by Clea Simon
He waited a moment. My hands unclenched and I flattened them out, palms down, on the table. Was he watching to see if I had more to say? Finally, he leaned back, but slid his own large hands forward a little until just the tips of his fingers touched mine. “I’m sorry, Theda. That was just a crack, and a stupid one. I said it because I’m nervous. I’m nervous in part because you keep poking your nose into things that could be dangerous, and someone has already attacked you. And I’m nervous because each time I try to hold you back, try to protect you, I know I’m also pushing you away.”
I looked up at him, at those sad gray eyes and his dear battered nose, his wide mouth now set in such a serious line. He leaned forward again and took my hands between his thicker, rougher ones. “I do hear what you’re saying, Theda. You’re saying I don’t love the things that you love, that I don’t fit into your world, and sometimes that’s true. And you’re saying that I try to protect you, which is also true. But you see that as a sign that I don’t trust you, and that’s wrong. I worry, but I do respect who you are. Maybe I have to work harder at showing it. Maybe I have to try a little harder at understanding your world. But I want to. I will, and I do love you.”
***
I tried to speak again, but nothing came out. Then the gentle placement of a pint glass on the table reminded me that we were in a public place and I looked up to take the menu from our waitress as Bill put in his order for a draft—and a second menu.
“So, you’re staying for dinner?” I could ask that.
“Looks like. I mean, I’m hungry. We’re here.” He was smiling now for real, his long, dear face crinkling up.
We ordered and drank and greeted a couple of familiar faces. Sunny had even stopped by, long enough for Bill to get her a drink on our tab. She was shooting tonight, but I guess her proscription against drinking while working hadn’t lasted. The music, when it started, was not what I’d expected, but good: Bobby Rains doing his best Roy Orbison. Despite the distraction, our conversation kept replaying in my head. I was still confused. “Bill?”
“Yes, my dear?” The smile had reached his voice.
“How are we going to work this? I mean, you and I are very different. I know that, but half the time I don’t even know what I want these days.”
“You wanted to see me. You called me.”
“Yeah. But Bill, I can’t make any promises. I’m just full of contradictions right now.”
“You’re a complicated communicator,” he said, quoting one of my favorite Liz Phair songs. I coughed up a little of my beer in surprise. When had he heard that? I raised my eyebrows in surprise, but he only tipped his glass toward mine in salute, took a sip, and turned back toward the stage.
Chapter Sixteen
I woke up alone, with Musetta pressed against the back of my head. But a pleasant hum in my body and the coffee keeping warm in the coffee maker reminded me of the reconciliation Bill and I had enjoyed the night before.
“Watch it, kitty.” Rolling over to sit up, I nearly flattened her, and she stretched a paw toward my mouth. I eased my way around her and reached for my robe.
“Off to work, sleeping beauty! Talk to you later.” The note propped up on my favorite mug might be corny, but it made me smile. I tucked it into my robe pocket as I poured myself some coffee, and realized that life seemed a lot simpler this morning.
First thing, I realized, I should call Cool. It didn’t matter if she listened to my advice about calling in the cops. Just like it didn’t matter if she was going to meetings. Cool was a friend who was facing a difficult time. Even if I had nothing concrete to offer, I wanted her to know that I was around for her.
Then I needed to call Ivy back. I had an idea for a photo for my story, and I wanted to strike while her mellow mood lasted. And finally, I decided, as I pushed some papers aside to make room for my mug on the table, I’d finish the City assignment and plough through the rest of Rose’s paperwork. There wasn’t going to be anything in that pile of notes and transactions, I was already pretty sure. I couldn’t do the police’s job for them. But I owed it to Rose to give it an honest shot. I’d not rest easy until I did.
“Hey, Ronnie! It’s Theda.” As soon as I’d refilled my mug, I’d started making calls.
“Good morning, darling. You’ll be wanting to speak with Miss Cool, I’d imagine?” Gone was the hesitation, the guarded wariness of the week before. “She’s just coming in now.”
“Hey, girl, you’re up early!” The Cool I remembered rarely rose before noon.
“I’ve been up for hours, Theda. Pilates and a run, then an early meeting.”
“I should get a run in. I’ve been, well, not as regular as I should be with my exercise.” To compensate, I took a long pull off the mug.
“Well, do it soon, Theda, and then come on over! Sunny is going to shoot me for your story, and it would be good to have you for company. Besides, we could talk after.”
Supervising photo shoots wasn’t my regular practice, but I remembered my resolve. For emotional support, I could lend an hour or so. Cool told me the shoot was scheduled for noon, and I promised her I’d be there. It sounded like she knew Sunny, either from the old days or even that original “Women of the Millennium” assignment, but I could understand being a little more comfortable in the company of a friend. Besides, I’d also promised myself that I’d collaborate more closely with Sunny, no matter how annoying she was. Maybe all that friction would spark some good ideas.
Calling Ivy was a little more difficult. Her home voice mail had so many options it sounded like a business line, and I left my name and number on extension four, hoping that was right. On a whim, I tried Rose’s old number and had to catch my breath when a voice answered: “Rose Blossom Cattery.”
“Ivy?” For a moment, I thought a ghost had answered. “Is that you?”
“Yes, who is this please? We’re very busy.”
“Sorry, sorry.” That brusque delivery was definitely Ivy. “It’s Theda. For a moment there, I was, well….”
“Oh I’m sorry, dear.” Her voice softened. “I must have given you a shock. Mother always said we sounded a lot alike.”
“It wasn’t just that. The way you answered….”
“You mean, identifying the cattery? Well, Theda, I’ve been thinking.”
Count on Ivy to keep business front and center. As long as she had cats to place, including the new litter, she’d be keeping the cattery open, and that meant staffing the office and phones.
“I’ll do as much of it as I can to keep expenses down. Though I’ve got my own obligations, of course.”
“Of course. But speaking of those kittens, I have an idea I wanted to run by you.”
She waited. I shuffled my thoughts into a form that would show a profit. “You know that I’m doing a story and that Rose was supposed to be part of it?” As I gave Ivy the rundown on the City assignment, she made the kind of happy murmuring sounds that made me think she was impressed. After all, suburban matrons make up most of the magazine’s readership. “Well, my editor agreed that we could keep Rose in it as a tribute. Salute all she was able to accomplish. And so, especially because you’re looking to sell the cattery, and find proper buyers for those adorable kittens, I thought that maybe a photo of you and the new kittens would be a great way to close the story. Sort of ‘Rose Blossom Cattery lives on.’ It’ll be irresistible—to buyers, I mean.”
“Hmmm, the cattery’s next generation. I like it.” Ivy sounded subdued. Perhaps she was more affected by her sister’s death than I had given her credit for, or simply computing those increased profits. “It gives me some ideas. But, yes, sure, that’s fine. As long as the photographer doesn’t bother the kittens or the mother cat, that is.”
“Great, I’ll run it by my editor and if she okays it, I’ll contact the photographer.” I thought about passing Ivy’s phone numbers along to Sunny, then thought better of it. Ivy needed to be handled with care. “If this works out, I’ll call you back and we’ll
set something up. When it’s convenient, of course.”
That done, I read through what I’d written the day before on the “Millennial Women” profiles, and decided that they weren’t too bad. Twenty minutes later, the prose was as polished as it was going to be—and three minutes later, the story was filed. I put a call in to Lannie at the City offices and left a message telling her to check her email for the piece, one day ahead of time, I was proud to add. I also quickly explained my idea for the cattery photo before her voice mail cut me off. Which left Rose’s papers. Or a run. Not that Cool had made me feel like a slacker or anything, but the light shining in my windows was too clear and beautiful to do nothing more than illuminate some papers. Pouring the rest of my coffee into the sink, I went into the bedroom to find my sweats. It was time to hit the road.
An hour later, I was a completely happy animal, wet with sweat and newly in love with the world.
“It’s beautiful out, Musetta! Too bad you’re a confirmed house cat.” Woken by my outburst, the cat on the sofa stretched and grunted. “Neh,” she repeated as I approached her, and rolled over on her back.
“Oh, don’t be so blasé about everything. It’s a marvelous day.” She deigned to open one eye as I chucked her chin, and licked my sweaty hand. I resisted the temptation of that fluffy white belly and let her resume her beauty nap as I went off to shower and change. One toasted bagel later, I was ready to face Rose’s remaining paperwork.
“Musetta, what’s this?” I’d been starting on my second bagel when I’d reached a particularly thick file. Brushing the crumbs aside, I worked the staple out and prepared to start reading. Musetta, now at my feet, reached her claws up.
“Oh no you don’t.” I leaned over to hold her paws before they could find purchase in my leg. “That’s a bad habit, little girl. If you want my attention, you’ll have to find another way to get it.” I released her and she jumped onto the chair beside mine. “Much better, Musetta. Much more civilized.” Then she reached over and started pawing at Rose’s files, threatening to tumble the growing pile I’d already read. “Kitty!”
I moved fast and must have startled her, because with one quick motion she leaped over the edge of the table, taking with her the stack of papers I had just loosened. I grabbed at them too late and they fluttered to the floor.
“So now you want to play?”
Two green eyes peered out from under the sofa, daring me to reach for her. But all I had time to do was gather the pages and restack them. I was due at Cool’s. “Later, kitty. I’ll make a foil ball and we’ll bat it around. I promise.”
***
“I may as well have spent the morning playing with the cat,” I found myself telling Cool twenty minutes later, as I watched her button up an emerald green raw-silk blouse. The stiff collar gave shape to her rounded cheeks, and the subtle sheen of the fabric played up both her eyes and hair. “There’s nothing in those papers to help me. On the other hand, there’s nothing there that says she was a catnapper, either.”
While Sunny fussed in the suite’s main room, arranging lights and furniture, Cool and I were getting her dressed, which meant that I talked while she pulled out clothes and makeup. Despite her fame, she’d nixed the idea of a professional makeup artist with a broad “Oh, please!”
“A catnapper?”
“The cops seem to think that Rose was involved in some kind of band of thieves, that she got herself killed. But I don’t see anything in her records that gives a shred of evidence for that.”
“You sure you don’t want me to call someone in?” Sunny stuck her head through the door. “I know a makeup artist who lives in Back Bay.”
“That’s fine, darling. If I can’t paint my own face by now I’m hopeless.” Sunny opened her mouth to object—facial highlighting for a photo shoot, after all, is a far cry from a Saturday night sprucing up—but Cool interrupted her. “You know how many of these I’ve done, darling. Don’t worry about it.”
“You two know each other?”
Cool was applying the second layer of a dark red lipstick, but she made a noise that sounded like an affirmative.
“Of course, from the old days, same as with me.” I was thinking aloud, as if Cool were my cat. “Anyway, do you mind that I’m telling you all this?”
“Mmm-mmm,” or some other sound I chose to interpret as “go ahead” came from behind the lipstick.
“Well, anyway, I’m just trying to figure out what I can do next. I tried talking to people at the cat show last weekend.”
“And?” Cool had moved on to her eye makeup. I felt a surge of sisterhood to see that she, too, opened her mouth while putting on mascara.
“Nothing. Almost got us kicked out, too. What I’d really like to see are her phone records.”
“Calls she made?”
“Calls that came into Rose’s home phone. Rose told me that she’d been threatened. That someone called demanding money. But the cops looked at her records and said there hadn’t been any calls that didn’t have a good explanation.”
Sunny stuck her head back in. “I’m ready for you whenever, Cool!” It was amusing how polite and deferential the petite photographer became in the presence of fame.
“One more minute, sugar.” Cool reached for the powder. “So tell me about these phone records.”
“Well, that’s just it. I’d like to look at them. There’s one fat file of papers left, and I’m hoping there’s a copy of all her calls in there.”
“You think you’d find something the cops missed?” Picking up a gold, gauzy scarf, Cool walked into the living room and settled on the sofa, one hundred percent a star. I followed and Sunny jumped to attention, adjusting lights and pillows.
“Well, I’d like to take a look at them anyway. Maybe they didn’t check everyone out.”
“They called me.” I looked up in surprise at Sunny, who was holding what looked like a huge silver balloon.
“The cops did?”
“Oh yeah. I had to tell them about this assignment and that I was supposed to photograph her. Joe Cacciatore over at City, the art director? He backed me up.”
“I thought you hadn’t gotten in touch with Rose.” I remembered Sunny’s dismissal of my friend. In contrast with her deferential treatment of Cool, here and alive today, it still got me riled up.
“Did I say that? I’d called her. Never got through, though. But the police checked me out all the same. Hey, Theda, would you hold this?” She handed me the inflatable reflector and moved me to where the lamp shone right in my eyes. So this is how the people outside the limelight were treated. I tried to remember if anyone had vetted me. After all, I’d telephoned Rose on the very day that she said she’d been threatened. My statement must have covered all that, not that any of what I’d told the officer on that dreadful day was clear. Between my friendship, and the assignment—not to mention my obvious shock at finding the body—they must have cleared me of any possible involvement. Unless, of course, I was a suspect. Would I even know?
“Hold!” The flash blinded me and left floating rectangles of blue and white inside my eyes. I’d have to ask Bill about that phone log as well as my own status in the investigation. Still squinting, I let Sunny move me again, this time remembering to blink.
***
Two more outfits and ninety minutes later, Sunny was wiping her forehead as she packed up. I was still seeing bright shapes. Only Cool seemed as calm as if the day hadn’t started yet, but when I moved to help Sunny carry the lights down to her car, she put an arm out to stop me. “Do you have a minute, Theda?”
“I’ll be right back,” I promised. I might be blind, but I could still be a friend.
Two trips later and I could almost see. Cool, meanwhile, had washed off her heavy stage makeup so that her skin glowed.
“You look great.” I flopped on the sofa in a much less graceful pose than my friend had assumed.
“Pilates.” She took the chair next to me, sensing that I wanted to put my feet up. I did
. “Organic food. And a clear conscience.”
My eyebrows went up. “Something new?”
“Nothing, which is strange.” Her clear brow knitted for a moment, then she leaned over and took my hand. “The blackmailers never called back. But that doesn’t matter.”
“Do you think it was a hoax?”
“No, no. They—she, it, whatever—sure sounded serious. But I don’t care anymore. It doesn’t matter.”
I sat back and waited. Cool was building up to something with the same timing she’d use for a song.
“I’m sick of it, Theda. Sick of the hiding, of the secrecy, and of feeling ashamed.”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to go public. I haven’t told my label yet and, to be honest, I’m not sure how they’ll react. But I need to do it. For me, you know?” She pulled back, her serenity briefly clouded by doubt.
“I think so.” I sat up and this time I took her hand. She sighed, a long, deep sigh. “Do you think the label might drop you?”
“Yeah, they might. I’ve broken a lot of promises to them—and to everyone. But I’m sick of hiding. Sick from hiding.” She sat up straight. “I’m healthy now, and I’m not going to run from who I am, or who I have been, anymore.” As she spoke, her eyes sparkled, making her look like some kind of Celtic goddess. I could see, finally, how much the fear had been weighing on her.
“Just by looking at you, Cool, I can tell this is the right move for you.” Lord, I hoped I wasn’t just spouting nonsense. “However it plays, you know I’m here for you.” More of a safeguard would be nice, though. “And, well, since you’re going to go public anyway, would you consider talking to the cops? You haven’t met my boyfriend Bill, but I’m sure he could set you up with someone.”
“No, no, I don’t want to deal with the dark side—the down side. That’s the whole point of just being open and honest. I’m going for the light, not the darkness.”
“But just making those calls was a crime. They threatened you. Don’t you want to know who did it? Make them pay?”