on the lungs and wallet. ‘Pop it in the pocket of your robe, love. There’s nowhere else unless you’re thinking of sticking it where the sun don’t shine.’

  That wasn’t a place Merren was comfortable putting any foreign object that wasn’t attached at least in some way to a person. She stood up.

  ‘Right then; I guess we’re doing this.’ She put the robe on the chair.

  ‘Yup,’ said Beverley. ‘That we are.’ She was back lounging against the door, watching Merren shamelessly, a smile on her face that said she was just tickled pink to be party to Merren’s first time.

  For a brief moment, Merren considered asking her to look away while she stripped down to bare, cold-stippled skin, but really, what was the point? You didn’t get into this line of work to be shy in front of one person.

  ‘How old are you?’ Beverley asked as Merren pulled off her bra, dropped it on the untidy pile of her clothes, then tugged down her underpants.

  ‘Twenty-four,’ she replied, reaching for the robe.

  ‘Yeah? Just a spring chicken then. You a student?’

  Merren nodded and threaded her arms into the robe, pathetically grateful for the insulation the thick cotton provided. She cinched it tight and stooped to pick up her clothes. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Bit old to still be a student, aren’t you? Twenty-four? Aren’t you kiddies usually done by then?’

  There were six lockers all in a row and Merren picked one at random. It had a couple shelves and she shoved in her clothes, not bothering to fold them. It was too cold to worry about a few wrinkles on the other end of what she was about to do.

  ‘I’m collecting degrees,’ she said, answering the question and taking off the watch, tucking that securely under her clothes. ‘It’s my other hobby.’ She shut the door, grasped the key in the flimsy lock, shrugged inwardly at the sight of it, then twisted it on a sigh and dropped it into the pocket of her robe.

  Okay. That was that, then. If she wasn’t committed to this before, she sure was now, standing in the dim silence of this back room, nothing on but a robe that had a bald patch just under the right breast as though from years of self-conscious hands clutching at the fabric.

  ‘Ready?’ Beverley asked. ‘They’ll be waiting for us to get set, I reckon.’

  Merren nodded. ‘Sure,’
she said. ‘You and I will be in the same room, right?’

  ‘Yup.’ Beverley laughed again, obviously the kind of person who didn’t take much seriously. ‘Needing some moral support, are you love?’

  Merren looked down at her body, bare under the robe, and walked towards the door. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I’m a bit lacking any other sort of support at the moment.’

  Beverley chortled behind her and pulled the door closed, then tugged on Merren’s sleeve, pulling her down the corridor.

  ‘They’ll have the heating on in there, right?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Beverley said, then pinched Merren’s elbow. ‘But not too warm, you know.’ Another pinch. ‘We want the nipples to stand to attention.’

  Merren groaned. Thought about all the other places she could be. All the other things she could be doing.

  She could be around on the Peninsula helping spruce up Suzette’s boat. It was sunny outside, even if in this old building it felt almost artic.

  She could be getting underfoot in her Mum’s kitchen, swiping slices of whatever new batch of paleo bread was fresh out of the oven.

  Hell, she could even be at the university library, stalking the stacks, pulling books out at random to see if they caught her eye, or heaven forbid, at home planning next year’s courses.

  Beverley’s hand was on the door. Her wrinkled face turned an impish grin on Merren. ‘You ready?’

  There was no answer to that. Merren’s throat was too dry. She gave a limp nod.

  The art room was lit by giant windows, the morning sun streaming in through them like beams of gauzy gold. Beverley pinched her elbow again, and Merren padded forward on her bare feet, stepping between the empty easels set up in a big circle around the room.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ she hissed.

  ‘They’ll be here in a minute, don’t you worry.’

  In the middle of the room was a sheet-draped dais, and upon it like poor men’s thrones, two stools.

  Beverley was suddenly business-like. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you into place. Check your pose – you’ve been told what to expect and everything, right?’

  Merren looked around, counting the empty easels. There were twenty of them. ‘These are all going to be filled?’ she asked.

  ‘Every one of them,’ Beverley said, her tone dryly amused. ‘Have you decided on a pose for today? One you’re confident you’ll be able to hold for an hour?’

  Forcing herself to focus, Merren nodded. ‘Yes, and they said not to try anything too difficult the first time. It takes a while to get used to holding the same position for so long, apparently.’ Merren flushed. ‘Well, you’d know.’

  ‘That I would. It’s an art form in itself, in my opinion, being a good artist’s model.’ She stepped onto the dais. ‘So, let’s see what you have before everyone comes in.’

  Nodding, Merren climbed up beside her, looked resolutely away from the waiting easels, and positioned herself on one of the stools.

  ‘You’ll have to take your robe off, love, so I can see what’s what. You can put it back on until everyone arrives, but let’s make sure you’re looking good.’

  Merren slipped off her robe and arranged herself into the pose she’d practiced on a chair at home. Feet on the floor, one a little ahead of the other, torso twisted slightly, head to the side, one forearm resting on a knee, the other arm behind her back. Now that she was here, she had no idea how she was going to hold the position, but there it was.

  Beverley stood back, gazing at her, one finger pressed to pursed lips. Merren glanced at her, then looked away.

  ‘Can you stretch your spine a little more?’ Beverley asked.

  Merren breathed in, stretched, looked at the older woman.

  Beverley nodded. ‘That’s excellent. Nice, athletic body you’ve got. But still shapely. Everyone will like you.’ Her face split into a grin. ‘How’s it feel so far?’

  ‘Revealing,’ Merren said, and relaxed, picking up her robe and pulling it back on.

  ‘Yeah, well, you’d best get used to that.’ Beverley laughed and set herself on her own stool, perched there like a wizened bird. ‘We’re going to be a great contrast, you and I. Youth and Age. Excellent for the students.’

  Merren nodded. ‘How long have you been doing this, Beverley?’

  ‘Since you were a babe in arms, love. Since you were just in your nappies spitting up on your mother’s shoulder.’

  There was noise outside the other door and before Merren could answer Beverley, the door opened, and it spilled into the room a rush of bodies gossiping and laughing, only stilling to arrange themselves in front of the waiting easels, casting expectant glances in Merren’s direction.

  The noise dimmed to rustlings. The scrape of stools dragged closer to easels. Then there was hushed, waiting silence. Beverley took off her robe and dropped it off the edge of the platform before sitting down on the floor beside her stool, one elbow propped on the seat, knees bent, feet tucked under her. She looked at Merren and smiled.

  Merren’s robe joined hers, and she sat down on her stool feeling everyone’s gaze upon her. She could hear her own breathing in her ears, forced it to calm. Stretched her spine, turned her head to the side, and gazed out at nothing, willing her skin not to turn pink with embarrassment.

  A moment later, she heard the rasp of charcoal on drawing paper, and concentrated on watching the sun at the window, cursing herself for her absurd desire to try new things, experience new sensations.

  Chapter Two

  ‘So, did you do it?’

  Merren stretched, tugged her sunglasses off the top of her head and put them on, gazing out over the tufted waves of the harbour. They were scooting inland with the harried haste of the wind at their tails to the outcropping where she and Suzette stood.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I did it.’ It was useless playing it cool, and she cracked a wide, sunny grin. ‘I really did.’

  Suzette blinked at her, shook her head. ‘You’re crazy, you know that, don’t you?’

  A nod. ‘Starting to suspect, yeah.’

  Her sister sniffed, turned back to pluck at the rigging of her latest toy. Her sun-bleached head dipped in the sun, then bobbed back up.

  ‘What was it like? Really?’

  Merren ran her fingers through her own short brown hair. ‘Really?’ she asked. ‘Really, it was like nothing I’ve ever done before.’

  Her sister gazed blankly at her. ‘Uh, elaborate, maybe?’

  That was difficult. Turning her gaze back to the water, to the looming hills of Port Chalmers on the other side of the harbour, Merren contemplated her first time as an artist’s model.

  ‘It was the most meditative experience I’ve probably had,’ she said at last. ‘The most focused, grounded, and yet detached experience of myself. You wouldn’t believe it.’ She shook her head, not at her sister’s capacity for belief, but at the sheer size of how she felt about what she’d done.

  Suzette rolled her eyes and pushed impatiently at a strand of wind-struck hair. ‘You’re doing your thing again,’ she said.

  Merren grinned. ‘My thing? I have a thing?’

  A grumble from her sister. ‘Your metaphysical, philosophical thing. You’re as bad as Mum.’

  That made Merren shrug and grin wider, sticking her hands in her pockets. ‘Well, how about I just go talk to Mum then, since she and I apparently share a thing?’

  ‘Good plan,’ Suzette said. ‘I have work to do.’ She looked down at the little trimaran with clear grey eyes the colour of the sea on a cloudy day. ‘Serious work.’

  ‘Uh huh. You taking that thing out later? Want a ride-along?’

  Suzette’s pretty face lit up in a radiant smile. ‘You sure you won’t worry about breaking your nails, now you’re a fancy model?’ she teased.

  Merren laughed and flapped a hand at her sister. The fingernails were conspicuously short. ‘I’ll be back in an hour or so.’

  ‘Yeah, that’ll be good. The weather’s going to chan
ge later.’

  A look at the sky had Merren frowning. ‘You sure?’ It was a picture-perfect day up there amongst the clouds.

  Suzette looked back at her, eyebrows raised, and Merren nodded.

  ‘Okay, got it. Stupid question. You got your thing, I got mine.’

  Her childhood home was across the road and behind a tall hedge that somehow managed to look dignified despite its faint air of neglect. Merren reminded herself to dig out the hedge clippers someday soon and give it a tidy-up. She bounded up the steps to the veranda and stuck her head in the front door.

  ‘Mum?’ she called.

  ‘In here, sweetheart.’

  Merren sniffed the air and followed her appreciative nose through to the kitchen. It was at the back of the house, a glassed-in extension she and her brother Harrison had paid for as a surprise for their mother on her 50th birthday. Their mother had barely left the kitchen since.

  ‘This is a nice surprise,’ her mother Olivia said, lifting a soft cheek to her daughter’s kiss.

  ‘Mmm hmm,’ Merren said, planting the kiss in the expected spot and looking around the kitchen. ‘Whatcha got cooking?’

  Olivia popped her hands on her hips in satisfaction. ‘New recipe today. An apricot and almond cake.’

  Merren’s mouth watered. Yum. Is it taste-testing time?’

  From the corner of the room, an amused voice answered. ‘Merren, it’s always taste-testing time when you arrive – you have an uncanny instinct for it.’