Harry's Protégé Ch. 12

Sierra's approach to her huge emotional poser was first to wash her hair, something she did automatically after being at the beach. Then she creamed her skin leisurely. Those activities provided quality thinking time.

The bastard.

Harry had humiliated her and then as he haltingly tried to explain his action she was thinking perhaps he was rejecting her for some odd reason. Then as her initial surprise and hurt diminished she'd thought his explanation was beginning to sound...well...rational.

But the mean devil. Never had a male pulled away from her like that. She'd read about it in fiction, but always it had been the woman to falter, filled with some fear or a high sense of moral obedience seizing her.

But a male doing that? Males were programmed to go in like a hungry dog to sate their appetites in single-minded frenzy... well some of them.

But Harry had pulled away, sending her mind and emotions into a spin. He'd eased her out of that with his talking. She was aware he'd talked softly without any real attempt to persuade or manipulate. His influenced began to take hold and he transformed from a cad she'd felt like strangling into someone presenting her with the prospect of really falling in love.

This was very, very peculiar, decided Sierra, ensuring she filmed cream between her toes.

The man was amazing, in being able to pull away when almost into her slit (she only uses the c-word when supremely aroused and the pre-cum of her guy of the moment dripped on to her).

That really must have been an excruciating withdrawal for Harry, perhaps proving the sincerity of his subsequent explanation. But why he hadn't come clean with his thinking even when driving to the cabin? It would have saved them painful anguish.

An hour later Sierra had decided they would marry, having thought about it incessantly; but no way would he ever again be allowed to treat her like he had this morning. Such treatment was inhuman.

Harry was so different that he was exactly right for her. Clearly he'd allow her to run her own life without neglecting her or if he wanted change he'd talk it though, just as he had three hours ago after breakfast...after he'd had her writhing on that ancient and dirty floor rug screaming for his cock and everything that went with that.

Squirming at that recollecting she had wondered whether he'd be any good. Well, she'd be prepared to mark that one minute of frantic foreplay ninety out of a hundred. She'd all but ejaculated without his fingers near her clit or thrusting into her.

Atta boy Harry.

Yeah they would marry because it was destiny. His role of helping her to control the company, a public company but with her father and mother holding 51% of stock, and to take the company forward made it necessary for him to be at her side for a decade or more.

"I need you Harry," Sierra said aloud, accepting she'd always be a little flaky because nature had given her a wild streak and she didn't think in the nip and tuck orderly way most other people seemed to do. It wasn't anything to do with rich kid syndrome.

Saying that made her feel better and she was tempted to call him and say let the wooing commence. But why do that? The scoundrel deserved to sweat.

She'd already acknowledged coitus interruptus was a huge new experience for her and an unpleasant one because she hadn't been sexually satisfied, her emotions had been laid bare and she'd suffered a bit of an ear-bashing by a lover so earnest-faced that he looked like a teen-age preacher. She laughed at the absurdity of that image, and felt a lot better.

Sipping coffee, light opera wafting into her senses from one of her quieter CDs, Sierra wondered if wooers still brought red roses to the woman of their desire. A little later her door intercom sounded - "Courier package for Miss Bycroft."

"Bring it up," she said, pressing the electronic door lock release, tightening her robe and walking off to find her wallet to extract a tip. Someone must be filthy rich to commission a courier delivery on a Sunday, she mused, returning to the door.

Sierra walked to the elevator and the over-fed courier didn't even have to exit as she reached through to hand him a five and take the delivery - flowers.

She smiled at the card, just one word, 'Sorry'.

He was such a beautiful boy. They weren't red roses. She adored the twenty white carnations.

Sierra lay back on her leather armchair, flowers held lightly against her cheek. She thought this could make a scene in a movie and a tear rolled down that cheek into the flowers, not because she was posturing and she definitely was not unhappy, not now she was listening to Mirella Freni singing the haunting 'Un Bel Di' from Madam Butterfly.

This was no co-incidence because the player had been set to repeated replay of this track before the courier announced his presence.

Sierra drifted into a nap, tears drying on her cheeks.

Fifty minutes later Sierra took the setting off replay, in case she was driving her neighbors mad, turning down the volume.

As she put the flowers into two vases she recalled that some weeks ago Harry had undertaken to arrive at a special place - the cabin - and seduce her when she decided to summon him there. Now she was immensely grateful he'd pulled away like that. It had been a heroic effort but she, too, now accepted she wanted their first union to be romantic, in fact she wanted it to be beautifully romantic, and then she could she tell him about her 'Un Bel Di' fixation without making it sound corny.

She grabbed her phone and called the poor man who might be wondering in despair what he'd done to her.

"Harry, I want romance!" she yelled into his ear, and cut the connection.

She'd only reached the count of nine when he called back. She settled into the chair for a long chat, heart pounding.

Finally she had to go, declining his eager offer to accompany her to the studio:

"There are times when I need to be alone Harry and this is one of them. Please don't take this personally."

The lovely man said he understood, and she knew he was sincere in saying that because he was one of those rare creatures on this land: a male who understood the ways of a woman.

* * *

Sierra took the bright lights and frantic action at the television studio in her stride, actually thinking there was far greater buzz, pushing and shoving and visual and sound chaos at a night in a crowded bar. She went through the 30-minute live interview in queenly calmness.

The young interviewer Linda Canon was understandably nervous, telling Sierra that the half hour 'live' was the biggest moment of her life and she was terrified.

"A few channels are taking it live. Many others are buying it for later viewing. I just cannot believe it."

Linda had been given a minder but Sierra asked the woman, who was the regular Sunday night Special interviewer if she would kindly sit somewhere out of sight.

"I'll settle her," Sierra promised.

Sierra told Linda that while this might be the biggest moment of Linda's life, to succeed she must cope with that. There would be many far bigger moments ahead of her.

"Try to imagine me going into the quarry. At the gates I was uptight and almost peeing my pants. Then the gatekeeper after looking at our media credentials waved us through and pointed out where 'the boss' was standing, waiting for us."

"From that moment I just slipped into professional mode and became a changed person, accepting I had a job to do to the best of my ability. It's easy Linda, remember when you charged into our newsroom desperate to be permitted to talk to me?"

"I could see you were shaking liking a puppy but it suited me to talk to you and I smiled and called to you and you went into professional mode. Believe me sweetie that will happen tonight."

"After your introduction you simply say, "Why did you do it, Miss Bycroft?"

"I'll say "Call me Sierra, please" and away we'll chat."

"Meanwhile you'll catch your breath while listening to me as you will have been taught to do during your studies of gain qualifications to work in TV. You have your list of questions but ignore them. You are a natural acting on impulse - your next and very appropriate question will come from listening."

"Yes Miss Bycroft, I mean Sierra."

"Why are you nervous, Linda?"

"Because this is the biggest moment of my life."

"But...?"

"But there will be many other big moments."

"Indeed. Linda you have been trained to ask questions on camera so be a darling will you. When the countdown begins remember your training, not your fears. Okay?"

"That's a great thought Sierra."

In make-up a youngster called Paul worked on Sierra's hair and Bev, a middle-aged woman attended to her face and neck.

"That's a great opening clip for the intro isn't it?" Bev asked. "We all watched it tonight and applauded the kid."

"What clip?"

"The one they shot yesterday at the gates of the quarry, with Linda standing in the rain, drenched, dressed in black and talking about your heroism."

"My what!"

"You heard. This is television Miss Bycroft. Our business is entertainment, even when it's news or a doco. You don't have to believe it."

"I won't," Sierra said firmly.

"That little Linda's a cool chick," Paul said. "No one took any notice of her before she tagged you. Before that interview she was a JAF J."

"I imagine that stands for something."

"Just Another Fucking Jurno."

Sierra almost wet herself she was laughing so much.

"Are lining up to date Linda?"

"I guess so, but that doesn't give me a chance as some of those guys showing interest in her are big shots who could help her career."

"They're men Paul, five minute wonders who'll go for the next big shot when she arrives. Bide your time, after the first wave has gone she may be grateful to have you appear at her side."

"You listen to Miss Bycroft Paul. She knows a lot about men, having had more men that you or I have had kisses - right Miss Bycroft?"

"If that's what the gossip says Bev it must be right if you believe gossip."

"Huh? Bev said. "As you can see, Paul this lady is no JAF J."

They laughed.

Waiting, bored and unable to drink coffee unless she wanted to return to make-up to get her lip-gloss refurbished, Sierra picked up the Sunday Sentinel and flicking through was staggered to find Channel 4 had taken, at great expense, the centerspread of the first section. In 120pt Bodoni Black were the words, 'At 7.30 Tonight Linda Canon talks to Sierra Bycroft.'

That's all there was, that panel of huge type spread over two pages and below it just the Channel 4 logo.

Gawd no wonder the poor kid was terrified after seeing her name posted like that, thought Sierra. Probably the channel has been pushing its own promo on-screen since she confirmed she would be talk to Linda.

Linda and Sierra watched the clip filmed at the gates, Linda summarizing the mining disaster, the investigations and the extraordinary action by Sierra and colleague Jake Withers - a photo of them together appearing on screen and as the clip finished Linda was on countdown and as it ended began her introduction, presented confidentially and with warmth.

"Welcome to Channel 4's 'Sunday Night Special' Miss Bycroft"

"Call me Sierra, please."

"Why did you do it Sierra? Standing outside the locked gates of that quarry was almost enough to scare the liver out of me."

"I was driven Linda, determined that those bastards involved in the death of those four miners and the subsequent cover-up wouldn't get away with it. Some clown has dubbed Jake and I heroes. Come on, we were just doing our job...we were just the good guys, like the surgical team who would have put your liver back for you had you lost it at the quarry gates."

"So it wasn't an effort to absolve your family's newspaper from claims for damages running into millions?"

"That was part of it, though I point out the publishing company is a publicly listed company. My parents are, of course, the largest shareholders. Most of us will bite the bullet to save our ass if it's slapped with million dollar legal actions."

"But Linda, foremost in my mind was those four widows and their children, and their dead husbands/fathers, the innocent victims of something dirty that never should have been allowed to happen."

"When learning of the possible cover-up I got mad, making it so easy for me to go after those bastards by exposing their dirty work deposited at the end of a quarry tunnel, where it was never meant to be found. But you should also be talking to my colleague Jake Withers and our newspaper's brilliant principal legal adviser Mr Peter Fish who came up with the idea of this so-called sting which he devised for us to perform safely and, we believe legally, to produce the information he required."

"Well Sierra despite what you gloss over, you are my heroine. We'll talk about you but first there's talk in the hair salons and coffee shops in this city about you and a certain dishy gentleman. Just who is Harry O'Hern?"

"Right your backroom guys better be ready with the bleeper. He's no JAF J, which means he's not Just Another Fucking Journalist," smiled Sierra, watching Linda's eyes widen.

"He's my boss, editor-in-chief of The Sentinel and I'm his protégé. He's transforming me into something he can be proud of - and he is well down the track in managing that objective. He's brilliant. It was Mr O'Hern who came up with the idea of The Sentinel investigating into the possibility of a cover-up so we could expertly inform the public ahead of the painfully slow official investigations."

"Good for Mr O'Hern and I mean that. What's your relationship with him?"

"He's my immediate boss. I work as his deputy."

"Why aren't those roles reversed? After-all you're the chairman's daughter and I understand that you and Mr O'Hern entered journalism at the same time."

"It's because he's a better journalist, better administrator and better person than I am."

"Pardon me, but you don't believe that, do you?"

"Yes I've come to believe that absolutely."

"Wasn't it because you were deemed a playgirl by the board of your newspaper company and he was promoted over you to the top editorial position to give you a shake up."

"Yes that's how it all began."

"And?"

"What more is there to say?"

"Are you still a playgirl?"

"At heart yes but Mr O'Hern has guided me to maturity in such an amazing short time. I did say he was brilliant?"

Linda then said they would pause, to watch a clip from her interview with Sierra when news about the find at the quarry was breaking. The clip showed Sierra responding to the question about the possibility of an injunction being served to prevent the newspaper naming what had been found in the quarry and ending with a question and answer."

"What if you defy any court order and the dishy Mr O'Hern lands up in jail as well?"

"If we share a cell I'll get the opportunity to know him better, won't I?"

Linda turned to Sierra (they had been shown in split-screen watching the clip): "What is your response to that?"

"It seems Linda that you are responsible for the tag of 'dishy' being attached to Mr O'Hern."

"I-I didn't mean to do that. Could you please elaborate on how you could get to know Mr O'Hern better when you already work with him? At least nine hours a day most weekdays, I'm told. Was it just a silly response?"

"As I no longer indulge in silly talk, it couldn't have been that. All I can say is the situation was hypothetical, and had we been placed in such an unlikely situation I simply imagined what two consenting adults could do to pass the time in custody. However since I do not have the consent of Mr O'Hern to involve him in such an unlikely hypothetical scenario on public television, I best shut my mouth."

"I have to say that's a mature decision. But returning to the present, are you and Mr O'Hern involved in a romantic relationship?"

"Yes but it's very recent, in embryo stage, so please don't ask me anything that might embarrass him when I reply."

"Very well, but before moving one I noticed you blush as if you were not used to romance."

"I'm not used to romance; this is a first for me."

"But I understood..."

"Oh that talk was exaggerated greatly by rumor but my playgirl days are behind me now. The liaisons I had involved lust, not romance. There's a huge difference and I can explain if you wish."

"Um, let's proceed by talking about the Bycroft dynasty. Your family has been very influential in this community..."

The interview concluded without further incident. People came forward to congratulate the interviewer and her guest and the delighted producer hugged Linda and told her to expect to be sent off for advanced training very shortly.

On the way home Sierra phoned Harry.

"So you think I'm brilliant," he laughed. "You've never told me that. And thanks for not telling everyone too much about our personal relationship - I thought she had your cornered for a moment. It was good television."

"I taped it so we can watch it together. You were inspirational, I thought and the way in which you remained subservient to that young interviewer clearly made her look good. Congratulations. Get a good sleep and no run for you in the morning."

"Arrive just before the afternoon conference and I'll walk you through to the newsroom for your accolade. It will be huge because the newsroom team will realize you didn't exclude Jake when it would have been so easy to have done so. I wish to witness how they acknowledge the newspaper's very own heroine. Your nomination for TV Journalist of the Year was sent off today."

That was too much for Sierra who burst into tears. She could hear Harry asking why was she crying instead of cheering. As she hadn't approved the nomination Harry must have forged her signature, eliminating any possibility of her refusing to sign. Bad boy Harry!

That bad boy though made her sniff and smile.

* * *

The following Saturday evening, Harry stood in Sierra's living room waiting for her to finish dressing.

"Pour a drink if you like. Nothing for me," she called.

Harry idly pushed the CD player start button to see what her current taste of music was, unaware that earlier that evening Sierra had selected this particular CD to listen to while in the bath.

He recognized the opening of Madam Butterfly as he had an interest in opera. He noticed the player was set to replay. He turned the volume right down and heard the first bars of 'Un Bel Di' before grunting and turning it off and walking to the big window, thinking, trust a woman to be hooked on a tear-jerker like 'One Fine Day.'

He preferred Caballed over Frei any day although both were fine and he also had that track by Sutherland and Callas.

Sierra emerged in a tight white dress with diagonal folds in a panel from beneath her breasts to her midriff. She smiled but looked a bit pale.

Harry changed that by announcing, 'Let the wooing begin' and held out a red rose which she asked him to pin to her dress, pointing to where she wanted it placed.

Late that night, kissing Sierra when enjoying a nightcap in her apartment, Harry became nervous, fingers tapping, and butt shifting on his chair.

"What is it Harry?"

"My sister wants to meet you and her boyfriend, a journalism student at her university, is desperate to meet you."

"You've told your sister about me?" Sierra asked curiously, remembering seeing his sister Betsy at the funeral and later at work Harry telling her his sister despised him, blaming him for the death of his fiancée she'd regarded as her best friend.

"Yes and you'll remember me telling you..."

"I do, Harry, but you both have buried that issue and are friends again, right?"

"Very much so."