Montana Rhapsody Pt. 01

"Yes and I remember it had gotten rather boring after your father's death."

"Yeah I think so too. Thank heaven for Paris's disruptive arrival."

"You are so rude," Paris snorted.

"It's just the little boy coming out of him," Annie smiled. "My little boy."

* * *

The arrival of the newspaper duo and a film crew working on contract to the TV channel passed without incident. For the TV interview Paris was filmed walking along with Fat-So the huge Angus Bull on his halter and the female interviewer looking decidedly nervous. The interview was almost entirely devoted to talking about why would a successful writer like Paris want to risk everything by trying the dead-end western market. She'd replied she believed that's where the real romance still existed in America and as that Fat-So dribbled and sounded off with a bit of a bellow.

The bald-headed newspaper reporter was browned off at being kept waiting for the TV interview to finish so slammed into Paris, alleging she'd arrived as a greenhorn and would depart in eight months still a greenhorn although she'd have cleaner lungs and would have attended a couple of rodeos.

She hit back, red-cheeked and narrowed-eye. "This is not about me. Can't you see, you media people have it all wrong. This is about Montana and it's even more about romance and what it might become, given the chance."

On she burbled, the nasty reporter shoveling in the occasion goad until, her nervous energy drained, she snarled, "That's it. Fuck off."

"Thank you Paris, a great interview. You really get going when wound up. Some people just get sullen. Can I smell coffee?"

Hal knocked and entered and looking at Paris asked, "Are you okay?"

"A little drained. I've been played like a marionette."

He replied "Huh?" but she didn't elaborate.

Max the reporter was offered coffee while Paris went outside with Sissy the photographer who'd already taken indoor shots. As they scuffed through the now very thin layer of snow Sissy apologized that Paris had been put through the grill.

"It's his stupid technique but usually he extracts amazing quotes as if the person being interviewed drops his or her guard; Max has won heaps of awards for journalism."

"Is he okay to travel with? I guess you two stay overnight on some assignments."

"Actually he's very good for a male as a conversationalist but regrettably he's staunchly gay."

The look on the poor woman's face was enough to return Paris's good humor.

Paris had thought of posing with Marissa in her stall but the black mare wasn't there. They went into the corral behind the barn where they found Tom Edwards about to mount the saddled ball of energy.

"She's in the process of being reprogrammed to be ridden," Paris explained in greenhorn terms but it was an accurate description. "I'm not allowed to ride her yet."

"She's a big horse."

"I like my men and my horses tall," Paris said casually and waited while Sissy wrote down something.

"Well, just sit in the saddle. Posing head-to-head with a horse is too cheesy for me."

Tom said that would be okay because Melissa had calmed down and was almost ready for Paris.

Sissy took the photograph, posed perfectly, when the flashlight upset Melissa. She reared and almost unseated her rider but all was well and the horse did not react to the flashlight firing the second time.

"That's a wrap," said the photographer smugly.

At breakfast on Saturday two days later a small aircraft flew low over the ranch house and a small package trailing an orange ribbon dropped from it.

"It's the 'Great Falls Tribune', Hal said. "That gay reporter told me because we were outside vehicle delivery circulation area he'd get the inter-city air delivery pilot to drop us off a copy and I drew him a map showing landmarks with our X-shaped water reservoir half a mile to the east of here being the key."

"Great photo," Hal grinned, returning with the newspaper with the plastic wrapper removed. "Pity about the caption."

Annie grabbed her new glasses and she and Paris gathered round as Hal spread the newspaper on the table.

The photograph showed the magnificent totally black mare rearing with daylight between the saddle and Paris's ass. She had a terrified look on her face and one hand was stabilizing her Stetson.

"Terrific photo," Annie said. "Oh goodness, the caption reads, 'Famous romance writer Paris McCoy in Montana from winter through to summer's end, can ride so retained her seat. The charismatic beauty had earlier told the photographer, I like my horses and my men big.' Oh my, fancy telling the people of Montana that!"

"Big I've been misquoted," Paris cried. "I said tall."

"Everyone embarrassed by their published quotations always allege they said something different," Hal chortled.

While Annie finished preparing breakfast and all through it Hal read the two-page spread of Max's interview. Annie and Paris listened in silence and remained silent after the reading ended. It was written in laid-back style sprinkled with direct quotes from Paris and included Paris's background and what she thought of her success. A sidebar article was a review of her latest book. Max ended the story:

"Do you miss New York Miss McCoy?"

"Yes, terribly."

"Where in the world would you like to live?"

"Right now I'm thinking Montana."

"Golly the people of Montana will love you for saying that Miss McCoy."

Hal said 'The Examiner' regularly reprints Max Miller's syndicated Saturday feature stories and will reprint this one. I've read many of them and can say with confidence this is the best article of his I've read. He's drawn that something extra out of you Paris. Your words about your arrival here in the wake of a snowstorm draw pictures that even the people in places like Miami can experience what you experienced, practically seeing it. Similarly are the images of you presented as you described sitting after midnight at the computer in the loft of your parent's home, often grinding away until you'd fall asleep and how you'd walk through the streets of New York in evening watching young lovers and later watching them in restaurants while you'd eat alone trying to imagine their stories to give you inspiration. That was told so graphically, so emotionally. No wonder you are so popular with your readers."

Unable to conceal her delight Paris said, "Thank you Hal."

"What do you think of the interview as a whole?" Annie asked Paris.

"I loved it and would suspect Max has enhanced me and my writing in the public's mind. What do I do this morning boss?"

"Go with Annie and be at the airport by 10:10 to meet our duo representing mom's Journal."

"Oh gawd, another ordeal."

"Yes, they will conduct the interview this afternoon and then spend tomorrow skiing. I have arranged for near neighbors eighteen miles away the O'Connor's to host our visitors at their ski club for the day. The editorial manager said it would be two months before the article appears."

CHAPTER 3

The day of the big luncheon arrived. Almost 1600 people had paid to attend. Elsie Hunger, president of the Women's Auxiliary, had come out to the ranch with her vice-president to check on what dress would Paris wear to the function and was satisfied when shown it. She also approved of the topic, 'Personally Perceived Differences Between Manhattan and Montana'. Elsie had said the speech would be recorded for later screening on local television.

As the luncheon was being cleared away Elsie called for a 10-minute comfort break. Paris, wearing the blue dress the president had approved went through a door on the side of the stage followed by Hal carrying a suitcase. As Elsie called the assembly to order, looking anxiously at the stage side door Paris appeared, now with her hair out of the French roll and swinging freely; she was wearing a very stylish long black leather coat.

After the applause died following Elsie's introduction that included the title of the address, Paris climbed on to her chair and stepped on to the table. The audience fell silent.

"Thank you for coming in such numbers to hear little me prattle on. I was told you guys would have big expectation and so I will try to make it interesting for you. Apparently some of you have come from up to 100 miles. Anyone beat that?

Several voices called out.

"I heard someone say in excess of 250 miles. Where are you from Sir and what brought you here?"

"I'm Casper Young and my wife and I have flown in from our ranch in North Dakota. Julia is addicted to your books Miss McCoy."

"Well, what a contrast. In New York one usually doesn't attend a meeting if it's more than a five-minute cab ride away. A big hand for Mr and Mrs Young please."

"Our Women's Auxiliary hostess Mrs Elsie Hunger approved of the blue dress I was wearing earlier. Obviously she thought others would approve as well. But where were my legs? Aren't women's legs appreciated in Montana?"

"Yes", 'Of course' and 'Bring them on' some people called out.

"I thought I would offend if as a greenhorn I appeared in cowgirl shirt and jeans as tight as my skin and I'd deserve to be branded as a fraud. Although I can ride a horse, that's all. So I thought how do I perceive the modern young woman of Montana? It had to be a guess as I haven't been anywhere yet apart from this town as we've been rather snowed in. So I rather fancied appearing like this," Paris said, unbuttoning her coat and tossing it to Hal. She placed a hand on her hip and waved to her cheering audience with a huge smile, although there were one or two sour faces amongst the throng.

She looked sensational in a little black dress and black ankle boots.

Climbing down, reasonably elegantly, Paris took her place at the lectern.

"An author has to learn to observe characters to learn about constructing characters. You only begin to realize how little you know of anyone when you base them around a character you are creating and then try to imagine the peripheral things about a person. For example if they are right-handed do they open a left-handed opening door with their right of left hand? What hand do they use to scratch their nose left, right or both? In the case of saddle weary Montana men or city slickers in offices or driving all day, which hand do they use to scratch?

The hall erupted.

"Hal Harrop, stand up please."

Hal stood to warm applause.

"Hall is my boss. He's lean, taciturn and tough. He speaks when he has something to say. Men I know in New York tend to be over-weight, under-sober, a tad spineless and they speak all the time and it's mostly crap."

Applause and laughter died and Paris said true or not that was the basis for her impression of Montana cowboys and New York bar dwellers.

"Annie Nomee stand please. Yes it's Annie of bareback riding fame and the gal who flattened a business tycoon outside the court house in this very town and caught on TV camera it screened nationally."

Annie acknowledged very warm applause.

"Hal and three cowhands, Annie and I currently reside on Harrop Ranch. Incidentally, I had to ask why wasn't it like other ranches and called the Double Upside Down A's or the Lazy B and Bar and Lazy D and was told that the family had never branded its cattle in five generations, using a copper wire containing a galvanized wire through the right ear of their cattle until they imported plastic ear-tags to pioneer the now quite common trend in Montana. So they used the name Harrop because just calling it The Ranch seemed a little pretentious and open to cause huge confusion right up to Government level."

Paris said the four men were teaching her things and she was observing what they did on the ranch and how they did it.

"But Annie here is my real gem. Annie is proudly Crow and although I'm American she is the first American Indian I'm aware I have met and it is providing to be a rewarding experience, for both of us I suspect. The men are teaching my the physical as well as a couple of new swear words while from Annie I am learning things spiritual, an area in which I am a complete greenhorn. I'm learning about ingrained Montana beliefs and values and when the final thaw comes I'll be eagerly learning from her about this region's floral and fauna. Oh there's something else. I know the forecast is for the return of snow tonight. Light falls are predicted. Well eight days ago Annie predicted the next dump would be in eight days. Guess which prediction I believe folk?"

"Annie," shouted several people and that began a buzz.

"Larry Mercer, please stand up and face the audience?" He was in the front row of reserved seats.

"I indicated earlier cowboys are not over-talkative. Well, Larry is one exception. His mouth rarely closes and watching the interaction between Larry and the other guys I reckon he puts some life into their day, acting like the host of talkback radio. I know this because when he goes off alone to do a task and returns the guys tend to bunch around him and no longer appear a little like zombies. How do I really know this? I've been riding with the boys in recent days and I see and hear everything. Larry would make the perfect Manhattan cabbie."

"Now here's a contrast of significance. On my second day on the ranch I saw a docile bull walk forward unexpectedly and walk over Larry, all 220lbs of it. Larry was carried on to some grain sacks. I rubbed liniment onto the huge red mark on the side of his back. He played the fool and a few minutes later hobbled off to do some light chores. In New York if a 220lb guy addicted to fast foods 24/7 walked over a skinny guy like Larry the victim would be rushed away by ambulance, put on life support system and his relatives and the priest, minister or Rabbi called. He'd recover of course, with nothing much found wrong with him and his insurance company would pay the $40,000 bill. Contrast that with our cowboy although I will say Larry the free-loader didn't even offer to pay for the liniment used!"

The audience loved that.

"Tom Dwight please stand."

"Tom plays a guitar and I sometime hear it at lunchtime and sometimes at night if the breeze is blowing from the direction of the bunkhouse towards the ranch house. Now in New York I've heard some of the world's greatest exponents of the guitar and really enjoyed it and also had my ear-drums almost turned inside out by over-amplified guitarists in basement night clubs, being saved from permanent injury by the counter stimulation of alcohol I would suggest. But nothing I have heard compares with the almost celestial experience I had the other night."

"It was a clear night, freezing cold and I stood in snow looking for the new moon that Annie said had first appeared the previous night which was cloudy. The faint sound of Clint's guitar drift towards me; I found it damn cold but spellbinding as it was the sweetest of tunes. It made me rejoice that I'd come to Montana. Tom has just finished re-educating the horse I've been given. It was Hal's late father's horse and Marissa will be handed over to me tomorrow. She hadn't been ridden for sometime. Thanks for saving me from a multiple bruised body and a couple of missing teeth Tom."

"Alan Rainbow, please stand."

"Alan is the quietest of my three fellow ranch hands, also the biggest and strongest. The other guys concede that and when Hal's not around they do what Alan says. I'll be relying on Alan the midwife as my teacher because I am to be paired with him during March, calving month. Being a New Yorker I thought calves just popped out, mommy offered a teat and all was well. Alan has been filling me in. Snow will still be probable because we are up fairly high. We may have to fight the occasional mountain lion for a calf, the calf may be stillborn, we may end up with a frantic cow and no calf or a calf and no cow and we may do everything and still lose the critters. Add to that I'm told the main barn takes on the appearance of a casualty clearing station in a war zone when the cow and calf victims of difficult births and post-births go even further wrong or are about to go wrong are brought in. I'm thinking about asking the boss if I can take March off to visit mom and dad in their cozy apartment in New York with their favorite delicatessen immediately below them. Mom's hairdresser comes to her apartment in cold weather."

For the next hour Paris spoke in detail of her life on Manhattan as a writer, sprinkled with some shrewd observations and humorous anecdotes. She spoke of the agonies of receiving back from publishers her rejected manuscripts.

"On the first occasion I was so gutted. I thought I had written a masterpiece. I went to bed for forty-eight hours and sulked. On the second day mom brought a friend to talk to me: she was a writer. She looked at my manuscript briefly and dropped it into the trashcan with distaste and said, 'You know my dear you have worked too hard on this. Technically it is perfect but frankly it's a pain in the ass to read. Forget about honing a style, proper English and perfecting every phrase. Just make sure you love your protagonists, have something of a plot and as you write rabbit on as if you were talking to friends. Your publisher will think its crap but that's what they want because it's what the bulk of readers prefer. You see dear, not many readers know anyone who speaks English faultlessly including American English'. Well guys I tell you, who do you believe?"

Paris brought the house down when she said she spent five weeks writing crap and sent it off, highly embarrassed. To her astonishment she received back the manuscript with a request that she revise it, injecting more space into it and leave some of the issues unresolved until towards the end and then she should resubmit it.

"I did that and sent it off and waited. A letter arrived from the publisher, too small to be holding my manuscript. The bitch, I thought. Well I was under stress. I wanted the manuscript back to send to another publisher. The letter of course contained an acceptance and outlined the processes to come. I was so upset I slammed and locked my bedroom door and spent the next two hours crying and planning how I'd arrange something dreadful to happen to that stupid editor who'd put me through the grinder."

Paris said while she was waiting for the publisher to mess around with her manuscript she began writing another romance. It was set in a publishing house and the commissioning editor was a real tyrant, hated and feared by her underlings. Two failed authors planned to murder her but the publisher's son foiled the attempt and began modifying the behavior of the tyrant by a process he called courting.

"Well my first book hit the shelves without fanfare, without anything actually. In my bookshop when I requested to view a copy the assistant found five cartons of it in their storeroom, unopened. The publisher did send a few out for reviews and apparently one newspaper reviewer was in a hurry leaving for a fishing weekend away with the boys he asked his wife to review it and email it to the book editor. I really don't know what happened but I assume the book editor came back to work after an unsuccessful liaison with his mistress and in a really foul mood grabbed a review without reading it and made it the lead for Saturday's book page. Guess who was the lucky author?"

"Bookshops in the circulation area of that newspaper ordered more supplies of my book and other book reviewers went to their reject bins and pulled out their complimentary copy and reviewed it. Then astonishing some clown nominated me for some best new fiction author award. Many New Yorkers are permanently on hallucinating drugs and have no idea what they are doing."

"As you can imagine, at the time I too had no idea this was going on. I was churning out a few thousand words in daily grind, concentrating on not unintentionally changing the name of my heroine part-way through and keeping some coherency to my outflow. My editor called me and invited me for lunch. I thought it was to give me some writing tips. But no she invited me to submit another manuscript. I was over the moon and heard her ask in a worried voice when could she expect it. I said tomorrow, that I completed the final revise two nights ago and I had the first draft of another title two-thirds completed. She slumped into her chair and called for a double whisky for her and for me a glass of French champagne. I really had no idea that getting novels published could be so complicated and so mysterious for the novice author."