A Woman with Mongrel Ch. 03

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. Harry finishes dictating the first draft to Carson and is waiting for a promo film-clip to be produced before leaving Carson so she has the chance to find her new prince.

*

Bathwater dissolved from the beautiful Carson Robertson the dried liquids of lust. She wondered if she or her author-lover Harry Truscott had secreted the greatest volume, an unusual thought for someone in post-coital bliss but then Carson had a thing about attention to detail.

She was also pragmatic about sweating, again an unusual thought, but she reasoned unless she sweated -- or perspired for persons who continue to dolly with words like aviatrix, doyenne or authoress -- she's not put real effort into sexual connection. For that reason the only times she liked sweating was when having sex or playing tennis.

She sighed, accepting she was very much in love with Harry. Perhaps his age and untidy appearance would raise eyebrows of family and friends, but before too many met him she'd have his scruffiness removed. It was the inside of Harry that she adored.

He was so wise, so aware of things, despite his limited formal education. Harry had wit, passion and really liked her -- she could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch even when he was handing her a drink. Even better, he adored Lydia who definitely related to him as if he were her daddy. Harry's emotions ran deep and he had compassion and wanted people to feel loved and to be excited and perhaps even live to the edge like Jessie Chicago. Most books she read were written by women, or at least the author's names were feminine. Carson knew that no woman could have created Jessie and held her true to character throughout without stamping her with clues for the reader to ensure they recognized Jessie's femininity; Harry wrote those traits into her words and behavior so the reader didn't have to be told about her femininity through strategically dotted 'clues'.

Harry did nothing to cloy Jessie's lust for life and love, and he did it so passionately that she appeared to have welded the desirable attributes of both females and males to become a god-like female warrior. Jessie could take a bullet, expressing little more than a grunt, and yet reach for her lipstick and blusher before air-lifted to hospital. Or if Harry was the one down, she'd carry on with the case, not sparing a thought for him, until she'd wrapped everything up and delivered her prisoners or waited with the bodies of her victims.

Okay, some female writers could create a heroine like Jessie, and have her in a shoot-out and take a bullet -- but they would idiotically then have her fall wishing she was back home tending to her flower garden or having a pregnancy test. Harry's heroine saved the girl's stuff for when they were off duty, or having it off during a lull.

Despite her inescapable femininity -- her beauty and the way she regarded herself, Jessie had no wish to be a man. It really was so captivating.

Jessie had a dangerous amount of mongrel in her, smiled Carson. She recalled inThe Bumbling Detective on the Nile, Diomedes went down with a knife sticking from his thigh and a bullet lodged against his shoulder bone. As soon as Jessie gave him a shot of morphine and told people coming to his assistance to leave the knife for a surgeon to take out in hospital, on she went with the chase.

The three thugs ambushed her. They disarmed Jessie and moved in to do something pretty gruesome. None of them had thought of a cautionary body search because they found her Glock and a knife in her handbag. Jessie pulled her small Beretta strapped to her upper thigh and calmly dispatched all three. Then wailing in anger (yes, those were Harry's words) as one would expect any woman to do, she then did something one wouldn't expect any woman to do: she kicked the body of the thug who'd knifed Harry and savagely stomped on the chest of the leader who's shot her boss.

She then radioed the authorities to come to collect her and the three bodies of the assassins and asked how Diomedes was coping in hospital. Jessie then combed her hair and cleaned her grimy face with baby wipes (she always carried them out in the field).

Carson had nothing but admiration for Jessie for venting her anger on the dead; it made her feel a little sick reading about it, and she was even queasy thinking about it now, but now she understood -- God, Harry was so brilliant; why hasn't she realized at the time she read the book. Jessie had been forced to kick and stomp those bodies to release some mongrel as she did not wish to be consumed by it.

God, Harry, you are so brilliant!

Once again Carson told herself she had no need to do anything but admire Jessie and what she stood for; it was not necessary for her to 'get a bit of mongrel' as Harry had called it because her parents, her sister and family and her friends liked her as her natural self. Carson was aware people thought she was 'every so nice' as she occasionally heard herself being discussed. But curiously, since she had found she'd taken a bit of mongrel aboard, she seemed to walk taller, no longer being slightly afraid of the awful Peter Doig and a bit of mongrel added a new dimension to love-making. Did it what!

She heard the front door open, knowing Harry was back from his walk to the shops to get pizza. She pulled the plug and waited for Harry to come in and dry her: Harry was like that. No groping, although some light banter. When drying her back he would kiss her between the shoulder blades; delicious. Carson wondered if many women received such treatment as regularly as she was receiving.

* * *

Harry was out of his brace and the physiotherapy was quickly improving movement, so much so that he was able to type. The surgeon advised a skin graft was not necessary.

"I feel redundant," Carson said sadly.

"You can continue doing the proofing -- you're so good at that," Harry said, earning a hug and big kiss.

Sara briefed them about the film promo, showing them her marketing plan and then the story line.

Harry was most impressed. "You did all of this yourself?

Sara nodded. "We'll listen to their advice but we are the client, paying for everything, so what we insist on goes."

"But I haven't paid a cent; what are the costs?"

Harry was told not to worry, that Carson had paid for everything and was also going to buy him a new car."

"Why?"

Carson looked at him, eyes passive. "Harry, I am beholden to you for not dying after I crashed my vehicle into yours and beholden to you for extracting an extra $1 million-plus from my cheating partners and so-called friends. It's the least I can do; I also intend doing more."

Harry look at Carson sharply.

"I understand why you need to do this, Carson, so I'll not interfere; but only a modest car, and not until next month."

"Next month, but why?"

"Because."

"Okay, Harry."

Harry knew of course that by next month she'd accept he'd walked from her life.

Filming the clip took almost two days. Harry acted the part of Diomedes which was not surprising, as he'd based the Bumbling Detective on himself.

Carson appeared with her hair re-done red and in a black dress about which she and Harry argued. He fumed that Jessie would "never have her breasts exposed like that". Harry explained that although Jessie wore tight clothes she kept the display of her bared assets for Diomedes' private viewing.

"You can't see my nipples," Carson protested.

"I don't care."

"You're being priggish."

"You are trying to present Jessie out of character."

Carson paused, looking bewildered and then tensed as Harry's words sank through.

"Oh, oh God, so I am. I'm sorry, Harry."

The studio assistant took Carson away and they returned, with Carson in a yellow dress that followed ever curve authentically but showed no flesh below the buttoned neck line.

"Oh my," said Harry. "That looks positively obscene; perfect."

The director looked ready to erupt: "May we proceed?"

Carson had returned to her old music teacher, attempting to get her voice back in shape. That effort paid off -- she was filmed singing the Cold Porter number, 'Do I Love You, Yes, I Do."

"The song will play throughout the clip," Sara said, "with fade-ins and outs of Carson as Jessie singing it and those other scenes of you two playing detective and appealing to people to buy the new book with be worked in, but not necessarily in order they were filmed as we must rely on the experts about that."

The group, who included a drama coach, gathered for drinks and then it was all over.

A fortnight later they returned to the studio to view the finished clip which included the titles and end credits."

"Very good, an excellent job," Carson said, quite pleased that her singing voice sounded so good and her acting passable.

Harry wiped his eyes.

"You guys have done a great job, seeing those two on film has brought it all alive for me."

"If this clip gets wide distribution I wouldn't be surprised if you get an approach from Hollywood for film rights, Harry," said the director.

"Nah, the Bumbling Detective will belong to a lost generation according to those young smart asses in Hollywood today."

"We've paid $20,000 in US dollars to an agency to get the clip distributed with promised playing time on a minimum of 200 TV music channels plus agencies selling filler programs to TV networks," Sara said.

"Twenty thousand bucks," Harry gasped. "Why wasn't I told about this - why was this done?"

"Because you're worth it, Harry," Carson smiled, taking his arm.

Early that evening Carson, Sara and Lydia went to see Carson's parents. Harry didn't go because Carson's parents made it quite clear they didn't like Harry who they regarded as a scruffy freeloader.

Carson was tempted to pressure him to accompany them but decided it would be better for the showdown to occur with just she and Bronwyn confronting mother with Harry.

When they left Harry gathered up his things, most of which had been packed discretely the previous evening. He called a cab and departed.

The only thing he left behind was a note - to Carson.

When Carson returned home carrying her sleeping baby and saw the note propped up against the flower vase on the dinning table she turned white, handed Lydia to Sara and ran to Harry's room.

She returned, seconds later, tears streaming: "He's gone, nothing left. I was beginning to suspect something was on because for Harry he'd become a little morose recently..

Sara was crying and asked wasn't Carson going to read the letter; there may be an acceptable explanation.

"I know what it will say."

"I'll put Lydia down and came back and read it to you."

Dearest Carson, Sweet Sara and Beautiful Lydia.

This is what Diomedes would have done, Carson, believe me. It's the honorable thing to do. You are well recovered, living to the full again so it's time to move on, for both of us. Find yourself Mr Right, Carson. I'll stay in contact so if you have forgiven me by then you'll be able to invite me to the wedding.

I'm going off in retreat to finish my manuscript and will have it to Mary my agent on schedule, thanks to you.

Bye Dearest Carson.

Sweet Sara: You will do well at university; you are so focused and creative. Might I suggest you attach a brief download the film clip with a statement to the Jessie Chicago Fan Club in Chicago; it may get things moving, help my book sales, but imagine what it will do for your CV Sara if it takes off. Good Luck. Kisses to you both.

Unable to hold back her emotions, Sara ran sobbing into Carson's arms.

"What would Jessie Chicago do, Carson?"

"Nothing, and she'd hope the bastard never gets an erection again."

"Carson!"

They looked at one another and burst into near-weepy laughter.

At breakfast Sara asked Carson had slept well and the reply was she'd slept surprisingly well.

"He'll come back to me one day, especially when finding out I have not admitted a Mr Right into my life."

"So you are not going to grieve."

"No, what's the point; it's out of my hands."

Sara sent an edited version of the film clip to the Jessie Chicago Fan Club and titled the accompanying story, 'Jessie Chicago's Moment of Truth'. Sara was well pleased with her work and without thinking added contact details in case the fan club wanted to clarify anything.

Within the hour the phone went. Each time it rang Carson and Sara glanced at each other, wondering if it would be Harry calling.

A woman in a husky American accent said, "Hi there Sara, this is Eleanor Silverstein calling, World President of the Chicago-based Jessie Chicago Fan Club. We need to talk."

Thirty minutes later Sara came off the phone.

"Did you think you needed to tell that woman everything?"

"You didn't attempt to stop me," Sara replied.

"It's your project, your have to be given free reign."

"Our conversation was taped. She'll have it professionally edited over the next four hours -- it's nighttime in their part of the world. Then Eleanor will have the transcript emailed to all 240,000 of their members, post it on the website and alert the media."

"That's lovely of her," smiled Carson.

Sara replied yes, they had been so lucky. Neither woman realized what alerting the media meant. The club president sent out a news release that contained Sara's contact details.

For the next four days Sara's cell phone went practically non-stop. Fortunately it could be hooked up to the electricity supply otherwise they would have needed a battery of chargers. The first journalist arrived within an hour of Eleanor's media release and then they began streaming in, followed by TV crews and then the overseas media flew in, including a Chicago-based women's magazine that hired the fan club's Eleanor Silverstein to be its guest writer.

Meanwhile the 'Jessie Chicago's Moment of Truth' film clip was playing on music channels and TV channels had purchased it as a filler. Harry's publisher had contacted him and signed up for the right to have copies of the DVD distributed to all booksellers who stocked the bumbling detective series. Within ten days the publisher would dispatch a check for $20,000 on behalf of Harry to Carson for the 'loan' for the production of the film clip and $10,000 dollars to Sara towards her university study expenses.

Meanwhile Carson was soon drawn into the media melee, firstly to hotly deny that it wasn't a made-up fabrication, easily argued because she and Sara produced digital photographs to prove that Harry Q. Truscott had lived with them for thirteen weeks while recuperating.

With dignity Carson admitted to having had 'a dream affair' with Harry and smacked a smirking journo across the face, making his nose bleed, when he asked if they'd drawn Sara in for a threesome.

That photograph of the male journalist reeling, blood squirting and the female journalists surround him applauding Carson was syndicated round the world and featured on the front page of local newspapers. The caption quoted Carson as saying, "It's only what Jessie Chicago would have done -- she wouldn't have wasted a bullet on the creep."

Drawing on her PR and promotion background, Carson hired a huge wall screen and the three-minute long 'Jessie Chicago's Moment of Truth' film clip played non-stop while media personnel were in the house. She repeatedly had to deny that Harry had fathered her baby.

"Where's Harry?" came the media cry. Reports came in indicating he was in twenty locations spread over three continents.

Then gradually, it all died away, with no sign of Harry and Carson refusing absolutely to divulge anything about Harry's latest book. Even an offer of $10,000 from a New York magazine for an exclusive on how the book ends failed to move her.

Finally it was all over. Twenty-four hours went by without an enquiry or visit from a media person. Then Carson received a phone call -- from Harry.

"Thanks for holding the fort so well, I've been following it on telly," he said cheerfully. "The courier has just left with my manuscripts."

"Come home Harry," Carson sobbed.

* * *

Harry had retreated on to remote Fishhead Island where the farmer, a former schoolmate, set him up the woolshed. Harry went across in the evenings to the farmhouse for a shower and dinner and to socialize while charging his phone and laptop batteries.

He missed Carson, as he knew he would, and Lydia and Sara; they had become family. But sometimes things must change. He worried about Carson finding the right type of man -- he didn't want her ending up with someone like the rat bag Peter Doig. She was, however, very intelligence and competent and he knew deep down she'd make a wise choice.

Satisfied with that, Harry relaxed until he remembered Carson had taken him to her bed: what kind of judgment was that? Then he remembered she now had a touch of mongrel; that would assist her.

Ten days later Harry returned to the city and had the required number of copies of the manuscript printed straight off his DVD. Back at his own home he bundled them and called a courier. As soon as the courier left, Harry phoned Carson and her voice melted him.

They'd sparred a bit and then relaxing began conversing. Sara had sent in her pre-enrolment application to the university and within days had a complimentary call from the media department head about her Bumbling Detective promo. Lydia was recovering from a cold and Carson was going to the gym on some afternoons to build up fitness and to make her body more streamlined.

"Don't lose too much off top, Carson."

Carson chose to ignore that comment although tickled that he cared.

"The pressure's off me now," he said, "I'm going back to stay on the island with my old mate and help him with fencing. That should tone me up."

"Yes. Perhaps after that you should go down and stay with Tom."

"Er, with you sister in the wings? I think not."

"Lisa may well have some jobs for you to do as live-in gardener."

"Nothing wrong with your humor," he laughed.

"Harry, your book is going to be a screamer -- some Manhattan woman whose weekly column on books and authors is syndicated worldwide, was quoted on TV last night as saying your publisher has programmed to produce twenty million copies using five printing houses in three countries. She called that unbelievable then added the publisher is probably being a tad too conservative."

"They talk crap when they are short of news," Harry said, "although I wouldn't be surprised if we get to five million with this one. I've tarted it up a bit for the women, Carson, including putting Jessie into a white wedding dress instead of a black one; it's what you wanted, remember?"

"Oh Harry, you're such a darling. What was the result of the pregnancy test?"

"Sorry Carson, my lips are sealed. Buy the book!"

"You bastard," Carson laughed, already deciding to send off a piece to Eleanor at the Fan Club saying she'd been in conversation with author Harry Truscott and the big question left hanging was, "Is Jessie Chicago pregnant?"