Кэрол Дуглас - Cat In An Alphabet Endgame

“Tony!” she screamed after the phone went off. “Needs to see us? Finally!”

“But for ‘serious’ news. I don’t think it’s good, Temple. He mentioned my putting Chicago off for so long. First, I’ll need to give the Jaguar back, which is fine.” In fact, Matt wanted the whole deal and every trace of it to disappear.

“Don’t be so negative,” Temple urged.

“Look. It’s obvious he wants to break the bad news in person. He’s a really decent man. I was lucky to end up as his client.”

“Well, if that’s the case, we’ll just deal with it.

“But oh,” she said, crossing fingers on both hands and her arms and shutting her eyes. “I hope, I hope, I hope.”

Matt was glad she couldn’t see the anguish on his face.

“Come in,” Tony said as he stepped into the outer office to escort them past his young assistant’s desk. Danielle had deluged them with offers of exotic-flavored espresso, but they were both too nervous to tote liquids at the moment.

Matt suddenly saw the tall, white-haired and distinguished Tony Valentine as the solicitous funeral director. Tony escorted Temple, businesslike in an aqua-colored linen suit and closed-toed red high-heeled pumps that did not convey a mourning mood, to a high-backed upholstered chair in front of his desk.

Matt took the matching chair, wishing it was the creepy vanishing one from old forties movie comedies that would drop him through the floor and flip back into place empty.

When they were seated, Tony put his elbows on his immaculately empty but impressive mahogany desk.

“I know you both have had a lot on your minds lately, especially Miss Barr’s cat getting a commercial contract. I should get the paperwork on that in a couple weeks. And your upcoming marriage, when—?”

“Very soon,” Temple said, glancing at Matt.

“Ah, yes, this is Las Vegas, capital of quick, inventive nuptials, even at The Mob Museum. I hope I’m invited.”

“You’re on my e-vite list.”

“Excellent.” Tony cleared his throat and looked at Matt. “I wonder if you know you’ve been my most recalcitrant client. If it were a marriage we were discussing rather than a talk-show host spot, I’m afraid the network wooers would all be retiring or dead before you’d make up your mind.”

“I apologize. Sincerely. We’ve been dealing with long-term and recalcitrant family issues.”

Temple nodded to back him up.

“You know, my dear young people, you must grab the golden goose at the first opportunity or it flies away?”

“I know, I know,” Matt said. “I’m sorry to have disappointed you all.” His glance at Tony ricocheted to Temple, who was sitting forward in her seat in suspense, her hands clasped on her red patent-leather tote bag, her shoulders back and her chin tilted high to take the bad news. His bad news. He took her hand.

“So,” Tony said, “the network, being out of time and patience…”

Temple sighed.

“…finally realized that your reluctance was actually a sign.”

“A sign?” Matt was not superstitious. “Like an omen?”

“That you obviously do not wish to leave Las Vegas.”

“Ah…” Matt said.

“And they decided that was brilliant. Vegas was where to film the show.”

“Oh, Matt!” Temple said, turning to him, her eyes shining…happy-tear eyes.

“And,” Tony went on, beaming, “they decided that this daytime TV talk show should have two hosts. That you and Temple are naturals, like Kelly and Regis, and Kelly and, ahem, Michael Strahan, until recently…only New Generation. Even that darn crime-solving Disneysque cat could appear via film clips. The commercial sponsors would love it.”

Temple gaped at Matt. “It’s genius. It’s perfect. I used to interview people as a TV news reporter. Matt, you’re ‘radio’. It’d be so much fun. And no more working nights. Isn’t this the most wonderful outcome in the world?”

And, yes, he caught the firefly magic of it. Them, working together, inventing together. The couple who grows and works together stays together. He was flabbergasted, won over, excited by the possibilities. Temple was more outgoing than he was. She’d loosen him up. He was the cream in her coffee. They’d have a ball.

If he and Temple would live to enjoy a new media partnership.

Tony was right. This was serious business.

Tony saw them out personally. Advised them to “sleep on it” and “let it all sink in”.

“Can you believe it”? Temple whispered almost before Tony’s office suite door had closed. “Everything you did, all the putting off and delaying, worked like an insanely clever plan.

“I feel like we’re Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney in those old forties movies, two crazy kids who are ‘going to put on a show’ to save the farm.

“Oh, I’m getting so many ideas—we could do ‘flash’ street interviews in cool Vegas locations. Maybe a Louie spot through his cat’s-eye-view with voice-overs, and the scenes are in neon-color, or noir black-and-white, or mixed.”

“Temple, I’m sure the producers will have plenty of must-do ideas for building audiences.”

“And it’s such great timing that I decided on our Lady of Guadalupe. We can get married right away, and ask Electra about okaying uniting our two residences as well as ourselves. She’s been cleared of any charges in the intruder’s fatal fall. And now, more good news! I’m so happy to have this uncertainty gone too and that we can forecast smooth sailing full steam ahead from now on. Oh, I guess that’s a mixed metaphor, but you know what I mean. Can you tell me you aren’t thrilled by this chance, this amazing turn of events.”

Matt had to laugh and share her joy. Temple’s giddy relief told him how much his secret worries had been weighing them both down.

And even as Temple hung on his neck, laughing and kissing and shaking off those tears of joy like a demented water spaniel fresh out of a lake, Matt felt a thrill at the rightness of the idea, like their marriage.

Yes, it was amazing they could work together, yes they could stay in Vegas at the Circle Ritz, yes they could get married right away. Putting the brakes on all that lovely karma, would be impossible.

So he would have to fix it all, right away, and if he had to ask for help from whomever he could—God, Elvis, or Chuck Effinger—he would. It was him versus manipulative Woody Wetherly and his schemes and the seemingly immortal Jack the Hammer and his brutal weapon of choice.

11

The Mysteries of Molina

“I’m glad you could stop by, Matt,” she said after opening the front door, her left thumb nervously twisting the bulky but loose college graduation ring on her left ring finger.

Matt had never seen any other ring on Lieutenant C. R. Molina’s hands. Was it a single mother’s substitute for a wedding ring? Or valued in its own right?

That made him wonder why Molina had hung on to Temple’s ring from Matt Kinsella for so long, calling it evidence. Had even Molina fallen under the irresistible spell the magician seemed to cast on women, from psychopath Kathleen O’Connor to sensible Temple?

“I must admit I’m curious as heck,” he said, “but I’m not about to stand up my favorite homicide lieutenant when she calls me at home last night and invites me over for a ‘talk’.” Matt smiled as she stepped aside so he could enter. “After all we’ve been through together.”

“And after all you’ve been through with your irrepressible redheaded fiancée recently that you two haven’t told me about.”

“You’ve been pretty irrepressible yourself in saying how little you value amateur detectives, until lately.”