"Barbara's office is upstairs," he said, as he hit the security buzzer three times in succession. An answering buzz allowed them to open the heavy wood door.
The steps were Spanish tile, the railing wrought iron. The spacious landing had a large fern in front of a window. Another buzzer let them through a second heavy wood door.
"Be right out—I'm on the phone," a voice called.
What should have been a receptionist's office held a mahogany desk cluttered with mail and photographs and a leather couch with more of the same. A signed Frank Romero poster was on the wall.
"Michael darling, what can I do for you?" Barbara swept into the room, a heavy woman in a purple caftan and fringed scarf. "I wish you had called first—I don't have more than a moment."
She presented her cheek to be kissed, and Michael smacked the air next to it.
"Barbara dear, I'm so sorry. This is my friend Faith."
"Oh yes, Fay." Barbara held out her hand. "Michael told me you used to be an actress. So wise of you to change careers—there are so few parts for women your age, and fading ingénues get them all."
Faith smiled. She would have corrected the name, but it didn't feel like the best way to start an intervention.
"I'm just here to listen while you and Michael talk," she said.
"That's fine, I'm sure."
Barbara cleared space for the two of them on the low couch. She perched on the edge of the desk. Faith and Michael looked at each other, then up at Barbara.
"How are you doing?" Michael asked.
"I'm fine, dear, and I don't have time to chat. What is it? Nothing wrong with Elizabeth, is there?"
"Well—not exactly. Almost. Someone tried to steal the bonus from the cat food contract."
"Oh, no. I'm so sorry. Tell me what happened."
Barbara's face wrinkled with concern. Michael and Faith again looked at each other, then up at Barbara.
"Have you ever heard of Max Strother Commodities?" Faith asked, forgetting that she had promised to listen.
"No. Why?"
Michael grabbed Faith's shoulder to keep her from answering.
"Someone forged my signature on a check for twenty-five thousand dollars and tried to open a trading account there. The description sounded a lot like Howard."
"Oh, God. Oh, God." The concern on Barbara's face turned to pain. "Oh, God, don't tell me he did that."
"You knew he had problems?" Faith brushed Michael's hand off.
"Of course I knew. I'm married to him. But I didn't know he'd try to steal from a cat to pay for them." Barbara looked from one to the other. "Howard is a compulsive gambler. He needs help. Would the two of you come with me to talk to him? You're both licensed therapists, you know how to handle this kind of thing."
"We'll do whatever we can to help," Faith cooed.
"Come over for dinner. Seven o'clock. And please, no police."
"You have my word," Michael said, arising from the couch so that he could look Barbara in the eye. "As long as Howard agrees to join a twelve-step program. If he won't go, I file a complaint."
"I'm so grateful." Barbara enveloped Michael in a hug. "This will all work, you'll see."
Faith held out her hand. "Seven o'clock."
She waited until they reached the sidewalk before she said anything more.
"Barbara's lying. She's in it with him."
"How do you know?"
"It was what she said about stealing from the cat. You remember your comment about Jason rationalizing? That's what Barbara did. She wasn't stealing from you, she was stealing from the cat."
Michael considered her words.
"All right. Then she has to join the twelve-step program."
"That's all?"
"And you pay the parking ticket." He plucked it from the windshield and handed it to her.
"I didn't park in the red zone. But I'll pay if it'll make you feel better."
"Nothing will make me feel better. Not until we've explained to Barbara that attempting to defraud a client is going to cost her the agency franchise. To the Screen Actors Guild, Elizabeth is not just a cat—she's a dues-paying member."
"Michael? Would you rather we hadn't done this?"
"Are you kidding? It's the most effective I've felt since I hit a Little League home run when I was eleven." He kissed her on the cheek. "Now let's go back to my place and plan this intervention. But one stop on the way."
"What?"
"I need to buy a football jersey. And next time, you drive."
Here Today, Dead to Maui
A Faith Cassidy Mystery
I had such a good time writing one short story with Faith Cassidy, her friend Michael, and Michael's cat Elizabeth that when I was asked for a story about cats and vacation, Faith got the nod, even though Freddie O'Neal probably could have used a vacation at that point.
"A millionaire found me changing planes for Maui! Why is he short and ugly, Lord, when you know I like them tall?" Michael sang as he emerged from the bathroom wearing the hibiscus print shirt he had bought the day before.
"That's gross," Faith said. "Materialistic. Midlife Mick Jagger. And nobody came near you on the airplane. Or in the Hilo airport. Except for the fat woman who put the orchids around your neck."
"Because I was traveling with you and Elizabeth. Everyone was looking at her. If I'd been alone, who knows? Besides, if you're so ascetically inclined, why did you accept the offer of a first-class airplane ticket and a week in a suite at the Lahaina Hilton?" Michael leaned against the central post marking the open French doors to the deck and stretched out his arms. "White sand! Ocean! Clean air!"
"Elizabeth's contract specified two tickets. No point in letting one go to waste when you didn't have anybody else to ask." Faith poured herself a second cup of coffee. She didn't particularly like the Kona blend, but it was all room service had to offer.
"Can't you just enjoy the vacation?" Michael turned back and sighed.
"Elizabeth has one more day of shooting. You're not on vacation until tomorrow."
"To Maui, and to Maui, and to Maui. Life creeps in its petty pace, especially when one is not quite on vacation." He knelt down in front of one of the flowered chintz armchairs so that he was level with Elizabeth. "Say Maui."
"Mrowr," she replied, blue eyes focusing intently on his dark ones.
"Maui."
"Mrowr."
"See how smart she is?"
"You didn't feed her this morning. She's actually saying she's annoyed."
Michael straightened up. "When did you become an expert on my cat?"
"I've been part of her environment since you adopted her. She thinks of me as extended family. I felt obliged to return the compliment by paying attention to her behavior. Since I've spent my life—or two careers anyway, the dead one as an actress and the live one as a therapist—studying human behavior, and the cat thinks she's human, it wasn't hard. Trust me. She's hungry."
"So am I." He picked a cheese Danish out of the basket on the coffee table. "But she's supposed to be hungry. Otherwise, she might not eat on cue."
"You'd better hurry with that. Elizabeth's call is in half an hour. Eddie will be here any minute with the car."
"They have to set up a shot on the deck of an old whaler. No way are they going to be ready on time." Michael poured himself a cup of coffee and settled into the other chintz armchair.
"Then I think you ought to feed her."
"She only has to be hungry and annoyed for the next couple of hours. She'll be fine."
Faith shrugged. "Suit yourself. But if we're going to be here for a while, could you move to another chair? That one clashes with your shirt."
"All the furniture clashes with my shirt. This is Hawaii—the shirt is supposed to clash. Buy a muumuu and get in the spirit."
"Hawaiian clothes are the best thing that could have happened to the tourist industry. You can't tell you've gained fifteen pounds until you're home and it's too late. If I start to gain, I'
ll think about the muumuu."
"How can anyone gain on a diet of fish, rice, and fruit? If you're really going to stick to that. Get a muumuu or not. Put orchids in your hair. Drink mai-tais by the pool."
"Maybe when we've finished the shoot." Faith picked a blueberry muffin out of the basket. Blueberries counted as fruit. "I may even search for romance."
"You won't have to search far. Eddie Inouye has made it clear he's available."
"Yes, and he doesn't care who takes him up on the offer. No thanks."
"Well, one of us has to be nice to him if we want him to drive us to the Sacred Pools of Hana tomorrow. The road through the rain forest is supposed to be challenging, and I don't want Elizabeth's life at risk."
"I'll drive," Faith said. "You can hold Elizabeth and look at the scenery."
"I'll have to think about that," Michael replied. He finished his Danish and started on a pecan bun.
"Eddie," they chorused as the phone rang.
Michael stuffed the bun into his mouth and scooped Elizabeth into her carrier. Faith assured Eddie they would be right down.
The elevator took them to the lobby, where Eddie—a short, eager twenty-year-old wearing a shirt that clashed with everything—was waiting.
"Aloha," he said, grinning. "Phil said to tell you they're on time. We have to hurry."
"That has to be a lie. Can I go back for the basket of pastries?"
"I told you we should have fed her," Faith snapped.
"No, no," Eddie said. "He means it. Phil promised he'll have her finished before lunch. Okay?"
"Three hours," Michael said to Faith. "We can handle that."
"Elizabeth is on L.A. time, remember. I've never known you to be this callous."
"Oh, for God's sake, Faith. One morning. For two days' deprivation every six months, she gets to eat shrimp, salmon, and chicken the rest of the year!" Michael turned hastily to Eddie. "Only for snacks, of course. Three meals a day she eats Pretty Kitty cat food."
"Don't worry. Eddie isn't going to turn you in," Faith said. "Are you?"
"No way, wahine," Eddie answered, still grinning. "Driving is my main livelihood. If I talk, nobody wants to ride with me anymore."
Faith nodded. "Let's go."
Eddie had parked his Honda right in front of the hotel, in the taxi loading zone. Two taxi drivers glared as Faith and Michael got into the back seat.
Eddie whisked the car away from the cluster of tall, white hotels, over the causeway, and down the narrow road the short distance to the Lahaina harbor. The day was so beautiful that Faith almost began to enjoy herself.
"What's it like living here?" Michael asked.
"Like this," Eddie answered. "Like every morning when I wake up, it's the first day of vacation."
"It must rain," Faith said. "There's a rain forest on the island."
"Yeah, but it only rains for five minutes at a time. Most of the time. Except for hurricanes, and this isn't the season."
"Stop it, Faith," Michael snapped. "No disasters. I am not anticipating a disaster on Maui."
Faith glared back.
"This is as close as I can get," Eddie said cheerfully. He had maneuvered through the jaywalking tourists to the pier, but there was no place to pull over. Two large silver trucks were taking up three parking spaces apiece. Several horns began to beep the second the Honda's brake lights went on. "I'll find a place to park and meet you on the set. Just yell if you want to make a quick getaway."
"Thanks," Michael said. "I was optimistic enough to schedule a tennis lesson for three and a massage for four."
"No problem." Eddie grinned at him.
The beeps became steady as Faith got out and took Elizabeth's carrier so that Michael could join her. They slipped between the trucks to the wooden walkway.
The whalers were smaller and newer than Faith had expected, but then her idea of a whaler was based on John Huston's Moby Dick. She suspected that these had been used since the nineteenth century.
"I don't understand why they're shooting a cat food commercial on a whaler," Faith said.
"Cats love fish," Michael explained, in a tone that let her know any idiot could figure it out. "Pretty Kitty is for cats with a whale of an appetite."
"Yes, but whalers kill whales. When this commercial airs, they're going to lose all the New Agers and Trekkers and Greens who own cats. Maybe half the cat owners in the country." Faith picked her way carefully over heavy cables that snaked from the trucks to a ship halfway down the pier.
"Maybe half the cat owners in L.A., tops. Besides, it's a tax-deductible week in Maui for anyone from Pretty Kitty, the ad agency, or the production company who wants to visit the shoot. Although the L.A. ad business is so bad I don't think anyone from the agency came." Michael waved at the deck. "Aloha, we're here."
"Oh, good." A young woman in tank top and jeans leaned over the railing. Two days in Maui had given her Southern California tan a bronze glow and turned the peroxide streaks in her stringy brown hair almost white. She waved a clipboard at them. "Phil is setting up for the shot of Elizabeth now. He's lighting her stand-in."
Michael had one foot on the wooden ladder. He stopped so suddenly that Faith hit him with the carrier.
"What stand-in?" he asked.
The woman held a finger to her lips, then beckoned him aboard.
"What stand-in?" Michael asked again, after reaching the deck in two bounds.
Faith clambered up after him, bracing the carrier awkwardly on each rung.
"Mrowr," Elizabeth said.
"Sorry," Faith murmured to the carrier.
"Faith, Jennifer," Michael said as he belatedly reached for the handle.
"Hi, Faith. Hi, Sweetums," Jennifer added to the carrier.
"Mrowr."
Faith nodded assent.
"Where's Eddie?" Jennifer asked.
"Parking the car. What stand-in?" Michael's voice shot up an octave, and Jennifer shushed him again.
"One of the Pretty Kitty executives is here with his wife, daughter, and cat," she whispered. "The daughter really wants to see her cat in a commercial. I hope Elizabeth is in fine form."
"Of course she is! What an outrage!" Michael snapped.
"Okay, okay," Jennifer said, holding up her hand. "I'm just telling you what's going on."
"We have a contract!" Michael lowered his voice.
"I know. But Pretty Kitty hired the ad agency, and the ad agency hired the production company."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that everyone is being very, very nice. Especially Phil. This is his first network job, you know. I think he'd do anything to get more."
"All right." Michael sighed and turned to Faith. "You see why I didn't feed her. One lousy shot and I'd have to get a job."
"Jennifer! Let's go!" a male voice called.
Faith, Michael, and Elizabeth followed Jennifer aft, stepping between cables when possible.
Cameras, lights, and reflectors were all focused on a very fluffy cat the color of an underripe cantaloupe, wearing a cubic zirconium collar. Her amber eyes darted nervously around the crowd. A red-haired, freckled girl about ten years old was sitting cross-legged beside her, smiling at anyone who would smile back.
"That's Marlene," Jennifer whispered to Michael, drawing the name out to three syllables. "As in Dietrich. The girl's name is Boots. Good luck."
She took the clipboard over to the camera.
Michael shook his head, gaze still fastened on Marlene. "She's pretty, but she's not an actress. We're fine." He looked around, spotting a youth with a three-day growth of beard, whose knees were sticking out of his Levi's. The young man was wearing the only Hawaiian shirt that might have come out of a suitcase, not a store. "Phil! I hope we're not late. I didn't realize we were shooting on MTV video time."
"Hey, Michael, how ya doing?" Phil trotted the four steps that separated them and clapped Michael on the back. "Glad to see the star has arrived." He cupped his hands around his mouth
. "Okay! Get ready for a take!" Then he knelt down beside the girl. "Boots, honey. I'm really grateful for your help. And I'm going to remember what a beautiful cat Marlene is, next time we're casting."
Boots looked at him adoringly. She carefully picked up Marlene, then winced when the nervous cat sank bare claws into her naked shoulder.
Michael lifted Elizabeth from the carrier and placed her down on the crossed pieces of silver tape marking the spot Marlene had vacated. Elizabeth stretched, surveyed the assembled group, winked one blue eye at the cameraman, and settled onto her haunches, pearly tail falling naturally into place.
"Here." Someone thrust a crystal dish heaped with Pretty Kitty into Michael's hand. He put it down on another taped mark to Elizabeth's right.
"Roll the tape!" Phil called.
"Rolling!"
"Slate the camera!"
"Slated. Take one."
"Action!"
"Discover the food," Michael whispered.
Elizabeth turned toward the dish. Her eyes widened dramatically. She approached the dish and sniffed, then looked back toward Michael.
"That's right, baby, time to eat," he whispered.
Elizabeth sniffed again. She shook her head. Straightening up, she made a graceful pirouette and overturned the dish with one kick from her left hind leg.
"Cut!" Phil called.
"Oh my God," Michael moaned.
Faith tugged his arm. "There's something wrong with the food."
"What?"
"Something wrong, damn it, think!"
"There's something wrong with the food!" Michael yelled.
"What do you mean, son?"
Michael discovered he was standing next to a tall, florid man still decorated with a fading airport lei. Red hair and freckles marked him as Boots's father, even if he wasn't old enough to be Michael's. He was glaring down menacingly.
"I mean sabotage!" Michael gasped. "It can't be Pretty Kitty."
"Come on, Michael." Phil clapped him on the shoulder again. Michael was starting to feel hemmed in. "We'll try another take. If it'll make you happy, we'll even open a new can."
"Where's Elizabeth?" Faith had squeezed between the men to the overturned dish. Elizabeth was nowhere in sight.
Dreams of Jeannie and Other Stories Page 10
