The Prequel to the Dear Roz Romantic Comedy Serial

NathanThinksHeKnows Best

 

A Prequel to the Hilarious ‘Dear Roz’ Romantic Comedy Series

By Alex Bahscot

What makes you think I'm a fan?

 

 

Prologue

This short read is an introduction to the characters found in four Dear Roz novellas.

Rozlyn Rook is making a name for herself as a sassy, quick witted and funny female advice columnist. She dispenses advice about men, for women in her Dear Roz agony aunt column for the Daily Voice newspaper. She also runs a rather lucrative two-day man-catching workshop several times a year. The applicants are many, the failures few. Single but always on the lookout, life is good for this alpha female.

Nathan Knight is an Englishman with American residency, who writes an advice column for men about women for a rival newspaper, the Daily Standard. His Nathan Knows Best column has an almost fanatical following. Young, brash and charismatic, Nathan has a wicked wit to go along with his good looks.

The two self-proclaimed relationship gurus have never met. Neither do they have the desire to change that state of affairs. Roz finds his advice about women insulting, while Nathan believes Roz to be an arrogant man-hater.

From time to time they have each used their columns to ridicule the other’s perceived lack of in-depth understanding of the opposite gender.

 

Chapter 1- Monday - Let the games begin

 

       In medieval England, with a bit of luck, her nemeses would have been boiled in oil. Roz found the thought somewhat comforting. As an advice columnist for a local newspaper, was it not one's duty to dispense honest, practical, common sense advice... as opposed to making shit up? Nathan Knight made shit up. Not just any kind of shit, but crazy, mind-numbing shit. That's what got under her skin the most. His sanity should have been called into question. Was it? Never.

       Roz took several deep breaths. She needed to calm down. Nathan Knight had as much of an idea about what women wanted as she did about the reproductive system of an oyster. She glanced at her watch. She was at her cubicle half an hour before the necessary time. She checked her immediate vicinity to make sure nobody was around, and then pulled her copy of the Daily Standard from her bag. One more quick glance to either side confirmed that nobody was in the immediate vicinity. She opened up the newspaper and sought out the Nathan Knows Best column. His opening comments pushed her buttons right away.

     Dear rabid fans,

Dear rabid fans, indeed. Just who the hell did he think he was? It had both surprised and irked her to find out recently, that his rabid fans outnumbered hers. Men aren’t supposed to read advice columns. She read on.

     Paul from Chicago writes, ‘Is there a wrong time to tell your wife you love her?’

A typical dumb question from a man. Let’s see what Mr. Nathan—I somehow managed to fix the ratings—Knight, has to say.

     Paul, you can be forgiven for thinking that wives believe all husbands are mind-readers, and yes, there are several times when the ‘I love you’ routine doesn’t work.

Routine? What a jerk.

     In this particular case, Paul, your wife had asked you to change the blown light bulb in her bedroom closet (although, in your defense, she had only asked the once) and because of that she went to the mall with her new sweater on inside out. No big deal, right?

No big deal? Does this idiot not know how many people, okay, women, must have noticed? God only knows what they must have thought when they saw that poor woman striding along with a huge manufacturer’s tag flapping from behind her neck. Roz reflected on the time she had committed a similar offense. Oh, the embarrassment.

     The fact that you managed to hold in your laugh when she went ballistic on you after she returned home, does you credit.

Credit? Are you kidding me?

     As you should know by now, women do not share our sense of humor, wives even less so. Here’s a rule of thumb, Paul.

How many idiotic ‘rules of thumb’ do English people have? I can hardly wait to hear this one.

     When you tell your wife ‘I love you’ and she follows it with the word, ‘whatever’ you can safely assume it was not the right time to use it.

No shit, Sherlock! That’s like saying, when you hear a scream from the bathroom at 4am, it’s the wrong time to tell your wife you left the toilet seat up. Moron.

     The ‘I love you’ statement should be used only when you truly mean it, Paul. Anytime other than that, it can only come across as insincere, and women can smell it like a dead rat hiding somewhere in your couch.

Just when I thought we had found some common ground, he throws in a dead rat? Un–flipping–believable.

     Here’s another no-no, Paul. If the barmaid kisses you on your way out of the bar after a night out with the boys, don’t tell your wife you love her six seconds after you get in the front door. Wives are like defense lawyers. They can hone in on feelings of guilt the way a shark races after an injured seal pup.

Dead rat? Injured seal pup? It’s like an episode from National Geographic!

Roz slammed the paper closed, then twisted it like a rope before throwing it into the trash receptacle at her feet. What kind of lunatic reads this garbage? She glanced left and right before fishing it back out of the bin. Untwisting the paper turned out to be more difficult than twisting it. Roz pulled out his page and threw the rest back into the bin. She had to trap the page between her knee and her hand to make the crumpled page readable.

     Okay, here’s a question from one of my many female fans.

Many, my ass. Some redneck on crack cocaine put his sister up to it, I’ll bet.

     Nathan, you always seem to know how to turn a lady on. The advice you gave my boyfriend last week about a touch of hot sauce in my jar of organic female lubricant drove me insane. I just wish you had been more precise about your idea of how much ‘a touch’ was. I’ve never been so glad to have had ice cream in the freezer.

     “You’re here early this morning,” Maxine said, as she approached her boss.

Roz almost fell off her chair. How her assistant had mastered the craft of walking quietly in high heels was beyond her. She crushed the page into a ball and tossed it back into the bin.

     “Nathan been upsetting you again?” Max asked.

     “Nathan? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

     “Of course you don’t. Mind if I fish it back out and take a look at what he has to say in his column this morning?”

Roz fixed her with a stare.

     “It’ll save me having to buy my own copy.”

Roz pouted. “Do what you like. See if I care.” She studied Maxine’s facial expression as her assistant’s eyes moved down the page. Roz’s jaw muscles clenched as a grin spread across Maxine’s face.

     “Hot sauce in the lubricant? You know I’ll have to try that one,” Maxine said. Her grin turned into a laugh. “He’s a genius.”

     “He’s an asshole is what he is,” her boss replied, snatching the page from her assistant.

     “Hey! I wasn’t finished. What’s a number seventy-one?”

Roz rolled her eyes. “Let’s concentrate on our column for tomorrow, shall we?”

     “Is it a bus service? Take the seventy-one to Westlake then catch a twenty-eight. Something like that?”

Roz treated her assistant to a cold stare.

     “Do you know?” Maxine asked.

     “Let it go, Max.”

     “Just say you don’t know if you don’t know,” Maxine insisted.

     “It’s a sixty-nine with two fingers… well, never mind where the two fingers go,” Roz replied, in a deadpan voice.

Maxine put a hand up to her mouth then doubled over, clutching her stomach. She sank onto all fours and started beating the ground with a hand, which she then used to muffle her laugh.

     “For goodness sake, get up off the floor, Maxine.”

Max waved her off until she had the strength to regain her feet. In between stifling a fit of the giggles, she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

     “That Nathan Knight, he’s too much. He’s even funnier… almost as funny as you, Roz.”

Roz caught a glimpse of Maxine’s eyes straying towards the waste paper basket.

     “There’s a name for his brand of humor. It’s called insanity. Let’s get to work, and leave that article where it belongs, in the trash.”

     “Do you think he reads your column?” Maxine asked.

Chapter 2 – Tuesday – Hot Sauce in the Lubricant Jar

 

While others scurried about the offices of The Daily Standard newspaper, Nathan Knight closed his eyes. His feet were up on his desk and his hands were interlaced behind his head.

     “Tuesday mornings are so hectic, don’t you think, Betty?”

Nathan’s assistant and partner-in-crime, paused.

     “No doubt about it. One hardly has time to put one’s feet up, does one?”

     “You know the saying, Betty.”

     “Which one?”

     “If you can keep your head when all around you are losing theirs…“

     “There’s something they haven’t told you?” Betty finished her version of the sentence for him.

Nathan put his feet down and swiveled his chair toward his assistant.

     “Something in the universe is off kilter, Betty.”

     “You mean no longer in balance?”

     “That’s what I said.”

Betty treated her boss to a wicked smile.

     “Perhaps we gays are taking over the world while all the straight people have their feet up?”

     “Well,” said Nathan, “if that happens then you’ll be my boss and will, no doubt, use me to give you pleasure.”

Betty leaned forward and put her hands on Nathan’s chair, either side of his shoulders.

     “For once you’re absolutely right, and do you know what would appease my pleasure zones the most?”

Nathan’s eyes opened wide in pretense of having them so close to Betty’s breasts. His mouth formed an O but no sound came out.

     “After you’ve swept then mopped the kitchen floor,” said Betty, “I‘ll eat grapes while I watch you clean the fridge from top to bottom.”

Nathan chuckled. “If that’s your best fantasy, I think I can see why your last girlfriend left you.”

     “If you must know, dear Nathan, she left me because my sex drive was just too much for the poor girl to handle.”

     “So, nothing to do with Immigration picking her up then?”

     “Obviously that didn’t help,” Betty replied. “She really missed her family. I think she was almost relieved when they came for her.”

     “Relieved? You said she spent the night in jail.”

     “That was because the Immigration officer understood Spanish swear words.”

Nathan nodded. That’ll do it.”

Betty pushed herself back up. She plunged her hand into her pants pocket and rummaged around. Not finding what she was after, she tried the other pocket. She leaned over to get deeper in, her fingers probing this way and that.

     “Is there a reason you want me to watch you pleasure yourself, Betty?”

     “Idiot,” she replied, and continued her investigation. “Aha! Got it.” She held up a torn off piece of paper and unraveled it.

     “Why would you want half of a crossword puzzle,” Nathan asked, viewing the piece facing him.

Betty explained. “The old fella next to me on the bus this morning fell asleep. I was reading what I could see of his newspaper, but he was sitting on half of it. I thought you would find it somewhat interesting, so I tore a little piece off before he had a chance to wake up.”

     “You find a life of crime attractive?”

Ignoring his comment, Betty began to read. “It’s as stupid as putting hot sauce in a jar of your favorite feminine lubricant.”

     “Why does that ring a bell, Betty?”

     “Because you wrote about doing just that, last week. Guess who obviously reads your sick and twisted advice column?”

     “Half of the city if my numbers are anything to go by.”

     “Possibly, but half of the city doesn’t feel it necessary to pour scorn on the lunacy you put on paper. Aren’t you going to ask me who wrote it?”

     “Okay. Who wrote it?”

     “Rozlyn Rook.”

     “Who?”

     “Rozlyn Rook? The Daily Voice? Your closest rival in the advice column stakes?”

Nathan shook his head. “Nope. Never heard of her.”

     “Yeah, right,” Betty replied. “She’s the women’s champion. It was her who publicly went toe-to-toe with the Mayor and called him a man-whore, on TV no less. He didn’t dare have her fired. I can only guess what she had on him.”

Nathan feigned hurt. “I thought I was your hero?”

Betty grinned. “Oh, you’re up there all right. Maybe not on the first page, but anybody who does as little as you and still keeps his job, has to be admired.”

     "Do you read her column, Betty?"

     "Every day."

     "Do you have your paper anywhere close? Can I take a look at it?"

Betty stared her boss down. "Tell me you're not up to anything. I know you are, but just humor me."

     "I don't know what you mean, Betty. I simply wanted to see how good the competition is."

     "Don't hand me that crap, Nathan. I know you better than you know yourself. You're up to no good."

Nathan's facial expression exuded bewilderment. Betty didn’t buy it.

     "Save the puppy-eyes, Satan. Are you going to come clean and admit you're up to something? I do half of your work. You owe me the truth."

Nathan dropped the facade. "It's possible that I had considered entertaining myself at the expense of your heroine. Nothing too drastic."

     "What's your idea of nothing too drastic?"

     "Writing in to her column and asking for advice."

Betty laughed. "Nathan Knight asking advice from his competitor. I don't believe you."

     "Not as myself, of course."

     "Ah! The plot thickens. Let's hear it."

     "Hear what? I just want to find out what kind of advice she hands out?"

     "Buy a copy of the Daily Voice, like me, or phone in between nine and ten every Tuesday morning."

Nathan gave her that disarming boyish grin.

     “She has a radio spot?”

Betty shrugged. “As far as I know, she’s trying it out for one month. If it takes off, the paper will cover the cost of an hour or two per week. She has a strong following.” Betty glanced at her watch.          “She should be starting her show in about fifteen minutes.”

Nathan appeared to be far away as he nodded. “Excellent,” was all he said.

Chapter 3 – Nathan Creates a Backlash

Roz was on a high. The calls were coming thick and fast and she was on form. Advice was dispensed on every subject imaginable to do with relationships. Nathan was ninth in the queue for a call through to Rozlyn Rook's talk show. He was on the line.    "Talk to me," Roz said.

     "Hello?" Nathan replied. "Is this the Rozlyn Rook phone-in?"

     "Our first male caller," Roz said. "Let me guess, you've upset your wife or girlfriend and need help to patch things up. Am I right? What's your name, caller... unless you don't want your better half to know you called my show.”

"My name's Ralph," said Nathan.
"Where are you from, Ralph?"
"New Jersey."

"And how can I help you, Ralph from New Jersey?"

Nathan's tone was soft. "I lost my little sister today."

There was silence for several seconds.

     "Ralph, I am so sorry. You probably feel guilt, and that's a natural reaction. No doubt you wish you had said or done something for her and now you can't. This is indeed tragic. You're going to experience several different emotions over the next few weeks, Ralph, starting with denial. You will refuse to believe she's no longer alive."

     "She's not alive? What would make you say that? I only lost her in the supermarket half an hour ago?"

     "I thought you said… I'm so sorry, Ralph. I got hold of the wrong end of the stick."   

     "Jeezus! You scared the crap out of me. I lost my favorite aunt, two weeks ago."        

     "Not in the same supermarket, I hope." Roz gave a short laugh. 

     "I'm sorry. I don't get the joke. She died."

     “Oh! When you said you lost your aunt, I thought—"    

     "Never mind,” said Nathan. “Thanks anyway. Sorry I called." Nathan put the phone down and listened to the radio. He wanted to see how good Roz was at damage control.
Betty walked over as he was listening to the backlash from angry callers who felt Roz could have handled Ralph's situation in a more respectful manner.           

     "What are you up to, Nathan?"    

     "Why do I have to be up to anything?"   

     "You've never listened to the radio in here before."

Nathan went to switch it off, but Betty stopped him. A female caller was laying into Roz for the callous way she had joked about the demise of Ralph's aunt. Roz could only apologize to Ralph, 'wherever he was' and reiterate that she had misinterpreted his use of the word lost.       

     "What happened?" Betty asked.
     "Some kind of misunderstanding, I think," Nathan said, wearing an innocent expression.

     "Were you involved in any way, shape or form?"
Nathan smiled at his assistant. "I might have been having a little innocent fun."

     "At Rozlyn Rook's expense?"

     "All's fair in love and war, Betty. It was you who brought it to my attention that she was belittling my column the other day."

"She was right. What kind of idiot puts hot sauce in a jar of organic lubricant?"
"You never watched MacGyver, did you?"

"He was the guy that could pick a lock with a tube of toothpaste and a dog biscuit, am I close?”        

"I might have missed that episode, Betty, but yes, that's the one."

Betty was walking and talking at the same time. She stopped suddenly and spun around.

     "You called in, didn’t you?"
Nathan shrugged. "I might have done."        

     "Using a false name?"
Another shrug. "That's possible."       

     "And now she's up to her neck in trouble?"         

     "The correct term is backlash, Betty. Her fans are revolting."     

     "You mean rebelling."      

     "No. Trust me, if they’re not my fans, they're revolting."

     “I want you to make it right, Nathan. I don’t care what you do, just make it right.”

     “Tell you what, Betty. I’ll address the situation in my column tomorrow, how’s that?”

     “Promise?”

     “Absolutely.”

     “I’m trusting you.”

Nathan treated her to a smile and a wink. Betty didn’t look too convinced so he added a thumbs up.

***

It was Betty’s day off and she was late in picking up her copy of The Daily Standard. She stopped off at a subway shop and bought a six-inch tuna on Italian herb and cheese. She chose a bottle of orange juice to accompany her meal. Luckily she had beaten the lunchtime rush and had a table for two to herself by the window. Betty took a big bite out of her sandwich before finding Nathan’s column. She almost choked. Unscrewing the top of her orange juice in record time, she poured some down her throat, patting her chest at the same time. Nathan had addressed the situation alright, by pretending Ralphyboy had contacted Nathan, who in turn felt obliged to print his article. She read it again.

     Hello, Mr. Knight, or can I call you Nathan? I love your column, by the way. I always learn something new. Since I value your advice above all others, could you please address my current situation. I called into Rozlyn Rook’s radio spot yesterday and mentioned my dead aunt. She was my favorite (not because she’s dead, though) but Ms. Rook seemed to find something amusing about that fact (that she was dead, not that she was my favorite). She did apologize later, over the radio. My question is this, was I being too thin-skinned about my dead aunt or should Ms. Rook have been less abrasive and more understanding? Keep up the fabulous work on your column and thanks for any light you can shed on my situation. Ralph.

This was followed by Nathan’s answer.

Ralph, first allow me to say how sorry I am to hear about the passing of your favorite aunt. It is said that time heals all wounds and all I can say to you, Ralph, is this. Judging by what you’ve told me, I would have to believe that you must have been her favorite nephew. You should take great comfort in that. As for Ms. Rook, I’ve never met the woman and after hearing your story I’m not exactly keen to change that dynamic. Giving advice carries a heavy responsibility. Her remark may well have been based on a misunderstanding. I don’t presume to know all the details. I’m prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt, but that’s just me. I prefer to look for the good in people, although in this case we might require a search party to find it. My thoughts go with you, Ralph. Feel free to seek my advice at any time. You will always be welcome here. Nathan, of the Nathan Knows Best, column.

     “Son-of-a-bitch!” Betty exclaimed out loud.

     “Language please, ma’am,” said the subway manager, who rushed over to her table. “We have children in here.”

Betty mumbled an apology, grabbed what was left of her sandwich and drink, and headed downtown.

Chapter 4 – Maxine Makes the Connection

Maxine reached the fourth floor of the Daily Voice newspaper offices. She spotted Roz right away. She was pacing up and down, hands clenched and muttering to herself. Her physical motions resembled a serial killer about to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting victim. Max didn’t waste any time attempting to converse with her boss. Instead, she walked over to the waste paper basket beside Roz’s desk and reached inside. The offending newspaper was already crushed into a ball. Roz stopped pacing and, foot tapping furiously on the floor, waited for Maxine’s response. For her part, Maxine took her time reading Nathan Knight’s article before crushing it back into a ball and tossing it back into the basket. Roz threw her arms out to the sides.

     “Well? Can it get any worse?”

Maxine cocked her head to one side.

     “Did anything strike you as odd about Ralph’s phone call, yesterday?”

     “Apparently not. I was too busy laughing about his dead aunt, according to that damned article.”

Maxine’s tone was soft. “Ralph said he was from New Jersey, correct?”

     “So?”

     “He said New Jersey, not Noo Joyzee, and the accent sounded… foreign?”

A light bulb went off in Roz’s brain.

     “That’s what was bothering me. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but you’re exactly right. Ralph wasn’t from Noo Joyzee. Where was he from, then?”

     “Where’s Nathan Knight from?” Maxine asked.

Roz’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

     “You’ve been punked, Roz. It was no accident that this supposed letter by Ralph turned up in Nathan’s column. There’s a good reason he knows best, don’t you think?”

Roz snapped her fingers. “So, you want to play games do you, Mr. Knight?”

     “Easy there, cowboy,” said Maxine. “We have to do damage control first. Issue a more formal apology to Ralph, for a start.”

Roz’s anger returned. “Apologize to a fake person with a fake dead aunt and a fake lost sister?”

     “You have no choice,” Maxine continued. “Your readership doesn’t know the whole scenario was fake. They’re scrutinizing everything you say and write. You have to apologize and they have to believe you mean it.”

Maxine watched her boss as the full weight of her suggestion sunk in.

     “If I tell my readers on the radio that there is no Ralph, Nathan Knight simply calls in again as Ralph and I’m worse off than I was before.”

     “Correct,” said Maxine. “There’s no way around it. Make the apology.”

     “I’ve never been punked before, Max. I don’t like it. There’s no way I’m going to let him get away with it. Not in this lifetime. I bet he’s a short, overweight blow-bag who still lives with his mom.”

Max winced. “Not exactly.”

     “No? Does he resemble a stick insect, then?”

Max made a face. “I’ve never actually seen him in person, but I have seen a picture of him on a poster.”

     “And?”

     “A demi-God.”

     “Max, I’m not in the mood for jokes.”

     “Good, because I’m not joking. Who’s the most handsome man you can think of?”

It was Roz’s turn to squirm. “I hate to say this, but the English soccer star, David Beckham. The one married to the ex-Spice girl.”

     “Nathan Knight makes David Beckham look plain.”

Roz held up her hands in protest. “Now wait just a minute, Maxine. No man on this planet can make David Beckham look plain. Ain’t happening, no way.”

Maxine held her stare, but said nothing.

     “Please tell me you’re not serious.” Roz waited for her assistant to burst out laughing and admit she was pulling her leg.

     “Google him plus photos,” Max said.

     “I will not. I refuse. That I will never do, and do you know why?”

     “Because you’re scared I’m right.”

     “No, that’s not it. If I were to Google him, it would be because I had insecurities, and I have none. N-O-N-E, none. You’re looking at the epitome of a strong self-reliant woman, Maxine. A mistress of her own destiny. A queen of the— “

     “Give me a break, Roz. Those are my words. I wrote your mission statement and advice column blurb for you.”

Roz nodded. “Yes, well… you were right. That’s all I have to say.”

     “Good,” Maxine said. “That means you can get started crafting your apology to Ralph.”

***

Roz’s formal apology to Ralph went out the next morning. Every single word she wrote hurt Roz to the core. Begging the forgiveness of a fake individual when she knew the real culprit would be laughing fit to burst, didn’t help. What made it infinitely worse was that the following day, Nathan Knight, in his column accepted the apology on Ralph’s behalf. Not only that, but he assured his own rabid fans that Ms. Rook sounded sincere and he felt sure she wouldn’t commit the same offense twice.

Chapter 5 – The Green Light

Nathan wandered into work late. He slumped down in his chair.

     “Don’t make yourself comfortable, “ Betty said. “The boss wants to see you.”

     “Franco? Whatever for?”

     “Only one way to find out,” Betty replied, marching off toward personnel.

Nathan paused for a second outside the door which boasted, Franco Profilio, Editor-in-chief. He knocked and entered. Franco didn’t look up. He motioned for Nathan to take a seat as he continued to read what was in front of him. Nathan made himself comfortable.

Franco and Nathan were best friends, but that still didn’t mean that as his boss, Franco would excuse him from his duties. Nathan just assumed that somehow he had transgressed.

Franco sat up and gave Nathan an encouraging smile.

     “Ralph doesn’t exist, does he?”

     “Franco, I’m sure there are a million Ralph’s that would take exception to— “

     “Your Ralph. You made him up to annoy Rozlyn Rook, didn’t you?”

Nathan frowned, as if not understanding the question completely.

     “Chief?”

     “Part of my job, Nathan, is to keep an eye on the competition. I just happened to listen in to Ms. Rook’s radio spot a couple of days ago. You know where this is going, don’t you?”

Nathan knew the game was up. As chief editor for The Daily Standard, Franco juggled several balls without dropping them, and Nathan knew he could do it with his eyes shut.

     “Ms. Rook wrote a disparaging remark about one of my suggestions in an article I wrote a few days back.”

     “Does it work?” Franco asked. “I’m assuming you didn’t use the whole bottle.”

Nathan grinned. “No idea. In a moment of extreme lucidity, or lunacy if you listen to Betty, the thought that organic lubricant and hot sauce could be partners, was born.”

Franco couldn’t restrain the chuckle that bubbled to the surface.

     “I have to hand it to you. Fifty percent of your column is best described as madness in print. That was a conservative estimate, by the way.”

     “Franco,” said Nathan, “genius is often mistaken for madness. Surely my numbers prove that?”

     “They do, although my thoughts tend to coincide with those of your assistant.”

     “Betty?” Nathan sounded surprised.

     “She’s convinced you’re a lunatic and sooner or later the men in white coats are going to come for you.”

     “She said that?”

     “She also believes you’re brilliant… in your own way.”

Nathan thought he had a handle on where this conversation was heading.

     “You want me to stop winding up Ms. Rook, is that it? Bad for business. That sort of thing?”

     “Au contraire. I want you to consider stepping up your campaign.”

Nathan was caught off balance. He thought, just for a second, that his boss had given him the green light to do exactly what he already intended.

     “Could you repeat that, boss. I could have sworn you said—“

     “For three of the last four months, our sales volume has dropped below that of The Daily Voice newspaper. I don’t know whether genius or lunacy was responsible, but the spike in sales we have experienced in the last couple of days is real enough.”

     “And you think Ralph had something to do with that?”

     “Our marketing research team laid the results firmly at your door.”

The hint of a smug smile touched Nathan’s mouth.

     “Does this qualify me for a raise?”

     “Nope.”

     “That’s your final answer?”

     “Yup.”

     “But I get to go toe to toe with Ms. Rook… with no referee?”

     “Pretty much, but this made up conflict is in addition to your regular column’s Q & A, not instead of it.”

Nathan clasped his hands together as if deep in thought.

     “Just to clarify things, boss. It’s my job to drag this newspaper back into becoming a viable prospect single-handed, by adding to my full workload without any financial recompense?”

     “Glad to see we’re on the same page,” Franco replied. “Close the door behind you, there’s a good chap,” he added, returning his attention to the papers on his desk.

As soon as Nathan left Franco’s office, his serious countenance turned into a huge grin. Rozlyn Rook was officially his personal plaything. He envisioned a middle-aged spinster in her mid-forties, set in her ways. However, he had to admit, on the radio she sounded a lot younger.

Chapter 6 – Roz Fires Back

It was lunch time for Roz and Maxine. They decided to try a new deli that boasted over one hundred different items on their menu. It was busy, but Maxine persuaded Roz to be patient and wait in line. When they reached the counter, a pimply youth addressed them.

     “The menu is right behind me, ladies,” the youth said, pointing over his shoulder. “Pick a number and we’ll have it ready for you in five minutes or it’s free.”

Roz and Maxine studied the extensive menu board.

     “Forty-eight looks quite tasty,” Roz said out loud.

     “Have you ever tried a seventy-one?” asked the young man.

Maxine’s hand flew to her mouth. She turned away from the youth and held her stomach with her other hand. Roz saw the look of concern on the young man’s face.

     “I’m sorry.” he stammered. “Not a poultry fan? Sixty-nine comes without the two chicken-fingers if that was the problem.”

Still holding her hand over her mouth, Maxine hastened toward the door.

     “Pregnant,” Roz lied to the youth, pointing toward her rapidly departing friend. Even she wore a grin as she joined Maxine outside.

     “Okay, okay. Let’s just buy our usual sandwiches from the vendor outside our office building,” Roz said.

They made their way to Roz’s workspace, sandwiches in hand. Max watched as Roz chewed her veggie-burger slowly and deliberately, staring into space.

     “Revenge on your mind?” Maxine asked.

Roz smiled, but didn’t answer.

     “Thought of something evil, have you?”

     “If this asshole is as gorgeous as you seem to suggest, then it would be safe to assume he has girlfriends galore. Yes?”

     “As much as I love you Roz, if Nathan were to ask me out and insisted I wore nothing but a smile, my naked body would be adorned by a grin from one ear to the next.”

     “You’d throw me under the bus for that asshole?”

     “I’d hate myself for it. You do understand that, don’t you?”

Roz couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

     “Not once but twice I was there for you when you begged me to double-date a man you fancied and his friend. One was a possible war criminal“

     “A mercenary, Roz. Not a war criminal.”

     “The other, more than likely, had an ankle bracelet and a parole officer.”

     “Innocent until proven guilty, Roz. That’s what the law says. Anyway, unless Nathan asks me out, I’m on your side. So what do we do?”

Roz’s smile returned. “I’m going to hoist him with his own petard.”

     “American English, please.”

     “He used Ralph as his fake caller. I’m going to triple that amount, but give no names.”

     “Roz,” said Max, “you sound like you’re going off the rails here. Help a friend believe that you haven’t finally lost it, would you?”

Roz gave Max a start when she jumped out of her seat and started talking to herself as she walked around in circles.

     “Roz, you’re making me dizzy. Sit down and tell me the plan.”

A grinning Roz regained her seat. “You want to hear my plan? Well, here it is. I’m going to use the email address he has printed at the end of his column to send him three messages.”

     “Why three? Why not two or four?”

     “Because it’s my plan and I like the number three, okay?”

Maxine shrugged.

     “Message number one,” said Roz, “will be a gushing testimonial to the fact that he is nine months away from becoming a father.”

Maxine sat up. “How—“

     “A friend of mine from Baltimore called me the other day to let me know she’s pregnant. I’m going to get her to secure the pregnancy testing stick that reads positive, put it in a small sandwich bag and Fedex it to Nathan Knight via his newspaper address.”

     “That’s disgustingly brilliant,” Max said.

     “A letter will accompany the bag, giving no name, but suggesting that she will be arriving at the airport the following morning, could he please pick her up. The flight number and time of arrival will be included.”

Admiration oozed from Maxine’s very pores.

     “Shortly thereafter, he will receive another two emails. Once again, no names will be given to suggest which of his many girlfriends sent it. Both will say that they are coming into town to stay with him.”

     “Let me guess,” Maxine said. “They’re both arriving on the same flight as the fake mother-to-be of his fake child.”

     “What do you think?” Roz asked.

Maxine was adamant. “Despite reports to the contrary, Lucifer has to be a woman.”

     “Thank you, Maxine. Let’s see if I can encourage all hell to break loose.”

Chapter 7 – Nathan Under Pressure

The Offices of The Daily Standard were a hive of activity. Articles and columns had to be proofread, formatted and given to the editor-in-chief for the final ‘once over’ before going to press. Deadlines had to be met. Nathan had based today’s column on the responsibility of those dispensing advice to know what the heck they were talking about. It was a gentle jab aimed at his competitor in the ratings game. After all, both men and women might be using that advice to influence their own relationships, sometimes negatively. Now, he made a point of buying The Daily Voice every morning. What better ammunition to use than Ms. Rook’s column itself? He was looking and feeling rather pleased with himself when a Fedex package was dropped into his lap. Rather expensive way to send fan mail, he thought. Probably a female fan sending him a gift. He got that part right. He had the letter in his left hand and the ‘definitely, positively, no-mistake-about-it’ pregnancy stick with two vertical lines clearly visible, in his right. He was having difficulty focusing on the message in his left hand when the gentle ‘ding’ of arriving email could be heard on his computer, twice.

     “Catching flies, Nathan?” Betty said as she approached from the side. “Close your mouth for goodness sake.”

She was ready to take him to task for the Ralph incident when she spotted a sight with which most women are only too familiar. A stick with two vertical lines present.

Betty whistled. “Who’s the lucky lady, and are congratulations in order?”

     “I’m not ready to be a father,” Nathan said. “Strange that whoever sent this failed to give me their name.”

After reading the letter, Betty disagreed.

     “Whoever she is obviously thought she was the only one in your life. I bet all of your women think that.”

Nathan was rattled. He hadn’t met the woman with whom he’d like to spend the rest of his life, yet. He always took precautions. Always. So who could believe that he was the father of their child?

     “You got mail,” said Betty, looking at Nathan’s computer screen. “I love that movie.”

Nathan clicked on them, one after the other. Betty was reading over his shoulder.

     “They do say things come in threes,” said Betty.

     “Things? What things? Earthquakes? Attacks by killer-snails? Canine zombies? Or mail sent by the friends of girlfriends past?”

     “In your case, o-fertile-one, women. You’ll be able to pick them all up at the same time. At current gas prices, you’ll save a fortune.”

Nathan glanced round at Betty. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

     “Why, Nathan, just the other day you were wondering how Rozlyn Rook would cope with damage control under stress. I’m intrigued to witness your handling of this episode in your life.”

Nathan went silent. He used one hand to tap the bag containing the pregnancy stick in the palm of the other.

     “Bit of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say, Betty?”

     “What?”

     “Three women in one day. One pregnant, no signature on the note. All emails forwarded by friends and all on the same flight?”

     “What are you thinking?”

Nathan spun his chair around to face his assistant.

     “Sixty seconds ago I was in the dark, but you, dear Betty, switched on the light… I hope.”

     “Meaning?”

Nathan leaned forward. “The name that slipped off your tongue a moment ago.”

     “Name?”

     “Rozlyn Rook.”

Betty took a step back. “You don’t think… No! She would have to be as evil as you, to do such a thing.”

     “What if she figured out that Ralph was fake?”

     “Forget fake,” replied Betty. “What if she figured out that you were Ralph?”

     “Well, well, well,” Nathan whispered. “Finally, a worthy adversary.”

Betty wasn’t one hundred percent convinced.

     “You had still better turn up at the airport, just in case.”

Betty’s boss nodded. “I gave Ms. Rook no choice but to issue an apology to a person she knew was fake. Now I have to drive all the way out to the airport even though I know in my bones that it is a waste of time. Well played, Ms. Rook.”

     “I told you before,” Betty said, “she’s the champion of women’s causes, but how will you know for sure that she was involved?”

Nathan, no longer convinced that he was due to meet the mother who carried his child, stretched his legs out, tilted his head back, and smiled.

     “She will allude to it in her column. She has to. I rubbed her nose in it and she feels it necessary to return the compliment.”

Betty laughed. “You might just have met your match, Nathan Knight.”

Nathan sighed. “It’s way too early in the game to suggest that Ms. Rook is on my level when it comes to skullduggery, Betty. Don’t forget, I’m a master.”

     “Really? To quote an old English saying, dear Nathan, you’ve just had your bum felt.”

Nathan looked up, then burst out laughing. “I had no idea that I was inadvertently schooling you in the use of the Queen’s English.”

     “I doubt very much if the Queen has ever used that particular sentence,” replied Betty.

     “Don’t be too sure. The Royals are renowned for their sense of humor.”

Chapter 8 – Used and abused

It was a fifty minute drive to the airport, with traffic all the way. Normally, Nathan would be poor company in such a setting, but being alone allowed him to process the turns the last couple of days had taken. He considered the fact that an ex of his could possibly be on the flight in question, but dismissed it. No. His punishment was to wait for the flight, wait some more until the last passenger had passed by, leaving him nothing to do but return home. He was wrong in that assumption.

     “Nathan? Nathan Knight?”

A tall gent wearing a tweed jacket and sporting a bowtie called his name again.

     “Nathan Knight?”

Nathan stepped forward. “Excuse me. Do I know you?”

     “You’re Mr. Knight are you? Rozlyn Rook said she was going to send you to pick me up and take me to my hotel.”

Nathan smiled. “She did, did she?”

     “Peter Pann. Two n’s,” the gent said, offering his hand.

     “Of course you are,” replied Nathan, shaking it.

     “Grab this bag, would you. Damn thing weighs a ton.”

     “That’s why they put wheels on suitcases. So you don’t have to carry them.”

     “You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you? Roz said that you had a smart mouth for a junior clerk.”

Nathan rolled his eyes. “Known Ms. Rook long?” he asked.

     “I haven’t seen her since university. She must be smarter than me. She finished her finals a month before me.”

Nathan saw his opening. “That wasn’t the reason she left early. Oh, that’s the official story, but bad news has a way of slipping out of the closet.”

     “What exactly are you suggesting?”

     “She was pregnant. At least, that’s what she told her boyfriend. Shortly after that, the father-to-be killed himself. That is to say, it was ruled a suicide if you know what I mean.”

     “Utter rubbish!” Peter exclaimed. “I knew her boyfriend. He was a fine athlete. He’s a lawyer now. Practices in Vermont, I think.”

     “Peter, I’m probably speaking out of turn, but Ms. Rook played the field more than people knew. The boyfriend to whom I’m referring was called Stephen. Terrible way to die. His family suspected… never mind. That’s another story.”

Peter looked aghast as Nathan heaved the suitcase into the trunk of his car.

     “You can’t be suggesting that there was foul play. Not Rozlyn. The only time—“ Peter stopped in mid-sentence.

     “Our Ms. Rook has a bit of a temper, doesn’t she?” Nathan said. “Don’t cross her. That’s the only advice I can offer. Which hotel, Mr. Pann?”

Peter let himself into the back seat. The next twenty minutes were absent conversation. Nathan glanced in the rear-view mirror.

     “No charges were brought. Nothing was proven,” Nathan said. “Is she still sleeping with the newspaper’s owner?”

     “What? That’s not possible. The old man’s almost eighty. He just celebrated his golden wedding anniversary.”

     “You’re probably right. You can’t believe everything you hear.”

Peter leaned forward. “What exactly did you hear?”

     “My lips are sealed,” replied Nathan.

     “It’s just that I have an interview with the old gent tomorrow,” Peter said.

     “Working alongside Ms. Rook?”

Nathan saw his passenger nod in the rear-view mirror. “She asked for me.”

     “A friend would probably warn the old fella,” Nathan suggested. He glanced again in the rear-view mirror. Peter Pann wasn’t looking too young right now, he thought.

Nathan pulled up to the hotel entrance. A pensive bowtie wearing gent dragged his suitcase from the trunk and started toward the front entrance.

     “Oh,” he said, turning around. “Ms. Rook asked me to give you this tip. He held out a banknote.

     “Not necessary,” Nathan replied. “It was my pleasure.”

     “You don’t understand,” he continued. “She insisted.”

Nathan accepted the one-dollar bill Peter offered.

     “You tell Ms. Rook it was much appreciated, would you?’

Peter looked perplexed. “I won’t see you anywhere in the Daily Voice offices?”

     “Extremely unlikely,” Nathan replied. “Remember what I said, and for goodness sake don’t let her know that you know.”

     “What is it I know?” Peter asked.

     “That’s the spirit,” said Nathan, slapping him on the back. Good luck tomorrow.”

Peter was still staring after him as he pulled away from the hotel entrance.

Nathan tossed the dollar bill onto the passenger seat. He tried but failed to stop a grin from emerging. He was secretly glad his adversary was prepared to join battle after he had fired a shot across her bow. Something caught his eye. Black against green. He used one hand to unravel the dollar bill. A black spot the size of a quarter had been drawn on one side. Nathan had never felt so happy. Back in the day when pirates roamed the seven seas, if a man had transgressed and was marked for death, a black spot would be placed in his hand… so that he knew his time was short. Rozlyn Rook, apparently, had no intention of going ‘quietly into the night.’

***

Nathan was first in line to pick up a copy of The Daily Voice. Inside her column Rozlyn Rook thanked Nathan Knight for picking up another member of staff from the airport, for her. She readily admitted that the thought of driving to and from the airport on the worst day for traffic was too much for her to even contemplate. She ended her message by saying that she was only too glad to tip him as he so rightly deserved.

Chapter 9 – Battle lines are drawn

Betty wore a smile from ear to ear as she performed her duties throughout the offices of The Daily Standard.

     “Am I to assume you read her column this morning?” Nathan asked, as she passed his cubicle.

     “She let you off lightly, don’t you think?”

Nathan slouched in his chair. “I’m not shy in admitting that this Rozlyn Rook of yours has my full attention. I’m almost prepared to suggest that she even merits my respect.”

     “How can you stand there and say that?” Betty asked.

     “I’m sitting. Is the light emitted from your heroine so bright that you can’t see that?”

Betty placed her hands on her hips. “I never thought I’d see the day when the great Nathan Knight met his match, and at the hands of a woman.”

     “Even Delilah enjoyed a minor victory over Samson, but who got the last laugh?” Nathan asked.

     “They both died.”

     “Oh! My biblical knowledge is a little sketchy,” Nathan admitted.

     “That’s because you’re a heathen. A heathen, and a troglodyte. No doubt Roz will educate you in the fullness of time.”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “Betty! Have you been drinking?”

     “Perhaps I’m just drunk on woman-power,” she replied.

Nathan eased from his chair and wrapped his arm around his assistant.

     “You poor deluded child,” he said. “Can you not see the writing on the wall?”

Betty put her arm around Nathan’s waist. “Actually I can… and it says Rozlyn Rook is ahead on points.” She gave him a squeeze, then wandered off humming a cheerful tune.

Franco came into Nathan’s field of view. He said nothing, but raised his palms upward and followed them with his eyebrows.

     “Misdirection, boss,” Nathan said. “All part of the bigger picture.”

     “That’s my boy,” replied Franco, satisfied with his employee’s answer. “Keep up the good work.” Franco glanced at his watch, frowned, then headed for the elevator.

     “Misdirection my ass,” said Betty, as she breezed past her boss.

***

The ink was still fresh on the page as Nathan picked up his copy of The Daily Voice. He turned immediately to Rozlyn Rook’s column and was somewhat stunned to see that she had issued a challenge right there in print. Roz wanted Nathan to join her on her next radio spot. Her suggestion was that their readers could benefit from both of their points of view on the same subjects. When people called in, they would both address the same questions. Obviously Ms. Rook felt that her advice would outshine his. A bold but dangerous move on her part. He was starting to like this Rozlyn Rook. This was exactly the type of thing he would have done without a second’s hesitation.

***

High up in the offices of The Daily Voice, Maxine too was wondering if Roz’s challenge was borne more out of frustration than sanity. She voiced that very thought to her boss.

     “What do you do in a poker game when you’re ahead, Max? You press. The opposition is still reeling. You go for the jugular.”

     “Listen,” Maxine replied, “there’s no doubt you outsmarted him the other day. I have to say, he took it well, and that’s what is making me nervous. He took it too well, and… why does Peter keep giving you these funny looks?”

Roz glanced over at Peter Pann who, like a guilty child caught doing something wrong, snapped his head around to avoid eye contact.

     “He probably still has the hots for me. He couldn’t keep his eyes off me in our Social Studies class in university.”

     “You would date somebody who wore a bowtie?” Maxine asked.

     “Heck no, but he’s a nice guy, which is more than can be said for Nathan Knight.”

Chapter 10 – Rocking and Reeling

Maxine looked decidedly nervous as Roz prepared to start her radio call in spot. She switched on her microphone.

     “Good morning one and all. Rozlyn Rook here with this week’s call-in and would you believe it, we have a special guest, Nathan Knight of the Nathan Knows Best column in The Daily Standard newspaper. The Daily Standard is second only to our own Daily Voice newspaper in sales. Please welcome Nathan Knight. Nathan, are you there?”

Over in Franco’s office, Nathan sat in Franco’s chair. His boss was perched on the corner of his own desk as Nathan clicked the button for the speaker and then punched line one. A crowd had already gathered in Franco’s office. It was standing room only. Nathan leaned forward.

     “Good morning, Ms. Rook. So nice of you to invite me onto your radio show. How would you like to kick the show off?”

It was as if he hadn’t spoken.

     “Okay, listeners, who’s going to be the first caller?” Roz asked.

     “Hello, Roz. My name’s Cathy. Actually, I just wanted to thank Nathan if that’s okay. Thanks to a tip he gave in his column, my boyfriend bought two tickets for the new across-country luxury coach trip which stops at ten hotels on the way.”

     “That’s great, Cathy. I’m happy for you.”

     “All five star hotels too, would you believe.”

     “That’s wonderful. Do you have any other topic you’d like to discuss?”

     “Not really. Oh! If any of your listeners want to buy tickets, tell them to ask for the number seventy-one luxury coach. Bye.”

Roz could hear Maxine laughing somewhere in the background. She wasn’t looking forward to their next conversation.

     “Next caller, please.”

     “Hi.”

     “Good morning, sir. Would you care to identify yourself?”

     “I’m Jethro, Roz. I wanted to ask you what you thought was too great an age gap between two adults if they were considering marriage?”

     “Great question, Jethro. Here’s the thing, let’s just say that Sam is seventy and Julie is thirty. Technically, he could still father a child. Would it be fair to that child if Sam was to drop dead before he reached eighty? I know it’s a harsh thing to say, but, as my readers know, I’ve never avoided the tough questions. Let’s ask Nathan his views, shall we?”

     “Jethro, if the only stiff one Sam has had in the last twenty years was poured into a whiskey glass, then here’s my advice. Rush down to Bratton’s pharmacy at the corner of fifth and Tuttle. They’re running a special on Viagra. Buy two, get one free, but only as long as supplies last.”

     “What the—“ Roz had been sideswiped.

     “Call for you on line two,” Betty whispered in Nathan’s ear.

Nathan clicked on line two.

     “What the hell are you doing?”

     “Who is this?” Nathan asked.

     “Bernard Cox, the manager at Bratton’s pharmacy. There’s no special on Viagra.”

     “There is now, Bernard. Get with the program. Your store’s about to get very busy.”

Nathan clicked back to line one. “Who’s the next caller, Ms. Rook?”

     “Hello to you both. Franklyn here, from Tennessee. I’m the father of two young kids. At what age should bedwetting be addressed by a professional, Ms. Rook?”

     “Before I answer that question, Franklyn, I just want our listeners to know that no stigma should be attached to any of your kids for what they will surely grow out of.”

     “Oh, it’s not for them, it’s for me. I’m thirty-four.”

Nathan clicked on his mike.

     “This is your lucky day, Franklyn. Adult diapers are half off at Bratton’s pharmacy, friendly service and great prices assured.”

     “What—you can’t advertise on my radio spot. Next caller, please.”

Betty nudged Nathan. “Line two.”

Nathan switched over.

     “Nathan Knight, how may—“

     “What the hell are you doing? You can’t advertise discounts for this store that aren’t true?”

     “Then make it true, Bernie. Half off, remember.”

     “Will you stop—“

Nathan switched back to line one.

     “Hi there. My name’s Betty-Sue. I’ve just found out I’m pregnant, but my boyfriend’s claiming he’s not the father. What should I do?”

Roz saw her chance to right the ship and grasped it with both shaking hands.

     “It’s funny that this question should come up, Betty-Sue. Just the other day one of my competitors who also runs an advice column, but shall remain nameless, had the very same problem. He thought he was going to be a father to the child of one of his pool of hare-brained concubines. That’s what happens when men think with what’s in their pants. Get ready to DNA test that little sucker and nail your lousy boyfriend for child support and anything else you can think of.”

     “Nathan here, Betty-Sue. Are you a local?”

     “Sure am, Nathan. By the way, your hot sauce is partly to blame.” Betty-Sue’s giggles could be heard plainly over the air.

     “Okay folks, here’s my best offer,” said Nathan. Pick up today’s copy of The Daily Standard. Rush down to Bratton’s pharmacy and present it to the manager, Bernard Cox. Strange name for a man with no balls. Anyway, ten percent off storewide with every copy.”

     “Call on line two,” said Betty.

     “I’ll sue,” screamed Bernard.

     “Grow a pair, Bernie. Your whole store’s going to be empty by four this afternoon.”

Nathan switched back. “Who’s on the line next, Ms. Rook?”

Rozlyn was seething. Through clenched teeth and in as upbeat a tone as she could muster, she said,          “I’m sorry folks. There appears to be some technical problems with this broadcast. My apologies. Please tune in next week, same time.”

The line went dead.

     “Line two for you,” said Betty.

     “Yes?”

     “This is Bratton Pharmaceutical’s head office. Dennis Wood speaking.”

     “You probably want our legal department,” Nathan said, in nothing approaching an apologetic tone.

Franco buried his face in his hands.

     “No, Mr. Knight. We wanted to ask you to feature us in another call-in. Do you think Ms. Rook will agree to it if they can sort out those pesky technical problems?”

     “Well, Dennis, I’m here to serve our local community. If you can persuade Ms. Rook to share a second call-in with me, I’ll be more than happy to be your spokesperson.”

     “Can we put a cardboard cutout of you in our stores, Mr. Knight? Perhaps holding a pack of adult diapers?”

     “Are you taking the p—“

     “Nathan!” Franco barked.

     “Toothpaste or aftershave, that’s it,” Nathan replied.

     “Excellent. We’ll be in touch. Thanks again, Mr. Knight.”

Franco clapped his hands, to clear the room. Even the staff—who were normally less than cordial to Nathan—slapped him on the back as they left the office. Franco shook his head.

     “I don’t think the average American has ever met someone quite like you,” he said to Nathan.

The phone rang. Betty picked up. She put her hand over the mouthpiece.

     “The editor-in-chief of The Daily Voice, for you.” She pointed at Franco.

     “Franco Profilio. I’ve been expecting your call.” Franco shooed Nathan and Betty from his office.

Nathan nudged his assistant. “Fancy some lunch, Betty? My treat.”

     “Franklyn from Tennessee was as fake as Ralph, wasn’t he?’

     “You have to ask?” Nathan replied. He looked at Betty just in time to see her blink away tears. The smile slid from his face.

     “Betty, are you okay? I didn’t realize Ms. Rook meant so much to you.”

Betty turned her head away. He saw her wipe her eyes with the heel of her hand.

     “Betty?”

His assistant drew in a deep breath and exhaled before answering.

     “It’s just that you remind me of someone I knew a long time ago, that’s all. He was fearless, just like you, and would do almost anything for a laugh."

     "Sounds like me when I was a boy." Nathan put his arm around her. “Come on,” he said softly, “I know where they sell the best grilled steak sandwiches.”

Betty only nodded. "I'm supposed to join my mother for dinner tonight. Usually I manage to dodge it, but not this time."

     "What, you don't like your mum's cooking?"
Betty dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

     "It's not that. Every week she cooks a meal for about eight old women from her library club. They drive me nuts. Maybe when I'm that age I'll understand why they can talk for hours about an actor or actress who has been dead for thirty years."         

"How old are these women?"
"Average age? Close to eighty."

"How do you normally escape this dining experience?"

Betty gave Nathan a sideways grin. "That's where you come in."

"Me?"
"My mom thinks you're an ogre."

Nathan was aghast. "Why would she think that?"

"Because you keep me working late every time the library club come around."
"I do not," Nathan said. "Sounds to me as if you have a dark side."
"Merely a servant of Satan. That would be you."
"And what time does this dinner take place?"

Betty sighed. "I wish it were only dinner. After that, they all play cards. Poker, to be exact. I think the biggest pot was almost ninety cents."
The two of them grabbed a table in the diner and ordered their sandwiches. Less than fifteen minutes later, they were eating their food.

     "You could have been in some pretty hot water if the head guys from Bratton Pharmaceuticals hadn't agreed to honor your insane discounts after the manager called them. What were you thinking?" Betty said.

     "I was in Mr. Cox's store a couple of weeks ago. I didn't like the way he treated an old lady in the queue."

     "Why?" Betty said. "What was the problem?"

     "The old dear couldn't find her purse and he felt that she was holding everybody up. He told her to move off to the side or join the back of the queue."

     "What a horrible man. Did she?"

     "Luckily it didn't come to that."

     "So that's why you directed half of the city to his location for all of those discounts?"
Nathan smiled.

     "You're still going to remain an ogre as far as my mom is concerned. You're the only alibi I can count on."
They finished their food and headed slowly back to work. Even Betty was shown deference from the rest of the staff. As Nathan's assistant, she was considered an integral part of team Knight.

Chapter 11 – How Does He Do It?

Betty was in purgatory. The sink in her mother's apartment was blocked somehow, and her plumber friend was unavailable until the next day. A basin filled with hot soapy water was on the counter next to the sink. That would have to do. The library club came as one unit and filed into the apartment. The oldest one had to contend with a stroller. Betty seated them around the table. Arguments broke out over who was going to sit next to who. The doorbell rang. Betty's mom looked at her group. Nobody was missing.       

     "You'll have to get the door, mom. I need to use the bathroom," Betty said.
Betty's mom wiped her hands dry and opened the door. A tall handsome man dressed in a suit stood before her. He carried two bottles of wine in one hand and a huge Chinese carry-out in the other.

     "You must be Betty's mum," Nathan said.
Betty's mother could only stare at him.         

     "I'm the ogre who normally keeps Betty late every week. I thought I'd make up for it by bringing some food and drink. I hope you don't mind?"
Still speechless, Betty's mom stood aside and Nathan strode into the kitchen.        

     "Hello, ladies," he said. " Looks to me as if you could do with some male company. Who likes Chinese food?"
Eight hands shot into the air. 

     "Excellent," said Nathan.
Betty raced out of the bathroom. She could pick Nathan's English accent out of a crowd of hundreds.    

     "What are you doing here?" Her tone suggested complete disbelief.
Nathan glanced over at Betty's mother.        

     "Betty told me there was some kind of illegal poker game going on after the meal. I was hoping you would let me join in."     

     "Drag that chair over here, Betty," said one of the elderly women. "We're going to fleece this young man right after our meal."          

     "He doesn't seem as bad as you make out, Betty," her mother whispered.         

     "It's an act," Betty replied, staring daggers at Nathan.
For his part, Nathan squeezed in between two of the old dears, while Betty and her mother dished out the food and opened the bottles of wine. Nathan was the center of attention as he regaled them with stories of his upbringing in England. Betty watched as the eight old women plus her mother hung onto his every word. A couple of jokes later and old Mildred almost lost her teeth, she was laughing so hard. Nathan's charisma lit up the room. Agatha, sitting opposite Nathan, couldn't keep her eyes off him.
Out of the blue she said, "I recognize your voice."
The merriment hushed as Agatha looked around at her friends.

     "I know him."
The old lady eased up out of her chair, grabbed her stroller and made her way around the table. The room went quiet. Agatha stopped beside Nathan and wrapped her arms around his neck.        

     "Thank you young man, for what you did for me." She hugged him several times. Everybody stared at their guest. Even Betty gave him a quizzical look.

     "Ten percent off, store wide," Nathan said. "The ladies love me."
Agatha stood up as best she could, her wrinkled hands gently massaging Nathan's shoulders.       

     "I was in Bratton's pharmacy over a week ago and I was at the front of the queue. I couldn't find my purse and the manager was extremely rude to me. He told me to get to the back of the queue. I didn’t know it until now, but it was this young man who stepped forward and put a twenty dollar bill on the counter. He said, ‘I think you dropped this on the floor.’ Then he was gone. I haven’t had a twenty dollar bill in my purse for over a month. I never saw your face,” she said, staring at Nathan, “but that accent… it was you. I know it was."
Betty raised her eyes to the ceiling.

     "I don't believe this. Somebody tell me it's not true."
Betty's mother tapped her on her arm. "Don't be rude," she whispered.
It was the first time all night that Nathan was quiet. The other women started clapping.
Nathan stood up. With head bowed, he gathered up several plates.

     "Let me help with the dishes," he blurted out.
Betty could tell her mom was embarrassed to have to tell him to use the basin at the side of the sink.       

     "Blocked sink?" Nathan asked.

Betty's mom nodded.

     "Got any tools?"
Betty's mom glanced over at her daughter.   

     "I'll get them," Betty said, digging her elbow into Nathan's ribs as she passed. "Sorry,” she said, “accidents will happen."

She brought a cardboard box out from a closet. It contained about five tools.        

     "It's all we have," said Betty. "The plumber's coming tomorrow. No need to get your suit dirty."
Nathan rummaged through the box. "I could build a car with this," he announced.

     "Give me a break," Betty said. “Get the toothpaste. He thinks he’s MacGyver.”
Nathan removed his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves.           

     "Go enjoy yourselves, ladies. I'll join you shortly." He opened the cupboard doors to gain access to the sink's plumbing fixtures.
It was Betty's mother who heard the water running. She arrived in time to see Nathan washing his hands.           

     "Cancel the plumber's visit," he said. "It's working just fine, now."
Betty's mother hooked her arm into his. "I don't know how to thank you. First the food and drink, and now this."
Nathan gave her a hug.

     "I'm going to make sure your daughter doesn't have to miss any more of your library club dinners on my account, okay?"

     "The girls are waiting for you," she replied, squeezing his arm. "First hand starts as soon as you take your spot at the table."
Betty sidled up to him. "You are evil incarnate, but you know that already, don’t you?"
Nathan nudged her arm with his elbow.        

     "It's the people with whom I associate. They're a bad influence. Let's play cards."       

     "I don't play, but I'll watch how you English cheat from back here, as long as I don't make you nervous, that is."
The girls gave Nathan a whooping. They giggled as he threw in hand after hand.   

     "Better be careful," Agatha said. "You're already in for over two bucks."
Nathan treated her to his bad-boy stare. "You watch my money more than my ex-girlfriend."
Mildred looked up. "Fifty years ago I'd have given her a run for her money."         

     "Oh my God!" Betty exclaimed. "You've got eighty year old women fighting over you now. You're despicable."
Nathan winked at Mildred who blushed like a thirteen-year old girl at her first dance. Betty smiled then punched him in his back when she thought nobody was watching.    

     "Cut it out, Romeo," she said. "You've been throwing in good hand after good hand."

     "I thought you didn't play poker."           

     "That doesn't mean I don't know how. Isn't it past your bedtime?"

Nathan stood up. "Ladies, I've taken as much of a beating as I can handle, but don't think that I won't practice and come back for the money you stole off me tonight."

     "I'm going to throw up," said Betty, as the elderly ladies giggled and waved goodbye as Nathan made his way to the front door. Betty's mom scooted out from the bedroom. She had fixed her hair. Betty rolled her eyes. Would this never end?
Nathan turned and waved to the library group. "Bye, girls."

     "Bye, Nathan," they called out in unison. Mildred blew him a kiss.
Nathan touched his lips against Betty's mother’s forehead.  

     "Thanks for a wonderful evening. Tell Betty I'll see her in the morning, would you?" With that, he headed outside.
Betty could take it no longer. If she had to listen to how lucky she was to be working alongside Nathan one more time, she was pretty sure her head would explode. She said her goodbyes and left less than half an hour after her boss.

As she drove back to her own apartment, the evening's events played through her mind. One thought surfaced more than any other, and that thought made her smile. Dammit. If she wasn't gay she'd probably fall for him herself. Her smile faded. If ever there was one man that could—No! Don't go there, Betty. Men are way more trouble than they're worth, and that one more than most.

***

Roz slumped back in her chair and closed her eyes. The nightmare call-in fiasco was several hours behind them. She and Maxine had headed to the nearest bar and ordered the first of many drinks. Conversation had been about anything and everything but the events of the day that consumed them both. They had both reached a point where they no longer gave a damn. Maxine pulled her chair up closer to where Roz sat.

     “He’s good,” Roz said. Her eyes stared into space.

     “He’s no better than you,” her assistant assured her, but he is definitely an alpha.”

Roz’s head snapped around. “And I’m not?”

Max shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. What bothered you the most about today’s encounter?”

Roz closed her eyes again.

     “I never saw it coming. I thought I was ready for him. He was on the ropes for goodness sake. Why didn’t I see it coming?”

     “It’s because he’s English,” Maxine stated.

Roz opened one eye. Her assistant was serious. Roz burst out laughing.

     “We’re not out of it yet, Max. The bell sounded. I’m winded and I’ve got a black eye, but the fight’s barely begun.” Roz grinned at her assistant. “Who am I?”

     “You’re Rozlyn Rook. The epitome of a strong, self-reliant woman. The mistress of her own destiny.”

     “Damn right. Sound the bell, Ref. I’m eager to get on with the fight.”

     “Roz.”

     “Yes?”

     “Get ready to DNA test that little sucker? Really?”

Roz exploded into laughter. She was clutching her ribs as she admitted that Nathan Knight really did bring out the worst in her.

 

Chapter 12 – Stealing Nathan’s Dirty Tactics

 

Roz and Maxine sat side by side in Roz’s cubicle. Her column was due in two hours and in truth, it was almost finished. Almost. She had already dealt with such topics as men who wouldn’t help around the house to boyfriends who were hitting on their girlfriend’s sister, to guys who didn’t shave before going down there. Roz stared into space.

     “The Daily Standard had record sales yesterday,” she said. “Blew us out of the water. Early statistics suggest today will be no different. He’s not going to get away with it, Max.”

     “I can smell the gears burning,” Maxine replied.

Roz smiled. “Just turning over a few ideas, that’s all.”

Maxine sat up. “Want to share?”

Roz’s eyes swiveled toward her assistant. “Mark my words, before I’m done with him, Nathan Knight will be on his knees, begging.”

     “For what, exactly? Tickets to the next U.S.Open? An invitation to your next birthday party? The phone number of your gorgeous assistant?”

     “I haven’t decided yet,” Roz replied, “but you can be sure it would be none of the above.”

Maxine’s eyes narrowed. “He’s English and he’s a man, correct?”

Roz chuckled. “Reading all of those detective novels obviously gave you clear insight. You’re two for two. Let’s hear the rest.”

Maxine twisted her chair around some more.

     “We wrap up your column with a question from a female reader that, when Nathan reads it as he surely will, puts him on the defensive with little to no chance of going on the attack.”

     “I’m listening.”

     “The fake female is as American as apple pie and her boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, is English. Heck, he could be aristocracy for all I care. She gave him the heave-ho and he’s been stalking her ever since, begging her to take him back.”

A grin hijacked Roz’s features. “You’re onto something there, Maxine. We could really make him look pathetic. This whole city identifies with the fact that Nathan is English. By association, in their minds, readers would pair up Nathan with the jilted fake Englishman. The American girl will come across as strong and in charge while her ex will be regarded as the exact opposite.”

     “Go ahead,” said Maxine, “belittle my detective stories if you must, but—“

     “I take it all back. It’s pure genius.”

Roz settled in front of her computer, fingers already tapping away at the keyboard in furious fashion.

     Dear Roz, at what point do I call in the police. My English ex-boyfriend, Cyril Frazzlebottom the third, is making my life a misery.

     “You’ll never get away with that name, Roz. How about Cuthbert Montgomery?”

     “Fair enough.”

     Cuthbert Montgomery the third—

     “Drop the ‘third.’”

     Cuthbert had pestered me for months for a date, and in a moment of weakness, I gave in. My sister described him as being closer to Frankenstein than Brad Pitt, but I’m not a shallow person so I overlooked the fact that his ears stuck out so much that he couldn’t afford to go out in a high wind. I simply got tired of him expecting me to pay for half of the meal whenever we went to a restaurant, and refusing to tip more than five percent. His whiny voice eventually made me snap and I admit to saying some less than complimentary things to him.

     “Don’t go too overboard, Roz. You don’t want to lose the sympathetic angle our girl is going for.”

     “You’re probably right. How about this?”

     I asked him to respect my privacy, but he pestered me so much on Facebook, I had no choice but to un-friend him. Did that stop him? He sent me three Valentine’s day cards. Romantic? Not really, it was the middle of May. I hate to see men grovel at the best of times, but how do I get him to understand that it is OVER. Wendy.

     “How’s that?” Roz asked.

     “It might need some polishing, but it’ll do. Now for your advice.”

Roz returned to the keyboard.

Wendy, I can sympathize. As you so rightly mentioned, men groveling is a distinct turn-off, but our neighbors across the sea seem to take it to a new level. Cuthbert is in need of some tough love. Involving the police should be a last resort, but I wouldn’t rule them out. I only know one Englishman myself, and he is the most annoying individual on the face of the planet. Unfortunately, Cuthbert appears to share similarities with that particular person and should be surgically removed from your life, ASAP. Find yourself a solid homegrown boyfriend. That’s my advice. Roz, of the Dear Roz column.

     “Well?” Roz asked her assistant.

     “Difficult to see how our Mr. Knight can put a favorable spin on that little gem.”

Roz’s face bore all the marks of intense satisfaction. What could go wrong? There was little if any wiggle-room for Nathan to play with.

     “Do you think he’ll reply to this in his column or just give it a wide berth?” Maxine asked.

     “Oh, he’ll make mention alright. He can’t help himself, and when he does, I’ll be all over him.”

Roz’s column went into print.

***

One day later and Roz held her copy of The Daily Standard in her hand. She waited for Maxine to join her.

     “Read his column to me, Maxine. I want to hear what sort of reply his highness managed to scrape together.”

     “All of it or just what concerns us?”

     “Leave the other mad ramblings for his mentally challenged followers. Get to the good part.”

Maxine took the paper from Roz and searched through Nathan’s column. Her many chuckles were most annoying to her colleague, but at last she came to the part that would prove Nathan Knight’s undoing.

     Nathan of Nathan Knows Best, here. I couldn’t help but notice in Rozlyn Rook’s column the other day, several disparaging remarks were made about a fellow Brit and I felt compelled to shed some light on the subject. Cuthbert Montgomery happens to be a personal friend of mine—

     “Nooooooooooo!” Roz shrieked.