Truth about Cats

by Anders, Robyn

  "I'll be fine. Just let me get the roast out. I hope you like potatoes. I put a bunch of them in because I love them."

  Right then Rick would have told Jennifer he was crazy about parsnips--one of his least favorite foods--if it increased his chances of another home-cooked meal. Instead, he'd always thought of roasted potatoes as a special treat. "Fantastic," he said. "But it looks heavy. Let me get that out."

  He put the hot roasting pan on the counter. "That everything?"

  "I'll put the vegetables in the steamer," she told him. "This should only take a few minutes." Jennifer looked awfully competent with the sharp knife she used to slide the sliced vegetables into the steamer. Maybe he should have taken her soprano threat more seriously.

  She looked at him and smiled--a shy smile that made him want to kiss away the fears that beset her. "I'll try that wine again. A little more carefully this time."

  Rick handed her the glass and took another sip from his own.

  "Let's step out on the balcony while we wait," he suggested. When the air was clear, his balcony had a fantastic view of the Dallas skyline.

  Jennifer ooed and ahed appreciatively over the skyline. Instead of the view, Rick watched the people in the street. Mothers called their children to come in for dinner, fathers rushed home with bags of groceries slung over their arm, and young couples walked hand in hand under the watchful eyes of their parents.

  The whole world seemed to be centered on couples and families, Rick realized. How had he missed seeing that before?

  "It's nice living where you see people," Jennifer observed, turning her attention from skyline to the neighborhood. "In my old neighborhood, people used to drive up to their garages, use the remote controls to open and close the doors, then they'd vanish. Come to think of it, what kind of a neighborhood is it if you never even see the neighbors?"

  "Uh huh," he agreed. He wondered how many women shared that appreciation of living in a real city. Most of the women he'd dated thought moving to an affluent suburb was everyone's ultimate goal. "It's nice to know the people you live near."

  He stepped closer to her. He'd apologized for losing his temper earlier, of course, but they hadn't really closed the distance their argument had created. This seemed to be the perfect moment to do exactly that.

  An enormous smash from the kitchen interrupted his plans.

  ***

  Rick whirled around. "Stand back. Someone's in there."

  Jennifer had all too good an idea of who that someone was. "I'll take care of this, Rick. Just enjoy your wine."

  "Don't be ridiculous. It could be dangerous." He charged into the kitchen as if he was somehow immune to danger.

  Jennifer followed. "Hecate, how could you?" Four cats gathered around the smashed earthenware roasting pot she'd found in Rick's cupboard, each stuffing themselves with the beef she'd slaved over.

  "It's your cats," Rick told her.

  "No kidding, Sherlock. Why don't you do what I told you? Go out on the porch and finish your wine. I'll clean up."

  "Do they often get into your food?"

  She sighed. "Cats think they own the world. As far as they're concerned, people are only there for their convenience. If you leave food out, they eat it."

  "But--"

  "You obviously left the roasting pan too close to the edge of the sink. That's all it took."

  "In that case, I'll handle the clean-up."

  Jennifer might not have dated many men, but she had a lot of girlfriends and a mother. None of them had ever mentioned a man who would help clean up a mess. Especially a mess in the kitchen that arguably wasn't his fault. Her father would run from a kitchen disaster like this.

  "You can help if you want."

  "I wasn't asking for permission." He bent, grabbed the steaming roast, and headed for the trash.

  "Hey," Jennifer called. "Don't throw that away."

  He stopped. "Oh, right. We can save it for the cats."

  "We'll save it for us. A little cat spit won't poison us. And I cleaned the floor before I cooked."

  Rick's face screwed up as if she'd told him she planned to feed him worms. "But--"

  "You'll never know the difference."

  Rick shook his head. "I already know the difference. I don't eat leftovers. Not even if they're nice clean cat-spit left-overs."

  "The meat is perfectly good. And it cost a fortune."

  He shook his head. "Call it a hang-up, honey. Now do you want me to save this for the cats, or do you want me to trash it?"

  She ignored the tingle his endearment gave her. Since he hadn't stopped calling her pet names even after their fight, she decided he just liked talking that way. It didn't mean anything.

  "Save it," she grated out.

  Rick put the roast in the sink and ran water over it, washing off the spices she'd gone to so much trouble to apply.

  "What are you doing?" she demanded.

  He looked at her. "I noticed a few slivers of broken dish were stuck to the meat. I didn't think that would be especially good for your cats."

  That surprised her. Why wasn't he mad, threatening to throw her babies out the window? He seemed to take the accident in stride although it had been painfully obvious how much he was looking forward to the dinner.

  While Jennifer finished picking up the shards from the broken baking pan, Rick wrapped the meat and put it in the refrigerator.

  "I guess we'll have a vegetarian dinner tonight, then," Jennifer told him. "Unless ..."

  "What's that smell?"

  Jennifer took a deep sniff and, with a sinking feeling, headed for the oven. "Uh-oh."

  "Don't tell me a cat got in there too?" Rick looked genuinely concerned.

  "In the excitement, I forgot about the potatoes."

  She grabbed a hot pad pulled the pan out of the oven. Her potatoes were now charcoal briquettes.

  "I think the vegetables are done for too," Rick told her. He held a fork with an asparagus stalk that flopped limply to the side. "What do you say we go out for dinner after all?"

  Jennifer looked at the pack of cats that continued to lick the floor where remains of the roast waited to be mopped up, at the smoking remains of her potatoes, and at the limp vegetable on Rick's fork. Her perfect dinner had turned into one of the biggest disasters of her life. She'd thought, for once, she could do something nice for Rick without him jumping down her throat. Instead, she'd spent forty dollars of his money to turn his beautiful clean kitchen into a disaster and he was still going to have to take her out for dinner.

  A loud wailing cut off her thought process.

  Rick looked up and pointed. "Smoke detector," he shouted over the siren.

  He reached toward the ceiling and plucked the battery out of the angry machine.

  Jennifer swallowed hard. She'd never been big on the waterworks, but Rick seemed to make her emotions run wild. Was he bad for her, or did he simply crank up her reactions to levels she'd never explored before?

  "Don't worry about it, sweetheart. We'll have lots of chances to eat your home-cooked food," Rick told her. "Just not tonight."

  "But I'm moving out soon," she wailed. "I wanted tonight to be special."

  "What?" He grasped her arms firmly. "I don't want you to move out."

  "This was only a temporary living arrangement," Jennifer reminded him. "I'm imposing on you. Besides, look what happened the other night. You're not exactly safe for me to be around."

  Rick didn't bother holding back that grin. "I thought we made a pretty special magic myself. Why not experiment with it, give it time?"

  It would have been so easy to give in. Her body yearned for his caress. Her practical mind reminded her how nice it would be to live only a few blocks from her new job and save money on rent. Her ever-creative ability to justify what she wanted reminded her that she could make Rick happy by coming home and cooking for him every night. What could be so terrible about that?

  She had to be honest. "I've got to move out. I don't want to be your
pet," Jennifer breathed.

  "Huh?"

  "Look at us. You're the Chairman of a successful company. I can't keep a job in the worst department store in Dallas. You've got a beautiful living space. I got kicked out of my trashy apartment. You can do anything. Hell, you can do everything. You work on cars, fix lawnmowers, and strategize ways to create companies here in a part of Dallas most of the city has given up on. You even won my father over. All I do is rescue cats."

  "You've had a temporary set--"

  "Rick, I'm trying to tell you something. Remember how you felt when you realized I was trying to rescue you and fix you?"

  "Sure. But I thought we were over that."

  "Oh, yes. I'm definitely done with rescuing you. But that doesn't mean I want you to come charging in and rescue me. You need someone who is your equal. Frankly, so do I."

  "Are you saying you're too good for me?"

  Despite everything, Jennifer realized he still saw himself that way. He'd overcome everything about his upbringing except the feelings it left him with.

  "Of course not," she told him. "If I stayed, I'd be like your pet and you'd take care of me. That isn't my dream."

  "What do you dream about?"

  Jennifer shook her head. Rick would never understand her fantasies. She could barely understand them herself. One thing she was certain of--she needed a man she could respect, but that would respect her too. Not just enjoy her. Not just desire her, although it did great things for her ego to realize how much Rick wanted her.

  She wanted love.

  Chapter Nine

  "How did you persuade Rick to keep your cats?" Carla carried in Jennifer's last box of books and dropped them on her living room floor.

  "I didn't give him any choice. I just left them."

  "He'll kill them. That's why I finally dumped that loser Harry. He actually kicked poor Sugar-face."

  "Rick wouldn't hurt an animal. He doesn't let on, but I actually think he's starting to like them."

  Carla shook her head. "That's even more crazy. If he likes cats and he likes you, why would you want to room with me? And don't tell me it's because I need taking care of. I've got claws too."

  Jennifer's smile was bitter, but she could smile. "I'm not going to rescue you. At least not about that. On the other hand, you've got to meet Eric."

  "I've sworn off men."

  Jennifer could empathize. "Me too. Except now I know what I'm missing."

  "Believe me, I know men."

  "You know losers. They're not synonyms."

  "So how come you're here with me then?" Carla demanded. "You don't just let guys like that walk away. He's a major hunk."

  "Jennifer has a problem with men who don't need taking care of." Her mother peeked out from the coat closet, where she was hanging up Jennifer's scanty wardrobe. "A job is pretty much all it takes to make him ineligible."

  Her mother sounded, Jennifer thought, like she thought the whole world needed to know her inadequacies.

  "Mother. It's not like that."

  Her mother shook her head slowly and made tisking sounds with her tongue.

  "Come on out, girls," her mother invited. "I think this is as moved in as we're going to get Jennifer today. I've already checked in Carla's icebox and the catchings are slim. Let's go out to Super Scoop and I'll buy you both ice cream."

  "Only if you let me pay," Jennifer said. "Eric gave me an advance yesterday. I'm rich."

  With no arguments about that at least, the three women gave up unpacking Jennifer's meager belongings and headed for the ice cream parlor.

  "Did I tell you I sent my resume over to tattoo.com?" Carla asked. "The girls in the Cat Rescue League think it's the coolest thing. I even got a temporary tattoo."

  Jennifer stuck a spoon in her sundae, closed her eyes, and luxuriated in the rich sensation of hot fudge, whipped cream, and maraschino cherries. Life, Jennifer reflected, always looked a little better over chocolate.

  Tasting Rick had been like that, Jennifer realized. Except not fattening. If only she'd had the chance to explore a little more, to learn if he really did have a tattoo and if so, where he'd hidden it.

  "Earth to Jennifer." Her mother's voice cut into her private daydream. "Are you with us?"

  "Uh, yeah. Carla was saying she got a temporary tattoo."

  "That was five minutes ago."

  "Busted." Jennifer needed to get her daydreams under control. "What were you saying?"

  "I was telling your mother that they pay you a thousand dollars if they select you to model it." Carla pulled back her sleeve to show a cute lizard-dragon on her shoulder. "Do you know how many cats a thousand dollars can rescue? The girls in the Cat Rescue League want to have a special section where they'll model. Tori says she'll wear a thong and put a kitten tattoo on her butt."

  "They don't think it's incredibly low-class?"

  "Are you kidding? Tattoos are the coolest. Especially temporary ones."

  "I think those semi-naked poses are demeaning," Jennifer said. She knew she sounded prissy. She wasn't even sure she was telling the truth. Maybe she was just hurt because neither Eric nor Rick had invited her to model.

  "For a thousand dollars, you can demean me as much as you want," Carla insisted. "According to the web, Rick modeled some of the early tattoo designs himself."

  "Guys are different. They don't think about people ogling their bodies." All of a sudden, Jennifer felt the need to hurry home and log onto her new computer. How had she missed hearing about those pictures of Rick? With any luck, she could find his tattoo secret without having to indulge her weaknesses.

  Carla shrugged her shoulders. "Guys don't think much at all. I can't believe Rick didn't ask you to marry him when you said you were moving out."

  Jennifer's mouth dropped open and she had to consciously clamp it shut. In her wildest fantasies, she hadn't imagined actually marrying Rick. Had she?

  Trying to think, Jennifer stuck her spoon into her sundae glass and stirred around the soupy mess her ice cream had turned into. In melting and blending together, the sundae had lost its appeal.

  "We don't have that kind of relationship," she finally told Carla. "We're just friends."

  "Famous last words for people who don't make things happen," her mother observed.

  "Dad would have a fit if I told him I was marrying Rick Engle."

  Her mother grabbed Jennifer's arm and yanked her around. "And that's so important? We're not talking about your father's life here. We're talking about your life."

  "Maybe we could talk about someone else's," Jennifer suggested.

  "You just need to get Rick's attention," Carla stated authoritatively. She looked contemplative for half a second. "You could get a tattoo on your butt and then let Rick see it."

  "I hate tattoos."

  "You don't like the big tattoo on Rick's arm?"

  Jennifer's head whirled. "He doesn't have a tattoo on his arm."

  "Not now, it was temporary. But you should check out the site a little more carefully. Look for the flying dragon tattoo. That hunky arm belongs to your Rick."

  "He isn't my Rick."

  "That's what we're trying to fix."

  "But--"

  "Here's what I would do." Carla lowered her voice and leaned toward the other two women. "I'd wrap myself up in ribbons and nothing else, with a big bow across my breasts. And knock on his door in the middle of the night."

  "What possible good would making an idiot out of myself that way do?" Jennifer asked.

  Carla giggled. "It could get you laid."

  Jennifer didn't like to think of it quite that way, but she did like to think about it. "Sex isn't our problem. Our problem is that he's a success and I'm not. It's the twenty-first century, and I'm not going to latch onto a meal train. I want a partner."

  "At least you admit you want somebody," Sally said. "That's progress."

  If she hadn't been making this kind of progress, maybe she could have stayed with Rick.

  "So what's
the deal with your New York trip with Rick?" Carla asked. "What a perfect opportunity to accidentally lose your room key. Especially after a swim or something." She looked contemplative. "You do have a thong bikini."

  "I don't have a thong bikini; I wouldn't wear one even if I did, and I'm certainly not going to make myself look like a complete ditz by knocking on his door all wet and drippy. It's a bad idea and it wouldn't solve our problems."

  "Trust me," Carla disagreed. "It's a very good idea. Getting laid by a hunk could solve just about any problem I have in my life. I don't think you're that different. Your only problem is, you won't do it."

  With her mother listening, Jennifer didn't feel like explaining how making love with Rick had caused, rather than solved problems. Besides, the idea of knocking on Rick's door with nothing on was pretty funny. His face would turn purple.

  "I'm not going to New York to have sex," Jennifer explained. "Rick, Eric, and I are meeting with the Hudson Media Group. They're--"

  "You're kidding," her mother interrupted. "They produce all the soap operas. Do you think you'll meet Sophia DiGratten?" She looked suddenly worried. "I heard she just got divorced. I wouldn't let your Rick within fifty miles of that woman."

  As long as Jennifer could remember, Sally had been a soap opera fan. She honestly seemed to think the characters in those shows were real people.

  "Rick isn't going to act in a soap opera," she explained.

  "Sophia DiGratten isn't a character, she's an actor," her mother explained. "She's so popular she got promoted to Vice President of the network.

  "Oh." Jennifer tried to remember whether there'd been a DiGratten on the agenda.

  ***

  "This could be our big break." Eric tried to whisper over the roar of the airliner's engine without much success and ended up shouting. Fortunately, the first class cabin was pretty much owned by tattoo.com.

  "We don't need a big break," Rick reminded him. "Tattoo.com is self-sufficient."

  Eric nodded. "Still, the publicity could be worth millions. I mean, Hudson Media is major league." He clicked on his notebook computer for a second, then passed it over the aisle to Rick. "Somebody had to leak this article to the Wall Street Journal. I know for damn sure it didn't come from our staff."