“All right, no more side tracking. Let’s deal with the issue at hand. I don’t have a chest cold. What I’m experiencing is an allergic reaction to cat dander. The only time I ever have these particular symptoms is when there’s a cat nearby.”
“So what makes you think I have a cat?”
“The symptoms are worse when I pass by your door.”
“Oh, c’mon!”
“I know it’s you. I can smell it on your clothes. You’re covered in cat dander.” Frank wheezed again into the handkerchief.
“Prove it!” Vicky slammed the door in his face.
Later that day she received a copy of the lease agreement stuck under her door. Highlighted in yellow were the words printed in bold type from the final paragraph–Absolutely No Pets. She knew what to expect next. It was all right though–she had her counter attack strategically planned. Her first step was to go to the store and buy all the necessary ingredients for Kentucky Burgoo. Of course you couldn’t find squirrel at a city supermarket. If she had enough time she would have gone hunting with Chief Bobby and shot her one herself, but she would have to make do and substitute with chicken.
The next step was to call Chief Bobby and ask him to take Whiskers for a few days, just until the inevitable visit from Louise came and went. She arranged for Bobby to come over late at night so that no one would see him leave with the cat.
The next day Vicky dusted, mopped the kitchen and bathroom floor, vacuumed the carpet, then changed the sweeper bag and vacuumed again. “Cat dander, my ass,” she said while running the vacuum a second time. “That chest cold of yours is going to clear right up, Frankie boy,” she yelled up at the ceiling. “At least for a little while,” she whispered and turned her attention back to the carpet. Then after every remnant of Whiskers had been cleaned, cleared, swept, and thrown away, Vicky sat down in her rocker and cried like a mother sending her child off to summer camp for the first time. She called Chief Bobby and made him put Whiskers on the phone so she could tell him Mommy loved him and would see him again in a few days.
“And Bobby, you make sure to keep them biker boys away from him. They’ll torment him for sure,” she gave Bobby this final instruction after reminding him to give Whiskers his worm pills.
After spending the day cleaning her apartment and most of the night working, Vicky was exhausted after closing the bar at midnight. Normally she didn’t take amphetamines since she was already high energy. Most uppers made her heart palpitate and caused her to feel jittery and paranoid. She only took speed when she had to stay awake–like tonight. It was crucial that she get that Burgoo made. Day old Burgoo was the best and that’s when she calculated Louise would be over. She popped the bright yellow capsule Bobby gave her and washed it down with a shot of tequila, just enough to take that jittery edge off, then stayed up all night cooking.
The aroma of the flavorful stew still filled her apartment when Louise showed up at her door the next day.
“Louise, darlin’, what can I do for you?” Vicky said welcoming Louise into her apartment.
“I’m afraid this isn’t a social call,” Louise said, looking as if someone died.
“Please come in,” Vicky said soberly, as she carefully ushered Louise across the threshold and closed the door behind her. “Don’t tell me. You’ve been talking with our New York City friend again.”
“Yes, but I’m afraid he isn’t the only one who’s issued complaints against you.
There’ve been several complaints and I’ve ignored them all, honey. You know my policy. Residents work out their problems themselves. But this recent complaint I just can’t ignore. If it’s true then it’s a serious violation of the rules.”
“I know all about his complaint, Louise, and it just ain’t true. I don’t have no cat.”
“Are you telling me the truth, honey?”
“Yes!” Vicky said emphatically, with the strain of hurt feelings in her voice and on her brow. “How can you even think I’d lie about a thing like that?” She almost convinced herself. After all it wasn’t a lie. She didn’t have a cat at present, and the present was all that counted for Vicky. However, if Louise asked her if she’d ever had a cat then she’d have to cross her fingers behind her back while she lied and that would be more serious. Fortunately, Louise didn’t ask her.
“You’re welcome to take a look around,” Vicky said. “If you find any evidence of a cat then I’ll pack up and leave today.”
“Honey, I’m not the law and I don’t have a search warrant.”
“I’m asking you to search my place. I’m begging you to search my place.”
“That won’t be necessary. I believe you.”
Vicky’s shoulders dropped as she exhaled a sigh of relief. “I love Camelot, Louise. This is the nicest place I ever lived. I just hate the thought of being exiled from here.” This was the truth that slipped out, and Vicky wished the words had never left her mouth. She tried not to be too honest around people like Louise–people who could make trouble for her. She heard in Sunday school that the truth would set her free, but it only seemed to get her in trouble. “I mean, if I’m gonna get kicked out I hate to think it’s on account of some high falutin’, big city rich boy who’s got himself a bad case of bronchitis, and decided I should take the blame for it just ‘cause he don’t like me.”
“I know I shouldn’t speak ill of my tenants, but I have to agree with you. He certainly has it in for you.”
“Yeah, and I don’t know why. I don’t know what I ever did to him.”
“Who knows? Maybe he’s in love with you.”
“Say what?”
“Well, now, I don’t claim to understand men, but after two divorces I have learned a few things–most of them not very favorable of course. My first husband left me for a woman I thought he hated. He had nothing nice to say about her whatsoever. Course little did I know once he shut up and stopped bad mouthing her, he started sleeping with her. There’s a fine line between love and hate. Someone said that anyways.”
“I don’t know about that, Louise.”
“Well, who knows? My hat’s off to anyone who can understand the male mind.”
“To understand the male mind, you first have to understand it ain’t located between their ears, but a little further south if you get what I’m saying.”
“Amen to that, sister.”
“Where are my manners? Sit down, Louise,” Vicky said motioning toward the sofa. “Can we consider this a social visit now?”
“Why yes, honey. My goodness, something sure smells good,” Louise said, her Kentucky twang having returned.
“This is such a coincidence that you would show up today. I just got a wild hair last night and decided to whip me up some Kentucky Burgoo. You know, I hardly ever cook anymore ‘cause it just ain’t no fun cooking for one, but the fact is I’m a great cook. My grandma taught me how, you know, but I’m afraid I’m getting out of practice living alone here and having a bag of chips and a pop every night for supper. I just had to cook something–you know, home made and hot. A girl’s just gotta eat real food every so often or she’ll go plumb crazy. So you’ll join me for lunch?”
“I really shouldn’t, but…”
“No buts now. You’re gonna save me from eating alone and that’s all there is to it.” Vicky called out as she made her three sprint stride into the kitchen. “Now this ain’t real Kentucky Burgoo, you know, ‘cause it ain’t got squirrel in it. I had to use chicken instead,” she called over the din of the clanking spoons and bowls which she grabbed out of drawers and cupboards.
Vicky set a quick table and poured two cokes into tall glasses. She mixed some rum into both–a sizeable splash for Louise and her aching back since she figured the heavy stew would absorb the alcohol, then an even larger splash for her since she needed to come down from the speed.
“This is delicious,” Louise praised Vicky in between bites of the hearty stew.
“Thank you, darlin’,” Vicky said out of an unoccupie
d corner of her mouth. The other corner had a large piece of meat and some vegetables parked in it. The speed had left her with very little appetite. She commanded her jaws to chew as best they could and washed down the remnants with a gulp of rum and coke.
“You eat like a bird, honey. Of course so do I–a vulture, that is.” She chortled into her napkin. “No wonder you stay so slim.”
“You know how it is. You do all that tasting while you cook. You sit down to eat and you just ain’t hungry no more. Most of the time I got the appetite of a bear waking up from hibernation.”
“You sure you’re taking care of yourself, honey?” Louise said with a sudden intent look of motherly concern.
Vicky didn’t want to stoke the fires of those maternal feelings too much. She didn’t want Louise stopping by to check on her unannounced and unexpected. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, Louise. You don’t need to worry about me none.”
Later that afternoon, Vicky sent Louise on her way with a large Tupperware bowl of Burgoo, a full belly, and a slight buzz. She gave the rest to Allison and Sally along with the recipe–her grandma’s recipe that called for squirrel.
It was ten days after Louise’s visit before Vicky retrieved Whiskers from Chief Bobby. During those ten days she behaved herself, kept her stereo down, kept late night visitors to a minimum, and crept as lightly in and out of Camelot as her heavy feet allowed her. Whiskers’ homecoming made her feel like celebrating. She celebrated and celebrated until October slipped into November and November nearly slipped away. She managed to escape banishment from Camelot despite repeated conflicts with her neighbors. Then one stormy mid-November night a streak of lightning flashed outside her window and sent a chill of paranoia up her spine, as if the very hand of God would find her out and smite her. She knew then her luck was about to take a turn for the worse. One small corner of her mind fought to reason with the larger part, which was clouded over as the outdoor skies from the effects of Columbian weed and Tennessee whiskey. “I’m just stoned,” she reasoned aloud. Then with a great heaving sigh she got off the couch where she’d been glued for how long she didn’t know, hypnotized by the rain pelting against her sliding glass door. Upon arising a sudden onslaught of the munchies besieged her. “I need to eat something.” Vicky stood up, her bare feet feeling heavy, clumsy, and strange to her. A thousand little pins stuck her all throughout the heel and arch of her right foot. “Man, am I ever messed up,” she said realizing her foot was asleep. She stomped her foot on the floor, shook it, and hobbled off to the kitchen.
“It stinks in here,” Vicky said once inside the kitchen. She sniffed inside the refrigerator, in the sink near the garbage disposal, and in the pantry where she had some large trash bags stashed. “Whew! It’s definitely coming from in here,” she said her head in the pantry. “Time to empty the trash,” Vicky said picking up two large trash bags.
That small corner of her brain that could still reason remembered that it was night, but that was all right, she’d taken her trash out at night before. The area behind building 3300 where the dumpster was located was well lit with flood lights. She carried the two large trash bags, one in either hand to balance herself, to the door. Suddenly a flash of lightning caused her to jump. The larger part of her mind, the part that was clouded over, had forgotten in just the short span of a few minutes that it was storming out.
“Shit! What am I thinking? I ain’t going out there in this. But I can’t put it back in the kitchen. It stinks too bad. What should I do, Whiskers?” She asked the green eyed, striped furry feline at her feet. Whiskers meowed in his careless aloof way, as if he was giving his opinion. She decided to put the trash bags out in the hall, just until the storm passed.
“Who cares if that garbage stinks up the place,” she said returning to her kitchen with a can of Lysol which she scrupulously began spraying. “Fuckin’ neighbors! Serves ‘em right. Hope they all gag to death from the smell in their next little hallway meeting about me.”
Vicky sat on the floor between her stereo speakers and listened to Led Zeppelin, ate a bag of chips and two Twinkies, watched the rain, finished off an unsmoked roach, drank a half glass of whiskey, thought about God, judgment, heaven, hell, eternity, and death until she fell asleep right there on the floor between the speakers. She didn’t think about the trash bags again that night.
A loud banging roused her and it took her a few moments to get her bearings.
“Open up, Dooley! I know you’re in there,” came the all too familiar battle cry from behind her door.
“Ah shit! Not that fuckin’ buzzard again,” she said trying to decide if she should face him and square off, or simply slip out the patio door, into her pick up truck, and out of Camelot. It would be so easy to drive off, not returning until mid-morning. He’d have to leave for work soon and by the time he got home, she’d be at work.
“I-N-T-I-M-I-D-A-T-E. Intimidate. To make timid. To fill with fear,” she said quietly to herself as she paced back and forth across her living room floor. “Implying the presence or operation of a fear-inspiring source that compels one to or keeps one from action. That’s it! I ain’t gonna let that son-of-a-bitch intimidate me no more,” she said, her fists clenched and her jaw set. “Hold your horses, Frankie boy!” she hollered at the door.
“I’ve got all day,” he gleefully hollered back.
Vicky wondered what he was up to this time. She did her three stride gallop into the bathroom and looked at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. The left side of her head revealed flattened auburn curls and a red pocked cheek from where the carpet had left its mark on her face. Remnants of yesterday’s mascara was smeared under her bloodshot eyes. “Let the asshole wait,” she said turning on the faucet and splashing cool water on her face. “I can’t hear you. I’m freshening up,” she sing-song’d back in response to Frank’s persistent pounding. By the time she finished brushing her teeth and changing her shirt, Frank had stopped pounding. For one hopeful moment Vicky thought he might’ve left. The thought passed. Frank didn’t give up that easily. He was still out there all right and he was up to something.
“Time to face the music–old dead guy music,” Vicky said proceeding as bravely as she could to the door. “I am not intimidated. I am not intimidated.”
Her rehearsed greeting was halted before she could even get the first syllable out. Instead of seeing Frank’s face on the other side of the door she saw a flattened kitty litter bag. He was holding it–in front of his face. He lowered the bag to just under his chin, his eyes glowing with triumph. “Evidence, Miss Dooley. Exhibit A.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Subconsciously you must’ve wanted to get caught. Sort of like the homicidal criminal who gets tired and sloppy and starts leaving clues behind.”
“I ain’t no criminal.”
“Well, now, that’s debatable, but entirely beside the point. You are, however, a liar and a pet owner.”
“First you call me criminal then you call me a liar,” she said with feigned indignation.
He just smiled at her. She hadn’t seen him so happy since that time in the hall when he spotted Allison and let his guard down for a brief moment.
“You want to tell me what the hell’s going on?” Vicky said, still a little befuddled and disoriented.
“I’d be delighted. I found your trash strewn all over the hallway this morning.”
“You went through my trash? You sick bastard!”
“I didn’t have to. It was all over the floor.” Vicky remembered. A wave of heat moved from her bowels up to her head and broke in a sweat around her hairline. She swore she had the trash bags tied up, but maybe not. Maybe the ties came undone somehow.
“I should have left it there for Louise to see but I graciously cleaned up your mess for you.”
“All right I admit it. I put my trash in the hallway last night because it was too stormy to take it out to the dumpster. I was going to take it out just as soon as
it quit raining, but I guess I fell asleep,” she said beginning to lose steam. “It could happen to anyone.”
“So you admit that this bag came out of your garbage. Or are you going to try to lie your way out of it and claim you have no idea how it got there? Face it, Dooley, you’re busted!”
“I admit it. It came out of my garbage. So what! That don’t prove nothing, Mister Know-It-All. What you don’t know is what I purchased it for. C’mon. I’ll show you if you think you’re so smart,” she said regaining a nice head of steam. “Follow me.” Vicky forcefully took Frank by the arm and led him to the door. He didn’t resist. His skin was warm and she felt the veins and muscles around his wrist. She suddenly became very aware of Frank, not as the self-imposed ruler, the dictator of building 3300, her adversary, her nemesis, but as a man. She looked at him, her eyes quickly scanning his face until they came to a stop at his eyes. It was only a moment that she looked into them. She looked away and quickly continued leading him by the arm out the front door of the building.
“This ought to be good,” Frank said with a sarcastic chuckle.
“Here.” Vicky gave him one last tug then released his arm as they came to a stop in the parking lot in front of her pick up truck. “Look! Look under my truck. If you observe carefully you will note some kitty litter there on the ground. It’s an old truck. It leaks oil. I use the stuff to absorb the oil. That’s why I buy it. Any questions?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. It says here on the bag that this is twenty-five pounds worth of kitty litter.”
“So?”
“So what did you do with the other twenty-four pounds?”
“I ate it, shit head! What do you think I did with it? I just showed you what I use it for.”
“Yeah, right, and you expect me to believe that? Though I will confess I find it your most inventive lie to date.”
Vicky felt that demon anger burning and rising within her until it felt like it might blow her scalp right off the top of her head. She clenched her fists. “You fuck head!” she yelled in his face.
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