by Nic Saint
“I really can’t imagine what you see in that movie, Mom,” said Marge.
“Shush,” said Gran. The big kissing scene between Ben Affleck and Kate Beckinsale was coming up, and she didn’t want to miss a thing, as the song goes.
Marge’s brother Uncle Alec, a frequent guest, was already half asleep, and Tex looked about to doze off, too. They weren’t too big on kissing scenes.
Marge, who’d wanted to watch The Bachelorette, didn’t look happy either.
“It’s flyboys!” said Gran. “How can you not like flyboys?”
“I like flyboys as much as the next fly girl,” said Marge, “but what I don’t like is watching the same movie over and over and over again.”
“It’s a classic!” said Gran. “Just like Titanic! You never get bored with Titanic, do you? So?”
Marge shook her head. This was not an argument she was going to win. “You guys are awfully quiet,” she said instead, addressing the four of us.
Reading from left to right there was Dooley, yours truly, Brutus and Harriet. Harriet strictly speaking belongs to Marge, Brutus to Chase, and Dooley to Gran, but basically we consider the entire Poole family our home.
“They’re not happy Odelia didn’t take them along,” said Gran without looking away from her flyboys’ exploits. “And quite frankly neither am I.”
“Emerald is allergic to cats. Some people are,” said Marge.
“You mean to tell me that Emerald Rhone, reigning queen of Tinseltown, is allergic to cats? I don’t believe it.”
“That’s what Odelia told me.”
Gran was shaking her head and muttering something under her breath. She wasn’t a big fan of people who weren’t big fans of cats.
“She can’t help it if she’s allergic, can she?” said Marge. “It’s a medical thing.”
“Medical thing my ass. I’ll bet she’s faking it.”
“That’s crazy. Why would she fake being allergic to cats?”
“For the attention! These Hollywood types all have imaginary medical conditions. I’ll bet she’s not allergic to cats at all, just making a big thing out of it. And meanwhile poor Max is deprived the company of his favorite human.”
“I like to think we’re all Max’s favorite humans,” said Marge a little huffily.
“Cats like Max attach themselves to one human for life, and in his case that human happens to be Odelia—so tough luck for the rest of us.”
“Well,” said Marge. “I’m sure you’re just imagining it. Max loves all of us exactly the same. Isn’t that right, Max?”
To be honest I wasn’t in the mood to put Marge’s mind at ease that I liked her very much, too, thank you very much. Gran was right. I missed my human. Yeah, I know what you’re all thinking: cats don’t miss their humans. Cats are independent creatures and they don’t care if their human lives or dies and yadda yadda yadda. Well, let me tell you that’s all fake news, people. Cats get attached to their humans just as much as the next canine, or at least this particular feline does. And I was just wondering what Odelia was doing at that moment when Marge’s phone sang out the theme song from the reboot of Beverly Hills, 90210.
“Hey, honey, have you settled in all right?” she asked.
“Ask her about the sheets,” said Gran, nudging her daughter. “And ask her about the food. Oh, and ask her if it’s true that Emerald’s skin looks like a drumhead from all those facelifts and those gallons and gallons of Botox.”
“Have you met Emerald yet?” asked Marge, ignoring her mother. “You have? Ooh, how exciting! So what is she like? Is she nice?”
And while the adults in the room prattled on, and Ben Affleck was fighting the good fight over in Europe while his best friend was hitting on his girl, I noticed for the first time that my compadres were all very quiet indeed.
“Is everything all right?” I asked, giving Brutus a slight nudge.
“Oh, Max,” was his response. It didn’t sound like he was all right at all.
I cut a glance to Harriet, who merely rolled her expressive eyes at me.
“What’s going on with him?” I mouthed.
“Don’t ask!” she mouthed back.
“What’s going on with Brutus, Max?” asked Dooley now.
“I don’t know. I asked him and he wouldn’t say.”
“Ask him if it’s menopause,” said Dooley.
“Menopause is a human thing, Dooley.”
“Oh?”
“It’s not menopause,” said Harriet. “It’s worse—much worse.”
“Worse?” asked Dooley. “What could be worse than menopause?”
“Like I said, menopause is a human thing and doesn’t—”
“Cancer!” said Dooley suddenly. “Do you have cancer, Brutus?”
Dooley has a tendency to think that whenever someone doesn’t feel A-Okay, it’s because they are suffering from cancer. Or, apparently, menopause.
“No, it’s not cancer,” said Brutus gruffly. “Though sometimes I wish it was.”
That sounded ominous. And now, of course, I was more curious than ever.
“He misses Odelia,” said Dooley knowingly. He patted Brutus on the paw. “Don’t worry, buddy,” he said loudly. “She’ll be back before you know it!”
Brutus merely grumbled something. It didn’t sound overly friendly.
So it wasn’t Odelia either. So what could it be?
“I know!” said Dooley. “Of course! How silly of me. You miss Chase, don’t you?” He patted the butch black cat on the paw again. “Don’t worry, buddy. Chase will be back before you know it. And I’m sure he misses you too.”
“I don’t miss Chase, and will you stop touching me!”
“Touchy,” Dooley muttered.
“If you have to know…” Harriet began.
“Don’t you dare,” growled Brutus.
“They’re your friends, Brutus. They have a right to know.”
“No, they don’t!”
“Brutus is having trouble with—”
“Stop talking now!”
“His inner male,” Harriet finally finished.
Dooley and I stared at the big cat. Whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t this.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked.
“Brutus feels that maybe he’s a female trapped in a male’s body, and now he’s thinking about talking to someone.”
I stared from Brutus to Harriet and back. “I don’t get it,” I said.
“Me neither,” said Dooley. “Who’s inside Brutus’s body talking to him?”
“Nobody!” Brutus exploded. “It’s just that... have you never wondered if you were who you thought you were or maybe you were really someone else?”
I blinked. “Um, you lost me there,” I said.
“Me, too,” said Dooley.
“I mean, society has all these expectations of a male cat. Just look at me. I’m butch, I’m handsome, I’m strong—your stereotypical hard-nosed male, right?”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Go on.”
“Well, what if deep down I’m a tender-hearted, sweet-natured... female?!”
Dooley and I shared a look, then burst into a hearty bout of laughter.
“I knew it!” cried Brutus, and jumped down from the couch. “I knew you two wouldn’t understand!” And off he went, slinking away with a panther-like grace—or was it a pantheress?
“Wait, he’s not kidding?” I said.
“Nuh-uh,” said Harriet. “And the worst part is, now he’s trying to convince me that maybe deep down I’m a male, and not a female as I always thought.”
“But you are a female,” I said.
“Duh,” she said.
“You’re probably the most female feline of all the female felines around,” said Dooley deferentially.
She permitted herself a slight smile. “Thanks, Dooley. That’s very sweet of you to say.”
I was still reeling. “So when did Brutus…”
“Figure he might be a female trapped
in a male body? After he saw a documentary on the subject,” said Harriet. “It’s gotten him all confused. And the worst part? He’s lost all interest in me!”
“That is bad,” Dooley agreed, though he didn’t sound sorry. Dooley has always had a crush on Harriet, and I had the distinct impression he wouldn’t mind Brutus turning into a female so he could take his place by Harriet’s side.
And we would probably have explored the topic a lot further, if not suddenly Marge thrust her phone to my ear and I heard the most beautiful sound in the world: the voice of my human asking me how I was holding up.
Chapter 4
“Oh, I’m fine,” I said breezily.
“I’m sorry I didn’t take you, Max, but—”
“Emerald is allergic to cats. I know. You told me.”
“And you know how it is with these superstars—it’s their way or the highway.”
“So how is the house? Plenty of nooks and crannies where a cat can get lost, I reckon?”
“Oh, Max, this must be the biggest house I’ve ever seen.”
“Is it true Emerald pampers her dog as if it’s her baby?”
Odelia laughed. “Oh, yeah. I haven’t talked to Emerald yet, apart from meeting her when we arrived, but she was holding the famous Fanny in her arms the entire time. She really adores her.”
“So she’s a Maltipoo, right?”
“No, a teacup Pomsky.”
“Why is it that there are a million different kinds of dogs but only one kind of cat? Probably because dogs like to show off, huh?”
“I got to run, Max. I just heard the dinner gong.”
“Dinner gong? Emerald has an actual dinner gong?”
“Talk to you soon, Maxie. Give Dooley and the others a big kiss.”
And before I could tell her nighty-night, she was gone.
I heaved a deep sigh.
“Don’t worry, Maxie,” said Marge. “She’ll be back before you know it.”
Why did everybody keep saying Odelia would be back before I knew it? I knew she was gone now, and that was what counted. And before you think I’m one of those pampered pets the superstars of this world like so much, I’m not, okay. But I like to sleep on my own couch, prance around my own kitchen, and visit any of a number of favorite spots—and since Marge had locked up Odelia’s house for the time being, and transferred my food bowl, water bowl and litter box to hers, it wasn’t the same. Then again, it was only for a couple of days, and then things would all go back to normal again.
So I decided to stop whining and accept my fate. I mean, how often can you watch Pearl Harbor in the company of your friends and family? If you’re like Gran, probably a million times. So I put my head down, and dozed off.
“Who was that?” asked Chase as Odelia put her phone away.
“My mom,” said Odelia.
“She misses you, huh?”
“Yeah, well, you know how she is. She worries about me.”
Chase smiled and pulled her into a hug. “That’s so sweet. My mom probably doesn’t even remember my name.”
She hugged him close. Chase’s mom was living with her sister now, after her memory started failing her. Sometimes she remembered she had a son, other times she didn’t. So Odelia counted her blessings, and was glad everyone at home was fine, cats included.
“So,” said Chase when the dinner bell rang out a second time. “I guess that’s us.”
“That’s us and that’s dinner,” said Odelia. “At least I think it is.”
“Could be the fire alarm, but I don’t think so.”
Odelia had put her suitcase on the bed and had been in the process of unpacking but that would have to wait until later. First dinner, and hopefully meeting some of the people that had arrived after they had. In fact she couldn’t wait to meet them all. Emerald had been part of the welcoming committee, along with her husband Pete, but they hadn’t seen the others yet.
“So how do I look?” asked Chase as he paraded in front of her.
She lifted an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t care what people thought of you?”
“Well, I care a little,” he said with a grin.
He’d donned an ivory dinner jacket, blue twill shirt with invisible stripe, purple tie with little pink fishes and his best chestnut brogues.
“You look very Hollywood,” she said.
He struck a pose. “Hey. That’s what we’re all here for.”
She studied herself in the mirror. She’d decided to wear her little black dress with her favorite black pumps. When in doubt, black never fails.
“How about me?” she asked as she twirled around.
“In a word: stunning,” he said as he studied her with abject admiration.
“Don’t you think I overdid it on the mascara?”
“Honey, there’s no such thing as too much mascara.”
“You don’t know what mascara is, do you?”
“Not a clue.”
She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “You’re adorable.”
She clutched her faux Louis Vuitton clutch under her arm, and headed for the door, but Chase blocked her with a wolfish grin. “We still have time.”
She laughed a throaty laugh, placed a finger on his chest and pushed. “Later, gator. Wouldn’t want to be late for Emerald’s dinner party, would we?”
“How about a little late?” he said huskily.
She tsk-tsked gently and whispered, “Later you can take all of this…” She gestured to the little black dress. “… off.”
“Can’t wait,” he growled.
The moment they walked out into the hall, doors to the left and right of them disgorged more participants for Emerald’s weekend getaway. To her left, Odelia recognized the gorgeous Kimberlee Cruz and a young man with a buzz cut who presumably was her boyfriend. To the right the always elegant Alina Isman emerged from her room, a swish in her step and a regal expression on her face, accompanied by the famous Reinhart Bergé, the rock star.
Oh, boy, Odelia thought, before taking a deep breath, plastering her best smile onto her face, and greeting first Alina and then Kimberlee. Introductions were exchanged, and the men flocked together while the women did the same.
“So a reporter, huh?” said Alina. “I thought Emerald outlawed reporters?”
“She made an exception for my boss, who’s an old friend,” Odelia explained. “But then he couldn’t make it so he sent me—with Emerald’s permission, of course.”
“I just hope you won’t write all kinds of saucy things about us when we’re drunk in the sauna and making fools of ourselves,” said the fifty-something actress with a kittenish laugh.
Alina looked stunning, as usual: her alabaster skin, accentuated by bright red lipstick, and those amazing piercing green eyes. Her long reddish hair framed her face and her slender form was clad in a green chiffon designer dress. In spite of her age, the woman was simply… glowing.
Kimberlee, the youngest, likewise looked amazing. She was a round-faced young woman, only twenty-five, but with the acting chops of a much older person, courtesy of her early start in the business. She was the rising star and had been dubbed the new Emerald—a fact that hadn’t escaped the real Emerald’s attention, who’d even gone so far as to practically hand her crown to Kimberlee in a double interview for Vanity Fair last year.
“I think it’s great that you’re here,” said Kimberlee in her trademark raspy voice. “Give us a sense of reality. It’s so easy to get lost in Emerald’s world, as she’s such a superstar, and a reporter present will keep us all from doing silly things like fawn over Queen Emerald and lie at her feet.” She laughed.
“And give away all of our deepest, darkest secrets,” Alina added.
“Frankly I don’t worry about that,” said Kimberlee. “At this point I feel I’ve got nothing to hide—I’ve spilled all of my secrets, deep, dark and otherwise.”
“Oh, have you now,” said Alina, giving her colleague a knowing look.
Kimberlee laughed. “W
ell, maybe not all of my secrets. A girl has to keep a few up her sleeve, right? Keep the mystery?”
Odelia wondered what those secrets could be. But then she reminded herself she wasn’t here as a representative of the National Enquirer or Star.
They descended a sweeping marble staircase, Alina’s finely manicured fingers lightly touching the gilt balustrade. On the wall, a life-size portrait of Emerald hung, posing on a throne as if she were the Queen of England.
“Oh, now will you look at that!” Alina exclaimed.
“That wasn’t there last year, was it?” said Kimberlee.
“The Queen of Hollywood. A little presumptuous, don’t you think?”
“Well, she is the Queen, isn’t she?”
“Or was.”
Both women laughed at some joke Odelia wasn’t privy to.
“Don’t mind us,” said Alina quickly, hooking her arm in Odelia’s. “We’re just making fun.”
“Of Emerald?” asked Odelia.
She caught the warning look Kimberlee shot Alina and the latter, who’d clearly been dipping into the preprandial martinis, zipped up her lips and mimicked throwing away the key.
Maybe she shouldn’t have announced the fact that she was a reporter, Odelia thought now. People tended to clam up when they knew. Then again, Emerald would have told everyone anyway, so there was no point in hiding.
Downstairs, a liveried servant escorted the small company into the dining room, and Odelia’s breath momentarily caught as she was struck by the sheer opulence. Three crystal chandeliers lit up the room. Gilt sconces illuminated paintings of old masters adorning the walls, and the floor was exquisite marble. A glass of champagne was discreetly pressed into her hand and she and Chase were equally discreetly led to the table by another servant.
She recognized Abbey Moret, who was loudly regaling Verna Rectrix and Verna’s husband Thaw Roman with some anecdote, making the couple laugh, and as Odelia glanced around, eyes shining, she saw that all the guests were there except for Emerald and her husband Pete.
“I’ll bet she’ll be the last one to arrive,” said Chase, as if he’d read her mind.