by Patricia Fry
"Is this where we'll eat tonight?" Margaret asked.
"I think you're taking your meal in the atrium this evening," Rupert said, without expression.
"What's this room called?" Savannah asked, gazing around the enormous room at the bottom of a wide staircase.
Their guide stopped and faced Savannah. "The great room."
Once at the top of the stairs, while Michael continued to keep pace with Rupert, Savannah and Margaret slowed at each door and peered into the rooms. They alternately raised their eyebrows and smiled in response to the interesting décor. After walking past four open doors—two on each side—they noticed that the hallway veered right.
"Sure is quiet up here," Margaret said. She shivered. "It's kinda spooky."
"This wing is unoccupied," Rupert explained. "No one has resided on this floor for years." He hesitated and added, "... unless you believe in ghosts."
Savannah and Margaret exchanged looks. "Ghosts?" Savannah repeated.
"There have been rumors." He rolled his eyes for effect and then said, as if sharing a secret, "Some members of our staff have wild imaginations."
Savannah noticed that the third door on the right—a purple door—was closed, as was the door across from it and one at the end of the hall. Rupert stopped in front of the purple door. "Here's the cat room." He turned toward the small group and said with emphasis, "The Jungle Room."
"It's so far away from everything," Savannah remarked. "What if... "
Rupert sighed. "Nothing will happen to your cat. Someone will be with him at all times."
The trio watched as Rupert opened the purple door. He invited them inside, closing the door behind them.
"It's secure?" Michael asked, looking around the room.
Rupert nodded.
Margaret clasped her hands against her chest. "My, my, this is every cat's dream come true."
"Gosh, it's amazing," Savannah agreed. "Rags could get lost in here."
Rupert seemed amused by the comments. "Yes, it is quite elaborate. It's Mrs. Peyton's design."
"Wow, she must really be into cats," Margaret said.
Savannah looked around. "Are there other cats in here?"
"No. There are no cats in the mansion," Rupert said. He walked to the door, opened it, and stepped aside so the others could exit. "Mr. Peyton will call for Ragsdale later. I'll bring him then." He reached for the cat. "You go enjoy your cocktails and dining experience."
"Sure," Michael said, relinquishing Rags to Rupert. He watched as Rupert placed the cat on a floor-to-ceiling cat tree. When Michael noticed Savannah and Margaret continuing to ogle at the climbing apparatus in the room—the tunnels, tents, hammocks, toys, and posts—he urged, "Come on ladies. Our wine's getting warm."
"What a place!" Savannah said as they stepped out into the hall. "Rags won't want to come home with us."
"I don't want to go home, either," Margaret said.
"What's that?" Savannah asked, turning to look behind her.
Michael turned around as well. "What?"
"I thought I heard a cat."
Michael chuckled. "Surely Rags isn't complaining."
"I doubt that," Margaret said.
Savannah shook her head. "No, it didn't sound like Rags." She pointed to the green door at the end of the hall. "It came from that direction." She walked slowly toward the sound. "Maybe there's a cat in that room," she said. The others followed rather reluctantly.
"I don't hear anything," Margaret whispered.
"Me neither, Maggie, but my wife has supersonic ears. It's uncanny the things she can hear." He took Savannah's arm. "Come on, let's go eat. Did you see that spread Victor has down there?"
Savannah grinned. "Good idea. I'm hungry."
By the time the threesome had returned to the drawing room, the others were seated at a large round table sipping wine and nibbling on fresh shrimp, lox, an array of exotic fruits, colorful vegetables, and a variety of tiny savory pastries. After filling small plates with appetizers and giving Victor their wine preferences, the latecomers eased into plush cushioned chairs, joining the others at the table.
"So who else came from the film crew?" Michael asked Rob.
"Just us. DeeDee and Raymond might make it. Remember them? She was one of our videographers."
"Who attends these things?" Max asked.
"Money people, media, representatives from television channels, maybe a few movie producers," Rob explained. "We might get celebrities who are interested in the topic, and pet food and supply executives. It's not exactly open to the public, but we make sure the right people get wind of it." He took a sip of wine and continued, "Some of these folks bring family members or friends who are interested in the subject of the film." He looked at Savannah. "In this case, those who like cats."
"So you don't send out invitations?"
"Sure we do," Rob said. "We send them to the folks we hope will be interested in the project—people who might want a piece of the action for advertising or other purposes."
"You mean Rags might be auditioned to do a cat-food commercial?" Margaret asked. "He could become another Morris?" When she noticed blank stares, she said, "Oh, I guess that was before your time." She turned to Max. "You remember Morris, right?"
"Sure I do. He helped sell a brand of cat food in the early '70s—he was supposed to be the world's most finicky cat."
"That doesn't describe Rags," Savannah said. "He'll eat most anything."
Max grinned across at Savannah. "Sounds like he could spark a wage-war among cat food companies—they'll all be upping their offers to get his paw-print on their contracts."
Rob smiled. "It's impossible to predict the response you'll get, but you always hope for a movie contract or a film award. And, yes, the actor may get some offers." He laughed. "I've never done an animal film quite like this before, so I'm not sure what proposals may come our way."
Cheryl nudged Rob. "Tell them about your offer from the outdoor-sports mogul."
Rob leaned forward. "A few years ago we did a documentary featuring some of the world's most daring extreme sportsmen and women. Last week, a major sportswear conglomerate contacted us about using scenes from the film in their advertising. We're in negotiations now." He faced Michael and Savannah more squarely. "I hope to get the cat film picked up by the animal channel and then we'll see where it goes from there. We'll know more about the type of interest we can garner, and from whom, after the showing tomorrow night."
"Since the documentary also involves local crime-fighting agencies, maybe some will want to use Rags's story in their training programs," Max suggested.
"Oh sure," Margaret said, "can't you just see all the recruits running out trying to find cats to train as partners in solving their crimes?"
Max raised his eyebrows. "Not a bad idea—then more cats would be rescued!"
"Or someone would start breeding kleptomaniac cats."
Savannah grinned at Max and Margaret, then focused on Rob. "So what have you been working on since this film?"
Rob thinned his lips before saying, "Cheryl and I just got back from Alaska. We filmed three generations of natives living their daily lives in the wilderness."
"Like a reality show," Cheryl explained.
Rob nodded. "It was intense. Those people live off the land in every sense you can imagine. They spend what few decent months they have preparing their survival tactics for the rest of the year."
"How long did you stay there?" Max asked.
"An entire month. It was brutal, but I wouldn't have traded the experience for anything."
Cheryl added. "We were there during some of their best weather and... " She shivered a little. "Yes, it was brutal. I sure have respect for those people."
"You look nice, Cheryl," Savannah said, upon noticing her tasteful deep-blue dress with lace sleeves and bodice.
"Thanks." She grinned. "Different from the get-up I wore when
we filmed at your place, isn't it?"
Savannah winced. "A bit more... conservative, I'd say."
"Yeah, I can dress up or down—depending on the occasion," she said, running one hand up along her neatly coifed twist. "This is a dress-up occasion."
"Big difference," Margaret said. "Like night and day. I wouldn't have recognized you. Last time I saw you, you looked like a... "
"Auntie... " Savannah hissed, poking Margaret with her elbow.
"What?" Margaret spat. "I was going to say she looked like a teenager. Now she looks... all grown up."
Cheryl smiled widely. "Thanks." She furrowed her brow. "... I think."
"I can't even see any of your tattoos," Margaret added.
"By design," Cheryl said, smiling demurely. She leaned forward and spoke quietly and deliberately to Margaret. "I can't see any of yours, either."
Everyone watched as Margaret pulled back and grabbed at her chest. When she noticed that all eyes were on her, she cleared her throat and said quite innocently, "What?"
"You have a tattoo?" Savannah asked. She looked at Max and noticed he was smiling smugly.
Margaret stared into her wine glass. "No," she said, unconvincingly.
Savannah glanced at Max again. He nodded and winked.
"How did you know?" Margaret asked, narrowing her eyes in Cheryl's direction.
Cheryl laughed. "I didn't—but I do now."
The others joined Cheryl in a round of lively laughter.
"Busted," Max said, putting his arm around Margaret's shoulders and squeezing her to him.
Michael teased, "Oh, so that's where your tattoo is, huh, Maggie?"
"What?" She appeared to be confused.
"What Max said," Michael explained.
Margaret was still trying to figure out what everyone was laughing about when they heard a voice ring out from the doorway. "Sorry I'm late."
They turned to see well-dressed man of about forty-five walking toward the table. "I'm Charles Peyton. You must be Savannah and Michael Ivey."
The Iveys nodded and each shook hands with their host.
"So nice to meet you," he said, before glancing at the others.
Savannah made the introductions. "This is my aunt, Margaret Sheridan, and her husband, Max. I think you've met Rob and Cheryl."
He nodded at the Sheridans and then said to Rob, "Yes, nice to see you two again." He returned his attention to Savannah and Michael, asking, "Where's the cat?"
"In your playroom," Savannah said, "... with Rupert."
"Can you join us?" Rob invited.
Charles Peyton walked around and pulled out a chair across from Savannah. He had no sooner sat down when Victor was at his elbow. "What's your preference tonight, sir?"
As their host made his wine selection, Savannah scrutinized the man. He's rather nice-looking in a youthful, businessman sort of way. Seems to be a type-A personality—sure is fidgety, like it's hard for him to sit still. That's probably how he stays so trim. She chuckled to herself. I hope I don't have to dance with him, he's not much taller than Auntie—maybe five six or seven.
Savannah flinched a little when their host suddenly turned his attention in her direction. "So Mrs. Ivey, where did you get this fabulous cat?"
"Savannah," she said. "You can call me Savannah." She then responded to his question. "At a local shelter."
"Oh, so he's a rescue?"
She nodded.
"And now a movie star," Charles said, revealing small even teeth behind a rather mechanical smile.
"Do you have cats?" Max asked.
Charles shook his head. "No, no. Not here. No cats."
"Then why would you be interested in investing in a film about a cat?"
"My wife likes cats. We support local shelters and some major rescue organizations." Without warning, Charles stood. "Here's my wife now," he said, rushing to greet a tall, overdressed woman of fifty-five plus.
Savannah chuckled to herself. Another stilt woman, as Auntie would say. She's probably just about my height—five nine or ten. She towers over Charles. Gosh, looks like she's had a lot of plastic surgery work already. And what's with that hairdo from the thirties? Must be a Greta Garbo wannabe. It's rather attractive on her, actually. She sure dresses glitzy.
"Hello dear," Charles said, taking her hand and leading her toward the table. "Come meet our delightful guests. Henrietta, this is Savannah and Michael Ivey, Margaret and Max Sheridan, and you've met Rob and Cheryl." With a gallant gesture, he said, "My wife, Henrietta."
The men stood and the women nodded. Henrietta bowed slightly and smiled. "Where's the cat?" she asked, her voice syrupy smooth.
"He's in the Jungle Room, dear," Charles said. "I've called for Rupert to bring him in."
Lowering her brow, she asked the Iveys, "He's well-behaved, isn't he?"
"Well... uh... I guess, if... " Savannah stuttered.
"Splendid," Henrietta said. She glanced up in time to see Rupert walk in carrying Rags in his arms.
"Oh, he's striking," Henrietta gushed. She approached the cat and began petting him. Addressing Michael and Savannah, she asked, "Has he eaten?"
Michael responded. "We were told to bring his food. We left it in the kitchen."
With that, she said, "Rupert, have Addison bring the cat's supper, would you? And tell him to add some of that fresh halibut we had brought in this morning."
"Yes, madam," he said, placing Rags on the floor and retrieving his cell phone from his pocket. As Rupert moved away from the group to make the call, holding fast to the cat's leash, Savannah and Michael exchanged looks.
Soon, a middle-aged blond man appeared carrying a crystal goblet on a tray.
"Holy cow, would you look at that?" Margaret said under her breath. "They're treating him like he's royalty."
Savannah giggled quietly. "Yes, and your point is... ?"
"Set it down there, would you?" Charles said, pointing to a spot on the floor near where the group sat. He reached out and unfastened the leash from Rags's harness and asked Rupert to show the cat to the food.
Rags looked around at everyone. Suddenly, he noticed an enticing aroma in the air that quickly led him to the goblet. He sniffed the contents for a few seconds before diving in and eating his fill of the gourmet meal.
"Rupert, take him to the litter box, would you?" Charles instructed. "Then bring him into the atrium. He can hang out with us while we dine." He turned to his guests and invited, "Please follow us. Dinner is served. Leave your drinks; we'll have a special wine with dinner."
Charles offered his arm to his wife and the two of them led the small procession into a large room constructed mostly of intricately designed glass and filled with many varieties of tropical plants. "Here, you will enjoy Henrietta's gardening interest," Charles explained. "She can even grow plumerias, anthuriums, and orchids in this environment."
"It's beautiful," Savannah said, gazing around the room. "Look at the design on that high ceiling."
"It's stained glass," Henrietta explained. "There are 300,000 pieces worked into the dome."
"Wow!" Margaret said staring up at the artwork.
"You'll have to wander in here during the day," Charles suggested, "in order to get the full effect of the room."
"But I love it at night, too," Henrietta said. "The white flowers just pop, and I like seeing all the twinkly lights."
"It is lovely, my dear," Charles said, walking toward a round table set for eight. He immediately took charge. "Michael and Savannah, I'd like you to sit on either side of me. Rob, won't you take the chair next to Savannah? Your young woman can sit to your left. The Sheridans can join my dear wife on either side of her."
A few minutes later, Charles saw Rupert leading Rags into the atrium. "Take the leash off, would you? Let him wander. Just keep an eye on him." As an afterthought, he motioned to his left. "Show him the bed."
Savannah looked over at
the bed Charles referred to and smiled. "I see you did your homework. He loves canopy cat beds, especially the one belonging to his much smaller stepsister."
Charles smiled and glanced at his wife. "Oh yes, we do want him to be comfortable, don't we, dear?"
Throughout the evening, Savannah attempted to keep an eye on Rags, which wasn't easy with the distraction of the superb meal in front of her and the fascinating table-talk. The cat, in the meantime, wandered in and out among the diners' feet. When he reached up with his paws on Savannah's lap, she gently nudged him down, saying, "No Rags. You can't get up here while we're eating."
He wasn't hungry, anyway. He was probably just looking for a stepping stone to the tabletop. He liked being part of a group. Since an invitation was not forthcoming, the cat moved on. He continued to explore the room, sniffing everything he encountered, until he stumbled upon the cat bed.
Savannah finally relaxed a little when she saw him sprawled across the canopy bed. A short time later, while listening to Henrietta talk about her recent trip to Africa in search of some special plants for the atrium, Addison approached and asked Savannah if she was finished with her meal. She nodded and smiled. She then craned her neck to check on Rags again. Her heart sank when she saw that the canopy bed was empty. She quickly looked in Rupert's direction. Darn, he's staring into his cell phone screen. Oh no, where's Rags? she wondered, glancing around the atrium. "Michael," she said, breaking into a conversation he and Charles were having about scientific advances in veterinary science.
"What?" he asked, sounding slightly annoyed.
She whispered to him, "I don't see Rags anywhere."
Michael sighed impatiently, his eyes darting around the large room.
"What is it?" Charles asked.
Michael placed his napkin on the tabletop and stood to get a wider view. "Just wondering where the cat is."
"Rupert," Charles scolded, "where's the cat?"
The man quickly pocketed his phone and frantically glanced around the room. "I'm sorry sir. He was asleep. He can't have gone far."
"He could be anywhere," Michael said. "Just look at all the flowers and plants he can hide in."
Savannah stood, bent on joining Rupert in his search, when Charles reached out and took her wrist in his hand. His eyes almost burned into hers as he assured her, "Rupert will find him. Sit. Enjoy your dessert."
