by Nic Saint
“Yeah, like in the documentary. The male of the species turns into the female of the species and the female of the species into the male and they live happily ever after. It’s not rocket science, you guys.”
It sounded like rocket science to me. “So you want to turn into a female and for Harriet to turn into a male so you can live happily ever after?” I asked, wanting to make sure I got the gist of the thing before we proceeded into the nitty-gritty.
“Yeah. We are a couple, after all, and if I’m going to be the female, she has to be the male, right?”
“Um... you could always turn into a female while Harriet keeps on being a female, too,” suggested Dooley.
Brutus frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“Well, if Harriet doesn’t want to be a male, and you are adamant about being a female, you’re going to be two females together, right?”
“Okay,” said Brutus. Then the profundity of Dooley’s words settled in and his frown deepened. “I guess… that could work.”
“Of course it could work!” I said. “Humans do it all the time. Males with other males, females with other females. It’s a very common thing.”
“Huh,” said Brutus as he tried to wrap his head around it. “The thing is... how are we going to have babies?”
“You adopt,” I said knowingly. I’d seen a few Discovery Channel documentaries myself, and more than a few National Geographic ones, too.
“Adopt,” said Brutus dubiously. “Why would we adopt when I have a perfectly functioning... you-know-what?”
“If you’re going to turn into a female they’re going to cut off your perfectly functioning you-know-what, Brutus,” I explained.
Brutus’s eyes widened to their maximum dilation. “Wait, what?!”
“What?!” Dooley cried, a few seconds later. His penny usually took a little longer to drop.
“Of course! How can you be a fully functioning female with a fully functioning male you-know-what? That doesn’t make sense.”
Brutus directed a slightly panicky look at me. “Oh, Max. This is all so very, very complicated!”
“That’s why humans visit shrinks to sort through this kind of stuff.” And since I’m not a fully functioning shrink, I thought maybe Brutus should see an official one instead of gabbing to his friends about this most important topic.
“You should see a shrink,” finally said Dooley, who’d come to the same conclusion I had.
“A shrink? But I don’t want to see a shrink!”
“You have to,” I said. “You’re obviously confused about this issue, Brutus, and the sooner you work through it the sooner you’ll be a fully functioning boyfriend—or girlfriend—again.”
“Oh, man,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m screwed, aren’t I?”
“At least one of us is,” suddenly a familiar voice rang out in the night. It was Harriet, and she did not look happy.
“We were just telling Brutus he needs to see a shrink,” I said.
“I don’t know who he should see, but he better make it quick, cause I’m losing patience with this ridiculous cat,” said Harriet.
“Do we even know a shrink?” asked Dooley.
I thought hard. None of my acquaintances had studied shrinkage, as far as I knew. Then again, it’s not as if cats actually go to school or even college. I guess we’re all students of the school of life.
“Kingman might know a shrink,” I said. “He’s usually well-informed.”
Kingman is the cat that belongs to the owner of Hampton Cove’s general store. He knows pretty much anyone who’s anyone and a whole bunch of absolute nobodies, too.
“Come on,” I said, jumping down from the swing. “Let’s go see him now.”
“Max!” said Dooley. “You’re back!”
“Hey,” I said, surprised. “I am!” He was right. I was feeling a lot better.
“See,” said Dooley. “All you needed was something to take your mind off your human abandoning you and falling in love with a bunch of other, better and nicer pets than you.”
Ugh. Whatever Dooley was, it definitely was not a shrink.
More like an anti-shrink.
Chapter 7
Dinner was over, and what a glorious dinner it was! Emerald’s chef had gone all-out preparing the small company the most delicious meal imaginable.
Pork Wellington with prosciutto and spinach-mushroom stuffing. Peppery greens with Meyer-lemon dressing. Rutabaga-sweet potato mash with garlic and sage. And for dessert no-bake chocolate-eggnog crème brûlée. Because in Emerald’s view, why limit eggnog to Christmas when you can enjoy it year-round!
The company had retired to the terrace, chatting away and enjoying some of the best wines from Emerald’s obviously extensive wine collection.
The house was located near the ocean, and Abbey had already suggested they go for a midnight swim, but since everyone was still too full after the sumptuous meal, her suggestion had fallen on deaf ears.
Candles had been lit, music drifted from hidden speakers, and a gazebo provided privacy for the guests who needed it. Verna had returned—apparently hunger had vanquished whatever rancor she’d been harboring—and was now quietly chatting away with her husband, clutching a glass of wine in one hand and a giant reefer in the other.
Odelia studied the house, which was lit up and looked like a fairytale castle out of a Disney movie.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” she said. She was feeling mellow.
“Yeah, it’s a nice little hovel,” Chase agreed.
“Hovel? It’s like a Snow White’s castle or something.”
Chase laughed. “So who’s Snow White and who’s the evil stepmother?”
They glanced around. Emerald sat holding court: her director, husband and Alina and Alina’s husband at her feet, hanging on her every word. Kimberlee, oddly enough, wasn’t amongst those fawning fans, even though she’d been officially named Emerald’s successor.
“I’m not sure,” said Odelia. “Emerald seems like a shoo-in for Snow White but somehow I don’t see her as the young and beautiful bride-to-be.”
“Kimberlee, maybe? She’s young and pretty. Has the world at her feet.”
Odelia poked Chase’s nose. She was a little tipsy. “Calling Kimberlee young and pretty, huh?”
“My apologies. You are obviously the only one worthy of Snow White’s crown.”
“In which case the evil stepmother would be Abbey’s husband Seger, who seems to think since I’m a reporter no one should be allowed to talk to me.”
“You have to admit it is a little tricky for celebs to talk to reporters.”
“I’m not that kind of reporter,” she said, slurring her words a little. “I would never take words out of context and put them in someone else’s, um…”
“Mouth,” he finished, and took her glass away from her. “I have the impression you’ve had enough for one night, Snow White. What will the seven dwarfs think when you stomp all over their little beds?”
“I’ll lie on their beds, eat their food and even, oh, dear, sit on their little chairs and possibly break them,” she said. She patted his face. “So if you’re Prince Charming, what are you waiting for to kiss me, handsome?”
A loud cackling sound could be heard. It came from Alina, who had thrown her head back and was laughing with such fakeness Odelia wondered if she was the only one to notice.
“Another fine candidate for evil stepmother,” said Chase.
“She would be a perfect evil stepmother,” Odelia admitted. “So if she offers us an apple, let’s say no.”
“Say no to apples. Sounds like a good idea,” Chase agreed.
A man joined them, looking slightly worse for wear. “So you’re the reporter, eh?” he said, studying Odelia as if trying to determine if she was rabid or not.
“I am, but I don’t bite,” she assured him.
He laughed. “I’m not so sure about that. So who do you work for? Variety? The Hollywood Reporter? Deadline Hollywood?”
He frowned. “Hampton Cove Gazette? Never heard of it.”
“It’s the local rag.”
“Local rag?” He looked appropriately confused. “Weird.”
“Are you saying I am weird?” asked Odelia with a frown.
“No, the fact that you’re here is weird,” said the guy, who Odelia now recognized as Kimberlee Cruz’s boyfriend, the hockey player. “The only reason I can think of for Emerald to invite you is that she wanted her big announcement to be spread outside of this small company.”
“What big announcement?” Odelia asked, wondering if she’d missed a crucial part of the evening.
“You were there. Emerald announced that she’s abdicating her throne and crowning Kimberlee as her official successor.”
“Oh, yeah, I heard that. I thought that was just a Hollywood thing. Like, just some silly babble?”
“Oh, no,” said the guy.
With his buzz cut he reminded her of Chris Evans. For a hockey player he was definitely handsome. Movie-star handsome, in fact.
“So no silly babble?” asked Chase.
“Absolutely not. This is big. Like, career-defining big. In fact Emerald said those exact same words before dinner. Said she was going to make a big announcement. We had no idea she was going to do this—and in front of a member of the press, too.” He gestured with his glass to Odelia. “So you better quote me as saying that Kimberlee is honored and extremely pleased. She also wants it to be known that of course there’s no way she’ll ever be able to follow in the footsteps of a woman as accomplished, as legendary and universally beloved as Emerald Rhone, without a doubt the greatest actress that has ever lived. But she accepts it as a compliment and hopes to do her proud.”
“Um, thanks,” said Odelia, a little uncertain about this whole spiel.
“So what do you really think?” asked Chase now. “I mean, off the record.”
Zoltan stared at Odelia’s hands for a moment, as if expecting her to switch off her tape recorder and announce this was really off the record.
“Off the record I think the woman is completely off her rocker,” he said finally, relaxing now that he wasn’t on an official mission from his girlfriend to butter up the press. “I mean, who cares what Emerald frickin’ Rhone thinks? As if she gets to decide who’s successful in this business or not. Hollywood is not a kingdom and she’s not its queen. There’s no throne to give away and no crown to be handed over. Everything Kim has achieved she’s done by working harder than anyone out there, and she definitely doesn’t need some has-been lush to crown her the next queen of Hollywood.”
“Harsh words,” said Chase.
“Off the record, though, right?” said Zoltan, suddenly nervous.
“Absolutely,” said Odelia. She just hoped she’d remember half of what the guy was saying and vowed to jot it all down in her little notebook the moment they got back to their room.
“Emerald is yesterday’s news,” Zoltan continued. “Ask around. Everybody thinks so. The only reason we decided to humor her and accept her invitation was because of Abbey and Alina. Kim respects them tremendously. If not for those two she would have turned Emerald down flat. Especially after what she did to her.”
“What did she do to her?”
Zoltan leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. “She tried to get Kimberlee kicked off the show. Said she was only going to sign on if Kimberlee was replaced by a different actress. Can you believe it?”
“But why?” asked Odelia. “Why would she do such a thing?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Jealousy, pure and simple. Kim is an up-and-coming talent, who’s about to make it big, and Emerald a has-been on her way down.”
“So what happened?”
“So Alina and Abbey flatly refused to fire Kim. Said she was an integral part of the cast and if Kim walked, they would walk, too. And since they’re co-producing, Emerald didn’t have a leg to stand on.”
“She could have bowed out.”
“No, she couldn’t. She’s not getting the parts she used to, and she needs the work. The show was last year’s biggest hit, and was shaping up to be an even bigger hit this year, so Emerald wanted in, whatever the cost.”
“Even if she had to tolerate Kimberlee,” said Odelia, nodding.
“Exactamundo.”
“What happened just now with Verna Rectrix?” asked Chase.
“Actors,” he said with a shrug. “They’re all nuts.”
He quickly excused himself and moved off.
“If you ask me, there’s more to this Verna story than Kimberlee’s boyfriend is letting on,” said Chase.
“Definitely. Who would have thought there was so much dirt to dig up?”
“And all off the record,” said Chase with a grin.
“Absolutely. I have a hunch this whole weekend is going to be one long feast of off-the-record stories.”
Chase studied her for a moment. “You’re having fun, aren’t you?”
“Detective Kingsley,” she said dramatically, placing a hand on his arm and gesturing around at the little cliques of gossiping Hollywood actors and their significant others, “this is what paradise looks like to a reporter.”
Chapter 8
In the daytime Kingman can always be found on Main Street, where he holds court in front of his human’s popular store. Now, in the middle of the night, for some reason the general store is closed for business, and so Kingman shifts his presence to the park, where most of Hampton Cove’s cats meet up.
We like to call it cat choir, because we have a regular conductor, who tries to tell us what to do, and tries to instill a modicum of melodiousness in the ragtag collection of cats’ wailings. But as Shanille well knows, it’s all to no avail. Cats can’t sing, and that’s the hard truth of the matter. We do know how to produce a lot of noise, and we enjoy it, too, especially in the springtime, when males and females try to attract each other’s attention for procreational purposes, which is what Harriet’s beef with Brutus apparently was all about.
So after a short hike we arrived at the park, and immediately I felt buoyed, just like Dooley had promised. My friend was right. When a cat wants to forget about his trouble with humans, all he or she needs to do is spend some time amongst his own posse, and those lingering doubts and fears all melt like snow before the summer sun. It didn’t hurt that Brutus’s troubles were greater than my own, which offered a welcome distraction. The soap opera principle.
“Kingman—hey, Kingman!” I called out when I caught sight of our trusty old comrade.
As usual, he was perched on top of the jungle gym, which offers a bird’s-eye view of the goings-on in the park. Or should I say a cat’s-eye view?
Cat choir convenes at the children’s playground. It consists of a swing, a jungle gym, and other paraphernalia designed to entertain and delight infant humans, all bolted to the ground and finished with a nice layer of rubber.
During the daytime it is overrun with children, watched over by their doting parents, but once darkness sets in, cats take over and rule this roost.
We’d joined Kingman, who was chatting up two very perky-looking cats, and he reluctantly transferred his attention to us. A spreading piebald, he is by way of being Hampton Cove’s feline mayor, and one of my oldest friends.
“You won’t believe this,” he said, “but now Shanille has gotten it into her nut that cat choir needs fresh blood, so she’s asked her cousin Minny, who lives over in Happy Bays, to send some of that town’s cats over here.” He shook his head. “As if we don’t have enough trouble laying down the law with this sorry lot.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the three dozen or so cats who were shooting the breeze, preparatory to starting rehearsals.
“Yeah, that’s all very interesting,” I said, not interested in the finer points of cat choir organization right then. “The thing is, we need your help, Kingman.”
“Okay. What is it this time? Has Dooley seen UFOs?
Is he worried again about the end of the world?”
“UFOs?” asked Dooley. “What are UFOs?”
“Nothing,” I said, not wanting to get sidetracked. “Brutus needs a shrink, Kingman, and we were hoping you could recommend him one.”
Kingman stared at me for a moment, then roared with laughter, his voluminous belly quivering like jelly. “Max!” he cried, tears rolling down his furry cheeks. “That’s the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard! A shrink! For cats!”
I wasn’t laughing, though, and neither were Harriet and Brutus. Dooley, of course, laughed right along, even though he probably had no idea what he was laughing about. He’s every sociable that way.
Finally it dawned on Kingman that we were deadly serious. “You’re not kidding,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. He turned his attention to a somber-looking Brutus and Harriet. “Lovers’ tiff? Is that’s what’s going on here?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “Brutus. You better tell him.”
“I’m having doubts,” said Brutus.
“Doubts? Doubts about what?”
“I’m not so sure if deep down I’m not a female rather than a male,” said Brutus, darting a quick glance around to make sure no one overheard him. This was deep stuff, and he didn’t need cat choir members making fun of him.
Kingman blinked. “Wait, let me get this straight. You think that deep down you might be a female and not a male?”
“That’s right.”
“Who gave you that idea?!” Kingman cried, and looked as if he were on the verge of another bout of hilarity.
“No one,” said Brutus gruffly. “I discovered this all by myself.”
“Well, you did see that Discovery Channel documentary,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, but that only served to remind me of a truth I always knew I knew. On a subconscious level, if you see what I mean. In my heart of hearts.”
“Oh, my God,” said Harriet, rolling her eyes.
“It did!” said Brutus.
“Brutus is confused,” I said, “so we thought he should probably talk to a shrink.” I was walking on eggshells, Brutus’s foul glances and grumpy face warning me he might explode at any moment, like one of those volcanoes that suddenly erupt and slay a town full of unsuspecting natives.