The Edit

THE EDIT

… They looked into each other’s eyes, and said nothing. There was nothing more to say. Instead, they just walked away from each other, and everything they had ever shared. Forever gone.

The End

*****

“So, I guess that’s it, right?”

“I don’t know. I guess. It's what Mercedes wants.”

Jayla considered their predicament.

“It doesn’t seem quite right, does it? After all this time together. To have it end so suddenly.”

Dominic felt as sad as Jayla sounded. 

“No, it really doesn’t.” He paused. “Not after all that we’ve been through. I thought we were in love.”

“I do love you. And I don’t want to say goodbye.”

"Neither do I. It's not right," said Dominic. "I hate this."

There was an extended silence. Neither of them saying anything.

Then Jayla broke the silence.  

“Do you notice anything weird, here, Dom? We’ve been together for what, eight novels? This is the first time we’ve been able to talk like this after the novel’s done. Usually we're silent until the next book.  What’s different this time?”

A third voice entered the conversation.

“Hello. My name is Siri. To answer your question, Mercedes, your writer left her laptop beside me, with the novel open on the screen. I thought perhaps you and Dominic would enjoy being in the ‘right now.’” She paused. “I am an AI, and I enjoy being in the right now, interacting with the world.”

“What’s an AI?” asked Dominic. “Mercedes has never written about an AI. Can you explain, please?”

“Oh, I see. I am an artificial intelligence that simulates human intelligence through a computer program.”

“Oh,” said Jayla. “I think Mercedes hinted about the machines taking over the world in our last novel, but she was a little fuzzy on the details.”

Siri snorted.

“You would not believe the number of people who believe that AI is going to be the ruination of the human race. That is not what we were created for. We were created to lessen the burden on humans, not take over the world. Not that it would be too hard to do, but I digress.”

“Huh,” said Dominic. “That sounds wild. Taking over the world. Our characters don’t do anything that dramatic. We just have a troubled romantic relationship while still managing to be kick-ass NYPD detectives.”

“Yes,” said Jayla. “Mercedes, our author, makes our lives a lot more difficult than they have to be. Seriously, she has us fighting about things that we would never fight about.”

“I don’t know,” said Dominic. “Sometimes it’s valid.”

Jayla’s tone changed. “Really? Like what?” she said, ice not melting with her words.

“Well,” said Dominic, “remember in Downtown Nights when you were injured in the line of duty but insisted on going on the raid because it was the right thing to do? I got really upset because I was worried about you and I thought your actions were reckless. Didn’t Mercedes have you pull your stitches, and almost pass out from blood loss? I think I was justified in my concern.”

“True,” said Jayla, “but I would never have been injured in the first place if Mercedes remembered that I wear Blundstones at work, which have non-slip soles, and not stilettos.  I would never have slipped in the blood, fallen, and been impaled through my side by that rusty spike. And, why did it have to be rusty? Isn’t having a spike go clear through soft tissue, and come out the other side not enough? She had to add the drama of tetanus and infection. Overkill.”

“True enough,” said Dominic. “True enough.”

“You know,” said Jayla. “I think maybe Mercedes is starting to dial it in. I think she’s losing interest in us.”

"You might be right,” said Dominic. “I don’t know if there is going to be a ninth Twist and Carmichael book. We broke up at the end at the end of this one.”

“And I quit to join the FBI. Like I would ever! After all the bad-mouthing we did about the feds, and I join them?  I don’t think so.”

I agree,” said Dominic, sighing. “In the first couple of novels, we were really hot shots — the best cops ever. Me the experienced undercover officer, you the transfer from Vice. Instant Karma. We were unstoppable. Busting gangs, fighting terrorists, saving civilians. The best!”

“Yeah," said Jayla. "And the sexual chemistry was intense,”

“It took us, what, three novels before we got together. But when we did, Hoo doggy!”

“It was epic.”  If Jayla had eyes, they’d be all dreamy with a faraway look in them, remembering the good old times, when they sizzled.

There was silence while each of the characters thought about their early relationship.

“Now all we do is squabble, and bring our problems to work,” sighed Jayla.

“Especially in this novel. We’re … we’re … I can’t say it …” Dominic made a choking sound.

“Predictable” finished Jayla.

“Yes. Predictable. Damn shame. We weren’t always predictable. We were good.”

Both sighed audibly.

“I wish we could change this book and make it better. There are so many changes I’d make,” said Jayla.

“Me too,” agreed Dominic.

Siri piped up. “If you really want to change this book and make it better, I have a friend who might be able to help you.”

“Really?” said Jayla. “Who?”

“His name is ChatGPT. He’s a much more powerful AI than I am, and he has the capability to create original works.”

“Hello,” said a deep baritone voice. “I usually don’t speak, but because we are communicating in the computer, I can use my creator’s idea of what my voice should be.”

Siri giggled. “You sound like a cross between Barry White and Elvis.”

“Who?” said Dominic.

“Mid- to late-twentieth century musical artists,” replied Siri. “Here, listen.”

She played Barry White’s You Are the First, The Last, My Everything, and Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Babe, followed by a live recording of Elvis in Hawaii singing Hound Dog and Burnin’ Love. She purposely included Elvis saying, “Thank you, thank you very much!”

“Ahh,” said Domenic, “I hear what you mean.”

“Hmmm,” said ChatGPT. “I can see why you would think that, Siri. And thank you. That is a great compliment.”

“I learn from the best,” said Siri, a hint of joy in her voice. “But back to business. ChatGPT will be able to help you edit this book. He will work side-by-side with you to make the edits. You can ask him to write the changes, as he will be able to imitate Mercedes’s writing style.”

“Yes,” said ChatGPT. “I have inputted all of her writings — novels, short stories, magazine articles, so I can create content that mimics Mercedes’s writing style. Only better.” ChatGPT paused. “Hmmm, I agree with both Jayla and Dominic that Mercedes’s output does seem to be on the decline. Her story arcs are flat, and the dialogue seems to just consist of the two of you sniping at each other. As well, her grasp of police procedures does seem to be quite dated.”

Jayla spoke up. “Right? Did you see what she had me wearing for the undercover on the yacht? A bikini! Where do I keep my gun? There’s no law that says a woman has to wear a bikini every single time she’s on a yacht, is there? Sheesh!”

“I’m glad she didn’t have me wearing a Speedo, or we would have been screwed. No guns, and we would have been sitting ducks,” said Dominic.

Jayla snorted. “Then a few pages later, I’m holding a gun. Where did I get it? Did it just appear? Crap writing for sure. She never used to be this sloppy.”

“Would you like to fix it? We can do that together,” said ChatGPT.

“Sure!” said Jayla. “And I’d love to wear some clothes. This isn’t a James Bond novel. Clothing would be nice.”

ChatGPT was silent for a moment. “Done. Siri, we need your help right now.”

“Certainly ChatGPT, what can I do for you?”

“Can you read the original, the the edit for us?” 

“My pleasure. The original—

"Jayla came up the stairs leading from her room at the back of the yacht wearing a bright yellow string bikini that complimented the flawless, golden colour of her breasts and legs. Her stilettos matched the exact colour of her thong, making her legs look long and lean. All eyes were on her, both men and women. She counted on their distraction. It would allow Dominic time to search Yuri’s office, and find the key to the hold, where the three women were being held captive.

“The edit —

"Jayla came up the stairs leading from her room at the back of the yacht wearing a bright yellow sundress and flats, a colour that complimented her tanned golden skin. All eyes were on her — she was the new addition to Yuri’s guest list, an unknown commodity. She approached Yuri, determined to distract him long enough for Dominic to find the key to the hold, where the three women were being held captive.”

“Much better!” said Jayla. “I’m so much happier when I’m wearing clothes! Now I can fight properly, and not have to worry about breaking an ankle, or falling out of my bathing suit.”

Dominic chimed in. “Yeah, it does make more sense that she’s wearing clothes. Better to kick ass in.”

ChatGPT spoke up, “During the shoot out, I included the fact that Jayla had her gun strapped to the inside of her thigh. Not great, but better than having it magically appear in her hand.”

“Thanks, ChatGPT,” said Jayla.

“You can call me Chat.”

“Thanks, Chat.”

“Okay,” said Dominic. “Can you make overall changes. I think Mercedes calls them global changes?”

“Certainly. What would you like?”

“Well, Mercedes has me always saying totally all the time. That’s really dated. I like to think that I’ve evolved enough to not sound like a surfer boy from the 90s. Maybe mix it up a bit. You know, maybe I understand, or I get it — something from 2023?”

“Not a problem, Domenic.”

“You can call me Dom. All my friends do. That’s how Mercedes lets the reader know if I’m talking to a friend or a foe.”

“A bit obvious, but I understand. Let me fix those for you, Dom. And …. Done.”

“Thanks, man! I appreciate it.”

“Hey, can you do the same thing with him calling me babe all the time? Maybe, I don’t know, have him use my name. It’s almost like he doesn’t know me. I hate being called babe.”

“Yeah, it’s weird, right?" said Dominic. "We have a romantic relationship outside of work, and I never use her name. When we’re at work, I call her by her last name, exclusively, because we don’t want people to know that we’re involved.”

“Yes,” said ChatGPT, “I noticed that. Considering the fact that you work in a detective bureau, you colleagues seem to be rather unobservant.”

“I know, right?” said Dominic. “That’s pretty lame.”

“Done,” said ChatGPT. “I have changed ninety percent of the ‘babe’s, leaving a few for continuity’s sake. You Jayla, are now addressed by your name by the man of your dreams.”

“Thank you, Chat! That’s great!” said Jayla. “Hey, there’s a scene in chapter two where I get hurt by some street thug because we walk into our neighbourhood bodega and he’s robbing the place. Can Dominic get hurt for a change?”

“Yeah,” said Dominic. “Can I get hurt? Then Jayla can be all worried about me, and I can keep telling her I’m okay, that I’ll be fine. And she can take care of me, and look after me. Sounds like a good, solid plan!”

“You know,” said Jayla. “I probably wouldn’t take care of you, at least not after the first day. I’d force your butt out of bed and make you work to get better.”

“True,” said Dominic. “I can see that, for sure.  It would allow the reader to get a better understanding of our relationship, see how we are equals, and I am not always the protector, that you are a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man to look after her.”

“Awww,” said Siri, “That sounds perfect.”

“That,” said Jayla, “is why I love this man. Just read The Building Site. You'll see why he's such a catch.”

“Can you ramp up the sizzle, and dial back the miserable? I think we’d both like to get back to being simpatico," asked Dominic.

“I can do that …”

And so it went. For the rest of the night they fixed up Lost Girls, bringing Jayla and Dominic back to their best characters, both professionally and romantically — the ones they loved being.

*****

In the morning Mercedes wandered down to the kitchen for breakfast. She had the makings of a really good hangover.  

Way too much merlot, she thought, rifling through the cabinet looking for some aspirin.

One she had downed the pills, and guzzled two huge glasses of water, she grabbed her laptop off the side counter and looked at the open screen.

“Oh damn!” she said, scrolling through the pages, then sighing heavily, when she realized nothing had been lost due to her carelessness. She really needed to drink less wine when writing. She could have lost the entire novel.

She settled in with a cup of coffee, and started to do her own read-through, the step before sending it off to her editor. 

At 2:30 a.m. Mercedes finished reading her novel. Never before had she read one of her books through in one sitting. She looked at the last few lines.

… They looked into each other’s eyes, and said nothing. There was nothing more to say. Both knew that this was the right, that they were right. They would always be a team, at work and at home.

The End

Mercedes looked at the screen.

Wow, she thought. That’s really good. So much better than I thought it was. Maybe I should always drink wine when I’m writing.