Edited by Barney R. Messed with and tweaked by me, all mistakes are mine

Author’s Note: This is the combined ‘It Was All in Her Mind. It was suggested by one of my readers. This way, a lot of the repeated text is removed. Let me know what you think. CAT

I was sitting on the deck sipping my morning coffee thinking over the conversation I overheard at the barbeque we hosted last evening.

I’m thinking over the conversation because the two women I trust in my life were plotting to betray me. They had both gotten drunk, even though I asked that no alcohol be served.

I am John Carmody, I am 33 now, almost 6’ tall, slightly underweight at 145 lbs. I am a very successful author of young adult stories, and ‘bodice rippers’ romance and some other kinds of novels. I use different pseudonyms for different genres of stories. My names besides my own are Gary Croswell for my young adult stories, Elizebeth Jester for my contemporary romance novels, and Becka Ballintine for my old west romances.

I met CC (Carolina Catherine) Dolman when I was 27. We met in an unorthodox way. I was returning on a Friday from a New York City meeting with my publishers. I was out at the cab stand at my home airport hailing a cab when I was run over by a woman who could not see around the mound of luggage on her luggage cart. I wasn’t hurt, just pissed. I turned to give the miscreant a big and angry piece of my mind when I saw a vision. Unfortunately, she was crying.

“I’m sorry, are you hurt?” She asked. Before I could answer, I heard her mutter under her breath; “Great, I get dumped by my fiancé, fired from my job, miss my early flight then get bumped from the next, and now I run over some poor dumb asshole that had nothing to do with my shitty week.”

“Look, miss, I did not move into your way, I was not even in the path to the parking garage; you have no reason to call me an asshole.”

The cab I called arrived and I got in and told him where I was headed. I went home and got a beer from the fridge and just started to decompress when the house phone rang. I recognized the number as my business cell phone.

I answered sharply; “Hello, this is the Carmody residence. What are you doing with my phone?”

I heard a definite giggle and a female voice responds; “I’m the dumb bitch that called you an asshole, and when I restacked my luggage your phone was on the ground. I’m calling to find out how I can get it back to you. I am in Southside. I will bring the phone to you if you give me your address. If you will let me, I will bring dinner. Do you like Chinese? It will be my way to partially apologize.”

“Everyone that is human and doesn’t have some kind of food allergy likes Chinese. I live at 4657 Crestwood Ct. in West End. Do you know how to get here?”

I heard a sparkling laugh; “GPS, you man, you. I also have a friend that lives down the street from you in the subdivision, so I’ll find it. Let’s figure on 6:30. OK?

“Yup. That’s fine; I like what is generally called House Fried Rice or Five Meat Fried Rice, and Egg Rolls. I also will try anything but isn’t the man supposed to provide on a date. I don’t want to get too adventurous on our first date. Wait, this is going to be our first date isn’t it?”

“We’ll see.” A giggle and then all I heard was silence, I never did get her name.

As I have a housekeeper and had not been home for four days, there wasn’t much to do to make the house presentable. I put my dirty clothes in the hamper and got my meeting suit ready to take to the cleaners. By the time I was finished, my accumulated jet lag caught up with me.

I took a nap after setting my alarm for 5:30. When the alarm chimed, I was in better shape, and after a long shower, I was near as human as an author can be. We writers are somewhat strange ducks.

Right at 6:30, the side doorbell rang. The vision was standing there with a large bag with the logo of my favorite Chinese Restaurant on it. I took the bag, move to the side and said; “Enter fair maiden, my castle is indeed fortunate that you grace it with your presence.”

That earned me a giggle and an introduction. “First let me introduce myself. I am Carolina Dolman of the Southside Dolmans. We are a vigorous and aggressive breed, but I come bearing peace offerings. Sir Knight, we bear you no ill will, and punishment has been visited on the person who caused you misfortune.”

“I accept your offerings of peace, but I must visit my own punishments on the dastardly cad the caused the upset to my person. Perhaps maybe a thrashing with the open hand-delivered to that sorry individual’s posterior. What say you?”

“No Sir Knight, anything but that; my flesh is too delicate to stand the abuse.” Then we both broke up laughing.

“Carolina, I am John Carmody, I am 27, and other than a housekeeper, unattached, so you need to watch yourself now that you are in my evil clutches. I thank you for delivering my phone, and I am not angry about the airport. I was a little when I heard your muttering, but after I thought about it I realized that everyone can have a day like your mutterings described. I do not require any more apology than you coming here. This house has not had anyone as beautiful as you since my mother and sister were here. You are very easy on the eyes.”

With that, we dug in. After dinner, I showed CC (she asked me to call her that) the house and grounds. As I said, I am a very successful author, and own the equivalent of four lots in a square.

I explained to her what I did, (but not my pseudonym) and said; “Because I was successful and did not want to rent I bought this place and the other lots. I got here when the developer first opened the place up. I was the first buyer, and so the lots I purchased are at the end of a cul-de-sac. The house is custom built and is a 4-bedroom 3-1/2-bath ranch style 4000 sq. ft. home. The master bedroom has an attached reading room\office. The other three bedrooms are on the other side of the house and share two baths.”

CC was surprised when I showed her the back yard. The large patio had an outdoor kitchen, and the entire yard had a seven-foot privacy fence.

CC told me she was 24, and up until the day before yesterday, a computer graphics artist for a small children’s software company. She was engaged to the son of the owner, and when he wanted to start their sex life early, she told him no. He broke the engagement, had Daddy fire her, and canceled the lease on her company car and apartment. She took her clothes and came home.

“What exactly does a computer artist do? I am an author of several different types of books and I need someone to do my book dust covers. I can also use a proofreader as my rewrites are driving me crazy. If you are interested, we can discuss salary, perks, and details with my lawyer Monday.”

“I was a standard artist until I learned computer graphics in college. I draw, paint in oil and acrylic, and occasionally sculpt in clay, then cast in bronze. I only sculpt on commission, and they don’t come by too often. I would be very interested in either or both positions, I am not hurting for money, but I need a job for my sanity. My degree is in fine arts with an English minor. Would you like to see some of my works?”

“I would love to see some of your work. However, I know I am adjusting to the time zone change and am exhausted. Could I pick you up tomorrow and take you to lunch as a second date?”

“I would like that, but if it is a date, why would we discuss business, If it is a business meeting let’s have the date start tomorrow evening. I live with my mother at 743 Alcona Ave., Southside. If you’re tired, how about I leave, and I will see you tomorrow at 11:00 or earlier if you want, but not before 9:00 this ‘fair maiden’ needs her beauty sleep.”

“What could you possibly do to improve perfect beauty? OK, if you are up for it, we can have an early meeting at 9:00 and then make a day of it. Lunch, mall walking, dinner and a play that I have tickets for. Does that sound like a plan?”

“Yes indeed, Sir Knight that sounds like a very good plan.”

As I escorted her to the door, she turned, got on tiptoe and gave me a nice kiss. Then as she was leaving she tossed out; “I might enjoy that thrashing with an open hand on the posterior when we get to know each other better. Goodnight John, you have rescued this damsel in distress. Even if the job doesn’t work out, I am happier than I have been since I was dumped on by Asshole Junior.”

She drove off with my phone.

The next morning I was up early, so I threw some of my clothes from my trip into the washer. Then I went to get my phone. CC never gave it to me. As it was very early, and I am not a complete dick, I waited until 7:30 to call my cell.

A sleepy CC answered; “John Carmody’s phone. Can I take a message?”

“Yes you can, this is your favorite asshole. What are you doing with my phone? Now I am going to have to administer two thrashing sessions.

“Good morning CC; I know it is mean to call you this early, but I couldn’t resist. Would you like to go to breakfast to start the day of our second date? I also wanted to rub it in that we both forgot that you came to my place to deliver that instrument of death that you have in your hand.”

More giggles. “How about you come over at 8:30? I will make you breakfast. I’m actually a very good cook. My mother is out of town, so it is not a ‘meet the parent’s moment’.”

“I will be there with bells on, clothes also; the cops in this town have a thing against public nudity.”

More giggles and then a dial tone.

When I drove up to the split level home, I could see that the neighborhood was probably upper-middle class. I pulled into the circular drive and parked near the front door; I grabbed the cinnamon buns that I purchased for a tasty gift.

As I approached the door, CC opened the door and I almost dropped the buns. At the door stood a green-faced, hair curler covered head, buck-toothed, dirty robe-clad woman. She gave me a glare and then couldn’t hold it anymore. She started with a giggle and by the time I reached the door, she was in all-out laughter.

“This is what you get when you rob a woman of her beauty sleep Sir Knight.” Then she started laughing again.

I grabbed her green slimed face, curlers and all, and planted a kiss on her. When I let her go, I said, “Nay my sweet princess; the camouflage cannot hide thy fairness, beauty such as yours would shine through concrete.”

Then after staring at me for a moment, a second laughing session started. “You goof, the kiss was wonderful, but now you have green all over your face and hands. Come on in before the neighbors see me and wonder who that crazy woman is that’s in my house. Then we can both wash up.”

With that, she pulled off the curler wig and the phony teeth and showed me into the house and after taking my gift pointed me to the guest room bathroom.

After washing up, I walked out to the kitchen and grabbed a seat.

CC walked in, and the green was gone, and a smile that would light a dark tunnel was on her face. “I wore that get up to a Halloween party last year, knowing you have a sense of humor; I thought I would get you back for the 7:30 call. I was barely awake and thinking about last evening.”

Then she held out her hand with my phone. “Let’s not forget this, this time. Now, do you want to conduct business and call breakfast a business meeting, or have lunch somewhere and use that as the meeting?”

“Business breakfast, then you must face the open-handed thrashing or buy me lunch, your choice.” I laughed at the horror-stricken face so I went on. “The thrashings will only be twenty lashes open-handed on the bare posterior, and you are only required to submit to two; so far, but the day is young.”

“I don’t know if your serious or not, but I think lunch is a good idea.”

When she saw my ‘poopy lip’, she laughed. “You were kidding weren’t you?”

“You’ll never know now; you ruined my fun. I must say, with no crudeness meant, that you have a very spankable posterior. I don’t want you to leave, but I enjoy it when you walk away.”

That earned me a huge smile and swat on the arm.

I looked at her and got a brilliant idea (My ego thought it was brilliant anyway.) “What does your book library look like, you seem to be intelligent, and if you have any similar book to what I write with the dust cover intact, I can get an idea of whether we are looking at the same ideas.”

“Ok, but I need to warn you, I hated most of the dust covers, so I did my own to fit the book. I tried to present the theme of the story from my reading of it.”

“After breakfast, my stomach is empty wench, me man, me hungry.”

That earned me a second swat and a cheek kiss.

After breakfast of a baked scramble with mozzarella and Italian sausage, coffee, and conversation, CC brought out several books with her dust covers and the originals. I was not totally surprised when two of the books were my romances, they are very popular.

When I saw her covers, I knew she had captured the story essence without giving away the story.

“I put these two covers together before I knew you wrote them. I researched Elizebeth Jester last night and surprise; it was a registered pseudonym of one John Carmody. What a coincidence. Huh?”

The covers were better than what the publisher supplied. I told her so. Then I asked if she wanted an opportunity to do all of my covers from that point forward.

“Yes ... Yes!”

“OK, I will give my agent and my publisher a call. You said you had an English Minor, would you be interested in being my test reader, and also my proofreader? That would mean some extra income. It would also be fairly steady work as I complete a book about every month.”

“Yes again, I would love it; and I would finally be using all of my skills.”

My agent and publisher were both on board, and my publisher even had CC do the paperback covers for all of my books and those of some of the other authors. My agent loved having another client, and I got a first-rate proofreader.

CC was surprised that I used three different pen names. I explained that that was my publisher’s idea. She (my publisher) did not think women would buy romance novels written by a man. She also felt that the western-based romances needed different authorship. The third pen name was to protect my privacy.

With her checking my spelling, syntax, and grammar, I was doing fewer rewrites, and writing more books. I went from twelve or thirteen books a year to fifteen or sixteen.

After that first weekend, CC and I dated for several months. We were together almost every day and most evenings. CC commandeered one of the bedrooms opposite mine as an office. She said she needed to be away from all distractions when she was creating.

After a year, I asked her if she wanted to move in. I thought it was unnecessary to drive to her mom’s when she just slept there, then drove back and shared breakfast. She agreed, but said; “I’ll move in, but you need to make closet space in the master because I am not sleeping in any bed but yours.”

I was floored. I shouldn’t have been, we had occasionally had sex, but I did not realize that she had that kind of feeling for me. I mentioned earlier that authors are strange.

“Before you move in then, I have a couple of very important questions to ask you. Do you love me? I am very much in love with you. Then, if you love me will you marry me?

There was no hesitation, “Yes I love you, and yes I will marry you.”

“Well, we need to do two things soon. One, we need to tell your mother. And two, we need you to meet my parents and my sister.”

“Mother already knows. I was going to ask you to marry me if you did not ‘get off the pot’. I would love to meet your family.”

We had the meet and greets. CC’s mother, Laura, was a somewhat subdued somewhat beaten down looking woman. I liked her but wanted to talk to CC about her. My parents and my sister Jane got along with CC like she was a second daughter.

The three ladies went into a long-distance planning festival. CC wanted to have a short engagement. I was all for that.

I asked CC if she objected to a prenuptial agreement. She had a couple of reservations but was not against the idea. I made a suggestion that seemed to make CC very happy. I suggested that we each contribute a fixed amount to a joint account and anything above that was ours to use as desired or not.

Then I had another thought. I found out from CC that her mother was about to lose her house. I asked CC if she would have an objection to me offering her the housekeeper job. My current housekeeper wanted to leave, and I had two available bedrooms so she could live without worrying about living arrangements. I would buy her house and rent it out. That earned me an unbelievable kiss and an exhausting night.

The wedding was great, and we honeymooned in Hawaii. We only spent a single day on the beach. The rest of the time was spent exploring the rainforest, Mona Loa, and a trip to Molokai to study the history of the leper colony.

After the visit, I thought I might get a book out of it. Instead, I got a fictional young adult series of seven books that covered the colony and some of the families that came and lived with the patients. That series was my best work in my opinion.

CC decided that she would accept outside commissions for her art, she would still do my covers, and the covers of several other authors, but she thought I should get a different proofreader. She even had a candidate in mind.

My sister Jane had graduated from college. She had done a stint in the military before starting, so she was a non-traditional student. She also did not have any student loans to pay off. Her major was Secondary Education, with a minor in English composition. She had one year of teaching 15 and 16-year old mommy’s little darlings and decided that she was not a professional baby sitter. The system was glad to have her leave, as more than half of her students did not pass her course.

Jane took over the last of the bedrooms and was a stern taskmaster on my writing, but my number of rewrites decreased some more to less than one per book. I was happy, CC was happy, and Jane was ecstatic. Laura was now a very pleased and proud den mother of three adult children. Jane and I were officially unofficial adoptees.

Things went along great for the next two years when my agent told me that a movie company was interested in the leper colony series. I had to go to New York City for preliminary negotiations, and after a week away from CC, and my happy menagerie, I was ready to shoot someone. These idiots from the movie company thought that enough money thrown at me would make me roll over and kiss their asses.

That did not happen. The second Monday meeting was a revelation for the movie people. It was short and sweet. I said no and caught a plane home.

My agent called me the following Wednesday and said; “Those assholes asked when they could set up the next meetings. They did not understand that if they did not change their position and their demands, there would be no additional meetings.”

He continued; “I explained that you had total control of all rights to anything you wrote. They even offered me a bribe to lie to you to get the contract signed. That was when I escorted them out of my building. The building that your money built, if it wasn’t for you as my base client, all of the other authors I handle would leave.”

Hollywood must have wised up. A month later, an entirely different team came to me and paid to have my agent come to town also. This time we settled everything in one day.

That is except for the legal language. That would never be settled without a few hundred billable hours.

The basics of the deal were that I had total script control, and veto power over any sexually suggestive scenes. It was my intention that the entire series would have a PG rating. It was written for young adults after all. I was also paid a small armored car full of hundred dollar bills for the movie rights. My tax bill that year was almost as much as the village government’s budget where my house was located.

The shooting schedule for the first movie was coming quickly and the movie people wanted me on site for the first couple of months. Of course, they would not be filming on Molokai, they had to go to a couple of Central American countries and make them look like they were islands.

I was not happy, CC was not happy, and I stayed exactly one week and shut the project down. Hollywood was not happy, especially when I informed them that the director insisted that full nudity and simulated sex were on his agenda. He was fired, and they started again, but without me on site. They sent me the scripts and script changes. The new director was so afraid I would get him fired that he did not want me on set. That was fine with me.

CC was doing gangbusters business, and her sculpting commissions had over a two-year wait. She had more work than she could do out of a converted bedroom, and I had more money than God, so I bought an old out of business art gallery and leased it to her for $100 a month. That earned me a lot of love.

Things were fine for a couple of months, and then CC started spending more and more time at the studio. The big fly in the ointment showed up about six months after she started to work in her new studio. It came in the form of a male model that was hired for of all things, one of my romance book covers.

Jerrod Clousen was 6’ 3” tall, and a Fabio wannabe. He was good looking and knew it. He also had enough ego for an entire Chippendale Dance troupe.

At the barbecue, I heard CC and Jane talking about Jerrod. What I heard was CC planning to explore and Jane encouraging. They were both very drunk. Jane loudly said “That man is such a hunk. If you can keep my naïve idiot of a brother from finding out, I say fuck the hunk and have a good time.”

CC was just as loud and said; “I’m so tempted if I knew that John would never find out I would be naked and spread in a heartbeat.”

They were both on their way to drunk, but that was no excuse. Drunk lowers inhibitions, not planting ideas.

I left the party and went and shut myself in the bedroom office and locked the door. I noticed I had been crying. When I had set the office up, I had as the first piece of furniture installed a fold-out day bed. My reasoning was that if I was on a roll with a story, I did not want to leave the office.

I loved those to women as much as I like living. I cried for a while, Hey I wrote romance novels.

I decided that I would not sleep in the same bed as the traitorous bitch of a wife. Even thinking of cheating was cheating in my book.

I decided to write two letters. The first would be to my ex-sister. Then I would follow that with one to my soon to be ex-wife.

...

My dear ‘Loving Sister’

This letter is to inform you that your employment is terminated effective immediately. The reason is this drunken statement you loudly made to my wife at the party last night.

“That man is such a hunk. If you can keep my naïve idiot of a brother from finding out, I say fuck the hunk and have a good time.”

I printed three copies, signed them and placed one under Jane’s bedroom door, and drove to a mailbox and dropped the others addressed to my mother and lawyer in it. I then drove around for a couple of hours.

I got back to the house, and the ‘ladies’ had apparently decided to look for me. My office door was open, and so was the bedroom door and the ‘ladies were both fully clothed sleeping on the bed.

The letter to my wife was just as nasty.

...

I will not be disrespected by you, my ex-sister, or that asshole of a model who knows you are married to me.

...

I had taken a hammer to the ring and placed it and the letter in an envelope then I placed the envelope on CC’s toothbrush holder.

I also printed a copy to take to my agent and one for my lawyer.

My coffee is cold now. I have reservations for a flight and a cab in an hour. I have packed just enough for the rest of the weekend; I will buy what I need in New York.

The ‘ladies’ haven’t stirred yet, so I think I will go out front and wait. I do not want to hear excuses or the lies that it “was just talking”.

I don’t know where this will go, but it will go on, and I will survive.

CC’s Story

I woke up fully dressed on my bed next to my sister-in-law. I had a drum and bugle corps wearing steel soled boots marching through my head. I also thought they had walked through a pile of dog crap before they walked through my mouth to my brain.

Jane and I had gotten drunk at the party last night and had a great time talking trash about the gorgeous model, Jerrod Clousen, I am working with. Now the pain was reminding me of some of the cost of that fun.

I say some of the cost because as I was reaching for my toothbrush, I saw the envelope. I opened the envelope and a smashed ring feel out. I saw what ring it was and vomited into the sink.

I realized that the letter was from my husband, and when I read it, I was devastated. I had been drunk, stupid, and arrogant. Now I am well on my way to being alone. Then I looked again at the destroyed wedding ring in an envelope placed where I would find it when I woke up. The destroyed wedding ring pointed to my life going forward as not being good news.

When I stopped crying, I felt hands on my shoulders. Jane was asking what was wrong.

I showed her the ring and the letter. She read the letter and when she got to the first ex-sister part, she gasped and started crying herself.