The Cat's Pajamas

by Soraya May

  “It’s less exciting to me if it means my bar is going to disappear.” The words came out of my mouth more blunt than I’d intended, and Ryan sighed.

  Damn. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.

  “I know, Cat. Look, all I can do is promise you a fair deal, like I said.”

  “I know.” I paused for a minute. “Sorry.”

  “Besides,” he put the bone down carefully in its container, snapped it shut, and turned back to me, “have you considered going somewhere else? Getting out of this town?”

  “Somewhere else? Like where?” If he was trying to make me look on the bright side of losing my bar, he wasn’t succeeding.

  “Well, anywhere. Somewhere a bit more…interesting. You’re clearly a very intelligent and capable woman, and—”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” My voice was heavy with sarcasm, and Ryan took a step back.

  “Look, all I’m saying is that you could do better than,” he waved an arm around him, “than this. This place, this town. Cable Bay is fine for someone who’s retiring, but don’t you want to get out of here sometimes? Do you really think someone like you belongs here? Running a bar in the middle of nowhere?”

  You had to say it, didn’t you? I closed my hands into fists. “For your information, I do not want to get out of here, and I am not interested in your opinion about where I belong. In fact, I’m not interested in your opinions about my life as a general rule. You don’t know anything about me.”

  Ryan’s face fell. “Okay, okay. Just don’t blame me for saying something you’re obviously thinking yourself.” He walked over and picked up the keg again, taking hold of both handles.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Now I was genuinely annoyed, and I stood directly in front of him, hands on hips, the afternoon’s work forgotten.

  “You. This place.” Ryan shook his head. “It’s been obvious to me that you don’t feel like you ought to be here. It’s been obvious, in fact, since the first day I arrived in town. You’re nice to people, but you feel like you ought to be somewhere else. So, what I am saying,” he hefted the keg, “is that you should find out where that somewhere else is, and go there, Cat Milsom.”

  I wanted to throttle this sanctimonious idiot. Coming into my bar, and telling me that I shouldn’t be here? Ryan had never met my parents, or my ex-fiancé Kirk, but I was sure they’d get on famously.

  “For your information, Dr. Sanders,” my tone icy, “I am exactly where I want to be for the moment. And if I need advice on where to go and what to do, I won’t be taking it from you.”

  Still hefting the heavy keg, Ryan shrugged. “Fine. Suit yourself. As a matter of fact, I’ve got somewhere else I need to be myself. I’ll leave this keg next to the other one.” Taking the stairs two at a time, he didn’t look behind him, and the clang of the metal keg on the floor as he dropped it made me jump.

  16

  Ryan

  In daylight, Daisy’s guest house lost some of its Addams Family quality; it seemed old, but homey. Daisy’s cookies, on the other hand, were like tiny flat rocks.

  The muffins were fine, but these are evidently from another tradition of hospitality.

  I bit down bravely on one and wondered desperately if my health insurance would cover it as a ‘work-related accident’.

  Daisy hovered in front of me. “Please, help yourself to another one. They’re called ‘forgotten cookies’, you know. I’d be happy to share the recipe.”

  “Forgotten, huh?” Like forgotten knowledge, or things that should be forgotten.

  “Well, yes; you bake them in the oven, and then just leave them to set overnight. I haven’t quite perfected the recipe yet.”

  “I—ow!—see.” I had come back to retrieve the other case with my tools and equipment; I hadn’t intended to stay, but Daisy’s polite insistence had been irresistible.

  Unlike this damn cookie, which is pretty resistible. I think I just felt a filling go.

  To cover the sound of my determined gnawing, I tried to make conversation. “So, when are the carpenters coming to sort out the leak in the, uh, Paihamu Suite?” The rain looked like it was going to carry on for at least another two days, and possibly get heavier.

  Daisy looked around, suddenly pensive. “Well, I’m afraid it isn’t going to be quite as easy as I’d thought, Mr. Sanders. It’s—oh, never mind.” She was bright and brittle for a moment. “I’m sure it’ll all sort itself out in the end. Here, have another cookie.” The tray rattled ominously in my face, and visions of a lengthy appointment with my dentist danced in my head.

  “Thank you, Miss McNeish; I will do in just a moment.” I was about to make my excuses and leave, but something about her manner made me stop. “How do you mean it isn’t going to be as easy as you’d thought?”

  Daisy sighed and wheeled the cart out of her way, before sitting down in the large armchair opposite me and picking her crochet off the side-table.

  We were in the parlor; with the curtains open, the gloom was pushed back a little, and the whole place looked almost inviting, once you got used to the pictures. The armchair was very large indeed, and I got the feeling that if Daisy leaned back, she’d disappear into it. The hook began to flash in and out of the square of yarn as she looked around.

  “Well, the problem is that there aren’t any full-time carpenters in town, you see. I’ve called one to come down from the city, but he says he can’t be here for at least a month; he’s booked solid, it seems.” From a bustling, energetic presence, she suddenly looked rather small and faded. “I’m not really sure what to do.”

  I frowned. “A month?” That wasn’t good, given the state of the weather. A month of continuous leaks would ruin the ceiling in that room and render the damage much more serious. Judging by the state of Daisy’s house, she didn’t have the money to either convince the carpenter to come sooner, or pay for the repairs after a month’s worth of on-and-off rain.

  “Yes, indeed.” Daisy nodded, downcast. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sanders, I don’t mean to bother you with it.”

  “No, no, not at all.” I thought for a moment. “Look, Miss McNeish. When I was in college, I worked every vacation on a construction site, as a carpenter. It was a good job, and it gave me some pretty useful skills for excavations, in fact.” Taking a breath, I continued. “Now, I stress that I am not a qualified carpenter, but I think I could rig up something to stop the problem from getting any worse. Maybe just a plastic tarpaulin, and some waterproofing; it won’t look very appealing, but it will put a stop to the leak, and prevent damp collecting in the roof. This will at least do until you can get someone down from the city.”

  Daisy’s eyes widened, and the crochet hook stopped its passage for a moment. “Really, Mr. Sanders? Are you sure? I would have to insist upon paying you, though. I don’t want to presume on your work, and—”

  “Honestly, Daisy, it’s the least I can do. You’ve been very kind to me so far, and it should only take me a morning or so, so it’s not going to mess up my schedule. I’ll take a look at what’s going on in the roof, and see what I can do in the next day or so.”

  The elderly lady was mortified. “But the payment—”

  “No payment necessary. I insist.”

  If you can’t do something to help out a kindly old lady, Sanders, you really are the kind of heel Cat seems to think you are.

  “Well.” She sat back in the armchair, and to my relief, wasn’t swallowed up by it. “This is very kind indeed of you, Mr. Sanders. And you so new in town, as well. I’ll keep you well-supplied with baking, at the very least.”

  Oh, dear. Dentures, here I come.

  “That would be, uh, great.” I looked around. “To be honest, you’re one of the few people in town who seems to understand how important it is to preserve the past.” There was, indeed, plenty of the past in this room, as much as in the entire rest of the house. But the more time I spent here, the more I appreciated its weird charm.

  I’m still not
staying another night with the opossums, though. No way.

  “Oh, well.” Daisy waved a hand. “I do understand how important it is to remember things. Time passes so quickly, and it’s so easy to forget. Even when you don’t intend to.” Her eyes flicked to the pictures on the mantel. Amidst the family portraits, one stood out; a young Maori man in uniform, clean-shaven and handsome, holding a book. Daisy’s eyes lingered on it for a few moments, then she shook her head. “I think the work you’re doing is very important indeed, Mr. Sanders.”

  “Thank you, Miss McNeish. I wish everyone felt the same way you do.” I slid out of the armchair and stood up. “Now, I hate to rush off—and, thank you, as much as I would love another cookie, I just don’t have the room, yes, very unfortunate, I know—but I think I hear the taxi outside. I’ll take my case back to the bar, and then stop by later to see what needs to be done on the ceiling.”

  “Of course, of course. Thank you again, Mr. Sanders. You really are a very fortunate visitor indeed.” Daisy saw me to the front door as I wheeled my case out and waved to Jack Collis, the cab driver, as he pulled up.

  Well, it’s not part of your job, Sanders, and I wouldn’t put down in your Government report the morning you spent doing building repairs. But it’s not like anyone’s going to know, and it’s the right thing to do. Maybe if Cat finds out she’ll stop thinking I’m such a bad guy after all.

  Yeah, right, I thought as I hefted my case into the trunk of Jack’s waiting cab.

  And she might kiss me again. Not much chance of either of those.

  17

  Cat

  “Go easy with those bottles, Milsom. They are made of glass, you know.” Farrah stood in front of my car, another case of wine in her arms. I’d just slung a case of her latest vintage release into the trunk of the car with a rattle that made Farrah wince. “I’d like to tell you that I spent hours treading the grapes myself, but of course that would be a huge lie. Even so, that’s quality stuff in those bottles, and I’m not having many hours of happy inebriation being put at risk just because you’ve got man trouble.”

  “I do not have man trouble, Faz.” I rounded on her, looking for something to wave admonishingly, but not finding anything more satisfying than a finger.

  “Oh, yeah, you do. There is a man. You’ve got trouble with him.” She drew an equality sign in the air with her fingers. “Ergo, man trouble. Quod erat demonstrandum, as the Greeks used to say.”

  “That’s Latin, not Greek. Also, shut up and hand me that case of wine.” Packing the cases away in the trunk, I wrapped them in a couple of thick blankets. The long driveway leading down from Farrah’s winery to the road was unsealed, and although it made for a rustic approach to the cluster of buildings and the wine-tasting area, it had also been known to shake fillings loose if you went over it at high speed.

  Farrah made some notes in an invoice book, tore out a perforated piece and handed it to me. “Here. I’ve given you a pretty hefty discount, in exchange for which you will a)promote the hell out of my wine tours, and b)answer my questions about this guy you’re attracted to.”

  “I am not attracted to Ryan. He’s a pain in the ass. I told you what he said about the bar, and about the town. What kind of presumptuous asshole would do that?”

  “Well, okay. Maybe he just doesn’t know why you’re here; you haven’t told him anything about your life, have you? Besides, he’s only been in town a few days. Give him time to warm up to the place.”

  “I haven’t told him anything about my life because he seems to think he’s got it all figured out without asking me. And have you forgotten what he’s in my bar for in the first place? He wants to demolish it.” I leaned against my car with an exasperated expression, slapping my hand down on the hood. I loved Farrah dearly, but when she got hold of an idea, she went all redhead on me and wouldn’t let it go. “What makes you think I’m going to be attracted to someone who wants to destroy my livelihood?”

  Farrah looked at me shrewdly. “Because every time he’s mentioned, your cheeks start to color.” She tapped her pen against her chin, as if counting.

  “No they don’t.” I shook my head. “I’m a doctor. I’d know.”

  “Three, two and one…” Farrah pointed triumphantly with the pen. “You’re doing it right now.”

  “I am not.” I felt my cheeks. “Well, okay, maybe I am, but that’s only because we’ve been talking about it. It’s a perfectly explainable psychosomatic—oh, never mind. Look, I’ll admit he’s pretty hot, okay? Is that enough?”

  “Hot? Oh yeah, he’s hot alright.” Farrah whistled. “I’m surprised you can sleep at night, being only a few feet from him in his room. Haven’t you ever—” she winked exaggeratedly, “wanted to knock on his door late at night, to find out what he’s doing in there?”

  “I know what he’s doing in there. I can hear him doing it. The walls are pretty thin, you know.”

  Farrah’s eyes widened. “You can?”

  “Uh-huh. Sometimes late into the evening. He stops, and then starts again after a bit.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. He’s definitely…typing. Ow!” I rubbed my forehead where Farrah’s flung pen had just struck me. “What was that for?” I complained.

  “That was for being an ass, Milsom. Now look, admit it; you are attracted to him. Pretending otherwise won’t change anything.”

  “I had better not have a pen mark on my forehead now. Okay, I might find him slightly attractive. Are you happy? But,“ I picked up the pen from the ground where it had fallen, “that doesn’t change anything, because we’re on opposite sides of this argument. I want to keep my bar. He wants to demolish it.”

  “He may want to demolish it.”

  “Okay, he may want to demolish it. A tiger may want to eat me, but the presence of the word ‘may’ doesn’t mean we’re suddenly going to be best friends. There isn’t much I can do about the situation.”

  Farrah’s eyes narrowed, and she riffled through her invoice book speculatively. “Instead of giving him the cold shoulder, you could try something more…subtle.”

  “Subtle? Like bribery? I told you, I haven’t got enough—”

  “No, woman. I mean you could use your feminine wiles to change his mind.” She looked me up and down pointedly.

  “Have we got feminine wiles? Is that still a thing?”

  “Babe, look at that figure. Your wiles are the wiliest that ever, uh, wiled, around these parts.” Farrah made an hourglass shape with her hands. “Just get back into those stretch jeans, get a pair of heels on, and do your thing. He might be an archaeologist, but judging by the way he was kissing you, and how he looked at you at the market, he’s got blood flowing in those veins.” Farrah gave a lascivious chuckle. “Especially the important ones.”

  “You’re disgusting sometimes, you know that?”

  She was unrepentant. “Hey, I’m a single mom. Living vicariously through my friends’ sex lives is all I have left. Plus,” she waggled her ring finger, with the wedding ring still on it, “perfidy-of-men, remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember. One of them is probably perfidying all over my bar as we speak.”

  “Well, you are letting me down in a major way. Apart from a brief flicker when you kissed him, it’s been,” Farrah made a plane-crashing motion with her hand, accompanied by a steadily descending whistle, “all downhill. I’m dying here, from the bottom up.”

  I took hold of the door-handle of my car. “You have my sympathies for your lack of excitement in my sex life. Because, yeah, that makes a lot of sense. Anyway, I haven’t seen Ryan all day. I don’t know where he is.”

  “Well, actually Miss Not Nosy Enough, I do know.” Farrah tapped the side of her nose. “He’s over at Daisy McNeish’s guest house, and he’s helping her fix her roof, so there. Sarah from the hardware store said he came in asking for a tarp and a bunch of tacks this morning. Seems to me he’s not all bad.”

  “Okay, okay. It’s not that I think he’s a bad guy
—although he does still irritate the hell out of me with his attitude.” I opened the car door, and sat inside, my feet on the chassis. “It’s just…he’s more interested preserving things than he is in people. When he was talking about the town, it’s like he didn’t see any of the people. All he saw was a place, and a chance to make sure things don’t get ‘forgotten’. How could anyone be like that?”

  Farrah nodded sympathetically. “Still don’t see why you shouldn’t charm him if it’s going to save you the bar, though. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  “Ha, no. Never let ethics get in the way of feminine wiles, huh?” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know, Faz. Besides, I’m not sure it would work on him.”

  “What, you seriously think Ryan’s not attracted to you?” An incredulous tap of the foot made me well aware of what she thought of that hypothesis.

  “No, it’s not that. I know he is, but I think this thing with making sure things don’t get forgotten is really important to him. I watched his eyes when he talked about it, Faz; I think it means everything to him. I think it means a lot more than attention from one pretty girl.”

  “One very pretty girl.”

  “Right back at you. Besides, I’m not really a manipulator.” When I’d left the US, I’d been terrified that Kirk would react badly, accusing me of manipulating him to get what I wanted. I’d prepared a complicated explanation for him in my head, rebutting his arguments and justifying to myself why I’d treated him fairly.

  Instead, he’d barely noticed I had left; after a brief but cordial exchange where I explained what had happened, he’d wished me well, and I hadn’t had another email from him since. Part of me felt that was somehow even more insulting than the angry accusations I’d been expecting. It was as if I didn’t matter to Kirk, that he wasn’t prepared to fight for me, even to the point of being angry when I left without warning. I didn’t belong to him, any more than he did to me.