by Patricia Fry
“Or she just loves you a whole lot,” Savannah said.
“Huh?” Arthur questioned.
“She wanted to please you,” Savannah explained. She chuckled. “So it sounds like she’ll get to name baby number two.”
“Yes,” he said, “I’m afraid so.”
“What are you afraid of?” she asked.
“Well, you should have heard some of the names that came up during our discussions.”
“Like what?” Savannah pressed.
Arthur hesitated, then said, “Figgi, Sybil, Alouette…”
“Oh, my goodness!”
He continued, “Yeah, and for a boy, Prescott.”
“I like that one,” Savannah remarked.
“What about Ajax and Oak?” he asked.
“Hmmm,” Savannah muttered. “Those are some unique names. Hey, I heard once that it’s good for a girl to be given an unusual name, but a boy does better growing up if he has a more solid, normal name. You might pass that along to Suzette—you know, when you feel the time is right.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, we’re eager to meet your sweet baby girl.”
“Well, how about coming down to the city and seeing us?” Before Savannah could comment, Arthur added, “In fact, I called you because I have a proposition.”
“Oh?” More excitedly she asked, “Do you want me to help with the baby? I can change diapers and rock her and…”
Arthur chuckled. “Well, that would be great, but this proposition is a totally different matter. I think it’s something you might enjoy—you and Rags.”
“Me and Rags?” Savannah asked. “Goodness. Okay, tell me, what do you have in mind?”
“Well, I don’t think I told you the last time we talked that I’ve become involved with a local theater group.”
“No you didn’t. You have many hidden talents, Arthur—artist, horseman, actor…” She giggled. “…daddy.”
“Well, I don’t know much about being a father, yet,” Arthur said, “but I’m learning. As for the theater project, I won’t be participating as a thespian. I signed on as a sort of producer and supporter. We’ve brought together a group of amateur and accomplished actors and we’ve teamed up with local cat-rescue groups and shelters to present an original production at a little playhouse near us in order to raise funds for the care and management of some recently rescued cats. Maybe you read about the hundred and thirteen neglected cats that were rescued from horrible conditions outside San Francisco. Several local rescue groups are pitching in to help save the cats, but you know how quickly something like this can drain resources and reserves.”
“Yes I do,” Savannah said. “Hey, I think I remember reading about that awful mess. It happened about a month ago, right?”
“Yes, just before Alana was born.”
“So things are still volatile?” Savannah asked. “I mean with the cats.”
“Oh, yes.”
Savannah took a deep breath. “Awful. Poor kitties. Arthur, how can we help? Of course we’ll send a donation. How much are you asking for?”
“As much as you can give,” he said. “How good are you at memorizing lines?”
“What?” she yelped.
He chuckled. “One of the lead actors was in an accident and won’t be able to continue, so the writer and director have made a few changes in the story, hoping they can bring in someone to take her place on short notice.”
“But Arthur…” Savannah started.
“No worries, Savannah. You’re exactly the right type for the part, and Rags is perfect, too.”
“Rags?” she questioned.
“Yes, he’s part of the reason I suggested you to take Rachel’s place—the fact that you fit the writer’s vision for that character and they want a woman who has a trainable cat.”
“Trainable?” Savannah shrieked. “Rags?”
“Well, manageable,” Arthur said. “We want a cat that won’t freak out when he sees the audience or become defensive or worse if he sees other cats hanging out on the stage.”
“Oh my goodness,” Savannah moaned, “this is quite an interesting request. So, Arthur, how would I rehearse with the others? I can tell you right now that I can’t leave home for weeks at a time.”
He was quick to say, “I realize that, and we’ve talked in depth about how to make this work. Our director is cool and rather creative, although he’s not all that familiar with cats. He has explained how your part could potentially be rehearsed separately from the rest of the cast. We believe that, with some innovative long-distance collaboration, we can prepare you to be part of the show, and you won’t have to leave home except to participate in the last two or three rehearsals. Can you do that?”
“Gads!” Savannah exclaimed. “When is the play?”
“May fourth.”
“Oh, Arthur,” she whined, “that’s less than a month away.”
“You can stay with us that week and play with Alana while helping a very good cause that I know is near and dear to your heart.”
After being quiet for a few moments, Savannah asked, “So this is just a small production, right? Like a neighborhood play?”
“Um, well, we want to raise a lot of money, Savannah, so we’re hoping for a great deal of support. The theater holds three hundred people and we’ll present three showings that weekend. So, with our donor support and proceeds from the play, we hope to raise between fifteen and twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“Wow!” Savannah said. “So it’s a big deal. I just don’t know, Arthur.”
“What part of it has you concerned, Savannah? You want to meet Alana, don’t you?”
“Yes. Most definitely.”
“You’d like to visit us again, wouldn’t you?”
“Absolutely,” she agreed.
“And you want to help a good cause, right?” Arthur coaxed.
“Right,” she said, “but Arthur, how…”
“Like I said, we’ve been talking at length about this. We’ll send you the script, of course. We can also send you videos from the rehearsals with someone walking through your part so you can see what it looks like. Buzz, the director, will be available to you practically twenty-four-seven, so any time you have a question or need a stage direction, all you have to do is call or text. By the way, he’d like a face-to-face moment with you today or tomorrow, if you can manage it. I’ll have him call you with the particulars. I think he uses Skype, but FaceTime might work.”
“Okay, Arthur, I’ll wait for his call. After talking to him and thinking about it some, I’ll let you know if I believe I can do it. Hey, by the way, how many lines are you talking about? The part you want to give me isn’t like the starring role is it?”
“Yes and no. It’s not that you’ll be on stage a lot,” he insisted, “but you should know that yours and Rags’s roles are probably the most important in the show. That’s why I thought of you and your cat. This needs to be someone who can really pull it off. You will bring the power to the stage—the power of the message we want to pass along.”
She groaned. “Oh, Arthur.”
“I know you can do it, Savannah,” he said enthusiastically. “Seriously, you don’t have a lot of lines, but your character certainly has a strong presence. Look at the script and you’ll see what I mean.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll agree to that much.”
“Thank you, Savannah. I think you’ll really like the script and I know you’ll do a great job. I’m sending it to your email address as soon as we hang up.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be in touch,” he promised.
“All right,” Savannah said, “and send more baby pictures.”
“Will do.”
“Mommy,” Lily cried when Savannah entered the kitchen moments later. “Were you outside? Did you ride Peaches?”
Savannah sat down and lifted Lily onto her lap. “No, honeybun, I was talking to Arthur on the phone.”
“And baby...what’s her name, Mommy?”
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br /> “Alana. No she didn’t talk on the phone. She’s too little. I just talked to Arthur.” Savannah smiled brightly. “He wants us to come see baby Alana.” She looked into the child’s face. “Would you like that?”
Lily nodded.
“We can take her a present.” Savannah poked Lily in the tummy. “Be thinking about something we can take baby Alana.”
“Is she a tiny baby?” Lily asked.
Savannah nodded.
“We can buy her a tiny present, okay, Mommy?”
“Okay. Let’s you and I go to the big store where they have lots of baby things and we’ll pick out something,” Savannah suggested.
“Now?” Lily asked.
Savannah looked at the clock. “No, not now. Now I need to start thinking about dinner. Daddy will be home soon.”
“Can I help you, Mommy?”
“Sure. Let’s scoot your chair over to the sink and you can wash your hands.” Before this could be accomplished, Savannah’s phone chimed and she said, “Oh, I’ll bet that’s a man named Buzz. I need to answer it, punkin.” She kissed Lily on the cheek. “We’ll fix dinner when I’m finished.”
“Grammy!” Lily called when she saw her in the living room stacking blocks with her little brother. “Can I help you and Teddy?”
“Sure, come on,” Gladys invited. “The more the merrier.”
Minutes later Lily screeched, “No, Rags! No! You knocked my blocks down. Go away. Go play with Buffy,” she demanded.
He didn’t, obey, of course. Instead, he lay down on a pile of blocks and rolled around, playing with them.
“No, Rags!” Lily whimpered, pushing at him. “Get off my blocks.”
When the child started to cry out of frustration, Gladys lifted her onto her lap. “Now, Lily,” she said softly, “I think we’re going about this in the wrong way.”
“Why?” Lily asked, pouting.
“Rags wants to play with you. He wants what you have. So if you go get some of his toys and play with him a little bit, maybe he’ll leave your toys alone.”
After thinking about this, Lily slid off Gladys’s lap and ran to the cat-toy basket. She scooped up a jingle-ball, a small stuffed cat, a catnip toy, a wand with a feather dangling from it, and a rope toy and carried them back to where they’d been playing. She dumped the armload onto the floor. “There, Rags,” she said. “Play with your toys.” Rags saw something else that interested him and he dove for it, knocking Lily off balance and causing her to fall backward into the box of blocks.
“Oh dear,” Gladys said. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
“Rags made me fall,” Lily wailed. “He pushed me. Bad Rags! Bad boy!” she screamed.
“Bad Rags,” Teddy mimicked.
Meanwhile Rags dove toward Lily and slapped at her.
“No!” she shouted, rolling over toward Gladys. “Grammy, Rags is trying to scratch me.”
“I don’t think so, sweetie,” Gladys murmured. “He’s after the ties on your little pant leg. Your bow came undone and he wants to play with the strings.”
Lily twisted to see what her grandmother was referring to. When the child saw the ribbon ties hanging loose, she insisted, “Fix it, Grammy. Can you fix it?”
“Okay, let’s make a bow so it isn’t so attractive to him. Then maybe he’ll play with his own toys.”
“What’s going on?” Savannah asked when she entered the room several minutes later. “I heard a ruckus.”
“Just the usual,” Gladys said. “One of your children was tormenting another one of your children.”
Savannah put her hands on her hips. “You two…” she started.
“Not these children.” She pointed at Rags. “That one was pestering your daughter.”
“He made me fall, Mommy,” Lily complained.
Savannah ran her hand over Rags’s fur. “What are all his toys doing in here?”
“We were trying to distract him,” Gladys explained.
“Good luck with that,” Savannah carped good-naturedly. When she saw her nearly two-year-old son running after Rags waving one of the cat’s wand toys, she picked up the toddler. “No, you don’t,” she scolded gently.
“Bad Rags!” Teddy shouted, swatting the wand toward the cat. “Bad Rags!”
Savannah blew raspberries on Teddy’s neck and danced around with him, bouncing and spinning.
“More,” Teddy said, gleefully. “More.”
Just then they heard another voice. “Are we having a party?”
“Daddy!” Lily shouted, running to him. “Daddy, I’m going to help Mommy cook dinner.”
“Oh?” he said, picking her up. “What are you fixing?”
“Um…I don’t know. Mommy, what are we cooking?” she asked, slithering from Michael’s arms down to the floor.
“Chicken cutlets, mashed potatoes, cole slaw, and broccoli.”
“Yum,” Michael said, kissing his wife. When she handed Teddy to him and walked toward the kitchen, he said, “Lily, there goes Mommy; better get your apron.”
“My apron,” she called. “I’ll get my apron. Daddy, can you tie my apron in the back?”
“Sure, punkin. Go get it.” He smiled at Gladys. “So how’s the world treating you today?”
“Good,” she said. “It’s been a lovely day. I hope things went well for you at the clinic.”
He let out a sigh and slumped into a chair with Teddy. “Yeah, for the most part.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “Something happened today and I’m not looking forward to breaking the news to Savannah.”
Gladys frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry, Michael. You sound upset. Is there anything I can do?”
After thinking about it, he said, “I wish there were, but no. It’s one of those deals where what is, is. Know what I mean?”
“I guess so,” she muttered.
****
“You’re quiet,” Michael said over dinner that evening.
Savannah laughed. “Who can get a word in with the kids doing all that chattering?”
“Indeed,” Gladys agreed.
When Rags let out a loud meow, Savannah said, “Even the cat has an opinion. What do you want, Rags?”
“Chicken, of course,” Michael said.
“No begging,” Savannah scolded. “Go eat your own supper. It’s specially formulated for healthy and happy kitty-cats.”
As if he could speak the cat’s thoughts, Michael said in a squeaky voice, “Yeah, but your food’s more yummy to the tummy.”
“That’s funny, Daddy,” Lily said, laughing. “Do it again. Do it again, Daddy.”
Savannah pointed at Lily’s plate. “Just eat your supper, punkin. We don’t want to encourage Rags to be a bad boy.”
After a few minutes, Michael said, “So, hon, is something bothering you?”
Savannah leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand. “Strange you should ask.”
“Why?”
She looked into his eyes. “I was about to ask you the same question.”
Michael gazed at her for a moment. “You go first. What’s up?”
She took a deep breath. “Well, I’m still trying to digest it myself, actually.”
“What, Savannah? Are you concerned about that murder scene you and your group are going to act out tomorrow night? I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’m sure that writer just needs help setting the scene.” Michael swallowed a bite of mashed potatoes and continued, “I can see how helpful it would be to have other story crafters offer input for something as complex as a murder scene could be.”
Savannah repeated, “Story crafter? That’s an artsy term.”
“Yeah, well, my wife’s one of those, you know. I guess the terminology is rubbing off.”
“Funny,” she said, “but actually it isn’t that. Michael, something else has come up.”
“What?”
She grinned at him. “But I’m glad to know that you’re okay with me going tomorrow night. It should be interesting.”
“Okay,” he said, when she went back to eating, “so what’s distracting you this evening?”
“Oh, well, it’s just that I’ve been offered a part in a play,” Savannah announced.
Michael choked on his iced tea and coughed a couple of times. “What?” He chuckled. “Has Hollywood come calling?”
“Something like that,” she said.
Michael grinned at his wife. “What does Rob want you to do now? Does he have a screenwriter working on a movie deal for your book, and he wants you to play the lead? I mean, that agent of yours is always coming up with some way for you to promote Rags’s books.”
Savannah shook her head. “No, but close. And it’s not Rob, it’s Arthur.”
“Arthur wants you to become an actress?” Gladys asked.
“Well, he’s involved in a local theater group that’s putting on an original play to raise money for those neglected and abused cats we read about that were rescued outside the city last month.”
“Yeah?” Michael said with interest.
“Oh, I remember that,” Gladys said, frowning painfully.
Savannah acknowledged her mother, then continued, “Well, one of the actresses got hurt and Arthur wants me to take her place.” She looked down at the grey-and-white cat, who was still begging for chicken. “Rags and me.”
“What?” Michael said. “He wants you to move to San Francisco? Or is the theater troupe coming here? How long will they be rehearsing and performing, anyway? Hon, you don’t want to take all that time away from your writing and the children, do you?”
Savannah put her hands up. “Wait, Michael. Let’s deal with one issue at a time. First of all, I wouldn’t be moving anywhere and they aren’t coming up here, either. If the arrangement they’ve outlined works as they think it will…”
“So you’ve already signed a contract?” Michael asked impatiently.
“No contract.”
He frowned. “Well, you didn’t agree without us discussing it, did you? I mean you can’t just drop everything—stop your life and climb aboard another train going in a different direction.”
“Are you going on a train, Mommy?” Lily squealed.
“No, honey,” she said. “I’m not going on a train. Daddy’s just using metaphors.” She stared across at Michael. “…and he’s a little off track.”