The Lost Cats and Lonely Hearts Club

by Nic Tatano

  I smile at the scene. “He likes you.”

  Jamison holds the toy over his head. The kitten rolls on his back and swats at it.

  A few hours later I say goodnight to Jamison, too tired to be run back to Manhattan to get my car. I’ll take the Staten Island Ferry tomorrow morning and pick it up. Hey, right now I’m into boat rides, and that one’s free. By the way, one thing you should know about me; when you grow up without a whole lot of money, you generally remain thrifty as an adult even though I make an excellent salary. It makes me cringe to see people spend five bucks for a cup of coffee when I can brew a whole pot for twenty-five cents.

  So tonight was something I’ve never experienced.

  This was a date unlike any other. A hit Broadway show, champagne and dining in the limo … quite the upgrade from the cab ride, Coke and a slice I was expecting. I’ve always avoided rich guys, and Jamison’s obviously raking in the bucks from his business. I’ve not been out with anyone like him before. One can only imagine what his “little apartment” in Manhattan looks like. Probably some penthouse next to Donald Trump.

  As before he was a perfect gentleman, taking things slow in the romance department, which is fine with me considering the other guy on the aforementioned dance card. I decided it was time to tell him I was seeing someone else, and he didn’t have a problem with it. He played with the kittens, which is important these days, especially since the tortoiseshell seems to have a built-in bullshit detector. Love me, love my cat. Not sure I could deal with a guy who didn’t care about animals anymore.

  He invited me to his house next weekend for his annual beach party for his clients, so that will be my third date with him. And I’m bringing my friends so they can “vet” the guy. The following week Nick comes home, so it will be three dates with each after that and perhaps things will resolve themselves. Like the tortoiseshell made my decision about which kitten to choose.

  Right now, though, they are dead even. Two very different guys.

  Litter box training for the kittens today. I have discovered that “scoop” means something other than an exclusive news story.

  Let’s skip this part. File it under “too much information.”

  But before we head to the beach it’s time to pair up the kittens with their humans. I bring all the kittens into the living room and put them on the floor. “Okay, everyone get down there with them.”

  “What are we doing?” asks Rory.

  “Time for the kittens to choose their humans.”

  A.J. furrows her brow as she kneels down. “We don’t have any say in this? What is this, the rose ceremony on The Bachelor?”

  I shake my head. “Hey, the kitten knows who it belongs with.” The Russian blue sniffs the air and immediately heads toward A.J., then starts licking her fingers. “Ah, you’ve been selected already.”

  “I’ve been slicing pastrami at the deli. It might want me for my food.”

  “Same as the guys you date,” cracks Tish. “Obviously a smart kitten. Though I don’t think you should feed it cold cuts.”

  The blue stops licking her fingers and crawls in her lap. A.J. starts to stroke its head. “Okay, kitty, even though you’re prettier than me you’ve got a home. And you’ll look good with my furniture.”

  I nod. “It’s a very calm kitten. It will be a good influence you.”

  A.J. looks at me. “You sayin’ I need to calm down?”

  “Nah, just that opposites attract.”

  Rory and Tish get down on the floor between the tabby and the tuxedo cat. “You got a preference?” asks Tish.

  Rory shrugs. “Like Freckles said, it’s the cat’s choice. And I’ll be happy with either one. They’re both sweet kittens. Though I do have a favorite.”

  Both kittens are looking at Tish. The tabby slowly starts walking in her direction, then gets passed by the tuxedo cat who runs toward her. It crawls on her lap and starts swatting at her necklace. Tish dangles it over the kitten’s head. “It likes jewelry. Considering it looks like it’s dressed formally and that describes my usual outfit, I think we go together.”

  Rory claps. “Yay! I wanted the little tiger anyway.” The tabby turns and runs toward her. She picks it up and holds it to her chest.

  I get back up off the floor. “Okay, the kittens have spoken.” After weeks of keeping these babies alive, I’m so pleased they’ve found loving, furever homes. Who knows, maybe the kittens will be good luck for my friends too—I glance down at my tortoiseshell—mine certainly has been.

  The girls enjoy the ride on the water taxi, eagerly awaiting their chance to check out the other guy in my life. Tish, in particular, is licking her lips like she does in the courtroom when she’s ready to interrogate a witness. Next weekend they’ll get a better look at Nick, as I bought more tickets to that dinner so they could evaluate him as well. After the disaster that was Jeremy, I’m really going to take the advice of my friends to heart this time.

  A.J.’s eyes widen as the boat pulls up to the dock. “Wow. Gorgeous town. I didn’t know places like this existed in Jersey.”

  “Looks like there’s some serious old money here,” says Rory. “And this guy has a house on the oceanfront?”

  I nod and smile. “Yep. It’s incredible. But you guys are not here to judge the architecture or his bank account. While I must admit his lifestyle is pretty damned attractive, the financial aspects are not important. I don’t need a man to provide for me.”

  “Me neither,” says Rory. “Though one to wait on me would be nice.”

  We start heading off the boat and I realize this is not exactly the kind of place to find a traditional taxi. “Oh, hell, I forgot to ask him for the number of a cab company.” I pull out my cell to look for one when I see it.

  A driver holding a sign with my last name on it standing next to a limo.

  A.J. takes my arm. “Don’t think we need a cab, honey.”

  The slim, gray-haired driver smiles as his face fills with recognition and he greets us with a British accent. “Ah, Miss Shaw and friends. Welcome to Monmouth Beach.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Your host is already entertaining guests, so he sent me to give you all a lift to his humble abode.” He opens the door and we all climb in, finding a bottle of champagne and a tray of hors d’oeuvres.

  Rory shakes her head, amazed at all this. “Damn, Freckles, how loaded is this guy?”

  I shrug. “No clue. But obviously his video production company is doing very well.”

  Jamison’s home is already filled with music, good food, salt air, and a few dozen people, many of whom would be described as “old money.” (Old money defined: They made it the old-fashioned way. They inherited it.) The kind of people I’ve never really been comfortable around. I recognize a few of Manhattan’s movers and shakers, and of course, everyone recognizes me, more so from the cats and the adoption testimony than from television news. Frankly, I’m surprised at the guest list, as Jamison doesn’t seem like the type considering he struggled as a reporter making no money in the middle of nowhere. But I guess when you have his kind of money your friends change.

  Then again, he said many of these people are clients.

  Speaking of our host, he’s outside on the deck next to the grill, while Tish stands beside him, arms folded. I can tell from her expression she’s doing her lawyer thing, looking for any possible red flag. Not sure what’s being grilled more, the steaks or Jamison.

  I’m heading toward A.J. and Rory who are next to the bar which overlooks the ocean. They’ve already spent some time with Jamison, so I’m eager to get their take on the guy. “Well?”

  Rory smiles. “Great party. I could look at this view forever.”

  “Not what I’m asking.”

  “Food’s okay,” says A.J. “I coulda done better.”

  “I’m sure. Again, not what I’m asking. What are your takeaways so far?”

  Rory grabs a glass of champagne from the bar and hands it to me. “Just yankin’ your ch
ain, Freckles. He’s okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  “No, I mean I didn’t pick up on any red flags. He’s cute, he’s smart, he’s obviously loaded and thoughtful enough to send a limo to pick us up. You two look good together and you have a lot in common with the TV thing. Of course you also look good next to the cop.”

  I turn to A.J. “And?”

  She shrugs. “He passes my test. And of course, you know what they say … just as easy to marry a rich man as a poor one.”

  “You know I don’t care about that.”

  “I know. But damn, I could get used to coming home to this after making sandwiches all day.”

  A bony Botox blonde in her forties wearing a pink and green outfit that screams Greenwich, Connecticut arrives at the bar and gently puts one hand on my forearm. “Miss Shaw, I wanted to meet you. Ainsley Farrington.”

  “Hi. And these are my friends Rory and A.J.”

  She nods at them and smiles, then turns back to me. “I wanted to say how much I admired your bravery in telling your story to Congress the other day. You made quite a difference.”

  “Thank you, but it wasn’t really brave. I did what anyone else would do.”

  “Jamison said you were very modest. But as for your visit to Washington, I must admit I was surprised that you asked that particular Congressman for help regarding the young lady in the bad foster home.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you know … he’s a Republican.” (I think her face is tightened, but with Botox you never know.)

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “I assumed all you journalists were liberal.”

  “Well, you assumed wrong. And in reality, a true journalist is objective, not like so many reporters who offer their opinions. I know plenty of people in my business who are conservative. The reason the public assumes all media people are liberal is because the national news comes from liberal places like New York, Washington and Los Angeles.”

  “So … you’re not a Democrat?”

  “I don’t tell anyone what my views are on religion, politics or social issues. My job is to tell people what I know, not what I think. I have good contacts in both political parties. And as for the Congressman, I’ve known him a long time, he’s an honest guy who has tipped me off on some good stories over the years and he took care of the problem.”

  “Oh. Well, I guess that’s okay.”

  “You seem to have a problem with the fact that a Republican did something good.”

  “I’m sure he had an ulterior motive. He did get a lot of publicity out of it and will use it for his campaign.”

  I stand up straight and look down at her. “Listen, Ainsley, since I believe a reporter should tell people what I know and not what I think, I’m going to excuse myself before I tell you what I think of you.”

  My jaw is clenched as I head to the kitchen to get some ice water. That little exchange has me pissed off and I don’t need to let Jamison see me like this. Besides, that bag of bones might be one of his good friends. Had he not been around I might have really laid into the woman. I pour a glass of cold water and sip it as I lean against the kitchen island to calm down a bit.

  A pretty brunette around my age smiles at me as she enters the kitchen. “Hi there.”

  “Hello.”

  “You’re Jamison’s new friend.”

  I extend my hand. “I’m Madison.”

  “Kelly.”

  “You one of his clients?”

  “Nah. My husband is one of Jamison’s old college buddies. So, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Don’t believe a word.”

  “Well, he seems very taken with you, Madison. We’ve always hoped he would find someone nice.”

  “We’ve only been out a few times. But we’re off to a good start.”

  “Good to hear. You don’t strike me as a golddigger like so many of the other women he’s dated.”

  “I can imagine. Any woman would be taken with a place like this. And a guy who has built such a successful business.”

  She laughs a bit. “Yeah, right.” Her cell rings and she pulls it from her pocket. “Excuse me. Nice talking to you, Madison.”

  Fortunately Jamison and I had some alone time as the party thinned out when the sun went down. A long stroll on the beach gave us a chance to be romantic as the sunbathers had gone home.

  But as I look out at the ocean while the water taxi pulls away from the dock, I’m still confused.

  A.J. lightly takes my arm. “Dollar for your thoughts?”

  “A dollar?”

  “Inflation.”

  I shake my head. “Trying to sort things out. But I can’t. And I’m soon going to reach the point that I have to make a decision. The candle can only burn on both ends for so long until you run out of wax and get burned.”

  Rory locks eyes with me. “You like him a lot, huh?”

  “Yeah. I also like Nick a lot.” I still haven’t asked Tish for her opinion, so I turn to her. “So, counselor, ready to file a brief on Jamison?”

  “I enjoyed talking with him. Smart and funny. I noticed he seemed comfortable with everyone, and he had a wide variety of guests. And he might be the most relaxed person I’ve ever met, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s like a walking bottle of wine.”

  “Yeah, he has that carefree attitude. Wish I could be that way. So, no red flags?”

  Tish shakes her head. “Nope. Sorry, I know that doesn’t clear things up, but I like him and I think you two look good together. However, I think we’ll all have a final verdict after next weekend.”

  “Suppose we end up with a hung jury?”

  “Since you’re the ultimate authority on this, you can always overturn the decision.”

  “Y’know, it was a lot easier deciding which kitten I wanted to keep.”

  Tish nods. “Speaking of which, what exactly made you want the tortoiseshell?”

  “He has an incredible personality, the other kittens are fun as well. But it’s the way the little guy looks at me, right into my soul. Like we’re connected somehow. I can’t explain it because I’ve never had a pet before, but I feel like we belong together.”

  Rory pats my hand. “Maybe you’ll get that same look and feeling from one of your guys.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  It’s a half hour before the girls and I head over to the benefit dinner dance, and as I look at the four kittens playing, something I said last week hits me.

  Why I chose the tortoiseshell as my forever companion.

  The look.

  After several weeks of care, do the other kittens look at me in the same way?

  Time to use a television tactic. Welcome to the world’s first feline focus group. Need to find out my approval rating.

  The tuxedo cat is closest, so I pick it up, hold it in front of my face and lock eyes with it.

  It “smiles” at me but doesn’t have that soulful gaze.

  Next, the tabby.

  It simply meows, wanting to get away and return to the game they’re playing.

  The Russian blue is next.

  It gives me a lick on the nose, but the look is nothing special.

  Finally, my favorite.

  The tortoiseshell immediately purrs and gives me the look I’ve grown to love as it locks eyes with me. I start to put him down but he reaches out and latches on with tiny claws. He’d rather be with me than his cat friends.

  The look changes, gets deeper, like he can’t bear to be without me.

  Will I get that from Nick tonight?

  With all other things being equal, should I base my choice on a simple look?

  My jaw drops a bit as we arrive at the outdoor venue which is often the site of wedding receptions, noted for its dance floor overlooking the ocean. I was expecting some sort of bare-bones affair thrown together by a bunch of cops. Instead, the place is tastefully decorated. Each table features a floral arrangement with several red, white and blue ribbon
s attached.

  And at the front of the room, a large framed photo of the fallen hero and his family.

  Nick is busy greeting guests across the room as we make our way to our table. He spots me and his face lights up. He moves quickly in my direction and greets me with a strong hug, practically lifting me off the floor. “Madison, so good to see you.”

  “You too. You remember my friends.”

  He nods as he smiles at them. “Rory, Tish and A.J. Right?”

  “Impressive,” says A.J. “Usually we get the blonde, the brunette and the Italian chick.”

  Nick laughs as he leads us to a large round table with twelve chairs. “You guys are all sitting with us.”

  “Us?”

  “My current partner, his wife, a few others I thought you’d like.” He pulls out a chair for each of us and we sit. Nick reaches for one of the ribbons on the flower arrangements. “Oh, we’re all wearing ribbons for Sarge tonight, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.”

  He pins the ribbon on my emerald green dress. “You look great, by the way.”

  I note his perfectly tailored dark gray suit. “So do you.”

  “Listen, I gotta greet some more people but I’ll be back in a little while.” He takes off as I turn back to my friends. “Well?”

  Rory nods. “Off to a good start.”

  Nick was right about the people at our table; it’s a wonderful collection of cops and spouses. I’ve been a little quiet while taking in all the fascinating stories of police work, and also note how supportive the spouses are of the chosen profession. Nick’s partner, a big, muscular dark-haired guy named Steve with pale blue eyes, has been studying me all night. Not in a seductive way, but as a cop might look at a witness.

  And after finishing a story, he changes the subject to me. “So, Madison, you think you can straighten out my partner?”

  I look at Nick. “Does he need fixing?”

  Steve’s wife rolls her eyes. “You got about an hour?”

  Everyone laughs as another wife looks at me. “Nice to have a member of the media here who actually supports cops. We usually get hammered.”

  “Hey, you guys put your life on the line every day and I respect the hell out of what you do. Especially considering what I do for a living. I just tell stories.”