“They have some kind of arrangement. Part of the profits go to Rudolph every month.”
“Also under the table.”
“Yep.”
“You guys,” said Dooley, intrigued. “Where is this table?”
Kingman gave me a warning look.“Don’t tell anyone I said this, you hear?”
“Now who would I tell, Kingman?”
“You could tell Odelia, and she could tell Chase, and since Chase is a cop he’d feel obliged to notify the IRS and Wilbur could be in a whole lot of trouble, and maybe even lose the store.”
“I won’t tell Odelia.”
“You have to watch out for that pillow talk,” said Kingman, shaking his head.
“I didn’t know pillows could talk,” said Dooley with a laugh.
“Pillows don’t talk,” said Kingman, “but the people whose heads are on those pillows when they’re lying in bed together do talk.” He gave me another intent look.
“I won’t tell anyone, Kingman. Your secret is safe with me.”
“And with me,” said Dooley. “The secret of the money table and the talking pillow.”
“Thanks, Dooley,” said Kingman with a smile. “You’re a real pal.”
Just then, there was some kind of a commotion, and when we glanced over in that direction, we saw that Harriet and Brutus had arrived, with Gran and Scarlett in tow.
“Listen up!” Gran shouted to all the cats gathered there. “We need volunteers to act in our new photo comic. It’s going to appear in two thousand five hundred newspapers around the world, and is bound to be a surefire hit.”
“And I’m starring in it!” Harriet piped up. “Your very own choir star!”
“So if anyone feels like they want to become comic strip stars, step forward and we’ll shoot a couple of comics right here and right now.”
“Oh, dear,” I said.
“I hope they don’t pick me,” said Dooley, inching behind my broad back so he wouldn’t be spotted and picked.
“What’s this all about?” asked Kingman.
“Harriet’s latest scheme to become rich and famous,” I said. “She’s starring in her own comic strip, but since Gran can’t draw, and neither can Scarlett, they’ve decided to turn it into a photo strip instead.”
“I don’t mind being in it,” said Kingman.
“A word of warning, my friend,” I said. “Be prepared to get kicked or squashed. Harriet and Brutus are the stars. The rest is there as props to expend their cartoon violence on.”
“You mean like Tom and Jerry, where Tom always gets kicked and thrown out of windows and such?”
“Yeah, something like that, only Tom and Jerry is a cartoon, and nobody gets hurt in a cartoon. This is real, isn’t it, Dooley?”
“I was kicked three times by Brutus,” Dooley said.
“Ouch,” said Kingman.
“It didn’t hurt, though.”
But as we watched, plenty of cats stepped forward, all fodder for Harriet’s comic mill.
“Looks like cat choir has just turned into a recruiting ground for Harriet’s career,” I said.
“It’s still better than having to listen to Rudolph,” said Kingman moodily.
“You know what you should do? Talk to Gran, and suggest that Wilbur buy out his brother. That way Rudolph won’t have an excuse to drop by and intrude upon your peaceful home life.”
“Buy out Rudolph?”
“Why not? That way Wilbur will own the building and the business free and clear.”
“It’s an idea,” Kingman agreed. But then he shook his head. “Too risky. If you tell Vesta, she’ll tell the whole town, and before you know it, Wilbur gets inspected and the government will seize the store.”
“Okay, so what if we tell Gran to be discreet about it?”
He made a scoffing sound.“When have you ever known Vesta to be discreet about anything?”
“Mh,” I said. “Let me give it a think, Kingman. I’m sure there must be a solution.”
“If you find a solution, more power to you, Max. I’ve been thinking and thinking and so far I haven’t been able to come up with anything that doesn’t end in total and utter disaster.”
And with these hopeful words, he trudged off to assume his position as part of the bass lineup. Rehearsals were about to start, photoshoot or no photoshoot, and already Shanille was raising her paws to gather her choir and start tonight’s rehearsals.
Harriet and Brutus and Gran and Scarlett had walked off with about a dozen eager candidates, and it looked like their shoot was about to commence, too.
And frankly I’d never been more glad not to be a part of something as I was now.
And as rehearsals progressed nicely, even without our lead soprano, I started to notice how from time to time a cat would come stumbling out of the shrubbery, and start to lick its wounds. All of them seemed a little worse for wear, and when Buster, the hairdresser’s cat, came tottering up to us and took up his usual position next to me in the choir lineup, and I whispered, “What’s going on?” he said, “Brutus kicked me. Even though your gran told him not to, he kicked me, Max. Though lucky for me he only used his left leg.”
“Oh, dear,” I said.
“Looks like Brutus is taking his role a little too seriously,” Dooley whispered.
“Yeah, looks like,” I agreed.
It happens sometimes, you see. Actors play a part, and decide they’re going to stay in character throughout the entire shoot. If they have to play some creepy part, they act like creeps throughout the shoot, and if they’re supposed to be play some adulterous character, they go around being adulterous for weeks on end. It’s extremely annoying for the other actors involved, and probably for the actors’ significant others, too. And now Brutus had clearly fallen prey to this same erroneous belief that you can only play a part if you really dive into it headfirst and don’t come out again until the movie is in the can.
More cats now came stumbling out of the shrubbery, and finally Gran’s voice could be heard screaming, “Brutus, for crying out loud—it’s Harriet who’s supposed to do the kicking—not you!”
Yep, the life of a director is hard!
Chapter 17
I would like to say that I had a good night, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. And it wasn’t because I was thinking about Jayme languishing in the pen, or even Kingman having to endure his human’s brother’s heavy metal ambitions. It was in fact Brutus who kept me awake all night. Now I think I’ve sufficiently impressed upon you how taken my friend was with his new acting role, and he seemed to carry this through into his sleep as well. In fact his acting had presumably seeped straight into his subconscious, and so he kept acting out his part even when he was fast asleep.
The first time I woke up I didn’t know what had awakened me. As so often happens, you pick up a sound, but by the time you’re awake, of course that sound has dissipated and you’re left grasping for clues as to what could have possibly dragged you out of that pleasurable dream about a new kibble, delicious like nothing you’ve ever tasted before.
The second time I woke up I experienced a distinct sensation of pressure in my left buttock, but when I glanced over I saw nothing out of sorts, so I went straight back to sleep.
And it was only the third time that I finally caught the culprit: it was Brutus, and he was kicking in his sleep! And since he was lying right next to me, unfortunately I was the recipient of his acting prowess.
“Brutus,” I said, shaking him gently.
“I’m sorry, Gran,” he murmured. “Can I have another take? I didn’t feel it that time.”
“Brutus!” I insisted, trying to stir him to full wakefulness.
Finally he opened his eyes and stared at me.“Max? What’s going on, brother?”
“You have got to stop kicking, Brutus,” I said.
He groaned.“That’s what Gran keeps telling me. But I can’t stop, Max. I simply can’t!”
“I know, you’ve kicked me in the rear three times already.”
“I have? How strange.”
“In your sleep,” I specified.