by Patricia Fry
"But I can't wear those old rags to this place," she wailed.
"Why?" Savannah asked.
"Oh Vannie, I'll look like such a dowd."
"A dowd?"
"Yes, dowdy—frumpy... "
Savannah sighed rather impatiently. "I'll take a look at what you brought." With more enthusiasm, she said, "Maybe we can dress up your outfits with the right accessories."
Margaret frowned. "Like a diamond necklace or tiara, maybe?"
"The Hyacinth Bungalow," Michael announced. He pointed. "And there's the Gladiola Bungalow. Everyone ashore who's going ashore," he quipped, once he had parked the SUV.
"This is nice," Savannah said, stepping out of the car and trying to take it all in. "Look at the English gardens. Just lovely."
"Better get your cat out so he can explore those gardens," Michael suggested, lifting the rear door.
"Are you kidding? We can't let him do his job in there. I hope he used his litter box."
"Look at him," Margaret said, watching Rags butt his head against the door of the wire pen. "He's sure eager to get out of that prison."
"Come on, Ragsie," Savannah murmured, opening the pen. As she snapped a leash to the cat's harness, she heard, "Well, there's the star of the show."
Both couples turned toward the voice.
"Hello there, Rob," Michael said, reaching out and shaking the film director's hand.
Savannah welcomed his hug.
After motioning in greeting to the Sheridans, Rob focused on the cat. "How's he doing?"
"Good," Savannah said. "Never healthier. Eager for a night in the limelight."
"What do you have in mind for him tomorrow night?" Michael asked. "I mean, what's his role?"
Rob adjusted the baseball cap he wore over his fashionably long brown hair. "We want him at the premiere, of course. Guests expect to see him in person," he grinned, "... or in his catness. So bring him on that leash, I guess."
"Okay," Savannah said. "How many people do you expect?"
"The theater holds around a hundred. The gallery outside the theater can be used if there's an overflow." He looked at Michael. "To answer your question, we'll show the documentary, I'll talk briefly about our plans for the film, and then we'll have a reception where people can interact with the cat... and the two of you."
"So we can leave him in our room until after the documentary showing, right?"
"Um... well... . the investor—you'll meet him at dinner tonight—he has suggested that Rags stay in the main house in some sort of cat playroom tomorrow night—kind of a green room—until we're ready for him."
Savannah and Michael looked apprehensively at one another. "Okay, I guess," she said.
Rob gave a thumbs-up. Before walking away, he said, "Hey, you get settled in your bungalows and I'll see you all later." As an afterthought, he announced, "Cocktails at seven."
"We got the memo—looking forward to it," Michael said as he slid the cat pen from the back of the SUV.
Rob started to turn away, but stopped and added, "Mr. Peyton, the... lord of the mansion, you might say... would like to meet the cat tonight, so bring him, okay? Oh, and feel free to use the pool, hike the trails, ride a horse, play tennis or golf... " When he saw everyone's eyes grow large with interest, he made a sweeping motion with one arm. "It's all here—like a resort."
"Cool," Michael said. He smiled when he saw Savannah and Margaret squeeze each other's hands and giggle a little in anticipation of the weekend ahead. Then, looking around, he remarked, "It's secluded up here, isn't it?"
"Yes, there's nothing beyond this place except the ocean to the west and a wooded area on the other side of the bog down that way," Rob pointed, "... on the other side of that inlet. The property line also climbs into the foothills to the east."
"Bog?" Max asked. "Do you mean as in a swamp?"
Rob rubbed his chin and squinted. "Yes, only it's just wet enough to make the grass soggy. You can hike out there—it's not like quicksand or anything." He chuckled. "No crocodiles."
Max glanced around the perimeter. "This guy must own everything outside the city."
"He doesn't want any neighbors—that's for sure," Rob quipped, before walking off toward the mansion.
"This is so nice," Savannah said, leading Rags on his leash into their assigned cottage. "They call this a bungalow? It's more like a chip off the old mansion."
"What?" Michael asked, placing the cat's cage on the floor in their bedroom.
"Like a mini-mansion." She unsnapped the leash from Rags's harness and threw herself across the four-poster bed. "I feel like a princess."
"Your phone's ringing, princess," Michael called as he headed out to unload their luggage.
"Hi Mom; everything okay?" Savannah asked into the phone.
"Yes, honey. I was just checking to see if you had arrived yet."
"We just got here. Oh, Mom, it's so luxurious. Can't wait to meet the people who own this place. It's gorgeous—like no resort I've ever seen. Our bungalow has two bedrooms, a large living room and kitchen, a beautiful deck out back overlooking the pool and the ocean... " She spun around the room. "... and it's furnished exquisitely. The grounds are lovely. I'll send some pictures," she said, excitedly. She then asked quietly, "How's Lily?"
"Just fine," Gladys said. "She's up from her nap. Your friend, Colbi, is coming for a visit in a little while."
"Our daughter's expecting guests, is she?"
"Yes she is. Oops!" Gladys exclaimed, "... that's probably her at the door now. Gotta go. Have fun."
"Sure, Mom," Savannah said, before realizing her mother had ended the call.
"What's wrong?" Michael asked when he walked in and saw Savannah staring down at her phone.
"Nothing. It's just that... "
"What?" he asked, frowning.
Without warning, she burst into tears. "I don't think Lily needs us."
Michael dropped the suitcases on the floor and enveloped her in his arms. "Oh, Savannah... honey, of course she needs us. Why would you say that?"
"Well, Colbi's there playing with her," she said between sniffles. "Mom says everything's okay."
He chuckled softly.
"Michael," Savannah complained, "she's doing fine without us. She doesn't even miss us."
"Do you want her to be miserable when we're gone?" he asked, trying not to grin.
"No," she admitted.
"Do you want her to give your mom a lot of trouble?"
Savannah shook her head.
He spoke more softly. "Special people like your mom and Colbi and Iris can take care of her, but no one can take our place with her. She does need us—for seventeen more years, she'll need us to teach her how to walk, talk, and ride your horse. She needs us to teach her manners, values, responsibility, and how to make good choices. All of that is up to us, and she's counting on us for those things. You know it?"
"I guess," Savannah murmured.
"I'm glad she's happy in the care of your mom and our friends who love her. That means we're doing our job to make her feel secure. It's good for her to interact with other people." He moved back a little from Savannah and looked into her eyes. "And it's good for us to get away together."
"I know. I'm sorry, Michael. I guess I'm just being... "
"You're being a good and caring mommy, that's what. Now, you told your aunt you'd help her with her premiere dress. Why don't you wash your face and go over there, okay?"
"Okay," Savannah said.
When she returned from the bathroom, Michael held out her cell phone. "It's Maggie."
"Hi Auntie, are you ready for me to come over?" she asked, trying to sound more cheerful than she felt.
"I don't know if it'll do any good," Margaret groused, "but yeah, come on over."
"Okay, see you in a few." Savannah ended the call and walked up to Michael, who was hanging a shirt in the closet. She put her arms around him and le
aned hard into his back. "Thank you."
"For what?" he asked, turning toward her and returning the hug.
"For being such a great husband and father." She kissed him. "I love you."
He grinned. "I know. Now go pretty up your aunt, will ya?"
"Hi Max," Savannah greeted when she saw him sitting on the covered deck adjacent to theirs. "Is Auntie ready for a fashion makeover?"
Before he could respond, Margaret appeared at the French doors. "Makeover; yep, that's what I need. Come on, fashion fairy, let's see if there's any hope for me."
"Oh, Auntie, you're so hard on yourself." Savannah followed Margaret into the oversized bedroom. "Now, what did you bring to wear?"
Her aunt motioned toward the four-poster bed, where she'd laid three dresses and a pantsuit over the luxurious quilt.
"I've never seen these outfits, have I?" Savannah asked.
"Probably not. We haven't been anywhere fancy together since you were a child and we saw the Nutcracker ballet at Christmas."
Savannah clasped her hands under her chin. "How I loved dressing up in my frills and shiny shoes for plays, and at Easter, and Christmas."
Margaret smiled. "Yes, we used to dress for special occasions." She shook her head slowly. "Not anymore. We've become a society of down-dressers."
"Down-dressers?"
"Yeah, you know, we dress down. We don't get dressed up," Margaret explained.
Savannah looked more closely at the garments spread over the antique bed. She picked one up and held it toward her aunt, as if imagining it on her. "What's wrong with this dress? I love the fabric. Looks like a nice design for you." She squinted a little. "Didn't you wear this to my wedding?"
"Yes." She pouted. "It never did fit right."
"Let me see it on you."
Margaret thinned her lips. "Only if you promise not to take a picture... or laugh."
"You are so... " Savannah started, shaking her head in exasperation. "Go put it on, will ya?" When Margaret returned, Savannah took a quick look and said, "Oh... I see what you mean." Doing her best to discourage the chuckle she felt niggling at her, she walked up to her aunt and pulled at the shoulder seams. "It's a bit poufy here." She stepped back. "And the way the skirt hangs isn't very... " she grimaced "... attractive." Savannah picked up another dress off the bed and said, "Okay, that one's out. Let's try this one."
"That one's hideous," Margaret said, refusing to take it from Savannah.
"Then why did you bring it?" Savannah demanded. She continued to hold it out. "Go put it on."
Margaret grabbed the plum-colored dress and carried it into the large bathroom. "See, hideous," she said, upon returning.
"No. It looks... " Savannah narrowed her eyes and examined the dress. "Turn around," she instructed. "It's not bad, actually. With the right jewelry, that could look... okay."
"I want to look better than okay," Margaret wailed.
"No," Savannah said, backpedaling, "I mean, you'll look... great. Really."
Margaret scrutinized her reflection in the mirror. "Do you think so? What kind of jewelry?"
"Maybe... a strand of pearls."
"And where will I get these magical pearls, pray tell?"
"I have some you can wear, if you want." Savannah picked up the black pantsuit and held it toward her aunt. "Let me see this on you." When Margaret emerged from the bathroom wearing the black silk pantsuit, Savannah said, "I like that, but it's missing something."
"Like a model."
"A model?"
Margaret explained, "A tall, thin model should be wearing it, not a squatty, middle-aged woman."
"No, it needs something to dress it up. Did you bring any jewelry?"
"Yes." Margaret picked up a satin pouch, opened it, and poured the contents out onto the bed.
"There!" Savannah pointed. "This multi-strand silver chain necklace is perfect with it. See?" She held the necklace up against the front of the outfit.
"That does look nice, but... "
Savannah let out a sigh. She stared over at her aunt for a few moments, then said, "Iris will be here tomorrow. She knows a lot more about fashion than I do. Let's get her opinion. I'll bet she'll have some great ideas for you. Now, what are you wearing tonight?"
A look of panic flashed across Margaret's face. "Tonight?"
"Yes, we're going to the mansion for dinner tonight and we should dress for the occasion, don't you think?" Savannah eyed the three dresses and the pantsuit, saying, "Why don't you wear the plum dress tonight with my pearls. What shoes did you bring?"
"The usual," Margaret said. "My tennies, black flats, a pair of flip-flops, and my Mary Jane stubby higher-heeled dress shoes—you know the ones."
Savannah nodded. "Wear the heels." She took another look at the dress, held it up to her aunt, and said, "You'll look smashing."
"Next to you," Margaret said with sigh, "maybe smashed is a better word. You, with those long legs and svelte figure, will steal the show."
"It's not about me, Auntie," Savannah insisted. "It's about Rags and Rob. Michael and I are just... stage parents."
"Stage parents," Margaret repeated. "That's funny." She looked at her niece. "Yep, I guess that's about the size of it, isn't it?" Her eyes twinkled when she said, "Unless they show that scene where Rags ran off with your bra, and... "
Savannah squealed, "No! That's not gonna happen, so just forget about it."
Chapter 2
That evening at seven, the Iveys and the Sheridans walked from their bungalows toward the main house. Michael carried Rags in his arms. On the way, they ran into Rob and his production assistant, Cheryl.
"Hi there," Michael said to Cheryl. "Nice to see you again."
"Thanks. Me, too." She reached out and petted the cat. "Hi Rags. You're looking marvelous. You have a big weekend ahead, don't you?"
"He sure does," Savannah said. "Cheryl, you remember my aunt and uncle, Maggie and Max?"
"Yes. Hello," she greeted.
"We don't know where we're going," Savannah confessed.
Rob gestured with one arm. "Follow us."
Max chuckled as they approached a side door. "Going in the back way?"
"Uh-huh, the maids' entrance," Rob joked, rapping on the door to the kitchen.
After a few moments, a robust woman wearing a white apron over white slacks and a white t-shirt answered the door. She smiled. "Rob, Cheryl; come in."
"Thanks." Rob turned to the others and introduced them to Celine, one of the homeowners' private chefs. "Celine's in charge of pastries."
While the others acknowledged her with a nod, Margaret caused a round of laughter by saying, "Nice to meet you. Hope to eat some of your work soon."
Celine gave Margaret a toothy grin, then motioned toward a door. "Go on in; Victor's in the Wisteria Room ready to serve wine and hors d'oeuvres." She noticed Rags and added, "I'm sure he'll make arrangements for the cat."
"Gosh, this is something else, isn't it?" Savannah whispered to Margaret as they strolled through a hallway into a room that would rival any of the most elegant cocktail lounges in some of the most ornate old hotels in this country.
"I've never seen anything like it," Margaret said, her eyes wide as she tried to take it all in. "Look at the detail in the woodwork."
"The furniture is so large," Savannah noted.
"Well, yeah, if you put regular-size pieces in large rooms like these, it would look like you decorated with dollhouse furniture," Margaret quipped.
"Hello," the wine steward greeted. "I'm Victor." Upon noticing Rags, he took a step back. "Oh, a cat. Let me call for Rupert. He'll show you where to put it." After quietly making a call, he addressed the guests again. "Which wine can I pour for you this evening?"
Margaret leaned into Savannah. "Don't you wish you could pronounce the name of that wine you like—the one that starts with a G?"
"Oh Auntie, he's probably never even heard of it—it
comes from the grocery store, for heaven's sake."
Max, a former chef in a high-class restaurant in Chicago, had the prudence to ask, "What do you recommend?"
After Victor had made a few suggestions and while they were each deciding on a wine, a man dressed in jeans, sport shoes, and a blue lightweight pullover sweater entered the room. Victor waved one hand toward Michael. "Take the cat, will you, Rupert?"
"Hello there," Rupert said upon approaching Rags. He glanced at Michael. "What a handsome fellow. Is he the star of the film?"
Michael nodded. "That's what they tell me. I hear he was invited here for dinner tonight."
"That's right. Would you like to come with me to see his quarters for this evening?"
Savannah's eyes grew wide. "I would." She held out her hand to the middle-aged man, noticing that he was small of stature and sported a neatly groomed full head of curly brown hair with a hint of grey, and he wore a close-cropped beard. "I'm Savannah Ivey." She motioned toward Michael. "This is my husband Michael. Rags is our cat."
"Rags," Rupert repeated, as if the word were distasteful. "Does the name stand for something?"
"Well, it's Ragsdale," she explained.
Rupert peered down at the cat and said, as if annoyed, "Oh." Glancing up, he focused on Margaret as she approached.
"I wanna come," she said.
"This is my aunt, Margaret Sheridan. She and her husband run a cattery for rescued cats," Savannah explained in an attempt to qualify Margaret for a tour of the cat room.
Rupert looked at the two women and then at the cat, which Michael still held in his arms. "Okay, let me show you to the Jungle Room."
"Jungle Room?" Savannah questioned. "I thought the rooms were named for flowers."
"Most are," he said. "There's the Wisteria Room, the Rosemary Room, the Camellia Room... but also the Jungle Room, for visiting cats."
"What's this room called?" Margaret asked as they followed Rupert past a huge table set for a formal meal.
"The dining room," he said, matter-of-factly.
Savannah and Margaret exchanged glances as they attempted to contain their urge to giggle.
