The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

by Joe Augustyn

  The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

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  The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

  WildCat Press

  www.wildcatpress.net

  contact@wildcatpress.net

  Cover graphics: Gilberto Rodriguez

  Cover Layout: WildCat Press

  Copyright © 2012 Joe Augustyn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed or copied or utilized in any form whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

  ISBN: 0615667562

  ISBN-13: 978-0615667560

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  The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

  for Squeaky

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  The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  In no particular order, I would like to thank all those who gave me their unselfish support of one kind or another over the years:

  My entire family, notably my late parents and my brothers Al, Ron, Mike and their wives; my cousins, uncles, aunts, nieces, nephews, in-laws etc; my dearest friends James Penzi, Connie Jesiolowska, Joe McMenamin, John Matkowsky, Jude Jansen, Walter and Lisa Hart, Carson and Cindy Leistikow, Kris Augustyn, Zia Shields, Greg Gillespie and the gang at Port Richmond Books, Steve Johnson, Colin O’Herlihy, Paul Belanger, Kim “Cavedog” Thomas, Mike Lerman, Ed Parmelee, Leo Trombetta, John Huckert, Deen Kogan, Joe Mealey, Yves Goustard, Diane Carsia, Jeff & Diane, Rich, Buzz & Barbara, Allan & Mary, Eleanor & Joe, and Lisa; Dr. Corinne Majeska and the amazing staff at Companion Pet Hospital; cat rescue angels Robin Buoncuore and Kathy Borbanton; Stuart Malone and Rachel and Hanna and all the crew at Createspace and KDP; honorable Hollywood shakers Chris Lee, Scott Pearlman, Steve Golin, Joni Sighvatsson, Sara Lewis, Steve & Devon Purvis, Andy Emilio, Andrea Mia, John Marsh, Patrick Ewald and the late Wendy Walker; superstar attorneys Jonathan Handel and Stephen F. Breimer; writers Sarah Bird, Victoria Brownworth, Jonathan Maberry, Kelly Jameson, Tom Piccirilli, and all the good members of the HWA; all my faithful and much appreciated NOTD fans, especially Heather Rose Murphy, PHAT!., Chris MacGibbon, Alexandr Tzwetkov, and of course Gilberto the Prince of Sparkle; penultimately, all the women who shared my journey, even if just for one night… with a special nod to ABR, who almost saved me from myself.

  And ultimately of course, the cats who kept me sane and kept my spark alive when all else threatened to fail: wild child Nikki who was the inspiration for this book, Baldur who so easily makes me laugh, Phoebus the magnificent, Toots the sweetest little kitty who ever lived, my good pal Theo, Egypt, Lena, Basil, Pinky… and most of all Squeaky.

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  The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

  1

  “Hey, cuddlebug.”

  The rabbit perked up as Felicia Miller approached her cage.

  “How’s mummy’s little girl today?” Felicia’s voice was as soft as the bunny’s fur. She poked a finger into the cage and gently stroked the rabbit’s back.

  But before she could unlatch the cage, Mrs. Everson stepped into the open doorway behind her, about to turn off the lights and lock up the classroom. She paused as she noticed Felicia across the room.

  “Felicia, what are you doing in here? The school show starts in half an hour. You should be getting ready.”

  “No sweat, Mrs. E. It’s my turn to feed Mrs. Cuddles. I’m running a little late because I was rehearsing for the show. It won’t take but another minute.”

  “Alright, but hurry it up, please. The county commissioners are here with the mayor and town council. This show has to be exceptional if we expect to keep our arts funding. Just turn out the lights and close the door behind you when you’re done. I’ll lock up after the show. And don’t dawdle. If we don’t wow the powers that be tonight, Mrs. Cuddles might lose her happy home forever. The entire school budget’s under review.”

  Felicia pulled the plump white rabbit from her cage and cuddled her like a baby. She loved the feel of the rabbit’s silky fur and its grainy organic scent.

  “Who’s my wittle pookie,” she squeaked in a kewpie doll voice. “I’ll bet you’d like a nice tasty carrot stick, wouldn’t ‘oo?”

  “Oo hoo hoo. I’ll bet someone wants a nice tasty carrot stick.”

  Felicia turned to see Wally Sutter lumbering towards her, followed by his pencil-necked flunky Sparrow Jeffers, shuffling behind him like a consumptive shadow.

  “You boys shouldn’t be in here,” Felicia said starkly. “I have special permission from Mrs. Everson.”

  “Special permission?” Wally laughed hoarsely, his throat rough as sandpaper from years of sneaking cigarettes.

  Sparrow echoed his laughter with his own phlegmy smoker’s rattle, punctuated with high-pitched wheezes.

  “Relax, sweetheart.” Wally tipped back the bill of his baseball cap, making his mullet curls twitch. “We’re here to help you feed Mrs. Cuddles. Ain’t that right, Sparrow?”

  Sparrow nodded glumly. His eyes were like dull black buttons over badly pockmarked cheeks. But as creepy as Sparrow looked, he looked relatively harmless next to his beastly buddy.

  Wally Sutter had been in and out of trouble since his start as a bully in kindergarten. The combination of his massive size and his father’s unchecked power as County Sheriff were the bedrock of the boy’s arrogance.

  Although Sheriff Sutter afforded no leeway to those caught driving even a scant one mile over the speed limit on empty back roads, and was known to jerk shoulders out of sockets when man-handling handcuffed drunks, he dismissed his son’s unsavory antics as innocent boyhood hijinks.

  From the time he first acted out in public, forcing little Patrick Coogan to eat a fingerload of gooey snot, Wally was routinely rescued from punishment by his badge-toting daddy.

  And so the boy grew more rotten with each passing year. Whether he was dunking Danny Hoyer’s head in a dirty toilet, or shooting a neighbor’s pet with high-powered paintballs, Wally was always “just a misunderstood goofball” in his father’s eyes. And of course the Sheriff always promised the injured party.that Wally would be “punished severely” at home.

  Any unfortunate citizen who pressed the issue or threatened to take it up with the mayor or town council found their insurance rates rising as traffic tickets piled up quickly on their driving record. Or found themselves in jail after leaving a holiday party and getting nailed for DUI by the Sheriff, who just happened to be lurking in the area.

  Many of the townspeople were fed up with the Sheriff’s flagrant abuse of his authority, but Greensville was a tiny town in a large rural county. Most of the outlying residents weren’t affected by the Sutter family depredations, and were content to have such a tough law and order candidate running their county with an iron fist.

  Felicia suspected that the closest thing to punishment Wally ever really received at home was a half-ration of ice cream and cookies, because he always came back meaner and undeterred after supposedly being disciplined. He’d busted windows, slashed tires and broken a nose or two in apparent retribution. Those who didn’t get the situation the first time around were smart enough not to complain after getting a second dose of his devilish aggression.

  As his teenage hormones raged, his sadistic antics grew wilder and more criminal. Rumor had it that he’d made a sordid cell phone video of meek little Susie Calloway after luring her to a party at Sparrow’s house when the skinny creep’s parents left town for a family affair.

  But Susie was too scared to seek justice or even discuss the incident with her friends, because Wally threatened to post the explicit video in an internet newsgroup. From whence, as he gleefully pointed out, it would spread viral around the globe and haunt her
for the rest of her sorry life.

  “Now what was that you were saying about a nice tasty carrot stick, Delicia? I think I can help you out, if you catch my drift.” Wally cupped his crotch suggestively and Sparrow snorted out something resembling a laugh.

  “The name’s Felicia, not Delicia. And I suggest that both of you beat it before I report you to—”

  “Jesus, calm the fuck down, Delicia. Report what? We just want to spend a little quality time with Mrs. Cuddles. We’re animal lovers too, you know. Here widdle bunny wunny come to Papa Wally.”

  Before Felicia could react, Wally’s beefy hand snatched the rabbit from her arms. “Hey!”

  “Don’t get your clitty in a twist, Pollyanna. Lookie, Spawwow. Mrs. Cuddles is a pwitty wittoo bunny wabbit. Isn’t she a pwitty wittoo bunny? Look, she’s twitching her pwitty wittoo nose.”

  “She’s makin’ me hungry,” mumbled Sparrow, followed by an asthmatic chuckle. “Anybody else got a craving for rabbit stew?”

  “Rabbit stew? Jesus, I’d have to call PETA,” said Wally. “And order a side of pita bread. Get it, Delicia? PETA bread?”

  “Give her back.” Felicia made a grab for the rabbit but Wally swung the twitching furball high above his head. Dangling her by the scruff of her fluffy neck.

  “Stop it! You’re hurting her.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want to hurt the widdle bunny wabbit, now would we? Maybe we can come to some kind of mutually satisfying arrangement.”

  “Cum to a mutual satisfaction,” snickered Sparrow under his breath.

  “Maybe I’ll just go tell your father what a sick delinquent you really are.”

  “Oh, I’m shaking in my booties. Please don’t tell my daddy. Dadda might punish me. Boo hoo fucking hoo.”

  Felicia felt hopeless. Knowing his cockiness was justified.

  “What is going on in here?”

  Felicia breathed a sigh of relief as Mr. Baxter marched into the room, glaring at the boys with his icy blue eyes.

  Impeccably groomed and naturally imperious, everyone in the tiny town suspected Baxter was gay, but they also knew he was not a man to be messed with. Even Wally was wary of him. It was common knowledge that Baxter had a cousin in the governor’s office, and his power trumped even the Sheriff’s in the county.

  “Nothin’,” Wally deadpanned, gently lowering the rabbit and petting it in a fake show of affection. “We were just checking Mrs. Cuddles for cooties.”

  Mr. Baxter sneered dismissively. “Really? Well, if she didn’t have them before, I’m sure she does now, after you’ve had your grubby paws on her.”

  Wally grimaced but held his tongue. Someday I’ll kill this fuckin’ fag.

  “Now put that rabbit away and get out of here, before I lose my temper.”

  Scowling in defeat Wally plunked the bunny into Felicia’s arms and followed his skulking sidekick out the door.

  “Later, Delicia,” he said coolly as he exited.

  Sparrow made a hocking noise, but swallowed the phlegm as Baxter stared him down.

  “Thank you, Mr. Baxter,” Felicia said, petting the rabbit to calm her.

  “Don’t thank me, Felicia. Just put that animal in its cage and hurry up into your costume. The show is about to go on.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And relax, Felicia,” he added, “You’ll do fine tonight.”

  5

  The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

  2

  Twenty minutes later Felicia sat in the gym equipment storage room, which doubled tonight as a makeshift dressing room. It smelled of old sweat and leather.

  Felicia checked her hastily applied make-up in the mirror. She looked incredible, her face painted like a geisha’s. Over flat white greasepaint her eyes were lined with dramatic swirls of make-up worthy of an Egyptian queen. She couldn’t believe that under all that exotic color lurked shy, pasty-faced Felicia Miller.

  I look almost beautiful.

  “You’re on,” croaked Libby Silverman, whose froggy voice and authoritative manner emanated with unexpected power from a pudgy little gidget body.

  “How do I look?” Felicia swept her kimono up like butterfly wings.

  Libby rolled her eyes. “Fabulous,” she blurted indifferently.

  “Thanks,” Felicia mumbled, her ego deflated. Libby’s half-hearted praise was enough to stir her goblins of self-doubt and trigger a bout of stage fright. Icy trickles of flop sweat tickled her underarms. She started feeling light-headed. Dim yellow spots danced before her eyes. For a moment she was sure she’d pass out.

  Libby saw the sick expression on Felicia’s face and.felt guilty. “You’ll be fine, Felicia. Breathe.”

  Felicia took a long deep breath and her head started clearing.

  “It’s only a stupid school show,” said Libby, kneading Felicia’s tense shoulders.

  “Right.”

  “Break a leg.”

  Felicia drew another long breath and headed for the school auditorium.

  Libby shook her head and clucked, “A star is born.” Then she hurried backstage to man the lighting controls.

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  The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

  3

  The overhead stage lights glared like hot white stars as Felicia walked nervously onstage. A round of heartfelt applause greeted her. Live entertainment was scarce in tiny Greenville, and people flocked into town from all corners of the county for just about any school show. You could only take so much quizzo and karaoke. Mr. Baxter’s high school plays and talent shows were the closest any of the locals would ever get to a real Broadway show.

  Felicia moved through a dreamlike fog, half-blinded by the blazing spotlights.

  A murmur of anticipation rolled through the audience. Their bobbing heads formed waves of silhouettes rippling like the current of a black lake. It was impossible to tell teacher from parent in the dark auditorium, but a particularly manic burst of applause let Felicia know exactly where her mother and father were seated.

  Felicia swallowed nervously. This was a big night for her parents. They were thrilled that she was making an attempt to break out of her shell. Acting like a normal teenage girl for a change, she’d overheard her father say, when he thought she was out of range.

  Now with the whole town eyeballing her, Felicia was grateful for the anonymity that her geisha make-up afforded. Without it she would have been too shy to perform in the show or even set foot onstage. But now that bridge was crossed and the ice was broken. Her talent was about to be put to the test. Perhaps now she could really open up and get more involved in the drama club as Mr. Baxter kept suggesting. It would all depend on how her performance went over tonight.

  Her best friend Crystal had lobbied for her to do a Taylor Swift impersonation, arguing that her very pretty face and sweet singing voice were enough to carry the act. But Felicia didn’t want to impersonate anyone. That seemed too easy. A cheap imitation of true entertainment. She had fallen in love with the bittersweet tale of ChoCho San and her roving sailor lover when she first heard Madame Butterfly in freshman music class, and chose to do a song from the opera.

  Now her moment had arrived. One way or another, her life and dreams would be changed forever on this night. She stepped to the middle of the stage and closed her eyes, shutting out the bright overhead lights.

  At the lighting director’s controls backstage, Libby checked her notes by flashlight and flipped a numbered switch. Colored scrims shifted over the spotlights. Yellow lights deepened to amber, then to a single intimate blue spotlight, forcing all eyes to Felicia at center stage.

  Felicia drew a final deep breath, her mind shuttling back and forth between the lyrics she was about to sing and Mr. Baxter’s advice about conjuring inspiration.

  She thought about her character ChoCho San’s fictional sad situation, and then about the real life death of her family’s beloved golden retriever Hans, which still filled her heart with sorrow.

  Hans had looked after her since she w
as a rugrat in droopy pampers. He’d been dead for more than three years, but the memory of his scratchy white whiskers brushing her cheek on their last day together still plucked a heavy chord in her soul.

  Finally she started singing. The last of the audience’s whispered conversations fell silent in quick succession. Her voice sounded weak and hesitant at first, choked with emotion as she thought of young Hans prancing after his red rubber ball, then in his older years struggling to mount the back door steps. But it grew stronger and more assured with each passing lyric.

  The audience sat mesmerized. Respectfully quiet. Unmoving. Their rapt attention fed Felicia’s confidence. As her courage grew her throat relaxed and her voice expanded, sounding sweeter with each passing minute.

  Felicia’s parents watched in awe as their daughter blossomed before their eyes from a geeky teen bookworm into a budding diva. “I told you those voice lessons were a good idea,” her father whispered proudly, a little too loudly in the silent audience. He was shushed by his wife’s sharp elbow.

  Felicia made the mistake of throwing her head back just as the lighting scrims shifted, and was blinded with dazzling white light. The sudden blinding seemed to freeze her senses and erase her mind. For a long scary moment she blanked on the lyrics of the song.

  Libby sensed her dilemma and flipped a few switches on the lighting console. Blue and rose-colored scrims rotated into place, bathing Felicia in a sensual pastel glow, and without missing more than a heartbeat she was singing again.

  Councilwoman Mandee Madisson squirmed nervously in her seat. A diehard left-brain pragmatist, she saw little value in non-commercial creative endeavors. In fact, she had recently initiated a campaign to slash funding for the school arts programs, and the show she was watching was one of them.