by Mollie Hunt
“Oh, no. I can handle Gerrold. And I’ll make sure something’s written into the contract about hours and times.”
Rhonda fell silent. Clark had finished eating and jumped up onto her lap. She absentmindedly grabbed a soft brush from the sideboard and began grooming the already perfect fur.
Then she bent down and kissed his head. “If we live that long,” she muttered.
“‘If we live...’? I don’t understand. Rhonda, you’re scaring me.”
“Lynley, there have been...” Rhonda paused. “There have been problems. Before yesterday I mean. Things going wrong on the set.”
I knew it! I sat forward on my chair, trying not to feel clever. “What sort of things?”
“Well, little things. And a few big things. A few accidents, too. People are beginning to say the production is jinxed. Or hexed,” she added with a small, unconvincing laugh.
“Hexed? As in cursed? Supernaturally?”
“No, of course not.” The brush moved faster across Clark’s back. “Well, maybe. People in the film industry are a superstitious lot, and some of the incidents just can’t be explained any other way.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, weird stuff. You know—things going bump in the night.”
“And what do you think it is?” I pushed.
She sighed, then checked her cell phone. “It’s time to get the boys ready for their call. If you want to put away the trays? The compost bin is under the sink. You can put everything in there except for the plastics.”
Rhonda became a whirlwind of efficiency, locating the ginormous Laurel Burch go-bag and coaxing her well-trained kitties into their stroller. She had her coat on and was ready to leave before I’d even figured out how to fold the silly trays. I got the distinct impression the hex-talk would have to wait.
* * *
“How this works is, I go down first,” Rhonda instructed. “Then you push the front wheels of the stroller off the threshold to where I can grab the forward bar. I hold the front, you hold the back, and we bring it down, voila. The only thing is, sometimes the cats shift their weight when the stroller begins to move and you have to be ready for that. It’s not hard, and much easier with the two of us than when I have to do it by myself.”
I nodded and looked at the setup. “How would you manage it alone?”
“I take the stroller down first and then put the cats in it one at a time, or I don’t use the stroller at all and pull their carriers in a little red wagon that lives under the trailer. But it’s such a nice day, I wanted to use the stroller so they could see the view.”
That the cats would enjoy the view from their own private buggy made perfect sense to me. I grabbed the bright red handle. “Ready whenever you are,” I said as Rhonda began down.
I heard the scream of the metal before I knew anything was wrong. For a split-second, I wasn’t sure where it was coming from; then I saw Rhonda, her arms flailed out like a bird taking flight. The metal scream had turned into a human one as she nosedived down onto the sharp gravel. I uttered a cry of my own and reached out, a meaningless gesture since she was already gone.
Quickly I squeezed by the stroller. “Oh, no! Rhonda, are you alright?”
I started to go to her, then caught myself, one foot in the air and my hands clutching the door jamb. Where the trailer steps had been only moments before was now only a mess of tangled steel. I maneuvered over it, took a short hop to the ground, and knelt beside my friend. She was face down, squirming to turn over but not making any headway.
“Stay still,” I commanded. “I’ll get help.”
“What happened?” someone exclaimed over my shoulder, and I saw I needn’t bother sending word. From all directions, people were converging like cats to fish.
“Is she okay?” asked a familiar drawl I recognized as Roger. “Someone get the medic,” he shouted before I could answer.
“I called 911,” a woman volunteered.
“I don’t need 911,” Rhonda whimpered from her prone position, “but I could use some help getting up—Oh, yeow! My leg!”
She had managed to rise enough to turn her torso, but the bottom half of her body remained helpless where it was. Her face was awash with blood, but as I followed her hapless gesture downward, I saw that the bloody nose was the least of her concerns. Inside her thick tights, the shinbone was bent at a funny angle. Shins weren’t supposed to bend like that, and the sight made me want to gag. I wasn’t the only one.
“Coming through,” commanded a bull-like sandy-haired man wearing scrubs and a wool sweater with a medic badge sewn onto the sleeve. He carried a red emergency pack. “What happened here?” he asked, bending over the downed cat handler. “Rhonda? Where does it hurt?”
“Oh, Louis,” Rhonda gasped. “I think something’s wrong with my leg.”
“She fell down the steps,” I said a bit lamely. My heart was still racing, my mind trying to make sense of how such a thing could have happened. “I think she might have caught her foot as she went.”
“Give her some room here.” He flagged the onlookers back. Sirens were approaching, still blocks away but coming fast.
“Will I be okay?” It was a plea.
“Sure, hon,” Louis mumbled, “but it looks like you have a nasty break. The ambulance will be here in a minute. Just try to stay quiet and breathe.”
Rhonda sank back onto the gravel, barely stifling her tears, but did as the medic ordered. The in-and-out motion of her breaths seemed to soothe her slightly, and her whimpers hushed into little meows.
The siren, loud now, abruptly cut off. I looked up to see people motioning the emergency vehicle down through the lot toward Rhonda. It pulled to a hard stop and a pair of EMTs appeared, parting the crowd to get to their patient. They took one look at Rhonda’s misshapen leg and began to prep her for the inevitable trip to the ER.
As they got her onto the gurney, she reached for my hand. “Take the cats,” she moaned. “Take the cats for the shoot.”
“But...” I stammered. “But I don’t know anything about cat handling.”
“You know about cats. They know what to do. Please, Lynley. Losing Cary Grant yesterday has already cost a delay—I’m afraid if they don’t work today, we’ll be fired. Please? You can do it, I know you can.”
Her hand fell away as they began to roll her toward the vehicle. I didn’t have a chance to answer, but Rhonda’s eyes were closed now. She knew I would say yes.
Behind me, in the buzz of worried conversation, I thought heard someone say the word, hex.
Chapter 6
Can you train a cat? Clicker training relies on associating a clicking noise with a treat or other reward, which is given for a certain positive behavior. For deaf cats, a penlight or flashlight may be used in place of a clicker.
Once the ambulance had departed, screaming into the tepid city morning, the crowd evaporated as everyone returned to their jobs, business as usual.
“Y’all going to help with the cats?” Roger asked as he came up beside me.
I studied the young man, really for the first time, since our previous meetings had been brief and harried. Longish copper-brown curls ringed his face like a ruddy sunburst and gray-green eyes sparkled with a subtly mischievous glint. I realized he was older than I’d first guessed, probably early thirties. It was his mannerisms, not his features, that gave the impression of a more youthful character, a mature Peter Pan.
“I guess I’m the default cat handler,” I said. “But what do I do? I’ve never done anything like this before.”
Roger winced. “Don’t tell Gerrold that. He’ll have a cow. It looks pretty easy when Rhonda does it. Mostly it’s waiting for cues. She makes sure the kitties don’t get antsy, then brings them in when she’s supposed to.”
I shrugged. “How hard could it be?” I said, knowing full well that Rhonda had trained for ages to do what she did.
“She has this clicker thingie. You know how to use one of those?”
&
nbsp; “I’ve done a little clicker training,” I said ambiguously, recalling the class I’d attended at the shelter; also recalling what a washout I’d been. “Do you know where she keeps it?”
“Try their satchel, the one with the red and blue kitties all over it. I’m sure she’d have it some place handy. Usually it’s on a ribbon she wears around her neck. Hope she didn’t take it with her to the hospital.”
“Thanks. I’ll look. And if you think of any more helpful hints, please don’t be shy.”
“No problem. Look, I gotta be up at the set. I’ll get someone to take you there. You still have a few minutes until call time.”
Roger skipped off, talking fast into his radio. I hoped he was calling for backup because I didn’t have a clue what to do now.
I turned to the cats, big-eyed and quiet in their stroller at the lip of the trailer door. They were amazingly calm, but then I suppose part of being a successful actor cat was the ability to ignore the inherent chaos of one’s surroundings.
“Well, guys,” I said, reaching up to pet them through the little slit in the bonnet. “It’s just you and me now. Your mom said you knew what you were doing so let’s try not to prove her wrong.”
Mrow, said Cary Grant, right on cue. Or was it Clark Gable? I reached in a little farther to check the tag. If I was going to pull off my new gig, I’d better be able to tell the two apart!
I heard footsteps running up behind me and turned to see Victoria, another radio in her hand. I smiled at the young woman, glad Roger sent me someone I’d already met, someone who liked the cats. “Victoria, good to see...,” I began.
She barely slowed her pace. Reaching in through the trailer door and grabbing the sides of the stroller with both hands, she lifted it over the mangled step and deposited it on the ground. In a fluid movement, she took the handle bar and resumed her jog. “Come on, can’t be late.”
“Okay,” I said, stumbling along behind her as she guided us across the parking lot and onto a barkdust path through the low-growing scrub of the marsh, “but I warn you, I don’t really know what I’m doing here.”
Victoria pulled up sharply. She spun around with a look of horror on her delicate face. “Don’t say that! Don’t ever say that.” She turned back and was off again. “Don’t even think it,” she called over her shoulder.
I was beginning to get the idea.
It was all about acting, you see, all about playing a part. My part for the day was cat handler, and if I played it convincingly enough, I could make it fly. I knew the basics and had watched Rhonda a few times.
I am a cat handler, I told myself sternly. I am the guru of cats. I am the crazy cat lady. I can do this.
* * *
Ten hours later, as the sun sank behind the West Hills and the twilight could no longer be considered day, Gerrold called it a wrap. A wrap, in film terms, means it’s over and done and everybody gets to go home, at least until the next call when it starts all over again. I was certainly ready to quit, as were the cats, who in spite of breaks, snacks, lunch, and several naps, were eager to be somewhere else.
We had changed locations a few times during the day: a bluff-top scene looking down on the beautiful wetlands park; a secluded bower under the oaks and red-barked madrones where Jack and McCaffrey did a tête-a-tête; and finally back to the long view over the green of the wetlands where we began. The air was crisp and the persistent cries of egrets, ospreys, hawks, and shorebirds rang from the lake to the cloud-studded blue skies above. The cats had done perfectly, first one and then the other: crossing from left to right, right to left; jumping up, jumping down. There was a long dialogue between Jack and McCaffrey which was filmed both with and without an actual cat on the scene. Clark Gable sat in rapt attention while Ray Anderson did his lines. There was a trick to it, a small dangly thing clipped to Ray’s hair near the temple on the side facing away from the camera. As Clark watched it flirt and spin, it seemed as if the cat was looking at the man, thoroughly entranced by his every word.
I caught on fast. When Gerrold wanted the cats to do something, he’d tell his proficient and zealous assistant, Bear—short for Barry and aptly chosen for the animal he so resembled. Bear would then tell me so I could make it happen. Nothing fancy, baby steps. I pulled it off without a hitch.
As everyone was going their separate ways, some heading for home, others for their trailers, and a few off to another element of their job, Victoria rejoined me. She pulled a slip of powder-blue paper out of her vest pocket and handed it over.
“Here’s the schedule for tomorrow. The call’s not until three. It’s going to be a night shoot.”
I hadn’t considered that my new job would suddenly turn into a career. “Tomorrow?”
“Well, yeah.” She looked concerned. “You are coming tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“Uh, sure, I guess, if Rhonda’s still out.”
The minute I said it, I knew how stupid it was to even imagine Rhonda would be going anywhere with that fracture. We’d had a few updates throughout the day. She’d needed surgery to install a metal rod and screws and wouldn’t be fully mobile for weeks, maybe months.
“Great!” said Victoria. “Oh, and get this back to me as soon as you can.” She rummaged in the canvas bag slung across her chest and pulled out a sheet of paper.
I took it and studied the tiny printed legalese. “What is it?”
“Just the confidentiality agreement. Everybody has to sign one.”
I began to read: You shall keep in strictest confidence and shall not disclose to any participants in the Production or any other third party at any time (including, without limitation, prior to, during, or after the taping or broadcast of any episode of the Production) any information or materials of any kind, including without limitation, any information or materials concerning or relating to… “I give up. What does it say?”
“Just that you agree not to reveal anything about the show to anyone who hasn’t signed one of these.”
My eyes skimmed the fine print.
“It says here I agree to be liable for up to a million dollars in damages if I break the contract!”
“It’s just a formality.”
“But a million dollars?” I gasped. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, it’s a real thing. If someone disclosed information before the producers were ready, it could ruin the show. But it’s no big deal. No one ever gets charged. They just want to cover their behinds. I promise,” she added with a smile.
“Okay,” I said dubiously. “I’ll read it over and get it to you tomorrow.”
“Great. Are you going to stay in the trailer?”
“Stay here? No, I couldn’t do that. I have cats of my own at home.”
She gave me a blank look that said it all. “But Clark and Cary can’t stay by themselves.”
“There’s no one to watch them?”
“I’d do it—I love cats. I love-them-yes-I-do,” she cooed into their stroller, “but Clark gets shots and that’s a deal-breaker for me. I can’t stand the sight of a needle.”
“Shots?” I hadn’t considered they might have a medical regimen. “What sort of shots?”
She shrugged. “Don’t know. But Rhonda has it all written down on a timetable, in case, well, in case of situations like this I suppose.”
“Where’s the timetable?”
She shrugged again. “Someplace safe.”
“It would have to be somewhere obvious, or what would be the point of having it?”
“Dunno.” The rangy girl was getting anxious to be gone, making little dance steps around a puddle of leftover rain.
“Don’t worry, I’ll find it and whatever else they need and then take them home with me.” It looked like the boys would be going on a sleep-over. “Always room for one more—or two.”
“Great! ‘Jack’s got your back,’” she beamed before she rushed off somewhere important.
“What?” I began, then recalled the tagline for the McCaffrey
& Jack mysteries and laughed to myself. They really were sticking by the book, it seemed.
I watched Victoria hail someone; it might have been Jason Prince, the associate producer, but he wasn’t wearing the fedora this time so I wasn’t sure. They chatted for a few moments, then she was on her way again, trotting out of sight into the cover of the park. The man turned down a path leading off to the side. As I stood alone in the dusky lot, I sobered. What had I got myself into? A confidential agreement with a million dollar liability? I suppose it made sense, and like most legal agreements, was mostly for show. The schedule that varied day to day without prior warning seemed more of an obstacle. It looked like my normal routine of home projects and shelter volunteering would have to be put on hold. I didn’t have any plans that couldn’t be skipped or rearranged, but I was so accustomed to life flowing along in a marvelously mundane manner of my own choosing that the sudden change unnerved me. Still, it was an exciting opportunity to do something completely different. And besides, I’d promised Rhonda so I was stuck with it and should make the best of my situation. Attitude was everything.
I perambulated the stroller back to Rhonda’s trailer to locate the cat’s timetable and the items it listed. I figured I’d better pack their food and few familiar things such as beds and blankets as well. I hoped the change in caretakers wouldn’t upset their catly serenity. So far, they hadn’t seemed moved by their mom’s absence, but going to a strange house might be another matter. New people, unfamiliar smells, other cats—lots of other cats. Of course Clark Gable and Cary Grant would be in a space of their own, at least for the night. That was one of the convenient things about owning the big Victorian—an endless supply of rooms—and since I lived by myself, I could do whatever I wanted with them.
A bright halide porch light had come on above the trailer stoop, likely on a timer. I parked the stroller and, stretching up from the ground, pushed open the door. I was about to heft myself up across the broken tread, now strung with yellow caution tape, when I noticed something odd, the glint of raw metal near the center of the top step. Kneeling to take a closer look, I found it buckled with a deep V-shaped rent. That made no sense. Granted Rhonda was a large woman, but she was by no means heavy enough to collapse a metal step.