Recuperating with Fred

Chapter 1

Many people will have seen the following on TV a few times and wondered. When going on stage to accept a top music, film or literary award, the overwhelmed female recipient would thank her coach, banker, favourite cabbie, mom, producer, agent and anyone else she can squeeze out of her mind.

Then as she turns away from the microphone, she'll grab it and say, "And special thanks to Fred."

It was reasonable to think Fred who?

Who on earth connected to show biz would be called Fred? The cabbie's son perhaps?

The latest celebrity to thank Fred was Californian Romance Writer of the Year novelist Cindy Hungerford.

It was far from being generally known that Cindy's connection with Fred occurred when her world fell apart. She had been recovering from a miscarriage when her husband went off, taking her personal assistant with him. Then a few days her mom finally lost her fight against cancer and two days after the funeral Cindy's apartment was burgled.

All that occurred within a month and the distraught writer's creativity nosedived. She began thinking about signing into a Health Farm for a couple of months.

Then she saw it.

The very small advertisement that appeared periodically in the Hollywood Journal stated: 'Recover your old self; stay a month in my stone cottage as my sole guest and allow nature in this pristine solitude beside Lake Mellows work its wonders. $6000 for 30 days all found; pay nothing if not satisfied. The email address for fredmellow ended with 'co.nz.'

Everything about the advertisement stroked Cindy's inquisitiveness.

Who was this man?

How solitary was the location?

Where was 'nz'?

He must be offering something good if he was prepared to hand six grand back unless he was just a callous rip-off jerk who would reject any claim for a total refund.

Six grand was a lot to pay to stay in a stone and probably damp cottage.

She googled search and found nz meant New Zealand.

Holy smoke, that meant return airfares to that remote place in the South Pacific had to be added to that six grand!

However, remoteness might just be what she required right now.

Cindy re-read the ad and thought the pitch sounded like an adventure and an attractive alternative to a Health Farm providing restorative services to losers even if it was the advertiser's way of attempting to lure women into prostitution or unpaid domestic service for a wealthy family.

Cindy thought as she was thirty-eight and this guy or perhaps guru could be genuine.

She decided to contact the guy and the return email, obviously an auto-response, simply gave her the address of a website that she opened with trepidation tinged with excitement as Fred could be some type of guru aloof from the mainstream.

The photo showed a man with a sun-wrinkled face of about fifty and wearing a wide-brim hat, posing on the ground on one knee beside his horse, and two black and white dogs with him. One of the skinny dogs appeared to be licking his face. That suggested Fred must be kind enough to earn that level of loyalty and devotion.

Cindy looked to the background and saw the white cottage on a small hill right beside the lake and in the distance was a ragged line of snow-covered hills and at least one mountain showing through mist.

"Oh look." she exclaimed, focusing on sheep in the background. There were possibly 10,000 of them although she had no idea what a mass of 10,000 sheep looked like. They just seemed to go on forever.

She read the text and everything looked fine to her. She emailed Fred Mellows and said she was exhausted, in need of rejuvenation, when could she come. She was ready to come to him now.

It was winter in New Zealand, leading Cindy to assume he might not have a client at present.

She thought because of the time zone difference between the US and NZ, it might be twelve hours before he replied, if he did reply, Cindy began reading the morning newspaper and half an hour later her laptop bleeped, announcing she had mail. Her heart skipped when she read it:

'Come now. Your tentative booking will be held for five days. Email me your flight number and estimated arrival time. Buy yourself a cowboy hat and wear it so I'll recognize you. Fred.'

Well, this certainly was not sophisticated tourism. Perhaps this was exactly what she needed, to chill out with no malls, no TV and perhaps riding a horse to drive sheep to new meadows or whatever was required. And she'd wear one of those awful cowboy Stetsons to look like a Wyoming Woman; she'll do everything Fred's way to allow him to work his magic, that is, if he had any.

Cindy phoned a travel agent to get her a quote on traveling business class to Auckland and was told $12,048.

"I think I can get a better deal elsewhere," said Cindy and the agency woman May-Anne took her phone number and said she'd try to do better and would phone back within the hour. She phoned back ten minutes later with a fare of $8700 in a promotion that was being launched in with the same airline and Cindy accepted.

"I'm delivering myself into your hands, Fred," she said, tapping out an email to him of her flight details.

Three mornings later Cindy was in the Auckland International Airport early morning, wearing her fawn Stetson. Fred didn't have to find her. Cindy could have recognized him a mile away.

There was nobody, absolutely nobody, in the entire terminal wearing a baggy top, thick wool trousers, boots and a battered leather hat. She went up to him fearlessly and said, "Hi Fred."

"Hi Cindy. Good trip?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Off we go then, we had a long drive to the farm."

After seeing his clothes, Cindy wasn't expecting Fred to be driving a stretched limo or even a medium-sized Mercedes and was not disappointed, though surprised, when finding they would be traveling in a Nissan pick-up with a sheep frame on the tray in which two black and white dogs greeted them warmly.

She recognized the kissing dog.

"What's your job in Hollywood?"

"I rewrite author's attempts of writing their 'tell all' book for the screen and I also write romance novels myself and they sell well."

"That sounds like Hollywood," said Fred, without offering elaboration.

Fred smelled of sheep and dogs, he hadn't shaved and he spoke in childlike sentences. Not impressed, Cindy yawned and fell asleep, just like the dogs in the back.

Terror flicked through Cindy as she felt a big hand on her shoulder, a man's hand.

What was a man doing in her bedroom?

She opened her eyes and saw it was an ugly man and what was he going to do with her and then just behind her head a dog barked and suddenly a sense of reality flooded out Cindy's state of semi-consciousness and she smiled and said, "Hi Fred, have we arrived?"

"Nah, Cindy. We're at Taupo. Time to get some tucker into us and for you to do some shopping. Got plenty of money on you?"

"Yes, a few hundred but I guess they do American Express in this village."

"It ain't a village, Cindy. It's Taupo one of the great tourism and stay-over towns in the entire country. People looking for clubs and unsophisticated prostitutes and massaging people with tats tend to like Taupo. It's got the lake, see."

Cindy turned to look past Fred and at the end of what she reasoned was main street was a lake, a huge lake, and through the mist in the distance and across some land she could see a solitary and very high snow-clad mountain. It was a wonderful vista and her heart went out to it.

"Oh Fred, what a wonderful view."

"What, of Ruapehu. You ought to be here when it's erupting."

"You mean it's not an extinct volcano?"

"No and there are two more mountains down there near it and one is currently venting steam."

"Venting steam," Cindy said nervously.

"Best not to think about it, young lady. No one in this country has been killed by a volcano erupting for many years. You're got more chance of being killed on the road by one of our fucking crazy young drivers trying to pass on a bend."

Young lady?

Hearing someone call her young was enough in itself, but never in her life had Cindy been called a 'Young Lady!' apart by her mom when Cindy was a child and had earned a rebuke for doing something stupid.

She had this great urge to ask Fred to repeat the phrase, but then thought that would not be so magical as hearing it the first time. God, if he spoke to her like that every day she'd be cured of her depression and her other mental ailments by the end of a week.

"We'll grab and pie and a beer then you go shopping."

"I shop at malls Fred."

"What's a mall?" he replied, and Cindy's head dropped.

"Where're approximately halfway between Auckland and Wellington here, and that's where the big malls are, young lady, and where's we're going the only places selling anything are a farm supplies service centres, a petrol station with limited vehicle servicing facilities, groceries and a country pub."

"What, no place to get my hair done, no pharmacy, not jewellers, no book shop...?"

Cindy tailed off, noting that the head shakes of her watery blue-eyed supposedly home-spun restorative guru or whatever he called himself were now being accompanied by a depressingly thin smile.

"My advertisement said solitude, young lady, and that's what you get; every word in my advertisement right down to the implied promises are 100 percent genuine."

"But no one these days is 100 percent genuine?"

"Ma'am you live in America; this is somewhere else."

"Do I have to drink beer?"

"Yep, simple tucker and booze is all you get at my place so we may as well start getting you used to it now."

"A pie has pastry and pastry make you fat."

"Only if you don't exercise."

"But horse riding is not exercising; you promised horse riding."

"Cindy, I'll have you so dog-tired riding a horse for much of the day you'll tumble off it, your arse bruised, every bone and muscle in your body aching because of the pounding they've taken and you'll be starving because your body had burnt up everything you're eaten and then started consuming stored body fat."

"Then, if we go for a long gallop you and your horse and you will end up sweating like pigs. You'll think you've been through a really decent bout of sex."

"I don't perspire when I have sex," Cindy said with distaste before realizing the intimacy of that disclosure.

"Then you ain't had real sex."

What a ridiculous thing to say, she thought. How on early could one on their back under a man break out into perspiration? Men did of course but that was because they were doing the hard grind.

And sweating on a horse? When she rode the circuit at McGinty's Recreational Ranch outside of Hollywood, the horses we so well-trained they moved at the same gait and you felt you were part of them, moving in complete unison.

Okay, perhaps you did perspire a little in really hot weather, but not to the ridiculous extent Fred was talking about. Why was it that men exaggerate so much? Omigod, the man was a fraud, enticing clients by lying.

They entered the bar mainly inhabited by males and Cindy felt herself being undressed a multiple of times, which made her feel quite at home but still finding it a loathsome experience.

"G'day Fred, another Yankee to fit between the thighs?"

"Take that back Bill or I'll relocate your fucking teeth."

"Okay, okay mate, no offence," cried Bill. "Just been friendly, mate. You know me."

"Then apologise to the young lady. She'll be thinking you meant that, scaring the crap out of her."

"Sorry Miss, me and my big mouth; it gets to run-away on me a bit. May I get you a wine or a short?"

"We'll have two bottles of Monteith's Golden, thanks Bill."

As Bill went to get the beers, Fred beckoned plump, lovely dark-skinned woman and ordered two pies, tomato sauce and four pieces of thick buttered white bread. Hearing the order being place made Cindy ready to vomit.

"Is that a Maori?"

Fred nodded.

"Bill bark is worse than his bite. Mary his wife is carrying a lot of weight and he sees these gym fit Hollywood babes coming on to my place and he begins to act like a randy bull ready to jump the fence. But he knows Mary would break a fence post over his head if she found out, so he just looks and pants."

"If he's that loathsome then why bother with him?"

"Because he and Mary and their two sons are my nearest neighbours and sometimes, we need each other to help out; saves getting casual labour."

"How close to you do they live?"

"They're almost three miles up the valley."

A feeling of loneliness swept over Cindy. She had neighbours living on three sides of her, above her and below her in her apartment block. If she had to scream for help here, nobody would hear her. God what had she let herself in for?

"It said in the ad the cottage was isolated. You can scream your heart out and no one but me will hear you, unless there are trampers (hikers) or hunters in the vicinity. Isolation is part of the curative process. You won't enjoy it, you'll probably hate it for a while - but when you go, you'll weep and say you don't want to leave and like most of the others you'll promise to return but never will."

That was Fred talking? That was virtually a speech, at least fifty words. Oh, how cute smiled Cindy; the short sentences at first were because of shyness, and he appeared to have a code that you only talk when you really have something to say. Well she'd convinced herself she wanted isolated to sort herself out, and she certainly was going to get that.

"You look worried."

"Do I?" replied Cindy. "I am worried about drinking beer and eating a pie."

"Good tucker. They give temporary strength to your body; you need that."

She thought he didn't have a clue what her body and mind and heart need. But she expected the answer she needed lay in his cottage and environment and not him. Therefore, he should quit trying to pose as a fucking brilliant medical guru with the power to heal poor Cindy.

Fred looked at his watch.

"A bus going through to Auckland arrives here soon. Board it if you are not certain about me or my cottage or my promises. There'll be no hard feelings and I'll refund your money less a hundred for me coming to Auckland to get you and wasting my time."

"The only thing I'm concerned about, Fred is that damn pie."

"Watch your language young lady. This is not America, only men and coarse women swear in public here."

"I apologise but really you won't have a clue how women act in America except what you see on film or read on books."

"I've been to Hollywood and still have a pair of silk underpants I bought on Rodeo Drive."

"You been to Hollywood," gasped Cindy, the picture of Fred in his smelly clothes walking down Rodeo Drive with two dogs at his heels boggled her mind.

"Yeah I'd asked Gloria Fisher what's it really was like at home on Thanksgiving Day in America and she tried to describe it to me. I'd read about it in books, as I read a lot. Then darn it, she sends me a return air ticket and I had Thanksgiving Day with her and her extended family four years back."

Cindy gaped and said, "Gloria Fisher was a client of yours?"

"Yeah, we sorted her out."

"But her remarkable recovery from breakdown came from the Gunter Clinic in Switzerland."

"If you say so."

"Oh god, she came here, didn't she Fred. That Swiss clinic was mentioned for the benefit of her studio and friends and associates and her fans,"

"I more or less said that."

"And she was so appreciative that she flew you to Hollywood just to have Thanksgiving Day with her?"

"Yeah, she sort of got carried away. I went on the condition that there was no publicity. We don't want publicity and we only cater for one person at a time; that's partly why it works."

"Who are 'we', Fred?"

"Christ Cindy, I thought you looked to be a smart young lady. You should have been able to work that one out."

"You the dogs and the cottage and the wholesome environment, is that the 'we'?"

"There, I knew you had a brain behind that beautiful face of yours. But at the farm we get to see the real face."

"What do you mean?"

"No cosmetics."

"Oh Christ Fred. You can't do that to me!"

Fred looked around embarrassed, but no one appeared to have heard Cindy's wail.

"That cussing earns you two hits on the butt."

Cindy looked aghast when she saw Fred was not smiling.

"When is the bus stop?" she asked weakly.

The beer tasted awful and the pie was repulsive. Well at least in the beginning. And how could a grown man, a stranger, decree that he was going to whack her butt twice in some sort of bizarre punishment?

"Did you whack Gloria Fisher's butt?" she asked defiantly, knowing that Gloria was a hot-hot and one of Hollywood's untouchables.

"Yes, several times. She had such a foul mouth."

Cindy jammed a piece of pie into her mouth and fumed. This was crazy, no woman in her right mind would allow a man, a fucking stranger, do that to her. Everyone had rights.

"And did you have sex with her?" Cindy whispered.

"Horses for courses."

"What does that mean, do you need to be that obtuse?"

"My clients take from the program on offer what they think they need; if they require extras it's their choice."

"Please answer my question, did you fuck her?"

"Client confidentiality prevents me from answering that."

"You did, you unbelievable creature. I saw it in the shadow of your smile and in your eyes. I'm not taking the bus back to Auckland. I'm coming to see what a foul set-up you operate and then I'll expose you as a fraud."

"Whatever."

"What sort of reply is that?"

"An adequate one. By the way, there are no smacks for your use of the word fuck, because the word was used relevantly, in context."

"I find this unbelievable and why am I eating this horrid pie?"

"It's not horrid, is it?"

"Well, now that you mention it..."

Chapter 2

As they motored uncomfortably along the Taupo-Napier highway in a conveyance that seemed to have rocks for suspension, Cindy felt better than she had been for several weeks. She'd down two beers to Fred's one. He'd refused a second because he was the driver. He'd watched her eat and drink with amusement and said that at least she'd ate with a hearty style and slugged her drink back, not like some of the sparrow eaters that came his way.

"They eat sparrows, the bird?"

"No, silly. They nibble at food like sparrows. Some of them look as if they've never had a decent feed in their life."

Fed was back to his morose self and Cindy looked out at the views.

She imagined she was in Montana, never having been to Montana, but they were up in altitude and there was snow in gullies and the far hills were coated and she saw cattle and sheep.

"It's lovely, the wilderness is lovely. I feel I have escaped entrapment."

"That's the alcohol talking. Reality comes when you awake in the morning, all alone. It will snow tonight so you'll feel alone and possibly frightened."

"Why, you will be sleeping in the next room."

"There's only one bedroom in the cottage."

"Oh god, you think you'll be sleeping with me!"

"I'll be sleeping 400 yards away in the farmhouse."

"Ah, good and I can phone you when I want you?"

"Mobile phones don't work in my area and if people want me, they come and find me. I like isolation and if I want company, I drive out to find it; usually I go to Bill and Mary's."

"What, just burst in on them even at meal time."

"This is a remote country region and people expect people to drop in anytime so there's always spare tucker."

"Do people drop in on you?"

"Occasionally, especially when word's out there's a new woman at the cottage. Women round here will come just to catch a glimpse of her."

"Just to see who you are having sex with?"

"Watch your mouth Cindy. You're coming dangerously close to having your bum whacked for impoliteness."