Carole Douglas - Cat in a Zebra Zoot Suit

“You mean you don’t rep the network’s client?” Temple said, puzzled. Agents represented individuals usually. If not Matt, who…?

“It’s a big advertiser.”

“Talk-show hosts don’t do ads,” Temple said.

“Usually not, no.”

Temple eyed Matt again. Why was Tony acting so coy?

The agent cast a mock-rebuking glance at Matt. “You didn’t tell me you were cohabiting with a TV personality.”

Squeaky-clean Matt, ex-priest, had to set the record straight. “Temple worked for a couple years as a TV reporter in the Twin Cities, but that was her first job. Nothing anybody would remember.”

“Thanks a lot,” Temple said.

“Of course she was tops at her job,” Matt told Tony, “but who would want…I mean, TV reporters don’t usually move to the entertainment side of the camera.”

“Neither do radio counselors,” Temple said.

Tony jumped in fast. “The wedding may very well be off if you continue speaking, Matt,” Tony said. “So I’ll get to the punch line. The ‘TV personality’ I’m referring to is your cat, Miss Barr.”

“Midnight Louie?”

“I believe that is the name. Why so incredulous? He has a certain rep in this town.” Tony grinned. “A rap sheet? Or should I say a track record.”

Temple leaned back in her chair. “So that’s it. À La Cat pet food is back with an empty bowl, begging for Louie’s services again. He was so much more personable than that yellow tabby they were using before, that Maurice.”

Temple gave the French name, “Mau-reece”, the British pronunciation, Morris.

“I swear that camera hog my roomie replaced tried to kill Louie when he was strutting down a long staircase wearing a flamingo pink fedora.” She turned to Matt. “I swear Louie wanted to kill me for allowing them to fasten that headgear on him. He looked so dashing in vintage fifties black and pink, though.”

“ I’d want to kill you if you tried to fasten a flamingo-pink fedora on me,” Matt told her.

“Well, the Fontana brothers wore fedoras matched with pastel zoot suits for that commercial and looked terrific.”

“We can’t all be Fontana brothers, thank God,” Matt answered.

“Agreed,” Temple said. “I’m a one-of-a-kind girl myself.”

They smiled at each other like there was no tomorrow.

“Hello, young lovers,” Tony interrupted. “I’m not through talking the deal.” He rapped his knuckles on the glass desktop. “Apparently the network execs like what they saw of Miss Barr when you two had dinner with them. À La Cat wants to do a series of ‘story’ TV ads, which is a big deal.”

“Oh,” Temple was rapturous. “Like those Taster’s Choice coffee ads back before I was born, with the cute courting couple.”

“Before you were born.” Tony sighed. “Depressing fact. Early eighties phenomenon. I remember them like they ran yesterday. How do you know about them?”

“Communications major. We had classes in advertising and TV. Besides, they’re on YouTube. Louie’s first round of commercials did a bit of that, using the Persian cat, Yvette. And Fancy Feast has used a smashing Yvette-type cat for years, and did a kitten/couple story segment recently. Oh,” Temple said, her voice turning sour.

“What?” Matt asked. “If you don’t want Louie doing commercials again, we can just say no.”

Tony frowned. “What’s the matter?”

“I hope they’re not going to use Yvette again. I just remembered Yvette’s owner is that unbearably overbearing B-movie actress, Savannah Ashleigh.”

“‘Oh’ is right,” Matt said. “I’ve met and dealt with her. She definitely is Ego à la mode.”

“Well,” Temple went on in her usual spritely tone. “She’s more to be pitied than despised. Maybe they won’t be using Yvette. That’s an old approach.”

“One thing I’m sure they’ll be using, Miss Barr,” Tony said. “And that’s you.”

“Me?”

“You. Their idea is all cat’s-eye view. Well, your shoes and legs, and possibly your voice, if it passes muster. Mr. Midnight will be given an off-camera voice as well.”

Temple turned to Matt. “That’s a radical new approach. Too bad Humphrey Bogart died. He’d be perfect for Louie’s voice.”

“A voice actor can suggest anything,” Tony said. “There’d also be podcasts and social media. For all of which you and Louie would be reimbursed. It could add up to a fat sum, and I’d stipulate that you’d get all the footwear you wore for the commercials gratis.”

“Paid in Prada. Oh, my. That’s worth clicking your heels together and having to relocate to Kansas.”

“Temple.” Matt was shaking his head. “Slow down. They may want to portray an ordinary woman with ordinary shoes.”

“No woman wants to see ordinary shoes on TV. Well, maybe marathon runners and such do.”

Tony responded to Temple’s enthusiasm with a broad smile. “À la Cat is the producer, of course, but they’ve committed major funds to this campaign and want a top-notch creative director, so it’ll be a slick project. In fact, they mentioned that ‘fedora’ commercial with the Fontana brothers chorus line of zoot suits, and wanted something similar, this time with Louie in a zoot suit.”

“What’s a zoot suit?” Matt asked, “as compared to a monkey suit?”

Temple and Tony exchanged glances. He was old enough to know, and Temple was hip enough to know, but no way would a Gen X Midwestern ex-seminarian and parish priest know.

She tried to explain. “A zoot suit can be a monkey suit, but it can’t be the other way around.”

“A monkey suit, my dear boy,” Tony told Matt, “is something you’ll be wearing at your upcoming wedding, unless your lovely fiancée gives you a pass. Usually it’s formal white tie and tails getup, but it could be a dinner jacket ensemble. With side-satin-striped black trousers. On the other hand, a zoot suit—” Tony deferred to Temple with a glance.

“It’s a hip man’s entire outfit, from the time when baggy-pants Vaudeville entertainment gave way to Le Jazz Hot and a sleeker, more modern look. Picture Judy Garland in frumpy baggy clown suit singing ‘Be a Clown’ to Judy Garland in a man’s black tuxedo jacket, fishnet tights, heels and fedora singing ‘come on get happy’. Funky to sexy in a generation or two.”

Matt frowned. “Can you get me some DVDs on that?”

“It’s all on YouTube,” she said. “Jazz came out of the black music scene. In the twenties and thirties black performers started showing up in movies. Cab Calloway got famous and wore exaggeratedly formal pale zoot suits, but it wasn’t until swing dancing in the forties that the zoot suit culture took off.”

“It was the first commercial ‘teenage’ fad,” Tony said with nostalgia. “And it appeared in minority cultures, both black and Hispanic, before it went mainstream.”

“That didn’t end well,” Temple took up the narrative. “It was punished at the time in both cultures. The high-waisted baggy pants with tight ankle cuffs and loose, knee-length Civil War general coats, along with extravagantly swagged watch chains called hipster cat-chains were socially threatening. Think gangsta rap, which I have major problems with. Can it convert to something less misogynistic? Time will tell.”

“I think I’ve seen photos. ‘Swagged watch chains’,” Matt repeated. “Origin of ‘swagger’ and ‘swag’ today?”

“Good point,” Temple said. “Hip dudes used to be called hep or hip ‘cats’. Louie would love that, without the chain.”

“I remember,” Tony mused, “post-war zoot suit riots. We fifties teens of the James Dean era were hit with comparisons to ‘hoodlums’. With zoot suits in the forties, the excuse for a teen rebel uniform with the many yards of material zoot suits required was considered ‘unpatriotic’ in a time of fabric shortages.