by Nic Saint
“Oh, God,” Gran grunted. “You mean we all have to eat—”
“Ma!” Marge interjected.
“Food! I was gonna say food!”
“I think it’s great,” said Scarlett. “This spaghetti is to die for, Chase. It really is.”
“Stick around a couple of days,” Gran muttered. “You might just get what you want.”
“So what’s going on with the Pink Lady?” asked Charlene, eager to change the topic of conversation. She might be a big fan of her boyfriend, but of her boyfriend’s mother, not so much. But then Gran has that effect on a lot of people.
“The Pink Lady is now safely tucked away where no one will ever think to look,” said Odelia.
“In our bedroom, behind the portrait of my gnome,” Tex volunteered.
“Dad!” Odelia cried. “You can’t tell anyone that!”
“Yeah, Tex, what’s the point of all this secrecy if you’re going to blab about it to anyone who will listen?” asked Uncle Alec with a frown.
“I’m sorry,” said Tex, his cheeks a little flushed. “We’re all friends and family here, though, right?”
“Still,” said Uncle Alec. “The walls have ears, buddy. So better keep it under wraps, okay?”
“Fine,” said Tex as he settled back in his chair and took another swig from his wine.
“Max, don’t you think it’s strange that Tex is drinking wine?” asked Dooley.
“And why is that?” I asked.
The four of us were ensconced on the porch swing, our usual spot when the family gathers together of an evening.
“Well, he’s a doctor, isn’t he? And shouldn’t doctors set a good example by not drinking and not smoking?”
“It’s just one glass of wine, Dooley,” said Harriet. “There’s no harm in that, is there?”
“He’s already on his second glass,” said Dooley, “and look, he’s pouring himself a third one!”
“So? One or two glasses won’t hurt anyone.”
“Dooley is right, though,” said Brutus as he studied the doctor closely. “This is already his third glass of wine, and yesterday he drank four during dinner, and he drank a beer while we were watching that Marvel movie together, the one about the guy who looks like a flea. He’s either called Superflea or Fleaman—not sure.”
“I really can’t tell those Marvel movies apart anymore,” said Harriet. “To me it’s just one big movie, and a very boring one. I’d much rather watch something with an actual story. Something romantic.”
And while Harriet and Brutus discussed the merits and demerits of Marvel movies, I watched Tex take a sip from his third glass of wine, then take another, bigger sip, and finally, while he thought no one was looking, drain the whole glass in one go!
“I think Tex is an alcoholic, Max,” said Dooley now, who’d watched the same spectacle unfold. “I think he’s one of those closet alcoholics, the ones nobody knows are alcoholics until it’s too late.”
“Do you really think so?” I asked as Tex grabbed hold of the bottle and poured himself a fourth glass!
“They call them functioning alcoholics, on account of the fact that they can keep functioning as if nothing is wrong, but meanwhile they’re hiding bottles of liquor all over the house and taking sips whenever they think nobody’s watching. I’ll bet that Tex has a bottle of Johnny Walker tucked away in the bottom drawer of his office, and in between two patients he takes a snifter.”
I laughed. “A snifter! Where did you pick up that word, Dooley?”
“General Hospital,” said Dooley proudly. “Doctor Franklin was a closet alcoholic, until one day he was so drunk he accidentally took out a person’s liver while he should have taken out his spleen—or was it the other way around?”
“You can’t just take out a person’s liver or spleen, Dooley,” said Harriet. “Everybody knows that.”
“Yeah, you can’t take out a spleen or liver without putting another one in its place,” said Brutus.
“Well, he took out something he shouldn’t have taken out and the person died and that’s how everyone found out he was an alcoholic. And if Tex isn’t careful, the same thing is going to happen to him.”
We all stared at Odelia’s dad now, whose face was flushed, and even his crop of white air had a pink tinge—or maybe I was simply seeing things.
“I think we need to organize an intervention,” said Brutus. “Because Dooley is right. Doctors and alcohol don’t mix. What if he accentually kills a person on his operating table?”
“Tex doesn’t operate,” I pointed out. “He’s not a surgeon.” But Brutus was right. If Tex was turning into one of those closet alcoholics, an intervention probably wasn’t a bad idea.
“First we need proof,” Brutus continued. “We can’t just go around accusing the guy of being an alcoholic. We need to dig out his bottles and show them to the others, otherwise they won’t believe us.”
“Huh,” I said. “That’s an excellent idea, Brutus.”
“Why, thank you, Max,” said our friend, looking inordinately pleased with this compliment.
“So what’s going to happen to the Pink Lady now?” Charlene was asking. The topic seemed of particular interest to her, which wasn’t that strange, since the discovery of a million-dollar diamond on her beach had stirred up quite a big ruckus in town.
“I called around,” said Uncle Alec, extensively wiping his lips and leaving red smudges on the white napkin, “and discovered that the insurance company that insured the Pink Lady is still in business. They’re sending a guy over first thing tomorrow to come and take a look at the stone. And then we’ll know more.”
“Were they happy?” asked Scarlett as she daintily lifted a single strand of spaghetti to her lips and bit off the tip, then chewed it with itty bitty movements.
“Happy? What kind of a question is that?” asked her friend. Gran had been watching the way Scarlett ate her spaghetti, and she was clearly not impressed.
“Well, I’m sure they never thought they’d recover the diamond. So the fact that the stone has been found after all those years must make them very happy.”
“They did sound pretty excited,” Uncle Alec admitted. “Well, as excited as those insurance folks ever get, of course. Sometimes I think they’re trained not to show any emotion. Either that, or their entire workforce consists of robots.”
“We’ll all know more tomorrow,” said Odelia. “We’re meeting with the insurance people. They’re bringing in an expert, isn’t that right, Uncle Alec?”
“Yeah, some kind of diamond expert who’ll make sure the stone is the real deal.”
“I just experienced the most amazing coincidence today,” said Marge as she darted a quizzical look at her husband, who was once again filling his glass—if I’d been counting right he was now on his fifth glass of wine!
“What coincidence, Mom?” asked Chase.
“Well, I was at the library, reading a book… about the Pink Lady! And not a non-fiction book either. This is a novel—a romance about a Sheikh and his wife, and how he gifted her the Pink Lady, and all the rest of the story. I’m only halfway through the book—it’s called The Sheikh’s Passion—but it’s very gripping. And then when I locked up the library, I met the book’s author! She was looking for me!”
“Oh, that’s right,” said Uncle Alec. “Dolores told me that some woman had called asking about the Pink Lady. So she sent her to the town librarian.” He rolled his eyes. “I swear to God, that woman is getting more loopy every day.”
“She’s not loopy at all, Alec,” said his girlfriend in a tone of censure. “Dolores did the right thing. Sending inquisitive people to the library is a fine practice, and one we can all learn from. In fact if more people would visit our library and read books instead of playing video games or being glued to their phones surfing social media all day and all night, the world would be a better place.”
“Hear, hear,” said Marge, and held up her hand, receiving a reciprocate high five from the May
or.
“So what did she want, this author?” asked Scarlett, interested.
“She wanted to know if it was true that the Pink Lady had been found, and if I knew where it was being kept. Of course I didn’t tell her, but…” She hesitated, which caused Odelia to look up at her mother.
“What is it, Mom?”
“I’m not sure,” said Marge. “Just that… well, you know how sometimes you can get a strange feeling about a person, right?”
“Oh, sure,” said Gran. “I have a very strange feeling about you right now, Scarlett.”
“About me?! What are you talking about?” asked Scarlett, much surprised.
“The way you eat your spaghetti! You think you know a person, and then this happens!”
“I’ve always eaten my spaghetti this way. I like to taste it, not gobble it down like most people do—swallow it whole without chewing.”
“Let Mom finish her story, you guys,” said Odelia.
“Oh, it’s not much of a story, really,” said Marge with a light shrug. “Just… I asked her about her book, where she got the idea and if maybe the book was autobiographical, since she put so much detail into her story—almost as if she actually lived it, you know. But she became very evasive, and then practically ran off. So I don’t know.” She smiled an apologetic smile. “Just my silly imagination, I guess. That’s what you get from being surrounded by all those books and all those stories—you start seeing things.”
“No, but I’m sure you’re onto something, Mom,” said Odelia. “There is something very strange going on with that Pink Lady. I mean, I searched online, and couldn’t find anything about how it disappeared. And now it suddenly turns up on a beach, thousands of miles from where it was last seen? It’s a story I really want to get to the bottom of, don’t you?”
Gran shrugged. “I just hope Scarlett will get to the bottom of her plate at some point. At the rate she’s going that seems unlikely.”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to stare at other people’s plates?” Scarlett countered.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you shouldn’t play with your food?”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to comment on people’s eating habits?”
“So who’s going to Fido’s meeting tonight?” asked Marge, wanting to nip a potential argument in the bud.
“What meeting?” asked Chase with a frown.
“Oh, he’s holding a meeting at the Seabreeze Center to introduce his Flat Earth Society.”
“That’s right,” said Charlene. “I saw something about that. What’s the deal with this society?”
“The deal is that Fido has gone loco,” said Gran. “And now the whole town is going to watch him self-destruct.” She gave Scarlett a conspiratorial wink, which the latter reciprocated with a grin. Those two were clearly up to something again. “Here, let me help you with that,” Gran now said, and grabbed Scarlett’s plate and dumped half of it on her own plate and dug in.
“Thanks,” said Scarlett with a happy sigh. “I hate to leave stuff on my plate, don’t you?”
“Happy to help,” said Gran between two mouthfuls.
“Fido believes the earth is flat?” asked Uncle Alec with a frown.
“Yeah, he does. And not only that,” said Scarlett, “he wants us all to join his Flat Earth Society.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Tex said, and even though he was slurring his words a little, nobody seemed to notice.
Except the four of us, of course. But then we’re cats—and cats are born to pick up little clues like that—clues no one else catches!
13
That evening, instead of our usual program, which includes wandering around town and joining cat choir to meet our fellow cats and hang out, we joined our humans to go to the inaugural meeting of the Long Island Flat Earth Society, which promised to be quite the show, if the number of attendants was any indication. Gran was right. It almost seemed as if the whole town had decided to come and take a look at this car crash in the making.
“They might be bailing on Fido the hairdresser,” said Harriet as we settled in at the back of the theater, “but they’re clearly dying to know what Fido the conspiracy theorist is up to.”
“It’s called disaster tourism, Harriet,” I said. “Humans seem to enjoy watching one of their fellow human beings make a complete fool of themselves. It’s one of the highlights of their existence.”
“You mean like when a person trips over a banana skin and falls flat on his ass?” asked Brutus.
“Sure. It’s the exact same principle.”
Odelia and the rest of the Pooles had taken up position in one of the back rows, so as not to be too conspicuous, and the rest of the theater was filling up nicely indeed.
The Seabreeze Music Center is one of the biggest theaters in town, and caters to a very diverse audience: one night there might be a rock band giving of its best and making the rafters quake, another night there might be a movie retrospective by some obscure Scandinavian auteur, and once upon a time even Charlie Dieber had graced this hall with his presence, much to the delight of hundreds or even thousands of screaming young fans.
Tonight the audience was a lot more sedate, and as far as I could tell there would be no screaming girls, or even teddy bears being thrown at the stage. Besides, even if Charlie were here tonight, he wouldn’t stand for such nonsense. The kid had found religion, after all, and had gotten married, and was now singing songs about Jesus Christ, and no longer about his latest romantic conquest.
“Look who’s here,” said Dooley excitedly, his tail pointing in the direction of the door.
We all looked over, and lo and behold, two familiar figures had just graced us with their presence. They were Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale, the two career criminals who had, not unlike The Dieber himself, found religion, and had even joined the Jehovah’s Witnesses for a short-lived stint.
“What do you think they’re doing here?” asked Harriet as she eyed the twosome with marked interest. Johnny and Jerry were scanning the audience, and when their gazes had swept across the heads of the Poole family, returned, like the beam of a lighthouse, and a big smile slid up Jerry’s face. It’s hard for a man with a face like a ferret to look handsome, but when Jerry smiles, his innate ugliness is diminished by perhaps thirty to thirty-five percent, making his presence more or less palatable. Johnny, of course, is just a big brute, even though I know from experience that underneath that tough exterior there beats a gentle heart.
They now made their way over to where Odelia and her family were seated, and Jerry wasted no time taking a seat directly behind Marge, while Johnny took up position behind Scarlett Canyon, eyeing the latter with a touch of lasciviousness.
“Well, well, well,” Jerry’s opening statement began. “If it ain’t the Pooles. Long time no see.”
“Hi, Jerry,” said Marge, and judging from her smile she was happy to see the twosome, which didn’t surprise me, since Marge had always had a soft spot for the criminal duo. Once upon a time she’d even offered them employ at the library, cleaning up the archives in the basement. Of course they’d used this as an excuse to drill a hole through the library wall and into the bank next door, so they could abscond with the contents of a dozen or so safe deposit boxes and flee to Mexico.
But they’d been arrested and extradited and had served their time and were now upstanding and law-abiding members of the community once more. Or so they claimed.
“Hi, Scarlett,” said Johnny with a silly grin on his face. The grin was not unexpected, and neither was the look of vertigo in the big guy’s eyes, since he was now leaning over Scarlett, and had a bird’s-eye view of the woman’s décolletage. I must say the view of Scarlett’s frontage has a powerful effect even from a frog’s-eye view, so I could only imagine what Johnny was feeling now that he got the full experience.
“Do we know each other?” asked Scarlett, her demeanor far from frosty. Scarlett likes men, you see, almost as m
uch as men like Scarlett, and Johnny might be rough around the edges, he’s also a very large man, and presumably in Scarlett’s mind that size translated in the kind of promise of virility any warm-blooded female likes to see in a member of the opposite sex.
“I’ve always been an admirer… from afar,” Johnny confessed. “I’m a friend of Marge’s,” he explained.
“Well, any friend of Marge is a friend of mine,” said Scarlett, and turned so she could carry on the conversation the way it should be carried on. It also caused that same vertiginous cleavage to shift and quiver like a blancmange, and I could see from the throbbing vein on Johnny’s temple and the slight coloring of his cheeks that the effect was both immediate and devastating.
“Oh, look, Brutus,” said Harriet with a little sigh. “It’s love.”
“Lust, you mean,” Brutus grunted.
“What are you talking about?” asked Dooley with interest.
“Nothing, Dooley,” said Harriet. “I was speaking in general.”
“Oh, all right,” said my friend, and the interaction drew a smile from yours truly.
“So what have you been up to?” asked Marge.
“This and that,” said Jerry. “Say, is it true that a certain famous diamond was found on the beach yesterday?”
“And what’s it to you?” asked Uncle Alec, his voice completely devoid of the warmth his sister had effected in hers.
“Just curious, Chief,” said Jerry. “As a member of this fine community I feel it’s important to stay up to date on what’s going on.”
“Of course you do,” said the police chief, and didn’t hide the skeptical note in his voice.
“So I couldn’t help but notice how you dropped by Gems World this afternoon,” Jerry continued, now addressing Odelia.
“You did?” said Odelia, sounding surprised. “I didn’t see you.”
“Well, I saw you,” Jerry said with a little grin. “So did your visit have anything to do with the Pink Lady by any chance?”