Catch as Cat Can (4 page)

“Nah, the ninth.” He pulled over so traffic could get in and out, cut the motor, and stepped out of the rig. “Mrs. Hogendobber, you're a babe, too, but your boyfriend would knock my teeth down my throat so how about if I just say, ‘Hi, lovely lady.'”

“Roger, you're an original.” The good woman smiled.

They filled him in on the hubcap episode. He was delighted the hubcaps had been recovered immediately.

As the humans chatted Pewter remarked,
“If he'd lose twenty pounds, trim up his hair, and take a little more care about his person he'd pass.”

“As what?”
Mrs. Murphy snickered.

That made Pewter and Tucker laugh. Tucker stuck her nose out the slightly opened driver's window.

“Kinda chilly.”
Pewter ruffled her fur.

“Yep,”
Tucker replied, watching Roger drop the tailgate to proudly display his stock car. They stepped up the tailgate ramp for a closer look at this latest incarnation of the Pontiac Trans Am.

“—someday.” Roger crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well, I hope you do get into big-time racing but, Roger, it's so dangerous.”

“Your green Hornet is impressive.” Harry admired the brilliant metallic-green Pontiac.

“Oh, I love this machine, I do, but it's kind of the difference between”—he thought a minute—“a real nice horse and a great horse. NASCAR is the top of the top, you know. I'm down here in the bush league.”

“You've got a lot of horses right here.” She patted the long hood of the car, then stepped back onto the ramp. “Grease monkey.”

He turned up his palms, grease deep in the skin. “Daddy had me swinging that wrecker's ball by the time I was twelve. In the blood. 'Chines.” He looked up at the steel giraffe. “Still works.” Then he looked at Harry. “Come on.”

If it had a motor in it, Harry was enthralled. She clambered up the metal steps ringing with each footfall, up to the operator's cab.

“What is she doing?”
Pewter crossly complained, paws on the dash as she peered upward through the windshield.

Mrs. Murphy and Tucker followed her example. They heard the motor fire up.

“You know,” Miranda said out loud, “I believe I'll move my car.”

“If she's getting out of here, we should do the same.”
Pewter headed for the open driver's-side window.

“Worrywart.”
Mrs. Murphy barely got the words out of her mouth when the wrecker's ball swung over the roof of the truck, over part of the new main building's roof.

“Adios!”
Pewter flew out the window.

“Damn.”
Tucker scrambled to the window; it was a long drop for the dog.

“Don't worry, Tucker, I can open the door.”
Murphy leaned hard on the door handle, pressing with all her weight.

Hearing the click, the corgi pushed against the door, which opened, Tucker nearly tumbling out. Once on the ground, cat and dog bolted just as the ball passed over on its way back.

“Every cat for herself,”
Pewter called from under a neatly stacked crosshatched pile of railroad ties.

Miranda crouched in her Falcon, which she'd parked next to those railroad ties. “Tell you what, I hope that boy is sober.” She emerged from her car thinking if anything did go wrong she'd have a better chance on foot.

“Me, too,”
Pewter concurred.

Up in the operator's cab, Roger brought the ball back up to the nose of the crane. “Your turn.”

She sat on the cracked black leather seat, warm from Roger. “Ready.”

“If you want the ball to go down—no, don't grab them yet—you squeeze these calipers. Closing them completely dumps the ball straight down. Smash.

“If you want to swing the ball use this set of calipers here, here on the left, and the wheel”—he pointed to the steering wheel—“will move the whole deal, turn the cab and the crane, see. Got it?”

“Piece of cake.” She smiled as she swung the ball, slowly, over the other side of the fence, keeping her eyes glued to the ball. “Bet you get to a point where you can work the calipers, the wheel, the pedals kind of like a drummer.”

“'Zactly, but I say if you can drive a tractor you can learn to do most any heavy equipment work.”

She brought the ball back up, let it down a little bit, then brought it up to the nose. “This is so cool.”

“Yeah.”

Sean strode outside, looking upward along with his customers who were outside. He shouted, trying to be heard over the heavy diesel motor, “Roger!”

Roger leaned out of the cab, saluting his brother, then he swung back in. “He is so old. Turned into an old man. I'm telling you, I love my brother but, Jesus H. Christ, he is such a pain in the ass. Like this business is the center of the universe. Ever since Dad passed. Okay, okay, everyone has to make a living but Sean thinks he's the indispensable person. Hey, the cemeteries are filled with indispensable people, you know what I mean, Harry Barry?” He sighed. “Miss seeing you around.”

“Thanks, Rog. What a nice thing to say.”

He shook his head. “We've got the yard on an even keel. Working like dogs but all I ask”—he waved again to his gesticulating brother, then cut the motor—“is to go to the tracks Friday and Saturday nights.” He glanced down. Sean hadn't moved. “Big Brother is watching you. Well, babe, lesson's over.”

“I loved it.”

As they climbed down, the three animals hurried back to the truck, jumped in, and together using the armrest pulled the door back.

Tucker had to jump onto the floorboard first but she scratched up on the seat and helped pull the door back with the kitties.

“
She doesn't need to know I can open the door.”
Mrs. Murphy raised her long silky eyebrows.

“What she doesn't know won't hurt her.”
Pewter giggled.

“I'm thrilled to be alive,”
Tucker exhaled.
“Seeing that black ball swoosh over my head did not inspire confidence.”

Harry, enthusiastically reporting her lesson to Miranda, didn't notice the animals shutting the truck door. She hadn't even noticed it was open in the first place and she was so excited when she was up with the wrecker's ball she missed the people scattered below.

Sean fired off a few choice words to Roger, who shrugged. Sean turned on his heel, stalking back into the main building.

Roger smiled at the two women. “The only question worth asking yourself is, ‘Am I having fun?'”

         

Harry drove home feeling the day had improved considerably. As she turned down her long farm road to the house she noticed a gleaming BMW 740il parked in front of the barn. The car belonged to BoomBoom Craycroft, a marvelously beautiful woman who had had an affair with Harry's ex-husband, making her a least-favorite of Harry's. Granted, BoomBoom had slept with Fair Haristeen after Harry had separated from him. Still, the affair had lasted for about six months. Harry was devastated. Of all women, BoomBoom! She had competed against the tall beauty since grade school. Harry usually won the athletic and intellectual events, although BoomBoom ran a close second along with Harry's best friend, Susan Tucker. But where no female classmate could compete with Boom was her effect on the male of the species. Most men, especially when they were young and not wise in feminine wiles, fell for BoomBoom like the proverbial ton of bricks.

The two women had managed an accord over the last few years but that was the extent of it.

“Damn, damn, damn,” Harry whispered under her breath.

“If you'd let me catch that rat she would have come and gone,”
Tucker unhelpfully suggested.

“Tucker, shut up. You know how they can get. It's all hands on deck.”
Mrs. Murphy put her paws on the dash.

5

I'm so glad you're here. I was just about to leave,” BoomBoom effused as the three horses watched her from the paddock.

“We're in luck,” Harry dryly replied as Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker scrambled to see who could get out of the truck first.

Pewter won only because she used Mrs. Murphy's back, banking off her to touch the edge of the seat, then slide down, front paws onto the running board and onto the ground.

“I don't believe you did that!”
Murphy was furious.

“Toodle-oo.”
The gray cat made a beeline for the house, where she knew a large bowl of crunchies waited on the kitchen counter.

“Pretty good for a fat girl.”
Tucker eased herself down.

“Don't take up for her.”

“I'm not but it is amazing.”

The cat replied with a laugh,
“You're right, though, she can be agile when she has to be. After all, she is a cat.”

“Self-regarding, you cats.”
Tucker walked over to greet BoomBoom, who leaned over, petting the dog's glossy head.

Mrs. Murphy, now out of sorts, thumped into the barn, walked into the tack room, sat down hard, and shouted at the tiny mouse-hole in the wall,
“I know you're in there. I tell you, you'll be mouse soufflé before Memorial Day.”

The mice, sound asleep, didn't reply. Further agitated, the cat returned to the house, where the humans had now repaired. Maybe she could irritate someone in there.

Despite her antipathy, Harry had minded her manners and invited BoomBoom into the house for tea or a soft drink.

BoomBoom sat in the living room, ensconced in one of the old wing chairs Harry's parents had bought forty years ago for five dollars apiece because they were circa 1930s, unfashionable at the time, and beat-up. Since then they'd been re-covered five times; the last time, before her death, Harry's mother had had them redone in soft green leather, an extravagance on the one hand but a prudent expense if one considered the long run. The chances were that Harry would never have to re-cover the chairs in her lifetime.

“I have a teeny-weeny problem.” BoomBoom cast her eyes downward, which meant the problem had just increased in size. “I'm hoping you'll help me.”

“Oh. Why not ask Susan?” Harry volunteered her best friend, who got along with BoomBoom better than Harry did.

“Susan is married.”

“Ah.” Harry was getting the picture.

Mrs. Murphy strode into the room, sat down on the coffee table, and yelled,
“Everybody is horrible! Only I am perfect.”

“Murphy, what's the matter with you?” Harry swatted at her to leave the room.

The tiger cat eluded this clumsy effort by jumping onto the wing chair, taking up residence on the back behind BoomBoom's beautiful, long blond hair, held up in a simple swirled French twist. Having just left the hairdresser's, BoomBoom's tresses were lighter than usual.
“BoomBoom has big bosoms. Bet she blacks her eye when she jogs. Bet it's hard to bend over and stand up again. Maybe her face just hits the floor,”
she warbled, quite pleased with herself.

“Boom, push her off of there. She's being naughty.”

“I don't mind the noise. The tuna breath is what gets me.” BoomBoom laughed.

“Tuna breath?”
Mrs. Murphy's eyes widened, the beautiful electric color seemingly brighter. She unleashed one dagger claw, expertly hooking it into the pretty tortoiseshell clip holding up Boom's hair. With a flick she dislodged half of it so Boom's golden hair fell out of place.

“Now that is enough!” Harry, angry, stood up, grabbed the cat—who offered no resistance—and dropped her to the floor. “One more stunt like that and you're sleeping in the barn tonight.”

Pewter, observing the display, coolly said,
“She's only doing what you'd like to do, Mom. You can't stand BoomBoom.”

“Right.”
Mrs. Murphy, emboldened by the support of Pewter, emitted another yowl.

“First you fight and now you're best friends. You two are infantile.”
The dog rolled her eyes. She had squeezed next to Harry on the sofa.

“Big word, Tucker. Congratulations,”
Mrs. Murphy said sarcastically as she turned her back on the company and lifted the tip of her tail in her right paw, bringing it to her lips for grooming.

“Hee hee.”
Pewter couldn't resist laughing because it was funny to her but also because it would make the dog mad.

Tucker ignored them, placing her head in Harry's lap, looking as adorable as possible.

“You know what I'm doing, I'm venting. Humans vent all the time,”
Murphy said.

“I wouldn't imitate humans.”
Pewter thought about grooming but then decided she was too tired.
“It's a species that has as its motto: I can't always do it the hard way but I can try. They make everything so complicated, no wonder they vent, bitch, and moan. It's their own fault.”

“There is that,”
the tiger cat agreed with her.

BoomBoom had just finished an elliptical tangent that finally returned to its starting point, her need of Harry's help—“. . . so you see Susan wouldn't be quite right and Lottie Pearson is too eager, if you know what I mean. She parties in D.C., Richmond, and Charlotte, all in search for a man of means. She's beginning to get panicky about marriage, I swear. Of course she says she's canvassing for contributors to the university. Her job as a fund-raiser covers a multitude of sins, I swear.” Lottie Pearson was a social acquaintance of BoomBoom's, whom she sometimes liked and sometimes didn't. Today was a didn't.

Harry, fearing what was coming, quickly interjected, “But Lottie Pearson is single and Susan is not. That's a plus.” Harry echoed BoomBoom's earlier dismissal of turning to Susan for help. She wished BoomBoom would get to the point. Exactly what did she want?

“Lottie Pearson will complicate things. I really don't want my friends interviewed about their net worth.”

“Boom, you're losing me here. What friends? What net worth?”

After a long, refreshing draft of steaming-hot Plantation Mint tea, the tall woman placed the china cup in the matching saucer and laid them on the coffee table. “Your grandmother's china. I remember your grandmother.”

“Mom's mom.” Harry smiled, an image of a lean, silver-haired lady crossing her mind.

“She was a good teacher. Pony Club.”

Pony Club teaches young people all aspects of horsemanship. Riding is but a small portion of one's skills.

Harry leaned forward. “Remember when she made us take apart a bridle, strip it, dip it, put it back together, and she inspected everyone's work? Susan tried to cheat and used a toothbrush to clean around the bit instead of totally dismantling it?”

BoomBoom laughed. “And then she gave that lecture on shortcuts. Hey, I can still hear her voice when I'm considering the lazy way—‘the shortest way around is often the longest.'”

As they neared forty both women were slowly realizing that shared experiences were binding. Time possesses the greatest power. Men who fought on opposite sides in a war, in old age, often felt closer to their former enemies than people of their own nationality who were younger.

“You know.” BoomBoom lowered her voice, a sweet, dark soprano, a counterpoint to Harry's liquid alto. If the two had sung together they would have sounded heavenly. “I've been seeing this divine man. He's so interesting. He's urbane, speaks four languages, and he's tremendously intelligent. He's coming down this weekend and at the last minute his assistant at the embassy said he could come and—”

“Embassy?”

“Yes. He's Under-Secretary to the Ambassador for Uruguay.”

“Who?” Harry was fighting exasperation.

“My friend, Thomas Steinmetz, is Under-Secretary.” BoomBoom threw up her hands. “I'm going in circles. Will you escort my friend's friend? That's what I'm trying to ask.”

Now this was interesting. The two cats and dog turned their heads to stare at Harry, who blinked.

“Say something,”
Mrs. Murphy suggested to Harry.

“Uh—”

BoomBoom tried to be more organized now that the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. “Handsome. Fun. A lot of fun really. Recently divorced.”

“How recently?”

“U-m-m, a year.”

“Why are you asking me, really?”

“Because you're fun, you're very attractive, and because, well, you never know.” She held up her hand, her large diamond reflecting the light.

“Know what?”

“When lightning will strike.”

Harry scrunched down in the sofa a bit. Tucker refused to budge. “Tucker.”

“I don't want to miss a thing,”
the bright-eyed corgi replied to the complaint.

“Ha,”
both cats giggled.

“Harry, you need to get out more.” BoomBoom picked up the teacup once more.

“How ironic coming from you.”

When Harry and Fair separated and filed for divorce, his brief affair with BoomBoom kept tongues wagging in Crozet. It was like the small-town version of being splashed across the front page of the tabloids.

Harry always felt that Fair could have picked someone out of town or that BoomBoom could have refused him. The fact that both Fair and BoomBoom were great-looking people, in the prime of life, escaped her.

“You're still angry with me and I've done all but grovel, and I repeat for the thousandth time, he was separated from you. Separated.”

Ignoring this because she didn't believe BoomBoom's version of the timing of the affair, Harry plunged in. “Well, it hurt like hell. And just why didn't you stay with him?”

“I could never be a veterinarian's wife.”

Truer words were never spoken. Not only could BoomBoom not stand the schedule of an equine vet, those calls for colic coming right in the middle of a romantic evening, she needed more position, more power, more money.

BoomBoom's affair with Pharamond “Fair” Haristeen, DVM, owed something to putting herself back together after the shock of her young husband's sudden death. To her credit, though, she never used her loneliness as an excuse.

On Fair's part, the affair was a flight from responsibility, pure and simple. He realized it. Broke it off after six months and went into therapy—a tremendously difficult thing for him to do, to ask for help. After the first year of therapy, he begged his ex-wife's forgiveness. He still hoped to win Harry back. She was the best mate he could find and he knew it. She understood horses. She understood him. She expected to work hard in this life and what she asked in return was a partner who also worked hard, remained faithful, and had a good sense of humor. He knew he could do that now.

She remained diffident, although at times she would be pulled back toward him not just emotionally but physically, and that only stirred the pot. Not that she told BoomBoom but Susan knew, of course, and Mrs. Hogendobber suspected.

The animals remained discreet on the subject.

Harry, silent for a while, finally spoke. “What I don't get is why you won't leave me alone? Why is it so important that we be—something?”

“Because we're part of one another's lives. We grew up together. And because we're women and women are smarter than men about these things.”

“I don't think I'm smarter than a man about infidelity.”

“But he wasn't unfaithful, Harry. You were separated.” BoomBoom made this point again, as though speaking to a slow child.

“Can we table this?” Harry rolled her eyes heavenward.

“You've been tabling it for years. Surely we can coexist. We work on all the same projects.”

“So does everyone else. It's a small town,” Harry said peevishly.

“We hunt together, we play golf and tennis together.”

“I hardly ever play golf and tennis. I haven't got the time.” Harry fidgeted.

“Okay.” BoomBoom took a deep breath. “Will you be Diego Aybar's date?”

“That's his name?”

“Diego Aybar. And trust me, he is handsome, full of energy—even if lightning doesn't strike, you'll enjoy his company. Please say yes, Harry. I know he'll like you and it will be an unforgettable weekend for all of us.”

“Fair asked me to the Wrecker's Ball. I could go to everything but that and I'm parade coordinator for the festival”—she paused—“but you know that. 'Course once that last float pushes off—”

“Say yes,”
Pewter meowed.
“A little shake-up in the status quo can't hurt.”

“All status and no quo.”
Mrs. Murphy watched her human struggle with conflicting emotions, the most obvious being mistrust of BoomBoom.

“Harry, if you don't like this, if you suffer through the weekend I'll buy you that new Wilson tennis racquet everyone is raving about. Then you can beat me.”

“I beat you anyway. You don't have to bribe me, BoomBoom.”

“Well?”

“Clothes?”

“God, she's a hard nut to crack.”
Pewter exhaled.

“And lacking in all spontaneity but I love her,”
Mrs. Murphy purred as she leaned into Pewter who'd come up right next to her.

“Don't you two make a pretty picture, but I'm next to Mom and you aren't.”

Rising to the little dog's challenge, the cats leapt onto the back of the sofa. They plopped down behind Harry's head.

“It will be fun. All you need is a spring dress for the tea. Your white evening gown looks lovely on you. You need only one new dress. I know how you hate to shop.”

“That evening gown was Mother's.”

“Classic. Christian Dior classic. Your mother had fabulous taste.”

“And no money. She won the gown.” Harry smiled, remembering her mother and her pride in the gown that she had, in fact, won in a contest to design the Christmas Ball for the United Way. Christian Dior, a friend of Tally's—Big Mim's aunt who knew everyone and anyone—put up the gown as a reward.