Something I do, once or twice a week around dinner time is park my car somewhere pleasant, quiet, out of the way, and compose a tasty salad from items purchased from Woolies. The usual mix is rocket, coleslaw, avocado, lentils and a freshly squeezed lemon. I use my fork (I have three, op shop purchases, each with unique handle) to puncture the lemon - about a third of the diameter, insert it and maneuver the juice out. I also use the fork to punch tiny holes length ways around the avo and twist it, access the luscious pulp. I toss it all together in my large, fluoro green salad bowl (op shop, $3) and eat it while reading whatever book I am into at the time. 

I am currently reading and enjoying John Lyndon's autobio, "Anger is an Energy'. I was reading some this evening, down by the river, but my repast was not the usual salad, but a Christmas eve treat - pizza. It was a vego pizza with extra garlic, anchovies and pineapple - my fave. The plan was to eat half and have the other half when I got home. Of course, that was not going to happen. Num, num, num...

Johnny (Rotten) was writing about a period when he was living in Brixton, UK. He said at the time it was quite a rough area. It made me think of Kings Cross in Sydney, an area I gravitated towards in the late eighties and early nineties. It was definitely seedier then, much more interesting than now, and did have an element of danger to it. As I was driving home, I thought about my own experiences there and tried to remember any dangerous encounters. One that I had not thought of for quite a long time, floated back into my awareness. 

It was 1989, and I was recently divorced. I would frequent a cafe called Michelangelo's which was located right on the corner of Victoria Rd and William street. It had good coffee and focaccia as well as an ample balcony that looked over the west entry to the KX tunnel as well as the ubiquitous Coke sign off to the left. The cafe eventually shut up shop and became a nightclub/bar called Haste. Ten years later, I would again frequent the same location - swapping espresso for mojito and focaccia for kissing girls.

But in 1989, I had not yet graduated to player and was single. I would sit on the balcony in the afternoons and read my book, drinking my coffee. This one afternoon, an extraordinarily beautiful woman, late twenties maybe, sat a few tables away, facing me. She looked like a Cherokee Indian squaw, or the semblance of. She had a very unusual dynamic about her. I was intrigued. She sat alone and we shared some eye contact. I remember as I was eating my croissant, I looked down and consciously tried to mimic her vibe, give off a similar energy - in the way I moved, the pace, the attitude. I was experimenting. Being a little trippy, indulging a bit in a different level of connection. I did not look up at her for a while but somehow felt that she was watching me. 

I suspected that she may have been a drug user, although I can't say exactly why. Something. But, as I said, she was breathtakingly beautiful in her face and body, so much so that it overrode any hesitation or prejudice, wariness I might have normally felt. In fact, I recall, I kind of acted as though I was a user, too, relishing my flakey pastry while high. It was pure conjugation, I had no first hand experience with heroin.

I was pretty startled when she appeared beside me. Truly shocked, really.

'Got a light, have ya?' In those days you could smoke anywhere. I didn't. But the chasm had been crossed. We had connected. She sat down opposite me. Seeing her close up only served to impress and entice me more. She was quite a presence. I felt all kinds of things... attraction, doubt, excitement, challenge...

We talked for about 45 minutes about all kinds of things. Although I felt a little out of my league, I was being as cool as I could and playing the flirtation game. Eventually she said she had to go and do something - but why don't I come down to her place nearby in Rushcutters Bay in a couple of hours for a drink at sunset. She gave me the address. Sure.

It felt weird, actually. Something was not quite right. Was it too easy? Why was she interested in me? There was something about her that I could not quite work out. And yet... 

Did I consider not going? Yes.
Did I consider it for long? No.
Should I have considered it for longer? Maybe.

But I was not to know. I could not possibly turn down an opportunity like this. She was one of the most beguiling, alluring and mysterious presences I had ever met. It wasn't a love feeling, it was more lust, but it was strong. And what could go wrong, anyway? No need to be paranoid. All I was doing was going for a drink.

I found the place without trouble. A block of about thirty units, spread long and wide, about three stories high. Underground parking. She buzzed me in. I parked the car - it was actually a Tarago - I had just finished working on a Japanese TVC shoot and had it  for the weekend. I found the apartment, up three flights. When I got to the door, I noticed in the wood, several distinct crescent shaped indentations around head level. Hmmm... they seemed to be made by a hammer. Strange. I knocked and she answered, opened the door. Motioned me in.

Three things struck me immediately. 

One: she was wearing only a bath towel. 
This is like the movies, I thought. I cannot believe it. It's like a fantasy coming true. It's all being handed to me.

Two: her vibe had changed significantly.
I can't exactly explain it, but there was a noticeable shift. Almost like she was a different person. Some of the natural warmth was gone, the pure Indian spirit - and it was replaced by something a bit more calculated, detached. I don't know, maybe she was high, I thought.

Three: On the inside of the door was a second door. A cast iron security door. OK. Yeah. But it's on the inside...? And when I stepped in, she locked it. With a key.

Alarm bells started going off in my head. Not full volume, just muffled ones. 

Come in, come in... She got me a drink. Vodka orange? Something like that. We sat on the couch. I'll just be a sec, she said and got up, went into the bathroom. OK, sure. She's going to get dressed. Don't panic. It's a bit unusual but nothing amazing happens without a bit of uncertainty. The vodka took a bit of the buzz off. Gulp, gulp. I stood up, walked over the balcony. It was sliding large frame glass doors. Perhaps I'll step out, take a few deep breaths. I stepped closer to reach and open them. What I saw, truly shocked me.

They were joined together by a short, heavy duty chain. And on the chain was a padlock. Locked.

Just as I noticed she came out of the bathroom and headed towards me.  She was still in her towel! 

Everything alright?

Ah, yeah. Um... 

Then, to add to the surreal-ness, the tension in the air, as if by magic, her towel fell to the floor. She was completely naked. I didn't want to stare, so I looked away.

Ooops, she said, like Marilyn woulda.

She must have sensed my rising anxiety, so she came and sat down beside me, towel back on. 

Tell me about the job you were on....

My mind was racing. It was all just too, too weird. Now it felt like she was just stalling. Trying to keep me there, distract me.

Something was very, very wrong. I was sure that any minute some dude, or dudes would be arriving and I was going to be in some serious danger. 

"Hey, you know, what..." I said, as casually as I possibly could, downplaying any panic. "I've got some photos in the Tarago. Why don't I go and get them... "

"Oh, that's OK," she said, "you can just tell me..."

I stood up, acted enthusiastic, innocent. "No, no, you're going to love them..." I stepped towards the double doors. She hesitated then unlocked it.

I think she still thought I was good, unaware. Not letting me get them would show her hand.

"Don't be long!" she whispered, touching my face.

"I won't..." I said, keeping the act up, being cheerful. 

I didn't even look back at her. Whoever it was that lured me there had shape shifted and revealed her true self. I had brushed up against desperation, evil.

I got in the Tarago and drove the fuck out of there.

I was lucky. I had escaped what possibly could have been a seriously unfortunate incident. I cannot begin to even imagine what would have happened when the muscle turned up, playing the enraged boyfriend, or whatever the scam was. Important things was, I made it out.

I didn't go back to Michelangelo's. Found a better spot - just around the corner. The Tropicana. I became a regular. There I made some great new friends. And never looked back.

Some of my most wonderful life experiences have, without a doubt, been in sharing time with women. So have some of my most challenging. Often, but not always, they are with the same woman.

One such woman, I'll call her Claire, I met in New Zealand while shooting a Japanese TV commercial a few decades ago. She was hired by the local producer as a production assistant, also known as runners. They help out wherever they can on set or location - doing anything from driving, to getting meals, handing out call sheets, etc.

Although I do remember the first time I was introduced to Claire, in the production office in Wellington, it wasn't until we were on set a few days later that something really pinged and I realised that there was some attraction there. She was a bit like a cat; quietly confident, graceful and sleek, and, I was soon to find out great to curl up with, fun to make purr.

We started out playing some cheeky games with ice cubes, one day on location when the main crew were out on the camera car getting some shots. She was up for any challenge and we shared a sense of humour and play. I love that moment when you both realise that eventually you are going to be together. Maybe you are not 100% sure, but it's 90% from both sides and you each use the last 10% as an ongoing oscillating tease. 

That evening, after the crew dinner in a small town pub, halfway down the south island of NZ, we snuck away to a secluded courtyard area and shared some time alone together to see if your chemistry was indeed what we perceived it to be. I remember, at my suggestion, we played a word game. A simple one but quite telling and revealing of each other's headspace, world view and nature. I would say a word and she would respond with the first word that came into her head, to which I would do the same and so on. 

It was smooth, funny and dynamic. I was surprised and delighted by her complexity, intelligence and layers. The 10% was reduced to 1%. She suggested we go for a drive. By now it was around 11pm. The call time for the next morning was six. "Let's go!" I said without hesitation and jumped in the passenger seat of her assigned mini van.  

After she had been driving for about ten, fifteen minutes, in the abandoned countryside, I asked her if she knew where she was going. "I'll know when we get there." was her response. It seemed a little strange, to be heading out so far into unknown territory (for us both), but I shrugged it off and relinquished control. We drove in silence for a while longer and then we crossed a bridge. I recall looking at here driving and suddenly getting a feeling of dread, a strange and powerful gut feeling. What was it and why? I did not know. I surpressed it, though. I was too into her. I was willing to see the outcome. It was a mild, inexplicable panic. I did not want to succumb to it, although it was noted and filed. By the time we pulled up on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere, it had passed. We got out of the car and climbed over a fence and ran across a large open paddock. Our destination, using only the available moonlight to guide us was a giant, multi-layered stack of hay bales. Like a couple of crazy kids, we climbed up to the mid level, and laying out coats down as a blanket, we began to get intimate.

You know you are with a good match when you really just want to keep kissing. Kissing is more than enough. Your body is pumping chemicals like there is no tomorrow, your eyes are closed, all your senses are on high alert, your faces are smashed together, saliva is being exchanged, tongues whirling in playful delight. There is nowhere else in the world you would rather be. You are experiencing one of those moments on planet earth that is as close to perfection as you'll ever get. You are connecting with another person in a way that makes you feel incredibly present and incredibly transported to another dimension at the same time.

Eventually, the animal takes over and nudges even the most romantic, slow burners towards intercourse. We were just beginning, maybe five or ten minutes into it, when we noticed car lights at the gate. After a few moments of confusion - we were out in the middle of nowhere at 1am - I leapt up and pulled my pants on, headed towards the lights. What I saw gave me chills. It was a man holding a rifle. Not just holding it, but pointing it at me as he walked towards me. For a second or two I was frozen. 

"What the bloody hell are you doing on my property?"

He was angry but not psychotic. I told him we were just out on a drive and decided to do some star gazing. In the meantime, Claire had put her clothes on and gathered the rest of mine, joining me at my side. She apologised with me and I believe that the old fella worked out exactly what was going on and realising we were no threat in any way, chose to cut us some slack. He did not become friendly, but he did lower his gun as he invited us to piss off.

It was an unexpected experience, a heightened experience. When we got back to my room at the motel our intimacy was continued, perhaps improved by our shared brush with danger. We took our time and knew that our bodies were as meant for each other as our personalities and minds. There was no question that this was something special.

We only had one other opportunity to be together in private and that was on my last night in Christchurch. Claire snuck back to my hotel room quite late, after the wrap dinner. Not being sure when we would see each other again made it bitter sweet. 

Of course, we had to see each other again. We conversed transpacific a few times and soon arranged for Claire to come and visit me in Bondi. It was so exciting to see her again and it felt like something real and potentially long term. We were so compatible. As well as being gorgeous in an understated way, she was a very cool person who had a quiet confidence and alluring charm. It felt like I was the only one who had access to this truly amazing being. I was euphoric. After some time in Bondi, I decided to treat her with a trip to Australia's chilled, spiritual rejuvenation, coastal mecca; Byron Bay. It was on our last day there, after a week of laughing and loving, heavenly hanging, that the dream came to a sudden and shocking halt.

It came in the form of a message on my mobile phone. Mobiles were still pretty new then and basic. Texting didn't exist. Calls were often missed or would go straight to mail box. This one came from a private number and went straight to messages. I pushed one to listen. It was a voice I did not recognise. It went something like this:

"This is Ben. I'm Claire's boyfriend. I know you are with her in Byron Bay. I'm at your place in Bondi right now. I'm waiting in the stair well with a knife. I'm not afraid to go to prison. I have been there before. I'm not even afraid to do life. If I can't have Claire, there's no point in living anyway. You've taken her from me and that is unforgivable. I've got lots of nasty friends in Sydney who..."

And on it went. Increasingly desperate, unbalanced, shocking, threatening and psychotic. After another few seconds, I hit the discard button. Shut it down. I was spooked enough. The message was clear.

The place we were staying was booked out. We moved to a hotel on the Gold Coast but did not catch our scheduled flight back to Sydney. We holed up there for a few more days and nights. I arranged for a mate to scope out my place. Claire assured me that he wouldn't be there. That he was a lot of bark and only some bite. Still. Bite's are painful.

Who was this guy? And why had I not known about this?

Turns out he was a recent ex. A dangerous character. She had left him, finally, after an unhappy, tormenting and prolonged break up. But in his mind, it was not over. He had found out about me through their friend's network and somehow got my phone number and address. 

Was he really dangerous? Did he really have bikie friends? 

Yes and yes. But, she didn't think he would really actually kill me. But he could, maybe. Friends of their friends had taken out hit orders on people before.

A whole new side of her became apparent. She was someone who walked the line. Live dangerously. Under that sweetness was cold blood. She was attracted to my free spirit and comparative innocence. I've had my share of scrapes with trouble, sure, but I've never taken out a hit on someone. 

Anyway, she rang a mutual friend of theirs - the leader of a bike gang in NZ. After a few conversations to and fro, including the big dude calling and allegedly placating Ben - I was given the all clear. No assassination today.

From Sydney, she returned home. She promised to get it sorted out before the next time we would meet. I was going to go down there. Spend some time at her place, meet the family...

We continued to talk on the phone. But things were different. I could not comfortable integrate into that world. Her and me... yes. The rest of it... no, thanks. The calls became shorter and less frequent. Time, in it's giant rolling snowball way, whited out everything. As it does, as it does.

Sometimes, I would think back to that very strong feeling I got before it all started. In the van on that first night. I believe I sensed the trouble in her, around her. She showed none of it, but it was there, hidden away. I sensed it. I could not have known - and I wanted to be with her, so I let it dissipate. But it was one of a very few times in my life I have ever felt it like that. It was spot on.