"Such an imagination." Karma almost smiles, save I have never seen a cat smile yet. Maybe grin a little when no one is watching. "But you have been earmarked for a great role in the affairs of the day."
I do not like that "earmarked" idea and feel one of mine twitch. Ever since my involuntary surgery, various extremities have developed nervous tics. I know, I know. Nothing was lost. But it was close. If Miss Savannah Ashleigh had not been so dumb as to take me to her personal surgeon, I could be singing falsetto with the rest of the "retired" boys in the band right now.
"Do not growl, Louie." Karma stretches her limousine legs, then arches her back and rises. She is big enough to tower over me. "Change is not necessarily loss, but opportunity. See that you take advantage of the ones soon to come your way. Now. Can you see me up to my room?"
She makes it sound like a little gentlemanly escort duty, but it is more like baby-sitting. Turns out this babe is afraid of heights, and going up is a lot worse than coming down. Our return is supposed to be discreet, but that is hard to achieve when it takes an occasional claw-prod in the posterior to keep her moving up the facade of the Circle Ritz, which has suddenly become as black and slick and smooth as a frozen lava wall. But she bites back any yowls of protest at my herding technique and I finally goad her over the patio railing into Miss Electra Lark's territory again.
"Even Bast's psychic surgery was kinder than your ministrations, Louie. Was such rudeness necessary?"
"Rule One in Advanced Climbing Technique: keep moving or drop dead."
With that blunt summary I leave her.
Bast's earring winks at me as I turn to head back down.
Maybe the goddess--a pretty hip chick two thousand years ago, after all--is wondering if I am fully recovered from my operation.
Chapter 1
An Offer Not to Be Refused
"Don't move! Just listen. You've got to get an agent, pronto!"
Temple listened to the voice on the phone, still numb from the import of the previous call, one made to her, not like this one that she had made immediately afterward.
"It's such short notice, though," Temple answered the urgency on the line's other end. "I'd been thinking about visiting you for the holidays--"
"Don't think. You can hire someone to do that for you. This could be very, very big."
"Not at one hundred and fifty a day."
"That was last week. This is . . . this week. From what you said, they said, this is a whole new ball game."
"I hate ball games. I hate that expression. Could you try something less cliched?"
"You're concentrating on trivia because the Big Picture is too new to take in. Look. I must know Someone who knows Someone. This is New York City, after all. Everybody's a specialist. Let me call around and get you a reference. Then we can talk housing arrangements."
"Yes, but I don't see--"
Yes, but. You don't see. That's the problem. Just hang up. Sit tight and let Aunty Kit handle it. I'd love to see you for Christmas, sweetie, but I'd much rather see you with a decent contract in your hand. Cheerio."
Temple couldn't tell if her aunt was under the influence of a food craving or simply wishing her good-bye. But she did as instructed; she hung up and looked at Midnight Louie, who had actually exchanged his comfy sofa for the hard kitchen countertop when the call had come half an hour ago.
"Looks like we'll be seeing Kris Kringle at Macy's this year, Louie. You know, Miracle on Thirty-fourth Street Macy's. Except they might not let you in. Oh, golly, I hope Aunt Kit knows what she's doing. If she blows this deal... but she's a novelist and she used to be an actress, and they both use agents, so I guess she's my nearest expert, besides being a contact in Manhattan. Just think, Louie! You and me, living it up for the holidays in New York, New York."
I yawn. I have interrupted my nap, after all, to rush over and eavesdrop. The first call was a lot more interesting, because it was mainly all about me.
"Poor fella! You're so pooped from your medical nightmare, and now I'm supposed to whisk you off to New York and all the performance pressure, in pursuit of mythical beasts: cruel chimeras of Fame and Fortune. I wonder if we need another agent to look after your interests alone? Like in messy divorce cases. You are going to be a 'party of the first part,' after all."
I got a late-breaking headline, doll. I have always been the Party of the First Part, especially now that I still have all my parts--by some miracle and a dopey blonde's mistake. And they call us dumb beasts!
"I do not know." Miss Temple kicks off her magenta suede high heels so I can read the label. Some dudette named Nicole Miller. It is nice to see the little dolls coming up in the world nowadays and becoming majorettes of industry and design.
She wiggles her toes, a gesture I can appreciate, and I do not even wear shoes, much less skyscraper shoes. I wonder if she will take her designer stilts to New York, New York. It is an either-way calclass="underline" heads she wears 'em and is not fit to flee a mugger, and tails she does not, and is therefore unarmed with a sharp instrument when attacked in Broadway daylight.
"Will any hotels let you in? Maybe the Algonquin. It has always had a 'house cat,' after all, along with a house tie for errant gentle-men in too-casual attire. Kit says we could stay with her, but I hate to impose."
Say, this Indian joint is my kind of place. I am always dressed in formal black. As for staying with Miss Temple's aunt, one Miss Kit Carlson, that is okay with me. Impose, impose! I am the only "house cat" on any premises I choose to honor with my presence.
She sighs. "I would consult Matt, but he has left for work, and Electra is officiating at a wedding downstairs ... why does good fortune always strike when all your friends are AWOL?"
I am here. She must have heard me because she starts stroking my ears. I wonder if I am destined for the Mr. Clean earring. Well, all the rock stars have them. I suppose I could have something tasteful. Like a sterling-silver carp. Or eighteen-karat gold, if I am a star.
She jumps so high when the phone rings again right in front of us that I nearly leap off the countertop. Get a grip, girl! If you are going to be a big-time manager, you will have to be as cool as Ice T.
"Hello? Yes, I heard from your account exec and I'm giving it serious thought. Of course I have to consider all the ramifications-- that is a lot of money, but I need to discuss it in person. Oh? On your tab? And the cat? Well, he has to fly too. Only in the cabin. I won't have him in the cargo area. All those horror stories--"
Cargo area? What does the geek on the other end of the line think I am, chopped liver? I woul d not confine Miss Savannah Ash leigh to a cargo area, and after what she had done to me, that is a severe indictment indeed of cargo areas.
"I'll call you as soon as I know something definite. Yes, I realize it's eight p.m. in New York. You work awfully late there, don't you? Oh, everyone does. We work hard in Las Vegas, too, only we get done three hours earlier. I'll call tomorrow. Yes, it has to be tomorrow."
She holds her hand over the receiver and finally asks me something. "Who can Kit dig up at eight on a Friday night?"
Beats me. Elvis, maybe. Or an out-of-work vampire. Now that's an agent after my own heart, a genuine bloodsucker.
Miss Temple hangs up and continues what she thinks is a monologue. "Oh, Louie! What a strange turn of events. You, a corporate mascot. I wonder if they know what they're letting themselves in for?"