“Well spoken, darling,” said Harriet. “You’re so smart.”
“And you’re so beautiful.”
“Oh, you’re too sweet.”
“Most beautiful babe ever. Yes, you are.”
“Ooh. Kissy kissy, darling.”
The cloying scene was too much for me, and I decided to remove myself before I threw up my breakfast. And as I was walking away, I saw to my surprise how Dieber himself approached, his eyes focused on but one thing: the white Persian we all knew as Harriet.
Chapter 10
It had taken some time for Odelia and Chase to be admitted to the house. Even though the security guard at the front gate had allowed them in, the one posted at the house had taken his time to study their credentials. It appeared as if he’d never seen a police badge before, and he’d even called Uncle Alec to check if Chase was a real cop or just some crazed fan trying to get close to the Dieber under false pretenses. When he’d started reading Chase’s badge number to Odelia’s uncle and giving him Chase’s description, the cop had finally had enough and threatened to arrest the guy on the spot for obstruction of justice.
That had done the trick, and they’d finally been allowed to proceed.
The vestibule was large and consisted of white marble walls, floors and even ceilings. It was the life-sized horse that dominated the entrance that made Odelia draw up short. She stared at the horse, which was white and rearing up on its hind legs. On top of the horse sat an equally life-sized Charlie Dieber, his arm raised as if he was about to invade some foreign nation, his eyes fixed on the horizon and his expression dead serious.
On the side of the horse a slogan had been sprayed, which read, ‘Be Who You May Be – Charlie Dieber.’
“Charlie Dieber. Philosopher,” Chase murmured as he joined her. “It’s a side of him I’ve never seen before.”
“Well, he does write all of his own songs,” she said.
“Of course he does.”
They moved beyond Dieber the Conqueror and deeper into the house. To her surprise the place was pretty much empty. They passed through a spacious living room, where gigantic portraits on the walls announced, in case they still had doubts, that they’d entered the world of the Dieber. Six Warhol-type portraits adorned the space, each in a different bright color, and each depicting Dieber’s heavily-tattooed torso. Tattoos of dollar bills, snakes and even Indiana Jones’s famous fedora and whip covered every inch of skin.
Odelia gulped slightly. It was one thing to be a fan of this young man, but another to be confronted with this wealth of self-absorption and vanity. Then again, if you’re going to become a global pop star, a healthy dose of egomania probably comes with the territory.
“Where is everybody?” asked Chase as they sauntered through the living room.
“They’re probably in mourning,” said Odelia. “Or hunkered down in the basement bunker, trying to come up with a strategy on how to deal with this attack on Charlie’s life.”
They entered a large kitchen, and came upon a beehive of activity—three chefs cooking up a storm while servers came and went, carrying trays and silver platters.
More trays stood on the countertops, laden with hors-d’oeuvres and other amuse-bouches, while dozens of flutes were being filled with pink champagne by rattled-looking kitchen personnel, before being snapped up by the servers and carted outside.
Noise and music had them both turn in the direction of the window, and that’s when Odelia saw that a pool party was in full swing. Girls in bikinis were jumping into the pool and playing a game of water ball, while dozens of others stood rocking out to loud music.
“Um, what was that you said about Dieber being in mourning?” asked Chase.
She slowly hitched up the jaw that had dropped and stared at the scene. In light of the recent death of one of the pop star’s bodyguards, this all seemed very inappropriate and more than a little disrespectful. “Maybe this is the way he deals with loss?” she tried lamely.
“Yeah, right,” Chase grunted. He clearly wasn’t buying it, and frankly neither was she. “Let’s go outside and have a chat with our chief mourner,” he suggested.
They stepped out onto the deck, and mingled with the raving crowd. The music was loud and Odelia recognized it as part of a remix of Dieber songs by the world’s top DJs. She actually had the same compilation on her phone, and enjoyed listening to it at the gym.
Now she doubted if she’d ever be able to enjoy it in quite the same way again.
A freakishly muscular young man bumped up against her. “Hey, babe! Wanna get nekkid with me?”
“No, I don’t want to get ‘nekkid’ with you,” she snapped, and ignored Chase’s grin.
“Wanna do some blow? Snort some coke?” the guy asked, a strange gleam in his eyes. She recognized the gleam. He was clearly high on the stuff he was hawking.
Chase held up his badge. “Police. Get lost, buddy.”
In spite of his state of inebriation, the guy got the message and took a hike.
“Nice wake,” said Chase. “I’m sure the family of Ray Cooper will be thrilled.”
Odelia merely shook her head. And that’s when she spotted the man of the hour. Charlie Dieber was seated in a lounge next to the pool, stroking… “Harriet!”
“Huh?” Chase asked.
“Look—it’s my mom’s cat.”
He looked where she indicated, and muttered, “Well, I’ll be damned. It’s Diego.”
Diego had belonged to Chase’s mom, before she’d offloaded him on her son when her health didn’t allow her to take care of him herself. And since Chase was bunking with Uncle Alec, and was rarely home, he’d asked the Pooles to look after the orange cat.
Odelia hurried over, and saw that all her cats were present and accounted for: Brutus, Dooley, Max, Harriet and Diego. Even Clarice was there, the feral cat Max had befriended.
And she’d just joined Charlie when she heard him say, “I’m adopting you, beautiful.”
“No, you’re not,” she said, and snatched Harriet from the singer’s paws. “This is my cat,” she said. “Or at least my mother’s.”
Charlie gave her a grin. “Hey, babe. Wanna get nekkid and jump in the pool with me? I’ll bet you’re one hell of a swimmer.”
Chase took out his badge again and flashed it in the singer’s face. “Wanna get nekkid with me, douchebag? I know some great wrestling moves.”
Charlie held up his hands. “Chill, dude. I’m just trying to have some fun.”
“You’ve got a strange idea of fun—stealing someone else’s cat.”
“Hey, I wasn’t stealing anyone’s cat. I just like cats.” He smiled. “I like to call them my Dieber Babes.” He gave Clarice’s fur a stroke. “Isn’t that right, babe?”
Clarice emitted a soft purring sound that Odelia had never heard her produce before. She looked different, too. Less mangy.
“How much do you want for the Persian?” asked Charlie now. “I want her. And what the Dieber wants, the Dieber gets.”
“I’m going to have to disappoint you, Charlie,” Odelia said, becoming indignant now. “Harriet is not for sale.”
“She isn’t, huh? How about the orange one?”
“That’s my cat,” said Chase, “and he’s not for sale either.”
“Oh, he’s a he, huh? My bad. Yeah, I don’t do dudes, only babes.” Charlie darted a quick glance at Brutus and Dooley, but didn’t seem to deem them worthy of inclusion in his harem either. “So I guess it’s ‘peace, out’ from me then, suckers.” He held up his index and middle finger, kissed them and stalked off, moving in an awkward swaying motion. He was wearing his cap with the bill backwards, and baggy pants that showed a good deal of crack. Odelia shook her head. Suddenly she wasn’t so sure if she still wanted to be a Bedieber.