{"id":13913,"date":"2022-07-06T10:34:46","date_gmt":"2022-07-06T09:34:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/cassandravoices.com\/?p=13913"},"modified":"2022-07-06T10:34:46","modified_gmt":"2022-07-06T09:34:46","slug":"girl-without-mercy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/2022\/07\/06\/girl-without-mercy\/","title":{"rendered":"Girl Without Mercy"},"content":{"rendered":"

My father was a French lumberjack. That\u2019s just a joke. People don\u2019t always know I\u2019m joking. Especially men. They laugh when I\u2019m being serious, then nod or look blank when, well… guess I\u2019m not too good at telling jokes. Now, I know how to act <\/em>funny. On camera, I mean. In character. From the inside out. If that\u2019s funny, then okay. Wish I could be funny in real life. Witty! I want to be thought witty, but most men look more like they\u2019re waiting for me to get my tits out.<\/span><\/p>\n

There I go again, sorry. I\u2019ll be good. Doris Day good. Promise we\u2019ll stick to words you\u2019re allowed to print. What was it you asked me?<\/p>\n

Right\u2026 Dad. My father could\u2019ve been anyone, anybody in the whole wide world. When I found out Sylvie is French for of the forest<\/em>, I figured Mom must\u2019ve shacked up with a French guy, like maybe French Canadian, you know? Because she lived up in Washington State for a while. Before I was born.\u00a0 She\u2019s not from there. She\u2019s kind of from everywhere. Or nowhere.\u00a0 But since she did live there, I figured she got mixed up with some forest ranger. Or something. Something to do with trees. Et voila! Sylvie. That was a joke too, by the way. I\u2019ll warn you about the jokes. Maybe, if you wouldn\u2019t mind, you could laugh a little bit?\u00a0 I mean if you want to. Et voila!<\/p>\n

Once a reporter, not a journalist<\/em> like yourself, some sleazy newshound, snuck into the hospital to ask Mom who my father was. They say she said, with perfect serenity, that it was her left bedroom slipper. Those were nice soft slippers. Powder blue. I make sure she has nice things.<\/p>\n

Now where was I? Oh yeah\u2026 my dad. It\u2019s a fact that all girls are attracted to their fathers, isn\u2019t it? Where that leaves me, I don\u2019t know. Wait, you wanted to ask me about Johnny.<\/p>\n

Johnny was\u2026 wow! Valiant. How come that word\u2019s gone out of style? I\u2019m not the only girl who likes valiant, am I? Like, someone who\u2019d come to your rescue? He was no bedroom slipper, I\u2019ll tell you. Had those old-fashioned English manners that make a girl swoon. Of course, the first time I saw him, Johnny was wearing a suit of armour. That was his role in the picture we made together. There he was. A knight in shining armour among the dress racks. I didn\u2019t stand a chance.<\/p>\n

In the movie, I\u2019m this mythical creature, like a fairy-elf, who meets the knight in a summer meadow. And she seduces him!\u00a0 I did loads to prepare for the role.\u00a0 Read everything I could find on elves before I had lunch with Hiram, the director. Over the shrimp cocktails, I explained to him how I was going to need special makeup, because elves have oversized eyes and small, pointed ears. I had made a couple sketches. He pushed those sketches right back across the table and gave me a look over his glasses.<\/p>\n

\u201cSyl, Cookie,\u201d Hiram said, \u201cyour adoring public are not paying their seventy cents to see you prancing around in a pair of pointy ears.\u00a0 They\u2019re paying to see Sylvie Davenport. America\u2019s wet dream.\u201d Seeing me droop down, arms crossed over my chest, he said, \u201cIt\u2019s a compliment, Cookie.\u201d<\/p>\n

So, they made me up to look the way I always look. Only with longer hair. I wore a sort of gypsy costume. Johnny had to string garlands of flowers in my hair. Around my neck, my waist. The warm summer meadow we were supposed to be in was really Sound Stage Four. Johnny\u2019s breath smelled like sardines. And the garlands were plastic flowers with wire. They snagged my skin.<\/p>\n

But there\u2019s this thing I do, once the camera is on. A place I go inside myself. Where the flowers are real. The sky is a true sky and everything is marvellous. So marvellous I almost can\u2019t stand it. My eyes become like broken windows, with all the light and wind rushing through. People love me. I just have to look at you. You\u2019ll love me. Like he did.<\/p>\n

Johnny followed me into my dressing room after. Pressed himself up against me. He said, \u201cSorry about the kippers.\u201d No kidding, that\u2019s what he said.<\/p>\n

I stared up into his blue eyes. His noble face. \u201cThat\u2019s alright. I like sardines.\u201d Which I don\u2019t, but I didn\u2019t want to break the spell. \u201cKippers aren\u2019t sardines, they\u2019re herrings,\u201d he said softly. Then he kissed me. He, Johnny, kissed me, Syl. Which was different from the knight kissing the fairy. Mainly in that there was more tongue.<\/p>\n

That was the start. We were together for seven months. Oh, here, take one of mine. There\u2019s an ashtray there, right by your elbow. You want a drink or anything? I make a mean martini. Sure? Have to butter you up, don\u2019t I? Otherwise, you might write nasty things about me.\u00a0 Aww, that\u2019s sweet of you. You\u2019re nice, too.<\/p>\n

When he spoke, his mouth hardly moved.\u00a0 I used to kid him it was because he was trying not to spit out all those marbles. He said shag<\/em> instead of fuck<\/em>\u2026 of course that cracked me up. Johnny liked to quote Shakespeare\u2026and the Greeks. Which was all Greek to me! Oh good, you got that one? See? I can<\/em> be funny!<\/p>\n

He was a wonderful lover. Passionate. With lots of stamina for a guy his age. That first time, he crushed those stupid plastic flowers. It was heaven.<\/p>\n

\u201cGod, you\u2019re amazing,\u201d Johnny said to me once\u2026 in bed. \u201cIt\u2019s like you have no bones.\u00a0 Those breasts, that belly, the great big thighs \u2013 \u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cHey!\u00a0 My thighs aren\u2019t fat!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, not fat, they\u2019re perfect<\/em>. All that soft flesh.\u00a0 It\u2019s like riding a cloud.\u201d He took a drag off his cigarette, slipped it between my lips. I sucked in some smoke, while he twisted a handful of my hair around his knuckles. \u201cAll these golden locks\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not natural. The golden…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, yes I noticed, but oh Sylvie.\u201d\u00a0 Eyes on the ceiling, he said, \u201cYou\u2019re like America itself. Completely uncomplicated. Open. Welcoming. Saying, Come on in<\/em>\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n

Okay, Johnny talked a lot of shit. Sorry. He talked a load of baloney, but his accent made it sound less silly.<\/p>\n

Was I in love? I\u2019m always in love. All the time. I wake up, first person I see, I want to paint sunrises. Just for them. My heart comes cheap, you know. But Johnny, he was like an answer to a prayer I hadn\u2019t even got round to praying yet. I felt safe with him. Until I didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

Know what was funny? He always wanted to go to Chasen\u2019s. I had my own booth there. We went at least twice a week. Johnny didn\u2019t even like American food. But he was always dying to go. So, I\u2019d get all dolled up, and we\u2019d go. The minute our car pulled up, bang! Photographers. Every time. You\u2019ve seen the pictures. Me and Johnny, under the awning at Chasen\u2019s. Me smiling. Showing a little leg. I could pose like that in my sleep. Johnny glaring at the cameras. Clutching my arm. That wasn\u2019t play-acting, by the way. I\u2019d have bruises the next day from him holding on so tight. He hated that whole scene. So, I could never understand why he wanted to go in the first place.<\/p>\n

Life Magazine<\/em> sent a photographer to my house to take pictures of me in my kitchen. Me stirring a pot. Me staring into the oven. Me chopping carrots. You know the kind of thing. \u00a0About how I\u2019m really an ordinary person. How I cook for my man like any normal girl does. Fact is, I am a pretty good cook. Betty, one of my foster moms, taught me. Betty was great to me, but her husband Jim, he…he paid a little too much attention to me. So, I had to leave. But I remember everything she taught me. Dan\u2026 the Life<\/em> photographer\u2026 he was surprised I even knew how to turn on my oven. This is another thing: I\u2019m not supposed to be witty, and I\u2019m not supposed to know how to make a pot roast. I don\u2019t know who made these rules. So, I said to Dan, \u201cActually, you\u2019d be lucky if I made you dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI sure as heck would be,\u201d he said with a grin. He had a sweet, Mickey Rooney sort of face, so he could get away with being flirty.<\/p>\n

\u201cI mean it!\u201d I tapped his arm. \u201cI\u2019m an excellent cook. I\u2019d adore to have someone to make dinner for, but Johnny likes to go out. Well, you<\/em> know.\u201d Dan had snapped us outside Chasen\u2019s so many times.<\/p>\n

\u201cPoor little movie star,\u201d he chuckled, tucking his camera back inside its case. \u201cBut you know, if you were my girl, I\u2019d wanna show you off too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, he hates all that stuff.\u00a0 Posing for you <\/em>guys drives Johnny crazy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSyl?\u00a0 How do you think we all know to be there when you get outta your car?\u201d<\/p>\n

My stomach sort of dropped. \u201cBeats me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe tips us off. His assistant phones up every magazine, every newspaper. She tells us where you\u2019re going. That\u2019s how.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut that doesn\u2019t make any\u2026 If Johnny wants<\/em> his picture taken, why does he get so mad?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe because he\u2019s not the main attraction?\u00a0 If you weren\u2019t there, we wouldn\u2019t bother.\u201d Slinging his camera bag over a shoulder he says to me, \u201cI\u2019ll be going. Listen, Syl\u2026 \u00a0uh, Miss Davenport. Thanks a lot. We got some great shots today.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019s down to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNah, it\u2019s all you.\u201d And Dan was out the door.<\/p>\n

In our movie, Johnny strips his armour off to lie in the grass with his head in my lap. This is the seduction bit. I feed him berries I\u2019ve gathered myself that stain his lips. Bread with wild honey dribbling down, glistening on his knightly chin. My line is, \u201cI love thee true.\u201d I tried different ways of saying it, to make it sound more natural. In the end what worked best was to almost throw the line away. To say it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I love you; I was made to love you.<\/em> She\u2019s a fairy, and I think in her mind she has been sent to him. To love him. Help him. She has magic that makes plants grow, makes summer out of winter, and all she wants is to do the same for her knight. To bring back the summertime of his life.<\/p>\n

So, while he\u2019s eating her food and feeling the sun on his skin\u2026 while all that\u2019s going on, she sings to him. This little fairy song about love, the blue sky and tra-la-la. They were thinking they\u2019d dub it, but I practiced a lot and, in the end, they used my voice. The song is a spell. As she sings, all the lines disappear from the knight\u2019s face. His hair goes from grey to a warm brown that Gordon, the hairdresser, mixed just for Johnny. And then the knight gets all virile and sexy. It\u2019s my favourite part of the picture. Not for the sexy bit, but the way she\u2019s able to make him feel young again. Like his best self. Shouldn\u2019t love be able to do that?<\/p>\n

The reviews were awful.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve gotten bad notices before, but these were really stink-a-roo. Thou Hast Made a Flop<\/em>, is one headline that hurt. They weren\u2019t gonna buy my talking all thee<\/em> and thy<\/em>. I feel like if someone could\u2019ve coached me on that, I would\u2019ve got the hang of it. Hiram always said there wasn\u2019t time. Hey\u2026 At least they didn\u2019t pan my singing!<\/p>\n

But poor Johnny. Nymph and Gnome in Garden Frolic<\/em> was the tag line that stuck. Variety<\/em> said he looked more like my father than a lover. That he should trade in his sword for a walking stick. That it\u2019d take a team of fairies, weaving spells night and day, to make John Sampson Law leading man material again.<\/p>\n

Johnny said it didn\u2019t matter. But it was right around this time he started bruising my arm outside Chasen\u2019s. Then if the photos appeared with the caption, Nymph and Gnome<\/em>, he\u2019d break things. A glass ashtray. Souvenir plate from San Francisco. A framed photo of my mom. Once he punched a hole in the wall. Right there, by the patio door. Plaster dust drifted down like snow. And so all of a sudden, he started laughing. Worst sound I ever heard. The breaking and punching were easier to bear than that. That laugh.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d hide. Well, not hide exactly. I\u2019d go into the bedroom. Sit on the floor and smoke. I\u2019ve sat on a lot of floors in a lot of bedrooms. Listening for the breaking to stop, or the car to drive away. Guess what I keep wishing for is that there might be a someone somewhere who will want to sit on the floor with me. Someone who can stand me when I\u2019m scared, or crying, or smoking too many…no, wait. Don\u2019t write that down. That\u2019s not\u2026 I don\u2019t mean to make too much of it. Everyone has their blue days, right?\u00a0 Even here, in sunny Los Angeles. Sometimes I wish it\u2019d rain so I could mix a pitcher of martinis and have a good cry. This weather is a lot to live up to.<\/p>\n

Still, we had our good days, Johnny and me. Had some laughs. Sometimes he\u2019d use one of his funny expressions, like don\u2019t get your knickers in a twist <\/em>and I\u2019d giggle. He\u2019d beam like he won an Oscar. And I\u2019d think, okay. I can do this.<\/p>\n

The last time we were out in public together was that premiere last Christmas. What was the name of that movie?\u00a0 The Brave Men of… <\/em>Something or Other. <\/em>For publicity, the studio had invited some soldiers to watch the picture. The armistice thingy had happened that summer.\u00a0 So, these were the first boys back home from Korea. They were under the marquee, in their uniforms, posing for photos when we got there. So fresh. So bright and alive. Cheeks like apples. You couldn\u2019t look away from them. Then they saw me, and started chanting. \u201cSyl! Syl! Syl!\u201d Oh, they were boys! But boys with big men\u2019s voices. Shouting my name as I walked right into the middle of them. It was like they each had their own separate engine running inside. The heat. The purr. And all talking at once. Flashbulbs popping all over the place.\u00a0 I\u2019m smiling. Touching one on the elbow. Another on the shoulder. Cradling one\u2019s face like he was my son, another like my kid brother. \u201cYou glad the war is over? Glad to be back home?\u201d Yes, they said, and it was lovely. So sweet, to see how happy they were. It was all so…vivid. I\u2019ll never, ever forget it.<\/p>\n

The crowd started moving, what with everyone going into the theatre. Thinking Johnny had gone in ahead, I was surprised to see him still behind me. Still at the curb, where the car had dropped us off. Just standing there, on his own. Heading over to him, I saw something in his face.\u00a0 He was white. Eyes blazing. I held out my hand but he wrinkled his nose at it. As if it was rotting meat on a stick. Then he leaned in and hissed into my ear, \u201cWhy don\u2019t you just shag them all?\u201d My face went hot. Like I\u2019d been slapped. He smiled that vicious smile of his. Turned and walked away. I watched him go, hands jammed in his tuxedo jacket pockets.\u00a0 Johnny walked right down the street. No one recognised him. No one noticed him at all.<\/p>\n

When I got home that night, he was here. Sitting here, in the living room. In the dark. Except for the Christmas tree lights blinking on and off, like they do. They\u2019d blink on, and in this reddish light, I saw his face, and his knuckles gripping the arms of his chair. Then they\u2019d blink off and I couldn\u2019t see him at all. I remember thinking it seemed like the scene of an accident. You know, when you pass one on the road? Squad cars, an ambulance. Red and blue lights flashing. I sat down on the sofa. Didn\u2019t even take off my coat.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve been having this dream.\u201d\u00a0 He started as if he was in the middle of a story. \u201cAnd in this dream\u2026 well. I don\u2019t want to upset you, Syl.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI won\u2019t be upset.\u201d My legs were pressed together. Hands on knees, I could feel the cool sheen of my stockings.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right.You\u2019re really very strong, aren\u2019t you? Stout Yankee stock. Whereas I…\u201d\u00a0 He stopped talking and the lights flashed off.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you sick, Johnny?\u201d<\/p>\n

Again, the laugh. Like a donkey with a chest cold. \u201cNot at all! Kind of you to be concerned. I only meant that I\u2019m old. Very. Very. Old.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then silence, woolly thick. I had a thousand different answers at the ready\u2026 \u00a0No, you\u2019re not. Don\u2019t be silly. Come here and I\u2019ll make you feel young again<\/em>. I\u2019d used all of these on him before, and they had mostly worked. This time though, I just couldn\u2019t manage it. I was hurt.\u00a0 But it wasn\u2019t only that. I was waiting to see how bad this was going to get.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, in this dream,\u201d he said, \u201cyou come home from some gay, glittering Hollywood gig. You float in, just as you have tonight. You\u2019re perfect. All hair. Teeth. And tits. That sexy little wiggle when you walk. Wearing some champagne coloured, tighter-than-fuck frock leaving little to the imagination. Because why should it?\u00a0 Nothing about you, My Darling, is engineered to appeal to Man\u2019s mind. Your aim is…somewhat lower.\u201d<\/p>\n

Johnny was pale. His forehead sweating. And I was holding onto my knee so hard I could feel my nails making half-moons in the flesh.<\/p>\n

\u201cEverything on display. What are shop windows for? Let\u2019s get those punters in!\u00a0 This is, after all, America.\u201d Arms open as Jolson singing Mammy<\/em>, the ruddy light made Johnny\u2019s features grotesque.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy weren\u2019t you at the party with me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause I\u2019m not wanted.\u00a0 I\u2019ve got grey pubes and I quote King Lear<\/em>.\u00a0 I don\u2019t fit. But you!\u00a0 You fit right in, and every man fits right in you. And I do mean every man, Syl. I could smell them off you. You came to me. In your frock. You kissed me. And I smelled their spunk on your pretty neck. Tasted it. In your pretty mouth.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to bed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh no you\u2019re not.\u201d\u00a0 He stood up, throwing the shadow of a giant on the wall. He was leaning over me, his hands on my shoulders. I couldn\u2019t move. Couldn\u2019t stop looking at his face. His long, noble face. So haggard now. The last thing he\u2019d broken in my house was himself. Into a hundred un-mendable pieces.<\/p>\n

Then Johnny said, \u201cThey warned me about you.\u201d<\/p>\n

In our movie, there are ghosts. Two kings, in jewel encrusted crowns and velvet robes. Two knights in full armour but for their helmets, which they carry under their arms. Two who I think are supposed to be princes\u2026 tights and swords and shining hair. They appear to Johnny. That is, to his character, when he wakes up in the morning to find I\u2019m gone. He stumbles down to the edge of this pond, rubbing his eyes. Looking around the whole time like he\u2019s wondering where I am. He kneels in the mud to splash cold water on his face. In the close-up, we see droplets beading on his majestic brow as his blue eyes widen in surprise.<\/p>\n

The ghosts are on the far side of the pond. You know right away they\u2019re ghosts because they\u2019re very pale, with dark staring eyes and black, toothless holes where their mouths should be. They appear out of nowhere. This is why Johnny\u2019s character looks so surprised. They start calling out to Johnny, something like, \u201cBeware!\u00a0 Beware!\u00a0 She\u2019s got you under her spell!\u201d<\/p>\n

Basically, the ghosts are my ex-boyfriends doing a spooky version of you\u2019re better off without her, Pal<\/em>. You\u2019d be surprised how many of my movies end like that.\u00a0 Or maybe you wouldn\u2019t.\u00a0 I\u2019m bad news<\/em>, right?<\/p>\n

So, I asked him, \u201cWho, Johnny? Who warned you? About what? What did they say about me?\u201d<\/p>\n

His fingers were drilling down into my shoulders and his breath was hot and stank of booze.\u00a0 And just when I thought I\u2019d scream, he started saying one word, over and over, in this weird stage whisper.\u00a0 Just one word, while Johnny\u2019s face turned redder and redder.<\/p>\n

Beware.<\/em><\/p>\n

Beware.<\/em><\/p>\n

Beware.<\/em><\/p>\n

Then he stood, opened his arms again and bellowed, \u201cBeware the girl without mercy!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFor God\u2019s sake, Johnny, it was only a movie.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stood right there, in the middle of the room, and he laughed.\u00a0 Laughed his horrible laugh at me and said, \u201cAnd I am merely a ghost.\u201d I stood up. Still tall in my heels, and turned to go upstairs. Locked my bedroom door, and cried myself to sleep.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

That was it for us. In the morning Johnny was gone, and we never spoke again. Yeah, just about a year ago now. I haven\u2019t got around to putting up a tree this year. It\u2019s a hassle, isn\u2019t it, all that \u2018deck the halls\u2019 stuff? I\u2019m not really in the spirit this year.<\/p>\n

When I heard about his heart attack, I remembered the way his face went all red that night.\u00a0 And I wondered\u2026 I mean, if he was already sick, that might sort of explain? I don\u2019t know.\u00a0 Maybe not. What else can I tell you? We were happy. For a while.<\/p>\n

No, really, thanks so much for coming. Hope it was okay. Hope I gave you what you need. I\u2019m always nervous until the article comes out! I\u2019m sure it\u2019ll be fine.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m actually going away in January. To Korea. Some of our fellas are still over there, and they\u2019ve asked me to go do a few shows for the troops. Not sure what I\u2019ll do. Thinking I might sing a few songs? I mean I\u2019m no Rosemary Clooney, but I can carry a tune. Well, enough that they won\u2019t throw stuff at me.<\/p>\n

I just think it might be good, you know? How can you be lonely with all those<\/em> beautiful boys around you?\u00a0 How can you be sad? With all that youth? All that life?<\/p>\n

Feature Image from the 1928 move Dry Martini.<\/strong><\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

We are an independent media platform dependent on readers\u2019 support. You can make a one-off contribution via Buy Me a Coffee<\/span><\/a> or better still on an ongoing basis through Patreon<\/a><\/span>. Any amount you can afford is really appreciated.<\/strong><\/em><\/span><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My father was a French lumberjack. That\u2019s just a joke. People don\u2019t always know I\u2019m joking. Especially men. They laugh when I\u2019m being serious, then nod or look blank when, well… guess I\u2019m not too good at telling jokes. Now, I know how to act funny. On camera, I mean. In character. From the inside […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":275,"featured_media":13920,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[26],"tags":[1385,1474,3262,3267,3729,6079,6800,8401,8768,8769,10157],"class_list":["post-13913","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-cassandra-voices-fiction","tag-cassandra-voices-susan-millar-dumars","tag-fiction","tag-fiction-by-susan-millar-dumars","tag-girl","tag-mercy","tag-old-hollywood-fiction","tag-silver-screen-fiction","tag-susan-millar-du-mars","tag-susan-millar-dumars-fiction","tag-without"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13913","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/275"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=13913"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13913\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13913"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13913"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13913"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}