Or Scarlet in any of the dazzling fashion-show gowns in which she schemed, fought, and flounced her way through the Civil War and its aftermath … especially the gutsy homemade green velvet-drape gown she wore to convince a jailed Rhett Butler that she wasn’t down and out when she was.
But the most Scarlet moment of all involved the red velvet dressing gown she wore as Rhett carried her upstairs when he’d had it with her fickle, bewitching, bitching Scarlet ways.
Feminists long removed from the 1930s debut of Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With the Wind choked on their turnips over that scene, which to modern sensibilities plays like date rape—in that case, wife rape.
But no matter how a woman might land on the swept-upstairs-scene issue, she couldn’t fault the famous morning-after scene.
What a wake-up call! That was when Vivian Leigh’s Scarlet awoke in contented camera close-up. When her eyes recalled the-night-before-the-morning-after with the recovering memory of a devilishly satisfied and distinctly un-downtrodden southern belle indeed … .
Temple awoke this day to one of those classic dawning moments. It made her world take an unexpected lurch toward a totally different axis than it had previously been twirling around like a ballerina in a well-known routine.
Oh. Right. Yes. Oh. My. Oh. Dear. Oh!
Because all morning-afters have their down as well as their up sides, and Temple was starting to see that. It didn’t help that Midnight Louie, all fully furred twenty pounds of him, was sitting on her chest staring at her with unblinking feline green eyes like a guilty conscience.
His mesmerizing eyes and shiny black hair reminded her that she was betrothed (as much as you could be in a modern world) to Max Kinsella, a magician on hiatus. Louie’s watchful presence also reminded her that Louie had been on patrol in the apartment early this morning when she’d returned from her supposedly bland dinner date with neighbor Matt Devine, during which certain overly neighborly things had occurred and mention had been made of the M word: marriage.
Louie knew. Somehow.
And that gloriously green stare said that he understood every miserable nuance of her now hopelessly complicated love life. And that he did not approve.
Neither, she knew, would Max.
Chapter 2
Louie Agonistes
What is a loyal bodyguard and bedmate to do? (And I am not asking you, Kevin Costner; I am no fan of anyone who dances with wolves.)
My charming roommate, Miss Temple Barr, is obviously undergoing a major life crisis. Now, were a serial killer breaking into our humble but homey unit at the Circle Ritz, I would not be at a loss for direction.
I would leap upon a pant-leg, ratchet my way up to his chest and shoulder area—making three-inch tracks a quarter-inch deep—lash out with my built-in switchblades and take out his eyes, then execute a thorough bit of plastic surgery on his mug for a bit of icing on the cake.
All of the above before the average bear could say “Hannibal Lector.”
But nerve and brain, my two greatest assets, will not work here. I am at a loss for once, waylaid by the tangled webs of human emotions when it comes to what are such simple matters to the rest of the animal world, i.e., what is called the Mating Game.
This is not a game, folks! It is the call of the jungle, the survival of the species, and the triumph of the Alpha Male. Of which I am, naturally, one. Although, not so naturally anymore, since I was relieved of the obligation of fatherhood by a villainous B-movie actress who had hoped to de-macho me. Whatever. Despite Miss Savannah Ashleigh doing her worst, I am still catnip for the dames and no back-alley offspring will ever come back to haunt me.
I am the 007 of the feline world, four-on-the-floor and one in the back seat, with an unlimited license to thrill. Even the animal protection people cannot fault my condition and habits.
And I face no messy consequences who might want to slash you across the whiskers and call you a philandering absentee father. I am thinking here of Miss Midnight Louise, my erstwhile daughter from the old pre-chichi cut days. According to her.
Anyway this stuff among my own species I have aced.
Humans are a different plate of Meow Mix entirely.
I pace back and forth in front of the French doors that lead to our triangular mini-patio. By now my Miss Temple is out for the day, pretending that she is going about business as usual, but I saw her disarray the previous evening and am most … unsettled.
True, she lavished more than usual affection on me, even clutching me to her breast (which is not such a great treat for a dude such as I, if you wish to know; we do not like forced confinement, even in comfy places). Please, let us come to you. It works out much better.
Anyway, I put up with this mushy stuff because we go back a long way and have done some heads-up crime-solving together. A dude owes it to his partner, even when the going threatens to get slushy.
And it is not that I am such a big fan of Mr. Max Kinsella, who previously occupied pride of place here at this Circle Ritz unit, i.e., the bed. I mean, he is probably an okay magician and he does have undercover aims for the betterment of humankind—not that humankind much deserves it, from my observation—but there is only room for one black-haired, agile, and sexy Alpha Male in this unit, and it is I.
You will note that I am schooled in the nuances of human grammar as well as kung fu.
And I have nothing against Mr. Matt Devine, who once devoted himself to the service of humankind (boy, they do get a lot of devotion for such a sorry species) and actually gave up using what I almost lost during his priesthood days. Even Miss Midnight Louise has a soft spot for him, and she is one hard mama, let me tell you, speaking as her delinquent supposed-daddy. So I do sympathize with a well-meaning dude who is trying to get into the Alpha Male stakes so belatedly in life. Not everyone can have my advantage of being born to be bad.
But my first and foremost loyalty is to my Miss Temple. She is not only Recently Blonde, she is recently tempted by the New Dude on the Block.
Well, I am the grayer head here, by a single hair. I will not tell you where it is.
So I sense that I will have to seek advice outside my usual, normal guy-type venues.
Ick!
However, for the good of my devoted roomie, no sacrifice is too e
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Notes
1 These are revised editions.
2 Also mystery
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
CAT IN A HOT PINK PURSUIT: A MIDNIGHT LOUIE MYSTERY
Copyright © 2005 by Carole Nelson Douglas
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Forge® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
eISBN 9781429911474
First eBook Edition : March 2011
ISBN 0-765-35268-0
EAN 978-0-765-35268-2
First edition: May 2005
First mass market edition: June 2006
Cat in a Hot Pink Pursuit Page 37