Douglas, Nelson - Midnight Louie 05-Cat in a Diamond Dazzle

This is not Kansas anymore. I am not even sure that it is Las Vegas.

Chapter 10

Pirates Ahoy

"Where are we headed?"

Electra wistfully eyed empty tables spreading into the casino from a dazzling variety of restaurants.

"Look at the fabulous boutique!" Kit gazed left toward display windows crammed with wearable glitz that bounced an acquisitive glint from her eyeglass lenses.

"We are here on business, ladies," Temple reminded them. Her brisk trot did not slow to match their dawdling, window-shopping pace. The enterprise she had in mind was shoe biz.

"Where do we conduct this so-called business?" Electra huffed to catch up with her. "We've been walking for ages. I had no idea the MGM Grand was so misnamed. It should be the MGM Gargantuan."

"Theme park out back." Temple wasted no words as she hustled past gaudy neon game arcades toward the pale horizontal slit of glass doors leading to the great outdoors. "It's just about to open."

Electra groaned. "That means a lot more walking."

"Good for us," Temple sang back, hopping on a down escalator.

Soon their weary feet were beating the merciless cement that was carved into pseudo-flagstones.

Sunshine as warm as drawn butter poured down on the crowd massing behind chain barriers while a troupe of spritely teenage entertainers bid them a tuneful welcome, with acrobatics and dancing. After they posed and froze for the expected applause, two clowns parted the chains. The camera-hung mob surged like misplaced souls in a Twilight Zone episode into an empty townscape of picturesque storefronts housing shops, eateries and amusement rides.

"Reminds me of H. P. Lovecraft's Innsmouth," Kit mused with ominous emphasis. "All quaint and picturesque on the outside, yet who knows what inbred spawn lurks behind the Williamsburg colors and the blank blackness beyond the polished window-glass?

"Actresses!" Temple complained to the world at large, none of whom stopped rushing past to listen.

"Everything is a stage set for you. This is Disneyland on the desert. What could be more wholesome?"

"Exactly why I suspect the worst," Kit said.

"Oh!" Electra was transported, foot discomfort forgotten. "Look! A wedding chapel. Got to dash in and check it out."

Kit and Temple edged into the tiny foyer while Electra dove through a doorway toward the nuptial mysteries beyond. They loitered nervously beside a window framed by peach organdy curtains not seen in such poufy array since Mr. Blandings Built His Dream House.

Wedding paraphernalia--miniature caketop couples, silk flower bouquets and boutonnieres, white satin garters--decorated several shelves of a built-in display cabinet.

Kit lifted the tiny tag trailing from a massive bouquet, then dropped it like a hot petunia. "Pricey! And that's just for Insty-Prince Charming-type weddings. Imagine what a full church ceremony must cost!"

"You ever do it?"

"What?" Kit looked alarmed and eyed the crowded foyer.

"Get married."

"No. I didn't mean not to, but it didn't happen."

"Hmm."

"What's the matter, kid? Feeling like an Old Maid? At your age?"

"Well, you were my age once, and unmarried. Maybe Old Maid-ism runs in families."

"It's called being single nowadays, and it's not so bad, especially in New York City, which is crammed with places to go and people to go there with."

"So is Las Vegas." Temple flattened against the display case as an influx of gawkers brushed against them. "I wish Electra would hurry. I don't want to miss the next show."

"Aha! So we're here to let them entertain us. That should be interesting."

"Not up to Broadway standards, I'm sure."

Kit made a masque-of-tragedy face as she studied Temple. "We're sure down at the kissy corners today." Her features reversed into a grin, and Temple found the corners of her mouth perking up despite herself. "Man trouble, huh?" Kit diagnosed.

"Men."

"Men. I'm impressed. Plurals always impress the shallow at heart, such as people who own two Mercedes. You're more of a vamp than you look."

"Not really. We're talking serial heartbreakers here." Temple felt obligated to explain her situation.

"Max--he's ... he was a magician--and I lived together for more than a year, then he vanished just as Matt showed up at the Circle Ritz. And we got along, more or less, but now Max is back--so I'm caught in the middle of two relationships that don't amount to much. Because how can I trust Max again after he pulled his vanishing act? And Matt, being a hotline counselor, is much too polite to trespass on what he now sees as Max's territory ... so, as far as I'm concerned, they're both welcome to join the French Foreign Legion and I'll just shack up with Louie forever."

Temple's contemplative focus on a petite wax wedding couple lifted to see her aunt's eyes as round as blueberries and tiny, gawking convex people reflected in her oversize lenses. Temple turned to face an audience. Her scattershot recital had stopped spellbound tourists in their tracks.

"What is this Louie-guy's occupation?" asked a woman in a Padres cap and tortoise T-shirt.

"Er, house sitter."

"Stick with the hotline guy," she advised, "steadier job."

"The magician." Her husband, a tall, beak-nosed man with sunburned forearms was no less definite.

"He'll always surprise you."

Temple blushed as lobster-red as the man's arms and turned back to the bridal display.

"You hadn't mentioned any Louie before." Kit produced an auntly frown. "House sitters can be a shiftless lot."

"So is Louie," Temple whispered. "He's a cat!"

"Oh. Good choice. Do you think he'd wear a pink carnation for the wedding?"

Temple giggled with Kit's accompaniment. They were still lost in laughter when Electra stormed out of the inner sanctum.

"Standard stuff, and way too country for my taste. Enough dried flowers to give Dorothy's Scarecrow hay fever. Folks are getting married, not emigrating to the Waltons set for a honeymoon. Why are you two snickering at the tools of the trade? Cynics! You don't think I make my dough from officiating, do you? No, it's the 'options' and 'accessories' and Video albums.' " She turned on Temple. "All right, Little Miss Marcher, where do we really have to go?"

"It's 'Little Miss Marker , '" Kit corrected, turning Temple away from the display and hustling her down the few wooden steps to the ersatz street. "I thought you'd be old enough to know that," she chided Electra.

"I am! And I'm even old enough to remember it wrong sometimes. Where are we going?"

Temple consulted the glossy folded map of the attraction.

"Down this street and to the left. I want the 'dueling pirates' show."

Kit shook her head. "Why ever for?"

"What do pirates have?" Temple asked in turn.

"Swords," Kit replied.

"Sashes," Electra suggested.

"Tattoos." Kit's eyes danced behind her lenses as she envisioned an ever-more-lurid scene.

"That's sailors," Electra objected. "Pirates just have solo earrings and bare chests."

"Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of tanning lotion. I can dig that," Kit answered.

Temple interrupted before the senior citizens in the party turned truly bawdy. "Chests. Dig. What do those two words suggest to you?"

"Lots of fun?" Kit's expression lifted hopefully.

"Treasure," came Temple's wet-blanket response. "We are not attending the cover-hunk pageant yet, ladies. We are out and about on serious business. We have priceless shoes to find. Where could they be hidden in plain sight?"

"Ah." Electra nodded sagely. "A chest of pirate treasure. But wouldn't one of those be buried to the hinges in sand, dear?"

"Not if it's a prop in a theme-park attraction. Come on."

"Are you certain that this 'dueling pirate' show uses a treasure chest?" Kit followed Temple even while she objected to the expedition's direction.