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Subject: {ASSM} Something Memorable (MF, slow) I.J. Glenncannon
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Author's Preface to "Something Memorable"
---

Something Memorable has a simple purpose:  It is a place for me to
relax and get away from the pressures of the 'purpose driven writing'
I usually do.

Strip away all the pretentious phrases, all the excess verbiage--and
you get:

"Something Memorable is nothing more, or less, than a writer's
fantasy.  Mine."

Over the years, I've skimmed, read--and sometimes participated--in
many forms of relaxation and social interaction.  So, when I decided
to design a locale that I could use to relax in, I kept all the
various things I'd liked and disliked in mind, then spent some time
building the 'ideal' setting for my literary vacations.

The background may look casual but it is as carefully thought out as
the background for any of my serious work.

Here are some of the things I considered while I was designing the
background:

I needed a location that encouraged relaxation
It had to be a place that allowed other people to be present
It had to act as a logical central access point to other locations
In addition to the main character, I needed a person he could work
against, a foil, if needed
I wanted the overall atmosphere to be something suitable for any age
group and background
I wanted the two main characters to have a long term, committed
relationship
There had to be sexual tension.  Usually understated, not overt, part
of the background, but it could, if needed, be pulled to the
foreground.
The two main characters needed to have well proportioned senses of
humor

There are many other considerations I kept in mind while trying to
figure out a way to wind up with something that would let me do the
type of writing I envisioned as a way to relax.

Something that is more important to me, on a personal level, is that I
wanted to avoid some of the more common fictional cliche's fiction
writers tend to use when they talk about their life as an author.

The characters all had to be of the 'I can see myself meeting this
person in real life' type.

I wanted, if it was at all possible, to create a fictional setting
that was close enough to reality that people would read about it and
be unable to feel confident about figuring out what is based on
reality and what is fictional.

Above all, though, I wanted to be able to let things grow organically,
with room for surprises, the same way life can surprise me no matter
how well I plan things.

If you enjoy going through life and impulsively stopping when
something catches your attention...  

I invite you to join me on my vacation jaunts.

You may...

(tongue very in cheek...)
Discover something memorable as we travel together. 

* * *

I.J. Glenncannon
Friday, April 04, 2008
====

Author's Note: The pov used in each chapter alternates between the two
primary characters.  The intro and odd numbered chapters are from the
pov of Jack.  Even numbered chapters are from Pat's pov.
~~~

"Chapter 00: Keeper"
(Jack)
---

The story concept I was working on had stopped flowing, so I leaned
back in my chair and stretched some of the kinks out, then slowly
swiveled while I contemplated the room I was in.  Originally my
library and study, it had, over the years, evolved into my office.

'Comfortable', was my first thought.  That thought was followed by:
'Something is missing.'

'Something is missing' wasn't a real problem.  I knew what was
missing.  I needed my 'wall' again.  I took a few seconds to put my
frustration aside, then leaned forward and activated the intercom.
"Pat?  Busy?"

"Always, Jack.  You about to add to my secretarial burdens?"

I let her hear my laughter at the tone of false astringency she'd put
in her words.  "Only if you think being my 'wall' is a burden."

She giggled.  "Never, love.  If you'll recall, that's the main reason
I fell in love with you.  I'll be there as soon as I get the groceries
put away."

I laughed, turned off the intercom and then got up to go stare out the
window at the rain.

While I waited, I remembered.

* * *

I was getting tired of reading the emails from the people who were
responding to my ad for a writer's assistant.  Most of them were kids,
comparatively speaking, and all of them, based on their emails, had
inflated ideas about their own skills.  

It was a bit cynical, but I felt as if about half of them must have
copied and pasted a form letter that claimed the way it was written
was 'the best way to present yourself in an email'.  Those messages
were, for the most part, identical.  The other half couldn't be
bothered to spell check what they had written and since I could, in
most cases, figure out what email client they used, I knew most of
those people had automatic spell checking turned off.

As a writer who hated having his train of thought interrupted I
couldn't fault that decision but still...  They should have spell
checked their messages before sending them to me!

I looked at the clock that was above and to the left of my monitor:
2:22 AM.

I smiled at the coincidence, then sighed.  I could take the time to
read and answer one or two more emails, then I'd best be working on my
newest story--or trundling off to bed for some much needed sleep.

I moved the latest batch of read emails to the archive, then wearily
scanned the list of unread emails to see if anything caught my eye.
'Oh, well.  What the heck, maybe someone will get my attention,
somehow...'

Part way through the list my eyes widened slightly before I narrowed
them thoughtfully.  'Patricia Parsephile?  That can't be a real name.'
Intrigued in spite of my resigned boredom, I opened the email.

* * *

Hi, Jack,

Yes, that's my real name.  (Can you imagine how tired I am of being
asked to prove it?)  I'll prove it by showing you my driver's license,
which you'll need anyway if you hire me.

Based on your ad and your blog, you don't need a 'personal assistant',
you need a 'keeper'--and someone who can put up with being bored or
suddenly desperately needed.

I'm interested, and willing to give you a chance to see if you can put
up with me while I do what you need done.

Cordially,
Patricia 'Pat' Parsephile

* * *

I didn't try to stop my sudden laughter as the originality of her
'brief self-description' hit me.

Spell checked without being asked.
Honest.
Whimsical sense of humor.
Acknowledgment that the work called for a partnership, not a
boss-secretary relationship.

And, she'd proved that she had that rare gift any working writer
prized most in his assistants--creativity.

Yep.  If we managed to find a balance, she'd do.  I was quietly
laughing to myself while I dashed off an email and invited her to come
by at her convenience so she could see if she really wanted to be my
'keeper'.

* * *

I felt Pat's arm wrap around me and squeeze slightly.  "You're
grinning."

"Remembering how we met.  That self-description you emailed me."

"It worked."

"Yep, it did."  I turned my head to gaze at her.  Acknowledging the
intensity of the feelings that had ambushed us shortly after she'd
started working for me, I sobered and lightly stroked one of her
cheeks.  "Keeper."

Her eyes were laughing but she blushed anyway, then diverted me back
to the original reason I'd called her in.  "I heard the silence.
Stuck?"

I shrugged.  "Yeah.  I haven't been able to figure out a way to do a
new series I have in mind."

"New series?  What are you trying to do?"

I sighed and showed her a lopsided smile.  "I suppose it could be
described as 'My Life'.  I want to be able to ramble on about any
subject I feel like talking about.  I need some sort of interaction,
someone as a foil to work against.  There has to be a synergy between
the characters, and I need a 'home' setting I can work from that lets
me go in any direction I feel like going.  That's only the most
important parts of what I need."

She laughed.  "Sounds like what you want to do is describe what we do
now."

I stiffened in surprise, then sighed again, exaggerating it slightly
to let her know I felt like a prize winning idiot for missing the
obvious.  "I guess I do, at that.  Are you ok with me doing that and
fictionalizing things whenever I need to?"

It was her turn to stiffen with surprise.  Then, reluctantly...  "I
don't know.  I was joking, not serious.  Let me think about it."

"Sure.  No problem.  I think I can make it work if you give me
permission to try."

A few days later she said yes, so here we are.

Welcome, folks, to my new series:

"Something Memorable"
====

"Chapter 01: Interview"
(Jack)
---

The sounds of the front door chimes reverberated through the house and
I reluctantly turned my attention from the story I was writing, to the
security monitor.

The first thing that caught my attention was that the person standing
on my front porch was a tastefully dressed woman who was near my own
age.  The next thing I noticed was that she was holding something up
so it would be visible to anyone watching the security camera.

My first reaction was that I would be dealing with another
door-pounder from some sort of organization that wanted some of my
money.

When I looked closer and realized she was holding up a driver's
license, my memory kicked in and I hit the intercom switch.  "I
believed you.  I'll be right there to let you in, Patricia."

"Thank you."

I refocused on my story, added enough to it so I'd be able to pick up
where I left off, then saved what I had so far and told the backup
utility to mirror everything to my archive drive.

After making sure the backup was working correctly, I headed for the
front door.

I opened it and held out my hand.  "I'm Jack.  Thank you for stopping
by."

She shook it firmly.  "Jack.  Call me 'Pat'.  I'm used to it."

"Pat, then."  I let go of her hand and waved her inside.  "Please,
come on in so I can show you my office.  Then we can talk over what I
need done and you can decide if what I'm offering to pay is enough to
keep you here, if you decide you want to work for a freelance author."

She came in and waited while I closed the front door.  I pointed at
the hallway that exited from the right side of the living room. "Last
door on the left.  The bathroom is directly opposite."

I politely ignored her slightly widened eyes and the twitch of her
lips as she obviously suppressed a laugh.  She recovered quickly and
led the way to my office.

Once we entered I settled in my working chair and swiveled so I could
face her again.  "It's all in here.  Feel free to explore and look
things over before we discuss anything."

She nodded, then explored.  I was surprised when the first thing she
did was explore the bookshelves.  At one point she reached, then
hesitated and turned to me.  "May I?"

I laughed.  "Go ahead.  Books are supposed to be read, not admired."

She relaxed and returned my smile, then turned back to the shelves and
spent some time working her way though them, occasionally opening one
to skim though it.  Her actions changed when she found the shelf with
my own notebooks and bound work.  Some of those she skimmed, others
she opened and read sections of before putting them back.

Eventually she ran out of shelves and started checking out the lateral
files that held my business paperwork and notes.

After she'd gone through all of them she settled on the settee that
was next to the window.  "It's not what I expected."

"Oh?"

She nodded for emphasis.  "It's too organized.  I don't think you need
me.  Did you have someone organize this for you?"

I shook my head.  "Oh, I need you.  Much to my surprise, I've become
something of a commodity recently.  I need someone to do the things I
no longer have time to do, which, much to my chagrin, is anything that
isn't actual writing."

I walked over to look out the window while I finished my explanation.
"What you probably mean is that I shouldn't be this organized.  Well,
there's a simple answer to that.  I've worked at many jobs over the
years.  One of them held my interest long enough for me to become a
fully qualified file clerk.  In fact, I've earned money by going in
and 'straightening out' disorganized small businesses."  I turned and
faced her, openly enjoying the shocked expression she wore.  "I
believe my ad said 'keep my life organized', didn't it?"

She blushed.

I went back and settled in my chair.  "Anyway, I know that if you do
this, you'll need to make changes to things so you can work
efficiently.  I'm concerned with getting the job done, not how it gets
done."

I leaned forward and studied her some more.  "I'm willing to pay you a
full time hourly wage, with overtime, until you tell me you're
satisfied you can work efficiently.  After that, if it takes less time
to do everything, we can renegotiate your pay, if you feel the need.
What I would like to do, *if* it turns out you won't need to work full
time, is to put you on a mutually agreed upon retainer and you can set
your own hours, as long as things are done in a timely manner."

I quirked my lips into a grin.  "By the way, the *last* thing I would
do is ask you to cook for me, or fetch and carry.  I'm capable of
doing that for myself and in fact, I use those mundane tasks as a way
to take breaks from my writing.  I need an assistant, not a maid or
housekeeper."

She laughed at my sour expression, then let herself get serious again.
"Good.  It saves me the trouble of refusing."

I smiled at her vehemence.  "Still interested?"

"Yes."

"Is the pay mentioned in the ad enough?"

"Umm.  May I ask a question first?"

"I'd be upset if you didn't ask any questions you have."

"Oh?  Never mind.  You're a freelance author.  I've read enough ads to
get used to the idea that the going rate for what you need is usually
'no pay' or 'deferred compensation'.  If the person is feeling
generous, they offer 'help getting established and making contacts in
the industry'."  She got up and looked out the window.  It was obvious
she was embarrassed about something.  She turned back and faced me.
"What they *never* do is offer a full time wage that a person can
survive on."

I couldn't stop my chuckle.  "And you're wondering where I managed to
get the money, since freelance writers are supposed to be barely
surviving, or writing in their spare time while they have a real job?"

"Yes."

I leaned back, then stretched my arms before I clasped my hands behind
my head and stared at the ceiling while I answered her.  "It took me a
long time to figure out a strategy that took advantage of the way
people use the internet.  As I hinted, I've done a lot of different
types of work over the years.  Those jobs kept me going while I wrote,
as a hobby, as a way to relax.  It was years before I finally decided
to do the one thing I first swore I'd never do:  'Turn my writing into
something that I had to do'.  I didn't want to find myself in the
position of having to write what others told me to write--to survive.

"But, along the way, I firmly established myself as a writer.  I paid
my dues and more while I perfected my skills, settled in my style and
kept watching for some way to make money as an author and yet hang on
to my stiff-necked pride and independence.

"Well, a few years ago I felt I had spotted a possible way of doing
that.  I tried it, and while it took some time, it did, eventually,
start making me enough money that I was able to devote more of my time
to writing and less on working 'regular jobs' to survive.  The house
was paid off a long time ago, when I was working full time.  We made
sure of that.  Generally speaking, my needs are simple, and since I've
tried to pay cash for everything, everything you see is mine.  The
credit cards I have are for emergencies, or something I maintain so I
have a credit rating, just in case.

"But..."  I brought my gaze down and smiled at Patricia.  "For years,
I've been slowly outlining and developing what I call my 'Flagship
Project'.

"Much to my surprise, a print publisher picked up the option on it and
I find myself with a substantial advance and a request to finish all
five volumes.

"As long as I finish each volume in a timely manner, I'm not going to
have any financial worries."

I got up and walked over to gaze out the window again.  "Patricia.  I
may not be able to afford to pay you what I suspect you are really
worth, but I can afford to give you enough so that you can focus on
the job I need you for."

I lowered my voice and whispered...  "I know how valuable a good
assistant is, what one is worth to those who know.  I can't help
wondering what makes you willing to work for a wage that's obviously
far less that you should be getting.  Do you want tangible
recognition?  You will have it.  The dedication on my first volume,
regardless of whether you stay long enough to see it published, will
be 'To Patricia:  Without her, there would have been no time, no
book'--if you help me long enough that I can get the first draft
done--and if you give me permission to write that dedication."

I finally turned and faced her again.  "You asked your question, I'll
ask mine:  Patricia. You could obviously do better.  Yet, you are
here?"
====

"Chapter 02: Acceptance"
(Pat)
---

I'd been expecting Jack's question but it still took me by surprise. I
had seldom met an employer who was interested enough to ask it at the
beginning, before I went to work.

Then, too, there was the fact that most of my recent employers hadn't
seen me as a person.  It had been difficult at first but eventually
I'd learned that when you worked as a temp, you weren't an individual.
You were a tool, and someone else decided where--and when--you were
used.

To a career Personal Assistant, one who had spent most of her life as
an Executive PA who managed a secretarial pool, being a non person had
rankled deeply.

I looked up at Jack and smiled.  "Could you sit down while I talk to
you?  This is going to take awhile and I'm not the type to pace while
thinking.  Besides, this settee is far too comfortable for me to want
to leave it any time soon."

He laughed, then went over and sat in his office chair.  Idly, I
noticed that it was one of the more expensive ones with fabric instead
of vinyl or leather.  He'd probably bought it because he wanted one
that was comfortable after sitting in it for hours, not one used to
impress anyone who dealt with him.

My examination of his office had confirmed what I'd suspected after
I'd done some research on the net.  'Self made' instead of built by
others, yet he'd managed to keep from the arrogance that was more
characteristic of those who had succeeded on their own.

He was an interesting study.

Quick, too.  His lips had twitched into a smile when he figured out I
was taking too long to answer his question.

"I'm here because of you."

"Ah?"

Good.  I'd managed to surprise him.  If he was the type of person I
thought he was, based on what I'd learned, once he was warned,
surprising him would be hard to do.

"Five years ago I retired after spending fifteen years as an Executive
PA who managed a 25 person secretarial pool in addition to handling
all the arrangements of her boss's life.  It would take a lot more
than what most people, even high level managers, make, to pay me what
I'm worth.

"My retirement pay gives me far more than what you're offering.  But,
I've been working as a temp, going from job to job for the last three
years..."

He jerked upright and started laughing...  "My god!  I bet the boredom
is making you climb the walls!"

Yes.  Quick.

"I'm a people person, Jack, and used to being seen as who I am, not a
part of the furniture, to be discarded when no longer needed."  

It must have come out a bit more tartly than I'd intended because he
stopped laughing and looked at me closely before he raised his
eyebrows, querying me without asking directly.

"After my original boss died..."  I laughed for the first time in
years as I remembered the son's embarrassed hemming and hawing...  "I
would have been a poor PA if I hadn't been able to manage my own life
better than I did my boss's.  It isn't only senior execs who have to
be bought off when someone wants to get rid of them quietly.  I've
enjoyed keeping an eye on the company, since.  The son doesn't have
the business acumen his father did.  He's made quite the mess of
things."

Now why did I mention that?  I hadn't been that open since before I
retired.  Was I that starved for someone to relax with, that I'd get
personal this soon?

I took myself firmly in hand and went on.  "Yes, I'm tired of being
bored.  I'm here because I think that while the job is probably going
to be simple for me, being around you is going to keep me from sitting
at home and climbing the walls!"

He laughed.  "Pat.  Do you know what my reaction was, to your first
email?"  He went on before I could answer.  "I figured that if we
could reach some sort of working balance, you'd be perfect.  The
'write a brief self description', with no instructions, was a test.
And the one thing I was looking for and never expected to get, was a
response from someone who was not only a skilled PA, they were
creative, with so much of it they couldn't hold it in no matter how
hard they tried.  The other type of person I wanted, but assumed I'd
never see willing to take on this job, is someone who is proactive in
their thinking."

He suddenly leaned forward and focused on me.  "What do you think of
talking dogs?"

I gaped, then recovered.  "Furrys?"

"No.  Real dogs, but ones who have mutated and are capable of human
speech.  Would they bark and growl like real dogs or would they sound
like humans who do it if they were raised by normal dogs?  Better yet,
how much would being able to talk change the way they think and
interact with the world?"

"They'd bark like..."  I paused.  Would they bark like real dogs or...
Then I came back to reality and laughed.  "Am I getting paid, or
relaxing?"

He grinned at me.  "I've assumed you were on the clock as soon as you
started looking things over."

"You're serious!"

"Yep.  Now, answer my questions.  Or, while you're thinking about
them, we'll start going over the easy stuff, like how to handle most
of my email."
====

"Chapter 03:  Lunch"
(Jack)
---

Pat was eager to get to work after I initially briefed her, but I
forestalled her.  "I don't know about you but I need to eat.  Of
course you're welcome to settle at the other desk and look things
over, then decide how you're going to do things.  If you'd like
something to eat, you can raid my kitchen or I can cook enough for
both of us.  Or, you can go out and come back.  Your decision and I
meant it when I said you get to decide your own hours."

She frowned as she considered her options.  "Your filing system is
pretty simple so I should be able to figure it out soon enough."  She
looked at me directly.  "That's not a criticism.  Efficiency does look
simple and I know what you must have gone through to make it easy to
use, yet do everything you needed.  I think I saw some things I'll
have to look at more closely but all of those seemed to be related to
things specific to a freelance writer."

"No offense taken.  It would be unrealistic for me to expect you to
find any small business filing system 'complicated' unless someone
didn't have one at all."  I gestured for her to continue.

"After temping for three years, anything that's even party organized
is a pleasure to work with.  I'm still amazed that anyone would have a
system that is almost identical to what a large corporation uses.
Exploring it made me realize that I had a lot of misconceptions about
the business life of a freelance author."  She hesitated, more to
think than because she was worried about how her next words would
affect me, I suspected, then she went on.  "For once I think I don't
know what questions to ask, so if you could give me some sort of
extended briefing over lunch, I'll take you up on that offer of
something to eat."

"Fair enough.  I think you'll find that handling the online stuff will
be even easier than the paperwork.  Over the years I've had to write a
lot of form letters and I've also created filters that let me presort
the email before I read it."  I stood up.  "Let's go.  While I'm
putting the food together, we can discuss some of the details."

When we got to the kitchen I waved a hand.  "Table or counter, up to
you.  Any dietary restrictions or preferences?  The only meat I have
is some fish.  I tend to eat vegetables.  I was thinking about doing a
basic stir fry.  That ok?  Or, you could check out the fridge and pick
out whatever you want.  Later, if you want, feel free to raid at whim
or bring in your own food."

While I was talking I'd been getting out everything I needed to stir
fry some vegetables, and when I finally glanced over to check on her I
noticed she looked a little overwhelmed.

"I talk a lot.  Comes with being a writer, or the talking made it easy
to become a writer.  I don't really know, or care.  I like to cook and
I was raised to share whatever I had, so relax.  It really isn't a
problem."

She shook her head slightly.  I suspected she was trying to catch up
so I stopped the chatter while I dug out enough stuff for my
vegetables.

She watched, then finally spoke up.  "The stir fry will be fine, thank
you."

"OK.  By the way, I cook with olive oil or peanut oil.  Do you have a
preference?"

"Peanut oil!"  

Her firmness got my attention so I stopped and looked at her.

She blushed.  "I like Chinese."

I grinned.  "Is that so?  Ginger?  Powdered or sliced?  Any other
seasonings or foods you have a taste for?  Generally, when I have a
guest I leave the seasonings out so they can season to taste but if
there's anything you want stirred in..."

"Do you have raw peanuts?  Do you do this for anyone who happens to be
here when you're hungry?"

Now, at last, I laughed.  "Yes.  And yes."

"OK.  Oh, sliced ginger, too--if you're sure it's no trouble."

"Relax, Pat.  It doesn't take any longer, or any more effort, to cook
for two than it does for one."

I shut up and prepared the food.  Once I was doing the actual stir fry
I picked up where I left off.  "I'm not babbling simply because I have
an audience.  Like you, I enjoy people.  I've found that sharing a
meal is a good way to relax and talk about almost anything.  I've done
'business meals' when I had to but I still prefer something like this.
That's something you'll have to get used to if you're around very
long.  Sometimes I think a few of the people I do business with plan
regular appointments just so they can relax instead of going out to
eat.  Can't be the way I cook, I'm a simple cook, usually.  More so
when I cook for others.  There's a spice rack I'll get out so you can
add seasonings after you're served."

It was her turn to laugh.  "Jack!  Slow down!  I've never worked for
someone who did his own entertaining.  I'm used to being the one who
organizes it, so this has left me floundering, gasping while I try to
keep up with the changes."

"Oops.  Sorry.  I'll slow down.  I need to pay attention to my
cooking, anyway.  I don't want to scorch this." I glanced at Pat and
she smiled back before I turned to concentrate on the vegetables.

Stir fry never takes that long so it was only minutes until I brought
the wok to the table and set it down in front of her.  I went back and
returned with a couple plates and the utensils.  "Dig in.  One more
trip and I'll join you."  I went back, dug out the spice rack and set
it on the table so we could both reach it.

We ate our first servings in silence.  I took a second serving then
gestured with my fork.  "Feel free to eat the rest.  I have to watch
how much I eat.  If there's any left, I'll put it away.  If you want
more, I'll cook more."

She finished her second serving, then, after an obvious struggle with
her conscience, took the rest of the vegetables.  Before she started
eating again she interrupted my eating.  "Jack?"

I had a mouthful of food so all I could do was mumble my reply. "Mmm?"

"Do you always treat strangers as if they are family?"

I swallowed and paused in my eating.  "Yes."

"How can I be certain of that?  This seems to be...  Excessive effort
on your part."

I stared at her.  'Excessive effort'?  What on earth had made her make
that comment?

Then I realized.  Oh.

"I was raised to believe that some things, such as food, are supposed
to be shared.  That's especially true if the guest has been invited
into your home.  To you, it may seem like I'm doing something special.
To me, it is something a host takes for granted.  'If your guest is
there when you have a meal, you invite them to join you, without
restrictions'.  If the guest accepts, the host has a duty to make sure
the food to be served is suitable and if it isn't, he and the guest
work out a mutually satisfactory arrangement."

She blushed.  "So you aren't trying to impress me?"

"Nope."

"Oh."  She looked away and I remained silent while she regained her
composure.  Without turning back she whispered "I apologize."

I didn't smile when I answered her, even though I knew she wouldn't
see it if I did.   "Accepted, even though I strongly feel you did
nothing you needed to apologize for.  'Culture clash'."

That caused her to turn back and look at me.

Now, I did smile.  "If I was looking, I wouldn't waste my time trying
to buy something that can only be earned."  I held up my hand between
us to stop any comments she might have made.  "My word means something
to me.  You'll have to decide what it means to you."  I nodded my head
slightly in the direction of her plate.  "Your food is getting cold.
Would you like it reheated?"
====

"Chapter 04: Briefing"
(Pat)
---

I felt awkward at first, after that bad judgment call I'd made.  Jack
obviously wasn't worried, or offended, and he really did let the
subject drop after he'd answered my concerns.

It was a strange feeling for me, to realize he saw me as a person, one
he enjoyed dealing with but he wasn't interested in anything more than
a friendly working relationship.  The way he'd reassured me had quite
firmly made it clear he was serious about keeping things to a working
relationship.

It was a relief to know for certain, but it also threw me off balance.

I also wondered if I had managed to wind up working for someone who
wanted the same sort of working relationship I'd retired from.  If
so...

No.  I didn't know if I was happy about that, or not.

"Jack?"

"Yes, Pat?"

"How much email do you get and how long does it take for you to deal
with it?"

He leaned back, obviously thinking.  "It varies but usually it ranges
from five to ten messages a day to around fifty messages a day.  Some
are from fans, a few of those are regulars and friends.  The people
who say 'I liked it' get a quick 'Thank You'.  I have a 'form letter'
for those.  Anyone who makes specific points gets a longer email of
course, one that's tailored to their email.

"Oh, that reminds me.  I run my own email server, with dedicated
addresses.  You won't need to deal with the ongoing conversations, or
the business stuff, for a few days, or until you get comfortable with
everything else.  Besides, there's not much point in you trying to
take care of that stuff until you know more about the rest of it.
You're welcome to read it all though.  I don't plan on keeping
anything secret from you because eventually I would like to have you
manage it all for me.  We'll have to create an account for you, maybe
several if you think you'll need them.  I'll show you how to do that
so you can create more if you need to.  Oh, don't bother worrying
about privacy issues.  One of the things that's been understood is
that if I ever hired a PA, that person will need to at least skim
everything as part of their job. There's very little truly 'personal
and private' email and that gets sent through a dedicated email
account."

"I also maintain a few email lists.  Most of those are notification
type, to keep people updated about my various writing projects.  There
are some discussion lists, a forum, my blogs..."

He smiled.  "It usually takes me a couple of hours a day to more or
less keep up with the critical stuff.  I've dedicated two days a week
to 'relax' from writing so I can keep up with the non-critical things,
such as the forum and the discussion lists.  Those have enough people
on them that I don't have to provide much input, and everyone is used
to that.  Look them over, and while I expect you to eventually
contribute posts that answer questions about the more common things in
my work, participation past that is up to you.  Everyone knows I've
been looking for an assistant, so you should get lots of help from the
regulars."

I was surprised when he grinned at me.  "You'll get help even if you
don't ask for it, from a few of them. 'Proactive'.  I also encourage
public dissent, as well as the usual encouragement.  Be prepared for
emails and public posts that take us to task for our decisions."

Suddenly he sobered.  "Pat, I can get pretty focused and surly when
I'm working and the writing is flowing.  It's not unusual for me to
get so involved with the writing that I react as my character would,
not myself.  If you have an opinion you think I should hear, express
it.  I imagine you know how to get someone's attention and keep it, so
I'm not going to tell you how to do that.  You'll have to work out
ways to get mine.  Feel free to talk to my close friends for ideas.
I've known some of them for years.  I'll give you a list of the ones
that know how to jerk me up short.

"I suppose that what I'm really doing is warning you that you'll have
to adapt to sometimes not knowing how I'll react to criticism.  The
'real me' always appreciates it and considers it honestly, even if I
reject it.  Not all my characters are that polite."

I'd watched closely, trying to hear what he wasn't saying, in addition
to what he was.  When he stopped talking I made a few mental notes.  I
definitely wanted to talk to those friends.  I had a feeing that
'keeping' Jack wasn't going to be as simple as I'd first thought.  I
started wondering if I'd be able to do everything he had mentioned in
his ad, on time.  It was a bitter lesson, but it was increasingly
obvious that I'd let my misconceptions about freelance authors help me
underestimate the time I'd need to deal with things.

Thinking about time made me realize something else.  Goal oriented
planning was something I was used to, and I figured that Jack was
organized enough that he'd do something similar.  "You mentioned
needing more time to write.  Do you plan your days and set goals?
Daily targets?"

"Good point. My primary goal, one that's worked for a long time, has
been to produce three thousand words a day of my 'serious writing'.
I'm not a fast typist and my output varies from 500 to about 1,200
words per hour.  Typically, I've found that I can count on around 700
words per hour if I'm working on one of my larger or ongoing projects.
Until now, that's been enough production to let me keep up with, or
stay ahead of what has to be done.  I don't keep regular hours but I
do try and make time to meet my word count, even if it means a long
day.  I also take plenty of breaks."

I nodded.  I was learning that focused creativity could be a lot more
work than I'd thought.

He went on.  "Anyway, I'm now committed to producing five story
collections, with a minimum size of 90,000 words each, in addition to
what I already write.  My current way of doing things, with the 3,000
word a day goal is one I worked out a long time ago.  If I want to
write more, I have to cut back on something else.  I'm not going to
cut back on the time for sleep, relaxation, eating...   I've tried
that in the past and it's never worked.  Ideally, I'd like to double
my output to 6,000 words a day, but realistically, I expect to wind up
producing something closer to 1,500 to 2,000 more words a day, five
days a week, on average.  Do the math and that means I could do it in
three hours or it might take as many as eight hours a day, just for
that much."

I shook my head.  "I can see why you're willing to let someone do
everything else.  This is going to be more of a challenge than I'd
thought.  And..."  I sighed.  "I let my perceptions tell me doing it
would be easy.  Now, I'm not so sure."

He nodded solemnly.  "I don't expect you to do it all, you can't. I've
already cut back on my personal stuff, that's something people are
used to.  This isn't the first time I've had to produce on a schedule.
The same goes for taking on new projects.  I'm working on clearing the
backlog and if I can pause something until I can work it back into my
schedule, I'm doing that.  It helps that I'm well known in my usual
niche.  The publisher has given me up to three months to finish each
collection and in some cases, I already have quite a bit done.  When I
add my other writing to the total, I already write over 100,000 words
a month, reliably.  All I need to do is rearrange my life so it goes
into my writing projects.  That's the reason I need you or someone
like you."

He grabbed the dishes and took them to the sink.  "Pat, To be honest,
for a day or so I expect you to slow me down while you learn things.
That's ok because I also assume that once you understand what I need,
and know how to handle things, I'll be able to maintain a much higher
output.  My official target is two to three months for each
collection.  I really expect to get them ready in less than one month
each."

He turned around, leaned on the counter, and grinned.  "One of my
goals, based on what I know I do already, is to produce one or two
medium length novels a month--and still meet my other commitments in
addition to writing the stuff I write to relax.  With your help, I
think I'll finally be able to do that.  If I do...

"I should get a lot closer to being able to pay you something much
nearer what you're really worth, if you want it.  Stingy, I'm not.  In
a very real sense, you'll be collaborating with me and you'll have
earned a share of the profits."
====

"Chapter 05:  Possibilities"
(Jack)
---

Settling Pat at the other computer was simple.  I wasn't about to
insult her by trying to tell her how to do her job so I showed her
which programs I used, then turned her loose by telling her:  "There
are some things you need to keep in mind when answering people.  Add
something personal and make it clear you are my PA.  If it's something
you feel I should answer directly, let them know you'll bring it to my
attention and that if I don't answer within a week, they should
recontact me.  Other than that, use your own judgment about how to
handle things. If you can't figure it out, dump it in the 'read -
pending' folder and move on."

She nodded slowly.  "If I need help?  Should I interrupt or wait?"

"My break timer is set to go off every hour so that's the best time to
get my attention.  Oh, and before I forget, handle the flames any way
you think appropriate, as long as it is 'courteously'.  Browse the
'flames' folder to see how I've done it.  Don't worry about sending
something accidentally because every outbound message goes into a
passworded outbox that autosends every twelve hours, after I've opened
the message again and resent it.  It's a safety feature that keeps me
from doing something really stupid, usually."

She nodded, then went to work.

I settled in and started working.  It was tempting to look over her
shoulder or ask her how she was doing but I managed, with difficulty,
to keep from nagging her.  Besides, the whole reason I wanted a PA was
to let me write.

When my break timer went off I stretched, looked in her direction and
realized she was taking her own break.  When she knew I was looking at
her she smiled, shook her head slightly, then deliberately turned and
went back to work.

It was the same ritual during each of my breaks and when I finally
decided to take a longer meal break, I asked her how she was doing.

"You have a nice system.  I wish we'd had something like it when I was
still working at my old job.  Have you ever thought about writing a
guide and selling that along with the macros and filters?  I know a
few corporations that might be interested, if they don't have
something similar in place by now."

I was bemused by her enthusiasm.  I hadn't thought about that aspect.
"No, I haven't thought about it.  I'm not a programmer and I'm not
interested in providing support services even if I did market it."

She smiled.  "License it, then.  Let someone else package it and do
any customization."

"The program is freeware.  It has a support forum and some of those
filters are copied from there, or slightly modified versions of what
is available.  I've made my versions available under the public
license terms."

She winced.  "Umm.  Do you mind if I do some research?  There's a huge
corporate support network out there and maybe I can find a way to tie
you in somehow.  At the least, I *know* I can easily get you some
advances to rewrite a lot of the help manuals and guides, if you are
willing to take on those sorts of projects.  This system you've
developed...  I doubt if you could understand how many PAs and support
people would enjoy using something this efficient..."  She drifted off
as she obviously got sidetracked into thinking about possibilities.

She was grinning when she came out of her reverie.  "I can count the
money already.  Give me the go ahead and if I can make it work...  You
could wind up being able to write for *free* and never worry about
needing money."

I thought about it.  "What sort of numbers are we talking about?"

She raised her eyebrows in surprise.  "I expected you to ask about the
style of writing."

I shrugged, then laughed.  "You obviously haven't read everything I've
written.  

"The biggest problem I had when I started writing fiction was getting
rid of the 'drier than dust' technical writer's style.  I don't think
I'll have any problems returning to that style, or developing a
compromise style that would let me write a 'user friendly' manual.
Tell me what you want, and I should be able to do it."

Her only reaction to that was "I see."  

I chuckled and waited for her to go on.

Her eyes lost focus while she was obviously thinking about
possibilities.  "I'm not interested in locking myself into the
corporate system again.  The best way to avoid that is to work on a
retainer basis with lots of squirming room and all sorts of ways to
back out without giving up what they've already paid..."

She looked at me seriously.  "If you had an outline to work from,
along with the original documentation and software, how long do you
think it would take you to provide a first draft of a help manual for
a program you'd never seen?  Assume I'd be walking you through it, as
if you were a new employee."

I walked over to gaze out the window while I thought about it.  "I
don't do it as much as I used to, but I went through a lot of programs
before I settled on the ones I use now.  Most of the software I use is
freeware but I do have some of the more common commercial programs
around for final drafts and compatibility.

"I've seen all sorts of documentation, ranging from useless to
reasonably well done.  After the first one, I'd have a template for
anything more if we assume that part of the marketing will be a
consistent style from manual to manual.  With a good outline and you
available to walk me through, or, for that matter, once you've taken
me through the basics, get someone from the company who uses the
software on a daily basis to use the software while I watch..."

I resettled in my chair.  "I'm guessing but a rough first draft would
most likely take me a week of dedicated effort, maybe two weeks.  A
more polished version, still a draft, would most likely take two weeks
to a month if I'm working on other projects, which I will be for the
next couple of years, at least."

I looked at her and raised my eyebrows.  "How complete are your
outlines?"

She looked down at her feet, then back at me.  I had the fleeting
impression that she was embarrassed but I dismissed it as imagination.
"One of my responsibilities was overseeing our in house training. Most
of our self-guided training programs were based on my course outlines.
They're pretty complete."

I sighed and leaned my chair backwards, then closed my eyes wearily.
She'd been embarrassed after all.  "Pat, I have the feeling that
you're willing to make me rich beyond my dreams and it will be an
afterthought for you.  That's not important as long as the bills get
paid with something left over.

"How's this sound?  Any time you run into a situation like this, and
you want to set me up on a retainer for writing, we split it equally.
If it's something like the filters and macros, license things if you
can,  then pay half of the profits to the program author and whoever
else has contributed, then split what's left between us in whatever
ratio you think is suitable--as long as the least percentage either
one of us gets is twenty-five percent of that half."

There was a long silence.  Then...

"Jack?"

"Yeah, Pat?"

"The second part?  Our half?  Split it equally."

"OK.  But I have the distinct feeling you're setting me up for
something I probably don't want to hear."

My eyes snapped open in surprise when she giggled maliciously.  "Oh, I
think you'll enjoy it, eventually."

I was wary.  "What makes you think that?"

"I want a flat ten percent commission on any retainer I get you. After
that, make me your agent and pay me five percent of whatever you're
paid for anything I place for you."

I gaped at her.  "Pat?  Are you crazy?  Nobody with your abilities
should be working for that little."

She smiled sweetly.  "Jack, you aren't thinking.  You wanted some
numbers.  Retainer, to keep yourself available to produce a rough
first draft within one month of being asked: $10,000 per month.  To
produce a final printed or electronic version within six months,
$25,000 plus an annual renewal fee for updates after the first year."

I goggled, then recovered.  "Whoa there!  Nice dream, but I can only
write so much a month and I want to write fiction, for myself.  What
happens when I have several corporations ask for manuals at the same
time?"

She laughed, then sobered.  "That's the beauty of it.  Within a year,
at most two years but more likely, within six months, you'll be able
to hire other people to write the manuals based on the style guides
you and I will have worked out.  We can even license those guides to
companies who don't want to keep you on a retainer."

"There is another thing.  Corporations absolutely *love* assembly line
operations with 'interchangeable parts', meaning the people, of
course.  They would expect to see, and be most comfortable with,
someone who appears to structure their business along those lines,
whether or not that's the reality of how the business is actually run.

"Would you have many problems finding authors willing to work under
those conditions, considering the fact you could pay them more for
part time, one off work, than a lot of people make while working nine
to five for a month at a good mid-level management position?  And, to
sweeten things, you could offer them a minimum of $4k up front as a
retainer if they wanted a long term relationship with you?"

I sighed.  "Pat, I must be crazy.  I'll agree to all this if you
answer a few personal questions."

She leaned towards me.  "I can guess one of them.  I don't have my own
business because I like the freedom of knowing I can walk away at any
time."

I interrupted her.  "Do you have any idea how soon you'd know if you
want to walk away from working for me?"

She winced again.  "Damn.  I didn't see that one coming and I should
have.  I need to think about that."  

"Huh.  Take it as given that I understand that attitude.  It didn't
take me long to figure out I was my own worst enemy because my
enthusiasm makes me lose sight of getting paid.  It's another reason I
need a manager I can trust."

She sighed.  "There's a solution."  She paused and frowned.  "Two
solutions, really, but I don't think either of us is the type to feel
comfortable with the second one.  No.  I'll be honest.  For you, it
would be ideal.  Trouble is, at some point I'd start feeling guilty. I
wouldn't be able to escape feeling like I'd taken advantage of you."

I raised my eyebrows, while thinking I'd been doing a lot of that
during my brief conversations with Pat.  "I'd like to hear the second
solution.  Call it idle curiosity."

"I hire you on a $10k per month retainer, plus agree to act as your
agent, with the same percentages I've already mentioned.  Either one
of us would have the option of ending the relationship, or make
mutually agreed on modifications later.  We could write in a clause
that I find and train a mutually satisfactory replacement if I decide
to leave."

I nodded slowly.  "You're right,   That's a dream deal for an author.
Being honest about it, I've never seen myself as really worth that
sort of confidence and if there is a catch I don't like, it's the fact
I'd feel an obligation to produce, regardless of whether or not I felt
'in the mood'."

"Umm.  I didn't realize you'd feel that way about it."  She took a
deep breath and held out her hand firmly.  "That leaves the first
solution.  I'll give you my word that I'll stay until you decide you
don't want to write at all."

Damn.  I'd thought the second solution was a sweet deal and I'd been
tempted to go for it because I didn't think she could come up with a
better offer.  I scooted my chair in her direction then shook her
hand.  "Deal.  We can haul the lawyers in later, after you've taken a
look at some of my 'standard contracts'."  

I stood and stretched.  "In the meantime, I don't know about you, but
I'm hungry.  Care to stick around so we can discuss things some more,
over dinner?  I'm always looking for ways to write things off."

She laughed.  "You'd be surprised.  Let me do the cooking and we can
both write it off."

Then she remembered.  "Oh, you'd better look over what I've done so
far.  I was able to figure out how to handle most of it, but there are
still things I know you'll have to handle yourself."

I shook my head.  "Later.  After we eat.  Hungry people make more
mistakes. And I need the longer break, too."

"Intense?"

"Yes.  I had a plot point finally unravel itself and my fingers
couldn't keep up with my thinking.  I need to be fresh when I go back
to look it over."

This time, when I smiled, I knew it was genuinely appreciative.
"Thanks, Pat.  You've already earned this month's wages, even if
you've totally fouled things up, which I never thought you would do."
====

"Chapter 06:  Cooking"
(Pat)
---

While I explored Jack's kitchen and figured out what to cook, I
relaxed and rambled.

"Jack?  I imagine you know how much it means to me to be seen as a
person.  I've spent the last three years deliberately holding back.
You shocked me when you asked me about the talking dogs.  Truth is,
anything I say is a guess.  We never had pets when I was growing up
and I went from college directly into the company I retired from.

"Anyway, I think you'd get a mix that was somewhere between 'real
barking' and 'imitating a bark'.

I glanced over at him.  "Any dietary restrictions?"

"No.  Just quantity.  If you cook enough for two, I'll save the rest
for later.  Thanks for offering to cook.  I was surprised, even with
the excuse, but be assured I appreciate it."  

He paused, then went on thoughtfully.  "I've done a lot of thinking
about those questions, and others.  I enjoy building worlds and
exploring them.  Mostly, I have the basics worked out already but I'm
always interested in other opinions.  The story line made it necessary
that the dogs bark and growl as if they were humans imitating real
dogs, since that let me give them easily understood speech.  Some
people can sound exactly like dogs so the W-Sod is easy for the
average reader..."

I interrupted him.  "W-Sod?"

"Oops.  'Willing suspension of disbelief'.  A related term is
'believability factor'.  The more believable something is, the easier
it is to get a reader to suspend their disbelief."

"OK.  Thanks.  I haven't done much thinking about the other question.
It's obvious that how you describe something affects the way you see
it.  Different languages have different concepts and sometimes you can
say things in one that you can't in another.  It's a problem any
multi-national has to live with.  The bigger companies hire people or
create departments just to make sure people from different cultures
are understanding each other.

"I think being able to 'speak human' would significantly affect the
way dogs learn and deal with the world around them.  How they would
view things is a question I can't answer."

His reply was a brief chuckle followed by: "Hmmph.  You don't need to
worry about that anyway.  I'm the one getting paid to figure out an
answer to that problem."

I smiled to myself, then turned to study him before I started putting
everything together.  "Jack?"

He looked up.  "Yes?"

"When you advertised for a PA...  Were you thinking of finding a
friend, too?"

He nodded his head slightly.  "A little.  No, I'll be honest.  A lot,
but I was assuming I'd spend a long time finding anyone who could be
that, too, if ever.  Most authors aren't easy on people, in spite of
how we are often portrayed.  I'm one of those.  I push myself and it's
been...  "  His voice trailed off and he obviously stared off at a
memory.  "Never mind."

Intrigued, but willing to wait, I went back to my cooking.  "Sorry I
was too intrusive.   Blame it on how comfortable I feel here.  I
missed 'doing' for someone who appreciated me.  More than I realized."

"Umm."

I giggled.   "You're right.  There's no correct answer to that, is
there?  Anyway, do you mind if I just open up?"

The silence lengthened past the point of being reasonable and I
glanced away from my cooking to see what he was doing.  What he was
doing was looking at me, watching me move, but I felt pretty
comfortable about assuming he wasn't really seeing me.  I'd seen the
same sort of reaction from my old boss, especially after I'd been his
PA for so many years we'd spoken more without words, than with them.
"Jack?"

"Oh.  Sorry, Pat.  Memories.  Long before I started writing.  I forgot
you might need a spoken answer.  'Two shoulders, no waiting'."  He
leaned back and gestured vaguely...  "Whatever you want to share."  He
shook his head, slightly, but with enough extra movement to tell me he
was relaxing and laughing at himself.  "Or, whatever you feel you
*need* to share.  One of the 'hazards' of being a people person."

Yes.  Just like my old boss, but with a difference that I couldn't
quite figure out, exactly.  As I cooked, I rambled some more.

"A career woman, especially a PA, can't afford the time a family would
take and honestly, I seldom missed that.  I had the people I worked
with, the travel, all the interactions and even, as anyone but the
blindest could have predicted, more 'personal' attention than several
women could have been expected to need.  Harv and the company were my
family, and in a strange way his son, sometimes, was as much my son as
he was his real mother's.

"Don't get me wrong here.  They were a good bunch of folks but somehow
Jason never quite picked up his father's attitude of the people being
the most important part of the company, and you treated them well
enough they knew it and knew you believed it.

"I didn't run the company, but I was trusted enough that Harvey would
tell me what he needed done, then let me organize it.  If I made a
judgment error, I was held responsible, but I was never demeaned for
it.

"Still..."  My hand froze and I looked at Jack in surprise.  "So
that's what I was looking for..."

He was watching me closely.  "Oh?"

A sizzle made me look down hastily and I went back to my cooking until
I could take the pan off the heat.   "There.  It can cool for a few
minutes."

I settled on one of the stools and turned to face Jack again.  "As
close as we were, I was still a cog to Harv.  Part of a smoothly
running machine that was supposed to take ideas and then make money,
for the company, him.  It wasn't impersonal but..."  I closed my eyes
to try and hold back the sudden pain of discovery.

"I did what I did because I enjoyed it, because I wanted to but..."

I felt his hands enclose mine.  "You never did it *for* yourself?"

My eyes snapped open and I stared at him in shock.

His lips curved into a bitter smile.  "What do you think drove me to
become a successful freelance writer?"

It was my turn.  "Oh."

"Yep.  So, Pat.  While we eat, you can be thinking about what it would
be like to work for someone who encourages a little selfishness in
whoever works for him."

I shifted so I could touch his hands with mine, then blushed without
looking up.  "How did you learn to be...  So understanding?"

I felt his hands shake but they quickly stilled.  "I won't tell you
it's something a writer needs to learn, because that would be lying. I
was this way before I started writing.  But..."

His long pause made me look at him.  When our eyes met he smiled. "For
now, I'll just tell you that in my life, I have loved deeply, and been
loved as deeply in return.  And, the lesson I most treasure is that I
was also taught I can do it again, without fear, without worrying if
it is returned.  So... "  He disentangled his hands.  "I'm not
looking, true, but I am always open to possibilities, be they brief,
or something more."

He smiled and...  "Let's eat before the food gets cold, eh?"
====

"Chapter 07:  Dinner"
(Jack)
---

I couldn't tell if Pat was relieved at the change in subject and mood,
but I certainly was.  Usually my loneliness wasn't as intrusive as it
was right then, and Pat, whether she realized it or not, had touched
some long buried dreams that I hadn't looked at too closely in years.

I was smiling though, when we pulled away from each other and she
served dinner.  "Sorry, Pat.  The 'people person' in me responded and
when it comes out to play, it tends to be rather blunt at times if it
thinks the other person wouldn't be comfortable with anything less."

She settled across from me before she responded.  Eventually she
paused eating long enough to smile a bit twistedly.  "You said
something about not buying what had to be earned.  What, exactly, did
I do to earn *that*?"

I was confused.  "Earn what?"

"Are you going to tell me you touch every woman you meet and mention
love to them, if they unburden themselves to you?"

I stared at Pat.  "Of course I do.  People need to know, without any
chance of doubting it, that someone cares for them, right then,
immediately, and not in the abstract.  I've hugged men when it was the
right thing to do.  Would have been wrong not to let you know I
listened, and cared."

She ate some more while she thought about my answer.  Finally she
looked up and studied me.  By then I'd finished and was content to
wait her out, letting her set the pace and pick the subjects.

"Jack?  Hold out your hand?"

I shrugged, puzzled, and then reached across the table.  She lightly
touched my hand.  "You mentioned possibilities.  Try this one.  I
think I'm in love with you.  I've never felt this way before..."

I gaped.  "Never been in love?"  My brain finally started again.
'Career woman'.  "Oh.  Never mind.  You told me that."

"I did?"

Oops.  "Blame it on being a writer, this time.  You said you were a
career woman and never had a family.  It's a tired cliche' in writing,
and I never expected to hear it in real life--because it *is* a
cliche'."

She blushed and looked at me.  "My life was a cliche'?"  She giggled.
"I suppose it was, now that I'm outside, looking in."  Then she went
back and bored in.  "Career women are used to making fast decisions.
What about freelance writers who toss around words like 'love',
'caring' and 'need'?"

Instead of answering immediately I looked towards the patio door.  It
was awkward, but I managed to hold onto Pat's hand while we stood and
I led her over so we could look out at the back yard.  "Pat?  Look
behind the curtain next to you."

She looked, then let the curtain fall back into place.  "A dog door?"

"Yep."  Then I pulled her into a hug.  "Pick any bedroom if you like,
even mine."  I turned my head and looked at her.  "Is that quick
enough?"

She blushed.  "Do I get an explanation?"

Now, I laughed.  "Love doesn't need one, but yes, you get that
explanation."  I grinned at her.  "You've earned it."

I was rewarded with a quickly suppressed giggle.

Fortunately, for both of us, I think, we managed to clean up from
dinner without any more surprises.  Conversation was kept more or less
trivial and about simple things like where the soap was and other
mundane subjects.

Eventually, though, we ran out of dishes and some decisions had to be
made, beyond the personal ones we'd been carefully avoiding.

"Pat?  Let's go take care of business first, then I'll start that
explanation I promised." 

She smiled and touched my still damp hands lightly.  "Am I being too
forward if I ask how you feel about this?  I'm still giddy, I
think--and wondering what's happened to me."

I shook my head.   "Never mind.  Business can wait.  I know what's
important right now even though I haven't had to worry about it for...
Years."

She looked at me oddly and I smiled.  "OK.  Since you asked, I feel
fine.  Surprised.  Still shocked in a way because I wasn't thinking
about meeting someone I could feel this close to."

Impulsively, I pulled her into a hug and kissed her.  When I pulled
away slightly, it was to smile wryly.  "There's a reason I showed you
the dog door.  Let's settle somewhere and I'll tell you why."

We went to the living room and I studied it.  Finally...  "Ever sat on
a couch with a man on the floor in front of you?"

"Mmm.  Sounds interesting.  I'm willing to try it."  Then she glanced
at me.  "Let me guess.  Memories?"

"Yeah.  Good ones--and it will help me relax enough to explain
coherently."

"K."
====

"Chapter 08:  Memories"
(Pat)
---

We settled and Jack picked up the conversation again.  It was hard, at
first, for me to switch from thinking about the work, to focusing on
him as a person.

He chuckled, then began.  "Our life was mostly a cliche'.  Rosabelle
and I grew up in a small town together.  Even so, it grew fast enough
that by the time we were old enough to go to high school, the town was
split into two districts.  She lived a few blocks away, and the plan
put us in different schools.

"So, even though we had been close and started puberty together, just
as we were looking at each other as more than play companions, we were
separated.

"Still, I had my early infatuation and that stayed with me.  It was
peer pressure over the scholastic rivalry that separated us most of
the time.  The new social circles kept us apart, too.

"Anyway, I joined the track team as a long distance runner and she was
on their girl's team.  That meant we ran the same courses and sort of
kept up our friendship for part of the freshman school year. 

"But..."  He sighed.  "Somewhere in there we both changed.  Track
season ended and somehow we didn't get a chance to see each other
until the next year.  And..."

He drifted off briefly so I touched his shoulder to remind him I was
there.  His hand came up and gently held mine.  "The next time I saw
Rose she was a woman.  It was funny, really.  The girls started
running before the guys did.  It wasn't unusual for us to catch up to
some of them while we ran.  I was jogging along and noticed the girl I
was overtaking was limping pretty badly.  It wasn't until I actually
caught up with her that I realized it was Rosabelle."

He laughed...  "Any thoughts of finishing the race went completely out
of my head at that point.  Together, we crossed the finish line and
she set a new record--for the slowest course completion time--ever."

He pointed at a couple of pictures on the wall.  "We had two weddings.
One at her graduation ceremony, one at mine."

I looked at the pictures.  He was younger, and oddly, in both pictures
he looked more serious than he did now.

He went on.  "Our kids are grown and long gone.  When Rose was killed,
I wasn't in good shape emotionally and since they got on well with
their grandparents, we all agreed that they would finish raising them.
Over the years, they've drifted away.  We still visit, but it seems to
happen less and less.  Kids of their own, families, the pressures of
work...  It all adds up to little time for much more.  I don't mind.
The internet was a blessing, really.  It lets us stay in contact and
send idle notes back and forth."

I'd been resting my hands on his shoulders, so I knew that when he
said he didn't mind, he was lying, but I let it go and just started a
slow massage instead.

Eventually he relaxed a little and sighed.  "Sorry, Pat.  Thanks. Rose
knew when I was lying, and when it was best to speak without words.
For a few minutes..."

He leaned back and stretched.  "It was a pileup on the freeway.  They
tried to save her, but she'd lost to much blood.  All the glass had
shredded her and by the time they got her out..."

He shivered.  "I'm afraid they had to knock me out completely in order
to calm me while they cut the cars apart to get us out.  I was told
they nearly lost me, too.  Most of the time, when I think about it, I
wish they hadn't saved me."  He went still and just sat there.

I sighed to myself and while I waited, took the time to look at what I
could see.  I also thought about Jack and my own feelings.  When I
looked out the patio doors, I remembered the dog door.  I was
intrigued, and it puzzled me that he hadn't mentioned that yet.

Should I mention it?  I'd never dealt with a man who was as obviously
lost in his memories as Jack was.  Would it help, or make things
worse?

I sighed.  When in doubt, get it in the open.  Maybe that worked as
well privately as it did during corporate negotiations. 

Besides, it would change the subject, I hoped.  "Jack?  The dog door?"

"What?  Oh."

He shifted some and then relaxed a little more.  "The dogs were
Rose's.  She raised and sold show quality German Shepherds.  After the
accident, I sold most of them but kept our favorites.  They kept me
sane, and they reminded me of her.  She would have wanted me to get on
with my life, and getting rid of all of them would have felt like I
was completely denying Rose had ever existed."

"I've been alone ever since Misha died.  Somehow I never had the will
to bring someone else into my life again.  Seems like I've always
buried the ones I love, and I wasn't ready to do that again."

"So..."  He reached to clasp my hand and press it against his cheek.
"I wasn't looking, but I wasn't completely closed off, either.  It
hurts sometimes, but not as much as it used to.  Time heals, you
know."

I shook my head.  'Time heals.'  How apt.  I'd come here looking for
work, hoping, dreaming really, that somewhere I'd find a job that
would let me feel comfortable again.

Instead, I'd found what?  That I could remember my 'mutually agreed on
early retirement without prejudice' without the bitter pain I'd felt
until today.

I'd also stumbled into...

What had I stumbled into?  Love?  Friendship?  A job?

Certainly, it was a partnership, or it would be.

No, it was already that much.  We'd given each other our words.

I pulled him back against the couch, and me, then leaned forward until
I could press my cheek against his.

"Jack?  Together.  My word on it."

His hands squeezed mine and his head tilted, adding to the pressure on
my cheek.  "Mine, too.  Pat."
====

"Chapter 09:  Practicality"
(Jack)
---

After we'd been quiet for awhile I tilted my head back so I could see
Pat's face.   She was looking out the patio door and had a strange
half smile on her face.

"Pat?  I'd love to sit here and relax together, but we do need to get
back to business long enough to get the day's chores done."

She shook her head slightly and then focused on me.  "Hmm?"

I chuckled and managed to reach up and touch one of her cheeks with a
hand.  "As much as I would like to stay here between your legs and
enjoy the communing, there's some work we need to finish."

She blushed, then her sense of humor took over and she giggled.  "I'm
glad my old secretarial pool can't see me.  I used to tease some of
the girls mercilessly when they fell in love."

I grinned.  "I'm told the distracted euphoria doesn't last much past
the first month or so."

I managed to get to my feet, then I turned and helped her out of the
depths of the sofa.  Once she had her balance I wrapped her in a hug.
"On the other hand, I'm also told that there can be relapses at
awkward times for the rest of your life..."

I kissed her gently, then reluctantly broke away so we could look into
each other's eyes.  "I think I just confirmed that rumor."

She blushed.  "I'm in my forties and I feel like a teenager without a
clue."

I nodded slowly.  "You're not alone."

Her raised eyebrows invited me to explain.

I shrugged.  "Rose and I never dated anyone else, and after she died I
was too much of a bitter, emotionally devastated, mess--to feel like
looking again.  Oh, I had the rare dates and social events that I got
involved in, and old friends tried to play matchmaker...

"But nothing ever went past casual friendship.  After Misha died, I
never went looking because I was too focused on surviving and finding
ways to live my dream."

I touched her face lightly and I knew my hand was trembling.  "So I'm
as new to this as you are..."  

I smiled wryly.  "Dogs teach a man honesty."

She studied me thoughtfully, then her eyebrows went up again.  "Oh?
Honesty about what?  If I may ask?"

"Pat, I love you.  I want you to know that, now, before I break the
mood by insisting we get today's work finished.  After that..."

I laughed softly, amused by the situation we found ourselves in.
"Well, after that we can take a couple days to explore and start
making all the mistakes we should have made as kids."

This time Pat was the one who pulled us together, hungrily.

Whew!  That kiss was the kind of promise I hadn't been given since the
day before Rose was killed.

When we broke for air we were both trembling from the suppressed
hunger for more.  

Pat touched me tenderly and I captured her hand with mine.

"Jack?"  She took a deep breath to give herself a chance to regain
some control.  "There's no doubt in my mind any more.  I love you."

I nodded, then used my head to gesture at the hallway.  "Work, I'm
afraid.  It shouldn't take long."

She sighed, then smiled wryly.  "Any time is too long.  Let's get it
over with.  But I'm afraid you did get something wrong."

"Oh?"

She grinned at my confusion.  "We have a lifetime, not two days."

"Oh."

She giggled again and I relaxed and laughed.  "OK, Pat.  You're right.
I think your perspective is going to be useful in the years to come."

"Trust me, Jack.  I'm a PA.  Part of the job description is: 'Must be
able to make long term plans and carry them through to completion."

I laughed.  "Thanks.   Let's go deal with the professional part of our
relationship."

* * *

I settled at Pat's workstation, then started going through the day's
email and other stuff she'd dealt with.  Pat stood behind me with her
hands on my shoulders and watched while I made comments or she gave me
explanations when I asked her about some of her decisions.

About halfway through I must have tensed or something because she
asked me "What is it?"

I leaned back.  "I'm not certain.  Something doesn't feel right about
some of these replies."

"I'm not surprised."  She squeezed my shoulders slightly.  "I used
your form emails, and copied and pasted from other emails where I
thought it made sense to do so."

I thought about it.  "You've done a good job with the answers.  I
expected worse.  You've done a better job than I have any right to
expect for a first day spent trying to answer someone else's email.  

"This is something else.  I don't know what it is yet.  I just have
the strong feeling there's a problem somewhere, that I need to take
care of before it gets worse."

Her hands relaxed slightly.  "Thanks.  I was wondering if going
through and using previous emails as templates would work."

I leaned forward.  "Let's finish this, and then call it a day.
Hopefully, at some point things will fall into place and one of us
will figure out the problem."

We went through the rest of what she'd done.  I touched up some of her
answers, tossed a few out and redid them, then did the final steps
that put them in the outbox.

When I was done I leaned back and stretched.  "Done, for today."

She laughed and started massaging my neck and shoulders.  "Good!"

The hunger in her voice rekindled my own desires.  The surging
emotions brought with them some memories.  Those memories didn't cause
the pain they usually did and I could examine them with fondness
instead of melancholy.

"Pat, Love?  How do you feel about making love under the stars?"

Her hands slowed their ministrations while she thought about it. "I've
had sex under the stars.  One time I thought I was in love, then
learned I'd been  infatuated.  Love under the stars?  Never done it."

I suddenly spun my chair and pulled her into my lap so I could kiss
her hungrily, yet tenderly.  She responded ardently, by wrapping her
arms around me and then using her tongue to tease my lips open.

We explored for awhile and when we finally broke for some air I pulled
her into a hug.  "I can grab a blanket and we can be making love in a
couple of minutes if you're willing."

She giggled.  "What?!  You're crazy!  Now?  Where?"

I laughed.  "Crazy for you.  Now.  In our back yard."

"You're kidding!  What about the neighbors?"

"As long as you don't scream, and keep your moans under control,
they'll never know."

"Umm."

I sweetened the deal slightly.  "Unless your passion makes you louder
than a kennel full of excited dogs, the neighbors won't hear us."

She froze, then studied me.  "You interest me.  I didn't see any
kennels in your yard."

I nodded.  "Most of the kennels and runs are gone.  I've kept a couple
of them for guests to use when they need to have a place to put their
dogs.  Generally, they let them run loose.  Anyway, while I sold off
most of the stuff we used, I never got rid of the landscaping and
other things we did to cut down on the noise and visibility of the
dogs.  We'll have privacy and as long as we stay with conversational
volume, we'll be fine."

She suddenly giggled.  "Where do you keep the blanket and condoms?"

I laughed and hugged her.  "Blankets are in the hall closet.  Condoms
can be found conveniently to hand, anywhere in the house."

When she stared at me I chuckled.  "Sometimes I have interesting
guests, and they do spur of the moment things."

"Mmm."  She nuzzled my throat.  "Jack?  I think I'm going to enjoy the
working conditions, once I get past the euphoria and surprise.  I'll
find some condoms, you get a blanket."
====

"Chapter 10:  Preparations"
(Pat)
---

I'd made the decision, yet it looked like neither one of us was ready
to move.  Jack made no effort to get up, or even hint that I should
get off his lap.

I leaned against his chest.  "I want it, but I'm not ready to move."

I felt his laughter as it came from somewhere deep inside his chest.
"I'm comfortable like this, too."

"You going to shut down for the night?"

"No.  The computers stay on.  I never know when inspiration will
strike, and I got tired of losing ideas because I had to wait for the
system to boot."

He pulled me close and breathed into my ear.  "I don't have one in the
bathroom, but I do have workstations in the bedrooms.  Don't ask me
what I'll do if I get an idea while we're together.  Sometimes I use a
pocket voice recorder, other times I make quick notes on the
computer."

I giggled.  "Romantic, aren't you?  Never mind.  I've been involved
with driven men before.  I won't complain as long as you let me do the
same thing."

"Hmm...  I have a spare laptop you can use for now if I happen to be
working when inspiration strikes.  Will that do?"

I turned my head and kissed him gently before I pulled back to lose
myself in his sparkling eyes.  "It will be fine."

We cuddled until he shifted his legs slightly when I started to slide
off his lap.  I recognized the problem and smiled.  "Do you worry
about shoes on your chairs?"

"Hmm?  No, not really."

"Good.  Then I know how to deal with lap-slide"  I managed to lean
forward until I could grab his other chair and pull it over.  "Stretch
out and put your feet on it."

I shifted and briefly put most of my weight on my own feet until he
was resettled in the new position, then I resettled in his lap.
"Better?"

"Yep.  Maybe someday I'll want to hear how you learned about this
position.  Seems like it might go well in a story."

I couldn't stop my giggle.  "Incorrigible man!"

"Right again.  Both times."

I twisted myself slightly, trying to find the most comfortable
position again.  When I found it I leaned back and enjoyed being held.

After awhile I realized he wasn't doing anything.  "You asleep? You're
not doing anything."

"I'm enjoying this.  Should I be doing more?"  His tone was a mix of
serious and amusement.

"Umm."  I thought about it.  "I expected you to."

Instead of saying anything one of his hands moved from its innocent
position on my stomach and slowly slid up until he could cup my breast
through my clothes.  He started working my nipple with his thumb.
"Like this?"

"Ummmmm...  Yeesss..."

Then he kissed my ear before his let his lips and tongue flow across
my neck.

"Ooohhh!"  I stiffened as a jolt of pure pleasure shot along my
nerves.  "Wait.  Wait...  It's too much..."

He paused the movements but left himself in contact with my skin.

I was gasping as the aftershocks rippled through me, then I sagged
against him.  "Wow.  That was..."  I had to search for the right
words.  "Exhilarating and scary at the same time.  A woman should be
warned about stuff like that."

He kissed my neck lightly and I felt a hint of the intense pleasure
ripple along my nerves again.  "Sorry.  Never thought that an older
woman, especially one who admits to being sexually experienced,
wouldn't know about that trick.  I just wanted to make you happy."

My eyes snapped fully open in shocked surprise and I turned to study
him.  "Make *me* happy?"

He nodded solemnly.  Then, unable to stay serious for long, he
grinned.  "Some of the most intensely sexual times we spent together
were when we forgot about our own sexual needs and explored what made
the other person feel good."

His eyes went distant briefly.  "When we combined what we'd learned
and used it on each other at the same time..."

He hugged me and pulled me tightly against his chest.  "Maybe we can
do the same for each other.  I'm willing to try, anyway."

"Umm."  I touched his hands.  "I'd like that, Jack."

Then I giggled.  "Now, please.  If you don't mind, that is..."

He laughed.  "I think we should do a little preparation, first.  I
have spare his and hers robes in the guest bedroom.  I want to use the
bathroom and then change into a robe before we go outside.  Having to
pick up scattered clothing to get dressed, or carry it back, destroys
the mood.  So does an emergency bathroom break."  His laughter rumbled
from his chest again.  "Hilarious though--if you have that type of
sense of humor."

I shook my head in mock sadness then laughed along with him.  "Someday
I'll tell tales on myself.  You can decide if we're humorously
compatible--or not."  I grinned.  "I don't think I'll have to explain
one 'rule of condom use' though.  'Take it out of the packet *before*
you get all soapy."

He grinned.  "Rose and I discovered that one when we were teenagers.
There were times we got *as* frustrated but I can't think of one when
we were both *more* frustrated."

I couldn't stop my fit of giggles.  'Frustrated' would have been a
woefully inadequate description of what I'd felt at the time.  "I
agree to your terms."  I stood up, stretched languorously and gave
Jack a chance to look me over.  "Well?"

He smiled lazily but his eyes told me how he really felt.  "Good
enough, I suppose."  Then his lips twitched almost into a grin before
he managed to control them again.  "I'll decide after I see you in a
robe...  Or naked in the moonlight."

"Mmm.  I don't need to look."

"Oh?"

"Your hands said everything I needed to know."

"Ah."

"Jack?"

"Yes?"

"Don't take too long to get ready.  We can bathe after.  I like my men
natural.  Honest sweat is something I find erotic."

He stood up and did his own back-bending stretch.  "It's a date."  He
brushed my lips with his on his way out.  "See you in a bit.  Make
sure the condom box is full.  I don't want to have to come back for
more."

I watched him fondly as he walked away.  'Men!'

I was smiling while I picked out a bedroom and went through the closet
to find a robe I wanted to wear.  I glanced at the open door and
wondered if I should close it, then shook my head and smiled to
myself.  We were going to see each other naked.  There was no point in
pretending I was body shy and putting a barrier between us at the
beginning of our relationship.

After I stripped and before I reluctantly put the robe on I checked
the nightstand next to the bed.  When I saw the variety of condoms in
the drawer I started laughing.

His voice surprised me.  "What's so funny?  I like the view."

I looked up.  He had a rolled blanket tucked between one arm and his
body.  He was leaning against the door frame and grinning.  I shook my
head and went back to rummaging through the drawer.  "You must get
some interesting looks when you go shopping.  Looks like you've bought
a box of every type of condom made."

"I'm not responsible for some of them.  People who use them are
expected to supply replacements, preferably before they need them.  I
try to keep them evenly distributed throughout the house."

I found an almost empty box and started repacking it.  I held one
really unusual one up between us and studied it.  "Is it you or your
friends with the taste for the unusual?"

He blushed.  "Blame me.  I was entitled to a free surprise variety
pack after I placed an order.  Nobody has been brave enough to use
that one."  He shook his head.  "It's become a conversation piece.
Nobody has been able to convince themselves it would stay in one
piece, or on, during use."

I smiled at a memory.  "I have an understanding gynecologist, but even
she would raise her eyebrows at this one.  Wouldn't be the first time
I've seen her for an awkward 'removal'."  I put it back in the drawer.
"Maybe some other time, if nobody has used it by the time I'm ready to
deal with possible consequences."

I finished packing the box and turned back to face him.  "I recognized
the manufacturer.  The condom won't leak but some of their stuff does
come apart."

He raised his eyebrows.  "Voice of experience?"

It was my turn to blush.  "Yes."  

I tossed the box on the bed so I could put the robe on.  Once I had it
draped the way I wanted it, and tied shut, I picked up the box again.
Then I gestured for him to move.  "I'm ready."
====

"Chapter 11:  Consummation"
(Jack)
---

I let Pat see my bemused wonder.  "You're the first woman I know of
who has seen that... 'thing' and seriously considered letting a man
use it in her.  I think I'd like to meet your gynecologist, too.  She
sounds 'interesting'."

I turned at her gesture and headed down the hallway.  Once we were
through the patio door she linked her arm with my free one while we
headed for the old kennel area.

As we strolled she picked up where we'd left off.  "Mary's a
'personality' by anyone's standards.  She was a speaker at a 'family
planning' event our company sponsored.  I wasn't the only woman there
who found her attitude refreshingly realistic."

I nudged her slightly.  "We go to the left.  It's the old isolation
area where we kept the bitches who had puppies."

"OK."

Once we were safely on the path I picked up the conversation.  "I know
what I mean when I call someone realistic.  What do you mean?"

Pat thought about it for awhile.  In fact, she hadn't answered me by
the time we'd settled on the blanket and taken our robes off to
cuddle.

We were on our backs next to each other and I was enjoying being close
to a woman again.  "Pat?  You OK?"

"I'm fine.  I was thinking about how the definition of 'realistic' has
changed for me over the years.  When I met Mary, her strong feelings
that a woman shouldn't be ashamed of her sexuality, or apologetic for
being a woman, was unusual enough to catch my attention.  Now, most of
the time I take that attitude for granted."

I felt her shift until her breasts were pressed against my side.
"Jack?  When you see a woman for the first time, what do you notice
first?"

She wasn't the first person to ask me that question, so I didn't
hesitate in giving my answer.  "Usually, her body language.  Then I
notice if her words and tones match what her body is saying.  It's
after that when I start picking her apart and looking at the details."

I rolled to my side and faced her, then cupped one of her breasts and
lightly massaged it.  "I'm male, so yes, I do notice other things and
spend time trying to place some women in the 'would I fuck her or not'
matrix."

Before I kissed her I murmured:  "After Rose was killed I discovered
the hard way that I can't fuck a woman who has to apologize for trying
to be herself."

I was turgid with my need and I knew she could feel my penis where it
was trapped between us.

She sighed, then rolled slightly, until she could reach the box of
condoms.  When she held one of the packets out she was smiling oddly.
"Together?"

We fumbled a little, but eventually managed to tear the package open,
at which point she hauled the condom out and then, to my surprise,
held it in one hand and slithered the hand between us to apply it
quickly.

I couldn't stop my mild comment.  "You do that well."

Since we were both naked I felt the heat of her blush.  She finished
lining us up and then pulled us together before she responded almost
calmly.  "Practice."

I chuckled, she giggled--and then we found a gentle rhythm that
managed to satisfy us both.

After that, we spent the rest of the night exploring each other
physically and learning to communicate without words.

* * *

Morning found us cuddled together, and unwilling to move, in spite of
physical needs.

"Pat?"

"What is it?"

"Reality intrudes.  I need to go use the bathroom, and get some
breakfast."

"Mmm.  Shame.  I had something else in mind."

"Yeah.  So do I.  Would you settle for a shared shower after we eat?"

"Rather do that before."

"So would I, but I need to take care of my blood sugar, first."

She raised up to look at me thoughtfully.  "More of your diet stuff?"

I sighed.  "I'm a type 2 diabetic.  So far, I've been able to keep it
under control by watching what and when I eat.  It does mean that when
I need to eat, I really don't have much leeway.  Sorry."

She sighed and I agreed with her.  I pulled her down so I could kiss
her lightly, then let go and chuckled.  "We could always fix enough
for a picnic and come back here."

She thought about it and shook her head.  "That's too much planning
ahead.  Let's go back inside, do what we need to do, eat, then see
what happens."  She reached for her robe and stood up.  Once she had
it on she held out a hand.

I grabbed it, used the other hand to get my own robe, then let her
help me up and into a quick hug and kiss.

I would have loved to step off the path and pee right there, but I
decided that my usual routine wasn't the thing to do.  Instead, I
chuckled at a memory.

Pat caught it and seemed to know she needed to prod me slightly.
"Something you can share?"

"I suppose so.  I was just remembering how Rose and I used to pee out
here if we had to go.  We routinely bleached the area because of the
dogs and it always seemed sort of silly to be body shy.  Of course
that changed once we had kids.  Then, too, I need to eat, so I have to
go back to the house anyway."

She surprised me.  "How strange.  Until you mentioned it, I never
thought about going outside like that.  I've always had some sort of
bathroom nearby.  Sometimes, when we traveled to other countries, it
was an outhouse, but there was always a sense of privacy.  To just go
in the open like an animal..."

She laughed self consciously.  "I didn't think I could be embarrassed
like that, and there's no reason I should be, is there?"

I chuckled.  "Not really.  I'm afraid I'm more country than I am city
so the idea of making a special effort just to piss, when it's a lot
more pragmatic to find a sheltered spot on my own property, sort of
offends me."

She laughed.  "So if you hadn't needed to eat, would you have 'found a
bush' or something?"

"I would have asked if you were ok with it first."

"I've seen men piss before.  Even helped.  Don't..."

When she stopped talking I turned to look at her.  She blushed. "Jack?
If I asked you to, would you let me hold your penis while you pissed?"

"Right now or later?"

"Umm.  It's not that simple."

I raised my eyebrows.  "I thought it was.  What am I missing?"

"You're not going to believe this.  I haven't peed outside since I was
a little girl.  I've seen men do it, and even held them."

"Pat, I can believe it, barely.  Where are you going with this?"

She blushed again.  "I just know you're going to think I'm strange.  I
want to pee while you watch, and then I want to hold your penis while
you pee in the same spot.  Sorta like a bitch and dog marking their
territory and he's saying 'this bitch is mine'."

"Err..."  I thought about it.  "I should have seen that coming after
your comments about that condom.  Strange coming from you, yes.  But
it's not so strange, really.  Rose and I used to do something similar
as sort of a shared joke."

I shrugged.  "I've seen women pee.  It doesn't do anything for me
either way, but yes, if that's what you want to do, I'm ok with it."

She hugged me.  "Thanks.  It's not for you, it's for me.  Something
about it turns me on.  Maybe it's because I've never done it with a
man watching, and I've always liked to push the edge of what's
accepted."

I wasn't sure if I should laugh or be serious so I settled for being
bemused.  "This is not the strangest 'morning after' I've lived
through, but it's certainly close."

She giggled, peeled the robe off and handed it to me.  "Share,
someday?"

I was chuckling.  "Yeah.  I want to hear more about those 'lost
condoms'.

She was laughing when she squatted, and I dutifully watched.

When she was done she came over, worked her hand through my robe to
grab my penis, then used it to lead me over to the damp spot.  With
the blanket under one arm and her robe in my other hand, there wasn't
much I could do except relax and let go.

Pat had a very intent look on her face as she waved my penis around so
we covered the ground with my urine.

By the time we finished we were both laughing.  She dutifully milked
me a little to make sure I was dry and then she carefully tucked me
back into my robe.

"There.  Feel better?"

Her serious look and the artless, innocent tone of her voice got me
laughing.  "You're one crazy woman, Patricia.  I must be even crazier
for agreeing.  Yes."  I quickly kissed her and pulled away.  "I feel
better.  Are you done?  Can we eat, now?"

She grinned.  "Silly.  I don't want to, but since I know you have to,
let's go."
====

"Chapter 12:  Breakfast"
(Pat)
---

When we got back to the house Jack headed for the kitchen and took a
good swig of one of the containers in his fridge, then sighed. "There.
That will hit in a few minutes, and I'll be ok while I wait for the
food to hit."

I shook my head and sighed.  "How bad is it?  I've managed dietary
restrictions and preferences, but never dealt with anyone who was
watching their glucose level."  Then I had another thought.  "Aren't
there tests you do, or something?"

He faced me and shrugged.  "Not as bad as it looks.  I'm used to it,
and dinner is usually enough to last me until breakfast."  He grinned.
"I'm used to eating for a more sedentary evening and night.  I imagine
I used up what I ate, and a lot of what little reserve I have."

I blushed when I realized what he was talking about.  Then, gamely,
tried to catch up.  "I think in terms of calories, and what we did
wasn't *that* strenuous."

He laughed.  "For you."

"Oh."  I was contrite, because I really had forgotten that he'd done
most of the work during our sex.  "Sorry."

He sobered a little.  "It's ok.  Easily fixed since all I have to do
is eat a little more to compensate."

I nodded and settled at the table so I could watch him get breakfast.
He called it simple, I called it elaborate since I was normally a
microwave cooker.  He did another vegetable and meat stir fry with
some rice on the side for both of us.  Then, when I accepted his offer
of eggs for me, he made a two egg omelet with some of the stir fry as
filler.

After we ate I leaned back to watch him clean up.  His movements were
economical and showed an easy familiarity with his kitchen.  When he
settled across from me with a glass of hot tea I smiled at him.  "If
that's simple, what's 'complex cooking'?"

He frowned thoughtfully, then shrugged a little.  "Cooking for a
party, I guess.  Say five to ten people or more."  He surprised me by
blushing.  "Most of the complexity is the organization.  All the food
is really fairly easy to prepare and cook.  Tedious, actually."

That comment made me lose my relaxed pose.  "It's what?  'Easy but
tedious'?"

"Yep.  It's presentation that's important most of the time, and doing
that right takes attention to detail.  The food itself can be
ordinary, and frankly, the people who come to my get togethers prefer
simple foods.  If they want 'exotic', they eat out or bring it with
them."

I shook my head a little, still not quite ready to admit I understood
what he was saying.  "Jack?  Are you saying you *don't* have your
parties catered?"

"Yep.  Sometimes my friends get here early and help, but most of the
time I do it all myself."

"That's..."  I deliberately looked around and studied what I could see
from the kitchen.  The house was clean and neatly kept, and completely
nonsensical when I remembered it was lived in by a single man.  I
settled for watching him intently while I asked the obvious question.
"Do you have a cleaning service come in?"

He leaned back and laughed.  "No."

I thought about it carefully.  I knew that by making that one word
answer he was setting me up for something and I knew I'd be
exasperated because I'd been missing the obvious, but I asked anyway.
"How do you do it?"

Instead of laughing, like I expected him to, he sobered and leaned
back after sipping his tea.  "It's a large house and yard, but it's
not as bad as you think it should be.  I keep most of the house closed
unless I have company.  As for the yard, I don't demand, but I do
encourage my guests to do anything they see needs doing, as informal
'payment' for the use and enjoyment."

He leaned forward and grinned.  "The rest is all time management.  I
use the everyday chores as part of my relaxation from writing.  The
routine lets me think about what I'm working on, if I need to.
Usually, though, taking care of the house and yard is a welcome break
from the focus I need when I'm writing.  The same is true of
cooking--and one of the main reasons I seldom use the microwave."

I studied him and realized hat even though his explanation had been
humorous, he was entirely serious.  I also looked around again, still
not quite believing that he was able to do everything he did, and not
have that harried attitude so many housewives seemed to have.

He must have felt I'd been silent too long because I was brought out
of my musings by his touch on my arm.  "Pat?"

"Hmm?"

When I turned back to face him he had an odd smile on his face, as if
he was waiting for me to share some obscure joke at his expense.
"Figured it out, yet?  You should be able to, you know."

I managed to refocus.  "Figure out what?"

He shrugged, but never lost that odd smile.  "What my full time job
was, before Rose was killed."  Suddenly his head tilted.  "Sorry.
Maybe you don't like solving mysteries or being teased."

I shook my head.  "I didn't know there was a mystery to solve. Teasing
I can handle, if it isn't malicious."

He nodded.  "It isn't.  It's such a good joke, though, so I wanted to
share it with you and let you discover the punch line, but I'd better
just explain it this time."

"Joke?  How could your former job be..."  I froze, and then stared at
him.

He grinned.  "I was hoping you were quick."

"You.  Are.  Crazy!"

He laughed.  "Probably.  Rose certainly accused me of it often enough
after we figured out what had happened."

He sobered and touched me again.  "Exactly.  She raised the dogs, and
during puppy season it wasn't unusual to have over one hundred dogs of
various ages here.  Then there were the training classes and all the
stuff that you need to do to take care of the dogs properly.  The dogs
were Rose's, I just didn't have the desire or special touch it took to
handle show dogs.

"That left everything else though, and that was *my* job since the
kennel was a full time operation."

I breathed it as a statement, not a question.  "You were your wife's
PA."

"Yep."

Suddenly, everything I'd seen made sense and I knew why I'd been so
comfortable when I started working for him.

I finally shook my head and smiled.  "Unless I'm missing something, it
would have been a pleasure to hire and work with you when I was
running that pool."

He nodded soberly.  "Thanks. That means a lot, coming from a true
professional such as you.  Not many appreciate what it takes to make
the day to day administrivia flow smoothly."

I touched him lightly.  "Or know how essential it is to making a
business a success.  It must have really irritated you when you had to
admit you needed help, and what could happen to the efficiency you'd
developed."

He sighed.  "Yep.  And that's another reason I was willing to take a
chance on you.  It was obvious you *did* have at least a clue when you
looked things over and didn't suggest wholesale changes."

To my surprise, and his delight, I blushed at his unreserved praise.

I also had trouble believing I'd missed being able to relax with
another PA, because few folks outside the profession really
appreciated the amount of effort that went into the job to make it
look like it was easy to do.

When I recovered I went around to hug him from behind.  "Jack?  You
have to know that I dealt with other men who were PAs.  There were
even a few intense affairs, that usually didn't last beyond the time
our bosses were together.  Shared purpose can do that, and as long as
our work wasn't compromised, nobody minded, since if we were together
all the time, when we were needed, they knew were we were."

He laughed.  "Ok.  I can see that.  What makes you tell me this?"

I squeezed him in a hug again and then rested my head next to his.
"You've shown me another way to be a successful PA.  All of us were
driven, and it never occurred to me that a PA could be efficient and
as relaxed as you are.  I think that once I get used to it, working
for you is going to be as enjoyable as being lovers, if that makes
sense."
====

Author's Note:  What follows is a random chapter that will eventually
get woven into the main collection.  For now, they have arbitrary
working chapter numbers that will let me add prior chapters as I build
to them.  To give myself room, I started numbering these with Chapter
60.

* * *

"Chapter 60: The Philosopher's Stone"
(Jack)
---

"Jack!"

I looked up at the urgent tone in Pat's voice.  "Huh?  What?..."

She was leaning on the door frame and smiling tiredly.  "That's what I
thought.  You're writing lots of nothing, aren't you?"

I managed a blush.  "Yeah.  How could you tell?"

She walked over to stand behind me, then massaged my neck.  "I've been
standing there for the last 15 minutes, watching you not move."

"You have?"  Then I realized the other part of that, the unspoken
words.  "Oh.  Line of sight and never saw you.  Sorry..."

She kissed the top of my head.  "You can apologize by taking a break.
A long one.  Quit for the day, Love."

I protested.  "But..."

Her hands clenched slightly, then relaxed.  "You're way ahead of
schedule, correct?"

I sighed.  "Yes."

"Good."

Then she blind-sided me.  "When was the last time you wrote something
for fun?"

When I didn't reply right away she giggled and walked over to the
bookcase to pull out a slender notebook.  She opened it and turned to
the last story.  "Unless you're holding out on me, it says here your
last whimsical bit of fun was done almost two years ago."

"Umm."  Had it *really* been that long?  I searched through my
memories, then sighed openly.  My usual stuff was fun most of the time
and I enjoyed it.  But...

She was right.

I leaned back in my chair and offered her my lap as a peace offering.

Once she settled and we got comfortable, I picked it up again.  "OK,
Pat.  You win.  What now?"

She laughed throatily...  "Not what you're thinking, probably.  Let's
go for a walk, get lunch--and maybe find you some inspiration."

"Evil woman."  I kissed her lightly on the cheek.  "Didn't take long
to figure me out, did it?"

She stood and held out a hand.  "Nope!  Compared to normal office
politics, you were easy."

I laughed and let her help me up.  "Nice to know *someone* realizes
I'm a simple person."

Wisely, she stayed silent and let me have the last spoken word.

* * *

We stopped at the local mini-mall and had a light lunch.

Pat had us seated by one of the front windows and while we waited,
then ate, we spent the time watching the world go by.

In short, we did what anyone in a long term and settled relationship
would do:  We ignored the real problem and let ourselves drift until
the time to pick it up again was right.

Finally I leaned back and gazed out the window for a few minutes in
silence.

"Pat?  Let's go to the park.  It's fall and it should be nice there,
yet."

She laughed.  "And you can find a park bench so you can keep watching
the people, then figure out if there's something worth writing about
in it all?"

I laughed at her astringent humor.  "Exactly.  It will also take my
mind off an upcoming anniversary I'd rather forget."

"Oh?"

I sighed.  "Yeah.  9/11."

"Oh.  I thought it was something else."

"Nope.  That happened at the beginning of summer break."

She slid out from her side of the booth.  "I'll pay."

I came down out of the clouds and looked at her with a grin.  "My
business account though, right?"

"Yep!"

I stayed put and enjoyed the way she moved as she went to pay our
bill.  When it was taken care of she looked over and smiled to let me
know she'd known what I was doing.

I nodded my head slightly, then got up and joined her.

* * *

We spent the next couple of hours ambling while we worked in the
general direction of the park.  When we got there I went to a bench
near the parking lot and settled on it, then looked up with a grin.

Pat laughed and settled next to me.  "So.  Anything?"

I leaned back and put my arm across her shoulders.  "Little things,
but nothing that demands expression unless you count my love and
appreciation for you--and *that* I can do best without words right
now."

She blushed and I laughed.  "Got you!"

She giggled, and that caused a couple of the teens in the area to look
in her direction in surprise.

I grinned at nothing in particular then leaned over to kiss her.  "I
think they're either shocked, or jealous."

Pat leaned against me.  "Jealous, I hope.  If they practice a lot, by
the time they're our age, they might be able to do as well."

"Huh."  I squeezed gently with my arm.  "You know, I never realized
how much I'd missed this sort of thing, until you put it back in my
life."

"Mmm."

"Yeah.  Thanks for all of it, Pat.  Love."

She kept quiet and let me ramble.  She truly had figured me out in the
years we'd been together.

I sighed.  "9/11 and what followed.  We're a different culture, now.
Don't know if I like it or not, really.

"I guess my non-reaction says most of it.  'I manage to survive',
somehow."

She interrupted me.  "Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you religious?"

"Mmm."

"Is that all your answer?"

"Sorry, Pat.  I wish there were a simple answer, but there isn't.  I
can say yes, but not in a traditional sense, I suppose."

"Oh."

"Sorry.  I don't know if I can explain it, really.  'Faith Holder' is
the closest I can get, and even that isn't very satisfying to me,
because I'm not obsessed with it, as common usage has tended to make
people define the term."

I looked at her questioningly.  "What brought that on after all these
years?"

"Thinking about 9/11 and the contempt I heard in your voice.  I
wondered what made you so angry about it."

"Huh.  Didn't think it was that obvious, although what I feel more is
bitterness because of how things have turned out over the years.  What
makes it worse is that anyone with the tiniest bit of common sense,
and a sense of history, could have predicted--and avoided--the results
we live with now...

"I think."

I felt her shiver so I held on and waited her out.

"Jack?  Do you really think all this could have been avoided?"

I sighed.  "Maybe.  But most folks don't want to pay the price it
would cost, or let others who are willing to pay it, pay it."

I hugged her.  "How many people actually live by the words 'give me
liberty, or give me death'--and would honestly be willing to die for
their freedom?

"So, instead, we have this 'living death' that stifles...

"A lot of things, but makes a focused effort to suppress the
especially insignificant differences."

She faced me and I could see the disagreement in her eyes before she
spoke aloud.  "I don't think it's as bad as you make it sound."

Her smile was twisted.  "Does this conversation have anything to do
with your non-religious faith holding?"

I laughed.  "Yes, it does."

She blinked.  "Oh?  How so?"

"Easy, really.  At first, in my late teens and early twenties, I
gravitated in the direction of a melding of what I considered the
'best' of the Western ethos, with some of the Eastern philosophies.

"Over the years that was enough, until I was inventing the scientific
background for a series of stories I was working on and suddenly
realized I'd stumbled on a still greater 'truth' that let me accept
all of the philosophies and religions equally."

"You...  WHAT?!"

"Yep.  Not only are all faiths and gods 'right', they are inevitable
and we are a part of all of them--no matter how much we want to
believe otherwise."

I watched her eyes as she turned inward and sought a way to understand
what I was trying to say.  When she came out of her introspection, I
added the final piece that she probably needed for understanding.

"Define 'gods' as types of awareness more 'mature' than our own, or
able to see a bigger picture than we can, in much the same way we
consider ourselves superior to bacteria or virii, and with as much
concern for them under normal conditions.

"An analogy would be the difference between ourselves now, and our
awareness when we were kids.  Time makes growth inevitable and our
understanding now has little to do with our understanding then.  The
motives of each person are so different that we can't do much more
than accept that they are different.

"Or, look at it this way...

"If enough bacteria act in concert, doing something that interferes
with our plans, we notice them and take steps.  Otherwise, generally
we are indifferent to their desires.

"So it would be for any 'gods' we happen to be part of..."

"And *they* would have the same relationship to assorted types of
awareness more complex than their own."

She shook her head slightly, as if she was clearing her thoughts, I
guessed.  "How did you come up with *that*?"

I laughed ruefully as I remembered that day.  "I already mentioned I
was trying to develop a solid scientific background for my stories.
What happened was that I discovered that with the simple assumptions
I'd made, I could explain *anything*, including consciousness.  As
part of finding the  answer for the stories, I also refound my 'faith'
and put it on an unshakable foundation that lets me accept all of them
and see them as equal."

I grimaced when she stared at me.  "That acceptance was an inevitable
and *minor* conclusion once I'd made those basic assumptions."

She closed her mouth suddenly and laughed.  "Jack? You are *strange*.
How come I've never had a chance to see this work?"

"You haven't?"

"No."

"Umm...  Only reason that makes sense is that I seldom work on that
series.  I've been idly writing it for over ten years and it's been a
long time since I last felt the urge to add to it.  Other than that, I
never did get around to moving it to my regular working area, so if
you haven't snooped in some of my personal areas, you wouldn't have
stumbled on it.

"When we get home I'll take the time to move it to the long term
project area."

I shrugged.  "I've never seen it as something worth trying to make
available and I've always tried to keep it as the one private project
I can relax with, if that makes sense."

She was silent for almost an hour while we watched the rest of the
world go by.

When a chill breeze flowed over us she came out of her introspection.
"I need to read that work.  A philosophical insight with those
implications, and you want to keep it private enough you never
bothered to tell me about it?"

I blushed.  "You never asked before, Love, and my personal faith is
that, personal and not something I bring up idly.  Few people are
willing to accept it, let alone try and think their way through it.
Besides, it wasn't intended to be a philosophical insight when I
created it.  I was looking for a way to reconcile science, magic and
different types of consciousness to explain some of the things I was
writing in the stories.  I wanted to put everything on a firm
scientific foundation I could live with and use."

I sighed.  "I think I know how Asimov felt when he 'created' the Three
Laws.  What I came up with was obvious, and it was the inevitable
consequences that took me by surprise.  One of the things I had
trouble accepting was that I had created a 'Hypothesis of Everything'
that not only worked, it also defined the limits of our knowledge of
the micro and macro as a function of time."

I sighed when she turned to study me.  "Pat, I'll show you the three
assumptions I made, to get this.  But don't blame me when you figure
out that *everything* we think we know becomes inevitable.  It's
'deus-ex-machina' with a vengeance...

"And *that* is what I had the most trouble accepting about it."

She reached and touched me lightly.  "Jack?  You're shivering."

I nodded.  "Yep.  it still scares me when I think about it too much. I
was playing around, looking for something to support a story, and
instead found what I consider the key to reality.  If there's anything
it can't explain, I haven't found it yet."

She smiled slightly and started to lean towards me.

Just before our lips met she whispered:  "Amazing world you live in,
behind those blue eyes."
---

NOTE:  Oddly enough, the 'Hypothesis of Everything' is not a plot
device.  The series mentioned really does exist, and so does the
hypothesis.

Without going into the followup stuff, here's the theory:

The three basic assumptions of:
A Unified Hypothesis of Consciousness & Reality:

Assumption 1: 
There exist discreet bits of reality.

Assumption 2: 
All 'reality bits' are identical.

Assumption 3: 
There is a 'binding force' that acts to connect individual 'reality
bits' with all other 'reality bits'.

* * *

Afterword:

To take the last item first, 'The Series' eventually became an
unfinished collection of novels titled 'We Who Are Gathered'.  It was
all posted to ASSM, in two parts, on April 11, 2012.

'Something Memorable' grew out of my desire to consciously recreate
what had happened without conscious planning, after I started writing
the 'Man and Muse' scenes and stories.

After this first attempt, most of which was written in April of 2008,
I went on to spend several months in late 2012 and early 2013 on an
extended romp while I wrote 'The Glenncannon Muses'.  That collection
was a result of deliberately reinventing myself and my Muse while
adding in the idea of there being 'substitute Muses'.  There was also
some other personally important things I wanted to write about, and
many of those were included.

Before I wrote 'The Glenncannon Muses', Winter Solstice was
approaching, and I needed to deal with that habit.

I wrote a scene at Stonehenge to get rid of the main urge.  Over time,
it became the opening scene for two collections that deal with some of
my views and expectations of what 'real magic' would be like.  

The collections of work about magic were posted in seven parts, to
ASSM, under the collective title 'Solstice Magic', on August 14, 2013.

'The Glenncannon Muses' was posted to ASSM as a 4 part collection, on
August 8, 2013.

Thank you, for taking the time to look this work over.

I.J Glenncannon,
October 23, 2013

End: "Something Memorable"

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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