After a Friday night of good food, wine and the company of her most trusted friends, Bridget Westfall was convinced she could marshal her feelings, put them into place and do what she was trained to: namely help Franky Doyle work through her issues and usher her to parole and a second chance at becoming a productive member of society.
"Oh and she calls me Gidget," she said, snorting and shaking her head.
"Like the surfer girl in that American film?" Nikki Wade asked, clearly amused.
"I suppose," Bridget said.
"Nicknaming can be a sign of affection," Helen posited.
"Or ridicule, bullying, domination," Bridget countered, swallowing hard on that last word. "Either way it's not… appropriate. She's predisposed to feel positively toward me – I'm a female authority figure and I'm one of the few people who have ever gone to bat for her in her entire life."
"Or it may be more than that," Helen Stewart said. "She may recognize a great woman when she sees one."
"You're a flatterer, Stewart," Bridget smiled, patting her friend's hand. "And I appreciate that quality in you." The smile melted into a countenance of serious worry. "But seriously, I need to stop this in its tracks."
"We do appreciate how serious this is," Helen said, looking directly at her friend. "I've been in your spot and I get that this scenario defies logic and your moral and ethical code."
Bridget exhaled, "Yeah. But at least I know what to do. I believe I can get the ship back on course. I'll just have to be keen and decisive about boundaries. All business."
"Well, we're here for you, you know that?" Helen smiled. "Nikki and I do have pretty specific experiences that color our responses to this but we both love you and support you."
"Thank you," Bridget smiled at the pair before her face erupted in a yawn. "Pardon me."
"Oh my God, it's so late," Helen yawned in response. "I lost track. Why don't you just stay the night?"
"Yes, stay!" Nikki added, standing to stretch long limbs. She reminded Bridget of how Jyoti would do the same after sitting for any length of time. Bridget became lost in that thought and neglected to decline the offer so in minutes she was wishing her friends good night and closing the guest room door behind her.
Bridget had always liked this room. The walls were a creamy sand color with wooden furniture painted white, and white linens with a faint design of the same sandy tan intermingled with grayish-blue and celadon green. A large abstract painting hung above the bed and overall the room had a peaceful quality to it. She had slept here a time or two after Jyoti's death.
Along with fresh towels, Helen had provided her an oversized t-shirt to sleep in but Bridget wasn't in the mood so after washing up she pulled the elastic from her ponytail, scrubbing scalp with her fingertips before she stripped and crawled into bed.
She lay still and quiet for a moment, enjoying the soft comfort of the bed and sheets on her skin. She turned on her side and pulled the spare pillow to her chest, wrapping toned arms around it. She often slept like this since she'd been sleeping alone.
Bridget began to make a mental checklist of articles to read, planning her weekend of realigning her approach to one Franky Doyle. But the wine, soft sheets and extreme quiet lulled her to sleep more quickly than she anticipated.
Bridget woke up with several disparate sensations: one, the awareness of a lot of light in the room; two, that this wasn't her bedroom; three, that she was naked – a quick glance at the bed behind her confirmed that she was alone; and four, she had been having a very intense sexual dream moments before.
Its lingering impressions in her mind were just out of reach though she had a pretty solid suspicion about who had been involved. Its lingering impressions on her body were unmistakable. As her hand slipped down between her legs she had no doubt what she would find. The copious wet, slick heat on her fingertips said it all. She chuckled to herself, at her body's clear expression of need.
Bridget rolled onto her stomach, focusing on sensation and nothing else as her fingers found a familiar rhythm. Soon, in her mind, the fingers were no longer hers and part of her wanted to fight that but she was already too close to release, sex grinding down with new urgency and drive. She came hard, shuddering, struggling to stifle moans of pleasure as the first orgasm crested and dropped and began to rise again for a second wave.
Minutes later she rolled onto her back, breath returning to normal. She actively kept the awareness of what had just happened at bay. Bridget called herself on her own avoidance and determined to examine it later that day – after a long run or a hot yoga class – and certainly after a cup of coffee.
Sheets stripped and back in her clothes from the previous night, she made her way first to the laundry room where she dropped linens into the washer along with her used towel and washcloth. She took the liberty of adding soap and starting the cycle before padding barefoot to the kitchen where she found Helen and Nikki canoodling.
"Morning," Nikki greeted her.
"Good morning," Bridget smiled.
"How'd you sleep?" Helen inquired, studying her.
"Beautifully well, thank you," she replied.
"Coffee?" Nikki offered.
"Yes, thank you," Bridget nodded, accepting the mug that Nikki held out to her.
"How're you feeling?" Helen asked as the therapist filled her mug, the scent of good coffee never failing to make her mouth water.
"I have a handle on things," Bridget said, unsure of whom she was trying to convince with the conviction that she voiced but did not feel. "And I have the weekend to really wrap my mind around it."
"Sounds like a plan," Helen said. "We'll be around if you want to talk more."
"Thank you," Bridget smiled, looking at both of her friends. "You two are… so consistently there for me. I appreciate it and I love you both."
Nikki smiled but Bridget knew the look in the brunette's eye. Nikki could tell she was far from out of the woods on the issue of Franky Doyle.
A bead of sweat ran from Bridget's hairline, down her temple, slowing as it reached the swell of sculpted cheek bone, before rolling over and dipping into the hollow of her cheek before rolling up over jaw and dropping into the wind. Normally she ran without awareness of things like perspiration but this day her nerve endings seemed to be set to "highly sensitive."
She rounded the corner as the Yarra curved southeast, river cutting the natural border of the park as she passed neared the Birrarung Marr. Running usually cleared her head but today she was singular in her focus: reestablishing her professional relationship with Franky.
Bridget had allowed Franky's evasions and distractions as an in-road to her resistant psyche but now they had established a rapport and it was time to push a little. She knew that if she could harness Franky's considerable mind to help the woman get to the root of her issues, that it was likely that Franky could recover and resume a great life of freedom. And she felt confident that if anyone could get through to the inmate, it was she.
Her phone vibrated in its pocket that was built into the sleeve of her running shirt. A quick sideways glance and she smiled at the caller ID image that filled the screen – a shot of this woman. She slowed her pace and answered the call, her own breath audible in the phone.
After a moment, the distinctly American voice of Kim Legaspi filled her ears, "Did I catch you at an inopportune moment?"
Though they lived on different continents, Bridget considered the psychiatrist to be one of her closest friends. The tall, leggy blonde had breezed into her life at a professional conference in London when they were both early in their careers. Each woman was presenting at the conference and after the blonde chatted her up the first night at the hotel bar, they were already getting friendly.
"Not at all," Bridget chuckled at her friend's innuendo, finally slowing to a walk. "I was running."
"From who?" Kim inquired, clearly amused.
Bridget was silent for a moment. "Well, actually…"
"What's her name?"
Bridget sighed, "It's a bit more complicated than that."
"What's his name?"
"Not that kind of complicated, Kim," Bridget smiled. "I'd actually love your advice about… the situation."
"Situation?" Kim asked. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Bridget said, high pitch betraying her for the second time in two days.
"Friend-with-skills kind of advice?" Kim asked.
The two friends usually spoke a few times each month, either by phone or Skype. But occasionally they called one another to discuss something decidedly professional – an ethical question, a patient issue, the need to work out something in their own psyche. It was less formal than a therapy session but more formal than a friendly phone call. It had begun when Kim phoned her out of the blue in the middle of the night – the 17-hour time difference not yet mastered. A patient had made inappropriate sexual remarks about Kim during their session and she wanted to talk it through and get Bridget's take on how to handle it.
"I need a friend with skills," she had told Bridget, and the phrase had stuck.
Bridget bent forward, stretching her hamstrings. "Yes," she replied. "But first, how are you?"
"Peachy," Kim replied. "Just finished an article on my study and I want your take on it. I just emailed it to you."
"Oh great!" Bridget said. "I'll read it tonight."
"If you have time to read it tonight, I take it you don't have a date," Kim pressed.
"Uh, no," Bridget replied. "You?"
After a pause, the American said, "Well, that's a question with an interesting answer."
"Oh yeah?" Bridget asked, her turn to be amused. "Care to entertain a sex-starved singleton with your exploits?"
Kim laughed, "Wouldn't that be cruel and unusual? Are you self-punishing, Miz Westfall?"
"No," Bridget replied. "Simply living vicariously."
"Ah," Kim said. "How about I tell you all the juicy details tomorrow when I call to get your reaction to the paper. That way you can finish your run."
"Sounds great," Bridget agreed. "Same time?"
"Perfect," Kim responded. "Hey, Bridget – thank you. You're my best editor."
"Well I know it's hard for you to strangle me for my suggestions when you're 17 hours away," Bridget smiled, feeling great affection for her friend. "When ya coming to see me?"
"Perhaps soon," Kim said.
"Seriously?" Bridget asked excitedly.
"We're seriously overdue for some one on one," Kim said. "I'll look at my calendar in the morning and we can talk about it when I call."
"Sounds like a plan," Bridget agreed, as a tall, thin brunette woman jogged past. Much as she had argued the point in her 20's and early 30's, Bridget definitely had a type. "Speak with you tomorrow."
"Good night, Kim."
"Good night, Bridget," she heard back. "I love you."
"I love you, too," Bridget smiled, warmed as she always was, by the blonde's wholehearted sweetness.
The brunette woman was now about 200 yards away now, reaching the part where the path curved sharply. Bridget could catch up with her if she pushed. Probably.
But as Bridget walked into a run, she knew she had no real interest in that, preferring a solitary run and thoroughly uninterested in chatting up anyone. She found iTunes again and hit play. Her body hit the beat just as Sia began to sing.
"You're dark grey like a storm cloud
Swelling up with rage that is desperate to be let out
And I know it's a heavy load carrying those tears around
Carrying those fears around, worry makes the world go round.
You're twisted up like a slipknot
Tied by a juicehead who just took his T-shot, and I know
There's a hungry dog tugging at your frayed ends
But he's just playing with you, he just wants to be your friend
So don't worry, don't worry I'm here by your side
By your side, by your side
We're letting go tonight!
Yesterday is gone and you will be OK
Place your past into a book, burn the pages
Let 'em cook oh
Yesterday is dead and gone and so today
Place your past into a book, burn the pages
Let 'em cook
Eyes stinging from the black smoke, new hope
Loose rope, risen from the undertow
All is well
We welcome the cry, of the dark night sky
Swallow me peacefully, follow my heart back inside
So don't worry, don't worry I'm here by your side
By your side, by your side
We're letting go tonight!
Yesterday is gone and you will be OK
Place your past into a book, burn the pages
Let 'em cook oh
Yesterday is dead and gone and so today
Place your past into a book, burn the pages
Let 'em cook
Don't worry, don't worry I'm here by your side
By your side, by your side
We're letting go tonight!"
On her fifth repeat of the song Bridget knew she had found her mantra for moving forward with Franky. As she rounded the corner of her block, she slowed to a walk and mouthed the words.
"Yesterday is gone and you will be OK
Place your past into a book, burn the pages
Let 'em cook oh
Yesterday is dead and gone and so today
Place your past into a book, burn the pages
Let 'em cook."
Breath heaving, heart racing she added, "Let 'em cook, Franky."
(TBC)