A Woman with Mongrel Ch. 02

SO FAR: A still grieving widow Carson Robertson hospitalizes in a vehicle accident the author of the bumbling detective book series that is growing in popularity, Guilty at injuring the creator of the fabulous character Jessie Chicago, Carson takes Harry Truscott into her home to help in his rehabilitation. Harry has a broken shoulder that is encased in a gunslinger brace. Carson reads back copies of the series and finds she is beginning to share the persona of Jessie Chicago and is influenced by Harry suggesting she ought to lace herself with more 'bite' -- he calls it mongrel. Carson's niece Sara and Carson create a website they link to the new Jessie Chicago fan club in Chicago; the article announces that the missing author is alive and well and is working on the hotly awaited twelfth book in the series in which Jessie is expected to propose marriage to the Bumbling Detective.

*

With baby Lydia asleep and author Harry Truscott and her niece Sara George away at the gym, Harry's hostess and benefactor Carson Robertson poured a coffee and began readingThe Bumbling Detective Duels with Baron Von Hoff.

It was selective reading of course, a piece centered on Jessie Chicago's fears as master swordsman Baron Von Hoff crosses blades with the bumbling Diomedes who is about to be carved up like a roast unless he puts aside his personal code of conduct, draws out his .38 Smith and Wesson Special and shoots the villain.

During that quiet time, tears dampening her cheeks, Carson came to realize what Sara had attempted to tell her: The over-riding thing that Jessie Chicago had that Carson didn't was passion. Jessie had it galore, enough for two people.

Carson put the book down. She was doomed to remain an ageing Barbie Doll -- good gracious, did Sara really have to say ageing -- if she truly lacked passion. Her one hope was perhaps she did have passion but had never learned to release it. Barbie dolls! Carson had never been into them, but her Molly and Susan had been dolls of character. Dolls with passion? No, they were always perfectly behaved. Carson wasn't sure if she preferred the word bitch or the word mongrel -- both were pretty repulsive. But if that's what it took to drive passion out of her then she'd have to find the switch.

One niggle remained -- what if she could become something like Jessie Chicago -- her friends would probably think she was on drugs. Did that matter? No! Her mom was to be blamed for creating the Barbie Doll likeness, ruminated Carson, an edge of resentment running through her belly. Her mother always wanted Carson to be so good and made it so difficult for her to resist her mother's persuasive charm.

The deceitful bitch -- all she wanted was to hear her friends say her daughter was such an adorable child. With resentment rising, Carson hadn't been aware that she's just tagged her mother with an awful word she never used. 'Bother' and if really wound up, 'damn' were about tops for sweet-mouthed Carson, who'd rate as the perfect antithesis in character to Jessie Chicago.

Picking up the phone Carson began calling friends -- she decided to host an impromptu barbecue party beside the pool tomorrow night. Her parties were legendary -- everything was always so nice, the people so well-behaved. A very predictable Mrs Barbie party.

"Grrrrrr," growled Carson aloud. "Let's try to let out the mongrel."

Sara came in first, her tights almost dripping sweat.

Carson was about to frown and say, 'Darling, perhaps it would be best if you shower before coming home' but caught herself. "Oh, look at that lovely sweat, darling; you must have thrown yourself into it this morning." Sara gave her a peculiar look and said something about going to shower.

Harry came in, red-faced and still perspiring. Carson walked over and kissed him, saying, "Did you give it heaps this morning, Harry. Come, I'll help you shower."

"Nice try, you sound almost authentic."

"Get into the fucking shower!" yelled Carson, pointing at the door to his bedroom. She did her best to look furious.

"Sorry, baby. But my mind is made up; I'll not try to touch that body of yours until I'm rid of this brace."

"Oh men!" wailed Carson, and stomped off to her bedroom, slamming the door.

Harry stood, mouth open, scratched his head with his good arm and went to shower.

Lydia began crying.

Thirty minutes later Carson came out, announced Lydia was asleep and told Harry she could put a couple of hours in working with him before she went shopping. Harry offered to accompany her shopping but Carson said no, quite defensively, he thought, unable to figure out why.

Harry and Carson were moving along quite well with the new novel, which was half completed when Carson took over on the keyboard. She resolved that she was not comment on Harry's dictation -- she was simply there to hit the keys and correct literals; it was, after all, his book.

Being soft by natural, Carson found it fairly easy not to interfere. Temptation to comment critically came only when they were working on the best part -- the red-head Jessie herself, especially during introspective musings. Harry would utter some uncharacteristic thought, quite unlike Jessie would think, but before Carson could type those words he'd call 'halt', and reword that passage. Eventually Carson had to concede that Harry knew Jessie better than she did, as he possessed future action thoughts about Jessie.

Initially the team -- Harry dictating and Carson keying in the words -- was anything but a team. Harry was unused to dictating and changes were rife.

"This is hopeless, it won't work," Harry had said. "With all these interruptions to correct myself, my thoughts are just not flowing on to screen."

Harry was sitting right up against Carson, she found this very acceptable. She could smell him -- his signature odor. It was very masculine and without doubt pleasant. She wondered if she could smell her womanly scent -- she believed that was what her natural body odor was called -- through her perfume? If he did, he gave no sign of it like...like what? As if sniffing the air.

Oh God, what was she thinking!

She was becoming interested in sex again, and knew it, and not only because of erotic dreams. A couple of days ago she'd seen a man, working on ripping off covering on a pitch roof, stop, and take off his shirt. The site of bared, sweaty flesh caught in the morning sunshine had stirred her.

During her mourning, sex had been the last thing on her mind, and during times of depression she'd often thought she would never be with another man again -- not after Philip, he was so special. That preparedness to remain celibate in tribute to Philip nosedived at a small party once evening. Sally Quirk, who rather away on gin, mentioned the company's assistant general manager was also missing Philip.

"Why?" asked Carson, with enough sparkling wine aboard to retort before she thought.

"Because they occasionally were at it."

They'd both giggled until Carson comprehended what she was giggling about. She was devastated, sank to the floor in a heap and had to be put to bed. Everyone thought it was post-death syndrome -- that she was at a social function and realized Philip was not there alongside her.

Carson has left her bed thick-headed next morning, ready to feed Lydia, absolutely determined to pull her money out of the company. It was either that or getting the adulterous woman fired, but that woman had a child and out-of-work husband to support.

Harry had returned from a nervous visit to the toilet.

"Harry, you are sitting all hunched up by me, looking at each word as I type it, this can't be a creative way of doing this. Why don't you try walking around the room, hands in pockets, looking at the carpet, looking out of the window -- looking anywhere but at me and the computer? Just walk and talk." Miraculously, that worked. They made great progress that day onThe Bumbling Detective Considers Jessie Chicago's Offer of Marriage.

Carson loved that title. Harry explained that the publisher wouldn't want such a long title, but the executives could go to Hell; either they accepted that title or no book.

"I can't imagine publishers accepting ultimatums, Harry, not even if you were an A-list author.

"Well, it sometimes pays to have a bit of mongrel in you, Carson. You know that, the jerk Diomedes Mantell doesn't but you know who does, don't you Carson?"

Carson knew Jessie Chicago did; Jessie had mongrel when it counted. By having that she's managed to get them out of tight corners time and time again. Mongrel, eh. That's never come to the surface with Harry before, and she'd never heard him refer to Diomedes Mantell in such an uncomplimentary way before. He called Diomedes a jerk!

Oh oh!

Carson clamped a hand over her mouth to cut off an anguished scream. She knew why Harry had just admitted something to her, in a very obtuse way...Diomedes the jerk was going to reject Jess's proposal of marriage!

Carson began to cry; she didn't want to cry but the tears still came.

"Oh Carson, Carson -- what's wrong?" called Harry, coming to her and placing his good arm around her. "Oh, you're shaking. Is it Philip?"

"Don't do it; don't do it Harry," she said, running from the room.

She didn't return and he heard the SUV roar off as if a hoon was driving it.

Harry went to the kitchen for coffee. Sara handed him Lydia and poured the coffee.

"What's up with Carson?"

"She doesn't want you to do it, Harry."

"She said that to me, but don't do what?"

"She didn't say; think Harry, you must know."

"I don't know anything," Harry whined, his mind a complete blank.

"Dad-dah," said Lydia, blue around the mouth.

Sara didn't appear to have heard what he thought was Lydia's first word.

"Sit down and flip her over, and rub her back in the way I've taught you Harry. She has wind."

Babies are just as complicated as women, mused Harry, settling down again, as thought processes reconnected. Why does Carson want to go shopping? She went to the supermarket this morning.

At the mall Carson sat in the SUV until she was calm. She tidied her hair, freshened her lipstick, and walking away from the vehicle in a very determined way, heading to the most expensive and daring dress shop in the mall.

* * *

The three adults watched TV together and when Sara departed Harry took her place on the sofa beside Carson.

"Carson dear, I'm sorry I upset you earlier today. I don't know what I did, but I apologize."

"That's fine Harry," she said, swinging around and kissing him full on the lips, pressing right into him. Then just as quickly, she was seated back upright, ready to watch one of her favorite programs.

Harry was slightly dazed. Was that a kiss, or was it what?

"Carson!" screamed Sara.

"Oh God, it's Lydia. She's been very windy today."

Harry's face crumpled.

"Oh Jesus, I've done damage trying to bring up her wind."

They raced out, and found Sara standing at the door to the computer room, smiling hugely.

"What is it?"

"Your web page -- the counter on it shows 7603 hits."

"But that's impossible; there is a delay before posting, it probably has only been up for a couple of hours."

"Sorry, Carson, the count now is 8557 hits."

"Eeeek!" shouted Carson. "Go to the Chicago website."

"What's all this about -- and why is the photo of me in bed half-naked on screen?"

"Later, Harry. Go Sara."

Sara brought up the 'Official Home Site of Jessie Chicago' maintained by the Jessie Chicago Fan Club of Chicago, Illinois.

"Oh, will you look at that," breathed Sara.

"You beautiful people," sighed Carson.

Harry simply gaped.

He's Alive and Jessie Chicago Lives!stated the banner.

The article quoted the World President of the Jessie Chicago Fan Club, Eleanor Silverstein, as saying reports that the author of The Bumbling Detective series had been wiped out in a rage motor accident by an insane woman driver had been dismissed as 'a complete fabrication'.

The creator of Jessie Chicago had just been released from hospital and had gone into retreat to complete the twelfth novel expected in bookshops before Christmas, stated the article.

"That brings immense relief to the fans of the heroine figure Jessie Chicago who is an inspiration to elegant women around the world who know how to kick butt when she has to."

The article concluded that the author's survival of the accident had been confirmed beyond doubt and then provided the website address of the page containing further details.

"We need to refresh our page," Carson said, smiling slyly, as Sara moved out of the seat.

Carson added an update: NEWFLASH: Author Harry Truscott has resumed writing the twelfth book; it is titledThe Bumbling Detective Considers Jessie Chicago's Offer of Marriage.

"Carson, you can't let the publishing editor see that cold -- I have to make submissions and explain my reasoning for wanting an unfashionably long title and that submission, if approved, then goes to the editorial board and then..."

"Stuff you, Harry; where's your mongrel," Carson said, signing off the change to the webmaster. "There, all done. The Jessie Chicago Fan Club members will from tomorrow be ordering the book of that title and the publisher will be advised of those orders. By the time we have finished with our advance promo, we will have generated a million advance sales, I reckon, perhaps two million. Have faith in yourself little man."

Carson swept from the room, humming 'The Grand March from Aida'.

"She can't do this, and her estimates of sales are ridiculously high," snorted Harry, pumping up ready to battle verbally, only his target had flown.

"She has done it, so get used to it Harry," Sara grinned. Aunt Carson's worked in marketing so will know what she's doing. Look at this meter reading of hits on her webpage -- er, our webpage. It was at 102,557 hits half an hour ago."

"Oh my," Harry gasped, wiping a hand across his mouth. It's just clicked 189,909. This is unbelievable."

"What's happened to her, Harry; I've never seen her as aggressive as this -- she was almost bossy to you?"

"Dunno, must be the excitement of this evening's barbecue.

Sara checked their Bumbling Detective author's webpage at midday and found the hits exceeded 220,000.

"The momentum is picking up Harry," she told the author Harry Truscott. "We may have captured a half million clicks by nightfall."

"Nah, they'll begin to fall off soon."

"You don't understand, Harry," Sara said patiently. "People will by networking by email, chat sites and text messaging on their phones. The big rush will come during the next twenty-four hours and then it will tail off."

"I think I should contact my agent and publisher -- they will be frantic about what's happened to me."

"Don't do it Harry; Aunt Carson says we must build the suspense."

"Well, if Carson wants that, so be it. But they will find me anyway as you said you emailed them copies of the web page -- they have this email address and will soon have your street address and phone number -- you amateurs have left yourselves wide open," Harry said, flushing in triumph.

"Aunt Carson used her former employer's website; they went out of business two years ago but the rental for the site on the Internet Service Provider's server was paid five years in advance to get maximum discount. She sent the emails from within the web page and they can only be traced back to that page, unless whoever is searching digs really deep. Somehow I don't think the agent or the publisher will do that."

"Carson's has brain as well as looks, doesn't she?"

"Harry, if you have just concluded that, you are a slow learner for the creator of a smart-ass detective and his superwoman sidekick."

"Don't be too hard on me, young Sara. I am just a male."

Sara giggled.

"Little wonder my aunt likes you."

"Likes me -- you mean Carson?"

"Oh Harry, sharpen up will you. Do you want her to blow a mating call trumpet?"

"Sara!"

But Sara had left the room while he was reaching one-handed to fish out his handkerchief to wipe his steamed-up glasses.

At 3:00 Carson arrived back from shopping then loaded the SUV.

"I'm taking Lydia over to mom's as arranged but I'll change over there. Don't worry if I'm a little late -- you have met most of those coming, Sara, and Harry you'll know Fred Quirk and Peter Doig and because you are male the women will soon introduce themselves."

"Peter Doig," Harry said doubtfully.

"Yes, Peter. A bit stroppy but he knows law and has been a friend of this family for a long time. His wife Lisa was my chief bridesmaid and we went through school and university together."

"Fred's more my type."

"I guess the meek attract their kind, but I can live with that -- at least you are both gentlemen."

Wow! mouthed Sara to Harry behind her aunt's back.

By 5:30 everyone had arrived, the only person missing being the hostess. It was noisy beside the pool, with voices raised above the CD music chosen by Sara and not being played too loud, on Carson's orders.

The conversations stopped abruptly and some of the men went virtually pawed the ground. Carson had arrived. She was stunning. The fair curls had gone, her hair was now straight, the back cut square at the shoulder line, the color now copper as were her lips, and fingernails and the choker. Carson wore no bra; that was very obvious; the mid-calf dark green dress was very tight, slit almost up to her right hip bone and she wore dark green suede boots.

"Doesn't she look magnificent," marveled Lisa to Megan, wife of the company chairman/senior partner Max Satterthwaite."

"Quite breathtaking," agreed Megan but I hope she remembered to place pads against her nipples as she will express. If I were feeding a baby I wouldn't dare go bra-less."

"What do you think of your auntie, dear?" smiled Lisa. "Come on, Sara, say something."

"She's become Jessie Chicago."

"Who?" asked Megan.

"Good God -- the look certainly fits," said Lisa, who was half-way through reading one of Harry's novels. When visiting Carson and finding out about Carson's 'man' who was at the library doing some research, she'd chosenThe Bumbling Detective and Sidekick Do Rio. "She's going to reward Harry by having sex with him, isn't she? That always happens in the book."

Sara nodded.

"What has he done to deserve a reward of that magnitude?" snorted Megan, who possessed the conservative view that the purpose of sex was for conceiving babies.

Both Lisa and Megan waited expectedly for Sara's reply, but she disappointed, saying she really didn't know.

"I know -- that Harry fellow has put his nose into the deal the company had offered Carson and according to Max it's going to cost in excess of another million dollars to do the deal," said Megan.

Sara snapped right back. "No, no. Never for self-enrichment -- Jessie Chicago only does it out of gratitude for the man she secretly loves or alternatively to release the tension build-up from fighting to save his life."

"Who on earth is this woman?" asked Megan.

"Jessie Chicago," chorused Sara, Lisa and two of the three other women standing nearby who'd been drawn into the conversation.

They all laughed, and then their attention was distracted by shouting on the other side of the pool.

"You had no right to bring him into negotiations that were all but concluded," fumed Peter Doig, throwing his empty whisky glass into the pool.

"Go home, Peter -- you're drunk."

"I shall inform you if and whenever I am drunk," he said loftily to Carson. "I want you to attend a meeting tomorrow where you shall be asked to sign at the original unconditional offer."

"Bugger off, Peter. I'm disgusted that as my advisor you did not look after my interest adequately."