Ryan Silverstone

Fifteen minutes later he heard a woman call out, "Hello -- I'm Mrs Johnston."

Ah, a nosey neighbor.

Ryan put his polo shirt back on and went to the side entrance and introduced himself. The elderly Mrs Johnston who told him to call her Pam passed across a jug of milk, loaf of bread and a small pack of butter. "I hope you don't mind but I saw you arrive and realized that you being male would probably would have arrived without provisions. This is to get you started. You will find enough in the pantry or in the freezer for dinner or if you wish you are welcome to join Paul and me this evening."

"Er, not tonight if you don't mind. I wish to settle in and start writing -- a good start sets good habits."

"So mother always told me. I realize this is a little presumptuous but I have called everyone for lunch on Thursday to be held as Mrs Peter's home because she has the largest entertainment area in the district. We are expecting a record turnout and once people realized who the guest speaker was to be they fired up immediately and will bring friends. Paul and I will take you there."

"That is very kind of you but tomorrow is Thursday and I really want to plunge into writing. Who is your guest speaker?"

Pam looked at Ryan as if he were the village idiot. "Why you of course. My friend Betsy Mellows called to say you were coming here for a month and she didn't want you feeling alone and neglected."

"You know Gran?"

"Yes, she was my Latin American dance instructress when I was a teenager and I reconnected five years ago when her granddaughter Sloan married Bill and Sally's son Mick."

"Bill and Sally?"

"The couple that own this house. Oh, you would know of them only by their surname."

"Would you come in for coffee?"

"No thank you, I must get back to my Soap on TV. We'll call for you at 11:15. We drink sherry before lunch -- it's a Book Club tradition."

Ryan looked out at the lake, curled his fingers and fine-tuned his mind, ready to start. He typed, New snow floated in on a northerly drift an hour before dawn on Christmas Eve ...when his phone went.

He scowled and said, "Hi, it's Ryan."

"Hi," she said, in a honeyed voice and nothing else.

Who the hell? His brain clicked. It deduced it had to be Sloan.

"How's it going Sloan?"

Ryan caught the intake of breath and knew he'd hit the button.

"How could you possibly know it was me when all I said was hi?"

"Who else would be checking to find whether or not I'd wrecked her in-law's home?"

Sloan said Ryan was exceptionally bright and as a matter of fact she was calling to see if he needed anything.

"Nothing you can give me."

"Try me," she said, almost huskily. "What would you like?"

Realizing his carelessness, Ryan dived to safety. "This is a tranquil setting, beautiful for a writer."

"I thought it would be. Well, welcome to our part of the world and I'll pop in about 10:00 on Friday and will bring lunch but I must be back home here in time to pick up the children from the school bus drop-off."

"I'd welcome that."

"Really?"

"Uh-ha."

"Oh, watch TV tonight at 6:00. They have a promo going about a new development in the New York cosmetic surgeon case accused of being a serial rapist plus a ten minute interview with his, quote, 'elegant socialite wife'. Does that mean the police are involving Avon?"

Ryan said he wouldn't think so. It was likely that following the publicity more women victims had contacted the police and made damning statements.

"Oh God, do you think Avon is safe?"

"If my theory is correct I would think she is very safe. If more victims have come forward then the police will have re-arrested Tremain and thrown him in jail. That would explain the use of the term 'alleged serial rapist' in that TV promo."

"You seem to know an awful lot about many things Ryan. The question is, do you really know a lot about women?"

"Ask me that question in 40 year's time and I may have acquired enough knowledge to answer it."

Sloan laughed throatily and said she looked forward to meeting him on Monday. She gave Ryan details of the TV channel to watch.

The TV report that evening stated prominent New York cosmetic surgeon Dr Tremain Hungerford had been re-arrested by police after complaints from former patients jumped to thirteen following publicity about the alleged criminal incidents of sexual violation. Although police apparently had seized tape recordings of some of the victims audibly giving their consent to sexual intercourse, it was understood police were now attempting to discover with the assistance of experts whether those woman were drugged and unaware of what they were saying or the implications of what could follow after voicing their consent. If Dr Tremain was found guilty of sexual violation under such circumstances, he would face a very long stretch in prison and his professional career would be over.

A psychologist experienced in dealing with people involved in crimes was then interviewed. She said it should not be assumed that the accused was a serial offender because in such circumstances, once one or two complaints were received a false domino affect could occur with women patients involved in sexual indiscretions totally unconnected to this case feeling obliged to join the accusers in the hope they would be psychologically cleansed of their past misbehavior. It was possibly some complainants could feel obliged to make false claims purely to add weight to the original claimants alleging sexual violation. However, it was likely during screening experts would detect people suspected of lodging false or questionable claims.

An interview with Dr Hungerford's wife then followed. Ryan noted Avon was wearing a replacement cream dress with gold tie almost identical to the one she and he had destroyed during their bout of behavior that would have rocked America had it screened on network television. Avon looked elegant, beautiful and calm and handled the questions deftly -- appearing to answer straight questions with straight answers and dealing with sneaking questions such as "Do you regularly have affairs" (the answer was no, delivered with a frown). When the exasperated interviewer persisted and asked, "Have you ever had an affair? Avon answered coolly, "Is that an appropriate question to ask a lady?" The interview paused to cup the communication piece on his left ear, obviously listening. He then said, "Moving on, when did you last see your husband?"

"On the morning of his arrest. Everything was as usual and he went off whistling, preparing to be paid several thousand dollars from two, perhaps three women he'd surgically make very happy when they got over the pain and bruising."

"How did you meet your husband?"

"Socially several times after my divorce. He dated me and suggested he could enhance my nose by giving it a better alignment. Eventually I agreed with his proposal after getting a second opinion and he performed the surgery, very successfully in my opinion and the opinion of friends."

"Did he drug and rape you?"

"No."

"How can you be sure?"

"If you were raped, even gently, I'm sure you would know. Have you have been violated Mr Goldstein?"

"Mrs Hungerford! I am not the subject of this interview."

"Well you are involved, and I'd say a little aggressively. However I will reconstruct my answer, had I been sexually interfered with while being unconscious or even in a semi-comatose state I would have been aware of it later unless the uninvited intrusion had been very minor."

"Were you aware that your husband was seducing his patients?"

"That allegation has not been established Mr Goldstein. However, I can say my interest in my husband's work was negligible apart from my own operation procedure and I have never heard any complaints from any woman who claimed to me to have been a patient of my husband."

"But you must have had an interest, think of all those thousands of dollars."

"Even you are paid for your expertise Mr Goldstein but I can say my interest was elementary, if that. I am a wealthy woman in my own right and because our household never seemed to run out of money why should I be particularly interested in my husband's income?"

"Will you stick by your husband's side?"

"No."

"Why is that Mrs Hungerford?"

"Our relationship began to falter some three years ago. When he was arrested he called his attorney but made no effort to contact me and nor has he since his initial arrest."

"The accusations made against your husband may have unsettled him."

"All he had to do was to pick up his phone and call me. This is the last straw, whether or not he is found guilty. It is time for us to part. I have commenced divorce proceedings."

"Isn't that a bit harsh?"

"Had you lived with my husband for the past three years Mr Goldstein..."

"That's irrelevant. You married him for better or for worse."

"A judge has the right to make such a comment, not you Mr Goldstein. Thank you for conducting this interview."

The studio lights faded as a the continuity announcer said, "That ends this interview." The camera stayed on the retreating Avon, showing the hint of a wag in her tail.

Ryan picked up his phone on the second bleep", thinking it would be Sloan.

"Good evening, this is Melanie Brooks..."

"Avon's attorney."

"Yes. Did you just see the interview on the network? Avon is anxious for me to tell her what you think."

"I thought she remained elegant and calm throughout and would have come through lily white but for the discussion about divorce but on reflection she didn't have to win points. All in all, she's kept her reputation intact apart from the brigade who think a woman must always stand by her man."

"Thank you Ryan. I've recorded this conversation and will play it to her."

"In that case, what do you think?"

"You are sharp enough to be an attorney Ryan. I agree with you entirely and won't erase my response off the tape. Bye."

Ryan made no attempt to pass on a romantic message. He didn't wish to unsettle Avon.

A few minutes later Sloan called and said she and her husband Alex said it was a good interview apart from Avon announcing she had commenced divorce proceedings. "That won't win her any points, quite the opposite in fact."

"Does it matter? She won't be on trial?"

"Oh yeah, you are quite right. Goodnight darling."

Darling? Perhaps her husband was listening? That would suggest the reason why Sloan was coming on Friday -- the prospect of sex. Had Gran been at her? Unbelievable! Ryan called Gran and she also expressed disappointment that divorce had been discussed but otherwise Avon had done very well and looked great. "At least her friends will know where she's at and that's all that really matters."

"You're so right Gran."

They exchanged pleasantries and ended without Gran asking pointedly had Kyla and Sloan called.

Ryan dropped his phone beside his computer and it beeped.

"Hi handsome. You can't be doing much writing. Your phone has been busy for the best part of an hour."

"Is that Kyla?"

"Indeed it is. What did you think of the interview?"

"Great."

"Me too. I'll be over with Johnny to see you Monday if that's okay."

"Fine. Who's Johnny?"

"My baby you idiot. He's ten months and still being breast-fed so I prefer to bring him although I could express..."

"Er Kyla, say no more. Just bring him. I'd like you to bring him."

"Oooh, that's lovely and Johnny's first invitation to visit somewhere. Family takes his inclusion for granted."

"I'm pleased about that. I only glimpsed him on Mother's Day and he looked cute."

"Oh, does that mean you don't think I'm cute?"

Nova had described Kyla as the wild one so Ryan answered carefully. "You're cute too Kyla."

"Oooh. I'm taking a real likening to you Ryan."

The call ended without Ryan embarrassing himself. He also felt safe because with Kyla suckling, er, nursing a child she would be feeling too motherly to be interested in sex. Right?

He wrote for the next four hours and went to bed after falling asleep in front of his computer and falling off the chair. He'd had a long, long day.

Ryan wrote solidly next morning until there was a knock on the door. He answered and the scrawny guy without much hair said, "Good morning."

"Good morning."

There was a silence until the visitor said, "Are you ready?"

"For what?"

"To go to speak at the Book Club."

"Are you Paul from next door?"

"Yes."

"Your wife Pam said we'd leave early at 11:15."

"Well, I like going early, early at 11:00."

"It's only 10:46."

"Are you coming?"

The guest speaker answered yes and rushed off to comb his hair and grab his wallet and sunglasses.

The eighty-three people ate lunch in three rooms so Ryan threw some meat in a buttered roll and went from table to table saying hello and answering questions from less shy people. Everyone packed into the largest room for his address. He described in detail how he'd been commissioned to write his 'Home for Christmas' book, the first draft of which would be completed while he was living in their community. He then spoke about basing his earlier books on actual events.

"How many of you watched that piece on TV last night about the cosmetic surgeon who is alleged to have drugged and sexually interfered with his female patients?"

More than half of his listeners put up a hand.

"How many of you think the allegations are true."

"Hmmm. Well this is the tough job a novelist has in pitching her or his novel to hit the right spot with readership. The majority of you who believe the allegations are true were mostly women while mostly men believe they were not or they did not have an opinion to express."

"Makes you think doesn't it because in both instance it's only a wild guess because none of us has had the opportunity to examine even the slightest bit of evidence or had the chance to rubbish the evidence."

"Sir," called a woman.

"Yes ma'am?"

"The TV News quoted the police as saying, as did my newspaper this morning, that audio tapes have been seizing recording the drugged woman giving their consent."

"How many here agree with that statement."

Almost everyone in the room put up their hand.

Ryan picked out an elderly guy who hadn't put up his hand this time but had earlier. To his surprise he knew him. "Paul, you appear not to agree with the opinion of that speaker. Why not?"

"Well Ryan, on TV last night and in the newspaper this morning the police were only quoted as saying they'd seized digital movie tapes and audio tapes and that the police would be examining the audio tapes in particular to establish a defense attorney claim that it was possible the tapes recorded complainants giving their consent to sexual activity. It wasn't the police who said that was what was discovered on the tapes -- in both cases it was the assumption of the two journalists based on hearsay. Equally significant was the defense attorney's use of the words 'it was possible the tapes recorded complainants giving their consent."

"Thank you Paul, those were the points I wished to underscore. By the way I am not aware of what you did for a job. What were you working at when you retired?"

"I was an assistant district attorney but that was quite some years back."

"Wow," a big hand for Paul please."

"Well this is also where I finish. The point I wish to make is I could use my creative mind to invest a story something like the cosmetic surgeon alleged to be a serial rapist. As the writer of such fiction it would be up to me how I twisted the to make him guilty or not guilty or even for him being found guilty even though in fact he was innocent. You the reader would believe whatever twist I choose to go with provided I wrote in a coherent and believable manner. The lesson here, I feel, is that there's so much crap written in novels but at the end of the day it's the quality of the story telling that makes it a worthwhile read or, to put it rather crudely, it's just a heap of crap jammed between the front and back covers. When I chose a book to buy I sample a few passages and go for story telling ability every time. Thank you."

After the applause died the hostess thanked Ryan and on behalf of the club presented him with two packs of cookies.

As they drove the short distance home and Pam invited Ryan to dinner he accepted, thinking four hours talking to Paul would provide him for the solid husband figure in 'Home for Christmas' to be a perfect foil for the wacky mom who, of course, would be based on Gran at a much younger age. He went home three hours later, weaving, because Paul had been very generous with the red wine. Pam had spent the final hour as hostess out cold on a lounge chair, snoring.

When Ryan emptied out his pockets he looked at the five cards he'd been handed at the Book Club. All were from women aged between perhaps twenty-five and thirty-five who'd suggested he give them a call anytime he felt lonely. That was a good potential haul but Ryan valued more the discovery of Paul on whom to base an important character.

Chapter 7

Rising late, Ryan ate a couple of bacon and egg muffins, cooked to perfection in his opinion, most of the undercooked eggs dribbling to waste on the paper towel on the plate. That was good because he didn't particularly like egg. He downed a coffee and took a second to his workstation and began typing, the words flowing in quick takes, requiring few corrections.

Ryan didn't find it strange writing about winter in summer because authors did things like that. He'd once had his heroine in a novel go to Egypt on vacation and wrote about her adventures and sightseeing trips in detail, although he'd never been to Egypt. But those who wrote the material he researched had been to Egypt or even lived there. Some authors went into Deep Space, in their minds, and their books sold by the tens of thousands. Yep, a good storyteller with a rational mind could get away with anything once his mind was tuned in.

Ryan was tuned in this morning. He worked on introducing his principal male character, the likeable rogue called Brenton Mace (alias Paul Johnston) known to his grown-up kids now they were no longer scared of him as Popeye because -- well yes, his eyes rather bulged and the first time his eldest called him Pops he'd cuffed her and told her not to call him that again. Five years later when she returned home after graduated from college she called him Popeye and when he went to cuff her she grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. He yelled in pain and the daughter sneered and demanded he admit Popeye was okay an endearment to be used within the family, wasn't it?

Smiling, Ryan read what he'd just written:

The often-feared city's District Attorney gasped and moaned yes.

"Popeye is okay Lisa, but just within the family, right?"

"Yes dad. Now what's this about mom wanting everyone home for Christmas? Kevin and I plan to be sailing in a chartered ketch in Fijian waters in late December."

"Who's Kevin?"

"Dad, I promise you. You won't want to know."

"Little sweetheart who physically is now bigger in all directions than her mother and will become fat if she doesn't stop stuffing her mouth, tell me."

"No."

Benton's jaw tightened, his fists clenched. "Lisa, tell me now or I'll have him flushed out and investigated."

Lisa turned white and her eyes popped. "Daddy," she whined, "you can't do that. This is America."

Brenton pulled out his phone and gritted, "You have till the count of three Little Sweetheart. Daddy isn't joking. On the count of three I issue my instruction to turn the dogs on your sleazy boyfriend."

"One."

"Two."

"Th...."

"All right! He's an associate professor, thirty-five, married but not living with his wife. His name is Kevin Casey and he teaches life-long sexual practices."